The Sword & Sorcery Anthology (43 page)

“Some. Toma needed help.”

“Yes. He hasn’t made much headway since Mikla left. Well, good-
day, Tain. Till we meet again.”

“Good-day, Torfin. And may the grace of heaven guide you.”

Torfin regarded him with one raised eyebrow as he mounted.
“You have an odd way of putting things,” he replied. He wheeled and
angled off across the hillside. Tain watched till the youth crossed the
low ridge.

He found Rula hunkered by the cookfire, losing herself in making
their noonday meal.

“What did he want?” she demanded.

“To water his horse.”

“That’s all?”

“That and to look at me, I suppose. Why?”

“He’s the dangerous one. Grimnir is big and loud and mean. The
others are bullies too. But Torfin.... He’s quiet and quick. He once
killed three of Stojan’s warriors when they tried to steal horses from
the Tower corrals.”

“Has he given you any trouble?”

She hesitated. Tain knew she would hide something.

“No. To hardly anybody. But he’s always around. Around and
watching. Listening. Then the others come with their fines that aren’t
anything but excuses to rob people.”

So much fear in her. He wanted to hold her, to tell her everything
would be all right. “I have to get to work. I should finish the framework
today. If Toma remembers to look for lumber, we might start the tank
tomorrow.” He ducked out before he did anything foolish.

He didn’t understand. He was Tain, a leading centurion of the De
mon Guard. He was a thirty-year veteran. He should be past juvenile
temptation. Especially involving a woman of Rula’s age and wear....

He worked hard, but it did no good. The feelings, the urges, re
mained. He kept his eyes averted during lunch.

“Tain....” she started once.

“Yes?”

“Nothing.”

He glanced up. She had turned toward the Tower, her gaze far
away.

Afterward, he saddled the roan and led out the mule and took
them on a short patrol. Once he spied Torfin in the distance, on a
hilltop, watching something beyond. Tain turned and rode a few
miles westward, till the Tower loomed ahead. He turned again, for
home, following a looping course past the Kosku stead. Someone was
repairing the thatch.

Rula was waiting, and highly nervous. “Where have you been?”
she demanded.

“Exercising the animals. What happened?”

“Nothing. Oh, nothing. I just hate it when I have to be alone.”

“I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.”

“No. Not really. What claim do I have on your time?” She settled
down. “I’m just a worrier.”

“I’ll wait till Toma’s home next time.” He unsaddled the roan and
began rubbing him down. The mule wandered away, grazing. Rula
watched without speaking.

He was acutely conscious of her gaze. After ten minutes, she
asked, “Where did you come from, Tain? Who are you?”

“I came from nowhere and I’m going nowhere, Rula. I’m just an
ex-soldier wandering because I don’t know anything else.”

“Nothing else? You seem to know something about everything.”

“I’ve had a lot of years to learn.”

“Tell me about the places you’ve been. I’ve never been anywhere
but home and the Zemstvi.”

Tain smiled a thin, sad smile. There was that same awe and hunger
that he heard from Steban.

“I saw Escalon once, before it was destroyed. It was a beautiful
country.” He described that beauty without revealing his part in its
destruction. He worked on the windmill while he reminisced.

“Ah. I’d better start supper,” Rula said later. “Toma’s coming. He’s
got somebody with him.”

Tain watched her walk away and again chastised himself for
unworthy thoughts.

She had been beautiful once, and would be still but for the
meanness of her life.

Toma arrived wearing an odd look. Tain feared the man had
divined his thoughts. But, “The Caydarmen went after Kosku last
night. The old coot actually chased them off.”

“Heh?” Tain snorted. “Good for him. You going to be busy?” He
glanced at the second man. “Or can you help me mount these bearings?”

“Sure. In a couple minutes. Tain, this is my brother-in-law.”

“Mikla?” Tain extended his hand. “Good to meet you. I’ve heard
a lot about you.”

“None of it good, I’m sure.” Laughter wrinkled the corners of
Mikla’s eyes. He was a lean, leathery man, accustomed to facing hard
weather.

“More good than bad. Steban will be glad to see you.”

Rula stuck her head out the door. Then she came flying, skirts
a-swirl. “Mikla!” She threw her arms around her brother. “Where
have
you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Consorting with the enemy. Staying with Stojan and trying to
convince him that we’re not all Caydarmen.”

“Even Caydarmen don’t all seem to be Caydarmen,” Tain remarked
as he hoisted a timber into position.

Mikla watched the ease with which he lifted. “Maybe not. But
when the arrows are flying, who wonders about the spirit in which
they’re sped?”

“Ah. That’s right. Steban said you were a veteran.”

A whisper of defensiveness passed through Mikla’s stance. “Steban
exaggerates what I’ve already exaggerated silly.”

“An honest man. Rare these days. Toma. You said Kosku chased
the Caydarmen away? Will that make more trouble?”

“Damned right it will,” Mikla growled. “That’s why I came back.
When the word gets around, everybody in the Zemstvi will have his
back up. And those folks at the Tower are going to do their damnedest
to stop it.

“Kind of leaves me with mixed feelings. I’ve been saying we ought
to do something ever since the Witch turned the Baron’s head. But
now I wonder if it’ll be worth the trouble. It’ll cause more than beatings
and judicial robberies. Somebody’ll get killed. Probably Kosku.”

