Vassal

by Sterling D'Este

  “How’s that for tribute?” Delyth snarled and hauled Enyo towards the door, the rogue carving a path before them.

  Enyo let Delyth take her out of the gambling den, laughing the entire way. Her cheeks were high with color, and her eyes overly bright. All but glowing. She watched the others move out of their way and smirked as Delyth deposited her in the quiet safety of the street.

  A slender finger reached up to smear the blood of that first man across her face, tracing idle patterns there, not unlike the ones those fingers had drawn into Delyth’s wing the night before. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy that yourself Ba’oto. A little squabble to get the juices flowing…” Enyo turned towards her new friend, his hair messy, breath fast and light. “He’s a much better fighter than that frail one,” she murmured, perhaps hearing Etienne’s familiar footsteps approaching from afar.

  Delyth had the thoroughly disconcerting feeling of agreeing with Enyo, on not one point, but two.

  The only thing that came near the thrill of fighting was flying, and even that didn’t leave her blood singing with the raw joy of pitting her strength against another and finding it worthy of the task. She was so full of the rush of it that she didn’t even stop to wipe the blood from her hands. The smell of it was already pulsing through her lungs, mingled with that of sweat and fear. Did that mean she was, on some level, just as bloodthirsty as Enyo?

  Delyth wasn’t sure, but she found the possibility deeply disturbing.

  By the same token, the priestess had to admit that their escape would not have gone anywhere near so smoothly without the help of the rogue. She sighed and held out her hand to him. “Thanks for that,” she said, a little gruffly. “I’m Delyth.”

  The man took her hand, still breathing hard, but smiling. “Tristan.”

  Behind them, Etienne approached, a lone figure in a crowd of people edging away. “What in all hells happened?” he asked, mouth agape. His pack was filled to the brim.

  Delyth just shook her head and gestured to Enyo. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

  Enyo only smirked and sauntered over to Tristan, snaking her arm through his possessively while smiling at Etienne as if he were the dove and she the hawk. “I am ready to leave this clan,” she announced, as if they needed her permission to move on.

  Etienne looked between Tristan and the familiar faces of his companions. “I thought you were getting her wine!” he said, astonished. “Not a person! What about Al—”

  Delyth cut him off. “Cursed Realms, Etienne, not now.”

  She was glancing back at the gambling house behind them, where a number of unhappy, bruised men were beginning to stir. She all but pushed him around. “Let’s go.”

  “But wait!” Etienne protested immediately. “He’s coming with us?”

  Delyth glanced over her wingless shoulder and gave a short nod. “Yes, it seems he is. Now move, Etienne.”

  The scholar finally noted the precarious nature of their position in the street and stepped towards the entrance to the settlement, Delyth bloody and sore behind him.

  Chapter XII

  Fifth Moon, Waning Crescent: Thloegr

  Excerpt from the Journal of Etienne d’Etoiles

  Fifth Moon of the Year 1819, North of the Aur’Draig Clan Holdings

  It has come to my attention that much of what I was told of the Wildlands was incorrect. It pains me to admit this as I yet have so much respect for the masters of Moxous, who were my teachers for a decade, but my own experiences cannot be dismissed. We have been traveling for weeks now, and not once have we been attacked, robbed, or inconvenienced by the people of this land.

  The Aur’draig settlement was by no means a technical marvel, but it is equal or better than any small Ingolan town I have passed through in terms of organization. In size and diversity, it is a marvel. The people there largely ignored my obviously Ingolan features; they were open and friendly when I came to trade with them. In fact, the sheer number of different peoples hints that the Wildlands are as used to trade as Dailion and the port cities along Ingola’s western coast.

  None of this corresponds to the information Alphonse and I were given at school, that the Wildlands was a lawless, war-torn place overrun with cutthroats of every description. Even the name we gave the lands that once were Rhosan is wrong. The people here call their home “Thloegr.” It means “lost land” according to Delyth, as though to commemorate all that Rhosan lost in the Great War.

