Warrior, page 3
There had been three fist fights already, and it was barely nearing midday.
“There will be plenty to do,” a boy in front of her answered. He was tall, and could see all the way to the front. From the grim set to his mouth, it wasn’t getting better. “We should be grateful for the opportunity. Think of those in the villages who were left behind. Cooks without a meal to prepare, serving girls with nothing to serve. And what of the grooms? Nothing but long days, and empty stables. At least here, there is a promise of coin.”
She made a derisive sound under her breath, but said nothing further as we inched closer to the wall. There was a man in the entryway ushering people in. He kept repeating the same question.
I strained my ears towards the front, trying to make it out.
“What are they saying?” I murmured under my breath. “I can’t hear it.”
The question was addressed to no one, and no one answered. Idle as we were, there was enough on our minds without adding mundane intrigue that would be explained soon enough. The crowd pressed us from behind, and we pressed back, holding our ground, sometimes gripping our blades, casting incredulous looks over our shoulder at the people flooding out of the trees.
I had known the influx of travelers would increase the strain upon the settlement, but I had underestimated the extent. It looked like everyone I knew was crammed into the same tiny location.
And more were coming. It seemed more were always on the way.
With a distant fascination, I watched a hooded wagon rumble down the path, so large and ungainly, the others who’d been waiting there longer hurried out of its way, lest some of the poorly tethered items should fall and strike them. It was etched with markings from a dialect that was unfamiliar and brimming with so many goods and parcels, it was a wonder there was any room to sit inside. A frenzied man sat at the helm, death-gripping the reins of his donkey.
The scene quickly passed amusement and seemed precarious. The cart had careened within striking distance of the settlement and seemed unable to stop. But the instant the man cut past the last of the scattering crowd and neared the gate, his pace slowed to an even trot. The cart steadied and the bottles knocking against the side quieted. The tethers appeared loose, but were expertly knotted. A loud grumble swelled behind him, but it came too late. His trick had worked brilliantly.
He was already at the gate.
I should have done something like that. Bulged my eyes, started frothing at mouth. Brave as they might claim to be, there isn’t a person in the settlement that would dare to come near me.
I pursed my lips, considering it.
Of course, they probably wouldn’t let me inside.
“Imagine how it must have been on the king’s fiftieth,” the black-haired girl remarked, her previous impatience losing sway to the anticipation hiding beneath. Fifty was a great year for our people. To survive so many winters was a true sign one had been blessed by the gods. The king was now several years past. “How many days were they in celebration? How many nights until the well ran dry?” They moved a few places up in line, reaching the shade cast down by the wall.
“Then it’s a good thing we live beside a river,” the boy snapped with irritation, taking up her impatience as his own. While the girls were pretty and sure to find work, he needed more urgently to get inside. As large as the crowds had swollen, there were still limited positions for the locals to find work. Many of the king’s bannermen and nobles would be bringing attendants of their own. “If you find yourself so vexed by the crowds, then perhaps you should return home.”
And save more coin for the rest of us.
Instead of answering directly, the girl went abruptly silent. So silent, the boy was forced to glance over his shoulder. She was smiling sweetly, twirling the handle of a blade.
“I’m sorry,” she tilted her head, “I didn’t quite catch that.”
More frightened of the smile than the blade, he decided not to repeat it. Just to be safe, he countered with a smile of his own, gesturing her forward. “After you.”
The summer sun, which had been mild in the morning, continued to arc into blinding new heights as we continued our glacial journey to the settlement. The man who guarded the gateway was seen clearly now; a swarthy, squat sort of fellow, with quick-darting eyes that made a practiced assessment of anyone who stood in front of him. Most were dismissed swiftly, with curt instructions too muffled to hear. Others stayed longer, shifting uncomfortably, as those darting eyes lingered on their fair complexions and rosy cheeks. Still, he barked that same indecipherable question. Not until I reached the front of the line, was I finally able to hear it for myself.
“Brothel or kitchen?”
I drew back in surprise, wondering why I hadn’t expected it. Frequent as I’d seen him bark, it had come only to the women as they passed him. The boys were sorted someplace else.
“I’m a serving girl,” I answered calmly.
Today, that’s what I was. Tomorrow, I might be something else. If you were not married, or whoring, or old enough to be taken care of by your children, a girl found work where she could. I was lucky it was a large settlement. I’d never had trouble finding something to do.
“A serving girl, eh?” he repeated, looking me up and down. “A little of both, then.”
My temper spiked, like a drop of the gods’ own fire had been poured into my veins. For a split second, I indulged all the things I’d like to say in return, before forcing my face into the most angelic of smiles. “I’ll be sure to tell my aunt you think so. She runs the brothel.”
There was no need to say anything further, the threat had already been made.
There were a few people one would never cross in a Viking settlement: the man who kept the gate, the lord who owned the spears, and the woman in charge of the whores. Each one wielded immeasurable power; able to turn one’s life into the brightest of heavens, or the coldest of hells.
