23. Bleeding the Swine

"We need a plan. There are two guards at the entrance and at least two more inside the cave. If we attack straight on, they will make such a racket that we'll have the other two on top of us in seconds and to be honest, I can't fight off four experienced swordsmen at once." Reynaer said.

They fell silent, each deep in thought, trying to think of a way to tick off the guards separately. The three were hidden within the dense woods surrounding the cave but even if Reynaer could shoot one with a crossbow from the confines of the forest, easily managing a decent hit across the clearing of approximately twenty yards in diameter, the other would have time to call out for help.

            Desiderius' face brightened. "Hey, we could... but we don't have any jelly cakes..." He fell silent again.

            The idea fluttered through Fyen's mind like a flighty butterfly which she swept away. After a while it returned and kept coming back more persistently. The whole notion seemed completely ridiculous and very, very dangerous. But maybe... maybe it could work?

            She braced herself and spoke calmly. "I have a plan that, I think, could work."

            Reynaer looked at her. "Let's hear it then."

            She shifted nervously before speaking. "Well, we need a way to separate the guards, right?"

            The man nodded. "Right."

            "So," she continued, "we'll need to draw the guards away, right? But we'd need to do it so that they won't alert the others." Reynaer motioned with his hand for her to go on. "So... I figured that if you took both of our crossbows, once the guards came away from the entrance, far enough that their voices couldn’t be heard in the cave, you could kill them… one by one, right?"

            He nodded. "Right but how are we going to get them to leave their posts without alerting the others?"

            She looked at her feet. "Well… we'd need a bait."

            Desiderius tutted. "But I just said we don't have any jelly cakes!"

            Ignoring him, Fyen sighed and spoke quietly. "The bait... would be me." It took the length of a very uncomfortable silence before she managed to gather enough courage to glance up at the others. “Do you think it might… you know… work? At all?”

            While Reynaer gaped at Fyen, Desiderius mouth reacted before his mind. "Oh wow… we'd see you naked?" he asked, for which he received a slap on the face from the girl.

            Reynaer shook his head. "It's too dangerous."

            "But do you think it could work?” The girl spread her hands and let out a frustrated breath. “Any other ideas? I’m not exactly excited about putting myself in danger so please, are there other suggestions? Anything else we could do to save Mirlín?”

            Desiderius shook his head firmly. “I don’t think there’s anything else.”

            The man opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again. "They are mercenaries. And judging by that little cunt we talked to back there, they aren’t that loyal…” The big man’s face was grim but it looked like a million thoughts were racing behind his pale eyes. Then he caught Fyen’s gaze, his stare intense. “These two don’t seem to have crossbows so luck is on our side on that one. If you keep your distance, stay at the edge of the clearing… that should be about twenty yards… at all times, no matter if they call out to you… I think we could pull it off.” His jaws clenched, the expression on his face like a blackening storm cloud. “I fear we're running out of time. We may even be already too late. But I still can’t ask you to do this."

            Fyen shivered at the thought of actually executing her plan. "I know." She squeezed her fists tight and clenched her jaws like she observed Reynaer do, hoping she might feel more like a warrior if she looked and acted like one. “But I’ll do it. For Mirlín.”

            As if a spell was broken, Reynaer gave her a slight nod and turned to their gear without further ceremony. He took his and Fyen's crossbows, loaded them, strapped his quiver of bolts on his belt, and walked over to Desiderius.

"When we deal with the guards, you go and free their horses, scare them away, ok?"

            The boy straightened his back dramatically. "Aye, aye, sir!"

            Reynaer rubbed his temples with his eyes closed. "Do not fuck this up, boy." Then he turned to Fyen. "Last chance, kid."

            The girl felt very nervous and every part of her screamed for her to refuse, turn and run and never look back but she forced her feet to stand their ground. Over the course of their short friendship, Mirlín had become almost like an older sister for her and the idea of losing her scared her more than putting her own life on the line or risking getting hurt. In fact, the plan didn’t even scare her that much in itself. What did was the notion of standing before two armed men paid to stand guard at the cave’s entrance while she had nothing with which to defend herself; no sword, shield, crossbow, not even her armor.

What if they don’t move? What if they have crossbows or bows hidden somewhere and they’ll shoot at me? What if… coward. Ashamed of her thoughts, Fyen pictured Mirlín, first being tortured and killed at this moment, then standing there in the woods in her stead. She wouldn’t even hesitate! I bet she’d do this in a heartbeat if it was me in there!

            Drawing courage from her shame, Fyen nodded at the big man before her. “Let’s do it.”

            Desiderius disappeared among the undergrowth as he crawled into position near the guards’ horses to the left of the entrance. Reynaer took off his black cloak, hid behind a large fir, and nodded at Fyen, who walked behind Nightmare for some cover. She took off her cloak, armor, and gambeson, stripped her belt and all weapons, and finally stepped out of her hose, leaving her wearing only her boots, undergarments, and tunic.

            She took a few steps from behind the horse and felt her knees just about ready to buckle. She had never felt less seductive or sensual in her life, or more naked. Though she had recently behaved and felt older than she actually was, she now felt like a clumsy, young child, completely out of her element. Feel just about ready to wet my damn pants. The splashing would probably catch the attention of the guards but in the wrong way.

            Now having to do it consciously, Fyen realized she had no idea how to act seductive. In the taverns she never planned anything, it just happened because the whole scene almost demanded it, but now she felt scrawny and graceless. Just as Fyen thought things couldn't get much worse, she shivered when the night breeze blew in from the neckline, sleeves, and nipped at her bare legs. Within seconds the first drops of rain fell around her. Soon she would look like a soaked ragdoll and had as much chance of luring the guards away from the caves as Desiderius. It was now or never. She straightened her back, jutted out her chest, and strode to the edge of the clearing surrounding the cave.

The guards were deep in hushed conversation, apparently discussing the finer points of the construction of a small flask one of the men was holding in his hand.

            Her vanity slightly wounded, Fyen mouthed a quiet curse. Shit… how the hell can I appear seductive? How do the whores do it when they’re trying to get customers? Though she felt graceless and absolutely ridiculous, she tried moving her hips to one side and attempted a pout. With her thin lips, shivering body, and exaggerated, hunched posture, the girl ended up looking less like a seductive harlot and more like a starved pauper suffering of gout.

"Yoo-hoo!" Even with the clumsy wave of her hand it didn't come out as seductive as she had heard it in her head.

            The guards turned to look at her and there was a pause as they clearly tried to make sense of what they were seeing.

