The Dark Frontier

A Moonsea Adventure

Chapter 4

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The Forest, Mirtul 16

            Something moved towards her, a deeper shadow against the faint light behind it, crashing blindly through the brush. She heard a man's voice yelling, and though she couldn't make out the words, despite the fearful alarm in the tone, it planted a lump of ice in her belly together with the fire of her abuse.
            Suddenly having doubts, Anya hid behind the large stump of a tree fallen many seasons ago. What if she was wrong? What if she hadn't been led here by divine grace? There had been sounds of a fight ahead. A fight implied danger. And what of the man's voice she heard? What if he is with the bandits?
            No! she chided herself. If the Goddess brought me here, it vas to give me the opportunity to save myself, but I must make the final step myself. Holding her dagger painfully, but readily, Anya moved out from her hiding spot, but still chose a path to keep trees between herself and the noise she heard. She was convinced she must do this, but her instincts still pushed her to be careful. Hunched around the agony in her belly, she crept behind a thick nest of brambles and looked out onto a torch-lit road.
            Fighting men - freeswords, by the look of them. At least, they had a Captain - and an Atjets with them. A little farther, and she'd have run straight out onto the road and into their midst. Anya leaned against a tree bare feet from them, watching through the leaves of a thorn-tangled bush. Three looked much the worse for wear, and had at first seemed reluctant to follow the mounted foreigner into the darkness - or perhaps just into the Forest. For some strange reason the outlander was perched sidesaddle, making him seem incongruously ladylike despite his heavy armor. Nevertheless, they didn't mock him - clearly he had their respect. It was no wonder; she'd passed the sorry remains of the thing he'd killed. With an expert eye, she judged that he was an excellent warrior - why hadn't he been sent to the Crusade? She'd also found his shield, a heavy slab of metal that had seen good use, tossed away and seemingly forgotten. Perhaps he hadn't been sent to the front because he squandered his equipment? If he meant to retrieve it, he would have to come back this way.
            The Talontar with them had a leg tied to a crude splint, and was doing his best to stand on it despite the blood that stained it dark. By his expression he was displeased, though whether it was due to his injury, the outlander or the skirmish was unclear. Maybe it was his usual expression. Or maybe it was the scars that twisted his face; it was impossible to tell in the flickering light. As the outlander spoke, the fire of eagerness was lit in the other freeswords; there was something about him, some power to his voice and weight to his gaze, that made the idea seem not just good, but a righteous call to glory.
            The dagger slipped from her swollen fingers, and she barely managed to catch it before it dropped. Her chest seemed constricted by red-hot iron bands, and the pain in her gut had returned tenfold - she could feel the renewed trickle of blood down her legs. She suspected the darkness growing in her vision wasn't the torches going out. Whatever she did, she would have to make a decision soon. Hide, or put herself at the mercy of these men?
            "I must have faith," she mumbled to herself. Loviatar had been with her the night before, through her ordeal. Anya had proven her strength then by enduring the pain, and the Goddess had rewarded her with escape. In the forest, Mielikki had been with her, guiding her here during her blind run and even making her one with the woods.
            "I must have faith!" she said more forcefully, putting one painful foot ahead of the next. The brambles tore at her, snagged in Octarov's tunic and in her flesh, but it was a distant thing, unremarkable in the face of reaching the road.
            "I have faith!" she screamed as she burst onto the path ahead of the freeswords. She was quite a sight. A tall, raven-haired woman, she had obviously been beaten to within an inch of death. Her face was covered in contusions and cuts, her fingers were bent awkwardly, and what was left of the oversized shirt she wore, was covered in blood and dirt. Fresh blood marred her legs and her feet were wrapped in filthy rags.
            She was clearly delirious.
            The men screamed, running pell-mell from the apparition back to the dubious safety of their priest. Krel pulled up his crossbow and targeted the woman as she burst from the Forest. His heart pounded at the thought of another attack, and his crossbow remained squarely locked on her as she staggered down the trail.
            "A vitch!"
            "Atjets, help us!"
            Reaching him, they spun, spears up and ready. Thaurlann's eyes widened in horror as he saw her extensive injuries, but he was even more shocked as he watched the other warriors - and even the Atjets - train their weapons on a nearly defenseless woman.
            "I have been blessed by the goddesses! I have proven myself! I am not veak! I am strong!" Her unfocused eyes burned with a fury that was in stark contrast with the condition of her body. The dagger fell from her hand, and her gaze fell upon the group. The freeswords stood blanched and wide-eyed, identical looks of horror stamped on their faces.
            "I am strong." She spoke with more difficulty now as her legs shook under her. "Help me." She fell to her knees, and didn't seem to realize it.
            Krel's instincts took hold, and he moved toward the woman. A single step shot pain through his leg, the reminder he had left unhealed, to remind him of his foolishness in not seeing the last ambush.
            "Hold!" He stopped and scanned the forest behind the kneeling woman, but could see nothing in the dark. "Veapons ready. Ve don't vant any more surprises." The freeswords drew together, spears bristling outwards, but their eyes remained glued to the hideously battered woman. Krel limped slowly toward her. He continued to scan the forest, his crossbow held ready but no longer aimed directly at the injured woman. He stopped several paces from the her, his trained eyes scanning her apparent injuries in the flickering torchlight. Some of the wounds could be faked, but the mutilated hands had to be real, and her face looked like an army had marched over it. For several heartbeats he stood and stared down at the broken woman. Then his stance relaxed slightly, his voice soft as he spoke. "In the name of great mother Talona, ve vill help you."
            Anya looked up weakly at the man who had spoken. He was bald and had a scarred face, but did not look threatening. Or lecherous.
            He wasn't a bandit. She had chosen well. She was saved.
            Then the words he had said sunk in. Talona. Anya's swollen lips turned into a thin smile. "Another Goddess," she whispered. "I am truly blessed."
            Everything went black for her then as she slipped into unconsciousness and fell to the ground. Thaurlann saw her eyes roll back into her head as she finished speaking and rushed forward as fast as he could limp to try and catch her before she hit the ground. Too late to catch her and with a leg that wouldn't support him, he was hard put not to fall and crush her himself. He managed not to run her through, but settling beside her required an arm; he was forced to give up his torch.
            Krel glanced at him, considered the action for a moment and filed it away with everything else he had seen of the impulsive soldier. The foreigner was definitely a man who followed his impulses and charged ahead into things. Krel wanted to help the woman too, but they had to get moving. Apparently he was in command, as the foreigner was busy with the injured woman.
            "Ve must get moving, and quickly." Krel looked at the two freeswords who Thaurlann had previously instructed to search the creature. "Search the creature quickly. I vill get her ready to move. I vant to be avay from this place." He could see in their eyes that they didn't object to getting away from there as quickly as possible. Staying close together, torches held high to light their way, they cautiously moved into the forest to find the spot where the monster lay.
            Krel knelt slowly next to the woman, his broken leg protesting the movement with stabs of pain. Her injures were obviously extensive, but he had no time to correct everything. Setting each bone in her hands alone back to the way the Gods had intended would take all his skill. There would be time for that once they were back at the camp. For now, he would have to be content with confirming that she would not die.
            Once again he opened his healing satchel, keeping his crossbow within easy reach. The first day out on his journey, and already there had been trouble. He couldn't help but wonder if this was a bad sign of things to come. With a quickly mumbled prayer to ward off evil and bad luck, he dismissed the thoughts. Talona would protect him as She always did.
            He spoke to Thaurlann as he efficiently checked the woman for any life-threatening injures. "Her vounds are too great for me to heal here. Ve take her to the camp." He pulled back the rags which covered her so he could wipe away the blood and see how bad the wounds were underneath. She wasn't conscious to be embarrassed, but he still accommodated her modesty as best he could while still being complete in his examination. Vanos, his face flushed, turned his back to stare into the forest on the far side of the road.
            It looked as though the woman had been caught under a warhorse; huge, dark bruises covered her, and he was fairly sure several ribs were broken. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, and she stank as though she'd rolled in the gutter.
            "Ve vill place her on your horse," he said to Thaurlann. "You can ride double, but she vill have to be in front." His experience told him there would likely be other injuries which he would not violate her to check for. "She should ride sidesaddle. I vill set your leg so that you have the strength to hold her." He hadn't intended to heal the foreigner's injury, since he didn't know the man's faith, but the woman had called out to the Gods for help and had struggled in faith to reach him. She had to be helped, and the horse was the best way for the wounded party to move her.
            A shout sounded from where Galka and Bobug had pushed their way into the thick underbrush. Vanos jerked about, then turned back towards the far side of the road, backing up to the Atjets. "Something has them!" he hissed, face grim.
            Krel grabbed his crossbow and rose far more quickly than his injured leg would support, sending another sickening jolt of pain through his leg. "Bane take this place." He took several steps in the direction the men had disappeared, calling out, "Galka! Bobug! Retreat!" He added a few more quiet curses on his continued stupidity. He raised his crossbow, prepared to fire on any creatures he saw, silently hoping to cover the retreat of the others. Thinking to at least distract the creatures from the men for a moment, he shouted in a loud voice, "Talona! Hear my cry. Send me Your strength." The prayer was just words, not backed by his will, but they still gave him hope that his Goddess was with him always.
            As he struggled through the thick undergrowth, his leg blazing with pain, he came up between the freeswords; Bobug stood watch over Galka, who had retrieved Thaurlann's shield. Following Bobug's gaze, Krel saw one of the monsters hauling the body of its comrade through the trees, fleeing.
            Krel nodded back to the freesword and then spoke in a soft voice. "Time for us to leave, also."
            When they reached the others, the Talontar spoke curtly. "Enough surprises this night. Ve get moving as soon as I finish vith the foreigner's leg." He knelt beside Thaurlann to bandage the soldier's broken leg. The freeswords hovered around him, staring into the night with wary eyes and spears ready.
            With the bandage completed, Krel stood and spoke quickly to the others. "Get him and the voman onto the horse. Ve lead the horse back, von of you on each side." The Talontar looked around the forest again, crossbow in hand, anxious to be away.

