Stiger leaned down to the bucket and grabbed the ladle for another drink. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her stiffen. Suddenly uncomfortable, Stiger straightened. She moved around, first to his side, craning her neck for a better view of his back, and then stepping fully behind him. He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. He should have thought better than to remove his tunic.
“Dear gods,” Sarai gasped.
“The gods had nothing to do with it,” Stiger said, on guard and angry with himself for not thinking. The last thing he needed was to frighten her. Sarai likely thought him a criminal.
He felt the light touch of her fingertips upon his scarred back and flinched as if the contact were painful. It had surprised him, was all. She pulled her hand back and then returned it.
“Who would do such a thing?”
Stiger turned to look upon her and saw the horror in her eyes. Her gaze shifted from his face to his chest. A finger reached out to one of the larger scars on his breast. She traced its puckered surface. He had gotten that in battle while serving with Third Legion, just before he’d come south. Then her hand went to his face and her index finger tentatively touched the scar Sergeant Geta had given him.
“You’ve been through a lot.” There was a tenderness in Sarai’s expression and eyes that Stiger had not expected.
“Yes,” Stiger said gruffly.
“You’ve suffered. I can see it in your eyes.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Stiger gave a slow nod.
“Your back. Who did that to you?” Sarai asked when he did not answer, allowing her hand to fall to her side.
“A man with no honor scourged me,” Stiger said. The thought of it kindled his anger. But at the same time, he found the look in her eyes surprising. What he saw there wasn’t fear or loathing, but something else. The horror was not directed at him but what had been done to him.
“Why?” she asked, her gaze locking with his.
Stiger took a deep breath. He had not spoken on this for many years and suddenly found it was almost too painful to do so. And yet, he could not help but answer her. Something urged him on, almost as if deep down he wanted to get the burden of the injustice off his chest. Looking into her deep brown eyes, he felt he could tell Sarai anything.
“A man under my command committed a crime,” Stiger said, his voice harsh with the emotion of memory. “After investigating, I thought him innocent. He wasn’t, but I didn’t know that at the time. The evidence against him was circumstantial at best. I set him free. That should have been the end of it.”
“But it wasn’t,” she said.
“No. The general in command of my legion learned of it. Regardless of the evidence, he wanted the man punished. I protested and was overridden. The general desired to make an example of my man. For the scope of the crime, the punishment prescribed was cruel, and unjust. It was all designed to get to me because the general and I have a not-so-pleasant mutual history. He wanted to embarrass and cause me grief. To do that, he ordered three hundred lashes of the whip. Such punishment typically cripples those few who manage to survive such an ordeal.”
Stiger fell silent a moment as he recalled that fateful time so long ago. He could still feel the first few searing blows that had landed on his back, almost wincing as if it had just happened. He looked into her eyes and saw Sarai was intensely focused on him.
“When the day came to administer punishment, I offered to take the man’s place.”
Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes widened.
“And this general accepted?”
“He did,” Stiger said. He had planned on one day having a reckoning with Lears, but the opportunity had never presented itself. Now, he knew it never would.
She moved around behind him again, to gaze upon his back. Stiger felt her palm touch his back tenderly. Once again, he could not help but flinch.
“Does it hurt?”
“It itches on occasion,” Stiger said. “But no. It no longer causes me pain.”
She put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around to face her. She was very close. Stiger could smell the rosewater over the aroma of the fresh soil and grass he had dug up. It was intoxicating.
“Where I come from,” Sarai said, “only slaves are punished in such a manner. How did you survive this?”
“A friend of mine nursed me back to health,” Stiger said, thinking on all Eli had done for him. “It took months, but he managed it, just barely. I caught a bad fever and almost died.”
“He must be a very good friend.”
“The best,” Stiger said, his throat suddenly thick with emotion. “I expect I will never see him again.”
Their gazes remained fixed and both fell silent. Stiger found her brown eyes deep and compelling. He abruptly took a half step forward, grabbed her about the waist, and pulled her against him. He kissed her, pressing his lips against hers. He shocked even himself by the move, which was wholly spontaneous. She stiffened and he feared she would pull away. Then Sarai relaxed, as if the air had left her body. Stiger felt her kiss him in return as she gave into it, her lips soft and warm against his. Her mouth opened and their tongues met and explored. Stiger lost himself in that kiss and sensed the same from her.
After a long moment, Sarai pulled away from him and placed both hands on his chest, while her eyes searched his face. She pushed slightly and Stiger reluctantly released his hold upon her hips.
Stiger realized his attraction to her had been growing slowly, day after day, but he’d been blind to it until this very moment. His heart was hammering away. She had an indefinable inner beauty and goodness that radiated forth. He was drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. He recognized that now. This attraction was something he’d not felt for a very long time, and yet with Sarai it was something more, something different. They were kindred souls. Both had suffered terribly. Perhaps it was that suffering that had brought them both together. He was rocked by the realization of how he felt. He had thought her simple and uneducated, but she knew more of the world than many of the nobles in Mal’Zeel. Her face, which had once seemed plain and ordinary to him, was lovely. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed. In that moment, Stiger desired no one else but her.