            Shit! I forgot to plan what to say! Shit! The girl cleared her throat, tilted her head, and attempted a smile but her face was already growing numb and her voice trembled from the cold as well as fear.

"Uh, excuse me… sirs… um, I'm, uh, camping back there for the night," she said pointing her thumb over her shoulder, "but I can't seem to light a fire and I'm really cold. Could you two come over, give me a hand?” Fyen shivered and, inspired by her previous improvisations, added: “Help me get warm?"

            Both guards looked utterly dumbfounded as if they couldn't quite believe what was happening. The air between them and Fyen seemed to have turned almost solid as the girl waited for their reactions. Come on, come on, she thought, not quite sure what she wanted to happen. The only thing she knew was that she wanted this moment to end. Right… foot… move!

            Her movement seemed to trigger the halted second. As she took her first steps backwards, the guards glanced at one another.

            “You stay here, I’ll go,” the taller said.

            “Fuck that, you stay!” the other barked.

            They looked around, inside the cave, at the woods around them, and then the taller frowned: “We’ll both have a go. Real quick.”

            “Yeah,” the other nodded, a hungry gleam already in his eye. “Nobody will ever come here anyway.”

            Ignoring the fact that a girl had just come to their guard post, both men started walking towards her, knowing smiles on their unshaven faces. During a fraction of a second, Fyen’s brains made a quick note that apparently shivering kids with gout were hot stuff among mercenaries.

            As she retreated back into the woods, her heart was racing and beating against her ribcage. She did her utmost to concentrate and started her most girlish skip to gain some distance to the guards without betraying her true intentions and without stumbling on the thick undergrowth as she pranced amongst the tall trees and bushes. She forced herself not to look back even though she feared a hand would grab her shoulder any second. Don’t look, do not look back, Fyen! Lure them away from the cave, away from the cave so the others won’t hear—

There was a soft twang followed by a sickly gurgle. Now far beyond conscious movement, Fyen whirled around and saw one of the guards twitching on the ground with a bolt through his throat and the other just stopped dead on his tracks as Reynaer switched crossbows and fired, the bolt sinking into the shorter guard's chest. The man let out only a surprised, silent ‘ah’. Reynaer dropped the crossbow, his club already in his hand, and struck hard at the stunned man's head, causing him to fall. The crack sounded over the rain which had begun falling swiftly.

            As the man lay on the ground, unconscious, Reynaer drew his sword and stabbed him in the now exposed throat. Then he moved over to the guard he had felled first and repeated the procedure to ensure neither rose again.

            Looking at Fyen, Reynaer nodded. "You did very well. Mirlín will be proud of you."

            The girl was shaking all over but still managed a weak smile. Fyen hurried back to the horses and put her clothes and armor back on and belted her dagger and sword. Even though now, fully geared up, Fyen didn’t feel quite so exposed anymore, she still couldn’t get her body to stop trembling.

Shortly Reynaer appeared from behind the trees with his crossbow reloaded. He glanced at Fyen, gave her an encouraging smile, and slapped her shoulder. “You can relax now, kid. Your part is over. Good job.”

Despite the kind words, the girl found it hard to convince herself that she wasn’t in instant danger any longer. Her hands had trembled after they had ridden away from the man they had tortured and she had been a shivering wreck after killing the creature in the woods before Coilea but this was the first time it felt like she couldn’t stop the uncontrollable, ridiculous shivering. Fyen wrapped her arms tightly around herself, hoping to so lessen the shaking. All right already!

            Desiderius came to them looking flustered. "Their horses are gone now. One of them bit me though, look at the size of the hole it made on my shirt!"

            Reynaer glanced around to make sure they were still alone. "Desiderius, you will come with me. Take that man's sword.” He caught the boy’s eyes and spoke, his voice low but clear. “Your job is to protect Mirlín and free her from any restraints they might have tied her with.” He turned to Fyen once more. “You will stay out of the clearing, no matter what. Just bring the horses to the tree line and keep them and yourself out of sight, you hear me? No more heroics!"

The girl nodded but loaded her own crossbow with shaky hands just the same. Fyen looked as the two men strode through the woods, at their backs as Reynaer stepped into the darkness with Desiderius at his heels. It wasn’t until now that it occurred to her that she might never see either of them again.

"It's surprisingly satisfying, isn't it Father Albericus?" Cemhoer asked, smiling.

            "Yes, my Lord, exceedingly satisfying, my Lord," the priest crooned, holding the now bloodied metal pipe, caressing and sniffing it, beads of perspiration still dripping into his small eyes. His cheeks were flushed and he had a fervent grin on his thick lips.

            Mirlín had slumped on the ground and was now curled up, her hands still tied behind her back, dried blood on her face and on the torn hem of her white dress. Her breath was wheezing, tears had wet her cheeks and neck, but her dark-blue eyes were seething hatred at Cemhoer.

            "I have more in store for you. This was just the begi—" his sentence was stopped by the sounds of battle coming from another part of the cave.

Cursing men and steel clashing against steel. Mirlín raised her eyes and felt her heart jump. Cemhoer's face turned pale and he called out for his guards but none came.

            The priest disappeared but soon shuffled back to the blond man, sounding terrified. "We're under attack, my Lord! The guards are dead! They are coming!"

            Cemhoer's blazing eyes shifted to Mirlín."Is there a white knight on a shining steed coming to rescue you?" he spat.

She glanced up at him, then retched, and her stomach spasmed. A burning hot mixture of bile and water rushed against the gag and out through her nostrils. She felt like choking, unable to stop the retching while the spasms pushed air out of her lungs and mouth. It was difficult to understand what was going on outside her pain and discomfort. The water which had been forced into her stomach tried to find its way out through her nose and gagged mouth, her stomach felt like it would rip open any second now, and there was an intense, stinging burning behind her eyes. She was slowly but surely suffocating, all control of her body lost.

Outside her realm of understanding, the air was pierced by the scream of a dying man and Cemhoer kept hesitating, his hand hovering over his sword, his fearful gaze shifting from Mirlín to the entrance as he was torn apart between leaving his wife and running for his life.

            The priest pulled his arm and shouted: "They're coming, my Lord! We have to go now or they'll kill us all!"

            "I won't have her disappear again! She’s mine!"

            "Please, my Lord, she can't get far! We'll catch her again, she'll only slow us down, get us killed! Please, my Lord!" the priest wheezed.

            Letting out a string of curses, Cemhoer shot the last half-disgusted, half-desperate look at the vomiting Mirlín and then dashed after the priest.

