Two months later they were graduating, and Arvon walked to the ceremony. Everyone said it was a miracle.
The ceremony bored Tarius almost as much as the new uniforms annoyed her. She longed to be back in the black leather she'd grown up in instead of the blue and white gambeson and chain mail shirts with metal pauldrons they were issued. It was cumbersome and noisy. They had practiced in it for months, and she was used to it, but knew she could do better without it.
Jena met her directly after the ceremony, threw her arms around Tarius, and they hugged. Jena made a face. Apparently she didn't like the armor any more than Tarius did. They started walking towards the courtyard away from the great hall. Most of the new Swordmasters would be going home with their families for a massive celebration. Tragon's family had big plans; he'd been telling them about it for weeks. Family and friends had come from all over the kingdom, and they would be having a three-day feast.
There would be no such celebration for the orphaned Tarius. They would save their celebrating for the next month when she and Jena would be married. Tarius wasn't looking forward to that ceremony and would be glad to have it over with. The ceremony would make Jena happy and the sooner the better. Tarius knew she and Tragon would be sent on their internship soon afterwards, and the way things looked now they would spend their "internship" on the front.
Harris rushed to catch up to the couple. He squeezed in between them, putting an arm around each of their shoulders.
"Are we going to fight?" he asked eagerly.
"I hadn't thought of it," Tarius said. She looked around Harris at Jena. "What do you say?"
"I have to change; I'll meet you there." Jena dislodged herself from Harris and ran off towards her father's house.
Harris looked down at his feet suddenly.
"So, what's on your mind?" Tarius asked, she could read him like a book.
"You'll be going away soon," he said.
"But I'll be back," Tarius said. "My wife will be here, and you my brother, you are my family now, Harris."
Harris nearly glowed then, and her words seemed to give him the courage to say what was on his mind. "You're a knight, Tarius, you should really have a squire."
Tarius felt like an absolute idiot. This was quite obviously what the boy had been hinting at for weeks. It hadn't occurred to her before now, because she simply didn't think in those terms. "So I am. I suppose I should really have a squire then, and since I have already trained you and know you to be as fine and good a person as I have ever known, and as good with a sword as any Swordmaster, I suppose you should be my squire."
The boy pulled back, took Tarius's shoulders in his hands and looked her square in the eyes, "Do you mean it, Tarius?"
"Yes, my brother, I do."
* * *
Darian saw Jena run into the back of the house in a beautiful gown befitting the fiancée of a knight and Swordmaster. A short while later, he saw her come out in something that looked like it had been cast off by a scullery maid. He wondered what she was up to, and having nothing else to do for once, he followed her.
* * *
Jena ran into the field and happily picked up her weapon. Tarius had been letting her spar with Harris, but today Tarius was going to spar with Harris first and he told Jena so. Jena looked somewhat disappointed. She sat on a log and watched Tarius bend over and shed the hated chain mail.
"Don't worry, my love, your time will come," Tarius said with a smile.
Jena smiled seductively, "You know I hate waiting."
* * *
Darian heard the familiar sound of practice swords. Up ahead of him he could just make out a clearing. As he got closer he could see Tarius and Harris fighting with Jena sitting to the side watching them. From the looks of the well-beaten dirt they played here hard and often. There was no doubt that the crippled boy no one had wanted had turned into a fine swordsman. His daughter seemed totally wrapped up in what Harris and Tarius were doing. She was happy, and thank the gods she had found someone who not only accepted the fact that she wasn't cultured but actually appreciated it.
Then something happened that literally made him weak in the knees. Jena took up a blade and started to fight with her intended. What was more, from the way she fought it was obvious that this wasn't the first time she'd had a blade in her hand. He watched with feelings of both dread and pride.
But it was so wrong! Women weren't supposed to take up steel. It was an unwritten but widely understood law. Women made life, they weren't supposed to take it. It went against the very laws of nature.
But she was good. Damn good, and not just for a girl. She was graceful and strong. She knew where to throw a blow, and when she went against Harris instead of Tarius she matched him blow for blow.
Darian watched them practice for several minutes. Then the youngsters took a break. Jena and Harris sat on the downed log and Tarius lay on the ground with his head in Jena's lap. Jena looked at the lad, and her love for him shone through every fiber of her being. It had been years since anyone had looked at him like that. Not since Jena's mother had died, leaving him to raise their baby daughter as well as he could.
He was a man, he knew nothing of raising babies or young women, but Jena was all that he had of her mother, and he couldn't bear to be parted from her. He'd done the best he could, but it was no small wonder the girl acted the way she did or even that she had a lust for steel. She had grown up in a swordsman's academy for the gods' sake! What chance did she have to learn to be a lady? A few weeks at her aunt's whenever Darian thought she was becoming too wild and woolly. Ruefully, he realized that it hadn't been enough. Not if he really wanted Jena to be a lady of refinement like her mother.
But Jena was happy, and she'd found a man who accepted her for all that she was. Who loved her for the person she was, and not what he could make of her.
Darian should stomp into the field and condemn the three of them. He should order Jena to stop these lessons. He should let Tarius have it for inflicting his strange ways on his daughter. And he should give Harris living hell for helping and for keeping their secret from him. Truth was, he just didn't feel like it.
It would be an act, a show, inflicting on them what he knew other people expected. Truth was, he was proud of all of them. Besides he doubted very seriously that either Jena or Tarius would bow to his wishes or even pretend to, no they'd argue with him and he just wasn't up for it. Quietly, he turned and walked back to the house without saying a word. It was easier to pretend like he didn't know.
* * *
Tarius now lived in the house with Darian and Jena, and most mornings found Jena mysteriously missing from her bed. Darian knew if he looked in Tarius's bed he'd find her there, so he just didn't look.
