PULL ME UNDER - Pleasure To Kill - Twenty-Five

[Table of Contents]

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Twenty-Five

“Here they come, and how romantic, a whole army just for you. Does it thrill you to know they come marching?”

The room was blinding, adding to the pain in his head. Tanner had become so accustomed to the dark of his cell, he could feel the bile rise in his throat—and there was a constant burning ache anytime Meired was near. “It thrills me to know they’re going to absolutely flatten yours.”

“You don’t really believe I’m using just men to fight for me, do you? After everything you’ve seen? After what you’ve done?” Her voice was sweet poison.

To look at her was like looking into a flashlight, there was such a stab in his eyes. He couldn’t make out features for the nauseating waver in the air around her, so he closed his eyes. Arms tied tight behind him—with rope, no metal shackles could keep him with his magic—hands numb from lack of bloodflow as the rough hemp dug into his skin. He wanted to kill her, he wanted nothing more than to take her by the skull and slam it into the floor until there was nothing left but a puddle.

Before he had returned to himself, she had taught him to conjure demons, she made him use his magic to kill, she wanted him to become a magician in her army, and he nearly did—the illusion she projected of herself was intoxicating, before he began to recognize the magic. But since waking—it was so repulsive to be near her, and now, from ally to prisoner, he was half sure she was going to kill him before Ddun’s army would make it. Scorched earth, not wanting to give up her prize.

“I feel very stupid, you know, to not see the magic in you before. I wouldn’t have bothered trying with your sister. Ha, I even thought it was a mistake that you came through.” She lifted his chin. “Look at me, would you? I don’t want you falling asleep.”

There was a separate issue he needed to deal with before killing her—how she was able to get him from his cell, restrain him at all, and that was her strange potion, like bitter, milky water. It was all he was given to drink, and it left his tongue raw, but without it he would die of thirst. A necessary sacrifice, to keep himself alive until the others arrived to lay siege to the place. He could keep an eye on her, even if he was left drowsy and weak and unable to use his newfound magic.

The sight of him hunched on the floor, barely able to lift his own head for the nausea and pain and frail exhaustion, was all very amusing for her. Forcing his head up the way she was, he could sense the smile across her face. Her nails pinched his skin, her breath hot on his brow, but he refused to open his eyes.

She had him clean-shaven and his hair cut short, as if to attempt a physical transformation alongside his mental one. The cool air on the back of his neck was something he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. It was one thing he was grateful to forget, her chopping his hair, knowing he had betrayed himself. He was so startled and hurt when he first felt the back of his head and noticed the braid was gone, it was a sort of grief. A forced manifestation of his regret and confusion.

“They’re travelling along the leyline.”

She let his head drop, a slight pop in his neck. Off to some corner of the room where she would recline on pillows. His eyes opened in a squint, taking note of the woven carpets, the embroidered cushions, the same warm-toned stone that made the castle in Kaddusk—twins, tall carved columns and dust and all. He spied where her feet stuck out from under her dress—if he could untie himself he could grab her by her dainty little ankles and fling her against the wall like a wet towel to break her bones.

Noticing his look, she began lifting the hem, a playful swish, knowing it pained him to see. The more of her skin she revealed, the worse the nausea—no better compliment to her beautiful legs than to puke milk-water on her plush carpet. He laughed and coughed like an idiot while the strings of bile dripped from his lips, the joy of seeing her throw down the hem over herself made up for the burn in his throat.

***

As much as Lauren wanted to lead with Ddun, her belly and hips would get sore after too long in the saddle. The march would pause for a minute of respite, she’d return to her cart, where Dama and Aylet would massage her for a while before returning to the horse. Eventually the time came to stop and the air filled thick and grey with cookfire smoke, an entire army to feed.

The countryside was stripped bare as they moved through, their livestock grazing at the back of the train with the families that tagged along. Some of the soldiers eagerly sought permission from Ddun to take up foraging to supplement themselves, Irynna had a great time with her brothers killing plenty of small animals with their falcons, separate from the loudness of the force. They doubled as scouts—should they come across any straggling bands from the south brazen enough to intercept them. Luckily, that hadn’t happened yet.

