Chronicles of the Wanderer- Ch 1- Princess in Exile

Chronicles of the Wanderer- Princess in Exile (Open)

The veteran warrior eased her horse up the slope of the forested hill. She needed to get a good view of the surrounding countryside to try to make sense of the map she had tucked in her belt. When that crazy old duffer in the last village had sold it to her, he had assured the warrior that it was a good map of the frontier lands. But according to this map, she should be on a trade route at the moment. Instead she was picking her way carefully through old growth forest composed of mostly pine and fir, but with a strong presence of hardwoods as well. It sure as hell didn't seem like a trade route to her! It barely qualified as a game trail, let alone a caravan route. She had to face it, she was lost!

Of course, that was all a matter of perspective. Since she didn't really have a destination in mind at the moment, it wasn't like she was really lost. She just didn't know where she was. And it wasn't like anyone was expecting her to show up somewhere at any specific time either. She rather enjoyed the freedom of this kind of lifestyle, even if it sometimes lacked the comforts of a real home to call her own.

As she eased her horse up onto the ridge into a small clearing she had spied from below, she hoped it would afford her a view of the countryside and perhaps make it possible to spot some landmarks that would be on the map. If she could just get her bearings, she reasoned, there might be hope yet of making it to a small outpost of civilization before nightfall. The map was proving less than helpful. What she really could've used was a native guide, someone familiar with the wilderness she found herself in.

As if in answer to her thoughts, just as she eased her horse into the clearing, the peace of the mid-morning was shattered by a series of yelps, growls, and barks, as if a whole pack of wild dogs was after something. Her keen eyes caught motion on the valley floor below, not more than 60 yards from her. She spotted a lone figure riding desperately on a wild eyed, heavily lathered horse, breaking out of the tree line and racing through the scattered brush and deadfall littering the valley below.

She was close enough to see that the rider was slight of build and short, perhaps a youth or a member of one of the smaller races. Horse and rider were obviously running for their very lives, and a second or two later, she saw why. From out of the trees behind came a slavering fur covered figure, then another, followed by a third close on their heels.

It would have been hard to tell that these monsters were nearly 7 feet tall standing up, because as they loped after their prey, they went alternately on two legs or all fours, as it suited them. They were brownish-gray, with some lighter spots approaching a shade of tan or yellow even. They had roughly humanoid forms, but with the heads of hyenas.

Even from this vantage point, she could see that they wore remnants of poor quality armor and clothing that they had scavenged from previous victims. They also carried weapons, although they had quite formidable natural weaponry, in the form of their claws and fangs.

The truth was she knew, without needing to see them up close, what they looked like. She had seen gnolls before, and had fought them. They were vicious. But a skilled warrior and good tactics could defeat them. She knew that the small figure wouldn't have a chance against them.

The fact that this chase would soon come to an end was clear. She could hear the horse's labored breaths, coming hard. Even as the rider cut through the brush, zig-zagging sharply to evade the grasping claws of the beasts that even now tore at the rider's cloak and clothes, she could see that the horse was beginning to misstep and slip.

And then it happened. The horse gave a shudder as its endurance finally flagged. It slipped and stumbled, pitching the rider over its shoulder to land hard upon the ground. The horse didn't get back up. In a heartbeat, the lead gnoll was upon the hapless figure, just as it struggled to its feet and began to run.

The slavering beast bore the small figure to the ground roughly beneath him, already snapping and snarling, tearing at the clothes. The hood of the cloak was off now, revealing long auburn hair, nearly the color of a roan horse.

The two others closed in now, hoping to get their share of the spoils of the attack. The entire tableau had unfolded in a matter of a few seconds. Most of the warrior's view of the small figure was blocked by the broad back of the hairy beast crouching over its victim, but the next sound she heard galvanized her to action. It was the sound of a scream from the gnoll's victim. It was the scream of a woman!

(The warrior's role is open to literate co-writers, male or female. PM with interest.)

