Post by J.Hollick on Nov 16, 2012 18:32:27 GMT -9
Chapter 1
Waves crashed against the ship as it fought it’s way southwards. The coast was in sight, the lighthouse fire burning bright against the storm. Lightning lit up the sky and the thunder boomed across the ship. The wind whipped at the sails and the sailors fought tooth and nail for every quarter mile. Below deck the group of adventurers huddled in their hammocks as they swung back and forth with the waves. The floor below them was covered in six inches of water that sloshed around and carried away shoes and socks that had been left below. Arcadia lay curled up in her hammock, gripping her blanket tightly around her to fight off the damp and the cold. She focused her energies on fighting off the urge to puke, thankful that the storm at least offered her a respite from talking. Ever since Syvan had saved her on the mountaintop he had done nothing but demand answers. But Arcadia had never asked to be rescued, nor had she asked Syvan to devote the last five years to tracking her down. The things that she had seen and done were far too dark to bring to light, least of all to her older brother. She was doing her best to placate him but she also refused to collide two different worlds together. Her life with Syvan had been one of reckless adventure. The last five years had been a life of horror and brutality, of fulfillment followed by devastation. Arcadia squeezed her eyes together, fighting both a wave of nausea and also the memories from the past that were beginning to float to the surface.
Syvan stepped out onto the wharf, the sun beaming down on him. It was hard to believe that it had done nothing but storm the last five days but at last the weather was decent and what was even better was that he had both feet on dry land again. He slung his pack over his shoulder and waited for his sisters to follow. Arianna and Tomhes came down the plank, laughing about something and Syvan was happy to see the stress from the battle had already worn off. All that remained for them was the triangular shaped scar of the arrowhead near Arianna’s heart and the mottled skin on the left side of Tomhes’s face. Syvan didn’t remember much of the battle. The start was clear but then the rest got foggy. After years of searching he had finally gotten a good lead on his sister and had followed it to the Northern Isle, his other sister and her fiancée accompanying him. The trek up the mountain had taken days, dead ends and no protection from the raging wind. Finally they had found her, Syvan didn’t know the rumors of the mountaintop and didn’t know why the wizard Beltaire had taken his sister there but when they had arrived they found themselves not only fighting a powerful wizard but his sister as well. Whatever spell Arcadia had been under it had been powerful. She fought hard for Beltaire, her shot to Arianna’s heart had proved just how deadly she had become. It was shortly after both Arianna and Tomhes had been dispatched that Syvan had lost control of his body. Somehow he had thrown Beltaire from the mountaintop and almost Arcadia as well. Only the Gods know how she managed to slide to a stop just before the precipice. She had been dead, that much Syvan had known. Then, she was awake and he was lying on the ground with her looking over him, smiling a sort of faint, distant smile.
Arcadia came down the plank now. Her black leather shoes, thin and flexible, making no sound on the wooden boards unlike Syvan, Arianna and Tomhes’s, whose thick boots clunked loudly along towards the shore. She had covered herself in a light black cloak but beneath she wore a loose tunic that fell down to her thighs, the sleeves wrapped in leather straps to keep them out of her way and loose black pants that were wrapped in leather as well. Syvan watched her out of the corner of his eye as they made their way casually through the city, as though he expected her to disappear at any moment. He noticed that even Arianna and Tomhes were wary of her and Syvan noted that she walked different. She walked more upright, her piercing green eyes taking in everything around her. Her swagger was gone, instead she walked with balance and efficiency; her leather wrapped held hands loosely at her side, always close to the hilt of her short sword.
Syvan fell back slightly to let Arcadia lead, observing her further. The little sister he had lost five years ago had been a hell raiser. Relishing in creating conflict, pushing people to the edge just to see their reactions, full of confidence. This woman was something else, not a brandished sword like the old Arcadia, waving all over the place, daring people to challenge her. This Arcadia was subtle, shadowed, like a hidden blade.
The city was busy as usual. It was Waresday and all the farmers were standing beside their wagons full of fresh vegetables and herbs, calling out prices and competing. The city folk crowded the streets as they meandered through the wagons searching out the best produce for the best price. As they left the crowded markets behind they approached the outskirts of the city. Arcadia outdistanced the other three and Syvan didn’t know if it was on purpose or simply that gear and heavy clothing didn’t weigh her down. The streets narrowed and turned this way and that but their feet had travelled this path so many times that no one in the group had to focus on the way ahead.