            She was once again veering between blackness and clarity, her eyes watering, her body screaming for air, when suddenly someone touched her, a hand grasping the cloth bound across her mouth. There was a brush of cold steel and the gag was cut in half and her jaws released. Immediately another surge of vomit shot up her throat and through her mouth but at least she could breathe. Mirlín drew a wheezing breath and looked up. Her eyes had blurred but she could make out the face of the youth who had squatted next to her, a panicked expression on his face.

            ”The bodice! Cut the ties!" Mirlín croaked, desperate for more air.

            With shaking hands, Desiderius started cutting the laces of her corset before moving on to her restraints. Once released from the confines of the restricting garment, the woman breathed in audibly, gasping for air.

            "Can you stand up?" Desiderius asked.

Having her limbs finally free felt very relieving, almost as if she had been held underwater for a long time and had just now reached the surface.

            "I think so," she wheezed, noticing her voice was almost gone and every word hurt her badly scraped throat. Each time her lips or tongue even brushed against the wounds in her gums, a burning, stinging pain erupted in her bleeding mouth.

            Desiderius looked at Mirlín with horror in his eyes. "What did they do to you?"

            The woman scrambled up, leaning heavily on the young man's arm, and spat out a mouthful of blood which still kept leaking. "Almost killed me."

            They started towards the entrance and Mirlín winced with every step she took. Her stomach hurt, there was still blood trickling down her thighs, and her jaw and throat ached. I should just ask him to knock me out or something, she thought but then took another deep breath and, for the first time since being captured, felt that she would make it after all. You've gone through worse, Mirlín. Step by step, you're not dying, you're alive which means you still have a chance to kill him, she told herself, gaining new strength.

            As they rounded the corner they saw Reynaer pull his sword out of the body of a guard he had just impaled.

            The man nodded at them and motioned towards the entrance. "Two of them ran past me while I was busy with these losers."

            "Thanks!" Mirlín breathed, letting go of Desiderius, certain that she could stay up on her own by now.

            "I hate to be rude but I have to go out right now. Fyen's out there alone with the horses and those two might try to take them," Reynaer said, clearly scanning Mirlín, trying to see how much damage she had sustained.

            "Fyen's alone?" the woman whispered and a myriad of images of what Cemhoer and his priest could do to her went through Mirlín's head, knowing their appetite for young girls.

            They hurried out into the rain and saw Cemhoer limping far to their right with his priest running beside him.

            The priest's voice sounded alarmed. "Where were you hit, my Lord?"

            Cemhoer's voice was anguished. "In the fucking ass!" he cried with a bolt jutting out of his right buttock.

            Feeling a blinding flash of rage take over, Mirlín turned to Reynaer and yanked the longsword from his hand. She broke into a run but managed only a few yards before her feet betrayed her and she fell on the wet grass. She saw the horses further away and tried to shout Midwin's name but could only manage a hoarse croak. Nonetheless, the blue roan whinnied, pranced around and tried to break free though his reins were secured to a tree.

            Reynaer knelt beside Mirlín. "Leave them, friend. We can track them later. Now we need to get you into a warm bed so you can heal. The most important thing is that your are all right. Come on," he said and gently helped her up. Reluctantly she rose, staring after the men, her breath heavy. 

            She felt her head spin and grabbed Reynaer's arm for support. "Next time… I'll finish that fucker."

            She heard a soft voice behind her. "Can I help?"

            Mirlín looked at Fyen who had uttered those words. The woman felt her heart leap. "I'm sorry, hun," she whispered, a faint smile on her lips. "My fight." The girl nodded, hesitated, looking at the woman's injuries but then gave Mirlín a light, wary hug, careful not to squeeze tightly. Wincing with pain, she refrained from wrapping her arms around the girl. Then something occurred to Mirlín. "By the way, who shot that bolt in the bastard's ass?"

            Fyen looked slightly embarrassed. "That, uh, would be me. I was going for his back but… aimed a little low."

            Mirlín looked at the girl and realized just how proud she was of her. "That's my girl." Then she glanced at Reynaer and Desiderius. "Thank you... I can't believe you came all the way here to—" The ground seemed to tilt under her feet.

22. Suffer the Fools

Fyen felt sick to her stomach as Reynaer slowly bent back the mercenary's middle finger. Eventually the bone broke with an audible crack accompanied by a shrill scream that sent shivers down the girl's spine.

            "Where is the cave?" The big man asked quietly, as if quizzing a student at school.

Their prisoner lay on the ground face down, his hands still tied behind his back. Fyen wished the soldier would just tell them what they wanted to know so that the disgusting display could end.

"Where is Mirlín?" Reynaer demanded calmly.

The woman's name struck some chord deep in Fyen's mind. It made her feel a little better so she grasped at whatever had stirred the new feeling, something that made it easier to be a part of this scene.

            "That bitch had it coming," the man on the ground spat.

            That's Mirlín he's talking about! And he knows exactly where she is! Probably being either tortured or killed right as we're speaking! A strange sensation started spreading throughout her entire being as Fyen remembered her friend. A voice in her head remarked that this man was responsible for whatever happened to Mirlín. Fyen's hands grew cold and started trembling. She had felt this way only once before.

            Taking a few tentative steps forward, Fyen got closer to the prisoner who raised his eyes and looked at the girl.

            "Give it your best shot, you little cunt!" he scoffed.

Fyen could feel adrenaline rushing into her body. All right, he's asking for it! Because of him, Mirlín might die! We have no time, we need to get the information fast! Hesitating at first as she considered what she should do, the girl braced herself, stepped back with one foot, and proceeded to kick at the man's head. Surprisingly enough, the target didn't seem too fazed nor was there any blood where Fyen's foot had struck. But her foot hurt. However, rage was building up inside her and, on an impulse, she decided to let go, remove the dam, and let all her anger, fear, and frustration flow out of her and over the mercenary at her feet. She pulled her leg back and kicked the side of the man's head again, harder than before, ignoring the signals of pain her brain was receiving from the already hurting limb. His head jerked to the side and he let out a quiet moan, clearly stunned.

            "You ready to speak yet?" Reynaer's voice sounded from somewhere nearby but Fyen's anger hadn't reached its peak yet.

            In fact, it only kept gaining momentum and she felt a strong urge to just inflict as much pain on the bastard as she possibly could. But how? Kicking seemed too mild but the sword would kill him too quickly. So she walked to where the man's feet were and looked down. His ankles were tied together but she felt certain her heel would connect with its target nonetheless. An animal grimace on her face, the girl started stomping on the mercenary's groin. Again and again the foot came down.

