The Warrior's Path (27 page)

Breda had been shifting impatiently from foot to foot while she examined the cloak.

“I’m sure,” he said. “It’s springtime now. I can get another before winter comes again.”

He held out his hand, and Maara gave him the fox bag.

It seemed as if we had been up for hours. We’d had our breakfast. Our pack had been ready since the night before. Now we had nothing to do but wait in Maara’s room until Laris told us it was time to go.

Maara sat quietly on her bed, but I was too impatient to sit still. Every few minutes I got up and glanced out into the hallway to see if the others were ready.

Maara watched me with an amused smile.

“They won’t leave us behind,” she said, when I had gone to the doorway for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“I know.” I sat down again.

“Are you afraid?” she asked.

I took the time to give some thought to my answer. I wanted to be sure that what I told her was the truth.

“I don’t think so,” I said at last. “I just hope I don’t do something wrong.”

“Do what I tell you to do,” she said. “That’s all you can do until you have more experience. If mistakes are made, they’ll be mine, not yours.”

“Are you afraid?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “Cattle raiders come to steal, not to fight.”

“They fought last year,” I said, although I knew she didn’t need to be reminded of it.

“We caught them while they were butchering an animal. They wouldn’t leave the carcass until we drove them off.”

I hoped she would tell me more about what had happened the day she was wounded, but we were interrupted by a commotion in the hallway as Cael and her apprentice, Alpin, barged past our door. They too were to go with Laris.

“It must be time,” Maara said. “Help me with my armor.”

I was glad to have something to do. I buckled her into her armor and fastened her sword to her belt. Then I took her new cloak down from its peg and began to roll it into a bundle for her to carry over her shoulder with her shield. She stopped me and handed me the dark green one she’d worn all winter.

“This one will do,” she said. “Help me put it on.”

It wasn’t cold enough that she needed it for warmth, so I laid it around her shoulders and pulled one end around her body, under her right arm, and draped it over her left shoulder, with the end hanging loose down her back. When Taia appeared in the doorway and told us it was time to go. I picked up our pack and started to follow her, but Maara put her hand on my shoulder and turned me around. She was holding her new cloak.

“You’ll need this,” she said, and she draped it around my body as I had draped hers. Then she took my brooch from my belt and fastened the cloak with it.

Maara’s cloak was a good one, but it was worn in places, not as thick as Breda’s, and not nearly as beautiful. As the soft warmth of the new cloak enveloped me, I said, “You ought to wear the better one.”

“Among my people, when a warrior takes an apprentice, it’s her responsibility to provide her with her clothing and her weapons, with everything she needs. For now, this is the best I can do.”

I saw that it was a matter of pride to her.

“I’ve never had a finer cloak,” I told her.

I thought we looked quite fierce as we set out from Merin’s house. The warriors’ painted shields hung from their shoulders, and their cloaks billowed in the breeze. I felt a new strength in my body as I strode down the hill after them. Splendid in my new cloak, proud of my warrior, proud of myself, strong in my companions, I felt capable of anything.

There were five warriors in our party, three women and two men. It was the first time I had traveled with a band of warriors, and I looked to Taia to show me what to do. The warriors led the way, with Laris at their head. The apprentices followed a little way behind. There were only three of us — Taia, Alpin, and me. Neither of the men had brought an apprentice. Kenit, the younger man, had been Donal’s apprentice until a few months before, when he received his shield.

Although I had seen the two men in the great hall many times, I had never spoken to either of them. Donal was an enormous man with flaming red hair. His beard was just as red, and freckles covered his face and arms. Kenit was dark, with a mane of curls so thick they seemed to be trying to make up for the fact that he had no beard to speak of. He appeared small standing next to Donal, but he too was a big man, taller than any of the women with us. He was also a handsome man, and more than once I caught Taia watching him out of the corner of her eye.

