Warprize (3 page)

As I went, I could sense a difference. There seemed to be a feeling of suppressed panic in the air. Men stood at corners, talking softly in clusters. The bargaining had a frantic sense to it. I wondered if there had been some news of the Cat. I took another detour of sorts, moving down an alley to come out in the spice markets. I paused before entering the flow of traffic, looking for colorful flags on poles and spotted Kalisa’s cart, tucked in the entrance of another alley.

Bent half double with age, her back humped up, her fingers crooked and swollen, Kalisa was one of the few shorter than I was. Normally, she also had the brightest smile and the best cheese in the city. But there was no smile for me today.

“Lara.” Whatever else, her eyes and mind were still sharp. “Don’t you have an escort? It’s not safe, child.” She tipped her head and looked me over.

“Kalisa, I’ve never had any trouble—”

“Aye, were times what they were, I’d agree. Not now.” She scowled at me, even as her hands pulled out a small wheel of hard cheese. “Rumor has it that our king has hired mercenaries to guard his carcass, heathen foreigners who wander the streets terrorizing women.”

I set my jug and basket down between my feet. “The same rumor that says that the Firelanders are blue, red, and black, and belch fire from their mouths?”

She handed me a slice of her sharpest cheese, and a thin cracker, which I took eagerly. The taste flooded my mouth, making me aware of my hunger. It had been long since breakfast, and it tasted wonderful. Kalisa tilted her head to be able to look into my eyes. “Have you not heard?” Her face as serious as I had ever seen.

“Heard what?”

“The army has pulled back within the city walls. King’s command. Did you not hear the horns?” She cut another slice. “Heard tell that the Lord Marshall is having fits.”

The cracker and cheese was suddenly dry in my mouth. “Pulled back? But…”

Her white head shook as she handed me another piece of cheese. “Child, you need to look up from your work once in a while, eh?”

“The last I heard, things were going well.” I swallowed hard. “At the very gates?”

“Everyone’s frantic. Stripped my cart almost bare, they did. And the Watch is doubled tonight. You best be getting home.” Kalisa nudged me. “Aye and look there.”

I looked to where her gnarled finger, held low behind the cart, pointed into the crowd. I looked up to see Lord Durst riding by, with his son and heir, Degnan. They wore their usual haughty, sullen expressions. No fear that they would recognize me in the press, but then my odd ways were an open secret. Xymund usually said something when one of the nobility came for a visit. What were they doing here?

Kalisa had no doubts. “Cowards fled their lands for this safety. Left all behind, so I hear.”

I scowled at her. “Such talk could get you beaten, old woman.”

She snorted. “Everyone’s saying that Xymund’s not the warrior your father was, and rightly so if rumor is true, that he’s a bast—” I frowned at her and she broke off her words. “Never mind. I’ve enough cheese to fill my cart tomorrow, but after that I’ve none to sell.” She shook her head at my questioning look. “Anser and Mya have fled with the herds, and I’ve no milk to work. Talk is that with those heathens outside, the harvest is thin and food will be scarce. They say that some merchants are already raising their prices.”

I crammed the rest of the cheese into my mouth and dug for my pouch.

Kalisa waved me off. “Never you mind, child. My thanks for that jar of joint cream you gave me. It works well.” She held up her hands and flexed them.

I smiled, pleased to see that she had more movement in her fingers. “I will bring you another jar, Kalisa. I promise.”

“I’d rather you stayed safe in that castle. Off with you now. That grandson of mine will be along to get me home soon enough.” She started to pack up her cart as I continued on, lost in my thoughts.

Lord Marshall Warren had seemed very confident of his ability to hold the warlord’s men at bay. I had no mind for tactics and troop movements, but Father had thought Warren an excellent general and had every faith in him. Something must have gone wrong. That explained the mood of the city, with the enemy at the very gates. I picked up my pace.

Before I knew it, the castle walls were before me, comforting symbols of strength. The gate guards called a greeting, well used to my routine at this point. Once through the gate, I turned down toward the path that led into the overgrowth.

