Warprize

Chapter 4

My captor wasted no time. His boots clicked on the marble as he left the throne room, and the jostling told me that he had started down the stairs to the main doors. I could feel his breathing as he moved, and heard the jingle of his armor. The cold air cut through the warmth of the cloak as we moved out through the great doors. There were sounds of men moving about in the great courtyard, and the ring of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones.

We stopped, and I was swung down to lay like a babe in arms. The Warlord’s voice rang out, but he spoke so quickly I couldn’t understand what was being said. Instead of being placed on my feet, I was handed off to someone else. I struggled, not liking this change, trying to bring my arms up and get free of the dark material.

A whisper came to me through the cloth. “It’s Joden, Lara. It is all right.” I stopped moving, relieved at the familiar voice, and anxious for information. Before I could reply, I was lifted up onto the back of a horse. Arms encircled me again. Joden’s voice rang out. “I return your warprize, Warlord.”

The chest behind me rumbled. “My thanks, Joden.” The horse under us shifted, and my stomach lurched. The black cloth pressed against my face, trapping my breath. It felt tight and close, like I couldn’t get enough air. The Warlord shouted something, and a great roar went up all around us. We were moving then, and at a gallop. I could hear others around us, moving as well, yelling war cries and shouting praise for the Warlord. The thundering of the horses as they left the courtyard and ran over the wooden bridge to the city was frightening. I swallowed hard, my breath coming faster, and fought down the wave of nausea. I still couldn’t move my arms. The fear of tumbling from my perch remained, so I tucked into the body that held me and stayed still. The sound of men’s voices had faded, but they were all around us as we plunged on, the pounding of horses’ hooves and the jangling of harness the only noise. Moving through the town, down the main road, and out through the main gate.

The cloak offered some protection, but outside the city walls, the wind was sharp. I shivered. In what seemed like moments, we were splashing through the river that lay between the city and the Warlord’s camp, and moving up the slope that it occupied. There was no hail, no greeting, but the horse slowed. I wanted to ask what was going on, but held my tongue. I did not know if slaves were allowed to talk, much less ask questions. Instead, I clenched my fists in the fabric, and tried to get my breath.

The horse stopped. This time, the Warlord shifted in the saddle and slid down to the ground. My stomach lurched as we fell. I must have cried out somehow, for the arms held me close. “One more ceremony, then we’re done.” The whisper came from beside my ear. The sounds changed, and his boots strode on wood. I was placed on my feet, the cloak still enveloping me. His arms gave me a minute to steady myself as my bare feet felt the cold, rough wood underfoot. I swayed slightly, but regained my balance, and his hands withdrew.

“My warriors!” The Warlord shouted, and there was a note of pride in his voice. “Behold the warprize.” With that, the cloak was whipped away.

I was standing on a platform, in a pool of light from the torches that surrounded me. The cold air cut through the cloth of my shift. Out in the darkness beyond, I could just make out people standing and staring at me, the Warlord’s army, a full ten thousand strong, or so I had heard tell. I could well believe it when they roared out their approval to the night sky.

Startled, I stepped back, colliding with the Warlord, who stood behind me. He wrapped his arm around my waist, and I raised my hand to cover his. The heat of his arm seeped through the shift to my stomach. He held up his fist in the air, and the men renewed their cheers. Drums and voices seemed to explode into the night, more noise than music.

It was too much. My vision went gray, and my hand slipped from his arm. Next thing I knew, I was once again cradled in strong arms and moving. The cheers and music continued, but they were somehow muted and indistinct. There was an impression of many people that parted as I floated by. I lost track of things for a while, but then I was in a tent, and laying on something soft. Someone was speaking as a hand brushed my hair off my face with a gentle touch.

“Warprize. Did you eat or drink anything at the castle? Before the ceremony?” The sound was muffled, as if from a distance. It was the Warlord’s voice, urgent, demanding an answer. Another voice, older and harsher, murmured in the background. The Warlord replied, but all I heard were fragments. Bastard. Poison. A soft blanket covered me. Hands reached under the blanket and felt my hands and feet. “She’s cold, very cold.” Odd. He sounded worried. Gentle hands were moving me, and suddenly there was warmth at my feet. Then by my hands. The warmth seeped into me, slowly, and I felt my body relaxing, sinking into the softness, heavy as a stone.

Someone lifted me up, putting a bowl to my lips, urging me to drink, but the voice was far away and distant. I swallowed, and warmth flooded my throat and belly. There was an odd taste, strong and pungent. Once the bowl was empty, I was lowered, and covered once again with blankets. The voices continued to talk quietly, as all that heat seeped into my bones.

The voices were gone. I lay still, eyes closed. The bed shifted, the blanket rose, and I froze, hardly daring to breathe.

Something soft brushed my lips.

A stab of fear went through me. It had come, and as much as I thought I could handle it, I was frightened. I fought to open my eyes, trying to gather my wits, and found myself staring into startled blue eyes. I must keep my part of the agreement.

The Warlord had other ideas, for he shook his head. “No, Warprize. Have no fear.” A hand cradled my head. I closed my eyes and felt a soft touch on each lid. I did not have the strength to open them again. A hand moved to rest over my heart. Its warmth was a comforting feeling. He pressed down gently, as if he was claiming the organ that beat within. I relaxed back into the bed, letting the warmth and the comfort take me.

“Sleep, now.” His voice soft and low. I managed to get my eyes open enough to see him lay down next to me, on his side, on top of the blankets and lay his head on his arms. He wore trous, but was naked from the waist up, and i could just make out the tattoos on his arm. In the dim light of the tent, I looked at him, puzzled. His eyes were closed, and his breathing regular, but I didn’t believe that he slept. I turned my head slightly and stared at the tent above me. It seemed, well, a bit disappointing, somehow.

I puzzled over that idea until I fell asleep.

Something touched my hair.

I stirred, half waking from the movement of the bed.

