Chapter XIV - Departure

He saved my life.

Zoe knew the truth but could hardly admit it, even to herself in the privacy of her thoughts. She mechanically took the saddle off Brac and slipped his bridle over his ears, setting the equipment where she could clean it later. As she inspected her horse’s wounds and began cleaning them, the scene where Tancred came streaking down the hill into the battle and saved her from the Elangsian’s sword continued replaying through her mind. She had seen the blow coming out of the corner of her eye but had been unable to do anything about it, so occupied was she with the other two soldiers. She had known with sickening certainty that she was going to be wounded, and badly wounded at that.

And then… she shook her head. Why did he save me like that?

She pursed her lips and forced herself to focus on Brac’s neck wound. Her confusion could wait until later; right now her horse needed her full attention. She began applying a poultice she had that was used for wounds. “Fool,” she told him in a soft voice as his muscles quivered under her touch. “You stupid, lovable fool. You will not be ready for travel for many days now.” Without proper rest and time for healing, Brac would reopen his wounds, especially the one inflicted to his neck. For an instant, she wondered how Brac’s injuries would affect her planned departure for Ruma. She shoved that away. I’ll think about that later.

Brac shuddered as she gently put the salve over his wound but stood staunchly until she had finished. Zoe walked to his head and looked deep into his pain-clouded but still proud eyes. “For all your brashness, I would not change you one whit,” she whispered, touching their foreheads together. “Thank you for the help with that Elangsian commander, too.”

“You brought down a commander?” Tancred’s question was uttered quietly, almost casually, from where he stood behind her. “That is not bad work in an afternoon. And that’s not considering the three others you disposed of as well.”

Zoe lifted her head but kept her back turned to the Hunter. “Thank you,” she replied formally, feeling stiff and uncomfortable.

“You’re welcome,” he responded just as courteously.

Zoe frowned. She could tell he was inwardly laughing at her. She could even imagine the twinkle that must be shining in his eyes. Twisting around, hands settling on her hips, she was surprised to find him a lot closer than she had expected. He leaned against a tree about three feet away, his arms crossed and eyebrow cocked. He dipped his head and said pleasantly, “Good day to you, Mistress Zoe.”

“Good day,” she answered guardedly. “You returned from Bryndor, I see.”

“Very astute of you to notice,” he replied with a slow grin.

She glowered. Arrogant as always, she thought with disgust. He’ll never change.

His smile faded and he added, more to himself then her, “But I won’t remain here very much longer.”

“You’re going away again?” She couldn’t stop the question from coming.

He considered her with a thoughtful, slightly cynical look on his face. “I am,” he finally said, his voice deep. “The king had a mission waiting for me, as I thought he might. I leave in the morning.”

Zoe looked away, intently studying the bark of a nearby tree. Now, Zoe, her inner voice urged her. Speak!

Why are words of thanks so difficult to speak? she wondered cynically, mustering her courage and forcing down her pride.

“I…um,” she stumbled over her words painfully, “I owe you thanks for coming to my aid during the skirmish.” I would not have been able to defend myself without you, she silently added, a little reluctantly.

He stepped a little closer and said, “Look at me please.”

She met his gaze unflinchingly, hiding all she felt under an impassive exterior. He smiled suddenly. “You’re welcome.”

She released a breath she had not realized she was holding and managed a tentative smile back. “So, where are you going in the morning?” She turned to Brac’s gear and gathered the bridle and saddle pad up. She was about to reach for the saddle when Tancred scooped it up as naturally as if he carried her saddle for her every day. Unsettled by his move, she said nothing and listened to his answer while they walked to her nearby tent.

“I will ride north, with Jaedon,” Tancred’s voice turned grim. “There are rumors of a coming battle brewing.”

She laughed shortly. “I thought that we already knew there was a war going on. Battles are fought everyday, like the skirmish we won just today.” They reached her tent and she ducked inside to grab her leather polish. Bringing it out, she sat on a nearby log and began rubbing the bridle down, continuing with a trace of sarcasm, “What is so terrible about another battle?”

“The Wild Men of Rulaan—a country further north than Elangsia—are possibly planning an alliance with the Elangsians. Such an alliance would mean almost certain defeat for Aerilya if we were caught unawares by their attacking forces. I am going to prove, or disprove, the rumors,” Tancred elucidated, “by going to Ruma to pick up the latest reports.”

Ruma! Zoe stopped stock-still and looked at him keenly. “You’re going to Ruma?” Her words came out more forcefully than she intended and his gaze sharpened.

“Yes.”

“You’ll be Cormac again, I suppose.” She forced her voice to become more level and looked back at the bridle. It glowed from her vigorous rubbing. She laid it carefully on a woolen cloth inside her tent and returned to begin on the saddle. She glanced up at Tancred, who still had not responded. “You will be Cormac, right?”

