Nimulot Encounters: Bait
CH1: Bait
"Where are we going? What do you even want me for? I know about you. The one who cries, the Weeping Monk. You kill Moon Wings. Does that make you very brave? Do you hate them because they're so beautiful, and you're just so very ugly? Even your horse is ugly, and I love horses. Although, from this angle, you definitely do share a resemblance. You hedge-born naïf."
It was as if the boy knew he wouldn't harm children. The Weeping Monk certainly wasn't bothered by the boy's juvenile insults—the boy had more courage than many grown men, and his spirited monologue had been entertaining for a while, but the boy was long-winded as well. His age saved him. No adult would so assail his ears and walk away unharmed. This boy was plucky and clever, no doubt; he spoke loudly to catch the attention of passerby, and the Monk allowed it. He could not ask for better, more cooperative bait.
"Get up, you murdering pig." A pitchfork? The Monk was not at all surprised when the six fey survivors approached him as he feigned sleep. Though they'd been careful to stay downwind, he'd been aware of their presence since twilight. Setting up camp, he'd spotted each of them: Five males, one blonde female, none of them his senior. Five of them had swords on their belts, but not a single sword was drawn on approach. Instead, he was faced with a pitchfork.
"Josse!"
"Squirrel, you alright?"
"Tie him up."
The Monk stood calmly while his hands were bound, noting the way four of the fey survivors crowded around the fire, not one of them bothering to free the boy from his own bonds. One of them poked at the coals.
"I think we've caught the big killer," the pitchfork wielding Josse spoke again, moving even closer. "Look at the eyes. Shed a few for us, brother." The Monk's outward expression gave away nothing, but inwardly he flinched. The mocking tone in Josse's voice was obvious, but any fey calling him brother... "Get me a nice red one, Grim." Josse spoke to one of his fey brothers by the fire. Pulling the calm and cooperative Monk toward his own horse, Josse addressed him again. "Ever been dragged by a horse with a hot coal up its bum?"
"What did that horse ever do to you?" The Monk had been prepared to strike, his weeping eyes on the saddlebags hiding several weapons. Eager as he was to quickly slaughter the complacent fools around him, he'd ignored the approaching footsteps—he would kill seven fey survivors instead of six, even better—but he froze as the scent of the new female registered. Turning, he saw a fey girl with long walnut hair and striking blue eyes. In her hand, she held a large sword sheathed and wrapped in cloth, and on her face and hands... wolf blood.
"Nimue!" The boy called her.
"Squirrel! You're safe!" Nimue ran to Squirrel and knelt before him, untying him immediately.
"I was there, Nimue!" Squirrel continued while the others stood and moved away from the newcomer. "I heard you calling, but I saw the paladin on the hill—I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry I chickened out. I waited there after he chased you off, and the Weeping Monk here came and found me. I should've gone with you."
"No, I'm glad you didn't," Nimue insisted. "I was stupid. I was too slow drawing my sword. He had me on the ground and..." The other fey around him forgotten, Nimue had the Monk's full attention. She was clearly uncomfortable. The little boy gripped her shoulders and gave her a solemn, supportive look.
"He got what was coming to him," Squirrel said, his tone surprisingly hard... fierce. He glared at his other fey rescuers.
"And anyone else near her would've gone with him," the tallest male said.
"Shut it, Pike!" Squirrel spat, jumping to his feet. Nimue stood and held him back, rolling her eyes.
"Is now the time?" She asked all the other fey survivors, her eyes meeting the Monk's eyes last. "Do you think he's the only one still combing the woods? This fire draws attention, and I could hear you talking from quite a way off. Do what you want with him, but spare the horse. We need to clear out of here."
"On your way, witch," The blonde female spoke up.
"Piss off," Squirrel interjected. "This is the third time Nimue's come back for me. Our whole village just burned to the ground! We need all the help we can get!"
"She'd marked by Dark Gods," Josse said, his tone matter-of-fact. He was trying to reason with the little boy. "Seems like she's managing fine on her own—she even found herself a sword, not that she knows how to use one—and she's got her cursed power, so leave her to it. You'll be safer with us."
