| |
––––––––
NO SOONER HAD THE EVENING meal been cleared, than people started to gather to form an inner circle within the wagons. Men Karst knew were accomplished fighters and those in charge of various aspects of the caravan sat on one side of the central bonfire. Two women sat amidst the men, Feldt’s wife and granddaughter. A smile flickered. Brial had earned the right to sit with the leaders. Even more, Karst thought, both the men and women of the clan respected her opinions.
The clan leader climbed onto a wagon tongue. All the side conversations muted into an attentive silence. "I want to thank everyone for coming to the fire." A broad smile held more than mirth. "You all know word passed along the wagons as to one part of the message I received earlier today. Trade caravans are being attacked by unknown groups. Sentries will be doubled and scouts are to be extra aware of potential ambush sites."
The older man’s gaze rounded those gathered, evaluating each one. Karst wondered how he compared to the skilled fighters. I was trained as a dragon slayer. A contrary thought rose. By your father. Not the most skilled fighter ... or teacher.
His focus returned to the clan leader. In frantic thoughts, Karst reviewed what Feldt had already said. "A friend with another caravan had a request from a craftsman who wants an escort to the convocation. We are the closest. Other traders are unable to detour or are taking another route that takes them too far away."
Feldt paused as if choosing his words. "The escort request came from Nawddmir."
Karst’s world narrowed as the caravan leader pinned him with a hard, yet worried stare.
"What wasn't told earlier was that my friend also had private messages for me. Sorry, Karst. Your father knows you travel with us and word from the village of Darceth is that he means to take you back."
"All the more reason," came an angry yell from the back of the crowd, "to get rid of the interlopers. And not go to Nawddmir to pick up more."
Angry murmurs rose from those gathered. Karst tried to figure out who spoke. His attempt ended when he felt the attention shift away from the clan leader. Now it focused on him. Fear tightened his throat. All the stories told to him about how the traders handled their opponents surged upward. Visions of a disemboweled body with bloody entrails being dragged behind a wagon filled his mind. What will they do? I am a liability ... and an outsider.
"I, Gault, demand to speak." At the yell, the crowd parted and a man stalked through. At first, Karst thought it was his father, then realized it was one of the outriders. The fire emphasized the man’s ruddy complexion. The dark glare he cast toward Karst declared the other man’s position as did the finger he jabbed at Karst. "First we take him in." His angry gesture shifted to Deneas and Trelleir, "Then them. Now you want to add more passengers? To take outsiders to convocation? Our meeting of the clans is not for outsiders." His voice rose. "Get rid of the interlopers. And don’t go to Nawddmir. There is no reason we have to bow to a village’s demand."
As he had before, Feldt raised his hands. In response, the discussions of Gault’s comments ended. "The village did NOT demand. They passed along a request from a craftsman."
A man yelled from the back of the crowd. "Who are these villagers who require our services?"
The messenger left the group he had been sitting with and moved to stand at the front of the crowd. "I don't know the names of all to journey. Only that the leaders are named Geren and Gabha."
Gault's grumbled, "Their names mean nothing to me," received a few nods. "They will still eat our food, sleep in our wagons. "
"I do know this," the messenger said in a strident voice to be overhead above the angry growls which had again risen. "There are to be three wagons, six men and three women. I was told all the women are married and the men are skilled fighters."
"Even worse," came a yell from the back. "How do we know their women can handle the road?"
"Enough!" Feldt's booming voice silenced the crowd. "Nawddmir requested escort, not transport. They will provide their own horses and wagons."
Deneas stood and raised her hands for silence. "If I may address the clan. I know both Geren and his father, Gabha. They are talented blacksmiths. As to them being a hindrance, or going to the clan gathering, know this. It will be an advantage for the clans if he comes with Clan Vreis to the convocation. Good blacksmiths are few and far between. Most of your trade routes don’t cross the desert. Let alone take you to Nawddmir. I have seen your need for iron repairs, both for the wagons and livestock. And I am sure the other clans are in the same position. By allowing Geren and his father to travel with you, your repairs will be given first priority."
