Elyon's Blades, page 28
part #1 of The Daughters of Elyon Series
Isobel released her hair and patted her on the head. “Good choice, Ailith. At least I know you haven’t gone completely mad.”
“Ró Múgromin’ bitch.”
“Cut the breastband off too, My Lady.”
“We can dispense with the My Lady, for now, Isobel. Sábria will do just fine.”
When the breastband was gone, Isobel grabbed the hair again and pulled Ailith back onto her butt. “Now, pull off your socks and boots.”
Ailith sat still a moment, thinking. She angrily grabbed the toe and heel of her boot, pulled it off, and with a growl, threw it into Sábria’s chest. That earned her a backward dunking with Isobel’s fingers clutched around her throat.
The next time the knight hauled her up, she moved in very close to Ailith’s ear and growled with definite menace in her voice. “Do that again, and you’ll curse the day you met this ró múgromin’ bitch. Any questions?”
After she’d coughed up a lungful of soapy water, Ailith grabbed her other boot and carefully dropped it over the side. She’d pushed the knight too far once, a few turns back, and that pain-filled memory brought a bit of sense back to her muddy, churning mind.
“Now the trews and undratrews.”
With a few snarled epithets, Ailith grudgingly pulled them off and dropped them over the side as well.
Thinking the close proximity had worked before, Isobel once again moved her mouth close to Ailith’s ear. Although her words were calm and quiet, there was still a warning ring of menace in her tone. “Now. I’m going to cut off your filthy hair with a very sharp blade. Unless you want part of your ear cut off, accidentally, of course, or a scar running across your forehead, I suggest you sit very still and keep that filthy…mouth…shut.”
By this time, Shirin had returned with a clean uniform. She looked at the wet boot print staining Sábria’s tunic and raised her brows. Leaning in close to her ear, she covered her mouth and whispered, “And we thought we were hard on our shivs. No wonder she recovered so quickly from that beating you gave her.”
Sábria raised her brows and nodded. She watched as Isobel roughly hacked off most of Ailith’s hair, cutting it above the ears and collar and leaving her with very short bangs.
“Let’s get some more soap in here. There’s still some sticky something in it, and if I cut off anymore, she’ll be walking around bald.”
Ailith turned those glowering, feral eyes on Sábria as the Priestess held the jar above her head and poured some more soap onto her hair.
While Isobel used both her hands to scrub Ailith’s head, she turned to Shirin. “Grab some soap and one of those equine leg wraps over there and scrub that filth off her arms.”
She motioned to Sábria with a lift of her chin. “If you don’t mind, grab another one and start working on her legs. Once we get most of the filth off, we can trim those nasty nails.” A puff of soapy bubbles flew off when she gently cuffed Ailith on the side of the head. “What in the name of the Goddess were you thinking? You look like a wild crackdaw running feral in the forest.”
Apparently, Ailith had decided to sit and boil in her own rage instead of fighting them because she didn’t answer.
It took a while, but eventually, they had her cleaned and groomed, and ready for her uniform. Isobel grabbed her hair and pulled up. “Stand.”
Ailith did.
“Now get out, and I better not have to shove you into a pile of horse shit to control you because I would be really, really pissed off if we have to bathe you again like some mewling infant.”
Ailith’s eyes opened wide, and she bared her teeth as she swung a fist at Isobel’s head. “Yer th’ fowkin’ mewlin’—”
Isobel, who still had one foot submerged in the trough, kicked Ailith’s legs out from under her and held her under again. She glanced up at Sábria and Shirin. “It’s a good thing it’s Greenmere and not Snowmere, or I’d be freezing out here.” She pulled a struggling Ailith up, let her get a breath, and then plunged her back in again. “She’s always been stubborn. But better this than having to take my belt to her. I always hated doing that. And Goddess knows I had to do it often enough when she first came to me.”
Ailith went still, and Isobel pulled her up again. She held onto her hair and waited for the coughing to stop and then, surprisingly, pulled her leg out of the water and knelt next to the trough. “You’ll get control back again, Ailith. This isn’t you, and we both know it. Now stand and climb out of the tub so you can get dressed like a regular trainee.” She turned to Shirin. “What is it you call them?”