Arcadia’s feet took her forward, her eyes ahead of her. As she passed a familiar inn, The King of Hearts, her thoughts began to drift.
Thunder shook the sky; rain poured creating small rivers in the empty streets; everyone seeking shelter in their homes or in the pubs. Arcadia found herself passing the time by making her way through a jug of ale. It was a two hour walk home and she was hoping the storm would pass before she ended up having to pay for a room for the night.
Inside the pub it was merry and warm, packed and noisy. Most patrons found themselves standing. A group of particularly boisterous men were all hugging and singing, their faces red with drink. The private room in the back had been claimed by a few lower baron’s and lord’s who were, by the looks of the waitress going in and out, emptying barrels of expensive red wine and gambling. Arcadia recognized one of the voices yelling loudly just before the door swung shut. Her eyes narrowed and she rose from her seat. Checking that no one was looking she pushed the door open and walked in.
All eyes were on her, only one of them narrowed in anger and recognition.
“I see our entertainment has arrived.” One of them said, nudging his neighbor.
“Actually I was hoping to join you.” Arcadia replied, her face lighting up in her signature half grin as she loosed the strings from her pouch and dropped it on the table. It clinked loudly with coins and a few spilled out onto the table.
“I’m terribly sorry miss, but this game is for highborns only. I would feel terrible taking all your money.”
“Well then I would have to inform you that you are wrong on both counts. Something tells me I will be the one walking away with all your money and as for my birth, I’m sure that man there can attest to my birthright, seeing as he is my half-brother.” The highborns all turned to look back at Lord Orsis Covada, who’s face reddened with anger as his fists clenched.
“Indeed. This woman is my half-sister though I only met her a few weeks ago. She seems to continuously turn up at the most convenient of times.” He spat. His attempt to make everyone aware that her presence was unwanted was noticed however most seemed not to care, in fact most smiled and quickly welcomed her, making space. She plopped down and the game began. She took note of the figure half hidden in the corner, the sword at his belt. She recognized her brother’s right hand man, Pierre Fleche, in charge of his personal guard as well as in performing more sinister tasks. She was surprised that the highborns did not each have their own guard in the room. The cards were dealt and Arcadia turned her focus to the game ahead.
Whatever bravado and confidence the men had had at the beginning of the game quickly began to fade as the pile of coins in front of Arcadia steadily increased. Their jovial laughter and small talk eventually subsided to looks of concern.
At first Arcadia reveled in the sour looks and grumbling of the highborns but eventually that began to get old and she moved on to new things.
“Since I have you here, brother, I should remember to mention I think that I have something of yours.”
“What could you possibly have of mine?” He asked, anger oozing from between his white teeth.
“Just a letter your messenger was kind enough to let me deliver but I’m afraid I’ve been rather busy and haven’t had a chance.” She pulled the letter out from her hidden pocket; the wax seal of her brother’s house was broken. Orsis’s face blanched. To her surprise so did the faces of the rest of the men. Realization hit her.
She had stolen the letter from her brother’s messenger after inviting herself to his manor and finding herself promptly kicked out. Waiting and watching she saw the young boy sneaking from the manor in the middle of the night, the letter clutched in his hand. He was far too easy to overwhelm and quickly gave the letter up. She had held on to it for several days before finally becoming bored enough to break the seal. Expecting to find an unimportant letter to a friend or perhaps a mistress, her initial expectations of stealing the letter had been to be more of an annoyance than anything. However upon reading the letter for herself she had discovered just how stooped in treason and betrayal her brother was involved in. Why she brandied it about before him now she didn’t know, she never had any inclination to turn him in to the king, her brother seemed far too unorganized to ever be of a real threat it was more likely that she just wanted to revel in the power of making him completely vulnerable to her. It was the looks she received from all the rest of the men in the room that triggered an understanding.
