21 – Second Blood
"Rules of war are a fine enough notion, but watch how long they last once both sides have lost some friends and the blood runs hot." –Cordell of the Golden Legion, Conquests
"A duel? Really?" Imoen asked in a bewildered tone. Of all the crazy things some dirty hermit-woman might say when you bump into her in the woods…
The stranger's glare was icy and even. "Yes really. A duel."
"Uh…did we accidently besmirch your honor or something? If so maybe we can make recompense and…"
"No," the woman interrupted humorlessly. "No honor to besmirch. I've just been traveling through these woods far too long without a good fight or a good meal." She bobbed her head in the direction of Imoen's companions. "So I figure: how about a friendly little match for food, and maybe a little coin. I wager that I could best any of these pathetic little men behind you in a fight. What are they? Your handmaidens?"
"Traveling companions, actually."
"Bah, just pathetic dead weight looks like." She pointed at Xan. "A frail little waif who'd probably be felled by a stiff breeze."
Then to Kivan. "A feral Shilmistan as likely to turn around and bite your hand as do any good in a real fight."
Finally she came to Kagain. "And a half-man over there who's too lazy to heft a shield and block a blow. Look how torn up his armor is. I bet he's good and shredded underneath too. How much did they leave of you after the fight half-man? Probably half a man with a quarter of a dick."
Kagain just chuckled, not riled up in the least.
"No elaborate insults for me?" Imoen asked in a hurt tone.
"I don't duel women," the stranger replied. "You'll have to be content to watch."
"Wagers are fun and all, but it don't look like you have much to bet," Kagain noted. "What are you gonna give us if you lose? That sword and dagger and that castoff hobgoblin armor? Doesn't look like it's worth much."
Hobgoblin armor? Hmm. The woman did seem to be dressed in the same sort of outfit Imoen had often seen on Chill warriors. The horned helmet definitely looked of goblin make, and the armor had the same sort of haphazard stitching and mismatched bits; leather for the most part with a lacquered plate over one shoulder and steel guards at the forearms and shins. In addition the armor seemed a bit ill-fitting, even on the woman's obviously muscular frame.
The stranger snorted. "I'll offer better than that," she said with a sneer. "I'll offer my sword-arm as collateral. It doesn't matter, since none of you have a chance of touching me with a blade."
"Why would we want an arm?" Kagain asked. "We're not that hungry."
The woman rolled her eyes. "My service as a warrior. You're a bunch of armed people traipsing through dangerous woods. I'm sure you're hunting something."
It was hard to tell under the thick beard but Kagain seemed to be smiling. "Just wanted you to say it plain. Now that's an interesting offer indeed."
"Why are you treating this insanity like it's a foregone conclusion?" Xan asked, turning his nose up and away from the strange woman.
"Because I smell a good deal," Kagain replied. "They pop up in odd places sometimes." Turning to the woman he asked: "Now, by 'duel' I'm guessing you mean to first blood. Can't exactly fight you to the death and then collect your services afterwards. And I'm guessing you don't want to risk your life for some hardtack and…how much gold exactly?"
The woman nodded slightly. "Much as I love to turn little dwarf men into little dwarf corpses I didn't have a death-match in mind. And a sum of thirty gold should do."
Kagain inclined his head, and Imoen felt as if she could hear the scales creaking in there, weighing the deal. "Seems reasonable enough," the mercenary said after a beat.
"And a duel to second blood," the woman added.
"What's that mean?"
"The first combatant to inflict two bleeding wounds wins."
Kagain nodded. "Like best two out of three. That could work. Sure."
Xan shook his head in disbelief. "You are really going along with this?" he asked Kagain. "There are so many ways this could be a trick. And so many reasons that this is a terrible idea. We have no healing magic or potions. She could be a bandit scout sent to throw us off guard. Or-"
"Nah," Kagain dismissed all that with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand. "I know an honest deal when I see one. And a bargain."
The woman stomped forward. "Arrogant of you, little man."
Kagain shrugged. "Not going to goad me, if that's your game. And I'll agree to your terms. You get three bags from our stock of rations and thirty gold if you manage to slice me twice, and if I win you fight for us." He reached a hand out. "So what's your name? I'm Kagain, and I'd like to know the owner of that sword-arm."
The woman sheathed her dagger and gripped the dwarf's palm, forcing a wince out of him when she squeezed. "Shar-Teel," she said.
