The Tattooed Woman Pt. 43

THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 43

All the best to those following this story. Sorry for the delay, I had a wee spell in hospital (all's well, but it was a pest)

Once again, thanks to Avicia (and others) for the editing and input. Their help is really invaluable.

As always, comments are welcome and encouraged.

The Tattooed Woman Volume 3 - Chapter 43: Do Not Test Me

The air no longer reeked of smoke, but it was tainted with the unpleasant smell of blood and charred flesh, and it echoed with the disquieting moans of the wounded. Both the stench and the sounds were, of course, familiar to Captain Ashunara as she was no stranger to battles, both hard and costly... battles like this one.

She pondered the many choices, good, bad, or simply willful, that had led her to this place, as the stitches were pulled tight, closing the leaking wound in her thigh. Here she was, sitting upon her cot in a bloodstained shift, trying not to wince as Elsadore, one of her sisters of the sword, and a veteran of her Company, plied her needlecraft.

And as she sat there, trying her utmost to look the part of hardened Captain and not woeful child, outside her tent another of her sisters lay dead upon the cold ground. Not the first to be sure, and probably not the last, but such fatalistic understanding had always proved grim comfort in the past, and it was no different today.

The older sellsword tending her worked quickly, with deft and skillful fingers that had learned their craft the hard way, treating the breakages and hurts typically accumulated over long hard years of bitter campaigning. Lashelle was younger, and would have been gentler, for she had once been trained as a leech by the Sisters of All Gods, but her greater skill was needed elsewhere this day, and desperately so.

The bigger woman had a cut to her cheek and a bandage wrapped around her neck where an enemy blade had made a better than average attempt at cutting her throat. But Elsadore had always been one hard bitch, and she simply dismissed such trifling wounds as unimportant and was absentmindedly humming a ribald drinking song as she got on with the job.

The slash across the Captain's thigh was not so deep, though it had bled like a stuck pig, staining her leggings crimson from crotch to knee, and the peeled flesh smarted abominably to boot. But the jagged blade that had sliced open her leg had failed to carve muscle, and so the wound was thankfully easily tended. The lurid diagonal bruise across her back was impressive enough but otherwise a trifling matter, for her mail had held and the stroke had been turned. A cracked rib from a crossbow bolt in the gut and another minor cut to her arm completed her tally of hurts, and she sniffed philosophically.

She had gotten off lightly after all.

Elsadore tied off the last stitch and looked up from the woman's leg with a grin, "That's me done with my embroidery, Captain, and a fetching pattern of stitches it is to boot, even if I do say so myself. Now, if you'll forgive me, I'll gather my tools and go see what other mischief I can undo. I'm sure I saw Nyx staggering from a failed spearthrust in the back during that brawl, but you know what she's like. She'll not take her rest while she sees others in the Company are in need. She'll end up pissing blood for a week unless I bash her senseless and force a potion down her throat."

Running her finger along the neat line of stitches, the Captain sighed, "Don't be bashing her too hard. She's... well, you know how she gets when we lose someone."

The big woman nodded sadly, "Aye...

Raising her head, Ashunara reached out to grasp the woman by the arm, "Elsadore, 'tis sorry I am, for Varoona. I know she was your friend."

The older woman nodded again, and her eyes closed a moment before she drew a breath and straightened her shoulders, "She was a good lass, and a bonny fighter, but that's the job. Go at it long enough and you lose folk," she gave the Captain a sad shrug, "you know that as well as I."

Sniffing, she brusquely rolled up her needles and stuffed the rest of her ligatures, bandages and catgut back into her satchel. Rising, she shook her head and gave her patient a sad, weary grin that all but brought a tear to the Captain's eye, "I won't tell you to stay off yon leg, for I know you'll not listen, but at least try to go easy on it for a day or two if'n you can, till the potion does its work at least. Otherwise, the stitches will burst, it'll likely get infected, and I'll have to saw the bloody thing off."

Wagging a finger, she raised her brows and eyed the woman, "And I'll not be the one telling Hildegard that I hacked away one of your pretty legs simply because you were too thickheaded to listen to my sage advice. She'd not like that, though why she favours such a skinny wench where there are others with more generous curves available, I'll never know."

"Curves like yours mayhap?"