“I really didn’t think it would go this far,” Toma murmured. Tain
couldn’t fathom the pain in Kleckla. “I thought she’d see where she
was heading.... ”

“Enough of this raven-cawing,” Mikla shouted. He swept Rula
into a savage embrace. “What’s for supper, little sister?”

“Same as every night. Mutton stew. What did you expect?”

“That’s a good-looking mule over there. She wouldn’t miss a flank
steak or two.”

Rula startled them with a pert, “You’ll get your head kicked in
for just thinking about it. That’s the orneriest animal I ever saw. She
could give mean lessons to Grimnir. But maybe you could talk Tain
into fixing supper. He did the other day. It was great.”

Tain thought he saw a glimmer of the girl who had married Toma,
of the potential hiding behind the weary mask.

“He cooks, too? Mercy. Toma, maybe you should marry him.”

Tain watched for visual cues. How much of Mikla’s banter had an
ulterior motive? But the man was hard to read.

Rula bounced off to the house with a parting shot about having to
poison the stew.

“That story of Kosku’s is spreading like the pox,” Toma observed.
He reassumed the odd look he had worn on arriving.

So, Tain thought. Kosku is talking about the mystery man who
doused the fire in his thatch. Was that what had brought Torfin?

“A Caydarman stopped by,” he told Kleckla. “Torfin. He watered
his horse. We talked.”

“What’d he want?”

“Nothing, far as I could tell. Unless he was checking on me.
Seemed a pleasant lad.”

“He’s the one to watch,” Mikla declared. “Quiet and deadly. Like
a viper.”

“Rula told me about Stojan’s men.”

“Them? They got what they asked for. Stojan didn’t like it, but
what could he do? Torfin cut them down inside the Baron’s corral. He
let a couple get away just so they could carry the warning.”

“With only seven men in his way I wouldn’t think Stojan would
care how things looked.”

“Neither Stojan’s nor Hywel’s clans amount to much. They had
smallpox bad the year before we came out. Stojan can’t get twenty
warriors together.”

“Steban must have heard the news,” Tain observed. “He’s coming
home early.”

The boy outdistanced his flock. Toma hurried to meet him.

Tain and Mikla strolled along behind. “What army were you in?”
the latter asked.

Tain had faced the question since arriving. But no one had phrased
it quite this directly. He had to tell the truth, or lie. A vague reply
would be suspicious. “Necremnen.” He hoped Mikla was unfamiliar
with the nations of the Roë basin.

“Ah.” Mikla kept asking pointed questions. Several tight minutes
passed before Tain realized that he wasn’t fishing for something. The
man just had the curiosities.

“Your sister. She’s not happy here.”

“I know.” Mikla shrugged. “I do what I can for her. But she’s
Toma’s wife.”

And that, thought Tain, told a whole tale about the west. Not
that the women of his own nation had life much easier. But their
subjugation was cosmeticized and sweetened.

Toma reached Steban. He flung his arms around wildly. Mikla
started trotting.

Tain kept walking. He wanted to study Mikla when the man wasn’t
conscious of being observed.

He was a masculine edition of Rula. Same lean bone structure,
same dark brown hair, same angular head. Mikla would be several
years older. Say thirty-six. Rula wouldn’t be more than thirty-three,
despite having been married so long.

The world takes us hard and fast, Tain thought. Suddenly he felt old.

Toma and Mikla came running. “Steban saw smoke,” Toma gasped.
“Toward Kosku’s place. We’re going over there.” They ran on to the
house.

Tain walked after them.

He arrived to find Toma brandishing his quarterstaff. Mikla was
scraping clots of earth off a sword he had dug out of the floor.

X

Sorrow invaded Tain’s soul. He couldn’t repulse it. It persisted while
he helped Steban water the sheep, and worsened while he sat with
Rula, waiting for the men to return. Hours passed before he identified
its root cause. Homesickness.

“I’m exhausted,” he muttered. “Better turn in.”

Rula sped him a look of mute appeal. He ignored it. He didn’t
dare wait with her. Not anymore. Not with these unsoldierly feelings
threatening to betray all honor.

The Soldier’s Rituals did no good. They only reminded him of the
life he had abandoned. He was a soldier no more. He had chosen a
different path, a different life.

A part of life lay inside the sod house, perhaps his for the asking.

“I’m a man of honor,” he mumbled. Desperation choked his voice.

And again his heart leaned to his motherland.

Sighing, he broke into his mule packs. He found his armorer’s kit,
began oiling his weapons.

But his mind kept flitting, taunting him like a black butterfly.
Home. Rula. Home. Rula again.

Piece by piece, with exaggerated care, he oiled his armor. It was
overdue. Lacquerwork needed constant, loving care. He had let it
slide so he wouldn’t risk giving himself away.

He worked with the unhappy devotion of a recruit forewarned of
a surprise inspection. It required concentration. The distractions slid
into the recesses of his mind.

He was cleaning the eyepieces of his mask when he heard the
startled gasp.

He looked up. Rula had come to the barn.

He hadn’t heard her light tread.

She stared at the mask. Fascination and horror alternated on her
face. Her lips worked. No sound came forth.

Tain didn’t move.