Dragonfly

by Julia Golding

  "I am fighting back, sir, in the only way my faith allows."

  He raised his arm to strike again but Tashi did not flinch this time.

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  "I did as you asked: I fought, but still you would hit me?" she asked, steeling herself for the blow.

  The priest slowly lowered his rod, his expression one of reluctant admiration.

  "You have strength, witch, but it is in the service of the wrong god. I will return tomorrow to continue our lessons," he said, tucking the rod away in his belt.

  Ramil had decided that he stood the best chance of escape if he ingratiated himself with Fergox. If he could earn the man's trust, it was likely the guard on him would be relaxed sufficiently for him to slip away and make his preparations. To do so, he would have to start acting as if he accepted that he was a guest rather than a prisoner. On hearing from the two soldiers who were his permanent escort that Fergox usually spent the morning sparring with his warrior priests, Ramil went in search of his host. Their information had been correct: Fergox was duelling in the practice courts adjoining the temple, an arena surrounded by a wooden barrier. As Ramil approached, he could see warriors testing their skills on the sawdust-covered floor. Fergox was in the very middle, stripped to the waist, sweat running down his back, a few cuts to his torso, but he was getting the best of the fight. With a skilful swipe of the sword, Fergox had his opponent on his knees, blade pointing to his windpipe.

  "Submit to me, and thus to the Great Holin," Fergox panted. There was a hungry look in his eye, as if he hoped to have the excuse to finish the thrust.

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  "I submit," said the priest, letting his blade fall to the ground with a clatter.

  With a tight laugh, Fergox dropped his sword and stepped back.

  "Honor to the Mighty Holin," he chanted.

  "Honor to his name," replied the man, completing the ritual. He looked immensely relieved to be walking away with his life.

  Fergox reached for a towel held out by one of his servants, wiped his face with it, and slung it around his neck. He then saw Ramil leaning against the barrier.

  "Good morning, Prince Ramil. I trust you slept well?"

  Ramil bowed. "Indeed, sir."

  "Would you care to fight?" Fergox gestured to the rack of weapons inside the court--swords, spears, mace, and staff. "I like to practice with at least three partners each day to keep up my skills."

  Ramil vaulted over the barrier. "I do not pretend to match you in experience or strength, my lord." It did not suit his plans to risk getting injured just to show off his swordsmanship. "Would target practice be an acceptable competition between us?" He chose a short spear, the sort he carried when hunting back in Gerfal. "Perhaps you would care to show me the skill that earned you your title?"

  Fergox nodded. "I have no problem with that, Princeling." He picked a spear and gestured to a row of straw men-targets against the wall at the far end of the arena. "A killing strike wins--head or heart."

  They walked together to take up their positions

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  opposite the dummies. Fergox felt the sharpened end of his spear

  thoughtfully.

  "I hear from the priests you visited my little penitent."

  Quelling any sign that would betray his nervousness on this subject, Ramil nodded. "Yes, I went to reason with her but found her unmoved."

  Fergox lifted the spear to his shoulder and took a few swings to loosen his arm and neck muscles.

  "She's putting on a good show for the people. Prettily stubborn. A sudden conversion would not be half so impressive."

  He launched the spear and it struck the central dummy in the head.

  "A fatal blow," he said with a satisfied smile.

  Ramil warmed up, then cast his missile, imagining the dummy to be Fergox.

  It flew hard and fast, piercing the straw man in the heart.

  "Excellent!" Fergox clapped him on the back. "Your family should be proud of you. Best of three?"

  Ramil was about to agree when a red-robed priest appeared at Fergox's elbow. He muttered a swift report out of Ramil's hearing, bowed and retired.

  Fergox turned back to his young challenger with one of his chilling smiles.

  "I do apologize, Prince Ramil, but we will have to postpone our contest. I am called away to our not-so-penitent penitent. She has excelled herself this morning and I must congratulate her."

  He walked out of the practice courts, leaving Ramil to wonder what he meant.

