Some of the warriors began edging closer to the troopers, admiring the firelight reflected in their bronze armor. Perian and the old woman came and sat next to Pelekarr and his sergeants, the old woman still using her little stool.
“This is Kayeha, shaman of this village,” Perian said, introducing the older woman. “In the absence of a chief, her word is law.”
Pelekarr nodded. “And what is your clan?”
“We are the White River clan,” Perian said, proudly. Kayeha nodded emphatically, muttering something in her own tongue.
“I have heard of you,” the captain replied. “I know soldiers who have faced your warriors in battle. But I would have your people know that we bear you no personal enmity.”
Perian spoke to one of the warriors for a moment, then turned back. “It was our brothers to the east that your people fought. They are of our clan, but another tribe.”
Pelekarr smiled at her. “It is fortunate that we meet in this way. Though we are men of the spear, perhaps we can mark this day as the beginning of a peace with the White River clan.”
His words were formal, but Perian listened with more than just politeness. She nodded and translated for her companions.
Pelekarr studied her as he spoke. She was captivating. The marks she wore on her skin were different than those of the men, more delicate and curving, with sparkling bits of shell or mica ground into the dye. The markings went down her chin and throat, then curled along her shoulders and arms. Her long hair hung in three heavy braids in the back, and her torso was covered in a finely-woven and form-fitting shirt of some light gray fur that reminded the captain of foxes he’d seen in Ostora.
One of the White River men interrupted the moment by raising a hand and calling to a woman by one of the fires. She brought over a large hide bag filled with liquid. He looked at Pelekarr and said something.
“He bids you drink with him,” Perian translated, “as a token of thanks and fellowship in arms.”
The barbarian man held the bag to his mouth and poured a measure of its contents into his mouth, swigging it down with a broad smile. Pelekarr took the bag and raised it high, then drank. It was sweet, pungent, and burned his throat. Deltan took a sip as well, and passed it around to the other sergeants. This simple ritual went over well with the rest of the men in camp, who joined in the celebration.
The frank gesture of friendship among the barbarians bemused Pelekarr, and eased his suspicion somewhat. It seemed that the news of the apes’ defeat was a life-changing event for these wilderness-dwellers, even more welcome than it would be to the baroness who had hired the mercenaries in the first place. But he made sure none of his men drank too freely, and he still felt the eyes of the guards on him as they stood around the outskirts of the village.
After a time, Kayeha rose, and everyone rose with her. She left, supported by a young woman, and Perian watched her go, expressionless. After that many of the villagers quieted and began to prepare for sleep, clearing up the remains of the meal and putting thick logs on the fires.
Pelekarr rose, thanked Perian, bowed to the last warriors, and with his sergeants turned to head for the mercenary camp.
Perian caught his sleeve. “You are our guest, Captain. You and one of your chiefs would do us honor if you would sleep here in the camp with us tonight.”
Pelekarr eyed her, all his suspicion returning with the force of a spear-thrust. She read his thoughts. “Trust has two hands, Captain. We are without many of our strongest warriors this time of year, and my people would sleep easier if we had a guest in the camp with us tonight.”
“A hostage, you mean.”
“A token of good will that would make things so much easier for each of us. Please, Captain? We’ve prepared a small hut for you, apart from the others and within earshot of your camp. I ask this for the sake of my people, and I swear you will not be harmed.”
Pelekarr slowly nodded, though some of the sergeants muttered. Was the barbarians’ drink affecting him? No, he remained fully self-aware. The shaman’s wild beauty might have had something to do with it, but it also made good sense. Without some gesture of loyalty, both sides would lie awake all night wondering if the other were plotting something.
“Very well. Permit me to inspect my camp first. I will return soon.”
“Of course.”
Pelekarr spent the short walk to the camp wondering if he was making a mistake. His gut told him he was safe in trusting the girl, but who could tell? His judgement was less than sure, considering how the last two days had gone.
Sergeant Caspar was relieved to see them. He reported that indeed, several barbarian women had come bearing hot stew for the men. The injured had been helped and were now resting easier with fresh poultices bound to wounds. The horses grazed peacefully, hobbled near the stream, and the sentries reported no concerns. Pelekarr nodded in satisfaction.
“I think we will be safe tonight, gentlemen,” he said. “Post as many sentries as you think prudent. Troopers Kuron and Vipirion, you return with Deltan and I to guard our hut. Split the watch as you like.”
Pelekarr and Deltan made their way with the two bannermen back into the village, past a barbarian sentry who nodded silently. Up on the ridge and at each side of the clearing, White River warriors stood guard, looking down on the night-darkened village.
The four soldiers easily found the hut assigned them. It was indeed apart from the others, though sturdily built, and after inspecting it and the area surrounding it, they were satisfied. Makos brought a few of the mats from the fire circle and took up a seated position on one of them outside the door. Keltos took his stance on the other side, helmet off to better see and hear the night.
The hut door was a flap of tanned leather fastened with pegs. Once inside, the only illumination was a small pile of smoldering coals under a central roof hole. Deltan knelt and blew them to life, adding a few small sticks from a nearby pile. The light grew fitfully, and it was a full ten seconds before Pelekarr realized that he and Deltan were not alone.
