Dagger-Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  Bethral looked over her shoulder at the storyteller. He was still standing, wide-eyed and shaken. Evelyn was retrieving his chair, so she hadn’t noticed his condition. Bethral turned as if to help, hesitated, and then touched Ezren lightly on the arm.

  Ezren came back to himself and turned to look at her. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question. He blinked, then gave a slight shake of his head.

  Auxter heaved himself up out of his chair, using his staff. “Quite a temper, that one. But she’s right, there’s work to be done. Evelyn, mind opening the portal?”

  “Let me see Ezren back first,” Evelyn said.

  “I will see him safe,” Bethral offered as Gloriana rolled up the map.

  “When you are stronger, old friend, send word,” Vembar urged, as he was helped up by Arent. “We will sit and talk for a while, shall we?”

  “That would be good.” Ezren’s voice crackled.

  Bethral offered her arm, and he stepped from the platform. She could feel him tremble. “Do you wish me to carry you?” she offered softly.

  “Afford me a bit of dignity, Lady Warrior.” Ezren’s voice was a bare whisper. “I can make it.”

  “If you falter, I will take you up,” she warned.

  “All the more reason to struggle on,” Ezren growled.

  They said no more as they walked. Silence seemed strange from this man, but Bethral knew he needed to keep his mind on moving, not talking. They made their way into the barn, and headed for the foaling room.

  Beast and Steel were in their stalls, and Beast kicked the wall as they passed.

  “Foul-tempered beast,” Bethral muttered.

  “Like her owner,” Ezren said.

  Bethral snorted her agreement as she opened the foaling room door. The small fire had burned down, but the room was still warm. Ezren sank into his bunk with a sigh, and removed the white cloak before pulling the blankets around him.

  Bethral took the cloak. “I’ll see this gets back to Evelyn.”

  Ezren looked up at her. “I need to talk to Red Gloves.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bethral said as politely as she could. “It takes time for her to calm down.”

  Ezren’s voice cracked. Bethral looked at him with concern as he struggled for words. “I have to tell her…what I have remembered.”

  RED stomped off toward the herb beds, radiating fury.

  Josiah followed quietly, the goats silently walking at his heels. He didn’t hurry to catch up to her.

  Once they were out of sight, past the trees, he watched as Red stomped up to one of the herb beds and kicked at a clod of dirt and grass. “Muck.” She stood there, hands on her hips, and stared into the distance as he drew closer.

  “It might help if you sparred with someone,” Josiah said.

  Red snorted. “Bethral thinks sparring’s a bad idea.” She jerked her head back in the direction they’d come from. “What would they say if they saw their Chosen go down, or get a black eye? Fine impression that would make on your High Barons, eh?”

  “I’ve seen you fight. You’re very good.”

  Red shrugged, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not perfect, Josiah.”

  Josiah knelt, and started to pull out weeds in the onion beds. “Ezren’s right, you know.”

  “What, that I’m a whore?”

  Josiah pulled out a few more weeds in silence.

  “I know,” she growled into the silence.

  Josiah sat back on his heels. “When he told tales at the Court, everyone would stop and listen. Even the kitchen folk would crowd in the doorways, straining to hear.” Josiah looked up at the sky. “I wonder if his voice will return.”

  “What the hell was he talking about?” Red demanded.

  “Ezren is more than a storyteller. He is also a student of stories. He feels that they are far more important than anyone realizes. But some of his ideas are…odd.”

  “It’s his knowledge I need,” Red grumbled, “not his wild theories and ideas.” She thumped down beside him. “Ah, muck.” Red looked like she wanted to spit something nasty out of her mouth. “I’m going to have to apologize.”

  Josiah kept his head down, and tried not to grin. His kitten preferred to use her claws, given half a chance. “It’s not that hard to say that you’re sorry,” Josiah observed.

  “Muck.” Red grabbed one of the pulled weeds and started to strip the leaves off. “It seems to me, if you’re gonna have a birthmark and be Chosen, it should give you special powers. Or knowledge. So that you can’t make mistakes. What’s the good of being ‘Chosen,’ otherwise?”