That night at the manor she knew her brother had had company but had thought nothing of it. Obviously her brother was not alone in his treasonous thoughts and plots and looking around at the men in the room she realized that this had, at the start of the evening, been a meeting. Her mind recalled all the drunken men in the bar passing the storm. She counted through all the different people, realizing who had seemed far too drunk for the amount they had consumed and who had been too observant of their surroundings. She counted them and then she counted the highborns in the room. The numbers added up; a guard for each. She cursed under her breath, rising quickly.
“Forgive me gentlemen. It appears I have forgotten that I was supposed to meet my other brother over an hour ago.”
It was too late. They all slowly rose to her feet and she could see light glinting off the steel of Fleche’s blade. She thanked Lady Luck for being on her side and giving her the chair closest to the door as she quickly stepped backwards, flinging it open and attempting to disappear among the crowd.
She was almost to the door when the yell came to seize her. She pushed the door open, the wind catching it and slamming it against the exterior wall. She rushed out into the night fighting the wind and the pelting rain.
She ran down alleys and cut across roadways until she was sure she had lost them, protecting the letter in her cloak she feared that it was already ruined, as she was soaked through the bone and shivering profusely. She slowed to a walk, bent her head to the wind and pushed on, gritting her teeth. Her shoes filled with mud and all around all she could hear was the rain beating on the rooftops and the walls. The only good thing was that the wind seemed to have died down for the moment. She began to loop back around to make the trek home when there was a piercing whistle behind her.
Arcadia sensed danger but knew there was no running from a confrontation. Somewhere behind her stood the stark figure of Pierre Fleche. His greasy hair and beard were soaked, his brown leather jacket stained and ruined and mud soaked up to the knees of his breeches. Her eyes narrowed, she slowed her breathing. Fleche wasn’t enough of a coward to kill her when her back was turned so she took a moment to collect herself.
In one swift movement Arcadia removed the bow from her back with one hand while drawing an arrow with the other. As she spun around she knocked the arrow and drew back, tensing her back muscles. Her eyes made contact with the shadowy figure in the distance, she calculated the distance in her head as she drew her hand to her chin and took aim.
She was too late; she had overestimated the amount of honor Fleche held for himself. Something sharp and small buried itself in her neck and Fleche lowered his arm from the tube he held to his mouth. Arcadia loosed the arrow, unbeknownst to her as she crashed to the ground, and it sailed through the rain, cutting through his leather jacket and burying itself deep into his shoulder.
White hot pain flashed through his arm and across his chest and Pierre stumbled backwards. He managed to maintain his balance while his right hand attempted to stem the blood flow. Blood and mud mixed together on his jacket but the wound wasn’t life threatening. He would survive. Gritting his teeth against the pain he pushed forward towards the figure slumped on the ground, leaving the arrow to protrude from his shoulder. A healer would be needed to take it out without damaging his shoulder further. Two guards came running up behind them and without even looking back to see who it was he barked out, “Go fetch my master and my horse.” The two disappeared again. He stood over the woman on the ground and rolled her roughly onto her back. He removed the dart tipped with an exotic drug before too much of it could flow into her veins and slipped it into its place in a square leather box amongst the others. A gift from a dear friend, the sleeping darts had come in handy on more than one occasion though all four were used up now. He made a mental note to replenish them.
Kneeling down in the mud he ripped open the woman’s cloak and began to search, finally he came up with the letter, his master’s seal impressed in wax to stamp it shut. The letter was soaking and he doubted it was even legible anymore, not that Fleche could tell, as illiterate as he was, but knowing his master’s fears and anxiety he took the letter and tore it to pieces before scattering it amongst the muddy road, taking special care to destroy the wax seal with his master’s sigil imprinted on it. The urgency dealt with Pierre surveyed his captor, her long black hair lay splayed around the mud, her small plump red lips and her pristinely pale skin. Her angular chin that was often raised in a haughtiness he found unbearable was slumped against her shoulder now. He smiled at her vulnerability, wishing she could watch her own helplessness as he knelt over her. He was just beginning to unlace her leather corset, the huntress tunic she wore beneath had ridden up her thighs as she fell and the image before him was too tantalizing to not take advantage of. Just as the corset loosened and he was beginning to yank the neckline of the tunic down with his good arm he heard the clopping of horse’s feet behind him and he rose. His master stood before him, looking down in disgust at the female form below him. If he noticed the ruffled neckline and the undone laces he said nothing.