A slim shadow stood in the corner, motionless. As soon as he perceived it, Pelekarr hissed a warning to the sergeant and drew his dagger.
The shadow edged into the dim, flickering light. It was the shaman girl, Perian.
Her finger was held to her lips, and her face was drawn. “None must know I am here,” she said softly. “I must speak with you.”
Pelekarr considered this for a moment before he nodded. If nothing else, his curiosity was piqued, though he didn’t fool himself as to the danger he was in. “We will listen.”
The young woman stepped forward. “Let the light die out. We will sit and speak in the darkness. Yes?”
Deltan shared a glance with Pelekarr. Pelekarr shrugged, and as the twigs burned down once more to coals all three sat down cross-legged around the tiny fire. The darkness grew deeper by the minute; soon the coals had shrunk to tiny orange eyes which gleamed at their feet.
“How may we serve you, my lady?” Pelekarr murmured. His dagger lay in his lap, close to hand.
Perian nodded, drew a deep breath.
“When you leave in the morning,” she said, “you must take me with you.”
Deltan sucked in breath, and Pelekarr leaned forward, trying to see the woman’s face in the darkness. “Perian, we are grateful for your help in arranging hospitality for us this night. But what you ask would endanger the tenuous goodwill between our people. Why would you leave with us? Is there trouble?”
“No. It is a personal matter. Your arrival is the chance I have been seeking. But it must be done in secret.”
Deltan was frowning. Pelekarr could hear it in the man’s voice. “If it must be secret, then there is trouble.” the sergeant said. “Captain, we cannot afford a liability such as this, not now.”
Pelekarr was inclined to agree. “You’re asking us to risk bloodshed with your people, for what exactly?”
“My life would be forfeit if I were caught leaving, but it would not come upo
n you,” the shaman assured them. Her use of their language was quickly becoming smoother as she recalled all the words she knew. “Especially if they do not know I have gone until we are well away from here. They will not give chase, not with so many warriors gone from the village.”
Pelekarr spoke again, trying to see through the desperate woman’s secrets. “You are a barbarian, as free as anyone in this world. What hinders you from leaving as you will?”
From the darkness came a sharp, frustrated sigh. “The situation is complicated. I need to get away from here, to the southwest if possible. And soon.”
“We are not going southwest, lady,” Deltan said.
“Then I will accompany you as far as the first town, and from there I will make my own way.”
“It would be dangerous for you to travel alone among the frontier towns,” Pelekarr said. “There are slavers and others that hunt your kind who stray into the settlements. What lies in the southwest for you?”
Perian’s reply was grudging. “There is a place where shamans go. But the Silverpath territory lies in the way, and I would be killed were I found crossing their lands alone.”
The two men waited silently for more of the partial explanation.
“My people will not go there, and Kayeha pushes me toward a different path, one which I do not wish to take. I have resisted, so now she and the other elders mean to use me in cementing an alliance with another tribe to the north. This I will not allow to happen!”
“To use you?” Pelekarr queried. “You speak of a marriage?”
“Yes.”
Deltan was exasperated. “Surely this is a question for your families to resolve. Make your wishes known, and—”
“No, I must leave! Before the Moon of Ripe Plums. After that it will be too late, my life will no longer be my own.”
The men said nothing, unsure how to respond, and Perian hissed in frustration.
“He is a prince of the Seven Mountains clan. The alliance would fortify us against the Silverpath, and so my wishes in this matter are ignored. I must leave so I can take my own path. I am determined to do it, and if you will not help me…”
“Then what?”
Perian glowered, her comely face outline in the dim glow of the coals. “I did not have to bring our peoples together in peace this night,” she simply stated.
Pelekarr glanced over at Deltan, eyebrows raised. “Are you threatening us, lady?”
“I am showing you that I am not a liability as you said. Do my actions this evening count for nothing? I could have as easily let my people fall upon yours from the trees. Take me with you, and I will help you avoid further dangers.”
Deltan shook his head at the dubious offer, but Pelekarr grew more thoughtful.
“We do have need of a guide,” he admitted. He turned to Deltan. “She is familiar with the various tribes and territories. No doubt she knows what creatures roam different parts of the forest, which herbs and poisons grow here.”
“I am expert in these things, even among my people!” Perian confirmed.
Deltan squirmed. “Captain?”
Pelekarr smiled. “Perhaps the gods brought our paths together, Sergeant. She could get us out of this accursed forest and advise us in our fight against the giant creatures. She could be the link we have been missing between us and this land.”
The sergeant said nothing, unwilling to defy his captain, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the suggested arrangement. Pelekarr had caught hold of the idea, though, and he turned back to the shaman with a new light in his eyes.
“We take great danger upon ourselves if we hide you among us. Will you swear that you alone will bear the penalty if your people discover your plan?”
“I swear it.”