“Go back to sleep.”

I gasped at the sound, my body jerking awake. My eyes flew open, and I looked about, taking in my surroundings. The tent was in shadows, the only light from braziers that held a sullen glow. There was a strong smell of horse, and something sharp and clean that I didn’t recognize. The tent was large, with what appeared to be stools and a table, with trunks and benches lining the sides. Outside, I could hear men and horses milling about.

Someone stood with their back to me, dressing quickly, sorting through gear that was laid on a bench. A half-dressed man, whose back muscles rippled in the dim light.

I so rarely see healthy men.

There were scars there, old scars. The light played over the skin, dancing with the shadows over the hollows and rises as he moved. Then Keir turned, and a gleam of an eye looked my way. I stared openly as he moved closer. There were tattoos on both arms and scars on the front too, harder to see because of the chest hair, but there all the same. They told tales of battles fought. So many scars.

He stood for a bit, looking down as I looked up, frowning at me. He dropped his gear on the end of the bed, and pulled a tunic over his head. I watched from where I lay, wary of what was to come. He hurriedly strapped on sword, dagger, and a small pouch, and secured them to his belt. Keir looked me in the eye, leaning down with his free hand out, as if to touch me.

I flinched back.

He froze, then pulled back, looking grim. A voice was raised outside, announcing that his horse was ready. Keir clenched his jaw, turned and left through the flap. Within moments, the men and horses were gone. An odd silence descended, only to be broken by the cough from one of the remaining guards.

It took time for my body to relax, but eventually it did. The warmth of the tent, and the blankets pressed me down into the bed and my body seemed to sink deeper and deeper with each breath. My heavy eyelids closed, and I drifted off on a lake of warmth and darkness.

The next I knew, I was on my side, looking at the tent wall. I lay for a while, thinking about nothing really. Or perhaps, trying hard to think of nothing. After a bit, my stomach gave out a rumble. Then other parts of my body started demanding attention. So I stirred, and sat up.

Only to realize that I was stark naked under the blankets and furs.

I clutched the coverings to me, and remembered where I was. What I was.

The tent was a big one, and seemed to be made of hides. The floor was covered with all sorts of woven mats in blacks and browns. There was a table made of tree trunks and rough-hewn planks, with fat, short stumps around it as seats. Three braziers gave off heat. The bed where I lay was huge, with many pillows, and a large dark fur that covered the entire expanse. There was no sign of the shift. Or of any other clothing. Maybe slaves were kept naked? I shivered at the thought.

Part of the tent wall twitched, and I could see someone peering inside through the flap. A very short man, bald as an egg, popped in. I stared openly. His right eye glared at me. The left eye was gone, and the entire side of his face was horribly scarred. The flesh was mottled, with no hair. The ear was gone, and the left corner of his mouth seemed stiff and unmoving. Belatedly I remembered my manners. I focused my gaze on his one good eye, and fumbled for a greeting in his language. “Good morning.”

He glared at me. “I am Marcus, Token-bearer and Aide to the Warlord.” There was obvious pride in his voice. He stepped back, then re-entered the tent with a bundle in his arms. “Hisself left instructions to feed you when you woke. Hisself gave me an idea of your size.” Marcus frowned and eyed me critically. “We’ll see how close he came to the mark.” He placed the bundle on the end of the bed and moved off to the tent wall on the other side.

I clutched my blanket closer and cleared my throat. “Where did the Warlord go?”

Marcus moved another flap to reveal a smaller chamber beyond. Apparently, this tent was larger than I thought. As Marcus moved, I could see that the scarring also covered his left arm. The skin had an odd texture to it, with no hair that I could see. It was hard not to stare. “Hisself is dealing with attacks on the herds.” He turned. “You’ll be washing first, then food.” His lopsided mouth seemed grim.

I ran my hand through my hair. “Wash?”

“Aye.” He nodded toward the smaller room. “I’ll fetch water.”

He left. I scrambled out of the bed, dragging the blanket with me. I grabbed the bundle and went into what appeared to be a privy area. Here, the floor was of hides, except for a small wooden platform in the center. Rough-hewn benches lined the walls, and there were tree trunks scattered about, and rough-hewn boards formed a table of sorts. There were what I assumed to be chamber pots under the benches.

Marcus bustled in with a steaming bucket, dropped it with a grunt, then left. I washed my face and hands quickly, and pulled on the clothes. There were trous of brown cotton, and a tunic of a red-brown cloth, like the shift, but heavier. It all fit well. Some thick socks and a pair of brown shoes that were a bit too big. As I dressed, I could hear men moving about outside, apparently guards. The sounds made me nervous, and I hurried to get into my clothes.

When I emerged, cleaner and more awake, food was laid out on the table. Marcus stood next to the table, a small pitcher and bowl in his hands. He gestured and I sat on one of the stumps and eyed the groaning board. “Are you eating with me?”

“No.” Marcus frowned at me. “Hold out your hands.”

Puzzled, I held them out. He placed the bowl beneath them, and poured water over them, muttering some words I couldn’t hear. He nodded to a cloth on the table, and I dried my hands. Marcus seemed satisfied. “Hisself says you need to eat. Tuck in to this, now.”

Nothing looked familiar. The meat had been chopped up into small pieces. The bread was flat, but soft. There was no knife, or fork. I picked up a piece of the flat bread, and dipped it into the meat. I took a bite, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted good. Marcus nodded, as I took a second bite. There were grains as well, and I found that more of the food made its way into me then I had thought possible.

Marcus poured a mug of kavage for me, setting down a small bowl of white pellets as well. “We’ve no sweetening for this just now.” I took the mug anyway, and dared a sip. It was better then what Rafe and the others had made. I eyed the white pellets, and reached out for one. It felt slightly soft, like a piece of dried whey. I popped it in my mouth, and bit down.

A horrible, bitter taste flooded my mouth.

