35 – A Perfect Plan
"To seek revenge with boiling blood will only scald your veins." –old duergar proverb
Drawing in a deep breath of cool morning air, Ajantis stood proud and surveyed the forested hills. They seemed to roll on forever, accentuated by craggy rock-faces here and there above plunging gorges. A wild and beautiful country really; the Cloakwood. They would have all appreciated it more if the land wasn't constantly trying to kill them. That and the urgent mission.
Turning from his spot at the peak of the hill, Ajantis noticed that Xan was out of breath once again, trying to scramble his way up the path of moss and roots and stones. The big squire bent down, and offered a hand, which Xan looked at for a moment before carefully accepting. It took almost no effort to haul the thin elf up to the summit. He made sure Xan was steady on his feet, giving him a broad smile before letting go.
Xan mouthed a very low "My thanks," and Ajantis nodded.
"Pleased to help you along, upon this righteous path." Early on the squire had been uncertain about the dour elf, but learning his sad story had softened Ajantis' heart a bit. Tortured and helpless in the dark for an unknown length of days or tendays. It was enough to make a sad jangle of nerves out of anyone. And Ajantis figured that if he kept offering a helping hand the elf might leave his shell eventually. Long journeys full of hardships had their way of forging steady comradery, Ajantis had found, on the road with other squires under Keldorn's watchful eyes.
Xan shook his head and snorted slightly. "A righteous path? I am here because my nation does not mine iron. As simple as that."
A frown crept across Ajantis' face. "Well, serving one's nation is a noble task."
Xan's head shook a bit more. "If you only knew how hollow your convictions sounded." He turned his back and trudged towards an open area beneath the trees, where the druids had already sat down to rest, the brown wolf lounging by one of Faldorn's bare feet and Takiyah on the other side.
The frown on Ajantis' face tightened. Long journeys full of hardships sometimes forged comradery, but other times they just made mismatched traveling companions hate each other more and more. Ajantis turned back to the path, but the woman was the next one climbing the hill. A very doubtful source of 'comradery' there.
Still, he tried. Reaching down and bending, Ajantis offered Shar-Teel his hand. "M'lady." She was sweating and huffing, something he had noticed a lot on steep hikes. Despite all her speed and fury Shar-Teel seemed to have next to no endurance.
To his surprise she took his hand without hesitating or complaining, though she seemed to make a game of squeezing with all her strength as he hauled her up. When she released her grip and Ajantis winced and rubbed his hand Shar-Teel gave a hearty laugh. That laugh was starting to wear on him; the booming 'Ha!' the foul-mouthed woman let out constantly, usually because someone else was in pain.
Ajantis slips and falls while trying to climb over a massive log. "Ha!"
Xan's boots that he carefully cleaned with a cantrip that morning sink calf-deep into mud. "Ha!"
Ajantis' sword pommel disturbs a wasp's nest and he flees, enduring several stings. "Ha!" And so on.
"Glad you're finding ways to amuse yourself," Ajantis muttered.
She slapped him hard on the shoulder and his armor rattled. "You've got to enjoy the little things," she said through her clenched teeth. "Especially when you're dirty and homeless and wandering through the woods."
"We follow a righteous path," Ajantis repeated. As if saying it enough times would make it so.
Shar-Teel spat. "Follow a fool pair of elves with death-wishes, more like."
"This organization of brigands must be rooted out and crushed."
A shrug. "Suppose we can find common cause there. I'm always up for a fight."
"A good cause-"
"Like I give a fuck," Shar-Teel interrupted. "Any fight'll do." She tapped the hilt of her sword. "If it bleeds I can kill it. If it wasn't for that elf and his damned geas I'd try my sword on you right now."
Ajantis furrowed his brow. "My lady-"
"And that puffed-up talk just makes me want to gut you more." The grip on Shar-Teel's sword-hilt tightened and her knuckles went white.
"Ought to spar," Kivan grunted as he passed them, not sparing either warrior a glance.
