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The tall, uniform wall of nettles was meant as much as an indication of private holdings as it was for defense, but Dahlia only needed a running start to vault it. The two nymphs that acted as her trackers merely hovered over and set back down on the clipped grass. They had arrived with her in the Forlorn Mists, and the two little green servants picked up a trail quickly. They first alerted Dahlia to signs of a fog bear, something she didn't expect, but along with it were trails of a human and a fae.
After the ashes of someone were found nearby, the dryads followed the recent ether-trail that led away from the area. Dahlia didn't see a human carcass, nor that of a fog bear, so she kept her guard up. The trail eventually led them to the thick, thorny barrier.
Straightening her rich purple roman-style armor back to its precise fitting, Dahlia began to study the grounds of a stranger's holdings. She couldn't see the expanse of the property beyond the mature trees with yellow and tawny foliage swaying in a careless breeze that obstructed her view. The manicured, level ground was also dotted with bushes of various types and sizes. She saw no pattern to it, no geometric design; it was all too carefree and chaotic for Dahlia's rigid tastes. After a few cautious strides, she caught a glimpse of a path of some sort far ahead.
Dahlia wanted to be done with this sidebar quest. Once she was successful reclaiming the prize human, she would hold better leverage to attempt claim of the war party's leadership. Although she didn't know who the other contenders might be, Dahlia intended to test her mettle even against elders, if any showed up to join for the Verden cleansing. She wasn't blind with ambition; she knew the proper steps to take in order to gain both prestige and respect. It all depended on tactics, and on Saraid's nod to let her prove herself worthy.
However, the current mission could only be adapted to, and such conditions made Dahlia wary. She wasn't opposed to confrontation - she in fact welcomed it - but walking into an unknown situation against unknown adversaries wasn't what she preferred. There was no chance for planned strategy; she could only draw upon former combat experience.
Dahlia wasn't much for negotiation; whoever was quicker, stronger, or smarter with a weapon could take what they wanted. Talk usually only delayed the inevitable or negated combat; she was impatient for the former and annoyed with the latter.
Throwing her braided lavender hair over her shoulder, she began walking across the soft turf toward the path ahead. The two nymphs were on either side of her, one step behind. Continuing her even strides, Dahlia looked down to one of her low-caste trackers. The lime-haired nymph looked up at her, and, to answer the silent question, pointed ahead and just off to the right. With a faint nod, the Fair warrior adjusted her angle and marched on.
A moment later, Dahlia heard a quick, whistling noise. Before she could bring a shield to bear, a streaking arrow shot through the tree leaves and stopped with an abrupt 'thud'. Spinning her head to the right, she saw the long-shafted, bone-bladed arrow stuck in and through the head of a teetering nymph; the arrow's black feather fletching was still quivering from the impact. The creature's small body began to disperse even as she began to fall backwards.
As Dahlia willed her shield upon her arm, she heard a distant voice exclaim, "Ha! Nice shot!"
She rushed from one thick tree to another, hoping not to give the marksman a good target while she advanced. She moved far enough up to see a stone bridge and a timber cabin just beyond it. Three trees closer, she could make out two figures on the shadowed porch. One was small, in browns and white, sitting on the railing. The other was tall, mostly in black, with long black hair and a large double curved bow in his hand; his pose showed him ready to fire again.
Spinning nimbly back behind the cover of a rough-barked tree, Dahlia saw the other nymph speeding in her direction. She heard murmured voices coming from one of the two fae on the porch, and then three staccato thrums of a bow string sung in quick succession.
Arrows hit the nymph almost simultaneously in the torso; violet blood shot out of her in the same trajectory as the arrows that pierced her lithe form. The small, green creature stumbled a few more steps from her momentum, looking like a small pincushion with oversized wooden needles sticking through it.
Unlike the first nymph victim, the second managed to crumple to the ground before expiring. Also unlike the other, the second nymph tracker collapsed into dusty ash. One of the arrows must have ripped through her heart, sending Saraid's servant to her final death.
