Author Patrice Sarath

‘So you want me to woo her,’ Karroth said with deep disgust. With an effort, Tabar turned his thoughts back to the present.‘What?’‘I’ve never begged a woman in my life. I’m not going to start.’‘I didn’t say beg, Karroth. It’s just different when a woman welcomes you to her bed.’‘I’ve been plenty welcome, let me tell you–‘

Have you? Tabar wanted to ask. He thought he had become inured to the customs of war, but he never wanted to think too closely about the tribute exacted by Karroth’s army when it took a city. Nor, he thought uneasily, was he himself entirely innocent.

‘Courting and now love. You’re mad,’ Karroth went on.

‘Just keep thinking about the treasure, Karroth. You can do it.’ Sarcasm dripped from Tabar’s voice, and he stalked off.

Karroth watched him disappear into the darkness.

‘Listen to you, Tabar!’ he shouted after him. ‘You sound like her father!’

#

As they neared the merchant towns, Karroth and Tabar spent much of their time managing the unruly army. Fights broke out constantly, over food, armour, weapons, camp followers; quite a few men died. It was nothing new to Karroth, but it made the camp a dangerous one and he sometimes had to crack a few heads himself.

‘We’re going to have to pick a town to hit soon, or this army’s going to disintegrate,’ he told Tabar. He nodded at Amion’s dog pack. ‘Especially that bunch.’ Tabar followed his gaze. It was no secret that the band was more of an army within an army than part of Karroth’s command.

‘Get rid of them,’ Tabar said flatly. ‘Too much power in a subordinate’s hands.’

‘Yeah. After the first town.’ The warlord grinned. ‘It’ll be a pleasure to take Amion down. He thinks he’s going to walk away with my men.’

‘Watch your back, Karroth. He’s dangerous, and he’s got a loyal cadre right inside your camp.’

Karroth nodded, still eyeing the dogs.

‘I never did like dogs,’ he said, half under his breath. He turned to look at the small tent next to his, where Jovelle and the children still slept. Two of his oldtimers stood in front of it. Jovelle never went out any more, not with the danger in the camp. Many of the newcomers assumed she was Karroth’s concubine and the children were his; it was probably the safest role for them. But if Amion makes a bid for power, Tabar thought, she will be in great danger.

‘This is no place for them, Karroth,’ he said.

‘I know that,’ the warlord snapped. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it right now, though.’

A runner came up with dispatches, replies to Karroth’s overtures to the city princes, and the commander left to deal with politics. Skirting the war dogs and Amion’s men, Tabar headed for Jovelle’s tent.

She looked up in relief. The baby was lying on the bed, kicking and gurgling. Brice ran up to him.

‘Tabar! Can I go out? It’s boring in here!’

‘Not now, Brice. You’ll have to be patient.’

‘But I want to go OUT!’

‘No, Brice!’ Jovelle snapped, the worry and strain evident in her voice. ‘Just be quiet!’ The little boy began to cry, and the exasperation in her voice gave reluctantly to guilt. ‘Oh, Brice–‘

Tabar picked up the boy and bounced him on his knee, turning the tears into giggles at the rough ride. Over Brice’s squeals, he asked, ‘Are you all right?’

‘For now. I hate just sitting. I’d rather be doing something. Anything.’

‘It’s too dangerous to go out. The men–it always gets like this.’

Brice slipped off his knee.

‘Can I just look out?’ he pleaded.

‘Yes! Just stay right in the doorway,” Jovelle succumbed. “No farther.’

Brice darted for the door.

‘I spoke with Karroth,’ Tabar said. ‘He knows this is no place for you and the children. When he has time, I’ll work out a plan to send you back to your farm.’

She looked down at her hands.

‘I’ve been gone for almost a month. I’ll need supplies–food, seed–‘

’I can arrange that.’

