Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 59

2

Making A Dress of Cotton and One of Hemp

"There are ruminations and guesses at what the Forgotten Lands used to look like before the God's War. From what few ruins can be found, vast cities of advanced technological construction seem to be a recurring theme, and while one can make certain logical assumptions about how these advances were achieved, no one can say for sure why they were sought out in the first place.

Until the end of the war there was no interest expressed or implied from the Great Engineer in the region, so it appears that these people had developed these things largely free of the gods' influence. You can find traces of that ingenuity in tribal decedents of the region who've somehow retained a way to shape and mold Sunless Steel without the use of a forge.

Just as before, however, the tribes guard their secrets with the same zeal and ferocity that the Plains do. It's a tragedy to think that when the last Plainswalker dies, so too will the secret of this amazing alloy.

The price paid by those who reject the gods is borne by the world at large, of this I am firmly convinced."

-Col. Engineer Myren Bristain

"Steel and Sanctimony: A Historical Guide to Modern Metallurgy"

~Felicia~

The forest was awash with the sounds of birds and wild life rising to the pulse of a new day, chirping and cooing with noisy abandon- as if these creatures were celebrating the arrival of the sun, heralds for a new age. The purple tint to the sky didn't loom as it did in Felicia's homeland, it settled like a thin veil over the land, free of the threat of lightening and wild magic, taunting her to let her guard slip.

Even having spent several years north of the Plains, she still kept a wary eye for danger. Much like the woman she was traveling with, Felicia knew that danger always lurked in stillness. Only a fool got comfortable under open skies. . .

As Lostariel lead the two of them through the ritualistic stretching routine, Felicia glanced upward briefly, wondering if she might catch sight of the falcons that she'd been told about. They were hunters this far north, in the same way Felicia and Lostariel were. Though the three of them would be after different prey; Felicia had been taught to hunt to feed her tribe and herself, the falcon would hunt to feed itself and its young and Lostariel would hunt humanoids for coin and reputation.

They were all hunters and they were all somehow opposed to one another. An odd contrast, really, not incompatible but somehow different and foreign to each other. Where Lostariel was short, Felicia stood tall, where she was pale, the Plains had tanned Felicia a rich caramel and where Felicia was rather generous in the chest, Lostariel was more modest but had the kind of hips that would've cradled many healthy children.

Lostariel had said it herself; they were two halves of 'the perfect woman'. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. To Felicia, it was the eyes that always caught her breath and made her think stupid things when she was around her mentor; those eyes that watched her intently as they both sunk down slowly into perfect splits. They were only a foot away from one another but the young Plainswalker couldn't read anything buried in those vibrant purple eyes. She was as much a mystery as she had been the evening they met.

There was pain there, of that she was sure. The elixir the dragon's agent had given her to seal up the fatal organ damage she'd suffered in the fight with the last assassin they crossed paths with had saved her life, but it worked slowly. It wasn't like the examples of divine magic that Felicia had seen-- these things took time.

Still, a week on and she was walking on her own and well enough to resume training. It was a testament to her professionalism and maybe her pride. Felicia had been fine playing nurse, even when it meant dealing with an unruly patient, if only to show her that there was more to life than taking it. That she could relax and they could forget this foolishness about killing Sarah Kettar and maybe, just maybe if the chips fell in a certain way, they might have even made one another happy.

In the same way only a fool sought to tame one of the eyeless coyotes that prowled her homelands, to bring it to heel and attempt to become friends with it, Felicia sought to change the nature of a different kind of predator. Somehow she knew the result would be the same regardless, but still she tried.

It was with that thought in mind she closed her eyes and stretched to touch her toes opposite Lostariel doing the same. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the short woman wince as she ran her hands down her impressively thick and powerful thighs to her knees and finally to hold her foot. Her breathing was shorter, shallower. She was pushing herself too hard.

Felicia swallowed. "I--"

"I'm fine." She hissed through clenched teeth. "Hold it." Lostariel clutched her foot tightly, with her fingers digging into the sole of her shoe Felicia noticed. "And release. . ."

