Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 53

"Obey and you'll live. Understand?"

She whimpered.

"Understand?"

Felicia nodded meekly even as she whimpered again.

To the others he said, "She said the Ace was leaving the village. Spread out to the woods and search it in the usual way. Start with the creek." Some of the men dispersed but three of them stayed to hold Felicia in place. "Don't let Andrew hear about this." He looked from face to face. "His guest isn't going to wanna hear about it, so keep it quiet. Take the girl to the basement cell and put her on the rack. Find out what she knows, we'll take a perimeter check and meet back at the tavern in an hour."

"Yessir." The oldest man said and hooked Felicia around the throat with his arm. "Scream and I snap your neck like a chicken, follow?"

Felicia thrashed. "Mph! Mph, mphhhh!" When his arm tightened she went slack and nodded. "Mph, nhgh!" You don't need to do this!

Why her? What'd she done that'd deserved this treatment? Felicia turned her gaze to the young guard with pleading curiosity in her eyes– for just a second he looked on her pitying but just as quickly it was gone and he turned away, nodding the others on. Her new captor took her with an arm around her throat and brought her back to the office with her heels dragging all the way.

He opened the door to the basement with a clatter and pivoted to drag her down the ramp. She tied to thrash once and he tightened his grip.

"Move again."

"Nh, mph!"

"I don't care, girl." The man hauled her into a dingy segmented room, booted open the unpainted door and thrust her into the cubical room. Up against the rear wall was device that looked like a bed frame with a wheel at either end and ropes strewn about it. A lever on either side looked as though they were meant for turning– then it clicked.

Felicia scrabbled at the man. He grabbed her and shoved her against the door, mashing her face sidelong into it. "Nph!" She whimpered and cried out. "Nononono." Blind fear was taking hold and nothing she could do was going to stop it; she was going to be tortured for everything that could be learned.

"Stop." He held her tighter. "Or I could make this much worse."

"Nononono." Felicia thrashed ineffectually even as the older guard pressed his weight against her. "Mph!"

His hands were rough and calloused and as unforgiving as stone as he yanked her to the rack and slammed her down upon the cold, iron-bound slab of wood. She fought for every inch in spite of his warning– techniques came to mind, those Lostariel had taught her, in her flailing she tried to remember how they went, kicking a foot up to try and hook her leg around his neck. He easily slid out of her grasp and when she tied again he punched her in the stomach. Hard.

"Ungf," was the only sound she managed as the wind and fight was ripped from her body with such force she vomited to the side. The gag kept most of it in and she had to swallow it to keep from choking– the acidic bile wore hot down her throat and she had to struggle to breathe. Even though she couldn't breathe she tried to curl up as the man tied her into the separate ropes– he gave not a single care and pulled her limbs taught, heedless to her whimpering cry begging for mercy.

The only mercy she was given was when he untied her gag and yanked her head to the side to spit what remained of her stomach's contents. Felicia spat and cried. It was worthless. Pointless. She was alone. What'd she done, why was this happening to her? She looked to her torturer, tried to mutter her question.

He removed his chainmail and tossed it on a table some feet away. He then picked up a strip of braided leather and turned to her with tired, listless eyes.

For her part in it, Felicia pulled on her bonds, whimpering. "Please, I didn't do anything–"

"You know." He said coldly. "She killed my family. . ."

Felicia blinked. "W- Wait- Wait, the. . ."

"Where is she, girl? I can make this quick."

"I don't know! She left when I told her I wanted to get my horse back!"

"WHERE?!"

"I don't know!" Felicia whimpered. "Please I–" The whip came across her with lightning force, searing across her stomach and hip. She howled out. "Please!"

He wasn't hearing it. Another slap across her body and he pounced on her, gripping her throat with both hands. "Nothing I do to you is going to satisfy me– nothing will bring back what she took." His hands clenched tighter. Tighter. Felicia struggled just to breathe. Her eyes went wide with the effort- with the understanding.

It wasn't about power. It wasn't about dominion. It was the only way he had to get back at someone who'd wronged him. She was incidental in all of it, just by her association with Lostariel, she was a 'fair target' and she was far more accessible than the killer herself. This revelation came as a surprise; of all the gods damned things to be thinking about in such a time, why that?

