The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres
Part III: Debts to be Paid
Episode Twenty
Though they passed the city of Martek Raveres and her men trudged onwards, not wanting to waste any more time, or give the enemy any further advantage, she forbid them from resting at the city. Despite some of the men arguing that the mercenaries could have fled there, Raveres seemed bent on following the dead man's information and a quiet glare from the now sunburnt elf killed any further dissent.
So, they passed the visibly bustling city, bearing the colours and insignia of Al Daouk, and as they were uninvited, Raveres and her group began trespassing into another Emir's lands. Avoiding the road, they cut across the country, amidst goat paths and grazing trails trod among the rocky and dry-grass hills.
After passing from under the eyes of the gleaming towers and minarets of Martek and travelling along the rocky edges of the Atalan Mountains they eventually saw some of the stones and carved remnants of the ruins the man spoke of. The ruins were distinctly un-Arabyan… and unlike anything Raveres had seen before.
Yet she was not an Asur prince on a gap-year world tour. She was not here to admire the history of quaint human cultures, or to smirk at their petty achievements. She was there for one reason…
Dismounting Raveres pointed to two men as well as Yurin, indicating they were to follow her. Wordlessly they too dismounted to follow her on foot. Using the large stones and broken columns as cover the four got closer towards the once grand entrance to the repurposed tomb.
Lying down along the edge of a rocky dune Raveres peered at their foe. An improvised stable had been constructed between two felled colossi, made of scrap wood and thatch roofing, the four hidden attackers saw the flanks of several horses enjoying the shade and coolness of their stalls.
Nestled here and there were several sentries guarding and keeping watch on the general approach. They had bows, and one appeared to have a repeater crossbow. She pursed her lips and waved the other men to come along the edge of the hill and see as well.
'They're going to be problem.' Raveres thought.
"Well, Yurin ask them what they think."
The translator looked at his master and nodded, his voice sounded low and almost dejected as he relayed the question. The two cavalrymen spoke with one another, occasionally pointing their fingers and whispering.
"They say that if we split our number, have half ride from the south and the rest of us attack from the north we should be able to catch them surprised…"
Raveres dry lips pursed as she squinted back at the patrolling sentries. Smirking she shook her head,
"Maybe…"
Then like a flash her eyes widened and she smirked as she received inspiration,
"We're back to the men; I've a ruse in mind."
…
Tying herself to her horse and effectively looking like she'd died in the saddle Raveres struggled as she directed her mount over the uneven ground towards the tomb's entrance. At once she was spotted by the sentries and she couldn't help but grin when she began to hear them cry out in announcement, no doubt rousing the rest of their men.
Watching from among the rocks Yurin tightly held his reins, nervously glancing to the men at either side. They had one by one quietly ridden their steeds in and among the rocks north of the tomb, and the translator were hoping that they hadn't yet been spotted.
Their success hinged on the attention being focused on Raveres. And from here, with her hair blowing wildly and her body leaning listlessly, Yurin had to agree she did look as close to dead as possible.
The sentries slowly began approaching, their bows drawn, and one stepped towards her as more men came out into view from the tomb's entrance. They pointed and were shouting, but it was too indistinct and far away for Yurin to understand.
He couldn't help but cringe in fear as a man, weapon drawn, approached his unconscious-looking master. Whispering under his breath the retainer thought aloud,
"Come on… they haven't come far enough out of the tomb yet… we can't reach them…"
A few stood at the edge of the tomb's high rock wall, standing in the comfortable shade and pointing to their mysterious rider. The man had finally gotten within sword's distance of Raveres.
"Come on!" Yurin whispered.
The Emir's men all looked at one another and then the retainer uneasily,
"Shall we ride now?" one asked.
"No, they're too close to the rock wall; our mounted advantage will count for nothing!"
Yurin looked around him as the men began anxiously arguing on whether or not to move.
…
"Oi cunt! Those fucking pricks are gaining on us!" Tanner cried.
"Aye!" Agreed the club wielding slaver.
Tanner shook his head and twitched in his seat,
"Fucking hell we should have stayed with the rest of the company and gone to the tomb!"
Grumbling Slinger pointed ahead, "Look, riders from Al-Haikk! All we have to do is reach them and then these men at our back will have no choice but to cease!"
Whipping the reins of the four-horse cart which held much of their cargo the mercenaries and scoundrels doubled their pace, some being bucked off their horses for riding the beasts too hard. Passing down the dunes at their aft was the brightly coloured orange and turquoise troops of Al-Daouk. Their scimitars, spears, and banners held highly in the air.
The master of horse and Prince Balik had made time, cutting through paths that only their men knew. Heavily bruised and coming to Jacque awoke lying in the arms of a woman in the back of one of the many carts stolen by the raiders.
