Not Exactly a Secret: Part 6
Ghostly shapes swirled through the mist at every turn. Behind Rutger, Noah's horse blew out a great steaming breath, and stamped nervously.
"Fir, are you sure there was another Sacaen out here?" Lady Sue asked quietly, her murmur almost as quiet as the river rushing under the bridge behind them.
"Yes. He said the rest of his tribe was gone, and he had a mission to find his leader's granddaughter," Fir repeated, turning warily, her sword at the ready. "But he needs money to continue traveling. Do you really want to help him? He would probably have to leave as soon as he can find passage to the south."
"I will aid any with the blood of the Kutolah in their veins," Sue replied, sounding a little grim to Rutger's ears. Her hand darted for her quiver. "All of you, get back!"
The wall of mist exploded. Rutger had been listening for the familiar drumming hoof beats of a Plains pony, but even he was taken by surprise, as a nomad thundered upon them. He rolled to the side, and leaped for shattered rocky ground the pony would balk at. Hooves slammed into the spot on the trail where he had stood. The rider whipped out an arrow, even as the tough mount pivoted, kicking out at Fir, who was scrambling out of the way.
The arrow struck Noah's plate armor, and clattered away. Sue's own cool shot wiffled past the young man's nose. Under his bandana, his eyes widened, probably tracking on the fletching of the arrow as it went past.
"Lady Sue!"
Sue kicked her horse into a canter to draw up along side him. "Shin," she took his arm, turning away slightly from the supposed guards reassembling on the trail. Rutger found himself drinking in the appearance of the new man. The attack had felt like so many attacks back on the plains, thrilling and beautiful in its speed.
Fir sidled up to Rutger, interrupting his admiration. "Wait, Sue? Sue is the granddaughter Shin was talking about?"
"Didn't you see her colors?" Rutger reassessed the young girl before him.
She had the look of a Plains child, and, like him, was without a tribe's banding, so she must have grown up in Bulgar or another stable trade town where all tribes mingled with foreigners. How did she not know what the gold and black at Lady Sue's throat meant? Or the bright gold outlines flashing from Shin's darker bands? All people of Sacae knew how to read those weavings.
Or not, as Fir just blinked at him owlishly. "Huh?"
Rutger felt some choice words bubbling up, just staring at this girl who had the physical claim to the plains he had always wanted, and no idea what it meant to be from Sacae. After a moment of struggle, he managed to find something civil to say. "Black and gold: all Kutolah wear one or the other in the triangle borders of their clothing. Usually both."
The girl looked thoughtful after that, and then smiled shyly. "Thanks for telling me. I never really thought about it, I guess. Huh. Mother and Uncle never wore anything like that. I suppose they weren't Kutolah. How did you know—"
Rutger turned away, and slipped into the mist, feeling too stung to say anything more to the girl. He was being foolish, but. But. No one would ever question her right to being Sacaen. Or be surprised when she said her family came from the Plains. And she knew nothing about any of it.
Voices mumbled things all around him for a few moments, Noah's low voice deep enough to cut through the muffling fog, saying: "Rutger is just a little strange. Don't worry about him, he's reliable in battle. Sue, should we wait for General Roy here, or head back? We're pretty cut off from the rest of the forces on the island in this mist."
More mumbling, and Rutger slipped off the trail to head to the river bank. He breathed deeply, letting all sounds fade into the wet murmur of the water, and the unrelenting fog. They had cleared the bandits on the island, and at the beginning of the bridge. Shin would surely know if more were coming behind him.
Something splashed in the water, and Rutger peered ahead, hoping to see a fish. If he was fast they might have something to cook when night fell, if they were still out in this sludge—more splashing. Like footsteps. But even Chad wouldn't be foolhardy enough to try to wade through the deceptive currents that had carved their way through the islands. Out in the mist, a bulky shape loomed, and Rutger caught the familiar outline of an axe. Damnit. More pirates, trying to sneak up on the army unawares.
He scrambled up the bank, and ran toward the warm sounds of horses. "Noah, Lady Sue, more pirates behind us. They might be trying to cut us off from the army, or attack the army directly."
Noah swore quietly, causing Fir to giggle, and Shin to smother a grin. Lady Sue blanched for a moment, and then sat straighter in her saddle. It was hard to believe that she was probably the same age as the giggling Fir. "All right. Roy heard that some villagers past this bridge were trying to escape before the bandits overwhelmed the area. Rutger, Shin and I will hold the bridges for the villagers. Fir, you and Noah go and aid the army. They'll need your swords, and the three of us can slip away unharmed if a huge force of bandits appears to overwhelm us."
Shin frowned, looking as though he wanted to object, but Noah saluted quickly. "And you'll get away into the mist more easily without a great clanking cavalier like me. Alright, Fir, my horse is faster than you, so I'll lead the way, but don't let me get too far ahead of you."
Rutger couldn't help but think that it was unlikely to happen over the short distance back to the island and the main force of the army. Still, perhaps the mercenary was trying to be gallant to the little civilian or something of the like.
Shin turned to Sue as the two trotted into the swirling mist. "You do no have enough people to guard you if this gets rough, Lady. You should go with them, along with this swordsman, and send back troops to join me in guarding these bridges."
