Chapter X - Unease

ONE YEAR, NINE MONTHS

The next morning, Zoe rose early from the small tent she had been given by Shyla the night before. She stepped outside and stretched, ran a hand through her unbound hair—she was going to have to find another leather strap to hold the long tresses out of her face—and went to find some breakfast. She had left her cloak back in the tent and shivered a little at the chill in the air. She located a large pot of porridge that hung over a fire in the middle of the camp, guarded by a portly man who doled it out, and walked over to him. “Is this for everyone?”

“Everyone who wants it,” he said, a rueful smile breaking across his wide face. “Have you a bowl?”

She shook her head. Without another word, he grabbed a wooden bowl and spoon from a small stack by his feet and gave it to her. “I carve extras for the men who lose theirs,” he explained. “You can have them. Hang unto them, though. You’ll be using them for the rest of your meals here.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “May I have some of it?” She pointed to the bubbling porridge.

A minute later, she was seated on the ground eating the hot breakfast. When she was finished, she washed the bowl and spoon in a nearby bucket of ice water and left them in her tent. She exited with fresh purpose: first, she was going to see if she could obtain any weapons; second, she planned to get in some practice. There appeared to always be men sparring, working on their archery, and riding their horses. They had to get their weapons from somewhere. Zoe glanced around the camp and encountered two familiar faces—Geoffrey and Lance. They had been two of the three tree-abiding sentries yesterday when she and Shyla had first ridden in. They’re as good to start with as anybody, she thought. She didn’t see Shyla anywhere, she had no desire to talk with Tancred, and she had not seen Jaedon since arriving yesterday. At least I know Lance and Geoffrey’s names. They might be able to help me.

She walked over to them and waited for them to pause their sparring. Her practiced eye quickly discovered that Lance was more skilled than Geoffrey by a very great margin. She found herself rooting for the teenager, and she cringed when he quailed under a surprise move by Lance and was disarmed. He was panting and looked embarrassed when he saw she had been watching. “G’day, lady Zoe,” he muttered, hurrying to pick up the sword with an air of awkwardness about him.

“Not lady,” she corrected firmly. “Just Zoe is fine.”

She then met the eyes of Lance, who swiftly flashed a smile at her, his deep dimple appeared. She estimated him to be about twenty-two, a little more than two years her senior. He offered her a slight dip of his head and said, “Good morning to you. Have you a need for assistance, Zoe?”

“Yes. I am wondering where I can find some weapons.”

Lance looked slightly surprised at her query. “Weapons?”

She crossed her arms and nodded. “Aye, preferably a throwing dagger and sword, though a bow and arrow would not hurt either. I have not practiced with them for some time.”

“You know how to use a bow?” Geoffrey asked with ill-concealed amazement. “I didn’t think any girl learned those things except for Lady Shyla and Kris.”

Zoe vaguely wondered who Kris was but did not digress. “Well, I’m familiar with most weapons,” she said. Perhaps I’m not the best with them all, but I’m not about to tell them that. “You must have a cache of weapons somewhere, right? Where do you all get these swords?”

Geoffrey glanced at Lance uncertainly, who cleared his throat. “Ah, I don’t know if we’re free to share that with you,” he said with a trace of apology in his tone.

A rush of impatience flooded her. “Then can I use yours while you get a replacement?”

The two young men looked at each other mutely. Lance looked like he was about to reply when another voice interrupted. “You wish for weapons, Zoe?”

Zoe swiftly turned and a smile broke across her face. “Jaedon!”

The older man smiled back, the weathered skin around his eyes and lips crinkling. “You are safe and well?”

She felt a curious warmth spread throughout her body, strangely pleased that he cared to ask. “Yes, I’m fine, considering the circumstances,” she said cryptically. By the knowing gleam in Jaedon’s brown eyes, she surmised that he knew what she meant. Tancred. She refused to think about him. She quickly asked, “I’m looking for some weapons, Jaedon. Where can I get some?”

