The Bringer of War

The Drog paused in the moonlight, lifting its nose to the wind. A puffy mass of flesh that might have been its ear moved slightly as it listened intently. Then it put its face down to the earth and began tearing at the bloody carcass of a deer.

Bruno grinned, peering over at Aven who was likewise laying on her belly. They were on a small bluff overlooking a ruined castle or fort; There was little left to designate the previous structure’s blueprints, but a few lonely walls survived, covered in dense ivy. A squarish building that may have once been a smithy or forge occupied roughly the center of the ancient grounds. Seven more drogs milled about the old stone monolith, waiting for the alpha to finish his meal.

Slowly, painstakingly, the couple moved backwards on their elbows and knees until they were more than twenty feet from the edge of the cliff. They did not speak until they had walked for over a minute. Aven’s hand darted towards Bruno’s, and he took it readily.

“The moonlight is lovely,” said Aven, her green eyes shining.

“Much less lovely than you,” said Bruno.

“Bah,” said Aven, her tone chiding even though she was smiling. “You think an illusion pretty, for this is not my real face.”

“You would be beautiful no matter what face you wore,” said Bruno with a grin “but truth to tell, there is not so much difference between Allison the Barmaid and Aven of Still Hollow. You have the same fierce eyes, the same soft lips...”

He leaned towards her and tasted them, and soon they were engaged in a smoldering embrace. His hands groped her body as she arched her head back, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“We are on a hunt, my brave knight,” said Aven, breaking the contact.

“Faeries care for hunting?” said Bruno, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh indeed,” said Aven “it is one of our favorite pastimes. Charging hard after a strong buck, your heart hammering and your blood on fire...”

Their eyes met silently for a moment, and then their lips met again. Gradually they lost bits of clothing as they knelt in the long grass. Aven raised her torso above his for a moment, a grin playing at her lips.

“Tomorph,” she said, and her form shimmered with faerie magic, beautiful in the silvery luminescence. Bruno was now being straddled by the true form of his lover. Tall and strong, she was no less beautiful for the cloven feet and curling ram like horns. She leaned low over him, whispered in his ear.

“I wanted to feel your skin on mine,” she breathed “my real skin.”

“This is how I want you,” he said eagerly, massaging her bosom “natural. Untamed...”

Bruno found that life as a Templar meant living in a world made of glass. It took constant care and concentration not to break tools, furniture, not to injure the hands of the ladies as he took them in his own. When he was making love, he often had to restrain himself, lest his great strength cause harm. With Aven, every bit as sturdy and strong as he in her faerie form, he could allow himself a full release. Their cries and sighs mixed with the gently chirping cicadas in the steamy air.

Sometime later, the moon much lower than it was supposed to be, they returned to their companions. Hector chatted quietly with Crown, something that deeply bothered the knight. Guthrie the Lame was a short distance away, poking at the dwindling fire they had built with a stick. His constant companion, the mute Toad, was the first to notice their return. He slapped Guthrie on the arm to get his attention, then pointed at the duo.

“It’s about time,” said Crown with sly grin. “Tell me, Templar, is the fruit of faerie wenches as sweet as they say?”

Bruno growled low in his throat, would have moved to strike the assassin if Aven had not tightly gripped his shoulder.

“He seeks to provoke you,” said Aven with a smile. “Do not be troubled.”

“I am sure they were just taking time to do thorough reconnaissance on our adversaries,” said Hector with a frown.

“Yes,” said Crown “that is why Bruno has grass stains on his back and Allison has them on her knees.”

“Did you see them?” said Guthrie, slyly moving between the knight and the assassin. “Ugly fuckers, aren’t they?”

“They are at that,” said Bruno “though they seem to behave more like wolves than dragons. My biggest concern is that they shall flee into the forest, and we will be hard pressed to hunt them down.”

“Do not be,” said Aven “the Drogs had heroic idiocy bred into them. They’ll not back down from anything.”

“Much like the Templars,” said Crown, a smile playing at his lips “well, with regard to the idiocy, at least.”

Bruno ignored the barb and dropped into a crouch in the dirt. Using a tapered stick he outlined a rough map of the Drog’s hideaway in the soft earth.

“Aven,” he said, drawing the faerie woman’s emerald gaze to him “you will take up position here;” he indicated part of the map depicting a ruined section of wall that flanked the old smithy. He then pointed the stick at a circle representing a section of toppled wall twice the height of a man.

“Guthrie,” said Bruno, drawing a somewhat startled glance from the haggard man “this would be a good spot for you to support us...assuming you are skilled with that bow...”

