Dusk departed the far northern lands of
Alden Cross, with the shadow of night sweeping the mountainous range in
deafening blackness. By the dim light of a simmering torch, Willow ran through
the winding tunnel towards the cellar of the Lord’s Dalliance. As she reached
the hidden stone wall, she doused her flame and listened intently to the far
side. When no sound of scuff came from the wine cellar, she pushed in the
pressure plate and slipped through. She crept up the stairs from the basement
and could her first opportunity to blend in with the raucous guests that
lingered drunkenly near the bar. Casually, she returned to her chamber, locking
the door behind her. Before stripping her armour off, she found the wooden
board she had loosened in the corner of the room and levered it up with her
dagger. She carefully placed the vial of poison in the shadowed hole, next to
the runic metal brand she had taken from the prison.
As she lifted her pendant over her head,
she held it to her lips for a moment, inhaling deeply through her nose. She had
infiltrated a watchtower guarded by more than one hundred men. She had walked
right through the keep's front doors in plain sight, trusting in the magic from
a vial and her own ability to go unnoticed. She had come face to face with the
legendary Lord Commander, and she had kept strong to her task. It was pride that
swelled her chest. Though his stare may have incited fear in her heart, it was
but a drop in an ocean compared to the fear her Dark Prince incited in her
soul. She served him, and while she served him, she would face anything he
asked of her.
After changing from her armour, she found
most of the group and called a meeting in her chamber. Although she looked for
Pellius throughout the inn, no one had seen him return after their mission was
completed within the forest. As they dragged the table from the corner and
unfurled the parchment map of the tower, Willow looked to the others.
“You were successful?” she asked Garvana.
Though she was sure that they had been, for
they had returned on time, she did not miss the fragile state they were in. She
could hear Garvana's staggered chest wheezing, and saw strange bite marks on
Mathias that had barely closed over.
“We were,” Garvana grunted.
Willow frowned, looking for more of an
explanation. When none came, she sighed.
“And?” she said, “Are the captain and all
of his rangers taken care of?”
“Dead,” Mathias snapped, “Yes. Clearly, or
we wouldn’t be here.”
“And Pellius?”
“No idea,” he grouched, “Took off after we
finished. Thought he’d be back here.”
Willow shook her head and began scribbling
the details she could remember from each room she passed within the watchtower. She explained what she came
across, focusing on the features of each room and its number of doors, windows,
guards and weapon stashes. When she spoke of the Commander, she noted the
sickening aura that radiated from him, yet downplayed the fear and terror he
had made her feel. She hoped they didn't notice the way her voice spiked as she
mentioned him.
It
was an our later that Pellius returned, with a look of subtle defeat furrowing
his brow. He explained that he had also tried to infiltrate the keep looking
for information on its layout and weaponry. His solo mission had not been so
successful. Willow couldn't help but smirk when he told her how he had lost his weapons within his first five minutes. She listened to his
story, and watched the sweat form on his forehead as he spoke of his encounter
with the commander. She took a little solace in the fact that Pellius, the
strong and proud dark paladin, felt the same fear that she did.
As she listened, she filled in the map with
the details he provided of the lower levels of the watchtower.
“This is good,” Willow commented, writing
out a list of priorities for their siege upon the tower, “Very good.”
They designated tasks out for the next day,
each of them to source more information from different avenues. As they said
their goodnights, Willow wandered down the stairs to the bar, and struck up
easy conversation once again with the innkeeper. Getting answers through
flattery and friendly prodding was always the easiest way. The man was a major
gossip, if anyone had the information she needed, it was him.
As the sun rose over the mountains on the
following morning, Willow donned her adventuring gear, braided her hair into
pigtails and dotted her cheeks with carmine. They had developed a rouse to
inspect the tower’s main defences and the gatehouse itself. She was to play the
part of an innocent faced noble, naïve and young seeking glory passed the
infamous wall. She was always so convincing when she tried to look young and
innocent, she had spent much of her life before her downfall acting the same
part.
She met Pellius in the dining area,
chuckling at his gruff mercenary outfit, and ushered him out the door. They
strode up to the keep on horseback, with the task of information on the layout,
defences and specific weaponry. Two guards stood at the front gates, watching their
approach.