Marcus had drifted away, moving around the tent as I ate, straightening as he went. Not that it was necessary, the sleeping area was very neat and plain in its furnishings. Too neat. There was no place to spit the stuff out. I screwed up my face and swallowed, followed by a long drink of kavage. Whatever that stuff was, it was awful.

Finally, I reached a point where I could eat no more. Marcus grunted and started to clear away the dishes. “Now, His-self says, rest and sleep. He will be back for the night meal.”

I nodded but really had no mind to go back to bed. “Marcus, do you know a Simus? He was one of the wounded—”

I did not have to finish. Marcus was nodding his head as he balanced the dishes in his arms. “Oh yes, that one is a snarling bear. Unhappy at everyone and everything.” He frowned. “How do you know Simus?”

“I treated him in the city.”

“Treated?” Marcus’s one eye glared. “You treated his wound?”

I nodded.

He sniffed. “A warrior-priest, you think you are?”

I stiffened. “I am a healer. I would like to see him.”

“Healer, eh?” He rolled his one eye. “Well…” he shrugged. “Gets you out from underfoot.” His eye focused fiercely. “You understand that you are to take nothing except from the Warlord’s hands? Nothing at all?” At my hesitant nod, he placed the dishes back on the table. “Come.”

Marcus took me outside. It was only then that I realized how big the tent was. It was divided up inside, to make the sleeping area and other rooms. This flap led to a bigger area that seemed like a large meeting room. Here too, wooden blocks and sections of trees were about, with pillows and a raised platform at the end of the room.

Marcus led me past that, and held open the tent flap for me to exit into the open. There were two guards standing at the entrance, and they acknowledged Marcus with a nod of their heads. I stepped out and got my first glimpse of the camp. Marcus didn’t follow.

We were on a slight rise, down in the valley below Water’s Fall. I swallowed when I saw its walls rising in the distance. From here, the camp spread out before us. There were tents everywhere, varying in size and placement, broken up with fire pits. There were horses everywhere, in clusters picketed near the shelters, and a herd that roamed the open expanse in the fields around the camp. Given its size, I could easily believe that the camp housed ten thousand men. It was huge, and seemed to stretch out all around us. It also seemed very quiet. “Where is everyone?”

Marcus grunted from inside the tent, and the two guards exchanged grins. “Sleeping off the celebration last night.” He pointed some ways off. “That is the tent of Simus.” He fixed me with that eye again, and I found myself taking a step back. “You go straight there, understand?”

I gulped, and nodded. He grunted again and folded his arms over his chest, making it clear that he intended to watch.

I moved off, walking on what appeared to be a beaten roadway. I had been a bit surprised when he said I could go, but now that I had seen the size of the camp, I understood. There would be no escape, even if that had been my intention.

The wide path between the tents had been beaten down by the passage of many horses. The shoes I had been given clomped through the bent grass. The sun was in and out of the clouds. Pennants snapped on the poles in front of various tents, of such bright colors that I had to stop and admire them. How did they get such bright colors? I wondered if they were decorative, or had other meanings. The pole in front of Simus’s shelter had quite a few, in a wide variety of colors and shapes. One look over my shoulder told me that Marcus was still watching me. I stopped before the closed flap, suddenly uncertain. Simus might welcome a healer, but what welcome would there be for a slave?

Before I had time to make a decision, the flap opened and Joden’s face appeared. It lit up when he recognized me. “I thought I heard someone out here. Come in, come in. No guards with you?” He stepped back, holding the flap open. “Simus, here’s someone new to listen to your grousing.” I ducked in and stood there blinking.

This tent was smaller than the one I had just left. There was a back area, but the front was kind of a sitting room with wooden blocks and pillows and a large brazier in the center that gave off a low heat. Simus was on a platform, propped up on pillows and covered with blankets. He glared at me as I came through the opening, but his face cleared when he recognized me. “Little healer!” He laughed, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “Welcome!”

I relaxed, and returned his smile. “Greetings, Simus. How are you?”

Simus gestured at Joden. “I am fine, but for this ox telling me that I cannot get out of this bed.” He glared at Joden, who returned the look. “Come, take a look, and tell me what you think.”

I knelt as Joden uncovered the wound and removed the bandage. I looked at the wound with a great deal of satisfaction. It was coming together nicely, and there was no sign of problems. “It looks well.” I started to put the bandage back in place, but Joden stopped me.

“Let me get clean ones, Warprize.” He moved to the back of the tent and disappeared behind the flap.

There was a cough outside the tent flap. “Come!” Simus called.

A large, blond man with a scraggy beard entered the tent. “Greetings, Simus.”

“Greetings, Iften.” Simus’s words were welcoming, but his face was reserved. I stayed where I was, daring a glance up at the big man. Not so tall as Simus, he was broad and strong, with big, rough hands. He glared down at me, then flicked his eyes to Simus’s leg. “A bad wound, Simus. Will you walk again?”

“If he is careful,” I answered. “And follows my advice.”

Iften stiffened, but did not respond. I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck, and they weren’t friendly. I didn’t move, staying still and silent for fear that slaves weren’t supposed to talk. I kept my eyes on Simus’s leg. Iften continued, ignoring me. “I wish words, Simus. This peace is madness.”

“Madness? Keir has won his victory, and achieved more than any had hoped.” Simus gestured toward me with his left hand. His right was buried in the blankets, and seemed curiously stiff. “You swore oaths to Keir, knowing his plans. Are you breaking them? Or perhaps you envy him his warprize, eh?”

Iften growled behind me. “She’s not—”

“Have a care, Iften. You hold no token.” I darted a glance to see that Simus’s face held a deadly look, which eased as he leaned back against his pillows. “The skies were with me. The warprize saved my life and leg.” Simus stressed the word.

Iften snorted. “Your life was saved by—” He cut off his words when Joden stepped back in, fresh cloths in his hand. Joden’s face closed off when he saw Iften. Without a word, he handed me the fresh bandages, then stepped back. I took them without comment, and started to work, aware of a curious tension between the men.

