by C. L. Scheel
She turned abruptly, rustling the heavy skirts of her robes and moved to the table in two strides.
"Prince or thief, it makes no difference to me who defies the Will of the Divine Medruth. She must be obeyed. All will suffer the same fate."
On the table was a large, tightly-woven basket. She snapped open the lid and Kazan nearly gagged seeing its contents.
Still grimacing in his death throes with the eyes left open, the face of Reddess' severed head stared up at him. Kazan staggered back a step, nauseated and for the first time felt a streak of genuine fear strike through him.
"Learn from his mistakes, Kazan," she said coldly, shutting the lid over her hideous trophy.
"As you command Mistress Malgora...Holy Sister," Kazan managed to whisper. He bowed and hastily withdrew from the tower chamber.
SHE WATCHED Kazan's retreating form and smiled thinly.
A fool, but a useful one.
Malgora turned again to the windows and lightly touched one of the panes, pressing it open to allow for more of the cool air to enter.
She scanned beyond the limits of the tower, the far walls and high ramparts of Gorendt Keep until her gaze rested upon the dark, shadowy bulk of the Adrex. She smiled a slow secret smile.
"We will yet lure our brave eagle from his nest," she murmured softly. "A royal bird who will eat from our hand and wear our jesses. Worthy prey."
TO EVERYONE'S surprise, it was Kuurus who awakened first, demanding food and attention.
"What is a man to do to get something to eat?" he growled in mock annoyance.
Kitarisa knelt by him, pressing her palm to his forehead.
"I see you are feeling much better. Are you chilled?"
The gruff Talesian eyed her.
"So, it was you who saved me? I was sure I would be in Verlian's Hall by now, dining on lamb and honey."
"I have seen marglim poisoning treated before. I did not doubt for a moment you would survive. Besides," she added with a light smile, "you are far too tough to let a bit of marglim blood stop you."
Kuurus grinned. "I have been saved from Verlian's Summons. Surely you are one of Her Daughters, my lady. I shall be twice blessed."
Kitarisa patted his arm. "You were saved by borgonwort, my friend; it forces the blood out and cleanses the system. I have prepared more, but do not worry, the retching is over. Now you must rest."
He made a face, but meekly accepted another cup of the hot liquid.
"I believe I have seen the unseeable--Kuurus submitting to orders from a lady, as gentle as a day-old lamb," Brekk joked good-naturedly.
It was clear all the Talesians were relieved to see their ferocious comrade alive and obviously doing well.
"I will have your liver for my first meal, boy," Kuurus threatened, but with a wide grin on his scarred face. The men laughed at his empty promise.
Kitarisa caught Assur standing off to one side and smiling too at the bit of nonsense between her and his men. It never occurred to her that any of them could show such light-hearted bantering. The smile lit up Assur's entire face, making him appear almost boyish. It was a strange paradox, knowing that in an instant they could turn from joking, coltish boys, to terrifying, brutal warriors.
"Well, you are not going to have Brekk's liver, or any liver for that matter, for at least two days. And no strong drink!" She wagged a warning finger at him.
"You have met your match, Kuurus," Assur said, "and I will see that you obey her, and if necessary by the point of my sword."
All of them laughed again at Kuurus' dilemma.
"And mine," Brekk chimed in.
"And both of mine," the shy Del added.
"There are five blades on my saddle that say you will obey, Kuurus," Jarad rumbled, the biggest of the seven.
"You are all dead men," Kuurus muttered darkly, but clearly enjoying his comrades' ribbing.
Kitarisa sighed. "If you great bullies are done threatening my patient, I will try to get something into him."
The only thing she knew he would be able to keep down was a bit of bread and some broth, but having neither, she managed to soak a piece of their flat, cracker-like bread in the tea and spooned it into his mouth. Kuurus made another face but ate the concoction and did not protest any further.
"I know it tastes terrible, but this bread will stay down and the tea will continue to cleanse your stomach."