The man’s face colored in dismay, an ugly purple that made it look as though the veins were bulging from his neck. He tried to smile in return, perhaps thinking it wise, then either reconsidered, or found his mouth unable to hold the shape. He took a step back instead.
“You see that man?” he said abruptly, pointing through the commotion to a solitary point of stillness. A man with a stack of crates behind him, and a long-suffering slave nodding obediently at something he’d said. “He’s in charge of the king’s personal household, and came early to prepare for the festivities. The people who serve in the feasting hall report directly to him. There are not many who were chosen for this,” he added, like an afterthought. “It’s a privilege afforded only to a few.”
What a coincidence.
I smiled again, showing all my pearly teeth. “My aunt will be delighted.”
Feeling uncharacteristically smug, I headed off in the direction he’d pointed—glad to put the endless crush of the line behind me. A girl of my station had few defenses, let alone privileges. The brothel was the only card I had to play, so I used it often. In truth, no matter how grave the slight, I’d never think of mentioning it to Trina. The woman was unpredictable at the best of times, and there was no telling what she might do to someone who’d wronged me. In truth, she wasn’t even my aunt. I only called her such, just as I’d called Karmen my grandmother; we were family just the same.
The sun hung in a glittering orb as I weaved, carefully as I could, through the throng of people who’d gathered inside the courtyard. Most days, it seemed cavernous. As someone who’d spent her life looking from the other side of the fence, the size of the settlement had never failed to make an impression. It wasn’t until that very moment, I suddenly realized how small it actually was.
Not big enough to hold so many people. Not big enough to welcome a king.
My eyes drifted in a quick circle, trying to make sense of the commotion, before I quickened my pace. The man was still standing in the same place, dictating rapidly to his slave.
“Excuse me, sir.” I came to a stop at a respectful distance, waiting for a pause in his speech before announcing myself. He and the slave turned at the same time. “I was told to report.”
Even if I hadn’t known he was in charge of the king’s household, I would have known this man was from a place very different than mine. Amidst the chaos of preparation, he was a pillar of stillness, every muscle and line drawn with strict efficiency. His beard was neatly combed and fell in a point beneath his chin, his mouth was unsmiling. His sharp eyes looked me up and down.
“Who told you?” he asked curtly.
Without hesitation, I pointed to the man ushering people past the gate, wishing desperately I’d gotten a name. It didn’t seem to matter; he followed my gaze with a quick nod.
“We have reached the limit,” he muttered to the boy at his side. “Go tell him.” The slave bolted off a second later, vanishing into the crowd. The man’s eyes returned to me. “Well since you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. Here”—he reached into the crates behind him and pulled out a large parcel—“take this to the barracks, then return to the main hall. We have enough serving girls already, but they could always use one more. Do not dawdle,” he added sharply, like I might be tempted to wander the streets, “we have only a few hours before the king’s arrival.”
I nodded in silence, wanting very much to escape that exacting gaze.
It wasn’t until the last second, he turned to me suddenly again, reaching deep into his pocket. “Here, take this.”
It was a small pin. A red stone, set in leather.
I stared a moment with a lack of comprehension, then took it quickly—fastening it atop the shoulder, where he indicated. He nodded with satisfaction, glancing back at the crates.
“That will grant you entrance to places most people cannot go. Places reserved for the king and his bannermen, and members of the court. Once there, you will handle yourself with the greatest discretion.” Those sharp eyes found me again, dubious and appraising. Like I might not be expected to know the word. “Do you understand me, girl? We are speaking of the king.”
Like I could forget?
I nodded again, eyes on the ground, feeling the prick of the pin against my shoulder. He waved a hand in dismissal, and the moment he turned away again, I vanished the same way as the slave, clutching the parcel tightly, lest I should accidently drop it.
It wasn’t until he was obscured in the sea of others, that I slowed my pace, lost the fear of him, and began to dawdle in earnest. He had not known I was coming, and the parcel couldn’t be urgently expected. I cracked open the lid and peeked inside, finding a jug of something potent and filled to the brim. I sniffed it delicately, feeling the inside of my nostrils burn.
Clever.
The arrangement of such festivities was a balancing act, and the man had done well to start with a bribe. The presence of soldiers was both a blessing and a hindrance, but if those soldiers had been liquored beforehand, they were far more likely to approach their duties with good cheer.
It was the king’s birthday, after all. There must be some effort to limit the usual bloodshed.
I glanced back up with a faint smile, and let my eyes drift once more around the square. It was only then I remembered something that had been forgotten in the endless tedium of the line.
A part of me was wildly excited.
Never in my life had I witnessed such a spectacle; amidst the crash of noise and flashes of color, I felt as though I’d been living underground. Everywhere one looked, there was something new to tease the eyes. A vibrant display of oddly scented candles. A likeness of a dire wolf made entirely out of bones. The man with the runaway wagon had already set up a booth, and was loudly proclaiming his wares to be the finest in the southern provinces, straight from the balmy Indian shores. The corner of my lips twitched up in a smile, and for a second, I forgot all Trina’s well-meaning lectures and all of those other lessons ingrained in children of the north. I was delighted, by anything and everything. My eyes kept jumping from place to place, unable to settle. A girl with a flashing ribbon. A man with a monkey skull in his hair. At least, I thought it was a monkey.
