A Knightess' Tale #6

Salamander story #6

They were gone. All of her friends, the people whom Eleanor had even dared to think of as her new family, were all gone. He was gone.
Just like the world, to bring Eleanor to the highest point in her life only to bring it all crumbling down. She was getting on with her new life, finally getting a taste of true adventure, and the man she loved had confessed his love for her as well. And now her friends, and her lover, just like Eleanor’s new life, were gone.

Eleanor cried.

And yet, even as she wept, Eleanor felt something new. It wasn’t as simple as anger; Eleanor felt as though her very soul had been affronted by what had happened. Whoever was to blame – Mad Margaret, Shank Roughly, even the gods themselves –  Eleanor had been deeply, profoundly, attacked. Everything that Eleanor could describe herself with; her occupation, her loved ones, her martial skill, had been upset and put in jeopardy. She didn’t just feel angry. She felt insulted.

Eleanor wiped away the last of her tears; even if she’d wanted to cry further, no more would come. Instead, Eleanor felt a swelling of indomitable determination in her chest. She stood and drew her seax.
“I’ll put iron upon my heart,” she declared, “and I’ll not remove it until I see Osgar again.”
Survival, the first priority. She couldn’t find him if she was dead.

Wandering through the forest, Eleanor soon found what she was looking for. A young tree, not tall but with strong branches, squatted in the shade of a much taller oak. Grabbing a heavy stone, Eleanor hammered away at one of the branches until it was weak enough that she could pull it off. It was about six feet long, not perfectly straight but without too many bumps and knots.
That would do for a spear.
Dragging the branch back the river, Eleanor sat down on a rock and unsheathed her seax. The way the afternoon sunlight glimmered on the blade enraptured her, and she saw her amber eyes reflected in its polished surface. She recalled the same sight days before, after her and Osgar had fought again.
Eleanor tore her gaze away from the blade and squeezed shut her eyes. She tried not to think about watching Osgar be dragged away toward the castle to become the prisoner of that horrific beast, Mad Margaret. Who knows what she or those bandits would do to him, if they hadn’t killed him already? Maybe they’d torture him. Maybe they’d make him fight the other prisoners for sport. And there were a lot of mamono among the Red Sash Gang. Maybe they’d do the unthinkable.
Eleanor shook her head. One thing at a time. She began to slice at the end of the branch with her seax. One thing at a time, thought Eleanor, as she watched the vicious point form.
And yet, while she sharpened the spear, her mind found its way to other things anyway. What was she to do next? Returning to Ceaster seemed unlikely – the town was much too far away to travel by herself without food; and even if she made it to Caester, what then? Nobody would follow her back.
Although, attempting to rescue Osgar by herself was equally unlikely. Even if she could get inside Lodwick Keep by herself, that still left almost three hundred bandits between Eleanor and her beloved.
Perhaps, she thought, the best course of action was to wait for a while. Survive on the edge of the battlefield, scout the castle, and see if an opportunity presented itself. It wasn’t as though she had much of a choice in the matter.
In terms of survival, the first thing to organise was food. Eleanor wasn’t confident about eating wild berries, although perhaps she could harvest some nettles for soup, assuming she could find something to boil it in. Fire, at least, wouldn’t be a problem.
With a final slice of her seax, Eleanor sheathed it and inspected her new spear. A little crooked and obviously without a steel tip, but it would serve for now. Briefly, she considered sneaking onto the battlefield and scavenging a real one. Something to do tonight, perhaps.
Shelter was the next thing to consider. Eleanor got up and, hefting her spear, walked off in the same direction she had before. After a few moments of wandering, Eleanor came upon the same tree she’d seen before, its missing branch now the spear Eleanor clutched. It had several other branches of similar size and length, as did many of the young trees around here. The picture of a small round hut began to form in Eleanor’s mind.
Over the next few hours, Eleanor combed the forest for branches and logs to create her shelter. By the time the sun had set, Eleanor stood before a round wooden hut set into the ground, set in the shade of the large oak tree and concealed with moss and leaves. It was hardly the Vile Grouse, but it’d do.

--

The pale moon rose high in the night sky as Eleanor crept towards the battlefield. As well as she could do so, anyway, with her flaming tail behind her. She desperately willed it to dim, but to no avail.

As she reached the edge of the forest, Eleanor realised that her endeavour might be a little more challenging than first she had thought. The battlefield was littered with bodies, most likely killed during the rout. Not many had made it into the forest. Some of the bodies were in shocking states of ruin; victims of that huge iron device, no doubt. Carrion birds fluttered and cried overhead. What made Eleanor most uneasy, however, were the Red Sash Gang.

Looters, alone or in groups, combed the battlefield picking equipment from bodies. Several pulled carts behind them, overflowing with stolen weapons and armour. Many carried lanterns that swung to and fro, their shine reflecting off of torn mail and bloodied swords like a macabre light show.

Ducking behind a tree, Eleanor thought quickly. For the moment, the looters remained close to the castle – however, she would still have to sneak quite far towards the castle to reach any potential equipment. The biggest problem would be her tail – it burned like one of the lanterns the looters carried with them, and the closer she got the more likely she would be detected.

