*****
Breea sat up in the bed. Had she slept? The blankets were warm, she was warm. Her wounds itched and ached, but only a dull pain. She supposed she had slept.
The young servant girl stepped in from a side door, eyes lowered, and curtsied. Had she been waiting there?
Breea said to her, "What time is it?"
"Between eight and nine bells of the evening, milady."
Breea was sure she had arrived later than that. "When did I arrive?"
"Six bells of the evening the day a’fore, milady."
An entire day. It surprised Breea that nothing evil, sudden, or confusing had occurred in that span. She sighed and said, "I am going to bathe. Will you heat the bath, and bring me something to eat?"
"Yes, milady. The bath is hot. May I bring a first meal or dinner for milady?"
Hunger was a presence inside Breea, and she said, "Dinner, please."
After the girl had gone, Breea checked on the orb, her money pouch, and her daggers, then walked into the bath chamber feeling the tiles pleasantly warm under her feet. As she slipped into the water, she wondered what kind of inn kept bath water this hot for a guest an entire day. How much would this "room" cost? She suspected it was the finest in the inn. Was the silver she gave away to porter and guestbook girl worth so much?
At the moment she didn’t care. Closing her eyes, she dunked her head, came up, and sighed as the heat soaked into her. It was as good as the orb, this bath.
The serving woman returned with food and drink, then stood aside, waiting innocuously for command. As Breea ate, the subservient presence bothered her. The servants in Limtir were usually young students. As the young woman poured wine for Breea, she studied the girl. She had soft, white hands and a face that had not been touched by work or harsh weather, dark-brown hair gathered behind, dressed in a white and pale-blue dress that set off her eyes.
Remembering another pair of eyes, Breea sat up in the water. Those eyes, so full of despair, rage, and fear, yet burning unbroken in a dirty face, looking at Breea with such interest. And hope.
Breea stood and walked out of the water, anger feeding a resolution. As the servant rushed over to put a soft robe over Breea’s shoulders, the young woman’s eyes widened at the bruises and scars both old and new visible all over Breea’s body.
In the bedroom, Breea took a silver piece from her pouch, and held it out to the young woman, saying, "I will return in a few hours, but I will have someone." She paused. "Perhaps more, who will be in need of clothing, bathing, and hot food. You must tell no one. I wish to bring them quietly. Can this be done?"
The woman stared at the silver, and managed to speak only in a whisper, "I am not the one, milady, I cannot. Chandr can provide—"
Placing the coin in the woman’s hand Breea interrupted, "You can. Keep that bath hot. Thank you," and walked over to her clothes. The servant stood for a moment, curtsied, and left.
Breea put on her travel woolens and belted on her daggers. The servant appeared in a doorway, mouth open to speak, but froze, staring at the blades. She backed up, bumping into the doorframe.
"You are she..." the girl whispered, and the barest awe-filled smile touched her lips.
"I am Breea Banea, First Sanis Scholar of the Library of Limtir." Breea studied the girl. She reminded Breea of scholars’ daughters, pale and soft, but there was more amazement than fear in the girl’s eyes. Breea asked, "Will you help me?"
The young woman thought for only a second, then nodded.
"Will you show me a quiet exit from here?"
The woman nodded again, and stared at Breea’s blades. Breea walked over to her, and the woman stiffened, wide-eyed. Slowly drawing a dagger, Breea held it on the tips of her fingers toward the woman.
"Would you like to hold it?" Breea asked.
Pulling her lips in, the woman reached out with a lightly trembling hand and touched the leather hilt, then looked up questioningly at Breea. Breea nodded and smiled reassuringly. Gripping the handle slowly, the woman picked up the green blade, and her eyes grew even larger. Admiration for this girl’s bravery warmed Breea’s heart. The act of gripping the dagger could mean her death.
"It’s like a feather," the girl whispered. "I’ve only touched one blade. My father dropped his once, and I…but it didn’t look like..." She gently placed it back in Breea’s hands, and took a deep, shaky breath.
