Copyright © 1997
Index
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Camara, Lady of the Sword - Heroic Fantasy
Book 1 - "Hope and a Prayer"
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.
I give permission for anyone to share or archive this story.
Author's Notes:
The Camara stories are set in a fantasy world. There is lots of intrigue, swordplay, magic, death, torture, rape, etc., and even some regular sex. Some or all of these are included in each story. I try not to dwell upon the negative aspects, but sometimes the story, or the characters themselves, demand a detailed accounting of such actions. The stories are definitely NOT written for the torture/rape/snuff crowd.
This is not your usual feel-good sex romp. It is raw, unfiltered, and sometimes very painful and emotional. Many different types of subjects are included, some playful, some deeply disturbing. Times were very different then than they are today. Do not read if you have a delicate nature, or if you cannot handle unsettling subjects, sometimes described in detail. On the other hand, sex, lust, love, and good times are also part of most of these stories.
Again, I write stories, where the feelings and interactions of the various people are as important as anything else, and in this story, probably more important than anything else. The characters here won't resemble Dick and Jane next door, but you will recognize their feelings, hopes, dreams, fears, and anything else necessary to tell the tales I weave.
There is a very limited amount of hard-core sex of any kind in this tale. In fact, the swordplay probably has three times as much material as the hard stuff. There is, however, a fair bit of personal angst, sensuality, soul-searching, and romanticism. If all you want is a quick jerk-off (or rub-off), this isn't the story for you. If, however, you want to be introduced to a new set of heroes, read on.
If you've seen the new TV show Xena, then you know what Camara looks like. Her image was in my mind when I began writing this story. That is the *only* thing I have taken from the show. Everything else is mine, so anyone hoping that this is a Xena story is out of luck. Even so, you still might like it ...
Lastly, it took me more than a year to finish this story. I'd like to know if anyone out there is actually reading what I write.
Editor's note:
Tom's 'British' spellings are retained, primarily because they fit the story so well.
* Initial cast of characters * * Lady Camara of Tyberion (pronounced Ka-ma'-rah, similar to * cabana), swordsman, archer, minor mage, skilled in unarmed * combat as well as with many weapons, highly knowledgeable in * diverse areas, especially healing. * Captains - Lord Verran of Tyberion and Sir William of * Lyon, both renowned and skilled fighters and leaders. * Humboldt - her pet wizard. Rather inefficient as a battle * mage, but good with recharging magic. Skilled, well educated, * but weak. * Briana - (pronounced bree-a'-na, again, similar to cabana) she * was once Camara's lover. Excellent street fighter. * Skilled in unarmed combat, skilled with knife, garrote, * short sword, darts, bow, and other weapons. * Trieste - lady thief, assassin, bard, dancer, and sometime * madame, former native of Gedren, skilled with knife, blowgun, * garotte, poisons, skilled locksmith and lockpick, some magic * ability. * Deena, huntress, expert with natural weapons & sling, good with * knife, bow, and staff. * Arden, hunter, good with short sword, bow, staff, spear, javelin, * natural weapons. Mate to Deena * Bracchus of Trakus - Camara's current stud. Powerful fighter, * expert with sword and spear, good with knife. Best in toe to * toe open combat. * Taggart - ladies man, skilled lover, nasty street fighter, * skilled with hands, feet, knife, chakram, sling, bo sticks, * and a number of other weapons. * Timian - journeyman healer, sage and alchemist, good with staff * and sling. * Lydia - would-be bard, skilled dancer, skilled with lute, * expert with darts, skilled with sling, knife, and staff. * Her God is Escalia, guardian of maidens and children, ruler of * the heart, avenger of broken loves (only a few of her * aspects). * Hired by Merovance, King of Saldar, to steal back the Medallion * of the Sabre. He lives in a palace in Saldar City. * City of Gedren - the place where she is heading, where the * Medallion is rumoured to be. Note: I use titles that are familiar to the modern day reader, ones that would be somewhat similar to the ancient forms. 'Sir', 'Lord', 'Lady', 'King', 'Count', etc., are ranks understood by most people, especially me.
Chapter 1
( The Bard speaks:
For those who care, this is the introductory tale of Camara, the first one taught to bards in training. Few master the intricacies of this epic until well into their journeyman years because of the difficulty in conveying the subtleties of human interaction during extreme emotional stress. Some never learn or understand.
Camara's stories may only be told late in the evening, when innocent children, and even some innocent wives and husbands, have retired. Few are unaffected by the proper telling of her tales, though the reactions are often mixed.
This story is one from her middle years, during her climb to fame, long after her journey through slavery, but before she began toying with the idea of becoming royalty. It boasts of her prowess and the beginnings of her magic, yet also allows a glimpse into her soul, that which is never revealed in the common tales and rumours.
Yes, my Lord, you are correct. Camara herself did aid in the crafting of this tale. That is why I consider it a rare and precious gift. Few master bards have ever had the privilege of discourse with the principal of so many adventures. I myself studied under the great bard who wrote this epic, so I know these facts to be true.
Please get comfortable. Refill your drinks if desired. The tale is long, yet none have ever been asleep at the end of my telling of it.
<Some movement, throats are cleared, a servant refills several wineglasses and tankards, then all is silent with anticipation.>
We begin with Camara and her troops on a journey, currently deep in the wilds, while on a mercenary mission for a powerful king. He has hired her a band of sell-swords, as well as sending along a contingent of his own troops, to aid in the recovery of a certain item. This item is important to him, as without it, he will not remain king for long. Camara has a problem ... )
Lady Camara rose up on her knees, then lowered herself again. Her face was tight with concentration, furrowed with intensity. The sensations generated by Bracchus' cock sliding within were well understood by half the human race, yet completely alien to the other half. Phrases such as wonderful friction, delightful fullness, and ultimate pleasure, simply describe - they could never convey the true depth from which such feelings come. Yet, despite several recent attempts, the ultimate culmination of such activities had been denied her. M'Lady was almost desperate in her need for release.
A sound, a discordant note, penetrated through to her clouded mind. Camara closed out the noise without thinking of its significance, lust overcoming her normal reactions. A faint scream brought her back. She heard swords clashing in the distance. "No, not now, not again!" She moaned, stopping her motion, placing a hand on the chest of the man beneath her to still him as well.
"M'Lady! We're under attack! We need you!" That was from Lord Verran, first captain, just outside her tent.
"I'll be right there!" The moment was lost - her tight knot of pleasure dissipating quickly. She climbed off Bracchus with a snarl, lust and desire converting to rage. She'd been close - so close! That was the third time she'd been interrupted. "Somebody is going to pay dearly this time!" she swore quietly to herself.
Lady Camara dressed quickly after drying herself on the bedding. Silk undergarments, leather breechclout, padded leather surcoat, boots, and partial plate armour for chest, back, and shoulders.
With familiar efficiency she strapped on her outer weapons and checked her secret ones. Long sword, long knife, short knife, chakram(*), sling, stones, boot knife, breast knife, hidden heel knife, wire tools in her padding, garrote in her surcoat, sapphire pendant, left ring still in place, right ring still in place. Everything was in order, she was ready to go.
All that took less than two minutes.
"Is it the same bastards again?" she asked of Verran as she left her tent.
"I think so, M'Lady. No insignia, no identity. They attacked quickly, killed several people, then vanished. They lost two. Both are dead, even though their wounds were not fatal." That was typical of Lord Verran. Ten seconds after the fact he already knew most of the story.
"Let's go see what happened."
There were two guards dead, as well as a mercenary, a cook ... and Briana.
Camara dropped to her knees, staring at the still-bleeding body before her, pain lancing through her spirit. Unnoticed tears began tracing their way down her cheeks as she touched the woman's face with trembling fingers. Briana's throat had been slit from behind. Death would have been very fast in arriving, too fast for any sort of healing to be of use. After a moment, Camara's expression changed from deep pain to an intense, controlled neutrality, and a cold fire settled in her heart. Verran was one of the few people who could read the rage that was seething behind her eyes.
Briana was Sir William's fiancee. Prior to that, she had been Camara's lover for a year. A very close, intimate lover, rather than one of her usual bedmates. Now it was personal. That boded ill for whomever was behind the attacks.
"Find Sir William. Round up a squad of rangers and trackers. Get me Humboldt. I want these vermin." Camara steeled herself, willing away the grief that she knew would eventually overtake her.
All told, they had lost five guards, seven mercenaries, a cook, her favourite thief, one ranger, and Briana. Five attacks in ten days, this the first one at night, all from nowhere, with the assassins literally vanishing before their eyes. It was also the third attack to interrupt her personal pleasure, which she considered unimportant, yet significant. The timing was too good to be coincidental.
It was obvious to her that someone was trying to keep them from completing their mission. King Merovance wanted his medallion back and hired her to get it. Whoever stole it didn't want the King to get it back. Merovance's offer was generous because of what he stood to lose. There was payment in gold, of course, as well as certain silks she wanted for another commission, but what clinched the deal was his offer of a service from his court wizard. She wanted one more magical effect in her rings, one that would permanently link them to her. Such a spell was within the capabilities of that spell caster, and very few others. But before such could be had, she needed to gain the amulet, and doing that meant discovering the thief's identity. Finding out who was behind the attacks, she believed, would lead her closer to her quarry.
Now it was a matter of tracking the assassins back to their base, capturing their leader - alive, if possible - and persuading him to talk a bit about his master. "Simple," she quipped to herself. The other thing she wanted to know was how they managed to find her with such ease, and with such perfect timing, despite all the precautions of her rangers and the magical wards encircling the camp.
Lord Verran came up to her, followed closely by Sir William. Despite the wetness of tears on his face, Sir William looked composed and ready to fight. That large and imposing warrior, clad mostly in plate mail, was renowned for his fighting prowess. The man was also handsome and dashing, with bright brown eyes, short, black, curly hair, and a chocolate skin. His passions ran deep and strong. He was fiercely protective of those he cared for, and he and Briana had been in love. M'Lady knew he would not be fit for any kind of mission right then.
"William, take care of Briana, and the rest of the camp. Please. Verran and I are going after the assassins. When we find them, I promise they will pay. And if I can, I'll bring one back for you."
"M'Lady." He saluted and marched off, bellowing orders left and right. She could hear the sorrow in his voice. Briana and he had been very close. She had been a good lover for Camara, and a better one for Sir William, as well as being the nastiest knife fighter either had ever seen. She would be sorely missed.
"Where's that damned wizard," she muttered under her breath. "Never on time, never where you need him, that lazy useless miserable dried-up bundle of sticks." Those two had been friends for almost a decade. If any other person talked of him like that, she would probably have threatened to run the poor sod through. Camara headed for his tent, followed closely by her captain. They found Humboldt close by, huddled over one of the enemy corpses.
"Well? Any luck with these ones?"
"Come off it, Camara. Whoever sent these guys is good. There's nothing traceable in their equipment or on their persons. Just like the others." He smiled and winked at her. "But one of these guys was a little sloppy. He stepped in something on the way here. If we use your night hound, we may be able to find them."
"How?"
"Simple. The teleport spell they're using is a short range one, good for no more than a mile. Somewhere out there is a track to follow. Use the hound, make a big circle, and, if we're lucky, we get something to go on." He had intelligence and wit. That was why he was there. His knowledge of magic, and his skill, were very good, but his power was weak to the point of near-uselessness. She had far more power than him, but lacked his years of training and study. They made a decent team.
"Why the hound? Why not have Deena or Arden do the tracking?"
"There's a wizard at work somewhere using magical misdirection spells. No normal tracking, either visual or by scent, has much chance of success. The hound is immune to almost all of those types of influences, unlike the hunters."
"Let's do it. I want the bastard behind this. I want to make him suffer." She looked like she was ready to rend someone limb from limb.
"Oh? It's personal now, is it?"
Camara's voice was low and dangerous as she replied. "They got Briana."
"I - I'm sorry, M'Lady. I didn't know."
"It's all right, Humboldt. I don't feel it much, not yet. That will have to wait. Right now, I want some blood - and the sooner, the better."
"Go get ready for the hound. I'll be at your tent shortly."
She left to prepare for her summoning. Humboldt and Verran watched her go. There was no mistaking Camara for anyone else, especially in her armour. She was a true warrior - her father long disappeared, her mother a shopkeeper. Trained by experts in the art of warfare, some say she was favoured by the gods. Whispers of strange happenings around her conception and birth were usually met with steel, so few spoke openly of those things.
Two fingerwidths under six feet tall, with long dark hair, blue, expressive eyes, pouting red mouth, round face tanned by sun and weather, stronger than most men, yet beautiful and seductive, she had the figure of a real princess and legs the envy of all. Many men made the mistake of trying to force their favours on her. Most survived. The women who approached her were more likely to succeed.
Back at her tent, Bracchus was dressed, armed, and ready, standing outside the entrance. Camara's image of him was of a big man, strong, a little lacking in wits perhaps, but doughty and skillful in a stand up fight. For tracking and guerrilla operations, he would be a handicap. He wasn't good looking either, with a big, square, scarred face, crushed nose, bull neck, and thick, heavy body. She hadn't picked him for his looks or his fighting skills, however. It was the persistent tales of his stamina and skilled tongue among the tavern maids that drew her to him. Over the past several weeks he'd proven most of those rumours true, as well as proving to be both attentive and caring. Their pleasures would have to wait again, possibly for many days. More frustration for both.
"Might as well get some sleep, Bracchus. I'm going hunting and may not be back for a while."
"Very well, M'Lady. Strike a few blows for me. They got one of my old comrades yesterday."
"I will, I promise you."
He left without another word. She started preparing for the summoning. It was a complex spell, one well beyond her skills, and possibly even beyond Humboldt's. The figurine she would use had been crafted by a much better wizard in exchange for certain rare materials (like the silks she would be receiving, she hoped). Still, some preparation and some magic were necessary, and a small amount of danger existed even using a figurine.
Camara gathered up the herbs, the choke chain, the large collar, and the live chicken. None were absolutely essential, but helped to reduce the risk of a possible backfire. Humboldt arrived.
In the dirt in front of her tent he inscribed a large pentagram and placed the figurine at its centre. Muttering certain words of power, he drew wards at all inner and outer points, carefully removing himself from the middle when done. Camara lit the herbs and threw them into the pentagram's focus, followed quickly by the collar. Muttering a certain incantation, she summoned the infernal beast and at the same time silently prayed everything would go smoothly.
With a pyrotechnic shower of flame and sparks and the accompanying roar and explosion, it appeared. The smell of burnt flesh and brimstone filled the air. She threw the chicken into the centre, where her new creature killed and ate the hapless bird in two gulps. Striding carefully into the circle, Camara placed the choke chain around it's neck, then led it out towards the wizard.
Once they found the assassin's trail, aided by that smelly boot, it was easy for her night hound to follow the scent to their camp. Commanded to silence, surrounded by Camara's quietness cantrip(*), she and her commando group were completely noiseless and snuck in close to the pickets.
It looked quiet and peaceful. Only one guard was visible, pacing the camp. There were a half-dozen tents, as well as over twenty sleeping rolls, around several campfires. Camara guessed at thirty five warriors, Verran guessed at just over forty, including at least one mage. They numbered twelve. All knew it would be a slaughter.
She sent Deena the huntress to the left along with one ranger, and sent Arden, who was Deena's mate and fellow hunter, to the right, accompanied by another ranger. They were to take care of any other pickets out there.
Humboldt pointed out the half-dozen trip wires and alarm circles to Camara. Following his silent instructions, she disarmed and dispersed them, without setting off any or alerting the original caster. She was still learning how to 'taste' and 'feel' other people's magic. When she was done, it was just about time.
Inside the camp, Gerrold had just finished his report to Captain Torres via the image crystal. According to him, things were going smoothly. So far, they'd traded twelve assassins for fifteen of Camara's men, including the thief and the woman street fighter. Another week like this, and she'd be so low on warriors he might consider a frontal attack to get rid of her once and for all. His orders were to stop her from reaching Gedren, and if that meant killing her, so much the better.
He wondered briefly about who was behind the whole thing. Obviously the person had gold to spare, power, connections, and a problem. The image crystals were only available from a few very powerful mages at prices that would bankrupt a small city. Those assassins, being spent like coppers, were also well-trained and well-armed. Not that they were a real match for Camara's troops. Without that teleport device, enabling them to pop in and out of the woman's camp, they would never survive. It was another sign that whomever was behind the scenes was very wealthy - and very desperate.
A muffled thud outside his tent gained his attention, but before he could investigate, a huge, horrific beast appeared in his doorway. It looked vaguely dog-like, but with reptilian skin, no ears, glowing blue eyes, a huge, gaping mouth, and a set of teeth any shark would be proud of. Standing four feet tall at the shoulder, it looked large and deadly. Gerrold drew his sword, ready to sell his life as dearly as possible.
The attack had gone quickly and silently. Deena and Arden had no trouble locating and silencing the pickets. Camara's chakram took out two guards inside the camp, slicing through their throats without even a whisper, ricochetting off a distant tree and back into her hand, as always. Verran's throwing knife took out the third. All the others in that camp were either in the tents, asleep, or unconscious.
Her rangers quickly and silently immobilized all the assassins sleeping in the open. Casting another quietness cantrip, Camara snuck into each tent in turn, immobilizing their occupants. She sent her night hound into the last tent, the largest, just to make a good impression.
Gerrold was stunned to see Camara step up beside her beast. "You!" was all he managed to utter before a blow from behind rendered him unconscious.
Humboldt woke him with a splash of water to his face. When he finally spluttered and coughed enough to pay attention to his surroundings, he saw he was surrounded by enemies.
Camara, the tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed warrior witch, eyeing him with amusement tainted by distaste.
In the corner, that enormous pseudo dog, sitting there with obvious hunger in it's eyes, staring at him.
A young, skinny man - Humboldt - looking no more than seventeen or eighteen, pale as the belly of a fish, with dull brown eyes and limp brown hair. He looked like one of those stick men the puppeteers in different villages use on occasion.
One huge woman - Deena - well over six feet tall and heavy to match. She had yellow eyes and tawny blond hair. Despite her height and girth, she moved with a simple, effortless grace that implied great strength and speed. Gerrold guessed that she must be one of the weretigers he'd been told about.
A tall, elegant looking gentleman - Lord Verran - dressed in tan leathers. His weapons were simple and functional, as was his helm, yet he carried himself with the bearing and manner of a prince, or a king. His piercing grey-green eyes seemed to bore straight through Gerrold's skull, peering around inside at all the hidden evils and secret thoughts. His thin face and pencil moustache matched his lean, tightly muscled physique. The man looked dangerous, even without a weapon in his hand.
The pounding ache in the back of Gerrold's skull made thought, let alone speech, difficult. He simply stared back at his captors, waiting for something to happen.
"Get ready to give him the potion, Humboldt," said Camara. Then, looking at their prisoner, tied naked and spread-eagled on the bed, she spoke in a light, easy tone. "What's your name?"
"Gerrold." There was no reason for him to lie about that. Any wizard could perform the spells they wanted using body parts. His name was only necessary if they didn't have anything physical available. The only two pieces of information he knew he had to withhold were of the image crystal and the name of his immediate superior. If he started to talk about either, then the poison embedded in his tooth would shoot into his blood and kill him in only a few seconds. He'd seen the victims - they looked like they died in horrible agony.
"All right, Gerrold." Camara was speaking again. "My pet wizard here is going to feed you a potion. Be sure to drink it all, because it's very valuable. It's to help with that nasty headache you no doubt have. I want you wide awake to answer some questions I have."
He drank without protest. Within a few moments it had removed the pains in the back of his head and, he suddenly realized, one in his mouth, one in his lower stomach, and another in his right forearm.
"Good boy. Oh, this potion does have some rather special side effects as well. You'll speak when spoken to, and answer all our questions as completely as you can. You can no longer lie or withhold anything. I find it very useful at times."
Gerrold knew that he was protected against that type of truth potion. It was one of the requirements for his job.
"Just to make sure you don't fade away on us, we've removed your fancy tooth, the ruby embedded in your arm, and the sapphire buried in your gut. All were very nicely magicked, I might add. They were difficult to take out without killing you."
He'd known about the ruby. "A sapphire? Well, I'm still protected against the truth potion," was his private thought.
"First question. Who's behind these attacks?" asked Camara.
"Ares," he said. "What the hell," he thought. "The worst that can happen is the god appearing in person."
"He's lying," stated Humboldt. "He must be resistant to the potion."
"Oh gooooood!" Camara said that with obvious joy. The ugly smile on her face and the glint of real evil in her eyes did terrible things to both men's insides. "I take it he's quite secured and defenceless now, Humboldt?"
"Yes, M'Lady. All magic has been removed from him, inside and out, and those special fetters will prevent his casting any spells. He is at your mercy."
"My, my, my. Such a treat. Verran, would you please bind his mouth open so he can't bite. Then everyone leave. Humboldt, take the hound with you as well. I'll be quite a while in here."
* Author's notes
Chakram - an ancient eastern weapon. It vaguely resembles a hollow Frisbee, like one of those children's toys called a flying ring. It is made from quality swordmetal and is sharpened on the outer edge. A skilled practitioner can strike an accurate and killing blow from fifty paces with ease. Camara's weapon is not your average run-of-the-mill item. That weapon has its own rather storied past. Camara happens to be the latest owner.
Cantrip - a small spell, one that can be cast quickly, with little power, using only words and/or motions.
Chapter 2
Gerrold's mouth was bound partially open with two strips of cloth and some well-placed leather plugs. It was expertly done. Try as he might, he couldn't close his mouth completely. Speech was possible since he wasn't truly gagged. It was a little slurred, but understandable.
At last she was alone with her captive. She began her inspection behind his head, circling to his left, hand trailing along his somewhat handsome face, down his neck, then tracing along the left side of his lean and hardened body to his toes. She wore an expression of fondness, tinged with regret.
"Hmmm. So nice. Such a great bod. What a waste."
Starting from his right foot, she followed the mirror image path back to his head, ending by twisting her fingers into his long, curly black locks.
"I wonder where I should start." Pulling out her short knife, she touched it to his nose. "Here, perhaps? You won't need it anymore." Tracing a line with the tip of her knife, she moved it down to his upper lip. "One lip. Maybe the other. You could still speak."
His fear was apparent; from his eyes, from the tension in his body, and from the odour he was emitting. Her look of mild, almost distracted interest and light tone of voice, combined with the hard glint of hatred in those blue eyes, made her seem all the more terrifying.
"No, maybe here instead." She exerted a slight amount of pressure and drew a drop of blood from his right nipple. "I've always found nipples fascinating. Believe it or not, one of my former masters actually collected them. He said they were souvenirs of his past lovers. I guess that's why I had to kill him. He was about to add mine to his collection. He had quite a few pairs, all different looking. Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing any in there that were quite like yours. I've been thinking of adding to his collection, except they'd be from my personal victims. You wouldn't mind donating, would you?" She looked at him - a mild, questioning look was on her face, accompanied by a hint of a smile. Those eyes, though, were terrible to behold.
"No! No! I'll talk! Please!"
"Oh, but I don't have any questions for you right now. You see, I can't trust your answers, so I don't really care what you say. I'm simply going to have myself some fun. You might even find it pleasant, at first. So let's plug up the chatter for a while, shall we?"
She stuffed a couple of rags into his mouth. Talk, for him, was now impossible.
"Now where was I? Oh yes, I was about to add to my nipple collection, wasn't I?"
When her knife was poised to cut, he burst into frantic screams, shaking his head and trying to wiggle away from her blade.
"No? Don't like that idea? Well, maybe it is a bit too messy for right now. Maybe later. Oh, I see something else that might be even better!"
She slid her free hand down his stomach until she could grasp his cock. Pulling it up by the head, she yanked it straight.
"Yes, maybe a limp dick collection would be best. This way I can prove that the biggest pains in the ass always have the smallest cocks. What do you think?" She was smiling now, staring into his eyes, looking like she enjoyed the thought of starting a new hobby.
Her dagger was poised at the base of his cock, ready to slice. Camara watched his fear, listening to his muffled cries for mercy. That man had cost her a number of troops, and two real friends. She wanted to make him suffer, even though he was just another flunky.
"You don't like that idea either? It's so hard to please some people. Well, maybe I've got a better use for it, at least for now. You see, your attacks came at the most inopportune times for me."
