by Selina Rosen
"Harris . . . He's quite the swordsman," Darian said.
Tarius looked at him, no doubt trying to see by his features whether he was angry that he was training Harris or not. "Every person with a passion for steel should have the right to learn it. He is as good as any of the second term students and better than most of the first."
"Maybe because you have been training him all along. I'm not blind, Tarius. Didn't you think that I would notice that the lad was putting on a fighter's muscles, and that his movements have become less clumsy?" Darian asked.
"It is a shame he can not be a Swordmaster," Tarius said.
"He can't join the academy; this is true. He can never have the title, but if he continues to learn from you I have no doubt that Harris will be a Swordmaster." Darian smiled and patted Tarius on the back. "Seeing him fighting makes me wish I had thought to train him myself. That I had seen past his crippled foot and found his abilities. Were it not for you he would have gone from being a crippled boy to being a crippled man, happy to do thankless tasks for arrogant men. Now he'll want more, and you have given him the tools with which to demand more. Your ways are odd Tarius, but may the gods forgive me, I sometimes believe they are far kinder and wiser than ours."
Darian turned to walk in the direction of the main hall, and Tarius watched him go with a smile.
"I hope you mean what you say, old man," Tarius said under her breath. She grabbed two practice swords looking around to make sure the theft was not detected. Then she limped out the door and into the courtyard. Jena met her by the back gate that lead into the woods. Jena hugged her, and they kissed.
"You sure you're up to this?" Jena asked.
Tarius nodded. She took Jena's hand and led her to a clearing she and Harris had made in the woods a few weeks earlier. Tarius preferred the woods to the practice arena, and she and Harris had decided to build their own "practice arena." She had assumed she would only be fighting Harris here, but last night as Jena and Tarius sat in the courtyard watching the new recruits play at fighting with tree branches and the likes, Jena had planted another seed in her head.
"I always wished that I could fight," Jena said wistfully.
"Why don't you then?" Tarius asked.
"Women aren't allowed to fight. In fact, women aren't allowed to do most things that are fun or have any meaning," Jena said, stretching her bare feet into the grass in front of her.
"What a stupid country this is! How stupid to make women believe they can be nothing but what men wish them to be. If you want to fight, then you should fight," Tarius said with passion.
Jena laughed. "This is why I'm mad about you, Tarius. Why I had to have you. No other man understands me; they all think I'm daft. You treat me . . . Well, like an equal." She smiled a sly smile at Tarius then. "So, are you going to teach me to fight?"
"Of course," Tarius said. "You're my woman, and any woman of mine will have to be able to wield steel."
"If my father finds out he'll kill us both. You know that, don't you?"
If your father knew any of the things I'm hiding from him he'd kill me, she thought. For this he will merely scream a lot.
"Then we won't let him find out," Tarius whispered with a grin.
* * *
She put the blade in Jena's hand and put her own hands over Jena's. "Just let my hands guide yours . . . No, don't fight me; let me be in control. Let the blade become an extension of yourself." She lay her head on Jena's shoulder and temporarily lost track of what she was doing when she got an eye full of Jena's ample and wonderful cleavage. You could sure as pain never bind this woman flat. She shook the thought from her head and continued the lesson, whispering directions into Jena's ear as they went. Soon she was having Jena follow her legs in the same fashion she had taught Harris.
Finally Tarius faced her. "So . . . Are you ready?"
Jena nodded, her determination apparent by the set of her chin.
"Then lay on," Tarius said.
Jena slung her blade at Tarius weakly, obviously aiming more at the weapon than at the warrior who held it.
"Harder, Jena, harder, and at me not my sword," Tarius said.
"I'm afraid I might hit you!" Jena protested.
"Ah! You cut me to the quick! Do you think me so unskilled that a fighter on her first time out will strike me with anything but air? Do your very worst. I promise you, you will not hurt me."