Motioning that they should leave, Breea sheathed the dagger and, grabbing her cloak, followed the woman through further chambers to a door behind a curtain in a dining room. They hurried down a long stair, past the kitchens and servants’ rooms.
Breea stopped the young woman before she lifted the bar on a stout door leading out the back of the inn.
"How much are all those rooms?"
The servant said, "Lord Dupalo decides. But I have heard, one robe per night, more, if—if more is desired, milady." She shifted her feet, turning red.
Not wanting to really know what "more" represented, Breea asked, "One robe?"
"Temple coin, milady. One gold."
"Are you the only servant who will be there?"
"Chandr, Bran, Nola, and Leel are milady’s as well."
"You are excellent, I need no one else. I want no one else. What is your name?"
Still blushing, though now in pleasure, the young woman said, "Dorieal Tillers. Dori, if it please your ladyship."
Breea cringed inwardly at the title, but felt it better than speaking her own name, and said, "A beautiful name. I will return to this door in two hours, or sooner. If anyone questions you, you are acting under my instructions. Thank you, Dori."
Cold smoke tickled Breea’s nose and a light wind wriggled bitter fingers around the edges of her cloak as she made her way east out of the upper city. Walking briskly into the unlighted streets beyond the old wall, she had only a vague idea of where she was going. The air became foul where the cobblestones ended. The streets began to twist and bend unpredictably around crooked buildings. She looked to the stars for bearing and headed south, hoping to run into the east road. Pausing from time to time to catch her breath, she searched for an hour, and almost crossed it, but the road’s width alerted her, and she turned to walk the frozen mud.
Few people moved on the road, most using a lantern or torch to light their way. Moving swiftly, Breea kept to the shadows.
Bawdy singing shouted from an inn, but it was not the one she sought. A bit father would be the place, yes. She stood in a dark doorway and watched a group enter the tavern’s double doors. An alley ran along one side, and Breea slipped down it, nearly colliding with someone urinating against the wall. He grunted, pulled up his trousers, and walked past Breea without seeing her.
The tavern was far longer than wide. The back alley reeked of fresh sewage not yet frozen. The back wall was only a few spans from another log building. The small windows above were dark. Breea began climbing using both walls. It hurt, using her body so, but she made the distance.
The skin-paned window was not locked, but rattled as she pulled it open. Dagger in hand, she pulled herself into the pitch-black room. She crouched, but the room was silent. She moved forward, hand out for obstructions. Feeling the far wall, she found the door, unlatched it carefully, and peered into the dim hall that stretched away toward the stair. One smoking lamp at that end was the only light. Closed doors lined both walls. The room where she hid was at the near end of the hallway.
A door opened, and Breea pulled back into shadow as a girl in a tattered shift stepped out three doors down and moved toward Breea. The girl walked with a limp, staring at the floor, and scratched lightly on the next door. A man stepped out of the room behind her, walked away, and went down the stair. The girl scratched on the door again. It opened and she went in, the door closing softly behind her.
Breea crept out, and scratched on the door. It creaked open. The girl beyond stared at Breea, dull eyes going slowly round. Breea stepped into the room, and the girl backed up. Five women wrapped
in ragged blankets stared into a hearth, their backs to Breea. A small kettle hanging from a hook bubbled sluggishly over the meager flames.
Breea closed the door, and an older woman turned to face the sound. She made a tiny noise, and all of their heads snapped up like deer who have caught the scent of a snowcat.
Breea said, "I will take you from here. I will protect you. Come, quickly."
None of them moved, and the girl before Breea ran to hide behind the oldest, whose haunted eyes made Breea’s belly knot. Breea feared to know what the woman had experienced to create eyes like that.
"Come," said Breea earnestly.
Deep footfalls approached the door, and Breea scooted aside as a man entered in a cloud of stench.
"Reen—"
Breea drew and struck him with the pommel of a dagger. She pulled him off the threshold, and closed the door.
"I will protect you. I have a safe place you may stay. Come with me."
There was no belief in their eyes, only fear.