Placing her knife back in its sheath, she sat on the edge of the bed and began to toy with his cock and balls with the tip of one finger.
"The problem is that you've got me so frustrated I'm not sure if I want to torture you to death, fuck you to death, or turn you over to William. He'd really *enjoy* getting hold of you, since it was his lover you killed last night. Mind you," Camara paused for a second, a thoughtful look taking over, "she used to be my lover too, so maybe I get first dibs and let him have the leftovers. Hmmm ... decisions, decisions. While I'm making up my mind ..."
All the calm, quiet talk was doing nothing to ease Gerrold's fears. He knew he was staring death in the face, with no weapons to defend himself. Camara hadn't even really nicked him, yet he was more afraid of her touch than he was of her horrific dog. In spite of his fear, he was beginning to respond to her fondling, especially when she started using her lips and tongue on his cock and balls.
At first, all he could feel was her warm breath on his sack. Then she moistened the tip of his cock, watching for his reaction. Using tiny licks, she cleaned off the head of his member, tickling the sides and under the hood. She finally placed the tip in her mouth, continuing her tongue bath, making him squirm in his bonds. He was getting harder. Slowly, moving her head up and down, she began to take more and more of him. When the head of his cock reached the back of her throat, he was quite firm. By that time, her crotch was hot and dripping, moistening her silks.
Sitting back and looking at her handiwork, she was pleased. It was a respectable prick, maybe 7-8 inches long, and fairly thick. Quite suitable by her reckoning. Taking her time, she slid both hands along his stomach and chest, ending up with one hand cradling either side of his head. Lowering her face to his, almost kissing him, she whispered.
"I think I've found a more appropriate use for that thing, at least for now." Kissing him lightly, then running her tongue over his lips, she began to disrobe. After each weapon or article of clothing was removed, she bent over and kissed or sucked some part of him, either lips, ears, neck, nipples, prick, balls, or something. She wore a lot.
By the time she was naked, he was hard as a rock, staring at her great body. She was also sopping wet and steaming, anticipating her fun to come, drawing it out as long as possible.
"You like what you see? Let me give you a guided tour, then, of my special places. First, my face. You notice, no scars, brands, marks, or anything? It cost me a lot to have everything removed and the skin repaired. That healer was most gifted. It was worth the magic sceptre I gave him to get my lovely face back. I am beautiful, don't you think? Most men say I am, but then, they're usually after something..."
"Something like my breasts. Beautiful, and all natural. I've never let a healer do anything to them except remove the scars. Do you like my nipple rings? I had these ones specially made to replace those ugly ones my final master put in. Do you know how much pain can be caused by improper piercing? He practiced on me for ten days before he was happy with the results. It took months for all the extra holes to heal over. I still don't think my nipples feel the same as they did before."
"Then there's my magnificent ass and thighs. I got that same healer to remove all those brands and whip scars from them too. That last late master of mine was really into pain in a big way. As long as it was someone else's, of course. Don't I look wonderful now?"
"Oh, who can forget a woman's most cherished treasure, her pussy. See how bare and hairless I am? Another present from him. Three weeks of acid baths to kill every hair follicle. The pain was indescribable. I hardly even noticed it when he branded my mons with his personal mark. See? Right there? I left it as a reminder. Still, it is something to drool over, isn't it."
"You should have been there when I finally broke free. I spent two full days and nights killing that animal. I still remember it as the most satisfying time of my life. Oooo, all this sexy talk is getting me hotter and hotter. Gerrold, I'm going to take your gag out now. I really hope you don't spoil things by saying anything because I want you to lick my pussy 'til I cum. If you do a good job, I won't cut your tongue out. Nod if you agree, shake if you don't ... want to live any longer. Oh, you're nodding. How nice of you. I'm going to really enjoy this."
She removed his gag, then climbed up and covered his face with her crotch. There wasn't much he could do with those two strips of cloth binding the leather plugs in his mouth, but he did try. He used his tongue to moisten his lips as much as possible, then stuck it out as far as it would go.
It wasn't so much that Camara expected him to get her off with his mouth that she did what she did, it was to get her really worked up for straddling his cock. But, if she did have a climax, she would consider that a bonus.
They worked at it in concert for a while, but with him unable to do any sucking or real tonguing, all it did was get her excited. When she began feeling a bit frustrated, she pulled off and started to slide down towards his cock. It was a bit wilted, but some strong mouthwork and licking brought it back to full mast quickly.
Camara straddled his hips, facing him, and slowly sank onto his erection. "Oh, that feels so good." Eyes closed, she was moaning to herself, ignoring him, concentrating on the feel of that cock sliding up into her vagina. She was so hot and wet he went in easily in one stroke.
It felt so nice having him in there, she just sat for a minute, wiggling a bit to get comfortable, enjoying that just-stuffed sensation. Leaning over, she opened her eyes and nibbled on his lips for a few seconds, then licked his ear. She whispered quietly to him.
"Listen, sweetie, you did a nice job on my pussy. I guess you can keep your tongue, at least for a while. A word of warning, though. When I fuck, I'm serious. If you cum before I do, I swear I'll cut them off and make you eat them. That's a promise. You understand?"
He nodded, afraid to say anything.
"Good boy. Now I'm gonna get my rocks off, so you just stay still and don't say a word."
She sat back up, closing her eyes, enjoying what the movement created - those delicious little ripples of pleasure from deep within. Little else in the world matched the joys of good sex, whether with a man or a woman, at least in her experience. The only possible exception to it could be the feeling she got when in the middle of a battle frenzy. Ten days without any real sex, all because of the man under her, were difficult for Camara, especially when she'd been interrupted several times. If anybody disturbed her, they would be taking their lives in their hands. If he didn't satisfy her, she thought to herself, she might even follow up on her threat.
For a while, all she did was slowly slide up and down on his manhood, enjoying the feel of a nice cock filling her, over and over again. Soon, though, her lust took over, and she began to pound harder and harder onto him, lifting herself almost completely off, then dropping with her whole weight onto his groin. It was wonderful - the sensations from her vagina and clit kept getting stronger and stronger. Soon, she knew, they would trigger an explosion inside, one that would burn away much of the raw lust and tension she felt.
With all the recent aborted sex, and her excitement from the victory and her captive, she didn't take very long to climax, at least the first time. She came hard, the wondrous release of pleasure from her groin flowing through the rest of her body, causing her to grunt and pant in satisfaction, slowing, yet continuing to rise up and slide down.
There was no way she was going to be satisfied after just one, so she growled at Gerrold. "Start fucking me hard, and don't stop until I tell you!" She held herself up, just above his hips, giving him some room to work. Responding with the frenzy of fear, he began driving his hips up at her with a hectic pace. The man was giving her just what she wanted right then - a hard and fast-paced coupling. She reached down with one hand and started rubbing her clit and slot at the same time. The intense feelings from his hard pounding, combined with the sensations coming from her fingerwork, added to the jolts of pleasure from her nipples as her rings bounced up and down, finally sent her into one of her favourite states - a mindless series of orgasms, one after the other, each building on the last, driving her higher and higher until she collapsed in exhaustion.
Too bad Gerrold couldn't hold out long enough for her complete satiation. Half way through he screamed and climaxed, pounding deep inside her and spurting his seed, then going soft and flaccid. Camara slowly came back to herself, realizing that there was no longer a cock inside her, and stopped her masturbation.
"I wasn't finished yet. I WASN'T FINISHED YET! SHIT, YOU'RE USELESS!" Gerrold thought he would be killed there and then. That look of evil hatred in her eyes was horrible.
Sliding off him and standing again, she wiped away the semen dripping down her thighs with the corner of the bed covering. She dried her silks as best she could before putting them on. Slowly re-dressing, she stared at him, first into his eyes, then down at his wet, cum covered dick. He looked terrified. He felt worse than he looked.
"HUMBOLDT, COME IN HERE!" Camara needed her pet wizard for the questioning, since he could tell truth from fiction. He wasn't as good as the potion, since he couldn't force the victim to speak fully and completely, but he was a lot better than nothing.
"My dear sweet wizard, I need a small torch. Do you remember that one I made for the courier from Poldona, the one that did all that yelling? Right, another one just like that."
"You mean, you're going to do THAT? To HIM?"
Gerrold watched Humboldt's face grow pale, his eyes widen in fright, and his hands start to tremble. Gerrold closed his eyes, fervently praying to his gods to get him out of there, to rescue him, or at least let him die quickly, like a warrior.
"Do I have to be here?" Humboldt knew the answer, of course, but he had to ask.
"Of course you do. I still don't have the skills you have for telling truth from fiction. Mind you, things may not get that far, since Gerrold, the poor dear, can still talk. I never realized until afterwards that the courier was lacking a tongue. Poor devil. I almost felt sorry for him."
The torch was a bundle of flattened sticks, tied tightly together, with the centre ones coated in pitch. It would burn for a while, flaming until completely consumed, and produce a fair amount of hot fire.
Camara stripped the bedding out from under Gerrold then placed a number of pieces of plate mail and leather armour under his bottom and between his legs. She was ready to begin.
First, she grabbed Gerrold's testicles and lifted, forcing him to arch his back and lift his bottom up off the bed. Next, she jammed the end of the torch into his rectum, hard, forcing it inside, tearing the skin, drawing some blood and a lot of screaming from her victim. Pushing it in until it was well and truly seated, she let him down again and waited for a few minutes until his cries of agony died down.
"You don't seem to have much of a pain threshold, do you." She lit the end of the torch. Gerrold stared at the flames uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, then burst into a fresh spate of screaming. He quickly dropped into a frantic babble of pleading. She ignored it all for a minute or two, then slapped him across the face, hard, twice.
"Listen good, you bastard. I'll say this just once. I have some questions, and I need answers. I would like you to give me what I need. If you don't, I'll get my favourite treat instead - freshly roasted testicles. You see, for me, this is a win-win situation. I either get answers, or I get two extremely rare and delicious tidbits. Well?"
"I'll talk! I'll TALK! ANYTHING! Ask me, please! Anything, just put out that fire!"
"When we're finished, not before. First, who do you work for?"
"Captain Torres, in Gedren. I've never met him, just his flunkies. He talks to me through a vision crystal. He's an intermediary for some other bigwig. I don't know who, and never asked!"
She glanced at her wizard, who nodded yes.
"Why were you attacking me?"
"Orders. Strictly orders. I have no idea why, other than to stop you from reaching Gedren. Honest!"
Another nod from the Wizard.
"How did you find my camp so easily?"
"Captain Torres told me where it was. That's it. I have no idea where he got the information, just that it was accurate!"
"Where is the teleporter?"
Surprise crossed his face, silencing him for a few seconds. Pain brought him back quickly. "In the supply tent! It's the long, staff-looking thing with the crossbar on one end. It's guarded by runes and traps!"
More nods from the Wizard. Then he asked some questions.
"What does this vision crystal look like?"
"It's over there, on the table, that flat piece of transparent rock with all the magic writing on it. Please, that fire is starting to burn!"
"Do you contact this captain guy, or does he contact you? And when?"
"Once each morning and evening, and he contacts me! PLEASE! IT HURTS!"
Camara nodded at Humboldt, who doused the flame. Gerrold's head fell back and he sighed in relief. He seemed in bad shape, with a sickly grey pallor to his face and his breath rattling noisily in his throat.
Humboldt didn't look much better. He had a thing about pain and bloodshed. Intellectually, it didn't bother him that much, but up close and personal, no matter who's it was, he tended to become quite ill.
"Humboldt, pack up any of the magic gear you think might be useful or valuable, including that crystal thing. Call me if you need my help."
Stepping out of the tent, she ordered Arden to clean up Gerrold and prepare him and the other prisoners for the trek back to camp. He and his rangers began their task.
The next morning, Gerrold was seated in front of a table. On the table was the vision crystal. Standing away from him, and away from the crystal's gaze, according to Humboldt, were Camara, Lord Verran, Sir William, Humboldt, Deena, and Trieste.
The crystal activated with an eerie, purple-green glow, growing brighter, then darker, the light seemingly sucked into a hole in the centre. From the blackness, new light appeared, shimmering and swirling, coalescing finally into the image of a grey-haired gentleman wearing the tunic of a city captain. The uniform was that of the city of Gedren, where she was headed.
"Gerrold. Gerrold! Why have you moved camp? What happened?"
"Captain. We were attacked last night by Camara. It was difficult, we lost many men, but some of us survived."
The grey-haired gentleman looked away for a moment, mumbled something, listened for an answer, then turned back to the crystal.
"Liar! You should be dead already! No matter, I'm sure Camara will take care of that little problem soon enough. You are now dispensable. If you can, leave. You may survive longer, though I doubt it. I have other plans for that she-demon daughter of a whore-mongering goatherd."
Camara stepped into his field of view. She looked at the captain with a mildly amused expression on her face.
"Hello, Captain Torres. It's nice to see I'm well liked. I look forward to meeting you in person."
A look of shock passed across his face, and he turned grey with terror. No words came out of his flapping jaw, nothing but a high-pitched squeal. Finally he managed to scream the word "NO!" as he reached forward to deactivate the device from his end.
"Interesting. I think he likes me."
"M'Lady," stated Humboldt, "it was easy to trace the direction of the magical link. That man is indeed somewhere in or near Gedren."
"Yes, wearing that uniform and all, and him trying to stop us from getting there, does sort of hint at that, doesn't it. I guess confirmation is valuable, even though it doesn't tell us anything new. Trieste?"
Trieste was one of the newer members of Camara's band. A skilled fighter and thief, she was also well-versed in the softer arts of music, song, dance, and lovemaking. Short for a human, at 4'8", as well as being slender, she had the musculature of a trained acrobat, despite the fact she was approaching her fortieth year. Her fit body was vital in her chosen professions, all of them. She was, to Camara's great disappointment, strictly a man-lover. "Ah well, can't have everything," was M'Lady's private thought on the fighter's preference.
There were few that would call her beautiful because of her hard face, narrow eyes, pointed nose and chin, and thin mouth. Few would be attracted by her body because of its lack of real curves. Most of her customers, when she was active in that part of her life, were those who enjoyed very vigorous physical lovemaking, and there were persistent rumours that the woman, once aroused, was both insatiable and unstoppable. Camara really wished she could test out those rumours.
The reason she was at that meeting, however, had little to do with her skills. She was a former native of Gedren and, through her various professions, knew many of the more important inhabitants, both overt and covert.
"No, I've never met the man. He is wearing the proper uniform for a city captain, but I don't think he is a member of the guard."
Camara raised an eyebrow, so Trieste continued.
"He's not a trained fighter. You can see that in his posture, his limbs, and his reactions. All city guards, including the leaders, are fully trained professionals. That wimp could be rousted by a yearling trainee. He looks more like a minor lordling putting on airs."
"Agreed. Deena, did you get a good enough look at him to be able to track him with your amulet?"
"No. I guess the image isn't enough for these spells to lock onto. I will remember that man though. He reminds me a bit of a leech."
"Nice description. I like it. We'll have a meeting in an hour to discuss plans. Sir William, Gerrold is all yours now. Make sure he is still capable of travelling to Saldar tomorrow morning."
Gerrold started pleading, but was silenced when the back of William's armoured hand knocked him cold.
"Lord Verran," Camara asked, "did any of the other prisoners give us useful information?"
"No, M'Lady. They were all subordinates of Gerrold. They did corroborate his story though."
"Too bad. I wish we had more information on who our friend is and what he wants. Have them sent back to Saldar. King Merovance may find a use for some of them. Humboldt, is that teleporter thing going to do us any good?"
"No, M'Lady. We don't know the proper command words and control gestures to operate the magical device. If we tried, anyone going through could end up underground, high in the air, or inside something. It could be of value to a towered wizard, though. Someone who had the time and resources for researching the artifact would probably pay a fair bit, possibly even trade magic for magic."
"A good thought. At least we'll come out of this encounter with something worthwhile. Too bad that wizard didn't survive the trip here. It would have made a most useful toy. Of course, I'd trade it all and then some to get Briana back. But then again, you already know that, don't you."
Her pet wizard and sometime companion looked her in the eye. "Yes, Camara. I know you would. As would I, and William, and many others in this camp. You are not alone in your pain. She was a great woman."
Lady Camara blinked a few times, then steeled herself. She was not yet ready to indulge in the misery she knew would come.
"Thank you, Humboldt. I keep forgetting that there are others who care around me. You serve me well, both as a wizard, and as a friend."
It was time to break camp and move on towards their objective. They would say their goodbyes that evening before lighting the funeral pyre. Then it would be time for grief.
Chapter 3
( The Bard:
<cough, cough> Suddenly my throat feels rather dry.
<A few smirks, some movement in the chamber. A fresh-filled flagon of fine ale is placed beside him, along with a small crystal goblet of fortified wine. His preferences are widely known.>
Pardon? The tale of The Healing Temple? No, no, that was not Camara, though some unscrupulous types may lead you to believe so. No, there were other heroes in the world then, lesser known in these areas, perhaps, but still great, and their tales are many. Others have stolen their fame and have claimed the deeds for themselves, or for their heroes. No, that story took place in another land altogether, and in the retelling, has been transformed. The truth is that it was another great warrior woman, one named Xena, who brought the dead back to life. But that is a tale for another day.
Meet? In combat? No, never to my knowledge or to Camara's admittance, in combat or otherwise, although the gods do tend to play strangely at times. No, my Lady, if the truth be known, Xena may have been a slightly better warrior, but Camara's knowledge of magic would have gained her the victory, I'm certain. Of course, if they met prior to her learning those mystic skills, the outcome would be in doubt.
Hardly Sir! If they've never met, how could they? Really, your imagination is most vivid, but such fanciful tales are suited only to the cheaper taverns and bordellos. I speak of the true tales of a great and powerful warrior.
My Lord? I do not know, my Lord. Those events as told in this tale are vouchsafed by the Lady herself. No doubt you wonder as to the history she related. Camara only promised my mentor that the monologue was correct in its words, not in the truth of those words. One can only guess at which are fact and which are less so. She has an educated tongue, one which plays easily with half-truths, mixing fact and fancy with such skill as to beguile even the most learned.
Of known fact was her ownership by several rather odd lords, and it is well established that the final one was a cruel master. It was he that she killed to escape her agonies and her slavery. That is another tale, however, and the evening wears on. So, allow me continue this epic. )
The funeral pyre was ready, and Briana had already been carried to her place of honour. Nearby, Camara sat, dry-eyed, staring at the pile of wood. Some time had gone by since she began her final visit, yet not a single person had tried to interrupt. Finally she started to whisper, speaking to herself, and to the unseen spirits.
"Briana, dear, sweet Briana. Why have the fates been so unkind to you? Not even twenty summers have gone by since you came into this world. Now you are gone again. You always said you would die young and die fighting, yet I doubt you even saw your final opponent.
"It hardly seems real. Already I miss you so much. Do you know what I miss most of all? That quirky little smile you have when you are up to some trick or other. You always gave yourself away, but I never let on. It was so nice to hear you laugh when you caught someone unawares. Everyone enjoyed your jests, even the ones you tricked.
"Did I ever tell you about Collena? We were in love, once upon a time. That woman was as dour as you are cheerful, but inside, there was enough love to fill the world. She went away too. Sometimes I dream of her, just like I dream of you. Her and her two children. It was the first time I'd lived in a house with little ones around. You would have loved them. The girl was so sweet and cute, and the boy was a terror, just like you.
"They say that the dead can hear when someone thinks of them. I hope so. Briana, ever since we met, you knew I had deep feelings for you. Words come hard for me, so I waited to tell you until the time was right. It never was. I love you. For the longest time, I knew it, but never said anything. I couldn't. You were always joking, always laughing. You never gave anyone a chance to be serious, not even me.
"When you met William and fell in love, you broke my heart. Now you've broken it again. It's so hard to carry on as if everything is normal. I keep expecting to hear your laugh ring through the camp. I just wish ... I wish ..."
A sob broke through at that point, ending her speech. With a great deal of effort, she composed herself, then stood to leave.
"Goodbye, my love. I hope we meet again somewhere on the other side. I'll be wanting to hear all about the jests you've pulled."
With that final word, Camara straightened up, steadied herself, turned, and left. Only her overly moist eyes betrayed the pain hidden inside. William nodded as they passed, as he would be the final one to say his farewells.
The priest intoned prayers to Briana's god, adding those to his own as well, hastening her spirit's journey to whatever haven waited for her as he lit the oil-soaked wood. Flames flew bright and high well into the evening.
That night was one of the few when Camara actually drank to get drunk, sitting with Sir William, Humboldt, Deena, and a few of the sell-swords. It was a long and sorrowful time with much weeping, and more than a few oaths were sworn to make the ultimate perpetrator pay, though M'Lady remained silent. Hers was possibly the deepest pain. Few were the people ever allowed into her heart, yet Briana had been there almost from the first day they met. Later, while she and Bracchus lay in bed, M'Lady opened her heart to him for the first time, and spoke of the love ...
( The Bard:
Pardon? Was that an interruption? No, my Lady, I was not about to relate the tale of their meeting. Why? My Lady, I am in the middle of an epic. It will be quite long enough without additional stories inserted in the telling.
Why, my Lord! Thank you for your most generous offer. I would be proud to relate all of the true tales of Camara, and be your guest for as many nights as required. As for your lady's request, tomorrow night would be perfect for ... Oh. My apologies. I was unaware of that difficulty. If you wish to hear the tale of their meeting, then so be it. The story is short, yet intense. I shall continue with the epic afterwards. Please get comfortable. This will be a long evening.
It was only a year and some before this story that the two met. M'Lady was freebooting, haunting a number of towns and villages, in between commissions. )
She was in a small city, just north of the Decant Pit, in a very seedy tavern, and she had picked a fight. Her victim was a very large, beefy sort of man, rather ugly and stupid, yet with just enough brains to know he was stronger than everyone else and could bully them around. For some reason, Camara was in a particularly foul mood and wanted to cause some pain in a deserving soul. The tavern was fairly large and filled to capacity that evening. There were over a hundred men in the common room, along with a much smaller number of armed women, and a scattering of wenches on various laps. Most would have loved to see one or the other bleed.
Unknown to M'Lady, several members of the bully's gang were also in attendance. That would not be a fair fight, with ten on one, and nine of those by surprise.
It began normally enough, with Camara kicking the great sod back onto a table, which promptly collapsed under his weight. Several tankards of ale could not be saved, unhappily for their previous owners. She stood there and waited for him to recover from his ignominious fall, frowning in that distasteful, insulting way she has. Immediately the crowds moved aside, dragging away chairs and tables, clearing an area in the centre for the fight. Obviously it was a fairly common occurrence, since the locals acted quickly and in concert.
Shaking like a wet bear, he stood and tried to rush her. He held wide his huge arms, stomped loudly on his tree-trunk legs, and bellowed wildly to try and frighten this ... this ... woman ... who had the temerity to lay a hand on him. Naturally, he ended up landing face first on top of another table, victim of a fast side step, duck, trip, and an elbow to his posterior. This time the drink owners were a little faster. Only one tankard was lost.
Undeterred, the lummox tried wading in with ham fists flying. Laughing, sneering at him, eyes blazing with battle-lust, taunting his meagre skills, demeaning his manhood, calling into question the parentage of his line back to the slug that first birthed his great-grandsire, she stayed out of reach of his monstrous arms, occasionally striking a blow to keep his interest.
It was her ambush alarm that saved her from being spitted. With that split-second warning, she twisted away from the critical blow, receiving instead a nasty gash in her side. She dampened the pain, of course, but the wound temporarily impaired her mobility. So, instead of facing one large, slow moving opponent, she was standing inside a ring of cutthroats, all evil, sinister looking characters, all armed, all wanting her blood. Things did not look promising, even for her. They moved as one to smother her resistance and take her with minimal damage to themselves. She managed to knock one out and cripple a second before the big one grabbed her leg. She was soon held tightly by all four limbs, and was being subjected to a fair beating.
M'Lady was summoning her strength for one of those incredible escapes when suddenly one of her arms was freed, then the other, and the thugs became confused. The blows driving back those two rats had seemingly come from nowhere. Seizing that brief opportunity, she drew a dagger and slashed at the two villains securing her legs. The first received a bloody wound across his face, while the second jumped back in time to prevent the loss of his arm.
