"She got a lot of my men wounded and killed. She helped the Amalites—the sworn enemy of all of our people," Tarius said, glaring at Jazel. "Now come on, we had a deal."
Jazel started forward, and Helen hung on her. "If you are to kill Jazel, then you might as well run us both through because I don't want to live without her."
"Don't you understand? She has helped the enemy once, what's to stop her doing it again? Good men's blood has been shed, better men are dead because of her," Tarius said. "It's really nothing personal."
"Please, I beg of you," Helen said, moving now to hang on Tarius's sword arm, as if that could stop Tarius killing her lover.
"Please, you're making this very difficult for me," Tarius said,
"Tell her, Jazel. Tell her you'd never do it again," Helen pleaded.
"But, darling, under the same circumstances I would," Jazel said truthfully.
"See?" Tarius said.
"But I wouldn't let her!" Helen pleaded.
"What if it were Jena who was held, Tarius?" Hellibolt asked.
"Ah, now, that's not fair," Tarius said. Then added, "Whose side are you on, anyway?"
"You can't tell me that there is anything you wouldn't do to save Jena," Hellibolt said. "Anyone you wouldn't betray to save her."
"Damn it, Hellibolt! She got men killed," Tarius said. "Is there to be no punishment for that? For treason!"
"What if we leave?" Helen asked. "Go to Kartik, where the enemy can never use Jazel again."
"Would you swear an oath?" Hellibolt said.
"I would. We'd leave tonight," Jazel promised.
Tarius shook Helen off her arm and sheathed her sword with a sigh. "Is a witch's oath any good?" Tarius asked Hellibolt, not looking at him.
"As good as the Katabull's," Hellibolt said, more than a little offended.
"And you'll leave tonight?" Tarius asked the witch suspiciously.
"Right away. Thank you. I won't forget your kindness," the witch promised.
"I know I'm going to regret this," Tarius mumbled and left.
"Well, it was certainly nice to meet you. Safe voyage," Hellibolt said.
They started the walk back to their troops. For all her talk of being in a hurry to get back, Tarius was walking at something less than a fast pace.
"What's wrong, Tarius?" Hellibolt asked.
"What isn't? I shouldn't have let her live. Gudgin's dead along with dozens of others. It's her fault. She'd do it again in a heartbeat. I let her go because you were right about what you said about Jena." Tarius walked with her head down. "I wish I'd never met her."
"Who?" Hellibolt asked.
"Jena, you old fool! She messes with my thinking."
"Because you love her."
"Yes," Tarius said. She took a deep breath. She had too much to do to waste time wallowing in self pity. She licked the blood off her hands and turned back into her human form. She gave her self a second to catch her breath after the transformation, and then took off running. When she got back to the road, Hellibolt was already there.
Tragon lay sick with fever, having the field stitches taken out to have the wound "repaired correctly," as the academy surgeon explained it, and she had not one question about him or his health.
Jena ran in and skidded to a stop just short of hitting the surgeon. "Is Tarius all right? Is he well?"
"Jena, I'm wounded. I've just spent a week in hell being bumped across the countryside on a horrible wagon." He screamed in pain. "Jena, they're taking my leg apart."
"I know all that, Tragon. Don't be such a baby. How is Tarius?"
Not even one word of concern about my condition. Not even a good to see you, Tragon. Only how is Tarius? Is he all right? Well, she's just fine, Jena, dear. I, on the other hand, am going to die.
He screamed again as the sadistic bastard dug at another stitch.
"Just leave it be, man. It had almost stopped hurting until you started poking at it!" Tragon screamed.
"Tragon, please!" Jena pleaded.
"For the gods' sake! He was fine when last I saw him. There's a note from him in my saddle bags . . ." He hadn't even finished when Jena ran out the door to go look for his saddlebags, which she no doubt believed to be in the stable. "They're right there on the floor."
Darian chuckled. "Forgive her, Tragon. I'm sure you can understand what she's been going through having a husband on the front with little or no news."
