Passion of the Different (8 page)

Chapter Ten - Showdown

The armor didn't feel as heavy as it looked. It fit perfectly, comfortable and well padded on the inside. Agumir's blacksmith skills were impressive. There was a slot built into the back to hold the massive two handed battle sword that made anybody who would see it go slack jawed. With the extra height added by the lightly armored horse, the biggest and strongest beast Ocaza had in their stables, and the high point of his helmet topped by an outcropping of long light blue bristles, he cut a frightening sight.

The enemy raiders thought so too, who were mincing back and forth on their own horses, outnumbering the Ocaza Garrison by two to one. The city was only a mile behind the defenders, rooftops in the distance dotting the landscape, tempting the raiders with the promise of much to pillage.

Ryan was a few yards in front of his own force, which stood in a battle line across the road and into the fields on both sides. He drew his eight foot long two handed battle sword, the steel polished to almost mirror perfection to reflect the light along its double bladed edge. He made sure the sun's rays danced along it for the enemy to review what was waiting for them.

They got the message loud and clear. Their captain regarded the huge man while looking uncertain more and more by the minute. Ryan regarded them back with confidence, noticed the fact their armor were mostly dark colors, from a deep purple to a heavy brown. Compared to the bright, glittering silver-steel armor of the Ocaza troops, they did look like the embodiment of evil in the land. According to Vendegal's own scouts the enemy numbered between five and six hundred.

After a few more uncomfortable minutes, the leader of the enemy decided the risk wasn't worth the reward. He made a motion with his hand and a blue haired fellow close to him blew on a whistle. Three short shrills. The invading force took about ten minutes to turn and head the other direction.

Vendegal trotted his horse up next to Ryan and got the big man's attention. “If you weren't here I'm certain many of my men would not have returned home, if at all. We're all grateful, Lord Za'Ryan.”

“I live here too,” Ryan replied casually, sheathing his sword into the back harness with the sweet sounding snick of superior craftsmanship. He was also grateful his wife and farm were on the other side of Ocaza. “I consider you my people, now.”

This brought a smile to Vendegal's lips, nodded his understanding. “I'd wish you would consider joining us full time. I can only imagine the workout you could give my men in battle practice.”

“My, you're slick today,” Ryan replied with an amused tone. He turned a little in his saddle and regarded the garrison commander's expression. A maintained, innocent wide eyed look. It forced a chuckle out of the big man. “I bet ten silver you were looking for a moment like this so you could try to draft me.”

A guilty wave danced across Vendegal's pale features under his fancy helmet. “I'd lose that bet. You don't miss much, do you my friend?”

“I hope not,” he said. It touched him with an inner warmth to be called a friend. Vendegal was the first to speak it since he woke up with zero memories, and while Myra was certainly his first friend, then lover and now wife, he hadn't actually heard it voiced before. Temptation to take the offer flowed through his veins, but he also considered his wife's happiness. She didn't want him tramping around in armor all day, she wanted him home and with her out on the farm. After a few minutes of thought, he agreed with his beautiful woman. Instead of outright refusing, however, he heard himself reply, “What about part time?”

“Part what?” Vendegal asked, eyes flickering between the retreating distant enemy and the huge man.

“Part time,” Ryan explained, giddy that this idea had oozed from the blank spot in his mind, followed by a weird chill that couldn't be explained to even himself. “I'll come to battle practices say, two for every seven days. I'll show up in the morning and go home at night. I won't need any pay and your men and I can see what we can do together. I spend winter at home full time though. How does that sound?”

“Accepted!” Vendegal almost shouted, victory riding his musically accented tenor.

Ryan's light blue eyes went back to the now distant horsemen who had considered the thought of raiding Ocaza. The wisdom of his own offer was rooted much deeper than simply getting involved with the city's defense. If they had been fighting right now, he had no idea what tactics the men on his side would use, what skills they had in actual combat. It could have cost him and them dearly to learn the hard way.

Chapter Eleven - Explaining Himself

"You did what, my lord?" Myra asked, respectful tone lightly salted with unhappiness.

Ryan paused with the food halfway to his mouth and regarded her across the table. Those lovely lavender eyes squinted at him and turned hard. He clarified what he had just explained a little bit better. "I offered to go and practice with the soldiers two days out of the week, hun. I won't be staying overnight and I'll be home just before dark. This upsets you, doesn't it?"

"I've gotten used to you being all mine," she admitted, a lopsided smile started to appear, faded quickly. "Those swords are sharp and pointy. All your strength and size will count for nothing should somebody slip and chop off your hand, or worse yet, your l
eg.
" She took a fast bite, not looking away to gauge his reaction.

Ryan almost laughed, suppressed it quickly. She had a valid concern and he wanted to address it. He felt that if he was native to her people, he would put his foot down and make it acceptable because of his position. No, not here and not with her. If he was to try to show her a better way of life, a higher moral ground, he would have to lead by example. He slowly nodded and returned her stare and filled it with as much compassion as he could.

