The Cabbage Girl
Chapter Three
Having grown up on the streets of
Feiglingstadt, Emlin had long grown accustomed to a certain degree of violence.
Rape was common, as was assault and robbery and the occasional murderous
mugging. She had run across the corpse of an unfortunate more than once in a
back alley while making her way about the city. And drunks and people taking
offense often fought in the streets, breaking noses and lips and occasionally
limbs in ugly struggles in the mud.
She, herself, had even accidentally stabbed that idiot boy in his side with her little knife when he and his friends had attempted to rob her.
But, still, she was unprepared for what happened in the Gurgling Goat that evening.
The man with the inhuman eyes calmly said: “Take them.”
And then madness and blood surrounded her.
The Ostenlander warrior pulled his sword free of its scabbard with a rasp and a ring in a smooth, practiced motion, raising it up with one hand, bringing his other hand up to grip the pommel as it arced up over his head, and then hacking down two-handed as the first guardsman came within reach, his own sword still half in the sheath. The guard screamed as the dark-skinned mercenary’s blade severed through his shoulder and into his chest, blood spraying onto the ground around him, but he stopped screaming when the warrior kicked him hard off the end of the sword.
Another guardsman charged past the evil-eyed man to attack the young man that had so recently accosted the Cabbage Girl. The boy was still holding a hand over his wounded eye, but he had managed to get a dagger out with his off-hand and was slashing wildly back and forth to keep the man at bay. The guard must not have seen the Cabbage Girl laying on the ground, though. She doubled up and tried to roll out of the way when she realized that she was about to be stepped on – instead she only managed to get herself tangled in the guard’s feet.
As the guard tripped forward over her, flailing to catch his balance, the boy jumped forward and shoved the dagger deep into the guard’s midsection. Gore rained down on the Cabbage Girl as she lay there curled up in a ball, followed shortly by the pig-stuck guard’s heavy legs as they buckled, his shins and then knees slamming heavily into her ribs.
As she lay there, crumpled and in pain, she saw the grim fellow in the cloak, the one who hadn’t cared for the “merchant’s” prophecies and who had tried to quiet him before the guards had arrived. He smashed a pitcher of ale into the face of the guard who came at him. As the guard stumbled about blind from the ale and broken bits of crockery in his eyes, the grim man circled behind him, whipped out a heavy dirk, and grabbed the guard by the hair, pulling back hard. He then opened the guard’s throat and released him. It was several seconds before the guard realized what had happened and began to sputter and grab uselessly at the gaping wound, crimson bubbles frothing over his gloved fingers as he attempted to staunch the pulsing flow.
“GO! Out the back!” The grim man yelled out to his companions as he grappled with another guardsman.
Emlin stumbled to her feet, knowing that if she were here when things ended, however they ended, it could not possibly go well for her. She had to get out. As she pulled herself out from under the dead guard’s legs and tried unsuccessfully to stand, her ribs throbbed where the guard had fallen on top of her and her face was sticky with his blood.
She managed to crawl under a table for a few breaths, just enough to get out of the way of the wild melee and prepare herself for the pain of trying to run. Then she slipped out the opposite side, stood up as much as her bruised ribs would allow, and bolted for the back door.
She glanced back in time to see the grim-faced man impaled almost casually on a sword by the man with the evil eyes. The Ostenlander slashed at the rope to the old iron chandelier as he rushed towards the same door as Emlin. She heard it crash behind her as she turned her eyes back to the exit and began to pick up speed in spite of the pain.
Only a few more feet and she would be in the open air, free of this horrific slaughter. She could run back to her hole and hide. She’d be safe.
She had just managed to get through the door when someone grabbed her.
It was the boy whom she had stubbed in the eye. His eye socket was puffy and already turning purple, and the eye was red with a long scarlet slash on one side of the iris, left by her thumbnail most likely.
“Take us someplace to hide, thief, or we’ll hamstring you and leave you to the guards!”