"Oh gods!" Tragon screamed. He glared at the surgeon who shrugged, a hapless look on his face, and continued to dig. "The king's own surgeon sewed that, and yet you say it's not good enough. You awful hack! Why on earth did I listen to you? You wanted to cut Arvon's perfectly good leg off."
Darian laughed at the hurt look on the surgeon's face. Then he picked up Tragon's saddlebags and started digging through them till he found several pieces of parchment folded up bearing Jena's name in Tarius's own unique handwriting. There was dried blood on the parchment and Darian made a face.
"He wrote it right after the battle. Tarius won't allow the wounded to stay on the front even one single day. The regular soldiers are shipped off to the nearest villages for recovery, and after they recover they stay in that village. The protection of that village becomes their duty. We lucky Swordsmen get shipped back here, and when we recover we are to be sent right back up to the front as quickly as we can get there. The only ones who are any more abused than we are the poor heralds. They're on horseback constantly with little or no sleep, traveling from one camp to the other and bringing news of the war back here."
"Was he hurt?" Darian asked looking at the dried blood and trying to scrape it off where he could.
Tragon laughed. "Oh, it's not his blood; it's theirs. It's
never
his blood. The king has made Tarius chief warlord, you know."
Darian found a chair and sat down hard. "No, I didn't."
"Well, he has. The king doesn't piss without asking Tarius first."
"Evil boy!" the surgeon scolded.
"Watch your mouth, Tragon," Darian said.
"Well, it's true! The king takes the credit for it, but all the plans are made by Tarius. The men all know it, too," Tragon said.
Jena ran back in breathless. "They said you didn't have a horse . . ." Her father was holding up the letter and Jena ran over and grabbed it from him.
You would have thought he had given her gold. She held the folded hunk of parchment in her hand just looking at where Tarius had written her name. She would recognize his handwriting anywhere. Tears came to her eyes, and she just couldn't bring herself to open it. She was glad to have the letter, but at the same time it reminded her that he wasn't here.
Tragon didn't know what possessed him, maybe it was the fact that Tarius had just saved his life, or maybe it was just the medicine kicking in. "You know how I feel about you, Jena, it's never been a secret. How I envy Tarius because he has you, how I envy his skill and his bravery. I'd like very much to hate the lucky bastard, but now he has gone and saved me. He threw himself between the enemy and me and then stood over my wounded body protecting me. He and Harris stood by me throughout the battle shielding me from harm. For this reason, I have to tell you something I would rather not. I have to tell you how much he loves you and how he talks about you and misses you constantly. You know how hard it is for him to write, and at the time he was busy with the business of after-battle clean up and setting camp. Yet he sat there knowing that I would be coming back here and wrote you that letter."
"Thanks, Tragon," Jena said through choked-back tears, then turned and ran from the building.
* * *
She ran all the way to the clearing where Tarius had taught her to fight, where he had first made love to her. It was here that she felt closest to him. She sat for a minute just letting herself cry, and then she wiped her tears away and opened the letter carefully. There were three pages, but considering how big Tarius wrote, it wasn't as wordy as some might have thought.
Dear Jena,
First I must tell you how much I miss you. I have dreamt of doing battle against the Amalites my whole life. It is all I have worked for. All I ever cared about.
Now because of you, I only want to be home.
Gudgin died today with a spear in his chest. We hadn't gotten along when I was at academy, but on the battlefield we had grown to like and respect each other. He was a good man, my dear friend, and he will be sorely missed.
Tragon, as you now know by now, was badly injured in the battle. Many died; it was our highest death count yet. We lost eighty-five men as of the last count.
Harris is my best man and my trusted companion. I have also inherited Gudgin's page, Dustan, who seems a good lad.
I grow weary of sleeping with men, and I'm sure they grow wearier of having to peel me off of them by morning. It seems I grew too accustomed to sleeping with you too fast.
If all goes well, the war should be over soon. When it is, I want to go back to Kartik. I hope you will consider the move. I think it would be best for us.