  If Thloegr is less civilized than Ingola, perhaps it is even Ingola’s fault for the destruction they wreaked during that war. There is still much to research, but I look forward to discussing it upon our return home.

  ⥣ ⥣ ⥣

  * * *

  The walk from Aur’draig was uneventful. Enyo did not hurt herself or anyone else, did not threaten anyone, run off to eat, kill or swim. She didn’t do anything but luxuriously let her hands wander freely over her new toy, Tristan, and eye Etienne with coy smirks.

  All of which Delyth did her best to ignore. She could not imagine being a prisoner in her own mind while some other consciousness used her body to touch some man she had no knowledge of, no interest in. It made her sick just to think of it.

  And yet, interceding could put Alphonse in even more danger. Enyo had proven that she wasn’t above hurting her vassal.

  It wasn’t until nightfall that Delyth was startled out of this grim mood. Enyo tossed a freshly slaughtered opossum into her arms with a snide remark about ruining a perfectly good kill before sauntering off to ‘commune with the forest.’ She was useless while the others made her food, set up her tent, and dug the latrine, but when supper was ready, Enyo obediently held out her hands for her bowl of stew. She’d eat at least.

  But there was no sign of Alphonse.

  “Tristan, Crael,” Enyo murmured from Tristan’s lap, her tone practically affectionate. “I always share a tent. Delyth has been my companion mostly, but perhaps you’d prefer the honor?”

  It was only with the greatest restraint that Delyth didn’t scream her objections.

  Thankfully, Etienne seemed to have figured out that telling Enyo ‘no’ was generally a bad idea. Instead, he went for a more diplomatic approach. “Our current sleeping arrangements worked well for all parties involved.”

  Whatever. Delyth was seriously considering just castrating Tristan then and there. See how Enyo would like him after that.

  Enyo just sniffed in distaste.

  ⚄

  Tristan leaned back, his empty stew bowl on the ground, watching Enyo gaze up towards the night sky. His eyes didn’t follow hers, instead trailing down the length of her back towards his lap.

  The others would not really be able to stop her from sharing his tent. He’d brought his own, after all, and who was to say no to a Goddess? It had been a supremely excellent day and one that would only be that much better when they retired for the night.

  Or so he hoped until Enyo stiffened against his thighs and her bowl went clattering to the ground.

  “Hey,” he started, checking to ensure that none of the hot soup was near his lap. He began to relax when he realized the bowl was empty, only for Enyo to give a cry so out of character that Tristan jumped. What in the Cursed Realms?

  “Etienne?” she squeaked, reaching out a hand towards the mage.

  Both companions leaped to their feet, Delyth holding out a hand to bodily haul Enyo away from him. Etienne was there only a second later, both of them equal parts relief and guilt.

  And where the hell had Enyo gone?

  The girl cowered behind Etienne, clinging to the boy’s arm, who, in turn, was partially behind Delyth. “Who is that? Where are we?” She looked around a second after, clearly confused and disoriented. “What day is it?!” Hysteria turned her musical voice into something wretched and weak—the bleating of a rabbit about to be slaughtered.

  ✶

  Etienne turned to Alphonse, his face tight with concern. It had been a long day for all of them and
Alphonse—well, who knew what sort of struggle she had been stuck in while he and Delyth tried to please Enyo.

  For a second, an image from that morning flashed through Etienne’s mind: Enyo, her hand clamped around Alphonse’s neck, slowly squeezing tighter while Delyth frantically tried to get her to stop.

  Etienne ran a hand back through his hair.

  “It's been one day. We woke up to Enyo,” he said. “She was irate and very… persuasive. She wanted to go into town, and we needed supplies, so we went.” —Any more detail and Enyo might figure out that he had restocked a few of his more common magic supplies.

  The trip into the clan and the hasty retreat that followed had left Etienne angry. He had heard Delyth’s explanation for not fighting harder to rid them of Tristan, but he disagreed. Surely, between the two of them, they could protect Alphonse.

  Did she really see him as that weak? It was only thanks to him that she could even enter the settlement!

