by Ther Renard
"Yes," Ayla said with a soft smile that indicated she was quite looking forward to finding her bed full of brat. "Pity."
Kira snorted and rolled her eyes. "You're getting soft in your old age."
"Not so soft I can't still remind you of a thing or two, Miss Kira," Ayla replied, lifting a brow in the warrior's direction as she rose from the table. "Good night."
"I'm sure you'll have a great one," Kira said, lifting her tankard in a final salute as the witch made her way up the stairs towards her bedroom - and the disobedient young lady within.
Chapter Seventeen
A weather worn slip of parchment flapped from a tree. It bore the word WANTED prominently across its top. Further details were obscured by the curling of the parchment in the wind and the deleterious effects of rain. It had already come partially lose from its moorings and was about to lose its grip entirely when a leather clad hand reached out and snapped it into the possession of a tall, slim young woman wearing a forest green tunic and thick brown leather leggings.
Zephyr gazed down at the paper with just a hint of a smile on her wide mouth. Her long brown hair fell in ringlets to her shoulders, her wide brimmed hat taming the worst of the rambunctious mop.
"Do you see this?" She held the tattered scrap of material out at hip height, shoving it into the face of a lady dwarf who appeared to be mostly blonde locks and big fur boots.
"Aye see it." A gravelly, deep, incongruous voice rose from the pint sized package of blonde beautiousness.
"This is how I will make my fortune. Five thousand gold pieces! Imagine all the things I could do with five thousand gold pieces!"
"Pay off half of your ten thousand piece debt?"
Zephyr slapped the paper in the dwarf's direction. "I wouldn't need to do that if you let me have a few coins from your pot of gold."
"Dwarfs don't have pots of gold.” The dwarf tossed her head, sending a flail of water zipping through the air as her long locks rose and fell in a crested wave.
"Fine, chest, whatever it is."
Big blue round eyes went narrow at the 'sinuation. "That's my gold. You learn to swing a pick ax and maybe you'll make some yourself."
"I'm not a miner, Chatsie, I'm a mercenary detective."
"You mean you're a ne'erdowell and layabout without means of regular income."
"I was a ne'er dowell and layabout until I found this," Zephyr said, peering at the fine print. "Says here she's wanted for witchcraft and acts of infamy. Wonder what that means. Acts of infamy."
Chatsie sniffed. "Whoring, likely."
"Since when is whoring something to be ashamed of?"
"Since the Imperials went about sayin' so."
"My mother was a whore, you know," Zephyr mused, folding the poster into her pocket for safe keeping. "'Cording to my birth certificate, my father was a man of indeterminate origin. I think that means diplomat or similar.” She shrugged to herself. “We will start,” she declared, "by making inquiries."
"Where are you planning to make inquiries? You show your face in any tavern in five miles of here and you'll be strung up for non-payment," Chatsie growled through her voluminous locks.
"That's a mute point," Zephyr replied. "We can ask people all over the place. People who might have seen this Atrocious. People who might know her wary bouts."
"If I were her, I'd be miles away," Chatsie said. "With 5000 gold on her head, she's a target for every mercenary in Lesbia."
"Good thinking," Zephyr said, nodding approvingly. "Alls we need to do is find a mercenary who is on her trail and follow their trail."
"And when they turn on us?"
"Then we'll pretend that we're collecting flowers, or selling perfume or solving another mist airy."
"Mist airy?" Chatsie shuffled where she stood. "Now you're really pushing it."
"In fairy us mist airy." Zephyr said the words loud and slow, so Chatsie could understand them properly.
"I think you mean nefarious mystery."
"I know what I mean," Zephyr replied. "I say what I know I mean."
"You say anything that comes into your head."
"Of course. You have to let thoughts out, otherwise they get all cluttered up in there." Zephyr lifted her hat up. "See? Completely empty!"
Chapter Eighteen
Atrocious heard the sweep of Ayla's robes as the witch moved through the long grass. The shade of the witch cooled Atrocious' lower back as she laid in the grassy nest she'd made by flopping down face-first in the meadow.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing." Atrocious muttered the response into the backs of her own hands, which were crossed beneath her chin.
