---- "Quite the ruckus for a man in his sickbed," the old warrior mocked from his sleep. His dreams kept their tenuous grasp over him and sapped the strength that would have been required to raise his head and look at her.
The floorboards creaked beneath her, but she made no noise of her own. Her amethyst gaze locked quickly upon the bronze looking glass and water basin that lay at the far end of the spacious old room.
The huntress worshipped the tepid waters. It's blessing purified the dirt, and blood, and crimes that yet stained her flesh.
She couldn't recognise herself when she straightened out. This mirror must have been a portal, showing some other woman in some other place. It couldn't be her; Ash didn't look so hollow.
The deep purple of the huntress' eyes set every room and heart aflame, while the near black beads before her couldn't draw warmth from an inferno. Her dark and freckled skin seemed pale and thin, especially in her newly gaunt cheeks.
Even the pure white hair - for which her father had named her - was lost to war, stained and soaked in sanguine hues. Slices and chunks had been torn from her leather hunting garbs and a deep chink in the chainmail belly suggested her life had been narrowly saved by the new addition.
Whoever stood before the girl was not Ashtik, but some vile imitation.
"I don't like who I see most days, either," Caro muttered, still half asleep. "Well, on the days I recognise him anyway."
She had forgotten for a moment, trapped within her own reflection, why she had come here.
"I need to do something," Ash whispered. She hadn't the strength of will to look at him as she said it.
"Something foolish?" Caro guessed. He shifted from his comfort to get a view of her.
She could imagine what he saw hunched over that basin. The fiend who set his home alight. The putrid shard of oily black steel embedded in her shoulder, and the deathly mark in her balled fist. The steel in her hand and the steel in her eyes. He must have witnessed a true monster.
"Foolish?" she grunted. "Probably. Sometimes it takes a fool."
"And sometimes it doesn't," Caro yawned. He sat high enough to come into her view.
All she could offer him was a glance at his reflection. She even looked into his bronze cast eyes and quickly came to realise that she had never done so before.
He was comely, especially for his age. His deep brown eyes were impossibly youthful when stacked against the horrors they must have borne witness to. He had shaved back his beard before the battle – no doubt to fit it beneath his helm – but the paleness of his skin mapped out where the beard had once been. He was as broad of cheekbones as he was of shoulder, and not nearly as gaunt as the other men of his age.
"Tell me, Sir Carolet: If you could give your life to stop this, would you?" she asked, still only looking to his bronze cast counterpart.
"What kind of question is that? Of course I would," he answered almost indignantly.
-- "Then what I do is not foolish."
-- "A noble sacrifice? Martyrdom? That's the extent of your capacity?"
-- "If it's all I'm needed for. Besides, my story doesn't end here. Some foolish god has chosen me. They won't let me die here, and they know I won't have the will to fight on if the village is destroyed."
-- "Be wary, Ashtik. I've known many men who said the gods were at their backs. All of them are dead. I promise you, your god doesn't care if you live or die. They can always choose a new Champion."
-- "Sure, but they've chosen me, and that has to mean something."
Carolet simply laughed, though it clearly pained him to do so. He looked at her as she stood with her back turned.
"It means nothing," he sighed. "You haven't even been claimed. You don't know to which goden or goddess you belong. You are unprepared and, quite frankly, uninteresting. The gods will not bother to watch as you kill yourself."
-- "Then I will force their attention. Pray for me, old man. Pray for me as you dream."
---- She could hear them above her. The dull thumping steps as they battled the flame. The muffled cries of careless men as they got too close and caught their deaths. The march of reinforcements and the revelrous cries of far past drunken merriment. They drank on the pyres of their friends, their brothers.
The huntress tunnelled onwards. Dirt surrounded and entombed her, catching in her hair, her clothes, her teeth. Even despite her slim frame, half-breaths were all she could draw.
She pressed, pushed, clawed her way onwards – doing all she could to ignore her ever-rising fear.
The air thinned as the hours stretched on and her tunnel followed further. Shapes came to dance in the dark. A spider of a thousand legs stepped over her while an azure giant crawled behind her, and a gentle sparrow tunnelled out the path ahead of her.
And then there was light.
She had found the end of the tunnel, and the first stirrings of dawn. The stars weren't hidden here, from beneath the dirt. They shone in a vast band of liquid gold. Heaven's belt slashed across the space between. It twinkled violet and indigo. There was barely a speck of empty space behind it.
