Vis heard the fight happening, dragging herself to the corner and watching the brawl unfold. She’d considered stepping in and intervening but decided not to when the bodies dropping were not Ranald’s. It was entertaining, a free show costing nothing more than her attention. Nonetheless, her shoulders slumped when the ropes went around his wrists. She’d actually have to do something here.
She pushed herself off the ground, standing slowly. Her insides felt like they were being swarmed by cockroaches, skittering around and forcibly pulling her guts together fast enough that she heard the wet squelches of joining flesh. The sensation made her shiver. At least she was alive. She exhaled out of her nose and fixed her helmet onto her head, leaving the runes scraped onto her armor unpowered.
When Vis turned the corner into gate the congregation stopped. The man on Ranald’s back froze, staring up at her with confusion, perhaps not properly registering her as a living moving being. She’d seen it happen before; truthfully, one of her greatest pleasures in life was watching the terror form on lesser beings faces. The confusion quickly morphed into fear as she took a step forward, ax in hand. He looked back at his allies, groaning and struggling to stand, and raised his arms. She rumbled deep in her throat, flashes of pleasure coursing through her when he flinched at the sudden noise.
“Yours?” He stood and backed away, gesturing to the knight lying on the floor. Vis took another step forward. He stepped back. “Yours, all. Problem don’t want. Take, take!” He smiled under his coif, laughing but lowering his arm to his belt and hovering it over his sword.
Vis considered her odds. She’d win, of course, being a foot taller and many stones heavier than any of them, but the sudden movements of a brawl would shift her belly around, and she didn’t particularly favor heaving chunks of organs. Fighting was only fun when she dominated.
The haft of her ax hit the floor with a crack. She glowered down at the men scrambling in front of her, eyeing them down as they limped out of the gatehouse. One’s jaw was noticeably hanging loose from his face, another clutched at his dented breastplate. She took mental stock of their ragged appearances; perhaps her little armored hero was of different stock than she took him for. Vis exhaled as they left, their armor clinking and rattling until they disappeared beyond her earshot.
Before her Ranald got to his knees, looking up at the warrior who’d just saved him. “Thank you.” Vis stared down at the knight, still tied, and knelt at his side. “Would you-“ She reached to his visor and pulled it up, exposing his face to the light that crept in from the sun. Two gold-blue eyes stared back at her, framed on pale soft skin and high cheekbones. She grinned beneath her helmet. This one was worth keeping. He looked away from her, turning his head to shield his features. “Cut the rope, please.”
Vis reached across his back and pulled the rope apart with ease, hauling him to his feet. Ranald pulled his visor back down and bowed to her as best he could. “I am indebted to you, ser. May I know your name?” The lizardman attempted to speak, throat muscles constricting to mimic a human vocabulary but found the words would not form. What came out were vague speech-like whistles, verging on understandable but tapering off into untranslatable gibberish when listened to carefully. Why can’t I speak? It puzzled her. She tried to lick the inside of her teeth and felt no tactile response. Oh, my tongue is missing. Odd.
Ranald caught on and exhaled heavily. “Apologies, that was rude of me to ask.” He turned around, gathering himself for a step. “I’ll be leaving for the town I spoke of, if you’d like to follow.”
The quick interaction confused Vis. His people were slaughtered, body beaten to a pulp in a brutal fight and a savior in front of him, yet he marched forward, as if already moved on from what he’d just experienced. She watched him stumble on, confounded as to how he was still moving until he collapsed to his knees a few paces later. Vis watched him rise again, his legs trembling, and continued. He stumbled against the stone wall, using it to steady himself. She couldn’t quite tell what Ranald was thinking. In his state she’d let herself have a moment of respite, but he dragged his feet along the ground like a wounded animal.
Perhaps he didn’t feel pain. The notion was done away with when he groaned softly and sagged forwards, left arm hanging limp at his side. Clearly in pain, massive amounts of it in fact, but still trundling at a crawl and not asking for help. She felt herself growing irritated at the sight; the stupid little male was going to kill himself trying to limp along on his own. Was he expecting sympathy? She waited for him to turn his head and look back at her, but his gaze didn’t drift to her a single time. Did he think he didn’t need her assistance? Did he think he’d make it anywhere without her help? She took some small pleasure when she saw him fall again, squirming on the floor, and sauntered over to his side.
“…I’m sorry ser, I may not make it far enough to repay you.” Again with honorifics, but no real respect through action. She watched him thump into the wall and slide down. “You still have the surcoat, yes? Recall-“ He stopped and stared at the hand in his face. It irked her deeply to offer help like this, but-
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Ranald shook his head. “No, thank you. I’d weigh you down on the way, and you need to be quick on the trek.” Vis stared at him in disbelief, mouth agape. Who does this little shit believe he is, an equal? To me? I’ll kill him. She snarled silently. The hand reached out to help moved to wrap around his neck, but she stopped herself. Beautiful and willful aren’t the worst combination in the world, she thought, instead grabbing him by the arm and waist and heaving him onto her shoulders with ease.