            The company had set up camp by the road and begun cooking the evening meal by the time the scout party returned. The three battered freeswords, the limping Atjets and the heavily armored man sitting sidesaddle with a bedraggled and unconscious woman in his arms made quite a spectacle. Idle sellswords and soldiers stared as they walked through the bedrolls and campfires, many rising to follow them as they made their way towards the Captain.
            Aksana rose with the rest of the curious soldiers and followed the returning group closely, doing her best to stay close enough to hear what was being said without getting in the way. She eyed the woman closely, trying to see if she was really a witch as the rumor spread.
            Captain Garsha watched them approach, eating from his cookpot with a long spoon. He set it aside and rose when they reached him. "I see there vas trouble. You," he raised his chin at Vanos, "vhat happened?"
            "Ve vent down the road some vay," Vanos told him. "Then ve vere attacked by spirits, or boginki - the Atjets drove them off." He bowed toward Krel, then turned to Thaurlann. "The outlander, he fought like a bear," he said with grudging respect. Captain Garsha glanced at Thaurlann, an eyebrow raised in consideration. Bobug broke in, excited, jabbing a finger at Anya. "Then this vitch came screaming from the Forest!"
            The Captain and Vanos turned to stare at him. The short freesword shrank back, doubling over in a bow so low it looked as though he'd been gut-punched. Vanos took two steps and delivered him a kick that toppled him to the ground; he scrambled to his feet again, head down, not looking at them.
            The Captain wasn't watching; he craned his neck to get a look at Anya. "I doubt the Atjets vould bring a vitch to the camp," he said mildly. "Get her covered. Atjets, it is good that you vent along, and I thank you. Vill you tell me vhat this is?" He tipped his head at Anya. Galka had brought a horse blanket for her, and handed it up to Thaurlann.
            Krel cleared his throat and bowed slightly. "Apologies, Captain. Her attire slipped my mind on the dark trail back." The Captain, unlike some of their audience, managed not to give him a look of disbelief. "Vanos understates his bravery and that of the others who rushed to defend me during the attack. I am thankful for their aid." The three sellspears stood straighter, even Bobug. They preened under the respectful looks and murmurs of the crowd. The Talontar gestured toward Anya as he continued.
            "This voman came upon us after the ambush. She has been beaten badly and appears to have escaped confinement. I don't know if she vas held by the creatures or ambushed before ve arrived. She came upon us calling to the Gods for aid, and I have granted her vhat help I might offer." Krel paused for a moment before he added quietly, "Perhaps she vill provide us some information about vhat attacked us this night."
            Captain Garsha nodded absently. "Ve vill keep our pace to vhat the Church reqvires, Atjets. I thank you again for your aid." He turned to his lieutenant, giving orders to rearrange the watch posts.
            Krel paused again as he considered his next request. He did not know the Captain well and did not want to over step his bounds within the camp. "I apologize for disrupting your camp. I vill stay vith her vhile she is in the camp, although you are free to assign guards at your discretion. If your company could spare a tent and some blankets for the night, it may help reduce the disruption to your men."
            Impulsively Aksana stepped closer. "I vill help. It is not right for men to see her so." Thaurlann stared suspiciously as the thin, meek woman approached. She looked very out of place, he thought, in this band of soldiers and priests. Still, her offer of help seemed sincere. Krel glanced briefly at her as she interrupted his discussion with the captain. He had not noticed the woman during the trip thus far, but had to admit that having a woman to help would be useful.
            Suddenly flustered as attention turned toward her, Aksana ducked her head, letting her long red hair fall forward over the scared side of her face. She looked appraisingly at the unconscious woman from behind her protective screen of hair. "She looks a bit bigger than me, but I have some clothes that may fit her." Aksana explained quickly to the men.
            The Captain's eyes flicked over her, hesitating at her red hair and the scar on her face. Before he could speak, Thaurlann said, "Your offer is gracious, milady, though I'm not sure it would be wise to cover her with anything except blankets until the Talontar can work his divine power on her." He nodded at Krel. The young Talontar made no comment. Instead he helped cover the battered woman with the offered blanked while he waited the captain to make his decision. The warrior graciously accepted Krel's help in covering the injured woman up until she could find more permanent shelter for the night.
            The Captain stared at Thaurlann, Aksana's appearance forgotten. "Of course it is proper that you take her, Manakja. She can vait here until the priests come to carry her." He gestured towards the tents that lay beyond the warriors' bedrolls, where the contingent of priests had settled.
            "I will stay with her as well," Thaurlann offered. "Though I will promise to wait outside while the healer works, so I don't violate her privacy." He looked again at the newcomer as he spoke, as if to assure her that he shared her concerns about protecting the injured woman's dignity.
            "Put her down, outlander, and dismount vhen you speak to an officer. You vill report for vatch duty," the Captain growled, his brows beetling. Thaurlann bristled at the tone of the captain's voice, but quickly remembered that it was himself speaking out of place. He nearly leapt down from the horse. The splint kept his leg stable but did nothing to curb the extreme pain of coming down on the broken limb. He kept his face as straight as he could, bowing reverently to the senior officers. The captain turned his back on the ragged group, returning to his dinner as his lieutenant stepped forward.
            "Get your horse taken care of, outlander. Then tell your sergeant to give you a place in the vatch," Lieutenant Obrad snapped. He ignored the three sellspears beside Thaurlann, instead lowering his voice to speak with Aksana and Krel. "I vill have Sergeant Stammel move the troops so that only the even-handed are near the tents. If you need guards, they vill help you." He strode off through the dispersing crowd, leaving Krel, Aksana and Thaurlann alone with their charge.
            Thaurlann began looking around for a place to bed Lightning, while simultaneously lingering for the lieutenant to leave. Krel nodded his thanks as the Lieutenant left and knelt slowly next to the woman, his broken leg protesting the movement with another stab of pain. The Atjets checked to make sure she was lying as comfortable as possible and that she was covered with the blanket.
            After Obrad had left, Thaurlann grasped Krel by the shoulder and whispered in a hushed tone, "Please, may you and the gods watch over her."
            Krel looked up at the larger man, the outlander's grasp sending slight ripples of discomfort through his shoulder. His skin always remained tender after Talona's touch, a lingering reminder of the gifts which She had bestowed. Krel responded quietly, "Of course." The Atjets paused for a moment and wondered if the outlander followed the true gods. "Vhen your duty permits, come to the tents and ve vill set your leg properly."
            Aksana listened quietly as Krel and Thaurlann exchanged quick words, trying to stay out of their way.
            Krel glanced at her as he quickly checked the beaten woman to ensure that she still rested quietly. He caught a glimpse of the scars which Aksana had tried to hide earlier and was reminded of his own. There had been a time when he was very young that he had been concerned about the burn scars which covered much of his body, but that time was long past, and he no longer felt any shame at the scars which Talona had given him.
            Krel whispered to Aksana, "Stay vith her for a moment. I must get help from the others and vould not have her be alone."
            Krel waited for a moment, rose, and limped slowly to where the Talontar had their tents. He scanned the tents to find some of his brethren who could help move the injured woman and prepare a place where she could rest more comfortably.

