*****Note: the events in this tale take place after Lover's Moon, though it is a stand alone story.*****
What should a half-breed ranger do when she has a furious dwarf lord on her tail, especially if she has tricked the lord out of his booty? By my estimation, she should gallop home as fast as her trusty mare could take her... so I did.
Home for me was an aerie in Blackthorn Forest. Hidden deep in the verdant woodland, my leafy abode was in the upper boughs of the largest blackthorn I could find. I had built it limb by heavy limb and vine by bulky vine. It was a long and dreary labor, but a necessity if I wanted somewhere to lay my head. There was no place for me with my father's people and no peace in me with my mother's kin. Blackthorn had become my sanctuary, my place of being.
I was headed pell-mell for the safety of my woodland domain. I knew it was the one place where Ursin Bgrin would not be able to find me. Not that dwarves had the skill of tracking that my elven cousins had, but they did have an uncanny sense of direction. That ability usually enabled them to find whatever they were looking for and with minimum effort. However, Blackthorn loved me as I loved it. The forest would protect me.
It was still a half day's ride to my aerie abode when my mare stumbled and fell. She tried to get up, a noble and valiant creature to the bones. I could see the whites of her eyes as she thrashed around. She was in pain, extreme pain. I could not bring myself to force her onward. I pulled my pinned leg out from under her and inspected the damage while I soothingly patted her flank and murmured soft words of encouragement.
Glancing up at the midday sun, I mentally counted the hours since I bolted from the Gilded Lily and my 'mark'. Ursun Bgrin would be awake by now. The sleeping spell I had uttered as he lay deeply embedded in my pussy should have worn off hours ago. He would have a raging headache, a raging hard-on and a raging temper. Since dwarves were known to have all three as a regular occurrence, to submit one to a spell-cast with those aftereffects was catastrophic. It would be throwing hot oil on a burning man.
I continued to stroke Nimeria as I weighed my options. My situation was bleak, to be sure. I had not bothered to cover my tracks, relying on speed not stealth. As I said, Blackthorn would save me. I had to get there quickly, but how?
Nimeria whinnied softly. I placed a comforting hand on her velvety nose as I began to scan the horizon. Speed was not an option now, so craft and cunning would have to suffice. I was in Dimwell Dell and the only "safe" havens were the barrows. They lumped the gently sloping terrain like the pox. I shivered, but not from cold. The barrows of Dimwell were deadly at night. My plan had been to pass through the dell while the sun was high in the midday sky. I glanced at my trembling mare. By the look of it, we would be staying the night while the barrow wights waltzed and wailed around us.
"Orc shit!" I cursed aloud, knowing there was none but Nimeria to hear me. I would not leave her to suffer and I could not bear to put her down. She was my best friend, my only companion. I loved her as I loved no other. A tear coursed down my cheek and I brushed it angrily away. This was not the time for weeping, but for a clear head and swift action. I placed my hand on her bony brow and uttered a sleeping spell.
Alas, I had not the gift of healing. Still, I could put anything to sleep in a trice. My talent served me well once more. The mare's lids fluttered shut and her breathing changed from the short gusts of discomfort to the more restful puffs of slumber. I sighed in relief. I could deal with the problem of Nimeria in the morning, if we survived the night. With a slight wince at the pain in my leg, I pulled a small pack off her backside and rifled through it.
I traveled light. There was naught in the leather satchel but a change of clothing, a cleansing stone and cloth, some waybread, a wine skin and Ursun's map. I slipped the map in the waist of my breeches. A snug fit, but I liked it that way. There was more freedom of movement in the form-fitting garb of my mother's elf relations than in the silly frilled gowns and flouncy loose robes of my father's human folk. Being half-elven had its rewards.
Unsheathing my knife, I began to carve a large circle in the turf around Nimeria and me. It would be the boundary of my ward. If I remembered the spell and cast it correctly, wights and creatures from the otherworld would be unable to cross. I uttered a prayer to Qura, my mother's god. I hoped it worked. It had better work, or I would forever haunt in the world of the undead.
For a while I concentrated on my labor, intently making the most impenetrable barrier possible. The sun had shifted well to the west before I stopped my toil. This was a casting I'd had little use for and therefore, little experience with. It took way too much time and effort on my part; I wasn't completely sure of its success. The sun dipped lower and began to cast its radiant hues. The ward, though flawed, would have to do.
Straightening, I glanced back toward Cassay, the port town home of the Gilded Lily. Nothing moved in the distance, no puffs of dust or clouds of startled birds. All was well. Not that I expected to see Ursun galloping frantically toward me with a battle ax in one hand and a mace in the other. If memory served me right, he was said to favor a war hammer instead of the mace.