Ajantis grimaced, but it quickly turned to a pondering look, and then a smile. He reached for his sword. "Now that's the most sensible thing I've ever heard him say."
"Or the only thing," Shar-Teel muttered.
"You're always talking about fighting." Ajantis undid his swordbelt and slipped the sheathed weapon from it. "How about we put your skills to the test? The civilized way."
Brow creasing, Shar-Teel did not quite seem to follow. "Are you undressing or something?"
Shaking his head, Ajantis tied the belt back. "This is how I'd spar with my tutors and fellow squires when we were on the road and no blunted swords were available. Swords tied in their scabbards."
"How bloody useless."
Ajantis lifted his hand-and-a-half sword, scabbard and all, and after tying a knot he gave it a few swings around his head. "Are you going to talk all day or fight?" he asked with a smirk. That got her moving.
Shaking his head, Xan sat on the leaves and watched as the two warriors turned and twisted, their faces strained and their sheathed swords hammering away at each other. He looked over at Kivan. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
The wild elf shrugged slightly. "Out on the trail things always grow tense. Sometimes sparring between the hunters lets the tension out."
"Perhaps," Xan said uncertainly, "but is it not also possible that someone will take a bad beating and just get angrier at the other?"
"Yeah. That happens sometimes."
Xan rolled his eyes, then fixed his gaze on Ajantis. Come on, you big stupid oaf. Loose gracefully.
Every other swing or so the woman would let out another sharp "Ha!"
Did she know how much it annoyed him? Was that why? The laughter grew louder when Ajantis grunted and stumbled a bit, his hands aching from holding off her fierce blows. By Helm she was strong, and a fair bit faster than Ajantis too.
Still, just as he had expected, the slashes were a little clumsier now than when they had started just a few minutes ago. She had terrible endurance, and a fighting-style focused on throwing all the killing force out at once. A paper tiger, old master Keldorn would have called her.
Even winded she was still a skilled fencer though, keeping her body turned and her feet always in motion. She dodged and danced, anticipating each slash he made. Still, would she anticipate his next trick?
Ducking past a stab of Shar-Teel's sword, Ajantis saw an opening. He flung his own weapon forward and then flipping it in the air between them, catching it by the sheathed blade. In the same motion he used the superior reach of his weapon, slipping the cross of its guard behind the hilt of Shar-Teel's blade and yanking.
The sudden, unexpected move had the desired effect: prying Shar-Teel's sword from her hand and flinging it away as Ajantis gripped the inverted blade and jabbed. The pommel of his bastard sword slammed into Shar-Teel's face, and she stumbled back, dark blood pouring from her nose. The look of shock she wore quickly shifted to something deeply savage.
It had all been reflex, the technique drilled into him through relentless practice. Perhaps he had gone too far though.
"Sorry, I-" Ajantis began, and then she was a blur right against him and he was tumbling backwards. Steel clanged as their armor collided, and he took the worst of it, the wind knocked from his lungs and the air replaced by stabbing pins. He tried to struggle, but she had him locked against the earth, her thighs a vice, one hand pinning his wrists. And her other hand…
He looked over, coughing and catching his breath, to the gleam of naked steel in the sunlight. The dagger's tip was a hairbreadth from his neck, and when he looked up there was murder in her eyes. Her lips twitched and then she sat back, pulling the dagger away and snapping it curtly into its sheath. "I win," she growled, wiping her bloody nose with the back of her hand and standing up.
It took Ajantis some time to catch his breath and rise as well, clutching his sword tightly.
That had been the work of the geas; he was sure of it. If she hadn't been magically compelled to be loyal she would have opened his throat right then and there. One hand rubbing the front of his neck, Ajantis glanced over at Xan. The elf had his palm to his face, shaking his head.
Perhaps it would be best to demand that the elf lift his enchantment right here and now. The woman was evil, and more importantly she was dangerous. To all of them. It could all be settled right now, with a duel to the death. It seemed that it would come to that, and best to face it here rather than be stabbed in the back.