"Well a pleasure doing business with you, Shar-Teel."
Xan sighed. "If we must go through with this insanity at least let me insure that she stays true to the agreement."
"Huh?" Kagain asked the elf.
"A geas," Xan explained, "to insure that she follows her word."
Shar-Teel bristled briefly at that, then shrugged and spat. "Bah, lay on your silly spell if you must, elf. It will make no matter." She pointed the tip of her longsword in his direction. "I've signed my share of mercenary contracts sealed by geases. I'll know if you're casting anything else, so don't even try it."
Holding his hands up Xan inclined his head. "You have my word as a Greycloak. Nothing but a geas to secure our deal."
Well she certainly goes all in, Imoen noted, pondering the strange turn of events. A duel. Well, those two hardheads seem eager enough.
As Xan approached the warrior-woman Kivan watched her cautiously, bow and arrow in hand, though he hadn't drawn the string back yet. It seemed he was intent on making sure this strange woman behaved as well, in his own way. Within striking distance of Shar-Teel and visibly uncomfortable, Xan waved his hands and briefly chanted. The air shimmered around his head as he added the last component of the spell: the command. "If Kagain gives you two bleeding injuries before you can likewise injure him you will become a loyal, fighting member of this group."
There was a matching ripple of energy in front of Shar-Teel's eyes as she nodded.
Oh, I see why Kagain jumped at the deal so quickly, Imoen realized. Shar-Teel had never thought to stipulate how long she would serve them if she lost. Imoen's stomach turned at the uncomfortable notion that this woman might be selling herself into slavery on a wager for some salted beef and a coinpurse.
Still, this woman was bristling with confidence, and the notion that she might lose just hadn't seemed to occur to her. Well, hopefully she'll just win and be on her way. Then it would just be a matter of making sure that Kagain paid with his own damn money and his wounds didn't fester.
Shar-Teel stepped out from under the trees and over to a relatively clear patch of sodden leaves and undergrowth. "This spot should serve well enough," she announced. "Prepare yourself little man." With that she untied a pouch at her belt and dipped a finger in, coming away with a glob of dark purple warpaint that she began to apply to her face. First she drew a small diamond on her left cheek right beside a long scar that ran beneath her eye. In addition to that scar there was a smaller one across her short, sharply pointed chin. Once she was done with the first diamond she started painting over her right eye, tracing a larger diamond shape there that went from her forehead to her cheek and touched the bridge of her sharp, beak-like nose. It was a pattern Imoen recognized from a suit of cards.
For his part Kagain simply adjusted his masked helmet and made sure it was strapped tightly to his chin, stretching a bit before lifting his handaxe from its loop and hoisting his shield. "Nice makeup," he noted without mockery in his voice. "The Queen of Diamonds eh?"
"I plan to be a bit richer when this fight is through," Shar-Teel growled, her weapons slipping from their sheaths again in a blur. She slid into a dueling stance, loose and limber. Her longsword was in her left hand now and the wide-hilted dagger in her right. Xan backed away from the little patch of leaves they seemed to have picked for an arena and Kivan just held onto his bow and silently watched.
"Shall we get to it then?" Shar-Teel asked. "I'll make it quick, and I'll try not to make the scars too deep. I'm sure your flesh is very delicate."
Kagain chuckled and lightly tapped his axe against his battered shield, beginning to circle. "Aye," he said. "Let's."
That was all the invitation Shar-Teel needed. For the briefest moment she tensed and shifted from foot to foot, then with dazzling speed she dashed forward and pounced, her sword a blur as it feinted and then struck, dagger tucked behind her body.
Kagain was a study in contrast; still as stone and unflinching at the sudden speed and fury of his opponent. He only shifted at the last possible moment to catch and repel the woman's sword with his shield. There was a calm but quick economy of motion in the way that he sliced forward with his axe next, and it nearly bit into Shar-Teel's off-hand as she tried to bring her dagger in. The attack forcing her to twist aside and dance around a bit.
Another hack from Kagain made the warrior-woman dodge and circle even more, though she at least managed to make all the hopping back seem graceful. She replied to his axe with sword-blows of her own, and some were barely repelled by the edge of the dwarf's shield as he struggled to turn and keep up. One particularly fierce swipe of her sword forced a grunt out of Kagain and made him stagger back, splinters flying from his shield. Shar-Teel tried to take advantage, pushing in closer and kicking at her opponent's shins and ankles, trying to hook a foot behind and yank him down. The dwarf stayed stubbornly upright though it all. Attempts to batter him with pommel blows and jabbing elbows were shrugged off as well.
