"Fine. Get yerselves ready. And remember -- ye'd be under my command now. Ye follow my orders. Clear?"
As one, the men dropped to their knees and made the sign of fealty. In one voice they swore allegiance to her. It was not the Oath Aro and her regiment had sworn, but it moved her all the same -- perhaps more, spontaneous and unexpected as it was.
She turned to Merry, whose eyes were glistening -- with pride in his boys, she guessed. She bowed to him. "I'll bring yer boys back safely, Merry."
He shook his head, his long beard, no longer held by his belt, flying from side to side. "Nae. They'd be yer boys now, Bellica."
The men rose and nodded assent, then hurried off to make ready the landing craft. Anala sighed again. Wha' have I gotten them into?
Turning, she saw her last bit of business waiting tearfully at the entrance to below decks. In three strides, Anala stood in front of the girl; she knelt and wrapped her sister in a tight hug. Leaning back, she gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Now," she said, wiping a tear off Mara's cheek as she rose, "I'll not be saying farewell, fer I'd be back in a few days, ye ken?"
Mara nodded and wrapped her arms around Anala in one last hug. Reluctantly Anala pried the girl's arms from her waist, ruffled her hair, and walked away.
She did not look at her sister's face as the boat lowered into the water, did not glance at Merry again, did not look at all that was Athering to her in this strange place. She kept her eyes focused on Voco, ever on the future.
~
They arrived at the exit from Auport over an hour later, earning a glare from the dour man who'd addressed them in the harbour.
Anala did not care. She'd had business in town; it wasn't her fault the merchants here were so damn stubborn.
The first order of business had been to acquire some horses. She'd left her own mare in Harbourtown, as much as because the horse suffered seasickness as because it was a fine animal, too good to sacrifice to this mission. Besides, now she had an escort: three old tars who needed mounts as well. So they'd gone to the horse market.
It had been slim pickings. Whether there were few good mounts to be had on Voco or if they'd hidden all the better choices from the Atherians, Anala did not know. After much searching, haggling and bickering, she managed to get four sturdy mounts with fairly good gaits. Not ideal for flight, but she hoped it would not come to that.
When she'd pulled out some gold to pay, the merchant had balked.
"What, are you trying to bankrupt me?" he'd asked angrily.
Anala stared at him, unsure of what to do. "Would ye rather I'd pay ye in copper?" she asked a touch sarcastically.
The man's eyes widened and he dropped his voice, looking around to make sure no other merchants had heard. "Do you have any?"
Anala had to bite back a laugh. The man wanted pence? How rare was copper on Voco? she wondered. She did not dare a glance to her escort, for she knew she'd lose her composure if she did. "Aye," she said in all seriousness. "I'd have a bit. Small amount, ye ken." She reached into her purse and pulled out a few pence. The merchant nearly leapt at it, unable to keep his excitement hidden. Anala pulled out one more piece and placed the money into his hands.
He grabbed it greedily and put it away, thanking her over and over again for her generosity. She inclined her head and said magnanimously, "It'd be a trifle," before turning away with her escort and purchases.
They managed to hold in their laughter until they were out of the merchant's earshot.
Her second errand should have gone more easily, now that she knew what to expect.
She'd found the clothier without issue. The boys waited outside while she searched for what she needed. In short order she found three pairs of sturdy pants, two shirts of the same tough material, and some underthings, all in her sister's size. She would have been in and out within minutes, but for the merchant hearing her accent.
"Oh, no, we don't serve your kind in here," she'd said, and made to shoo Anala away as if she were some irritating summer insect.
"My kind?" Anala asked with deceptive mildness.
The woman sneered. "Atherians," she said as if the word tasted bad. "Most especially Harbourtowners -- parasites preying on honest folk like myself."
Anala raised her eyebrows. "I suppose if tha' twere true I'd a just walked out wi' the clothes, now wouldn' I?"
The woman flushed but held her ground. "You're still parasites. If it weren't for Athering, well, then...."
