Iltherian's Sword - Chapter 14
Iltherian's Sword - Chapter 14
“Now, hun,” Dal grinned from behind clenched teeth at Nevi and Bobcat, “explain yourselves.”
Nevi blushed, looking sheepish, “Well, you see, it’s like this...”
Dal could see Bobcat roll her eyes as she finished for Nevi, “...you’re not gonna believe this but we’re on a secret mission.”
Dal’s eyebrows climbed so high they disappeared under her bangs, and Bobcat laughed. “See, Hun, I told you she wouldn’t believe it.”
“But it’s true,” Nevi waved her arms, earnestly, “we really are on a secret mission.” She leaned forward, holding up her index finger. “Two weeks ago we were summoned to stand before the Master Council.”
Bobcat laughed again, but Dal could see that she had gone pale under her mask at the memory, “Caused me quite a bit of anxiety when I first got it.”
“THAT I believe,” Dal looked at her from under half-lowered eyelids, and her voice was wry. “All that chicanery you get mixed up in, I can well imagine. Serves you right to sweat for a bit,” she grinned sharply at Bobcat’s narrowed gaze. “But please, go on.”
Nevi rolled her eyes at Bobcat’s snicker and continued, “The Masters have better things to do with their time than to worry over a single nit’s peccadillos, Brat.”
Dal snickered this time as Bobcat mock-reeled at the insult and waved her hand at Nevi, “Oh stop. You know how she is when she gets going.”
“All right, all right,” Nevi laughed. “Settle down, you brat, and let me finish.”
So Bobcat did and Nevi told of how the Masters had spoken of a loose band of raiders who were scourging small villages across Iris. Whoever they were, they were highly-organized and, apparently, they were part of the same band. The strategy was the same for all the raids. There was some concern, of course, about a large, heavily armed and well-trained force, and what kind of damage that force could do. The Masters had sent them on a mission: infiltrate the band, gather as much information as they could and get out.
“It was a good thing you came along,” Bobcat said, crossing her arms. “They were starting to get suspicious, since neither of us has actually participated in any of the raids.”
“Yes,” Nevi leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, “not all of them are completely blinded by selfishness and gold to care. Bobcat and I had both decided to get out anyway, since we’d gathered as much information as we could.”
“I’m afraid the rumors of a large force are true,” Bobcat said worriedly. “And the truth of them is much worse than we thought.”
“How so?” Dedrick asked.
“This is not just a band of well-organized bandits,” Bobcat answered flatly.
“It’s an army,” Nevi finished in a voice just as grim as Bobcat’s.
They had found out quite a bit for such a short period of time. The Masters had paired the two for good reason: Nevi had an innate gift for listening while Bobcat’s talents ran more along the lines of asking unsuspicious questions which drew out confidences. And both were experts at sneaking about.
“A surprising amount of their information was written,” Nevi commented, a small frown on her face. “Of course it was probably only useful for the leadership, since most of the foot soldiers can’t read.”
“Yes, an unusually large number are unlettered,” Bobcat added.
A disadvantage that, Dal knew. Bobcat and Nevi both knew how to read and well too. Unusually, rogues–both rangers and assassins alike–were amongst the best educated of the fighter classes. They were not the warrior elite, no paladins or King’s Guard here. But for these two classes, it was an asset to read. Many rangers and assassins were hired to infiltrate great houses or clans and seek information and they often had to deal with documents. If one could not read them, one did not know what those documents were and if they were important for their clients. As such, many who worked in this class were born of the gentry or the merchant classes, and the rest paid handsomely to be taught the skills they needed.
Pery laughed, an ugly bitter sound, “The less you know, the less likely you’ll question your leaders, your betters.”
“Yes,” Bobcat stared thoughtfully at Pery. “An effective, if rudimentary, form of control.”
They spoke a long time of what they had found. Pery, for the most part, sitting silent, absorbing everything that was being said. This too was part in parcel to the changes that were happening to her. She could remember everything around her. Everything. From sight, sound, taste, even smells did not escape her.
She was afraid, so very afraid. She did not know if this was normal. She did not know if this was normal for anybody.
More importantly, she did not know if this was normal for her. For although she had lived over 20 years in Iris, she had no idea who she really was. As a small child, she had been found wandering, dazed and alone, in the wilds of Juno. She had no memories of her family or country. When she had spoken, all she had done, she had been told, was babble a single word over and over, “Perytas.” So that was what they named her.
They being her masters; her owners. For she had been found by a less-than-reputable knight, who had proceeded to the nearest village and sold her to a merchant there. Who had, in turn, sold her to Mistress Rhasa, the local Squire’s wife, who had, as it happened, had been looking for a new scullery maid.
Pery rested her forehead on her knees, sweating. Never before had she missed knowing her heritage. Perhaps if she knew it, she might know if this was normal. Perhaps then these changes would not frighten her so much.
Finally the conversation about their mission wound down. It turned to why they were in the forest. Pery felt more than a little uncomfortable but decided to trust them, “Red Hollow is my home. After I became a journeyman, I wandered into Red Hollow one day. Just outside the village, I found a grove of trees...” She stopped, unsure how to explain the sense of peace that had suffused her when she had found the little glade where she decided to build her home.