They were silent for a moment. Jovelle thought of her home and her daughter’s grave under the cottonwood by the stream. I could plant bluebells over the grave, she thought, and snapdragons. The memory made her wistful for her garden, digging her toes in the warm soil, scattering seeds into the ground. She wondered if the watering trough she had dug from the creek to the garden still ran clear.

‘Do you think your husband has returned?’

Jovelle sighed, lifting her shoulders.

‘I don’t know. For Brice’s sake, I hope so; that is not a tie I’ll break lightly.’ She added dryly, ‘And I would like to do more than just shake my fist at his memory.’

Tabar’s laugh rumbled.

‘I will see to it you get home safely, Jovelle,’ he said. At her relieved expression, he added, ‘This life isn’t for me. I’m a farmer, always have been. I’ll take you home, and then–it’s time for me to go home too.’

‘Oh,’ she said softly, understanding. ‘But what of Karroth? He won’t like that.’

‘Even Karroth doesn’t always get what he wants,’ he shot back, nettled, and Jovelle rolled her eyes.

‘That’s just as well.’ She took his big hand. ‘Thank you. I owe you so much.’

‘You don’t owe me anything.’

‘Of course I do. For your kindness and protection, from the first night in this camp throughout our stay.’ She stopped, her throat thick with tears.

In the silence that followed, they could clearly hear the frightened, faraway cry of a child seeping through the walls of the tent. Jovelle gasped.

‘Brice!’

She scrambled for the doorway, scanning the camp for signs of her son. What she saw made her heart jolt. Brice, wandering near the war dogs, had been caught by one of Amion’s men and was being held just above the animals’ snapping teeth.

‘BRICE!’ She picked up her skirts and ran, Tabar right after her. The man holding Brice looked up, laughing, as Jovelle came running toward him, and he let the boy slip a little closer to the dogs.

‘No! Please no! Stop, oh gods, STOP!’ Her voice rose into a shrill scream.

‘Momma!’ Brice cried, kicking and struggling, and she threw herself at the laughing warrior.

He was still laughing when Karroth’s dagger caught him in the throat. The warrior staggered back and fell, dropping the boy into the dog pack. Jovelle shrieked and dove headlong for her son even as the dogs first scattered and then swarmed.

Tabar lit into the creatures, swinging his sword savagely. Karroth’s men joined in, pulling off the dogs and using knives or swords to kill them, fighting off Amion’s warriors who had come to their animals’ defense. Jovelle curled tightly around her son and they lay enveloped in the slaughter, deafened by the clash of iron swords and the screams and snarls of men and dogs.

When the fighting ebbed, Tabar pulled away dog corpses to get to them. Bloody and tattered, Jovelle staggered to her feet, holding tightly to Brice. He was badly bitten, but breathing. Tabar wrapped him in his cloak, and ran to the surgeon’s tent.

Karroth stayed back, looking at the carnage. Amion faced him, his sword drawn.

‘Sorry about the kid,’ he said insolently. ‘But no one kills my dogs and lives to tell about it.’

‘Why? Was one your mother?’ Karroth drew his sword and paced off, inviting Amion to attack. The two warlords circled one another warily.

Amion attacked first, a vicious, ringing blow that Karroth barely caught against his heavy broadsword. Iron rang against iron, sending sparks flying. Sweat traced Karroth’s face, and his expression held a calm, smiling madness.

Swords crossed, they stood chest to chest, pushing for the advantage.

Between gasping breaths, Amion taunted, ‘I heard you got soft. I heard they played you for a fool at Athol, and you fell for it.’

Karroth bared his teeth, his muscles bulging as he struggled to push Amion off his feet.

‘Yeah? Heard from who?’

‘Some bird told me.’

With a roar of fury, Karroth sidestepped suddenly, making Amion stagger forward. Screaming unintelligibly, the warlord battered him ceaselessly, raining blows at his chest and his head that Amion was hard-pressed to block. Men scurried for cover as Karroth walked Amion backward, heedless of the blooding he was himself taking. Chest heaving, begging for quarter, Amion stumbled over the corpse of one of his dogs and went down on his knee.

