CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
*~~~**~~~*
Urman Gant
*~~~**~~~*
25th of Decepter, 935 PC
----------------------------------------
She was a handsy bitch named Tessille Vallore. Short thing, even for a woman. Got to searching Urman before Kathar ever introduced him. Of course, if he had to reckon, the whole empire had a good idea who he was. What, with the signs in the pubs and all. He didn’t like that, other people knowing what he looked like while he had to guess who did and didn’t want him dead. Suppose that’s why the bastards put them up.
He had half a notion, more like a full one with chains on it, to snatch ol’ Tessille by the neck when she unbuttoned his too long for him cloak. The chains almost broke when she lifted his shirt and let the cold prick at his hairy stomach. They snapped when she found the box with the formula in his cloak. He snatched her wrist when she tried to take it out. He shook his head. She got the point. Then she started patting everywhere; around his waist, his shoulders, up and down both legs. She brushed what hung between them just enough to wake it up each time. She found the dagger in his boot, took it out, examined it, and put it back. When she was done she stood up tall, which wasn’t very tall at all, and straightened her cloak. She dropped her hood to show a good chunk of her long blonde hair, then extended her tiny glowing hand and smiled. He flinched just enough to notice. He’d never seen a smile flip upside down so fast.
“Don’t mind that,” she said, flicking her hand like someone who couldn’t be bothered by the thing everyone else was sweating over. “Haven’t used the stuff in so long I almost forget it’s there.” She might be a liar, he hadn’t decided yet. But one thing was for sure, she had a smile you could write home about. First time he’d ever said that about anyone. Maybe anything. That old saying seemed to only pop up when things were none too impressive.
“Be polite,” Kathar said and smacked his shoulder. “Tessille and her companions have gone out of their way to help us.” He looked at her. “Which I can’t thank you enough for doing.” There was a hint of his all-knowing eyes studying Tessille. About damn time too. Urman was beginning to think his old pal had spent too much time alone in the forest to remember people act a whole lot nicer than they are sometimes. Most of the time.
‘Please, call me Tess. Tessile was a woman I left back in DuVale.”
“Thank ya for your hospitality,” Urman said, hoping he’d used the word correctly. He'd heard Iris say it once and liked how it rolled off the tongue. About the only thing he liked from those days. Tess smiled that smile that he’d write home about if words didn’t take him so long to get down on parchment. Or if he had anyone to write to that wasn’t standing right beside him.
“Wouldn’t go as far as hospitality. You’ll still be sleeping on the ground.” They let a moment hang between them. And in that moment he felt like someone the world didn’t fear. Tess held out her hand to Kolton. “Hello, sir. How are you?” Kolton leaned a little closer to his daddy but stuck his hand out too. The one with the bandages that had come undone about hundred times on their walk. “Now why is it that you’re hurt and these big strong men don’t have a scratch on ‘em? Have you been protecting them?”
Like most young men, all Kolton could do with a pretty gal talking to him was smile awkwardly.
“Found some signs of Hounds wandering through the woods,” Kathar said. “Ones that might be a smidge fiercer than this one.” He nodded at Ember who was rubbing up against his leg, begging for food.
“Aye. We caught a glimpse of ‘em. Heading north though. No trouble to us. Come now. I’ll introduce you to the others. We’ve been talking about you for days, Gant.” Tess turned around, taking her soft brown eyes with her. Soft, but slick.
Kathar put a hand on Urman's chest that was a little stiffer than usual. It knocked the butterflies in there right out of the sky. “Your blade stays in your boot unless things get ugly.”
“Then ya better not come with us.” He winked and lifted the spear he’d be using more as a walking stick up over his shoulder like a boy running away from home. Except he didn’t have a handkerchief full of toys at the end, just a deadly point he didn’t like to play with. Only thing missing was a whistled tune.
The Lotus deserters had made a campsite he could see himself resting in for a while; pot of soup boiling over a fire, bottles of alcohol lying all over, even had a couple tents. Things were strategic too. Bushes cut away in places that could hide bad intentions. Logs facing the path that wandered right by them. They’d set up far enough away from it to put a few shots of the purple stuff on any intruders before they got too close. Nothing impressive but worth making a note of. In his head of course. None of that writing shit.
