Thalgor's Witch

by Nancy Holland

  He was roused from an uneasy sleep by Rygar.

  “Marauders after our livestock.”

  “Whose men are on duty?” he asked his second sleepily.

  “Batte’s. They have them surrounded.”

  The two of them made their way quickly to where Batte stood toe-to-toe with a man almost as tall as Thalgor, but darker and several years older, half his face scarred by fire.

  Before Thalgor could get a full report from Batte’s second, an arrow flew from a nearby tree and the second fell dead.

  Instantly Rygar stepped between Thalgor and the stand of trees the arrow came from. He notched an arrow and lifted his bow in a single movement. A leaf moved in the still night air and he let loose. With a cry the hidden archer fell from the tree, as dead as his victim.

  Rygar turned to Thalgor as he slid his bow to his back.

  “The arrow was aimed at you,” he said.

  Thalgor looked at the good man who lay dead at his feet. “I know.” He looked up at the frozen stars in the dark-time sky.

  Batte had pulled his sword as soon as his second fell, but Gurdek grabbed his arm. The two of them now struggled silently, strength against strength. The tall man who would die if Batte won the silent battle watched with stoic calm.

  Batte must have noticed the man’s courage because he finally lowered the sword.

  “I’ll tell his woman,” he said in a hollow voice.

  When he was gone, Thalgor clapped Rygar on the back, then repeated the gesture with Gurdek before he took Batte’s place across from the dark man.

  “Your men are brave,” he said to the stranger. “Why let them die without need?”

  “Your lieutenant wanted our women and children.”

  “You misunderstood. We would welcome all of you who agree into our band. But you must lead us to your camp, or we have no proof you are not a raiding party that would betray us to their band at the first opportunity.”

  The other man’s eyes narrowed. “Are there others with whom you have struck such an unusual bargain?”

  Thalgor narrowed his eyes in return. These men were well-fed and well-armed. Either they were very good at surviving under the harsh conditions of a marauder’s life, or they were indeed a raiding party from some large band. Strange Batte did not assume the latter in the first place and kill them all.

  Then Thalgor made out in the darkness what his lieutenant had probably seen more clearly during the skirmish. Fully a third of the would-be thieves were boys, not men. Large, armed boys, but boys all the same. That explained their surrender. Their leader hoped yet to save the boys’ lives.

  “We made such a bargain,” one of the former marauders said. “Our women and children are safe. You can believe this man.”

  The tall man nodded. But rather than agree at once, he did next what Thalgor would have done–he turned to talk in whispers with the two men who stood behind him. Each of them, in turn, spoke quietly to a few of the others.

  Only when his seconds had reported back to their leader did he say, “All but the brother of the dead archer will join you. He has no woman or child. Just the brother your archer killed.”

  Thalgor nodded. One of the younger marauders knelt by the dead man’s body, threw it awkwardly across his back, and staggered into the night with his sad burden.

  “I am Sett.” The tall man held out his hand to Thalgor. “I will lead you to our camp.”

  “My warriors will hold the rest of your men here.”

  “If the boys can come with me? Their mothers…”

  Thalgor nodded and followed Sett and the boys into the woods with Rygar and their men.

  Batte added the marauders to his men, but stayed in his tent to mourn his fallen second the next day. Thalgor called no council in deference to his loss.

  If he thought the gesture might make his night less cold and lonely, however, he had misjudged Erwyn. Her back still greeted him when he came to bed. Even during the day she stayed away from him and denied him the chance to feel his child move inside her.

  The next night, he caught her staring at him with those unforgiving eyes and that lush body, and knew he could take her at will without her magic to protect her. For the first time he almost understood what drove the man who became Rygar’s father.

  But unlike that brute, Thalgor hated himself for the thought.

  They moved on, but soon had to stop and pitch their tents because some of the children fell ill, including Felyn. The illness was not serious for the older ones, but two babies died before Erwyn and the herbalist found the herbs to save them.

  One day, as Erwyn and her helpers brewed tea and instructed the women on how much to give to their sick children, Batte came to Thalgor’s tent with Sett at his side.

  “We should call a council,” Batte said without preamble. “Too many men have sick children for the usual rotation of sentries. We need to discuss how to make up for the gaps.”

  Thalgor, who had been thinking the same thing, nodded. He stood to carry Felyn, who napped on his lap, to her bed. The child was better now, but still clung to him when none of the others were around.

  Gurdek soon arrived, followed by his second, Rygar and, to Thalgor’s consternation, Erwyn. He gave Rygar a sharp look as she walked in, but his second shrugged his innocence.

  Felyn came back into the room, placed her hand in Erwyn’s, and smiled. Erwyn didn’t respond, all her energy seemingly focused on staring at Thalgor so hard his head began to ache.

  Although Erwyn doubted Felyn was a witch, Thalgor was long convinced she must be. Her return now only confirmed his belief.

  The thought of a life with three witches once his daughter was born made him shudder as Erwyn calmly took her usual place at the table next to him.

  If any of his men thought to object to her presence, one small dose of that stare silenced them. Only Sett whispered a question to Batte, who merely shook his head. Sett nodded, and they all turned their attention to the business at hand.

