The Tattooed Woman Pt 31

THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 31

I hope folks are enjoying the story so far. Please leave comments, as criticism both positive and constructive is inherently useful. Plus, I like reading comments, so that's cool.

The Tattooed Woman Volume 3 - Chapter 1: Between Dragon and Wrath. (or "Let there be bacon")

Cassie woke with a scream! The dream had been one of thunder and bloodshed, filled with the clamour of battle and the terrible roaring of monsters. The howling of the wind and the eerie lament of the bean-síghe echoed in the night and all about her were the bodies of her friends, lying slain amidst a host of fallen foes. The night sky was rent by flashing thunderbolts and the very ground shook as if titans made war.

Panting and sweating she had awoken in her bed, trembling uncontrollably even though she was wrapped in warm blankets. Outside was the rumble of the storm and the patter of rain, and she saw her window had blown open, admitting a chill dreich draft. She gave a light shiver and rose to pull it closed only for a sudden flurry of black wings and a wild cawing to make her shriek in fright.

Clutching at her chest she eyed the bird, "Sweet merciful Gods! You almost gave me a fucking heart-attack you feathery bastard!"

The crow appeared annoyingly unmoved by her outburst.

She blew out a breath of exasperation and shook her head as she tried to steady the frantic pounding of her heart. Chuckling at herself she sighed, "Och, I suppose you're just looking for shelter from the rain like any other sensible soul, give me a minute to find my shawl and I'll see if I can fetch you a few scraps from the kitchen."

"That would be uncommonly kind of you dearie."

With another startled scream she whirled.

The crone eyed her from where she was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes twinkling, and lips curled in an enigmatic smile.

"Fuuck! Is this "Terrify Cassie Night?"

The old woman cackled, "Careful what you wish for girl, though you do look a tad unsettled," her smile broadened, "had ye a bad dream perchance?"

"Huh? Oh, aye! 'Twas awful."

The old woman sniffed and glanced at the witchlamp absently. It ignited and its low illumination cast flickering shadows upon the walls.

She peered back at Cassie, "Who better to tell of your fears than an old crone like me? Mayhap sharing the tale might make ye feel a wee bit better. After all," her dark eyes glittered as they reflected the eldritch witchfire from the lantern, "some might even say that dreams are my...

speciality."

Still trembling in remembered fear Cassie stammered slightly as she described her nightmare. the old woman pulled her tattered black shawl about her and stared into the shadows as she listened intently.

At the end of the tale, she nodded slowly and scratched the end of her nose as she mused thoughtfully, "This evil dream fears you then, does it? Do you think this a dire vision mayhap? If it is thus, then it does not bode well for those you love I would say."

Cassie whimpered, "Please say it's not so! Can you not... help them?"

The crone sat still as stone for a moment until her reverie was interrupted by the cawing of the crow that still perched on the windowsill eyeing them all as only a crow can.

She looked up at the bird and grinned, "Oh hush."

Turning to the young woman she sniffed, "What help do you think it is that I could offer them, Cassie?"

"B-but you're the M-Morrigan!"

The woman chuckled, "Am I?"

Cassie dropped to her knees to clutch the womans tattered dress and begged, "Please! I know you could help them."

The old woman reached out a gnarled hand and gently stroked the girl's hair before drawing a breath, "Get up lass, 'tis not your place to be on your knees to the likes of me. Besides, there is nothing I can do."

"Nothing?"

The woman cackled and pointed down at the bed, "Of course not girl! What could I possibly do? After all, I'm nothing more than a dream..."

Looking down Cassie frowned in utter confusion as she saw herself still lying on the bed with Ellén's arms wrapped around her.

"Tis an attractive couple you both make I must say," the Crone gently flicked a blonde hair from the woman's face and grinned mischievously, "though I'm uncertain how your sister will react when she finds you've been cavorting with a Dragon, even as pretty a one as this, for she's not overfond of the breed you know."

She looked back at Cassie and pursed her lips, "No, your friends are surely in some far off wild and remote place, certainly beyond easy reach and too distant for any help to find them anyway. In truth I doubt anyone could get to them in time," she glanced down at the two women lying in each other's arms and shrugged, "well, not unless they could fly..."

