36 Chapter Thirty-Six
And so gathers the birds of war.
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For the sparrow mother which nested in the corner of the barn her typical day was upset and she squawked angrily at the humans that moved about below. All day they had been moving back and forth, right across her usual feeding ground, the place where the chickens were fed grain, and she hadn't been earth-bound long enough to get her fill. They kept disturbing her, not to mention the horses and mules that were loudly betraying their interest to the proceedings. Ruffling her feathers as she was ignored she took flight and flew across the aged courtyard to the withered and thirsty tree over in the corner, where there sat a young human and his adult night-feathered master.
Hopping about on the branches she eyed the bread that the boy was chewing hopefully and she chirped her presence. Earth coloured eyes glanced up at her and the up-turning of lips showed a gap in the human's beak. The boy crumbled a small piece of the bread and held out his palm, though the bird was wise to the tricks of boys and didn't take the bait.
The shadow beneath the tree shifted, "Be gone, bird," and flicked its fingers in her direction. Purple sparks, like the heat that strikes when the gods clash and the beam of light hits the ground, hit her and crying in pain and annoyance the bird took flight.
"What was that for?" Asked the boy, turning to the hooded figure beneath the tree.
"I don't like noise," the person answered, shifting their back against the bark in an attempt to be more comfortable. "It is of no consequence, she has been caught by boys offering her food and then capturing her that she would not feed from you hand."
The boy huffed and resumed eating the bread, "How'd ya know that?"
He received no answer and muttering to himself took another bite of bread, crumbs falling from his open mouth as he dared a question, "So what are we gonna- going to do?"
Head tilted towards the rare warmth of the sun, tanned skin framing a hairless mouth, the adult spoke, "We?" Though the boy couldn't see his masters face he imagined a brow rising in amusement.
"Yeah, I'm coming with ya, right?" He asked hesitantly at the end, hopeful, and his brown eyes widened in innocence.
"Yes," answered the figure, voice light and soft in the breeze, a woman's voice, "though I have a job for you later."
Interested the boy swallowed his final mouthful of bread and turned eager eyes on his master. A wisp of wind blew his shaggy brown hair over his eyes and he hurriedly brushed it aside, unwilling to miss any movement from the cloaked figure next to him.
"What is it?! He demanded, and instinctively stilled as the hood slowly tilted back to normal and turned to stare at him, an unseen powerful gaze stilling his movements. He ducked his head, thoroughly chastened, though no words had been spoken. "You are not forbidden from asking questions, however demanding answers when they are not yet ready to be given will try my patience." It was the longest the woman had spoken and the boy kept his eyes on his leather sandal clad feet as he murmured an apology. The woman lent her head back against the tree, the movement causing a lock of fiery red hair to fall across her face. She flicked her head and it feel back into the shadows of her hood. A few minutes of silence and the boy began to fidget, just small movements at first, then he shifted his legs and sat cross-legged on the dry and hard ground beneath the tree. He sighed heavily as he watched the Ashranian's gather supplies and organise them, it didn't look very structured, but he wouldn't know. The tree roots were digging into his legs and bum and he shifted again. "Stannis," the woman rumbled softly and the boy immediately stilled.
"What is it?" She asked as he made no movement but seemed to coil with energy.
"I'm bored, when do we leave?"
The exhale the woman gave was slight, barely the ruffling of air, " If you are bored, go and offer your services to any of them." The "them" she was referring to were of course the guards and rebels, who were preparing supplies and arms for their upcoming skirmish with the Empire. Shaking his head the boy settled back against the tree, "Nuh-ah," he said, "I don't serve them."
The woman rose, the movement fluid and graceful and her cloak rippled as she straightened, like ink. Scrambling to his feet the boy rushed to catch up with her long strides, he opened his mouth to question her, but then thought better of it and merely moved to match her. After a few moments his silence was rewarded, "You do not like to be still," she said softly as they approached the barn. "While inherently this is not bad, you will need to learn to control this energy, and release it when it is safe to do so." The men and animals parted as the two approached, falling over themselves to get out of the way of the tall and dangerous warrior and his apprentice.
Most of the barn animals had been moved, their strength required to carry food and water, and weapons, but a few remained, heads over stall doors, watching with interest. One of these heads was as black as night, and intelligent coal eyes were watching them approach. The stallion tossed his neck and his thick mane went flying and he shifted restlessly on his feet. The woman went up to him, gently stroking his neck with gloved hands before instructing the boy to saddle him. Stannis obeyed, grabbing the blood red halter and ropes and returning, the woman got out of the way as he unlatched the gate and slid into the stall. The stallion snorted and bowled past the boy on his way to freedom, Stannis having thought he would remain as docile as a lamb. Neck arched and mane and tail flying the stallion cantered down the aisles and out into the sunshine, scattering man and beast alike. The woman turned to the boy as he slowly got to his feet, the leather a pile in his hands. He blinked, "Maybe I should have shut the door first."
