Moina stubbornly stood her ground as those enemies on horseback continued their charge. The one she'd struck sliding from horseback as the warrior's beast continued it's charge. There were still about a half dozen or so left charging. The roaring call of the Bulls answered the sound of thundering hooves as the mercenaries that could charged. It was dangerous for foot soldiers to charge against the mounted, but this company didn't favor a horse corp. There were few that did as horses brought on extra expense and upkeep that few of the Storied wanted to manage.

While the Bulls were hardened mercenaries, riders always held an innate advantage and as the two parties clashed in a riot of steel and flesh, she watched as Bulls were cut down. Some managed to cut down one or two of the horses, pulling the riders from the saddle, but these horsemen were trained and knew how to direct the horses well enough to stay out of reach of most of the weapons. "Spears!" She shouted at the company, those that heard her turning back to grab the weapons from the last of the wagons as they continued to retreat. The front of the caravan should be making the Eye soon.

Thundering hooves forced Moina's eyes back to the fight and her eyes widened as one of the horsemen thundered toward her having made it through the rearguard. There was no time to think. It was live or die. In an instant, she focused on the rider who's sword was raise, ready to make the finally stroke. If she'd had time to focus, she could have made it clean, quick. There was nothing clean or quick about the death the rider received. Bones and tendons popped, bursting through skin as the Boneknitter focused on the rider with an intensity that she gave those that she healed. There was a scream so piercing and shrill that it sent the riderless horses to the hills and caused the beasts hitched to the wagons react, rearing back and drawing the wagons to a halt for a moment before the drivers regained control. Then there was silence again as the rider slid from the horse in a mess that splattered on the ground in a way no body should.

The Knitter, now drained past the point of safety, fell to her knees the world tilting as if she were standing on the deck of a ship in a storm. Her vision blurred as she tried to catch her breath, her bow on the ground forgotten now.
 
The Eye mercifully loomed into sight along with a host of the city guard. Clearly the rider send ahead had made it through. Any remaining attackers peeled away and bled back into the trees. They'd been bold but clearly weren't crazy. The Sixth gave a nod to the captain of the guard, mutual respect hanging between them. A quick inspection of the wagons was needed before the hobbled caravan finally rolled into the city.

Menders and merchants were quick to assist upon their arrival. Cat's Eye was a midpoint of sorts between some of the Free States and had grown to because of it. The Bulls took point as this was their contract but near half their number were injured or dead. This run had been damned costly with questions still needing answering. That would come later. The scholar and his unruly hound had already slunk away to gods only knew where. Still a lot of wounds that needed tending first.

Some hours later the Sixth found himself sitting in the quiet room of an inn. A shuffle of movement to the bed at his side drew his attention.

"How's it that you menders always seem good at taking care of others but end up like this?" he asked of the slightly bandaged but mostly unharmed red-headed healer.
 
She wasn't sure who had collected her in the end. Likely one of the Bulls, as the riders had retreated realizing that they would be unable to stop the caravan from making the city. At some point, a hot mug of steamed mead and a bowl of something got placed in front of her as the remaining mercenaries found places to stay the night. Many wanting for something soft instead of the hard ground they'd had over the course of their travels. Food and drink was enough to give her enough stamina that she didn't feel like she was going to fall over at the slightest gust of wind.

Heading up the stair, she opened the door to one of the rooms seeing The Sixth there and entered. She hadn't had a chance to check for injuries yet of the mercenary yet. Not that she'd be much help in the moment, but it could be something that she at least took note of or bandaged if needed.

"Because we're good at our jobs." She said aware that she likely looked as pale as she felt drained of the shroud. "And you? Any injuries I need to be aware care of?"
 
"Nothing that hasn't already been seen to," the Sixth said with a shrug. The few cuts cross his body were covered by hastily wrapped cloth. Truth was he'd gotten off remarkably easy considering how properly fucked everything had gone. Dancer knew he was lucky to see the Eye at all. Some hadn't, but that was just the business. Least they were given company by the other bastards he'd sent to sleep with the worms. "You look like Aja're Herself wrung you out."

He motioned towards the remaining seat, worried the knitter was going to collapse. "How are the 'Bulls faring?" The Sixth asked a similar question not too long while they were in the midst of being ambushed. This was a bit different, the final tally. How much blood had been written into the ledger.

More importantly, how many allies did they have left in the city.
 
Moina sank into the seat with a nod of thanks. She certainly wasn't going to refuse the seat when it felt like she might make the floor one at any moment. "Good." She said simply. One thing that she didn't have to worry about. "I haven't had a chance to to check with the final numbers. Not since after the riders charged. There were a few cut down, but I..." She trailed off rubbing at the back of her neck sheepishly. "Did wring myself dry." It wasn't a good look for a weaver to pull so much on the shroud that they went down. Boneknitters especially, considering how they were paid to make sure others lived.

The last thing that she remembered before finding herself sitting at a table in the tavern they were in was the red mist that had showered down as she pulled apart the rider. It wasn't a use of her magic that she much liked. It wasn't the death, she'd been raised to be a part of the great Legions, but it was the brutality of it. The almost waste of weaving that made such a thing possible. Yet, she cared more about living then about finding death because she held back.

