[Ehecatl—Thanks so much for the thorough criticism. Man, where were you when I started posting this on DeviantArt? You bring up some very valid points. I rewrote the first few chapters to indicate that the mule is carrying supplies-tents, feed for the horses, etc-and there's a larger wagon being pulled by two shire horses containing the ore. I will address the issues of the treacherous mountain route and Faye's ability to teleport the group in later chapters. Thanks again! I love reviewers like you who keep me on my toes.]
Chapter Five
Saskia tallied up her company in her head. …And, that's everyone. Good. No one's lost.
By now Tarn, Lionel and the other humans had gathered the horses. Some of the poor creatures had Grapeshot shrapnel wounds, and one had stepped in a snare in the ruckus. Faye sat wearily on her knees with an assortment of cloth and herbs around her. She imbued the cloths with the herbs and handed one off to Lark, who cleaned and promptly bandaged her mount's injuries. Others soon replicated this process.
Everyone was equally confused by what just happened. Voices clamored throughout the convoy.
"Those bandits had a spellcaster."
"But why? Didn't they say Murivel was collecting bounties on sorceresses? Why would mages hunt other mages?"
"That mage didn't cast a single spell before high-tailin' it. Maybe whoever it was had more loyalty to coin than to fellow wand-wavers. That'd explain keepin' quiet."
"Mages are a devious lot. Maybe that one meant for these bandits to get killed. I mean, I didn't see a single fireball or lightning bolt cast to aid them, did you?"
"Faye should stay hidden, if Murivel's in the habit of burning sorceresses for their entertainment. In fact, we should stay away from Murivel altogether."
"Do you think Murivel is still under Redanian jurisdiction? Or has Nilfgaard swallowed 'em whole?"
Slowly but surely the company regrouped. The Scoia'tael disarmed the remaining traps hidden under the leaves, and the path ahead was cleared. Still, Saskia felt several eyes on her for reassurance.
"Has this altered your plan at all, Milady?" Tarn asked her. "Do you still wish for me to proceed to Murivel as your envoy? Or do you see fit to pursue another route?"
She glanced to the leaf-littered forest floor, weighing the options in the best interest of her subjects. Getting involved in the turbulent matters of another nation could spell suicide for the travelers, or worse, the entirety of Upper Aedirn. However, if bounty hunters and rogue mages were to be a continued threat to them, then perhaps they'd benefit from learning what the situation was in Murivel.
She needed time to think, and she could not do it here. "We'll discuss our course in due time," she responded. "First, we must get out of these woods before the corpses of the fallen attract beasts. Can our horses endure more travel?"
"Their wounds are dressed," the Count replied. "As long as we move on slowly, they should be up for it."
"They should still be allowed to stop for the night," Lark cut in, "when we get to safer surroundings."
"All right. We'll make camp shortly outside the woods," Saskia declared. "Let's continue."
On the way to her horse, Iorveth aligned shoulders with her. "We're within Redanian borders," he noted just above a whisper. "That mage's face and eyes were concealed. Could it have been…?"
"It wasn't her. If it was, she would have flown away, not teleported."
"Even if it meant revealing herself?"
"I know her better than she would prefer," Saskia said. "Trust me, this was not her way."
"It could have still been an associate, then. Or an apprentice," Iorveth suggested. "I'd not dismiss the mage's presence here as a coincidence until I was certain."
"We'll proceed with diligence," she agreed. "Perhaps time will yield answers."
A muffled groan came from the ground level. "Rrrgh, ploughin' Squirrels…killin' me mates…bollocks to all of you…"
Several heads darted to and fro among the lifeless bandits to see which one had spoken. It wasn't long before the least inanimate was identified: the one who had been felled by Saskia's sword hilt upon stepping into Faye's magic circle. Horace, he was called.
"You!" Iorveth knelt over the bandit, the dagger affixed to his chestpiece now gripped in hand and pointed at the back of the lone survivor's neck. "Make another move and you'll find yourself reunited with the rest of your rabid pack. Understood?"
Horace stopped squirming instantly and lay still, face in the leaves.
The elf brought his gaze up to Saskia. "Here are the answers we seek. Shall I be the one to ask?"