Ajantis jumped when he felt a firm hand smack him on his rump. He turned, clutching the hilt of his sword, and his eyes met Shar-Teel's again. She had found a cloth and pressed it to her nose, though beneath the linen there seemed to be a hint of a smile. "Nice fighting there," she said. Another smack and Ajantis shuddered once again. "Rematch any time you like." Then she turned and walked away.
Or perhaps it had not been the geas after all. By Helm, that woman was confusing! Or was this just what comradery looked like with people who are not trained knights?
Faldorn had stood as well, arms stretching above her head, and the rest of her little pack were getting to their feet . "I hope we're all done strutting and posturing," she said with a cold glance at the two warriors. "From here on it will be best to make no noise." She pointed at the rolling hills. "We should reach the Black Talon fort by early afternoon."
"The knob on that oak tree that looks suspiciously like a nose." Coran called it just as he was drawing his bowstring back and Imoen leaned forward and squinted. It just seemed like a dot to her, if she was even looking at the right place in the wall of trees on the far side of the field. The bow rattled and the string twanged, the arrow arcing slightly and sailing on the wind. It seemed to strike the blurry little smudge of wood that Imoen guessed was the oak, right at one of the gnobby spots, black fletching quivering for a moment.
Imoen shook her head, then drew an arrow of her own. "The fencepost on the far right." She pointed with the arrow, then knocked it and took aim. A twang, and then steel sunk into wood with a satisfying thunk. She smiled, and now it was Coran's turn to shake his head slightly.
"Quite a competent shot, but not a challenging one. You've a ways to go before you'll be able to put an arrow through a moving wyvern's eye."
"Ya, well if you hadn't noticed I'm using a shortbow. Not to mention that if I show off and shoot an arrow way out there I'll have a long hike to retrieve it."
Coran chuckled. The other three were resting in the shade of a broad willow nearby, enjoying the traditional midday picnic here at the edge of the Cloakwood. It had been a nice journey north, all told, and Imoen was going to miss the horses they had left stabled at the Friendly Arm Inn. Sore as her backside had gotten at times, the mounts had more than made up for it when they allowed them to simply gallop away from two separate xvart ambushes, kicking dust in the little blue creature's faces.
Not fighting random monsters every ten steps; now that was the way to travel! Unfortunately the Cloakwood had no roads and was notoriously hilly. She had liked her horse: a smallish gelding with a sweet temperament that she'd named 'Trotty.' Hopefully he'd be waiting when they got back.
"How about this then," Coran offered. "I'll retrieve the arrows if you actually challenge yourself."
"Generous of you." She plucked another arrow from her quiver. "So what would count as a challenge?"
He pointed to a nearby spot in the treeline, not quite as distant as his earlier shot. "One of those trees. I'll wager even a shortbow can reach them, if you arc it right."
Imoen shook her head, but drew the string back and aimed for the clouds. "That pine in the middle." Holding her breath, she loosed. It was a high, magnificent arc. Shame it fell well short of the trees, vanishing in the tall grass and wildflowers.
"Too high," Coran said, his tone friendly and helpful. "You can't simply aim for the sky and hope for the best. At least not in archery." He stepped in behind her, drawing another arrow from her quiver and placing it in her hand.
"So what do you do?" Imoen asked. "Complex geometry in your head?"
A friendly chuckle. "Hardly. You just have to picture the arc in your mind's eye, and adjust accordingly." He was real close behind now, and as she aligned the flights of her arrow with the string he placed a gentle hand behind each of her arms, making little adjustments to her pose. "You have the breathing right, and a good stance. You just need to grip the bow here…" He guided her fingers up a smidge. "And turn your shoulders just a bit, like this."
Ah, so that was his game! So bloody obvious. The old 'Let me show you how to take a proper warrior's stance, and oh, if I press against your bum a bit and get a little handsy that's just part of it' routine. Fuller had done that one once, on the premise of teaching her 'swordwork.'