The woman didn't reply, but as he followed her, rubbing his behind, he thought she was amused. In the courtyard man and beast were watching, and avoiding, the stallion as he cantered around. His behaviour struck Stannis as that of a dog; playful as he tossed his mane and kicking out with his legs. Taking up stance against the barn, watched wearily by the Ashranian's, the woman gestured with a gloved finger to the prancing black stallion, "fetch."
Stannis straightened his shoulders determinedly and began to march across the courtyard, the halter in his hands. Ashnidanté saw him coming and shifter to face him, waiting patiently until he got close before darting away, and circling the boy, snorting playfully. Stannis scowled and trotted after the horse who with feet lifted highly, like one of those fancy Ladies horses, evaded him with ease. Man and beast were watching as he tried to catch the horse, some were even smiling at the playful display thought quickly moved when the stallion lowered his head and faux charged them. As the minutes stretched the Ashranian's had finally gathered their supplies and had begun their trek to the pass, the Captain telling his Master that they were leaving. He had swallowed and hesitated when she had said nothing, only turned their hood towards him and folded her arms. Clearing his throat he said they would meet them there. The group had left without much fanfare and a storm of dust and braying animals and rickety carts.
Stannis felt like he had run to town and back by the time the woman straightened and disappeared into the barn. She returned a few minutes later, in what Stannis had come to call her Warrior of the Goddess armour. His Mistress had explained that it was not her full body armour, but he hadn't understood, she had then told him her full set of armour covered her from head to toe and that every part of her was protected, by solid metal or by that heavy ringed coat she called mail. Stannis didn't believe in such things and had told her so, her response was to laugh and tell him that maybe she would one day show her. Deciding to believe it when he saw it, his Mistress had gone on to show him each piece of armour, what it was called and where and how it went on her body.
The names were weird, and he struggled to remember them, but he knew what they did and was learning to name them from her head to her feet. Though her head was still hidden, Stannis knew that there was a hard collar around her neck, some form of leather jacket that went against her skin, or near enough to it, and over the collar was the hood, part of the same garment but more flexible. The layer above that was her second cloak and hood, a soft flowing fabric that was light to the touch but strong, kept to her body by shoulder guards, called pauldrums, or something. They came down her upper arms where there was a long spike following the curve of her arm, connected to lower arm guards called vambraces. Stannis was able to see her gloves were different than normal as she raised her right hand with a bright red apple clutched between the fingers, there was some sort of spiked leather tied and buckled around her palm, protecting the back of her palm and the first joint of her fingers. Ashnidanté halted his movements, going deadly still as he saw the apple in his mistress's hand. Stannis was left gaping in surprise and then scowling as the stallion trotted to his mistress, legs lifted and neck arched as he passed the boy, and gently took the apple from her hand.
Legs and lungs burning Stannis obeyed his summons, and watched as his master turned and the stallion followed her into the shadow of the barn, as docile as a lamb. Her cloak vanished into the barn, Stannis hot on her heels, the lead rope dragging along the ground. Dust was all through his clothing, and clung to his leather boots something awful. His feet were throbbing, it came from wearing shoes for the first time in his life, and he was certain his blisters had popped and was regretting not listening to his Master when she told him to wear more than one pair. Though he had learned not to be aware that things could be worse, his dog bite no longer troubled him, bar the occasional throbbing if he landed on it funny, or worked too hard, and he was fed and clothed, and he was going to learn how to fight!
In the barn the slight light seemed to be drawn to the silver etchings in her armour, though her cape hid her back from sight as she walked, Stannis could see bands of leather around her thighs and lower legs where she had another set of silver and black metal guarding her front. Her leather boots were suspiciously bare of dust, though he knew her footsteps raised dust, he could see little waves of it roll away from her feet and those of the stallion. At the stallions stall she waited and accepted the lead rope and halter from her student and wasted no time in clipping him to the wood. Stannis hovered for a moment before stepping back and watching, sensing he was not needed or wanted.
She flew through his grooming, the stallion's coat gleaming like the leather of her boots before she added the large covering, the same soft but strong fabric that was her cape, the saddle, a blanket beneath the saddle, the leather straps that went over his back and rump and the ones that went across his chest and between his forelegs. Similar plates of black metal with silver engraving went across the top of his neck, down his face, across his chest and sides. Through her activities her hood slowly fell back from her face, and Stannis could see she had tied her hair back from the top of the back of her head and down to the base of her neck, there it was twisted, almost like rope, until it was tied at the end. As she straightened from where she had tied the last of the leg guards to her horse she glanced over at Stannis, purple eyes appraising, "I am going to kill, and kill many people within the next forty-eight hours- two days," she corrected seeing his blank look, "Are you prepared to be a part of it?"
Stannis shifted on his feet, not entirely sure of what she was asking as she moved to her tack rack and returned with the leather straps that went over the horses head. "D'ya not want me anymore?"