“Then know this, daughter of the White River people. If we escape this forest together, you will be under oath to stay in service as our guide for a year and a day. You will teach us the ways of Ostora, its lore, its secrets. Guide us in good faith, never betraying our trust, and after a year and a day you may go wherever you wish.”
“That is a steep price to pay,” the woman said, in a low voice.
“No steeper than the risk you ask us to run. I will promise that you, in turn, will be treated with respect in our company and none shall be allowed to do you harm.”
The woman considered for another moment, then nodded. “I will do it. By the Red Tusk, I swear it.”
“Then welcome to the company of the Tooth and Blade, Perian of the White River.”
Pelekarr felt some of the day’s tension ease from his shoulders. Finally, the gods had provided. And he had accepted. Ripples would now spread outward in the shadowed pool of destiny, and who knew where they would lap?
“Now, what is your plan for escape? Will you sneak away under cover of darkness and meet us somewhere?”
“No, there are watchers and it is not safe in the forest at night, even for me. I had thought that if you lent me some of your armor and a spear, I could march out among you in the morning.”
Pelekarr chuckled, amused by the girl’s audacity. “Surely your fellow shaman would look for you, even if no one else does.”
“Kayeha will not hinder me,” Perian whispered. “Not this time.”
“We could put her in Keltos’ armor, sir,” Deltan suggested, resigned now to the secret plan they were forming. “He’s the slimmer of the two bannermen. Then call for a change of guard a few hours before dawn, while it’s still dark. Keep Keltos in here while she goes to the camp in his stead.”
The captain nodded. “That could work. Let Trooper Vipirion send extra armor back with the replacements, bundled in a blanket. We’ll walk out of here in the morning light with nothing to hide, because she’ll already be among the men in the column.”
They called the two bannermen into the hut and explained the plan while Keltos removed his breastplate and stripped the greaves from his shins. Perian stood and held her arms up as the men moved around her in the darkness, buckling on the armor. It didn’t fit her womanly form at all, but away from the fires it would be hard to tell the difference.
Perian rubbed a handful of earth from the floor of the tent over her face and the exposed part of her neck, then twisted her braids up in a knot while Deltan fit Keltos’ helmet over her head.
“So heavy!” she whispered. “How do you fight in this?”
“We could not fight without it, not for long.” Deltan handed her Keltos’ lance. “All right. That’s as close as we’ll get, I suppose.”
The woman took up a place outside the tent next to Makos, and inside the captain and his sergeant stretched out on the furs laid there with Keltos huddled by the door.
“I hope you’re right about this, Captain,” Deltan muttered as he dropped off for a few hours of sleep. “If we can pull it off, it may be exactly what our company needs. If not, we may have to fight our way out of here in the morning.”
CHAPTER 29: A DUEL IN THE SAND
Finally, the enemy came.
A full retinue, likely the bulk of what remained of Vocke’s forces, sallied from the fortress by the sea and made their way up the strand to the place marked for combat.
Telros and his men had been waiting there for half an hour, and Damicos had joined them as soon as he was ready. He was eager for this, perhaps overly so.
The sun was sinking toward the horizon’s edge, sending up deep oranges and arrays of pink and yellow over the landscape to the west. The air was mostly still, only a faint land breeze fluttering the pennants of the assembled host as it pushed out over the waves.
Vocke eyed his adversary warily as he approached, mounted on a gray stallion. He looked far less proud than the day before, to Damicos’ eyes, but there was still a certain amount of sullen fire in his visage.
“You have brought many men for a duel,” were his first words. “Men with spears and armor. I hope you will honor our agreement, even if your man is felled.”
Telros, standing on the sand near a wide c
ircle that had been drawn and marked with flags, waved his arms wide. “Certainly. They are only here to watch, I assure you. Take my personal promise, as a lord of Ostora, as token that no treachery will befall you this day.”
Vocke did not reply, but neither did he retreat. Dismounting from his horse, he and his men gathered along the side of the combat area that framed his fortress in the background. The fighting ring itself was thirty feet in diameter, with a low wall of heaped sand around the edge six inches up to provide an incentive for staying within its bounds. The man that backed too far might trip, and also there would be armed men all around to push him back in, or perhaps sink a knife into him if he strayed within their grasp and if they thought they could get away with it.
Damicos picked out Chiss Felca at once. He wore a helmet of the Black Manes, perhaps offered by a fallen horseman’s comrades as a token of support and luck. And his armor was the best that Vocke could provide. In contrast, Damicos had only what he’d fought in for the past year, a bronze breastplate and infantry helmet, with well-worn greaves and sandals.
He carried no shield. In truth, Damicos had never developed full expertise in managing a shield, as he usually wasn’t inside the phalanx line with his men. And in a duel one man against one, the sizable bronze shields he knew wouldn’t play the same as when they were lined up with each infantryman in the line guarding his fellow’s side.
He had one small surprise for his opponent, which he hoped would put the man off balance. The rest would be up to the strength of his arm and his ability to keep moving and land some heavy cuts.
Vocke stood still, his men now in place. Everyone waited.
“Here is my champion,” he finally called, bidding Felca step forward to his side. “Where is yours? And what arms are we to see a display of this day?”
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