The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres
Part III: Debts to be Paid
Episode Eighteen
Stepping from her cabin Raveres pursed her lips and kept down a groan of pain. She'd accidentally brushed her gauntleted left hand against the wall, and even though it was encased in the steel, the ruined tips of the fingers throbbed with heat at the surprising and sudden jostle.
A crewman stood at the base of the stairs holding a length of fresh rope he'd no doubt retrieved from storage, he had a calm worker's expression, until his eyes beheld her. His lively face widened in mute terror at the sight of Raveres as she approached.
She raised a brow and quickly put on a haughty expression, hiding her smile of satisfaction as she thought, 'Perfect' The man stepped aside as she stepped closer down the cramped hall and continued blinking in disbelief.
His face seemed to say; 'It's not possible'
At first Raveres thought about what he could possibly be doubting, but then she realised, and felt herself a fool for having overlooked such a detail. Obviously, it was the speed with which she had returned to her feet and now appeared to be in fighting form which had given him pause.
His hands let go of the cable of rope and it fell to the wooden floor with a thud. He continued to gawk at her in somewhat of a strange worship. Raveres raised an eyebrow; fear was what she had hoped, yet the sigils which had been carved on her door, and now this man's expression, resulted in a strange and uncomfortable feeling in her chest.
Stopping at the base of the stair Raveres decided to test something. Pointing her right index finger to the floor she spoke one word,
"Kneel"
The man's mouth opened and he quivered before following her arm's direction and immediately falling to his knees. Pressing his forehead to the floor he prostrated himself before her and Raveres was instantly taken aback. Though he didn't understand her word, he still followed her command.
She swallowed and looked upon the grovelling human, somewhat doubtful of the reality of his adoration. Shaking her head, she drew in a shallow breath before stepping past him. Climbing the stair, and forcing herself to begin breathing deeply, Raveres pensively allowed herself relief and momentary enjoyment of the salty air.
Coming to the deck she smirked to herself, hoping to hear the audible surprise of the crewmen at her appearance and dread armour. She'd hoped for fear as opposed to the idolisation she was beginning to suspect would await her. Yet she couldn't help but contort her lips in disappointment when she at first saw that there were no men to greet her, and that she was neither dreaded nor adored.
Furrowing her brow, she looked to the port side of the ship and saw that the whole crew had abandoned their posts. The disappointment at their lack of reaction, as well as their huddling along the rail made her boil momentarily and she was about to call to Yurin when she saw past the men and beheld the darkness soaring into the sky.
Her words caught in her throat and her eyes followed the smoke, higher and higher into the air. Black and grey clouds were beginning to form far above them, and the cause of such a turn was a thick pillar of smoke. Her face dropped in surprise and her lips parted as she beheld the darkness ahead of the port.
Raveres stepped towards the rail and easily pushed a few crewmen aside for a clearer view, no longer concerned with her own appearance or the issues of keeping the crew under her thrall. She had a far more pressing and rage inducing concern now: Al Daouk was aflame.
Echoing across the water was the dull sound of bells, chiming madly as the harbour filled with boats, ships, and activity. There were crowds of people pouring out of the gates, and on either side of the delta she saw that the city appeared also under attack, or perhaps raiding. Either way she was left confused as to what in the gods' name had transpired since putting to sea.
At once the men aboard the ship seemed to finally realise her presence, Prince Balik, Yurin, Samahd and Dahi as well as the crewmen looked at her. Furrowing her brow and taking a quiet, calm, breath Raveres steeled herself.
Dahi and Samahd were pale and completely overwhelmed by the sight of their home alight. The crewmen were looking to her with desperation, hoping for her to snatch another victory. But their faces… were indescribable…
The defeat of the chaos spawned kraken seemed to finally roost in her mind and she realised that the men around her were pawns. They had been swayed… and they were her pawns. Despite her alien nature, her brutal attitude, they were each looking to her for some kind of assurance.
She looked from man to man quickly, taking stock. Prince Balik narrowed his features tensely. Yurin gulped and nodded expectantly to his mistress. And Raveres thought about her treasure, her plots, her desires…
The city ahead was aflame, her mission with Sadalsuud at risk… But she had a nagging thought whisper into her attention. She was now rich.
'Surely we could sail away… Make it back to the island? Retrieve it all and return to Naggaroth.'
She could be rid of these humans and see her Hakseer completed.
'But the logistics of it all!' she thought.
Her mind raced and she plotted so many different things and remained silent before looking back at the burning city. Yurin looked to the men and they began whispering among one another hesitantly.
"M-my lady?" the retainer stuttered.