The bird cawed loudly, and Cassie awoke with a start. The room was dark, and other than the patter of rain against the window and the soft breathing of the woman beside her all was still and quiet.

Throwing back the covers she grabbed her shawl, "Ellén! Wake up!"

...

Garrow was more than just a little perplexed. She looked about the room she had been led to and scratched her head in some slight confusion for her thoughts were unsettled. It wasn't a particularly large chamber, and the window was far too small for anyone her size to squeeze through. It had been shuttered against the weather, but she could open it and she now stood before the aperture, luxuriating in the fresh breeze and the feel of the cold rain on her skin. There was a modest fireplace where witchflames burned and warmed the room.

She chuckled knowing that it had been set in the knowledge that she had not the magical talent to either shift the ethereal flames, or even use them to set anything ablaze. There were a few pieces of simple furniture that looked sturdy and well made, and also an oversized bed with a good sturdy frame that for once would actually fit her long limbs. She had even found a few simple garments apparently laid out for her, though she had taken one look at the nightshirt and burst out laughing.

The door to the chamber was locked however and she could hear the guard outside sometimes moving about or murmuring a few words to passing servants, so she knew the chamber was in truth a cell. She sniffed,

"Mind you, it was at least a warm and comfortable cell for all that."

She was clean, and she had been fed, oh Gods how she had been fed! She hadn't tasted real meat in so many moons she had almost forgotten the like, and those chops had been so fine she had almost promised to do anything that damnable woman had wanted right there and then. She had considered trying to filch one for later, but the wench was obviously a shrewd creature and spied her intent.

She hadn't even laughed, just shook her head with a sad smile, as if recalling some distant memory and pushed the platter towards her saying, "I know what it's like to go hungry Garrow, take them if you want, or just eat your fill. I'd not see anyone starve."

She had nodded to the guards and rose, "I need must be off about my duties now but take your time. When you're done these lads will show you to your room, and hopefully I'll see you at breakfast."

The cook had seemed bizarrely pleased when she devoured the remaining chops there and then, and chuckled when she started eying up what was left of the honey-tart before sliding another slice in her direction. One of the guards had shaken his head in wry amusement as she polished it off, and the cook had grinned merrily, "Least the wench has a healthy appetite. I grows awful tired sometimes of making delicacies and titbits for them upstairs. Bloody Dark Elves eat like mice I tell ye. It can be right vexing to put effort into my craft only to see half of it left untouched upon the platter."

The guard muttered with a grin, "I think in this case we're lucky she didn't eat the plate as well."

Garrow eyed the man, but he just smiled and poured her another mug of ale, "If you've had enough, you can take that with ye to your room."

Her brows had furrowed suspiciously, "What must I do for it?"

The man shook his head, "Naught, 'tis only a beer," he shrugged with a wry smile, "mayhap if this works out for ye I'll let you buy me one in return someday."

Not knowing what way to respond to such an offer she had only grunted at the man and let him lead her to this room where she now stood.

She had kept her head down as they walked, but still she had eyed the fellow carefully, watching how he carried himself, how he wore his blade and cudgel. Twas clear from his martial demeanour the man was no simple ruffian, his gear looked to be good quality, well cared for, and she noted, well used, but likely in practice and not dire need. For the most part the other guards she had seen were of a similarity. Wary they were, watchful, and clearly well trained in the skills of violence.

She sniffed with a hidden grin,

"Well trained for sure, but still household footmen for all that, tough, but without the hardened bloodlust of a Gladiator."

Now she sat crosslegged on her bed sipping her ale and pondering.

"It's that bloody woman, 'twas damnably vexing how easily she's gotten under my skin. Obviously, a tricksy bitch, but still..."

Garrow was used to the way things were meant to be. Those who wanted something from her gave her a choice, obey, or face punishment, usually starving, a beating, or mayhap the whip. But then this wench appears and it's different, no punishments, just two choices, not between good and bad, but between good and better.

She had thought her soft as mush to start with but then chuckled to herself,

"It might appear soft, but it was fucking effective. I did as I was bid as meekly as a wee mouse. Even let the cow brush and play with my fucking hair like I was a damnable pup."