Pronunciation guide: Annisthyrienne (AH-nis-teery-ain), Thyri (Teery)

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Thyri knew her time had come, but please Goddess, not this way, she thought desperately. She felt the sickening lurch as the horse stumbled and went down; felt the disorienting feeling of her unsupported flight over the horse's shoulder, and then she felt the stunning impact with the ground. It hurt, and maybe something cracked inside, she couldn't be sure. But there was no time to worry about that now. There may never be time to worry about that if she didn't get away.

She sucked in her lip in pain as she scrambled to her feet to run. Already she saw the snarling gnoll bearing down on her impossibly fast. Not even elvish agility could escape at this close distance. She felt the cloak of her hood ripped away, spilling out her long auburn hair. He was so close!

She barely managed two more strides before he physically ran her down, bearing her roughly to the ground under his massive frame. She barely had time to turn back to face him, and as a result, she went down on her back beneath him, hitting hard enough to send another jolt of pain through her ribcage and smacking her head on the packed earth under her. Only the meadow grass cushioned her impact enough to spare her the stunned unconsciousness that might have been a blessed reprieve for what was to come.

She tried to fight him, she really did, with every thing she had, which wasn't much. Of what use were small fists or scratching fingernails against the thick fur covered body, backed by corded rangy muscle under that hide. She tried to kick out, but it was like swats from a baby to the large monster overpowering her.

His jaws snapped at her flailing hands, adding the danger of getting bitten to her already inadequate defenses. He slashed one clawed hand across the neckline of her tunic, ripping four parallel slashes through tunic and the blouse beneath it alike. It rent the fabric into strips totally unable to protect her skin or her modesty. Four identical scratches began to inflame into angry red welts, marring the perfection of her youthful breasts, almost as soon as the blow was delivered.

Her legs frantically kicked and struggled, though the leverage she had wasn't good. Protected as they were only in the fine soft cloth riding leggings she wore under her tunic, she knew it wouldn't be long before the monster exposed them too. Visions of what would happen then swam in her frantically desperate mind. She knew it could only end one way. She wasn't ready for her brief lifespan to be over; not like this, not at all!

Already the creature was trying to capture her wrists in one massive clawed hand to restrain her. With the other, he grabbed the waistband of her leggings, even through the covering of her tunic where it hung down below her waist. He pulled with a strength she couldn't fully comprehend, and she felt the fabric rend asunder. She could feel the cool mountain air now caressing her naked flesh, and she knew that she was undone.

Glancing down fearfully, she could already see the angry looking red length of his penis sliding out from the furry sheath at the base of his torso. And she could hear the excited yelps and barks of his remaining two pack mates closing in to get their share of the cruel sport. Hope of any salvation died within her. Her mind filled with images of her brave bodyguard and friend, Keira, falling beneath a similar assault back in their camp at dawn that very morning. She wondered if her brave friend had suffered the same indignities that she was about to endure.

The pack had attacked just at dawn. Keira hadn't even donned her armor for the day, and it was the worst time they could have come. Thyri had only managed to get dressed for another day's travel when the warning shout from Keira broke the peaceful stillness. She barely had time to grab her bow and rush out of the tent before they were in the clearing, nearing point blank range.

She had used her bow to good effect, her elvish heritage making the weapon deadly even in the hands of a gentle healer like herself. She wasn't much good with weapons that had to be used up close; her empathic sense that allowed her to heal others so well hindered her in inflicting injury like that. But the bow was another matter. Even with that, she had always treated her skill as more of a sport than ever intending to use it against another living being. But there had been no time to consider such matters then.

Back to back with Keira, she had brought down two of them before they got too close. They had reached for her even as Keira had shoved her bodily towards her own black stallion before going down under their attack. Keira had always been stalwart and true that way, since the time she switched allegiances to become Thyri's bodyguard and friend. Thyri hated that she had to flee, but she also knew that it would only hamper Keira's fighting ability to know her princess was still at risk. Keira would readily risk her life to save Thyri; she had done so before.

And so she had fled, leaping to the back of Keira's black stallion and racing through the underbrush, down the long valley, with four of the monsters in pursuit. In her desperate flight, she had managed to keep her bow, and even at a full run, she had turned to loose a couple shots, bringing one of the beasts down. Then she had run out of arrows. A low tree branch had snagged her bow when she'd cut too close to the brush to try to gain precious ground. After that she had just concentrated on getting away.