The man grinned, while his companion Toad sniffed as if offended.

“Sir Knight,” said Guthrie, puffing up his chest a bit “I can honestly say that no other in our humble village is as successful at the hunt than I.”

He patted his heavily braced leg.

“It’s not as if I can run my prey down, after all,” he said with a grin.

The others laughed, though more to expel nervous energy than true mirth.

“Crown,” said Bruno, ending the outburst “do you think you can sneak past the Drogs into that structure?”

“Possibly,” said Crown “though I am better at evading two legged guards. For what purpose, if I may be permitted to know?”

“I don’t think the Drogs are here by accident,” said the knight, his ebony face creased with worry. “Aven says that the Sorcerers of old used to be their masters. It could be that there is some sort of old magic still present here, that draws them like flies to honey.”

“I don’t follow,” said Crown, not at all pleased to be risking his neck.

“It is like an echo, killer,” said Aven a bit condescendingly “the dogs can still hear the call of their ancient owners. Likely, they still act on its impulse to protect this time lost place.”

“And you want me to, what,” said Crown “stop the echoes? As if I had the means or the knowledge to-”

“I’m not certain that you will find a stir of echoes, killer,” said Bruno “I detected a whiff of smoke on the wind, and I am almost positive that it emanated from the ruins.”

“I see,” said Crown “and if I find that someone is in control of the hounds?”

“Then,” said Bruno, his jaw set firm as stone “ply your trade, assassin.”

Toad took a step forward and glanced at the dirt map, then up at Bruno. His wide, plain featured face bore an expectant, quizzical look.

“What is it, man?” said Bruno after a long moment. Guthrie cleared his throat and limped forward.

“He wants to be knowin’ what role yer wantin’ him to play,” said Guthrie.

“Oh,” said Bruno, clearing his throat. He looked to Toad and forced a nervous smile onto his face. “I am sorry, but this is going to be dangerous, and you might be better served-”

Toad spat into the dirt map, flinging the frothy globule from his body with disgusted vehemence. Bruno arched an eyebrow at the display, then looked to Guthrie. The lame man laughed, shaking his head a bit helplessly.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir Knight,” he said “but what Toad’s trying to say is, don’t talk down to him. He may not be able to speak, read or write, but he can think with the best of ’em. If I was you, forgive the impertinence and such, but if I was you I’d not make the same mistake twice. His, er, corrections of those prejudices tend to get more and more...graphic.”

“Noted,” said Bruno, looking at the little man in a new light “forgive me, master Toad. You could serve us very well by taking up position next to your companion and provide us with another bow for the fray.”

Toad nodded, seeming to be satisfied. He looked back to Guthrie and arched his sandy blonde brows.

“He’s findin’ that acceptable,” said Guthrie with a wink “though he be wishin’ me to convey that he’s not for shooting as well as I can.”

“Just so long as he does not hit us,” said Aven offering the little man a smile which he shyly returned.

“Where do you want me, sir Bruno?” said Hector, stepping up to stare down at the map.

“You are needed to watch the horses,” said Bruno crisply, not looking at the boy.

“What?” said Hector, his face screwing up in confused anger. “Have I not proven myself capable? The horses will respect a light hitching, you know that!”

“The matter is settled, squire,” said Bruno harshly.

“But-” said Hector, cutting himself off when the knight moved as if to strike him. Bruno held his hand in check, shaking with the effort. Gradually, his anger drained out of him and he let the hand fall to his side.

“You have proven yourself,” said Bruno “you are brave but not foolish, intelligent enough to know that you lack wisdom, and truly care for the well being of people who can do nothing for you.”

Hector was taken aback, both by the sincerity of the words as well as their content. Bruno strode forward and placed his hands on the squire’s shoulders.

“Tragedy can blacken a man’s heart,” he said “or it can lead him to truly appreciate the gift of every sunrise, and not just for himself. You could be a fine knight Templar, Hector Brandywine, but you will be a magnificent King.”

“What?” said Hector, even as Guthrie and Toad reacted as if struck.

“Drakken must be removed,” said Bruno “whether he truly wishes to plunge the kingdom into darkness or not, he has proven himself a failure as a king. Drakken has outlived many of his relatives-”

“I had more than a little to do with that,” said Crown with a smirk. Bruno gave him a dark look before continuing.

“You have the strongest claim to the throne,” said Bruno, again facing Hector “you are too important to risk while purging a few stray mongrels.”

“Stray mongrels?” said Crown with a laugh. “You have a gift for understatement, sir Knight!”