I paused in the road with my head tilted curiously.
That’s nothing like how the merchants described—
‘Do not dawdle.’
Like some kind of watchful spirit, the man’s voice echoed back in a dark echo. I could almost see the stern lines of his face. With a little shiver, I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if he was watching, silently applauding whoever had the wisdom to appoint him to such a place.
With a sudden burst of speed, I left the main square behind, and turned down one of the side streets that led to the soldiers;’ barracks. If my trips to the settlement were rare, I could count on a single hand the number of times I’d crossed paths with the soldiers. There wasn’t a person I knew who would do so voluntarily; it was asking for trouble, the kind of trouble that made you pay.
They weren’t like our own warriors; the ones who’d been born within a stone’s throw of wherever they happened to be standing, and left families by the hearth when they went out on the raids. These were the king’s men; well-trained and disciplined, left behind in his chronic absence to make his presence felt and fortify his kingdom under a single throne.
It was a good strategy, in theory. In practice, it deepened the lines of fear and distrust; making people walk quicker, leaving streets of the settlement where they were unwilling to go.
I came to a stop, looking up at the heavy door.
Almost sixteen years, I’d lived at the settlement. I’d never gone inside.
“State your business.”
My breath caught and I startled, lowering my gaze. I had been so consumed with the building itself, I hadn’t even noticed the two soldiers standing guard at its gates. They were staring with bright attention, trying not to look amused. The one who’d barked at me, spoke again.
“What do you have there?”
I thrust the parcel between us, like an offering.
“I was sent to deliver it,” I replied shakily, wondering if I could just leave it by the door. “A gift, from the keeper of the king’s household. With his compliments,” I added, thinking this proper.
The soldiers glanced at each other and smiled, probably guessing what was inside. The one who’d spoken relaxed his position, gesturing to the doorway with twinkling eyes.
“In you go.”
...must I?
By then, my anxiety had risen to such a level, I almost considered a charming refusal, placing it squarely in his hands. But there was a spear in his hands already, and the other was still pointing to the door. With a deep breath, I nodded in acknowledgment and took a step inside.
The torches flickered, and my eyes took a moment to adjust.
In truth, it was very much how I’d imagined. A long row of pallets, dusty and draped in furs, with a small chest at the end for every man to keep his possessions. Swords and axes hung on pegs in the walls, and somewhere near the end of the row, there was a well-used water basin. The only thing that struck me, was that it was empty. The soldiers were all patrolling, there was no one inside.
Almost no one. A small cluster of men had gathered near the back.
With another quick breath, I left the comfort of the doorway and headed swiftly and silently down the middle of the beds, keeping my eyes directly in front of me. They hadn’t noticed me yet; it was a blessing, I don’t know if I could have continued moving forward beneath the weight of their collective gaze. They were speaking in soft voices, gathered over a thin stretch of hide. It was a map, I realized when I got closer. A map of the settlement itself. Various points had been marked with drops of candlewax. The commander, sitting in the middle, was rubbing at his chin.
“—twelve more at the southern gate, but that doesn’t account for those coming down from the mountain pass. If we’re to believe that Nim brought his men this morning—”
He stopped abruptly, lifting his eyes.
The others were quick to follow the gesture, turning in unsettling unison to see me standing before them. The conversation paused at once, and a dark-haired man sitting beside the commander pushed immediately to his feet, staring me down like I was some kind of criminal.
“What do you want, girl?”
I tried to answer, but my mouth went dry and I was momentarily unable to speak. I extended the parcel instead, hoping this would suffice.
“A gift from the king’s household,” I finally managed, placing what felt like a dangerous amount of faith in the tiny brooch on my shoulder. “I am sorry to interrupt.”
A gift, this softened them. The man swept forward with quick strides, already grinning as he took it from my hand and reached for the bottle. He held it aloft, to the applause of the men, before setting it down in front of the commander. The seal was broken and the smell was instantaneous.
My eyes watered and my stomach heaved.
“Are you a slave?” the man asked, as the others began to drink behind him. His eyes flicked to my wrists at the same time, not finding any metal bands. “Not a slave,” he murmured, answering his own question. His smile brightened, sharpened. “Will you stay for a drink, then? Lovely thing like you.” He cast a look over his shoulder at his fellows. “And they said southern girls were coarse and unseemly. This one is a flower, with eyes like amber and skin like milk...”
That’s my cue.
I backed a step towards the door, flashing an easy smile. “I am promised somewhere else,” I answered simply.
Promised, not expected. As though someone had a prior claim. It was sometimes easier like this, I had discovered. A girl by herself was no threat. But the prospect of some faceless employer was usually enough to stop things before they got very far. In truth, it had been a long time since I’d even had to think about it. The only thing that made me nervous now was the abundance of swords.
“That is a shame,” the man answered, eyes flicking up and down. They lingered shamelessly on my chest, before returning to mine with a smile. “Perhaps some other time, then.”