Iften cleared his throat, reached in a pouch at his belt and pulled out a strip of small bells. “I would have words, Simus. Alone.”

Simus kept his smile, but the look in his eyes changed. “I am speaking with the warprize, Iften. If you wish to wait…”

Iften snarled. “I will return.” He stomped past Joden, stuffing the bells away and left quickly.

Joden let out a breath I had not realized he was holding. “Simus…”

Simus pulled his right hand out from under the blanket, turning his head to give Joden a hard look. “Pah, you worry too much. Iften is all piss and wind.”

Joden busied himself with a container of kavage, answering in a quiet, worried voice. “He was a candidate for Warlord, and holds influence with many.”

“And lost the challenge for both Warlord and Token-bearer.” Simus snapped back. “Iften’s a fool, but an honor-able one. He’ll not challenge out of season.” Joden didn’t respond, but a curtain fell over his face. “Work in the shadows, yes. Challenge? No. Leave it to me, old friend.” Simus softened his voice. “ You’ve material for a hundred songs now, eh? With more to come.” Joden scowled, but Simus held up a hand. “Yes, there are problems. We will deal with them. Together.” Simus smirked. “With me at your side, and Keir’s support, who can stand against us?”

Joden relaxed, and rolled his eyes. “You’ve conceit enough for all three of us.”

Simus laughed. “It’s well that I do!” He grinned at me as I finished my task and sat back on my heels. “ What say you, little healer?”

“Is there any of the fever’s foe left?”

Simus barked out a laugh. “Your warriors took it before we were released.”

Joden chuckled. “One tried to get the kavage pot from Rafe, but when he smelled the contents he dropped it to the ground and kicked it. Rafe scrambled after it and has it still.”

I frowned, not liking this. There was always a danger of fever, even at this stage. “Maybe there is a healer here in camp that would have more.”

Simus growled. “No. Our warrior-priest was killed in one of the skirmishes a few days before my capture.” He sighed. “I wish no man death, but he caused more trouble than it was worth to have him along. He opposed Keir at every turn.”

“Besides,” Joden added. “I have never seen anything like that stuff you gave us.”

I perched among the pillows. Joden reached out toward me with a full mug of kavage, and then hesitated, as if not sure I’d accept. I took it, and smiled my thanks. He smiled in return, a big wide smile, and Simus ’s smile echoed his as Joden served them both. Joden also produced a bowl of the little white pellets and held it out. “Gurt?”

I managed not to wrinkle my nose in disgust. “No, thank you.”

Mug in hand, Simus growled and pinned me with a glare. “When can I get up and out of this tent?”

Ah, the familiar cries of a healing warrior. This I could deal with. I took a sip of kavage first, and the bitterness of the liquid burned in the back of my throat. “Not for at least five days… maybe more. If you stress the wound it could split open.” I smiled, trying to soften the effect of my words. “You would spoil my hard work.”

Simus looked away, scowling. “If’s fine.”

I knew that look. He was going to get up and move, regardless. No different from any Xyian warrior. I glanced over at Joden and caught his worried frown. Well, there’s more than one way to treat a wound. I leaned back on the cushions. “I am sure that you are right.” I let a frown cross my face. “Of course that is what Lanis told me after I bound up his foot when it had been sliced up in a stag hunt.” I shook my head, looking into my mug. “Lanis was a great bear of a man. Told me that it was a scratch and nothing more. Then he went off to drill his men and marched right along side them.” I looked over at Joden. “The next time I saw him was when they brought him to me. The wound had split open and putrefied. I did what I could, but the wound would not come clean.” I casually looked over at Simus. I had his complete attention. “He wept like a child when I had to cut off his foot.” I took a swig of kavage.

“How did he fare then?” Joden asked quietly.

“Oh well, the foot came off, but the blood poisoning had spread up into his leg.” I played with one of the tassels on the pillow. “It started to turn black and swelled to twice its size.” I took another drink. “The puss just oozed out. It was a shame, but we had no choice. A few days later I took his leg off at the knee.” I stared at the coals in the brazier. “I really thought I had gotten all the bad flesh out and that Lanis would make it.”

Simus coughed. I looked up and smiled at him. “The stump looked great. I was really proud of the work I had done.”

Simus cleared his throat. “How did he fare after…”

My face fell. “The blood poisoning got into his brain. We dosed him heavily with our best herbs, but he died screaming in agony.” I let the silence go on for a bit. “Could I have some more kavage, please?” I held out my mug to Joden, who filled it woodenly. “Oh, but that was nothing compared to…”

After the second cup of kavage, Simus was grey, Joden looked faint and I felt wide awake and full of energy.

I wondered what was in that stuff.

I didn’t stay much past the second mug. Once his color came back, Simus looked tired. I knew that he should rest. So I stood, said my farewells, and left the tent. Joden followed me out, saying that he needed more wood for the fire. Once outside, he put his hand on my shoulder. “My thanks. Simus will listen to you.”

I looked up. “I hope so. I didn’t make those stories up.”

Joden shuddered.

“Joden, where are the tents of the healers?” I frowned. “I am sure that they must have more fever’s foe, or something like it.”

“The warrior-priests do not share their knowledge,” Joden pointed off behind the tent and further down the rise to a group of tents clustered together. “His tent was there.” He hesitated. “My thanks again, Warprize. For the life of my friend.”

I studied him for a moment. “You used my name before, Joden.”

He smiled ruefully. “You are the warprize now.”

I grimaced, and turned to leave as he returned to the tent. I moved but a few steps toward Keir’s tent when I heard it. The sound of a whip being applied to someone’s flesh. I hesitated, and turned toward the sound, taking a few steps between the tents. A quick glance told me that the guards weren’t paying that much attention, so I moved a bit farther and looked toward the sound.