“Yes,” he answered finally. “That is the reason I returned here instead of going straight from Bryndor to Ruma. I need to collect a few artifacts I keep on hand here. They serve to support my facade as a merchant.” He smiled without humor.

Zoe continued wiping the saddle, her thoughts moving far away, and did not reply. A moment of silence passed between them, interrupted by Geoffrey, who ran up and skidded to a halt in front of her.

“Zoe! You did a great job out there,” he exclaimed breathlessly. “You fought four Elangsians at once!”

She smiled faintly at him. “Thank you, Geoffrey, but I believe a great deal of the glory belongs to your leader.” She motioned toward Tancred before carrying the newly cleaned saddle into her tent. Reemerging a second later, she nodded to the two men. “Good afternoon,” she said with quiet finality, and walked swiftly away. She had to think.

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Tancred watched Zoe stride off, one hand settled on his hip and the other resting casually on the hilt of his dagger. She was completely thrown off by him right now and hated showing her uncertainty. Interesting, he thought. Geoffrey was rattling on about something, so Tancred turned to him and listened for a moment. When the teenager stopped to draw breath, Tancred inserted, “Geoffrey, I spotted your sword outside the tent you share with your friend Richard. It is in need of cleaning.”

Geoffrey’s face turned red in mortification. “Oh…I had forgotten,” he mumbled weakly.

“No soldier can fight without his sword,” Tancred pointed out kindly. “Blood rusts it faster than anything. Clean it and report to Lance or Warrick when you’re finished.”

“Aye, Hunter,” Geoffrey said eagerly, turning and running to his living quarters, which were far on the other side of the large camp.

Tancred surveyed the encampment quietly. He had already taken care of Chale, cleaned his sword, and collected the artifacts he would be taking to Ruma the next morning. Now he had to speak with his men before he left again. Warrick and Lance especially needed orders and guidance, though he was pleased with everything they had completed during his absence in Bryndor. His thoughts turned to his mother, too, and he glanced toward her tent to see if she were close by. Her horse was gone, so he assumed she was off hunting or merely taking a ride through the woods, as she loved to do. I’ll speak with her later, he decided.

The rest of the evening was spent touring the camp and reconnecting with his men. They all had kind words and encouragement to give him. Again, he felt the burden of honor that had been placed on his shoulders when he had taken up the name of his father. It seemed to grow heavier with each passing year, but it was a weight he was accustomed to; a challenge that he relished.

Night arrived. The forest was cloaked in the darkness of the evening; fires were stirred to life; conversations grew muted and hushed. Tancred shared a pot of stew with a dozen men and joined them in recounted humorous stories from months and years past. After much laughter and friendly bantering Tancred stood, slipped away from the fire pit, and sought out Warrick.

Warrick was an old grizzled man with a nasty scar that ran from his scalp all the way down through his eye and cheek, ending finally at the bottom of his right jawbone. The healed skin was puckered and shone white in the moonlight; his unseeing eye was oddly healed over with scar tissue, adding to his somewhat sinister appearance. Nevertheless, he was a man to be trusted and that was exactly what Tancred did.

“Hunter,” Warrick said gruffly.

“Good evening, Warrick,” Tancred replied. The two surveyed the fire-lit camp for a few long moments before Tancred spoke. “I am leaving in the morning with Jaedon. We are returning to Ruma.”

Warrick grunted. “I expected as much. So do most the men, if it eases your mind at all.”

“I would rather be here with them.”

“We all know that, lad,” Warrick said kindly, turning his good eye toward the young man. “You’re not one to run from responsibility. But right now you are bound to serve the king, and serve him you will.”

“Aye.” Tancred sighed and then rallied himself. “You and my mother will oversee the camp, of course. I think Kris is planning to return sometime in the near future, but I do not know how long she will stay.”

Warrick smiled crookedly. “It would do me good to see Mistress Kristalyn. It has been too long.”

“Indeed it has been,” Tancred agreed quietly. He felt twinges of melancholy at the thought that he would miss the visit of his sister; they did not see each other often anymore. Next time, he promised himself. Just get through this mission first.

“I will be leaving at first light tomorrow,” Tancred said. “Thank you, Warrick.”

Warrick looked at him steadily, his good eye serious in the flicker of the nearest fire. “You’re welcome, Hunter,” he replied steadily. “We will look for your return with gladness.”

Tancred dipped his head in thanks and strode away.

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Morning came quickly. Tancred had all his supplies tied to Chale’s back and his knee-length boots pulled on before the day had fully dawned. Egan was still curled up in his personal hollow in a nearby tree trunk, slumbering deeply. Tiny wheezing sounds came from the little pseudo-dragon’s throat as he slept. The creature understood that he could not come with Tancred on missions to Ruma; a merchant like Cormac Alstair would not possess a pseudo-dragon. Egan would come to him there only if there was an emergency communication from Shyla or Kristalyn.

