by David Weber
She felt it again, that yearning for the place where she too had been born and lived almost two thirds of her life. For the familiar fields, the familiar faces, the welcome which had once been hers without stint or limit. She supposed everyone experienced at least some of that sense of loss, of never being able to return to who and what they’d once been. But for any war maid, the old cliché about not being able to go home again had a special poignancy.
Oh, stop that! she told herself. No, it’s not like it used to be, and it never will be again. But think about someone like Raythas. The last thing she’d ever want is to “go home again”! Unless she took two or three of us along to geld that bastard brother of hers, at least.
Her jaw clenched with remembered fury as she remembered the night Raythas Talafressa had gotten drunk enough to tell her seventy-five why she’d run away to the war maids, and there were hundreds of others who could have told the same tale—or worse. Not that those who lifted their noses at the war maids from the security of their own lives ever thought about the sorts of things that drove women into choosing that escape. After all, those weren’t the sorts of things nice people talked about, far less wanted to admit happened.
At least you do want to go home...and at least Mother and Father are glad to see you when you do, whatever the other citizens of your hometown may think. That’s something most of the others will never have, so why don’t you just take a deep breath and deal with it?
It was a conversation she’d had with herself every time she’d come home for one of her brief, infrequent visits, and that irritated her far more than she would ever have admitted to another soul. It wasn’t the sort of conversation a strong, competent person ought to have to have more than one time before she dealt with it once and for all, and she hadn’t. In fact, she might as well admit that she was nowhere near as strong and competent as she wanted to pretend, since there was a very simple reason her visits had been so few and so brief. And, no, whatever she might choose to tell herself, it wasn’t because her mother’s long and frequent (and her father’s shorter, but even more frequent) letters had let her keep up on events in Balthar and Hill Guard without making the long, wearisome ride between there and Kalatha.
It was because she was afraid of those visits. Because it hurt her to see what she saw all too often in the eyes of the people who’d once thought of themselves as hers. She might long to be here, and this might be the place she would always think of as home at the very center of her being, but it wasn’t her home any longer. She’d thrown that away, however good her reason for doing so might have been, and for all the calm demeanor she showed her father’s subjects when she visited, that deeply buried center of her being ached for all she’d lost. Not the power, not the wealth, but the belonging. That sense of knowing precisely who and what she was because her bone and blood were part of the soil on which Hill Guard stood, of the generation upon generation of Bowmasters who had been laid to rest in Bowmaster earth, stood guard over the people of Balthar and the West Riding, and died in their defense. She could stand the scorn of others, let the contempt of strangers roll off the unbowed shoulders of her soul without even a wince, but here it cut too deep, for these people had been hers. And so she’d visited no more than a dozen times in the years since she’d fled this place, and each of those visits had been brief and fleeting because, whether anyone else ever guessed it or not, she’d fled all over again at the end of each of them.
But not this time. No, this time she meant to stand her ground, and that was the reason she was having what she thought of as The Conversation with herself yet again. And the reason she’d been having it ever since she’d left Kalatha.
Of course, this time you’re having The Conversation as a distraction, too, aren’t you? Because you’ve finally found something—or gotten around to it, anyway—that makes you even more nervous than having run off to the war maids in the first place! Don’t want to think about that, do you?
Her mouth quirked, and she gave Boots’ shoulder another pat as she admitted that to herself, but it was true. She’d promised herself this day more than six years ago. That should have given her plenty of time to come to grips with all its implications, yet the butterflies dancing in her middle suggested that she hadn’t. There was excitement and anticipation in that dance, but there was also apprehension—possibly even fear, as difficult as she found it to admit that to herself—and she found herself wondering yet again how her parents were going to react to this decision.
Assuming it works out the way you plan for it to, she told herself. It may not, you know. And then how will you handle it?
She’d made a point of reminding herself of that possibility regularly, especially over the last couple of years, just in case. On the other hand, there had been those clues, however hard certain parties had labored to conceal them. There were times she’d been frustratingly certain it was all her own imagination...and other times she’d been absolutely positive it wasn’t. And then there’d been that peculiar, almost vibrating feeling that had tingled in her bones. She was prepared to admit at least some of that—possibly quite a lot of it, if she was going to be honest—had been no more than her own imagination and hope and desire speaking to her, yet not all of it had been. She was convinced of that. The problem of course was that what she was feeling might not have a great deal of bearing on anyone else’s feelings.
She snorted at the thought, but she also squared her shoulders and pressed with her heels, asking Boots for a little more speed. The gelding happily complied, and Leeana Hanathafressa reminded herself that whatever else might be true, she wasn’t accustomed to failing once she’d set her mind to something.
Especially not when it was something as important as this.
* * *
Sharlassa stood leaning on the battlements of Hill Guard’s main gate tower, shading her eyes as she peered down the long approach road. No one had asked her to take up her lookout post, and she supposed she should feel at least vaguely guilty about having done it, although no one had actually told her she was supposed to be in Sir Jahlahan’s office for another deadly dull session of etiquette lessons, instead. Fortunately, the seneschal’s schedule was erratic enough to make arranging lesson times too far in advance difficult, and so this particular block of her time had simply been left unassigned in hopes Sir Jahlahan would find the opportunity to give her a little extra polish. Was it her fault no one had informed her he’d been able to find that opportunity before she took herself unobtrusively off to her present position? Of course it wasn’t!