  “As for him, ask Delyth,” he said and glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the warrior wince. Nevermind. He refused to feel guilty. She could have stopped him.

  “I—He—” Delyth didn’t seem to know how to explain it. “There was a fight in town, and he helped me save you. We wouldn’t have let him or Enyo do anything, I swear it.”

  ❀

  Alphonse eyed the man warily as he seemed to watch her as well. He appeared baffled by her behavior, and some part of the healer relaxed at that. He hadn’t known Alphonse was in there. He had assumed Enyo was the only soul within the body.

  That made Alphonse’s grip loosen the slightest on Etienne’s arm.

  She swallowed and winced. Her throat was dry and sore.

  “Delyth?” Amber eyes swiveled towards the priestess. How did she know this man? Besides his helping them randomly in the settlement. It seemed like an odd reason to allow him to continue on this journey…

  Wouldn’t Enyo just be as much a threat to him as she was the others? Another body to feed and protect?

  Well.

  Perhaps not protect if he was handy in a fight.

  “That’s Tristan. We met him in the settlement, and Enyo… liked him. He knew who she was and where we’re headed,” Delyth said, trying to explain.

  Alphonse flinched as Tristan stood. Not because she feared him, she didn’t think he’d suddenly attack. It was just that she could still feel his arm about her waist, her rear perched so comfortably against his pelvis.

  She was a healer, not unused to the various human conditions and forms but… Alphonse had always experienced them in sterile, clinical settings.

  Lounging about the fire, snuggled up… It was entirely new. And foreign.

  Tristan examined her closely, leaving the healer feeling exposed even with the greater distance between them. She reached up to straighten her veil, only to realize too late it was gone. Whatever the strange man saw, he was surprised.

  “You’re still… there,” he said, more to himself than the others. “The two of you both crammed in there.”

  “Yes,” she answered, understanding. She and Enyo. Stuffed into her body. Fighting and living together as one.

  He whistled low but straightened his clothes.

  “My master knows of Enyo,” Tristan went on, “and has sent me to aid you on this journey.”

  “Why does your Master wish to aid Enyo on her journey to the Temple?” she asked, raspy voice quivering still. She felt so weak and pathetic.

  And the night before had been so nice...

  Tristan gave her a crooked grin and tossed his hands up. “He just wants to see her returned to her former glory. Isn’t that what you’re here for? Carry the nature Goddess up to the temple and release her? I mean, why else would you bother?”

  It was with difficulty that Alphonse held back her shudder. That was not why she and Etienne were here. But it was the reason Delyth had found them, was getting in fights in settlements and hunting Alphonse down when Enyo ran off somewhere to do something insane…

  Guiltily she looked at Delyth’s wingless back and away. And back again. What had happened to—no. No, it didn’t matter now. Now, she had to handle the new addition to their group.

  Alphonse couldn’t argue that she didn’t want another Enyo supporter on this journey else they ask why. And she couldn’t reveal her and Etienne’s true purposes without ensuring that those loyal to Enyo, their Goddess, would not then interfere and ensure Alphonse’s failure.

  So she stared blankly up at Tristan and finally, regretfully, nodded. His master, clearly a true believer in the benevolent Goddess Enyo, had sent him to assure success.

  Delyth, a Priestess of Enyo’s own faith, had also come for that very reason.

  There was no other answer available aside from acceptance.

  “Enyo shares my body. I am Alphonse.” She tried for a calm and reasonable tone. It came out mostly as a painful croak. What was wrong with her throat?!

  “That’s a grand name for a little mouse,” Tristan said and refilled his bowl, emptying a spoonful of stew into his mouth.

  Delyth turned to Alphonse, her low voice gentled. “Your neck— Enyo hurt you. It might need healing.”

  Alphonse reached up suddenly to touch her throat. Indeed it was swollen and painful to palpation. No wonder speaking had become so difficult. She sighed and looked around for her tent. Their tent. Surely, her bag was in it?