With limbs free, and her enemies in turmoil, she sprang to her feet and went on the attack.
The first small man went down quickly, driven to unconsciousness by a boot to his temple. The second and third proved to be tougher and faster, avoiding any crippling or disabling blows while still occupying her attention. The fourth, sneaking in from behind, was taken out by a back-kick to his face, one that crushed his nose and drove him through another table. The locals learned fast - not a drop was spilled.
The big man was now approaching from her left, sword in hand, while another man approached from the right with a dagger. She sensed two others behind her in addition to the two sword-wielding toughs in front of her. The gang had regained their composure and were now working as a unit to eliminate their prey.
Executing one of those impossible somersault leaps, she cleared the oversized oaf, landed behind him, and regained his attention with a foot to the back of his head. She smiled gleefully as he turned, and smashed her heel into his face, driving him back into two of his own men. Moving quickly, she sidestepped another thrust, grabbed the fiend's arm, pulled him off balance, then smashed an elbow into the back of her opponent's head as he went by.
The battle lust was fully upon her, filling her with a wild, frenzied joy, sharpening her senses, bringing with it a fantastic thrill that ran through her entire body. Everything moved in slow motion except her, and she knew she was capable of anything. It was like the finest drug ever brought in from the south or east, incomparable to any normal experience. Her love, her need, her lust for it was unimaginable, almost as bad as a lotus-eater's need for his smoke. No feat of skill, no acrobatic move, no amount of strength was beyond her. Even her mind was keen and sharp, seeing everything, missing nothing, not focused in on only one move or opponent, using her eyes, ears, nose, and those other unnamed senses to know where all danger was coming from. Only the greatest warriors in the world could match this woman in her full glory.
Once again the big man was coming at her, so far hardly even dazed by her assault. Expecting more of his men to attack, she was surprised to see one sailing through the air behind the big guy. The locals were smarter than I credited them to be. This time, they moved their entire table out of the way. He landed hard. She had only a brief instant to notice another thug laying on the floor, one she hadn't taken out, and two others engaged in fighting a small figure, before the great lout charged again.
She decided it was time for her to end the sham. When he came in, she went low, avoiding his sword and his fist, delivering several hard blows to his abdomen, doubling him over. A quick jab with her elbow cracked his wrist and caused him to drop his sword. With a series of spinning kicks to his head and stomach, she drove him back towards the bar. Ending with a flourish, she leapt high, pounding a rapid tattoo of punishing heel-kicks to his face, and completed her victory by double-kicking his chest and back-flipping to her feet, the blow driving him over the bar and through the rear wall. He was out.
None of the other assailants had either the will or the ability to continue. As bouncers began to clean up the detritus of the conflict, she looked around for her unknown ally. There, across the tavern, was that person. He (she?) was leaning against a post, turned partly away from Camara, and seemed to be in grief, as her shoulders were shaking. Concerned, yet cautious as always, M'Lady approached the fighter. Only when she was much closer did she see that her benefactor was in fact a woman, and that she was absolutely teary-eyed with mirth.
"By the gods!" the other woman laughed, unable to contain herself. "I haven't had this much fun in ages! Come on, let's go elsewhere. I owe you several drinks for this entertainment, and I'd prefer good wine to the swill they serve here."
It was rare for Camara to be caught flat-footed, or rather, open- mouthed with surprise. The young lady before her was a delight to behold. She appeared to be no more than seventeen or eighteen, not much more than five feet tall, very slender in figure, with a clear, tanned face, pale blonde hair, blue eyes, and gorgeous soft lips. Yet the maiden was dressed in black combat leathers and sported an impressive array of armaments, ones that looked well used and well cared for. She had also taken out at least four of the bully boy's crew of thugs.
"Well, I, uh ..."
"Come on. The town watch will be here soon, probably with some more of that oaf's friends. Unless you want more fun, we'd better leave."
She gave Camara little choice, taking her by the hand and pulling her out the back of the tavern. Several streets later, when it became apparent that the blonde had a destination in mind, Camara pulled up. Since the woman was still holding M'Lady's hand, that stopped her as well.
"All right, who are you, and where are you taking me?"
They looked each other over for a minute or two, Camara still somewhat guarded, the blonde looking curious.
"I didn't get a very good look at you in the tavern, but you really are more beautiful than I thought. Impressive, dangerous, and beautiful. I like you."
"All right, full marks for flattery," replied Camara. "Now who are you?"
"Well, if you must know, my name is Briana. Right now, I don't have much time for pleasantries. So if you please, let's be on our way."
"To where? And why should I go with you?"
"First off, you're wounded. You need a healer. So do I. This stab wound in my shoulder is still bleeding. That's where we're going. As for why, he's the best healer in town. You'd end up going there anyway. Now can we get going? Before I pass out? Please?"
It was then that she noticed the girl's slight look of pain, and the slowly greying pallor of her skin. She saw no sign of injury, and the fighter did not move like there was pain or discomfort, yet the signs were unmistakable. Yes, she thought, a healer would be advisable. Besides, that wound in her side did hurt - it was still oozing blood, and she preferred a competent healer do the nasty work rather than herself.
Camara allowed Briana to lead her by the hand, still cautiously expecting trouble. Yet her alarms never went off. They were just inside the healer's house when Briana giggled and spoke.
"Nighty night. Sleep tight." She then passed out onto the floor.
The young woman was heavy despite her small frame. After rousing the healer from his bed, the two of them hoisted the fighter to his table. She had received a nasty wound in the back, just below her left shoulder. It was bleeding only slightly on the outside, but both the healer and Camara agreed that it was bleeding heavily within. It would require magical intervention to save her life, and Camara decided to pay the high cost for a priest, if only to find out more about the strange girl. Her own wound was not severe, and only required cleansing, sewing, and sealing.
The healer was a journeyman, not a master, and the priest little more than an acolyte, yet each knew his craft. Briana was healed of her wound, but her body needed much time to recover. The healer told M'Lady that the girl would probably be unconscious for a few days.
"All right," thought Camara to herself, "I've gone this far, why not. She probably saved me some pain and suffering. She probably thought she was saving my life."
M'Lady rented a larger room in the inn she was staying at, and paid the healer's assistants to carry the unconscious girl there. It was two days before she woke at all, surprising Camara when she did.
"What are you doing here? I thought I was the only one dying."
Camara looked at the girl. The deathly pallor was now a mere greyish lack of health. Her eyes were barely open and she had not moved from the position M'Lady had placed her in that morning, yet she was conscious.
"Dying? What kind of nonsense is that? You're here in my room. Where did you think you were?"
The girl looked at Camara for a moment, then fell into a more normal sleep.
That evening, when she was just getting into bed, she heard Briana speak again. It was again a surprise, since she would have sworn a moment ago that the girl was asleep.
"Funny. You look human. I thought you were supposed to be some sort of monster under those leathers."
An automatic anger took over any time reference was made to the possibility of her non-human parentage. People had died for just those types of comments. It certainly didn't sound much like gratitude for saving the fighter's life.
"Now you listen to me, you li ..." Camara stopped when she saw the smirk on Briana's face. She'd been had. She also suddenly realized that the girl knew who she was.
"How come you're sleeping way over there?"
Camara was once again caught flat footed ... er ... open mouthed with surprise. That was about as blatant an invitation as she had ever received from any woman. Men, of course, were a different matter. It took her a few seconds to regain her composure, especially since it had been an eternity since she'd last bedded anyone - well over three months.
"Briana, you're in no condition for any kind of activity right now. The healer said several days bed rest after you wake up, with no exertion whatsoever."
After all, the girl was just recovering from a deadly wound. She had almost no strength after losing so much blood and hadn't eaten in days. Those sips of water and broth M'Lady had forced down her throat could hardly have sufficed to supply her with needed liquid either.
"If he insists, then it must be. But it's been soooo long, I'm almost dying of frustration. It wouldn't hurt to exercise my lips a little, would it? Please?"
Camara knew that if she went to the girl's bed, it would not stop at kissing. However, she had been taking care of all of the girl's bodily needs for the better part of three days. The maiden was beautiful, even when naked, and Camara was very much attracted to her. It is difficult to say exactly what emotions she was feeling right then, for even she did not really know what they were. Lust, certainly, some gratitude, a little guilt, yet there were other attractions there as well. It certainly was not love, but may have been its close cousin. She liked the young woman, even though they had only shared a half-dozen sentences between them, and only a few more than that number of minutes together.
Lust overcame good sense. She promised herself that she would limit activities to those that would not overly tire or re-injure the blond beauty.
"First you eat and have something to drink. You need it."
M'Lady fed the invalid some broth, bread dipped in water, and a little mashed fruit, along with some of the powders the healer said she would need to rebuild her blood. She also gave the girl a few sips of watered wine. After a while, some slight hints of colour did return to her face.
Once the repast was finished, Lady Camara stripped off the rest of her garments and lay in bed with Briana.
That first night was rather quiet, for both of them. They kissed and stroked each others bodies, touching and tasting lips, tongues, and skin. Camara fingered Briana to a slow, soft climax to end the evening. That exhausted the weakened warrior, who promptly went back to sleep. Despite her heightened need, Camara stayed in that bed, holding the delightful woman in her arms, and also managed to fall asleep.
It was unusual for Camara to spend the night with anyone. Most of her bed partners were sent away to their bedrolls or tents after her passions were satisfied. If she was elsewhere, she would return to her own tent, alone, to sleep. Her habits spoke quietly of the fact that she rarely fully trusted anyone, even those she was closest to. This, then, was a rare event in her recent life, almost as rare as the fingers of a twice-caught thief(*).
Thinking about it later, she realized that for whatever reason, she now trusted a woman whom she hardly knew. At the time her mind was a little cloudy, so she listened to her basic instincts - those that had helped her to survive for so long. Those instincts, and her alarms.
( The Bard:
Quiet! No interruptions right now!
<The red-faced warrior stammers to silence under the reproachful eyes of his companions. The Bard continues.> )
Morning brought a quiet smile to M'Lady as she watched her new lover dreaming in her arms. The lass looked much younger asleep like that, now that she was away from death's door. Fifteen possibly, maybe sixteen, beautiful of course, but also delicate and vulnerable. It was hard for M'Lady to picture her as the fighter she'd seen the other evening.
Camara wondered of the girl's history. Was she an orphan? Or some cast-off issue of a noble's dalliance, learning to survive without a father? Or could she be from a street family somewhere, looking for an easy mark? Somehow she doubted the girl was after gold or an easy life. Her actions the other day spoke for themselves. As did the lack of silver in her purse. M'Lady had looked, of course. Without Camara to pay for the priest and healer, the child would probably be dead. With her beauty and body, there were far easier lives available than that of a fighter, so she was not after a soft touch. It was an intriguing puzzle, one that piqued Camara's interest.
The girl stirred, not really waking. She pulled herself into a closer hug, nuzzled Camara's breasts, then returned to sleep. Yes, truly a mystery. M'Lady knew it was not her first female bedding either. That was a certainty.
It was another hour before Briana properly woke, interrupting M'Lady's flights of fancy over the maiden's history.
"G'mornin'" The girl simply wiggled into a tighter embrace, if that was possible.
"Good morning yourself. Did you sleep well?"
"Mmmm hmmm. I had the most wonderful dreams, too."
"Really? Care to share any of them?"
"Nnnnooo, not now. They're private. How come you smell so good in the morning?"
For Camara, this was new ground. She never before had met such an unusual woman. Having no answer, indeed, not even able to think up a suitable reply, she started stroking the blonde's back and shoulders.
"Mmmm. Nice. I could get used to this," said the girl, as she started suckling on one of Camara's ring-pierced nipples. The unexpected sensation sent a thrill of pleasure through M'Lady's body, speeding her heart, and bringing out a small gasp. They lay like that for some time, fully relaxed, wrapped in each other's arms, enjoying each other's pleasure, with M'Lady stroking and caressing the girl, and she in turn enjoying the taste of the older woman's breasts, occasionally switching from one to the other, using her tongue to play with the nipples and rings.
To say that this was completely new to Camara would be wrong. There were many times during her slavery period that she slept with and woke with other slaves or masters, both male and female, and enjoyed numerous kinds of delights. The difference was in the time and person. Camara the slave had little voice in her sleeping arrangements. Camara the warrior had, up until then, mostly declined overnight bed partners. She and her new lover were both consciously choosing to share each other's feelings and pleasures. The difference for M'Lady was very real and struck deeply.
As much as she enjoyed having her breasts suckled like that, the rippling tickles of pleasure were simply feeding M'Lady's frustration. It had been a long time since her last bedding, and she had even been denied the shallower joy of self-indulgence the previous night. She whimpered a bit.
Call it experience, call it random timing, call it a joining of the spirits if you like, the fact is that just as Camara was beginning to whine, Briana was bringing her hand down to M'Lady's soft treasures.
Stroking lightly and slowly, the girl began to delve into the delicate and tender folds of M'Lady's haven. That brought on delightful feelings, both those expected, and old ones, ones not experienced in years. The sheer innocence and acceptance of the maiden heightened Camara's sensitivities. She was surprised to find herself suddenly rolling through a gentle climax, one causing her to sigh with the soft waves of pleasure running through her body, starting from nowhere, and dissolving back into nothingness. She nuzzled the hair of that wonderful person, tears forming in her eyes, holding the girl close as she continued her quiet ministrations.
Soft as it was, it reached deep into her body, releasing much of the tension and desire that had been there. Soon she could feel another building as Briana began stroking her pleasure bump, another slow rising, deep reaching ocean swell. It soon found her, rushing through her body in an unstoppable wave of sensation, strong enough to seize her completely, removing her from the world for an instant, maybe an eternity, then bringing her back to all the electric thrills escaping from her special place.
Briana continued, this time delving into Camara's inner self, stroking softly, yet deeply and insistently. Another groan escaped M'Lady's lips, one of pleasure. She wanted - no, needed - one more burst of ecstasy. That soft hand and suckling mouth kept pushing more and more tickles of sensation into the centre of her groin, slowly building that wave of intense feeling. Soon it arrived, pulling M'Lady into the depths of passion, causing her to cry out with the supreme delight of the moment, almost tearing her breast from the mouth engulfing it, writhing around to drive those fingers and that thumb into extending her joy as long as possible.
All too soon, the moment was over. Camara lay mostly quiet, occasionally twitching or shivering with the after effects of her lovemaking, sighing lightly because of the wonderful glow left from that deep release.
A small, rather quiet voice reached her.
"No hair. It's soft and smooth. I like it."
The girl removed her fingers and, much to M'Lady's surprise, licked them clean.
"I'm jealous. You even taste good in the morning." She then closed her eyes, pulled M'Lady back into her embrace, and fell asleep. Camara also napped, feeling drained by the depth and breadth of those special instants she had experienced. They brought back pleasant dreams of days long since forgotten.
The two women spent two more evenings and two more wonderful mornings in that room before Camara decided it was time for her to continue on. She thought her troops would be waiting for her by then, and she needed to see to them and continue on with her life. That wonderful time could not last forever, regardless of how much she wished it to.
Briana watched M'Lady dress, as she had for the last few mornings. There was a difference, though, with Camara clothing herself much more carefully, leaving nothing to chance, leaving nothing behind.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm afraid it's time for me to return to my life."
"Well, help me get dressed then. I'm going with you."
Camara looked at the woman as she struggled to get up. She was healing, yet still lacked all but the feeblest bits of strength and endurance.
"Don't be absurd. You're in no condition to go anywhere. This room and your meals are paid up for two more sevendays, so just eat, sleep and relax, and build up your strength. The innkeeper's wife will be looking in on you several times a day, both to bring you your meals and to change your bandages. I can't stay any longer."
"Now you listen to me, young lady," scolded Briana. M'Lady couldn't help smirking at that. She was at least ten years senior to the blonde. "I've been hunting for ages for someone like you. If you think you're just gonna waltz in, sweep me off my feet, and then waltz out again, you've got another thing coming. This little pinprick in my shoulder sure ain't gonna keep me from going with you."
As much as M'Lady would have liked to take this girl with her, the logical portion of her mind said it was impossible. She was too young, too delicate, and too vulnerable to travel with the tough veterans in her troop.
"No, Briana. It's impossible. I'm returning to my soldiers. There is no place for you among them. Now just lie back and rest. I'll be gone in a few minutes, and then this will become nothing but a pleasant memory for us both."
An ugly expression took over Briana's face, twisting it into something most sinister. Her sweet voice changed to one you'd normally expect from dark, dank, dangerous places. "That just ain't gonna happen! Listen, Camara, I ain't survived my whole life on the streets without learnin' the difference between what I want an' what I need. Right now, I need you. I know you want me, 'cause I see it in your eyes. You can't hide it. All you see now is a frail little girl lying here, right? Well, ask some of my old mates. I's also one o' th' kick-ass worst knifers t' ever crawl outa the gutter. I ain't afraid o' nobody in your army, an' I ain't afraid o' you. Th' worst you kin do is kill me, an' I already bin dead twice, so I ain't scared o' that neither!"
Taking a deep breath and changing back to her sweet voice and expression, she continued. "So, you can either take me with you, or I'll follow you to the ends of the earth. Your choice."
Well, despite the attraction and tenderness that she felt for the woman, Camara was not one to suffer demands lightly. Her temper flared. Her hard, discipline-inspiring face reappeared, as well as her flint-edged voice.
"Good luck. You'll need it. I'll see you again if you ever catch up with me. Goodbye."
And she left. You might think that she would relent, or wait, or travel slowly, possibly even check to see if the girl would be foolish enough to follow, but that was not her way. She had been pushed, she made a decision, and she followed it. There was no room in her life right then for any sort of romanticism. The girl survived before she met M'Lady, and Camara's thought was she would survive again afterwards on her own merit. Any debt owed, or any guilt harboured, had been repaid or expunged by the cost and trouble taken for the healer, the priest, the care given, and the gift of room and board for a time. The heaviness in her heart was not a consideration for Camara. It was fresh, true, but it would fade and blend in with all the other scars and bruises there.
It was two sevendays later that Lord Verran approached Lady Camara with a puzzled expression on his face.
"M'Lady, I have a slight problem, and I think it may need your attention. For the past four days, there's been a single fighter following us, slowly catching up. I have no idea who it is, but she doesn't seem to be a scout for someone else, and she makes no attempt to hide herself from our trailers. In a few days she will catch us. It's a little disturbing. Personally, I would prefer to chase her off, but I leave the choice to you."
Despite herself, Camara's thoughts turned to her last image of Briana, as she was sitting up in bed, still weak as a kitten, hardly able to stand, yet bravely announcing her intent to be Lady Camara's lover and threatening to follow her chosen woman to the ends of the earth.
"Describe her to me."
"Well, I don't have much because our scouts have kept their distance, but she is short, dressed in black leathers, and blond. Oh, and she's leading a horse. It appears to be the same one those two bandits had, the ones we crossed paths with a week ago."
That was something Camara never expected. It sounded like it could be, but was it? Dare she dream it? She had to know. A thrill of excitement ran through her at the possibility Briana could be following through on her threat.
"Send a pair of scouts to look her over carefully. I want no menace from them, no fright, just a close scrutiny. I need a good description of that fighter. Get them to ask her name."
"Should I know something about this person? You look more than a little intrigued by her - nothing like your normal self."
"Let's just say I met someone ... interesting ... while I was away. It may be her."
M'Lady wandered around for the rest of the day with a strange smile on her face and a rather mild disposition. Everyone in camp by then knew something unusual was in the air. The expectation, the slight edge of excitement, brought on a great deal of idle speculation, most of it completely off the mark of course. One or two of the guesses did come close, though.
The next evening, her unvoiced hopes were confirmed. Their shadow was a short, blue eyed, blond haired, black leather clad knife fighter who claimed the name Briana. That strange smile grew wide, and Camara laughed for the first time in many days.
"Verran, let her catch up. I really want to know what happens when she gets here. Don't stop her, just let her walk, or ride, into camp. Do keep her under close watch though. She may be dangerous."
Lord Verran would normally question orders as strange as those, but the look in Camara's eyes told him that there was far more to this than he knew. He would keep close tabs on the fighter, but would not interfere. The woman would be under scrutiny day and night from that point on, and if she did enter the camp, several crossbows would be cocked and ready to fire.
It was two evenings later, just as Lord Verran predicted, that the fighter walked into camp leading a rather ragged looking horse. She moved to the centre of camp, dropped the reins she'd been holding, and shouted.
"CAMARA! I'M HERE!"
She was definitely the centre of attention, not only because of all the rumours running around, but also because most of the troops could now see for themselves how beautiful she was. Many of the men in camp, and a few of the women, wondered what it would be like to lie with her. The only ones not watching Briana were the pickets, and they were listening carefully.
After five minutes of being ignored, she sat down. After half an hour, she hobbled her horse, took some rations from the saddlebags, and cooked her dinner over a nearby fire. After an hour, she unsaddled the horse, laid out her sleeping roll, and acted like she had every intention of staying the night. That's when Lady Camara walked into the firelight.
She had been watching Briana the entire time, of course, observing the fighter, wondering what she would do. Just seeing her brought quite a thrill to M'Lady. None but she knew of the joy she felt when this persistent lover rode into camp, or saw the lustful expressions and softer looks of tenderness chase each other across her face during that hour. When she stepped into view, however, the expression she wore was one of mild amusement.
"Well, well, well. What have we here. A persistent little mayfly."
Briana just watched M'Lady for a moment, looking neither annoyed nor amused. "Do I stay, or do I hafta follow you to the great ocean and back first?"
They stared at each other for several moments. The camp was silent, other than the sounds of the crackling fires and the leaves rustling in the wind. Not a soul moved. If they were having a test of wills, neither showed any sign of giving in. Finally, Camara spoke.
"So you say you're a fighter, a knifer. Well, we'll see about that. Taggart, let's see how she fares against you. Blunted knives, pulled blows, street rules(*). Briana, if you win, you stay, at least as a fighter. If you lose, well, I'll think about that later."
M'Lady was of two distinct minds. She really wanted Briana with her, but she allowed no camp followers with her troops. The only way for Briana to stay was if she convinced enough of her men, especially Lord Verran, that she was a valuable asset. That would not be easy, considering the level of talent she required in all her troops. She was very much concerned, though, when she recognized the same pallor and weakness of limb in the woman that she'd had while back at the inn. Apparently her travels and possible side adventures hadn't allowed her to recover properly from her deep injury, and she was still quite weak.
Soon the combatants were ready and the circle formed. Lady Camara herself gave the command to begin.
The battle was very fast, very intense, and, luckily, very short, lasting less than a minute. After a few dozen lightning fast knife strikes and hand blows, Taggart stepped back and called "death strike!" He had been dealt a blow that would be critical if it were a true fight. She had demonstrated her abilities.
Briana dropped her fake weapon, turned to Camara, and asked which tent M'Lady was using.
"Presumptuous, aren't you?"
Briana stared at her for a few seconds.
"That one." Camara pointed out her own tent.
"Do I hafta kick anyone else out?"
"No, I'll take care of that myself."
"Good, 'cause I'm a little tired right now."
She took two steps, and fainted.
"Timian, Humboldt, see to her please. Place her in my tent. Taggart, did you hold back at all in the fight?"
"No, M'Lady. She can hold her own against almost any fighter around right now. I tried to drag out the battle to take advantage of her apparent weakness, but she forced the pace. She's good."
"Thank you. I needed a true test of her fighting skills. Did I mention that she nearly died trying to save my life not too long ago? Beat up four bully boys herself, and took a knife in the back for her efforts. That's why she's still a little weak. It was a near fatal wound. Very strange girl. It was after the fight that she introduced herself, while leading me to the healer."
That caused a great deal more tongue-wagging, naturally, more-so after she told her newest stud that he'd be sleeping alone from then on. Very few seemed upset or jealous at the girl's appearance and the apparent ease she had in insinuating herself into M'Lady's graces. All knew enough of Camara's history that nothing would truly surprise them. It also helped that Briana had beaten one of the better combat men in a fair fight. There was nothing like a display of true skill to get you on the good side of a veteran campaigner.
It was the following morning before Briana woke. The first thing she saw was M'Lady dressing.