His Mistress blinked, "That is not what I said." She paused for a moment, looking to the stallion in thought, "I kill people, Stannislavonides, and I kill many. It is my purpose. I am here to guide and escort Clayton Ashran onto the Kurvalican throne, which is currently held by another House, a much larger and more powerful House. There will be bloodshed and eventually a war, I know this because I am here to ensure it happens. To do this I must kill," her eyes locked onto his own, pinning him in place with the power of them, "and if you are with me, you will be exposed to violence you have never seen." His Mistress closed her eyes briefly and when they fluttered open they were as cold as winter, "I will ensure that you are taken care of, but if you do not wish to get involved, I will not ask it of you."
Stannis gripped the dagger she had gifted him in his left hand, feeling the reassuringly solid hilt and pommel as he thought. She did want him, or he thought she did, she just didn't want him to go into a war without being aware of the risks.
After a moment she unclipped the stallion and moved off to get her saddle bags, Ashnidanté tossing his head and shifting on his feet in excitement, eager to be off. She returned and secured the bags to the rear of the saddle, and had slung her quiver across the part at the front and the bow went against the saddle and the saddlebags. He wasn't sure where her shield and other weapons were, all she had were two big swords, a few small blades across her chest and her bow and quiver.
"Think about it, " she told him as she walked towards the door of the barn, the stallion eagerly following her, lifting his feet proudly in a contained trot, the cape falling around his upper legs as he moved. "You will have time once we get there to make your decision."
Stannis released the blade and hurried after her, watching in awe as she sprung onto the stallion's back, with what looked like hardly any effort. She adjusted her swords and then offered him a hand and lifted him easily onto Ashnidanté, the stallion settling under the new weight at a soft command from his Mistress. She lifted her face to the sunshine and then urged the stallion forward, he took off easily, falling into a relaxed canter without further prompting.
The steady rocking of the stallions run was almost calming, and Stannis marvelled at the restrained power of the beast beneath him. They took the road down into the township, the breath of the sea getting sharper as they approached the beach, and they could faintly hear its roar. Before they entered the town Hunter pulled her hood down over her face, tucking her braid into the fabric and concealing her features.
They made their way easily through the city, shadows fluttering at the edge of their vision as the townsfolk watched them ride by. There were birds flying from trees in the distance, evident of where the War Party was, they hadn't made it very far, but they wouldn't be going as fast as Stannis and his Mistress were going.
They exited the town and the stallion tensed, tossing his head, the armour along his neck rising and falling as he moved. His Mistress laughed and loosened the reins, " Hold on," she said to Stannis and the boy had only a moment to grab at the saddle horn in front of him before the stallion broke into a gallop, his long strides sending them gliding across the ground. They raced across the ground, thunder rumbling beneath them with every strike of Ashnidanté's hooves and his Mistress gave a fierce battle cry from behind him. Stannis nearly fell from his perch in shock, it was the most terrifying sound he had ever heard, it sounded nothing like a human, and should have come from some sort of beast, not the woman behind him.
The cry seemed to give a burst of energy into the horse beneath them, for he picked up the pace, stretching his neck forward and lengthening his strides until he was low to the ground and was eating up the distance with ease, they were racing the wind. Stannis couldn't help himself, he straightened and gave a loud whoop of elation, echoed with a laugh behind him.
They could see the carts of the Ashranian's ahead of them, several heads having turned to watch them come and Hunter adjusted her hold on the reins, asking the stallion to slow. He obediently lessened his pace and soon they were cantering past the rear carts and approaching the walking foot soldiers and horsemen. They slowed again, this time to a bouncing stride, and they rose and fell with Ashnidanté's back, well, Hunter did, Stannis mostly bounced, trying to avoid landing on the front of the saddle.
They quickly passed the guards and townsfolk who were prepared to fight and made their way to the front of the column where Clayton Ashran and the Ashran Guard Captain rode. "Ride into the valley," Hunter ordered as they drew even with the duo, "when you see Ash, halt and break camp."
She waited for no reply and ordered the stallion onward, he obeyed, taking a moment to flick his tail in the direction of the other mounts.
They made quick time, reaching the valley within several hours. They slowed to a walk as they entered it, eyes scanning side to side and down the centre of the valley. In length it would take about an hour to travel at a walk, and was flanked on both sides by trees which had somehow managed to survive the sparse conditions, though the colder air up this high and near to the mountain could contribute to their lushness.
Hunter reached behind her for her bow, and handed Stannis her quiver, instructing him to hold it, just in case.
Ashnidanté continued onwards at a fast walk, flicking his tail leisurely, and peering around him, constantly alert. In the middle of the valley they halted, Hunter's head tilting slightly to the left, as though someone were speaking to her. She slid from the stallion with a flick of black and landed easily on the ground, her boots making a thumping sound. By now Stannis was feeling rather stiff and stumbled when he slid-fell- from the saddle.
Yawning he looked around him, taking their resting place in. It was barely different from the rest of the valley, there was grass, actual green grass, no yellow! Across the ground, and small ruts down the centre where carts had travelled previously. The ground was smooth, bare of the rocks and debris- trees, branches and rocks and rock slip- and there were traces of camps long past. A few stones in a misshapen circle and evidence of axes having been taken against the nearby trees.