Even this exchange triggered another rush of memories of home, but this time Rutger was fighting back the urge to snicker. It wasn't fair to Shin, since protecting Lady Sue was certainly the only thing he had left in the world right now. However, the determination of Sacaen tribesmen to protect women from command decisions, particularly after they had been made, always caused an undercurrent of sly amusement in the trade quarter of the city where Ilians and Bernians mixed freely. Underhanded as it was, Rutger almost wanted to place a bet on how long Shin's attitude would last. Meeting little Clarine after this battle was done was probably going to crumble that Kutolah sense of rightness in the world like damp bread.
Lady Sue handled the whole thing much more kindly than Clarine. "Shin, I am well guarded with you at my side again. Do not worry. Now, we will take the bridge. Rutger, could you hide in that thicket over there and warn us, if you see anyone coming?"
Rutger nodded. "Will a shrike's scream be enough of a warning?"
"If you can manage the sound. That's what our hunters use," Sue melted slightly from head of the brigade to girl of the plains for a moment.
"I remember." From a raid on his first season of caravan escort, but what use was bringing up the past?
Over her shoulder Shin stared at Rutger, who nodded, and slipped off to the shadowed pines.
"How have you come to be traveling with Bernians, Lady Sue?"
Rutger almost whirled around, but Sue took care of the statement with a commanding iciness. "He's from Bulgar, Shin, and no more Bernian than you are."
"But—just look at him."
"Shin. Everyone is dead," Sue's voice rose, before she heard how loud the sound was in the mist, and brought her words under control. "Our mothers, our brothers and sisters. If you are here, our fathers are gone. The curses of our enemies have drained the blood of the Kutolah, and rained it upon Mother Earth. I know grandfather has said it before, and I say it now, the people of the Plains survive through the ways we practice more than the blood we bear. That is how we will rebui—"
Her voice drifted off, hidden by the curtains of mist. Rutger was glad. She made him feel embarrassed and ill at ease inside his skin. He had the uncharitable thought that she might not have defended his appearance to Shin if more of her tribe had survived. People only really changed their opinions out of necessity, after all.
On the other hand, she had been quick to accept him as Sacaen on the battlements in Araphen, despite his appearance and lack of a proper tribe. He was probably taking—a shadow drifted among the trees where Rutger lay in wait. He slid closer, seeing the lurking object as a man carrying one of those ridiculously heavy lancereaving swords. Perfect.
Rutger struck from the tree shadows, his blade a flash in the mist slicing through the air like light to meet the enemy's throat in a single breath. The bandit screamed once, a thin gasping sound that trailed into wet gulping and had diminished by the time he hit the forest floor. Rutger yanked his sword from the neck, hearing the metal scrape against bone and cartilage. He had been swift, but the scream had brought other shapes slinking through the trees. Two to the north, one to the south. He could not kill them all in a timely manner.
Let the proper Kutolah hunter take the leavings, then. Rutger tracked north, sliding between his chosen enemies. As they drew level through the trees, he tried his best to imitate the butcher bird's scream, and fell upon the northernmost one, who had a sword too heavy to bring up in time. Rutger slashed at the head, pulling his body around and unleashing a sweeping crescent at the back of the man's knees. The mist choked foe buckled, screaming.
Rutger's rush of victory was cut short as a vicious slash reached for his stomach. He darted back, dodging into the shadow of a tree trunk, and the second bandit prowled after him. Two swift strokes chased Rutger around the damp bole, keeping him on the defensive. A third one caused the bandit dealing them to reach too high. Rutger lunged forward, carrying the speed into the hollow of the bandit's armpit. He pushed on through, feeling the jarring thickness of bone slowing the perfect curve, but his new sword held firm.
As his opponent slumped forward, blade slipping from his grasp, something cold tore up Rutger's thigh, turning to blazing fire as it skittered over his hip, and slid across his lower back. Pain slammed into him a moment before a body descended with it, shoving the sword in, even as arrows grew from its back. Rutger staggered, understanding that there was a dead man on top of him, a sword had buried itself within him, somewhere, and somehow he hadn't counted his enemies properly.
Blood pounded in his ears, as he fell against the tree that had been his cover only a moment ago. Or was it the pounding of hoof beats? Feebly, he tried to turn, meeting nothing but white hot flares of pain. He had to do something, anything to dislodge the dead man on his back.
A spinning moment later, he blinked. The dry orange of pine needles covered the forest floor a hand's span from his face. From the corner of his eye, bronze bright hooves stamped delicately on that earth. The noise seemed to echo from somewhere very far off, with high voices mingling with the chiming hooves. Sound came through the massive weight weighing him down. Slowly the weight lifted. Relieved, Rutger closed his eyes.
Time must have passed. It was the only explanation for why his view had changed from forest floor to undyed canvas. Rutger grabbed for his sword. But it wasn't on the floor next to his cot. It wasn't under his pillow. Where—
"Hey," Brother Saul bustled into his field of vision, "I'm glad to see that you're awake, but take it a bit easy."
"What?" to his dismay, Rutger's mouth felt clothy and his tongue skidded over the word. He pushed himself upright, feeling the itchy wool blanket fall from his back. The cover had been loose enough before he sat up, but without it, the air was freezing cold. Peering around, he could see that it was fully raining outside of the makeshift healing tent. He turned to Saul, crossing his arms over his bare chest and trying to curl around any remaining heat. "What happened?"
"You all at the bridges were ambushed from the castle. The lovely Lady Sue and her, uh, friend held them off, until reinforcements arrived. Then that cute little pegasus knight brought you to me. I got all your organs back together, and skin pretty well healed. It's going to be a little sore along the wound until the magic has finished repairing you, so don't go off doing back flips or any of those showy sword moves unless you want to start bleeding all over the place again. Anyway, at that point, your body must have just said 'sleep' because we couldn't wake you up. The army is besieging the castle now. As the healer in change, I get to say you should just go back to sleep."
