Every Battle Lord's Nightmare (20 page)

            The man was oblivious to anyone coming up behind him, which suited her just fine. Pulling her long knife from its scabbard, she grabbed the guy by the sleeve and jerked it downward. The action forced the man to whirl around, and she shoved the tip of the blade underneath his chin.

            “Who…” He glared at her. “How dare you!”

            “How dare
you,
you arrogant bastard. Striking an unarmed woman! Didn’t your mother teach you any better?”

            Although the man was short in stature, he was as round as he was tall. But a lot of that extra poundage was as much muscle as it was fat. The man had a long reddish beard and longer hair, both of which were braided and tied off with a bit of leather.

            “Get that rat sticker out of my face before I—”

            “Before you what?” Paas interrupted. She pressed the point a little deeper, drawing a bead of blood.

            “You have no right to interfere in personal matters!” His eyes swept the area, possibly hoping to find an ally or someone who would intervene.

            Luckily for her, there was no one else. Paas smiled. “I don’t care a squirrel’s own nuts about your personal matters. But I
do
care about big old boys like you beating up on a thin slip of a girl.”

“She’s my property. I’m allowed to do what I feel is necessary!”

“Since when is a beating necessary? A simple command isn’t good enough for you?”

The man snorted. “I’m within my rights…Mutah. Go back to your filthy hovel where you belong, or else I’ll have the soldiers come and arrest you.”

“Arrest me? For what? For keeping you from harming this woman any further than you already have?”

“She’s my property!” the man insisted. “She disobeyed direct orders from Highcliff! She has to learn obedience!”

A slight movement of his waist caught Paas’ attention. She twisted the knife a hair’s breadth. “Better keep you hand away from that sword, or else I might accidentally slice that tongue in two…from underneath.”

            “I’m notifying the soldiers to arrest your ass,” he growled. “We’ll see how much of a smart ass you are from Highcliff’s dungeons.”

            “Go ahead.” She gave him a hard push. The man stumbled but didn’t fall. He shot the woman a look of pure hate, then hurried away. Paas figured he wouldn’t be gone long.

            “Hey. You okay?” She went over to help the woman to her feet. It was then she realized that what she’d thought was the woman’s hair, or wings, were her ears. Wide, pale, and almost transparent, they fluttered slightly in the wind. In addition, the woman seemed barely past her pubes. If she was sixteen, Paas would be surprised.

The woman pulled on her sleeves to hide evidence of bruises and old scars which marked her arms. Another bruise, now a pallid greenish-yellow, covered her left cheek and jaw. “I’m all right,” she murmured. “You’d better go. Mig doesn’t threaten what he doesn’t carry out. He’ll be back soon with soldiers to arrest you.”

“The man was abusing you!”

“Because I disobeyed a direct command,” the woman insisted.

Paas shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Lots of couples argue and fight, but he has no right to beat you. He’s three times bigger than you!”

The woman gave her a little shove in the direction of the ladder. “You must leave. Quickly!”

Paas stood her ground. “Not until you tell me what you did to supposedly earn that kind of punishment.”

“I left my station,” was the simple response.

“Station? You mean your home?”

The woman shook her head. Her gossamer ears seemed to float about her face. “It’s not my home. It’s where I belong.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not getting what you mean.” Paas pointed in the direction where the man had disappeared down another ladder. “Who is that guy? Is he your boyfriend? Your lover? Your father?”

The young woman sighed, her eyes darting around in fear. “Mig is… He’s my master. He owns me. My job is to feed him, and to care for him, and keep his home clean…” Her voice trailed off, and the gut-wrenching truth nearly made Paas sick.

“And to keep his bed warm, too, I bet,” she almost spat.

The woman tried to smile, but failed. “It’s my duty,” she softly commented.

Paas made a rude noise. “That’s coon shit if I ever heard it. Okay, so you left your station. I was watching you from below. You couldn’t have been gone more than a couple of minutes. Besides, you didn’t go onto the faire grounds. You were right up here the whole time!”