“I am the Lady Kathryn of House Fairholm of
Matharyn,” she said proudly, “And I wish to pass through this tower and head
into the northern lands.
“The north is no place for a noble lady
such as yourself,” the guard frowned.
“Yes yes, so I’ve heard,” she said, rolling
her eyes, “So many people with opinions on what is and isn't a place for this
lady. Nevertheless, I wish to head north.”
The guard looked in questions over her
shoulder to Pellius. Looking severely unimpressed, he simply shrugged.
“Madam, I do not think you understand what
you're asking,” said the other guard, wide eyed, “The north is a savage place
full of horrifying dangers!”
Willow cocked an eyebrow and smiled coldly.
“My dear soldier,” she said softly, “I do
not believe it is your place to question what it is I do or do not understand.
I wish to see the infamous north for myself. So fetch the captain and let us
get things moving.”
The guards looked to one another; one
shrugged and the other shook his head. After a short time, an unfortunate
unattractive man clad in heavy steel armour, approached Willow with a face of
clear annoyance. He looked her up and down and shook his head.
“So you want to enter the north,” snapped
the captain, “Look mam, outside that wall is no joke, no pleasure cruise, no
royal hunt. Its savage lands, bloodthirsty beasts and imminent death. What in
the world could a child like you want with it?”
“Adventure captain!” Willow said, brightly
wide eyed.
“There's plenty of sheep to chase south of
the wall,” he grunted.
Willow raised her unimpressed eyebrows,
“Maybe I like to chase really big
sheep.”
Not a single muscle in the captain’s face
moved, “They're called cows."
His lip pulled up in a hint of a smile as
he chuffed at his own joke.
“Captain,” Willow said firmly, “I wish to
head north. I thank you for your opinion and advice, but it is my decision. And
I will be heading north.”
The captain stared into her eyes for a
moment before his shoulders slumped slightly in defeat.
He looked behind her at Pellius, “And
you're letting her do this?”
“Not my call,” Pellius replied curtly,
“Family's paying me good gold to follow her around wherever she wants to
gallivant.”
Scoffing in response, the captain simply shook
his head and led them into the keep. She slid gracefully form her steed and
guided it through the entryway. Looking around with inquisitive eyes, Willow
took note of how many guards were stationed and where. She noted the large iron
barred double doors on the southern side of the bridge, the twenty foot
drawbridge on the northern side, the murder-holes in the gatehouse and large
cast iron pots around the edge of the ten foot murder-hole in it's ceiling. She
entered the gatehouse and stood in front of the large iron portcullis keeping
her from the savage north. In perfect feigned anxiety and fright, she stared at
the gate wide eyed, and looked through the murder holes.
“I-Is all this really n-necessary?” she
stuttered.
“Of course it is,” the captain said
sternly, “The evil terrors of the north could not be contained otherwise. Last
chance, do you still wish to go?”
Willow faked flustered.
“Yes! Of course. B-but,” she stammered,
“I've, i've... left my good boots behind! Yes! In the inn! I must go get them!”
She spun on her heel, pulling her horse
with shaking hands, striding back towards the entry. She saw the captain and
Pellius make eye contact, mirrored faces of annoyance and frustration. As they mounted
their horses and continued towards the town, when she was sure they were out of
earshot of the keep, Willow innocently batted her eyelids at Pellius.
“Oh, my dear captain,” she said
patronisingly, “I think it's the evil terrors right under your nose that you need to be worrying
about…”
As
the twilight hours of dusk came and the group returned
to the inn, they all had news to share. Willow and Pellius filled in the map
with further details, drawing out the important pieces of weaponry they knew they’d
have to disable. Mathais had spent his day listening in to news on the missing
patrol. The priest of the tower had begun an investigation, suspecting foul
play after evidence of a battle was found at the camp site. Garvana had been
searching for information on the commander's late wife, and found only that it
had been a decade since her demise. Willow was impressed when she heard Teelee
talk of her day spent with Captain Mott's wife. She had not only found out
about an affair with Captain Eddarly, but she had found out that once again
they would meet for a secret rendezvous that night. They devised a plan to stir
discontent in the captain ranks, forging an anonymous note with the details,
waiting until the cover of night to deliver it.
