The Barbarian's Bride (14 page)

“You will do no such thing,” Rikiar said. “You will be as far from the battle as is possible.”

“But Helsa has trained me…”

“Helsa has trained you not to cut yourself with your own blade. There will be real battle. You will not be involved in it.”

Merla looked at Aisling triumphantly. “One is what one is. A witch is born a witch, a pawn is a pawn and a princess will always find herself locked in a tower of some kind.”

“If this war is to be waged because of me, I will be a part of it,” Aisling insisted.

“You will not.” The words fell from Rikiar’s lips with a certainty like no other. He was more than firm, he was completely determined. He was the chief, and she his humble slave. She fell silent, knowing that argument would not serve her at all.

Rikiar left that night. He bade Aisling a fond farewell and told her to stay at home where she would be safe. No wandering outside the village, he said. No making trouble. She did not promise to honor either of his requests, but he was too busy organizing the village’s warriors to notice. He left her with a searing kiss and a promise to return—a promise Aisling did not place much trust in. It was not up to men whether they survived wars. It was up to forces far greater than they.

She cried herself to sleep that night. The bed was very empty without Rikiar in it beside her. It was suffused with his scent, but that only served to remind her of her solitude, and of the fact she may very well never see him again.

The next morning, Aisling went for a walk about the village. It was strangely empty. Many of the stalls were closed, and there were no familiar work sounds coming from the forge. Women passed hither and thither, but without their male counterparts Ravenblack was a much subdued place. Sadness hung in the air, a worried yearning for those departed.

To Aisling’s extreme surprise, she found Helsa and Dalon in the arena. They were both cleaning weapons. Neither of them looked happy.

“Helsa? What are you doing here?”

“We are the village defense,” Dalon said, looking more than a little bitter. “Rikiar took the men and left his war maidens here.”

“I suppose somebody has to defend the village.”

“Yes,” Helsa said. “But the staunchest defenders are not those with three holes instead of two between their thighs. The decision should have been made on merit, not sex.”

Aisling agreed. “Well,” she said. “I was going to follow along anyway. If my father is leading his troops against Rikiar, then it makes sense that I should be there. Merla the witch said as much. I have not seen her, so I can only think that she has gone with the men. And if an old crone can safely go to war, then a princess surely can.”

She waited for Helsa to say that it was a ridiculous idea, that she should go back home and do as Rikiar had ordered. Instead, Helsa and Dalon exchanged looks, then nodded.

“We will act as escort,” Helsa said. “There is no way you would survive out in the wilds on your own. There are many predators, not all of them men.”

“Thank you,” Aisling said, beaming with relief. She had been most concerned about going on her own, though she would have done, even if Helsa had forbidden her to leave.

“And you will do as you are told,” Helsa added. “We are on a war footing. There will be no time for your misbehavior. If I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed immediately, without question. Understand?”

“Yes, m’lady,” Aisling said. “What of the village?”

“There are many able-bodied women here,” Helsa said. “All of them can use a blade. But if we are successful, they will not have to.”

“That was what I told Rikiar. He agreed with the strategy, but not my participation.” Aisling cocked her head to the side and gave Helsa a curious look. “Are you truly going to ignore an order from your chief?”

“Rikiar has always been forthright in saying we Ravenblacks take control of our own destiny. We pay no fealty to any king. We forge our own paths…”

“Yes,” Dalon interjected. “We are going to ignore the order, because it’s a senseless order.”

“You will need proper clothing for battle,” Helsa said, changing the subject for more practical considerations. “Your light dresses will do nothing against a blade. Leather is what you need, leather and steel.”

The rest of the morning passed in preparation. Helsa was twice as domineering as she usually was, to the extent that even Dalon seemed to bristle from time to time. But Aisling did not let Helsa’s rough speech distract her from the task at hand. Two armies were about to meet because of her.

Having clad Aisling in attire more suited to a man, Helsa tugged at the back of her britches, wedging the material up between her legs in a way that was not entirely comfortable. Aisling squeaked and gave her an inquiring look.

“Checking the fit,” Helsa explained abruptly. “Cinch your belt tighter.”

