Chapter Three
DEAL WITH A DEVIL

"He was deep like a graveyard,
She was ripe like a peach.
And how could he have known that
She was only fifteen?"
Rilo Kiley

* * * * *

Martin Crowley
Ring Leader, Deal-Maker, In Love With Your Carnage

"Something's wrong," Martin Crowley hissed under his breath. It was taking the group at the stables far too long to start leading the horses out, even accounting for the storm sitting on top of them. He hadn't wanted to get out of the caravan, with all that rain, but it seemed there wasn't much choice. He lifted a flap of canvas, and dropped to the ground. Mud sucked at his boots, already thick enough that he knew transporting the horses was going to be no easy task.

"I want two men with me -- the rest of you stay here and make sure we don't get routed in this mud!" When he had two of his mercenaries by his side, Martin turned and started off for the stable. He wasn't wearing armor, but he wasn't wearing his robes, either: just a tunic and pair of cloth pants. By the time he reached the large stable, he was soaked through to his skin.

The stable doors were wide open, which in itself was unsettling. He could hear the frantic whinnying of nervous horses inside, and approached cautiously. There was still a lantern burning, hung near the doorway, and he picked it up. Within a few steps the circle of illumination passed over one of the bandits. Before he had to look closer, lightning offered up a complete picture of the grisly scene.

Three men lay on the ground, their blood making dark pools on the dirt floor. One of them had what looked like a pitchfork protruding from his neck, where two iron prongs had punctured and ruptured the flesh like a dinner utensil through raw steak. Most interestingly, however, was his mercenary Captain. The man was swinging by a rope that hung from the rafters, and at first Martin thought that he'd somehow hanged himself.

Walking closer, he shone the lantern's light on the slowly revolved body. No, he wasn't strung up my his neck, but his foot. His throat, however, had been sliced open. Boris' face was paler than a wintry moon, his lips tinged blue. Undoubtedly his heart had pumped out all of his blood within moments, and gravity would only have helped. Whoever had done this had been efficient, that much was sure.

"Shit!" One of the men behind him murmured, and the other agreed. They started nervously, shifting back and forth. "Shit, I thought these people were just ranchers!"

"They are. Follow me. And if you piss your pants, you're walking back to camp tonight."

Martin went back out into the rain, and set off for the ranch house. He took the lantern with him, and the glass panes kept out most of the water, but it was still incredibly hard to see. Eventually he made his way there, and the door was already open. Inside, more lanterns and candles had been lit, and he could hear a struggle taking place.

Carefully stepping over another dead body, Martin approached the parlor room, where the fight seemed to be taking place. Another dead man was slumped over a chair, and he saw one more bleeding to death in a corner. Which left one of his mercenaries unaccounted for...

"Anna, stop!" A crash sounded as two bodies were driven into -- and through -- a cabinet housing ceramics and dishware. Martin saw the widow, Cecily Eris'ei, huddled against one wall. Her son, Alain Eris'ei, stood protectively before her, shouting at the dueling figures. "Stop!"

Just when it seemed that the young man might leave his mother's side to join his sister, one of the men that had come with Martin edged around to that side of the room. He held the boy, Alain, at bay with one quick gesture towards Cecily. Alain, being unarmed, did the reasonable thing, and stayed flush to the wall.

A wrestling match broke out on the floor, and Martin watched as Anna Eris'ei -- the young daughter of the family -- squared off against one of his better men. Both of them were bleeding, but she much more so. A deep cut above her right eye exposed her skull, half-blinding her with her own blood, but her lips were pulled back into a vicious snarl as she kept on fighting. Martin felt himself go very still as he watched.

He paused only once, to let his eyes flick up to the cowering family and confirm what he already knew. Both mother and son were dry, save for the errant smudge of blood here or there. The girl, on the other hand, was wearing a leather jerkin that was suspiciously identical to the ones most of his men wore. The swords in her hands were standard-issue as well; Martin felt a detached admiration to see that she had been fighting with both.

Most importantly, her long, dark hair was plastered to her face and her neck, drenched not just in rainwater but blood and sweat, too. She'd been the one in the stables, and the only one, from the look of things.

As valiant and deadly as this little creature might be, she was losing. Still, that put her kill count at what, seven? Martin didn't think for a second that those had been fair one-on-one fights, but all the same, seven bodies was nothing to sniff at. Especially not from a dead rancher's daughter.

There came a muffled cry as the bandit she was fighting got the upper hand. He'd pinned her with her stomach pressing against the ground, and wasted no time to wrenching one of her arms up behind her back. With an unpleasant snap! he broke her arm, pushing it upwards. The girl screamed into the floorboards, and her hand involuntarily lost it's grip on the sword's hilt.

The man atop her made the mistake of taking the sound as a sign of victory, and relaxed a hair or two. The shriek of pain contorted into a howl of rage, and the girl twisted under him like a serpent, swinging the other sword-arm in a wild arc. Trying to stay seated and dodge the blow at the same time, the bandit shifted his weight, and she rolled over on him. Martin was surprised at her agility for one, but even moreso her strength: that man had an easy fifty pounds on her.

The unlucky mercenary struck out with his sword, the blade finding purchase on her shoulder, just inches from her throat. It bit deep, and she cried out again -- but brought her own sword down as she did. With all the power left in her usable arm, she drove the blade through the man's sternum. His heart stopped instantly, and well, so did Martin's, but for other reasons.

