Gordath Wood

by Patrice Sarath

  Talios nodded.

  “Go,” he said. “We don’t have much to do here for the moment. ”

  “Okay,” Kate said. She followed Oriani out, blinking against the cloud-filled sky. Flurries stung her face, and she hunched into her half cloak. Marthen had given it to her at their last dinner. That had been awkward, to say the least. Now she just felt relieved to have it. She was desperate for a bit of warmth. Each night she could hear the rattling in her chest, and exertion made her lightheaded. The entire camp was feverish, and most soldiers were laid low by the flux.

  Kate stopped to let a cramp pass, then caught up with Oriani. “You’re a dear for helping,” Oriani said. They hurried toward the little tent that had been set up for Tiurlin at the back of the encampment. “She has us worried. It takes some this way, especially the ones it’s their first. We’ve all taken our turn, but someone said you could help, since you’re the doctor’s apprentice and all.”

  “I don’t know anything about this, though,” Kate said, panic rising.

  “Oh, child, just sit with her for awhile. She might even want a girl like herself to talk to.”

  Kate kept her misgivings to herself.

  The camp followers had a camp within a camp. They settled among the supply wagons, the temporary forge the armorer had set up, and the carpenter’s shed. Their tents were small, and if they were with a man, his gear was stowed inside. Some even had simple doorsteps they swept every morning. Food smells rose from the cooking pots that perched haphazardly over small fires.

  Kate remembered her first day in the camp when she had bedded down with Mojo. Then all she saw was a crowd of strangers, frightening and overwhelming. Now she saw the community.

  From one of the tents came an intense, unending squalling. It sounded as if it had been going on for a while. A woman popped out of the tent at their approach. “Oh, there you are,” she said with relief. She lowered her voice, though Kate doubted Tiurlin could hear her over the sound of the baby’s raspy crying. “She’s done nothing but stare since I’ve been inside. ”

  Oriani pursed her lips. “Hmmm. Worse than crying. Has she suckled the babe?”

  The woman shook her head. They looked at each other, and then Oriani said, “Well, I fear this one is in the hands of the grass god’s daughter.” She looked at Kate. “Just sit with her, and call if you need one of us. The god knows, we need just a bit of a rest.”

  Tiurlin was an unmoving form in the dark, squalid tent.

  The baby continued crying, a hoarse, desperate sound, broken only when it gasped for breath. Irritation pierced straight to Kate’s core. God, can’t it just stop?

  “Tiurlin?” she said timidly. “It’s me, Kate. I thought you might want some company.”

  Tiurlin raised herself and peered at Kate. “Stranger girl. You did always think you were better than the rest of us. Well, do some good and make it stop.”

  It was hard to think with the baby crying so desperately, as if it knew it had to live its hardest in the little bit of time that it had. Kate looked around, straining in the dimness. A lantern hung from the cross pole, but it was burned out. The brazier was likewise cold. The tent was hardly warmer than the outside air and smelled of blood and urine.

  Kate felt a sharp anger. How could they leave Tiurlin like this? “I’ll be right back,” she said, and ducked out.

  When she came back in, she had a flat stone with a hot coal from Oriani’s cooking fire and a bit of oil in a small cruet. First she lit the brazier, blowing on the meager bit of wood until it caught. She lit the lantern, adjusting the wick until it cast a warming glow on the tent.

  In the light the tent remained slovenly and cold, but it seemed to warm a bit under the firelight. Tiurlin looked terrible. She had blankets at least, but her face and clothes were dirty, her hair snarled, and the baby had soiled her and itself.

  The baby was pinched and dirty, its face wrinkled. It gasped more in between cries, and its little head looked dented.

  The light seemed to have galvanized Tiurlin. She sat up a little straighter and whispered to the baby, attempting to rock it. “Hush now sweet child, hush now.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I have no milk and he will die, and I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to. What do I do, stranger girl?”

  I don’t know. I don’t know anything about this! Kate found her voice. “What—what did Oriani and the other ladies say?”

  “They told me how he needed to grab my tit, but they were all talking and clucking and he cried so. Then they said I had no milk, and even when I scolded him and shook him, he would not try, he’d just cry and cry. He just wants to die.”