And then there was the other thing: Orcish folk were born hunters and their senses were keener than most folk knew or gave credit to. She had listened to the woman's heartbeat as she spoke, had watched the pupils of her eyes, smelled the sweat on her body. She had warily gauged how she carried herself, watching her as a hunter watches their prey, waiting for the sign that she was ready to bolt, hide, or fight. She'd even made a casually swift movement to startle the wench so she could measure how her heart had beat just a little faster when surprised.

Such senses could be fooled by a trained deceiver for sure, but Orcish folk were far harder to lie to than most folks knew,

"Mind you, that last bitch, the one you strangled had also told the truth, when she said it that is. Twas her new fucking lover that doubtless changed her mind, the treacherous prick,"

she sniffed dismissively,

"just as well you killed them both then I suppose."

This human woman though, she might be as daft as a brush, but Garrow was sure she had actually meant what she said.

It was all just a bit strange.

She listened to the guard outside, his heartbeat was slow and steady, his breathing deep and regular and she shook her head,

"Idiot's almost asleep."

He had removed the manacles from her wrists when they got to the room, and for a brief moment she thought about killing him and taking up his sword, but... if she did that, she'd miss breakfast.

She grinned,

"And, she said there would be bacon after all..."

...

From the base of the towering cromlech, with the flames of the great portal still burning about her like some incendiary eldritch circle, Dullahan looked on in utter disgust at the Dark Elven Company withdrawing in good order from the haunt-shrouded battleground below her. Drawing a breath, she spat a vile curse and turned on the Witch with a furious snarl, "You clumsy fucking fool! You were too quick to spring the trap! They were to be fully in the vale, easily surrounded and cut off from aid. They would have been completely at our mercy, but your premature ineptitude has left them an avenue of escape!"

She stalked towards the Trollwife, blade in hand, face twisted in anger, eyes blazing, and utterly unconcerned by the creature's towering size and strength. Behind her two of her most vicious Firbolg hunters, along with the great black hounds that accompanied them, stirred. And as if scenting prey they stalked cunningly to each side, flanking the Troll, where they lurked hungrily, poised and ready to strike.

The Witch eyed the deadly tableaux and holding up a staying hand she gave the Drow a half bow of acknowledgement even as she spoke in the vile hissing tongue of her kind, "You have the right of it Packmaster, but I claim necessity, for things are not entirely as they seem."

Dullahan paused, crimson eyes still burning. Her grip flexed around the hilt of the falcata she wielded as she demanded, "How so?"

The Troll sniffed and turning her gaze she pointed a long, bony finger back towards the retreating Dark Elves, "There is something down there. A fel creature of some kind. If I had allowed it to draw closer its gaze would have doubtless pierced my hiding place."

"You told me, assured me as I recall, that with your stolen power you would fold the Mist about you to conceal yourself in the Spirit Realm, rendering it impossible to detect your presence. How then could you be discovered?"

The Troll shifted and eyed the Drow cannily as she chose her words with care, "It was a spirit of sorts, I think, possibly even a

Demon

, bound into human form. They say such a thing can peer into the Twilight World. Had it called upon its kin my wards may well have been overwhelmed and they would have usurped the very portal I was to conjure on your behalf to gain entry to this realm of the living."

She cackled, "I assure you, Drow, such a thing is to be avoided."

Dullahan turned her head to peer back down towards the scene in the vale and spat incredulously, "A fucking Demon?! How?"

"I am uncertain. But I sensed a Human Warlock among their number, mayhap he has entered a pact with the entity, or even its Master, perhaps making some offering in exchange for its service?"

The Drow snorted, "He's a fucking fool if he has! Pandering to such a creature is nothing more than a trap," she paused a moment, and a devious smile began to curl her lips, "tell me Witch, if he were to be slain, how would such a creature respond?"

The Trollwife shrugged her gnarled shoulders and made a noncommittal sound, "T'is entirely dependent upon the terms of whatever pact or bargain has been made. Likely the beast would depart, dragging the body and spirit of its summoner along with it back through the Mist to the Lands of the Dead. But there is also a not insignificant possibility, should the Wizard have been somehow lax with his art, that the thing would be wholly freed from its binding and thus run amok."