But it had all come to naught. Her fate seemed to be sealed now. Still she could not bring herself to that resignation. She had to fight them to her last breath!

Bumping to open to a new co-writer. PM me with interest.

Chronicles of the Wanderer – Princess in Exile

There was nothing for it. This wasn’t really her business. What should she care what became of hapless riders trying to make their way, alone, through the wilderness? She’d thought, for a moment, that the lone rider had actually done her a favor by flushing the gnolls, letting her know what dangers were in the area; not that gnolls were particularly dangerous unless they came upon the unawares or ill-prepared—Fianna was neither of these things. Still, it wouldn’t do to leave the favor of flushing a potential ambush un-repaid.

Fianna nudged her horse toward the edge of the ridge with her left knee. She was fairly certain she’d named the chestnut mare Theodora the…what number was she on again? If she was being honest with herself, and she thought honesty was a good practice in moderation, she went through a lot of horses. Theodora the not-yet-numbered slid a little on her front hooves into the slope before Fianna gave her a hard jab with her heels. The horse took off down the hill, Fianna rising up in her saddle, knees bent, heels down, back flat and perfectly perpendicular to the horse’s back. She charged down the wooded hill, dodging around trees and sunken boulders, low-hanging branches whipping over the top of her head and tearing at the sleeves of her coat and the leather chaps she wore strapped to the outside of her legs to protect the thigh-high boots she loved so much. There was no point in trying to string her bow while riding through such thick brush, she thought as she leapt Theodora over a fallen log.

Her male horses she’d always named Theo and the females Theodora. She was positive, almost, that her next male horse would be Theo the Fifth and, not counting the horse she’d stolen from bandits mid-ambush that hadn’t made it twenty feet before an un-lucky arrow had knocked it out from under her, the horse she was riding probably was Theodora the Seventh.

There was no small sense of satisfaction at the conclusion she’d come to. She’d come to it just in time for the woods to break and her correctly numbered horse to crash out of the underbrush into the clearing. Nudging Theodora the Seventh into a full gallop, Fianna slipped her un-strung bow from its sheath along her horse’s flank. Using her stirruped foot as counter leverage, she strung the bow easily and twirled it up into her right hand, at the ready to fire. The first gnoll, standing at its full height on hind legs was still a few paces back and apart from the others and the downed rider. At forty yards out, Fianna slid an arrow from her quiver, knocked it on the bow string, drew and fired. The arrow, given more weight and power from the energy of the charging horse and the elevated firing position, shot straight through the gnoll’s back, leaving the fletching barely visible in the matted fur. The frothing red bubbles exiting the wound in the beast’s back told Fianna she’d found the gnoll’s lung.

The next gnoll in line, who actually seemed to be waiting in a line—what were they doing that would require forming a line, Fianna wondered—rose and spun, hearing the hoof-beats bearing down on them, and noticing, for the first time, that the gnoll last in line was now lying face down, leaking blood from the mouth, spun around with his large, erect penis flapping about. That explained the line well enough, she supposed. She fired her second arrow at near point-blank range, riding just out of the gnoll’s reach as she passed. The arrow easily buried itself in the beast’s neck, above the collarbone, sending an arterial spray of red blood high into the air as it tore through one of the numerous major vessels in the neck.

She cleared the killing zone by a dozen yards or so before she brought Theodora the Seventh to a stop with a few slow turns to expel her remaining energy. Fianna left her bow dangling by the pommel of her saddle and dismounted. The last gnoll, first in line as it turned out, who had pinned the downed rider behind the bulk of the fallen stallion, lost interest in its prey when it spotted the dismounted rider. Fianna knew she didn’t strike a particularly dangerous figure once dismounted. She was below six feet tall, with wiry muscles, and completely incapable of retaining feminine curves for the lean and active lifestyle she led of an oft-unemployed mercenary. From the scabbard on her belt, she drew her long, curved cavalry saber with a pleasing metallic hiss. The ends of her long, heavy coat, whipped in the wind around her legs as she waited for the gnoll.