"Well now, Captain, 'twould be both immodest and unladylike for me to boast of such things, as ye know."

"What? A shy, retiring lass like yourself? Heavens forbid."

Elsadore grinned, "Well, if I'm forced to tell her you've taken to wearing a peg-leg like some nonsensical pirate she's like to become sorely vexed, and then she'll probably take to shouting at me and such, you know what these humans are like after all; excitable bunch so they are," she chuckled as she continued her idle musing, "then, of course, I'd have to console the poor wee lass, and one thing would like as not lead to another, for she's pretty enough to be sure, and it would just be cruel to leave her all alone in her grief."

"You leave my Hildegard alone, you scurrilous letch."

"You lose that leg, Captain, and I make no promises."

With a snort of laughter, Ashunara nodded, "Fair enough, and for what it's worth, she could do worse."

The smile faded, as she eyed the flap of her tent, "How fared the others?"

"Well, Captain, we lost a dozen orcs and nigh a third of the dwarves. There are a great many wounded, but we were well supplied with potion and poultice so most will recover well enough provided they get the chance. The human woman, Magda, took a thorough battering; suffering half a dozen cut and stab-wounds at least, and a nasty blow to the back of the head that would have felled a damned ox, but she's quite the hard-case it seems. She's been liberally dosed with healing draught and if she survives the night, her chances of pulling through are better than naught I'd say."

"Cliomh?"

The veteran shook her head, "By rights the man should be dead already. I've no idea how he's held on as long as he has but he's covered in so many bandages he looks like a damned mummy. Lashelle treats him as well as she can, but amongst other things the man had a spear shoved right through him for fuck's sake," she snorted, "tough bastard I'll give him that. Gorsini says even after being impaled the mortiferous fucker made them pay the blood price in full and then some before he went down."

Can the healers not..."

Pulling a flask, Elsadore unscrewed the stopper and took a swig, before passing it over, "Quintus is fucked from frying that demonian bastard, Ellén can barely stand, and yon painted lass has a swordwound in her side that would have killed the likes of you and me in a heartbeat. None of them could so much as fix a toothache right now. If the man can last till morning, and providing one of them recovers enough strength to do something, then, maybe, just maybe, he might have a chance, but he was still leaking blood like a sieve just moments ago, and he's already paler than a wight so I'd not be wagering on it."

Outside, there came the sound of a distant wailing, soft and eerie, and carried upon the cold breeze. No doubt some lonely banshee up in the hills, attracted by all the blood and death.

Ashunara shivered.

"How is she?"

With a sigh, the veteran looked away, "She'll live, she just won't enjoy it for a while. But Nyx and I have both been there before. 'Tis hard is all. She's put his blade in his hands and says she'll bid her farewells once she's seen to the Company." she snorted, "I said I'd take care of things if she wanted to set with him a spell, but she's a stubborn bitch."

Ashunara pursed her lips and then, with a groan, pushed herself from the cot.

Rolling her eyes, Elsadore gave a long-suffering sigh of resignation, "Oh for fuck's sake, Captain! Give me a break. Will ye no at least pretend to listen to my advice?"

"I'm going to go see her, and I'll not lie idle in my bed until I pay respects and say goodbye to Varoona, I owe her that much at least."

With a snort, Elsadore nodded, "No, I suppose not. Come on then, lean on me if ye must, but be warned, you spoil my needlework and set those cuts to leaking again, and next time I'll just sear the bastards shut with a hot iron and spare myself the bother."

"Yes, mother."

"If I was your mother, my hair would be grey and not silver, and your ears would still be ringing from being boxed so much. But..." she shook her head and swallowed as she looked away, "I'd still be proud of you."

...

The battle beyond the gate had been a bloody, costly affair. Her Company had fallen on the unsuspecting enemy like rabid wolves among a flock of slumbering sheep, wreaking havoc and sewing chaos as they brought fire and the sword to their foes. Within minutes, the encampment was aflame with burning tents in all directions and billowing smoke marring the heavens. Still, the enemy had grotesquely outnumbered them, and slowly but surely, those numbers began to tell.

She had led her sisters against the enemy supply train, slaughtering the hapless guards and hurling incendiaries all about, while the main strength of their foes had been thrown against her dwarven allies.