            “You fucking...” the man on the ground groaned breathlessly.

            Fyen felt a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't we listen if he's got something to say now, ok?" Reynaer suggested.

            He looked at Fyen in a strange way but didn't say anything else. It wasn't until now that she noticed she was out of breath and strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Wiping off the hair and sweat, she nodded, stepped back, and watched as Reynaer knelt beside the now convulsing man.

            "She gave your nuts quite a workout there, eh?" The prisoner didn't seem to hear what he had said so Reynaer leaned his right hand on the man's head and used his left thumb to press on the mercenary's right eye. Soon the night air was pierced by yet another scream. "You ready to listen to me now? Good. We can carry on like this all through the night, you know. And please, don't think you can somehow get out of this situation because, and I'm not going to lie to you, we will kill you eventually. So it's just a matter of how much you want to suffer before you die. It could be quick and clean, wouldn't need to shit your pants or anything. Or, if you carry on like this, it will take hours, maybe days, and I assure you, you will feel every second of it right until the very end... which won't come quickly." Reynaer looked at the prisoner right in his eyes. "And don't you even try to pass out on me here. I'll cut your eyeballs and sprinkle salt in them if you try that. It'll bring you right back to our gentle care. I learned that from the pirates of the Golden Ark." His voice even and calm, Reynaer continued: “Where is Mirlín? How many men are with her?”

            Fyen strolled around their small camp. Her hand fell on her dagger's hilt. It occurred to her that she could probably use it on the mercenary somehow. It would probably be quite gruesome. Could I do it? If I work myself up to a fit of rage... but it would have to be controlled so I won't accidentally kill him. She already had one death on her hands and she didn't want another. Though if Mirlín's life depends on it... well, maybe...

            Fyen mustered up her courage, feeling not unlike she had done when she had decided to make a stand between the horses and the wild man in the woods. "Hey, could I do something with this dagger here?" she asked Reynaer.

            He turned to her and considered her suggestion for a while. "Well, we could start peeling him?"

            From the corner of her eye Fyen noticed that the prisoner's right eye widened at the suggestion. His left eye had swollen shut a while ago. Would Reynaer really have me skin him alive? Her stomach lurched as she thought about it.

            Then she swallowed and stepped forward, praying that Reynaer was bluffing. "Why not?"

            The big man went over to their prisoner and said to Fyen: "I've heard that if you make a deep, vertical cut on the face, piss on it, and stomp on the face, the skin should come off. Want to try it out? Me or Mr. Cock over there can do the urinating so don't worry about that," he said and motioned towards Desiderius, who looked slightly green in the face.

            The girl felt her hands grow numb as she slowly gripped the dagger's hilt, took a deep breath, and pulled it out of the sheath.

            Reynaer moved to the other side of the man lying on the ground. "You can kneel here beside his head so you can use your bodyweight to make a deeper cut."

            Even Fyen's knees had started trembling as she stepped next to the mercenary. She knelt down slowly and sat back, turning the dagger in her hands this way and that, in search of the best grip though she knew that in reality she was only stalling. All right... all right... I have to do this... I have to do this... for Mirlín... I will do this for her... I'm going to peel his face off... I have to... I have no choice! We have to find her before they kill her!

            Fyen placed the tip of the dagger on the man's forehead, took another deep breath, pressed as hard as she could, and started to make the cut from his forehead to his chin.

            If felt like a short eternity before the man screamed. The blade had just reached the spot between his eyes, right where the bridge of his nose started. "Stop! Stop! She's in the cave five miles northeast from here! There's big rocks to the left of the road! Go in the woods there, the cave's behind the rocks! There’s four more guards, the lord and his priest! Stop cutting my face! For the sake of the Sun!"

            It took a few seconds for it all to sink in but then Fyen let out the breath she had been holding while making the cut and looked at Reynaer, who was smiling the coldest smile she had seen. He knew all along! This wasn't the kind, caring bear of a man who she had come to know and like during the past few days. This was someone else and he scared her. Still she felt a need to appear like a good student, a brave apprentice, and so chose to wipe her dagger's bloodied blade on the mercenary's sleeve. The man on the ground glanced at her. It was only a quick look but that was what made it bad: she had become someone a person worried about. The glance had been there to make sure she wouldn't hurt him anymore. Disgusted with herself, Fyen stood up and walked away.

            Though still appalled, she felt strangely energetic, almost thrilled in some sick way. She felt the urge to jump and run around but thought it wouldn't be proper at this time. It felt ridiculous, the need to move around, expend energy. The feeling kept growing and then she recognized it for what it was and made a dash for it. Just as she reached the tree line, she slumped down on her knees, felt her stomach spasm, and vomited on the grass.

            Quickly Fyen wiped her mouth and stood up despite feeling still faint. I have to look like this is nothing to me! She turned around to the others and saw that Reynaer had tied their bleeding prisoner to a tree.

            "Somebody'll eventually hear his screams. If not... well, that's not our problem anymore," he said casually. "Shall we?"

            Having mounted their horses, both Fyen and Desiderius, who looked extremely pale, nodded, and they all broke into a gallop. It wasn't long before they reached the place the man had told them about. To the left of the road there were three large rocks among the trees.

            They left the horses there and walked quietly, trying to find the entrance of the cave. Fyen saw it first and signaled to Reynaer and Desiderius. They came to her and she pointed to her right. It was maybe 200 yards from them. There was a very small clearing in front of the cave, then there was a patch of thick bushes after which the undergrowth seemed to melt into the forest. Reynaer motioned for the others to follow him back to the road.

21. Midwin's Gift

"Maybe you shouldn't be so sure about yourself."

            Fyen jutted out her chest and clenched her fists at her sides. "Yeah? Well maybe you shouldn't be so fat!"

Desiderius was standing further away from them, writing on his notebook with a feverish look on his face.

            "How dare you say that to my face?" the girl, almost twice the size of Fyen, shrieked.

            Alright, you fat cunt, you wanna go? We'll fucking go then! Shifting weight from one foot to another, the raven girl snorted. "I'd say it behind your back but my horse would get tired before I got that far!"

            Just as the bigger girl raised her hand to strike Fyen, Reynaer appeared seemingly out of nowhere and dragged both, Fyen and Desiderius out before they had time to protest.

            "What's going on, Reyn?" Fyen asked, sensing that something was up.

             "Some men kidnapped Mirlín and probably took her to the caves up north. We should ride out immediately," he replied while striding towards their inn.