The beast, focused entirely on the saber, hefted his discarded weapon, a rusty axe of indeterminate make, and made his charge with teeth gnashing and growls aplenty. Fianna watched, moved the sword in her left hand even further out to her side and watched the gnoll’s focus follow. When the gnoll was in range, three paces or so, at a full charge, rearing up to swing the axe at Fianna’s sword arm, she dropped the three throwing knives from her right sleeve into the palm of her hand and threw them. All three found purchase, working their way up the front of the gnoll with the last in line burying itself in the gaping maw. The gnoll slid face-first across the dead grass to come to a stop just shy of Fianna’s toes.

Fianna slipped off the broad-brimmed leather hat she wore nearly everywhere to let some of the heat out that she’d built up during the ride and brief combat. She liked the hat with its lovely purple plume that she’d taken off a…turning the hat over in her hand she found the plume, which had formerly jutted from the band, was missing, likely torn off by an errant branch on her ride down the hill. She slid her saber back into the scabbard with an angry clank, ran her fingers through her messy, short, red hair, and pulled the hat tight back onto her head. The rider who had cost her the plume was regaining her feet. Fianna stormed over to give the foolish woman a piece of her mind about costing passersby valuable feathers for hats.

“Hey!” she shouted, ineloquently. “This…what’s all this?” Nonsense was usually about the best she could muster in her speech when she got angry. She took a settling breath and tried again. “Do you know…? Well…do you? Hats…for gnolls? Bad trade!” She had a temper, both her parents had had tempers too, and none of them could manage much beyond violence when they were angry—certainly not well-reasoned, or even coherent arguments. In the tiny hut where she was raised, she, her mother, her father, and her brother would scream incoherent babble at each other when angry and then usually resolve their differences with violence. It gave her an edge as a warrior, having been in some combat all her life, but she still couldn’t speak while angry.

The downed rider finally regained her feet, and turned to her would-be rescuer. Fianna stopped in her tracks, eyeing the woman suspiciously from beneath the brim of her hat, which obscured much of her own face in shadow. The anger seemed to drain from her and she couldn’t, even with great effort, remember exactly why she’d been so mad.

Thyri didn't know from what Providence her salvation had come. One moment she was sure she was about to suffer horrors beyond any nightmare she'd ever had. The next, her life was spared and she was getting slowly but painfully to her hands and knees, then to her feet, even as the last pained yelp of her attacker sounded with startling finality from behind her. She turned to thank her benefactor, cradling one arm against her ribs and leaning slightly to favor that side, only to find the person bearing down on her, shouting angrily. What new threat was this person to become, she wondered.

Since being forced to leave her home, it seemed like life had held one challenge after another for her and Keira, and most had been bad. Her fortunes had changed so quickly. Her life had been like a fairy tale with Elendar, the prince who had married her despite her mixed blood and uncertain heritage, changing her life so dramatically. But all that was over now. Her banishment from the kingdom was the end of that life, and the beginning of this one.

For weeks she and Keira had been traveling, searching for a new place to belong. They had become close, having only each other to rely on. Keira had always been loyal, but even though Thyri was no longer the princess, Keira still treated her as a precious treasure, to be protected at all costs. This time, it may have been too high a cost.

Thyri's thoughts were brought back to the present as she took in the sight of the angry stranger coming towards her now. She took a half step back, slightly intimidated by the wide brimmed hat and wind whipped long coat. At first she wasn't sure exactly who or what kind of person she faced. Obviously a warrior, and a very good one, judging from the quick efficiency with which the gnolls were dispatched. Not even Keira had done so well. The heavy saber swinging from the warrior's belt was reason enough that she didn't want this person mad at her.

She tried in vain to pull the shreds of her clothes together to cover the exposed parts of herself. Tantalizing glimpses of bare flesh could still be seen through the slashed material despite her best efforts. Her blouse, tunic and soft riding leggings had all been of fine quality, but were now ruined. She winced from the pain of the stinging slashes she could feel burning on her breasts and lower belly from where the beast had tried to expose her for his fun. She wasn't sure without looking, but she thought she could feel a growing warm stickiness that could be blood. But the greatest hurt was the sharp stabbing inside her when she moved or tried to breathe too deeply. She could fix all of these ills, but first things first. She had to determine if this person meant her further harm.

