by Philip Blood
“After what she did te Nostrils, I don’t think ya should be call’in her a lass,” another of the men interjected.
“She did right, he was a worthless biej. I used to hang the likes of him before the Usurper came,” Quarrel replied. He opened his hand and Elizabeth set the hilt of a dagger within the tough callused palm. Quarrel took a throwing stance and launched the dagger at the tree. It stuck about two feet lower than Elizabeth’s.
“Yer pretty good already, aren’t ye?” she replied.
“I’ve thrown a dagger or two in my time, but bows are my specialty,” he replied with a grin. “Do you have any suggestions for improving my throw?” he asked.
“Watch where yer hand goes afterward, it trailed down and te the right. Yer follow through is as important as yer release when throw’in a dagger. Here, try it again,” she said, handing him another dagger.
He threw this one and it struck closer to the mark.
“Try it one more time, concentrate on that follow through, point yer hand where you meant the dagger te land.”
He threw again and it struck within a hand’s span of her other daggers.
“Now yer gett’in it!” she said, her voice showing enthusiasm for his improvement.
Soon she had the other three men up and throwing. She kept giving pointers and positive encouragement.
Soon a few others gathered to watch the instruction; nothing grabbed a warrior’s attention like a pretty woman combined with weapons.
Elizabeth was soon being accepted in a friendly manner by the mountain bandits. Elizabeth turned to Quarrel and said, “Ya say yer good with a bow, how about giv’in me some pointers?”
“Sure! Have you shot much before?” he asked.
“I’ve shot the bow some, but let me see ya shoot a few before I stick my neck out and say I’m good,” she replied.
Elizabeth followed Quarrel to the stocks, a sizable group of spectators followed to see how the newest addition to the bandits fared against their best shot with the bow.
The stocks were set up in an open glade with a steep hillside behind to stop stray arrows. Quarrel picked up his bow and quiver from a small cabin along the way.
“Would the lady like to shoot first?” he asked politely.
“Show me how it’s done, then perhaps I will take a shot,” she replied honestly.
“As you wish,” he turned and drew in one motion; his release came immediately upon reaching full extension of the bow.
The arrow struck the target one ring from the center.
Elizabeth watched with her Kirnath sight following his entire shot. Keeping her concentration on the target she stepped forward. “May I borrow yer bow?”
“By all means,” he replied handing her the weapon and an arrow.
When he stepped back Elizabeth stepped into the exact position of his previous shot, though she was careful not to bring attention to what she was doing.
With her eyes still on the target, the sorceress pictured his shot, the feel of the pull, the aim on the target, and the texture of the string. She quickly pulled and released her shot in the exact motion he had used.
Elizabeth’s shot was a virtual duplication of Quarrel’s, but due to the variance in the wind and her height, her shot landed slightly more centered but low in the second circle. In points, they were equal, though Quarrel’s was nearer the center.
“Excellent shot, I see that knives are not your only talent,” Quarrel complimented her.
“A competition!” a voice called out from the watching bandits.
Other cheers of encouragement rang out following the idea.
Quarrel smiled. “They wish us to compete, but I don’t think it’s fair, I have the advantage. This is my field and bow while you have shot just one arrow here,” Quarrel said graciously to Elizabeth.
“Then you must shoot first,” she replied.
“What are the rules and stakes?” he asked with the hint of a smile on his face.
“Three shots each, you shoot first, and total points wins,” Elizabeth suggested.
“If we tie then you win, I have the advantage of familiar surroundings and friends,” he countered.
“I think it unfair to ye, but I accept the rules,” Elizabeth answered.
“And what of the stakes?” he replied.
“If I win, ye owe me a favor,” Elizabeth suggested.
“Accepted, and if I win you owe me the answers to three questions,” and lowering his voice, so only she heard, he added, “truthfully answered.”
