Girl in the Bearskin

by C. L. Stone

  Girl in the Bearskin

  Once Upon a Harem

  C. L. Stone

  After Glows Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 by Stephanie West

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  Published by: Davis Raynes Publishing Group, LLC

  dba After Glows Publishing

  PO Box 224

  Middleburg, FL. 32050

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  Cover by: Takecover Designs

  Formatting by: Glowing Moon Designs

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Thorne

  IT’S OVER

  THE HOME I FORGOT

  Without Destination

  Wilhelm

  THE STRANGEST OF TRAVEL COMPANIONS

  A DEMON’S DESIRES

  MOVING ON

  RUMORS FOR THE WORST

  SURRENDER

  SONS OF ROTH

  Wilhelm’s Curse

  Swift Travels to the South

  A Change of Heart

  MISSING

  Clues

  The Return of an Old Friend

  THE FADED

  Reunited

  The Brig

  Suppressed

  In Search

  The Caves

  BENZO

  Returned

  About the Author

  Also by C. L. Stone

  Once Upon a Harem

  Note from the Publisher

  Thorne

  In my land of Clarimel, there were valleys with witches and mountains with monsters, but none were worse than men.

  I met the worst of men while I was in the army. Some among my own people.

  When the Dark Wall came down twenty years before I was born, our people were free to explore the greater world outside. Unfortunately, neighboring countries sought to wall us back in. When I was seven, I ran away and joined the army.

  As a girl, it was uncommon, but not entirely so. It only took a few years to convince Captain to train me to fight.

  Our Captain often shook his head sympathetically at me. “You’re in far too much a hurry to prove your bravery, daughter of Yousef.” He’d cross himself repeatedly and say a prayer.

  And he was right. Perhaps because I was young, or perhaps because I was a woman, I wanted to prove I was as worthy of the army uniform as anyone else there.

  Running off to enlist during the war gave me solace. I was no longer a burden to a family torn by war. I gave of myself to our country.

  Captain never understood me. He asked questions of me when I brought him his breakfast of oat mash with wild mushrooms or occasionally berries to make it sweet. It was my way to bribe him into letting me wield a sword.

  While he’d shave his face with the straight edge of a razor, I placed the bowl beside him on the table. He’d gaze over at me. The razor would hover over his skin. “I don’t dare put you on the battlefield,” he said, knowing what I’d ask before I even spoke. “Your small frame would have you trampled in seconds.”

  “I can do it. Have someone teach me.”

  “You shouldn’t be so eager. Death is no dream.”

  “I wish to support the cause,” I said.

  “Learn the bow.”

  And I did.

  I learned to wield a sword as well. I was given a smaller one, lighter than the others were given, but I was faster with my strikes.

  By the time I was twelve, I had slain men twice my size, by arrow and by the tip of my blade.

  The year I turned sixteen, our unit was sent orders by carrier to meet at Hemlock Point, a hill that overlooked the sea, where the enemy was reported to have camped.

  Our Captain ordered us to drive them into the sea.

  It was a cool early morning. The mist lifted from the grassy field behind me. I was on a hill, at the crest.

  The army before us that we faced were scrambling to get themselves together to attack. Helmets were dropped by clumsy hands. They raced to us sleepy eyed and without any organization. We’d surprised them. They were not prepared for this.

  Shoulder to shoulder with other archers, I pulled back on the string of my bow, aiming far into the line of men in the distance surging toward us. With a held breath, I only released when I could predict where they may be, and I was sure my shot would make its target. Nothing distracted me from my task, not the thwap and whistle of bow strings releasing, or the heavy breathing of my brothers, or the screams that erupted from the beach before us.

  Our people fought for the right to remain free. The Wall had come down, and we were keeping it that way. I was proud to do my part.

  When the fighting got so heated that launching arrows was just as likely kill my own people as the enemy, I switched to my blade, running down behind the line of soldiers.

  A second unit from our side were sent in to assist. They carried light weapons and raised heavy body shields.

  Any enemy that looked to overtake one of my brothers, those of us lighter than the others would jump over and hurtle a blade point into their faces.

  The chaos echoed in my ears. The enemy could either be trampled or they could go where we herded them, into the ocean. No mercy was granted today.

  The line ahead of us had closed in, continuing the onslaught. The men continued their push onward, walking over fallen bodies. One of our men was overpowered by a brute from the other side. I ran swiftly from my position to assist.

  His bloodline was of dwarves, and as such, he was stout in nature. His shield was bigger than him. When I pierced the enemy and he fell, I turned to him. His helmet had fallen away.

  He’d a mop of curly dark hair, as long as his shoulders, and he tied it back with a bit of rope. His nose was as broad as his lips and his eyes were a piercing coal.

  And he’d no beard. His cheek bones to his chin was all smooth.

  I’d never heard of a dwarf without one, and it was a surprise to me.

