5. Like a Butterfly

5. Like A Butterfly

The breeze blew warm across the village, carrying with it the smells of a summer afternoon. The hard-packed main dirt road puffed dust up with each step of the townsfolk, mixing with the animal dung and fresh-cut hay. Few of the merchants bothered with hawking to draw business on a day like today; it was a day for sitting in the shade, trying to catch what little coolness there was.
Zarya turned her face into the breeze, ducking her head and arching her back, trying to get some of it on the back of her neck. It had been hours since she’d put her heavy curls up under her one piece of silk, a thin green kerchief, legacy of a different life. Sweat now dripped down her face, and pooled in the small of her back. Her green kerchief was dust-brown now, stained with sweat and trapping more heat on her head than it kept off of her neck.
She stopped for a moment, stepping off the road to lean in the shade of an aging elm. The tree had clearly seen better days- half of the trunk looked brown and dead. Split by lightning, perhaps? No way to tell, at this late date. Zarya hadn’t the skill with Divination to read that far into the past. Still, a few branches held life, leaves and, most importantly, shade. Master Sarutobi had done it for fun, the cranky old goat.
Zarya shook her head, hastily clearing it of all thoughts save her current goal- finding the Village Council and presenting herself. The grass was dry, browning and stubby, and felt like a velvet cushion when she sat down. Lords of magic, but she had been on her feet for far too long. Her studies had included little on daily village life. Where would the town’s important elders be? Surely, they would prefer to be out of the sun, and ought to have enough authority to not be out running errands. So, inside somewhere. And, in a town this small, the councilmen would almost certainly have other duties- a craft or trade- to be seeing to. So who would be the leaders, and how to find them?
“You have got to be kidding me!” Zarya flinched at the outburst, scooting sideways around to the back side of the tree on pure reflex. She peeked around the trunk, looking for the speaker. A young man in dusty forest garb, stood speaking to a pale-skinned woman with long black hair and a bodice cut low enough that Zarya unconsciously put up a hand to cover her own, fully-clothed bosom. “No way, they’d never buy a story like that, I don‘t care how much they‘ve had to drink,” the young man went on.
“Well, I don’t see how you intend to convince them of anything, looking the way you do,” the woman said. Her voice had a tone to it that suggested she was caught between terminal boredom and total exasperation.
The young man paused to pinch his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Loook, clearly, if we want to make the right impression, whatever that is, we need to find a place to clean up. I’m a little off rivers at the moment, but I doubt you’ve enough silver on you for a bath house, let alone a tavern. By the look of this place, I bet their idea of a tavern is a pub with a couple rooms for farmers who drank too much. Bath house…” His voice faded into something less challenging, and Zarya thought she heard something more creep into his voice. “Who am I kidding?”
He looked off to the side, and there was a long, awkward moment while the two of them just stood there, not-looking at each other. Something about the woman’s garb triggered a connection in Zarya’s mind. What was it? About pain, maybe? If the woman displayed that much skin that pale in this weather, she was certainly in for a painful rash…
“Fine, whatever,” the woman sighed.
The young man seemed to jerk himself out of some distant thought, and plastered one what had to be the cheekiest grin Zarya had ever seen. “Hey, I know you’re worried that if you saw me bathing, you couldn’t control yourself, and that’s fair. But I assure you… well, no, you’re probably right. Blindfold?”
“Only to keep myself from gagging,” the woman shot back.
“You know you want this,” the young man said, tossing back sandy brown hair.
The pair of the burst into laughter, and she chased him off into the woods, smacking at his head and shoulders.
“Philox,” Zarya murmured, and a shimmering, translucent butterfly landed on her finger. “I need to find a place to bathe, and…” What had the lad said? “A place to buy drink.” She blew gently on her little seeker, and it floated off on the breeze to do her bidding. Zarya smiled. This day was starting to look up.

***********

Tam and Winnow sat sweating on their bench before the councilmen, waiting while a young woman who claimed to be a sorceress made her appeal. She might have some magical talent, but ‘Zarya,’ if that was even her real name, was certainly not the master she claimed to be. No master magician would bother with such a little village, nor would she… fidget.
“And so, um, your Council…ness…es,” she stammered, “I am able to find your lost animals, or people, to determine whether someone has spoken truth or falsehood, forecast the weather, and tell you what crops will do well, and place protective wards around your town, fields, or domiciles.” The councilmen just stared at her, expressionless and silent. “All for especially reasonable rates, I assure you,” she said, clearly trying to find the magic phrase that would unlock the council’s approval.
Tam resisted the temptation to sigh and shake his head. The council’s reaction was every bit as unpleasant as he had expected, though he thought the butcher threatening to send her off to a Magistrate was a bit much. The girl kept her composure, though only barely. “Please,” she begged, “let me demonstrate-”
“Out!” the butcher roared, “Out before we have you brought up before a real sorcerer!”
“Great,” Tam murmured to Winnow as the woman fled the tavern’s common room. “Now they’re all riled up.” Winnow was seated next to him, occupying her portion of bench with a sort of bored, casual grace. Had ’Zarya’ had half that degree of self-possession and dignity, Tam doubted the council would have given her such short shrift.
“Next,” the mayor drawled. Since the girl claiming to be a sorceress had been the only other petitioner, Tam wasn’t sure if the mayor’s attitude was an attempt at an imitation of a big-city Magistrate, or a deliberate insult. In Higgins’ court, at least, he would have been sure of the matter.
Tam stood and bowed slightly from the waist. Not too much, no need to be obsequious, but the councilmen would expect the respect. “Mayor, Councilmen,” He bowed again, not quite so deeply. “I am honored to have this opportunity to come before you today. My name is-”
“Cut the crap, boy.” The speaker was the butcher again, a squat bald man in a blood-stained apron. He leaned forward. “What do you want?”
Tam’s nostrils flared. This yokel had no right- but of course he did. It was his job to cut through the fat and get the meat from the bone. So, then.
“Work,” Tam snapped. He took a deep breath. “As I was starting to say, my name is Tam-”
“What kind of work? You’re not claiming to have magical powers too, are you?” The rest of the council chuckled into their tankards. One man, the blacksmith to judge from his shoulders, rapped his knuckles on the table in approval. Tam watched their faces closely, how each held himself laughing, who looked to which members of the council to draw them into the joke. The mayor held himself apart from the laughing, drinking from his beer but not engaging with the other councilmen. So the mayor really did hold the power of this council, good. The butcher was the hound, used to flush the fox from the trees. Tam addressed himself to the mayor.
“I write a clean hand, sir, and can prepare any documents you wish to present to a magistrate or lord. I-”
“How old are you, boy?” This butcher was starting to get seriously annoying. Calm…
“This past midsummer was my twentieth birthday,” he lied smoothly.
The butcher snorted. “Sure you are. And who’s the wench, the King’s long-lost-”
“Look, if you don’t believe that I can write, bring me pen and ink. If you doubt my knowledge, test me. If you can’t, or won’t, then fine. I’ve a good many miles left to walk.” He half-turned, taking a step toward Winnow, and the bench.
The butcher opened his mouth, starting to rise with one hand flat on the table and the other stabbing a sausage-thick finger at Tam.
“Enough, Arnold.” The mayor raised one hand. “You’ve had your fun with the boy.” The butcher lowered himself back into his chair, scowling. The mayor looked at Tam. “What’s your name, lad?”
“Tam, sir. Tam Norry.” Winnow stirred on the bench behind him, but Tam kept his eyes locked on the mayor’s.
“There’s little enough work for a scribe in a village this size, Tam Norry. What brings you to us, a scribe with no in, a scholar with no books? You’re not in trouble with your master for making off with his daughter, are you?”
Somehow, Tam managed to keep his face straight. “My father served as chief of clerks to Magistrate Higgins, in Moldell. I learned from him, through service, and served on his staff until I came of age, whereupon I transferred my service to Mayor-”
“That’s enough, lad. I don’t want your life’s story. What I want to know is, are you in some kind of trouble, and are you going to bring it down on my people?”
“The only trouble I bring with me, sir, is and empty purse and a poor track record in choosing innkeepers.”
Amazingly, the mayor and councilmen swallowed this entire packet of lies without comment. “So, what brings you looking for work to my little village, Tam Norry?”
Tam quickly weighed his options. His initial assumption had been that, like Sol, these yokels would be either impressed with the mannerisms and speech of court, or overwhelmed by the useage of words bigger than their village. Clearly, that had proven wrong. Zarya’s timidity had gotten her nowhere, so servility was not the course. Long-winded explanations that covered all details were of no use, either. Bold, and to-the-point, then. “My uncle, sir. He wrote me that he has need of a scribe to handle legal affairs for his company on the south coast.”
The mayor accepted this equally flagrant fabrication with the same credulity with which he had taken in Tam’s other lies. He turned to the other councilmen, and they began discussing quietly amongst themselves. Tam remained standing, concealing his impatience and anxiety behind the relaxed, confident pose he had learned serving Magistrate Higgins. He used shifting his weight as an excuse to half-glance over his shoulder. Winnow was watching the council with the cool dispassion of a queen. Only the occasional tap of her foot belied her anxiety.
Odd… Enara would have insisted on being the center of attention, disastrous though it would have been. Winnow was content to let Tam take the lead in this negotiation, though she had certainly been forceful in helping plan this presentation.
The council members seemed to have reached some sort of agreement. The mayor nodded, and turned back to Tam. “None of our villagers have any need of a scribe, but Master Gillam, in whose fine establishment we meet, reckons he has work for you in the kitchens. Scrubbing pots may not be the kind of work you are used to, but it will earn you a meal and a bed, and you need not fear the theft of your possessions. In the morning, it happens that several of the farmers are headed to the market at Riverhead. You can ride with them, and you should be able to find passage down the river from there to the coast. Ship captains, as I understand it, always have logs and journals and customs papers to prepare.”
“The council is most generous. I thank you. And, ah… Does Master Gillam have room in his kitchens for two?”
The mayor raised his eyebrows. “It was assumed by the council, boy, that you would not make your wife work when you could provide for her.” A gagging sound turned into a fit of coughing from Winnow. “Especially when she is in such a weakened state. Gill, why don’t you show these two to their room. Arnold, you can send Mildred over to check on the girl. Any more business?” The mayor rapped his knuckles once on the table. “Then I say we’re done here.”
The members of the village council finished their ale with a bottoms-up pull that looked as formal and practiced as a magistrate’s gavel rap. A fleshy, straw-haired man limped around the end of the table, and shook Tam’s hand. “Alpert Gillam, lad. Pleased to meet you. Most folks around here call me Gill. I’ve a spare room to let in the back; we’re nearly full up what with all the farm folk headed to market. Yes, this is always a busy time for us, even with the heat we’re having to sleep two to a bed some nights…” The man hardly seemed to need to breathe, keeping up a running commentary as he led the two of them to their room. He gestured expansively as he opened the door to a small room in the back of the inn. “Now, we’ll just get your lady wife settled in, here-”
As the innkeeper talked, all Tam could see was the bed. Layered with wool-stuffed ticks, and covered with a faded quilt, it looked like a lover’s embrace. A bed… A real bed, Tam thought.
The innkeeper noticed Tam’s longing stare. “Not yet, lad,” he said with a grandfatherly wink. “It’s the kitchens, then a bath for you.” Settling Winnow into the little room’s only chair, he guided Tam away, promising that one of his daughters would soon be along to take Winnow to the bath house.
In the kitchens, Mrs. Gillam handed Tam a crusty old scrub brush and a bucket of soapy water. The smell of roasting mutton made it hard to concentrate on what she was saying. A bed! And food! Life was finally starting to look up.

