“All I ask is that you are honest with him,” Evelyn continued. “If it’s for a bit of slap and tickle, well then…”
Red let the words slide past her. Being lectured on her love life by a priestess—the Twelve help her! Still, the idea of just a bit of fun with the man seemed wrong somehow. As if she already wanted more. She scowled at her boots. What was she doing, mooning over a man she hadn’t even slept with yet?
“I don’t know,” Red said abruptly. She looked up, realizing that she had cut Evelyn off in midsentence. “I don’t know what my intentions are.”
Evelyn drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. “Don’t hurt him. He’s already suffered more than enough.”
With that, she entered the portal.
Red scowled at the portal. For the first time in a long time, she was at a loss. Over a goatherder. It was uncomfortable, and she didn’t like it.
Still, there were…possibilities. And a good mercenary considers all the potential profit before selling her sword.
Red drew a deep breath, and stepped into the portal.
THE hut was stuffed full of the baskets and bundles when Red and Evelyn squeezed in the door.
“There’s no room for all this,” Josiah grumbled.
“There’s need, though,” Evelyn pointed out. She moved to the bed to look down at her patient. “He’s sleeping,” she exclaimed softly.
Bethral nodded as she pulled a loaf of bread from one of the sacks. “For the past hour.” She looked over at Red, and frowned. “What happened to you?”
Red touched a sore spot on her cheek. “Got to do some sparring while we were gone. Learned a few things.”
“Such as?” Bethral asked.
Red leaned against the door, and folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, let us see. Things like I am not the only one to bear the birthmark of the Chosen.”
Bethral looked up, startled.
“Oh, that’s not all,” Red purred. “Josiah here hasn’t told me all his secrets yet.”
Josiah’s head jerked up.
“And the priestess has managed to assemble a rather large force of arms, and it’s located in Soccia, no less.”
Evelyn’s head jerked up.
“Soccia,” Bethral asked. “Home?”
“Oh, yes.” Red scowled. “Northern Soccia, by the look of it. Isn’t that right, priestess?”
Evelyn opened her mouth, but Red wasn’t in the mood for explanations. “I know a shrine to the Twelve when I see it, birch trees and all. Not to mention the scarlets, a bird of our land, not of this. Oh, yes, Bethral, we can go home. Take our gear, our horses, and be gone in an instant through this lady’s magic. Which is exactly what we are going to do if I don’t get the entire truth, right this minute.”
ELEVEN
RED watched the priestess blush as red as a scarlet and look down at the floor. She started twisting her silver ring. “It wasn’t really a lie,” she hedged softly.
“Not really the truth, either,” Red snapped.
Evelyn didn’t look up. “Auxter’s farm is in northern Soccia,” she confirmed. “I didn’t want you to just disappear without having a chance to talk you into helping us.” She glanced over at Josiah, and looked away.
Red glanced at him as well. He stared back, his jaw set, almost defiant in the face of her demands. Good to see, actually.
“I told you every—” Josiah started.
Red cut him off, and pitched her voice high. “‘Unca ’Siah pops the door.’” She let her voice drop back to normal. “That’s what the littlest one told me.”
Josiah said nothing, and Red let the silence grow. Bethral’s gaze went from face to face, but she didn’t interfere. Evelyn was watching Josiah.
Red gritted her teeth and waited. If the man didn’t say something soon, she’d have to—
“When Athelbryght was destroyed, I was damaged,” Josiah said. “I told you that.”
“And I assumed that you were injured,” Red said. “And you let me think that.” She could hear the faint sound of a goat bell outside, coming toward the hovel. She pressed her back harder against the door, and planted her feet.
“He was hurt.” Evelyn sat down, clasping her hands in her lap. “When I found him in the yard, he was almost gone: cold, shivering, barely enough strength to breathe.” She raised her head, her eyes distant, seeing into the past. “I started to pray there, in the rain and mud, desperate to aid him. But”—her voice trailed off—“I could not.”
