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Subject: Camara, Lady of the Sword - Heroic Fantasy (5/9)
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Camara, Lady of the Sword - Heroic Fantasy
Book 1 - "Hope and a Prayer" - Chapter 5 / 9
Story #6
By Tom Bombadil (c) Sep 1997
Disclaimer: All the standard rules apply. If you are offended
by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is
illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are
under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you
might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this
text from your computer.
This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions
described by me coming straight out of my imagination. As a work of
fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or
actions described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in
my life, or known to me in the lives of any of my friends or
relatives.
You've been warned.
*********************************************************************
The four previous chapters of this story can be found here:
http://members.iglou.com/stbush/stories.html
The Editor/Posting Agent will not email copies of the stories; please
don't ask. Subsequent chapters are posted on a weekly basis.
*********************************************************************
Verran crouched in the filthy alley, cursing silently. It was dark,
far from the street torches, the clouds covering any light from
stars and moon, making it more difficult for him to see the
movements of the assassins. His companion, the young man from
Hallas house, lay wounded and bleeding near the mouth of the alley.
Since the men in black ignored the fallen man's whimpers of pain,
Verran knew who their prime target had to be.
There were four of them left, of the eight who had waited in
ambush - one taken out by Paulus before he went down, one down with
Verran's sword stuck in his ribs, and two taken out by throwing
knives. That's where his sword still lay, out near the light, on
the other side of those four. He had one throwing knife left and
one dagger. Not much, considering what he faced.
Originally, it looked to Verran like the assassins were waiting to
dart him and the young man as they walked past the alley. His
finely tuned senses had picked up enough of their presence to alert
him to danger. There was not enough time to run, so he attacked
instead, catching them by surprise. Paulus, despite his youth and
inexperience, charged in with only the slightest hesitation. Still,
eight on two were not favourable odds.
As he shifted position, the pain shooting from his left shoulder
made him grimace and moan slightly. Even that faint noise was
enough to notify the enemy of where he stood. Dodging quickly, he
heard two snicks as darts hit the wall where he was standing only a
few seconds before. He had two advantages - first, he could see
them - faintly glowing shapes against a slightly dimmer
background - while they couldn't see him. And second, Camara was
on her way, most likely with reinforcements.
Verran cast another signal spell, letting her know he was still
alive, and helping her to home in on his position. She was getting
closer, the echoes from her rings were stronger, but was still not
close enough. They would be on him before she arrived. He had to
slow them down some more. There was nowhere left for retreat, as
the alley dead-ended in high brick walls, and there were no windows
or open doors for him to sneak into. There was also nowhere for
him to escape the peripheral effects of any of his spells or
alchemical concoctions. Subterfuge was in order.
Clenching his teeth to keep from groaning again, he bent down and
picked up some rocks from the ground. He wanted to convince them
that there was someone else in the alley. With a silent flick, he
sent one small rock onto the eve of a building across the open
space, not too far behind the four. A second rock landed near the
first, then a third a little farther back. The fourth, landing in
the alley under where the third had hit, did finally draw their
attention. He heard some faint puffs which were followed almost
immediately by the taps of their poison darts hitting the far wall.
The four of them grouped together for a few seconds, exchanging
commands mostly by touch, then spread out again. One went back to
investigate Verran's noises, while the other three began advancing
again.
Another rock, aimed farther away but positioned to make the lone
assassin turn and present his profile, was thrown. Verran loosed
his last throwing knife and took the blackguard in the neck. His
gurgling final breath definitely got the attention of the other
three. With five dead, Verran still alive even though wounded, and
an unknown assailant between them and safety, they began to creep
out of the alley.
Following silently to see if any opportunities for capture or
killing presented themselves, he tracked them, staying in the
deepest darknesses. As they neared the entrance to the alley, he
became concerned for the safety of his companion. These would have
no compunction against slitting his throat as a bit of petty
revenge. He hefted his dagger. It was not weighted for throwing,
and would leave him defenceless, but it was the young man's only
chance for life.
