by Hensley,Alta
“Tudor, get on your ride, and get ready to shoot.”
I nodded, schooling my face to remain expressionless as a movement caught my eye. Four ice-covered hills away, a head poked above the snow then ducked down in a hurry.
“A scout,” I said, keeping my voice down so only Rigby could hear me.
He nodded before calling out, “They will be here soon. Be ready.”
The men crouched down on their snowmobiles. They had already dug in for the night, so except for the narrow entrance, they were surrounded by a six-foot snow wall. The men also were in complete shelter as they prepared their bows or pulled out their daggers.
Reaching back, I grabbed my bow and strung it. The quiver was accessible, hanging just behind my right shoulder. Readying my aim, I waited for victory or death.
We did not have to wait long. Over the ice mounds and through the shifting snow charged a mixed body of men. Twelve had snowmobiles and the rest were on foot. I drew back my shaft, watching those on snowmobiles. As they drew near, the Penna raised a wavering cry and hurtled toward our defenses. One of the men came within range. I smiled as I released the shaft. The arrow sped true, piercing between the slit of the man’s visor to send him crashing to the icy floor.
The other men reined back in shock. Few fighters could fire a shaft as I could. The Penna had thought themselves safe. I smiled, loosing arrows at random among the advancing enemy, most of whom had left their faces completely unprotected.
I dodged an arrow and returned fire, taking out one of their archers. Their bows were often better than mine and the archers were out of normal range. They could not know that I wielded a stolen bow that was just as powerful.
I ducked below the snow wall to wait out a barrage of arrows. Grabbing two that struck near me, I popped up and fired the shafts simultaneously, and then ducked down without waiting to see if they struck. “They are close,” I called to Rigby.
He nodded. “Prepare for hand to hand!” he called, gripping the hilt of his sword. I made quick eye contact with him and nodded, drawing my sword and holding it easily in one hand.
I watched Rigby, who had taken a quick look over the wall. He met my eyes, mouthing, “Three, two, one, now.”
We both sprang up, followed by the rest of the men, whirling our weapons into the faces of our rivals. Shocked, the leading rank stumbled backward from their attack. Leaping the wall as the lust of battle filled me, I charged recklessly into the center of the fight. The axe clove torsos and dented helmets surrounding me. Dodging many of the blows aimed at me, I fought, releasing the rage and frustration of years locked under servitude to the Penna upon the unprepared enemy.
I faced off with one of the Penna men who had dismounted. As sword rang against sword, I realized I had fought my way through the enemy lines, and was now at the rear of the force. I was separated by the Penna from Rigby and the Cyan soldiers, unable to aid or be aided.
I ducked a blow, leapt another, and spun into a whirlwind of blocks and parries. The man never let up, and I could not pause. A movement to the right caught my eye. Without pause, I switched to fighting one-handed with my sword and drew one of my smaller and lighter axes. Spinning rapidly, I blocked a sword coming from the side. Leaping back, I engaged two Penna. Now hard pressed, I permitted myself to be driven back. Keeping my eyes on the Penna, I observed a reflection in their helmets. Two snowmobiles stood behind me, by about ten yards I guessed, and just in front of them were the other two mounted men, prepared for kidnapping with a length of dark cloth.
As the man with thick feathers on his wrists thrust at me I dodged, letting the sword glance off my shoulder. Spinning sideways, I turned and ran for the two remaining mounted men. Quicker than thought, I hurled one of my axes at the man on the right while drawing my sword once again. The thrown axe flew true, striking the slits of the visor and hurling the dead man off his snowmobile. Planting one hand on the vehicle’s windshield, I vaulted up. Drumming up the last of my energy, I kicked the other man in the chest. The force of my kick knocked him off the snowmobile as my sword found the center of his neck.
Twisting deftly, I landed on the recently vacated seat, and grabbed the dagger from his side pouch tied to the snowmobile. Spurring forward, I charged my earlier opponents, who were now nearly upon me. Dropping onto my back, I avoided a swiping blow meant to slice me in half. Twisting up, I hurled the dagger into the man’s face. Turning the snowmobile, I charged at the remaining man who was trying to mount his comrade’s machine.
