Banshee’s Honor
Part Eight
by
~Chapter
Fifteen~
Azhani
dragged herself to consciousness and blinked her eyes at the brightness
of the overhead sun. Scrubbing
a hand over her face, she shivered at the chill of the snow around her. Quickly sitting up, she looked
around in confusion. Her
sword lay less than a foot away, and there were ice crystals on her
face from the snow.
By the
position of the sun it was nearly noon. Arun
wandered freely around the clearing, sticking his nose into icy bushes
and snorting in derisive disgust when there was nothing to browse. Shaking her head, Azhani grabbed her
sword and stood up and whistled for the horse.
Gamely, he trotted over, allowing her to hitch him to the
cart-turned-sleigh. Still
puzzled, Azhani jumped up onto the driver’s seat and took up the reins,
trying to recall if she had woken earlier for some reason.
Drawing the extra blanket over her legs, she sent out a silent prayer of thanks to Astarus - he who watches over fools - because she was not soaked to the bone by the snow. Better be more alert, warrior. You could catch your death out here, and there’s no Kyrian to conveniently come along, waiting to be rescued.
It was
nightfall when she reached the outskirts of Barton.
As she guided Arun down the main street, her every
instinct was on high alert. The
town, though not the size of Y’dannyv, was large enough to support a
decent nightlife, even in the middle of winter.
Stifling quiet cloaked the darkened streets. None of the lamps had been lit nor
were there any drunks stumbling from tavern to tavern.
No whores blithely hawked their wares from the second
story windows of red light houses and there were none of the usual
taciturn miners and trappers conducting business with the townsfolk. Everything was shut up tight and
lightless.
Cautiously, Azhani slowly moved
through the town, heading for the inn. It
was the only bastion of man-made light in the town.
The soft yellow glow of torches threw a small circle of
light out on the snow outside of the door. The
only noises were the whooshing of the cart’s runners on the snow and
Arun’s hooves as they threw up small clods of ice.
When she
reached the inn, she pulled the gelding to a halt and leapt down. No one came to greet her. Even the opportunistic stable boy
stayed out of sight. Reaching
for the door, she was surprised to find it locked.
Her hand dropped to her sword, gripping the hilt tightly. Cautiously, she stepped to the side
and knocked. Heartbeats
pounded in her head as she waited for the door to open.
It seemed like a lifetime until the bolt was drawn back
and the door cautiously opened.
“Paul?”
she said, shocked at her old friend’s appearance.
An angry wound wrapped around the innkeeper’s head,
cutting across his forehead and into the area where his left eye would
be. A makeshift patch covered
it. The injury continued on,
crossing his nose and cutting into his right cheek.
“Blessed
Twins, Azhani, you’re alive! Thank
the gods! Come in, come in!
You’ll not find much comfort in Barton, but what I’ve got, I’ll gladly
share.” The innkeeper stepped
away from the door and waved the warrior in.
Azhani
stepped into the well-lit inn and blinked. The
room was crowded with about thirty of Barton’s older inhabitants as
well as ten small children. Paul’s
wife, Orra, was dishing out bowls of stew while old Takk served drinks.
“Paul,
what happened?” Azhani asked as she took in the bleak stares of the
townspeople.
“Demons.” The innkeeper spat out the word. “Swept through town like Hell’s own
fury. Killed and ate ‘til
there weren’t no more t’kill.”
“How
did you...” Azhani started to ask.
“Survive? Ran like a chicken on feast day ‘n
grabbed anyone that’d run with me. Locked
ourselves inna basements. Come
out when the screamin’ stopped. Waited
two more days ‘n then searched the town for survivors.
Found them kids inna basement of the temple with th’ old
priest. Priest been gnawed on
though ‘n didn’t make it.” Paul’s
simple, dry retelling of the decimation of Barton made Azhani’s heart
drop into her stomach. “Others
hereabouts hid as best as could, and now we all stick together like
ticks on a sheep’s ass. T’rest
of us be inna houses roundabouts, or keepin’ track o’the forest for
more’o them monsters.”
“When did this happen?” she asked even as she thought, I should have been here! I should have come and checked up on them when I knew there were demons hunting the forest. Some great warleader I am.
Paul
put a hand on her shoulder. “There
weren’t nothin’ you coulda done, Warleader.
They came so fast. Like
the devil’s own wind, they were.”
“When?”
Azhani’s voice grated on the word.
The
innkeeper sighed heavily. “Five,
mebbe six days, I think. Got
my days ‘n nights a little mixed.” He
gestured to his face.
The
warrior nodded in sympathy. “What
can I do to help?” she asked, knowing that her words came too late to
really matter.
Paul
looked at her, a gentle expression of understanding warming his blue
eye before he said, “Well, didja happen t’bring yer ‘dancer friend wi’
ya? Got some that could use
tendin’ ‘n young Mary’s about fair ready to burst with her first.”
Azhani
shook her head and said, “No, she – “ the warrior looked away, quickly
deciding whether or not to tell the truth, or to use the story she and
Elisira had concocted. “She
went back to her temple,” she finished lamely, not willing to tell the
truth, but not willing to lay out a total lie, either.
Paul’s
eyebrows rose in consternation, but all he said was, “Thought she were
smarter ‘n that. Well, since
ye ain’t got a healer wit’ ya, how about seein’ if you can help Tim and
Mac get up enough food for us all? We
was lookin’ to eat light tonight, but with you here, mebbe it’s worth
the risk ta go outside. Mebbe
check the houses that’re further out. See
what’s left ‘n all.” The
innkeeper quickly explained to the warrior that there wasn’t enough
food in the surrounding houses to feed nearly five hundred people, most
of which were children and elderly citizens, for more than a month, so
every day or two, a couple of the stronger people would run out to the
abandoned houses and search for supplies. So
far, they had only risked going to the homes closest to their protected
circle of homes, and only during the daytime, when the weak sunlight
was some protection against the demons they could still hear prowling
in the forest.
