XVIII: Live Bait
So that is what squires do. They smile and nod, smile and nod, smile and nod… Crap, I feel myself Grobnar.
At this thought she instinctively fingered a large saddle-bag. The bag responded with a slight stir. She glanced at the knight riding side by side with her, but he didn't seem to notice anything.
It was getting dark and the sky got sprinkled with first stars when Adele and Grayson made their way down a hill, overgrown with grass, already withering away under pressure of autumn, and rare trees. Here, outside Neverwinter walls, was no city noise, no merchants were yelling, no citizens chatting, only somewhere in the distance Adele heard the chirr – grasshoppers or balm-crickets, she couldn't tell for certain.
It had taken her a great deal to get used to the thought that she was a lieutenant – so now Adele was wondering absentmindedly how much time would it take to get used to the thought that she was a squire. The fact that – again - it took no pains for her to become one didn't help the matter in the slightest. More and more often the woman was under the impression that she could actually just sit on the floor and do nothing – and the events would still happen, whirl around her, like she was an eye of a storm.
Grayson didn't improve the situation much. Though he was a pleasant man, polite and calm, Adele couldn't shook off the feeling that he also felt a bit perplexed about the whole situation – her 'unique circumstances' as he had put it. Not that Adele could blame him – obviously, any knight usually spent at least some time watching and getting acquainted with the person he intended to take as his squire, making certain of his or her conviction and abilities. But in her situation Grayson had to settle with what he was told about her – by her Watch commands and Nevalle, rumors about her activity in the city, perhaps had a word or two with Casavir also – and after a ridiculously short filling in on the subject of 'knighthood' (during which Adele felt that she had overfulfilled her rate of smiling and nodding for years to come) they headed to Solace Glade for Adele to take vigil. The vigil was the only piece of at least some tribute to traditions – without it the whole squire-thing would have seemed to her a complete and utter farce.
On a clearing, hidden from the wind behind a couple of trees growing tightly together, Adele found a place for a fire, neatly enclosed with small stones, a cord of dry wood not far from it. The woman looked wonderingly at Grayson, and the knight nodded: "Yes, this is Solace Glade. Many generations of squires and knights touched this sacred ground," some nostalgic and awed notes rang in his voice, as he was, perhaps, remembering his own vigil. "Do not be surprised – this place always awaits for the next defender of Neverwinter to come."
She looked around, inwardly guessing how many vigils and prayers these trees must have witnessed – and feeling faintly guilty that she saw less of a 'sacred place' and more of a plain glade with too good possibilities for survey, where she would have to spend a night all alone. Caught in her thoughts, Adele didn't even notice at once that Grayson had already dismounted from his horse and was patiently waiting for her to take his hand and also get to the ground.
"Oh…" she smiled at him and took the offered hand, sliding down. "Thank you."
"I shall leave you to your thoughts and contemplations now," he took a step back to his horse with a graceful and, most likely, long-ago polished bow. "Pray to the god whose path you follow or think of what is to come in your life – the choice is yours."
Is it?
"Alright," she thought for a second, then looked at him with her best 'confused little girl' air: "Would it be very bad if I fall asleep… accidentally?"
Grayson chuckled: "I doubt you would be the first. But I would be disappointed in you."
"…I see. Well then," she smiled again, tying her horse to one of the trees and patting its nape when the animal switched to nibbling grass, "I'll do my best not to." With that she also bowed.
…Or the ladies should curtsey? Damn, with all this noble thing I've definitely took a much larger bite than I can chew.
She followed him with her eyes as the horseman dissolved into twilight, and hastily dashed back towards her saddle-bag, almost tearing it open.
"You in one piece?" she asked, helping Grobnar to get out.
"Why, but of course, miss Adele!" the gnome jumped down on the ground and beamed. "In one whole piece of gnome's meat, as sir Bishop puts it. That was quite a ride, I must say! I counted twenty seven hummocks – need to remember that it's exactly the number it takes to get from 'Sunken Flagon' to Solace Glade. Well, and back, too."
She examined him closely, making sure that the gnome indeed wasn't harmed, while he poked his head back into the bag, rooting around it, and finally got out with a sheaf of metal pikes and a skein of some strings.
"I am ready," he exclaimed, taking all his baggage underarm and looking around anxiously, then again grinned at the woman.
"Start over there, I think," she pointed at the space between the trees away from the camp and followed the gnome as he immediately paced there in vigorous steps. "So, you'll make it work?"