"Then what?" Anala asked her when she didn't finish. The woman blustered. "I can see ye no have an answer fer me, and I'd no have time ta be listening ta yer nonsense. Here'd be me copper fer the clothes." She dropped a pile of pence on the counter and the woman stopped short, staring at the wealth in front of her in shocked silence. Anala grabbed some paper and twine and wrapped her purchases herself while the woman hastily gathered up the copper and hoarded it. "Have yerself a nice day," said Anala as she left, but doubted the woman heard her in her paroxysms of greed.
After that it was only a matter of getting the package to Jerome, who waited in the rowboat just off shore, with instructions to give the clothing to Mara, and then get to the exit of town.
"You took your sweet time arriving," the man whose name she did not know sneered.
She shrugged. His thoughts were something she could care less for and she doubted he posed any threat to her. Not much o' one, anyway, she thought, eyes straying to the strange weapon on his belt.
His eyes narrowed as he saw the direction of hers. He patted his belt and smiled, but it was not a friendly gesture. "Admiring my piece, are you? They're reserved for Lord Exsil Vis' elite guard. More efficient than a crossbow for they're not so clumsy and do more damage than those bolts. I suppose you have no equal in Athering?" His tone said he thought he'd won some victory over her.
She shrugged. "Ah, well, in Athering we'd prefer weapons as take some skill ta wield, ye ken." It had been a bluff, for she knew nothing about the weapon he held, but his expression told her she'd guessed right and struck a nerve.
"I'll have you know I could take you down in any combat, any time, any where -- say the word, and we will duel," he hissed at her, desperate to regain face in front of his men.
She smiled disarmingly at him and was glad to see his confusion. "It'd be tempting, no doubt, but I'd hate ta kill ye afore we reach 'is Lordship's palace. Be awful embarrassin', ye see, what with me on a diplomatic mission an' all...."
This was too much for Merrik, who guffawed loudly. It set off Trent, and both collapsed into paroxysms of glee, Dagon the only one keeping his composure and looking at his companions with a hint of disdain.
The man of the dour countenance huffed, sputtered incoherently, and rode on ahead, tossing his head like an angry horse.
When the boys had recovered from their mirth, Trent turned to her and spoke: "Aye, Mi Lady, I'd a known it'd be the right thing ta follow ye. A woman o' worth, ye can cut wi' words as well as steel!" He and Merrik burst into chuckles again.
Anala allowed herself a small smile at her victory, but resolved not to push her luck. Death-trap or no, she wished to make an effort to come out alive.
A moment or two later Trent's voice broke out in a bawdy sailor's song, with Dagon and Merrik joining in on the choruses. The man looked back at them, glowering, but Anala just gave him a friendly smile and he turned away again, confused.
She kept her smile on as they continued their slow climb up the winding road, ever onwards to Clifton, the song of her sailor escort booming off the cliff walls around them.
Despite it all...she was having a bit of fun. But only a bit.
~
Tellangia came upon them suddenly. Too soon for Anala, for it meant they were half-way there.
They stopped to water and feed their horses, and her escort disappeared into the tavern -- to use the privy, ostensibly, but Anala knew better. She found a privy somewhere else to use, and then returned to check on the horses.
Frowny-face came
upon her there; he'd stopped speaking with a sneer about an hour ago, obviously deciding it was effort wasted on her, as she only smiled or bantered with him.
"Bellica," he said neutrally.
Better than disrespect. "Aye?" she responded equably, patting her horse.
"I'm afraid your men can go no further. They are to stay here in Tellangia, while you ride on to Clifton."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Ye said I'd be allowed an escort. Are ye going back on yer word?"
"I said you could take three men ashore with you," he reminded her. "I did not say how far they may go."
Thinking back, she realised this was true and nodded an apology for her hasty words. Then she frowned, thinking. "Why did ye no mention it afore?"
He paled, his face pinched, but his tone was civil. "I did not know till now. A courier for His Lordship has been waiting for us here. He told me of the, ah, recent developments."
