THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 43
All the best to those following this story. Sorry for the delay, I had a wee spell in hospital (all's well, but it was a pest)
Once again, thanks to Avicia (and others) for the editing and input. Their help is really invaluable.
As always, comments are welcome and encouraged.
The Tattooed Woman Volume 3 - Chapter 43: Do Not Test Me
The air no longer reeked of smoke, but it was tainted with the unpleasant smell of blood and charred flesh, and it echoed with the disquieting moans of the wounded. Both the stench and the sounds were, of course, familiar to Captain Ashunara as she was no stranger to battles, both hard and costly... battles like this one.
She pondered the many choices, good, bad, or simply willful, that had led her to this place, as the stitches were pulled tight, closing the leaking wound in her thigh. Here she was, sitting upon her cot in a bloodstained shift, trying not to wince as Elsadore, one of her sisters of the sword, and a veteran of her Company, plied her needlecraft.
And as she sat there, trying her utmost to look the part of hardened Captain and not woeful child, outside her tent another of her sisters lay dead upon the cold ground. Not the first to be sure, and probably not the last, but such fatalistic understanding had always proved grim comfort in the past, and it was no different today.
The older sellsword tending her worked quickly, with deft and skillful fingers that had learned their craft the hard way, treating the breakages and hurts typically accumulated over long hard years of bitter campaigning. Lashelle was younger, and would have been gentler, for she had once been trained as a leech by the Sisters of All Gods, but her greater skill was needed elsewhere this day, and desperately so.
The bigger woman had a cut to her cheek and a bandage wrapped around her neck where an enemy blade had made a better than average attempt at cutting her throat. But Elsadore had always been one hard bitch, and she simply dismissed such trifling wounds as unimportant and was absentmindedly humming a ribald drinking song as she got on with the job.
The slash across the Captain's thigh was not so deep, though it had bled like a stuck pig, staining her leggings crimson from crotch to knee, and the peeled flesh smarted abominably to boot. But the jagged blade that had sliced open her leg had failed to carve muscle, and so the wound was thankfully easily tended. The lurid diagonal bruise across her back was impressive enough but otherwise a trifling matter, for her mail had held and the stroke had been turned. A cracked rib from a crossbow bolt in the gut and another minor cut to her arm completed her tally of hurts, and she sniffed philosophically.
She had gotten off lightly after all.
Elsadore tied off the last stitch and looked up from the woman's leg with a grin, "That's me done with my embroidery, Captain, and a fetching pattern of stitches it is to boot, even if I do say so myself. Now, if you'll forgive me, I'll gather my tools and go see what other mischief I can undo. I'm sure I saw Nyx staggering from a failed spearthrust in the back during that brawl, but you know what she's like. She'll not take her rest while she sees others in the Company are in need. She'll end up pissing blood for a week unless I bash her senseless and force a potion down her throat."
Running her finger along the neat line of stitches, the Captain sighed, "Don't be bashing her too hard. She's... well, you know how she gets when we lose someone."
The big woman nodded sadly, "Aye...
Raising her head, Ashunara reached out to grasp the woman by the arm, "Elsadore, 'tis sorry I am, for Varoona. I know she was your friend."
The older woman nodded again, and her eyes closed a moment before she drew a breath and straightened her shoulders, "She was a good lass, and a bonny fighter, but that's the job. Go at it long enough and you lose folk," she gave the Captain a sad shrug, "you know that as well as I."
Sniffing, she brusquely rolled up her needles and stuffed the rest of her ligatures, bandages and catgut back into her satchel. Rising, she shook her head and gave her patient a sad, weary grin that all but brought a tear to the Captain's eye, "I won't tell you to stay off yon leg, for I know you'll not listen, but at least try to go easy on it for a day or two if'n you can, till the potion does its work at least. Otherwise, the stitches will burst, it'll likely get infected, and I'll have to saw the bloody thing off."
Wagging a finger, she raised her brows and eyed the woman, "And I'll not be the one telling Hildegard that I hacked away one of your pretty legs simply because you were too thickheaded to listen to my sage advice. She'd not like that, though why she favours such a skinny wench where there are others with more generous curves available, I'll never know."
"Curves like yours mayhap?"
"Well now, Captain, 'twould be both immodest and unladylike for me to boast of such things, as ye know."
"What? A shy, retiring lass like yourself? Heavens forbid."
Elsadore grinned, "Well, if I'm forced to tell her you've taken to wearing a peg-leg like some nonsensical pirate she's like to become sorely vexed, and then she'll probably take to shouting at me and such, you know what these humans are like after all; excitable bunch so they are," she chuckled as she continued her idle musing, "then, of course, I'd have to console the poor wee lass, and one thing would like as not lead to another, for she's pretty enough to be sure, and it would just be cruel to leave her all alone in her grief."
"You leave my Hildegard alone, you scurrilous letch."
"You lose that leg, Captain, and I make no promises."
With a snort of laughter, Ashunara nodded, "Fair enough, and for what it's worth, she could do worse."
The smile faded, as she eyed the flap of her tent, "How fared the others?"
