Chapter Text
A late summer breeze scattered leaves just outside Syndeo’s Crow Inn, a welcome cooling of the afternoon heat. It was fairly peaceful inside, the lull between the lunch crowd and the more boisterous patrons who’d soon swarm the place looking for dinner and, most importantly, ale. A smattering of customers sat at the small tables, eating and chatting.
A shadow fell across the doorway. A tall, armored figure stepped across the threshold in a posture of confident arrogance. Armored, yes – but not the familiar brass and linens of the army. This was a mercenary. The bartender’s eyes narrowed a little as the figure approached. Then his gaze fell on the pale face beneath the helm, and his jaw sagged in surprise.
“Hey. Looking for someone.” The voice was unmistakably female.
She rested a half-closed fist on the bartop. His gaze dropped to it. Woman’s or not, the hand was large and callused, and the tendons of the wrist hinted at strength. He looked back up, warily. “Yeah?”
“A woman,” the fighter said. “Short. Long black hair, loud, likes her ale. Name of Drea.”
He grunted. “She didn’t give her name, but there’s someone here like that. She’s…” He paused to eye her. “You’re kind of a long way from home, aren’t you? I mean, even here in Syndeo, we don’t get many who look like you.”
The woman didn’t smile. “Yeah, Croy’s a ways away. Drea here or not?”
He pointed at a corner. “Over there, past the fireplace.” He paused meaningfully. “We don’t want trouble.” Her dark eyes lingered on him for a moment. Then, without another word, she turned away.
She hadn’t taken more than five steps across the room when a voice rang out. “Tara! The Terror of Croy. That is you, isn’t it?” The warrior stopped as someone rose from a corner table. She was a short, compact woman with the olive skin and dark hair typical of Agrians. “It’s about time you showed up. How are you, you old warhorse? Haven’t seen you in three years.”
“Still kicking.” Tara's lips curved faintly. “That’s better than most.”
Drea laughed. She sat down on a stool and waved a hand at the other. “Sit down, let’s talk. Figure out how to make this work.” Tara accepted the mug her companion offered her. Drea snapped her fingers. “Epona, ale.” A girl scurried to bring a flagon. “I have to admit, I was surprised when I got your letter. I never figured you’d come back. Not enough excitement in the sailing game these days?”
“Nah. Not enough sword. Or coin.” Tara rested her arms on the table. “Learned a lot of stuff. Not sorry I did it, yeah? But need to get back to what I’m good at.”
“Fair enough,” Drea said, taking a mouthful of ale. She sat back in her chair. “So, tell me. How much are you thinking? You’re a damn good fighter, so I’m interested, if the price is right.”
Tara smiled a little. “Won’t break you,” she said. “Just need enough gold to get me to Croy.”
The captain arched her brows. “Croy? You’re heading home? I thought you said you’d never set foot back in that place.”
“Mm.” Tara drank. The ale was harsher than she’d expected, but had a nice finish. “Maybe things have changed a little. Might want to take it a bit slower for a while. See the old place, talk to some people. You know how it is.”
“Not sure I do,” Drea said with a laugh, “but whatever makes you happy, Terror.” She leaned back against the wall. “So, gold enough to get you to Croy. If you were anyone else I’d probably haggle, but I know what I’m getting with you. Done. And you can have first choice of any armor we take in the battle.”
Tara grunted. “Sounds good.” Her eyes moved to where the slave, having brought their ale, was cleaning Drea’s boots near the hearth. Impulse struck. “What about her? She’s yours, right? Throw her in, too.”
Drea looked back in surprise. “Who, Epona?”
“Yeah.” Tara shrugged and sipped her drink. “Could use someone to cook and clean for me while I travel. Say no if you want.”
“She’s not much of a trophy,” Drea said. “We took her in our last raid. Only reason I’ve still got her is the merchants wouldn’t even take her for free. Said she’d die on the way to Chrys if they tried marching her that far.”
That could be true, Tara thought. Epona was a scrawny thing, with bird bones and large, dark eyes. She was disheveled, as bandit slaves were wont to be, but Tara thought she could see the promise of beauty under the smeared mud and ash. “Don’t need her to run to Croy. Just want my dinner fixed and my washing done.”
“Suit yourself.” Drea snapped her fingers again. “You, slave. Come here.” Epona dropped her work and hastily obeyed. The bandit pointed at Tara. “You belong to her now. She owns you. Got it?”
Epona gazed at the redhead for a moment. There was intelligence in that gaze, Tara thought. “Yes, mistress,” Epona murmured. “Do you have orders for me?”
“Nah. Keep quiet and come back to my room later. Figure things out there.” Tara gestured at a corner. “Go over there and wait.” The slave obeyed. Tara dismissed her and turned her attention back to Drea. “So, tell me, how’d that last raid go? Must’ve been good if you got slaves.”
“Damn good,” Drea agreed. “There’s been a bit of a spat between my father and some lord to the west. He thought he had a claim to two of our vineyards. Politics didn’t work, so my father sent me in.” She smiled, her eyes half-shut. “He won’t be a problem anymore.”
