Author's Note:
If you've noticed, my posting on Literotica has become far more sporadic. As a result of my own time issues due to my work, I'm trying something new: shorter chapters. Instead of writing 20k-25k word chapters, I will be splitting these up into more managable chunks, with the intent of publishing a chapter every week and a half to two weeks instead of once a month.
Please Let me know in the comments section which you would prefer: longer chapters or shorter publishing time. You guys are who I'm posting this for :)
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Roland stood, trapped in the long moment between recognition and response. His oldest friend stood before him: a woman of meagre birth, but of mighty value. As her eyes fell upon his stunned expression, the red-maned man felt a chill go up his spine. Triss' harsh, raspy tone cut through the din of the crowd like a jagged knife through butter.
"Roland! Gods, what a sight!" The old shieldmaiden exclaimed, rushing forward through the crowd, brushing aside parishioners as she wrapped him tight into a bear hug. He felt the breath escape from his lungs as the mighty woman lifted his feet clear off the ground. She swung him about as though he were a lesser man, despite the difference in height. His lingering injuries twinged as she gripped him; she had half the strength of a Succubus.
At last Roland could stand it no more. "Grh- unhand me, woman!" He said, pulling at her arms as they clung fast to his waist. Triss laughed aloud and dropped him immediately, dumping Roland with unceremonious grace to the ground. He landed hard on his rear.
"That's no way to speak to speak to yer superior!" She blared, taking on the commanding tone of voice she'd used so often when they had served together. Her foot stomped, and Roland jerked in place, his old instincts telling him to leap to attention. He ignored it, grumbling as he instead picked himself up off the ground. The two exchanged a long moment of silence as they appraised one another.
Triss was older than he, by the better part of a decade at least. Her green eyes sparkled with as much verdant energy as ever, though the right was clouded slightly, half-blind since childhood. Her trim, mousy hair was pulled back, pleated in three places upon her scalp to minimize interference. Her face was as Roland remembered it: weathered, wind-blown and care worn - but comely, in the same way the serrated edge of a knife blade could be considered artful. The only thing that marred her visage was that old patchwork scar, like a bloodied river's numerous tributaries running from her chin up to her cheek.
Triss judged him in turn. Stretched across her windswept face was that half-angled grin of hers. She wore it like a diagonal knife-cut as her eyes slid across the length and breadth of him. Her leather armor creaked as she shifted in place, swatting him hard on the shoulder.
"You look good, Roland!" Triss paused in her revelry, considering the thought. Her hand reached out and brazenly took his chin in hand. She inspected him more closely, turning her head to one side, so her good eye could take the full of him in her unblinking vision.
"...Too good. What happened to ya?"
Roland batted away her hand. "What nonsense are you warbling, woman? Would you rather I look dead?"
Her eyes twinkled with ridicule. "I'd rather ya look like you." She poked his cheek. "...Where'd yer scar go?"
Roland bristled. "Which scar?"
"'Which scar,' he says!" Triss let out a huff, "The next words outta yer mouth better be 'up my arse,' or that's where yer empty head is goin'!"
"Step back, lass." Roland countered, "I'd hate to hit a woman, even one as churlish and oddly-shaped as you."
"Ha! Well, at least yer temperament is as sour and shriveled as ever." Triss' grin remained, but he saw the subtle shift in her eyes. "What're ya doin' here, boy?"
"I stopped being a boy after the first arrows hit the shieldwall at Kirkheim." Roland said, attempting an affectation of joviality. Triss saw through him immediately.
"Pipe down and answer me honestly now, Roland." Her eyes moved back and forth across the sea of white and grey-robed folk, her left hand drifting slowly to her sword belt. "These aren't your kind of vagrants."
"I found Gosvin." He replied, and she spat at his feet.
"I'm done jesting with you." Triss said. "Tell me honestly, lest I begin to suspect foul play." Her thick eyebrow quirked, "Ya fall in with another one of them soul-suckers? Is that what this is?"
Roland's heart leapt into his throat. "You shut your fucking mouth." He snapped. "You swore to me, Triss."
Triss' face twisted into an uncomfortable frown. She shifted back and forth upon her feet, glancing away from him. "Aye, I did. And I wouldn't have asked, were the circumstances anything but what they are."
"No." He said flatly. "We're here by chance. My party and I got caught up in the battle the night the Imps arrived." Roland nodded his shaggy mane in the direction of Carl, sitting half-slumped against his horse. Kelsea was at his side, her hands touching him, trying gently to gain his attention. He only barely lifted his head at the sound of her voice. "That man ya rescued was part of our group."
"Carl, was it?" Triss said. "He's been driftin' in and outta consciousness for the last day or so. Half-thought that the beast had eaten him when she dropped him off onto the ground like a sack of potatoes."