  “I don’t think it works that way,” Josiah said. He looked at her bent head, amused at the idea that Red would admit to doubts. As honest about herself as she was about others.

  “Well that rakes muck, doesn’t it?” Red made a face.

  Josiah sat back and laughed.

  RED smirked. She’d made him laugh, and that pleased her no end. She leaned over, and kissed him, bracing his head with her gloved hand. She pulled back when they both needed breath. “I know what would make me feel better, goatherder.”

  “Pity you had my hut torn down,” Josiah said. “But there’s always the herb bed.”

  Red wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to stink of onion, thank you.” She released his hair.

  Josiah turned back to the weeds. Before she could suggest an alternative place, he spoke. “High Baron Fael is one for the women, and he can’t notch his bedposts for fear they’d collapse. He will, no doubt, want to bed you.”

  His tone was too calm. He wasn’t looking at her, but Red shrugged anyway. “Whatever.”

  At that, Josiah looked over at her. “Will you?”

  “If that’s what it takes to bring him to us, then yes, of course, I’ll bed the man.” Red frowned. “What of it?”

  Josiah looked away. “Nothing.”

  Red opened her mouth to respond, just as one of the younger warriors ran up.

  “Chosen!”

  “Yes?”

  “The Lady Bethral sends word that Ezren Storyteller would speak to you, at a time of your convenience.”

  “Go, and tell him I am coming.”

  The warrior sprinted off.

  Red stood and brushed off her ass. “Just as well, no sense putting it off.” She adjusted her sword belt. “Are you coming?”

  Josiah didn’t look up. “I’ve work to do here.”

  Red frowned at him, but after a minute she shrugged and moved off.

  A runner had been sent, and Lady Bethral had said that she would wait with him. Ezren warmed his hands by the fire.

  He’d remembered.

  A table, loaded with wine and food. A large hearth, with a bright fire. A request for a false story. A man, lunging over a table, going for his throat. “You’ll not tell this tale or any other.”

  Bethral lifted her head at the sound of a knock at the door. She stood, as if to guard him from an intruder.

  “Enter,” Ezren croaked.

  Red Gloves walked in. When she saw Bethral, she smiled ruefully. “No need, sword-sister.”

  Bethral relaxed, and Red faced Ezren. She hooked her thumbs on her sword belt, and took a breath. “Ezren Storyteller, I owe you an apology.”

  Ezren shook his head, but Red pressed on. “You’d done nothing to warrant an attack, and you were unarmed, besides. I ask your pardon, and pledge that it will not happen again.” Red grimaced. “No matter how wild your ideas are.”

  Ezren chuckled, but managed to keep a solemn face. “I forgive, Chosen.” He gestured to the opposite bunk. “But what is more important is what I have remembered.”

  Red sat.

  “Not all, mind.” Ezren spoke softly. “But the reason I was taken and enslaved. I…he came across the table at me and….” His throat went dry.

  Red leaned forward. “What?”

  Ezren patted the bed next to him, and Red shifted over. He leaned close, and started to whisper in her ear.
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  BETHRAL watched them from the corner of the room as she used a stone to sharpen her dagger.

  Ezren had insisted that he would tell no one but the Chosen, and Bethral had insisted in her turn that she be present. She could see Red’s profile as Ezren whispered, and Red’s face was turning to stone as the words poured into her ear.

  After a few minutes, Red stood. “I promise you, Ezren Storyteller, that I will deal with this.”

  “I will hold you to that promise, Chosen.” Ezren’s voice seemed even harsher than usual. “I will tell this story to no one else.”

  “Agreed.” Red took a few steps, yanked the door open, and left.

  Ezren sagged back into the blankets. The man looked drained to the bone. Bethral rose, and sheathed her dagger. “You need to rest.”

  Ezren yawned. “She needs to listen. She does not understand the power of the story. Her story.”

  Bethral helped him to lie down, removed his boots, and covered him with blankets as he mumbled about Red. Once he was settled, she looked down at him in resignation. His green eyes looked up at her, dulled and tired. Bethral sighed softly. “In your tales, does the hero ever listen?” she asked.