Tancred hoped his sister was faring well. He would not see her now for an indefinite amount of time—he would be in Ruma and she was always roaming Aerilya, Mairbrac, and parts of Elangsia. Perhaps upon my return she will be here at the camp, he thought resignedly.

The summer weather brought a vaguely stifling layer of humidity to the air, which Tancred felt as he walked through the camp. He and Jaedon were going to travel on foot to Ruma, stretching the trip from three days to a week. It was the only way to get the artifacts into Ruma without bringing a wagon, which would give them a lot more trouble than walking would.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the far horizon when Tancred arrived at the northern edge of the camp. Jaedon and his mother Shyla were both waiting for him. He greeted Jaedon and turned to Shyla. “I wondered if I would see you before I left,” he said.

She smiled. “Did you think I’d let my son go all the way back to Elangsia without seeing him off? I was busy last night or I would have seen you then.”

Tancred wondered what she had been doing the previous evening but she said no more to clarify her words. Pulling his head down, she kissed his cheek. “Have a safe trip,” she told him, suddenly serious. “You know the dangers as well as I.”

“Yes,” he responded quietly. “I will be all right.”

“Perhaps it is not you I am worried about.”

He stared at her in mystification. What? “You think Jaedon will give me extra grief this trip?” he teased, expertly hiding his slight uncertainty.

Jaedon’s quiet answering guffaw did not help elucidate matters any. If there was one thing Tancred detested, it was not knowing what was going on, and he suspected his mother and mentor both knew something he was not aware of.

Shyla looked pointedly behind him. That, in addition to the sound of a clearing throat, tipped Tancred off.

He turned and stared at Zoe with raised eyebrows, clearly asking her: What are you doing here? She was wearing the long cloak he had given her back in Ruma and had a pack thrown on her back, plainly prepared for traveling.

She matched his expression and folded her arms over her chest. “You’re going to Ruma,” she said simply, as if that should explain everything.

Tancred tried to hide his frustration. He had had enough trouble last time trying to keep an eye on her in Ruma. What were Jaedon and his mother thinking? Spying was a treacherous profession, and every time Tancred returned, it was worse. Bringing Zoe along was asking for additional problems. Tancred knew it would be difficult enough looking out for Jaedon and himself without adding a young woman into the mix.

“Excuse me?” he finally managed to get out. To his relief, his voice was level and devoid of emotion.

“You’re going to Ruma,” Zoe repeated with a mixture of steel-like resolve and quiet logic. “Grace and the other slave women are there. I was going to go there myself to free them, but as you are going, I decided to come along. That is, if you’ll have me.” She lifted her chin with characteristic stubbornness.

Tancred looked hard at his mother. “She’s going with or without us?” he asked tightly.

“Yes,” Zoe answered self-assuredly.

Shyla added, “I believe your negotiations are with her, not me, son. However, I will make one thing clear: she is going to Ruma. She made that decision by herself already. The question is, will she go with you or alone?”

As if I would let her go alone, Tancred thought with a trace of exasperation. That’s even more dangerous. “What about your stallion? Where is he?” Tancred turned back to Zoe and grasped at weak arguments.

A flash of pain entered her face, breaching her calm expression and laying her bare for a moment. “I will not be bringing him,” she managed in a low voice. “He is still wounded. The men will look after him.”

Tancred felt stirred by Zoe’s swift show of vulnerability, but forced up his outer shields and hardened himself against emotion. He stared at her almost harshly. “Do you even understand what situation you are getting into? It is perilous in Ruma; there are many people there who would like to kill me.”

“I know,” Zoe said calmly, her gaze firm but touched with a bit of…hesitance? Tancred was not sure.

Then he realized why she would feel uncertain. She doesn’t like me much, nor was her last experience in Ruma much to her liking. She is going for those other women, women she knew for a week at most. She is going back there to face difficulty…simply to help them. Admiration touched him briefly.

He sighed. His choice was as difficult but quite clear.

“You may come with us.”

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He’s allowing me to come, Zoe thought. Then, even as her relief soared, uncertainty also multiplied. Now I’ve just sentenced myself to weeks around Tancred—or rather, Cormac, for that is who he will be in Ruma. And I’m leaving Brac here, voluntarily separating myself from my only link to Aiden! I must be crazy.

“Thank you,” she replied to him evenly, her thoughts blazing through her in a split second. Whatever else happened, she would not lower herself to exposing her feelings to Tancred. That would be the ultimate humiliation.