They tussled and turned like that for a moment, too close to use their blades decisively. Another shift and turn and slash locked Shar-Teel's longsword in against the underside of Kagain's axe. She tried to slip her dagger in past his shield, but he blocked and it stuck stubbornly into the wood. Before she could yank either weapon away Kagain broke the stalemate by rearing back and delivering a solid headbutt to his opponent's chest, using his armored mask as a weapon.
The blow seemed to drive the wind from Shar-Teel's lungs and sent her staggering back, arms briefly out and open. It was all the opening Kagain needed to slash out with his axe, the blade easily slicing through leather and opening a shallow gash across Shar-Teel's stomach just before she breathed in deeply and brought her guard back up.
As he took a couple of testing steps back Kagain noted: "First blood goes to me." He was panting, though nowhere near as breathless as his opponent seemed to be.
On another woman's face the look Shar-Teel gave next would almost be called a smile, but Imoen couldn't help but see a dangerous beast baring its teeth, and there was nothing but rage in the warrior-woman's eyes. With a furious roar Shar-Teel charged, leaping into the air as she closed the distance with the dwarf. A slash of her sword knocked his axe aside as she left the ground and passed over Kagain's shield, leading with a knee that was aimed at his face. The attack took Kagain by surprise and landed true, the steel of Shar-Teel's leg-guard slamming into Kagain's mask and knocking him backwards, off-balance and flailing. His back hit the ground with a thump and she landed on top, her dagger stabbing down in a flash.
Half-a-breath later Kagain pitched to the side and threw his opponent off, launching to his feet in the same motion. Shar-Teel rolled on the ground and pushed herself up to a standing and then dueling position just as quickly, and just like that they were facing off again. A stream of crimson seeped from a wound at Kagain's shoulder where the dagger had bit between the protective plates.
"I'm going to spill a lot more blood than that, little man!" Shar-Teel hissed between deep gasps for breath. Just as before Kagain watched her evenly, ignoring the taunts and the pain alike. Wordlessly he stepped forward and reengaged.
Soon the combatants were a blur of steel and leather, bodies turning and twisting as wood and blades met again and again. The warrior-woman moved too fast for Imoen to follow most of the time, and when Kagain chose to strike with axe or shield he was quick and efficient as well.
There was a pained grunt from Shar-Teel as they pressed close again and Kagain managed to bash her off-hand with the edge of his shield, giving himself room to push forward. He rushed by her, and as he passed Kagain delivered a backhanded blow with his axe, the blade biting into the lower quarter of Shar-Teel's leather tunic in a chop to her flank. The blow sent bits of leather and droplets of blood flying.
"You scum!" Shar-Teel shouted as she staggered forward, then whirled.
"And that's second-" Kagain began, but his words were cut off and turned to a "Gurk!" when his opponent rammed her sword into his abdomen, through the torn gap in his armor. Imoen gasped in horror when she saw the metal splints on Kagain's back bend and bow slightly just before Shar-Teel pulled back and slipped her blade out. Almost the entire length of the sword was red and dripping.
Oh gods! She ran him through!
Kagain's axe slipped from limp fingers and his hand pressed to his stomach. A little wobble and then he pitched forward and hit the leafy ground face-first.
"Fuck!" Imoen screamed, running to her companion's side. When she reached the dwarf and knelt down she found that he was deathly still. She tried to roll him onto his back but he was heavier than he looked. "Somebody help me!"
Xan cautiously stepped forward, eyes fixed on Shar-Teel, who stood above Imoen and the fallen dwarf, panting hard. The battle-fury was still burning in her eyes. Kivan had an arrow drawn and trained at her head now, the bowstring taut.
"What?" Shar-Teel snarled at the ranger when she noticed, irritated.
"You weren't supposed to kill him!" Imoen yelled. She and Xan had finally managing to roll the dwarf onto his back. Blood welled up in a torrent when they pried Kagain's clenched hand away from the wound and tried to press down hard with strips of linen.
"Gods, I don't think he's breathing!" Imoen shouted franticly.
Shar-Teel's eyes cleared a bit as she looked down at Kagain, seeming to just notice the state he was in. Her face tightened. "Well," she grumbled, "he should have done a better job protecting himself." Defiant as she sounded, the look she gave her blood-drenched sword was not unlike that of a sullen child caught with a stolen cookie.
