Dark Love

They reached the camp midmorning the next day. Pirotess went on ahead first. Ashram watched her moving stealthily from rock to rock to determine if Parn and his friends might be lying in ambush. That did not turn out to be the case, though, and soon she signaled Ashram that all was clear.

The horses were still where they had been tied up, for which Ashram was grateful. He was grateful, too, that Pirotess hadn’t said anything in the morning about his covering her with his cape. Her smile and the light in her eyes as she returned his cape had been disturbing enough. Even now he had trouble shaking off the image, or the way she’d stretched, catlike, as the sun rose, her full breasts pressing against her vest...

*Damn it. Stop thinking about her. You can’t afford to lose control over your emotions. Loss of control leads to loss of discipline.* Discipline was the fundamental precept of his life. By being disciplined, he never lost his mind during a battle, never became prey to the fury that consumed so many warriors and led them to make mistakes. By being disciplined, he could analyze every situation with proper detachment, allowing him to more easily discern potential problems and solutions. Discipline was what had allowed him to become one of the best swordsmen and battle commander of all Lodoss Island. *If I lose my discipline, I’ll soon be a corpse.* Firmly he put the images out of his mind.

There were ten horses in all, including Ashram’s big black gelding – no prancing, unruly stallion for him. They saw to the horses’ needs, ate a quick meal, then took what they needed from the camp for the trip back to the city of Raiden, hiding the rest as best as they could. With only two of them to do the work, it wasn’t until a few hours after midday that they left, but Ashram was satisfied anyway. With so many remounts, it would only take five days’ riding to the northwest to reach Raiden. From there they could board the ship they’d taken to come to this part of Lodoss Island, and set sail for Marmo.

From occasional glances throughout the day, he saw that Pirotess’s good humor was vanishing. At first she kept giving him smiles whenever she suspected he was looking, but when he did not respond in any way, the smiles became fewer and she returned to the tight-lipped, worried look she’d had the day before. *Serves her right for the way she teased me.*

When they stopped to make camp that night, they’d reached a lower altitude than the previous night, so there was no need for Ashram to lend his cape to Pirotess. He was still wondering why he’d done that. He also wondered if Pirotess would have willingly gone through another cold night if it meant being wrapped in his cape. He recalled the almost beatific look that had come over her face when he’d spread his cape over her...

*I’m doing it again,* he realized with more than a little anger at both himself and Pirotess. The horse he was grooming whinnied and shifted as he applied the brush too strongly. He took a breath, then exhaled slowly. Discipline. He was thinking about Pirotess so much because he was alone with her, that was all. And he had covered her with his cape because if she became sick, she would slow them down and be less efficient. Soon enough they would be back in Raiden. There he could lose himself in the details of being a commander, and put Pirotess in the back of his mind. *And once we return to Marmo, I’ll find some duty that will take her away for a while...*

They ate their cold supper in a near silence, talking no more than absolutely necessary. After they’d put away the remains of their meal, Pirotess said she was going off for a while to practice her magic, though she would remain in calling range. Ashram just nodded. He vastly preferred the honest clash of steel to the mysterious powers of magic. *A strange aversion for a man who wields one of the two most powerful magical swords on Lodoss,* he admitted to himself wryly, dropping a hand to Soul Crusher’s hilt.

Still, he couldn’t help but remember Karla, the Grey Witch, who’d tried to turn him against his liege. He remembered the lance that had fallen from the skies like a thunderbolt, slaying Emperor Beld, the only man the Black Knight could honestly serve, mere moments after his triumph of killing King Fahn of Valis... The treachery of Groder... Wagnard... *Kardis take them all.* He almost consigned the irritating dark elf female he was traveling with to the same fate, but somehow could not bring himself to. *And stop thinking about her!*

Pirotess returned about an hour after she’d left, looking fresher and more energized than Ashram had seen her in a long time.

“Could you take the first watch tonight?” he said.

“As you wish.” She never called him by his titles, yet never failed to comply with even his smallest requests. He preferred her unquestioning obedience to the fawning of many of his subordinates.

He rose and began to remove his armor. As strong and in perfect physical shape as he was, no man could wear plate mail day and night without feeling the effects. He could not stiffle a sigh as he removed the heavy steel and let his skin feel the air for the first time in days.