“A shiv. It’s a kind of small knife. We call them that until they become full Blades.”
Isobel’s brows rose, and she pushed to her feet. “Ah. I like that. We call a small knife a tarnnacht.” She turned back to Ailith, who’d risen as well. “So you can dress yourself like a proper shiv.”
Ailith’s glare wasn’t any less than it had been when Isobel had first seen it, but at least it seemed she was listening to what she had to say. She climbed out and grabbed the proffered breastband, wound it around herself, shoved the hooks into their eyeholes, and then stepped into the under-kirtle Shirin handed her.
She pulled on the new tunic and trews, but when she reached for the soaking wet boots, Sábria stopped her. “Leave those.” Turning to Kemi, she pointed at Ailith’s feet. “Please go to Mistress Dunaid. Take these boots to her, ask her to clean them, and have her give you a pair of used ones in Ailith’s size.”
“Aye, Milady.”
Isobel looked Ailith up and down. “Where are her sword and knives?”
Shirin and Sábria looked blank.
The knight pointed at Ailith’s waist and asked Ailith directly this time. “You’re a Gods damned warrior, Ailith. Where’s your Gods damned sword?”
“Fowk if I know. And I’m no a fowkin’ warrior. I shovel shit. That’s what I do. I don’t need no sword t’ shovel shit.”
Kemi had reached the end of the breezeway when Isobel called her back. “You. Horselady.”
Kemi was much more than just a horse lady. She’d earned her rank as stablemaster, and there was a stiff set to her shoulders when she walked back to Isobel. “Aye, Milady?”
“Do you have any hand shovels around? The short ones.”
“Aye, Milady.”
“Get Ailith one, will you? She can stick it in her belt instead of her sword.”
“The fowk I will!” Ailith took a step back and balled up her fists. There was no question she was readying herself for a fight.
“Then tell me where your sword is.”
Ailith answered through gritted teeth. “I… don’t…know.”
Isobel turned to Shirin. “Where’s she been sleeping?”
Shirin pursed her lips and pointed into what had become known as Ailith’s stall. “In there.”
Isobel’s jaw dropped open, and she turned, ready to cuff Ailith again. When she saw the eyes, she stopped and sighed. “You’ve been sleeping on the floor in a horse stall? Blood and ashes, Ailith. What’s the matter with you?”
Ailith continued to glare, and Isobel turned to Shirin again. “Could her weapons still be in that room they trashed?”
Shirin lifted her shoulders. “I haven’t been to her room since Sábria had them clean it. I have a different room on another floor set aside for Ailith, and someone may have moved her things down to it. I don’t know, but I’ll send someone to check.”
There was no way Isobel was going to sleep in the stable, no matter how comfortable the pile of straw might be. “Could you move a second bed into that new room?”
“I don’t sleep where th’ fowkin’ Blades sleep, and ye’ll no be sleepin’ anywhere near where I do.”
“Wrong again. You and I won’t be two steps apart from each other until I get that screwed-up head of yours sorted. And if I leave for a bath, someone else will be sitting with you.”
Ailith’s eyes narrowed but she remained silent.
Sábria wondered about this Lady Knight, a woman who was obviously a high-ranking noble in the Dreyuthan hierarchy. Why would she ride across Dreyutha into Cibía to help a peasant warrior? Not one to question the ways of the Goddess, Sábria thanked the deity for sending this strong-willed woman to help with this equally strong-willed shiv.
The dormitory wasn’t the place for them at this point, and Sábria knew exactly where she intended to house them. The closer to her, the better, because she needed Ailith to gradually focus on her, and not Isobel since the Lady Knight would eventually return to her kingdom and Ailith would remain in the Temple. “We have a room prepared for you in the Sanctum. I’ll have a second bed brought there. It’s larger than the rooms in the dormitory, and you’ll be much more comfortable there.”
“The Sanctum?”