On the other hand, the warm presence behind her was nice and reassuring, and to Coran's credit he was being gentle and only guiding her arms. Maybe he was actually starting to learn restraint. She smiled and let him make his silly little adjustments. What's the harm? Though, if he starts with some 'You must be gentle with the bowstring, like you're caressing a lover' hogwash he's going to get a smack.
Holding her breath, Imoen imagined the arc of the arrow's flight, tilting her bow down just a hair. She let the breath out and when her lungs were empty she let go. When the arrow reached the end of its flight it plunged between two tree-trunks and disappeared into the woods. "Nice," Coran said with a reassuring smile, and Imoen had to agree. She'd missed the pine by a stride or so, but the arrow had reached the trees at least. Really, she was surprised the shortbow could make such a shot at all.
Stepping around beside her, Coran casually held his bow out and planted an arrow. "The broad branch of the oak I hit before, on the right side."
"So. A redhead and a brunette huh?"
Coran cringed just as the arrow flew, and it landed far short of the trees. Nicely timed! Glad to know that he actually can miss.
"A what now?" Coran asked.
"The two prostitutes that were in your room," Imoen said matter-of-factly, smirking.
Coran shrugged, looking uncomfortable just briefly before trying one of his disarming smiles. "They happened to be in front of Feldpost's. And it had been a long, lonely trip."
"Now, the one woman's hair wasn't quite as black as Ashura's. You don't see hair that dark very often. And I'm a bit more on the auburn side. The redhead looked like more of a freckly ginger."
A hearty laugh, and now the salty look had fully returned to Coran's face. He met her eyes. "True. You caught me and I won't deny it. They were but pale imitations of two far greater beauties, but when perfection slips your fingers you must make do."
Imoen made a face and found she didn't quite have a response to that. Her eyes shifted away. Darn. She had been trying to get a rise out of him, and now she was the one blushing.
Soft laughter rumbled from the elf. "My dear, if you think that you can embarrass me then you haven't been paying attention." He turned. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some arrows to retrieve."
She watched him saunter off through the deep grass, about puffed up like a peacock. Can't be embarrassed, that was for sure. And now, like it or not, the image of him swinging out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a quiver came to mind and seemed to be indelibly etched there. Bold look on his face, slender, hairless body all covered in tattoos. Despite the mortal peril he had looked like he was posing for an especially randy portrait of a swashbuckler.
It would have been a funny sight if not for the very real battle going on. Shame there always seemed to be one of those.
After all the buildup and travel, the fortress in the Cloakwood was a bit underwhelming. Two rings of upright logs, filed sharp at the top; one crowning a craggy hill and the other sitting on the low ground beneath. The separate rings were linked by a walled-in path, and a broad moat surrounded them both. Tall buildings rose above the walls, little smears of smoke climbing from the chimneys, and a pair of guards leaned against the only gate at the end of a rickety bridge on the low ground. The smoke and the guards were the only signs of activity, and the simple walls were not designed to be manned by archers.
Faldorn called it a 'great scar upon the land,' though there seemed to be little greatness about it to Xan. He had seen countless more impressive forts in his time. The druidess ranted a bit more, waving her sharpened fingernails at the fortress, and the next thing Xan knew she had shifted into a raven and fluttering away. Hopefully she was scouting.
With a sigh Xan shook his head. The group of savage humans were better allies than none, but it was like trying to herd a pack of wild dogs most of the time. You never know when they may turn and bite you, or more likely just catch some scent and run off while you call after impotently.
A pack of wolves, literally at times. At twilight the day before, while Xan and his companions had set up camp, the druids had vanished. There had been high-pitched howls, barks and yips in the woods as the shadows lengthened, and in the light of their fresh campfire three great wolves had lumbered from the darkness, the black one in the lead dragging the carcass of a skinny doe by the neck.