“Very well,” said Hector, shoulders slumped “I will remain with the horses, so as not to get my kingly hide chewed upon.”

“Good lad,” said Bruno, clapping him on the shoulder. He looked to the others, gathered them up within his gaze “does everyone know their part?”

The nods that were returned to him caused an eager smile to spread across his face.

** *

Mannix cursed as the rusted iron bar tore from the crumbing stone wall, nearly causing him to fall. He hung by one hand in the dank shaft, legs scrambling against the muck encrusted walls for purchase. He finally managed to get his boot upon one of the lower rungs and prevent a truly deadly fall. Though the pitiful light filtering in from the sewer grate above was insufficient to see far beneath him, he knew the shaft dropped over forty feet straight down. His arms and back were protesting every inch he had traveled. A scant few seconds later he heard the bar splash in the shallow, fetid water below.

“Are you all right, Lord Mannix?” said the Roach from above him. He looked up with envy at the ease she was able to scamper up and down the ancient ladder. He could not make out her features as she appeared as a dark shape limned with a nimbus of light.

“I will be,” he said “once we are out of this Allfather-forsaken sewer!”

“Keep your voice low,” said the Roach “I know not if anyone is up above.”

“You said this was a secret exit,” said Mannix with a frown.

“It is,” she said “but secrets can be ferreted out, as you well know, rebel.”

Mannix kept his anger in check, realizing their precarious position. Soon they were moving again, the lord gingerly testing each rung before putting his full weight upon it. Above him, he heard the Roach grunting with exertion as she struggled to slide the iron grate aside. She had moved it scarcely an inch when he nearly bumped into her boots.

“Are we trapped?” he said in a low tone, remembering not to whisper.

“We’ll...be fine!” said the Roach between grunts. “I can...do this!”

She punctuated the sentence with a strangled gasp, and the grate shuddered a bit more but did not budge. The Roach ended her efforts, gasping for air on the rusty rungs.

“Can I help?” said Mannix, trying to peer past her.

“I just need a moment,” said the Roach.

“Indeed,” said Mannix with a sniff. He began to climb up the rungs, putting his legs on either side of the diminutive woman’s torso.

“What are you doing, fool?” said the Roach, her voice sharp in his ears. “You will cause both of us to fall!”

“Calm yourself,” said Mannix “I have no desire for my bones to lie beneath the streets of our fair city.”

Mannix put his hands upon the metal, warm from the bright morning sun. He took a deep breath and tried to lift the grate. It was heavy, as he expected, but was on a hinge; He was able to leverage it open wide enough for the Roach to slip through on her belly. The little woman walked to the other side of the grate and pulled back on it with all the might she could muster. Between the two of them they were able to open it enough for the lord to gain egress to the surface. Mannix stood blinking in the sunlight, his fears of being caught mitigated by the sensation of being on the surface once more. They were standing in a muddy stone canal, flanked by the blank, windowless brick walls of several large buildings. From the smell, he figured they were near the city’s textile mills. The Roach broke him from his musings by grabbing him by the hand.

“Let’s go, my lord,” she said, seeming far less enigmatic in the bright sunlight “luck has spared us any watchful eyes, but I have never been one to press my luck.”

“Right,” he said, following her along the canal. He mimicked her movements, staying near the edge of the stone wall as they traversed it. Mannix amused himself by watching the Roach’s movements. Though she was small, scantly the height of a child, she possessed a liquid grace. She seemed to flow, rather than simply move, her toes coming down first and then her heels as she hugged the edge of the wall. Her black garments were still damp and clingy from the sewer, revealing the womanly curves of her body to him.

The Roach stopped at a set of rusted iron bars blocking the end of another dank tunnel. Mannix groaned as she began to squeeze between the bars.

“Into the sewers again?” he said.

“Only for a short way,” said the Roach, beckoning to him. “Come, quickly!”

With effort, he was able to squeeze through the metal bars, squirting out onto the other side with the Roach’s assistance. He ended up being pulled on top of her as she fell on her rump in the tunnel. Mannix landed with his face in her bosom, which surprised him with its softness.

“Off of me, damn you!” said the Roach, slapping the top of his head when he did not move with sufficient haste.

“Sorry,” said Mannix, clearing his throat and feeling quite grateful that the murky environs hid his reddening face.

