“But how do you tell them apart? Or get them to come to you?” I asked as I mounted.
“What’s to tell?” Marcus asked. “Rafe’s black, Prest’s brown with the notched ear, Isdra’s roan with the scarred whither. And they come because that is the way of things. And while you might think so, they don’t all look alike. Any more than people do.”
I gave him a look, and would have asked more, but I was interrupted. “We’re to move to the center, Warprize.” Epor’s tone was firm.
“I understand.” We headed out to join the main body of the army. “How far to the village?”
“Not far,” Isdra replied. “The Warlord will take the warforce and form up before they send Rafe to the gates.”
“He will send word, Warprize.” Marcus added.
Resigned, I nodded, and concentrated on guiding my mount.
We traveled for sometime before we passed a stone pillar, about waist high, with a hollowed top, which marked the boundary of the lands claimed by the village. A glint of light off the tip caught my eye. It could just be rainwater, but . . .
I tugged on the reins and started to work my way through the other warriors, urging my horse into the gaps between riders. He went willingly, shouldering aside the ones too slow to get out of our way. There was some loud swearing behind me, Epor from the sound of it, but I didn’t stop. Marcus, too, was cursing, but it was too late for him to try and stop me. I broke through the line of warriors and turned my horse back. Urging him to a canter, I headed back to the pillar. Marcus and Prest were behind me, I could hear them urging their horses on.
I reached the stone to see that the hollow was filled to the brim. I didn’t bother to dismount, just leaned over and dipped my fingers in the fluid. If it was water, well and good. But it hadn’t rained, and . . .
Breathing hard, I lifted my fingers, and the tang of vinegar filled my nose, making my eyes water. Vinegar, one of the strongest cleansers known. Vinegar, which, when placed in the hollow of a boundary stone, turned it into something else entirely.
“. . . one rock, one arrow, one word . . .” Keir’s voice rang in my head. Goddess, I had to reach him before it was too late. I yanked my horse’s head around, forgetting to be gentle. The horse fought me, tossing its head in protest, but it turned nonetheless. Marcus and Prest came up, their faces drawn into scowls, their horses snorting in protest.
“Warprize,” Marcus started, but I cut him off.
“I need to talk to Keir. And that scout. Now, Marcus.”
Marcus gave me an odd look. Prest turned a bit, scanning ahead down into the valley. Epor and Isdra galloped up, both frowning. “That was not well thought out, Warprize.” Epor scolded.
“It was stupid,” Isdra added.
“I need to talk to Keir. It’s important.”
“Do you see him?” Marcus asked.
“No,” Prest replied.
Marcus tilted his head back, and warbled out a long, trilling cry.
A response rose from the mass before us, and Marcus responded again, making a slightly different sound. He turned toward me. “Come.”
He urged his horse into a gallop, and I followed right behind.
Keir sat on his horse in the midst of turmoil, as the warforce prepared to move out. Yers and Iften were near by. The village was not yet in sight, for which I was thankful.
“Keir!” I called out as Marcus led me to his side.
Keir turned in our direction, frowning. “Lara, this is not safe—”
Iften was close at hand. “If she were a warrior, she’d be whipped.”
Keir snarled, and lashed out at Iften, hitting him full in the face. Iften crashed to the ground. He jerked to his feet, hands curled into fists. Keir’s hand was on his sword, his horse solid beneath him. “You take a hand to the Warprize and you die.”
There was a pause for a breath, as everyone seemed to freeze. Then Iften bowed his head, and the moment was gone. The man remounted as Keir whipped his head back around to face me. “You will—”
Marcus interrupted him. “She says she needs to talk to you.”
“Keir, I need to talk to the scout. This may not be what it seems.”
Keir shook his head, visibly reining in his temper. “Lara, I know you don’t want this to be a rebellion, but you must face the truth.”
“Once more. Let me talk to him once more, then you can have Prest haul me off,” I begged. “Please.”
Keir scowled, but he called to Yers. “Find Tant and bring him here.”