With a shake of its head the wolf had tossed the deer before the fire and grown into the form of Faldorn. She had poked the carcass with one of her bare, dirty toes and through her bloody teeth she had announced: "We feast."
It had been a good meal, Xan had to admit. Roasted venison over the fire. Of course he and Ajantis had been the only ones who didn't yank strips of meat off barehanded and gorge themselves with greasy fingers.
A pack of wolves, these Cloakwood druids, and Faldorn was the unquestioned leader. Xan wondered how that had happened; shouldn't the alpha be the oldest and most grizzled beast? He got the impression that she was some sort of druidic prodigy, from the way the others treated her. Or maybe she had simply snarled and bitten her way to the top.
The black raven did return eventually, and the group retreated back into the forest to formulate a plan. That eased Xan's mind, just a little bit. At least Faldorn had the sense not to go in alone and biting. According to the druidess the fort was lightly manned, if not lightly guarded. In addition to the two men at the gate there were four more guards in front of the main building playing cards. That seemed to be it, besides unknown numbers in the barracks.
The bad news was that the card players looked the dangerous sort: two men in heavy armor and two with no armor at all. In this setting a lack of armor could only mean one thing: mages.
A dangerous group of men, but even the deadliest foe was at a disadvantage when you could make the first unexpected move. And they even had them outnumbered. Xan tried to quash the hopeful feeling rising in his breast. Hope was deceptively dangerous. They would have to be cautious. But Xan had plenty of spells prepared with caution in mind.
Invisible, low to the ground and as silent as he could manage, Xan scurried along the duckboards and the narrow bridge that spanned the moat. He didn't dare breathe as he neared the men at the gate, passing between them and imagining all the ways he could accidently give himself away. His smell. His clumsy feet. An accidental breath.
Neither his lungs nor his shoes betrayed him though, and the two guards leaning against the wall looked disinterested as he passed by.
Sweating from the tension more than the midmorning sun, Xan forced himself to breathe a little once the guards were out of sight, creeping across the packed earth and keeping to the shadow of the wall as best he could.
There they were, just ahead and in front of the stable as Faldorn had described: four competent-looking men sitting on stools and hunched over a battered crate, cards spread out. One man was a big gruff bull in lobstered platemail with red, close-cropped hair. The other armored man was gaunt and had a sly look to him, dressed in light chain with a gilded morningstar at his hip. And there was no doubt now that the other two men were mages; their clothes clean and ornate, with arcane letters of protection embroidered down open coats and along sleeves, one dressed in blue and the other in black. Those letters would not protect them from the spell Xan had in mind, however.
He crept into position by the wall and near the guards, invisible fingers flexing out before him. The trap was in place now, and once he started his spell that trap would close, provided they acted quickly enough. Ajantis and Shar-Teel would strike from invisibility on the bridge and kill the guards there, Kivan's arrows would bury themselves into the startled mages while Xan stunned the four elite men with his opening spell, and the unseen druids would sweep in from their hidden spot inside the fort, throwing spells that would bind the four men with summoned roots.
Stunned three ways and peppered with arrows before they even realized they were under attack. If Xan's companions acted fast -and acted as one- it would only take a moment.
With a bang that echoed through the silent fort the door of the barracks flew open and something massive lumbered out, Xan's breath catching in his throat before he could begin his incantation. The great figure had to turn its shoulders diagonal to even fit, bent over and slamming its elbows against the doorway to wriggle through before it righted itself. Xan gasped, frozen, as he watched the nine-foot tall ogre rise, armored plates adorning his body at the arms and legs and chest; gaps of veiny muscle showing between the steel, a greatsword on his back.
"Fucking human doors," the ogre bellowed immediately as he massaged the back of his neck, looking stiff and very agitated. Next he rubbed his bald, gleaming head. "I'd tear them all down if I could!" The men at the improvised card table looked away in silence.
An ogre? In the barracks? Could it possibly be…?
