Traevyn’s smile widened. “Yes,” he said with a grin, “I had forgotten how well a Haaldyn fights in battle. I can say with honesty I would not mind her by my side.”
Lysandr nodded. “I will remember that. However, let us hold off on trying her skills at other activities until this particular injury has healed.”
Traevyn nodded with a wry grimace. Lysandr slapped him on the back and both men walked across the area and through the inner gate toward the training area next to the soldiers’ barracks where Ber’s voice roared over the crowd of fighting men.
5
Traevyn nursed his drink at the table in Ber’s house, and watched Ber and Davaris arm wrestle. Glyndwr and Gavin stood close by, urging on whom they wanted to win. Both Ber and Davaris were strong as oxen, their faces set and resolute. Their hands gripped tight to each other, both arms upright. That each man was determined to win was visible as their muscles flexed and bulged and their jaws tightened even more.
Traevyn glanced up as Lysandr slipped inside. His departure earlier had been to check on the switch between the evening and night watch and make sure all was well. The Britai soldiers were learning but it only took one apathetic attitude to produce a vulnerable link in the line. Now, when there were no invaders, was the time to discover weaknesses, not when the Tourna were pounding against their defenses. Lysandr made his way over to where Traevyn sat and settled down beside him on the bench, observing the game. Jaya stepped up to the table and placed a cup before him. She clasped Lysandr’s shoulder in a silent hello and then moved back to finish cleaning the remnants of the evening meal. The children had been sent to bed hours earlier, though a few giggles still floated down sporadically from the loft above the small kitchen.
Lysandr took a sip. He nodded toward the tussle before them. “Who is winning?”
Traevyn smiled. “It looks to be a long night. Neither will give an inch.”
“Why does that sound familiar?” Lysandr asked. “Ah yes, it reminds me of you and Ishar.”
Traevyn frowned. “I told you, it will not happen again.”
Lysandr laughed softly. “Your competitive edge is rising.” He leaned back in his seat. “What is it about her? You would never have chosen true blades with any of us.” Traevyn raised an eyebrow. Lysandr shrugged. “Okay, perhaps you would,” he said, circling the room with his hand, “but it is unlike you to choose an unknown stranger to fight in such a manner. Unless you wanted the stranger dead to began with,” he added in retrospect.
Traevyn’s smile flickered before fading. He shrugged and stared at the two struggling men before them for a moment before he spoke. “Perhaps it started out as a test.” He sighed. “I do not know. Time is running out for us. We have to know these people if we are going to have them stand with us. She is all we have by which to judge their character.”
“We have only known her a few days,” Lysandr spoke quietly, “in that time from what I have seen and heard from the men, she appears a competent warrior who seems to seek this peace as earnestly as Eira.” He paused, then shrugged. “I have found no fault in her.” He raised an eyebrow as he added moodily, “But it has only been a few days.”
Traevyn smiled. “Then where does that leave her?”
Lysandr wrinkled his brow. “I think she has the possibility of being trustworthy.”
Traevyn’s chuckle turned into a laugh and his eyes watered as he rose and wiped his mouth. “Then I think I will leave you,” he muttered, “on that declaration.”
Lysandr looked surprised. He motioned toward Davaris and Ber. “Are you not going to see who wins?”
Traevyn wiped a sleeve across his mouth. “No. It will be evident when I see Ber in the morning,” he said with a smile. “Give everyone my tides of leaving.”
“Where are you going? It is early to bed,” Lysandr stated curiously.
Traevyn patted Lysandr on his shoulder and moved past toward the door, “For a walk.” He slid out into the dark.
Traevyn was a quiet shadow that moved through the inner gates, up the stone steps and into the fortress. Though there were servants moving about, he slide effortlessly by and after a quick inquiry, made his way through the hall and up the stairs. He stopped in front of a wood door and hesitated, then raised his hand and gave several strong knocks. The rap of his knuckles sounded loud and hollow in the hallway.