He looked a little amused as he said, “We don’t give out arms to people until they have proven they have enough skill to handle them.” He looked at her appraisingly and said, “How about you spar with Geoffrey for a few minutes—we will be able to tell if you’re capable to handle them after that.”

Geoffrey? I could beat him with my eyes closed, she thought. She did not mean to boast, but she knew that she could best the youth easily, even though she had not practiced for months. “Jaedon—” she began, trying to explain, but the man held up his hand.

“It’s necessary to test you,” he said firmly. Zoe looked at Geoffrey with a trace of pity. She did not want to embarrass him but there seemed no other way to get out of it.

“Very well,” she sighed, accepting Lance’s sword, which he wordlessly passed to her.

She hefted it, testing its weight. She swung the weapon around a couple times to get a feel for it, and then looked at Geoffrey, who looked a little curious but not worried. He thinks he’s going to be able to defeat me easily, she realized. She noticed out of the corner of her eyes that some men had stopped to watch, forming a circle around her and Geoffrey. Zoe suspected most of them were curious about her: who was this young woman who had ridden in with Shyla? She thinned her lips, pointedly ignoring their inquisitive stares and remarks to their companions.

“And…begin,” Jaedon said quietly. Geoffrey and Zoe pulled the blades of their already crossed swords away from each other with a quiet shing. Geoffrey attacked quickly and carelessly, swinging a little erratically. Zoe briefly considered allowing him to think he was besting her for a while, but decided against it and smoothly thrust her blade toward the teen’s sword hilt, twisted her wrist, and flung his weapon away.

Geoffrey gaped at her for a moment, looking a little shocked. “How did you do that?” he gasped, breaking the stunned silence that had settled over everyone watching.

She shrugged, looking down. “It’s a pretty simple move.” She didn’t mention how many months it had taken her to master the technique, practicing it over and over with Aiden—and being disarmed over and over by him.

Jaedon stepped forward and picked up Geoffrey’s sword. His expression was unreadable; Zoe was not sure what he thought about her quick, decisive move. He tossed the weapon to Lance, who caught it by reflex. “Lance. Your turn to spar with her.”

She readied herself, more wary this time. Geoffrey turned and walked to the sideline, joining the growing circle of men. Lance was much better than Geoffrey. She would have to test his dexterity and fight defensively until she figured out how best to attack.

Lance was more careful than Geoffrey, feeling out her strengths and weaknesses in the same way she was feeling out his, though she still observed a sort of cocky tilt to his head. He knew she had skill, but he thought he would defeat her in the end. She gritted her teeth, annoyed by his presumption. He won’t conquer me so easily, she inwardly vowed.

They circled around each other, their blades clashing a few times and disengaging again. Zoe’s mind tried to process everything and remember it. He’s not as strong when assaulted from the left, she noticed. And he overreacts to a strong attack; he won’t be too hard to distract with some fancy maneuvers.

She feinted an attack on his right and he sprang at her, his expression intense. She twisted away from his blade and her sword swung down and leveled at his neck. Lance froze and stared at her down the length of her blade, clearly still wondering how she was over on his left instead of his right, where he had been swinging. She dropped her sword and stepped back.

“You’re good,” Lance said, recovering and standing erect again, though surprise still tinged his green-gray eyes. “Who taught you?”

“Somebody with much more skill than me,” she said simply.

Jaedon stepped forward yet again, taking the sword from Lance. She walked toward Jaedon and was about to give him her sword and ask for a weapon of her own now that she had proven her proficiency when he looked at her with a piercing gaze and stopped her.

“Ready yourself,” he said, dropping the cloak that he wore around his shoulders.

What? She did not want to fight Jaedon! She frowned; a little irritated at the position she had been put in. Backing down is not an option, though. She resumed a loose, ready position. She tried to remember all Aiden’s instructions as her blade engaged Jaedon’s.