  “I have chosen a new second,” Batte began.

  “The marauder?” Gurdek’s second asked in surprise.

  “He is a brave man, experienced as a leader and in battle. He knows what we have given him.”

  “Good choice,” Gurdek agreed solemnly.

  His second echoed him, as did Rygar.

  Thalgor was surprised when he hesitated, then chagrined at the reassurance he felt when Erwyn gave a small nod of approval. Why should her opinion carry such weight for him without her magic? He quickly turned his mind against the obvious answer.

  “Agreed,” he said. “Now about the sentry duty…”

  “How long will the illness among the children last?” Gurdek interrupted him to ask Erwyn.

  Thalgor cast him a dark look, but none of the others objected to the question he asked of a woman who should not have been there at all.

  “From how quickly the first ones sick recovered, with the herbal tea, four or five days,” she explained.

  “So here is what I propose…” Thalgor began again.

  The meeting went on as usual from there, but he heard little of it, his thoughts on the woman beside him.

  “Anything else?” he asked when the sentries were organized.

  Batte and Sett exchanged looks, then Batte spoke.

  “Sett and his men say another large band moves south on a path parallel to ours. Right now they have pitched their tents half a day’s journey from here. They may have sickness, too, as they have been there several days. Sett’s men didn’t try to steal their oxen because they have so few they keep them very close to their camp. Yesterday Sett and his men scouted the camp again. They have less than half as many warriors as we do, but many tents and ox carts. I propose we attack their camp.”

  “How many warriors exactly?” Gurdek asked.

  “We saw perhaps thirty,” Sett replied. “Some may have been ill. From the number of tents, as many as sixty or seventy, but no sign of that many men. And too few oxen for so many.”
r />   “That seems strange,” Rygar commented.

  Batte, always eager for battle, frowned. “You all agreed to take Sett into our council. Rygar, you are the champion of the marauders. Why question Sett’s report?”

  Rygar looked at Erwyn, who nodded.

  “It isn’t a matter of questioning his report,” Rygar said. “But few or many warriors means the difference between victory and defeat. The number of tents is more certain than the number of men who can be seen at a given time. Seventy warriors who defend their women and children would make for a hard fight. The few oxen bother me, too.”

  “Illness, perhaps,” Batte replied. “If in a day or two we send all the men without sick children, and leave those who have them to guard the camp, we can find the true numbers in battle, and retreat if we are outmatched.”

  “We did not know of this other camp,” Erwyn said quietly.

  “Because we have no useful witch,” Batte snapped.

  “But how do we know they are unaware of us?” she went on. “I agree with Rygar that it seems strange. Perhaps we should send out more scouts to see if they spy on us.”

  “Do you see some danger?” Gurdek’s second asked uneasily.

  “No.”

  “Do you doubt Sett’s report?” Gurdek asked.

  “It’s not his report, as Rygar said.”

  “Perhaps a raiding party would be better than a full battle,” Gurdek suggested thoughtfully. “We could take food, livestock, and some of their tents.”

  “You raid for crops or oxen,” Batte sneered. “To take tents or food stores is a full battle in any case.”

  The others nodded.

  “Something does not feel right,” Erwyn protested.

  “Perhaps it is the child in your belly,” Batte grumbled.

  Thalgor had had enough of all of them. He stood and leaned forward over the table, wickedly gratified when the other men, even Rygar, leaned back away from him.

  “I will consider it. I want full numbers of men available for a war party, sick children or no.”

  “A full war party?” Gurdek was brave enough to ask.

  “I said I would consider it. In the meantime, order your men to bring the camp tighter together, tent by tent, so it can be more easily defended. Council is over.”

  He knew Batte, Sett, Gurdek and his second would continue to talk among themselves about the possibility of going to battle. He would talk it through more with Rygar, too, to see if his second’s objections stood on their own or relied on Erwyn’s worry about Sett’s report.

  But all of that would be easier when he wasn’t distracted by the woman herself, by his inexplicable need to have her support if he went to battle, by the scent of her body. Now he knew why women were not usually allowed at council meetings–not because they were weak but because men were.

  She lay on her back awake when he came to bed.

  “Do you plan to go to battle?” She stared up at the roof of the tent.

  “Do you plan to let me touch you?”

  “Will my answer change yours?”

  “Will my answer change yours?” he echoed.

  “No.”

  Resigned, he turned away from her. Then he felt her start a little as the baby kicked. He rolled on his back again.

  “Can I at least touch my child?” He hated the need in his voice even more than he hated his need for her.

  “If you can do it without touching me.”

  He worked to wrap his tongue around the unfamiliar word and managed to say “Please.”

  She gave a brief nod, then turned her face away from him.

  He lightly placed one hand on her belly. Nothing. He slid his other hand under where her flesh protruded beyond her hips and held a firmness there that was clearly one end or the other of their child. A sharp kick to the first hand told him the second cradled the baby’s head. He smiled to himself as he felt it kick and wiggle and even gently punch where his arm rested on the belly that sheltered it.

  Erwyn sighed.

  “Do I keep you awake?” he asked gently.

  “She keeps me awake. You keep her awake.”