Behind the tents a man was tied to a post, stripped to the waist, his back bloody. Two men were standing there, one lashing at him with a whip. I knew military discipline was harsh, Father had talked about it. But it was one thing to talk of something, another to see. The lash fell with a regular rhythm, the man making harsh grunts as they landed. I froze in fear, horrified, as they stopped, untied him and watched as he dropped soundlessly to the ground. The other men picked him up by the arms, dragged him to the warrior-priest tent, and dropped him just inside the flap. They walked off, as if he was no longer their concern.

I expected some kind of outburst, some kind of response from inside the tent, but nothing happened. There were bedrolls, of warriors sleeping around open fires, but none stirred. I could still see the man’s foot in the tent entrance. No one was helping him.

The camp around us was stirring a bit more. I could see men moving about with weapons and horses, bent on various tasks. He’d be found eventually. But if he roused, and rolled over into the dirt… I took a tentative step forward, then another. There was no outcry, no calls of ‘escaping slave’. I hurried forward to help. The man’s foot never twitched as I carefully raised the flap of the main entrance and went inside.

I was hit with a terrible stench first thing. Gasping, I covered my nose with my shirt and looked around. What in the Goddess’s name…

It was a large tent, with fewer cots then had been up at the castle. Men lay in them, some moaning. The stench came from the overflowing slop pots under each cot. The man at my feet was unconscious, but breathing. From the look of it, none of these men had been tended, or bathed recently. There was no one about that looked to be caring for the men at all.

I staggered back out into the light and air, wiping my streaming eyes. I looked around, furious at this lack of care. There appeared to be some dozen warriors, sleeping around a fire pit at the side of the tent. The large cauldrons nearby told me that it was probably used for laundry. I stomped over, braiding up my hair as I went. Sure enough, these men looked healthy and sleeping off a drunk.

I hauled off and kicked the nearest one in the shins.

He yelled, coming out of the blanket. I had already moved on, kicking each body in quick succession. Their curses filled the air. I was unimpressed.

“Are you tending the men in that tent?” Spittle flew from my lips as I shouted, I was that angry. “How dare you sleep while men are suffering?” The one I was yelling at rubbed his face, looking at me owl-eyed. A hand came from behind me, gripped my upper arm and spun me around.

“What business is it of yours, dog? Eh?” A big blonde woman towered over me, clearly a veteran of long battles and hard living. The wonder of a woman warrior escaped me at the time, since she gave me a hard shake, her fingers digging into the muscle. I tried to pull away, but had no luck. I glared up at her.

“Those men in the tent need help while you laze by the fire.”

She shook me harder, and my hair came tumbling down. I braced my feet, trying to yank my arm free. That made her madder. I watched her other hand swing up to strike me.

The men grabbed her upraised hand, and voices raised, urging her to stop. One leaned over, whispering frantically. The veteran paled, dropped my arm like it was poisonous, and backed away. I rubbed my arm and followed her, step for step. “How can you leave men like that, while you take your comfort?” I stopped and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. They started to offer excuses and explanations, but I was in no mood to hear them. I spit on the ground before them. “That for your stories.” I gestured to the cauldrons. “Get the fires going and heat water, since that seems to be all you are good for.” With that I stomped back to the tent. I turned before I entered. “But don’t one of you set foot in this tent with these men. Do you understand me?” I did not wait for a response.

With water and much coaxing, I got the whipped man onto a cot, where he passed out again. I struggled to get the sides of the tents rolled up to air out the place. It was not a job for one person, but I’d be thrice damned before I’d ask for any help from the uninjured warriors outside the tent. Once that was accomplished, I moved through the tent and checked each one quickly. The majority were recovering from wounds although a few were clearly feverous. One had a bad cough that worried me greatly. They all had warm blankets, although it was clear that none of those had been changed in some time.

I stomped back outside and hollered at those lazy dolts. “Get some kavage and food for these men.” I stomped back in. I didn’t wait to see if I was obeyed. They’d feel my wrath if I wasn’t.

There were clean blankets and bedding in an area at the back. A table was spread out with some jars, knives and other tools. Most of the jars held nothing I recognized, but one had a thick, gooey substance. I held it to my nose, and knew it immediately. Boiled skunk cabbage. I tried some on my inner wrist, and felt the tingle. There was soap as well. I made a quick round, assessing them, trying to decide who to aid first. There were five, and it quickly became clear these men were not mistreated, but had been neglected. The bloody back was in need of aid first, then I’d see to the others.

Hot water was waiting by the tent entrance, and I bathed the poor man’s back, wishing for my basket of medicines. Thankfully, the man didn’t rouse as I used the skunk cabbage to clean the wounds. I moved on to the others, bathing sweating faces and chests, easing their misery, checking wounds. I noted the ones that would need more treatment in the way of medicines and herbs as we moved along. Goddess knew where I’d get the medicines, but that was a problem for later.

A young boy appeared soon after I started, a gangly child with red hair and brown eyes. He was loaded down with kavage, warm biscuits and gurt. He seemed startled to see me, but cheerfully agreed to help. He had a tendency to talk, mouth running like a mountain brook as he gave each man some food and kavage. But his piping voice was a contrast to the rough tones of warriors and put smiles on all our faces.

Food and care roused the men, and with help, most could manage to get themselves clean. That bunch outside at least managed to keep a supply of hot water coming. I had started a pile of dirty linens outside the tent. When the blonde suggested that they aid me, I didn’t say a word. I just pointed at the pile of linens. They took the hint.

The red-haired lad popped up next to me as I was cleaning a gashed forearm. “I’s done, warrior. I’s saved ya some biscuits and kavage, though they be cold now.”

“I’m not a warrior.” I replied absently. “I’m a healer.”

His eyes got large suddenly. “You’re the warprize.”

I reddened but kept working. My patient however, jerked up his head, and stared at the boy. “Warprize?”

“Lie still.” I snapped at the man. He did just that, and made no further complaint.

