The Tattooed Woman Pt 38

THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 38

All the best to those following this story. Apologies for the delay in submitting. I hope you guys are doing well, and Happy Samhain!

Once again, thanks to Avicia (and others) for the editing and input.

The Tattooed Woman Volume 3 - Chapter 38: That Which Follows

The whipping had been thorough and vicious. Hardly a surprise when the one wielding the lash was her older sibling, and Muriah knew from long years of enduring her petty torments that a more sadistic and venomous bitch there never was, and she despised her as only a sister could.

Struck from behind, the cruel blow had all but split her skull, leaving her lying in the mud sprawled and insensible, and when she had finally dragged herself through the nauseating black fog of pain and back to consciousness, she did not consider her situation to be much improved. Her wrists were tightly bound by strips of leather cord, and she had been hung like a side of pork from an iron hook embedded deep into the central post of a large tent. Her vision swam, a trickle of blood ran down from her scalp, and her legs felt like jelly.

With a groan of pain, she looked blearily about. Armoured Half-Orcish footmen in the livery of her House stood watch. The tent was illuminated by the witch flames emanating from a few engraved lucerna and heated by a brazier of glowing coals. The pennants of House Fel, with its hydra banner, hung from a standard, and here and there was the simple military furniture typical of a command tent upon campaign. But worst of all, by a far margin, were the smiling faces, grinning like a pair of demented jackals, of her two eldest sisters, Caspia and Brone, who regarded her with the venomous expressions she was oh so familiar with.

Brone was lounging upon a folding chair, supping from a goblet of wine and indolently plucking grapes from a decorative golden chalice held out to her by a kneeling slave. She was obviously well in her cups and smiling with spiteful glee, clearly delighted by events. Caspia, the eldest of her sisters, was quite different. She stood to one side, ignoring the wine and fruit and instead silently glaring at her with such a look of burning hatred in her eyes that Muriah shivered. She knew that look well and knew its portent.

Standing nearby was Valair, her cousin, and First Sword of House Fel. Unlike her sisters, who were dressed in finely tailored travel gowns cut to the latest of fashions Valair wore her mail, and as always, her sword never left her side. She was studying the gear stripped from Muriah and drawing the girl's purloined shortsword, ran her critical eye over it, "Not a bad blade," testing the balance and edge, she grunted, "seen a little wear methinks, but the nicks have been ground out by someone who knows the craft well enough."

Muriah remembered the long hours the grinning, half-inebriated, Elsadore had spent teaching her how to look after the thing but said nothing.

Her mail hauberk had already been rudely stripped from her, and as she groaned and vainly tried to steady her legs beneath her, her eldest sister moved closer with a broad and hungry smile upon her lips and a predatory feral look in her eye. Moving around the post, Caspia traced her fingers through Muriah's silver hair and across the back of her neck, causing the bound woman to shiver at her touch. Leaning close, her voice was a malevolent whisper, "Hello, sister, it's been far too long, and your kin have become jealous of your truancy," she cupped the girl's chin with her hand and wrenched her head so that Muriah was forced to meet her dark, unblinking gaze, "dost they not say that absence makes the heart grow fonder? Let us, you and I, test this theory, shall we."

There was a sibilant hiss of metal as Caspia drew her dagger, and Muriah felt the cold steel brush her cheek as it was inserted under the collar of her tunica. The razor-sharp edge slit effortlessly through the material from neck to hem, leaving it hanging open, and she shivered again as Caspia ran her fingers down her bare back, "Such lovely skin, Muriah, so soft, so fine, like silk. But then, you always were such a pretty little thing. I confess I'm almost envious."

Stepping away, she uncoiled the long whip that hung from her belt and drew back her arm, "I think such a beautiful canvass deserves my finest efforts, don't you? But don't worry, sweet Muriah, I won't let you down," with a grunt of effort her arm snapped forward, and the wicked crack of the lash merged with a gasping cry of pain, "after all, we're sisters."

***

Ashunara stared into the flames of the small campfire, and her brooding silence did not go unnoticed. More than a few of her swordsisters cast glances towards her, for they knew full well what it was that provoked such a dour mood. After a spell and heedless of their furtive looks, she silently drew her dark blade and, producing a whetstone from her pouch, she set about honing the thing with slow, deliberate strokes.