As he continued to take off his armor, he noticed Pirotess watching him, her head cocked to one side. He gave no indication that he knew and merely went on, hoping she would look elsewhere. She didn’t, not for an instant. When he was finished, he looked at her with some annoyance. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch?”

She smiled – not the bright smiles she’d given him early in the day, but the smile typical of dark elves: sly, knowing, mysterious. “Unless someone sneaks up on us using magic, I can hear anything or anyone coming long before I see them,” she said.

He held her golden gaze for a long time, then nodded and turned away, heading for his sleeping blankets.

* * *

The dawn was near when Pirotess awoke. Motion at the corner of her eye caught her attention, and her hand went reflexively for the hilt of her sword. Then she froze, captivated by the spectacle before her.

Ashram was practicing his swordplay. Pirotess had seen him do that before, but never from so close, and she wanted to enjoy the sight.

He was bare to the waist; in fact, he only had on his shoes and the leathery pants he wore under his armor. Strong muscles shifted under his pale skin as he spun this way and that, slashing and thrusting with Soul Crusher, sometimes with one hand and sometimes with both, his long black hair swirling around him. There was a grace to him that Pirotess admired. It was not the fluid, almost liquid grace of elves, but the incredibly swift, strong and sure movements of a master swordsman. His grey eyes were focused, utterly intent on what he was doing. Pirotess watched, entranced.

Then the sun peeked above the horizon, shining off Ashram’s sweat-covered skin and Soul Crusher as he continued his dance – and it was a dance, a graceful, deadly dance, the dance of battle and death. Pirotess thought he looked magnificent, the alabaster statue of some primeval god of war come to life. A sigh of longing escaped her lip.

Finally the dance slowed and came to a close. Ashram was in a guard position, Soul Crusher held unwaveringly in his hands though he’d been swinging the bastard sword for long minutes now, his chest slowly rising and falling from the exertion.

On impulse, Pirotess rose from her blankets, drew her slender sword, and went to stand before Ashram, lowering herself into a balanced fighter’s crouch. She looked challengingly into his eyes.

They held the pause for a long moment, then Ashram lowered Soul Crusher and straightened. “I think not,” he said.

Pirotess also straightened, disappointed. Either she let it show on her face or Ashram was getting better at guessing her thoughts, for he added with a small smile, “I have no doubt you would be a worthy opponent. But just one mistake, one nick from Soul Crusher and...” He let his voice trail off. Pirotess nodded in understand. True to its name, Soul Crusher did not only wound the body, but also the soul. She had seen the effects before, and had no wish to experience them herself.

“Another time, when we can use proper practice swords, perhaps?” Ashram offered, his smile still in place. Pirotess looked at him in delighted surprise. She had expected him to dismiss the whole idea out of hand. “Certainly,” she agreed enthusiastically. As if suddenly realizing he’d been smiling at her longer than he’d ever had before, Ashram’s expression suddenly returned to its usual cold impassivity. He just nodded in acknowledgement, then turned away and went for his armor. Still, Pirotess was not unhappy. Ashram had smiled at her, really smiled, if only for a little while, and he’d made an arrangement to spend time with her, something he’d never done before.

Her happiness did not last long. With ten horses, even if two were packhorses, they could easily change mounts whenever one became tired, and so they were making entirely too good time toward Raiden to her taste. In just a few days, they would be reunited with the crew of the ship that had taken them from Marmo to Raiden. Then they would set sail to confront the evil high priest now holding the most powerful artifact ever created.

And, most painful of all, she would no longer be alone with Ashram.

* * *

A day later, they reached a road that had to lead to Raiden. Ashram exchanged his cape for a voluminous, cowled black cloak that would hide his face and body. Pirotess likewise donned a concealing cloak. The next day, the sky began to fill with clouds. Ashram was glad they would soon reach Raiden, though if a storm broke, they would have to wait until it blew out before setting sail.

But at least they would have a roof over their heads in Raiden. Even more important, Ashram could return to the familiar life of a commander, where Pirotess would only be one of his subordinates.

*Pirotess... *He nearly turned in his saddle to look at her but caught himself just in time, something that was becoming a habit. His attempts to put her out of his mind weren’t working – if anything, he found himself thinking about her more and more often, about her soft black skin, her delicate face, her alluring grace, her long white hair... *Damn it all.* He was doing it again. It was vastly irritating. *Discipline,* he reminded himself.