There was a slight pathway, worn from use, but faded with age, a simple and small dirt path, winding its way into the bush somewhere. She set about unsaddling the stallion, which Stannis thought was a waste of time, seeing as he hadn't needed it on the journey over, and instructed Stannis to begin collecting twigs, leaves and branches for a fire. He set about making the fire, rolling the stones into a more circular shape and dropping loads of branches next to it. Ashnidanté had been completely unpacked, and was bound only by the red halter and lead rope and was chomping at the grass while his Mistress was fiddling with bed roles and other preparations for the camp.
"Stannis," Hunter spoke and the boy rose from where he had been kneeling next to the fire-pit, he had yet to start the fire, and moved to her side quickly, noting she was still in her armour.
Hunter reached into her saddle bags and withdrew with a small stretched oval, like a clear almond, and a small cup. "Take Ash to the stream," she nodded in the direction of the path, "but collect the water in here first and add this. If it turns blue the water is safe to drink."
Stannis nodded and accepted the cup and oval-it was a clear stone- before turning to Ashnidanté and beginning to lead the horse down the path, he had already accepted his Mistress knew everything, and if she said there was water, there would be water. It was as he had observed, a small track winding its way through the trees, seeming to follow the land rather than go through it, and he could hear water ahead of them. It smelt… green… and of life, the air was earthy, musty and sharp, and leaves and twigs crunched under their footsteps. A few birds were disturbed by their path, and flew into the air.
Ash followed him obediently, delicately, for something so large, he lifted his legs over fallen trees and was a solid presence in the woods. Ahead of him Stannis could see a clearing through the trees and undergrowth, and the two made their way towards it. The clearing was at the side of the cliff face, a stone figure carved out of the walls of the valley, eaten by time and weather. In its prime it would have looked like a curved palm stretching above the clearing and protecting any worshipers from the weather with fingers facing the cliff behind, and with the figure of some deity carved out of the cliff. The figure was cross-legged, robed and had some sort of stone bowl over their legs, the statue was three times the size of a normal man, and it was hard to tell its gender. Leading up to the statue was a fractured and crumbling stone bridge, under which a little stream flashed the silver bellies of fish. They fled as the duo got closer, feeling their footsteps in the vibrations of the earth, or seeing their shadows cast across the waters surface.
The clearing was eerie, the strangeness of an area that once held the hearts and prayers of travellers and was now barren, of gifts and offerings as well as the presence of people. The stream that Hunter had said would be there came from a gap in the cliff face, clearly designed to fall about the sides of the statue like a Ladies skirts, and beneath the statue the water looked much deeper before a few horse lengths it began to get lighter and slope gently up to the grass where Stannis and Ashnidanté had halted. The stream fled from the statue, and the pool beneath it, to the right, where the cliff had lent, or maybe sagged, forward into the trees, the water once again returning into the cliff. This pool and little section of stream must have been the only source of water in the pass if it held a statue of worship and even a bridge to the base of it.
Stannis eyed the cross-legged statue and spat at it, Pagan God. Ashnidanté nudged his back with his head, and pawed at the ground and Stannis remembered why he was here. He took the cup and walked forward a few paces to the edge of the water, dipping the rim below the surface and lifting it from the water. The water was cold as drops ran over his fingers as he lowered the stone into the water, sending a small wave of it over the cup and further down his hands. The stone bobbed gently before slowly turning a deep and pretty blue. He tipped the cup upside down, making sure to trap the stone between his fingers, and tugged gently on the lead rope, letting the stallion know he could now drink.
The solid black mass of the stallion burst past him and waded straight into the stream, dragging Stannis with him. Stannis gave a yelp as he body adjusted to the shock of the cold water, and he rose from where he had fell with a glare, eying the stallion who had turned playful, and was paying at the water. Ashnidanté snorted and shook out his mane, before lowering his muzzle to the now rippling water's surface and drinking, the lead rope coiling past his body and stretching and waving like a snake in the water. Stannis glared at him, hands on his hips, unhappy with the cold water, but he couldn't deny it was refreshing. "What would our Mistress say, you acting like a dog an' not a war 'orse, an' drag'n me in ta it as well!" He had been trying to form his words and speech in an acceptable manner like the one his Mistress used as it pleased her, but sometimes he forgot himself and slipped back into his orphan, street child slang.
Ash flicked his ears, indicating he was listening, before raising his head, looking challengingly at the boy before lowering his muzzle into the water and snorting. Stannis felt his jaw lower, and threw his hands up in despair, the stallion was blowing bubbles!
"Are you done!" Stannis growled, his Mistress would be wanting him back soon, what if he were late, and she decided she didn't want him anymore? He had no choice but to wade into the pool and get the stallion, but he couldn't swim. Swallowing in fear, he took a few steps from the shallows of the shore, he had only been up to his knees, and waded out to his upper thighs. The water was much colder on his body, and tugged at his clothes, wanting to drag him under. Unable to go any further he beckoned to the horse, "C'mere Ash! I canna, I canna go any further." Ashnidanté didn't listen and waded further out, finding a large rock, or maybe a fallen piece of cliff to stand on, lifting his body halfway out of the water. Stannis tried again, inching forward, if he didn't return with her prized horse, Hunter would never trust him with him again, and she would certainly ask him to leave.