"W-wha…" he asked weakly.
"Shush child…" the woman spoke.
Her face was covered in a wide bruise which had swollen her lip and cheek, yet she smiled down at the young man with a genuine happiness.
"I'm glad you awoke… They really gave you a beating last night."
Jacque nodded. His hands were bound now, and the cart was rattling disconcertingly, its nails and wooden pegs were not meant for such hard riding. Their cart was one of the least populated ones. The attempt at enslaving citizens and people in Al-Daouk was not as easy as the raiders had hoped. Many had escaped and now about half of their 'stock' remained.
Those who had fought back were beaten brutally. And everyone was bound around their legs, and wrists. The majority of those captured who remained were children or women.
The men in some of the carts were either dead from their wounds, or on their way. Having fought back against their captors they bore worse wounds than simple broken lips or cracked ribs.
"W-where are we?"
Jacque asked weakly, trying to rise from the woman's lap. His neck and abdomen burned with pain and he reluctantly fell back to her thighs. She rubbed the edge of his face and brushed his bangs from his eyes,
"I know not… but… there are riders on our tail. I do not imagine they are friendly to our captors."
Jacque furrowed his brow as he tried to look up at his comforter. The sun was obscuring a good look of her face, but there was something strange about her voice and her pronunciation. It was lyrical and sing song, high pitched and foreign with a hint of refinement.
Bringing his hand up weakly to shade his eyes and brow from the sun Jacque got his first look at the woman holding him. She was looking behind them at the men whipping and driving the cart.
She had almond shaped mono-lid eyes… with a round facial structure he'd never seen before. Her cheeks were freckled and she had long black hair, cut straight across her brow. Her skin was tanned from the sunlight, and it was a shade he'd never seen either. His eyes widened and he gawked before finally asking,
"W-who are you?"
She looked back down at him and smiled, she bowed her head and closed her eyes,
"You can call me Shen, little Breton."
He looked at the others in their cart, some street urchin children clutched one another fearfully to his right, black dressed widows and a few young male and female stall keepers sat beside one another, they still were wearing the aprons of their respective professions. There was a dirt covered grocer, a blood marred fishmonger or butcher, a dust covered carpenter's apprentice.
'Not exactly prime slave material.' Jacque thought.
Then with a swirl he noticed what she had said,
"I-I'm not little!" he protested.
Weakly he rolled from her thighs and she watched as he forced himself to rise into a sit.
"I…" he looked at her bruised face, and cleared his throat, fighting off his embarrassment and grief,
"I am Jacque Le Tours, squire to the knight, Sir Jean Le Tours."
He rose with pride and his chest swelled. She smiled; it curved from the raised bruising of her lip. Her eyes crinkled and she nodded before deeply bowing.
"We are pleased to meet you Master Tours."
He kept from an innocent smile before asking,
"How do you know my tongue?"
Rising back up from her bow the plain clothed oriental woman raised a thin eyebrow,
"Already into the questions young master?"
She shook her head,
"If you know how to fight, I would suggest you instead steel yourself. Perhaps we might speak later."
Jacque furrowed his brow and swayed as the cart went over a bump.
"What do you mean?"
She pointed past the squire and he narrowed his eyes to see in the distance the growing dust cloud and shapes of the approaching cavalry.
"The Emir's sent men for his people."
Jacque smiled and resisted the urge to wave. The woman continued,
"Yet I have no intention of going back there."
Jacque looked back to his mysterious companion, "What?"
She raised her brow and smirked, "I misspoke, but I am due to go home."
'Where would that be?' the youth wondered.
"As am I…" he said rather forlornly, "or rather, I was."
Shen appeared as if she was going to say something reassuring when one of the drivers of their cart, a tanned and shirtless Arabyan, turned and brought his horsewhip down indiscriminately into the cart-bed, hitting Jacque, Shen, and even a few of the urchins.
"Shut up back there!" the man roared in Arabyan.
Jacque narrowed his brow and grit his teeth, regarding the back of the man's head with rage. Shen appeared to bear her wounded back with a quiet grace. She extended her hand to touch Jacque and she whispered,
"Be still."
Moving her left hand under her knee she brought into view a thin, needle-like, piece of metal. At once Jacque's eyes widened and he cooled; he knew exactly what was going to happen.
…
Raveres' horse had stopped at the cooing and 'woah-ing' of the man now approaching her. His boots trudged through the thick sand as he got closer, his voice even and calm as he asked questions. Whether he was asking her or the horse she didn't know, nor care. She had to maintain her act just a few moments longer.