“Get her up on the horse. We have an appointment at the docks we don’t want to be late for.” He gave her a rough kick to the ribs and there was a wicked gleam on Orsis’ face and Pierre matched it with his own sinister grin before grabbing the woman roughly by the tunic and hauling her upwards. She was surprisingly light for one so fierce and even with his bad arm he was able to easily drag her to the horse. Once at the horse’s feet however he required the assistance of the other two guards to throw her roughly over the saddle.
Arcadia was vaguely aware of the world around her. Voices sounded as if they were resonating through a large empty hall, echoing back and forth against the wall, the sounds all fighting against each other and muffling each other out. Her eyes were open but she could make out no shapes as she lopped back and forth with the horse. She was thankful that at least she could feel no pain. That was the one sober thought she managed to cling to as her body was hauled off through the quiet city. That and the fact that her brother would be so bold as to parade a barely conscious woman through the streets as she dangled over the side of a horse. Slowly Arcadia’s grasp on reality began to wane and she lost track of time and space.
The storm was passing, a good sign for Orsis since it meant his friend would be able to leave as silently as he had arrived. Captain Murdog was a stocky, stout fellow with thick wild hair and a dread lock beard. His skin was tan and weathered from a lifetime at sea and he was covered in all the baubles and trinkets of a superstitious sailor. The tip of his cigar that he held tight in his teeth glowed red through the haze of light rain still falling. He stood at the dock, waiting patiently. All around the dock lifeboats floated, sailors sitting patiently at the oars, one of the men gripping the large posts to stop them from floating away. Orsis walked quietly down the dock while his guards began to unload the wagons.
“Good evening.” Captain Murdog said in his deep gruff baritone, a result of too much tobacco smoking.
“Good even Captain.”
“The usual I presume?” He said, sliding a small black chest across the dock towards Orsis.
“And a bonus.” Orsis said, waving Pierre forward. Pierre hauled Arcadia off the horses back and swung her over his shoulder, grunting in pain but ignoring it as he approached his master.
Captain Murdog eyed them through his cold black pupils, “Why?” He asked.
“She got in my way. She likes to play games this one and I’m afraid this time, she lost.”
“Very well. Throw her in.”
Arcadia was lowered over the edge of the dock to a boat down below. All around her guards were packing unconscious peasants, men, woman and children, slung over their shoulders and lowering them into the boats below; though none of the peasants had been so lucky as to be drugged into a dreamless sleep. Instead they all bore the bruises, cuts and bloody faces of one who has recently had their head smashed in. The sailors grabbed them and laid them down in the small puddle of salt water and one by one the boats were rowed off into the darkness.
Only Captain Murdog remained, his own personal boat waiting for him.
“Pleasure doing business with you m’Lord.” He said, tipping his black tricorne. Orsis turned as two guards lifted up the chest and began walking back to the shores of the city as Captain Murdog climbed down into the rickety rowboat to sail for warmer waters.
Arcadia was brought back to the present by an arm on her shoulder. Years of honing her instincts and reflexes caused her to turn quickly, her arm rising the air to both block an incoming attack and also to instantly pin the hand of whoever her attacker was to his chest, her other hand withdrew her dagger and just as recognition set in she slowed down enough to only hold the sword to Syvan’s rib cage. Their eyes met for a moment, the dangerous light in Arcadia’s eyes dimming quickly with realization just as fear began to set into Syvan’s. She quickly sheathed her dagger and stepped back.
“I’m sorry. You startled me.” She said. Syvan could only nod in response.
“Come, Arcadia. We’re almost home. Only another couple of hours.” Arianna said, rushing in to quell whatever emotions were raging across her sibling’s minds.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Arcadia said, stepping back further before whipping around and continuing off down the street only this time at an even faster pace.
“She’s been through a lot.” Arianna said, touching Syvan gingerly on the arm, taking his attention away from Arcadia and on to her.
“Really? I wouldn’t know. She won’t tell us.” He said, his passive aggressive tone causing Arianna to flinch. He wrenched his arm from her grasp and stormed off. He knew he shouldn’t have taken it out on Arianna but after five years of searching for his youngest sister he had thought she would be grateful. Instead he found he had rescued a stranger.
