Drowning at Dus

This chapter is quite a bit longer than the previous ones, and future installments will likely be about this length. This one contains more action and adventure than the last few entries, along with more sex, more plot development, and more revealed secrets.

***

Xelari had not jested about our work beginning in earnest. The morning after the hate-fuck with Terakh, the scraping of the metal door against the rough cavern floor awoke me from my slumber. Four bandits entered, tossed me my armor, and bade me to follow.

Remembering keenly the chain-rune affixed to my thigh and Xelari's express command not to hurt any more of her underlings, I rose and quickly donned my armor.

She had not, however, commanded me not to be nosy.

"So where are we searching today?" I asked once I'd fiddled with the last strap of my leather armor. My body was still sore from the fight in the camp and from being chained and so thoroughly used, but it felt good to be back in my familiar gear again. I stretched a little, rolled my shoulders, and slipped back into my boots.

None of the bandits answered my question. Their silence may have been a result of me stabbing more than a dozen of their comrades two nights ago. Or maybe they were jealous of the fact that Terakh had been able to use me, and they hadn't.

In silence they led me from my prison, out into the cavern where two dozen other mercenaries had gathered. They were all armed, armored, and geared up for a long march through the forest. More than half shot icy glares my way, while the others focused instead on sharpening their weapons and conducting a last-minute check of their equipment.

Xelari and Terakh stood at the forefront of the little band. The orc's red eyes looked to me with a mixture of loathing and lust; I replied with a cute little smile and a wink. Xelari, as expected, did not so much as even glance in my direction.

"I understand your trepidation," Xelari said to the gathered cutthroats. "But Esharyn here has certain skills that will be quite useful in securing the artifact that I require. We must use every asset at our disposal; the sooner I find the relic, the sooner you all receive the second portion of your pay."

The reassurances did nothing to ease those glares.

Let them glare. Let them hate.

I'd find the circlet of the lust goddess that Xelari was after, and maybe they'd get to go back to their miserable bandit careers with their lives and limbs intact.

"Rest assured, though, that I will not be relying on her talents without further evaluation. While Terakh leads a band to the southeast to sweep the lakeside forest, I will collect a few volunteers for a further assessment of Esharyn's skills."

"How about I 'assess' the strength of her spine by sinking my axe into her fucking neck?" grumbled a bandit among the crowd.

A handful chuckled, while others cast wary glances between myself and Xelari. For what it was worth, I actually grinned a bit, finding the turn of phrase to be grimly amusing.

If Xelari heard the remark, she gave no sign of it, and proceeded.

"A few days ago, Valrafein spotted what he believed were undead creatures to the northwest. In order to safeguard our camp and our patrols, and also to further assess Esharyn's abilities, I'll be heading northwest with her to investigate. I'll require at least three volunteers to accompany us."

I cast my gaze about for any sign of the dusk elf I'd battered and bloodied the night before, but he wasn't present. Perhaps he was sulking back in camp, nursing his wounds and lamenting that he'd have to stay behind while Xelari marched off in search of riches.

Half a minute passed before a burly, red-headed axeman raised a hand.

"I'll go," he grunted. "I'd rather crack undead skulls than stumble about blindly in the woods."

That seemed to inspire a few others. One was a short, wiry blonde woman with a nasty burn scar on the left side of her face, and a massive crossbow slung over her back. The next was a tall, willowy older man with a stringy beard and a tattoo of a bear on his forehead, which I assumed to be some sort of tribal sigil.

"Very well. Rodnir, Vlanda, Klevek: you will accompany Esharyn and me to the northwest." She nodded at the burly orc. "Terakh: see to the search."

Terakh marched out to collect his own crew, while the other bandits readied their packs. Keeping a wary eye on the bandits who'd given hateful or murderous glares, I marched on over to Xelari.

Without a word, she turned and marched for the cave entrance, her long black cloak swishing behind her. Gritting my teeth, I fell in line alongside the other bandits.

As we walked, I pondered the path I had stumbled onto. I'd gone from Xelari's would-be killer to her own pet killer. Her slave. Her weapon. Her plaything.

It wasn't the first time I'd been forced to conduct violence against my will. One of my first patrons after I'd gone independent had poisoned me during our first meeting, forcing me to comply with his demands in exchange for the antidote. I'd complied like a dutiful little killer, until I'd scrounged up enough silver to pay an alchemist for my own version of the cure.