The man finally let go of the tension on his bow and she heard him un-knock his arrow and shift it into the same hand as his bow. Then she saw his shadow get closer to her and his hand extend.
Now
With a growl and a scream, she sat up in the saddle and drew her sword. The sudden movement made the horse whinny and cry in surprise. The man stepped back, his face one of terror as he tried to re-knock his missile.
Bringing her blade down she cut along his face while also knocking his weapon from his hands, then, before he could react, she set in her spurs and knocked him down with her horse as she cried aloud,
"Sa'an'ishar!"
Yurin and the men watching nodded and set forwards as he let out a yell,
"That's it! Charge 'em!"
The men hooted, ululated, and hollered as they came tearing out from amongst the rocks and broken columns. The archers and crossbowman began firing at Raveres while the men who had come out of the tomb were now caught somewhat in the open. They'd attempted to charge out to meet the she-elf, but now they were in between where she was and the safety of the tomb's doorway.
Moving her head down an arrow passed by Raveres' face, nearly grazing her ear, the second lodged in the leather of the saddle, a third deflected off her pauldron, while the fourth projectile; a crossbow bolt, found its mark and hit in between her pauldron and cuirass.
She didn't even register that it had hit and drove on towards the archers, making them scatter as she began to cut her sword through the air. The archers attempted to harass her like skirmishers, but she was roaring and working her horse around like she was a steppe warrior. In addition, Yurin and the other riders had collided with those men on foot and in the open and joined battle.
"Kill them all!" she screamed.
Yurin desperately wielding his sword was too focused to relay her words to the Arabyans, but… they didn't need a translation. They all had a rough idea what their impromptu commander was saying. Slashing upwards she felled another archer.
Yet a sudden thwack stole her attention. A burning and piercing pain began to radiate from her left shoulder blade. Raveres tried moving her left arm but could only move it a few inches before the pain and a strange weight stopped her motion.
She reared her horse around to see the crossbowman rapidly reloading. Levelling her sword, Raveres ignored the battle going on around her as she focused and began riding down the man. He let out a guttural yell as she drew closer and he fired his hastily loaded bolt.
The black plumed missile flew towards her and grazed the right side of her neck. Her steed whinnied and brought its legs up as it rose on its hind quarters. Hoof and blade came down upon the man and he tried to roll out of the way. He avoided the sword, but the hooves found their mark.
…
The mercenaries quickly realised that fighting in the open and scattered was to their disadvantage. The wiser among them began to back up towards the tomb, while the more panicked tried to flee. Those backing towards the tomb formed a line, side by side, as they started being pushed through the large entrance.
Raveres grit her teeth and spat in frustration. She felt like she was burning all over. Her eyes hurt from the wind blowing sand, her cheeks and face pained with every breath, her brow with every blink, and her neck ached in a way she'd never known with every turn of her head.
But the arrows which had penetrated her armour stung more… and they filled her with a pain and dread. A few of her men's horses were beginning to run away from the battle, their riders having fallen from their saddles. Her retainer still drew breath. And more than that, he was still mounted, and at the moment wrestling a spear from a man on foot.
Kicking her spurs into her beast she drove forwards and felled the man attempting to skewer Yurin. Cutting the man's left arm off and then kicking him over she growled,
"I've not seen the knights. Do you think we've been lied to?"
Yurin turned the spear around before driving it down into its previous owner's chest. Sputtering and coughing on dust the translator shook his head,
"I… I know not my lady…"
Snarling and lifting her leg over her horses' head Raveres slid down the side of the beast swapping her sword to her left hand, pulling the arrow in her front out with a scream of pain. With half-baked thoughts she looked around before settling her eye on the fighting at the tomb's entrance.
"Perhaps they're holed up in that tomb…" she smirked through her pain, "How fitting."
She half spoke to Yurin and half thought aloud as she started up a quick pace towards the asses of her men's horses, now thoroughly engaged with the mercenaries in the doorway. At the top of her lungs Raveres cried, "For Khaine!" as she drove towards the men and their informal offensive line.
Several of the mercenaries broke and ran into the tomb; those that remained were distracted by the Druchii jumping at them, and were easily dispatched by the mounted Emir's cavalry. Before charging after the men into the tomb Raveres looked back and waved to her retainer,
"Yurin!"
He begrudgingly climbed down from his horse and several of the cavalry followed. The tomb's entrance way was elaborately decorated with hieroglyphs and once brilliantly painted murals, now blackened from torch light and decayed from the moisture in man's breath.
Sconces and improvised standing torches burned brightly, and though they reddened and helped illuminate the stone mausoleum, nothing but sunlight would ever make it look anything other than somewhere the living was not to tread.
