Epic Of Palins 01 - Dagger Star (2 page)

“We’ve shelter,” Bethral said quietly, as if that excused the man. She removed her cloak and moved farther down the aisle. “There’s water and buckets.”

“Let’s get at it, then.” Red tied off Beast and Steel. “You water them, and check Beast for me.

I’ll get the gear.” She pulled off her sodden cloak and tossed it on a hook to dry. “By the Twelve, everything is soaked,” she swore. “What do you wager the food is wet and mucked, eh?”

Bethral nodded absently as she pulled two buckets from the trough. The horses stirred, straining as she placed the water down in front of them. “Easy,” she crooned as they drank.

Well, no point in talking now that Bethral was focused on the beasts. Red grumbled under her breath as she pulled the sopping saddlebags off Steel. She grunted as she took the full weight and lugged them to a nearby bench. Next the saddlebags from Beast, who stomped a front foot as the weight was removed, but never pulled his head out of the bucket.

Bethral was stroking them as they drank and then reached to feel between Steel’s forelegs and chest. “They need walking out.” She kept a hand on Beast as she knelt to check his leg. “There’s no swelling. We’ll know more in the morning.”

Red grunted as she pulled the saddle off Beast. “The cloaks didn’t protect much.” She placed the saddle on a rack nearby. “Leather will have to be worked in the morning.”

Bethral removed Steel’s saddle, and racked it as well. The bridles, too, leaving the horses with their halters.

Red untied Beast, who threw his head toward the trough. She pulled his head down, and started to walk him down the long aisle. “Stop that, Beast. You’ll cramp up for sure, and then where will I be? In a goat barn in the middle of nowhere, with a strange goatherder and naught for aid.”

Bethral snorted a laugh as she followed, leading Steel, and for a while there was no sound but hooves on beaten earth as they walked the horses down the wide aisle.

After a few minutes, Red handed off the lead to Bethral and went in search of what she could find. Her voice echoed the length of the barn. “There’s straw.”

“Fresh?”

“Well, dry at least,” Red answered.

Bethral kept the horses moving down the aisle and turned them just out of the light. “Any grain?”

“No, we’ll have to use our own. I did see clean rags, and some bottles and jars, but I can’t tell what’s in them.”

“Smell them.”

“I’m not sticking my nose in those, thanks kindly.” Red strode back into the aisle. “They cool yet?”

Bethral patted Beast on his chest, moving her hand down between his legs. “No.”

Red nodded, giving the wet gloves on her hands a tug to tighten their fit. “I’ll fork down the straw and hay, and get the grain ready.” She turned slightly, toward the ladder to the loft, only to pause at the base of the ladder. “You still have that molasses in your bag?”

Bethral gave her a look as she turned the horses again. Red shrugged. “Aye, I know, I said you were spoiling them too much with the sweet grain.” She pulled herself into the loft. “They’ve earned it, wading through the muck and mire of that bog for two days.”

“True enough.” Bethral’s voice floated up to her. “But whose fault was it that we were lost in the muck and mire to begin with?”

Red bit back a scathing retort and gripped the handle of the pitchfork she found in the loft. The wet leather of her gloves mushed against the wood; she snarled again, and set to work. First the horses, then themselves. Once she was dry and had food in her belly, Bethral could complain all she wanted.

And would.

Red attacked the straw, flinging it into the boxes below her. She made quick work of the task of the bedding and getting the grain ready. Normally Beast would fidget if he smelled grain and molasses, but he continued to walk with Bethral, calm as you please, as Red made up the feed buckets.

“They’re tired and hot.” Bethral said quietly. “A bit longer and I can let them eat.”

Red nodded. “I’ll see if I can find that foaling room.” She moved down the wide aisle, in the faint light of the lantern.

Sure enough, a door to the side opened into what could almost be another barn, it was so big. An open stall at one end, with a wide barn door, and two bunks at the other end, with a small hearth for heat. It was stale inside, as if no one had entered in some time. But there was a lantern inside the door, and Red took it up and returned to Bethral’s side.

“It’s there as he said, with a small hearth and bunks. I’ll drag down our gear.” She lit the lantern.

“Go. Get a fire started and get yourself dry.” Bethral said softly. “I’ll take care of the horses.”

Red gave her a grateful glance, and took up a bucket of water from the trough. It would be cold, but enough to get clean of the muck.

