by J. Hepburn
"I had to steal once or twice, but I was getting better and better at remaining hidden. I spoke to no other person until I finally crossed the border, and even then, not until I was well inside.
"I spoke to a few hunters who were friendly. Cautious and careful to evaluate any stranger, and surprised to see a woman who looked like a man in a Gharaj man's clothing, but not unwelcoming. They told me how to make a living by trading meat and skins and what prices to ask for. There is a … brotherhood … among hunters in Ortlin. They … we … know what it is to choose to live alone, to hunt and track using only your skills against the animal, and to leave human concerns to other humans. I finally thought I had found my people.
"I kept moving north, away from Danova, because in the towns, people recognised my people. They would trade with me—I think my Gharaj clothes confused them—but they would be wary and untrusting. I started replacing my clothes, starting with the jacket the tribe had given me. I took to wearing lighter boots that let me move more easily. In one small village, I was asked where I acquired my arrows. I had made them. They did not have a fletcher and wanted me to start. I tried it, but I could not be comfortable living inside the town, and I became restless, so I moved on again.
"Eventually, I got to the foothills." Camille stopped again, put aside an arrowhead, and returned to one of her daggers, examining the edge until she found an imperfection to fix. "When I got close enough to the border with Vreeland, I found out what your people think of mine."
Helgaer flushed in shared shame. Her knowledge of Danova was limited to what her people knew, which was little but abhorrent. Camille had confirmed some, but refuted much. She looked down at the sword she had been holding, unmoving, for the greater part of Camille's story, then made two angry passes with her stone. "I am sorry for my people," she forced herself to say, contrition not coming easily.
Camille smiled thinly without looking up. "I have met Vreelanders who come across the border to trade or to look for better hunting," she said. "Those who travel tend to have more open opinions." She examined the edge of the dagger before returning to smooth, gentle strokes over the stone.
"Why did you stay here?" Helgaer asked, curious despite herself. "So close to Vreeland?"
Camille shrugged. "I like it here. I like the people in the town down the mountain. Being so high up makes me feel as far away from 'home' as I really am. And up here, I can walk for an hour and see somewhere different instead of simply mile upon mile of flat land." She tested the edge of her dagger, gave it a critical look, then finally, with a sense of reluctance, put it down. "Besides, the hunting is good."
"The bandits never bother you?"
"I can avoid them, and none of them have ever found this cabin." Camille shot Helgaer an amused look. "Do you remember how to get here?"
Helgaer took a deep breath, immediately regretting it when pain shot from her injured flesh. "I wasn't in any condition to remember much," she said.
"I would wager you would not have remembered the way anyhow," Camille said with absolute confidence in her voice.
"We are high, and we are remote," she continued. "I know an easy route down to the town, but there is no easy route back. Climbing is involved. If you wish to walk the entire distance, then it takes most of a day for a journey that takes me an hour while carrying a heavy load of skins. Oh no, bandits do not often trouble me here."
The next morning, Camille headed down the mountain with a bundle of skins, telling Helgaer not to expect her until close to nightfall.
Helgaer, with great care, changed the bandage and pads herself, mixing up a paste from herbs Camille left for her. She had always healed quickly, but had never before had a wound so severe. She put on the old farmer's shirt, which was more comfortable than hers.
She practised lightly with her sling again, moving her hips without moving her waist, beginning to get faster and harder without aggravating her wound.
Then, she set out to find the creek Camille had mentioned.
Camille had not left a clear trail, of course. Helgaer found it by following her instincts, an animal trail and, finally, her ears.
It was wide and deep enough to wash clothes in, but not to fully submerge in, even if it were not bitingly cold.
Taking very careful note of her surroundings, Helgaer followed the stream uphill to where it emerged from the side of the mountain. She followed it a little way downhill, but did not go too far while still injured and without knowing the forest.
She was sitting on a rock, resting the muscles around her wound, when a wood pigeon perched on a tree not far away.
She very carefully undid her sling, picked up a good rock from near her feet and stood up slowly. The pigeon did not move until the sling whipped around and over. She had judged the rock well, but a stab of pain from her side threw her aim off, and the pigeon was not even threatened.
Helgaer sat down again quickly, holding her side for what felt like a long time until the pain subsided again.
She carefully lifted the shirt Camille had given her and checked her bandages, but there did not seem to be any fresh blood.
"A crossbow," she muttered to the forest. "I need a crossbow."
She stayed by the creek for two hours, taking her time over collecting a pouch full of good rocks before finally convincing herself it was safe enough to take her shirt off. She scrubbed herself clean with a wad of linen she had already washed clean of blood and herbal paste.
When the forest failed to produce any dangerous animals or noises, she unbound her breasts, unwrapping a length of cloth that went around her five times. The relief was heavenly, but did not last long enough to stop her hating the way they hung heavily on her chest. She washed the cloth and then herself, gritting her teeth in indecision before leaving the binding off so it could dry.
