I hastened to add, “Please, Milady, don't humble yourself for a lowly soldier.”
Her smile turned even more wicked. “Humility is a virtue in the eyes of God, dear Byren. Even queens must kneel on occasion.”
“None are higher than the Divine,” agreed Sir Erroll. He seemed to take my words as they were intended, and if she meant any kind of double entendre, it sailed far over his head.
The subtly impish look she gave me convinced me otherwise, though. That was exactly what she'd meant, and the harder I blushed, the more it seemed to amuse her.
The lull in the conversation was short-lived as Sir Erroll moved in to monopolise her again. Unwanted resentment stirred in my heart. I'd enjoyed her attention more than I wanted to admit, though I knew better than to protest. Instead I dropped out of sight and out of mind to the rear of our little column. From there I pretended not to notice how well that dress rested on her hips, or how her whole body swayed gracefully as she walked.
I forced my eyes away to cool my head, and took stock of my young companions after our ordeal. Yazizi noticed and winked at me, caressing her bruised cheek again. I turned away with a cold shudder up my spine.
Adar's haunted eyes were even worse. The blood on his face had been cleaned away, but the blood in his eyes was still flowing. He held the neck of his scabbard in a death grip as if he fought every second to stop himself from drawing the blade again.
Desperate for some normal humanity, I took the rouncey's reins from Faro and walked beside him. He nodded in thanks for making his job a little bit easier.
“It's good to see you alive,” he said simply.
“And you. Too close a thing.”
“I saw some of the fighting, though I'm afraid I wasn't much help. How did you do?”
“I'm still walking and talking, aren't I?”
I chuckled. The sheer joy of being alive started to bubble up inside me now that the fighting was really done. It was a familiar feeling. The kind of feeling that sacked cities and sent young women running for their virtue, though I didn't think I could sack Farrowhale all by myself.
Faro went on, “I just wish I could have done my part. Even a place on the wall would have been something.”
I watched him skeptically, dressed in a simple maille byrnie, padded trousers and leather halfhelm, wearing a sword and buckler on his belt. A boy anxious to get his blade wet. Taught to fight from birth, how to ride and joust and all the other traditions of the highborn warrior.
And I wagered that in all his fifteen years he'd yet to drop his breeches in front of a girl.
I told him, “Run to love, drink and good food, son. Not to swords and arrows.”
Memories came to me of the gate square torn up by artillery like a great sausage grinder. I winced and chased them away desperately, like a drowning man fights the sea.
Faro looked up at me with shy eyes which kept sliding off in other directions. “But you're a soldier. My master always taught me that fighting for justice is a man's duty. We must face our battles with faith, strength and will.”
“Maybe,” I conceded, “but not as many people die from tumbling a pretty girl or feasting until the sun comes up.”
He cracked a brittle smile, the first sign of levity I'd seen out of him. “Are you tempting me to sin, sir? I'll remind you, I'm to be a knight someday.”
“Oh, I've drunk with a few knights in my time, lad. A proper bunch of gluttons, sots and lechers.” I grinned. “I remember old Sir Halsdene bouncing a barmaid on each knee after the Battle of Ironstones. The man was old enough to be my grandfather, but when he finished his wine he took them both to bed!”
I watched the squire shrink at the idea, and laughed. Gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Listen. There's only so much praying a man can do without satisfying the needs of the flesh.”
“My master wouldn't tolerate talk like that,” he pointed out.
“Then it's a good thing he's too busy to notice, eh?” I took him by the arm and pointed to Sir Erroll's animated attempts to catch the woman's interest, egged on by her polite nods and brief responses. Then I showed him a damp little alley branching off the main road, about as seedy as the inner city got, where the warm light of a tavern shone out into the pre-dawn gloom. I felt strangely companionable, and that led me to speak without thinking. “I feel like celebrating tonight, and that's where I aim to do it. Care to join me? Drink or don't drink, but at least come and have some fun.”