Once I received the promised payment, the patron had reneged on his promise, fully expecting me to die to the poison he'd given me.

I still relished the memory of his shocked gasp as I'd plunged my knife into his heart, gloating that I'd found my own antidote after all.

Would this new arrangement with Xelari end the same way?

Time would tell.

"Oy," someone said from my left. I turned to see Vlanda, carrying a thick leather bundle. "Boss told me to give you this."

She shoved it into my grasp, and I unwrapped it to reveal my blade and crossbow. Grinning, I tucked the blade into my belt and slung the bow over my back. The mere reclaiming of my weapons caused several of the other bandits to give me a larger berth. More than a few rested hands on their own blades now that I was armed, and I wondered how they'd even be able to focus on the search if they were so damned worried about me.

"Easy, boys and girls," I said with a warm smile as we passed by a large group of glaring brigands, spreading my hands wide. "I'm on the hunt, same as you. Xelari's got me bound with one of her runes, so I couldn't misbehave even if I wanted to."

"I don't really see how one more mouth to feed is gonna make this search any easier," said Vlanda. "But asking too many questions gets you on latrine duty, and I did enough shit shoveling in the army."

"Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure why Xelari thinks I'll be useful, either," I said. While I highly doubted I'd ever be Vlanda's friend, the more bandits I was well-acquainted with, the better. Even if she didn't back me up in a fight against her comrades, maybe she'd at least hesitate to draw on me if I could establish some sort of rapport. And a moment's hesitation on her end might save me from a crossbow bolt in the neck. "Maybe it's because I made it past her runes."

"Bloody Voids," grumbled Rodnir, the red-bearded man with the nasty axe. "You made it past those? How?"

"Rule one of being an assassin: never reveal your tricks."

"Is rule two: 'don't fuck up and get captured?'" snickered Klevek, the older man with the tattoo. "Because you clearly broke that one."

"No, but it probably should be. I'll add it to the rulebook."

The tattooed man snickered at that, and we fell in behind Xelari. The dusk elf marched out of the cavern without even paying us a second glance, and into the heart of the camp.

"So," Vlanda said, her voice low. "What was it like with Terakh? Word is that he gave it to you good last night."

Indeed he had, though most of the bliss had been a result of Xelari's presence. My hips and thighs were still a bit sore from that brutal fuck, and my neck still displayed the bite marks he'd inflicted upon me right before his wild climax.

"Eh, I faked it a bit. Gave him a nice show. Didn't seem prudent to piss him off by yawning or looking bored."

Rodnir and Vlanda laughed.

As we made our way through the camp, my presence inspired more glares from the bandits. One lean, dark-skinned woman met my eyes and drew her fingers over her throat in a silent threat. A short, burly man with a wild moustache approached and spat at my feet. A bald, bearded man in threadbare mage's robe scampered over to me. His wide smile showed off a row of cracked, yellowed teeth, and his gnarled hands reached out and pressed a silver coin into my palm.

"I cannot thank you enough."

Certain that it was some trick, I dropped a hand to my knife. Still grinning, the man backed away and raised his hands.

"I owed a hundred silver pieces to a man you killed, and he didn't designate anyone else in the camp as his second. Free! Free! Free! He kept threatening to break my teeth again if I didn't pay up, but now he rots with the demons below, and I've no need to worry."

Cackling, he spun about like a giddy girl and vanished back into the camp.

"I didn't happen to kill anyone that any of

you

owed money to, did I?" I asked Vlanda and the other two bandits.

"Killed my old sergeant from the militia," grunted Rodnir. "But he was a cunt. Won't miss him."

"Took out the eye of a man who fucked my favorite whore on my birthday," Klevek said. "If the gods are looking out for me, the healing magic will fade and he'll die from infection."

"You'll get no grateful coins from me," Vlanda said. "You killed Jonrin last night. One of my tent-mates. Been cutting throats and ransacking caravans at his side for nearly a year now."

I tensed again, already planning out a swift, smooth draw of my knife.

"Relax, relax. It happens in this life. In fact, I met Jonrin after he burned my last crew boss alive. If a bandit couldn't work alongside someone who'd wronged them in the past, no banditry would ever get done." She grinned up at me. "Half the people in this camp had a feud of one sort with their comrades. The glares will pass. Maybe. But don't be surprised if you get a few challenges. Might need to cut a few more throats before the week is out."