A furious roar and a bowstring's twang erupted from somewhere in the shadow of the wall. The arrow sank into the ogre's cheek, snapping his head violently to the side, perhaps aimed at his neck or eye. Cards fluttered and stools tumbled to the dust as the men around the crate leapt to their feet, hands shooting to weapons or starting to fly through arcane gestures.
Tazok! It had to be. Xan hesitated for the space of a breath.
Kivan did not.
The wild elf already had another arrow knocked and aimed when the ogre and the guards fixed their eyes upon him. Wood groaned and the elf snarled as Tazok shielded his face, catching the second arrow in the meat of his forearm. At the same time the ogre's other hand had snapped back to pull at the hilt of his greatsword.
His stomach clinched and sinking fast, Xan flung his hands forward and sang out the spell that was supposed to have begun the ambush. Light danced and built at his fingertips, and with a will he flung it towards the cluster of warriors and mages.
By the time the bolt struck and bloomed out into the immobilizing spell as intended, however, the enemy mages had already summoned shimmering barriers. The wave of Xan's magic rippled through the four men, locking the warriors in place but flowing away from shimmering spellwards that enveloped the other two.
To Xan's horror the mage in blue glanced around and snapped his hands outward, barking out a second spell with dazzling speed. White light flowed from his palms and Xan felt his immobilizing enchantment ripped away, the other men stumbling forward and once again in motion.
So quick and sure with that dispelling. He must be an abjurer.
The trap they had planned was springing closed now. The two druids appeared close to Xan and began to summon vines while Ajantis and Shar-Teel raced into view from the gate, their swords red and dripping. The trap was closing, but on an alert and agitated foe.
With shocking quickness that must have been magical, the man in chainmail dashed forward and engaged the warriors, his morningstar whirling like a tornado and his feet tapping against the dirt as he zig-zagged. Shar-Teel snarled and tried to match his speed, furious slashes mostly finding open air as the man taunted her, though she managed to dodge a swing of his weapon.
The third arrow that Kivan launched was deflected by the plate of Tazok's injured arm, and the ogre's roar made the arrow-shaft in his cheek shake like a battle-flag. Tazok's sword pointed at Kivan as he charged, showing no sign that his wounds were slowing him. For his part Kivan was charging as well, his hood thrown back and his bow out before him as he made a running, point-blank shot.
The arrow struck, slipping between armored plates somewhere in the ogre's broad middle and sinking just a bit into flesh. By then Tazok's sword had swept out and bitten through Kivan's bow, splinters and fragments flying as the wild elf was forced to scramble back and roll.
A flash of light drew Xan's eye to something gathering and crackling at the tip of the mage in black's finger. Gasping as he recognized the spell, Xan's hand shot to the hilt of his sheathed moonblade and he turned and tried to dash away from where he judged the finger had aimed.
The rush of burning wind hit him in the back and flung him face-first to the dirt before he had made two steps. Eyes pinched shut, Xan pressed his face to the ground, lungs stifled by searing air as he tried to breathe. The roar of flames was everywhere and the light was blinding. His lips cracked as he hacked and coughed, slithering forward. Over fire's hiss and crackle came the panicked cries of the horses, trapped in the stable, and closer still the scream of someone burning.
It seemed like many long, pained breathes later when Xan managed to scramble up to his knees, no flames around him now. He turned as fast as he could, moonblade out, the polished blue steel glowing faintly. Though every pore of his skin felt scratchy-dry and there was smoke coming from spots on his cloak, Xan seemed to be unburnt. The enchantment on the blade must have protected him.
The druids were not so lucky. From the smoke where the fireball had struck one of them stumbled forward, Takiyah it seemed, though his hair was an ashy tangle and his face was a mass of raw blisters charred black in places. He managed to lurch another step and then tumble, body flowing as it fell into the form of a wolf with burnt, disheveled fur.