"'Mornin'." She looked more than half-dead, lying very still, with a greyish pallor to her skin. Her voice was soft and faint, a little difficult to hear over the background noise of the camp.
"Well. You're still alive. I was beginning to wonder there for a while." M'Lady spoke quietly as well, but in a light, playful tone of voice. Her expression showed the tenderness and affection she felt for the young lady. There was no worry present, as Timian, the healer, had said that the girl was suffering from no fresh injuries. Her friend was simply exhausted.
"I guess if you say I'm alive, then I am. I don't feel like it. Did I win?"
Still smiling, and with the same expression, Camara's voice became a little more serious.
"Depends. You beat Taggart last night in a knife fight. You're also in my tent. I guess you could call that winning. But now you've become one of my troops. Many would call that losing. What do you say?"
"Am I here in your tent permanent? Or just 'til I heal?" The look on her face was interesting. She looked like a small child who had done something wrong, and was waiting to see which parent would show up - father with the switch, or mother with a hug.
"For a while, anyway."
A wonderful smile formed on Briana's face, one that brought hidden joy to Camara's heart. The satisfaction in the blonde's voice spoke volumes. "Then I won. So, I'm in your army now? What do I do?"
Camara laughed, seeing the eagerness in the maiden's eyes. "You'll be doing nothing but eating, resting, riding a horse, and sleeping for the next few sevendays."
"Sounds boring. Don't I get to do anything interesting? And what's this nonsense about me riding one of those monstrosities?"
"Orders. From me. As your commander. You're too weak to be of any use as a fighter or an operative right now. Until your strength returns, you are under the healer's orders, and he says rest, ride, eat, and sleep. Nothing else. Especially nothing 'interesting'"
"Oh. Does that mean I hafta sleep alone?" Some of the little girl showed through in her eyes and her voice.
"Not unless the gods themselves interfere! I'm under orders not to tire you out too much, though. So rest up. You'll need it!"
Camara sat on the bed and leaned over to collect her lover into her arms. Long was that kiss, both deep and passionate, sealing the bond that joined the two of them. That seal would last until Briana fell in love with another. Their bond would last beyond death itself.
( The Bard:
<He pauses for a couple of minutes, allowing the emotions of his audience to return to normal. Then he continues.>
That is the full tale of the meeting of Briana and Camara. They shared a number of great adventures, and some not-so-great ones as well, during the year they were lovers. But, those are tales for later. For now, I believe my voice needs a short rest and some liquid refreshment before I continue on with my original epic. )
* Author's notes
A twice caught thief. If a thief is caught and convicted of stealing from a noble or rich merchant, the magister enforces the legal punishment - removal of one hand. A second conviction leads to the saying 'as rare as the fingers on a twice-caught thief', since said thief no longer has anywhere for fingers to attach.
Street rules means no rules. Blunted knives and pulled blows allow for no critical or permanently damaging injuries. Broken bones, concussions, even bleeding wounds are common in this type of fight. Combatants, if they receive what normally would be a telling or critical blow, are supposed to step back and declare their loss. Sometimes they do.
Chapter 4
( The Bard:
<Sitting in the tall padded chair beside the fire, he sips on his newly filled flagon of fine ale. The small goblet of fortified wine is now about a third finished. The lords, ladies, gentlemen, and their companions, sit comfortably, idly chatting, waiting for him to continue. A servant brings in a tray of meats and bread for those who hunger, and others refill wine glasses and flagons. He clears his throat, causing all to settle back in silence, listening carefully>
It was about two sevendays after their rousting of those assassins, still a half-day outside of Gedren, when Camara and several of her companions decided to visit a tavern ... )
Lady Camara found it strange to be following their usual information gathering routine with Lydia by her side rather than Briana. Not that Lydia didn't look the part. The red-headed lady was young looking despite her twenty-seven summers, of medium height, and quite cute. Her body was well-formed if not overly curvy, and her laughing green eyes betrayed the good humour in her heart. Yes, many eyes would have turned her way, if not for the woman walking by her side.
No, the strangeness was simply the lack of that spark, that interplay of expression and emotion she had been used to. This lessened any joy M'Lady would normally have felt in the minor adventure.
Their plan was simple, yet devious, and had worked many times in the past. Taggart and Trieste had entered the town's larger tavern several hours prior, trying to attract only a little attention, eating, drinking a little, but insinuating their presence into the talk and minds of the locals. Camara and Lydia would soon be there, being near the supper hour, entering loudly and flashily, giving the locals much to wonder about, and removing from their minds the newness of the first two. Some time later, Lord Verran would arrive, dressed down for the occasion, trying very poorly and obviously to blend in with the locals and pump them for information. With not-so-subtle glances and body language, he was to hint that he and Camara were somehow tied together.
This ploy worked on several levels. If the local was stupid enough not to recognize what Verran was doing, he would get some information. Loud and flashy Camara would distract many men's, and some women's, attention, allowing Lydia the opportunity to talk and flirt with the more besotted of them. Taggart and Trieste, by now seemingly almost a part of the tavern in comparison to the other three, would listen in on the locals - asking questions and receiving answers they could never have gotten as lone strangers. Later in the evening, if M'Lady found someone worthy of a dalliance, she would retire with that person to a suitable location, as would Lydia. That was new to the plan, being reinstated from the time before Briana. If one or the other did not find an interest, they would return with Lord Verran to camp. Subtle and effective. Any who were wise enough to see through all levels of their plan would certainly not divulge anything of import in a tavern anyway.
For M'Lady, the enjoyment she would receive from her evening's exploits would be tinged with sadness. This was the first time in well over a year that Briana was not her partner. She sighed, missing her friend, but then turned her attention to the matter at hand. Smiling at Lydia, receiving another in return, they entered the building.
The tavern they chose was an older one, the seedier of the two in that small town, fairly large, and well frequented, judging by the number of patrons. The common was a long, low room, somewhat wide, with a bar running down the left wall, and two stairways on the far wall leading to the upper floor. Also on the far wall, between the stairways, a number of curtained booths allowed for some slight privacy for those wishing it. The beams overhead were dark with age, and dust and cobwebs were testimony to the lack of proper care given to that once fine building.
Camara walked in a half-step before Lydia, stopping inside the entrance to both survey the common room and allow everyone to notice her. She stood there, meeting as many eyes as she could, until the usually noisy atmosphere dropped down to a few muted whispers. It would be hard for any not to notice the tall, well built, beautiful brunette, dressed in leathers and plate, with a number of well-used weapons strapped to her person.
Suddenly smiling with that come-get-me-I-dare-you look, she strode over towards the bar. There were several eager toughs willing to try out the amazing new woman, certain in their small minds that with their charm and wit they could conquer any mere female.
The first was an odoriferous and dirty rat-like man who asked if M'Lady would like a drink. She looked at him with repugnance, and, luckily for him, he took the hint.
The second was more brazen, asking if the lady was looking for a good time, because he was the best in town. Her look of amusement caused ripples of laughter in the room. All got the joke but him, and he found it so unamusing he pulled his dagger. Camara simply grabbed his wrist tightly, twisting it in such a way that he was forced to drop his weapon, pulled him into a hammerlock, then booted him towards and across the table he came from. His companions prevented him from going back after her and doing something really foolish.
The last before she reached the bar was another of the large, lumpy, less than wise types, the ones who move to the top of their small hill by dint of brute strength and bullheadedness rather than by any innate cunning. He was apparently more interested in relieving M'Lady of her fine sword than anything else. The entire room seemed to hold its collective breath when the brute approached the lady. Wanting to make her point clear, she decided that Sir Fathead would do nicely. With three well-placed and well-executed kicks, one to his groin, one to his oversized belly, and one to his temple, she laid the cretin out cold on the floor. The patrons, silent for a few more seconds, suddenly resumed their chatter, returning the room to its former level of noise, only with a nervous and excited undercurrent. Their object of rumour and speculation for the evening had arrived.
Finding an empty table, by way of frightening off the toughs formerly sitting there, she ordered two ales, one for herself and one for Lydia. She surveyed the room, waiting for the more intelligent, and more dangerous, of the local sharks to make their assessments and move in. She would not have to wait long.
Camara spotted someone who could prove interesting. He was sitting several tables away, eating his meal with a few other men and women, yet seemed somewhat detached from that group, as though he were there only in body, not in spirit. Catching her eye for a second, he smiled. It took only a few minutes before her possible prey approached.
The gentleman was tall, several inches taller than M'Lady, and was rangy, well-muscled and good looking, with dress and appearance speaking of good breeding. He was obviously dressed down for the evening. A gentleman in more ways than one, he showed manners and good taste in his actions and his conversation. If not a lord himself, the man was at least raised and living in a like manner. His presence in that seedy establishment went unexplained.
Lydia, meanwhile, had moved on to the next table, one occupied by several decent-looking gentlemen and two ladies. Her entryline was that her friend was, well, occupied, so did they mind some company. It sufficed, since she was in truth a cute, charming, and intelligent lady, dressed well but conservatively in travel clothes, with only her knife and staff as an evident weapons.
Summoning a barmaid, M'Lady ordered dinner for herself and Lydia, and ordered a round for the table the redhead was now occupying, giving both her and that entire corner of the tavern a knowing wink.
Listening to the gentleman's conversation was easy, as his smooth voice and calm manner eased one's fears and led one to relax. M'Lady listened for a while, prompting him with the odd comment and question, and learned a great deal about him from what he said, but more importantly from what he left out. She ate her meal while he spoke of himself.
The man was the son of a local merchant who had been boarded for a time at the castle in Gedren. He has been out of that city for some years, and had lost all real contact with those inside. He had a good knowledge of the locals and their webs, but none of the place she wished to learn of. His purpose with her, she had accurately guessed, was to lure her to his bed, simply because she was a beauty and would earn him status with the other would-be lordlings in town. She then resigned herself to returning to camp since she saw no others in the tavern who interested her. That man's mind was more repulsive than the smell of the first cretin who had approached her.
Lord Verran had been in the tavern for some time by then, and had exchanged a number of meaningful glances with M'Lady, ones that the gentleman couldn't miss. He asked her who the other man was, and she lied that she didn't really know. The man made some noises about seeing the interloper off, but she told him to keep his bloody nose out of her business or she'd remove it for him. That sent him packing. M'Lady was becoming bored. A tavern filled with less than savory characters, and she was unable to find anyone worthy of her time.
Sitting alone, she saw, or rather heard, a new amusement. Faint sounds of lovemaking were coming from one of the curtained alcoves near her. Standing and walking closer, the sounds were a little louder, and unmistakable. Few but her would have noticed the slight sighs and pants of pleasure over the loudness of the crowd. A smile came to her lips as she imagined the scene.
Gesturing to the two nearest tables, she motioned for them to be silent and listen carefully, pointing at that alcove. The sounds were now slightly louder and easier to hear over the lessened volume in the tavern. Moving to the next nearer tables, she did likewise. Yes, the sounds were distinctly easier to hear. Not much louder, but the background noise level had dropped. The quiet began to spread, as other tables noticed something happening. Very little time passed before the tavern was almost silent and all could hear the impassioned groans and whimpers and the slap of flesh on flesh as the two in the alcove continued on, oblivious to the aural display they were providing. Soon, all could hear the level of grunting increase, as one or the other approached orgasm. It was the man who finished first, with a long shuddering groan, followed closely by the woman, who's long, weak, wavering cry would not have been heard over the normal tavern noise. It was only after they finished that everyone in the tavern heard the woman whisper "Oh, by the gods, it's too quiet out there!"
A loud round of shouting and stomping was given, as a man seated at the table nearest that alcove opened the curtain, displaying to all two young people quickly trying to dress, both red-faced with embarrassment. M'Lady had by then removed herself to a distant table to enjoy the entertainment. Listening to the comments made by those around her, the two were well known and fairly well liked, so her actions would probably do little to detract from their lives.
Close to an hour later, another hush slowly fell over the tavern as a lady entered. A simple, yet well-made travelling cloak covered her completely, other than her face. A dusky-skinned woman, with long wavy black hair, late in her middle years, yet still fine looking, she was accompanied by a distinguished man early in his middle years, and by two others who were obviously personal guardsmen.
Her gaze swept through the tavern, from table to table, seemingly searching for something. When her eyes met Camara's they lingered for a second, sparkling and widening slightly, then continued past to the other end of the room. Followed by the gentleman and their guards, she sat at the empty table M'Lady had occupied before.
Asking the man she was seated beside of the lady and her companions, Camara learned much.
She was Ivana, the Duchess of Fawnmoor, one of the wealthier and more powerful nobles in the province, and a frequent guest at the palace in Gedren. Her gentleman friend was her current paramour, a fourth son of some minor lord in a distant district. Her sons were away, either at the palace or visiting distant friends and relatives, and her daughters were all safely married. She was not in the habit of dropping into taverns.
Giving in to her curiosity, and to the glances received from the lady and her gentleman friend, she walked over to that table for a greeting. Both guards stood at the ready until the lady gestured for them to be seated.
"May I join you?" asked Camara.
"Be our guest," replied the gentleman.
Introductions were made.
The lady spoke. "So, you are Camara. I have heard much of you. When my lackey spoke of a fighting woman in the tavern, one so closely matching the descriptions of this amazing person, I had to see for myself if it was true. And here you are. What brings you to my small town?"
M'Lady looked closely at the woman. She looked intelligent and curious. There was also a hint of amusement in her eyes. Camara decided to play a different game.
"Perhaps we should go somewhere more private to discuss the matter. Is there a place nearby where we could talk?"
That touch of amusement changed to laughter.
"Of course. My guesting house is not far from here. Igrain, go fetch the coach. We shall be leaving immediately."
Lady Camara stood with the others and looked around, both to see how her companions were faring, and to make certain they knew she was leaving. Lydia was laughing, seated between two gentlemen, and all three were acting quite familiar. They exchanged nods. Lord Verran was seated at a table, acting quite inebriated, fitting in well with the other drunkards there. They exchanged glances. Taggart and Trieste were seated at a large table and another glance informed them of her planned departure. All was going well.
The carriage ride was thankfully brief, for their vehicle lacked any proper cushioning, being the most nondescript of her various conveyances. They arrived at a modest country villa, of a decent size, yet without any of the ostentatious display normally associated with minor nobility. Torches lined the approach, illuminating properly maintained garden hedges and small trees. Hints of white-limned brick wall peeked through openings between leafy limbs, allowing for other, smaller buildings surrounding the main house. An open doorway, framing a waiting servant, showed a more even, warmer glow from the lamps within.
Duchess Ivana allowed herself to be assisted out of the coach by Igrain. The tall, strongly built gentleman then assisted Lady Camara as well, treating her as if she were some fine, pampered lady from the court of the king, offering her his arm and leading her into the warmth of the country house.
It was indeed only a just-opened, seldom-used residence, maintained for convenience sake as a haven near to the only town bordering her estates. It was spartan, but not uncomfortable. The servant led the trio to a small room, one used for entertaining guests. A fire, newly laid, crackled in one corner, aiding the rooms only other illumination - a single lamp. One window, and that small and shuttered, broke the plainness of the walls. There was a scent of wild thyme in the room, as well as that of old leather, dust, and a recent cleaning. Two cushioned chairs and two loungers gave plenty of seating space. The Duchess sat in a chair, and Camara and Sir Igrain, as he so titled himself, sat on a couch. He positioned himself nearer to her than she preferred, but she allowed him his familiarity for the moment. There was definitely some game afoot.
They traded pleasantries, the servants bringing in wine and snacks for the trio, and acted as civilized nobles for a time. Lady Camara soon tired of the veiled suggestions and subtly erotic innuendo coming from Sir what's-his-name, and told him, in a not- so-subtle manner how he would be spending the night if he did not desist. That annoyed Igrain, but brought out another smile from the Countess.
"He's such a young pup, still so full of himself and his own imagined importance. He has had no small success with the young ladies in court, so he considers himself a great paramour, a seducer of women, a lover of no mean skill. I admit that he has some ability, but not so much as he believes."
"Why do you keep him then?"
"Because he does have skill, more than most I have known, and the proper, ah, equipment, to satisfy the most jaded appetite. Do you find that intriguing?"
"A little. But I don't care for the rest of the package. I don't enjoy perfumed lapdogs playing courtly games, especially when someone else holds the leash. And this one is certainly leashed tightly."
"A pity. I think he would have enjoyed the evening, even being under orders. Ah well, one can't have everything. Shall we get down to business then? Oh, Igrain, you may leave us now. Return to my chambers."
That minor noble left, face red, burning in his shame. M'Lady felt some compassion for the man, being somehow tied tightly to that woman. She did not, however, make any move or voice any protest over his treatment, since it looked as though it was freely accepted.
Once what's-his-name left, and the door closed securely, the countess started to speak in earnest. "I take it you're here for some specific purpose?"
Camara decided to invest some trust in this woman. "So to speak. We're sounding out the area and the rumourmongers for information on a contract I have."
"Would that have anything to do with Merovance's medallion? The hushed rumours in court say that it disappeared from Saldar and someone in Gedren now possesses the device."
"Possibly. I have the same rumours, but from reliable sources. Is it that widely known then?"
"Not yet, but soon it will be. If you are working for the king of Saldar, perhaps I can help."
"Why?"
"Let's just say I have an interest in the status quo. The persons most likely to have the medallion are the ones I would least like to see take power. If you were to remove the medallion, and cause some, ah, discomfort to those involved, it would please me greatly."
"And what help would you be willing to give?"
"Introductions, rumours, information - that which is more valuable than gold or steel."
"What is your price for all this help?"
"Something simple. Something that cost little, but is again more valuable than gold. Something I would treasure to the end of my life. Something I could whisper of to my grand daughters."
In the golden light of the lamp and the now-dying fire, Countess Ivana began unfastening her cuffs. M'Lady watched, strange thoughts flitting through her mind, as the ebon skin of that lovely, yet older woman, slowly became unwrapped from its many covers. There was no hurry or impatience in her movements, only the calm self-assurance of a lady confident in herself and in her body. When completely nude, she stood before the fire, lit from behind and from one side, black hair shining, chocolate skin reflecting faint flickers from the dying embers, occasional sparkles from her bush hinting at her arousal. She lowered her eyes, smiling seductively with her full, red lips, and crossed her wrists before her.
"Do what you will with me," the Countess intoned, voice barely louder than a whisper.
"Come here" replied Lady Camara, standing now, still clothed in her leather and armour, glints from lantern and fire reflecting from well-polished weapons and steel. Soon they stood inches apart. M'Lady touched the Countess' chin, raising the woman's head to look into those dark, fathomless brown eyes, her own shining a bright blue, gazing down the few inches separating them. Then her lips parted slightly, and she leaned forward ...
( The Bard:
<His eyes mist over, staring off into a distance none others in the room are witness to. Someone coughs to disturb his reverie, then another asks for him to continue.>
Oh, my apologies. Sometimes the imagination is greater than the spoken word. In this case, imagination will need to suffice, for M'Lady has never revealed in any fashion what occurred in that room later in the evening. Some cheap tavern tales exist, but Lady Camara dismissed them as tawdry, and definitely unworthy of the time she shared with the Countess. Perhaps some day one of Ivana's grandchildren will reveal that tale. Until then, we need make do with fancy and lewd imagination. For myself, a short break is in order. All these words do so dry one's tongue.
<There is a short pause as drinks are refilled. His are only topped up, as he has no wish to lose his edge before the end of the evening. Whispered conversations bring blushes to some of the ladies, and to one or two of the gentlemen. All settle quickly when he clears his throat to begin again.>
The tale resumes early the next afternoon, after a light meal ... )
Lord Verran, Sir William, Camara (of course), and Lydia were there in the dining room, hosted by Countess Ivana and Sir what's-his-name, Igrain. They pooled their information, and spoke freely of what was to be accomplished, why the medallion was stolen, and who might be responsible. That last was of grim importance to M'Lady, for she had privately sworn vengeance for the life of Briana, even though she had made no mention of her oath to any, save Verran, and that in strictest confidence.
Rumours, allegations, possible hints and leads, and any who could be suspect or gain from the theft were discussed.
The Countess' view was that the medallion was stolen either to overthrow the current King of Saldar, or to wrest the throne from the current King of Gedren. Either would be highly disruptive. The then current kings were both relative pacifists and almost benevolent in their rule, imposing only normal taxes and keeping a tight reign on thievery and slavery.
The prime suspects in Gedren, those who would most enjoy increased power, were much more militant, and would probably encourage illicit activities, provided their purses benefitted. Small wars and upstart warlords would become common.
If a new king arose in Saldar, things would become even worse. The next few in line for that throne were all hated, and desired nothing more than to become absolute monarchs over much of the land, including the much smaller and weaker province of Gedren, a prime and logical first target for military conquest.
In Gedren, there were three counts who were powerful, rich, and dangerous enough to take part in the theft. None matched the description of 'Captain Torres' as seen in the viewing crystal, but there was another, a rich merchant, who both fit the description and had the resources to afford such magic. 'Sir' Lougan. He did not, however, have the royal connections to handle everything on his own. One of the other three had to be involved as well. Lougan was the only real lead on the identity of the other, and to the location of the medallion.
Once given the names of several contacts in the city, as well as a pass to see the king's most trusted advisor, they bid their farewells, and Lady Camara and her companions left the company of the Countess. The two ladies parted with a chaste kiss and a knowing wink, creating some ill-concealed jealousy on the part of Sir whatever.
The following afternoon, Camara and her chosen companions found rooms for themselves in an inn not far from the eastern marketplace in Gedren. This was by choice, as breezes from the not too distant sea come from that direction, blowing away the stench of a large and prosperous city.
It was not a graceful, beautiful city, like that of Duramphal, nor one containing the strength and solidity of Campek, nor even one with the colour and cosmopolitan air of Phaedron. It was a city of average people, living their lives from day to day, with no great inspiration, or great leaders to pursue wonderful things. However, it was also a relatively safe and stable city, with crime and slavery actively put down, and a king who kept his nobles in line. Few citizens needed to watch over their shoulders for fear of the guardsmen.
That first evening they spent in the common room of the inn, drinking little, but enjoying some relaxed time together, possibly the last to be had for some time. M'Lady, Lord Verran, Trieste, Humboldt, and Bracchus occupied one table, while Deena, Arden, Sir William and Taggart occupied another. The mood in the tavern was expectant, despite the jugglers and the storyteller busy at either end of the common room. One of the serving girls relayed the news that a new young Techran bard(*), a woman no less, would be playing later in the evening. An event worthy of note.
All but Camara, Lord Verran, and Trieste retired early, for there was much to be done in the morning. Trieste would not be starting her special work until the next evening, and was most active at night anyway, so her normal bed time while in town was after midnight. Camara was expected at a meeting just after midday, so she could sleep long past dawn, plus she wanted to see the new bard. And Verran, inheriting some of the traits from his mother's race, needed little or no normal sleep.
Once before, many years previously, Camara had the good fortune to be able to listen to and spend time with a Techran bard. The man was old, probably late in his fifth decade, yet still strong and hearty. His battle skills, strength, and stamina were demonstrated in a tavern brawl, one instigated by him over some imagined slight, involving most of the male patrons. Afterwards, at her master's order (Camara was a slave at that time), she shared a bed, much time, and some conversation with the man. He was polite and gentle, not at all like she had feared, educated, and free with his talents and his laughter.
Despite herself, she grew to like the irascible man, as he never lost his temper with the slave girl who had been ordered to accompany him for the week of his stay. Something M'Lady was to remember for many years was his almost casual explanation to her for his forbearance. Since she had no choice in keeping his company, he said, he could forgive her for almost any unintentional insult or transgression.
When, late in the evening, the much-anticipated bard finally took her place of honour, Camara smiled with delight. The woman bard was much younger than M'Lady had expected, possibly not even reaching twenty summers. For a Techran, that was infancy. The bard did, however, carry the aura of mystery and strength common to those of her training, and instantly commanded the attention of all, reducing the tavern to silence. Camara liked what she saw. The woman was not overly tall, being half a foot shorter than M'Lady, and was almost slender, yet carried herself with the power and self-assurance of someone much larger. Little else could be seen, since the woman wore loose clothing that covered all her body. Her face was not classically beautiful, but was striking, and could best be described as strong, possibly handsome, with flowing honey-blond hair, light blue eyes, and soft, sensuous lips. There was some humour and a definite hint of sensuality in the eyes when they touched on M'Lady, yet she allowed her gaze to continue over the rest of the crowd with only a hint of a pause.