Cael was a newcomer to the household. Like Donal and Kenit, she was from the house Laris came from. Her apprentice Alpin had come with her. Alpin was a cheerful, talkative girl who delighted in the prospect of any new adventure. She reminded me a bit of myself as I had been the year before, except that she was already an apprentice. She had known her warrior almost all her life. She shared her warrior’s room and probably her bed as well. The only times I’d had a chance to talk with her had been at suppertime at the companions’ table. The rest of the time she clung to her warrior’s side like a limpet to a rock. I liked her cheerful disposition, and I looked forward to making friends with her.

We started north, following the path Maara and I had taken so often that winter. At midday we turned aside onto a faint trail that led higher into the hills to the northeast. Although the trail wasn’t steep, it was a steady climb, and I was the only one of the apprentices who wasn’t out of breath. I thanked Maara silently for our long walks through the snow.

We were traveling through some of the best grazing land I’d ever seen. Lush grass sprang out of the soil. Stands of trees offered shelter from spring rain and summer heat. Red cattle, shaggy in the remnants of their winter coats, dotted the hillsides, too many to count. I wondered how our little band of warriors would be able to protect them all.

Late that day we arrived at a farmstead, where the people welcomed us with food and a place of honor at their hearth. That night we slept in heaps of soft hay in their byre.

By the next morning neighboring farmers had heard of our arrival and came to greet us. They told us there had been rumors of cattle raids farther to the west, but so far none of the raiding parties had come anywhere near where we were.

Taia explained to me that it would be our task to keep watch. Not far from the farmstead was a hill called Greth’s Tor. From its rocky peak we would have a view of the surrounding countryside, and we were to take it in turns to watch for the approach of strangers. Laris would take the first watch. She asked Maara to go with her. Taia and I accompanied them.

It was midafternoon when we started up the hill, and we reached the top with daylight to spare. No trees grew there, but outcroppings of rock gave us shelter from the wind and hid us from view. We made our camp a little below the hilltop, on the southwest side of the hill, where the stone hearth and ground worn smooth showed that many had camped there before us.

We made a small fire and cooked our supper before the sun set. After dark we would have no fire. Even hidden as we were among the crags, firelight, reflected from the rocks or from a cloudy sky, might give us away.

In the fading light of evening, Laris found vantage points for Taia and for me where we could lie unseen and keep watch on the eastern hills. Laris and Maara took up positions a few dozen yards away, where they could watch the rolling hills to the north. While it would soon be too dark to see anyone approaching, the glow of a campfire or the flickering light of a torch would be visible for miles.

It seemed that we watched for a long time, but it may have been only an hour or two, when Laris called us back to our campsite.

“There’s no point in watching any longer,” she said. “If there were strangers nearby, we would already have seen their fire.”

“If they dared to have a fire,” Taia said.

“Would anyone travel at night?” I asked.

“They might,” said Laris, “but if they do, we won’t be able to see them, so there’s no use in wearing ourselves out watching. We’ll see them in the morning, if they’re there.”

Laris and Maara settled themselves by the ashes of our campfire to talk a while, but Taia was exhausted, and I was beginning to yawn. Taia found us a soft patch of grass nearby. We snuggled together, wrapped in our cloaks. I listened to the murmur of my warrior’s voice as I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke before first light and managed to get up without waking Taia. I went a little distance down the hill to relieve myself. Then I decided to go back up to my vantage point to watch until the others were awake. I thought about the raiders Laris spoke of who might have traveled through the night. If there were any about, perhaps I would be the first to see them.

As I went up the hill, I passed by our campsite. Maara lay near the hearth asleep, wrapped in her cloak, and beside her, under the same cloak, was Laris, her fair hair bright against Maara’s back.

I didn’t stop. I went up to the hilltop and lay down among the rocks to watch. What I had seen disturbed me, and I had no idea why it should. I had shared the warmth of my cloak with Taia as a matter of course. Why should I mind that Maara had done the same with Laris?

I gazed out over the countryside, but if an army had been marching up the hill below me, I would have missed it, so preoccupied was I with my own thoughts.