Just as they were approaching his prone body, with the slight
illumination from the street lamps making them bolder, he sent his
final weapon sailing through the air. It struck poorly and a little
off target, but did sink deep into the leg of the one he aimed for.
At hearing that one's cry of pain, the other two broke and ran for
the street, turning the corner only to run into M'Lady's blade.
Their attack on her was brief, yet conclusive. Both died. Verran
quickly advanced to try and knock the survivor unconscious before
he could suicide, but was too late.
While Trieste and Arden did a quick check on the alley and
surrounding buildings, Camara did some damage control on young
Paulus, the man sent from Hallas' house to speak with them. He was
bleeding from two wounds and was badly shaken up, but would survive
if they got him to a healer quickly. Verran also needed attention,
as did Trieste, if the bloodied bandages on her arm and head were to
be believed.
----------
Much later, M'Lady and Verran had a private, whispered conversation.
They had already finished their discussions with Paulus, with
Trieste, and with the others, and were now trying to sort out some
of what had happened.
The ambush of himself and Paulus was strange, in that the ambushers
knew where he would be, or at least which route he would be taking
back to the inn. Trieste's run-in was also no accidental meeting.
Someone knew where they were based at, and knew where they would be
returning from. Neither liked the implications. Either their
enemy had an extensive spy system in the city, or there was some
sort of a leak from the inside.
On the positive side, they knew who was involved with the theft of
the medallion, but not why. Count DeMonay was powerful and
ruthless, one who would flourish under anarchy or an open regime,
yet the information coming from spies within his castle hinted
that something more that just a simple power grab was going on.
There was nothing to indicate what, just that the obvious was not
the whole story. There was also information that someone very
powerful in Saldar was involved as well, and that the Count was at
times following instructions. Not a good thing for M'Lady's peace
of mind.
'Sir' Lougan, or Captain Torres, as Camara still thought of him, was
currently residing within Count DeMonay's castle. It would be
difficult to draw him out, or to go in after him.
Both agreed that a single strike, one to find and liberate the
medallion, would be best. Revenge against the men involved, while
something both desired, had to be postponed until the mission was
over. More information was necessary for planning such a raid, so
more meetings and more spying would be necessary. They broke for
the night after agreeing that it would be fitting if Sir William
could one day 'entertain' Lougan for an evening.
Camara returned to her room, where Bracchus was again waiting for
her, this time with a bottle of wine. She accepted a glass from him
as he guided her to a chair. The evening began with him giving her
a massage, but ended early, as she needed rest. The events to follow
would prove extremely draining - well beyond their expectations.
----------
Several uneventful days later, with more information from their
contacts in the city and from spies within the castle, they planned
their raid. Only the core of her personnel were included in the
final preparations. None wanted any leaks, any mistakes. For what
they had planned, outnumbered and outpowered, only speed and secrecy
held any chance of success.
Two nights later, after moonset, six of them entered DeMonay's
castle - Camara, Verran, Deena, Arden, Lydia, and Taggart. The
others were ready as backup in case of problems.
Their approach through the surrounding forest went without incident,
as did their climbing the walls. Two guards had to be knocked out
on the parapets. They entered the central keep seemingly
undetected. Suddenly all her alarms went off, and she heard
screaming. Then, sudden blinding pain, and nothing.
----------
Trieste hunched back down in the tiny closet she and Humboldt
shared. Getting there had been difficult, but with her skills,
she'd managed to get them both inside the castle, and hidden,
undetected. She knew that Timian and Verran were also inside,
secreted somewhere in the upper levels. A few more hours, and then
they could begin searching.
Verran's return, and his description of the ambush, had been a
surprise. He knew they had been betrayed, somehow, so he contacted
only those whom he had complete trust in - Humboldt, Trieste,
Timian, and Sir William. He knew that a fast rescue was necessary,
despite the fact that the castle would be both alert and on guard.