She growled and faced her translator, an anger burning in her chest. Raveres had reluctantly made her decision,
"Yurin! Tell the men to ready themselves, we'll make it ashore in the longboat and find out what's bloody well gone on."
She growled and balled her sword hand into a fist before exclaiming and stomping towards the quarter deck,
"Gods damn it all! Arm the men and once we are away the ship is to weigh anchor. If I see them sailing away, I will slaughter their families."
Yurin's face contorted and he hesitated as he conveyed her words more… peacefully. Prince Balik followed after Raveres and Yurin translated as he spoke to her.
"The Prince says that'd we'd be better off to sail away to a more friendly birth!"
She looked over her shoulder with a raised brow, 'Naturally he'd suggest such a thing, I'm sure he thinks me a friend now…'
Raveres shook her head,
"Tell the Prince that I shall not run. Sadalsuud owes me and I shall see my gods' damn mission finished!"
The prince furrowed his brow and bit his tongue, but appeared compliant to her words. She turned and exhaled steadily, 'Diplomatic Raveres… diplomatic…'
"Yurin, tell Prince Balik… That I shall not forget our own arrangement, I will assist him."
The translator repeated the message and the Prince's features lightened as he looked back at her, offering a slight bow of the head. She returned the curtesy and continued; her voice now a measure calmer and more even-toned,
"He must appreciate that things are in order of precedence… I can ill afford an enemy of Sadalsuud for the time being. Add whatever you must to smooth this Yurin."
The young man nodded and eloquently attached niceties to her words. Raveres watched, keeping her interest hidden as Yurin continued to talk. The translator occasionally yelled to the other men of the crew and they exclaimed in response. Yurin's face was red with excitement but he maintained a stern expression before turning back to the Prince.
Balik looked to several other men as well as his own retainer before he nodded, his lips pursed in approval. Then he looked back to Raveres and bowed his head at the neck. Raveres was doing all she could not to allow her surprise to come through onto her features as Yurin repeated the prince's words,
"You have our swords dread-lady."
She smirked and nodded appreciatively.
"Yurin?" She asked lowly, "What in Khaine's name did you just say there in your little speech?"
The translator stepped beside her and responded lowly,
"That you and I were in private consultation earlier and that with this calamity now before us…" he chuckled dryly and cleared his throat, "Well my lady, put simply I just secured their loyalty for the time coming. I'll admit I may have gotten a bit carried away."
Raveres tightened her jaw, and repeated herself, "What did you say?"
…
They were rounding the corner of a street, just a few yards from the Bretonnian embassy when people started to run around them. It was at first distantly yelled, but now was becoming clearer and more near as people began repeating in chorus,
"Fire!"
Sir Jean and Jacque looked at one another as it became yelled louder and louder. The people around them maddeningly echoing the warning cry of: fire. Jacque clutched at his master's equipment under his arm and furrowed his brow in confusion and in surprise.
The people ebbed around them as they streamed back down the street. As their numbers trickled away and the tide parted Sir Jean squinted as he and Jacque came face to face with three armoured and armed men. He knew them at once and his breath stopped in his mouth as his pain faded away momentarily.
The three false knights…
Jacque's mouth opened and his brow dropped as he too recognised the men. Brandishing their swords Sir Tormande, Sir Cratoun, and Sir Finise stepped towards Sir Jean and Jacque. A calm wave came over Jean and he straightened his back.
Though his chest was screaming for release from the pain of his strained muscles and cracked and broken ribs without a word he reached for and wrapped his hand around his sword, drawing it from the sheath on Jacque's back.
"Run boy, and don't look back."
Jacque stood frozen as he turned from the men ahead to his master. Sir Jean's lip twitched as he withheld everything in him,
"Go my boy."
Jacque let go of his master's armour and let it fall from over his shoulder before moving to draw his own sword, "Master I-"
Looking down at him Sir Jean raised his voice somewhat,
"Run boy… If you were to listen to your father just this once, do it."
His eyes crinkled and he pursed his lips, pleading for his squire to comply. Jacque began tearing up as he let go of his sword and slowly stepped away. Sir Jean looked towards his opponents; they began steadily coming closer, weapons poised.
"Run my boy…"
Sir Cratoun lunged first, through the slit in his visor his good eye burned with rage and a lust for battle. With a grunt Sir Jean darted forwards to parry,
"Run!"
Jacque nodded, and began sprinting back down the street.
"Finise, after him!" Sir Tormande bellowed.
Sir Jean furrowed his brow and let loose a howl as he reposted Sir Cratoun, "No!"