Instantly she knew she was up against an accomplished swordsman. Everything from the way he held the blade to the poised look on his face spoke of his expertise. Her unwillingness to fight the man faded as her determination rose; she did not want to be beaten by him. Jaedon attacked with lighting quick movements, keeping her alert and on high guard. The minutes ticked away and sweat broke out on her brow. By now over thirty men were gathered around, debating who would come out the victor. She shut them out, channeling her concentration toward Jaedon. Focus, she ordered herself.

After ten minutes of this, Jaedon started to move and she realized he had only been toying with her, seeing how quick her responses were. His attacks came quicker, so fast she could hardly follow his blade. She felt desperation rising as she tried to keep up with him and worked to push the emotion down. Zoe called on all of her skill and parried and thrust efficiently, conserving her strength. An opportunity came and she ducked beneath Jaedon’s sweeping blade and attacked from the right. He swung around and the tip of his blade snaked forward, seeking her hilt so that he could disarm her. Backpedaling rapidly, she skidded on a hidden icy patch. She regained her balance quickly and without falling, but it was not enough. Jaedon took the opportunity given and before she could parry, his sword point was at her throat.

She was panting and her face was red as she berated herself furiously. You should have been watching where you were going. A slip like that would differentiate between life and death in a real battle! Jaedon lowered his sword. Zoe was slightly mollified to see he was breathing hard as well, but still discomfited by her loss. She tried to console herself. At least I gave him a difficult time.

“You are a worthy opponent,” he said with a touch of respect.

“Do I qualify for a weapon of my own now?” she asked with a touch of sarcasm that brought a ripple of laughter from the surrounding men. Jaedon grinned, and a reluctant smile worked its way up her lips. Her pride had a difficult time accepting defeat, but she discovered it was hard to stay angry with Jaedon.

“I think we can furnish you with some weapons,” Jaedon assented. He extended his hand and helped her up. “Come.”

She handed her sword to Lance and Jaedon gave his to Geoffrey. Several of the men smiled welcomingly at her; they all appeared inquisitive. “Very nice job there, m’lady,” one told her admiringly. “Not many could last so long against Jaedon.”

Zoe nodded silently to most of them, unsure of how to view their interest. She was uncomfortable being the center of attention. She stayed close to Jaedon and followed him toward the northern end of the camp. They eventually escaped the dense pack of men and she hurried to pull abreast of Jaedon.

“What kind of weapons would you like?”

“I lost a hunting dagger and a practice sword-blade some months ago. I’d like to replace them.”

“Only a practice blade?” Jaedon looked at her with surprise. “I would have thought you’d have invested in a good sword judging by your skill.”

She shook her head. “Where I came from,” she said quietly, “I was a learner with average abilities. I did not think I needed a real sword.”

“You shall have one now,” Jaedon promised, and Zoe felt a twinge of relief that he did not inquire more into where she came from. Her anticipation grew as they drew close to what looked like a large cave. It was a rocky outcropping, well protected by pines. She clambered up the cold stone with Jaedon and they reached the mouth of the cave in a short amount of time.

“This is most commonly known as the disguise cave,” Jaedon said. A torch was burning in a roughly made sconce that was attached to the stone wall, and he grabbed it, lighting the inside of the cave. “We have many weapons and more to choose from here.”

Zoe’s eyes widened as the light from the torch revealed rows of swords, axes, bows and matching quivers, and a myriad of other weapons. Lances and hunter daggers were off to the side, and she spotted helmets, shields, and breastplates stacked in neat piles too. Large trunks, ancient looking with weathered wood and heavy iron framework, were arranged in several even ranks in front of her. She looked at Jaedon quickly. “Who uses all these?” she asked in a low tone.

“All the men,” Jaedon said. “It’s useful to fit into whatever surroundings we need to. The trunks hold clothing of all sorts, so we could dress as noblemen, serfs, or even monks if we needed to.”