Nyx appeared at her side and tapped her on the shoulders with a silver flask, "Azure will find her, Ash. I don't care where she's been hid or who took her, even if it were Donn himself who stole her away and hid her in the deepest dungeon of Tech Duinn, that bitch'll find her."

The Captain merely grunted as she continued her work, staring into the flames, listening to the sound of steel sliding against stone, not needing her eyes for so familiar a chore, only pausing now and again to test the edge of the ancient leaf-shaped blade. She barely noticed when Tallis draped a blanket over her shoulders.

About them, the martial business of the camp carried on. Traps and snares had been set for the unwary while well-hidden sentries kept silent vigil over the surround. Quintus had set a warding that would give warning even if some shape-shifting trickster intruded under cover of a shroud or glamour, and Lashelle had cooked a fine warming broth to sustain them. It was, on the surface, at least, as ordinary an evening as any could be had upon the march, yet somehow, a strange quiet had fallen upon the Company. The moon rose, the night grew chill, and with the unwavering patience of Pelu, she waited.

Gorsini returned from his rounds and sat by the fire, gratefully accepting the bowl of hot soup Magda pressed into his hands. It was a frigid night, icy, cold and clear, and overhead, the moon shone full and bright as the merry dancers of the northern lights illuminated the heavens with their aethereal display.

The northern woman cast a blanket about them both as she leaned close. Pressing herself against him for shared warmth and comfort. The feel of her soft body against his was not the most unpleasant sensation, and he chuckled. In truth, there were definitely worse ways to spend an evening.

Even so, he felt a prickling running down the back of his neck that inexorably drew his attention away from his repast and across the camp. Lifting his head, he looked up from his bowl, momentarily meeting the gaze of Ashunara, with her Dark Elven eyes lit red by the flames from the campfire, and despite the soup, despite the warm arms of the woman by his side, he shivered.

For a long while, she sat there, seemingly lost in gloomy contemplation, silently oblivious to all around her. Then, drawing a breath, she sighed, "Report."

The night parted and like a stray wisp of orphaned shadow Azure drifted soundlessly from the darkness to crouch by her Captain's side, and if she was surprised or aggrieved that somehow the woman had discerned her stealthy approach, she wisely kept such thoughts to herself, "I found her, Captain."

"Aye?"

The scout looked up, "She is being held by House Fel in their encampment and under guard. I hear two of her sisters and their personal retinue joined the column during our absence, and they have seized her. But..." she broke off and drew a breath.

Ashunara slowly turned her head to regard the scout, and her voice was bleak, "Go on."

"Captain... there were sounds from the tent where she is being held. I fear they are hurting her."

With a resounding crash, there was an explosion of ale off to one side as the tankard in Adair's hand shattered in her grip. She stared at the sodden remains for a moment, and then, in a single abrupt movement, she uncoiled from the ground, surging to her feet. As was her wont her spear had been embedded into the earth close by her side and with a violent wrench, she tore it free. Casting a fulminating glare at Ashunara, she turned on her heel and stalked off into the dark without a word.

Nyx watched her go, "Ohhh shit."

Ashunara looked about and then barked a command, "Varoona, stop her!"

The young Dark Elf stared at her Captain in goggle-eyed shock for a moment, "Stop he... How?!"

"Varoona, if she reaches the column in such a fel temper there will be a bloody slaughter! And no matter how the dice fall, the blame for whatever happens will land squarely upon this Company. Adair favours you, if anyone can make her see sense 'tis you. Tell her... Tell her fuck honour, fuck our House and all that shite! Tell her she has

my

word! My given word that I'll not leave Muriah to this fate. Now go!"

"Yes, Captain!"

Snatching up her sword, Varoona dashed off into the night.

Nyx eyed Ashunara as around her, unbidden, the Dark Elves silently rose, setting aside their bowls and cups as they began buckling on sword and blade, hefting bow and spear. Nyx watched Elsadore reach down to wrench her hatchet from a log and tuck the thing into her belt, "Think she can do it?"

"Fuck knows. But she has as good a chance as any and better than most. Besides, if there is to be a war between Houses, I'd rather provoke it myself than have that madwoman start one by accident, that would just be embarrassing."

The veteran grinned, "Not entirely out of character, though," she sniffed, "alright then. What now."

Ashunara slammed her sword into its scabbard, "Now we go get her back."