Growling in frustration, Eleanor squatted behind the tree and, resting her spear against it, pulled off her shirt. Wincing at the chill of the night air against her bare skin, Eleanor twisted her hips and slipped her tail into the shirt. She knew it wouldn’t catch fire – salamanders’ impressive ability to burn only what they wanted to would assist her here. Curling her tail back on itself and tying the sleeves of her shirt together, Eleanor hid her tail as best she could. It didn’t smother all the light, but she hoped it would make enough of a difference.

Eleanor crouched low and slipped out from behind the tree.  Gripping her spear with both hands, she crept across the battlefield as quickly as she dared. As she got closer, Eleanor began to hear the bandits; bickering over equipment, gloating about the battle, laughing cruelly. Eleanor flattened herself to the earth and crawled ever closer until she reached the nearest body. A kobold, from the look of it. The dead girl bore a peaceful, almost serene expression; jarringly contrasted with the crossbow bolt lodged firmly in her back. Probably killed as she tried to flee, like most of them. The kobold wasn’t even wearing any armour, only a simple tunic and trousers. A bow sat in the mud by her side – not what Eleanor was looking for.

Eleanor took a deep breath and crawled forward. Several few metres from the kobold’s body lay another corpse; this one of a man, in what looked like heavy armour. Silently creeping past several other bodies, Eleanor soon reached her target. The man was huge; had he stood he would have towered over Eleanor. Her heart skipped a beat as she realised that it could be William – she hadn’t seen him get away. Her stomach turned as she thought of discovering his corpse, and her tail flared involuntarily. Panicking, she threw herself down and covered her head with her arms. After a moment, she risked a glance around; if the bandits saw her, they gave no sign. Wriggling over to the body, Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that it wasn’t her friend.

The dead man was pitched face-down in the mud, and arrayed in a thick brigandine that covered his body, with mail sleeves and chausses that protected his limbs. He wore a gleaming bascinet, so proudly polished that Eleanor could see her eyes reflected in its sheen. Curiously, Eleanor couldn’t see any wounds upon him and, placing her spear by her side, rolled him over.

The first thing Eleanor noticed was who he was; he had been the moustached commander of Lord Birling’s troops who had argued with Edwina in the command tent the night before the battle. The second thing Eleanor saw was how he had died – his sturdy-looking brigandine had a deep dent in the front of it, just below the man’s heart. Placing a trembling claw to the wound, Eleanor realised what had happened to him; one of the iron thing’s explosive shells had blown a sizeable chunk of stone shrapnel into the man’s chest. His expensive brigandine had folded like paper under the impact.

Grimacing at the fate of the dead man, Eleanor reached over his body and retrieved his weapon, an arming sword with a heavy-looking blade. She retrieved his shield as well, a kite shape like hers but with Lord Birling’s heraldry of three suns painted on its surface.
“Sorry about this, sir,” muttered Eleanor as she pulled his gleaming helmet off his head and placed it on her own. “But I s’pose you don’t need these anymore.” She made a mental note to return the equipment to Lord Birling, if she ever made it back to Ceaster.
Helmet donned and sword and shield clutched tightly in her claws, Eleanor turned around and began to creep back in the direction of the forest. Initially she crawled as she had before – the bandits were still very much present on the field. As soon as she dared, however, Eleanor got up and took furtive, sneaking steps away from the castle.

Risking a glance back towards the bandits, Eleanor saw that they had mostly filled their cart. A heaving pile of pilfered equipment lay inside it; sometimes even the body of a better-armoured soldier was thrown amongst the loot where the bandits clearly hadn’t bothered to remove what they wanted. Even though it was little different from what Eleanor was doing, the sight still made her snarl with contempt.

Suddenly, Eleanor stumbled forward as her foot caught on something on the ground. Cursing, she looked to the ground and saw that her claw had caught in some frayed chainmail belonging to a dead chimera. Eleanor tried to pull her foot out, and gasped in pain as the barbed metal of the torn rings dug into her foot. The salamander cast a nervous glance back towards the bandits before crouching down to examine her foot. In the low light it was hopeless trying to see where the rings that caught her foot were – smothered by the shirt, Eleanor’s tail was of no help. She could see what she had to do.

Taking a deep breath, Eleanor reached behind her and pulled the shirt off of her tail, exposing the flame to the night air. Immediately her surroundings lit up, and Eleanor quickly set to work freeing her foot.

Holding her tail close to her foot, Eleanor used her seax to pry the offending rings out of the way, wincing in pain as one by one they came free from her foot. Halfway done, Eleanor almost jumped as she heard a raised voice carry over from the direction of the castle.
Eleanor worked hurriedly, having removed the last ring and, holding the torn mail away with the blade of her seax, pulled her claw free. She would have taken another look back towards the castle, but as she went to do so a crossbow bolt flew out of the darkness and stabbed into the earth a few feet away from her. Eleanor yelped in surprise and quickly grabbed the sword and shield she’d taken, and briefly turned around to retrieve her shirt. Even as she did so, another crossbow bolt landed near her. Eleanor swore and took off running towards the forest, and she did not look back until she had reached the safety of the trees.

Eleanor’s new helmet slid down over her face as she leant against a tree, catching her breath. She’d lost her improvised spear, but gained a quality sword and some protection. More than worth the dangerous excursion onto the battlefield – at least Eleanor could now pursue her quest with more than a sharpened branch at her disposal.
Although, she quickly realised, the spear wasn’t the only thing she’d lost. In her haste to escape the bandits, Eleanor hadn’t had time to retrace her way back to where she’d left the forest – and she had no clue where her shelter was.
“Shit. That’s… shit.”
Pulling her shirt on, Eleanor took her salvaged equipment and trudged deeper into the forest.