“I’ll
go alone,” said Azhani when Paul had finished speaking.
“Just point me in the direction you want me to check.”
A
dozen protests were raised, but Azhani’s stern face quelled them. “Yer a good woman, Azhani. Don’ matter none what King Arseface
says,” Paul said, his rough voice softened by emotion.
“G’wan up to the Baker’s ‘n see what’s left there. Gotta warn ya though, we weren’t
able to do much cleanin’ up after them demons left.
Ground’s too cold ta dig, ‘n firewood’s all we got to get
through the winter.”
“I
understand,” the warrior said grimly, slipping out the door. Arun whickered a friendly greeting
and she patted his head. “Hard
times, boy. I’ll rub you down
and make you a mash when we’re done, okay?”
The
horse’s ears flicked at the word, “mash” and Azhani took that to mean
he was agreeing with her. Taking
her seat on the driver’s bench again, she slowly made her way through
town, paying careful attention to the snow for signs of tracks.
Even
though she was only half-elven, she still had enough of the ancient
race’s gift of night vision to be able to see clearly, thanks to a
nearly full moon. No other
tracks marred the snow beyond the circle of the townsfolk’s perimeter. Cocking her head, she tried
listening for the telltale baying of demons on the hunt, but heard only
the rustling sounds of a rodent. Maybe
the danger was over. Maybe
the beasts had gone back to their caves.
“Or
maybe they’re having an Arris sandwich. Wouldn’t
that just be peachy?” The
warrior chuckled at her own bad joke. Arun
stopped about ten feet in front of the Baker’s house, refusing to go
any further. The cold could
not completely stall the effects of time on the dead.
Azhani wrinkled her nose in disgust, as her senses caught
the edge of death’s rot. She
dismounted and patted the horse gently, then let him pick his own spot
to rest, rather than force him to stay someplace that scared him.
The walls of
the home were painted soft ochre yellow, allowing it to stand out under
the coat of snow and ice. A
large brick oven dominated one wall, confirming that the former
occupants were once actually bakers. Engaging
all of her well-honed senses, Azhani crept up to the front door,
listening for any out of place sounds.
A
light wind rustled the limbs of bare trees.
A brave owl hooted from the roof of a nearby home and the
slight crunching sound of tiny animals scurrying through the snow was
all that the warrior could hear. Carefully,
she reached out and put a hand on the door, noting the absence of a
handle. The brass hardware
had been ripped out and was probably buried somewhere in the snow. Slowly, she pushed open the door,
wincing and reeling back when she saw the carnage within.
The
moon partially illuminated the room and everywhere the warrior’s gaze
fell, evidence of the utter surprise of the demon’s attack abounded. Rusty stains coated the walls,
flecking and running in lacey patterns that were almost horrifically
beautiful. Once beautiful
furniture lay in chaotic piles and blood and gore liberally congealed
in the mass of shredded fabric and shattered wood.
At the base of the stairs, Azhani could see the partially
frozen body of a demon. Not
far from the carcass was a heavy marble rolling pin.
Azhani
closed her eyes and whispered a brief prayer for the souls of the
Bakers, and then went inside. The
bitter cold had only forestalled the inevitable.
Before the bodies had frozen, hardy bugs and desperate
scavengers had found their way into the house and to the remains inside. Partial decomposition had begun,
giving the remains an even more horrific appearance.
Skirting the demon’s carcass, Azhani reached down and
picked up the rolling pin. Brief
inspection identified it as the weapon that brought down at least one
of the attackers.
Good
for you, the warrior thought. Took one of
the bastards with you. May
the Twins show you honor. When she looked up on the
stairs, she saw the demon’s victim. The
remains of a woman, not very old by the bright yellow of the hair that
still clung to the frozen skull, lay toppled against the wall. Behind her, Azhani could see the
massive spray of blood from the wound that had taken her life, as well
as the scattered bits of ichor from the demon at her feet. Something had interrupted the
beast’s feasting, and Azhani was about to investigate further when her
head began to pound.
Memory
hit, overtaking her with the force of a hurricane.
Whirling, chaotic images of blood and death replaced the
destroyed living room. Whimpers,
moans and screams drowned out the unnatural silence.
The warrior froze in place, caught in the maelstrom.
They came. Faster than she could breathe, they came. A boy’s head wobbled out into the crowd, and a woman in patched chain surged forward, screaming for her blood. Azhani sidestepped and brought the sword she couldn’t remember picking up, to block the furious blows of her opponent. Calmly, the former warleader dodged every attempt the other woman made at striking her. The woman grew angrier and angrier, finally shouting, “Die you oathbreaking bitch!”
She lowered her sword and charged, managing to surprise Azhani with her audacity.
Barely able to turn aside the blow, she ended up taking a shallow cut along her ribs. It was the first time someone had gotten through her defenses. The crowd cheered, howling for her blood.
Emboldened, the woman turned and tried to charge again, but Azhani wasn’t going to allow it to work a second time. Neatly stepping away, she flicked her wrist casually, and gutted her opponent. The woman’s eyes registered shock even as her mouth dropped open, spilling blood on the already crimson snow.
Azhani turned away; ready to meet her next opponent.
Sound
fractured the memory. Azhani
whirled, drawing her blade and leapt through the doorway into the
kitchen, sweeping the sword in an arc in front of her.
The warrior blinked in the sudden darkness. Only a very little moonlight bled
past the shutters, giving the room just enough light for the warrior to
see several large, dark shapes. There
was a heartbeat of silence and then...
“Mew?”
Azhani’s
gaze snapped to the corner where a smallish lump twitched and then
rolled aside to reveal the dim form of a kitten.
Shaking her head, she looked again, just to be certain her
eyes weren’t deceiving her. Slowly,
the warrior reached into a pouch for a candle and a box of matches. Fumbling slightly, she managed to
set the candle on a nearby table and strike the match.
