Yohan could not deny it. “I feel a weight has been lifted.”
Brody balanced one armload of sticks while he placed a hand on Yohan’s shoulder. “I am happy for you, Brother.”
“Should I be happy for you, in return? Where have these newfound thoughts led?”
A pause, as his friend considered. “When this is over, I am staying with them.”
“Aye? And what of joining the Swordthanes? What of your Proving?”
“Bah,” Brody scoffed. “A fanciful dream, nothing more. I’m not one of the greatest swordsmen in the empire. It’s become clear to me that I’m not even the best swordsman in this squad.” A hint of sadness mingled with the usual cheer.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Brother.”
Brody laughed again. He took his hand from Yohan’s shoulder to scoop up more sticks. “Sometimes a man is fortunate enough to decide between two dreams. Only a fool wouldn’t choose the one just in front of him.”
Yohan stiffened. A few preliminary notes of music emanated from the distant camp. He closed his eyes, suddenly disoriented. Waiting. The fiddles were echoed by familiar, comforting laughs. Yohan breathed deeply, collecting himself.
Still hunched over, Brody did not notice. “Besides, by the way Kelsey talks, you should be the one taking your Proving, not I.”
“I have no interest in the Thanes.”
“You haven’t even thought about it? She says she’s never seen anyone fight like that.”
“Kelsey exaggerates.”
Brody stood back up, grinning at him. There was the familiar, teasing smile Yohan knew so well. Pleasing, and so willing to be pleased. An enviable outlook on life, and yet another lesson learned.
The grin morphed into an expression of surprise, then worry. “What the Devil…”
Brody dropped the armful of sticks and began to run. Yohan turned, seeing a figure emerge through the blurry wall of falling snow. The figure stumbled, went down to its knees, and stayed there. Yohan dropped his own sticks and ran after his friend. As the two of them got closer, the bowed head lifted and an unexpected face returned their stares. Sallow eyes and a ginger beard, grown uneven.
“Are you hurt, Brother?” Brody asked, for the man wore the garb and gear of a Vilnian soldier. “Wait. I know you.”
“Redjack,” Yohan said. “Can you stand?” Not waiting for an answer, he and Brody lifted the man between them and hurried him toward the camp.
*
In her twenty-two years of life, Summer had taught the harpa dances to many a willing partner. Each time pleased to do so, happy to spread happiness. But never had she derived such satisfaction—nay, enjoyment—as she did with Yohan.
It was not only that he caught on so quickly—not merely the footwork, but the soul of the music and the motion. The essence of the thing itself. She could read in his face that he felt it in his heart, and all other things were trivial by comparison. She was proud of him, and proud of herself for having this effect.
She was teaching him not only how to dance, but how to live. He had told her so himself. Whatever the burdens he had started with, he was enjoying life again, and she had played a part in that. Quite simply, seeing happiness in others brought some to her. It had always been that way with anyone, but especially with those who experienced it least and needed it most. Indeed, this dynamic had lured her to Patrik, who in youth had been the unhappiest man she had ever known. Until now.
Summer discussed some of these thoughts with her betrothed. Not that she worried for his feelings, for he held not a jealous bone in his body. Summer had long ago cured his melancholy, and was proud of the man he had become. Patrik was, in many ways, the complete opposite of Yohan—appreciative for what he had, oblivious to what he did not, completely content with his lot. Patrik epitomized what it meant to be harpa, and she loved him for it. He noticed the good she was doing, and the good it did her in return, and encouraged her to continue.
He was a good man—the best of men—and she thanked the stars and moon for him each night. Even as she felt her heart turn.
This world was cruel and dangerous, especially for her people, and getting more so every day. Yet amid the oppression and inequity, hardships and death, she was content. The cards had been good to her, her life better than most. She did not know why some people were dealt the lyre and others the shroud. She saw no reason why she deserved the former, so the least she could do was respect the blessing through constant appreciation. Harpa culture taught that the best way to do so was to maintain joy in one’s heart, and that was a fine way to live.