“This might sound awful, but the fate of the villagers means less to me than if my home has been hit,” she bit her lip. “They were more welcoming than other villages I’ve visited. And I feel...vaguely guilty for not worrying about them so much as my home and my....children.”
Dal blinked and dropped the halter she was cleaning in the dirt between her feet. There was a loud crash and a thud. Pery whipped around, finding Ded picking himself up off the ground, having tripped over a pile of gear near the horses. The elven ranger had turned away, his shoulders shaking, while Gaevin, who apparently had the exact same sense of humor, reached down a hand and helped Ded back to his feet, saying in a voice that quivered with laughter, “You really ought to watch your step there, old son.”
“What is with the reaction, Hun, is it so inconceivable she could be a mother?” The knight, who had saved Dal from her fall, snickered as he picked up the fallen halter. Never had anyone looked so good as they snickered was this young man did, Pery thought. His was the kind of exotic beauty that was sure to make him stand out anywhere. Skin tanned dark not only from sun but from heritage, and hair as black and shining as obsidian, and fell to his waist in straight locks as well as a number of tight braids woven through with ribbons and strings of beads. Amber-bright eyes startling in their clarity laughed out of a face as finely chiseled as a masterwork of a great sculptor. He was tall, heavily built and slim-hipped.
Pery was sure that he had more than his fair share of attention from the opposite sex. Which would, of course, account for his towering confidence; no modest negation of his role in saving Dal from the fall, he accepted praise as if it were no less than he deserved. Pery grinned secretly, knowing that Dal had taken it upon herself to keep his ego from reaching staggering proportions. She had noticed that she had on more than one instance punctured it with sharply placed insults. Insults which were taken without demure from the young man, even received with a sharp grin or a roar of laughter in return.
Dal gave the knight, who she had introduced as Ben Hat’ein, an acid look, then planted her foot squarely on his shoulder and pushed. He must have had either extraordinary strength or balance, because he merely swayed slightly, laughing. He said something Pery could not make out but the other rogue laughingly replied, “Watch your tongue, Brat, or I might just take you up on that offer.”
Pery had never seen anyone’s face light up so brightly as this young man’s as he asked, “Really? I–”
“Go on, Perytas,” Bobcat interrupted as Nevi snorted in a vain attempt at hiding her laughter, “they’ll go on like that for hours if you don’t stop them.”
“My children and my life are in that cottage in Red Hollow,” Pery shook her head, rubbing at her temple. “Birscha will be little or no protection for them,” at Nevi’s puzzled look, she explained. “She’s their nursemaid. And getting on in years, I’m afraid.”
“Mira, my daughter, and Phen, my son, are both adopted,” maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed like the atmosphere cleared when she said that. “They are blood-kin to each other; their parents had died of the Green River plague, four years ago. Mira was seven and Phen four, and living on the streets because they had no other blood-kin to go to. Had I not found them, they both would have been bound for the slave blocks or some brothel.”
“I’m sorry,” she rested her forehead on her knees again, “but when I heard that Red Hollow had been attacked, I panicked. I–,” she stopped, a sudden thought striking her. She turned her frosty green gaze on Bobcat and Nevi, “You two were part of their group. You could tell me if–”
“No,” Nevi shook her head, real regret on her pretty face. “This group is large and they’re broken up into different units. The group that attacked Red Hollow is different than the one we were in.”
“Oh,” Pery was deflated, “of course.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them. “I have to go home. If they’re gone, I need to lay them to rest. They deserve that at the very least.”
* * * * *
Pery cupped her hand under the sparkling water of the stream and splashed her face, with it. Because she was so unused to sharing, even the little she had given up to the other, she had been overcome with a horrible vulnerability. She had fought down the panic at the feeling and, as soon as she could, she slipped away. She did not need anyone knowing how shaky she was.
As she stared into the water, a small round shape swam by. She blinked, then plunged her hand into the water. She smiled at the small turtle she had pulled from the stream. The shell was a bit bigger than the palm of her hand and she was careful to hold the turtle by the neck, because she knew by painful experience the crushing force in its beak. It had horny protuberances out of the top and bottom of the shell and a small one jutting from the top of its beak. She sat a moment, staring at it struggling in her grip; Phen loved horned turtle soup.
Her lips tightened, struggling to hold back tears. She refused to believe that her family was dead. She refused. The very possibility of it was enough to make her feel as if her heart was being ripped from her chest.
She shook her head, rising to her feet. She dumped the turtle into one of the buckets she had brought with her. She wandered down the banks of the stream, looking for more turtles. Which seemed abundant in this area, because she was able to pluck nine turtles from the water, more than enough to make a thick soup.
She took the time to deal with the turtles and offal before she headed back to camp. There was a good amount of meat and enough shells to serve as bowls. The shells could be kept and sold later, she knew. She felt a bitter laugh wanting to escape. Even now, with the possibility of her family all dead and she was still thinking along such mercenary lines. It was simply part of her nature now after all these years, but it still made her feel as if she were some sort of unnatural creature; warped and twisted.