***********

Carter knelt next to the ashes of the fire. He inhaled carefully, then held his hand over the coals.
“And then this guy comes at me, like he totally forgot I had a sword in my other hand, right?” Diggs was leaning against a tree, gesturing with his hands while he talked. Re-enacting the fight, probably. Carter had long ago learned how to keep an eye on Diggs without really having to watch him. “And he’s shouting, this whole time, he’s shouting, ‘You’ll never take-’”
“Four hours. Maybe five.” Carter rose from the fire.
“Which way did she go? Into the woods, or back into town?” Diggs pushed off from the tree against which he was leaning, and scanned from side to side. One hand began to creep up towards his shoulder, and the sword hilt sticking up over it.
“It looks like they,” Carter barely emphasized the word, but it was enough to draw a sharp look from Diggs, “built the fire to dry their clothes, then headed into town.”
“Dry their-” Diggs’ face darkened as he worked through the implications of what that meant. “That son of a… Let’s go.” Diggs was ten strides into the woods before Carter had taken his first step.  Tam Foltz was going to have a very bad day.

*********

Tam dragged himself up the stairs in the back of the inn and into the little room. Mrs. Gillam looked the part of the kindly innkeeper’s wife, but she drove her staff with all the mercy of a Magistrate’s enforcer. Tam had nearly fallen asleep in his bowl of stew (admittedly, thick and filling), and then again during his bath. At least he was clean… The kitchens and bath house had been so hot that it almost felt like the air had cooled when he made it out, but the air in the little room was getting to be thick and stifling again, even with the window open.
Winnow sat cross-legged on the bed, skirts fanned neatly around her, reading a small wood-bound book. She looked up as he entered, closing the book on her finger to mark her place. “Dreadful,” she drawled. “Mildred…” She paused, and Tam was certain she was about to spit, “Is nothing more than a village goodwife who spouts the most senseless drivel and thinks herself educated.”
“Spotted you for a soak, did she?” Tam grinned, dropping into the chair. “The fearsome black-heart, come to steal away all the village children?”
“I was chased out of a village not unlike this, once,” she said seriously, “On no more than a whispered rumour. I doubt that she even really believes my kind exist, but just the fear of it was enough to put her on edge. I had to work very hard to make her laugh, and draw her in before she left, so she wouldn’t be tempted to carry the wrong tales.”
“How did you manage that? I’ve never yet met a goodwife who doesn’t cleave to the worst or most sensational tales.” As morose and morbid as Winnow looked and sounded, Tam could sooner imagine Winnow getting a laugh from a corpse.
Winnow’s bleak face lit for the briefest of moments with a faint smile. “Told her I hadn’t slept since I found out that I was pregnant.”
“You- What?” Tam spurted out of the chair. “How- Why- What… What the hell?”
Winnow had folded over on herself, shoulders shaking. It took Tam a moment to realize that she was laughing.
“Ooh… You…” Tam growled. He had just started to crawl up onto the bed when he noticed a pallet, neatly made up on the floor. “What’s that for?”
Winnow was trying to hold on her laughter, clutching her arms around herself. “It seems that Mildred,” she even managed to drip acid on the name while sniggering, “Believes women who are with child shouldn’t share their bed.”
Tam turned around to check the door for a lock on the inside. “Well, what she-”
“And since Mildred is best friends with Elsbet Gillam, she assured me that Elsbet would be checking in to make sure I ‘get the rest I need.’” Her face turned serious. “I don’t think we had better share a bed, either. It’s too…”
“Complicated,” Tam finished for her. He wasn’t entirely sure that he had been successful at keeping the bitter note from his voice. He backed carefully off of the bed, and lay down on the pallet. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use a good night’s rest. At least we don’t have to worry about bandits, here!” Tam forced himself to keep his voice light. He very much doubted that Winnow was gullible enough to be fooled by that, but it was easier than the truth.
It was too… complicated.

**********

Outside, thunder boomed, and a breeze stirred through the window, carrying the smell of rain.
“Menox,” Zarya murmured, and the shimmering butterfly winked out. So, the woman was a soak That certainly explained a great deal. And they weren’t man and wife, but she was with child? No, that was the false tale the Soak had told the goodwife.
Zarya leaned her head back against the trunk of her tree. She had thought at first that the two of them were man and wife, just by the way they acted, but the boy had taken to being rejected from the woman’s bed with no issue- clearly, there was no feeling there. Just traveling companions. The boy was cute, in a sandy-haired, loose and free sort of way. Zarya would at least have danced with him- if she knew how to dance…
Zarya’s little butterfly had listened in on their session with the Council, those miserable old crabs. If the farmers were willing to give two a ride to Riverhead, would they mind a third? She scrubbed the dirt from her cheeks, smudging the tracks her tears had cut through it earlier. The council had had no call to go calling her down like that…
Thunder boomed overhead, and Zarya pulled her cloak up over her hair. It was too hot for the cloak, but she had been unable to find better shelter than the elm tree just outside town. Pulling a small crystal from her pocket, she began to scratch lines in the dirt before her. Maybe she could find out a bit more about the tree. Was it lightning?
As the rain began to fall, Zarya’s glyph grew in depth and complexity. Gamph’s Third Conjunction overlaid with Benards’ Formula might reveal more about the atmospheric conditions at the time of the tree's demise…
Unnoticed by Zarya, the townsfolk, or the stars, the elm tree began to sprout small, green buds.

