The Last Warrior (12 page)

T
AO LEANED ON A CRUTCH,
submitting to Elsabeth's inspection. She stopped, folding her arms over her stomach, taking in the sight of him dressed in his borrowed clothes: a collarless white long-sleeve shirt, with buttons beginning halfway up the front, loose brown trousers over work boots. Traditional Kurel clothing.

She had to say that no man she'd known had ever quite filled out everyday work clothes as the general did. His need of the crutch humbled him, made him more approachable, more human, but he was still a strapping, supremely self-confident male in his prime.

“How do I look?” he asked, stopping short of preening. He still had a long way to go, though, to truly adopt the Kurel value of modesty in appearance.

“Like a general disguised as a Kurel.”

“Then no one can say we're trying to hide anything. Honesty is a prized Kurel virtue, you said. It will be good if I look like what I am.”

She hoped the elders would see it that way. “You missed a button.” It had been hard for him to get dressed himself. She'd helped him only in order to keep his wounds from being unduly stressed. Not for this intimacy.

She felt his eyes on her as she buttoned the shirt, felt the stir of his breath. Already, the fabric smelled like him, a masculine scent of clean, warm skin and the soap from her wash basin. The summer-weight linen of the shirt was so fine that his suntanned skin showed through. In her imagination, she saw her palms sliding over the cool fabric, her fingers opening the buttons, not closing them, until she could pry the shirt wide enough to slip her hands under it, exploring firm, hot skin.

A wave of warmth made her flush. She pursed her lips, stepping back.
You silly fool.
Her inexplicable physical attraction to the Tassagon general wasn't anything she wanted him to know about, for he was probably game enough to try anything she might ask of him. He hadn't turned out to be an immoral beast today when it came to being alone with a woman, contrary to what the Kurel believed about Uhr-warriors, but his behavior with the dancer at the palace left little doubt in her mind that he'd willingly lay down with her if she revealed her secret, wholly inappropriate appreciation of his body.

“It won't be easy tonight,” she said.
On so many levels.

He watched her with bemused eyes. “Don't be nervous. I'm dressed like a Kurel. I'm eating like one—or trying at least. And I haven't once reverted to calling you sunshine all day.”

“Or I, to calling you a dog.”

Their shared smile faded quickly. “There's more you need to know,” she said. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“I'll be in a chair all evening. I'll stand.”

He did seem to be getting better, still moving as if sore, but no pain cramped his features when he did. “The elders are our senior statesmen, twelve in all, and also our moral compass, sticklers for tradition. They are…not exactly friendly to outsiders. Half of them are so old they were born in the Barrier Peaks. It's like they never thawed.”

“I've been through the Barrier Peaks many times, moving my army. Cold, inhospitable… And then there are the mountains.”

Laughter at his joke would indicate disrespect for the elders, but she almost did. It would be serious business soon enough. “Farouk is the eldest, and the leader. You'll know him by his height—he's taller than you, but very slender and supple, with a bushy head of white hair. Like a marsh reed in spring, my father used to say. He's the one you'll want to impress. My
great-great-aunt Gwendolyn is another to know. She's plump and as short as Farouk is tall, almost bald. She's the conscience of the group, the heart. They all act as if she's too young to pay much mind to, but what she thinks they all eventually do.”

He was nodding, absorbing her words. “I am ready to do battle.” Then he tipped his head down. “Pardon my Tassagon words. I'm ready to make peace.”

She hoped so, for nothing less was at stake but the unity and the salvation of the human race.

 

E
LSABETH HAD DICED AN
alarming amount of what Tao now recognized as hot chilies, folding them into a mixture of mutton, grains and butter that she covered with a layer of dough before sliding the pan into an oven to bake. Even she'd sniffled as she'd chopped the peppers, dabbing at watering eyes with the knuckles of one hand.

Tao observed the process with mounting dismay. “What is it?” he asked.

“Sumsala. My grandmother's recipe.”

“It smells delicious.” The spicy scent made his nose itch ominously, though. How he'd eat tonight without weeping openly at the table he didn't know. He forced himself to swallow his doubts and said nothing, but he cast a grateful glance at a cold pitcher of frothy goat milk she'd set in the center of the table.