            The tent was dark after the firelight outside; just enough light spilled in to see by, hiding all but the worst of the woman's bruises. The Talontar who shared Krel's tent had moved their bedrolls outside, both to give him room to work and, he suspected, to avoid waking to screams when he set her bones. They hadn't questioned Aksana's presence; no doubt they thought she required care as well.
            Anya's slumber had been deep and dreamless, thankfully. Her awakening was similarly slow and smooth. She felt herself float up from unconsciousness patiently toward awaking. Her eyes fluttered open on their own, a reassuring movement as a fitting conclusion to rise from sleep.
            The ranger looked around, taking in her surroundings. A tent? Was she back in the bandit camp? A little ball of panic appeared in her mind and she tried to suppress it. Her eyes finally fell on a figure near her. A woman facing away from her. Anya almost sighed in relief when she noticed the red hair. She wasn't Malvira.
            "Vhere am I?" Anya asked hoarsely, her dry throat forcing her voice down almost to a whisper.
            Aksana had been watching the Atjets sort through his packs and was startled by the woman's voice behind her. She turned to look at her. "You are in the camp of the Nanthers."
            Nanthers? Anya was both surprised and relieved to hear the familiar name. The Nanthers were one of the ruling families of Melvaunt, and she guessed this group had probably been sent to Ezeroh after being without news from Lord Tjesnitjérs for so long.
            Krel had removed his armor and weapons, leaving them piled up neatly with his other gear in the corner. He slowly sorted through the various herbs within his healing pack, picking out those which he might need in the next few hours. The Atjets glanced over at the beaten woman as she spoke and then poured a cup of water. Krel handed the cup to his red haired assistant. "Help her to drink this. Small sips only."
            Taking the cup from the Atjets, Aksana gently held it to the woman's lips. "My name is Aksana. Vhat is yours?"
            Although she gratefully drank the refreshing liquid, part of Anya hated depending on someone else for such a mundane task. Still, despite being uncounscious for a few hours, she remained exhausted from her trek through the woods.
            Krel watched the women for a moment and returned his attention to the supplies laid out before him. His patient would likely need something for pain. After the bones were set, Krel would have to rely on his goddess for help. He couldn't possibly heal the woman on his own. Months of bed rest might not be enough to heal all of her injuries, but the Great Mother could mend all of wounds and restore this woman to health. Krel felt a wave of exhilaration run through him at the thought. No matter how many wounds he treated it always amazed him at the great love Talona showed in healing her faithful.
            Krel pulled his holy symbol out from under his shirt and stared at it for many moments, silently reciting the tenants of his faith and preparing his mind for the tasks ahead of him.
            "My name is Anya," Anya said when she finished the cup, her voice already improved from it. "I vas part of a small band of mercenaries hired by Manakja Alexana, the Lady Tjesnitjérs, to free her uncle and drive the bandits from Ezeroh Keep. Ve succeeded, but I vas..." She hesitated, unsure how much she wanted to say. "I vas captured as they fled. The svolochs underestimated me though, and I escaped from their camp."
            Krel's jaw dropped slightly as Anya spoke the name of Manakja Alexana, the very person whom he was commanded to find. The young Talontar tried to control his excitement, but couldn't help breaking off his prayers to question the woman quietly. "Forgive me, I'm Atjets Krel, a servant of Talona. I vas in the group vhich found you in the vilds and brought you to the camp." The Atjets nervously stroked the holy symbol which he still held within his hands. Any words that Aksana would have spoken to Anya were forgotten in the wake of the Atjets excitement. She leaned back on her heels and listened with interest, studying his face as he talked.
            "Manakja Alexana vas vith you before she disappeared?" He paused for a moment before another thought struck him. "This company is headed to the keep. If you vere there? If you vere vith those who vere involved?" The healer stopped, suddenly torn by the needs of his patient and those of the company captain. "You escaped these bandits tonight?" Krel paused again to consider what needed to be done. "I think that ve should summon von of the officers and tell them that you vere at the keep. Anything you have seen may help them in dealing vith these bandits." He waited a moment to see Anya's reaction, obviously anxious to get the information to the officers. Aksana's curiosity was piqued by the Atjets intense interest and excitement. She looked from the waiting Atjets to Anya.
            "No!" Anya cried out quickly, rising into a sitting position despite the pain. "I do not vish to see them!" The panic within her had surfaced so quickly that she had been unable to hold it back, taking the ranger by surprised. Realizing it, she took a deep breath and looked at Aksana. For some reason she didn't understand at the moment, she took solace in the presence of the red-headed woman.
            "Do not vorry," Aksana said, patting her mangled hand gently. "If you do not vish to see anyvon, you do not have to." She glared at the Atjets, daring him to say otherwise. Anya looked back at the Atjets. "Not yet," she added more calmly. Then she noticed it was dark outside. "Could ve not vait until the morrow?" She dropped back onto the bed with a painful grunt, unable to stay upright any longer.
            Krel looked concerned as he considered Anya's request. A long moment passed as Krel looked from Anya, to the tent flap, to Aksana and back again. His holy symbol still held in his hand, the young Atjets silently weighed the situation and prayed for wisdom. Another moment of silence passed before Krel leaned slightly closer to Anya and spoke softly.
            "I do not know vhat happened, but I know it vas hard. I can tell the officers that you are unable to answer more questions until you are stronger, but I have to tell them everything ve can now. I am not a military man, but there may be plans to be made or preparations to be done. They need to be told so that they are ready to catch these others and bring justice to them."
            Aksana moved closer to Anya, as if to shield her from the overly excited man. Krel looked away. He hated having to put the woman who had been so badly beaten in this situation, but he had a duty to the company to give them whatever information he could. More lives were at risk than just Anya's. Returning his gaze to her, Krel continued, "If you could tell us a bit of vhat you know, I can take that to the officers and ask them to come speak to you in the morning. The captain, he is a fair and considerate man. Vhatever you can tell me. How many men and horses you saw? If you saw their leaders? Vhere the camp vas located? How the keep fares, and who controls it now?" With a final fatalistic sigh, he finished, "I don't know vhat our officers know already, but they need to be ready to deal with these bandits. A varning must be given."
            "Then you should go varn them," Aksana said in a quiet but firm voice, "and let poor Anya rest. I have given her my vord that she does not have to speak to any more men tonight." She thought for a moment. "Perhaps something to help her sleep vould aid her to recover faster." She looked pointedly at Krel. "Then you could tell them that she vill not avaken until morning."
            Krel looked hard at Aksana for a moment as he wondered why she was with this company. Part of him wanted to be the compassionate healer and protect Anya so that she could heal. Another part wanted to get the captain here as soon as possible so that the quest which had been given him at the temple of Bane could be completed. His voice barely a whisper and perhaps harder than he intended, "How vell vill she rest if those who had her find us unprepared?"
            Krel left the thought hanging, dropped his holy symbol to hang around his neck, and turned away to look over his healing supplies. In a resigned tone he said, "I can give her something to help her sleep and something to ease the pain." He looked at Anya, "Your broken bones need to be set and healed. It vill be painful, even vith the herbs." Krel's voice softened, becoming more the healer than the Chosen on a mission. "Vith Talona's grace I vill mend you. You must be strong and trust not in me, but in the goddess. I vill return shortly, and ve can begin vhen you are ready."
            Anya nodded her head gravely. "I do not fear pain, Atjets, nor do I reqvire herbs. Loviatar vatches over me. Go speak with the officers, but I vould like you to set the bones before you retire for the night, please." Krel paused to see if either of the women had anything further to say, then left to report what little information he had to the officers.
            After the Atjets left the tent, Aksana settled herself down near the recovering Anya. She put her arms around her legs and rested her head against her knees. Trying to stay alert, Aksana listened to the quiet drone of the camp outside. Quiet except for the sergeant barking orders, of course. It seemed they'd be on the move within the candlemark.