Without waiting for me to reach him, he spun the snowmobile and dashed for the icy plain yelling, “Retreat, retreat!”
The sounds of battle suddenly ceased. Pivoting the snowmobile, I watched the men disengage from their defenses and run for the frozen abyss. As the last man disappeared out of sight, I swayed, suddenly light-headed.
Grasping the handlebars tightly, I leaned forward. My breath came ragged and fast. Glancing down, I realized I was wounded. Barely able to keep my balance, I slid off the snowmobile and leaned against its side.
Rigby ran up, worry written on his face. I raised my hand, stopping his tirade before it could begin.
“I have a leg wound, and it feels like a few other scrapes and cuts. It doesn’t seem that serious except for the blood loss and drop in adrenaline.”
“Tudor,” he said, picking me up into his arms effortlessly. “You could have been killed! What were you thinking, charging off through the ranks like that?” He looked down and studied my bloody leg. “You’re wounded, and you are a fool. If you weren’t hurt, I would take a lash to your stupid backside and whip some sense into you.”
“I fight. I may be a fool, but all fighters are,” I retorted. His threat of a punishment sent a shiver through me as his arms tightened around my exhausted body.
Rigby stopped walking and stared directly in my eyes, his breath warm against my face. An energy sizzled between us. I desperately wanted to look away, but refused to give him that power.
He shook his head and sighed, and continued walking toward his men with me held snugly up against his chest. “You are unlike any woman I have ever met; whose skin is as beaten as a man’s and who bears the scars of combat. My men and I know your abilities and bravery, you proved that today, but you don’t have to kill yourself just trying to prove to us that you are just as strong and skilled as a man. I know that. We know that.”
“I don’t know how to be any other way. I don’t know how to be weak.”
“I’m not asking you to be weak. But I am telling you that your need to prove your strength is going to get you killed.”
“Then so be it,” I mumbled as the throbbing of my wound beat at the same rhythm as my heart.
Rigby’s sigh was heavy as he carried me to an area where the wounded soldiers were gathered. “Someone clearly taught you the sword. Someone clearly taught you the bow. But someone clearly needs to teach you the art of submission.”
“I submit to no one,” I countered.
He paused and glared into my eyes. My heart beat so loud I was sure he could hear it. “And that attitude right there is going to get your throat slit. It’s okay not to always have to try to be what you aren’t. You aren’t a man, Tudor. You aren’t a fool. You aren’t weak. But when you try to be what you aren’t—a man—you are a fool, and therefore, you are weak.” His breath danced against my hair as he spoke. “It shows more strength to soften. To show that you don’t always have that fake hard shell around you. I would have a hell of a lot more respect for you if you could soften and be true.”
“I have no reason to submit, and I have no reason to soften. And frankly, I couldn’t care less if I have your respect.”
“You do want my respect.” He smiled as if he was pleased he knew my deepest secret. “You have done nothing but try to show all of us that nothing can get to you. That you are indeed a warrior. I get that, Tudor. I get that you are a damn good fighter. But I also see that your need to prove you are no different than any man is the chink
in your armor. It makes you reckless and stupid.”
“So by submitting and softening as you say, I would be a better fighter?” I huffed. “Do you tell all your men this?”
“No, I don’t. But that’s just it, Tudor. They are men. You are a woman. Be proud that you are a woman. Don’t try to hide that fact.” He paused and looked at me, his features softening. “The fact that you are such a strong woman is very impressive. Just don’t lose that part of you that makes you a woman. Don’t try to be a man. You as a woman is far more powerful.”
“You think I should be more womanly, is that it?”
Rigby held my stare for a few more moments and tightened his grip around my tired frame. “Yes. You should.” He continued walking without saying anything further.