"I am grateful to you, my lady. I would gladly eat anything you wished. You must allow me to take my Oath of Duty, when I am stronger."
She patted his arm again. "It isn't necessary. You saved Alea's life. It was the least I could do."
Genuine alarm flickered through his black and boldly marked eyes.
"You must allow me this. Upon death, no Siarsi may enter the Great Hall of the Goddess when She Summons him. You must allow me this duty."
"Very well, but later, when we return to Gorendt."
By late morning, Kuurus felt strong enough to stand and be helped to his horse. They were still a good two days from Gorendt but Assur chose a slow, plodding pace.
The youngest Talesian, Courronus, sidled his horse near Kitarisa, keeping a wary eye on Assur.
"I hope you will allow me to thank you for saving Kuurus' life; my whole family would thank you if they could."
"You sound as if you are related to him?"
"Yes, my lady. He is my uncle."
"Your uncle, indeed? You are a...Siarsi, too?"
"I am," he said, a little proudly.
"But, you do not have those terrible scars and neither do the others."
"I have not earned my scars. Only when I strike down my first enemy."
"You killed a marglim, maybe two, I saw you."
"Marglims are not enemies, my lady, they are mere filth. I will deserve the scars when I have made an honorable kill."
"I see. And the others?"
"Oh, they are Chaliset. The Chaliset tribe do not scar, they take the firemark. Only the Siarsi may scar."
Kitarisa shuddered. Fire markings, whatever they were, and face scarring--no wonder they looked like barbarians.
"I am almost afraid to ask what `fire marks' are."
"The Chaliset are allowed to have the sign of their house marked on the inside of their arms, when they have fought and killed in their first battle. A white hot iron is pressed to the skin, burning the sign of their house into the flesh."
Courronus spoke easily, almost casually about the terrible markings as if he were talking about spring planting or shoeing a horse.
Kitarisa shuddered again. "I see. All of this...marking must be rather painful?"
"Of course, but pain can be controlled. It is what we are taught, from when we are very young." He nodded in Assur's direction, "My Lord Assur took his marking when he was only fifteen," he finished proudly.
She studied Assur's cloaked back. He killed his first enemy at fifteen. A new degree of respect and fear filtered through her, both for Assur and for his men.
"And your ladies, your women? Do they go through all this painful marking and scarring process?"
Young Courronus looked at her, aghast. "Oh no, my lady. That would be...it would be a...well, it would be cruel. Verlian has forbidden it--our women do not fight."
"I meant no offense, Courronus."
She decided to switch subjects to something less upsetting.
"You all seem to do rather well as mercenaries. I have seen a few swords-for-hire and none of them look as well-fed or as well-armed as you."
He appeared to struggle for an answer. In spite his fierce appearance, Courronus was quite young and taken to embarrassed blushing. "My Lord Assur leads us and we must follow him," he answered a bit lamely.
Their pleasant conversation abruptly ended by the sound of Assur clearing his throat. Kitarisa glanced up and felt her blood chill. Riding only a few paces ahead of them, Assur turned in the saddle, his dark, ominous look directed at Courronus.
The young Siarsi swallowed. The warning was clear. H
e made a slight bow of his head to her and reined his horse back to take up his position at the rear of the file.
"Excuse me, my lady," he said quietly.
IT WAS DARK when they rode into Lekk's Bend, a small village at the headwaters of the Tamis River. Few people walked the quiet streets and those they did see, scurried away like frightened mice. Occasionally, a pair of suspicious eyes would peer from behind a drawn curtain.
By the set of his shoulders, Kitarisa could tell Assur was not pleased. The townspeople were too suspicious of them even though they were a rarity in this part of Gorendt. The fear ran deep. Three hundred sunturns could not dim the harsh memory of Talesian cruelty.
Even when Brekk asked in a most courteous tone where the nearest inn might be, he was answered with silence and sullen looks. Both Kuurus and Assur bristled at the insult.
"Your reputation goes well before you, my lord," Kitarisa murmured from the depths of her cloak.
