quesecotil1
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- Oct 31, 2003
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This is a long chunk. Nearly 9000 words and while 4000 odd of those words are 'goodies' the rest is plot and filler and some people might not be arsed about reading that. Just a warning. Also, this story has a distinct FANTASY setting. So there. Neener neener. Fun starts below the line.
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“Charlotte Mary Regan, you have been found guilty of murder. The sentence decided upon will be one of two choices left open to you. You can either spend the rest of your life rotting in the dungeons of Aldor or, due to the extraordinary nature of this case; you can attempt to earn your freedom through entertainment of the Lord of these lands. The choice is yours.”
“As if it really was my choice to make.” Charlotte exclaimed as the horse drawn carriage carried her over the shoddily maintained cobblestone pathway which served as an estuary to the main highway of the kingdom. Four pike men in total flanked either side of the carriage, moving at a brisk walk. This was a show of just how well trained these men were, as they were also carrying one hundred and sixty pounds worth of plated mail, chain mail and leather jerkins. That was completely without mentioning the heft of the pole arms themselves. “I would surely wither and die, precious little flower that I am, in such a terrible place.” Leaning back on to the comfortable, sheathed in silk, plush pillow which had been provided for her, Charlotte continued to complain about her situation, seemingly embittered to the fact that she had pretty much agreed to be the Lord Mara’s slave in exchange for not having to be forgotten in the squalor of some dank and God forsaken cubic room with no windows and ugh, the sanitary conditioning would be in such shambles it just didn’t bear thinking about.
At night the four men and the coach driver set up camp for them all while Charlotte observed. It was quite absurd really; the girl was in no way restrained nor was she particularly supervised and could have stolen away into the night at any time. She didn’t though, mainly because of the fact that she knew that she wouldn’t last a day out here in the dangerous hinterland at the foot of mount Hajal well within the county of Aldor. It was a place reputed to be full of bandits and whole clans of renegade sorcerers – some of which would harvest healthy organs for sale, experiment or ritualistic magic. Rather ghastly business, Charlotte thought as she watched two of the armed guards struggling to light the firewood which they had chopped specifically for this camp. These men would protect not only her as cargo, but also her as an asset, so it was in her best interests to stick with them for now.
After the tents had been erected, the men drew lots pertaining to when each of them would keep watch. As it happened, Justin McGowan was the first to take his post outside of the young Miss Regan’s tent. Justin was a young man, big and strong and quite handsome, but from a poor family with naught to their name but a small property on some unfertile land. They raised chickens to get by on, and even had a cow out back, but it was never really enough to support a family of five, so young Justin McGowan had to get a job working the doors for a local ale house. This job had cropped up after some ‘exemplary service’ had been spotted by a recruitment officer for Lord Mara’s personal guards, namely Justin breaking a drunken patron’s arm with a flick of his wrist. It was usually a blessing to take first watch, but this particular prisoner was tough to please and enjoyed making absurd demands of her captors, yet Justin could feel anticipation flowing out of every open pore on his body.
‘Oh please, please God let her ask me to do for her what she asked Tristan to do yesterday evening.’
The going was slow the day before, as Charlotte had insisted on walking alongside the men on such a lovely day. The sun had been streaming down from an ocean-like expanse of blue, not a cloud in the sky. Inside the carriage the temperature was boosted considerably, thanks to the upholstered interior and various expensive fabrics employed in its design to maintain maximum comfort. This was all the justification the five foot three young woman needed to slip out and refuse to get back in. They had their orders to get to the Lord’s manor as soon as was humanly possible, so the men had no choice but to let her walk along – frolicking about like any eighteen year old girl is want to do when the burdens of responsibility are lifted from her shoulders.
That day they had made camp at the summit of a large hill they had just conquered; within a thicket of trees to offer them a good view of the road, whilst providing cover should they need it. As usual the men had drawn lots to see who would keep the various watches over the prisoner, but on this fateful night Tristan had won the right to be the first to keep watch. Charlotte had been making a considerable amount of fuss all evening long about a strain in her calves and a slight discomfort centralised around the arch of her foot, so Tristan knew that he was in for a pain in the arse of a watch session as he would have to get her settled into sleep after enduring a sandstorm’s worth of bother.
It basically unfolded thus:
“Tristan, you dolt! I am in a state of discomfort! I’m demanding you do something about it immediately!” Charlotte practically screamed into the forty year old man’s ear. Instinctively he clasped his hand tightly around his short sword and gritted his teeth. The little witch had been harping on for about five minutes now about being in agony and pain, talking about the aches and ailments that usually came with a full day of marching. Well it wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own that she had wanted to enjoy the lush countryside; she’d just have to pay the price for it now. It wasn’t like any of the men were complaining, even though Caspian had blisters the size of Camalian leeches.
“Calm yourself, Charlotte. Just get to sleep and learn to ride in your carriage like a good girl.”
“How dare you! Tristan! Look at this swelling around my ankles!”
“Well what in the nine hells do you expect me to do about it!?”
“I want you to give me a foot massage!”
“Not on your life. I wouldn’t touch those foul smelling things even if I were paid to do so.”
“My feet most certainly do not smell!” Charlotte cried indignantly, her voice rising to a high-pitched shriek.
“Then you must be some kind of mystic spirit, for you must surely realize that you haven’t had the opportunity to bathe for a good week almost. Your feet, along with the rest of your body, most certainly do smell. Furthermore,” Whirling around slightly to address her, Tristan was slightly taken aback by what he saw. Having undressed and slipped into her night clothing, Charlotte was quite the unchained vixen. Thoughts of his aging wife fluttered to the back of the soldier’s mind as he viewed silken skin culminating into a creamy complexion and blending into the somewhat incredibly short night gown. “I-I ah…”
“Stop idly staring you buffoon! Do your duty and keep me comfortable! If you do a good enough job I might forgive your insolent comments about my personal hygiene!”
That was that really. Before the grizzled veteran knew it he was massaging this beautiful girl’s feet while trying to keep his primal urges under control. Her breathing slowed as she came closer and closer to sleep, but his rough and calloused hands frequently managed to stroke over her instep carelessly and elicit a giggle from between clenched and smiling lips of burnished crimson. Eventually though, he managed to get the hang of this special form of relaxant activity and Charlotte was able to slither straight into a deep slumber which she could barely be roused from the next morning.
All the men were insanely jealous when Tristan recounted the tales of what had gone on during that first watch.
It was this that young Mister McGowan could not shake from his mind as he settled down on an overturned log positioned just outside of the lady’s tent. Now, Justin was usually able to reign in these kinds of thoughts as he wasn’t too bad looking himself with his wealth of ebon locks, high cheekbones and slightly pointed chin, but this was a different situation altogether for some reason. Many a time he had resisted vixens of various ages, shapes and sizes, but there was just something about the young Miss Regan that set his blood to boiling, which in turn made it heavier and caused it to power his backup brain between his legs. Was this bloody criminal worth so much sexual tension and frustration? Probably not, but Justin couldn’t stop fantasising about finding himself in that situation with her tender feet resting gently in his lap. The very thought of it sent shivers down his spine. Just to touch her, even if only for a moment…
Holding his breath in anticipation, Justin waited for a signal or a sign. Deliverance would come in but a short while, or so he thought. Eventually though, after holding out for what seemed like an eternity, he noticed that he could hear her gentle breathing which indicated that the little miss was in actuality quite asleep. Absolute disbelief crossed his face in an expression which looked to be cracking his whole world apart. That damned girl, he thought to himself, even as he considered infiltrating her tent to take just a peek at her glorious figure. Perhaps to trace her jaw line with two fingers and find out exactly how soft that skin really was. Both of her blue orbs were currently closed, hidden beneath long voluptuous lashes and relaxed eyelids. Yes, she had definitely fallen asleep. Unable to control himself any longer, Justin looked around himself to ensure that there was no danger – and that none of his compatriots were watching him slipping into the lady’s tent.
Her black, charcoal coloured, hair cascaded out over the pillow which she was currently sleeping on. Usually this was tamed through the process of tying two large red ribbons through clumps of hair on either side of her head, slightly north of the ears, but at the moment it was all allowed to flow where it pleased as the hair adornments had been discarded hours ago. Currently Charlotte was dressed in her evening wear as previously stated, which consisted of various articles deemed too comfortable for normal wear. A short sleeved blouse, white in colour, hugged at her body albeit loosely. It was fairly expensive, being made of cotton as opposed to burlap or a similar course material. Justin could see no more, however, as Charlotte was buried in a mass of blankets from her right shoulder down. Treasure always needed to be excavated from the bowels of the earth, so what a beautiful metaphor this had turned out to be.
Boldly placing one hand on her shoulder, Justin lifted the blankets slowly to peak inside. A pocket of warm air buffeted his face playfully, as he stared directly down into her inviting cleavage. Swallowing audibly, Justin maintained this position for a few more seconds before letting the blankets naturally smooth themselves back down. There was still much he wished to accomplish tonight, lest it not all be spent staring at the ladies breasts, no matter how nice they were, albeit rather average sized. Touching the back of her hand lightly revealed to Justin that indeed her hands were incredibly soft, but also smaller than he had first anticipated. They were, compared to his own rather large hands, quite child-like and lithe in appearance. Perfectly manicured nails managed to betray tell of her rich heritage, though it was rather obvious regardless from the way she carried herself when awake. Gently squeezing each of her fingers in turn saw Charlotte wiggling them, almost in protest, but by this time he had already moved on to bigger and more interesting things.
There were at least three duvets covering her legs, but Justin peeled them back one by one with ease to reveal a pair of really quite small feet. The length of her entire foot from heel to big toe was just shy of the length of Justin’s hand from wrist to middle finger, which was the first thing he chose to check. Having walked all day less than twenty four hours ago, the balls of Charlotte’s feet, the pads of her toes and her heels looked slightly rougher than her insteps and arches, but that was typical for any woman except for the most pampered of princesses. It resulted in a slight discolouration, a darkening if you will, which was by no means unattractive, rather adding character to an otherwise unblemished work of art. He could feel himself salivating oh so slightly. This was going to be an exceptional experience if he could just force himself to take that first step.