"Certainly! Don't you worry, miss Adele – everything that is grabbed by Gnomehands is bound to work… one way or another. Miss Neeshka instructed me very thoroughly about these particular traps, and sir Khelgar warned me that he'll tie my arms around my neck in case something goes wrong, so I must say it appears to be in my own best interests. Though, of course, I know a joke when I hear one… well, most of the time."
He piled his load in the grass, reached for his pocket, fishing out a small stone, dull and gauzy like a piece of glass, rubbed it against his sleeve, whispered some words – and the stone flashed out with light, casting reflections on Grobnar's face and diluting darkness a little. The woman smirked: "Handy."
"This one is tiny," Grobnar explained, adjusting the stone to the buckle of his leathers, and sighed dreamily. "I used to have an incredibly large Glowstone once, you know – but it left me. Or I left it somewhere?" he fell silent, recollecting, then his gaze dropped on the ground, pieces of traps still lying there, and the gnome blinked, stooping down: "Oh, yes, need to hurry, need to hurry."
Adele left him to setting traps and went back to the fireplace, gathering some dry twigs for kindling on her way. Behind her back snapped a crack of electricity, and the woman turn round quickly, but Grobnar just shook his burned fingers and grinned at her, then got back to spanning pieces of the trap. With a chuckle she continued preparing the fire.
All the idea of trapping Solace Glade might have looked crazy at best – or, she couldn't stifle the thought, even blasphemous at worst – but she was definitely in no position at the moment to play good squire and just sit around and contemplate her future responsibilities to Neverwinter. They would come without contemplating, of that she was sure. To serve and protect. Pretty much what she was doing for the Watch all the time, only, perhaps, on a larger scale.
Yeah… And somehow 'serving and protecting' always ends up in killing somebody. Kill to serve, kill to protect, kill to be good and useful. Oh, no-no, right, it's not 'killing', it's 'eliminating potential threat' or 'upholding order' or something like that… until you are ankle-deep in blood.
She sighed in her mind and cast one more quick look at Grobnar, his figure haloed in the thickening darkness by the light of his magical stone. Well, that was exactly why she decided that it would be a nice idea to trap Solace Glade – because she had a feeling that Luskans wouldn't let her slip between their fingers and would do their best to 'eliminate a threat', especially when knightly customs of Neverwinter gave them such an opportunity to get to her without witnesses. She had no doubts that Luskans were already aware of her becoming a squire – just like they were aware of her traveling through Ember.
And we shall omit the fact that the mere thought of me being a threat to Luskan is ridiculous… Or is it not about whole Luskan, Master Garius?
"All done!" Grobnar's voice snatched her out of her thoughts, as the gnome came up to her with a broad proud smile on his face. Adele stood up from the fire, looking in the direction he began pointing. "The traps are set there… and there… and there also… and I've stretch one over there… and over there I found a mushroom."
"…Huh?" she stared at him, noticing that he was actually holding out something to her.
"A mushroom. Don't worry, it's a cep, it's edible, just need to roast it. Here," he placed the mushroom into her hand. "And I'll be going. But, please, bear in mind, miss Adele, that I am expecting to hear all about your vigil in the morning! Especially if you happen to meet with an incarnation of a god – it is not a rare thing during vigils, so I heard."
…Uh-huh… I am not really sure what would be more nerve-wrecking for me now – Luskan assassin or incarnation of a god.
"Wait!" she called out for Grobnar, who had already headed away in his usual skipping steps, like he was dancing to some melody in his head. The gnome turned on his heels to face her, not slowering his pace and walking with his back to front. "And how do I disarm those traps when I need?"
"Oh, just throw something in there, and it'll do," he grinned. "But I would keep the distance at that moment if I were you!"
"…Alright. Thanks. You sure you'll find your way back?"
"My, of course! Twenty-seven hummocks, I remember!"
And he disappeared behind a hill, leaving her standing near the fire with a mushroom in her hand. Adele looked at the cep for several seconds, then shook her head and, without giving any thought, shoved it into her pocket.
Can this whole situation become even more absurd?
She came up to the horse, which had already finished off all the grass within reach and lazily dropped itself on the ground. The horse was the same she had taken from the Watch stables going to Old Owl Well, and Adele got quite attached to it during the travels, even thought out a name for it - Cherry - because of a small dark round spot on its croup. Somewhere in the saddle-bag was a blanket and some food…
Adele heard swift light footsteps behind her back and immediately reached for her weapon…
Grobnar smiled guiltily as he passed her: "Went the wrong way, so terribly sorry." Adele watched him as he jumped over the trapped area and dove into the night.
