NIGHTSEED part 4
By Heck


Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk

CHAPTER FOUR

  A single guttering candle burned in a plain pewter holder, casting a halo of 
dim light over the table and the shrouded woman who sat there, the flickering 
flame casting eerie shadows on her veiled face. Amillie's hands made 
complicated passes over the quite ordinary bowl of clear spring water that 
stood in the centre. The liquid began to roil and swirl, a rainbow of colours 
appearing in it like an oil slick on a puddle, and she bent her head in 
concentration.
  In the shadows beyond the candle's influence, V'Daa paced restlessly back 
and forth, chewing at a thumb nail and occasionally making little tutting 
noises to show his impatience. Finally, he went to stand behind the fey 
woman, peering over her shoulder, but the coiling colours meant nothing to 
him.
  "What do you see? What do you see?", he demanded.
  "Patience, Lord". Amillie's voice was calm and calming. "Scrying takes just 
a little time. It's clearing, now".
  Although the swirling patterns were meaningless to V'Daa, to Amillie they 
were as clear as copperplate. A definite sequence was beginning to form, and 
she began to make out shapes and portents.
  "Three people", she intoned. "It's getting clearer. Three. Two males, and a 
female".
  "Who are they?"
  "Unknown. One of the males is a dwarf. The other is a human. They are no 
threat".
  V'Daa relaxed visibly. "No threat. Good. We can ignore them, then?"
  "It is the female you must beware, Master. She, too, is human, but one such 
as I have never seen before. She is strong, a mighty warrior. She is a threat, 
and we must be careful".
  "Pah!", V'Daa snorted. "Mighty or no, the Dragonkind will deal with her. 
Have no fear".
  The levelheaded Amillie suppressed a sigh. She spoke in an assuaging 
voice. "Of course you are right, Master. Always assuming that the 
Dragonkind gets here first. But until you have mastery over it, it is somewhat 
limited. It can only travel in darkness, while these three can travel at any 
time. If they get here before it, they may cause my lord some ...minor 
inconvenience?"
  "Hmm. Yes, I can see what you are saying". He considered for a few 
seconds. "Of course", he went on, "I know what to do about it. But what is 
your suggestion, dear Amillie?"
  "If it were up to me, I would send out the party that brought the prisoner in. 
Have them intercept these meddlers, make sure they never get here".
  "Excellent!", V'Daa crowed. "Just what I was thinking. We'll do just that. 
Where are the three now?"

  Kin'ell was a tidy, bustling little town, full of rosy cheeked children and 
smiling old women, robust, hard working people, and clean streets full of 
neat houses. It had seemed to Brenhya to be the logical place to start their 
search, being the place from which Fool was abducted.
  They stood on the cobbles outside an inn, The Shot Cannon, on the main 
street. Their horses had been left in comparative comfort at the town livery. 
The shifty-eyed owner had looked upon Maakar with covetous eyes, but one 
look at her owner had convinced him that any impropriety would be a bad 
move on his part.
  "We'd better split up", Brenhya said. "Cover more ground. Lon, will you 
see if you can get us rooms here?"
  Lon drew his lanky body to attention and threw a mock salute. He vanished 
into the inn, and the other two dispersed.
  Brenhya wandered about, stopping people and asking questions. Many folk 
were intimidated by the sight of the warrior, still clad as she was in her 
armour and wearing her broadsword. Some hurried out of her way, others 
turned their backs on her. Some, mostly men, stared openly, mouths agape at 
the sight of this spectacular woman. She began to think, as she passed the end 
of a narrow alley, that she should have left her weaponry at the inn, and 
covered herself with a blanket or something.
  "Psst!"
  Brenhya turned at the sound. A scruffy-looking man, tall and thick around 
the waist, was beckoning to her from within the alley. She went up to him.
  "I might have what you're looking for", he told her in a conspiratorial 
whisper. "Follow me".
  Curiosity aroused, Brenhya sauntered after him. She followed him around a 
bend, and rolled her eyes when she saw his two mates, waiting for them. 
