by Bruce Blake
Birds chirped, insects buzzed; Khirro heard no other sounds as they listened. Minutes passed. Could Ghaul have been mistaken? A smile tugged at Khirro’s lips at the thought.
Mighty warrior hearing things.
Then there was a noise, small and far off. It wasn’t the sounds he’d been afraid to hear-no clanking armor, neighing horses, or men shouting that they’d discovered the trail.
It was a woman’s voice.
Tension released from Khirro’s shoulders; Ghaul looked at him, shaking his head. He signaled the direction the sound came from and moved from beneath the hollow tree, presumably expecting Khirro to follow. After collecting the items he’d removed for sleep, he did. They picked their way through the brush quickly and carefully, striving for silence, a task Ghaul accomplished much better than Khirro.
As they drew nearer the sound’s source, other voices joined the woman’s. Khirro heard at least two, perhaps three, all of them men. The woman’s tone suggested anger, though the tangle of trees and shrubs muffled her words as surely as they hid the group from view. Ghaul took the bow from his shoulder and plucked an arrow from the quiver; Khirro drew the black and red blade. When Ghaul saw the sword, his forehead creased and he glanced a questioning look at Khirro but quickly turned his attention back to the sounds before them.
At the top of a short rise, the trees thinned and the ground dropped away in a gentle slope. A clearing spread out beyond the edge of the forest, not unlike the one at which they’d stopped. Three men laughed and cat-called the naked woman standing in the middle of their rough circle. She seemed unconcerned by her nudity.
Ghaul motioned Khirro to take cover behind a fallen cedar claimed by moss. Khirro crouched and stole a glance over the top of the log. The woman stood almost as tall as the men surrounding her, red hair spilling down her bare back. He averted his eyes from her nakedness, feeling a hot blush rise in his cheeks, but looked again when she shouted.
“Give me my money.” She wagged a finger at the biggest of the men, a stocky fellow with thick black beard and powerful arms. Her breasts jiggled with the movement. “Nothing’s free. Pay me what you owe me.”
The man laughed, caught her by the arm and pulled her into a bear hug, arms pinned at her sides. He kissed her on the lips as she struggled to get free, then he pushed her across the circle into the waiting arms of another, this man young with an eager look in his eyes. He repeated his fellow’s actions. Each time she pulled free, they pushed her stumbling into the arms of another man. Her curses and cries of anger rang through the forest. As she fell into the arms of the first man again, he pressed his body against hers.
“One more for the road, I think,” he boomed, laughing, but his laughter turned quickly to a cry of pain. He pushed the woman away and looked down at his own dagger sticking from his thigh, a dark patch of red spreading down his breeches.
“You bitch.”
He grabbed the knife hilt in his right hand and jerked the blade free as his free hand flashed out and caught the woman across the face. She tumbled to the ground, but when she looked up brushing hair from her face, she smiled defiantly showing teeth red with blood.
Ghaul signaled to Khirro and rose from his crouch, began to move away.
He wants to leave. We can’t leave her to these animals.
Khirro grabbed his shoulder.
“We have to do something,” he whispered.
The bearded man stood over the woman, hands clenched into fists as the others chided him on. Ghaul’s expression told Khirro they didn’t have time for this foolishness, that a search party was after their heads, but Khirro held his gaze without wavering. After a few seconds, Ghaul gave in.
“Go over there, quickly. Shout and throw rocks when you see my first arrow fly. Make it sound like you’re more than one man. Go. Hurry.”
Khirro stole from tree to tree, stooping to pick up rocks on the way. His movement was far from silent but he doubted the men would notice anything but the naked woman.
“It’s time you got that payment you deserve, whore.”
Khirro heard the bearded man’s words as he found cover behind a fir tree within throwing range. The man sheathed his dagger and drew his sword, raising it skyward. The woman kicked him in the groin; he howled and stumbled back a step, his compatriots’ laughter adding to his ire. Anger contorting his face, the bearded man growled and raised his sword again. The woman scrambled to get away, but the other men blocked her path.