It was early on a weekend morning, so the banging on the door aroused him from his sleep. It was a messenger from the king. He handed a note to Darian, clicked his heels and left.
The letter was for Tarius, and Darian feared what it was. He stopped outside Tarius's door, and he heard what sounded like scuffling coming from the other side. Knowing those two, it was just as likely that they were wrestling as making love.
He knocked on the door, and it was suddenly quiet on the other side. In a few seconds Tarius opened the door a crack. Seeing it was Darian he walked out, fully dressed—if obviously hastily so—his sword on his back. He closed the door quickly so that Darian shouldn't see into the room.
Darian handed Tarius the message, and Tarius opened it carefully. He read the letter twice to make sure.
"Well?" Darian asked impatiently.
"The troops morale is at an all-time low. The king will ride into battle and take over command of our forces. He wants me to serve beside him. To command." He looked up from the paper. "Tragon and I will leave with the king at the end of this next week."
Darian was surprised. Tarius seemed less than pleased with the honor. Then he saw the boy's eyes go back to the closed door and knew why.
"Harris will be going with us," Tarius said thoughtfully.
Darian nodded. "I had expected as much. It's Jena you're worried about."
"I want to marry her tonight," Tarius said quickly. "That will give us a week together as husband and wife. I don't plan to die. But if I should, I don't want to leave her unmarried with no pension." Tarius added almost to himself, "Damn it all, she has ruined everything."
"Why's that?"
Tarius looked at him and smiled. "Because before her all I ever loved was my steel. All I ever longed for was battle and a chance to revenge myself on my enemies. Now none of it matters to me as much as just being able to look at her."
Darian smiled. "I thought as much. May the gods watch over the man who comes up against one who has everything to live for. I will get the Shaman; you tell Jena." He motioned his head knowingly at Tarius's door, and Tarius blushed.
"I don't ask her to come to me; she just does," Tarius said in an embarrassed tone.
"I know. After this evening it won't really matter where she's been sleeping these last few weeks." He smiled and left.
* * *
They had put the ceremony together quickly, and Tragon wished to the gods that they had forgotten to invite him all together. He was happy when Tarius chose Harris to stand with her instead of him.
Jena looked more beautiful than ever, all dressed from head to toe in swirls of dark blue cloth. She never even looked at him; she had eyes only for Tarius who wore her armor as was traditional of a warrior in her country. Besides that, the only thing that wasn't traditional for a Jethrik ceremony was the giving of a token. The betrothed gave to one another a thing of significant personal value to them. Tarius gave Jena the gold chain she always wore. It had belonged to her father and had a coin on it marked with strange letters and symbols, the origin of which Tragon could only guess at. Jena gave Tarius a necklace of blue and white beads that had belonged to her mother. It was very sweet and made Tragon mad as hell.
By all rights he should be marrying Jena. He could make a proper lady of her and give her things that Tarius never could both physical and monetary.
The feast was magnificent, but Jena and Tarius didn't stay long enough to really enjoy it. No doubt the barbarian had dragged Jena off into the woods to do whatever filthy thing she did to her to keep that stupid grin on Jena's face all the time.
"So, Tragon!" Darian popped him on the back. "Are you excited about your internship? Not many new swordsmen have as their first assignment riding with the king!"
"Yes, sir. Very excited and honored," Tragon said. And that's the only reason I don't rat the twisted beast-girl out. Tarius's fighting skill will keep me alive and give me the position and prestige I never would have had on my own riding with anyone else. Tarius will be made a captain in a week, and so I will be made a captain. When she's made a general they'll make me one as well because I'm her partner. I've even heard a rumor that I will be knighted soon just because they like to keep the partnerships even. I may have lost the girl, but I'll get everything else that Tarius can get for me. I'll keep her filthy little secret as long as it serves me.
"You'll watch his back won't you?" Darian asked. He knew of Tragon's not very well hidden feelings for Jena and sometimes wondered if Tarius's worst enemy on the front might not be his own partner.
"If he dies, I shall fall next," Tragon said. Because if they can kill Tarius, there will be no hope for any of us.
Harris was drunk, and he was funny. He was doing stupid tricks that Tarius had no doubt taught him to impress a bunch of wide-eyed young ladies. Just then, he was balancing himself on one hand, and Tragon couldn't help but feel jealous. Tarius had never bothered to teach him either hand-to-hand combat or Simbala. She had wasted all her time training this crippled boy. In fact, he got the distinct impression that she actually preferred Harris's company to his own.
Tragon glared at the room of idiots. Here they were, celebrating the marriage of two women. The marriage of one of their gentle countrywomen to the Katabull. A shape shifter who was as animal as she was human.
Arvon snuck up on him unexpectedly. "A copper for your thoughts."
Tragon all but jumped out of his skin. "She should have been mine, Arvon," he hissed.
"Ah! But she didn't want to be yours," Arvon said.
"So I've been told," Tragon said bitterly.
Arvon glared at Tragon's back. Tragon didn't know that Arvon knew about Tarius, but Arvon knew that Tragon knew, and he didn't trust Tragon because of it. Arvon owed Tarius a debt he could never repay, and anything that might cause her a problem he saw as his own threat. He could see Tragon stabbing Tarius as she slept, and he'd told Tarius so. Tarius had just laughed.
"He is my friend, my partner. He wouldn't have been allowed to stay in the academy if it hadn't been for me. He knows that; he told me so himself," Tarius had said.
"You're marrying the woman he loves."
"Thinks he loves. Tragon doesn't really love anyone besides himself. She's beautiful, and he wants to possess her. That's not the same as love."
"And yet you trust this man?" Arvon had said skeptically.
"He knows that I can get him up the ranks just like I kept him in school. He knows that as long as I am alive, he has a better chance of staying alive," Tarius had answered.
