Chapter Thirty-Two
Url sat and watched as the warriors gathered. He had heard that the messenger had returned from the South. He knew that Merkat wasn’t coming, and from there he could gather why Jer and Av seemed to have that delighted glow about them.
The brothers were not enthused about the mating to happen three days hence. They were excited about a brewing war.
Until a council was called, and he was invited to it, Url had no ability to bring up his concerns. All those who were gathering knew, unofficially, why there was drink and meat aplenty, why the servants who brought the meat were young, unattached things who giggled and flirted openly.
When wars brewed, warriors stirred. And when warriors stirred they were more likely to pick fights with one another, or anyone who got in their way.
To counter the riled warriors, each land had its own traditions, which all boiled down to the same thing: a secluded hall built of stone—for plaster would not survive the night—plenty of drink, lots to eat, and willing bodies to bed.
Those that attended provided the rest.
They might have been warriors, but when not warring they had other professions. Musicians came to the hall, all warriors, and all knowing just what sort of music to play. The one who manned the kegs and makeshift bar knew what to give who and when to cut off a warrior before he became too drunk and did something stupid.
Yet there Url sat, in the back corner of the hall, watching the brothers laugh and shove one another while the others shouted encouragement. Small fights would break out. A few would escalate. In the morning they would all be sore and some few of them might even be in the healer hall, but it was all considered a hazard of living with warriors.
No one would mention the war.
His father thumped a tankard down in front of him and shifted into the seat beside him.
“Leg bothering you?” Url asked, noticing how his father seemed to fall into the chair instead of easing into it.
“Just the hip,” was the quiet response. “You’re young, you should be out there with your cousins. Go celebrate.”
“Celebrate?” he asked. “You do realize Mother received a formal invitation from the one who sits the throne? You know what they’re talking about. You know they’re planning our funerals.”
“Your funeral, not mine,” Er said, taking the tankard from Url to sip it, then place it back where it had been.
“You know what I mean, she’s going to get drunk and come stumbling back in, weeping and crying and going on. Her rank doesn’t take this news well.”
“And then they cry themselves out and when they’re finished they pick up their arms and join us,” Er said. “It’s a woman’s thing.”
“Van was also invited.”
Er made a strangled sound in response.
As his father struggled with the information, Url stood and went to retrieve food. He had to fight with a younger warrior who thought Url would be a pushover. Taking the youngster down didn’t make him feel any better about the food he collected as reward.
Everyone would be fed, but those who wanted to be fed first had to earn the privilege.
Along with the food he received a tankard that was not ale, which he didn’t realize was not what he ordered until he was sitting back down and attempted to gulp his drink. Coughing and sputtering, he slammed it onto the table and shot the bartender a scathing look. The man simply nodded in response and turned to another warrior.
“When I ask for ale, but get something a great deal stronger, does that mean he’s challenging me?” he asked his father.
The other man puzzled over the information for a moment, then shook his head. “If he were challenging you, he would have put your head into the bar.”
“They don’t actually—” Url stopped talking when there was a thump and a cry from the gathered warriors as the same youngster who had challenged Url stumbled away from the bar. “Did you see that happening as you spoke?”
“Of course, but I’ve also had someone try to put my head through a bar,” Er said, pulling his tankard towards himself. “You should have stuck with my tankard. If you don’t drink that, he will have a problem with you.”
“Is he trying to flirt with me?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Er said quietly. “That is a fine-looking warrior.”
“I’m not like Jer,” he said quickly. “I like breasts and the rounded shape of a woman. Tumbling with a man holds absolutely no value to me.”
“You’d be surprised how many warriors pair off at events like this, when war is actually coming and there aren’t enough women to go around. The last time we went to war was with those past our boundaries in the North, when we wiped them out. Well, I was mated to your mother going on a year, but she was pregnant with your eldest sister at the time and that sort of a joining isn’t healthy for the babe or mother, I don’t care what anyone tries to tell me. Woke up the next morning beside a Western warrior who had apparently bested and mounted me right there in the hall.”
“Yes, but you don’t recall it, meaning it likely wasn’t an active decision on your part.”
“I put him into the ground every other time we met,” his father said gravely. “And not because he was letting me win. All I’m saying is: go into these things with an open mind. There’s bloodshed on the horizon and we all know it. Women used to throw themselves at warriors. Now we get a handful of maidens, gorgeous as they are, to near half a hundred of us.”
“I’m sure it’s the best Telm could do on such short notice,” Url said.