The mercenaries had speedily run ahead of them and disappeared from view as the entranceway tilted and became a sloped staircase deeper into the earth. Raveres and her men slowed down as they stepped into the gloomy sandstone hallway. They were looking around cautiously, their weapons poised and eyes narrowed.
Peering over the edge of the landing the Druchii could see that refuse and discarded garbage from the mercenaries lined either side of the wide stairwell. Obviously, the men had made the sepulchre their home for quite a while now.
Stepping down the short staircase they came to a low-ceilinged juncture with three doors. The chamber to their right had wooden tables and benches resembling a mess hall, while the chamber to their left had poorly constructed bedframes, and sleeping rolls strewn about its floor. The doorway immediately in front of them was closed. Thick wooden doors, of modern construction, looked at them almost mockingly.
After a few seconds all they could hear in the chamber was their own breathing and the occasional moan of the wind. Flicking her blood covered sword and then wiping it off on the edge of her blouse, Raveres sheathed her weapon and turned to Yurin,
"We're going to need a ram."
…
"One, two, three!"
Raveres, the men, and Yurin hefted their wooden beam towards the door again hearing the satisfying crunching of the splitting boards.
"Again!" The Druchii roared.
They brought the beam forwards and it began cracking deeper through the panels of the anti-chamber's door. Yelling and curses could be heard on the other side which only helped to spur Raveres on.
"AGAIN!" she cried madly.
As they sprinted towards the door and the edge of their ram made contact the forced either side of the portal open. The men, Yurin included, howled with triumph as they speedily forced through the breach.
Then she saw them, the knights…
There was a large imposing Arabyan man on the left side of the room, his surviving mercenaries were flanking him, while on the right side stood the two knights, and every man was panting. Their weapons were drawn and a few dead men were strewn about the floor. Manifestly there had been dissention in the ranks.
The Arabyans filed into the room and made a line across the doorway, eyeing each man with furrowed brows and bared teeth. Raveres stepped into the middle of her men and drew her sword, pointing it at the two Bretonnian knights,
"Where is the BOY?!"
Sir Finise was nursing a wound in his right arm, and his helmet had been cracked in across the visor from a dull smashing weapon. Sir Tormande however was almost spotless. Meeting Raveres' eye he reached with his left hand to pull off his full helm. Letting it fall to the stone floor with a metallic whack he stared at the Druchii and tightened his grip on his sword.
Baring his teeth in a hideous smile he let out a sigh,
"Oh, you elven bitch… I've longed for this."
"Yurin, the men can take care of the mercenaries… these knights are mine."
Stepping past her men and towards the two Bretonnians Raveres lowered herself into a duelling stance before repeating her question,
"Where, is the fucking squire!"
Tormande spat and stepped forwards as Sir Finise faltered and staggered to the side, his wounds and battle fatigue seeming to have gotten to him. Leaning against the wall the false knight drooped and slid against the stone, scratching and ruining his armour as he fell to the floor. Sir Tormande ignored his fallen comrade, madly focused on the elf.
"I killed that old bastard, and I relished each second of it."
Raveres' lip moved up involuntarily as she wanted to snarl, but she bit her tongue and remained in control.
"Where is the squire…"
Tormande laughed.
"The old man fought like a geriatric…" cocking an eyebrow he looked at her and continued, his voice rising spitefully, "I wonder; did he fuck you like one too?"
At this the Druchii snapped, her voice rising like venom and bile;
"Before I stuff your cock and balls down your own throat! I will ask you, one last fucking time, WHERE IS MY BOY?"
Tormande brought his sword high and lunged forwards as he brought it down. Letting out a grunt and battle cry Raveres brought her blade up to block and the two became uncomfortably close to one another. Before she could fully commit to combat, he snarled viciously and answered her,
"I killed your boy!"
Raveres mouth opened and her eyes widened for a second before she screamed and pushed back. Yurin yelled out as he looked on,
"Mistress! My lady, NO!"
Slashing widely Tormande jumped back and continued to verbally torture Raveres as they duelled.
"I bent his little head back, and I stuffed my cock, down his throat!"
Letting out a cry as if she were a wounded Raveres feinted and then brought her sword up, moving from duelling position two to duelling position five rapidly. The movement made Tormande misjudge his defence. She slashed under his armoured arm, causing him to miss with his riposte, and cry out in pain.
Disengaging and beating his blade for good measure Raveres repositioned and brought her sword up over her head. She cried aloud as her voice nearly broke,
"You lie!"
Bringing his blade up to catch hers the knight used his gauntleted hand to take hold of her blade and keep it still.
"Look over there and see his body!"
