by M. D. Grimm
Kleitos sighed. “You are not wrong.”
They fell silent for a time and Viljar finished his tea. He was rather annoyed that Kleitos was so close to backing down. It seemed to happen far more frequently than even a few years ago. He wasn’t very old, and yet he sounded like a man far past his prime.
The two warring kings of Grekenus, King Kleitos and his cousin, King Aeschylus, both claimed the right to rule. Their feuding families caused the civil war a couple generations past. Sometimes it was brutal warfare, sometimes it was tense stalemate, and sometimes one side appeared to win for a few years and then the other would gain strength and attack once again. Grekenus was in constant flux, and Viljar was the main reason for it in recent years.
War brought the need for weapons and supplies, and added to the wealth of the people who could provide the most. He’d taken the wealth that Ulfr plundered and the payments from both sides of the war, and funneled them into keeping Swenen rich and filled with resources. Their battle against the ravenous horde took a toll on men and supplies, and had for years, even longer than the civil war.
Viljar bided his time before breaking the silence and once again sympathetically urging Kleitos do what was best for his home and his people. And, of course, that was to continue the war and win triumphantly. However, Viljar didn’t expect Kleitos or his cousin to actually win. No, indeed. He hid a smile. Reporting the current situation to the emperor would be a delight. The Hill of Tarran was his next stop, and Viljar was eager to see Emperor Gaiuss and continue to guide him where Viljar wanted him. If all went according to plan, Grekenus would soon be no more, and the land and islands would be divided between Swenen and Cairon, with a bit of land taken for the Hill, of course. By absorbing the northeast of Grekenus, he would receive the coveted seas and beaches that produced pearls and seer stones.
“I must say that I believe the gods have finally answered my prayers concerning one aspect of the ongoing battle.”
“What do you mean?” Viljar asked.
“There haven’t been recent sightings of Mad Blackwolf in weeks. This time of year, we usually hear rumor after rumor of his antics. The same with my cousin, who enjoys pillaging towns and villages under my protection. Both have been blessedly silent. I’m not letting my guard down, I assure you, but it has been a much-needed reprieve. For all of us.”
“I agree with you that such events appear as a blessing from the gods.” Despite his joyous tone, Viljar was angry. He had a firm control on his emotions and by not one twitch did he betray his irritation.
What was that damn warlord doing? Sitting on his ass, counting his treasure? The damn idiot knew his role, and he also knew the consequences for reneging on their deal. He better not be dead.
“May I ask the last time you’d heard of him?”
Kleitos took a moment and rubbed his brow. “Let’s see… nearly three weeks ago, I believe. He attacked a small village. Demanding tribute, I think. They defied him and he had his warband razed it to the ground. Nothing but blackened earth left. It was in my cousin’s territory, near the Cairon border. I have spies there, so I heard about it soon after. It was a village near The Vein. Quaint. Harmless.” Kleitos struck his fist against the arm of his chair. “I don’t understand the thirst for such wanton violence. What is there to gain from slaughtering so many and destroying so much? Such a waste.”
Viljar nodded. Did something happen in that village that persuaded Ulfr to neglect his duties? He would send Ylva to check on him. His eldest daughter was currently with King Aeschylus in the south, supplying him with resources as well. Keeping the war going was of upmost importance. He wasn’t going to let one errant warlord destroy what he’d worked for his entire adult life.
“We have rooms made up for you and your guards, when they arrive. Relax, you are safe here.”
Viljar smiled. “I am much obliged to you.”
“No, not at all. It is I who am indebted to you.”
Right where I want you to be.
“Supper will soon be ready. If you have no objections, I would like to include my wife.”
“How could I have any objections? She is a beautiful creature.”
Kleitos laughed.