"Well, Captain, we lost a dozen orcs and nigh a third of the dwarves. There are a great many wounded, but we were well supplied with potion and poultice so most will recover well enough provided they get the chance. The human woman, Magda, took a thorough battering; suffering half a dozen cut and stab-wounds at least, and a nasty blow to the back of the head that would have felled a damned ox, but she's quite the hard-case it seems. She's been liberally dosed with healing draught and if she survives the night, her chances of pulling through are better than naught I'd say."
"Cliomh?"
The veteran shook her head, "By rights the man should be dead already. I've no idea how he's held on as long as he has but he's covered in so many bandages he looks like a damned mummy. Lashelle treats him as well as she can, but amongst other things the man had a spear shoved right through him for fuck's sake," she snorted, "tough bastard I'll give him that. Gorsini says even after being impaled the mortiferous fucker made them pay the blood price in full and then some before he went down."
Can the healers not..."
Pulling a flask, Elsadore unscrewed the stopper and took a swig, before passing it over, "Quintus is fucked from frying that demonian bastard, Ellén can barely stand, and yon painted lass has a swordwound in her side that would have killed the likes of you and me in a heartbeat. None of them could so much as fix a toothache right now. If the man can last till morning, and providing one of them recovers enough strength to do something, then, maybe, just maybe, he might have a chance, but he was still leaking blood like a sieve just moments ago, and he's already paler than a wight so I'd not be wagering on it."
Outside, there came the sound of a distant wailing, soft and eerie, and carried upon the cold breeze. No doubt some lonely banshee up in the hills, attracted by all the blood and death.
Ashunara shivered.
"How is she?"
With a sigh, the veteran looked away, "She'll live, she just won't enjoy it for a while. But Nyx and I have both been there before. 'Tis hard is all. She's put his blade in his hands and says she'll bid her farewells once she's seen to the Company." she snorted, "I said I'd take care of things if she wanted to set with him a spell, but she's a stubborn bitch."
Ashunara pursed her lips and then, with a groan, pushed herself from the cot.
Rolling her eyes, Elsadore gave a long-suffering sigh of resignation, "Oh for fuck's sake, Captain! Give me a break. Will ye no at least
pretend
to listen to my advice?"
"I'm going to go see her, and I'll not lie idle in my bed until I pay respects and say goodbye to Varoona, I owe her that much at least."
With a snort, Elsadore nodded, "No, I suppose not. Come on then, lean on me if ye must, but be warned, you spoil my needlework and set those cuts to leaking again, and next time I'll just sear the bastards shut with a hot iron and spare myself the bother."
"Yes, mother."
"If I was your mother, my hair would be grey and not silver, and your ears would still be ringing from being boxed so much. But..." she shook her head and swallowed as she looked away, "I'd still be proud of you."
...
The battle beyond the gate had been a bloody, costly affair. Her Company had fallen on the unsuspecting enemy like rabid wolves among a flock of slumbering sheep, wreaking havoc and sewing chaos as they brought fire and the sword to their foes. Within minutes, the encampment was aflame with burning tents in all directions and billowing smoke marring the heavens. Still, the enemy had grotesquely outnumbered them, and slowly but surely, those numbers began to tell.
She had led her sisters against the enemy supply train, slaughtering the hapless guards and hurling incendiaries all about, while the main strength of their foes had been thrown against her dwarven allies.
Even so, despite their speed and the furious savagery of their attack, they had all but been cornered and brought to heel, when her ears had been assailed by such a mournful howling sound. It was a terrible, howling din that chilled the blood and froze the heart, and all about the battlefield the fighting paused, as that furious cry echoed about the camp.
In the distance, through the smoke, there came the sound of screaming, high-pitched and awful.
Nyx looked at her, eyes wide, and Ashunara saw that her hands actually shook, "What the fuck was that?"
It took her a moment before she was able to answer, "No idea, but come, the enemy seem to be sorely affected by whatever it was. Let us use their affliction to our advantage and break away from here."
Throwing herself back into the fray, she had carved a path through firbolg and goblin, troll and ogre, slashing and hacking at her enemies, until it felt like her very arms were numb with fatigue and her vision had narrowed to a crimson haze.
A hand grabbed her and pulled her back.
With a snarl, she spun, only for Nyx to slap aside her blade, "Easy there!"
"What?"
"I hear Dwarf-horns!"
Wiping her brow, she drew an incredulous breath, "Adair did it, by damn."
Nyx grinned, "Good, wonderful, happy days. Now if you don't mind, let's get the fuck out of here before we get slaughtered."
"Good ide-"
With a bellowing roar, the dragon all but landed on them.
...
While there were many wounded among the Company, few had died since they had made good their retreat, and so it was that there were not so many for the funeral pyre; for the hard press of battle meant that for the most part, those who had fallen upon the field, had been left where they lay.
The Dwarves looked to their own dead, as was their way, and so it was that Varoona lay alone.
She had been wrapped in her cloak with her sword placed in her hands. Adair had washed the blood from her face herself and braided her hair, and she now sat with the girl, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.
As the Captain hobbled over, she lifted her eyes and rose to her feet, "'Tis time?"