The candle flared, brightening the darkness.
“Mew?”
the kitten cried again, jumping from the floor to the table and
cautiously approaching the warrior.
“Hey
there little cat,” Azhani said, sheathing her sword and reaching out to
lift up the scrawny feline. A
bone-jarring purr vibrated her hand as she tucked the kit into her vest. “Let’s see about getting you
someplace warmer. A glance
with the candle revealed that the rest of the litter, as well as the
mother, had all frozen to death.
Quickly,
Azhani began to search the kitchen, finding a large basket and filling
it with an assortment of goods from the Baker’s larder.
The warrior made a mental note to return in the morning
and bring back as much as she could to Paul.
She also made a note to search through the other houses
for things to take back to the DaCoure homestead.
The jewels she had, she would leave with Paul, with
instructions to use them to buy supplies to build a wall around the
town.
The
kitten had curled up and was sound asleep by the time the warrior
returned to the inn. She had
filled up a good size portion of the wagon with food and supplies. When Paul and Orra saw what she had
brought, they immediately called for several of the younger men to help
carry the items into the inn. When
they were done, Arun was carefully led into the stable and given a rub
down and a hot meal.
Azhani
wearily went inside and sat down, not noticing how quickly a spot was
cleared for her. Carefully,
she brought the sleeping kitten out and laid it on the table, stroking
its soft fur lightly.
The
kit was orange and white striped, with whorls of a deeper orange,
almost reddish tone that streaked down its body and ended with a white
tip on the tail. There was
also a white splotch on the kitten’s face, giving it a somewhat comical
expression.
Suddenly,
the kitten woke up and stretched, its jaw opening so wide that Azhani
feared that it might actually break. Blinking
golden eyes, the kitten looked up at its rescuer and sleepily cried,
“Mew?”
Azhani’s
heart melted into a tiny puddle of goo. “Oh
goddess, what am I going to do with you? Somehow,
I just don’t think I can wreak the vengeance of the ages, on a
tyrannical king, with a kitten tucked in my vest pocket,” she whispered
as she stared into its inquisitive eyes.
One
tiny paw reached out and rested against Azhani’s hand, claws extending
and kneading the battle-toughened skin.
“Ouch!”
Azhani jerked her hand away. “You’ve
got needles on that thing,” she said, reaching out and tapping the paw
in question.
The
kitten thought this was an invitation to play and hunched up, hissing
slightly and batting at the warrior’s hand.
Azhani amused herself by playing ‘catch the mouse’ with
the kitten until she realized that she had quite an audience.
The
table was surrounded by at least two dozen children, all staring at the
kitten with needy eyes. One
brave child lifted her gaze from the kitten to Azhani’s face and said,
“Do you think I could give him this?” In
her hand was a piece of cooked chicken. Before
Azhani could answer, tiny whiskers twitched curiously.
Tiny muscles bunching, the kitten leapt agilely across the
table, landing in front of the child. Delicately,
it removed the strip of meat from her hand, eating it in two swift
bites. The kitten then sat
down on the table and proceeded to wash itself thoroughly.
The
action was an invitation to the children. One
by one, they each produced a treat until the kitten was stuffed full,
its belly bulging outward on the sides. The
bravest of them started to pet the sated animal, rewarded with a tiny,
but loud purr. Soon, it was
asleep, purring contentedly. There
was a collective sigh of disappointment, but the children withdrew,
leaving only the brave little girl behind.
“What’s
his name?” she asked, hiking up onto a chair so she could watch the
kitten sleep.
“I
don’t really know,” Azhani said as she stared at the sleeping feline. “I wasn’t even aware he was a he.”
The
little girl gave the warrior a look like she was the dumbest creature
in the world. “Of course he’s
a he! He’s orange! Only boy cats are orange!” she said,
as if that explained it all.
Azhani
nodded sagely and said, “Well then, I think since you know so much
about orange boy kitties, you should go ahead and name him.”
The
girl’s eyes ballooned into tiny saucers. “Really?”
she asked incredulously.
Azhani
smiled and said, “Yes, really. Go
ahead. In fact,” she bit her
lip quickly, fighting the urge to grab the kitten and run all the way
home, “why don’t you keep him? He
needs a good home.”
She
squealed, waking the kitten and attracting the attention of the others
who still sat in the taproom. Quickly,
before the warrior could change her mind, the girl scooped up the
bleary-eyed kitten and crooned, “It’s okay Toby, we’re gonna be okay
now.”
The
kitten, a little disconcerted at first, settled down nicely and began
purring as the little girl petted and stroked him, softly babbling to
him.
Orra
came to the table with a plate of food and a mug of ale balanced on one
arm. A tiny smile breached
the stony mask that was her face and she said, “Looks like you got
yourself a little friend there, Mattie.”
“Oh
yes, Auntie Orra, this is Toby and we’re gonna be friends forever!”
little Mattie said, not even looking up from her inspection of the now
sleeping kitten’s fur.
A
look of profound sadness washed over the older woman’s face, as she
said, “Why don’t you take Toby upstairs and get some sleep, honey. It’s very late.”
Mattie
looked up at her aunt and sighed. “Okay,
good night.” She turned to
Azhani, who smiled gently at her. “Thank
you.” Her eyes scanned the
warrior’s face for the tattoo that would denote her rank, but only
found the scar.
“I
am Azhani, Mattie,” the warrior said, keeping her voice calm.
“Oh! Uncle Paul talks about you all the
time! Thank you so much
Azhani, I’ll never forget this! Ever!” The little girl bounced out of her
chair and raced up the stairs, the kitten firmly tucked against her
chest.
Orra
set the plate of food down and wiped away a tear.
“That was a very nice thing you did, warrior. She lost her baby brother to the
demons. His name was Toby.”
“I
didn’t know,” Azhani said after taking a long drink of ale.
“I
know, and that’s what makes what you did so special.