"It appears we will have to tread lightly here if we are to get anything to eat, or find a place for Kuurus to rest."
The Red Breok, the village's only inn stood at the end of the main street; a small sign bearing its namesake swung in the light wind over the doorway.
All conversations ceased the moment they stepped into the common room. Kitarisa swore she heard someone draw in their breath in fear. The low voices started.
"They be Talesians," someone whispered. "What do they want with us?"
"Barbarians, cursed be them," another muttered.
"They'll not get my children," a third voice uttered in low, angry tones.
The innkeeper nervously approached them, wiping his hands on a towel. He eyed Assur and the frightening Kuurus.
"Your service, sirs?"
"We require three rooms for the night and stabling for eight horses," Assur demanded.
The man ran a nervous hand over thinning hair. "Here now, I'll have no trouble with you--no fighting and wenching. This be a decent place."
Kitarisa saw the man's brave effort to defend his inn while trying not to quake at the sight of so many weapons and the deadly stares from those terrifying eyes. Assur was scowling, and in spite of his weakened state, Kuurus began fingering the hilt of his dagger.
"Good innkeeper, as you can see we are Talesians on a long and perilous journey home," she said, slipping her hand through Kuurus' arm and giving it a little squeeze. "We were attacked by marglims. Did you know there is a band of them in the north woods? We lost two of our horses and all our baggage! It is too upsetting. My goodness, we must look a fright to you. Verlian protect us! But my dear husband here, and brother," she nodded to Assur, "fought them off. My husband was injured some. Now we will only be one night and no bother at all. Of course, we are famished and my sister and I would love a bath, if it is not too much trouble. Oh my, look at my gown! We look like roadwilds!"
Kitarisa prattled on, rapidly defusing Assur's temper and the poor innkeeper's fear. He smiled at Kitarisa's feminine chattering.
"You say you were attacked by marglims? A sorry thing indeed. Three rooms? I...I have, I believe I can accommodate you. Of course," he hesitated, casting a glance at Assur, "it will have to be in advance."
"Oh, of course!" Kitarisa let go of Kuurus, took the innkeeper's arm and began leading him toward the stairs to the upper level. "Now you must not mind them. They only look fierce but they are such lambs!"
She looked over her shoulder and gave Kuurus a wifely wink. "It is probably their stomachs, they are so hungry. Why they have been eating just crusts! Poor darlings. There were marglims. Did I tell you about the marglims? They killed two of our horses and of course, took all our provisions. Why it is a wonder we are alive to tell you! Verlian's Blessings upon us."
Kitarisa was certain she heard chuckling in the common room--her prattle all too familiar-sounding and she noted Kuurus was quick enough to cast the woeful look of a beleaguered husband to the watching patrons.
She kept up her mindless rattling until they reached the rooms the innkeeper had chosen for them. Like the rest of the inn, there was little furniture, but the beds were clean with fresh linen.
Once Kuurus had been settled in one room and a light meal sent for him, Kitarisa attended to Alea. There were no provisions for a bath, so they had to settle for a large basin of hot water and good, strong soap. She sponged off the exhausted girl and forced her to eat some of the delicious soup sent up to her.
To Kitarisa's relief, Alea was too tired to argue about anything but quietly submitted to her ministrations and willingly went to bed.
She managed to tend her own needs without any help, washing her face and arms, then vigorously brushing her long hair and deftly plaiting it into one, thick braid. Her gown was almost in rags and she wished she had her little bag with her sewing things. Kitarisa chided herself for leaving it on the horse. She would simply have to go down and get it.
Someone knocked at the door. It was Assur standing on the threshold, his shoulders nearly filled the doorway. Kitarisa took an instinctive step back from him and looked down.
"You and the Lady Alea are comfortable?" he asked softly.
"Yes. Thank you."
"You deserve high marks for diplomacy, my lady. You have completely overwhelmed our good innkeeper. My men are downstairs stuffing themselves."
"Well, what did you expect? These are simple people, country folk. He was frightened out of his wits, what with you glowering at him and Kuurus about to cut out his tongue."