Squirrel turned on his heel and started stomping away, grabbing Nimue's hand as if to pull her along. "Squirrel!" Three of the fey called after him.
"Leave him, witch!" The blonde female spoke again, drawing her sword. The Monk inched closer to his horse, closer to the weapons in his saddlebags. Pike drew his sword as well, his eyes on the witch, not the Monk. The blonde female took two steps toward the witch and the boy. The witch whirled, pushing the boy behind her and drawing her own sword. For one long moment, everyone froze, including the Monk. The ornate crossbar and pommel, the ancient inscriptions on the blade, the way the wind itself seemed to recoil from the blade, creating a brief whirlwind... The Monk recovered first, grabbing a knife and cutting Josse's throat in an instant. The witch wielded the Devil's Tooth.
Pike and the blonde female rounded on the weeping warrior. The blonde lunged and the Monk caught her blade in the reins, twisting and pulling so the sword was ripped from her grip. The Monk jumped and rolled over the horse's back, grabbing another knife and throwing it at Pike as he ran around to attack, striking him in the neck and killing him instantly. The blonde knelt to retrieve her sword, but the Monk was faster, picking it up and running her through. He grabbed a small axe next, but as the next fey male approached, the wood handle warped in his hand; the Monk dropped the axe immediately, but instead of taking advantage, his attacker scrambled backward.
"Stop it, you!" One of the remaining fey snarled at the witch. Green vines had appeared on her face and neck, and the inscriptions on the Devil's Tooth were glowing like embers in the dark. Roots surged up all around the Monk, reaching for his legs. Rushing up to the terrified fey before him, the Monk grabbed the crossbar of the extended sword and heaved, guiding the blade between his arm and his body as he stepped to the side. With a shout of alarm that turned into a scream of horror, the fey swordsman stumbled forward and fell into the grasping roots.
"No!" The witch cried out as the roots wrapped around his throat. More roots sprang up and grabbed the Monk's feet before he could react, but he quickly cut them with the sword he'd taken, moving farther away. The witch ran to her Sky Folk brother, attacking her own creation with her own sword. The vines on her face and neck had vanished, and she had reached her accidental captive in time, but as soon as he was free he lunged at her. Seeing his opening, the Monk left them to it and attacked the other two swordsmen, easily besting them even with his hands bound.
"Nimue!" Squirrel sprinted toward the witch and her assailant, tackling the latter. Nimue stood and faced the Monk. His eyes locked on hers, he cut the ropes around his wrists. Though the Weeping Monk could take on multiple opponents armed with almost any sword, the image before him made him pause. He'd seen what she could do with the Devil's Tooth. He'd seen what she could do with her power. She was young, but like her little champion, she was brave and clever. He was confident, but he would feel more confident with his own weapons in hand; his sword and dagger were on the ground by the tree against which he'd pretended to sleep.
"The boy really was perfect bait," he spoke at last. Nimue blinked at him, surprised by his change of tact and by the sound of his soft, raspy voice. She'd expected the fey-killer to sound cold and commanding, but even as they stood there on the precipice of coming to blows, the sound of his voice was strangely... comforting, compelling... Nimue shook that thought away abruptly, refusing to be taken in as he continued. "After we saw what you did to the wolves, to Brother Odo, I thought hunting you down would be a very different kind of challenge, but you came for the boy too... Three times now, is it? Are you family?"
"As good as," Nimue admitted. The Monk suppressed a smile. Behind the witch, her fey assailant had fled, and her little champion was standing behind her, the warped axe in his hand.
"They all abominated you?" The Monk asked rhetorically. "Just as this lot wanted to banish you, so did they all." Nimue took a step forward and the Monk took a small step back, toward his own weapons. "How were you not driven out? If members of your own clan will risk turning their back on an enemy to target you... Well, this can't be the first time you've been attacked." Nimue refused to respond to the Monk's taunts, knowing he meant to distract her.
"She sure gets idiots talking," Squirrel couldn't resist. "You've said more to her than you've said to me all day."
"Squirrel!" Nimue scolded, her eyes never leaving the Monk.