  “Maybe—well, just try again. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

  “Oh, just leave me alone! He won’t do it! I’ve tried and tried, and he won’t suck!” To prove her point, she raised the baby roughly to her breast and fumbled open her covering blanket. The nipple of her white breast grazed the baby’s cheek. Still crying, it automatically turned toward it and latched on.

  Tiurlin gave a gasp and sat up straighter. Don’t move! Kate wanted to shout. Maybe Tiurlin thought the same thing; she quieted her own tears, and even though Kate had made no sound, shushed her.

  Kate nodded furiously, her mouth an O of wonder. The baby snuffled and snorted, but clearly it suckled.

  The silence attracted attention: Oriani ducked her head in and looked around. She had clearly expected the worst, and the change in her expression spoke volumes. Both girls shushed her and Kate made furious shooing motions. Oriani’s head disappeared. There was a flurry of excited conversation outside, and then someone made everyone go away.

  As a way to contain her pent-up emotion, Kate began cleaning. The baby’s suckling got stronger, and Tiurlin began a droning sort of lullaby, punctuated by sobs. As Kate worked, the tent became a cozy place instead of a dank hole. The blankets that Tiurlin had were filthy; Kate popped out, told Oriani what she needed, and in due time she had clean blankets, a clean dress for Tiurlin, and fresh diapers and swaddling clothes for the baby. Once the tent flap opened by itself, and someone shoved in more wood for the brazier. Kate shoved out soiled clothing and diapers.

  The tent warmed up. Clean and full, the baby slept in Tiurlin’s arms. Tiurlin wore Kate’s half cloak over her shoulders, and she gazed down on her baby.

  “Isn’t he the most beautiful baby ever?”

  Kate nodded. She sat next to Tiurlin and touched the baby’s silky hair, tufting out of his snug swaddling clothes. He felt soft and small. “He’s great. What’s his name?”

  Tiurlin’s smile faded. “I didn’t think he’d live.”

  Kate could have kicked herself. “Well, you can think about it now,” she said.

  Tiurlin looked doubtful, but she looked down at her baby as if the little boy would blurt out his own name. Kate straightened up a few more of Tiurlin’s belongings and found a wooden comb with most of its teeth. She held it up, and Tiurlin looked startled, but she nodded. Kate began to work it through Tiurlin’s long hair. She started from the bottom, patiently picking out dirt and snarls.

  To her dismay, Tiurlin began crying again, but it was quieter. She wiped her eyes with one hand, and sniffled as she said, “I think it might have been better if he did die. He’ll have a sorry life with me in this place. Only now, I love him so, and it will only make it worse. If he had died before, I never would have known.”

  “Don’t say that!” Kate said. “Tiurlin, it will work out.” She thought hard. “Can you go home? Won’t your parents want to see the baby?”

  Tiurlin craned around so she could look at her in shock. “Go home? What kind of foolery is that? They’d drown him, if I didn’t.”

  Kate bit her lip and kept combing. She wondered who the father was. From Tiurlin’s position in camp, it could have been almost anyone. Jayce? Tiurlin had a crush on him, but Kate thought that might have been worship from afar.

  Combed out and neat, Tiurlin’s hair was a dark gold, almost red. It caught the firelig
ht and softened her features. Despite her swollen eyes and red nose, she looked young and pretty.

  “You have pretty hair,” Kate said hopefully. Tiurlin shook her head and put up her hand, as if to ward off compliments.

  “Yes, that and my bosom are what bring men buzzing about.” She gave a deep, tired sigh. “Take the baby and help me up. I need to pee.”

  Kate took the small bundle. The baby had wet its diaper again and was damp. Tiurlin got shakily to her feet and scrambled slowly and achily outside, clutching the half cloak around her. Kate grimaced and laid the baby down on the pallet and reached for a clean cloth. She untied the damp diaper, puzzling out how it was fastened without pins, when the tiny baby peed on her, catching her full in the front of her shirt.

  “Yuck!” She darted back. The baby began to cry again. “Oh, shhh, baby, please,” she said. She hurried to wipe him clean and wrap him up again, the warm pee turning cold against her skin. Great, she thought. Just great. It wasn’t like she could just go change. She didn’t have that many clothes. She picked him up and rocked him awkwardly, waiting for Tiurlin to come back. Whether it was the dry diaper or the soothing motion, the baby quieted. Kate’s heart settled down.