            The sergeant preparing to bed down nearest the tents had the unmistakable stocky frame of Sergeant Stammel, a man Krel had come to know mainly by the constant stream of barked orders and abuse that the man directed at the warriors. Setting down what he held and dusting off his hands as he rose, he fixed the Atjets with bright, considering eyes. "Atjets. You vant something?"
            He listened quietly as Krel told him what he had learned. "It is good that you tell me this, Atjets. I think ve can vait for daylight to qvestion the girl - these bandits she speaks of, it is unlikely that they vill move in the night. I vill tell the Lieutenant, and ve vill come to find you in the morning, yes? Shar give you a good night, Atjets Krel." He gave Krel a polite half-bow, turning back to his bedroll.
            Krel thanked the sergeant, gesturing a quick blessing upon the soldier who had been so helpful before he returned to his tent. The healer paused at the tent flap to announce himself to those within before he entered quietly.
            "I spoke vith Sergeant Stammel. He vas thankful and vill pass the information on. In the morning they vill come to speak vith you further."
            Aksana received the news with relief. "I must apologize, Atjets. In my concern for Anya I may have overstepped my bounds a bit." She glanced up briefly at Krel and then down at the floor again. "May I go and fetch my belongings? The clothing I promised, it is with them." She glanced up at him again. "I vill be quick."
            Anya watched Aksana leave and felt a growing ball of worry in her stomach. It wasn't a feeling she was used to and she didn't like it. Still, she returned her attention to Krel.
            Krel knelt slowly, the pain from his leg still making the movement difficult. "Some prayers and blessings I vill offer before ve vill begin setting the broken bones. Offerings to Talona for Her grace upon my efforts and your healing. Anything else vhich you require before ve begin?"
            "I do not reqvire anything else, Atjets." She took a deep breath as she spoke and held up one of her hands. "You may proceed."
            "Very vell. Your cuts vill be tended first. This vill allow me to complete some more prayers in preparation of the more difficult vork." Krel carefully cleaned and bandaged Anya's cuts, making sure that the wounds were clear of anything which might hinder healing. He cut the blood soaked bandages from Anya's feet, examined the damage carefully, and rebandaged them in clean cloth. Krel shook his head as he inspected the wounds. "I am amazed that you could even valk. You have great strength."
            The healer prayed quietly as he worked, reciting various prayers of protection, health, and wards against evil spirits which might try to infect the injured. Once all of the bleeding was taken care of, Krel paused in his work. He took out a hardened strip of leather and handed it to Aksana to hold for Anya. "It might help if you bite down on something." Krel took Anya's hand and looked at it carefully. He was as gentle as possible, but unfortunately he needed to prod the breaks to see how they might be moved back into place. "The bones, they must be moved. It vill hurt nearly as badly as vhen they vere broken."
            Krel waited for Anya to be ready and spent many minutes manipulating the bones in her hands. At times he asked Aksana to hold Anya's wrist so that he could use both hands to work the fingers back into line. The healer continued to recite prayers, but at times seemed frustrated with the results of his efforts.
            Krel looked at Anya to give her the results. "The left hand does vell. The breaks are clean and the bones should mend fully. The right is more difficult, the swelling makes it difficult to get everything perfect. Your hand vill still be usable, but it may be stiff and your grip might be veaker than it vas." The Atjets sat back slightly. "I still need to straighten some of your ribs so that they heal strong." He paused, "They vill heal as they are, but it vould be much better if they are moved back in line. I vill do one side at a time and you can lie facing avay from me as I do this."
            Breathing heavily from the pain of having her fingers replaced, Anya took a moment to gather herself. Just a few more and that would be all. Gathering up her courage, the ranger turned onto her side and allowed the Atjets to manipulate her ribs. Although it was painful to lie on her side, most of the ribs were already well-placed, so it didn't take the healer long.
            Krel looked at Anya after he had finished attempting to set all of her broken bones. "I have done the best I can to get all of your bones set correctly. Some are not perfect, but they vill all heal and they should all be as strong as they vere before. I vill ask Talona to heal you now if you like. This vill heal your vounds, but it vill also set my imperfect vork. Your other option is that I can splint the breaks I have set and you can vait a day or so for the swelling of your hand to go down. Then another healer may be able to set the bones better than I have been able."
            Anya gave a weak nod. "You are modest, Atjets. I know my share about bandaging vounds and setting bones and could see from how you vork that you are greatly skilled. I thank you for your excellent work." She lowered her head and closed her eyes. "I vould be honoured to receive Talona's healing touch."
            Krel nodded to Anya and bowed his head as he focused his thoughts. "Please remain qviet and pray to Great Mother Talona that She may send Anya Her blessings." The Atjets cupped his holy symbol in his hands and stared intensely at the symbols of his goddess, using the familiar lines and symbols to block out all thoughts but those of his prayer. Slowly he whispered prayers of cleansing and purification, centering his thoughts upon purifying himself to be a perfect conduit for Talona's blessing. "May I be a pure instrument of Your healing grace."
            The healer slowly focused on Anya as he extended his arms and held his hands above her. His voice was strong and confident as he called to his goddess. "Great Mother Talona. Your child Anya has traveled through darkness. She has suffered, but she has remained strong and faithful. Send her Your strength. Restore that vhich has been taken from her. It is through Your power ve are healed. It is through Your power that ve are strong. Heal Anya that she may be whole again." The scars on Krel's body burned with new rage as Talona's blessing coursed through him and spread out over Anya and filled the injured woman with healing power. The Atjet lowered his arms slowly as he allowed himself a moment to feel the aches of his body and remember that it was only through Talona's grace that he was alive at all.
            Her horse tended to, Aksana paused outside the Talontar's tent flap. "Atjets? It is I, Aksana." Aksana waited for his reply and then she lugged her equipment into the tent. Placing it in an out of the way corner she quickly rummaged through her pack coming up with a plain set of peshka's clothes. She placed them in a neat pile near the bed and watched the Atjets set and mend Anya's injuries.
            Watching the Atjets call to Talona to heal Anya brought nightmarish visions of Aksana's own past back to her. Voices calling out to Shar to heal an injured child filled her head. Her ears rang and she nearly swooned. She tried to recover quickly, hair falling forward to hide her face, she busied herself straightening some of the Atjets leftover supplies.

            Thaurlann's gaze, intense at first, slowly dulled as the night wore on. The earlier battle with the creatures, though short, had been tiring. <"If that damned creature hadn't gotten a lucky shot, I would have surely finished them both!"> he muttered under his breath. He stared up at the stars, trying to count the time since he had been sent to this post. How many hours ago? Why had no one come to relieve him?
            As the hours stretched on, Thaurlann began to wonder if this long post had been a punishment for his insubordination with the captain, or simply punishment for being an "outlander."
            He remembered fondly the Atjets who had taught him about Bane and the Servants, helped him learn the language, and warned him about the prejudice Thaurlann would face in these lands. Still, he hadn't expected it to be quite so obvious. Perhaps he had hoped in his heart that others might be as open minded as the Atjets he had met on that journey.
            On the other hand, perhaps this post was no longer than any other he had held; the pain in his knee intensified every hour of his vigil. He grimaced but forced himself to stay standing straight, performing his duty no matter the pain. He could barely focus his eyes into the depths of the darkness without visions of his past visiting him.