He hoped that Count DeMonay wouldn't be too concerned about them
mounting an immediate raid. That much he had explained to them all,
as well as his suspicion that the lord there would be expecting a
warning from his spy before anything else happened. Sir William had
been left behind. They needed at least one strong, trustworthy hand
in camp, and since he was the least useful in a mission requiring
stealth and secrecy, he'd been elected. His growlings indicated
that he was determined to "find that treacherous bastard of a spy,"
in his own words.
And so, the four of them climbed the walls, using the final hours of
darkness to invade the castle. Then they waited for the shadows to
return.
----------
Camara woke up in pain. Her head hurt, her body hurt. She found
herself strapped to a long, narrow table, with her arms tied over
her head at one end, and her legs draped down and secured on
opposite sides near the other end. She was naked. Even her rings
were gone. A second splash of water got her attention.
"She awake, lord."
The speaker was a large, heavily built man with a pot belly. He
looked like the dungeon keeper of your nightmares - pale skinned,
hairless, rings in his ears, a ring in his nose, with scars and
tattoos everywhere. Camara closed her eyes in disgust, and tried
to close her nose as well. She thought the man had probably last
seen soap about the same time he'd last seen the sun. Her estimate
was at least a year without either.
"Well, the pigeon isn't dead after all. Camara, isn't it? Your
reputation precedes you. To what do I owe the pleasure of this
visit?"
M'Lady just stared. She didn't trust her voice, as her throat
was dry, and it hurt.
"Not very talkative, is she, Keeper. No matter. As long as we
deliver her to the one in Saldar alive and intact, everything will
go ahead as planned. He and his magic can do what they like with
the she-demon."
"No hurt the woman, Lord?" Already Camara had a personal dislike
for the 'keeper'. He looked just a little too eager. The other
man she assumed to be Count DeMonay. He matched the description
given by their contacts in Gedren. The man was more handsome than
had been credited, but there was something odd in his visage,
something unsettling. It made Camara queasy, over and above the
thoughts of her present predicament.
"Nothing long lasting, Keeper. Use her, and the other woman, as
you will. Make certain the guards have their turns as well."
He looked into Camara's eyes before continuing. "It's one of the
perks they receive for working in my dungeon. Some of them
actually like it down here now. Strange, isn't it, how certain
types of pleasure can warp a man. I'll be back later. If you're
more talkative, maybe I'll put you off limits. Then again, I might
just decide to use that potion the wizard sent me. I understand
that it works very well. Of course, one of the side effects is that
it completely destroys your will. For some reason, trying it out on
you seems like a good idea. Maybe I will bring it with me, later."
Looking back at the keeper, he smiled. "Enjoy yourself, and
remember to share."
The Keeper grunted his assent as the other man left her cell.
Camara closed her eyes, knowing what would happen. The feel of his
hands on her body almost made her vomit. She knew worse was coming,
and it came. The Keeper wasted little time in climbing on top and
thrusting home. The pain he caused was bad, but she knew she'd
survived much worse. She also knew that after the first was done,
the rest would be less painful. A small mercy, one she silently
thanked them for, was that they'd tied her on her back.
Something that the Lord had said floated up to the top of her
memory. She shivered, and hoped that the other woman wasn't
Lydia. The petite woman would find it hard to put up with the
ravishments of a bunch of half-crazed guards. If it were Deena,
there would be no problem. With her size, even secured, the guards
would think a second time before proceeding. That image brought a
tiny smile to her face, despite the pain being delivered into her
body by the grunting oaf wielding his undersized manhood.
Over the next few hours she was visited by an irregular stream of
guards and soldiers. Some hit and slapped, some bit, some cursed
and spat, but all left their seed. M'Lady endured her torment.
----------
It was time, and Trieste began to move. Stretching to relieve the
kinks and knots, she hauled the wizard to his feet as well. He was
in even worse shape and could hardly move. She shushed his whining
and groaning with a gesture.
Sliding through dark shadows, they bypassed several guards sitting
in an alcove, and headed for the stairway they'd seen earlier, one
leading down to DeMonay's dungeon. Despite his aches and pains,
Humboldt was almost as silent and almost as fast as the small,
slender woman. Her black hair, black armour and clothing, painted
face, and muffled weapons, made her almost invisible and inaudible
in the deeper shadows.