‘What are you doing?!’ he shrieked, looking up at Karroth through tears of blood and sweat.

‘Playing you for a fool,’ Karroth said hoarsely, and swung his blade.

Gasping for air, his face and armour grimy with blood, the warlord released his sword as Amion sank face first onto the ground. Karroth looked around at the rest of Amion’s men. They were staring with some fear at the sight of their fallen leader. He nodded at his enemy’s wargang.

‘Take them,’ he ordered, and left his men to clean up.

The surgeon’s tent was an island of calm amid the distant clamour of the internecine battle. Karroth slipped in unnoticed as Jovelle and Tabar hovered anxiously over the small boy on the pallet. The surgeon, his hands bloody, stanched as many of the wounds as he could with fresh cloths. Jovelle helped, wringing out bandages, handing over new ones, pouring out the bloody water for fresh. She looked taut, her skin pulled tight over her face as if all her soft roundness had melted away, leaving a gaunt skeleton behind. Her face and hands were marked with claw and tooth marks and her hair was stiff with blood. Brice mewled and moved a little, and Tabar tried to shush him, holding him still as gently as he could.

‘It’s all right, son. Hold still now.’ He glanced up and saw Karroth. At his expression, Karroth looked away.

‘He’s lost a lot of blood,’ the surgeon said. ‘And those dogs–dirty, filthy creatures. If the wounds get infected, there’s not much I can do.’

‘Purple coneflower,’ Jovelle said tightly. ‘Do you have any?’

‘Over on that shelf. The small jar on the right. That’s it. But it can only do so much.’

With shaking hands, she prepared an infusion and tipped it into Brice’s mouth.

‘Here Bricey, taste this,’ she coaxed the half-conscious boy. Most of it ran out of the corner of his mouth, but obediently he tried to swallow some.

‘That’s my boy,’ she murmured, stroking his head. She looked up at the surgeon. ‘Now what?’

‘Now we wait.’

Karroth came forward to look at the small bandaged form on the bed. Suddenly Jovelle gasped and clutched Tabar’s arm.

‘The baby! I’d forgotten her!’

‘I’ll get her,’ Tabar said immediately, and left.

The surgeon glanced at the Karroth and Jovelle and busied himself with cleaning up his surgery.

‘Couldn’t you have waited just a moment longer?’ Jovelle said at last. The words stuck in her throat. ‘Didn’t you even stop to think what would happen?’

A slow blush stained his cheeks. Karroth changed the subject.

‘Look–Jovelle. You’ll have to go. Tabar’ll take you as far as the nearest town, and from there you can find your way back to your farm, or wherever you want. I’ll pay you–‘

Outraged, she stared at him. ‘You’re just going to abandon us in a city you are likely to attack? How safe do you reckon that to be?!’

‘She’s right,’ Tabar said, ducking into the tent with the baby. ‘When the boy is healed enough, I’ll take them home.’

‘No,’ Karroth said flatly. ‘That will take too long.’

‘Doesn’t matter, Karroth. I’m not coming back.’

‘You traitor! I should kill you right now!’

Tabar handed Teena to Jovelle and put his hand on his sword. The two men locked gazes; Tabar could not hide his disgust. Karroth, his expression ugly with shame and fury, backed down. Without saying a word, he left.

Tabar heaved a sigh.

‘He’ll get over it,’ he said hopefully, but without much conviction.

‘Didn’t look like it to me,’ the surgeon said, shaking his head.

#

A month later, when Brice was beginning to heal and his wounds showed healthy pink rather than angry red, Tabar commandeered a wagon and two mules. The warriors gathered round, but Karroth’s tent remained obstinately closed. Tabar mounted and Jovelle handed up Brice, the little boy bundled and bandaged against the wind. His reddened face, still marred by scars, peeked out of his hooded cloak. She put Teena into the sling and, with practiced ease, adjusted it over her shoulder.

The sound of a loose tent flap caught her attention and she looked up. Karroth emerged, an almost sulky look on his face.