“What are you doing?!” Ranald yelped, floundering weakly on her back. He asked Vis to put him down among a host of other demands that were promptly disregarded. Vis padded out of the gate house, stopping to retrieve the tube weapon Ranald dropped before strolling outside. She wanted, at the very least, something out of her long venture, and he would do.
The surrounding countryside bore the marks of blighted land. The ground was blackened and browned in most places, drained of life, and sported no signs of activity that the plains would normally have. The river which previously sparkled a lovely blue was now darkened dramatically. It was still clear but now bubbled and popped as though boiling in the sunlight. She hoped heat treatment would still be able to clean any diseases in the water but resigned herself to abstinence until they reached further upstream. Her companion, however, might not make it that long without fluids. She looked up at his struggling form with curiosity. That something so small was able to fight as it did was amusing to her.
Roads were not something she was used to. She’d previously known of them, even traveled some on her way from her homeland, but never seen any as smooth or large as this. The path was frankly too conducive of travel; there were likely enchantments in the stones to make walking easier on beasts of burden and men alike. Her jog was light but carried her much further than a sprint not on the road might have. She wondered just how the runes were carved to perform such an action but threw such thought out of her mind. Let humans have their secrets. If they benefited her, she didn’t particularly care to learn them.
Wheezing and pain in her ribs was not something she was used to, especially from something so easy as her slow trot. Truthfully, she’d never ran for so long before; it was a woman’s job to enjoy the fruits of the male’s efforts. Defending mate and meal from rival females was included in that, but even when you lost, you walked, not ran. Running was dishonorable, and she’d frankly had enough of it. She stopped and turned, gazing at the now very distant form of the castle. It was more than enough for the day. The sun seemed to agree and finally dipped beyond the horizon, leaving the world bathed in the loving glow of the moon. She stepped from the path and briskly walked to the river. The man, Ranald, she remembered, remained unconscious and barely breathing. It was unfortunate but necessary; she gently set him down on the browning grass and lowered her rucksack on the ground.
He should be doing this for me. She tapped him with her foot. Much to her chagrin, his response was to groan a shiver. Vis grumbled. Is he really worth the effort?
She started a fire from the shrubbery along the path of the river. It was a wet sputter of a flame and smokey, licking lazily at the surrounding pile of stones and pot, but still a fire. Pleased with herself, she gathered up her bowl and moved to the river, planning to collect some water to boil. She stopped. A fish floated downstream with dead, lifeless eyes, staring deeply at her from just beyond the firelight. Something else stirred just behind it; a mass of tendrils and teeth that writhed silently below the waves it created, the only noise a slight burbling sound the water made where it was disturbed. She turned and took out a large tent she’d looted from the castle, doing her best to put it together. An hour later and many failed configurations later, she finished. It had a few holes in the side, perhaps from arrows or sword strikes, but it didn’t particularly matter to her.
The little male did not have the privilege of avoiding nutrition. Vis carried him into the tent and set him down, removing the helmet and coif from his head. Golden hair spilled out, sweat rolling down his blushing face in great salty blobs as he whimpered in the tent on her bedroll, delirious and unaware of the world around him. He’d passed out somewhere along the way, though she couldn’t quite recall where. She leaned closer to his face, huffing his scent and studying his face. A distinct floral scent floated up to her nose, pairing well with the soft features of his face. She decided her efforts were well worth it.
Vis wanted to keep the partially digested mutton and potatoes for herself. The meal had been hard to obtain, bought with some of the silvers she earned on the road here, was very nutritious and tasted amazing to boot. She grinned. It simply can’t be helped; the weak won’t survive without the aid of their betters.
Scaly hands reached out and opened Ranald’s mouth, positioning his head up to face her own. Her maw covered the entire lower half of his skull, gullet opening and letting the contents of her crop spill out. Warm saliva coated Ranald’s features and he groaned in discomfort, shaking his head to break free of his restraint. Muscles in her crop worked and brought the chewed food to her throat, slowly moving the gooey mass until it dropped into Ranald’s mouth. He struggled against the unknown substance and gagged viscously, legs kicking against the ground, but eventually drank the goop, falling still when Vis pulled away.
Satisfied with her act of generosity she sprawled out inside the tent, letting her limbs fall wherever they may in the enclosed space. Vis gazed down at Ranald, one arm over his chest, smiling. Not a bad haul. If respect is his biggest issue, I think I’ll keep him. Her fingers idly played with his hair, twisting the soft smooth strands between her fingertips. She reached to his face, putting her palm on his cheek, and his expression softened. Ranald snuggled into the much larger female, who rumbled contentedly. I’m growing fond of him already. A fine start to my collection.
