Dancers on Fire

As soon as she had exited the tent, a cold wind bit at her slightly-exposed skin, trembling as she surveyed the area around her. To her left, men sat sharpening and polishing dozens of swords, likely handed in by their comrades, a fire dancing beside their feet. To her right, four men sat at a table, playing a game of cards.

She brushed beside the men at the table, like she was a wisp in the wind- only there for a moment, eye-catching, but untouchable. One man’s attention fell into her trap, and he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

Liel gazed down at him, sultry and sleepily.

“Yes, Sir?”

“What did he have you do in there, Silver Whore?”

‘Whore…? What is he calling me?’ Her eyes churned with madness, but a grin spread up the corners of her lips, her face blushing slightly. “It’s really… none of your business…”

She averted her gaze slightly, as if she were embarrassed. As other three Hooded Vassals sitting at the table saw this, they glanced at each other, menace on their expressions as they stood up in unison.

Her appearance, a bit messy due to her travels in the past few days was nothing special, but as a woman she still gave off some sort of allure, especially towards men that had spent years in the cold wilderness, all alone.

Promiscuity could become a man’s jealousy; she knew this point well. Many male Scholars showed interest in Instructor Sinclair back at the Seminary, and the fact that she chose to do such deeds with her page in her free time was the subject of ire for many.

This was all exploitable.

“He did… many things. He told me not to tell any of you…”

“We share everything here, don’t you know this, Whore?” The first man grabbed Liel by the collar, pulling her in close. His breath smelled of death, and his general odor was the same, as if he were a walking corpse. Pitch-black liquid churned within his right eye socket, staring at Liel with its own beady red pupils.

“He told me that if any one of you ‘dirty bastards’ tried to touch me, he would have words with you.” She retorted in a frail, soft manner. Even her expletives were toned down, like she was a little lamb in the maw of wolves.

“The General wants to keep her all to himself?” One of the other men cursed under his breath. “What is he thinking? Is he trying to celebrate the capture of those fools? Don’t we have a right to celebrate too!?”

The foul-breathed man threw his cards onto the table, gesturing towards the others to follow him. Seeing their expressions and hearing their arguing, the Hooded Vassals that had been sharpening their blades also stood up, following behind them. As if all the commotion was a calling for them, they all emerged from the tarp-laden stone buildings, expressions of anger, dismay, and confusion etched on their faces.

Wasn’t this working too perfectly? Was it the Horror that caused them to sense the commotion? If they’ve bound themselves to a hivemind, it might also be the case that the Vassals felt each other’s emotions.

Of course, these conjectures didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Liel had achieved the next condition of her plot.

Liel watched as the Roamers grouped up in front of the longtent, filing their way in to confront their Leader. A grin spread up her face, malevolence churning in her gaze.

“Once you gain that focus, you forget what’s around you, and you become prone to danger in a group…”

She glanced down the row of buildings to Torres and Graham, still bound, gesturing with a twist of the head to walk over towards her. A guard remained at their side, but for two seasoned Paladins, this was no hard feat. The two slowly stood up, caring not to make a sound as they snuck up behind the Hooded guard, the snow their ally in this endeavour. Graham wrapped his bound hands around the guard’s throat, catching him unaware as he began to strangle him.

The guard immediately reached for his sword to take out Graham, but Torres had been much faster. Unsheathing the guard's blade, he dragged it across the Vassal’s throat, sheets of blood spilling out onto Torres’s clothes. The guard dropped into the snow unceremoniously, bright crimson stains spreading out around him.

The two Paladins quickly freed themselves of their bounds, making their way to Liel. She had already retrieved two swords from where they had been sharpened at the edge of the encampment, throwing one to Graham.

“Gods, you’re a lovely girl!” Graham exclaimed under his breath, grinning as he caught the sword. “So, you’ve grouped them together, what now?”

She reached beside her, grasping one of the wooden stakes from the fire the Hooded figures had huddled by. She raised it towards the tent, the flames writhing in the reflection of her eyes.

“We make them dance.”

Liel instructed the others to grab their own flaming stakes. She then stabbed her sword horizontally through the fabric entrance to the tent, twisting it into a knot before stabbing the sword into the soil. She then gestured towards Torres and Graham, who threw their flaming wooden stakes towards the side of the tent. The fabric instantly alighted, crimson flames rapidly spreading across its surface.

Sensing the commotion, the Vassals within started to shout, unsheathing their blades as they tried to slice through the canvas to escape.

However, this was a futile endeavour. The shepherd had become the sheep, and scared sheep would flee where the dog led them.

As the Hooded figures emerged from the tent, their faces etched with fear, Torres and Graham cut them down one by one. The bodies piled up at the newly-created entrances, causing them to trip out of the tent on top of each other, speared and slashed by the Paladin’s blades.

A large slash opened up at the edge of the longtent, a man wearing a pitch-black mask emerging. He glanced over at the Paladins as he stepped out in the snow, his eerie gaze washing over them as he spoke in a deep, cold intonation.

“Why?”

“For your betrayal, you must die. Ms. Astalette only tricked you to further this inevitability.”

“No… I mean, why would you light such a massive signal fire?”

Torres and Graham’s eyes widened, looking towards the horizon. The sun, barely a dot past the hazy sky, had barely emerged, the still-present darkness causing the burning tent to act like a lighthouse in the deep night. They had been so caught up in securing their escape that they hadn’t stopped to think of the repercussions that setting such a massive fire would bring.

On the clifftops surrounding the camp, the shadows began to writhe.