Thyri heard the words the stranger shouted, but they were spoken in the common trade language of humans. She understood well enough, though it was not the language she was accustomed to using. But still the words she heard made no sense to her. Perhaps she was befuddled from her near trauma, she thought. She cocked her head slightly to one side, looking askance at the strange ranting person, as if trying to decipher what was being said.

Thyri pulled herself up as straight and tall as she could, squaring her small shoulders back and rising to her 5'2" height. Now that the warrior was closer, Thyri could see that she was female, and she felt a little more at ease. Thyri had known a few brave and fierce women warriors, and had enjoyed a deep and abiding relationship with two of them. Tetyanna had been her first love, but couldn't bear to see her with Elendar. Then there was Keira, who would never let herself be more than a bodyguard and friend, even though Thyri had offered more. Thyri couldn't help wondering about the woman before her now. Would she become a friend as well?

Determined to gather as much dignity as possible under the circumstances, she took a deep steadying breath to calm herself and spoke softly, though with a tremor in her voice that she couldn't quite hide; a leftover effect from the all too nearly disastrous trauma she had endured. She spoke the common trade language with a pronounced elvish accent. "I understand your language, but I am having trouble making sense of your words. If you calm down and speak more slowly, perhaps I can understand you better. You seem to be....sputtering. I do not know why you are angry, but I am grateful to you for helping me. You saved my life! I am in your debt."

She executed a formal curtsy, as best she could with her injuries and while trying to hold together her remaining clothing. She bowed her head, causing her auburn hair to fall forward, partially obscuring her face. She brushed it back behind her delicately pointed ear on her uninjured side, her violet, slightly slanted eyes showing the momentary pain caused by raising her hand. Addressing her savior once more, she offered a disarming smile and said, "My name is Annisthyrienne, but my friends call me Thyri. I would hope I could count you among those who would call me that, and whom I would call 'friend'."

Thyri looked around behind her, taking in the sight of the dead gnolls and the lifeless body of Keira's horse. The steed had borne her in her mad dash to escape as best he could, but he had been a war horse, not a sprinter. She didn't know how far she was from their original camp, but her thoughts were of Keira, wondering if she could have survived, if she needed help. Thyri's eyes lit upon the horse of the warrior woman standing nearby. With a desperate look, she pleaded with the woman, "Please, I know I have no right to ask any more of you, but my friend and bodyguard fell defending me from them. She may yet live and need help! I have to get back to her. Could you take me? Could you help me to save her, if it is possible?"

Fianna considered the woman coldly for a moment, glanced to the horse she’d ridden into the ground, and then shook her head. She had the look of someone who at one point might have had money, but retained only the trappings of it without any of the actual coin. Life as a mercenary, especially a female one, was difficult at best, and risking her horse for what would likely just be a polite ‘thank you’ with no monetary exchange wasn’t remotely worth it.

“Your horse is dead, mine is lathered, you’re injured, and my hat is missing a valued feather,” Fianna said.

Kneeling behind the closest gnoll, she rolled it over onto its back and set about the work of removing the throwing knives. The scent of blood would bring ravens first, then wolves, and likely bears or something worse by nightfall. The arrows would be a complete loss, but the bodies might have something of value to scavenge or sell later. She tugged the baubles and trinkets off the harness of the nearest gnoll and slipped them into her satchel. She walked past the elven sounding woman to search her other two kills. The lead gnoll, also the first in line, ended up being the richest as well; the other two had little or nothing of value.

Standing from her last search, she scanned the tree line in the direction the rider had come, listening for any further pursuit. Whatever camp the gnolls had flushed the woman from likely contained enough interesting items to hold their attention, at least, for the time being.

Fianna turned her attention back to the elven woman, who had stated her name, she was almost positive she’d said a name, but she wasn’t really listening and thus couldn’t remember what it was. It was a long, mouthful of a name from somewhere heavily influenced by elves—she shrugged off trying to remember.