"How do we know your words are true? You are not one of us."
From the mutters that rose, it became clear more than one person at the fire supported Gault.
"I will answer that." From her position amongst the leaders, Brial stood up. "Deneas and Trelleir came to us to help cure the sickness."
"The healer did that," Gault countered.
"You do not know of what you speak." Brial seemed to grow in stature. "Deneas and Trelleir aided Betrys. And they did more than just mix potions. As far as Karst, he too risked his life for Vreis." Her glare went from one man to another. "How many of you went into the needlethorn?"
Karst tried to follow the side discussions, but there were too many to track – or to tell their substance. Are they for or against me?
As he had before, Feldt raised a hand to get everyone’s attention. "Karst, Vreis throws no man to the wolves. You are welcome to stay. Just say the word."
Options from staying to stealing a horse and slinking away in the night whirled in Karst’s mind. Only a short pass separated Nawddmir from Darceth. Fear for those he now called friend, and he admitted especially Brial, clutched at his heart. But he realized running would not save his friends. My father will retaliate against the traders whether or not I am with them.
Tension in the air reminded Karst that Feldt and the others were waiting for a response. A deep breath and he answered. "I ride with Vreis."
Cheers, the stamping of feet, and loud whistles sounded from all around the fire.
Surprise at his acceptance by the caravan members heated Karst's neck. They really do care for me. Maybe there is a chance to marry Brial. Hope turned the earlier heat into a raging inferno surging through his veins.
Angry mutters from the men perched on one wagon made it clear not all clan members approved.
Karst felt someone’s gaze upon him. He turned and caught sight of Medraut and Gault at the edge of the firelight. It was not just the intensity of their glares that froze Karst, but the anger in Gault's eyes and the expression of pure hatred on Medraut's face.
Fear for Brial and his friends chilled the earlier heat. His hands clenched as if holding the sword that wasn’t there. The reality of his skill hit home. I am no competition for Gault.
His gaze sought out Deneas and found her surrounded by the girls she gave lessons to on how to use the short bow and sword.
Deneas is a trained slayer. And she didn’t skip out on the lessons like I did. His resolve hardened. I can learn if she will teach me. I have to learn ... for Brial.
NEITHER FLICKS OF THE reins nor using the straps as a whip made the mare beneath Medraut pick up its pace. "I should be riding one of the tan stallions." Biting off every word turned the statement into a curse. A heat that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun warmed his cheeks at the image of the animals bowing before him. It fled as quickly as it came turning his skin cold. He still hadn’t figured out how the stallions denied his orders. "Even this flea-bitten nag can’t be put under my will. And, my magic is back at full strength."
Trelleir’s face flickered into Medraut’s mind. He pictured himself astride one of the tan stallions, using the other man as target practice for sword and spear.
Hoof falls announced another horse’s approach. Without turning around, Medraut knew it was Gault when he heard the rider’s sharp commands slow the animal to match the plodding pace of Medraut’s mount.
A smile twitched the corner of the other man’s lips when Medraut stood in the stirrups to ease the effect of the mare's rough gait.
Not saying a word, Medraut pinned Gault with a fierce stare. His hand raised, and his fingers started to curl.
A gulp and Gault’s face paled, his features straightened to that of subservience.
"Report." Medraut snapped his fingers. "And it had better be good."
Glances showed no wagons or riders nearby, still, Gault leaned in to make sure they could not be overheard, "Feldt is worried about several places on the trail that would be good sites for an ambush. He has ordered everyone from youth to oldster to practice with sword or bow." His voice dropped lower, his tone more conspiratorial. "The caravan is still going to have their pairing festival. But not until the full moon after the caravan clears Nawddmir."
How to solve several problems with one blow formed. In terse instructions, Medraut gave the rider instructions. "Pick a fight with Karst. No one can say anything if your sword accidentally slips."
"Karst isn’t that good a fighter," Gault growled. "I’ll do it on two conditions." His smug expression made Medraut want to smash the man’s teeth out. "First, I want one of the tan ones. I can steal it from the picket line. Trelleir always leaves it saddled until long after moonrise."
