Dirty, Filthy Fantasies- The First Collection

by Sarah Hawke

  Chapter Three

  Nothing had changed by the time Cassel returned. The awkwardness hung in the air like a thick, noxious fog that made it hard to breathe and impossible to talk. If I hadn’t been so exhausted from the previous night, I probably wouldn’t have slept at all.

  My leg felt more or less normal by the time we set out, though after about an hour of walking the magically-knit muscles began to protest more vigorously. Cassel was right that I should have spent the whole day in bed, but even if we hadn’t been surrounded by Roskarim I wouldn’t have been willing to sit silently with him all day. By that point, the embarrassment might have literally suffocated me.

  We approached the mighty slope known as Dawn’s Peak about an hour before midday, though I made sure to keep us inside the cover of the forest as long as possible as we skirted around the edge. As bizarre as it was, I was actually thankful for the chance at some action—anything to give us an excuse to forget about last night and start talking again.

  Well, anything but this.

  “Escar’s mercy,” Cassel breathed as he sprawled out next to me on the snow. “There have to be thousands of them out there.”

  “Close to five, by my count,” I said, biting down on my lip as I peered through my spyglass. “Many of them weren’t at the first battle.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Their armor has different clan symbols. I suspect they’re holdouts who didn’t want to follow the Inquisitrix’s lackeys into battle.”

  I sighed and pursed my lips. Ayrael, the amazon warrior who had led the Roskarim during the initial siege, was a true enigma. My rangers had been attempting to track her movements for months, but we barely knew anything about her other than the fact she called herself the “Hand of the Inquisitrix.” Still, the fact she had managed to consolidate the barbarian tribes was nothing short of miraculous. The Roskarim were every bit as violent and factional as the orcs of the Shattered Peaks.

  “Why do you think the holdouts would emerge now?” Cassel said, panning his eyes across the tents and campfires dotting the ascent to the Peak. “If anything, this seems like their chance to conquer their rivals.”

  “That’s exactly what they’re doing,” I told him. “Do you see those sectioned-off circles on the eastern side of the camp?”

  “Yes.”

  “Those are challenge rings for ceremonial combat. And judging from all the blood, there have been a lot of challenges.”

  I felt him grimace even without looking at them. “Meaning what?”

  I sighed and lowered the spyglass. “Meaning that the holdouts challenged the surviving leaders for control of the horde and probably won. Now they’ll try and solidify their authority in the only way they know how.”

  “By crushing Icewatch,” Cassel murmured.

  I nodded gravely. “The only way to truly prove their worth is to succeed where their predecessors failed.”

  “And if that’s their motivation, I can’t imagine anything is going to dissuade them from attacking.” Cassel hissed between his teeth. “We have to get a message to the Council. We have to convince them to send us more men.”

  “It’s too late for that,” I whispered. “The Roskarim could march south tomorrow for all we know. Highwind couldn’t get reinforcements to Icewatch for at least a week, probably two.”

  Cassel’s cheek twitched. “Even if the walls were still intact we couldn’t repel an army this size, not with the men or equipment at our disposal.”

  “No,” I agreed. “Which is why you and I need to stop them here and now.”

  He responded with a solid ten seconds of stunned silence. “You have to be kidding.”

  “I wish I were,” I said. “At the very least, we need to figure out a way to slow them down. Sowing chaos should be relatively easy if they’ve just had a change in leadership. The last time the Duskwatch engaged the orcs tribes in the Shattered Peaks, we tried to—”

  “You and I aren’t the Duskwatch, General,” Cassel interrupted. “Unless I misheard you, we’re outnumbered five thousand to two.”

  I turned and studied him. “And here I thought paladins were immune to fear.”

  His face soured. “Very funny. But seriously, there’s nothing we can possibly do against an army that size.”

  “I’m not suggesting we charge over the hill and try to carve our way through them,” I said. “But there are other ways to sabotage an enemy. We’ll just have to be clever.”

