So it might work out fine, if all these clucks survived long enough.
And himself, Candlemas.
Briefly he thought of what he'd told that little girl, how he admired her father, keeper of the dovecotes. Perhaps Candlemas could assume his disguise, if all failed. When Lady Polaris flew shrieking through the halls, Candlemas could happily shovel pigeon shit.
That's what it all was, he sighed. Shitting. Shit fell from the privies of the archmages onto him, and he in turn shit on the lowly groundlings. Somewhere was the lowliest groundling of all, he thought, who collected all the shit of the world on his or her head. He wondered if they were ever happy.
One day's walk from the village of Augerbend, Sunbright was settling onto his camp bed, blissfully unaware of the machinations happening high over his head. He knew only that he was pleasantly tired after walking a dozen miles that day and bringing down a brace of wood ducks for his dinner.
He had his usual small banked fire, reflecting off a fallen oak this time. This would be his last camp, he supposed, for tomorrow he would enter a real village. He'd never visited one before, had been only to markets erected in fields on the edge of the tundra, where his people traded meat and hides and beaten copper ornaments for salt and iron and cloth and other provisions. Rengarth warriors did not venture far into the lowlands except for cattle and spouse raids. So as for this place, he didn't know what to expect. For the thousandth time, he wished he had a companion, even a dog, to travel with him. Truth to tell, the brawny barbarian was a bit shy. And with everything so new…
A twig snapped, and as quick as thought Sunbright was off his blanket and behind the log with sword poised. He readied to spring, for he reckoned that the closer he got to civilization, the more dangerous the woods would be, not less. But this clumsy visitor would probably only be the podgy Chandler.
No, definitely not.
A woman tiptoed into his camp. Her hair was long and tawny red, the color of the fire. She wore nothing but a simple shift, the soft cloth washed and worn so much it had taken her shape, thin enough so Sunbright could see every curve as she stood by the fire.
Peering first at his empty bedroll, then at the darkness around her, she quavered, "Hello? Hello, is anyone here? I'm lost and need help."
It couldn't be true, thought Sunbright. Her plight had "trap" smeared all over it. So he surprised himself by calling, "Where are you from?"
"Oh!" The girl jumped, startled. She tiptoed, barefoot, to the fallen oak and peered over it. "Oh, there you are!"
Sunbright felt foolish aiming a sword at the girl. But his childhood had been filled with horror stories of mysterious women who accosted wandering men. Silkies, they were called, or dryads, water sprites, nymphs, succubi, and other names. Invariably they cozied up to a man, then visited him with some unspeakable death: turned him inside out, changed him to a frog, drowned and ate him, planted insect eggs into his paralyzed body.
As the girl leaned over him, the shift gaped open revealingly. She shivered. "I'm nearly frozen! I was bathing in the river, and some boys from the village stole my clothes. I had to wait until nightfall to return home, but I lost my way in the dark. Can you…" Her voice trailed off as he continued to stare at her.
A likely story, thought Sunbright. She had to be a night hag, a harpy, a killer. He couldn't be this lucky. He kept his sword ready, but felt himself melting under her warm green gaze. He knew he should tell her to leave, but some traitorous part of himself replied, "I'm a stranger here and don't know the way to the village. But if you'd like to share my fire…"
She smiled gratefully and sank down on his camp bed of boughs and blanket.
Now what? Sunbright wondered, standing. Would she grow fangs and red eyes? Would he have to lop off her head?
"Would you sit beside, me?" The girl looked up at him, her green eyes pleading. "I'm still cold."
Sunbright felt his knees turn to water. This was magic, for sure, but perhaps only normal man-woman magic. He tried to answer, but only croaked like a frog.
"What?" she breathed. Her eyes were soft, her lips moist. "I can't hear; you'll have to come closer."
Twisting a surprisingly strong hand into his bearskin jerkin, she pulled his face downward. His legs failed, and the rest of him followed, collapsing on the camp bed next to her. She bent over him and placed her mouth on his.
She's not cold, the barbarian thought groggily as he gave himself up to her eager ministrations. Not cold at all.
And this was bound to be better than dying in combat.
Sunlight stabbed into his eyes, and Sunbright sat bolt upright on his blanket. He'd overslept.
Rubbing his eyes, he simultaneously searched for his sword, his possessions, and the girl. The first two were where he'd dropped them, the last gone without a trace. No, there was one trace, for her delicate footprints showed in the scalped dirt around the dead campfire.
"But that doesn't make sense," he wondered aloud. "Either they suck your soul or lift your purse." But everything was here, including an ache at the base of his spine. It had been the most delightful night of his life.
So where was she? And who was she?
The name Ruellana tolled a bell in his mind. At some point in the evening, he'd remembered to ask her name. She'd gasped it at the time, and the memory set him to wondering.
Why would she love him half to death and depart? There were no stories where a man got boundless joy and didn't pay dearly for it. But that seemed to be the case. Standing, legs apart, sword in hand, he followed her tracks a ways, but they quit at a deer trail that pointed toward Augerbend. Had she gone that way? Or flown into the sky, or slid inside a tree? Would he ever see her again? He certainly hoped so. Maybe in the village, since it was the only human settlement around.
Whistling, eager now to get to Augerbend, the barbarian threw together his meager camp, hoisted his pack and bow, and swung off.
"Ruellana of Augerbend, here I come."
He was still whistling, and breaking every other rule about moving through enemy territory, as he left the deer trail for a rutted road, then passed the first farm. It was a fortified cabin with a double-barred door, thick log walls, and a slate roof that would not burn. The door stood open this bright spring morning, and from inside Sunbright heard a woman singing. Dogs ran up the road and barked furiously, but the young man only waved at them graciously and bid them good day. A girl chivvying geese with a switch looked up, saw the wanderer, and ran for the house. In a moment the woman came to the doorway. Sunbright waved, but she only jerked the girl inside and slammed the door.
Touchy folk, the young man thought. No doubt Ruellana lives elsewhere.
Before he knew it, he was threading cabins on both sides of the road, then came to a crossroads where four matched maples cast a green tint from early spring leaves filtering sunlight. The barbarian saw now that the village occupied land that jutted squarely into a small river. Hence its name, for the river made a bend like an auger brace used for drilling holes. A nice place, Sunbright thought, if Ruellana lived here.
There were few people about, for most were in the fields, tilling and planting. Another dog barked, but the barbarian spoke to it and it stilled. "Hush, you. Where's the inn? Ah!"