Tragon observed the merry makers with no joy, and Arvon, still at his back, whispered in his ear, "Tarius saved my life. If any harm were to come to her, or if her secrets were to suddenly leak out . . . Well, I wouldn't take too kindly to that. I'd have to take revenge on whoever had caused her harm." Arvon put a meaningful hand on Tragon's shoulder, just to remind him of how much bigger he was than Tragon.
Tragon stiffened. "You know Tarius's secrets?"
"Let's just say that any beast can smell its own kind, and that Tarius isn't the only one who broke the admittance rules." Arvon said and let out a low, not very human growl that made the hair on the back of Tragon's neck stand on end. Arvon walked away, leaving him alone.
The growl was one of the few Katabull traits Arvon had, but Tragon didn't have to know that.
* * *
Tarius had taken Jena to a large rock by the creek. There she had made love to her long and slow, but of course still didn't remove her clothes own or allow Jena to touch her.
"Tarius . . . We are man and wife now, surely . . ."
"I don't want to risk impregnating you before I go into battle," Tarius said. She'd worked on this excuse for months, and it seemed to her to be a sound one. "I don't want you to go through it all by yourself. Nor do I want to miss the birth of my child. I want to be here for you."
"You wouldn't have to put your seed in me, you could . . ."
"That is forbidden by my god," Tarius said quickly.
"Then let me find some other way to give you pleasure. Let me give to you what you have given to me."
"Jena . . . Please, don't ruin everything, Jena." Tarius rose sadly to her feet and walked to the water's edge where she stood and stared into the surface of the water. She swallowed hard, trying to clear the tears that filled her throat. Damn it, Jena! I want you to touch me so much I hurt, but it can't happen. Why can't you just be happy with what I can give you? Why do you force me to make up more and more and more lies, when all I want to do is to tell you the truth? When all I want to do is love you?
Jena came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her. She slipped her hands up under Tarius's shirt, running her hands over Tarius's bare stomach. Then she kissed the back of her neck. "Is it wrong to want to please my husband? To want to feel all of his naked body sliding against mine? To feel him inside me?"
You are killing me, Jena! I love you, and you are killing me trying to please me. My god, help me! I love your touch! I want so much more from you. It's good that I'm going away, and the longer I stay away the better. You have ruined me, and now you're driving me crazy.
"Don't I make you happy, Jena?" Tarius asked sadly.
"Oh yes, Tarius, but . . ."
"Can't you believe me when I tell you that I am happy? That I have everything I need from you?"
"But, Tarius, other men . . ."
Tarius turned then and looked down at Jena angrily. "When will you learn that I am not other men, Jena? Other men would tell you how to walk, how to talk, what to think, and what to wear. Your pleasure in lovemaking would be the last thing on their minds. If you wanted another man, you should have married another man and left me the hell alone as I begged you to time and time again." Tarius jerked from Jena's grasp and walked into the woods.
Jena picked up her dress, wrapped it haphazardly around herself and went after Tarius. She had to run to catch up.
"Tarius, please. I'm just trying to understand. Just trying to do my duty to you."
"Your duty! Oh how very, very romantic." Tarius spat over her shoulder and sped up, so that Jena had to run to catch up with her.
* * *
"Damn it Tarius, you know that's not what I meant," She grabbed Tarius's arm, but he pulled away from her.
"Tarius . . . please listen. I love you; you're the only one I love. I'm sorry I upset you. I just wish I knew why you're so mad."
Tarius wasn't listening to her, so Jena ran and jumped on his back, knocking them both to the ground. She wrestled Tarius around till the wedding dress was tangled around them both, and she was sitting straddling Tarius's hips. "I said I'm sorry, you hard-headed Kartik bastard!"
Tarius laughed and Jena relaxed. He was going away in less than a week. The last thing Jena wanted was to fight with him. She stretched out on top of him, kissing his lips gently at first and then with more passion. "I have no complaint with you, my husband. I just don't ever want you to have any complaint with me. I want you to be fulfilled by me and only by me."
"I promised you today, Jena," Tarius grabbed the coin that hung around Jena's throat now instead of his own. "I will not touch another, and no other shall touch me. I gave you my word, and I meant it. I take my pleasure from touching you, from holding you. Your kiss. Your gentle caresses, it's so much more than I had ever hoped for. It's enough for me, why can't it be enough for you?"
Jena nodded silently, convinced at least for the moment.
"Perhaps we should get back to our party," Jena said with a smile.
"Perhaps we should have our own party here."
* * *
They had met the king's carriage and his entourage at the castle and been told their assignment. Tarius and Tragon, and of course this meant Harris as well, were to ride ahead of the carriage. It was a high honor. It was also incredibly dangerous, as it was the first place the enemy would hit if they were ambushed.
As they started down the road, Tragon told Tarius as much, feeling less charitable towards her by the minute.
Tarius was silent. She wore the hated chain and the too thick, too long, too dull blue gambeson. She wore her own helmet, a metal skullcap atop black leather covered with chain mail on the sides and back. She also of course carried her own sword instead of the standard issue.
* * *
Harris rode respectfully behind his knight and his Swordmaster partner in spite of Tarius's protests. This was for him a day that he had never dreamed would come. He was riding off to do battle in the king's retinue. He, an orphaned, crippled boy, was squire to the fiercest knight in the kingdom.
By the end of the day Harris was feeling somewhat less triumphant. His butt hurt, and he felt like his balls were going to be pushed up through his lap if his horse went into a rough trot even one more time. Finally, they stopped to make camp for the night. The king's herald rode up to Tarius.
"Sir Tarius, the king requires your presence."
Tarius followed him back to the king's carriage.
Seeing Tarius outside, the king stuck his head unceremoniously out one of the windows.