Leaning forwards for emphasis, Tormande could barely contain his satisfied face at Raveres' expression,
"I took his head off after he bit me, and I threw it outside to the vultures… Didn't you see those birds overhead?"
Looking to the side that he had indicated she saw a flash of nude flesh, motionless on the floor of the tomb, against the wall. At first, she had assumed it to be yet another body from when the mercenaries and knights had turned on each other.
Delirious from the heat, made mad from the blood and battle, Raveres did not need to take a long look at the corpse before she utterly broke. Before her eyes looked back at her foe her body had already committed itself to ending the duel.
Pushing off the ground with all her strength Raveres smashed her brow into Tormande's face, breaking his nose and forcing him backwards. Reeling backwards and letting a deep groan of pain out the knight was stunned enough that she was able to make a final blow.
Readying her blade and letting loose a loud emotional wail she aimed the tip of her sword and forced all of her weight behind it. The tip pierced through Tormande's chest and Raveres drove the length of her black steel sword through the knight's armour it broke loudly through the other side of his cuirass.
Coughing onto Raveres' shoulder and grunting Tormande sputtered in complete surprise as she forced him to the ground. His eyes widened in disbelief as his body shook and pain numbed his tongue. Coughing and sputtering blood down his chin and masculine features he looked up, utterly aghast that the woman had gotten the better of him.
His nose was running like a faucet of blood and Raveres snarled as she screamed. Bringing her foot up to his chest she kicked his plate and tore her sword back out of him. Before he fell backwards, she readied and brought the blade swinging across to decapitate him.
Colliding with his bottom jaw first, rather than his neck, caused the cut to be uneven and brutalised. Falling to the side Tormande retched and screamed in pain, the job only 'half' done.
Resetting herself and bringing her blade high over her head Raveres let out a wail of pain and loss as she brought the sword down and finished the knight's execution, ending his horrid and grotesque scream.
Looking towards the star-painted ceiling Raveres became mute, and her face wearily blank, with only her exasperated breathing showing signs of life. The whole time she'd fought Tormande, she was lost in another world, yet behind her the Emir's men had combatted with the other mercenaries. Unfortunately, the cornered raiders had put up a far tougher fight, and they'd killed a few of her men, Yurin even received a few injuries himself.
But now, with it all concluded, the Emir's men began checking their dead while Yurin walked towards his mistress slowly, nursing his wounded side.
"Lady Raveres?" he groaned.
She ignored him and slowly walked towards the body that Tormande had indicated. It was indeed the corpse of a young man. He was thin, and dirty, his skin marred in cuts and bruises. His ribs showed through his thin pale skin and his arms were tanned from the sun's light. His head had been removed and only a red and blue, bloodied stump remained.
His knuckles and hands were covered in wounds and scrapes from fighting and his wrists were bound. In shock Raveres blinked slowly and moved, as if she were drunk, pivoting around to see the fallen body of Sir Finise.
Stepping over towards the last knight she kicked at him before descending and ripping up his visor covered helmet. Like she was underwater, she could hear Yurin and the men, but everything was distant to her and muffled.
Sir Finise was still alive, but weakly looking up at her, his blood covered face making token protests as she once again readied her executioners' blade and brought it down. He tried raising his hands to defend himself, but she kicked them out of the way.
To Yurin and the men, Finise's high pitched maddened cries were almost entirely ignored, and as such his message to save his life passed unremarked. When his gorget was cut through and his head removed Raveres stooped and took up yet another trophy, ripping it out from his helm and only barely looking at it before tossing it haphazardly towards Yurin.
Her voice was quiet as she took a long look at the body of the dead squire. He was naked and mutilated, but all she could see was his innocent face looking up at her.
A pain greater than the arrows lodged in her body, the sunburns her face and exposed flesh, and even when she was thrown from her ship, began to wrap itself around her like a shroud.
Weakly she finally found her voice. Her throat hurt from her screams earlier, and each syllable grated on her vocal cords,
"Wrap the boy Yurin…"
The translator lowered his head as she slowly walked past him; she was dragging her sword across the floor absentmindedly,
"He deserved better…"
"But, my lady" Yurin tried to interject.
She repeated herself, obliviously ignoring him, "…the boy deserved better…
Her voice remained quiet and hollow as she stepped out of the tomb's chamber and towards the stairs,
"Yurin… bring the heads, I'm presenting them to that ambassador…"
"I… of course my lady"
She was only a few feet out of the room, but Raveres was miles away.
…
Prince Balik raised his sword high as he and the Master of Horse let out a cry, a head of them it appeared that the enslaved peoples found courage to fight once more.
The Master of Horse yelled, "They need our aid! Men! To battle!"
His men echoed the cry with enthusiasm as they swept towards the raider's train of carts.