Aisling obeyed, though it was not easy pulling the rough leather through her still tender hands. She had the hands of a princess, soft and well formed. They were not suited to the carrying of heavy weapons, and though Helsa strapped a short sword to her waist, Aisling was not entirely sure she’d be able to use it. It banged against her leg as she walked until Helsa repositioned it a little further back.

Meanwhile, Dalon had organized supplies into three packs, the largest for herself, a slightly smaller one for Helsa, and a much reduced one for Aisling.

“We have a few supplies, but we will need to hunt along the way,” Helsa said. “We cannot carry enough food with us and still make good time.”

“But we have time to hunt?”

“Don’t argue,” Dalon murmured under her breath.

It was good advice. Helsa was already strapping her pack to her shoulders. Dalon followed suit, so did Aisling. She had never carried more than a plate of food before, so the weight was quite strange. It was uncomfortable almost immediately; she couldn’t imagine what it would be like after a few hours of walking.

“We leave now, we can make camp at the Silver Stream tonight,” Helsa said. It was noon.

They left the village single file. Helsa led, Aisling was in the middle, and Dalon took up the rear. The pace they set was fast. Faster than Aisling could really keep up with. The months with the barbarians had toughened her a little, but not nearly enough for a war march. Within half an hour, Aisling was slowing.

“Helsa!” Dalon called out behind Aisling. “We need a break.”

Helsa ignored the cry. Dalon repeated it twice more before she responded, and then it was only to look back over her shoulder with an irritated glare.

“We just started!”

“We need a break,” Dalon insisted.

Helsa came to an abrupt halt. “What is the problem?”

“We. Need. A. Break.” Dalon plopped down on the ground and motioned Aisling to do the same. Aisling was grateful for the excuse to stop.

“Thank you,” she said as Dalon helped her take the pack off.

“What are you doing?” Helsa snapped the question.

“Repacking,” Dalon said. “She can’t carry the weight.”

Aisling felt bad as Dalon all but emptied her pack, and put most of it in her own and moved a few supplies into Helsa’s.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Dalon said. “Each woman lends her own talents. You are not a pack mule.” She shouldered her now much heavier pack back on her broad shoulders without evincing any obvious discomfort. “Let’s go.”

It was much easier to keep pace without the weight on her back. Dalon and Helsa didn’t seem to resent her for her weakness, but she felt it keenly nonetheless. She scolded herself mentally for not having spent more time on the exercises Helsa had assigned her. If she had done as she was told, she would have been more ready. She would have been a help, not a burden.

Though her feet hurt and her legs ached, she did not dare complain on the three-hour walk to Silver Stream. The relief she felt when Helsa finally declared that they should make camp on the banks of the glistening waters was great, but it was nothing compared to that which she felt when she pulled off her boots and sank her feet into the water.

“Let me see them.”

Helsa was suddenly by her side. Aisling did not know what she was referring to at first, but it soon became apparent that Helsa was interested in her feet. Reluctantly, Aisling drew them out of the water and presented them to the warrior, who crouched before them with a frown on her face.

“Why did you not tell me your boots were rubbing?”

“I didn’t want to complain.”

“If your feet blister, we will lose days. Your feet are important,” Helsa scolded.

“I’m sorry,” Aisling whimpered. Even when she tried to do right, she somehow managed to do wrong. Tired from the walk, and disheartened by what she considered to be failure, she felt the sudden urge to cry. She forbade herself from doing so. It would not do to add tearfulness to her growing list of sins.

“Put them back in the stream. I will come and wrap them when Dalon and I are finished making camp.”

Aisling put her feet back in the stream and tried not to cry.

A warm hand closed over her shoulder. “What is wrong?”

Dalon did not speak a lot, but she noticed everything. With Dalon’s warm, keen brown gaze on her, Aisling felt free to speak.

“I am holding you back,” she said softly.

“You are not holding us back,” Dalon corrected her quickly. “You are the reason we are going at all. We travel at your pace.”

“We should have brought a donkey,” Aisling said. “Why did we not bring some kind of mount?”

“Rikiar took all the donkeys and horses with his party. Even Helsa’s stallion is headed toward the battlefield.”

“She’s upset about that.”