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  The door to the cell opened for the third time that day. Tashi took up her post against the far wall, her fingers clutching the stones apprehensively.

  "Ah, Tashi, Tashi, you are remarkable!"

  Fergox Spearthrower stood before her, arms outstretched in a benevolent gesture. He was bare-chested, covered in cuts, and had a towel round his neck. She could smell the sweat of combat on him from the other side of the room.

  "You've found your own way to fight. I like that. It suits a female follower of Holin: passive resistance, scorn of pain and punishment--excellent."

  "I didn't do it for your Warmonger," Tashi said, her eyes lowered.

  "Ah, but everything you do is done for Holin. You cannot help yourself."

  Fergox smiled and crossed the cell to embrace her. "You were worth the money." He pressed her to his chest and kissed the top of her head.

  Tashi pulled away. "What do you mean? Worth what money?"

  He ran his hand over her hair, trapping one lock in his fingers. "You don't understand, my poor, sweet girl. You're only here because I paid the chief priest on Kai one hundred thousand gold heralds to pick you. I made you what you are. If it hadn't been for me, you'd still be herding goats." He tickled her under the chin with her hair.

  "No." Tashi shook her head, pushing his hands off her. He was leaning over her, trapping her against the

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  wall, smiling his horrible smile that said he knew everything about her, how she felt, how she thought. "I don't believe it."

  Fergox chuckled. "Must I show you his signature on the receipt, little penitent? I doubtless still have it somewhere in my treasury."

  "No." Her protest this time was feeble. She sagged against the wall, feeling as if he had removed all strength from her. Was it possible? Was she his creature? It would explain the sudden death of the previous princess and the oddity that someone as insignificant as her had been chosen. But if that was true, it meant the end of everything she believed in.

  "I wouldn't let it worry you, Tashi. You made a very fine princess and will be a beautiful wife for an emperor when the time comes." He patted her consolingly on the cheek. "I'll leave you to your penitence. Don't take too long about it, will you? The disciplines get very nasty after a few weeks of resistance and I'd hate to think you'll suffer so unnecessarily. You'll submit in the end. Everyone does give way to me."

  He ran his finger down the side of her face and then touched her lips. "Just say the words, Tashi, and you'll be out of here and in a warm chamber lying in a bed with silk sheets."

  She turned her head away, too devastated to speak. She felt his hand removed and heard the noise of the door closing. Alone again, she slid down the wall to the floor, feeling as if her whole world had crumbled around her.

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  Chapter 8

  The Midwinter festival approached. Snow built up on the pitched roofs and would periodically fall in little avalanches into the castle courtyard. The stones around the well were slick with ice, the chain dripping icicles. The white mountains would have been beautiful if Ramil had not felt they looked like the bars of his prison. He fretted with each day that passed that escape was becoming more difficult as the weather closed in. Heavy snowstorms now often blocked the road to the castle. Teams of soldiers labored to keep the pathways between the army camp and the citadel clear. Fergox was using the winter to harden and train his troops. Many of them were from the warmer countries of the south and were not accustomed to t
he bitter weather. As he tramped through the castle, Ramil often came across young men with dark skin like his own cowering around the campfires, doubtless wishing they had never signed up for the warlord's army.

  Though seemingly at a loose end, Ramil had not been idle. He had already hidden two bundles of clothes and

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  provisions in a quiet corner of the castle, enough he hoped to see a pair of fugitives far along the road. But the most difficult challenge remained. He had to have a horse capable of carrying two. Ramil had not forgotten the princess's incompetence in the saddle: she would have to ride with him.

  That would mean stealing one of the nobles' horses from the stables, rather than one of the army mounts, a tricky feat as they were well guarded.

  Somehow he had to achieve this and get the princess away before anyone noticed. How he was to do this was beyond him at the moment. Every time he saw her, she was hemmed in by priests. They had started to bring her to the practice courts each morning to offer her the various weapons of combat.

  A regular crowd gathered to see her snap the arrow or throw aside the sword, but not before she had usually taken several blows from her trainer. It was a cruel game that everyone, apart from Tashi and Ramil, appeared to enjoy.