"You've been lying here for hours."
"Yes."
It was true. She had been lying there for hours, just a few feet away from the abyss at the end of the field.
There was a pause, then long fingers teased through loose strands of Atrocious' hair in a gentle caress. "Is something wrong?"
"I wouldn't know," Atrocious said. "I wouldn't know if something was right. How am I to tell if something is wrong?"
There was a brief pause as Ayla digested her words. "Your brain must be addled from the heat," she concluded. "Come inside."
"I don't want to come inside," Atrocious said. "I will just lie here. It is as good as anything else."
"This is how you plan to spend your time?"
"Why not?" Atrocious rolled over onto her back and looked up into Ayla's face. "What would it matter if this was all I did until the day I died?"
Ayla's brow rose ever so slightly. "Do I detect a conundrum of the existential kind?" Atrocious looked at Ayla blankly. The witch rephrased the question. "Are you wondering what the point of it all is?"
"I don't even know what it is," Atrocious said, letting her eyes roll up to the sky. "What is that, up there? Does it even matter what it is?"
"Oh dear." Ayla murmured the words under her breath.
"Have you ever noticed," Atrocious said, plucking a blade of grass and holding it between her fingers. "That I am essentially useless?"
"You're not useless..."
"No no, I am." Atrocious twisted the green blade until it crushed itself between her fingers, green goo staining her skin. "I have no particular use, no particular function."
"Even if that were true," Ayla said. "What makes you think that a person should have a use?"
"You have a use," Atrocious pointed out. "Kira has a use. Even Rogette has a use. But I... I have no use at all." She flung the blade of grass away and watched it tumble into the wind.
"You can come and sweep the cottage, if you need something to do."
Atrocious rolled back over in despair. "What would be the point? There will be dust tomorrow, everything turns to dust. One day I'll be dust." She shivered as Ayla reached down and trailed the tip of a fingernail along the back of her exposed neck, sending little tendrils of electricity shooting down to her toes.
"You're making two mistakes, my dear," Ayla said, her voice smooth as balm. "One is in assuming that you have enough of a knowledge of all things to know that you are useless. The other mistake," she said, letting her palm settle on Atrocious' lower back, "is disobeying me."
Atrocious drew out a long sigh. She knew she was no longer what she had once been, she had changed and the world had changed with her. It no longer seemed a place full of possibility. It seemed like a dull, dangerous place filled with cruelty and stupidity. Before she could express any of those sentiments to Ayla, someone called across the field.
"Ayla!"
It was Rogette's voice. Rogette was also not what she once was. Gone was the rough gypsy style, the billowing pants and bright jewelry. In the old Rogette's place was a small goddess of hips and curves and curls. Her hair rose in colorful ties and then fell in oiled ringlets. Her eyes were delicately made up with dark kohl. Her lips were stained dark red, and her dress, if it could be called a dress for it was sinfully sheer, was a mass of white flowing silk and mesh. She no long
er walked, she moved in sinuous waves. Her wrists were adorned with silver bangles inlaid with black diamonds and each of her fingernails was painted with a different silver tracing.
Atrocious felt her breath catch in her throat as she looked up from her terranean lair and laid eyes on the vision of loveliness. Rogette had pleased Ariadne, and Ariadne was clearly lavish in her praise.
As Rogette drew closer, her eyes widened in surprise. She put one perfectly manicured hand to her lips, which moved ever so slightly into what might have been a smile or a smirk.
"Oh, Atrocious, what are you doing?"
They had both come to the village naked, but Rogette was now clad in transcendent finery and Atrocious was just barely dressed in a simple linen tunic and britches. Rogette was Ariadne's cosseted pet, Atrocious was being chivvied to sweep the floor. It was a reality Atrocious had not given much thought to until that moment.
"I'm... sitting here," Atrocious explained, knowing her tunic was grass stained, that her hair was limp and askew and that her face was devoid of any of the fine makeup that made Rogette look so beautiful.