‘So you’re really going to do this,’ he said to Tabar.

Tabar nodded, a little warily.

Karroth made an impatient face.

“If you ever get tired of farming, you know where to find me.’

“Wherever there’s the most trouble,’ Tabar agreed, and Karroth laughed and clasped his hand. As an afterthought, he held out his hand to Brice, who took it solemnly.

The warlord beckoned to Jovelle. She looked back at Tabar, then walked a little way with him.

‘Look,’ he told her. ‘I’m… sorry.’

After a moment Jovelle snapped her mouth shut.

‘Well, warlord,’ she said at last. ‘Maybe there’s hope for you at last.’

‘Yeah, well, keep it to yourself, right?’

‘Of course, Karroth, just between us. But,’ she added mischievously, looking down at the sleeping baby, ‘Shouldn’t I tell the princess? You know, to put you in a more favorable light? Women like to know these things.’

He made a disgusted face.

‘We both know the baby isn’t really a princess; she’s just some brat put out as bait. Don’t tell Tabar, though. He’s been strutting like a proud papa over her.’

She couldn’t help it; she laughed outright, and he grinned. His smile was bright in his grimy face, and reluctantly, despite all her mistrust, she understood why Tabar had remained loyal for so many years.

‘Take care, warlord.’ She surprised herself by saying that.

He bowed with mock courtesy and helped her into the wagon.

Jovelle took up the reins. Perched in front of Tabar, Brice hung tight to the saddle bow, twisting around eagerly to catch all the sights. His little pouch slipped from his waist and fell into the dirt. Small stones spilled from the loosened drawstrings.

‘Momma! My treasures!’

‘Oh, Brice.’ Jovelle began to hop down when Karroth scooped up the stones. They sparkled in the pale sunlight, and she suddenly realized how many there were, and how beautiful. Karroth scowled.

‘Where did you get these?’ he barked.

‘Teena gives them to me,’ Brice said, frightened by Karroth’s fierceness.

The grownups all looked at one another in silence. Jovelle put her hand to her mouth.

Under his breath, Karroth began to curse as Tabar roared with laughter.

‘She’s a baby!’ the warlord shouted. ‘She can’t choose! How can she choose?’

‘Babies know a lot about love, Karroth,’ Jovelle said, her face bright with awe and laughter. ‘They thrive on it, after all.’

‘What, she’s too young to choose when she’s twelve, but it’s just fine when she’s still in diapers?!’

‘Oh, it’s all for the best, Karroth,’ Tabar put in, wiping his eyes. “You’d just get fat and lazy if you couldn’t loot and pillage for a living.’

Tight-lipped, furious, Karroth poured the stones back into the pouch and yanked the strings tight.

‘Here,’ he told Brice tersely, and gave him the pouch. He looked once more at the baby, fast asleep through all the commotion, and rolled his eyes in deep disgust.

‘Who’d have thought they’d leave the real princess out?’ he growled. Jovelle just shook her head, unable to trust her voice, and she and Tabar exchanged glances.

As the little caravan headed south, Brice turned toward his mother, his eyes wide and excited.

‘Are we going home, momma?’

‘Yes, Brice. We’re going home.’

‘And Tabar’s coming too?’

‘He’s going to bring us home,’ Jovelle said. ‘And then he’s going to his home after that.’

‘Good,’ the little boy said with grave satisfaction. ‘Dad can teach him how to make wooden horses.’

Both grownups hid their smiles, Jovelle’s tinged with sadness. Brice settled back against Tabar’s chest, and the baby’s weight was a warm comfort against Jovelle’s. Something tight creaked in her heart and for the first time in many months, her grief began to lift. The old story was true after all, she mused. The princess did bestow her gifts on the ones she loved — shiny playthings for a lonely little boy, love for a grief-stricken young mother, peace for a tired warrior. Even a second chance for an obstinate warlord. Jovelle bent to kiss the little girl’s forehead. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and the princess of Athol smiled in her sleep.

End

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