Gordath Wood

by Patrice Sarath

  “Perhaps,” Hare said at last. “Perhaps.”

  Crae looked down at his cup, keeping his misgivings off his face.

  Marthen looked up from examining the radios on his camp table at Grayne’s announcement that Lord Terrick wished to speak with him. He nodded to Grayne, who ducked out, and Terrick swept through the door flap, letting in the cold night air with him. Marthen did not rise, though he bowed his head deeply. Terrick looked at the odd instruments.

  “So you have what you want,” he said. “Tharp’s weapons in your hands.”

  Marthen nodded. “Did you expect me to turn them down?”

  Terrick paced in the small space. “I’m not sure we should use them. They could turn on us. The girl said their range is limited, and they will eventually become useless. I don’t like relying on things that I know will quit on me.”

  Marthen sat back and looked up at him. “Are you concerned about the weapons or the girl?”

  Terrick’s face blazed. “I grow tired of your disrespect, General. I warn you, it is not too late to bring you before the Council, where you will answer for your conduct and your disgrace. ”

  Marthen kept surprise out of his expression. Lately Terrick had been cranked as tightly as a crossbow, true, but that was out of proportion, even for him. I will ask Grayne if he knows anything.

  “I mean no disrespect, sir,” he said. “Come. Inspect these weapons with me. We can put them to good use the more we understand them.”

  Terrick gave him the look of a disdainful eagle, but he sat and picked up the rifle and the scope.

  “Here,” Marthen said. “Let me show you. Loading it was of little concern after all. Captain Tal has chosen five archers to practice with it, and the best one will carry it into battle.” The archers wouldn’t need their massive brawn to shoot the rifle; what he wanted was their trained sight. If the girl was to be believed about the rifle’s range, all one would need was a clear shot to kill a man, without having to leave camp to do it.

  If that man were Lord Tharp, this war would be over. And with that done, Marthen could turn his attention toward what he truly desired. On pretext of mapping their route to Red Gold Bridge, he pored over the blank center of the map and all the opportunities that lay beyond it—if a common man had the will and the courage to exchange one fortune for another. After all, however Lord Tharp was bringing weapons through the Wood, the fact remained that a door swung open both ways. With the right alliance, he could set himself up in a new world as lord, not commoner.

  He thought of Kate Mossland, and for a moment his heart beat hard. That alliance was in the next tent over.

  “Ah, there you are, my lady,” said Talios, looking up as Kate ducked into the surgeon’s tent. “How would you like to make a man very happy?”

  Kate stopped short, her mouth dropping open, her face going bright red. Talios grinned at her expression and nodded over at the corner. Two crutches stood there with padded cross supports.

  “The crutches!” she said, forgetting her embarrassment. Captain Artor would indeed be happy. “But isn’t it too soon?”

  “Eh, he’s learned his lesson. I’ll scold him severely to not overdo it and then leave him be. Let’s go.”

  As they ducked out, however, Saraval’s lieutenant hurried up to Talios. “He needs you—says his wound is not healing.”

  Talios snorted. “If the old bull would stay off his feet, it would heal just fine. Kett, take the crutches. I’ll take care of the old man.”

  A little abashed, she watched him go and then headed over to the scouts’ tent, butterflies quivering. She didn’t want to see Colar at all.

  The door flap to the scouts’ tent was pulled back, and she could see why when she approached. Despite the winter cold, the tent was full of men sitting around the table, the lamp swinging overhead. A funk rose from a row of damp, ragged socks hung from a line strung from the tent’s center pole, drying over the small brazier. The scouts were playing a complicated game with dice and cards. The new scout, the one who came from Kenery, had the largest pile of coins in front of him. He appraised her frankly.

  Colar was not there, and she sent up a small prayer of thanks. Jayce was, though, his thin face as smug and mocking as always. She was reminded of her plan for Tiurlin, and her stomach went quivery again. She raised the crutches.

  “Mr. Artor, here they are.”

  She knew better than to expect gratitude. The scout captain grunted, “It’s about time. Put them over there.”