Waves crashed against the ship as it fought it’s way southwards. The coast was in sight, the lighthouse fire burning bright against the storm. Lightning lit up the sky and the thunder boomed across the ship. The wind whipped at the sails and the sailors fought tooth and nail for every quarter mile. Below deck the group of adventurers huddled in their hammocks as they swung back and forth with the waves. The floor below them was covered in six inches of water that sloshed around and carried away shoes and socks that had been left below. Arcadia lay curled up in her hammock, gripping her blanket tightly around her to fight off the damp and the cold. She focused her energies on fighting off the urge to puke, thankful that the storm at least offered her a respite from talking. Ever since Syvan had saved her on the mountaintop he had done nothing but demand answers. But Arcadia had never asked to be rescued, nor had she asked Syvan to devote the last five years to tracking her down. The things that she had seen and done were far too dark to bring to light, least of all to her older brother. She was doing her best to placate him but she also refused to collide two different worlds together. Her life with Syvan had been one of reckless adventure. The last five years had been a life of horror and brutality, of fulfillment followed by devastation. Arcadia squeezed her eyes together, fighting both a wave of nausea and also the memories from the past that were beginning to float to the surface.
Syvan stepped out onto the wharf, the sun beaming down on him. It was hard to believe that it had done nothing but storm the last five days but at last the weather was decent and what was even better was that he had both feet on dry land again. He slung his pack over his shoulder and waited for his sisters to follow. Arianna and Tomhes came down the plank, laughing about something and Syvan was happy to see the stress from the battle had already worn off. All that remained for them was the triangular shaped scar of the arrowhead near Arianna’s heart and the mottled skin on the left side of Tomhes’s face. Syvan didn’t remember much of the battle. The start was clear but then the rest got foggy. After years of searching he had finally gotten a good lead on his sister and had followed it to the Northern Isle, his other sister and her fiancée accompanying him. The trek up the mountain had taken days, dead ends and no protection from the raging wind. Finally they had found her, Syvan didn’t know the rumors of the mountaintop and didn’t know why the wizard Beltaire had taken his sister there but when they had arrived they found themselves not only fighting a powerful wizard but his sister as well. Whatever spell Arcadia had been under it had been powerful. She fought hard for Beltaire, her shot to Arianna’s heart had proved just how deadly she had become. It was shortly after both Arianna and Tomhes had been dispatched that Syvan had lost control of his body. Somehow he had thrown Beltaire from the mountaintop and almost Arcadia as well. Only the Gods know how she managed to slide to a stop just before the precipice. She had been dead, that much Syvan had known. Then, she was awake and he was lying on the ground with her looking over him, smiling a sort of faint, distant smile.
Arcadia came down the plank now. Her black leather shoes, thin and flexible, making no sound on the wooden boards unlike Syvan, Arianna and Tomhes’s, whose thick boots clunked loudly along towards the shore. She had covered herself in a light black cloak but beneath she wore a loose tunic that fell down to her thighs, the sleeves wrapped in leather straps to keep them out of her way and loose black pants that were wrapped in leather as well. Syvan watched her out of the corner of his eye as they made their way casually through the city, as though he expected her to disappear at any moment. He noticed that even Arianna and Tomhes were wary of her and Syvan noted that she walked different. She walked more upright, her piercing green eyes taking in everything around her. Her swagger was gone, instead she walked with balance and efficiency; her leather wrapped held hands loosely at her side, always close to the hilt of her short sword.
Syvan fell back slightly to let Arcadia lead, observing her further. The little sister he had lost five years ago had been a hell raiser. Relishing in creating conflict, pushing people to the edge just to see their reactions, full of confidence. This woman was something else, not a brandished sword like the old Arcadia, waving all over the place, daring people to challenge her. This Arcadia was subtle, shadowed, like a hidden blade.
The city was busy as usual. It was Waresday and all the farmers were standing beside their wagons full of fresh vegetables and herbs, calling out prices and competing. The city folk crowded the streets as they meandered through the wagons searching out the best produce for the best price. As they left the crowded markets behind they approached the outskirts of the city. Arcadia outdistanced the other three and Syvan didn’t know if it was on purpose or simply that gear and heavy clothing didn’t weigh her down. The streets narrowed and turned this way and that but their feet had travelled this path so many times that no one in the group had to focus on the way ahead.