4. In the Still of the Night

It was well-past dark when Tam was led off to one of the huts, hastily cleared for his use. It was one of the inner-ring dwellings, with room for a bed and a small table inside, and a fire pit just outside the ill-fitting door. It had no windows, which put Tam uncomfortably in mind of a box, but he could stretch his arms out to either side without touching the walls, and the ceiling cleared his head by a good two inches. In the middle, anyways… A palace, compared to the box. In fact, compared to his room in Magistrate Higgins’ attic, the hut might actually have had a little more room, if a lower ceiling.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, pallet, really, and tugged off his boots. They were just a little too big, and he was starting to get a blister on his right heel. The evening’s conversation with Sol played itself through Tam’s head again and again.
Sol had been as charming and polite as any of the nobles or court officials Tam had encountered at Magistrate Higgins’ home, or at his own father’s house, the few times in the last couple years Tam had been there. Charming, working hard to make Tam forget the near-squalor of their surroundings, yet there was the glint in Sol’s eyes every time he’d asked Tam about his past. The same sort of glint Tam had seen in the barristers’ eyes when they’d visited his father, and the same glint he’d seen dozens of times in Higgins’ court, and at judgments.
Greed.
Identifying the emotion had been relatively simple, accomplished before they’d finished the stew. That had left the bread, meat, and fresh-cut wild apples and a spicy cheese to determine its target. It was perhaps no surprise that Sol had turned the conversation away from himself in favor of tales of Tam’s recent misadventures. After all, Tam had never rescued anyone from a box, either. Sol had wanted every detail of Tam’s torture and beating, and had expressed proper outrage at Higgins’ cruelty. So why did Tam get the feeling that Sol would have done twice as much with half the remorse? No stranger to torture, there.
He wants me to hate Higgins.
From one side, it made perfect sense. Any sane person would hate and fear the person who had done to them what had been done to Tam. And it was true, Higgins was hardly Tam’s favorite person at the moment. But in a weird way- and on some level, Tam recognized the weirdness- in a weird way, Tam could see Higgins’ point of view. He’d taken Tam in under his roof, fed and clothed him for ten years, trained him to judge the law and apportion justice. And then Tam had violated his trust by bedding his daughter. Tam had been living in Higgins’ back pocket for a decade, and had no illusions about what kind of man he was. He’d known from the first time he’d stolen a kiss from Enara what the risks would be. Later, when she’d invited/commanded Tam to attend her in her chambers, well… Thinking about consequences hadn’t been high on the list of Tam’s priorities. All in all, Tam couldn’t pretend he was surprised Higgins had reacted the way he had.
Sol had clearly picked up on this under-reaction, and taken care to try to fan the flames of Tam’s resentment. Trying to keep some sort of control over the conversation, Tam had not mentioned the Guard-Commander’s more personal reaction. How was Tam supposed to know he’d taken an interest in Enara?
From the other side, Tam could see no reason at all for Sol to have so enthusiastically empathized with him. That hadn’t been an attempt to coax Tam into emotional release and catharsis. Sol had wanted something. Still wanted something. What value could Tam have to Sol? He wasn’t a trained fighter, like the men who’d been practicing in the center of camp, and Tam was certain Sol had no concern for the technicalities of the law.
A shadow moved in front of the door, and Tam rolled off the bed, snatching up his boots and the belt knife Sol had given him after dinner. A gesture of trust, Sol had called it, though since most of the bandits carried staves and spears, Tam wasn’t sure how much good it would do him. The door creaked open, and for a moment, all Tam saw was a black figure, backlit by the low-burning cookfire behind it. The figure moved inside, closed the door, and did not move. Slowly, Tam’s eyes re-adjusted to the low light.
Winnow looked down at him, crouching in the corner with his little knife held before him.
“Relax, Tam,” she said. Her voice was low and had the same husky edge that had so heated his blood a few hours ago. “I don’t bite… much…” For all of its sultry edge, her tone was more clipped, business-like. The juxtaposition made Tam’s head spin. Winnow sat on the edge of Tam’s bed, where he’d been a moment before. Carefully, he pulled on his boots, and sat next to her, keeping the knife on the side away from her. Just in case. “You’re awful jumpy,” she noted, amused. “Don’t tell me this is your first time in bed with a woman.”
“Last time I was in bed with a woman,” last time he’d been in any sort of bed, with or without company, for that matter, “I got stuffed in a box. I’m a bit off beds, at the moment.” Actually, he was desperate for a bed, and some proper sleep. “I was giving some serious thought to sleeping on the floor. This blanket should be fine.” He tugged at the dirt-brown blanket, and heard something rip. “Well, what’s left of it…”
Winnow flashed him an appreciative grin, and seemed to be about to say something, then stopped, and the closed, business-like look possessed her face again. “How much did Sol tell you over dinner?”
Lost in her smile, it took Tam a moment to track the change in conversation. “Not much that I couldn’t figure out for myself. Practically nothing about himself, a little about the band. I think… I think he plans to try to use me to break into Higgins’ manor.”
Winnow eyed him in surprise. “He told you that?”
Tam shook his head. “No, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Why else try to impress me with how strong his raiders are? He raved about how skilled they are. Why else try to dig as much out of me about Higgins’ manor and its valuables as possible? He kept comparing what he’d seen of other manors to the King’s palace. As if he’d ever been there… A common bandit? And…” Tam hesitated. Saying it out loud didn’t make nearly as much sense as thinking it in his head. “He really wants me to be mad at Higgins. I think he wants me to lead a raid for revenge.”
Winnow blew out her breath. “Well, you’re half-right. He plans on getting you to help him plan a raid on Higgins’ over the next week. He’ll probably pull off the raid, but it’s really just a cover to sell you back to Higgins.”
“No offense to Sol and his masterminding, but I really can’t imagine that Higgins wants to see me again.” Winnow started to say something, and Tam rode right over it. “Ever. Literally, those were pretty much his last words to me. ‘I hope you live long, and suffer greatly, betrayer of my trust.’ Actually, he used the Scholar’s tongue; I think he was quoting from a play by Theodus. It’s about this guy… Never mind. But you get the idea.”
Tam thought Winnow rolled her eyes at him. It was hard to tell, in the dark. “I doubt Sol intends you to go back to dusting the book-shelf, or whatever. Of course Sol wants to sell you. He figures to sell you to be tortured again, and me to heal you. Sol reckons that Higgins is pissed enough to be interested in working you over again and again.”
Winnow’s words chilled Tam. Yes, Higgins was sadistic enough to take a personal grudge to such great lengths. And Guard-Captain Chubain woudn’t mind the chance, either. Tam tucked the knife into his belt. “How many guards does Sol have on this hut?”
“Only the one right out front, that I saw. He thinks I’m here for more… personal reasons. I will distract him, and you can go around back of the hut. Wait for me there.”
“Personal reasons, eh?” Tam glanced over at her, and grinned. What he could see of her face seemed… sad?
“We can discuss that later.” Winnow hesitated. “I expect… we will have much to discuss, later. For now, we must escape.”
The playful grin slid off of Tam’s face at her tone. “I see.”
“Not yet,” she said with a sigh, “But you will. Are you ready?”
Tam nodded, and lay on the bed, blanked draped artistically across his body. Winnow waited a moment to be sure he was in place, then rose, and tip-toed carefully out. She left the door half-open, the firelight outlining her form as she approached the guard. She trailed one hand slowly across the back of his shoulders, circling around him. The guard turned, slowly, following her movement, and she ended facing him, the firelight making the skin of her shoulders glow. “Asleep,” she said, and her voice was its warm, intimate drawl again. “Such a pity…”
Tam was frozen in place momentarily, struck by pure aesthetic appreciation. Winnow moved closer to the guard, slipping one hand around his back. Her finger pointed sharply to the side before beginning a slow trail up the guard’s spine. Tam struggled to make his brain work. He rolled soundlessly off the bed, bundling the blanket with him. Two soft steps had him at the door, and he paused to make sure Winnow still had the guard distracted. She was up on tip-toe, whispering in his ear, but Tam could see her eyes, sharp on the hut’s entrance. Carefully, Tam eased around the door, and pulled it to. Tam froze, and nearly peed himself when the guard shifted in his stance, but it was only to put a thick, hairy arm around Winnow’s waist. Tam regained his breath, ducked around the back of the hut, and crouched in the triangle of pitch black shadow. He pulled the blanket over himself, and settled in against the wall.
Tam forced himself to breathe slowly. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, his feet, even his teeth. A warm night breeze stirred the leaves on the ground. Tam silently cursed the cover they gave to anyone else moving in the camp. The minutes crept by with agonizing slowness. One minute. Two.
Through the small holes in the blanket, Tam could just make out the shapes of the other huts. The moon was half-full, casting shadows more than providing illumination. Tam squinted through the veil of the blanket. Off to the left, a light bobbed through the trees, flickering. Was that Winnow? He started to rise, then hesitated. Winnow hardly seemed the candle-in-the-window sort of girl. And why would she tell him to wait for her in the dark, then light a torch to draw him out?
The light bobbed closer, and Tam could make out the absurd orange shirt of Diggs. The man strolled casually along the outer perimeter of the camp, whistling softly. Tam watched him pass, holding as still as he could. The light of Diggs’s torch was just passing behind the next hut when a cloaked and hooded figure slipped into the shadows beside him. It took Tam a moment to recognize it as Winnow. As it was, he choked on his whispered greeting.
Winnow tsk’d softly. “What an idiot… how does he expect to see anything like that?” She started to rise. “C’mon. Let’s get-”
Tam’s hand snaked out from under the blanket to catch her arm, and pulled her back down. She started to hiss something at him, but Tam laid a finger across her lips. “Where’s Carter?” He breathed the words, barely audible to his own ears, then carefully withdrew his hand, tucking it back under the blanket. Diggs’ light was maybe a quarter of the way around the ring, now; just at the edge of what Tam could see from his hiding place. A cloud rolled across the moon, and the night was inky blackness. Tam held very still, and breathed as softly as he could. On the other side of the hut, Tam heard the guard curse, then a thump and crackle as he added a log to the dying fire. The breeze stirred, and the fire’s light roared to life as the cloud passed from in front of the moon. After the pitch-darkness, the night seemed as bright as early morning. Tam felt Winnow stiffen beside him, going statue-still and marble-rigid.