Chapter Eleven
Gust stumbled back to town. Several of the workers offered to give him a ride in the wagon but he needed to be alone. Of the five men injured in the field, two had died, and one of them Gust had worked on personally. He was stained with blood—his hands, sleeves, and chest marked with the color and stench of death. He kept walking, unseeing, the route known to him from a lifetime of traversing it. Again and again he went through the steps he’d taken, trying to find any fault or mistake. Nothing came to mind. He’d done everything right and still the man had died. Anknet had decided to take him with her instead of letting him stay. That was her decision to make, and he could do nothing about it.
He sniffed and absently swiped the back of his hand under his nose.
The sun was setting and shopkeepers were closing down for the evening. He struggled against the tears of exhaustion and heartache. He knew everyone in Thebys, and though he wasn’t friends with them all or even liked half of them, it was still hard to lose familiar faces. He was a healer, damn the gods!
At least he had the bittersweet memory of his aunt laying into Lukman for his frugal purchases of farm equipment that should have been replaced years ago. The mighty and pompous Lukman had cowered under the onslaught of Kissa’s lashing tongue. Dakar had also kept his distance, never once meeting Gust’s eyes.
Apparently, Dakar had been released sometime during the day, when Gust was out with Lance. He’d still moved tenderly and his face was bruised but he’d appeared well enough. As a healer, Gust was glad. As a man, Gust was annoyed. He wouldn’t have minded a bit more suffering for the bastard.
“Gust?”
He didn’t stop, couldn’t.
Running footsteps took the owner of the voice beside him.
“Gust?” A broad hand touched his back, and his steps wavered. Gust stopped and took a deep breath, struggling to control his emotions. He turned and gazed into familiar eyes filled with concern and confusion.
“Were you in a fight?” Lance asked.
“In a way. A fight against death. I lost.” He closed his eyes tightly and turned away.
Lance slid his arm across Gust’s back and pressed him to his side, steadying Gust. Then he grabbed Gust’s arm and helped him the last few steps to the healing hut.
Kissa was still in the field while the other healers had taken the workers up on their offer of a wagon ride and had arrived earlier. Sabra and Ata took him from Lance’s hands and ushered him down the hallway to his room.
“We have him from here,” Sabra said to Lance.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“He just needs a bath and some rest.”
Lance’s concern lifted Gust from much of his daze. He couldn’t say exactly why, since Sabra and Ata also showed concern, and Heqet kindly filled his tub that was hidden behind curtains in his room. Yet it was Lance’s tone and the feeling of his strong hands that helped Gust take that first step toward moving past the loss.
Sabra and Ata left, and Gust called to Heqet before she closed the door.
“Could you tell Lance to wait for me in the common room? If he’s willing, that is.”
“Certainly. You take your time. I’ll make sure he’s fed. Did you want anything?”
His stomach twisted. “No. Just tea, I think. I’m sure he’d be grateful for the food.”
Heqet nodded with a gentle smile and closed the door. Gust stripped and left his soiled clothes on the floor. He slowly sat in the tub, the hot water searing at first and then soothing his tense muscles. He scrubbed himself clean before pulling his hair free of the leather thong that held it back and dunked his head under water. His multiple braids swung free, the few beads decorating the strands clinking musically. Kissa always teased him about not doing anything with his braids. She said he
was boring. Perhaps he was. He just didn’t see the need to style them the way many of his neighbors did. Heqet and Sabra were always twisting their braids into some new style. Even Ata and Horem were known to fuss. Though he knew it was their way to try and attract some attention from those they’d like to court. Even Kissa would change her hair from week to week. He never felt the urge. He liked his hair out of his face, simple as that.
He sighed and sat back in the tub for a long moment, trying to feel human again. He’d lost patients before and it never got easier. He knew what his aunt and Heqet would say about it. Ultimately, Anknet decided who was to die and who was to live. Mortals only had so much power, and all of it was given by the divine.
You didn’t lose Lance.