  Cassel wheezed and turned back to the Roskarim. “Do you have any ideas?”

  I pursed my lips. “Finding and burning their food supply is the obvious choice, but given that they had to retreat once I suspect they’re already running low. Their warriors are probably starving, which means the new clan-lord will have yet another reason to attack sooner rather than later.”

  “If I had a dozen knights we could do some real damage,” Cassel said, pointing towards the front of the encampment. “They barely even have a palisade. We could ride through their lines and kill hundreds of them before they knew what was happening.”

  I nodded gravely. A dozen of my rangers could do a lot of damage too, but there didn’t seem to be much point in thinking about what could happen considering—

  “Wait a second,” Cassel said, his eyes narrowing. “From what I was told, you destroyed all their siege weapons during the battle.”

  “Their siege weapons and their wyverns,” I said. “I’d like to take credit, but the mercenaries who fought with us did most of the damage. The crazy old sorcerer they brought with them practically routed the barbarians by himself.”

  Cassel pointed. “Then what do you make of those?”

  I picked up my spyglass and followed his gaze past several of the large tents. A few dozen of the barbarians were busy moving a group of catapults out from behind a rocky ledge that had been obstructing my view.

  “Le’thos,” I whispered. “Without the guild wizards to protect us…”

  “Those catapults will burn Icewatch to the ground all by themselves,” Cassel finished.

  I grimaced at the thought. During the first attack, the Roskarim had deployed wyverns to drop soldiers over the fortress walls, but mercifully we hadn’t seen any more of the winged beasts. Still, the catapults would be bad enough. Channeling a barrier strong enough to protect a target the size of Icewatch would require a few dozen wizards—wizards we no longer had. Only a few of the Mage’s Guild members had survived, and all but two of those had already been recalled to Highwind.

  “The catapults would be far less effective without shaman to ignite the boulders,” I said. “But somehow I doubt we can sneak around their camp and surgically assassinate all their channelers.”

  “No, but maybe we can figure out a way to destroy those things,” Cassel said. “You could ignite them with Aetheric arrows easily enough.”

  “Assuming I can get in range,” I said. “And assuming we can figure out a way to escape before a thousand bloodthirsty savages hunt us down.”

  “We’d obviously need a distraction. A big distraction.”

  I frowned and let out a long, slow breath. “Even if we destroyed all four catapults and got out of here, it wouldn’t be enough. They’ll overwhelm Icewatch with or without siege weapons.”

  “Yes, but it might slow them down. Or make them think twice about this whole attack thing.”

  “Maybe,” I whispered.

  My eyes narrowed as I continued watching the camp. The catapults eventually stopped moving, and a few minutes later a tall, musclebound warrior wearing an elaborate suit of scale armor—probably made from the hide of a wyvern—emerged from the ground to inspect the weapons. I reached out to the Aether and enhanced my vision until I could make out the tribal tattoos inscribed on his enormous biceps. Yet again, they were different than the ones we had seen during the first battle.

  “Forget the food and the catapults,” I said. “There’s only one way we can scatter the tribes back into the Ridge.”

&nbs
p; “And that is?” Cassel asked.

  “We have to kill their new leader.”

  He blinked. “Oh, that’s all.”

  “I’m serious,” I told him. “Even if the clan-lord won by ritual challenge, his grip over the other tribes will remain tenuous until he leads them to a major victory. If we kill him, there will be even more infighting. And it’s possible they will just scatter altogether.”

  “I understand the reasoning,” Cassel said. “I’m just not sure how you to intend to kill one man amidst an army of thousands.”

  “I’m not going to kill him,” I said, smiling as an idea began to form in my mind. “You are.”

  The knight-captain’s brow furrowed even harder. “How?”

  “Simple,” I said, flashing him a devious smile. “You’re going to challenge him for leadership of the clans.”