"It'll be a few days before I'm back to my full capabilities." She believed that the contract was fulfilled by them getting it this far, but there was still the trip back. Hopefully with no one to escort they wouldn't run into anymore ambushes.
 
"Did what you could, anyone worth their salt knows it," stated the Sixth without any room for argument. They'd come out far better than expected at that's all you could ask for in this business.

The mercenary got to his feet, pausing for a moment in thought. "I was planning to ride for 'Fell in the morning but an extra night or two's kip doesn't sound all that bad." Truth was he was well-worn. He'd come out better than most but his body disagreed with every step. Invoking spirits this far from the Great Desert was always taxing. Then there was the whole riding hard for days on end. He was exhausted, no mistake. The Goddess could slip into his bed tonight and the mercenary wasn't sure he'd be able stand to attention.

More importantly, he'd been struck by a lingering unease as things settled down. "Get some rest." I'm worried you may need it soon.

He headed out of the inn and into the heart of Cat's Eye.
 
Yes. Rest was what they both needed.

"If you don't mind the company, I'd be happy to accompany you on the journey back." She offered, a journey was always better, safer when not traveling alone. If not, she could always wait to travel back with the Bulls, either way she'd end up back at the City of Fools.

As they parted, he out into Cat's Eye and her to find her own room, she just had the strength to crawl into the bed that the Bull's had gotten for her, kicking off her shoes before she gave in to the exhaustion that had been lurking at the edge of her vision.

Two days passed and she was packing her saddlebags. Recharged enough to make the journey hope, but certainly not back to her full strength. That might take a week or more with how much she had drained herself, but she didn't feel that calling on the shroud would really be pulling from her own lifeforce and she was strong enough to hold weapons again. Well enough to for a journey sat astride a horse.

Bag slung over her shoulder, she exited the inn after thanking the proprietor for their care and consideration these last couple of days. Out in the bright morning, sat a horse that the Bull's had left for her. She'd promised to return it when she returned to Crorefell as the remaining mercenaries had left just a day after they had arrived in Cat's Eye. She was just tightening the straps on the horse when a shadow fell across the horse's back.

"You look like the rest did you some good." She said by way of greeting.
 
"I'd be a fool to say no," he replied along with a lazy wave goodbye. Traveling with a mender should be welcomed whenever possible. This was doubly true with how dangerous the roads were of late. Too many craven bastards trying to make some quick coin. Get tagged in the city and you've at least a chance of getting yourself to a healer. Out in the woods? Even the mercenary wouldn't take those odds.

The Sixth stopped to talk with the leader of the 'Bulls before heading into the city.

He found the Boneknitter two days later making her final preparations to set off. "Rest, huh," mused the mercenary. "I guess you could call it that." The Sixth did not elaborate any further. "Shall we?"

They rode in silence for some time after exiting the city gates, each with their own thoughts. Eventually the Sixth spoke up. "Got a job coming up that could use a steady hand. Well, not my contract exactly, my brothers'. Last mender he worked with near stitched his finger on backwards so he's gotten a bit particular. Don't know much on the details but I'll send him your way if you're interested in making some good coin?"
 
The knitter swung herself into the saddle, flicking the reins to get her horse moving. The journey was quiet as they rode in a companionable silence. The ride back should be quicker than the journey to Cat's Eye. Wagons moved slow and then even slower when having to defend against ambushing armies. She was still curious as to what exactly that Legionnaire had or was doing that had been worth such an effort to intercept, but part of being a mercenary was sometimes not asking too many questions.

Moina turned her head toward the Sixth as he broke the silence. She nodded with a smirk of the lips. "What kind of citizen of Crorefell would I be if I wasn't interested in making some coin? But, yes, I'm willing to hear out what the need maybe. I have a place within the Painted Ward. He can ask for me there or send a messenger. It should be easy enough. Alternative, if I'm out on another contract, leave a message at the Patched Paw Tavern. George, the barkeep, will see it delivered to me when I return."

A silence fell between them a moment before she broke it this time. "The First and the Last, if I understand my history of the city, there are only ever eight so in the event one of you fall the position is filled. How did you become a part of their number?" She asked curiously, though a bit hesitantly unsure if such a question was taboo to ask. She knew each of the members left behind their name on joining, so she imagined that bit of information wasn't shared or even asked about.
 
"I'll make sure to pass the message along." That was one issue potentially out of the way. It wasn't always easy dealing with the whims of his brothers and sisters. 'Course it was that particular nature that made them strong, but also occasionally insufferable. He'd make note to send word as soon as they were back. Healers were in high demand and that was doubly so for a Boneknitter. The redhead seemed relatively well-adjusted, not something exactly common among your average cutter.

The Sixth was somewhat caught off guard by the question. Most either let matters lie or were incessant in their curiosity; the latter had a way getting folks killed. "Bit of skill, and a fair bit of luck if being honest," the mercenary finally answered with a shrug. "The Eighth, well, I owe him a debt not easily paid. Just how it happens I guess."