"But not yours," I said slowly.

"Not mine. Vengeance is for fools and heroes in stories. And I'm just a poor bitch who needs silver. Justice and vengeance won't fill my purse."

The reassurances didn't allow me to relax one bit. I kept the hand on my knife and my eyes on my new comrades as we marched.

Xelari still had yet to say a single word since we'd left the cavern, and she marched a dozen feet ahead of me and the other bandits, as if she was on that mission all by herself. We wandered along a rocky path that led up through the cliffs, and into the embrace of the great redwood trees. The thick canopies overhead blocked out much of the sun. Here and there, lances of sunlight broke through and cast glittering light over mossy meadows and patches of wildflowers.

We marched on for an hour, with Vlanda explaining that the crews had already thoroughly searched that section of the forest for the relics. I didn't need her to tell me that; the trail of broken branches, footprints, and scattered rubbish had led me directly to their camp. They hadn't been particularly subtle about their search, but given the isolated nature of the Wildwood, they hadn't really needed to be. Were it not for the Lord Protector's contract, nobody would have taken notice of a hundred or so greedy fools bumbling about in the wilderness.

"You do much in the way of undead hunting?" Vlanda asked. "I've nailed myself a few of the rotted bastards." She patted her belt, displaying a row of grisly trophies: jawbones, blackened fingerbones, and a yellowed fang of a beast of some kind.

"I dabbled in the hunting of necromancers, so yes. Cryptwolves, tomb-terrors, barrow-walkers, risen skeletons, wights, and whatever other sort of horrors my targets could cobble together."

Klevek shuddered and brushed his fingers against his tattoo, as if that might ward off those creatures.

"Ghosts?" Rodnir asked.

"Can't say I've ever had the displeasure. Why?"

"Heard rumblings from the sentries about voices in the trees down to the south. Talk of spirits and the like."

I just blamed that on the bored, scared minds of bandits who didn't have much experience in the Wildwood. When a mind was on edge, the chitter of a squirrel could sound like the hungry whisper of a wraith.

"I myself have nothing to fear from such spirits," Klevek said, pointing to the tattoo. "This wards my body and soul against the ethereal. No foul spirit will seize these bones."

After a few more hours of wandering to the northwest, Xelari finally spoke.

"Halt," she said softly. "We are close to where Valrafein saw what he believed were those undead."

"How's he doing, by the way?" I asked with a crooked grin. "Arm and nose healing up fine?"

"I brought you along to kill undead, not to hear your japes," she said coldly. Something twinkled in her glittering jade eyes, though. "But he will recover. Physically, at least. But his pride?" She let out a short, raspy chuckle. "More deeply wounded than Terakh's was."

"Does that mean you'll give Valrafein a chance to assuage his wounded pride like you did Terakh?"

She stared at me for a few seconds, the left side of her full lips quirking into a semblance of a smirk.

"Would you like that?"

"Probably not. Valrafein's too pretty of a man for my tastes. I like my men rough and wild, like Terakh."

"And like me?" Rodnir asked, flashing me a lecherous grin.

"Don't like beards, I'm afraid."

"Shave it off, then," Vlanda said, elbowing the axeman in the side.

"Can't. I've got that weak jawline, makes me look like a chubby little lad if I don't have a beard."

Ignoring our banter, Xelari crouched behind a boulder, readying her runestone and a curved, silksteel dagger.

Though I lacked the edge granted to me by a sight-rune, I still had keen enough eyes to see movement about a hundred yards deeper into the forest. I drew my knife and pointed the movement out to the others.

Another flash of metal between the trees. Something humanoid, with rotting skin clinging to gleaming white bones; it wore a rusted breastplate, and carried a broken axe.

Barrow-walker. Beings born of bloody deaths, usually in the aftermath of battles or massacres. Cut down before their time, their bodies were cursed to rise again, and wander the accursed battlefield where they'd been slain. I hadn't heard of any battles occurring in the Wildwood in recent memory, so the creatures must have been forged by a battle forgotten to the mists of time.

There were seven in all, moving in a tight formation, just as they would have in life. Discipline extended even into death.

"Maybe they'll drift on past," Vlanda murmured under her breath.

"That would defeat the purpose," Xelari said. "We are here to assess Esharyn's skills once more."

She looked me in the eye, grinned, and then gave a sudden shout.