“If you want a ride to the next town or station, I can probably help,” Fianna said, without really thinking about how far that might be. “But as for killing the rest of your gnolls—I don’t fight for free.”

She had fought for free years ago, a volunteer rebel in an uprising that was put down with such violence she’d only escaped because she was one of a handful of women left alive in the entire fiefdom. She’d fought for a percentage of the take with a band of highwaymen for years after, which was usually fairly close to free. But, nearing her thirtieth birthday, she was past her prime as a warrior and couldn’t afford to work for free. She was heading west, to the territories, where lone mercenaries could still make money, and she’d need to make money along the way to complete the trip in good enough shape to be hirable.

Fianna removed her hat, rustling out her short, messy red hair, cut in such a chaotic style that could only be achieved by someone cutting their own hair with a dagger without the aid of a mirror. She set her house on the still flanks of the other woman’s dead horse, and held out her hands for the woman to inspect.

“Let me take a look at you to see if you’re in any shape to ride even,” Fianna said, a little surprised when the elvish sounding woman visibly relaxed.

Leaving her fingerless, leather riding gloves on, Fianna only made a cursory inspection of the woman’s injuries. There were obvious cuts and scrapes, which weren’t anything too serious, but likely broken bones as well, which could range from bad to catastrophic depending on their location and severity. Fianna was far more the causing wound type than knowing what to do with one after the fact.

“I imagine you’ll live,” Fianna said, “but I’m afraid your dress was terminally wounded.”

Thyri had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping open in astonishment at the woman's flat refusal to help her. She heard the warrior's reasons, and all except the thing about the feather made sense, but it was just that nobody had ever told her 'no' before when she was a princess. It just wasn't done! She had to bite back a caustic remark that came to her mind about the warrior's callousness. 'After all, she did just go out of her way to save my life', Thyri thought.

Perhaps she just didn't understand the part about helping Keira. Thyri cast about, as if looking for the words to use to persuade her benefactor to change her mind. She watched the warrior loot the bodies for anything of value, trying to think of a way she could convince her to help. Maybe she just didn't realize there was still a chance to save Keira.

“If you want a ride to the next town or station, I can probably help,” Fianna said, without really thinking about how far that might be. “But as for killing the rest of your gnolls—I don’t fight for free.”

Annisthyrienne's mind began to turn. The gnolls would no doubt loot everything of value from their camp, and in that knowledge was her hope that Keira might still live. If the beasts were more interested in treasure than in Keira, maybe she could survive long enough for Thyri to help her. If she could get this warrior to come back with her and kill the remaining gnolls, they could recover the road stake she had left and she could pay for this woman's service. If it was treasure that the woman wanted in exchange for fighting, that might be possible to acquire.

She fervently hoped the gnolls would be distracted from whatever they intended for Keira before it was too late. Even if they killed her friend, she could help, as long as it wasn't too late. She'd done it before, after all, and been called a goddess because of it by the simple villagers who knew no better. Of course, if there were to be any chance of helping Keira that way, she couldn't spend her energies on healing herself, no matter how much she hurt. That would only drain her strength. She would need all she had if she had to go after Keira's spirit. Her thoughts were interrupted when the warrior spoke again.

“Let me take a look at you to see if you’re in any shape to ride even,”

Perhaps she does care about more than treasure or money, Thyri thought. She stepped over to let the warrior examine her wounds; not because she believed this person could do anything to help her that she couldn't do for herself, as far as her wounds at least. But if she was showing compassion, then there might be a chance to convince her to help Keira too, if Thyri could exploit those feelings. She wished her empathy sense worked in both directions. It let her feel their feelings and their pain, which allowed her to heal them, but it sure would be useful if she could make them feel what she felt.

The warrior's touch was not hurtful, but not exactly gentle either. It felt a little odd to have someone touching her on parts of her body that were so intimate, but she showed enough care to be gentle, at least for a warrior. Thyri stole a moment to have a good look at her rescuer. That tousled red hair made her smile. What was it about redheads that she seemed to like so much?