At first I tried to convince myself that I had nothing to be upset about. I should be happy that Maara might have found a friend in Laris. That would be a good thing for both of us. Laris’s friendship would strengthen us against Vintel, and the Lady would have less to complain of if my warrior had a few strong friends among us. I should be delighted that someone like Laris courted Maara’s friendship. Instead, burning in my chest was a growing anger toward her. The more I tried to convince myself I shouldn’t feel it, the more it grew.

At last I gave in to it, and my resentment found words so bitter that I could only speak them to myself in silence. Where was Laris when I stood beside my warrior before the council? Where was Laris when my warrior needed friends in Merin’s house? It was I who had brought Maara within the circle, who had persuaded the Lady to make a place for her, and I had risked my own place to do it. If anyone belonged beside her, I did. I had earned that place.

Even as I indulged my angry thoughts, I knew they were unjust. Laris had done nothing wrong. I suspected my anger masked something else — hurt feelings, perhaps, or fear. Maara and I were bound together in a way that I had thought would prevent my losing her, and while I was in no danger of losing her altogether, something was taking her away from me in small ways, a little at a time.

“What’s the matter?” Maara said, as she sat down beside me. “Have you and Taia had a falling-out?”

I hadn’t heard her approach, and I gave a start when she spoke to me.

“No,” I said.

Then I felt the tears trickling down my cheeks. I brushed them away.

Maara said nothing, but I felt her eyes on me, and I heard her unasked question. I was too ashamed to meet her eyes. I watched the silhouette of the hills emerge against the lightening sky.

“I’m all right,” I said.

“No,” she said. “You would be dead by now.”

“What?” I looked up at her in surprise.

“We’re in harm’s way here. You didn’t hear me approach you, and I wasn’t trying to be quiet. A warrior seldom survives such a mistake.”

I braced myself and waited for her to scold me. Any other warrior would have scolded me, but Maara chose another way to teach me.

“Tamras,” she said gently, “these are the things you’re here to learn.”

Then I wished that she had scolded me. A scolding might have made me angry. Her kindness made me feel like bursting into tears. My lower lip began to tremble.

“What’s the matter? Are you ill?”

I shook my head.

“Homesick?”

“No.”

“Is it your time to bleed?”

I heard the smile in her voice, and I couldn’t help laughing a little at her teasing.

“No,” I said. I waved one hand in the air, as if to wave away her concern. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important.”

“It matters,” she said, and her voice was grave again.

Just then the sun began to rise. Its first rays dazzled me. I tried to shield my eyes, but the light was too bright, and I had to turn my face away. Maara slid farther down behind the rock that sheltered us and leaned her back against it. She patted the ground beside her as an invitation for me to sit there.

“You won’t be able to see anything until the sun is higher in the sky,” she said. “You might as well rest your eyes.”

I turned away from the rising sun and sat down beside her.

“What does a warrior need most of all?” she asked me.

I could think of many things a warrior needs. Weapons. The skill to use them and the strength to wield them. But all these things were useless without courage.

“Courage,” I said.

“There’s something even more important.”

What could be more important than courage?

“Most of all,” she said, “a warrior needs discipline. Do you know what that is?”

Of course I did, I thought, but when I opened my mouth to tell her, I couldn’t put it into words.

“Discipline is simply self-control,” she said. “If a warrior can’t control her feelings, she can’t control her actions, and if she can’t control her actions, she may blunder into a serious mistake.”

I thought of the mistake I’d made only a few minutes before.

“A warrior’s mistake can have dreadful consequences,” Maara said. “A warrior’s mistake may cost, not only her own life, but the lives of many others.”

I had never been more discouraged. I felt that I had undertaken an impossible task and that it might be best if I went home to herd sheep for the rest of my life rather than assume such a terrible responsibility.

“A warrior who has learned self-control can’t be manipulated or provoked,” Maara went on, “and she can use her feelings to lend power to her actions, instead of allowing them to push her into acting blindly.”