Sucker Punch and Crossing Horns

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 5 DAY 26

After planting a wisp on the shoulder of every fighter, Ruxian drifted away with Susie all while monitoring his eyes in the sky. In a moment, his unwitting collaborators would give Sothrend a rude awakening. That exclusive knowledge made him feel powerful. If he could engineer the defeat of Aergot Paerawyn, what chance did this township stand against his meticulous plans?

We got company. Ruxian warned. Nervous?

“A little,” said Susie flatly. “Still better than the bird cage. Never knew open air on the cliffside was so torturous.”

Despite the advanced warning, Susie stiffened at the sound of approaching horse hooves. It was the patrolling cavalry. Her eyes went blank as she held out her enchanted lamp, allowing Ruxian to slip inside. She was under his spell. Smile and act natural.

“Who goes there?” cried a horseman.

Susie waved at the trio on horseback with a beaming grin. “I’m a sister of church.”

“Susie!” exclaimed a lanky hunchback, leaning over his horse. “Brother Lucius thought the Dracons ate you alive! This is a miracle. Bless the Goddess.”

“I have captured one of the escaped heroes who conspired to assassinate His Highness,” said Susie. “Can you escort me to the church?”

The hunched rider leapt off his mount to help Susie on. As his hand traced her backside and thigh, her revulsion sent a shudder coursing through Ruxian. Rather than an apology, this man seemed to relish this unsolicited contact.

Susie squeezed a smile. “The deputy is a wicked man.”

“It’s captain now,” he replied. “We’ll have plenty of time to get reacquainted when I repent to the Goddess later.”

Ruxian studied this man. His humped posture, flippant tongue, and a hand that fiddled with his belt of small arms all matched Dramien’s description of Cabron. For all his ebullient banter, laughter, and offhanded sexual advances, the wraith detected not a hint of warmth he had long associated with genuine mirth. If there ever was a spider that smiled at bugs, Cabron would be it.

“Cabron is taking them in,” declared Naya, tilting her head towards the wisp. “Let’s go.”

“Cabron, eh?” Dramien muttered with a fatalistic resignation that made the Dracon women flinch. “I’m going to miss his bad jokes. I really am.”

“You spoke of him highly,” said Lyrica.

Dramien snorted. “The Goddess birthed a wolf, shaved its fur, and made it walk on two legs. That’s Cabron.” He sighed. “Useful.”

Lyrica gave him a knowing smirk. “Just say it,” she teased. “You want him dead by your hands.”

Surprised, then amused, Dramien led Naya into the tall grass and gestured for the others to fang out. He never imagined that a simple escort mission to Immortrium would have him infiltrating Sothrend, the town he had defended for more than a decade, alongside sworn enemies. This irony, though not lost, no longer tore at his loyalty. Whoever thought to do Vera harm would get the sharp end of his weapon, just like the men who would soon ride through these flats within moments.

“I had barely settled into Sothrend when your uncle came with raiders,” Dramien recalled, lifting a hand to his neck. “He came out of the thickets and caught my throat with his chains. He spared me.” He drew his sword. “Thogar always knew who his enemies were. I didn’t.”

Naya unwound her garash. “Thanks,” she whispered. “Papa told me funny stories when he took me boar hunting to ease my nerves.”

Two incoming.

Naya and Dramien dropped low and tightened their grips upon receipt of the telepathic warning. Smoke billowed into the air just as soft clopping came within earshot. The two made eye contact, traded nods, waited for the first rider to pass, then pounced.

Arcing chains wrenched the unsuspecting rider from his horse. The winded man found a garash tickling his beard, his eyes wide with horror. Dramien immediately snatched away the discarded spear and commandeered the unmanned mount.

The patrol partner was still turning his horse around when Dramien showed him the blunt end of the spear, unsaddling the horseman before turning the tip on the downed man. Horrified at first, the victim brightened with recognition.

“Captain Gilverman?”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Dramien said flatly. “I see you in Sothrend again, and I’ll kill you.”

“Then you’ll have to kill me,” the man snarled, sitting up and pressing his throat against the spear. “Those thugs just showed up one day and dragged Vera through the square. I’ll die a 42nd and you will always be my captain.”