Extending his right index finger, Justin placed the solitary digit against the tip of Charlotte’s big toe and gently flexed the toe backwards then forward. Transfixed, he watched as the arch of her foot wrinkled and smoothed based on the manipulation of this one tiny limb. Big toe was perhaps the wrong name for Charlotte’s, however, as her first digit was slender and small, though with a slight point like a little rounded arrowhead. Tentatively, Justin outstretched the middle finger on his right hand and pushed it up against the next toe along, wiggling them both gently. She stirred ever so lightly, wiggling her toes and muttering something under her breath before settling down. Justin’s heart was in his mouth, beating a million miles reverberations a minute. If she had woken up to find him playing with her toes, what would she have said and done? Screamed bloody murder probably and then there would be a lot of embarrassment later on as he tried to explain himself to his peers.
Even so though, as she wriggled the soles of her feet near to him while sleeping, Justin couldn’t help but smile deviously. All alone with this delicious young lady, this thorn filled rose, this Charlotte Mary Regan - convicted criminal and murderess. Didn’t she deserve to be punished for her sins? The lord of the manor would likely only want her for a pleasure slave, and other than having to look at that man’s greasy chops there would be no torture in that. Slowly he began to extend his fingers once more, reaching out towards the outstretched soles of her feet. Deliverance was only a fingertip away.
Initially he made contact against the ball of her foot, pressing into it slightly. Watching, fascinated, as the area around the slight depression he had made slowly shifted to a pallid hue, before returning to its regular slightly blemished state. The Lord’s Guard traced his nail very gently down a fraction of an inch almost without realizing it. A small squeak escaped the lips of the young woman, obviously a tenderfoot, and he was greeted with one sole defensively covering the other as to discourage other such attacks. Well, it seemed that in her unknowing state she was swapping one target for another even as she gently rubbed the ball of her left foot against the top of her right.
It seemed that Justin was of the opinion that this imposing foot should move itself, so that he could assault his initial target, so with that he traced his middle and index fingers down the instep of the right foot which had so valiantly sprang to the defence of its mirrored counterpart. Another squeak and Charlotte was moving her feet very hastily apart from each other, pointing them out at a ‘ten to two’ shape if regarding a clock face. Now that the left foot had uncovered itself, the initial appendage to meet with Justin’s sudden brand of affection or perhaps justice, he felt that it was time to continue on the path he had started.
First one finger, then another, followed quickly by a third; each swept their way over the arch of Charlotte’s foot as it wiggled and writhed as if escaping some indescribable torment. Perhaps it was, because Justin didn’t know just how sensitive she was, and to that end he hastily stopped his busy fingers lest she would surely wake from the clutches of sleep and begin to draw attention to his acts. Perhaps these were not heinous acts in their execution, though definitely belonging to a perverted sense of justice. Justin was losing himself in his acts, having to berate himself for a moment as he stopped.
Balance was what was required in a situation like this, that and tact. Too much and he would be discovered, too little and the night would fly by without satiation, and Justin was just getting started if the feeling rushing through his body was any indication. Pure primal lust began to filter through his being, looking upon such an oblivious object of loveliness. The fact that she was condemned, a criminal, only spurred him on further. It was what she deserved; becoming a pleasure slave was no punishment for a murderess. What this Charlotte woman needed was some kind of physical berating, such as the kind he was now generously visiting upon the soles of her delicate feet.
Meanwhile…
Finding she had woken prematurely, Charlotte stretched her arms slightly and yawned mightily. Placing both hands behind her head and casting her eyes skyward, she couldn’t help but notice that she was outside and staring up at a beautiful cloudless sky. It felt wonderful, though she did find it quite bizarre that the earthy and leafy smells of nature had seemingly long since left her behind. Peering to the left of herself, her eyes widened with shock. Apparently she wasn’t back in Aldor anymore. Instead she was riding atop a fluffy white nimbus which, admittedly, appeared friendly enough. Charlotte attempted to sit, only to find that she couldn’t shift her weight off her back, like something was weightlessly pressing down on her chest. In itself, something of that description was rather logic defying, but if you asked her later it was the only way she could think to explain it.
At first Charlotte noticed an itching sensation along the soles of her feet, so she attempted to scratch them with the nails on each corresponding foot. The preliminary sensation was one of leisurely discomfort, but the scratching tended to sooth it. After a few moments though, right as she was beginning to panic a slight, her train of thought was derailed as the itching sensation quickly turned into a tickling sensation. It was impossible to keep from laughing as it happened, her body unable to resist the sensations no matter where she moved her feet. The cloud billowed gently around her, seemingly affixing itself to her like an adhesive, always remaining soft and comfortable at the same time. Charlotte tried to cry out, to tell her invisible attacker to stop, that her feet were rather ticklish and that she’d prefer it if they would cease. Apparently though, some bizarre sorcery was also preventing her from shouting out loud too, as the tickling sensations intensified and reduced from one moment to the next like attack and decay.
This was a dreamscape, she suddenly realized with horror, which could only mean that someone in the waking word was having their way with her bare feet, but someone or something was preventing her from waking and finding out just who. It was then that, through her laughter, Charlotte became aware of a figure standing with one foot braced on either side of her head looking down into her face. The person was male, tall, and very good looking, with a wealth of hair the colour of churned butter and eyes like two green tourmaline gems glinting mischievously. About to ask who he was, coming before her dressed in his expensive looking purple silk finery complete with cape and black boots, laughter suddenly stole her breath, heedless to necessity of speech, and reddened her cheeks significantly. Well this was certainly a pickle to get oneself in, Charlotte mused as the tickling sensation died on her feet for a moment casting an uneasy silence upon the air.
“I suppose,” the figure began, his voice resonating through this place as clear as a bell, “you would like some explanation as to why you cannot return to the world of the waking, hmm Charlotte?” The male’s eyes lingered on her body for just a moment longer than was proper, she observed, which suggested that his part to play here was self-motivated and less than savoury.
“As a matter of fact, good sir, I would simply love to know why I’m restrained against my will with these sensations running rampant upon me.” Charlotte’s retort was sickly-sweet, containing all the mock sincerity and sarcasm she could muster. If it bothered or fazed the man, he failed to acknowledge it as he continued to speak.
“See, you’ve committed a rather nasty crime and someone has invoked the ancient reparation known as the Justicar’s Rite…” At this point, she couldn’t help but butt in:
“But I have been given my… heeheehee!” The sensation of fingernails scribbling along the outline of her foot stopped that thought dead in its tracks.
“I understand that, but you know as well as I do that the punishment visited upon you is only a formality. You were requested by the lord and offered a pardon because of your beauty and, while corrupt men and women may rule this land and twist its laws, the law of the universe still applies to you young lady.” He paused for dramatic effect, and to hear her laughing as it delighted him so to watch this haughty young sorceress cowed.
“Now, as I was saying, the young man has invoked this special ritual because of his heartfelt belief that you deserve to be properly punished for your deeds. I was happening by at the time, the name’s Sylph by the way, a reputedly beautiful woman but in actuality an extremely attractive young man, but anyway I agreed with his notion so I granted his ritual credibility.” Sylph sidestepped slightly to regard Charlotte from one side, watching as her breasts rose and fell and her feet squirmed back and forth. She was now realizing that her arms were free and had set about pinching her own cheeks in a futile attempt to rouse from this corporeal nightmare. Tendrils of the cloud suddenly wisped up and constricted around her wrists, pulling them back down to either side of her body, essentially pinning them there.
“Ah ah ah! We can’t have you bruising those lovely alabaster cheeks of yours, my dear Charlotte. Plus, it probably takes away from your torment somewhat, am I correct? We can’t allow that either.” There were sudden squeaks of distress from Charlotte as she felt a wet sensation slithering over and between her toes even as she could still feel the neatly trimmed nails raking up and down her feet from heels, over the arches and making their way fully to the balls of her feet to barely graze the undersides of her toes. Once more Sylph’s angelic voice rang out, with mock sympathy this time. “I take it you don’t like the tongue? Well, never mind.” In truth he was getting quite intrigued himself, as he observed her intricate little movements born of ticklish reaction, staring into both worlds with those enchanting green eyes.
“Quite lucky for me and my whims really that this boy was from a lineage of these people, these Justicars, so I was able to make use of the latent blood in his body to punish you for your misdeeds little Charlotte. Although it won’t be your lot, I’ll be visiting you more than just this one night in times yet to pass, so you can look forward to getting quite acquainted with me.” By this point, Charlotte’s laughter had grown quite hysterical, as she howled, gyrating her hips and whipping her body to and fro in an attempt to alleviate some of the stimulation her sensitive nerve endings were suffering. Her toes curled instinctively, allowing the unknown assailant to lick the tips of her toes and scratch at her heels and at the sides of her foot insistently to make her un-curl them and begin struggling again. It was all very futile, especially when she couldn’t see where the tickling was coming from.
The little miners were working away inside her head, chipping constantly as they set about their near impossible task of finding a solution. Was there one? Breathless, she could neither reason nor beg, and while restrained she could not as much as struggle. Questions burned in her mind, mainly about this Sylph character. Who was he? What had he actually done to trap her within this dream world? It was probably within the realms of possibility for certain mental sorceries, but to force her to remain sleeping against the will of body and mind in tandem was impressive indeed. However, it occurred to Charlotte that she was not supposed to be admiring his efforts; she was instead attempting to combat them.
Conjuring all of her inner strength, Charlotte tried to feel her power deep within the recessed of her body. It was hazy and hard to reach, probably thanks to being within the confines of a dream. Mental discipline was paramount here, but unfortunately for Charlotte she had next to none of that, and her continuous laughter and squirming put her off every couple of seconds. A torturous set of stubby nails on her heel lingered for a moment, while a set of lips delicately traced up along her big toe. Laughter spiked but was quickly reigned in as she drew some of her power and began concentrating on weaving it into some kind of offensive spell to break this enchantment which held her in thrall.
