Chapter XVI - Submission

TWO YEARS, TWO AND ONE-HALF MONTHS

Zoe rose silently, the damp chill of dawn seeping through her tunic. It would grow hot when midday came, but now she required an extra layer. Wrapping her gray cloak around her figure, she picked up her travel pack. She walked across the camp, passing Jaedon who had been on watch since the very early hours of the morning. He nodded silently at her as she disappeared through the trees. She continued going until she was out of sight of the camp and hidden safely behind a particularly thick clump of pines. Discarding the cloak, she shed her clothes—peeling her trousers, tunic, and undershirt off with a feeling of slight regret. With a shiver at the cool air, she dug through her pack and soon pulled out with what she sought.

She eyed the garment with skepticism. It was a long brown thing with a pale blue shift to wear underneath. A dress. She could not remember the last time she had worn one. No, she mentally corrected herself as she pulled the shift over her head. Daelia helped me make one for myself when I was ten. I had forgotten. The hours of irritation brought on by sewing that dress had transformed the incident into a memory preferred to be forgotten.

It had been ten years since she had made a dress and almost as long since she had worn one. It seemed without purpose to her as a girl to keep one around, for how could she ride or hunt or climb in a long cumbersome skirt? She smiled grimly as the coarse brown dress slipped over the shift and fell to her ankles. She had not much changed her opinion of dresses since when she was a child, and she was twenty now.

The thought checked her for a moment: she was twenty? Her birthday had passed months before, at the height of the winter cold, with scarcely a thought. Sam! He’s twenty now! The idea of her twin being a man by name and rights brought a wave of sadness over her. She had been robbed of the last two years with him. What changes had those years wrought in Sam?

Zoe realized she was staring into space and she had yet to finish lacing up the confounded garment she wore. Will the ache never leave my heart? she wondered mordantly, suppressing her painful feelings by rote.

She studied the leather cords that pulled the brown overdress smoothly around her torso. The lacing ran down each of the dress’s sides from under her arms to the bottom of her hips. She struggled to tighten them adequately as she mused over how she had obtained the gown. Back at the Hunter’s camp, Shyla had pulled her aside the night before departing and warned that Zoe that she would stick out like a beggar in a palace if she entered Ruma wearing her forest clothes. Zoe was wise enough to know that Lady Shyla possessed a useful gift a foresight and had accepted the dress from the woman with thanks, if also an air of glum expectation. Shyla had seen her face and reprimanded her.

“I know I need it,” Zoe replied defensively, fingering the dress’s material. “I just feel hampered in it. I would never be able to run if I needed to!”

Shyla smiled. “Hopefully you won’t need to, though I am aware of why you want to be ready for whatever might come. Remember, however, that you are not on a solitary mission. You are accompanying Tancred and Jaedon: you must begin thinking as a team member would think. Do not betray their best interests in order to obtain your own comfort or desires. They will be forced to make sacrifices for your benefit too; treat their forfeiture with due respect. And above all, you must trust them, Zoe.” The woman’s voice and expression turned grave at the end of her admonition, her unusual blue-gray eyes locked with Zoe’s.

“I understand,” Zoe said seriously.

“And I still understand,” Zoe muttered as she finished tightening the leather laces. She raised her head and stared at the pines that shielded her on all sides. “I am trying my best, Shyla.”

Leaning down, she stuffed her old clothes into her pack and threw the cloak around her shoulders again. The skirt was very long and her leather boots protected her feet and shins, but still her legs felt oddly bare. Grimacing a little, she resigned herself to the foreign feeling and made her way back to the camp.

Tancred was up by then, and she smelled ham frying in the pan over the fire—probably the remainder of the previous evenings dinner and end of their provisions. Good thing we’re almost at Ruma. I’d hate to run out of food.

She tossed her pack down on the ground, feeling terribly self-conscious in her new clothing. “Is breakfast ready yet?”