They went through the remainder of their stretches before they locked eyes. The ritual complete, the real ritual was about to begin. Slowly, carefully, they rose in unison with Felicia trailing so she didn't give away today's strategy before she was ready. Her gaze swept the short woman once more head to toe so as to disguise her intentions.

But it was Lostariel who started-- she was inside Felicia's reach in a split second already dropping to her knee, hooking her leg around Felicia's with her shoulder jamming into her pelvis to throw her off balance. Before Lostariel could get her hands wrapped around, though, the Plainswalker grabbed them and turned them outward, pressing her knee into the woman's chest to reverse their leverage to favor her.

It was a short lived victory that Felicia should have known was offered so easily to trap her. Before she realized it, Lostariel had her hands around Felicia's wrists and she pulled the young woman down, outstretching her knees and rolling back so that as she rolled onto her back she'd take Felicia with her and eventually straddle her chest where she could be dealt with easier.

Not about to give in, Felicia shoved her knee up into the crook of her attacker's legs and used the extra leverage to free herself, springing into a backward roll and crouch as she'd been taught. Lostariel was already into the same crouch, they watched each other. . .

Lostariel surged forward. Felicia rose to meet her only for the assassin to drop back down and shoulder her into the tree at the edge of their camp site. The wind ripped from her lungs, Felicia grabbed the woman's shoulders, pushing her thumbs into the pressure points as she fought for breath and control of their weight.

But the battle was lost. Felicia felt the dull jab of a stick prodding her throat telling her she'd best let go. So she did. Slumping back against the tree, panting and wheezing, she muttered some incoherent crap about how it wasn't fair and that Lostariel cheated. It was the usual but neither of them were actually listening.

Lostariel didn't immediately let go, either. She was panting for different reasons, the pain in her eyes had swollen to take center stage. She held her breath for a moment before looking up at Felicia. "Yield."

They weren't done yet it seemed.

From the weeks they'd spent traveling together, through the quiet moments and the panic stricken ones, Lostariel was always so firmly in control that she wouldn't be satisfied a situation was truly handled until she knew that her opponent knew it to. In some situations this meant someone was tied to a bed, in other situations it meant a soldier was gurgling blood into the dirt while his companions backed up and she melted into the shadow. Still, in other moments it was the quiet admission, the understanding that one was beaten.

Felicia knew it before they'd even began stretching. But she also knew that you didn't earn the respect of a predator by yielding. She raised her chin, steadying her breath and held that beautiful purple gaze for everything she could; she waited out the pain in Lostariel's body. Patient. Breathless.

She hated herself for it, but there was only one way this was going to go and one way it had to end. Felicia let herself go slack to give the appearance of surrender, looking all the world as if she knew she was beaten. Lostariel's guard continued to ebb, breathing shorter as she tried to right herself.

The moment didn't come with loud proclamations or applause, but rather when the pressure on Felicia's throat eased. The Plainswalker, still holding her mentor's gaze, kneed her in the stomach as she shifted her weight and tangled her arm around Lostariel's to keep the weapon controlled. Just as she'd been taught she stepped into her attacker's reach, bracing her foot between Lostariel's and shoving hard and fast, pulling up on that foot to force the short woman to her back.

As the assassin fell, Felicia disentangled her arm and dropped with her- knee on thigh and hand on throat exactly as muscle memory forced her to. Lostariel hit the group with a meaty thump and grunt of pain that bloomed furiously over her features; a split second of panic and genuine fear lit those eyes. Memories, Felicia could almost imagine of their fight with the other assassin.

Felicia let her throat go and focused on immobilizing her arms while the smaller woman tried to thrash. There was no momentum, nowhere for either of them to go, but for just a moment that was all right. Lostariel realized it the moment she hit the ground and even now, fighting for breath and trying not to let those pain induced tears slide from her eyes, she quietly surrendered her battle. Or at least she wanted Felicia to think so.

The Plains taught its hunters the value of constant vigilance and she wasn't about to be fooled. Instead, she tried another approach, gently letting up and brushing a few strands of Lostariel's hair from her face. She followed her finger as it ran a soft furrow through her black mane and traced it behind her ear, she let her touch linger there, feeling the tiny ridge at the crest of her ear that hinted at her elven ancestry and for just that one moment she felt the woman's pulse in her skin.