Another man stepped out of the shadows, cutting off her retreat.
  "Here you are, mates", the first one said. "Didn't I tell you I'd find you a 
looker?"
  "Oh, yeah!", another said, rubbing his greasy-trousered crotch. "She's a 
cracker! I'm looking forward to this".
  "Oh, please", Brenhya sighed, standing casually with hands on hips. The 
man at her back grabbed her arms from behind. His eyes started from his 
head as he felt the density and shape of her muscles. She reached over her 
shoulder to grasp his thick neck, and effortlessly flipped him over her 
shoulder. He landed on his back in a puddle with a splat.
  "Don't bother, boys", she warned them. They watched her warily for a 
moment, before seeming to come to a joint decision.
  Two of the men rushed her and grabbed an arm each. Brenhya did nothing 
to prevent them. The other stepped forward and drove a meaty fist into her 
exposed belly.
  His mouth fell open as he grabbed his wrist. It had been jarred by the 
impact, and Brenhya smiled at him sardonically. She hadn't even flinched, 
yet he felt as if he had just punched a brick wall.
  As he stood there, her arm muscles flexed mightily and propelled his two 
mates forward and together, sandwiching him between them. All three 
slumped to the ground, stunned by the collision. She reached down, took the 
first assailant by the collar with one hand, and hauled him to his feet. He was 
the only one still conscious, but looked as if he wished he wasn't.
  Brenhya poised herself to deliver a lecture about luring women into alleys, 
but by the look on the man's face he seemed to have got the point. She let 
him go, and as he fled assisted him on his way with a well-placed foot in the 
seat of his pants that caused him to yelp and lifted him right off his feet.
  She emerged from the alley, dusting off her hands. The town was still going 
about its ordinary business, and it was apparent that her brief distraction had 
gone unnoticed.
  Along the main street, the thoroughfare widened into a town square where a 
weekly market was in progress. Brenhya threaded her way through the busy 
stalls. Checking out the merchandise and listening to the cries of the vendors, 
she stopped to speak to several people about the kidnapping, but without 
success. At one stall, she purchased a crisp, red apple and took a huge bite, 
savouring the sweet, juicy flesh.
  In one of the several streets that opened into the square a quiet horse stood, 
harnessed to a four-wheeled cart laden with produce. Some of the fruit and 
vegetables had spilled from the cart, due to the fact that a wheel had come off 
and the vehicle leaned drunkenly to one side.
  Beseck, the cartier, was a little, wiry man who earned his living by hauling 
goods from outlying farms to be sold in the market at Kin'ell. But the lost 
wheel was threatening his income for that day, as he tried to lever the cart 
with a long pole. To lift the cart and replace the wheel on his own would be 
impossible, however, but despite his beseeching no-one had come forward to 
assist him. Even the drivers of the queue of half a dozen carts that had built 
up behind him simply sat on their boxes and ignored his plight.
  Sweat pouring from his brow, Beseck stood, arms akimbo, catching his 
breath for a minute. A contralto voice spoke from behind.
  "Let me help".
  "No, thanks", Beseck said without turning. "This is no job for a lady". 
  He looked over his shoulder to see who had spoken. Brenhya was removing 
her pauldron, and his eyes looked up into the lovely face that towered above 
him. He took in the width of shoulder, muscular arms, and hard flat belly, and 
allowed his eyes to linger on the long shapely columns of pure muscle that 
were her legs. He took off his cap and scratched his balding head in wonder. 
"Oh, I don't know, though ......"
  Brenhya smiled at him. "Get the wheel ready", she told him.
  Brenhya positioned herself at the rear corner of the cart, crouching low so as 
to be able to lift with her legs, keeping her back straight. She positioned her 
strong hands under the cart and settled herself to her task.
  The great muscles of her splendid back and shoulders tensed, and those of 
her thighs bunched and stood out in relief. To the watching Beseck, it seemed 
that she had been carved from polished oak, as if strength and power were 
tangible things. The corded tendons of her sinewy neck sprang into 
prominence, and she bared her strong white teeth as her legs powered 
upwards. The cart rose from the cobbles, and Brenhya braced herself at its 
corner, bearing the enormous weight in her two muscular hands. Applause, 
from the cartiers in the backed-up queue, reached her ears.