"Good Sir Tarius, do me the honor of acting as captain of my retinue," Persius said.
"Sire, with all due respect, I must tell you that I am not qualified for such a task. This being in fact my internship . . ."
"'If you want to be safe, follow the man who bears the most scars,'" Persius quoted. He smiled at Tarius' shocked look. "I am not without knowledge of the world beyond my kingdom. Wisdom is wisdom, whether it be Kartik or Jethrik. Now, please take command of these men and of this camp."
"As you wish, Sire," Tarius said.
He positioned the king's carriage, the cooks' wagon, and the provision wagons in the center and placed the camp around them. Then he ordered the horses staked out on rope tethers around the edge of the encampment. There was much grumbling, but no one said anything directly to Tarius. Tarius assigned watches. Now this Tragon could handle. At Tarius's side he wielded nearly as much power as did Tarius, and Tarius always listened to his suggestions even if she didn't often use his ideas. When he barked out orders at Tarius's side people listened just as they would listen to Tarius. He didn't even have to take care of his own horse, as caring for his and Tarius's horses fell on the head of her squire, Harris. So Harris tended the stock while they were busy setting up camp.
It was almost dusk when he and Tarius headed for the cooks' wagon where the king sat in his portable throne.
The man who no doubt should have been captain of the retinue looked at Tarius. "So, boy, tell me why you have laid the camp out in this mess?"
"Connar, a little respect for Sir Tarius is in order," the king ordered.
"Yeah, that's, Sir Boy, to you," Tarius said without a smile. She took her helmet off and threw it top first on the ground as was her habit. "High rank in the middle out to lowest rank, which would be the horses. Horses have excellent hearing, dislike unfamiliar noises, and are usually skittish in unfamiliar surroundings. So, if the horses start making noise on any side, you go check for trouble. Also because the horses are tethered on individual lines instead of in a rope pen or on a single tether, it would be very hard for anyone to steal all our horses at one time."
"But it means you have to feed and water each horse individually," Connar complained.
"Takes time I admit, but it's not an impossible task, and this way if there should be a disease in one horse, it's not as likely to spread to the others. If you're not pleased, you may do it your own way tomorrow night," Tarius said. She'd really rather not make such decisions. However she thought this configuration, one she had learned not from the Katabull but from the Kartiks, was by far the best and most easily defended.
"Connar would not dare to usurp the authority of the man who his king put in charge, would you, Connar?" the king asked pointedly.
"Not at all, Sire. Mere curiosity, that's all," Connar said quickly. He looked at Tarius. "Your plan seems a sound one, and since I am to take the first watch I think I will retire for a short nap."
He walked away, and the king motioned for Tarius to come closer. When Tragon started to come with her, he waved a dismissive hand at him. Tarius covered the distance quickly.
"Tarius, when one is in command one does not ask people what they want to do. One tells them what they will do."
"I'm afraid I'm not very comfortable giving people orders," Tarius said. She sat on a rock and looked at the king. "The men don't like me, and I don't like being in command."
"Well, you'd better get used to it, Tarius. You are a fair man, with good common sense, and a hell of a fighter. You are a leader of men; of this I have no doubt. I have total faith in you," Persius spoke softly. "Besides, my personal retinue has forgotten their place. They have become sluggish and out of shape. I figure by putting an out-country freak such as yourself in charge they will all be humbled. Maybe they'll even work toward improving themselves so they won't continue to be shown up."
The next day when they rode out, gone were Tarius's issued armor and clothing. Once again she was clad in studded leather and gaudy Kartik gambeson. The only thing she had kept from the Jethrik armor were the pauldrons, which she tied on her gambeson. Around her waist she wore a blue and white sash to show her loyalty to the king, but other than that she looked just like what Persius said he wanted—an out-country freak. Intimidating to the men she commanded, and hopefully terrifying to their enemies.
"That's damn cheeky of you," Tragon said riding along side Tarius. "You could at least pretend to want to be like the rest of us."
Tarius smiled back at him undaunted. "I want to be me."
"No you don't, or you wouldn't be here at all. You'd be home darning some man's socks." Tragon realized just how resentful he felt when he saw how angry Tarius looked. Her dark features seemed darker, and he could swear that just for a second her eyes went to their Katabull state.
When she spoke to him, her voice was hardly more than a hissed whisper, and yet he had no problem hearing her at all. "If you ever say anything like that again, I'll split you."
The way she was looking at him, he had no doubt that she would, too. He had better hide his resentment and watch his mouth. He needed Tarius as an ally. As a friend she would let no one touch him. On the other hand, if he gave her any indication that he wanted to disclose what she was, he had no doubt she'd kill him just as easily as she would any other man.
He'd seen her kill only twice, but knew it didn't bother her. Knew it didn't make her lose sleep or worry her in the slightest. Tarius was a killer. You didn't want to make an enemy of someone who killed as easily as Tarius did.
He had to rid his mind of the hateful thoughts he was harboring for Tarius. He could ride Tarius's coattails to get where he wanted to go. If she was discredited, if she was found out, then she couldn't help him. Worse than that, if she were discredited, he would be as well. That was if Tarius would let him live at all.
He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Tarius. I'm afraid I'm still having trouble with the whole Jena thing. I know it's not your fault that she loves you, but I can't blame her, so I blame you, even though I know it makes no sense."
Tarius nodded, seeming to calm. "I think I know how you feel. If things were reversed I suppose I would feel the same way that you do."
Harris rode up on Tarius's left, moving from his position behind them.
"Tarius?"
"Yes Harris."
"I thought you would want to know . . . I heard many of the men speaking against you last night. They think it is wrong that the king has put you over them. They say they'll not take orders from you for long, and . . ."