The woman shrugged her thin shoulders. “It doesn’t matter how long I was gone, or that I didn’t go to ground level. Master Highcliff declared the festivities were off limits to us, and ordered us to remain at our stations for the duration.”

“Oh, so
he’s
good enough to attend, but not you?”

The woman shook her head. Paas couldn’t help but stare at the way her ears delicately fluttered like butterfly wings. “The order was to all of us, not just to…those of us who serve.”

Paas stared at her in disbelief. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing. Here you have this big faire in your own compound, and you’re not allowed to attend it? Why not?”

Again, another shrug. “I am not allowed to question any commands. Now, please, go. I don’t want you to suffer at my expense. Please. I−I must return upstairs as soon as possible.”

Realizing the woman could be brutally punished again if she was found in Paas’ company, Paas started to leave, but grabbed the woman’s small, cold hand as she turned to go.

“This isn’t over. That man has no right to do what he did, and he certainly doesn’t
own
you. I’ll be watching from below. And if I see him try anything again, I’ll be back. I promise you. By the way, my name is Paas. What’s yours?”

The woman-child gave her another trembling smile. “Keelor. Keelor Ferran.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Game

            When Atty stepped out of the shed housing the public latrines, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Paxton’s broad back as the man stood guard while waiting for her. Buttoning her coat, she moved up beside him.

            “It’s starting to snow.”

            He glanced upward. “Yeah, but it won’t last long.”

            She sniffed, and the action unleashed a spell of sneezing that lasted several seconds. When she was done, she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to blow her nose.

            “Are you okay, Atty?”

            “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

            His concern was evident in his eyes and in his tone. “I hope you’re not coming down with what Yulen has.”

            She tried to reassure him. “I’m fine. Trust me, if I think for a moment I might have what’s attacked Yulen, I’m going straight to Fergus. I don’t want anything to jeopardize my daughter.” She laid a hand protectively over her abdomen. “Now, you said something about food?”

            Paxton snorted and pointed to their left. “The food vendors are in that direction.” He offered her his arm again, and led her down the aisle. “Geez, I don’t recognize half of what’s being served here,” he commented.

            “It’s all right. I can tell pretty much what’s cooking by the smell. What are you hungry for? And don’t tell me you don’t care. I’ve seen how picky you can be when we’re at the lodge.”

            “Only because the onions and garlic Berta sometimes uses to season with upsets my stomach. Oh!” He paused. “That smells promising.”

            Atty sniffed again, this time without the resulting sneezes. “Oh, it does. Roast…something. Okay. Now I’m curious. Let’s check it out.”

            The vendor was a middle-aged man tending to two grills beneath a blue awning. He glanced up and smiled when they approached. “Good evening! Care for some sheep? One kebob for one coin!”

            “Sheep? What kind of sheep?” Atty sniffed again. It didn’t smell like any kind of sheep or lamb she’d had in the past.

            “Bighorn,” the man replied. He bent over and reached for something underneath the makeshift counter, and brought out a big curled horn the size of a small child. “Had it brought in yesterday.”

            “It smells delicious. I’ll have one, please,” she told him. The man nodded and lifted a stick containing six chunks of meat off the grill. Wrapping the handle in a napkin, he passed it to her, taking the coin she paid with and pocketing it without looking at it. “Blow on it first to cool it a bit before you take a bite. It’s hot.”

            “I’ll take one, too,” Warren said.

            Atty started to comment that the meat was seasoned with onion, when she noticed the vendor pulling a rack from the other grill to hand to her second. Warren paid for his food, and they stepped away to allow others to purchase.

            “Warren?”

            “Hmm? I’ve never had sheep. This’ll be a first for me. Where do you want to go to next after we’re finished here?”

            “Warren, wait.” She touched his sleeve, then pointed to the vendor. “Hold on a moment.”

            Two women were ordering kebobs. The vendor pulled two sticks from the same grill where he’d gotten Paxton’s. Another woman waiting behind them ordered a stick. Her order was pulled from the grill the man had served Atty’s order from. The first grill. And the third woman he served was definitely Mutah, where the first two were Normal.