  A stunned expression on his face, a reaction to the extreme power he had 
just seen displayed, Beseck stood scratching his head, the cartwheel resting 
against his thighs. A pointed clearing of the throat from Brenhya reminded 
him of what he was supposed to be doing.
  In minutes, the wheel was replaced, and Beseck secured it with a new 
kingpin. Brenhya let the cart down carefully, and shook the stiffness of 
prolonged effort out of  her muscles. 
  "Thank 'ee, lady", Beseck said, in total awe of the incredible woman. He 
handed her her pauldron. "If I can return the favour in any way .....?"
  "As a matter of fact, there is", Brenhya replied, as she settled the hardened 
leather yoke onto her shoulders. "I'm looking for information about an 
incident that took place in this town a few weeks ago. A friend of ours, a 
professional fool so he'd be dressed in many colours, with bells sewn to his 
coat, was abducted by a group of riders in red cloaks. Do you know anything 
about it?"
  Beseck had climbed onto his cart and took up the reins. Behind him, the 
queue was getting restless. He turned in his seat and made an obscene 
gesture. "Wait, you buggers", he called out. "Hop up alongside o' me", he 
said to Brenhya. "As it happens, I might be able to help you out".

  Sundown. The last rays of the evening coloured the sky a rich red-gold in 
the dying moments of the day, a prelude to the coming dark. Birds and 
insects found their roosts for the night, as the nocturnal creatures began to 
stir. Among the serried trunks of the congested pines, a big, bristly wild boar 
snuffled among the fallen needles, his tough snout rooting through the rich 
loam for tasty tidbits.
  Close by, buried in the drifts of pine needles that covered the forest floor, a 
black shape stirred, the encroaching dark rousing it from its day-long sleep. 
The Dragonkind stretched and ran its hands over its scaly scalp, fat blue 
sparks dripping from its fingers, the urge to move on warring with the need to 
feed.
  The boar pricked its hairy ears and sniffed the evening air, its grizzled snout 
whiffling to and fro. In common with its species, it was a short-tempered, 
aggressive brute, whose instinctive reaction to a threat was to charge rather 
than flee. It was aware of a new presence in the forest, a malevolence that 
told it that it ought to be elsewhere. Its shortsighted eyes discerned no 
movement, but its sensitive nose detected an evil stench that appeared to 
come from no particular direction. Confused, the animal wheeled in place, 
little piggy eyes searching for something to attack.
  Moving silently, the daemon slid through the trees, closing in on the pig. Its 
long tongue snaked in and out, tasting the air to locate its prey. Stepping from 
behind a tree, it saw the boar for the first time, standing in a small clearing, 
its bristly tail standing straight up in an aggressive posture.
  The boar became aware of the figure that had appeared from the trees, its 
limited vision making out an indistinct form that moved toward it. With a 
squeal, it lowered its head and charged, vicious, razor-edged tusks ready to 
rip open the belly of its enemy. It covered the several yards in just a few 
strides, and launched its two hundred pound body at the figure.
  The Dragonkind took the impact in its midsection, the force of the charge 
carrying it backwards and slamming it into a tree. The armoured scales of its 
belly protected it from the slashing tusks, and its long, muscular arms 
wrapped around the animal's ribcage, hugging it to the daemon's chest in an 
almost loving embrace.
  Direct contact was all that was necessary to permit the Dragonkind to feed. 
The boar screamed and struggled in the lethal embrace, but its frantic efforts 
were futile. The monster drained the life force from the hapless animal, 
empowering itself as the boar became weaker, its kicking becoming 
progressively more feeble, until finally it lay unmoving in the powerful arms.
  Still the Dragonkind fed, absorbing the last remnants of life essence from 
the boar. The animal shrivelled and dehydrated, the stiff bristles loosening 
and falling out as the skin blackened and split. The corpse began to crumble 
into dust, as the Dragonkind lay with the remains still in its grasp, little 
mewling sounds of pleasure escaping from its satisfied lips.