Determinedly the Black Knight turned his attention back to the road before him, watching it and the many trees at its sides for ambushes. Thus intent, a few minutes later he caught a glint of sun shining over metal in a thicket alongside the road. His warrior’s sixth sense screamed danger at him.

Ashram heard Pirotess cry out a warning, but by then Soul Crusher was already in his right hand. The blade that had been bathed in the blood of a demon king was surrounded by an ominous red light as it sensed danger and its wielder’s excitement. An arrow flew from a nearby tree, narrowly missing his head. Ashram leaned forward on his horse’s neck to minimize the target he presented as he unlaced the rope tying his other horses to his saddle. A streak of silver flew into the tree from behind – Pirotess, using one of her throwing knives.

Ashram paid what was going on behind him no attention. *Discipline.* He was focused on the six roughly dressed men that had appeared on the road before him seemingly out of nowhere.* Bandits, most like.* Three held polearms, one was twirling a lasso, and the last two brandished longswords. *The polearms to stop me if I charge, the lasso to hold me or my horse if I don’t, the swords to finish me off in either case.* The three with polearms moved with a coordination that told him they were likely former soldiers, butt-planting their weapons in the ground at sufficient distance to block the road but not far enough that he could ride between them.

Had he been on his barded gelding, Ashram might have chanced the polearms anyway, but he’d just exchanged his personal mount for the palfrey he was currently riding. So he reined up his horse several meters away from the polearms. His other horses, who had been following him up to this point, scattered. The bandit with the lasso let fly. Ashram slashed with blurring speed at the rope, knowing few fighters could have been quick enough and precise enough to do so. Soul Crusher cut easily through the rope. The polearm-wielders suddenly became hesitant at the display of swordsmanship and the eerie sight of Soul Crusher.

Ashram didn’t hesitate at all. He urged his palfrey a few steps forward, then slashed lightning-fast from right to left at the pikes’ heads and back from left to right, his dark cloak swirling. Two of the polearm-wielders didn’t recover quickly enough and saw their polearms lose their heads and several inches of their shafts on the first pass. The third managed to withdraw his polearm quickly enough to avoid his weapon’s decapitation. He tried to charge, but Ashram’s second swing came more quickly than the bandit had anticipated, and the polearm’s head went flying off.

* * *

Pirotess didn’t know if she had hit anything with her throwing knife, but couldn’t investigate just yet as an arrow flew toward her. Reacting with elven speed and grace, she turned her head away and brought her sword up to block. The arrow bounced off the blade. In an instant she pinpointed where the arrow had come from, and judged that the tree from which had come the first arrow was nearer. Having already cut off the rope to which her other horses were tied, there was nothing to slow her as she sent her mount galloping toward the tree, leaning forward on its neck.

Either she had missed with her knife or the first archer was not seriously wounded, but another arrow flew out of the tree’s branches. Even with elven reflexes, she had no time to react before it sank in her mare’s neck. The mare shrieked in pain and buckled, blood spurting from the fatal wound. Pirotess went with the motion and leapt off her saddle, landing in a roll and coming smoothly to her feet, running for the nearest archer’s tree.

* * *

In the space of a few instants, the three men before Ashram had seen their polearms become staves while their opponent was still mounted, certainly not the outcome they had expected. Ashram could see doubt and fear appear in their eyes. One wisely let go of the remnant of his weapon, taking off at a run. The other two wavered, and paid the price for it.

The Black Knight had his mount take a few steps forward, Soul Crusher coming down in a powerful downstroke at the man to his right. The magical blade cut through the leather halfhelm the man was wearing, through his face, and finally stopped only in the man’s breastbone, blood spurting from the man’s throat. He died in an instant, but Soul Crusher was not finished with him. A thin but visible white smoke flew from the gaping wound along to Soul Crusher’s blade, where it was absorbed by the demonic weapon. The corpse’s skin turned white as chalk, and the features rearranged themselves in an expression of complete terror, eyes and mouth wide open.