When the arrow pierced his shoulder, the bearded man’s expression changed from fury to surprise. His sword hit the ground and he fell to his knees. Khirro took the cue, yelling and launching rocks toward the group, not worrying about aiming but still trying not to hit the woman. Caught off guard, the men panicked.
When Ghaul skewered the second man through the thigh, they’d had enough of their unseen enemy.
The uninjured man collected his companions and ran toward their whinnying and prancing horses picketed at the far end of the clearing. Khirro caught the bearded man in the back of the head with a good-sized stone and smiled, satisfied. The man with the arrow in his thigh fell screaming in agony as he attempted to mount his spooked steed. His fellows didn’t stop to help as they crashed into the forest without looking back. The man dragged himself to his horse, struggled into the saddle, and took off hanging from his horse at a dangerous angle. Khirro smiled, an unfamiliar feeling of triumph tingling his arms and legs with a flood of adrenaline.
So this is what it feels like to be a real soldier.
He rushed into the clearing, hooting and hollering after them. Ghaul did the same and they came together to watch the men disappear into the trees.
“They’re afraid of us and the rest of our company,” Ghaul said sweeping his arm across the empty meadow. “They won’t be back anytime soon.”
The woman stared at them, suspicion burning in her eyes as they approached. She pulled herself to a sitting position, knees hugged to her chest, blood running down her chin from her split lip. She watched them but said nothing.
“Are you all right?” Khirro asked when they were a few yards from her.
“Take what you will of me,” she said, neither fear nor resignation in her voice.
Ghaul laughed. “There is naught we want of you, my lady, except perhaps your thanks and direction to the nearest village.”
Her brow wrinkled beneath the red hair spilling across her forehead as though she didn’t understand what he’d said. Or didn’t believe it.
“Thank you,” she said hesitantly.
In spite of her unkempt hair and the blood on her chin, Khirro found her beautiful. Freckles peppered her cheeks and shoulders. She searched their faces with eyes shining green like the ocean and almost as deep.
Ghaul offered her his hand and something twinged in Khirro’s belly-Ghaul hadn’t wanted to stop yet now proffered aid. The woman placed her hand in his without reservation, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She stretched while Ghaul appraised her appreciatively. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care as she made no attempt to cover herself. Embarrassment spread across Khirro’s cheeks.
“I’m Ghaul. My companion his Khirro.”
“Elyea.” Her gaze darted back and forth between them. She’s looking at our armor. “Why would two men be hiding in the forest? Are you deserters? I’ve had enough of deserters today.”
“Oh no, my lady,” Khirro said. “Not deserters. We’re-”
“Misplaced wanderers in need of clothing and supplies,” Ghaul interrupted. “This is why we need your help. Could you direct us to the nearest village?”
She nodded. “I’ll take you.”
“But where are your clothes, my lady?” Khirro asked.
He attempted to keep his eyes from the curve of her hip, the swell of her breasts, the patch of red hair between her legs, but found it difficult. She smiled.
“Does my body cause you discomfort, brave rescuer?” She canted her hips, her smile spreading from her lips to he
r eyes.
“No,” Khirro replied, fire burning in his cheeks. “I thought you’d be more comfortable clothed.” He looked at his feet.
“I’m comfortable either way, but I see you’re not.”
She strode to where her frock hung on the low branch of a tree, her steps slow, purposeful and full of grace. Khirro raised his eyes to watch her heart shaped buttocks swing side to side as she went. Ghaul made an ‘mmm’ sound in the back of his throat.
“One thing we need to get straight if I’m to help you: my name is Elyea. No more ‘my lady’ shite. I am no man’s lady.”
She pulled the dress unhurriedly over her head, the shapeless shift disguising her curves as she stood erect and elegant, wiping the blood from her chin with it. She returned at the same deliberate pace, curtseying as she reached them.
“Is that better?”
“Better for my friend,” Ghaul said continuing to eye her. “He’s shy.”
“I’m not shy. I… I’m married,” Khirro bumbled.