Now eat. You’re
in room twelve.” The older
woman smiled fondly at her guest and then left to get another pitcher
of ale for the remaining crowd.
Azhani
ate slowly, savoring the warmth of the food and the chill of the ale. When she was done, she hauled her
sleepy self upstairs and gratefully fell into bed.
%%%
The
next day, Azhani did as she had mentally promised, making a round of
several houses and returning with as much food as the cart could carry. At the end of the small town, she
found something that inspired her. After
quietly talking to Orra and Paul, she gathered several volunteers from
the men, and together, they methodically went through every house,
removing the remains of the former occupants.
In
a small cabin that had once been inhabited by a retired miner, they
laid out what they found, saying a prayer for the dead.
When every house had been thoroughly explored, they
boarded up the door to the cabin and began breaking furniture. The broken wood was piled around the
house, and packed tight with old hay. Once
that was finished, Paul brought everyone from the inn down and spoke
quietly.
“Ain’t
no use ‘n tryin’ ta blame the Twins for our sadness,” he said, his
rough voice carrying across the crowd. “Tis
the gods who we should be a-turnin’ to now, thankin’ ‘em for givin’ our
families a place to go that’s safe and beautiful.
‘Tis the work of the demons that we hate, not the acts of
our beloved gods. I say,
Astarus and Astariu, bless my kin, take ‘em home and let ‘em know the
peace of your valleys.”
At
those words, just as the sun dipped behind a mountain, Azhani lifted
her bow and fired two flaming arrows. They
hit solidly and within moments, the cabin was ablaze.
As the cabin burned, the remaining townsfolk began to sing.
“Bright sun has gone
and the pale moon comes.
Lift up high
Reach the sky
take my family home.
Earth and air
Fire and water
bind us all
Father and son
Mother and daughter.
Bright sun has gone
and the pale moon comes.
See up high
in the sky
they are home.”
Unbidden,
tears dripped down Azhani’s face as the heat of the fire burnished her
skin to a ruddy brown. Surreptitiously,
she wiped at the tears as the crowd drifted away.
Pulling her cloak tighter, the warrior settled in to stand
vigil, praying that the souls of those within found the peace she
herself refused to seek.
%%%
In
the morning, Azhani went to the remaining people of Barton and made
several pointed suggestions. By
afternoon, all the able bodied were out in force, gathering rocks,
snow, anything that could be piled up around the houses they had
claimed as sanctuary. By
evening, Azhani’s cart was stuffed to bursting with supplies, including
an incredibly generous supply of medicines and bandages from the
Y’skani doctors.
She
inherited two more horses. One,
a beautiful smoky gray mare, was a warhorse.
Fully trained and armored, she was a gift from the hostler. Azhani was going to refuse the gift,
but common sense kicked in and reminded her that she was, after all,
going to wage war come spring. So
with grace, the warrior accepted the animal, spending nearly two
candlemarks with her so that she would know her scent and presence.
The
mare’s name was Kushyra, which meant “strong spirit” in
the old language. From the
moment their eyes met, Kushyra and Azhani were friends.
The horse lay her head on the warrior’s shoulder and
sighed happily, knowing that she had found a kindred soul.
“Sorry
Arun,” Azhani called out to the patently jealous gelding. “I’ll get you home to your mama, and
you can get all the pampering you want.”
The
other horse was a sturdy brown gelding of Arun’s breed, who immediately
decided that Arun was his long lost buddy. Happy
with her finds, Azhani prepared to return home.
Paul
helped her get the horses into the sleigh’s harness and then reached
out to take her hand.
“Ye’ve
done not but good by us, Warleader,” he said, giving the warrior her
former honorific. “I thank ye. Someday, the gods’ll repay your
kindness. I knows it.”
The
warrior shook the innkeeper’s hand firmly and said, “I’ve done nothing
more than any decent person would do, Paul.
Just remember what I said – keep inside at night and carry
a torch wherever you go. Demons
can’t stand the light. And
build that damn wall!”
Paul
nodded and stepped back while Azhani climbed up into the sleigh. Orra ran out of the inn just then,
holding out a burlap wrapped package.
“Here,
take this, warrior, with our thanks,” the innkeeper’s wife said,
pushing the gift at the warrior.
Azhani
accepted the package, smiling when the scent of pasties wafted up at
her. The inn door opened once
more and a small figure with an oddly orange lump on her right
shoulder, picked her way across the yard to the sleigh.
“Toby
wants to say good-bye,” Mattie explained, a cheeky smile working its
way across her freckled face. “And
so do I,” she added defiantly, one hand reaching up to steady the
kitten, who was starting to wobble on the child’s small shoulder.
Azhani
smiled and lowered her hand down to stroke the kitten’s soft fur and
then ruffle the child’s flaming orange curls.
“Be good, both of you,” she counseled sternly, “and mind
your aunt and uncle.”
Bright
green eyes sparkled as a freckled nose crinkled into a mischievous
smile. “I’ll try,” Mattie
said, sticking her tongue out at the warrior when Azhani frowned in
mock anger.
Lifting
her arm to wave, Azhani clicked her tongue at the horses and slapped
the reins gently. The sleigh
slowly began to glide away from the inn, cutting deep runnels in the
snow.
She
looked back once as she left. Men
and women scurried about, working feverishly to construct the temporary
wall. Nodding in approval,
she turned her eyes toward home.
%%%
Snow
began to fall almost immediately after the warrior left the protection
of Barton’s buildings. Cursing
her luck, Azhani pulled her hood up and tightened her cloak around her,
hoping that the fabric would hold up against the dampness of the
lightly falling flakes. The
hood stayed put for approximately three heartbeats before it slid back,
baring the warrior’s dark braids to the chill of the winter day.
“Damn
it!” the warrior cursed, reaching up to settle the hood back into place. Silently, she wished she had
remembered to pack one of her father’s knit caps.
A smile stole across her face as she recalled finding the
moth-eaten pieces of clothing.
