Venzene Duchy of Kovalun
County Jižní Pochod
Barony of Hartscross–Jižní Lov
Pre-dawn
٥ Korunasykli: ٢٢ Days after the Red Storm at Westsong
Vlk’s supper had been a quiet affair. Quieter than usual, in fact, due to an argument his parents were having when he’d come home. They stopped snapping at one another as soon as he opened the door. What followed was an uncomfortably somber evening, each sitting in his or her own corner. Father kept darting nervous, side-long glances at Mother, who sat mending one of Vlk’s shirts and pretending not to notice.
Vhatever it is, he vill find a way to apologize to her vithout admitting he vas wrong, and she vill tell him how vise he vas to do vhatever it vas she vanted him to do all along. It was an old, useless, foolish game. Father was the king of their meager castle, but it was Mother who ruled their family.
He finally heard the truth as he was crawling beneath his furs.
“You vere right to say what you did to that saf-vage.” Mother was speaking in her we must always be clever tone. “Doing zo meant ve vere not bound up vith his stink.” Now came her we’ve outsmarted them voice. “Andt nowwww, Vlk’s vorth is knowun. The Lady Kastan has paid for his time, andt he still gets his reward for helllping that saf-vages little tushk, eh?”
Father gave a grumbling sigh that Vlk knew all too well. It was his you win, but I must feel that I still rule this house voice. “I vill not say I expected it, but it vas a possibility. The drunken lord may vell not realize he’s lost his purse. If ve happen to find it, honestly of course, vhat harm in profiting from an addled fool, I say.”
Mother laughed, affecting a warmth that Vlk knew wouldn’t have been reflected in her eyes.
“And whooooo vould argue vith that? You are alvays thing-king, vhich is vhy ve have no-thing to vorry about.”
This had been followed by the soft sound of first gentle, then more heated kisses. Vlk had rolled his eyes, then rolled over, feeling the first wincing notes of what’d promised to be a never-ending song of discomfort. With every movement, he was given a jarring reminder of just how hard he’d worked today.
He couldn’t get or remain comfortable. His arms were sore, but that was alright. All things concerned, that particular pain was relatively quiet. He had other, far more insistent aches. His spine was full of snapping twigs whenever he moved. Worst of all were the bruises on his shoulders. He’d almost swear they were deliberately shifting position. No matter how he rearranged his body and bedding, he always wound up wincing.
And that’s not the vorst of it. No, the worst was that he kept hearing her laughing, sparring with Andrej, taunting him… beating him as if she’d been holding back…
Vlk and Andrej had been playing a version of the willow dance around a woodcutting stump. Andrej had called it a part of their training. Vlk had been doubtful. It was an old game, after all, although it was rarely played by boys their age. Usually racing one another around a tree was only fun for the smalls.
One child was it. The other had to try to touch him or her as they moved in a tightish circle around the willow tree—or whatever stood in its stead. It always started out at a casual walk but quickly degenerated into two children racing around the tree at top speed. Sometimes the child who was it would catch their fleeing friend, especially if one was more physically active than the other. More often, however, it would end in both children giggling on their backs, covered in sweat, and desperate to get air into their tiny bodies.
Andrej’s version of the game was … different. Both of them would be it. What was more, each could only use their bright hand. A touch with their dims wouldn’t count. Being touched on their dims wouldn’t count. This small shift changed everything.
Vlk thought he’d understood the first time they’d stopped to catch their breaths. He’d been sure of it by the time they’d stopped for the noon meal. Andrej had been right. It was training. With the need to attack and avoid being touched, the entire affair felt more like an unarmed version of a lyst fight.
And then she just … appeared. I took a pull from my mug. Vhen I lowered it, she vas just … there, moving past me. She didn’t valk. She stalked. She isn’t a girl. She vas more like a moss cat.
He’d never actually seen a moss cat. They were supposed to have been hunted to extinction in Kovalun centuries a’gone. Still, every child knew, or imagined they knew, how sleek and sure-footed those long-lamented creatures were, just as every child knew about griffins, dragons, vodnik, and Vadātājs.
The she in question was a girl not much older than the pair of them. He and Andrej were both thirteen, though annoyingly, Andrej was two sykli his senior. He hazarded the girl’s age at fourteen, perhaps fifteen. Old enough—and tall enough, for that matter—to make him feel like a child. Her skin was dark, as were her eyes. Her face was at once inviting and intimidating, which maddened him for reasons he, himself, couldn’t fully grasp.