  Stout, iron shod boots dangled several inches from the ground as Brannagh 
swung his stubby legs over the edge of the comfortable settle. Around him, 
the evening's revellry in The Shot Cannon had begun to get under way. One 
man had already tried to take the rise out of the dwarf, and had hopped away 
with severely bruised shins for his pains. 
  The table in front of the dwarf held two pint mugs of foaming ale and one 
that was empty, the last dregs of white suds sliding slowly down the inside of 
the glass. Brannagh had bought in the round when he arrived, and had 
finished his own several minutes ago. A member of a race not known for its 
patience, he was starting to get tetchy. Sundown had been half an hour ago, 
and there was no sign of his companions yet.
  He was just about to start on the other two pints, and damn them for their 
tardiness, when the door opened. A hush fell on the room as Brenhya had her 
usual effect on the menfolk. She took her seat on the settle at Brannagh's side 
as the company watched her with frank curiosity and, in many cases, open 
lust. Although [and some would say this was a naivety at best, a weakness at 
worst] she had never understood why men looked at her in such a way, she 
had long since become used to it, and paid no heed.
  "Where's yer bin?", Brannagh demanded. "Yer says to I, 'meets back 'ere at 
sundowns'. I was 'ere. Where was you?"
  "Sorry, Brannagh. I didn't mean to worry you".
  "Worries? I? No fears", the dwarf blustered, in a way Brenhya knew him to 
use to hide his true feelings. "T'was just that yer beers was getting' flats, was 
all. Where 'as yer bin, anyways?"
  Brenhya took a sip of the refreshing brew. "I was following up a lead. I 
think I've found which way they went. I'll tell you later, when we're all 
together. Where is Lon, anyway? Do you know if he managed to get us some 
rooms?"
  "He's right behind you", came the apprentice wizard's voice. "And yes, I 
did. For you and I, at least. Brannagh said he didn't want one".
  "I's never slept under a roofs in me lifes, and I's not about to start now", 
Brannagh explained. "I'll stays at th' liveries, wi' th' 'orses. 'Ere's yer beer, 
young 'un".
  "You have that one", Lon said. "I'm going to order some food from the bar. 
I'll get myself another then". He looked at the chalk board above the 
fireplace. "By the look of it, we've got the choice of mutton stew, mutton 
stew, or mutton stew".
  "We'd better have the mutton stew, then", Brenhya smiled.
  Lon leaned on the bar several yards away. Waiting to place his order, he 
looked back at his two companions. The dwarf, he could still not quite get a 
handle on. There was no doubt in his mind that the little fellow would be a 
steadfast friend and loyal ally, but there were hidden depths, there, that Lon 
was yet to discover.
  His relationship with Brenhya, however, was an open book to him. He loved 
her, It was as simple as that. Deeply, passionately, undyingly. She was the 
strongest, most beautiful, most sexy person he had ever seen and he would 
walk a mile over broken glass for her, lay down his life for her, if need be, 
and be happy to do it. And she loved him, too, he knew, but not in the same 
way.
  Oh, she was ferociously protective of him, there was no doubt, and there 
had been a number of times in the past when he had been glad of it. And he 
knew she would fight to her dying breath to save him, if that was what it 
took. But she loved him in the way one would love a faithful dog, one that 
followed her everywhere and would do her slightest bidding without 
hesitation or regret, and there was no physical attraction in her feeling.
  But she did love him, and Lon was content.
  As he watched the woman and the dwarf, a swarthy, unshaven man leaned 
over the settle and spoke in Brenhya's ear. He was obviously the worse for 
drink, even though the evening was but yet young, and Lon saw Brenhya's 
eyes roll up in her head as the man spoke. He watched curiously, to see how 
she would handle it.
  "Allo, darlin', the man said, exhaling a cloud of stale beery breath all over 
the woman. "What's a lovely young thing like you doin' all alone in a dive 
like this?" 