The moment the wolf's paws struck the earth it bared its teeth and charged at the mages, but before it could cross the open courtyard an axe whistled through the air, thrown by the large man in plate armor. It landed blade-side between the creature's eyes, and there was a sharp yelp as the wolf skidded and fell.
By then Xan had found his feet and desperately intoned one of his most powerful spells, launching a ball of scintillating orange towards the unfolding mayhem.
Familiar words droned from the abjurer's sneering lips as he watched Xan toss the spell, and before the bolt of orange struck it was countered with a wave of the abjurer's hand and a bolt of searing white. The spells collided and the lights popped and sizzled away to nothing. At the same time the mage in black swung his hand in Xan's direction and he was forced to dive and run for his life, barely avoiding a hissing green bolt that struck the wall behind him with a splatter.
A great stroke of Tazok's sword nearly cleaved off Kivan's head, and as the ranger ducked the ogre surged forward and drove his boot-toe into Kivan's stomach. The powerful kick bent the wild elf's body and sent him flying a couple of paces, where he crumpled to the ground. Another stomp and Tazok had his sword raised high to finish Kivan with a downward stroke, but Ajantis leapt between them and hefted his shield.
Tazok let out a snort that became a roar as his greatsword descended with blinding speed; a mountain of muscle crashing down. There was stony determination on Ajantis' broad face, but it became a pained wince when the top of his shield parted and shards of steel and wood went flying. Tazok's greatsword chopped through the wood and sank down and down, knocked the squire's shield-arm back with a red gush. The shield was shattered and the arm beneath cut to the bone.
Ajantis tried to pivot and bring his sword in to strike back, but with a flick the ogre lifted his own blade and the backswing sent the squire's sword flying, along with bits of several fingers. Eyes widening with shock, Ajantis glanced down at the ruined shield and mangled hand, then up at the giant that towered over him. He lifted his arms up to shield himself, but by then Tazok was swinging down again with the same crushing force as before.
The diagonal chop landed at the edge of Ajantis' thick neck and sliced down through armor, muscle and collarbone with a metallic jangle and a moist thunk. Black blood surged up around the blade as it lodged on a rib and stopped halfway down the man's opened torso.
At almost the same instant Shar-Teel dashed in behind the ogre, ramming her sword into the tree trunk that served as his thigh. The blade bit deep and Tazok stumbled forward, trying to dislodge his own sword and strike back.
With a yank and a spray of blood Shar-Teel drew her blade back and readied another slash, but a flying axe bit between into her back just then. Armored scales flew away and her arms faltered, feet stumbling drunkenly.
A stomp drew Tazok's sword from Ajantis' shuddering body, and as he pulled he swung at Shar-Teel. She managed an ungraceful hop backwards, not moving fast enough to avoid the entire blade, and it cut a bloody swathe across her chest, the force knocking her off her feet. When she fell Shar-Teel growled in pain, landing on the imbedded axe before rolling over.
Xan shot a glance towards the axe-thrower, readying a desperate spell, but Faldorn was there already, her skin the color of bark and glowing with an aura of shimmering sunlight. The druid's club was matted with blood and clumps of hair, the unmoving body of the mage in black at her feet, and with a roar and a leap she launched herself onto the armored man. In midair she blurred into a black wolf, bringing the warrior down in a whirl of clanking steel and twisting fur.
Kivan had recovered, but the fool was advancing on Tazok with nothing but a drawn knife and a mad look in his eyes, and the man in chainmail was rushing around to flank him.
"We must retreat," Xan found himself breathing as he took in the full battlefield. Faldorn was all that was left of the druids, Ajantis was clearly dead and Shar-Teel lay face-down and unmoving. "Retreat!" Xan shouted next, but there was no waver in Kivan's furious eyes. Out of desperation Xan shouted one more time:
"I suggest you retreat."
Suddenly Kivan's furry went out like snuffed candle. His eyes went blank, and then he whirled and dashed from between the ogre and the man in chainmail. With haste and unthinking precision Kivan sprinted to the wall and snatched his halberd from where he'd left it leaning, using its pole to vault atop the slanted roof of the stables. From there he ran and leapt over the filed points of the fortress wall, a splash echoing from the other side.