With a thoughtful growl the Packmaster pondered, "Hmm, then the solution is obvious, we needs must slay this Wizard and the problem is likely not only to solve itself, but to do so to our advantage," she turned a sneering gaze upon the witch, "If the appearance of this creature alone was the source of your trepidation then I need must wonder if you have courage enough to continue to be of service to me, Troll."

The gnarled creature hissed, and its clawed hands flexed, "Have a care, Drow, continue to provoke me and I suspect that you and I shall have a serious

disagreement

one day."

Dullahan snorted in contempt at the veiled threat and stepped close to the monster, her eyes burning, her voice cold, "Continue to disappoint me, Hag, and that day may come far sooner than you think."

Turning to the nearest Firbolg, she snarled, "Fetch me Sura."

Before the creature could move a voice spoke from the darkness, "I am here Packmaster."

A Drow emerged from the shadows as if birthed by them. It moved with the lithe catlike grace of her kind and slid silently forward before dropping elegantly to one knee before her Mistress. Her red eyes and complete attention seemed to be fixed on the woman before her, but Dullahan knew better, and doubted that so much as the stirring of a blade of grass by the slightest of breezes would have escaped her notice. When the creature spoke, its voice might have sounded coldly indifferent to many, but the Packmaster detected a note of both hunger and intense irritation in her tone, "How may I serve?"

"Where have you been?"

"Hunting."

Dullahan paused and sniffed thoughtfully as she reached forward to stroke the kneeling woman's short silver hair, "You seem vexed my sweet, was the hunt not to your liking?"

Sura bared her teeth at the words but averted her gaze to conceal a flash of aggravation, "This prey is artful, and canny, but I shall yet run it to ground."

Looking down at her assassin Dullahan noted the line of crimson beading her cheek, "And it has fangs it seems?"

"We exchanged barbs, but neither of us had the last word."

The Packmaster nodded and gently traced the slight cut on the womans face before delicately licking the blood from her fingertips, "Indeed, however I have a task for thee in the meantime."

Sura glanced up, "Mistress?"

Dullahan casually indicated the Hag, "My witch voices concern that an entity, mayhap some summoned creature, lurks in the camp of our enemy. Its potency causes her some misgivings it seems, but should some untoward fatality befall the conjurer who brought it into this world then it might be set free to wreak havoc upon them. Do you see where I lead with this tale?"

"You wish me to slay this arrogant Warlock?"

"Precisely! I shall go down and offer to treat with them, mayhap in doing so I can draw him out. But should they decline to offer the man up for convenient slaughter you must get close enough to their camp for a shot. Can you do this thing, my sweet?"

Sura considered, "It will be difficult, but not impossible, especially if my approach can be masked by the confusion of an assault upon their position?"

"Very well, I shall see to providing a suitable distraction. Make your preparations."

"I serve the Pack, but... what of my hunt?"

Dullahan smiled and reached down to caress the woman's cheek, "Fear not sweet Sura, when this business is done you and I shall hunt this quarry together, and mayhap we can take time to engage in other, more pleasant...

pursuits.

Would this not please you?"

Sura leaned her head against the woman's hand with a sigh, "Very much so, but," she tilted her head to look up at her Mistress, "if I leave off harrying this quarry as you command, it will be free to make its own mischief."

Dullahan smiled, "Have no fear little one, when we catch it, we will take the time to teach it the true nature of

mischief

."

...

Ashunara looked out at the feral horde that was still manoeuvring to surround her position and grinned. In the interests of speed, she had left most of her supplies back with the rearguard when she advanced, and that decision had allowed her lightly encumbered Company to fall swiftly back in good order to the ruined tower.

Clearly something had gone amiss, for the ambush had been sprung too soon, giving her a chance, albeit a narrow one, to extricate herself from the jaws of the trap before they fully closed.

Even so the pursuit had been a damnably close one. The black hounds of her foes had raced ahead of their handlers, baying madly as they gave chase, nipping at her very heels as they sought to bring her Company to bay before they reached the mayhap uncertain protection of the derelict watchtower.

But at three hundred and fifty yards out from the ruin the first of the Orcish arrows had started falling on the pursuers.

Orcs are powerful creatures, and their warbows were built to suit. The lightest had a pull of over two hundred pounds, the arrows were more than a yard long and nearly a half-inch in diameter, fletched with black feathers and tipped with deadly hardened steel heads.