With a well-placed blow Sir Jean cut underneath Cratoun's left armpit. Slashing through the material of Cratoun's tunic the knight let out a cry of pain and staggered back, raising his sword to defend. Bringing his sword away from Cratoun, Sir Jean threw an uncoordinated, desperate strike at the man seeking his squire.
Finise dodged Sir Jean's slash and continued on down the street after Jacque. Sir Tormande laughed and cut at Jean with a slash of his own. The blow drew across Sir Jean's left arm and left a deep cleave through his tunic and his bicep.
Grunting and hopping back from the wound Sir Jean parried Cratoun again while kicking at Tormande. Like a call across water Sir Jean heard his name, yet strangely he didn't feel distracted. Instead, it was… warm? And it smelled like a memory…
He dropped low and let out a heavy cry as he brought his blade down on Tormande's pauldron.
My Lord and Ladies, I present the tournament champion! Sir Jean Le Tours!
Sir Jean remembered kneeling as a garland of flowers was placed around his head, and the grace of the woman who laid it there.
"Fucking stab him Cratoun!" Tormande roared.
Parrying another of Sir Jean's blows he was forced backwards and tried to give Cratoun an opening.
"I'm trying!" he responded.
Sir Jean smirked, they were younger than him, had armour, strength… ha, but they were cowards at heart. Cratoun grunted and was huffing as he stepped forwards and tried to flourish with his blade. Parrying, stepping forwards, and kneeing his opponent, Sir Jean skillfully battered Cratoun's breastplate and drove the end of his pommel into the armour.
Winding Cratoun and then pushing on him with all his weight Sir Jean tripped the attacker before turning his attention back to Sir Tormande.
Sir Jean! Drive the lance through the blasted orc!
He leveled his weapon as he dug his spurs into his horses' flank, come now Michelle, he whispered; Send the creature back to the abyss!
His horse brought him along towards the war-boss, the hulking gore drenched maw stared back at him with a sly smile, could he time the attack, right? What if he fell from the saddle? He gritted his teeth and nearly blinked as he feinted the orc and successfully ran him through.
"Come on old man!" Sir Tormande roared.
Stepping forwards Sir Jean avoided another lethal strike and was able to deliver a token response. Clanging off of Tormande's armour the strike annoyed more than it hindered and Tormande brought his armoured elbow up to bash into Jean's face.
Staggering backwards and keeping his eyes open Sir Jean's lip split and began leaking bright crimson blood.
It's just a flesh wound Jean… fear naught, ha! You won't be losing the leg. You should have seen your face, ha ha!
"Have at you! Foul knight!"
Parrying and slashing at one another Tormande drew his blade along Sir Jean's left side. Cutting a deep gash into his abdomen the elder knight cried out in pain before raising his left hand and punching Tormande in the helmet. The ringing annoyed him and then Sir Jean gave a wide arcing slash to buy him some time and room. Cratoun had gotten back to his feet and let out a wail as he sprinted back into the melee.
Would you… I mean. Wait for me? Sir Jean had hesitantly asked her. The young maiden looked at her lover's eyes and let a smile across her lips. Of course I will, my love… my Jean.
Turning to intercept Cratoun Sir Jean poorly blocked his lunge, desperately holding at his bleeding side.
"Come on!" he yelled.
I'm not one for dances…
Oh, come on Jean! There'll be lady's maids, handmaidens, gods above it is like grabbing pigeons at night-time!
Come on Jean, ask her for a dance!
Tormande was about to bring down a heavy blow when Cratoun stepped into the way and he was forced to abandon his swing.
"Step aside!" the black knight roared.
Cratoun, distracted, presented a target and Sir Jean pursed his lips as he hefted and aimed his sword.
My boy, this is a knightly helm.
These holes here are for breathing, and this is your visor slit.
The boy looked over the helmet and nodded.
Can arrows go through there?
Sir Jean nodded, it is unlikely, but yes arrows, splinters, why even a sword if aimed properly.
With a guttural yell Sir Jean pushed forwards with all his might, driving the tip of his blade through the narrow slit of Cratoun's helm. The false knight let out a howl of such pain that it made Tormande step back and raise his brow in surprise.
Kicking into Cratoun's chest Sir Jean withdrew his blade and was about to ready another blow. Leaping forwards as his fellow fell backwards; Tormande stole on the opportunity and barraged Jean with lunges and slashes.
Do you swear to serve faithfully your lord, your people, the Lady, and the King?
I do.
Cutting broadly across Sir Jean's chest he nearly dropped his sword from the pain and the surprise of the wound. Stepping backwards he weakly attempted a riposte as Tormande roared and drove the attack home.
