The Outer Lord

Chapter 4 - The Fingers and An Oath

''I'm glad,'' she could hear the smile in Talos' voice, ''you hardly stirred. If I weren't so focused on keeping an eye on you, I may have forgotten you were here,'' he joked. ''If you don't mind, could you tell me how you came into contact with the Scarlet Rot? I haven't seen many who have it that are as... intact, as yourself.''

Millicent looked away uncomfortably. By habit, she would have held her left arm with her right hand, but only the phantom sensations followed her command to her missing right arm.

''I don't really know what to tell you. I was born here, like my sisters. Gowry found me and the others as babes deep within Aeonia. I am the youngest of my sisters, them being fully grown by the time I was found, yet only I was touched by Rot. I suppose that makes me the runt of the litter, doesn't it?'' she gave a brittle smile that quickly died. She couldn't find it within herself jest.

''I wouldn't be so sure,'' Talos said. He could feel something about Millicent that was anything but weak. There was a quiet endurance to her that was beyond most others. She'd lived in this hellish place for her entire life and battled the Rot within her the whole time. Weaklings didn't do that. And within her eyes was the will to live. She was driven by something, even if it wasn't quite evident to herself yet. He had eyes like that once. Talos walked away from his pile of treasures and knelt next to her. ''You are strong to come as far as you have. And now with the needle, I think you can only get stronger from here.''

''You have my thanks for saying so, but how? I no longer have my sword arm,'' her eyes narrowed as she unconsciously gripped the stump of her shoulder.

''I believe you will forge a path regardless. That's just how you are. I see it even now. The light in your eyes will not allow you to give up. You know it as keenly as I,'' there were aeons of weight behind his words. Millicent knew she couldn't simply give in because she was missing an arm. The pull to her goal was too strong, and it was becoming clearer to her by the second, like a dense fog being lifted from her thoughts. However strong the compulsion was, it did not make her method of traversing her path any clearer. She felt lost without a sword. She tried to see the eyes shadowed by his visor in search of an answer, but saw nothing.

''How can you be so sure? To say those words with such conviction. I do not mean offence, but we have only just met.'' To that, Talos chuckled dryly.

''Experience, mostly,'' saying nothing more on the matter, he addressed something else. ''Pardon my saying, Millicent, but your ordeal has left you looking a mess.''

She took no offence to his statement. She was perfectly aware. Her crimson hair was disheveled and obstructed her vision in her right eye. It was still slightly damp with sweat as it clung to her face and neck. She knew she looked awful. Still, her cheeks coloured at him pointing it out. He didn't have to be so blunt about it. As uncaring of her appearance as Millicent was, she was still a lady.

''And what would you have me do? I don't suppose you have a comb and an extra hand do you?'' she said, her tone a little more petulant than she'd intended.

''As a matter of fact,'' he dug out an ivory hair comb from a pouch on his hip, ''I do.'' Millicent caught sight of the comb, seeing that it was delicately decorated with lettering of a kind she didn't recognise. There was an image carved into it, depicting the face of a beautiful woman, her expression serene and hair of gentle waves framing her face.

This and one other item truly belonged to Talos, unique to him. Everything else in his collection was either bought, scavenged or looted from the dead. But this was his and his alone.

He set about his task with utmost diligence, settling down behind her and began combing her hair, working the knots out. Millicent had expected rather rough treatment, but to her rather pleasant surprise, he was very gentle. It was clear to her that Talos was a warrior through-and-through, forged in the crucible of war and honed on the grindstone of hardship. How else would he have survived Caelid as intact as he had? His technique was a bit rough to begin with, but steadily, it improved like an old skill relearned. Millicent stayed silent, embarrassed but luxuriating in it. Only her sisters had done something like this for her, before she was the only one left.