There was only quiet on the other side. He waited a few seconds and lowered his hand. Of course, he thought with a twinge of guilt, she was asleep. After the day she had, he should not be surprised. Traevyn turned to go.
There was a creak and he turned back. A moment later, the door slid open a crack.
Guardedly, Ishar stared out from the dark interior perplexed. “Traevyn?”
Traevyn gave a short bow. “I see I have disturbed you. You were asleep. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow.” He turned to go.
Ishar opened the door more and held out her hand. “No, Traevyn, do not go.” She opened the spaced wider and slipped her body through the opening. She motioned within. “Please. I was not asleep,” she stated casually, “Just thinking before the fire.” She hesitated for a moment, before continuing, “Sleep would not come.” Ishar stepped back and held open the door. “Do come in. I could use the company of one warrior to another on this restless night.”
Traevyn paused. Then found himself obeying as he stepped softly into the room. He studied the warm interior; its glowing fire and the furs spread across the floor to cut the cold before he glanced back toward Ishar. She was dressed as she had been the first night, with pants and a long tunic. “I will not be long,” he began cautiously. “I came to see how you were and to apologize again for my misjudgment this afternoon.”
Ishar heaved a sigh. “You seemed destined to annoy me today, Traevyn.” She shook her head, a smile hovering along the edges of her mouth. “However, I refuse to allow that.” Ishar chuckled and held up her bandaged arm. “I do not know how many times I must speak of this to you. The cut was shallow. It sliced lengthwise and barely injured the muscle.” She wrinkled her nose as she opened and closed her left hand several times. “I will begin to work the arm tomorrow so as not to lose strength and movement.”
Traevyn frowned. “The cut may be shallow but if you work it then you may tear the stitches.”
Ishar shrugged. “The arm will still heal.”
“But it will leave a scar,” he frowned.
She laughed out loud. “I am a warrior. I have scars, Traevyn, and with the coming war, I will likely gain more.”
Traevyn’s frown deepened. The image of Ishar scarred by war displeased him. The face before him was void of the vicious reminders of battle he had seen on countless men. Davaris carried a scar above and below his right eye that luckily had not blinded him. At the thought of that, his own skin itched along his left cheek from a long-healed dagger slice. Though Ishar bore the mark of the sun and wind across her nose and cheeks, there was nothing to indicate these scars she spoke up. Traevyn continued to frown as he spoke, “Are you never serious?”
Ishar studied his expression. “You are serious enough for the both of us.”
Traevyn shook his head. “I do not understand you,” he muttered as he turned back toward the fire. He added absentmindedly, “I think at times I might, but no, I do not understand you at all.”
“Well, at least you are honest. It is a trait I approve of.” Ishar half-smiled as she moved beside him and glanced up. “Since that is the case, answer me this: why did you suggest we train with true blades?” She asked the question in a puzzled tone. “Do not get me wrong, I was fine with the choice but I could tell from the men’s reaction it is not normally done.” Ishar drew her right hand roughly through her hair. “It made me curious, that is all.”
Traevyn was silent. He glared into the orange blaze and fought the answer he wanted to give. “You were not so gracious the last time I was honest,” he spoke with caution.
“There is the wisdom of looking over one’s words care
fully before they leave your mouth,” she admitted.
Traevyn watched the fire weave and dance around the wood. He sighed as he spoke softly. “You make me reckless, Ishar, and I do not think I like this part of me I am discovering.”
He turned back in time to see Ishar studied him with a puzzled look. “What is wrong with an instant gut response?” she asked slowly with a broadening smile. “I have seen it be a soldier’s best defense.”