            Trying to keep up, Fyen jogged beside him. "What the hell? Why? How? Who are they?" Then her expression grew darker. "If they hurt her, I'll cut their fucking plonkers off!"

            Reynaer glanced at her over his shoulder and grinned. "That's the spirit. As for your questions, I only know that they were from the north, like Mirlín. Maybe a jealous ex-husband, maybe the law after her for past crimes, maybe something else, I don't know and I don't really care."

            Fyen started feeling worried, her hands growing cold. "You're right. The only thing that matters is that we get her back before they hurt her."

            "Maybe she's really a royal princess who had been imprisoned by her father destined to be married to an ugly and cruel husband and—"

            "Shut up," Reynaer grunted at Desiderius. As they arrived to the inn, the man said: "Go pack your things, we'll meet at the stables."

            Desiderius and Fyen dashed upstairs while Reynaer went to pay for the rooms.

            "Now you didn't stay too long!" the innkeeper said when receiving the money.

            "Something's come up," Reynaer muttered and went to fetch his things as well.

            Desiderius was in their room, trying to find a lost pair of socks. "They were my favorite!" he cried when Reynaer told him to focus and hurry up. They met Fyen in the hall and together strode to the stables.

            "What are we going to do with Midwin?" Fyen asked.

            "We'll take him with us. Desiderius, you better ditch Snappy now, we need to move fast."

            "You mean I'm gonna ride Midwin?" the boy asked, amazed.

            "No, you'll ride Brownie. I'm taking Midwin," the man replied bluntly.

Desiderius looked disappointed but then cheered up again, remembering that he finally got to ride a full-sized horse.

            As Reynaer tried to pay Midwin's fees to the stable master, the bearded man looked puzzled. "He's already been paid for."

            "Paid by who?" Fyen asked, alarmed.

            "Well, this one gentleman came, told me he owned the blue roan and paid for it... he's probably right there taking him out," the man shrugged.

            Reynaer, Desiderius, and Fyen approached the stall cautiously. Its door was open. Reynaer took the lead and put his hand on the hilt of his dagger. There was silence in the stall so he feared for a moment that whoever it was, had taken Midwin already. He peered into the stall. The blue roan stood there, calm and quiet, an unconscious man at his feet. The gelding greeted Reynaer with a gentle nicker.

            "Good boy! Now who do we have here..." Reynaer muttered and kneeled beside the unconscious man. In addition to his gray tunic and gray pants, he also wore a cheap-looking black brigandine with half of the steel plates missing.

            "If I didn't know better, I'd say this one is a cheap mercenary," Reynaer said and kicked the man between his legs. The unconscious soldier twitched and then lay still again. "Saddle up, we're heading out."

            A few minutes later the three horses stood on the yard ready to gallop into the night. Desiderius had told the stable master to send a message to the young man's auntie Beatrice about Snappy so that she could come and pick her up now that Desiderius was to ride Brownie. Reynaer tied the still slumbering man on Midwin's back and immediately the horse became restless. However, he too seemed to understand the graveness of the situation and didn't mind the extra weight nor a new rider.

            They moved north, following a wagon road. To Fyen's horror, she noticed there were cages hanging from trees along the road with people inside, most of them starved to death. There were birds pecking at the bodies. Someone was moaning, another weeping quietly. The gruesome scene didn't seem to even catch Reynaer's attention but it certainly unnerved Fyen and Desiderius, both of whom were trying their utmost to avert their eyes from the tortured bodies. Glad that Reynaer insisted on moving quickly, Fyen bit her lower lip, wondering how the world had become such a hostile place.

Ask too many questions and you'll find yourself hanging in a cage or tortured in a dungeon. Seems like rulers don't like their methods being questioned by their people. And here I thought rulers were put to their posts to serve the people but instead it's the other way around. It's the common folk who are suffering and the few rich who get wealthier and wealthier but is that enough? No! They're sadists and perverts too, getting off on competing who will come up with the sickest, most grotesque, most inhuman methods and devices to use on anyone they choose and for what? For their sick fucking pleasures. Someone should just... kill them all!

            The gloomy group headed straight into the woods and stopped at the first clearing.

            "Is that guy still out of it?" Fyen asked.

            "He pretends to be."

Reynaer shoved the man off Midwin's back. The moment the mercenary's body met the ground, he let out a pained grunt. Reynaer pulled him up and slapped him in the face.

"You awake, yet?" he asked in a sarcastic tone. The man stood on his own feet, eyes open, an expressionless look on his face. "Where did you take her?"

            The soldier remained silent.

            A malevolent grin flitted across Reynaer's face. "I'm going to enjoy this."

           

Her mouth was dry, her ears were filled with the hum of rushing blood, and a dull ache pounded on her temples. She felt something damp and soft press against her cheek. She caught the intrusive though slightly sweet smell of moist earth and deduced she was lying on damp ground somewhere.

            She couldn’t remember where or how she had gotten there. Her eyelids weighed a ton as she slowly opened them but she was met only with darkness. She blinked, the smell of earth, now nauseating and far too obscene, filled her nostrils. She couldn’t breathe. Something coarse had been stuffed into her mouth and wrapped around her head, drying up her throat and lips. She coughed and retched and even though it hurt her head, she turned it towards the darkness above her but the air she breathed in smelled musty and moldy.

            Little by little her eyesight sharpened and the room didn’t look quite so dark anymore. She seemed to be laying in the darkest corner of it and at the other end of the space, which she now perceived to be a cavern of sorts, glowed a few torches. They cast only a dim light but they proved her guess right. She was surrounded by stone walls, she lay on a dirt floor, and she seemed to be alone.

            There were tight ropes biting into her wrists and ankles as she tried to move. Her arms had also been tied tightly against her body. After a short, futile struggle, her body fell limp. It was no use. She knew he had finally found her and considering that he had been chasing her for five years now, it was understandable that her restraints wouldn’t yield, her tongue was trapped against the bottom of her mouth, and she had been imprisoned in a cave into which no one would accidentally wander.

            Her heart was pounding wildly against the ropes around her chest. She wondered if the others had sold her out. However, the only person she could imagine to do such a thing was Reynaer. For all she knew, the man was a bounty hunter and he had been offered a generous price for delivering the woman to her rightful owner.

            She felt a gush of fear as she heard someone’s footsteps smack against the moist ground. I knew I couldn’t run away forever.

            "So you thought you could run away forever?" a cold voice asked.