Relaxing by the fireplace in the tavern, it
was passed midnight when word came in rush from a band of soldiers. Mott had
caught the pair in each others arms, and had issued a formal challenge of duel
at the hour of dawn.
As they slept through the hours of night,
Willow woke with a burning rush that seared down her body. She couldn't stop a
moan from escaping as she forced herself up and the heat pulsed in fiery bliss.
She tried to concentrate through the searing warmth; something was close,
something with a strong connection to Asmodeus. She forced herself to ignore
the burn so she could determine where it was coming from, but by the time she
had narrowed it down to the rooms to the right of her, the feeling vanished.
Breathing heavily, she laid her head down, waiting for the feeling to return.
After an hour she felt her eyes drift close. It was a curiosity to be sure, but
she smiled, basking in the residual warmth as she fell back into the lands of
slumber.
As the sun rose over the mountains, Willow
and the others stood with the crowd of townsfolk and watched the two men
prepare to duel. Mott was a sturdy fierce man, solid in his defence as he
waited for an opening. It did not take long, Mott was not there to simply teach
the man a lesson. When his chance came, he lunged and cleave down his halberd deep
into Eddarly's chest. As he slumped to the ground in a shower of scarlet, Mott
pulled his bloodstained weapon free as the crowd cried out in horror. Duelling
unto death, a crime punishable by beheading. A man resigned to his fate, he did
not struggle as the guards in the crowd surrounded him and put him under
arrest.
While the others went to watch the sentencing
and explore more of the keep, Willow was struck with an idea. Three of the
watch’s captains were now either dead or incarcerated. There was one last
captain that they had to eliminate. She returned to the inn, and spoke to the
innkeeper Bellum, the brother of Captain Sam Barhold. With a few sly hints and
sighs of admiration, he winked and promised to introduce her to him next time
he came in for a meal.
The others returned from the watchtower
with the tragic news of Mott’s sentence. As they gathered around the table in Willow’s
chamber, she was pleased with the decision to begin their assault and start
sewing the seed of fear and angst into the ranks of the watchtower. Their first
target was the rookery. With no quick way for the guards to call for
reinforcements, they could take their time and thin out the defences, one by
one.
They waited until dark, and together crept
out into the tunnel, carrying a tray of meat laced with enough arsenic to
poison hundreds of ravens. They followed the winding passage by torchlight,
clad in armour, weapons strapped tight. As the stone wall into the vault
scraped open, a sudden squeal had Willow’s head snap up. Bellum Barhold stood
in front of her, two bottles of wine in hand, a face stricken with fright.
Willow cursed as dove over the barrels, narrowing dodging the shatter of glass
as he threw the bottle on impulse. She swiftly tumbled and landed on her feet, lunging
in quickly with her dagger poised at the back of his neck.
“I'd suggest you stay calm,” she warned
quietly, “And keep your voice down.”
“Y-yes, yes,” he said shakily, “I think
I’ll do that.”
She pressed the dagger a little firmer on
the back of his neck, “Calmly, quietly, inside the tunnel.”
With trembling hands held high, he fumbled
into the tunnel with his hands up.
Willow sighed, looking to Pellius, “What
are we going to do with him?”
“Do it!” Garvana said, staring fiercely at
the dagger Willow was holding.
With a furrowing brow, Willow’s mind raced for
a way out, for any other solution.
“Who are you people?!” Bellum stuttered
loudly, “What are you planning?”
With an exhaled of frustration and anger,
she grabbed his hair and held tight as she drove the dagger into the top of his
spine, killing him as quickly and painlessly as she could. He fell forward as
his body collapsed to the floor. She hissed out a breath, cursing viciously under
her breath.
“It had to be done,” Pellius said sombrely.
“I know that!” Willow snapped, “It does not
mean I am glad for it.”
He gave her a moment, as she continued to
curse under her breath. Frustrating as it may have been, she understood that he
needed to die. She saw no other way around it.