…
"As a squire, you can fight. Correct?" Shen had beckoned Jacque to sit beside her and she whispered out the un-swollen side of her mouth.
He nodded while adding, "They've my sword though…"
She narrowed her eyes and looked around the men on horseback, or driving the other carts.
"Who was it that took your steel?" she asked in a hush.
Jacque looked from man to man till he saw the most loaded cart being driven by the Slinger, Clubman, and the thin thief. He raised his chin and pointed with his head, indicating the middle man,
"The thin one…"
Shen smirked to herself. Turning to Jacque she nodded,
"I was hoping you were a fighter of some kind when they threw you in our cart…"
She brought her head nearer his ear and whispered,
"This would have been far more difficult on my own."
He nodded. Looking past him and towards Emir Al-Daouk's men they could hear their voices now over the sands. Shen nodded,
"Give me your hands."
The occupants of the cart all looked on eagerly as the woman sawed through Jacque's bonds. Speedily Shen turned and freed the hands of each person close to her. Readying her small weapon, she looked back to Jacque and nodded,
"Now."
They stood and leapt towards the front of the cart, and those few tradesmen that Shen had freed eagerly followed. The whole cart erupted with yells and screams of protest and spite as the oriental woman brought down her weapon into the throat of the cart's driver. His co-driver received Jacque's battering fists and the elbows and blows of the other freed men.
With triumphal yells they pushed the man forwards, off the cart, to fall into the road. He sailed through the air with a scream and the cart nearly flipped as it ran over his body. The horses screamed and the reins almost fell from reach as Jacque leapt for them.
Shen stowed her needle-like weapon into her sash belt before drawing her dead man's sword. Now armed, she kicked the driver's twitching corpse from the bench and swiftly took up his seat, waving Jacque to follow,
"Come Squire! Take the blade and free the others, give me the reins!"
He nodded and handed her the leather strap. Turning round he gladly freed his companions. By now the horse-riding raiders had noticed what was transpiring and began aiming towards their cart. Yelling and pointing threateningly at their now escaping chattel.
With a mad smile Shen pulled the reins to the left and directed their cart to drive closer to the other one in the train. Slinger and Club widened their eyes as they turned around. Their passengers were now fighting back as well.
"We've led an example Breton!" Shen cried happily.
Jacque readied the sword and narrowed his brow, yelling in agreement, "Aye!"
Uneasily he began rising higher as they came closer to the other cart. Shen laughed and remarked,
"You're brave squire!"
Jacque however was miles away and hadn't heard her. His body burned with anger and desire. He saw the thief draw his sword from his belt.
'That was a gift to me on my name day from Sir Jean…'
The young squire's lip curled.
"I will not be afraid again…" he whispered.
Ahead of their cart the horses were whinnying and snorting in discontent, behind Jacque the people were crying and waving to the soldiers for rescue. The air became filled with the din of arms now joined, yet Jacque could only focus on getting back his sword.
He shook with resolve and he pushed off the wooden seat with his boots. His mind now made up, as he yelled,
"I will not be afraid again!"
Shen watched as Jacque sailed over head, jumping from their cart towards the other slave filled horse-drawn carriage. With his sword raised high he yelled his battle cry, his voice proud and confident,
"Sir Jean!"
…
When Yurin and the men came to the surface he saw that Raveres had wandered out of the tomb in a straight line. Her horse seemed to be looking at her incredulously. She was almost a hundred yards away, simply staring forwards across the sandy dunes and rocky sea ahead of them.
"My lady!" Yurin cried.
She seemed to finally stop. Slowly she turned her head around, looking at her retainer briefly before turning back towards the sea. Yurin furrowed his brow, and pointed to the men, his voice quiet and pained as he clutched his wet side,
"Well… we… we did what we came to do. Ready the horses."
They nodded and set to their steeds. One of the men, his face dirtied and scratched, asked hesitantly,
"What about the boy?"
Yurin nodded and paused, "Tie him to my horse…"
Without any more words the retainer stepped after his mistress. Passing the stones from the fallen colossus he saw the shimmering steel of her weapon and furrowed his brow. She'd dropped her sword along the way.
Stopping he stooped and picked up the blood and gore covered weapon. Slowing his pace as he approached her, he quieted down, as he asked again,
"My lady?"
Coming along her side he finally saw her face. Her skin was reddened from the sun's touch, but her cheeks were blazing with the added colour of sorrow. Her eyes were glistening and she held her dry, cracking, lips tightly pursed.
"Lady Raveres…"
Her sclera was bloodshot and her violet eyes searched across the horizon line. She remained silent for a full minute, before Yurin offered back her sword. Without moving her head or body she extended her left hand and took back the weapon. After sheathing it the two stood in quiet for several minutes before she spoke.
