Sorry for the long hiatus! I'll try to post chapters more regularly these days, although I'll be the first to admit I am a slooooow writer! Anyway, thanks for being so patient and I hope, as always, you continue to enjoy the story and review! Thanks! ^-^
Oh yeah – and as usual I don't own Lodoss or any of the established Lodoss characters.
"It is quite amazing," the Witch said to her silent traveling companion. "I had not considered taken a half-Elven body until recently. Elves are, in general, resistant to that kind of magic. However, apparently half-Elves are not."
Ashuram, walking along side, said nothing. He had said nothing since early this morning when he realized what had happened to the Healer. He was quite good at keeping his own council, and exercised the talent now.
She spoke down to him from where she rode sidesaddle on the Healer's evil-spirited mare. The horse had tried to nip him already several times during the course of the morning, but strangely enough, was not fighting the Witch. Whether it was because the horse still mistook Karla for Veris, he was not sure, but she offered no rebellion to the Witch, as if instinctively knowing how dangerous that might be. The foul-tempered thing had no qualms about trying to bite him, however, and he had to watch out for those long, vicious teeth.
Ashuram glanced up at the Witch. She was already perfectly at home in the Healer's body, as if it had always been hers. The Healer's green eyes now looked languorous, half-open and seeming to be overlaid with a violet haze, like the eyes of some lizard or satiated beast of prey. The Healer's pink, full lips were turned up at the corners in a detached smirk. She wore the telltale dark cloak over the Healer's grey robes, and the Healer's golden hair fell in a long, straight cascade well past her shoulders.
The Healer's sword was tied to the saddle, behind the Witch where it could not touch her. She seemed reluctant to get close to it, Ashuram had noted carefully, leaving him to pack it this morning before they had started out. The sword had tingled in his hand when he had picked it up, not quite burning but almost as if it shifted at his touch - as if he held something alive that did not particularly want to be held by him. It had left him with the clear feeling that the sword had recognized him in some way – and he suspected it was because of this that the Witch did not want to touch it. The green flames might flicker and attack this time, instead of merely defending.
It knows us for what we are, Ashuram found himself thinking. Creatures cut of the same cloth. He darted his gaze to the Witch again. Then, no, he amended. I may be ruthless, but I stick to my precepts. That creature is completely amoral.
They were headed in a westerly direction, towards Valis. He had been in no mood to discuss where they were headed this morning, although Valis seemed the most logical decision to him. The boy – man, rather, who now held the Demon sword had been a knight of Valis, after all. Whether he still remained in Valis would remain to be seen.
He glanced again at the Witch. He suspected she could tell him where Parn was, quite simply enough. She had, in any case, found him, hadn't she? He would not ask her, however. He would not ask the Witch for anything.
The village of Vesper was long behind them. Ashuram guessed they had been walking almost half a day. It felt good to be moving again, the stiffness gone from his limbs at last. The day was chill but walking had warmed him up. He did not begrudge the Witch the Healer's horse, although he suspected had it truly been the Healer beside him, she would have offered to trade off occasionally. Karla, of course, did no such thing.
The countryside all around them was mostly farmland, dotted with occasional small wooded areas that had not yet been cleared away for agriculture. The road was deserted, save for them; he had not seen another traveler all morning. The air was silent, save for the steady plodding of the horse's hooves in the dust and the occasional bird singing from the long grasses beside the road.
Ashuram lost count of how many miles passed in that relative silence.
* * * * * * *
When night began falling, they were nowhere near the comforts of a town, or even a solitary farmhouse. Ashuram reckoned they had left Alania behind long ago and were now deep into the unclaimed territory that separated Kanon from its neighbors. All that stood around them now were woods, deep and dense, that might hold anything. His dark sight was good, he knew – better than most humans – from years spent in the dimness of Marmo, but the coming of night still made him edgy, his ears sharpened tenfold to hear what his eyes might miss.
When the Witch spoke to him, he nearly jumped. She spoke quietly but her voice sounded loud in the relative stillness of the forest.
"We'll stop here for the night," she said, gesturing to a little clearing that stood a few paces away from the road. Ashuram nodded, agreeing, and the Witch dismounted. As she saw to the horse, he began gathering firewood.
When he had a sizable pile of dry branches and kindling, he realized he had no flint with him to start a fire. Furthermore, he had brought little with him in the way of food, and he was hungry. Without a second thought he set down his pack and disappeared into the woods around him.