“Yes,” Dalon agreed. “I don’t fancy being in Rikiar’s shoes when this war is over. She’s too good a warrior to argue during conflict, but once this threat is neutralized…” Dalon let out a stream of breath and shook her head. “She’s going to have his balls.”

Aisling snorted. “I don’t think Rikiar is going to give them up.”

“I suppose they’re yours,” Dalon smirked. “Anyway, it’s not going to be pretty.”

“I look forward to the day Helsa can be angry at Rikiar,” Aisling said. “Because that will mean my father is no longer pursuing me.”

“You really don’t wish to be saved?”

“Saved? From the man I love?”

“From the man who bought you,” Dalon said not at all diplomatically.

“Rikiar has made me happy from the day we met. He has always been kind. He has shown me freedom beyond any I could have imagined. My father wants to lock me back up in his tower.” Aisling drew her feet up to her bottom and rested her chin on her knees.

“You know, if you stayed back in the village, there is much less chance he will put you back in that tower,” Dalon said.

“I know if I stay back in the village that Rikiar and the other men will fight for me. They will fight until either Rikiar is dead, or my father is dead. I cannot just sit there and allow that to happen. I have sat and let things happen for far too long. This time, I will do something,” Aisling vowed.

Her brave speech was interrupted by Helsa’s return. “Three rabbits and half a sack of roots,” Helsa announced. “Tonight, we eat well.” She had a smile on her face and a dash of blood on her cheek. The rabbits hung from her waist, fuzzy, limp, and glassy-eyed. She dumped them down next to the fire, along with a wicker basket full of roots pulled from the earth. The woman had managed to acquire the makings of a hearty meal in less time than it had taken for Aisling to make her feet feel better.

“Put them out,” Helsa said, crouching down in front of Aisling. Aisling giggled a little as Helsa took her left foot in her hands. Her touch tickled.

“Easy,” Helsa said. She applied a liniment to the sole of Aisling’s foot, which was more than Aisling could bear. She ended up flat on her back, wriggling in the dirt and giggling at the top of her lungs. Helsa hung on with a long-suffering expression, patiently daubing the healing cream onto Aisling’s feet until she judged them to be properly treated. Then she wrapped the soft bandages around and around. Aisling started feeling better almost immediately.

“Thank you,” she said, sitting up.

“You’re welcome. Make sure you take care of your feet from here on out.” There was an abundance of kindly warning in Helsa’s tone. “I’ll check them in the morning.”

Aisling nodded and watched as Dalon slit the unfortunate animals down the belly and separated the edible parts from the bones and the fur. She used a knife with impressive alacrity; in mere minutes she had prepared all three rabbits and stuck them on a spit over the fire.

“How did you learn to be so good?”

“Practice,” Dalon said, pushing a longer strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been doing this since I could walk, near enough.”

“We train for our trades from youth,” Helsa explained. “I cut my teeth on a wood sword.”

“And I mine on a diamond tiara,” Aisling said. “I don’t suppose you need someone to be a princess?”

“We will soon enough,” Helsa said. The fire made her red locks glow as the natural light faded, her eyes sparkling in the dusk. “You will do what you need to do when the time comes.”

Aisling was still not entirely sure exactly what that was going to be. She wasn’t sure what she could do, she was simply going because that was what she felt she had to do. It was more a mission of intuition than sense.

“Relax,” Helsa said. “You need your rest and you will not sleep if you are worrying. If death is to come to us, it will come. Tonight enjoy your food and your rest. It may be your last.”

The words weren’t precisely comforting, but they did make Aisling feel a little better. She had never dined beneath the stars, never slept beside a fire. In spite of the circumstances, Aisling was beginning to enjoy herself a little. Helsa and Dalon made her feel almost as safe as Rikiar would have done, and though her heart yearned for him, she was comforted by the knowledge that soon they would be reunited.

The next day was a much better march, as was the day after that. Aisling became increasingly anxious to reach Rikiar, for she knew that with every passing day more men needlessly died.

“The armies will have met at the foot of the ranges,” Helsa explained at their last stop before moving into the battle zone. “We will make for the river, make contact, and offer aid.”