by RW Krpoun
“Most have more sense,” Provine Sael nodded, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.
Burk snored away in his bedroll while Pieter and Smokey pulled down the vertical slabs, hardly stirring when Pieter took a sledgehammer to the carvings. Hunter followed the walls, sketching things he found on them, and Provine Sael sat near the passage with her back to the wall, dozing.
I sat and watched Hatcher sort and bag the lumps of gold and various stones that had been scattered around the dolman.
“That looks like a lot of money.” I ventured.
“It is, this has been a great trip for loot.”
“How long until you have enough to go home?”
She grinned. “That’s not about money, not really. That’s just a story I tell myself sometimes, that I’m going to go home, get married, have babies, all that. That gets me through the lonely times, when things get tough, or when I see a baby and part of me aches. And who knows? Maybe it will happen. But not this year, Grog.”
“Huh.” I felt relieved. “What about your mother? She wants grandchildren.”
“I have three sisters, and two are married. They’ll shut her up sooner or later.”
“What does the third do?”
“Runs an inn, of all things. I loaned her the money to get started, and she’s just about paid me back. She’s not likely to run to motherhood, either, she’s got an attitude that would put off a Tulg raider. How she makes a go of inn-keeping with a personality like a cheese grater, I’ll never know.”
“Then why did you loan her the money?”
“She can cook like you can’t imagine. The woman has a chip on her shoulder the size of your sword, but she makes food that you would walk for two days to get. She’s not a bad brewer, either, and she can run a household like a centurion. If Provine Sael decides to sit out the winter, I’ll take you and Burk and winter there, she would like you two.”
“We need to guard Provine Sael.”
“Park her in a temple. She can do righteous things and live on thin soup, coarse bread, and cold baths.”
“I know how to eat well,” the Dellian said without opening her eyes.
Hatcher hunched her shoulders and made a face. “She’s got ears like a cat,” she whispered
“And you have the voice of a donkey,” the Dellian observed. “We are a veritable zoo.”
Burk was still dopey from the stuff Provine Sael had given him, and had to ride on Smokey to get back to the camp the girls had set up, but the mule didn’t seem to mind. She certainly handled the weight well enough. Torl excused us from guard duty, and a hot meal and sleep did everyone a lot of good.
The next morning Provine Sael did what she could for our wounds, and then we headed east out of the hills, Burk riding on the cart, although he was feeling much better. My arm ached, but it didn’t bother me much.
Hatcher rode my shoulders as usual, chattering on from one topic to another. Around mid-day she moved to the cart to tend to Rose, and I found myself walking beside Provine Sael.
“You don’t have to let her ride you,” the Dellian observed after a lengthy silence.
“I don’t mind. She doesn’t weigh much.”
“What about the talking?”
“I got used to Burk years ago.”
“Burk talks?” She was surprised.
“When it is just the two of us, he never shuts up.”
“That is hard to imagine. Do you talk?”
“Not so much.”
“What is in that skull of yours, Grog?”
“Not much, mistress.”
“That isn’t true. You’re not stupid.”
I didn’t say anything.
“You don’t believe me, do you? When I bought you, your Master Horne told me you were big and quiet, but clever and trustworthy. He was right in every particular.”
Provine Sael wouldn’t lie, but Master Horne saying I was clever? He was just trying to drive up my price, I decided. “What did he say about Burk?”
“That he was talented, but that I should let you be in charge of him until Burk found his way. He said you two would see me through anything I might encounter, and he wasn’t wrong.”
“Master Horne trained us well.” That was safe ground.
“He did. I was prepared to hate him, but he wasn’t what I expected of a slave-owner who sent his charges to die. We only spoke for a little while, but by the end I liked him. He is the sort of man who hides all under a gruff exterior. You are very much a son to him, you know, and Burk as well.”
I liked that. “Thank you.”
“Some people talk to fill the silence that lurks within them, and some talk because they like the sound of their own voice,” she mused. “Some stay silent because they can’t imagine anyone would find what they have to say to be worth listening to, and some prefer to act rather than talk. You and Torl are of the latter, I think. Men who think that being the best in your own eyes is all that is needed of a life.”
“It is a great deal.”
She shook her head. “Grog, Grog, Grog. There is an entire world out there,” she swept her staff at the horizon. “There is love, family, hope, accomplishments that have nothing to do with steel or blood.”
“You don’t bother with such things,” I pointed out. “You are out here with Torl and me.”
“I am,” she admitted ruefully. “And without the calm certainty that you and Torl have, Hatcher’s humor, or Hunter’s love of travel and mischief.”
“Why, then?”
She stared at the green grass we were walking through for a long moment. “Everyone has to be somewhere.” She nodded, as if to herself.
When we came out of the hill country onto the great rolling plains Torl turned us southeast, heading for the Empire. By the third day Burk was fit enough to walk, and I kept him company.
“How’s the eye?”
“It works. No scar, either.”
“Too bad: cutting off part of your face could only be an improvement.”
He grunted. “That thing got lucky, is all.”
“Luck can kill you.”
“It can. But they’ll need more luck than that to put me down for good.”
“This is true.”