Jena took Tarius at her word and came at her with conviction in her blade. She was made for the sword; Tarius could see it in her eyes. She knew something of technique as well, having watched sword fighters her entire life, and she was strong. Strong enough and fast enough to make Tarius work to keep her promise. She took direction well, seeming to know immediately what Tarius meant. Her blows came harder and faster and with more accuracy.
It was almost dark when their blades locked up. Blade to blade, chest to chest, Tarius looked down into Jena's determined face and had never felt more desire. She grabbed Jena's blade and threw both blades to the side. Then she grabbed Jena and fell backwards onto the ground, bringing Jena down on top of her. She kissed her hungrily over and over. She rolled, putting Jena under her and rubbed her body across Jena's. Her heart was pounding so loud she could hear it. Jena's mouth hungrily received her kisses, long and deep. Jena's hands ran over Tarius's back. If she felt or was worried about the wrappings it didn't show in her body language. Tarius's hands fumbled at the lacings on Jena's dress, and Jena eagerly helped her. But when Jena tried to undo Tarius's pants, Tarius grabbed her hand and held it.
"I only want you Jena," Tarius whispered. "Only you."
She let her lips travel down Jena's body, and Jena forgot about anything else.
Later, they lay in each other's arms on top of Jena's dress. Jena was tired and almost asleep in Tarius's arms. "I don't understand, Tarius . . . Isn't there something that I could do for you?"
Not without blowing your whole world to pieces, Tarius thought.
"That was for me. Do you think that I didn't have any pleasure from it?"
"But, don't you want to . . ."
"No."
"Don't you want me to . . ."
"No."
"But . . ."
Tarius silenced her with a kiss. Then said in a whisper. "Don't make everything so difficult. Can't you just be happy?"
"I am happy," Jena laughed. "But I don't understand . . ."
"You know . . . I have told you. I am different from other men. If you want someone you will always understand, then you should have chosen Tragon . . ."
Now it was Jena who silenced Tarius with a kiss. "I love you, Tarius. You're right, you're different, and it's exactly because you are different that I love you. If you are truly happy with our lovemaking, then I am ecstatic."
"I am happy," Tarius said and smiled. "Very happy."
She frowned then. I'm too happy. It can't last; it never does. So I will enjoy it as long as it does and hope that I can take her with me when the time comes. Hope that her love truly is without bounds. That there comes a time when I can tell her without losing her.
* * *
Arvon and his sword brother, Brakston, had just ridden in. Arvon had taken an arrow in his leg, and he had come back to recover from his injury as was the habit of unattached Swordmasters of the Jethrik.
Brakston helped him to dismount. "The grooms will attend our horses. I'll take you to the surgeon. The sooner you're well the sooner we can get back to the front."
"Oh, and we wouldn't want to miss a minute of that! Wading through mud and guts and gore. Food that a starving rat wouldn't touch. All the lovely diarrhea from drinking dirty water. Not to mention the wonderful arrows, swords and axes people are always throwing at you." He clapped his hands together in mock anticipation. "Oh, let's do hurry and get back. I don't want to miss either the rat season or the plague." He coughed loudly and ended up bent over spitting vile looking stuff from his mouth. Brakston went to his side, helped him to a bench, and then helped him to sit. H
e placed his hand gently against Arvon's head.
"You are running a fever again my friend."
Arvon laughed. "Ah, that would explain why I've lost my attraction to war."
Brakston looked at him. He knew exactly how his sword brother felt. They had all fantasized about the glory of it all, but there was no glory in the death that had faced them on the front. They'd make a little headway one day only to be pushed back the next. The rains had come, and with them came disease and mosquitoes the size of small birds. Arvon's wound had seemed a simple one compared to others, but a bad infection had set into it, and he'd become sick. It soon became evident that Arvon was going to have to leave the front or die, and he couldn't go alone. Brakston couldn't really say that he was sad about having to be the one to bring Arvon home.
"You'll get some help. You'll feel better," Brakston promised. "Rest for a minute."
Arvon saw Tarius and Jena sneak in the back gate holding hands. From their rumpled appearance, it didn't take a genius to figure out what they'd been up to.
