A/N: Drizzt and co. are not mine. Everyone you've never heard of, and the
places they inhabit are.
Warning: Slash and implied rape later. Violence, etc, etc. Read at your own risk.
Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing. I really appreciate the encouragement.
******************* With a groan, Brionne sat up and pulled away, giving Drizzt another soft but tired smile and again his words of gratitude. The dark one nodded back, and let him pull away without a hint of resistance.
So gentle, Brionne thought. I would never have guessed when I first saw him fighting the hunters, that he could possibly be so gentle.
They stayed awake then, though the day before had been long, and it had only been a few hours since they had taken their rest.
"Brionne?" Drizzt asked, and followed it with a question in his own tongue. Brionne didn't know the rest of the words. He frowned, puzzled. The Fey hesitated, then motioned for him to follow and led him to the stream. With a twig, he drew lines on a smooth rock with water; small squares with triangles on top, with two close parallel lines going away from them. Drizzt pointed back the way they had come.
Realization dawned. He smiled, intending the warmth in his eyes to reassure the man, to smooth over any discomfort he might be feeling at their awkward communication. It worked. The Fey smiled back and seemed to relax more.
"Ah, the capital, " he said.
Drizzt repeated the word, then pointed at the parallel lines, then at the trail they had left. "Road," Brionne supplied.
Drizzt pointed to his little map again, at the blank space beyond the road, then repeated his first question.
Brionne took the stick, his fingers brushing the dark ones as he did. He drew a line of hills, and a place beyond the road, small groups of houses. "The Free Cities."
Drizzt cocked his head. "I don't understand," he said in his own tongue. Brionne had learned those words at least.
Brionne drew more little groups of houses near the capital. "City, city, city," he said, pointing at the groups. He made a motion like tightening a collar around his slender neck, making it more real with a pained grimace and a hiss of discomfort between his teeth. Then he pointed back at those cities. "Slaves, slaves, slaves," he pointed back to his destination. "No slaves." He took the imaginary collar off of his neck and ground it beneath his heel. "Free. For Nala."
Drizzt nodded slowly, understanding in those violet eyes.
"Drizzt? Where do you come from?" he asked, feeling more free to ask questions now. He pointed at the map, then to the warrior. "Where do you go?"
Drizzt stared at the map and shook his head sadly. His graceful fingers made a helpless gesture.
Nala woke as the sky was fading to the grey of dusk, and they were again on the move.
**************************
Relder stalked the mosaic floors of his villa, walking the darkened corridors. He was too proud to pace a room, yet too restless to stay still. He ran his fingers through shoulder-length steel-gray hair. It had been two nights since he last slept.
He cursed Brionne for leaving, for running away from him, and cursed himself for caring. He had bought the fey-blooded slave only for the purpose of hurting lord Markell, his bitter rival. He'd never been interested in having a male bed-slave before. Still, to take something that Markell had obviously valued so much was worth the hundred common slaves and twenty arena fighters he had finally coerced the man into trading.
When Markell realized what he'd done, what he'd lost, and what he'd given his Brionne to, he'd taken his own life. It had all come together so much better than Relder had even hoped.
It had been two years. Two years of unimaginable pleasures, joys. Of late night discussions and mid-day love-making. Of Brionne's hands and body and mouth on him, but most of all, those eyes.
He wondered if he could live without those eyes.
"M'lord," One of his soldiers interrupted Reldor's thoughts. "The hunter is here, as you requested." The man bowed low, and then stood at attention, waiting for further orders.
"I will meet with her in my office." His voice was crisp, authoritative, used to being obeyed.
The first thing he saw in her as she stalked into the room was her predator's eyes. She was tall but not beautiful. Everything that wasn't useful to her profession had been burned away. Sleek black leathers closely wrapped her lean body. Her long black hair was pulled back from her face and into a row of small tails at the back of her head. The style emphasized the angularity of that face, the sharpness of her cheekbones, and the thin line of her lips.
"You have a hunt for me?" Her voice was soft, but dangerous, with just a hint of a Marshlander accent.
"A slave has run." Reldor told her. "I sent some--inferior--hunters after him, and they came back with tales of a dark-skinned Fey who helped him escape."
The hunter listened, her sharp eyes never looking away. A smile of anticipation began to curl at her lips.
"I want the slave, alive and unmarked. I want his companions, a run-away girl and this 'Fey', alive at least. No one is to know he was missing. I'm sure I can count on your discretion."
