“Micah, heal this one again. She has a nasty habit of getting injured around me for some reason.” Speranzi said and jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the weeping Skana who was doing her best to dry her tears of relief and stop the shaking of her body.
“Everybody else, as soon as the wagons are ready, we move, if the rescues come with us, they do, if they don’t, they don’t.” Speranzi’s orders were carried out promptly, and with a little help from the black-robed caster, Skana found herself sitting in the rear wagon again to rest after her exhausting struggle.
Micah’s magic made her body glow briefly blue, her bones knit back together and the bloody cheek was left with only a stain to remind her it was ever injured.
Skana didn’t say anything to the staff bearing mage at first, nor did he speak to her after his horse was brought, the wagons were loaded, or even as they were rolling out of Fortress Myen.
Potent as his magic was at curing her wounds, it did nothing to restore her feeling of exhaustion from the use of both her martial arts, and the physical struggle to maintain them as the votes were carried on. As a result all she could bring herself to do was lean against the edge of the wood with her arms as limp as noodles.
Micah, however, turned out to be riding near her, his horse was black as night, and considerably taller than the wagon, and after such prolonged quiet while just watching the terrain pass by, Skana chose to break the silence.
“Thank you for healing me.” She said.
He didn’t answer her, not at first. His staff had not been raised with the other swords, she was fairly sure of that, so he in all probability had preferred her dead. It made her both more grateful for his obedience, and more wary of offending him.
“I know you didn’t want to.” Skana added.
“Of course not. I despise bandits. No matter your reason for being there, you’d have killed us if you could have. I don’t know why she’s putting trust in you. If it were me, I’d have preferred you just stayed dead the first time, you’re a waste of mana, no matter what skills you have.” He replied to her with a hateful glare.
Skana turned her face away. “Thank you anyway. I mean that. I won’t ask your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it. I just- I wanted something bad, and they were my only option.”
“Like I care about your dreams.” Micah snapped, and Skana was quiet.
Skana held her peace for several more minutes. “The rescues didn’t join us, did they?”
“Being around a group of armed warriors probably doesn’t sound too tempting to them. But then, you know about that, don’t you?” Micah’s rough, grating and accusing voice was a stab in Skana’s gut, but she bore it anyway.
“I guess I do.” Skana answered and watched the fortress behind her begin to shrink.
“Yeah.” Micah answered and snapped his mouth shut again.
Still, Skana made another try.
“Speranzi, Lady Jadara, she’s impressive, isn’t she?” Skana asked with a little smile, and some of his hostility melted away.
“She is. Exceptionally strong, stubborn, and above all, terrifying.” He said, and finally looked down at Skana as if she were something other than an insect. “You were able to meet her eyes, weren’t you? How? It’s no secret that nobody can do that for long… it’s like the chill of the grave is in those and trying to drag you in… she’s on our side and all, but everything about her…” He shook his head with vigor.
“No.” He finally said to the very idea.
“The Maiden of the Door is not someone you just do that with.” He answered.
“You were at Prioche?” Skana asked.
Micah gave a weighty, slow nod. “Yes. Most of the people here were at that battle, either as residents, captives, or the generously donated ‘volunteers’ of our parents trying to use the war to get rid of their bastards before we could become troublesome.”
“I was there too, first as a captive, then I ran food to the wall. I saw.” Skana said with devout reverence that forced her to bow her head. “One woman defending a single door until she had no arrows… no sword, and no hope of victory. And here I thought punching her would do any good? I am an idiot.” Skana almost laughed at her self, but there was no need.
There was no need because Micah did the laughing for her, “Yes, that was very stupid. But you still haven’t answered, “How is it you can just look at her like she’s… normal?”
“Answer me this first, why do you call her ‘The Maiden of the Door’ and not one of the other names she’s picked up, or even by her title?” Skana asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t when he cocked his head at her.
“What, isn’t it obvious?” He asked, and Skana closed her eyes.
“Never mind, forgive me for asking a worthless question like that.” Skana answered, her voice becoming frosty, she crossed her arms as enough strength for that returned at least, and lost interest in further conversing with Micah.
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‘The scenery is nice, at least.’ She thought, and after he waited longer than was polite, she chose how to answer him.
“A long time ago, before I was the sort of person you wanted dead, I was a village girl like anyone else. There was one bully boy in the village, he used to pick on everyone, including me. Just words at first, but none of us did anything because he was just ‘bigger’ than us. Then one day, bully boy punched me in the face. I got a black eye and went home crying. My father, the gods bless him, was furious. He took me by my hand and walked me over to the little house where bully boy lived…” Skana sighed and leaned back a little further, sliding her legs further on the wagon floor as she relaxed at the fond memory.
“And he scared the bully off? Made him apologize?” Micah guessed, but Skana only shook her head.
“No. He punched bully boy’s father. My father wasn’t the biggest of men, but you all who grow up in noble society… even half of it, don’t realize how strong all that work can make a common peasant. He punched, and punched, and punched, and all bully boy could do was stand inside and watch it happen. He made bully boy cry and then said he was sorry for hitting me. I still think of his snot nosed face and sobs. My father’s face was spattered with blood, his jaw was all tight, he was breathing hard, he was the scariest I’d ever seen him. Then he picked me up and carried me home.”