--

After almost an hour of searching, Eleanor found something promising. Her tail illuminated a small cave that squatted in the side of a steep hill – Eleanor couldn’t hope to see the top in the darkness, but she imagined that it must be of considerable height. Clambering over smooth boulders, Eleanor approached the cave with her sword drawn. The cave remained lifeless.

Cautiously, Eleanor stepped inside, her shield held tight to her body and her sword at the ready. After only a few steps, Eleanor became aware that she wasn’t alone in the cave.

Out of the darkness ahead came a low, guttural sound, like some animal grunting or growling. Silently, Eleanor cursed her luck – there must be a wolf or perhaps a cave bear that made its home further inside. She turned to leave when, seemingly out of nowhere, a high, giggling laugh floated out of the cave towards Eleanor. Unnerved, she held her sword out.

The low sound continued, and Eleanor resolved to check it out. As she crept forward, Eleanor was reminded of the cave on the road from Ceaster – where they had found the unpleasant sword-woman, Lucy. That time, Eleanor had advanced alone into a pitch-black cave. Although, that time, there hadn’t been any unsettling noises to set Eleanor even more on edge than she already was.

A few metres into the cave, Eleanor saw a light dimly flickering at the end of the narrow tunnel. It looked as though the source, perhaps a torch, was around a corner. Eleanor crouched and crept towards it – the sounds coming from within the cave became louder and louder as she advanced. After a few seconds, Eleanor arrived at the corner and peered around it to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that shared this cave with her.

Around the corner, Eleanor saw, was a wide, room-like clearing lit by a torch as well as a sputtering fire in the middle of the room. – Eleanor realised that this cave must have been dug, like the past one. What was most of interest to her, however, were the two figures who occupied the room.

A human man and a manticore, her sitting on his legs while she – Eleanor blushed as she saw the characteristic tailpussy of the manticore clasped over the man’s penis. The man struggled half-heartedly, but made no real attempt to get the manticore off of him. His struggles only seemed to please the manticore, her crimson eyes gleaming and a smug smile on her scarred face.

Eleanor gasped and stepped back with a start – it was, unmistakeably, Betha. But who was the man she was with? Eleanor peered around the corner again, and her eyes widened as both the lovers stared back at her. Betha’s grin grew even wider, and Eleanor moved her eyes downward until they met the snarling, fuming face of Small John.

Eleanor stared.
Betha looked away from Eleanor, blushing.
Small John looked so explosively livid that veins bulged in his forehead.
Stepping out from behind the corner, Eleanor tried her best to defuse the situation.
“E-Evening.”
Even on his back with a smirking manticore on top of him, Small John was possibly the angriest Eleanor had ever seen the man.
“Fuck off right now.”
“I didn’t mean t-“
“Fuck off right now,” he growled, “an’ come back in about twenty minutes so I can kill you.”
Mutely, Eleanor tucked her sword into her belt and plodded back along the tunnel. She didn’t even make it halfway before she heard Betha burst into laughter.

--

Not long after, Eleanor sat on the cave floor, in awkward silence. Small John sat on a stool, stirring some stew with a knife; he had, as he’d put it, ‘negotiated’ some salted meat from one of Lady Kilburn’s soldiers before the battle, and along with some water and carrot was preparing an evening meal. He had snatched the shiny helmet from Eleanor to use as a pot, but she chose not to complain. The stew bubbled away, brown meat clustered at the surface; Small John stared into the pot, muttering to himself. Betha watched him with an air of amusement.
“Y’sure there’s enough fer all three of us, John?” said Betha, the smirk still not gone from her face.
 “I didn’t know we were ‘aving company.” Small John took his mismatched eyes off of the pot to glower at Eleanor, who shrank back under his furious glare.
“So… how long’ve you two been…er…”
Betha looked over at Eleanor. “Oh, John’s been all over me from th’first!” the manticore grinned, swaying her tail exaggeratedly. “Haven’t ya, John?”
“Piss off, tailpussy,” He snarled, turning his glare to the manticore. “You started it. Yer lucky I didn’t shoot you in the tits the first time yer snuck into my tent.”
Eleanor raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I jus’ never… you two didn’t seem like y’even liked each other.”
“We don’t.” remarked Small John, his eyes returning to the stew-pot.
Betha pouted. “Oh, don’ be like that, Johnny! Last time y’even said you looooooved me!”
Betha closed her eyes and bit her lip, lowering her voice in a mocking impression of the crossbowman. “Mmf...Beth...oh...B...Beth...don’ stop…”
In one smooth motion, Small John withdrew the knife from the pot and hurled it at Betha. She dove to the side, laughing, and Eleanor couldn’t suppress a smile of her own. Small John glared at the two with what looked like genuine fury, but Eleanor suspected it wasn’t. At least, not entirely.
He unsheathed his dagger and resumed stirring the stew. “Women. Why do I even bother with ‘em?”
After a moment, he looked up at Betha. “An’ don’ call me fucking ‘Johnny’, either!” Fuming, he got up and walked over to a leather bag lying in the corner, rummaging around until he found three wooden bowls, angrily throwing them down by the cooking pot. Eleanor thought he was about to explode.
She turned to Betha. “Does… do the others know?”
Betha shrugged. “Dunno. Probably. I think they could’ve guessed. I’m surprised you didn’t, tell y’the truth.”
“Who gives a fuck, anyway?” snapped Small John, scooping the stew into each bowl. He marched over and thrust one into Eleanor’s hands – she winced as a little of the boiling stew splashed her, but thanked him.

