Gathering Knowledge

(debreasting)

The first thing Enyara noticed upon entering the clearing was the bodies.

Two girls laid face down in the snow, arrows sticking out of their spines. The one farthest from her, near the fire, was a tall burly blonde. The one nearest her was skinny, with a shock of dark hair. Some life remained in her twitching body but she didn't respond to the redhead's prodding boot. The girl pissed herself shortly after Enyara stepped away and grew still, expiring in the cold snow. Anya had been here, she knew, but where was the archer now?

Yara investigated the small camp, guided by the firelight. Aside from a ring of fur-lined tents and a cart carrying supplies, nothing else remained of the mercenary company that she could see. The hapless sentry had been telling the truth. Yet, she had not encountered the captain during her scouting and Anya still eluded her. She retraced her steps, circled around the camp and struck off into the thickets.

Moonlight revealed footprints in the snow not much further from the cart. There were two sets, one crooked and erratic like a person fleeing and the other set smooth and uniform like a hunter tracking her prey. Droplets of blood stained the snow in and around the prints; she decided it was as good a trail to follow as any. She walked along the path, followed the prints to a tall bush on the other side of which she heard a harsh whisper and a muffled cry in response. She rested a hand on the pommel of her sword and waded through the bush, ready to spring on the strange voices.

She did not find enemies.

"Anya?"

The dark-haired archer turned around at the sound of her name. Her eyes widened briefly and a small smile crossed her lips when she saw Enyara step through the shrubbery. "There you are. Thank the all-mother. I thought I'd have to go looking for you." She gestured behind her, at a woman on her knees with her arms tied to stakes driven in the ground. "Their captain."

Enyara joined her companion, looking over the captive with a critical eye. Her hair was long and brown, her skin smooth, tanned, speaking of some warm and southern country. She wore a sleeveless leather jack and a skirt, with fur-lined boots of the same supple material. It was clear that the woman was no native of Scotia. "Does she speak our language?"

Anya nodded, chewed on her bottom lip in thought. "She tried to feign ignorance but I knew she could understand me. I tried to get her to speak up but she wouldn't budge."

"Hmm." Enyara peered down at the mercenary captain. There was a visible arrow wound in her thigh; she was hurt and angry, stubborn despite being bound. "The supplies in their camp suggest they intended to stay. She may know something."

"You want to interrogate her? You're on your own with that. I'm not one for rough stuff."

Enyara flashed the archer a teasing grin. "You just like to strangle them and shoot them with arrows, right?"

Anya's face turned red. She crossed her arms and huffed, her breath puffing white in the cold. "Just do what you have to. I'll keep watch."

The shieldmaiden bent down, meeting the captain's gaze. She flipped a knife out of her boot and held the point under the woman's chin. "Your name. Now."

The woman spat at her. "Cara, you savage bitch. You're dealing with a real warrior now."

"Warrior? You were shot with an arrow and your first instinct was to flee."

"I'm not an idiot," she snarled. "I know when to fight and when to survive."

"Here in Scotia, we call that cowardice." Enyara flicked the knife downward, leaving a fresh cut down her throat. Blood beaded from the break in the skin and dribbled down her neck. "Enough. You'll talk. Tell me why you and your little company are in my homeland."

Cara spat at her once more. "I'll tell you nothing, barbarian."

Enyara wiped her face of the woman's saliva, smiled sweetly but with little affection. She punched the woman swiftly in the jaw and grabbed a fistful of her hair before she could recover. The answering yelp assured her that she was causing the right amount of pain. "Like I said, you'll talk."

Cara's breath frosted in the cold. Through the white vapors, her eyes widened briefly in fear. She tugged at her restraints and held her face away from Enyara but there was nowhere she could turn. "You think this hurts, savage? I've endured far worse."

"Really?" The redhead stuck the knife into her open wound. "I'm quite willing to do even worse."

Her captive screeched her suffering into the night. She thrashed against the rope holding her down. "You can't make me talk!"

