Текст книги "Warprize"
Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
“There is to be peace, and a prisoner exchange.” I worked quickly, trying to see the wound in what light I had.
Simus stared at me. “Peace?” He shot a glance at Kier. “Under what terms?”
I didn’t look at him. “Fealty, taxes, land. A prisoner exchange. Tribute.” The shakiness in my voice surprised me.
Joden’s voice came over my shoulder. “Tribute?”
I didn’t know the word in their tongue, so I used my own. “A slave.” I was digging through my satchel, hiding my face. “Me. I am to be given to him at sunset.”
“Slave,” Joden said, puzzled. “I do not know this word.”
Kier’s soft voice floated over us, barely a whisper. “You could flee.”
“Yes,” I nodded. “There are people who would hide me and help me get away.” I faltered in my digging. “But if the Warlord is as ruthless as they say, what will he do to my people if I don’t go through with the ceremony?” I closed my eyes, actually picturing it for the first time. “If the Warlord is true to his word and it is a true peace, then any sacrifice would be worth it to save my people.” I jerked my head up and shot a glance at Simus. “Can I trust his word?”
Simus nodded. “Yes. If he has set the terms, he will not be the one to violate them.”
I looked down into the satchel and watched the jar in my shaking hands. “My father,” My voice trembled but I continued. “Father always said that the price of privilege is responsibility.” Even as I said it, I knew it to be true. Xymund may not be honorable. I could not control him. But I could act with honor. I took another deep breath and turned back to my work. As I worked, I cast a look up at Kier, hidden there in the shadows. “Xymund gave me a vial of poison.”
Kier’s face tightened. Joden sputtered behind me. Simus levered himself up onto his elbows.
“The drug would give you release.” Kier’s voice was dark and heavy as it floated through the dark. “ Your people would suffer the consequences. The Warlord would level this city, and destroy the people if you were to die.”
I looked over at him in the darkness of the tent. His eyes glittered at me from the shadows. A hysterical giggle bubbled up inside my throat. “You have listened to too many ballads. He probably wants a healer to ease the ache of sore muscles or lance his boils. I…”
Kier’s head snapped up, and he looked at the tent entrance. I stopped, listened, and heard guards, many guards approaching outside.
Dearest Goddess. I had been right.
My mouth dried in an instant. Quickly, I pulled the blankets up and over Simus. I staggered up, pulling my satchel with me. Kier was silent, wrapped in a cloak. He looked over at me, his face intent. “What is this? The exchange is to take place at sunset.”
I didn’t answer. I fumbled in my satchel and pressed my small knife into Joden’s hand. “Here. Hold this for me.” I turned and strode toward the entrance. I got there just as the captain of the guard stepped through. From his look, he was surprised to see me. As he squinted at me, he opened his mouth to say something. I didn’t give him the chance.
“Arneath. I am glad that they sent you to take charge of the exchange. I don’t quite have them ready to go yet.”
Arneath closed his mouth and shot me a look. “My men can assist them to prepare. Why don’t you wait outside?”
Oh no. He was not getting me away from them. I prudently stayed out of arms’ reach.
“Tis a joy for me to aid them, since it means the return of our men so much quicker.” I smiled and shrugged. “They are eager to leave. It will not take long.” I turned and called out in their tongue. “The trade of prisoners is to happen now. Everyone get ready.”
Eager faces turned my way, and the men started to stir themselves. I felt Arneath moving behind me, and stepped away, toward where Joden stood. While I was fairly sure that the guards had no understanding of the language, I took no chance. “No one walks alone. Everyone must aid their fellows.”
I started to make my way back to Joden, ignoring Arneath’s protest from behind me. “Some of you take up the cots of those who cannot walk.”
I reached Joden.
“Simus must go on a litter. Kier, you and Prest can carry him.”
Joden started to reach for Simus, but I got in the way. “No, Joden. Stay next to me.” He looked at me, puzzled. I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “You may need a hostage to get through this.” His eyes widened, then hardened.
As the men gathered themselves, I waited for Arneath to order me taken from the tent. His men had the weapons. But I was gambling that his instructions were to be quiet and discrete. Hard to do that in front of the woman who was being given into slavery before the entire Court in a few hours.
