The Tattooed Woman Pt 01

THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 1, Amended (again)

Folks, when I first submitted my story I asked critics for their opinions.

It was widely agreed that chapters 1-3 were the weakest by far and it was always my intention to rewrite or significantly amend those chapters.

Here is the first (actually I think it's now about the sixth) effort to rewrite Chapter 1.

Please comment and let me know what you think. It's the only way to learn.

Anyway; here goes:

THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 1: A Night in the Pub

Between the eldritch lands of the Fae Realm and the Human Kingdoms were the wild and unruly Borderlands; remote and lonely tracts of forest and glen, cold mountains and dark lochs. They were inhabited by poor folk for the most part, driven to such untamed places often by desperate need or restless spirit, and prayed upon by bandits and monsters alike.

Old roads, most long forgotten, traversed this bleak landscape, and small settlements were sometimes connected to isolated crofts only by the rough dirt tracks that wound round hill or along the side of drystane dykes. Here and there, those tracks passed a few fields of rough barley, or a handful of hardy cattle and sheep marking the lonely farms worked by rugged folks used to toil and hardship. Sometimes though, those same tracks led to darker places; like ancient battlefields or to ghostly hamlets, long since abandoned and emptied of their inhabitants, who had either succumbed to harsh winters or been carried off by slavers or fel beasts.

Robber Barons had oft staked claims to some of these lands and their keeps and brochs could be seen atop craggy rises or commanding hillock; though more than a few of these fortifications were now naught but moldering and haunted ruin. Even so, the rumours of ancient treasures hidden in old barrows, sometimes lured unwary adventurers and treasure hunters alike to plunder such places. Often with woeful consequences for all around, should the greedy fools awaken some long slumbering wight with their stumbling clumsiness.

Creatures from the Fae at times travelled the hidden tracks. Sometimes their purpose was for good, but occasionally they went abroad with ill or malicious intent. But, regardless of purpose, they more often than not remained concealed if they could, for Humans were a superstitious lot, and often not kindly to their ilk

The watchtowers built to guard the roads had, for the most part, long since fallen derelict. Brigands, both human and Fae, now prowled the borderlands at will, hunting and sometimes killing to satisfy their purposes and desires, and those few travellers that went abroad did so warily, while those that dwelled in those lonely lands seldom stirred far from hearth and home during the hours of darkness.

Along the old imperial road, there could be found the small settlement of Deargforge. It was little more than a hamlet, built in the lee of one of the old brochs. It consisted of a small kirk, a humble inn and a blacksmith's forge. But it was surrounded by a wooden palisade and offered shelter and the hope of a warm fire and warm food on a cold night. Travellers, mostly tinkers and the like, would hurry there if they could, rather than risk the open road; while a few of the local crofters could sometimes be found there of an evening, drinking the loamy black beer the innkeeper brewed.

The inn was a lonely light upon the dark roads, it was a friendly hearth, and a place of safety.

But not tonight.

***

Torches had been set at intervals along the top of the stockade, but they had burned low, and their flickering light provided poor illumination at best. A quietly muttered cantrip was all that it took to silently extinguish the one nearest the gate and the ever-keen shadows were quick to encroach.

From among those shadows, Azure looked down. Her bright inhuman eyes gleamed in the moonlight having little trouble in piercing such a petty gloom, and she shook her head in disgust.

The two elderly human guards lay muttering and inebriated beneath her hiding place. Neither had mail, instead wearing the studded leather armour that some louts favoured but was of little use in a hard fight. Their spears looked serviceable at least, but given they'd leaned the things against the wall, they'd be lucky to reach them before their throats were cut. One had a crossbow near to hand, but he only had a handful of bolts, and it would take him time to load the thing. Besides, she doubted the drunken sot could hit a cow's arse with a stick given his intoxicated state.

An emptied jug of spirits was lying abandoned on its side between them. It had been a cold evening; frost glittered on the ground, and doubtless, the men had sought comfort in the strong drink. The dark elf shook her head,

"Fools! Your weakness will cost you this night."

Across the stockade, she could see the third sentry walking a lonely patrol. He looked a younger man, and he held his spear awkwardly. Likely some farmers lad, she thought, too conscientious to participate in drinking games with his older peers; a pity...

