In the Skin of a Nunqua (3 page)

“‘Pretty’ suggests a delicacy that Shanti lacks.”

Gy chuckled to himself. Perhaps Edwyn wasn’t the best judge of a woman’s appearance. Although the man had a wife, he sought his pleasures elsewhere. “What about her skills?”

“Above average. That’s what worries me. The scars on her arms . . . Why would the Nunqua train a Willovian woman using such brutal tactics? There are secrets in her past that go deeper than she’s telling us about.”

“We all have secrets,” Gy said.

Edwyn shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “What if she’s a spy?”

“Then she would have hidden her scars under her sleeves. Does she have the potential to lead?”

“Shanti’s a natural leader,” Edwyn said, “but arrogant.”

Gy took a pipe out of his pocket. “May I?”

Edwyn nodded. “I need to discuss another matter with you. Rumors concerning the dealings of Commander Mossgail are rampant, and supplies for the camp are low. He’s black-marketing our provisions. I’m sure of it, only I have no proof.”

Gy lit the pipe, then sat in a chair next to Edwyn. “To accuse another commander of a crime is a serious matter. Defamation of character may cost you your command if your accusations are unjustified. Not to mention, it will put you, your family, and your lifestyle under scrutiny. Do you wish to request an inquiry?”

“Nothing so formal. An investigation into Commander Mossgail’s affairs will suffice at this time. A
quiet
investigation. But Mossgail is well connected in this region. I request your assistance in sending an unfamiliar face to—”

Gy waved his hand. “I’ll send a team.” He puffed on the pipe, and smoke swirled up out of the bowl. If the rumors were true, Commander Mossgail was a major nuisance that needed to be dealt with: a commander stealing from his own troops. Disgraceful. But it was nothing compared to the training of the heiress and the fate of the kingdom itself! In two years, Rega Bayla would be taken away from the castle to work alongside the soldiers, to better her understanding of the military. The Guardians of Willovia would test her competence under pressure, according to tradition. And it worried him.

Rega Bayla was a princess. Motherless, the only child of King Magen, and the last of her bloodline, she had been coddled all her life. If Bayla failed as a soldier, the Guardians of Willovia would fight to ensure that she never wore the crown.

This woman Shanti might be just the person they needed to show Rega Bayla that a woman could command.

4

Scheming Women

S
hanti returned to
camp with one thing on her mind: a bath. The trip to the Outer Boundaries had lasted fourteen days. No bandits, no belligerent townsfolk, no equipment troubles—just the open road and endless questions from the other guards. The soldiers treated her with curiosity rather than disrespect and tried to get her to gamble away her money like some inexperienced newcomer. Nunqua warriors had done the same when she first joined them. Military men were the same everywhere, she supposed.

She put her horse in the stable, then headed to her room to unload her gear. A barrel-chested, broad-shouldered man intercepted her.

“So you’re the woman everyone’s been talking about.” White teeth gleamed behind his bushy mustache. He radiated rank, but his demeanor was casual. Too casual by half.

Shanti straightened her posture. “Sir.”

“No need for such formality. I’m Commander Mossgail. How was the trip? No problems, I assume. By the way, I have something for you.” He showed her an armguard with an eagle and two flags punched into the leather. Holes perforated the edges in a decorative design. “I hear you’re training with the men, so I thought you might need this for archery.”

“I already have an armguard, sir.”

“This one’s made by the royal leather crafter.”

Although handsome, the band was too wide to be practical. And “royal leather crafter” sounded like a load of manure. “No, thank you.”

“I’ve heard about the darts you wear. May I see?”

Shanti raised her arm but did not remove the weapon.

“I know a fellow close to the king who would give good money for such an item. You could buy ten swords for the price he’s willing to pay. What do you say?”

“The weapon has sentimental value, sir. I’ll not part with it.”

Leanna tromped toward them, and Mossgail grinned. “Aren’t you looking pretty today?”

“Shove it, Mossgail.”

Shanti’s eyebrows rose at the defiant outburst.

“Don’t be sore just because things didn’t work out between us,” he said to Leanna.

“Did you bring back any supplies?” she asked Shanti.

“A few things. They’re in the cart.”

“Where’s the cart?”

Shanti gestured in the direction of a wooden building, and Leanna hurried away.

Mossgail’s grin vanished, and he followed Leanna. “No, you don’t. Those items need to be inventoried first. If you take anything out of the cart without authorization, I’ll have you jailed.”

Shanti returned to her room, then went to the bathhouse. Warm water never felt so good. She put her hair in the warrior’s knot, donned her one clean uniform, and brushed dirt off her boots before going to the infirmary with a burlap bag slung over her shoulder.

Leanna sat beside a bed and scowled at nothing. Her plans to access the cart were obviously unsuccessful.

“You and Mossgail,” Shanti said. “Now it makes sense. You’re not angry about the supplies; you’re angry about being rejected.”