We started out, surrounded by the guards. I walked beside Joden, sticking close. Arneath said nothing, but watched me carefully. If he were going to do anything, it would be in the depths of the garden, out of sight of the castle, where bodies could be buried. The path was narrow, and the men were strung out. If Arneath was to act, it would have to be there. The briar loomed before us. I breathed in the scent of the roses, and prayed to the Goddess. These men moved so slowly, even helping one another. We reached the briar and crawled passed. I bit my lip, desperate to look behind, and yet not quite daring to do so. Finally, I couldn’t help it. I looked back.
The last prisoner staggered past the briar, followed by the last of Arneath’s men. I breathed a little easier. Kier was at the foot of Simus’ litter. He blended into the group well, as if he had always been there. The only difference was the glances he darted in my direction from time to time.
When we reached the castle gates one of the gate guards approached me. “Xylara, the King has instructed that you are not to leave the castle grounds.”
Ah, Xymund. Brave enough to order the deaths of unarmed men, but afraid to face the Warlord without his little gift under his control.
Ameath looked like he had lost the battle but won the war. There were alleys, and dark places in the city. He could still carry out his mission.
There wasn’t much more I could do. I nodded to Arneath, as the gates began to open and turned to the group of men.
Joden squeezed my shoulder and moved to take the burden off Kier. Kier stepped back, never letting his eyes leave my face. I avoided his gaze, stepped up to the litter and put my hand on Simus’s shoulder. He covered it with his own. “My thanks. Be well, little healer.” I nodded, and stepped back.
The gates swung open. Arneath stepped forward to lead the way.
Only to be blocked by a large group of townspeople.
Remn, the bookseller, stepped forward, along with the Head Priest from the Temple of the Goddess. “ We have come to offer our help to these men. As we would hope that their people help our men at this time.”
I smiled and watched as the two groups merged into one and headed down the street. Anna and Othur had gotten the word out. Arneath looked like he had swallowed something bitter. He would be hard pressed to carry out his orders now.
I stood as the gates swung silently closed. In the few moments before they came together, I thought I saw a flash of blue eyes as Kier looked back at me.
It was wishful thinking. Nothing more.
I spent the rest of the day in the still room with Anna. We reviewed the supplies, and I went over the various recipes, updating the records and recording my notes. Eln would send apprentices, and eventually a master would take my place. It felt as if I was in a dream, with a kind of blanket around my head, muffling my thoughts. I concentrated on the work at hand and thought of nothing else. At some point, Anna placed food before me, but I couldn’t eat it. My thoughts were muddled, but my stomach was perfectly aware and it rolled at the suggestion of food. At the last, I gathered up my precious books and journals, and tied them together with twine. Eln would see that they went to the right people and that the knowledge was not lost. I looked at the little bundle sitting in the center of the cleaned and cleared table. It looked somehow forlorn and lost. Of all my things, these were the hardest to let go.
Anna’s hand grasped my shoulders and moved me to the kitchen, pressing me down onto the bench. A large mug of tea was placed before me, and I watched as she added honey to it. She placed the mug in front of me carefully. “Drink. I will get some bread and cold meat.”
“No, Anna. I’m not hungry.” My stomach was barely willing to take the tea.
The kitchen was quiet and there were only the two of us seated there. Anna sipped her tea. I stared at mine. We sat in uncomfortable silence. In another few hours.
“Lara. Child.” I lifted my head to see Anna staring deep into her cup and turning the brightest shade of red I had ever seen. Her rough voice dropped to a whisper. “If your blessed mother were here, she would want you to know what to expect.”
“Anna.” I reached for her reddened hand on the dry boards of the table, trying not to laugh. “Anna, I may not know the specifics, but I know the general way that things go. It will be all right.”
Anna looked up, tears streaming down her face. “As you say, child.”
Neither of us believed it.
I looked away, then rose. “I best go and get ready.”
Anna wiped her face with her apron. “I’ll have hot water sent up to your room. I’ll be up shortly to help you.”
“Anna, you don’t have to—”
A fierce look from her cut off my words. “I’ll be up. Go on.” She looked away as fresh tears welled up in her eyes.
I made my way to my room, and stood at its center looking around at my personal items. I sorted out my clothing for the maids, Anna would see to it that they were given to the right people. I had little jewelry, but a few rings and a necklace that had been my mother’s. No fine jewels here, just a simple gold locket on a chain. That was for Anna. The few remaining coins, I’d donate to the Goddess. I had some perfumes and soaps that I’d made for myself; I set those aside for Kalisa the cheesemaker. She’d cackle, and use them lavishly. The ones I liked the best were scented with vanilla oil. They were very expensive and I’d used them sparingly, saving them for a special occasion or an indulgence. As I looked at them, I wished I’d used them every day.