  Ezren blinked up at her. His eyes grew distant. “I had not thought…of course they didn’t have the benefit of my knowledge…but come to think of it….”

  Bethral reached for the lantern, and doused the flame.

  Ezren chuckled. “Ah, Lady, you have me. Have you ever heard the Saga of the Daughter of Xy?”

  “No.” Bethral took up her weapon and started to leave. “You need to sleep.”

  Ezren yawned. “A wonderful story. Full of passion and drama. She did not listen, that is certain.”

  Bethral paused at the door. “Will you tell it to me?”

  Ezren shook his head. “I fear I will tell no more tales, Lady.” In the shadows of the fire, she saw his hand shift to his throat.

  “Sleep, Storyteller.” With a deep sense of disappointment, Bethral pulled the door closed.

  SEVEN days passed quickly. Seven days, seven nights….

  Josiah had watched her over those seven days, moving among the tents, laughing and talking with the warriors. Laughing over a shared joke. Admiring a weapon. Helping repair a piece of armor, or teaching a warrior the proper way to wield a mace.

  How did she do it? How did she know how to strike just the right tone? Red might not think it, but as far as Josiah could tell, she had yet to hit a false note with the men. She’d moved into their lives as if she’d always been there.

  There were times that Josiah would stand and stare in disbelief at the way his world had changed.

  The men were framing new buildings. Dead trees were gone, taken down for fuel and fencing. Old paths were restoned, and fences restored. Josiah wasn’t sure where the livestock had come from, but there were cows in with horses. The goats seemed pleased with the company.

  Josiah wasn’t so sure.

  How had she done it? How did she do it? She was an unstoppable force during the day. True, the others were involved. Evie, Auxter, everyone was involved in the work. But Red Gloves was at the center of it all, during the day.

  But at night…

  Josiah had to steady himself with a breath, to bring himself under control. His kitten was amazing in so many ways. The last seven days…

  Connor was an apprentice armorer, and justifiably proud of his ability to work leather. He’d come up with an idea for a suit of leather armor for Red that would protect her and yet display the mark of the Chosen. He’d worked feverishly, and had finally brought the leathers for Red to try on.

  Jaws dropped when she emerged from their sleeping area.

  “You look…amazing.” Josiah swallowed hard and prayed he would not embarrass himself. He shifted in his seat, grateful to be seated at the table.

  “Pity my breasts enter the room moments before I do.” Red said. She was standing in front of them, the leather creaking as she moved.

  “More to the point, can you breathe?” Evie asked.

  Connor’s eyes had bugged out of his head. Josiah was certain the lad was going to start drooling. “You look wonderful, Chosen.”

  “Can you draw your sword?” Bethral asked.

  Red reached for her weapon. “I can, but—” She stopped moving and took a deep breath. “Is there some reason this has to lace up the back?”

  Gloriana frowned. “What is the whip for?”

  All eyes turned to Connor, who blushed. “It adds to the effect, don’t you think?”

  Gloriana gave him a doubtful look.

  “Oh, yes,” Alad blurted out, just a bit too eager. Red scowled at him, but Josiah could not blame the lad. She did look wonderful. He shifted in his seat again. His kitten was glorious.

  The leather was brown, and molded to her like wet linen. The trous clung like a second skin and rode low on her hips. The top of the armor was of the same brown, but the leather was hardened. It was sleeveless, and laced up the back. The leather cupped her breasts, exposing their creamy tops. There was a hole, below her right breast, where the birthmark was displayed in all its glory.

  Connor’s loins had overridden his skill.

  Red planted her hands on her hips, looking down. “I can’t see my feet.”

  “Do you need to?” Auxter said.

  Arent snorted.

  “I can’t breathe, much less swing a sword. And if I did try to swing a weapon, my nipples are going to pop—”

  “But what a story, eh?” Ezren chirped.

  All heads swung in his direction. Ezren’s face might reflect innocence, but those green eyes sparkled.

  Bethral raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know how you are supposed to walk in those boots.”