“Then why don’t we have medicine?” Leanna said. “No bandages, no splints, no extra bedding—”

“And no respect,” Shanti said.

“You’re so stupid.”

She lowered the bag from her shoulder and dumped the contents onto the mattress: dried herbs, strips of cloth, packets of seeds, bottles of medicine. “I may be stupid, but I’m not blind. Went to the infirmary at the Outer Boundaries. They were overstocked and willing to share. It’s not much, but Mossgail can’t claim this on his inventory.”

Leanna sorted through the supplies. “Shanti, what are you doing tonight?”

Finally, Leanna had called her by name. “No plans.”

“Come with me into town. I want to show you something.”

*

Shanti’s nose twitched as she entered the apothecary. The cloying aroma of incense turned her stomach. Spices lined the shelves, and black leeches squirmed in a bucket of water. Tobacco leaves hung from nails on the ceiling, and barrels of animal parts rested on the floor: sharks’ teeth, bear claws, desiccated cougar hearts, bull scrota. A sign on the wall read “
Confidentiality Guaranteed
.”

Leanna took her arm and led her to a section with jars behind glass, labeled “hemlock” and “opium.” Shanti picked up a tourniquet with a metal turning mechanism.

“Mossgail’s been black-marketing our supplies,” Leanna whispered. “This shelf represents a mere handful of the things he’s stolen. He has buyers all over the kingdom. Never sells his stock to just one place—makes it harder to trace.”

A woman emerged from the back room. Body paint of a moon and stars accentuated her exposed cleavage. Designs of mythical creatures covered her feet and hands, and her hair was dyed an inky black. Her mannerisms and appearance were crafted to give the impression of a witch, as if power were something one could put on or take off like a robe.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” The saleswoman smiled. “What are you interested in today: love, revenge, fertility?”

“Sleeping potion,” Leanna said. “A very
strong
sleeping potion.”

“Right this way.”

Shanti continued to inspect the contents of the store, pausing at jars of snake venom.

“Hiet va shay.”
A Nunqua man came out of the back room and stared at Shanti.
“Hiet va shay.”
Spots covered his skin, and he wore a black coat over a blue vest. His long hair was oiled and braided.

Leanna backed away from the man and bumped into a display of fortune-telling cards.

The saleswoman admonished the man, “Stay in the storage room. Customers aren’t used to Nunqua. My apologies—he’s one of my suppliers.”

Shanti stood her ground, wondering what the medicine man sensed in her. “
Hiet tae,
” she said. The saleswoman had a seductive quality, and the Nunqua man was fine looking, though a bit thin for Shanti’s tastes. A thought occurred to her.
“Isc taka no schira?”
(Is she your woman?)

The man laughed and answered in the Nunqua language, saying the saleswoman would rather die than take a Nunqua man as a mate.

Was Shanti truly the only half-breed?
“Deape na tey vuy a?”
(Do you know who I am?)

“Yes,” he replied in Willovian.

He must have seen her fighting in the arenas during her time with the Nunqua.
Damn.
A Nunqua man in Willovia. If this medicine man could get here, so could Caravey. “May I see your arms?” she said.

He lifted his sleeves. Manly hair and spots covered his skin, but no scars made by the blade of a sword. He wasn’t a warrior.

“Do not speak of me,” Shanti said.

He gestured to the sign guaranteeing confidentiality and bowed before returning to the storage room.

Leanna bought a yellow powder. They left the apothecary and walked down the street to a tavern.

“Problems falling asleep?” Shanti asked.

Two other women who worked at the infirmary were already seated inside the tavern. They joined them at the table. “I need your help,” Leanna said to Shanti. “I’m going to take the medical supplies that belong to us.”

“This isn’t my fight.” Shanti said.

Men passed by and nodded, eyeing her companions. The waitress brought over a round of drinks from an admirer.

“You work with us,” Leanna said. “You see what’s happening. Mossgail tried to buy you with that armband. I’ve exhausted all legitimate means of getting the supplies we need. The soldiers suffer from this injustice.”

“You’re the only one who can help,” the others chimed in.

Shanti sipped her drink. “I’m flattered, but I won’t steal.”

“It’s not stealing if it’s rightfully ours.” Leanna traced the rim of her cup. “I see appealing to your integrity won’t work. What were you and the Nunqua talking about? ‘Do not speak of me.’ Who are you hiding from?”

“Blackmail won’t work, either. Why not leave, go to a different camp? Escape?”

“Because he controls supplies at the other camps, too.” Leanna hung her head. “I trusted Mossgail. Thought he would take care of me, protect me, marry me. I was wrong to get involved with him. Now he won’t give the infirmary the supplies we need, just to make me look bad. Nobody takes me seriously, because he’s a commander and I’m . . . I’m just a woman.”

“Did you practice that speech?” Shanti said. Mossgail was as slippery as a skinned eel—she had sensed it from the moment he offered her the armband—but she wanted to stay out of trouble.