"Oh, well. Ariadne would like to see you, Ayla," Rogette informed the witch.
"Very well, thank you Rogette," Ayla said. Standing in one graceful movement, she cast a crystal green look down at Atrocious. "I will expect the house swept when I return."
Atrocious bit her lower lip before a foolish retort could leap to her lips. The memory of punishments still lingered strongly and she had no desire to see herself debased before Rogette.
Whilst Ayla and Rogette made their way towards the great house nestled at the apex of the village, Atrocious flopped back into her grass nest, feeling more useless than ever. "Once a peasant, always a peasant?" She murmured the question to the cloudless sky.
Chapter Nineteen
When Ayla drew into Ariadne's presence, the reason for her summoning became abundantly clear. The high witch was sitting in her high chair, or throne as some might have called it. She was as fearsome as ever, the dark marks that characterized her singular face swirling to settle in thick slashes across her eyes as she nodded towards Ayla.
At her feet was a young woman, bound and gagged. An unnaturally bright red shock of hair spilled out over a black headband and narrow brown eyes squinted out at the world with undisguised fury. She was clad entirely in a black two piece outfit wrapped about her frame and tied with cloth belts.
"This is Thorberta," Ariadne waved a hand in her direction. "She crossed into our territory last night and caused a disturbance of the sharp and pointy kind. Usually we'd... well you know what we'd usually do, but as we have Kira here, perhaps she can do something with her." Ariadne popped a grape into her mouth and twirled her hand in the air. "I should warn you, she has a tendency to be fairly stabby."
"Stabby." Ayla repeated the word. "Is that an element we want in the village?"
"Kira has been growing restless. A restless warrior is a bad thing," Ariadne said. "Thorberta here should keep her entertained."
"And where will Thorberta be staying?"
Ariadne waved her hand again, dismissing the pedestrian concerns associated with petty matters like accommodation. "Let's see if she survives the day, shall we?"
~~~
Entirely unaware of the angry package that was about to be dropped at her feet, Kira was hard at work, her long hair falling in a thick dark curtain to her waist. A plaited leather band held it back from her face as she worked at the task of sharpening and cleaning her many knives and swords in the eternal summer sun.
Ayla strode across the village square with Thorberta squirming over her shoulder. The young woman was not entirely light, in fact she was fairly well padded in parts and Ayla was looking forward to being relieved of the burden - though she had the distinct feeling that putting Thorberta down would not relieve her of anything but a little weight.
"What is this?" Kira asked the question with an amused smirk as she looked up from her highly honed blade.
"A present, for you, from Ariadne. I'm not sure you want to unwrap it."
"Ariadne sent me a prisoner?" Kira cast a critical eye over the now furiously squirming young lady. "Why?"
"The word 'stabby' was mentioned," Ayla said, keeping a firm hold on Thorberta as she wriggled about with increasing vigor.
"And what am I supposed to do with her?"
"Evidently the high witch has noticed your boredom," Ayla said, crouching to drop Thorberta onto the grass, face down. "She thinks Thorberta will keep you occupied."
After briefly surveying the prisoner, Kira used the toe of her boot to turn Thorberta over. "I'm going to untie you, okay? Try not to do anything stupid."
A high pitched whining snarl emitted from Thorberta, or more correctly, from the gag that covered the lower part of her face.
"Very well," Kira said, drawing her foot back. "I guess we'll leave the untying for later." She returned to the task of sharpening her blade, passing steel over the hard edge of a large stone.
Atrocious soon poked her head out of the house, broom in hand. She gave the bound young lady a sympathetic look, then nudged Kira in the back with the bristle end of the broom. "Shouldn't you make sure she's alright?"
"She's fine," Kira said offhandedly, focusing on her blade. "Anyone making sounds like that could use a little cooling off time."
"You're awful," Atrocious said. She put the broom down and made to go to Thorberta's aid.
"Leave her."
Atrocious stopped where she stood, putting her hands on her hips. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe a little kindness and compassion would go a long way?"
"No," Kira replied bluntly.