The huntress crowned arm first, then she pushed her head through and drew her first breath. It was ecstasy, pure and incomparable, but the rain quickly drowned her gasping, grasping climb. The tunnel collapsed inward as the mud slipped down the exit. It gave her no purchase to climb with, and she slipped under again. Grit and stones snapped her nails as she clambered higher. Not a thought was given to stealth; gasping and gaping as she was.
She thrust her steel hand high and finally found the leverage she needed.
Ashtik rose, her red leather stained black by mud. Her face, caked in dirt. Her hair, still bloody though now much darker. She must have looked half a shadow in this early morning light. The sunrise had yet to crest, but its sapphire crown sat on the horizon. The black of night would soon give way to the blue of dawn, and the red of day.
But her duty must be fulfilled by then.
---- She skulked through the backlines. Not a man saw her, or he saw six of her through his empty bottles. It seemed the toasts to conquest and plunder had caught up with the main horde. Not the pouring rain, nor crackling flame, seemed to hold the power to rouse them from their stupor.
The bandits had set up a small siege camp. It wasn't much. A hide-padded tent to stop flaming arrows from burning through. A couple of wooden chairs and amenities. There was no place of luxury, but the best spot in the camp became quickly obvious by the mound of drunken soldiers asleep at its gate.
This must have been where the 'Duke' lay.
--- A sentry slept before the tent. She crossed him silently with her spear held firm. A piece of her considered ending him as he lay there, tankard spilt across his chest, but the idea of murdering a man in his sleep still gave her pause, even after all she had done.
She allowed him his night and stalked along, unharried.
They had left their vast stain on her home. The golden grasses were burnt black, and the flowers trampled into dirt. It was no paradise at the best of days, but it deserved better than this. She would grant it better than this with a single fell swoop.
The velvet palace with its hide roof came into reach. She found the front door, unguarded and unbarred, and simply walked in.
The quality of man that awaited within cannot be understated. His garish pink breastplate – and his uniform of green and blue stripes – covered a fat and feeble body.
His diseased flesh had been obfuscated by a pure white paste, close to makeup but not nearly as elegant. What should have been his hair could more aptly be described as a thin crown of disgrace. Closer to a scorched tuft of grass than a proud mane.
His beard was different at first glance. It could almost be described as noble, until she noticed the lace behind it; the proudest part of him was attached by some adhesive. He still wore his garish pink breastplate and its green and blue striped accompaniment.
He hadn't noticed her; so enthralled was he by the camp follower in his lap. A beautiful young woman, clearly reserved for his far from desirable touch. To Ash's surprise, it wasn't he who spoke first, but the woman.
"Oh, I like this one," she purred. "The bold ones are always so much more fun." The woman spoke in a strange way, with a strange accent, and uttered every syllable as though each came with a kiss and promise, though Ash hadn't a clue as to the nature of the promise.
"Tell me, Snowangel, are you here to kill this 'Duke'?" the woman laughed, tracing a pointed red nail along his jaw.
"I am," Ash grimly replied. "Please step aside; you needn't get hurt."
"My white knight! My own personal hero, come here to rescue me from his evil clutches," she giggled. She leaned back from her seat in the Duke's lap, and Ash might have sworn under better light that the woman's mouth was stained red.
The strange woman rose from her dazed throne and stood with her back to Ash, wiping away at her face like a bathing cat. "Go ahead," she whispered from the darkness. "I've had my fill."
He didn't resist, and Ash didn't care. She stormed up to him and thrust the tip of her spear through his heart as he just smiled at her. His glazed eyes drifted from hers over to the dark woman at the other end of the tent.
"Did I do well?" He spluttered through the pool of blood within his lungs. Ash dragged the spear back and kicked his body to the ground.
He was dead. "It can't be that simple."
"Who are you?" Ash finally asked of the woman.
"A friend, I hope," she cheerfully answered, though she never bothered to face Ash. "I have so few of them."
"What did you do to him?" Ash asked, kicking the dead Duke's hand aside.
"I enthralled him, dear. The advantage of having rather large tits, I'm afraid," the woman laughed.
"He died so gladly because of your... endowment?" Ash grimaced.
The woman wasn't lying about her 'advantage'. She turned just slightly towards Ash and caught a moonbeam in her sanguine eyes. Beneath the pale light of the early dawn, she was a beauty of marble. Raven hair flowed effortlessly over smooth, milky white skin. She was the figure of a goddess, and she held the proportions to match.