I love you, Jean.
He nodded and kissed her cheek as she handed him her handkerchief, her token. I love you, my lady…
Their steel clanged and wretched together horribly, and Sir Jean watched as Tormande's blade grew closer to his chest, driving along his own blade like a road.
He shall be your charge Sir Jean, teach him, lead him, and make him into a man. He is your first squire…
I will not fail you brother.
How many squires of yours have been knighted?
I raised three boys into men of honour.
She cried and held his hand tightly; her grip was weak. Then take care of my boy Jean… please, take care of my boy…
What is his name?
We named him Jacque.
The piercing tip of Tormande's blade found its way between two of Jean's unbroken ribs and entered his chest a few inches. Crying out and moving backwards while still trying to keep up a defence Tormande yelled in triumph as Sir Jean grunted and growled in pain.
Withdrawing the sword from Jean's chest Tormande brought it high above his head and let out a cry as he brought it down. Sir Jean had fallen to his knees, holding at his chest with his left hand and raising his sword with the right to block.
The man of the hour! Sir Jean!
I hear it was Jean who rallied our men and held fast the line?
Did he indeed? Praises be! You're blessed by the lady sir knight!
The sword passed through Sir Jean's, breaking the steel with a metallic snap. The broken length of sword uselessly fell to the cobble with a clanging chorus as Tormande's blade cut through Sir Jean's collarbone and shoulder, burying itself and stopping nearly five inches into his chest. It hurt, but it also felt cold at the same time, he reeled from the impact and his face contorted as he tried to process the pain.
I present Sir Jean, your tournament champion!
Master, what would I need to shave for?
She's bound? A wise move on your part Sir Jean…
Surely your race has a concept of life-debt?
Come now… to your feet milady…
He coughed and sputtered as he looked away from Tormande's face.
I love you Jean…
Her warm face seemed to come towards him from across the years. Her skin was unmarred by wrinkles; her smile was just as it was… Her eyes were alight to see him.
Take care of the boy, she asked
He coughed dryly as his throat filled with blood, he blinked and responded to her as honestly and as raw as he could;
'I tried…'
The vision faded and his eyes darkened as the pain melted away.
Teach him to be good Jean…
Take care of the boy…
Take care…
Tormande brought his foot up and grunted as he kicked Sir Jean over, withdrawing his blade from the dead knight's chest. Falling back and hitting the cobble street, Sir Jean's hand let go of his broken sword and it clang loudly against the stone.
His eyes stared off down the street, aimlessly. Blood began pouring out from his chest and his body seemed to be shivering. But his face was blank, his broken lip already swollen, and his hair blowing in the light wind through the deserted street.
Run boy…
…
Panting and clapping his heels to the stone below Jacque darted around a street corner. He was following the people who were also fleeing, and like the others, the confused people, covered in soot and grime, he was weeping. And he was weeping for the same reasons; he had lost his home, he had lost his family, and he had no idea what to do…
He didn't feel knightly, he didn't feel strong, and he didn't feel like a man. He was a scared, orphan, boy, miles from anything familiar, and anything true. The tears fell down his face in a torrent and he was beginning to cough and sputter as his breath fell away from him.
The smoke was starting to bellow upwards and the morning sky was darkened with whisping hands of black soot. Behind him he heard the yelling and the shouting orders of the knight after him. Daring a glance behind, Jacque shuddered and pushed himself forwards harder; the knight at his tail had since become flanked by three tall and brutal looking mercenaries.
'Come on!' he cried to himself, 'keep running!'
The knight cried aloud over the deafening crowd, and Jacque heard him clearly say,
"Grab the little bastard!"
Sir Finise pointed towards an alley as he and one of the men darted down it. Arriving at a three-way juncture, Jacque pushed his way through the crowd of people and tried to get his bearings. He was close to the bazar but he'd unwittingly drawn himself farther towards the centre of the city, nowhere near a gate!
'Damn it…' he shook his head, 'I've got to keep moving… I just need to find somewhere… somewhere to…'
He shivered and let out a low shuddering groan as his mind screamed at himself,
'To hide?'
He let out a low cry and shook his head again whispering,
"Sir Jean is dead… and I ran… I… am running."
He sobbed before cringing and grunting in frustration, 'Shut up! Just… just think!'
Looking to the side of the street he saw a man who'd been crushed by fallen debris and some weeping children which were huddled around him. Against the wall of the building was a bundle of rags in a basket.