She was tired and her body ached all over. She suddenly began to feel very cold, as the shock and adrenaline started to burn out. She wanted to fight him, but she just couldn’t. She’d been through too much. Too many things had gone so terribly wrong.
She just nodded and said:
“This way. Follow me.”
* * * * *
The Ostenlander nearly had to drag the merchant along with them. The pretty girl seemed to follow wherever the thin-faced screeching fool was dragged. They had only made it a block before the dark-skinned warrior had enough of the merchant’s yelling and slugged the man in the back of the head with a metal-gloved fist and threw his limp body over his shoulder.
Emlin guided them through the streets while people around them yelled “FIRE!” and ran past them back the way they came. She felt a sick lurch in her stomach when she realized it was probably the Gurgling Goat that was on fire, and she felt a pang of shame for what she’d done to Etzel’s business. It was one of the few truly nice things he had done for her, and now his tavern was burning down.
Down narrow alleys and through the darkest slums she led them on. She considered abandoning them at one point, but something must have given her away. The young man with the now-swollen-shut eye grabbed her again, saying “Don’t even think about it,” just as she really was thinking about it.
Finally, they arrived at the old warehouse.
“C’mon,” she said as she waved the warrior and his unconscious burden through the hole in the corner. It was tight, and the young man had to help the Ostenlander move the merchant’s limp body through the hole. The girl and the other two younger boys followed through after, while the elder boy, still not taking any chances that Emlin might bolt, motioned for the Cabbage Girl to get in before him.
She obeyed, still too exhausted and stunned to give any resistance.
Once in the sewers, she found that the Ostenlander had lit a torch to light their way.
Prob’ly for the best, she thought. Even if it could draw other vermin in the sewers, the others would never be able to keep up in the dark anyway.
“Stay close,” she said aloud. It felt too loud to her. But she sighed and then guided them through the twisting ways back to her hiding place.
The merchant woke up part way through their journey through the sewers. He was groggy, but he was able to stand with the help of the younger boys.
Thankfully, it wasn’t until the group of fugitives got back to Emlin’s hiding place that he started to remember that the Ostenlander had hit him.
The Cabbage Girl huddled in the corner, nursing her aching ribs and trying to figure out what she should do next while the two of them argued about the blow.
Finally, the Ostenlander put the argument to a head when he said, with his accented voice: “If you had not been dressed like a merchant peacock, the boy would not have tried to rob you. And if you had not wailed like a dying horse when he did rob you, the guards would not have found us. Have you no sense of how to blend in with your surroundings? Did it not occur to you that any guards that came would ultimately answer to the very man you seek to destroy? For a magus, you seem entirely too foolish to be trusted with the Lady Ishild’s welfare.”
Emlin shrunk further into her corner when she heard the word “magus”. She had heard many stories over the years about evil sorcerers and their need for the blood of young maidens to power their dark necromancy.
“Are you daring to suggest that you will take her from me? Ha!” The magus folded his arms imperiously. “I alone know how she will fulfill her destiny. Now that all of my maps and research have been lost, I am the only source of that knowledge left alive!”
The girl, the one called Ishild, sat on the old crate that served as Emlin’s table. She still seemed to be in shock, her face impassive, but not so badly that she would deign to sit among the refuse that made up the Cabbage Girl’s home. Even here in this dank sewer-hole, with her face smudged with dirt and the circlet on her forehead slightly askew, Emlin still thought she was the prettiest thing she had ever seen.
“Unfortunately for us all,” replied the Ostenlander. “Which is why I did not leave you for the Dunkelgraf’s men when I knocked your fool skull. But do not think that I was not tempted, oaths or no.”
The two men stood there seething at one another for several tense seconds before the magus broke their gaze.
“Now, tell me about that man,” demanded the warrior. “The one leading the guards.”
“I don’t know what you’re…” the magus began.
“Do not lie to me,” interrupted the other, anger making his accent stronger and sharper. “You are not good at it. I heard you say that he was supposed to be dead. He had evil eyes, that one. Tell me what you know, so that the rest of us have some idea of what we are up against.”