Scanning the room, the bard spotted a few faces of interest. Camara, of course, since there were few to match her presence. Lord Verran, since a woman of her training could see his mixed bloodline. Three or four others - either for their dangerous appearance or for the wealth of their clothes. After all, entertaining was how she earned her silver.
It took but a moment for her to tune and adjust her harp, and to become seated atop the counter. She started with several light and airy ballads, ones popular in that day. A longer, more serious tale was then told, hinting of tragedy, but still ending with joy. Another light, slightly ribald, yet comedic story followed, accompanied by shouts and lewd comments by some of the more drunken or more daring patrons. All shouting stopped when she began the chords for a dirge.
"This was written to tell of a woman who was dear to my mother, many years ago. Please be silent, and allow me to remember her pain. Afterwards, I will play that which will lighten your hearts again."
The music was sad and doleful, the lines spoken slowly, with time for reflection between each. Though not long, it had a noticeable effect on a number of the patrons, especially Lord Verran.
"The lady on the Throne"
"The lady sat upon her throne
no lover by her side
She could only wait and mourn
her lover that day died
Waiting for the fateful news
from the battle it would come
Her heart already broken
her time would soon be done
The messengers had come and gone
their laments were plain to hear
Yet still she sat and waited
shedding not a single tear
Nothing left for the future
nothing left of her past
Nothing left to live for
she'd given up hope at last
In the darkness of the night
in the hour before the dawn
Arose an empty woman
whose spirit was all but gone
She looked toward her balcony
so empty and so high
She'd join her new-lost lover
before the sun came nigh
When dawn had finally broken
new wails filled the air
All was lost, all was undone
for there was no royal heir"
Camara watched her friend carefully after hearing the sad tale, understanding how it would affect him. Only because of her long association with Verran was she able to see the pain in his face, the unshed tears in his eyes. Shortly after the completion of the bard's lament, he made his excuses and retired for the evening. Knowing there was nothing she could do to ease his pain, she let him leave.
Later, after the entertainment was over, Camara smiled and winked at the bard, inviting her to join them at her table. The silent offer was accepted, and the woman was soon seated, facing Camara, with that same hint of humour and sensuality in her eyes.
Introductions and some pleasantries were exchanged, with the bard noticeably surprised to find herself in the presence of Lady Camara, the newly-growing legend. The surprise changed to a wry smile when M'Lady commented on the far-too-liberal use of silver on the tongues of talemakers. Anonymity, she said, would be welcome. It was then that Camara brought up the subject of the dirge.
"Why did you pick that particular lament to play here?"
The bard sighed, and carefully looked over the two ladies at the table. "It's a tale I tell frequently, since it has personal significance. Rarely does anyone question my choice, though, since it's expected for me to relate some sad story during the course of an evening. Is there a reason for this question?"
"You spoke as though your mother were personally involved in the affair of Queen Shadaila. What is your connection?"
"How did you know that name? I never mentioned it, nor is it known in the popular tales. I thought it lost to all but those directly involved, such as myself and my late mother."
"Again I ask, what is your connection?"
"If you must know, my mother's eldest sister was handmaiden to the queen, and was executed during the purge following the suicide. It was long before my birth, so I never met her, but my mother told me the story many times during my infancy. Now what is your connection, and how do you know the name that was erased from the memory and tales of most of this land?"
"Do you know the full story of the battle and death of her lover? His betrayal and assassination?"
"Most of it. Why?"
"My friend, the one who was here earlier, was chief of his personal guard. He has blamed himself ever since for not being able to prevent the murder. You saw him, and recognized him for what he is. Now do you know why I know that name, and where I learned it from?"
"My apologies. I am far too quick to judge still. I thought you might be one of the old-guard haters, the ones who still occasionally prowl the countryside looking for pockets of remembrance. My song is plain enough to escape their notice, since it mentions no names, no place, no time. Yet still, it serves to refresh the memories of those who can recall the tragedy."
"Accepted. My friend will be feeling his pain for a while, but he has been dealing with it for many years. He will recover quickly. How about another glass of something? I'm far too sober right now to enjoy the evening. Ale, perhaps? Or better yet, some wine? They may even have some of that seaborn brandy here. If you haven't tried it yet, you're in for a treat. It's smooth, subtle, and carries the kick of an angry warhorse! Two goblets of that and you'll wonder why the world suddenly turned sideways!"
The three women sat and talked and drank for more than an hour. A chemistry, an attraction of some sort, formed between M'Lady and Suilain the Techran Bard. The bard asked to be called Su, as her full name meant deadly desert flower, and Su was the flower part.
Later in the evening, near closing time, after much flirtation between two of the ladies, M'Lady invited Suilain up to her room for a final drink. An expression, almost seeming like panic, flashed across the bard's face, one that was quickly replaced with a smile.
"I'm afraid I've already made arrangements for tonight, something I cannot break. Otherwise I'd be delighted. Perhaps the next time we meet? After all, the world is smaller than some would claim, and I will now be watching for you."
"And I you. Perhaps we may meet again, hopefully sooner rather than later, for who knows what may intervene."
They said their goodbyes. Suilain's actions just before parting surprised Camara. Touching a finger to her lips, she kissed it, then tried to press her finger to M'Lady's lips. Camara grabbed the hand in surprise. After staring at the digit for a few seconds, then looking directly into Su's eyes, she brought it to her own lips and kissed it as well. The bard turned and left quickly, leaving Camara a little short on breath and a little weak in the knees.
When M'Lady returned to her room, a surprise was waiting for her. Bracchus was asleep on the bed. He'd apparently been waiting for her to return from the common room. Because her emotions had been enflamed by Su, in addition to her usual appetite and her recently found taste for the body, skill, and fond attentions of the man in her bed, she fell upon Bracchus with a vengeance. He awoke quickly, with his manhood engulfed in the mouth of, and almost being consumed by, a horny she-demon in the guise of his commander. Neither got much sleep that night, despite the fact that Camara sent him back to his own room early in the morning.
* Authors notes:
Techran bard. Imagine a storyteller who can play music, cast spells, and is capable of handling a really mean knife or staff. Now imagine that same person with a permanent grudge against the world and a nasty temper. Their storytelling and musical abilities are renowned, their battle skills well-proven, and their tempers taken very seriously. Only the best survive the Techran school, with survive meant in the literal sense. Graduates are almost guaranteed a good living - if not as entertainers, then as hired companions and guardians. As with all folk, the grudge and temper vary from one to another, but it is always safer when dealing with one you know little of to assume you are talking with a hair-triggered berserker. Your life expectancy could increase dramatically.
Chapter 5
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."
Chapter 6
The trip back to camp was difficult, but only due to natural causes - darkness, difficult terrain, skittish horses, and the full panoply of possible problems. Verran gave Camara her rings, her chakram, her amulet, and her sword. They were in the same room Deena had been held captive in, and that's how they had found her. He had followed the spell echoes from M'Lady's magical jewellery.
Their return was met with enthusiasm, but a deep current of unease seemed to be running through everyone they spoke with.
Sir William greeted her at her tent.
"Please, M'Lady. Let us speak inside." His face was twisted into something resembling horror and remorse, all at once. His voice was also thick. They entered. William dropped to his knees.
"M'Lady. First, I must ask your forgiveness. I lost my temper, and it has cost you dearly. You see, I caught the spy. He ..."
The warrior stopped speaking for a moment. His darkly handsome features were drawn, as if in great pain. Tears dripped down through his moustache and beard.
"Continue, William. Tell me what has happened. Nothing you say can be worse than what has already happened this night."
"I wish that were true, M'Lady. I caught the spy. I caught him in the act, trying to communicate with that Torres bastard, using one of those vision crystals. He turned on me, with his sword drawn! He sneered, and called me a fool, and you a stupid harlot! I killed him in anger! I knew better! I could have disarmed him! But his words, they angered me so, and - and he spoke of Briana. Reason left me for a time, then he was dead."
With a few sobs, he knelt there, knowing that his life could be forfeit for what he had done, if Camara lost her temper as he had. Yet, he stayed still, head bowed, neck bared.
"Who, William? Who was it!? Tell me, or I'll tear it out of you!"
"It was ... Bracchus, M'Lady. He is - he was - the spy."
For a moment, everything was silent. Then an agonized scream ripped through the camp, startling all, awakening the few who were asleep. Quite a number knew of the news that awaited Camara, and none would have willingly traded places with William. None knew if it was his death cry that still echoed through the hills.
The following day was difficult, and busy. Despite having no sleep for two nights, Camara was as coldly efficient as ever. Their prisoner, Captain Torres - A.K.A. Sir Lougan - was given a choice. Freely tell them everything he knew, or be drugged and tortured to tell them everything he knew. With the eager smiles of Lord Verran, Deena, and Taggart all hanging over him, along with the murderous scowl of Camara herself and the wickedly hateful stare of Arden, he chose to speak willingly.
A powerful wizard in Saldar City was in charge. Some gold, some potions, and certain powerful artifacts had been given to them by the spellcaster, along with promises of more, and promises of a barony for himself after the overthrow. He, a merchant, would become nobility, along with his sons, and their sons, and so forth. The dream of his lifetime. His money had been spent freely.
Count DeMonay was also going along with the wizard, as he had been promised the seat of power in Gedren after it was conquered. Neither he nor the Count knew the wizard's name or face, as all business had been conducted via intermediaries.
As far as he knew, the medallion had been stolen by someone in Saldar City, then sent to Count DeMonay. When news of Camara's arrival in Gedren became known, the medallion had been sent back. There were rumours that the wizard needed its powers to overthrow King Merovance, through some sort of ritual. He had heard hints that whomever it was would be using the artifact to summon a being of great strength and power, one that no mortal could withstand.
Yes, he admitted. Bracchus had been the spy, the one who had given out their location, their movements, and their plans. He was the one who had set them up for ambush. Lady Camara almost spitted the man upon the instant. She restrained herself with difficulty. Torres continued, stating that the wizard's agents had told him of the traitor, and that he knew nothing about what inducements had been given or promised. Camara's anger, and pain, grew deeper.
The man knew nothing else of real importance. Humboldt quietly nodded, indicating that everything told had been truth. Camara, Lord Verran, Humboldt, and Deena all agreed that speed was important if they were to prevent the overthrow. Deena's only concern was that they didn't know the name of the wizard.
Camara replied. "There's only one wizard in Saldar City who is powerful enough, and ambitious enough, to pull off such a stunt. Patteron, the court magician. Yet, if he did try to take over, the military would cut him down in minutes - monster or no monster. There has to be someone else involved, someone who would benefit greatly, someone who could be the figurehead. Any ideas?"
"I think that covers every member of the king's family, except his late wife," Humboldt replied. "His brothers, his uncles, even his sister and cousins are suspect. Any of them could be the guilty party, or even several of them. No, we don't have enough information to intelligently guess at who the co-conspirators are. We'll have to find out when we get there, and that should be as soon as possible."
Verran insisted that preparing for the return would take at least four days. Too much damage, too many lost animals, and too few supplies combined in a conspiracy of their own, forcing the unwanted delay. That gave all of them some time for rest and recuperation as well.
M'Lady slept for most of twenty four hours. Verran, meanwhile, made some discreet inquiries, and found that Count DeMonay was being very low key in looking for them and for Lougan. The king's troops, in making their presence known throughout the city, precluded any more. Camara decided that being among people, enjoying the bright, sunny weather, and doing something pleasant, like shopping, would help ease her mind. She had not forgotten about Bracchus, nor would she. That pain was being held in abeyance until after the mission had been completed, as was her grief for Briana. She decided that immediate release would not be ... appropriate ... to the situation. Yet, her bed was empty - a cold reminder of betrayal by one she'd grown to trust, respect, and admire.
( The Bard:
Ah, fresh ale. Thank you.
Lords, Ladies, Gentlepersons. This next passage is, well, difficult for those with soft or gentle hearts. No blood is spilled, yet hearts are rent asunder. If any wish to leave for a time, please do so now. None here will think any less of you, that I can promise, for when it has been told, some who stay will wish they had left.
None of you wishes to spare themselves? Very well. I shall continue. )
M'Lady was in a marketplace in Gedren, accompanied by Lord Verran. The morning was bright with sun. Colourful and cheery banners hung everywhere, and the babble of the crowd was filled with laughter. Musicians and songsters fought for attention with their tunes and clear voices. Some children ran by, shrieking with joy, chased by a man wielding a broom. The two warriors avoided a small crowd watching a juggler perform. The smells from dozens of different food vendors vied with that of the throng of ill-washed bodies, of the many beasts, of the perfumes and scents of the pleasure tents, and the faint clean smell of the nearby forest and the sea beyond. The mood was one of gaiety and playfulness. Even the normal thieves and cutpurses were mostly absent, perhaps daunted by the presence of so many of the king's guard mingling in with the crowd.
They started early, having no specific destination, but were looking to replace some of the equipment they had lost or damaged during their journey. Those purchases were necessary if they wished to make the return trip without incident.
Camara was snacking on a taba pie, one of her favourite treats, when a strangely familiar face came into view. It was a woman's face, one which looked like it was approaching thirty five summers, or possibly more, one that was tugging on a deep, almost forgotten memory. For some reason M'Lady felt compelled to remember that face, that person. The name was buried deep and was proving difficult to dislodge from the recesses of her mind. A slight wisp of wind, or possibly the toss of her head, revealed a slave collar on the woman's neck, and Camara was transported back, an unwilling passenger to memories she had thought buried forever.
... There were five girls in that cage, recent captives, slaves to be trained and sold. All had been collared, and all wore wrist and ankle fetters of iron. None had ever felt the lash of the whip or the embrace of cold metal before. None had ever before borne the brunt of such humiliation and loss. Torn from their families, or seeing their families lying dead and broken around them, all were in the depths of despair and depression. Camara sat, mind numb with pain and terror, watching a girl sitting on the other side of the cage. The other girl was staring almost hopelessly at the iron door which sealed off their room, and their cage, from the rest of the dungeon - and freedom. Her name was Ariel.
... It was dark when she woke, yet filled with a red haze, pain filling her being from the heavy whipping she had just endured. That face was there, trying to wipe away both their tears, lending her the strength to endure, washing the welts free of blood and dirt. A sip of water given from a wooden bowl was sweetest nectar to those cracked and broken lips.
... The screams from the others were now faint when the girl was pushed back into their cage, the marks on her back, bottom, and legs fresh, some still bleeding. The pain from those were as nothing compared to that of the fresh brand, still smoking, on the girl's inner thigh. Camara cradled the woman - hardly more than a child - in her arms, watching that same face as her cries of agony changed to whimpers of pain, and then to simple sobs. Their tears mingled, with M'Lady ignoring the pain from her own branding, still hurting after two days.
... The five were tied separately, upright and spread eagled between posts, yet were still able to watch each other's faces. All were naked, and the red weals of fresh marks were rising on each, seen on backs, bottoms, thighs, stomachs, breasts, and elsewhere. Two whip masters were doing their duty. No reason was given for the punishment, and none was necessary. The slaves were there for the amusement of others that day. Camara held fast to the vision of Ariel's face, defiant through all her tears, heedless of the screams of pain she made, enduring all because she refused to ever give up her slim hopes.
... Camara watched that face staring daggers out the barred door, staring at the back of the retreating slaver. The auction date had been set, and each was to be sold separately. Many quiet words had been exchanged among the five, many tears, many pains. They were all of a similar age, and had grown closer than sisters during the months of their torture and training. Always Ariel had proven strongest, rising above the punishments and humiliations, lending her strength to the others. Without that strength, M'Lady might not have survived until then. Her young and delicate spirit could have shattered or broken under whip and cane. Ariel freely shared her strength and her hope, hope that one day freedom would return.
... It was her last view of that face, head held high, defiantly staring at the crowd as Ariel was led to the auction block, that gave Camara the inspiration and courage to survive her years of pain with hope and spirit intact.
M'Lady's attention was now back at the market, staring at Ariel. The memory of the pact the five made in their last hours together was now as fresh as though she had said it that morning. Each swore that if somehow one was freed, she would always look for the others to free them from their bonds. They had sworn this pact on the blood and tears all had shared in their time together. Camara approached the woman.
"Ariel? Is that truly you? Ariel?"
The woman turned, looking at Camara, eyes blank and empty at first, but then they slowly filled with recognition. She looked far older than the twenty eight summers M'Lady knew her to be.
"You are ... Camara. You were with me. Years ago. I remember your face."
They were interrupted by an armed man, gently turning Ariel to him.
"Come, Minx, it is time to return."
"A moment please, master. An old, old friend has just appeared before me. May I speak with her?"
The man looked at Camara, eyeing her distrustfully. "Very well. A few moments. Then we must go." He stepped away a few paces to allow them some privacy.
The two women stared at each other for a short while. Camara felt uncertain of herself, not knowing what to say. Finally Ariel spoke.
"You look ... well. You are ... free?"
"Yes, Ariel. I am free. I have been for many years. Yet you, you are still a slave? I thought you would have risen above this long ago."
"No, I am a slave. I have a master now who is gentle, so I am happy. Are you happy Camara?" Her voice had little life, and held none of the spark and intensity M'Lady remembered from years ago.
It was with difficulty that Camara spoke. There was a piece of her inner self tied to the auburn-haired woman, something that no span of years could ever undo. "I think I am. Many times I feel joy, but sometimes the sorrow overwhelms me. Yet I would not give it up. Do you remember our pact?"
"Pact? Yes, I remember. It was something I swore in my ignorance, but I do remember."
"So do I. Now that I've found you, I'm going to do everything I can to set you free. Tell me, who is your master?"
"Free? Free from what? For what? I have a kind master, he feeds me, clothes me, and beats me only when I deserve it. My only worry is to please him. I am free from the pains. I do not wish another master."
"Ariel, look at me. I don't mean for you to change masters. I'm talking about your freedom! No master but yourself, free to do what you will, go where your heart desires! If you worry about another master, then I'll buy you myself and then remove your chains!"
"I would be your slave then. Would you treat me well?"
M'Lady stared at this person in front of her, a sudden, constricting pain in her chest making speech, and breathing, difficult.
"What have they done to you? Ariel, where is that spirit I remember, the passion you once had? Where have you gone?"
"I ..."
The woman slowly lowered her face, with eyes growing dim and lifeless. Her face filled with sorrow. She continued.
"Ariel is dead. I am the slave called Minx. Ariel died, under the whip. Too many tears ... so much pain ... the beatings ... the the brandings ... the pain ... the clamps and tortures ... the pain ... all the pain ... too much pain ..."
Lady Camara cupped her hands around the woman's face and lifted those eyes to her own. There was nothing left in them, all traces of the woman who was once in there had disappeared. Tears traced repeated patterns down her cheeks.
"Please, Camara, leave me be. I have a kindly master now. He doesn't hurt me. I'm happy to be his slave rather than another's. Don't force me back into pain again. I have no strength for it. Please."
M'Lady died a little that day, a piece of her spirit forever shattered. The man came and gently lead his slave Minx away, that slave who wore the body of Ariel, who was once Camara's friend.
Walking slowly, heedless of the press around her, she mindlessly placed one foot in front of the other. The sky was leaden, all colour leached from the banners and booths. Only a dull and distant roaring reached her ears. Slowly, without heed, one tear, then another, rolled down her face. Caught within herself, not yet able to encompass the loss she had just endured, she was led by another.
Hours later she emerged from her private despair. She was seated at a table in a tavern somewhere. Lord Verran was beside her, and none others sat near. A half-dozen empty tankards stood before her, with one partly emptied in her hand, yet she was sober. Two daggers stabbed into the table dissuaded any from approaching or sitting close.
Turning to Verran, she spoke quietly. "Ariel is broken. They have destroyed her. Death would have been much kinder than what was done, for she still remembers. She knows ... and ... remembers ..." Only then did she begin to weep in earnest, burying her head in his shoulder.
( The Bard:
<He lowers his head for a moment, the glint of tears in his eyes.>
Gentlepersons. Will any of you drink with me in memory of Ariel, she who was once a spirited young lass, and became worse than dead? To Ariel, may none of you or yours ever suffer her fate.
<He sips his wine, then returns his goblet to the table. Many in the room nod or gesture in sympathy and drink as well. The servants, some of whom are slaves, stop and bow their heads for a few seconds. Two of the older lords, both battle scarred veterans, seem quite unmoved by the Bard's story.>
Please, let me be for a few moments. I need some time to ... recover myself. The epic is far from over, and there is yet joy to be shared.
<He turns and stares into the fire, saying nothing. Napkins and handkerchiefs are in use by many. Two ladies and one young gentleman leave the room, weeping openly. They return several minutes later, composed, yet still with eyes red and swollen.>
He continues, speaking with a slightly quieter voice than before. )
By the following day, Camara had regained herself, yet she was not the same person she had been. There was a deep wound that could not be seen, except in her eyes. Still, she had troops to lead, and a commission to complete. Keeping busy kept her from thinking. Yet, in the evening, there was nothing, no one. Loneliness was her only companion through the dark hours. She wept, uncontrollably at times, remembering all those she had loved and lost, the pains in her heart now threatening to overwhelm her spirit. Only the strength of the vows she had made years before kept her from succumbing to her malaise. She believed there to be only one option left to her, if insanity were to be kept at bay, if she were not to give in to the blackness. Feverishly, Camara prepared for her ordeal.
Two days later, deep in the woods, in a small, sunlit clearing, Camara was ready, and completely alone.
The forest surrounding the small meadow M'Lady knelt in was preternaturally silent. That suited her purposes well. Before her, on a small wooden makeshift altar, three candles burned - one white and two red. She was finishing up the initial rites and opening prayer to her goddess Escalia(*), and was invoking two of her aspects - the protector of innocents, and the guardian of true love. Soon the preliminaries were done.
"Lady, seldom do I pray to you. Less than I should, perhaps. Yet, I am true to you in my heart. You can see this. You can also see the pain I bear, the scars and burdens I endure. Rarely do I ask anything of you. Today, I must."
"You know of me, of course, and my history. You know of my loves, and those who have been dear to me. My family. My lovers. My friends. A blackness surrounds me, a cloud. All who I allow near are touched by it. Why am I accursed like this? Cursed to bear their hatred, their deaths, and worse? My family, my sister, Collena, Drisolm, Briana, Ariel, Lysande, and so many others. Their fates hang so heavy on my spirit."
"Am I doomed to lose everyone who I let into my heart? If I am, I ask of you, I plead with you, please ... please, release me now from my vows. Let me pass on to somewhere else. I no longer have the strength to carry on. I still ache for Briana, my heart bleeds because of her, and now I have lost the strength of Ariel. I did not realize until now how much her memory supported me. She is worse than dead, her spirit, her will, broken. How many more of those who touch me must die? Another one is too many. Already they are too many. Please, Escalia, hear my prayers. Release me!"
Camara knelt there through the rest of the afternoon, occasionally shedding tears. She was kneeling still when the sun set, and when the stars came out. When the moon set she still hadn't moved. All three candles had guttered and gone out long since.
A cold, grey light filtered through the cloudy mists surrounding her. With a start, she realized she was not in the meadow. There was no grass, no forest, no sky. Nothing to be seen anywhere. Only the solidity of her footing gave evidence there was anything except her and the mist. M'Lady looked around, curious, but unafraid. A dim light appeared in the distance. She moved towards it, unsure if she was walking or not, but certain that she was travelling. The light slowly brightened as she grew near, though that is not a proper description of her experience. Perhaps the light simply grew larger, or her perception of it grew sharper. Probably none of these are accurate.
Some while later, an unknowable length of time later, she became aware of a noise, perhaps a voice. It grew louder as she approached the light. Soon it resolved into a number of voices, or one voice using different tones and accents. She began to understand what the voices were saying. Some were almost crying, some almost laughing, some serious, some barely whispering. All were repeating her name, over and over again. Curiosity, rather than any other emotion, came foremost in her mind. Fear was an alien concept and did not exist wherever she was.