He was in the middle of sipping his drink when his father gave him a quick shove. It was a distracted sort of shove, like Url expected from someone who was trying to get his attention but wasn’t aware of how hard they were pushing. That was the only reason Url didn’t respond by breaking the tankard over his father’s head.
Which was exactly what his father had done to him on more than one occasion for doing such a thing.
Wiping drink off his chin, Url glared at his father, then to where his father was looking.
The healer had just walked into the hall.
Being the only rank besides the warriors, every warrior went still. Their eyes were on her as she walked among them, head held high and unafraid.
“You should bed that woman and breed her,” his father said approvingly.
“Mother would be furious with me,” he muttered.
“Only until the little bundle of joy arrived,” was the grumbled response. “Then you’d have to worry about the mother stabbing you, but you can just get her pregnant again and she’ll be content as a kitten.”
“Why is that an option?” he demanded. “I have to mate a queen, recall.”
“The barons need to mate a queen, recall,” Er growled. “As of four days from now, I am no longer baron, meaning you no longer need to mate a queen.”
“Has anyone actually told Aren about that?”
“No. It amuses me, but also makes me wonder what else they’ve forgotten to tell her.”
“You,” the healer said, stopping on the other side of the table and jabbing a finger at Url. “I’ve a bone to pick with you. Pick a fight and then run away like a child? How dare you!”
“You want to fight now?” Url asked, motioning around them. “Do you know what this is?”
“It’s a gathering of warriors. Meaning no one is going to try to stop me from beating your head in.”
“It's a gathering, yes,” Url said. “But any fights that happen here typically end in something besides a head being beat in. Especially when a woman is involved.”
“If you win, fine.”
His father started laughing in an almost silent fashion. Er was trying to do it silently, behind his tankard, but Url heard each huff of breath as the man tried so very hard not to make a sound the healer might hear.
“Help—don't laugh,” he snarled out the corner of his mouth.
“He needs to finish his drink, otherwise the bartender is going to mount him,” his father said, then started laughing outright as he slapped the table and stood. He laughed all the way to Av and Jer, where he began telling a story through teary eyes.
“That drink?” she demanded, picking up Url's tankard before he could protest.
He watched as the healer chugged his drink back. She slapped the tankard onto the table and jabbed a finger at him once more.
“I don't think that will help you any,” he said.
“Alcohol makes the body loose. Get up and stop making excuses. You started it, I'm going to finish it. Let's go.”
He had never so desperately wanted to get out of a challenge. Url glanced around the healer, to the bartender, but only because he hadn't been the one to finish the drink. The bartender gave him a look as if he were mad and motioned to the healer.
That was when Url realized that a majority of the warriors were still standing still, watching the healer. Only those who had partners were still moving. Every other warrior was watching the healer, wondering if Url would turn her away. Questioning whether they had a chance.
Url slid out from behind the table and stood. He had his feet under him, his stance was good.
The woman took him to the floor and caught his cheekbone. Even as the pain of a break flared, it was gone again. She had beat him, but healed him in order to keep him whole enough to fight.
This could be interesting.
Url grappled with the smaller body. He let her get the upper hand, wondering what might happen, but then found it difficult to get out of. When he finally did, he found himself furious, the drink firing his blood. He struck her as hard as he could and she revelled in it a moment before she bit him.
Hard.
He pinned her, she pinned him, he took the upper hand and delivered another proper strike, and she struggled against him, squirmed out of his hands and slammed him back into the floor. Url relaxed, wondering what she would do if she won.
He tasted blood, but none of his teeth were loose and his tongue wasn't bleeding. Being beaten by a healer had its benefits. Commoners couldn't quite do damage, let alone cause pain. Another warrior could bruise but not break. It enticed him to know the creature atop him could break and bruise him, but chose to heal him all the same. He hurt, but it was a good ache.
She pinned his wrists and tried to use her weight to keep him from moving. The only problem was that she was pushing her body against his, and he had only had enough drink to set his blood afire. Url trembled as she leaned down and grinned toothily at him. Then she stopped, confusion playing over her features. She looked down his belly and between her legs, then back up at him.
“Is that a dagger in your pants?”
“No,” Url squeaked out.
There was a moment of quiet. Then she glared down at him. “Do you know how to use that?”
“I've had lovers in the past and we, in the North, focus on the pleasure of the woman?” he asked, because he wasn't certain exactly what she wanted to hear.
“You will pleasure me, because I bested you.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, his breath catching in his throat. Finally he sighed out.
“Well, I really shouldn't argue with the woman who beat me into the floor.”