Only a few of the victims among the wreckage still stirred, and their piteous moans and wails grew weaker by the hour, by the minute. The stink of burning flesh and goods hung in a pall on the still air, so uncommon in the foothills of the Spine.
The assailants had not walked away from this unscathed, but it hardly seemed to matter. Figures in rough woolen robes lay on the ground, their lifeblood spilled onto the stony soil and greedily taken by the earth itself. Perhaps half a dozen such as these lay in various poses of death, curled around the wounds that had killed them. Others...
Well, they seem to have been consumed by something terrible, flesh rotten, blood running from every orifice. Whatever had claimed them, not even the flies would touch them.
If the people attacked, there were only one or two dead, and three wounded, dying.
The carriage of some notable stood empty, door thrown open and interior ransacked, as though there had been a great struggle with whoever had been within. One if the dead lay near the door, and the body was twisted and shattered, as if by some giants hand. The smell of some foul sorcery was pervasive here.
Oddest of all, the chest in the carriage was untouched. The wagon following close behind, dead horse in one set of traces, remained unpillaged, and the goods in it were definitely worth stealing. Several horse meandered about, riderless.
The whole scene felt other worldly, like something from a horror story. And perhaps that was because it was.
--
The tick of the clock was starting to grate on the mercenary's nerves, and she kept shooting the device dark looks. They had no place in the society that she had been born to, but people of the so-called civilized lands allowed them to define their daily lives, to order and structure everything based on some mechanical contrivance. She did not keep such devices in her compound, in her rooms, or anywhere around her. The rising of the sun, its zenith, and its setting had always been close enough times for her purposes.
But apparently the other member in this party did not believe in either a clock, or in rising with the sun. They were late, and if their patron was not terribly annoyed by it, the mercenary captain was. She sat in one of the chairs in the employers office, which were rather more comfortable than anything she herself had. It had the distinct look of a nobleman's library, walls lined with leather bound volumes of books, many of which she would have struggled to read.
Aeyliea was out of place here. Her style of dress was out of keeping with her professed profession. She wore a boiled leather breastplate dyed red and gold, company colors, and beneath that cotton padding that kept it from rubbing her flesh raw. But her midriff was left exposed, although she would wear chain over that if she was not doing the nonviolent part of her work. Tight leather pants, also dyed red and gold. All of these things were ordinary enough.
But she wore her hair in an intricate braid down her back, the end wrapped in leather cord so that it ended in a tail below her rump. Bones and beads had been worked into the braid, as well as feathers, a design that surely had taken time to put together. The skull of a crow of raven rested on her forehead, the empty sockets glaring wherever she looked.
The entire effect was savage, exotic, and alluring. The barest skin of femininity over some kind of barbaric savage, and if anyone was mistaken that she was not trying to draw the eyes of every male around. She knew she was beautiful and basked in the male gaze in the same way an alcoholic would a barrel of whiskey or beer.
"This man, he is late," she said finally, her common thickly accented, somehow as primal as her appearance. "Time I do not have. Much longer, I must not wait."
The man sitting acorss the room from her, behind his polished desk, spread his hands. "I do not control you mercenaries and your schedules. If you have any issues, take it up with him, not me." A fat cigar rested between his fingers, a thick thread of smoke trailing away. The man himself was in a well cut coat and trousers, face rounded with a bit of fat. He was not as far gone as most nobles she had encountered, but she still disliked the man on general principle. Nobles were worse than the normal dregs of society.
"A little longer, will I wait." The contract offered was lucrative enough, but she had been offered better before.
The assailants had not walked away from this unscathed, but it hardly seemed to matter. Figures in rough woolen robes lay on the ground, their lifeblood spilled onto the stony soil and greedily taken by the earth itself. Perhaps half a dozen such as these lay in various poses of death, curled around the wounds that had killed them. Others...
Well, they seem to have been consumed by something terrible, flesh rotten, blood running from every orifice. Whatever had claimed them, not even the flies would touch them.
If the people attacked, there were only one or two dead, and three wounded, dying.
The carriage of some notable stood empty, door thrown open and interior ransacked, as though there had been a great struggle with whoever had been within. One if the dead lay near the door, and the body was twisted and shattered, as if by some giants hand. The smell of some foul sorcery was pervasive here.
Oddest of all, the chest in the carriage was untouched. The wagon following close behind, dead horse in one set of traces, remained unpillaged, and the goods in it were definitely worth stealing. Several horse meandered about, riderless.
The whole scene felt other worldly, like something from a horror story. And perhaps that was because it was.
--
The tick of the clock was starting to grate on the mercenary's nerves, and she kept shooting the device dark looks. They had no place in the society that she had been born to, but people of the so-called civilized lands allowed them to define their daily lives, to order and structure everything based on some mechanical contrivance. She did not keep such devices in her compound, in her rooms, or anywhere around her. The rising of the sun, its zenith, and its setting had always been close enough times for her purposes.
But apparently the other member in this party did not believe in either a clock, or in rising with the sun. They were late, and if their patron was not terribly annoyed by it, the mercenary captain was. She sat in one of the chairs in the employers office, which were rather more comfortable than anything she herself had. It had the distinct look of a nobleman's library, walls lined with leather bound volumes of books, many of which she would have struggled to read.
Aeyliea was out of place here. Her style of dress was out of keeping with her professed profession. She wore a boiled leather breastplate dyed red and gold, company colors, and beneath that cotton padding that kept it from rubbing her flesh raw. But her midriff was left exposed, although she would wear chain over that if she was not doing the nonviolent part of her work. Tight leather pants, also dyed red and gold. All of these things were ordinary enough.
But she wore her hair in an intricate braid down her back, the end wrapped in leather cord so that it ended in a tail below her rump. Bones and beads had been worked into the braid, as well as feathers, a design that surely had taken time to put together. The skull of a crow of raven rested on her forehead, the empty sockets glaring wherever she looked.
The entire effect was savage, exotic, and alluring. The barest skin of femininity over some kind of barbaric savage, and if anyone was mistaken that she was not trying to draw the eyes of every male around. She knew she was beautiful and basked in the male gaze in the same way an alcoholic would a barrel of whiskey or beer.
"This man, he is late," she said finally, her common thickly accented, somehow as primal as her appearance. "Time I do not have. Much longer, I must not wait."
The man sitting acorss the room from her, behind his polished desk, spread his hands. "I do not control you mercenaries and your schedules. If you have any issues, take it up with him, not me." A fat cigar rested between his fingers, a thick thread of smoke trailing away. The man himself was in a well cut coat and trousers, face rounded with a bit of fat. He was not as far gone as most nobles she had encountered, but she still disliked the man on general principle. Nobles were worse than the normal dregs of society.
"A little longer, will I wait." The contract offered was lucrative enough, but she had been offered better before.