Summer’s was a life of sharing joy, and of receiving it. She had experienced more than her fair share of joyful moments. Who would have thought the memory that lingered the strongest was a simple soldier asking her to dance? The moment resonated like none other. She had never felt so surprised, so proud, or so happy.
Proud and happy. Happy and proud. Precarious heights from which a fall was inevitable, but to be enjoyed for as long as possible. So much remained unspoken, and uncertain, but she would appreciate these simple joys nonetheless.
Summer finished inspecting her wagon and rejoined her family, smiling as she saw Silvo pull his cherished lute from its protective box. “Are we in for something special this eve, Silverson?”
His broad, toothy grin turned a homely face handsome. “Aye, Sister. I’ve felt it calling me these last nights, and I can resist no longer.”
She hugged him excitedly, for his pleasure was contagious. And anticipation raised her spirits even higher. She had heard him play the lute on two other occasions, and the music he created was almost enough to make her believe in the gods.
She caught Meadow’s eye, and knew her sister was just as enthusiastic. No doubt envisioning the special dance she would perform, or time shared with Soldier Brody. The eves were for forgetting the trials of the day, and no one was better at this than Fairmeadow.
The yells interrupted these thoughts. Another unwelcome disturbance, of which this journey had seen so many.
Her heart skipped a beat as she saw Yohan and Brody carry an unknown soldier into the camp and toward the fire. Summer looked from one man to the other, her eyes reluctantly settling on the stranger, and felt a wave of unease. Then she noticed Meadow hurry to their aid, and followed her sister’s example.
Out of the snowfall, warmed by the fire, fed directly from Meadow’s nursing hands, the unknown soldier spoke at last.
“I thank you, my friends.” He accepted another spoonful of soup and smiled crookedly at the small blonde. Summer disliked the gleam in his eye—a sign she had long since learned to recognize—and wondered how a man could feel desire so soon after a harrowing ordeal. But the look quickly faded, and he politely shook his head at the next spoonful. “Later. I must tell you my story, first.”
Curiously, his eyes drifted toward Yohan, and lingered.
Despite whatever ordeal the man had endured to come here, she saw that he still retained the sword at his side and the crossbow on his back, and he bore no visible wounds. Hopefully, these were all signs that the story would not be as unpleasant as she feared.
“Our party formed at Halfsummit a few days after your departure. Thirteen of us, one full squad. Mainly younger recruits plus an oldster like me because they needed a scout. Three officers: Corporal Lister and Captain Yanik—two fine leaders who deserved better than they got—and Commander Jenaleve. An escort mission, we were told. The princess returning to Northgate, reporting dire events to the king personally, and a daughter reuniting with her father. I think most of us were looking forward to getting away from the frontier, and spending some time in a proper city.
“So we were told, as I say. But shortly after leaving Halfsummit, our party turned south. None of us were surprised, for the rumors were widespread by then. We knew where we were going…who we were seeking.”
Summer watched the soldier stare again at Yohan, whose face was clouded in emotion. She had not seen him like this since t
he early days of the journey, and it was not a welcome reversion.
“We moved quickly at first. A pleasant four days. I remember them well, and with longing. The weather fair, the road easy.
“On the fifth day, we found the first caravan. You would not believe the change that occurred within the commander. She was always imperious, but normally aloof. A hard woman to like, if truth be told. But at the first sight of that caravan—of the dead—the worry broke through. She had us check every body, even though we assured her there were only two wagons. This was not the caravan we sought.
“Everything—and everyone—changed at that point. She became more resolute. And we all liked her much better. She was anxious to keep going, but took the time to give the dead a proper burial. Then she pushed us hard and fast, and we willingly obeyed, for we had seen the person inside the armor. Her hard orders and harsh reprimands bothered us no longer, for we understood where they stemmed from. The commander had earned our respect, as I say. She became one of us, even if she did not know it herself.