Even so, despite their speed and the furious savagery of their attack, they had all but been cornered and brought to heel, when her ears had been assailed by such a mournful howling sound. It was a terrible, howling din that chilled the blood and froze the heart, and all about the battlefield the fighting paused, as that furious cry echoed about the camp.

In the distance, through the smoke, there came the sound of screaming, high-pitched and awful.

Nyx looked at her, eyes wide, and Ashunara saw that her hands actually shook, "What the fuck was that?"

It took her a moment before she was able to answer, "No idea, but come, the enemy seem to be sorely affected by whatever it was. Let us use their affliction to our advantage and break away from here."

Throwing herself back into the fray, she had carved a path through firbolg and goblin, troll and ogre, slashing and hacking at her enemies, until it felt like her very arms were numb with fatigue and her vision had narrowed to a crimson haze.

A hand grabbed her and pulled her back.

With a snarl, she spun, only for Nyx to slap aside her blade, "Easy there!"

"What?"

"I hear Dwarf-horns!"

Wiping her brow, she drew an incredulous breath, "Adair did it, by damn."

Nyx grinned, "Good, wonderful, happy days. Now if you don't mind, let's get the fuck out of here before we get slaughtered."

"Good ide-"

With a bellowing roar, the dragon all but landed on them.

...

While there were many wounded among the Company, few had died since they had made good their retreat, and so it was that there were not so many for the funeral pyre; for the hard press of battle meant that for the most part, those who had fallen upon the field, had been left where they lay.

The Dwarves looked to their own dead, as was their way, and so it was that Varoona lay alone.

She had been wrapped in her cloak with her sword placed in her hands. Adair had washed the blood from her face herself and braided her hair, and she now sat with the girl, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

As the Captain hobbled over, she lifted her eyes and rose to her feet, "'Tis time?"

"Not yet, we have time to say our goodbyes at least."

Adair nodded, and her voice was a whisper as she looked down at her blood-smeared hands, "You never asked..."

"Asked?"

"If I could bring her back, as I did Narissa."

Turning to the taller woman, Ashunara reached out and took her hand in her own, "I had no need to ask, Adair. I know well enough that you would have done so if you could."

With a sound that was as close to a sob as she'd ever heard from the woman, Adair turned to her, "I'm too weak... With Narissa the effort took so much from me, in the end it... changed me. It made me stronger by making me... less."

Ashunara eyed her, "But... if it made you stronger?"

"I am weary to my very bones from fracturing the enchantment binding Ellén. His will and his sorcery was upon that collar, and it was no small thing to break. That, and the wound inflicted by his pet demon have... drained me, I suppose."

"Are you in pain? Is there aught we can do?"

"It burns still, but the pain will fade soon enough, and the wound will heal in time. But do not fear for me, Captain, for I am hardly fragile."

Looking at the woman's pallid complexion, Ashunara felt a pang of guilt, and nodded, "I know, it is utterly unfair, but we are so used to seeing you as this unstoppable... thing. Even now, knowing how hurt you are, there are those in my camp secretly watching and hoping you'll pull off... something, some great feat of magical prowess that sees Varoona restored to us. I... I'm sorry."

Adair sighed wearily and cast her eyes upward at the uncaring heavens, "And are you one of them, Captain? Is this a thing you hope for?"

"I'm ashamed to make the admission, but I cannot deny it. For a while, I did hope. But I know, I know, you would not willingly forsake her, and that if such a thing were possible, you would have already done it. Do not take my childish wishes as any kind of recrimination. I swear it, Adair, on my honour, it's nothing more than regret is all, for I know you have kept faith with us."

"Truly?"

Reaching out, she placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, and her eyes were unflinching as she met her gaze, "I swear it."

Adair lowered her head, and her voice was a sad, half-heard murmur, "Captain Ashunara, you grow more interesting every day..."

"What?"

Drawing a breath, the tattooed woman raised her eyes, and squared her shoulders, "Come then, my Captain, let us see what strength remains to this unstoppable... thing."

"What? No! You'll bloody kill yourself."

"We shall see."

Desperately, Ashunara grabbed the woman, "Varoona wouldn't like it."

Gently, she felt herself pushed away, "If it works, I'll take my scolding from her and be more than content."

"But you just said, you do not have the strength to do this thing."