Enyara cuffed her in the face again, grabbed her by the jaw and forced the woman to look at her. The knife trailed down her throat, a movement deceptively gentle, the blade slick with crimson. "I'm giving you one last chance. Tell me why you're here or the real pain begins."

Cara gritted her teeth and her eyes flared with defiance. "No."

The shieldmaiden shrugged. With a flick of her wrist, she severed the laces to the girl's jerkin and ripped at the tough leather, exposing Cara's breasts to the cold. The kiss of the knife sent a shudder through the captive woman, a flicker of panic
playing in the pupils of her grey eyes. Enyara placed the tip of the knife under one of her small breasts and slowly drove the blade through her skin. Cara's shudder turned to a whimper and she locked eyes with Enyara, shaking her head.

"No," said the redhead. "You made your choice. Now suffer."

She made a sawing motion with her knife around the curve of Cara's breast. The scream that rushed out of her throat was one of the more horrifying that Enyara had heard but rather than give her pause, it instilled in her a sadistic glee. She enjoyed the woman's suffering.

Cara's fortitude wavered. Her lip trembled, her next word not an insult but a plea. "P-please! I'll talk! I swear I'll talk."

Enyara continued to cut through her flesh, to fresh screams. By the time she had rounded the full curve of the breast, there was a deep, circular gash where the knife had carved into the skin. Cara mumbled, stuttered incoherently and then cried when her tit sloughed away into the snow.

Enyara picked it up and gave it a playful squeeze, wrapping her lips around the nipple. "Mmm...I may just take this with me."

Cara's face was streaked with tears. She wept, looking down at the raw, open flesh where her breast once resided. "I'll tell," she muttered, over and over. "I'll tell, I'll tell..."

"You will," agreed the redhead. "Talk."

Enyara waited while the bound captain composed herself enough to speak. Through hiccups and sobs, she gave up the information. "We were part of a larger group, near the border to Khai-Lan. They sent us to scout ahead, to p-provide a staging post for an invasion."

"An invasion?" She heard the crunch of snow behind her. "An invasion from whom?"

"C-Celania."

Enyara looked back at Anya, who had gathered near her to listen. "Do you know anything about this?"

The archer shrugged. "About as much as you." She glared at Cara. "Who ordered your company to do this?"

"The b-baroness," sputtered Cara. "Far to the s-south."

The two women looked at each other, musing over the information in silence. Celanians had often come over the border into Scotia, to scout and to skirmish. Most southern clans had no trouble repelling the foreigners but against an invasion, there was no telling how they would fare. "Where is your company now?" asked Enyara. "Speak!"

Cara's eyes flickered wildly from face to face. "Past the border, i-in the swamps."

She looked at Anya. "Well, what do we do? You heard her. Someone's preparing to invade Scotia."

The archer nodded along. "We can't let this go. We'll have to see what this mercenary company is up to."

The shieldmaiden scowled and shot a withering gaze at the captive. "Who is your leader? What is her name?"

"G-Genevieve."

"I think that's all we're getting out of her," said Anya.

"Please," begged Cara. "L-let me go. I won't trouble you ever again. I swear..."

Enyara swiped her knife at Cara's throat. A deep red cut spurted blood all over the woman's throat and she stared wide-eyed as the life gushed out of her neck. Her hands wriggled in their binds, to grab the wound, but all she could do was remain on her knees, gurgling in terror and agony as she bled crimson in the snow.

"You could have let her go," muttered Anya.

"I could have," replied Enyara, tossing the severed breast at her friend. "But where's the fun in that?"

Cara's head sank to her chest and she slumped over, her body shivering in the chill. She pissed herself, the urine steaming in the snow and twitched until the life left her at last.

"Come on," she said, getting up from the dead mercenary. "Let's avail ourselves of their food and get in a tent. We've a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

The two women left their dead captive to freeze over in the cold of the night.