The ambivalence on Faro's face was painful to watch. His loyalty and uprightness fought with boredom and innate curiosity. I couldn't tell which side was winning. I added, “Don't fret, I won't let you come to any harm.”
At last he jerked a nod, pulling out of his spiral of frightened indecision, and covered his mouth when he realised what he'd agreed to. I chuckled. In fact, I was going to see to it he had a brilliant time.
The enticing tavern faded behind us, and we soon found our inn, an expensive place built entirely of stone. Far too clean for the kind of night I had in mind. I scrubbed off the blood and stole some fresh clothes. Then I found Faro again and dragged him back the way we'd come.
You could hear the tavern a mile off. Music spilled out of the windows and into my grateful ears. After the day I'd had, I was delighted to hear a bunch of enthusiastic amateurs butcher a succession of sweet melodies on harp, fiddle and flute. The smell of stale drink roused my thirst more than ever. I almost ran the rest of the way.
I'd never been to this particular establishment before, didn't even know the name of the place, but I liked it already by virtue of being open at this time of morning. The best places never really shut.
The squire and I marched through the open door without knocking, and were swallowed up by a crowd of merry drunks. Men and women danced on the long tables, downing tankards full of amber or red. Shadows danced in the light of a few candles and a roaring fire in the hearth. Smoke from a dozen puffing pipes created a gentle haze which set Faro to coughing.
“Good Saints,” he choked out, “is it always like this?”
“Only on a good day.”
I flagged down one of the barmaids and ordered us a pitcher of local wine. Halewine could be either one of the finest beverages known to man or used fermented bathwater, depending on where you got it. The Fire and Wine had been in the latter category; now it was probably charcoal. This place, on the other hand, served a brew that could flatten a horse. I approved.
Still struck with wonder, Faro nudged me again, distracting me from the cup in front of my face. “Who are all these people?”
I glanced around the room and shrugged. “Soldiers, mostly. They can't stay on duty all the time. This lot must be fresh from the wall.”
“They seem very lively.”
“You must've seen people have fun before, haven't you?” I asked, though now I wasn't so sure anymore. “Did your father never hold a feast or something? Do people not celebrate the harvest where you're from?”
He shook his head solemnly. “I... was too young to remember much. My father sent me off to ward in Kingsport when I was only a boy. With four elder brothers and no one for me to marry, father and mother decided I ought to be a knight, to forgo my inheritance and win my own lands. I spent my youth in a boarding school, then as a squire with no lord.” He took a deep breath. “People do not act like this in Kingsport.”
I'd seen Kingsport from a distance, all marble and gold leaf, and it looked about as much fun as Faro described it. “How did you come to squire for Sir Erroll then?”
Shrugging, Faro sipped from his wine cup, and his face shrivelled up like a prune. “Oh, that's foul!” he spat, then cringed, terrified that he'd made a spectacle of himself. He immediately took another, deeper drink. This time he pretended to like it.
“I don't know what brought my master to Kingsport,” he began again, “but I remember watching him arrive in a small procession of lancers, wearing no tabard, his shield all wrapped up in oilcloth. The boys of the scho
ol all wondered who he was. It was a long time ago, two years or more, so I didn't understand much of the whispers flying about...
“The thing that always stuck with me is one morning when I was working as a page at Winter Court, I came across the King arguing in the hallway with Lord Halser of the Household Rangers. The war in the North had been laid up for winter and they'd both just returned from the field. His Majesty was shouting, 'But there's never been a family called Highhaven!' Then Lord Halser whispered something, and the King went stiff as a board. He said very quietly, 'Fine. Give him what he wants and send him on his way. I don't care, just get rid of him.'
Suddenly the boy coughed uncomfortably and chewed his lip. “I‒ I've said too much.”
I tried to disagree, but lost my words in the sound of an ear-piercing shriek from the other side of the tavern.
“Byren!” a shrill voice cried, and I had just time enough to turn around before a pair of arms flung around me and warm lips touched mine. I started to struggle out of instinct, then thought better of it and kissed back. The girl pulled away from me, giggling.