"He had already won the duel," Imoen protested.
"Bah. Well, if it had been a deathmatch-"
"But it wasn't!"
"Alright, alright!" Shar-Teel snarled. "I won't ask for the thirty gold."
Shaking his head over the still dwarf Xan pushed himself to his feet and straightened his robes. "You certainly will not," the Greycloak stated coldly. "And you will do a great deal more than that. You owe us a grave debt."
"Hmph," was Shar-Teel's only reply, along with a scowl.
"You can't possibly want to take this murderer with us?" Kivan asked.
"As fodder for bandit arrows?" Xan replied. "Certainly."
"Like I'd-"" Shar-Teel began.
"You lost the duel," Xan sharply interrupted. "We had an agreement. And you're not capable of objecting now."
"I most certainly wo…wo…" A puzzled look came over the warrior-woman's face as she found herself unable to complete the word she was trying to say. "I most certainly will no…will…argh!" Her face twisted, struggling with the magical compulsion she had agreed to just a few minutes ago. "Bah. Very well!" She spat. "But if we meet any of these bandits you're talking about I'll show them that I'm far more than fodder."
Kivan shook his head. "She'll stab us in the back," he warned.
"She would love to, no doubt, but she can't," Xan pointed out. "She's a 'loyal member' of our group now. Not murdering us is implied in that statement."
"I don't like this one bit," Imoen interjected. "We came here looking for Ashura and Garrick's trail, not strange hermit-women to make into our slaves."
Xan shook his head slightly. "She did it all herself. It was her full, hot-headed idea from start to finish. Don't be so dramatic."
"Yeah, it's okay little girl," Shar-Teel added, finally sheathing her weapons and sticking her nose high in the air. "I did agree to all this. Not to mention that as a 'loyal member' of your group I'm now entitled to an equal share of any loot right? If we do any of the pillaging that mercenary companies usually get up to that is."
"Quite presumptuous of you," Xan noted.
"Am I a 'member' of your little band or a slave?" Shar-Teel asked. "I don't think the geas mentioned the word 'slave.'"
Xan groaned. "I don't really care. If you want a little gold for being arrow-fodder go ahead I suppose."
A deep, choking gasp sounded between them, making everyone save Kivan flinch and step back. The gasp was quickly followed by a pained groan. Shuddering a bit, Kagain clutched at his bandaged stomach and rolled fully onto his back, Imoen and Xan once again rushing in and hovering over him. They placed their hands on the dwarf's shoulders as he took a few more deep, labored breaths.
"Not dead yet," Shar-Teel noted coldly. "Is he about to shit himself and pass?"
"No," Kagain managed after a moment, his breathing ragged but rhythmic and stable now. "He's not." That reply made Shar-Teel's eyes grow wide. When he finally caught his breath the dwarf growled up at Imoen and Xan. "Would you two gaping morons kindly tie these bandages on? And get me some water? Ale would be better, but I know we're out of it."
They quickly complied. Imoen was surprised by how little blood leaked through once more linen was tied on and how stable the dwarf seemed to be. Had she just imagined seeing him run through? "How are you still alive?" she asked him eventually. She just had to.
He shrugged a bit by way of response. "Dwarven endurance," was all he said.
Shar-Teel stood off a bit while they tended to Kagain, fingers on the hilt of her sword and eyes focused on the dwarf. Eventually he took notice and looked over at her. "You're worried I'm going to jump up and start swinging my axe at you right?" He wobbled to his feet and stretched a bit. "Don't."
"Thought I'd killed you," Shar-Teel stated, cold and even.
"My mistake for letting my guard down while you still had the battle-lust about you," Kagain replied. "No hard feelings. Business is business." He walked forward slowly, and added: "Was unconscious for a bit, but when I came to I heard you say something about an equal share of the loot." He shook his head. "That ain't gonna fly." The tall woman and the dwarf locked eyes. "Way I see it you owe us a bit of a debt. Especially to me."
Her nostrils flared and Shar-Teel gripped the hilt of her sword a bit tighter. "If you're thinking what I believe you are, little man..." Steel gleamed again as the sword slid partway out. Kivan's bow creaked.
