Dragonfly (21 page)

"How's the leg?" Ramil asked tersely, not looking at her.

Tashi thought his manner cold but put it down to their being affronted by her failure to call on them earlier. "Much better, thank you. The stitches have 204

been taken out. I think I'm fit again, though Professor Norling still wants to cosset me a while longer."

"So what have you been doing closeted with Merl all week?" Ramil enquired, polishing his blade vigorously.

She raised an eyebrow. "How did you know about that?"

"The camp gossip. They're talking of how he's hardly left your side."

She rubbed her ankles, pulling her knees to her chest. "Actually, that is what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh, yes?" Ramil's tone was stil hostile.

Tashi turned to Gordoc's more friendly face. "I'm a stranger to your ways and I wondered if you could tell me about . . . well, you know . . . how men and women treat each other here."

Ramil dropped his sword with a clatter. He grabbed it up again swiftly.

"What do you want to know, my pretty?" Gordoc asked, his expression one of puzzlement. "Do you want me to scare Merl off--thump him for you? Just tell him your Uncle Gordoc will have words with him if he offends you."

"No, no, I don't mean that." Tashi smiled. "He's not insulted me--at least, not by Eastern standards, I suppose." She wrinkled her nose.

"What's he done?" growled Ramil.

"Well, first there's the gifts--flowers and jewelry, mainly. What should I say when he gives me things?"

"Thank you' usually does the trick," said Gordoc

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bluntly. "That's what the girls I know do. They put them away for a rainy day."

"So it doesn't mean anything if I accept them?"

"It means you are encouraging his attentions. Do you want to encourage him?" Ramil asked, mustering all his self-control. She was free to be romanced by whoever she liked, he reminded himself, though he really wanted to tell her to throw the gifts back at the red-haired, fox-faced flirt.

Tashi shrugged. Ramil now noticed she had a new chain around her neck--a costly one by the looks of it.

"I
don't know." She sighed. "I want to be nice to him. I'm grateful for all that he's done for me."

"And what else has he done?" Ramil couldn't keep the suspicion from his voice, but Tashi did not seem to notice.

"Well, he pays me extravagant compliments all the time--"

"That usually means nothing," Ramil advised. "Not that they aren't deserved," he added hastily.

"Don't you start!" Tashi laughed. "But the thing that worries me most are his kisses."

"Kisses!" Ramil jumped up and strode to the other side of the room.

Tashi frowned. "Is that very shocking? I thought it might be but I wasn't sure."

"What kind of kisses?" Ramil sounded as if someone was strangling him.

"Oh, just light ones on my hands and neck a couple of times, once on my lips."

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"And did you kiss him back?"

"Ram! Of course I didn't! What do you take me for? I just wasn't sure what was allowed and what wasn't. He always does it in a very respectful way."

"It's never respectful to kiss a girl on the lips, Tashi," Ramil warned her.

"He's taking advantage of your ignorance."

Tashi bit her lip. "Oh."

"But if you like him, my pretty, it is not wrong to kiss," Gordoc said fairly, stretching out on the cushions with a reminiscent smile.

"It would be very wrong back at home. We never touch our admirers and only accept poems and paper flowers," Tashi told him.

"Kissing is nice. It's fun," Gordoc continued. "But you must not let him do any more unless you want to bed him."

"Gordoc!" Tashi was now blushing bright red, as was Ramil. "I didn't come here for that kind of advice."

Gordoc looked confused. He propped himself up on his elbow. "Where I come from, Tashi, men and women bed each other first, then wed when they have children. No one wants a barren wife. Merl may wish to find this out."

Tashi got up. "I'm not. . . that wasn't what I meant." She got up, fastening her cloak with clumsy fingers. "Forget I asked."

She limped out quickly. Gordoc raised an eyebrow at Ramil who was still standing on the other side of the tent.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

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Lady Egret, a Brigardian noble in exile, begged an interview with King Lagan three weeks after Midwinter.

"Must I see her?" he asked Lord Taris with a groan, clearing a space on his desk for a new file of army reports.

