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MOONLIGHT AND THE LOW buzzing of glow bugs dancing over the tall grass failed to melt the glacier around Brial's soul.
Deneas' sympathetic tone not only eased more of the tightness in Brial's chest, but it also encouraged her to reveal more details of Medraut's actions. A deep breath and the words escaped Brial's tight lips. "I know certain herbs mixed with wine can give a man control over a woman. But I didn't drink anything." She hesitated, unwilling to put the rest of her unease into words. "I dreamt there were flames in his eyes. Once consumed by the fire, I have to obey him."
Tears burned Brial's eyes as much from the emotions raised by the telling as the comfort she felt from the tight hug Deneas wrapped around her.
Finally, the other woman stepped back. "Thank you for trusting me, Bri. Both Trelleir and I will be on the watch. There will be no repeats." The gentle squeeze and whispered, "You are not alone," helped restore control of her emotions and Brial gestured to Deneas to continue.
Affected by the serenity of the meadow, the rest of the walk to the horse area passed in companionable silence. Movement in the largest of the pens showed a few traders checking hooves, working on harnesses, or otherwise caring for their hauler beasts or riding stock. At the far end, Karst brushed grass and dirt off one of the team of animals that pulled Brial's wagon. But Deneas headed over to where two tan horses grazed. One nudged the other and they lifted their heads to watch the women’s approach.
Brial noticed neither of the stallions was tied to the picket line. That they were free to roam where they wished.
Deneas walked ahead a few steps and stood between the animals. Rubbing the white blaze on the forehead of the stallion with the golden mane, she said, "Sunfire, this is Brial. She is a friend, so be nice to her."
Taking the animal’s nicker as approval, Brial patted the velvet nose before dipping a hand into a pocket and coming out with a chunk of an orange root vegetable. Balancing it on the palm of her hand, she offered the treat to the horse who gently lipped it up.
Scratching the tan hide beneath the black mane of the other horse, Deneas introduced it. "And this is Nightbolt."
The other stallion nudged Brial and tried to dig a nose into her pocket. She pushed the nose out of the way. "If you behave yourself, I have a treat for you too."
A snort and stomped foot said, "If I have to."
Laughing she pulled out another piece of the treat and offered it to the horse. Unlike his brother, Nightbolt snapped up the root, then nipped Brial’s jacket for more. "Sorry, Nightbolt, I had only one for each of you. Next time, I’ll bring more." She climbed onto the rock that anchored the picket rope and watched Deneas drop her scabbard and jacket to the ground. Inch by inch, she examined first Sunfire, then Nightbolt for any scrapes or scratches.
"Nightbolt!"
Brial knew from the way Deneas said the animal’s name that the horse had done something wrong.
Three steps to a bucket and Deneas picked up a brush, then waggled it at him. "I told you to stop rolling in the grass." In an aside to Brial she added, "I swear he gets himself dirty just to get attention."
Brial quickly smothered a chuckle at the nicker which clearly said, "I do what I want."
The tilt of his head and flick of Sunfire’s ears at Brial gave his order. "Brush me."
Laughing, she climbed off the improvised seat and picked up another brush. The repetitive motions and stolid presence of the horse made Brial glad she had broached the question of meeting the stallions. Talk around the campfire told how uncontrollable they were until she feared she would have to insult Deneas and Trelleir by taking charge of the animals. Wild horses, especially stallions, couldn't be allowed with the caravan's stock. Now she understood that Nightbolt and Sunfire were not untrained, just free to pursue their individual interests, and that the stallions were not a threat to the clan's stallions or their mares. And more importantly, why those who attempted to ride Nightbolt or Sunfire ended up face down in the dirt. The horses choose their riders.
"Now I know the reason so many men ended up eating grass," she whispered to the horse. "You just didn't like them." A few more strokes and she added. "Maybe someday if I ask nice and bring a treat we can ride together?"
One issue settled and another one rose. The problem with brushing Sunfire was it gave her too much time to think. Her gaze centered on the animal pen where Karst worked on her team. I have to tell Deneas about the Gifting Festival. I'm sure one of the men will tell Karst and Trelleir about the custom. Now if only asking Karst to be my partner will be as easy as meeting Sunfire and Nightbolt.