“Haven’t you ever made a mistake because of a man?” Leanna said.

A pang of remorse seized her as she thought of Caravey. Perhaps she should help. There was no winning a fight against a healer, but Mossgail was different. And the supplies did belong in the infirmary. “What’s your plan?”

“Ladies.” Four men pulled chairs around the table to join them. They wore sheepish grins on their clean-shaven faces. One, tall and bright-eyed, put an arm around her. Shanti stared at him until he pulled away.

“Thank you for the drinks,” Leanna said, “but now isn’t the time.”

“Just looking for some company, nothing more.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re busy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The men left, and the two younger women waved and flirted. “Bye-bye, boys.”

Leanna remained serious. “We take the medical supplies while he’s sleeping. We’ll go to jail if we’re caught . . . or worse.”

“And all of you are willing to take this risk?” Shanti said.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely,” Leanna said.

Shanti drummed with her fingers on the table. The more she thought of Mossgail, the more the idea appealed to her. “I’m in,” she said, “on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Acquiring a few medicinal items will only annoy him. You must injure his pride. We take
all
of his supplies, his boots and clothing, too. Humiliate him. Mossgail will be seen as incompetent if his entire inventory is stolen from right under his nose. And if it’s ever revealed that he was raided by a bunch of women while he slept, we may pay the price by going to jail, but he’ll be laughed out of camp. The soldiers would be better off without him.”

They clinked their cups together in agreement.

*

Shanti led the three women through the dark camp, avoiding the guards on duty. They padded around buildings and crawled through bushes until they reached the supply quarters. Leanna put a key in the lock on the door as Shanti held her breath. During festivities in town, she had taken the key and poured sleeping powder into Mossgail’s drink while the fair-haired woman from the infirmary danced with him. What if it was the wrong key? The door opened, and Shanti tensed. So many things could go wrong.

An orange glow emanated from the hearth, and Mossgail snored in bed, his left foot sticking out from under the wool blanket. Pants and boots were strewn across the floor of the small room next to the supplies.

“Take everything you can carry,” Shanti whispered.

They filled sacks with blankets, medicines, dishes, tobacco, and whatever else would fit. The fair-haired woman lifted a nest of hairless baby mice, then dropped it, stifling a squeal, when she realized what it was. They moved the nest to a corner of the chamber.

Shanti entered Mossgail’s bedroom and filled a sack with his clothing. He grunted and turned over in bed. She froze. Drool dripped from his mouth, and his eyes were partly open. She waved her hand in front of his face, flicked her finger close to his eye. Nothing. She continued packing his gear.

Leanna entered the room, knife in hand, as if in a trance. She moved toward Mossgail.

Shanti intercepted her, grabbing her wrist and squeezing. The knife fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Mossgail snored away.

“What the hell are you doing!” Shanti hissed, a hard edge to her voice.

Leanna stammered, unable to answer.

Shanti picked up the knife. Standard issue. Leanna must have gotten it from the supply area. “If you want to show that bastard you can hurt him, that it’s personal, then cut off a lock of his hair.” She handed Leanna the knife.

Leanna went over to Mossgail, seized a finger-size clump of hair, and tried to saw through it. His head bobbed, and Shanti’s stomach jumped. He would wake for sure.

She took the knife from Leanna, quickly sheared a lock of hair, and then stepped out of the room. “I need string.” One of the women threw a ball of twine from inside a bag to her. Shanti worked at binding the hair with twine as the others finished packing. She hung the ornament from a nail so that it swayed in the doorway, sure to be seen.

Leanna picked up a sack the size of a gourd. It was heavy and jingled. Inside were gold and silver coins—more money than a commander made in two, maybe three, years. The fair-haired woman ran her fingers through the treasure. “We split the money.”

“No,” Shanti said. “This money is tainted, acquired from the illegal sale of goods. Only bad outcomes can arise from spending it. We take only the supplies. I need an anchor.”

“A
what
?”

“A metal ring of some sort.”

“How about a buckle?”

“That will work.” Shanti cut a long length of twine. “Where’s his sword?”

Leanna retrieved Mossgail’s sword, still sheathed in its scabbard, and handed it to her.

Shanti knotted the twine around the neck of the money bag and the hilt of the sword, then threaded the two loose ends through the buckle. She balled up the remaining twine and threw it over the highest rafter in the storage area, catching it on its return. Pulling twine through the loop made by the buckle, she hoisted the sword and the money bag to the ceiling. With Leanna’s help, they whipped the dangling ends around the rafter and out of reach.

Mossgail slept on.

Loaded down with sacks, they left the supply area. Leanna relocked the door, then pushed the key under the crack. They darted between buildings and sneaked around camp. Shanti lifted her fist in the air, and the women plowed into her.

“Stop, stop!” Shanti showed them her fist. “This means ‘stop.’”

“Sorry.”

Two guards passed on their rounds, oblivious to the deceit being perpetrated on their watch.