The warrior caught her musing when she finished her examination and looked back up, their eyes meeting. Thyri tried to suppress the feeling of awkwardness when the sight of the woman's eyes made her forget her own thoughts for a moment.

“I imagine you’ll live,” Fianna said, “but I’m afraid your dress was terminally wounded.”

She turned away to retrieve her torn cloak and fashioned it around herself as best she could to preserve her modesty. "Uh, Oh, y-yes, I'll be all right. It's nothing I can't fix. And I have some other clothes back at my camp. I just need to go and..... Oh, but I forgot. You won't take me back there, you said. Is there nothing I can say to make you change your mind? Keira was still alive when last I saw her! Please, you must understand how much she means to me. She is the only friend I have left now. I cannot just abandon her to that fate."

With renewed desperation, she plead her case urgently, hoping to get it all out before the warrior woman stopped listening, or made her stop talking. In her excited state, she gripped the warrior's shoulders with her hands.

"Listen, I can pay you, if that's what you want. I have silver, in coins, back at the camp. All we have to do is get rid of the remaining gnolls and take it back from them. There surely couldn't be but three or maybe four more of them. And I saw how quickly you killed these three. You could do it easily by yourself, but I will help. I just need to backtrack and find my bow and then I can help you fight them. Well....I'd need some arrows too, but then I could help! And if we defeat the gnolls, then I can save Keira, and I can pay you for helping us! Please!"

She looked into the dubious expression of the warrior woman and released her shoulders. She doubted she had convinced her. She was crestfallen. As her own shoulders slumped, she seized upon one last possible ploy to try. "You said you would help me get to the nearest town? Well, the nearest is the human settlement of Layolette. And it lies about 4 days in that direction." She pointed with the arm on her good side back the way the gnolls had chased her from. "Keira and I were on our way there when we were attacked."

The woman was gripping her shoulders for a time and then talking, a lot, really fast, and not making a ton of sense. Fianna wondered why she’d never learned to pay attention when people spoke. It was always happening—someone would be yammering on about something important they wanted her to do, and she’d be daydreaming while staring at them. The woman released her shoulders. She must be done talking, Fianna thought. She sounded hysterical, which wasn’t remotely helpful. Were you supposed to strike hysterical women or dump water on them? Fianna could never remember. Her father used to strike her mother when she was worked up, but that usually resulted in her mother striking her father back with a handy blunt object. But Fianna would be damned if she was going to waste her water.

The woman said something about the nearest village being directly back the way Fianna had just come. Not directly back, kind of back and a little to the south, but definitely not west. More importantly, the woman wasn’t actually pointing toward Layolette, at least, not the fastest route to it. She clearly thought Fianna simple enough to trick, or she was desperate enough to try anything, regardless she couldn’t let the slight go without some mild form of punishment.

“Actually, the closest town is a day’s ride over those mountains,” Fianna lied. She grasped the woman’s arm, and turned her completely in the other direction until she was pointing toward the North West. “It’s a lovely place, once you get past the smell; I believe it’s called Canker. They raise hogs, mostly, sell the pork and manure. I’ll just take you there instead, since it’s closer.”

Fianna liked spastic women. They were lively, interesting in bed usually, and they filled the spaces in conversations Fianna had no interest in filling herself. She had theories about their tireless tongues and how talking all the time made them particularly good at other tongue related things, but every time she’d brought that particular theory up to a spastic woman in the past, they tended to get angry and would refuse to talk or do the other thing, so she’d just started keeping it to herself. Fianna put on her hat and began walking back in the direction of her horse, quite certain the chatterbox woman wouldn’t follow. When she got far enough away, she turned back to look to her.

“You don’t want to go to Canker?” Fianna asked, knowing full well the little princess didn’t want to go to the pig farming town she’d concocted on the spot. “Hmmm,” she mused. “Maybe you should stay here and I’ll go back to your camp, by myself, to see if there really is silver there. If there is, I can come back and get you. If there isn’t, I forget that I saved you and leave you here.”

She turned her back on the woman, but didn’t take another step toward her horse. When she heard the crunching of grass under delicate feet, she waited for the exact right moment, spun around on the woman, grabbing up two fistfuls of her cloak and dress. She pulled the woman close enough for them both to be under the brim of her hat and narrowed her green, cat-like eyes, staring down the smaller woman.