  ***

  I didn’t give Cassel the details of my plan until we had circled all the way around to the eastern side of the Roskarim encampment. Avoiding the barbarian sentries was relatively easy—the tall pines and jagged hills gave us plenty of cover, and I cloaked us both in a camouflage spell that further obscured our movements. Keeping our distance from the wolf-riders and shaman proved a bit more difficult, but we eventually hunkered down in a dried thatch of pine needles nestled between an enormous, fifty year-old tree.

  I hadn’t actually intended on keeping him in suspense; I had just needed a bit more time to mentally work out the details and figure out whether or not this borderline insane gambit was worth the risk. But after about an hour of silent debate with myself, I decided that this was the only way we could possibly break up the horde and protect Icewatch. Abandoning our mission now would have been tantamount to dooming thousands of villagers in the Lastharvest Plains to rape, mutilation, and death. The rest of the Highwind Council might be able to live with that decision, but I could not.

  “All right, here’s the deal,” I said, peering through the spyglass and surveying the camp again. “The Roskarim may be savages, but they still have a loose code of honor. Clan-Lords aren’t allowed to refuse challenges to their authority. As long as we can convince him that you are a fellow warrior, he’ll be honor-bound to fight you for control of the clans.”

  “I figured out the first part by myself,” Cassel muttered. “It’s the second part I don’t understand. I can’t just throw on some furs and pretend I’m a Roskarim. For one, I still have all my teeth. For two, I actually bathe once in a while. For three—”

  “You’ll obviously need a disguise,” I interrupted. “And I just so happen to own a device that can conceal your true appearance.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re an illusionist, too?”

  “No,” I said, trying to think up a compelling lie. “But I brought several old Avetharri relics from home when I traveled here to Highwind. I’m no artificer, but I should be able to modify the illusion to make you appear like a Roskarim.”

  Cassel glanced back to the camp and remained silent for several seconds while he chewed it over. “I spot at least six of their shaman just from here. Won’t they be able to see through a simple illusion?”

  “It’s not simple,” I assured him. “But more importantly, their shamans aren’t known for their mastery of subtle channeling techniques. I highly doubt that they have experience with detecting or piercing illusions.”

  “So you honestly think I can just walk up there, call out the leader, and beat him in a duel?”

  “I think it’s our best option,” I said. “And if we time things right, I can cover you from the ledge up there. Once we’re ready I’ll kill the scout and take his place. I should have a clear shot at half the encampment.”

  Cassel shook his head. “The Highlord always said you were relentless to a fault.”

  “Kastrius is the one who killed the last true Roskarim clan-lord during the Winter War.”

  “Yeah, because they clashed on the battlefield. This is different.”

  “It’s also our only chance to scatter the horde before they can march,” I reminded him. “Even barbarians can only endure so much chaos. They’ll return home to defend their own clans, I guarantee it.”

  “That’s one hell of an ‘if.’ For this to work, a thousand things will have to go right.”

  “Which is still better odds than I would give our soldiers at Icewatch,” I told him. “You are a paladin, right? Doesn’t that mean you automatically have a martyr complex?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Being a paladin doesn’t automatically make a person suicidal.”

  “My experience with the Silver Fist suggests otherwise,” I replied dryly. “But if you don’t think you can handle him, just say so. I can disguise myself as a Roskarim man and challenge him.”

  Cassel winced and glanced away. “No offense, but have you seen guy? He’s like a walking tree, and you’re…not.”

  “I have been studying swordplay for longer than your grandparents have been alive,” I reminded him tartly. “I can handle one malnourished barbarian.”

  He pressed his tongue hard into his teeth, clearly distressed. A lot of men I knew would have reacted out of sheer macho pride and insisted they defend the elven woman from the giant barbarian, but I wasn’t actually trying to manipulate him. I was willing to do whatever it took to scatter the clans, even if it meant standing toe-to-toe with a man three times my size.