“Come along, my lady,” Pellius said gently,
“We have much to do. There will be many sacrifices along our path, it is what
must be done…”
Using the strange arcana of their circlets,
they formed their frames to mirror the guards and servants. Willow took the
lead, carrying the large tray of raw meat, passing guards on watch as she
walked up the winding staircase towards the rookery. As she reached the door, the
others hid as she knocked.
“What da ya want?” a voice grouched.
“I’ve got feed for the ravens,” Willow
called, “Come on now, the trays heavy!”
“They’ve already got their dinner,” he
barked.
“Come on Martin,” she sighed, “Commander’s
orders. He’s worried some one might have tried to poison the birds, what with
all this strange happenings around the keep.”
“Poison ya say?” he questioned worriedly,
“Why’d they do a thing like that?”
“Martin!” Willow snapped, “I’ve spent the
last hour carving this damn boar, my shift is done, my kids are waitin’. Just
let me in!”
With muttered grumbling, she heard the
sound of several locks being unlatched. As he opened the door, Willow smiled
and handed him the tray. As the weight fell heavy in his hands, she slyly unsheathed
her dagger and walked in the rookery passed him.
“Let me get the other tray,” she sighed,
“Damn birds.”
As she strolled passed him, Pellius
suddenly leaped from his hiding place, ploughing into the frail man and rushed
him backwards into the room. Mathias dove from behind the pillar, lunging forward
and piercing Martin's chest with the rapier. As a cry of pain and surprise
escaped his mouth, Willow leaped in from the side and plunged her dagger deep
into his windpipe. It was quick and efficient, and most importantly relatively
quiet. They set up the poisoned meat for the ravens and quickly searched Martin's
belongings, using his keys to lock in his corpse and the feasting birds. As the
sound of a signal horn blew a short burst, signalling the change of the guard
shifts, they quickly descended the stairs back towards the hidden tunnel. With their small
objective completed, they made their return to the inn, sheltered by the cover
of darkness and the warmth of success.
The
dawn sun rose, as Willow woke with an uneasy stomach. They had made their first
real offensive move, and it was one that would surely
be noticed. She knew alone, she would be able to blend in to the crowds and
remain unseen. But there was nothing subtle about the group. They would just
have to take it one day at a time, and always keep their main objectives
priority; opening the gates, killing the commander and firing the signal
rocket.
She dressed and strapped her daggers to her
thighs, before headed downstairs to pretend to wait for breakfast. The group
had decided the best plan to deal with the innkeepers sudden disappearance would
be to pretend to know nothing. Keep their stories simple and act as shocked as
everyone else.
When the barmaid arrived for work and the
front door was still locked, she ran off to fetch the guards. Minutes later,
Father Donnigan and Captain Barhold arrived, flanked by four guards. The captain
barged the door open with his shoulder, shattering the lock, flinging it from
the frame. The father had a friendly but firm tone as he requested for all of
the inn's patrons to gather and await questioning. One by one the group were
called in for solitary interviews.
As Garvana was called into the office first,
Willow watched on with a look of feigned concern and confusion. It was almost a
genuine look. The masculine woman may of had a strange approach to her life and
duty, but she had grown on Willow. She did not want her to be captured. She did
not want any of the bound to get captured, for they were her only allies in
this world, and she knew not if they were strong enough to withstand
interrogation and keep their secrets hidden.
While she waited for her turn, Willow mused
on the curiosity of the souls she was bound to. Garvana was an odd woman, to
say the least. But she had a twisted sense of humour and a strange intensity
Willow liked. Teelee was a quiet and spoilt child, that much was always
apparent. But she seemed to have a brilliant mind hidden underneath the layers
of her cossetted attitude. Pellius was charming, handsome and arrogant. All bad
things for Willow, but so very much fun. And even Mathias had a certain charm
himself. An old fashioned misogynistic gentleman, who clearly believed women
were below him. He had that kicked puppy charm about him; been wronged by the
world, the black sheep, the underdog. Willow did not want to see any of them
captured. For they had formed a strange sort of bond, and also because rescuing
them spelt more work for her later on.