“So, why did you want to get to Kisku so badly, when we first spoke?” Lauren asked Irynna as the sky began turning dark. All the big round tents, brilliant white tarpaulin-over-felt across the landscape, were done being assembled. Taking a small walk through the open air to the thrum of men laughing and arguing and gaming as the twilight threatened to creep in above them put Lauren at ease.

“Family reasons. Who do you think would win in a fight, Rudda or Tanner?”

Lauren laughed at Irynna’s abrupt lane change. “How dirty are they fighting?”

“Oh, the dirtiest, pulling hair and poking eyes like women or bandits. If you could put gold down on that, who would you pick?”

“Tanner,” and she didn’t even have to think about it. “Rudda is good, especially with his bow, but Tanner never learned Dvarri etiquette growing up. He’d have that advantage over Rudda.”

“I think you’re right.” Irynna lifted her chin, so sure of her conclusion.

What a weird conversation… she is a bit of an odd duck.

A guard came by to fetch Lauren away, Irynna happy to seek out her personal army of protective brothers—they kept her out of reach, lusty soldier’s hands might seek her out as she slept, though it might not be lust but fury in their heads the way that woman talked to everyone.

Ddun’s tent was set up exactly as it had been in Kaddusk, as if they hadn’t left at all. It was amazing how quickly the camps were set up and taken down, with such care and attention. This is my home, no matter where we are. This veritable fortress of felt and canvas, furs and silks, was home for however long this campaign would last.

Ddun sat next to the central fire, sipping from a bowl, and gestured for Lauren to sit after watching her free herself from the heavy scales. “How was your walk?”

“You don’t actually care, do you?” She pecked him on the cheek.

“Of course I do.” He held out the bowl and she took it, a rich bone broth, lightly spiced and wholesome. As humble as what the soldiers ate, despite the nicer space to eat in. Ddun wasn’t the one to choose all the special treatment, except that he was expected to carry himself a certain way. “I love it out here,” he said wistfully as she sipped. “Puts me in a much better mood.”

She finished the bowl and he ladled up more from a clay pot. A small tick of pain behind her eyes distracted her for a moment, a shiver up her back, before sharing the second bowlful. She wiggled close enough to smell him through his padded shirt.

Just being near Ddun with his soul so at ease made her feel better, too. It was a difficult time apart for so long, and she regretted it. Though, she was also glad to have spent it with the clan instead of the cesspool that was Kaddusk. Either choice was less than perfect. She had to enjoy what she had just then, so she rested her head on his shoulder, breathing him in.

Another tick of pain, stronger—the shivering sensation turned to ants under her skin, up and down her arms. This time it didn’t go away. He noticed her wince, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

A commotion started outside at the question. Men were shouting and a drum clattered as if dropped, sounds of heels hitting the earth.

Lauren stared at the doorway of the tent, breath held as if waiting for something to come through—Ddun dashed to where his weapons hung. She wore a simple wool shift, ready for sleep, not to get up and help, but… Whatever was happening out there, the crawling under her skin made her think it was Meired’s doing. Ddun gestured for her to stay put. “Let me help, you’ve got a broken wrist—”

“Charm me,” he said.

“What?”

“Charm me, give me your magic.”

Don’t brush off another superstition, Lauren! “I-I don’t know how—” More shouting outside, and the sound of men gagging on their own blood. Something was out there.

She had heard that phrase over and over: give me your magic, I want her magic, her magic is mine… there had to be something to it if they all believed it to be a truth of witchcraft. Her first idea felt corny, but she went with it, inspired by her unfortunate meeting with Orman. She ran to Ddun and placed her hands on his shoulders, her skin growing hot and a violent flutter in her stomach as she concentrated on what it was he wanted. Her magic. Hotter still, and Ddun looked at her with wonder, eyes wide and jaw slack. If only he were a mirror, so she could see what he saw, for him to just stand there frozen. “Take it, please…” The heat was unbearable.

Ddun kissed her deeply and she could feel a coolness at her back, the chill spreading across her with a gasp from Ddun, the air around him wavering with threads of light when she finally pulled away. He flexed his hands, chest heaving, and tore free the splint to take up his shield, his sabre at his hip and spear at hand. She opened the door for him to go out into the purple-black evening, wind blowing into the tent flickering the fire wild.

A horned giant stood three times as tall as their tents, goat-legged and all muscle, blue-skinned savage nakedness. Lauren was numb in the doorway to see it, hoping she was dreaming. But she wasn’t dreaming at the castle when Meired summoned her other beasts, was she?