Anala stopped her sigh. There was naught she could do but she dreaded telling the boys the news. It was vexing, to be sure, but she'd just have to be on her guard -- even more than she had been. Any more and I'll shape-shift into a shield.
"A'right. I thank ye fer telling me," she said with another disarming smile, then nodded farewell and walked into the tavern.
He gave her retreating back a long, long look before returning to his men.
~
Needless to say, the boys were less than pleased. They bucked at it and railed at the unfairness, causing such a scene the tavernkeeper kicked them out. They then found a target for their anger in the dour-faced man, and started hurling a string of invective and insults at him, threatening him, trying to bully him into letting them come.
Before the man could respond Anala, suddenly filled with an awesome anger, grabbed Trent, the most vocal of the three, by the ear, twisting until he cried out, and slapped him across the face.
That got their attention.
"Ye sorry lot o' maggots! Need I remind ye we'd be on a diplomatic mission here? Oh, a fine job ye're doing representin' Athering, ye slovenly lot o' no-goods. What am I ta tell Merry when we get back? That ye threw a fit like a bunch o' ten year old boys?" She glared at them. They all gained a sudden interest in their feet and what exactly they could do to the ground by scuffing at it. "Now," she continued, no longer yelling, voice a deadly calm that did nothing to reassure them. "Ye're going ta book a room here, at the inn -- the one ye dinnae get kicked out a -- and ye're going ta wait fer my return. Clear?"
The men exchanged glances, and Merrik spoke up. "But, Bellica -- "
"An' tha's an order, soldiers," she said, cutting him off. "Clear?"
They nodded and mumbled something that may have been "Aye, Bellica," looking miserable and for all the world like boys being sent to their room without supper.
Feeling a twinge in her heart, for she knew they were only acting out of fear for her, she called out to Trent. He raised his head hopefully. "Catch," she said, tossing her coin purse at him. "Should be some copper left -- book the room an' buy yerselves a round on me."
The men smiled widely and bobbed quick bows. "Aye, Bellica," they said with vigour, running off to the inn.
"Spend it wisely, ye ken!" she shouted after them, but they were already gone.
She turned to her Vocan escort to find the not-so-dour man staring at her, a strange but not unfriendly look on his face.
"Aye?" she said, eyebrows raised. He shook his head and looked away, as if breaking from a spell.
They mounted then, and left, heading up to Clifton again.
"So," Anala said genially, pulling abreast of him, "Do ye have a name, or should I just continue ta refer ta ye as Frowny-Face?"
Lares
It was incredibly rude, he knew. And he should keep up the pretence of dislike. He knew this as well.
But when she smiled like that -- he knew she meant naught but a jest of it, and he found his traitorous lips curving into a smile as well as he answered her.
"Is that what you call me?" He laughed a bit. "Well, I suppose I deserve it. I'm Lares. Lares Stout-Heart."
What am I doing? This is ridiculous -- Exsil Vis will not be pleased.
The Lord Exsil Vis, not the Lady, though he aimed to please her as well -- and with more passion. Life had become difficult, as so many things that pleased Hope displeased Maurice, and vice versa. Playing double-agent for a married couple was a living Tyvian.
In his case, he would have preferred the fires of the afterlife of the wicked, for the one to whom he was truly loyal was the one without real power, and so he lived a lie every second of every day. If they were in Athering, it would be different, since women ruled there without question. They were in Voco, however, where whoever survived to adulthood inherited -- and that survivor was Maurice Exsil Vis.
More the pity. He was a right bastard. Lares did not know why Hope stayed with him. God knew she'd had plenty of opportunity to leave, and yet at every turn she chose her prison here. He didn't even stay in her bed, for Vulcanus' sake! Surely she could not...love him?
Lares pushed the unwelcome thought away. God knew he was better than his lady's husband, although this was not saying much, as most men were. Were Hope to choose Lares...she would never have to wear powder to cover the bruises, and her bed would never be cold again. All she would have to do was say the word, and they would leave. Seek amnesty from the Empress of Athering. Or maybe go to Suncoast, or Nighttide -- anywhere but here.