The lad leaned over my shoulder and craned his long neck. “What ya doing?”

“Cleaning out this wound. It’s soured.” This was the worst of the injuries, and I was concerned about this man’s condition.

He didn’t pull back. “How can ya tell?”

“Smell.”

He drew in a breath through his nose, which wrinkled in disgust. “That’s the smell?”

I nodded as I tied off the bandage.

He seemed to think for a minute. “I’s need get back, they’ll be looking for me. I’s be back later, with some soup and bread.” He took a step away, then turned back. His brown eyes focused on me thoughtfully. “You’re not like a warrior-priest, is ya?”

“I am a healer.”

He looked confused, but smiled anyway. “I’s can ask ya questions? You don’t mind?”

“Of course I’ll answer your questions.” I looked up into his eager face and had to smile. “What’s your name?”

“I’s Gils.” He grinned, “I’s be back with the supper.” Off he went, whistling down the path.

At last, we were done. Each man was warm, clean, treated, and fed. Time to start the last chore. I started at the far end of the tent and worked my way toward the entrance, carefully taking each slop pot and emptying it into a large bucket that looked to be for that purpose. I then took the bucket by the handle and walked it out of the entrance of the tent, passed the slackers, who were by the large fires trying to look busy. And innocent. On my first trip, one had approached me to help, but I had glared him off. Now they just sat and watched. Each time I walked past, they seemed to sink lower in their seats by the fires.

I emerged from the tent with the last bucketful to a sky faintly tinged with pinks and yellows. I didn’t even glance to the sides, but set my weary eyes on the latrine. A slight noise distracted me, and I looked off to the side to see the slackers standing there at attention, looking rather pale. From behind me I heard a cough, and I turned quickly. Too quickly, as the bucket slopped over on to my trous.

There sat Keir on his warhorse, all black leather and armor, leaning forward, arms crossed on the saddle before him, looking angry and grim.

I blinked.

He raised an eyebrow, and spoke in a calm and even tone. “Would someone care to explain why the warprize is cleaning slop pots?”

I drew myself up, being careful with the bucket this time. “Because these bragnect are not worthy of the task.” There were gasps from behind me. I ignored them. I turned and headed to the latrine to finish my task.

I’d have to remember to ask Joden what that word meant.

When I had finished my job and rinsed the empty bucket, I turned and walked back up the rise. The Warlord was still there by the tent. The warriors that had been standing there were gone. Keir dismounted, secured his horse, and followed me into the tent without a word.

I stood there for a moment surveying my handiwork. The tent smelled clean and fresh, and the men were resting in comfort. Keir moved past me, and started talking to his men, moving through the tent with ease. I went over to a stool near where they stored what medicines they had, and started sorting them. At least, that was what I pretended to do. Instead, I watched my master. I really hadn’t had a chance to see him clearly. Well, other than this morning. My face warmed at the thought. He moved among them with no ceremony, no formality. Even knelt to speak to the whipped warrior.

While the movements of other warriors were controlled and powerful, he was different. There was a flow, a grace that I had not seen before. The way he grasped one man’s hand, how he would tilt his head and listen to another. And one breathtaking moment when he smiled at a comment and his face relaxed into a thing of beauty.

Which made my role as sex slave even more wildly absurd. Especially with women like the blonde around, tall and strong and… ample. With women warriors like that wandering the camp, how did one brown-haired, short and… well… less than ample warprize compare?

He finished, stood and looked around. I looked back down at the various bottles and jars and really had no idea what was in them at all. As he walked over to me, it suddenly occurred to me that I had not done as Marcus had bidden me. I stood when he approached, but kept my head down.

“There will be men coming with the evening meal who will tend these men.”

I looked up quickly, scowling.

“Different men, not the ones that were here earlier.” Keir looked around. “Our supper is waiting for us.” He held open the flap and waited for me to go first. I paused and looked up at him. He just stared back, noncommital. No anger that I could see. I stepped through and waited for him to retrieve his horse. I thought he would mount, but he grabbed up the reins and started walking. I followed behind, but he waited for me to move up beside him. Then he wrinkled his nose. The horse snorted, and shook its head. Keir moved to the upwind side and we proceeded on.

I cleared my throat. “I checked on Simus. He is doing very well.”

No response. I continued. “He wants to be up and moving, but I think I convinced him to stay off the leg for another day or so.”

Still no response. I sighed and decided to shut up. The sun was almost gone now, the colors of the night sky fading into black over our heads. We were getting closer to his tent, and I was getting nervous. Finally, I blurted out, “Are you going to punish me?”

Silence.

“One of the warriors had been beaten, and just dumped inside the tent.” Nervously, I blithered on, afraid of the silence. “I couldn’t just leave him lying there. Those men needed aid, they had no one to help them, no one to care for…” My voice trailed off and died at the expression on Keir’s face.

“Marcus became concerned when you did not return. He sent for me, and I have been searching for you. It looks bad to lose one’s warprize on the very first day.” The voice was quiet, his face unreadable.

“Are you going to punish me?” My voice cracked slightly.

“No.” Keir handed his reins to one of the guards who came up. He turned with an odd expression on his face. “I won’t need to.”

Just then, the tent flap pulled back. I turned, startled, to find one very angry Marcus standing there. His scarred face transformed into a snarl of rage.

I gulped, and stepped back a pace, bumping into Keir.

“Where have the likes of you been?” His voice cut through the night. “Had to send Hisself out to find you, that I did.” He moved back to allow me to step into the tent. “How hard is it to find the tent of Simus? Eh? Then return here?” he glared at me, his hands on his hips. “Where have you been?” He frowned, then drew in a deep breath. His eye widened and his face screwed up in disgust. Keir had followed me into the tent, and I heard a soft chuckle from behind me. Marcus’s glare deepened as he raked his eye over my clothes. I looked down. For the first time I noticed the stains and wrinkles. I swallowed hard and looked over my shoulder for help.