Pointing to the back of the square, multistory building, Sábria flicked a glance at Shirin, silently telling her to arrange for the extra bed. “That building. I live there, along with the Commander and all of my top people.”
Isobel nodded. “I thank you, then.” She slung her arm around Ailith’s shoulders, but the shiv shrugged her off and stepped away. “In the meantime, Ailith and I will begin a search for her sword and knives. Unless…” Picking up the discarded trews, Isobel grasped the materials in her fist and ran her hand down their length. “Oh ho.” She glanced up at Ailith. “So, not completely a shit shoveler, eh?”
Whenever Ailith received a new pair of trews, she habitually opened a rip in the seams and concealed two thin leather sheathes along her thighs. It was where she kept the small, flat spearpoint knives she’d brought with her when she’d come down from the mountains as a child. The knives were invisible unless a person knew specifically what they were looking for. She’d become so adept at concealing the openings it was very difficult to see she carried anything there.
In the short time they’d known her, neither Shirin nor Sábria had realized she carried any weapons other than the ones assigned to the shivs. Seeing them now drove home the point that Ailith hadn’t become a danger to anyone in the Temple. If she had, those knives would’ve come out during one of her rages, and someone would’ve been severely hurt or killed. The two women glanced at each other. Understanding and relief passed between them, part of the unspoken communication that had developed over the turns.
Isobel undid the small catches holding each of the pockets closed and pulled out the knives. “Ailith’s grandfather, a master craftsman, carved these for her when she was still a small child. Each knife is one solid piece of hardwood, so thin one would think they’d break with the first use. But the hardwood handle is so strong, and the wood so skillfully worked that they’ve held up over turns of use.”
The blades were parchment-thin as well. Instead of a bolster separating the sharpened blade from the handle, the old man had carved a slight curve that the forefinger could rest against to keep the hand from sliding from the handle onto the blade.
Isobel stepped to where Sábria and Shirin waited. She dropped the filthy trews at her feet and held one of the blades on the flat of her palm to display the exquisite workmanship. “I’d give several silver royins to own blades this fine.” She pointed to the design delicately carved into the handle. “The bobcat is Ailith’s chadit. Look at the detail in the eyes and ear tufts and in the forest surrounding the beast.”
Sábria glanced up at Ailith and indicated the knife. “May I?”
Ailith glared at her a moment, crossed her arms, and turned away.
Picking up the blade, Sábria examined both sides of the handle. “Chadit?”
“Oh, that must be a word that doesn’t translate well. With the nobility, a chadit is the equivalent of a personal crest.” Isobel indicated the golden eagle on the front of her tunic. “To a peasant,” she nodded toward Ailith, “I suppose it would be more of a talisman. Each Dreyuthan child is given one when they’re born, based on something that one of the parents sees very close to her birth. Apparently, a bobcat crossed paths with Ailith’s parents either before, during, or after her birth.”
Isobel studied the blade. “Ailith was very blessed to have a grandfather who possessed the skill of a master artisan, although they don’t acknowledge that type of mastery in the mountains. As far as they’re concerned, everyone has a skill, and some are better at that skill than others.”
Sábria handed the knife to Shirin, who whistled softly. “What a work of art on such a thin slice of wood. It’s no wonder I never saw the blades concealed along her thighs. Ailith, would you mind showing our seamstress your design for the sheathes and the slits along the thighs? I think this might be an interesting addition to our uniform if people were so inclined.”
Isobel shook her head. “Ravenkind and I have tried to have our artisans duplicate this design, and the handle always breaks off the blade. I wish Ailith’s grandfather still lived, but he died in the plague along with her parents and siblings.”
Taking her own knife out of its sheath, Isobel picked up the discarded trews, cut a length down the side, across the seam, back up above the slit, and across the seam again so when she was finished, she held the sheath and a small portion of the trews in her hand. She did the same with the other sheath and then tossed the remainder of the trews in a trash bucket next to the trough.
She pointed to the discarded clothing scattered around the area. “Ailith, pick up those clothes and throw them in the trash. We don’t need to leave extra work for any of the stable hands, and especially not for your stable master.”