No, it can't.
… When the cold autumn Northern night asserted itself completely, the woman settled against the firm warm side of the horse and pulled her legs out to the fire. Adele felt chilly, and a tempting thought of wrapping herself into a blanket and simply falling asleep started to haunt her hard.
Real knights and squires must be truly devoted guys.
She watched the sparks from the fire fly up, into the sky, joining the stars, the sight bringing back memories of West Harbour, her and Daeghun leaving for hunting in the Mere sometimes, spending nights like this, in the weather. Not that he ever took her hunting – or even offered to – but once at the age of six or seven she had got tired of waiting for an invitation, simply packed her bag and followed him to the Mere by herself. When the elf noticed her trailing, he didn't object, didn't say anything, just waited for her to catch up – and since that day, after that mute permission of his, she was always accompanying him in his journeys. He taught her tracking, hunting, fighting, explained large and small peculiarities of being deep in the swamps, answered all the questions she asked – yet she felt like even being around her, helping her to her feet when she lied on the ground, gasping, breathless after another of their merciless sparrings, Daeghun was still somewhere miles away.
Adele closed her eyes, trying to cast aside thoughts about Daeghun. She didn't want thinking of him. Not after what Duncan had told her about Shayla and her mother. Didn't want to imagine how hard it must have been for the elf – for every time he looked at her he had seen the dead faces of the two women closest to him…
I'm sorry, father… I simply didn't know.
She stood up, rubbed her face, stretched herself and walked around a bit, sometimes shaking one or the other asleep leg. Doing away with that, the woman searched through her pack and took out a flask of wine mixed with spices she had secretly swiped from the tavern in the evening. After all, the night was cold, so any mean of getting warm was fine. Taking a few sips, she smirked.
Definitely not a good squire so far…
Half a flask later there were still no signs of disturbance she'd been expecting – instead the desire to sleep became stronger. Adele didn't even know what made her feel a complete idiot more – that she actually waited for Luskans to come for her tonight or that she had already got tipsy waiting for them.
Or even the sneaky feeling of being watched that she had.
Turning her back to the fire, Adele peered into the night, her vision gradually adjusting to darkness, but – no, nothing but hills, grass and sketches of trees. She glanced at Cherry. The animal merely glanced back, its side looking invitingly soft and warm.
Oh well, - she came up to the horse and sat down on the grass, throwing the blanket back on her shoulders. – Maybe I put too much importance into myself. After all, if they accused me of this murder – means they have at least some proof of my 'guilt'. Cooked up, of course, but still… So maybe they'll have some sense and prefer to deal with me in the courtroom, without adding more blood to their already blood-stained hands.
But while soothing herself with those thoughts, Adele untied the reins off the tree and winded it around her right hand. That way, even if she fell asleep, the horse would wake her up by rousing itself at someone's unexpected arrival. Even the slightest jerk of the animal's head would do the job.
Done with that, the woman reached for her pack again, found a somewhat rumpled apple, clutched it in her teeth, unsheathed her rapier and carefully stuck its point into the tip of her boot between the sole and the foot.
That's how we, squires, amuse ourselves, - she bit off the apple and chewed slowly, stretching out her leg cautiously so that the blade kept balance, and placed it on the bended knee of another leg, daring to rock her foot a bit, the edge of the weapon glistering gold in the firelight. - …Gods, what am I even doing here? Trying to join the nobility of Neverwinter to get myself clean of charges of slaughter of a village… If anyone had told me about this half a year ago, I'd have probably laughed my head off.
Adele blinked slowly, shifting her gaze back to the fire, and the rapier fell on the ground. Picking it up, she shoved it back into the scabbard with a sigh. Perhaps she should pray after all. Not that she had much – any – experience in that. Not that she even felt the need to pray… ever. She believed in gods, but always imagined them like some kind of a strange ill-assorted bunch somewhere far away, whose names fitted for cursing or praising very well. None of them seemed interested in her – and she was never really interested in them in return. Though Brother Merring told her about the Wall of Faithless once, scared the Hells out of her with "dissolving of the soul" – that conversation did nothing to increase her religious zeal. Worshipping someone just for the sake of not getting stuck into the Wall… Seemed that gods themselves were just as good at blackmailing and making deals as their mortal followers.