The magus took a deep breath before answering.
“That was Schwarzherz. He is the Dunkelgraf’s personal legate, assassin, and problem-solver, if the stories are true. Those stories also say that he is a demon, which I didn’t believe until seeing him again. I believe that he murdered the sorcerer that I studied under for speaking out against the Dunkelgraf. And he came for me when word got out that I was pursuing the prophecy.”
“Well,” said the Ostenlander. “You are still here after two encounters with him. He does not sound so bad.”
“Considering that I collapsed my master’s tower on his head the first time with a timely explosion, and this second time we left him in a flaming building?” replied the magus. “I would be willing to wager that he’s still not dead. If he’s not a demon, then he’s terrifyingly resourceful.”
“So now we are all now entangled in this Schwarzherz fellow’s gaze.” The warrior shook his head, pursing his lips in frustration. “This is practically a mummer’s farce. Even if I were not willing to pledge my sword to your ward’s defense, we would all be at risk from this man now. My squires and myself. And you never thought to mention to anyone that the Dunkelgraf’s men were already after you?”
“I thought that I had buried that blackheart under half a ton of rubble,” the old sorcerer protested. “There’s no way I could have known. And, if that boy,” he continued, pointing in Emlin’s direction, “had not attempted to rob me in the first place, none of this would have happened!” The magus turned his furrowed brow to match his finger as he addressed her: “Dolf is dead now and that fiend is after the two of us again, thanks to you, boy.”
Ishild finally spoke.
“She’s not a boy. She’s a girl.” She said it very evenly, as though it were a simple matter of fact. Which, unfortunately for Emlin, it was.
Everyone stopped; first surprised by Ishild coming out of her reverie and speaking aloud, then equally surprised at her declaration – none more so than the Cabbage Girl, herself.
She suddenly became aware that she had lost her little knife at some point in the tavern brawl. She felt quite defenseless and alone as everyone’s eyes turned and focused on her.
Then the younger boys started laughing.
“Shut up, you two,” commanded the elder boy, hushing the two younger. Then he looked at Emlin: “Is it true?”
She nodded carefully. Her eyes started to tear up and her lip began to quiver.
“Please don’t rape me. Or kill me, neither. Or let him do magic with my blood. Please.”
She, herself, had even accidentally stabbed that idiot boy in his side with her little knife when he and his friends had attempted to rob her.
But, still, she was unprepared for what happened in the Gurgling Goat that evening.
The man with the inhuman eyes calmly said: “Take them.”
And then madness and blood surrounded her.
The Ostenlander warrior pulled his sword free of its scabbard with a rasp and a ring in a smooth, practiced motion, raising it up with one hand, bringing his other hand up to grip the pommel as it arced up over his head, and then hacking down two-handed as the first guardsman came within reach, his own sword still half in the sheath. The guard screamed as the dark-skinned mercenary’s blade severed through his shoulder and into his chest, blood spraying onto the ground around him, but he stopped screaming when the warrior kicked him hard off the end of the sword.
Another guardsman charged past the evil-eyed man to attack the young man that had so recently accosted the Cabbage Girl. The boy was still holding a hand over his wounded eye, but he had managed to get a dagger out with his off-hand and was slashing wildly back and forth to keep the man at bay. The guard must not have seen the Cabbage Girl laying on the ground, though. She doubled up and tried to roll out of the way when she realized that she was about to be stepped on – instead she only managed to get herself tangled in the guard’s feet.
As the guard tripped forward over her, flailing to catch his balance, the boy jumped forward and shoved the dagger deep into the guard’s midsection. Gore rained down on the Cabbage Girl as she lay there curled up in a ball, followed shortly by the pig-stuck guard’s heavy legs as they buckled, his shins and then knees slamming heavily into her ribs.