None was forthcoming. Keir arched an eyebrow at me. “I’ll return after awhile.” I could have sworn he grinned as he turned away and left the tent.

“No sense, no sky-blessed brains.” Marcus grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me into the back sleeping area. “Been rolling in the muck pits, eh?” He vanished for a moment and returned with a sheet. “ Strip and wrap up in this.”

“Marcus, I…”

That one eye glared at me fiercely. I grabbed the sheet and held it to me as I slid out of my shirt.

“Hisself says ‘take care of warprize, look after warprize.” Marcus stomped off with the shirt. I took the opportunity to shed the rest and get the sheet wrapped around me. His voice floated out of the other room. “Doesn’t tell Marcus that the warprize doesn’t have the brains that the elements gave a gosling.” He stomped back in and gathered up my stuff, holding it at arms length. He fixed me with another glare. “ Standing there? When there is hot water going cold?” He gestured into the privy area.

I moved rapidly, but with some dignity into that room, closing the flap behind me. Marcus followed me in. “Stand there.” He pointed to the wooden platform in the center. “Water drains out below. You understand? Or do I need to wash you myself?” His one eye cut into me as I shook my head and clutched my sheet tighter around me.

Exasperated, he flung up his hands. “Warprize you may be, but nothing there I’ve not seen before.” With that he stomped out, but his voice pierced the canvas as he left. “Gosling? Did I say gosling?” He growled out the words. “More like the brains of an ox.”

I cringed back from the door, and stood for a moment, getting my heart and breath under control. Really, Marcus was no different from Anna, right? I kept trying to convince myself of that as I turned and found four buckets of water steaming there, and soap and scrub rags waiting on a small table. Marcus was still talking, his voice fading in and out as he moved about. Thankfully, I couldn’t make out the details.

There were stones under the platform and I realized that it had some sort of drain underneath it. I dropped the blanket, stood on the platform, and carefully poured some of the first bucket over my head and body. The warm water felt wonderful. I grabbed the soap and rags and started to lather, working over every inch of my body and up into my hair. I missed the great pools of the castle bath house, where you could soak in the warm water up to your neck. But this must pass for luxury in an army camp. I relished the feel of the mild soap on my body. I closed my eyes at the feel of the grime of the day washing away.

“Need help with the water?” Marcus growled, calling from the outer room. “Not be making a mess in there that this one has to clean?”

I froze in the act of stepping off the platform to reach the next bucket of water. I looked at the floor of the tent and decided that modesty was not worth more of his anger. “Yes, please.” I called, as I returned to scrubbing my hair, trying to keep the suds from flying about.

Suddenly, there was a small amount of water trickling down over me, rinsing the suds from my hair and body. Grateful for the help, I quickly finished the scrubbing, and used my hands to rinse the soap from my body. The water continued to come down in a steady small stream. It felt wonderful.

“Thank you, Marcus. I feel much better.” I reached blindly for the towel that had been laid out on the table. One was placed in my grasping hand.

“Good.”

That was not Marcus.

My hands jerked convulsively to cover myself when I opened my eyes to stinging soap, and up into blue eyes, but I stilled them. I was his property after all. I dropped my gaze and clutched the towel. Keir took it from my hands and wrapped it around me. He took another one and wrapped up my dripping hair.

Without a word, he scooped me up, walked into the bedroom and sat me on the edge of the bed. He stepped back, then sat on one of the tree trunks. I used the towel to work the remaining water out of my hair, keeping my eyes downcast. Fingers through my hair would have to suffice, since I had yet to see a comb. There was a bundle of clothing on the edge of the bed next to me.

“What scent did you have on your hair last night?”

“Vanilla.” I shivered as his eyes roamed over me. He stood, and started to remove his armor and weapons, placing them on the bench by the bed. I gathered up the clothes that had been put on the edge of the bed, and very casually moved back toward the bathing area.

Just as I was about to dart within, he spoke. “I liked it.”

I froze, but he said nothing else, merely continued to work at the straps on his breastplate. I took a step, dropped the flap, then dried and changed with all the speed I could. Once clothed, I felt much better. The same kind of tunic and trous this time, although black in color. I folded up the drying cloths, and stepped back into the sleeping area.

Keir was on a bench, removing his boots. Dishes were rattling off somewhere. Marcus must be making our meal.

Keir glanced up.

I risked a smile. “I think that Marcus is calming down.”

“Really?” His expression did not change, but there was a hint of laughter in his voice. “Marcus?” he called out. “The warprize did not eat at noon.”

The rattling dishes stilled and I heard an enraged cry. I hunched down as Marcus stomped into the room. “What? You think you live on air and light?” He glared at me, with both hands on his hips. “City dwellers.” He said it with disgust, and switched his glare to the larger man.

“I had kavage with Joden and Simus.” I voiced a small protest.

Marcus focused on me again. It was amazing how much anger one eye could hold. “You were told to take nothing except from the hand of the Warlord.”

I cringed and looked over at Keir, who gazed at us both with a straight face. This time I was sure I saw a glimmer of laughter in those eyes.

“Marcus is right.” Keir’s eyes grew serious. “While Simus and Joden have my trust, you are not to take anything from anyone else.” He rose from the bed and went to take his turn in the privy room. Marcus let loose a stream of words under his breath, and stomped out, using words and phrases that I did not understand. I sat there quietly as he stomped back in with two buckets of water for Keir. He was still muttering under his breath when he emerged, radiating anger with every step. I opened my mouth to say that I couldn’t have eaten if I couldn’t take food from another’s hand, but closed it quickly. Silence seemed wiser.

Marcus returned with a heavy tray and started the dishes to rattling as he placed them on the table. “No food.” He transferred dishes at a rate that made me fear for my life. “Didn’t rest.” He stepped back, surveying his handiwork. “Rolled in muck pits, that she did.” That one eye was focused on me again. “Sit. ” He pointed to the chair.