"The slave's name?" She asked.
"Brionne. I must have him back."
"Of course, my lord," She said, bowing low.
"When can you begin?"
"Now."
***************************
They stayed off of the roads that night, and into the dawn hours. Once, they heard the baying of dogs behind them, but the ranger helped them to break the trail by walking a mile up a small stream while he made false tracks and dead-end trails with Brionne's cloak.
While he couldn't be with them, he called Guenhyvar to watch over them. He expected her to be tired, after having so recently been on the material plain, but instead it seemed like the usual two days had passed for her. With an internal pang of worry, Drizzt wondered exactly how far this place was from home, and if there really was a way to get there from here.
The runaway pair seemed to make good time, much to his surprise. Their steps were quick and sure on the moonlit paths. Brionne helped Nala constantly, and thought Drizzt could tell the young man was exhausted when he returned to them; he made no complaint by word or action.
Drizzt had the feeling Brionne would never be the first one to ask for a stop if it weren't for Nala. He carried their bag of food all the time, and Nala half the time. His will and determination impressed even the stoic ranger.
**********************
With the hooves of their sturdy horses pounding, the Hunter and her entourage rode out of the city. In her wake she left an old man broken and bleeding in the hidden room behind his shop, and a wagon-driver happily counting the coins he had earned by betraying those who had trusted him.
The Hunter had two competent men behind her; experienced hunters in their own right. Slender grey coursing hounds ran on either side of her horse. When the party was closer to where the wagon driver dropped the runaways off, she would give them the shirt that Relder had produced as a sample of Brionne's scent, and they would search him out. Until then, the lean dogs ran for the simple thrill of running.
She had no doubts of the outcome of this hunt. The Free Cities were many weeks of travel away, and the slaves only had a little more than a day's headstart. The young man had taken the sample of hair that Relder had kept to track him magically. The toy wasn't stupid, at least.
The group would probably stay on foot and kept to the woods, and she would catch them in another day. If they headed for civilization, bought a horse and took the roads, her contacts would get word to her.
This hunt would have been beneath her, if not for the mystery of the Fey. She ran her slender fingers over the hilt of the dagger in her belt. It had been generations since a full-blood Fey had been seen, much less captured. She would see him bound at her feet, or die trying.
**********************************
Warning: Slash and implied rape later. Violence, etc, etc. Read at your own risk.
Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing. I really appreciate the encouragement.
******************* With a groan, Brionne sat up and pulled away, giving Drizzt another soft but tired smile and again his words of gratitude. The dark one nodded back, and let him pull away without a hint of resistance.
So gentle, Brionne thought. I would never have guessed when I first saw him fighting the hunters, that he could possibly be so gentle.
They stayed awake then, though the day before had been long, and it had only been a few hours since they had taken their rest.
"Brionne?" Drizzt asked, and followed it with a question in his own tongue. Brionne didn't know the rest of the words. He frowned, puzzled. The Fey hesitated, then motioned for him to follow and led him to the stream. With a twig, he drew lines on a smooth rock with water; small squares with triangles on top, with two close parallel lines going away from them. Drizzt pointed back the way they had come.
Realization dawned. He smiled, intending the warmth in his eyes to reassure the man, to smooth over any discomfort he might be feeling at their awkward communication. It worked. The Fey smiled back and seemed to relax more.
"Ah, the capital, " he said.
Drizzt repeated the word, then pointed at the parallel lines, then at the trail they had left. "Road," Brionne supplied.
Drizzt pointed to his little map again, at the blank space beyond the road, then repeated his first question.
Brionne took the stick, his fingers brushing the dark ones as he did. He drew a line of hills, and a place beyond the road, small groups of houses. "The Free Cities."
Drizzt cocked his head. "I don't understand," he said in his own tongue. Brionne had learned those words at least.
Brionne drew more little groups of houses near the capital. "City, city, city," he said, pointing at the groups. He made a motion like tightening a collar around his slender neck, making it more real with a pained grimace and a hiss of discomfort between his teeth. Then he pointed back at those cities. "Slaves, slaves, slaves," he pointed back to his destination. "No slaves." He took the imaginary collar off of his neck and ground it beneath his heel. "Free. For Nala."
Drizzt nodded slowly, understanding in those violet eyes.
"Drizzt? Where do you come from?" he asked, feeling more free to ask questions now. He pointed at the map, then to the warrior. "Where do you go?"
