Of course, they did not call themselves twigs but simply the “People” in their own language. This meant that others who were not of the people did not really have any status. Half-breeds such as Senua lived in a twilit existence made even more complicated by the face that she was in command. Thus, the squad followed her orders but did so without the any form of deference or respect. This feeling was mutual.

The mood of the three bowmen gradually turned more sour as they had closed upon their prey. Finally, Senua snapped, “What is the problem now? Once we’re done with this business they can return to their coven or whatever it is they do up in the deep wood.”

Leaves gave her a baleful stare, “If you had been properly raised, you would know from the signs that this territory belongs to the Mountain Clan.”

“That’s why I am here, as I have a writ of passage they treated with my grandmother.”

He shook his head, as an elder admonishing a child, “Such things have little worth out here in the wilds. They will gut us and take you for a prize if they had the chance. We must do this quickly. The men will abandon the hunt this night. This place stinks of the clan.”

They had followed the trail of the two fugitives to the river road which was the boundary of the clan territory. Senua noted that the tension did ease the closer they got to the river, which was considered neutral territory. They kept to the fringes of the forest with the bowmen climbing high in order to give watch whenever they paused. Light of feet, the twigs carried the traditional long bows of the People who eschewed iron and the technology of the humans. Senua herself did not like the smell of metal either, but she kept a pistol for self-defense. Both Senua and Leaves primary weapons were long knives made from the tusks of the great boar including a set of poisoned barbs for throwing.

One of the bowmen signed a message down to them. Leaves translated, “Men on horse. At least six.”

Senua smiled, “It must be Jan’s men.” When she moved to step out of the trees, Leaves held her back. She brushed off his hand, angered by his touch.

He shook his head, “We must be wary. Do not assume anything.” Senua was wise enough to listen despite her impatience. Nodding despite her frustration, she waited until she could see the men clearly. Her vision wasn’t as good as the others, but she could see much farther than a normal human.

One of the men were indeed from Jan’s crew but the rest wore the colors of the Company. She hissed, “Traitors. They sold out to the mercenaries.” Leaves spat. With the odds not in their favor, they would have to retreat, but when he moved to wave his men back he was surprised by Senua’s command, “We follow.”

When she saw the objection in his eyes, she continued, “Or are the menfolk of the People only cowards now?”

A direct challenge like this would not always work, but Leaves eyes hardened. He responded, with coldness in his voice, “Then we go.”

They lurked behind the other pursuers who were completely oblivious that they were also being hunted. The horses were kept in the care of one man who was quickly relieved of his duty by Leaves who cut his throat as soon as the rest had rushed ahead.

Senua didn’t need the tracker to follow the noise of gunfire and men crashing through the underbrush. With the odds being better, the bowmen gained some confidence as they shadowed the five Company men, including the turncoat.

When Leaves had caught up, the Company men had the two fugitives cornered. Brimming with confidence, the men toyed with their prey who had taken shelter behind a large boulder. Their amusement would only last for a short while. The bowmen took three down in an instant, although one managed to fire wildly warning the other two who quickly realized that they faced a new threat.

Despite their skill, the bowmen could not face bullets directly, so they faded back as the two remaining men fired volleys after them. One man held two revolvers, shooting rapidly in succession. The twigs were not hit although the rounds thudded dangerously close, hitting the tree trunks, sending splinters everywhere.

The thick smoke from the gunpowder did not help the Company men who peered about trying to find the source of the threat.

As they were distracted, Leaves jumped up from cover to throw one of his slim poisoned knives into the side of one of the survivors. Eyes white in fear, the wounded man turned and ran from the field, crashing through an elderberry bush. Senua heard another shot. Either way, the man was not long for this world.

Desperately focused on reloading, the final man did not immediately notice Senua as she made her appearance, holding her own pistol at the ready.

Casually, she shot him in the leg. Shrieking, he fell to one knee,dropping his weapons in order to clutch at the crushing wound that had probably smashed bone. She hadn’t been trying for that, but it worked to make him surrender immediately. He recognized her, “Please, I’ll give up my share. We just wanted to split the coin. You know how cheap your grandmother is.”

She nodded, “She is, the old shrew.” Leaves came up, holding his long knife, white bone gleaming in the shattered light. “Norbor, was your name?”

He nodded, “Yes, missy. I worked with Jan, even gave you lessons with that gun.”

“All the more reason to bring justice to oath-breakers,” she growled, nodding to Leaves who quickly finished the quivering man off with a swift stroke. He grabbed at the gaping wound in his throat with horror, and perhaps acceptance, as he collapsed. With that, what few hopes he had in this life were extinguished.