Assur gave her a slight smile. "Are we that terrifying?"
"My lord, you more than live up to your reputation. I am certain not one of these people has ever seen a Talesian and now they have seven in their village. They will talk about this for many turns to come. I am also certain that innkeeper thinks he is tending to a pack of wolves."
"Well then, would you care to join the `wolves' for some supper?"
Kitarisa finally smiled at him and she noted the stalking, serious light in his eyes had begun to fade.
All of the Talesians, except for Kuurus and his young nephew were seated at a long table near the fire--the locals having hastily, and wisely, given up their places for them. With their plates piled high, the Talesians ate like they traveled, in complete silence.
Brekk ate steadily, while Del, as always, ate with his head down. Jarad appeared to have half the kitchen's food on his side of the table, making quick work of a large joint, while Sherlin had already finished one succulent roasted hen and mopped up the juices with a slab of bread while eagerly looking for more.
The innkeeper, smiling and perspiring from the exertion, happily refilled their plates and cups. Assur had been generous with his gold.
As he and Kitarisa approached the table, the four of them stopped eating and started to stand, but she waved them to stay seated.
"I would not take you away from your meal. Please, continue."
Although tired, Kitarisa requested only a bowl of the good soup and some fresh bread. It felt wonderful just to sit and eat and not worry about someone or feel like something was peering over her shoulder.
She watched the Talesians eat and had to smile to herself. They were full of surprises. She had seen her own father wallow his way through joints of meat and quaff massive flagons of ale, his manners no better than Reddess' roadwilds, and here were supposed barbarians, eating as neatly as the most refined courtiers.
When the last scrap of bread had sponged up the last morsel of food, Assur handed the delighted innkeeper another handful of gold.
"My thanks, my lord," the innkeeper stuttered. "What else may I get for you?"
"You have done your work well. Only good beds and a place for the horses."
The man bowed and scurried away to obey.
The common room had emptied since their arrival and now satisfied and comfortable, the Talesians allowed themselves to relax a little and enjoy the melodies and songs from a boy playing a nine-stringed dalcet.
Kitarisa grew drowsy, lulled by th
e good food and the warm fire. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. The boy's gentle music flooded over her, washing away the tensions and terrors of the past days' events. She remembered Rhynn. The last time they had been together--their meetings had been furtive, dangerous, and always strained with the fear of being discovered. But the last time had been infinitely sweet, full of plans and hopes. He had been so good, so dear. My poor, poor Rhynn....
"You must go to your bed, little sister," a deep voice rumbled softly in her ear, a voice she felt more than heard. Kitarisa struggled to open her eyes. It took a moment for her to register the fact that her cheek was resting firmly against Assur's shoulder. He smelled pleasantly of leather and oiled steel and something else like...the woods, like cedar. Like Rhynn. Her eyes flew open and she jerked upright, her face aflame with embarrassment. She was fervently glad the light was so low in the common room that no one would see her scarlet face, although she did notice none of Assur's men seemed to be paying any attention to her at all.
Jarad nursed the last of his wine and listened intently to the boy's playing. Sherlin having found a scrap of an oiled rag, was industriously wiping down one of his swords. Del had taken it upon himself to tend the fire and was rearranging the logs in the hearth. And Brekk, finally overcome with exhaustion, had fallen asleep at the table, head cradled in one elbow, the soft light glinting on the silver ring binding his hair.
"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, pushing at her hair and gown, trying to compose herself.
"Not long, but I must confess, it was most pleasant."
Kitarisa was so close to him, his eye markings seemed to blend into the soft shadows, allowing her a glimpse of him as he might have appeared had he never been marked. It suddenly occurred to her that he was quite handsome--the cruel-edged look was gone, replaced by something almost tender. Even the hard line of his mouth had become softer, disturbingly gentle. Kitarisa pulled away from him and prepared to stand.
"You are right, I must get upstairs and check on Kuurus...on Alea..."