Turning her eyes upwards, she saw that the gathering clouds were beginning to obscure the bright moon and she grinned. Jumping silently off her perch, she slipped back to the nearby woods, moving so quietly that none of the wild creatures that nested or prowled there so much as noticed her passing.

Under the trees, dark figures rose from concealment at her approach

"Well?" her Captain asked.

"Two drunk guards by the gate, poorly equipped and both half-asleep from the looks of them. A third walks the walls; a younger lad, diligent enough, but he looks inexperienced. The lights still burn in the inn, and I heard sounds of much carousing earlier. They should be well worse for wear by now I would think," she smiled a wolf's smile, "given such ineptitude we can likely take this settlement before they even know we're upon them."

Ashunara Varro, sellsword, Captain of her own Free Company, and younger sister of the Matriarch of House Varro nodded, "Any thoughts on what bounty lies within?"

"They look so poor I doubt most have a pot to piss in. We'll not find gold, methinks. But slaves? Oh, yes, we should get a goodly haul of able-bodied specimens. The inn looks well kept at least, so I'll warrant we'll find a decent cook amongst them, and I saw a smithy and forge at the back, so mayhap there will a skilled metalworker among their number."

The Captain cast a wary eye at the cloud covering the moon and sighed, "A filthy business, this."

Her subordinate, a grizzled veteran of many a campaign nodded, but gave her a shrug, "True enough, Captain, they raid us, we raid them, 'tis ever the way of things. But we're sellswords and it's what we get paid for, no?"

"Is it, Nyx? I mislike picking on hapless villagers and the like, and slaving is hardly to my taste. I'd rather be hunting their raiding parties and making them pay the blood-price for intruding upon our lands, but needs must I suppose."

"As ye say, Captain, needs must, and is our business this day not the garnering of fresh workers. Is that not what the contract specifies?"

Ashunara spat, "Aye, and damn me for taking it. But we need the coin, and if I start rejecting such jobs, we risk garnering a reputation for being soft or squeamish, and that would not serve us well."

Nyx grinned, "Only a bloody fool would make that mistake, but then again there's no shortage of fools to be sure."

The dark elf eyed the settlement. She had chosen the place because it had been frequented in the past by companies intent on raiding the twilight realm, but there was no sign of such brigands this day. Still, she was here now, and they had a task to perform.

"So be it. If we're to do this, let's do it right. I'd prefer we take the place quickly and without casualty," she grinned, "on either side if possible. So, watch your blades, and watch out for the warrior next to you."

Tallis-Mora, Ash's niece and the youngest of the company, was impatient, "Azure, you spied the place out, will they make a credible fight of it do you think?"

Lashelle elbowed her in the ribs with a grin, "Patience, lass. You'll get your share of glory soon enough no doubt, and remember, every one of them we kill means less coin in your purse come payday."

To Ash, the decision had already made itself, "Azure, if you'd be so kind, get yourself back over there and deal with this patrolling sentry," she paused, "a younger lad you said?"

"Aye, Captain, barely a whisker on his chin, should be easy enough."

"Then do me a favour and don't just cut his throat this time."

The scout eyed her, "'Tis the quicker and quieter way, Captain, and definitely the more certain."

"I know, and I'll not tell you your business, but it seems a shame," she sniffed, "after all, a healthy young lad like that could fetch a fair enough price could he not?"

Azure pursed her lips as she considered the Captain's words. Smiling, she deftly slid her shortsword back into its scabbard and bent to lift a sturdy cudgel, smacking it experimentally against her palm and nodding, "As ye will."

"Thank you, lass."

As the scout vanished back into the gloom, Ashunara turned to her companions, "Varoona, you and Lashelle scale the wall and deal with the gate sentries. Once they've been knocked senseless, bind and gag them, and then open the way for us."

Varoona grinned and bowed, "Your wish is my command, Captain."

Neither she nor Lashelle could ever hope to emulate the uncanny silence with which Azure moved, but, in the manner of all Dökkálfar they were stealthy enough, and no human sentry was likely to hear a thing till they were upon them. With wicked smiles, they slipped soundlessly off, vanishing into the dark, and soon enough, the gates began to swing open.

Furtive and silent as any fox, Ashunara gestured silently and led the remaining black-caped dark elves of her Company off at a run.