"Harris, my friend, know this . . . Men talk crap. They talk crap to impress each other, and they would talk crap about whoever was running things. They talk crap about the king when they dare. I'm just an easy target because I am strange to them," Tarius said. "Listen closely and inform me of what you hear and who is saying it. But let them talk all they want to. If I know who is talking, I won't be surprised if they should decide to follow their words with actions, but take heart my friend. The more they talk, the less likely it is that they will do anything."
Harris nodded, perfectly convinced of Tarius's wisdom.
About an hour later, the road narrowed and they were traveling through a much more densely wooded area. Tarius knew this meant there was a greater chance of ambush. Not that she really anticipated that a troop of Amalites would have gotten so far inland.
About two hours later she smelled smoke followed quickly by a smell that had been permanently etched in her memory so that there could be no doubt.
"Company! Stop and arm," Tarius screamed.
She sniffed the air; she could smell them. She truly had not expected them to be so far in country. She looked around, but saw no sign of them in the trees and no sign of them hiding in the bushes around the road.
"Keep watch," she ordered Tragon, and she went back to talk to the king.
"Sire."
He looked out the window of his carriage.
"I smell smoke and Amalites on the air coming from the north."
"There is a small village north of here," one of the king's councilors said from within the carriage as he looked at a map.
"Permission to take half the men and ride out to investigate," Tarius said.
"Permission granted," Persius said.
Tarius immediately started barking out orders. Who would go with her, who would be staying to guard the king and where they should position themselves. Then Tarius gathered her forces and rode off in the direction of the smoke at full gallop.
Harris was amazed at how the same men who had been talking "crap" about Tarius now fell in behind him, listening and obeying his every command. Harris even forgot his own sore and swollen balls as he raced his horse to keep up with Tarius.
As they got closer they could hear the screams of the villagers. Tarius split her forces in half, sending half of them to the other side of the village under the command of none other than Gudgin. Harris noticed Tragon hung back now, and let Tarius take the lead himself. Harris spurred his horse on. If Tragon would abandon Tarius, then Harris would fill the gap.
Tarius would attack from this end of the village first, and the other forces would close in as the Amalite horde tried to retreat, thus trapping them in the middle—hopefully on the outskirts of the village.
As they came into the clearing around the village, Harris saw that many of the structures were on fire. He also saw the horsemen and foot soldiers and heard the screams, but it wasn't till they were in the village itself that he saw for the first time how hateful were these Amalite scum. An old woman was running from the raiders trying to get to cover. One of them cut her across the middle and then trampled her beneath his horse's hooves as she lay dying. They were upon the scum before they were aware of it, their own carnage blocking out the noise made by Tarius and his men. Tarius broke from the rest, racing forward with his sword drawn. He dove into the fray first and had killed three of the Amalites before they were even aware of his presence. He killed four more before the rest of them even engaged. Then he dismounted, jumping first on his saddle and then flipping through the air to land on his feet. Harris saw the battle rage on his mentor's face, and for a second he froze. This was it. This was real, no fake battle with fake swords. He pulled his blade and ran into the fray. Tragon was nowhere in sight, and Tarius needed someone to watch his back.
Harris now knew that they must win. Tarius was right; they had to drive the Amalite horde back and utterly destroy them so that none of them would ever again darken the land. Harris saw dead villagers everywhere he looked, so that when he killed his first Amalite it didn't really even faze him. It didn't register when he killed his second or his third, either. They were to him like the bottles he had lined up on the fence to try and hit with a slingshot when he was a boy. Targets, no more and no less.
* * *
Tarius ran through the Amalites on foot, making it hard for Harris to keep up with her. She'd run up on a horseman, he'd lean down to run her through, and when he did she would easily duck his blow and drive her blade up into his heart. Then she'd jerk him off his horse and go after another. When the ground troops ran up, she was ready for them. She let out a scream that made the hair on the backs of necks everywhere stand on end, and then she ran at them kicking and slashing her way through, killing a man with every blow. She shouted orders to the troops behind her.
"Move up! Move up! Drive them out of the village!"
The Amalite horde ran in terror before her, and when they ran out of the village on the other side Gudgin's troop was waiting for them. The battle lasted for only an hour, and when it was ended every last man of the Amalites had been killed. They had lost four men, and three more were badly wounded. In the village more than half the villagers had been killed.
Gudgin rode up to Tarius and dismounted. He looked at Tarius and slowly he started to smile, then he ran up to Tarius and embraced her.
"You are a crazy bastard, Tarius, but thank the gods that you ride with us!" Gudgin released Tarius and he slapped her on the shoulder. "Never was there a fighting man such as you, my brother."
"We could not have left here victorious if not for your leadership this day, good brother. Go back with your men and get the king. Me and mine will help these good people tend to their dead," Tarius said.
Gudgin nodded, mounted his horse and left.
Tarius started barking out orders and soon all were busy either taking weapons and armor from the corpses of their enemies, or helping the villagers put out fires and bury their dead. They threw the bodies of the stripped Amalites unceremoniously into wagons. They would be taken far away from the village and dumped unburied in the woods. To the Jethrik this was a sign of great disrespect and loathing.
* * *
After the battle, Harris, like a good squire, had gone off to find Tarius's horse. It wasn't till he returned with the horse to see Tarius and another fellow throwing a dead Amalite into a wagon that it all started to hit him. Tarius turned to face him, and there was not one spot larger than an inch on Tarius's entire body that wasn't covered in blood. He looked at Harris and smiled, nodding his head in appreciation over the horse. He looked to Harris like some ghoul from a picture book.
All around them the villagers cried. There was not one of them who hadn't lost a good friend or a family member.
He saw again the body of the old woman he had seen killed by them. He looked from the woman to Tarius. "I had thought . . . I thought you were exaggerating about them, but the minute I saw them I knew how hateful they were."