With no warning she was suddenly surrounded by the light. It was not bright, but was all-encompassing. A great feeling of warmth and compassion surrounded her, relieving her of all burdens and cares, leaving only her curiosity, her wonder, and her mind.
"Camara," the voices cried, endlessly repeating themselves. "Camara, Camara, Camara." With some finality, all the voices spoke out once more, in unison. "Camara," they said, then all was silent. Before her, a young boy stood, playing with a toy rocking horse. "You have asked of us," he said.
Another voice spoke; "You have invoked us." Camara turned to that voice, one from a young girl kicking around a leather ball. A third voice, that of a young man, caused her to turn again. "You have need of us." He sat in a small, grassy dell, and a young woman sat in his lap. "Why did you summon us?" came from her.
Her pain was nothing but a memory, but that memory was clear. "I am tired now, and have little hope. All those I love perish, or are turned against me. Is there anything left for me in life, other than the pain? Will I ever know peace? Will there ever be happiness for me?"
An old man in a comfortable chair answered. He was holding the hand of an old woman who sat beside him in another chair. "You ask of the future, that which may be. We can see some of it, but not all. You are there, sometimes. Sometimes you are not. Others are bending the present and warping the paths of what will be."
A young maiden, carrying a bouquet of flowers, dressed in wedding finery, carried on. "The task you perform now is important to us. Another is changing things, bringing into being that which is best left unmade. If you lose yourself, you will leave many others to be lost, or worse."
"I am so tired. I don't know if I can do what you wish of me."
A young girl, filthy and ragged, holding a smaller child in her arms, replies. "You have but mortal courage, mortal strength, and mortal will. It is enough. We know this. The road you have chosen is difficult, but not impossible. Is there an end?" M'Lady just stared at the child, unsure of whether she should answer or not.
A filthy old crone walked up behind the young girl and hugged her, embracing both children. She spoke. "All roads end somewhere. Some are more tortuous to travel than others. Yours is beset by fog, darkness, and storm. What has not yet been travelled, changes. Yet, along some of your possible paths, we see what you seek. Follow us, and you may find it."
"What is that? What do I seek?"
Two young maidens appeared, wearing expensive clothing and jewellery, sitting side by side and holding each other. Both of them replied, in unison. "A person. Someone. Your future. Your life."
"A friend," spoke the old woman. "A playmate," spoke the young boy still holding his toy. "A dreamer," said the young bride to be. "A lover," echoed from the two maids. "Hope," said the girl in rags. "Hope," said the old crone. "Hope," said the young couple, one after the other. "Hope," said the girl with the ball.
The mist closed in and the light began to withdraw. The voices started again, repeating the word "hope" over and over. They slowly faded as the light dimmed. Once again she had the sensation of movement, even though she wasn't sure how movement was possible.
Camara woke with a start, the cool light of an early sun just spilling into the meadow. She was stiff, sore, and cold, and her neck hurt. Somehow she was still kneeling before her small altar. Her experience seemed to be nothing more than a dream, completely unreal. Shaking her head to clear it of both the cobwebs that clouded her mind and a few last fleeting images, she looked around. All was quiet. The forest was still and silent, and a coating of dew lay over the grass. Only a few tiny trails disturbed the jewelled beauty of the meadow, the wild flowers changing the diamond sparkles to those of ruby and sapphire and all the other colours of the rainbow. One or two birds began singing off in the distance, and high overhead a hawk soared into view. M'Lady blinked, hardly believing her eyes when she glanced at the altar. There in the centre, away from where the candles had burned down to nothing, traced in wax, was the word "hope".
A trembling smile crossed her lips and once more her tears began to fall.
* Authors note:
Escalia - one of the elder gods, predating those of the Greeks. As befitting a deity who had been around since before the building of the pyramids, she, or it, has a complex history, and many different faces, or aspects. Among others, she was the protector of young children, the bringer of love, the granter of fertility, and the avenger of broken hearts.
Chapter 7
It was only a hint of something that slowed up Camara and Verran. Something felt wrong, out of place. Her alarms went off.
Both shouted at the same time. "Ambush!"
Without the element of surprise, it was another slaughter. More assassins, more unidentifiable soldiers. Two more dead sell-swords dead, another half-dozen people injured. More of a score to settle with the wizard.
After that interruption, Camara and her troops made fast time on their return to Saldar. No further surprises showed up. They entered the city at dusk and headed straight for the palace. The sell-swords broke off then, their contract complete. Accompanied only by her inner cadre, and the leaders of the king's contingent of troops, they entered the throne room without bothering to talk with or seek permission from the castellan, or wait for the proper ritual introductions.
Despite the sunshine and bright weather, spirits inside the castle were grim and gloomy. Everyone Camara passed seemed intent on getting to wherever they were going without greeting or even seeing anyone else. Even King Merovance seemed on edge.
Her news brought him near to panic.
"Are you positive?"
"Not absolutely, but I don't see any other possibility. It has to be Patteron. He's the only one I know of in your city with the power and the ambition to pull off such a stunt, though even he must have someone on the inside helping him."
"Typhus! That oaf brother of mine has been up something recently! I know he didn't steal the medallion, or have dealings directly with those who did, but he's been far too civil and polite lately. That's the someone else who's involved!"
"If it's him, then there's trouble brewing. He saw us enter, and spoke with a couple of your returning guards. No doubt he knows we found out about the wizard and has warned him of us. We have to move fast!"
The king yelled for his captains, and Camara called for her group. They split forces, with Verran, Trieste, and Taggart going after the Prince, and Camara, Sir William, Lydia, and Humboldt heading for the wizard's quarters. One guard captain, along with a squad of soldiers, accompanied each. The captain who was with Camara ordered every soldier they met to follow as well. M'Lady became a little more anxious at that, and asked the captain why.
"The wizard has his own personal guard, as well as something else in his quarters. He warned us all to stay out on pain of death, and one servant disobeyed. Only his dismembered head was left, and it had been gnawed upon. If we weren't in such a rush, I'd wait for that half-century I sent for to arrive from the barracks."
The captain's fears were well founded, as they were met in the hallway in front of the wizard's rooms by two squads of elite troops. The fighting was fierce and bloody, with Camara accounting for three of the enemy, including their leader. All had been skilled opponents, and they drained much of her energy. During a brief lull, she saw Humboldt take out one guard with wizard fire. It wasn't magic, but the powder burst into flames when thrown at his opponent and temporarily blinded the man, leaving him wide open to a knockout blow. She also saved the captain's life once by using her chakram to disable someone attacking him from behind. Sir William, of course, was being his usual self, shouting at everyone, and taunting his opponents before overpowering them with both skill and brute force.
Without warning, another squad of the wizard's troops, along with two *somethings*, charged around the corner. Humboldt screamed a word, something meant to identify what they were, but she did not know the name he used and let him know it.
"The eyes! Take out their eyes!" he yelled instead. That, she had no problem with. At least, not with his meaning. Putting the words into practice was a touch more difficult.
They were a little larger than man-sized and looked faintly feminine, with a leopard-like countenance. Both were fast and long-limbed, with razor sharp claws and fangs. Neither of the creatures seemed to care which humans they were rending either, something one of the wizard's slower guards found out the hard way.
Her chakram took out the eyes of the first, but the second deflected it into a wall, where it sank in and stuck fast. The first one simply faded away, leaving nothing. The second screamed and attacked.
Leaping ahead of the ongoing battle, and over the heads of the oncoming guards, she landed face to face with the new creature. It moved fast, but she was faster. It soon became apparent to Camara that her opponent took no wound from even the hardest blow, so she concentrated instead on following Humboldt's instruction. The battle lasted for several minutes, and Camara suffered a few more wounds and bruises, but she finally managed to take out one eye, then the other. That creature also faded away without a trace. By then, the King's guards had finished off most of the wizard's cronies.
A scream from the rear caught her attention. More of Patteron's troops had appeared. Muttering to herself, she decided not to waste any further time, and went to find the spell caster. Humboldt followed. She pulled her chakram from the wall as she went.
The first room they entered was a meeting and reading room, looking like any normal lord's. The second was a bedroom, and looked strange. Much was done in black, and odd devices and carvings lined the walls. The third room had to be a wizard's work area. Benches, books, and strange apparatus filled the place to bursting. Yet, no other person was present.
Humboldt was the one who noticed the slightly skewed wall panel, where a secret door had not been closed properly. Some sort of nasty smell, and an eerie chant, greeted them as they passed through the doorway. At the end of a short hallway, Camara found Patteron. She froze in horror at what was in that next room.
( The Bard:
Ahem, <cough>. Sorry, my throat is a little dry.
<He receives stares from a number of very irritated lords and ladies, as well as from a few of the servants. They take his hint and refill both his wineglass and his mug of ale.>
Any questions? Any further interruptions? No? Are you certain this time?
<He grins at the expectant crowd>
Thank you. I believe I'll continue my tale. )
Camara stared with horror into the wizard's magic room. Within was a scene worthy of even her nightmares. Blood-red candles lined the walls, emitting a horrid stench. Implements of torture, tools of sorcery, and other things unidentifiable hung on them as well. Roof beams, painted black, with sickly green sigils carved deep into the wood, were visible. The floor was a plain, unadorned black, smooth and polished, unbroken except for a small throne, an altar on a dais, and a demonic circle. Inside the circle, flowing from floor to ceiling, was a swirling column of reddish-yellow smoke.
Patteron knelt in front of the black stone altar, holding a wave-bladed dagger in one hand, and the beating heart of his victim in the other. The victim's mouth was still open as he tried to scream, eyes staring crazily at what used to be his life. Some magic, either of the altar or of the ceremony, prevented his spirit from leaving his body, keeping him somehow alive and able to suffer. Finally, as she stood there, frozen with shock, sounds of terror started coming from his mouth.
A shape began to take form within the smoke cloud. It was large, much larger than a human, but looked vaguely humanoid. The details were obscured, but a general outline could sometimes be seen.
Suddenly, from behind her, a knife whizzed by, embedding itself in the screaming man's neck. His voice cut off, yet still he did not die. His eyes remained fixed on the wizard's hand, where his heart continued to beat. A second dagger flew over her shoulder, heading for the wizard. It went past him somehow, even though Camara would have sworn it was headed for his chest. A hard push from behind staggered her, causing her to fall into the room, breaking her trance. William ran past with his sword drawn, heading for the wizard. Humboldt peeked through the doorway and began mumbling a spell of some sort.
That push and fall broke whatever enchantment or fog that had been keeping her from action. Leaping to her feet, M'Lady also ran for the wizard, but both were too late to stop his summoning. With a roar, the beast reached out and snatched the heart from Patteron's hand, pulping it, and releasing the victim's essence. Despite the dagger in his throat, he managed a final scream of despair as his spirit was consumed. All the remaining smoke in that wizard's circle cleared, revealing to sight what had been brought forth.
Imagine a creature ten feet tall, manlike in general shape, covered in dense green fur. Imagine that creature to be well-muscled, yet still cadaverously thin. Imagine it having a mouth like a bear, with strong jaws and huge teeth, and with long, sharp claws, like those of an eagle, tipping each of its digits. Imagine this creature's eyes glowing with green eldritch fire as it howls with hunger. Now imagine this creature looking into your eyes with an intelligent grin of anticipation.
Only the bravest, or the most foolhardy, would stand before such an abomination. Fewer still would be able to function. Camara whispered a quick, fervent prayer to her god as well as several others, activated her amulet, and drew her sword. She felt a brief wash of magic cover her from behind, and silently thanked Humboldt for whatever protection he had the presence of mind to give her.
The monster lunged, faster than seemed possible for its size, faster than M'Lady expected, and managed to nick her shoulder with one of its talons as she dodged its attack. The wound burned like a small flame had been ignited within her flesh, and she could feel her amulet's magic warring with whatever evil influence the creature was exerting. It stopped for a few seconds, waiting for something to happen, and when nothing did, it looked very unhappy and attacked again.
A movement, caught in the corner of her eye, saved her again. Patteron was attempting to brain her with his staff. Somehow the magic in that room negated most of her own, robbing her of her alarms. She moved to avoid his blow, then had to leap out of harm's way as the creature attacked where she was moving to. That leap carried her over the monster's charge and away from the wizard. With a fast turn, she attempted to take advantage of an immediate attack from its rear, but the creature was too quick for her to succeed.
With a roar it charged, again supernaturally fast. Camara changed her dodge to a leap at the last instant, seeing that the wizard was ready to strike where a normal dodge would have positioned her. It was now obvious to M'Lady that the creature and the wizard were either well-practiced together, or they could communicate somehow. That made them even more dangerous than she had thought possible.
For the next moment or two, she leaped, she dodged, she spun, and she ducked, avoiding numerous attacks from both opponents. At one point, she saw William, lying against a wall, bleeding from a cut on his scalp, his helmet lying to one side. She couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. Her own wounds, as well as the effects of the previous fighting, had weakened her and slowed her down. Even worse, her tiredness, and the rapid attacks by Patteron and the creature, kept her from slipping into her battle state.
Suddenly, during one of the monster's feints, it slipped and fell. An icy patch had appeared beneath it's feet, somehow, and left it out of action for a few precious seconds. Camara attacked Patteron viciously, ready to slam a hail of blows on him. Her first, which he ignored, should have severed his hand from his arm, but did not. Her sword went past the arm, somehow, instead of through it. She received a nasty blow to her back because of that unexpected miss. A vague memory of something she'd been taught finally floated to the top of her consciousness, one about a certain kind of spell, a spell requiring a great deal of power to cast, but very little to bypass. She tried desperately to remember the keywords and the gesture for the little cantrip she needed to mess up his magic, but that memory evaded her, she being too tired and too involved in the battle for something so deeply buried to be remembered easily.
She had to contend with both the creature and the wizard again. Tiring quickly after all her previous exertions, she knew there was no way to avoid them forever. So finally, instead of leaping away from the creature's attack, she leaped through it, trying to slice it somewhere. Her hardest blow barely managed to penetrate its fur and thick hide, but that wound caused the creature to scream in pain, and it then moved so quickly it managed to backhand her and throw her across the room. When she hit the wall, she hit hard, the blow dazing her for several seconds. Her eyes refocussed to see Trieste and Taggart occupying the attention of their opponents. Taggart fell prey to the same feint she had, he having no better luck striking the wizard than she, but he received a blow to his head that drove him into unconsciousness, or worse.
Shaking off her dizziness, she once again attacked the creature, this time from behind. One blow penetrated, and the monster gave her both its bellow of pain and its attention. Trieste became fully occupied fending off the attacks of Patteron. Being unable to land a blow in retaliation was a definite handicap.
Two sounds caught her attention. The first was Humboldt shouting something at her, words which she couldn't make out, because the second was the creature screaming at her at the same time. It was able to talk, somehow, despite its animal snout and the shape of its head and neck.
"Warrior woman! I eat you soon!" Its voice was deep and gravelly, barely understandable, but it was there. If the creature was hoping that would give it another surprise advantage, it figured wrong. Its quick, lunging attack missed badly, and it received one more small wound. Turning and running, suddenly it was attacking Trieste from her flank. Camara ran to her aid, but was a fraction of a second too late as the wizard, aided by his beast's distraction, managed to sneak in a blow that crashed the thief into the wall. She fell to the floor, looking completely lifeless.
A shouted word from Humboldt finally penetrated her awareness, and that was all it took to trigger her memory of the spell she needed. Taking less time to do than to say, she cast the cantrip on herself, the one for truesight. Instantly Patteron's form wavered, misted, and reappeared a few feet from where it formerly looked to be. A single attack on his correct location made him realize he'd been found out.
Humboldt managed another distraction, this time by igniting some glowspheres in front of the monster's face. His action gave Camara the instants she needed to finish off the wizard. Without his magical deception, he was no more than an adequate fighter. With a quick feint, two fast blows blocked, a leap and a slash, she laid open his neck. He died in a splatter of blood, gurgling his last breath. There were no flames, no lights, no horrid noises when his spirit passed across to the other side, just a final bubbling wheeze. All the roaring and screaming came from his creature.
It reared back, bellowing wildly, surrounded by a blue-green glow. The light got thicker and brighter, swirling slowly at first, then faster and faster until nothing else was visible. A low hum filled her ears, rising, then lowering in pitch, dying off at the same time the swirling light around the monster disappeared. In place of that horrid beast stood a man, or what appeared to be a man, dressed in fine leathers, holding a longsword. He stood a few inches over six feet tall, was decently muscled, and looked hard and tough. His appearance was that of a darkly handsome gentleman, neat and well groomed. Only those burning green eyes betrayed it as the same being.
"Well, well, well," he (it?) said. "Whoever you are, I owe you a debt of gratitude. You've set us free from that creature there."
M'Lady did not let her guard down, despite the soft and gentle voice of whatever it was she faced. "Who, or what, are you?" she asked.
"An appropriate question. I, we, are Heppanae, once an avatar, now a hunger. That creature summoned us, me, here from Tartarus, from my, our, feeding. I was eternally hungry for living flesh. Now there is fresh food available all around. The wizard is gone, thank you very much, but you and the others will do nicely in its place. I hunger."
"Why do you owe me gratitude? And what's this nonsense about me setting you free?" M'Lady was trying to draw out the conversation. She needed time to recover her breath and some strength. If it had attacked immediately, she doubted she would have survived.
"Both are the same question. That creature summoned me, us, and bound me to its will. I could not free us from its dominion. When you killed it, you set us, me, free. To show my gratitude, you will die quickly, unlike the others."
"I don't think so. In fact, I think the only thing you'll be doing is going back to Tartarus!"
Camara attacked suddenly and viciously, swinging at the creature, testing its speed and skill. Both were unmatched by any opponent she had yet faced. They faced off again.
"Oh, something else that creature lacked was imagination. A ten foot hulking brute of a beast, indeed! Slower and stupider than any other shape I've had to assume. What an imbecile." A brief flurry of swordstrikes and blocked kicks took place. The creature continued on as if nothing had happened. "Powerful, skilled, and knowledgeable, but no real brainpower." Another flurry of blows and kicks took place. Only one landed on target, and that was a fist to Camara's jaw.
"You're pretty good. But definitely not good enough. Now just hold still and we, I, will end this quickly."
The creature attacked this time, raining down swordstrikes. Suddenly it slipped on a patch of icy floor and narrowly avoided being spitted. A high back flip moved it out of danger.
"Now that wasn't nice at all. Time to end this charade."
With that, the creature waved a hand at the doorway where Humboldt was hiding, and a swath of green fire flowed from its fingertips. It landed on the walls and on the floor outside the room. Some splashed from the floor onto Humboldt, and his pained screams could be heard retreating down the hallway.
It waved its hand again, and another green spray erupted, heading for M'Lady. Her jump to avoid the attack did no good, as the liquid fire changed direction to intercept her in mid air. To the creature's amazement, Camara attacked the spray with her sword, making the stuff separate and dissipate. Her amulet, won so long ago at such a high cost, paid for itself once again. The gem's powerful protection against otherworldly magic allowed her to survive what would otherwise be a deadly attack.
Recovering quickly, it yelled and charged. They swung and blocked blows, they feinted, they riposted one another. Occasionally a fist or foot would connect, but never steel. Camara's mind could finally focus again, and she built herself up into that special zone of hers. Once again, she felt the thrill and excitement of being completely alive and aware. Once again, she became a will and a mind devoid of distraction. Once again, her body became an extension of her thoughts. Her special madness took over. A wild, exultant yell exploded from her mouth, startling the creature for an instant. She let loose with a scream of joy, of pleasure, of anticipation. For the first time, a hint of doubt crossed the creature's features.
Her face looked as wild and excited as the yell she had sounded, a look that had sent many lesser fighters running. Her sword swung easily and loosely in her hand. Her feet were light - her steps fast and sure.
"You think to snack on my friends, do you? To make short work of me? Not while I'm still breathing! C'mon, tough guy. Show me what you got, 'cause I don't think you got what you been braggin' about. Well? What are you waiting for? Let's get it on!" With wild eyes and a teasing look she egged on the creature. Camara mouthed "C'mon" once or twice, while smiling wickedly.
They engaged again, and this time steel and flesh met. Camara received a small slice on her thigh. When the creature sneered, M'Lady pointed her sword at its shoulder, where a similar wound oozed a greenish puss. Again they met, but this time the creature landed a side kick to Camara's head. She back flipped out of range to recover her equilibrium.
It charged her once again, hoping to repeat its earlier success, but instead received a nasty slice across its ribs. The creature concentrated, and the wound closed up, but a certain stiffness indicated that it still suffered. M'Lady charged, flipping high in the air to come at it from above. This time it received a nasty slice down its left arm as well as a boot to the face. Her focus was improving, and its was slipping.
During a short face-off period, the creature spoke again.
"What are you? No mortal has ever come this close to defeating me! Which power do you represent?"
Without speaking, she attacked again. After several more blocked blows and thrusts, she began to reply, in between swings, in short staccato bursts of words.
"I am Camara."
"A mortal, a warrior."
"Despoiler of nations."
"Kingmaker, king breaker."
"Plaything of the gods."
"I am Camara."
"And I!"
"Am!"
"Your!"
"Doom!"
Each word, each phrase, was followed by another heavy attack. The creature was finally tiring, desperately defending itself. M'Lady manoeuvred it away from her fallen friends, just in case. She received several more small wounds during the struggle, and felt them, but could ignore the hurt. It received several as well, ones that were definitely more severe than hers. With a final series of blows, she disarmed it.
"Time to send you back to Tartarus where you belong!" It was with a nasty hiss and a very ugly scowl that she pierced the thing where a human heart would be.
At that same instant, King Merovance and a dozen of his elite guards, accompanied by Humboldt and Verran, spilled through the doorway. They were just in time to witness the unearthly demise of her opponent's mortal form. Green ichor poured from its wounds, running faster and thicker with each passing second, and quickly formed a puddle on the floor. Its body began to thin, to collapse in upon itself. More goo flowed. Eventually there was nothing left except an empty skin bag and a small pond of slime. A white light then shot down through the roof, directly into the centre of the muck, igniting it into a green-burning mass, one that emitted a thick and very foul smoke. Only then did Camara collapse to the floor, fainting with relief, exhaustion, and the effects of her eldritch wounds. Aided by Verran, the king's guards pulled everyone, whether living or dead, from the room.
Verran carried M'Lady from that scene himself. After carefully placing her on a table, he checked her wounds thoroughly. Only when he was satisfied she was not seriously hurt, and would recover, did he give her a kiss on the forehead and let a healer attend to her. Everyone except Patteron and his victim was still alive. The king's priests and healers had to work very hard to keep them that way.
It wasn't long before Camara woke. She looked up at Verran and the king from where she lay sprawled on the table, smiled, and said "perfect timing." She then watched King Merovance remove the Medallion of the Sabre from around his ex-wizard's neck and place it around his own.
M'Lady thought it a rather plain, almost ugly little thing, hardly looking like it was worth all the bloodshed and horror surrounding its theft and recovery. Only much later, when the king activated it during his ceremonial ascension, and it glowed with a pure, silvery light, did the medallion look like something other than a cheap trinket. She wondered about the taste of its original crafters.
Staring at Patteron's lifeless corpse, Camara thought she should feel satisfaction, or anger, or even relief that all was over and done with, yet there was nothing other than a numbness. Inside, where feelings come from, there was an emptiness, almost as if there was a hole in her heart. Even thoughts of Briana brought out only distant echoes of emotion, like she was remembering something from long ago.
Exhausted, she lay there, staring dully as others hustled and bustled about their business, wondering what had happened to her. Several people asked questions about the recent battle, and what it was that she fought. Dully, she answered. Then someone reached over, closed her eyes, and told her to sleep. So she did.
Several hours later, she was awakened by a touch. One of the healers wanted her to drink some sort of concoction. Though it smelled vile and tasted worse, she did, and he left. Verran was also there, sitting at the foot of her cot, and it looked to her like he had been sitting there forever.
Both appeared exhausted. Both were bruised and bandaged. Both managed smiles, though Camara's was rather forced.
"How do you feel?"
Camara closed her eyes and sighed. "Sore. Tired. And you?"
"Aside from these minor wounds, about the same. But that is not what I wish to know. How do you feel?"