It didn’t take long. I was talking before he drew his horse to a stop. “Tant, tell me again what happened at the village.”
Tant looked at Keir, who glared at him, then turned back to me. “We rode up, Warprize, rode up to announce our presence and the army’s. Only to find the gates closed against us. I stayed ahorse, but Rton dismounted and went to bang on the closed gates, and they threw rocks at us.” Tant was clearly offended.
“Just rocks?” I asked.
“And arrows.” He was affronted by my questioning him. “They fired arrows at us. They hit the ground at our feet.”
“But didn’t hit you?” I pushed.
“What’s the point, Lara?” Keir asked.
“At us,” Tant insisted. “They shot at us, but they missed. What are you saying?” Tant’s eyes narrowed. “You doubt my word?”
“I think there was a different reason they drove them off.” I looked at Keir. “A reason that has nothing to do with rebellion.”
“They’re defying him,” Tant sputtered. “My word on it.”
“Tant,I—”
“They even painted the gates with blood in their defiance,” Tant rushed on angrily. “If that’s not rebellion, what is it?”
My heart froze in my chest. “Blood? On the gates?”
“Aye, and fresh, too.” Tant seemed proud of himself, at his final proof.
Keir’s gaze was on my face, and I looked at him, unsure how to voice my fear. He frowned. “Lara?”
“Tant,” I pushed the words through my dry throat. “Was there a pattern?”
“Pattern?”
“A design? Like a mark?”
Tant paused, thinking. “Aye.”
“Show me,” I demanded.
Tant shrugged, dismounted, and knelt in the dirt at our feet. He reached out and traced a ‘P’ with his finger.
I sucked in my breath, my worst fear made real.
“What is it, Lara?” Keir asked softly.
“Plague.”
4
“Lara? What is ‘plague’?” Keir’s voice was sharp.
“Marcus,” I jerked around in the saddle to look at him. “I need Gils. My supplies, where are my supplies?” I’d need fever’s foe, more than what I had at hand. Gils could make more, he’d learned that much.
“Xylara.”
That jerked my head around, my eyes wide. Keir rarely used my full name, and never with that tone before. He was sitting on his horse, looking as if his patience had gone. I swallowed hard. “I need Gils and my supplies.”
“You need to explain, Lara. I have a warforce poised, as you prattle about supplies. Tell me now, what is it about this illness that changes things in any way?”
“It’s plague. An illness that kills.”
“Illness kills?” Keir ran his hand through his hair, frowning.
“Yes, of course it does.” It took a moment to understand the full meaning of that question. But surely it was because he didn’t know the word. Yet, my breath caught in my throat. His eyes were full of doubt, how could he not understand?
“There is no ‘of course’ in this.” Keir responded in a voice that cut like a blade. “Are you telling me there is another explanation for the village’s actions? A valid one?”
Holy Goddess. He didn’t understand. “Keir, the villagers were trying to protect your men. It’s not a rebellion.” Keir frowned, but he listened as I continued. “Under our law, an afflicted village closes its gates and keeps to itself unt
il the disease has run its course. They fill the boundary stones with vinegar as a warning, and warn off any who try to enter. It’s not you they are fighting!”
“So.” Keir thought for a moment, then gestured to Iften. “We’ll position the warriors, but well back from the walls. No one is to attack except at my command. Full battle gear, I’ll not have any warrior dead of overconfidence.”
He pulled back on the reins, preparing to go. “Marcus, take her to the rear. Get her into some armor quickly, then come when I send for her,” he glared at me. “And only when I send for her.”
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a gesture. “And find Gils and get her what she thinks she needs. I will call for you when I am ready. Understood?”
My guards nodded, but it wasn’t enough for me. “Keir, what are you going to do?”
“As I’d planned before. We will move into position, and send a messenger to the walls.”
“Rafe. He needs to take precautions, I will—”
Keir didn’t take his eyes off me. “Rafe, go with the Warprize. Epor . . .”
Epor moved his horse up slightly. “Aye, Warlord?”