He followed the Roach as she led him through the tunnel, keeping his head low so as not to scrape against the algae slick stone. They came upon a sturdy wooden door, a bit of rope dangling from a broken handle. The Roach used the rope to pull the door open in the faint light from the end of the tunnel. Mannix peered through the opening to behold a cluttered cellar. Shoddy shelving leaned in a state of half-collapse against the far wall, while he took note of a stairway leading upwards, the slats bowed in the middle with age. A broken masonry jar sat in a beam of sunlight coming from a window near the ceiling. Stepping after the Roach, he peered up at the sharp ends of nails jutting down at them. The ceiling was low, but more than sufficient for him to rise to his full height.

The Roach made her way to the corner furthest from the window, stopping before a stone basin. To his surprise she removed her mask and stuck her face into the basin amid a splash of water.

“Come,” she said, motioning for him “we must get the filth of the sewers off of us, ere we grow sick.”

“Very well,” said Mannix, coming before the basin. It was filled with cool, clean water, causing a surprised frown to cross his wrinkled face. He turned to face her in query, his eyes falling upon her unmasked visage for the first time.

“How is it that there is...” his voice trailed off as he gazed upon the Roach. Her eyes were large, liquid blue in color. Her nose was slender and girlish, hanging over full pouty lips that looked more at home on a fine lady of the court than on the notorious thief. Her chin was a bit pointed, and her head slightly large in proportion to her slender body, but none of this prevented her from being quite beautiful to him.

“How is it what?” she said, her pretty face wrinkling with annoyance.

“How is it that there is fresh water here?” said Mannix. “It seems as if no one lives in this house...”

“No one does,” said the Roach “it would be inconvenient to have tenants in my safe house.”

“Your safe house?” said Mannix.

“One of several properties I own,” said the Roach “under an assumed name, of course.”

“But the water-”

“I drew it here, fool,” said the Roach, taking off her hood to reveal hair dark with moisture. “Bucket by bucket, thank you very much.”

“Oh,” said Mannix, feeling much the cretin. He was shocked out of complacency a moment later when the Roach opened her folded jacket and revealed her nude torso. The lord pivoted on his heel, face reddening once more. “What do you think you are doing?”

“We must get out of these befouled garments,” she said, her tone annoyed.

“You expect me to, to expose myself?” said Mannix incredulously.

“I have garments for you to put on, fool,” said the Roach with harshness “I am no blushing maid, I have seen men naked before, and I am assuming that since you have a daughter about my age you have seen a naked woman at least once in your lifetime. We do not have the luxury of separate baths, my Lord.”

“Of course not,” said Mannix, turning about and keeping his eyes aimed directly at the Roach’s face. She laughed at his discomfort before stripping off her trousers. Her body was sleek and toned in the weak splinter of sunlight, reminding him of how long it had been since he had known the touch of a woman. The Roach nimbly clambered over the rim of the tub and immersed herself in it, gasping at the chill water. Mannix turned about and began to remove his garments, swallowing hard.

“It’s freezing,” said the Roach from behind him “but it’s clean.”

In a moment he heard splashing as she exited the tub. He turned about to catch a flash of her nude body as she wrapped herself in a thick cloth.

“Your turn,” she said, not bothering to hide the fact that her eyes roamed around his body. She whistled in apparent appreciation. “For a man of your age, you cut an impressive figure, Lord Mannix.”

“Do you mind?” said Mannix, cupping his hands over his privates.

“Not at all,” said the Roach, heading up the stairs with a smirk.

Mannix growled and grumbled as he entered the freezing water. His body protested the whole time, but he did manage to tolerate the basin long enough to lather up with a lye cake. Shivering, he exited the water and took the cloth blanket the Roach had provided. He could hear subtle movements above him. Not knowing what else to do, he ascended the stairs and found himself on the ground floor of a decrepit house. The scent of mold was heavy in the air, the windows planked up tight. Meager light threaded through the cracks between the boards, providing enough illumination for him to assess his surroundings. A three legged table was shoved against the wall to his left, upon which the Roach was placing a repast of hard biscuits and jerky. She spilled a bit of water from a cracked earthen pitcher into two wooden cups. Without looking up, she bade him come and partake.

Lord Mannix was normally a picky eater, but after a long night beneath the streets of Fort Drakken he practically devoured the meager meal. The Roach looked on with amusement as he drained his cup and reached for the pitcher.

“I’ll bet it has been some time since you had to serve yourself,” she said smugly.

“I pour my own drinks all the time,” said Mannix stiffly. “I am capable of wiping my own arse without a servant there to check for nuts.”

The Roach laughed, though she kept her voice subdued.

“We will stay here until after midnight,” she said, mirth draining from her face. “Then we shall smuggle you out of the city.”

“What am I to do then?” said Mannix angrily. “Skulk about in the woods? Hire myself out as a farmhand?”