Arcadia’s feet took her forward, her eyes ahead of her. As she passed a familiar inn, The King of Hearts, her thoughts began to drift.
Thunder shook the sky; rain poured creating small rivers in the empty streets; everyone seeking shelter in their homes or in the pubs. Arcadia found herself passing the time by making her way through a jug of ale. It was a two hour walk home and she was hoping the storm would pass before she ended up having to pay for a room for the night.
Inside the pub it was merry and warm, packed and noisy. Most patrons found themselves standing. A group of particularly boisterous men were all hugging and singing, their faces red with drink. The private room in the back had been claimed by a few lower baron’s and lord’s who were, by the looks of the waitress going in and out, emptying barrels of expensive red wine and gambling. Arcadia recognized one of the voices yelling loudly just before the door swung shut. Her eyes narrowed and she rose from her seat. Checking that no one was looking she pushed the door open and walked in.
All eyes were on her, only one of them narrowed in anger and recognition.
“I see our entertainment has arrived.” One of them said, nudging his neighbor.
“Actually I was hoping to join you.” Arcadia replied, her face lighting up in her signature half grin as she loosed the strings from her pouch and dropped it on the table. It clinked loudly with coins and a few spilled out onto the table.
“I’m terribly sorry miss, but this game is for highborns only. I would feel terrible taking all your money.”
“Well then I would have to inform you that you are wrong on both counts. Something tells me I will be the one walking away with all your money and as for my birth, I’m sure that man there can attest to my birthright, seeing as he is my half-brother.” The highborns all turned to look back at Lord Orsis Covada, who’s face reddened with anger as his fists clenched.
“Indeed. This woman is my half-sister though I only met her a few weeks ago. She seems to continuously turn up at the most convenient of times.” He spat. His attempt to make everyone aware that her presence was unwanted was noticed however most seemed not to care, in fact most smiled and quickly welcomed her, making space. She plopped down and the game began. She took note of the figure half hidden in the corner, the sword at his belt. She recognized her brother’s right hand man, Pierre Fleche, in charge of his personal guard as well as in performing more sinister tasks. She was surprised that the highborns did not each have their own guard in the room. The cards were dealt and Arcadia turned her focus to the game ahead.
Whatever bravado and confidence the men had had at the beginning of the game quickly began to fade as the pile of coins in front of Arcadia steadily increased. Their jovial laughter and small talk eventually subsided to looks of concern.
At first Arcadia reveled in the sour looks and grumbling of the highborns but eventually that began to get old and she moved on to new things.
“Since I have you here, brother, I should remember to mention I think that I have something of yours.”
“What could you possibly have of mine?” He asked, anger oozing from between his white teeth.
“Just a letter your messenger was kind enough to let me deliver but I’m afraid I’ve been rather busy and haven’t had a chance.” She pulled the letter out from her hidden pocket; the wax seal of her brother’s house was broken. Orsis’s face blanched. To her surprise so did the faces of the rest of the men. Realization hit her.
She had stolen the letter from her brother’s messenger after inviting herself to his manor and finding herself promptly kicked out. Waiting and watching she saw the young boy sneaking from the manor in the middle of the night, the letter clutched in his hand. He was far too easy to overwhelm and quickly gave the letter up. She had held on to it for several days before finally becoming bored enough to break the seal. Expecting to find an unimportant letter to a friend or perhaps a mistress, her initial expectations of stealing the letter had been to be more of an annoyance than anything. However upon reading the letter for herself she had discovered just how stooped in treason and betrayal her brother was involved in. Why she brandied it about before him now she didn’t know, she never had any inclination to turn him in to the king, her brother seemed far too unorganized to ever be of a real threat it was more likely that she just wanted to revel in the power of making him completely vulnerable to her. It was the looks she received from all the rest of the men in the room that triggered an understanding.