  Two days before the Midwinter feast, a messenger arrived at Felixholt with the news that Fergox's sister, the Inkar Yellowtooth, and her army from Kandar, an eastern province of Holt, had been sighted. Fergox took Ramil up to the top of the tower to watch for her approach.

  "Now my armies are ail gathered," Fergox announced. "Junis is the last to arrive as usual. She likes to keep her little brother waiting--she's the only one who dares." He chuckled and slapped Ramil on the back. "I think you'll like her, Ramil. A fearsome warrior. She'll give us good sport on the practice courts tomorrow."

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  Ramil took the offered spyglass and saw the banners of the Inkar

  Yellowtooth crest the last hill. A soldier with an iron helmet, two plaits of grey hair, and a leaf-shaped shield rode in the vanguard.

  "There she is!" Fergox said. "Let us go down and meet her." He whistled for his groom to saddle his blue roan. "I don't want her complaining that I slighted her."

  The elite troops were rushing to mount up to provide Fergox with a guard of honor. A groom led forward Fergox's horse and a stout mare for Ramil.

  Fergox slipped on his gloves, eyeing the prince speculatively.

  "I believe I can trust you to attempt no foolishness, young prince, if I allow you a mount?"

  "But of course, my lord. 1 have long since given up hope or desire to flee,"

  Ramil said meekly. "Where would I go with the snows deep in the mountain passes and your army encamped on the road?"

  "Quite so. I'm glad you understand. We have been getting on well; I would hate to make the conditions of your stay here less comfortable. Come, let us see what the old girl makes of you."

  The guard of honor trotted off in advance, Fergox and Ramil following at an easy pace. They arrived at the town gates just as the Inkar galloped up, her banner fluttering behind her.

  "Junis!" cried Fergox, nudging his horse towards his sister and embracing her from the saddle.

  The Inkar raised her visor revealing a keen-eyed face with a wolfish grin.

  Her front teeth lived up to her

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  nickname, abnormally long and yellow. 'Tergox, I came as promised."

  Her brother gripped her forearm. "I only asked you here to share the spoils.

  Our little war will soon be over and we can return south. But I am pleased to see you arrive in time for Midwinter."

  "I'm not one to miss a feast, brother. Now tell me, where are your two bargaining chips? I'd like to see them."

  Fergox gave a grin to match hers. "I thought as much. Let me introduce you to Prince Ramil ac Burinholt." He waved his arms to where Ramil was waiting quietly on his mare.

  Ramil bowed in the saddle. "Lady," he said politely, though he had never seen anyone less ladylike in his life. He had just been wondering what kind of marriage his father might have had with this fearsome woman if that alliance had gone ahead. He could see why his father had run for the desert.

  Junis urged her horse forward and gave Ramil a frank inspection. "Not much of Lagan about you, is there, Prince Ramil? I suppose you get your coloring from your mother?"

  "Indeed, my lady, I look much like she did."

  Junis turned back to her brother. "Has he tried to escape?"

  "Of course," replied Fergox.

  "Good. Any use with the weapons?"

  "An accomplished warrior."

  "Excellent. I look forward to seeing more of our young guest. And what about the other?"

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  "With the priesthood." Fergox gestured to his sister to ride on. They trotted side by side with Ramil just behind, listening to every word.

  "Still not broken in yet?"

  "Not yet."

  "You're being too kind, Fergox. You should just declare her a convert, marry the wench and have done. Who cares what she really believes once she's your wife?"

  Fergox frowned. "I will not take an infidel as my bride. Flolin would be most displeased."

  Junis was unimpressed. "All this fuss over one girl! Take her as a concubine then. That will send the message to the Blue Crescent Islands that their surrender is inevitable."

  "That is not the plan, Junis," Fergox said sternly. "Remember, I have worked towards this moment for years and will not throw it away on a hasty gesture. I need a public renunciation of the goddess from the girl. She must be the one to bring her people to the true faith. Don't underestimate me, Junis; we are making progress with her."