The man under Naya lifted an approving fist. “Will ride the horizon with you, captain,” he managed. “Can you ask your lady friend to –”

Shaking her head, Naya grabbed the extended arm and pulled up the fallen man. “You don’t exactly inspire confidence.” She then sighed. “Rather tragic that I trust you more than my own kin.” She then tilted her head to speak into Ruxian’s wisp. “We turned two riders and are now charging the southern gates. Goddess blesses the brave, sisters.”

Lyrica galloped over on a stolen horse and pointed behind her. “Turned one on our side,” she reported. “Your men really respect you, Dramien.”

“One?” asked Dramien.

“The other one refused to yield after we gave your name,” the towering Dracon replied. “Didn’t want to consort with demons, he said.”

The throes of chaos had firmly gripped Sothrend when the invaders arrived. Not a single member of the cavalry or militia checked them as they rode through the gates. Mule carts loaded with water buckets lumbered towards the rising black smoke. It seemed someone had set fire to the tall weed on the outskirts. Even as the men raced north to contain the flame, a group of matrons marched for the church. Social order had collapsed.

“Is this the doing of that Ruxian?” asked Lyrica. “I see why Mother Blackmoon is so wary of him.”

“Haven’t heard from Ruxian in a while,” said Naya. “Did something happen to him?”

Blaring horns and pounding hooves cut short their conversation. The wisps on their shoulders, however, were silent. Naya and Lyrica exchanged a look of dread. The early return of the Targonian cavalry could only mean one thing: their sisters had retreated without fighting

“I’m guessing this wasn’t part of your plan,” Naya hissed at Lyrica. “Didn’t think they’d leave you, too?”

“Drop it, Pigslayer,” spat Lyrica. “We need to abort.”

“No!” cried Naya. “We won’t have a chance like this again!”

“There’s always next time,” overruled Dramien. “Unless you die.” He then turned to his two soldiers. “Seek out allies. I shall return.”

Naya opened her mouth but caught herself. Dramien was trembling. He looked to the church one last time before kicking his horse into motion. Scowling, Naya followed, pressing her head low against the whistling wind.

“Go invisible,” cried Dramien. “I’ll give you a way out.”

Already, the local cavalry looped around the western gate to cut them off. Veering a corner, Naya and Lyrica dismounted and vanished into thin air. Dramien hurled his spear with a mighty roar, the projectile grazing a rider’s hair. Turning his horse, he raced for the northern exit, leaving in his wake a mounted horde screaming traitor.

The two Dracon girls slipped through the unguarded gate. Once they gained some distance on Sothrend, the pair broke their stealth and trotted southwards. Naya kept her eyes locked in front, refusing to even look at Lyrica. Whoever sent this woman intended for her to fail. And now, she had lost one of her closest allies with the other exposed to mortal danger. On the verge of tears, she clapped her own cheeks. She needed to get Ruxian out.

“If harm befalls Ruxian or Dramien,” said Naya, “you’ll wish you were dead. You know I can hurt you.”

“I’m a victim too,” Lyrica growled. “And if you think your apostate techniques will work twice, then think again.”

“Just squeal and run home,” Naya spat. “I don’t need –”

Face contorted with rage, Lyrica seized her collar. “You’re not the only one seeking liberation,” she yelled. “Being born with an extra horn doesn’t mean you love our people more!”

Even after she released Naya, Lyrica shoved her before stomping off. Too tired to fight back, Naya followed her southwards. They marched in glum silence until Naya’s horns tingled. Her eyes swept the field. These pulses belonged to her sisters. Sure enough, a squad of young women broke their invisibility and stepped out of the tall grass.

“Where’s everybody else?” Lyrica asked brusquely, though she had more than an inkling.

“We turned around and found half of them had deserted,” reported a sister through gritted teeth. “Those crones must really want us to fail.”

“And yet you stayed,” said Naya. “I take it that means you want to see this through.”

Collective nods followed her comment. Wearing a grim smile, Naya’s eyes swept over her sisters. She lowered her head, presenting her scarlet horns to Lyrica, who let out a short gasp.

“To every Blackmoon who yearns true liberation,” said Naya, “cross my horns and be my sister.”