That night at the manor she knew her brother had had company but had thought nothing of it. Obviously her brother was not alone in his treasonous thoughts and plots and looking around at the men in the room she realized that this had, at the start of the evening, been a meeting. Her mind recalled all the drunken men in the bar passing the storm. She counted through all the different people, realizing who had seemed far too drunk for the amount they had consumed and who had been too observant of their surroundings. She counted them and then she counted the highborns in the room. The numbers added up; a guard for each. She cursed under her breath, rising quickly.
“Forgive me gentlemen. It appears I have forgotten that I was supposed to meet my other brother over an hour ago.”
It was too late. They all slowly rose to her feet and she could see light glinting off the steel of Fleche’s blade. She thanked Lady Luck for being on her side and giving her the chair closest to the door as she quickly stepped backwards, flinging it open and attempting to disappear among the crowd.
She was almost to the door when the yell came to seize her. She pushed the door open, the wind catching it and slamming it against the exterior wall. She rushed out into the night fighting the wind and the pelting rain.
She ran down alleys and cut across roadways until she was sure she had lost them, protecting the letter in her cloak she feared that it was already ruined, as she was soaked through the bone and shivering profusely. She slowed to a walk, bent her head to the wind and pushed on, gritting her teeth. Her shoes filled with mud and all around all she could hear was the rain beating on the rooftops and the walls. The only good thing was that the wind seemed to have died down for the moment. She began to loop back around to make the trek home when there was a piercing whistle behind her.
Arcadia sensed danger but knew there was no running from a confrontation. Somewhere behind her stood the stark figure of Pierre Fleche. His greasy hair and beard were soaked, his brown leather jacket stained and ruined and mud soaked up to the knees of his breeches. Her eyes narrowed, she slowed her breathing. Fleche wasn’t enough of a coward to kill her when her back was turned so she took a moment to collect herself.
In one swift movement Arcadia removed the bow from her back with one hand while drawing an arrow with the other. As she spun around she knocked the arrow and drew back, tensing her back muscles. Her eyes made contact with the shadowy figure in the distance, she calculated the distance in her head as she drew her hand to her chin and took aim.
She was too late; she had overestimated the amount of honor Fleche held for himself. Something sharp and small buried itself in her neck and Fleche lowered his arm from the tube he held to his mouth. Arcadia loosed the arrow, unbeknownst to her as she crashed to the ground, and it sailed through the rain, cutting through his leather jacket and burying itself deep into his shoulder.
White hot pain flashed through his arm and across his chest and Pierre stumbled backwards. He managed to maintain his balance while his right hand attempted to stem the blood flow. Blood and mud mixed together on his jacket but the wound wasn’t life threatening. He would survive. Gritting his teeth against the pain he pushed forward towards the figure slumped on the ground, leaving the arrow to protrude from his shoulder. A healer would be needed to take it out without damaging his shoulder further. Two guards came running up behind them and without even looking back to see who it was he barked out, “Go fetch my master and my horse.” The two disappeared again. He stood over the woman on the ground and rolled her roughly onto her back. He removed the dart tipped with an exotic drug before too much of it could flow into her veins and slipped it into its place in a square leather box amongst the others. A gift from a dear friend, the sleeping darts had come in handy on more than one occasion though all four were used up now. He made a mental note to replenish them.
Kneeling down in the mud he ripped open the woman’s cloak and began to search, finally he came up with the letter, his master’s seal impressed in wax to stamp it shut. The letter was soaking and he doubted it was even legible anymore, not that Fleche could tell, as illiterate as he was, but knowing his master’s fears and anxiety he took the letter and tore it to pieces before scattering it amongst the muddy road, taking special care to destroy the wax seal with his master’s sigil imprinted on it. The urgency dealt with Pierre surveyed his captor, her long black hair lay splayed around the mud, her small plump red lips and her pristinely pale skin. Her angular chin that was often raised in a haughtiness he found unbearable was slumped against her shoulder now. He smiled at her vulnerability, wishing she could watch her own helplessness as he knelt over her. He was just beginning to unlace her leather corset, the huntress tunic she wore beneath had ridden up her thighs as she fell and the image before him was too tantalizing to not take advantage of. Just as the corset loosened and he was beginning to yank the neckline of the tunic down with his good arm he heard the clopping of horse’s feet behind him and he rose. His master stood before him, looking down in disgust at the female form below him. If he noticed the ruffled neckline and the undone laces he said nothing.
