Duty: a novel of Rhynan (28 page)

Tomas didn’t move. Lantern glow painted the canvas
behind him gold and threw him into shadow. At some point during our
arguing the sun had set. Despite the shadows, I could still read
the strain in his shoulders. The stillness of his face scared me. I
knew it didn’t reflect what was going through his thoughts.

“It is the only way, Tomas.” Sudden tears pressed
against my eyes, but I willed them back. This wasn’t the time to
cry.

His shoulders lowered with a heavy sigh. “I know.” He
held out a hand toward me.

I ran to him. As his arms closed around me and his
mouth found mine, I savored the illusion of safety. Within his
embrace, relishing the warmth of his touch and the savoring the
thrill of desire flooding in its wake, I could envision a future of
children and love. Clinging to him, I attempted to banish my dread
of the morning in the fantasy of the night and the security of my
husband’s arms. For tomorrow the dreams would be gone. The reality
of the task before me would demand its due.

If Kurios was gracious, I would only forfeit my inner
peace for the nightmare memories of battle. If not, he might demand
my life. I shied away from considering a third
possibility–widowhood. I feared that outcome the most.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The morning of the vargar breach dawned with a
multi-hued sky. Tomas rose before the sun, forcing me from the bed
to prepare. Choosing my heaviest tunic, he cut it off at my knee.
Heavy woolen leggings followed. My walking boots clad my feet. As
soon as he was geared up, with my assistance, and I was decently
covered by my heavy cloak, we left the tent in the direction of the
armory.

There he found chainmail made for a squire small
enough for me to wear, but we couldn’t find a breastplate that
would fit me without restricting my movements too much. We were
arguing over the necessity of armoring me from the waist down when
Rathenridge arrived with his wife’s padded jerkin.

“I see you two have made up.” He glanced between us a
few times. Tomas glared at him, but my cheeks warmed beneath his
teasing grin.

“Thank you for the jerkin.” I began pulling it on
over the mail. I felt as though I carried double my weight in gear
already. Thankfully the jerkin weighed less than I expected. I was
struggling with the tapes when Tomas approached with a helmet. I
eyed the thing warily. “Must I?”

“If you want to keep your head, you will.”

“Are you going to lop it off for her if she doesn’t
wear it?” Rathenridge asked as I put the metal can over my head.
“That monstrosity is too large for her. She won’t be able to see a
thing and we will spend half our time stopping her from running
into walls. Here–” He tossed a smaller and lighter helmet to me.
“This one is functional and fashionable. I hear it is all the rage
to wear helmets like these in the capital this winter.”

“Leave off, Aiden. That thing won’t stop anything. It
is too light.”

I ignored him and exchanged the helmets. As I hoped,
Rathenridge’s choice didn’t obscure my vision nearly as much.

“I prefer this one.”

I expected Tomas to protest. Instead he demanded,
“Why?”

“Visibility, and the weight doesn’t hurt my neck.
Besides, it fits the shape of my head better.”

He frowned, but took his choice from where I had set
it. “If a head blow kills her, Aiden, I am hunting you down.”

“If a head blow kills her, I suspect you will do more
than that,” Aiden replied with surprising severity.

“Where is Dentin?” Tomas asked as he walked over to
inspect the selection of spare shields.

None of the metal plates looked like a good fit for
me, but I kept that thought to myself. Tomas had let me choose my
helmet. I should let him choose my shield, within reason.

Rathenridge picked up a sword and put it through a
few practice swings. “I passed him on his way to the blacksmith’s
to have the sword sharpened. He should be here soon.”

“Good.” Tomas approached with a shield for me to try.
“Pick out a knife for her, will you? Her current knife is
ill-suited for this.”

I slid my left arm through the straps on the back of
the shield. Tomas let go. I expected it to be heavy since it was
hardly the smallest in the collection, but it wasn’t. I moved it
about, blocking an imaginary opponent and found it would work.

“Lower it a bit like this.” Tomas guided the shield
down three inches. “Now tuck your head.”

“That helmet is too light,” Dentin declared as he
ducked beneath the canvas roof.