“Try as you might, my dear one, you will not be venturing forth until I have had my fill of watching your squirming little frame… or until morning, whichever comes first. Judging by my reckoning, you still have a good many hours to go until morning…” Sylph’s words held a mocking tone, though they were somewhat lilting also. The man’s very being seemed to infuriate Charlotte, though perhaps it was because of the similarities she saw in him to herself. Double taking that idea, she decided upon the fact that it was probably because he was the one directly responsible for her feet being mercilessly tickled by one of her bloody guards. She’d have to grill the men in the morning, she thought sulkily.
What seemed like hours passed before Sylph suddenly lowered his position to near Charlotte’s face and inhaled slightly. Those fresh cut tourmalines which adorned his beautifully sculpted face captivated her for a moment, and she thought that she could smell lavender carried on the gentle breeze which kissed the nape of her neck through the cloud she lay on. Rays of sunlight set the sky ablaze momentarily and she had to squint, hardly able to see the man of mystery anymore. When the moment had passed and calm returned itself to the clouds, Charlotte found that her assailant was missing. In addition to this, the sensations that had been plaguing her feet had since ceased after that bizarre episode.
Back in that alternate reality we affectionately call the waking world…
Bold was not the word for what had taken Justin firmly by the balls and was pumping him full of courage enough to face an army of dragons. The initial attacks hadn’t woken her up, his experimentation hadn’t woken her up, and utilising his tongue hadn’t woken her up so now this had almost become an exercise in attempting to rouse the young woman. Charlotte’s laughter and cries were muffled somewhat by the blankets he’d piled high over her head and face, serving the purpose of not alerting the rest of the camp to the delicious justice being visited upon her adorable little feet. Justin was a lost cause, having long since given in to wild abandon and had cast away all inhibitions. All that mattered was the balance, the scales must be righted.
Suddenly though, Justin’s resolve wavered and then melted away as he looked to those wiggling toes, slightly indicating skyward. Something was amiss, and fear gripped his body as he quickly tried to dry the excess saliva from his charge’s feet. After this task was complete, spine completely removed at this point, he checked outside the tent to make sure none of the other men were milling about and slipped back to his post. Deciding that Charlotte might have an inclining that something was wrong, Justin lowered his head slightly and closed his eyes before pretending to snore. If it looked like he’d been asleep here all night no-one would be any the wiser…
Waking with a jolt, Charlotte threw the covers off her face and rose outside of the tent. She ignored the fact that her soles were still slightly moist and she began to make a beeline for Justin, managing to get her feet rather grass stained during the course of her stomping jaunt. Upon reaching his side she reached one dainty hand out and circled it around his cloak before shaking him harshly. Justin, not being prepared for this sudden motion, yelped slightly and toppled from the felled log and found himself lying on his back somewhat staring up at a very irate looking young woman. Surely she hadn’t simply assumed it was him?
“Who came into my tent?” She demanded, glowering at Justin as if to let him know that one misstep could be his last. A magic using murderess was not to be underestimated, Justin thought suddenly as panic seeped through his veins. Oh what had he been thinking?
“I… I was asleep… I’m sorry… I…” The lie became stickier the more he tried to get it out, catching in his throat at intermittent periods and causing him to look at once rather foolish and quite suspicious at the same time. Thankfully, it seemed that Charlotte hadn’t noticed that particular nuance, instead paying heed to his words.
“Hm. So you fell asleep. Well aren’t you a worthless guard? When does the next one take over? Oh I suppose you forgot to wake him because you were busy sleeping, hm? Well you know what? For your transgression, you can serve the rest of the night’s duty yourself. If I find you asleep again you will suffer immeasurable pain and suffering. Is that understood?”
Justin never thought to argue at first, nodding quickly. If only he had been sleeping, perhaps then he would have been somewhat refreshed. Instead, thanks to the somewhat perverted activities he had been carrying out, Justin was completely exhausted without even the energy to lift his weapon to defend against attack. Oh what a fool he had been. Maybe she knew, or had figured out, that it was he who had snuck into her tent and was now seeking to deprive him of sleep so that the long march tomorrow would break his body and spirit. Regardless of the answer, he couldn’t help but watch the stains on her soles as Charlotte stomped away muttering curses darkly under her breath. Sighing dejectedly, Justin took up a place next to Charlotte’s tent and tried to stay alert for the next few hours.
Morning cracked the shell of night, allowing for righteous light to ooze through its dark and thick membrane. It began slowly at first, the milky twilight danced back and forth over the horizon as the sun was birthed anew. Birds chorused their fickle opinions across the forested area, the cicadas joining in the forum with their background screeching. As the men broke camp, Charlotte had seated herself inside the carriage again and was peering up into the blue sky, her ordeal the previous night all but forgotten to resignation and a feeling of creeping doom. Only a couple more days and they would have made it to the huge manor house, situated within a bailey, which itself was protected by a very deep trench. Rumour stated that even when looking down from the lowered drawbridge you couldn’t see the bottom of the pit. It was aptly referred to as the Gateway to Hell, or Devil’s Drop.
The men took their positions and the carriage rattled along the highway once more. This particular stretch of the highway was in quite severe disrepair, cracked and sometimes even missing chunks. Potholes were littered everywhere, in some cases small trenches had been dug deliberately as a bandit tactic. This would typically cause a carriage to slow and allow the whole procession to be assaulted by crossbow fire. Fortunately, there were no bandit groups actively seeking this particular carriage, as that would be suicide. Instead of bounty and ransom all that Lord Mara would dispense would be painful deaths should anything happen to this carriage, he had made that much exceptionally clear, and as such the bandits had all but receded from the region begrudgingly. Still, there were always the dull witted and the adventurous who would seek to try. They met one such character on this day, just as the sun was easing itself back to the cradle. The troupe had just stopped for a makeshift supper of salted ham and tough bread. Charlotte ate nothing, claiming the food to be completely unpalatable. Tristan had ordered the men not to bend to her whims; there would be no time for the gathering of berries from roadside outcroppings. Instead they began to hurry on, Charlotte complaining extremely loudly about the state of affairs.
Walking with a confident stride, the man approached from the opposing direction. He wore a long doublet of pallid hue, a pair of britches the same colour and a pair of knee-length black leather riding boots. There was a black belt latched around his waist with a silver buckle and attached to the left hand side was a scabbard holding a long sword. The blue pommel jewel glistened lavishly as he drew his black cape around himself as to look mysterious, ensuring that the hilt of the blade was always jutting out to one side and visible. A singular white gloved hand rose to make sure that his wealth of spun gold remained in confinement within the red silken ribbon at the back of his head. Fiery blue eyes set upon Tristan, and even her ladyship was stunned into silence by this wayward traveller who would not give way to such a carriage. Something was afoot.
The men assembled in a defensive formation, their pike heads pointing downwards slightly as they prepared for the advance of this mysterious and beautiful stranger. The sound of steel resonating marked the withdrawing of the blade, slowly, roughly an inch a step. A flick of the wrist and the dangerous weapon was free, pointing towards the floor off to his right side, gripped in the similarly aligned hand. Tristan was about to call out to him, to cause a halt, but as he opened his mouth he was silenced by the man’s voice slicing through the airwaves like the tolling of a bell.
“I will have her, gentlemen. Stand aside and none need be injured.” The figure added a mocking sneer at the four guardsmen, who leered back at him, confident in their numbers. Tristan stilled his men with a single look, taking one step forwards and regarding the man.
“We have orders from Lord Mara himself that this girl is to be brought to him on pain of death. We can not, will not, yield to just one man.”
“I am far from one man, guardsman.”
“Where then is your platoon? I see no able bodied men rushing to your aid in these flatlands.”
“I am my army, and this is your last warning.” The tip of his sword swung up suddenly and the hilt was pressed to the man’s chest so the blade cast a shadow over his left eye. Good, Tristan thought, they also had the advantage of the lowering sun at their backs. Taking a step backwards to form up with the men, Tristan began to issue orders.
“Marcus, Justin, flank him.” The two did as they were told, sidestepping carefully in their heavy armour, always keeping their eyes on their enemy.
“So be it, I am your doom.” Was the uttered response, coming at almost no more than a whisper. Charlotte watched with interest, though she was dumbfounded all the same. She had never seen this man in her life and had no idea his motives for an attempted rescue.
The man shifted his weight to his left side and feigned a lunge to Marcus on his flank, though this was swiftly proven to be a falsified strike as he took a leap backwards and landed lightly. Marcus and Justin both attempted a lunge, and in fairness it probably would have skewered a normal man, especially one that was laden as they were. This man though was not carrying steel clothing and so could move like a nymph across a pond filled with water lilies. Their slow and calculated lunges were useless against such a foe in the first instance and moreover there were still his claims to consider. A whistling noise alerted Justin to movement from the man, and he brought up his gauntleted fist just in time to parry an otherwise lethal strike at his neck. The parry turned the blade so that he was struck across the side of the neck with the flat of the blade, though the force of this movement still jarred his neck and sent him sprawling into the dirt.
Lying there paralysed as pain shot through his body, Justin could only observe as Marcus, the man who just moments ago had been standing opposite to him, was run through with a simple succession of strikes. One strike broke his guard, another disabled his arm causing him to drop his weapon and the third strike was a thrust that sheared through his plated mail as if it where paper. There were no signs of blood until the figure kicked the young guardsman off the blade to parry a hastily made strike from Caspian, the final guardsman. Justin’s eyes fixated on Marcus. Blood was pouring out of his mouth and nose, pooling beneath him from the exit wound. He was leaning up on one elbow trying to get to his feet. The sight reminded Justin of a fly with its wings torn off, or a spider in a bucket of water. Clinging to the threads of life even as the line begins to fray and break. Marcus had a wife and three children waiting for him back at home, though at this rate he wouldn’t be making it home. The clattering of steel on steel continued for a time, though Justin failed to neither comprehend it nor process it in his temporary stupor. He simply stared fixatedly at the crimson gore which painted the grass in the colours of war.