            The woman kept her eyes fixed on the dark ceiling that she couldn’t quite make out but she knew he was right there with her. She thought that if she averted her gaze and looked at the speaker, she would burst in tears and eventually choke on her gag while her gorge and nostrils filled with mucus. From the corner of her eye she could see a polished blade catch a glint from the faint glow of the torches. She wondered how he would do it. Slash her throat, stab her in the heart, maybe pry her eyes out; there were so many ways to suffer and die.

            There was a ripping sound as the cloth around her mouth was cut. Surprised, she drew a rattling breath and gathered spit in her mouth, moistening her tongue and lips. She risked a look and saw a silhouette of a man against the wan glow of the torches. He was most certainly looking down at her, the tips of his boots touching her side. Then he hunkered down, the glinting blade in his hand, his features still shrouded in shadows. For once Mirlín was thankful of the dark.

            “This isn’t good. I want to see your face,” an insipid male voice, neither deep or light, said.

Then two hands grabbed Mirlín by her long hair and started pulling her towards the glow of the torches. Mirlín bit back a whimper as she was being dragged over the floor. It felt like her scalp would get torn off. At last the grip loosened and she slumped back against the dirt. Now she was doused in the soft glow and so was he.

            He squatted again, clutched her by the chin, and turned her face towards him. Their eyes finally met and the woman was filled with an emotion that she couldn’t quite describe but it wasn’t just fear that she felt. There was also despair and madness.

            “Just look at that, just look at that face,” he muttered.

Is there someone else here? She felt a wave of relief. If there was someone else, he would have to control himself. It had always been just the two of them, no intruders, no audience, no one to hear the voices of their violence.

Without a warning and with surprising strength the man wrenched the woman up on her knees, then raised his hand, and hit her hard across the face. The diamonds of his rings cut Mirlín’s lip and she had accidentally clenched her tongue between her teeth. Her mouth filled with blood which she spit out as her body fell back on the ground.

“Look at that,” he repeated. “Don’t you just want to pick them between your teeth like ripe berries and bite and chew and swallow?”

He towered over her, grabbed her by the chin again, and forced her bleeding lips between his. She let out a guttural whimper as his teeth clenched around the raw skin of her lips and then sucked on it like on bone marrows. No kiss before him or after had made her feel that way: violated, shivery, but also perversely flattered by the fact that she was an object of such desire.

            This time she wasn’t shoved down against the dirt. He just let go, indifferently and carelessly, like just moments ago he hadn’t clasped her with his fine, noble teeth and nails biting into her skin. Like she was a piece of dirty clothing he dropped on the floor.

            “Can you believe that this whore was responsible of my humiliation, of all that pillory and slander? ‘Should have known that wench would leave after she’d had her fun’, ‘probably eloped with some peasant, took a hefty purse of gold with her and left the sovereign’s son hang high and dry’, ‘a witch who killed her babies so that dunce Lord Cemhoer would have to stay with her, keep trying for an heir but all the while she was there laughing and enjoying her lavish life’,” he mimicked.

The man kicked her hard in the stomach, causing the woman to gasp for breath. Then he talked with his normal voice again. "I was devastated when they told me you had drowned. Luckily, you just made us believe so but they discovered that great blue roan was missing and then they knew you had run away. But I am delighted to find that you are alive and well Mirlín.” He sighed. “At least for the time being.”

Something told her that despite the horrors she had experienced in the past in the hands of the man, whatever he had in store for her now would be much worse. She knew she couldn’t ask. There were rules to the game. When wholly restrained, do not talk. When partially or completely free, your tongue is likewise free. He had taught her the meaning of complete silence, he could make her believe she was mute. He could also make her believe that she was dead or far too much alive or that she was despised, hated, wanted, loved, sullen, pure — she would become everything he wanted.

Suddenly Mirlín heard a rustling of cloth and heavy footsteps approaching. Through blurred eyes, she saw a stout man step out from the shadows, dressed in a long, dark cloak. He looked down at the woman with the gaze full of disdain and loathing.

            "Ah, Father Albericus! Shall we?" Cemhoer asked, giving a comradely slap on his back. The priest hadn't lifted his moist eyes off Mirlín.

            He smacked his fat lips, wiped sweat off his bald head, and nodded. "I brought the instruments, my Lord," the priest crooned with a silent, soft voice that sounded all the more perverse to Mirlín.

The woman looked on as the robed man placed a metal funnel and a metal pipe, almost as thick as her wrist, on the ground beside her. Then he left, apparently to get something else.

            "Seeing as you never drowned, only had us think you did, I thought it courteous to let you actually experience what you have missed," Cemhoer smiled. "I have heard that it is quite... ecstatic for some. Perhaps you have gone through something similar with my hands around your throat though I reckon this will be even more intense. I would be most pleased if you told me afterwards how it was for you... if you still can."

            The priest plodded back, carrying what looked like two large buckets of water. There were more beads of sweat on his wide, bald head. It wasn't until now that Mirlín noticed the priest had no eyebrows. The sweat trickled right into his small, beady eyes, causing him to blink a lot. He's a priest but... why do I get the feeling that he's even worse than Cemhoer?

            “Right... shall we begin?" The blond man put aside his sword and stepped closer to Mirlín.

            "Everything is ready, my Lord," the priest purred in his breathy voice.

            Mirlín had had a dawning suspicion of what she was about to be subjected to but she didn't want to believe it.

            Cemhoer sat on her chest, placing his knees on both sides of her head. Not only was she wearing a bodice which already restricted her breathing, but the man's weight allowed her to take in only short gasps. It felt like her lungs were collapsing. Cemhoer's knees kept her head from moving and her tied hands pressed uncomfortably against the small of her back. She could taste her own blood and despair. As Mirlín tried to wriggle and move underneath the man, panic engulfing her, she received a punch to her nose.

"Settle down, bitch!" Cemhoer barked.

She felt blood welling up in her nostrils and dripping down the back of her throat. Unable to breathe through her nose, Mirlín had to open her mouth but she kept her teeth clenched tightly, anticipating what was to come.

            "Now, be a good girl and open your mouth properly. This will hurt you less if you co-operate, dear wife," the man said.

Mirlín kept her teeth together, looking defiant despite the growing panic and the suffocating feeling of being so completely immobilized and unable to breathe properly. She yearned for a deep breath.

            "Open your mouth or I will have Father Albericus force it open. You know, he isn't as nice as I am," the man chuckled.

            "Oh, my Lord," the priest crooned, blushing slightly.

            "Well, have it your way then," Cemhoer sighed. "Let's start."

