"I believe so. Do I address Hernon the Horseman?” Brother Klee said, gesturing for the man to lead the way.
"Have you come to buy?” Hernon's grin broadened as he moved to the inn. The others who had come to break off the fight were leaving, leading away the losers.
"Uncle!” Andrixine called, embarrassed that her call sounded like a wail. It was undignified after her recent victory.
"Drixus? Are you hurt?” Brother Klee hurried back to her side, concern on his face again.
"I'm tethered and I can't twist enough to reach.” She gestured at her ankle, wrapped by the throwing stone, firmly tangled around the root by her exertions.
The resulting laughter from the two men made her face burn until she realized they laughed at themselves, not her. Andrixine held still as they worked to separate her from the strings, so the knife wouldn't damage her boot. It felt somewhat indecent to have two grown men kneeling at her feet. She had to remind herself she wore pants, not a skirt.
Brother Klee held her back a moment when Hernon set off across the inn yard to order their dinner. Andrixine felt a shiver of warning go up her back when her teacher narrowed his eyes as he studied her.
"Is something wrong?” she murmured.
"No. Merely ... we've both learned an important lesson today, I think.” Brother Klee smiled, breaking the somber set of his face. “You are more recovered from your illness than either of us expected."
"I didn't think so at the time,” she said with a chuckle.
"Yes, you were. If your life had been in danger, the sword would have come into your hand.” He nodded toward the inn, smiling a little more when she gaped. “The sword cares for its Bearer, Andrixine. Always remember that."
* * * *
"THE BOY NEEDS to put some flesh on his bones, that's the answer,” Hernon said after the trenchers had been cleared away and they finished dinner with nuts, apples and sweet, weak wine.
Andrixine conceded if they could eat this well every night, she would gain back all her lost flesh in a hurry. She caught herself before she looked down at the flattened front of her shirt, hanging loose to hide her tightly bound breasts.
"The problem is,” the man continued, “fools like Redin and his cousins only see a skinny, pale boy. They see the warrior braids and the warning doesn't sink through their stone skulls. So they attack, thinking they'll have a jolly, bruising time and maybe come away with a few coppers extra in their pockets and your braids as a trophy."
"My nephew has been very ill. He nearly died,” Brother Klee said, and paused. “I am sure our journey will put flesh on his bones and enough color on his face to ward off more foolish attacks. Not that I am altogether upset about earlier."
"You may not be, Uncle, but I wish you would leave my sword with me from now on when I tend the horses.” Andrixine smiled to make her plaintive tone a joke. She decided she had not known many evenings this pleasant in a long time.
Hernon, thinking her a boy, had spoken openly his opinion of the times and the village ruffians, and his praise for her skill. If he had known she was female and nobly born, he would have been more circumspect in his language and not half as amusing. She smiled and sat up again to reach for her wine. New pressure on her ankle made her gasp. She felt the blood drain from her face in the wake of the thudding that pulsed through her leg.
"Nephew?” Brother Klee stood, reaching for her.
"My ankle. I must have twisted it worse than it seemed at the time.” She felt unaccountably embarrassed.
The feeling didn't go away, because Hernon insisted on tugging off her boot and tending to her then and there. The innkeeper brought over an extra lantern and cloths for binding, in answer to Hernon's shout. From the speed and lack of questions, Andrixine guessed Hernon was a power in this village—and now it turned out he was a healer, too.
"Only bruised from the stone.” He lifted her foot enough for her to see the purplish mark over the bone. “The binding of your boot helped. Sleep with your foot raised and the swelling will vanish by morning. The ache will continue a while, though."
"Again, we thank you.” Brother Klee poured another glass of wine for each of them as Hernon sat down next to him again. “First the dinner, then the conversation and advice, and now tending the boy's injury. The bright spirits were guarding us this day, most certainly."
"Ah no, good Brother,” the big man protested, laughing. “I thank you. If I had any hope of success, I would beg you and the boy to stay with us several days, in thanks. Those three ruffians won't bother innocent people for a long while, I think. We owe you both a debt."