Sitting in the carriage, Charlotte looked on with horror as one of her companion guards was taken off his feet like a novice as opposed to an elite guard. Next came the impaling, which caused her to balk visibly and audibly. Marcus was… well he wasn’t a bad man certainly. Despite his shortcomings Charlotte would not wish this upon anyone, the pain which marred his face as the blood flowed into his lungs was so intense as to radiate and resound within the core of her being. Charlotte found herself torn. Should she help these guards who were delivering her duty bound and faithfully to her ridiculous form of justice, or should she allow this stranger to butcher them all and whisk her away? Quite the quandary, especially since her decision would have to be a fast one. The man was currently pushing Tristan into a steady retreat as he made his way to the door, though the wily old soldier was managing to parry at least, a shower of sparks taking flight with each blow, his pike buckling under the repetitive strain.
Nothing. There was nothing in those eyes, Charlotte realized with a start as her gaze met with her would be rescuer. The eyes are poetically linked to the soul, and often equated to be the windows to such a place, but Charlotte could see nothing in this husk. No warmth, no feeling. It was like staring into the eyes of a corpse, or perhaps a statue. There was no beauty in all the lands to compensate for that not in a living creature, and he was heartbreakingly beautiful, but in that instant as her heart leaped into her mouth, Charlotte knew exactly what it was that she must do.
Standing slowly on unstable legs, Charlotte stooped and opened her travel bag which contained all the possessions that she had been allowed to take with her. Momentarily the memories of the searching through her belongings came flooding back, her precious gemstones with intricate runes carved into them and finished with molten silver had been stripped from her possession, but they failed to detect the backup she had. The coin purse she had looked harmless enough, with only a few worthless coppers stuffed inside the bag. Not worth sniffing at, even for a court bailiff, so that was abruptly handed back to her after not much more than a peek. What they didn’t notice, however, was that she had a replicated set of runes carved onto the surface of these near worthless coins. While not as effective as her gems, they would most certainly do for the time being.
Reality came rushing back to crush the memory as the sound of a pike snapping in two was heard just outside the door, followed by a loud impact and the rocking of the vehicle. Charlotte stumbled over to the entryway which was pulled open before she could grasp the handle and her wrist was quickly grabbed and restrained in a vice like grip. Looking down she saw the hungry, wolf-like grin plastered to this un-named man’s face and panic set into her very bones. Panic took root like a tree in her guts, forcing bile up into her slender neck. This man… this creature… somehow the tree grew, forcing her to remain perfectly still in her paralysed and enthralled state.
Moments passed as a slight breeze kissed each of Charlotte’s cheeks tenderly, tousling her hair playfully before careening away. Eyes fixated upon each other, blue on blue, time had no meaning in this eternity encapsulated within a heartbeat. Reality crumbled with the reverberated sound of metal striking something solid, denied, then cast aside as if it where nothing. Even so, Charlotte noted that the man in front hadn’t broken eye contact nor, for that matter, had he moved even an inch. The spell was broken as he pirouetted slightly, swinging his blade as if wielding air and smashing the pike which had harmlessly bounced off his force barrier only a moment ago. Shards of metal exploded into the air, littering the highway as Justin was flung to ground again with a wrenched shoulder and strained wrists.
Now or never. Reaching into the coin purse Charlotte drew out three talismans at random and inspected them immediately, the sparks of recognition flashing through her mind. Hagalaz, Nauthiz and Algiz. That she had chosen these three runes at random was a blessing, a sign that her fate was not with this man. Command words were spoken quickly, and a slight gesture was made. Turning quickly, the figure gripped his sword in two hands now and with a loud cry attempted to bludgeon Charlotte with the pommel of his weapon. The action came a touch too late, as a barrier of wind assaulted his frame from the front, pushing him from the carriage and forcing him to brace his legs to keep from falling on to his back. Instead as his feet touched the ground he skidded backwards.
A brief respite of a single solitary moment and Charlotte was ready once more. Holding the runes forward like a shield, the wind once more picked up as the skies around them darkened considerably. Hurricane force winds exploded from her hands, forcing their attacker back one foot at a time. The skies rocked with a roll of thunder, as bolts of pure energy streaked from the sky and converged into a single point in front of the young sorceress. Concentrating on the repulsion of a common enemy, the fury of nature and the power of will to overcome distress and adversity, Charlotte combined these things into a powerful runic spell. The ball of light crackled angrily in front of her, tendrils of itself spilling out and showering the area in a curtain of glistening gems.
Tossing her hand negligently, confidently, Charlotte allowed the ball to arc towards her target even as she increased the power of the winds to keep him moving backwards. Apparently he knew better than to feel the wrath of her attack full on, and instead turned tail and used the advantage of the wind at his back to flee. Charlotte watched as he re-sheathed his weapon and charged across the flatlands, pursued by the ball of electrical energy. He was slowly gaining distance, but eventually without a change in direction or trajectory on her part he would have to suffer the full brunt of nature’s wrath. Thunder rolled once more, and the heavens opened.
The next ten minutes were a blur for everyone. A savage argument broke out at one point between Caspian and Tristan, regarding the burial arrangements for Marcus. While Caspian wished to bring Marcus with them, Tristan knew that would earn them all a wonderful view of the surrounding lands belonging to Lord Mara. That would be until the crows plucked the eyes from their lifeless skulls, skewered on pikes and left to rot upon the battlements. Instead he offered the next best thing, a shallow grave for the meantime, with no headstone. They had no time. They would come back whence the mission was completed to bury their brother in arms properly. Caspian didn’t like it, but eventually saw the truth of things while mulling around doing nothing in this awful downpour.
“I am not a heartless man, Caspian. I am merely considering the needs of the living, before those of the dead. Think not, and suggest at your peril, that I do not care for the man who now lies lifeless before us. It is not so, for he and I served for many years together in Lord Mara’s terrible service. Years of kinship, and of friendship. He would understand our need for haste, especially if this demon decides to come back.”
Caspian didn’t argue again after that.
No more than an hour had passed, Tristan thought as he oversaw the work of the other two men. Their comrade Marcus had taken his last breath before the skies had darkened, the death rattle felt by the old veteran to his very marrow. It was a harrowing experience to have a close companion fall in battle, especially against such a demon. Tristan found himself wondering just who that man could have been, to have strength enough to shatter steel and a barrier to deflect mundane weapons. Perhaps he really did have the strength of an army, for Tristan could not see a way of defeating the man had Charlotte not been there. That was another point he intended to ask her about at some point, why had she decided against taking the opportunity to flee with the stranger?
Right now though he was putting the finishing touches to the makeshift grave they had made for their comrade. A shallow one as promised, hardly even a foot deep. Tristan only hoped that his corpse would be preserved from all manner of carrion scavengers until after the delivery, until a time when he could be afforded a proper burial. Damnation, Tristan thought to himself as he winced from the sharp pain between his ribs, what was so important about a forsaken murderess that she attracted the attention of demons from the nine hells themselves to come claim her? Well they wouldn’t have her so long as he still drew breath... Mighty words for an old man with bruised ribs. Caspian was scouring the area and securing the perimeter while Justin was tending the lady. It looked that he had developed quite a lot of tenderness for the young woman, the bloody clod. Youth really was blind and stupid.
Sitting in her carriage with Justin, Charlotte was attempting to still her beating heart. The target was her, for what purpose she wouldn’t know now. Looking at that man though she just knew she couldn’t go with him. Peering into those soulless orbs was like having a marching band traipse over your grave. It was almost unfathomable that he wouldn’t come back to find her, especially when he went through such lengths to do so, opposing Lord Mara directly like that. Surely the safest place in the world for her right now would be within that castle. Perhaps it was a relative of the deceased, or a bounty hunter of some description. Well that would be a royal pain. Still though, this man had been superhuman in his abilities and she wasn’t aware of any bounty hunters of note in the region, not that she was particularly well tuned to hear about these things admittedly.
Casting her eyes upon Justin, sitting attentively and watching her like a hawk, Charlotte really had to wonder if he had been put in here for his own wellbeing. He hadn’t stopped shaking since he had sat down. The lad fixated on her face, hand closed around the hilt of his sword as if ready to leap up and defend her against anything that might attempt to make a claim. Perhaps he felt like he had failed, but in actuality his distraction had caused the very thing that had been the man’s downfall. It was ironic really, that this otherwise useless log head would be able to do something of magnitude and import.
“Justin…” She began, letting her lustrous eyes fix on his own for a moment before readjusting her gaze outside the carriage window. Immediately he sat attentive and nodded firmly.
“Yes, Miss Regan?”
“How much longer will it be until we arrive?”
“I… I’m not sure… I shall check.” Justin’s voice hadn’t really calmed since earlier, shock had gripped him to his very core to find himself so easily overwhelmed and so clearly out-muscled by a man more slight that he. It would be a wake up slap to any would be warrior, to suddenly taste defeat so suddenly without a chance to do anything about it. That feeling of helplessness, he didn’t like it, not one bit. Peeking his head into the driver’s compartment, Justin enquired as to their estimated time of arrival and was greeted with a very curt response.
“Now.”
Surprised, Justin peered forward into the gloom which had descended after the rain was slowly creeping away to the South. Indeed he could see the lights of the manor up ahead, if he squinted slightly. “It’s about bloody time.” He heard Tristan mutter darkly. The battlements were well adorned with lanterns and burning torches to guide the wayward travellers and their cargo home. Guards flanked the area, three on each side of the gateway which led to the drawbridge. Justin turned and went back inside the coach proper and prepared to greet his comrades in arms. “We’re here Miss Regan, please come with me.” A loud sigh of solemn resignation escaped her burnished lips, even as she rose to her full height inside of the carriage.
“Well then, I suppose I had best go and throw myself upon the mercy of the man of the house, hm?”
The sarcasm in her voice did not go un-noted, even for a young man like Justin, though he couldn’t really blame her. In fact, he sympathised greatly with Charlotte, for the horrors he had heard the Lord Mara exacted upon his pleasure slaves were truly the stuff of nightmares. Comforted somewhat by the thought that exaggerations must have been made somewhere along the line, Justin led the young woman out of the carriage and into the now humid evening.