"Aand if they object?"

She smiled. It wasn't a pleasant sight, "Then we gut whoever stands in our way and take her anyway, obviously."

"Splendid!"

Seeing that Azure had remained on her knees, the Captain crouched beside her, "What is it, girl?"

The scout turned her head up, and Ashunara could see the torment in those normally cold, oft-indifferent eyes, "Captain... I was sore tempted to make attempt at rescue, but if foiled it would doubtless have gone worse for her, and there would be no one to bring you word. I... I had to leave her there. I'm sorry. I failed her."

"Failed, is it? What were your orders?"

"Find her and bring word, but..."

Nyx spoke, and her voice held not the slightest trace of doubt or equivocation, "You did as commanded lass; there is no failure," she slapped the scout on the back, "now, we're off to fetch her back, and mayhap cut a few well-deserved throats in the process. Do you want to stay there on your knees wallowing in self-pity, or do you fancy maybe lending a hand?"

"Fuck you."

"Good lass!"

Ashunara grinned, "Get it right, Azure. 'Tis, "Fuck you, Leftenant."

Nyx groaned, "Och, now that was just uncalled for!"

***

Overhead, the moon shone bright in the night sky. The light breeze did what it could to usher the thin cloud from sight, and a silver shroud of hoary frost covered the battlefield. But even that sparkling veil was insufficient to hide the strewn corpses or cover the bloating and gore of such a gruesome carpet.

The entity regarded the distant walls. The attacks against the city had steadily increased in pace and savagery, all intent on drawing the enemy close, on increasing the weight of their response and the urgency of their need, on hurrying and harassing them with ever more needy demands for aid. The outer bastions were battered now and in places, reduced, or even broken, by the long days of siege and incessant bombardment, and the bridge spanning the river and leading to the main gate was clogged with torn cadavers more than five deep in places. Orcish arrows had rained down like wicked sleet on all who dared the approach while scorpion and ballistae exchanged fire across the moat. The barbed javelins punched through armour and shield with contemptuous ease, impaling their screaming victims like so many beetles in a collection. Meanwhile, the missiles from the ballistae and mangonels that arced high overhead would come crashing down. Sometimes, they were simple lumps of masonry heavy enough to turn anyone they hit to crimson gruel, but on occasion, it was an urn of alchemist's fire that plummeted from the heavens like a burning comet to shatter on the cold ground, spilling its incendiary contents all about in a violent explosion of brilliant flame and scorching brimstone. The casualties inflicted on the attackers were ruinous in number, and no toehold had yet been gained, but he had troops aplenty to draw upon, and he knew the enemy was also hurting, and likely their supplies of ammunition were being steadily depleted. Doubtless, the specter of hunger would also soon be leeching the will of those trapped in the city.

Still, if he had hoped to feed on the terror of those defending the walls, he was in for poor repast, for Orcs were hardy folk, not given to fear, and the harder he pressed them, the harder they fought. Even so, it was just a matter of time, and being immortal, he had that aplenty.

One thought niggled him, though. He knew that by now, through portal and spell, his enemy would have massed at least a few of their Battlemages in the city, but so far, none had made their presence felt. Puny as it was, Dark Elven sorcery was still not a thing to be taken lightly, and against such dread warlocks, even a Dragon would be wise to have a care. He had expected that by now conjured lightning, storm and flame would be scouring the attackers, yet, so far, other than a few puny thunderbolts, there had been naught. He had hoped the attacks and mounting pressure would prick them into revealing their presence and position so he could identify and thus destroy them, but so far, they had refused to be drawn. All in all, it was rather vexing, but no matter.

Beneath him, his mount snorted and tossed its head, aggravated by the distant sounds of battle, and its hot breath turned to steam in the cold air.

The entity quietened the creature with a gesture, "Be still, Typhonos; your time will yet come."

At the approach of Demeritus, the dark shape uttered a sigh, heavy with weary discontent, "Another failure, Worm?"

With a groan of discomfort and a creaking of leather and bone, Demeritus fell to one knee, "It was all deception and ambuscade, My Liege. They... they knew we would come for them."

"Hardly any great feat of deduction, Demeritus for the tactic was obvious. Still, the trap was artfully set, and the execution well done," he chuckled, "indeed, 'tis a pity they oppose me, for truly, they would clearly make for better servants than thee. Losses?"