Mirtul 17

            The watch had been an exercise in both patience and pain; Thaurlann's knee was no longer agreeably numb, and it was impossible to walk without a mind-searing burst of pain. Though not as tired from the long march as most of the other warriors thanks to Lightning, his long stint of watch duty would make the following day of trekking through the wilderness trying.
            The Atjets had asked Thaurlann to join him "vhen duty permits". Surely his duty could permit a short respite now? He took one step forward and nearly collapsed to the ground in pain and exhaustion. He limped forward, each step seeming to take a lifetime, hoping to find the Talontar's tent while he could still move.
            It was near daybreak, and the world was a soft gray haze, sleeping men and campfires emerging and sinking into the cool mist as he struggled along. The tents the priests had brought rose out of it like some huge, sleeping beast; within some of them he could hear a few already at their morning prayers. Catching one on a groggy return from the bushes, he was given directions to the Atjets' tent. "But you cannot go in," the priest told him, slightly more awake after registering Thaurlann's intent. "There is an unved girl inside. If Atjets Krel has told you to come, he vill come outside vhen you call to him." The priest wished him a good morning and tottered away to his warm bedroll.
            Thaurlann stood outside the tent flap tentatively. A part of him did not wish to disturb Krel's work - or, possibly, sleep - but another part of him longed for anything that might relieve the intense pain he felt.
            He cleared his throat and then, more meekly than he would have liked, called out, "Atjets Krel? I have finished my post, and come as you requested."
            A few moments passed as quiet movements came from inside the tent. The flap pulled back slightly and the bald head of Atjets Krel appeared. Not covered in a scarf as it had been the previous day, the smooth shaved skin was broken in patches by the same angry burn scars which seemed to cover the healer's skin every where it was seen. A glance at Thaurlann was followed by a quiet, "Von moment, outlander," as Krel disappeared back into the tent.
            A minute later Krel reappeared with his healing supplies and water skin slung over shoulder. The healer looked tired and a bit worn, but it was impossible to tell if he had just woken or perhaps never slept at all. Krel stretched a knot out of his left shoulder as he looked around the camp. He pointed a short distance away from the tents where he hoped they would not disturb anyone too much.
            "Your vatch vas longer than I expected. The leg fares vell?" Thaurlann merely shrugged and smiled politely at the question, too tired to come up with a dignified response. He shuffled alongside Krel dutifully.
            The healer watched Thaurlann closely as they moved toward the spot he had chosen for the healing. As they passed by one of the previous nights fires, the Atjets stopped and fished around for an ember which was still hot. Producing a small pipe which was already packed, Krel carefully lit the pipe and took several slow draws. The smoke had the odd hint of something herbal and Krel seemed a bit more relaxed after a few moments.
            "Your name, outlander?"
            A look of embarrassment overcame Thaurlann. He had never properly introduced himself, yet he was now asking for favors of the priest? Perhaps it just escaped his attention during all the confusion of the previous night. "I am Thaurlann," he said, stopping for a moment to bow.
            Krel nodded and took another draw from his pipe. He looked intensely at Thaurlann, "You fought bravely, so your faith I vill not openly qvestion. A heretic, it is said that Talona vill not bless them vith Her healing touch. I vill set the leg and I offer you the Great Mother's divine healing. You may refuse, many might. It is your choice and nothing further vill I think of the matter."
            Thaurlann nodded as Krel explained the process, piecing together bits of what his mentor had taught him of the Moonsea deities with what Krel told him to try and understand. "I am no heretic, though I was born one," Thaurlann said after a moment. "I now follow Bane and his Servants, though I am not one of his Chosen people. I do not fear the unknown, so do what you think is best." In his mind, a terrified little boy longed to run in a corner and hide, but he told the boy to be quiet. I will prove myself to Bane. I am not a heretic.
            Krel nodded in response to Thaurlann's declaration of faith. "Very good, out... Thaurlann. Let us see how the leg is doing." Thaurlann sat down on the ground - slowly - and began removing pieces of armor on his leg. Dried blood had spattered much of it, though he suspected that was due more to his earlier acrobatics than the severity of the wound. Being off the leg, however, was an instant burst of relief. He nearly fell asleep on the spot, but struggled to stay awake while Krel worked.
            The healer removed the splinting which he had placed to support the broken knee earlier in the night and spent several moments prodding the sensitive areas around the knee. "It looks like there may be a couple of breaks near the knee. Ve must stretch the leg so I can try to shift the breaks back into line." Krel looked at the drowsy Thaurlann as he took out the bone crank and strapped it above and below Thaurlann's knee. "This vill hurt, although as a soldier you may be used to such things." The healer handed the warrior a strip of hard leather. "In case you vant to bite something." Thaurlann looked at Krel with confusion, but finally took the leather. The warrior sniffed the strap and then tentatively tasted it, finally shrugging his shoulders and holding the leather strap to the side.
            Krel cranked the bone clamp tighter and tighter, checking often to see if the contraption was working correctly. Once the leg was stretched tightly, the healer leaned his weight against the broken limb, forcing the bones to move, trying to shift them back into position. Krel glanced at Thaurlann occasionally, but focused on getting done as quickly as possible. The device completely befuddled Thaurlann, and trying to make sense of Krel's actions seemed fruitless. To try and divert the pain, he made stilted conversation.
            "The woman?" Grunt. "Is she okay?" Grunt. "Was she also a victim of the creatures?" Krel continued to work the knee as he responded.
            "Her name is Anya, and she is doing vell. She vas at the keep and captured by bandits." He sat back after a moment and considered Thaurlann. "The bone vorks against me. I've gotten the bones in line, but they are not perfect. Talona can heal the bones as they are. It vill be strong but it vill likely pain you from now on." Krel held up his hands in defeat. "There may be another among my brothers who could set it better. Ve can vait until day break to get somevone else if you like. If you vant to continue, I vill pray to Talona for her healing touch."
            Sweat dripped down Thaurlann's brow as he finally gained a respite from the pain. He responded firmly, "I must get back to my duty as quickly as possible. I have seen your power and I know you're more skilled than you think. You may ask for Talona's blessing, and I know She will make me strong again!"
            Atjets Krel corrected Thaurlann in a soft tone. "Talona's power is vhat you have vitnessed. Remember that it is only through Her grace that ve are healed. I am just a tool, used by the Great Mother as She vishes. Call to Her in your heart and I vill pray that She sends you Her blessing."
            Krel reached down to hold the injured leg. The Atjets closed his eyes and called to his goddess. "Great mother Talona, strengthen our veakness, heal our incomplete selves, and remove our imperfections. Your strength makes us better, heals our bodies and spirits. Heal Thaurlann that he may defend and protect your faithful." As he prayed, Krel felt the scars on his skin begin to burn with the fire of Talona's touch. The heat of Her divine fever surrounded Krel, enveloping him in Her power, a power Krel couldn't begin to understand. In an instant Talona's touch was gone, leaving Krel drenched in sweat.
            With a gasp, "May the fire of Talona's fever consume me completely, that I may serve Her always." Krel sat back slowly and seemed to gaze at nothing, his hands folded into his lap. Thaurlann remained silent, allowing the priest as much time as he needed to recover.
            As Thaurlann finally began to move, he realized that the leg, though ten times improved from the night before, still resisted his every movement. Did I fail in my test of faith? No, perhaps I am just still being tested. After all, there is still much to do. He rolled onto his stomach, pushed himself up onto his good knee, then finally hopped up onto one leg. As he turned back towards the camp, he could see the pace of movement increasing, signaling little time to dally. He bent down awkwardly to pick up his discarded boot, then turned to Krel.
            "Thank you, Atjets," he said, performing another stilted bow. "Bane keep you this day."

            Aksana was roused by a priest who stuck his head into the tent. "Bane give you a good day. Ve must make ready to leave now." He paused expectantly, eyes flicking between the two women.
            She looked around in momentary confusion, not sure where she was. When her eyes landed on Anya, the prior evening came back to her. It seemed that she had been more tired than she thought. As she focused on it the feeling of exhaustion flooded over her again, and she had to shake her head to focus on what the priest was saying.
            He stared at Anya's bandages as though searching for something, but addressed himself to Aksana. "The sergeant, he is taking count. You are a sellspear, yes?"
            Struggling quickly to her feet, Aksana nodded. "Yes, I am." She looked around for Krel. "The woman should not be left alone. Is Atjets Krel nearby?"
            "No doubt he vill return soon, but you must go now. There is no more time for tending you this morning."
            The sound of their voices woke Anya from her restful sleep. The Chosen's power to call forth his Goddess' healing blessing had done wonders for her body. It would have taken weeks for her to heal this much.
            Pushing herself up on the cot with her elbows, she looked at Aksana and the priest. "Vhat is going on?" she asked, uncertain of the glances the man gave her. Like Aksana, she could hear the sounds of the camp being struck.
            Aksana turned quickly and knelt by Anya's side. "It is morning. It seems that duty vill call me avay for a little bit, but I vill return as soon as I can. I vill find Atjets Krel to watch over you before I leave." She smiled encouragingly at Anya.
            Satisfied that the sellspear was leaving, the priest nodded towards Anya. "Take your comrade vith you. Bane keep you this day." His head disappeared back outside.

            The morning mist lightened by degrees as the captain called the troops to move out. After the attack of the night before, no scouts were ordered ahead; the captain rode at the head of the group with his lieutenant and the miner who was their guide, the rest of them following, bunched together and staring hard into the thick trees. Having left the road, the going was much harder than the previous day's march, and the captain kept the company to a slow pace to accomodate the priests - and the wounded.
            As the group began to move out, Krel found Anya and offered to let her ride his horse. "My leg pains me too much to ride. Please, your journey has been difficult, accept this small assistance I may offer. I vill valk vith you."
            Aksana did her best to saddle her horse quickly, fumbling with the cinch a bit before getting it right. She began the march near the rear of the company where she had been accustomed to riding. When she received no orders to the contrary she urged her horse forward to ride slightly behind Krel and Anya.
            It had taken many more tries than normal for Thaurlann to mount his steed. He did not ask for help, either out of pride, honor or the belief that nobody would help him even if he did. As the company entered the trees and began closing in together, Thaurlann fought to position himself as close to the wounded priest as he could.
            Krel was mostly silent as the company made their way through the forest. His body still ached from the many prayers he had performed the night before, the weight of his armor rubbed his raw skin and his leg throbbed slightly with each step. Krel paid little attention to the discomfort, instead his thoughts dwelled on the events of the past night. He had relied on Talona heavily during the first day of their journey. Was it a sign of Her continued favor? Was it a sign of his own weakness that he could not deal with these events on his own? As he continued to walk, Krel held a simple cord with many knots. The Atjets moved his hand from knot to knot as he counted the prayers he quietly recited.
            The clothes Aksana had lent her felt tight on Anya. Still, she was glad to be fully dressed again. Riding on the Atjets horse, she felt watched by all the men in the troop. She was convinced that they all knew exactly what had happened to her and were judging her even as they walked. Some disapproved, others were disgusted, and others still were thinking of raping her themselves. She could feel it. Out of shame and as a conscious effort to ignore the stares, Anya hung her head and looked at the horse she was riding. The steed's steady step was reassuring to the much travelled ranger. The familiar feeling of riding reminded her of her travelling companion of the last few years who had grown into a very close friend.
            "Silkymist!" Anya's head suddenly snapped up and she stared into the distance, in the direction the group was headed, in an effort to see Ezeroh Keep. She was suddenly worried about what had become of her trusted steed. She had left the mare untied, as always, so she should have been able to feeding herself and wait for Anya. Unless someone had taken her. The thought of the bandits claiming Silkymist as a prize made her stomach turn and she quickly pushed it aside as her eyes looked down once more.
            The priests murmured among themselves, staring at Krel with quiet awe. With them riding close together to speak among themselves, rather than spreading out to assure the freeswords that the hand of Bane was over them, the tension among the freeswords rose. Squabbles broke out as nerves were strained by the slow pace that kept them longer in the Forest.
            The lieutenant came trotting back, scanning the ranks. Spotting who he wanted, he called out, "You, gypsy! Let us hear a tale to lighten the spirit!"
            "As you command," the man - Spielos by name - said, flashing an easy smile and bowing deeply. "I've many a tale to tell!" He walked to where more eyes could be upon him, while making a show of pulling his hood back. His unruly shock of white hair sprung out in all directions once free of its restraint. Letting the murmurs of his audience spread down the ranks, he made a few elaborate stretching moves. When the murmurs had reached a suitable level, he gave a crisp cry of "Hey!" and sprung up, turning a flip in the air and landing on his hands. He walked like that for a few moments before turning right side up again, only to hop up into the air once more and turn a few flips and round offs before he lightly landed on his feet and began walking again. He projected his rich baritone voice far without seeming to scream, revealing either long practice or training.
            "Today, I shall tell you a tale of a man who was so sure of himself-" He feigned tripping over something on the ground, falling into a comic and elaborate heap on the ground, and continued, "-that he never saw his downfall coming." The watching freeswords roared with laughter, those farther off jostling to get a view.
            As the bard began Aksana eyed him keenly, trying to judge his character. Was he really so foolish, or was it part of the show? He seemed light-footed enough as he sprang back to his feet, and the sellspears around her didn't seem inclined to mock him for his clumsiness.
            Thaurlann heard the rousing voice and perked up, trotting Lightning forward a few lengths. Looking over the heads of those shorter than him - or on foot - he watched the gypsy's acrobatics with great delight. He applauded the tumbling, and anyone looking at him would have noticed a broad smile - and would have noted it as a first time occurrence if they had studied the soldier for any previous amount of time.