Men were attempting to take it down but all the arrows just stuck in like porcupine quills, slow flow of black blood trickling with each shot that landed soundly in the flesh—and the beast was only annoyed. Blue smoke blew out its snout in a huff—turning right to Ddun and Lauren as a moth to a flame, and Lauren knew with finality it couldn’t possibly be a dream. She had to keep Ddun safe.

A tent was toppled under giant hooves, men screaming in the crush. She could taste copper in her mouth, her skin itching, her hair whipping in the brutal wind, but Ddun held his spear with confidence, as if begging the giant to come for him, and only him, striking his shield with the spearshaft and a crow of battle from his throat as the giant took the bait. Other men came to Ddun’s call, circling the goatish legs with bows in hand, firing at his command.

She could feel the earth quake with each purposeful step of the giant, and something was curious about the sight of it. She had seen it before, the grotesque claws, the greasy flesh, the pointed teeth it snarled at them with foaming spit. It came from that darkness. It huffed emerald, and yellow, angry rainbows dissipating in the air around the horns.

A soldier held his arm out to her. “Please, my lady, stay back. Let the General—” his words were cut by a strike of sharp dark glass through his chest with impossible force, stuck in strong, scales littered the ground with his blood. He looked up at her in surprise, desperately grabbing at her shift as he fell, ripping it by the shoulder seam, he was dead before he hit the ground.

She was so overwhelmed with the horror of it she couldn’t scream.

Ddun threw his spear, piercing the giant in the gut. More glass shards flew through the air, three large bolts that stuck into the tent near her. It was that shock that snapped her back to life, adrenaline heating her limbs to move, her heart jumping at the threat of being struck. Her maids screamed at her to run and hide herself. She didn’t—of course she didn’t—running to the horses nearby instead, jumping up onto the saddle as fast as she could and only a little clumsy, her belly less than convenient in that moment.

She pressed a hand to her horse and one beside, imagining wings to take flight, and felt her palm getting hot—the little creatures that made up the horses shifted under her, the transformation slower than she would like.

Ddun held his shield up to receive a blow from the fist of the giant as she lifted off the ground, and with men’s faces all turned to her like dozens of moons she was off, grabbing a lance from one of the soldiers with a nod of thanks.

The shield cracked by the impact, but her magic kept Ddun standing—laughing like a madman that he wasn’t turned to mush.

She barely felt the cold, the lance not heavy at all, and flashes of the field of Stenya underneath her muddled with the present for a moment as she went for the giant.

It swung its great head to catch her on its horns, the colourful tendrils of its anger brushed her. This opened it up for Ddun to take his sabre to the legs. His attempt didn’t shake the giant so focused on Lauren. She continued her flight, a distraction as Ddun commanded his men, and she adjusted the lance to drive it through skull. A flash of light behind her illuminated the landscape, revealing the damage done by those strange dark shards for that blink—but the flash itself was more glass sent to fly at the camp.

Manoeuvring before a dive, a bird of prey. Down, and swift—she struck true, driving the lance hard into the eye of the giant. It let out a reverberating howl, teetering on its hooves, black ink jetting out of the fresh hole she made. It allowed for the men underneath to charge through with ropes at Ddun’s guidance, entangling it. A successful dance—the giant crashed to the earth, and Ddun leapt on the belly of it, pulling out one of the spears that had been stuck in to use again, climbing blue flesh and slipping on the slicks of monstrous blood to make his way to the heart.

Three tries to penetrate the breastbone as it thrashed to swat Ddun off. Splintered wood, a geyser of black erupted once the speartip met the target. Ddun must have had impossible strength, and it awed her that she had done that for him… I gave him that magic! A sort of burning pulsed through her, a quiver of her chin as she smiled down at him.

The glass around them all burst into dust at the final discordant cries of the giant, and they all howled with laughter and victory-drunk crows—such a gargantuan monster summoned up from darkness stood no chance against them. All faces were on Lauren as she landed, cheering their witch and their General.

Before she could dismount, Ddun pulled her from the saddle, black blood coating him, he didn’t seem to notice, trembling with fervour. He took her brilliantly, right there in the dirt, to the tune of whistles and cheers from their audience, returning her magic with his release.