Vhy can she not simply show one or the other? Girls were sweet, or they were sour. He’d known this since the first time a girl had pinched his arm. And why had she pinched his arm? Why, because he had dared to share his cup of water with a different girl—one who had seemed friendly and had forgotten her own cup back at home. He’d been no older than six or seven, but he understood the rationale less as time went on, not more. Girls are supposed to be simple. They’re smarter than ve are, but the truly pretty ones always seem to make the least sense! Vhy?
She’d stalked up behind the Lady Kastan, waited in silence until Kastan had been just about to turn, and spoke. Her voice had been familiar—a lilting, modulated melody he couldn’t place.
“My lay-dee?” Her smile had been evident in her voice.
Kastan froze for a beat, then spun and drew the girl in. The embrace was brief but warm.
“Welcome back.” Kastan drew away, keeping her hands on the girl’s upper arms. “I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow… I’d ask if all was well, but the smile on your face is answer enough.” She’d beamed down at the girl who stood two or three inches shorter than she.
Vlk had taken an instant dislike to the newcomer, although he had no clear understanding of why.
“Aye, lay-dee. Two great boars are being carried home as we speak. They should be here tomorrow, in time to be cooked for suppa, if you wish it so. One of them would make a fiiine gift to the count for feasting, as well.”
Vlk had turned to Andrej, meaning to ask who the girl was. Something on the taller boy’s face made his anger redouble. Was he … smiling? His eyes were bright, his cup of ale forgotten and near to spilling, and, yes, he was smiling … at the newcomer’s profile.
Vlk tried to sound distant and dismissive—as if he were only asking out of courtesy to Andrej’s obvious interest. “Who is she? She embraces Lady Kastan as if she vere her little sister or some other nobleman’s daughter.”
In answer, Andrej had put his mug down and picked up one of the staves they’d used for the buckets. He took a moment to run his dim-side fingers through his hair before running the back of that same hand beneath his nose.
“There’s nothing there, kouzelníku. You’ve made it disappear vithout even trying.” Vlk had delivered this quip in what he’d hoped would be a comedically serious, friendly tone. Andrej didn’t seem to notice, for he only nodded and walked off toward the Lady and her guest.
“Fetem?”
Vhat’s wrong with his voice? Havoc’s Horn, vhy does he sound like he’s caught a sore throat in the ten steps between here and there?
The dark-skinned girl turned, eyes half-lidded, mouth in a smile that made Vlk’s flesh tingle and his face feel hot.
“Hel-looo, Honeybrow.” She eyed the stave he was now leaning against. “Your fa-tha bade me tell you sleep well to-night, for tomorrow he will have much work for you to do.” Andrej made to nod, drawing breath to speak a reply, but she spoke on. “All-so… before we found and felled the boars, we found a pair of bucks figh-ting.” She sounded pleased.
“Did you…” Andrej’s tone was suddenly hopeful.
“Your fa-tha wounded one, but he managed to bolt away into the trees.” She paused as Andrej nodded, shoulders falling. “I, on the other hand, brought the second one down.” She actually laughed as his head snapped up. “We were boar hunting. I had my boar spear in hand. It may seem strange to you, but I have learned a thing, Honeybrow.”
Vlk saw Andrej nearly vibrate with excitement, though he’d had no idea why.
“What did you learn?”
“I learned that a boar spear will bring down a mature buck. The spear does not care what kind of animal it’s aimed at.”
Andrej laughed at this as if it were the funniest thing he’d heard in ages. Vlk didn’t know what had gotten into the blond boy, but he blamed this Fetem for it.
“So, how large were its horns?”
“Your fa-tha says large enough, and so I have given them to him, which means, I believe, that you will be getting a new bow very soon.”
Andrej threw his head back as if to shout his excitement, but nothing came out. Vlk could see his eyes were closed, and he was smiling in obvious bliss, but no sound slipped past his lips.
When he looked back at Fetem and the Lady Kastan, the newcomer had another question.
“How goes your training?”
Here, Kastan cut in. “He’s been bringing Vlk in line with the way we do things today.”
“Oh! Come! You should meet him!” Andrej paused—froze, actually, looking up at Kastan. “…If you’ll allow it, Lady.”
Kastan’s bright laughter went a fair bit toward easing Vlk’s discomfort.
“Go on, then. We can speak at the evening meal, if not sooner, Fetem.”
“As you wish, Lady.”
Vlk had stood, grabbing the other stave for reasons he, himself, still didn’t understand. He’d offered a polite “Hello” to the girl as she and Andrej drew near.
“Vlk, this is—”
“Fetem. I heard, Andrej.” He returned his attention to the taller girl, nodding a further greeting to her. He’d opened his mouth to continue the conversation, his smile starting to bloom, when she spoke. Her words stopped him in mid-motion, the smile only half-formed on his face… which was presently on fire.