"Where is my sword?"
"No, suh-leep," Saul moved to the right, as though trying to hide that part of the tent from Rutger's vision.
Rutger gave up talking, and rose from the cot. His left leg complained bitterly, and looking down, he saw a bright pink line rising along his thigh, and then disappearing around his back. Right. Ignoring Saul's protests, he pushed around the healer to find a pile of cloth that might have once been red, and his sword laid next to it. He touched the hilt, feeling calmer, and ready to assess the damage. Beyond the mud and blood caking the cloth, there was an unpleasantly tattery look to his clothing.
His belt was a slashed and ripped mess. He tossed that from the pile. The blood red surcoat had fared better. The cloth must have ridden along his enemy's sword, leaving the awkward slash smaller than the wound inflicted. Rutger could repair the damage. His trousers were ripped up one side, but the cut was basically just one long line, and even easier to repair than the short crescent in the coat. And his shirt—his shirt was a bit more damaged. The cloth of his shirt had caught and bunched in several places, leaving multiple holes to repair, rather than singular lines. It probably meant that the gash on his back had been uneven in its depths. For all he knew, the tough cloth had kept his spine from being harmed.
One of the holes in his shirt was stiffer with blood matting to the fiber than the leather of his scabbard. Good thing the cloth was dark, or the stain would always be there. Good thing he had been wearing dark, durable clothing when Bern attacked. Everything else was ash.
Okay, so, once he washed out the dirt and blood, he could fix almost everything. Where he was going to find a new belt, or how much it was going to cost was another question, but the damage wasn't as bad as he had feared. That was a relief. Rutger slowly moved back to the cot, taking the blanket to wrap around his hips at Saul's tactful suggestion.
Although tactful was probably not the right word when the priest held up the blanket while squeezing his eyes shut and muttering "Seriously, not everyone wants to see your man junk."
That must be the civilian part of Saul talking, Rutger decided. "You saw a good deal more while healing me."
"That's different," copying Rutger, Saul sat on the free cot opposite next to the dirty clothes. "That's blood and getting the job done. I can't even see women when that happens. It's as though the sweet Saint is standing over my shoulder saying: 'This is a body. You're all that stands between it being a living breathing person and it being a cadaver. Get to making it right.' Seeing who's underneath everything after, that should be a perk, and not a punishment. You understand, right?"
It was an interesting perspective for a pervert. Particularly one, who, if Rutger had understood an overheard conversation with Dorothy, had entertained all kinds of lovers, but Rutger was pretty sure that he understood what Saul was getting at. Mountain sharp looks like his were not any more valued by the average Etrurian than they were on the Plains. He turned his head to the canvas wall to hide a wry grin. "I'll need clothes while I repair mine."
"That's Merlinus' department. If you didn't have a spare set of clothing, I'm sure he could sell you something."
On the whole, Rutger thought of himself as a very bad mercenary. His focus in life never really encompassed the money. It had been important to bring money home to his family, and now he needed money to survive to the apex of his revenge, but accumulating wealth through killing had never been part of the way he thought of himself. However, the idea of dealing with Merlinus for clothing made him suddenly feel as though gold was flowing out of his pockets in unforeseen amounts. "I thought Elimineans believed in charity."
Saul looked a little guilty. Then something almost like consideration passed over his face. "Hey, stand up for a moment."
Gripping the blanket, Rutger hopped from the cot again. As Saul surveyed him, he took a bit of grim enjoyment in very carefully and obviously re-wrapping and securing the blanket. As expected, Saul noticed and eventually gagged theatrically.
"All right, all right, your point is made."
"Have you never entered a public changing room before?" Rutger wanted to know, rather interested despite himself. He had assumed Elimineans lived about as communally as tribesmen. Saul was acting like some blushing prude. No wonder he had that trouble with his former lover.
"Not without worrying about getting beaten up, no," Saul shrugged. "I remember passing my novitiate, and being told that I was to be posted outside the monastery, and it was suddenly as though the world had changed. No longer was I confined to stone walls with odious boys who hated the exercise as much as I did—I was free to go out into the world with all of it's virtues and good food and women," he trailed off, looking a little misty eyed.
Rutger did not think that was much of a religious experience. However, he was not one to talk on that matter, and after a moment he coughed. "Have I stood up for long enough for you?"
"Oh, yes. Sorry. You're abut my size, so if you want, I can lend you my extra robe. I keep it in the field tent in case I have to do surgery or something else bloody. Thanks for not coming in with anything we had to dig out of you before healing, by the way. I hate that bit."
"I'll try to avoid it in the future," Rutger murmured, lying back down on the cot. He was not sure that he liked the thought of walking around in Saul's extra priestly robe. "How close are we to victory, anyway?"
He listened to the creak of wood joists, and the sound of Saul's shoes heading to the entrance of the tent. Combined with the patter of rain, it felt all rather relaxing, despite the coldness in the air, and the slow sore ache from his back that pushed at the edges of his consciousness. Maybe it was the clean smell of the tent, or perhaps the lack of shouting and action. Or maybe peace had simply descended here to muffle all of his senses for a few moments.