As she lay there, crumpled and in pain, she saw the grim fellow in the cloak, the one who hadn’t cared for the “merchant’s” prophecies and who had tried to quiet him before the guards had arrived. He smashed a pitcher of ale into the face of the guard who came at him. As the guard stumbled about blind from the ale and broken bits of crockery in his eyes, the grim man circled behind him, whipped out a heavy dirk, and grabbed the guard by the hair, pulling back hard. He then opened the guard’s throat and released him. It was several seconds before the guard realized what had happened and began to sputter and grab uselessly at the gaping wound, crimson bubbles frothing over his gloved fingers as he attempted to staunch the pulsing flow.
“GO! Out the back!” The grim man yelled out to his companions as he grappled with another guardsman.
Emlin stumbled to her feet, knowing that if she were here when things ended, however they ended, it could not possibly go well for her. She had to get out. As she pulled herself out from under the dead guard’s legs and tried unsuccessfully to stand, her ribs throbbed where the guard had fallen on top of her and her face was sticky with his blood.
She managed to crawl under a table for a few breaths, just enough to get out of the way of the wild melee and prepare herself for the pain of trying to run. Then she slipped out the opposite side, stood up as much as her bruised ribs would allow, and bolted for the back door.
She glanced back in time to see the grim-faced man impaled almost casually on a sword by the man with the evil eyes. The Ostenlander slashed at the rope to the old iron chandelier as he rushed towards the same door as Emlin. She heard it crash behind her as she turned her eyes back to the exit and began to pick up speed in spite of the pain.
Only a few more feet and she would be in the open air, free of this horrific slaughter. She could run back to her hole and hide. She’d be safe.
She had just managed to get through the door when someone grabbed her.
It was the boy whom she had stubbed in the eye. His eye socket was puffy and already turning purple, and the eye was red with a long scarlet slash on one side of the iris, left by her thumbnail most likely.
“Take us someplace to hide, thief, or we’ll hamstring you and leave you to the guards!”
She was tired and her body ached all over. She suddenly began to feel very cold, as the shock and adrenaline started to burn out. She wanted to fight him, but she just couldn’t. She’d been through too much. Too many things had gone so terribly wrong.
She just nodded and said:
“This way. Follow me.”
* * * * *
The Ostenlander nearly had to drag the merchant along with them. The pretty girl seemed to follow wherever the thin-faced screeching fool was dragged. They had only made it a block before the dark-skinned warrior had enough of the merchant’s yelling and slugged the man in the back of the head with a metal-gloved fist and threw his limp body over his shoulder.
Emlin guided them through the streets while people around them yelled “FIRE!” and ran past them back the way they came. She felt a sick lurch in her stomach when she realized it was probably the Gurgling Goat that was on fire, and she felt a pang of shame for what she’d done to Etzel’s business. It was one of the few truly nice things he had done for her, and now his tavern was burning down.
Down narrow alleys and through the darkest slums she led them on. She considered abandoning them at one point, but something must have given her away. The young man with the now-swollen-shut eye grabbed her again, saying “Don’t even think about it,” just as she really was thinking about it.
Finally, they arrived at the old warehouse.
“C’mon,” she said as she waved the warrior and his unconscious burden through the hole in the corner. It was tight, and the young man had to help the Ostenlander move the merchant’s limp body through the hole. The girl and the other two younger boys followed through after, while the elder boy, still not taking any chances that Emlin might bolt, motioned for the Cabbage Girl to get in before him.
She obeyed, still too exhausted and stunned to give any resistance.
Once in the sewers, she found that the Ostenlander had lit a torch to light their way.
Prob’ly for the best, she thought. Even if it could draw other vermin in the sewers, the others would never be able to keep up in the dark anyway.
“Stay close,” she said aloud. It felt too loud to her. But she sighed and then guided them through the twisting ways back to her hiding place.
The merchant woke up part way through their journey through the sewers. He was groggy, but he was able to stand with the help of the younger boys.
Thankfully, it wasn’t until the group of fugitives got back to Emlin’s hiding place that he started to remember that the Ostenlander had hit him.
The Cabbage Girl huddled in the corner, nursing her aching ribs and trying to figure out what she should do next while the two of them argued about the blow.
