Misha's camp had survived without her. Years ago, when she had been young and hungry, dwarfed by the legend of her ancestresses, that might have offended her. But now it made her proud to know that this thing she had built could stand on its own.
There had been hiccups. When Samar had told her horror stories of the discipline problems cropping up in her absence, she had assumed he was exaggerating. He hadn't been. And Chaarumathi's return had caused a stir. Through no fault of her own, Chaaru had split the company into factions, one supporting her as the new chief and the other opposing her. There had been rumors of an impending duel, one which both Chaaru and the interim chief had told her they did not want. Misha believed them. It was moot now regardless, because her return had silenced any such rumblings.
Now Misha rode on her horse, at the head of the Laghari Company once again. Today, her warriors were spread out on either side of a caravan that ambled across the muddy roads from the mountains to the sea. The Laghari company did the good, honest work of protecting good, honest folk from bandits.
A horse thundered up next to hers. "Captain," said a sharp female voice in a mountain accent. "A word?"
Misha turned to see Ihina the scout glaring at her. She would have taken that as a challenge, except she knew that Ihina was physically incapable of not glaring, so she did not raise her guard. "What is on your mind, scout?"
"I'm dying here," said Ihina. "We haven't had a battle since you came back. I'm a warrior, and there's nothing for me to do!"
"There is more to life than battle, scout, even for fighting women such as us. I seem to recall that, three times last week, you have been sent to reconnoiter for possible bandit hideouts."
"And I found nothing! I'm dying of boredom here."
"There are far worse fates than that, scout."
That made her cool down a little, but only a little. "It's just that I need plunder, Captain. It used to be, we got the chance to plunder every couple of months, but now it's nothing. I want..." she looked over her shoulder, making sure none of the merchants were listening. "I want to capture a man. That's the main reason I joined this company. It's time to stop being single."
"I understand better than you know. But if a husband is your goal, then I will remind you that there are many unmarried men in the Laghari Company."
"None of them will talk to me!"
"There are many more men who are slaves. It is possible one of them is for sale."
"I haven't got the money!" Ihina snapped, then she tempered herself again. "...Captain."
"How much are you paid, scout?"
"Twelve Queens every month."
"And how much do you spend?"
"Two." She shrugged. "Okay, eight, whenever we're in town."
"Then, should you curtail your spending, in about four years' time you will have more than enough to purchase a man capable of satisfying any need you have."
"Four years!" She said it as if she'd never heard of such a stretch of time.
"You face the prospect of four years without a man, and then the rest of your life with one. That is not so bad." Misha smiled. "I understand, Ihina, truly. You are young and hungry. You are eager to make your mark on the world before life passes you by. You are heedless of obstacles, as a young woman should be." Misha leaned in closer, and her smile grew wicked. "But if I were you, I would be grateful to be alive. I heard about what happened to your brother-in-arms Shiro. He named you as one of his attackers."
Ihina went pale. "You're... taking his side?"
"There were only two eyewitnesses, and the other is less than certain that you were one of the guilty. I do not hang women on the word of just one man, but there are many who would. Rather than complain of your pay, you should thank the gods that your missteps have not led you to the grave."
Ihina pursed her lips. Her eyes went wide, and Misha even thought she saw tears glisten on them.
"Now," said Misha, "Return to your place."
Ihina did not need to be told twice.
Misha smiled to herself. That had been extreme. Perhaps even cruel. But Ihina was a type of woman that Misha understood well, because the Laghari lineage was full of them. Such women didn't respond to soft-handed correction, but when put in line, they served well. They did well for themselves too.
That night, the merchants gathered in their caravan, and they let the mercenaries not on watch join in the merrymaking. Someone brought out a guitar and someone else, a flute, and together they were whistling out a bouncy, joyous tune. Everyone danced. Misha watched as Chaaru obligingly twirled around with a few star-struck caravan boys and then, finally, extended her hand to Jalil. As soon as their hands met, Chaaru truly came alive.
She orbited around Jalil, and where other men would have been confounded, Jalil kept up with her, following her with his hands, with his eyes, giving her a steady spot to caper around, pulling her in when she needed it. Watching, it was hard to believe it was all spontaneous.
During a lull in the music, Chaaru sat down to rest, sweating and happy, and Misha could not help saying, "Your marriage to him has been a very good thing."
