Just a little snippet of something that I've had in my head, and have recently started working on.
I will preface this with a "no editing" done yet clause. So be nice!
The fog rolled clear throughout the
camp ahead of her and her men. And the silence that came with it helped to
conceal their weapons. She didn’t mind the fog though. While it did help to
conceal her, her men, and their cloth muffled weapons, the fog meant more to
her than anything any of her men could have imagined.
She could almost see the swirling
designs playing through the mist. Dragons, maidens, knights. All of them figured
from her imagination playing through the ever changing forms around them. The night
beckoned her home, made her feel safe.
Safe.
The word brought an unuttered laugh
to her lips.
Safe was one thing Talon Mercini
Falk had rarely felt.
The sabre that hung at her waist
was all the safety she could afford. Even Kaiji, the wild mountain cat she had
saved as a cub and raised herself, had been left behind for this hunt. Another
smile brushed across her full lips in the darkness. They had almost had to
chain the giant cat this time. Two fully roasted oxen had managed to preoccupy
him long enough for her and her small raiding party to move before he noticed.
A strand of her raven black hair
was sticking to her neck. The edge of the glades was not their territory.
Usually they gave this land a wide berth, but the mention, the very rumor of treasure
had her mens tongues waggling. And she didn’t want to ruin their fun.
The glades were a dangerous place.
She shifted her weight from the ball of her left foot to the right, ready to
move as soon as her scouts gave the signal.
The camp they were raiding was one that looked run down, but she was
still sure there was not only plenty of loot, but weapons. And if there were
any decent swordsmen in the camp, she licked her lips, she wanted to meet them
and find out how decent they were.
A shrill cry from a mourning dove
echoed through the grasses to her right. It was the signal. Gently she loosened
her sabre from its sheath, thankful that she still had knives hidden on her
person should she need them.
She moved in a half crouch right
between two of the bigger men of her party. They had insisted. Despite most of
her group being made up of brigands and former thieves, they still demanded her
to be “protected”.
Her lip curled up as they neared
the sentry of the enemy camp before them. Faster than either of the two men
next to her, she had a blade in her hand, and was carefully lowering the dead
man to the rushes. She wiped the mans blood across his shirt before placing the
small knife back in its hiding spot.
Like she needed protection.
Slowly they made their way through
the camp. She watched as some of her men entered this or that tent. Not a
scream escaped into the night.
That was one of her rules.
There were to be no battle cries, no
screams. The deaths were to be fast and as painless as possible. And no women
were to be raped. She wouldn’t stand for that.
In exchange her men received
ninety-five percent of the takings to be shared amongst the raiders. She never
lacked for volunteers.
Soon her two “body guards” had
slipped off to examine the contents of a tent, leaving her by alone. She
breathed a sigh of relief. It was never a good idea to inhale too deeply around
her men. Some of them bathed but once a twin moon.
Carefully testing the ground with
her feet she crept along to the last tent that stood near the center of the
camp. From the sticky texture of the ground, and the large, single pole erected in the middle, she had to guess that someone had
been flogged not too long ago. She had seen floggings. Nasty events, but they
often served the correct purpose.
Her sabre was in her hand, a comfortable
weight. Something that she knew would not fail her.
She stepped into the darklit tent
and waited for her eyes to further adjust to the moonless interior. The smell
of blood, sharp and metallic assaulted her nose as did the smell of human rot
and waste.
Whatever had happened here had
happened a few days ago, and no one had bothered to clean it up.
Soundlessly she slid her sabre home
at her side and was about to leave when a moan coming from the other side
stopped her. Her whole body stopped moving, even her breath stopped. Instantly
she regretted sheathing her weapon. Yes she had others, but the sabre had a
farther reach than any of her knives. Though none of them would do much good in
the dark.
She made another step to move when
she heard the groan again. This time it sounded like there was a word trying to
escape the lips of the dying man. She poked her head out of the tent to find
most of her men standing near a pile of what appeared to be loot with
torches lit around. Catching the eye of her two “body guards” she gestured them
over.
Thankfully they brought a torch
with them, and she took it wordlessly instructing them to stand out side of the
tent. They nodded and she closed her eyes before ducking back into the tent.
Carefully she cracked one eye open and then the other to avoid night blindness,
and allow her eyes to adjust.
She moved carefully around the
center pole to the darker side, and furthest side, from the tent opening. The
smell of rotten flesh assailed her nose once again, and within the ring of
torchlight she saw what it was from.
The mans back was a criss-cross
pattern of open lash marks. Some looked a few days old, and others looked like
they had just happened. She hung her head. Most good floggers let their victims
heal before the second round, made the event much more interesting for the
audience that always gathered.
But this, this was something else
entirely.
This was brutality for brutalities
sake.
A groan escaped the mans lips
again. This time she thought she heard the word more clearly.
“Cass-”
She knew that she should give him a
quicker death. She looked his back up and down once more. Hellfire, he was
already knocking on deaths door. It really would be merciful to kill him now.
End the suffering. Lifting the torch into a rung to hold the light, she moved
silently to his side, the little black knife leaping into her fingers.
She knelt
before carefully turning him towards her. She dared not lay him on his back,
the pain would probably send him into shock, or wake him. But she tilted his
shoulders far enough towards her to see the golden stubble across his cheeks
and the ugly purple bruise across his left eye.
“What did you ever do to them?”
She spoke without thinking, and
regretted it immediately as he seemed to rouse under her hand. But thankfully
the eye nearest her was swollen shut.
“Cassandra?” His voice came out
paper thin and raspy. But there was something underneath, something that
sounded hopeful.
Well, she thought, why shouldn’t
it? He just asked for the goddess of healing herself. She slowly placed the
knife back in its holder on her corset. Rising to her feet swiftly, she laid a hand on
his brow. He was burning up.
She crossed to the tent opening.
The two men still standing outside nearly fell over when she appeared
soundlessly between them.
“Get my horse.” Neither one moved.
“Now, or the other will be burning with the rest of the bodies.”
Suddenly they both moved, and the
men standing nearest the pile of loot stopped to watch before commencing
loading the spoils onto their horses and ponies. She rolled her eyes, thankful
that she was hidden in shadow. She slipped back inside and taking off her cloak
moved once again to the mans side.
Slipping out her wineskin, she held
the man down with one hand while pouring a small amount over his back. Not the
best that she could do, but it was all she had until she could get him back to
her camp. The man stiffened under her hand and wheezed out another “Cassandra”
before collapsing back onto the rough cot.
Carefully she got her cloak around
his fragile back to protect it, and keep some of the wine against his ragged
flesh.
“Captain?” She rolled her shoulders
and placing her hands under the mans slightly less damaged shoulders and his
knees, she lifted. If he hadn’t been a captive, starved, and then lashed to
within a hand of his life, she would never have been able to lift him.
But she gritted her teeth and
lifted, taking it a step at a time she made her way to the tent opening.
“Open it.” A giant arm appeared and
the flap lifted quickly. Giving her all the room to move through without
banging the poor mans head against the poles. She turned to the first man.
“Hold him while I get on. Then hand
him to me.”
Her horse stood as still as stone
while the large man handed the unconscious body to her. She could see the
questions in their eyes as the sun had started to rise.
“I am heading back to camp. Round
up the others and be back before full dawn.” The man was hardly sitting
upright, but she fastened her belt around his middle to hers. She barely had to
put her heels to her destreirs sides, and he moved fast despite carrying two
people.
They had put some distance between
the raiding party before she slowed her mount to a gentle canter. The man
strapped to her suddenly sagged against her.
“I don’t know who you are, or what you did to piss off Ziurk, but I’m going to find out.”