"They kill because they think that's what their gods want them to do. They think that anyone who does not believe in the same gods that they do is evil and deserving of death. There could not be any more dangerous thought. There has never been a more hateful people. They kill everything that moves, and then they burn everything else. They destroy the world and everything in it for their gods' sake."
Harris nodded. If Tarius's words were meant to somehow comfort Harris, they did not. They did, however, reinforce in him a conviction to fight beside Tarius and rid the world of these bastards forever.
The king and his entourage rode in. Persius got out and walked among the people. After several minutes of looking, he finally found Tarius. "What a horrible slaughter!"
"Yes. And totally uncalled for," Tarius's voice was almost, but not quite angry.
"What do you mean?" Persius asked.
"There were twice as many villagers as there were Amalites. If they but had steel in their hands and had been trained to fight, they might have driven the horde off themselves. As it is, if we hadn't come along when we did, they would all be dead and the Amalites would have gained yet another stronghold in your country."
"What would you suggest?" the king asked.
"Only that you do this. Take one swordsman of any skill at all and send him to each village. Send him with weapons of any quality—anything is better than nothing, even farm implements can be used as weapons in trained hands—use the weapons we take from fallen Amalites. Then have him train the villagers. Let each village erect a watchtower and let them assign watches as we do in Kartik. Then your army will be as none before, for it will include every man in the kingdom, crippled or whole. In this way we can keep the Amalites from creeping into the center of the country. Keep them from burning our crops. Instead of it taking weeks for us to react to an attack, we would react immediately. Instead of your subjects cowering in fear, they could rest in the knowledge that they can defend themselves and their lands."
"You have given good council once again, Tarius. As you have spoken, so I will do. I will send a rider now to carry this decree back to the castle and then to issue it throughout the country. Who should I put in charge of the task?" He wasn't really asking, just thinking out loud, but Tarius answered him anyway.
"Who better than my own father-in-law, Darian, to choose swordsmen to train your subjects? And who better than Justin to help procure weapons?"
"It shall be done," Persius said. "Now if you would, Sir Tarius, please go wash the blood from your body. You look like a little Kartik devil."
"As you wish, Sire."
* * *
Persius went to his carriage and crawled in. He got out a piece of parchment and wrote out his orders along with a brief account of what had happened. Then he sealed it with his signet ring and sent it off with one of his heralds, sending along a swordsman for his protection.
Then he leaned back in his seat. Never had he seen such carnage and death. He should have come to the front sooner. He'd had no idea the Amalites had been able to break this far in country. All his life he'd been sheltered from the brutality of war. Oh, he'd been trained to fight from a very early age, but till now there had never been any need for him to put his own person in danger.
"She gives very good council," Old Hellibolt said from his seat across from the king.
The king took in a deep breath. "Tarius is a man, Hellibolt. He comes from out-country, from Kartik, that is why he looks so feminine. But he is a man, a strong man. He is married to Darian's own daughter."
"Then Darian's daughter has married a woman," Hellibolt said conversationally.
Once again, Persius began to wonder why he had even bothered to carry the old charlatan along with him. True, the troops were always more at ease when they believed a soothsayer was with them predicting the way they should go, but Hellibolt seemed to get crazier by the minute. Tarius had just won them a major victory. He had been totally unconcerned about being covered in blood. He was the brightest thinker Persius had ever known, and this old fool thought Tarius was a woman! He didn't want any more fuel added to the thoughts that already ran through his mind concerning the lad.
"You are a crazy old man," Persius said.
Hellibolt laughed. "You make a woman who is also a creature of the night the chief of your army. You knight it and take its council, and you call me crazy."
"Enough, old man, I'll not have you soil the reputation of such a fine fighter. Such a fine man," Persius started.
"I'm not trying to soil her reputation," Hellibolt interjected.
Persius glared at him. If Tarius were a woman . . . He shook the thought from his head. "Do not interrupt me, and never again speak aloud your evil accusation. To think a woman could fight better than any man in the kingdom is absurd. Keep your idiocy to yourself, or I'll have you beheaded."
Hellibolt shrugged. "As you wish. I will never again talk about Tarius's lineage or gender."
"Take care you do not, old man," Persius spat.
* * *
Tarius followed the creek up a good long way. She sat on a rock and held her hands to keep them from shaking. After looking carefully around, she took off her leather, and after checking one more time she climbed into the creek. The day was warm and the water even in the shade was refreshingly crisp but not cold. The water ran red with blood, but not one drop of it was hers. She hadn't gotten so much as a scratch. She pulled her leather into the water and washed it. Then she got out of the water and pulled it on wet. Even if she had brought other clothes with her, she still would have had to wear the wet leather because it would shrink if she wasn't wearing it to keep it stretched to the right size. Of course this way, even with her undergarments, it would chafe her skin raw in the seams. She cleaned her sword and her sheath, then she sat down on a rock and used leaves to dry her blade. Her hands still trembled, and her mind raced back to the battle, playing back the moments that had happened too fast to be comprehended and processed at the time. It took longer to recall it all than it had taken to do it.
She was a little shocked. All this time she had thought that killing a bunch of Amalites would make her feel better about what they had done to her parents. To her people. She had thought that revenge would lift the anger away from her like a veil. But killing them hadn't changed the way she felt about being forced to live a lie, or how she felt about losing her parents. It didn't erase the vision etched in her mind of her Pack being slaughtered.
She realized only now that this was a pain that could never go away. That no amount of killing, no amount of revenge, was going to remove the images. The memories of having the sword drawn across her throat, of being left for dead in a stack of bodies, the unforgettable stench of death. These were her legacy, a part of her. To lose it would be like cutting away a limb. They were part of her, as much a part of her as being Katabull. They had shaped her to the person she was as much as being female and loving women had done.