The bandit to his left and the swordsmen running to support him looked in horror at their former comrade. This moment of distraction was all Ashram needed. He withdrew Soul Crusher from the bandit’s corpse and turned his palfrey toward the last polearm-wielder. The bandit, spurred by desperation, thrust the remnant of his weapon at the palfrey. Ashram just extended his left armored forearm and the shortened wooden shaft bounced off. Then he thrust quickly, the bandit let out a unearthly screech, and Soul Crusher fed again.

* * *

When Pirotess reached the archer’s tree, she let her sword and cloak fall to the ground. She raised her arms, her hands closing around a low branch. Moving with acrobatic grace, she swung herself up, then caught another branch, then another. The archer was now clearly visible, frantically trying to bring his bow to bear on the dark elf climbing toward him. Pirotess took a roundabout course toward the archer that put as many branches and leaves between her and the bandit as possible. Finally finding a spot she liked, she took two of her throwing knives and let fly, one after the other.

Not waiting to see the results of her shots, she climbed again, reaching the archer in instants, ready to stab with her dagger. Not that it was necessary – her first knife had cut the bow’s drawstring, and the second had buried itself in the man’s throat. The bandit was bent over, weakly trying to staunch the flow of blood. Pirotess scowled. She would have much preferred to make the man suffer for the inconvenience he had caused her.

*But there is still the second archer...* Who might right now be aiming an arrow at Ashram.

Pirotess knew she could not reach the other archer quickly enough physically, but there was another way. She removed her gloves and placed her uncovered hands on the trunk of the tree. She closed her eyes and began to murmur words of magic. The sensations from her body seemed to fall away, except from where her fingers touched the tree. She could feel the tree’s life, its vigorous health. Unless some disaster befell it, it still had many decades of life left.

Extending that perception greatly, she felt the life all around her. Nature itself was life, but breathing, thinking beings shone like beacons in the night to her. There were five of those not far from her, no, four, she corrected as one of those lives was abruptly cut short – so abruptly she knew it had to be Soul Crusher’s work. Ashram’s sword also stood out in her perception, an unnatural, cold thing that radiated such evil it nearly made her, a dark elf, shiver. How could Ashram bear to touch it?

And, finally, there was the life of the other archer, perched in a tree on the other side of the road. The sphere of her perception diminished as she focused her attention on him. The bandit’s aura was full of uncertainty and hesitation as he looked at the tree in which she was, fidgeting with his bow. If she had still been in control of her body, Pirotess would have smiled wickedly. Then the bandit seemed to reach a conclusion and turned his attention toward the place where Pirotess had sensed the other sentient lives.

*No, you won’t.* Gathering her power, Pirotess reached out to the tree in which the archer was perched. She had to expend a lot of magical energy to convince the tree to do as she wished, and to help it do so, but it was worth it. Branches twisted and reached out. They wrapped themselves around the bandit’s limbs, who cried and in startlement and lost his grip on his bow. The animated branches twisted again and immobilized the human against the tree’s trunk. Perfect. Promising the tree she would soon return and help it move its branches back to their original positions, Pirotess abandoned her magical sight.

A wave of weariness swept over her as she returned fully to her body. What she had done was one of the most difficult enchantments she knew, and it took a heavy toll on her physical strenght, even for a shaman as powerful as her. Quickly she put her tiredness out of her mind, retrieved the knife embedded in the bandit’s throat and began to climb down. From the sounds of clashing swords she heard, the battle was not over yet. Ashram might need her help.

* * *

Not wanting the bandits to flee, Ashram dismounted, let his cloak fall to the ground, and assumed a battle stance, holding Soul Crusher with both hands. Still, the bandits hesitated. He could easily read their minds. Now that he was on foot, as formidable as he might be, it was three men against one. His sword frightened them, but if they could take it from his dead body...

The bandit who had thrown a lasso at him now held a longsword, and he moved to support his comrades. The three fanned out, approaching Ashram warily. His palfrey snorted and walked away, sensing the agitation in the air.

The Black Knight did not wait for the men to come at him from three sides. He leaped ahead suddenly, his sword coming up and across in a powerful horizontal slash at the bandit in front of him. The man could have moved back from the blow, but he was supposed to keep Ashram in place so his comrades could attack Ashram’s flanks. So he parried, wincing at the strenght of the blow when the swords connected. Fully expecting the move, Ashram took another step diagonally to his left and cut at the man’s knees. Again the bandit parried, though he was left in an awkward position.