  So original, Brenhya thought, and said, "I'm not alone, thank you. I'm with 
friends".
  "Well, why don't you ditch 'em and come and 'ave a drink with me?" He 
sidled round the end of the settle, and wedged himself into the seat beside the 
warrior.
  "No, thank you", Brenhya said, trying to keep a straight face despite the 
comedy of the situation. "You can go away, now".
  "Oh, I don't think so. You an' me are just gettin' to know each other. 
What's your name, darlin'?"
  "Tha's none o' yer businesses", Brannagh put in. "Yer 'eard the lady. 
Bugger off".
  "You keep out of this, pipsqueak. This is between me an' the lady. You sod 
off back down your hole, you stinkin', pissant little unk!"
  The last syllable was forced from him, as he suddenly felt his nose pinched 
between what felt like the jaws of a steel pliers, but were actually Brenhya's 
thumb and forefinger. Tears sprang to his eyes as she squeezed, and even 
Brannagh winced as he heard the sound of the gristle being ground under the 
pressure.
  "By dose!", the interloper cried. "Leggo by dose!"
  "It's one thing to come here and make a nuisance of yourself to me", 
Brenhya explained patiently. "But it's something else again when you start 
insulting my friends."
  "Soddy", the man squeaked, tears streaming down his bristly cheeks. "I'b 
reedy soddy. Lebbe go. I wode do id agaid. Probbis".
  "You'd better promise", Brenhya said. "And now, you're going to go away, 
and sit somewhere else, as far away from us as you can, aren't you". She 
used her grip to move his head up and down in an affirmative manner. "And 
you're never going to bother women or insult people again, are you". She 
wagged his head from side to side. "All right, then. You can go, now".
  She released her grip. The man clapped a hand to his face, and fled from the 
settle. He cried out as the blood surged back into his abused nose, starting to 
throb and making the pain, if anything, even worse.
  Brenhya and Brannagh managed to keep a straight face for about ten 
seconds, before the laughter burst from them both in huge snorts. When Lon 
returned to the table, ale in hand, they were both in paroxysms. Having 
watched the incident from the bar, he joined in unselfconsciously.
  Brenhya sucked in a huge breath, and spread her hands in a calming gesture, 
bringing her laughter under control. "Settle down, people", she said, her lips 
squirming as she battled against another outburst. "We've got important 
things to discuss. Where's the food, Lon?"
  "Just coming. The Innkeeper said about five minutes".
  The mutton stew, when it came, was plain and substantial, with glistening 
golden globules of fat and delicious chunk of tender meat floating in a rich, 
brown gravy. Good, wholesome food, served with a thick chunk of home-
baked bread. The three wolfed it down in companionable silence.
  "So, what did you find out, Brenhya?", Lon asked, wiping his bowl with the 
last of his bread.
  The warrior took a long pull at her ale to wash down her meal. "I met a 
cartier", she said, wiping her mouth on a napkin. "He told me he had been on 
his way into town on the day Fool was taken. About a league and a half out 
of town on the south road, he saw these red cloaked riders galloping toward 
him. He pulled in to the side, thinking they were coming past him, but they 
turned off west at a crossroads. They were carrying something in a sackcloth 
bundle. Something man-sized, that was slung across one of the horses".
  "That 'ad to be 'e", Brannagh interjected. "Did 'un tells yer where to finds 
this crossroads?"
  "He did better than that. He actually gave me a lift out of town, and showed 
me. That's why I was late back".
  "Well, I've got some news, as well", Lon said proudly. "I spoke to the town 
Watchmen. Apparently, several years ago, there was an assassin that came 
here and killed two prominent men, obviously for pay, because he was 
unknown to anyone, and had no connection to the men at all. . The Watch 
never caught up with him, but they had a description. His name was Vedas 
Deer, or something like that. He was said to be mad, or going mad, and from 
what the constable told me about what he did to his victims, I'm not 
surprised. Showed them their own guts before they died, or so I'm told".
  Brenhya wrinkled her pretty nose in disgust. "What's the connection to 
us?", she wanted to know.