I sighed, blinking against the dizziness that the blood loss caused. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves as he placed me on a blanket alongside the wounded men.
Five more men had fallen in the defense of our encampment, and another ten were seriously injured. From appearances, I was one of the less severely hurt, although the leg wound was rather deep.
Pulling up the edge of my pant leg, I let one of the soldiers clean and stitch the wound. I had another slight gash on my upper arm, and one across my face along the cheekbone. A few stitches and bandages later, I felt far better.
After everyone had been bandaged, I beckoned to Rigby. “Ten of the Penna were killed. We should retrieve their weapons. The snowmobiles are also still nearby.”
He agreed, and sent some of the men to retrieve the snowmobiles, arms, and supplies of the fallen enemy. Soon, my two throwing axes and sword were back in their sheaths, and my quivers were replenished with arrows.
“At least they have some things of value,” Rigby said, surveying the small mound of armor, weapons, jewelry and coins that had been retrieved from the dead.
A nagging thought flickered in the back of my mind. Slipping aside, I slid out of the encampment and headed toward the open land. Scouting lightly through the shifting landscape, I soon found a good vantage point from which to survey the icy land. A Penna camp stood there, as I had suspected. But it was heavily guarded. They appeared to be building watchtowers, and bands of men were working on them. A glint of light from one of the Penna’s helmets caught my attention and I tensed. There were slaves chained hand and foot.
Dropping back down the ridge, I raced back to camp despite my wounded leg.
“Rigby,” I called as soon as I had reached them. “The Penna have set up camp and have gangs of slaves working on it. They are vulnerable and their encampment has no walls. This is the time we should strike.”
The Cyan fighters exchanged keen glances. A chance to regain their honor stood upon the open icy land. It was a chance to gain plunder and glory by defeating an entire army. Rigby nodded slowly and the men grabbed their weapons. We would fight again this night. I steadied my resolve, the love of battle filling me, but the fear threatening to paralyze. I only hoped the love would win over my fear.
Chapter Five
Three days had passed since the attack. We had successfully captured the Penna’s camp, regaining our honor as well as precious resources. I had remained largely out of the fight—completely against my will. Rigby made it very clear I was not to fight until I had healed. I had protested to no avail, leading him to threaten an actual spanking if I were to disobey. The audacity of the man, to treat me like a child! And yet, he was the commander, and I had no choice but to obey.
With the addition of new men to the Cyan force—when reinforcements arrived—the attitude toward me had changed. Before, I had been tolerated, if not accepted. Now, even the men whose lives I had saved condemned me. Since they despised a fighting Penna woman, I had taken to night patrols, even pitching my tent aside from the rest. Rigby disliked my withdrawal and ordered me to stay near camp, or once again, another spanking would be in order. The ridiculousness of his sanction tested my resolve to follow any further dictates. He wouldn’t dare.
The sun had just set. Cool breezes whispered across the hills of snow. The camp was loud, shattering the natural stillness of the icy land and frightening away the few creatures that still clung to this harsh existence.
I rose, slipping carefully away from my tent. Leaping the low wall, I headed into the frozen hills. In the stillness of the night, I treasured my freedom. The ability to scout and fight without judgment had been taken away, but they could not stop me from scouting and practicing in secret.
After walking fifteen minutes away from camp, I stopped at the top of a large ridge. The surrounding icy land was open to my gaze, nothing moving but snow and wind. I inhaled, stretching slowly. The clear breeze carried just a hint of death. Only the brightest stars were visible, snow from the wind partially obscuring the faintest ones.
Finishing my stretch, I drew my sword and began practicing. Back and forth across the ridge, I thrust and parried, fighting an imaginary opponent. All my skills were gained that way—shadow fighting. Sometimes an imaginary opponent was harder to fight than a real one. As the moon rose, its glow silvering the snow, I switched weapons.
Doubled axes first. I spun across the ridge, slashing and hacking through imaginary men. First high and then low, defending with one and then with the other. I practiced until my muscles ached. It was my first real exercise since I had been wounded, mostly because Rigby would not let me out of his sight. I smiled again, nearly laughing. They probably all thought I was daintily asleep like a good little woman.