It was difficult searching for flint in the dimness, but eventually he found two rocks he thought might suffice and stored them in his pocket. He also found a few heavy stones slightly smaller than his fist, and these he also kept with him. He had no bow and arrow, nor anything in the way of a projectile weapon with him. Fortunately, when he had been a boy, his older sister had taught him how to hunt rabbits with a sling. Remembering her, he cut a long length from his cloak clumsily with the blacksmith's sword. It was ragged, but it would work. Lying down in the darkness, he prepared to wait for something to cross his path.
"You've got to be patient," he remembered his older sister's voice saying with amusement as she showed him how to wait. "Don't move at all. Rabbits aren't smart, Ash, but they're timid, and they'll run from anything." He had nodded solemnly. Often, what they caught with their slings, lying on their bellies in the underbrush, was all that filled the pot from week to week. The memories of growing up in Kanon, long buried, seemed to flood over him as he lay there in the chill, deepening night.
He waited motionless for hours. The stars came out beyond the dark canopy of trees above him and slowly pinwheeled as the night crept on. Nothing came by him, although he heard a rustle once perhaps fifty paces to his right. Even as he raised his arm to fling the stone, the rustle became still and did not sound again.
Stubborn as he was, even he had to admit defeat eventually. He stood up softly and brushed twigs and leaves from himself. Disgusted, he tucked the sling away and made his way back to the clearing they had chosen to spend the night in.
As he grew closer, he could see the distinctive warm glow of firelight flickering through the trees. The familiar scent of roasting rabbit reached his nose, causing his stomach to growl loudly and intensifying the disgust he felt, both with himself and the entire situation.
Ashuram stepped through the trees, and the Witch looked up at him with a broad, malicious grin. She knew exactly where he had been and it was obvious he had not been successful at all.
"I grew tired of waiting," she said, gesturing to the half-gone rabbit carcass hanging above the fire on a well-constructed spit.
Magic. It was so much a part of the Witch. He wondered briefly what she would be without it. Of course she could have done this easily from the beginning, but he had a feeling she quite enjoyed feeding his enmity toward her. So, clamping down hard on the resentment he felt, Ashuram took the remains of the rabbit from the spit and began to eat, ignoring her completely.
When the rabbit was nothing but bones, Karla called to him:
"Let me see the Healer's sword." He slanted an impassive gaze at her over the firelight.
"It is tied to the saddle," he said, the first he had spoken to her all day.
"Bring it to me," the Witch commanded. Ashuram nodded, recognizing the confrontation that was about to occur. He raised one thin dark eyebrow incredulously.
"I am not your servant. If you want it, you know where it is." As it happened, the confrontation he was expecting did not occur. The Witch did not change expression at all, but Ashuram suddenly found himself standing up, moving under her will. He resisted the spell as well as he was able, his limbs moving jerkily as he was coerced into getting the sword from the saddle and bringing it to her. His mouth curved into a furious snarl, which only made Karla laugh.
"Unsheathe it," she told him, and he was forced to do so. The Elven sword jerked once in his hands as he unsheathed it and drove the point into the ground between them. The runes pulsed with a dim light, but nothing compared to the intensity they had glowed the night Veris had herself used the sword against the Witch.
Karla bent forward to study the runes, brows drawn together in concentration, eyes squinting to see every detail. Ashuram tested the spell holding him, but his limbs were still under her direction and he found he was frozen in a kneeling position, acting as a living sword stand.
"Very curious," the Witch murmured after a time. "These runes… I have not seen this prayer in nearly a thousand years." She reached out a finger to trace the runes and stopped just short of actually touching the blade, the runes sparking dimly at the proximity of her touch.
"Turn the blade," Karla instructed him, and he did as he was made to so she could read the runes etched in on the other side.
"Well, Witch?" Ashuram grated after a moment, curiosity getting the better of him.
"It appears to be a supplication to Marfa," Karla said after a moment, looking thoughtful. "Marfa is usually considered to be the Mother, the nurturer – hence Healers follower her. This sword, however, invokes the Warrior Marfa."
"Warrior?" Ashuram asked. He had never heard the Goddess referred to that way.
"Yes, the protective aspect of Marfa. The anger of a mother protecting her children. The desire to fight, to preserve, to defend This sword is probably quite ancient."
"No wonder it reacted to you," Ashuram said in a rough voice, grinning without humor. "It recognized the fox sniffing around the chicken coop."