Alive. Utterly alive the way only she could be.

Felicia looked to her again with a small smile. "I could get used to this."

"Not-" she panted. "Likely." The panic was gone but the fight was still raging. Lostariel tried to move her arm but Felicia pinned it down again. "You can't do anything."

"I know," she leaned in a little, now mere breath away. "But I'm not asking you to yield either."

They stayed fixed like that for a moment, sharing the same tepid breath that weeks on the road had accumulated. Lostariel jostled once but there was nowhere to go. She understood. Sarah would've said that deserved a reward, that she'd probably have been a 'good girl' in the half-elf's eyes. Felicia had been a good girl once. . .

Slowly, carefully, Felicia eased her knee back further and further until it hit the dirt and her weight pressed them together, lip to lip. Separated only by the cotton shorts they trained in, Felicia quietly reveled in something she'd been denied since meeting Sarah-- the little touch, the quiet reminder that someone as powerful as Lostariel was not only within her reach but given the right circumstances would welcome her.

Lostariel closed her eyes briefly, chuffing out a short laugh that immediately made her wince. Felicia almost stopped but she knew giving in now was going to lead to consequences later- it always did with her mentor. When Lostariel looked up at her there was something different in her eyes, amusement maybe.

The young Plainswalker soon found out why; in the span of an instant she felt Lostariel's thick thigh tense against her side. At first inviting, reminding her of what they hadn't shared in a while. But then it was under her, then she had her leg curled under Felicia's and before she knew what was happening Felicia was staring up at the sky with Lostariel sitting on her chest.

"You're predictable," the assassin said softly. There was no heat in it, no childing.

Felicia turned her hands out as if to say 'and?' before she smiled up at her mentor. "You've seen yourself in a mirror before. . ."

That actually struck the woman, she looked down at her captive with a tiny blush. She didn't demand Felicia yield this time and so the young Plainswalker traced her hands up Lostariel's powerful legs, trailing the lines she'd committed to memory that night in the inn. Hers was a physical power and an unbroken will, but when Felicia's hands came to cup her holdable hips, there was pause. There was curiosity and warmth and just a touch of lust-- things Felicia wanted to believe only she inspired in her.

But just as Lostariel was about to bend forward and no doubt tell her about how dumbs she was being, the assassin winced when Felicia's thumbs brushed over her stomach. Felicia withdrew instantly. "Sorry, sorry. Shit."

Lostariel chuffed and sat back looking down at her captive. "Lost your nerve already?"

There was no point in answering, of course, but Felicia tried even as Lostariel planted a foot between her legs and launched off to a reverse cartwheel that she almost pulled off if not for the pain induced grunt when she found her feet again. In the brief moment she could see it, Felicia caught sight of the small red lines that ran from the top of her pelvic area up to her rib cage.

Sealed. Her flesh was fine, but it was an after effect of the elixir the dragon's agent had given her in the wake of her battle with the other assassin. Apparently it hadn't finished mending her internal organs, though the 'scars' of its magic still graced her like ribbons. Felicia felt chilly as she rose to her knees, looking up at her mentor. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

"Don't," Lostariel said quietly. "It's getting better every day."

At least that much was true. Felicia got to her feet and assumed a combat stance. When Lostariel didn't mirror it, she let it drop. "I thought you wanted another round. Sor--"

"Don't." This time the word was different. It sounded more like a request than a command. . . .had she won some more ground?

Only one way to find out, Felicia decided. "So who's win was that? Who's packing the horse?"

Lostariel frowned at her. "You are."

"I still think I won that one."

The shorter woman gave her the universal 'you must be mad' look before she started forward, apparently intent on showing Felicia who was really in charge here. Felicia didn't hesitate to turn and face her mentor, prepared this time. Instead of lashing out, though, Lostariel cruised right by and went about breaking down camp.

