Caerling Abducted
This is the second part of a 3-part intro I wrote for the Ferstaal tabletop game I ran at GenCon. It focuses entirely on Caerling because Caerling was the only character I knew was going to be in the game.
“Come quick! Lady Rhianna is having one of her spells!”
Caerling slipped into her robe and sandals and followed Marie into the Lady’s bedchamber. Lady Rhianna was trembling, sweat on her skin soaking her nightclothes, the bedcovers strewn about the room.
“Her tea. Quickly, Marie.”
The girl looked relieved and left the room quickly.
Caerling leaned close to her lady, whispering soothing words while Rhianna muttered about crypts and tombs, about death fast approaching.
“You’re not going to die, M’Lady. You’re safe in your bed. You’re safe. I’m with you. Caerling is with you.”
Caerling held Rhianna’s trembling hand, hoping that Marie would hurry with the tea. Suddenly the tension in Rhianna’s limbs relaxed and Rhianna looked at Caerling, recognition returning to her eyes.
“Oh, Caerling. I’m so sorry. I wanted to warn you.”
“I’m here,” Caerling whispered. She knew that sometimes Lady Rhianna’s spells resulted in contact with the spirit world and important visions or insights. “I’m here. What is it? What do you need to warn me of?”
“It’s too late.” Rhianna spoke the words and her eyes glazed back over, the seizure upon her once again.
Caerling reached to comfort her lady and was caught from behind in a powerful grip that jerked her backward and off balance while a gloved hand covered her mouth.
Caerling’s reaction was almost instantaneous. He heel slammed hard into the man’s shin while she tried to dig her nails into the hand that was silencing her. Neither move was effective. The attacker was wearing hard boots, and his gloves we effective protection from Caerling’s attempt to scratch him. There was a moment’s hesitation as Caerling tried to find an effective means of attack, and the man used that time to secure a grip around Caerling’s waist, his arm slamming hard against her stomach.
Caerling threw her weight forward, trying to break free, and when the arms holding her proved too strong, she shifted suddenly and smashed the back of her head into the attacker’s face.
That worked.
There was a satisfying crunch and a warm wetness spread over the back of her head. The man muttered curses in Caerling’s ear and the arm released from around her middle. She redoubled her efforts to get loose, but now she felt the man’s free hand on her shoulder, the fingers probing the side of her neck. A flash of pain shot through Caerling’s body and her legs stopped supporting her. She dropped to her knees hard.
Caerling had no leverage from this position and the man was controlling her easily now. She willed herself to fight back to her feet, but her legs refused to cooperate.
Then she saw the pistol in the man’s free hand. He extended his arm, pointing the weapon directly at Lady Rhianna, who remained frozen on the bed, lost in her seizure.
“You’re going to stay quiet now and play nice. Or you watch your Lady die.”
Caerling considered her options and stopped resisting. The man’s grip loosened ever so slightly, though he kept Caerling’s mouth covered.
“Before I let go, I’d like you to understand a couple of things. I know that your Lord is out making social calls this evening. I know that the guesthouse is nearly empty right now and that there is no one in this wing except for you, your lady, and the young girl servant. And don’t count on help from her. She’s been dealt with.”
He released Caerling and stepped around her so that Caerling got her first look at him.
He was dressed in deep grey and dark brown, simple clothes, though Caerling suspected they had been modified. He moved smoothly and freely, and even the hard knee-high boots he wore made no sound. The man was slim and wiry, only a little taller than Caerling, but much darker. He had a short beard that was run with drying blood from his nose. His eyes were brown and plain, wholly unremarkable, but he spoke with a level confident tone that gave hardly a hint of the injury Caerling had managed to inflict on him.
“What do you want?” Caerling rose to her feet, determined not to show weakness, silently cursing the bit of a tremble that still showed in her legs.
The man pointed the pistol at Caerling.
“We haven’t been introduced. My name is Locardi. I tell you that because the name is well known in the city, and it will cause me no more trouble if you know it than I am already in. I’m an assassin, though I can set you at ease that I’m not to kill tonight unless you were to do something foolish. As for what I want, I want you to stand over there by the bed. You may attend to your Lady’s needs, but you’d make me feel better of our chances of getting through this with no more blood spilled if you’d keep your hands where I might observe them. And of course I want your quiet. You may speak or not as it pleases you, but no shouting. As I already mentioned, it will not help your cause.”
Locardi motioned with the pistol and Caerling backed over to the side of the bed, her eyes fixed on the assassin. She reached back and found Lady Rhianna’s hand, holding it firmly.
Locardi watched Carling as well. He stepped back and reached over to Lady Rhianna’s small dresser and slid it out into the middle of the floor and then carefully moved the hairbrushes and keepsakes off of it and put down his pistol.