“I wonder what is next?”
“I don’t know, but we’re two days from the start of the ninth month, and we should see snow before the ninth month is over, definitely in the tenth month, so that’ll mean an end to the campaign season. What that means for us, well, I don’t know.”
“I’m sure the mistress will come up with something for us to do.”
“I hope so.”
Later that day I found myself walking near Pieter. “I think the cracks in the scars on your scalp are getting wider,” I observed.
“They are.” He scratched at the darkened scars on his jaw. “The edges are eroding away. Mhm At this rate I will look Human by the spring.”
“That’s sooner than I will.”
He was silent for a long moment, then chuckled. “That’s the first joke I’ve heard you make.”
I shrugged. “I’m not the funny sort. Hatcher thinks she is.”
“Hatcher should quit while she is ahead, mhm.”
“When the scars are gone, will you stay with us?”
He scratched his jaw again. “I believe I will. It is a harsh life, but a simple one, and one that is mhm oddly fulfilling.”
“Was being an engineer fulfilling?”
“It had its moments. I enjoyed using my education to solve problems; mhm mines tend to exist on the cusp of disaster. But going back would mean confronting certain memories, mhm and it is far easier to tend a mule and cart, do camp chores, and drift.”
“Huh.”
He smiled. “Do you miss the cheers of the crowd?”
“No. I miss the barracks, though, and the actual matches sometimes. Walking into the pit, and then being the one to walk back out…that can be good. But I never cared about the crowd.”
“You are clever, Grog
: the cheers of the multitude have seduced countless men. mhm The adoration of the masses is a very fickle thing, and it seldom benefits in the long run.”
“Master Horne did not like the crowds. He always said that the pit would be best if it was just the fighters and the gamblers.”
“A sensible man.”
“He is. I miss him.”
Pieter nodded thoughtfully. “People can leave holes in your life that can be difficult, mhm even impossible, to fill.”
Six days out on the plains Torl came loping back to the cart. “Buryan riders ahead, broken men.”
“How many?” Hunter asked.
“Twelve. No great threat, if they have any sense.”
We stopped on a low rise, the riders just dots ahead, and waited to see how the encounter would play out. The girls were sitting on the lowered tailgate, and I leaned against it, facing front, chewing on a stalk of grass. Igen started to scoot away from me, but I put my thumb on a fold of her dress. She shyly tapped my hand and I immediately released her. Kalos grinned and elbowed her sister, who stared fixedly at her feet.
The riders looked like any other Buryan I had seen, except they had their tufts of hair pulled into a horsetail rather than being braided; I supposed that was what marked them as clan outlaws. Hatcher climbed up on top of the cart as they rode up, and Burk came over to stand next to me.
While the head Buryan spoke with Torl, one of the nomads walked his horse in a close circle around our cart, stopping to stare at the girls, who cringed under his gaze.
I walked over to stand by his horse’s neck, and he tore his gaze away to look at me. “Nice horse,” I said around the stalk of grass.
He grunted.
“I like ‘em grilled with black pepper and a little salt pork.”
His eyes flashed, and his right hand moved to the hilt of the straight saber fastened to his saddle, but he caught himself. After exchanging stares for a bit, he nudged a heel into his horse’s side and walked around to the rest of his group.
After a bit more discussion the riders moved off, heading north, and we resumed our travels. Hunter dropped back to the rear of the cart. “They were sizing us up,” he noted unnecessarily. “I expect they’re heading north to sell their services to the Dusmen.
“Why not the Empire?” I asked.
“The Legions require auxiliaries to follow military law: no robbing, raping, or murdering Imperial citizens. Takes the fun out of it for these sort of bastards. Still, I expect at least half the hill folk will serve under the Imperial banner; not all who break clan law are bad sorts.”
Having seen the Buryan clans, that made sense to me. “So they could end up fighting other broken men. Or even their own clans, maybe.”
The ‘slinger nodded. “Wars are interesting events, I’m told. There’s a good chance that the various Buryan clans will end up on both sides.”
“I thought the Dusmen want to kill or enslave all Men, Dellians, and Niskers.”
“They do, but that doesn’t mean they won’t hire mercenaries until the job is done, and there’s always the idiots who think you can negotiate your way out of anything. I’ll say one thing for the Dusmen: you never see one of them switching sides.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
Hunter shrugged and took a swig from his flask. “I don’t know. They probably kill those who don’t agree with the leaders. Or they dedicate their kids when they’re young, like the Tulg and Ukar do. Or something else, they’re not inclined to be chatty even when hot irons and small knives are involved, you know.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to say if they love being mysterious, or simply don’t care one whit about anything outside their society.”
As we resumed our march Burk rubbed his eye. “Say what you will, the Dusmen seem to have standards.”
“They do,” I agreed. “Of course, their standards mean they will want us dead or enslaved.”
“It’s always something with you.”
I grinned.
Walking across the vast sweep of plains with Hatcher’s monologue washing over me felt good, I decided. Life was good: we had a fine cook, pleasant weather, and easy terrain, with no forest in sight. Even without a map I knew which way to go, which is a good thing if you have ever experienced being lost. My armor was serviceable, my sword was something special, although I was still uncertain as to exactly how it was special, and my boots were thoroughly broken-in and comfortable. Life did not get much better than this.