Elyea moved to him, put her hand on his chest; it brushed the vial hidden beneath. She smiled-most of the blood was gone from her teeth. “You’re not the first married man to see me unclothed.”
The redness rushed back to his cheeks, sweat jumped to his brow and he took a step away. Ghaul laughed.
“Why were those men treating you that way?” Khirro asked, desperate to change the subject.
“When I completed the work they contracted me for, they refused to pay.”
“But what of your clothes? Did they rape you?” The word prodded a cold finger into Khirro’s heart.
“No, Khirro. I told you: I completed the work for which I was hired.”
Ghaul chuckled again. “Don’t you see, Khirro? Our lady friend is a harlot.”
“I prefer the term ‘courtesan’. I guess your friend hasn’t met a woman such as I, Ghaul.”
“I suppose not.”
Khirro wanted to ask her why a woman like her would sell her body for pocket change, but he held his tongue. He didn’t know her; it wasn’t his place to question her.
“Those men would have killed you,” he said instead.
Elyea shrugged. “Hazards of the job. A girl has to put food in the pantry. Now, do you or don’t you need someone to take you to the village?”
Ghaul bowed, gesturing toward the forest with a sweep of his arm. “Lead on, my lady.”
“Elyea,” she insisted, then started toward the south end of the clearing, her white dress swaying. Sun shone through the thin material, outlining the shape of her legs beneath.
“But what of those men?” Khirro asked keeping pace a couple of steps behind. “What if they come back?”
“They won’t come back,” Ghaul said, eyes tracking the sway of the woman’s hips.
“How can you be sure?”
“Men like them are cowards,” Elyea said over her shoulder. “And two of them are in need of a good surgeon, thanks to you.”
“Not just us,” Ghaul said. “You did some cutting yourself, my lady.”
“Elyea.”
Ghaul smiled as she quickened her pace.
“Quite a woman,” Ghaul said to Khirro in a hushed voice. “But be wary. I’m loathe to trust a harlot.”
“We saved her life. She wouldn’t do anything to harm us.”
Ghaul grunted noncommittally.
They were correct-Khirro had never met a harlot, or a courtesan, or a whore. His village was too small to support such trade, though some told rumors that the widow Breadmaker sold more than bannock to passing merchants and wanderers. Khirro didn’t know if the stories were true-she’d only offered him bread. The differences between Elyea and the widow Breadmaker were like comparing a destrier to a used up donkey.
Elyea had gotten farther ahead, so she stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“Are you two coming or are you going to spend your day looking at my ass?”
They followed the gurgling stream as it twisted and turned, mimicking Khirro’s thoughts.
Trust her, don’t trust her?
They wouldn’t reach their destination without supplies, so they had little choice. Ghaul and Elyea walked together, talking and laughing, leaving him trailing behind to ponder his thoughts and wish he could talk to a woman like her as easily. He watched the courtesan pick her way across rocks and through underbrush with lithe grace despite the loose sandals snapping against her heel. From time to time, Ghaul or Elyea would cast a question or comment over their shoulder to which he replied with a smile or nod-as few words as possible-then return to his ruminations.
Did we take too long? Are the pursuers closing in?
Ghaul didn’t seem concerned.
“In my experience,” Elyea said loud enough to involve Khirro in the discussion, “two men wear arms and armor wandering alone in the forest is unusual. My guess would be they’re either deserters or in love with one another. Which are you?”
Shocked by both allegations, Khirro opened his mouth to protest, but Ghaul’s snort of laughter cut him off.
“Neither. We’re simply two men who lost their way.”
“Um-hmm. And where were you going?”
Panic flashed in Khirro as he thought Ghaul would reveal everything. Words jumped from his mouth unbidden. “We can’t say.”
Elyea stopped and Khirro almost walked into her. She looked into his face and he turned away from her scrutiny, regretting his words. He didn’t look to Ghaul for help, he knew what kind of expression he’d find there.
“What do you mean ‘you can’t tell me’?”
“Yes, what do you mean, Khirro?”
He felt their gazes on him, their questioning looks. Too many times he spoke without thinking; it always caused him trouble.