There was a puzzled look on Kagain's face and he cocked his head. "What?" Then came a look of realization. "Oh!" He shook his head. "No, I'm thinking you owe us a few dead enemies before we cut you any sort of share. In exchange for stabbing me. No uh…" he grimaced and actually looked uncomfortably awkward for the first time Imoen could think of "…carnal stuff implied. Strictly talking 'bout the killing and looting business."
The warrior-woman gave the dwarf a slow nod.
"Now," Kagain went on, "I won't be a complete ass and have you work all the risk with no reward. But let's say…" He thought for a beat, "you put ten kills under your belt, then I'll call the debt repaid and you get an even share. Deal?"
"Ten dead bodies?" Shar-Teel grinned. "As long as they aren't as tough to put in the ground as you it sounds like a fair enough deal." There was a gleam in her eyes that may well have been respect. They both walked a pace forward and after a careful look at their respective weapons their hands clasped, then shook.
Well that was the strangest courtship I've ever seen, Imoen thought to herself.
"I take it you're fighting Tazok and his crew?" Shar-Teel asked mildly. "No other bandits in these parts."
The others nodded.
"Fair enough. I was trying to avoid them myself, and make my way to Iraebor, but that damn basilisk nest was in the way. But if you want me to kill bandits I'll kill bandits."
Before they broke the meager camp Shar-Teel had made and set off the warrior-woman insisted that Imoen and only Imoen tend to her wounds, especially the gash on her posterior. They stitched both cuts with a bit of string, then wrapped bandages around before finally begining to make their way through the forest one again.
Once they had figured on a good path to take that would skirt the basilisk nest and started trudging down the game trails towards the west Imoen slipped in beside her new companion and started talking. "So," the younger girl asked. "I just have to know. How exactly did you end up out here in the middle of the forest with nothing but your weapons and some hobgoblin armor?"
"None of your damn business, little girl," Shar-Teel replied. "That's how." Along with the terse answer she gave Imoen a gentle pat on the shoulder and a smile that almost seemed friendly. Or maybe the beast was baring her teeth once again.
"Uhm. Okay…" What a strange woman.
With a satisfying crack the wood split in two and Ashura's axe bit the chopping-block below. Like most everything that sat in the shadow of Tazok's great war tent, the big round stump had a sinister aspect to it. There were dark ochre and black stains on the edge of the block. Perhaps it had simply once been used to slaughter wild game, but Ashura doubted that.
For today the block served a more benign purpose. Wiping sweat from her brow, Ashura lifted another hunk of poplar, set it on the stump and raised the axe above her head. She had a lot of firewood left to go through before eveningfeast. Her cumbersome cloak lay nearby, and earlier in the hot afternoon she had shed her thick leather tunic, working beneath the sun in sturdy woolen breeches, moccasins and her top-wrap. All the while she had wished that the bandit quartermaster had provided some sort of hat.
"Heh," a nearby voice chuckled after the wood split in two. "Imagining that's somebody's head I take it?"
"You read my mind," Ashura replied without looking up. An adjustment and two more chops, and then the wood was quartered. She recognized the man's voice. Bloody Knott again.
"My head?" the Calishite bandit guessed.
Ashura shrugged and kicked the firewood off the block and into a nearby pile. "Nah. You're pretty low on my kill-list. Close to the bottom."
Knott narrowed his eyes and bristled a bit at that.
"At the top of the list is this big guy in spiked armor. Then there's this necromancer who likes to paint his face. Next is-"
"Not exactly the proper reply, recruit," Knott interrupted, taking a step forward. Ashura finally turned and looked over at him, axe in hand and leaning against her shoulder. He ignored the weapon. "What you're supposed to say is 'No sir,' followed by a little salute. You may have joined our little band but you're still on the lowest rung, and you'd best start acting like it."
"Or what?" Ashura snapped. "Gonna threaten me with your belt-buckle again? Hells, how about you pull it off and whip it out right here?" She gave her axe a significant look. They shared a glare for a moment, Knott's lip twitching and his finger on the hilt of his sword.
"What's going on here?" a deep voice snarled. They looked over towards its source and their eyes both widened with surprise. A few paces away stood an imposing hobgoblin, equal parts tall and broad with a scarred, bearded face, a fine red cloak over his shoulders and a coat of scaledmail armor.
Knott's hand flew up to his forehead in a salute. "Ardenor, sir! I was just trying to explain the importance of military discipline to the new recruit."
Ardenor Crush rolled his eyes. "Looked more like a dick-waving contest to me. And for the record hers is bigger." He inclined his head towards the west side of the camp. "Clear out Knott."