Breea could not understand, and it angered her that they would stay with even a chance for freedom. She asked one more time, "Will you come?"
Like rabbits, they remained fearfully static. Breea clenched her jaw, and after listening at the door, stepped back into the hall. A terrible sadness descended on her as the door latch clicked.
The sounds of the tavern came up from below. The fire billowed, and she took three steps toward the stair leading down, but stopped herself, forcing herself to turn away. Killing the men below would not allow her to save anyone. What would she do in the streets with five frightened women when the Temple guard descended on them?
There was at least one girl she was sure would go with her, and Breea resolved not to leave the tavern until she found her, even if that meant descending below and drowning the beasts in their own blood. Breea tried the doors on the other side of the hall.
All were locked, and she stepped back into the room at the end of the hall in order to think.
A snore startled her, and she crouched, daggers ready. She listened, and felt two people near. Another snore led her to a door. It opened with a faint creak, and in the light of her daggers she saw a bed with the one-eyed man and a girl under thick covers. Coals in the hearth added a pale glow of orange light.
The young woman raised her head as cold air swept through. She turned, saw Breea, and fell out of the bed with a thump. The man snored on. Breea held up her hand to signal silence, and winced at the bruises on the woman’s face. The eyes peering through the wild hair were bright, however, and Breea knew she had found the one she sought. Breea motioned for her to come. Without pause, the girl walked around the bed, but did not go to Breea. Instead she grabbed an empty bottle, one of many. Beside the bed she raised her arm to strike.
Stepping forward, Breea caught the girl’s wrist. The girl turned on Breea a look of such hatred and pain that Breea let her wrist go, and offered her a dagger.
The girl stared at the beautiful blade, an arc of pale glowing emerald, humming in time to Breea’s heart. With reckless bravery the girl took it, then yanked the blankets off the man, and pricked his exposed genitals. He jerked and groaned aware, a hand straying to his crotch. The single eye opened, and bulged as he saw the woman with the dagger. She slashed the blade across his throat and jumped back as he lashed out at her, sitting up, blood spurting from his neck. He fell back gurgling and bubbling, hairy chest awash in dark blood, hands fluttering wetly about his throat, to lie still.
The look of savage victory on the girl’s face worried Breea as she silently requested the return of her dagger. Reluctantly, the young woman gave the blade back, and Breea wiped it on a blanket.
They walked into the next room.
"I will take you from this place. You wish to go?"
The girl nodded, and stared at Breea as though she were an apparition that the girl feared might disappear in the next instant. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. Breea took off her cloak and put it around the girl as voices came from the hall.
"Fisheye will call for me," bellowed a voice.
"Nar! Yer a pus-sucking oath breaker. He’ll call it so."
The young woman pointed emphatically toward the body in the next room.
The dead man must be Fisheye. Breea ran to the window, climbed out, and began to descend. Looking down, the girl stared at her in desperation.
"Do what I do, push against the walls like this," whispered Breea. "Use the logs like steps."
Wild with fear, the girl clambered out and managed to get one leg across to the other wall, but half of Breea's cloak remained in the room through the window, and the girl had difficulty getting it out.
"One foot or hand at a time," Breea said, descending.
At the bottom, she stood ready to catch the girl if she fell. The girl managed a few steps down, tugging the cloak after. It fell free of the window sill and its weight nearly yanked the girl down. Above, a cry sounded, and the girl slipped. Breea broke her fall and they both slammed to the filthy ground. Breea groaned. Warm blood, her own, wet her back from a reopened wound there. A head came out of the window and swore at seeing them.
They got up and ran down the alley until they came to a dark street. The girl was limping barefoot, but saying nothing. Shouts echoed behind as Breea led, one arm around the girl’s waist, up the street, turning at the first intersection.
Walking down a narrow lane Breea stopped, hearing laughter from behind a door. She could feel the girl shivering, and knew that her feet must be aching or numb, but she didn’t complain. Breea listened at the door, heard a woman telling a tale, and knocked lightly.
The talking stopped and feet shifted position.
"Who hails?" said a man.