            "The man in question was a merchant who milled grain in a small town. He was also a thief! As the peshkas all around him needed their grain to be milled and he was the only miller around, he took for himself a fee that was too high- he stole some of the grain and flour as well. The peshkas had no choice but to accept, for where else could they go? If they complained, the miller would refuse to mill their grain and they could not then send it to market or to their boyar, and then they would even worse off then if they let the miller steal from them. The miller was also very clever, and took pains to cover his dishonesty, so nothing could be proven about him."

            "Millers? Boyars?" Thaurlann muttered to himself. "Where are the dragons? The fair maiden in distress?"

            "This went on for years- the peshkas grumbled, but nothing ever changed. The miller grew fat, living off the work of others, and bought for himself rich clothing and rare spices from far away lands with which to season his food. One day, the boyar came riding through that area with his taxman, taking stock of his lands and people. Seeing this as an opportunity to impress his master, the miller set up his house to receive the boyar, and made him a great feast.
            "The boyar, who had traveled long and hard that day, was sore and tired, but he was no fool. He saw how the miller was dressed and tasted how delicious his food and wines were. When they finished eating, he let out a mighty buuuuurp and patted his stomach and called to one of his man. 'Fetch that worthless man of mine, and have him bring the money box and the book! I've a surprise for our friend the miller!'
            "The miller was delighted, thinking of the rich reward he would get from the boyar, who he had so impressed with his meal. He made a great show of pouring the boyar more wine, and offered to get another bottle if it was needed.
            "'You've done enough,' said the boyar. 'More than you know, really.'
            "After a time, the taxman arrived with the money box. The boyar asked him 'How much tax has our friend the miller paid to us?'
            "The taxman looked in his book and found the answer. 'Five silver this past year, and each of the 5 before it.'
            "The boyar nodded. 'Not enough,' he said. 'Not enough. I've tasted your fine wine and eaten your rich food, friend miller. You're a rich man, but you don't pay the taxes of one. You've been stealing from me!' The miller was astounded. Never had he thought he should even have to pay taxes on the grain and four he was stealing.
            "'Guards!' the boyar yelled. 'Turn this house inside out! Find the money this man has been holding back from me!'
            "The guards did as they were bid, and found the miller's coin box. The boyar had them empty all of the miller's coins into his own money box. He then had his guards beat the miller.

            "All this because the miller forgot his place, and got what he deserved," Spielos finished, and looked around him, seeing how well his tale was taken by his audience. The sellspears cheered and called for more, the tension relieved with their yells and laughter. The lieutenant grinned through his dark beard, flipping a coin Spielos' way. In spite of herself, Aksana found that she enjoyed the tale. As the bard finished up she quickly looked down at her horse. Giving it a gentle pat on the neck, she studied the man further from behind her long hair.
            The first noticeable thing about the gypsy was his shocking burst of unruly white hair. The second was that he carried a sword, despite his practical clothes - no mere commoner, then. Quick with a smile, his flashing blue eyes spoke of merriment and an inside joke only he understood; his rich baritone resonated with sincerity. He'd have made an excellent priest, or interrogator. Certainly he was no fool.
            Krel had only partially listened to the bard as his story unfolded. He nodded absently at the moral of the story and added a prayer to Bane that he always remember his own place. Thaurlann had drifted back to his previous position near the wounded, his heavy eyelids straining to stay lifted.
            Anya had hardly listened to the tale, lost in her thoughts as she was. She was relieved that someone else had become the center of attention, although she still felt stares on her back. The Atjets paced next to her to check on how she was feeling. "How are you doing? Is there anything else vhich you need?"
            She shook her head sadly. "No, I am just anxious to arrive at Ezeroh," she said without looking at the Atjets, "I have a... friend waiting for me there. I hope."

            With the gypsy's tales to distract them, the day seemed over quickly. Though the Forest still surrounded them, they'd moved up into the hills where they could see out over the land through breaks in the trees, and the men were in a good mood as they pitched camp. Vanos and Galka helped Thaurlann ease off his horse, cursing him and cuffing his arm companionably before heading off to their other duties. Thaurlann grinned again for the second time on this journey as he took the good-natured abuse. His experience as a soldier told him it meant respect. Though he told himself he valued higher things than respect, having at least a few friendly faces among the other soldiers helped ease the feelings of solitude. He returned a couple of the punches, but none of the cursing (which he hadn't quite picked up in Damaran yet anyway), and waved at Vanos and Galka as they returned to duty.
            He stifled a yawn and looked for his sergeant.
            As fires were started to keep off the bugbirds, the lieutenant made his way through the milling men to Spielos. "You have a good vay vith vords, gypsy. If you vill keep the men's minds off the Forest for the rest of the march, I have more coin to give you."
            Spielos snapped out of the half-trance he was in, his hand sliding from his rapier and a smile lighting up his face. He nodded slightly within his hood, the fire reflecting in his eyes. "Thank you, sir," he said. "I'll do my best to keep spirits up, but not so much I'll call attention to us."
            The lieutenant grinned, his teeth showing white between his beard. "Just right. Find me vhen ve reach the village, and you'll get your coin."

            "You, scout!" Aksana jumped as she found the sergeant bearing down on her, his chewing-root clamped furiously in his teeth. He ground them together as he roared, "Vhat is this I hear of you taking the title of a Manakja? You think it is funny? You see me laughing?" He eyeballed her for a moment as though expecting an answer, then bulled ahead. "This may not be the army, but there are no tricks and foolishness vhen I run a company!" He jabbed a finger at her and glared, shifting the root from one side of his mouth to the other. Aksana's hair fell forward as she looked down at her toes, chastised. A red blush of shame crawled up her neck and covered her face, blending with the scars.
            "You think you are clever, eh? Then let us put this cleverness to use," he continued more quietly. His eyes flicked over the foreigners in the company. "You keep an eye on the outlanders, and that voman the Atjets brought in. You get me if there is any sign of trouble or vitchcraft, you understand? Keep an eye on the gypsy, vhile you are at it. The last thing ve need is to find him gone along vith our animals and supplies." He squinted at her, chewing the sweetroot. "The first sign of trouble. And no more of this Manakja nonsense. The Gods vatch you, and vhether or not they forgive you, the priests vill not."
            He paused, brows beetling. "Vhy are you just standing there? Get moving!" he bellowed. "Yes sir!" Aksana stammered, watching him stalk off to terrorize someone else. She could hear him berating the sellswords for infractions real and imagined on the other side of the camp. She wondered at this turn of events. He had unwittingly aided her in her original mission. Aksana could hear him berating the sellswords for infractions real and imagined on the other side of the camp.
            One of the true soldiers grinned at her as he passed. "If you do not vant Stammel Stickbiter after you again, you had better look busy!" She flashed a shy smile at him for his good advice. She muttered a quick prayer to Shar as she began looking around for Atjets Krel, Anya and the gypsy.