The faint rustle of cloth behind her pulled Brial from her reflections. However, when no one announced their presence, she assumed it was a clansman passing by and continued grooming Sunfire who whistled in pleasure with each stroke.
Deneas’ gasp and a sudden tensing of the stallion beneath her hands said the passerby had not kept walking but stopped. Even worse their reactions identified the interloper as Gault.
The feeling of being stared at increased until Brial turned to face the stalker. As suspected the rider was standing beyond the end of the picket line. His expression made his thoughts visible.
"Not again," Brial moaned. The outrider had been making suggestive comments since he joined the wagon train two seasons earlier. His demeanor had grown bolder and the propositions more lecherous after he teamed up with Medraut. However, she admitted, Gault always kept the tone just below the level to which she could respond. Maybe, she prayed, he will finally cross the line and my grandfather can take him to task.
Her cheeks warmed at another option. Or Karst will.
Worry cooled her thoughts. Not only was Gault leaning on a pitchfork, he wore a sword belt around his hips and the hilt of a knife showed above the top of his boot.
The rider smirked, then dropped his eyes to her breasts. His mouth opened just enough for the tip of his tongue to slide through.
When he licked his lips, Brial felt her cheeks flame. The heat grew when the rider’s gaze shifted to do a full body scan. "Rider, correct your attitude."
Instead of the reprimand achieving its goal, Gault's leer grew wider. "Or what?"
Ready to take on the taller man, she pursed her lips. "I will borrow a sword and teach you manners."
She didn't know whether Karst had seen the interaction between her and Gault or felt her silent summons, but he jumped over the pen rails and raced across the intervening space to the picket line.
His clenched fists rose. "Or maybe I will adjust your face for you."
This time the heat burning her neck didn't come from anger. Pulling from her years of training not only with the clan’s men-at-arms but also the top fighters from other clans, Brial contrasted the two men. Gault had a head in height over Karst and a longer reach. Every curse she had ever heard tried to burst free. Gault is armed. Karst is not.
Nightbolt’s stomp broke the face-off and Karst took a step forward. Rage filled his face.
"Karst, no." Brial held up a hand to hold him in place. She turned to face the intruder. "Gault, you know the rule. No fighting within the clan."
"Except for exhibition or practice." He tilted his head. "This will be neither. Your little boy there isn’t that good. This won’t be a fight. And since I won't even break a sweat, it can't even be considered practice."
Karst's growl from behind her froze Brial’s soul. I have to keep Karst from fighting Gault. "Karst, he means to kill you."
The inevitability of what he perceived as his duty showed on his face. "I am sorry, Bri. I can’t back down. Gault will just try again. And next time, it might not be face-to-face."
A means to stop the fight formed and she lay a hand on his arm. She didn’t say a word, just let the action convey her need ... and fear.
Tensing of the muscles beneath her hand thickened the ice in her chest. The wall it had built shattered at Karst’s laugh. "You’re right, Bri. It is not worth getting into trouble over this one."
"I knew it," Garst snickered. "Hiding behind a woman. You’re not a man, but a worthless cur."
Sunfire nosed Brial’s shoulder, nickered to its herdmate, and the pair backed up until their hides blended into the deepening shadows.
Bereft of the animal’s presence, Brial fought back tears. Frustration fought with anger giving free rein to icy fear.
DENEAS LOOKED AT THE tableau in front of her. With Nightbolt and Sunfire’s exit, nothing stood between her and Gault. Memories of every improper comment she and the rest of the women had endured from him without responding ignited a spark. The latest target of Gault’s attention was one of the girls in her weapons class. The desire to wipe the grin from the man’s face grew until it could no longer be denied. Deneas bowed her head for a moment and when she raised it her mind was set. "I am not of the clan, not bound by the rules."
"This is my fight." Karst held out his hand. "Just lend me your sword." After Deneas didn't comply with the request, he lowered his hand and his head.
I will not have Gault ruin Brial's chance at happiness, Deneas vowed. To support the goal, she decided to make a public statement in support of Karst’s actions. "Brial, I know if there was no rule prohibiting fighting within the clan you would handle taking out the trash." She shifted her attention to Karst, who she admitted since their time traveling with the traders had become a friend. "Karst, it takes real courage—as well as brains—to walk away. Do not forget that."