“Azhani, did your father often keep rags under his bed?” Kyrian’s light voice floated down to the main room of the house where the warrior was busily cleaning out the hearth.
“Not that I recall,” she replied, trying to keep from being completely inundated by debris.
She was seated on the floor, scraping dust and soot out from inside the chimney.
“Well then, what do you call these?” Several balls of knitted, moth-eaten fabric tumbled down the stairs.
Azhani let her broom drop and went to look at the oddly shaped scraps, her face twisting into a look of confusion until she shook them out. They were caps, more precisely; they were her father’s caps. Tentative memories surfaced. Gnarled hands held two long needles that flew along, weaving the odd bowls that would keep their heads warm. Nearby, the fire crackled merrily in the hearth, holding back the winter’s chill.
“These aren’t rags. They’re my dad’s caps. He must have put them under his bed, intending to repair them and then never got around to it.” Azhani’s voice was tinged with sadness as she brought the scraps of fabric up to her nose and inhaled. Dust and dirt and the tiniest fragment of a scent, that was her father’s unique smell, impregnated the colorful yarn. She lowered the remnant and quickly suppressed a sneeze.
Kyrian had joined her, holding another two multicolored balls. “Oh, okay. Well, um, I can knit, so maybe I should try my hand at making one of those things? I mean, if your dad made them, that must mean they’re kind of necessary, huh?” the stardancer said, scuffing one foot against a brick.
Oh goddess, that is cute, Azhani thought, hiding a tiny smile. “Perhaps. They do work well at keeping the cold off your ears in the winter. Nothing worse than when your hood slips off and bares your head to the elements.”
“All right, then I’ll get started as soon as I can find some yarn,” Kyrian promised as she headed back upstairs.
Azhani
grinned now, her teeth flashing white against the dusky darkness of her
skin. “Guess we’ll see if
Kyrian really can knit, hey?” she asked the horses, who twitched their
ears back toward her, but never slowed their pace.
A sigh of contentment slipped out as the warrior settled
back against the seat, happy to be on her way home.
Home. What a strange concept, and yet, that’s exactly where I feel like I’m going. Not to dad’s place, not to the barracks, but home. Wonder why that is? A flash of a smiling face, green eyes and amber hair danced in her mind, but the warrior shook her head. Damn. Has she gotten that deep already? I’ve got to work on this, or else Arris will know. I will not lose another friend to that raving monster!
~Chapter
Sixteen~
A
faint tingle along the edge of her senses caused Kyrian to look up from
her task of steadying Syrah Jessup’s faltering steps.
She was walking the sickly warrior to the storeroom for a
bath.
“Warleader’s
home, eh?” the older woman said, smiling at the stardancer’s curious
look. “You’re a ‘dancer, Kyr. I know you’ve got other senses.”
Shaking
her head, Kyrian said, “I don’t know, Syrah.
It’s almost like I can hear horses, but... Azhani only had
Arun. Maybe I should go warn
the others.”
“Nah,
nah, horses it may be, it’s still Azhani all the same.
Ye knows it, healer, same as ye knows I’m gonna lift a
sword in defense of my king again. It’s
knowledge burned in your heart.”
Kyrian
stared blankly at the warrior, amazed at how insightful the taciturn
woman really was. Over the
previous days, nearly every waking moment of the stardancer’s time had
been spent in the company of Padreg’s injured followers. Though she knew she had talked a lot
about Azhani, she didn’t think her feelings had been so clearly evident.
“There’s
no shame in cherishing good thoughts toward Azhani, healer. She be good people, na matter what
the tale-tellers say. Now,
let’s get me turned around and headed for the front.
I want ta see your face when you realize that I be right,”
Syrah joked slyly.
Kyrian
sighed in frustration. “I
just don’t get why people think she’s such a demon.
If they’d spend even a few minutes in her presence, they’d
know that she is a good woman.” Carefully,
they maneuvered up the steps and into the main room.
“Sometimes
being good isn’t enough,” Elisira said as she stood up to offer her arm
as a counterbalance. With
Syrah between them, she and Kyrian led the woman outside and helped her
to sit on a bench that Devon had built out of spare planks. The day was sunny and clear, making
the snow almost blindingly white and the icicles hanging from the eaves
sparkle like polished jewels.
The
stardancer turned to smile a welcome at her new friend.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because
I was there, and I remember how the lake turned crimson for a week
after she won her freedom. If
those memories are still on my mind, then there will be others whose
charity will be for the slain, not the slayer.
Keep that in mind, Kyr. Hardly
anyone you meet will see Azhani for who she truly is.
To an entire kingdom, she is still the Banshee of Banner
Lake – an Oathbreaker and a murderer.” Elisira’s
statement made Kyrian shiver.
The
stardancer opened her mouth to ask another question, but quickly
stifled it as horses burst into view, pulling the cart-turned-sleigh. Not bothering to hide her grin, she
jumped off the porch and ran out to meet the sleigh.
Syrah
looked up at the lady her king had chosen and remarked, “D’ya think the
Warleader’s as smitten as the healer?”
Elisira’s
light blue eyes watched as her old friend brought the sleigh to a halt
and calmly stepped down, accepting an enthusiastic hug with stoic grace. “Perhaps not yet,” the lady mused as
the two women began unloading the sleigh. “No,
not yet,” she decided as darker blue eyes lifted from the back of the
sleigh to meet her gaze. “But
it will happen, I warrant, whether she wills it or no.”
%%%
As
they unpacked, Azhani quietly described the devastation she had seen in
Barton.
“I
should go... maybe I can help,” Kyrian said, turning to head for the
cabin.
Azhani’s
hand on her arm stopped her. Shaking
her head, the warrior said, “No, those that are left are well cared for
by the Y’skani.”
“But
I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” the stardancer protested.
“Pray,
stardancer. Pray for the
souls of those who are left, so that they make it through the winter.” The warrior’s dark eyes were
saddened, but her voice was hard.
