Solo Warrior 16: Full Circle

[Bungleau]

Back to Chapter 15 - - - Back to the Beginning

The sun peeked over the forest west of Ishad N’ha as Missy Hissy set out to settle old scores. As she walked through the woods, it was eerily silent – neither bird nor bug was talking this morning, as if they sensed the impending maelstrom that would overtake the Gael Serran.

As she passed Erzebette’s house, her thoughts drifted to the last house she had shared with her father. True, it wasn’t much, and the landlord had probably rented it to a dozen people since then, but it was home, and happy, at least for a while. Her father’s eyes burned holes in her memories, reminding her yet again that he loved her enough to give everything he had for her.

The memory of her father’s eyes locking on hers, bidding her to leave, knowing that he was giving his life for hers, brought warm, stinging tears to her eyes. She’d never known the depth of love that a father has for his daughter, and the moment she had realized it, it was gone... forever.

His final lesson as a father still weighed heavy on her heart, and she wished that she had realized earlier how much he had tried to help her, how much he cared that she faced the world well-equipped in its ways. She remembered how heavy-handed he used to seem, back before Scanthril brought darkness to their door.

As she rounded the bend she thought of as the eastern hairpin, so named for the sharply hooked shape of the pin that high-society females used to keep their hair in place, she thought of the legacy her father left behind. A daughter who, truth be told, wasn’t making the biggest waves in the ocean. A frayed necklace, bejeweled with exotic stones or plain glass, depending on how she felt about it. And a few lessons in life, ones that did not get the attention they deserved when they were given.

What would she leave behind? If she were to die today, there would be little less than a skeletal body, to be eaten by four-legged scavengers and stripped clean by two-legged ones. Perhaps the warrior guildmaster might wonder where she’d gone off to, and the children might scare their children with stories of the Boogre that came to town, but in a matter of weeks, if not days, she’d be but a distant memory.

As she made the turn north to head to the burned-out house where Scanthril was hiding, determination gripped her, and she set her mind straight. She’d see Scanthril, take what he would freely give her, and then… she’d take what was left. And if she died, she’d make sure that she died second, if only to chase Scanthril to the gates of Hell where she could punish him for eternity.

Sunlight reflected high off one of the broken windows in the burnt shell of a house that marked Scanthril’s camp. She headed ‘round the back, elbowing his thugs out of the way as she went forward to face the wily rat. “I’m back,” she announced in a low voice.

“I see,” Scanthril squeaked. The sound irritated her like steel running across a piece of slate. “You killed him, didn’t you? I could tell by the look in your eyes.”

If he could really read my eyes, thought Missy, he’d be scrambling to get out of the way. “Now, about that payment...”

“Here,” continued Scanthril. “Everyone’s always wanting payment. You’ve got some skill, to be able to get Rathskalion. He was a clever old rat, and never an easy mark. You’ll find this useful, I think,” and he handed her a black-bladed dagger with a worn leather handle.

At least, it looked worn. As she held it, she felt a warmth coming from the leather. Not a dangerous feeling, but one of comfort, as if the blade were welcoming her. Still, she pressed. “That’s it? I risk life, limb, and games of fetch-the-stick with fire-breathing dogs, and you give me a lousy dagger?”

“Greedy, aren’t we? I like that in a woman.” Scanthril leered at her and continued. “It’s a special dagger, as you’ll see in short order. And if ya want something more, here’s a few gold. Now scram, or you’ll find out just what that kind of dagger can do.” He turned around, suddenly finding something interesting in a tree on the edge of the forest.

Missy stepped closer. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” she asked.

Scanthril looked back at her, sizing her up and trying to place her. “No, can’t say as I do. Obviously you’re no one I’ve taken care of before, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“But not for lack of trying,” hissed Missy. “You took care of my father three years ago, all for a worthless pendant.”

Scanthril looked at her again, recognition starting to light the recesses of his eyes. “Wa-a-ait... You’re Bungleau’s whelp? You’ve changed in three years, that’s for sure. But the contract on you is still open, once I return with your ears.”

Missy was confused. “Contract on me? For a piece-of-glass pendant?”