“I knew it was you!” she giggled. “When did you get into town? Why didn't you let me know? Who's your friend?”
“Hello to you too, Sally,” I said laughing. My eyes travelled up and down her body, every bit as shapely as I remembered. All the goods were plain to see through the thin linen dress that rippled down to her ankles. “I had no idea you were here! It's a long way to the front, those lads on campaign must be crying in their beds at night for missing you.”
“Cheap flattery gets you everywhere.” She wagged a stern finger in my face. “Now introduce me.”
I elbowed the squire in the ribs to encourage his staring eyes up to her face. “Faro, this is Sallamera, the girl for whom every soldier in the Army used to save his pennies. She's broken more hearts than the enemy ever could.” I took each of their hands and fitted them together in a customary greeting. “Sally, meet young Faro, squire-errant and my companion for the evening. It's his first night out on the town.”
Faro blushed a deep red. “I, um... Pleased to meet you, mam.”
“Oh my,” she said, fluttering her eyebrows. “You're a sly dog, Byren, bringing him here. You haven't changed a bit.”
“I haven't changed? You never seem to age, dear heart. How old were you when you first joined the camp?”
“Fourteen years on the day. Your bunch all but kicked my door down.”
“Can you blame us?”
“Blame you? Byren, I couldn't be mad at you for anything.” She cupped my cheek with a soft-fingered hand. Glanced at Faro, then back at me, and I winked. She got the message straight away. “I just had an idea! One of my friends is about, she's new to town and needs a man to escort her. Would you happen to know anyone so chivalrous as that?”
Several seconds of silence passed before Faro picked up on the hint. He snapped to attention, stammering, “I, um, I could escort her if you think she would want to...”
“Good. Stay here, Byren and I will go find her.”
So Sally pulled me away, passing a quick hand signal to another girl in the corner. She disengaged herself from her current suitor and made her roundabout way towards Faro at the bar.
I, meanwhile, was dragged into an empty back room and pinned against the wall by Sally's generous body. All around us was the happy smell of the taproom, old beer and sour wine mingled with sweat, smoke, piss, sick, and sex. The concentrated aroma of humanity. After living in military bivouacs for a decade and in desperate squalor for another, it smelled like home.
With her so near, I could see the years starting to show in the set of her shoulders and the crow's feet around her eyes and mouth, but they only made her more beautiful. I remembered a girl who pretended to innocence, though she'd been anything but. Now I saw a woman who'd experienced life in all its ugliness and still knew how to laugh.
“You've missed me, haven't you?” she whispered in my ear. She was up against me, skin on skin, soft and firm all at once in all the right places. My blood was already up. The sight of her, the smell, the touch, they were too much to bear. The next moment I was hitching up her dress, my heart racing with lust and the need to lose myself.
She dropped to her knees in front of me, eager to go to work with her mouth. Pleasure pulsed in my veins and I let out a hiss through my teeth. It had always been one of her greatest talents.
Sallamera gasped as I pulled her back up and buried myself in her. She cried out softly, blissfully, her voice the same as always, yet my eyes couldn't decide what they wanted to see. One moment I imagined Yazizi's face, clenched in pain while she pleaded for more. The next moment it was the woman with her eyes bright and her smile full of sensual promise. It was them I imagined in my arms, not Sally. Not anymore.
My heart boiled over with old and new feelings. For Sally there was something just short of love, a kind of familiarity that made the moment more than a passing tumble, but so much less than I'd wanted it to be. It couldn't ever be enough. I was no longer under her spell ‒ someone else owned my dreams now.
I grunted when I came. Sally panted into my shoulder, her legs wrapped tight around me, fingers stroking the back of my head until I found my way back down to earth. At last I set her down and sagged against the lid of a trunk. My trembling hands fumbled at the laces on my breeches. For a while we said nothing, as if none of it had happened. I pressed a silver falcon into her palm and she pocketed it. The silence hung between us like a wall.
