by Philip Blood
He walked in the shadows and kept an eye on his back trail with the furtive look of a rodent.
RIveK hid her projected body in the shadow of a door until he was nearby and then suddenly stepped out into the man’s path and said, “Hello, could you please tell me the way to a good hotel? I’ve just arrived in town and I need a room.”
From behind her, the dimly glowing light leaked from the edges of the closed tavern door and illuminated the rounded contours of her female form.
The man in the dark cloak nearly jumped out of his skin and bolted, but then he saw the fine clothes and the jewelry on her fingers. He quickly looked up and down the street with keen eyes to see if she had any companions. Convinced that the woman was indeed alone a smile worked its way onto his lips as he said, “Sure, milady, I can help you; just follow me and I’ll show you the way to just the kind ‘o place yer look’in fer.”
He moved off in a direction RIveK knew wasn’t toward the better part of town, but that just made her smile, she wasn’t from the best part of town either. She followed that man quietly, like a good mark.
The greedy thief took her to a dark slimy alley and turned up inside. “This here’s a shortcut; the good hotels are just at the other end,” he explained over his shoulder.
RIveK followed him in without pause and watched him glance back over his shoulder as he checked to see if she was really going to come into this filthy alley.
He could not believe his good luck.
When they were centered in the alley he suddenly spun and hissed his words in a low voice, “I have a knife, if ya scream I’ll cut ya. Give me all yer jewelry and round and I’ll let ya go,” the little thief promised.
RIveK looked into his eyes and smiled as she said, “Is that what you’d really do?” He started to say 'yes' when he found his mouth had turned traitor, against his desires he said what was going through his mind. “No, after I get yer jewelry and round I’m gonna rape ya in this alley.” His mouth had suddenly acquired a mind of its own; he was so shocked he nearly choked.
“So you want to rape me in this foul slime,” RIveK said, keeping her eyes pinned to his while smiling wickedly.
He stepped back a pace as fear suddenly replaced lust and he choked out his words, “How, how did you make me say that?”
“I can make you do many things, for example, you can’t move,” the necromancer explained while still looking deeply into his eyes.
Looking back into her unblinking gaze he could see purple energy flickering within her pupils. The thief tried to leap back and run, but he found that his body really was frozen, he could not even scream.
Looking into his eyes the necromancer moved closer. She brushed flame red hair to the side and turned slightly to give him a view of her exposed brain. “Do you still want me?” she said, amused at the thought of the thief wishing to rape her body. She made a mental adjustment and dropped her insubstantial clothing to the ground. She stood naked before him with her lush body displayed.
“I’m yours; just tell me about the strangers. Who were the new marks you spotted this week? I’m particularly interested in a woman, a beautiful lady as a matter of fact. She may have had a child with her at the time. You like the pretty ladies, don’t you? So did you see any new women in town? Perhaps she was hiding in a cloak and staying in the shadows? Did any of your friends tell you of such a mark?”
She took his hand and placed it over her left breast, the hand stayed where she put it, but he felt nothing. He could see his hand on her white skinned bosom, but felt only air beneath his frozen fingers.
“Yes, a woman, I saw her,” his mouth said, repeating his thoughts aloud.
“Where did you see her?” RIveK asked.
“She sat with a man, in a tavern. I stole his large purse,” he said repeating the thoughts her questions brought up. “They hired my friend te guard them on their trip.”
“Where were they going? When did they leave?” she prompted.
“Myrnvale, they left six days ago,” he answered. “Why am I telling you this?” he wanted to scream, but only the answers to her questions would come out.
RIveK suddenly stepped forward and the thief's rigid hand stayed where she had placed it, passing right through the projected image of her body. His elbow now seemed to end as part of her chest. She reached forward with her right hand and her insubstantial fingers went into his head. There was a blinding moment of pain and then the man known as Fingers collapsed. His body lay dead in the slimy gutter that had been his life.
“Thank you Fingers, you were a great help,” the words faded out toward the end.
Then the alley was empty of human life.
SCorcH sat before his campfire deep in thought when RIveK’s spirit arrived at the prearranged time. The small campfire burst into a shower of sparks and flames as RIveK purposely emerged from the Dark Plane with explosive energy. Her image stood clothed in flames up to her waist.
“I fail to see the need for your theatrics,” the burn-faced necromancer noted, his body remaining still.
“That’s one of your problems, SCorcH, other than your toasted face you’re very boring. You don’t do anything with flair,” she replied.
“I get things done,” he lisped through his blackened teeth, uninterested in her opinion.
“So do I, in fact, I have some information that you need. All you have to do is make use of it,” RIveK explained.
“What is it you found?”
“Turn toward Myrnvale, it's only two days ride. I’m fairly sure the sorceress went there recently and I’ll know for sure by tomorrow night.”
SCorcH was mildly surprised. “You did well; I didn’t think you would find traces of her so quickly. How did you do it?”
“Some things are only for me to know, but I can tell you that I did it with flair!” As RIveK ended her speech with that word she stepped back and into the Dark Plane through the bridge she had left open, effectively disappearing from his sight and snuffing out his campfire completely.