She told herself that very firmly, resolutely suppressing the small inner voice which tried to point out that before taking herself unobtrusively off to her present position she’d suggested to Tahlmah that she was going for a walk in the formal gardens, instead. She hadn’t quite come out and said so, of course; that would have been deceitful. Yet whenever that irritating inner voice reached a volume where she could no longer entirely ignore it, she was forced to concede that what she had said had certainly amounted to...misdirection.
On the other hand, it wasn’t exactly as if she were trying to hide her present location. Anyone looking out from one of the taller towers behind her could easily see her standing here in the sunlight if they happened to look in the right direction. Oh, Tahlmah would probably have gone to the gardens looking for her there first if Sir Jahlahan had found time to tutor Sharlassa, but her maid was an experienced Sharlassa-hunter. How long could it possibly take her to realize she was looking in the wrong spot and search elsewhere?
Besides, Sharlassa had a special reason for being here this afternoon, although the event she was waiting for was running behind schedule. That was scarcely a surprise. There were always delays on any journey. And while she was guiltily aware she was violating at least the spirit of the letter’s request, that request hadn’t actually been made to her, now had it? And even if it had—
Her thoughts broke off as she saw the handsome brown bay gelding with black legs
and white stockings start up the approach road from Balthar. She watched it for a handful of seconds, then turned towards the stair and started down it at a pace just a bit too rapid to be called ladylike.
* * *
The main gate tower loomed above Leeana as Boots trotted up the last hundred yards of the approach road.
The trip through Balthar itself had been about as bad as it had every other time she’d come home to visit. She’d been tempted, actually, in a craven sort of way, to circle around the city completely this time and approach Hill Guard from behind, despite the hours it would have added to her travel time. She didn’t like admitting, even to herself, how much more the reaction she drew here in Balthar bothered her than did getting the same sort of reaction from anyone else, and she refused to admit it to anyone else. And so she’d ridden calmly and steadily through the very heart of the city where she’d grown up, erect and yet relaxed in the saddle, head high, looking about her with precisely the correct degree of interest for someone visiting home after yet another lengthy absence. It had been too much to hope she simply wouldn’t be recognized—she had to much of the Bowmaster look, and even those who’d never seen her with their own eyes had to have had the overgrown, disgraced war maid described to them in glowing detail—but at least a handful of people had actually looked happy to see her. There’d even been a few waves of welcome, and she’d acknowledged those with smiles and nods, even a few waves of her own, while resolutely ignoring the scowls and frowns coming back at her from far too many other faces.
At least the people of Balthar were too polite to actually throw things at war maids, she thought. They probably wouldn’t have thrown anything even at war maids who weren’t the daughters (whatever the law might say) of their baron. Knowing how Baron Tellian and Baroness Hanatha would have reacted to anyone who’d dared to publicly revile Leeana (however thoroughly she might deserve it) undoubtedly reinforced their restraint in her own case, but she was fairly certain they probably wouldn’t have done that to any other war maids, either.
Probably.
There was always a flow of traffic in and out of Hill Guard, and there were always gate guards to watch it. She’d expressly asked her parents not to tell any one outside the immediate family she was coming or to wait to greet her at the gate themselves. That would only have made it even worse, once word got back to the rest of Balthar, she thought glumly. That didn’t mean she looked forward to how the gate guards were going to react when they spotted her coming at them with no advance warning, though, and she found herself watching them much more warily than she ever had when she’d been Leeana Bowmaster. She saw them stiffen as they saw her in turn and recognized her and Boots, and she was close enough to see their faces fade almost instantly into total nonexpression. She knew two of those armsmen well—or she had, once, at any rate—and fresh hurt spiked as she saw the completely neutral countenances which had replaced the broad smiles which once would have greeted her. Still, it was better than—
“Leeana!”
Boots’ ears twitched at the sudden, clear-voiced, happy greeting, and Leeana drew rein and looked up sharply. An attractive, auburn-haired young woman with eyes as green as her own leaned out of one of the lower archer’s slits, waving energetically.
“Leeana!” she repeated, and Leeana felt her lips quiver with a stillborn smile. Obviously at least one of Hill Guard’s inhabitants had missed that bit about not greeting her. Or maybe the other young woman had simply figured the request didn’t apply to someone who wasn’t a member of the family? Either way, she suddenly realized how glad she was that someone had ignored it.
“I’ll be down to meet you as soon as I can find the way,” Sharlassa Dragonclaw continued. “Don’t you dare go away until I get there!”
“Well, if you insist,” Leeana replied a bit more mildly.
“I do,” Sharlassa said firmly, and disappeared back into the stonework of Leeana’s ancestral home.