Jacque felt his tears and cries falter in his throat as he looked from the urchin children to the basket and then back. He had an idea.
…
The dhow came as close as Raveres dare allow and as they sailed closer the men worked along the rigging and drew in their triangular sails. At just a few chains' distance away, the chaos of the port became more easily visible: people were swarming ships, and some smaller craft had been swamped by the weight of fearful peasants trying to flee the city.
Amidst the crowds on the piers, she could see the men bearing the Emir's standard and the uniform, bright colours, which she was told to have expected at their return. Her welcoming party was obviously diminished, and only three men stood at the edge of a dock, barring the crowd from rushing past them.
Raveres wasn't pleased in the slightest to be leaving so much in the custody of her men, but at Yurin's quick tongue and assurances, the crew still aboard had given over their fealty to her.
'For the time being at least…' she thought caustically.
She didn't want to think on just how long she could expect these humans to remain so loyal. And though she didn't feel entirely comfortable to be leaving the ship behind, Raveres knew she really had no other choice…
Without Sadalsuud she'd have no future to her mission… And no security to her plans once again. The lack of reliability in sailing the small dhow all the way back to Naggaroth also plagued her thoughts. Though she was keeping her face as mysterious and her plotting as hidden as possible, she drew some measure of comfort that her 'companion' the pauper-prince was also troubled.
Yet unlike her he made no efforts to masque them. Balik pursed his lips and darted his eyes around with a scowl, not directed at her, but instead at the situation around them; the chaos, the confusion and running… Raveres thought that it must have reminded him of fleeing his own city in a way.
Though, since Yurin had spoken for Raveres, the prince stepped forwards with a strange purpose in his gait, and he seemed dour at the moment but whenever she'd match his eye he'd quickly soften and smile towards her. She'd nod in acknowledgement, but she knew that despite his smile, or his satisfied expression when viewing her, his professions of ally-ship were based on their mutual use of one another.
Wisely; Raveres mistrusted the man. He was someone who sought back his crown, a man with nothing left but his name and claim. The pauper-prince…
As they lowered into the longboat, she eyed the human keenly, the excitement of the moment spurred her along and she plotted wildly. Eventually agreeing,
'I must watch him more keenly now; with any luck he'll fall in the confusion of the city.'
Dahi and Samahd were left aboard the ship, but once again she'd demanded the best fighters and strongest men to accompany her ashore in the longboat. They filled the small vessel with as many men as would fit, and only a token crew remained aboard the dhow.
Rowing their longboat to the dock the men ordered to have awaited her arrival hailed and hastily welcomed Raveres. Yet they became inarticulate and wan when they watched her rise from the boat and step onto land. Her silver hair blew in the breeze and her elven features drew the attention of everyone along the pier.
However, she was focused, and though she would have relished the attention, she wanted more to know what had happened since the morning and strode forwards with such command that the men at her back sped along with serious faces, determined to face whatever was to come.
Cutting off the Emir's men with a raised hand Raveres spoke and had Yurin elicit the story from them as best they could tell it. The retainer stood straight as the men looked at him with fear in their eyes. Yurin hid his nervousness as he translated and maintained a serious and professional appearance as he explained to Raveres what the men were telling him.
Allegedly a riot had broken out nearer the foreign quarter of the city, despite the Emir's men responding to it, the brawling engagement quickly escalated and spread before the city guard could contain it. From the inception of the riot two of the city's main gates were then captured by coordinated mercenaries, and what followed that had been hours of bloody fighting.
As they had noticed from the sea it appeared that the city had been put to siege and so she had Yurin ask of it; the guards explained that it wasn't a true siege, but rather that raiders waiting outside the city had been allowed in through a few of the gates.
In response Sadalsuud had deployed his men from the palace and summoned all loyal swords to fulfill their oaths to retake the quarter, the captured gates, and push the raiders out. The bulk of the fighting seemed to have already finished, but there still remained confusion and disarray.
As well the confused and fearful peasants, escaping the fighting, began flooding the other means of exit to Al Daouk, which naturally, exacerbated the job of the Emir's men in corralling and maintaining order.
Raveres wasn't pleased to have heard any of this news, but her features were cold and steady as she drew her sword and ordered her men forwards. The Emir's men furrowed their brows but said nothing as she stepped along the dock and through their line. Yurin conveyed her command and with their weapons drawn the sailors forced their way through the crowd and towards the gate back into Al Daouk.
Stepping ahead Prince Balik eclipsed Yurin and followed Raveres at her left side, eagerly drawing his own sword. The she-elf ignored the faces and stares of the loud crowd of peasants; instead, she remained focused, with her eyes trained forwards.