After leaving Elsadore to guard the gates and stop any prey escaping, they crept into the heart of the hamlet. Ash eyed the wreath of holly wrapped in the shape of a shieldknot and nailed over the lintel of the tavern door. Doubtless it was meant to ward off evil spirits and she raised a brow,

"Well, so much for that idea."

Within, she could hear sozzled, discordant singing from the inn, which looked recently fortified. They needed the villagers unharmed, if possible, as damaged slaves had little value and would slow the company down on their return journey. Motioning to Tallis, she gestured upward and watched as, nimble as a cat, the girl climbed to the roof and sprinkled sleeping powder down the chimney. The hearth was done cooking for the day, but there were still glowing embers enough to allow the crystals to do their stealthy work and after a few minutes the singing from within grew quiet.

With their artifice achieved, Ash gestured to Elsadore, who whistled for the orcish mercenaries waiting behind in the woods to join them. They were tall, rangy creatures, savage, untamed and wild, clad in fur and hides. Emerging soundlessly from the darkness, they slinked forward like prowling wolves, wary and crafty. Ashunara nodded at the scarred warrior who led them and pointed.

At the gesture, one of the brutes grunted at her and shattered the door's lock with a vigorous blow from the weighty stone-tipped cudgel he wielded, while others smashed open the shutters on the windows. Entry thus gained, the raiders rushed in.

Ashunara led the way, followed by Nyx. The old veteran was her best sword and well versed in mayhem. She slid forward and slammed a fist into the chin of one farmer who had raised his head sleepily from the tabletop. The poor oaf was catapulted from his stool and went crashing to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Whooping and shouting the orcs followed. Most of the patrons of the inn were drunk, or asleep, or both. Most, that is, but not all, and suddenly mayhem erupted.

***

The crash of the door being forced, and the exultant war cries of the orcs, dispelled any further elements of surprise, and apparently, the cook had not been drinking at all. Not only that, but she had kept a window ajar to allow a little air into her kitchen to dispel some of the heat from her grange, and so she was barely affected by the sleep-inducing vapours from the fireplace.

She leapt, bleary-eyed, to her feet and, seeing the raiders, clanged two pans together, screaming for the guests and villagers alike to rouse themselves. A moment later, an orc had to duck as a hurled pot almost brained him. He grinned, only to pause, as the woman lifted a meat cleaver and moved to interpose herself between him and the cowering shape of the scullery maid behind her.

A sellsword, a sorcerer, and the village blacksmith were slumped around the inn's main dining tables. Ash, at first, didn't realise that the man was a magus, but no sooner had he raised his hands to cast a spell than the nearest orcs howled in furious pain as their mane-like hair ignited.

Whistling, she pointed at him, and another the orcish mercenaries hurled his cudgel at the sorcerer as he was raising his hands to cast again. With a meaty sound of impact, it caught the fellow squarely in his midriff, knocking him backwards. He toppled, and, as he did, the miscast spell broke upon the ceiling, bringing shards of plaster down around their heads in a smouldering shower. With a happy grunt, the orc grinned at his commander and sought another foe to vanquish.

The blacksmith was a powerfully built man with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and thick arms corded with muscle. His dark beard was forked, his hair unkempt, and his hands were calloused by long hours working the forge. With a bellowing shout, he surged to his feet, only staggering slightly from the effects of the somnambulant fumes.

Two of the orcs saw his powerful frame and yowled their war cry in response. Here, at least, was a foe worthy of the name, and they charged. The smith had no weapon to hand, but he was clearly no stranger to brawling. Snatching up a heavy stool, he brought it round in a wicked arc. The first orc ducked under it, but the second was caught full in the face and was sent reeling as the stool was smashed to splinters by the impact.

The first orc clubbed him hard, but instead of reeling, the bear-like man only snarled and, seizing the creature, slammed a brutal headbutt into its face. The dazed warrior staggered, before being lifted overhead and then hurled bodily into a cluster of its brethren to send them all tumbling and crashing into tables, scattering mugs and tankards all about.

Surging forward, the smith hurled aside a table and swung. A dark elf nimbly slipped under the blow and chuckled as the man's fist instead took an orc full in the face, striking like a mallet and knocking the hapless creature into the fireplace in a shower of sparks.