"I can't see any action around the castle from here. And I usually can see the roof of Merlinus' cart—oh, there it is! They're besieging the gate, I think. Merlinus' cart is off in a thicket of trees—they may have found some weakness in the walls that they're trying to exploit."
Rutger nodded to himself. This would be the dreariest part of the campaign. Castle storming always was. The reinforcements would be decimated, and now whoever held the castle was probably considering whether to hole up, and wait out a prolonged siege, or to fight. Probably fight if they were smart. The land around here was too barren to produce many supplies, and Rutger suspected the fresh water source came from outside the castle. Everything about the enemies so far had spoken of bandits, with enough supplies on hand to survive a few days, but none of the experience to stock up for the weeks of a prolonged siege.
He could, in fact, take the healer's advice, and fall asleep, until it was time to move to a permanent camp, or enter the castle itself. He rolled onto his side, and tried to follow the strong suggestion. Nothing happened. For a while he was just staring at canvas, noting smoke stains from the lanterns and braziers of a hundred night campaigns. Then the soreness of his recent healing grew tired of poking at the back of his awareness, and became an all consuming presence, brooding on his back and sinking in its teeth until he could concentrate on nothing else.
And somewhere far off was the smokey thickness of burned flesh, and he could feel the hands holding him back, and the slackness in his body as cowardice overwhelmed him and he stopped fighting.
A warm hand touched his cold shoulder, staring him awake. He rolled from the cot, lunging for his sword before he was fully aware of Sir Treck's plain and worried face, Saul hovering in alarm just behind him. Rutger forced himself to relax, letting the calming leathery weight of his sword hilt ground him in reality. "What's going on?"
"Ah. We won a little before sunset. Sir Treck was going to help me pack up the tent," Saul began, his face white. Whiter than his robe, which bore blood spatters now. "Little Thany ended up here with a javelin through her shoulder a little after you went quiet, but, um, I got rid of the lance and healed her up, and she's helping to pack up outside, now."
Rutger regarded him levelly. Saul was the kind of man to whom smiles came naturally. Even when he had been complaining about Rutger's body, there was the light of humor in his eyes, and Rutger still suspected it was half a joke. The priest did not look as though he was seeing anything funny right now. Perhaps it had been the sword, or perhaps Rutger had done something worse in his sleep.
"Did I—say anything?"
"What? No," Saul began, looking very unconvincingly chipper. The way he moved his hands vaguely to finish the statement was not any more reassuring. "Not really. As such."
Treck's honesty was more reliable. "You were shaking pretty badly. That's not good, you know. Though healing can do that if the wounds got too close to the head or spine or other important bits. So I suppose that's okay. But you're not feeling well, are you?"
"I'm fine. Are we moving into the castle, or setting up tents in the mud?"
"The castle," Saul confirmed. "Uh. Here's my spare robe, by the way," he held out a bundle of cloth white enough to have made Rutger a good handful of gold, if he had sold it. The Elimineans must have some secret to bleaching that no one had discovered.
He took the clothing reluctantly, but it was quite cold in the tent, and it would be a colder walk, probably in the dark, to the castle. He put it on, all too aware that the hem and sleeves were too short, and the whole garment itself was too roomy, designed for men who did not worry about getting fouled by too much cloth in the middle of battle. He sighed, and went to help put away the tent, seeing Treck was already making off with his regular clothing.
That was how he came to be dressed in a priest's robes and undoing tent pegs when Dieck arrived with Lott to help Thany. He heard the two before he saw them, deep rumbling voices that could have been saying anything in the rain.
He did not really think that it might be Dieck until Thany bounced up with an eager "Captain! See? I'm perfectly all right. And that javelin wasn't my fault for getting too far ahead, either!"
Dieck mumbled something disapproving from the lowness of the words, and Lott obviously concurred. Thany, however, was having none of it. "It was my job. I volunteered! Sir Zealot was there to rescue me, so I was perfectly safe. And I did a far better job of being decoy than that stone faced nomad would have done. Oh! I'm sorry Master Rutger! I don't mean you! Of course not. Sue's friend is just so unfriendly like you are. Were! I mean were!"
"He's probably just not used to so much yelling," Lott muttered, coming closer, to finish rolling the canvas Thany had left on the ground.
Dieck, however, stopped beside Thany, peering through the rain and looming sunset. "Wait. Is that Rutger?"
The laughter began before Rutger could even close his eyes in resignation. As soon as he got into the castle, he was going to find the nearest laundry, wash his clothes, and wander around stark naked until he could find the thread to mend them. Saul had meant well, but Rutger looked like a jester in the clerical robe.
Dieck stopped long enough for a sobbing breath, and Rutger walked over to the mercenary, his sword relaxed in his grasp. "One more sound out of you, and wounded or not, I will force you to defend yourself."
In the rain, it was hard to read the exact expression in Dieck's eyes, but he grinned at Rutger. "Oh, come on. Give me this. I was just having a terrible conversation after discovering my little knight had been shot out of the sky on a fool's errand against that idiot bandit, and Lady Sue had told me a certain sword wielding maniac tried to get all of his vitals tied in a knot around an enemy's sword. I needed a laugh, and here's the drowned alley cat of a lion all done up in sainted white to give it to me."
It was possible that Dieck's day had gone as poorly as Rutger's, though he had probably not needed anything more than a supplementary healing on the field. Dieck was responsible for three other people, besides himself, one of whom had ended up in the longer term care of the healing tent because of the day's battle. Rutger still wanted to brandish the blade under his nose, but that was foolish dramatics at best.