Willow and Pellius had spoken briefly of a
plan if they were to be questioned. A ruse of an affair, giving plenty of cause
for a story that may have lacked a few clear facts or held a few mistakes. As
they sat and waited for their turn, he made eye contact with Willow and cocked
his eyebrow in question. The corner of Willow's mouth turned up in a smirk as
she placed her hand high on his thigh in answer.
As Teelee was called in and Garvana was
escorted back to her seat, Willow wanted to know what was asked, and what she
had said. But the four guards were keeping a fairly close eye on them and she
knew better than to risk it. When it was Pellius’ turn, Willow squeezed his
upper thigh slightly digging her nails in before he stood, making sure he knew
that she had understood his plan. After only a few minutes, that felt much
longer, she saw the door open and watched Pellius stroll back to the table. They
pointed to Mathias and ushered him inside the small chamber. Pellius sat down
and leaned back in his chair, placing his hand on Willow's thigh, squeezing
tightly.
The anticipation grew as Willow waited for
herself to be beckoned forth, and as the old man strode out with his usual
swagger, she forced herself not to roll her eyes at him. She scoffed in her
head, there was something about him that blossomed an irrational need to act
like a child. The guards escorted her into the office, and indicated for her to
a seat against the wall.
“Sorry for the trouble,” Father Donnigan
said sincerely, “But we need to ask you a few questions, miss...?”
Willow smiled gently.
“Fairholm,” she said sweetly, “Lady Kathryn
Fairholm.”
The priest furrowed his brow, “Fairholm?
Minor noble house of -”
“- Lendaryl, Matharyn Province, yes,”
Willow answered for him.
“Ah yes,” he said, “I remember reading
something about your family...”
Willow smiled, “Of my Father no doubt,
Theodore Fairholm, works as a diplomat in the Lendaryl Mayor's office.”
“Ah, I see. Yes, Theodore,” the priest
muttered, “Lands of wheat, yes?”
“Corn, Father,” Willow corrected.
“Ah yes. Corn,” he nodded, looking up from
his note book, “The odd thing is I remember young Lady Kathryn was a beautiful
thing of brown ashen hair...”
Willow gave him a wry smile, “Oh I’m sorry
father, you must be mistaken. Our family tree has been laden with hair of
aubrun for generations.”
She tried to sound helpful, “Perhaps you're
thinking of the Fairmont's from Aberthall? I studied with their eldest, Lady
Caitlyn, long brown hair. And I believe they grew wheat as well?”
Father Donnigan smiled, “Perhaps.”
“Alright Lady Fairholm,” he said, “When did
you last see Mr Barhold, the innkeeper?”
Willow frowned, “Bellum? Why, yesterday
lunchtime I suppose. Why is that? Is he alright?”
“That is what I’m here to find out Lady
Fairholm,” he said, “You knew him on a first name basis? Can I ask what your
relationship was with him?”
“It was a mutual love of fine wines,” she
said truthfully, “Such a connoisseur, great selection, impressive taste. Oh my,
I hope nothing has happened to him.”
“As do we all. And may I ask, how did he
seem yesterday?”
“Just as normal, happy to take my gold and
feed me wine,” she chuckled.
“I see,” he said humourlessly, “May I
enquire as to what brought you into town?”
“Oh, adventure Father,” she said bright
eyed, “I had planned on adventuring north of the wall, but alas, the solicitous
captain I spoke with persuaded me otherwise.”
“Indeed,” he said, not looking up from his
note book, “And you are adventuring
alone?”
Willow chuckled again, “Of course not,
Father. Johnston, my bodyguard, is with me ever vigilant.”
“Indeed,” he repeated, “And what were you
doing last night?”
Willow feigned a look of fluster, “Late
dinner, a bit of light reading.”
“And is that all?”
“Well... no... Father...” Willow forced a
blush, “There was some.... other...”
“Other?” he queried.
She looked down at her hands and begun
twirling her fingers, “A... visit, with Mr Johnston.”
The priest looked up from his book, “Please
be more specific Lady Fairholm.”
“Father!” she said in indignation, “You
would not ask a Lady to verbalise those activities, would you?”