“The Gods didn’t answer your prayer?” Bethral asked.
“No.” Evelyn looked back down at her lap. “I thought that for a moment, thought that Josiah wasn’t to be blessed, thought I’d sinned in some way, but—” She looked at Josiah.
“I cannot be touched by magic,” Josiah growled. “Not by sacred magic, not by high. If I come into its presence, it goes out, like a candle. If I try to enter a portal, it ‘pops’ and disappears.” His hands formed fists, knuckles white. “Powers I once wielded with ease are gone.”
Powers he once…
Red narrowed her eyes. “You were a mage?”
Josiah turned his back to her, facing the wall, his entire body trembling. Red studied every line of his frame as Evelyn spoke. “Josiah was a mage of great power. His was a love for growing things and—”
“Stop.” Josiah’s voice cracked.
Evelyn bowed her head, and they sat silent for a moment, as if someone had died. Of course, to Josiah’s way of thinking, maybe he had. But Red’s mind raced. “In a land where magic is common, that makes you an incredible danger. And incredibly powerful. All at the same time.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Josiah snarled, spinning to face her. “I could see, taste, touch, use the powers before. But now I’m blind, as blind as you are to the power that swirls around us. I can’t even sense it. I’m a cripple.”
Goats were butting against the door now, but Red held the door closed.
“A powerful cripple,” Bethral noted, “if you cancel magic in your presence. That would mean…” She looked at the man on the bed. “If that’s true, then how does this one stay healed?”
“Because once its work is done, the healing magic fades, but the results remain,” Evelyn said. “If Josiah walked in during a healing, then all the work might be lost, but not after. Still”—she looked at Josiah—“it’s a curse. He can’t be healed, can’t walk through a portal, can’t use the benefits of any magic.”
“That’s true enough,” Red agreed. “But from a warrior’s point of view…”
“He could walk through a mage battle without being touched,” Bethral said. “He could cancel magic locks or traps.”
“A pawn, to be used,” Josiah said bitterly. “Or killed, when it can’t be used, because of the threat it represents.”
“So that’s why you’ve stayed here, hidden, alone, in this devastated land?” Red asked carefully.
“I deserve nothing less.” Josiah’s voice was gruff as he turned to the supplies crowding the table. “Evie, it’s getting late. Don’t you need to get back?”
Evelyn gave him a sorrowful look, then sighed. “You’re right, Josiah.” She focused on Red. “I’d hoped to spend more time talking this over with you, before you make your decision.”
“We’re not going anywhere.” Red said. “Besides, I need to discuss this with Bethral—”
“Not really,” Bethral said. “I’ve told you how I felt, and none of this has changed my view.”
Red glared at her, but Bethral gave her a simple shrug. “I will follow you, sword-sister. It is your decision.”
“Thank you so very much,” Red snarled. “That’s so helpful.”
Bethral shrugged again. “You are the Chosen One, if you so choose.”
Evelyn raised her hand to her mouth, and Red was certain she covered a smile. But when the priestess spoke, her voice was calm. “I do need to return to the temple, since I’ve duties in the morning. Let me do another healing on our friend.” She ros
e from her chair. “I asked Arent for some clothing for our guest….”
“These supplies need to be put away.” Josiah was unpacking one of the sacks. “I’ll get a meal started.”
“I’ll go check the horses.” Red retreated from the hut as fast as she could. Too many bodies in that small area for her. The goats were clustered about the door as she left, but they followed her down the path.
The cold night air was a relief from the heat, and she sucked in a deep breath to clear her head. Beast and Steel were still in the paddock, and they raised their heads and nickered at her approach. Red went inside the barn, and gave their stalls the once-over. Sure enough, they needed tending.
Ah, well, the “Chosen” had best get to work, then.
She hung her weapons close by, and started working. While her body did the mucking out, she thought about all the possibilities.
All the possibilities.
The all too familiar scents of a barn rose around Red as she started, but that didn’t bother her. She welcomed the feel of her muscles moving, the sight of the stall getting cleared out. It pleased her to set things right again, using a simple shovel and the strength of her arms.