“I need to finish filling in th’ hole.” She started for the shovel, but Isobel grabbed her by her collar and pulled her back. “I don’t believe I told you to finish filling in that hole, did I?”
Jerking forward, Ailith tried to pull her tunic from Isobel’s grasp. “Ya gave up being th’ master, remember? I weren’t good enough fer ya, remember? So, what makes ya think ya can dance in here and all of a sudden think I’ll be doin’ what ya tell me to do, eh?”
“Weren’t good enough? When you left my service, you understood the reasons why. We even gave you a part in making that decision. You didn’t have the training needed to constantly be around Kings and Queens who hold others’ lives within the palms of their hands and who believe a peasant’s life is worth less than that of their horses. Blood and ashes, Ailith. You understood that it had nothing to do with whether or not you were good enough. You left my service because the whims and egos of the nobility couldn’t put up with your unique personality without ordering your execution.”
Isobel sighed, and her shoulders slumped slightly. “What you believe right now isn’t what you believed then, and if we can get you through this, Ailith,” she shook the fist holding Ailith’s tunic to make sure she had her full attention, “and we will get you through this, then I know you’ll understand again why you had to leave my service.”
Isobel shoved the one knife into its sheath and then retrieved the second from Shirin and shoved that into a sheath as well. She tucked both into her belt behind her back.
Kemi came through the breezeway carrying a pair of leather boots. Normally she wouldn’t deign to be an errand girl for anyone, but seeing that both Sábria and Shirin were helping the Lady Knight deal with Ailith had reinforced her understanding of just how important rehabilitating the shiv was to the Arch Priestess. She handed the boots to Isobel. “There’s a pair of dry stockings tucked on in each one, My Lady. They’re the same size as the other boots, and they should fit her just fine.”
Isobel nodded her thanks and held the boots out for Ailith. “Here. Find a dry spot to sit and put these on.”
Even though Ailith was still angry, the idea of having a clean pair of stockings appealed to her. She hadn’t liked the odors wafting up from her feet at night when she pulled off her boots and knew from her time in the Army that a soldier with dirty wet feet would soon have the black rot eating away at their toes and skin. She’d seen it happen to a few soldiers, and it wasn’t a very pleasant way to die.
She grabbed the boots and stepped over to the same grain table she’d upended earlier when she’d gotten so angry with Emlyn. She turned her back to the table and rested her palms against it. In that way, she was able to push herself up onto the tabletop, retrieve the stockings and pull them on beneath her trews. She pulled the boots on next. They were a bit snug around her calves, which were larger than most, but the well-worn leather fit comfortably around her foot. An unpleasant thought occurred to her, and she wondered whose boots they’d been. She looked up at Kemi and asked, “These ain’t Maeira’s boots?”
Sábria shook her head. “No, Child. Maeira was put on her funeral pyre wearing her full-dress uniform. Boots included.”
Sábria’s comments brought back Ailith’s memories of the anger and humiliation she’d suffered at the hands of the Blades. Her cheeks flamed red as she glared at the Arch Priestess. “And how would I know that? Ya fowkers didn’t allow me to send her on her way, now, did ya?”
All of the women saw the muscles in Ailith’s jaw jump, and it was obvious she was trying to hold back the tears.
This time when Ailith stalked over to the shovel, Isobel let her go. The knight watched her a moment and then motioned for the others to follow her a short distance away. “Sending a warrior’s spirit into the afterworld is more than a sacred right to the mountain people. It’s more of a spiritual obligation. You hadn’t mentioned in your letter to the Duke that she’d been kept from the funeral pyre. There’s no doubt that added to her anger, rage, and humiliation. Possibly more so than what the others did in her room.”
“I had no idea. I never would’ve kept her from it if I’d known.” Sábria thought about that for a moment. “Well, I can’t say that’s exactly true. At that point, people believed she was partly responsible for Maeira’s death, even though the attack that killed her happened before Ailith supposedly ran away. Ailith wouldn’t have been welcomed at the funeral pyre, and with the emotions running so high, keeping her safe from her fellow Blades would have been a distraction from the funeral rites.”