Motioning Humboldt to stillness and silence, she peered around a
corner and spotted one guard standing at the top of the stairs.
There was a slight puffing sound, and then a faint yelp as her dart
struck home. The guard was down and unconscious in less than ten
seconds. The wizard watched her as she put her blowgun away.
At the bottom of the stairs, behind a closed door, two more guards
were sitting and talking. She heard them mention two women - sluts
was the word they used - tied down and available for use. "That
is," one said, "if you're on good terms with the Keeper."
"Yeah," laughed the other one. "It pays to be nice to that animal.
After all, he always gets to dole out the freebies."
The two men were making enough noise that neither heard the tiny
puffs as two darts were sent through the grating in the door. First
one, then the other, slapped at their necks. Both were out in
seconds, neither able to utter a sound while slowly collapsing to
the floor.
She easily picked the heavy lock, disarming a small magical alarm
at the same time. Humboldt was impressed with her skill at that
complex task. They pressed on. Time was not on their side.
Twice more Trieste had to take out guards in their path; one with
her blowgun, the other with a knife to his throat. Humboldt had
never before seen the woman in action, and had wondered at Camara's
insistence on keeping her in the group. He lost all doubts of her
skill and value that night.
They found Lydia first. One guard was with her. Or rather, on
her. He died quickly. Her limbs were secured with a rather
elaborate set of magical fetters. Trieste recognized their 'taste'
and 'feel', and knew they were quite proof against her magic and
ordinary lockpicking. She knew of another way.
"Humboldt, go get that hammer. No, the other one, the great big
one. Bring it over here." The silence cantrip he'd taught her
prevented their subsequent actions from being heard all over the
castle.
Lydia was quite worn from her ordeal, covered in bruises and cuts,
and was stiff and very sore in places. She was, however, able to
stand and walk, though slowly and painfully. Humboldt had brought
three healing potions, which was all he could find on short notice.
He decided to wait and see if the others could be found first, as
Lydia was not in dire need. With movement, after 'borrowing' the
dead guard's shirt and weapons, she began regaining some strength
and flexibility.
They pressed on.
----------
Camara stared rather blearily at the form of the Count. He had
returned and waited for one of his soldiers to finish raping her
before trying to talk with her.
"You certainly look refreshed after your evening's entertainment.
Were the guards stimulating enough?"
She knew that he was enjoying himself, getting his thrills from
taunting a helpless prisoner. It was hard for her to miss that vial
of cloudy yellow liquid he was toying with in his hands. She
decided that talking, if only to gain time, was to her advantage.
"Thoroughly, you twisted bastard. I've not been so well
*entertained* in a long time."
He laughed at that. A slight shifting of the shadows told her
someone had moved up to her head. The sudden assault on her
nostrils told her who it was.
"I'm glad you're enjoying my hospitality. My soldiers would be most
upset if you weren't having fun. They do tend to get so involved
with their work, sometimes it's hard to make them stop and relax for
a while. You and your friend certainly helped in that regard."
"Pleased to be of service, I'm sure." Sarcasm dripped from her
voice.
His voice changed from pleasant and honeyed to rather flint-edged
for a few seconds. "So, I'll ask you again. Why did you invade
my castle?"
"We were looking for a lost little trinket. We heard that it had
found its way here."
"Well, it might have been here once," Camara's ears pricked up at
that, "however, it definitely isn't any more. Your little escapade
was doomed from the start. That little bauble is heading back home,
though it'll end up in the hands of a new owner. Ah, I can see
you're interested. Soon you'll be meeting the mage first hand. He
wants you for some reason."
"Do I get to know his name?"
"No, not yet. You have met him before, though. He seems most
taken with your beauty, wit, and charm."
"I'm looking forward to it." More sarcasm, which he seemed to
ignore. "So tell me - is he the one you got all that magical gear
from?"
"He is most generous with his toys. I'm sure he'll show you quite
a few of them when you see him next."