Since Gedren, he had asked that same question several times. Her answer, up until then, was angry. It was what she thought she should feel, what she had convinced herself she was feeling. With the wizard dead, there was no longer a reason for anger, and no longer a reason for her to lie to herself. Verran waited in silence for her answer. It was long in coming.
"Betrayed, a little. Alone. Tired. Abandoned."
"You feel no relief? No joy? No happiness? Is there not even some pride in what you have accomplished?"
When she opened her eyes, he saw nothing but an aching loneliness in them. She slowly shook her head.
"Camara, you have done what few people in this world could have. You defeated an avatar. That makes you the equal of Hercules, Sampson, Gilgamesh, B'nGash, Jason, and perhaps a handful of others. Elite company indeed. If you do not feel pride in what you have done this day, then I do not know what would satisfy you."
"How many of your friends have died over the years, Verran? A few dozen? A few hundred? Have you become numb to losing them?"
He shrugged, then frowned. "Too many. More than I could count easily, yet I mourn the passing of each. Never have I become inured to their loss. Is that what has affected you so deeply?"
"I don't know. Ever since Bracchus' death, there's been an emptiness, an absense of feeling. It's as though something inside has withered. All I feel is this longing, but for what, I don't know. Even when I stared at Patteron's body and thought of Briana, there was nothing." She shrugged.
Taking some time to collect his thoughts, Verran rubbed his temples and his eyes. "You have received several blows recently, any one of which could have destroyed a weaker person. There has been no time for you to mourn, or reflect, or absorb, and you have closed away everything. This may be your inner self's way of coping with such tragedy. You may simply need time to recover, to allow yourself the luxury of bereavement. Let the past catch up."
"Catch up to what? And for what?"
He shook his head slightly. "Such questions should need no answer. You need to feel the pain before you can heal, and you must heal before you can do anything about the longing you feel. Is there a reason for that to be all you have left?"
"Perhaps. It's just that I feel so, so alone, almost like I've been cursed to lose anyone I let into my heart. The question of who's next keeps running through my head. You, perhaps? Even though we've never been lovers? Or Trieste? Maybe Taggart or Humboldt. Or, most likely, the next person who I invite into my bed. It just seems so pointless, going on without hope of ever finding someone to share my life with, someone who won't just up and leave, or die, or something."
"Camara, there is nothing you can do about the past. Only the present. You make a difference. Many people would have been slain if that wizard's conjuration had not been stopped. There would have been war. Briana knew the risks she would be taking by joining us. She chased you down, as I recall. Bracchus chose his own route, for his own reasons, and got what he deserved. And you are not responsible for whatever happened to Ariel. You have lost several who were dear to you. Many have died in your service, true, but you did not force the swords into their hands. They did what they did willingly, knowing what could happen. For good or ill. A hundred years from now, bards will sing and tell tall tales of the battle that took place in this castle on this day. Those who stood by you will also be remembered, sharing in your glory and fame. For many, being with you will be the greatest and most wonderful time of their lives, despite the fear, danger, and hardship."
"And for those who have died?"
"They have died. Hopefully, they died well. Their memories live on. Camara, you did not create Patteron. His misdeeds, and what he caused to happen, were not your fault. You stopped him. We stopped him. We have accomplished a great thing."
"If only I had your outlook. Things would be so much simpler."
"Camara, you would not be you if you thought like me. You would be a female me, something the world is probably better off without. A few generations from now, none of this will matter. Nothing but the stories will remain."
Verran got up, walked to the head of her cot, glanced around, then leaned over to whisper in her ear. There was a strange glint in his wide-open eyes.
"Did you know that the monster you fought was fifteen feet tall? And it had teeth the length of a dagger? And it used a sword no mortal man could even lift? Seven feet long, it had to be. And the creature moved so fast you could only see a blur. It threw wizard's fire with a wave of its hand, and no ordinary blade could pierce its hide."
At her look of puzzlement, he stood, looking shocked that she would show any disbelief of his words.
"It's the truth, I swear! I got that from an impeccable source - I overheard one of the greenhorn guards talking to a kitchen maid, and since he was there throughout the whole battle, he knew what he was talking about."
She smiled and shook her head.
"I imagine," he continued, "that in a week or so, the creature will be twenty feet tall, have two heads and a spear-pointed tail, breathe fire, and shoot lightning from its eyes. It will move faster than the wind, be stronger than ten horses, and kill with nothing but a touch. Every guard in the palace, and even some that weren't, will have been there at the end. But however large that monster gets, you still defeated it. That fact will remain, and your fame will grow along with the beast."
Looking at Camara for a moment without speaking, he smiled sadly and shook his head again.
"It looks like none of this means anything to you. One day it will, although that day may be some ways off. You should rest. When you awaken, you have some very large expectations to rise up to."
With a final touch of his hand to her cheek, he left. She watched him leave, then took his advice and closed her eyes. Sleep came quickly.
Chapter 8
( The bard:
Patience, patience, my Lady. The story has some meat left on its bones yet. If you wish to leave now, you may of course, but I shall be finishing this tale tonight even if none stay to hear my voice.
Yes, my Lord. A fresh round would be in order. Pardon? Yes, the swordplay is all but finished. The equally important matters, those of the heart and spirit, remain.
You are correct. Without the sword, there would be no body left to appreciate or understand these matters. Yet, without passion, will, and desire, the sword would forever remain sheathed. The two are opposite ends of the same loaf. Remove either, and you are left with little more than a crust.
To continue, it is a night and a day later ... )
The bed was soft, the sheets cool, and the coverlets light and warm. M'Lady relaxed in decadent luxury, alone for the night, feeling completely pampered and spoiled. The king's consort had decided Camara needed some attention, and so dispatched two of her best handmaidens to see to Camara's every need. Those needs, as seen by the servants, included a proper royal bath - with the washing and drying done by them, of course - a proper royal massage, ointments and perfumes, silk and satin bedclothes, and a real brushing of her hair, continuing until it crackled in the air and shone like the finest satin. After six months of living in either a tent or modest inn, that was indulgence like she had almost forgotten existed.
They left only after being assured by Lady Camara that she would do absolutely nothing on her own in the morning. She had to promise to send word to them the moment she felt like stirring from her bed. M'Lady thought that event unlikely until noon, at the earliest, the way her body ached, and with the difficulty she had opening her eyes each time she blinked. Within moments, she was asleep.
Sometime during the night Camara woke suddenly. Something had disturbed her - a noise, maybe a slight shuffling, or perhaps she sensed a presence. With long-learned skill, she went directly from sleep to fully alert without moving, changing her breathing, or even blinking. Slowly she cracked open her eyes to survey the room.
Just beyond the foot of the bed stood a child, dirt covering her from head to toe, wearing little more than rags. The girl was thin, almost emaciated, with large brown eyes, a small nose, and a wide, full-lipped mouth. Her hair, where you could tell its natural colour from the dirt and grease, also looked to be a dark, rich shade of brown. The intruder was watching M'Lady's eyes, and smiled when they opened.
Camara sat up, eying the small child carefully. A knife, concealed under her pillow, was at hand, as always. Moving gracefully, the dirty waif sat upon the end of the bed, pulling her knees up under her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs. She smiled again.
"You do not recognize us."
As soon as she heard that voice, the tone used, the word 'us', it was as though she were transported back in time and across endless leagues to another dreamscape. Her memory of that other night was once again vivid and clear. It was also apparent to her that something was very strange. Even though the room Camara fell asleep in faced north, and no sun or moon should ever have been visible from its window, the girl was softly illuminated by moonlight.
"I think I do now."
"Yes, we see that. You are not nervous? Not afraid?"
"Why should I be? I've remained true to myself, and to my vows. Should I feel fear or apprehension?"
The young girl laughed, a clear and sparkling sound washing through the room like a spring shower.
"You do not fear us. Nor should you. We have watched you, and we are satisfied. You have done well. With the dispersal of that fallen avatar, you have saved one who is special to us, even though you knew it not. To show our gratitude, we will grant you a boon. Choose your reward. Choose it wisely. Remember who you are, and remember who grants you this favour. Think well on this, for rarely does a mortal earn such a gift."
Camara's thoughts almost instantly turned to the lost portion of her payment, the part which could only have been given by Patteron. New magic for her rings.
"Yes, that we could do easily. But so could many mortals. If you would be happy with such a small thing, we would do it."
Suddenly, other thoughts ran through her mind. She was being granted a boon from a *GOD* ... *HER* god. With trembling limbs and whirling, disjointed pieces of half-dreams tumbling through her head, she sank back against her pillows. After several minutes and some deep breathing, she was again mostly calm.
"You can grant me anything I wish?"
"No. Some things we will not do, and some things we cannot. We see in your heart most of what you could ask for. We cannot mend that which has been broken, so do not ask it of us. We could remold what is left, but the result would not be what you remember."
"And the rest?"
"The longer gone, the more difficult, and the harder to recover all that is lost. Going back to where your first thoughts flew, you could never be happy with the outcome. Too much is gone, too much has changed."
Camara thought hard for a few moments, then spoke. "I've made my choice."
"Interesting." The young girl looked pensive for a moment, then smiled broadly. "So be it. You may get more than you asked for, or less. Remember, some things have been lost, and others may be confused. You must now live with your choice. Sleep, Camara. Sleep. And dream. Dream. Dream of us, and of another. Another. Sleep."
The child's voice faded into nothingness, as did the room and all it contained. Only echoes of the god's last words remained for a time.
M'Lady's last feelings, before returning to her slumber, were of apprehension and fear. Not of Escalia, but of what her choice would bring. She shivered, though the bed was still warm.
Once again Camara woke suddenly, this time very early in the morning. There was a person in bed with her. "How!?" was her immediate thought. Then she remembered her dream. A glance, a touch, a breath, was all that she needed to confirm the impossible. The young woman opened her eyes at that touch, and Camara saw emptiness in them. It was as if nothing lived inside. Slowly, as M'Lady watched, some slight intelligence, a tiny spark of life, appeared from nowhere and grew before her eyes. Soon the eyes were almost as bright and full of promise as she remembered. Almost.
"I ... know you" the woman whispered. Camara smiled, an inane thought running through her head. The woman was naked, lying under the covers with M'Lady, and she was just exclaiming that she thought she knew who it was she was sleeping with.
"I remember you now. I know you. Lady ... M'Lady ... oh, I'm so confused. I remember something, something incredible, but, it, it's slipping away now. I can't hold it, such beauty slipping away, away from me ..." The blonde woman began to cry, deep heart wrenching sobs of anguish for that which she no longer could remember, but knew she'd lost. With practiced ease, Camara brought the woman into her arms and held her close. The feel of her body, the scent of her hair, the sound of her voice, were all so familiar, so wonderfully fresh, M'Lady also began to weep. All the promises she'd made to herself, all the discipline, all the resolve, melted away with that embrace. They cried together for a time, before one, then the other, stopped.
"I remember you, Camara. I remember your eyes. I remember your lips. I remember your smile and your touch. I remember us." The blonde leaned over and began to kiss M'Lady, gently and chastely at first, then with increasing passion. All the heat and desire was returned tenfold, enflamed by the love Camara still held for the beautiful young maiden.
It was with groaning reluctance that Camara pulled away from that kiss, and out of their embrace.
"You don't ... care for me, anymore?" The fear and the tears buried within her voice, as well as her words, nearly drove M'Lady to sobbing again.
"Always. I will always hold you dear in my heart. Closer than you can ever know. No, there is another."
"You have another ... lover?" That fear and confusion was still there. It was with care Camara chose her next words.
"There have been others since ... us. There has only been one for you, though. You will know him again, soon. I will send for him." A look of, well, almost terror swept through the blonde woman's face at the thought of being alone.
"No, please, don't leave me! I'm afraid! I'm ..."
"Hush, hush. I won't leave you. I'll send someone else. You wait here, and I'll be just over there by the door. I won't even leave the room. Okay?"
"I ... yes," she almost whispered.
M'Lady opened the door and spotted a young noble, a son of someone-or-other, doing his time in the castle. She called to him, and the blush he had on his face when he turned told her he'd been up to something naughty.
"You. Do you know of Sir William at all?" After a brief stammer, then a head nod from the lad, she continued. "Good. Go and fetch him here. Now. It's a matter of utmost importance. I need him, and no other."
"I ... But, he's a knight! And a captain! He'll have me whipped if I disturb him! Especially when he's with ..." The youth's voice trailed off, unsure of whether he'd revealed something he shouldn't have.
"Right now, I don't care if he's with Aphrodite herself. Tell him that I, that Camara, needs him here *now*, and no excuses! He'll listen. If you have him back here in less than ten minutes, there's a gold piece in it for you."
The youngster's eyes lit up. First, he was standing in front of the hero of the day, Lady Camara, and second, despite the fact that his family was considered rich, a gold piece was more ready cash than he personally saw during the course of a month. The lad took off like an arrow. Just within her time limit he was back, with Sir William in tow. During that time, M'Lady had dressed and given her bedclothes to the other woman to wear. She donned them, despite the nearly foot difference in their heights, simply because something was better than nothing. Camara met the two in the hall.
"William, tip the lad a gold piece." Despite a rather questioning stare, he did so, and the son-of-whomever left quickly, before anyone changed their minds. Sir William's dark and handsome face was lined with worry and apprehension, wondering what type of trouble he would be expected to deal with this time. They were both out in the hall, with the door to her room closed. M'Lady had convinced the other woman that this was necessary without explaining why it was so.
"Relax, Sir William. There is no emergency, such as you are probably expecting. No, this is something altogether different. There is someone in my room right now I want you to meet. Someone you know. She may or may not remember you at first. Do not question anything, regardless of how you might wish to do so; simply accept that it is real. And it is real. Can you do this?"
"M'Lady, you have asked much of me in the past seasons, yet always I have gained from my trust and faith. I will do as you ask. Might I know the name of this person I am to meet?"
"Come inside. You will know her name."
Once they stepped within the room, Sir William stopped dead. The woman's face was fully illuminated by the lamps M'Lady had lit, and she was staring rather curiously, without recognition, at this large, imposing knight standing thunderstruck just inside the doorway.
He spoke a name. With that one word, the warrior, veteran of a dozen campaigns, a man who had stood unflinchingly against assassin and soldier, Amazon and harpy, a man who faced blood, gore, and death regularly with little trepidation, fainted.
When he came to, he was lying in bed. His armour, weapons, and boots had been stripped off. Sitting on one side was Camara. Sitting on the other was ... the woman he had lost. The love of his life. Briana. Returned from the dead.
"I ... I think I know you," she said. One finger was tracing its way around his face, lightly touching him, following the curve of his jaw, the arch of his brow, the softness of his lips, feeling the stiff bristles of his beard and moustache. "You called me Briana. Is that who I am?"
Sir William sent a wondrous and questioning glance at M'Lady, who simply nodded, letting him know that, impossible as it seemed, strange as things were, it was real. He closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and visibly relaxed.
"Yes, Briana is who I know you as. Do you not know me?"
"You are ... familiar. I know your face, and your voice. My hand knows you as well, as though it has traced these features many times before. Somehow, I am, well, comfortable with you. Though my thoughts tell me I should be afraid of having such an imposing fighter in bed with me." A half-smile formed on her face with those words. A full smile broke across his. He reached up to touch her face as well, but stopped when she pulled back slightly, startled by his movement. When she saw him hold up, and realized he meant no harm, she moved forward again, allowing his fingers to touch, to caress, bringing to him the reality of what his eyes saw. A look of absolute wonder overtook him at the first contact.
"Yes, I think I know you. Your touch is familiar as well. It ... there is so much confusion in my mind. But I remember you as ... a friend? I don't know. Someone I trust, someone safe, that much I recall. Is that right?"
"Briana, always I will be your friend. When you remember more, I will say that which I hold in my heart." Tears ran down his cheeks, tears which Briana stroked away with her fingers.
Camara got up to leave at that point. Sir William started to say something, but she cut him off with a gesture.
"Talk with me about this tomorrow. Or the next day. I'm not sure when I'll be sober again. Just accept, for now. Good day, Sir William. Good day, Briana. We will speak again, later, about what was." With that, she left them, giving them the privacy and time they needed to find one another again.
With a pained heart and tears in her eyes she went to search out the castle's taproom. The tiredness of her body and ache of her bruises and wounds were nothing compared to the heaviness in her chest. The pain of an unrequited love could only be dulled by time, or by a heavy dose of spirits. To have Briana back after suffering her loss, and then having to give her up to another again, was doubly hurtful. For a few moments, when she first saw her old lover, and learned of her confusion and her desire, M'Lady thought of keeping the woman all to herself, of fleeing with her, or maybe making love with her once more. Deep inside, though, she knew she could not perform such a deed. Hence, her search for surcease.
Even that early in the morning, the castle's kitchens were busy. Cooks and sculleries, helpers, and the odd servant made for a crowded and noisy atmosphere. M'Lady was hard pressed to stop one long enough to get directions to the taproom.
As one servant girl passed, Camara heard the words "We approve," pitched so none but she could hear. Turning, she could not see who had actually spoken. After a few seconds of staring, M'Lady was ready to dismiss it as her imagination, a result of the surprise and shock she was experiencing. Only, just as she was convincing herself that it never truly happened, someone said the words "Remember hope" in her ear, from behind. Spinning quickly, she saw several servants who could have been close enough to say something. None were paying any attention to her, other than the usual curious glances, and none looked at all familiar.
For some reason, she changed her mind about the taproom. Instead, her feet took her from the castle. All that day she walked the streets of Saldar City, stopping at an inn for breakfast, picking up tidbits in a marketplace for lunch, and going back to the castle only when it was time for dinner. All the while, she simply watched the people and absorbed their energy, their laughter, and the life apparent in them all. It was a minor catharsis for her, a way of letting go the pain, of trying to allow the joy of others to fill the void that had formed deep inside.
When she returned, Sir William and Briana were still sitting in M'Lady's room, talking quietly. They both smiled at her when she entered. Showing a grin she didn't feel, she gave them both a hello, then turned and left. A servant found her and asked her to go to the dining hall.
When she arrived, the place was in an uproar. Apparently, her disappearance had caused quite a stir. News of Briana's return was being kept secret, at least for the time being. Only those present in that room knew. They included Lord Verran, who was beside himself with both worry and curiosity, the two handmaidens, who had inadvertently walked in on the lovers (they were upset with her for not telling them she was going out), and King Merovance himself, who was very much concerned for her safety.
Lady Camara's explanations lasted well into the night.
Chapter 9
About three sevendays later, Lady Camara, Lord Verran, and a small retinue of her troops found themselves in a small village, one on the road to Phaedron. Rumour had it that several of the lords in that great city were having some ... difficulties. Troubles of the kind that M'Lady's troops could help them with. For certain considerations, of course.
Sir William had resigned, with her blessings, to stay with Briana. The young woman had pretty much come back to herself, her memory mostly intact, but her emotional state was, at best, very fragile. She needed a great deal of love and attention. Having to share herself between Camara and her true love did not help in the least. M'Lady's memory of Briana's bittersweet joke, that this was the third and last time she was going to come back because she was getting tired of repeating the same old trick, brought a crooked smile and a hint of tears to her face. She shook her head to clear it of those thoughts, and focused on the hamlet they were passing through.
At the centre of that tiny village was an inn. When M'Lady glanced at the name on its sign, she simply had to stop there for the night, even though it was just after midday and another inn, one that was larger and better, could easily be reached that day. She gave no explanation for her decision, simply letting everyone know that she had her own reasons.
Early that evening something unexpected happened. A travelling bard, a Techran no less, appeared and accepted the innkeeper's invitation to play. M'Lady, despite her best intentions, was lost in her memories and missed much of what was going on around her, including the arrival of the songmaster and the beginning of her performance. Only when the bard began the chords of a dirge, one Camara had heard but once yet recognized immediately, did she look up in shock, and in recognition. A smile rolled across her face, along with a look of playfulness, something that had been missing for some time.
"Bard!" she yelled. "Yes, you! Bard! I've heard that tale before. I'm in no mood for tears tonight. Play something sweet and wonderful instead!"
The entire room went silent. Someone was interrupting a Techran bard during her performance. Even there, in that tiny hamlet in the middle of nowhere, they knew it was not a good thing to do. At least, not if you wished to see another sunrise. The bard looked up in anger to see who was being so rude. When her eyes locked onto Camara's, off in the corner where she'd been hidden away, a smile came to the woman's lips.
"And what would it be worth to you if I did?"
M'Lady, smiling back, answered with a laugh. "Perhaps a glass of wine?"
"Perhaps," replied the bard. Suilain was already changing the tune she was playing. Gone were the sorrowful minor chords of the dirge. Instead, a light, playful melody danced about the room, easing the tensions of those who thought a battle was about to erupt. The villager's conversation for days to come, and comments and observations for months, would be about how someone had interrupted a Techran, and how the bard never even blinked hard about it.
The tune she played was a new one, the words unfamiliar to all. Apparently, the woman was gracing their inn with a new piece. That was another first, since new material was normally reserved for kings and nobility for months, or even years, before being played in places like that tiny village. Even having a bard in the inn, never mind a Techran, was a small novelty.
"The Maid in the Dell"
"She walked along the flowery path
Through the orchard grove
A song out from her lips did leap
Her heart now overflowed
The beauty of the day was hers
Voice clearer than a bell
Everything was bright and gay
Springtime in the dell
Her skin was smooth and flawless
Her eyes blue as the sky
Her radiant blond ponytail
Hung down below her thigh
She was a beautiful maiden
Young and full of life
Many of the village men
Wished her for a wife
All were hopeful suitors
Yet father turned them down
He didn't want his daughter
Wed to just any man
Deep within her heart of hearts
There was room for only one
Without any gift for her hand
He was the blacksmith's son
Heavy had been her heart that day
When her father first decreed
He'd only choose the man for her
Who could prove his love by deed
Pleas could not dissuade the lad
Nor love's impassioned cry
All or none was his last word
He would be hers or die
Long and painful was his trial
Always her love did inspire
Knowing that the perfect prize
Would gain him his heart's desire
Yester'eve was his final step
Something none could ever guess
Was that this young lad succeeded
And her father had said YES!"
Suilain joined them at their table afterwards for a final drink before retiring. Camara, Verran, and his latest conquest, Sarah, greeted her warmly. Conversation ended up being polite, but strained. An underlying current of tension kept all four on edge, and caused Verran and his companion to leave fairly quickly.
Even when alone, M'Lady could not put voice to her true thoughts, hiding behind stilted words and trite phrases. Finally, sighing in frustration, the bard excused herself for the night, claiming weariness. Camara surprised Suilain by smiling and initiating the finger kiss they'd shared so many days before. The same thrill, the same tiny shocks of lightning, ran through M'Lady at the touch of those lips on her finger. The blonde's eyes opened in surprise and she caught her breath as well.
With a shy grin, Suilain spoke. "See you at breakfast?"
A feeling of disappointment briefly flashed through M'Lady. It was quickly replaced by her new pragmatic loneliness. Her smile was still genuine as she replied. "Definitely. Not too late, though. We have some travelling to do tomorrow, and we usually get an early start."
"Me too. So I'll be up with the cock's crow. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Su." Camara watched the woman as she walked across the room and up the stairs. Even wearing her robe and cloak, Suilain walked with grace, poise, and power. M'Lady thought she saw an extra swagger, an extra swing of those hips and toss of her hair, as she strode away. Unanswered questions, some silent speculation, and that provocatively swaying backside, convinced Camara that she should try to follow up on her suspicions.
That night, she dreamed. She dreamed a dream she'd had a dozen times since finding Ariel. It ended, as the others had, with her waking, shaking with emotion, bathed in a cold sweat. Camara lay awake, staring blankly at the ceiling for a long time before sleep returned.
Early the next morning, in the common room, while they were having breakfast, M'Lady and Suilain had some further conversation.
"Su," said Camara, "I guess you'll be on your way this morning. Where are you headed?"
"Well, actually, I'm on my way to Campek. There's a new prince due soon, and stories of the newborn heir will be all over the place. The parties and fetes should be marvellous."
"Oh." The look on M'Lady's face was one of studied unconcern.
"Of course," continued Suilain, "that all depends."
Camara looked up at the blonde woman, alerted by the sudden teasing tone of voice she heard. "Depends?"
"It depends on whether there's anything or anyone interesting in this village. If there is, I'll have to stick around, at least for a few days. Professional curiosity, you understand."
