“No sword, no spear, no dagger shall Jalav again touch,” spoke Ceralt, light eyes cold, not to be swayed from his purpose., “Remember my words, wench, for they shall not be told you again.” Then his gaze went to Lialt. “How does she fare, brother?”
“Better than I had expected,” replied Lialt as he studied me. “She heals with a rapidity which is gratifying, though rather difficult to understand.”
“It is the doing of Mida,” I informed him with sureness. “Easily might it be seen that there is yet work she would have me see to.”
The last was for Ceralt, so that he might know that the possession of Jalav was Mida’s alone, yet the miserable male smiled faintly and placed my hands beneath the lenga pelt. “Indeed there is yet work for Jalav to see to,” said he, anod at Lialt. “Jalav shall learn humility, and curtesy of manner, and the ways of the proper woman. And Jalav will also learn the pleasing of Ceralt.”
Lialt’s laughter joined Ceralt’s smile, and the fury rose within me. So sure was the male, so sure that again I might be taken and held by him, yet I clearly remembered that which had gone before.
“Jalav shall learn naught save the return path to the lands of the Midanna,” I choked out in the midst of their amusement. “Not again shall males find opportunity to betray her. Not again!”
“What number of times did the lash touch you?” came Ceralt’s voice, soft with deadly menace. “What is the size of the thing between Galiose and me?”
No answer did I make to him, for Galiose would find himself repaid by my hand, should Mida allow me such pleasure.
“Perhaps it is unwise to speak now of such matters,” came the voice of Lialt. “She has not sufficient strength for memories such as those—which by the looks of her, must be painful indeed. I shall fetch her a bowl of broth, and then she must sleep again.”
“The matter is yours to determine, brother,” replied Ceralt amid the sounds of movement. “She must be recovered before the Snows indicate the time for the journey, else I shall not allow her to accompany us.”
A pause was there, and then Lialt said, “Yet without her presence, the journey shall not succeed. Clearly was this shown me, Ceralt. Should she remain behind, our lives may well be forfeit. ”
“Then it shall be so,” said Ceralt, a final inflexibility to his voice. “Should she lack the strength to survive the journey, she will not go. Her life shall not be thrown away.”
“Many are the lives at stake,” said Lialt with a softness, “yet the decision is yours to make, brother. I may do no more than search out the paths in the Snows. It is your lot to choose among them, and pleased am I to have it so.
With those words did Lialt depart, and strange did such words seem. Was Ceralt not a city male of Bellinard, as all had supposed? For what reason would a male present himself so, speaking not of those from whom he came? Perhaps the male felt shame at his beginnings, a thing truly fitting for males. Midanna felt pride in their clans, and never would they renounce their roots through shame. Soulless did all males seem to be, whether of cities or elsewhere.
Though Ceralt yet remained, no longer was I able to lie upon my side. The spears of the Silla had touched deep in arm, leg and side, and the pain flamed with increased anger as my weight pushed the wounds to the lenga pelt. Reluctantly, I turned again to my back, left hand going to right arm, yet naught did my fingers come upon save the rough cloth which bound the wound. No strength had I left to deny the pain, and it set me begging to Mida for the surcease of darkness.
“In time the pain will ease,” said Ceralt, his voice soft yet echoing the ache, his hand moving to the moisture upon my brow. “Only in childbed was a woman meant to know such pain, for only then has the pain meaning and purpose. I would know what befell you.”
My head, beneath his hand, turned somewhat to find his eyes soberly upon me. Such pleasure had I had from him, the pleasure of his manhood and the simpler pleasure of his presence, yet must I thrust the memory of all such from me, for males were evil and sought naught save the betrayal of warriors.
“Jalav wishes naught of your presence, male,” I informed him huskily, seeking the strength to take my eyes from his broad, familiar face. “No word shall Jalav address to you, no word and no thought. Much would I have preferred to have been left where I had fallen.”
Deep hurt flashed briefly in his light eyes, and then those eyes studied me a moment before his hand withdrew from my brow.
“You are much wounded and sorely in need of rest,” he said quite softly, a small catch to his voice. “We shall speak again when some measure of strength has returned to you.”
Then he rose from his crouch and left the conveyance, his step slow and heavy, his eyes not again turning toward me. Swiftly did I close my eyes to erase all sight of him, yet was there a trembling within me. Naught might a male mean to a warrior, naught did Ceralt mean to me! Pain had the male given me, and betrayal in all things, and none save a fool would allow the memory of strong arms and soft lips to wipe meaning from what had gone before! Weakling wetness seeped from between my closed lids to roll to my cheeks, shaming me by their presence, yet was I unable to stem the flow.
“Has the pain worsened?” asked the voice of Lialt from beside me, startling in its nearness. Large fingers brushed at my cheeks, spreading the wetness, and then his hand smoothed my hair. “The wench Jalav is as brave as she is beautiful,” he murmured in a soothing manner. “Surely so brave a wench will not allow the pain to best her when soon it shall be gone completely? Weep as you must, wench, but do not despair. Lialt will see that you grow well again.”
My eyes opened to see his face but blurrily, and angrily I wiped at the weakling wetness. “Jalav does not weep!” I snapped, yet the words emerged hoarsely, in a whisper. “Warriors of the Midanna do not weep, male, and easily shall I grow strong again without your aid!”
“Certainly you shall,” said he in a manner most conciliatory, his hand yet astroke upon my hair. “Soon shall my aid be unnecessary, yet now must I continue to supply it, for I would not have Ceralt grow angry with me. Come, the broth will strengthen you, and prepare you for the meat which will quickly replace it.”
Again he lifted my shoulders and brought the metal pot to my lips, and in no manner was I able to deny his wishes. My belly ached for the warmth and satisfaction of the broth, and easily might it be seen that I was unable to do so simple a thing as hold the light metal pot. My hands shook in the attempt even as I swallowed all that came past my lips, and Lialt’s voice murmured soothingly and with encouragement, calling me a good, brave girl, and a beautiful wench. Filled with indignation, I attempted to berate him for such terms, yet the broth did not cease to fill my mouth, making speech impossible. At last was the bottom of the bowl to be found, and Lialt lowered my shoulders to the lenga pelt with much of a large grin.
“I am pleased to see that your capacity increases,” said he as he put the bowl aside. “Such is ever a good sign. We shall now put you upon your face again, so that I may tend to your back.”
His hands reached toward me, and my annoyance grew even higher than it had earlier been. The word of a war leader meant naught to males, yet had it been many kalod since any had sought to oppose me, and never had any attempted to order me about. Greatly displeased was I with the way of males, and this, I felt, should be made known to Lialt.
“This back you speak of,” said I, halting the motion of his hands. “Undoubtedly it is your own back you refer to, is this not so?”
A frown creased his face, and puzzlement entered the light eyes of him. “Certainly not,” he replied, his tone filled with lack of understanding. “Have you forgotten, wench, that it was you who felt the lash? The back which needs tending is yours.”