All my love and devotion,
Tarius
Jena read the letter over and over again. She laughed at the thought of Tarius curled around poor Tragon or Harris. She wept over the death of Gudgin and all the others and for the pain Tarius must feel at their loss. She wished she could be there beside him to comfort him.
"They call him Tarius the Black you know."
Jena started at her father's voice and dried her eyes. "Father! I . . ."
"Oh, yes, I know all about this place, and I know about that heathen husband of yours teaching you to use a sword." Darian laughed at the startled look on his daughter's face.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Jena asked.
Darian shrugged and sat next to her on the log. "What good would it have done? Admittedly, daughter, I have to say that when I first saw you out here with your husband and young Harris I was appalled and wanted to strangle the lot of you. But as I watched you fight—when I saw that you were very good—well, I couldn't help but feel proud. In fact," he looked around, " . . . if you'd like, I could teach you a few tricks of my own."
"Oh, Father!" Jena hugged his neck. "I would love that . . . Did Tragon tell you any more about Tarius?"
"He is now the king's chief warlord. Seems Persius does not make a move without first asking Tarius. They call him 'the black' because he has gone back to wearing his old leather armor and has let his hair grow till it is almost to his shoulders. Before battle he paints his face with charcoal. Tragon says he is a fearsome sight."
"Please tell me," Jena held up the parchment. " . . . that the blood is not his."
"It isn't," Darian said. "It might have been nice if the barbarian washed his hands before he wrote to you, though."
"I don't care about the blood, Father, as long as it isn't his."
They talked for a long time about the war and the letter and what Tragon had said. But Jena didn't tell her father of Tarius's desire to leave the kingdom and move to the Kartik.
"I only hope that my letter gets to him," Jena said as she let her father help her to her feet. They started back to the house.
"Oh, it will. You couldn't have had a better messenger," Darian said.
* * *
The camp had to be laid out in perfect order and with careful preparation for the big battle ahead. The first aid tents had to be close enough to the camp to be accessible to the battlefield, but not so close that they would be hard to defend. Same with the cooks' wagons. Tarius made up maps of where she wanted things and handed them out to the warlords under her. There had to be enough room to accommodate the other units as they came in.
At first, as always, there was chaos, and then everyone seemed to realize their task and everything came together almost without a hitch.
Tarius had ridden out to the edge of the woods to look down at the valley below. The place was filthy with Amalites. They had been building up their presence here for weeks. Luckily the Jethrik army had also been building up their forces. They had already sent for the units following behind them and told them to come on in. In just five days' time they could be as large as the army they faced, and it would be no problem at all.
That is it would be no problem if the Amalite army chose not to ride against them for five days time. Which she truly doubted.
The Amalites hadn't counted on getting caught. They had been building their forces here in what they thought was secret in order to launch a full-scale assault against the Jethrik countryside and push on to the capital. Nothing brought down the morale of an opposing army quite like having a massive fighting force charge across the land killing every living thing, scorching the earth black with fire, and then destroying their seat of power.
Now they had been caught, and there was no way they could be ignorant of the fact that the Jethrik forces were there. They also had to suspect that at the moment they outnumbered the Jethrik forces.
The real trick was to not let any of them get close enough to scout out the camp. To keep them in the dark about strengths and weaknesses. That's what Tarius was doing now. Riding the boundaries in case she might see something that the sentries didn't.
She had no idea how intimidating she was. She had patched her armor over and over, but still managed to keep it dyed jet black and the studs brightly polished. She wore metal-banded leather vambraces and metal elbow cops. Three-limbed pauldrons lay on her shoulders. She only wore her helmet when she knew there would be battle. Right now her black hair flowed out behind her. On either side of her head she wore tight braids that kept the hair out of her face. She cut her bangs, but that was all.
"You really are a stunning bitch," a familiar voice said.
"Arvon!" Tarius jumped from her horse and ran to greet him. She gave him a hearty hug, and he hugged her back. "Am I glad to see you!"
"I also am glad to see you. Although I'm not at all happy to see that," he said pointing down at the valley.