  She lay the crutches next to the wall of the tent, feeling everyone’s eyes on her. She caught Jayce’s eye, grabbed all of her nerve, and said, “I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

  The tent was shocked silent. Jayce looked at her, laughed shortly, and said, “No.”

  She felt her face flame up and without another word ducked out, followed by a roar of laughter. But she heard the strange scout call out, “No, no, go talk to her, man. What are you, a fool?”

  The rest of the scouts chivvied him out with their laughter and mocking, and she turned as he came out, hopping on one foot as he put his boots on. She could feel the rest of the scouts watching from inside the tent. As was everyone else in the camp, it seemed like, turning to watch them in the cleared space of thick mud between tents. She faced down the scout, arms folded across her chest, and scowled.

  “What is it?” he snapped. He had reddened, too. For once she really saw him. Skinny, sick like the rest of them, not much older than herself or Colar. If Tiurlin was the doomed girl at the back of the class, Jayce was the boy right there with her.

  “This isn’t for me,” she said crossly. “Don’t think it is. But someone likes you, and I thought you should know, if you weren’t too stupid to figure it out yourself.” She glared at him.

  He looked dumbfounded. “Likes . . .”

  “Likes. A crush. She. Likes. You.”

  He growled. “I swear, girl, you are a stupid cow.” He swore, looked away from her, rolling his eyes. “Who?” he bit off, and she could tell it was against his very will.

  Kate grinned. “Tiurlin. She’s in the women’s camp, and she has long blonde hair like you’ve never seen before.” She ran off before he could say anything else, full of impossible happiness.

  She still felt the glow when Grayne told her that the general wanted to see her that evening. Kate sat in front of her tent in the pale red light of sunset, scrubbing her boots. The sun threw a rosy tint over the snow, but Kate paid little attention to the view. The snow might be soft and white outside of the perimeter of the camp, but within it was slushy mud, waste, and manure that caked her once-gleaming boots. They were cracked and stained, and she grimaced at their condition. She stopped and clenched and unclenched her fist, looking out over the camp and the snow vista, the rose-red tinge fading with the setting sun. She used her half cloak to cushion her seat, a short stump that had not been chopped into firewood, and tucked her bootless foot underneath her to keep warm. Her illness had mostly passed, leaving her thin and weak but no longer at the mercy of her bowels. Her lungs still rattled with fluid, and she often woke wet with sweat or chills at night.

  It was almost time for dinner. Kate sighed and put her boot back on, then took off her second boot for its turn.

  “Girl.”

  Lord Terrick stood before her. Kate started and dropped the boot, jumping up and standing on one foot. She bit her lip at the picture she must make. “Oh! I—”

  He gestured irritably at her to sit, and at her hesitation— she had learned that much protocol—he snapped, “Sit, girl. You look like a fool.”

  Kate sat. Now Terrick looked as awkward as she felt. He paced a short distance in front of her. She heard him snap off a curse, then he turned back to her.

  “I don’t know what my son was thinking,” he said at last, tugging at his gloves and slapping one against the other. “He had no right to make his advances to you. He is the heir to Terrick. His pledge is not his own to make.” Unaccountably, the dour
lord hesitated, and his tone if anything became harsher, but his expression softened with something like regret. “Where he cannot give his hand, it is not right that he give his heart. My son wanted to tell you this himself, but I thought it best it come from me. There. It is done.”

  He glared at her as if daring her to contradict him. She looked down at her boot, turning the worn object over and over, willing her tears to dry up. When she could control her voice, she looked up.

  “It’s okay, Mr. Terrick,” she said at last. “My parents wouldn’t want us to get married either.”

  His expression grew thunderous, and she felt a flash of self-satisfaction. She hadn’t meant it, but she had just turned the tables on him. Terrick rejected Mossland, and now Mossland rejected Terrick.

  “Who are your people, child?” he demanded.