No. He didn’t. Gust sighed, remembering that Lance was waiting for him. He didn’t doubt that Lance would wait all night, and wasn’t that comforting? He barely knew Lance and yet he could still be certain of specific things. Lance liked him, that much was obvious, and despite being a warrior, or perhaps because of it, Lance appeared to find such pleasure in life. With Brutus he was affectionate, and with that puppy, he’d been playful and gentle. With Gust, he was respectful and almost deferential. It was as if he was learning how to be a man by watching and listening to Gust. Maybe that was what happened when a boy was molded into a weapon.
Gust dried himself and dressed in fresh, clean clothes and dropped the soiled ones in the tub, letting them soak overnight. After tossing a few herbs into the water to help with the process, he tied back his braids once again in the thong. Feeling marginally better, he walked barefoot out of his room and into the common area.
Lance sat in one of the chairs in the far corner of the room, his back to the wall, his view of the front door and hallway unimpeded. Gust didn’t wonder at it. Once he’d reconciled that Lance’s entire life had been about survival, his mannerisms made more sense.
Lance perked up when he spotted Gust and stood swiftly. He didn’t come closer although his eyes swept over him and relief softened his expression.
“You look better,” he said.
“I feel better. Come here.”
Lance approached obediently, and they sat in the two chairs nearest the hearth. Lance still took the chair that allowed him a good view of the doors, and his back was more or less facing the wall. The tea was ready to pour, and Gust filled his cup before sipping, letting the calming infusion do its work. Heqet made the best tea.
“Did Heqet feed you?”
“Yes. I ate more than my fill.” He smiled slightly. “I fear I might eat all of you out of home.”
Gust chuckled and patted Lance’s arm. “Don’t worry about that. I plan to go hunting tomorrow, and if you join me, you can repay what you’ve eaten.”
Lance glanced at where Gust touched him before meeting his gaze again. Was he so unused to physical touch? He didn’t appear put off by it, merely unsure what to do about it.
“Hunting? Are you up for that?”
“I need a reprieve. Brutus can join us, of course. He might like to explore the forests east of here.”
Lance nodded. “He would like that. I fear he’s growing restless. He doesn’t like to stay in one place too long.”
He paused and chewed on his bottom lip a moment. Gust couldn’t stop himself from wondering what those full, pink lips might taste like. Gods help him, he needed to pull his mind away from such thoughts.
“What is on your mind?” Gust asked gently. He rubbed Lance’s arm, trying to soothe.
“I want to ask you what happened but if it pains you….”
Gust sighed. He set his empty cup aside before curling up in the chair. They were wide and deeply cushioned, encouraging the sitter to snuggle in. He kept his hand on Lance’s arm as he rested his head on the arm of the chair, tilting it just enough to look at Lance’s face.
“I lost a patient. Five men were injured and three survived. It’s hard. I do everything I can, use everything I have learned and sometimes it just isn’t enough. Sometimes Anknet decides the person’s fate is to die. At times like this I am painfully reminded that I am not a god. I am an extension of Anknet but I am not her. I know everyone in this town and…. I will feel better in the morning.”
Lance said nothing. Gust didn’t expect him to. What was there to say, anyway? Only hollow words of comfort or platitudes no one had time for.
Then Lance’s warm hand covered his, and his thumb stroked Gust’s skin, the callous scrapping in a way that was strangely pleasant. Gust tilted his head back again. Lance was gazing at something Gust couldn’t see, his thoughts elsewhere. Then, as though feeling his attention, Lance turned back, and his lips curved into the gentlest smile Gust ever saw on his face. Then Lance fidgeted slightly, mirroring Gust’s position and laid his head on the arm of his own chair, his prickly cheek brushing Gust’s hand.
Gust’s heart jumped against his ribs, and he couldn’t help but wonder about the depth of Lance’s feelings. Lance kept a firm hold on his hand and closed his eyes. Gust tried to follow him into sleep, and it was late into the night before he finally calmed enough to relax into the quietly intimate position.
“Do you know how to hunt?” Gust asked the next morning when Brutus trotted up to them.
“Yes. I know how to hunt most animals and how to fish.”