“I don’t know,” said the Roach with a glare “and I do not care one bit! I was hired to get you free and see you out of the city, nothing more.”

“Coin is your only master, then,” said Mannix stiffly.

“Sorry I will not be joining your rebellion,” said the Roach with a sneer.

“You don’t hold much love for us,” said Mannix with a frown “but you clearly don’t support the king. Just where do your loyalties lie, thief?”

“With myself, of course,” said the Roach “It doesn’t matter to me who is in charge. The rebels are just as ruthless as Drakken, from what I’ve seen.”

“We are fighting against a regime that has stood for generations,” said Mannix hotly, even as his body shivered from cold “we have to use whatever means at our disposal-”

“Yes, yes,” said the Roach around a mouthful of biscuit “the ends justify the means. The age old cry of the oppressor.”

“Drakken is the oppressor,” said Mannix “he starves his populace with outrageous taxes, deals with even minor discord in the most brutal manner possible, antagonizes our neighbors in Breslin and Port Gar-”

“So you seek to unseat him,” said the Roach. “Then what?”

“Well,” said Mannix a bit uncomfortably “I suppose we shall appoint a new king, one who cares for his people and fulfills his duties as a monarch should.”

“Of course you will,” said the Roach with a smirk “and maybe he will be a good king...at first. The thing about power is that it corrupts, blighting the individual like a rotted fruit. It may start out as a small blemish, but it will grow inexorably larger until the whole is blackened and sickly sweet.”

Mannix stared at her, his lips trembling.

“You do not speak as a commoner,” he said, eyes narrowing “you are educated, even...poetic. Just who are you?”

She slid out of her chair and approached him. He flinched when she put her hand towards his face, but it was only to brush the flesh of his lips.

“Your mouth is turning blue,” she said with worry “we have to get you warmed up.”

“Do you have a hearth?” he said.

“I do,” she said “but the chimney has collapsed into itself. Come.”

She led him by the hand through a crooked doorway into a short hall. The end of the hall opened up into a small room dominated by a full size bed that looked surprisingly comfortable. Fresh linens with a bit of wear adorned the mattress, and two plump pillows leaned against the headboard. The Roach let go of his hand and doffed her damp blanket. Mannix again turned his back to her as she slid beneath the sheets.

“Such a gentleman,” she said with a chuckle. “Come, lord Mannix, surely you have heard tales of soldiers who must hunker together for warmth?”

“I have,” he said, turning back around. The Roach had the blankets drawn up around her neck, a sly smile on her impish face. Mannix sneezed several times in rapid succession, his head starting to ache after the first time.

“Hurry,” she said “you can be a dead gentleman or a living man, it’s your choice.”

“Very well,” said Mannix, dropping the wet blanket on the floor and quickly getting into the bed. The Roach took no pains to look elsewhere as he did so, which lent haste to his movements. He flinched as she slithered her nude form next to his beneath the blankets. Her hand was smooth and warm on his trembling chest as she rubbed her palm across it.

“Your skin is like ice,” she said “I do hope you don’t come down with a sickness. Your daughter might want a refund if you die.”

“Your concern is touching,” he said, keeping his arms flat at his sides even though he ached to embrace her.

“I do have a reputation to protect,” said the Roach bluntly. “You are quite cold, Lord Mannix. I may have to use more...extreme means to warm your blood.”

Her hand drifted down to his stomach, tracing the line of his body hair. Then it drifted lower still, until he gasped and put his hand upon hers.

“Do you want me to stop?” she said, her breath warm on his neck.

“No,” he said, almost weeping with shame “please...please don’t stop.”

“Hmm,” she said, her tone playful “you must have been quite the swordsman when you were younger, packing such a...potent weapon.”

“Don’t speak to me so,” he said between moans.

“I suppose I could bend my tongue to other uses,” she said, giving him a grin that he was too embarrassed to look at. Her head disappeared beneath the sheets, and soon the lord’s body spasmed as it was overcome with passion. He felt angry with himself that he enjoyed it so much, guilty that he was betraying his wife though she was long dead. The Roach’s face appeared back above the sheets, her face split in a wide grin.

“Either it has been some time since you last went rutting,” she said “or I am more skilled than I estimated! In any case, I am afraid more attention is needed to keep you from freezing, Lord Mannix.”

She slithered atop him, her slight form light on his torso. Reaching down, she helped guide him inside of her, gasping as their bodies intertwined. Despite his fugitive status, despite the clamor of the past few days, Mannix found all his cares melting away. There was only the two of them in all the world, even if only for a brief span.