Back at Ice Tower RIveK's body stirred as her spirit returned to its vessel. She got up, unlocked the chamber and went to announce her departure for her demesne. She professed her intention to orchestrate the end of the Autrany resistance movement, but when she left SKartaQ’s Fortress she headed for Myrnvale while killing horses with her speed.
“Sit back down Hetark, you don’t even know where to find Elizabeth,” Poison said to the knight seated across from her in the Myrnvale restaurant. Morning light spilled through a nearby window lighting the room where they were eating breakfast.
“You know she never actually told you that she would be here, just that she would have instructions. If you finish reading the message she asked me to deliver you’ll see what she wants you to do. In fact, why don’t you start over and read the whole thing this time?” Poison suggested.
Hetark was furious, but it was true that he didn’t know where to go to find Elizabeth, so he sat back in his chair and read the entire message; it said:
“Dear Hetark,
I’m sorry that I had to leave without telling you, but you would have tried to stop me. I’m going to join the Riond Mountain Bandits while masquerading as Poison. You knew I was studying her fighting techniques, but at the same time, I was studying her accent, manners, and style. In short, everything that would let me pass as Poison. Look at her Hetark, with her eye healed she and I could nearly pass for twins. I even changed my hair and eyes to match her colors. Finding her was a gift from G’lan. She knows that I am using her identity and armor and she thinks I can pull it off, so don’t worry.
I need to join the bandits on their terms so that I can gain their loyalty. They won't trust Lady Ardellen without proof that she was not like the usurping nobles who took control of their country by force and ravaged it unmercifully.
I need to join them before they can join me, and I need to weed out the evil men among them. It’s the patriots, the homeless, the refugees of destruction which I must rebui
ld into an army. This can only happen from the inside. When I first sought a tough woman to emulate I had intended to study them so that I could pass as a bandit, but with Poison's uncanny similarity to my face, I decided it was even better to become Poison. She has a reputation that I can make use of to gain their trust.
Please stay with the real Poison in Myrnvale; I will be sending word to you as soon as I am in a position of authority. It could take a little while, so be patient. If I haven’t contacted you within two months then you must decide how to best serve Michael. Please try and understand that I had to do it this way. Poison swore an oath of secrecy when she promised to deliver this message, so she couldn’t have told you even if she wanted to, so don’t blame her.
This is important enough to warrant the risk, my son will need an army when he comes of age and I intend to have one ready.
With apologies and affection,
Elizabeth.”
When he lowered the note Poison spoke, “She warned me that you wouldn’t be happy about her leaving you behind, but remember, she’s a big girl. Other than myself I don’t know anyone who can handle herself better with a knife. I taught her everything I know, literally. And you know what she is,” Poison added in a quieter tone.
“Don’t say it like it’s an affliction, Poison,” Hetark muttered, deep in thought.
“I didn’t mean it that way. Anyway, let’s just sit tight as she instructed. And one more thing, stop calling me Poison until she resumes her identity. The bandits may check on her and two Poisons within one town would be one too many,” Poison explained.
“Then what should I call you?” he asked.
“Marinda,” she replied quietly.
“Marinda,” he said with a single raised eyebrow. Hetark didn't think the pretty name fit Poison very well.
“Be careful, Marinda Poister happens to be my real name,” she said, danger glaring from her squinting eyes.
“Of course, Marinda, I can’t imagine where you picked up that other name when you have such a sweet personality," Hetark replied, tongue in cheek.
Poison bristled, but then suddenly smiled as she said, “Perhaps I deserved that, I haven’t been exactly cordial to you since we met, have I?”
“I think I’ll leave that one alone, any answer could get me in trouble,” Hetark answered with a slight smile.
“Come on, I want to do some shopping, shopping like I’ve never done before! I want to buy a dress,” she said and got to her feet.
Hetark was speechless.
Elizabeth’s question of whether she was now a member of the bandit group hung in the air as she waited with raised eyebrows for Wernok to answer. Instead, he smiled, and with a tilt of his head and a jaunty sweep of his arm he invited her into his cabin.
The cabin was small and cluttered with clothes and equipment. An unmade bed sat in the corner. Two weapon racks held several spears, swords and other instruments of war, all in disarray. A pile of rusty metal armor occupied the corner opposite the bed. Across the room was a desk with two chairs on either side. A dagger held down a stack of unrolled parchment that appeared to be old messages.
He took the seat behind the desk and motioned her into the other.
“In answer to your question a moment ago, assuming your story holds up, yes you’re in,” Wernok told Elizabeth. “But command positions are not so easily obtained as simple membership.”
“Then how do I become one o’ yer officers?” Elizabeth asked, taking care to keep to the commoner accent.
“Nostrils was a good fighter, but not great, so don’t let your victory go to your head. Around here you ascend rank by challenge and Nostrils has been defeated by corporals on two different attempts. He had not made his third challenge yet, you see he was concerned that he would be defeated again. The third challenge is always the last. If he’d lost he would be killed by the corporal. We can’t be wasting our time on inept warriors who aren’t willing to stay in their rightful place. If a warrior isn’t good enough to win he shouldn’t challenge,” Wernok explained.