"Believe me, friend, we would stay if we could. The boy and I have urgent work awaiting us. I am glad we met you, though, for who knows what the future will have awaiting us? We may have need of each other's help in the dim days ahead."
* * * *
ANDRIXINE WOKE WITH a soft moan, her heart thudding in her ears. She bit the edge of the blanket to muffle more sound. What was wrong with her, to have such dreams?
On the other side of the dark room, Brother Klee lay still. She watched him while her breathing and heart slowed to a more normal pace. Good—he still slept.
"Visions, daughter?” he asked, breaking the renewed silence. He chuckled at her gasp, and the rush-filled mattress rustled as he sat up. “You forget, Andrixine, I am still linked to the sword so I may help and teach you."
"Did you see—?” She sat up and wrapped the blanket around herself, chilled despite going to bed fully dressed.
"No. But I sense questions troubling your spirit. Would it help to talk of them?"
"I am my father's heir.” She flinched as the words spilled from her lips. “I am required to marry and produce an heir."
"You fear this would interfere with your duties as Bearer?"
"Bearers aren't allowed to marry—and I'm glad."
"Where did you learn that?” Laughter touched his voice, startling her.
"They can't—can they? We, I mean. It's like taking the highest holy vows and serving Yomnian."
"Everyone who puts Yomnian first in their thoughts and actions serves Him. And Sword Bearers do marry.” He paused, the moment lasting so long the night quiet seemed to throb around them. “I was married for three very happy years before the war with Sendorland started."
"What happened? You don't have to tell me,” she hurried to say, when a flash of sorrow cut through her like a cold knife. Did the Spirit Sword give her a taste of what he felt, just as he could sense her dreams with its aid?
"Yes, it seems I must.” Brother Klee sighed, the sound ending in a soft rumbling of wistful laughter. “Her name was Nelora. I can still close my eyes and see her tiny, golden face and her eyes like ferns and her white-gold hair. I can still taste her kisses and feel her arms around me. Don't ever let anyone tell you that to please Yomnian you must give up loving and a lover, Andrixine. The marriage bed is as holy as the chapel where you made your vows."
"I understand,” she whispered, knowing she could never understand until she felt the happiness echoing in his voice.
"I was on a solitary mission, an arrogant boy of twenty-five, still aching from the death of my own teacher. I met Nelora coming back from washing clothes at the river. She conquered me with one challenging look and one burst of laughter. She made me court her a full year. Love teaches you patience as the greatest pain never can.” He chuckled a little louder.
"You married her and you were happy. And then the war started,” Andrixine whispered, when the silence had grown a few heartbeats too long. She felt something in the air; a sense of sadness waiting to leap from the darkness, the happy memories turned into sharp pieces, like a shattered mirror.
"I left her in a village a day from the front lines because we had just learned a child was coming and I didn't want to be far when her time came. The villagers found out I was the Sword Bearer, despite our efforts at secrecy. When they found out she was pregnant, they immediately accused her of being unfaithful."
"Some people think Sword Bearers are eternal virgins, I suppose. No matter.” There was a rustling of cloth as he turned and swung his legs out of the bed and leaned back against the wall. “They imprisoned my Nelora and pronounced her a whore and adulteress and prepared to burn her alive. Fortunately, the innkeeper and his wife knew Nelora adored me as much as I did her, and they could also count. They knew I had fathered her child. They sent their sons to fetch me and risked their lives to help Nelora escape."
"Risked—” She choked on the word and the implications that sprung to her mind.
"I arrived in time to save them from the flames. Then we went hunting for Nelora. She was ... ill for a very long time. Our son died at birth, and she lingered only a few months before she followed him,” he said, his voice thinning but never breaking. “She still holds my heart, even eighty years later."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to awaken your pain."