Many of the streets were deserted; some had wounded people collected together, tending to one another, while religious priests in dazzling colours offered words of hope and comfort to the dying. Raveres surveyed these scenes with mute interest.
Yurin plodded along at her right side, awkwardly moving his blade in his sword hand, determined at once not to embarrass or fail her again, and also consumed with anxiety to be in a situation where he'd potentially use his weapon in the sight of his mistress.
Some alleys had bodies thrown down and into them from the street-based melee, but for the most part the soldiers at the port were correct, the battle proper was over by now. It took a while but eventually Raveres and her entourage found their way to the foreign quarter and some of the sights became familiar to her.
She began to notice some of the buildings and stalls that she had passed when first entering the city with the knight and squire. Having to move while on foot was somewhat irritating though, and she thought about a horse to speed her along. Such fancies were thrown off and she redoubled her efforts to present as menacing a sight as possible.
Raveres tilted her face downwards and trod forwards occasionally turning to yell at the sailors, Yurin would translate and occasionally she'd ask them a question, such as if they were tired, or if they had bite in their blades still. They were eager and the more that they saw the blackened and raided buildings of their home city the more ire grew in their chests.
Coming to a juncture Raveres looked down either street before turning her ears, keenly, to the sound of fighting. The street to their right had become dominated by gruffly cloaked mongrels in bitter melee with the familiar-coloured men of the Emir's service. Yet as she saw it she could tell the fighting was far from over.
The Emir's men were falling back, and she could see past the fighting was a gate house and the open doors through the city's wall. Without looking to Yurin, Balik, or the men at her back, Raveres growled and cried as she raised her blade aloft,
"Sa'an'ishar!"
The fighting which followed was bloody. While the raiders and the Emir's men were both tired from the hard combat they had already done, at the appearance and reinforcement of Raveres and her fresh men the battle quickly turned into a route and a slaughter.
Following after the she-elf's example the sailors and the city guards pushed the raiders back out through the gate, and retook the gatehouse towers. With the gate now closed the Emir's men appreciatively hailed the entourage. From there Raveres assisted in rallying pocketed or abandoned men, before following the fights to where it was thickest, the Emir's men formed with the sailors and as they grew in numbers, they set towards reinforcing along the quarter of the city until they reached the main 'battle'.
Eventually Raveres came to see a sight she'd not forget for a while… Sadalsuud sat atop a resplendent warhorse, directing and bellowing orders. Trumpets sounded and the men moved as they pushed the armed raiders out of the city. She smirked and shook her head. There'd be time for talk after this was all sorted out.
She cried 'battle' again and Yurin translated, the men repeated the words and joined their comrades as Sadalsuud's eyes widened in surprise to see 'his' elf returned.
…
Bringing her fingers to her broken oesophagus a woman itched at the uncomfortable tightness which she'd yet to become used to. A voice in her head that was not her own, comforted her with the knowledge that her neck wouldn't be much longer this way; soon enough she'd be restored.
She smiled and her blue lips parted to reveal her yellowed and salt-stained teeth. Bile had also tarnished her ivory fangs, and she'd vomited from the constant tossing of her small craft amidst the waves. Yet no matter how high the water towered over her boat a supernatural force had not yet allowed the seas to claim her.
She'd already been claimed. She'd worked masterfully, and as a servant she'd outshone what had initially been expected of her. A head of her craft she saw the familiar standard of an Estalian ship and the woman continued to smile grotesquely.
Her corpselike features glowed with a tainted excitement as she beheld, finally, her passage home. With the tainted and accursed forces continuing to move her along Marianna let out a low cackle as the ship's lookouts spotted her life-raft.
'Slaanesh has smiled upon me once more…' she sighed and agreed.
Looking down into the small boat she reached for a small dirk. A parting gift from Annio…
She cackled again as she picked the weapon up. The ship was growing closer and now she could see the small figures moving rapidly along it's rigging and deck.
'Who could have foreseen this?' she wondered.
Raising her left hand above her head she began waving slowly towards the ship approaching her.
'I wonder if the creature I'd borne has thrown off its cradle yet?'
She scoffed and felt a wave of revulsion, 'I'm sure it'd desire a better meal than those rotten pirates…'
An otherworldly surge made her twitch and shiver; she was no longer a simple devotee… She'd since become a vessel as well. Within her mind resided another, more sinister voice.
'From here it shan't be long to home…' she offered.
Men aboard the Estalian ship waved and began calling across the water to her. Her throat continued to itch and her smile continued to grow.