What do people even ask of gods? Guidance, protection…? Need to ask Casavir later, – finishing the apple, she threw the core into the fire and closed her eyes, leaning back on the horse, its side rising and falling in regular rhythm of breathing. – Yeah, never prayed in my life, but got into trouble and started to… Wouldn't it make a wonderful scared hypocrite of me?
She supposed that opening her eyes would be a great idea – but the thought was the last, as cozy light-headed dream covered her…
She fell asleep. Stupid wench actually fell asleep!
Some part of Bishop wanted to laugh and simply leave, letting her foolishness to be her punishment. The other part suggested that he might just as well stay and watch. Not that he had any better plans for the night. At least, those plans no way included sitting around in the tavern, where the sharp-eared dissected every tiny detail about their trip through Ember…
…former Ember.
He winced in disgust at the thought. It seemed he'd never stop wondering at how many useless idiots were in the world, who, getting into trouble, preferred to fall on their backs and simply throw in the towel, hoping for someone to come and save them. They had been lucky enough to get princess and her band to do all the work of getting rid of the gith before – but it appeared they never learnt the lesson. The lesson that Lady Luck was a fretful bitch with no habit of being nearby for long.
Who'd know better than him?
Bishop walked around one of the traps the gnome set, making sure not to let out any sound as he stepped into the camp. The horse shifted, catching sight of him, but Bishop managed in time to snatch at its ear, rubbing it softly to quell the animal's agitation, and glanced at the sleeping woman. She stirred, bungling herself more tightly in her blanket, like she was cold – but didn't wake up.
Not smart, princess. Not smart at all.
Luskans would come for her – of that he had no doubts. Come obediently and gladly, well-trained drilled doggies they are, whipped up by mere will of their masters. That – and, maybe, expectations of a worthy tribute for the job.
Then again, who wouldn't want to try? Especially when the target is so easy.
He sneered, slowly rounding the woman, and crouched in front of her, his gaze licking over her face. Her head was turned to the side, refined profile bathed in gleams of the fire that added colour to her unnatural lily-white skin, flawed with blots of sunburns on her cheeks. The girl was pretty, he had to give her that. Elven blood had done its job, resulting in such a delicate porcelain dolly with big innocent eyes and capricious upper lip. Perfect brainless dolly.
Only it was exactly the 'dolly' who suggested setting traps around her camp. And when others questioned the possibility of it, knowing that she wasn't exactly an expert in such things, it was the 'dolly' again who came up with the idea of dragging the gnome with her in the saddle-bag. And now, the moment he almost started thinking she had more sense than any of her band, she just got drunk and fell asleep in the middle of her vigil.
Bishop couldn't figure out if she was really smart or plainly stupid. And that's what irked him - he always preferred to know exactly whom he is dealing with.
He leaned closer to her, creak of his leathers too quiet to wake her up – yet she frowned in her sleep as if aware of his presence, her fingers clasping her weapon for a moment before relaxing again, a sudden half-smile playing on her lips. Bishop grinned at her thin white neck, exposed conveniently by the undone collar of her jerkin.
Almost funny, how easy it could be to carve another smile right under her chin. But that meant playing into Luskan hands. And he was done with that long time ago.
But not done with you, princess, he tilted his head a little, nose almost brushing against her skin, eyes locked on her jugular vein, its steady throbbing unexpectedly hypnotizing. Consider yourself lucky.
She reeked of the Mere. Under the sweet trace of wine and apple, faint spice and hazelnut of her sweat, heady tang of curried leather, it was there – cold smell of moss, damp stone, water, sourish mark of fog, ingrained deep into her skin and hair. He took a deep breath of her, liquor scent strong enough to make his mouth dry up in thirst – and wondered absently if her lips still tasted of it.
But before he could check that (…did he even want to, really?) from the distance came low howling, and he rose swiftly, again catching the ear of the horse to calm it down before the animal could wake the girl up and listening carefully.
Here they are, - he smirked, again looking down at the woman, her face crossed by the shadow from his arm – and for a second thought about kicking her awake, but changed his mind quickly. - After all, you like 'live bait' yourself, princess.
So Bishop simply stepped over her stretched legs and left the spotlit area, avoiding traps and guided by Karnwyr's distant chatoyant howl.