The bandit shot Ashura a glare before stomping off. As he walked away the hobgoblin chief turned his attention to Ashura. "As for you, recruit. I didn't see a salute."
"Sorry sir," Ashura said, lifting her hand in a half-assed gesture.
Ardenor shook his head slightly. "Knott had a point. You seem to have a bit of an attitude."
"I thought bandits were supposed to have attitude, sir."
The hobgoblin's eyes narrowed. "Do not use that word. Got it? That's one of the outsider's words for us. 'Bandit,' 'outlaw,' 'brigand,' 'raider.' That's what they say. Here we are a brotherhood in arms waging a campaign. We need to be able to rely on each other, back to back against our enemies."
"I'm your brother, huh?"
"You are, yes." There wasn't the slightest hint of humor in Ardenor's voice. "And the youngest member of our little family. Obey your elders, without question. There's no time for questions on the battlefield, and even the effort to neatly arrange all of our supplies is part of that battle."
"Knott seems like…"
"Someone inclined to abuse that sort of authority?" Ardenor guessed. "Aye. It's why he's not given much to begin with. You two are both under Safana's command, and she'll sort things out if there's a real problem. But I'd prefer no real problems. No disharmony in my camp. Settle things with Knott, in a bedroll or the training ring, I don't care. Just make sure the next time I see you two you're not at each other's throats."
Ashura's eyes narrowed. "A bedroll?"
The hobgoblin shrugged. "Sometimes when there's tension between men and women that's the issue," he stated mater-of-factly. "I suppose you'd prefer the training yard. Just remember: you need to learn to fight with people like Knott. Don't beat the tar out of him. Compete, learn and try to make some sort of bond. That's an order."
Ashura nodded. "Yes sir," she said with a slightly firmer salute. It seemed enough for Crush, who nodded and walked off.
According to camp gossip and what Ashura had seen of him Ardenor Crush was an interesting character. He had an easy, commanding presence and a shrewd way of assessing things that reminded her a bit of Captain Kagain. There were whispers that he was not a hobgoblin at all, but had once been a human who was magically reincarnated into hobgoblin form. Safana insisted that that was as much of a bullshit story as the one about Khosann killing ten men with a single hammer blow.
"Men just aren't comfortable with the notion of a hob who's smarter than them," Safana had pointed out.
Once all the firewood was chopped Ashura slipped her leather tunic back on and carried all that she could stack in her arms from the woodpile to the mess tent. The evening cookfires would be starting up soon. In name she and Garrick were bandits now, but in practice 'day laborers' would be a better description. Really it was little different from her life in Candlekeep, right down to laundering fresh linens and beating rugs.
Early on Garrick had gotten out of the more grueling physical work when some of the crew noticed his singing voice. Safana had placed a pilfered lute in his hands and set him up entertaining the troops who lounged near the mess tent, occasionally giving him more menial tasks when needed. Ashura wasn't sure if she should be jealous or pity him. The lad had a decent repertoire of songs, poems and tales, but every time she passed by he was wearing his voice out delivering an up-tempo version The Dryad and the Gargoyle. It seemed the bandits kept requesting that song over and over again.
It was the song he was singing at the moment in fact, perched on an oak bench and strumming through some of the last verses while a company of hobgoblins and a few humans laughed and clapped along. The moment Garrick finished Ashura handed him a wineskin and he drank deep before giving her a thankful nod.
"Your voice sounded a bit raw," Ashura said.
Another nod. "Yeah," Garrick whispered. "Credus kept requesting that damn song all afternoon. He's like a little kid." He turned his head when someone on his other side tapped his shoulder.
"Now now, bard," Safana purred. "No complaining. You've got it easy compared to your partner here."
Ashrua shrugged slightly. "I'd rather chop firewood than entertain Credus. And the work's been easy enough."
"We'll have to find you something more challenging then," Safana said with a mischievous grin, reclining next to Garrick. The bard offered her the wineskin and she gave him an appreciative nod before taking a sip. As silenced fell over them for a time Safana's eyes drifted to the great domed structure at the center of the camp. Ashura had noticed that a few times before; whenever she was idle Safana seemed to closely watch Tazok's tent.
The dome did certainly seem to draw the eye, ringed as it was with piles of chests and assorted treasure, along with the bloodstained skeletons of the ogre's former playthings. Perhaps Safana was simply being wary and watching for Tazok. Everyone great and small throughout the camp seemed terrified of the ogre, scurrying away whenever he appeared. Thankfully he seemed to spend most of his time sequestered in his tent.