Only Lord Verran, who was watching with great interest, yet feigning total disregard, was able to see the hidden look of happiness that slowly crept into M'Lady's eyes.
"Oh?" asked Camara. "And who, or what, would you consider interesting enough to stick around for?"
Late that evening, Camara and Suilain were sitting in M'Lady's room, talking, enjoying the evening, and finishing off some inexpensive wine (the best the inn had to offer). Nothing overt had been said by either. Their conversation had been easy, though polite, and stayed with interesting but common topics. Neither was feeling much pain, though the blonde was much farther along. M'Lady was sitting in a chair and Suilain was on the bed reclining against some pillows.
"Su, Su, you gotta tell me. C'mon, how come you wouldn't practice with us today? We all want to see what a Techran's like in battle. Well?"
Suilain's eyes were mostly closed. She was staring at her glass, which held but a sip. Emptying it, then looking rather glumly at their last bottle, which was also empty, she sighed and stretched out. "I tol' you."
"Hah! You think I believed that, that load of horse droppings? Don't wanna show off indeed. C'mon already!"
Suilain waived her hand around, the one holding her empty glass. "All right, all right." She stared rather blearily in M'Lady's direction. Closing one eye seemed to help her focus better, or possibly made it so there was only one person looking back. "Y' promise not to tell?"
M'Lady leaned forward, straining to hear the younger woman's increasingly mumbled words. "Promise."
Leaning back into the pillows, she closed her eye. "S'cause I'm not much for fightin'. No good at it yet."
"Can't fight? You are Techran, right?"
"Mmhmm. Jes' not much of a fighter. But I, we, we got a repush, a reputation to, to, ah, sumthin'"
There was no way Camara could suppress her smirk. She was glad the woman's eyes were closed. "A Techran without teeth. How'd you get through the finals?"
Receiving no answer, M'Lady looked at her guest, who appeared to be out cold. Sighing, Camara went to try and carry Suilain to her own room. After nearly falling over just from standing up, she decided to forgo that probably impossible politeness. Sighing, she stripped down to her silks and managed to climb into bed, with both of them under the covers, after rolling the blonde's limp body back and forth a few times. Suilain's glass went onto the table.
There were strange thoughts and feelings running through M'Lady's wine-addled mind as she stared at the sleeping face of the young woman beside her. There was a faint hint of Briana about her, but it was only superficial, them having close to the same colour hair and eyes. Everything else was so different. Where Briana was short, hard cut, rapier thin and tough as old leather, Suilain was a little taller and looked rounded, soft, and tender. Both were very attractive, but in totally different ways.
Camara touched the woman's cheek with her fingertips. Liking what she felt, her fingers began a tour of Suilain's face, ending by tracing softly and slowly around her lips several times. Losing herself in the moment, M'Lady leaned over and gently, tenderly, kissed the other woman, a feather light caress of lip on lip lasting no more than a few seconds. When she pulled back, she was surprised to see Suilain's eyes half-open and looking at her. The eyes were bleary, a little bloodshot, and seemed a touch out of focus, but there was definitely still some intelligence behind them.
Not knowing what to expect, Camara just stayed still, waiting for some sort of a reaction. What happened took her by surprise. Suilain rolled into her, put one arm around M'Lady's waist, buried her head in M'Lady's shoulder, and went to sleep. Camara, well beyond being able to think coherently, mentally shrugged her shoulders and relaxed. It was with the scent of Suilain's hair in her nose and the warmth of the woman's breath on her neck that she also entered the Dreamgiver's world.
Early in the morning, a tickling sensation, located somewhere in the back of her neck, woke M'Lady. She turned to see what it was, and ended up nose to nose with Suilain, who was just blinking herself awake. At first, there was only a slight awareness in the bard's eyes, then dawning comprehension, and finally red-faced embarrassment.
"Ah, um, good morning?" came the bard's rather hesitant greeting.
"Good morning. Sleep well?" M'Lady brought a hand up and lightly brushed the woman's cheek with the back of one finger.
"I guess. I think so. And you?"
"Oh, it was a wonderful night's sleep. Best I've had in a harpy's age." The two were still nose to nose and were speaking in not much more than whispers. Camara, feeling a closeness, a warm tenderness, leaned forward for a brief kiss. Before their lips touched, Suilain stiffened and pulled back slightly. That broke the illusion of intimacy and togetherness M'Lady was experiencing in her warm and fuzzy morning state. She withdrew, the emptiness inside returning in full measure. Her stone faced mask descended, hiding all.
"Camara, I ... well, I remember a kiss. Did ... did anything else happen?" Suilain's expression was unreadable, mixing embarrassment with several other emotions.
M'Lady got out of bed and began dressing. She let the question hang in the air for a moment or two. "No. Nothing else happened. You passed out, and I was in no shape to get you to your room, so we ended up sleeping in the same bed. That's it."
An almost silent sigh of relief escaped the bard's lips. Camara, upon hearing that noise, one which cut her deeper than a knife ever could, stiffened for a second before she finished dressing.
"I'm glad. I wouldn't want to m..."
"Don't bother to explain," interrupted Camara. "I understand. I'll see you at lunch." She missed the pained and anxious look in Suilain's eyes.
"No, you don't understand. I ..." Her words broke off as she tried to sit up. "Oh, my head!" she moaned. By the time the waves of pain receded, she was alone. Camara was heading for the common room and a very light meal. She knew Verran and her men would be waiting there for her.
Throughout the day she was polite, yet unresponsive, to all but her own troops. Whenever Suilain tried to start a private conversation, M'Lady excused herself, claiming other, more pressing duties. She also made it clear she would be leaving the next morning. That evening, during the bard's performance, Camara kept to her room, having her meal delivered there by one of the tavern maids. She planned on an early evening and an earlier morning. Filling in her time with minor chores, she was working on re-sewing a section of her leather armour when Suilain walked in.
"We need to talk." The bard was carrying a dusty bottle and two glasses.
Camara shrugged, her face a blank mask. She continued on with her leatherwork. "About what?"
The blonde snorted in reply, a rather wry half-grin showing how inane she thought that question. Opening the bottle, she filled both glasses with a thick, semi-transparent, honey coloured liquid. A rich scent of clover filled the air. The glass handed to M'Lady was much fuller than the one Suilain kept for herself. "You have some catching up to do." She sat in the other chair, staring off into the distance, saying nothing. After a time, and a few sips of the liquid, she began to hum a tune. It was a soft, gentle melody, one belonging to an old tragedy.
When M'Lady finally took her first sip, her eyes opened in surprise and she stared at the bard. "Seaborn brandy? Here? Where in Tartarus did you find it?" The only answer she received was a slight lifting of one corner of the woman's mouth. Suilain refilled both of their glasses when hers was empty, and began to sing a long, doleful tale, a bastardized version of Euripides' Bacchae.
By the time Camara was working on her third glass, she was lost in the story. In her lap, the leather, needle, and gut were forgotten. Suilain snuffed out all but one lamp. Standing behind M'Lady, she began a gentle exploration of her neck, shoulders and face with no more than fingertips, gently kneading and massaging any knots of tension found. When the tragedy was finished, Camara was fully relaxed and leaning her head back, exposing herself to Suilain's gentle touch.
In the feeble yellow glow of the remaining lamp, Suilain whispered to Camara. "Tell me about this morning. Tell me how you felt, what you were thinking. Why you turned away from me. Why you will no longer talk to me."
With a long, drawn-out sigh, M'Lady tried to get up. Suilain's hands, rubbing the warrior's temples, tightened and refused to allow escape. Camara spoke in a quiet, very controlled voice. "I made a mistake. When I saw you there this morning, so close, so open, so trusting, I imagined there was more than there was in truth. Rather than embarrass you further, I left."
Several moments passed as the bard continued her massage. Speaking quietly, almost as if to herself, Suilain replied. "Close. So close to the truth, yet so far. The truth obscured by a veil of the unspoken. Do you know why I was hesitant this morning? Why I was glad nothing happened? Fear. And uncertainty. I've never been with a woman before. I've never been with anyone before. What happened last night and this morning frightened me, not knowing what was happening, not knowing what to expect. Not knowing if something had happened. I want to remember my first time.
"You frighten me, Camara. I see so much emotion inside. Your passion, your desire, they burn so fierce and hot. I'm drawn to you like a moth to a flame, knowing what could happen. If I get too close, will I be consumed by the fires within you? This morning, looking into your eyes, I saw the heat waiting for me, and I was scared. You saw something else. Your mistake was to leave before we could talk.
"Standing here, right now, my heart is pounding, my stomach is churning. Part of me wants to run away, to hide from you, and from what I feel. Yet, I cannot. When I'm with you, I feel things, strange emotions I've never experienced before. I want to be with you, but I'm afraid. I don't know what to do."
Other than a misting of her eyes, Camara showed no emotion throughout Suilain's impassioned monologue. Only when it was clear she'd finished speaking did M'Lady take one of the bard's hands and bring it to her lips. "I thought you didn't want me, that you were rejecting what I was offering. I completely misunderstood."
This time when Camara stood, Suilain made no move to stop her. Nor did she resist when she was lead over to the bed and pulled down beside the older woman. There was a moment where neither said or did anything, then M'Lady turned the bard's head so they were eye to eye. Camara enjoyed the feel of the other woman's face and hair again, this time being able to see the effect her touch had.
"Are you sure about this, Su?"
With a laugh and a bit of a smile, she replied. "No. How can I be sure? I've never done this before. But I need to try, to learn. I want to be with you."
Camara also smiled a bit at her words, then leaned in for a kiss. She stopped when Suilain stiffened, but she didn't pull back. M'Lady waited, expectantly, while the bard gathered herself before tentatively moving forward for a brief touch of lips on lips. Suilain leaned away, looking into M'Lady's eyes, and reached up to touch M'Lady's lips with her fingertips. The bard's mouth curved up into a small smile and she leaned forward to share a much longer kiss. Camara liked the feel and taste of those lips. They were soft and sweet, still tasting somewhat of the brandy they'd shared, and they trembled slightly.
Both paused for a few seconds when that kiss broke, needing time to recover their breath and their composure.
"I ... I don't know if ..."
"It's all right. We have all the time in the world." Camara was whispering to the hesitation and uncertainty she saw. "Just stay with me tonight, keep me company."
Suilain's reply was a brief touch of lips to cheek, as she stood and began to undress. M'Lady watched the woman remove her boots, robe, blouse, and skirt, then watched as she wiggled her way under the bedding wearing nothing but her shift.
"It is bedtime, isn't it?" was the woman's answer to M'Lady's unspoken question.
Camara prepared for sleep as well, locking the door, stripping down to her silks, laying out her weapons for quick retrieval, and dousing the lamp before sliding in beside the bard.
Because of the darkness, it was difficult for her to see Suilain's face, never mind her expression, so M'Lady reached over to touch, to feel the woman, to make sure this was no illusion brought on by her own lust-and-spirits-fogged mind. That touch triggered a small gasp. The bard moved closer, sliding one hand around Camara's waist, inviting M'Lady's embrace, an invitation which was quickly accepted.
They lay there for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, nose to nose, face to face, warm bodies pulled together. Lady Camara watched the woman's eyes, visible at that short distance, as they looked back into her own. Suilain was relaxing slowly, the tension leaving and being replaced by the open, trusting visage familiar from early that morning. M'Lady smiled, and again brushed the woman's cheek with the back of one finger. This time there was no hesitation as their lips met, each gently touching and tasting the other. When they finally broke apart, M'Lady saw a sweet, shy smile on the bard's lips, and a warmth in her eyes. That look brought a warm glow to her own heart. Her god's words again echoed silently, and she briefly wondered if Suilain was the one, then promptly dropped that thought, deciding there was no way she could ever know for certain.
For most of an hour they lay like that, exploring each other's faces, watching each other's expressions, touching, briefly kissing, and each getting used to the other's presence. The evening ended when Suilain wiggled a little closer, tucked her head into M'Lady's shoulder, and went to sleep. Camara smiled at the now familiar scent and feel of the woman dreaming in her arms, and her eyes again softened. Whether or not the bard was the one hinted at by her god didn't matter to M'Lady. Having a warm, caring person in her arms, after such a long time, was enough. For her, for the moment, it was enough. After a brief, more than tender kiss to the top of Suilain's head, Camara also relaxed into sleep.
That night, the dream returned. She awoke with a yell, sitting upright, bathed in sweat, with Suilain holding her arm and shouting for her to wake up.
"I'm awake! I'm ... awake." Camara's heart slowed, her breathing evened out, and she came back to herself.
"What happened? What's going on?"
"I - I had a dream."
"A dream? You look like you just finished a workout! Is this normal? Are your nights haunted by nightmares all the time?"
"No, and no. It's nothing. Just something that started recently. I'm fine now."
"Are you sure? Want to tell me about it?" The bard's expression was one of worry mixed with interest.
"No, Su. Everything's all right now. Go back to sleep."
After giving Camara a long, hard look, she lay back down. Those blue eyes continued watching for some time before closing.
----------
In the cold light of dawn, and the uncertainty of a sober mind, Camara was seated in a chair, staring at her companion, who was nestled within the bedding. The previous evening was remembered as much as a dream as reality. She had to ask, had to know the answers to her questions. Simple acceptance was not enough for her this time.
"Su, why are you here with me?"
>From the bed, a rather long sigh was heard. "You are asking a very hard question. I don't think I know the complete answer yet. Do you remember what I said last night?"
"Yes."
"I'll start there, then. I'm attracted to Camara, the legend, the woman in the stories. I've heard them all, and more. She fascinates me, personally and professionally. The tales of the terrible things you've done, the carnage, looting, death and destruction, I know are exaggerated, but they have their roots in truth. They frighten me. I've also heard the newer rumors, of how you have changed, how you no longer slaughter people on a whim, or for the feeblest of reasons, of how you have actually started helping some people. That intrigues me to no end."
"So, you're here because of the tales?"
"That's why I'm still at this inn right now, not why I'm here in this bed."
"Then, why?"
There was a moment of silence before Suilain answered.
"You know I'm a Techran, and a very young one."
Receiving a nod, she continued.
"I've only been out of training for a few months, but in that time, I've nearly been killed twice. Without dumb luck, and even dumber thieves, I would be nothing but a corpse right now. I need a sponsor, a protector, someone to help me learn about the real world, and how to survive in it. The problem is, I would die inside if I had to stay cooped up in a castle, or even a town, for more than a few moons. That would be worse than a knife in the heart."
"So you thought to come along with me. Is that why you are here?"
"No. If that were all, I would simply have asked to join your band. I think the Techran reputation would have secured me a position long enough to learn how to survive, at least."
"You're probably right, but you still haven't answered my question."
"I had to get all the rest out of the way first, otherwise you wouldn't believe what I have to say. You remember the night we first met in Gedron? We sat and talked for a while with your other friend, Trieste. I don't remember much of her from that evening, other than that she was mostly quiet. But you ..."
The bard took a deep breath before continuing.
"I don't know what happened that night. You affected me like nobody else I have ever met. The intensity of it shook me to my core. I didn't know what it was, so I ran that night - from the inn, from the city, from you, but mostly from myself. Ever since, your face, your smile, your eyes, have haunted my days and nights. Yet, you are still *Camara*. You have turned down kings before. You are so far beyond the dreams of a simple village girl, I thought them hopeless. The last thing I expected was to find you here, in this place, in this tiny town, in the middle of nowhere."
"If I frightened you so much, how did you end up here with me?"
"Hope. You smiled at me. You invited me to your table. You stayed here in town to be with me. You invited me to your room. Besides, if I am to be haunted by you for the rest of my life, without any possibility of being with you, then I might as well know now as later. It would be easier to kill my feelings."
"Then ... you are in my bed because your dreams have been haunted?"
"No. I'm here because there is no place else in the world I would rather be. I'm here because you are here."
The two women stared at each other for a moment. Suilain's face was a study in openness, with fear and hope fighting for dominance. There was nothing to read in Camara's eyes. She wore her stoneface mask.
"Well?" asked Suilain, sounding rather tense. "Are you going to laugh at me now? Or are you going to call me a ridiculous young girl and kick me out?"
Another long silence followed. M'Lady said nothing, and no emotion of any kind showed on her face.
"Say something!" Suilain practically screamed. A few tears ran down her cheeks.
Slowly the dark-haired woman stood, then walked over and sat on the bed. With one hand, she brushed away the drops of moisture that were collecting under the other woman's chin, then followed their trail back up to her cheek. There was still no change to her expression as she began to speak.
"I haven't had much luck with lovers, especially lately. Three of the last five have died, one horribly. Not too long ago, I almost gave up. Hope, I was told. Hope. You also mentioned hope. Without hope, my spirit would be on the other side right now.
Camara stood and gathered her scattered thoughts before continuing.
"I don't know if there is much left within me any more. I can still care, and still need. Little else remains right now. Maybe too little. The passion you see is a mix of desperation and longing. Those are still possible.
Am I going to laugh at you? Call you foolish? How can I? In the past, I've done far more, and for far less reason, than you have in the last few days."
Once again M'Lady sat in the chair.
"No one knows what will come, but have no doubt that my path is steep and rocky, and may be short. Hope. You say that's why you are here. For two mornings straight, you've woken up in my bed. That's two mornings more than my last lover did in the months we were together. If I didn't want you, desire you, and feel something real for you, that would never have happened. The question is, what now? Will you be coming with me? Because if you do, most likely your life will be short and painful."
Suilain stared back for a moment before answering.
"I would like to. If you are offering what I think you are, then nothing would make me happier. You do want me to come, don't you?" At Camara's uneven smile and tight nod, her face brightened. "Then of *course* I'll be going with you. As Astergoth stated, 'Whither thou goest, so do I follow, whether thou travel to the next village or to the ends of the earth'. Besides, if a long, boring life was important to me, I'd be a farmer's wife. Now come over here. *Our* bed is getting cold."
It was with tears streaming down her face that M'Lady joined Suilain again. Their kiss was fierce and hot, and would probably have led to much more, had not Verran chosen that moment to knock on the door. It was time for them to leave. He probably never knew how close to death he was at that moment.
Five days later, M'Lady and her small retinue were settled for the night in another inn a half day's travel short of Phaedron. They had a full day to wait while her followers set themselves up in a wood not too far from the city, so she and Suilain were spending the evening in Camara's room, drinking some of the fine wine the bard had miraculously acquired.
They drank, and talked, and drank, and sang, and drank, and told tall tales, and drank.
Finally, M'Lady's body and mind began to succumb to the volume of wine she'd consumed and to the appetite she'd been ignoring. Despite advances by several nobles, a couple of warriors, and one cook, she had been celibate since the night she learned of Bracchus. Suilain was still an unknown to her, professedly a true virgin, and they had shared little more than hot kisses and steamy caresses to that point. Camara was willing to wait for more, willing to give the bard as much time as she needed to be sure of what she wanted. The words of her god played through her mind, over and over again.
The spirits she'd consumed depressed her, the need she felt depressed her, the betrayal of Bracchus depressed her, and her own aching loneliness depressed her. Talking things over with Verran, while helping, didn't do much for her, since he often had difficulty relating to womanly emotions. Sometimes he had difficulty relating to human emotions, period. She needed a sympathetic ear, and Suilain was willing. All her frustrations and broken dreams spilled forth in a torrent of words and tears. The young woman listened with an open mind and an open heart, and used all the appropriate soothing words and phrases, while Camara sobbed on about the lost loves of her life.
She had heard all of the early stories about the woman, but those had dealt with her prowess as a fighter, her skills as a commander, and the terrible and wonderful things she'd done. Some of the cathouse whisperings included her lewd tastes, her debaucheries, and a list of those she'd bedded. Of course, most was pure fabrication, but there had always been enough hints of truth to them that Suilain couldn't dismiss all those rumours out of hand.
Now she was learning of the woman behind the legends, and found she was liking this person a great deal. That there was much she wasn't being told was obvious. Suilain lay on the bed, head resting on Camara's shoulder. The warrior was stroking her hair as she spoke, staring off into an invisible distance, seemingly oblivious as to whether her audience was paying attention or not.
She told the bard about several of her past loves. Of all those she'd been close to through the years, only a few had ever been enough to make her truly happy.
One was Briana, the knifer, the bright and cheerful child, wild and unruly, with a flair for the dramatic and a true disregard for propriety. The year she'd spent with the woman had been wonderful, but bittersweet. Briana often said she liked, admired, and needed Camara, but never admitted to love, something M'Lady felt soon after they started travelling together. The loss of her love to Sir William had only emphasized the emptiness in her life.
Another was Lord Verran, the friend, the companion, the immortal one, never truly intimate, yet privy to all her innermost fears and dreams. If he had ever consented to be her love, she would have gladly married him despite all the problems they would have had. He said it would never happen. He had watched one wife grow old and die before his eyes, and had sworn he would never go through that again.
Two others were Collena and Drisolm, the teacher and the lover. Other than her parents (and Verran, of course), Collena was the only older person she'd ever loved. Ten years her senior, mother of two, she ran her family's vineyards and winery. Her children were just getting to like having Camara around and had started calling her Auntie K when the slavers came. Collena fought them to her doom. Her children, when their fates were certain, killed themselves. Camara blamed herself for their deaths, cursing herself for not being there when they needed her the most. Her revenge was terrible, but did nothing to ease the pain of her loss.
Drisolm, the blacksmith, welcomed her into his home after she'd been wounded in a fight. M'Lady stayed with him for ten days. Two months later she returned, and stayed with him as his wife until a horse kicked him in the head. Despite healers and priests, he died four days later. She was widowed after seven months of bliss.
Camara didn't stop talking, even after she knew Suilain had fallen asleep, simply because it felt good to empty herself of the bitter memories. Her litany became more open, and she watched her past unfold from the perspective of years gone by. No more tears were falling, but the opening of old wounds continued to be a difficult catharsis.
The memory of Lysande came forth, painful in it's intensity. M'Lady had chased the spellcaster across three kingdoms, as part of a commission, before completing the capture. They talked constantly on the return trip. After handing over the prisoner to her employer and learning of his plans, M'Lady engineered a daring escape/rescue. Lysande then followed Camara across those same three kingdoms, but for a very different reason. M'Lady was captured, without force, without ropes or chains, and without magic. Her bonds were those of the heart.
Watching what followed, of being helpless to prevent the abduction, of not knowing Lysande's fate, finally overwhelmed Camara. No more words flowed. No more sobs, no more tears. As silent and still as a corpse she lay there, staring off into the netherworld, looking for answers that had forever hidden themselves away.
Her last thoughts that evening were on why she was really headed for Phaedron. It was a first step on finding the other three. The trail was very cold, closer to two decades old than to one, but Camara knew she could never have peace without knowing their fates. The pact she'd forgotten about was again as fresh as the day she'd sworn it.
( The bard:
Thus ends one story of Lady Camara, hero, and master of the sword. <Yawn> So, are any disappointed with this, the first tale of her exploits? I thought not. And note, not a single one of you left or fell asleep. Perhaps I am nearly as good as my reputation says. No matter. It is late, and time to ...
Did they? Well, perhaps. That would be another tale though, and this night is far too old for more. Yes, there is another tale that continues where this leaves off. In Camara's stories, since they are the true tales of her life, rare were the moments that someone could point to and say 'there is the end of a story'. In this case, the end of one adventure cannot truly be separated from the beginning of the next.
Her vows, my Lady? Such a simple question. There is no simple answer for it, though. The story of her vows I must save for another day as well.
Ah, you wish to know what happened to Captain Torres. Camara never did say exactly what occurred, only that one of the shapeshifters managed to get their claws on the wretch, and that they never found most of the body. Only bloodstains and a few scattered bones remained.
Typhus? No, King Merovance did not execute him. After all, they were brothers. They captured him as he tried to flee the kingdom. He was exiled to a border castle and kept prisoner there for a long time.
Another question, my Lord? Of the inn? Oh, you wish to know what intrigued her enough to have her stop there. Well, the gods are known for their, ah, somewhat odd sense of humour at times. This, of course, is due to our mortal lack of understanding of divine wit.
<Several people grin at this rather well-worn and ironic little jest.>The inn was called "The Lady's Hope". )
<Fin>
<End of Book 1>