  How could she put it? Would he even understand? “My father, well, he’s a vice president at IBM and he runs the top-grossing division there. He always says, try your damnedest and never give up.” She bit her lip, wondering if she had lived up to his credo. “And my mother is a lawyer.” She straightened with pride. “She’s in line for a state Supreme Court appointment. ” She missed them fiercely and had to blink back tears, staring straight past Terrick toward the distant horizon. “We aren’t noble or anything. I guess that’s what you really wanted to know.”

  “You told me what I needed to know.” She turned to look at him at the strange quietness in his voice. For a moment his face was gentle with regret, then the old Terrick was back. “They sound good and well-bred people. Mind you honor them with your obedience, girl.” He turned on his heel and was gone, back to his tent.

  The campfires started flickering across the camp. The sun had almost set, and her foot was getting cold. Kate tucked her foot beneath her to keep it warm and reached for her other boot.

  When Grayne called for her, she took a deep breath and headed for Marthen’s tent.

  Marthen already sat at the table, his expression stone. Nothing different there, she thought. But the table was barren of dinner. Instead, he was flanked by two men. She recognized them as captains, though she did not know them by name. Kate hesitated by the door flap.

  “Sit,” the general said. She sank onto the low camp stool. “Captain Sayard, Captain Elevin. Tell me what you saw.”

  “We saw the girl scampering about on horseback with no regard for her safety or drawing the fire of the enemy, sir,” one captain said. “She rode at will, to and fro, distracting us all with her antics.”

  Kate gasped. “No I didn’t! I was trying to help—I didn’t—”

  Marthen’s eyes were dark spaces in the dim light. “Do you understand the havoc you caused? Do you understand that with that one foolish act, you could have destroyed everything we worked for?”

  “The courier bag—someone dropped it while we were saddling up. I just thought—”

  “There is a penalty for disobeying my orders.”

  Kate knew that. She had seen the floggings. Some had been of camp followers. Talios had been barred from helping the victims to recover, though he gave out salve and instructions readily enough. Her outrage turned to fear. But I was trying to help.

  The captains stirred uneasily, glancing at one another. “General, perhaps a warning—” one said. His voice died at the look Marthen gave him.

  “Dismissed,” the general said. They filed out, after giving Kate pitying looks.

  When he spoke, it took her by surprise. “Grayne told me that the Terrick boy pledged himself to you.”

  She looked up, startled. Her heart beat harder, and her stomach knotted. “N-no,” she stumbled. “He didn’t.”

  “Oh? Are you just a camp follower now? You accept any-one’s advances without a promise?”

  “No!”

  He was relentless. “Lord Terrick will never let you marry his son. Know that. You will never be Lady Terrick. I made sure that you would be spared the usual lot of unattached women in this encampment. That was not so you could make your own alliances. I told you to stay away from the battlefield. You defied me. It is time you learned the meaning of obedience.”

  “No. You have no right.” It was hard to get the words out.

  He came over to her in one stride and lifted her by the front of her shirt, his face twisted in rage.

  “Don’t school me on my rights! You are nothing here; do you hear me? Nothing! You walk this camp with impunity because of my protection! And you will obey me!”

  He was roaring by the end of his tirade. Kate tried to get herself free but to no avail. Marthen threw her down, and she stumbled against the camp stool and went down.

  “Grayne!”

  The lieutenant came in so fast he almost fell over Kate. The general’s face was distorted with rage. “Bring her to the center of camp. She is to be flogged for disobedience.”

  The steel door had a sign on it: “This door is to remain locked at all times.” A keypad with a small display was set in the lime-green wall next to it. The administrator who escorted Joe and Mrs. Hunt punched in a code briskly, waiting for a muted buzzer to chime, and swung the door open, letting them pass through in front of her.

  “We were so happy that friends of Mr. Arrim were able to visit at last. So many of our patients get so lonely here,” she said, her heels tapping along the linoleum as they followed the corridor toward another set of doors. “He’s a very nice man, and we think that once he’s stabilized, we can find him a halfway home and get him on his way toward independence. Sometimes they can stay too long, you see.” She cast a sidelong glance at them under long lashes coated with mascara. “People think it’s all about the insurance, but really, a lot of times doctors have to gauge the length of stay that can do the most good.”