Small John didn’t acknowledge her, instead wordlessly holding out a bowl to Betha, who took the bowl and blew him a kiss. Small John stuck two fingers up at her in response, picking up his own and stabbing chunks of meat with his dagger. Betha did the same, and Eleanor unsheathed her seax and began to eat. She was loath to stain the blade’s lustre, but she didn’t have a choice. Besides, her new helmet was going to need a clean anyway.

“Sig an’ Will grapple as well. They were afore we were.” He chuckled. “They’re prob’ly fucking right now.”
There was a moment of silence.
“We lost the battle.” murmured Eleanor.
Nobody spoke.
“We-“
“Shut up an’ eat.” said Betha. “We’ll talk about it later.”
 “But what if-“
“Stop.” growled Small John.
Betha and Small John expressionlessly ate their stew, not even glancing at each other.
Numbly, Eleanor did the same.

--

“When’d you find this place?” asked Eleanor. Small John had taken the helmet down to the river to wash it, along with the bowls and knives. He had also taken the torch with him, leaving the cave lit only by the dying embers of the fire and Eleanor’s smouldering tail.
Betha took a pull on her wineskin before she responded. “Right after we… er, well, afterwards, I saw John run this way, an’ so…” she trailed off.
The only sound was the wind howling about the entrance of the cave.
“Hey, remember las’ time me an’ you were alone in th’ dark together?” said Betha. Despite their situation, Eleanor chuckled.
“I hope Small John doesn’t mind you sneaking into girl’s tents an’ accosting them like that.”
“Hah! Filthy beggar prob’ly whacks off t’ the thought’f it!”
Just then came a clattering noise, followed by almost a full minute of swearing. The tide of profanity slowly came nearer as finally Small John rounded the corner and threw the heap of equipment into a messy pile. He walked past Eleanor and retrieved a piece of firewood from a small pile in the corner.
“Don’ keep the fire going, you silly bitch.” he growled at Betha.
“Oh no, yer not angry with me are yer?” said Betha in mock timidity, placing her paws over her heart and folding her wings. “I never want to annoy ya, Johnny…”
“All yer good for is annoyin’ me.” Small John held the piece of wood to the embers, swearing when it failed to catch. He chucked it in Eleanor’s direction. “Light this.”
The wood clattered to the cave floor at Eleanor’s feet. “Why’re you such a bastard, Small John?” she scoffed.
The man finally looked at Eleanor, baring his teeth. Betha spoke before he could. “She raises a fine question!”
“Both of yer shut yer cock-traps. We got fucking killed yesterday. We’ve lost Will an’ Sig an’ Os. We’ve got fuck-all gear, barely any food, no money, an’ no plan. So forgive me fer bein’ a little fucking agitated when all I want is a fire!”

Eleanor shrank back from his outburst. Even Betha looked cowed. Small John turned away from the two of them and spat into the firepit, the gobbet of saliva hissing as it met the hot ashes.
Eleanor stared at him. “We don’t know they’re d-“
“Course they’re fucking dead.”
“They were taking prisoners after the lines broke. They took Osgar. He’s alive.”
“Bullshit.”
“I saw it. He’s alive, an’ Will and Sig might be as well.”
Small John was silent. Betha looked up at Eleanor.
Eleanor kept staring at Small John. “We won’t know until we get inside the castle.”
Both of them looked at Eleanor, incredulous. “The fuck’re you on about, girl?” snarled Small John.
“You wanted a plan? Here’s your plan. We get inside the castle and find the others.”
“How’re we going t’do that?” asked Betha, her eyes wide.
“Those lot are still looting the field, right? It’s full of bodies that they’re jus’ loading onto wagons and bringing inside.”
The two sellswords looked expectantly at Eleanor.
“I think, with some assistance, they might accidentally throw three living soldiers in amongst the bodies and bring said soldiers past th’gate…”
“Won’ work.” said Small John pointedly. “They check that yer dead afore they sling yer on th’cart. An’ if they find you breathing, well…”
“No, I like that idea,” said Betha, scratching her chin with a claw, “if we could jus’ distract them fer a moment, we could sneak onto the cart an’ the stupid bastards would drag us right in!”
“There’s no way in hell,” muttered Small John, “that we’re going to manage that.”

--

Eleanor awoke to the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the voices of the Red Sash Gang. She lay motionless on the field outside Lodwick Keep, the morning mist gently dimpling her skin as she waited for the bandits to approach. She looked to her left – there Betha lay, her mane fluttering in the gentle breeze and her wings folded behind her. The manticore flicked her eyes around, searching for any sign of the bandits – she momentarily looked at Eleanor, and gestured with her head in the direction of the keep. Not long now.

Eleanor, resisting the urge to rub her sleep-tired eyes, looked over to the castle. Even in the gloom of the morning fog, Lodwick Keep was an imposing sight, as was the mighty mountain behind it. Somewhere behind those walls, thought Eleanor, was Osgar. And between them were the accursed vagabonds. The Red Sash Gang. Mad Margaret.