She’d thought Josiah insane when he’d told her about her birthmark. As if a bit of different-colored flesh made any difference. She snorted at the thought. For all the talk of prophecy, it took more than a birthmark.
But they’d built the beginnings, hadn’t they? A source of supply, men, and arms.
It might work.
What a thing to accomplish, if she could. She, Red Gloves, little better than a “lowlife,” toppling a throne and claiming a kingdom. She pictured herself on a throne and laughed out loud at the idea, the sound ringing in the huge, empty barn. She paused then, listening to the echos of her own voice.
Athelbryght must have been a fair land, a prosperous one to support such a barn. She suspected that Josiah was a fair lord as well, generous with his people. His pain was a measure of his caring, that was certain.
There was strength there, within him. It took a strong man to survive what he had been through. Maybe not the strength of a sword, but Red knew all too well that the ability to swing a blade was not the full value of a man.
She paused in her work for a moment, leaning on the shovel. It would be a challenge, with no promise of success. Bethral was willing. Red grinned at that, since her sword-sister had always followed her lead and not always to Red’s benefit.
There was a tempting profit to be made, that was certain sure.
But it would take time and effort, and she still had an itch she wanted scratched….
So Josiah wanted a Chosen, eh?
What would he be willing to pay?
JOSIAH walked toward the barn with an odd feeling of dread and anticipation. Whatever else she might be, Red Gloves certainly wasn’t predictable. He’d probably find her in the foaling room, on one of the bunks, her hands behind her head, thinking about her destiny and the prophecy.
Instead, he found her wrestling with a wheelbarrow full of manure.
He stood in the doorway and gaped as she pushed it toward him. “I didn’t see a compost, so I started one in the back.” She grinned at him. “Not by where you chop wood.”
“Er,” was all he could say as she walked past him with her load. She was back in a moment, setting down the empty wheelbarrow and picking up a shovel. He watched for a moment as she worked. “You’re mucking the stalls.”
“It needed doing.” She stopped for a moment. “Odd that the goat stall seems awfully clean; you’ve no pile hereabouts.”
Josiah sighed, moving to look over the railing at the pile of straw where the goats bedded down. “Whatever happened that day, the goats were caught up in it somehow.” He leaned against the wall, the rough planks catching at his tunic. “They don’t really eat, either.”
Red frowned. “I’ve seen them graze and chew cud.”
“But the grass and plants show no signs of grazing.” Josiah ran his fingers through his hair. “They bear no young, give no milk, and don’t seem to age. I don’t know why, but that’s how it is.”
Red chuckled, then returned to work. “No mucking, then. A benefit to magic goats.”
“But they aren’t magic,” Josiah said. “Because they’re around me all the time. Good company, though. In their own way.”
Red hefted up the last shovelful, then paused, giving Josiah a narrow look. “They don’t talk, do they?”
“No, no.” Josiah said.
Red hefted the handles of the wheelbarrow and left, muttering something under her breath about “better not” and “talking goats.” Josiah had to chuckle, in spite of himself.
Red returned, and between the two of them, they finished fast, putting down fresh straw. “I’ll leave the horses out a while longer,” Red said. “Bring them in after we eat.”
Josiah put the shovel away. “Evie’s left.”
“I’ll wash up and be right in.” Red tugged at her gloves. Josiah remembered Bethral’s warning and made no comment.
He started toward the door. “We can talk if you wish, if you’ve questions. I can give you the information you need to make up your mind.”
“Oh, I’ve decided,” Red purred.
Josiah stopped dead, the small hairs on the back of his neck lifting off his skin.
“There’s a profit to be made here, Josiah of Athelbryght. A profit most mercenaries can only dream of.”
He closed his eyes as her voice moved over him.
“I’ll do it. I’ll fulfill your prophecy and restore the throne.” Red’s voice was low, husky, and soft. “But there’s a bit more that needs to be added to this bargain.”