Looking at her, Adair nodded, "Tell me, Captain, what would Varoona do if, by merit of some throw of the dice, our circumstances were reversed?"

"She'd kill herself making the attempt, for she was young, brave, and," her voice almost faltered, "foolish."

"Then I can do no less."

Drawing herself up, she clutched her spear tight to her breast and whispered.

The wind picked up almost immediately. Ashunara could only hear a few of the words being spoken. They were... old. Words of power and ancient names, spoken in a long-forgotten tongue. A language that no mortal being should know, or ever dare utter. It was half a prayer, half a spell, and, as she spoke her incantation, it grew colder, and colder, as if the magic leeched the very warmth from all around, or perhaps opened a door or window to allow in a draft from some place where such preternatural chill was the norm. Pressure built in the air, not unlike the ominous heavy feeling of an imminent thunderstorm. It mounted until the dark elf felt her legs giving way beneath her and she could only gasp as her breath turned to frigid mist before her eyes and her silver hair stood on end.

It felt like that soft sibilant whispering pierced her very flesh. The murmured words resonated, echoing about her mind like the sound of waves breaking upon the shore, her vision narrowed to a darkening tunnel and the pain in her ears was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Just as she was about to scream, the pressure vanished with such a suddenness that it took her breath away, and there came a great cracking sound that set the many ever-watchful crows and ravens that had gathered, to flight, cawing and screaming, not in protest; oh no, not in protest at all. But in something... else.

A shadow fell over her and she looked up.

She was there. Tall and pale, raven hair falling down her back, and a mantle of blackest feathers about her shoulders. Shadows moved about her, coiling and curling in fawning adoration, frost glistened about her feet, and all was ominously still, as if the very world was holding its breath.

Ashunara swallowed. It was Her! She recalled well that imperious visage, and the look of cold command that had gazed down upon her from the images painted upon the temple walls. For those dark eyes had haunted her dreams for weeks afterwards.

The Crone had spoken of her, and she had seen her smile upon the face of Nemain, but in the end, they were but echoes and reflections, and the dark elf felt an uncontrollable shivering, like a trickle of ice-cold water, running down her spine. For today, The Morrigan had come.

The creature raised its head, and cold eyes, blacker than the darkest night, surveyed the scene. Ashunara felt the power of that gaze, as those same eyes flicked over her, piercing her to the core, and she trembled as they seemed to read, in an instant, every thought, every dream, every hope, fulfilled or not, that she had ever had.

The gaze left her as the entity turned to the woman who had summoned Her.

"I did not see my spear into your hand so you could use it to conjure me so, daughter."

The reproving tone in that voice would have caused Ashunara to run gibbering for the hills if the terror she felt had not all but frozen her feet to the very ground. She stared in wide-eyed amazement as Adair not only unflinchingly met the gaze of that dreadful creature, but lifting her chin, she pointed to the body of Varoona and somehow dared to issue a command:

"Restore her."

The Morrigan's head turned ever so slightly as she regarded the fallen dark elf for a long moment, and, for just the briefest fragment of an instance, Ashunara thought she could see some infinitesimal softening in those pitiless eyes, and then it was gone. The lips thinned as those hard obsidian orbs flicked back to Adair, "No."

Drawing a breath, Adair's nostrils flared and that dreadful spearpoint gleamed in the sunlight as she levelled it at the dark entity standing before her, "Do it."

The ground did not shake as such, nor the heavens shatter, but the skies did darken, and there came a most ominous rumbling sound as the shadows and clouds simply froze in place, as if thoroughly stunned by the awesome temerity of such a thing...

The spear in Adair's hands bucked and bent like a reed caught in a howling gale, and the woman felt herself dragged to her knees as the weight of the thing suddenly seemed to increase ten thousand-fold.

The Morrigan's eyes glowed and there was a flash of bared teeth as she hissed in annoyance, "Do not test me, child!"

Watching in spellbound horror, Ashunara winced, as, instead of begging forgiveness, Adair snarled a response and pushed herself back to one knee. The haft of the spear audibly creaked in her grip; her face twisted, and with a groan of effort, she forced the spearpoint to rise once more.

Eyes hardening, The Morrigan clenched her fists, and this time the ground did shake...

Ashunara swallowed as she considered the unholy cataclysm about to unfold right in front of her, "Shit."