“Then all I need do is challenge one o’ yer lieutenants and beat him, correct?” Elizabeth asked. Then she tried to watch his thoughts while he responded and found a disconcerting fact, Wernok had a mind shield which closed his thoughts to her probing.
Now where did he get a shield? she pondered, These things are popping up a little too often for simple coincidence, she thought.
“That’s not how it works. You have to challenge a corporal and defeat him before you can challenge a sergeant. If you defeat a sergeant then you can attempt to best a lieutenant. Also, you’re only allowed one challenge a week,” Wernok explained.
“How soon can I challenge my first level?” she asked.
“Even if you could defeat all three men today, which I seriously doubt, I wouldn’t recommend you try it. The others wouldn’t know or respect you yet. These men aren’t like a regular militia, they’re bandits. If they don’t like a command their officer gives them or they don’t respect him they'll just kill the offending leader. If you defeat a corporal and then try and give a command it’s likely they would just ignore you, first, because they don’t know you and second because you’re a woman. A very fine looking woman, I might add,” the commander said, smiling as he recalled her nude form.
“I see your point, I’ll just have to earn their respect the hard way and then challenge,” she said while purposely ignoring his come hither smile.
When she didn’t seem to rise to his veiled offer, Wernok tried a more direct tack, “There is a faster method for getting what you want, if you become my woman you would be respected immediately because you would be backed by my authority. You could wield that authority in my name and they would obey,” as he spoke he stood and walked around the desk until he stood behind Elizabeth’s chair.
His right hand stroked her hair and then traveled down to her shoulder, and then from there it slowly moved down toward the swelling of her bosom across the soft black leather jerkin.
Before the rough fingers reached their destination Elizabeth took his hand from her chest and stood to face the bandit leader.
“I think not, Wernok. I’m not a woman who stands by a man’s support. Find a camp follower fer yer bed sport. I’ll ascend by my merits or die try’in,” she said proudly.
Anger smoldered in his eyes, he was not used to being thwarted in his desires by a woman. He now realized that he had made a mistake by allowing her to fight Nostrils, under his own rules he had publicly granted her the rights of a full warrior. Now he was bound by those rules. He had not anticipated this stunningly good looking woman besting a tough warrior like Nostrils. The now dead bandit had been a fairly tough fighter, as good as any man in the camp other than one of Wernok’s commanders. For the time being Wernok knew he would have to let this arrogant woman have her way, but only until he could figure out how to get what he wanted.
His voice became stern as he said, “First, you are under my command, so you will call me ‘Sir’. Second, get out of my cabin, you are obviously a man in more than just fighting skill and I wish to entertain a real woman.”
But Elizabeth stood her ground as she said, “I have another question, SIR,” she said with a little too much emphasis to be respectful, “How did ye become the leader?” Since her aura sight was blocked by his shield the sorceress watched his eyes for signs of falsehood.
“I was a lieutenant of the former leader, I challenged him and over his dead body, I took his place. If you make lieutenant some day and if you think you can take me, by all means challenge. I will enjoy you thoroughly as my slave. Remember that I’ve seen you fight, I know I can take you,” he answered, showing no fear in his expression. “Now get out of my sight and remember what you passed up when you are bruised, cut and bleeding from your first defeat.”
“At yer command, Sir,” she replied and walked from the cabin.
When Elizabeth walked out of the cabin she noticed that most of the crowd had dispersed, most
of them figured the bandit leader was having his way with the new woman. She thought about what she had learned of the bandit’s ways. They had a barbaric method of leader selection, but it probably worked fairly well. Only the smarter warriors would win the challenges and the price of failure probably kept the challenges to a minimum.
Elizabeth knew that Wernok was probably correct when he told her she needed the respect of the warriors before she could challenge for leadership. As she walked toward a large tree that stood in the center of the camp she decided to get started on gaining their respect immediately.
The sorceress stopped twenty feet from the tree and pulled out three daggers.
Four of the bandit men were sitting on the grass nearby eating a loaf of bread that had a thick spread of butter. They watched her suspiciously.
Elizabeth ignored them and started throwing her knives. Each landed within a finger’s width of the others and stuck in the tree. She threw them overhand, underhand, spinning, tumbling, two at once and even with her eyes closed. All struck the tree in a tight grouping.
The fourth time she retrieved the knives, one man watching got up and walked over. He looked to be in his early forties and was thin, but in fair shape. His face was lined from his time spent on patrol duty in the sun. He still wore the tattered green uniform of Autrany. When he was near Elizabeth he said, “You’re pretty good with those, how did you learn to throw so well?”
“Practice and I had a good teacher. Would ya like te try? I’ll watch ya and try te pass on the tricks my teacher taught me,” she said in a friendly tone.
“No, I couldn’t do that, I... ”
Gertha’s voice called out, interrupting, “Go on Quarrel, afraid she’ll bite you?” The short woman had walked up and started to watch.
“I’m not afraid of the lass,” the older man replied.