“Fetinba is my name. Yours is Vlk, son of Liška. I have heard that you stood with our Andrej when the Bluemark showed their truth to those who cared to see it.” Her voice was dark, somehow. She sounded far too much like a grown woman correcting a small child for being rude.
She vas varm just a moment ago. Vhat did I do? This thought was followed almost instantly by another. Vhere does this girl think she is that she could speak to me so? She’s… she’s just… But he didn’t know what she was just. He only knew that he felt small, foolish, and frustrated.
“I … must have misheard. I svore I heard both Andrej and the Lady Kastan call you Fetem.”
She nodded, expression helpful if a bit detached. Her voice, however, remained that dark, not-quite-flat tone. “You did. I have known the Lady Kastan since I was very small. She may call me whateva she wishes.”
Vlk’s grip on the stave tightened. “And Andrej?”
She shrugged one languid shoulder. “It is a fair trade. I call him Honeybrow.” She ran a hand back through Andrej’s hair. “And he calls me the name others close to me do—Fetem.”
Vlk opened his mouth several times, but closed it almost at once each time. He could think of nothing to say. He knew only that she didn’t seem to like him much, yet she was fond enough of Honeybrow to simply run her fingers through his hair. As for Andrej, he was wearing an absurd, yet somehow satisfied, smile on his face.
It wasn’t until she’d spoken again that he’d realized the silence had stretched out for too long.
“Well, I’ve been riding for hours. When you’ve finished with Vlk, come and find me. If you aren’t too tired, we can dance the willow dance for a while before suppa.”
Andrej had nodded at that. He’d apparently forgotten where he had last left his voice. She was nearly to what must’ve been her tent by the time he’d found it again.
“Fetinba?” When she’d looked back at him, he continued. “Welcome home and thank you for the news … and the buck!”
She bowed her head, smiling that somehow maddening smile Vlk had glimpsed moments before.
He was thinking that he might have to beat Andrej across the head to make him say something useful—to make him return from the Twilight Sea. He was surprised, then, when Andrej had called his name from some feet away.
Vhen did you valk away? He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Yeah, běžím.” (coming.)
The afternoon’s training had kept him too focused to think much on the girl. He’d been making ready to leave as the sun sank behind the hill and had taken a moment to thank the Lady Kastan for arranging it all when he saw her again.
She was holding a stave—likely the one he’d been using, which frustrated him for some reason—and was sparring with Andrej. She was almost utterly defensive, but she looked completely at ease. Andrej, on the other hand, was swinging with a truly frightening look of concentration, and a speed and intensity Vlk couldn’t wrap his mind around.
He looks… he looks as if he means to kill her. No, vait. He looks terrified! He does all of the attacking, so vhy does… Vhy does … he look to be terrified?
As he watched, Fetinba sidestepped and slipped her stave between Andrej’s shins, forcing him to the ground. She then brought the stave down toward his head with the speed of a diving hawk!
Vlk had drawn breath to shout a warning, though he knew it would be too late. Incredibly, Andrej had turned, hitting the ground on his shoulder and rolling onto his back. He brought the stave up, his gripping fists set wide so that the incoming blow struck between them with a reverberant crack! Rather than rise, he slowly lowered his weapon toward his own chest, Fetinba’s inching closer to his face…
Vlk saw Andrej lift both of his legs, bending them back to bring his knees behind hers with sudden ferocity. The strike caught her off balance, driving her forward into a stumble that ended with her on her knees beside him. The sound that followed this was … odd. Vhy are they … laughing?
Lady Kastan began to laugh as well, which further confused the matter. “Clev-ver! Clever, Andrej!”
Vlk could only shake his head as he left.
Now, as he tried once more to find a comfortable position, he found he was no less confused or frustrated. The girl would have to go. He could accept not being able to defeat Andrej … yet. A tall girl who could outfight both of them? That… That was unfair.
Alright, she wasn’t unfair. She was, in fact, quite fair, as were almost all the women in Lady Kastan’s camp. Come to that, none of them had the warm, plump look most women in the camp carried.
Fair or not, girls are already cleverer than boys. They get to stay home all day and not have to go out in the sun to vork. Vell, not that mother doesn’t vork. She vorks … inside, mostly, and vithout someone telling her vhat to do all day. Still, fair, cleverer, almost always right even if they weren’t right… and now one of them can outfight the best varrior I know? That isn’t right or fair. Either I have to beat her, or she has to go.
His last thought as he drifted back into uneasy dreams was the frustrating realization that all girls and women seemed to fancy Andrej. Maybe if I focus on besting you… Honeybrow. Maybe then, if I do it in front of vitnesses on the field…