Carter stood not three feet in front of them.

Lit clearly by booth moon and fire, Tam could see that Carter had one eye squeezed shut. The other squinted so only a faint glint told Tam the eye was open at all. Carter’s head was moving slowly from side to side, and twice Tam was sure Carter was looking right at him.
A small vexed hiss escaped Carter’s teeth, and the big man padded silently down the track between the rings of huts.
Tam realized that he’d been holding his breath, and let it out slowly. Beside him, he could feel Winnow doing the same. Tam pulled the blanket down off his head. He could see Winnow’s eyes, deep in the shadow of her hood. They were wide, shining in fear, or excitement, or both. Tam expected his were much the same. He nodded once, slowly, and she returned the gesture. They rose together to a crouch, and Tam pulled the blanket around himself for a makeshift cloak. The nights were not yet cool enough to make the warmth needful, but it had served him well as camouflage once already, and Tam was loathe to part with the sole scrap of comfort left him, holey and torn though it might be.
Keeping low, they moved together to the outer ring of huts, and ducked into the covering shadows. Tam poked his head around, looking for Diggs’ torch. After a moment, Tam spotted it, clear on the other side of camp. That should put Carter about a quarter of the way around, if he was pacing Diggs. Of course, if Carter was just circling Tam’s hut…
Tam reached out, and found Winnow’s hand in the dark. He gave it a squeeze, and after a moment, she squeezed back. Not letting go of his hand, Winnow led him off into the darkness.
　
*******
　
Joss was watching Diggs and his shirt make a circuit around the camp when his replacement arrived. Beadle reeked of wine, as usual, but he managed a tolerable semblance of competence. At this point, Joss wouldn’t have cared if Beadle passed out and drowned in his own vomit. For the last three hours, all Joss had been able to think about were the words the Darkblood had whispered in his ear. A fine looking woman, no matter what Kendrick claimed about her drinking the blood of the dead. True, she could be damnably cold and distant, but what woman wasn’t hard to read? And how many times had a woman promised to-
“Anything to report?” Beadle’s voice was gravel, a slow slurred drawl. Yep. Drunk as a councilman in deep winter.
“Naw. Sleeping like a baby.” Joss was turned around and three steps off before Beadle had his next question out.
“When’d you last check?”
Check? Why bother checking on a man too unconscious to bed a woman like Winnow? “Maybe a quarter-, half-hour ago,” he lied without hesitation. “Look, Bead, I gotta pee. Anything else?”
Beadle grunted and waved him off, and Joss lit out towards the river to wash.
Coming back, now with a relatively clean face and chewing a sprig of mint, he noticed a small patch of moon blossoms.
This was going to be a night to remember.
Joss spat out the mint as he approached his hut. It was one of the few outer-ring shelters to have a door, and he had it all to himself ever since Liam had bit it dueling a merchant’s guard. Joss eased the door open, put on his best smile, and led with the flowers. “Pretty flowers for my pretty lady?”
The hut was empty. Maybe she’d meant him to go to her hut? Winnow’s cabin was on the other side of camp, in the inner ring. Swallowing his growing apprehension, Joss crossed the training area where Rushleigh had had them putting on a show to impress the boy.
Winnow’s cabin had more of a curtain than a door, an odd, layered thing of beads and silk. Joss hesitated. How did you knock on beads? He rattled a few strings together, then tried his line. Again.
“Pretty flowers for my-”
Joss swore. The cabin was clearly empty. He sat on the pallet, and tried to think of what to do. Clearly, she’d chosen tonight to run off.
Joss’s brain hung, paralyzed, for a moment on that thought. The soak had split. It must have been right after she’d visited the boy, because then she’d talked to him.
Oh.
Shit.
Joss knew if Sol found out he’d been the one to let the two escape, nobody would ever find Joss’s body. Beadle was a drunk, but he’d been a bandit longer than Joss had been alive. Unless he passed out, Beadle would be checking on the boy in no more than half an hour. Joss hurried back to his own hut, leaving the flowers on the floor.
Sixty seconds later, Joss was deep in the woods, running for his life.
　
********
　
The sky to the east was beginning to lighten, the first pink haze of sunrise glowing behind the trees. Tam staggered to a halt, hands on his knees, and panted. His throat burned with every breath.
“Gotta… Stop… For a minute,” he managed to gasp out.
Winnow’s stride had lost its flowing grace some hours ago, but she wasn’t gasping for air the same way Tam was, either. She breathed deep, slow and steady. In the dress she wore beneath her cloak, it was attention-riveting. “Catch your breath while we walk, then,” she said.
Tam forced himself upright, then took a step. His heel burned from the blister that had formed, broken and bled. When had Tam ever thought these boots were loose? They pinched his toes, his whole foot, in fact. Far too small. He’d have done better to strap rasps to his feet and run across a bed to nails. Hot nails. Hot nails and sand.
Tam looked up, and saw that Winnow was a good ten paces ahead of him, walking slowly down the road they’d been on for the last couple eternities.
He took another step. It hurt worse than before.
He took another step.
Another.
Another.
Another.
Tam looked up, and didn’t see Winnow. No, there she was, behind him, and odd look in her eyes. “Well,” he choked out. “You coming?”
Winnow shook her head, then jogged a couple of steps to catch up. “You constantly amaze me, city boy. I certainly never expected to find the likes of you in Sol’s camp.”
Tam didn’t feel particularly amazing at the moment, but he put on the cheekiest grin he could manage with his lungs gripped in a giant’s fist and his throat aflame. “Well, I can’t help being what I am.” He glanced over, and caught the twitch at the corner of Winnow’s mouth. Encouraged, he went on. “I have to admit, I didn’t really have being locked in a box and being shipped off to my death on my social calendar, but it seems to have worked out well enough. After all, I did get to meet,” looking over at Winnow, he caught the expectant look in her eyes, and read behind it her preparing herself to reject him. Without pausing he changed what he’s been about to say to, “Diggs and Carter. What a pair! Do you think even half of what he says is true?”
Winnow snorted. “If it were, Diggs’d be one of the greatest heroes of all time. I think he really has been around, some, but lava-proof? Really?”
Tam laughed. “Yeah, I somehow doubt that, but what do I know? Not very many water nymphs in Moldell.”
“Is that were you’re from?”
“Mm, lately. I was actually born in Riverford, but my father arranged for me to apprentice to Magistrate Higgins when I was seven. I haven’t seen my own family but twice a year- Beltane and Samhain- for the last ten years. What about you?”
Winnow looked off into the forest for a long, silent moment. Finally, in a soft voice that seemed to come from far away, she said, “Guilford.”
Tam whistled soundlessly. “You’re a long way from the capital, my lady.” He hesitated. “At least, I think you are. Where are we, anyways?”
“About three, four days north and west of Moldell. If Sol doesn’t catch up to us first, we should be able to make it to Oakford by this afternoon.” She whirled on him, suddenly fierce. “And if you ever tell anyone where I’m from, I’ll make you wish for Higgins’ torture, rack, understand?”
Tam put both hands up, palms out, and tried for soothing. “Hey, my lips are sealed.” He smirked. “Would you like to seal them with your own?”
Winnow glared at him a moment, then turned, and continued stalking down the road.
This time, it was Tam’s turn to jog a few steps to catch up. His heel still burned, and his entire body ached from sore muscles and exhaustion, but his heart no longer felt like it was trying to beat a hole through his ribcage.
They walked alongside each other for a time, Tam with his hands clasped atop his head, Winnow with her hands buried in the sleeves of her cloak and head down. Every few steps, Tam would glance over at her steadily-pacing figure. It was easy to joke and flirt with Winnow in the moment, playing off of the momentum in her words, but trying to start a serious conversation from scratch, a dead stop, with no opening for him to work from put a cold feeling in his stomach. He kept trying to think of ways to work around to the subject, working around from an oblique angle, but nothing seemed to put the right spin on what he wanted to say. Then he tried to think of a way to simply start her talking, and drew an equally frustrating blank. Nothing seemed right. Finally, he tried, “It’s very subtle, the stitching on your dress. I hardly noticed, before.”
Winnow said nothing, simply continuing to walk down the road. Somewhere, deep in Tam’s brain, somebody was shouting at him to shut up and leave it, but he pushed on. “At first, I thought it was just all black, flat and plain. But it’s not- there’s all these little patterns all over it, black on black on black. And on your bodice and sleeves- the same patterns. But there’s purple and blue and green mixed in, some of it.” Still nothing. He should really shut up not. He was making a mess of this. Dammit, why had Tam gone and opened his mouth? Enara had loved nothing more than discussing her wardrobe. Everything Tam knew about women’s fashion, he’d learned from Enara. Idiot. In what way was this woman like Enara? He should stop talking now. His foot was squishing in his boot, and he realized it was filling with blood. He should probably stop and do something about that blister.
“Did you do all that yourself?” Tam’s brain was screaming at him to shut up now, and his stomach felt like he’d just swallowed an entire bale of wool. Moron. “The stitching, I mean?” Tam buried his face in his hands, and tried to hold his mouth shut by the sheer strength of his fingers.
“Some of it.” When Winnow started to speak, her voice was soft, gaining slowly in strength. “Most of it was done by… a seamstress. I had to show her the patterns, and she couldn’t understand why I would want it in a manner almost nobody would ever see. I finally had to tell her it was a costume, for Samhain. I don’t know if she believed me. I do know she told my father.”
“I take it he wasn’t too thrilled?” Yes, Tam knew all about repressive fathers.
“Not so much. It was… part of why I left. He said he couldn’t have a daughter in his household who couldn’t uphold the honor and dignity of-” she stopped suddenly, coming back from whatever past to which her memories had taken her with an almost audible snap. “I seem to be telling you a lot of things I’ve never told anyone before, Tam Foltz.” She paused, then in a still-lower voice, said, “Ask me what you wish to know, Tam. I will answer your question.” She still had not looked at him. Her head was still down, shrouded by the deep well of the hood. No cue of expression there to guide Tam. She seemed folded in on herself, physically, but she was opening up to him in a way far more intimate than the way she’d kissed him… only yesterday? It seemed he’d lived a lifetime since Higgins had put him tin the box. And he still hadn’t gotten to sleep in a bed since he’d slipped out of Enara’s.
“Are you in pain?” The question just popped out, not tracking any internal train of thought Tam could follow. It seemed to surprise Winnow, as well, for she stopped in the middle of the road and looked at him, her expression unreadable except for the strength of the emotions behind it. Her face was pale.
“What do you know of Paintakers, Tam?”
“Not much,” He admitted. “Mostly, just what I’ve seen first hand. Beyond that, just the same dark tales all mothers tell their children to keep them in line. The two… don’t seem to have much in common.”
“I see.” Winnow seemed to digest this, then turned and continued walking.
“Hey, wait!” Tam called, and staggered after her. “I don’t think so, Blue-Eyes. You promised me an answer. You don’t just get to walk off and leave me twisting for it.
She spun to face him, eyes blazing. “What do you know? What do you know about pain?”
“I know that at least I have stones enough to face the things that scare me, instead of just running and hiding from them,” Tam snapped.
He knew he’d gone too far, but was too angry to care. Winnow’s pale face grew dark, and her hands shot out to seize either side of her head. Her eyes locked on to his, then he screamed, back arching, hands thrown wide. The agony seemed to go on and on. His heart was beating its way out of his chest, his legs were afire, his throat had been ripped out. Somewhere, far away, someone else was screaming too. Finally, the pain subsided, and he felt as though he’d just woken from an afternoon nap. His knees buckled, and Tam clung to Winnow. She clung to him just as desperately.
Winnow looked up at him and whispered hoarsely. “They’re not just a ritual formula. Pain is my life.” Her lips glistened when she licked them, deep red and inviting. Somehow, Tam’s hand had started stroking her hair. He cupped the back of her neck, and kissed her.
The kiss was long, and deep, and this time they had no audience. Winnow’s body pressed against him, and Tam could feel her low moan, deep in her throat.
They broke for breath, and Winnow leaned her cheek against his chest. “Well, you certainly didn’t think of me as your mother that time.” With a sigh, she pushed away from him, face drawn. “The more pain I take in, the more filled I am with life. But both pain and life are passing things, and as one fades, so does the other. I don’t enjoy pain. I need it.”
Tam’s grin slipped sideways as he took this in. “Wow. You sure know how to show a guy a good time, don’t you?” The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think. Tam could see from the way she drew back that he’d hurt her feelings. Crap, that hadn’t been what he wanted to do. He really needed a filter between his brain and his mouth. “Aah, so… are you hungry?”
She looked at him, and evidently saw something in his eyes, for she hooked her arm through his, and resumed walking down the road for all the world as if they were on a stroll through the country instead of running for their lives. “Starving.”