“I do apologise Lady Fairholm,” he said
genuinely, “But with the nature of the crimes we are investigating, I’m afraid
I must insist.”
Willow hung her head and stuttered, “Yes
Father. I-I went to him.. and... w-we lay together.”
“In his room, you say?” he said, without
missing a beat.
Willow froze momentarily. A simple detail,
but they had not covered such things.
“Yes Father,” she continued, her head bowed
avoiding eye contact.
She figured Pellius would take the dominant
road and make things on his terms. A sudden fear simmered in her stomach, she
could only hope she was right.
“Thank you, child,” he said, “Oh, and one
last question, did you two come into town alone?”
Willow looked up and quirked her head, “No,
we followed a group of others here. As my father says, safety in numbers.”
“Specific names of the people in the group,
Lady Fairholm?”
“Oh Father,” she said wide eyed and
innocent, “I'm sorry, I just don’t remember the common rabble. Maybe one of two
of the others staying here?”
“Very well,” he said dryly, “Well thank you
Lady Fairholm, you may head back outside. We'll call you back if we need more
information.”
Willow stood from her seat and shyly made
her way out of the office. As she returned to her seat, Garvana was called upon
again. She rose from her seat and returned to the office, looking determined
and fearless. Willow was desperate to ask Pellius of his answer, but the
watchful eye of the guards satyed her once again. A few moments later, Garvana
was carried out of the room by Captain Barhold, gagged and bound. She struggled
against her bonds, until she tied securely and placed behind the bar guarded by
a soldier. Willow let out a gasp of shock and used the opportunity to huddle
against Pellius.
She turned her faced to his neck and
whispered, “Your room, right?”
He placed a comforting arm over her
shoulder and squeezed.
“Yeah,” he said, “It'll be alright miss.”
Willow exhaled in relief. She frowned when Father
Donnigan called for Teelee again. As she leant forward, they sat in silence
while they waited. After only a few minutes, they walked Teelee out with her
hands bound behind her back. As the priest and the captain closed up the
office, Willow felt Pellius shift in his chair. She quickly laid a staying hand
on his shoulder, squeezing firm. One of the guards looked at her questioningly,
but she merely batted her eyelids in feigned worry and shock. As the guards
dragged Garvana and Teelee out through the doors, the priest addressed the
remaining guests.
“You are free to go,” he said politely, “I
thank you for your time and patience. I am afraid you will have to find other
accommodation, for the Lord’s Dalliance will be closed until further notice.”
Willow stood up, and rushed over to Father
Donniagan, placing a gentle hand on his wrist.
“But Father,” she pleaded, “We were told
this was the only inn that would take travellers. Where will we stay? Surely
I’m not to sleep in a tent?!”
She did not care for sleeping in a tent,
but it really did not matter. The ruse of keeping up appearances did.
He looked at her with empathetic eyes, “No
of course not my child, head to the Brassbell at your earliest convenience. I
shall send word and have a room available for you.”
“Oh thank you father, thank you...”
She quickly scaled the stairs and collected
her belongings from her chamber, being swift and quiet about retrieving the
items from her hidden plank. She slid the brand down her corset and stuffed the
poison vial in her slip, putting the pendant around her neck, slipping it in
her shirt. She handed Pellius the rest of her gear at the top of the stairs,
muffling a laugh at his unimpressed look as she slinked down to the dining
area. They found the Brassbell with little trouble, an establishment of higher
class than the last. The bellhop greeted them at the door and ushered them
inside the grand waiting chamber. He told them that Father Donnigan had already
sent word along and had arranged a few suitable rooms.
“We'll take two rooms for five nights,”
Willow said politely, smiling at the luxurious interior of the parlour.
“A room is twenty gold a night, my lady,”
said the bellhop, “Paid in advance, of course.”
“Twenty!” barked Pellius, in his mercenary
accent, “We only need one room!”
Willow rolled her eyes and thought it over,
it would be much easier to escape by night if need be, if they were in the same
room.
“Fine,” she huffed, “We'll take the one
room, thank you.”
The bellhop looked shocked.