As Kivan made his escape Xan whispered a spell to himself and vanished from sight, turning from the battlefield and running as fast as his spindly legs would carry him for the gate. He expected a throwing axe or a bolt of magic in the back at any moment, but somehow he managed to race along the bridge and into the forest beyond.
Pressing a meaty hand to his mangled cheek, Tazok scowled and lifted the healing draught to his lips. He had to keep the sticky-sweet stuff from leaking through his wound, but once he had swallowed he felt the sting subside, replaced by a dull itch. Nice to feel the injuries across his body close; arm, belly, cheek and thigh, though the pain had been easy enough to shrug off.
All of Tazok's life was pain, every time he moved and stabs went through the shoulder that had never quite healed right. The shoulder where his father's axe had buried itself long ago. A little prick or cut on top of that was just annoyance.
"This one's still alive," Rezdan noted, brushing dust from his blue sleeve with one hand and pointing with the other.
So she was. The warrior-woman who lay face down in the dirt was breathing; the axe between her shoulder blades quivering as it rose and fell.
"Good," Tazok growled, stomping towards the crumpled body. He glanced at Drasus. "You keep her alive alright? Make sure she lasts a few days at least and this won't be a complete waste." Two of his elite men were dead; Kysus with his head caved in and Genthore with his throat bitten out by that wolf-woman before she turned into a crow and flew away. But at least he'd be able to have a little fun.
Bending down, Tazok planted a heavy boot on the injured woman's backside and gripped the handle of the axe, not hesitating to rip it out. She let out a satisfying howl of pain, though she bit it back quickly, anger there in her voice mixed with the agony. Tough bitch. This could be a lot of fun.
With a heavy kick to the ribs Tazok turned the woman over onto her back. Sandy blonde hair spilled out from under her horned helmet, plastered to her forehead and chin with sweat. Her tan, scarred face was all scrunched up with pain and fury, dabbed here and there with purple warpaint. That scar was familiar. And the nose…
Tazok's thick brows knitted together and his sadistic grin sunk into a heavy grimace. He stared at that face for a good long time.
"Uh…" Drasus eventually interrupted. "What is it boss? You recognize the bitch?"
He stared a while longer, pondering. Maybe a quick sword thrust would be best. Not as satisfying as the usual fun he would have with a captured woman, but safer.
Safer, but not a sure bet. If her father ever found out…
And he would. That snake had ears everywhere. Always had a way of knowing. Hells, it was his main job, and why the big boss liked him so much.
A slow nod. "Patch her up," Tazok rumbled. "And no one lays a rough hand on her."
There was shock in Drasus' voice. "Really? You of all people… Uh. I mean, she's killed some of our boys…"
Tazok shrugged. "I've killed far more of our boys. When they questioned my orders. Patch her up, bind her wrists and feet, and we take her below."
Drasus shook his head in disbelief, and then shrugged. Tazok had a hard time believing it too. Of all the strange and twisted luck that Beshaba could piss down on you: a woman lands in his lap out of nowhere, and it's Angelo Dosan's crazy daughter!
An arrow catches Tazok in the face out of the blue, there's an unexpected battle. They manage to drive the bastards off and take a prisoner (a woman even!) and then it's not even someone he can have fun taking apart. What a rotten fucking day!
Author's Note: The opening quote was originally just going to be 'Revenge is a dish best served cold' but I was happy with the variation on the proverb that came to me at the last minute. A shame Kivan didn't follow it's advice…
Some of you might think the move Ajantis does in the sparring match with Shar-Teel seems like cheating, but it's something he could have legitimately done with a sharpened sword. Medieval swords weren't actually that sharp, and if you're fighting with one you're probably wearing gauntlets or gloves anyway, so holding a sword by the blade and using the crossguard as a hammer was something knights would sometimes do.