There were sounds outside, and I quickly dried my eyes as the servants started to haul in the tub and water, along with towels. Ordinarily, bathing in my room by the fire was a treat, one not to be indulged in too often, what with the servants having to haul hot water up the stairs. I bit my lip and got myself under control as they sloshed bucket after bucket of hot water into the tub. Once they were gone, I stripped, throwing my clothes in the corner. I sank into the tub and started washing, using my vanilla soap unsparingly.
Anna showed up in time to help me rinse my hair. Wrapped in towels, I sat by the fire, and rubbed the water from my hair. Anna sat on a stool next to me, looking through the small chest that had been brought to the castle by the Warlord’s men. There was a small vial in the box, along with a garment of some kind. Anna uncorked it and we both jerked our heads back in dismay as the overwhelming scent of flowers filled the air. We could not get the cork back in fast enough. We looked at each other and burst out laughing like sick fools.
Next, Anna held up the garment and we both just looked at each other.
“Isn’t there anything else in there?” I asked as I looked in the chest.
“No.” Anna frowned. “You are going to catch your death.”
Anna picked up the combs and gestured for me to sit with my back to her. She started to work the tangles out of my hair. I reached for one of my bottles and handed it to her. She looked at me. “The instructions said…”
“I’d rather smell of vanilla.”
She sighed, but opened the bottle and began to rub the expensive oil into my hair. I started with the scented creams on my body. The vanilla’s gentle scent surrounded us, but wasn’t overpowering. Once I was done, I sat quietly, staring at the fire as Anna brushed my hair dry.
When she was done, as a further small act of defiance, I wound my hair up on top of my head as I was wont to wear it and placed more of the scented oil on my neck. Anna clucked like a hen, but I felt better for it.
Until I put on the garment. It was little more than a sleeveless shift of fine, shiny white cloth. It fell to below my knees, and clung in ways that brought a blush to my cheeks. Thankfully, the neckline was high, showing only my collarbone, since it was cut straight across. Anna stepped back, and we both looked at each other. It was fairly clear that the Warlord wanted to be able to inspect the merchandise before claiming it.
With a deep breath, I moved closer to the fire, and looked around the room. Anna picked up my slippers, but I shook my head. “I am to wear only what was in the chest.”
Anna looked at me, and let the slippers fall back to the floor. I moved about, telling her what I wanted done with my possessions. I pressed my mother’s necklace into her hand, and hugged her hard as her silent sobs racked her body. “You’ll see to this?”
She managed to nod, unable to speak.
The horns announced the arrival of the Warlord’s party. Our heads jerked up together and we both stared out the window. Sunset had arrived. I looked over at Anna. She stood there, frozen, her misery reflected in her face.
I took one last look around my room, at my notes, my books. Xymund had said that I was forbidden to take anything with me. Slaves do not own property. They are themselves owned.
I stood in the center, closed my eyes, and took another deep breath. It did no good. My heart started racing, pounding out of my chest. I could not do this. I could not submit to this. I opened my eyes, and saw the vial where it sat on the mantel. One quick swallow…
Anna had already moved to the door. After she opened it, she knelt down slowly, wincing as her knees pressed against the stone. Gathering my wits, I walked to the door and paused to gently place my hand on her head. She reached up, took my hand and pressed it to her lips. She looked up, eyes brimming. “ Thank you, Daughter of Xy.”
I nodded and managed a smile before I stepped into the hall. And brought myself up short.
The corridor was lined with people. They stood on either side, pressed into corners and against the walls. I stood for a minute, looking. The nearest ones went down on their knees. I heard their quiet “Thank you, Daughter of Xy.” I took a few steps forward, and more sank down.
As I walked down the halls toward the ceremony they each knelt and murmured “Thank you, Daughter of Xy.” Through the main halls, down the stairs. There were servants, townspeople, healers that I knew, some of the wounded I had tended. The people who would not be in the throne room.
The ones I was doing this for.
They were with me, all the way to the door of the an-techamber. Their thanks and their faces would be with me forever.
I could do this.
At the antechamber of the throne room, the guards on both sides opened the door, and I stepped inside.