I sat.

“Hands.”

I held them out, and Marcus poured the water over them, muttering something that did not sound like a prayer.

“Eat.” He crossed his arms.

“Shouldn’t I wait for…” My stomach chose that moment to express its interest in the food. At the sound, Marcus’ sole eye tapered its focus and drilled into me.

“Eat.”

I ate.

As soon as my mouth was full, Marcus started to explain, in detail, the meaning of the words ‘food’ and ‘ rest’. I decided that the wisest choice was to keep nodding and eating.

Finally, Keir emerged from the privy room. “Marcus.”

Marcus stopped and looked over.

“Enough.”

Marcus clamped his mouth tight, poured the water over Keir’s hands, then stomped off, muttering.

The food in my mouth turned to straw. I managed to swallow, but it was a struggle. I’d no idea what to say, how to act, suddenly very aware of the bed behind me. I worried my lip, kept my face down, and focused on the table.

The Warlord was in no hurry. He helped himself to the food and started eating. After a bit, I decided that it looked odd, to sit without eating or talking, so I started back up as well, careful to take small bites.

“It was my fault.”

I stopped chewing when he spoke. With a mouthful of food, I simply raised my eyebrows.

“The tents. I knew that our warrior-priest had been killed in one of the battles. I meant to assign someone else to the wounded, but Simus went missing and in my rush, I forgot.” He looked down and toyed with his food. “I apologized to the men.”

I swallowed hard at the last and stared at him in disbelief.

Marcus chose that moment to come back into the tent, a wineskin and two goblets in hand. As he poured, he eyed us both. “Much good the food does, sitting on the table. Eat.” He set the goblets down on the table, slung the wineskin on the back of Keir’s chair, and cuffed Keir lightly on the head. “You as well, oh mighty one.” Then he stomped off, still muttering to himself. I held my breath at his nerve. Keir smiled a wry smile, and reached for the meat.

Uneasy, I kept eating. Thankfully, Keir seemed more focused on his food than on me. I took another bite, determined to stay quiet, but something was bothering me. After a sip of kavage, I risked a question. “What of the other healers?” I asked. “Why didn’t they just do what needed to be done?”

Keir shrugged. “There are no others.”

“What?” I dropped my bread. “An army of this size, and you have no other healers? No assistants or apprentices?”

Keir pulled some bread from the loaf. “Every man in this army is a warrior. There are no healers. The men pick up some basic knowledge on campaign. Men assigned to the wounded are on punishment detail.” He shrugged. “So it has always been.”

“That’s insane! With an army this size? What about wounds like Simus’s?”

“Men die from them.” His face was shadowed. “Either the wound kills them, or they are granted mercy.”

I stopped, appalled to see his face full of pain. Someone this man had cared for had died that way.

Keir turned his head. “Marcus is coming.”

I started shoveling food into my face. Marcus walked in and surveyed the table with a frown. He grunted, apparently satisfied and walked back out. As soon as I figured it was safe, I spoke. “That ends now.” I glared at him. “That is what I do, part of what I am, and I am good at it.”

He looked at me. “You would do this? Would ask to do this?”

I faltered and dropped my eyes. A little late to be remembering my place, but I’d be damned before I let those men be neglected. “I would.” I risked a glance up, trying to read that expression, with no success. But hope grew when he nodded slowly. “You’ll let me?”

He gave me a long look. “Yes. It would strengthen the peace, after the deaths.”

“Deaths?” I asked, then remembered. “The horses?”

“Slain with bolts from crossbows. A weapon only Xyians use.”

“You must get word to Xymund. He will find the—”

His look was dark. “What if he has ordered these attacks?”

“Xymund would not do that. He has given his oath, he has given—” I stopped, not wanting to think about that aspect. “He would not do that.” Yet deep within I remembered the hatred in his voice when he talked to Warren about the horses of the Firelanders.

Keir seemed skeptical, and turned his attention to his plate. He seemed lost in thought for a moment. We ate in silence, and I wondered how far I could push. Finally, I took a drink of wine. “I will need supplies for the tent.”

“Supplies?” He pushed his plate back with his thumb and just looked at me. I looked down at my plate and found it empty, as were the other dishes. Guess I was fairly hungry after all.

Marcus bustled in and cleared the dishes, leaving the skin and the goblets. He stood with a tray in hand and looked at me.

“Warprize.”

I looked up, surprised.

He stared at me, no trace of his former anger, his voice calm. “I have heard of your actions this afternoon. That was well done.” Then he scowled. “But next time I will truly give you the sharp edge of my tongue, you don’t follow my direction. Yes?” He gave Keir a nod and bid us both good night.

I looked at Keir. He was leaning back in his chair, contemplating his goblet. I took another sip of mine. It was rich and fruity on my tongue.

Keir stirred. “Supplies? What do you need?”

“Herbs and the like. I need medicines, especially willow bark.”

“Willow? What is that?” he asked, puzzled.

I opened my mouth, shifting on my seat. The rough wood of the stump caught at my trous, and I gasped, realizing what I was sitting on. I stood up, threatening to over turn the table, and knelt by my stool. Crowing in delight, I started to peel the bark off the wood. They’d cut the blocks from willow.

“Warprize?” Keir leaned forward to see what I was doing.

I laughed, and tore at the wood, stripping the drying bark off the block. I turned and held it up. “Willow bark!”

He frowned, not understanding.

“I can brew a medicine from this. It’s called fever’s foe.” I shook my head. “I’ve been sitting on it all this time and…” I piled the bark on the table.

Keir laughed. I looked over and met his steady appraisal. “You are passionate about your trade.” He cocked his head. “Your profession?”

I nodded.

He stood and stretched, taking his time. It was a treat to my eyes. Then he leaned over me, and I was caught by bright blue eyes.

“Let’s explore what other passions you may have.” With that he swept me up and over onto the bed.