Jaedon nodded, barely sparing her a glance. “Eat up, it’s the last of what we have,” he said, confirming her suspicions about their food supply.

Tancred looked over at her too, but either was unaffected by her unusual garments or was masterfully hiding what he thought. “Here,” he said, handing her a plate.

Relieved that neither of them had commented about her change of apparel, she sat down and looked at the food. “Who cooked it?”

“Tancred,” Jaedon replied.

Zoe smiled a little at Jaedon. “He didn’t poison it, did he?” she asked under her breath, feigning suspicion.

Her attempt at humor elicited a guffaw from Jaedon and the barest of grins from Tancred. Zoe then fell to eating and quickly consumed her two slices of ham, washing it down with water from her flask. Within ten minutes all traces of their camp had been buried or expertly concealed. The three of them led the horses through the thick pine grove for several minutes, trying to avoid the brambles that tugged at their clothes. Zoe was ready to scream with frustration by the time they were finished. When walking through the briars and pines yesterday she had not had half the trouble she faced today. Her skirt was riddled with burrs by the time they emerged. She plucked a few of them out but impatiently gave up on the others.

“We’re going to ride into Ruma,” Tancred said. “Jaedon and I tied the supplies across the back of the saddles so that we can ride.”

“Why are we riding?” Zoe inquired.

“Merely for a show of wealth and status,” Jaedon replied. “Only a pauper-merchant would walk into the city.”

She nodded and turned to mount Brac. She stopped uncertainly. I can’t ride astride in a dress, she realized. How do I mount?

Her dilemma was quickly solved by Tancred approaching and saying, “You need to ride sideways. Let me help.”

“I can do it—” she began, but he ignored her and boosted her up without another word. Angered at herself for her inability to mount without help, and at him for his unasked-for assistance, she twisted her torso around and grabbed Brac’s reins without looking down at Tancred.

“Ready?” Tancred asked mildly as he smoothly straddled Chale. Zoe was not fooled by his bland tone, immediately noting his and Jaedon’s amused expressions. They found her need for aid humorous!

She frowned, her pride rankled. “Whenever you both manage to restrain your mirth,” she said tartly, “I’m ready.”

With that they both grinned widely at her and rode by. Glowering, she awkwardly heeled Brac. His ears flicked and to her surprise, he sidestepped laboriously, stopped, and then turned his head to glance back at her. “No!” she whispered exasperatedly, then reached back and slapped his rump, trying to communicate that she wanted to go forward. He snorted and shook his head uncertainly, rumpling his mane, and trotted forward. She felt precarious and off-balance but was determined to persevere. “Good boy.”

She pulled abreast of the two men and the early morning hours slipped away. Travelers appeared more frequently on the road, and she spotted a farmer at the edge of his field, scanning the tender shoots with evident pleasure. From what Zoe’s inexperienced eye could detect, the crops appeared hale and strong.

Eventually Jaedon stopped talking with Tancred and began riding half a length behind Chale. Zoe followed suit, realizing that a slave girl—for that is what she would be in the eyes of everyone in Ruma—would never ride beside her master. The thought of being considered a slave still irked her but she fought against her pride. It was your choice to come, she reminded herself. You could have stayed in Mairbrac or even left these countries to find another place to live.

The clumps of trees thinned and eventually disappeared, giving way to a wide, flat plain with few homes in sight. The walls of Ruma appeared on the horizon and just behind them the tall towers of the palace began to take form. The three of them had skirted southwest across the plain and were making a direct approach on the southern gate.

Zoe absently wondered how many people could be housed inside the mighty walls of Ruma in times of need. The gray ramparts rose formidably out of the field, their height and breadth useful for keeping people out. Or keeping them in, Zoe thought grimly. When she had left the city five months ago, she never imagined to find herself freely choosing to enter it again. Nevertheless, it was too late to turn back now.

Tancred gave last minute instructions to her underneath his breath. “Do not meet anyone’s gaze. You are a foreign slave and possess no rights. Act appropriately. Above all, if you must address me, don’t call me Tancred.”