Soon enough, the mist revealed Eleanor’s target. Three looters, two grim-looking men and a red oni with rippling muscles that pulled a cart already laden with stolen goods. Eleanor spied a few bodies in there as well.

Eleanor watched them wander by, and for a moment she worried that they wouldn’t stop. The bandits chattered amongst themselves, occasionally laughing, but showed no intention of stopping. Eleanor risked a glance over at Betha – her worried expression told Eleanor the same thing. Betha nodded.

Eleanor looked back at the bandits – they were moving away steadily. Eleanor, staring in their direction, made her move.
“Caw!” she cried. “Caw!”
Instantly, the bandits stopped. They looked around, hands on their weapons – clearly they knew they hadn’t heard an actual bird.
“Caw!” she cried again.
A crossbow bolt pierced the mist and took the oni in the shoulder. She cursed and dropped the cart, rattling the looted equipment inside, as the other two bandits drew their weapons and looked about furiously for the source of the projectile.
Another bolt flew out of the gloom and embedded itself in the cart. The oni grabbed a large shield from the cart, readying it in the direction of the bolts, and with her wounded arm gestured at the other two bandits. The three bandits rushed off, roaring.
Eleanor looked back at Betha. “Now!” she whispered.
Betha got up and sprinted towards the cart, and Eleanor followed her. Betha reached it first, and dragged a body off of the pile to lie down where it had been. Urgently, she gestured for Eleanor to do the same.

Eleanor wrapped her arms around the discarded corpse’s chest and dragged it over. The dead man was young-looking, with yellowish stubble covering a square jaw – the rest of his head was obscured by his olive green hood. A quiver of arrows, slung from his belt, flopped about his leg as Eleanor dragged him. Holding tightly, she flung herself into the cart on top of Betha. The manticore grunted, but didn’t cry out. Eleanor whispered an apology while she pulled the corpse over the two of them and began to cover herself with stolen equipment. With a bit of luck, the bandits wouldn’t notice the difference – Eleanor’s tail was well concealed, this time underneath a thick woollen blanket.
Shortly thereafter, the bandits returned. Eleanor heard them talking.
“What’ll be done wi’im?” asked one of the men.
“Hmph. Hopefully the cunt gets thrown in the pits. At least that one could fight.”
“After trying that?” chuckled the oni, her voice gravelly, “Fuck no. He’ll suffer for that.”
“You don’ mean-“
“Indeed I do. He’s goin’ to Maggie.”
The bandits all laughed again – a throaty, sinister laugh. The oni flung the shield onto the cart, blotting out Eleanor’s vision.
“I ‘ope he lasts longer than th’ last one.”

--

The armour and weapons rattled and clanked around Eleanor as the cart was drawn onwards. Half her mind hardly dared to breathe lest the bandits discover her, while the other half told her she could sing at the top of her lungs and it would still be drowned by this metal cacophony. Beneath her, Betha lay still – although Eleanor swore she could feel the manticore’s rapid heartbeat.

Abruptly, the cart stopped. Eleanor felt the massive weight of the oni disembark, and the two men as well. Eleanor pushed a small scaled gauntlet out of her way and peered out through a gap in the cart’s frame. It seemed as though the cart had been left in the castle’s stables, the few bandits milling about in the courtyard all had their attention on something else; Eleanor suppressed a gasp when she saw the oni unsling Small John’s unconscious form from her shoulder.
Having done so, she pulled the crossbow bolt from it and threw it aside, chuckling. The oni gestured at another bandit who stood by a well – the succubus brought over a pail of water and dumped it over Small John’s head. He woke, spluttering, and lunged at the succubus; he barely got to his feet before the oni restrained him. The bandits laughed maliciously and spat at his feet.

A rustling below her told Eleanor that Betha was also watching the display. “You seeing this, Elly?” she asked, her voice grim. Eleanor was about to respond when suddenly the bandits fell silent. Out of the large inner gate leading to the bailey strode Mad Margaret herself.
The ushi-oni wore a silken robe of purple and gold, although it did not fit her well; clearly, it had not been made for one of her kind. She wore several silver rings on her claw-like fingers, and around her neck she wore a glittering golden necklace with a gleaming amulet bearing the heraldry of the naked centaur. Her flowing black hair, adorned with shining trinkets, fluttered in the breeze, and between her two horns was stretched a fine golden chain that sparkled even in the overcast sunlight. Her sash of crimson cloth was drawn loosely over her face, threatening to reveal her hidden second eye in too sudden a gust of wind. Her claws clicked on the stone floor of the keep as she moved languidly toward the bandits clustered in the centre, and she smiled cruelly when she saw Small John.

Eleanor dragged her attention away from the bandit leader and began to carefully move looted arms and apparel away from her. “Betha,” she whispered urgently, “we have t’move now, or we mightn’t get another chance.”
The manticore didn’t respond. “Betha!” whispered Eleanor again.
“R-Right. Right behind yer.”
As quickly as she dared, Eleanor cleared the space around her until just the corpse she hid beneath was in her way. Holding onto the body, Eleanor dropped from the cart and landed in a crouch. Without stopping, she dragged the body behind the cart and knocked twice on the wood, signalling for Betha to join her. While Betha dismounted the cart, Eleanor spared a hurried glace over to where the bandits stood.