“My Lady,” he whispered scandalously, “The
rooms only have one bed, large as they may be.”
Willow raised her eyebrow.
“We'll take the one room,” she said
sternly.
“Yes, my lady,” he replied with a bow.
After showing them to their chamber, and he
bowed to them before turning for the door, Willow saw the corner of his mouth
lift up in the smallest of smirks as he made eye contact with Pellius. Once
alone, Willow searched the room for somewhere she could stash her forbidden
items, as Pellius went in search of breakfast. After testing the wooden
floorboards and wall panels, she found a loose pane in one of the cupboards,
removing it to fashion a small hidden alcove. She quickly slid her pendant, the
vial of poison, the brand into the drawer before sealing it closed.
It was close on midday by the time she had
settled and Pellius returned with food. She sat in the window seat that faced
the keep, as she picked at her poached eggs, half expecting to have an army of
guards charging down the hill towards her at any point in time. Mathias visited
their chamber after lunch, remaining vague about his whereabouts, declining
their offer to stay together. They wasted the day away by going over the rescue
mission. Arousing more suspicion now would only indicate to the guards that
there are more conspirators. The brands on both Garvana's and Teelee's wrists
would be enough to have them locked up and awaiting their return to
Branderscar. It would be at best weeks before the inquisitors could arrive to
escort them back to their fates. The three of them knew they would be more
likely to be successful in rescuing their companions if they tried when the keep
was weakened.
When the sun set on that first night,
Willow stepped out of the bath and entered the living area dressed only in her
nightgown, her long auburn hair wet and flowing down her back. As she sat in
the window seat and looked up at the bright shine of the moon, she realised
that she had never shared a bed with any other man than her husband. She could
not help but think about the dead weight he used to be. He was such a fine
specimen of manhood. Sculpted torso, chiselled features, handsome face. A
righteous, virtuous, faithful man. And yet, she felt nothing for him. She never
did. She spent years of her life trying to force the feelings, she truly and
honestly tried to learn to love him. He gave her his heart in full, and she
still did not feel a thing for him. Not for all his suffering, his sacrifice
and duty. He was weak. Pathetic. Ruled by a sense of fairness and justice – he
embodied everything she despised about the lands of Talingarde.
She watched Pellius in the reflection in
the window, as he stripped his shirt over his head, she watched the muscles
across his back flex and release. She watched him bend forward and unstrap his
boots, his firm behind strong and thick as the muscles craned down the back of
his thighs. She tore her eyes away, chastising herself for her deliciously
inappropriate thoughts.
“I know little about you, Pellius,” she
said quietly, “The curious and handsome man from the far lands of Cheliax.”
“Handsome?” he repeated, a sly grin on his
lips.
“Do not be coy,” Willow chuckled, “You are
more than aware you are handsome. Tell me of yourself, what are you doing in
Talingarde?”
“My lady,” he frowned, a guarded expression
coming over his face, “I do not wish to speak of it. You will forgive me if I
wish to keep my secrets as my own.”
Willow’s eyebrow arched in intrigue.
“You do not trust me?” she asked, a smirk
lifting her lips, “Then you are wiser than I gave you credit. We are bound
together, this is true. Yet, none of us know more of each other than simple
crimes and reasons of our capture.”
She looked to him, a peculiar gleam to her
eye. A strange curiosity he indeed was. She could feel Asmodeus within him, she
knew his connection to her Dark Prince was strong and true.
“We do not have any other allies in this
country,” she said, “We are alone. We will have to learn to trust one another
in time. Of all of our allies, I feel the most drawn to you. Perhaps I can show
you a little of me, for you may be the only one of the bound who can understand
it…”
She stood from the window seat, strolling
to her pack and removed the small silk pouch. She sprinkled the crimson grains
of dried blood so lightly along the floor that the shape she was making was
barley perceivable. As she finished the fifth point on the inverted pentagram,
she stood back, inhaling sharply as she unlaced and dropped her nightgown. The
cold chill seeping through the windowpane feathered against her bare skin. She
delicately stepped into the centre of the star and lowered herself into a kneel.