“It’s just that-It’s because…” He chewed his bottom lip. “I can’t.”
“Take no offence, Elyea. Khirro holds our journey as one of great importance and we don’t know you well.”
“And I don’t know you, yet you want me to take you to my village. You could be deserters, or spies, or Kanosee.”
“We’re not.” Khirro’s heart sank.
Elyea crossed her arms; faint lines showed on the bridge of her nose as her brows turned down in anger.
“Show us to the village.” Ghaul’s soothing tone surprised Khirro-he’d have expected a demand. “Where we’re headed after that isn’t your concern.”
“Don’t tell me my concerns. I’m no strumpet swayed by your honey tones. You should be concerned. Finding yourself lost in the forest would be bad; being found by the garrison and branded deserters would be worse.”
Ghaul’s demeanor changed instantly and he reached for his dagger. Elyea stepped back, body tense.
Bad to worse.
Khirro hadn’t wanted to help this woman only to have Ghaul kill her in a stupid dispute he caused. He rested his hand on his companion’s forearm.
“We mean no harm,” Khirro said.
“That’s not how it looks.” She tilted her head toward Ghaul. He released his knife.
“I can’t tell you where we’re going. It would be very dangerous for us.”
He wanted to tell her, to put an end to this stupidity, but the Shaman’s curse moved and roiled in his gut, keeping him from speaking the truth.
“Then you’ll find your own way. And good luck to you.”
“But you must-”
“I must do nothing. If you want my assistance, you’ll tell me where you’re going.” Her eyes bore deep into him, unblinking, unrelenting. “And don’t lie to me, Khirro. My profession requires I know when a man lies to me.”
Khirro looked to Ghaul for guidance, but he neither moved nor spoke. The soldier’s hand no longer rested on the knife hilt, but it looked like it could be there again in less than a blink. Khirro sighed, his shoulders slumped. The sensation in his belly intensified.
“Look at me, Khirro, not him. He’d sooner slice me than tell the truth.”
A bark of laugh
ter erupted from Ghaul, startling Khirro. “Tell her, Khirro. We have no time for this.”
Hesitantly, Khirro nodded.
“What I tell you can never pass your lips to another.”
Elyea rolled her eyes.
“Promise.” Khirro was aware he must sound like a child preparing to tell a secret to a friend-'Cross your heart and hope to die'-but she seemed to hear the severity in his words.
“I swear I’ll tell no one.”
Khirro regarded her, searching her face for insincerity, deceit, and detected none, but wouldn’t someone who mastered detecting the lies of others be adept at hiding her own truths? He hesitated, unsure, until he imagined the beat of hooves closing in on them. He reached under his jerkin and removed the vial, holding it in his fist for a few seconds, not wanting to let it go. It felt like diving from a cliff-he’d committed and hoped nothing dangerous lay beneath the water. He released his grasp, offering the vial for her to see. Elyea uncrossed her arms and stood straighter.
“What is it?” She reached out to touch it; he drew his hand away. “Wine?”
“No. Not wine.”
“What then?” She didn’t look displeased by his refusal, but stepped closer for a better look. She squinted at the vial rolling on his palm, its contents lapping the sides. She looked up at Khirro. “Blood?”
He nodded.
“Whose?”
He fought the urge to look to Ghaul for advice-this choice was his to make. The Shaman bonded him to this journey, not Ghaul. It should never have been Ghaul’s decision.
“It’s the blood of the king.”
Birds chirped, the stream gurgled, but three people stood in silence staring at the vial in Khirro’s hand. Then the words came tumbling forth in an unstoppable torrent. It felt right to tell.
“We’re bound for Lakesh-the keep of the Necromancer, Darestat. A Shaman’s curse made this journey mine, to bring the blood so the king might be raised from the dead to lead Erechania to victory.”
He told her of Braymon’s fall and his escape, of the escape through the tunnel, the fight in the meadow and his flight with Ghaul.
“Braymon has fallen?”
He nodded, wondering if she’d heard all he said. “Yes.”