Her adventures were only just beginning.
-----------------------------------------
“Charlotte Mary Regan, you have been found guilty of murder. The sentence decided upon will be one of two choices left open to you. You can either spend the rest of your life rotting in the dungeons of Aldor or, due to the extraordinary nature of this case; you can attempt to earn your freedom through entertainment of the Lord of these lands. The choice is yours.”
“As if it really was my choice to make.” Charlotte exclaimed as the horse drawn carriage carried her over the shoddily maintained cobblestone pathway which served as an estuary to the main highway of the kingdom. Four pike men in total flanked either side of the carriage, moving at a brisk walk. This was a show of just how well trained these men were, as they were also carrying one hundred and sixty pounds worth of plated mail, chain mail and leather jerkins. That was completely without mentioning the heft of the pole arms themselves. “I would surely wither and die, precious little flower that I am, in such a terrible place.” Leaning back on to the comfortable, sheathed in silk, plush pillow which had been provided for her, Charlotte continued to complain about her situation, seemingly embittered to the fact that she had pretty much agreed to be the Lord Mara’s slave in exchange for not having to be forgotten in the squalor of some dank and God forsaken cubic room with no windows and ugh, the sanitary conditioning would be in such shambles it just didn’t bear thinking about.
At night the four men and the coach driver set up camp for them all while Charlotte observed. It was quite absurd really; the girl was in no way restrained nor was she particularly supervised and could have stolen away into the night at any time. She didn’t though, mainly because of the fact that she knew that she wouldn’t last a day out here in the dangerous hinterland at the foot of mount Hajal well within the county of Aldor. It was a place reputed to be full of bandits and whole clans of renegade sorcerers – some of which would harvest healthy organs for sale, experiment or ritualistic magic. Rather ghastly business, Charlotte thought as she watched two of the armed guards struggling to light the firewood which they had chopped specifically for this camp. These men would protect not only her as cargo, but also her as an asset, so it was in her best interests to stick with them for now.
After the tents had been erected, the men drew lots pertaining to when each of them would keep watch. As it happened, Justin McGowan was the first to take his post outside of the young Miss Regan’s tent. Justin was a young man, big and strong and quite handsome, but from a poor family with naught to their name but a small property on some unfertile land. They raised chickens to get by on, and even had a cow out back, but it was never really enough to support a family of five, so young Justin McGowan had to get a job working the doors for a local ale house. This job had cropped up after some ‘exemplary service’ had been spotted by a recruitment officer for Lord Mara’s personal guards, namely Justin breaking a drunken patron’s arm with a flick of his wrist. It was usually a blessing to take first watch, but this particular prisoner was tough to please and enjoyed making absurd demands of her captors, yet Justin could feel anticipation flowing out of every open pore on his body.
‘Oh please, please God let her ask me to do for her what she asked Tristan to do yesterday evening.’
The going was slow the day before, as Charlotte had insisted on walking alongside the men on such a lovely day. The sun had been streaming down from an ocean-like expanse of blue, not a cloud in the sky. Inside the carriage the temperature was boosted considerably, thanks to the upholstered interior and various expensive fabrics employed in its design to maintain maximum comfort. This was all the justification the five foot three young woman needed to slip out and refuse to get back in. They had their orders to get to the Lord’s manor as soon as was humanly possible, so the men had no choice but to let her walk along – frolicking about like any eighteen year old girl is want to do when the burdens of responsibility are lifted from her shoulders.
That day they had made camp at the summit of a large hill they had just conquered; within a thicket of trees to offer them a good view of the road, whilst providing cover should they need it. As usual the men had drawn lots to see who would keep the various watches over the prisoner, but on this fateful night Tristan had won the right to be the first to keep watch. Charlotte had been making a considerable amount of fuss all evening long about a strain in her calves and a slight discomfort centralised around the arch of her foot, so Tristan knew that he was in for a pain in the arse of a watch session as he would have to get her settled into sleep after enduring a sandstorm’s worth of bother.
It basically unfolded thus:
“Tristan, you dolt! I am in a state of discomfort! I’m demanding you do something about it immediately!” Charlotte practically screamed into the forty year old man’s ear. Instinctively he clasped his hand tightly around his short sword and gritted his teeth. The little witch had been harping on for about five minutes now about being in agony and pain, talking about the aches and ailments that usually came with a full day of marching. Well it wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own that she had wanted to enjoy the lush countryside; she’d just have to pay the price for it now. It wasn’t like any of the men were complaining, even though Caspian had blisters the size of Camalian leeches.
“Calm yourself, Charlotte. Just get to sleep and learn to ride in your carriage like a good girl.”
“How dare you! Tristan! Look at this swelling around my ankles!”
“Well what in the nine hells do you expect me to do about it!?”
“I want you to give me a foot massage!”
“Not on your life. I wouldn’t touch those foul smelling things even if I were paid to do so.”
“My feet most certainly do not smell!” Charlotte cried indignantly, her voice rising to a high-pitched shriek.
“Then you must be some kind of mystic spirit, for you must surely realize that you haven’t had the opportunity to bathe for a good week almost. Your feet, along with the rest of your body, most certainly do smell. Furthermore,” Whirling around slightly to address her, Tristan was slightly taken aback by what he saw. Having undressed and slipped into her night clothing, Charlotte was quite the unchained vixen. Thoughts of his aging wife fluttered to the back of the soldier’s mind as he viewed silken skin culminating into a creamy complexion and blending into the somewhat incredibly short night gown. “I-I ah…”
“Stop idly staring you buffoon! Do your duty and keep me comfortable! If you do a good enough job I might forgive your insolent comments about my personal hygiene!”
That was that really. Before the grizzled veteran knew it he was massaging this beautiful girl’s feet while trying to keep his primal urges under control. Her breathing slowed as she came closer and closer to sleep, but his rough and calloused hands frequently managed to stroke over her instep carelessly and elicit a giggle from between clenched and smiling lips of burnished crimson. Eventually though, he managed to get the hang of this special form of relaxant activity and Charlotte was able to slither straight into a deep slumber which she could barely be roused from the next morning.
All the men were insanely jealous when Tristan recounted the tales of what had gone on during that first watch.
It was this that young Mister McGowan could not shake from his mind as he settled down on an overturned log positioned just outside of the lady’s tent. Now, Justin was usually able to reign in these kinds of thoughts as he wasn’t too bad looking himself with his wealth of ebon locks, high cheekbones and slightly pointed chin, but this was a different situation altogether for some reason. Many a time he had resisted vixens of various ages, shapes and sizes, but there was just something about the young Miss Regan that set his blood to boiling, which in turn made it heavier and caused it to power his backup brain between his legs. Was this bloody criminal worth so much sexual tension and frustration? Probably not, but Justin couldn’t stop fantasising about finding himself in that situation with her tender feet resting gently in his lap. The very thought of it sent shivers down his spine. Just to touch her, even if only for a moment…
Holding his breath in anticipation, Justin waited for a signal or a sign. Deliverance would come in but a short while, or so he thought. Eventually though, after holding out for what seemed like an eternity, he noticed that he could hear her gentle breathing which indicated that the little miss was in actuality quite asleep. Absolute disbelief crossed his face in an expression which looked to be cracking his whole world apart. That damned girl, he thought to himself, even as he considered infiltrating her tent to take just a peek at her glorious figure. Perhaps to trace her jaw line with two fingers and find out exactly how soft that skin really was. Both of her blue orbs were currently closed, hidden beneath long voluptuous lashes and relaxed eyelids. Yes, she had definitely fallen asleep. Unable to control himself any longer, Justin looked around himself to ensure that there was no danger – and that none of his compatriots were watching him slipping into the lady’s tent.
Her black, charcoal coloured, hair cascaded out over the pillow which she was currently sleeping on. Usually this was tamed through the process of tying two large red ribbons through clumps of hair on either side of her head, slightly north of the ears, but at the moment it was all allowed to flow where it pleased as the hair adornments had been discarded hours ago. Currently Charlotte was dressed in her evening wear as previously stated, which consisted of various articles deemed too comfortable for normal wear. A short sleeved blouse, white in colour, hugged at her body albeit loosely. It was fairly expensive, being made of cotton as opposed to burlap or a similar course material. Justin could see no more, however, as Charlotte was buried in a mass of blankets from her right shoulder down. Treasure always needed to be excavated from the bowels of the earth, so what a beautiful metaphor this had turned out to be.
Boldly placing one hand on her shoulder, Justin lifted the blankets slowly to peak inside. A pocket of warm air buffeted his face playfully, as he stared directly down into her inviting cleavage. Swallowing audibly, Justin maintained this position for a few more seconds before letting the blankets naturally smooth themselves back down. There was still much he wished to accomplish tonight, lest it not all be spent staring at the ladies breasts, no matter how nice they were, albeit rather average sized. Touching the back of her hand lightly revealed to Justin that indeed her hands were incredibly soft, but also smaller than he had first anticipated. They were, compared to his own rather large hands, quite child-like and lithe in appearance. Perfectly manicured nails managed to betray tell of her rich heritage, though it was rather obvious regardless from the way she carried herself when awake. Gently squeezing each of her fingers in turn saw Charlotte wiggling them, almost in protest, but by this time he had already moved on to bigger and more interesting things.
There were at least three duvets covering her legs, but Justin peeled them back one by one with ease to reveal a pair of really quite small feet. The length of her entire foot from heel to big toe was just shy of the length of Justin’s hand from wrist to middle finger, which was the first thing he chose to check. Having walked all day less than twenty four hours ago, the balls of Charlotte’s feet, the pads of her toes and her heels looked slightly rougher than her insteps and arches, but that was typical for any woman except for the most pampered of princesses. It resulted in a slight discolouration, a darkening if you will, which was by no means unattractive, rather adding character to an otherwise unblemished work of art. He could feel himself salivating oh so slightly. This was going to be an exceptional experience if he could just force himself to take that first step.