Tessille stood by the fire, waiting for him to mosey on over. Her three companions were spread out all around, watching him closely like they thought he might break out into song. His audience wasn’t exactly smiling though. Far from it actually, but better than usual. Usually, he was met by twisted up faces or the backs of heads as people found safer places to be. “Evenin’,” he said as friendly as he could. No answer. Tough crowd.
“Come here, Gant.” Tessille waved him toward her, wrapping her short arm around the middle of his back. He liked that. An arm around his shoulder would have felt like they were friends, but an arm around his back and they were a step closer to a romp he hadn’t even known he wanted five minutes before. Course, she wasn’t quite tall enough to get his shoulders, so he didn’t let himself get too excited.
She started pointing at her pals. “The big one’s Igan. He plays khet all day and all night and talks once a year.” To no one’s surprise, the thick-chested bald man didn’t say a word and there was a khet board on the log beside him. She pointed to a stout woman, almost as big as the khet player, lying on the ground near the fire not far from them. She looked like she was halfway down the road home. Her blond hair was stringy and dirty and she was making a face like she had to shit. “This is Seph. She’s seen better days but we’re hoping to get her some help soon.” Seph nodded real weak like and put her head back down on her bundled up blanket. She covered her constipated face with her hand. He appreciated that. “And this here is Wynu.” Tess poked her stumpy finger at a tan-skinned man sitting on a log. “Not much to say about him except he’s about as much fun as a wet blanket. Aren’t ya, Wynu?”
“Survival is not a game,” Wynu said. His western accent was thicker than molasses, almost hard to understand. He went right back to something on his lap that he kept positioned in the shadows cast from giving the moon the cold shoulder. He moved like all westerners, like any mistake would bring the world crashing down around them. Urman had fought plenty of men and the toughest were all from out west. What's why for him, putting a westerner in the ground was a lot like other men and bedding women. Another notch on the belt, as they say. Not a doubt in his mind he’d be scrapping with this fella before they said their goodbyes.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Well, those are my noble knights,” Tessile said.
“Handsomest lot I’ve ever seen,” Urman said, noticing a strong urge to make this woman like him. The rest of them could kick rocks.
Kathar walked past them on his way to the big fella with the khet board, Kolton tagging along behind him. Neither said a word to each other as Kathar just sat down and waited for a nod before he moved a tile. Same damn tile he always moved first when he played red. Urman tried to see what tile Igan moved but Tessille was already sweeping him away. Powerful lass for such a small thing. Or maybe he just wanted to go with her.
“Sit,” Tessille said. “I’ll get you some water.” She stopped. “What am I thinking? A man like you… you probably want some whiskey, don’t you?” It did sound good. Mighty good. But the offer brought Kathar’s eyes to him and they told him he better not. Ale, wine, rum, anything else would be fine, but put enough whiskey in Urman’s belly and you were bound to see a weapon in his hand.
“Ah. Water’ll do,” he said.
If he’d ever had a bad feeling about a person, it was right then, as he sat down beside Wynu. Felt like snakes were crawling across the log and right up his sleeve. “From out west, ay?” he asked, hoping the westerners' words might call back his slimy friends like the snake charmers he’d seen in White Hall.
“DuVale,” Wynu said dully but proudly. The snakes started making their way down his spine. DuVale didn’t make their men weak enough to desert anything, not even a bad meal. The fact that this one was sitting in the middle of the forest with a bunch of slouches with no respect for an oath didn’t add up.
“DuVale, ya say. I hear ya got a pretty important castle out there.”
“Indeed.” Wynu kept his eyes down, staring at an empty sheath fit for a dagger, glowing fingers rubbing at it like he was trying to coax the memories out of it.
“Ya lose your dagger?”
“Aye.”
Tessille came back from the fire, three tin cups held in a triangle. Not an easy task with those tiny hands of hers. Urman plucked at one and brought it straight to his lips. Whiskey if he’d ever smelled it. She grinned. He drank.
*~~~**~~~*
Tessille had a story for each day she’d been alive and not one of them was a snoozer. She told stories the same way his granddaddy used to tell them; with more than just her mouth. She’d be talking one second, then swinging her hands around the next or jumping up to stomp her feet. All the while she was making faces that if you didn’t laugh, you didn’t have a soul. And considering the westerner didn’t even crack a smile but for a handful of times the whole night, it told Urman a lot. Even more once he was drunk. Always had been a wise drunk. Kathar might disagree but who cared what he thought. He’d rather be playing a game than spending time with his best friend.