I was working on a letter to Moina, but writing it was a lot harder than I had expected. Stringing letters together into words and words into sentences was logical and clear when Hatcher was having us practice, but there was, I discovered, a huge difference between copying a sentence and coming up with an actual sentence intended for a real person.
My first attempts quickly made me regard the writers of the novels I had read with awe: if writing a letter was this hard, how did someone pull a story out of their mind and write it down? It beggared the imagination.
I worked on the letter every night, hunched over my slate to conserve paper, struggling to find thoughts and then the words to build sentences that would explain those thoughts. Master Horne may have told Provine Sael that I was clever, but I was now certain that he was just hiking my price.
Still, it was kind of him to say that about me, and my respect for him, which had always been high, rose a bit more. I hoped he was doing well and that the Ebon Blades’ fighting line had recovered from the loss of Burk and me.
I persisted in my efforts on the letter, although at the rate it was progressing Moina would have grown old and long forgotten me before I had a page full.
I also questioned why I was bothering to write a letter at all; the odds are that I wouldn’t ever see her again, even if she did get my letter. We were sworn to different masters, and if we weren’t, well, what then? No aspect of the entire business made sense. But I kept working on the letter, anyway, because being free meant you could choose to waste time, effort, and even money if you were so inclined.
Eight days out onto the plains it rained; not hard, but enough so we strung tarps over the sleeping area. We had eaten, and I was sitting on my cot with my slate on my knees, struggling over building sentences, when Hatcher approached, carrying Rose on one hip.
“Hold her, I need to go defile Nature.”
“You need to cut back on the bekker sauce.”
“Mind your own business. Here.”
“Put her in her cradle; you’re not going on a night patrol.”
“It feels like I might be a while, and she’s teething, so hold her.”
“What is ‘teething’?” I eyed the baby suspiciously.
“Her first teeth are coming in,” Hatcher rolled her eyes. “Provine Sael made an oil that keeps it from hurting, but she’s still a little fretful.”
“Just set her on the blanket.”
“I’m not just setting her on a blanket. Here.”
“Get one of the girls to do it, they love her.”
“They are washing up. Look, I’m up against a deadline, so take her.”
“I’m busy.”
“They build bridges across raging rivers that proceed faster than your letter-writing. Take Rose.”
Sighing, I set my slate and chalk aside.
“Wipe your hands, don’t get chalk on her.”
This must be what being married is like, I figured as I wiped my hands on my trousers: a woman telling you what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. I accepted the baby and set her on my knee.
“If she drops that piece of hardtack, give her a fresh one; she needs something to work against her gums.” Hatcher passed me a hard square and hurried away.
“This is an imposition,” I told Rose. She gummed a rather soggy corner of hardtack and regarded me with big dark eyes. Her features were a bit more defined, and she seemed to have more hair since we had acquired her; she had a dimple in her chin, which I hadn’t noticed before. “You have Hatcher and
Provine Sael fooled, but I know you’re just taking advantage. You should be walking by now.”
Rose studied me carefully as I said this, and then failed her arms, dropping her piece of hardtack.
“Really?”
She grinned at me, and I saw a white sliver poking out of her bottom gum: a tooth was coming out.
Shaking my head, I settled the square of hardtack in my palm and squeezed, snapping it in half. Breaking one of the pieces in half again between my fingers, I gave her one piece. “Most people have to soak hardtack, or break it with a dagger pommel,” I pointed out.
She made a few vaguely word-like noises and then blew a raspberry before jamming the rough square of hardtack into her mouth. I used the hem of the shirt she was wearing to wipe off her chin, which was slick with drool. “I don’t see what’s so special about you.”
I watched the rain drip off the tarp for a while. We were alone in the sleeping area; Burk was on watch, Pieter and the girls were working at the rear of the cart, Torl was off somewhere, and Hunter and Provine Sael were deep in conversation as they walked a distance away; Hunter could keep the rain off him and anyone close to him, by arcane means.
Rose started babbling noises, and looking down I saw that she had dropped the latest piece of hardtack. “You think I’ve got nothing to do but take care of you, don’t you?” I handed her another square of hardtack, and wiped her chin again. Her cheek felt a little cold, so I leaned over and got a clean towel out of my pack and wrapped it around her. “I was trying to write a letter, which is a lot harder than it looks. I’m not good at writing, and my reading is still kind of slow.” I rubbed the scar on the left side of my jaw. “I’m not so great at talking, either. It’s probably stupid for me to even bother, but being free I can choose to be stupid if I want.” I drummed my fingers on my knee. “The thing is, I don’t usually make choices about things, which is good because making choices means thinking a lot, and thinking makes my head hurt. I was on my own for a while, and it wasn’t pleasant; things are very disorganized, and working out how to deal with them is tiring. I like working for Provine Sael, because she makes all the hard choices, leaving me to do what I do, which is escort and fight.” I frowned into the night. “My place is taking orders, and letting others do the thinking.”