"Why? You know it can’t be ridden."
"Trust me," Gault said. "Give me a week alone with it and I will break its spirit."
Although he knew what Gault would say, Medraut prompted for the other condition. "And?"
"Brial," came out not just with emphasis, but with a leer.
For several minutes, an internal debate raged. Finally, Medraut said, "Agreed." He hid a smile as he pictured Brial as he had first seen her after waking in the wagon. Only this time the sides of her shirt didn’t just part. A seductive shrug of her shoulders slid the shirt off.
His resolve hardened. Even if Gault survives the fight, he will never have Brial. She is mine!
YOUTHFUL CHEERS SHIFTED Brial’s focus from the linen cloth she was embroidering for sale in Nawddmir to where Deneas gave a handful of young girls a weapons lesson. Too young or small to wield a sword, they practiced shooting with a short bow at a target hung from a tree. Giggles filled the air as the group gathered around the youngest, Telyn. The reason for the celebration was clear. Four arrows stuck out of the center of the target.
A wave of joy swelled in Brial's mind at the memory of her own time in training. And of the boys whose scores she beat. I need to pull my bow out from under the wagon seat and wax the string, she thought. It wouldn’t do to have to use the weapon and have the string break. Another idea shimmered into being. Maybe tomorrow night after the evening meal I’ll join the competition. Memory of another shooting contest twitched her lips into a smile. Not only had she won the prize coppers, but a kiss from the boy she had beat. He deserved it. Deheuol lost by less than a point. Both our arrows hit the ring. Her smile broadened. But my second arrow pierced my first, whereas his second landed beside the first.
She stored away her handicrafts as Deneas offered a final congratulation to the girls for a good session and on their improvement. A wave dismissed them to their parents’ wagons. They raced off with their laughter trailing behind them.
When Deneas didn’t linger at the fire, Brial walked over to join her. "Deneas, if you are not too tired, would you walk with me?" A nod indicated the path to the picket line where a few horses were kept saddled for those on guard duty and the animal pens beyond. "It won’t be full dark for another candlemark and the moonlight will be bright enough we won’t need torches for the walk back."
She took a breath to fight the unease in her soul. "I haven’t been introduced to the stallions yet. Would you mind doing the honors?"
Deneas’ chuckle turned into a smile. "Of course, Bri, I would be happy to." With quick movements, she picked up a jacket and scabbard from the ground. "Do you realize you are the first person who formally asked? I think Sunfire and Nightbolt will like you."
The only sound of their walk was the soft swishing of their steps on the path of trampled grass. The thought that had bothered her since they left the wagon finally forced itself past Brial’s lips. "Why the sword?"
"I am on guard duty later," Deneas said. "Standing a few night watches and the weapons training are ways to thank the clan for their hospitality. Since the pens are halfway to my post, instead of taking my sword to my wagon after the class is over and then having to retrieve it when I go on duty, I figured I might as well bring it along." Her shrug indicated having the weapon was no big thing. "Just saving a few steps."
"Oh, I thought you might be expecting trouble."
"Why are you?"
Now that she had brought it up, Brial wished she could take back her words. I am a skilled fighter, she thought. But Deneas is a slayer and a woman. She will not judge. "There is something about Medraut."
Her feelings and a terse description of what happened in the wagon flowed out. "Deneas, I haven't told anyone, neither my grandfather nor grandmother, and especially not Karst any of this. Although I think he suspects. He keeps finding an excuse to be close. And if he is not at hand, then Tywyll is." Emotion entered her face. "Even so, I have not allowed myself to be alone with Medraut despite his late-night visits to my wagon."
With the flood started, she couldn't stop the final truth. "I am afraid of him."
"Don't doubt your instincts. There is more to Medraut than he appears."
Brial could not decide if her friend's revelations comforted or added to the lingering fear.
"Trell doesn't know what it is about Medraut yet, but he watches."
Even through the jacket, Deneas' hand on her arm warmed Brial's skin. But not as much as her soft, "As do I."