It took a moment to lay a fire, and it started to crackle at once. Red pushed the door shut to let the heat start to build in the room, and placed the water close enough to the fire to warm. There was a small copper pot that she usually used to make kavage; she found it in one of their packs and filled it. It sat by the fire, reflecting the light happily, a touch of the familiar in an unfamiliar place.

Her leathers came off easy but the linen padding underneath had to be peeled from her skin. Her nose crinkled as she got a good whiff. She stank.

She fumbled about in her saddlebag and pulled out her tunic and trous, and a spare set of gloves.

Slightly damp, but clean. She also found the soap.

With the heat on her skin, Red plunged her gloved hands into the bucket and started to work up a lather. It would feel so good to get some part of her clean and dry. Washing with the gloves on was something she was used to. Better than the alternative, that was certain. She’d dry them well, and oil them in the morning. Wouldn’t do to lose her extra pair. Too damn hard to replace.

She heard Bethral’s voice, and knew the man was back. She listened, then snorted softly. Her sword-sister was using the same voice she’d use to calm a shy horse. She’d seen it, too, in those brown eyes with gold flecks, seen the man’s grief. Knowing her sword-sister….

“I’m called Josiah,” Red heard him say through the door.

Red grinned. Frightened animals and people, they all trusted Bethral within a moment of hearing that voice. She chuckled, missing Bethral’s next words.

When the door banged open, she looked around in surprise.

JOSIAH banged through the door without a thought, his arms full of wood. But he froze there, mouth open, eyes drinking in the sight.

Red had turned to look at the door, her expression a question, her long brown hair hanging straight behind her, past her shoulders. The light of the fire danced over her burnished skin, for she stood naked as the day of her birth, except for the red gloves on her hands and the bar of soap she held.

Muscular and strong, with a few scars here and there. A warrior’s body, but that only added to her loveliness.

Her look was not astonishment or fear or embarrassment, as he would expect. Rather, her brown eyes sparkled with life as she took in his shock. After the pause lengthened to the point of pain, she arched an eyebrow at him, and planted one gloved hand on her hip. Her breasts swayed, the birthmark beneath her right breast a sharp, dark brown contrast to her skin.

Josiah sucked in a breath and backed away, dropping the wood. He thought he stammered an apology, but he wasn’t sure he was using actual words. He pulled the door shut, then stared at the closed door, still seeing her in his mind’s eye. Her breasts. Her birthmark.

A sound drew his attention, and he turned to see the tall blonde staring at him oddly, down by the horses. He moved her way, walking quickly, clearing his throat. “I interrupted her. At her bath.

I’m sor—”

Her expression stopped him cold. With a frown and a swift lunge, she was between him and the foaling room, pulling her sword. “Was she wearing her gloves?”

Josiah gaped at her in astonishment.

“Quick, man.” Bethral pushed him back toward the outside door, her focus down the corridor, as if fearing attack. “Did she have her gloves on?”

“WHAT?” Josiah repeated, his confusion growing by the moment.

“Was she wearing gloves?” The blonde was focused on the aisle and the door, her voice tense, her stance protective.

The image flashed before his eyes again: the naked warrior in the firelight. Something stirred in his groin, something he’d thought long dead. The soap glistening on her slick skin, the suds between the fingers of her….

“Yes,” Josiah said, clearing his throat to speak. “Yes, she was.”

“Oh.” Bethral’s tension melted away. She sheathed her sword and stepped back to the horses.

Josiah watched her, puzzled. “She was naked,” he explained. “I burst in on her.”

“So?” Bethral didn’t even bother to look at him. She just shrugged. “Red won’t care.”

Josiah frowned, glancing back toward the door. She certainly hadn’t appeared offended. She’d almost seemed…interested. Standing there, not moving, except that sardonic eyebrow raised in a question. And the dagger-star birthmark beneath her breast.

He swallowed hard.

The rattle of feed buckets pulled him back. The horses were eager as Bethral put the grain before them. She reached for a cloth then, and started rubbing the horses’ legs down as they chomped on the feed, murmuring to them softly.

“I’ve food to share, some stew and biscuits,” Josiah offered. “I’ll bring it out. To make amends.”