  The Inkar laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I don't know, Fergox.

  When did you get so . . . so political?"

  Fergox smiled at his sister's look of disdain, his anger subsiding. "In my old age, it seems to me that spreading the faith of Holin Warmonger is even more important than conquest."

  Junis gave a sceptical snort. "But the god of battle demands blood, not weasel words."

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  "And blood he will get--the blood of thousands of new believers shed willingly in his service. Think how he will reward me--my empire spread across the known world united by worship of Holin, an impressive legacy to leave my dynasty." Breaking away from the dream, he swung towards his sister, thumping her on the arm. "But you, you are just as you've always been, Junis. Admit it, you have always had the soldier's attitude, wishing to run complications through with your sword if they get in the way."

  "Is there any other kind of attitude, brother?" "Not in your lands perhaps.

  Come, let us go somewhere warm. We have plans to discuss and a barrel of good, strong beer to broach."

  The last few days had passed like an evil dream for Tashi. Something had snapped inside her since Fergox told her about his bribe. Doubting herself, her resistance had become habit rather than deeply felt. Indeed, she had been sucked dry of any feeling except despair. She could see no escape from her suffering, not even Ramil's promise to help, as she did not believe he had it in him to pull off a successful rescue. In any case, she was an outcast, cursed, a fake, not deserving of help. She had begun to hope that some lucky accident on the practice courts would put an end to her misery, but so far her trainer had refrained from any action that would produce serious injury.

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  At the end of each session her trainer made her kneel in the sawdust as he asked her to name the supreme god. Since Fergox's visit, she now replied, "I do not know," before being led away. And it was true. She no longer knew.

  This was happening to her for one of three reasons, she concluded: because the Goddess was inferior to Holin and powerless to stop him; or she had only ever been a delusion; or, worst of all, she had abandoned Tashi, in which case she was her Mother no more. The one and only Goddess, the creator of the universe, had shut out Fergox's false princess, cut Tashi off from her people
. Who now could Tashi serve, cursed creature that she was?

  The eve before Midwinter, Tashi saw that there was a newcomer to the practice courts. A woman with long grey hair was sparring with Fergox, laughing wildly and slashing at his shield with a curved sword. Their bout was attracting all eyes, even Ramil's; he was leaning over the barrier watching the battle with a grim smile. Tashi's trainer signalled for her to stay back.

  Fergox smashed the blade from his sister's hand. It flew into the air and spiralled into the dust.

  "Do you submit?" he shouted.

  "Not likely!" cried Junis, catching him with a blow from her shield so that the ruler of most of the known world fell on his rump. He leapt up and chased his sister round the ring, threatening her with the flat of the sword. She finally turned and gave a sweeping bow.

  "I yield, brother. I am pleased to see you have not gone soft over the past year."

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  He bowed in reply. "I would not dare, knowing what you would do if you once got the better of me."

  The Inkar picked up her weapon. As she did so, she noticed the black-robed figure standing with a priest at the other end of the courts.

  "Yours?" she asked her brother.

  He nodded. "Yes, the little penitent."

  Junis snorted and strode over to Tashi.

  "You, girl," she said abruptly, "I hear you are putting the priests to a lot of trouble."

  "That is not my intention," Tashi replied, wondering who this terrible-looking woman was.

  "Pitiful answer. Show some backbone, girl. If you intend to resist, at least don't apologize for it. Here, priest, let me take the girl's lesson."

  "But, my lady--" protested the trainer, glancing to the warlord.

  Fergox intervened. "It's all right, Training Master, I give my permission." He drew his sister aside. "I don't want her damaged, understood? I'm still planning to wed her."

  "Pish!" Junis sniffed. "She's not as fragile as she looks. We women never are. Right, girl, it's time you learned to make proper use of a sword." She thrust a heavy blade into Tashi's hands. The girl could barely lift it. "Raise it into the guard position like so." Junis held her own sword out in front of her, its point rock steady.