The sand below him suddenly shifted and he fell further into the water, going under up to his chest before he kicked out, trying to get his feet back under him. If he had learnt how to swim, or knew anything about water currents he would have known that the water would move faster and harder against his body the further into the depth's he got, and all he needed to do was to use his arms and legs to get back onto higher ground, but he had never learnt and the water caught him with glee and began to pull him along. "Argh! Stannis panicked as his head went under the water, and it constricted around his body, binding his chest so he couldn't breathe. Somehow he forced his head above the water and flicked his hair out of his eyes, head flinging about wildly as he tried to gain his bearings. His clothes dragged him under again and he saw the water churning around him, furious shite bubbles and then darker water beneath him. Something grabbed at him and he screamed into the water, joyously the water tore its way down his throat and into his lungs and he choked as he thrashed in the water. Abruptly he hit something solid, but also radiating warmth he could feel through the waters icy bite. He grabbed at it, but was spun away, here the water was getting colder and fiercer, the strength dragging him now and he was struggling to see, his lungs were burning, not unlike the time when his Mistress had asked him to run around the clearing until he dropped. Something hard and cold hit him, something strong and he knew that when he went into Death, he would look horrid, dripping wet and bruised. Resigned he let go, closing his eyes as a veil covered his vision and prepared himself to welcome Death, his one thought was that his Mistress would be annoyed he lost her dagger.
Abruptly something hooked around his belly and tugged, he could feel the water resist, straining to keep him, but the upward force was even stronger and the water had to let go. Stannis was pulled powerfully to the waters surface where he coughed and spluttered weakly, inhaling great mouthfuls of musty but fresh air. The arm, for it was an arm around his belly, slipped up beneath his arms and began to pull his limp body towards the shore, and as he gasped he could feel a solid presence behind him, pushing forward with a head.
He could feel the water getting warmer as he was pulled closer to shore, but kept his eyes closed and focused on his aching lungs as he still heaved and spat out water, and his breakfast, all over himself and his rescuer. Some part of his body bumped against a strong leg and Stannis tried to open his eyes as he felt the sand beneath his body. There was splashing in the water as his rescuer, or rescuers, dragging him onto the grass.
"Foolish boy," his rescuer growled into his ear, and Stannis tried to force his body upright. "No," ordered Hunter, for it was Hunter who had rescued him, and maybe Ashnidanté, he could hear the stallion emerging from the water and stomp onto the grass, "Stay there." He dared not disobey, and shivered in the sunshine as his Mistress moved around above him. She was tugging at his boots a few moments later, removing his socks and then his shirt. When she went for his trousers he protested weakly, but her rough hand and snarl kept him still. Thankfully she allowed him to keep his loincloth. Something was shoved into his hands, and she ordered him to drink.
Wearily he opened his eyes and saw it was her own animal-skin, and he hesitated before raising it to his lips. He coughed with the first sip, his throat raw, and tried to hand it back, but she stopped him with a slender finger held up in warning. Obeying he tried another sip, and had to admit it was the best thing that had ever been in his mouth, it was sweet and easy to drink, cool but not cold, and soothed his throat on the way down, warming him from the inside, as well as getting rid of the taste of bile. She dragged him to his feet, and he stood on shaky legs, falling into her arms before she lifted him onto the stallion, who though wet was still warm. She put her own cloak over him and he felt the instant warmth, it was as though he had been doused in the heat of a warm fire, and he could feel it seeping into his bones, steading his shakes.
She swung up behind him, "Go, Ash!" The stallion wasted no time and sprung forward, water falling from his coat and dripping from the woman behind him. The journey to camp only took moments, and Stannis clung to Ashnidanté's wet mane in terror the entire time, secured by the woman behind him but still terrified for his life. Once there she slid down and lifted him easily from the saddle, Stannis sagging and feeling sleepy in her arms. She sat him next to the fire, which was roaring and crackling as though it had been going for hours-magic- and then shuffled around in her saddle bags. Stannis clutched at the edges of her cloak as he watched her work. He was aware enough to see that she no longer had her armour on, it was in a pile next to her saddle bags, and she was wearing what Stannis called her casual clothing, though what she was wearing probably cost more than he had ever seen in his entire life. Ashnidanté was rolling on the ground, where the dirt met the grass, and appeared to be enjoying himself.
Hunter had kept to her black leather and silver buckled boots, stretching up to her knees and had tucked her black trousers into the boots, runes of some sort down the outside seem. A white long sleeve undershirt was pressed against her skin by a thick black and silver sleeveless vest, with etchings down the front, clasped together by silver buckles, and hood with a band of engraving across the rim. She had a well-made and well-worn leather belt across her waist, a single blade at her side, and he could see a small one tied horizontally at her lower back. All of her was soaking wet, her hair hung wild down over her back and was several shades darker than normal.
