Legends of Belariath
Jelt
White Knight, Black Knight
It was just before dawn. A handful of hours had passed and a glistening coat of dew had settled on the duessa’s pale skin. The chosen location was a small creek in a valley just south of the Alcane encampment. It was the sole source of fresh water in the area. They would come and she had all the patience in the world.
A few minutes after sunrise, she heard the sound of footsteps, soft and careless. Tapered ears perked, but she made no other move. Jelt knew even before the creature came into view that it was not human. Sure enough, a catling bound into the clearing, tail waving excitedly. The unsuspecting kitten hunkered down on the bank of the creek, nose so close to the surface of the chill water that its whispers coaxed small ripples from it. Its tail settled on the ground, slowly whipping back and forth behind it. The duessa watched with faint curiosity. What the devil was it doing?
Psyn suddenly swiped a clawed hand into the water. When he yanked it back, a fair sized trout fell to the shore, flopping and gasping. The catling pounced the slowly dieing fish with a menacing growl.
“You are no match for the mightiness that is Psyn!”
Jelt smirked from her hiding place a few yards away in the dense underbrush of the forest. This would be almost too easy. She stood slowly and soundlessly, the dew rolling down her bare arms in tiny rivers. She took a careful step forward… and was greeted by the delicious feel of cold razor steel against her throat. The duessa paused. She knew that the hand holding that blade ever so steady would have no qualms about separating her head from her shoulders.
A delighted shiver snaked down her spine and she purred, “Good morning, Watchdog.”
“Is it?” Westlake questioned, yanking the cool woman to him to prevent her from escaping a second time. A strong arm wrapped about her arms and waist, her back pressed firmly to his chest.
“Indeed. It’s shaping up to be an exquisite sunrise. Pity you’re missing it.” She commented with a smirk. If the blind man was at all affected by the little taunt, he hid it expertly.
“What business do you have here…? Whisper?” The blade had eased from her neck to allow her to speak, but the tenseness of the air was a good indication that it could be replaced whenever he so desired.
“You are a bit high-strung, are you not, Watchdog? I am merely passing through.”
A fingertip grazed her right arm and the man brought it to his lips, licking away the moisture with a frown. “You have been ‘passing through’ for at least three hours while holding still enough to be covered in dew?”
Jelt cocked an impressed brow then grinned. “My business is my own, Swordsman.”
Her hand suddenly struck backwards, grasping his wrist just long enough to send a searing jolt of painful pleasure into his sword arm. The guard stumbled back, clutching his arm with a suppressed groan. The sword tumbled to the ground without a sound.
“Keep that in mind the next time your path crosses mine, Watchdog.”
After a moment to recover, Westlake kneeled to retrieve his sword. He listened intently for some time… but the woman was gone without a trace.