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I'm completely drained. I can barely stand. I haven't been in a battle like that for a long time. I slump to the ground. The Centaurs and their friends take no rest, but immediately start dragging their wounded companions towards the pool. When I see the first badly wounded Dryad emerge healthily from the water just moments later I understand that the water has healing powers, and will protect the inhabitants of the Glade. #2 в контекст | | |
Makri has some wounds of her own. She has a gash on her arm and her nose is torn and bleeding where an Orcish blade ripped out her nose ring. #3 в контекст | | |
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Taur trots over. He's looking pleased with himself. #5 в контекст | | |
"A fine battle," he says, as he scoops up water from the pool to rub on Makri's wounds. He carries on rubbing longer than is strictly necessary, but the bleeding stops, and Makri starts to heal right before our eyes. #6 в контекст | | |
"You have a strong constitution," says Taur. "And a fine body. Are you planning on staying?" #7 в контекст | | |
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"It drives Humans mad. But I'm sure that a woman of your extraordinary make-up would be quite safe." #9 в контекст | | |
"You hear that, Thraxas? A woman of my extraordinary make-up." #10 в контекст | | |
I snort. I'm getting fed up with this. She declines Taur's offer however, telling him that she must get back to the city. The Centaur is disappointed. #11 в контекст | | |
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"We love you," say the Fairies, and settle on her shoulders. Makri is happy as an Elf in a tree. A pleasant visit to the Fairy Glade and a good battle all in one day. She's particularly pleased to have killed the Orcish Commander. #13 в контекст | | |
"I knew him when I was a slave," she tells us. "He badly needed killing." #14 в контекст | | |
I drink plenty of water from the pool. Makri declares it to be the most refreshing thing she's ever tasted. I'm not entirely satisfied. #15 в контекст | | |
"Got any beer?" I ask Taur as we saddle up our horses. #16 в контекст | | |
His eyes twinkle. "Not exactly, Thraxas, but we do have some fine mead." #17 в контекст | | |
Mead. Alcohol made from honey. Not one of my favourites, but better than nothing I suppose. I accept the flagon from Taur and the rest of the Glade dwellers look kindly on us as we depart. They like us for helping protect the Glade against the Orcs, and for removing the dwa from their presence. #18 в контекст | | |
"Visit us again," calls Taur to Makri, waving goodbye. #19 в контекст | | |
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"You know, given that you're a social outcast in polite society, it's amazing the way some people take to you, Makri," I say, as we ride out into the forest path. #21 в контекст | | |
"Well, the Centaurs certainly liked me," agrees Makri. "And the Fairies. But they liked you too, I saw some of them resting on you." #22 в контекст | | |
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I guzzle down some mead. It tastes sweet; not unpleasant though no substitute for beer, and not nearly potent enough after my recent experiences. #24 в контекст | | |
"You want to be careful," says Makri. "We have a long way to ride and I don't want you falling off your horse." #25 в контекст | | |
"Pah," I snort, and drink more from the flagon. "It'll take more than Fairy juice to affect me." #26 в контекст | | |
By the time we're halfway home I am spectacularly, roaringly, hopelessly drunk. Taur's mead is obviously more powerful than I thought. As we pass some farm labourers I brandish my sword and sing a battle song to them. They laugh, and wave back genially. We pass through some lightly wooded hills and I let go with another fine old drinking song. Suddenly I feel overwhelmingly tired and fall off my horse. There is a loud thwack as something thuds into a tree next to me. #27 в контекст | | |
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It occurs to me, none too clearly, that it would have hit me had I not at that precise moment had the good fortune to fall off my horse. #30 в контекст | | |
I struggle to my feet. The bolt is embedded deep in the tree. Makri leaps from her horse, swords at the ready, and crouches watchfully. I grab my own sword and try to pull myself together. #31 в контекст | | |
A figure steps out from the trees to our right, a crossbow in his hands. He walks towards us with the shaft pointing at Makri. Fifteen feet away from us he halts. It's not a him, it's a her. A tall woman, plainly dressed, with her hair cropped very short, wearing, for some reason, a great many earrings. She turns her gaze on me. #32 в контекст | | |
"You drunken oaf, Thraxas," she says, with some contempt. #33 в контекст | | |
"A friend of yours?" enquires Makri, who is crouched ready to spring. #34 в контекст | | |
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"You have. I looked rather different then. I am Sarin. Sarin the Merciless. And you would be one dead Investigator if you hadn't fallen off your horse." #36 в контекст | | |
She laughs, mirthlessly. "But I can soon fix that." #37 в контекст | | |
Sensing Makri about to spring, she instantly turns the crossbow on her. #38 в контекст | | |
I can't quite make this out. Sarin the Merciless never used to be a deadly woman with a crossbow. #39 в контекст | | |
Must have been taking lessons. I curse myself for drinking so much mead, and shake my head to clear it. #40 в контекст | | |
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She fixes me with a stare. Her eyes are black and cold as an Orc's heart. This is not the same woman I remember at all. #42 в контекст | | |
"You dead would be a good start, drunkard. But that can wait. Right now I'll take the dwa." #43 в контекст | | |
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"The Fairies liked you," says Sarin. "Strange. They didn't seem to take to me. #45 в контекст | | |
"They didn't like me either," I growl. "They probably guessed I've got a terrible temper. So get out of my way." #46 в контекст | | |
Sarin pulls something from her tunic. "I take it you are hoping to trade the dwa for this?" #47 в контекст | | |
It's the Prince's credit note, but Sarin doesn't seem keen to enter into negotiations. #48 в контекст | | |
"I've decided I might as well keep the note and take the dwa. Now hand it over. I'm very good with this crossbow. I'd say you're at my mercy. As you may know, that is not something I have much of." #49 в контекст | | |
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