Dextra
© 2011 by Payne
© 2011 by Payne
Dextra stood before Lord Gannan, her posture straight and her hands clasped tightly behind her back. She looked him in the eye, but kept her expression respectfully neutral. She smiled a little with the knowledge that, had anyone else stared so directly into his maroon eyes, they would have spent a night in the dungeon.
“Have you ever heard of Emerald’s Peak?” he asked.
“No, sire.”
He turned and leaned over the table, unrolling the map lying on it, using stones to weigh it down. “Come.”
She went to his side and peered at the map of the continent.
Gannan pressed one slender finger to a spot in northern Nebrune. “Here. It is a small village, not marked on most maps.” He sighed wearily. “It was rather difficult to locate.”
Dextra nodded. “Sire, isn’t it nearby our base in that area?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you have one of the superior officers there carry out the mission?”
“They’re incompetent,” the Half-Elf said simply. “Do you remember Rancour?”
“That fool is still alive? I see your point, sire. I will set out for Nebrune tonight.”
Dextra Blackblade was Gannan’s best—and only remaining—assassin. As she stepped into the moonlight, she was hardly recognizable as a person. Her shadowy cloak swept the ground with only a whisper. Her hair, cropped to chin-length, was coal black. Everything about her, except for her pale skin, was like ink.
She walked softly to the stables and selected her own steed, a sable stallion.
When she arrived at the Nebrune headquarters, the sun was just creeping over the horizon and dappling the forest ground with light. A sentry was dozing on the ramparts of the fortress, completely unaware of her arrival. She shook her head in disgust, considered climbing up to kill him, then decided against it and tied her horse to a tree. Instead of waking the sentry to gain access through the gate, she scaled the rough stone walls and quickly found Rancour’s bedroom window. Applying a small amount of oil to the hinges, she eased it open. Fool. He doesn’t even lock his window at night?
She slipped into the room, where the skeletal man was quietly snoring.
She drew the sword for which she was named; the blade was newly-sharpened, and gleamed like a Honey Locust thorn. With a deft flick of her wrist, the tip of it was tickling his throat.
Rancour’s snores died away, and she saw his eyebrows knit together.
“Don’t flinch,” she purred.
His eyes shot open, but he stayed stock-still. “Blackblade.”
“That’s captain, to you.”
“What do you want?”
“My master wants me to do what you can’t.”
“The girl? We can handle—”
“Silence!” Dextra growled, drawing a bead of blood just below his jutting Adam’s apple. “Tomorrow, you will have one of your soldiers direct me to Emerald’s Peak. There will be no talk of me amongst the men, and my name will be known only by those to whom I decide to tell it. Understood?”
“Understood, Captain.”
“Good.” She withdrew the blade and slipped it back into its sheath, stepping away from Rancour's bedside. “Now, I suggest you be a proper host and find me a place to sleep.”
The next morning, Dextra was greeted by a man she vaguely remembered as being an idiot. Then again, she viewed most of the men around here as idiots. I do hate the countryside.
“Morning, Captain,” the man said, puffing his chest out like a rooster. Dextra half-expected him to throw back his head and crow. “I’m Lieutenant Stephen Turner. I’ll be taking you to Emerald’s Peak.”
“Oh, you will?” Dextra replied with icy calm. “I don’t take orders from dogs like you, Lieutenant. I will eat, bathe, and clear the damned sleep from my eyes before we go rushing off into the wilderness.”
He gulped. “My apologies, Captain. I’ll be in the main hall when you’re ready to set out.”
Darren Turner was forcing down a chunky bowl of porridge when the stranger entered the dining hall. She looked different from the other men and women who filled the ranks around here; she had the razor-edged look of someone who not only makes a living out of killing, but enjoys it immensely.
He instinctively hunched over his bowl, trying to be as small as possible as he watched her.
She strode over to the cook, seemed to speak to him rather menacingly, and took a seat nearby.
The cook, a mountainous man with more scars than his cutting board, looked noticeably shaken afterwards. It was an unusual sight.
Darren had almost choked down the rest of his food when Larson flopped down next to him. “Did you see that woman?”
“Aye,” Darren answered as off-handedly as possible; Larson sought every opportunity to 'take offense' to Darren, and either hit him right away or wait for a less expected punishment.
“She’s a real cold killer, I hear.”
Darren nodded. “Cook looks terrified.”
This earned him a hit to the shoulder. “Are you insulting him? He's the one who keeps your scrawny ass from going hungry, little brother.”
Darren bit his tongue, focusing on his food. “Right. Sorry.”
Dextra’s breakfast consisted of a runny and pale-yolked egg, some sort of meat, and something resembling a three-week-old slice of bread.
No wonder these people are worthless.
She ate as much as she could, then met Lieutenant Stephen Turner in the main hall. “Let’s get this over with so I can be rid of you.”
He was evidently used to delivering insults, not receiving them, because his face flushed and he cleared his throat thickly. “Er, right, Captain. This way.”
She followed him on horseback through the northern forest, until he dismounted and tethered his horse to a tree. “Just a little farther,” he said quietly, glancing around. Finally, he stopped just in the shadows of the treeline, and pointed. “Emerald’s Peak.”
It was a bustling, quaint little village in a clearing, nestled up against the foot of a cliff. But the town wasn’t Dextra’s target. “How much do we know about this girl?”
“She has two close human friends—”
“Why do you say 'human'?”
“Ah, you don’t know the history.” There was a hint of smugness in his voice.
“Then educate me,” she snarled.
“Of...of course. The creatures there are very nearly human. They speak, they reason, they interact.”
“Hmm. That does me no good. Tell me about the humans.”
“Well, there’s Aurora Cortland, the daughter of the Patriarch. She’s popular with most of the villagers.”
Dextra shook her head. “I can’t go after someone that important. It’d be foolish in so many ways.”
“There’s also Larissa Fleming. She’s very responsible, very trusted. She often keeps the Sommer girl in order.”
“Trusted, eh? That’s my girl. Now, what does she look like?”
“There she is now.”
Dextra grimaced slightly. The girl was prim, with pretty golden curls and a sickeningly sweet face.
She yanked the lieutenant back before the girl saw them; she was headed straight for the forest.
“It can’t be this easy,” Dextra said quietly. But yes, the Fleming girl was blissfully unaware of what was waiting in the shadows.
She veered left, then crouched to gather mushrooms.
Dextra waited until just the right moment, then pounced. She slammed the girl to the ground, wrapped a hand around her mouth, and knocked her unconscious with a single hit.
She dragged her back to where the lieutenant was waiting. “I’m not keen on looking like this for a couple of months,” she grumbled. But if Lord Gannan is so determined to exile the Sommer girl, so be it.
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