It was a horrible past, a past she wouldn't wish on anyone, but it was hers. It belonged to her, and it was the one thing no one could take away.
She looked at the creek. The water ran clean again. She was clean and her weapon was clean. In a few weeks the village would be repaired and from the outside no one would guess that a great slaughter had taken place there. But the hearts of every one of them who survived this day would remember. Not a one of them would ever be quite the same as they had been when the Amalite horde decided to descend on a village of helpless farmers and ranchers.
Many of those children, the ones that lived, would grow up as she had; parentless, with visions of death in their heads. They would learn to hate before they had even really learned to love, and they would never feel safe again.
And this cycle would never end till the last Amalite priest was laid to rest beside the last Amalite soldier.
She had been gone too long. There was work to do, and if she was to give out orders she must also share in the work. She got up and started the long walk back. Now the body started to ache at the work it had done.
No one respected a leader who never got their hands dirty, who put themselves up on a pedestal above others. If Persius wanted the real respect and admiration of his countrymen, he would crawl out of his carriage and start carting around dead bodies. He would help dig graves.
Riding into battle in a suit of armor no arrow could pierce, surrounded by men sworn to die before they let a hand fall on him, might look a grand gesture to a fool, but any person worth his salt could see through it. It was a show put on to boost moral. Nothing more and nothing less. Persius would sit on a horse twice as good as any of theirs. He would be surrounded by the best fighters in the kingdom. Then he would ride onto the battlefield where he could be seen by the most people, and he would bark out a few orders from the safety of his gauntlet of men. The troops would be heartened, and then he would quickly ride off the field before the real battle started. He would get in his carriage and go home to await the outcome.
The troops' moral might be boosted for a day, maybe even a week, but no more. But if he would get out and dig the latrine, then they would take heart. If he would shit in the latrine instead of in a china pot that someone else had to dump for him, then the men would believe he was one of them. They would feel good about fighting for the kingdom.
Grand gestures didn't win Tarius's respect, not the way small ones did. She looked at the beaded necklace around her throat and then quickly tucked it into her armor. Not to hide it, but so that it would be safe. She thought of Jena. She had missed her the moment she'd left her line of sight.
She tried not to think of all the many things that could go wrong with her relationship with Jena. She fantasized that she told Jena everything, and that Jena didn't care. That she said she had always known.
Too soon, she was back at the village and back to work. Tragon joined her. He hadn't bathed as she had, and yet he was relatively blood free. She hadn't seen him throughout the battle, but she guessed from the too clean look of him that he had hung back. She liked Tragon, but was all too aware of his many faults. She knew she couldn't count on him to watch her back. Harris, yes, but not Tragon. Tragon would always put his own life over any others.
Which was just one of many reasons he never would have made a good mate for Jena. When guilt poured into her brain like rain on her head she would have to remember this fact.
Harris ran up to work with her, and she realized he was almost as bloody as she had been. "There's a creek," she nodded with her head in the general direction. "Go and clean up; you'll feel better."
Harris nodded quietly and was obviously releaved to be able to get away for awhile.
"Listen up and pass the word on," Tarius yelled. "If you feel you need to wash, there is a creek on the other side of the village. Wash up, but be quick about it! I want the dead out of the village by nightfall." Tragon started to leave with several others, and Tarius caught hold of his arm. "You're hardly dirty at all, my brother."
"Is that a crime, Tarius?" Tragon asked with a smile.
"Depends on why," Tarius hissed. "Certainly you're not dirty enough to need a wash down. Help me with the bodies."
An angry retort died on Tragon's lips. He knew why he wasn't bloody, and so did Tarius. Yes, he had hung back, but what did it matter? Tarius was a one-woman slaughtering machine. Why should he risk life or limb when all he had to do was get out of Tarius's way and go in to finish off the ones she hadn't quite killed? There was no crime in playing it safe, and with Tarius taking all the risks, well, it just wasn't necessary for him to do so to make a name for himself. Especially since Harris seemed more than willing to take his place on the front line.
And if Tarius died . . . Well, Tragon would be there to comfort her widow.
Of course it would be better if she died towards the end of the war instead of the beginning. Better if she could protect him as long as possible.
Tragon answered Tarius in a lowered voice, eyes on the ground. "I'm sorry, Tarius. I'm . . . I'm ashamed to say that I was scared. I had never seen anything like that before. By all rights, we should be on our internship, handling disputes between villagers and minor skirmishes. I froze for a minute; I was scared nearly to death."
Tarius was a woman, and she had the compassion of a woman in most cases. Tragon hoped to appeal to the woman Tarius pretended not to be. He wasn't entirely successful.
"There's nothing wrong with being afraid, Tragon. We have all known fear. The only dishonor comes from what you do with your fear." She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "Abandon me again, Tragon, and you had best pray that you never need me at your back, because I will not be there."
Tragon nodded silently. They went back to work moving bodies.
* * *
Tarius gently dressed the wound on Harris's arm. It was deep, but not bad enough to need sewing. He'd cleaned up as they all had, but his youthful features had lost the look of innocence that had lit up his face only a few short hours ago.
"You all right?" Tarius asked.
Harris nodded silently.
"You can tell me, you know," Tarius said finishing the last knot in the dressing. "Your arm will heal. You do know that, don't you?"
"I know . . . but . . . The Amalites! It's as if . . . I don't know how to put it. It's as if they don't feel our pain. As if they kill us as easily as they would slaughter sheep," Harris said. "These people held no weapons. They couldn't defend themselves. What good does it do the Amalites to kill them?"
"My father told me many truths, but there was one that stood out beyond all the rest. He said, 'Of two things take heed. A man who believes he is right, and proving that man wrong.' They need no other reasons."