The spell holding him was suddenly released, and as he'd been fighting against it, he suddenly found himself flung to the ground as effectively as if he'd been shoved. Ashuram picked himself up with a chuckle, brushing himself off and resheathing the sword. Even small victories were worthwhile.
Wondering what would happen, he buckled the Elven sword around his own hips, letting it rest in front of the much clumsier sword the blacksmith of Vesper had given him. He watched curiously, but aside from dimly flickering once, the sword did nothing. Shrugging to himself, he laid out his cloak on the ground far enough from the fire that a stray spark would not hit it, and sat down. Using his pack for a pillow, he lay back, folding his arms under his head and looking up at the sky.
The Healer's sword invoked Marfa. Interesting. He could not imagine Marfa – or her spirit, rather – approving of Karla very highly. In fact, their powers often seemed to be in exact opposition to each other. The Witch had still not touched the sword directly herself. Ashuram wondered what would happen if the sword came into contact with her. Something to keep in mind, he thought to himself. Anything he could use against the Witch at some point was valuable, and he felt slightly better as he let a light sleep steal over him.
* * * * * * *
They reached the base of the mountains before a week had passed.
The Witch pulled the mare to a stop, gazing at the mountains appraisingly. Ashuram looked up at them, wondering if there was a pass through the short, squat range somewhere nearby. His question was promptly answered.
"We shall go around," the Witch decided, pointing the Healer's mare southwards, towards Kanon. "There is no help for it, unless you are able to fly," she added, unruffled by the arched eyebrow that was Ashuram's only reply. He was quite eloquent without having to say a word; he had given up speaking to the Grey Witch unless she provoked him past his patience or coerced him into speech through a spell.
He tried to view it as a lesson in patience, but it was not much of a salve to the rage that simmered just beneath his thoughts and actions. He was used to being angry. It seemed it was an emotion he had known since his parents had been killed, long ago. He was equally used to stoicism, however, and kept his thoughts to himself.
Occasionally, when she needled him to pass the time, he found his hand straying to the Healer's sword. These days it did not often react to him as it had before; it hardly ever flinched away from his hand. If only he could use it on the Witch! He darted a thin glance towards the woman on horseback. He was in a quandary. His pride demanded he kill the damned Witch. While she had worn the thief's body, he would not have minded attempting to harm her. It was one to him whether the thief lived or died.
Now that she wore Veris' body, however, it was a different matter. He was unwilling to do something that might injure the Healer. If it came down to it, however, he supposed he would be able to sacrifice the Healer to kill the Witch; however, the thought made him quite uncomfortable, and he hoped it would not come to such a thing. He certainly owed her more than that. Besides which, he was not sure that killing the Healer would also kill the Witch. He had to somehow attack that damn circlet. With her awake, he deemed it impossible. Her power was far more than a match for his own mortal strength. Yet he had not once caught the Witch sleeping. It was as though she was beyond the need for sleep. Whenever he woke at dawn or during the night she was awake, staring into the fire with a distant gaze or watching him with that insufferable, sardonic smile.
It was nearly nightfall when they reached the border of Kanon. A small mining town was waiting for them, if it could be called a town. It was bigger than Vesper. Ashuram guessed it was no farmer village, this, but an outpost for Kanonite minors undoubtedly put to work by the Marmo army for the iron in the hills. The buildings were ramshackle, hastily constructed to be temporary refuges for men and women who would not stay long. Dim lanterns flickered at the entrances to a few of the buildings, releasing ugly, thick black smoke into the night. A couple of buildings were crowded and well-lit, music and people's voices spilling into the street. These, he guessed, were taverns or the equivalent.
"We shall stay at an inn tonight," Karla said. "I am grown weary of sleeping on the ground." Ashuram, about to comment that she did not sleep, merely nodded instead and kept his tongue still.
They walked into the town, which was nearly empty in the twilight. There were a few people about, however, and these stared at Ashuram and the Witch with impassive, flat gazes that were neither curious nor friendly. All of the faces were hard and quite lean, speaking of the difficulty of their jobs and perhaps of the privation that had come after the war.
"Here," the Witch said, pulling the mare to an abrupt stop outside one of the better-lit establishments. The mare protested with a short squeal and a small angry buck, which affected Karla not at all.
Through the grimy windows and over the top of the ill-fitting door, he could see this place was quite crowded. A dusty, clumsy sign proclaimed it the Lonely Maiden Inn. Ashuram snorted, and pushed in through the door behind the Witch.