Elizabeth nodded her agreement and immediately began reading Quarrel's surface thoughts to see what he suspected. She caught portions of a thought; something about her was familiar to the ex-palace guard. He lacked conclusions, but something about her had him puzzled.
He had decided she would bear watching.
She now knew he would bear watching.
Quarrel stepped up to the line and drew his bow carefully this time. He took the wind into consideration, measured his breathing and the rocking motion of the tip as it passed back and forth through his aim point. At the proper moment, he began an exhale and then released the arrow.
It flew true and struck the center ring, two finger widths from the exact middle.
The watching crowd cheered and clapped for their champion; Elizabeth applauded with them. “An excellent first shot, I hope I can duplicate it.”
She stepped to the line and repeated the sequence she had followed in his mind. In a way, she allowed him to fire the weapon with her body.
She aimed slightly higher than he had, to compensate for their height this time. She over corrected and her arrow struck the target a little high, but still within the center ring.
They were tied.
There was a smattering of clapping from the crowd, then a man with whom she had been giving knife throwing pointers bellowed out loudly, “Way te go, Poison!”
There was a ripple of laughter.
Quarrel faced the crowd and clapped until they all joined in loudly.
When he turned back Elizabeth acknowledged his gesture with a nod and handed him the bow. “Yer shot, Quarrel.”
Quarrel stepped up to the line with confidence and launched his next arrow. It flew true and struck the target one finger width from the center.
The crowd cheered wildly.
As the cheering died down Elizabeth jumped up onto a rock and faced the crowd. “Excuse me, but do any of ya know if he ever misses?”
The crowd laughed and she stepped back down, giving Quarrel a rueful look as she took his bow.
She stepped up to the line considering her next shot. Now is the time to miss, just a little. I don’t dare win this match; they would resent me beating their local hero.
She took her stance and began to repeat his last shot from her memory, but before she fired she repositioned her aim a hand’s span to the right. Her arrow flew true to her aim and hit the second ring one finger’s width from the edge of the center ring.
Cries of “Aw,” came from the crowd, some of them were starting to cheer for the newcomer.
As she aimed to miss her shot she wasn’t reading Quarrel, so she didn’t pick up his thought nor did she see the squint of his eye as he picked up the readjustment that caused her to miss.
He clapped politely as he said, “Nice try, but your aim was a little off at the line.”
“Yes, I guess a lined up a little crooked.”
He stepped up to the line and released quickly.
There was another and even more shocked, “Oooo,” from the crowd when his arrow missed the inner circle and struck the second ring on the left.
“It looks like you have the chance to tie, and therefore win,” he said, handing her the bow.
Elizabeth started to read the thought behind that comment when Gertha called out from behind her breaking her concentration. “You can do it, Poison. Nobody‘s beat ‘im fer quite some time!”
Gertha’s untimely interruption caused Elizabeth to miss
the thought that went with Quarrel’s statement.
Elizabeth took her stance and thought, I must not win, and then readjusted one hand’s span to the right and let fly.
Just as she released she picked up Quarrel’s thought, “So… I was right.”
Elizabeth wondered what she had just confirmed, but his thoughts weren’t on that right now, so she lacked an immediate answer.
When her arrow struck the second ring giving the win to Quarrel the crowd cheered wildly. A couple of his friends picked him up to carry him on their shoulders once around the clearing.
But Quarrel caught Elizabeth's eye and gave her a look, and Elizabeth knew that he knew she had thrown the match. He nodded to her acknowledging that she understood he was not fooled.
Many people clapped Elizabeth on the back in consolation, which pleased her greatly, she was well on her way to being accepted and she had only been there three bells. Next, she needed to bring the women in on her side.
One man was not happy with how things were proceeding.
Wernok watched the end of the archery competition from fifty yards away. There’s something dangerous about this woman, and it isn’t her fighting skills. She’s getting exactly what she wants, too quickly. She knows how to make people think the way she wants them to, how to manage them, how to lead. A skill like that isn’t born, it’s taught, either by others with the skill or by long trial. Where did she come from? Where did she learn these skills? I’ll have to find these answers, and soon. From the looks of things, she’ll have these people eating out of her hands by nightfall.