3. What's a Boy Like You...

3. What’s a boy like you…

Tam was fighting the urge to hunch over and cover himself as Winnow glided away. He was also fighting the twin urges to pick up a stick and whack her, and to stare at her butt and drool. A small streak of resentment in his belly helped- sure, she’d caught him by surprise. But he hadn’t done that badly… He was, by all accounts, a quite accomplished kisser. He started to take a step forward, to chase her down and show her just what he could do with tongue, when Carter’s grip on his arm brought Tam up short.
“She’ll appreciate you more when you don’t stink of sweat and piss.” Carter’s grin was twisted oddly.
“And terror.” Tam was still watching Winnow disappear into the trees. “Don’t forget the terror.” The bandit leader had turned away to talk to Diggs, who shot a dark look at Tam, then headed off into the woods. Not after Winnow, Tam noted.
“Carter, it doesn’t look like the boy’s going to fall over now.” Carter’s hand didn’t loosen its grip on Tam’s arm. The bandit leader sighed. “He’s got no boots, no pants, and no chance of getting away without my leave.” Carter continued to stare impassively at the older man. “Look, if he tries to run, I promise to let you cut him in half with your absurdly large sword.” Carter’s hand released Tam’s arm slowly, as if not entirely sure that Tam wouldn’t try to take flight despite being in the middle of nowhere, half-naked, and surrounded by armed killers.
The bandit leader leaned in to whisper to Tam, “He can be so hard to handle sometimes, but the man does love him some violence.” In a more normal tone, he said, “Name’s Sol. The lads here follow my orders, more or less. Let’s get you cleaned up, and see what brings you to my camp. Carter,” Sol glanced sharply at the big man, “See that the boy comes to no harm, eh?”
Tam had a feeling that Carter was not there to prevent misunderstandings with the other bandits, but to make sure that if Tam did try to run, he would be brought back alive. Carter gestured off into the trees. “Let’s go.”
Tam picked his way among the dried leaves and twigs on the ground. It seemed like every third step landed his foot on something either sharp or squishy. He longed desperately for his boots. Of course, Higgins hadn’t been particularly considerate of Tam’s person, and he was pretty sure that his boots had ended up in worse shape than Tam himself. As they walked, Tam looked up at Carter. Well, Carter walked, Tam did more of a hopping shuffle trying to not re-injure himself or step in something particularly icky. Maybe talking would help. “So, aah, where’s the bath house, eh?”
Carter pointed ahead. All Tam could see was trees, leaves, and a few scrubby bushes. He could hear birds chirping, and something skittering around in the dead leaves on the ground.
“Yeah,” Tam said, “I’m more of a city boy, you know?” Carter had to be following some kind of path, from the ease and confidence with which he led Tam through the trees, but for all Tam could tell, the man was just making it up as he went along. “I mean, I’m not saying dancing maidens and hot springs, but how far do we have to walk to find a bleeding tub?”
“Not much further now,” said Carter in a flat voice. He gestured, and Tam saw a flash of bright orange through the trees. A minute or two and a squishy step that Tam prayed was just mud later, the orange turned out to be Diggs. It appeared that the man had changed out of his forest-green tunic and into… Something else.
Tam couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “What the hell is that?” The shirt was the brightest color orange Tam had ever seen. Embroidered all over it were small red flames and gold runes. Tam was still trying to figure out who would put so much effort into making something so spectacularly ugly when he noticed the riverbank behind Diggs. Tam stopped dead in his tracks, certain that he was about to be murdered and thrown into the river. His laughter cut off with a choke.
Diggs smiled in grim non-amusement. “Shirt of a firewalker. Impervious to magma.”
Tam’s eyes darted from side to side, looking for an escape route. Carter was still behind him, Diggs between him and the river, and thick trees choked escape to either side. Tam tried to keep the man talking. He had strapped his twin swords over the shirt, and still wore the strange hat. If Tam could catch him off-guard, maybe he’d be able to get past Diggs before he got his swords out. Carter wasn’t much of a threat with his enormous sword- there was no way he could draw it quickly- but if Tam wanted to get past him back into the woods, all Carter had to do was put his hands out to completely block the path through the trees. “Wow, really? Does it work?”
“Man said it does. Don’t know for myself, seeing as how I don’t tend to make a habit of chucking myself into volcanoes.”
“What pity. What’s that?” Tam gestured at the sack sitting on the ground at Diggs’ feet. Tam was really hoping it wasn’t supposed to be for his head.
“It’s called a bag. You put stuff in it. Here.” Diggs bent down to open the bag, and Tam flinched, rising on his toes to run. All that happened, though, was that Diggs pulled out a small cake of yellow-brown soap. Tensely, Tam stepped forward to take it, but Diggs didn’t try to bait him with it. Relaxing somewhat but keeping Diggs’ hideous orange shirt in the corner of his eye, Tam moved closer to the riverbank. It wasn’t as far down as he’d first thought to the water’s surface, only about four or five feet. The water flowed deep and clear. Tam could see little plants all the way down at the bottom, green fronds all leaning down river.
Tam felt the movement behind him a moment too late. He twisted just in time to see Diggs’ grin break into open laugher as Carter pushed him off the ledge and into the water. Tam hit the water butt-first, and immediately felt the water close over his head. He flailed under water, trying to get his feet under himself. He felt mud and plants with his toes and kicked. Tam gasped as his head broke the surface of the water. Clawing the hair from his eyes, Tam realized he still somehow had hold of the soap. Spluttering, he located Diggs and carter, still a good twenty feet upriver. Diggs was cackling, arms waving, doing what Tam recognized as an unflattering impression of himself, falling into the river. Carter’s full-bellied laughter boomed through the trees, loud enough to wake the dead. Tam snarled and launched the soap at Carter’s head.
“You motherless sons of-”
Diggs’ hand shot out and snatched the cake out of the air. He and Carter stared unblinkingly at Tam, all mirth gone from their faces. In their places was a pair of implacable masks, two men prepared to commit some seriously imminent violence. Tam shifted his feet, trying for some better footing in the muddy bottom of the river. Could he make it across the river before the two men got to him?
Carter snorted, and Tam flinched, turning to run. Both men on the riverbank exploded into laughter again. Tam flushed, and tried to wash himself back to dignity.