Josiah didn’t turn…couldn’t turn. He licked his lips, and forced the words from his throat. “What more do you require?”
He heard her take a step, moving to stand just behind him. “You, Josiah. I want you. Your body. In my bed, from now until the success of this ‘prophecy’ or my death in the attempt.”
“But—” Josiah’s brain was a complete blank. “You—a throne—the prophecy…”
Red was right behind him. Even though they weren’t touching, he could feel her heat, smell the sweetness of her body, even with the manure. Josiah felt the pressure all over his skin, as if he was naked.
Her murmur held laughter now. “The throne is a profit to be had down the road. But I am a mercenary, and we like payment in advance.”
Josiah forced himself to take a step away from her. He turned, to find her standing there, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her brown eyes dancing. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” Red said, then she hesitated. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“No!” Josiah sputtered.
THANK the Twelve. Red sighed with relief. She wanted nothing to do with a virgin. Too emotional. Too clingy. Too much time spent on what goes where.
Poor Josiah, he looked so befuddled. And in her own way, Red was just as puzzled. What was wrong with the man? She sighed, getting a bit impatient. “Well, then, pay me now with your company. I’m not without skill.” She arched an eyebrow, daring him to doubt her.
“That’s insane. Your wits have wandered off, looking for a home.” Josiah snapped. “I told you that—”
“Oh, please!” Red scowled. “You’re asking me to commit my life to this cause. The least you can do is see to my pleasure as well.”
“I’m not—”
“Spare me.” Red rolled her eyes. “No more talk of your worthiness or lack thereof. You are fair of form and healthy, Josiah.” And far too long alone, a thought she didn’t voice. She watched Josiah’s face instead, as his emotions passed over it. Desire, guilt, fear…“All I ask is a bed partner for the duration of this ‘adventure.’”
Josiah stood there, frowning, looking into her eyes. “And if I say no?”
Red sighed. “I will not force you, Josiah of Athelbryght. Even if the Way of the Twelve did not forbid such a thing, still
I would not.”
“But it’s a factor in your decision.” Josiah stated.
Red shrugged. “It’s only the truth, goatherder.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Josiah said softly.
Red didn’t quite understand those words, but she felt she’d gained an advantage somehow. She stepped closer, and couldn’t help a sly smile as Josiah’s nostrils flared and his eyes filled with desire. “So what will it be, Josiah of Athelbryght?” she said softly. “Your dream of restoring this land? Or your virtue?”
BETHRAL looked down at her purchase and allowed herself a faint smile. There was good reason to be satisfied with this day’s work.
The man wasn’t conscious yet, but he was sleeping naturally. Evelyn had advised her to stop giving him broth for now. She was hoping the man would wake up naturally fairly soon—tomorrow, if not during the night. Bethral took a moment to stand and stretch. She’d been by the bedside most of the day, and she felt it. But as much as she wanted to spar with Red, or take a good run on Steel, she wanted to be here when he opened his eyes. Those bright green eyes.
Bethral frowned. She wasn’t sure why she’d lied to the priest, but it had been more instinct then intent. Her purchase held secrets, she was certain of that. And she felt oddly possessive of them, as if the copper piece she’d spent had given her that right.
The door opened, and Red blew in like a storm. “What’s to be had?”
“A haunch of beef, fresh bread, and baked turnips.” Bethral stepped toward the fire. “The turnips are mashed, with some cheese and saffron.”
“Sounds good.” Red plunked herself down by the fire. “I mucked the stalls, and I’ll bed the horses after a while. Oh, and here’s something. Magic goats don’t shit.”
Bethral snorted as she cut meat from the haunch on the spit. “Convenient.” She handed Red a bowl of turnips, and a slice of bread with meat. “Where’s Josiah?”
“Said he’s not hungry.” Red smirked. “He’s in the barn. Said he needed a bit of time to think.” She took a bite and chewed with clear enjoyment. “I was thinking we’d change the sleeping arrangements.”
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