As she walked back to him he could see the highlights of her hair, they were all shades of red and orange, like a fire, or maybe the sunset and sunrise, and she was very, very pretty. She tossed a bundle of clothes at him, "Get dressed and keep drinking." Her footsteps faded as she returned back down the path, and Stannis quickly got to his feet, changing into the loincloth first, before pulling trousers over his legs and then the shirt. Then he sat back on the grass, pulling her cloak across his shoulders and wrapping it around him. She returned a few moments later, his clothes had been rinsed and were dripping wet, his boots dangling from her fingers.
She dropped them in a pile and her purple eyes appraised him for a moment before she walked back to the forest, taking the knife from her belt. Stannis turned as he heard her hacking at the wood and watched as her hand rose and fell, cutting into the small sapling she had chosen like it was an axe. Once that one was cut through she moved on to another and then another and then carried them back to the camp. Stannis took another sip from the flask, steadily warming underneath the cloak and within the embrace of the fire. Hunter returned to the fire and began to slide her blade down the tree, cutting away extra branches on one, making a long and slender pole. She took the other two branches and it was then that Stannis saw that the two she had chosen were like long and large "y"s. It took her a few minutes, and Stannis found comfort in the silence around them, broken only by Ashnidanté chewing on grass and flicking his tail, and the crackling of the fire and her steady and long swoops down the wood.
Once she was done she forced the two ends into the earth on either side of the fire. Stannis was feeling sleepy when she looked at him, "Are you sufficiently recovered?" Stannis blinked, he didn't know what sufficient meant, but assumed she was asking if he was feeling better. He had been better but nodded that he was okay.
She rose and moved to her saddle bags and returned with her large pot, "Go and full this halfway, " Stannis blanched at the thought of returning to the stream, "She won't touch you again."
"What?" Stannis squeaked, and stared at her in disbelief, she didn't seriously think he was going to even be outside when it rained after his near drowning.
Her eyes narrowed and suddenly the warmth of the fire wasn't enough, "Go and fill this," she ordered, the command clear in her tone. Stannis swallowed, thinking he could break a stick off and duck the pot into the water that way, he slowly rose and accepted the pot, exchanging it for her cloak. He had turned to walk away when she caught his attention, "And Stannislavonides, " he obediently turned to face his Mistress, "Don't drop it this time." In her hand was his dagger, and it was tied to a small leather belt! He snatched it from her hand and clutched it to him, almost dropping the pot in the process, and he had to juggle it a few times before it settled in his hand. Beaming he put the pot on the ground and tied the belt around his waist, shifting it so the blade was on his left. He took the pot and still smiling began to walk back to the stream, he felt much more comfortable with it at his side.
The earth was cool beneath the shade of the trees and the leaves rustled in a small breeze. As he walked he contemplated his near death experience, wondering how he had nearly drowned, he had thought he was safe, and the water wasn't that strong. He emerged into the clearing and paused under the shadow of the trees, the statue and bridge were as whole and void of moss and cobwebs as the day they must have been carved.
Eyes narrowing Stannis inched forward, holding the pot upright as though to use it as a weapon, the weight was reassuring in his grip. The statue was of a woman, a beautiful one, if Stannis could be the judge of such things. Though carved from stone she was carved with reverence, dainty eyebrows gently arched and sloped, and big eyes. Her cheekbones were sharp and with roses checks, making Stannis think that she would have a grandmother gripping her cheeks and cooing at her. Her lips were much larger than his own, bigger and any he had ever seen in Ashran, and he had never seen someone with a nose so big and rounded.
She was wearing some sort of robe, also carved from the cliff wall, and a shawl across her head, hiding what her hair was like. The stone bowl across her thighs had some form of incense burning in it, he could smell it now, clogging his senses with its sharpness. The bridge had been reformed, arching up over the small pool of water beneath the statue, suspiciously devoid of moss, and looking very solid compared to the crumbling mass it had been before.
Stannis took another cautious step forward, he could see the water now, bubbling merrily around the statues back and down the stream. The ripples from the cliff merrily pranced across the surface of the water, disguising the fierce currents beneath. Eyeing the water as though it would rear up and snatch him and drag him into its icy embrace. He lowered the pot, and casting glances over his shoulder at the stream, moved to a tree and began to bend it, whipping it back and forward in an attempt to break it. The branch splintered, the core of the wood green and vibrant as he tore it away. The leaves were bobbing about at the end of the branch, like a green torch, as he pulled the pot over the twigs and leaves at the end of his impromptu staff. He edged towards the stream and ducked the pot into the shallows, watching it bob on the surface before sinking slightly to the bottom, waves of water lapping at its sides.
He had to move forward to increase his reach as he had been unable to lift the pot with the end of the branch. It slid down towards his hands as he lifted it swinging from the water, drops running down its sides and falling back into the stream. He glanced up and froze. The statue was looking at him!