“My dears,” said Mad Margaret in her smooth, breathy voice, “what have you brought me?”
“We were out taking of th’ spoils when this one took some exception to’t.” said the oni who gripped Small John. The crossbowman stared up at Mad Margaret in contempt.
“Did he now?” Mad Margaret licked her lips, leaning down to grip Small John by the chin. “A brave one, aren’t you?”

Small John, in response, spat in Mad Margaret’s face. The ushi-oni only grinned.

“Oh yes, you are a brave one.” She flicked her topaz eyes to the oni who held Small John. “Wash him up and have him with me by tonight.” she commanded, locking eyes with Small John again. She wiped the spit from her cheek with one clawed digit and placed it in her mouth, sighing exaggeratedly. “I’ll see that he receives his punishment.”

With a wave of her hand, she turned and strode away back toward the bailey. The bandits all laughed again, when abruptly Mad Margaret stopped. She turned in the direction of the cart, and Eleanor squeaked and ducked behind it. She dared not move – she heard Mad Margaret’s voice.
“And put that loot away. If it rusts in the rain, I’ll have your hides.”
“Yes, Maggie.” Spoke the oni.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, milady.”
“That’s better.”
Eleanor sighed in relief as she heard Mad Margaret’s claws click away past the inner gate.
The bandits gradually resumed muttering among themselves again, while the oni dragged Small John to his feet. Betha crouched behind the cart, next to Eleanor. “Bloody bitch,” snarled Betha, “over my dead body she’s taking John.”
“Good job we’re here on a rescue mission, then.”
Betha glared at Eleanor for a moment, before her anger faded and her characteristic smirk returned. Behind her regular bravado, Eleanor could tell that she was genuinely reassured.
Betha scratched her scar and thumbed her nose. “Alright, Elly, yer got us this far. What now?”
“I think if we can jus’ get to the armoury, we can at least arm ourselves. Possibly slip on some spare armour and make ourselves look more like they do. Maybe we can take a look around, should work as long as we don’t push our luck.”
“Clever stuff. But how do we get to th’armoury?”
“Er... still thinking about that bit.” said Eleanor, looking about herself. She peeked over the top of the cart and looked into the courtyard – the bandits were conversing among themselves over what was to happen to Small John. If the crossbowman was at all afraid, he hid it well under his furious expression. Eleanor stared at his mismatched eyes, wide with anger, and she almost jumped when Small John locked eyes with her.
Eleanor looked over at Betha – she was busying herself covering the corpse they had hidden under with hay from the stables. Turning back to Small John, Eleanor inclined her head in the direction of the inner gate, mouthing the word ‘armoury’.
Small John turned back to the bandits.
“Yer know,” he said to the oni, “if yer let me go I’d be more than willin’ to grapple with you over that spider bitch.”
The oni gave a short laugh. “Nice try, fella, but you’d need more than that t’convince me to get on Maggie’s bad side. You’ll fin’ out all about that later.”
“Of course, forgive me. Y’clearly don’t go that way. Bit of advice though, cut yer hair. I mistook yer for a girl.”
Several of the bandits laughed at that.
“Don’t get smart,” growled the oni, “I’m more’n enough girl for you.”
“Well, if y’think yer hard enough, why don’t we go right now?”
The assembled bandits laughed again.
“You've not fought an oni b'fore, have you?”
“I’m jus’ saying. I’m here, and yer just standing there like a daft slut. Go right now.”

The oni roughly threw Small John to the ground and cracked her knuckles. “Well, maybe I can rough y’up a little bit. Don’ worry though, Maggie’ll do far worse.”

At this, Eleanor took her chance. She crept quickly along the edge of the courtyard and slipped past the inner gate into the bailey, with Betha following her. Eleanor could see that the manticore was visibly trying to ignore the sounds of the oni’s fists striking flesh.

--

“That was too bloody close.” remarked Eleanor, pulling a leather vest over her shirt. The two had made it into the armoury and were presently dressing themselves from the array of spare armour and clothes that filled the room. Eleanor imagined that much of it must have belonged to the rightful owner of the Keep, presumably to outfit his retainers. Although, she thought, more still must be stolen goods – the Red Sash Gang’s heinous work.
“Alright, I’m thinking that if we can just stay out of their way we can probably get a decent knowing of this place, and where the gaol is.”
Betha didn’t respond, too busy fumbling with a shirt.
“Then it’s just get in, break their chains, and piss off with all speed.”
“Nah.”
Eleanor stopped. “What?”
“We need to off that spider cunt as well.”
“Er…why?”
Betha glared intently at Eleanor. “John.” she said.
The salamander gulped. “Point made.”
Eleanor turned back to the shelves and stands, searching for a weapon that she could carry without arousing too much suspicion. A spear was too impractical, she couldn’t use a hammer very well...
Eleanor stopped when she saw a large axe hanging by its head from one of the racks. The blade’s scratched surface and long beard struck her as awfully familiar – as she retrieved it from the rack, she realised that it was William’s weapon. The thought filled her with a rush of hope; if his longaxe was here, then William could not be far away. And if William was here, then Sigrid and Osgar were sure to be near him.
“What’ve you got there, Elly?” asked Betha, her voice low. Eleanor threw her the axe, which she caught in her outstretched paws. Even Betha grunted under the weight of the thing. Examining the head, a smile slowly broke out over her face as she reached the same conclusion. “Tough Love,” she whispered, “William’s here.” Betha looked up at Eleanor, her face bright with excitement. “We’ll need this later, little sister. Can’t be walking around with it.”