My eyes clouded, and I stood for a moment, trying to blink them clear. One of the pages approached, knelt and held up a cloth. I took it, wiped my eyes, and returned it to him. Othur was standing there. “ Daughter of Xy,” he said. “The fealty ceremony has begun. The court herald will announce you when it is time.”
I nodded and stepped into his arms, getting a quick hug. He whispered, “Thank you, beloved Daughter of Xy,” in my ear, and quickly left the room.
I moved to the fireplace and felt the warm hearth stone under my feet. The fire crackled cheerfully, but I felt cold. I tried to rub the chill bumps from my arms.
I stiffened when the herald’s voice rang out. “Xylara, Daughter of Xy, you are summoned to the Court.” The guards opened the doors, and I walked forward.
I lost my breath in the next instant.
The white marble of the throne room gleamed in the light of the sunset. The lords of the Court stood against the walls, as did an even larger number of the Warlord’s men. I could not make out the figure on the throne, but I knew that it was the Warlord. He would have been seated there for the ceremony. Xymund was off to the side, standing with the Council members.
The room was silent as I stepped within. The cold marble pulled the warmth from my feet as I lowered my eyes to the floor and advanced toward the throne. The quiet was unnerving. It took forever to cross the floor, one slow step at a time. I kept my eyes on the gleaming marble, and hoped that I was headed in the right direction.
There seemed to be no noise, no coughing, no shuffling in the crowd. Just the sound of my heart beating against my ribs, and the cold that had settled in my chest. After what seemed like years, I could see the step that lead up to the throne. A blue cushion had been placed before the throne, one I had never seen before. I was grateful to whoever had thought of it. I halted before the throne, and slowly sank onto the cushion. On either side, I could see two black boots broadly planted, and legs encased in black fabric. I was careful to keep my eyes down.
I took a deep breath, slowly lifted my hands, palms up, and silently submitted myself to what was to come.
The room seemed to stop breathing. I felt fingers at the base of my neck, gently unraveling my hair. Strong fingers ran through it, releasing and letting it fall free. I shivered, both at the touch and the implication that disobedience would not be tolerated.
Cold metal encircled my wrists. I heard a click as they locked into place. Surprisingly, they were heavy silver bracelets, with no chains. Weren’t there supposed to be chains?
A deep male voice boomed above my head, in my language. “Thus do I claim the warprize.”
It was a voice I knew.
My eyes flew up as the room shook with the response of the Warlord’s men as they stomped their feet and cheered.
The blue-eyed warrior from the marketplace looked down at me, a very self-satisfied smile on his face.
Kier was the Warlord? How had he done this, or even learned of my true identity?
Before I could think, or say a word, he took my hands and stood, drawing me up with him. From behind him, he swept up a black cloak from the throne and twirled it around me, concealing me from all eyes, enclosing me in darkness. The fabric seemed warm and floated around me like night. It smelled of chain mail and oil and some kind of spice.
I was swept up and over his shoulder. The move made me squawk, but I doubted that the noise could be heard above the noise of the crowd. He started to move. Through the soft cloth, I could hear his men chanting his name. I squirmed, but the cloak had me pinned, unable to move my arms or see anything.
Then I squirmed for another reason. His hand was on my buttocks, its warmth burning through the cloak. There was a caress, and then a soft swat… a warning to keep still.
I stopped squirming.
The hand stayed where it was.
Chapter 4
My captor wasted no time. His boots clicked on the marble as he left the throne room, and the jostling told me that he had started down the stairs to the main doors. I could feel his breathing as he moved, and heard the jingle of his armor. The cold air cut through the warmth of the cloak as we moved out through the great doors. There were sounds of men moving about in the great courtyard, and the ring of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones.
We stopped, and I was swung down to lay like a babe in arms. The Warlord’s voice rang out, but he spoke so quickly I couldn’t understand what was being said. Instead of being placed on my feet, I was handed off to someone else. I struggled, not liking this change, trying to bring my arms up and get free of the dark material.
A whisper came to me through the cloth. “It’s Joden, Lara. It is all right.” I stopped moving, relieved at the familiar voice, and anxious for information. Before I could reply, I was lifted up onto the back of a horse. Arms encircled me again. Joden’s voice rang out. “I return your warprize, Warlord.”