“Our group reached the river shortly thereafter. We saw an old watchtower, peering down over the lonely road. I don’t remember which side it was on, Vilnian or Goth. It doesn’t matter, it was abandoned, for the danger lay to the east, through the Stormeres. Or so we thought.
“And then we reached the mountains.” Redjack sighed. “That’s where things got bad.”
His shoulders shivered, and Meadow handed him a bladder of wine. He paused for a sip, then a second, then a large gulp. The liquid fortification put a stop to the shivering, but a pronounced shakiness entered the voice.
“The second caravan was on the high road through the Triumphs. We had no warning, for the smoke had long since cleared. One ridge after another, each harder than the last, bad footing, tiring inclines, low visibility. We came over one and there it was, just ahead—more wagons, more dead. Commander Jenaleve helped us this time. She was calmer, and sadder—I believe she had decided that you would all be dead by the time we caught up.
“Burial was impossible, so we spent an afternoon building cairns. Every minute was valuable, but we took time for this. If we hadn’t, we might have cleared the mountains before the storm came.
“There are caves in those mountains. Caves…and other things. Including another old fort, built up in the rocks, a tricky climb from the road. Abandoned and forgotten, like so many others we see. Why it was built up there, I have no idea. If the snow had started sooner, or if it had been easier to reach, perhaps we would have stopped to inspect that old fort, and things would have gone differently.
“But we didn’t, and there were plenty of caves to choose from instead. They gave us some protection from the weather. We reached them just in time, right as the sky got ugly. The blizzard hit us not long before we would have cleared the mountains, as I say. But we had food enough to last out the storm, however long it would last, and kept scouts posted for signs of danger. Thirteen healthy soldiers, well-provisioned, with good officers. We had nothing to fear.
“I don’t mind the snow. Never have. I used the time to hunt cottontails and foxes, and the extra meat was not unappreciated by the others.
“The commander warned us, but I fear I did not take her seriously enough. I hunted during my turn to watch. I returned with another rabbit for the fire, feeling proud, looking forward to the gratitude of the others.” He uttered a choking sound, turning it into a cough.
The bearded face looked around, at no one in particular. “They liked when I hunted…” He looked down at scarred hands, turned red from the cold. “…as I say.”
They waited in respectful silence. Meadow put a comforting hand to his shoulder, squeezing once. He smiled weakly at her kindness.
“I heard the sound of fighting long before I got back. I dropped the rabbit and ran, but the snow slowed my progress. When I got there, it was too late to help.
“There were at least thirty, possibly more. Barbarians, savages. All except for one, giving orders in a language I couldn’t understand. I never saw his face, but I know what he was. I should have used the crossbow, should have shot him down, should have made some attempt to help the others. Instead I hid behind a rock and watched them slaughter my squad.”
Redjack hesitated, then sniffed. The wind howled in the background, and Summer noted that the snow around them had resumed its previous ferocity. Then the narrator cleared his throat and found his voice again.
“Most were already dead. A few tried to surrender, but the bastards struck them down anyway. I watched poor, dear Hidra—wound in her gut—drop her sword, fall to her knees, and try to stop the bleeding with both hands. One of those barbarians stood over her and lifted his weapon. She raised a bare hand, as if that was going to stop an axe.
“You want to know about the princess, of course. She fought like the Devil…your pardons, Sister. I’ve never seen any soldier, man or woman, fight as well. I counted three that she killed, and at least that many more wounded, before they overcame her.”
“They killed her, too?” Mercer blurted.
They all stared at Redjack, all except Summer. She had spent the last few minutes watching someone else, absorbing a measure of reflected pain. Then she closed her eyes to wait for the answer, knowing that her life would change based on the next word.
“Nay. They took her. I tracked them back to the fort. Then I ran—I knew not where, simply out of the mountains. I learned fear is greater than snow and hunger combined.”