She took a breath that shuddered.
“Losing my husband almost broke me,” Sarai said and touched her heart. “I lost my daughter soon before. She had just turned two. I can’t tell you the pain.”
Stiger blinked. He had not known she’d had a child. The silence between them stretched. He was afraid to speak, lest he break the spell between them.
“I was a whore,” Sarai said and her voice took on a hard edge. “That is what I am, a whore. You need to understand that before you take this any further.”
Stiger had not been prepared for such a revelation. He was at a loss for words.
“My mother sold me into prostitution when I turned fourteen. It was awful, terrible. When I was able to escape, I fled and then I met this wonderful man, a slave. He was a common field hand. We came to Vrell, two runaway slaves looking for safety, and the dwarves let us into the valley. They gave us this farm. All they asked in return was a tenth of our harvest.”
Sarai gave a sob, a tear running down her cheek. Stiger wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but he restrained himself. He did not want to interrupt her as she bared her soul to him.
“It was perfect, a dream compared to the life we’d known, and then the only two people in the world I loved died.” She paused, glanced down toward the ground before looking back up at him. “I have no family, no one to care for me. My nearest friends live in town and they’re only acquaintances to whom I occasional sell produce. After my husband and child passed I had no one. I still have no one.”
She fell silent. Nothing Stiger could say seemed appropriate, so he waited for her to continue.
Sarai gestured around them as tears brimmed her eyes. Her hands shook slightly. “Then you come. The dwarves dump you on me. They offered gold
to take you in. I have no money to speak of. Thoggle said you are a man of noble birth who had suffered, a great leader of men who had lost everything and everyone he cared about.” Sarai’s words came out as a torrent, as if the floodgates had opened. “He said you were someone who needed to be hidden and my place was perfect. How could I turn away someone who had suffered so? How could I take his money? I refused but took you in.” Her look hardened. “I will never sell myself to anyone again. I thought you would just lie around all day, but no.” She tapped his naked chest with a palm. It was almost a slap. “You went to work fixing this and that. You threw everything you had into it.” She paused and choked back a sob. “You a noble and me just a common girl, a whore. You should not want me.”
Sarai had said the last with such self-loathing that it tore at Stiger’s heart.
“I am a killer,” Stiger replied, almost shocked by the admission of his own words. “I’ve ordered countless men to their deaths. I’ve killed and murdered with my own hand, all in the name of service, the empire, and the High Father. You are a whore. I ask you, what does it matter in the end? I am a killer.”
“Thoggle told me you were a good man. Such a man wouldn’t want me.” Sarai said the last in barely more than a whisper.
“I do want you,” Stiger said, and with those words, he knew it to be completely true. She was the one he wanted.
“Despite being faithful, the gods have cursed me for my sins and have taken both my husband and child. I’m not worthy of your attention.”
“You are, and I don’t care what you were,” Stiger said and took a step toward her. She stepped back, as if afraid of his touch.
“What happens when you go? Besides fixing up the farm, what mess will you leave me with? I will be alone again. Tell me. I can’t bear to lose someone else I care for.”
Stiger found he had to clear his throat before he could speak.
“I don’t think I’m leaving,” Stiger said. “I can’t ever go home. My noble birth no longer matters. Who I was is done and over. I’ve lost everyone I care about. There is nothing to go back to. My life as a soldier, as a killer, is over. The dwarves just don’t know what to do with me, which is why they put me here.”
Her brows drew together and the frown lines around her mouth deepened. Her gaze was just as piercing as it had been the night they’d met. It was as if she were trying to divine whether or not he was lying to her.
“I’m—” he started to say, but she put a finger to his lips. Her touch was unexpected.
“Don’t,” Sarai said and it came out a half sob. “Don’t say anything more. Don’t ruin it.”
Stiger reached up and took her head in his hands and drew her close. He kissed her again and she responded. It was long, passionate, heartfelt. She shuddered as he placed his arms around her and drew her to him. She pressed against his body as if she wanted to melt into him. Stiger held her, his face in her hair. They remained that way for some time, each holding the other.
Sarai pushed him away and abruptly laughed as she wiped tears from her eyes. She wrinkled her nose at him.
“You stink pretty badly.”
Stiger glanced down at himself. He was very sweaty and dirty.
“There’s a pond just two miles from here,” Sarai said in a firm tone. It was almost as if she were talking to a young child. “I want you to go bathe. If you leave now, you should be back in time for supper.”
Stiger frowned. He wasn’t done with the day’s work. He’d been bathing daily out of a bucket drawn from the well. He’d thought that had been enough.
“I have some soap back at the house.” Sarai pointed a finger at him and wagged it. “You are to take a proper bath, understand me?”
“My work?” Stiger gestured toward the fencing.
“It can wait.”
“But the dwarves?” Stiger said.
“Go speak with Aleric,” Sarai said. “As long as you have an escort, they let you go where you will. They allowed you out to that old run-down farm. Bowman’s Pond is not that far. I don’t think they will mind.” Sarai paused and looked at him down her nose. It was a very meaningful look. “I want you to take a bath.”