  "We-e-ell, it's a bit tenuous. But he was wearing a red hooded cloak".
  "Tha's yer kiddies!", was the conclusion Brannagh jumped to.
  "Possibly", Brenhya said thoughtfully. "Possibly". She drained her mug. 
"But well done, anyway, Lon".
  The young man preened at the praise. Brannagh turned up his eyes in 
disgust.
  Brenhya rose from the table. "We'd better turn in", she said. "Better get an 
early start".

  The room she had been allocated was nothing more than a place to sleep. 
The entire furnishings comprised a bed and a washstand, and the only gesture 
towards any form of luxury was a long mirror mounted on the back of the 
door.
  Brenhya removed her clothing, found a hairbrush at the bottom of her 
saddlebag, and went to stand naked before the glass.
  If she could be said to have any vanity at all, it would be her long, luxuriant mane of auburn hair, the colour of a chestnut thoroughbred. Warrior or no, she was a very feminine woman, and she loved to see her crowning glory 
looking sleek and groomed. So, whenever she had the chance, she brushed it 
out for a minimum of five hundred strokes, until it shone like burnished 
copper.
  Although she herself would have denied it, her face was extremely 
beautiful. Her high cheekbones and squareish, even jaw made a perfect 
framework for her lovely physiognomy. Her nose, straight and finely drawn 
even though it had once been broken, was the centrepiece of the perfection 
that was her features. Full, slightly parted lips with a tiny scar at their upper edge, and her sparkling, piercing grey eyes, completed her beauty.
  Standing before the mirror as she groomed her hair, she took the 
opportunity to examine her long, powerful body. Now, in this there was no 
vanity at all. Her gaze was rather the professional scrutiny of a master 
craftsman inspecting his best tool or, in this case, a warrior checking out her 
best weapon.
  The powerful muscles of her arms moved easily under her golden skin as 
she brushed, each bicep showing as a hard mound bigger than a big man's 
fist. The strap-like cords of her forearms played in time with the movement 
of her hands and fingers and, when she turned her arm to check her triceps, 
the muscle formed into a defined inverted vee shape.
  He wide shoulders, with their sloping trapezoids and rounded deltoids, 
spoke of nothing but strength. Her back muscles slid under her flawless skin 
like snakes in oil, and the twin columns of her lumbar region looked, and 
were, immensely powerful.
  Full and rounded, but not overly large, her superb breasts rode high on her 
muscular chest, which tapered to a narrow waist. Her flat, segmented belly, 
which was capable of absorbing blows from the mightiest of fists, was a sheet 
of pure muscle, and the hard dual globes of her buttocks were forged of 
strongest steel.
  Her slightly concave pelvis, where her curly copper pubic nest lay, was an 
attachment point for the two columns of sheer power that were her legs. 
Defined and hard, especially the two teardrop shaped muscles above each 
knee, the solid muscles of her thighs flowed into small knee joints that in turn 
flared into a pair of rounded calves that were as hard as the finest of 
diamonds.
  Yet for all her strength and muscularity her shape was entirely, and 
desirably, feminine, and was imbued with a lithe and agile flexibility, and 
incredible reaction speed. She could, and often did, by way of an exercise, 
pick flies out of the air with thumb and finger with such precision that the 
insect would be completely unharmed by the capture.
  Checking out her flexibility, Brenhya bent over backwards until her palms 
were flat on the floor behind her, mere inches from her heels. Slowly, she 
raised a long, shapely foot until it pointed ceilingwards, and in a controlled 
motion that demonstrated great strength as well as agility, she brought the 
other to join it. She maintained her balance on her two hands for a minute, as 
steady as any rock, before bringing her legs down and her body up to 
complete a slow-motion back-flip.
  Satisfied, she continued her scrutiny, drumming her fists against her hard 
belly and probing her muscles with her fingers for any signs of weakness or 
softness. 
  There was none.
  Pleased with the fact that what was, in the end, her finest and most useful 
weapon, was in top working order, Brenhya slipped under the bedsheets and 
was quickly and soundly asleep.