She put the shirt back on before unlacing her boots. She had not taken her pants off for four days. She spent a long time scrubbing herself violently, stopping occasionally with a sharp intake of breath when she moved too enthusiastically for her wound to bear, before swabbing down the inside of her fur pants.
She carried her boots as she headed uphill again, treading quietly and lightly on bare feet and seeing a glimmer of why Camille preferred her light shoes.
She roasted a rabbit on the spit, skinning it whole and turning it over the fire to cook slowly. Some carrots, a halved onion and some diced beets went in the cauldron dry to roast.
As soon as her length of binding was dry, she went inside the cabin to re-apply it.
When Camille returned, as the sun was dipping below the tops of the tallest pines, her nose twitched as soon as she was inside the clearing.
She was carrying a small sack slung over her back.
She nodded in greeting at Helgaer, peered appreciatively at the rabbit and the roasting vegetables, then began emptying the contents of the sack into the food chest—more farmed tubers, some leeks and another loaf of bread. The final item in the sack was a stoppered clay jug that Camille put in the middle of the bench.
"Will that take long?"
Helgaer sliced into the rabbit with her dagger so she could peer at the flesh inside. "Not very."
Camille cut the wax off the top of the jug, then twisted out the cork and took a swig.
Helgaer could smell the sweet-sour of mead as Camille passed her the jug. She took a cautious sip that she nearly spat out. She had met mead before, but never tried it herself. She took a bigger swig before handing it back. It was an odd taste, but she felt as though she needed something. "I was born in a land of ales, not fermented honey," she confessed.
Camille grinned as she took the jug back. "I was born in a land of grapes, but was never allowed to try wine until the Gharaj gave it to me. I have still not seen wine's appeal, but I can appreciate mead or ale."
They passed the jug back and forth twice more until Helgaer carved the rabbit and fished vegetables out of the cauldron into bowls.
"You know how to cook," Camille said h
alfway through her bowl. Helgaer was getting used to Camille—the simple statement sounded like a compliment, not condescension.
*~*~*
Helgaer awoke even earlier the next morning, but still not early enough to catch Camille who returned after midday. She was not carrying any game.
Helgaer had changed her dressings again, seeing the first signs of healing at the edges of the wound in front, but not able to look closely at the wound behind.
She had sent a steady stream of stones flying into the centre of one of Camille's targets, moving freely from the knees.
She had finished sorting through the clothes Camille had rescued from the farmhouse and kept only another shirt and a pair of the man's woollen hose, although they fit her muscular legs as tightly as a second skin.
That night, they fed the unwanted clothes to the fire.
To Helgaer, Camille seemed to be thawing further with each day.
*~*~*
The next day, Camille headed down to the village again, carrying more skins. Helgaer changed her dressings, took a cautious walk through the forest to begin learning the land, then went down to the creek to bathe.
She practised with her sling again, regaining a little more speed.
But mostly, she fretted, trying not to pace from the frustration of being constrained by her injury. She could not train, could not effectively hunt, and was no closer to tracking down Captain Koda.
She began moodily carving herself a practice sword from a fallen branch, producing a very serviceable weapon. She roasted a pheasant whole in the cauldron, surrounded by vegetables and the mead they had, somehow, not finished. She was hunting for more stones by the time Camille returned.
"Here."
Camille dropped a parcel in Helgaer's lap.
"The blacksmith owes me a few favours. I asked him to make this a few days ago."
Helgaer was at first too stunned to speak. Then she unwrapped a lamellar cuirass made of boiled leather scales tightly laced onto a thick but pliant leather base. She held it up in disbelief.
Camille said, "The Ortlin say that if you save a man's life, you have the obligation to give them either a weapon so they may save yours in return or armour that will go with them in your stead. You have good weapons, but you seem as though you would benefit from something that might turn a blade, but wouldn't rattle and give you away."
"In Vreeland, we say that if your life is saved, you are bound to that person until you repay the debt."
Camille raised an eyebrow at that. "I am not intending to need the favour returned."
"I wasn't intending to need it first." Helgaer stood up, turning the cuirass around in her hands. It was made in one piece with a hole in the middle for the head, scales continuing over the shoulders. The sides overlapped, joining by three buckled straps on each side. Two curved shoulder plates extended partway down each arm. She slipped it over her head, managing to tighten the buckles without causing herself more pain.
It fit almost as well as her wolf-fur vest did, but was more rigid and would need time to mould itself to her. It extended just down to her hips, long enough for her belt to tie over, but not so long it would restrict her movement. "I've never worn anything this stiff."
"They loosen as they mould to your body."
"It fits me."
"I took dimensions off your vest. And I have a good eye."
Helgaer coloured slightly at the implications of Camille eyeing her closely enough to know how to make armour fit.
She picked up her new wooden sword. A few practice swings, gentle enough to not jar her wound, suggested the cuirass would not interfere with her arm in combat.
"You fight very practically."
"Tola wouldn't let me rest until I could do basic techniques well enough to satisfy her. When I asked her to teach me something more interesting, she said she would, but only when I was faster. I never learned more complicated techniques, but I did become very fast."