"Deneas?" Despite her attempt to keep her voice level, fear colored Brial’s tone. "You don’t have to do this. Please give me your sword."
A shake of her head gave Deneas' answer before her words did. "We are not the only women this one has made advances to. From what I understand, he doesn't take "no" for an answer, unless it is at knifepoint."
A hint of satisfaction filled her soul. "Gault, you should know that all the girls in my class are being trained in the use of a belt knife. If they don’t already have one, I arranged for knives to be loaned them until they get their own on their naming day." She shook her head as she again considered letting Brial handle Gault. And as she had before could not deny herself the pleasure. "Brial, I do this for all of us, especially the girls in my class." Her tone hardened. "Telyn is only twelve. Too young to know how to handle this one's advances or to defend herself."
Shock whitened both Brial's and Karst's faces revealing neither was aware of the extent of Gault's propositioning.
"Let the clan take care of Gault," Karst said. "Feldt does not stand for abuse of a beast, let alone a woman or child."
"Better do what he says," Gault sneered. "Trelleir won’t protect you. He is not a man." The rider tilted his head as if considering a thought that had just occurred to him. "By what right does he claim the privilege to ride a stallion?"
Despite the taunts, Deneas kept her silence, unwilling to give Gault the satisfaction of knowing how close to home his barb struck. All too often during her training, she had to defend Trelleir against snide comments made by the head slayer or his emissary of the time, which was often Karst.
Her roiling thoughts spun. To the rest of the world, Trell is a scholar, a helpless bookworm. Yet I have sparred with him and know his skill. And that is in human form. Gault would not last a heartbeat against Trell's talons and even less, his fire.
Gault's sharp gaze roamed her body.
Anger threatened her control. This one goes too far. A shallow breath cooled some of the heat in her face and she smiled. I am too familiar with bullies to fall for the ploy. Gault isn’t close to being as good as the old Karst, let alone his father, Caldar.
Frustration showed on the man’s face at his second failure of the night. First, Karst denied the challenge. And now I didn't take his bait, Deneas thought. But Gault will get a surprise.
Gault’s eyes narrowed. His hands gestured in a universal symbol. "Nah, you’re too bony," he taunted "That skinny body is only good for tavern whore." He pursed his lips. "I’m not sure you would even be worth two coppers." After another review of her body he added, "If you’re nice to me, I might give you a ride. It will be the best you’ll ever get." His snort said more than words. "Is that why you ride a stallion? Your man can't satisfy you?"
Deneas let anticipated pleasure twitch her lips. "At least I can ride Sunfire. Your rear didn’t touch the saddle before you went airborne." Her chuckle restored even more self-control. "Although, I did enjoy the way you landed spread-eagled on your face in the mud."
Encouragement came from behind her. "Deneas," Karst said, "don’t kill him. Feldt might make me take over his shovel duty."
The sense of a silent watcher in the shadows teased at the edge of her mind. Who would watch, but not interfere? With the looming fight, one thing was clear. I can’t do anything about the watcher. At least not right now.
Even though she knew Gault baited her as a means of luring Trelleir into a fight, she admitted she was glad to have a reason to take him on. Despite the anger she felt, her voice emerged firm and level. "I don’t usually go brawling with a common drudge. And I don’t think Feldt would appreciate me breaking one of his men."
Her opponent’s sneer flickered at the mention of the caravan leader’s name.
Deneas hid her pleasure at the reaction of her barb and threw another. "However, Gault, I do believe you are only a man in name only. I haven’t seen you do a lick of work since I arrived." Her lips twitched up in derision. "I believe one of the children riding in the trundle cart contributes more than you do."
She stooped down and came up with a scabbard dangling from a wide leather belt that had been hidden within the grass. A hilt peeked out of the leather case.
The outrider tensed. His face reflected surprise. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Satisfaction widened Deneas' grin. Gault had not expected her to have a weapon close at hand. And, he does not have an inkling about my real training. He will not find me an easy conquest. The man had only seen her wielding a sword in practice, and then only against young girls. Gault wouldn’t last a second with Caldar or Trelleir, she thought. Or the most skilled swordsman among them, my mother.
Tingling along her ethereal link with Trelleir told of his return as he ducked under the ropes holding the tethered horses. The expectant look on his face brought a flush up her neck. So, Trelleir hasn’t quite mastered his dragon instincts.
