Chapter Six
Morning came faster than either individual cared for, their eyes opening to the blinding morning sun. Libelle sat up first, kicking dirt into the smoking embers and gathering her things up. She lightly brushed and saddled both horses before Eskil had even gotten to his feet. He moved slowly, like an old man would as he walked towards his gelding.
He patted the horse's neck with a yawn, feeling exhausted was not normal for him. Where had his energy gone? Libelle opened a bag and pulled out a large loaf of bread and dried meat. She broke the bread in half and handed him his portion. Then pulled to strips of meat out of the wrapping and handed him some. The same meal as the night before… he hoped this wouldn't be an everyday occurrence.
“We eat and ride.” She said, returning the supplies to the saddle bag and climbed onto her horse's back. She waited until Eskil did the same, his muscles were stiff and unfamiliar with riding: he was going to be sore for days. Once he was in his saddle, Libelle leaned forward and handed her stallion a small chunk of her bread. The horse's thick lips flapping as it chewed away on the tough dough. Seconds later she was walking her stallion down a stone path, silently eating her bread and dried meat.
Despite his attempts to bicker with her, Libelle remained quiet the entire day. They rode in complete silence until it was nearing dusk. She found a small clearing along the path that was close to a small creek that she said was plentiful with trout.
Like the evening before, she collected small stones and built a circle around her growing fire. Tossing larger pieces of wood onto it as it grew in size and warmth. She removed the saddles and brushed down each horse before venturing out into the thick brush and returning with long straight sticks. She pulled a knife from her boot, sat next to the fire, and began to slice thin amounts of wood from one end of each stick: forming sharp and pointed ends to them. She collected the wood in her arms and walked towards the creek, Eskil slowly following her as he rubbed his sore back with a groan.
She kicked off her boots and rolled up the leather of her pants while he watched her, all of her motions were fluid and all actions taken with some sort of intention. She stepped into the creek with one of the sharpened sticks, and then stood very, very still. Eskil started to speak and she held a finger up to him. He grumbled, then sat down along the shore line and stretched his arms and neck.
Libelle suddenly thrusted the stick into the water, laughing and a smile forming on her face. She held her stick up, on the end was a relatively large trout skewered on the end. She waded through the water to where he was sitting and handed him the stick.
“Dinner.” She said.
Eskil stared at the fish that had went limp, shrugged and took a large bite from its scaly and fleshy body. He grumbled with a mouthful of raw fish when she pulled it away and snatched it from his hands. A look of humor was mixed with disgust at him with wide eyes and narrowed brows.
“What?” He asked, swallowing the first bite of his meal. “You said it was dinner, I am eating.”
She shook her head “No! It’s raw, you need to cook it first!”
She gagged, setting the speared trout in the grass next to him before grabbing another pole and returning to the deeper water. She easily speared four more fish before exiting the stream and walking back to the fire. Again, Eskil followed behind her and sat down by the fire across from Libelle.
Libelle used the same knife she used to sharpen the sticks to de-scale the trout. The one he had taken a massive bite out of she held up, gagged again and shook her head. She pushed the sticks through the fish’s mouth, before stabbing the stick into the ground where they hovered above the fire. He heard the water on the fish sizzle, the meat slowly turning colors as the fish began to cook. She placed more wood onto the fire, and waited patiently while their dinner cooked.
Several minutes later she pulled one of this fish from the fire and handed it to him, it was the one that he had taken a bite from earlier. “Now you can eat, it’s cooked and the meat is not raw: it will not make you sick.”
He accepted it from her, and sniffed the now cooked fish. “Make me sick?”
“Yes, people get sick from eating raw meat. Wrecks your belly for days.”
He snorted. “You mortals are so weak.”
She shrugged, “If you see it that way, fine. But just be thankful I was kind enough to get you something other than bread and dried meat. Finish eating, then get some sleep. We are leaving at first light again.”
Libelle ate two of the cooked trout before leaning up against a tree and wrapping her pelt around herself. She shut her eyes, and within minutes she was asleep. Eskil stared at her while finishing the last few bites of his third trout, sighing as his belly felt full and he didn't have to taste meat and stale bread for the evening. His morning meal was surely not going to be as satisfying.