Yes, boy, we've got our hunting tonight.
He strode silently along the right side of the grove surrounding the glade, leaving the left one to the wolf, their scheme of driving superior forces in worked through long ago. Bishop spotted them without much difficulty, the campfire shining through the trees and underwood sending enough light for that – and casting enough shadow not to be seen in return. There were three of them - made him wonder whom exactly in Luskan the wench pissed off that much not only to raze out the whole village to frame her up, but to send three assassins after her as well.
Two humans and a half-orc, he discerned them moving - and actually heard. Greens. Only one of them – the leader - was worth something. Maybe even a lot – judging by the way how confidently he held his blades and walked, making for the camp. Too confidently, as far as Bishop was concerned.
Hard like boiled eggs, aren't you? – the ranger leaned against the tree, motionless, blending with darkness, letting them pass by. - Even the predator is always someone's prey.
He waited, knowing perfectly what Karnwyr would do – and, yes, a moment later came the rustling of a nearby bush, the wolf's fell flashed grey at the side, expectedly drawing attention of the assassins, and one of them, following a silent command of the leader, moved away to check, while others kept on towards the clearing. Bishop didn't move, following the back of the single assassin with his eyes as the latter was lured by Karnwyr, and ran his fingertips through the feathers of a prepared arrow. Simple arrow. Though he had several enchanted ones in the quiver, they never suited for a clear neat shot – that arcane rot only led to brains and blood splashed all around in a blaze of gaudy sparkles. Mages surely had a sick bent for making a show out of murdering.
He drew the bow-string, aiming at the retreating back, at the spot under the left shoulder-blade, his own pulse picking up speed, but never skipping, never breaking – and released an arrow.
Quiet whiz, soft hit, arrow-point piercing leathers, right in the place he aimed at, going between the ribs, spitting the heart at once. The sound of the body dropping to the ground was hushed by the grass.
One done, two to go.
Bishop turned his attention to the remaining Luskans, who almost made it towards the camp. He felt Karnwyr by his side - the wolf noiselessly jumped over the corpse and loped to him, yellow eyes glittering with excitement as he also stared into the darkness, foretasting other preys – excitement that was so opposite to the animal's usual apathy that strangled and choked him within the four walls of the tavern… of Neverwinter. Something Bishop could understand all too well.
"Good boy," the ranger whispered, nocking the second arrow – but tarried, watching the assassins advancing one of the places where traps were set. Bishop readied his bow in advance, but was in no hurry to shoot – he was much more curious about whether the fools would fall for the trap and walk right into it.
A step, another one, then another one…
The leader suddenly froze, noticing something – a string or else – and Bishop clenched his teeth, baring them in a disappointed grin.
"Perceptive bastard," he breathed out soundlessly and let his arrow fly.
With a sappy crunch it hit square in the back of the head, making the human fall forward, into the trap – and Bishop had to squint when an outburst of electrical sparks tore the night apart, eliciting a sharp irritated growl form Karnwyr and a frightened neigh from the horse. The remaining half-orc backed off to avoid the crash – but the next moment lashed forward, through the remains of the trap and his former leader, both his blades at ready… but was met.
She was already on her feet, parrying the first lunge casually, effortlessly, almost playfully, with ease of years of practice, when body no longer needed any signals from the brain to defend itself. Bishop could lay a wager that some part of her was still sleeping, but that didn't prevent her from fighting, her blade drawing rapid circles and eights in the air, in time to beat off the attacks, the wench herself slowly stepping back – right towards the fire. But the moment Bishop decided that she was going to fry her sweet behind, she dove under the arm of the half-orc, shoved him in the back, pushing into the flames, and kicked hard at the embers, hurling them into his face – and before he could come round stabbed her rapier into his throat.
The hulk of his body sank into the scattered fire, and she was alone, panting, her shoulders dropped, hooded eyes blurry and darkened almost to black, loosened matted hair framing pale face…
No more colours. All white and black.
And then, slowly and leisurely, she smiled.
Adele took another deep breath, her mind gradually registering what was around her. Destroyed dying campfire. Cherry, stamping and pawing not far from her, tossing its mane uneasily. Grass smouldering from embers and sparks of the trap. A corpse of a half-orc assassin, lying flat on his stomach. Another one several feet from her.
They did come for her. She was right.
So you don't really have anything solid on me in your accusations, do you? - she felt her lips stretch into a triumphant grin. – Well, guys, now you've just gave yourself away completely.