The chest behind me rumbled. “My thanks, Joden.” The horse under us shifted, and my stomach lurched. The black cloth pressed against my face, trapping my breath. It felt tight and close, like I couldn’t get enough air. The Warlord shouted something, and a great roar went up all around us. We were moving then, and at a gallop. I could hear others around us, moving as well, yelling war cries and shouting praise for the Warlord. The thundering of the horses as they left the courtyard and ran over the wooden bridge to the city was frightening. I swallowed hard, my breath coming faster, and fought down the wave of nausea. I still couldn’t move my arms. The fear of tumbling from my perch remained, so I tucked into the body that held me and stayed still. The sound of men’s voices had faded, but they were all around us as we plunged on, the pounding of horses’ hooves and the jangling of harness the only noise. Moving through the town, down the main road, and out through the main gate.
The cloak offered some protection, but outside the city walls, the wind was sharp. I shivered. In what seemed like moments, we were splashing through the river that lay between the city and the Warlord’s camp, and moving up the slope that it occupied. There was no hail, no greeting, but the horse slowed. I wanted to ask what was going on, but held my tongue. I did not know if slaves were allowed to talk, much less ask questions. Instead, I clenched my fists in the fabric, and tried to get my breath.
The horse stopped. This time, the Warlord shifted in the saddle and slid down to the ground. My stomach lurched as we fell. I must have cried out somehow, for the arms held me close. “One more ceremony, then we’re done.” The whisper came from beside my ear. The sounds changed, and his boots strode on wood. I was placed on my feet, the cloak still enveloping me. His arms gave me a minute to steady myself as my bare feet felt the cold, rough wood underfoot. I swayed slightly, but regained my balance, and his hands withdrew.
“My warriors!” The Warlord shouted, and there was a note of pride in his voice. “Behold the warprize.” With that, the cloak was whipped away.
I was standing on a platform, in a pool of light from the torches that surrounded me. The cold air cut through the cloth of my shift. Out in the darkness beyond, I could just make out people standing and staring at me, the Warlord’s army, a full ten thousand strong, or so I had heard tell. I could well believe it when they roared out their approval to the night sky.
Startled, I stepped back, colliding with the Warlord, who stood behind me. He wrapped his arm around my waist, and I raised my hand to cover his. The heat of his arm seeped through the shift to my stomach. He held up his fist in the air, and the men renewed their cheers. Drums and voices seemed to explode into the night, more noise than music.
It was too much. My vision went gray, and my hand slipped from his arm. Next thing I knew, I was once again cradled in strong arms and moving. The cheers and music continued, but they were somehow muted and indistinct. There was an impression of many people that parted as I floated by. I lost track of things for a while, but then I was in a tent, and laying on something soft. Someone was speaking as a hand brushed my hair off my face with a gentle touch.
“Warprize. Did you eat or drink anything at the castle? Before the ceremony?” The sound was muffled, as if from a distance. It was the Warlord’s voice, urgent, demanding an answer. Another voice, older and harsher, murmured in the background. The Warlord replied, but all I heard were fragments. Bastard. Poison. A soft blanket covered me. Hands reached under the blanket and felt my hands and feet. “She’s cold, very cold.” Odd. He sounded worried. Gentle hands were moving me, and suddenly there was warmth at my feet. Then by my hands. The warmth seeped into me, slowly, and I felt my body relaxing, sinking into the softness, heavy as a stone.
Someone lifted me up, putting a bowl to my lips, urging me to drink, but the voice was far away and distant. I swallowed, and warmth flooded my throat and belly. There was an odd taste, strong and pungent. Once the bowl was empty, I was lowered, and covered once again with blankets. The voices continued to talk quietly, as all that heat seeped into my bones.
The voices were gone. I lay still, eyes closed. The bed shifted, the blanket rose, and I froze, hardly daring to breathe.
Something soft brushed my lips.
A stab of fear went through me. It had come, and as much as I thought I could handle it, I was frightened. I fought to open my eyes, trying to gather my wits, and found myself staring into startled blue eyes. I must keep my part of the agreement.
The Warlord had other ideas, for he shook his head. “No, Warprize. Have no fear.” A hand cradled my head. I closed my eyes and felt a soft touch on each lid. I did not have the strength to open them again. A hand moved to rest over my heart. Its warmth was a comforting feeling. He pressed down gently, as if he was claiming the organ that beat within. I relaxed back into the bed, letting the warmth and the comfort take me.
