"Wherever I have to."
"Hmmm, well, I'd rather not have to travel naked, especially now that it's getting so cold." Saviar expected an evening breeze, usually cherished its touch against his sweat-bathed limbs; but he suddenly felt awash in ice. "In fact, if there's an extra cloak you don't need to tear up, I'd like to wear it."
Immediately, Subikahn removed his own overwear and offered it to his brother. "Here."
"I can't take-"
"I'm comfortable, actually." Subikahn dropped the cloak at Saviar's feet, then turned to dig through their packs. "If I get cold, I'll take it back. Or I'll find something clean."
"Thanks." Saviar wrapped the extra cloak around him, no longer in the mood to joke. Still warm from Subikahn's body, the fabric seemed to embrace him, yet he still felt icy to the bone. His limbs began to shake.
"Lie down," Subikahn suggested. "I'll start a fire, then get to work on that wound."
"Not yet." Saviar reluctantly staggered toward an open patch of ground. For the first time he could remember, he loathed the bare thought of swordplay. "I need to practice."
Subikahn set to digging out a fire pit. "Of course, we'll practice. But it can wait till you have clean bandages." He gestured at a spot near the freshly dug depression. "Lie down, Savi."
Saviar looked at the indicated place. Though nothing more than one open patch among many beneath the woven canopy of forest, it looked exquisitely comfortable. He wanted to stretch out in the fallen leaves and dirt, to stare quietly at the stars, to let a roaring fire drive its heat through his frigid body.Yet, lifelong lessons die hard. If he curled up now, he might fall asleep. "We have to practice."
"We will." Subikahn jabbed a finger at the ground. "As soon as I change those bandages."
Protesting took too much effort. "All right." Chills racked Saviar's body, his jaw chattered, and the urge to draw every scrap of cloth tightly around him became nearly impossible to ignore. He dropped awkwardly to the ground.
Subikahn hovered around him, tucking clothing, tearing bandages, gathering wood. Amidst the normal sounds of his brother's preparations, still fighting the chill that gripped him, Saviar fell into a restless sleep.
Keatoville turned out to be a tiny hamlet only steps off the beaten path. Had Ra-khir not discovered the battlefield and Darby, he would probably have ridden past without noticing it at all. Neat rows of cottages surrounded the few necessary businesses; and a communal meeting hall, that probably served as a tavern as often as a gathering place, stood directly in the center of town.
People stopped and stared as Darby rode in, accompanied by a Knight of Erythane, their jaws sagging, their chores forgotten. In silence, Darby led the donkey to a dilapidated cottage on the farthest edge of the village. He drew up alongside the wooden construct, its beams settling and its caulk repeatedly patched. The thatched roof had turned brown and moldy with age, and it surely leaked. "We're here," he announced.
Ra-khir dismounted. "You live here?" He tried to keep incredulity from his voice. Though it drooped, the cottage was clean. He could tell someone had jammed straw-filled mud into every budding crevice, smoothing it carefully. They obviously tried to keep their home in shape, but time had ravaged it and no able-bodied man had spared them the few hours it would take to assist with regular maintenance. Now, it would probably require a complete rebuilding.
Darby flushed. "I try my best, sir. Really I do."
Ra-khir glanced around at the crowd that had followed them to the ramshackle cottage, watching in a curious hush.
"If I was just a bit stronger, I could push those logs into the right places, and my sister could-"
Ra-khir interrupted in a strong voice pitched to carry. "I just can't believe that, in this entire village, there's not a single, decent man willing to help a widow and her children keep their dwelling habitable."
His words had the desired effect. A wave of scarlet suffused the villagers, especially the males, and they shifted with nervous whispers.
Darby stood, rooted, his mouth still open but no words emerging.
Ra-khir rubbed his gloved hands together. "I'm on a vital mission, but I'll simply have to delay it. The kings of Bearn and Erythane will surely understand why I have to stop to rebuild a cottage for a village that has forgotten how." His hands paused in mid-motion. "Well, perhaps they won't understand. I certainly don't."
A well-dressed, thin man stepped forward, "Well, you see, sir-" he started but was interrupted by a burly fellow in linen.
"You continue your mission, Sir Knight. I'll help this family rebuild." He spoke into a shocked silence.
Murmurs swept the gathering group.
"And I," shouted another from the back.
A chorus of similar promises followed.
Darby lowered his head, but even the corner of his face still visible to Ra-khir revealed a smile.
Ra-khir nodded. "When I come back through here on my return, I expect to find a brand-new cottage. And I expect you all to charge exactly what good neighbors should, what I would have charged." He looked from volunteer to volunteer, needing to make certain guilt, not the full donkey cart, motivated the villagers.
The burly man shouted the proper answer. "Nothing, of course, sir."
Ra-khir favored the man with a bow and flourish of his hat.
Applause followed.
The door to the cottage swung open, and a woman stepped outside. Though tall and quite slender, she showed a hint of delicate curves through her worn and faded shift. She had the face of an angeclass="underline" creamy white, blue-eyed, and high-cheeked, with a strong straight nose and ears that disappeared beneath a thick cascade of honey-brown hair. She had long legs that promised shapeliness with more regular meals. Her movements were gliding, robust and sure, with a dancer's agility.
Catching himself staring, Ra-khir forced himself to look at Darby. "Is that… your…"
"Mama," Darby said. "Yes."
The word "… sister" died on Ra-khir's tongue. "That's your mama?"
As the fact had already been established, Darby clearly felt no need to reply.
A girl peeked out from behind her, in that awkward stage between childhood and adolescence. She, too, would look beautiful if she had a bit more meat on her too-skinny frame. Ra-khir could understand why the men wanted her for acts about which Darby had refused to speak.
Ra-khir swallowed hard, then bowed to Darby's mama as if to royalty. "I am Sir Ra-khir Kedrin's son, Knight to the Erythanian and Bearnian kings: His Grace, King Humfreet and His Majesty, King Griff."
Clearly taken aback, the woman said nothing for several moments. Finally, she found her voice, though scratchier than Ra-khir expected. "Er… um, I am Tiega." She obviously felt the need to add more, as he had. "… um… Tiego's daughter… er… of Keatoville, Westlands."
Ra-khir replaced his hat and smiled. "Pleased to meet you, Tiega. You have a fine son in Darby, ma'am."
Without a hint of modesty or hesitation, Tiega replied, "Yes, I do, sir." She looked over at the donkey cart and its load of goods. "But is he in some sort of… trouble, sir?"
"No, ma'am," Ra-khir said emphatically. "These items belong to Darby, fairly won and scavenged. I just thought I'd see such a moral and enterprising young man safely home."
Tiega smiled sweetly at Ra-khir. "Thank you, sir. Your kindness is appreciated."
Ra-khir thought he saw a spark of interest, but he had to ignore it. It was too soon. His grief remained too raw and painful.
Darby walked to his mother's side to hold a whispered conversation. He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket and dumped them into her palm. She stared at the money, clearly shocked.
The crowd began to disperse.
Ra-khir cleared his throat. "Well, I've fulfilled my promise, so I guess I'll be on my way." He reached for Silver Warrior.
"Wait," Tiega said. "Can't you stay for a meal, Sir Ra-khir? I can cook anything you like, so long as Darby can buy the ingredients here."