The man gripped tighter. Felicia tried to scream out around the massive hands. She thrashed and tried to grab his hands for all the good it would do. She kicked and coughed and tried to punch at him. But it all held. She couldn't move.

She was damned.

She was going to die.

She couldn't breathe, she couldn't thrash, she couldn't call out for help. . .

This was how Felicia died.

#

She awoke some indeterminate time later with the searing kiss of leather across her bare chest. She howled out into the deafening din for whatever good it'd do and yanked hard to cover herself only to be denied by something anchoring her down. Again and again she pulled to hide from the whip and again and again she was denied. She twisted in her bonds trying once more to shelter herself from the torrent of pain.

"WHERE IS SHE?!"

"I don't know!" Felicia choked out. "Please!"

Another lash came across her body and this time Felicia threw her head back painfully into the spool. The guard lumbered over to her and grabbed up a hand full of her hair to keep her from doing it again, he jerked her head about like a rag doll, twisting her to the side so she was looking up at him. "I'll ask one more time, then I break you. One hand at a time."

"Nononono–" The young girl twisted and turned. The shadows of the room shifted just a little bit from behind the man, something opened and closed. Someone else entered– She looked up at him once more, wondering what this new tormentor would be demanding from her. "Please I don't know. She's chasing after a woman!"

"A woman. What woman?"

"S- Her name's Sarah."

The guard leaned forward with his fists on the slab, his eyes cold and distant. "Sarah?"

"Y- Yes! She's going to kill her! That's all I know, I swear!"

"I don't believe you girl. . ."

"Please I–"

"Where. Is. She?"

Felicia opened her mouth to reply but someone else, another woman, did instead. "Closer than you think." It was Lostariel. Gods it was her.

Both tormentor and tormented gaped slightly, their eyes widened. The guard tried to turn– exactly what anyone would have done, and Lostariel knew it. She pounced before he'd even started to turn– in a split second she was on him, leaping into her strike and burying her long green steel dagger into the space between his throat and shoulder. She landed the tip of her foot on the rack and used this new leverage to shove up and loop around his back to bury her second blade in the other side of his neck while he was still moving to cover the wound. The small woman jerked her weight forward to push him down, speaking in a calm, detached voice: "You have only yourself to blame." She yanked her blades from his flesh, arcs of hot crimson tore through the air as he started to collapse, aided by the assassin's kick.

When the short woman turned her blades were dry, cold, unstained by the fluids that now spread into a pool on the ground. She glanced back at the door, ensuring no one had heard the commotion and then finally, as an afterthought, looked to the bound teenager on the rack.

There was something, though. A tiny shift in her posture, a flicker of doubt, a touch. . . .a touch of concern. "Did they do anything to you?"

They stared at one another for so long even the mice had probably begun to wonder if she was dead. Felicia had never seen someone killed before, she'd never– gods. His face. That look. And now, his killer standing before her, cold and emotionless; unconcerned with the life she had just extinguished. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Lostariel's gaze roamed her prostrate form for a moment, attentive and curious. She reached out to touch Felicia's generous breasts but slowly, as though that shred of humanity she hid from the world was reminding her it still existed, she blushed and drew back. Her purple eyes scanned up to her face and she dampened her lips, then quietly cut the ropes that held the girl.

It took a moment for Felicia to digest her freedom, she doubled over covering herself and though she wanted to cry and clutch at the searing marks across her body, she knew that if she took the time to, they'd probably be killed. She grabbed the tatters of her clothing and slung them on as best she could. They barely covered her and she had to tie her skirts at the hip to keep them secure, though she was fortunate to find the elder's kukri among her clothing, even if her gold was gone. While she was doing that Lostariel ransacked the dead guard for a few coins, keys and some kind of herb pouch.

"You used me as bait." Felicia said hoarsely.

The assassin stood, gave her a look as though she were stupid and chuffed. "I didn't."

"You left me!"

"You didn't follow." Lostariel snapped back. "Have you been paying no attention to me since we met? You own nothing in this world but that which you cannot replace," in an instant she had Felicia's shoulder. The blades were back in their scabbards. "We need to leave. Now."

"T- This isn't over."