I didn’t wait for Tomas to respond. “I do need to
see, my lord. All the other helmets are proportioned for a man and
my eyes don’t match up. Besides, they are too heavy and make my
neck ache.”

Without acknowledging my protest, Dentin extended a
sword belt and sheathed sword to me. “Put it on.”

After freeing my arm from the shield, I accepted
them. Before donning the weapon, I paused a moment to appreciate
the workmanship of the sheath. Deceptively simple at a distance,
the metal and leather work of the belt and sheath enticed one to
examine it closer. I couldn’t help rubbing a thumb over the
intricately etched metal and leather.

“It once belonged to a formidable warrior.”

I frown at him in confusion. “But this is a woman’s
weapon.” Behind him Tomas and Rathenridge were arguing over
knives.

Dentin nodded to the weapon in my hands. “She wore it
well and fought with honor and courage. I expect you to do the
same.”

“I will try to be worthy of it.” I pulled the belt
around my waist.

“Just stay alive.” He walked away before I could
assure him I intended to do just that.

“Here, try this one.” Tomas held a knife hilt out to
me before I finished cinching the belt.

“Who wore this before me?” I took the knife and
tested its weight.

“He never told me. I just know that it is always with
him no matter where he is. Will the knife do?”

“It is a bit dull.”

He nodded. “We will stop by the blacksmith’s on the
way to practice.” He turned to hail Rathenridge. “Meet you at the
field.”

Both Rathenridge and Dentin nodded.

Tomas threw my cloak over my shoulders and led me out
into the sunshine again. Despite the nerves fluttering in my
stomach and constricting my chest, I couldn’t squash the occasional
stray musing about the original owner of the belt and sword at my
waist. If I survived this, I intended to persuade Dentin to tell me
the story. Something about the fleeting emotion in his eyes hinted
at something deeper than simply the respect of one warrior for
another.

After a brief stop at the blacksmith’s tent, we
arrived at the practice yard. The yard of one of the small houses I
had spotted on our first approach to Kyrenton served as a space for
the men to warm up. The hard-packed dirt hadn’t succumbed to the
snow melting as much as the roads or fields.

In the meadow bordering the cottage guarded by tree
skeletons, scattered pairs of men sparred. Others drilled through
exercises alone. An angular man passed amid the chaos and mud,
leaning heavily on a twisted staff. Spotting us, he made his way
toward us.

“My lord.” He bowed quite easily. I tried to guess at
his injury, but could find no visible clues beyond his obvious
dependence on the wood for balance. “My lady.” His bow to me was
equally low.

“How are you, Lolathen?” Tomas respectfully lowered
his head in greeting.

“We will have rain before nightfall.” Lolathen tapped
his thigh.

“I am sorry to hear that. Have you told Lord
Dentin?”

“When the sun rose. He mentioned a night battle. The
men have been drilling extra hard today.”

Tomas nodded as he scanned the men around us. “Did
you receive the selection requirements for our point crew?”

“Aye. Worand, Yerns, Polaner, and Eirianware will
serve you well.” Lolanthen pointed out each as he said their name.
I almost didn’t recognize Eirianware coated in mud from head to toe
as he lunged at his opponent.

“Tell them to be ready at dusk and meet us at the
sentry point south of camp. We will leave from there.”

Lolathen acknowledged the order with a half bow. “I
understand you are including Sir Rathenridge and Lord Dentin in
your party as well.” A tone of concern edged his voice, but it was
subtle enough to be ignored should Tomas wish.

“You don’t approve?”

Lolathen tilted his head slightly to the side, eyes
measuring Tomas’ expression with keen interest. “Their constant
bickering is becoming the talk of the camp.”

“Shame on you for listening to gossip.” The right
corner of Tomas’ mouth twitched.

The old man shrugged. “There is not much else I can
do comfortably, my lord.” His grin sweetened the bitterness of the
words.

“I suppose there are worse things to gossip
about.”

“Indeed, the verbal war has distracted the worst
gossips from dwelling on other things.” Lolathen’s sharp gaze
flicked my way briefly. “Though, the general consensus among the
men is the lady is innocent.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

Someone yelled an oath. All three of us turned to
look in that direction. I didn’t recognize the man, but Lolathen
tensed in disapproval.