"When we return…" she exhaled and raised her chin slightly, "I wish for a cask of elvish wine to my chambers, I don't care the cost."
Her voice was hollow and as quiet and meek as the young man had ever heard her speak. Yurin bowed his head,
"That's understandable…"
She looked out the corner of her eye at him and continued, her tone gaining a little more confidence,
"These men are to be paid well, and you shall extend my gratitude to them for their aid."
At this the retainer bowed again. Her voice cooled, becoming even and calm as she began,
"Additionally I want you to draught a letter to the ambassador for that Breton and one for the Duke himself as well. With this letter you shall deliver the heads of his knights, and their mercenaries."
She paused, and held back a breath of spite.
"Tell them what his men have done, and tell them that the knight and squire they killed were distinct men of honour…"
Yurin was staring at the sand making mental notes before he rose to see that she was stopping herself from making any kind of emotional sound, and seemed to physically biting her tongue. Her hands were balled into fists so tightly he could see her forearms shaking from tension.
But before it became any more awkward the retainer broke into the silence,
"I will write everything necessary my lady… Fear not. I know what you would wish said."
She shut her eyes and nodded once, appreciatively, as if a weight had been removed from her shoulders. Watching her penitent face and her grief-stricken body the retainer heard the words of the Breton knight, reminding him; 'Look upon what she has wrought Yurin…'
She was wrathful and proud, and she was also full of spite. But here, Yurin didn't see that. He saw a woman teetering on the edge of something. When she opened her eyes, she saw Yurin's face and immediately steeled her expression, hiding the plain honesty she was bearing earlier.
Almost ashamed that he had seen her in such a way she brought her top lip up and drew in a sharp breath.
"As well, Yurin?"
He nodded, "Aye milady?"
She released her fists and brought her left hand up to point at him,
"After we make our return, you will accompany me to the slave market."
He furrowed his brow, "Milady?"
"In addition to wine I demand soft fingers."
At this he swallowed nervously, "A-aye…"
Turning from gazing across the sand she began the walk back to their horses.
"I'll need you to smooth things with Sadalsuud… Do whatever you need to do, I don't care!"
Her voice began to rise in anger and Yurin immediately felt regretful for having seen her innocent expressions earlier. Now she seemed to be doubling down to make up for the exposure in her figurative armour.
"I plan on getting drunk as much as the Dark Mother would allow, and I shall not be doing it alone."
They were getting closer to the steeds and Yurin nodded in acknowledgement of the men,
"Then we're fucking leaving this sandy hell."
She scoffed as she mounted her horse, "Jaylish…"
"The fucking lying fool…"
Yurin furrowed his brow and risked a question, "Uh… whom might that be, milady?"
She drew her reins through her gauntlet and wrapped them around her hand as she snapped the horses' head up to attention. Shaking her head, she sighed wearily,
"Someone from a different time… a different place."
She smirked, almost all pretention gone, "He loved me once…"
Yurin's face widened in surprise as the party corralled the rider less horses into a train. Setting off at a fair pace they began the long trek back to Al-Daouk. Yurin blinked and looked at his master.
Raveres was looking down, and letting her horse follow the man in front of her, miles away. Her smirk had faded and instead her features had wearied utterly, as she lowered and appeared indescribably morose. Her skin was now looking utterly painful, and Yurin noticed, she hadn't yet removed the arrows from her body…
"Don't those hurt?" he asked, pointing to the heft sticking from her armour. Raveres cringed and let out a heavy breath of pain as she looked at the missile.
"No…" she lied.
Furrowing his brow, he looked towards the men, and spoke in Arabyan,
"Does anyone have a cloak I might give my mistress?"
The men looked at one another before one brought out a light brown rough spun riding hood.
"She'll also be needing aloe oil." one man said.
"By the amphora…" another added.
Yurin silenced the men with a narrow look as he took the offered cloak. Turning back to Raveres he offered her the cloth,
"Please my lady… before you fall ill from the sun."
She shook her head, repeating, "I'm fine."
"Please my lady."
Switching to Arabyan, he announced,
"Stop! We're stopping and I need help to clean my master and set her wounds."
The men, without question, halted their horses. Raveres continued on a few steps before turning,
"What is this? Yurin?"
The retainer began climbing down his horse,
"My lady, there's some shade over here by the cliffs, please let me address those wounds! You need some water and to cover your face, you're going to die before we even reach the city!"
Her arm shivered and she eyed her men with sun-mad rage,
"What? You do not command me!"
She turned her horse and her voice cracked as she faltered, the dark colour of her armour soaking up the unrelenting sunlight beating down across the desert.