Bethral glanced over, her blue eyes warm. “There’s no amends needed.” She spoke softly, the sound easing some of the tension from Josiah’s shoulders. “But hot food would be welcome indeed.”

Josiah nodded, grabbed up his cloak, and headed back into the dark.

“RUDE pig.”

Bethral looked up from her task to see Red standing in the aisle, glaring through the open barn door at the rain outside. Or at Josiah’s figure disappearing into the mist.

“What was wrong with the man?” Red grumbled. “Certain sure, there’s nothing wrong with me.

A few scars, maybe, but I’m decent looking.”

Bethral snorted softly. Red had managed a quick wash and was dressed in her spare tunic and trous, a dagger at her belt, a fresh pair of dry gloves on her hands. Good. That would put her in a better mood. “Not so rude that he fails to give shelter to two strange women bearing weapons, when he has none.” Bethral turned back to rubbing the horses’ legs dry. “Perhaps he prefers his own sex.”

Red glared out the door and growled something under her breath.

“He offered to share his supper in apology,” Bethral added.

Red gave her a quick look. “Food?” She quirked an eyebrow at Bethral. “Well, then, maybe I can forgive his actions.”

Bethral chuckled.

Red grabbed a dry cloth. “I’ll finish this. The bags are wet clear through, but I pulled out your spares and put them by the fire. Go and change. I’ll get them watered and bedded for the night.”

Bethral straightened with effort. “I’ll do that.” She paused for a moment. “Red, you need to warn him. About—”

Red gave her a stubborn look. “I left them on, didn’t I? We’ll not be here long enough to—”

Bethral held up her hand to stop the familiar argument. “I’m too tired to argue.” She turned to go, aware that Red was muttering under her breath, but too tired to care. The surge of energy she’d felt before was gone, leaving exhaustion in its wake. It was all she could do to walk to the foaling room.

The birthing stall was large, but what drew her was the small fire by the two bunks. True to her word, Red had set out her clothes to warm.

Bethral heaved a sigh of relief as the warmth of the fire wrapped around her body. She was cold, and ached in every joint. It took the last of her strength to lift her arms and remove her chain shirt. She sighed deeply as the weight came off her shoulders.

She’d heard of elven chain that was half the weight of human make. Said to be as rare as elves themselves. Bethral shook her head. Might as well wish it was magic armor while she was at it.

She sat then, to pull off her boots and peel off her heavy leather trous. Muck and grit had gotten under every layer as she undressed, so she took her bucket and moved away from the fire to splash as much as she wished. The feel of the water on her skin revived her a bit.

Once dressed, she started in on the saddlebags. Red joined her once the horses were bedded, and they sorted out the few possessions they shared. Everything was wet, from their clothes to the provisions.

“The dried meat is fine, but the beans are wet.” Bethral set those items aside.

“We’ll need to clean everything tomorrow,” Red grumbled softly, pulling out a pack of spare bowstrings.

“And oil the armor and blades before rust sets in,” Bethral added.

Red lifted her head at the sound of the barn door opening and closing, and footsteps headed their way. The soft tap at the door made her give Bethral an amused glance. Bethral returned it.

Apparently their host had learned his lesson.

Bethral opened the door to find Josiah laden with a cloth parcel and a covered pot. He went to the fire and uncovered the stew. A tantalizing aroma filled the room, and Bethral took a deep breath.

“What is that scent?” Red asked, sniffing the air.

Josiah gave her an odd glance. “Marjoram.”

“Don’t know that spice,” Red said. “Smells good.”

She plopped down on one of the bunks, and Josiah gestured to Bethral to take the other. He sat before the fire, and unwrapped the bundle and started to dish out the stew.

“I don’t have three bowls.” He handed Red a full mug and a spoon.

Red dug in, not waiting a moment. Bethral accepted her mug with a smile. Josiah handed them each a biscuit, and for the moment they all three ate in silence. Josiah had emptied his bowl and was refilling Red’s mug when he spoke. “You are not from here.”

Bethral gave the man a long look over her mug. Smarter than he looked, then.

Red shrugged. “Never said we were.”

“What gave it away?” Bethral asked, curious. They’d worked on their language skills for some time.

Josiah shrugged. “A faint accent. And that you’ve not seen marjoram used in stew before. It’s fairly common in Palins.” His eyes slid over to Red, and then he looked back at Bethral. “And other things.”