  “You are so sure it is a girl?”

  “You don’t mind that it is not a son?”

  “That our first-born is not a son, no. But a life with a tent full of witches, well, it would not be my choice.”

  Erwyn sighed again. The baby fell still.

  “I miss you,” he heard himself say.

  “You miss my body.” She brushed his hands away and rolled to her side. “Perhaps you miss feeling your child inside me.”

  “I miss your warmth,” he confessed. “I miss your smile. I miss your company in life.”

  “But not in council.”

  “Did I keep you out today? Even with a new man there?”

  “Could you?”

  He didn’t know the answer to that question, so instead he shifted toward her and curled his body close against her back.

  He wrapped one arm around her and kissed her neck. “At least keep me warm.”

  She said nothing, but he sensed her smile in the darkness.

  *

  Slowly over the next two days Sett convinced Gurdek, then Rygar that what he and his men reported was true. Erwyn did not think they lied, but she could not believe what they said.

  She hated being powerless to find out for herself or to stop his lieutenants from convincing Thalgor to do something she thought unwise. She developed new respect for women who lived all their lives with this lack of certainty, this lack of power.

  She became gentler with Gee, whose age made the cold of the dark time especially hard. Tya did almost all the cooking now, and most of the work. Often Rygar appeared, to no one’s surprise, to help her carry the heavy jugs of water.

  He had spoken to Tya’s father, and so they only waited until she was old enough to become his woman. If the delay weighed on Rygar, he showed no sign. Only the buoyant joy of a man who loved and was loved.

  Thalgor and Erwyn were talking about Rygar’s happiness the night of the third day when she found the courage to ask, “Would you risk his future to fight an enemy none of your men has seen?”

  To her relief, he kept his temper. “Sett and his men are now my men.”

  “But not men you have fought with, who know your warriors and what they can do in a full battle.”

  “So they probably underestimate our strength.”

  She bowed her head to the wisdom of that. If only she knew why she did not trust what they reported.

  “My men are restless. Life is hard in the dark time. They have been cooped up with sick children and fretful women. A battle, a small victory, and life will be easier for everyone. If the enemy are too many, we need only retreat.”

  A shudder ran through Erwyn, but she could not say why.

  Thalgor cleared his throat. “We leave at full light.”

  “You held a council?” She stiffened with the old hurt.

  “A war council. Your views are known. Could you have said anything that has not already been said?”

  She shook her head.

  “Rygar will lead those who remain to guard the camp.”

  “That is best, with his wound still so recent.”

  “Will you let me touch you before I leave?”

  She nodded again. But afterward, as he slept, she lay beside him a long time, even the child inside her still. She wept and felt as if the child inside her wept, too.

  *

  Thalgor lowered himself wearily into bed the next night, careful not to wake Erwyn. She would have worried the day away and needed her sleep.

  She was right to worry. Right to oppose the battle plan.

  When Sett and his men guided them to the enemy camp, they found almost a hundred warriors. Thalgor, with more experience of life in a large band than Sett, had realized at once that when the marauders scouted the camp the majority of the warriors had been off chasing a raiding party that had taken most of their oxen.

 
; Their numbers were evenly matched, but Thalgor never attacked men who protected their women and children without a sizeable advantage. So they returned to camp without doing battle. And, if he was lucky, without even being seen.

  His lieutenants had agreed, but some of the younger men grumbled about the wasted effort and blamed it on Erwyn’s distrust of the plan. Thalgor grumbled not a little himself, but he never began a battle he wasn’t certain he could win.

  The alarm came at dawn. The warriors they meant to attack had followed them back, camped the night just out of sight, and at first light fell on Rygar’s dozing guards, on duty a full day and night by then.

  Quickly the rest of their men banded to support them, but they had no time to plan, no time to think beyond the need to keep the battle away from the luckily compacted camp where their women and children already huddled around freshly lit fires.

  Thalgor found his second in the middle of the battle, intent on defending one of their fallen men. Rygar was gray with exhaustion and drenched in sweat with the unaccustomed exertion, but he called orders and rallied their men as he kept an enemy, intent on the kill, at bay. An unexpected wave of pride almost stopped Thalgor in his tracks.

  He reached Rygar’s side and dispatched the enemy with a single blow to his belly. Rygar lowered his sword and knelt at his fallen man’s side, only to find him already dead.

  “Give me your report, then fall back,” Thalgor told him as he helped his second stand again on his weakened legs. “When you are able, we can use your good bow arm.”

  Rygar nodded and wiped a mixture of tears and sweat from his face. He gave his report and walked calmly to the rear, swinging his sword now and then to fend off attacks from the few enemies who had managed to get past their first line of defense.

  Thalgor fought just behind the first line and scanned the enemy ranks for their leader. His sword arm was already weary before he saw a large man in the enemy’s second rank who was clearly in command. Thalgor made his way toward the man, but with their warriors so evenly matched he made slow progress.

  He sent a man to Gurdek, whose duty was to hold back and keep a view of the whole battle, to ask his lieutenant to send any free men to reinforce the line so Thalgor could engage the enemy leader as soon as possible. Once he killed him, it would be easier to draw the attackers away from the camp.