"A woman in need," Breea said.
"We have a crossbow," the man said as bolts were drawn from the door. It opened a crack, and Breea stepped back as an older man peered at them. "What do you want?"
"A pair of small boots," said Breea and held up a silver piece.
The door shut and the bolts were replaced. Just as Breea was about to leave, the bolts slid back and the door opened.
"The coin," said the man, holding a pair of ragged leather shoes.
Breea gave it to him. He dropped the shoes and slammed the door. The girl put the shoes on and they started to run to keep warm.
Wailing sounded from around the next corner. Breea and the girl peeked around the edge of a building. Twenty Temple guard stood with torches and drawn swords before a small, dilapidated temple from which people were being herded. A woman was wailing over a body on the street. The people were herded out at swordpoint to stand against the wall on the opposite side of the street.
Guards with torches and cow bladders full of liquid walked into the temple. Moments later, flame erupted from within. The guardsmen forced the group of people up the street. Two guards grabbed the wailing woman and dragged her away, leaving the crumpled body in the fire-lit street.
The flames in the building leapt higher, and people began to appear in windows and spill into the street. Cries of "Fire!" and "Water!" sounded.
The girl was shivering, and Breea led her away.
Stopping frequently to let both women catch their breath, they traveled back to the Lute and Swan, entering as Dori opened the back door for them. The girl was ready to collapse, coughing with every other breath. Breea and Dori each took an arm, put it over their shoulders, and helped her up the servant’s stair to Breea’s rooms.
Exhausted and shivering, the young woman still had energy enough to stare about in wonder. Dori took the cloak and shoes off her, and helped her into the bath to warm up. The girl clenched her jaw against the pain of the hot water on her chilled body.
Mostly frozen herself, Breea stripped and slid into the water. Blood swirled from her reopened wound, but the water felt wonderful. After picking up the clothes around the pool, Dori stood aside looking shocked, staring at both young women. Both Breea and the girl were cover
ed with bruises, fresh and old, Breea’s accented by scars.
Ravenous, Breea ate from the platter and offered some to the girl, who had recovered somewhat and was now examining everything minutely. She took a handful of food and stuffed it into her mouth.
Dori came back to herself and rushed out, returning quickly with another platter of steaming meats, hot soup, bread, and a crock of mulled wine.
After Breea and the girl had eaten their fill, Breea said, "I am Breea, and this is Dori,"
The girl looked from one to the other, and said in accented Yasharn, "Simarn."
"They were rather upset," Breea said, smiling.
Laughing suddenly, the girl tilted her head back, and laughed in lilting crescendos. She slipped off her seat in the water, and went under. Breea sat up and Dori stepped forward, but Simarn thrashed up sputtering, wide-eyed. No one moved. She giggled.
"Come and join us," Breea said to Dori.
Dori blushed and said, "I could not, milady."
"Come, Dori," Breea said.
"I could never, milady. I’ve never been…I cannot."
Breea looked at her. "Never been in a bath?"
Dori looked down, embarrassed.
"You must, then."
Pained, Dori pleaded, "Milady."
Breea looked at her sternly, and Dori slowly began to undress. Obviously shy, she stepped into the water to cover herself with the water as quickly as she could, then smiled sheepishly in mischief.
Dori helped Simarn wash off accumulated grime as the girl dispassionately told them her tale.
"My father worked land for Lord Cawla until the lord taxed from us our living share, and we almost starved. We left his lands and came to Yash. My father diced at the Rose, and lost all our money and more to Fisheye. Fisheye took me as payment, and cut down my father when he objected."
Breea asked, "When was that?"
"Eight moons."
Rubbing Simarn’s hair with scented soap, Dori asked, "Where is your mother?"
"Dead," said Simarn.
Dori pulled in her lips and was silent.
Breea rinsed herself, stretched, and said, "I have to sleep. You will see to Simarn, Dori?"
Dori nodded.
After toweling off, Breea walked to the bed and crawled into its softness.
Chapter 12
Prophecy
A Woman Warrior Born Page 26