"Of course not, as I said; I enthralled him. He was my darling thrall." She loosed a dark simper through her smoky black painted lips and leathered Ashtik with a piercing stare that seemed to adore every inch of her person.
"You are a magician?" Ash guessed. It became a feat of will to hold her eyes to this woman's own. Ash was awkward enough with most, but this woman, with her glare that seemed to contain all the heat of the pyre wall... It was just too much to hold. That is not to mention her gaze being drawn... elsewhere.
The woman clearly noticed, though she didn't seem to mind much.
"A magician? No," she laughed a laugh of silk and seduction. "I'm on the other side. The fun side."
"But you controlled this Duke? You lead these bandits? You attacked my home," Ash accused. Her steel came high with the words, and she coiled back for a fight.
"No," the woman whispered severely. "I came here to stop them."
"But you failed?" Ash didn't lower her spear. She stayed, coiled and angry.
"Yes. I am sorry for that," she admitted with a slight choke. She took a single, silent step, then half a dozen more, until she had stalked close enough to place the tip of Ash's spear to her chest. "But I do hope we can still be friends."
"Probably not," Ash sniffed, pulling her spear back.
The strange woman faked a sob as she asked, "And why must you break my heart, Snowangel?"
-- "Because you haven't even told me your name."
"Why should I? You haven't told me yours." She covered her mouth, and the little grin it wore, beneath five delicate fingers. She wore a single ornamental ring on each. A glove of sorts wrapped around her middle finger and joined her sleeve, up to her burgundy and black dress.
"I wasn't... consorting with murderers," Ash spat.
"You aren't yet. Give us time. I'm sure you'll love all the 'consorting'," the dark woman winked.
"I haven't got time for this," Ash grunted. "There are still bandits out there. Some lieutenant will take his place."
"Probably... But come on, Snowy!" The woman mockingly pled. She stroked a nail down Ash's belly as she got much too close.
"Don't call me Snowy," Ash snapped, flicking away the woman's hand.
"Ooh, a sore spot. I wonder why?" She stroked her scorned hand as she circled around Ash like predator and prey. "Fine..." she finally sighed. "Since you wanna take all the mystery out of our marriage, I'll tell you my name. A show of good faith."
"Marriage?" Ash nearly snorted.
"Arms like yours?" The woman laughed as she ran a finger along Ash's bicep. "Darling, you're a keeper."
Ash tried to brush the strange woman's flirtations off, lest she break into a blush. "So..." She stuttered. "What do they call you, then?"
She pushed Ash away lightly, though it didn't budge the huntress. The woman stepped back a pace and smiled widely.
"They call me many things. Beauty, goddess, vile bitch. Mostly I've been called Tebea," Tebea said.
-- "Is that your name?"
"It's what I'm called. I suppose that's the same thing," she sighed. "But this is boring, Snowangel. Let's go kill some bandits."
"No!" Ash protested. "I don't trust you; for all I know Tebea means fucking... Bedbug."
-- "If you want me to be your bedbug, Snowangel, you need only ask."
"Besides, you'd probably slow me down. You aren't exactly dressed for combat," Ash pushed on, doing her best to ignore her. Her eyes betrayed her at that. She looked at the black and burgundy silk that so elegantly clung to her form. The corset that held her figure. She lavished in what was exposed, but more so in what wasn't.
-- "Indeed, forgive the outfit. I hate dressing for men, all tits and skin. I much prefer what you've got on. All red leather and tattoos. Wouldn't mind seeing how the tattoos look alone, though."
That was it, she had managed a blush. She came here with every intent of dying in some heroic battle; instead, here was some raven beauty flirting with complete – and obvious – intent.
"There's so much personality in what we wear. Men like... him-" She shot a disgusted glance over at the Duke's corpse, "-don't care about that, about the stories written in leather." She stroked a hand over Ash's armour. "This is a new addition, isn't it?" She asked as she tugged on her chainmail belly.
"Aye," Ash simply answered. It was all she could manage. Tebea had gotten much too close. She stood close enough to smell. Where Ash must have stank of sweat and blood, Tebea wore delicate flowers and something unplaceable; ambrosia on a scent.
Tebea barely seemed aware of their proximity. She seemed unfazed that her every breath caught on Ash's neck as she stroked and pulled on every seam and corner of her leather and mail.
"Aye," Tebea mocked. "So, what was there before?"