“But where do you get them from?” she exclaimed. “They must cost much gold.”

Jaedon smiled faintly. “The Hunter attacks slavers who carry heavy bags of gold or passing Elangsian battalions who have ill intentions. We gather the gold for the clothes from the slavers and the weapons from the battalions.”

Zoe could not help but to be impressed, though she begrudged giving Tancred any credit. “Interesting,” she said enigmatically.

“What weapons would you like?”

She walked forward and picked up a long, beautifully formed sword, one that had immediately drawn her eyes when she saw the weapons. The hilt was wrapped in soft leather, and small vines and leaves were engraved on the grip. It was a good weight, and she noted the blade was quite sharp when she pulled it a little ways out of its scabbard. Very nice, she thought.

“There is a matching set of daggers that may interest you as well, if you’re as good with daggers as you are with the sword.”

She turned in surprise, for it was not Jaedon but Tancred who had spoken. The man’s tall frame was silhouetted in the opening of the cave, but he walked inside after a moment and she was able to see his face. She looked at him impassively, gripping the sword a little tighter. “Indeed?” she replied to his remark about the daggers, determined to retain her composure.

“Yes,” he said, crossing the cave to the dagger pile. “A fine set of weapons.”

She followed him quietly, pausing to accept the torch Jaedon extended toward her with suddenly cold fingers. “I will take my leave for now,” Jaedon told them. “I must see to other things in the camp.”

Zoe was sorry to see him leave; she liked his companionship and besides that, being alone with Tancred was not high on her list of favorite pastimes. Tancred nodded sharply at Jaedon and then turned his attention back to the daggers. He quickly located the ones that matched the sword Zoe held and pulled them out of the pile, handing them to her. Zoe examined them carefully, noting the leather belt that held the two dagger sheaths with approval. “I think I’ll take these,” she said abruptly.

“They will serve you well in hand-to-hand combat,” Tancred commented. “You did well against Jaedon. You have much skill.”

She did not reply. She did feel a twinge of pride that he had seen her defeat Lance and Geoffrey. Perhaps she was not as miserable with weapons as she used to think.

He continued, “But you may do well here in the forest with some arrows and a good bow. Have you any experience with them?”

“Yes, but I’m nowhere as good as my sister Ilara,” she said without thinking. She stopped suddenly, realizing her vocal trip. Why did I have to mention Ilara? she inwardly groaned. She didn’t want to share anything with Tancred about her family. It was too private and too painful.

She glanced up at Tancred and knew he had noted her slip. She prayed he would not inquire further. She saw interest lurking behind his blue gaze, but also quiet respect. He motioned toward the bows, arrows, and quivers and asked, “Would you like to look at these, or are the daggers and sword sufficient?”

“I think I’d like to see the bows,” Zoe said, relief flooding her. She did not look at him, grateful for his restraint but unwilling to admit it. A few minutes later she had strapped the daggers around her waist and picked a bow that was the right size for her—an attractive weapon that reminded her of something Daelia would fashion in her workshop: a tool both lovely and powerful.

She held the sword in her left hand and the bow in her right with the quiver hanging from her shoulder. It felt good to have weapons again. She already planned to fasten the scabbard of the sword to her baldric later so that it would be readily available for her to draw anytime she needed to, and the bow and quiver would find their places on Brac’s back for use when she was riding.

Just then, an odd noise came from the mouth of the cave, and both of them turned. What she saw caused her eyebrows to shoot up. A small creature, no more than a foot long, had scampered forward into the cave. It paused for a moment and chirped, the same sound they had all heard a moment ago, then flicked its long, barbed tail and came closer. Tancred knelt and said, “Egan! You’re back. Have you come from Kris?”

Zoe watched the lizard like creature come to Tancred and agilely crawl up his arm. It was chirping and hissing in an odd way as it settled around the back of Tancred’s neck, its head on one side and its tail resting on the other side. “What is that?” she asked, unable to repress her curiosity.