Xymund’s mother had been a great one for flowers and plants. She’d spent many hours directing the gardeners in their work, creating elaborate pleasure gardens. That may be why the rumors had started, that Xymund was a bastard, a result of an affair that his mother had. It didn’t help that she’d come from a distant kingdom to marry our father, since my people have a deep distrust of all things foreign. Father had thought the potential alliance was worth facing their intolerance, but from the stories I’d heard, it had not been easy on him or the Queen.

Of course my father denied the rumors, acknowledged Xymund as his son and heir, and swore that he was the spitting image of his grandfather, but the story never died. Older Xyians were quick to point out that Xymund and his father looked nothing alike, a fact that stuck Xymund like a knife. Even after he was acknowledged as heir, even after ascending the throne, it was a scab that he seemed to pick at constantly.

Xymund’s mother had passed and my mother, youngest daughter of a Xyian lord, had no interest in the work necessary to see the pleasure gardens maintained. The kitchen gardens were well-kept, mind, since they were of practical value. But she saw no point in frivolous pursuits. It was one of the few things I knew about my mother, as she’d died giving birth to me.

The path wound through the trees and bushes, and through a great rose briar that had grown wild. I could see that some of the rose hips were ready to be picked. I didn’t stop, but made a note to get some later.

The overgrowth made the path dark and close. Finally, I broke through to the cleared area that held a large canvas tent. It was here that the enemy wounded were housed.

The first sentry did not even challenge me, just waved me through. He was leaning on his spear, looking like he was trying to nap. I continued on, puffing a little. I was tired. It always seemed to take longer for these visits than I had planned. There was a High Court tonight, but my presence would not be missed. Or noted. I rarely attended them.

The second sentry stood post outside the tent. I was pleased to see Heath standing there, and quickened my pace.

He was not pleased to see me. One hand holding his spear, the other planted firmly on his hip. His round face was marred by a frown, surrounded by curls much the color of mine.

“Lara.” He grimaced. “You are not supposed to be here.” He jerked his head in the direction of the tent. “And I don’t think they really appreciate what you are doing.”

I stopped next to him, holding my burdens, and looked up at him. At first I maintained a serious countenance then slowly allowed a smile to spread over my face. As I stood there before my childhood friend, his frown faded as a smile crept over his face in answer to mine. I lowered my eyes and tried not to laugh. I stepped up to him, and he put a hand behind my neck, and pulled my forehead to rest against his. We’d done it since we were kids, a greeting just between the two of us. Of course, he now had to lower his head and stoop a bit to make it work, tall as he was.

Anna said I was just right—not too tall, not too short. But some days I wished for an extra inch or two.

I stepped back and grinned.

Heath glanced to the heavens in a great show of patience, as if looking for guidance, then returned his attention to me. “If anyone asks, you ordered me to step aside.”

I deepened my smile. “My thanks, Heath.”

“I could never say no to you, little bird.” He sighed as he lifted the tent flap. “I already had the men heat the water kettles for you.” He got that look on his face again. “My shift ends in three hours. Arneath comes on duty after me and you need to be out by then.”

I wrinkled my nose and Heath grimaced right back at me. There was something about Arneath that made my skin itch. He’d been made head of the Palace Guard recently by Xymund, over the heads of more qualified men. I avoided him whenever I could.

“I’ll be out in time.”

Heath rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that before. Have a care, little bird.” With that, he lifted the tent flap.

I stepped into the tent.

The first thing to hit me was the smell. Herbs, blood, and death. The men were crammed in close, with more pallets than cots. There were no apprentices here, no helpers to air the place out or fresh linens or help with bathing. I made do with what I had, which was precious little.

When I had first come into their midst, no one would let me touch them, much less speak to me. Their language was fluid and fast, and I’d a hard time trying to pick up the meaning. It had taken persistence and sheer stubbornness on my part, but eventually a few allowed me to tend them. While they were all so different, ranging from fair complexions to deep tan, to almost yellow, one thing held true. They all bled red, and they all responded to my medicines. Thanks to the Goddess, a few spoke the trade tongue rather well and were willing to translate.