Biting
back a retort, Kyrian nodded.
Very
softly, Azhani said, “I’m sorry.” Stepping
away, she lifted up a crate of goods and carried it into the cabin.
“How
much time until spring?” Padreg asked as they guided the horses into
the rather cramped shed.
“Six
weeks, perhaps a bit more. We’ll
have to wait at least a week after the snow starts to melt to avoid
avalanche conditions,” Azhani said, hauling the sleigh over to the side
of the cabin. “We should
start planning where we’re headed before that.
I found a map of the kingdoms in Barton that looks fairly
recent.”
Clapping
her on the back, the plainsman smiled. “Well
done, warrior. Though I’m not
beholden to Y’dan, I don’t feel comfortable leaving her to rot under
Arris’ thumb. I’d like to see
that he is removed.”
Aden
spoke then. “What are you
plannin’ on doin’ then, Paddy? ‘Tis
hard true, but as you said, you’re not responsible for this land. Spring foaling is around the corner,
as is the moving of the clans.” He
flashed his gaze onto Elisira, leaving unspoken the fact that Y’Nor
needed the security of heirs, and that the lady looked more than
willing to be the mother of those heirs.
Padreg
nodded, knowing well his responsibilities to his people. “I know, old friend.
What troubles me, more than a king who cannot rule without
iron in his hand, are demons that attack without cause.
Though Y’Nor has never suffered their touch, there isn’t a
one of us who hasn’t heard the tales of their last invasion. It strikes me as odd that they
should be ready to feed so soon.”
“I
share your feelings, Padreg,” Azhani said quietly as they entered the
cabin. “In the past, we have
had several years between attacks. It
has only been two years, and I have never heard of them rising so soon.”
Thomas
coughed and then said, “Well, I know that I wouldn’t mind having the
chance to take a bite outta what killed Nadine and Roald.”
Syrah
nodded her agreement and added, “Is it not the duty of any man to
assess the threat of invasion by the demons?”
“I
don’t think they’ll be coming back for a while,” Azhani said,
surprising everyone.
Padreg
looked at her curiously. “Oh,
why do you say that?”
“When
I was in Barton, I neither saw nor heard any sign that they had
returned after the initial attack. Upon
returning, I searched for their tracks, but found none.
They’ve moved away from here. My
guess is that they’ve died out. If
they don’t eat, they die.” She
looked around at the group. “But
whether they are dead or just hiding is not what we should worry about. Even if we were to go out today and
start hunting them, we are too few – we would all die in a matter of
weeks. Y’dan would still be
in Arris’ hands, and Y’Nor would mourn the loss of their clan chief.”
“All
right, Warleader,” Padreg said, emphasizing the
title, “then what would you recommend we do?”
Azhani’s
smile broadened, “Rest. Heal. Practice and pack, and then plan our
journey to Y’Nor. You need to
get home to see to those baby horses.” Her
gaze drifted over to Elisira, who was absently staring at Padreg. The king noticed and returned her
smile.
“Aye,
baby horses indeed! Elisira,
my lady, how does that please you?” he boisterously asked.
Elisira
smiled shyly. “It pleases me
much, my lord. I should like
to see the land I hope to call my own.”
Azhani
let the couple bask in each other’s eyes for a few heartbeats and then
said, “All right folks, let’s get this stuff unloaded so we can decide
what goes where.”
%%%
“You
owe me a cap.” A deep, warm
voice purred into Kyrian’s ear, causing her to jump and almost spill
the hot water she was about to pour over the herbs for her morning cup
of tea.
“Ahh!”
she choked out before the warrior’s hand covered her mouth.
“Ah-ah-ah,
no waking up the whole house now, healer. It’s
way too early for some of them to even consider it,” Azhani said, as
Kyrian pulled away, glaring at her. The
night before had been spent talking with Padreg and his men and there
had been a keg of very good ale that had made its way around the small
circle many times, causing the stardancer to glare at her more than
once. Azhani had shrugged and
mentally figured that if the Y’Norans were dumb enough to get sick from
drinking too much, they shouldn’t expect anyone to feel sorry for them. For her own part, the warrior stuck
to tea or water, needing a clear head to examine the map of the
kingdoms.
By
the time everyone had sought his or her beds, there was a working plan
in place. They would wait
until the first thaw and then, as quickly as they could, make their way
to Y’Syr. Once there, they
would quickly make their way to the Y’Noran border.
Padreg and his people would continue with Elisira while
Azhani and Kyrian returned to Y’Syr, to search for the friends that
Ylera Kelani had told the warrior about.
Azhani had
privately hoped that Kyrian would decide to go with Padreg, rather than
follow her to the uncertain safety of Y’Syr.
When she had mentioned it, the stardancer had firmly
closed the door on that idea.
“No, Azhani, I don’t want to go to Y’Nor – no offense, your majesty – I want to go with you. I swore that I would stand by your side, and I will!” Kyrian’s face was flushed with indignation.
“You would be much safer if you go with Padreg,” Azhani tried to point out rationally.
“To the hells with safer, Azhani. I’m not going to run out on you just because it might get a little dangerous,” Kyrian retorted hotly.
“A little dangerous?” Azhani replied challengingly.
“Okay, so a lot dangerous. Like it isn’t already? Life in Y’dan isn’t exactly tea and crumb cakes for anything nonhuman, and I’m definitely not human. And even if it won’t be that way in Y’Syr or Y’Nor, I’d still rather be with you, working to make a difference!” Kyrian’s jaw clicked shut and she raised her eyes to meet Azhani’s steely blue gaze. The air nearly crackled with the energy that flowed between the two women, but in the end, it was the warleader who flicked her eyes away.
“Fine, I won’t stop you, but –“
“I won’t come crying to you when I stub my toe, mother,” Kyrian inserted jokingly, trying to defuse the tension.