Senua had never killed anyone before, but giving the order was close enough, she supposed. Leaves made sure the rest were finished off. The bowmen cut out their arrows from the corpses. They could carve new shafts but the special enchanted tips were quite valuable. Senua felt the eyes of their two prey upon them. She turned to return their gazes, and smiled.

From the memoirs of L.C. Sydney, Historian:

I know little of what happened to our fair Rose after the fall of the Spring Palace and the scourge of the Sage Protectorate except from hearsay and reports from travelers as only scraps of writing ever escapes the borders of the Demon Empire these days. They may have not officially changed the name, but I cannot call it by any other than what it has become: an empire of devils, for devils. As for the stories, I can only imagine certain things, and wonder if the truth is even worse than what I have heard…My dear princess, I pray that the rumors are exaggerations, false stories by heated, puerile imaginations. Such an excerpt follows, read at your own peril and dismay. I weep once more...

She finally opened her eyes. She’d had a terrible dream but it was over now. Yes, this was much better than the images in her head. The hall was vast and vaulted. She didn’t recognize it at first, but she knew it to be the main atrium of the ancient temple of the capital. The stones were older than the Empire itself, founded thousands of years in the past, but the sigils that hung on the walls were all new. They were the banners of the Prophet Emperor, disparagingly called the Black Lord by those who opposed him, who had led the great reformation. It all started coming back to her now. But something was odd.

Why was she hanging so high? Startled, she looked around herself. She was tied onto some odd wheeled contraption hung from the dome overhead. Lamps flickered, making it hard to see but she became aware of her own nakedness, spread eagle on the frame of iron. Another odd thing, there were metal things sticking out of her flesh. Her heart beat as she realized what they were: spikes. Dried blood had left trails around her wounds but the pain seemed dull and far away. Otherwise, she seemed whole. She almost laughed at herself.

She’d known something like this fate was possible when she had surrendered, but…she shook the terrible images from her head. She’s imagined far worse during the long trek to the capital, escorted by the Emperors soldiers most of the way. The terrible things had come after they had knelt before the Emperor.

Yes, the Emperor! She thought. Where was he? Her eyes darted furtively. Across from her, hanging from a mirror iron wheel was the corpse of someone she recognized: the fair Princess Darlene of the Valentine Fields, a noble estate of the Five Matriarchs, and her cousin. Her heart sank in despair as she realized that she would most likely be joining the poor wretch. At least it would be over soon. For now, Rosa was the last of the line that stretched back to the original Matriarch and Demi-Goddess of the Waters, Daafene Laurelie. She sighed. Hundreds of generations of continuous reign and she was all that was left of that noble blood. She almost wept.

Ah, she thought. There he was. In the gloom, sitting cross legged on a raised dais in the very center of the atrium below her, she could see the new august ruler. He was a thin man, almost hairless from head to foot, of undiscernible provenance, certainly not one of the hill peoples he had first been associated with during his quick rise. His skin was olive colored and rippled with cordlike muscles that seemed ready to strike, like snakes. She could not see his eyes but she could feel his gaze upon her. He wore only a thin pair of silk pantaloons. Otherwise, there was nothing regal or unusual about the man, except his presence filled her with a deep discomfort. She would have soiled herself if she wasn’t already empty from doing that much earlier. Hunger was the least of her worries, though she licked her parched lips.

After a long silence, the Emperor spoke, “So, what do you have to offer me?”

She knew that he could only be speaking to her. Her throat raw from previous screaming, she sputtered, “My body…”

“I already have that woman, and all your wealth. What do you offer me?”

“I can bear children. Royal children that could cement your claim–“

He laughed, harshly, “Bitch, I own all that I wish to claim all ready. All rights now begin with me, as I am the First of my new line. I have a thousand wives already, each who can bear a potential sovereign, if I so choose. Your loins serve me no purpose except for an occasional pleasure, if that.”

“Then you have everything, great ruler,” she choked back tears.

“Bah!” He stood up, clapping his hands. “You waste my time. Hang there and really think of what you can offer me. The answer is obvious.”

“But, you have my life, what else can I give?”

He ignored her as a livery arrived, carried by six stunning Amazonian women who wore nothing except some paintings on their slick bodies. Their forms looked like they had been carved by the god’s themselves from some perfect mold. Their muscles rippled as they set down the golden litter. He climbed aboard and settled himself as the women kneeled and lifted the litter onto their shoulders in one clean motion. Even the last princess of the old order could not help but admire their athleticism as their oiled buttocks worked in silent unison.

She was left to her own thoughts once again, and terrible memories.