I let my eyes adjust, greeted the two guards stationed inside, and moved further into the tent. There was a silence when I stepped in, the tension palpable. Once they saw it was me, their relief was subtle, but clear. It was the signal that they would be permitted to bathe, and wash clothes and bedding as best they could. Unlike my Xyian patients, these men preferred being clean. There was even some sort of prayer that they murmured as they poured the water.

“Lara.”

I turned and saw Rafe making his way to me, a smaller man, thin, with fair skin and deep black hair and brown eyes. His face seemed always lit with a smile. One of the youngest, he had been the first to let me treat him, and to help me learn the language. There were still gaps in my understanding, words that I missed, or used incorrectly. But I was understood most of the time. These men did not seem to believe that I could treat them. I certainly had not been able to help them deal with the strange headaches they suffered from. But I had proved myself as to other hurts.

“Rafe, I hope that you are feeling better.” I spoke slowly, trying to get the correct sounds out of my mouth. I looked carefully at the wound that ran down the side of his face. It appeared to be healing well.

Rafe quirked his mouth. “You still sound like a child at lessons.”

He followed as I moved to the center of the tent, where there was a small table. I sat down my supplies, rummaged in my basket and produced ajar, which I handed to him. “Rub this on the gash, Rafe. It will reduce the scar.”

He took the jar, but frowned. “Why so? It is an honorable scar.”

“It will still be honorable if it heals flat and tight.” These men had very strange ideas about injuries. Rafe scowled, but kept the jar.

The men about us were already stirring, but Rafe shifted his weight, making no move to go bathe. A shadow passed over his face.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

He hesitated and replied softly. “There is a new man here,” and jerked his head toward the back of the tent. I could see some men clustered around one of the cots. “If you would please…”

I took my basket and headed in that direction. Best to see what I had to deal with now, before I started to see to the others.

As I approached, some of the men drifted away. But two large men remained standing by the cot. With my eyes fixed firmly on my patient, I lowered the basket to the ground, knelt, and got a good look.

He was an enormous black man, spilling over the sides and ends of the cot. Black as night, black as wrought iron. The rumors were true. I caught my breath, and for one fleeting moment wondered if he would belch fire. But common sense came to the fore, as I took in his condition. Wrapped in a cloak and blankets, his eyes were open but unseeing. Sweat dripped from his forehead and close-cropped black hair, hair like I’d never seen before. Whatever his color, it seemed he suffered as any other.

The rough bandage was down close to the groin and my mouth went dry. Please, Goddess, not another gut wound. I reached out my hand and one of the men grabbed my wrist.

“What are you doing?” His voice was hard and clipped, but I could understand him. Dark, black eyes bored into me as his grip tightened. His broad, round face was grim, and while not as dark as the man on the cot, he was darker then most. I couldn’t help a brief thought—would I get to see a blue one?—before the man wrenched my arm again.

“I am a healer.” I focused on his eyes.

He snarled. “You are a bragnect.”

I did not know the word, but suspected that it was one that was not taught to children. Careful not to return the anger, I did not pull away. “I can help him.” I kept my gaze steady on his face. “I will help him.”

He paused, studying me.

A sound came from the darkness. “Please, Joden. She is a healer.” Rafe came up behind us, his voice soft and serious. “We fought her off at first, but she can help.”

Joden glanced at him. “This? This is a warrior-priest?”

Rafe shook his head. “Even better, she is a healer.” He used the word from my language, rather than his own. “When she first came, she seemed mad and we tried to drive her away, but she has persisted.” He turned his face slightly, to display his scar. “See? She has helped many, Joden. I will swear it to the open sky, if you wish.”

Joden looked from me to the wounded man. He released my wrist with a huff of disdain. “If you harm Simus, I will kill you.”

I gestured with my hands. “Get him off this cot and onto a pallet.” Joden started to pull the blankets away. “Uncover him, and use wet cloths to wipe his face, arms, and chest. We must get the fever down. Leave the wound and the bandage to me.”

One of the younger men stepped forward to help. This one had skin that was a lighter color than Joden’s, but his black hair fell in braids.