His backwards leap nearly lost the water, but the pot swung steadily, water sloshing from side to side before he stilled it. He made sure there was enough water in it before glancing hesitantly back at the statue. He blinked, hard. It was facing the same way it always had. His heart was thudding in his chest as he, eyes locked on the statue, slid the pot from the branch and slowly lowered it to the ground. He straightened cautiously, the statue still hadn't moved. Stannis didn't wait, he turned and sprinted back to his Mistress, both arms around the pot trying to keep it steady as he fled down the track. His unclothed feet felt the strain of no protection after a few days of it, and they ached as he pushed them forward, but he didn't dare stop or slow until he came into the sight of the camp.
Hunter's clothes were dry and she was running a brush along the stallions coat as he nibbled grass. Stannis walked into the camp and she acknowledged him by flicking her head in the direction of the fire. The boy obeyed the unspoken command and took the pot to the fire, it had a little bit less water than he thought she wanted, but she would have to deal with it, he wasn't going back to the stream.
He slid the pole through the handle of the pot and let it hang across the flames. Stannis then looked to his Mistress for instructions, but she was silent, too him at least, she was murmuring something to her horse. His belly was grumbling, it had been for a while, but he had ignored it, what with the thrill of the racing horse, and then his near drowning. He sat cross-legged a few meters from the fire with his back to the forest and watched her work. He opened his mouth as though to ask her something and then thought better of it, shifting restlessly in the sunlight.
Stannis remained where he was in what he thought was an admirable attempt, but eventually he got bored, and he was hungry, so he said so. Hunter had finished her grooming of Ashnidanté and was standing in front of him, her hair coiled down over the front of one collarbone, stroking his nose. At his, "I'm hungry," she lifted away from the stallion and nodded too him.
Her long strides made her almost float across the distance, without her armour and her hood, and her Hunter persona, she seemed almost softer, but then she glanced over at him and he immediately rethought her softness. Yes she could look soft, but she was iron, the hardest substance he knew.
She flicked her fingers at him and he rose immediately and jogged to her side, eager to see what she had for him. They crouched down in front of her packs and she began to pull them apart, "I am sure you will have noticed that the amount of gear that goes into my packs seems unfeasible." Stannis blinked from where he was relying on his haunches, "What?"
Purple eyes closed briefly and she was speaking to herself when she said, "Argh, I had forgotten the stupidity of children." Stannis still frowned at her, he was smart, thank you very much!
"The amount of gear I have cannot physically fit into these bags," she held up an empty saddlebag, it might have been the one he had seen her take the pot from, Stannis couldn't tell, they all looked the same. "My saddle bags are specially designed to fit my gear, and each one is made for each section of equipment."
She lifted another bag and handed it to him, it was black, of course, with silver runes across it, but at the top there was a different one. He ran his fingers across it, marvelling at the fine silver stitching, then he peered inside. It was like there were very small shelves inside the bag, with straps across the top or through the handles of her eating utensils. There were two of everything, in little sizes; mugs, spoons, knives, forks, small plates and bowls, larger bowls, a trio of pans in various sizes, two pots (the third was currently bubbling over the fireplace), larger knives and ladles, and even a few wooden slabs, she looked to have an entire kitchen in one small bag.
Stannis lowered the bag back to the ground, pulling the cord tight, and accepted the next one. Inside, small enough to fit in her hand, was her full set of armour, her shield, arm guards, thigh guards, her legs guards, some more weapons and arrows, and there was a shelf near the top that had a series of stones, clothes and some little bottles.
The next bag contained some meat and vegetables, and she rose from her crouch and led them over to the fire, with Stannis obediently carrying the bag of food and the cooking bag.
She sat to the side of the fire and directed her gaze next to her, "Sit." Stannis sat, the bags folding to the ground next to him. "You mentioned you knew some letters, exactly how much do you know?" She took the cooking bag and began to empty some of it, setting it around her.
"I dunno- don't know, I don't remember much," said the boy as he watched her take out some meat and begin to cut it into large chunks on one of the wooden boards. "Very well," said Hunter taking the knife she was using to cut the meat and sliding it along the wood, sending the chunks tumbling into the pot. "After we are done here, I will start your full appraisal and devise a training plan. It will cover your education, both physical and mental, and will push you to the limits. I will not make you do something I do not believe you can do."
Stannis nodded, this was perfectly acceptable, any thing was provided she didn't leave him.
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Hair fell into his eyes as the wind blew down the valley gently, like a caress, and playfully picked at his clothing. Sighing Brice shook out his hair and shifted in the saddle, his horse lazily flicking her tail to ward off flies, and glanced to his men. He had slowed their progress since he had sent some of his men down the track and around the mountain to spring the trap, and though they were thankful for the respite they were admittedly getting restless, though endeavoured not to show it. The thudding of hooves, quick and sharp in compared to the soft walk of his companions drew his attention to the rear of the procession, where a young man was approaching on a chestnut horse. He pulled up from his canter and the duo fell into a walk beside him. "Well?"