"If we do not learn from others’ pain, Andrixine, how will we avoid the same scars? There is hope in my pain, because I know Nelora and our son wait for me in Yomnian's halls. And yes.” A chuckle touched his voice. “You must still marry and produce your heir. But be warned. Many will be scandalized at the sight of a pregnant Sword Bearer."
"Can you imagine me riding into battle with a belly as big as a barrel?” A cracking giggle escaped her.
"Yomnian save us from such horrors.” His responding laughter sounded a little less pained.
"I wish I didn't have to marry ever."
"Why?"
"I saw them raping Cedes."
"Ah.” Despite the darkness, Andrixine knew he smiled; sympathy and compassion and perhaps a little amusement. “Do you think your husband would force you? The Sword Bearer?"
"I don't want a husband who fears me. I want a husband who is warrior-minded, to support me and ride into battle with me.” She stopped short, startled by the words. Where had such thoughts come from? “But I don't want to marry."
"Truly?"
"I dream of his—a man's arms around me, and such joy the whole world means nothing beyond his kisses. Then just before I see his face, I am Cedes and those men tear me apart in their pleasure."
"The pleasure of sharing and the pleasure of tormenting another. Which does Yomnian bless?"
"The first!” She flinched when her voice rose.
"How are your parents with each other?"
"Happy.” Andrixine wondered why he asked such questions.
"The Bearer is served as she serves. Remember that."
"I try,” she grumbled, and wished he wouldn't speak in echoes of holy writ and cryptic phrases so often.
"Go back to sleep, daughter, and pray for sweet dreams. We have hard riding to do tomorrow. There is a warrior band half a day ahead of us on the trail. We would do well to join them."
"Will they help us rescue my mother?"
"Time and more visions from the sword will tell.” His shadowy form lay back down again. The rushes in the mattress rustled, and his blanket whispered as he drew it up to his shoulders.
Andrixine sat still a long while, staring into the darkness, waiting for her body to calm. Yes, her parents were happy. Her mother never shrank from her father's touch, but often invited it. Her own dreams of pleasure made her feel a new hunger—if only she could forget Cedes, naked and bleeding, voiceless in pain and terror.
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Chapter Eight
"A TRAIL HOUSE. Larger and better kept than shelter houses, several steps below an inn.” Brother Klee gestured at the dark shape emerging from the shadows of dusk the next evening.
"Another lesson?"
"Merely warning you not to expect more than a place on the floor. Or in the stable, if the house is crowded."
"The weather is pleasant. We could camp in the open, further down the trail.” She didn't mind the idea; they had plenty of blankets and provisions.
"You should test your disguise in close quarters for more than a few hours.” Brother Klee reached across the gap between their horses and grasped her wrist, emphasizing his words. “Until you gain true confidence in your ability to act a part, how will you have others believe it? You must learn to hold your own, to walk unprotected."
"If you think I can do it—"
"I know you can."
Grennel neighed, a mixture of question and challenge thrown into the darkening forest. Another horse answered near the black bulk of the trail house. Andrixine began to feel for her sword, then glanced up and found Brother Klee watching. He smiled faintly and shook his head, and she felt her face burning.
"There is a law of the open road you must learn, nephew. When night falls and men enter the trail house, disagreements are left outside. All travelers are equals, bound to give help and a full plate with grace."
"What if they're the men holding my mother?” she asked, lowering her voice, aware of the carrying quality of night air. “The road in my vision meets this one soon. What if they changed direction?"
"Then we will wait until morning and pray the night brings us a plan to rescue her,” came the placid reply. “Did you think the warriors we seek are here?” He chuckled when she could only shake her head.
As they drew nearer the trail house, a flickering light appeared. A man stepped from the trees and darkness to meet them. Despite what Brother Klee had said, Andrixine suspected the man with the torch was relieved to see only two newcomers.
"Good evening to you,” he called, raising the torch high to shed as much light as possible. He was a dark-skinned man, his hair and beard silvered. His red-bound warrior braids hung nearly to his elbows. Red, for the Oathbound. That was a good sign. He wore leathers and a bright blue shirt that shimmered like silk in the torchlight.