Chun and Navi arrived, their presence demanded
by the elders. All the “guilty parties” were now here. Tao was ostensibly the one being judged, but he knew failure tonight would endanger his rescuers' futures as well.

With some banging of crutches and stiff legs, Tao let Chun help him into a chair at the table. “Remain seated when they arrive,” the physician advised. “The elders will expect no less, knowing of your injuries.”

Finally, the formal knock at the door. Four pairs of uneasy eyes met then diverged. Elsabeth straightened her spine and walked to the door, looking as if she'd whispered a prayer before she opened it. The front landing was crowded. The glow of the room's lights illuminated the ancients' crinkled faces.

“Greetings, Elders,” Elsabeth said, her head dipping with respect. Tao followed her lead, lowering his chin, but he kept his eyes on those who would judge him. They filed in, some using canes, another in a wheeled chair, but all spry and alert. “Elders” was an apt term. He'd never seen so many humans so advanced in age who were still upright and moving. Tao marveled at them. How old were they? How much history had they lived? Few Tassagons reached a ripe old age without succumbing to disease first.

Potions. That was the reason for Kurel longevity.

Yet, these elders were the leaders of the community. In Tassagonia, those who held sway over the people
were the ones with the most physical strength and power, not experience.

Tao pushed to his feet. Chun frowned at him, but it seemed disrespectful to sit while these fragile souls stood. With his weight heavy on the crutches, he bowed his head fully this time, trying to assume the respectful stance that came so easily to Chun and Navi.

The elders gave him a wide berth, gathering a safe distance away. It was as if they thought he might suddenly decide to strike at them. Maybe it would have been better if he'd stayed in his chair.

“He doesn't look Uhr, dressed like that,” a small woman remarked, sounding more admiring than disapproving. Her white hair was drawn so tightly back from her face that she looked bald. Elsabeth's great-great-aunt, he guessed.

“A wolf in sheep's clothing,” whispered the wizened old crone next to her. That one definitely disapproved.

Tall, dour and fragile looking, one of the men marched forward and rapped his cane against the floor, inches from Tao's borrowed boots. Unruly white hair sprouted on the top of his head.
A marsh reed in spring.
“Sit.”

Sit. Stay. Did all Kurel assume warriors only understood these one-word commands? The one thing Tao refused to do was beg.

Elsabeth swooped in. “Dinner is ready. Please. Sit down.”

So, even the elders were not safe from Elsabeth's plain orders—although for them, she'd added “please.” Tao hoped the humble dip of his head hid his smile.

As the twelve regarded Tao with cool wariness, she circled the table and served each of the elders their dinner, doing so with such reverence that it seemed more of a religious offering. Yet, when she took her seat next to him, no one blessed the food the way he was used to doing as a Tassagon. No thanks were given—not to Uhrth, nor for this bounty. They simply began to eat.

For all the bold flavor of their cooking, the Kurel made for lackluster tablemates. There was no conversation other than a few murmurs exchanged. Yet, the more he observed, the more he saw that the meal was indeed being enjoyed—a quiet savoring rather than loud appreciation. No slurping or unruly shouting. No chunks of bread being dredged through the juices and shoved into mouths, true. No eating with hands, either.

Farouk's fluffy white brows lowered over his black eyes when he noticed Tao hadn't touched his meal.

With dread, Tao faced his plate. A part of him wanted to trade it for the sting flies and muck of the Sarcen Swamp.

A small part. He could do this. Easily. A matter of mind over…sumsala.

He chose a fork as if he were choosing a blade and used it to break through the crust. Steam burst forth. The aroma was intoxicating. Masking the toxicity of the contents, he was sure. A taste, a cautious taste. His tongue caught fire. A cough rose in his throat and he stifled it with crushing self-control as he felt the elders observing him. Did they find his attempt at adaptation entertaining? He'd like to see them try to hold their own in the chaos of a Tassagon meal. They wouldn't be so judgmental then.