“Pardon me, my lord, I need to speak with one of the
men.”

Tomas dismissed him with a nod. After bowing to both
of us, the old man hobbled swiftly away.

“Now, let us see how skilled you are.” Tomas lifted
my cloak from my shoulders and flung it onto the pile of others
hanging from a nearby tree. “How much training have you had?”

“Three years of study in my teens.” I drew and swung
my weapon. It was lighter than my father’s old practice sword. The
grip fit my hand better than the hilt of the old relic had.

“Have you practiced since?”

“Daily until three months ago.” I practiced some of
the footwork my father had taught me.

“Why did you stop?” The worry in his voice brought my
attention to him.

“We had to get the harvest in.”

“And after that?” The creases between his eyebrows
grew as he watched me.

“Preoccupation with finding a solution to the coming
hunger crisis.” I lowered my arm and glared at him. “I know I am
not good.”

“I could cut you down in moments.”

I lifted my chin. At least he was being honest. “Then
teach me so I can lengthen my life by a few more minutes at
least.”

The pain in his face took my breath away.

“I need to do this, Tomas.”

He drew in a shaky breath and donned his helmet.
“First, keep your guard up.” He tapped my shield into place with
his blade. “That shield is your best weapon. Use it.” He walked
three steps away. Whirling in place, he faced me, his features set
and hard. “This is your last moment to prepare yourself.”

I lifted my sword, adjusted my shield, and
nodded.

The following minutes passed in a blur of adrenaline
pumping reaction. He drove at me with a rain of thrusts, jabs, and
lunges. I barely knocked aside most of them. At least thrice he
missed my head so closely his sword whistled in my ear. Finally it
glanced off my helmet, making my ears ring.

“Have I dissuaded you yet?” he asked.

I shook my head to dispel the ringing. “I gave my
word to the king.”

He strode over, discarded his helmet, and plucked my
helmet from my head, releasing the crazy mess of sweaty hair
beneath. “You can offer an alternative act of homage.”

“I doubt he would accept it.” Staring up into his
taut features, I could feel him willing me to back down. “I gave my
word, Tomas. I would never ask you to go back on your word. Why do
you keep asking me to do something which you would not do?”

“Because I would rather you live.” Dropping his sword
in the dust, he reached for me and then stopped mid motion. He
pivoted on his heel and turned half away. “War isn’t orderly,
Brielle. Battles are chaotic. No matter how I try, I cannot
guarantee you will survive. I have lost good friends, men more
deserving of living long lives than I. Cut down next to me, only a
handsbreadth from me.”

“This is not a battle.”

He frowned. “The same rules apply.”

“Nothing you say will change my mind, Tomas. I have
to do this.”

“Not even my order?”

I closed my eyes. If he ordered me to stay behind, I
would. But, I didn’t believe he would. I looked up at him again.
“You won’t order me.”

Our gazes locked. I refused to look away even as my
aching stomach continued to tighten and my heart thundered in my
ears. I wanted to give in yet I couldn’t. It wasn’t pride. If I
thought it would work, I would plead on my face in the dirt at
Mendal’s feet.

The turmoil in Tomas’ face tore at my resolve. Maybe
he was right. There was another way. There had to be another way to
earn Mendal’s trust.

“My lord?”

Tomas’ head snapped around. The soldier recoiled, but
recovered enough to deliver his message. “Lord Dentin sent me to
fetch you. We just received more details from your steward.”

“Where is he?”

“Lord Dentin?”

Tomas raised an eyebrow.

“His tent, my lord.” The poor man’s face pinked.

“Tell him we are on our way.”

The man bowed quickly and ran back toward the
camp.

“We will finish this later.”

Tomas fetched my cloak while I claimed our discarded
helmets. We met again in the middle. Tomas settled the heavy fur
and fabric around my shoulders. Instead of claiming his helmet that
I offered, he claimed my head. Hands in my hair, he kissed me
fiercely and quickly. Withdrawing as swiftly as he came, he claimed
his headgear from my lax fingers.

He strode five steps before I realized he was
leaving. I ran to catch up.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*