"Nothing..." Ash whispered. It made the other woman laugh.
"You must have some killer abs if you don't need armour," she teased, prodding a finger into the chainmail.
"I'm a huntress, not a soldier. Metal rusts and clangs, it would give me away as I stalk." Ash stepped away from the mocking woman. There was something strange in her eyes that unsettled her. It was a hunger, raw and savage. A wolf's hunger, not a maiden's. Given half a chance, this woman would eat her alive.
"You said you were on the other side," Ash whispered. "Which side?"
"The monstrous side. The evil, corrupting side. The side that makes virgin sacrifices beneath the blood moon," Tebea whispered into Ash's ear. Never had a person had to hop up to reach Ash's eyeline before. "What do you say, Snowangel? Do you wish to be sacrificed upon my altar?" Her serious tone broke with a gentle smile.
"You claim to be a monster?" Ash doubted.
-- "I claim to be a woman. The monster is just what I am."
-- "If that were true, why would you tell me?"
"Because we're friends, right? I would never lie to a friend." In those words, alone, did this Tebea seem sincere. It was a strange sincerity; a kind of childlike plea. Her sanguine eyes welled up to twice their size with the single painfully hopeful statement.
Ash wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe that this strange woman truly sought friendship alone, yet a single tell-tale bead of bloody delight still stained her chin. The huntress couldn't be so naive. She pushed Tebea away with a fair force and took a further step back.
"Friends aren't made in an hour," Ash snipped.
"But lovers are made at first sight," Tebea winked, her persistence never fading.
"I'm sure you said the same to him." Ash nodded to the glad corpse and pulled her spear high, his blood still dripping slowly across its shaft.
"Maybe..." Tebea admitted with something akin to a sigh. "But I wanted to kill him; I want to do much worse things with you."
"You aren't selling yourself very well." Ash took a final step away. The flailing tent doors whipped at her back as a morning rain carried on the uneven breeze.
-- "Darling, I don't need to sell anything. Everybody else begs for it."
-- "I'm not begging."
-- "Nor are you everybody else..."
She tried to close the distance, but Ash dodged away. Tebea didn't give up her chase. She moved much too quickly. Within a blink, she had darted half the length of the tent.
"You lied," Tebea whispered, the words an insult. Her eyes popped as she ripped Ash's marked hand into her grasp with a shocking power. "You do wear metal," she said, deeply ponderant, as she traced a cold finger over the warm steel. "And such a statement piece at that. What's this? Some kind of Champion brand? I'm no expert, but I think it's high heresy to pretend to be a Champion. You'll have the Veytor inquisition tearing up the hills."
"I'm not pretending to be anything," Ash grunted. It took an effort to tear her hand free, but she feigned ease and readied to flee the tent.
"I thought friends didn't lie to each other. There is no bird marked Champion," Tebea said darkly. Her entire posture changed at that; she closed herself in, masking any openings. She was ready to be attacked.
"I'm not lying, and I'm not pretending to be a Champion. I don't know what I am, but I know I'm not a monster. Now I need to leave; are you going to let me, or do I have to hurt you?" Ash readied her spear but didn't raise it. She gripped it tightly as she subtly coiled on her back leg.
Tebea's face fell low. Her eyes affixed to Ash's mark and took on a near pleading look. It seemed all she could muster was a whisper, "I hope you aren't a Champion, Snowangel. The last one I met wasn't so sweet. But... I won't stop you. I just- I- Can we... still be friends?"
"I don't know you, Tebea. That's not even your real name, is it?" Ash scoffed. "And we'll probably never meet again... but fine. I'll be your friend."
-- "Wait- You will? Like, actually?"
"Sure," Ash sighed.
"I- I- I promise we'll see each other again! I'll find you when you need me most! I- I promise!" The woman was like a dog with a bone. She was pure elation. Pure joy. The facade of the cool seductress was gone.
"Why do you want to be my friend so badly?" Ash had to ask.
"Because you marched into a camp of killers on your own. Because you tattooed chains to your arms. Because I think you and I will either raise hell, or raze hell. Either way, darling, you make my heart beat, and I can't wait to see what comes of it." She giggled, she winked, she vanished.
"What?" Ash gasped. She stood silent in the open tent, with no company but a corpse of her own glad making. Tebea had vanished before her very eyes. Not between blinks or dashed on a dark shadow. She simply wasn't there anymore.
End of draft Two so far.