They rode a little longer until the shuffling of leaves caught their attention. Dancer made ready to reach for his blade but relaxed as members of the 'Bulls made themselves known.

"Just like you said," the cadre sergeant began as two other 'Bulls dragged a hooded figure into vision."He was looking to hire some slickhands to deal with you-or well her apparently." The mercenary pulled the cover off the kneeling man's head to reveal a familiar face. That of the arrogant Khastrii who'd accompanied them on this frantic journey.

"Traitor!" He screamed with bruised face. "I knew I recognized you!"

Dancer remained quiet, feeling it was not his moment to step in.
 
Moina listened as he gave a short and sweet version of his addition among the most elite of the Storied and since he didn't seem particularly interested in elaborating, she respected his silence as they rode. Their ride was simple until it wasn't. The rustling of leaves, putting them both on alert until some of the Bulls appeared from among the brush dragging a man with a hood over his head. She felt a tension in her stomach as she took note of the clothing and the ring on his hand. The knitter didn't like where this was going. She should have known that this job would come back to bite her.

The woman leaned against the pommel of the saddle of her horse as the bag was pulled off his head. The Khastrii.

She looked down at the man her face calm. "I believe that you might have me confused with someone else." She didn't think that he'd believe that. Especially since she hadn't gone to particular effort to change her name or her appearance. It had been years and she'd hoped that time had forgotten her.

"Traitor!" The Khastrii repeated as he pulled against the hands that held him in place. "House Iasis. Your father was a Khastrii, later elected to the Senate, before he betrayed his country!" He said continuing as if he could some how force her to agree.

She had to bite her tongue from reacting out of passion, insisting that her father was innocent, but that was what he wanted. Her eyes looked the Khastrii over, he was a threat really. As much as she wanted to walk away from the situation, pretend that he was just a crazy legionnaire who'd been hit over the head one too many times, she knew that this wouldn't go away. Moina glanced over at the Sixth wondering how he might react if she just decided his life was forfeit.
 
The Sixth remained silent at the Khastrii's revelation while one of the Bulls gave a low whistle. Moina was hardly the first former 'Shakan noble to find a home in Crorefell. Hells, that was how the First and the Last was founded. Hearing that her father may be a traitor only endeared the healer to the rest. It reassured them as well. More than a few nobles had come to the Free States trying to make their own little empires. They feigned exile and acted in a name not their own, attempting to rot the city from within.

Dancer looked to the Boneknitter and gave her an indifferent shrug. "Seeing as he came for your head, you've got first rights. Our friends here have agreed to clean up in any case."

He'd simply give the bastard a new smile and be done with it, but not his choice to make. Some folks got oddly squeamish in these situations. The healer didn't seem the type but you never knew. Either way he was looking for this to be done and dusted so he could finally get back home.
 
Moina gave a nod at The Sixth's words, sliding off the horse and handing him the reins. "If you wouldn't mind." She said simply, before turning toward the Bulls while drawing both her daggers. One she threw at the feet of the Khastrii, the other remained in her hand. Likely a stupid move, but the woman did have some minor level of morals still and she wouldn't kill an unarmed man even if it was likely the smarter solution. "Let him free." She nodded to the Bulls.

"You believe me a traitor. Then avenge your country with your own hands. If you manage it, they'll let you free. This doesn't really concern them anyways." She really couldn't speak for the other mercenaries, but in the end there was no contract involved here neither did she expect them to be the avenging types.

She didn't expect the fight to be easy. Khastrii were typically well trained fighters, but they were as equally positions purchased for political clout. Had this one been a Prime Khastrii then she wouldn't have liked her chances. As it was, this particular specimen had left a majority of the fighting to the Bulls.

Her own dagger hung loosely in her fingers tips as she watched the man be released and bend to pick up the blade. His hold awkward, the following charge more brute force than the finesse required of fighting with a dagger. The Boneknitter dodged the swipes, steel occasionally clanging together as a stab got close. Then the opening.

She shifted to the side at the next charge letting him slip past her. His dagger cutting through the fabric of her tunic and into her arm as she flipping the dagger into a reverse grip in her hand stabbing into his back. The benefit of being a healer, is she knew precisely where to aim to cause the most damage. A shot to the kidney was fatal unless seen to immediately by a healer. There was a heavy thud behind her as the Khastrii fell to his knees.

"May you find peace in Ko's embrace." She said, moments before she heard the death rattle as the man drew his last breath. She didn't feel anger toward him, he was misguided. As all the Empire was. Misguided by the lies those in power told to keep their power. One day those lies would come back to haunt them. Perhaps if she was lucky, she would be the retribution against those who ruined her family.

Gathering her daggers, she wiped the blade on the dead man's clothing before sheathing them and swinging her leg back over her horse. "See that he's buried and find a priest to give Ko's blessing." She said flipping a gold coin toward the Bulls, before taking her reins back and starting on down the road. One hand moving to press against the cut in her arm that bled, only come away moments later the cut closed as if it never existed.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom