Chapter 10. The Snare

endaran awaken shortly after Morisedd for the ranger always rose before any of them to enjoy the peace before dawn.  He saw the ranger’s bedding rolled up and stashed away, but no sign of the man.  Shrugging, he set to work on the morning’s cooking fire.  He took up the iron kettle and filled it with some of the snow that ringed Yak’s Bend, then hooked it in place over the iron tripod and waited for it to reach the right temperature to begin the ritual of his morning’s ablutions.  He longed to remove the grime of travel and the sweat of his toils.

What he would not do for a bath.  Or a real bed.  Or a proper roof over his head. Or the stage.  Or applause. Or love.

“Oh no, don’t get all sentimental on me, Pen, old boy,” he thought, “What’s gone is gone.”

Annoyed with himself, he brooded angrily as he gazed into the flames, not noticing Uriel had risen.

“Have you ever loved anyone?” Uriel asked, stretching as she moved to sit beside him on the blanket before the fire, “Loved someone so badly it hurt?”

Great, now she was a mind reader as well.

“My Lady, while I am with you, let me speak only of my love for you,” he replied, borrowing a quote from some sappy play in which he had once had the lead role.

“Cut the flowery talk and just answer,” Uriel replied with her annoying tendency toward indelicacy.  Obviously she was of common birth.  Typical mercenary rubbish.  Her hand stroked the sapphire at her throat and he remembered himself.  He imagined her crying her bitter little heart to sleep at night for want of it.  That thought warmed his heart considerably.

“Of course I have loved, as you put it so coarsely, so badly it hurt.”

“So what happened?  Is she dead?”

He felt her eyes boring into him, her interest unnatural and cruel.  He had never struck a woman in his life, but she was fast becoming his first candidate for the vile act.

“Hold your tongue, shrew, for I will not talk of it,” he rasped, anger and grief causing him to lose his composure.  He tried to regain control of his emotions as he watched his chances of obtaining the sapphire slipping away before his eyes. 

But to his relief, she was not repelled by the ugliness of his rage.  Women were strange creatures at times and continued to puzzle him even though their manipulation was one of his specialties.  Rather than being repulsed, she clasped his hand and squeezed his fingers as if to reassure him.  Oh gods, he hated possessive women.  He wondered what he might have done to bring it out in her.  After all, she was clearly attached to the gangling ranger.  What must he do to discourage it without losing his chances at the jewel?  He need not have worried, however, for she lifted his hand and urged him to stroke her throat, closing her eyes as he ran his fingers over the shimmering blue stone.

“She wants me to take it,” he thought, wondering what odd obsession drove her to do such a thing.  Intrigued, he knelt before her, drawing her into a deep kiss as his hands played over her shoulders.  She guided his seeking fingers toward the clasp, her warm breath causing his heart to pound with renewed lust.

“I want to see it on you,” she whispered urgently as their lips parted.

He had been asked to wear odder things by his paramours and he grinned at that thought, biting her lightly on the ear.  She moaned hungrily as he released the clasp, her hands drawing his face down toward her breasts now that the necklace slid free of her throat.  He tarried for a moment in that most delightful of locations, until she clasped the hand that held the necklace and pressed it urgently against his own throat.

Hands trembling, he drew the cold metal of the choker around his neck, the jewel strangely heavy as it thumped against the union of his collarbones.  He fumbled with the clasp until at last it hooked in place.  He noted it odd that it seemed to fuse in place, but in the heat of passion he ignored his concerns and pressed onward, nibbling her jaw as she ran her hands over his encircled throat.  Then, confused, he pulled back, reeling against its bite as it tightened inexorably.  Uriel, flushed with passion, released him, rising to her feet to gaze down at him, her face both expectant and proud.

“What have you done?” he gasped, clawing at the thing as it continued to tighten.  Merciful Lyssa, what devilry was this?

“Don’t fight it,” she said, “It’s yours now.  It won’t come off.”

“What have you done?” he demanded, the blood draining from his face.  Horrified, he tried to slip his fingers beneath the interlocking metal plates of the choker.  It was becoming impossible to breathe as it cut into him.

“Help me!” he rasped.

“Stop fighting,” Uriel repeated, grasping his hands and holding them away from his throat despite his instinct to claw at the choker.  To his immense relief it loosened and he gasped for precious air.  And then, recovering, he pushed Uriel away in rage and swore at her as he had never before to any woman born. 