"I'm so glad I have him!" Her whole body pumped with sincerity, and with the latent energy of the dance. "He always listens to me, he helps with everything, he gives me massages..." She stretched, as if reliving a memory of his palms on her back. "And he gets up to make us breakfast every morning. I get to spend longer in bed, and I love it!"
"By the way you look at him, I can think of another reason why you've been spending more time in bed."
Chaaru colored and gave a big, guilty smile.
"I have to confess, when you two first married, I did not take it seriously as I should have. I thought Jalil would hold your interest for a while, and then lose it and be forgotten." She remembered Chaaru and Jalil joining hands as they circled around a pot of perfumed broth, saying their wedding vows as was Chaaru's native custom. She remembered Chaaru promising to be patient and wise and Jalil promising to be diligent and obedient. Those were promises kept.
And that, in turn, got Misha thinking about her own marriage, specifically that she had none. She had put it off many times already and nearly gone to ruin, unmarried. Now, by some grandly undeserved stroke of luck, she was back in her old position as captain of the company, and she was determined not to repeat her old mistakes. She looked around for the nearest man, not caring who it was. She saw a strapping merchant lad of about twenty sitting on the sidelines. "You, boy," she said to him. "Let us dance!"
Hours later, Misha was in the warmth of her tent, seated on a mound of blankets layered over a wooden chest, her back against a heavy stack of boxes. Most of her clothing was gone, exposing everything from her shoulders down to her knees. She held her legs open, and she breathed hard as the young merchant man pushed his shaft into her.
He had the enthusiasm of a good lover. He had the energy. But he did not have the discipline. Thrice now, she had ordered him to slow down, and if he obliged her to say it a fourth time, she was determined to put a collar around his neck and leash him like a slave, just to remind him who was the woman. Not that that would mean much to him, born and raised as he was in the barbarism of patriarchy.
But thankfully, it seemed, that would not be necessary. Finally, he was looking into her eyes, matching his movements with hers, treating her and him as one. His speed had calmed to a pleasant, lively rhythm, and his grip on her thighs was firm and not too tight, and Misha was starting to enjoy herself.
He spent into his condom, and--here was the advantage of younger men!--recovered and was back at it in no time. Misha told him to finger her, and he did, and with some guidance brought her to orgasm. He gave her only one, but one, Misha decided, was enough. He finished again, and, finally, he was spent.
They lay on the blankets together, and gradually the pink mist cleared from Misha's mind. Where her body had felt like a rushing river, it settled into a tranquil lake once again.
The young man lay halfway between sleep and wakefulness, blissfully smiling at her. He held her hand, which was nice, but he was clearly too gone to hold a conversation.
The more she cooled off, the more ridiculous this encounter seemed. This man was young and clueless. Perhaps he would mature into a thoughtful husband and a hardworking father, but Misha would be old by then. She thought back to the dance and to Chaarumathi happy with her husband, and Misha laughed at herself. This man she'd brought into her tent was useless to her as a suitor. He was only good for fun. Even at that, she'd had better; if he had been a whore in the mountain-canyon brothel she'd frequented long ago, she would have tried someone else on her next visit.
The next morning, she kissed him goodbye and saw him off without asking his name.
Gavriil was handsome, there could be no doubt about that. But he was in many ways the opposite of most handsome men.
Most handsome men filled Misha with warmth. Most of them filled her head with fantasies of commanding them to kneel and be vulnerable, of seeing into their hearts and learning all their secrets. Of taking away their clothes, of taking away whatever they'd been before until they were nothing but lovers, men who existed purely to serve and please her.
Gavriil did the reverse. With him, Misha felt her passions cool. Her worries ebbed, her almost-forgotten grudges fled her mind completely, and her muscles relaxed. With Gavriil's hands on her naked back, massaging the stress and pain out of her hard-bitten body, she felt as if she could fall asleep at any moment. Oddly enough, when she laid him on his back and rode him, it had the same effect. His strong, soft body and strong, soft voice made her feel so calm, she felt as if she were in a trance. When she wanted to relax, he was just the man for that. But when she wanted excitement, he was no help at all.
Misha felt bored. It occurred to her to dismiss Gavriil, even as he was in the middle of massaging her, but she was enough the lady that she could wait for him to finish. Then she got another idea. She would never want to marry such a staid and unsurprising man, but she realized that she knew somebody who would.
"Gavriil?" she said. "Did it ever cross your mind to wonder if ever I would marry?"
