The carriage stopped at the gates just feet from her. The door opened, and the king himself stepped out.
"You're the wife of my good friend, Sir Tarius the Black, warlord of all the Jethrik, are you not?"
She curtsied. "I am, Sire. If I may ask, do you have any news of my husband?"
"He stays in the field to wipe the Amalites from their hidden pockets all over our lands. I'm sorry that this has taken him away from you, but it is a job that he alone can do properly. He did send you this by my hand."
The king held out several pieces of paper folded together. Jena took them with a shaking hand, and tears dripped down her face. The king lifted her chin with his finger and wiped the tears from her cheek with another. "Dear lady, do not cry. If I know your man, he will have the job done and be home to you in due time. Be proud that you have such a husband. None like him has ever lived before, nor shall such a one ever live again. He plucked an arrow from the sky to save me, and only he would have the nerve and audacity to turn the king into a common messenger boy."
Jena nodded silently. She curtsied again, then turned and started back through the gates into the academy. She walked towards the clearing in the woods, clutching the note tightly to her. He didn't love her. He didn't love her enough to come home to her. Tragon was right. Tarius would rather stay in the field and fight.
She sat down in the middle of the clearing and slowly unfolded the letter. She couldn't stop crying, nor could she keep her hands from shaking.
She couldn't think such things. Tarius did love her, he did. He had a duty to perform, and he was doing it. It was that simple. No conspiracy to stay away from her at all. He wanted to be with her; he did! But he was busy making the country safe for her and for their future family. It was a noble thing that he did, and it still stank.
Jena was a young woman with a young woman's needs and desires. She wanted nothing more than to be with her husband. She would have gladly fought alongside him if such things were allowed, but they weren't, and his desire to fight kept them separated.
Jena dried her eyes and nose on her sleeve and finally looked at the letter.
My dearest love,
I know you may hate me, but I cannot come home now. Not while one Amalite bastard stands on Jethrik soil . . .
He went on to give her the events of the war in brief details. The letter ended in a very unexpected way.
Our king is a fool, and because of his foolery the Amalites shall swallow up the entire country. I do not want me or mine there when this happens. For this reason I once again beg you to consider moving with me to Kartik.
I miss you very much. All my love,
Tarius
Jena started to cry again. What did that mean, that he wanted her to consider moving with him to Kartik? Had he made up his mind that he was going, and she could go or stay if she liked? He had said he loved her, he had said he missed her, but most of the letter seemed cold and removed.
"I heard Tarius had decided to stay. I'm very sorry."
Jena's head snapped up at the sound of Tragon's voice, and she stood quickly not wanting to be sitting beneath him. "What are you doing here?" Jena asked hotly.
"Sorry, Jena, but you and Tarius's secret spot just isn't much of a secret," Tragon said harshly. "Didn't I tell you, Jena? Didn't I say he would choose war over you every time?"
"Did you come only to gloat at my misfortune then, Tragon?" Jena asked hotly.
"On the contrary. I have come to comfort you, Jena. You shouldn't be alone now," Tragon tried to smile sweetly, but it looked to Jena more like a snarl.
He had seen an opportunity to pounce, and he was pouncing. Problem was his prey was all too aware of his teeth.
"Comfort me!" Jena scoffed. "I don't need your kind of comforting, Tragon. I have a husband for that, and he will return home soon."
"That's why you're crying I suppose," Tragon said.
"I cry because I miss him, and his gentle words of love have touched my heart," Jena said quickly.
Tragon quickly grabbed the pieces of parchment from her fingers and easily held them out of her reach while he looked at them. "Oh, yes, this is a lovely sentiment," Tragon cleared his throat. "The dead were stacked up like cordwood. The flies were as thick as soup. So many of our men were dead it was hard to believe that we were the victors." Tragon slung the letter to the ground.
Jena wasn't stupid enough to reach over to pick it up. She didn't trust Tragon, and she wasn't about to put herself in that position. Something in his eyes right then told her that he wasn't quite sane.