"And to you.” Brother Klee gestured in blessing at the moment the man could recognize his robes as those of a holy scholar. “Is there room among you for the boy and myself?"
"Room in plenty, holy sir. It's been long since we had anyone to say evening prayers for us. Lord Jultar will give you a place by the fire if you would be pleased to join us."
"A pleasant welcome indeed.” Brother Klee smiled, nodding.
Neither horse shied away as the man reached to hold the reins so they could dismount. Another figure stepped from the shadows as they approached the trail house. In the torchlight, he resolved into a young man, perhaps six or seven years older than Andrixine, wide of shoulder, tanned and muscled. From the cut and quality of his clothes, she suspected he was nobility. His dark hair had a touch of red when caught by the torchlight. He studied them curiously, his hand straying to rest on the hilt of his sword. She noted his warrior braids, barely past his shoulders, were bound with green apprentice cord and he hadn't earned the right to grow a beard. He had likely started warrior training in his late teens.
"This is Kalsan of Hestrin, Lord Jultar's apprentice. He will take you to our master for introductions, good sir.” The man with the torch handed it over to Kalsan, who made a brief bow and beckoned for Brother Klee to precede him.
The man who met them introduced himself as Brenden, showed Andrixine where the well was behind the horse shelter, then went ahead to the trail house. Andrixine refused to hurry with her task, though she longed to hear the tale of this traveling group. Whether because of the Spirit Sword or her own sensitivity, she felt there was something different about them. Something strong and alert. There was a reason they were here on the road at this particular moment in time. She wished the Spirit Sword would grant her a vision beyond misty dreams of the faceless, silent man who kissed her and made her melt with conflicting emotions.
When she finished her chores and entered the squat trail house, she found it only half full. A bright fire burned in the central floor pit. Ten men lounged around it, resting on blankets and propped up by their saddles. From the looks of the kettle and the man ladling food into bowls, there was still plenty of stew left. It smelled wonde
rful, heavy with beef and spices. Her stomach growled loudly enough she feared someone had heard.
"Here, boy, don't stand there gaping,” someone said with a rough laugh. A hand grasped her arm and tugged her inside. Andrixine didn't resist, sensing no danger in the laughter. Brenden guided her around the fire pit until she stood before the leader.
Jultar's silvery-white warrior braids hung past his elbows. The cords were Oathbound red and noble silver. His wide shoulders and straight posture belied the age clear in his hair and the wrinkles half-hidden by his silver and blond beard. A long scar along his right cheek added mystery to his piercing, clear gray eyes. His men, relaxed and laughing in his presence, showed Andrixine he commanded respect through admiration, not threat.
Jultar studied her a moment, then nodded and gestured at a spot to his right, on the other side of Kalsan. Brother Klee sat on his left, a bowl before him and a wooden cup in his hand.
"Be welcome, boy. Sit and eat,” Jultar said with a smile.
"Thank you, sir.” Andrixine remembered to bow instead of curtseying. Then she gaped as Jultar turned, letting the firelight hit the insignia on his shoulder, where his dull blue cloak fell away. He wore the golden hawk of the king's warlords, with the flame emblem behind it that meant all the men under his command were Oathbound. Andrixine looked quickly to Brother Klee as she sat, and the man nodded that he had seen it too.
Oathbound warriors in the king's service. The best of the best. What were the chances this meeting was a mere coincidence? Andrixine tried to quell the shiver of hope rising inside her.
Please, Yomnian, if I truly am your chosen servant ... She refused to finish the prayer in her thoughts. Andrixine knew better than to try to make a bargain with Yomnian.
"The boy looks frail to boast such long braids, Brother. Is he adept?” someone called from the other side of the fire.
"Drixus has been ill, poisoned by an enemy of his family. We journey to take him now to Malgreer for his final training.” Brother Klee turned to Jultar. “He has been challenged because of his apparent frailty and some have painful regrets for their boldness."
Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1] Page 9