"One thing I'm still curious about. How did you manage to locate
us in the forest? We were most careful about erasing our tracks
and setting up wards."
"That? Oh, that was nothing. Just a little insurance on the part
of my colleague. A spy in your midst, as if you hadn't already
guessed."
"Yes, but who? One of Merovance's men? Or one of the sell
swords?"
"My, you are rather inquisitive, aren't you. It's a shame I have to
destroy your mind like this. There aren't very many intelligent
people in my castle, and I do so like your wit. To answer your
question, neither. He's a rather trusted associate of yours. I
won't say who, at least not yet, but I will say that he's rather
close to you."
M'Lady's mind raced, looking for a way out of the mess she was in,
trying to keep the Lord talking, hoping for some sort of
interruption or postponement for what he had planned. She didn't
doubt for a second that the potion he held could do what he said.
His face left no question on that subject.
"Enough of this. My partner thinks you far too dangerous to keep
alive, at least as you are now. I don't really agree with him,
especially seeing you like this, but, for now, I need him. I'm
sure you understand how these things go. Now why don't you just
bow to the inevitable and drink your medicine like a good girl.
It's important not to waste even a single drop. Keeper, get her
ready."
There was little Camara could do except squirm and twist her head.
>From behind, a large pair of hands forced a leather bit into her
mouth and secured it behind her head. They then grabbed her hair
and held steady, preventing any further movement.
DeMonay uncapped his vial of yellow liquid and poured it into
M'Lady's open mouth. Keeping her throat closed, she began breathing
through her nose.
"Still resistant to the end, aren't you, Camara. Let's see how long
you last." With that, he pinched her nose. Until she swallowed the
mouthful of potion, breathing was impossible. Despite her strength,
struggling turned out to be useless. Camara held her breath,
squirming as much as she was able, desperately afraid of what was
about to happen. With a fervour seldom before felt, she prayed for
help.
----------
Trieste crept silently along the corridor, listening for guards,
alarms, or anything else that might be of importance. She'd just
finished disabling and rendering unconscious another of the
seemingly endless numbers of guards. Nearing a door with a small
barred window, she heard someone say Camara's name. Peeking in
through the window, she saw her commander stretched out on some sort
of table, with a large, ugly man holding her head, and another man
holding her nose. The second man, a noble she thought, judging by
his clothes, was chuckling. Camara was grimacing in pain, her face
was flushed, and her struggling looked very weak.
Pulling out her blowgun, Trieste darted the man holding Camara's
head, then tried for the other. With a few seconds warning from
his jailer's sudden stiffening, he managed to spot the assassin
through the grate and avoid her dart. Count DeMonay opened his
mouth to shout for his guards, but no sound came out. Humboldt
had beaten him out by a fraction of a second with another silence
cantrip.
The slim brunette went through the cell door with knife in hand,
just as the Count disappeared through a door on the far side. By
the time she got there and tried to force it open, it had been
blocked or barred somehow. Cursing her bad luck, then cursing
because no sound was coming out, she turned to see how Camara was
doing.
Humboldt was there already, busy pulling some sort of leather thing
from her mouth. Camara had her head turned to one side and was
coughing and spitting. A small puddle of something yellowish mixed
with spittle lay on the table just below her head. Trieste also
noted that her leader looked much the worse for wear, with small
cuts, scrapes, bite marks, and fresh bruises over much of her naked
body. From what little she'd heard and seen, and what she knew of
the Count's reputation, she considered Camara lucky.
Moving quickly, Humboldt repeated the trick with the hammer. It
didn't remove any shackles from her wrists or ankles, but did allow
the prisoner to get up and move. After M'Lady stuck her fingers
down her throat and purged her system, they moved quickly.
Out in the hall waited a small surprise. Apparently one of the
guards had stumbled upon the half-naked Lydia, who was acting as a
lookout. Her smile of satisfaction seemed positively evil as she
hefted the knife she'd taken from the other guard. Camara toed the
man's head over to get a better look, and recognized his face. It
was one of the few men that stood out from the many she'd seen that
day, one that had been particularly vicious.
