"That's between you and L'Norr."
"But he'll expect something for his food, won't he?"
"He'll share his meals with you. I'll see to it. As I say, anything else is up to the two of you."
"There won't be anything else."
E'Menua regarded her placidly, a small grin on his narrow, tapered face. "You can go," he said, after a brief silence.
She wanted to say more, to tell him that despite all his efforts, there was nothing he could do to tear her and Grinsa apart. But she couldn't think of any way to say it that didn't sound weak and childish. At last, she simply stood and walked out of the shelter.
After the warmth of the z'kal, the harvest air made her shiver. Or was she trembling again?
Cresenne returned to the tanning circle and took her usual spot beside F'Solya. Her friend eyed her as she sat, but she said nothing, and Cresenne was just as glad.
After some time though, F'Solya's curiosity seemed to get the better of her. "Is he going to help you?" she asked.
Help me? she wanted to say. He has no interest in helping me. He wants only to destroy my life. But however close she and F'Solya might have been, she couldn't be that honest.
"He's not going to let us starve," she said, which was true.
The woman smiled, looking so relieved it made Cresenne's heart ache. "Oh, good," she said. "I knew he wouldn't."
Chapter 12
QALSYN, STELPANA
Poljyn Rudd. Kherlay Swylton.
Those were their names.
Tirnya could picture both of them: Poljyn, tall and lanky, with a broad, open smile that made him look about twelve years old; and Kherlay-Kherry, the other men called him-also tall and rail-thin, but dark and serious, determined to be a lead rider by the time he was twenty.
Her father assured her that every leader lamented the loss of soldiers under his or her command, and he made it clear that it never got easier.
"The day it becomes routine to lose even a single man," he told her, two mornings after her skirmish with the brigands, "I want you to quit, because it'll mean that you're no longer fit for command."
No doubt he thought this would help her feel better. And perhaps in some small way it did. She wasn't the first commander to lead men to their deaths, she knew, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. But grief clung to her like the scent of blood, and even as the days passed and her wounds healed and her strength returned, still her sorrow lingered.
Poljyn's family lived in the countryside, a good twenty leagues from the city. But Kherry had been born and raised here in Qalsyn, and on the fourth day after the fight, Tirnya felt well enough to make her way to the west end of the city, where his parents lived. She dreaded this task, but she remembered her father making similar trips to the families of lost men; it was one of the responsibilities of command.
She was still sore and a bit unsteady on her feet. Oliban offered to ride with her, and even to let her share his mount, but Tirnya felt that she needed to do this alone. She rode Thirus, holding him to a gentle walk. Word of her victory over the brigands and her wounds had spread through all of Qalsyn, and people in the streets called greetings to her the entire way. She waved in return, but said little.
Qagan, who had been Kherry's lead rider, had described for her how to find the Swylton home. It was a modest house on the back of a farrier shop near the end of a narrow, dusty lane. On the other side of the road there was an overgrown paddock where a few horses grazed. Otherwise, all was still.
Tirnya dismounted gingerly, walked to the door, and knocked. She had no idea what she was going to say to them. She might have asked for advice on that from her father, but she chose not to. She leaned on him for enough. This she'd do on her own.
No one responded to her knock, and she began to wonder if she ought to leave. But then she heard footsteps inside and at last the door opened, revealing a plain-looking woman in a worn shift. Her hair was black, just as Kherry's had been, and Tirnya saw hints of Kherry's features in the woman's bony face. Kherry had never spoken of a sister, but this woman appeared too young to be his mother.
The woman stared at Tirnya for an instant. "Captain Onjaef!" She took a step back and then called over her shoulder, "Chran! Come quickly!"
"Are you Kherry's mother?" Tirnya asked.
The woman offered an awkward curtsy. "I am, Captain. I'm Sholi Swylton."
A man appeared beside her, also dark-haired and dark-eyed. He was tall and thin, and he looked so much like his son that it took Tirnya's breath away just to see him.
"Captain," he said. "I'm glad t' see ya up an' about. When we heard ya'd been hurt… well, we feared fer ya."
"Thank you."
"Please," the woman said, stepping aside and gesturing for Tirnya to enter the house.
After a moment's hesitation, Tirnya walked inside. The house looked larger within than it had from the street, though it was still tiny compared to her parents' home. It was clean and tidy, and it smelled of fresh bread.
"Would ya like t' sit?" Kherry's father asked her.
"No, thank you. I can only stay for a moment. But I wanted…" She took a breath, her throat suddenly tight. "I wanted to say how sorry I am."
"Ya's nothin' t' be sorry far, Captain. It were an honor far 'im t' serve under yar command. Said so hisself, he did." The man smiled, though there appeared to be tears in his eyes. "I don' know if'n he told ya, but I served under yar pa." He pointed to a scar on his arm. "An' ya see this?"
She nodded.
"Yar pa give me tha' in th' tournament one year. Sixth round." He nodded, looking proud, and wiped at his eyes. "We shared that, Kherry an' I did. We both fought in th' service o' th' Onjaefs. Men like us could do far worse."
"Kherry was a fine man," Tirnya said. "The others all liked him, and I think he would have made a fine lead rider in another year or so. He was brave and smart."
"Yar very kind t' say that," Kherry's mother said, crying as well. Tirnya shrugged. "It's the truth."
They said nothing. As the silence grew, Kherry's parents looked at her, smiling through their tears.
"Well," Tirnya said, feeling uncomfortable, "I should probably be going."
"Course," Chran said, nodding once. "Ya've got things t' do. But we's grateful t' ya far comin' by."
"Oh, I almost forgot." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pouch of coins. "This is Kherry's share of His Lordship's reward for capturing the brigands. The men and I wanted you to have it. It's not much: about three sovereigns. But it's yours." She handed the pouch to Sholi, who merely stared at it.
"Tha's kind o' ya," Chran said. "An' th' men, too. Ya'll thank 'em far us?"
"Of course."
They walked her back to the door and Kherry's mother pulled it open. "We was hopin' ya'd win th' tournament this year, Captain," Chran said. He winked at her. "We even had a bit o' coin on ya."
"Thank you," Tirnya said, smiling. It still bothered her to hear people speak of her match against Enly, but somehow she didn't mind this time. "Ya'll win it next year. Ya wait an' see. Them Tolms can' keep it forever."
"Chran!" Kherry's mother said. "Ya watch yarself!"
"It's a'right, Sholi. Th' captain knows. We Swyltons, we came from th' Horn too, ya know," he said, nodding to Tirnya. "Came with yar family. We'd follow th' Onjaefs wherever ya led us."
Tirnya made herself smile, but she was a bit unsettled by the turn their conversation had taken.
"There's them tha' get wha' they deserve, and them tha' don't. An' tha' cuts both ways. Both th' Onjaef an' th' Tolm, they's them tha' don't, if ya understand me. Them Tolms has go' their city. Th' Onjaefs deserve th' same."
"Ya've said enough, Chran!"
He frowned at his wife, but then nodded. "Yeh, I have." He held out a hand, which Tirnya took. His hands were rough, callused, and very large, and when he covered her hand with his other one, it seemed that his hands had swallowed hers. "Thank ya, Captain. An' may th' gods bless ya."