The elders consumed their food with surprising speed. Elsabeth had hardly touched hers, and he felt as if he were dying slowly of starvation. Goat milk and slices of crispy flatbread did not a warrior's meal make. He was going to have to get a full meal in his belly soon or he'd be forced to bribe Navi to bring him something less spicy than Elsabeth's cooking.

“Ferdinand's daughter, our Elsabeth, has spoken for you, but I want to hear it from you—why are you here, Uhr-warrior?” Farouk demanded.

Tao put down his fork, relieved to trade sumsala for interrogation. “I come seeking sanctuary until I can safely return to my people.”

“Our palace workers are barred from pursuing their livelihoods. Now you want to stay here and further inconvenience us,” Farouk challenged.

Tao resisted the urge to retort with an unflattering remark about knowing better than to expect help from the Kurel. He'd spent the day fighting to set aside such lifelong prejudices. Elsabeth, Navi and Chun had proved to him that not all Kurel refused to help Tassagons—at least not when it would benefit their people.

Elsabeth had emphasized, over and over, the Kurel preference for almost brutal frankness. That was one trait he could admire. If only Markam had been more frank in his communications these past years… But this was not the time for regrets. This was the time to win the Kurel elders' approval. Brutal honesty, he could do. “There's more than inconvenience at risk, Elder. When they don't find me in the city, they'll come here next. Uhr-Beck and the Home Guard.”

Farouk's face darkened. “No Tassagons will find what we don't want them to find.”

“They could harm innocents trying.”

The elder let out a quick, hoarse laugh. “Are you trying to convince us to let you stay, or to make you leave?”

“Neither. I'm stating the facts to allow you to make the right decision for your people.”

The elder acted dumbfounded that Tao would volunteer reasons for the man to deny him asylum. They expected as little honesty from a Tassagon as he expected help from a Kurel, apparently.

“He's right,” another elder said. “His presence here brings much risk. Put him out the gates.”

“And sentence him to die?” Elsabeth protested. “He'll be arrested on sight.”

“His arrest could have been a hoax orchestrated by Xim to get Tao into our midst,” the same elder proposed. “We don't know.”

Elsabeth shook her head. “Markam's been helping us. For years.”

“Markam is Tassagon,” Farouk reminded her sharply.

“Elder Farouk, Markam is an ally,” she insisted. “He trusts us to keep his friend safe.”

“We don't have to give the general back to the king. We can put him outside the city walls completely,” another elder suggested. “A few day's food, water and leave him to find his own way.”

“What, no weapon?” Tao said in a deceptively helpful tone to hide his sarcasm. “I'll need a bow to shoot my dinner.”

Farouk narrowed his eyes, considering this. Young Navi broke in, “No, Elder Farouk. General Tao helped us. He saved my life.”

“It wouldn't have needed saving if you young rebels weren't meddling in Tassagon affairs.”

“Their
affairs?” Elsabeth asked. Tao could almost feel her anger crackle. “Their king's crimes have certainly been
our
affairs. Xim brought violence to Kurel
town. He allowed my parents to be slaughtered in cold blood. He sanctioned it; he even rewarded the killers. What about those arrested for suspected sorcery? Gorski's wife and Lars, all the others, never heard from again. Murdered, too. Xim is a monster who deserves no less than the same cruel fate.”

Several of the other elders coughed nervously. Tao lifted a brow at Elsabeth's bloodthirsty desire for vengeance. Doing actual harm to Xim was something he still hoped to avoid.

An elder with a broad white streak through her black hair sniffed. “It is clear that the least violent path is to turn the general over to the Tassagons to appease the king.”

“Xim won't be appeased until he learns who was behind freeing me and smuggling me into K-Town. Turn me in and you risk Elsabeth being caught and put to death. Chun and Navi, too.”

The lines bracketing Farouk's mouth deepened. “We Kurel believe that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

Was the elder serious about exchanging Elsabeth for safety for all of K-Town? The thought of her in Xim's hands—Beck's hands—shuddered through him like the sound of a Gorr's howl. “We Uhr-warriors share your views of altruism. But every belief worth having comes with the responsibility of common decency, Elder Farouk. Risking the lives of your bravest, most
selfless citizens to settle an old score with the Tassagons falls far short of that.”