Sol settled himself into his chair. Overstuffed and covered in faded red velvet, it was the only decent piece of furniture in the entire camp. He’d captured it from a merchant train, oh, five or six years ago now. Supposedly, the chair had been intended as a gift for the king, a bit of back-end flattery to grease the merchant’s way through customs. Gregorovich would have liked it, too, though the chair was too plain for a proper gift. He had a liking for the low-backed, over-padded sorts of seats, though Sol didn’t know of a single piece of furniture in the king’s inventory that wasn’t crusted with gilt and jewels. The chair was comfortable, though, and Sol used it like his throne.
The rest of the furniture in Sol’s little palace was of much meaner stock. Rough-hewn planks were cobbled together to form a table and benches. The firepit, built into the floor, had a plain cast-iron tripod supporting a matching and equally plain black cauldron. Sol’s clothes, all drab forest-greens and browns, hung from pegs on the wall, except for his good coat, which had an honored spot on a bedpost. The other bedpost supported his cloak.
His bed was more of a shelf built onto the wall, with a post at either end for support, and a couple of blankets packed together for a mattress. A small shelf holding a few battered pewter dishes and one fine silver goblet completed the totality of his possessions, save for the triple-locked, iron-strapped chest stuffed under the bed-shelf.
“My palace,” Sol thought sourly, “And what a court that attends upon me.” Seated before him, on the benches around the table, were his lieutenants: Dixon, Bonn, and Rushleigh. They were all three good men; trusted by their squads, experienced raiders. Sol was not foolish enough to think the Band could stand up to a single charge from the King’s heavy cavalry, but they were more than up to handling a merchant’s guards. Hard men, with no illusions to the work they were about, even Rushleigh.
“I think you’re playing with fire, Chief.” Dixon’s voice was low and gravelly. He fingered his eyepatch as he spoke. He always played with the blasted thing when speaking to Sol. Dixon had lost the eye when he’d lost control of the Band to Sol. Dixon was also the most likely of the three to object to any of Sol’s plans without first considering its merits. “What if he doesn’t pay? What if there is no stash? What if he’s upset about the fact that we just killed four of his guards?”
“What, were you planning to tell him that part?” Sol worked hard to keep his voice level. Something about Dixon always put his teeth on edge. Maybe it was the constant challenge to his authority, maybe it was the blood between them. Or maybe Sol just couldn’t stand Dixon because Dixon was such an ass. “If the man was willing to put so much effort into causing the boy pain, there must have been a reason. I intend to find out what that was tonight. The lad will serve my ends, one way or another. Have we any other business of the camp to handle?” Bonn noted that with the fall rains approaching, some of the huts still needed re-thatching, and Rushleigh reported that the few women in camp had requested that the men provide more thread and spices, which meant Rushleigh’s wife had requested more thread and spices. Sol sighed, and began planning another raid on the textile merchants. Gods, this was getting tiresome. “Very well. Dismissed. Rushleigh, I want a word alone with you.”
Dixon remained silent, fingering his eyepatch.




Washed, dressed, and (finally!) wearing boots, Tam was beginning to feel human again. No longer was he the almost-corpse, reeking of sweat, urine and blood. Of course, the possibility of ending up a corpse still seemed very real. One of the bandits had come up to Diggs and Carter while Tam was dressing, and spoken in tones too low for Tam to make out more than one word in five. Something about “dinner,” “Chief,” and “show.” Tam had guessed that he might be interrogated by the bandits’ leader over the pretend cordiality of dinner, but show what? Tam’s injuries had been soaked up by Winnow so completely that not a scratch or scar remained, nor any ache or tiredness. Tam quite doubted that Sol was unsure of how well Winnow’s power worked, which meant Tam had nothing to show Sol there, unless the older man wanted to see Tam’s birthmark. Was there something that the bandit leader wanted to show Tam? Equally preposterous; Tam was new to the camp, had not earned their trust. The order might be for Diggs and Carter to show Tam something- maybe they were to show Tam the camp for dinner. Or maybe he had mis-heard, and was trying to string together a web of fallacy. Tam shook his head, and stamped his feet into the only slightly too-small boots.
Now that he was clean, booted, and clothed, Tam re-considered his options. Sol, from the little Tam had seen, was not quite like the other bandits Tam had met so far. Walking back to the center of camp between Diggs and Carter, Tam tried to ignore Diggs’ patently untrue story while he surveyed the bandits’ home base.
“So there I am,” Diggs was saying, “surrounded by water nymphs, each and every one of ‘em with these little tridents pointed right at me. Looked like a bunch of forks, and they meant to stick me for dinner. So you know what I did?”
Diggs let the question hang in the air for a long, awkward moment. Tam, seeing the edge of the bandit camp ahead and trying to fix the positions of the huts in his head, was momentarily distracted. Who would break first? Finally, Carter sighed and said in the slightly sing-song voice of rote memorization, “You reached into your pouch…”
“I reached into my pouch,” Diggs said at the same time, “and pulled out my spoon!” Diggs actually struck a pose, and mimed pulling something out of his pouch. Carter shook his head silently, and kept walking. Tam hesitated, watching Diggs but still half-following Carter. The two men hardly seemed to be paying Tam the slightest bit of attention. If he made a break for it now, could Tam get away? He still didn’t know his way through the woods, but the camp couldn’t be that far from the road.
Just then, Diggs broke off his pose to jog back up to Carter, and the opportunity was lost. Besides, Tam was ravenously hungry. Escape would go far better with a full belly. Carter glanced over his shoulder at Tam, and his eyes seemed to read Tam’s thoughts. The corner of Carter’s mouth twitched up in a half-smile. Diggs, wrapped up in his tale, was, of course, oblivious.
“So all these water nymphs, they just stopped, dead in the water, and stared, right? And I’m thinking, ‘well, if I’m gonna die, it might as well be the right way,’ so I say, ‘and here I figured we’d be having soup for dinner!’” Diggs roared with laughter at his own story. Tam stared at him, confused. Carter started to say something, then hesitated. They’d come to the center of the bandit camp, where a good two dozen men were drilling some sword technique. They were less finely dressed than the magistrate’s guards Tam had watched practicing, but each man yelled convincingly, and looked plenty ready to put his sword in another man if need be.
The huts were arranged in a rough double circle, with the men practicing at the center. There was no wall, no moat around the outer ring of huts. Carter led Tam halfway around the circle, in the wide mud track between the inner and outer dwellings. The huts of the inner ring were generally larger than those of the outer. This was made simple by the fact that most of the huts in the outer ring were little more than low thatched roofs over a pair of straw pallets. They barely qualified as shacks. The huts of the inner ring, by comparison, the inner ring dwellings seemed almost livable.
Carter led Tam to the largest of the huts. This one even had a proper door, on which he knocked twice, loud and firm. Diggs was standing between Tam and the men drilling in the center of the ring, shifting constantly from one foot to the other, failing miserably to block Tam’s view. While Tam was still trying to figure out if this was on purpose, Sol himself answered the door, wearing not the woodsman’s garb he’d sported earlier, but a fine red silk coat and tight breeches. The coat had thread-of-gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar, and was obviously hard-used, but Tam saw no knife holes. Interestingly, a patch of embroidery on Sol’s left breast was unbalanced by a missing patch on the right.
Sol gestured Tam inside. “Please, do come in Tam.”
Tam bowed, entered, and said automatically, “I didn’t realize this was a formal occasion, or I should have dressed.” Only after the words were out of his mouth did Tam realize how ridiculous they sounded. He tried to keep his face straight, but Sol barked a laugh, and Tam found himself grinning.
The hut was almost as large as Enara’s bedchamber back home, with bed, table, chair and fire pit packed into the tiny space. Enara had complained to her father at length that her chambers were too small, with barely room to breathe. She would have put up a fit of epic proportions if asked to endure conditions such as these.
Sol gestured Tam to one of the benches at the table, then sat across from him. A bandit Tam hadn’t noticed before stood next to the fire, wearing an eyepatch, freshly scrubbed clothes and a scowl. Evidently, one-eye didn’t appreciate being pressed into service as a butler. Sol made a show of observing the same formalities to which Tam had grown accustomed in Magistrate Higgins’ household. The proper manners seemed out of place, here. Sol waited until his man had sloped stew into the rough-cut bowls, then raised his cup to Tam, a gesture half-toast, half-salute. Tam raised his mug in kind, wondering if he would have to come up with a toast. At the moment, all he could come up with was, ‘As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters always point the other way.’ It seemed a little too apropos, considering the condition of his bench. Tam very carefully did not shift his weight.
He was spared any further embarrassment when Sol cut short the formalities and drank. “Relieve my curiosity,” the bandit leader said. “How did you come to be in that box?”
Tam grinned in spite of himself. “Well, Higgins has this daughter, y’see…”
　
　
　
　