"Some love letter you have there, Jena. Reads more like the log of a Warlord, and why shouldn't it? Tarius is after all the kingdom's only reigning Warlord. A killer tried and true . . ."
"The king himself told me that it was
his
decision to keep Tarius in the field," Jena countered.
Tragon laughed. "The king ows Tarius his life and his country. Do you really think that if Tarius had told the king he wanted to go home, that the king wouldn't have let him go? As I said, the king doesn't make any decisions concerning the war. Tarius does. If Tarius is in the field now, it is only because he wants to be."
Jena turned on her heel and started out of the field. She just wanted to get as much distance between her and Tragon as she could.
Tragon ran, caught her by the arm, and swung her around to face him. She kicked him in the knee, and he slung her into the ground and straddled her. He held one hand over her screaming mouth, and with his other gathered up her flailing arms. "Maybe I just need to show you what a real man could do for you, hey, Jena? Give you what Tarius hasn't, and isn't ever going to."
She bit his hand. Bit it hard, and he lost his grip on her hands. She drove the butt of her palm up into his solar plexus the way Tarius had taught her, and all the air was forced out of Tragon's lungs. Jena easily dug out from underneath him. While he was still gasping for breath she kicked him in his wounded leg, and he squealed in pain.
"Hear this and hear this well, Tragon. I will not tell a soul what happened here today, for I don't want to shame myself. My husband counts you among his friends, and I do not wish him to know what nature of man you really are. Let him believe he has saved a good man and not a wicked one. However, if you ever come near me again . . . If you even try to talk to me alone again, I will tell Tarius exactly what happened here today, and may the gods help you, because I think we both know what Tarius would do to you."
* * *
"I'm sorry Jena," Tragon called after her departing form. "Please forgive me." But she didn't turn around. He lay in the clearing clutching his leg in pain. "My gods what have I done, I have become an animal. A creture to be loathed."
Jena was right. If Tarius ever found out what had happened in this field, Tragon would be a dead man. The Katabull would shred him into pieces, and with the king as her ally, no one would dare to raise a hand or say a word against Tarius. In that moment Tragon wished that Tarius had let him die on the battlefield. Something had happened to him out there in combat. He wasn't the same man he had been, something had snapped in his brain, he knew that now. Jena had never liked him, so she'd never forgive him for this trespass.
Tragon knew his mind was completely bent because instead of hating himself for what he'd tried to do, he just hated Tarius all the more, because she was a better man than he was.
* * *
Tarius stood on a hill looking out over a small Amalite encampment. Soon they would sweep down and wipe them out, then they would be done. It had only taken them three months to hunt out and kill the Amalite "missionaries." The weather was turning cold, and it was time she got her troop back home.
Tarius walked over and got back on her horse. Arvon had the right flank this time, and he looked at her across the other men and shook his head. She was enough to scare a man to death. Her black armor, repaired a hundred times had gained some metal. Shiny metal pauldrons graced her shoulders, and seven limb tassets lay over her hips. She had cut the hair out of her eyes, but it now reached to the middle of her back, and she still wore two thick braids on either side of her face. She had smeared charred coals across her face in the lines of a skeletal design, so that she looked more beast than human. She took her helmet from her saddle horn and stuck it on her head, then she drew her sword. It wouldn't be long now.
The sword fell in a downward arc, and they started down the hill at a full gallop.
The Amalites had no idea what hit them. They weren't prepared for the attack, and they fell in a matter of minutes. When Arvon looked up from his last kill, he saw Tarius standing in the middle of the camp, sword in hand, desperately seeking another victim.
There was a crazed look in her eyes. Arvon quickly got off his horse and he walked carefully towards her. "Tarius, they're all dead. We can go home now."
She looked at him only a second and then wiped the blood from her blade with her fingers and flipped them in the air sending blood everywhere. She sheathed her sword, and only then did she look up at him.
"Home." She sighed and walked up to him. "We have to go home."
Arvon laughed. He looked around at all their happy comrades hugging each other and rejoicing that they could finally go home. "Have to? Tarius, it's over, and we
can
go home."
Tarius nodded silently.