Felicia went off to wash up while she did, coming back to find that everything had been packed up and Lostariel was perched on their saddle bags sharpening one of her daggers. She'd switched out her training outfit for the loose pants they'd bought in the last village and one of Felicia's shirts. She was practically drowning in fabric with the legs rolled up the shirt down to her thighs. She looked utterly ridiculous.

But not half as much as Felicia did when she realized that her own clothes were packed up. A flash of panic ripped through her in an instant. Had she found the project?

They looked at each other as Lostariel grazed her blade down her whetstone. Then she smiled a rare grin. "Problem?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Felicia eyed the bags, then Lostariel. She didn't look upset. Did that mean she hadn't found it? Felicia dampened her lips and tried her best to sound confident. "You realize this means war, right?"

"The peace monger preaching war, what's the world coming to? What happened to convincing me not to take lives?"

That had to have been a good sign. Felicia's secret was safe for the moment. Even so, she couldn't beat the woman in a fair fight, physical or otherwise, they both knew that. That was all right, though. . . .she had other ideas. Like the north lands rabbit they'd come to rely on for food, Felicia played up looking perplexed and unsure before she went to saddle the horse and get it ready for the day.

Suitably outfitted, bags and all, she mounted the stupid creature and offered her hand to Lostariel. At first the woman tried to get behind her but Felicia eased back and shook her head. "I don't want him getting upset-- might not be a real horse, but they know where the load is." Felicia smiled a little. "He might kick you off."

At least that much wasn't a complete load of crap; the few times they'd tried it, Lostariel had almost been thrown a few times. When the assassin didn't question it, Felicia knew she'd won. It was the little victories that'd lead to the big ones. . .

Felicia maneuvered them out to the trade road carefully, easing through the wood line while the sharp hatchbury trees tore at her exposed thighs. She grit her teeth through it all until they hit the road where upon she and her passenger made a quick glance to make sure no one was coming.

In her short time hunting them, Felicia had learned that rabbits avoided predators with camouflage and erratic movements when they were being chased. There was some wisdom in it, but for her purposes, she adopted the former quality as they started down the trail.

Patient. Relaxed. Just another day chasing down a con artist, avoiding bounty hunters and trying to keep an assassin- or the dragon's agent that hired her- from killing a friend. The countryside was mostly hilly with rolling thickets of untamed brush and the occasional abandoned farm that dotted the quiet like monuments to ages gone past.

The idea of 'ages' was a subjective thing to Felicia; on the Plains an instant could be an age as easily as the time between the destruction of the Ancestors and the rise of her own tribe, but out here it always felt as if everything was far removed from everything else in time and space. Unmoored in that way that only the gods touched lands could manage; lost and forgotten husks rotting in a verdant hellscape.

"I almost miss the wild magic," Felicia whispered as they trod past a farmhouse charred black by some ancient fire.

Lostariel glanced back up at her. "Why?"

"It wasn't as tragic. . . .think about it: there was a family here. People lived here at some point." Carefully Felicia edged herself down against Lostariel's back, whispering across her ear. "You'd call it pretense, right? The pretense that this land could be settled, that it even should be settled by man."

"People do that, they want to live free. . . .they knew the risk when they set up here."

Wasn't that what life was, a constant string of risks? The only difference between her tribe and the 'civilized' world was location and type of threat, really. Both she and Lostariel probably had histories with similar risks, even if the way they wound up in them was different. That begged the question, then, which risks were measured and which ones would have a good return if successful?

Felicia decided she'd start with the most familiar of risks, the one she had practiced since the first time she'd tried it a couple weeks ago. Slowly, carefully, she brought the reins back over Lostariel's wrists while she gripped the saddle horn. She drew the leather around her hands- once, twice. Just to make sure. "I don't want you falling," the young woman whispered. Firm. Throaty. It was how she'd get the assassin's attention.

And attention she got, Lostariel held her breath for a moment as the horse trod forward, jostling them slightly with every step. She worked against the reins a little even when Felicia tightened them under her hands. But in the next moment her resistance stilled when Felicia brought her feet against Lostariel's, effectively pinning her to the horse, even urging it to speed up a little.