  Tiurlin came back in, walking stiffly and a bit wide-legged.

  “Oriani said she would bring stew,” she said. “And water, too. I’m parched.”

  “Good!” Kate said. She was ready to get out of there. She helped Tiurlin sit down and cover herself with the blankets. The baby began to cry again, and Tiurlin, businesslike now, exposed her breast. The baby took it like a pro. Kate looked away, a little embarrassed. “If you’re okay now, I should go. I’ll come back, if you want me to.”

  “All right. You can help tomorrow,” Tiurlin said imperiously. Oriani came in with a bowl, and Kate ducked out, taking a deep breath of fresh air until she was doubled over with a barking cough.

  Who knew it took an army of camp followers to raise a child? she thought, wiping her lips. She thought about what Tiurlin had said, that it might have been better if the baby died. Would she take matters into her own hands like that? Kate felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it. They could help all they wanted, but if Tiurlin wasn’t well and content, it might not be enough. She breathed out in the cold air, watching her breath steam in front of her. Maybe there was another way to keep Tiurlin happy.

  If she had Jayce . . . the problem was, Jayce hardly knew Tiurlin existed, and he wasn’t likely to be much of a father. But then, who was around here?

  She took another deep breath. Like it or not, unsuitable or not, Jayce was Tiurlin’s heart’s desire. Surely the girl deserved a bit of the happiness she craved.

  Snow had drifted over the dark bodies of several of Jessamy’s smallholders. Crae dismounted with the rest of the hunting party, letting the reins trail in the snow, and looked around. Smoke rose fitfully from windows of the little house, and the thatch was burned away. He heard the sound of retching—one of the Trieve stablemen. Crae knelt by one of the bodies, bludgeoned to death, and covered the dead man with his ragged cloak. He breathed out, stood.

  “Who did this, Captain?” asked one of the Trieve men.

  “Crows. Come. Mount up, and look to your weapons.”

  Stavin would have led the winter hunt. In his absence, Crae had wanted to help provision his friend’s House before he journeyed on. A change of plans, he thought, stepping into the stirrup. The deaths of the smallholders meant that the crows were getting bolder. He would have to ride out with ill-trained men and hunt them down before they decided to take on the House itself.

  He wished for his men at Red Gold Bridge and then put that thought aside. If wishes were horses, he told himself. He whistled, and the grooms gathered themselves around.

  “We leave the hunting gear here behind—” He scanned the terrain, pointed. A small outcropping of rock jutted out by a nearby stream. “We can leave it there, come back for it later. Thank the winter god for an early snow. We can track them. Listen.” He looked at them all straight in the eye. Too young, too old, too peaceful. “They must not reach the House. You all have crossbows. Use them.”

  He thought of Lynn’s lucky shot with his temperamental weapon and thought, but didn’t add, If she could do it, so can you.

  They would have to.

  The afternoon drew to a close before Crae and his riders came upon the first clear sign of the crows, a trampled spot where they had rested in a hollow down from the road. He scanned the debris where they had stopped, eaten, relieved themselves, but he didn’t fool himself. Brin would have told them how far, how many, and how armed. He called his men around. “I’m going ahead to scout on foot. Keep your weapons ready.”

  He wriggled into the brush, following the trail the crows had left behind. They had struck out overland, heading roughly toward Trieve, but he couldn’t tell if that was by design or accident. Not that it mattered. They could not be allowed to reach the House.

  The sign became clearer and clearer, broken branches and torn clothing. Bloodstained snow. Then a body. A dead crow, impaled on a crossbow, and another stretched out on the ground. Crae stopped, stepped back into the woods. He peered through the woods, a thin line of trees that edged a sloping field of snow, thin yellow weeds poking through the light cover. The field was gouged up and torn; horses had come this way. There was another dead crow, out in the field. Crae glanced around, then looked up. The next tree had an inviting branch. He secured his crossbow, reached up, and pulled himself into the tree. The branch held, and he put himself into a fork, hiding as much of his body as he could behind the trunk and looked out to see what he could see.

  On the other side of the field, marching away along the road, was an army, flying flags of cream and gold.