Instead, he turned away. "Get the center pole down will you?"
All six of them packed up the tent without too many more chuckles, though out of the corner of his eye Rutger did catch Dieck elbowing Saul conspiratorially. He pretended not to have seen it, just as Saul rather generously pretended not to see the way Dieck's hand kept straying lower than Rutger's hip as they all walked back together, toting various burdens.
By the time they reached the castle, Rutger would have bet that Brother Saul wanted him out of the spare robe as much as Rutger did. The castle itself, while it had looked good from the outside, proved to be damp and gloomy. One look at the web and mouse dropping infested washroom told Rutger that washing his clothes would have to be a job that he left for the morning when he was feeling more lively and other members of the army were willing to clean out the huge wooden washing tubs with him.
"You'll be wanting to keep that robe through dinner, won't you," Saul said with horrified resignation over his shoulder. Though whether it was the thought of Dieck manhandling Rutger through out dinner while Rutger was wearing his clothes, or the sight of the washroom that distressed him, Rutger could not tell.
He gave the priest the benefit of the doubt, however. "I could just strip this off here, and go back to the blanket solution."
"No!" Saul looked practically green. "You should do that. But in front of a fire, for the love of stars. You're soaked through and just had bucket loads of magic channeled through your body. You need to warm up, first, and not in front of me. Er. Not in this dank corridor—Here, why don't I take Miss Thany to get dried off, and get you both some soup, and you go find a blanket somewhere warm?"
Dieck, who had been eying Rutger with a tense, coiled glee at the mention of warming up, suddenly looked stoney.
As though some unspoken command rang through the hall, Lott stepped up, casually moving his arms as though he was unintentionally letting everyone know how big his biceps were. "What a good idea, Brother. I'll help Thany find a room to change in. I think I saw Lady Lilina that way, and she won't mind sharing the space. You get everyone soup."
Rutger watched the extremely unsubtle maneuver end with Saul practically racing off toward the probable kitchens. Dieck had the look of a fox who had jut gotten away with a good sized hen. Glancing at Rutger the smug smile shrank a fraction. "You're shivering."
"And you aren't?" Rutger eyed the broad damp chest with a hint of envy. "This pile of rocks is cold."
"Well, you didn't expect bandits to have a nice base camp, did you? They probably took over this place half a generation after the lords died out in a blood feud," Dieck sauntered down the hallway in the same direction Saul had fled. His progress, though was more measured, and he peered into doorways, waving his torch inside vaguely. After the third room, he was frowning. "Y'know, I was all for not being stuffed into a barracks, but this place is a real pile. I wonder if any of these rooms have fireplaces."
"The way this is going, they would just let in the rain."
"Too true. Maybe that Fir girl might know something. She was staying here, wasn't she?"
"I think she was just passing through," Rutger felt a chill ripple over his skin, and began undoing the clasp at his throat as they walked. Maybe wandering around naked wasn't the ideal solution, but he could at least get his arms out of the too tight clinging sleeves. "Shin had been part of the paid forces. He must have been put up somewhere in this place. Of course, getting that information out of him will be difficult."
"What, no secret Sacaen signs from you will get him to speak?" Dieck's voice lilted with amusement.
Rutger scowled, carefully looking ahead, where the passage way seemed to open out, given the light streaming from the end of the passageway. "I have too much of Bern in my face and blood to be trusted."
For a while, only their footsteps sounded in the corridor. Dieck tried clearing his throat. "Sue doesn't give you the silent treatment."
"I have fought beside Lady Sue for long enough that she can forget what I am. Besides, that was when I was the only person who might know the smell of grass. Fir and Shin will make better companions for her."
"Huh?" They had entered a common room, where General Roy was bent over a table, studying a sketch of the isles with currents marked out in blue. He looked up as they entered. "Captain Dieck, you're alive. And Master Rutger. You're both soaking. Have a spot by the fire. Sir Marcus was just getting it going. I think we might as well call our morning meeting here, Marcus. I doubt even twenty of you and Merlinus scouring that great room could make it a fit mess hall, and everyone else has been in and out of here already."
The young general's attention was back on the maps. Rutger shook his head as he sidled closer to the roaring hearth. Clarine could be single minded in her childish way, but the concentration that Roy dedicated to maps and plans and moving armies suggested there was a child somewhere in that body going to waste while an older soul looked out of those blue eyes. It was a wonder that he was able to joke with his knights. Even the elegant Princess of Bern had seemed to have more interests than just winning the war.
Dieck prowled toward Roy. The tension in his scarred muscles drew Rutger's eye far faster than the quiet rumble of his voice. "Yeah. We're alive. Can you have Merlinus bring up Rutger and Thany's kits from his wagon as soon as possible?"
"Oh, sure. Marcus, could you?" Roy scribbled something down in the margin of his map waiving his faithful knight in the direction of a passage. "Thany did really well out there, today, by—"
"Yeah. I saw. She's hired out to be your knight, right? You don't need my authorization to send her on risky missions."
Rutger wasn't quite sure what was happening. The conversation, such as it was, felt as though it should have been an easy discussion of the battle. Somehow, though, with Dieck looming over the desk, and the shadows turning his scars into running stripes, a darker, more unpleasant conversation was brewing.
Roy seemed to be sensing it, too. He put down the hard quill that he had been using to make his notes, and leaned both hands on the desk. "Yes. That is part of our contract. In battle, I'm the ultimate authority when it comes to tactics. Why are you bringing this up?"