It was much as he had expected. The lanterns lit the place, but cast shadows that reached deep into the corners of the inn, where tables full of miners sat drinking their ale or flirting with the tavern wenches. Of which, he saw, there were quite a few.
There was a lull in the noise level as the two strangers were noticed and sized up. They received the same flat, hard stares they had gotten from passersby outside. Ashuram felt his hand itching for the hilt of the sword against his hip.
"Help you?" The man behind the bar called out to them.
"We simply desire rooms for the night," Karla replied. The barman was shaking his head.
"Can't do," he replied. "We're all full, save one."
"Cor love, he can share my bed tonight!" One of the wenches called bawdily, making a great show of looking Ashuram up and down. There was an outburst of laughter, and Ashuram felt himself relax just a bit.
"We shall take the one you do have, then," the Witch replied to the barman, speaking easily over the noise.
"There's only one bed," the man warned. The Witch gave Ashuram a sudden sideways glance and then she replied, with a hint of a smile around her lips,
"That shall suit. I also require stabling for my horse." The man nodded.
"I'll see to it, milady. Right this way."
As Ashuram made to follow them up the stairs, the wench that had spoken before made her way up to him, smiling. She winked, taking his arm.
"I meant it, you know," she said. Ashuram met her eyes, and she took a step back from whatever she saw there. Ashuram smiled – a chilly smile, but a smile nonetheless. He might have ordinarily been repulsed by such an offer, but something about the woman had put him at ease.
"Thank you for the offer," he replied politely. "Perhaps another time." She let go with a shrug, not at all disappointed.
"Well, come on down then and share an ale with us," she said, a bit less persuasively. "We don't get too many warriors through the mining town."
"Perhaps," Ashuram replied again, without really meaning it. He was tired, and was not sure he felt like dealing with even the friendly attention.
The room was small. The Witch had already claimed the bed when Ashuram came into the room. He merely spread his cloak on the wooden floor and laid down upon it. He dozed off in a matter of moments, body well trained.
He woke perhaps a few hours later with a burning need to relieve himself. He sat up in the darkness. The inn room was empty, save him – the bed was still made and quite unoccupied. Ashuram grunted in disgust, rising himself up from the hard cold floor and trying not to wince against the stiffness that was already creeping into his limbs. Not bothering with a lantern, he made his way down the inn stairs and across the now empty, darkened bar room. He made his way out of the inn and around the back.
When he was through, he climbed the stairs back up to the inn room. There was lantern light flickering under the door when he returned, and he opened the door to find the Witch had returned. She had obviously been to the baths, for the Healer's long, golden red hair was wet and stretched straight with the weight of the water in it. The pleasant smell of clean hair and skin filled the room. The Witch sat before the mirror, brushing the long hair out with slow, even strokes of the brush. It was such an innocent, human gesture that for a moment Ashuram was mesmerized by it, thinking of how often he had seen a woman brushing her hair out in front of a mirror.
The Witch saw him staring, and her reflection smiled at him craftily in the mirror. It was amazing how much the Witch could look so unlike the Healer despite the fact she wore the Healer's body.
The Witch placed the brush on the little mirror stand, and stood up. She turned to face Ashuram. In the flickering of the lamplight, he could see the Witch's robes were loose, falling partly open so that the light shone softly on the curve of her belly, making deep shadows where the long, slender throat met the recesses of her collar bone, against the swell of the sides of her breasts-
The Witch took a step towards Ashuram.
"It has been a long time, has it not," she commented in her strangely throaty, precise voice. Yes, Ashuram found himself thinking all at once, it had been a long time. He felt his breath quicken.
"You like this body," the Witch continued, raising her hands to the throat of her robe and slowly pulling it aside. Ashuram watched, completely taken by surprise. The curve of the Healer's breasts grew in definition. Another gentle tug and she would be completely revealed.
"After all, the Healer was beautiful, which is why I chose her body," the Witch added, making as though she would toss aside the robe.
The spell was broken. A feeling of disgust filled Ashuram, disgust at himself as much as at the Witch. For a brief moment he had almost forgotten whom he was dealing with. He flushed with newly rekindled anger.
"I'm going to sleep in the barn," he said in clipped, very precise words, and turned on his heel to march out of the room.
Karla's amused laughter followed him down the stairs.
* * *