Sheathing the two throwing axes, I again stretched to ease my muscles and paused before starting my practice with the larger, two-handed axe. The icy land was still, stiller than it had been before. Even the breeze had lightened and was barely stirring the snow.
I drew the two-handed axe and began. I focused on attacking and strength training. The snow dunes were soft enough and didn’t dull the axe head too badly when I struck them. So I worked, striking the blade into the snow mounds as if I were cleaving armor.
But it was useless. No matter how I practiced and punished my body, I could not drive the nagging thoughts from my mind—Rigby and his words on submission. Why was the man looming in my thoughts?
“Why?” I gasped, striking hard at the snowy banks. “Why must a woman submit?” As the question whirled, my anger grew, and so did my strength. I fought the banks until my might gave out and I collapsed, exhausted, upon the sloped side of my latest conquest.
Rolling over, I watched an anthropod scuttling across the ridge. It was hunting, seeking and finding nothing. Its movements were swift as its almost transparent body scurried nearly invisibly across the snow. Suddenly it pounced, drawing out its prey from under a chunk of ice. After pausing, it scurried on, seeking more.
Life on the icy land was like that, I realized. Everyone was always seeking something. Yet when they had found some of what they sought, they could not enjoy it, nor did it satisfy them. Instead, they scuttled on, hurrying through life while trying to find that little bit more before death claimed them. Was that all there was to look forward to in this life? Training, fighting, exhausting oneself, only to rest for a bit before scurrying on to the next encampment, the next battle. Surely there had to be more, something to make all this worthwhile. Something that a woman might find with a man like… No, I was so not going there!
I sighed, preparing to head back to the camp. If I were found outside of it, I feared that Rigby would punish me—or worse, constantly guard me like a prisoner. He had warned me that I was to limit the use of my leg and to stay nearby. He actually said he would sting my backside with his hand until I never questioned his authority again.
“Tudor,” came Rigby’s voice, stopping me as I prepared to rise. “Did you think you could slip out of camp without anyone following?” The torch he held in his hand highlighted his masculine features.
Defenses raised, I rose and faced him. “I don’t believe it’s any of your business if I leave camp or not. I have scouted ahead plent
y of times without a problem, and we have no enemies near enough to worry about.”
“It is not the Penna that I’m worried about, but your safety in general. The men haven’t been around a woman in a very long time. If one of them sees you alone, I think even my warning won’t keep them away.”
I bristled, anger brimming, then overflowing at Rigby. “And I suppose you think it is your duty to protect me? And that I’m a weak-willed woman who cannot tell one end of a blade from the other? Perhaps you think I’m helpless too? Even a whore?” I was shaking now, ill-prepared to understand how those I’d fought alongside could now relegate me to the status of helpless burden.
“It is what the men think, not what I think, that matters.”
“I care what you believe more than what the men think. You are their commander, after all, and if you ever let me fight again, you are also mine.”
“Yes, I am your commander, and yet you disobeyed me.” His eyes darkened.
The way he stared caused me to take pause. “I needed to train. I have to work twice as hard to compete with all you arrogant asses.”
Rigby walked toward me so he towered mere inches from my rapidly beating heart. He placed the torch into the snow beside us. “What did I tell you, Tudor?”
I swallowed the lump in the back of my throat. “To rest my leg. But my leg is fine, I assure you.”
“And?” His stare bored into me.
“To stay near camp.”
“What else did I say?”
I raised my head so I stared directly in his eyes. “That you would spank me, sir. But you can’t possibly stand by your words.”
Rigby grabbed me firmly by the arm and pulled me down to the snow so I was on all fours. “Yes, I am a man of my word.” Before I could even protest, he pulled up my tunic and yanked down the remaining fabric that covered my naked buttocks. “Stay on your hands and knees, or your punishment will be far worse.”