“It’s in easy reach and I can assure you I am an excellent shot.”
Caerling nodded, but her eyes caught sight of Lady Rhianna’s letter opener behind the small silver scrollcase on her nightstand, just out of Locardi’s line of sight. It wasn’t much, but if he came within Caerling’s reach…
“Tell me, Caerling Coopersmith… Yes, I know your name. Tell me, do you have any idea what my line of work was before I became an assassin?”
As he spoke, Locardi removed a small pouch from his belt and opened it. He lad out a series of tiny jars: spice jars like Caerling had used often enough in the kitchen.
“I was a cook, and an herbalist. Both of these professions lend themselves well to murder, and as you can imagine, I am quite accomplished in poisonings and the like.”
Caerling inched closer to the nightstand.
Locardi sprinkled several powders together into a small dish he had taken from the pouch. “In my travels, I’ve discovered some very effective drugs and potions, and I’ve learned a great deal of their uses and limitations. This particular one… It’s not used much by assassins. Its properties are powerful, indeed. It drains strength and the willpower from the subject, can be absorbed through the skin as well as being breathed in, and it is effective for several hours.”
He poured a liquid from a small vial over the mixture and there was a low hiss. Caerling smelled something a little like perfume.
“The drawback, however,” Locardi continued, “Is that it is only effective if applied within a matter of minutes of being mixed, making it unusable in many, though not all, situations.”
Locardi soaked a rag in the stuff and advanced toward the bed. He put the pistol into his belt as he moved, and Caerling steeled herself, her mind fixing on the location of the letter opener, her gaze fixed on Locardi.
“You won’t have her.” Caerling snarled, “You’ll have to kill me to take her.”
“What makes you think it’s her I want?” Locardi was on Caerling in a sudden rush, clamping the wet rag over her face even as she thrust the letter-opener up between his ribs.
The blade was stopped bay a thick layer of leather armor underneath Locardi’s tunic. Caerling gave a muffled cry of frustration and tried again, but this time her arm struck with barely any strength at all. She kept trying, weaker and weaker until the blade slipped from her grip.
“You don’t want to fight anymore.” Locardi whispered.
And Caerling didn’t.
It was several minutes before the drug completely overcame her, but Caerling remembered only bits and pieces of those events. There was the bite of cords in her wrists, and a hood wrapped over her head, the sound of a woman’s voice, and Locardi’s response, and then arms picking her up, and the gentle motion of being carried that finally rocked her to sleep.
“Come quick! Lady Rhianna is having one of her spells!”
Caerling slipped into her robe and sandals and followed Marie into the Lady’s bedchamber. Lady Rhianna was trembling, sweat on her skin soaking her nightclothes, the bedcovers strewn about the room.
“Her tea. Quickly, Marie.”
The girl looked relieved and left the room quickly.
Caerling leaned close to her lady, whispering soothing words while Rhianna muttered about crypts and tombs, about death fast approaching.
“You’re not going to die, M’Lady. You’re safe in your bed. You’re safe. I’m with you. Caerling is with you.”
Caerling held Rhianna’s trembling hand, hoping that Marie would hurry with the tea. Suddenly the tension in Rhianna’s limbs relaxed and Rhianna looked at Caerling, recognition returning to her eyes.
“Oh, Caerling. I’m so sorry. I wanted to warn you.”
“I’m here,” Caerling whispered. She knew that sometimes Lady Rhianna’s spells resulted in contact with the spirit world and important visions or insights. “I’m here. What is it? What do you need to warn me of?”
“It’s too late.” Rhianna spoke the words and her eyes glazed back over, the seizure upon her once again.
Caerling reached to comfort her lady and was caught from behind in a powerful grip that jerked her backward and off balance while a gloved hand covered her mouth.
Caerling’s reaction was almost instantaneous. He heel slammed hard into the man’s shin while she tried to dig her nails into the hand that was silencing her. Neither move was effective. The attacker was wearing hard boots, and his gloves we effective protection from Caerling’s attempt to scratch him. There was a moment’s hesitation as Caerling tried to find an effective means of attack, and the man used that time to secure a grip around Caerling’s waist, his arm slamming hard against her stomach.
Caerling threw her weight forward, trying to break free, and when the arms holding her proved too strong, she shifted suddenly and smashed the back of her head into the attacker’s face.
That worked.
There was a satisfying crunch and a warm wetness spread over the back of her head. The man muttered curses in Caerling’s ear and the arm released from around her middle. She redoubled her efforts to get loose, but now she felt the man’s free hand on her shoulder, the fingers probing the side of her neck. A flash of pain shot through Caerling’s body and her legs stopped supporting her. She dropped to her knees hard.