He continued looking at her piercingly; she felt uncomfortable but straightened her spine and blanked her expression.

“You are ready, Mistress Zoe?” asked Jaedon.

She nodded at him. “Yes.” She looked at Shyla and hesitantly walked forward. “Thank you for helping me pack,” she said awkwardly. Why are my words always less than what I want them to be? “I…I appreciate it.”

Shyla smiled and to Zoe’s astonishment, the woman drew her into a quick embrace. Zoe was a little stiff and cautiously wrapped her arms around the woman before stepping away. She could not remember the last time she had been held close by someone in such a way. It both unnerved her and reopened a deep ache inside her that never seemed to go away.

“Deus be with you all,” Shyla said warmly.

“Deus’s face shine on you and give you peace,” Tancred and Jaedon responded.

Zoe followed the two men as they left the camp. The crisp, succulent ferns snapped under her boots and brushed against her legs. The air was tinged with the thick, achingly familiar smell of the sun’s warm summer rays as it filtered through the forest leaves and gave life to the plants. Just like in Braedoch, she thought grimly.

Trying to distract herself, she listened intently to the calls of the birds and ripple of nearby streams and—

A furious, inhuman scream rose from the camp that had faded into the trees behind them. Zoe whirled, her heart leaping with surprise. What in the world…? A loud crash sounded and Brac exploded out of a clump of pine trees, trailed by three of Tancred’s men who grabbed wildly at the stallion’s trailing tether. Zoe leaped forward as Brac reared unto his hind legs and pawed the air with his powerful forelegs. She recognized the fierce light in her horse’s eyes with a detached feeling of resignation; in his current state, he simply would not be reasoned with.

“Stop!” Zoe yelled at the men in warning, darting between them and Brac. “Don’t touch his tether!”

The men backed away, wide-eyed, clearly relieved to leave the enraged horse alone. “He just bolted a moment ago,” one explained a little shakily. “We tried to contain him, but he wouldn’t have any of it.”

“Thank you,” she told them, watching Brac plant his front legs firmly on the ground again, tearing up the soft turf. He tossed his head and glared at her. She avoided his gaze non-threateningly as she spoke to the three men in a soft voice, “It was nothing you did. Please inform Lady Shyla that I will be taking my horse with me.”

“Yes, Mistress” they all said, hastily retreating to the camp without further protest.

Zoe turned her attention to Brac, blocking all else from her awareness. She slowly reached out and grasped the long tether, which looked to have been chewed loose from the tree he had been tied to. Brac had never done such a thing before; she was a little surprised. She touched his neck and he stopped throwing his head around. His eyes locked with hers. A moment later, his nose bobbed up to nudge her forehead.

Zoe shook her head. “I should have known you would not stay back there without me. You cannot blame me for wanting to protect you, though. Your wounds are still so fresh…”

Brac exhaled with a rough snort, obviously not concerned or in much pain. She pulled back and inspected the gashes she had meticulously sewn. His neck appeared to be all right, but the chest scratch had reopened. “You’re lucky this isn’t worse,” she grumbled to him.

“You will bring him with us?” Jaedon’s mild inquiry broke through Zoe’s thoughts. “He appears capable of traveling.”

She turned to the two men. “I think he’s made the decision for me,” she stated flatly.

Tancred’s eyes crinkled with smile lines, obviously amused by Brac’s display of obstinacy. He asked, “Do you want to tend to his chest wound before we leave?”

Five minutes later, Brac was cared for and docilely followed Zoe through the woods as the three travelers struck out again. Zoe fingered his tether with a small smile and inhaled deeply. She tried to drink in all the life around her, knowing that once they were in Ruma the birds would be far away and the air would not smell as sweet. Despite that knowledge, on she strode. It had been long months since she had seen Grace; it was time to find her.

As she listened to Brac’s hooves squelch in the mud, she realized abruptly that it was now about the time of year it had been when she and her siblings had been exiled. Can it have been two years now? she wondered. No...it has been more than two years but a month or so. It was late spring, not summer when we were banished.

Typically, she pushed thoughts of the banishment from her mind before they grew detailed, finding them ever difficult to dwell on. Now she forced herself to remember it, down to the expressions on Duard and her siblings’ faces when the pronouncement had been given that fateful day in the central chamber of their home. Her thoughts expanded and branched out: again, she felt the gut-wrenching anger and fear that she had faced those two long years ago. She never wanted to forget what she had gone through…what her siblings had gone through.

And yet, she never wanted to remember.

She continued advancing northward, her back straight and shoulders thrown back. The least I can do for Grace is ensure that her life does not play out like mine has. No one ought to be separated involuntarily from their family. Her eyes narrowed. I intend to find Grace when I’m in Ruma if it’s the last thing I accomplish on this earth.