“It is deserved,” she replied, blushing as he staggered to his feet and stalked away from her.

“You played me for a fool!” he snarled.

“Is it any worse than what you do?” Uriel replied coldly, “What was the name of the woman you loved?”

He wanted to tell her it was none of her business, but to his horror the name slipped from his lips.

“Clarissa Ermendgarde.”

“Is she dead?”

“Yes, damn you,” he cried, angry that he was unable to stop himself from speaking.

“Calm down,” he told himself, “You are just upset that she fooled you.  Remember what you were taught.”

He inhaled, smoothing over the rage and hurt, damming it back up inside before he faced Uriel, composed once more.

But he hated her, oh how he hated her smug knowing visage.  She had set him up to take away her curse.  Damn her to the deepest coldest hell in Grenth’s domain for her deception.  He could twist her mind so easily, fill it with so much fear and horror it would collapse like crumpled parchment.  Trembling with rage, he mentally probed her weaknesses, considering striking her down for her insolence.  And she answered his intrusion with a cold glare, her eyes flicking toward the encampment.

Lemony rose from her blankets and he felt Morisedd’s gray eyes boring into him.  The ranger had risen before any of them to watch over the camp from afar while he whittled.  His bow lay strung beside him, ready to kill.  One false move and Pendaran would be feathered with red fletched arrows long before he had a chance to hex Uriel to her grave.

“I suggest you take your possessions and leave,” Uriel said coolly, “You are no longer wanted here.”

“How do I break the curse?” he wanted to ask, but the words died in his throat.  Stupid! Of course he could not ask that, it was the fundamental rule of any major curse.  Well, clearly he just had to palm the thing off on someone else.  How hard could that be?

“I hope you die horribly somewhere,” he said instead, shocked by his innermost thoughts issuing so easily from his mouth, “You are by far one of the most useless women I have ever had the misfortune to bed.  And your rump is entirely too large.”

He clapped his hands over his mouth as Uriel’s visage grew harsh.  And then to his surprise, she began to laugh. 

“Farewell, Master Pendaran,” she howled, “I pity you.  Truly I do.”

Amid the guffaws of her companions, he gathered his things and stormed from the camp, biting his lip against the urge to curse at them.

“May you all become infested with lice!” he snarled when he meant to make a pointed but gentlemanly goodbye.  He really should not have let her get under his skin like that.

Attempting once more to master his mind and emotions, he strode away from their little camp into the heart of the little dwarven outpost.  Fortune shined upon him at last for he saw Albrict’s broad form slumping along among the merchants with his two thuggish retainers in tow.  The plump dwarf bore all the signs of excess drink and food, for his heavy paunch overflowed his broad belt and his weathered skin was the texture of sandpaper.  His long white beard was yellowed from too much tobacco and when he saw Pendaran he coughed wetly.

“Well, if it isn’t Peacock Boy,” Albrict rumbled, “I haven’t seen you for a few months.  What have you got for me today?”

Pendaran retrieved a small embroidered bag from his belt pouch and spilled the stolen diamond necklace into his purple gloved hand.  Albrict’s coal black eyes glistened greedily as he looked upon it.

“Five platinum, take it or leave it.”

“You filthy cheat. It’s worth at least twice that,” Pendaran protested to his own horror.  What in the world was wrong with him?

“Yes, but thieving scum such as yourself have no right to question my price,” the old dwarf said angrily, “Four thousand for your insolence, and if you protest, I’ll have Brodach break your pretty little fingers.”

Pendaran blanched as the thick set dwarf on Albrict’s right stirred, his beady eyes gazing hungrily at him.

“Very well,” Pendaran replied, grateful he had been able to regain control of his tongue.  He just needed more sleep, that was all.  After he got rid of the necklace, he would find a supply train to Lion’s Arch and get out of this icy backwater hell hole.  They exchanged goods and Albrict was about to turn away when Pendaran called him back.

“How much do you suppose this sapphire I’m wearing is worth?” he asked, pulling down his collar to reveal it.  Albrict squinted and then snorted.

“I’m not playing any more games with you, lad.  Bring me real jewels and I’ll give you a real quote.  Good day.”

To his horror, Pendaran swore at the dwarf’s back.  And, he noted, the bodyguards seemed particularly gratified by this.