"I'm bringing it up because she got so feathered that she had to drop back to the permanent healers. Just wanted to check that you weren't sending my troops on vainglorious charges," Dieck's smile held no humor.
Roy's eyebrows drew together in worry. "We had to draw out Scott's lancemen to take the south wall. They wouldn't show themselves while the axemen were there, and Fir and Noah would have been slaughtered to go in with swords. If it had been Rutger, I might have chanced it. He has the experience and the combat style they lack, but he fell in the woods, and Sue didn't think he would make it. You were facing Scott directly with only Shin to back you on the gate. We had to force him to split his attention somehow, and the south wall was the safest way.
"Thany and Sir Zealot planned the decoy together, and both Wolt and Dorothy took the forces down in a matter of moments. I don't risk more troops than necessary," the boy's face had gone pinched and white. "I am sorry about the injury, but a stray javelin wound is better than losing Sir Noah and Fir, and I got the impression from Shin's report, it saved you ending up in the healer's tent with Rutger."
Dieck snorted ruefully, the shadows slinking sullenly into the background. "I can take care of myself if it comes to it, General. Thany, Lott, and Ward, well, we're a unit, and you had us split among your party according to what you thought right. It's not how I'm used to dealing with 'em, even if they might work pretty well in a different setting. It's hard to take care of them when they're all over the place, willy-nilly. That's all."
"Are my tactics—what would you change, Captain?"
"Keeping Thany with a unit who has to be grounded, for a start. She young and reckless, and you can use that, but keep in mind it's her weakness. As for Ward and Lott, they can afford to be split up more often, and act as scouts. They know the Isles, and frankly, the terrain's as much an enemy as the bandits now. You're off home territory."
Rutger steamed gently next to the fire, taking in the changes to Dieck's demeanor as he acted his part. It must have been all part of a normal battle accounting, though, as Roy took it all in without blinking, and then asked Rutger for his version of events.
Rutger was explaining that he had miscounted the enemy when Fir and Saul arrived with Merlinus and hot apples with some sort of dumpling in tow. If Saul was paying more attention to Fir than he was to the food, at least he wasn't trying to convince her that Elimine's grace lay in one-on-one conversation and talk of spiritual love. Rutger would never understand him, but his single mindedness was more amusing than Roy's.
However, despite the prospect of food, as soon as Rutger saw Merlinus, he grabbed his kit, and wandered off to change from the uncomfortable robes to a blanket around his waist that had served him so well in the healing tent. As he came back, following the smell of apple, he noticed Dieck glide behind him.
"I guess we match now," Rutger pointed out dryly.
"Mm," Dieck slid his hand gently around one clammy wrist. "You still need warming up. C'mon. For day old dumplings and roast apples, it's not that bad."
Dieck's unoccupied hand had other thoughts in mind, trailing along Rutger's back with lazy possessiveness. Rutger winced as it found the top of the welted scar on his right side. "Careful."
"Still hurts, huh. Well, it shouldn't leave too much of a mark," Dieck grinned. "Though I could change that for you."
"No."
As soon as Rutger delivered the folded robe back to Saul with a nod, they settled in the shadows at the edge of the firelight. The rest of the group were already passing around food, and laughing, as Thany, who had joined while Rutger changed, mimed falling from a great height or something equally morbid. The jar filled with the apples and dumplings made its way around. Rutger helped himself, eating hungrily, and then sucking the gravy from his fingers.
He could help but notice Dieck's arm still circling him, the calloused hand spreading warmth over Rutger's side. Why was it always like that? Dieck pressing casual affection with a touch. It was very enjoyable, but why didn't Rutger decide to do anything similar? Though he wasn't sure that he would be able to bring himself to be so outgoing with so little effort.
Other members of the army filtered in, and began to take their shares of the meal. Lugh was one of the first to ask about rooms, and Dieck spoke up that Thany and probably Rutger needed ones with a fire pit at the very least, if there was no official fireplace.
"Oh, the second floor of the keep has those," Fir told everyone brightly. "There have to be probably seven rooms like that on the second floor? And a few on the ground floor, too, but most of the rooms with fireplaces down here are common areas, like this one."
"What, did they give you a grand tour?" Chad scoffed. "Here's where we've stashed the villagers' loot, and here's where you's be staying."
It was not easy to tell in the firelight, but Fir seemed to color a bit, and she certainly changed her posture from an informal slouch to an attentive stiffness that would have made Rutger's mother proud. "Well, they did show me around when I asked if there was anyone else who would match swords with me staying with them. I remembered the rooms of the good fighters, that's all."
"And I'll be taking one," Rutger said, standing up. His gaze swept around the common room, trying to find any resistance to the idea that the lone unranked mercenary should take a full room with a fireplace, but even Merlinus wasn't in the mood for snobbery tonight.
Roy nodded when Rutger met his eyes. "And Thany too. Everyone else—well, we'd better do a survey of the rooms and apportion them appropriately. The last people to come in from the rain should have first choice, and then oldest to youngest, does that sound fair?"
"No!" Lugh and Chad protested in unison, and then the arguing about precedence began.
Rutger picked up his kit, and the blanket-less roll of sheepskin he called a bed. On the way to the nearest set of stairs, he passed Saul, staring rather forlornly at the half dry bundle of robes. As Dorothy was in mid harangue behind him, Rutger decided not to make his day any worse, and merely nodded at the priest.