  Joe just nodded, looking around. The institutional feel of the place had him uncomfortable. It was too claustrophobic. Too much like jail.

  “Are you a physician?” Mrs. Hunt asked politely. The administrator laughed.

  “No, I help by doing the best I can to smooth things over. There’s so much paperwork. That’s my calling, paperwork.” She made a wrinkle-nosed, self-deprecating smile and pushed open the next set of doors. “Here we are,” she announced.

  It was a barren common room with several tables, a games cupboard, and an enormous TV. Five or six inmates were watching a news program with the sound off. Joe and Mrs. Hunt exchanged glances. He’d only gotten a brief glance at the man, and that was weeks ago. How were they supposed to recognize him? It would be pretty awkward to try to get that past the administrator, who was now looking at them, brightly expectant.

  “It’s all right. You can wait here, and I’ll have someone fetch him and let him know he has visitors,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about being bothered. I know people are so uncomfortable around the mentally ill, but really, they’re just like the rest of us. Just need a little extra help.” She trilled her laugh and tapped off to the nurse’s station, where a nurse and two bored guards waited. Joe and Mrs. Hunt drew together, taking surreptitious glances around the room. It was an eternity before the door buzzed and Arrim came through, let in by another staffer.

  He looked better than when Joe first saw him. He had filled out some and cleaned up. He wore street clothes, and his dark beard and hair were trimmed. He favored his right side a bit as he walked, but that was all the effect Joe could see of his wound.

  “There you go!” said the administrator. She clapped her hands in delight. “You’ve got visitors, Mr. Arrim!”

  He saw Mrs. Hunt, and his eyes widened. For a moment he fumbled. Joe thought he was going to drop to one knee. Was the man about to kneel to Mrs. Hunt?

  “Mr. Arrim,” Mrs. Hunt said, advancing on him with her hand outstretched for a congenial handshake. “It is very good to see you again. Please, come sit down.”

  The man hesitated but then followed her lead, taking her hand, and the three of them sat at the farthest table from the nurse’s station. Joe could see the administ
rator watch with delight and then turn to the others to explain that Mr. Arrim had friends at last. One guard kept his eye on them though.

  “My lady,” Arrim whispered. “My lady.”

  Mrs. Hunt looked him over. “You look familiar,” she said. “I remember you.”

  “I am called Arrim, lady. I was Red Gold Bridge’s guardian. When you came to be his wife, and before you disappeared.” He clutched hard at her hand. “Have you come to take me out of here? I know you must hate me for what I did, but I had to. He was holding the gordath open, and it was becoming dangerous. I had to stop him.” He started to cry. “Please don’t punish me by leaving me in here.”

  His agitation had alerted the staffers. Joe could see them break off their conversation and look over at the small group, with Arrim weeping and clutching Mrs. Hunt’s hand. Her calm expression was replaced with one of shock and urgency.

  “Hey man,” Joe said. “Settle down.” He glanced back.

  “You guys all right over there?” the guard called. He put his hand to his belt, where Joe was relieved to see he did not carry a gun. He had a nightstick though, and what looked like a canister of mace, as well as a radio.

  “Yeah, we’re fine,” Joe called back. “Just a little emotional, you know. It’s been a while.” He turned back. Arrim tried to control himself, his shoulders heaving. “Take it easy,” Joe said in a lower voice. “We’re not going to leave you in here.”

  Although he didn’t know how they were going to get him out. As if Arrim could read his mind, the man nodded at the nurse’s station, his eyes eloquent with fear and despair.

  “Leave it to me,” Mrs. Hunt said, as if opening locked doors with influence and wealth had become second nature to her. Still, there was a wrinkle to this she might not understand, Joe thought.

  “Mrs. Hunt, you should tell them the money is running out. That’s the way places like this work.”

  She threw him a glance as she stood and gathered up her purse, and her expression was knowing. Her mouth quirked into an almost smile as she nodded.