He set more logs into the fire before laying down and resting his head against his saddle, sighing while staring up into the night sky. He layed there with no specific thoughts in his mind, the sky was now completely dark with thick clouds: the stars were not out like the evening before. He sighed again, resting his forearm over his head where it rested on his scaled horns. He was exhausted, and he wanted sleep: so sleep he shall have. Closing his eyes, he was asleep within moments. His mind blank, his dreams forgotten, he would wake in the morning.
The sounds of screaming pierced Eskil’s ears as he opened his eyes to the dark sky. He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up groggily before looking upwards in the direction that Libelle was supposed to be sleeping. Instead she was sitting up, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression livid. Her brow was creased, and she had a clear frown on her lips; her finger tapping her arm as she stared into the fire.
Behind her sat a rough looking man, his clothing filthy and his stench rancid. He held a blade to her throat and was muttering something to another man who stood beside them. He glanced around, taking in the situation. There were several men standing around the fire, more were standing beside unfamiliar horses. There were three women kneeling on the ground to his right, their hands bound behind their backs. They were wailing, tears streaming down their face as they pleaded with the dirty looking men.
He went to sit up when one of the men seemed to notice he was awake, his disgusting hand latching onto his horn and pulling him onto his knees. “Look here boys, we have ourselves a fancy little devil. What are these horns of yours, eh? What sort of devil are you?”
Eskil growled, but did not offer a clear response. These must be the bandits Libelle had mentioned. She was right, he would not be able to do anything to defend himself against these men. The more his anger boiled, the more he imagined ripping the man's heart from his chest: the more he felt a static-like pain tickle throughout his body. If he were to attack these men, he would be writhing in pain before they even began to slice into him.
He glanced around again. There was one man kneeling beside Libelle with a long blade against her thin throat, pressure from the sharp metal was causing her skin to turn red. Another man stood beside him, talking to the group of two men who were enjoying the warmth of their fire. Another man was squatting next to the three women, toying with them, and chuckling while they flinched at his touch. Three more were standing by the horses going what he had to assume was their ‘loot’ from their raids. Then there was the bastard who still had his grungy hand twisted around his horn. They were drinking the piss that men called ale, laughing and seeming to have a grand time.
Nine men in total, nine potential threats; he was completely, utterly helpless. Libelle was remaining still, her expression growing more and more frustrated: her tapping finger growing louder and faster in pace. Her patience was getting thinner with each passing moment, and she was more than likely calculating her every move in this distasteful situation.
The man standing beside him yanked his horn upwards and pain radiated through his scalp. He leaned down to speak to Eskil, the stench of rotting teeth wafting from his mouth as he spoke. “What sort of beasty are you then? Eh? Answer me!” The man released his horn and kicked him squarely between his shoulder blades, sending Eskil dangerously close to the hot embers. He caught himself with his hands before his face made contact with them, wanting to spin around and tear the man's head from his shoulders.
He glanced up at Libelle whose eyes were now tightly closed, her lips thin and tight as she chewed on her lower lip. She was still tapping her finger, and he could see a vein begin to pulse near her temple. He went to push himself up, but the man kicked him down again. He used all his mortal strength to hold himself up above the flames, while the man repeatedly stomped down onto his back while laughing.
“Huh? Tell me what sort of beast you are! Tell me!” He laughed, accepting a drink from one of his foul comrades as they began to laugh. The man repeated his question several more times, still stomping down onto his back. Eskil gritted his teeth, looking back up at Libelle whose eyes were still closed. Why was she not doing anything? He stared at the knife that was against her throat, a small droplet of blood was forming at the tip of the blade. The man was carelessly holding her life in his hands, it was unacceptable.
Her life was his to take. Eskil ignored the sting as he grabbed a handful of glowing embers and turned, throwing them into the man's face as he did so. The man yelled out as the hot embers made contact with his face, but his scream was quieted as Eskil wrapped his hands around his throat. For a moment he felt satisfaction when his large hands coiled around the man's throat, he was seconds from taking the mortals life. All too soon however, he felt the same agonizing pain erupt through himself. He stifled his own scream, his hands releasing the mortal’s neck and he collapsed to the ground panting.