  The man was right, of course. Compared to Enyo, she was a mouse…

  Seeing the tent, she hastened to it, finding her bag inside. Perhaps she took a little more time unpacking it than was necessary, but she needed those moments to think. Another man, one who clearly preferred the Goddess. Another warrior. Perhaps that was good.

  Though complicated.

  How would she and Etienne keep these devotees at bay long enough to banish Enyo?

  With an herb bundle ready, she returned to the fireside to boil water for a soothing tea. She had already healed the damage done to her throat, but a true healer didn’t just rely on magic to reform the body.

  Her gaze slipped over to Tristan and away. Ashamed. She scuttled around him like the mouse he knew she was and filled the pan she used for boiling.

  “So I’m just curious, Alphonse, but why did you summon Enyo? Could the two of you possibly be any more different?” He guffawed, his expression a little surprised, a little amused, and a little cruel.

  Etienne immediately opened his mouth to retort, but Delyth got there first. “Leave her alone, Tristan.” The warrior’s voice was every bit as frigid as her glare.

  He just shrugged and leaned back as though unconcerned by the reprimand. “You’re the boss.”

  ༄

  Delyth returned Alphonse’s grateful glance with a smile, but for a long time, no one spoke. There was no sound at all but the pop and crackle of the fire, merrily devouring dry wood.

  Alphonse made tea in hasty, bird-like movements, her shoulders tense around her neck. Delyth had no idea of what to say to reassure her, not with the two men looking on, so she just took the cup of tea offered her and watched Alphonse disappear into their tent.

  Her gaze drifted back to the two men, and she sighed. It would have been nice to escape into the skies for a time, to let the rush of cold air clean away the days grime.

  Instead, she dropped back to the ground near the fire.

  “We’ve got a few rules,” she told Tristan, her voice steely. “And so far they’ve worked out.

  “Do not mess with Alphonse. Don’t do anything to her body without her knowledge. Keep Enyo at bay if possible. Keep her from killing, maiming, or destroying when not.” She eyed him warningly. “It makes for easier travel.”

  He shrugged, his crooked smile still in place. “You got it, boss.”

  Delyth sighed again and finished her tea so that she could follow the healer into their tent.

  Alphonse was sitting up on her pallet when Delyth entered. She was already in her nightgown despite the early hour.

&
nbsp; “Your wings are missing,” she murmured, clearly not having any desire to talk about Tristan or the day. “It seems strange to see you without them. Etienne’s magic?”

  “Yes,” Delyth said. “Etienne’s magic.” She didn’t particularly want to talk about Tristan either.

  “What will keep us warm tonight?” Alphonse smiled slightly. “You might roll out of the tent, there is so much room.”

  “They’re still there. You just can’t see them.” Delyth had to admit, at least to herself, that it did feel strange even so. “Though, if they were gone completely, I still don’t think I would get lost in all the room.” She smiled a little humorously. It was really a very small tent.

  She settled herself onto her pallet, sitting up with her invisible wings tucked neatly against her spine. Her mouth had gone a little dry and her pulse raced, but she paid it no mind. “Of course, if you’re still cold, we could always sleep closer. These nights are only going to get chillier as we climb higher into the mountains.”

  Alphonse rolled onto her back in a swift motion, looking up at the tent ceiling.

  “What if I snore?” she asked, ponderous tone bordering on worried. “That would be embarrassing…”

  Delyth laughed, the sound rumbling through their small space. What a strange thing to worry about! Still, it was so like Alphonse to stew over any inconvenience to those around her. “If you did, wouldn’t I already know?”

  Alphonse blushed and shook her head. “I suppose you would… Do I?” She rolled onto her side to peer at Delyth across the way, reaching one hand out to touch Delyth’s shoulder lightly, affectionately.

  “No,” she said and laughed. “Or if you do, it is so slight. Like a sound a bird might make, curled in its nest.”

  “How do you know what sounds birds make in their nests?” Alphonse grinned and scooted over, patting the spot on her pallet that was now free. “They must think you are one of their kind.”

  Delyth sat up and slid over, propping herself onto her side so that both she and Alphonse could lie on one pallet. Inches apart.