“Get her up on the horse. We have an appointment at the docks we don’t want to be late for.” He gave her a rough kick to the ribs and there was a wicked gleam on Orsis’ face and Pierre matched it with his own sinister grin before grabbing the woman roughly by the tunic and hauling her upwards. She was surprisingly light for one so fierce and even with his bad arm he was able to easily drag her to the horse. Once at the horse’s feet however he required the assistance of the other two guards to throw her roughly over the saddle.
Arcadia was vaguely aware of the world around her. Voices sounded as if they were resonating through a large empty hall, echoing back and forth against the wall, the sounds all fighting against each other and muffling each other out. Her eyes were open but she could make out no shapes as she lopped back and forth with the horse. She was thankful that at least she could feel no pain. That was the one sober thought she managed to cling to as her body was hauled off through the quiet city. That and the fact that her brother would be so bold as to parade a barely conscious woman through the streets as she dangled over the side of a horse. Slowly Arcadia’s grasp on reality began to wane and she lost track of time and space.
The storm was passing, a good sign for Orsis since it meant his friend would be able to leave as silently as he had arrived. Captain Murdog was a stocky, stout fellow with thick wild hair and a dread lock beard. His skin was tan and weathered from a lifetime at sea and he was covered in all the baubles and trinkets of a superstitious sailor. The tip of his cigar that he held tight in his teeth glowed red through the haze of light rain still falling. He stood at the dock, waiting patiently. All around the dock lifeboats floated, sailors sitting patiently at the oars, one of the men gripping the large posts to stop them from floating away. Orsis walked quietly down the dock while his guards began to unload the wagons.
“Good evening.” Captain Murdog said in his deep gruff baritone, a result of too much tobacco smoking.
“Good even Captain.”
“The usual I presume?” He said, sliding a small black chest across the dock towards Orsis.
“And a bonus.” Orsis said, waving Pierre forward. Pierre hauled Arcadia off the horses back and swung her over his shoulder, grunting in pain but ignoring it as he approached his master.
Captain Murdog eyed them through his cold black pupils, “Why?” He asked.
“She got in my way. She likes to play games this one and I’m afraid this time, she lost.”
“Very well. Throw her in.”
Arcadia was lowered over the edge of the dock to a boat down below. All around her guards were packing unconscious peasants, men, woman and children, slung over their shoulders and lowering them into the boats below; though none of the peasants had been so lucky as to be drugged into a dreamless sleep. Instead they all bore the bruises, cuts and bloody faces of one who has recently had their head smashed in. The sailors grabbed them and laid them down in the small puddle of salt water and one by one the boats were rowed off into the darkness.
Only Captain Murdog remained, his own personal boat waiting for him.
“Pleasure doing business with you m’Lord.” He said, tipping his black tricorne. Orsis turned as two guards lifted up the chest and began walking back to the shores of the city as Captain Murdog climbed down into the rickety rowboat to sail for warmer waters.
Arcadia was brought back to the present by an arm on her shoulder. Years of honing her instincts and reflexes caused her to turn quickly, her arm rising the air to both block an incoming attack and also to instantly pin the hand of whoever her attacker was to his chest, her other hand withdrew her dagger and just as recognition set in she slowed down enough to only hold the sword to Syvan’s rib cage. Their eyes met for a moment, the dangerous light in Arcadia’s eyes dimming quickly with realization just as fear began to set into Syvan’s. She quickly sheathed her dagger and stepped back.
“I’m sorry. You startled me.” She said. Syvan could only nod in response.
“Come, Arcadia. We’re almost home. Only another couple of hours.” Arianna said, rushing in to quell whatever emotions were raging across her sibling’s minds.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Arcadia said, stepping back further before whipping around and continuing off down the street only this time at an even faster pace.
“She’s been through a lot.” Arianna said, touching Syvan gingerly on the arm, taking his attention away from Arcadia and on to her.
“Really? I wouldn’t know. She won’t tell us.” He said, his passive aggressive tone causing Arianna to flinch. He wrenched his arm from her grasp and stormed off. He knew he shouldn’t have taken it out on Arianna but after five years of searching for his youngest sister he had thought she would be grateful. Instead he found he had rescued a stranger.