The man began coughing while the others all laughed at him, as soon as he recovered he cursed. “You filthy bastard!” He massaged his throat. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Eskil fought the urge to vomit as his stomach twisted in knots as the man's foot collided with his abdomen, the kick sending him into the air before he collapsed onto the grass. He coughed and groaned, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. He looked at Libelle again, her eyes were open now and she was staring at him. She hadn't moved, but her eyes were tracking him.
Was she watching to see if he would kill the mortals? Would she sit there idly and let the men beat then kill him? What of the mortal women, what would she do about them?
He grunted when the mongrel of a man kicked him again, once more in the abdomen and then his face. He heard all the men begin to laugh when he tried to push himself up again.
“Blasted milk drinker.” The man cursed, kicking him again across his temple.
Another man laughed, “Humph, while you have fun with that horned beast, I think I will have some fun with this one.”
The man who had been toying with the captive women scooped up a young red haired girl, she screamed and kicked as he threw her over her shoulder and carried her merely ten feet away from the group before dropping her to the ground. She screamed, crying and pleading with the man as he unbuckled the leather strap around his waist.
Eskil growled as he realized what was about to occur. The young girl screamed again, her wailing never ceasing as she tried to move away from the man: but she was defenseless against the brute with her hands tied behind her back. The other two women screamed for the man to stop, trying to stand and run to her side when the three men who were standing by the horses stopped at their side. Their rough hands clamping down onto their shoulders and preventing them from running to the girl’s side.
“Be still there lassies, we haven't forgotten about you. We haven't forgotten about you two.” One man said.
“Yes, we would not be so rude to forget about you pretty lasses.” Said another.
Eskil heard a shrill screech from behind him, the two girls screams followed when the third man ripped the blouse open of the blonde haired girl. His hand reached into her shredded blouse and grasped her breast. She tried pulling away, but the trio of men surrounded the two women. Pinning them to the ground and shredding their clothing so they had better access to the women's bodies. This is why he hated mortals, they were foul and dishonest beings.
He looked at Libelle whose scowl had disappeared, she was staring at him. Her brilliant blue eyes were once again lifeless, yet this time they seemed more terrifying than he could ever remember. The blue appeared so gray they looked almost black, her expression was blank and stoic. This time his slayer appeared more devil like than he was at this moment, and it sent a shiver up his spine.
The screams and pleading of the women continued to sting his ears, the bandit men were enjoying their ‘prizes’ from an earlier raid. Now they were here, seizing the opportunity of the two of them sleeping to stroll into their camp and take them hostage as well. He gritted his teeth when he felt the man's boot land against his ribs.
“What the hell are you doing?” He snarled, not at the man but at Libelle. “Why are you just sitting there!?”
The bandit kicked him again causing his hands to slip in the grass and he collapsed to the ground, then he grabbed one of his horns again and yanked him up back onto his knees. “What the hell are you mumbling about? Why isn’t she doing nothing! The lass is sitting pretty, waiting for her turn.” He licked his lips as he stared at Libelle.
The man holding the blade to her throat chuckled. “Yes, she is a pretty lass. Much prettier than those wee farm girls. Much better behaved to. She did not scream or wail, no, not like them three. Oh the way they begged when we butchered their dear old Ma and Pa!”
He chuckled again, leaning closer to Libelle who remained silent and unmoving. “You’re a pretty lass, aren't you? We are going to have some fun with you.” The lanky man stuck out his tongue, licking Libelle’s neck up to her cheek leaving a trail of disgusting saliva behind. He watched the man's knife withdraw from her neck just a small amount, causing a red line on her skin behind.
“Libelle, do something.” He hissed. He felt like he was pleading with her now, but he did not dare acknowledge that. He knew the slayer was stronger than this, so why did she not do anything?
Eskil hissed at the man who took another step towards him. His foot drew back as he prepared to kick him again. Burn in Hel you bastards, I will sear your flesh and devour your pathetic soul! A brutal death you deserve.