"Arrogant bastard!" said Lydia with a satisfied chuckle. "He
thought I'd be just as easy as I was when chained up!"
Camara looked around to see who was there.
"Trieste, you and Humboldt are here. Lydia was captured, obviously.
Who else made it back from the ambush?" asked Camara.
"Only Verran. He went looking upstairs with Timian. Do you know
where any of the others are being kept?"
"No. That bastard didn't tell me much, only that another female
had been captured, and that we have a traitor in our midst. With
DeMonay running around loose somewhere, we don't have time left
for niceties. You've covered everything down her except for these
last few cells? Good. Let's have a quick look, then get out of
this dungeon. I take it you also have a meeting point for later?"
"Yes", said Trieste. "Just outside the main keep, though it may
not be a good idea showing up there if one of us is a traitor."
"We'll try anyway. Let's go." While talking, Camara had stripped
the dead guard of his pants, shirt, sword, belt, and knife. Lydia
was doing the same with the guard Trieste had killed just down the
corridor, as that man was much smaller, and nearer her size. Those
clothes fit very poorly, but both preferred some protection to
nudity.
They went quickly down the hall, checking the cells one by one. In
the last room they found Arden and Taggart.
Arden was in a small but very strong cage. It was barely large
enough to hold the big man, and Camara estimated that in
shapeshifted form he would have had to bend double to fit. His back
and sides were punctured with a number of small bleeding wounds,
as if spears had been poked into his flesh, and he was grimacing in
pain. Humboldt used the hammer he still carried to smash open the
lock.
Taggart was chained to a table, nude, almost the same way that Lydia
and Camara had been. The only difference was that he had been
fastened face down. Camara was very sympathetic, knowing what the
man had been put through in that position. Red marks from several
different kinds of whips stretched across his body, their welts
covering him from neck to knees, telling her a story of much pain.
There was little anyone could do at that point. When he was free,
Humboldt fed him one of the healing potions, as a number of the whip
cuts were severe enough to be disabling.
"Can you walk, Taggart?" asked M'Lady.
"I think so, but probably not far, and definitely not fast."
"How about you, Arden?"
"Give me a couple of minutes, then point me in the right direction
and stand back. I've got a score to settle with a few of these
assholes!"
"First, we get out of here. Then we worry about evening up the
score. Right?" When the big man didn't answer, M'Lady repeated
herself, with fire in her eyes and steel in her voice. "RIGHT!?!"
Reluctantly, the shapeshifter nodded, but the deep flame of anger in
his eyes never cooled.
"Let's go. Arden, Lydia, you two help Taggart and move as best you
can. Trieste and I will take the point."
The corridor was clear and empty, almost all the way to the exit.
Camara and Trieste heard running footsteps approach, and pressed
themselves to the walls. Around a corner came three guards at a
dead run. Camara tripped the first, and knocked out the second
before he had a chance to draw his sword. She saw Trieste holding a
knife to the third's throat, so she quickly blindsided him with a
kick to the temple, rendering him senseless.
The man she'd tripped was up and running by then, so she shouted a
warning to the others. All M'Lady heard in return was a roar and a
scream, and a few seconds later the other three walked into view.
Arden was in his tiger form, with fresh blood on his claws and
lips. She shuddered, and felt a twinge of sympathy for the
soldier.
Somewhere along the way, Taggart had relieved another fallen guard
of his shirt, pants, and weapons. They headed for the stairs.
----------
Verran was enjoying himself, despite the situation he'd caused.
Timian, however, was a little less happy.
"How the hell are we gonna get out of here now!?" The healer was
practically screaming, staring at Verran's hazy form. The smoke
from the fire in the hallway just outside their door was getting
rather thick and was making breathing difficult.
"Through that window, of course," replied the half-breed, as if the
answer were painfully obvious.