~~~
Thorberta laid on the ground for a good twenty minutes more whilst the scrraappee scrrapppe sound of Kira's blade being sharpened penetrated the surrounding area. Atrocious and Ayla had long since retired inside, Atrocious only going at Ayla's insistence. At first Kira paid little attention to the bound captive, but after a while, she began to speak.
"If you are thinking..."
scrraappee
"... of doing something violent..."
scrrrapppeee
"...I'd strongly advise against it," she said.
Having delivered her warning, Kira put reached down, grabbed Thorberta's booted feet and dragged the prisoner closer. With a steady, sure hand, she cut the bonds.
The rope fell away. Thorberta leaped to her feet. Free of fetters, she turned out to be of medium height and medium build, perhaps a little on the larger side, as was common with those who ate as hard as they fought. Her face was still half covered by a cloth mask. Narrow brown eyes peered out at Kira as Thorberta took a defensive stance, her body presented side on, her arms raised ready to block or strike.
"Calm down," Kira said, coiling the rope in her hands. "I'm not planning on hurting you."
"Foolishness!" Thorberta declared. "I will hurt you."
She spoke with a very strange accent, her voice muffled by more than just the mask.
"That I very much doubt." Kira had not much moved from her relaxed pose, though she did still have the freshly sharpened knife very much in hand. "Sit down and tell me why you are here."
Again Thorberta's eyes did the dance of the hyper vigilant. "Thorberta will kill the witches." She took a sliding step back, putting valuable distance between herself and Kira.
"No you won't." Kira spoke flatly.
"I am Thorberta! I am Thorberta the terrible! Thorberta the grand! Thorberta the eternal!" Thorberta extended her finger toward Kira. "You have not shown me respect. Now you will pay. I will muchly kill you until dead!"
Tiring of the threat-filled conversation, Kira twirled the knife in her hand, then, in a swift movement, plunged it into the soft earth. She reached forward, caught Thorberta by her outstretched finger and dragged the young woman towards her in a quick, rough motion that ceased only when Thorberta made contact with and tipped over Kira's thigh. The warrior scissored her legs shut, catching Tho
rberta between them as she yanked at the ties that kept the young lady clothed. Thorberta's pants fell away, revealing wide round cheeks wriggling with pure fury.
"Ah, now I know who you are," Kira said, bringing down her palm hard across Thorberta's bottom. "You are Thorberta the wailing, Thorberta the sore, Thorberta the pantless."
"I will kill you!"
"If you do, you'll do it with a very sore ass," Kira replied grimly, plying her palm against Thorberta's ample bottom with swift hard strokes, showing no mercy and giving no quarter.
Caught under Kira's slapping palm, Thorberta roared with anger. Her hand went down, reached for the hilt of the blade and wrenched it from the earth. Wasting no time, she drove the blade toward Kira's thigh with malicious intent. Kira just barely moved in time to stop the knife from sinking into her flesh, blocking Thorberta's strike with a rough sweeping movement. Still, it was enough to cut Kira's pants and draw blood. Thorberta escaped Kira's grasp, tearing away with a furious shout as she lifted the blade up and brought it slashing down towards Kira's chest.
The warrior recovered from the surprise attack a little too slowly, her means of defending herself a solid boot to Thorberta's midsection that sent the rotund assassin tumbling backwards head over heels. Kira was on her in an instant, reaching for the knife, but Thorberta pulled her knees up to her chest and used Kira's forward momentum to send the larger woman spinning over her head. Free again, Thorberta rolled forwards, pulled her pants up and tied them closed. Once dressed, she looked at the thick smear of blood on Kira's half bare thigh.
"I hurt you."
"You're not bad, but you're not that good either," Kira replied, ignoring her wound. "Now stop this foolishness."
"I am better than not bad," Thorberta said, twirling the knife in her hand, the sharp steel catching the sun in a flashing succession of turns. "I have a job. A job of killings.”
"You won't kill anybody today, Bertie," Kira said, her voice low as she began stalking forward. "Now be a good girl and put down the knife."