“You spent a lot of time in Grekenus, then?”
Lance nodded without giving any details. Although mildly disappointed, Gust couldn’t stay sour for long when Brutus nudged him for pats. Smiling, Gust stroked his nose and neck, meeting one great dark eye. Lance patted his flank before they set out toward the forests. Brutus trotted ahead, nearly skipping in eagerness, distinctly void of bridle or saddle.
Gust laughed softly. “He’s like a colt.”
“I told you he was growing restless,” Lance said, smiling warmly at his friend.
Gust took in that smile for the gift it was. He tried not to dwell on the knowledge that he might never be on the receiving end of such a smile. Lance didn’t owe him anything. Yet he couldn’t deny his attraction, at least to himself. Lance’s bruising had vanished entirely, his healing almost complete, and it allowed his handsome features to show more clearly. His face was finely shaped, and though it was clear his nose had been broken in the past, it added character. He held himself confidently, alert and aware, a man that knew he could handle himself no matter the circumstances. Gust admired such confidence.
Blessed herbs were a thing of beauty, speeding up the body’s natural healing process. Gust also needed to give another offering to Anknet for sparing Lance.
“You can ride your horse, you know,” Gust said as he playfully nudged Lance’s shoulder.
“I enjoy walking with you.” Lance nudged him back.
Gust smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to force my company on you.”
Lance brushed the back of Gust’s hand and once again, the touch rocketed up his body. “I like your company.”
Gust looked away, toward the sky, trying to hide his blush. He hadn’t blushed since he was a boy becoming a man and now twice in less than a week? Why such a strong pull to Lance? Sure, he hadn’t been with anyone since Dakar, and that had ended poorly enough to turn him away from relationships. No one had struck his fancy since, and one of the drawbacks about knowing everyone in his town was there were no mysteries. He knew everyone and everyone knew him. They were all family and to desire many of them felt wrong.
Lance was different. In so many ways.
Feeling bold, Gust took Lance’s hand and squeezed. Lance gave him a startled look but didn’t pull away. His smile was shy and he squeezed back. Feeling triumphant, Gust kept a hold on his hand as they walked into the forest. Brutus was far ahead, whinnying at them, probably telling them to hurry up.
They quickly found deer tracks and followed them. Brutus would disappear and then reappear at will, exploring at his own pace. Since Lance didn’t appear concerned at all, Gust decided to let the ho
rse be.
“Did that warlord teach you how to hunt?” Gust asked gently.
Lance shrugged. “Sometimes. But there were others in his warband. They taught me. They all taught me.”
“Why do I get the feeling their teaching methods weren’t the best?”
Lance grunted.
Gust wondered how many of those scars that covered Lance’s body were from battle or from “teaching.” He stroked his hand down Lance’s arm, knowing no words would make a difference.
They continued their hunt. They spotted a few deer and, unfortunately, weren’t quick or quiet enough to sneak up on them. Then they couldn’t find any for a good portion of the day. Lots of tracks but none in sight. Trying not to feel frustrated, Gust decided they should stop and eat a few of the rations they’d brought with them.
It helped that he wasn’t alone. Lance was a silent and sure partner in pursuit of deer, and he didn’t object to following Gust’s lead. It was a nice difference to the other lads Gust’s age who felt they had to assert their dominance and aggression to be considered men. Although, he suspected Lance had a stubborn streak he’d yet to truly illustrate. The very fact that he was alive after such a brutal upbringing pointed to the fact of his ability to endure and thrive.
“I haven’t seen Brutus in a while. You’re not worried?”
Lance shook his head, chewing on jerky. “He’s in no danger from anything. I feel sorry for any beast that might sneak up on him.”
“How did you ever find him?”
Lance perked up. “Well, it was the warlord that trained me who actually purchased him. And—” He stopped short and snapped his head north, eyes narrowed.
Gust blinked and followed his gaze. “What is it?” he whispered.