Caerling had no leverage from this position and the man was controlling her easily now. She willed herself to fight back to her feet, but her legs refused to cooperate.
Then she saw the pistol in the man’s free hand. He extended his arm, pointing the weapon directly at Lady Rhianna, who remained frozen on the bed, lost in her seizure.
“You’re going to stay quiet now and play nice. Or you watch your Lady die.”
Caerling considered her options and stopped resisting. The man’s grip loosened ever so slightly, though he kept Caerling’s mouth covered.
“Before I let go, I’d like you to understand a couple of things. I know that your Lord is out making social calls this evening. I know that the guesthouse is nearly empty right now and that there is no one in this wing except for you, your lady, and the young girl servant. And don’t count on help from her. She’s been dealt with.”
He released Caerling and stepped around her so that Caerling got her first look at him.
He was dressed in deep grey and dark brown, simple clothes, though Caerling suspected they had been modified. He moved smoothly and freely, and even the hard knee-high boots he wore made no sound. The man was slim and wiry, only a little taller than Caerling, but much darker. He had a short beard that was run with drying blood from his nose. His eyes were brown and plain, wholly unremarkable, but he spoke with a level confident tone that gave hardly a hint of the injury Caerling had managed to inflict on him.
“What do you want?” Caerling rose to her feet, determined not to show weakness, silently cursing the bit of a tremble that still showed in her legs.
The man pointed the pistol at Caerling.
“We haven’t been introduced. My name is Locardi. I tell you that because the name is well known in the city, and it will cause me no more trouble if you know it than I am already in. I’m an assassin, though I can set you at ease that I’m not to kill tonight unless you were to do something foolish. As for what I want, I want you to stand over there by the bed. You may attend to your Lady’s needs, but you’d make me feel better of our chances of getting through this with no more blood spilled if you’d keep your hands where I might observe them. And of course I want your quiet. You may speak or not as it pleases you, but no shouting. As I already mentioned, it will not help your cause.”
Locardi motioned with the pistol and Caerling backed over to the side of the bed, her eyes fixed on the assassin. She reached back and found Lady Rhianna’s hand, holding it firmly.
Locardi watched Carling as well. He stepped back and reached over to Lady Rhianna’s small dresser and slid it out into the middle of the floor and then carefully moved the hairbrushes and keepsakes off of it and put down his pistol.
“It’s in easy reach and I can assure you I am an excellent shot.”
Caerling nodded, but her eyes caught sight of Lady Rhianna’s letter opener behind the small silver scrollcase on her nightstand, just out of Locardi’s line of sight. It wasn’t much, but if he came within Caerling’s reach…
“Tell me, Caerling Coopersmith… Yes, I know your name. Tell me, do you have any idea what my line of work was before I became an assassin?”
As he spoke, Locardi removed a small pouch from his belt and opened it. He lad out a series of tiny jars: spice jars like Caerling had used often enough in the kitchen.
“I was a cook, and an herbalist. Both of these professions lend themselves well to murder, and as you can imagine, I am quite accomplished in poisonings and the like.”
Caerling inched closer to the nightstand.
Locardi sprinkled several powders together into a small dish he had taken from the pouch. “In my travels, I’ve discovered some very effective drugs and potions, and I’ve learned a great deal of their uses and limitations. This particular one… It’s not used much by assassins. Its properties are powerful, indeed. It drains strength and the willpower from the subject, can be absorbed through the skin as well as being breathed in, and it is effective for several hours.”
He poured a liquid from a small vial over the mixture and there was a low hiss. Caerling smelled something a little like perfume.
“The drawback, however,” Locardi continued, “Is that it is only effective if applied within a matter of minutes of being mixed, making it unusable in many, though not all, situations.”
Locardi soaked a rag in the stuff and advanced toward the bed. He put the pistol into his belt as he moved, and Caerling steeled herself, her mind fixing on the location of the letter opener, her gaze fixed on Locardi.
“You won’t have her.” Caerling snarled, “You’ll have to kill me to take her.”
“What makes you think it’s her I want?” Locardi was on Caerling in a sudden rush, clamping the wet rag over her face even as she thrust the letter-opener up between his ribs.
The blade was stopped bay a thick layer of leather armor underneath Locardi’s tunic. Caerling gave a muffled cry of frustration and tried again, but this time her arm struck with barely any strength at all. She kept trying, weaker and weaker until the blade slipped from her grip.
“You don’t want to fight anymore.” Locardi whispered.
And Caerling didn’t.
It was several minutes before the drug completely overcame her, but Caerling remembered only bits and pieces of those events. There was the bite of cords in her wrists, and a hood wrapped over her head, the sound of a woman’s voice, and Locardi’s response, and then arms picking her up, and the gentle motion of being carried that finally rocked her to sleep.