"Oh, Verran, if you hadn't noticed, there's a good thirty foot drop
to the ground outside." Deena spoke softly, but her voice was
naturally deep and powerful, so everyone in the room heard her words
over and above the noise of the fire and the shouts and screams from
outside the window. "A jump like that probably wouldn't hurt my
other self, and I certainly wouldn't hesitate to throw this," as she
hefted up the collar of a man partially bound and gagged who was
lying at her feet, "out onto his head, but I don't think either
of you would make it without suffering some damage."
Verran looked around the chamber. It was fairly spartan, and
appeared to have been used as a waiting room, as there were only a
few chairs, a table, some wall sconces with lamps, and a couple of
faded tapestries. There were no curtains, no rugs, and no other
furniture.
"Timian," instructed Verran, "split up those tapestries for ropes.
Deena, give me a hand with this table. I need one of its legs."
The large woman stared at him for a few seconds as he tried to pull
one of the table's supports off. The table was old, finely crafted,
and built to last. It resisted all of his efforts. Deena gently
pushed him aside, picked the heavy table up by that one leg, and
smashed it into the floor. She handed him what he'd asked for
with a small smile of satisfaction. Her strength was a constant
source of amazement for both Verran and Timian, and came as a very
rude shock to the bound man. He whimpered in fear and tried to
wiggle into a corner.
While tearing up those tapestries, Timian asked her a question.
"Why are we bringing that little weasel with us? I know what he
was doing to you when we found you, and I'd prefer to see him
drawn and quartered, but why don't you just kill him and get it
over with?"
She grabbed her captive by a foot, pulled him to her, and looked
him in the eye as she replied.
"He's talkative when he's in the throes of passion, when he's in
control. I think he knows something valuable, and I think we
should find out what it is. Besides which, he had plans for me,
plans that he explained at great length and in fine detail as he
was taking me from behind. I was going to be his bauble, his
centrepiece. He wanted me naked, in a cage or chained to a post,
so he could show me off to his associates. I wasn't even going to
have the life of a slave. Just a toy, a plaything. Now, if he
doesn't cooperate, I'm going to give him to Arden. I think that
would be appropriate, since you all know how us cats like to play
with our food."
She shook the little man a little to regain his attention.
"You see, scumbag," she continued, talking directly at the bound
man, "Arden is my mate. He's going to be able to smell what you did
to me, and he's not going to be happy. It sends shivers down my
spine when I remember what he did to the last man that forced a kiss
on me. I don't even want to think about what he's likely to do to
you after what you put me through."
Her captive seemed to faint, as his body suddenly sagged in his
clothes. Timian called out that the makeshift rope was finished.
"Now what?" asked the healer. "If we go climbing out there, with
all those soldiers running around, we're just asking to be
skewered. Any more bright ideas, Verran?"
"Perhaps. If we can give them something else to think about, they
might not pay any attention to us. Deena, how good are you with
that sling of yours?"
She chuckled a bit. "Pick whichever wing you want on a fly at
fifteen paces. I'll get it right three shots out of four."
"I've got something that might be a little more difficult." He
walked the shapeshifter over to the one window in the room and
pointed to a guard tower perhaps a hundred feet away. "Do you think
you could place a shot in the lower window of that tower?"
"Fairly easily, though sending it out one window and into another
does make for a very tricky shot. But what good will that do?"
"It gets harder. You'll be slinging a vial, rather than a shot
stone. Still think you can do it?"
She asked for the vial, and he handed her one, mentioning that
rather than half full, as it currently was, it would be completely
full. She looked at the clear liquid inside, then judged the
balance, the heft, and the aerodynamics of the glass container
before making any type of commitment.
"Maybe, but it'd be chancy. What's in it?"
"A little concoction a friend taught me how to make some years
back."
"More magic?" inquired Timian, with a slight shake of his head.
Verran's aborted spell had started the fire in the hallway. Those
flames had driven away the guards, temporarily, but were now
threatening to kill them - with fumes, if nothing else. For what
little good it did, Verran had cursed the wound in his shoulder and
the man that caused it a dozen times in the past few minutes, since
it was a badly executed gesture that caused his spell to misfire.