"No…" the voice agreed, "it shan't be long at all."
…
"Sadalsuud says that your return must have been foretold by the gods." Yurin panted.
The young retainer was coated by dirt and blood and his hair was now thickly matted with sweat. Raveres was looking battle tested as well, yet she had skilfully maintained her distance during the fighting and stopped herself from getting too 'stuck in' and as such she never became surrounded by blows.
Her armour sported some superficial scratches, but so far, her castle-forged Druchii plate remained unmarred, minus what had already happened to the cuirass of course. She nodded and looked at the merchant prince.
"Does he know at all why or how this happened?"
Listening intently as Yurin spoke Arabyan Sadalsuud looked to Raveres before letting out a sigh and shaking his head. She pursed her lips and knelt to take hold of a dead man's tunic. Cleaning the blood off her steel sword she nodded and spoke up over the cries and the noise of the soldiers.
"Is the city secure now?"
Sadalsuud nodded and Yurin repeated his words,
"The bastards were thickest here, some made off with trinkets and loot from the bazar, but it seems that the majority of their spoils were in flesh. They absconded with many men, women, and children."
He spat to his side and his horse whinnied while swaying nervously. Yurin nodded as Sadalsuud became heated.
"He says that as we speak his strongest riders are marshalling at the Sapphire Palace. By day's end they'll have ridden down the raiders and their heads will line each gatehouse."
Raveres nodded in approval, a wry smile on her lips.
"Does he know who the men were?"
At this Sadalsuud nodded,
"He says that they were mostly sell-swords, mercenaries, and desert raiders, they were in and amongst the city it was coordinated and planned."
She nodded and furrowed her brow. A building crashed and loudly groaned as it fell, the fire within had been extinguished by the city watch, but not before it had become a blackened ruin. A half-armoured man rode along the street and hailed Sadalsuud. The two spoke hastily before the regent turned back to Raveres and pointed to 'her' men.
Yurin repeated the words and the fat bearded man looked at the she-elf earnestly.
"He asks if we'd assist his men in combing the streets and aiding the-"
Raveres raised her hand and cut off her retainer. She bowed her head at the neck and then locked eyes with Sadalsuud.
"Tell him I will, and at this we shall call our debts to one another paid."
The merchant prince drew a deep breath before nodding emphatically.
"And,"
He paused in his nodding and raised a brow, somewhat concerned at the interjection.
"…that I will have what we initially bargained."
He nodded again, though this time less enthusiastically, he also added a few words. Yurin held back a chuckle,
"He says only if you will be prepared to tell him all of what happened at sea."
Raveres smirked and stowed her blade, "I shall."
The Arabyan smiled, having understood the words without need of Yurin.
…
Stepping along with the Arabyans Raveres felt like a glorified sentry. They were going street by street, checking bodies, capturing wounded hostiles, while also assisting fallen comrades. The bulk of her sailors were returned back to Sadalsuud's service, yet she still remained in command of a token force.
The pauper-prince also remained at her side. If she was in a more harmonious mood, she'd have commented to Yurin that she'd gained a most noble-born pet in the form of Balik.
But the tenseness of the torn city left no room for humour in the Druchii, or in her Arabyan companions. Each sight made them lower and more resolved to their task, and eventually they strode along a road that she'd recognised. Yurin spoke with the men and confirmed for her that the Bretonnian Embassy was to found along their path and that the familiarity of the sights were from her earlier visit down these roads.
She held a lighter breath of fondness as she thought about her first arrival to the city. How much the current scenes paled when compared to it. But before they came to the oddly constructed Breton building, Raveres saw something irksome along their path. Turning down the street from the bazar she saw two corpses lying in the open street.
They'd seen many bodies so far, so at first, she was surprised at her own apprehension, yet something eerie washed over her as her eyes first spotted them. Besides Raveres, Yurin watched his master uneasily as she stopped. Squinting down the road the retainer saw that one of the bodies was clad in armour, and the other was in simple underclothes; a plain tunic, hosen, and boots.
The she-elf tilted her head as she stepped closer towards the fallen men. And Yurin furrowed his brow until he too, recognised one of them. Raveres' pace slowed. Prince Balik and the few men still accompanying her quieted and watched her uneasily.
Her sword hand opened and Raveres tentatively moved the hand as she beheld Sir Jean's pale and blank face. His eyes looked off listlessly into the distance. Blood had pooled under his body, and she beheld that he'd been savagely wounded from fighting.
Yurin's mouth opened in mute dread. He watched as she tentatively stepped forwards and knelt at the knight's side. Extending her gauntlet covered right hand she slowly touched the steel to his pale and bluing cheek.