Zoe gritted her teeth and forced herself to dip her head in silent acquiescence. These are the sacrifices Shyla was speaking of earlier, she thought. If she could again face this city which had once been her cage, she could make herself act the part of a slave. Lowering her chin with an air of defeat and hunching her shoulders, she stared at the ground as they made the transition from dirt path to paved street. They approached the southern gate of the city and rode beneath the portcullis. Just as they were abreast the two watchtowers that stood sentinel over the gate and Zoe was sure they were not going to be stopped by anyone, a voice rang out.

“You! Merchantman. Halt in the name o’ King Brastus Alustate!”

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Tancred looked over at the approaching guard, a poised expression on his face. “What is the meaning of this delay?” he asked with appropriate aloofness. A well-off merchant was considered a class above a common gatekeeper. Nevertheless, he was curious: what had brought on the extra security? Nothing of this sort had happened to him when on previous missions to Ruma.

“We’re not to ‘llow no one into the city without checkin’ their business,” the portly guard said, his beady eyes meeting Tancred’s for a moment and then dropping away. He began scanning the parcels attached to the back of the saddles and glanced at Jaedon swiftly. His eyes paused on Zoe and Tancred was thankful she was not looking up. She would not care in the least for the guard’s heavy stare. He did not care for the man’s open gaze.

“Well, what need you check?” he asked edgily. “I am a merchant who frequents this city often. Cormac Alstair is my name.”

“Alstair, eh?” the guard managed to tear his gaze from Zoe and looked back at Tancred. “Where do you hail from?”

“The province of Meru. Never before have I been denied entrance to Ruma and I expect that will not happen now. Why the extra security, gateman?”

“We was told by our superiors ‘twas merely a new requirement to check everyone’s purposes ‘fore they entered the city,” the man shrugged, “but me and my friends are right certain that it has something to do with them foreign dignitaries that ‘rrived recently.”

Tancred looked at him keenly. “Foreign dignitaries?”

The guard nodded as he poked the saddlebag behind Jaedon’s saddle. “Yessir. All them royal folks tried to hide their entrance into Ruma but I ain’t fooled.”

“Whose arrival? Who do you think would come to see King Brastus?” Tancred made sure his voice was uninterested but he listened keenly for the man’s reply.

The guard glanced appreciatively at Zoe once more and Tancred’s jaw tightened. With a small sigh the man looked over at Tancred. His face took on a conspiratorial look. “Don’t know what everybody else is a-thinkin’,” he muttered, “but I’m bettin’ that they’re from the north. Wild Men.” He said the last two words slowly and with great emphasis, apparently expecting a reaction from them all.

So the rumors might very well be true, Tancred thought with a small, very grim feeling of surprise. An alliance may be in question between Rulaan and Elangsia at this very moment. “Are you finished, gateman?”

The portly guard nodded and backed off, looking a trifle disappointed that his news had not warranted more of an effect. “I’m set,” he assented. “You be careful with that wench o’ yours. She’s a mite too purty to be ‘llowed to roam free.”

Tancred gave the gatekeeper an icy stare and noticed Zoe stiffen out of the corner of his eye. “Your overfriendliness is by no means valued. Farewell.” The three of them rode away, leaving the reprimanded gateman behind.

“The swine,” Zoe growled very softly under her breath.

Inwardly Tancred agreed but he did not answer her. The threesome made their way down familiar streets, wending their way deeper into the city. They passed through the poor section of the city first. The houses were the same as Tancred remembered: squalid and ill-constructed. Dirty children rushed across the streets, all of them stopping without fail to watch the three horses and their riders pass, awe marking their small faces. Tancred as always felt pity for them; their lot in life was not pleasurable. The worn expressions on the faces of their mothers and the distasteful smells that clung to the pavement and grimy houses also spoke of the poor quality of life the impoverished families experienced. Brastus did not care about the poor, Tancred knew. The Elangsian king was too focused on the wealthy and on the war. Nothing else existed for him. It was a wonder the king had not yet been overthrown by some insurrection among his subjects.