And so it turns. Summer reopened her eyes, staring at Yohan. His fists had closed early in the narration, the only obvious sign of the distress he was feeling. But in recent days, she had learned to see what lay within.
Look how that fire consumes him. He tries to hide it, but it shows in his face, it shows in his eyes, it shows in his body.
I thought I was the teacher, but I am a fool. This man knows far more of life, of love, than I.
The fervor that had seized him was simultaneously terrible, frightening, and humbling. Will anyone ever burn so for me? Never had she felt so insignificant. Merely an extra in someone else’s great dance. But it was a role she would play to the best of her ability.
There was no music that eve, of course, but they did take the time for a thoughtful, wordless supper. Afterward, Summer sought out the corporal.
She was not surprised to find him in his tent with Soldier Yohan, the two of them deep in disagreement. They were attempting to keep their volume low, to not be heard by all.
She wondered why. By this point, everyone knew what the private was requesting, just as they knew what the corporal’s response would be.
Mercer’s anger was less demonstrable than expected. Perhaps there existed the tiniest hint of appreciation, for without Yohan, they would all certainly be dead.
“Nay, Private, I cannot allow it. And don’t think of going anyway. I’m putting you under guard from now until we reach Threefork, and I will not hesitate to have you arrested, if I have to.” He smiled maliciously, and she jettisoned her previous theory. “It will be my pleasure, in fact. I know the things you and the others say behind my back.”
That the odious man should express all this in Summer’s presence came as a surprise to her, and showed the depth of his enmity toward the man who served beneath him. Her instinct was to rush to Yohan’s aid, but someone else beat her to it.
Lullaby had become such a frequent sight at Yohan’s feet that few ever took notice anymore. But the three of them did now, for the teeth were bared and the throat emitted a vicious snarl. Mercer looked down at the dog and swallowed reflexively, then began to choke on the aftertaste of his vile tobacco.
“What are you discussing?” Summer asked, hoping to restore some order before the situation became even more hostile.
The corporal coughed twice. “This…this is nothing for you to worry about, Sister.”
She looked at Yohan hopefully. His head was lowered, and he did not return her gaze. She felt the disappointment even as sh
e turned back to Mercer.
“Has he suggested the squad turn back to this fort? To rescue the princess…the commander?”
The corporal shook his head. “Nay, Sister. Fool though he is, he knows better than to ask that. He wishes to be discharged from duty. He thinks he can save her alone.”
Alone? She inspected Yohan, still seeing the fire raging within. Instead of flaming out, it was only building. She could see his hand trembling, and wondered how tempted he was to draw the sword at his side, to strike down the corporal and anyone else in his way.
The profound sadness that seeped through her being washed away with the knowledge that she was doing the right thing.
“Aye, it was wise for you to reject that request,” she said. Mercer smiled, then sneered at his subordinate. Yohan took no notice.
“Far better for us all to go,” she continued. “I’ll inform my brothers and sister. I’ll let you issue the appropriate orders to your soldiers.”
The corporal glared at her, and she felt a portion of that hate previously reserved for others. Surprised by how intensely it struck her, Summer looked away from him and back at Yohan. She watched his head lift, his gaze turn to her. That face wore a tangled skein of emotions, too confusing to read, and her own were too disorderly to make sense of as well. She could only trust that caught up somewhere between the two of them were gratitude and acceptance.
The decision made, they had a path to follow. For better or worse, and she knew which was more likely.
Chapter Ten
Ra’Cheka
JAK AND KEVIK no longer chased the badger. Now, Kevik was chasing him.
Only a step behind, sword swinging in deadly earnest. Jak could feel the wind generated from each pendulous arc. If he slowed, he would die.
Even had he been alone, he could not hope to outrun his former friend and current foe, for Kevik had always been the faster, the stronger, the smarter. But Jak was not alone. He carried three others on his back and shoulders, their weight growing heavier with every step. His muscles tired and his desperation mounted. Slowly but surely, the footsteps behind got louder, the sword drew closer.
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