He paused, eyes narrowing suddenly, then stooped and picked up a handful of the forest’s deep leaf mold. He looked at it for a moment, then closed his fist and listened to the dry leaves crackle as he crushed them, and he smiled.
Leeana looked up as Dathgar and Gayrfressa arrived almost simultaneously at the veranda rail while Sir Jerhas Macebearer tied off the bandage on her gashed ribs.
The cut wasn’t especially deep, although it had bled freely, but she was grateful for the dressing. She was also more than a little surprised the Prime Councilor had insisted on personally assisting her with it.
Not that there weren’t more than enough wounded to keep everyone else with any healing skill busy, she reflected grimly, listening to the moans of the wounded and dying men littered across the courtyard. She gazed at that carpet of writhing bodies-and the ones which would never writhe again-and knew her childhood memories of Chergor would never be the same.
“Leeana?” Her father had raised the visor of his helmet and his voice was sharp with the same concern she felt welling out of Gayrfressa.
Macebearer glanced up over his shoulder.
“Your daughter’s going to be fine, Tellian,” he said, and Leeana’s eyebrows rose as he called her that.
“It’s more than a scratch, but it’s also shallow and clean,” the Prime Councilor continued as she lowered the bloodied shirt she’d raised to let him get at the wound. “We’ve both seen people take far worse in their first fight, at any rate.” His lips twitched in something midway between a smile and a grimace. “And we’re lucky she was here to take it; without her, they would’ve carried the veranda and gotten to the King after all. It hurts my pride to admit it, but she’s not just better with a blade than I am now. I’m afraid she’s better than I ever was. And”-the fleeting almost-smile disappeared and his voice went harder-“the number of these bastards the two of you killed between you should convince just about anyone that you weren’t the one behind the attack.”
“I hope you don’t expect some of them to admit that,” Tellian said, never looking away from Leeana.
“Probably not,” the Prime Councilor replied, standing back and leaning against one of the veranda’s supports while he watched Leeana tuck her shirt back in. “It’s a point I intend to make, however, since your daughter’s warning-not to mention her sword skill-means I’ll be around to make it.”
“That’s the second time you’ve called her my daughter,” Tellian observed, and Macebearer shrugged.
“Did you think I thought you’d stopped loving her just because she become a war maid? I’m sure it would shock any number of our lords warden to hear me say it, but at the moment I don’t really care very much.” He snorted a sudden chuckle. “No doubt I’ll get over it in the fullness of time, but at least for the moment, I think it’s more important for her to be who the two of you think she is than who the law says she is.”
Tellian looked at him for a long, still moment, then nodded and looked back at his daughter. She saw the worry in his eyes, the darkness deep within them as he tried to keep them from clinging to the blood on her shirt and the stain where it had run down over her breeches.
“Are you really all right, love?” he asked in a much gentler tone, and she knew he was asking about far more than a cut.
“As close to it as anyone could be,” she told him honestly.
She looked down at her right hand, wondering why it wasn’t quivering the way it felt it ought to be, thinking about how many of those dead and dying men in the courtyard had been put there by that very hand, and tried to understand her own feelings. She didn’t-not really-and if she didn’t understand them herself, how was she supposed to explain them to him? She thought about that for a moment, then looked back up at him.
“I’ll be all right, anyway,” she said. “That’s probably the best anyone can say after his-or her — first fight, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
She’d never heard her father sound quite like that, and a deep, heart-melting surge of love went through her as their eyes met. She was his daughter, and the daughters of Sothoii nobles were supposed to be protected, cherished-kept safe. He’d never in his worst nightmare expected to see his daughter, the treasure of his heart, whirling through a cauldron of blood, screams, and shearing steel. And yet, despite the terror he must have felt, despite the bone-deep training which insisted in his heart of hearts, whatever his mind might tell him, that women-and especially his daughter — had no business shedding their blood, or anyone else’s, he was fighting so hard to keep that dread, that fear, from showing. He was failing, but that only made her love him even more for trying.
“Sir Jerhas is right,” Tellian continued, looking at the bodies sprawled on and about the veranda. “Without your warning, they would’ve overrun us before we even knew they were here, and that doesn’t even count this.” He gestured briefly at the bodies. “If it’s all the same to you, I don’t think we’ll be discussing this in any great detail with your mother, and at the moment I find myself really wishing you’d never become a war maid, but”-he looked straight into her eyes-“I’m proud of you.”
“I had good teachers,” Leeana said.
“I’m sure you did. But I’ve just decided what to give you and Bahzell for a wedding present.” Leeana cocked her head, and he snorted harshly. “If you’re going to be a wind rider, you need the armor to go with it, and I happen to have friends in Dwarvenhame. I’m sure they can help us out with that.”
‹ And the sooner the better,› Gayrfressa agreed tartly. The bloodsoaked mare glared at her chosen rider. ‹ Two-foots! And you were worried about me?!›
‹ Of course I was,› Leeana replied silently, reaching up to stroke the courser’s neck as Gayrfressa leaned closer, touching her nose to her chest and blowing heavily. ‹ You’re a bigger target than I am.›
‹ Oh, really? And which one of us came through without a scratch? ›
Leeana laughed just a bit shakily and turned back to Macebearer.
“I appreciate the bandage, Sir Jerhas. I only hope you didn’t shock the rest of the King’s gentlemen too severely.”
“I’m sure some of them will be suitably horrified later,” the Prime Councilor said dryly. “For now, I doubt somehow anyone’s likely to make any…inappropriate remarks. And as for the propriety of it,” his blue eyes twinkled suddenly as they cut briefly to Tellian’s face, “my younger daughter is at least ten years your senior, young lady. I believe I can put a bandage on your ribs without being overwhelmed by lust.”
Leeana blinked at him. For a moment, she was certain she’d imagined his last sentence, but those blue eyes gleamed, and she heard something shockingly like a crack of laughter from her father’s direction as the Prime Councilor stroked his luxurious mustache and returned her goggle-eyed look with a bland smile.
“I see you have hidden depths, Milord,” she told him finally, and he chuckled. But then he sobered and shook his head.
“I won’t pretend I suddenly approve of the entire notion of war maids,” he said, “because I don’t. But without you, my King would be dead. Whatever I think of the choices you’ve made, nothing can erase that debt.”
“No, it can’t,” another voice said, and Leeana turned quickly as King Markhos stepped out onto the veranda.
The King looked around the body-littered courtyard, his expression hard, and anger smoked in his eyes. Anger made even worse, Leeana realized, because he’d been denied the right to strike a single blow in his own defense.
She doubted Swordshank could have enforced that edict if Markhos had brought along his own armor. It had been difficult enough as it was, yet the King had been forced to acknowledge the overriding logic of his personal armsman’s argument. If he fell, their attackers won, whatever their losses; if he lived, then his guardsmen won, even if not one of them survived. He owed it to those guardsmen-and especially to the ones who were certain to fall in his defense-to live. To make their sacrifice count. And so while every instinct cried out to join the battle, he’d made himself accept the far harder task of waiting at the center of his defenders’ ring of swords while they died to protect him.