Arvon sighed deeply. "Ah, there goes the end to one of my most beautiful fantasies."
"Huh?" Brakston looked in the direction that Arvon was looking and saw the couple. He laughed. "Not hard to guess what those two have been doin'."
"My point exactly, and I was so hoping that he wanted me as badly as I wanted him," Arvon said.
Brakston laughed. "Quit, ya old puffta . . . Tarius!"
Tarius looked up quickly, first with the startled look of one who has been caught, and then grinned and ran towards them. Tarius hugged first Brakston and then Arvon.
"Oh, sure, hug me now you young cad, when I know what you've been doing with this young woman," Arvon said. He looked at Jena who stood just behind Tarius with a huge grin on her face. "So, I see you finally chased this young man till he caught you."
Jena took Tarius's arm beaming happily. "We're getting married."
Arvon held a hand over his heart. "Ah! Woman, you slay me."
Brakston nudged Tarius with an elbow. "I suppose you better be marrying her if you were doing what I think you were doing out in the woods. The old man would have your hide, you know that don't you?"
"When is the big day?" Arvon asked.
"Soon, before I ride out on my internship," Tarius said. "I graduate in less than two months, you know."
"No I didn't," Arvon said. It made him feel old. He was glad to be back at the compound, away from the war. Back among familiar things and people.
"Tarius, would you help me take Arvon to the surgery . . ."
"You're wounded then, Arvon?" Tarius asked.
"Oh yes, and the infection has given him the fever," Brakston said.
Tarius moved then to help Arvon to his feet, and it was then that Brakston noticed that the boy was limping himself.
"What happened to you, lad? Didn't do that playing with your girl in the woods, did you?" he teased.
It was Jena who slapped him hard on the shoulder. "That's enough of your mouth, Brakston," Jena said. She moved to help Tarius with Arvon. "I'll have you know that Tarius was hurt saving our good king from a barbarian."
"You saved the king?" Arvon said looking at Tarius in awe. "Then you're not just wearing spurs because you have lousy out-country manners?"
"You horse shit!" Brakston popped Tarius on the shoulder so hard he almost sent all three of them to the ground. "You've been knighted!"
Tarius smiled but said nothing.
"See what a fine teacher am I? How my students become knighted before they even graduate from the academy?" Arvon said.
"See how the fever has gone to his head? We better get him to the surgery," Brakston laughed.
They started helping him to the surgery. He wasn't the first Swordmaster to come in this week; three others had all come back from the front wounded. Two of them had died.
"It must be getting bad," Tarius said more than asked the two Swordmasters.
Both men looked at Jena.
"Jena is no faint heart, Arvon," Tarius said knowing what he was thinking.
"I am aware of that," Arvon said, but he wasn't about to fill her in on all the gory details. Not when very soon Tarius would be slung into the middle of it. Unless he was mistaken, there would be no internship for these boys. They would be shipped right to the front where their skill both with weapons and leadership were needed. "You, you know what war is, Tarius. You have lived through the horror. I really hadn't. I'd been in a couple of battles. The kind you hear about—the glorious battles where everyone dies clean, and in an afternoon the battle is over. This just goes on and on and on. I don't have to tell you, Tarius; you know what I'm talking about. I was sorely prepared. I'm still not prepared." He lowered his voice. "I don't know if I can go back."
Tarius whispered also. "Then why should you go back? Stay here and train men to fight. You have done your part. Find yourself a mate; fall in love. Live before you have to die. Who would deny you that?"
Arvon nodded then smiled at him. "I could have loved you, Tarius."
Tarius laughed. "Ah, you are full of the fever. You could never love me! I'm a filthy wild little bugger. There is no air of refinement about me. You, my friend, need a gentle man."
Jena left to tell her father that Arvon and Brakston were there, and that Arvon was wounded. Tarius stayed with Arvon while Brakston went to find the surgeon who had apparently gone home for dinner.
"So tell me how you saved the king, Sir Tarius," Arvon said. He lay back on the soft bed. "Damn! That feels good, now go on tell me." Tarius told him the story, and Arvon laughed. "You are indeed worthy of the title, Sir."