2. The Man in the Box

There was something about being locked in a box, Tam reflected, that inspired… well… reflection. After he’d shouted, then screamed, then whispered himself beyond hoarse; after he’d thumped, banged and pounded on the insides of the excessively cramped chest, there was little left to Tam but thought. The breaking point had been, Tam decided, when he had lost his temper and shouted at Higgins that he was a sad, scared old man who preferred to lock his treasures away rather than let them see the light of day. Higgins had been working up to a hanging, and there hadn’t seemed to be much point to holding his tongue any longer. Tam wouldn’t have given the magistrate credit for being so… creative. Hanging would have been kinder than the box.
After one more round of strappings, Tam had been stuffed in the finely decorated chest and, he guessed from the way he’d been bumped around, loaded onto a wagon. He had then been left for all he knew to scream himself hoarse in utter isolation. He’d heard the chains being draped across the box, and all his banging around inside had done nothing he could tell but to scrape the half-healed welts on his back open further. It was difficult enough to breathe with his head on his knees, and his hands doubled up behind his back, but as the sun continued to bake the box, he felt his sweat pooling around his knees, making the limited air in the box humid and stuffy. The box rocked, and he heard the faint jingle of harness and the clatter of hooves on cobbled stones.
Tam wondered how long he’d been in the box. Two days, maybe three? He remembered Old Man Sully, who’d been trapped by a cave-in back when Tam was a child. The old man’s screams and pleas for help had gone on for three days while the villagers tried to clear a path. No sorcerer or Stonewalker could be found to get to Sully, and he’d died of thirst before he could be freed. Towards the end, Sully had barely been able to whisper his pleas. Tam tried to whisper. It sounded… weak. How much longer did Tam have left? Not long, surely.
Tam was just trying to figure out if his eyes were closed, making the visions of dancing girls holding pitchers of ale a dream, or open, making them a hallucination, when a crack and thump was followed immediately by a man’s cry of pain, then shouting and the clang of steel on steel. The box rocked, knocking Tam about from side to side, and he grunted hoarsely when his head smacked the side of the box.
Soon after, Tam heard booted feet and the rattle of chains. Men’s voices, muffled and indistinct, called from all around. Tam felt the box being lifted, then he heard a voice, clear and distinct above the rest.
“Bring me the chest.” Tam went very still. He figured Higgins’ men must have been attacked by bandits, but would they be angry when they found not gold, but a scrawny youth? Maybe there had been other treasures to whet their greed.
“Want me to get it?” This second voice was a male, but surprisingly soft.
“Don’t be a fool, Carter. The chest alone is worth more than anything else we found in this miserable little caravan.” The first voice- it had to be the leader- was deep and graveled. A moment later, Tam heard a faint scraping at the lock. Frantically, he tried to force his brain into action. There had to be some way to talk his way out of this. What could he say? But all he could think of was how much he hurt, and how nice it would be to stretch out.
　
************
Sol wrinkled his nose as he knelt next to the treasure chest. The Magistrate’s guards may have been surrounding this thing as though it held the Lost King’s Crown, but it smelled more like a rotting skunk. Nevertheless, you didn’t put that many guards on something unless it was worth protecting. With a grunt of satisfaction, he felt the tumblers in the lock click into place. He gave the lock a twist, feeling the latch scrape open, and pulled out his picks. Carefully, he tucked the twists of wire into their pouch, and the pouch into his pocket. Rising, he motioned to Carter and Diggs to open the chest.
Carter was tall, broad-shouldered and balding. He wore the biggest sword Sol had ever seen strapped over a tunic in the plaid of the Highlands. Diggs was maybe an inch or two taller, and lean where Carter was bulky. Diggs wore the same dark greens and browns as the rest of the Band, and the hilts of his two swords stuck up over either shoulder. He claimed his odd, flat-brimmed hat had once been the property of a Skydancer, and had magical properties. Sol had never seen any sign of magic from the damnable thing, but it was as rare to see Diggs without his hat as it was to see Carter without the giant slab of steel he called a sword.
The two men knelt and lifted the lid of the chest. Sol leaned forward, eager. The smell intensified, and he saw a young man bent over, kneeling in the chest. His arms had been bound tightly behind his back, the cords digging into his flesh. For a moment, Sol thought he’d gone to the trouble of raiding a Magistrate’s guard train to capture a pretty chest and a corpse. The corpse twitched, and Diggs, who had clearly been thinking the same thing, jumped back and cursed. A muffled groan came from the box. The entire Band fell silent. The young man groaned again. Sol bent closer, trying to hear what the lad was saying.
“… Just gonna… Stand there… and look… or is somebody gonna… help me up?” The lad’s voice was scratchy and weak. Looking closer, Sol could see that his back was a mass of half-healed cuts and welts.
“Carter, help him. Diggs, fetch Winnow.” Diggs grimaced, but turned and disappeared into the woods. Carter bent down and slit the cords binding the man’s arms, then gripped one elbow and pulled. The lad cried out in pain. Carter rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and, holding it, gripped the boy under both arms and lifted him straight out of the box. For a moment, the lad’s legs stayed tucked up against his chest. As gravity overtook cramped muscles, the young man moaned in pain.
His face was swollen and puffy, his lip split, one eye swollen nearly shut. He’d been stripped down to his loincloth, and nearly every inch of him that Sol could see was covered in mottled purple bruises and the signs of torture. His lower legs were nearly as swollen as his face, and a dark, unhealthy red. Badly infected, Sol realized. Despite this, the boy wore a lop-sided grin.
“Great and little gods, I didn’t think I was gonna get out of there alive! Aah… Fresh air…” He took a deep breath, and winced, grabbing at his side. Carter’s hand on his arm was the only thing holding him up.
“The Magistrate seems to have taken a special dislike to you, boy.” Sol was beginning to wonder if the lad might not be worth a great ransom to the Magistrate. If Higgins had gotten this personal with this torture, he might be interested in being able to do it all again. Confessors were supposed to do no more than necessary to get a confession from their victims, but who could say? Higgins certainly had a dark reputation. How much would he pay? Sol put on his most grandfatherly smile. “Tell me, lad, how could he have come to such a poor view?”
The lad started to reply, then broke into a fit of coughing. Sol gestured, and Carter pulled a flask from under his tunic, and handed it to the boy. With one arm still in Carter’s tight grip, the lad fumbled the flask open, and took a deep swallow. He choked, then took a slower, more respectful pull. Handing the flask back, he said, “You, sir, are a good man and true. Name’s Tam.”
“Carter.” The big man tucked the flask back into his tunic, then looked up and to his left. The sound of brush breaking announced the arrival of Diggs with Winnow.
****************
Tam stared in fascination. The woman with the tall guy in the stupid hat wore all black. Black leather bodice, heavy black skirts and black sleeves that started in the middle of her hand and ran up to her elbow. The milky white of her skin was made brighter by the tight fitting black strap she wore around her throat, black lips, and the black rings around her eyes. Even her hair was a flat, lifeless black. As she drew close, the members of the bandit gang pulled back, some making covert hex signs to ward against evil.
“A Soak?” Tam gasped, which set off another round of coughing. Every muscle in his body screamed in agony, his ribs felt as though someone was jabbing an ice pick in his sides at every breath. He slipped out of Carter’s grip and landed on his butt in the leaves and dirt.
The bandits’ leader gestured at Tam. “Winnow, if you please?”
The girl’s nose crinkled. “Really? You couldn’t even wash him first?” Her voice was low, not quite husky, and had a bored, plaintive edge to it. Tam felt Diggs slip into place on the other side of him from Carter, and the two men together lifted Tam back to his feet.
“Man,” Diggs breathed, “You wouldn’t believe what she was doing when I found her. She was-”
“Cutting on herself. Shh.” Carter’s voice was low, his tone repressive.
“She was- Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Long story. Just wait.”
Tam watched, transfixed, as the Soak reached out her hands. He’d heard legends about Soaks, people who thrived on pain and suffering. In every story he’d heard, they’d inevitably been the root cause of some great evil. No wonder the bandits were scared of her. Even her fingernails were black, Tam noted wildly. She gripped his head in both hands. They were cool and firm. She looked Tam in the eyes, and he was surprised to see that they were a striking bright blue-green. Tam’s gaze was locked into hers. He couldn’t turn his head, and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from hers. He heard her say, “Life is pain.” It sounded almost as if he voice was coming from inside his head.
Without thought, Tam repeated the words. She nodded, and said, “I accept the pain of life.” Again, Tam felt the words inside his own skull.
He heard his own voice saying, “I accept the pain of life,” and then he heard himself screaming. It felt as though every kick of the guards’ boots, every lash of Higgins’ strap had hit him at once. He collapsed, writhing, and jerked out of the Soak’s hands. As he did, the pain left him. He heard another scream, and looked up to see blood spurt from the girl’s nose, her eye swell up, and her entire face grow swollen and puffy. Welts appeared on her bare shoulders and upper arms. Diggs dropped his hold on Tam to catch the girl, who sagged, panting.
In silent horror, Tam watched the welts fade from her shoulders, and the blood stop flowing from her nose and mouth. The mouse over her eye faded and shrank, and her face returned to its original, pasty white complexion. The Soak- Holy Gods, a real live Soak- sagged in Diggs’ arms. He held her, a weird twist to his lips. Pity? Surely not…
Her eyelids twitched, then fluttered open. For a moment, as she surveyed the bandit camp, she seemed confused, lost, alone. She also seemed totally unaware of Diggs’ arms around her. When her gaze landed on Tam, she grinned.
There was something disturbing in Winnow’s grin. She tamped the broad stretch down with a visible effort, but her lips curved right back up in a small, secret smile. Her whole face was alight with some kind of secret joy, her cheeks flushed. Winnow started to move, then realized that Diggs was still holding her. She pushed her way forward, breaking out of his grip, not looking back. Diggs, smiling his own weird little smile a moment before, scowled. Winnow walked, swayed really, towards Tam. Her smile widened, her lips parting. Red lips, not black. Not a line of her had changed, but she was entirely transformed. She looked… Alive again. Tam’s gaze locked onto her eyes.
She took his head in her hands once more, but this time Winnow’s grip was warm and gentle. Still with her eyes locked into his own, she said, “Your pain is my life. Thank you, for sharing your life with me.” And she kissed him, full on the mouth.
A great whooping cheer arose from the watching bandits. Caught off-guard, Tam acquitted himself rather less skillfully than he would have liked. At length, Winnow drew back from him. She patted his cheek.
“Try not to think of me as your mother next time, and I’m sure you’ll do better.”
Tam goggled at her and while he tried to jack his brain into coming up with a better response than either throttling her on dragging her to a tent to show the Soak just how much he didn’t think of her as his mother, Winnow turned to address the bandit gang at the top of her voice. She bellowed, “Somebody get this poor boy a pair of pants!”
Only Diggs was not laughing.
　