Extending his right index finger, Justin placed the solitary digit against the tip of Charlotte’s big toe and gently flexed the toe backwards then forward. Transfixed, he watched as the arch of her foot wrinkled and smoothed based on the manipulation of this one tiny limb. Big toe was perhaps the wrong name for Charlotte’s, however, as her first digit was slender and small, though with a slight point like a little rounded arrowhead. Tentatively, Justin outstretched the middle finger on his right hand and pushed it up against the next toe along, wiggling them both gently. She stirred ever so lightly, wiggling her toes and muttering something under her breath before settling down. Justin’s heart was in his mouth, beating a million miles reverberations a minute. If she had woken up to find him playing with her toes, what would she have said and done? Screamed bloody murder probably and then there would be a lot of embarrassment later on as he tried to explain himself to his peers.
Even so though, as she wriggled the soles of her feet near to him while sleeping, Justin couldn’t help but smile deviously. All alone with this delicious young lady, this thorn filled rose, this Charlotte Mary Regan - convicted criminal and murderess. Didn’t she deserve to be punished for her sins? The lord of the manor would likely only want her for a pleasure slave, and other than having to look at that man’s greasy chops there would be no torture in that. Slowly he began to extend his fingers once more, reaching out towards the outstretched soles of her feet. Deliverance was only a fingertip away.
Initially he made contact against the ball of her foot, pressing into it slightly. Watching, fascinated, as the area around the slight depression he had made slowly shifted to a pallid hue, before returning to its regular slightly blemished state. The Lord’s Guard traced his nail very gently down a fraction of an inch almost without realizing it. A small squeak escaped the lips of the young woman, obviously a tenderfoot, and he was greeted with one sole defensively covering the other as to discourage other such attacks. Well, it seemed that in her unknowing state she was swapping one target for another even as she gently rubbed the ball of her left foot against the top of her right.
It seemed that Justin was of the opinion that this imposing foot should move itself, so that he could assault his initial target, so with that he traced his middle and index fingers down the instep of the right foot which had so valiantly sprang to the defence of its mirrored counterpart. Another squeak and Charlotte was moving her feet very hastily apart from each other, pointing them out at a ‘ten to two’ shape if regarding a clock face. Now that the left foot had uncovered itself, the initial appendage to meet with Justin’s sudden brand of affection or perhaps justice, he felt that it was time to continue on the path he had started.
First one finger, then another, followed quickly by a third; each swept their way over the arch of Charlotte’s foot as it wiggled and writhed as if escaping some indescribable torment. Perhaps it was, because Justin didn’t know just how sensitive she was, and to that end he hastily stopped his busy fingers lest she would surely wake from the clutches of sleep and begin to draw attention to his acts. Perhaps these were not heinous acts in their execution, though definitely belonging to a perverted sense of justice. Justin was losing himself in his acts, having to berate himself for a moment as he stopped.
Balance was what was required in a situation like this, that and tact. Too much and he would be discovered, too little and the night would fly by without satiation, and Justin was just getting started if the feeling rushing through his body was any indication. Pure primal lust began to filter through his being, looking upon such an oblivious object of loveliness. The fact that she was condemned, a criminal, only spurred him on further. It was what she deserved; becoming a pleasure slave was no punishment for a murderess. What this Charlotte woman needed was some kind of physical berating, such as the kind he was now generously visiting upon the soles of her delicate feet.
Meanwhile…
Finding she had woken prematurely, Charlotte stretched her arms slightly and yawned mightily. Placing both hands behind her head and casting her eyes skyward, she couldn’t help but notice that she was outside and staring up at a beautiful cloudless sky. It felt wonderful, though she did find it quite bizarre that the earthy and leafy smells of nature had seemingly long since left her behind. Peering to the left of herself, her eyes widened with shock. Apparently she wasn’t back in Aldor anymore. Instead she was riding atop a fluffy white nimbus which, admittedly, appeared friendly enough. Charlotte attempted to sit, only to find that she couldn’t shift her weight off her back, like something was weightlessly pressing down on her chest. In itself, something of that description was rather logic defying, but if you asked her later it was the only way she could think to explain it.
At first Charlotte noticed an itching sensation along the soles of her feet, so she attempted to scratch them with the nails on each corresponding foot. The preliminary sensation was one of leisurely discomfort, but the scratching tended to sooth it. After a few moments though, right as she was beginning to panic a slight, her train of thought was derailed as the itching sensation quickly turned into a tickling sensation. It was impossible to keep from laughing as it happened, her body unable to resist the sensations no matter where she moved her feet. The cloud billowed gently around her, seemingly affixing itself to her like an adhesive, always remaining soft and comfortable at the same time. Charlotte tried to cry out, to tell her invisible attacker to stop, that her feet were rather ticklish and that she’d prefer it if they would cease. Apparently though, some bizarre sorcery was also preventing her from shouting out loud too, as the tickling sensations intensified and reduced from one moment to the next like attack and decay.
This was a dreamscape, she suddenly realized with horror, which could only mean that someone in the waking word was having their way with her bare feet, but someone or something was preventing her from waking and finding out just who. It was then that, through her laughter, Charlotte became aware of a figure standing with one foot braced on either side of her head looking down into her face. The person was male, tall, and very good looking, with a wealth of hair the colour of churned butter and eyes like two green tourmaline gems glinting mischievously. About to ask who he was, coming before her dressed in his expensive looking purple silk finery complete with cape and black boots, laughter suddenly stole her breath, heedless to necessity of speech, and reddened her cheeks significantly. Well this was certainly a pickle to get oneself in, Charlotte mused as the tickling sensation died on her feet for a moment casting an uneasy silence upon the air.
“I suppose,” the figure began, his voice resonating through this place as clear as a bell, “you would like some explanation as to why you cannot return to the world of the waking, hmm Charlotte?” The male’s eyes lingered on her body for just a moment longer than was proper, she observed, which suggested that his part to play here was self-motivated and less than savoury.
“As a matter of fact, good sir, I would simply love to know why I’m restrained against my will with these sensations running rampant upon me.” Charlotte’s retort was sickly-sweet, containing all the mock sincerity and sarcasm she could muster. If it bothered or fazed the man, he failed to acknowledge it as he continued to speak.
“See, you’ve committed a rather nasty crime and someone has invoked the ancient reparation known as the Justicar’s Rite…” At this point, she couldn’t help but butt in:
“But I have been given my… heeheehee!” The sensation of fingernails scribbling along the outline of her foot stopped that thought dead in its tracks.
“I understand that, but you know as well as I do that the punishment visited upon you is only a formality. You were requested by the lord and offered a pardon because of your beauty and, while corrupt men and women may rule this land and twist its laws, the law of the universe still applies to you young lady.” He paused for dramatic effect, and to hear her laughing as it delighted him so to watch this haughty young sorceress cowed.
“Now, as I was saying, the young man has invoked this special ritual because of his heartfelt belief that you deserve to be properly punished for your deeds. I was happening by at the time, the name’s Sylph by the way, a reputedly beautiful woman but in actuality an extremely attractive young man, but anyway I agreed with his notion so I granted his ritual credibility.” Sylph sidestepped slightly to regard Charlotte from one side, watching as her breasts rose and fell and her feet squirmed back and forth. She was now realizing that her arms were free and had set about pinching her own cheeks in a futile attempt to rouse from this corporeal nightmare. Tendrils of the cloud suddenly wisped up and constricted around her wrists, pulling them back down to either side of her body, essentially pinning them there.
“Ah ah ah! We can’t have you bruising those lovely alabaster cheeks of yours, my dear Charlotte. Plus, it probably takes away from your torment somewhat, am I correct? We can’t allow that either.” There were sudden squeaks of distress from Charlotte as she felt a wet sensation slithering over and between her toes even as she could still feel the neatly trimmed nails raking up and down her feet from heels, over the arches and making their way fully to the balls of her feet to barely graze the undersides of her toes. Once more Sylph’s angelic voice rang out, with mock sympathy this time. “I take it you don’t like the tongue? Well, never mind.” In truth he was getting quite intrigued himself, as he observed her intricate little movements born of ticklish reaction, staring into both worlds with those enchanting green eyes.
“Quite lucky for me and my whims really that this boy was from a lineage of these people, these Justicars, so I was able to make use of the latent blood in his body to punish you for your misdeeds little Charlotte. Although it won’t be your lot, I’ll be visiting you more than just this one night in times yet to pass, so you can look forward to getting quite acquainted with me.” By this point, Charlotte’s laughter had grown quite hysterical, as she howled, gyrating her hips and whipping her body to and fro in an attempt to alleviate some of the stimulation her sensitive nerve endings were suffering. Her toes curled instinctively, allowing the unknown assailant to lick the tips of her toes and scratch at her heels and at the sides of her foot insistently to make her un-curl them and begin struggling again. It was all very futile, especially when she couldn’t see where the tickling was coming from.
The little miners were working away inside her head, chipping constantly as they set about their near impossible task of finding a solution. Was there one? Breathless, she could neither reason nor beg, and while restrained she could not as much as struggle. Questions burned in her mind, mainly about this Sylph character. Who was he? What had he actually done to trap her within this dream world? It was probably within the realms of possibility for certain mental sorceries, but to force her to remain sleeping against the will of body and mind in tandem was impressive indeed. However, it occurred to Charlotte that she was not supposed to be admiring his efforts; she was instead attempting to combat them.
Conjuring all of her inner strength, Charlotte tried to feel her power deep within the recessed of her body. It was hazy and hard to reach, probably thanks to being within the confines of a dream. Mental discipline was paramount here, but unfortunately for Charlotte she had next to none of that, and her continuous laughter and squirming put her off every couple of seconds. A torturous set of stubby nails on her heel lingered for a moment, while a set of lips delicately traced up along her big toe. Laughter spiked but was quickly reigned in as she drew some of her power and began concentrating on weaving it into some kind of offensive spell to break this enchantment which held her in thrall.