She never would say the word. It was silly to think on what could not be. She had chosen her torment, just as he'd chosen his. She would stay with Maurice, and Lares would serve and love her in silence, ever playing her husband's puppet. There was no other way.
"Lares?" a voice cut into his musings, and he saw the bellica staring at him in -- concern? Surely not; she hardly knew him and couldn't possibly like him. No one did. He was Lord Exsil Vis' dandy -- a silly courtier, more concerned with vanity than thoughts of substance, with an arrogant attitude and a short temper. No longer the intelligent, even-tempered and humble Lares Stout-Heart, a farm boy from land outside Terranamos. That boy had died a long time ago.
"Lares," she said again, a little firmer.
"Sorry, what?"
"Are ye well? Ye'd've been staring inta the distance fer a while now," she said. He could have sworn her tone was gentle but that was impossible. No one was gentle with him, no one save Hope. Even that was rare these days.
"Oh, yes. Just got...distracted, thinking of things that are neither here nor there." He gave what he hoped was a game smile. His facial muscles protested such an unwonted exercise and he was sure he looked like a scarecrow, face caught in a terrible rictus.
She nodded, accepting it, and looked back at the road. "Aye," she said. "I'd a know what ye mean," and she went quiet, going inward to view her own life's torments.
Anala Tanner. He knew all about her, of course, serving Hope Exsil Vis as he did. His lady was obsessed with the bellica and collected every tidbit of the woman's life as was possible. She'd known Anala had been coming to Voco, when even Maurice had not, and she had arranged things so that Lares, rather than anyone loyal to Maurice, would be the one to meet her. He didn't know how, but assumed Hope had an impressive spy network, for it was the only explanation. He had stopped wondering about it.
He continued to wonder why.
Why did his lady harbour such a fascination for a prominent military leader of an enemy nation, let alone one who was responsible for the deaths of many Vocans? It was not that Hope was a misplaced Atherian, hungering after a hero of her homeland -- far from it: she was a Vocan, born and raised.
So why did she care so much about Bellica Anala? It made no sense. They looked slightly similar, but he hardly thought vanity was the source of his lady's interest. Every time he asked, she evaded the question.
As she evaded so many questions.
He had no right to know, really, and she'd already shared much with him. But he wanted to know everything he
could about her -- where exactly she'd been born, who her parents had been, how old she was. She couldn't be as young as she looked, for she'd had a daughter, over ten years past now. Yet she did not look a day over twenty-three.
He obsessed over her even as she did over Anala. He burned to know her on every level, in every way, to lose himself in her and her life until he did not know where she began and he ended. To submit to her completely, to show her what it was to be loved and cherished by a spouse -- if only she'd let him.
That would never happen. So he waited out his punishment, in silence, suffering gladly for his lady.
He would never leave her. Could never leave her. To be near her...it was enough. It had to be enough.
Anala
Much to her surprise, Anala found herself liking Lares Stout-Heart, formerly known as Frowny-Face. She smiled at her private joke. Once one got past the dour-ness that was so obviously an act, one found an intelligent, quick-witted, and honest man -- though she doubted he'd ever admit the last.
In their conversation she'd learned a great deal of Lares' childhood (but not much of his current life, which was fair), the life of a farm-boy from Terranamos.
This had come as a bit of a shock. Most farm boys who made it up the ranks turned out like...well, like Caelum, who was not exactly a stellar example of subtlety and courtly manners. Neither had Lares been at their first meeting, but as they talked Anala had figured out what was an act, and what was real. For the most part, at any rate.
Why he'd chosen to show her, she had no clue.
She didn't dwell on it. He had his reasons, which she might never know, and besides, another question was pecking at her brain.
"Terranamos?" she asked. She only knew of five towns on Mt. Voco. "That'd be a town?"
Bellica Page 23