She nodded in assent. If there was a survivor amongst their ambushers, perhaps the decision of their next move would be made easier, after all. "Try to show restraint while asking, Iorveth," she advised.
Horace's eyes peered up from the ground. "Iorveth?" he repeated, and visibly gulped. "Not the Iorveth…?"
"The only one you need be concerned with now," his interrogator replied. "Turn out your pockets."
The bandit complied, scattering an assortment of Novigrad crowns, dice and caltrops onto the ground. Iorveth confiscated these effects, then searched his quarry further to relieve him of a concealed dagger. Then he turned to the Scoia'tael. "Check the bodies for anything useful," he instructed. "Then line them up in the ditch they first hid in." He turned back to Horace. "Leave room for one more," he added.
The hapless bandit's hair was gathered in a fist, propelling his face upward so he could see the elves carrying out this order. He was numb with fear.
"If my reputation precedes me, then I'd assume I don't need to explain to you how this will work," Iorveth declared, his voice never deviating from its deadpan drawl. "But since your actions so far haven't inspired much confidence, I will explain in words even you couldn't fail to grasp. You will answer all that I ask to the best of your knowledge. In so doing, you will spare yourself all the miserable ends suffered by your companions, combined. Is this clear to you?"
Looking on from a distance, Saskia noted the bandit's expression. It fell a bit, as if he admitted defeat and was prepared to cooperate. "As a fucking bell," he responded. "But you're wasting your time. We're just highwaymen, making a living off whatever we can get our hands on."
"You were. How long has that mage been in your ranks?"
Horace blinked. "…Mage? What mage?"
His unconvincing tone ended in a yelp as a vice-like pinch seized the pressure point at the base of his neck. Saskia blinked hard, and a few among the non-elves in the party shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"Was that unpleasant? Because there are dozens of other ways to achieve it. I guarantee, if you don't jog your memory, my means of jogging it for you will make you wish you had," said Iorveth. "The mage who stood by and watched your comrades all die, and who teleported afterward. Divulge what you know about that mage."
"W-What's there to tell? A-After Loc Muinne, mages around these parts is too busy pissin' themselves to wave wands," Horace stammered. "The bounty on magic folk in places like Murivel keeps it that way. They disguise themselves these days, hide in plain sight…"
"And hunt other mages?"
"Keeps the attention offa themselves, don't it?" posed the bandit. "Nobody suspects a sorceress of sittin' by, cheerin' with the rest of the rabble, while a fellow sorceress burns at the stake."
"It was a sorceress with you, then? A woman?"
"Sure."
"I want her name."
"Well, you're shit outta luck. I don't know it."
"Is that so?" Iorveth pressed his foot down on Horace's back and pulled the bandit's arm up behind him. He grazed one of the spiked caltrops along his quarry's hand, positioning one of the pointed edges at the fingertip, just under the fingernail. "I expect even the densest thief knows better than to consort with masked, anonymous strangers. So why not try your answer again?"
There was no reply. The caltrop's sharp edge dug down. An unsettling mix of scream and laugh issued from Horace's throat. Saskia averted her gaze, jaw firmly set. She noticed that Faye had buried her face in her horse's side in revulsion. Lionel was turning white.
Iorveth re-engaged one of the snares and forced Horace's hand down towards it, the caltrop still wedged under his fingernail. "Ready to start proving useful? Give me a description. An alias. Then I'll reconsider putting your traps to new use."
"You're ploughin' mad!"
The trap snapped shut.
Saskia stepped forward. This was too much. She had agreed to this interrogation, but she saw now it was being done for the wrong reasons. Any information Iorveth got from the highwayman had become secondary to the amusement he got from extracting it. She had no delusions about the elf's menacing nature…but she would not abide it, not here and now.
"Hold on. Let me handle this," she insisted.
Iorveth stood and backed away compliantly. Saskia knelt down to the bandit with his bleeding hand in a snare, body jolting with repressed sobs.
"When they attacked us, your companions obviously thought their mage would aid them," she told him firmly. "But as I recall, not a single spell was cast in your favor during combat. Even when you discovered us to be protected by Scoia'tael, the only spell to be cast by your sorceress at all was to teleport away after you were all presumed dead."