Here he was, defenseless in the current situation. He could not defend himself from his attackers, he was stuck on the ground where he was being beaten by these foul creatures. His form was weak, his skin bruised and tore easily, his bones ached, and his blood was becoming too familiar. How he longed to return to his scaled form where he could wreak havoc on the land again, when he could slay these worthless men with his fiery breath and then devour their souls. How he would enjoy feasting upon them.
The man who had been standing next to the lanky man who was fondling Libelle’s hair was now drinking and laughing alongside his assailant. With their laughter, they took turns kicking him. Their boots striking his abdomen, his ribs, across his face and his scalp. He wanted to strike back, but each time he made a move to defend himself: pain worse than their strikes rushed through him like a torrential current.
Eskil eventually collapsed in the grass, the taste of blood in his mouth while his body ached. He wanted to scream, but he didn't have the energy to do so. He looked at Libelle again, his red eyes searching for hers. She was staring into the flames, but cold eyes slowly turned towards him and she mouthed something. He squinted at her, trying to understand the words her lips were slowly forming.
She mouthed the words again, ‘Get down.’
Eskil’s eyes widened when she twisted her wrist in a circular motion and a blue hue was glowing from her palm. He grunted when the man kicked him again, but did not fight to rise again when he heard the sound of crackling fire. Libelle’s hands remained at her sides, but red hot flames erupted around her fists. The flames grew and rose around her arms, slowly engulfing her upper body.
The man at her side shrieked, leaping away from her and patting down his clothes that now smoked with the magical flames. Her expressionless eyes remained unchanging and she rose to her feet. She stood upright, her hands raised to her waist with her palms facing up. The men who were assaulting the girls stopped their grotesque attack, and rushed towards her. Curses sputtering past their lips. Even the men who were lingering about the camp ran at her, weapons drawn and the desire to spill blood in all of their eyes.
The two girls closest to him crawled towards the crying red head the moment the men's attention was off of them. He looked at them from his spot on the ground, he was laying on his back feeling worthless. He wanted his wings back, with them he could soar out of reach and destroy the entire camp with one pass of his fiery breath. Pathetic. He thought with a growl, turning his attention back to Libelle who was still surrounded by flames and the bandit men.
They were throwing curses at her, trying to get close enough to strike her with their blades but the flame was too hot. He watched as the flames around her grew in size and heat, the hotter the flames grew the more blue they appeared.
Her flaxen hair waved rapidly about, rising with each gust of magic and framing her delicate yet serious face. She was still staring at him, incredibly focused as she concentrated. The men’s attacks were futile, they couldn't get close enough to her with their swords and daggers.
The man who had been holding her hostage moments ago cursed, grabbing her bow that lay in a pile of their ‘loot.’ He attempted to draw the tight bow, struggling to nock the arrow as he pulled back on the string. “You bitch! Die!”
He was able to draw the string back enough to focus his aim, but he was too late. The time that Libelle had taken to sit silently, to be a cooperative pet the bandits thought she was: she had taken to focus her racial magic for one of the less common spells that her kind was so proud of. The fiery blaze that surrounded her erupted in an explosion that stretched out all around her. Sending balls of fire in a complete circle, burning anything it would touch.
Scorching all the men with the magical flames, burning their flesh and severely wounding them. The men all screamed, trying to run from the flames but it was futile. Each man was ablaze, their skin burning with a putrid stench. Their flammable clothing clung to their skin as it burned faster than they could diminish it. They let out pain filled screams, few of the men collapsed in agony while others dropped to the ground and tried to put out the flames. Their screams gradually diminished, quieting to whimpers and moans as they all succumbed to the heat and excruciating pain they were suffering from the flames.
Libelle exhaled slowly, walking calmly over one mans charred body to the sword they had attempted to steal from her. She picked up the long and heavy blade, turning back around and approaching each man who was still moaning and struggling to breathe through the pain of seared flesh. She thrusted her sword into each of their chests, striking their hearts and ending their pathetic lives. It was all do quickly.
The bandit group was abruptly eliminated, but it was all for the better. Eskil pushed his sore body back up, and sat on his heels as he rubbed his sore jaw. He spat blood and spit onto the soil, and the rage that seethed throughout him was hard to contain. He wanted to scream, to breathe fire into the air and swallow the wretched souls of the men: to know they would suffer eternity in torment. Their deaths were not nearly enough to calm him.