  Lord Kenery’s army, and it was heading straight for Trieve.

  Lynn listened with the rest of the household as Jessamy and Crae argued in the kitchen. He was soaked, his hair plastered down under his wool hat. Water dripped from his jacket and puddled on the stone floor. Their voices rode over each other.

  “Jessamy, he has thousands of men. You have no defenses, no men—”

  “All the more reason you must go,” Jessamy said. Her voice was calm, but her lips and face were so white her eyes stood out darkly, black pupils rimmed with blue.

  “I can’t leave you here alone to face down Kenery. Stavin would have my head.”

  “No. You have to warn Stavin. You have to warn Red Gold Bridge.”

  “Name of god, Jessamy, don’t you think they already know! They have spies, they have couriers—”

  “And if you are found here, what do you think Kenery will do to us! Lord Tharp’s captain, Lord Stavin’s friend. All you would do is to give Lord Kenery an excuse to put you to the torturer for information on Red Gold Bridge and put the rest of us at risk. Our only hope now is for you to carry the word to Red Gold Bridge and give them time to prepare.”

  “I will not leave you unprotected.”

  “You are a fool, and your presence will do great harm. Leave, Crae. Go back to Red Gold Bridge, where you belong. ”

  He looked as if she had slapped him.

  A boy came running in through the great hall, panting. “They’re at the foot of the great stairs.”

  With great deliberation, Jessamy retied her kerchief, centering the bow just so.

  “I will meet Lord Kenery in the hall.”

  Lynn and Crae stood amid the tense, frightened knot of householders while Lady Jessamy faced down Lord Kenery and his men.

  He was a massive fellow in a dark, tiered cloak. A huge broadsword rested across his back. He towered over Jessamy, who looked up at him with equanimity, her hands folded at the waist of her simple skirt.

  “Do you reject my request for men and provisions, Lady Jessamy?” he rumbled.

  “By the Council’s laws, it is my right to choose to grant aid, Lord Kenery. In better times, you would have been welcomed here and given all that you asked. By allying yourself against
Lord Stavin, you forfeit that welcome.”

  “But you are not Lord Stavin, nor are you Trieve. You are, hmmm, Favor, are you not? You cannot deny aid when you are but a steward here.”

  “By contract and law, I am also Trieve, Lord Kenery. You were at our wedding, my thanks to you, sir. You witnessed my contract with Lord Stavin.”

  Could she really make him go away by citing laws? Lynn glanced at Crae, but he did not catch her eye. He was tense, his hand flexing by his side for a sword that was not there.

  Lord Kenery bent toward her, and Jesssamy took a step back, blanching for a moment.

  “You speak of the Council’s laws, but your husband fights to break the Council. You cannot have it both ways, Jessamy.”

  “I follow the Council in all things, Lord Kenery.”

  “Then you would break with your husband.”

  “A wife can disagree with her husband; only the Council can sunder them.”

  He snorted. “And when we win, I will see to it that we will. Do you hear me, Jessamy? We will win despite the clever weapons Tharp has. The Council will dismantle all the holdings that stood against it, and you will go home to your foolish brother, and your daughter will never marry.”

  Color stood out on her cheeks, and her eyes were bright with tears. “Lord Kenery. We were never friends, I know, but—”

  “This stopped being about friendship a long time ago, Lady Jessamy. It’s about war. Your side started it. The Council is breaking up because of it. What will become of Aeritan, I wonder, because of this foolish war?”

  “I will not give you men, or horses, or food, or anything else you ask,” Jessamy said.

  Lynn felt Crae stir against her. He whispered in her ear, barely above a breath, “Now.”

  When he lifted his head he moved to stand in front of her. Lynn took a step toward the kitchen, and then another.

  Kenery was saying, “You are a stubborn fool, Lady Jessamy, and I will no longer ask but take. Horses. Food. Now.”

  His voice was cut off by the time Lynn made it back to the kitchen. She bolted for the barn through the sleet. Several more of Kenery’s men and horses stood in the courtyard at the top terrace, waiting outside, but they were shivering and huddled by their horses, and paid no attention to her as she slipped around behind the barn to the small door that led to the back of the old byre. She had to duck under the ancient stone lintel and scurry into the main barn.