"You can still walk away." Lostariel turned and crept up to the door, peeking. Felicia eyed the corpse and stepped around rather than over him to avoid getting his essence on her boots. The last thing she needed was a spirit following her around before the body was properly buried. She was trembling inside but for the moment there was no time, no chance to make sense of what'd happened.

No, what had happened was she was saved by the very assassin the guards were seeking. The woman she'd come to hate and stand in awe of at the same time had done what she thought was right– "He was looking for you." She whispered.

That didn't phase her in the least, Lostariel ignored it, maybe expected it and for the moment she wasn't about to let Felicia in on whatever history she had with these people. She lead them up the stairs to the hall behind the office and with a step so ginger and yet confident, she ghosted her way through the guard's quarters with the bedraggled teen firmly in tow. They had full run of the place and yet she ignored all the opportunities– distractions, really– to pilfer their coffers or equipment.

Felicia wasn't nearly so professional; she stole the first tunic she found. And paid dearly for it when Lostariel cuffed her across the ear. The dirty look they exchanged quickly lead to the assassin physically grabbing her by the ear she'd just abused and pulling her along like a disobedient child. The powerful yet compact woman dragged her along until they were at the north facing window, the only exit not directly facing the public spaces, something she'd not considered until they were climbing out and saw the woodline a stone's throw away.

They crept along without another word between them; Felicia was too tired and sore and Lostariel always seemed to thrive in silence. Some part of her knew she should've been thankful for her freedom, but every other part kept replaying the image of that man being cut down like he was nothing.

Lostariel lead her deep into the woods until they found a clearing, at which time she turned on her 'apprentice' and gave her another once over. "I'll ask again did–"

"No!" Felicia hugged the tunic to her chest. "H- he whipped me! Because they wanted to know where you went! A- and you killed him!"

"It's what I do. . ." There was no hesitation, no remorse, just a plain statement of fact that sent Felicia's heart into her throat. It was always so much different when they were talking about it, but seeing it? Feeling the rush of blood across her body? She shuddered.

"I- I don't know who you are. . ."

Lostariel was not amused. "Then you've not been paying attention; they wanted to capture me, they were willing to use you to do it. . . .would you rather I had left you–"

"So what, this was all for you?! Y- I thought you were my friend!" A lance of fire burned across her chest as she tried to get the tunic over her head. "Shhhhehhh–" She looked down to find a particularly nasty cut from her chest and an angry pink mark where the flesh had been rent by the tip of her torturers's device.

And no medical supplies, no bandages or sugar-honey water to clean it out. If they were back home she'd be very dead. Hell, she should have been very dead as it was. . . .if not for Lostariel. The teen looked down and away. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" It wasn't a question of what specifically but more so Lostariel wanting to see if she'd fully grasped what kind of debate she was opening up; something she always did to piss Felicia off when she was already agitated. And like so many universal laws, it worked without fail.

"I- because I was wrong, okay? I'm trying to apologize–"

"It can't be helped." Lostariel closed in on her and took her cheek, her purple eyes betrayed nothing but her body language was remarkably focused and– surprisingly– kind of supportive. She spoke in a cool, calm voice with searching eyes that seemed to be reaching for something. Maybe forgiveness. . .

Felicia wanted to give it to her; gods did she want to believe she'd been spared by a friend rather than some mad woman tying up potential loose ends. If only things were different, if she was stronger or Lostariel less insane. Maybe there would've been something there, maybe. . .

Maybe. . .

Lostariel smoothed back like a rolling mist, wiped the blood from her vest and stalked off through the bush. "Go home."

"W- what? It's not that simple and you know it, those people want to catch us and kill you. Maybe me, too!"

She stopped.

Glanced back.

It then dawned on Felicia what the assassin meant by that; she wasn't part of that world, she was trying to protect Felicia and that ridiculously vain notion of innocence the civilized world seemed to cherish so much. She was being a friend. The kind of friend Felicia would've been in her shoes. Felicia smiled weakly. "I can't let my friend run off and get hurt, can I?"

Lostariel didn't answer, she turned away and left the teen to make herself decent and follow– or more likely, prayed that she'd go away. Fat chance of that happening now.