Finally, the Ostenlander put the argument to a head when he said, with his accented voice: “If you had not been dressed like a merchant peacock, the boy would not have tried to rob you. And if you had not wailed like a dying horse when he did rob you, the guards would not have found us. Have you no sense of how to blend in with your surroundings? Did it not occur to you that any guards that came would ultimately answer to the very man you seek to destroy? For a magus, you seem entirely too foolish to be trusted with the Lady Ishild’s welfare.”
Emlin shrunk further into her corner when she heard the word “magus”. She had heard many stories over the years about evil sorcerers and their need for the blood of young maidens to power their dark necromancy.
“Are you daring to suggest that you will take her from me? Ha!” The magus folded his arms imperiously. “I alone know how she will fulfill her destiny. Now that all of my maps and research have been lost, I am the only source of that knowledge left alive!”
The girl, the one called Ishild, sat on the old crate that served as Emlin’s table. She still seemed to be in shock, her face impassive, but not so badly that she would deign to sit among the refuse that made up the Cabbage Girl’s home. Even here in this dank sewer-hole, with her face smudged with dirt and the circlet on her forehead slightly askew, Emlin still thought she was the prettiest thing she had ever seen.
“Unfortunately for us all,” replied the Ostenlander. “Which is why I did not leave you for the Dunkelgraf’s men when I knocked your fool skull. But do not think that I was not tempted, oaths or no.”
The two men stood there seething at one another for several tense seconds before the magus broke their gaze.
“Now, tell me about that man,” demanded the warrior. “The one leading the guards.”
“I don’t know what you’re…” the magus began.
“Do not lie to me,” interrupted the other, anger making his accent stronger and sharper. “You are not good at it. I heard you say that he was supposed to be dead. He had evil eyes, that one. Tell me what you know, so that the rest of us have some idea of what we are up against.”
The magus took a deep breath before answering.
“That was Schwarzherz. He is the Dunkelgraf’s personal legate, assassin, and problem-solver, if the stories are true. Those stories also say that he is a demon, which I didn’t believe until seeing him again. I believe that he murdered the sorcerer that I studied under for speaking out against the Dunkelgraf. And he came for me when word got out that I was pursuing the prophecy.”
“Well,” said the Ostenlander. “You are still here after two encounters with him. He does not sound so bad.”
“Considering that I collapsed my master’s tower on his head the first time with a timely explosion, and this second time we left him in a flaming building?” replied the magus. “I would be willing to wager that he’s still not dead. If he’s not a demon, then he’s terrifyingly resourceful.”
“So now we are all now entangled in this Schwarzherz fellow’s gaze.” The warrior shook his head, pursing his lips in frustration. “This is practically a mummer’s farce. Even if I were not willing to pledge my sword to your ward’s defense, we would all be at risk from this man now. My squires and myself. And you never thought to mention to anyone that the Dunkelgraf’s men were already after you?”
“I thought that I had buried that blackheart under half a ton of rubble,” the old sorcerer protested. “There’s no way I could have known. And, if that boy,” he continued, pointing in Emlin’s direction, “had not attempted to rob me in the first place, none of this would have happened!” The magus turned his furrowed brow to match his finger as he addressed her: “Dolf is dead now and that fiend is after the two of us again, thanks to you, boy.”
Ishild finally spoke.
“She’s not a boy. She’s a girl.” She said it very evenly, as though it were a simple matter of fact. Which, unfortunately for Emlin, it was.
Everyone stopped; first surprised by Ishild coming out of her reverie and speaking aloud, then equally surprised at her declaration – none more so than the Cabbage Girl, herself.
She suddenly became aware that she had lost her little knife at some point in the tavern brawl. She felt quite defenseless and alone as everyone’s eyes turned and focused on her.
Then the younger boys started laughing.
“Shut up, you two,” commanded the elder boy, hushing the two younger. Then he looked at Emlin: “Is it true?”
She nodded carefully. Her eyes started to tear up and her lip began to quiver.
“Please don’t rape me. Or kill me, neither. Or let him do magic with my blood. Please.”
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