Authors: Victor Gischler
He screamed, staggered back, sword held up defensively to hold her off.
She’d already scrambled to her feet, absently stabbing the one with the crushed knee through the throat.
The one with the wounded ankle looked side to side, hoping for a way out. He knew he couldn’t run, not with the ankle.
He was still thinking about it when Rina moved in quickly, batting his sword aside, slicing hard and two-handed at his belly. Guts and blood spilled from of the rent in the armor. He went down, shock and panic on his face, his hands trying to stuff his steaming guts back inside the rip in his belly even as death took him.
Rina realized she was too late to save the girl.
She ran toward her, but the warrior had already drawn and raised his dagger to finish her.
There was a metal
tunk
as the crossbow bolt pieced the warrior’s armor.
The warrior went stiff, fell over backward, but kept his grip on the girl’s wrist, pulling her on top of him. She screamed again.
Alem was there in an instant, setting aside the crossbow. He pried the warrior’s dead fingers from the girl’s wrist, grabbed her shoulder and turned her over.
“Are you okay?”
She blinked, looked up into his eyes, the expression on her face as if she were waking from a dream. “Who … Who are you?”
The girl glanced over her shoulder at Rina, Alem and Brasley who followed her along the narrow, winding trail on foot, leading the horses. “This way,” she said. “Almost there.”
She’d told them her name was Maurizan and that her people would welcome them.
“Her people?” Rina whispered to Brasley who walked beside her.
“Her clothes make her look gypsy,” he whispered back. “But I’ve never seen a red-haired gypsy. A pretty little thing, isn’t she?”
Rina frowned, sped her pace to walk ahead of him.
Brasley had stayed back in camp with the horses, and they’d gone to fetch him after the ambush. The camp wouldn’t be safe. The rest of the Perranese would come eventually although they didn’t know how many or how far behind they were. It had been cat-and-mouse since leaving Kern.
Maurizan had told them her people were camped somewhere safe and hidden.
They hiked another half hour, down into a lush gorge, a vine-covered wall of natural rock rising up on one side of them. Maurizan stopped abruptly, sweeping aside a curtain of low-hanging vines to reveal an opening in the stone wall, a narrow passage with bright sunlight beyond.
“I would have ridden right past this,” Brasley said.
“You have to know what you’re looking for,” Maurizan said. “It’s unlikely anyone would find it by accident.”
“No, but we left a trail,” Alem said, glancing behind them. “Especially the horses.”
She put a hand on his arm, smiled warmly at him. “It will be taken care of.” She looked up into one of the trees.
They followed her gaze. Several men with bows slung across their backs squatted on thick branches high up in the canopy. They wore garish clothes similar to Maurizan’s but had dark complexions and black hair. Their expressions were frowning and dour.
“They will obscure the trail after we enter. Come.” She brushed aside the vines and entered without looking to see if the others followed.
Rina looked at Alem who shrugged. They followed Maurizan.
The passage was just wide enough for people and horses to walk single file. It opened into a high arch almost immediately on the other side, and a green valley spread out before them, a shallow river running through it and a camp of maybe a hundred brightly painted wagons on either side. There were numerous cook fires, lines of drying laundry like bright pennants strung between the wagons, children and adults going about various activities, all dressed in the same style of billowing bright clothing.
“They’re gypsies, all right,” Brasley whispered at Rina’s elbow. “Keep your hand on your coin purse.”
A trio of men broke off from the main camp and were coming up the trail fast to meet them.
“Why doesn’t that seem like a welcoming committee?” Rina said.
The men stopped within ten feet, hands resting on long daggers tucked into wide leather belts.
The man in the middle stepped forward. He wore a bright red shirt with a tight yellow flower pattern. A thin, dark moustache traced his upper lip. A gold hoop in one earlobe. Black hair, glossy in the sunlight. “What is this, Maurizan?”
“These are friends,” she said.
Rina thought the girl sounded tentative.
This was a mistake. We should have gone our own way
. She tensed. It was an effort to keep her hand off the rapier hanging from her waist.
“We don’t bring strangers to our camp. You
know
this.”