He sent a passing warrior to find Razor, his best lieutenant, and the only man who knew most of his plans and secrets.
Back at the archery range, Quarrel approached Elizabeth and said, “Well, it seems you owe me three questions answered.”
“True,” Elizabeth acknowledged.
Quarrel gestured for her to walk down the path and the two of them were soon out of casual earshot of the others.
“There is more to you than what you are showing, isn’t there?” he asked.
“Yes, quite a bit more,” she replied, and then added, “That’s question number one.”
He smiled and said, “And I trust I don’t need to remind you that you promised the truth?”
Elizabeth’s eyes just smiled at him.
“Are you really just here to become one of Wernok’s lieutenants?” He asked.
“Well, I am here to do that…, but no, not ‘just’ that,” she replied. “That’s two questions.”
He considered that for a moment and then thought hard about his last question. So far he hadn’t really learned much, he had just confirmed his suspicions. He thought about asking her what she was hiding, but then he decided to ask, “What are you here to accomplish?”
Elizabeth considered how to tell the truth without telling him too much. She noted his Autrany uniform and made a decision, Quarrel wasn’t really one of the bandits. “I’m here to bring down the Usurper, and I intend to start things rolling by gaining control of this bandit group.”
Quarrel’s eyes widened at this bold statement from the newly arrived woman, but then he saw the hard resolve in those steel eyes and he suddenly smiled. Somehow, someway, he suddenly had the feeling that this young warrior could do the impossible and he knew he was her man from this moment on. In reply, he said, “I’m with you, Poison. When the time comes, you have my bow.”
Razor slipped into Wernok’s cabin like a shadow through a window. Wernok looked up into the hypnotic eyes of his chief lieutenant and personal killer. He had never met a man more lethal. The man was virtually reptilian, he would sit without movement, completely stationary, to the point where you did not even think he blinked, but when he moved it was like the strike of a slither. He was of average height and build until you looked closely at the corded muscle. There was no fat on his body, just muscles, bones, and sinew. He had a curved hawk nose and thin down-turned lips. His eyes were his most striking features; the irises were a motley brown, almost yellow, making the pupils stand out in bold relief.
This was the only man the bandit leader feared, but he knew Razor was no threat. His lieutenant had one flaw; he needed someone else to be the leader. He could function as a sub-commander as long as it didn’t interfere with his opportunity to kill.
Wernok and Razor had a good working relationship, both knew Razor could take Wernok and both knew he never would. They had been together for eight years.
“So what do you think of her?” Wernok asked.
Razor’s reply was in his normal breathy whisper, “She’s dangerous.”
“I agree, but in what ways do you see her that way?”
“She adapts, she learns, she studies. She does not want to be a lieutenant, she wants to command,” he whispered, staring into Wernok’s eyes.
The leader averted his eyes from the glaring black pupils.
“Can you take her?”
“Yes,” the killer answered without pause, the simplicity of his answer giving testament to his confidence. “Do you wish me to kill her now?”
“Not yet, I want to find out more about her motives. Is it personal power, or is she working for someone else?” he pondered.
Razor remained silent, he did not care about her motives; killing was his business and his only pleasure. He brought up a new subject when he said, “Has ‘she’ contacted you recently?”
“No, so I assume we’re to continue according to plan. You leave for Treaborr in seven days. If my sources are correct two of the smaller bandit leaders are meeting there to discuss an alliance. Find them and turn them in to the local militia and then make sure they die in the ensuing battle. We can absorb both of their groups before the final stage is set. ‘She’ will like that, I’ll explain it when she next comes to call on us,” he finished.
“Their names?” he asked, referring to the bandit leaders.