Scanthril snickered. “You think this is about a pendant? Then you probably think your old man was simply a merchant who traveled the world, making a profit where one could be found.”

He leaned closer. “Get this straight. Your old man was as dirty as the alley we dumped his rotting carcass in.”

Missy fought back tears that stung her eyes. She knew she’d need all her senses in the next few minutes. “You lie,” she uttered through clenched teeth.

Scanthril laughed. “Ha! Me lie? Well I have, but not about this. Your old man was no merchant. He was a spy, and he used his travels as a merchant as a cover for buying and selling information. Who do you think caused the Trollish civil war? Your daddy, who sold one faction the dreams of the other, and sold the second the fears of the first, that’s who. Remember the dwarven iron shortages? Of course, not, because there weren’t any! But your dear, departed daddy convinced enough people that there were, and the price of weapons went through the roof. And guess who happened to have an ample supply, for the right price? That’s right, old Bungleau. Well, I was asked to see that he bungled for the last time, and I did it. You were part of the contract, only to ensure that his bloodline was wiped from the face of the earth.”

By this time, Missy and Scanthril were nose-to-nose, rat-to-rat. She could sense his muscles tensing as he began to move a dagger he had slid from his tunic as he walked toward her. “Boys,” said Scanthril, not taking an eye off Missy Hissy, “we’ve got another little job that needs doing.”

Missy’s mind raced. In close quarters, she felt she could take Scanthril on, but what of all the other rogues around? Suddenly, Missy knew she was breathing her last air. She’d not survive this one, blessed armor or no. And she knew that she had to take Scanthril with her. If he survived… no. Not even his ghost would be safe. But what could she do?

A strike with a dagger? Even the new one she’d just gotten? By the time it hit, the rest of the pack would be on her, and she wasn’t sure she could kill him in one blow, not even from here. Besides, she didn’t know exactly what kind of dagger it was, and for all she knew, it might be a cheap copper shop special.

Her sword? She could trust it, but could she kill him before the others set on her? Not likely, and while the others were attacking, he might slip away. And now that he knew her, she knew she’d never get close to him again.

Suddenly the image of cooked salads came to mind. Fire! If it could toast those overgrown appetizers, it should be able to take care of Scanthril! With one hand, she started casting a spell, and with her other, reached to grab on to Scanthril’s cloak. “I don’t believe a word of what you say, and the only one who can prove it is dead by your hand. So I say let’s go to Hell and ask him!”

Balls of molten fire began falling from the heavens, striking Missy, Scanthril, and his rogues. Missy felt the pain of her flesh burning, but ignored it, staring into Scanthril’s eyes, seeing the flicker of fear and the sly resolve that followed it, smelling his armor burning, and then his hairy limbs. She held both his arms now, making sure he couldn’t grab a dagger and kill her quickly.

“You’re crazy,” said Scanthril, his armor smoldering under the falling fireballs as he tried to pull away. Missy was far stronger than she’d appeared. The sly resolve left, replaced in his eyes by the terror of knowledge, the knowledge of his imminent death.

“Perhaps,” said Missy. “But I’m crazy enough to make sure you die with me.”

Fireball after fireball fell until there was little left behind the burnt house, little beyond burnt leaves, singed grass, and smoldering bodies.

On to Chapter 17

[ 02-26-2003, 10:52 PM: Message edited by: Bungleau ]

[macoati]

May the Gods smile down on our heroine and grant her the respite she so justly deserves. May they grant her peace and give her the recognition which is her due. For one to strive for justice is the highest calling. May Kerah protect her. May the light sooth her wounds and give her hope.

(nice one B [img]smile.gif[/img] )

[LiOnHe@rT]

oh no! hopefully some miracle will happen and Missy Hissy will survive the inferno........
bungleau, great job on this 1, almost like a storybook

[WillowIX]

Weee! The plot thickens... Who knew that the noble Bungleau could do such dark deeds? [img]tongue.gif[/img] I do hopw there´s a mercyfull samaritan nearby with a resurrection scroll handy to liven up our dear Missy Hissy!