Keir’s gaze never wavered. “Keep her back, Epor. Within sight of the walls, but at a distance. And I order you to wrestle her to the ground and tie her to a tree if necessary.”
I flushed up at Keir’s words, biting my lip.
“Aye to that, Warlord.” Epor responded, a bit too enthusiastically.
“No word for plague?” I asked.
I turned my head to look at Marcus, and my new helmet fell forward over my eyes, hitting my nose.
“It’s too big.” Gils said, a knowing tone in his voice. “Shall I get another one?”
Marcus moved forward, as I lifted the rim off my eyes, and I flinched as he drew closer. He stopped, and looked at me, then took a step back.
Isdra grunted as she worked to stuff me in a heavy leather jerkin, one that had been made for a warrior larger than I. “Take it off, and twist up your hair, Lara. We’ll use the braid to help cushion it.”
Gils took the helmet from me. “Perhaps some of the clean bandages would help.”
“What is ‘plague’?” Rafe asked. He was mounted, as were Epor and Prest, surrounding us and keeping watch. Epor had taken Keir at his word, and we’d moved to the rear to find the supply horses and Gils. While warriors were milling about us, we were far enough from the action to satisfy my guards. I was standing in the grass as they tried to fit me with various pieces of armor.
Once Keir had reclaimed me as Warprize, messengers had been sent to Simus and Othur at Water’s Fall. They had in turn sent a messenger with letters of relief and joy and pack horses full of my healing supplies and equipment, all carefully packed for the journey.
Keir and Sal explained that with an army of this size, the best way to insure that I always had supplies at hand was to split everything equally between four pack horses and spread them out. No matter where I was, one of the horses would be close by.
“Plague is a kind of illness that kills, and kills many people very quickly. It spreads . . .” My voice trailed off as I looked up into Rafe’s puzzled face.
“So, like winter sickness that spreads in the lodges. A misery, nothing more.” Marcus said as he rummaged in a saddle bag, pulling out some long leather bracers.
“What is winter sickness?” I asked, running my fingers back through my hair to start the braid. The long sleeves of the jerkin were stiff and uncomfortable.
“A misery to be endured, for a time.”
Gils cleared his throat, trying to interrupt. At my nod, he spoke. “It affects the body, Warprize, with coughing, and sweating and feeling bad.”
I blinked in the sunlight as the mounted force seemed to swirl around us. The worst these people suffered was head colds? I looked back at Marcus. “No, plague is an illness that kills young and old, healthy and sick. It spreads quickly, and is very dangerous.”
He gave me a doubtful look. “There are stories . . .” His frown deepened. “For us, injury kills. Accidents kill. Being cursed, or afflicted, those can kill. But the one afflicted takes themselves off, to live or die as the elements decree. But illness? Illness is uncomfortable, but not a matter of death.” He let out an exasperated snort.
Prest looked over at him. “Tell her the rest.”
“Rest?” I asked sharply.
Marcus shrugged. “There are tales told of city folk.”
“What kind of tales?”
Isdra finished the lacings on my jerkin, and stepped back to survey her work. The thick, stiff garment hung on me like a sack. She considered me, frowning. “Maybe if we belt it around the waist.”
“No need.” Epor spoke from his horse. “It’s not as if she has to fight in it, just ride.”
“What tales?” I demanded, impatient with them. What hadn’t I been told?
Rafe answered slowly. “We would not offend, Warprize.”
“Oh for Earth’s sake.” Isdra snorted. “We have a saying. ‘Raid them for their treasures, leave them in their filth.’ There are songs of cities found with their gates closed, the people lying dead in the streets from their filth and corruption. Punishment for their sullying of the elements.” She reached over to help me wind my braid on the top of my head, and put the helmet on. “I’ve walked the streets of your city, Warprize. While it was not perfect, it was not knee-deep in filth by any means.”
The rags that Gils had padded the helm with slipped down to dangle in my eyes. I felt incredibly stupid, but my fear was stronger than my dignity. I focused on Rafe as Isdra stuffed the cloth up under my helmet. “Rafe, when you go up to the gates, touch nothing and no one.”
