Warprize (12 page)

“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, Hisself 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.