Once he reached the top of the stairs, the sound of boots behind him in a familiar rhythm made Rutger pause. Dieck, probably, though it could be Oujay as well. Both mercenaries had a similar lightness in their steps, particularly when unburdened. Rutger waited on the landing, taking advantage of the lack of torches. When he saw a lantern's glow, followed by Dieck's distinctive brush of hair, he grinned, and grabbed for the arm holding the light.
The arm jerked forward, pulling the light onto the landing, and bringing Dieck from the final step to the the second floor of the castle with a stumble that ended on one knee. Rutger smirked down at him, lifting the firm jaw almost gently. "You're looking tired."
"You're looking like a right bastard," Dieck replied honestly. "You knew it was me and not some bandit. And that was my shin. Ow."
"I don't need you babying me all the way to my bedroom."
"I was coming to ask if it could be our bedroom," Dieck placed the lantern carefully on the wooden floor, and rubbed at his knee, trying to not so subtly look away despite Rutger's grip. "What is with this place being so cold and creepy."
Now it was Rutger's turn to carefully examine a rotting tapestry on the wall doing its valiant best to keep out the draft. He was still exhausted. Healing worked hard on a body even a whole day afterward. He had been unconscious, and then there had been the beginnings of the nightmare in the tent. Was it safe to keep Dieck near by, if the nightmares were still haunting him?
"I thrash in my sleep."
"Yeah, well, you don't have the reputation of someone with an easy conscience. Luckily for me, I sleep like a log."
He already had the nightmare. Perhaps there wouldn't be a second one. Rutger sighed. "I'm a little tired to have fun. I don't think I could even really bite you properly, in spite of the shins."
Now Dieck looked at him, the old assured smugness back on his face. "Oh, there's ways," warm hands encompassed Rutger's fingers, sliding them lower around Dieck's throat. "And we can let that part slide if you want. You nearly lost your legs today, after all."
Rutger felt the words vibrate through his hands, and marveled at the soft heartbeat under his thumbs. Dieck should not be offering up his breath like this. Not when Rutger was feeling tired and unsure of the ghosts following him, but the idea tingled deliciously along his skin. "My legs are fine. I don't think your head is. Did someone hit you very hard during the battle?"
"Only a little," Dieck remained kneeling, his expression far too eager. Rutger tried to keep calm. He liked the expression, knowing that it was for him, and that even if they didn't sleep together Dieck still desired him.
Finally taking his hands from Dieck's throat, he slid his fingers into the man's hair, and yanked upwards. "Let's just see if we can find a room where the pallet isn't trying to walk off on its own."
The first two rooms they tried did not have kindling to go with the fireplace, and the third had a pile of broken chairs to serve. But poking around demonstrated that the flue was unblocked, and the straw filled pallet, though dirty, was not home to any obvious creatures. The bed itself was actually a grand piece that might once have been part of some maiden's dowry. Rutger had become accustomed to the height and decoration of Lycian beds, supposedly less likely to make a home for animals underneath than Rutger would have thought, and on the Western Isles it appeared that the idea that height added security was the same.
Rutger fished in a dented wooden chest, and came up with a covering blanket, slightly mildewed at the corners, but no worse for wear. They could spread out their sleeping rolls on top of it, and use their own woolen blankets. As he began to deal with the awkwardness of the bed, light rose in the room. Dieck had managed to get one of the chair legs blazing merrily in the fireplace.
Rutger sat against the bed and watched, waiting for warmth to flicker over him. "That's some craftsman's hard work we're putting up in flames."
"It's that, or the floorboards," Dieck replied, rubbing his hands together. "The chair was broken up before we got here, anyway. I think they'd already burned the back. I'll take the storage chest next, if the embers go out in the night."
"Still," Rutger trailed off. Wood was not that expensive on these islands with pine forests clinging to the rocks. Though he did feel bad for the unknown craftsmaster who had just lost a piece that should have lived on past him.
Dieck rose from his crouch, shrugging. "I know what you mean. Seems a little wrong to burn a thing it would take three months wages to save up for, in normal circumstances."
"Well, maybe the original owner won't mind," Rutger shrugged, staring around the sad room with its flickering shadows. People had made lives in this place. The stone retained the memories.
He caught Dieck staring at him. "You don't believe in ghosts, do you?"
"Of course I do," Rutger smirked, seeing the paleness on Dieck's face. "You're one of those people who believes in bodily immortality, and forgets spiritual immorality if he can?"
"Let's just say I don't see much point in hanging around this world if my body's not interested in being a good home," Dieck muttered. He strode over to Rutger. "Speaking of, how's your body faring? You think you'll have a dashing scar?"
"If I do, it's not one many will see," Rutger slowly unwrapped the folded blanket from around his waist, feeling his skin heat almost instantly, as Dieck's hands lighted on his sides.
"Shit, you're cold," Dieck murmured, as he drew Rutger closer.
"I'm fine."
"Maybe you had some sort of reptile in your family tree, then. Something to make you all cold and scaly," Dieck's laugh buried itself against his neck, twining around his backbone just as the broad hands shifted along the diminishing welt of his earlier wound. "Stars above, this is long. Where did they start cutting you?"
"A little above the back of my knee," Rutger allowed himself to be shifted closer to the fire, letting the hands continue inspection over his ass and along his left leg.
The fingers had begun impatient, but as they trailed over the back of his thigh, Rutger felt them shifting into nervous gentleness. Hunched around him, Dieck's laughter had trailed off, and a telltale tension was creeping through the muscles on his shoulders where Rutger's head rested.