Noticing that she was being watched, Safana looked over and gave Ashura a friendly little smile and a wink.
As the shadows grew longer the smell of bubbling stew drew more people to the rows of benches by the mess tent, the air lively with the song of crickets and tongues clucking with gossip. The name 'Tevan' seemed to be repeated more than anything. From what Ashura could gather he had been the leader of a large band that should have reported back to the camp by now. She had a feeling that she knew Tevan and his party's fate; a subject best avoided with her new companions.
Generally the humans kept to one half of the informal gathering area and the hobs kept to the other, though they mixed here and there in the spaces between. No gnolls took part in the meals, sticking to their own side of the camp. It seemed the dog-men weren't too big on cooking their food, and seeing some of the things they ate tended to turn a human's stomach. In addition to eating raw and sometimes humanoid prey the gnolls just weren't generally sociable, and the males seemed to barely even tolerate each other. Ashura had already seen one fight break out, two of the dog-men stirring up clouds of dust as they grappled in the dirt and bit at each other's necks until they were both bloody. It seemed the creatures were kept around and tolerated for their size and strength, but just barely.
Gradually Safana's little crew gathered about her, wooden stew-bowls and cups in hand. The gruel they ate was washed down with the heavily watered wine that seemed to be the common drink in the camp, but as twilight darkened to night and the bowls were put away the bandits brought out casks of rum. Once again Garrick was beset with requests, one jaunty tune following another as cups clinked and the liquor went down.
"Wish when I started here I'd known I could get outa the usual drudgery if'n I could play an instrument," Credus jokingly complained as Garrick strummed away. "I'd've shown off me musical talent then and there."
"Musical talent?" Safana asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Aye," Credus replied with a laugh, tilting his hips and letting out a long, drawn-out fart. "Quite the horn player aren't I?"
Safana rolled her eyes and preemptively fanned the air in front of her face. "Your only talent, it seems."
Although Ashura tried to take careful sips of the throat-scalding drink that kept filling her cup she soon found her vision swimming and her head bobbing a bit. At some point one of the bandits joined Garrick with a fiddle. Soon heads were swaying and raucous voices were drowning out Garrick's as the bandits sang along to some bawdy tune about a satyr's adventures, followed by an even louder song about drunken dwarves.
This was only their third night in the camp, but it seemed there was always a bit of a party going on in the evenings here, at least among the off-duty bandits. Before someone refilled her rum Ashura found her feet and turned away from the little gathering, making her way towards the darkened tents. There were a lot of chores she'd be put to early in the morning, and she had no desire to stumble through them with a hangover.
Garrick stood and excused himself as well, ignoring the jokes some of the men made about 'following yer girlfriend everywhere.' One of the other men shouted 'Go easy on him Ash!' and Credus made one more request for The Dryad and the Gargoyle, which the bard also ignored.
As the voices faded and they found themselves alone and walking through relative darkness Garrick leaned in close. "I've been meaning to ask," he began in a low voice. "Ash? Is that really your name?"
She turned and gave him a long look before replying. "It's short for Ashura. Ashura Adrian of Candlekeep, if you have to know. Didn't mean to deceive you or anything."
Garrick gave her a puzzled look. "So why the alias?"
Ashura glanced around to make sure they were truly alone, then leaned in and whispered. "Because there's a bounty on my head. People have been trying to kill me ever since I left home, and I have no idea why."
"Home? Wait. Wow!" Garrick's face brightened. "You grew up in Candlekeep? In the great library?"
She nodded and gave him a weak smile. "I'll tell you some of the stories I picked up there, if you like. Just please don't tell anyone who I am or where I'm from okay?"
"Your secret's safe with me." A thoughtful look crossed Garrick's face. "Hm. So are you some sort of long-lost princess or something?"
"Ha. That's exactly what Imoen thought when she found out about the bounties." Ashura shrugged. "Truth is I have no idea."
Garrick frowned and looked away.
"What…" Ashura began before she caught on. "Oh." She reached out and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "She's still alive Garrick. I know it."
"Really?" he asked, skeptical.
"I just know." It was the truth. Imoen was alive out there, somewhere. She simply knew it, the same way that she knew that her feet were on the ground and that her head was swimming from the rum.