“Yes, Warprize.”
“Gils, tear some cloth into small pieces and douse them with the oil in the green bottle.”
“Aye, Warprize.” Gils started to work. Isdra accepted the bracers from Marcus, placed one on my forearm and started to tighten the lacings. I tried to stand still, but it was frustrating not to be able to move.
“Gils, now add four drops from the slender blue bottle.” I watched him dribble the scented oil out slowly. “Let me smell it.”
Gils lifted the bowl to my face with two hands, wrinkling his nose. Isdra turned her head, and sneezed.
“Good,” It was strong enough. “Let them sit for a bit. Rafe, if someone comes out of the gates to talk, stay well away from them.”
“Yes, Warprize.”
“We’ll give you some vinegar. Wash your hands and face with it after you return, before you come back to us.”
“Yes, Warprize.”
“Now, take two of those cloths from the bowl, roll them up, and put them in your mouth, between the gum and cheek.”
Isdra had finished with the bracers, and she knelt to tie some kind of leather over my thigh and shin. Marcus, moving slowly, knelt at my other side and did the same.
“Er,” Rafe looked at the oil soaked cloths that Gils held out to him. I could smell the sharp scent of ginger from here. “Warprize, is this necessary?”
I pointed at my helmet. “Is this necessary?”
“Yes,” Rafe’s answer was prompt. “Death comes in an instant. All it takes is a stray arrow.”
“Then so is that.” I pointed at the cloth. “Oil of ginger acts to prevent the spread of the contagion. Healers keep slices of ginger in their mouths when they treat people with the plague. This is the best I can offer.”
Rafe nodded glumly, and stuffed the cloth in his mouth, screwing up his face at the taste.
“Now roll up two more pieces and put them up your nose.”
They all stopped and stared at me in consternation.
I glared at them and tapped my helmet.
Rafe tilted his head back, and roared with laughter, startling the horses. The others laughed as well.
“So be it, Warprize.” Rafe wiped his eyes and accepted two more pieces of cloth. “I will armor against your invisible foe. But I will wait until the enemy is a
bit closer, eh?”
Marcus and Isdra stood and without thinking, I flinched back from Marcus. But this time I caught myself. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I don’t understand why—”
“I do.” He answered gruffly. “Think not on it, Lara.” His eyes regarded me steadily. “The fear will fade. But not the lesson, eh?”
“I will remember.”
Isdra had taken a step back, and put her hands on her hips to regard me. “It will serve.”
I felt the fool. “The enemy will die laughing.”
“So long as only the enemy dies.” Marcus growled. “Up now. We need to be ready when the Warlord calls us forward.”
We mounted up, with Gils scrambling to secure the pack horse with the healing supplies. The leather jerkin was chafing at the back of my neck, and I shrugged, trying to get comfortable. How did these people wear this all the time? But then I looked over at Rafe, wiping his eyes, probably from the fumes. I sighed, and resolved to live with the discomfort of my armor. At least for now.
As we moved out, Prest leaned over, and handed me a small wooden shield. I took it, surprised at its weight. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
He grinned at me, his teeth white against his dark skin. “Hide behind it.”
Iften had moved his warforce into position, ready to strike like a sharp knife. The warriors were poised, lances rattling in the quivers attached to their saddles. Their horses were churning the ground with their hooves, eager to run. My horse, on the other hand, was drowsing, his head hanging low.
From where I’d been positioned, I could see the village, with the ‘P’ on the gates, the blood now dried and brown. It looked small and vulnerable to my eyes.
“All right, Lara. I say again, what is ‘plague’?”
Keir sat next to me on his horse, in full battle gear. Those blue eyes that had been soft and warm in our bower under the alders were cold and hard.
Having talked to the others, I was ready for Keir’s disbelief. I described a plague, and told him the precautions the village would have taken. “To a Xyian, the ‘P’ on the gates is a warning of horror and death.”