            Thaurlann waited on one leg as the sergeant finished off another of his many victims for the night. He saluted as the gruff man passed him, waiting for acknowledgment. "Ready for watch again, sir. Just tell me how I can help."
            Sergeant Stammel came to a halt much faster than his bulk would imply. He looked Thaurlann over, fists planted on his hips, then spat licorice-root juice into the dirt. "Do not be stupid, outlander. There are Talontar here - go get that leg seen to," he said gruffly, adding more loudly, "Ve marched too slow today - if you did not have that horse, ve might as vell build an outpost here and settle!" He trundled away without another glance back at Thaurlann.

            Krel was glad that the long day of walking had come to an end. He knelt briefly and rubbed the stiffness out of his lower leg. The injury was still sore, but his goddess had healed the bone strong, and it had held up well during the long day of walking. The Atjets added a silent prayer of thanks for Talona's blessing, one of many scores of prayers he had said during that day.
            Krel offered to help Anya dismount and waited patiently for the soldiers to decide where the various tents would be placed within the camp. Once it was determined where the Talontar would be place, Krel guided his horse toward that location.
            Krel spoke quietly with Anya. "You vill stay vith the Talontar again tonight. I vill see vhat can be arranged. Vonce the camp settles I vill offer prayers to Talona. Perhaps the Great Mother vill see fit to offer you Her blessings further." Krel unpacked his blanket and handed it to Anya. "Please, sit and rest. The horse, it needs tending, and then I vill speak vith my brothers."
            Anya looked down at Krel's leg as she took the blanket. She could tell it must be a bad wound. It was ironic how he had done such a good job healing her the night before - Anya had never witnessed such powerful divine healing - yet he did not heal himself.
            "Atjets," she said, "Perhaps the Great Mother vill see fit to bless her devoted servant instead of me tonight. To care for others you must also care for yourself. Your leg, it is in bad shape. I vill tend to the horse, it is something I love. Tend to yourself, Atjets. You deserve it." She took hold of the horse's reins and petted the animal's nose. It bumped its head against her companionably.
            Krel looked at Anya for a moment as he held onto the horse's saddle to help keep his weight off of his injured leg. He nodded his agreement, the burn scars on his face and neck pulling oddly with every movement. "The saddle, I vill remove." Krel pulled at the tight straps which held the saddle in place, unfastened them, and pulled his saddle and gear from the horse. The effort almost toppled the small man, and he dropped the gear heavily at his feet.
            He sat down heavily near his gear and spoke softly as Anya soothed the horse. "None of us truly deserve Talona's gifts. Ve are imperfect shadows of the divine. Von of the great mysteries is that She heals our many faults, but Talona has blessings enough for both of us. Ve must find the faith to seek Her grace." The Atjets paused, looking down at his hands as he rambled on. "Great pain there is in the vorld. Pain vhich Loviatar strengthens us to endure and Talona can lift from us all. If ve do not feel this pain, then ve vill not appreciate the great gifts to us." Krel sat silently for a few long moments. "My vounds burden the company, slow the pace, so this night I vill pray to be lifted of that burden. Ve shall pray to lift your burden also."
            Anya nodded gravely, satisfied he had accepted the wisdom of her words. Still, he wouldn't be able to set the bone in his leg by himself. The other Atjets would surely help him or perhaps she could return the favor he did for her. Anya had never set bones before, but she had seen it done before and knew how to do it in theory. She was about to propose it to Krel when Aksana arrived.

            Aksana saw Anya and Atjets Krel speaking with each other near the tents of the Talontars. Anya was patting the nose of Krel's horse. Aksana made her way through the camp, leading her own horse. "Good evening to you, Atjets Krel," she said with a bow. "You look much improved this night, Lady Anya," she commented, turning to Anya. She looked at the ground and shuffled her feet.
            "I am not vell-accustomed to horses," she started. "I vas vondering..." She hesitated, then blurted out, "Could you give me some pointers on how to care for her?" Her face turned red with embarrassment as she hurried on. "She vas a gift, and I do not vant her to become ill just because I do not know how to care for her."
           
            Anya looked at her for a moment, studying the smaller woman. She looked very much out of place with this band and the ranger wondered why she was really here. She didn't look like much of a warrior or a ranger, but finally Anya shrugged off the reflexion. It wasn't her business anyway.
            "Of course, I vill help you," the ranger said. "And do not call me Lady, for I am of common birth. Anya vill do."
            Anya then set about explaining to Aksana how to properly unsaddle a horse, to give it a rub down with a handful of long grass and to clean its shoes. It was very comforting for the ranger to be talking about something as mundane as animal care after the trials of the last few days. It was a return to normal, in a sense.
            Krel watched the two women tend to the horses. Now that he had been sitting for a few moments, he doubted whether he wanted to try to stand again. The long day of walking had been a struggle and his leg throbbed, but he resisted the urge to do anything about it just yet.
            He chatted absently as the women worked. "Horses, I am not good vith them either. I did my share of chores in the stables, but the horses never bonded with me as they did others." He looked into his horse's eyes for a moment, absently scratching the burn scars on his arm. The horse shifted, blowing at him. "Sometimes I vonder if they sense Talona's touch in me." He shrugged off the thought. "More likely I spend too much time vith the injured and in the herb gardens. I must smell truly offensive to their big noses." A half-smile crossed Krel's face, the burn scars on the left side refused to comply with the subtle expression.
            Anya nodded to the Chosen's words. She had always marvelled at the level of devotion the Chosen conveyed, and not for the first time, she wondered about the sacrifice such devotion might require. She, probably more than most, knew how important the gods were in one's life, but still had trouble keeping her faith unshaken.
            She was about to answer him when her stomach grumble loudly enough to be heard by her two companions. She looked at the priest. "The rations, they vill be handed out soon?" she asked.

            Spielos shrugged out of his cloak, removed his baggy shirt and began to stretch and exercise. What strange people, he thought. Not his best work, but this lot was in sore need of distraction. He was lucky to have such an audience, and perhaps they were lucky to have him. Surely, some of the people acted like they had never seen a rhymer before. It amazed him - among the ports of the Heartlands, every corner was sure to have some sort of showman plying his trade. Surely, he'd have many eyes upon him now. While he liked being the center of attention, he was unsure how well he was going to fit in in this strange and foreign land. His old friend had left a lot out in his tales, that was sure. Winding down with a few extended strength moves, he dressed and rummaged through his equipment.
            He pulled out his rapier, which was a well made if very plain piece of steel. Thaurlann was poking his head here and there, trying to find the Talontar when he noticed the white-haired gypsy pull out a sword. Thaurlann raised an eyebrow in interest and paused for a moment.
            Rummaging into his pack, Spielos brought out an oilcloth and began to rub the blade, inspecting the well cared for blade for signs of rust. He began to chant softly as he worked.
"I'm a roving man, very far from home
raised by shanty men on the ocean's foam
Now I walk the forest with men brave and sure
Oh, much worse company I have had to endure

"And so we stop to rest by our fires bright
to lay us down to sleep away the night
could someone please tell my feet
to stop throbbing for I'm surely beat

"'cause we've been walking for days
'cause we've been walking for days
Please tell me feet to go to sleep
we'll be walking for days

"Gotta get some rest, we'll be on the go
just a short time after the sun does show
the food is bad, the weather worse
and my feet are aching like I've a curse

"'cause we've been walking for days
'cause we've been walking for days
Please tell me feet to go to sleep
we'll be walking for days."


            Thaurlann realized only after the gypsy had stopped chanting for a moment that he had been entranced, perhaps helped along by his lack of sleep. Nevertheless, his curiosity was piqued enough for him to delay his current errand.
            "You are a swordsman as well?" he asked, interrupting the gypsy. "And I notice you also have an accent. I am Thaurlann, of Arabel." He made a half bow. "May I ask your name and where you're from?"
            Spielos flashed a ready smile. "When one travels the roads as I have done, one realizes the true value of good steel, but I'm no swordsman. Not like you, in any event." He put his rapier away, satisfied that it was oiled properly, and stood up to face Thaurlann. He then executed a backflip and landed on his hands.
            "I'm a performer," he said as he changed his stance to balance on one hand. "I am called Spielos, for reasons that will no doubt become apparent. As for where I'm from, I wish I knew that myself. I was raised on the sea and had my training on the Dragon Coast." He executed an elaborate turn and wound up sitting, facing the young warrior.
            "What of yourself? Surely you've a tale to tell- tell it well, and I may tell it myself," he said, again smiling broadly.
            Thaurlann watched the acrobatics with a wry smile. "You might be the first person in these northern lands with a cheery disposition. I pray you keep it."
            If you only knew, young soldier, Spielos thought. I will, I shall. "I'm afraid my tale is just started. The gods haven't revealed their greater purpose for me." He shrugged, shifting his weight slightly as he favored one leg. "I've fought many foes, but I was meant for something greater than killing common bandits and goblins. My mother once told me-" He broke off suddenly. His face showed a sudden discomfort or embarrasment, like a peshka who suddenly realized he'd started eating a meal meant for nobles. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to carry on. I'm sure you have preparations to make. I must check on the woman we rescued last night and see how she fares."
            "Very well, Thaurlann. You've a good heart, and a bad leg. You might want to get that looked at, we've a bit of walking left to do." Speilos smiled. "I think I'll look after my aching feet."
            Spielos took off his boots and examined his feet, taking care to dry them and shave off (with great care) any thick calluses that could cause trouble later. He then checked the daggers he kept hidden on his person and made his bed ready to go to sleep.