Movement from where Sunfire and Nightbolt stood told of their increasing reaction to the situation. They pranced in place as if they too looked forward to the coming action until a quiet word from Trelleir sent them to stand behind Gault, cutting off that avenue of escape.
Two steps brought Trelleir to her side, bringing with it a sense of comfort. "Den, are you sure you want to do this?" he whispered. "I would love a piece of Gault myself." His mobile face turned from anticipation to sadness. "But I’m not sure I would be able to control myself. The thought of slowly squashing him beneath my foot might be too tempting." A sigh and he moved to stand alongside Karst, ready to help defend Brial if needed.
Another emotion came through their connection, one she was sure he did not mean to share—fear. And with it came a revelation. Trelleir loves me. Not as a mentor, not as the child of a friend, but as a woman. Although he feared for her life, he didn't try to stop her from doing what she felt she had to.
With the fight looming, there was nothing to do but store the information away to reflect on later. Right now it is time for some well-deserved fun.
Her mind more at ease, she turned to face the waiting Gault. His eyes now held confusion and a hint of uncertainty. "Gault, if you apologize to my friends, I will consider all insults discharged."
"I did nuthin’ to apologize for," he mumbled. His fingers fumbled with his sword. After several attempts, he managed to get the double-edged blade out of its scabbard.
Unlike her opponent’s draw of his blade, the zing of Deneas’ sword leaving its sheath rang out with a single peal. Flicks of her wrist moved the weapon through a series of double loops. The last rays of the setting sun sparked off the blade as she lifted it in salute. "Shall we begin?" she said softly.
Gault, blade held at shoulder level, advanced. His tread was measured, deliberately. "Maybe your man should explain what he learned how to do in the woods the other night." His leer shifted to Brial, who still held a hand on Karst’s arm. "I believe Brial did the teaching."
Deneas just smiled at the obvious ploy to make her lose control. A technique she had used on more than one occasion to avoid Caldar’s unwanted attention. "Gault, be thankful I’m giving the lesson. The last man Trelleir instructed died on the end of their own sword."
Metal clanged on metal. The sound of fast and intense blows and equally violent counters echoed across the grass. Deneas blunted Gault’s attack and stepped back. Sweat streamed down the teamster’s face and chest, yet only light moisture dampened Deneas’ skin. As Gault shook his head to clear the liquid running into his eyes, Deneas waited for him to resume the fight.
On the next round, his thrusts slowed and reflected the clumsiness of exhaustion. Like a barn cat toying with its prey, Deneas lured the clansman back and forth across the space between the picket line and Nightbolt. Where her opponent’s moves were meant to cut and maim, Deneas used only the flat side of her blade to get her point across. With each stinging blow, the night grew quieter until the only sounds were Gault’s labored breathing and harsh grunts when Deneas’ sword connected in a "lesson."
"Will you yield?" Deneas asked with a light tone. "And apologize to my friends?"
"No." Gault forced the word out between clenched teeth. His sword waved in yet another attack.
Deneas’ weapon responded. The edge caught the man’s blade and rolled around it in a disarming move. The horses on the picket line shifted out of the way as the weapon flew into the grass.
A shove returned her sword into its scabbard. Although she knew the fight had not ended, Deneas turned her back on the unarmed man. Sometimes baiting can work both ways, she thought. The widening of Brial’s eyes heralded the ambush.
Deneas spun to face the enraged Gault who, arms outstretched, ran across the trampled grass. Deneas ducked beneath the swing. The hilt of her sword connected with her opponent’s chin with a solid thunk. Before Gault could hit the ground, she threw a second blow into his middle. His breath whooshed out in a single gasp and he collapsed to the ground. She yanked his shirt down around his waist.
A jerk pulled him upright. Open-handed slaps forced his head to the left, and then the right until his eyes rolled up in his head. The silence from those watching assured Deneas her point had been made. Releasing her grip, she let the beaten man fall to the ground.
As she wondered what to do next, Brial left Karst and walked to stand over the unconscious man. She straightened to her full height. Now every bit a leader, she motioned to the small group who had heard the disturbance and were gathering. "Tie this piece of garbage up and toss him in the empty wagon. I’ll detail his crimes to my father."