Niara's Tales: Bow of the Righteous

Long delay between chapters, I know.  I appologise, been in a bad writing slump lately.  Still, more or less back on track now, I think.  This chapter contains a slightly different flavour of unpleasantness, but no beyond-the-norm tagging.

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A Low Cut

The muted thud of leather on stone marked the edge of Niara's ability to retreat as her back struck the rocky cliff wall of the ravine.  The large orc bearing down on her let out a victory yell as he rushed, but Niara met his swipe at the hilt with her dagger, the small sneer never never wavering from her lips.  She couldn't stop the blade with her parry, but it was enough to let her duck to the side, then swiftly back around the creature, shoving him forward with her back.  Out of control for an instant, the orc crashed into the wall face-first and staggered.  He was only dazed for a moment but it was enough for Niara to turn, reaching over her shoulder with the hand that still held her dagger to pull an arrow with two fingers and fit it quickly to her bow.  Her point blank shot a moment later punched through his skull and sparked off the rock behind.  A small, satisfied sound escaped her as the creature fell and she slipped her bow over one shoulder.

At the back of the tiny encampment, a man had been strung roughly to a tree and was sagged, unconscious, against it.  Niara lifted his head to see a bright, swelling bruise covered almost half of his face.  Shaking her head with a small grunt, she filled a filthy-looking tankard from a trough of equally foul water nearby and dashed it over the man.  He roused with a pained cry; no doubt the water stung against his bruised skin.  Niara set about untying his bonds.

“I heard a rumour that some fool had got himself held prisoner by the orcs up here.  You're Thornley then?”  She could hear the scorn in her voice, but it hardly mattered; he was in no position to complain.  The last of the ropes came free and the man began rubbing his wrists.

“Yes, yes.  That's me, fool and all.  Thank you for coming along when you did.  Not sure how much longer they'd have planned for a ransom before they got bored and ate me.”  He voice was scared and shaky, but Niara only snorted.

“Then they were twice the fool of you, for thinking anyone would pay a ransom for you.”  She paused in her words as she began to lead his unsteady steps out of the small encampment towards where she had hitched her horse.  After a suitable wait she continue.  “And that makes your wife a fool thrice over for offering one.”  He stumbled before catching his footing again.

“Oh, bless her, I don't deserve her.  I'm never going to hear the end of this now.”  He continued to mumble alternating praise and fear until they reached the horse.  Niara growled in her throat.  The creature had tugged on her reins enough to amble around one of the outlying barricades that had been dotted far out from the camp, in order to reach the longer grass on the other side.  It had tangled itself and as she unfastened it, she let out a vicious curse.  The beast was standing up close to the old barricade, and as it grazed, part of its tack had worn back and forth along an exposed, bladed edge.  The right side had been frayed visibly in the few short minutes she'd been gone.

“I swear, Chestnut,” she muttered, looking her horse in the eye.  “If I had raised a horse as ill behaved as you, you'd have been stew long ago.”  Shaking her head, she tested the stirrup with one foot, then swung up when it held.  Without waiting for his protests, she hoisted Thornley up behind her roughly and made sure he was on before setting off.

The ride back to Thornley's work site was quiet, punctuated only by the painful exclamations of the man himself, which Niara ignored.  Rose Thornley was standing on her front porch, reviewing plans for the site as they came into view, but set them aside and rushed out to meet them as Niara pulled up and dismounted, helping the injured man down.  His knees almost gave out as his wife reached them, sinking into her arms while she supported him through their embrace.  Niara stood back, pretending distraction with her horse's tack as they reunited.  She could hear quietly murmured words of relief, joy and scolding, and did her best not to listen in.  It was another few moments before Rose released her husband, and returned her attention to Niara, a warm smile on her lips.

“Huntress, I can't thank you enough, truly.  I'd be lost if anything happened to this dolt, fool or not.  If you'll wait, here is what I promised you, but, now we're here, I want to give you something more as my real thanks.”  a she spoke, she fumbled briefly at her belt for a small coin pouch, counted out and set aside in advance, and handed it to her.  Smiling still, she let her husband rest down on the steps of their house, then rushed inside.  Niara watched on, weighing the small punch in one hand while she waited.  When the other woman returned, she was carrying a simply, but well fashioned bow, complete with a matching quiver, which she held out to Niara.