“Uriene and Tiwel, they were both lieutenants in the old regime. Be careful, they aren’t just farmers turned bandit,” he cautioned, unnecessarily.
Razor ignored the warning, it didn’t deserve a response.
“Why don’t I leave immediately?”
“I have another job for you; let’s put together a little test for our newest bandit. I’ll put you in command of the squad I’m sending to attack a Belorn merchant. Put her in some danger and see how she handles it. Then kill the captive merchants, better yet, assign her to kill them, we’ll see how she reacts to an order to murder someone. If she refuses any order, kill her,” Wernok commanded.
Razor stood and gave a simple nod to show he understood and then left to ready his men.
Wernok stayed in his chair, his thoughts going over the necromancer RIveK’s plans and his rewards for carrying out those plans. His sick smile of anticipation was merely a glimpse into his true hidden insanity.
Elizabeth walked further into the valley community to where the log cabins stopped and lean-tos and tents crowded together. This was the refugee camp. Here she found more women and children. The women were the wives of the men who were exiled from their homes by the Usurper, men who had loyally served the rightful rulers of Autrany.
Here and there Elizabeth saw a child. Their somber faces looking out from the edge of curtains and from behind trees. Elizabeth was dressed in a warrior’s garb and these people had learned to avoid the bandits whenever they could. They were a necessary evil, protection of sorts from the Usurper's death squads who hunted those still loyal to Autrany's royal line of succession.
One woman wearing rags for clothing looked disdainfully at Elizabeth’s garb.
“Why do ya look at me in disgust?” Elizabeth said, stopping to confront the woman.
“Excuse me, I weren’t look’in at you,” she replied.
“No, it’s all right; I promise that I won’t get angry. I’m just not used te people looking at me with hate; I would like to know why?” Elizabeth prompted.
“I’m sorry, yer mistaken, I don’t
hate ya,” the older woman said.
“It’s because you don’t respect anyone who kills for a living, right?” Elizabeth asked, having read that answer from the woman’s mind.
“Yer a woman, ya should be help’in the needy, not pranc’in around in yer fine armor,” the woman scolded, then looked up and down the path in fear, hoping no one else had heard her outburst.
“Do you know why I’ve come over here?” Elizabeth asked.
“No, ya should go back to yer kill’in kind, over there,” she replied, gesturing toward the cabin area.
“I’m a healer and I’ve come to help. If there are any children or adults that need attention please take me to them. I have skills that may be of use,” she explained.
“You, with the knives to murder stick’in out all over,” the woman ridiculed.
“You are here because you need protection from the Usurper’s soldiers. You need the food that the bandits bring from their attacks. My daggers are very similar; they are the protection that I hide behind from evil men. They are the weapons that allow me to survive in a world of evil so that I can help the side of right to triumph. Remember, weapons are not evil, it is the people who misuse them that are evil.”
“You’ve come te help?” the woman said, skepticism still in her voice.
“Yes, I’ve come to help you all,” she replied.
“That’s a large order te fill fer one slight lass, but if ya really have some heal’in skills then follow me. Young Jerf is down with the ‘burn’, I don’t think he’ll be mak’in it passed tomorrow,” the woman explained, leading Elizabeth through the maze of tents and lean-tos.
When they reached Jerf’s tent Elizabeth found the young six-year-old boy lying on a cover. He was sweating profusely. His mother sat next to him swabbing his brow with a damp cloth. Tracks from tears stained her face.
The mother glanced up wearily and saw the old woman. “He’s nearly gone, Santhra,” then she saw Elizabeth and was startled by the stranger wearing armor, but Santhra reassured her that Elizabeth was a healer.
Her fear immediately turned to hope and Elizabeth smiled back to her reassuringly.
The sorceress placed her hand on the young boy's brow and to the watching women it looked as if she was checking his temperature, but she was actually touching his aura. She could see the flickers of black throughout his body’s aura; a sickness ran through his blood unchecked.