Mirtul 18

            It rained throughout their third day on the road, a drizzle that draped twilight between the trees and made the ground slick and treacherous. It was made less wearying thanks to Atjets Krel, who had worked himself into oblivion the night before to see that their wounds were tended. Their recovery was nothing short of miraculous. Though they still suffered slightly from their hurts, it was as though they were tendays - even months - old. All they had to show for their injuries were faint scars and a sharp gnawing in the gut as their bodies encouraged them to replace the energy they'd used. The priest alone had suffered for what he earned them, his own leg still in poor shape and his face sallow. Having donated his mount to the woman Anya, he slowed their march still as he limped along.
            Another Atjets rode in beside him, leaning down to speak quietly. "Come, Atjets Krel, ride vith me. It is unbecoming for us to valk among the common men." His eyes flicked around the trees surrounding them.

            The hike up the hills and into the deep forest was strenuous, but the large force encountered no trouble, though wolves had howled throughout the night. The guide led them through the Forest (like a herd of cattle wearing cattle-bells and stampeding to Anya's ears), pushing everyone to more speed - but then, he didn't have armor to carry. When the men complained, he told them of dragons living out here, dragons that sucked away your soul and screamed with the souls of the damned it had trapped until it drove you mad. The lieutenant shut him up with a cuff to the head as soon as he realized what the man was doing, but it was too late. The warriors strained to see everything around them, skittish, and the story began unfortunate talk of all the horrors that supposedly dwelled in the great Forest, despite the lieutenant and sergeant's efforts.
            Spielos tried to calm the warriors. He walked along the lines, telling tales of stunning heroics and victories. One such story follows:

            "There was a trade ship called Destiny that sailed the sea, carrying herbs and fabrics to distant ports. It was captained by a young seaman named Muir who came from a long line of sea captains. He was young, but very experienced, having spent his whole life aboard one ship or another. While the work was at times hard, everyone on board knew their job well, and they enjoyed success in their trade.
            One day, shortly after the boat left port, low in the sea with goods, it was spotted by pirates. The pirates had a much larger boat, but it was designed to catch other boats, so it was almost as fast as the boat of Captain Muir. The Captain knew such a day as this would one day come, so he ordered the boat to run and he addressed his crew.
            "My friends," he said, for they had sailed many long miles and had to depend on each other in order to survive many times, "there is nothing to fear from these pirates. Sure, they are many and we are few. Sure, their boat is almost as fast as ours, but it is bigger and slower to turn. We will head for the reefs to our south and escape them there!"
            The crew was afraid. The reefs to the south of port were tricky and many ships had run aground there- many sailors had died. Still, if the Captain said they would make there escape there, that is what they would do, for they trusted their Captain well.
            For many days, the boats ran south, and each day saw the pirate ship still behind them. Over the sea, they could hear the shouts and taunts of the pirates, so close were the boats. They taunted the crew of the Destiny day and night, yelling at them how they would kill them and throw their bodies to the fish, take their goods and spend the money they got from them on ale and ladies while the poor crew men drifted in the ocean.
            Then the boats approached the reefs. All around them currents pulled and pushed at the boats. In the distance, the sailors of both ships could hear the breaking of waves and the roar of the ocean as the tides ripped through the reefs.
            Captain Muir took the wheel of his ship, and ordered his men to their tasks. "Take to the ropes, see to the deck," he shouted at his men, making sure each man was doing the job for which he was trained.
            Behind them, the pirates rigged their sails for speed, hoping to run the Destiny into ground and board it before it was too late. The chase grew quick, but the men of Destiny stuck to their tasks and ignored the pirates behind them, who began to grumble and argue among themselves as to the dangers of the reefs.
            Before long, they were into the dangerous reefs. The sailors of both ships had only to look to the left or to the right to see the skeletons of ships who had washed up on the reefs - and everyone was afraid. All talking stopped on the Destiny, but behind them the shouting grew louder until it was drowned in the roar of the sea.
            The sailors of Destiny stuck to their jobs, working with determination and skill. As the sun began to set, they broke through the reefs. Each man was near to exhaustion, but each and every one turned to look behind them for the first time - and saw that they were alone on the sea."

            His tale-telling did as he expected, and the men were heartened, marching with less fear in their eyes. As Spielos paused to wet his throat, the root-chomping sergeant paused beside him, clapping him on the shoulder and pressing a point-edged coin into his hand. "You are a good man, for a gypsy," Sergeant Stammel grunted before moving on.
            A murmur went down through the ranks, and even the priests were visibly relieved as word came back to them: the keep was in sight in the valley ahead, a lake spread out behind it. Soon they would reach the road that would lead them out of the Forest within a few candlemarks.
            Lieutenant Obrad had moved off to one side of the line, watching as the men marched by. When Thaurlann came even with him, Obrad motioned him over. Sergeant Stammel approached as well, looking unhappy.
            "Ve do not know if the Lord of this place, he still lives," Lieutenant Obrad said quietly, watching Thaurlann's face. "You vill go to hail the keep as a messenger from the city. If all is vell, they vill take you to see the Lord. He is old, vith hair gone grey or vhite, and his eyes, they are grey also. If all is not vell, pretend you do not know it. Either vay, say to them a great force comes. See how many soldiers are there, and come back to report. You understand?" Thaurlann nodded, although something about the clandestine nature of the mission caused him slight discomfort.
            "Let two go ahead, Lieutenant," Sergeant Stammel broke in. "If there is trouble, it vould be best to have tvice the chance of knowing vhere and how many their men are." He raised a hand, gesturing for Aksana to approach. Aksana started just a bit when the Sergeant gestured to her. She quickly recovered herself and stepped forward, nodding to her fellow scout. The sergeant didn't give her a second glance. "And if there is no trouble, the Lord maybe vill not vant to speak his orders to an outlander." Aksana glanced sidelong at Thaurlann to see his reaction to the comment. He nodded at her as she approached, though he again felt betrayed by uncertainty. He wondered for a moment if the officers knew something about this woman that he did not.
            Obrad stared at Stammel, who bowed his head. Grunting, the lieutenant flicked his reins and moved back into the stream of travelers. Sergeant Stammel watched him go, then spat dark juice into the bushes. "The two of you go, now. Go qvickly, before ve all get to the keep." He gave Aksana a meaningful look, then trotted out after the others.
            Thaurlann caught the pause and filed it away, trying to focus on his duty. Stop being so suspicious, he told himself. What would your mother think of such behavior? Aksana kept her face blank as she saluted the sergeant and turned to her horse. She was still a bit clumsy getting in the saddle, but her riding was beginning to improve through much forced practice.
            Thaurlann pulled alongside her. "Stay close, but let me know if I'm riding too fast for you." Aksana gripped her reigns tighter and nodded. "I vill do my best." She spurred the mare after the outlander, envying the easy way that he rode his own horse.

            The keep rose like a dark rock from the lake, with no guards visible on the parapets or in the windows, which were shuttered against the rain. The drawbridge was up, leaving a dark expanse of water between the land and the keep.
            No one called out to question the riders' presence.
            Thaurlann stared impatiently at the bridge, as if attempting to will it open. After few seconds that dragged on like hours, Thaurlann spoke. "Hello!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "We are messengers from the city seeking an audience with the lord of the keep. May we enter?"
            Aksana stopped her horse slightly behind Thaurlann's. Her eyes scanned the keep, looking for clues to what was going on. What struck her first was the quiet. The forest had been cleared back a ways from the road, and the rustle of new leaves seemed distant in the silence that hung about the keep. The loud cries of the black egrets that had taken flight at their arrival faded into the rustle of the rain and wind, emphasizing the quiet rather than breaking it. In the distance there was smoke, no doubt from the village, but the keep itself might as well have been deserted.
            Then she spotted movement in the arrowslits from the corner of her eyes.
            Though no one had answered, it seemed someone was listening.
            She felt exposed and vulnerable standing out in the open like this. She spared a quick look at the outlander; he was very impulsive, she thought. Aksana's fingers tightened on the reins as she stared at the keep. Her horse began to fidget as it picked up her tension.
            "Somevone is there, and they know that ve are out here," she hissed in a low voice.
            Thaurlann nodded without turning his gaze from the keep walls. He trotted Lightning a few paces, then turned around and came back a few paces, growing more impatient with each passing moment. "Where are they?" he muttered.

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The Second Cycle