For just one second, it looked as if she had said the wrong thing, and then Azhani laughed, a short bark of surprised amusement. “Right. No tears for stubbed toes. Now, why don’t you help the lads to bed? It looks like they’re all about to topple into the fire.”
“You
scared about three years off of me, warrior,” Kyrian accused softly,
turning away to finish pouring the water into her cup and then stirring
in a dollop of honey.
“Sorry,”
Azhani replied in mock contrition. “But
you still owe me a cap.”
Kyrian
furrowed her brow in confusion. “I
owe you a cap? Huh? Have you been sniffing my herbs
again?”
Azhani
sat down near the hearth and grabbed a mug, intent on making a morning
drink. “No,” she said
absently, “but I did remember that you promised to knit me a cap if I
found you some yarn. Here,
this should work, right?” From
her haversack, she withdrew four medium sized skeins of fuzzy charcoal
colored yarn and tossed them at the stardancer.
Kyrian
awkwardly caught them, successfully juggling them away from the fire
and into her lap. She held
the last skein up and examined it closely. “Yeah,
this should do just fine. It’s
thick, so it’ll be warm, too,” she said approvingly.
“Good. How soon can you finish it?” Azhani
finished stirring her tea and took a sip.
“It’ll
take me a bit to remember all the right stitches, but after that, not
long, I’d imagine,” Kyrian said, as she drank her tea.
A muffled rumbling noise startled both women and caused Kyrian to chuckle. “Guess you’re hungry this morning, hey, Azhi?” Surreptitiously, the stardancer crossed her fingers. Come on, prove to me that my hunch is right. I know we’re friends, Azhani. I know you care about me.
Azhani
opened her mouth to say something about Kyrian’s use of the nickname,
but then decided she liked the way Kyrian’s voice made it sound. Instead, she said, “Um, yeah, I
guess I am. What have we got
that’s convenient?”
Kyrian
smiled and said, “Oats, bread, fruit and last night’s dinner.”
“Oh,
and dinner was that delicious roast. Perfect,”
Azhani said, jumping up to find some bowls and spoons while the
stardancer moved the pot into the hearth to warm.
After
breakfast, Azhani suggested that they head outside and stretch their
muscles. Kyrian agreed,
stripping off her robe so that she was only wearing a pair of short
breeches and a lightweight tunic. Azhani
donned her padded gambeson and the two headed out into the slight chill
of the morning.
There
was a thick blanket of snow on the ground, but that didn’t stop the two
women from stretching and then wandering out into the first open area
they could find. Slowly, they
circled each other, seeking any weakness in the other’s defenses.
Kyrian
made the first move, taking an open handed swipe at the other woman’s
seemingly undefended shoulder, but Azhani neatly countered, returning a
light tap of her own to the stardancer’s stomach.
“Point,
warrior,” Kyrian said, her eyes never leaving the center of Azhani’s
chest, watching for the tell-tale ripple of movement that would
indicate the warrior’s next move.
“I
always get the first point,” Azhani noted calmly, studying her opponent
casually.
Kyrian’s
eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Yeah,
but I usually get the last,” she taunted.
Azhani
attacked, leaping up and letting out a soft grunt as she attempted a
spin kick. Kyrian easily
deflected the blow, returning a light tap to the inside of the
warrior’s left knee.
“Point,
healer,” Azhani said, narrowing her eyes as they returned to circling
each other again. Now that
they had each proven the other was awake and ready to play, the match
began in earnest.
Minutes
passed as they traded blows and blocks, ending with Kyrian’s natural
impatience getting the better of her. The
stardancer lowered her head and charged, knocking a surprised Azhani
into the snow.
She
jumped back, laughing, “Hah! Point. I win!”
Azhani
scowled indignantly, but stood up and brushed herself off. “All right.
Again.”
“Go!”
Kyrian danced away, waiting for Azhani’s attack.
The warrior cracked her neck then shook her shoulders and
watched the stardancer. Not
moving, she just followed Kyrian’s movements with her eyes until her
friend noticed. “Well, are
you going to stand there all day, or what?” Kyrian asked, putting her
hands on her hips.
Not
even the barest hint of a grin gave her away.
Azhani started to turn away, then flipped up and behind
the stardancer. Hooking her
left foot around Kyrian’s knee, she pulled back and shoved out with her
hands. Quickly, she dropped
down, straddling the other woman and flexed her arm, putting the point
of her elbow into the nape of Kyrian’s neck.
“Do
you yield?” she asked calmly.
Kyrian
tried to buck her off, but Azhani’s greater weight gave her an
advantage. She tried to twist
away, but the warrior clamped her legs shut, holding the stardancer in
place. Turning her head slightly, Kyrian blew out a mouthful of snow. “Cold,” she murmured.
“What’s
that? Did you say, ‘I yield,
Azhani, because you are the almighty great and powerful one’?” the
warrior teased.
“No,
I do not yield,” the stardancer said through clenched teeth. Without warning, she pushed back,
knowing she was putting herself into a very vulnerable position.
Azhani
immediately wrapped her arm around the stardancer’s throat and locked
her head in place. Ignoring
it, Kyrian now reached her hand back and casually tickled the warrior’s
knee. The action so surprised
Azhani that she jumped, loosening her hold.
Swift as a fish, Kyrian slithered away.
Jumping
up, she easily deflected Azhani’s punch, and they were at it again. Kyrian won again.
Grabbing Azhani’s arm as she let go of a punch, she used
the warrior’s weight to throw her and as soon as she hit the ground,
the stardancer put her foot on the warrior’s neck.
“Do
you yield?” The stardancer’s
face was flushed with exertion.
“I
yield,” Azhani said. As soon
as her friend’s foot was removed, she bounced up and said, “Round
three?”
Kyrian
felt her heart beating hard and her breath came in short gasps, but she
knew that Azhani liked at least three rounds.
Waiting only long enough for her heart to slow down, she
gave her assent.
