CW: violence, gore (not in any sexual context)
With the strange magic of bad nights, I tossed and turned for what felt like hours and still found morning arriving far too soon. Dawn sunlight streamed through the shutters' many cracks, and some sadist had positioned the bed so that the light would be right in a sleeper's eyes.
I threw an arm over my eyes and considered rejecting the morning and going back to sleep. I was usually a morning person, but my dreams last night must have knocked me for more of a loop than I thought.
But I was stiff and sore from sleeping on a cheap bed with no pillow, and as soon as my stomach realized I was awake it started demanding food as if I hadn't eaten for a week. More rest was not in the cards.
I dressed slowly, torn between hunger and lethargy. There was no need for armor, thankfully--Karthaven was pretty safe for one of the Free Cities-- so it didn't take long. Sturdy canvas leggings, just tight enough not to interfere with my movements, and a pair of worn leather riding boots took care of my lower body. I hesitated for a moment, then decided not to bother wrapping my breasts today. I wasn't particularly well-favored in that area to begin with, and I wasn't planning on anything strenuous. A dark red tunic and matching scarf completed the ensemble, and I stumbled blearily downstairs.
First order of business, breakfast. After that, I needed to find a new job--no one had been paying me to dig through Frostmorn Cave, and my funds were starting to run low. But I suppose it could be worse. I could be trapped someplace nice and civilized, where I'd be lucky to find work as a guard. In the Free Cities, though, there was always someone in need of a little violent problem-solving.
I waved at the serving girl and held up two fingers to ask for a double portion. Limited funds or not, I was starving.
#
It wasn't a very glamourous task. "Get my cow back from the thieves who stole it" wasn't exactly fodder for song and verse, but after my failed expedition I wasn't in a position to be picky. And hey, I wasn't in charge of how other people spent their money. If some rich landowner really wanted to throw away two hundred gold for someone to rescue her prize stud, I might as well be there to catch it.
Besides, the scenery was worth it.
"Oh, but you simply must find him," Simone dvaLena was pleading, her hands fluttering nervously. "He's ever so delicate."
The rancher was tall and slender, with jet-black hair and skin so pale I suspected she had some ancestors in the Dirge Empire. Lovely green eyes and sharp cheekbones rounded out her beauty, and if the fluttering layers of brightly-colored silk she wore was ill-suited to the setting, it was wonderful suited to her graceful body.
"I'll find him," I reassured her, offering my most confident smile. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at her words. I was looking at the "delicate" creature's stall right now, and the walls had been repaired in half a dozen places where the bull had kicked through four inches of solid oak.
"Are you sure?" Simone stepped back, then closer again, eyes wide. "Are you a Trusted? Are you going to track him with magic?"
She really was standing quite close, now. For some reason I was acutely aware of one of her outermost layers of silk brushing my leg in the breeze. Thankfully my chest bindings were thick enough to hide the way my nipples perked up at the sensation.
"I'm afraid not, lady dvaLena." Watching her face fall was enough to make me want to wrap her in my arms and kiss the sadness away. Or better yet, work a hand under those layers and finger the sadness away.
"But then how? They were--they must have been ghosts!" The rancher's hands continued to draw nervous patterns in the air before her. "My guards saw nothing! My hounds found no scent! They had magic! Powerful magic!"
By the Dominions, what
was
it about this woman? I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so drawn to someone. It usually took weeks for a partner to work their way deep enough into my heart to attract the attention of my libido. But I'd barely met Simone, and already I was wondering what it would be like to peel her out of those silks.
Trying to clear my mind, I bent down and examined the ground outside the bull's stall closely. I might have started my career in the army, but I'd spent four years now as a sword for hire. There were times when a little woodcraft was worth a dozen swords.
"Perhaps, lady dvaLena," I acknowledged, taking a few steps forward as I found what I was looking for. "But no mage, no matter how mighty, can stop a cow from shitting everywhere."
#
To be fair, I probably could have done it without the turds. The thieves had done a decent job of covering their trail, but I was able to pick out enough signs here and there to keep myself moving in the right direction. But the frequent piles of bullshit were a helpful extra.
As I followed the crappy trail, I tried to work out how many thieves there were. Based on the signs they left, there could have been as few as two and as many as eight accompanying the cow. I was betting on the low end, but I'd taken the time to don my armor just in case I was wrong.
After almost five hours, the trail reached the Calling Hills, and I muttered a few curses. The area was a mess of near-vertical slopes, and trying to cross it meant finding your way through a labyrinth of narrow, winding passes. It was easy to get lost in there, and even easier to get ambushed.
The smart thing to do would be to turn around and leave. Two hundred gold pieces was not enough to be worth that kind of risk. If I left now, I could get back to town with enough time left to check the boards again.
A sudden ache in my sex reminded me of what lay on the other side of this contract. Simone was way too attached to that cow of hers. Once I retrieved it, she'd be only too happy to express her gratitude any way I could imagine.
And right now I was imagining a lot of ways.
Besides, the kind of characters who steal cows aren't usually the time to lie in wait for pursuers. I took a moment to string my bow and make sure my sword was hanging comfortably on my hip, then boldly followed the thieves into the natural maze.
#
I've been wrong many times in my life. Wrong that I was suited for a life in the army. Wrong that I was straight. Wrong that I could trust my adventuring mentor. Wrong about there being treasure in Frostmorn Crypt.
But I don't think I've ever been as wrong as I was when I said the thieves weren't the type to lay ambushes. And unless I was very, very lucky, it would be the last time I was wrong about anything.
#
The first arrow came in at a bad angle and glanced off my breastplate, setting me staggering. My foot hit a puddle of mud and slid--I fell, and the second and third arrows zipped through the space where I'd just been.
Someone was shooting at me!