  “This is insane,” Cassel breathed after a moment. “But if you’re intent on going through with it…I guess our best chance of success is to have you up here covering me with your bow.”

  I grabbed and squeezed his arm. “We just need to control the terrain and give ourselves an escape route.”

  He nodded, and I watched his jaw set into stone. As much as I enjoyed mocking the Knights of the Silver Fist, they did have plenty of redeeming virtues. No matter how long the odds, I knew Cassel would ultimately steel his nerves and fight to the bitter end. And so would I.

  “We’ll want the cover of darkness no matter what happens,” I said. “That gives us about six hours to reconfigure the illusion gem and set some traps.”

  Cassel nodded slowly. “All right. Just tell me what I need to do.”

  ***

  Avoiding the Roskarim sentries was more difficult this time, mostly thanks to bad luck—they had three separate groups return from patrol while I was outside the camp assembling some makeshift traps, and I barely managed to take cover in time. The second part of my plan was even more dangerous: I had to skulk inside the palisades to the pen where they had tied up their mounts. Normally, approaching the giant wolves would have been suicidal—they could smell the scent of an outsider despite my camouflage, and they were trained to alert their masters.

  But influencing beasts was one of the first ranger tricks I had ever learned, and before I drew close I reached out through the Aether and touched their primitive, instinctual minds. After assuaging their initial fears, I convinced them that I was a member of their pack, and I fed them a bit of dry meat from my pack for good measure. In theory, I probably could have set them loose and sown plenty of chaos, but I had bigger plans for them later.

  Reconfiguring the illusion gem turned out to the most difficult part of our preparations—what I assumed would be a relatively simple task ate up almost two hours. For possibly the first time ever, I wished I could have summoned Headmistress Telanya to help out. She was insufferably haughty sometimes (and she resented the fact that I was “wasting” my sorcerous blood as a “mere” ranger), but she knew far more about artifice than I did. Like most elven rangers, the Dal’Rethi archery and fencing techniques had occupied most of my attention.

  Cassel had never technically seen the illusion gem before—the veil made the choker look like a silver necklace—but I still set him to work manufacturing some basic vine and thorn traps while I removed it from the choker and tinkered with it. He had a lot on his mind right now, obviously, so hopefully the stress would prevent him from making any connections between me and Faewyn.


  How can you possibly still be worried about being unmasked when the two of you are about to attempt a reckless, borderline insane gambit that has a good chance of getting both of you killed? If you had any sense at all, you would spend the next few hours with your lips wrapped around his cock just in case you never get another chance.

  When night finally fell, we moved back into position on the eastern side of the camp and took a last few minutes to mentally prepare ourselves. Maybe the voice in my head was right—maybe I should have just told him the truth right now. At best, he would find the whole ruse charming and we could have some quick, rough sex before we charged off to our doom. At worst…

  Well, at worst his opinion of me would sink through the floor and we would charge off to our doom anyway. This was probably the perfect time to come clean, but I wasn’t going to do it. Deep down, I would rather try and fight off a few thousand barbarians than admit I had an alter ego.

  And that was objectively stupid.

  “Here goes nothing,” Cassel said, clipping the gem to his belt. He tapped it once, and the illusion slowly transformed his features. His proportions remained similar, but his hair and face shifted until he was unrecognizable.

  I nodded approvingly. “Not bad.”

  “Assuming they don’t ask where I got a sword like this. Or why my armor is so much better than theirs.”

  “Just be glad you didn’t wear your Silver Fist plate mail,” I said, tossing him the fur cloak we had stolen from the camp. His leather armor was well-made, but it probably wouldn’t raise many eyebrows as long as it was partially covered. “All we have to worry about now is your acting ability.”

  “If there is one thing paladins are known for, it’s their ability to lie convincingly,” Cassel muttered. “I still can’t believe you convinced me to do this.”

  “It will work,” I said so firmly I almost believed it. “And when it does, the Silver Fist will be so impressed they’ll make you Knight-Commander.”