Master's Path: Madame de Lucreaux

Garshan sat by the side of the road on a stump, his face black. His axe was across his knees, and he stared at it without seeing, his mind running over what had just happened up the road. Why did it always have to be this way? Without saying or doing a single damned thing, he was hated and feared by all. With a snarl, he stood, turned, and buried the axe in the stump. Idiots! He could have helped them. There was much he could have done for that caravan, for he knew he was stronger than any four of those men, a better fighter, and much more knowledgeable about these mountains. But no. No. He was a half-orc, and that was all that mattered.

The woman's rejection was the most stinging to him. He'd seen the gleam in her eyes when she was first talking to him. The bitch had been most interested in him before she realized his big muscles weren't fully human. It was so often that way in this part of the world. Women here were picky and arrogant. They all thought they should have a princeling every time they took a man home from the tavern. He was sure she'd thought he'd look like some sort of god statue from one of the western temples, with a chiseled physique, long blonde hair, and a face carved from stone by a master's hand. Garshan snorted. Well, she'd been wrong. Sighing, he stood back to his feet and turned to keep going down the road. He still had to get to the city, and he wasn't going to let the predujices of a whore turned dressmaker stop him. He'd heard of Madame de Lucreaux. She was the most powerful woman in Daman because her whores collected valuable secrets from the pillow talk of their customers and gave them to her for leverage. That was hardly something that should give her the kind of superior attitude she had.

But that was of no matter. He'd shrug it off and forget it, becuase what other choice did he have? Garshan turned down the road and started walking. If he caught up to them and they tried to stop him using this free road, he'd paint those wagons with their blood.


***

Blood. That was the first thing Helene saw as she woke up. Blood everywhere. Why was there blood? Why hadn't Tomson or someone else come to clean it up? Then memory came rushing back, and she cringed down into the wreckage of her wagon. Ah, yes, that was why. Tomson had been right about the trolls. They had reached the summit of Southway pass without incident, and then the beasts had risen seemingly from the rocks themselves, a dozen and more of them, monsters with skin as hard as oak and clubs that could crush a man in a single blow. At first she had thought they would be all right, for the mercenaries surely knew how to deal with such beasts, but then, to her shock, the men had turned as one and run away. She had been betrayed, that was the only explanation. Someone had set her up to die out here, and they had used people she thought were her friends to lull her into lowering her guard. Damn them. Damn them! Now she was going to die out here, eaten by savage beasts, and her enemies in Daman would finally have the last laugh.

The wagon she lay beneath had been pulverized by a powerful swing of the biggest troll's club. It had crashed in around her, but, as consciousness returned fully, she was surprised to find she was not badly hurt. A few bruises, true, but the cushions and pillows she liked to sit on had kept her bones intact when the wood of the carriage fell on her. Of course, she was trapped now, and her dress was shredded, but that was preferable to being dead. She could hear the grunts and snuffles of the trolls, and she realized with a slight twinge of sadness that they had killed everyone else. It was too bad that these people, peasants though they be, have to die with her. They had done nothing wrong. Helene closed her eyes and waited. Now it was just a matter of time. The trolls would dig through the wreckage and find her, and then she would wish she'd died in the first attack.

***

Garshan stood atop the hill and stared down at a scene of devastation. Wagons lay overturned or smashed to splinters, and in one case, submerged in the nearby river. Bodies were everywhere, lying in crumpled heaps on the road, impaled on pieces of wood that stuck up from the wreckage of the wagons, or torn apart and scattered in pieces across the landscape. For all the death, however, it looked like the wagon handlers had fought well. There were several dead trolls, and the two that were still alive were nursing large wounds. Garshan started down the hill, pulling his axe off his back. He'd make those wounds larger. Those beasts were in his way, and they were trolls. He didn't like trolls, having lost several friends and loved ones to them when he lived with the orcs during his teenage years. These ones would pay.

The trolls were formidable opponents even wounded, standing almost ten feet tall, with enormous bodies that were both immensely powerful and highly resistant to damage. So Garshan fought dirty. A few steps down the hill, he broke into a sprint, charging them at full speed, and he crashed into them like an avalanche before they even realized he was there. Stepping up on a rock, Garshan leapt at the nearest one, bringing his axe down in a devastating overhead chop. The massive blade sheared clean through the troll's rock-hard head, splitting it in two down to the monster's shoulders. The body fell and Garshan came down with it, going to one knee. From there, he wrenched the axe free with all his might, flinging troll blood and brain matter everywhere, and turned to face the other one.

The beast was cautious, having just seen it's packmate die. Trolls did not have minds the way men did, but they had animal cunning, and they were able to recognize a threat. Garshan was very much a threat. The troll raised it's weapon, a massive oak limb that it had gnawed into a rude club, and roared loudly, trying to shake him up. The roar didn't affect Garshan even slightly. He circled, his head low and his axe held in a wide grip, and then exploded forward, swinging at the troll's leg. It brought it's club down to block with surprising speed, but Garshan's weapon prevailed. Forged specifically for him by a very skilled smith, the axe possessed the hardiness to stay in one piece when he applied all his prodigious strength to it. The result was a weapon that, while crude, could smash through nearly anything. It cleaved through the troll's club, sending splinters flying, and kept going, half-severing the beast's leg. The troll roared in pain and fear and recoiled, falling backwards as it flailed at him with what was left of it's club. Garshan stayed with it, dodging the blows or turning them aside with the handle of his axe, and when an opening presented itself, he smashed the spiked ball on the end of the weapon into the troll's elbow, turning the joint to a bloody pulp. Screaming, the beast abandoned all attempts to attack and turned away, clawing with it's good arm, trying to escape this thing that was hurting it so much. A swipe of the axe sent it's head rolling across the ground, and the battle was over.