She took the caltrop out of his fingertip as gently as possible before going on. Horace rolled his head to the side to face her bleakly.
"If you hold out due to loyalty towards this spellcaster, believe me when I say that loyalty is misaimed. Disclose to us what you know about this individual. Then, on my honor, you will walk away, and chances will be bettered of your betrayer seeing justice."
He nodded slowly. "She ain't been with us but a week. Kept her face covered most of the time, but I saw her take her shawl off once or twice to drink outta the stream yonder. She had her hair buzzed nigh up to the scalp…couldn't tell what color it was before. And her eyes were green as the grass."
"You never caught a name?"
"She just went by 'Lily.' That's all I ever heard, honest. She was just some no-account magician, lookin' to dodge the stake."
Saskia hesitated, then released the snare to free his hand. "Up. We're done here. Go east on this trail, and entertain no thoughts of following us. Iorveth, return his personal effects. Keep his weapons."
Iorveth tossed the dice and money to the ground. Horace collected them before stumbling up.
"Make no mistake. It is only by the grace of Saskia the Dragonslayer that you will see tomorrow," Iorveth cautioned Horace. "Should you tell anyone of us, do not omit that your thieves had us corned, yet we cut you down to a man. We won't hesitate to do it again."
"Our aims don't concern Redania, and we intend no trouble on this land," Saskia added. "But if we are crossed, Redania will learn as Kaedwen did that the people of Upper Aedirn are not to be trifled with."
She turned away and headed past Iorveth back to her stallion. Behind her, she heard the bandit grumble, "That meddling bint will be the end of you all."
Next, she heard an abrupt thrust of blade through flesh and an agonized scream, followed by the thud of a body falling over and shrieks of "My foot! You crazy son of a cunt! You stabbed me right through the fucking foot!"
Horace remained on the trail, whimpering and cradling his pierced appendage. The party mounted up and departed, to the tune of far fewer well-intentioned pleasantries and lewd dwarven jokes than on the way into the forest.
Out of the corner of her eye, Saskia spied Iorveth with his dagger back in its place on his chestpiece. The handle was now stained red.
(***)
The convoy stopped for the night just outside the forest. The mule's cart was unloaded of tents and other supplies, and a camp was set up. Dandelion's music would have been a welcome addition that evening around the fire. Tales of the White Wolf's exploits against royal strigas and lovestruck bruxas (tales which may or may not have undergone artistic license) would have served well to alleviate the tense silence that hung over the campsite. Finally, a night watch schedule was set, and one by one the travelers retired.
(***)
Saskia heard screams in her sleep. Cries of terror echoed off the stone walls of a dark cave, all from dwarven throats. The dwarves made frantic shouts for help. Desperate pleas for help. Despondent silence when it became clear help was not coming. Underlying it all was the guttural snarl of ever present monsters in the shadows. Fangs sprang out of the black.
She awoke to a pounding heart. As with any nightmare, she breathed deeply in her tent and awaited the fears of her subconscious to be quelled by reality. Sadly, relief could not fully take her, for the images in her dream had been real once, and this same nightmare had periodically plagued her since. There were variations every time it recurred, but there was no mistaking what it represented: the mines beneath Vergen. Not long before the battle for Upper Aedirn, rotfiends had appeared en masse in Vergen's mines, and she had made the grave decision—with a fair share of encouragement from Philippa Eilhart—to close the mines off…even though there were still miners trapped inside.
Saskia knew, even without Philippa's assurances, that the sacrifice had been necessary. King Henselt's forces already outnumbered them a staggering five to one. Every warrior they might have sent to an uncertain fate in a rescue attempt would have only tipped the odds even further in Kaedwen's favor. That fact did not ease the dismal thoughts of those miners' final hours. The fear that must have gripped them…the hunger and starvation that at last withered them away…
She put her cloak on over her nightgown, wrapped it tightly around her and exited the tent. The morning dew beaded on her bare feet with every step. The eastern horizon just now began to whisper promises of an approaching dawn. Most of the convoy remained asleep in their tents; it was a good time to be alone with her thoughts.
Most distressing of all was the knowledge that she would have been more than a match for a few necrophages in her true skin. Just as she would have been more than a match for Henselt's forces simply by emptying her lungs of flame in flight over them. Just as she could make this present journey alone with her own two wings hidden by magic from her subjects' sight.