"The title annoys me," Tarius said.
"And Jena?" Arvon asked with a smile. "How did you win her favor?"
"Apparently by trying over and over again to get rid of her," Tarius said in a far away tone.
Arvon laughed again then coughed. "I will have to remember that one."
Tarius grew tired of leaving her friend there to suffer with no help. It wasn't as if she knew nothing of caring for wounds. She got up and started taking Arvon's pants off.
"Tarius! And you an almost married man, too," Arvon teased.
"Would you stop it." Tarius laughed. The pants came off, and she was no longer laughing. The dressings were filthy and stunk like death.
She carefully removed the filthy dressing. The arrow had gone through close to the bone. It had been removed properly, but improper care and improper cleaning had left the wound to become a mass of oozing green and yellow puss with red leech lines running in every direction. She didn't say anything. She just went to the sink and drew a bucket of water, grabbed some soap and a rag and started cleaning the wound. Arvon didn't complain that it hurt him, and Tarius knew this was a bad sign.
"It's bad isn't it?" Arvon asked.
"Well, it isn't pretty," Tarius said managing a smile. "Don't they cauterize wounds on the front?"
"There's no building a fire out there. There's nothing but rain day in and day out. Besides there's never time. There aren't enough medics, and very damn little in the way of medical supplies," Arvon said. He sighed and added. "I don't even know why we're fighting."
"That's because you haven't seen what the Amalites do to a land. No one who doesn't conform to their perverted rules is allowed to live. People like you and me are killed first because we are immoral, and don't conform to their idea of 'normal.' They are like locusts; they creep in at your borders eating at your land, and before you know it there is nothing left of you. They send their filthy missionaries ahead first. People ignore them because they seem harmless. The missionaries look for the lost ones in a community—the ones that don't have families or homes. They promise them a better life, and so slowly they take over from the inside. They find your weaknesses and your strengths and report their findings to their leaders. When they finally strike, their people are on both sides of the line, and you don't know who the enemy is. They are evil to the very core of their being . Their primary belief
is that anyone who doesn't believe as they do is evil, and therefore they are under no moral obligation to treat us any better than bugs. Their history is littered with slaughter and death. That is why we fight; we have to kill them. We have to kill them before they can kill us, because given half a chance they will kill us all. Have no doubt of that."
"They should have you speak to the troops, Tarius, the men need to know what they are fighting against and for," Arvon said.
Tarius just nodded silently.
Tarius had been taught how to bind and tend wounds as a child in Kartik. She knew that the Jethrik ways were different than Kartik and certainly different from the way the Katabull did things, but there was still no sign of the surgeon, and she got the impression that Arvon was running out of time. She found a piece of wire and some alcohol. Then she secured a piece of cloth to the wire. First making sure she had left no sharp edges hanging out, she dipped the cloth into the alcohol. If it ran into the wound easily, that would mean that it was rotting instead of healing.
"This is going to hurt a lot," Tarius said.
"Thanks for telling me," Arvon said with a forced laugh.
Tarius poked the swab into the wound gently. Yellow and green puss immediately erupted from it, and instead of screaming in pain, Arvon let out a sigh of relief. The smell was awful, and Tarius almost threw up. She ran the swab through the wound several times. It was no wonder Arvon was running a fever.
He was all over filthy, so Tarius undressed him and started to give him a sponge bath as much to clean him off as to reduce his fever.
"Ah! My dream come true," Arvon coed.
"Shut up, ya blaggard, or I'll leave ya set in your own filth," Tarius said but not without a smile.
His fever was bad, and he shook with the cold. As soon as he was clean, Tarius dressed his wound and pulled one of the surgery's tunics on him. She covered him with blankets and wondered where the hell the surgeon was.
"Crawl in with me and keep me warm," Arvon said through chattering teeth.
Tarius laughed as she cleaned up the mess she'd made. "You really are incorrigible."
"Do you really only like women?" Arvon asked.