#

They were stuck with one another in that kind of way that the old married couples of Sorash complained about one another while protecting each other from even the tiniest of slights. Lostariel had taken them into the bush to regroup and come up with a plan which somehow involved them waiting until nightfall to move. They spent the intervening time tucked under a coat of pillowy moss and leaves doing their best to remain silent. Despite being so far from the village she'd insisted they follow her lead and in so doing, Felicia learned two things:

The training she'd endured that involved her being still for incredible amounts of time had actually been for a purpose.

And she hated ants. A lot.

When night fell Lostariel crept from under her cover and moved to jostle Felicia, likely thinking she'd fallen asleep. When the girl held up a hand, though, she leaned down and murmured in her ear. "Question: Was it the man I killed that took you in?"

"No. It was the younger one, the one who let us in." Felicia dusted herself down. "He saw something, like he was expecting it. . ."

Lostariel furrowed her brow. "All right, we start with him."

"H- hey." She took the assassin's shoulder. "Can we do this without killing anyone?"

A beat. "No."

"Can we try?"

Lostariel chuffed. "Fine, but I will not endanger my life for your morals."

"That's what it's about isn't it? The sanctity of life, the value?" At the woman's bemused expression Felicia smiled warily. "I do pay attention, you know."

"Hmph." The killer turned away and started a crouched shimmy back towards the village. Felicia was close behind, not exactly blind to the rather shapely curve of Lostariel's lower body– maybe she was being simple, but in the flickering shadows lancing the tree cover, she had a view she'd seldom really considered before; something she'd grown rather fond of and found herself missing in that moment. The touch of intimacy, the warmth of another living thing. . . .it'd been absent in her training. She was going to have to talk to her mentor about that, she promised herself.

They edged up close to the woodline and without a word between them, lowered prone. Using long knee-to-elbow crawling strides they shuffled up to the very lip of the village– to the guard's office. A single flickering candle illuminated the inside but the other houses were also similarly lit; it was oddly symmetrical, like Sorash's city buildings had been, as if people were afraid of what might come for them in the dark. On the plains, such lights were a way to draw attention to oneself, only the foolish used them.

But then the plains nights were always at a steady ambient light level, too.

Lostariel touched her eyes and pointed at the guard's office. Felicia nodded. They waited exactly three beats before Lostariel sprang from the bush and bounded up, tucked herself into another shadow near the window so she could peek. She was there for some seconds before she lowered herself once more and scrambled to the edge of the building to survey the main traffic parts of the village. Eventually she looked back and through a series of quick hand gestures indicated her desires: 'Move to me. Watch our backs. At pace.'

Finally the command came; 'Go.'

And so she did. Her footfalls were quiet and sure, careful in the way a plains hunter had to be, she crept up behind Lostariel and touched her shoulder indicating she was ready for what would come next. It was a lie, but she didn't need to know that.

They slipped around the front of the guard's office trying to make full use of the shadows. Various humanoid forms moved about their homes and some were bundled up around small martial camps near the main road, their fires and silhouettes were distant enough to throw awkward warring shadows over the building and it was in those shadows that they found their refuge. Hopping from one to the next, the women snaked up to the front door and Lostariel drove the key she'd stolen from the guard into the lock, turning it with a barely audible 'click'. She opened the door and peeked, tilted her head to get a feel for the sounds inside, nodded and ushered them both in. So far everything was going exactly as she'd taught Felicia and so far it'd also been mercifully quiet. So far so good.

At Felicia's questioning look the assassin pointed at the window they'd used to escape. Some kind of glass jar had been propped over a sill above it with a latch and a piece of string; had someone opened it and climbed through the jar would've dumped its contents on them, and just looking at the clear liquid Felicia got the distinct impression it wouldn't have been pleasant.

A trap. A trap meant someone was expecting them to come back– or someone was still here. She leaned forward to communicate the idea but Lostariel was already off towards the back room, ducking the oil lamp and podium in favor of the space between the desks and trophy cases. When they got to the back door she had a quick look around the frame, the floor– she smacked her lips. Then Felicia saw the smear of bloody boot prints. They looked to one another and nodded in understanding before Lostariel checked the door once more and carefully, gingerly, eased her way into the gloom.