The creature’s head shot up and looked at her with an expression Zoe could only describe as quizzical. It hissed a little and looked back at Tancred, who grinned. “This is Egan. He is a pseudo-dragon. They are best described as miniature dragons, though they aren’t quite the same.” He walked forward and continued, “Let’s go outside.”

è è è è è è è è è

Tancred listened to Egan’s suspicious hissing with a small smile. He and Zoe exited into the daylight and he felt her furtive gaze. Tancred remembered the first time he had seen a pseudo-dragon and he admitted that he probably had looked the same as she did now: frankly curious.

Egan was covered with brownish-red scales and his eyes were an odd golden color. He had wings that were folded tightly up on his back, but what a person could see of them told them that they were leathery but delicate. His tail was twice as long as his body and constantly flicking. Tancred knew from experience that most people did not like the look of the spikes at the end of the appendage, but he also knew those barbs were useful protection for the creature and were never used against friends. Egan continued chirping and hissing as he stared back at Zoe.

“Can he talk?” she asked, fascinated.

Egan was outraged and clicked furiously at Tancred. Tancred’s smile widened lazily and he soothed the creature before telling Zoe, “He understands human language, and humans can learn to comprehend pseudo-dragons, but neither of us can speak the others tongue.”

“Oh,” she said.

“How is Kris, Egan?” Tancred addressed the pseudo-dragon.

The little creature reluctantly tore his gaze away from Zoe and turned to Tancred, communicating rapidly.

“She is well?” Tancred repeated for confirmation. Egan replied affirmatively.

“Who is Kris?” Zoe questioned.

Tancred eyed her keenly. “She is my sister, younger by a year.” He observed surprise dart through her eyes, though she kept her expression masked. Her eyes tell so much, he thought. She doesn’t realize I can read them.

“Oh,” she said again, apparently at a loss.

“Come, let’s go back to the camp,” Tancred said, taking pity on her. He turned his head toward Egan and added, “My mother will want to see you too.”

Egan chirped self-importantly. Zoe was silent, so Tancred reverted to his own thoughts as they climbed down the rocks and tramped back toward the large encampment through the soft layer of snow. Thank Deus that Kristalyn is safe. He and his younger sister had been involved in their parents’ life of adventure since they were pre-adolescent, and as they grew into adults, they continued the legacy.

Since their father’s murder, almost seven years before, Tancred had stepped into his father’s place as the Hunter while his mother and Kris had continued as spies and emissaries for top-secret missions for Aerilya. Tancred himself still was used for a spy—his artificial life in Ruma as Cormac Alstair the merchant showed that—but only for the most important or dangerous missions so that he could remain in Mairbrac for the majority of his time. Kris and Shyla were not afraid of the perilous assignments, but Tancred made sure neither of them was sent to the worst places. It was one of the ways he could protect them in their hazardous occupations…one of precious few ways.

I have to talk with Egan about Kris and see what she is doing, he thought. She’s still on assignment in the Elangsian countryside; hopefully she hasn’t run into any trouble. He knew his sister was capable of taking care of herself, but that didn’t mean that he wanted her to have problems.

He stopped; they were inside the camp again. Zoe murmured a faint “Thanks for the weapons” before she slipped away in the direction of the horses, most likely in search of her stallion. Tancred watched her walk away, more curious than ever about the fiery young woman. He wondered what Ilara was like; if there were more siblings; how Zoe had learned to handle a sword well enough to challenge Jaedon’s skill; what her past was. So many questions…not enough answers. She wore armor a foot thick over her emotions and since he was well aware that he was not anywhere close to being one of her trusted friends, he had little chance to penetrate her protective shell for a long time. Patience, he told himself.

“All right, Egan,” he said, deliberately changing his line of thought and peering over at the pseudo-dragon who was still curled around his neck. “Tell me about Kris….”