Cyndar was currently sitting on the edge of a bed, topless, her arms up in the air, revealing a pair of large, well formed breasts. She was apparently unashamed by the nature of her situation. The Captain seemed relaxed and unaware of the attention she was garnering, even though every male eye within the large tent was now glued to her semi-clad figure. A young nurse was busily wrapping a tight bandage around her midsection. There was only a tiny spot of red on the otherwise white linen.
“You are well?” Tarina Grace asked, and she eyed the bandages higher up on the woman’s right shoulder.
Cyndar’s eyes stayed sharp but she nodded. “I will be able to return to the wall,” she said with an added look of determination.
The Tarina studied the young woman for a moment. ‘She would have made a fine Tar,’ she thought and wondered how Noble missed such an opportunity.
“I’d like you to lead the wounded and any civilians who wish to leave, out of Manse,” Grace replied, deciding to get right to the point. She did not believe the woman before her would be swayed by pretty words and arguments.
Cyndar frowned and her eyes flashed. “I will stay.” She answered bluntly.
“You’re to be commended on your courage,” Grace replied. “And you’re a fine fighter, the best Manse has…even wounded, but the town will fall and the wounded need to be moved before that happens.”
“Manse will not fall,” Cyndar retorted, slightly insulted and wondered at her own misplaced loyalty.
“It will,” Grace insisted. “And when it does there will be no time to save the wounded. They need to be moved to Colchester…we’ve already contacted the magistrate there and they’re preparing for the influx.”
“I will stay,” Cyndar repeated and could not keep the threat of violence out of her eyes.
Tarina Grace caught and recognized the look. “I would not ask this of you if you were not among the wounded…and I’ve had the same discussion with Samantha Fultan. Prince Gwaynn would not thank me if either of you were sacrificed for a lost cause.”
“Samantha,” Cyndar whispered with a faraway look in her eyes. “The baby!”
“The baby’s fine,” Grace told her quickly, mistaking
Cyndar’s hope for concern.
“Samantha has agreed?” Cyndar asked, surprised.
“Yes…she is brave and led her archers well, but she is with child and beginning to grow heavy. I cannot look after you both while the Knights storm the walls…it’s too much,” Grace added and noted the slight change in expression on the woman’s face.
“Manse will fall?” Cyndar asked, apparently on the edge of being convinced.
Grace nodded. “We may hold through one more attack. If the Knights had attacked in the night, the city would already be in their hands.”
Cyndar sat silent for a time as the nurse finished her bindings, then she stood and gingerly put on her shirt, hiding her breasts. Grace could almost hear the groans of disappointment coming from the men around her, but she ignored their distress and concentrated on Huntley.
“We need you to lead the wounded…they need their Captain,” Grace added glancing to doctor Linkler, who nodded and gave a slight, encouraging smile.
“Alright, I’ll go to Colchester…and heal,” Cyndar conceded, her thoughts now dwelling on the bitch with the red hair. “And then I will return…even if Manse has fallen,” she added dramatically.
“Good,” Grace said and reached out and gently rubbed the woman’s shoulder. It took all of Cyndar’s self control to allow the touch. “The doctor believes he’ll be ready to depart by tomorrow morning.”
“Very well,” Cyndar said. “I’ve some business to attend before we leave,” she added and sauntered from the room. Grace couldn’t help but notice that every male eye in the tent followed the woman and she sighed lightly, envying the woman’s youth and beauty. It had been a long while since she could command the eyes of men.
ǂ
The rain fell hard and straight on the Plateau and the sky was a flat gray that spread from horizon to horizon. King Weldon stood beneath the awning of his private tent and watched the downpour. He ignored the occasional soldier who walked by, head down against the driving assault from above.
“I should rouse the men,” General Sanchez said from just behind his King. Weldon said nothing as the Speaker pushed past, the hood of his cloak pulled tightly over his head. Without hesitation the man headed off into the rain, eager to be away…not from his King so much as the three Executioners who now accompanied him.
“Any word from the cavalry?” Tar Giodart asked as he emerged from the tent, amused by the Speaker’s obvious fear of him. Tar Rhinehold and Tarina de Croix stopped just behind in the flap of the tent.
“I still think we should wait until the weather clears,” de Croix commented, though she fell silent as Giodart turned to stare at her.
“You heard the High King,” Weldon stated though he did not turn.
“No…there’s been no word from Captain Bradley,” Sanchez spoke up, answering the question which was truly on all their minds. “But I gave him explicit instructions to circle about the Massi position and wait for our attack…he’s never failed me.”
“Well let’s hope he continues his good work,” Giodart said as he finally pulled his eyes away from the Tarina.
“Yes,” Weldon agreed. “I’m sure he will. When do you expect the cavalry to be in position?”
“The Massi have stopped their slow retreat before us and are camped peacefully only a mile to the north…I’d say Bradley has already completed the circle and is in the enemy rear as we speak,” Sanchez put in confidently. “From the lack of reaction from the Massi, I’d say they’ve gone undetected.”
“Then we must not delay,” Giodart replied and held one hand out from beneath the awning to test the temperature of the rain.
“In this rain?” de Croix grumbled softly.
“Yes…in this rain,” Tar Giodart answered growing eager…what was a little rain. “The Massi will not expect it.”
Weldon remained quiet for a spell, eyeing the gray sky above. It promised nothing but more rain…perhaps for days. “Very well,” he finally said. “Muster the men.”
ǂ
“na Gall tells me the Palmerrio are preparing to attack,” Monde said her eyes locking with Tar Kostek’s. Suddenly in the midst of war, she felt safe; she felt as if the Travelers might well survive this conflict.
They all sat around several small tables which were pushed together, save for Tarina re N’dori, who sat off in a corner, her eyes closed in silent contemplation.
“In this weather?” Saran asked, clearly surprised.
“This late in the day?” William asked equally astonished.