“Okay, so you had a good father and still turned into a thieving and murderous shit, what’s your point?” Micah asked, a little frown formed on his face.
“My father was scary, but he was scary for me. He just wanted to protect me. It’s the same thing. Speranzi, Lady Jadara, may be surrounded by an aura of murder, she may look scary… but doesn’t she look after you all? I just can’t be afraid of her like everybody else. And when I look at her eyes, to me, she’s actually kind of cute.” Skana chuckled as he looked down at her with horror, his mouth agape and eyes wide.
“Cute. You just called her ‘cute’?” Micah asked and his hold on the reins of his horse tightened a little. “Did they smack you around in the head in that bandit camp?”
Her laughter went on a little while after his question, “They’re a beautiful blue, like winter ice on a lake, and intense, like she’s holding nothing back.”
“You’re a weird one.” Micah answered, “Maybe I should have voted to bring you in, the gods favor those who show kindness to the mad and the damned, and you’re both.”
Skana crossed her arms in front of her chest and watched as Micah spurred his horse and trotted it away from her to ride near the front.
“It figures.” Skana said to nobody but herself and watched the scenery unfold, the gentle feel of the air, the noise of birds in the trees, the rustle of bushes as animals just out of view skittered about in their endless quest for food or mates.
The road was dirt and therefore noiseless normally, but still damp from the recent storm, and with puddles still here and there, and so their trip was punctuated by the noise of splashing water, but it was otherwise silent.
Too silent.
Skana began to shift about uncomfortably, during her brief captivity when she lay bound in the wagon waiting for the most ironic death she could have imagined for herself, that had been bad. ‘At least then though, I knew I couldn’t move or do anything.’
As it was, she felt her strength returning steadily, could move, could speak, but there was no one to speak to. ‘Anyone in talking range is likely to be about as friendly as Micah and I won’t exactly get any friends here if I get on their nerves.’
Or so she reminded herself.
But the silence grated and grated hard.
When the impulse hit her, Skana’s resistance to it was low, she began to sing.
“Over mountains high and valleys low”
“In search of beer and wine I go”
“Till I met a girl with a smile so sweet”
“A most delightful charming treat”
“Gave ‘er a coin she gave me a smile”
“Said why don’t you stay for a while”
“There I lingered there I stayed”
“Forgot the wine while I got laid”
“Fell asleep in arms so fair”
“And when I woke she wasn’t there”
“That’d be fine you have to know”
“Cause everyone knows you pay em to go”
“But while I slept after she drained the hose”
“She went and stole all of me clothes”
The song went on and on as Skana relayed the bardic tale of the Drunken Huntsman and his never ending quest for alcohol and women, and how it went wrong every time.
In Skana’s favor was her melodic singing voice, while far from perfect in her own mind, ample practice made her passable in her view.
And a few of the men of arms began to drop back from their positions, most tried to appear like they weren’t paying attention, but she could see them side-eyeing her.
A few hummed along with the rolicking ballad and chuckled every time he ended up naked and robbed and starting again.
As more and more attention came to her, and more time passed, she felt her audience growing.
Time no longer meant anything to Skana, and with her strength growing with every passing moment as her body replenished its well of mana, she couldn’t hold back.
She started another, and another, and another.
The sun in all its glory was like the lights of the stages on which Skana fondly recalled performing in happier days, her luminous eyes sparkled, and the whole world slipped away into the deep recesses of her mind. It didn’t matter to her that there was not one person in more than a hundred nearby that had not either wished her dead or only begrudgingly chose to let her try to find a place among them. It didn’t matter that the very one to save her life had nearly ended it.
Lost in the moment, she rose in the wagon so that she was able to look down on the riders when her back was straight, her steady feet untroubled by the gentle rocking of the wagon, somewhere in the line of horsemen, a fife began to play, and Skana began to dance.
It wasn’t the sort of performance a noble would know how to do, it was a simple peasant jig that went with the song she never slowed in singing, her feet tapping and jumping about.
Every bad and terrifying thing was forgotten… until she stopped in the forward bowed position, auburn hair hanging by her face and obscuring her vision, breathing hard from the exertion… polite applause picked up, and a voice called for her attention.
“Mind yourselves! You’re an escort! Not a band of minstrel players!” Speranzi snapped from where she stood, her hands on her hips and an icy glare at her soldiers.
They stiffened, the fife player shoved their instrument away wherever it was stored, and various mumbled apologies from shamefaced soldiers were uttered as they trotted back into their places. Though they towered over their leader while riding on their warmounts, there wasn’t a one who didn’t feel like she was glaring down at them.
Skana straightened up, “S-Sorry.” She stumbled over the word and bit her lower lip.
“That’s good singing. Good dancing. But it’s not the time for it.” Speranzi said, “Maybe when we get a horse under your ass you’ll be able to stop wiggling.”
Skana flushed red in the face, but she returned a smile to the woman she’d made her oath to, and nodded.
“I’ll do my best!” Skana promised, but Speranzi’s back was already turned and she was walking away.
But while she walked, Skana noticed something else.
Speranzi was humming the tune that Skana sang, and that was enough to keep the new soldier content long after the scenery grew dull and repetitive.