After a time they passed into the middle-class district. Here the houses were finer, the children cleaner, and the smells pleasanter. The weak sunlight of late morning shone down and cast everything in a pale yellow glow. Tancred turned down one street and then they arrived at their destination. His small house looked as quaint and unimpressive as ever; the door was still locked and everything appeared untouched. Good, he thought. He could never be too certain that it would not be broken into during his absences. Not that thieves would find much to steal. He left hardly anything inside the place, finding it pointless to furnish it when he typically did not stay in Ruma for prolonged amounts of time.

He dismounted. “Unpack the horses, Jaedon. Zoe, come with me inside to inspect the interior.”

Jaedon quickly fell to work, grabbing the reins of the three steeds and leading them toward the small lean-to that housed the horses at the side of the house. Zoe followed Tancred to the front door of the house. He unlocked it and they entered. The short hallway was quiet and the walls were in their typical bare state. To the left was the room Zoe had dwelled in during their previous stay. He swung the door open and surveyed the wooden cot, sturdy table, and smooth wood floor. Zoe stepped past him and took everything in as well, her large eyes roving the room slowly.

She looked up at him. “It all appears just as we left it.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been very quiet since we entered the city.”

Slightly surprised that she had taken note of his silence, he studied her closely as he repeated, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Did you not wonder at the extra security at the gate? There has never before been a formal inspection like that upon my entrance. The gatekeeper mentioned that the Wild Men are here. That can only mean an alliance is coming…and soon.”

“What exactly would happen if an alliance were successfully made?”

“A battle.” Tancred felt his jaw muscles twinge with tension. “A great battle that would challenge all of Aerilya’s resources.”

“Who would win?” Zoe had set her feet firmly and turned to face him. Her face took on a stoic expression as she awaited his reply.

“I loathe speaking so of my own country,” he said quietly, “but I know that Aerilya would not emerge the victor, should such a conflict occur.”

Zoe did not say anything as she mulled his words over. Her eyes focused unseeingly on the floor; he wondered what she was thinking.

“Is there nothing that can be done to prevent it?”

“That is what I am here for. King Trystellan is trusting that I will find both information and a way to stop a final, all-encompassing battle.” Tancred smiled coolly. “He is a good king and wise, but perhaps does not understand what a monumental task he has given me. I do not know if such a conflict can be completely avoided. There are men who want it to occur. King Brastus for one; probably the leader of the Wild Men as well.” And Captain Ricald, he mentally added, his fist clenching at his side.

“Are there none in Elangsia who wish for peace?” Zoe asked, her tone a mixture of earnestness and frustration.

“Almost certainly the poor and middle-class want that, but they have little say in what happens. The wealthy do not care, for they live in their private, opulent manors and care little for the rest of the world. King Brastus has turned the war into his personal agenda for dominance; he wants to rule Aerilya as he rules Elangsia.”

“That cannot happen.”

Where did she gain her quiet resolve and form such a decisive nature? Tancred wondered, not for the first time. He knew he must be patient, but Zoe was a puzzle he had been faced with for over half a year now. His endurance to wait lasted only so long. But he would stay his questions yet a little longer. He knew he would. Perhaps someday Zoe would trust him enough to reveal a little of her mysterious past. Mayhap I can even learn her last name, he thought with wry humor. Odd to think he still had not acquired that basic information from her. Whatever else she might be—stubborn, prideful, ruthlessly blunt—she was excellent at keeping secrets.

He brought his mind back to reality and nodded at her gravely. “It will not happen on my watch if there is anything I can do to prevent it,” he told her in a low voice, responding to her previous statement. “Aerilya will not fall.”

She met his gaze and raised her eyebrows ever so faintly. “Let us hope so.”