The truth remained the same as it had when that mine's entrance slammed shut and barred: sacrifices must be expected in pursuit of a cause as radical as the free Pontar Valley. But her doubts were ever present that she made the right sacrifices…or asked them of the right people.
"…Is…everything all right, Lady Saskia?" asked a female voice. Lark sat cross-legged on the wagon, back upright and eyes attentive to her surroundings.
"No need for the title. I've had a hard enough time breaking Tarn of that habit," the dragoness responded. "'Saskia' will do."
"Alright. Saskia." The Squirrel nodded. "What brings you out here so early?"
Saskia spied the horses tied up nearby. "We should get on the move as soon as possible after daybreak," she said. "I want to confirm that the horses will be up to the task."
"I checked their wounds before starting my watch shift," Lark assured her. "They're mending fine. The sorceress' herbs must have helped. But we shouldn't push them to run or jump, if it can be helped."
Saskia wandered over and pat her palomino's side. The stallion didn't make any signs of protest; he only nickered, hopeful for grain. While she granted him a handful her dream still weighed heavily on her, and she looked for a means to push it from her mind.
"I heard you call to a 'Sverren' in battle with those bandits," she said to Lark. "Who is he?"
The Squirrel gazed off into the horizon, as though longingly. "He was the Scoia'tael leader I fought under before joining this one. Special Forces got him and his unit—I was the only one to escape their end."
"I knew I didn't recall seeing you among Iorveth's ranks in the Battle of Vergen."
A shrug. "I'm half-human. I'm doubtful the Commander would have abided me…not before the free Pontar Valley was founded, anyway."
Saskia glanced in the direction where the Squirrels were camped. She doubted Iorveth lost sleep over the deaths he caused. She predicted the maimed bandit on the forest trail was the furthest thing from his mind tonight.
"Are there no other half-elves amongst Scoia'tael?" she asked Lark.
"Not many. Dh'oine and Aen Seidhe alike suspect us of favoring our other half. But Sverren understood our plight, so he let us into his ranks." She bit her lip. "Some say that's what weakened his commando and led to its—and his—demise."
"I didn't intend to bring up such a difficult subject," Saskia apologized.
Lark waved her hand. "Think nothing of it. My tears are long shed, but I still honor his memory. That's why I call on him in battle."
"So you found your way to Vergen after your unit was lost?"
"Once I heard of your achievements, yes. For awhile beforehand I tried to join other Scoia'tael, but I couldn't gain their trust. The dh'oine blood in my veins ran thicker than the blood on my hands, it seemed." She lowered her voice. "I'm not sure the Commander trusts me even now. I'm wary he might even blame my unit's fate on 'dilution' by the likes of me."
"If that were the case, would he be placing the camp's security in your hands now?" Saskia posed. "Iorveth knows that the only way elves can hope to survive is through cooperation with other races. I won't say he's content with it, of course, but he is willing to devote his all to our harmonious nation."
Lark tilted her head. "He stabbed a man in the foot only for disrespecting you."
Saskia pursed her lips. "I'm aware."
"Are you…are you two…?" Lark's voice trailed off.
Saskia looked at her pointedly. "Are we what?"
"Forgive me—I may assume too much," Lark said quickly. "It's just when I saw you both talking privately at Mahakam Gates…when I was chasing that mule …it looked to me like you were…close."
Saskia smirked. "You're not the first to assume that. Our cooperation has spawned many rumors, it seems."
"'Humanity's greatest adversary, subdued by a human woman'? I can see why such a rumor would spread fast," Lark observed.
Lark was unaware of her true nature, Saskia noted. Come to think of it, no one in the company knew the truth about her, except for Iorveth.
"There are things I've entrusted to him that I couldn't to anyone else. Not just to anyone else in this convoy…to anyone else I know," she admitted. "So, I suppose we are close, as you put it, to an extent. But only to an extent."
"I see," Lark said.
Saskia returned her attention to her horse, scratching his muzzle absentmindedly. The person she trusted closest of all was also one who delights in tormenting bandits for tidbits of information that may not even concern them in the end. This realization was troubling.