--

Eleanor shuffled uncomfortably in her armour and checked her surroundings for the fifth time that minute as she stood in the courtyard. The sun was low in the sky, and the Red Sash Gang were conducting their usual work of drinking, fighting, and generally desecrating the once-proud castle. Graffiti ran up the walls, and filth was everywhere. Eleanor absently wondered what the owner of the castle would think of all this, were he here to see it.

The bandits were chattering amongst themselves, shouting and laughing. In places dice were rolled and coins changed hands. Torches and candles blazed. The sounds of fiddle and drum hovered over it all, although Eleanor couldn’t see where it was coming from. The sight of all this revelry might have heartened her, were she not in the midst of the enemy.

Putting a hand on the sword she had taken from the armoury, Eleanor stepped away from the wall she was leaning on and walked into the crowd of bandits, silently praying that her disguise was adequate. For the most part they seemed to pay her no mind, and she caught snippets of conversation as she made her way to the other side of the grounds.
“-in the pits tonight?”
“-think it’s annuver of the prisoners-”
“-aye, a bloke-“
“-new one-“
“-no need t’get rid of men like that-“
“-find a better use for him, I’d-“
“-Maggie can’t have ‘em all, heh heh-“

A knot of horror twisted in Eleanor’s gut as she made her way through. Obviously, there were plenty of mamono among the Red Sash Gang, and plenty of men were among those captured – including her beloved. Eleanor shut out the thought, if only to prevent her tail roaring with angry fire. A scowl was on her face as she reached the other side of the courtyard, where a great barrel of beer stood. Several men and mamono were clustered around it, dipping vessels into the huge thing and quaffing gulps of the stuff down. Eleanor took a tankard from a snoozing orc and took some from the huge barrel, stepping away to lean against a smashed shelf. Before long, someone came and leant next to her.

Eleanor quickly looked over the stranger – they were dressed in a thick-looking woollen jacket that covered almost their entire upper body, black linen trousers that looked similarly padded and a brownish hood that they had pulled over their head such that it obscured much of their face. From their belt was slung a small pouch and a ring containing a heavy-looking mace, as well as a dagger tucked into it. The stranger was clearly a mamono, as Eleanor could recognise the telltale bulges of wings stuffed inside their jacket, but beyond that Eleanor was clueless. The two stood there in silence for a minute, watching the revelry around them.

After a while, the stranger spoke. “You ever hear the one about the princess and the cabin boy?”
Not looking at the stranger, Eleanor responded. “I hear it’s not that lonely at sea.”
Betha pulled her hood down and smirked at Eleanor, her crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light.
“Tried that on a lizard I thought was you. She asked me fer the punchline.”
Eleanor chuckled, taking a drink. Betha smirked again.
“Ready to go, little sister?”
“Y’know, you really didn’t have to go to all that effort. None of this lot even know who we are.”
“Yeah, well. I’m not sure how well they know each other.”
“Fair point.” Eleanor took another gulp of beer. “What’d you manage to find out?”
“Fuck all, other than where the scullery is. So at least if yer get the craving fer some mouldy bread we know where t’go.”
“Doesn’t seem like the gaol is anywhere the regular lot have access to.” said Eleanor, gesturing at the main tower with her drink, “I’d wager it’s up in there.”
“I don’t doubt it. O’course, that’s probably also where the spider bint is.”
“So much the better.”
Betha gave a grin. “So, what’re we waiting for?”
“We can’t just walk in. Mad Margaret has some of her lot guarding the gate.”
“So we need them… preoccupied?”
“Indeed.”
The two sat in silence for a while yet before Betha spoke.
“Salamanders are very interestin’ creatures, aren’t they?”
Eleanor flicked her eyes to Betha. “What?”
“Yer tail, in particular. I love how it flickers.”
Eleanor raised her eyebrow quizzically. “What’re you getting at?”
“Nothing. I’m jus’ saying that it must be helpful t’have fire on hand whenever you need it.”
Now it was Eleanor’s turn to smile. “I see. Well, that’d certainly qualify as a distraction, I think.”
Betha winked. “See yer soon.” she said, before swaggering off in the direction of the tower.

Eleanor finished her drink and placed her mug down on the shelf she leant against, still smiling at Betha’s suggestion. Standing up, she walked casually through the crowd until she reached the stabled they had hidden in earlier during their infiltration of the castle. The cart was still there – the bandits hadn’t even bothered to unload it. Eleanor kicked a pile of hay and, sure enough, felt her foot connect with the concealed body underneath the surface. Crouching down, Eleanor felt around until she found the head – she took the hood from it, and felt around until she felt the quiver of arrows that he had. Withdrawing one, Eleanor inspected the head; a small rag was tied just before it. She gave it an experimental sniff, and smelt the oil that the man had daubed the rag in in order to light it. She smirked, and took a fistful of the arrows. Tying them together with the hood, Eleanor held the sheaf of arrows together and pressed them against her tail.

Her tail flickered as it normally did. The bundle did not light. Frustrated, Eleanor willed it to flare up, but to no avail. She scrunched her face up and closed her eyes, picturing a roaring fire in a tavern hearth, a blazing bonfire, a burning house. She opened her eyes – still the arrows stubbornly refused to catch fire.