            The priest took the funnel and placed its stem against Mirlín's front teeth. She felt the metal scraping against her tender gums but forced herself to keep her mouth shut. Without prior warning, the priest suddenly pressed so hard on the funnel that it slid across the woman's teeth, scraping off a piece of her gums. She let out a shriek but it was quiet and short due to her lack of breath. Immediately the funnel was shoved straight into her mouth, the stem scraping her tongue and the inside of her mouth as it slid into her throat. She felt like gagging and the widening edges of the funnel pressed painfully against her teeth, forcing her jaws open, inflicting even more pain and discomfort on her.

            Cemhoer grabbed the funnel and told the priest to bring the first bucket.

            "Cincin, darling," he chuckled as the priest started pouring cold water into the funnel.

Mirlín's eyes widened with terror. They're not going to force me to drink all that? They can't! It's... the human body can't take in that much! They can't— Her thoughts were interrupted as she had to swallow large quantities quickly to avoid choking as the blood in her nose severely restricted her breathing.

            With every swallow, Mirlín's despair grew. Is there no one else here? Is this how I'm going to die? After draining the funnel twice, the woman already felt a strong pressure on her breastbone, made worse by Cemhoer's full weight resting on her chest. She wondered how long the seams of her bodice would keep her body from bursting. If my stomach can't expand, where will the water go? The water reingorged itself in her throat with a struggling force and it strangled and swallowed up her breath from yowling and crying.

            Mirlín wanted to vomit, scream, and take a deep breath but the funnel, the water, and Cemhoer's weight held her captive to the immense discomfort now bestowed on her. How am I gonna die? Drown or burst? Why is he doing it like this? Why me? Tears ran down her face and there was a mix of intense pain and pressure right below her ears where her jaw connected to the skull. She was afraid the funnel would dislocate her jaw. Stars started appearing in her field of vision as breathing through her nose became almost impossible due to all the clotted blood and mucus blocking her nostrils. She was on the verge of losing her consciousness, gasping desperately between life and death.

            "You hear that, my Lord? The voices she makes? She cannot scream because the water is taking up too much space in her body. Water doesn't compress like food, it always forces its surroundings to conform to its quantity. Right now its expanding her bowels but since her stomach cannot expand outward..."

The priest's soft voice sounded more sinister to Mirlín than anything she had heard before. He was smiling. Cemhoer did not reply but his eyes were gleaming and a sickly grin had spread on his face.

            Mirlín's throat was burning and aching from having to swallow against the metal stem of the funnel. She tried to speak but, in addition to the funnel preventing speech, she couldn't produce a sound. I can't breathe, I can't breathe...

She woke up to a sharp pain on her jaw as it hit against a large rock over which she was bent, face down. The impact would have been forceful enough to make her lose consciousness again but the water flowing out of her mouth and nostrils kept her awake and aware of all the damage they had done to her. This was the fourth time she came to, having passed out three times during the water cure. Mirlín had no idea how many gallons of water had been forced down her throat but the priest had left once to refill the buckets. It felt like having swallowed a lake.

            The gastric pain was unbearable. It was as if her intestines were being stretched beyond their capacity—they probably were. She wished someone would rip off her corset and release her constricted breath. She hoped she could fall unconscious again and escape the pain inside her guts and lungs.

            More water flowed out, causing her to choke. Suddenly she was aware of the hem of her skirt being torn. Mirlín heard the sound of metal scraping against the ground and an image of the metal pipe flashed through her mind.

            "Go ahead, Father Albericus," Cemhoer's bleak voice sounded behind her. "She's a whore, she'll enjoy it."

            "Yes, my Lord, thank you, my lord," the priest purred.

20. The Pearl to the Swine

Mirlín was standing at the bar with a glass of cider, gazing around for more prospects. The tavern was crowded but oddly quiet yet the reason for the sullen atmosphere was obvious: a band of Sun troops were in the bar, the only ones making noise and also the only ones who appeared to enjoy themselves. However, their amusements seemed to focus around having their fun at the expense of others. Namely the soldiers threatened every man around them with violence, even shoving a few attempting to start unfair fights which would end up with the entire troop stomping a single fellow, or, alternatively, they shouted obscenities and groped the bosoms and backsides of female patrons and barmaids. It felt as if the entire crowd consisting mostly of local farmers and townspeople wanted to get rid of the Sons but none dared take the initiative and be the spearhead behind whom the more timid could group.

            The blonde woman had observed the tyranny of the soldiers with a mixture of amusement and irritation when she saw a broad-shouldered youth stand up, sway a little, and walk up to the Sons.

            He tapped the shoulder of one of the seated soldiers, who were fully aware of the youth. “Hey... man... we don't want no trouble here."

            The Son turned to look at the fellow, an evil grin on his face. “Well then get the fuck back to your fucking table, prick." His voice was friendly.

            The youth blushed and his expression became angry. “All you lot do is pick fights and harass women! Why don't you get the fuck out of here and move on to the next town!"

            Before the youth had properly finished his sentence, five Sons rushed him, one grabbing the fellow's feet, causing him to fall down. The others swarmed around him and after a series of stomps, lifted chairs and smashed them down at the already unmoving figure. Then they even tossed an entire table on the unconscious youth. The Sons broke in laughter and grabbed pints from the hands of surrounding townsfolk. They cheered their own performance, drained the pints, threw them at the other patrons around them, and left, still laughing. The youth remained under the table, a puddle of blood around his head, his face now an unrecognizable mess.

            After the voices of the soldiers faded away, an older man with a large belly and ragged clothes waddled over to the youth, lifted the table off him, and scratched his head.

            “Come on, Barden, let's take the boy out of here," the man muttered, stroking his bushy mustache.

            Another man, already gray-haired with a long beard stood up with a groan. He walked with a limp and it looked like he couldn't fully straighten his back. “Goddamn Sons," he mumbled while helping his friend drag out the youth who looked anything but alive.

            Gradually a quiet muttering started in the tavern and the evening seemed to return to normal albeit without the overt hostility the Sons of the Sun had caused earlier. The barmaid went to pick up the fallen chairs and then shuffled back to serve thirsty customers. Mirlín tore her gaze off the puddle on the floor and shivered. She had not expected that the terror and tyranny of the Sons was so deep-rooted that regular townsfolk did not dare to stand up for themselves or one another. Is there anyone out there ready to fight for these people? Or have all the citizens of Rodal submitted themselves to the bloody reign of the Sun? Then Mirlín remembered a story she had heard several years ago about a country that had existed somewhere near the borders of Rodal, a military state consisting only of soldiers and children becoming soldiers and even they had crumbled before the Sons of the Sun. What chance do ordinary people have if even a country founded on warfare didn't stand a chance?