Maurizan glanced back at Alem, looked apologetic then turned to the man in front of her again. “Don’t embarrass me, Gino. They saved my life. And I think Mother will want to talk to them.”
“Your mother’s position does not mean you can break our rules,” Gino said.
“Well, it’s done now, isn’t it? Take me to Mother.”
The one called Gino looked furious. He pointed at Rina, Alem and Brasley. “You stay here. Wait. You understand?”
“We understand,” Rina said.
Gino turned and led Maurizan back toward the camp. The other two gypsies paused halfway down the trail to keep watch on the strangers.
Alem, Brasley and Rina gathered in a small circle, each still holding the reins of their horses.
“I don’t like this,” Brasley said.
“Exactly what
have
you liked since we’ve left Klaar,” Alem asked.
“You might be used to sleeping with the horses, stable boy, but I could do with a bit of comfort. I don’t see why we ever left Kern.”
“Gentlemen, enough. We’ve already been through this,” Rina said.
Brasley had wanted to present himself and Rina to the Baron of Kern, loudly declaring their noble status and asking for sanctuary. Under other circumstances it would have been a perfectly reasonable course of action. Kern was one of Klaar’s closest neighbors to the south. Rina’s father had met with the man numerous times. The Baron had even sent a few lesser sons of marrying age to Klaar to sniff around Rina. Thankfully nothing had come of it. The Baron would want to know the Perranese had invaded. In fact, Rina did feel a pang of obligation to raise the alarm.
But not yet.
Presenting herself to the Baron of Kern would set off a diplomatic chain reaction that would trap her in a dress as she met with the ranks of nobility, all eager to talk and talk and not
do
anything. Rina would likely be passed up the political chain of command all the way to the King of Helva, who would express sympathy that foreign invaders had seized Klaar and then maybe do something about it. Or maybe not.
And in the meantime, weeks would be wasted, and Rina had other plans.
No argument Brasley would make could dissuade Rina from seeking out the wizard Talbun who dwelt somewhere on the border of the Nomad Lands. How she would convince the man, a complete stranger, to help her was a problem she decided to think about later.
So Rina had doggedly stuck to her plan, Brasley complaining loudly and often every step of the way. She’d told him a dozen times that he could take off on his own anytime he liked. He’d usually answer with something like, “Oh, please, you’d both be dead in an hour without my supervision.” Rina suspected it was really the fact he was broke and had nowhere else to go that kept him riding along.
Alem had been the exact opposite sort of traveling companion, relentlessly upbeat and helpful. Not once had she ever suggested to Alem he’d be better off going his own way. The long miles would be unpleasant without him, and she felt a bit guilty and selfish about it. Would she really drag the poor boy all the way to the Nomad Lands?
Yeah, I will. Brasley is charming company and amusing when he’s not bellyaching, but I can count on Alem. When Brasley drinks too much brandy and falls off his horse, Alem will still be there to pull guard duty, tend the horses, and a dozen other things without so much as a word of complaint
.
But it was more than that, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just that Alem was useful. Alem was … Alem was …
“I say we turn around and ride out of here fast,” Brasley said. “Back the way we came before these gypsies can saddle up and give chase.”
“That won’t work,” Alem said sharply. “The gypsies in the trees, remember?”
“Then
you
think of something,” Brasley flared.
“Why don’t you give your mouth a rest?” Alem shot back.
Rina squeezed her eyes shut tight. “
Both
of you shut up!”
Alem shut up, and surprisingly, so did Brasley.
Rina blew out a sigh, eased her eyes open. “Listen to me. The plan is this. We wait to see what happens. The girl, Mauridan—”
“Maurizan,” Alem corrected.
Rina glared at him, and Alem went pink.
“
Maurizan
is going to speak up for us,” Rina said. “I infer her mother is of some importance. The gypsies are upset that we’re here since they like to keep their camp a secret, but I don’t think they’re so upset that they’ll murder us for it.”
“I hope you’re right,” Brasley said. “I’m hardly an expert on gypsies, but I’ve always heard they’re very secretive and closed to outsiders.”