“Try as you might, my dear one, you will not be venturing forth until I have had my fill of watching your squirming little frame… or until morning, whichever comes first. Judging by my reckoning, you still have a good many hours to go until morning…” Sylph’s words held a mocking tone, though they were somewhat lilting also. The man’s very being seemed to infuriate Charlotte, though perhaps it was because of the similarities she saw in him to herself. Double taking that idea, she decided upon the fact that it was probably because he was the one directly responsible for her feet being mercilessly tickled by one of her bloody guards. She’d have to grill the men in the morning, she thought sulkily.
What seemed like hours passed before Sylph suddenly lowered his position to near Charlotte’s face and inhaled slightly. Those fresh cut tourmalines which adorned his beautifully sculpted face captivated her for a moment, and she thought that she could smell lavender carried on the gentle breeze which kissed the nape of her neck through the cloud she lay on. Rays of sunlight set the sky ablaze momentarily and she had to squint, hardly able to see the man of mystery anymore. When the moment had passed and calm returned itself to the clouds, Charlotte found that her assailant was missing. In addition to this, the sensations that had been plaguing her feet had since ceased after that bizarre episode.
Back in that alternate reality we affectionately call the waking world…
Bold was not the word for what had taken Justin firmly by the balls and was pumping him full of courage enough to face an army of dragons. The initial attacks hadn’t woken her up, his experimentation hadn’t woken her up, and utilising his tongue hadn’t woken her up so now this had almost become an exercise in attempting to rouse the young woman. Charlotte’s laughter and cries were muffled somewhat by the blankets he’d piled high over her head and face, serving the purpose of not alerting the rest of the camp to the delicious justice being visited upon her adorable little feet. Justin was a lost cause, having long since given in to wild abandon and had cast away all inhibitions. All that mattered was the balance, the scales must be righted.
Suddenly though, Justin’s resolve wavered and then melted away as he looked to those wiggling toes, slightly indicating skyward. Something was amiss, and fear gripped his body as he quickly tried to dry the excess saliva from his charge’s feet. After this task was complete, spine completely removed at this point, he checked outside the tent to make sure none of the other men were milling about and slipped back to his post. Deciding that Charlotte might have an inclining that something was wrong, Justin lowered his head slightly and closed his eyes before pretending to snore. If it looked like he’d been asleep here all night no-one would be any the wiser…
Waking with a jolt, Charlotte threw the covers off her face and rose outside of the tent. She ignored the fact that her soles were still slightly moist and she began to make a beeline for Justin, managing to get her feet rather grass stained during the course of her stomping jaunt. Upon reaching his side she reached one dainty hand out and circled it around his cloak before shaking him harshly. Justin, not being prepared for this sudden motion, yelped slightly and toppled from the felled log and found himself lying on his back somewhat staring up at a very irate looking young woman. Surely she hadn’t simply assumed it was him?
“Who came into my tent?” She demanded, glowering at Justin as if to let him know that one misstep could be his last. A magic using murderess was not to be underestimated, Justin thought suddenly as panic seeped through his veins. Oh what had he been thinking?
“I… I was asleep… I’m sorry… I…” The lie became stickier the more he tried to get it out, catching in his throat at intermittent periods and causing him to look at once rather foolish and quite suspicious at the same time. Thankfully, it seemed that Charlotte hadn’t noticed that particular nuance, instead paying heed to his words.
“Hm. So you fell asleep. Well aren’t you a worthless guard? When does the next one take over? Oh I suppose you forgot to wake him because you were busy sleeping, hm? Well you know what? For your transgression, you can serve the rest of the night’s duty yourself. If I find you asleep again you will suffer immeasurable pain and suffering. Is that understood?”
Justin never thought to argue at first, nodding quickly. If only he had been sleeping, perhaps then he would have been somewhat refreshed. Instead, thanks to the somewhat perverted activities he had been carrying out, Justin was completely exhausted without even the energy to lift his weapon to defend against attack. Oh what a fool he had been. Maybe she knew, or had figured out, that it was he who had snuck into her tent and was now seeking to deprive him of sleep so that the long march tomorrow would break his body and spirit. Regardless of the answer, he couldn’t help but watch the stains on her soles as Charlotte stomped away muttering curses darkly under her breath. Sighing dejectedly, Justin took up a place next to Charlotte’s tent and tried to stay alert for the next few hours.
Morning cracked the shell of night, allowing for righteous light to ooze through its dark and thick membrane. It began slowly at first, the milky twilight danced back and forth over the horizon as the sun was birthed anew. Birds chorused their fickle opinions across the forested area, the cicadas joining in the forum with their background screeching. As the men broke camp, Charlotte had seated herself inside the carriage again and was peering up into the blue sky, her ordeal the previous night all but forgotten to resignation and a feeling of creeping doom. Only a couple more days and they would have made it to the huge manor house, situated within a bailey, which itself was protected by a very deep trench. Rumour stated that even when looking down from the lowered drawbridge you couldn’t see the bottom of the pit. It was aptly referred to as the Gateway to Hell, or Devil’s Drop.
The men took their positions and the carriage rattled along the highway once more. This particular stretch of the highway was in quite severe disrepair, cracked and sometimes even missing chunks. Potholes were littered everywhere, in some cases small trenches had been dug deliberately as a bandit tactic. This would typically cause a carriage to slow and allow the whole procession to be assaulted by crossbow fire. Fortunately, there were no bandit groups actively seeking this particular carriage, as that would be suicide. Instead of bounty and ransom all that Lord Mara would dispense would be painful deaths should anything happen to this carriage, he had made that much exceptionally clear, and as such the bandits had all but receded from the region begrudgingly. Still, there were always the dull witted and the adventurous who would seek to try. They met one such character on this day, just as the sun was easing itself back to the cradle. The troupe had just stopped for a makeshift supper of salted ham and tough bread. Charlotte ate nothing, claiming the food to be completely unpalatable. Tristan had ordered the men not to bend to her whims; there would be no time for the gathering of berries from roadside outcroppings. Instead they began to hurry on, Charlotte complaining extremely loudly about the state of affairs.
Walking with a confident stride, the man approached from the opposing direction. He wore a long doublet of pallid hue, a pair of britches the same colour and a pair of knee-length black leather riding boots. There was a black belt latched around his waist with a silver buckle and attached to the left hand side was a scabbard holding a long sword. The blue pommel jewel glistened lavishly as he drew his black cape around himself as to look mysterious, ensuring that the hilt of the blade was always jutting out to one side and visible. A singular white gloved hand rose to make sure that his wealth of spun gold remained in confinement within the red silken ribbon at the back of his head. Fiery blue eyes set upon Tristan, and even her ladyship was stunned into silence by this wayward traveller who would not give way to such a carriage. Something was afoot.
The men assembled in a defensive formation, their pike heads pointing downwards slightly as they prepared for the advance of this mysterious and beautiful stranger. The sound of steel resonating marked the withdrawing of the blade, slowly, roughly an inch a step. A flick of the wrist and the dangerous weapon was free, pointing towards the floor off to his right side, gripped in the similarly aligned hand. Tristan was about to call out to him, to cause a halt, but as he opened his mouth he was silenced by the man’s voice slicing through the airwaves like the tolling of a bell.
“I will have her, gentlemen. Stand aside and none need be injured.” The figure added a mocking sneer at the four guardsmen, who leered back at him, confident in their numbers. Tristan stilled his men with a single look, taking one step forwards and regarding the man.
“We have orders from Lord Mara himself that this girl is to be brought to him on pain of death. We can not, will not, yield to just one man.”
“I am far from one man, guardsman.”
“Where then is your platoon? I see no able bodied men rushing to your aid in these flatlands.”
“I am my army, and this is your last warning.” The tip of his sword swung up suddenly and the hilt was pressed to the man’s chest so the blade cast a shadow over his left eye. Good, Tristan thought, they also had the advantage of the lowering sun at their backs. Taking a step backwards to form up with the men, Tristan began to issue orders.
“Marcus, Justin, flank him.” The two did as they were told, sidestepping carefully in their heavy armour, always keeping their eyes on their enemy.
“So be it, I am your doom.” Was the uttered response, coming at almost no more than a whisper. Charlotte watched with interest, though she was dumbfounded all the same. She had never seen this man in her life and had no idea his motives for an attempted rescue.
The man shifted his weight to his left side and feigned a lunge to Marcus on his flank, though this was swiftly proven to be a falsified strike as he took a leap backwards and landed lightly. Marcus and Justin both attempted a lunge, and in fairness it probably would have skewered a normal man, especially one that was laden as they were. This man though was not carrying steel clothing and so could move like a nymph across a pond filled with water lilies. Their slow and calculated lunges were useless against such a foe in the first instance and moreover there were still his claims to consider. A whistling noise alerted Justin to movement from the man, and he brought up his gauntleted fist just in time to parry an otherwise lethal strike at his neck. The parry turned the blade so that he was struck across the side of the neck with the flat of the blade, though the force of this movement still jarred his neck and sent him sprawling into the dirt.
Lying there paralysed as pain shot through his body, Justin could only observe as Marcus, the man who just moments ago had been standing opposite to him, was run through with a simple succession of strikes. One strike broke his guard, another disabled his arm causing him to drop his weapon and the third strike was a thrust that sheared through his plated mail as if it where paper. There were no signs of blood until the figure kicked the young guardsman off the blade to parry a hastily made strike from Caspian, the final guardsman. Justin’s eyes fixated on Marcus. Blood was pouring out of his mouth and nose, pooling beneath him from the exit wound. He was leaning up on one elbow trying to get to his feet. The sight reminded Justin of a fly with its wings torn off, or a spider in a bucket of water. Clinging to the threads of life even as the line begins to fray and break. Marcus had a wife and three children waiting for him back at home, though at this rate he wouldn’t be making it home. The clattering of steel on steel continued for a time, though Justin failed to neither comprehend it nor process it in his temporary stupor. He simply stared fixatedly at the crimson gore which painted the grass in the colours of war.