Mirlín's musings came to an abrupt halt when she noticed a dark-clad girl enter the tavern with a goofy boy at her tail. The woman almost choked on her drink. Damn! I'm so gonna give Fyen a beating for this! Oh yeah, except I can't really tell her I saw her here and she better not see me either, Mirlín reasoned quickly and looked around for an escape.

            "Excuse me but you happen to have a back entrance here?" she asked the barmaid who was now standing behind the counter, washing empty tankards. She nodded and pointed at a door behind her.

            "You mind if I slip out that way?" Mirlín asked, already ducking a little so that Fyen and Desiderius would not notice her.

            "It's a free country... or used to be anyway," the maid answered laconically.

Mirlín thanked her and headed to the door. She stepped to a back alley and walked quickly to where Reynaer was waiting for her.

            "Is everything alright?" the man asked.

            "Fyen and Desiderius just decided to sway into another tavern... so now they are here."

            Reynaer slapped his forehead and groaned. "That girl is going to send me into an early grave."

            "I think I'm giving up. She can get as drunk as she wants, wherever she wants, and kick as many mercenary asses as she wants," Mirlín sighed.

            "I guess it doesn't make much difference what we want her to do," Reynaer grumbled. Then he scratched his head and glanced at Mirlín. "Kinda reminds me of myself when I was younger to tell you the truth."

            The woman let out a dry laugh. "She's imitating you, you know. That's how girls at her age are."

            "Oh, I see!” Reynaer exclaimed. “She's getting it all from my side! It's never the mother's fault!"

            "Oh shut up and let's go mug more maggots," she grunted and grabbed him by the arm.

They walked further down the thoroughfare and noticed a small, dilapidated place standing some distance away from other buildings. The high walls surrounding the town cast a deep shadow over the tavern. Looks like the ideal dwelling place for all kinds of scum. Excellent.

            "I'll wait behind the tavern, by the wall," the man said, constantly eyeing their surroundings.

            "All right, be prepared."

Mirlín straightened her dress, lifted her breasts, and headed straight to the bar. It was not quite as crowded as the other taverns had been. She ordered a drink and looked around. There were a few promising punters in sight although none of them looked older than forty which seemed somewhat strange to Mirlín.

            She made eye contact with one of the men and smiled. For a moment the man looked confused but then smiled back. Encouraged, she walked over to him and anticipated an easy pull just like the first. Another man stood up, the chair screeching against the floorboards, and left. The bartender behind the counter had seemed indifferent and barely reacted when she had ordered her drink. What a drowsy place.

            Mirlín leaned towards the man who had responded to her smile and asked: "Can I join you?" The man nodded and pulled out a chair for her.

            Mirlín sat down and gave him another alluring smile. "Slow night, huh?"

            "Not anymore. Can I buy you a drink?" the man replied but kept glancing at the stairs behind Mirlín. Apparently he knew the game.

            "Sure, let's see where this night takes us," the woman said. This is going well, could get used to my new, eh, profession, Mirlín thought to herself and imagined the man getting beat up with a limp tool.

            "During my search I heard rumors that you had become a whore but I never really believed it... until now," a cold voice behind her said.

            Mirlín felt her heart freeze and her intestines turned to liquid. She knew that voice, it broke a dam inside her mind and all the memories surged out, wringing her guts. Mirlín spun around in her chair and met the eyes she had worked so hard to forget. Then she glanced at the door but it was blocked by three men carrying swords. She stood up and backed off but the man she had taken as a simple punter grabbed her into a chokehold.

            The world turned black, fast.

Reynaer had stood outside the tavern for almost an hour now. How long can it take? If she can’t pull, she probably would have come out by now, going to find a new place to scourge. What if something's wrong? He felt a cold sensation creep into his guts. To hell with it! I'll go in and see what was going on. It's getting late anyway, we already got plenty of cash and there's no telling what worlds of trouble Fyen's gotten herself into by now.

            Throwing caution to the wind, he rounded the corner and stepped into the tavern. To his surprise, the small, dank room was completely deserted save for the barkeep who was sitting behind the counter, holding a tankard in his hand. All other thoughts drained out of Reynaer's head and only this moment remained. Sensing that something serious was going on, the man became completely calm and fully focused on the situation at hand.

            He walked over to the counter almost casually. "Evening, where is everybody?"

            Reluctantly the barkeep raised his eyes from his ale. "Everybody left. You want something?" His voice was indifferent and bored.

            Reynaer looked around. "Yeah, information. There was a blonde woman here, did she leave as well?"

            The shorter man sneered. "Well, she didn't exactly leave as much as she was carried."

            Reynaer leaned on the counter. "Carried by who?"

            The barkeep took a long, lazy swig from his tankard, licked his lips. "It was one of the soldiers I guess. Dunno if she was passed out or knocked out. I was in the kitchen at the time."

            Reynaer felt a slight surge of adrenaline but remained outwardly calm. "That's strange. Do you know what exactly happened here?"

            Finishing his ale, the barkeep took a deep breath. "To start at the beginning, this weird rich bloke came to me and said he wanted to rent the whole place just for himself and his men for the whole weekend. Nobody else was allowed to come even to the bar, not even the regulars. Well, I was to allow women in, of course," the man chuckled. "Anyway, he had some soldiers and a priest of some sort with him. They just hung around, the rich guy staying in his room the whole time until the whore came. That's when they took her and left. Rich folk, eh?" The man guffawed as he drew himself another pint. "Paid me well though."

            Hm, this is worse than I thought. Then something occurred to Reynaer. "The priest? Was he a Sun priest?"

            The shorter man swallowed a large gulp of ale and shook his head. "Definitely not. They weren't even locals. Looked more like north people actually." He scratched his head and continued: "Come to think of it, the whore looked like a northerner too."

            “What did the rich guy look like?”

            The man crunched his face in thought. “Well, quite normal. Average height, average weight… short, brownish hair, around his thirties or maybe younger. Very bog-ordinary, to tell you the truth. But he had arrogant manners.”

            Reynaer placed a silver coin on the bar. "Say, you didn't happen to hear where they were planning to go?"

            The barkeep hesitated. "Er, not really. I overheard someone mentioning caves once, don't know if they were talking about the ones north of town."

            "And where exactly would those caves be?" Reynaer asked.

            "Head north, they are pretty close to the road that goes to the Isgebind Mountains," the shorter man replied. “There are many caves in this country though, so don't count on her being there."

            "Right. Thanks for the information, friend," Reynaer said and left.