Ashram wanted to finish him off, but instead he shifted his weight back on his trailing right foot and pivoted in that direction, Soul Crusher rising in a deadly arc. His sword caught the rushing bandit’s high in the air and forced it away. The bandit grunted and stumbled. Ashram lowered his sword, took a quick step and thrust. Soul Crusher easily penetrated the man’s leather armor and began to aborb its third soul of the day. But Ashram could not wait for the sword to fully do its evil work. *Discipline.* Leaving the wounded bandit literally screaming his soul out, he withdrew Soul Crusher and spun back to face the third bandit.

Like his unfortunate companion, the man was running at the Black Knight, though his sword was extended in front of him to impale Ashram. Coolly, Ashram waited for the last instant, then spun to the left on his right foot, the sword’s point narrowly missing him. He brought Soul Crusher’s heavy pommel on the back of the man’s neck as the bandit rushed him by. The man stumbled and fell with a curse. The other bandit stepped forward to protect his vulnerable companion.

Ashram feinted in his direction, making the obviously wary man stop in his tracks and quickly raise his sword, then turned back to the wounded bandit, who was now sitting and holding his hands to his bleeding stomach, screaming in agony. Soul Crusher cut off both his cries and his throat, and the thin white smoke of yet another soul flew to the evil blade.

With his senses heightened by the battle, Ashram sensed that someone was coming behind him. He took a quick step to the left to avoid any missile – and a silvery streak passed by, though far enough away that he wouldn’t have been hit even if he’d remained in his original position. The last standing bandit didn’t even have have time to scream before the knife buried itself deeply into his left eye. He fell to the ground without making a noise.

Ashram took a few quick steps and put the tip of his sword at the throat of the last bandit. “Where do you think those bandits are from?” he asked.

Pirotess walked into his field of vision. Aside from her rapid breathing and a few brownish stains of bark on her clothing, she looked none the worse for wear. Ashram breathed a little easier, even as he silently cursed himself for being worried about her. She looked down at his captive, at the corpses around them, then shrugged.

“I have no idea,” she said. “This one could be from Valis or Alania, another one or two might well be from Flaim... We are near Raiden, after all.” Raiden was the largest city of all Lodoss Island, a melting pot of all the races, good and evil.

“Please, my lord,” the rough-bearded bandit said, almost weeping. “I... I was a soldier in the army of Alania... The castle I was in was burned by the Marmos... I fled, I couldn’t stand it any longer...” The Black Knight had to hide a smile. He had led the forces that had ravaged the southern parts of Alania, the only military actions there before Emperor Beld turned his attentions to the much stronger kingdom of Valis. If the man’s words were true, then it was most likely Ashram who was responsible for the ruin of his life... And soon he would finish the job.

“Don’t kill me, please, my lord,” the man babbled. “I could lead you to our loot... We’ve been at this for a while, there’s a lot... Please, have mercy, m’lord.”

“Mercy?” Ashram said coldly. He had nothing but contempt for this, a deserter, a man who’d abandoned his follow Alanians to their fates. Evil the Black Knight might be, but cowardice was not a charge that could ever be laid at his feet. “Very well, I will grant you mercy. Go on your knees, bow your head and close your eyes.” The bandit obeyed, muttering what sounded like prayers.

Soul Crusher took off his head in a single blow, the blood spurting far as it did when the decapitation was clean. The move was so fast that the evil sword did not have enough time to even begin absorbing the man’s soul.

Ashram looked at Pirotess. She was smiling at the sight of the headless body, but Ashram suspected that was also because he hadn’t let Soul Crusher perform its fell enchantment. He had caught her more than once looking in distaste at his sword since he’d taken it from Beld’s corpse.

“That was the last of them,” Pirotess more stated than asked.

“The last here, at least. One fled before I could kill him. I don’t think he will return any time soon.”

Pirotess nodded. “One of my horses was killed. There were two archers in the trees. One is dead, the other will soon be. Unless you want me to question him?”

“No need. I care nothing for whatever these fools have amassed. All that matters is getting to Raiden. Kill your prisoner, I’ll begin looking for the horses.”