Libelle walked past him towards the three crying girls, she did not stop to look at him or access his wounds: nothing he didn't expect. She approached the trio, her hands raised up when they all jumped at her sudden appearance. He watched as she knelt by their sides, the three cried and wailed as Libelle spoke soft words of comfort to them.
He saw the faint glow in her hands, the color a soft white that was gentle like her words. She spoke to them while she healed each girl's wounds. She could heal their physical wounds, but she would not be able to heal the psychological wounds or remove the memories they would forever have to live with. She was still emotionless, not reacting to their words when they began to stammer out the murders of the night.
The seemingly eldest of the three spoke first while clinging to the red headed girl who had suffered the most. “It all happened so fast, Papa told us to get in the house and lock the door. He told us to hide and to not open the door for anyone, not even him. We didn't know what was going on, why he sounded so scared.” She sniffed and wiped away her tears. “We ran inside, locked the door and hid in the cellar. Mama covered the door with a rug, we heard her pushing the bed over it when there was a loud crash. Then Mama was screaming and we didn't know where Papa was.
“They were in the house, taking things and breaking whatever else they didn't want. Mama was screaming, she sounded so scared. We didn't do anything, we couldn't do anything… Brynhild, Ingrid and me, Vigdis: we tried to sneak out the back door of the cellar that led to the stable. When we opened the cellar door, hic, there were more of them waiting for us. They grabbed us and dragged us across the yard, tied us up and threw us in that wagon over there.
“I saw Mama and Papa, the men were beating them. We begged them to stop but they wouldn’t listen! We had to watch them beat them, we had to watch them kill them! I didn't know where they were taking us or what they would do to us, but then we ended up here when they saw your fire. Our farm is destroyed, they took our horses, killed all of our livestock and burned down our home. There is nothing left for us there besides ashes. We… we would have died if you were not here. Oh thank the gods you were here.”
She clasped one hand around Libelle’s still glowing hand. She thanked Libelle repeatedly while her younger sisters clung to her sides.
Libelle sighed, “I’m am truly sorry for your loss, for everything you all have gone through.”
“Thank you, I didn't know what we could have done without you.” The middle child, Ingrid said.
The redhead, Brynhild nodded in agreement with her sisters but did not speak. She was the worst victim of all of them, suffering through brutal rape by cruel men. If she were able to focus and concentrate her magic faster and earlier, the girl's wounds would not have been so grave.
“I’m sorry lasses.” Libelle said again, color returning to her cheeks and a shimmer returning to her eyes. “Come to the fire, warm yourselves and get some sleep. I cannot do much for you other than offer your safe keeping for the night, the warmth of my fire, and breakfast in the morning. At dawn I must continue on my way, but you can take those horses and ride south west towards Edinburgh. I know the King there, tell him I sent you for safe keeping and he will welcome you to his home.”
The girls stared at her with wide eyes, then towards the horses and wagon the bandits had once possessed. They would be able to ride in the wagon, and sell the spare horses for good coin. They would be safe in the walls of Edinburgh, they would be able to find work and a new home.
They smiled, grasping her hands again with another round of thanks. Libelle motioned them to the fire, where she pulled a heavy wool blanket from her horse's saddle bag. Both their horses still stood tied to the thin branches of the trees, frightened but obedient as they accepted the gentle pat on their necks. The saddle bags had been rummaged through, she would need to collect their supplies before leaving in the morning.
She returned to the girls who sat as far away from the men's corpses that littered a wide portion of the clearing. They were huddled together, but gratefully accepted the blanket she offered them. Libelle grabbed a boot of one of the men, dragging the limp corpse across the ground and away from the fire. She repeated this with two more or the corpses until there was enough distance between the warmth of the fire and the stench of their burnt flesh.
Eskil remained sitting where he had pushed himself up from the soil, wiping blood from his lip and nose and wheezing through the pain that his sore ribs brought. He watched as Libelle cleared the small camp, removing corpses and collecting their belongings. He wanted to move, but all energy was sapped from his limbs.
“Drag-” He cleared his throat. “Libby.”