Harris nodded, although he wasn't exactly sure what Tarius meant. They were alone at their tent. The other soldiers, even Tragon, were talking to each other and reliving the day's events. Naturally, each one was making himself sound better than the one before. Harris had tried to fit in, to get into their groups and talk, but they moved quickly away. In fact he noticed that they treated him almost exactly as they treated Tarius. He figured he was in good company, but no one liked to be shunned, and he didn't really understand it. Tarius was the hero of the day, and yet they avoided him as if he had plague.
"Why don't they like us?" Harris asked in a quiet voice. For the first time that day he sounded like the mere youth that he was.
Tarius looked across the camp at where Tragon talked easily with a group of the men. "I know how you feel. Let's tell it as it truly is but keep it between ourselves. Tragon was a coward today. Yet he is accepted and we are not. All because we were born different." Tarius lay down on the ground close to the fire, and she stared across the flames at Harris. "We have to earn every shred of respect we get because in their own way they are no better than the Amalites. They also despise people that aren't like them. I'm out-country, and I have strange ways they don't understand or respect. You are a cripple, yet you and I are better fighters than any of them. In their heads, we should be barely competent, so the fact that we are better than them mocks their beliefs, mocks their training."
"You are better, Tarius, but not me. I'm not better than they are! I couldn't be . . ."
"Do you doubt my judgment, Harris?"
Harris laughed. Tarius was his mentor, but he was also his only true friend, and Tarius did not intimidate Harris. "I doubt your eyesight. Anyone can see that my skill does not match that of any Swordmaster . . ."
"Do you think a title makes you a better fighter?" Tarius looked at him and smiled. "Their titles make them quit trying, quit improving. You are constantly improving, constantly working at improving."
"But I can't run or jump like them . . ."
"You have learned to fight. You don't need to be able to run as fast or jump as high because you, my friend, have learned how to stand your ground and fight," Tarius assured him. "Now I'll hear no more talk of them being better. They are not better fighters than you, and they are certainly not better men."
Harris blushed red with embarrassment at Tarius's praise.
"Come, let Tragon and those idiots stay up talking and drink themselves sick. When the morning comes and we break camp to start out again, they'll wish they had as few friends as we do."
When they were settled into their tent, swords by their sides, Harris found that he was more tired than he thought he was. His muscles ached, and the wound started to throb but wasn't really painful. He yawned.
"Tarius?"
"Yes?"
"Do you miss her?" Harris asked.
"Yes. I miss Jena very much," Tarius said, feeling in that moment as if her heart were being ripped from her chest.
"I know you miss her. I didn't mean Jena. I meant . . . I meant your mother," Harris asked in a hushed whisper. "I was very little when my mother died, too. I still miss her. Is that wrong?"
"No, it's not wrong. I still miss my mother, and I always will. But that dreadful hole that was ripped in my soul when the Amalite bastards killed her was filled completely when I fell in love with Jena, when she fell in love with me. When you fall in love, you'll feel whole again as well."
"Maybe, but where will I find a girl like Jena?" Harris was only half teasing. Jena had been like a sister to him, but that didn't mean that he hadn't had a crush on her. He didn't think he could be happy with any fine lady who never took her shoes off or wrestled. He told Tarius as much.
"Go to sleep you rogue. You only make me miss her more," Tarius said.
* * *
Harris fell to sleep almost the moment he relaxed, but sleep did not come as easily to Tarius. She tossed and turned and was still awake when Tragon came back to the tent hours later. He smelled like bad rum and smoke, and from the way he fell into his bedroll she guessed he was drunk. He more passed out than fell to sleep. Doubtless, the villagers had treated the soldiers to some of their liquor stores. She supposed as captain she should have ordered them to sleep at a decent hour and rationed or even disallowed the alcohol all together. However then they'd all hate her even more. So let them drink themselves into a coma and stay up all night. She decided to start out at a quick pace in the morning and taper off towards midday.
She fell asleep thinking of Jena and woke in the morning with a deep longing that she couldn't shake. As expected, half the camp had a hangover, and it took them a little longer to get on the road. This was her excuse for double pacing the horses. Every once in awhile you could hear one of them retching, and she was glad to be riding in front. Tragon was a delightful shade of green, and after the first hour he succumbed. He reined his horse to a stop, jumped down, ran into the woods and started retching. The king's carriage called for the procession to stop, and Tarius was called back to the carriage.
"We're moving a bit slowly aren't we?" Persius asked.
"I . . . I'm trying to keep us at a medium pace, but several of the men—including my own partner—have fallen very ill," Tarius said.
Persius smiled knowingly. "Too much drink?"
"Aye, Sire," Tarius said.
"You should have ordered them to be moderate and to turn in early," Persius said disapprovingly. "It's your job to keep them in line, Tarius. Don't be afraid to give them orders."
"I thought perhaps that if they lived through this, there would be no need for any orders concerning drinking or long nights," Tarius said. "If I'm wrong, I will make it an order."
Persius nodded approvingly.
They rode on.
"You're a Kartik bastard," Tragon said to Tarius when he had endured yet another hour at a double time.
"Aye, but I'm a sober Kartik bastard," Tarius laughed.
"Serves you right for snubbing us," Harris added.
"Don't you start in on me, you insolent child!" Tragon groaned and leaned into his horse's neck.
"You'll get no sympathy from me. You have done this to yourself," Tarius said. "Perhaps you and your boyfriends will use a little more temperance in the future."
Tragon realized something then. "You don't drink, do you, you awful bastard?"
"No," Tarius said. "If you were me, would you drink?"
Tragon thought about it and decided that, no, he would not. If you were Tarius, and you got drunk, you might accidentally say or do something that would tell the world that you were a girl. Worse yet, you might get mad, turn into a beast, and rip some poor drunk's face off.
"No, I suppose I wouldn't," Tragon said.
Harris silently wondered why.