Garshan stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Those fools, he thought as he surveyed the wreckage. If they'd let him travel with them, they might still be alive now. They had paid for their stupid racism with their lives. He found that satisfying. Wiping the blood from his axe, Garshan put it back in it's loop on his back and went to examine the wagons. There had to be some goods here that hadn't been destroyed, and as the last man standing, they were his to take.


***

What was taking them so long? Gods, waiting here in fear for the beasts to tear the wagon open and eat her, was almost worse than being eaten would be. Several times, Helene had struggled against the wreckage pinning her down, and each time all she'd gotten was frustration. She was good and truly stuck. Then a sound stopped her, and she listened with fear, and then a slight amount of hope, to the sounds of a fierce fight outside. Judging from the sounds, the trolls were being slaughtered. Maybe some of the mercenaries had come back. They'd seen how foolish it was to betray her. A woman of her power and intellect always had plans ready in case of her death. Quite a few secrets that powerful people wished she didn't know would be made public knowledge if she wasn't heard from for too long. Yes, that had to be it. Helene listened closely until the sounds of battle died away, and then she called out.

"Help! Can you hear me? I'm trapped in here! Help!"

Outside, Garshan turned at the sound of her voice, wary at first, and then concerned. He walked over to the collapsed carriage and began throwing wreckage out of the way. The first part of her he saw was a bare bottom, her skirt tearing away on the spar of wood it was stuck on as he lifted it away. The half-orc paused for a moment and enjoyed the sight. This was certainly a nice surprise. A beautiful woman rescued from almost certain death would be extremely grateful. A fine piece of loot indeed. Then he freed her the rest of the way, and his eyes widened in shock, as did Helene's when she looked up and saw who her rescuer was.

"You!" they said together. Helene couldn't believe this. What was HE doing here? Why had he killed the trolls? Certainly it hadn't been for some civilized reason like avenging the death of good people. Half-orcs didn't feel things like that. For his part, Garshan was crowing inside. Now she was going to eat those words she'd thrown at him earlier.

"Hello," he said, throwing the last piece of wood aside. "I guess you should have listened about the trolls."

Helene bristled. "Don't you lecture me, half-orc! This isn't the time or the place. Take me back to Daman, I command you!" Her imperious tone was somewhat spoiled by the fact that she was scratched up, dirty, and nearly naked. The dress had been hopelessly shredded by splinters and snags. Perhaps wearing such filmy silk on a dangerous road hadn't been the best idea. The command certainly didn't impress Garshan.

"You command me?" he asked, his voice low and filled with menace. "I save your life, and this is the thanks I get? Look around you, woman. Your guards are gone and your wagons destroyed. You're in no position to give orders." Who did she think she was?

She didn't like his tone at all, but Helene had to admit that the brute had a point. She was at a disadvantage out here. She was also becoming very aware of the fact that she was alone, in the wilderness, with a violent and uncouth man who was probably not frightened by her wealth and influence.

"I wil pay well," she said, drawing herself up a bit and trying to look rich and powerful. "Get me back to Daman, and you'll see how generous my gratitude can be." There. A wandering brute could surely be swayed by offers of money.

Garshan's only response was to laugh. After all the ways she'd insulted him, after he'd saved her life and she'd thrown it in his face, did she really think she could get rid of him by tossing coins?

"No," he growled, "I don't think so. I think I'll take my reward a different way." His eyes roamed over her limbs and she flushed angrily.

"Don't you DARE-" she began, but her words were cut off by a squeak of surprise as he suddenly hauled her up and threw her onto his shoulder. By the gods! How DARE he do this to her! "Put me down!" she screeched, thrashing. He was very strong, she had to give him that. The arm that held her up was as hard and immovable as an oak tree, and the shoulder she rested on felt like a warm piece of stone. "You have no idea who you're dealing with!" she said, pounding on his back with her fists. "I'll have you flayed alive in the city square! Unhand me!"

Infuriatingly, all he did was laugh in response. "We'd have to GET to the city square first," he said. "And that's not going to happen. So just be quiet and enjoy yourself, wench. You belong to me now." He spun on his heel and set off at a fast trot into the trees, while first sputtered with rage, and then hurled obscenities at him. Helene had learned the full range of curses in a dozen languages in her time as a street girl, and she gave him all of them now, implying that his ancestors were such degenerates that dalliances with orcs were the least of their perversions, describing in great detail exactly what would be done to him and how when she got away, and impugning every facet of his personal honor. His only response was a sharp, hard smack to her rump that silenced her for a moment from sheer shock. She was Madame Helene de Lucreaux! He couldn't DO that to her! But apparently he could, for when she renewed her tirade, he spanked her again, hard enough to leave a red mark behind.

"Shut up," he growled.

"I will not!" she said, giving a growl of her own right back. "Let me go!" He spanked her again, making her squeak with pain and rage, and then upped his pace, deliberately bouncing her on his shoulder. The jolts knocked the breath out of her, and she paused her tirade, breathing hard. Pleased, Garshan kept the fast pace up, leaving the road far behind as he darted through the trees. Soon they'd be so far in that no one would find them, and then he'd show her the right way to use that filthy mouth.