With a deep breath, Eleanor thought about Osgar. How they’d fought like fury in the pit, when she’d told him she loved him, when he fell asleep next to her, when she saved his life from those robbers, when they’d…

Her reverie was interrupted by a whoosh of flame from her tail. She quickly ducked behind the cart, still blushing from the memory. Checking the arrows in her hand, she smiled when she saw that they had caught light and were cheerfully burning away. She placed the improvised torch down atop the hay bale, placing it for good measure in the hand of the dead soldier. Some posthumous revenge for the boy, Eleanor thought. With that thought in her mind she stood up and walked away, looking straight ahead. She slipped through the crowd as she moved toward the bailey, and before long heard shouts of alarm from behind her.

--

Eleanor spotted Betha lurking by the main gate, and was about to signal her before two bandits ran through the gate, their eyes wide. Eleanor pressed herself against the wall, but the bandits paid her no heed – too occupied, it seemed, with the rapidly developing blaze in the courtyard. The smell of burning hay and wood was thick in Eleanor’s nostrils, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the scent of the dead archer would be added to it, his funeral pyre serving as the diversion Eleanor needed.
She stepped out from the wall and moved quickly over to Betha, who, unsurprisingly, was grinning intensely.
“That was perfect, little sister! Drew ‘em right away!”
“Yeah, well. Let’s just be about this.”
“Took th’words out of my mouth.”

The two jogged over to the tower entrance.  Eleanor started to move toward the door when Betha put a paw on her shoulder. The manticore strolled over to some corner of the bailey in which a wagon sat, and bent over to reach under it. With a tug and a curse, Betha produced William’s mighty longaxe from where she had concealed it. With a smirk, she walked over and handed it to Eleanor, who couldn’t help but grin herself.

“He’ll need this.” she said simply.

With the axe in hand, Eleanor pulled open the large door that led into the tower. The steps inside were large and wide, clearly suited for some large type of mamono. Eleanor mused on this oddity for only a second before Betha began to rapidly ascend the stairs, and she followed. They arrived on a landing of sorts, and Eleanor stopped suddenly as the two almost ran into an oni that stood there. Eleanor recognised it as the one from that morning.
“What the bloody hell’s going on out there?” barked the oni, glaring at the two of them.
“Fire,” gasped Eleanor quickly. “Dunno how it started, but it’s all around the stables!”
“Shit.” The oni ran a hand through her grass-green hair. “Alright, here’s what we’re doing. I’ll to th’scullery and fetch some buckets. One of you go an’ get Maggie, an’ hope she doesn’t skin yer.”
“Right.” said Betha. Nobody moved.
The oni frowned. “Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Er, well,” stuttered Betha, “I, er… don’t know where she is.”
“What?” said the oni, her eyes narrowing. “How can y’not know where Maggie’s room is, we’ve been here…fer…months…” the oni trailed off. Her eyes widened in comprehension. “You-“
Betha drew the dagger from her belt and lunged at the oni, who stepped back in alarm and knocked the manticore’s arm away. Cursing, she drew her own dagger, and took a fighting stance.
Eleanor stepped forward, William’s axe in her hands, but Betha held out a hand behind her. “I’ll settle this one. Go an’ find the rest.”
“Betha-“
“Now, Elly.”
The oni spat on the floor. “Go on then, ‘Elly’. I’ll be along in a moment.”
Eleanor hesitated for an instant before she turned and ran up the stairs. Betha’s growling voice drifted after her.
“Now, I believe yer acquainted with my friend Johnny…”

--

Eleanor raced up stairs and peered into rooms, but there was no sign of the gaol. With each step she became more frantic, as the possibility of running into another of Mad Margaret’s lieutenants - or the bandit queen herself - began to seem more and more likely.

As she left the fourth room in her search, Eleanor suddenly became aware of an ominous silence. Neither the shouts of the Red Sash Gang out in the courtyard nor the sounds of combat between Betha and the oni floors below were audible to Eleanor - and she had no idea where the gaol was, or where any other exits might be, or even if Mad Margaret was staking these halls. Worriedly, she began to search even harder, opening every door she could and scouring the rooms as quickly as she dared. Her every step seemed absurdly loud, and her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. Surely, Eleanor thought, there isn’t much time left. Not at all. She almost jumped when she heard it.


“Lay me low,
Oh, lay me low,
Lay me low,
Where no-one can see me…”

The voice floated down the steps and washed over Eleanor like a cooling breeze. She knew that voice.

“Where no-one can find me…”

Osgar.

“Where no-one can hurt me…”

Eleanor almost dropped to her knees in relief. After all the uncertainty, all the desperation, all the fear, he was alive after all.

“Show me the way,
Help me to say
All that I need to…”

Numbly, almost teary-eyed, Eleanor ascended the steps. She forgot about the bandits, she forgot about Mad Margaret, she even forgot about Betha. For now, all she did was focus on his voice.

“All that I needed, you gave me…”

Reaching the top of the steps, Eleanor saw a door straight ahead. It was wooden, but bore metal barring across it.  A heavy-looking padlock secured it shut. Seemingly pouring out from between in and the doorway came Osgar’s voice.

“All that I wanted, you made me…”

Closing the distance in seconds, Eleanor raised the axe high.

“When I stumbled, you saved me…”

With one immense swing of the huge axe, Eleanor destroyed the padlock. The door, defeatedly, swung open. Behind it, wide-eyed in surprise, were the Dauntless Hand.

William. Sigrid. Small John. Osgar.