Demeritus swallowed hard, "Total."

The thing patted the neck of his mount a moment and sighed, his voice a whisper, "Of course they were... The tiresome incompetence of you and your kin is as exhausting as it is costly. Still, you were overmatched, and the fault is mine."

"My Liege?"

The thing spat, "It is Her. Always and forever, she vexes and tasks me. Well, enough! It is past time I brought this sorry play unto its final act. I had hoped it would be my pleasure to gift Her Majesty with a seat in the Royal Box from which to observe my works, but her meddling has become a dire exasperation, and it is time she learned there is a cost to be paid for such interference!"

"How may I serve, Master?"

The thing gestured off towards the walls of Miosgan Meadhba, "Press the attack on the city. I want the Dark Elf column hurrying to their doom, for I am bored with this tiresome charade. Have the Drow complete their maneuvers of encirclement behind them, and when the enemy is entirely trapped, attack with full force, storm the city and kill all within. Leave no survivors. Also, I think it is finally time to summon forth the reserves and send them against Emain. With their army drawn off, the Dark Elven capital will fall easily enough, and we shall thus decapitate them. In the interim, I shall go in person to rid us of this insufferable dark sprite once and for all."

Demeritus licked his suddenly dry lips, "Beg pardon, Master?"

"Speak."

"You spoke of a quarrelsome spirit some time ago. If you recall, we dispatched Shalidar to discern its nature."

The thing snorted, "She has betrayed us, Demeritus, and she shall pay for it but have no fear, I will at least allow you to play a while with the scraps when I am done with her."

"Of course, my Liege, but that spirit? Our scryers say it now travels with the column and even now draws closer. From what I gather, there is a Human wizard with the Dark Elves, and it appears this creature may be his demonic familiar of sorts, or so the Trollwives say. If a wizard has indeed conjured such an entity, then needs must he is puissant, or perhaps possessed, I suppose."

The thing pondered and its voice was thoughtful, "Humans have no love for the Dökkálfar. And if he conjures

demons

, he is hardly likely to be some paragon of virtue or hero of old, for such a pact would require a significant blood sacrifice. Mayhap then he can be enticed to our service. Go fetch him here. When I return, I would have words with this so-called

Wizard

."

The Dragon bowed, "By your command, my Liege."

***

The shrine at Morrigan's Stone now stood strangely quiet. Silent now after the thunder and rage of battle had passed, save for the odd hiss of bubbling Dragon venom or the occasional crack as the hot stones cooled. Ellén watched the ancient Dragon standing before her in its human form as it, in turn, regarded her with the burning golden eyes of their kind.

It seemed to be mulling over what she had said and, for some reason, found her words incredulous, "You would marry a child of The Morrigan?"

Ellén blushed, "Well, she's not said yes yet, but I suppose that's no surprise, for I've not had the courage to ask."

The thing shook its head in amazement, "Why are you not stone fucking dead? Or at least cast into some unearthly pit for all eternity as punishment for such hubris?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

The young Dragon made to protest, "Look! I meant to talk to Adair's mother, this Nemain woman but..."

"Nemain? Oh, sweet, merciful Gods!"

"What? She seemed..."

The Dragon gave a guffaw of laughter that shook the temple stones, "If you say "nice" I may be forced to kill you, for my sanity if nothing else."

Ellén shivered at the memory, "No... not nice."

The thing looked at her and smiled, "Still, 'tis as merry a jest as ever I've heard."

The young Dragon seethed at the comment, and the air around her stirred as the temperature rose, "I'm not joking!"

The ancient creature raised a brow at her display of temper, "Seriously?"

Her shoulders sagged, and she slumped against a broken pillar of stained marble, "I don't know what I'm doing, Grandfather. Before, I had my hobbies and my crafts, and I lived in happy solitude save for a handful of guards and my mother. My life was quiet, and I was more or less content. And then came this squalling little thing, so fierce and determined for such a tiny, helpless creature, and so, so pretty. She smelled..."

"Delicious?"

"Grandfather! For shame!"

The thing shook its head, "Ellén, you are young. Like this Human child is to you, thus you are to me. In truth, I have left droppings in these mountains older than you."

"Well, that's a charming image."

The thing moved to lean against the pillar next to her, "Mayhap, but 'tis true."