“It was my da's, Robb here isn't much of an archer, nor I, so I'd like you to have it.”  she shrugged, a little more uncertain.  “Can't say I know whether it's any better than your own or not, don't have the eye for that, but, well, it's only gathering dust here, so please, do take it.”

Niara nodded, accepting it and cast her eye over the weapon.  It was well made and cared for, though her own was still he better.  The quiver, though, was sturdy and well fashioned, compact without being awkward.  Better than hers, at least.  She slipped the new quiver over her shoulder to rest just above her old one for now and nodded again, casting a last glance at Robb before turning to mount up again.

“Be more careful.  The world's only getting darker.”  Her words were gruff, but the couple nodded as she began to ride away.

As she made her way back towards Bree-town, she could feel the worn stirrup pulling and shifting more and more, and muttered another curse.  It would need fixed now, an expense she had no desire to pay.  Still, there were ways.  She gave the watcher at the gates a brief nod as she rode through, then made for the west gate stables, lodging Chestnut for the evening.  At first she had intended to ride through to Sasham, but by this point she didn't trust the damage to hold out.  Chestnut would be alright in the Bree stables for the night, though she took care tending her personally; the stable hands there meant well, but she didn't trust them completely.  The fraying had worsened as they rode, she noted as she inspected the worn strap again, detached now from the rest of the tack.  The decision to cut her ride short had likely been the right one, looking at it, but it still made her grimace as she crossed the west-gate square with the piece in hand.

Flint Oakhewer looked up from his work as she approached his forge.  Sweat ran from his brow as he did, and he gave her only a brief nod before continuing to work on the metal between his tongs.  He was a rough and abrupt man, short on words and shorter on patience, most of the time.  He wore an eye-patch over one eye, and along with his bare head and large belly, it did nothing to endear him to most people.  His work was also not the most shining example of smithing, and his leather work was rough at best, but for most things it was good enough.

“Here's another dent in my profits.  Purse too light for proper work again, Niara?”  He plunged the piece between his tongs into the bucket, creating a hiss of steam as he fast cooled it, an action possibly designed to drown out any immediate answer, but Niara knew better and waited for the sound to fade before responding.  She dropped the unhooked piece of tack on a cool anvil beside him.

“Something like that.  Need that fixed.  You interested?”  She kept her voice level, folding her arms, and he picked it up, making a show of looking the damage over.

“Oh aye, that's easy enough, and how will you be paying my expenses for the work today?”

“I'm sure we can come to an agreement.”  Their eyes held for a moment while they both made sure they were understood, before he nodded curtly.

“Come back to the shop, then, and we'll see what we can do.”  He was already unfastening his smock as she nodded just as briefly in return, draping it over his anvil and setting his tools down.  “Got some business to work out, Pete.  Watch the forges while I'm gone.”  The other man at the forges barely paid him any heed, busy with his own task, but waved one hand.  Niara fell in tow behind the larger man as he crossed the square to the building where many of the smiths in the quarter lodged.  The lower floors of it served as an inventory and shop-front of sorts, with the workmen's rooms taking up the upper stories.  As he opened the front door, she caught sight of Matt Haywood sneering at her with a knowing look.  She made a rude gesture with one hand at him before following Flint through the door.

Inside, there was a small amount of noise as a small handful of weapon and arms merchants haggled with an even smaller handful or potential customers.  They passed in silence, more or less unnoticed to the stairs at the back of the room.  The upper floor branched into two halls with doors for separate quarters leading off them.  She followed Flint to the left and all the way to the end of the building before he stopped to lift the latch to his own quarters.  Like all the rooms they were simple and sparse.  The room was divided by a chest-high screen, making a short entry way with a bench and other assorted materials stacked on and around it at the end.  Around the screen, there was a small clothes dresser, a simple cot and another space where several boxes were stacked.  One thing that had surprised her the first time was the small bookcase across from the bed.  Flint had never struck her as the sort to read, though there was a chance it had belonged to the previous resident of the room, and remained unclaimed and ignored.

As usual the air in the room was heavy, stuffy and overly warm.  There was dust in it too, and the light coming from the single small room barely illuminated anything, giving the whole place a dingy feel.  In many ways she was thankful for the poor light though.  No words passed between them as she began to undress, unfastening her armour first, then loosening the laces of her undershirt.  Flint had taken a seat on the bed, watching her strip down with his good eye.  She could smell his sweat, and the other scents of his body now that she was in his room and this close.  Setting her top down she unbound her chest as well and took a breath as she let the fabric drop.