There was honesty in her words. Traevyn’s somber gaze fell to her wrapped injured arm as he answered, “You are a soldier. You already know the answer to that. A gut response can save your life occasionally but it is the deep training over time that truly saves our lives in battle. You train to the point that you know yourself so surely that you simply react with complete assurance of the outcome.” Traevyn’s glance flickered up to the serious eyes so intent upon his own. He studied their depths, uncertain how such eyes could make his heart pound as if he was racing for an uncertain finish. So intent was his reaction that for a moment, Traevyn could do nothing but look away. Studying the bare stone wall, he added, “I am only beginning to understand what is between us.” Traevyn was not certain whether he spoke the words to her or to himself, but he continued, turning to face her as he did so, “I only know this: you are dangerous to me. When I am around you, I do not think. I just react, and that is not who I am.”
She had apparently failed to notice his slight discomfort. Ishar chuckled. “Afraid of what I will inspire you do?” Her grin widened. “You need not worry, Traevyn. None of my warband has ever died because of my arrogance. I assumed the mantle of leadership with the knowledge that my words could inflict death if used incorrectly. I learned this at my father’s knees.” She smiled ruefully. “Know that I am a competent warrior in battle. My people follow me because of that.”
Traevyn swallowed. She had misunderstood. He opened his mouth to reword his meaning.
Ishar cut him off. “Please,” she said, taking his hand and motioning toward the fire, “Sit. We can talk of tactics, both Haaldyn and Raanan, and see our differences.”
He blinked as he stared down at the warm pale hand that grasped his. Traevyn was pulled forward reluctantly.
She nodded, deep in thought. “My father spoke to me much before I left about his desires concerning a peace and possible alliance with Varyk. I believe he is right with the words he spoke. There is so much our people can do if we work together, even beyond driving the Tourna from our lands with such force that they cringe from the thought of ever wanting to return.”
Her voice grew soft and husky as she spoke, warming to a favorite subject. Traevyn swallowed hard with realization: he had been wrong to come here tonight.
Ishar felt his resistance and glanced back. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “What are you afraid of, Traevyn?”
He was a fool. He found that he could not help himself. Traevyn took one step closer. What was wrong with him? The draping from the window was down and a faint breeze ruffled the flame of the fire and her green tunic. The fabric shifted and the delicate beading caught the fire’s glow. Warm honey spread inside Traevyn. He caught his breath in shock: it was like the pull of a warm fire on a bitter rainy night. Traevyn clenched his teeth and grabbed hold of the surge of anger that followed the sudden flash of desire. He fed it, needed it to fight the stirring craving. Traevyn stared at Ishar with bleak, harsh eyes. “Today I could have killed you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Do you know what would have happened between your people and mine if that had happened?” At the perplexed silence that draped her face he continued. “Exactly. That is what reckless reaction without thought gets us.”
Ishar blinked in surprise. He could see she was not prepared for the attack. She took a step back. “I thought we had moved past this afternoon,” she said bitingly as she tilted her head and studied him, hurt at his censure.
She had good reason. Traevyn was at a lost. He did not wish to leave angry. In frustration, he turned and paced the length of the room to the window. The cool breeze was in the process of turning cold. He let it wash over him for a moment and then walked back. He stopped a length from her. “I am sorry,” he began awkwardly. “It has been a trying afternoon and the words were not meant the way they came across.” Traevyn blew out a huff of air and tried again. “I meant: what I mean and what I say are not always the same, even though they occur at the same time.” Ishar blinked in confusion. Traevyn tried to explain further. “See—”
Ishar held up her left hand. Her other covered her mouth. A chuckle slipped out.
Traevyn felt a flush spread across the back of his neck. He stopped and stood there, unsure of what to say next.
Ishar motioned toward the fire and a stool that was situated close by. “Please, Traevyn, sit. Let me do the talking,” she stated, laughing softly, “your tongue seems to have failed you.”
Traevyn hesitated. He had the opportunity to leave. He should use the anger to do it. Instead, he followed her toward the fire.
Ishar knelt on piled pillows and slid elegantly to one side. “We were talking about our people and the differences that will have to be melded or understood so we can work together.”
Traevyn hesitantly settled on the stool. He slid his legs out toward the warmth of the blaze. “Were we?”