  He snarled at me when I offered a hand to help him up, until he met my eyes, squinting up at me. “You’re a girl?” His grumbling voice was like when rocks fell off the mountain, deep and threatening.

  “I’m a soldier,” I said.

  His dark eyes fell from my face and lower, to the leather uniform I wore, and the boots, all strapped to my body with rope to make it fit. He shook his head slowly. “I’ll never understand your people.”

  I continued to hold my hand to him. “Will you join us again?” I asked.

  He slowly took it, getting up to check himself out. “Just winded.” He picked up his shield, checking for damage. “What’s your name?”

  “Yousef. Adelina Yousef.” I took my blade into my other hand and offered it to him to shake. “What’s yours?”

  “Thorne,” he said.

  We made our way back into the forward line. He held the shield, and we soon learn he could support the whole shield and I could strike over his shoulder with my blade. He propelled himself, with me using his shoulder to jump and attack. Simple, effective, and deadly.

  By that evening, with the enemy drowning in the waves and our victory fires lighting up the beaches, Thorne sat beside me on a log he dragged over.

  We sat just far enough outside the flames to still feel the warmth. Thorne brought out a waterskin from his pack.

  He took a sniff of the contents, took a drink, swished the liquid in his mouth and then swallowed. “The finest…” He smacked his lips after.

  “Water?” I asked.

  He roared with laughter and offered me the skin.

 
; I put it to my mouth without sniffing, not daring to back down from what I thought a challenge.

  The burn on my throat had me coughing and sputtering before I finished the swallow.

  He collected the waterskin from my hands before I could drop it, laughing. “That face,” he said, continuing his chuckling. “Well worth the cost of you wasting it.”

  I licked the inside of my mouth. I’d been around alcohol before, as the men bought it any time we came across an inn or market. It was never my favorite. I didn’t like waking up with a headache. “There’s something wrong with it.”

  “Don’t insult it,” he said. “It’s firespit. Created from berries found deep in the earth, near the molten core.”

  I waved him off in disbelief. “You can’t fool me. Berries don’t grow in caves.”

  He smirked at me. “You think you’re so smart, Ade? Think you know everything about the world?”

  I couldn’t answer him. I knew I didn’t know. There was little I knew outside of war and survival. I wondered if the berries were as fiery as his cheeks when close to the fire. “How do you find them?”

  “I’m not allowed to tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re not a dwarf.”

  I cocked my brow. “You don’t know, do you?”

  He ignored me and took another swig from his waterskin. When he finished his swallow, his dark eyes, glowing orange by the flames nearby, fixed on my face. “What has the world come to when we let young girls into such battles?”

  The protest was on my lips, but instead of answering him, I fired back. “What’s a dwarf without a beard?”

  The challenge in his eyes drug up a wavering feeling inside of me. I was ready to defend myself, challenging his question with a personal insult. I counted on it hurting.

  His voice boomed at my face. “If you want to live, you’ll never ask that question again!”

  I barked back. “And if you want to live, you’ll never question why I’m here again!”

  The glares we exchanged were insufferable. I didn’t want to talk about how when I was younger, I ran away because I idolized the adventure and needed to escape people who didn’t want me. My father abandoned my brother and myself. My brother blamed me for our mother’s death. So here I was, the place where I wasn’t a burden. Now after fighting for so long, I fought for my brothers. I fought to help them survive. I did it knowing they’d do the same for me. And we all did for our people, to stop us from being prisoners behind a wall.

  Girl or not, I did what any citizen should have been doing. None of my people questioned it.

  I imagined he had similar reasons to be defensive of his beardless face.

  He suddenly reeled back and laughed, long and loud. He swatted me on the back. I wasn’t expecting it, but braced myself to stop from falling off the log.

  He kept his arm around me, a hand on my back and raised his firespit to the sky. “Ade, you’ve got something in you that I like.”

  I beamed at this.

  And for a year, Thorne and I were inseparable.

  I trusted him, up to the day he betrayed me.

  IT’S OVER

  The day I turned seventeen, I awoke to a misty morning. I rose from the bedroll that I had laid out a month ago.

  We’d been stagnant for ages. Our unit was awaiting word of what to do next, only information had been slow arriving. But we were far from the capital, at the border near the crumbled wall.

  I got to my knees silently in the very early hours. I finger-combed through my hair to rouse myself. My hair had grown to my waist. I’d thought to cut it, perhaps short like some of the men. Only I usually braided it or pulled it back, and swiftly forgot about it. Today, I did the same, using a small leather strap to tie it away from my face.

  I had guard duty. I needed to dress and go.

  I rose as quietly as I could, turning my back on Thorne. At some point, since we’d stayed together, he became my tent partner as well. It was just as well. The other men who I’d usually joined in their tents prior, they’d recently started watching me as I dressed. It wasn’t blatantly. I’d punch them where it would hurt if they ever gawked at me.