Just before the start of another story, Seph groaned under her blanket. “Ah, hold on,” Tessille said, shoving her hand into her pocket and pulling out a brown pouch. He didn’t have to see what was in it to know it was lotus. Only thing in the world that could keep a dying Lotus alive. Short of a Purist healer that is, but odds weren’t good one of them would help one of these folks. She crouched beside the sick Lotus and pulled the wool blanket down off her face. “Now, now. Relax, Seph, relax. I have some lotus for you.”
Unfortunately, Tessille drunkenly dropped two capsules on Seph’s face, holding back a chuckle as she shot a surprised glance at Urman. He didn’t hold back. Or at least the whiskey didn’t. Wynu gave him a disapproving glare. Who cared what he thought… No fun piece of shit.
“The man who laughs at another’s death is often the one who begs for mercy when it comes for him,” Wynu said.
“I ain’t laughin’ cause she’s dyin’.” The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t believe he was laughing at all. Kathar was the only person who could pull a chuckle out of him these days. Been that way since Rellin ruined his life. But that gal by the fire, she had a way of telling you every emotion going through her head and it came out in the cutest faces he’d seen in awhile. Like a chisel chipping away at a layer of stone over his heart. She had a long way to go yet.
Wynu laid his empty sheath on the log. Westerners were known for their personalities made of thorn bushes so his glare was nothing out of the ordinary but it did piss Urman off even more. “How many Lotus have you killed?”
“No more than I’ve needed to,” Urman said.
“So you are the monster they say you are.”
And just like that, the whiskey wasn’t just in charge of his laughter. Took over his words too. “Ya got a problem with me?” Urman said sharply.
“How could I not?”
Kind of took Urman by surprise. Always thought no was the right answer to that question. Always had been before. He tried to climb to his feet. Sneaky trick his legs had played. Had to use the log to keep his balance. “Stand up, prick.” Bad idea. Wynu wasn’t the least bit wobbly. Too late now though, they were already up. No sense in ruining a good buzz for nothing. “Kathar, where’s my spear.” He wanted his dagger but reaching down for that would have meant a face full of dirt. “What d’ya got against me?”
“I value trust and duty above all else,” Wynu said. “You respect neither.”
“You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about me!”
“The further a man’s reputation precedes him, the more accurate it becomes.”
“Then you should know I could snap your fuckin’ neck and not lose an ounce of sleep over it.”
Tessille stepped between them, arms wide enough to touch Urman’s stomach but he didn’t a shit about that right now. “Easy now. Easy. No need for any bloodshed. We’re all on the same side these days.”
A hand on his shoulder startled him but he didn’t feel like spinning around. No need to, luckily. Just Kathar being Kathar. “What’d I tell you about drinking?”
“Ya didn’t say nothin’. Used them big blues and those bitchy faces ya like to give me.”
Suddenly, he was being pulled to the other side of the campsite by the back of his neck like his pa used to do when he’d forget a chore. Past the logs and into the trees they went. Branches and stars passed by his eyes like they were running a race. Then he was on his ass. He’d forgotten how hard the ground was in the winter.
“I told you to behave. No weapons unless things got ugly.” Kathar looked mean as a devil. Eyes hot. Teeth showing.
“Things did get ugly.”
“How?!”
“He’s the ugliest damn thing I’ve seen in years.” He wasn’t sure where it came from, but the blunt end of a spear jabbed his chest so hard he fell backward. “Watch it, Kathar or I’ll…” A nasty feeling started bubbling in his belly.
“Or you’ll what? Kill me.”
All he could do was roll over and let the vomit puddle up in the dead leaves.
“Don’t come back to camp until you can control yourself.” Leaves crunched beneath Kathar’s boots as he stormed off.
Urman could hear his friend apologizing to the Lotus. To them. Not him. Horse shit. The westerner was the one to start it all.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and rolled onto his back to stare at the night sky. The race had ended and the stars were just standing around catching their breath. He felt their pain, his chest was rising and falling like he’d been running through the woods. Hadn’t had to do that in a little while. Something told him Wynu knew he was due though. Better get him before he gets me.