Turning her head to the other side Raveres looked at the sprawled corpse of the armoured man. Rising from her kneel she stepped towards the other corpse with barely contained disgust. Blood had flowed out of the other dead knight and pooled around his helmeted head.
With a low growl and raised grunt Raveres dug her right fingers under the man's visor and ripped it upwards to reveal his face. She recognised it immediately.
Both his eyes had been taken, and his face was coated in blood but she could see through the gore and gaping wounds of his eyes that it was one of the knights who'd accosted her and the squire. She slowly stood and drew her sword.
Letting out a loud cry the she-elf raised the black steel longsword, the men stepped back and let out surprise as Raveres brought the weapon down towards the knight's gorget. With the sound of tearing metal and wet cracking, she cleaved through the armour and Sir Cratoun's head came free from his body.
Swapping her sword to her left hand Raveres descended and reached her right gauntlet towards the bloody stump of the human's neck. Taking a firm hold of some of the vertebrae still attached to his skull she lifted the head from out of the helmet, kicking the steel armour away with an angry growl.
Yurin's eyes widened and his face paled as he began heaving and vomited to the side. Prince Balik and the sailors looked on in quiet approval as Raveres brought the face up and closer to her view. Her lips twitched in a snarl, she looked towards Prince Balik and the man nodded knowingly.
With a throw she tossed the grotesque trophy towards him and he caught it. Yurin fell to his knees and his head swam as he tried to maintain himself.
"Yurin" she called.
He nodded and gasped as he spoke, "Y-yes m-my lady…"
"Stand up."
Nodding and sputtering his mouth empty he stood weakly, his chest awash with anxiousness and adrenaline. Sheathing her sword Raveres knelt back towards Sir Jean and extended her right hand to again caress his cheek, this time however her grazing of his face was longer and she ended it by pressing his eyelids closed.
"The boy's not here." She finally said lowly.
Yurin looked past her and around the area; there was no sign of the squire.
"N-no, it doesn't look l-like it my lady."
She seemed calm now, despite her earlier cry of rage, and her voice ignored Yurin as she thought aloud,
"He fell to another's blade."
She looked around the area and eyed Sir Jean's broken sword, then the pile of his and Jacque's armour. Then she looked back towards Cratoun's body; the fallen knight's sword had only flecks of blood on it.
"He was felled by the other. The leader…"
She looked at Sir Jean's chest, his deep wound and the dirt brushed onto his tunic from where he was kicked,
"No doubt they pursued the boy…"
She snarled again as she rose to stand,
"Yurin, have him wrapped and brought to the palace."
The retainer nodded and gulped before relaying the order.
"A-and the other?"
Raveres' voice was plain as she stepped past the bodies, "I care naught."
He shook his head; he wasn't referring to the body of Cratoun.
"No, my lady… I mean…"
She stopped and turned her head to show just her profile. Yurin paused.
"The other man"
Raveres turned back away and stepped forwards as she answered,
"I shall find him."
The retainer nodded, and he dared not pursue the point further.
…
When the city was well and truly secured Raveres met with Sadalsuud and his generals. Yurin translated and she stood during the whole emergency meeting. But she didn't appear to be listening to her retainers' words.
Sadalsuud listened to his Vizier and commanders as they spoke aloud and gave reports, but he would dart his eyes towards her in concern. Raveres was staring blankly past the men, somewhere at the tile floor. Her eyes had settled on an oddly shaped piece of white glass set into the mortar.
Yet she did not stir. She merely remained steady. Breathing and blinking as Yurin translated the proceedings into Druhir. Eventually she spoke.
"I shall ride with your men."
Sadalsuud and all the men present turned towards the Druchii after Yurin repeated her words into Arabyan. She looked towards Wick'tus and then Sadalsuud,
"Give me a horse. I shall ride with your men."
Yurin repeated the words and the men began speaking to one another tentatively. Wick'tus nodded and whispered to his liege,
"Asada was slain; we've no adequate replacement my lord…"
He nodded and looked at Raveres.
"Perhaps the Druchii could do well by it?"
Sadalsuud pursed his lips.
"We've no idea where they've gone…"
The men grunted in affirmation. Until their trackers returned, they were still at a loss as to where the raiders intended to flee. He shook his head before smirking.
"Prince Balik!" The meeting members turned to look at the pauper-prince leaning against the wall and sipping at a glass of wine.
He piqued up and turned towards the men with interest. Raveres raised a brow and looked from Sadalsuud to the Prince.
"Would you do me a favourable honour?"
…