Sitting in the carriage, Charlotte looked on with horror as one of her companion guards was taken off his feet like a novice as opposed to an elite guard. Next came the impaling, which caused her to balk visibly and audibly. Marcus was… well he wasn’t a bad man certainly. Despite his shortcomings Charlotte would not wish this upon anyone, the pain which marred his face as the blood flowed into his lungs was so intense as to radiate and resound within the core of her being. Charlotte found herself torn. Should she help these guards who were delivering her duty bound and faithfully to her ridiculous form of justice, or should she allow this stranger to butcher them all and whisk her away? Quite the quandary, especially since her decision would have to be a fast one. The man was currently pushing Tristan into a steady retreat as he made his way to the door, though the wily old soldier was managing to parry at least, a shower of sparks taking flight with each blow, his pike buckling under the repetitive strain.
Nothing. There was nothing in those eyes, Charlotte realized with a start as her gaze met with her would be rescuer. The eyes are poetically linked to the soul, and often equated to be the windows to such a place, but Charlotte could see nothing in this husk. No warmth, no feeling. It was like staring into the eyes of a corpse, or perhaps a statue. There was no beauty in all the lands to compensate for that not in a living creature, and he was heartbreakingly beautiful, but in that instant as her heart leaped into her mouth, Charlotte knew exactly what it was that she must do.
Standing slowly on unstable legs, Charlotte stooped and opened her travel bag which contained all the possessions that she had been allowed to take with her. Momentarily the memories of the searching through her belongings came flooding back, her precious gemstones with intricate runes carved into them and finished with molten silver had been stripped from her possession, but they failed to detect the backup she had. The coin purse she had looked harmless enough, with only a few worthless coppers stuffed inside the bag. Not worth sniffing at, even for a court bailiff, so that was abruptly handed back to her after not much more than a peek. What they didn’t notice, however, was that she had a replicated set of runes carved onto the surface of these near worthless coins. While not as effective as her gems, they would most certainly do for the time being.
Reality came rushing back to crush the memory as the sound of a pike snapping in two was heard just outside the door, followed by a loud impact and the rocking of the vehicle. Charlotte stumbled over to the entryway which was pulled open before she could grasp the handle and her wrist was quickly grabbed and restrained in a vice like grip. Looking down she saw the hungry, wolf-like grin plastered to this un-named man’s face and panic set into her very bones. Panic took root like a tree in her guts, forcing bile up into her slender neck. This man… this creature… somehow the tree grew, forcing her to remain perfectly still in her paralysed and enthralled state.
Moments passed as a slight breeze kissed each of Charlotte’s cheeks tenderly, tousling her hair playfully before careening away. Eyes fixated upon each other, blue on blue, time had no meaning in this eternity encapsulated within a heartbeat. Reality crumbled with the reverberated sound of metal striking something solid, denied, then cast aside as if it where nothing. Even so, Charlotte noted that the man in front hadn’t broken eye contact nor, for that matter, had he moved even an inch. The spell was broken as he pirouetted slightly, swinging his blade as if wielding air and smashing the pike which had harmlessly bounced off his force barrier only a moment ago. Shards of metal exploded into the air, littering the highway as Justin was flung to ground again with a wrenched shoulder and strained wrists.
Now or never. Reaching into the coin purse Charlotte drew out three talismans at random and inspected them immediately, the sparks of recognition flashing through her mind. Hagalaz, Nauthiz and Algiz. That she had chosen these three runes at random was a blessing, a sign that her fate was not with this man. Command words were spoken quickly, and a slight gesture was made. Turning quickly, the figure gripped his sword in two hands now and with a loud cry attempted to bludgeon Charlotte with the pommel of his weapon. The action came a touch too late, as a barrier of wind assaulted his frame from the front, pushing him from the carriage and forcing him to brace his legs to keep from falling on to his back. Instead as his feet touched the ground he skidded backwards.
A brief respite of a single solitary moment and Charlotte was ready once more. Holding the runes forward like a shield, the wind once more picked up as the skies around them darkened considerably. Hurricane force winds exploded from her hands, forcing their attacker back one foot at a time. The skies rocked with a roll of thunder, as bolts of pure energy streaked from the sky and converged into a single point in front of the young sorceress. Concentrating on the repulsion of a common enemy, the fury of nature and the power of will to overcome distress and adversity, Charlotte combined these things into a powerful runic spell. The ball of light crackled angrily in front of her, tendrils of itself spilling out and showering the area in a curtain of glistening gems.
Tossing her hand negligently, confidently, Charlotte allowed the ball to arc towards her target even as she increased the power of the winds to keep him moving backwards. Apparently he knew better than to feel the wrath of her attack full on, and instead turned tail and used the advantage of the wind at his back to flee. Charlotte watched as he re-sheathed his weapon and charged across the flatlands, pursued by the ball of electrical energy. He was slowly gaining distance, but eventually without a change in direction or trajectory on her part he would have to suffer the full brunt of nature’s wrath. Thunder rolled once more, and the heavens opened.
The next ten minutes were a blur for everyone. A savage argument broke out at one point between Caspian and Tristan, regarding the burial arrangements for Marcus. While Caspian wished to bring Marcus with them, Tristan knew that would earn them all a wonderful view of the surrounding lands belonging to Lord Mara. That would be until the crows plucked the eyes from their lifeless skulls, skewered on pikes and left to rot upon the battlements. Instead he offered the next best thing, a shallow grave for the meantime, with no headstone. They had no time. They would come back whence the mission was completed to bury their brother in arms properly. Caspian didn’t like it, but eventually saw the truth of things while mulling around doing nothing in this awful downpour.
“I am not a heartless man, Caspian. I am merely considering the needs of the living, before those of the dead. Think not, and suggest at your peril, that I do not care for the man who now lies lifeless before us. It is not so, for he and I served for many years together in Lord Mara’s terrible service. Years of kinship, and of friendship. He would understand our need for haste, especially if this demon decides to come back.”
Caspian didn’t argue again after that.
No more than an hour had passed, Tristan thought as he oversaw the work of the other two men. Their comrade Marcus had taken his last breath before the skies had darkened, the death rattle felt by the old veteran to his very marrow. It was a harrowing experience to have a close companion fall in battle, especially against such a demon. Tristan found himself wondering just who that man could have been, to have strength enough to shatter steel and a barrier to deflect mundane weapons. Perhaps he really did have the strength of an army, for Tristan could not see a way of defeating the man had Charlotte not been there. That was another point he intended to ask her about at some point, why had she decided against taking the opportunity to flee with the stranger?
Right now though he was putting the finishing touches to the makeshift grave they had made for their comrade. A shallow one as promised, hardly even a foot deep. Tristan only hoped that his corpse would be preserved from all manner of carrion scavengers until after the delivery, until a time when he could be afforded a proper burial. Damnation, Tristan thought to himself as he winced from the sharp pain between his ribs, what was so important about a forsaken murderess that she attracted the attention of demons from the nine hells themselves to come claim her? Well they wouldn’t have her so long as he still drew breath... Mighty words for an old man with bruised ribs. Caspian was scouring the area and securing the perimeter while Justin was tending the lady. It looked that he had developed quite a lot of tenderness for the young woman, the bloody clod. Youth really was blind and stupid.
Sitting in her carriage with Justin, Charlotte was attempting to still her beating heart. The target was her, for what purpose she wouldn’t know now. Looking at that man though she just knew she couldn’t go with him. Peering into those soulless orbs was like having a marching band traipse over your grave. It was almost unfathomable that he wouldn’t come back to find her, especially when he went through such lengths to do so, opposing Lord Mara directly like that. Surely the safest place in the world for her right now would be within that castle. Perhaps it was a relative of the deceased, or a bounty hunter of some description. Well that would be a royal pain. Still though, this man had been superhuman in his abilities and she wasn’t aware of any bounty hunters of note in the region, not that she was particularly well tuned to hear about these things admittedly.
Casting her eyes upon Justin, sitting attentively and watching her like a hawk, Charlotte really had to wonder if he had been put in here for his own wellbeing. He hadn’t stopped shaking since he had sat down. The lad fixated on her face, hand closed around the hilt of his sword as if ready to leap up and defend her against anything that might attempt to make a claim. Perhaps he felt like he had failed, but in actuality his distraction had caused the very thing that had been the man’s downfall. It was ironic really, that this otherwise useless log head would be able to do something of magnitude and import.
“Justin…” She began, letting her lustrous eyes fix on his own for a moment before readjusting her gaze outside the carriage window. Immediately he sat attentive and nodded firmly.
“Yes, Miss Regan?”
“How much longer will it be until we arrive?”
“I… I’m not sure… I shall check.” Justin’s voice hadn’t really calmed since earlier, shock had gripped him to his very core to find himself so easily overwhelmed and so clearly out-muscled by a man more slight that he. It would be a wake up slap to any would be warrior, to suddenly taste defeat so suddenly without a chance to do anything about it. That feeling of helplessness, he didn’t like it, not one bit. Peeking his head into the driver’s compartment, Justin enquired as to their estimated time of arrival and was greeted with a very curt response.
“Now.”
Surprised, Justin peered forward into the gloom which had descended after the rain was slowly creeping away to the South. Indeed he could see the lights of the manor up ahead, if he squinted slightly. “It’s about bloody time.” He heard Tristan mutter darkly. The battlements were well adorned with lanterns and burning torches to guide the wayward travellers and their cargo home. Guards flanked the area, three on each side of the gateway which led to the drawbridge. Justin turned and went back inside the coach proper and prepared to greet his comrades in arms. “We’re here Miss Regan, please come with me.” A loud sigh of solemn resignation escaped her burnished lips, even as she rose to her full height inside of the carriage.
“Well then, I suppose I had best go and throw myself upon the mercy of the man of the house, hm?”
The sarcasm in her voice did not go un-noted, even for a young man like Justin, though he couldn’t really blame her. In fact, he sympathised greatly with Charlotte, for the horrors he had heard the Lord Mara exacted upon his pleasure slaves were truly the stuff of nightmares. Comforted somewhat by the thought that exaggerations must have been made somewhere along the line, Justin led the young woman out of the carriage and into the now humid evening.
Her adventures were only just beginning.