Tara’s brows lifted. “A lord? Won’t be problems later?”
“Not after this next job, no.” Drea chuckled. “My father had all the right allies – all except one. We’ve taken out the lord. Now you’re going to help me take out the town that was helping him.” She rested her chin on her hand. “So yeah, there’s a town to neutralize. Not destroy, mind. It’s got a decent little wine industry going that benefits my family...indirectly, shall we say. But the town reeve doesn’t like my father much, and he’s got enough of a militia built up that he’ll still need some persuasion.”
The redhead grunted. “So beat on the soldiers, sweet talk the bigwigs.”
“In that order, yes.” Drea leaned back as a barmaid set steaming trays on the table. “I’ll want you for the shock and awe, Terror. Seem to remember you being pretty good at theatrics. But we can talk about all that later, yeah? For now, we’ve got good food and cold beer.” Tara toasted her with a grin.
They chatted and traded war stories far into the night. At last, Tara took her leave. She gestured for her new slave to follow; Epona fell into step behind.
Her room appeared the same as she’d left it. Tara didn’t relax until she’d made very sure of that. Then she closed the door and gave her purchase a more thorough inspection. Epona’s limbs were soft, and Tara could easily feel her ribs through her tunic. That would change, but it would take time. “Know how to cook and clean?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Epona said quietly.
“Mm. Saw you polish Drea’s boots. Can you polish armor?”
Epona nibbled her lip. “I’ve never done it, no, ma’am. I think I could manage it. I’ve watched the soldiers do that around the fire at night.”
“Bet you have.” Tara’s eyes narrowed in thought. She took the slave’s hands and examined them, running her fingers over her palms. The skin was a roughened from work, but the only notable calluses were on the tips of her fingers. “You play harp,” Tara said. “Bet you know how to read.”
The slave swallowed. “Yes, ma’am,” was all she said.
Tara grasped the girl’s chin and turned her head to examine her profile. Dirt couldn’t hide everything. A fine, straight nose. Full, well-formed lips. Tara brushed her thumb over a high cheekbone. “Drea know you’re a noble?”
Epona’s eyes filled with tears. “No, ma’am. Please don’t tell them. They killed everyone, I don’t want to die.”
“Your family? Assume your dad was the lord Drea was talking about.” Tara let her thumb move down to Epona’s lips. “All dead?”
“Yes,” Epona whispered. “All of them. But the soldiers thought I was a servant.”
Would Drea really kill the girl if she was told? Maybe. The woman had a vindictive streak. Tara studied her prize. “You’re not pure Agrian. Not as tiny and pale as you are.”
“My mother was from the west somewhere.,” the girl murmured. “I don’t know where. My father wouldn’t speak of it.”
Bristi, perhaps? Maybe even Croyan, like herself? Tara pursed her lips. “Hm.”
“Please don’t tell them, ma’am.” Epona was trembling. “Please.”
“Nah,” Tara said. “Won’t let ‘em hurt you, runt. You’re mine, so I’ll keep you. Quiet now.” The slave fell silent. “I don’t got a lot of rules. First, you do what I say, when I say. Got it?” Epona nodded wordlessly. “Good. Second, no more looking like a piglet. Starting tomorrow, you wash every morning.”
Epona let out a sigh of relief. “Yes. Yes, of course. They wouldn’t let me bathe, they said it wasted time when I could be working.”
“Got you to do three things, mostly.” Tara counted on her fingers as she spoke. “You cook, you clean, and you do what I say. Do all that, and I’ll feed you. Mouth me off, and I’ll break every bone in your body. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Epona lowered her eyes. “I’ll work hard.”
“Good. We might get along.” Tara looked around the room, then pointed below the foot of her bed. “Get my bedroll and put it here. You can sleep there tonight.”
She’d done well, she thought later. Tara laid her head on her headrest and gazed up at the ceiling. One last job, and she could take her new armor and slave and head back to Croy. She could get there before autumn really set in.
Croy. It stuck in her memory like a tick. She’d promised herself she’d never return again as she’d watched it disappear on the horizon, years ago. The time since had been good to her. She’d learned to use a sword, and use it well. She’d made a name for herself as a fighter and a sailor. She’d made friends and enemies, she’d traveled to huge cities and remote deserts and wild oceans. But she’d been restless lately, an unease that wasn’t satisfied with her usual travels. Somehow, despite the ugly memories that still haunted her, she missed Croy. She missed the rocky beaches and green, rolling hills. She missed the salty sea air with that peculiar tang that meant home.
Not that she was sure what that really meant in this context. She gathered that most people felt some kind of affection for their homes. People waxed poetic about their mother’s cooking, or the beauty of a landscape, or old friends. Tara gazed up into the darkness. She had little love for Oisri, the fishing village where she’d grown up, but at least it was familiar. That was worth something, maybe. She could feel the persistent itch of unfinished business. She wasn’t sure what that business was yet, but she knew it was there somewhere, in her hometown.
Would probably involve punching certain people in the mouth. Tara’s lips curved. It was a pleasant mental picture. Maybe she’d dream about it. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off.