"Someone's still alive huh?" a silky voice asked from the darkness. "And I'm guessing it's not Teven."
Ashura whirled and balled her fists. There in the shadow of a nearby hut stood Safana. The Calishite took a few steps forward, distant firelight gleaming off of her light brown hair. Both Garrick and Ashura stood in sullen silence for a while, waiting. "What?" Safana asked quietly. "Not going to tell me who you were talking about?"
Silence.
"Then I suppose I'll play the guessing game. One of our largest raiding parties led by a high ranking Talon hasn't reported back, you see. Last we heard from them they were near Peldvale, where my men found your wrecked wagon. Just a hunch but I'm going to guess that you were fleeing a battle with Teven and his crew, and you were probably happy to learn that the battle didn't end well for our side. So yes, your friend, who I'm guessing was part of your mercenary company, may still be alive. How did I do?"
When they didn't reply Safana stepped in closer, her voice pitched low, conspiratory. "As I keep saying, you two have been very lucky. Be glad that no one but little old me's put two and two together. The men tend to be somewhat forgiving when taking conscripts after a little scuffle, but if they knew that you two had helped wipe out an entire company of their companions…well…"
After a glare from Ashura the bandit-woman raised her hands in a placating gesture. "That's not a threat, mind you," she went on. "I just hope you appreciate that I'm not going to say a word."
"Why not?" Ashura asked suspiciously.
Safana leaned even closer. Her breath was sweet with the scent of orange peels, along with rum. "Because I need men who owe more loyalty to me than they do to Tazok and the rest. You two are fresh, and don't seem particularly eager to devote yourselves to our little army. And you owe me a great deal. Most of my men were caravan guards who joined up the same way, and they are quiet loyal to me."
"Men huh?" Ashura noted.
The Calishite's eyes twinkled as she reached out and traced a finger lazily across Garrick's chest. The young man tried to stand still and firm, but Ashura guessed that he was blushing like a maiden in the darkness. "Well," Safana cooed, pressing up against Garrick, "men can be so much fun to play with." With her head against the bard's chest she turned and locked eyes with Ashura. "You seem to be immune to my charms. We can still work well together though, I think. Favors for favors."
Ashura tilted her head forward, half a nod.
Her body completely pressed to Garrick now, Safana turned her eyes up to his, lips by his chin. "And I'm sure you'll appreciate my favors as well."
"Uh…" the lad stammered.
"We'll talk again later." With that Safana disengaged from their conspiratory little huddle, turned and slowly strutted off. Garrick's eyes were fixed on her until she vanished behind a tent.
"What a strange woman," he finally managed, throat a bit dry.
"She seems simple enough to me," Ashura noted.
Garrick gave her a curious look.
"What? Silke never leaned in against you like that and told you a secret in a husky whisper? Say, just before she asked you to do her a big favor like 'go search of mercenaries' or 'help me with these bags'?"
Garrick shook his head. "Not like that." There was a thoughtful look on his face then. "Well, not quite like that."
"Try not to do all your thinking with Little Garrick, okay? It's obviously what she wants."
"What? I'm not…well…" As he stammered Garrick glanced down and then noticeably shifted so that the front of his pants was facing away from her.
Shaking her head Ashura gently boxed her companion on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it." Perhaps it was the rum, but at the moment she had a sudden urge to take the poor flustered lad aside somewhere and see if she could work the fluster out of him, maybe beat Safana to the punch. But no, she had made a promise to Imoen. Besides, she might just end up flustering the poor guy some more. Seemed like something they'd both regret. In silence the two made their way to the tent Safana and her men had claimed, going to their bedrolls side by side.
That night Ashura dreamed that the camp was on fire, walls of flame bright and high and billowing in every direction. She stood in the eye of the firestorm, covered in soot and blood and sweat, two swords raised high in the air. Somewhere in the flames she kept catching glimpses of the leering skull with its halo of tears, and from that strange flickering symbol an endless peal of laughter emanated.
She laughed right back into the flames.
Author's Note: When I was originally sketching this story out in my head Kagain was going to die in the duel with Shar-Teel, but 'win' on a technicality. Whenever I recruit Shar-Teel in the game I tend to instantly replace the warrior who defeats her with her, so the other warrior dying seemed like a good explanation for that sort of party-shifting.
When I finally got around to writing the passage Kagain had sort of become a combination of Zaeed Massani from Mass Effect and Wolverine, and I realized he was just too tough to go out that way.