“Sleep, now.” His voice soft and low. I managed to get my eyes open enough to see him lay down next to me, on his side, on top of the blankets and lay his head on his arms. He wore trous, but was naked from the waist up, and i could just make out the tattoos on his arm. In the dim light of the tent, I looked at him, puzzled. His eyes were closed, and his breathing regular, but I didn’t believe that he slept. I turned my head slightly and stared at the tent above me. It seemed, well, a bit disappointing, somehow.
I puzzled over that idea until I fell asleep.
Something touched my hair.
I stirred, half waking from the movement of the bed.
“Go back to sleep.”
I gasped at the sound, my body jerking awake. My eyes flew open, and I looked about, taking in my surroundings. The tent was in shadows, the only light from braziers that held a sullen glow. There was a strong smell of horse, and something sharp and clean that I didn’t recognize. The tent was large, with what appeared to be stools and a table, with trunks and benches lining the sides. Outside, I could hear men and horses milling about.
Someone stood with their back to me, dressing quickly, sorting through gear that was laid on a bench. A half-dressed man, whose back muscles rippled in the dim light.
I so rarely see healthy men.
There were scars there, old scars. The light played over the skin, dancing with the shadows over the hollows and rises as he moved. Then Keir turned, and a gleam of an eye looked my way. I stared openly as he moved closer. There were tattoos on both arms and scars on the front too, harder to see because of the chest hair, but there all the same. They told tales of battles fought. So many scars.
He stood for a bit, looking down as I looked up, frowning at me. He dropped his gear on the end of the bed, and pulled a tunic over his head. I watched from where I lay, wary of what was to come. He hurriedly strapped on sword, dagger, and a small pouch, and secured them to his belt. Keir looked me in the eye, leaning down with his free hand out, as if to touch me.
I flinched back.
He froze, then pulled back, looking grim. A voice was raised outside, announcing that his horse was ready. Keir clenched his jaw, turned and left through the flap. Within moments, the men and horses were gone. An odd silence descended, only to be broken by the cough from one of the remaining guards.
It took time for my body to relax, but eventually it did. The warmth of the tent, and the blankets pressed me down into the bed and my body seemed to sink deeper and deeper with each breath. My heavy eyelids closed, and I drifted off on a lake of warmth and darkness.
The next I knew, I was on my side, looking at the tent wall. I lay for a while, thinking about nothing really. Or perhaps, trying hard to think of nothing. After a bit, my stomach gave out a rumble. Then other parts of my body started demanding attention. So I stirred, and sat up.
Only to realize that I was stark naked under the blankets and furs.
I clutched the coverings to me, and remembered where I was. What I was.
The tent was a big one, and seemed to be made of hides. The floor was covered with all sorts of woven mats in blacks and browns. There was a table made of tree trunks and rough-hewn planks, with fat, short stumps around it as seats. Three braziers gave off heat. The bed where I lay was huge, with many pillows, and a large dark fur that covered the entire expanse. There was no sign of the shift. Or of any other clothing. Maybe slaves were kept naked? I shivered at the thought.
Part of the tent wall twitched, and I could see someone peering inside through the flap. A very short man, bald as an egg, popped in. I stared openly. His right eye glared at me. The left eye was gone, and the entire side of his face was horribly scarred. The flesh was mottled, with no hair. The ear was gone, and the left corner of his mouth seemed stiff and unmoving. Belatedly I remembered my manners. I focused my gaze on his one good eye, and fumbled for a greeting in his language. “Good morning.”
He glared at me. “I am Marcus, Token-bearer and Aide to the Warlord.” There was obvious pride in his voice. He stepped back, then re-entered the tent with a bundle in his arms. “Hisself left instructions to feed you when you woke. Hisself gave me an idea of your size.” Marcus frowned and eyed me critically. “We’ll see how close he came to the mark.” He placed the bundle on the end of the bed and moved off to the tent wall on the other side.
I clutched my blanket closer and cleared my throat. “Where did the Warlord go?”
Marcus moved another flap to reveal a smaller chamber beyond. Apparently, this tent was larger than I thought. As Marcus moved, I could see that the scarring also covered his left arm. The skin had an odd texture to it, with no hair that I could see. It was hard not to stare. “Hisself is dealing with attacks on the herds.” He turned. “You’ll be washing first, then food.” His lopsided mouth seemed grim.