What kind of question was 'where did they start cutting you,' anyway? It was a long slash, just like any other on the battlefield. He had been taken to the healer's and patched up, and by tomorrow he probably would only have a lingering pull on those muscles.
"Are you actually worried about me?" Rutger wanted to laugh, but the scorn hiding in his voice made his stomach twist queasily.
Dieck stilled entirely. For a while, they stood together in the firelight, the only movement a few hairs where Dieck's breath stirred them away from Rutger's neck. "A little. And unlike Thany, you know better than to take bad risks."
He had been taking risks today, though, Rutger thought sourly. If he hadn't been so intent on showing Shin up, he would have double checked for another man hidden in the fog. Not that Dieck knew that. He reach up, lazily pushing Dieck away from his body until the uncertain hands were only lightly clasped at his waist. "I'm going to die with Bernian blood on my blade, or not at all."
"Given our plans for the spring, that's not reassuring, you focused little death mill," Dieck replied. "I've got to count on the power of hate keeping you alive until there's no one left to fight. And then what happens?"
"If I survive?" Rutger retorted, thinking that Dieck was prying into places he did not belong. But this was Dieck's way of worrying about Rutger, not questioning his goals. Perhaps Rutger could say something about that nebulous empty future. "Maybe I can go home."
The words hung in the air, surprising Rutger with their longing. Dieck's expression was fond, almost wistful. He shook his head quietly, as he stared at Rutger up and down, one thumb rubbing a small circle above Rutger's hipbone.
"You don't like showing any bit of yourself, do you?" he murmured, rather incomprehensibly Rutger thought, for a man casting covetous glances all over Rutger's naked body. "Well, try to make sure that you go home in one piece."
"I'll tell my enemies to be considerate of that."
"Tell them I've already picked out the best parts for myself," Dieck leaned in, laying a kiss on Rutger's forehead.
With that promise sealed, Rutger allowed Dieck's questing mouth to search along his skin. Despite the exhaustion of the day, the determination of his leg muscles to stop holding any weight, and his earlier declaration that he was not fully awake, the chance at privacy was too good to pass up. It wasn't sweet. Not while Dieck was feeling wicked, and eager to indulge Rutger. Sweetness might have happened when Rutger reached over to repay Dieck in kind. The desire to hold the big man surprised Rutger, taking hold of him and pressing him against Dieck's back.
He bit Deick's shoulder as the mercenary came apart in his hands. The indent of his teeth, the bright heat and metal taste of Dieck's skin convinced Rutger that he wasn't lost in some rare and too good dream. He really had another human being in his bed, determined to stay there. With his forehead pressed against the burning heat of Dieck's back, and the mercenary still in his arms, Rutger let his mystification drift away in the rive of ease flowing around them. Even when Rutger struggled to prop himself on his elbows and take stock of the situation, their little island of firelight still felt just as real as the battles of the morning.
The low light of the fire flickered over Dieck's peaceful expression, which slowly swam into awareness. With a cat-like grin, Dieck sat up, taking Rutger's hand with him. He kissed the wrist he held, leading Rutger to think that he was being sentimental. Then the warm tongue darted out and ran the length of Rutger's palm. With a lingering slowness, Dieck licked each finger until it was clean, despite a muttered: "You're being ridiculous."
Releasing Rutger, Dieck slid from the bed, and made his way to the fire, mending the remaining bits of chair until it was banked embers. "Sure, but neither of us has to sleep on any wet bits of the bed, now."
Rutger snorted, rolling over, and pulling up his blanket to his ears. After a moment, the pallet dipped, and the bed creaked with new weight. He heard Dieck sigh somewhere above his head, but nothing touched him. When Dieck did settle in, pressing into Rutger's space with blanket and sheepskin, he did so with his back to Rutger, so they weren't sharing anything more than minimal heat.
With that comforting thought, Rutger managed to relax, and drift away into the shadows and ghosts dancing in and out of the waking world. Wind and rain might be blowing outside, but with the burning embers, it was still warm, and the room smelled of damp and wood rot, not ash and smoke.
The grayness of the morning, shambling shapes in the mist filled Rutger's world. Lost faces looked for people who had died the night before. Had been killed by those same faces. Street after street, neighborhood after neighborhood, all gone. Gutted houses reared up, tall as orphanages and bulging, crowding open squares and empty meeting spaces. Rutger stood in the middle of it all, clutching his sword, and waiting for anyone he knew.
He was bolt upright and gasping in the dark of a room leagues from the destroyed houses and empty city. Beside him, someone he knew very well shifted, and rolled into the cooling space between their bedrolls. Trembling, Rutger sank back down, trying to curl around the nightmare and strangle it.
Dieck rolled again, this time coming to a halt half on top of Rutger. As the weight pressed him down, Rutger grabbed for arm thrown over his shoulders, and moved it to the familiar circle around his waist. He held on, hollow eyes on watch for sleep to ambush him.
Notes:
Again, this is the not explicit version of Not Really a Secret. If you are interested in the explicit version, and are of legal age for your area, head over to Archive of Our Own, or search up my dreamwidth. I am posting under the same user name there. This is the last chapter where there will be any differences between the two versions. Next week: a lengthy digression on historical cleanliness (yes, historical accuracy with clean people is possible! Cleanliness is a major concern for a lot of humans over the years. Just because we have new more efficient cleaning technology, namely shampoo, does not mean people wandered around stinking to high heaven /rant rant).