Drizzt stared at the map and shook his head sadly. His graceful fingers made a helpless gesture.
Nala woke as the sky was fading to the grey of dusk, and they were again on the move.
**************************
Relder stalked the mosaic floors of his villa, walking the darkened corridors. He was too proud to pace a room, yet too restless to stay still. He ran his fingers through shoulder-length steel-gray hair. It had been two nights since he last slept.
He cursed Brionne for leaving, for running away from him, and cursed himself for caring. He had bought the fey-blooded slave only for the purpose of hurting lord Markell, his bitter rival. He'd never been interested in having a male bed-slave before. Still, to take something that Markell had obviously valued so much was worth the hundred common slaves and twenty arena fighters he had finally coerced the man into trading.
When Markell realized what he'd done, what he'd lost, and what he'd given his Brionne to, he'd taken his own life. It had all come together so much better than Relder had even hoped.
It had been two years. Two years of unimaginable pleasures, joys. Of late night discussions and mid-day love-making. Of Brionne's hands and body and mouth on him, but most of all, those eyes.
He wondered if he could live without those eyes.
"M'lord," One of his soldiers interrupted Reldor's thoughts. "The hunter is here, as you requested." The man bowed low, and then stood at attention, waiting for further orders.
"I will meet with her in my office." His voice was crisp, authoritative, used to being obeyed.
The first thing he saw in her as she stalked into the room was her predator's eyes. She was tall but not beautiful. Everything that wasn't useful to her profession had been burned away. Sleek black leathers closely wrapped her lean body. Her long black hair was pulled back from her face and into a row of small tails at the back of her head. The style emphasized the angularity of that face, the sharpness of her cheekbones, and the thin line of her lips.
"You have a hunt for me?" Her voice was soft, but dangerous, with just a hint of a Marshlander accent.
"A slave has run." Reldor told her. "I sent some--inferior--hunters after him, and they came back with tales of a dark-skinned Fey who helped him escape."
The hunter listened, her sharp eyes never looking away. A smile of anticipation began to curl at her lips.
"I want the slave, alive and unmarked. I want his companions, a run-away girl and this 'Fey', alive at least. No one is to know he was missing. I'm sure I can count on your discretion."
"The slave's name?" She asked.
"Brionne. I must have him back."
"Of course, my lord," She said, bowing low.
"When can you begin?"
"Now."
***************************
They stayed off of the roads that night, and into the dawn hours. Once, they heard the baying of dogs behind them, but the ranger helped them to break the trail by walking a mile up a small stream while he made false tracks and dead-end trails with Brionne's cloak.
While he couldn't be with them, he called Guenhyvar to watch over them. He expected her to be tired, after having so recently been on the material plain, but instead it seemed like the usual two days had passed for her. With an internal pang of worry, Drizzt wondered exactly how far this place was from home, and if there really was a way to get there from here.
The runaway pair seemed to make good time, much to his surprise. Their steps were quick and sure on the moonlit paths. Brionne helped Nala constantly, and thought Drizzt could tell the young man was exhausted when he returned to them; he made no complaint by word or action.
Drizzt had the feeling Brionne would never be the first one to ask for a stop if it weren't for Nala. He carried their bag of food all the time, and Nala half the time. His will and determination impressed even the stoic ranger.
**********************
With the hooves of their sturdy horses pounding, the Hunter and her entourage rode out of the city. In her wake she left an old man broken and bleeding in the hidden room behind his shop, and a wagon-driver happily counting the coins he had earned by betraying those who had trusted him.
The Hunter had two competent men behind her; experienced hunters in their own right. Slender grey coursing hounds ran on either side of her horse. When the party was closer to where the wagon driver dropped the runaways off, she would give them the shirt that Relder had produced as a sample of Brionne's scent, and they would search him out. Until then, the lean dogs ran for the simple thrill of running.
She had no doubts of the outcome of this hunt. The Free Cities were many weeks of travel away, and the slaves only had a little more than a day's headstart. The young man had taken the sample of hair that Relder had kept to track him magically. The toy wasn't stupid, at least.
The group would probably stay on foot and kept to the woods, and she would catch them in another day. If they headed for civilization, bought a horse and took the roads, her contacts would get word to her.
This hunt would have been beneath her, if not for the mystery of the Fey. She ran her slender fingers over the hilt of the dagger in her belt. It had been generations since a full-blood Fey had been seen, much less captured. She would see him bound at her feet, or die trying.
**********************************