The frantic howling and yelps of the orc mixed with the laughter of his kin as they enjoyed its plight, but even as they did, they piled on the blacksmith and buried him under a flurry of swinging cudgels.

Ash nodded in satisfaction at the sight and cast her eyes about the scene of bedlam they had provoked.

There were few things in life that Nyx loved more than matching blades with a worthy opponent, and even half-drunk and drugged, this one was proving wonderfully entertaining.

He was quick, she thought, then ducked wildly as his sword nearly took her head off,

"In fact he's bloody fast."

The man moved well, and Nyx knew that were he not so impaired, he could have given her a run for her money. But his blade was too long for such cramped spaces, being better suited to battle upon the open field and not for the mad hurly-burly of a barroom brawl. Still, he was no slouch at making do, she mused, as he neatly slammed the weighted pommel of the thing into the face of an orc that intruded a little too closely. All in all, it was a rare treat to cross swords with the man, but she knew, treat or no, it was only a matter of time.

The fighter struggled on bravely and made an impressive show of it for a brief while. Even unarmoured, his weaving blade caused Nyx, at sundry times, to give ground.

Laughing gleefully, she parried and spun, as she skilfully fending off his longer blade with her falchion even as she drew back. The swordsman pressed her, nicking her once on the shoulder and then again on the upper thigh. Then, she flashed him a hungry wolflike grin, and he felt the prick of a dagger touching the nape of his neck as Ashunara whispered in his ear, "You fought well, human, and 'twas bravely done. But now's time to yield. There is no need for anyone to die here. Put up your sword, and I swear, neither you nor your companions will be harmed."

Looking around, he could see only a sea of orcish and dark-elven blades surrounding him, and he knew little could be gained from further battle save his quick but ignominious death. Cursing, he slumped and lowered his sword with a vexed snarl of irritation.

Nyx moved forward and stepped close enough that he could smell her scent, a heady aroma not unlike cinnamon and incense, and she smiled as she gently eased the blade from his grasp. Moving gracefully, she leaned close till she grazed his cheek as she whispered, "For what it's worth, human, in a fair fight, I think you might just have had the best of me this day. 'Tis just a pity we do not fight fair. But still, 'twas well done for all that."

Ashunara nodded and moved away towards the smith, who was still struggling under the weight of four Orcs. She watched as he almost lifted one of the creatures clean off the floor by sheer brute strength alone before crouching gracefully just out of reach of the incensed human.

All elven kind possess an ethereal beauty no other race can match and with the eldritch allure of the darker Fae, Ash presented a beguiling sight, with her mail and leather armour enclosing her slim figure and her long silver hair bound away from her face in a fighting braid.

The hapless smith found himself looking into dark, unblinking eyes. Her hand was cool as she ran her fingers through his forked beard, and her voice almost musical, "Here now, there's no need for all this fighting. Will ye not submit?"

She gave him an enticing smile that seemed full of hidden promises as her hand traced its way down his throat, trailing sharp nails to fully ensnare his attention. "We're not so bad after all. You can still be a smith, you know, if the craft pleases you. And it's not forever. One day, you'll doubtless earn your freedom, and just think of the sights you'll see in the meantime."

The man snarled, "Never! It's well known you steal the hearts and souls of men and use them for your vile purposes before feasting on their flesh. But you'll not have mine."

The company of dark elves chuckled, and Ash grinned, "Is that old wives' tale still told? True enough, we are creatures that inhabit more than a few nightmares, but unlike dragons and trolls, we have no taste for the flesh of men. Be still man, no harm will come to you, and none of my sisters will take so much as an unwarranted nibble, I assure you. Now, will ye behave, or must you be beaten insensible and carried? I mislike bruises on my captives, but if needs must."

The man strained for a moment more before slumping in the grip of the orcs that held him, and eyeing their ready cudgels, he begrudgingly ceased his futile attempts to break free, "I yield, Milady."

The dark elf's laugh seemed full of mischief, "Oh, I'm no lady, I assure you, as can be well attested by those who know me. But nor am I a liar. Give your parole, you'll be treated fair."

The man was obviously prideful, and she could see it hurt him to submit, but he was no fool at least and after a moment, he looked away and nodded. With a smile, she ruffled his hair and stood.