Without much thinking Adele grabbed the body by the ankles, dragging it out of the fire. My campfire turned into a funeral one, - she grinned again, left the corpse on the grass and switched to the second one, gotten by the electrical trap, and wrinkled her nose at the smell of ozone and burnt skin and hair. – Spoiled such a nice Glade…
Am I actually trying to joke while pulling dead people around? Gods, I'm a sick person… - she dropped the corpse and shoved her hair off her face with a heavy sigh, running her eyes over the bodies – and her gaze froze on the shaft of an arrow, protruding from the scull of one of the Luskans. Blinking several times to make sure her eyes weren't lying to her, Adele bent down and gave a flick on the arrow with her fingers to become completely certain of its reality.
Don't remember Grobnar setting any arrow traps…
Standing up straight, she frowned and shifted her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably, skimming over the Glade…
…but, of course, the snide voice came from behind her back: "Looking for more, princess?"
"Bishop," she muttered, then swung round. "Bishop?!"
The ranger smirked, sliding out of darkness into the circle of dim firelight: "And the lady wins the prize."
"What the Hells are you doing here?" she asked, suddenly realizing that her grip on the blade tightened, and almost forced herself to sheath it – as casually as she could.
"What do you think?" he snorted, following her rapier with his eyes, then stared back at the woman. "Went for a walk, got lost?"
"…Uh-huh… Very funny."
"Just what I thought," he drawled, stooped down - and only then Adele saw that the ranger was actually dragging the third body by the collar. Bishop flung it forward, leather-clad figure sliding readily on the grass with quiet rustling, and gestured jauntily at it: "Almost decided you'd oversleep the whole fun."
She froze with her mouth slightly opened, her mind pondering over the humiliating fact of her falling asleep, more humiliating fact of someone being aware of that and a completely mortifying fact that Bishop of all people appeared to be that 'someone'. Suppressing the first childish urge to strike an offended pose and start proving something (What exactly? – her inner voice sniffed), Adele just shrugged and pinned on a careless smile on her face, waving at the dead half-orc: "Well, I didn't in the end."
Bishop regarded her with a scoffing glance and turned away, coming up to the corpse he dragged with him. Using his distraction, Adele threw an accusing glare at her horse, but, again, Cherry merely looked back, no signs of guilt in its eyes.
"Might have woken me up, by the way," she pointed to Bishop.
"Yeah, might have," he nodded indifferently, placing his boot on the spine of the assassin for support and jerked his arrow free from his back.
"…But you didn't."
"I didn't," he echoed, studying the dagger he picked up form the body.
"And you forgot to tell why you are here."
"I didn't even mean to."
"Having fun at my expense?"
"Yeah," tucking the knife into his belt, he shot her his trade-mark sidelong fleeting gaze. "Done making an idiot out of yourself?"
"…Definitely," she admitted with a sigh, one more time becoming certain that arguing with Bishop was a lost case from the beginning. So instead she went to the body of the human with a pierced scull, bending over it, studying burnt lifeless face soiled with dirt and wisps of grass.
"Solace Glade, huh?" she shook her head, raking through the assassin's equipment, not really sure what she was looking for – something to indicate that an assassin was an assassin, perhaps – until finally came along a ring on his middle-finger. Pulling it off, the woman tilted her head, turning the piece over in her hand. Some white metal, a strange signet, looking like a chain of fangs or spikes…
Fingers closed around her wrist, and Adele gave a slight start, not aware of Bishop's presence before it was too late. It was creepy, how silently the guy could move – and kill, judging by how he was able to bring down two men without disturbing her sleep. She turned her head to ask if he didn't mind leaving her arm not broken, but the ranger simply twisted her hand in a way that allowed him to have a view of the ring. Studying the signet for some time, he hummed darkly, as if finally understanding something he wanted to.
"Looks familiar?" Adele wondered, and his narrowed eyes briefly flickered from the ring to her face, gaze cold, almost suspicious. She arched her brow silently at his stare.
"Circle of Blades," he finally answered, twisting her hand again, this time to show her the ring, and Adele gritted her teeth not to hiss in irritation and pain. Might have looked myself, ranger! "Assassin Guild of Luskan."
"A good one?"
"Elite," he held his tongue pressed to the palate on 'l' sound a bit more than was needed – and the word rolled out of his mouth with almost tasteable disgust.