"They're about an hour behind us," said the youth, dark eyes meeting his own with shrouded fire, "Adule wants you to wait for him." Brice nodded, pleased, "Good." He lifted his head slightly and allowed his voice to be caught and carried by the wind, "Halt!" It took a moment, but within the minute the company had come to a complete stop, wagons and horses. "We rest here!"
Brice swung from the saddle, tossing his reins to the youth with a curt order, "See to her." He strode away, dust lifting from his boots, the metal rings he wore jingling with his movements.
The youth obeyed, scowling at his feet, but his movements as he saw to the mare and his own mount were gentle, with the smooth actions of one accustomed to being around horses. He fed, watered and groomed the two mounts before appearing at Brice's side as he relaxed in the sparse shade of a wagon.
Brice opened an eye, "What?" The youth said nothing but held his hand out, clearly beseeching. "Oh, " Brice grunted and closed his eyes once more. " Jareth, fetch the boy his weapons." A soldier did as commanded and a sword, bow and quiver of arrows, and a pair of daggers were returned to the youth. He was dismissed with a wave of a nonchalant hand and moved away, near the horses where he was welcome. He was right with his prediction, within the hour there was the swishing and stomping, and creaking and groaning that accompanied wagons and animals. The horses came first, two columns of them, and lagging behind were the wagons, more than expected, and being pulled by visibly exhausted animals.
The two groups greeted each other with cheer. Though they would never admit it, hearing about the murders of their compatriots and the loss of many of their number to the planned ambush had made them nervous. The arrival of Adule and his men and supplies tipped the balance even further in their favour and was met with great relief.
The men broke camp as soon as they arrived, settling down as a scrawny man slid from his horse. He was skinny and lightly muscled, and very tall, with dirty blonde hair feathered around his ears. A matching full beard and a single eyebrow framed his face. He had pale eyes, which twitched from person to person appraising, and finally settled on Brice as he strode forward.
"Adule," he said, in a surprisingly light voice, for a man, and held his hand out for a shake. Brice nodded in greeting and accepted the hand. While they were of the same Legion, and generally patrolled the same region, the two Commanders weren't familiar with each other, a frequent occurrence among the Warden's.
"Tell me of the trouble in Ashran," said Adule, "It must be sizable if two squadrons are required."
Brice nodded grimly as he led the other commander over to his post in the shade, "More than you know. All of the Warden's posted to the district are dead." Adule gaped, "What?!" Brice clenched his jaw and went on to explain how Clayton Ashran had called in help in the form of a hooded stranger who had apparently killed all of the Warden's by himself, and was now leading the uprising with Clayton at his side. He then explained that a deserter from the Ashran camp had provided the details of an ambush, and how he had ordered some of his number to take the track and kill the would-be ambushers, and then spring their own ambush in a few days.
Adule had risen and begun to pace as Brice finished his explanation, his ire evident. "How dare that traitorous little brat!" He roared, his light voice turning harsh and cold in his anger. "I'll tear his House to pieces!" His bellowing had caught the attention of the men, and though they disguised it well they all inched forward to hear what had set their commander off. "We cannot stand for this!" Adule spun and faced Brice, who was leaning on his elbows and watching the other commander with faintly veiled amusement, "We kill them all, and take their people as slaves!"
Spittle flew from his mouth as he snarled, "We kill them all, and we do it up front, slaughter them in battle so they know there will be no hope for their people."
He was panting, patches of red on his cheeks as he glared down at Brice. The Commander of the Seventh Legion rose to his feet, the mail he wore jingling at the movement, and stared across at the other commander, "What are you waiting for?" He asked evenly. Adule met his eyes for a moment before turning and ordering his men to break camp. They were a few hours out, if Gavin's accuracy was to be trusted, and could make a plan on the ride. At his much softer signal Brice's men began to pack themselves and their mounts, much smoother and faster that Adule's, and were ready and mounted at least ten minutes before Adule and his men.
Once the men were ready they moved out, the two commanders at the head of the column with Adule's second and third in command, and the olive-skinned youth on the liver chestnut horse falling in behind them. The duo discussed the plan as they rode, in the end they settled on brute force with overwhelming numbers to defeat the Ashranian force. Adule's rage had convinced Brice that this was the best course of action, and besides, the Ashranian's were outnumbered and outclassed. The only notable adversary was this strange warrior, and really, how good could he be?
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Author's Note: I am hoping the length will make up for the time between this chapter and the last :P R & R and, as always, enjoy! :D
And because I neglected to respond to reviews last time (I am sorry).
Chapter 35:
Shubey: You read it to your sister? Wow, that's really sweet! Does she enjoy it? What is her favourite chapter/character/scene, and what is yours, for that matter? :D
Zhen: Why thank you :D I am glad you liked it. I aim to please ;) And yes, we will see-eventually- just how powerful she is.
Tris: Glad that you understand better now :D I'll try to make it clearer in the future.
Danaye: Well, I get super happy when I see a review, so we can help each other :D
Chapter 36:
Guest 1 and 2: Thank you for following. I am glad you enjoy it.