Dahlia began thinking of how to phrase her words for parley. She despising the need for it, but had no other option other than a risky show of bravado,. The least she wanted to accomplish was a safe escape, and then come back later with a plan and reinforcements. Being banished would cause loss of status, and she couldn't afford that in her current circumstances. If she could work her way closer within the bowman's range, there might be a chance to rush them.
Even if Dahlia lost in combat, it would be a contest of melee skill and she might banish or slay one or both of them before she herself fell. It would at least be a worthy attempt, and no reason for disgrace.
Before she could ask for talks to commence, a voice called out to her. "Greetings, pale warrior; you have come unannounced, and are trespassing on the holdings of -"
"Shut yer gob, ye chatty eejit," the other fae interrupted the speaker. They spoke in whispers afterwards.
Once again, the first voice - Dahlia assumed the tall, black-clad one - called out. "You are trespassing on my holdings. If you came with a message, I saw no scroll or sign of truce while you or your unfortunate nymphs took cover. If you retreat off of my property now, I vow to let you escape unharmed."
Behind the shelter of the tree, Dahlia's face contorted into a bitter snarl. The condescending words stirred her anger and offended her pride; she would be no mere messenger and run away. With emotion-induced determination, the Fair warrior summoned her ironwood sword to her other hand and stepped out from the safety of the tree.
Dahlia stood tall and proud and said to them, "I would run you off your own land first. I doubt you are even worthy to face me." She had a moment to take in her two adversaries. The smaller one in tweed and white cotton had a pleasant appearance, although his chestnut eyes held sly intellect and cunning. The Fair fae archer next to him was handsome enough, with his long black locks and bright blue eyes.
Like her, he reacted to the insult; his draw, pull, and release of the next arrow was lightning-quick, just as the bolt speeding toward her was.
In mid-flight, the arrow blackened and hissed, as if it were burnt from within. By the time it reached Dahlia, the shaft was nothing more than dull embers held together by inertia. The bone tip bounced off her leather armor ineffectually.
She casually brushed the soot off of her breastplate, making it plain that the attack was merely a nuisance. Dahlia knew she was lucky to have caught the arrow with her gift of heat, and doubted she could do it again. Hopefully her first cancellation of his dexterous shot was dramatic enough, and he would be reluctant to try another. "I was caught unprepared before," she said evenly, "but that is no longer the case. I have come for -"
A deep, heavy growl sounded from only a few paces behind her. The forgotten fog bear, Dahlia thought. She scolded herself for not keeping all of the pertinent facts in mind. Enough was known about that particular breed to know not to move; despite a fog bear's size and bulk, it could move as fast as she could in a short sprint. It could also rend her wide open with a quick strike of its daunting claws. She silently gave the crafty beast its due respect while remaining silent and immobile, save for her flexing jaw.
"Now that ye be done with yer posturin', ye haughty bitch," the smaller of the two said with a thick brogue, "I'd be suggestin' ye save yer breath while ye still have it, I would. We already be knowin' why you'd be callin', and so friendly-like, at that. If ya get back to that slapper, Saraid, ya just crawl back ta kissin' her manky bare feet and be sayin' that the human girl she be wantin'
wouldn't be fer the takin'."
Dahlia boldly wondered aloud, "What is your reason to care for a human so, leprechaun? Have you become overly thoughtful and fond of the mundane folk?"
Vaughn shook his head with a frown, as if speaking to an ignorant child. "If ye were any sort o' wayfarer, ye albino bootlicker, ya'd be knowin' that humans be a grand source of glamour. Ta be takin' one out o' a tight community, such as she be from, sourly be affectin' those near to 'er. And that, ye Lore-bound wench, be makin' glamour all the tougher ta be comin' by. Do I need ta keep explainin' this, or is it gettin' through ta that jellybean head o' yers?"