"No," replied Verran, "not magic. Alchemy. This works every time,
with no telltale magic traces, no chance of rebound, no
counterspells, and absolutely no chance of misfiring. We don't have
much time. Deena, give it a try. Just make certain that you get
the vial out of our window."
The tall, elegant looking gentleman took a second vial from his
pouch. It was identical to the first, other than the liquid inside
having a faint smoky tinge to it. He poured the contents of the
second into the first, mixing them together and creating a thick,
colourless, almost oily-looking fluid. He very carefully sealed
the container again.
"Be very, very careful with this. If you drop it, or miss getting
it out the window, we'll be roasted alive."
Deena ignored the proffered container and pulled a stone from her
pouch. She let fly with that, missing her target by a few inches.
After grabbing Verran's vial and re-weighing it in her hand, she
wasted no time in firing it off. Three pairs of eyes followed its
progress, and it seemed to move in slow motion. The two males
thought her aim to be low and left of target, but then the vial
twisted in mid-flight, curving upward and then to the right, almost
as if it was being guided. Her missile flew true, and the results
were spectacular.
There was an explosion of flame, much greater than the one Verran had
inadvertently caused outside their door not too long ago. Fire soon
spilled out the window, drawing the attention of most of the soldiers
down below and, according to the shouting, the attention of everyone
in the tower. From the sudden screaming they heard, one or more
guards were in the room that was quickly filling with flame.
Timian set the table leg, to which he'd already tied his makeshift
rope, across the window opening. He threw the rest of the rope
outside and let it settle against the side of the building. Verran
went first, followed by the healer. Deena lowered her captive down
next, and then climbed down herself. Lord Verran led them towards
their meeting point. Only one of the guards they passed seemed at
all interested in the three strangers and their captive, and he was
quickly subdued. All the others' attention seemed to be focussed on
the flames shooting from three tower windows, and the fire and smoke
billowing out of four keep windows.
----------
The sight that met Camara's eyes as she stepped through the doorway
at the top of the stairs was one of madness and confusion. Shouts
and screams drifted in through the windows, along with an
incoherent babble of men shouting conflicting orders at one another.
A faint haze of smoke was in the air, and flickering red reflections
could be seen out a nearby window. Despite their situation,
everyone stood and watched the scene in the courtyard for a moment.
Lydia broke the silence. In a quiet voice, she spoke to the empty
air. "Verran?"
After a few seconds, Camara replied in a similar voice, still facing
out the window. "Verran." A moment later, she continued. "Let's
go."
On their way out, a sergeant and three guards tried to stop them.
While Arden and Lydia kept two of the soldiers busy, Camara knocked
out the third. The sergeant - well, she was rather cruel to him.
She remembered him. He'd bitten viciously, and promised much worse.
By the time she finished, he was forever unable to bear a sword, and
would never force himself on another woman. His right hand, and the
other thing, were lying on the floor, as was the cruelly wounded
sergeant.
The shapeshifter's opponent was also lying on the floor, unmoving.
Lydia's former foe was fast disappearing down the hallway.
With Trieste's guidance, they found their checkpoint - and Verran,
Deena, Timian, and one special guest. M'Lady frowned when she saw
they had a prisoner, but after a few seconds of studying the man,
she smiled broadly.
"Why, if it isn't Captain Torres! How nice to finally see you in
person! I'm sorry I have to be a little brusque, but, you see, we
have this need for haste right now. We'll have a wonderful chat
later. You and I have much to discuss."
"Verran, Timian, Deena, any real problems right now, or can we get
out of this piece of Tartarus?"
A groaning crash, somewhere in the near distance, punctuated her
question. Three head shakes, and a wicked grin from Verran,
indicated that everyone was more than ready to leave. So they did,
and nobody tried to stop them.
One pair of eyes, slitted in anger, watched them from the shadows.
"Sooner or later Camara, I'll find you. And when I do, you'll
die. Slowly and painfully. That, I swear. Nobody makes a fool of
Count DeMonay and survives. Not for long."
<End of chapter 5>
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