"If it was any other Brigardian I would say no," replied the Prime Minister,

"but Lady Egret is not one of the troublesome ones and has more sense in her little finger than most of them do in the whole of their bodies."

"I could do with some sense myself," mused the King. "We're facing an invincible army and an impossible fight and stil I have absolutely no intention of surrendering. All right, send her in."

King Lagan rose to greet the tiny elderly noble who entered supporting herself on an ebony walking stick.

"Lady Egret, it is a pleasure to see you," he said in a kindly tone, directing her to a chair. "How can I help you?"

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The old lady settled her black shawls comfortably and handed her stick to Lord Taris.

"I have a confession to make, Your Majesty," she said briskly.

"Oh?" King Lagan smiled. He could not imagine this grandmotherly person having anything very shocking to say.

"Yes, and you will not be pleased with me. It is time I outed myself as a spy."

"A spy?" exclaimed Lord Taris. "For who?"

"For whom, dear, whom," she corrected him. "For the resistance movement in Brigard, of course."

King Lagan relaxed. The resistance movement was no threat to Gerfal and he doubted very much she had been in a position to pass them any vital information.

"I'm afraid I've kept them abreast of all council deliberations thanks to my sources in the palace," she continued, oblivious to the reactions her words were causing in her two listeners. "That, of course, will cease from this moment. I hope from now on our cooperation will be frank and aboveboard, particularly when I give you this." She handed over a letter. "I received it this morning and only just decoded it."

Lagan took the paper in trembling fingers. "It's from Ramil," he said hoarsely, reading it through quickly. "He's escaped--as has the Princess--by Thorsin, I knew he had it in him!" He scanned it all the way to the bottom, absorbing the request for assistance for Duke Nerul. Overcome with joy and relief, he knelt,

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seized the old lady's hand and kissed it fervently. "Lady Egret, you are a jewel."

She smiled fondly at him and tapped his head with her finger. "Tush, tush, Your Majesty, you'll turn this poor woman's head if you go on in that fashion.

Your boy's well, that's the main thing. He and the lass have given Fergox something to cry about, stealing his horse and everything." She chuckled.

"The girl's sent a message to her people too. I will deliver it immediately."

She cocked a quizzical eyebrow. "That's if you are not going to arrest me as a spy?"

"Arrest you, my dear lady? I want to marry you for bringing me that news!"

"Sorry, Your Majesty, but Lord Egret wouldn't be pleased if you did that."

Smiling, she rose and walked out, her stick clicking on the marble tiles.

Lord Taris had now read the letter through.

"I take it, Your Majesty, we intend to help the resistance?" he asked.

"Absolutely, we are fighting the same war after all." Lagan smiled and stretched his arms, feeling one of his heaviest burdens had fallen from his shoulders. He no longer had to tiptoe around Fergox in fear of reprisals on his son. They now had a straight fight before them. Lagan rubbed his hands together, beginning to see all sorts of possibilities with Nerul's men behind enemy lines. "Find out what we can do, will you? Ramil mentions arms and support from the sea."

"We could do with Blue Crescent aid for this, sir,"

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Taris said. "I wonder what Princess Taoshira has written in her communication."

"We should've asked the old girl. Track her down and see if she is at liberty to tell us, will you? At the very least, I hope it means I will get my Briony back again. I know, I'll hold a party for her--and take her on a pony ride--I think that will be quite in order, if I can be spared from my official duties for the afternoon."

"You're the King," Taris reminded him with a smile.

"But you're my conscience, Taris, you know that."

"Then your conscience says we should keep his highness's current location secret, but an announcement of his escape is most desirable. Therefore, a party is quite in order--if not essential--for the morale of the nation."

"Excellent. I really should promote you, old friend. Only trouble is, there's nowhere to go but down from your office."

"I am well aware of that, Your Majesty."

Lord Taris bowed and went out to spread the good news in the court.