"You're right, accidents do happen," he agreed, and she listened to every word he said and considered them all carefully. "I couldn't begin to imagine how badly you would feel if something terrible happened. I have thought of this you know, with the added fact that I may not be properly prepared to react correctly when facing those who want to kill us. I'm surrounded by friends who are fighting by my side, how many of them I might accidentally kill or wound if I have no idea how they fight? We were outnumbered, sweet
ie.
Only my presence kept them at bay. That won't work every time."

"I see," she replied, tone softening. "But I don't like it. I can't help it." Her gaze melted him, those lovely lavender eyes shimmering with a hint that tears might start. "I love you. I love the fact that we can talk about things like this when no other man around here would. It's their way and be damned to the feelings of the wife. But not you. It's a precious thing I don't want to lose. Can you understand that?"

"Yes," Ryan replied with high sincerity, "I most certainly can. For the record, I love you too. As deep as our feelings run, honey, they won't change the world. It's hostile out there, filled with people who would rob you of everything including your life. The more I work at keeping such bastards away, the better I protect you, too."

She mulled that over while finishing the rest of her meal. He didn't push her on this, she was smart and easily understood his point as much as he understood hers. "Alright," she finally let out between lips that were straight as a sword blade. "You won't get any fuss from me anymore over the garrison duty you chose. It
is
only a few days out of the week and you're home every night. I'm going to hold you to that. Every single word."

His smile was wide and his nod was respectfully slow. "Thank you, dear."

Chapter Twelve - Myra's Surprise

Ryan was busy stacking newly cut firewood when Myra brought him the routine jug of water. The chore needed to be done as they were only a month away from winter and their own personal food harvest was almost ready. As she handed him the ladle with a glow on her face, he noticed her fingernails were longer and more pointed than before. They almost resembled claws. He slowly reached out his hand and took her fingers onto his palm, looked a question into her eyes.

"What?" she asked, almost too quickly. "These?" She flexed her fingers and the claw like nails looked dangerous.

"They look sharper than before, more curved," he replied with curiosity. "Your hair seems even longer now than it was a few weeks ago, much thicker. I'm not complaining, dear, I've never seen these changes before. Is this normal?" He smiled to reinforce that he was only being inquisitive about her nature, but she seemed as puzzled as he was.

"I feel normal," she eventually said, cocking her head to one side in deep thought. "I've been eating a little more than usual, maybe the food is making me stronger in different ways."

He knew that was rubbish but he didn't dare scoff. There was no telling how she would react to that and he didn't want to test her social values now, not when something about her was changing. He took a different approach. "Have you ever grown sharper nails before, had your hair become thicker for no reason?"

She laughed loudly, the humor reaching her eyes and this time he did notice one more surprising change. Her eye teeth, slightly longer than his canines that resembled little mini fangs were no doubt longer and sharper looking. There was no way they were this long before and a chill went up his spine. Her laugh stopped quickly when she noted his expression. "Now what?" she demanded, a little uncharacteristic in tone of voice.

"Honey," he explained carefully, "I just noticed your teeth. You're growing fangs. Long ones at that."

Her eyes went wide as she seemed to make a connection. She uncharacteristically dropped the water jug and ladle with a clang and splash, looked at her nails again while her lavender eyes blazed in sudden wonder, then raked them through her thicker light blue hair. "Oh my," she started, "oh my oh-my-my!" She ran into the house without saying another word, the jug on the ground forgotten.

Alarmed and worried, he followed her as fast as he could. She was even quicker than before and vanished into the doorway before he could take a few steps. After a few pounding heart beats, he found her in front of the wall mirror, the covering tapestry torn off and lying in a heap. Her mouth was open and she was wildly staring at her new fangs. Those large almond shaped eyes were even bigger pools of lavender kissed wonder.

"What's going on?" he asked and she jumped, turning to him with a wild look. Beautiful and frightening at the same time, he never expected to hear what was about to come out of her pretty lips.

"My nails and teeth, they get like this for only one reason among my people. Only women get like this. We can't help it. It's a natural measure to give us better defenses when we're like this," she said, words rapid shot through her amazement.

"Like what?" he demanded, confused and puzzled.

"Like this!" she almost shouted. She spread her fingernails and displayed her fangs for him as if she was some creature of the night, then she hit him with the thunderous news. "Can't you see? I'm pregnant! You're going to be a father!"

He felt dizzy. There was a ringing sound in his ears. His perception returned to normal as his chest felt filled with air. A warm feeling traveled up and down his back. Surprise gave way to joy and when he held out his arms to her, she flew into them without hesitation. "This is great news," he finally got out as he hugged her tightly. "We're going to have a baby!"

"
I'm
going to have the baby," Myra corrected him playfully, happy beyond measure that he didn't disapprove. "
You're
going to have your hands full building a nursery."

This gave Ryan a moment of pause. "It's going to be difficult at best to have it built by the time winter settles in."