As she was walking back, she was sure she spotted something in a thicket she was walking by. She frowned at the deeps shadows, certain that she’d seen some kind of movement. She set the buckets down and walked silently until she could see clearly into the thicket.
And what she saw as Dal and Ben entwined with each other. It did not seem a particularly passionate embrace, they were simply holding each other closely. But there was such an intimate air about them that Pery froze at Ben’s quiet laugh, “Why do you always do this? Just hold me like this, when we meet?”
The man had a beautiful voice, lyrical and deep with a lilting accent that Pery could not place. The tones, loving and gentle, although not aimed at her, nevertheless made Pery’s toes curl in her boots. She wondered briefly how she might react if they had been. But it also made her abruptly realize she was intruding on something that she knew was meant for no other person than the two embracing under the trees.
Ben laughed again, “Now ‘tis time for a proper greeting, no?” When he lowered his head, Dal made a half-hearted sound of protest, and then the embrace did become passionate.
Pery blushed then backed away, retrieved the bucket and padded silently back to camp.
* * * * * *
Ben broke the kiss and Dal, flustered as usual under his gaze, blushed and buried her face in his chest. He stroked her hair softly and murmured in her ear, gentle sounding words in his native language. She blushed again, under their influence and burrowed closer, her ear against his breast.
Under her ear, she could hear the beating of his heart. It was racing, exactly as hers did every time he was near. She felt a surge of feminine satisfaction that for all his staggering confidence, she had the same effect on him that he had on her.
“So are you ever going to tell me?” His voice rumbled from his chest.
She smiled against his neck, closing her eyes, murmuring, “Perhaps...one day.”
She breathed deeply, taking in his scent, redolent of warm desert winds, spices and an underlying tang that was all his own.
She WOULD tell him, one day. When she figured out exactly how to explain it. At least to him.
From what she learned about him, he grew up in a very close-knit, affectionate family. He grown up touching and being touched by loved ones. He had no difficulties finding the words to express his feelings. Nor had he any compunction at simply letting loose when he his passions overtook him; he could bellow like a bull when he was riled.
She, on the other hand, had grown up learning to hold herself back, to control herself and keeping her emotions in check. Amongst the gentry and the elite, open and free emotional expression was disapproved of. It was considered a sign of improper upbringing and lack of breeding. Thinking back, she could only remember a handful of times being held by her family was she grew up. And half of those were childish embraces between her and Ded. Her family had been a fond rather than loving family.
But when she met Ben, he had made her skittish with his insistence upon invading her personal space. When he had swept her into their first embrace, she had been reluctant, but she had been shocked by the feeling of safety and content that had suffused her when he had wrapped his arms around her. Even more shocking was the sense of bereavement that had swept over her when the embrace ended.
Then, the next time he had held her, she found herself clutching at him when he would have pulled away. She had burrowed against him, savoring his warmth and his unique scent. But most of all relishing simply being held.
It, of course, was not the only reason. But that was a subject that she dared not scrutinize closely at the moment.
Ben brought her out of her musings when he cupped her chin and kissed her softly, then hard when she bit his lip playfully. After a moment, he groaned and put her away from him, his breathing ragged. A half-amused, half-frustrated laugh escaped him, “Come, love, let us rejoin the others before I forget myself completely and take you here and now.
Dal, while maintaining the chastity her station required, was no delicate, sheltered girl, and knew full well what that entailed. And she blushed furiously because the idea both titillated and shocked her. Especially since she was leaning, more and more lately, toward surrendering to him. The very thought of surrendering any part of herself terrified her. As much as she trusted and...
No better no pursue that line of thought.
So she took his hand, gave him a swift, soft kiss and led him back to camp.
* * * * *
Later Dal dropped down next to Pery, sitting a little apart from the others. She wrapped her arms around her knees and they sat in companionable silence for a little while.
“I’m sorry,” Pery murmured after a little while. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“No, I never thought you did,” Dal smiled, wryly. “You would spy for money, but not on a friend, I think.”
“No, not on a friend,” she agreed. “I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you,” Dal smiled. “‘Tis not a secret precisely. We just do not speak of it. I...ah...still have my doubts.” She grinned as Pery rolled her eyes, “Well, I am two-and-thirty and he only twenty, after all.”
Pery understood, in the noble circle that Dal grew up in, she should have been wed in her teens, and Ben would still be considered a child. At two-and-thirty, had she not defied convention, she would either be facing entry into religious orders had she remained unwed, or been a wife and mother many times over already. And wed to...
She forced her mind away from that line of thought.
The point was, women in her class were expected to wed at an early age so that they could provide as many children to their husbands as they could. In noble circles, Dal was considered old and decrepit, an unsuitable mate for any man. Especially for one who was considered too young to be properly wed.
“And not to mention...” Pery blinked as Dal’s voice. She looked at her friend as she shook her head, “Oh never mind. I suppose ‘tis a minor thing really.” She laughed, “Or perhaps I am simply a coward.”
Pery’s gaze wandered to Ded, sitting and conversing laughingly with Gaevin and Ben. Sensing her regard, he lifted his gaze to hers and his dimples made an appearance. She blushed and looked away, thinking, ‘Then again, perhaps so am I...’