Sally broke it first. “Who is she?”
I cracked an uncomfortable smile. “I wish I knew.”
“I was wrong,” she said. “You're not the same.”
“Oh, Sally...”
She shrugged it off, that easy smile back on her lips. “It's no matter, Byren, you were never mine and I never yours. Consider this a favour from a friend.” She giggled and jingled the coin in her pocket. “Easiest falcon I ever made.”
“Your prices have gone up,” I joked. She tittered and kissed my cheek.
“This woman who's got her hooks in you,” she said emphatically, “you must tell her to treat you right. She doesn't know what she has.”
I wrapped my arms around her, full of warmth but no more passion. “You'll always be dear to me, Sally. I've been asking myself for sixteen years how a girl so young can be so wise.”
Blushing, she scoffed, “Best go make sure Kaleree and your friend are still getting along.”
I nodded and offered my arm to her. She took it gracefully, and together we slipped back into the lantern-lit warmth of the tavern.
Faro was nowhere to be found. When questioned, the barman explained the situation entirely in winks and gestures, and I decided to have another drink whilst I waited for the squire to finish. Sally's eyes gleamed as I offered to buy her a drink, and I soon forgot about my young friend altogether.
Several hours flew by before I realised I was up against the point of no return. I'd downed the largest amount of drink I could possibly hold while still able to walk back to my room. I snapped up a final pitcher of wine to see me through the journey, said my farewells to Sally, and then went on my staggering way.
Not two streets from the tavern, I came across a pair of young people sitting on either side of the road ‒ one girl with a torn dress and one young squire who looked all too familiar in the half-light. The gloom between them was palpable. I blinked and said, “Faro?”
“Byren,” he sighed with desperate relief, struggling hand over hand up the wall until he managed to stand, swaying on his feet. The drink had hit him harder than I expected. He pleaded, “I can't... Can't. Can't remember the way.”
I went to the girl, the one Sally had sent to him, and growled, “What did you do to him? He's in pieces!”
She sat shaking in hurt fury, eyes blazing like fire. “I was going to fuck him,” she snarled, “but then he shoved me and ran away. Look at this!” She held up the tattered bit of cloth covering her chest, which no amoun
t of needle and thread could ever make pretty again.
“I can't,” Faro moaned behind me, “I can't...”
He was crying now, quietly, trying to pretend it was only a sniffle.
The girl hawked and spat in Faro's direction. “You didn't even pay me! I should cry rape and have it taken out of your bloody hide!”
I put a finger to her lips and shushed. In my mind I could already see a lynch mob running down the street ‒ it wouldn't take much to set people off tonight. She watched me produce a falcon from my purse and let me tuck it into her balled fist. That would buy her three or four new dresses fresh from the tailor's hands. She stared at the coin for a moment, picked herself up and ran off.
Once she was gone, I walked over to Faro and boxed his ears. White-hot anger burned behind my eyes as the squire collapsed, whimpering.
“What in God's name is wrong with you, boy?” I roared. “You had a pretty girl in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other! How did you possibly manage to balls that up?”
His eyes stared past me into space, like he no longer existed in the same world. He mumbled, “A knight knows not the touch of a woman's hands.”
“Your master bloody well does! He's chasing one woman with more piss and vinegar than common lads half his age!”
“I am the shoulder that bears the burden,” he went on. It was as if he hadn't heard me. “I'm the flame that burns away injustice... I'm, um, honour and, and...”
No, we really weren't talking about the same thing anymore. I sat down where the girl had been ‒ I felt a little wobbly myself ‒ and scratched my head. Didn't understand what was going on, and thinking was hard with my head so full of fluid.
“A boy your age should know what women feel like,” I told him thickly.
He pulled himself together long enough to uncross his eyes and focus on me. “It is a sin to fraternise with common girls. It is a sin. No boy is to forget it. Impure thoughts must be purged.”
Written in Blood Page 9