The spark of excitement ran through her veins, the nerves and anxious trembles
pulsed low in her stomach. She had been praying this way since she was old
enough to first truly feel the Lord of the Nine, but she had never prayed this
way under the eyes of someone else.
“Hail, Asmodeus,” she whispered, the first
wave of heat lick her flesh, “Deliver me from chaos that I may serve you in
eternity. Unmake the lies of my body and reshape my soul in your design.”
As her rasped chant continued, the waves of
warmth began to burn and simmer. She repeated the words she seared into her
brain, begging her Prince for the chance to serve him. By the sixth round, she
was chanting in between aching whimpers. The seventh, her knees began to buckle
and her hands began to shake. The eighth, her chest was heaving as tears welled
in her eyes, the blissful agony of Hell’s fiery rapture overwhelming her
senses. As the ninth chant fell barely
audible from her lips, she cried out through clenched teeth with the final wave
of searing inferno swarming through her. The euphoric pain of her Infernal
Prince’s touch blazed through her limbs, scorched it’s way through her chest
and crushed her slender frame in it’s grip. Obediently, she held herself
perfectly still while He settled in her veins, encompassing her in his profane
and fiery wrath. It was only as his frightening grasp release, that she free
her trembling exhale. On shaking and weathered legs she stood. She wiped away the
grains with her foot, tenderly turning for the bed. She could feel the piercing
gaze of Pellius’ sight, but she could not face questions or queries now. As she
slid under the silken covers, she closed her eyes and willed sleep to take her
quickly.
It would be Moonday that they would push their
assault on Balentyne. They planned to meet early morning before the dawn, in
the cellar of the Lord’s Dalliance, before making their way through the passage
and into the tower.
Ealry Sunday evening, they ate and finished
preparations for their tasks. Willow had snuck out earlier that day to steal a
few bottles of wine from the cellar, sharing a few too many with Pellius over
dinner. As she did every night, Willow bathed and dressed her hair with liquid
myrrh cinnamon and cassia. The easy haze of warmed velvet wine settled well
within her mind. As she watched Pellius change in the far corner of the
bedchamber, his sharp physique and bare skin feeding her excitement, she felt
the rapturous need for carnal pleasure. Slowly, she prowled towards him. Her
long locks slicked along her back, her pale skin shimmering against the
candlelight. She wore only the black laced slip, slim straps that draped the
fabric loosely across her naked flesh beneath. As he heard her approach and
tied his drawers around his waist, her turned to her, brow arched in question.
She did not say a thing as she slowly sauntered towards him. She stared into
his eyes, thrilled to see the mirrored spark of desire lit within his gaze. As
she reached him, she traced her finger intimately slow, along his collarbone
and upward along his neck. As she slid her fingers over his chin, she gently
pulled his head downward. When he did not refuse or resist, the thundering need
of lust overcame her senses. She lifted her head, bringing her lips to meet
his, in a gentle and soft kiss. As her tongue slowly slipped between his lips
to tenderly seek his, a wave of heat undulated through her limbs. Though the
caress began as a leisurely exploration, he suddenly gripped her waist in a
frightening embrace. He pulled her to him, crushing her small frame against his
firm chest, his kiss deepening as his fingers latched through her hair. Their touch
became almost desperate, teeth scraping against flesh, nails digging deep into
each others skin. She ripped her mouth from him and rasped a panted breath. As
he released her, she watched his eyes flash a fiery and fearsome scarlet. With
a deep grin, she turned from him and slinked over to her bag, pulling free out
a firm leather riding crop. As she had been strolling through the town that
day, she had seen them in the window of a stable house, and been struck with
the lecherous and sinful idea. As she walked on trembling legs, she knelt down
and raised the crop up in both hands. She turned her head and looked deep
within his curious and intense gaze.
“Will you help me pray?” she rasped, a tone
tickled with mischief.
He prowled slowly to her, standing above
her as his consuming gaze began to devour. She stared up through her eyelashes
and shivered as he grabbed the crop by its handle and tested it with a loud
lash to his hand. He grinned, disarming and sinful.
“This we give our Infernal Father, our
obedience to him above all else...”