            A flag went up in Atty’s head. “Warren, something’s not right.”

            “Mmm? What?” he asked, mouth full.

            “Did you notice how that man served me from the first grill, but he got your meat from the second one?”

            “So? You like your meat medium rare. I like mine well done.”

            She shook her head. “But we didn’t tell him our preferences. I just noticed he served those two women from the same grill he got your meat from. But he served that Mutah woman from the grill where he got my meat.”

            Warren frowned. “You’re thinking double standard?”

            She started to reply when he grabbed the kebob out of her hand and tossed it away, then handed his to her. “Let’s find out,” he murmured, and approached the vendor again.

            “Hey! That was delicious. I’d like a second one.”

            “Sure thing! Coming right up!” The vendor reached for a stick on the first grill, when Paxton stopped him.

            “I like mine well done. How about one of those on that other grill? They look a little browner.” he suggested.

            The vendor went on the defensive. “Sorry, but those aren’t ready yet.” Handing over the kebob, he took the coin and turned his back on the soldier.

            Paxton strode over to Atty. “Those aren’t ready yet, eh? That’s horse manure and we both know it. What do you think, Atty? Do you think he’s deliberately serving tainted meat to Mutah?”

            “I don’t know, but what he’s doing seems suspicious.”

            Paxton left her side to retrieve the kebob he’d thrown away. Pulling one of the pieces of meat from the stick, he wrapped it in the paper napkin, discarding the rest. “When we get back to the tent, let’s see if Dr. Gus can figure out if there’s something wrong with it,” he commented, tucking the sample in his coat pocket. “All right. Now where to, my lady?” He grinned. “Games of chance? Or would you like to peruse the ladies’ garments?”

            Atty snorted. “I wish they had sword makers here. Cavender would make a killing if he had a cart.” When Paxton snickered, she realized what she’d said. “All right. You know what I meant.”

            “Yeah, I did, but it was funny anyway. Come on. Let’s go see what all the yelling’s about.”

            Together, they continued toward where loud shouts accompanied the ringing tones of metal upon metal. A sure sign of a mock battle or test of strength and accuracy.

            They passed several open areas where mostly soldiers pitted themselves against each other. There was an ax throwing contest, a javelin toss, sword play, and several makeshift rings involving wrestling or fisticuffs. They paused in front of one where individuals were throwing knives at several targets. Paxton nudged her with an elbow.

            “Why don’t you show them how it’s done?”

            She started to reply with the man in charge singled out her second.

            “Fine sir! Care to test your aim in a game of chance? Three throws for one coin. If you hit your target, I will refund your money!”

            Atty leaned over to him. “Which means something’s been rigged.”

            “I agree. So why don’t you show the man it doesn’t affect your aim?”

            She nodded and stepped forward. “I’d like to try.”

            The vendor and several others standing around softly laughed. “Okay, little lady. I’ll make it easy on you. Try to hit the wolfen. It’s closest.” The man took her coin and handed her three small knives. The moment she hefted them, she knew they were too off-balanced to work. Plus the blades were too dull to stick to the target that was approximately ten yards away.

            “I don’t like these. May I use my own knife?” she inquired, trying to appear as inept and helpless as possible. To add to the ruse, she flipped her hair over her shoulder with the back of her hand in a purely feminine gesture and batted her lashes.

            The man fell for it. “Why certainly, little lady.” He waved a hand toward the crudely painted picture on the board that was propped up in front of a bale of hay.

            “How many times do I have to hit it to get my money back?” Atty sweetly asked.

            The man tried to hide his smile. “For you, once. But it has to stick. No hitting and bouncing off.”

            Atty gave him a gracious smile, pulled her ballock from its sheath, flipped it one-handedly so that the blade smacked into her palm, and threw it. The dagger dug nearly an inch into the direct center of the wolfen’s nose.

            The man gawked. The people around them gasped. Keeping up the ruse, Atty held out her hand to the vendor. “Can I have my knife back, please? And my coin?” she demurely asked.