1. Boy Meets Girl...

Tam snapped awake, his eyes scanning the room from side to side. The moon shone through the open window, the curtains blowing gently in the night breeze. Made of sheer silk, they made hazy outlines of the rooftops visible beyond the balcony. Carefully, Tam eased himself out of the bed, and felt around with his feet for his clothes. In the moon’s faint light, the red silk of the sheets looked almost black. He crouched next to the bed, pulling up his pants, and fastened his belt. His boots were across the room, next to the wardrobe, and his shirt… where was his shirt? The curtains billowed, and he saw it in the moonlight next to the portal to the balcony. He paused, waiting. He could hear the soft sounds of the city at night, the sound of the river, a dog barking off to the south. All seemed as it should be, and yet… There was something wrong with the silence.
Carefully, Tam eyed the path between himself and his boots. From the door, there was little cover- none but shadows, in fact. From the balcony, there was only a two-pace span that was not covered by either the bed or the edge of the wardrobe. So where had the sound that woke him come from? He breathed deeply, preparing himself to act, waiting for some hint of where the threat came from. The tension of the moment stretched.
“Tam? Come back to bed, darling…” Into the silence spoke Enara, sitting half-up and clutching the red silk sheet to her naked (and quite magnificent) breast. Tam cursed softly, and ripped the covers off the bed. Enara shrieked. At the same moment, the door to the room burst open and two guards with crossbows shouldered into the room. Tam dove at his boots, and grabbed them up in one hand.
Coming in the room, Magistrate Higgins’ guards were treated to the sight of their master’s daughter, naked and moonlit on the bed. She was still emptying herself of her scream, and both men stopped dead in their tracks, jaws on their chests. Tam grinned and, boots in hand, began to ease himself towards the balcony. Enara would hold the men’s attention for a moment longer if he didn’t draw their eyes…
“Avert your eyes! Shut them! Cease!” Enara’s voice did not change its tone from her scream, although she had found words. She flung herself about the bed, grabbing for something with which to cover herself. Tam froze, completely distracted by the young woman’s display. Finally, Enara’s hand closed on the edge of the sheet, and she hauled it back across her body. As she did, Tam shook his head, trying to refocus on escape, and sidled closer to the balcony.
“My lady, I apologize, but we thought we heard…” Tam sneaked a look towards the guards. They both still had their eyes averted, the one looking down at his boots, the other with his eyes squeezed shut. “We were concerned for your…”
“You have no need to concern yourself with anyone I choose to invite to my chambers.” Enara’s voice was cold and hard, and the edge on it promised a temper tantrum of monumental proportions. Tam winced and snagged up his shirt. This would be trouble. Not bothering to put it on, he tucked it under his arm with his boots, and aimed for the only exit available.
“With…” The guards were slow, but not entirely stupid. Both raised their crossbows and began to advance through the room. Tam abandoned all attempts at secrecy and bolted for the balcony. He felt the curtains tug as bolts tore through them on either side of him, and vaulted over the balcony‘s marble rail, catching at the edge to turn himself and slow his fall. The bushes at the bottom broke his fall, spraying leaves and branches in spectacular fashion, and he rolled back towards the mansion’s wall, under the balcony. He winced, and felt at his back. He as going to have some spectacular bruises tomorrow. Jamming his feet into the boots, he held his breath. Both guards’ heads appeared over the edge of the balcony, shouting, then withdrew. Tam pulled his shirt on over his head, and grinned. They had thought he would run, not stick closer to the building. Fools.
Tucking in his shirt, Tam walked casually around the corner of the building, and bumped into a large, velvet-covered chest. Tam looked up into a most unwelcome face, and his grin melted. Higgins was flanked by a full dozen armor- clad guards. Wildly, insanely, Tam put on his most innocent smile.
“Why, Magistrate Higgins! What a fine night for a-”
Magistrate Higgins’ fist cut him off, and Tam saw stars, then nothing.