His hands were on her a moment later, rough calluses on short, indelicate fingers.  His lips pressed against her neck as his fingers squeezed at her breasts and she leaned her head back to let him have the access he wanted.  His breath was an excited panting already, but she encouraged him with a light sigh, just enough to make her voice heard.  He was standing in close to her now, and she could feel his bare-chested bulk against her body as one of his hands dropped down to fumble at undoing her leggings and pushing them down.  She helped him get them off, kicking off her boots and standing now with her legs apart enough to let his hand stroke and grope her groin as well.  She moaned softly as his fingers felt her up, giving him what he wanted, then reached out with her own hands to unfasten the tie at his waist.  She could feel how excited her was already as she pushed his pants down, holding and stroking his length with gentle fingers, rubbing back and forth playfully.  He let out a grunt of excitement, and she felt his arms reach around to squeeze her body tightly against him.  He turned her roughly in his arms, fingers squeezing her breasts again as she felt the hard length of his erection pressing between her buttocks.  His teeth bit at her neck as he held her, then turned them both again, so that they were facing the bed.  She was expecting it when he pushed at her back with one hand, and bent forward, hands on the edge of the bed, spreading her legs apart wider for him.

His hands gripped her hips and she moaned more loudly as he pushed his length into her.  Her mind wasn't aroused, but her body knew what it was doing and accepted him easily.  She continued to gasp and moan as he began to move, thrusting into her with a fast, hard rhythm.  Physically it wasn't unpleasant, but she found his powerful scent off-putting and distasteful.  She squeezed his length tightly in time with his rhythm, clamping down each time he pushed in and letting her breath sigh and moan between her lips as the force of his impacts controlled her breathing.  He leaned forward over her, and she could feel the weight of his belly pushing her down even as his hands came forward to grope and squeeze at her breasts again. She let herself give small gasps and cries each time he tweaked or pinched at her nipples, and was rewarded as she felt his pace quicken more and more.

After a little while he pulled back, standing upright again and thrust a few more times before pulling her up as well.  He turned her, nodding briefly to the bed, and she lay down on it, parting her legs for him and holding out her arms with a smile.  He grinned and climbed on top of her, pressing her into the small bed with his bulk as he took her again.  She looked up at him, letting herself pant softly amidst her small moans, her lips parted slightly and her eyes lidded in an expression of pleasure.  As he began to pound against her again she lifted her arms to wrap about him, her fingers curling up over his shoulders.  She could feel the surprisingly dense mat of hair on his back and shoulders under her hands.  She let her fingertips twitch and grip every few thrusts, along with her increasing moans.  Lifting her legs up around him as well, she curled them over the small of his back, though he was too broad for her to lock them properly, and let her gasps and cries move towards a crescendo as she felt him nearing his peak. 

Cold points pricked at her chest and shoulders as his profusely sweating forehead dripped onto her, his thrusting grew to a fierce slamming that marked his limit.  She let out a tight cry, dragging her fingertips down his back and squeezing him tightly with every part of her body.  Gripped tightly, she could feel his shaft pulsating inside her as he climaxed, the warmth of it flooding into her.  As her groan faded, she made her body twitch sharply, another short cry, then another jerking convulsion, panting harshly as she squeezed his length inside her again.  He began to subside and she, too relaxed, encouraging her limbs to tremble slightly for him in the aftermath, and smiled warmly with her eyes mostly closed.

He continued to lie atop her for another minute or so, breathing heavily, then withdrew.  She closed her legs again, and sat up on the bed with them together as he stood and began to redress.  He wiped his brow as he fastened his pants.

“I'll have that strap mended by morning.”  Just that, delivered in his usual gruff, no-nonsense tone, and he was gone, tramping down the stairs and back out towards his forge.

Niara sat for a few more moments, watching the dust play in the solitary late afternoon light-beam coming through the unclean window, then climbed off the bed.  She found the small pile of clothing that had yet to be washed and used one of Flint's used loincloths to clean herself with, then slowly began to redress.  This was very far from the first time she'd used her body as payment for something, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.  It was just good business, really.  Something that all men wanted of her, that they'd give goods or services to get; she'd be a fool not to make use of such an asset.  Unconsciously she hugged herself once she was back in her armour and dressed properly, then made her way out of the shop.

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