As
soon as the stardancer nodded, Azhani rushed with a series of punches. Hard pressed to block or avoid the
blows, Kyrian ended up pinned against the side of the cabin.
“Do
you surrender?” Azhani growled, leaning her body into the smaller woman
and looking down into sparkling green eyes.
Kyrian’s
already reddened cheeks flamed even brighter as the weight of the
taller woman’s body against her own set fire to overheated nerve
endings. Swallowing hard, she
returned her friend’s intense blue gaze, projecting an aura of calm she
did not feel.
Oh goddess, why do you have to be so beautiful? ran through her mind as she
struggled to control her raging hormones.
Kyrian
wriggled, attempting to push the warrior away, but Azhani only pressed
closer, slipping her leg between the stardancer’s.
Warm breath mingled, filling the space between them with
white puffs of air.
Leaning in
closer, Azhani whispered, “Do... you... surrender?”
Kyrian
held the warrior’s gaze, battling for the right to claim victory. Frustrated, she banged her head
against the wall, but she did not answer. A
grin slipped across Azhani’s face; she knew she was going to win this
one. Then, just as the
warrior thought the stardancer was going to say the words that would
signal the end of the match, she got a face full of snow.
“Never!”
Kyrian said, laughing as the warrior reeled back, spluttering.
Azhani
watched Kyrian ease away from the wall, still laughing, and felt her
own temper begin to fray. Hands
clenching and leg muscles tensing, she stood there panting, as if
readying for combat.
Whoa
there warrior. She’s just
playing with you. Don’t lose
your head over this! Her inner voice grabbed her temper
by its reins and hauled it in. Kyrian
continued to laugh, walking away from the wall and over to a barrel
where a couple of skins of water rested.
Azhani’s
temper wouldn’t let the stardancer get away clean, though, so she
carefully gathered a large handful of snow and silently crept up behind
Kyrian as she drank. A slight
crunching of footsteps in the snow was the stardancer’s only warning. She was just about to turn around
when she got a double handful of snow down the back of her tunic.
“Gah!”
she shrieked as the cold snow slid down the center of her back. “Azhani!
No fair!”
Azhani
smirked, crossing her arms and giving the stardancer a raised eyebrow. “S’amatter?
Shoe not fit so well on that other foot?”
“Ooooo! You big goof!
I didn’t shove it down your gambeson!” Kyrian retorted as
she shook her tunic out. If
I were going to shove anything down your gambeson right now, Azhi, it
wouldn’t be snow!
Azhani
stuck her tongue out. “So
hire a barrister and sue me.” She’s
kind of cute when she’s mad. The thought appeared out of
nowhere, surprising the warrior. Shaking
her head slightly, she pushed the thought away and refocused her
attention on playing with her friend.
Kyrian
blinked, surprised at the playful tone to the warrior’s usually solemn
voice. She smiled. “Nah, barrister’s cost too much for
a poor little priest like me. I
think I’ll stick to personal retribution.” Scooping
up a handful of snow, she rolled it up and tossed it, scoring a direct
hit on the warrior’s thigh.
The
snow on Azhani’s breeches slowly flaked away.
Azhani looked down, watching the bits of white crystal
melt into the fabric, and chuckled. Reaching
for a large handful of snow, she felt the beginnings of a smile tug at
the corners of her mouth. The
warrior let out a huge laugh, giving in to the joy of playing with a
friend.
Elisira
found the two women rolling around, gleefully stuffing handfuls of snow
into each other’s clothing. Covering
her mouth to keep from laughing, she waved to Padreg who was curiously
poking his head out of a window.
He
joined her, casually slipping an arm around the lady.
“I’m almost jealous. I
should think it would be most stimulating to roll around in my
all-unders with you, my lady,” he whispered softly.
“We
can certainly go out and give it a try, my lord.
Though, I’m not certain I can guarantee the safety of your
crown jewels,” Elisira replied while leaning into the plainsman’s
embrace.
“All
right. Let’s go see how much
trouble we can find in the snow,” he said with a wicked smile lighting
his face.
They
dashed outside, skirting around the wrestlers until they found their
own nicely formed drift. Then
they stopped, not knowing where to begin.
“Uhm,
well, yes, let’s see. If I
give you a light push,” Padreg said, reaching out to nudge Elisira’s
arm.
“Then
that gives me the right to push back,” she said, thrusting her arms
outward with all the force she could muster and sending him sprawling
into the drift.
He
let out a squawk of surprise, flailing his arms and legs as he fell. The snow whooshed up and then came
down in a white sprinkle.
“Oh
no. Are you all right my
lord?” Elisira cried, rushing to his side.
Laughing
uproariously, he said, “Fine, my lady, just fine.
A bit damp, and now,” he grinned wickedly, “I’ve got you
right where I want you!” His
hand shot out and caught the lady by the waist and dragged her down on
top of him. With his other
hand, he smeared a bunch of snow into her face.
She
struggled, crying out indignantly, causing him to laugh even harder. Arching one eyebrow, she swiftly
reached up and grabbed a double handful of snow, dropping it onto his
face. As soon as he released
her, she jumped up and ran away, gathering more ammunition and packing
it into a snowball.
Making
his own balls, Padreg stood up and hopped over the fence, using the
stone barricade as a form of protection. He
pelted her. She pelted him,
and soon they were dashing across the yard, scooping up snow and
flinging it wildly.
Seeing
their friends, Azhani and Kyrian easily split up with Kyrian taking
Padreg’s side and Azhani joining Elisira. Syrah,
Devon, Thomas and Aden came out to play as well, and shortly, there
were snowy fortifications all over the yard.
Utter
snowball chaos erupted then. Candlemarks
later, all of them, wet, winded, and covered with mud trooped into the
house. Elisira and Kyrian
immediately marched the two still recovering warriors back upstairs for
a quick change of clothes and a return to their pallets, while Azhani
and Padreg began the arduous task of hauling in enough water for
everyone to get clean.
Chapters Seventeen and Eighteen