  Red took a step. “Throws my balance off, to be up on my toes like this.”

  “Does nice things to your legs, though,” Vembar said.

  Everyone looked at the older man, who gave them all a mild look in return.

  Red laughed, then shook her head. “Connor, this isn’t going to work.”

  The young man deflated before them. “It puts the mark of the Chosen on display.”

  “It does,” Red agreed. “But I don’t wear armor for looks. A few changes will put it right, Connor. And I want you to make a suit for Gloriana, as well.”

  Connor sighed, and Red patted his shoulder. “You still have a week, lad.”

  A week. Josiah looked down at his folded hands resting on the table. The talk swirled around him as they talked about the changes Connor needed to make, but Josiah ignored it all. Seven more days, seven more nights.

  “Josiah,” Red called.

  Their meeting was breaking up, everyone milling about. Josiah looked up into Red’s eyes as she leaned over him, her breasts shifting against the leather.

  She arched an eyebrow, and gave him a sultry look. “Wanna help me peel this off?”

  Josiah’s mouth went dry. He nodded, unable to speak.

  Red smirked, and turned back to their sleeping area. Josiah took a deep breath, and followed.

  Seven nights…

  NINETEEN

  SEVEN nights. Where had they gone?

  Numb, Josiah leaned against the barn door and watched as Beast tried to take a bite out of the horse next to him.

  “Beast!” Red snarled, and thumped the horse on the shoulder. “Try that again, and I’ll dine on horse meat tonight!”

  That brought laughter from the warriors gathered in front of the barn with their horses and supplies. The fourteen days had come and gone. It was the fifteenth day, and the Chosen was ready to move.

  Red was dressed in her new armor, very different from the last. Connor had modified it as she’d requested, and now the leather was combined with chain in a way that protected her fully, yet let her opponent know that she was a woman. There was a clever bit of leatherworking that allowed her to unlace it in the front and show her birthmark without baring all.

  Bethral had been assisting Ezren to a chair j
ust outside the barn doors, so that he could watch the preparations. Now, she wove between the horses and men and reached out for Beast’s bridle. With a firm hand, she quieted the large black horse.

  Auxter was already up and mounted. He arched an eyebrow. “Foul temper for a trained warhorse.”

  Red snorted as she checked the girths. “This one’s not trained for war. He fights when he wants, with no order from me. Bethral’s the one that trains her horse.” She grinned. “Beast and I have a mutual agreement.”

  “Trust a mercenary to put it that way,” Josiah muttered under his breath. Or at least he thought he did. But Red heard. She turned her head and gave him that saucy grin.

  Beast shook himself, as if agreeing with Josiah. Steel was in the paddock, dancing along the fence. The gray whinnied a protest, not wanting to be left behind. Josiah sympathized.

  “Are we about ready, then?” Red asked.

  The warriors around her responded as they loaded the last of their bags and gear. Evie was already mounted, her eyes closed and lips moving in preparation for her spell. They were almost ready to depart for Summerford, to meet with High Baron Fael.

  Josiah folded his arms over his chest, and stared at the tips of his shoes. The goats were at his feet, watching the activity. He bit his lip. Fourteen nights…he’d had fourteen nights.

  Red had picked these men herself. Ten men, with a captain. Auxter was going, as was Evelyn. Evelyn was needed in more ways than one. Red had gotten her to open a portal wide enough for the horses and riders, right outside the shrine in Fael’s keep. It was a strain for Evie to hold open such a large portal, but she could manage it for short periods of time.

  But Red hadn’t stopped there. She’d made them all, herself included, train to ride a horse through the portal. No easy task, that…but what a sight it was when they rode through in formation.

  Josiah had watched them do it over and over. He’d been at a distance, of course, but it was a sight to see.

  They trained the horses, then Red pushed them further. She’d made Evelyn map the routes out of Summerford, and they’d gone over them until they were blue. Red had made it a practice of “What if”? What if they were attacked? What if Evelyn was wounded or killed? What would they do, how would they react? What if they rode through the portal and into an ambush? They spent days reviewing and plotting, once the decision had been made as to which Lord to approach first.