"I am Raveres Morthai Naguii!"
Sweat ran down her face in thick drops as she stared back at Yurin. The retainer furrowed his brow and implored,
"My lady… please. Just this once."
He motioned for her to dismount, and he held the cloak up. She sat atop her horse for what seemed like an age, the men quietly eyeing her before she finally spoke again. Her voice was low and once again as innocent as it was before finally admitting,
"It hurts Yurin…"
She shuddered and leaned forwards, "It feels like someone coated my flesh in pitch…"
Waving her down again he nodded,
"I know my lady; we'll get you out of that armour… Get you some water too."
Turning to the nearest man he spoke in Arabyan,
"Your water skin please."
Without a moment of hesitation one of the cavalry men offered the retainer his full, perspiring leather skin. Dismounting with a groan of pain Raveres began walking towards the place shaded by the cliffs that Yurin had indicated. The Arabyan cavalry men quietly spoke among themselves, drinking from their own skins or searching the horizon as Yurin followed after his Druchii master.
…
"Prince Balik! Lead these people and protect them!" The Master of Horse cried.
Slashing a man across his chest and kicking his horse to bolt from under him Balik looked back to the captain and nodded.
"Here! People of Al-Daouk! Rally to me!"
He raised his sword and waved it in a circle, hoping to catch the eyes of the people on foot. One of the carts had upturned and now mercenaries, escaped slaves, and horses were running around in every direction.
Injured men and felled horses cried and writhed in the dust, orphan children wailed, and wounded widows too. The whole of the mess was kicking up a storm of dirt from the road and masking the area in dust clouds.
"Little Breton!" Shen cried.
Having buried the blade of the scimitar into Tanner's head Jacque stared at the corpse he'd made spitefully, before spitting and retrieving his short sword. The oriental woman cried,
"I've two horses! Now come!"
Around them mercenaries, escaped slaves, and Emir Sadalsuud's men were fighting fiercely. Panting and rising from the dead body Jacque looked towards his foreign companion. She nodded her head, imploring him to move.
Since the cart had upended, she'd scurried around the fallen and secured herself a sword of her own, the heavy crude steel blade hung awkwardly at her side, yet she wore it with rough familiarity.
The squire nodded and rose to his feet, jumping over the injured and fallen horses of the mercenary's carriage. She handed off the reins of one of the horses to him and nodded in approval as he took them up, the dry and cracking leather straps and saddle were old, but the horse was young and still full of energy, huffing and snorting with life.
Putting his foot into the horses' stirrup he hefted himself atop the stout Arabyan pony. It was somewhat uncomfortable for the young squire, he was shaken from the carriage's crash, and he had just taken life…
His whole body would have been shaking if he weren't so focused at the moment and he nearly slipped off the saddle on his first jump. He thought it was a small blessing to have mounted the beast at all.
His companion Shen, by contrast, skilfully leapt upwards like a dancer, easily wrapping her lithe legs around the saddle and resting herself atop the beast as naturally as if she were a steppe nomad. Jacque furrowed his brow in surprise. The woman smirked knowingly, before changing her expression,
"Come now young squire, follow me!"
Pulling his reins Jacque furrowed his brow; he thought aloud, nearly protesting, "But…"
She turned her head her face confused, "But what?"
Around them the chaos continued and they began to hear the approaching shouts of the riders from Al-Haikk approaching the fray.
"Make your choice little knight!"
Shaking her head impatiently Shen let out a growl and put spur to flank, making her horse bolt across the sand. Pausing to look around Jacque felt utterly lost. The strange woman rode out of the dusty fighting and seemed bound towards the city of Al-Haikk.
He felt like he had no time, and as the men around him continued to fight he knew it was only a matter of seconds before someone spotted him and tried to fight him from his steed. Despite this he hastily thought, maddened and random ideas spurring through his head,
'There're ships in Al-Haikk… and, I mean, she seemed a friendly one? Perhaps, she could help me home to Bretonnia?'
Then Jacque cringed, 'But, what of the she-elf? M-my horse? Sir Jean's body? What if I went back?'
He looked behind him at the familiar colours of the Al-Daouk men, 'I know the Emir! I know Lady Raveres! I… I ought to continue being…'
He looked back towards the woman now speeding away through the dust,
'She aided me! I… I ought to help her too! I can get her greater help than a commoner; she should come with me to Al-Daouk!'
Ignoring his grief, Jacque focused on putting another before himself. Strangely enough it dissipated any fingers of pain in his chest, and he felt instead an encouraging voice,
'Be knightly'
Furrowing his brow, he dug into his horse, his mind and heart made up, "Wait! Shen!"
…