It took Sharlassa a little longer than it would have taken Leeana to make the same trip, but then Leeana had been raised in Hill Guard whereas Sharlassa was undoubtedly still learning its interior geography. Besides, Sharlassa probably didn’t plunge headlong down stairs and through doors the way a teenaged Leeana once had.
While she waited, Leeana swung down from the saddle, looped her reins over her left arm, and stood beside Boots, leaning companionably against the gelding’s strong shoulder. Three of the four gate guards seemed a little uncomfortable, obviously unsure of exactly how they ought to react to her. Fortunately, Sergeant Barek Irongrip, the guard detachment’s commander, was one of the armsman she’d known since childhood.
“Good afternoon...Ma’am,” the sergeant said after a moment with a smile which was almost natural. It wasn’t quite natural, of course, but it was genuinely warm, Leeana noted gratefully, even if Irongrip was clearly trapped between the the way he would have addressed any other war maid and the way he would once have addressed her.
“Good afternoon, Sergeant,” she replied, addressing him with the formality of his rank, instead of using his given name, as once she would have. She owed him that, especially in front of his detachment.
“Her Ladyship said you’d be arriving today,” Irongrip continued. “She didn’t say how long you’d be staying, though.”
Well, so much for not warning them I was coming, Leanna thought philosophically. I wonder if I really ever expected Mother not to? But at least she and Father didn’t send a drum-and-fife band to meet me on the front doorstep!
“Probably for a little longer this time,” she said out loud. He started to say something else, then stopped with a smile of acknowledgment, and Leanna hid a somewhat tarter smile of her own. Had he been about to express pleasure that she’d be there longer and stopped himself because of other listening ears? Or was she doing him a disservice because of her own hypersensitivity? Or—
“Welcome home, Leeana!”
Leeana looked up quickly as Sharlassa finally appeared out of the great, stony arch of the gate tunnel. There was no doubting the warmth of the younger woman’s smile, or the genuine welcome in her greeting, and something inside Leeana seemed to melt—or thaw, at least—as Sharlassa used the word “home.” It was a tiny thing, she thought, wondering why tears insisted on prickling behind her eyes, but—
“Thank you, Milady,” she replied.
Sharlassa’s nostrils flared at the honorific. She started to say something quickly, then visibly stopped herself, and Leeana regarded her levelly. Understanding flickered in Sharlassa’s eyes as their gazes met, and she smiled, instead.
“I know you’re accustomed to seeing to Boots yourself,” she said, “but I think I should probably take you straight to the Baroness. Sergeant Irongrip will see to it he’s taken care of, won’t you, Sergeant?”
“Course I will, Milady. Happy to.” The sergeant saluted Sharlassa, not Leeana, but he looked directly at the war maid who’d once been heiress conveyant to Hill Guard as he spoke, and the smile behind his last two words was genuine.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Leeana said, and turned to unbuckle her saddle bags and sling them over one shoulder. She unstrapped her blanket roll from behind the cantle and tucked it under her arm, as well, suppressing a sudden, inappropriate urge to giggle as she reflected on the fact that everything she needed for a two-month stay had been packed into those bags or rolled up inside that blanket. Once upon a time, it would have required a freight wagon to haul everything a lady of her exalted station required for a visit like this one. She couldn’t deny that she missed some of those luxuries, often quite badly, but travel was certainly more convenient this way. At least for someone who had to travel without the hordes of servants who would also have been packed into that freight wagon along with the luggage, at any rate. Of course, back in that same once upon a time, those servants would have leapt to relieve her of her baggage rather than let such a nobly born personage soil her dainty hands carrying it herself.
So there is a down
side to your more humble status, too, isn’t there? she asked herself. You just don’t want to admit how much you miss some of the priviliges of an effete, pampered noblewoman, do you?
Sharlassa started to reach for the blanket roll to help her carry it, but a glance from Leanna stopped her. She grimaced ever so slightly, but she also lowered her hand while Leanna got her baggage settled comfortably.
“At your service, Milady,” she said, then, nodding to the other young woman, and the two of them headed down the gate tunnel and into the castle grounds proper.
“It’s good to see you again,” Sharlassa said quietly as they emerged into the cobbled forecourt. “I know your mother’s really been looking forward to this visit, too.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Milady,” Leeana replied, smiling warmly as Sharlassa said “your mother” and not “Baroness Hanatha.” She considered the younger woman thoughtfully for a moment, then cocked an eyebrow. “Have you grown again since the last time I saw you?”
“No.” Sharlassa shook her head with something suspiciously like a giggle, and turned her head to look up at the far taller Leeana. “I wish I had! I feel like a dwarf—or even a halfling—around here most of the time. But it’s just the ridiculous heels they make me wear.”
She grimaced, and Leeana chuckled. Sharlassa Dragonclaw was scarcely as short as her comment might have suggested, although it was understandable enough that she might feel that way, especially walking beside Leeana. There was no denying that at a mere five feet four inches Sharlassa was on the petite side for a Sothōii woman, whereas Leanna, who’d inherited her height from her father, was tall—very tall—for any woman, even among the Sothōii. In fact, she stood six feet three, a full inch taller than Brandark Brandarkson...and almost a full foot taller than Sharlassa.