"Huh," Adele stared back at the ring. "Should I be flattered?"
"That's up to you."
She smirked, turning the ring over in her fingers once more, looked down at its dead owner, then back at Bishop. "You know, when you said that you shoot people with arrows in your spare time, I never thought you were that serious."
"Like they are people."
"…Anyway," her smirk turned into a smile, blebs of glee from being alive among the corpses of three murderers splitting in her veins – or it were traces of alcohol not yet vanished – but she no longer cared why or how Bishop got to the Glade. She was alive, her hapless killers – dead, and it was all that mattered. "Thank you."
A well-known 'almost-smiling' look, that Adele had already learnt to recognize as a sign of his genuine amusement, appeared on his face, seeming cast of bronze in the gleams of fire. Right then she definitely didn't like that expression. It reminded her that she was in the middle of Hells knew where. Alone. With Bishop. Who still held her wrist. Tightly. With that blasted expression on his face. Smiling. Certainly he was smiling, grinning, sneering at her – just because that grin wasn't seen didn't mean it wasn't there. It was. In his eyes. Eyes of almost the same colour as the fire behind him was.
Tips of his fingers brushed softly over the inner side of her wrist, just above the cuff of her sleeve, and he leaned a bit closer – just a bit, but all of a sudden Adele felt that her favourite leather jerkin was actually damnably thin. "Don't worry, you will," he purred, warmth of his whisper sliding along her neck, under the collar, across her shoulder and down, tying all her entrails into a stiff clew. A very, very hot clew.
Adele unglued her momentarily fritted lips: "Will I?" she drawled coldly, angered by her own voice drifting deceitfully and her own body almost groaning about how long it was since a man had touched it.
"Won't you?" he answered, his face just as deadpan and impassive – but his eyes switched from grinning to laughing.
With a slight move she slipped the assassin's ring onto her middle finger, shifted her hand in Bishop's grip so that the back of her palm faced him and slowly folded the fingers, leaving the crowned middle one stretched upwards with the sweetest smile she could muster. Bishop stared at her hand - and then, with a short emotionless chuckle, dropped her wrist and made a step back: "Nice."
"Ain't I always?" Adele cooed, not yet lowering her arm. "Now why don't you get out of here before the future squire got caught in your company?"
"Anything my lady wants," he smirked, presenting her with a mock bow, and before she could answer brushed past her. A shadow, just as silent, flashed between the trees, and his wolf - whom Adele didn't even notice before - fell into steps of his master, both disappearing in the mist of approaching dawn.
Waiting for some time to be sure she was alone, Adele finally closed her eyes, letting out a long-suppressed moan, hollow and helpless, and shook herself violently, forcing her senses back to her. Taking a couple of deep breaths, the woman stared pointedly on the body at her feet.
…I have three dead guys near me – and get all horny because of a bastard who's hobby is to get people killed. Okay, it's official – I am a sick person.
She snorted, realizing that there was still an arrow sticking up in the head of the assassin, and pulled it out. Bishop always collected his arrows – which meant this one he left on purpose. After all, Bishop did everything with purpose. Breaking the shaft against her knee, Adele threw it far into the grass. From her side came quiet crunch of Cherry's steps, and the woman gently but firmly pushed the animal's head away when it tried to poke its nose into her shoulder.
"Oh, I'm not talking to you, you bad horse," Adele grumbled, stomping towards the half-orc's corpse, still determined to pile all bodies together for at least some order – but stopped, suddenly noticing what a ridiculously surprised expression froze on the face of the dead assassin, like he couldn't get how he ended up dead. Unable to hold back a snicker, she grabbed his legs again. "Well, you saw the rapier, right?" she wondered at him, dragging him towards his 'friends'. "What did you think, I clean my nails with it?"
By the time she got to disarming traps, the hill resounded with the clatter of horses' hoofs – and Grayson drew the reins, staring at the picture before his eyes.
"What happened here?!" he exclaimed.
"…Nothing," Adele threw a stone at the last trap and turned away from the sparkles.
"Nothing?" the knight jumped to the ground, still looking at the corpses: "But you were attacked, were you not?"
"Oh, that… Well, yes."
"Luskans," he concluded grimly.
"Yup," she nodded, shoving her hands into her breech-pockets casually – and pulled one out, finding something there. Glancing at a strange mass in her hand, she chuckled at recognizing, and looked up at the knight: "…Want a mushroom?"