"Silly," Myra accused him playfully. "The baby won't be here for a year. Don't you know it takes fourteen months to birth?" As she snuggled in his arms, glowing in the moment, he felt a nagging familiar sensation in the back of his stubbornly dark memory.

"It's nine months with my people," he said casually, as if getting this information was no big deal. Inwardly to him it was a major accomplishment. This was specific information and it came easily, no pain involved. He continued his train of thought, but carefully. "Between us both, this baby being half me and half you, it could go either way."

Their discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door which startled them both. Nobody really dropped by unless there was a problem or somebody wanted something. Ryan released his hold on Myra and motioned for her to stay back. Then he carefully opened the door to reveal a short lad with a scroll. With a practiced flourish, he held it out and announced, "Please accept Lord Avrohom's tax agreement, should you wish to make a counter offer, I'll stay until it's written up."

"Please come in," Myra said from the table, setting a place for the official messenger boy. He couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen, Ryan guessed. "I'll take that." The lad whisked in, all but prancing to the table and two waiting bowls of fruit. Myra took the scroll as he passed her.

She wrinkled her brows together as she finished reading the scroll, then explained. "Avrohom knows about the corn sale, wants one hundred silver, or one gold, the first warm day after winter. That's not a bad tax rate considering what happened last time."

"It's terrible," Ryan said, smiling like a wolf. "Write back that his service to the king was less than ideal the last time he arrived. There is a fine of twenty five silver for putting his hands on my wife while standing on our property. Then put down if such an amount is unacceptable, that I will come to his place to negotiate face to face, man to man."

"Are you unhinged?" Myra replied, voice rising in surprise. "You can't fine the king. It doesn't work that way."

"I may not be able to fine the king, dear, but I can and will fine
Avrohom
," he explained quickly with a tinge of humor. "Let him pay the difference out of his own pocket, not ours. Go ahead, honey. I don't think he'll argue the matter too much. Offer seventy five silver, no more."

"Alright," she replied, surrender in her tone. "I'll write it up that way, but I think you may be in for a good round of negotiation before this matter is settled. You may have wished you merely paid the one gold and have done with it."

Nor was she wrong. When the letter arrived again via the same boy two days later, the scroll was longer and with a good deal more writing.

"What does it say now?" Ryan asked cheerfully, but the look on Myra's face was anything but happy.

"He says it's one gold fifty silver for mentioning the problems you incurred the last time he was officially here," she explained, tone deflating into a zone of regret. "That any threat to him will only increase the amount and
arguing about it
isn't in our best interest."

"Does he now?" Ryan replied, his eyebrows climbing up. "Please, write down my reply exactly, word for word." He waited until she had the feathered pen in hand and poised over the page. As he spoke, her script flowed with a distinctive elegance. "As head of my house, I do not threaten. I make promises. Your extortion for a safe collection that never makes it to the king, but stays in your pocket is more than adequate to reduce my taxes to seventy five silver. If you feel such a promise isn't good, then feel free to show up and demand whatever high price you wish. I am sure the king himself would find such action interesting, since your stealing takes from him. Your choice, Avrohom. It's seventy five silver or the king finding out about the extra you demand for you and your guards."

Her hand paused and her large lavender eyes roamed his serious expression a moment. "You would do that?"

"Yes," he said, smiling coldly more to himself than anyone else.

She finished the writing with more words that he couldn't read, rolled up the scroll and handed it to the boy who had just belched from finishing the bowl of fresh fruit. Then she turned to her husband and wagged her finger as she told him in her most serious musical accent. "If you were of my people, darling, I would expect an assassin in the night or poison in our well for making such a threat."

"I made a promise," he gently corrected her.

"Alright, promise," she continued. "Such is the way for dealing with farmers who make threats on authority, even when that authority is wrong. I don't think Avrohom would do anything to us just because of who you are. The garrison likes you. The mayor likes you. People feel protected. If he was even rumored to have done anything to you, the king would need a new tax collector as the garrison just may kill him."

"That's pretty brutal," Ryan stated as he evaluated the situation out loud. "A people who relish in honor, doesn't eat meat because they don't like killing animals, would use politics and corruption as a means to end a life."

"Hey," she said defensively. "What would your people do to Avrohom?"

"That's easy," Ryan replied with relish. "We'd cook him up for dinner." As he said that, he smiled large at the messenger boy. The lad took that moment to bolt out the front door. Ryan laughed out loud, but Myra didn't find it funny and scowled.

"I doubt your people would do that, dear. I know better because I know you." She scolded, but only mildly.

"You're right of course," Ryan confessed to her, then grinned as she realized with a mild shock just why he had said something so terrible. "But the messenger boy doesn't know that, and when Avrohom hears what the kid has to say, I'm sure the next letter will be a bit more favorable."

Two days later the next scroll was small with very little writing on it, and Ryan boomed with laughter when Myra read it to him out loud, surprise in her sweet voice. "
Seventy five silver. Agreed."