“I believe I will go find Aleric,” Stiger said with a sudden grin.
“You do that,” Sarai said and shot him a wink. Her eyes were red and puffy. In that moment, he thought her the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She spared him another look and then turned back for the house.
Stiger watched her walk away. She held her hands out to caress the tall grass that rippled around her as another gentle gust blew by them. In her faded blue dress, she looked very fine to him. Something he’d thought long dead inside him had stirred awake. His pain and frustration at his current circumstance had faded. Watching her, it almost felt as if he had a future once again, something perhaps to look forward to.
Stiger turned toward the dwarven camp. As he did so, he saw his guards who were standing just thirty yards away begin moving with him. They had seen everything. One of them gave him a thumbs-up and grinned. Stiger put the dwarf from his mind.
It was time to find Aleric to arrange an escort, for he needed a bath.
Chapter Three
Stiger picked up a battered wooden bucket. The handle had long since broken off. He tucked it under an arm and stepped out into the yard. Before he had taken three steps from the barn, more than a dozen chickens came running at breakneck speed. They crowded around his feet, clucking eagerly, a few even bold enough to rub up against his legs as if they were cats.
He chuckled and tossed a fistful of feed, old corn, onto the grass at his feet. The clucking intensified and the chickens went mad. He threw out another fistful before emptying the remainder of the bucket into the long grass.
The chickens scratched and pecked frantically, in search of the dried kernels. Stiger watched the frenzy a moment before moving over to the henhouse. He stuck his head inside and his nose wrinkled at the powerful stench of chicken manure. It was nearing that time again when he would need to muck out the henhouse. It was not one of his favorite chores, but a necessary one.
The manure was an excellent source of fertilizer for the farm’s garden, but that did not mean he had to enjoy the task. Careful where he put his feet, Stiger stepped inside. He had to bend over, as the ceiling was rather low. Four shelves lined the back wall. Each held five roughhewn nesting boxes. Large enough for one hen, each box was lined with straw. This he would also need to change out.
A brooding hen on the second shelf squawked at him in irritation. There were three other hens loitering about inside the henhouse.
“Easy, old mother,” Stiger said to the bird. Despite his soothing tone, she stood up in her nest, flapping her wings and exposing a number of eggs, several of which were different hues. There would be eggs from multiple hens amongst her future brood, as multiple females would have laid their eggs in her nest. The hen squawked louder as he came nearer.
“I’m not here for your eggs,” Stiger reassured her as he moved over to the empty nesting boxes.
He set about checking each nest. There were plenty of fresh eggs. Looking carefully amongst the hay, he rapidly cleared out the nests, filling the bucket halfway with eggs. Before he deposited an egg into the bucket, he tested each to make certain the shell was firm. Bad eggs with parchment-thin shells would go into the compost pile along with the shells from the good eggs.
Satisfied with his haul, he set the bucket on the ground and checked the pan of water on the floor. Chickens, very much like people, preferred to drink clean water. The pan was usually fouled. It was half full and surprisingly clean. Regardless, he resolved to draw some fresh water from the well and change it out later, when he was done with his other tasks around the farm.
As Stiger left the henhouse, the brooding hen scolded him the entire way out. Once outside, he took a moment, savoring the cool, fresh morning air free from chicken manure. The sky was clear and blue with only a handful of clouds. Movement drew his attention
to the left.
Sitting on his haunches, the dog was back.
Tongue hanging out of its mouth, it was a great big mangy thing, with long gray hair that was matted, tangled, and dirty. It was the largest dog Stiger had ever seen. He could not place its breed. Despite its fearsome size, the dog had a sad look about it, almost as if he had lost his best friend.
“You again.” Stiger grunted in an unhappy tone. “Time to move on, friend.”
The dog just continued to stare at him.
Stiger gave a slight shrug and walked back to the barn. He felt the animal’s eyes track him the entire way. He had appeared two weeks ago and showed no signs of desire to move on.
Once inside, he placed the bucket next to another on a battered work table. This second one was heavy with milk. Stiger had filled the bucket from their only cow a short while ago, before freeing the animal into the back pasture behind the barn. In the chill air, a slight hazy steam rose from the surface of the milk. He cast his eyes over the buckets, satisfied with the morning haul.
His stomach rumbled. Sarai would be out shortly to collect them. Breakfast would follow within the hour. Most days she served oatmeal and tea for the morning meal. Today would include eggs, milk, cheese, and bread that she had baked the night before. To break up the monotony of standard fare, Sarai usually set a nice breakfast twice a week. It was these meals that he looked forward to.
He moved over to a small cart that had been placed by the wall and wheeled it over to the cow’s pen. As he went for the shovel, he stopped to look over a series of nets hanging from the ceiling, heavy with drying walnuts.
“Soon,” Stiger said, patting one of the bags affectionately before moving on. He had harvested his first walnuts a little over two weeks ago. His hands were still stained a somewhat unpleasant light green. Removing the husks and worms from the nut had proven not only a time-consuming process, but also an educational one. It had been a first for him, and he was proud of his work. He would enjoy it more so when the time came to consume the nutmeat.
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