"How did Tola come to learn so much?"
Helgaer's face froze. "I am not stupid," she said, angrily scrabbling at the cuirass's straps until she got them open. "I know that mere hunters do not learn so much about fighting.
"She came from a region of Vreeland where villages are at war with each other. She lost her family to a raiding party, but survived by cutting her way past them to safety when she was the last one alive. She became a bandit in the Ortlin highlands, taking just what she needed to live comfortably, but lost too many of her comrades and left, moving east to where I found her. I don't know if the soldiers had been looking for her. I do not care, either."
Camille nodded slowly, her expression still neutral. "What are you going to do? What will you do if you survive?"
"I will not be preying on others. I can hunt, and I can farm, and I do not wish to kill one man more than I have to. Beyond that, I don't know. It won't be important until I succeed or I die. I will need to get word to my family, but whether I return or visit, I do not yet know."
Camille stared out across the clearing for a while, looking at nothing. Then she sighed. "Come back alive and you can stay here for a while."
Helgaer looked at her in surprise. Although Camille had rescued her, taken her in, tended her wounds and fed her, that was the first truly welcoming thing she had said.
"Thank you."
Camille just nodded.
"I don't want to put you in any danger," Helgaer said. "If I succeed but there are soldiers after me, I will not return. They may keep chasing me across Ortlin, but I will lead them a chase they won't forget. If I succeed and I am free, I will welcome your hospitality." Her lip twisted in half a smile. "I still have a debt to repay."
Camille snorted. "You can repay it by surviving and by not making my efforts meaningless."
Helgaer laughed, harshly. "Vengeance is a holy quest in Vreeland, but dying for your vengeance diminishes your death's worth. We are proud, and we do not forget insults, but we are not stupid."
"And yet, you are ready to die."
"If I was not, I would not be able to fight as well as I need to or make the necessary choices."
Camille looked at her, raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "I can understand that. I prefer to take my time, plan, practice and wait for my moment, but I can understand that."
Helgaer awoke as Camille was closing the door quietly. She lay on her back in the barely-there light of early morning as it filtered through the cabin's poorly fitting shutters, smiling to herself.
When she got up, she was still moving with care and a twinge of pain, but her smile did not stop. She was, despite the pain, moving a little more freely each day. She dressed in her woollen shirt and strapped on the cuirass. Her belt went over the top as tightly as she could bear it with her sword, knife and dagger in place.
She drank deeply of the chill water from the barrel before picking up her wooden sword and moving to one side of the clearing.
She started with basic exercises, moving her feet lightly despite her thick-soled boots as she advanced across the clearing performing the cuts and parries Tola had drilled into her, choosing only those techniques that did not stress the waist.
She turned around when she reached the trees, performing the same set of exercises back to where she had started. When she had crossed the clearing, she began retreating, faithfully practising the backwards footwork that Tola had, time after time, told her was just as important as what you do with a blade.
When she judged she was almost among the trees again, she swung around, smiling thinly with satisfaction as the tip of her wooden sword flicked through leaves.
She moved onto different footwork while repeating the same sword exercises over and over. She moved lightly but quickly, each movement ending in precisely the same spot relative to her body.
She did not stop until the sun was high and she was sweating inside her shirt.
She left her cuirass in the cabin when she took the farmer's shirt and hose down to the creek with her so she could wash hers pr
operly. She also took fresh bandages, padding and the herbal paste.
She was naked to the waist, vigorously scrubbing herself clean while her shirt and her binding soaked, when something made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
She dropped into a crouch, dagger in hand—her sword was lying on the bank—as she twisted on the balls of her feet to face behind her.
Nothing was there.
She froze, only her eyes moving, all thoughts of modesty forgotten as she scanned the surrounding trees for any shape, movement or colour out of place.
She slowly rotated on the spot, still finding nothing, ending up facing once more away from the stream. The nagging feeling was still there, but she could not work out why. She slowly straightened up, sheathing her dagger.
"I'm impressed."
Helgaer was not unskilled with throwing a dagger. It almost left her hand now.
"No people, and few animals, can sense me."
Camille stepped out from behind a tree, appearing to form from perfectly natural patches of shadow and leaf.
Helgaer's rising anger at being spied on and stalked was drowned by the sudden realisation that she was bare-breasted in front of only the second woman she had ever known to share her love for women. Keeping rigid control of herself, she began to turn back to the water when she noticed the blood staining Camille's shirt. "You're hurt!"
Camille shook her head. "It's not my blood. There's a wolf back at the cabin. Wolf skins fetch an amazing price. Nearly as good as bear. I can carry a good-sized wolf, but it did bleed on me."
When Camille reached the side of the river, she untied her belt before casually pulling her shirt over her head. She looked like a wildcat—no spare fat and all lean, strong muscle. She looked down at breasts that, without her nipples marking them, were barely visible at all. "You can see why my parents gave up hope of marrying me well."