Ishar nodded. She had apparently decided to ignore the argument he tried to start. “We were. One of the reasons we were at war with the Lute for so long was misunderstood differences. We refused to meet and work out our differences so a confrontation that should have ended in a relatively short time lasted for generations.”
Traevyn studied her. “So we should better understand each other,” he said slowly.
Ishar smiled. “Exactly.”
Traevyn mused over her words for a moment. He sighed and stared up at her. The tattoo on her right cheek caught his attention and he frowned. The tattoo brought unpleasant memories to mind, but they were in the past. Traevyn shoved them aside as he continued. “I am only beginning to understand why you mark yourself,” he started cautiously. “I take it has been a tradition among your people for a long time?”
Ishar settled herself more deeply into the pillows. “The Haaldyn who came to this island were looking for a fresh start. From what our records tell us, they were a large group who broke with recently arisen new leadership in our old homeland. These people chose to take their chances at finding a new home rather than stay under this new leader whom they felt was unjust. We come from a strong people who have always been able warriors and merchants. We were also great boat builders. My people crossed the deep water in their boats until they came to Alsaar. They landed on the rocky north side and moved upwards into the mountains and encountered no one. From what records say, the north of Alsaar was very much like our original homeland. My people settled and made holdings, the largest of which is Ayden, our chief stronghold and capital. And we continued to push inward, coming to the mountains.” Ishar frowned, her fingers playing subconsciously with her tunic. “It was after we passed through that terrain that we encountered our first natives of Alsaar.”
Traevyn mused over her words. “When did you encounter the Lute?” he asked. “It must have been an interesting first meeting.”
She sighed. “We had occupied the region for two years. And yes, to your second question, it was disastrous. They appeared to us as such different people. My people saw the Lute as barbaric, wild, and immoral creatures who worshiped the forests, dressed in skins and painted their bodies. From a cultural standpoint, it was a shock.” Ishar noticed her busy fingers and quickly smoothed the wool tunic covering her thighs. “We had settled in the area but continued to grow. In a decision to see what the rest of the island was like, we sent an exploration party over the mountains. This group encountered a Lute party. Words were useless. Hand signs were attempted but the situation quickly deteriorated. Neither people knew what to make of each other. We were so different. Weapons were drawn, and then blood.” Ishar shrugged. “Ove
r the years the edge of the mountains proved to be a hazy dividing ground, until my father and Wyn decided to come together.”
Traevyn stretched out his legs. “While we lived among the Lute we encountered Haaldyn only occasionally, though they always proved to be an unyielding people.”
“And you would not understand that motivation at all, would you, Traevyn?” She muttered sarcastically.
He smiled and ignored the question. “Have your women always been warriors?”
Ishar shook her head. “No. When my people made the journey to this island, our women, under the standards of our people, were simply mothers and daughters. When we arrived and encountered the Lute, war ensued. My people were strong but few. The women amongst them chose to stand with their men on the battlefield. Out of the years of fighting, a tradition arose where women who chose to fight were elevated to warrior status.”
“Which is what the mark means?” Traevyn asked, his brow wrinkled.
Ishar nodded. “The tattoo has always stood for the mark of a warrior, even in our old homeland. It is just that there, women would not have worn such a mark.”
Traevyn raised an eyebrow. “They might have allowed their women the right also by now.”
“Doubtful,” Ishar remarked dryly, “since that was one of the reasons my people left. The new leader had imposed a stricter set of laws without consideration of the vote of the high council, one of which regarded the status of women. It reduced their rights to nothing, likened them to bought and sold cattle to be traded by their fathers and husbands.”
Traevyn looked at her with amusement. “I could not see you in that world.”
“Neither could I,” she said, shuddering. “I have thought about it. I am very grateful for my forefathers who chose this land as their new home. Perhaps even a little the war with the Lute, since it raised the status of women even more among my people.”
“And that status?” Traevyn queried.
The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1) Page 9