The wagon train was making heavy going of the road from Tigral to the furthest corner of Fergox's empire where his armies were massing. The winter weather was no help, and the soldiers had experienced endless trouble: broken bridges, badly signposted crossroads, unexplained

diversions, poor workmanship from farriers, causing the cart horses to shed their shoes a mile down

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the road. Anyone would think that the people of Brigard were trying to impede the work of the army. Surely they hadn't forgotten so quickly the war that had crushed them and the bloody public reprisals? The commander of the supply wagons made a mental note to suggest to Fergox that the populace be reminded forcefully that they were under occupation and should give all cooperation to their new masters.

"Can't wait to be back in Holt," complained the commander, riding his horse at the head of the procession. Twenty carts rumbled along behind him, full of food and arms for the Felixholt garrison. "Got a nice little girl tucked away in the Dovemarket at Tigral. She thinks soldiering is all fighting and heroics and don't believe me when I tell her it's grunt work for idiots."

His second-in-command riding beside him nodded as he chewed on a piece of dried meat stolen from the supplies.

"My boys are the same--all mad to be soldiers and won't listen to me," he remarked. "Still, we're nearly there now, sir. There're some good inns in Felixholt and the priests are allowing extra fights to the death in the Wargod's ceremonies--soldiers against prisoners. Should be worth seeing."

Just then the bridge on the road in front of them exploded in a cloud of dust and a deafening report. Fragments of wood and stone rained down on the soldiers. Horses screamed and reared in panic.

"Draw your swords!" yelled the commander, mastering his mount and galloping back down the line. His

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second was lying in the mud, struck through the eye by flying shrapnel.

Resistance fighters in green and brown emerged from the bushes on either side of the road. Arrows flew out of the trees, picking off the men in the wagon driving seats. Soldiers fell to pike and sword before they had time to raise their own weapons. The commander found himself face to face with a dark-skinned rebel on a fearsome warhorse, far superior in height and skill to his own. Their swords met but he knew within seconds he was out-classed.

He felt fear, then pain, then nothing.

The fight was short and bloody. Nerul had instructed that they should take no prisoners and allow no one to escape to carry news of the attack to Felixholt.

The supplies and men were simply to vanish from the road. Melletin took command of the wagons, ordering his men to roll them onto some rafts constructed for the purpose. They were quickly poled away by the watermen into the reeds, their stores to be used to supply the resistance and feed the needy people of the region. The heavy horses were led off to stables in out-of-the-way farms. The bodies of the enemy dead were stripped and then thrown into a pit some distance from the road for mass burial. It was ugly and brutal work. Ramil was revolted by the bloodshed but he knew it was necessary. These wagons were the lifeline of Fergox's army--an army that would kill all who stood in their way. As rider of the fastest horse, he and a handful of others were sent in pursuit of those who had lied. This felt particularly horrible work, cutting down men who were trying to escape. But if they carried word

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of the resistance to Fergox, the reprisals locally would be merciless as the population would rightly be assumed to be harboring enemies of the Empire.

The last man down, Ramil dismounted and vomited into the reeds. He would never again make the mistake of thinking that battle was glorious.

Tashi had known nothing about the raid. By the rules of the resistance, such things were kept strictly to those who were involved, so she was surprised to find Melletin's tent empty when she called by late that evening. She hadn't dared come back before now; her cheeks still flushed as she remembered Gordoc's ham-fisted attempt to advise her. She'd spent hours agonizing that Ramil would be thinking worse of her and finally could stand it no longer.

She had to come and see him just to check that he was still her friend.

Finding no one at home, she decided to wait for a few minutes. She made herself comfortable by the stove, throwing on a couple more logs to warm the place up for the men when they returned.

"My pretty!" Gordoc stood in the doorway, beaming at her. He was wet and covered with mud and other stains, looking quite wild.

"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, yes, just a little tussle out on the road. Nothing for you to worry about."

Gordoc strode to a washstand and began to clean himself up. The water turned pink as he rinsed his hands.

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Tashi got up to pour fresh water into the basin for him. "Where did you get hurt? I can't see a wound."

"Nor will you, Princess. I'm afraid that's not my blood but the other fellow's."