Eight, Martin thought, feeling a dull heat curling in his belly. The girl staggered to her feet, while the other man beside Martin pulled his sword. He could see the blade quivering in the unsteady hand.

"Gods, Anna! Stop! Just put the damned sword down!" But she did not. Perhaps she could not, had forgotten how in whatever bloodlust overcame her. Martin stood his ground as the girl took a step towards him. She stumbled, only barely catching herself and staying on her feet. Her right arm was limp at her side, and she was greatly favoring one leg. Blood began to drip from her, pouring from the fresh wound at her neck and down her back and chest.

Another slow step. The girl was still out of striking distance, and Martin could feel the tension of the man beside him, waiting for orders.

"What are you waiting for?" Anna Eris'ei spat, the words garbled though what Martin recognized as a broken jaw. If she hadn't completely won him over before, she did then, and he exhaled in a great huff of greedy desire.

Martin made a slight gesture to the man beside him without bothering to look; he didn't take his eyes off of the girl. Both remaining bandits sprung forward, and though she swung at them, she was quickly fading. They overtook her with only a nick or two to show for it, and at last the blade fell from her fist. With one bandit to either side they forced her to her knees, and she still struggled weakly against them. A sword was brought to her throat, and Martin hissed, broken from his trance.

"Don't kill her, you idiot! Or I'll skin you alive, in front of mirror, so you can watch." The man with the sword nodded after a moment of confusion, and brought the hilt down hard across the girl's face instead. Her eyes rolled white in her skull, and her body went lax in their grip.

He quickly moved forward, and checked her pulse. It was light, and far too quick -- he'd need to tend to her, or she'd be dead within minutes. Martin brushed his thumb over her cheek, the one that hadn't been coated in blood.

"What... what do you want?" The brother finally spoke. Martin stood, and faced the remaining two members of the family. From the bright look in the young man's eyes, he could tell that he was the clever sort. Clever enough to protect his mother and not start a fight with so many horse-thieves, at least. Perhaps he was also a bit of a coward as well. Martin wouldn't blame him: reckless courage was hardly a trait of the wise.

"Well, we came for your horses, as I'm sure you can imagine-"

"Take them!" Alain Eris'ei cut him off. "Please, take whatever you want, just don't hurt our family!"

"About that..." Martin scratched the side of his neck. "I'm quite fair, Alain, as much as any bandit or mercenary can be." The son flinched, obviously unhappy to hear his name drop from the lips of a bandit. "I'll make you a deal."

The son scowled. "Under what terms?" His mother stared wide-eyed, and Martin figured that she must have gone catatonic at the sight of so much violence.

"There's a good man." Martin smiled. "We'll leave here tonight, and you won't hear from us again. You can keep all your knick-knacks and your horses." Both the remaining bandits' heads spun at that, staring at him gape-jawed. Martin was unaffected.

"...in return for what?" Alain asked carefully.

Martin leaned to the side, to give the young man a good view of his unconscious, dying sister. "Her."

"What?!" Alain's lips pulled back over his teeth, and he stepped forward. One of the mercenaries that'd been holding the girl quickly closed in between them, forcing Alain back at sword-point. "What do you want with her!"

Martin smiled, wet his lips with his tongue, and then held his hands out, palms up. "Don't be an unreasonable man, Alain. I'm not going to kill her, and neither do I plan on passing her around the camp as a cheap reward. You can still protect what's left of your family, and its livelihood."

"And if I refuse?" But there was no real spine in it: Martin could already hear his victory in Alain Eris'ei's weak stab at valor. He was just too logical not to take the offer.

"If you refuse? Well, I'm a fair man, but I've also got a vindictive streak, you could say. There are at least another half-dozen men outside. I'll invite them to take whatever they want -- including your mother and sister, while you watch -- and then burn your house to the ground with you inside of it. Oh, and we'll steal your horses, too."

The young man's eyes smoldered with barely contained fury, but he held himself in check. If Alain could kill him, he would; but he was unarmed and outnumbered. That, and he had his mother to worry about.

"You... you won't hurt her, will you?"

Martin smirked. "Not in the conventional ways, if that's what you're thinking."

Alain's face darkened, but in defeat rather than defiance. Finally, he cast his eyes away. "Fine. Go."

"I knew you'd make the right decision." Martin half-turned to the two men in his employ. "Let's leave them to the business of cleaning up, shall we?"

"B-but, Crowley, are we really not going to get anything-" One of them began to complain, and Martin shot him a look so cold that his mouth instantly snapped shut. "Right, Boss." They both picked up the girl, and began to walk out.

"No!" The mother screeched awfully, this apparently breaking her stupor. "No! Don't! My girl! You can't take my little girl!"

"Mother, please-" Alain had to hold her back, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. "Please, it's for the best, please-"

Martin, having no interest in listening to the mother's pleas or the brother's guilty reassurances, left. Once back in the caravan, his hands flew into motion, bandaging the worst of the girl's wounds. That she clung to life at all was a wonder, and his fingers trembled lightly: he wasn't quite sure he'd ever been so determined to see anything not die. He did the best he could, but she was going to need long-term care.

With a few short orders, the caravan set off as quickly as they were able to, given the state of the roads. Overhead, the storm had passed: the rain fell softly now, and he listened to it as he tended to his prize.