"Tarius . . . Don't you
want
to go home? I know you miss Jena."
"Of course I want to be with Jena . . . It's just." Tarius shrugged and added in a whisper almost too low for him to hear. "She doesn't really want me, Arvon. I've tricked her, I'm the worst sort of heal and now I have to face that. It's worse than any Amalite."
"Tell her the truth. I think you'll be surprised."
The men all piled on Tarius, hugging her, and then carrying her around on their shoulders. Here she had acceptance. They completely bought her lies, but at home with Jena . . . How long could she fool Jena, especially when she didn't want to?
* * *
Harris rode up alongside Arvon. They had been on the road a week now, and they were almost home. Most of their fellows had left them to go to their own homes, and they were down to a mere ten men.
"What's with Tarius?" Harris asked quietly.
Arvon smiled. "Tarius is a warrior, Harris. Without an enemy to fight he feels sort of lost."
Harris slapped Arvon on the back. "I bet Jena can make him think about something besides fighting."
"Or at least give him a whole different fight," Arvon mumbled.
Harris rode up beside Tarius. "We're almost home, Tarius. Why don't we run the horses?"
Tarius laughed. "Since we are almost home, why not give our horses a well-deserved rest?"
"Aren't you excited to get home? To see Jena?"
"Yes," Tarius answered truthfully. She did long to see Jena, but she was scared, too. What if Tragon had told Jena? What if Jena now hated her? And even if she didn't, it was only a matter of time. What had Hellibolt said?
Her life was a recipe for disaster
. He was right.
However Harris's excitement was contagious, and the more she thought about how close she was to Jena, the more she wanted to see her. Finally, she looked over at Harris and smiled. "All right, I'll race you home. We'll be nice to our horses later." Tarius spurred her horse into a full gallop and Harris rode hard to try to keep up. The others did the same.
* * *
Jena was hanging out the laundry when she heard the sound of horses coming up fast. Her heart sunk in her chest; it could be bad news. She set the laundry basket down and ran towards the front gates. Suddenly a dark clad warrior rode hard through the front gates and jumped from his horse. The warrior landed mere feet away from Jena. She was startled, and it took her a second to realize that this grubby, soot covered warrior clad all in black leather and metal was her own dear husband . . . until their eyes met.
They met somewhere in the middle. Tarius lifted Jena in his arms and swung her around. Their lips met, and any fears Jena had were gone.
* * *
Harris rode in behind Tarius and got off his horse. He didn't look much less woolly than Tarius. He looked at Jena and Tarius and smiled. Nothing was going to peel them apart for a while.
Darian ran up and embraced Harris. "So, good Sir Harris, I see you have brought the heathen back to us in one piece."
"Aye, sir," Harris smiled.
"You smell a little ripe," Darian said, waving a hand in front of his face. "By the gods! It's good to see you lad."
Harris looked back over his shoulder. The others should have been there by now.
Darian smiled. "No doubt they've headed into town for some girls and some ale." He looked over to where Tarius and Jena stood just holding each other and smiled. "By the gods! He is a wild looking rascal."
"He paints his face when he goes into battle. Still has it all over his face," Harris said. "He is a fearsome sight to behold, at times he even scares me."
"Come on in the house. I'll have the servants draw you a bath, and we'll have an ale. Leave these two alone."
Harris nodded and followed Darian inside. "Ah! Chairs!" Harris said with a sigh looking at them. Darian laughed.
* * *
Tarius just held Jena for a long time, not moving and hardly breathing. The tears rolled freely down his cheeks, leaving streaks in the filth.
Jena moved back from him, looking into his face. She ran her finger over the unfamiliar scar on Tarius's face. "You do still love me?" Jena asked in a voice too small to be her own.
"How could I ever stop loving you?" Tarius said. He wiped the tears off Jena's face, leaving streaks of dirt, which he then tried to wipe off only making them worse. "Am I too ugly for you now?"
Jena laughed. "You are beautiful! A sight for my sore eyes. However, you are way too dirty even for me." She made a face at the stench coming off Tarius, he smelled worse than she could ever remember anything smelling.