“Then this will be our opportunity to make friends,” Rina said. “Right now, we can use all we can get.”
“They’re coming.” Alem nodded his head toward the group of gypsies coming up the trail.
Rina noticed Maurizan was not among them.
Gino stopped three feet from her. The snarl of contempt hadn’t left his face. “Come. You shall eat with us. You will be treated as honored guests.” His face remained tight.
He calls us honored guests, but he’s obviously not feeling it
.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Rina said.
Gino nodded curtly. “First, you’ll want to refresh yourselves, I’m sure. You shall be escorted to the bath houses.”
The bath houses were low log lodges sealed with mud and halfway buried into the side of a small hill. Smoke billowed from a squat stone chimney.
The sun was just dipping below the horizon, and Alem and Brasley shivered, naked, as they handed their clothing to a pair of male gypsies.
Alem made a special effort
not
to look down. Eyes straight ahead.
“I don’t see why we have to do this,” Alem whispered to Brasley. “I don’t need a bath.”
“Yes you do,” Brasley whispered back. “You stink.”
Alem glared at him.
“Oh, don’t be so thin skinned,” Brasley said. “We
both
stink. We’ve been out in the wilds, and we smell like campfire and horse and armpit. Be glad for an opportunity to wash it all off.”
Alem was more glad about the fact the women’s bath house was on the other side of the hill.
“Anyway,” Brasley continued, “it’s largely a social custom. They’ll be offended if we don’t join in.”
Social. Sure. What’s the harm?
They entered the bath house.
Alem was immediately engulfed by steam, which burned his nostrils and lungs. He got used to it after a few moments, blinked at the single oil lamp that strained against the darkness like the distant glow of a lighthouse in the fog.
His eyes adjusted, and he became aware of the men sitting on low benches along the walls, gypsies all sweating naked together in the dark.
I think I might be the anti-social type
.
* * *
Standing barefoot in a patch of old snow reminded Rina of that endless march up the mountain with Kork, the cold and the wet seeping through her slippers and turning her feet into slabs of ice.
Her attention snapped back to the here and now when the gypsy girl asked for her thin blouse. She unlaced it, slipped it off and handed it over.
The gypsy girl gasped.
Damn. Of course, Rina’s tattoos. There were parts of Helva where tattoos where not uncommon, but even in those regions, few had such elaborate ink. The designs and magical runes trailed all the way from the base of her neck down her spine to the small of her back. There were more lines across her shoulders. The bull symbol tattoo imbued with magical strength. Rina blushed suddenly, self-conscious. The tattoos would only cause more whispers among the gypsies.
She ducked into the steamy darkness of the bath house, hoping to hide herself. She sat on a wooden bench, her back to the wall. The chatter of the gypsy women hushed immediately. In the darkness and the steam, it was impossible to gauge facial expressions.
Rina cleared here throat. She’d dealt with awkward social situations at court. How hard could this be? “I want to thank you for taking us in. You’re very generous.”
That set of a whispered exchange among the gypsy women. The whispers died away again almost immediately.
“You are welcome here, Rina Veraiin,” came a clear voice through the steam.
Rina tensed. “You know me?” She’d been careful not to offer her last name to anyone these past weeks.
“Gypsy eyes and ears have their secret ways to see and hear.” One of the women rose from the benches across the lodge, came toward her through the steam and sat on the bench next to Rina.
She was naked, as they all were, with broad back and hips, full breasts hanging low with middle age, but not
so
low. A handsome woman but somewhat worn. She smiled at Rina, and it seemed sincere although Rina couldn’t quite see her eyes.
“I’m Klarissa,” she said. “I’m Maurizan’s mother.”
Rina relaxed a little. If anyone among the gypsies was going to be friendly toward Rina, it would be the mother of the girl she’d saved.
“Thank you,” Klarissa said. “For my daughter’s life.”
“The ones trying to hurt Maurizan were really after me,” Rina said. “It would have been wrong not to help.”
“She is a curious child and likes to roam too far from our camp. Perhaps this incident scared some sense into her. But … well, her soul is too adventurous, I think, and our camp seems smaller to her every day. She will run to meet the world too soon.”