Directly after Vaughn's explanation, Macklin spoke up. "I personally deplore the taking of humans as chattel, so after rescuing the young woman I sent her through a portal with no destination in mind. I give my oath on the truth of that." He worded it carefully so that no lie was told - as that came with repercussions of severely bad luck in the Lore - and gave no indication of Jane's gift or her current whereabouts.
Dahlia's stoic expression didn't change, but her thoughts were actively trying to deduce the results of the archer's given information. She would be returning with no prize, but not out of her own failure. There was also sadly to be no combat unless she initiated it, but would likely prove foolish in her current predicament. "I doubt that was wise," she finally said, "as you may have been rewarded for her capture."
"I'll try to cope with the lack of your mistress's good favor," Macklin curtly replied.
Turning to leave, Dahlia looked back at the archer, appraising him. "It is too bad you're such the independent sort, and pass yourself more as a sprite than a Fair fae. In the gathering war party, I'd let you put your skills to use under me."
Before Macklin could reply, Vaughn smirked and said, "If ya'd be anythin' like Saraid, then I'd be sure ye've said that on many occasions."
The Fair archer ignored his cohort and asked Dahlia, "War party? That has nothing to do with the girl you seek, does it?"
Dahlia stared at him as if he were deranged. "Of course not," she answered, "and why would it? A war party gathered to conquer a mundane girl? Get a hold of your wits, archer. We go to cleanse the Verden village of Ballaghadaere, somewhere in the Eire, of rebel fae who thumb their nose at our laws," she said with arrogant righteousness. "Perhaps it is best that you not hope to join, after all. You'd be better off here on your small holdings, with your sour leprechaun friend and your delicate sensibilities."
As she began to turn away again, Vaughn said, "You'll be remindin' yer mistress that she be owin' me a scroll of flatterin' consent fer the pact she and I be makin'. I held me end of the bargain, and now it be her turn. She can be sendin' it along to me own lands so I won't have ta be returnin' ta hers fer it."
With a subtle nod, Dahlia said, "I will mention your wishes, but both of you be warned: she will not be pleased with what transpired here."
Vaughn frowned at her. "The only thing that Saraid might be pleased with around here would be that big wooden dick yer holdin'. On yer ambitious path ta glory, don't ye be thinkin' ta get on her good side; she'll not be havin' one. Now get ye gone afore yonder bear be gettin' a hunger fer a pasty meat snack."
Dahlia eyed them both for a moment, remembering them. S finally turned to look at the huge bear behind her. Mix kept his menacing glare on her, but made no aggressive move. In a circular path, Dahlia gave the beast a wide berth. It turned to watch her as she withdrew.
Twenty paces distant of her former position, and having a better distance from the archer's lethal pet, Dahlia stopped and called to them once more. With a cold smile, she said, "Perhaps the elements will be kind and we'll meet again under better conditions." She then turned her back on the cabin and the watchful bear and strode away from them.
Macklin and Vaughn let the thinly veiled threat go without deigning to respond, and watched her leave. The pale warrior had been out of sight for a minute before Macklin felt that she was no longer on his holdings. He sat back in a rocking chair on the deep porch and said with a relieved sigh, "She's gone."
Vaughn kept his seat on the porch railing but turned to his host. "Well, I can be tellin' ya this fer sure: the elements be havin' a fuckin' wicked sense o' humor."
As Mix came up on the porch and pressed the top of his head to his master's chest, Macklin began scratching behind his ears. Looking at Vaughn, he asked, "And what does that mean?"
"Didn't the lil' toady be sayin' that a war party be goin' ta cleanse a place called Ballaghadaere?"
"Or something near that, yes; I was thinking more of Saraid's designs for Jane at the time and wasn't concerned with it. Why do you ask?"
Vaughn leaned forward on the wooden railing and replied, "I'll be givin' ya three guesses where the lass be callin' home, but even yer hairy pet wouldn't be needin' but one."