"Twas a... Harpy, no?" Roland asked with feigned concern. "We saw her snatch him up, right in the middle of the battle. What's one of them doin' so far south of the Border Forts?"
"Ask her yerself." Triss grunted, "We drove off the beastie before she could feast on his tender bits. She's been following us at a distance for two days now, circling us like a damn vulture."
Sly bird. Roland thought, Found Carl the help he needed, and then stuck around to make sure he'd be taken care of.
"Seems you've been busy, boy." Triss said, glancing about. Her easy smile had returned. "Half the town's a charred wreck, corpses still littering the streets... I s'pose I shouldn't have expected anything less of ya."
"Should I have laid out some gilded linens for the Hellstriders to march upon?" Roland retorted, "We fought off a demon incursion. The least this town could do is look the part."
"Fair enough," She said, shrugging. "I was just hoping ya would have learned a thing or two in the time you've been gone."
"Since when did I take to your version of 'wisdom' anyway, Triss?" The two shared a laugh. The smirk died upon his lips however as Kelsea approached, making a beeline for them the moment she spotted the unfolding discussion.
"...Roland?" She said, sliding past the other parishioners as they dispersed. The secret Succubus glanced over in Triss' direction, her eyes flicking from Roland and back to her, reading something in the way they carried themselves. He saw the slightest twinge at the corner of Kelsea's lips.
"Hey." He said, biding his tone and picking his words. "What news? Is Carl...?"
"Carl has been grievously injured, but it's not a fatal wound." She said, "Almyra will have to take a look at him immediately."
"Captain Fabian said he had patched him up as best as they could. But the Harpy had already done most of the..." Kelsea trailed off. She abruptly turned to take the measure of Roland's companion. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"
The seasoned mercenary let out a hefty harrumph. "A soldier who just got through a week of hard riding up a hostile mountain pass to save yer sorry asses, cultist." Triss replied in a mocking tone. "And who are you, girl?"
"My name is Kelsea." She replied. Her lips tightened and her brow pulled down. It was minute, but Roland could see the rising ire in Kelsea's eyes. "...Can Roland and I help you with something?"
Triss whistled in a low tone. " 'Roland and I,' is it?" She cast a sly grin in his direction. "Roland, you dog."
Roland ignored her, "Kelsea, this is Beatrice. She's an old friend, from back when I sold my sword."
"Triss, this is Kelsea, my..." An old lie arose from the depths of his mind. "My daughter." Triss' eyebrow quirked.
"By the light of Gosvin!" Kelsea exclaimed, "m-my sincerest apologies, Miss Beatrice." She said, sliding into the role of the obedient child. Kelsea lowered her head and extended a hand. "Father never told me about you. I had just assumed-"
"-That I was just an itinerant mercenary, here to rough up yer dear Da?" Triss chuckled, shoving Roland's shoulder hard enough to make him backpedal in the snow. She took Kelsea's hand in a firm grip and roughly shook it up and down. "Nah, nothin' so grand as all that, girly. And call me Triss: I'd expect yer sweet sire didn't talk much about me to yer mother either, eh?"
Kelsea's face betrayed no expression. "...And why is that?"
"I'll leave it to yer father to tell the tale, should he wish to." Triss said, winking with her bad eye.
"By Gosvin's flaming beard, would you button your damn lip, Triss?" Roland growled. "This is my daughter, not some streetwalking harlot!" Kelsea's cheek twitched. "Spread yer seedy rumors elsewhere. Better yet: there's a tavern on the north side o' town. You can find a warm meal and an empty bed; mayhaps there's enough ale in there that ya can drink yerself to death as well, yeah?"
Roland turned to Kelsea, keeping his back to Triss. "I know yer worried about Carl." He said, placing a hand atop her head. "But ya gotta trust me. yeah?" He stared hard into her blue eyes. "He's going to be all right: if you're that worried, just ask the Priestess what you can do to help, arright?" His grip tightened on her, "I need a minute alone with Triss."
Kelsea nodded. "Of course, Father... And then you'll come check on him with me?"
"Aye, I'll be there soon." He said, "Let me know if anything happens, okay? He's gonna make it through this. Just you watch."
"Thank you... Father." Kelsea stepped forward, at first Roland didn't understand, until she wrapped him tight in a chaste hug. He was caught off guard, his hands extending up instinctively to pull her closer to him. Recognizing the error mid-move, Roland jerked down and held her in a more familial fashion. Kelsea intonated a sob, leaning her forehead head against Roland's neck.
Roland sighed, smelling the sweet scent of Kelsea's hair in his nose. "Aye, I'm worried too, girl." He patted her back in short, slow motions. "Stay strong, yeah?"