Low, raspy growls burst from the barrow-walkers. I cursed, and the seven undead broke into a swift, coordinated charge directly for us.

"Back," Xelari snapped at the bandits. "Leave them to her."

"Voids below," I cursed, leaping atop the boulder to seize the high ground.

My would-be allies scampered away, leaving me to face the seven all on my own.

The first closed in, lashing wildly with its rusted, broken axe. I kicked its bony wrist so hard that it shattered, and the weapon tumbled to the ground. I caved in its skull with another savage kick, then leapt off the boulder and into the midst of the creatures. My knife lashed out, tearing through accursed flesh and jabbing at ankles and wrists. The strikes weren't strong enough to shatter the accursed bones, but they did throw my foes off balance, sending a few tumbling to the ground or deflecting their blows before they could land.

I rolled, avoiding a spear thrust, and kicked out my assailant's knee, then jammed my knife through an open eye socket into the cursed, withered little husk of a brain. The barrow-walker croaked and went still. I snatched up a shield dropped by another, used it to absorb a wild swing from a rusted sword, then smashed the shield into a barrow-walker's rib cage.

Ancient bone sprayed through its back, and I shoved through the crumbling creature, and flung the shield into the face of another.

Old White Talon training techniques settled in: wild kicks, sweeping slashes, quick lunges to prevent the enemy from surrounding me and hemming me in. It was less of a battle and more of a furious dance.

The last barrow-walker fell, its legs shattered by the shield. Its jaws croaked and chittered, and I ended its cursed existence with a savage kick to the back of the head.

"There. Assessment over," I said with a grin in Xelari's direction. She and the others were fifty feet away, behind the cover of a row of moss-covered boulders.

"Not quite," Xelari said, gesturing behind me.

I whirled, blade at the ready.

Twenty more of the damned things came charging out from the underbrush. Sunlight gleamed off sparkling-white bones. Worms and ants wriggled over their necrotic flesh.

For the second wave, Xelari did not force me to stand alone. A smoldering beam of magma burst from her runestone, incinerating a few of the creatures on the left flank. Vlanda's crossbow clicked, sending a bolt through the withered neck of a rushing undead soldier. The skull and bits of its spine flew through the air, and Rodnir whooped out his praise for her aim.

By the time she could reload for a second shot, the damned things would be upon me. I snatched up a broken spear left by one of the first ones I'd brought down, and flung it with all my might through the chest of one of the onrushing creatures. I snatched up a shield and raised it to deflect an axe-blow.

Another crossbow bolt, another downed barrow-walker. Another lance of fire from Xelari's eruption-rune. Ash and embers splashed into the side of my face as the beam melted two of the bastards right on my flank.

Rodnir and Klevek howled, and I caught sight of Rodnir's axe cleaving a barrow-walker in twain just to my left. I spun, slashed, and sliced. Most of my blows weren't enough to bring down my foes completely, but they did leave the undead open for follow-up strikes from the others.

Leaving my knife buried in the eye of one chittering barrow-walker, I plucked up its long, curved sword and hacked down two more with a wild swing.

Another burst of flame, and the last barrow-walker crumpled, turned to blackened ash from the waist up.

"Everyone whole?" Vlanda shouted.

"Few scratches," Rodnir hissed, dabbing at several deep gouges in his cheek left by the grasping fingers of the undead.

Klevek grunted and pointed to a rusted spear-tip embedded in his forearm. Grumbling and complaining under his breath, he leaned against the boulder, and applied an herbal poultice around the wound to fend off the bleeding.

As Vlanda wandered among the defeated undead to collect her bolts, I inspected the long, curved blade I'd used to hack down my last foe. It was in surprisingly good condition: no rust at all, and with only a faint hint of discoloration along its bronze hilt.

"Elven make," I said, giving it a little twirl. I inspected the barrow-walker I'd taken it from: long-limbed, with a skull narrower than a human's. "Elven bearer, too."

A quick sweep of the other corpses revealed all of them to be elven, though only a handful had carried those finer weapons.

"Odd," I said, resolving to keep that blade as a prize unless my captor objected. "Never encountered an elven barrow-walker before."

"That's because there are fewer of us around to fight massive battles that give rise to such curses," Xelari said.

She knelt beside each body and murmured a prayer in a harsh, guttural tongue that I assumed was the dusk elf language. It sounded nothing like the sweet melodies of the meadow elf dialects, or the sing-song, whistling language of the tempest elves.