"No!" Squirrel protested hotly. "This is not how things are ending for us! You're the daughter of the High Priestess! The Hidden named you Summoner! Everyone else here's dead—just let him have it, Nimue! I'm not afraid of it!"
"Percival!" Nimue hissed. Squirrel smacked her arm.
The Weeping Monk had taken two steps backward while the two were distracted. His weapons were within his reach. Wanting the boy out of harms way, he threw the sword he held so it clattered to the ground right behind his horse—Goliath, his calm and steady stallion, only moved a few yards forward when startled. The boy stumbled backward to avoid the horse while the witch moved forward. The Monk knelt to grab his weapons, swinging them both up in a fluid motion as he stood, stripping them of their sheaths. The action clearly startled the witch; green vines covered her face and neck once more. Eyes on the ground, the Monk missed the branches reaching for him from above. Like the wooden handle of the warped axe, a tree behind him bent as if bowing to him, but its branches whipped forward like two sides of a hunter's trap. Though he was able to cut a few of the branches away, the Monk was still lifted off the ground as the tree straightened. The branches didn't skewer him as the witch's roots had pecked and punctured Brother Odo, merely caging him about fifteen feet off the ground, so he kicked and slashed at the branches, trying to break free. He stopped when he saw the witch standing directly below him, testing the reach of her sword.
Nimue stood only slightly taller than the average young woman. The sword her mother had entrusted to her had a long reach. Standing below the caged Monk and jumping straight up with the sword held over her head, she couldn't quite reach him. "Just give me a boost," Squirrel offered. Nimue shook her head and sheathed her sword, wrapping the sheath in the old cloth again.
"You'll fall off me and break your bones, or he'll reach you through the branches. We have to get out of here." Nimue kicked dirt on the fire and Squirrel went to help her, scooping up handfuls of dirt loosened by her bewitched roots. Once the fire was smothered, Nimue took Squirrel's hand and dragged him over to Goliath. She lifted the boy up without preamble, helping him into the saddle. "Ride toward the river, then leave the horse and walk in the shallow water—"
"Wait, wait a minute," Squirrel objected. "What're you saying? Get on."
"Stick to the water as long as you can," Nimue continued. "It will hide your trail—"
"Nimue!"
"I'm sorry, but you heard him, Squirrel. The Red Paladins saw what I did to that other man. It's only a matter of time before they see all this. Only our new friend here has seen you, but they'll hunt me down. If they catch you with me, they'll burn you with me."
"So be it!"
"No, Squirrel!"
"Nimue—"
"Enough! You listen to me!" Nimue seized the boy's small hands in hers and held his gaze. In the dark, the tears in her eyes were invisible, but her quivering voice gave her away. "Mother asked me to do something right before they killed her. It'll be dangerous, but it was her dying wish. I have to go. I didn't argue with the others because I needed you to go with them, but things got of hand so quickly—I'm so sorry, Squirrel. I kept coming back for you because I needed to know you were safe, but you won't be safe with me now. Make your way to the villages already burned. Find the other survivors. Squirrel, for me... you have to survive for me."
"Then you have to do the same for me," Squirrel insisted. "We'll see each other again."
"Squirrel—"
"Say it, Nimue, or I'm coming with you whether you like it or not."
"We'll see each other again," Nimue said with all the confidence she could muster. Squirrel took up the reins and gave the great horse a light kick. Goliath obediently moved forward. Squirrel refused to say, 'Born in the dawn.' He wasn't going to say goodbye to Nimue, and that was as good as saying goodbye. They would see each other again, Squirrel was sure of it, but as soon as he was out of earshot, Nimue whispered, "To pass in the twilight."
Nimue turned back to the Monk just as another branch fell away. He wasn't free of his cage, but it was only a matter of time. Staring at him, she considered calling to the Hidden again, but he had evaded her first attack so easily... if she accidentally freed him without dealing a fatal blow, he would cut her down in a second. No, this was not a game of dice in a tavern, and even that attempt at fixing the odds had backfired horribly. Her best chance was to leave him and run. Lost in her own thoughts, Nimue jumped slightly when she realized the Monk's eyes were on her, piercing her.
"I will find you," the Weeping Monk warned. Despite herself, Nimue smiled.
"We'll see each other again."