  But often, it was like they forgot I was a woman when I was in uniform, and when I was out of it, they remembered.

  I imagined I was hideous, so I kept my uniform on at all times.

  Thorne slept through the morning often. He was impossible to wake unless he wanted to be awake, and that was never in the morning. It gave me a chance to dress, without anyone else seeing me.

  Except this morning, when I looked over at him, and I caught him up on his elbow as I was finishing putting on the breeches.

  It startled me as I slipped them up my waist. “Did I wake you?”

  “No,” he said. His eyes remained on me, at my bare waist, where my shirt had rumpled up a bit during sleep.

  When I realized what he was looking at, I fixed it. “You don’t have to glare at me so,” I said. “I know how hideous I am.”

  His thick brows bunched together until they almost became one. “Who told you that you were hideous? Did one of those brutes out there…” He began to rise, and I recognized the anger building up, like when we prepared for battle.

  I waved him off, going to him and urging him back to rest. “No,” I said. “No one would dare say it to my face. I could just tell. From how they look at me.”

  Despite my push, he got up until he was cross-legged and sitting. He was quiet for a moment while he examined me. “Look, Ade-y-girl,” he said, the name he often called me. He was the only one allowed without getting my boot in their stomach. “I’ll admit to not knowing much about human appeal, but you’re no more hideous than ice water is ugly to a man dying of thirst.”

  His analogy made my mind drift. “So I resemble water?”

  He snorted and then laughed, shoving me in the shoulder until I toppled to the ground, like a turtle on my back.

  “No!” he said, shaking with his chuckling as I scrambled to get up. “You’re thick in your vanity.” He stood up, naked, and presented me with a hand to get myself up by his aid. He never hid his own nudity, and I’d not thought twice about it until that morning.

  I compared his male body to my own at first, wondering how he managed to walk with a branch between his thighs.

  But something stirred in me as I was looking up toward his broad chest and shoulders. I thought at first it was jealousy for a shape I would never be able to own.

  However, a well formed in my chest that day. I didn’t understand it. I wanted to touch him. I didn’t know why.

  I wasn’t ignorant of sex. The men, when near towns, often paid for nightly pleasures. I thought it vile, the dainty woman not to my taste and I often volunteered to stay behind. If I followed the men to the brothel, I sat outside, the women unable to con me out of coin to go in…most of the time.

  As I stood there, gazing at Thorne’s body, the well inside me wanted something from him I hadn’t yet experienced. But it was more than just having sex with a man, an indulgence I’d yet to experience as most brothels I’d been in had been with women.

  The well didn’t form in my loins, but in my chest. It made my breath quicken and my pulse race without prompting.

  “Do you think I’m like water?” I asked, the tone of my voice changed into something I didn’t recognize. Softer. It horrified me. My face caught fire the instant I realized it.

  Thorne said nothing for a long moment, his gaze moving downward, but not really looking at me fully, just lost in his own head. He snapped his head back up instantly and waved me off. “Get yourself ready for your guard duty. You’ll be late.”

  He was right, I turned away from him to collect the rest of my armor. “What are you going to do? You’re not usually up so early.”

  When I turned back, he was looking at me again. There was a change in his eyes, something I didn’t understand. It was like he was seeing me for the first time, didn’t recognize me, and was study
ing my face.

  He reached out to me, his broad, coarse fingers traced along one cheek, a gentle scratch to my skin.

  I held still, and my breath escaped me.

  The surged in my chest spiraled out of control. That well, something pooled into it, but it wasn’t water. It was electrified by his touch. On fire.

  It was a long moment like this, where I was confused, and he seemed to be just the same. The touch, the delicate way he held to my cheek, it was the only thing I could focus on.

  He released me and I could suddenly breathe again.

  He said nothing, waving me off as he looked in his pack for clothes.

  I finished getting dressed in a hurry, afraid to say anything else. I wound my hair up quickly into a pile on top of my head and then put on a helm to hold it.

  The well was still there, in my chest, as I left. It had emptied a bit, but it still felt like liquid fire had covered the bottom, warming everything.

  I swallowed, trying to ignore the feeling. How ridiculous. I didn’t need to be making a fool of myself with Thorne.

  The brisk morning air bit my face when I left the tent. I stumbled in my boots, righted myself, and then marched my way to the lookout point we’d set up near the hilltop, cutting off a main road. We’d surrounded our camp with a rock wall and spikes along the outside. We left only a few openings around it but needed to guard those spaces. In the last month it had only been wolves and other creatures that got too close.

  One of the men was in a makeshift chair. His name was Ivan, and he was one of the tallest and broadest men in the camp. His arms were folded and he was sitting back, straining the chair. He twisted around as I approached. “About time,” he said, his corroded voice thick. He rose and picked up the sword he’d leaned carefully next to him.