“Or maybe you should learn manners enough to thank someone who just saved your life, realize how precarious your current situation is, and never question my intelligence again with your little ruses,” Fianna said, her voice even and calm. “If you’re going to try to live by your wits, they’re in desperate need of sharpening.” Fianna released the woman’s cloak and dress, gently smoothing the areas wrinkled by her hands. “Now, get on the horse, Little Bird, before I change my mind.” She always did better with the names she gave people—Little Bird described the woman far better than any name given at birth, and Fianna didn’t really have the time or inclination to go around learning people’s given names, especially since people tended to die so ridiculously easily.

She turned on her heels and walked back to Theodora the Seventh, and pulled herself up into the saddle, waiting to see if the talkative woman would actually follow…

Thyri's eyes widened in surprise and a little fright at the warrior's sudden grab. Brought up close to look into her eyes, she heard the low, deadly calm voice speaking to her. The grip on her clothes was causing her ribs to hurt more than she wanted to let on, but still the pain showed in her eyes. She didn't answer, only blinked, but the words sunk in. It gave her something to think about. Had she been ungrateful? She had been so worried about Keira that maybe she had offered some insult to this person who saved her life. All she'd wanted was to make this woman understand that she wanted to help her friend.

The red haired warrior was smoothing out her shredded clothes now, telling her to get on the horse. But still she stayed where she was. Turning back to look in the direction she had come when the gnolls were chasing her, in the direction that Keira would still be, she paused to consider. She had encountered the aftermath of a gnoll attack before.

The memory came back to her. She and Tetyanna had been traveling together through wilderness similar to this. They had come upon the scene of a slaughter of an entire wolf pack, the result of an organized band of gnolls trying to eliminate all competitive predators from the area. But they had left one alive, only barely. A female wolf was tied down to a large flat rock, bleeding from her vulva, battered and dying. Thyri recalled how she had used her empathic sense to try to help the injured animal.

The impressions that had come to her in the crude animal images-feelings had shocked her so badly that she had screamed, frightening Tetyanna as well. "THEY RAPED HER!!!" was all Thyri could scream then, over and over. The shock of the images was so brutal that she was almost too afraid of experiencing it all over again through the wolf's memories to re-establish empathic contact. Tetyanna had finally helped her to overcome the fear and Thyri had done what she could to soothe the animal's passing. The wolf was too weak to heal; Thyri was only able to ease her pain while she died.

She gave a shudder at the thought that Keira might have suffered such a fate. Would she be lying somewhere, waiting to die? Would Thyri be able to do anything for her? Or, as was most likely, was she already dead, mutilated, perhaps devoured? She had to face the likelihood that nothing could be done for the last friend she had. Where would she go now? What could she do?

She glanced back at the warrior, now mounted on her horse, waiting to see if Thyri would come or not. She realized she had no choice. She was in no shape to fight them by herself, or even get back to the camp. She had no weapons, no money, no resources, and probably now, no friend. Her heart sank, and her shoulders slumped in defeat. There was nothing she could do. Reluctantly she trudged over to the horse and looked up at the warrior who had saved her life.

Putting one hand on the rider's boot, she said, "I'm sorry for trying to deceive you. I wanted you to take me back to my camp so I could try to help my friend. I'm a healer; I thought I could help her. But she's probably dead. I have no place else to go. I am grateful that you saved my life. If I didn't thank you before, I'm sorry for that too. I have no way to reward you for what you've done. As you can see, I have nothing left."

"But if I've been deceptive, so have you. There is no place called Canker anywhere around these lands. And if you took me back in the way you pointed, we would both be dead in days, or imprisoned. There is nothing in that direction except Randalee, an elven kingdom. They would hate us both, and for the same reason." She paused as she accepted the warrior's help in mounting behind her, wincing in pain from her ribs. "They don't like the blood we have in us." she finished, placing her hands on the warrior's hips as the horse began moving. "By the way, what should I call you? And where are you taking me?"