She didn't react to his voice or her nickname he had chosen for her. Instead she placed several logs onto the campfire, bringing the flames back to life and brightening the clearing. He called her name again, “Libelle, come here.” He pointed to the spot in front of him.
She looked at him, rolled her eyes and walked up to him. Her hands were on her hips as she looked down at him. “What?”
Eskil looked back at her, a knot forming in his neck and his head began to throb even more. He winced and rubbed his temple, letting a quiet sigh pass his lips. By all the gods and the glory, he wanted to ask for her help. For her healing. But damn it all, he would not betray his own strength by asking for her aid.
He attempted to stand up, his knees bending and pushing him upwards as his torso screamed in refusal of the sudden movement and pain. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, then opened them.
“Why is… there three... of you?” Eskil’s vision was blurry and a trio of bright blue eyes widened at him as he collapsed back onto the ground. With a loud grunt, he fell onto his back, his head snapping and landing on the unforgiving soil. He groaned and coughed when Libelle knelt down by his head with a sigh of her own.
“You are a fool, you know that right?”
“Cursed elf.” He hissed at her when she ripped his cotton shirt open, her cool hand brushing against the dark bruises already forming across his ribs.
“Curse at me all you want your man-beast.”
He groaned and gritted his teeth, his long canines pinching his lower lip when her fingers rolled over his ribs. “What are you doing?”
“Your ribs are broken, I need to set them before healing your sorry ass.”
Broken? My ribs are broken? How fragile you mortals are… how fragile I am.
Eskil was so frustrated, he wanted to curse but the pain was more than he had experienced in quite a long while. Such pain had only been experienced a handful of times before, the most recent had been a battle he and the slayer had just a year ago. Both had exhausted themselves, but both had failed to take the others life.
The pain there, was perhaps even better than this. His gold eyes shot open and widened with a sharp inhale when Libelle pushed his broken ribs back into place, his fingers dug into the grass and he fought the growing urge to roar out in agony. One rib cracked, then a second, a third, then a forth before Libelle’s hand began to glow with the pale light of her healing magic. Her hand felt smooth across his chest as she healed his broken bones, magic causing the bones to reform and bond back together. Her magic worked not only to repair his broken bones, but to take the sharp pain from his abdomen.
“Your face is a mess.” She snickered. Despite the cold aura emitting from her, she had a playful expression as she teased him about his pitiful state.
“Curse you she-elf. I would not be in this sorry state if it were not for you.” He curled his lip when her magic began to sooth the ache in his head. Moments passed and the throbbing pain began to fade and he sighed, unintentionally he rested his head against her soft palm. He saw her cheeks darken, her eyes flutter and widen before she chewed on her lip.
He stared up at her the entire time she used her magic and strength to heal him, his eyes staring into hers wondering what was crossing her mind. The dragon slayer, Libelle was a wretched being and the sight of her breathless body before him would do nothing but please him. Yet right now, as his pain was fading, he wanted nothing more than to rest and stare at her.
She slowly soothed away his aches and pains, and he could see exhaustion set in. She was growing more and more tired, and he knew she needed rest. “Libelle, you need to sleep.” A surprising tone of concern was in his voice.
“Yes, you're right.” She wiped away a droplet of blood away from his brow, then another from his lip.
He silently stared at her for a short moment, his head still resting against her hand that was gently tangling into his hair. Why is it becoming harder for me to hate you? He stared at her face, tracing her features with his eyes and remained silent as he did so. He saw her cheeks darken again, wondering why they did that. She pulled her hand away from him and scooted backwards.
He sat up, taking his motions slowly as he did not feel like collapsing to the dirt again. She stood up, waiting for him to stand as well before motioning him toward the fire. He followed her, sitting down near the fire while she looked down at the girls who were quietly whimpering.
“You three get some rest, I will stay awake tonight.”
They nodded, and she turned to look at Eskil. “You get some sleep too. I’ll wake you when it's time to leave.”
She needn't argue with him, he was already dozing off. He watched as she settled into another corner of the camp, her sword on her hip and her bow in her lap. She was waiting for another attack, another round of killing. The cruelty of the mortals never ceased to amaze him.