Her mood visibly darkened at the mention of Raiden. She nodded stiffly, turned and quickly walked away. Even agitated, she had that alluring sway to her hips... Ashram gritted his teeth and jerked away. He couldn’t wait to arrive to Raiden.

* * *

Like Ashram’s captive, the branch-entwined bandit began babbling surrenders and bribes as soon as he saw Pirotess. *Pathetic,* the dark elf thought contemptuously. If she had not met strong, capable humans such as Beld and Ashram, Pirotess would have thought the entire human race fit only for extermination, or slaves’ manacles at best.

Pirotess would very much have enjoyed torturing the wretch, but she had to go help Ashram retrieve their horses. Still, she couldn’t help toying with him a bit before delivering the killing blow. She took two knives and twirled them deftly with her fingers, feinting for the bandit’s eyes and throat. He tried to move away with futile frenzy, and whimpered when her knives’ tips nearly scored his flesh.

Pirotess wrinkled her sensitive nose as a disgusting smell rose from the man. Fear had made him lose control over his bladder. This had lasted long enough. With lightning speed, she thrust her knives into the man’s eyes, and when he opened his mouth to scream his agony, she withdrew them and cut his throat with a neat X. The man’s head slumped forward as blood poured from the wound in his throat.

Remembering her promise to the tree, Pirotess took off one glove, put her uncovered hand to the tree’s trunk, closed her eyes and began to murmur in the language of magic. Soon enough, the tree’s branches were returning to their normal positions. Without the magically animated branches to hold the bandit’s corpse against the trunk, it fell to the ground, bounching off low branches and crashing through the foliage, leaving streaks of red.

Pirotess wordlessly thanked the tree for its cooperation and broke the magical communication. After briefly extending her sphere of perception to determine Ashram’s general location, she let go of her magic entirely. She felt even wearier than before, and actually had to catch her balance before climbing down.

*Tomorrow we’ll reach Raiden,* Pirotess thought gloomily as she reached the ground, any satisfaction at killing the bandit evaporating. Tomorrow she would return to being just one of Ashram’s subordinates instead of his only companion. *He did promise me a sparring duel,* she reminded herself, but even that thought could not cheer her up. She wanted more than that, much more. *I want to hear my name from his lips, I want him to hold me, to kiss me, to love me...*

Sighing at what seemed more and more to be impossible wishes, Pirotess began to walk toward where she had sensed Ashram.

* * *

Much as he hated to admit it, Ashram was getting worried about Pirotess. The dark elf was slumped forward on her saddle, and hadn’t spoken to him any more than necessary since they’d left the site of the bandit ambush yesterday. Some of her despondency could likely be attributed to the rain that had begun falling late last evening and had continued on uninterrupted, but Ashram suspected it went deeper than physical discomfort. She had made no secret that she didn’t want him to return to Marmo and confront Wagnard.

Not for the first time, he wondered why Pirotess had chosen to swear herself to him. As best as he knew, no dark elf had ever sworn loyalty to a human. He had seen her around other dark elves enough to know she was ranked high in their mysterious hierarchy – in fact, he had never seen another dark elf giving her an order.

He could have understood if she wanted to be near the ruler of Marmo, especially since the dark elves’ main home was a forest on the perpetually overcast island. But if that was the case, shouldn’t she have sworn her oath to Emperor Beld? Unless the dark elves had somehow divined the future, and known Beld would die and Ashram would take his fallen liege’s sword and rank... No. No one could peer into the future through magic, at least not with any reliability. Even Ashram, who held no love for magic, knew that.

For a time he had suspected her of being in league with Wagnard. She had performed a mission for him, though Ashram didn’t think it had succeeded. Yet, if she secretly obeyed Kardis’s high priest, why hadn’t she tried to snatch away the Scepter of Domination instead of pushing Ashram away from the rockfall?

But what other possibility was there? None that Ashram could think of. Certainly none that would explain why Pirotess, a dark elf, a member of a race reputed for their selfishness and contempt of humankind, had been willing to sacrifice her life to save him, as she nearly had when she pushed him in Shooting Star’s lair.

*Enough! Stop thinking about her.* His mind ought to be on Raiden, which they would reach in an hour at the most, and on the ship that waited there. Whatever Pirotess’s motives, they didn’t matter as long as she kept serving him faithfully. He took a long, slow breath. *Discipline.*