Tara was up with the sun the next morning. She left her captive bound while she went in search of the stream that she knew flowed more or less parallel to the road on which they had been traveling. She took her time bathing and dressing. By the time she made her way back to the camp, Tara was feeling hungry again. She released the ropes that held Epona's limbs and tersely ordered her to prepare breakfast. Then she sat back down on her bedroll, drew out her sword, and began to sharpen it with a stone. She hadn't yet had time to maintain her weapon after the previous day's battle.
The slave made tea and took out a ration of bread and cheese, which she brought quietly to her owner. Without being told, Epona took a small bite of the food before laying it in Tara's hand, and then a sip from the steaming mug. The warrior jerked her head in approval before she ate. Tara made no offer to share, and Epona didn't ask.
At length, when breakfast was over, the warrior sheathed her weapon and rose to her feet. "Time to pack up," she said curtly. "You watch what I do. This'll be your job after this, understand?" The slender girl nodded. She watched closely as Tara packed their things into the cart, and then threw earth on the remaining coals of their fire. Lastly, the warrior took up the sacks containing her gold. She held them up and fixed Epona with a cold stare. "These," she said, "you never touch. If I even catch you breathing on them, I'll give you the beating of your life."
"Yes, ma'am." Epona flinched and turned aside slightly, as if to shield herself from a blow.
Tara maintained the menacing look for a moment or two before tossing the sacks into the cart and covering them with the rest of the supplies. "Get in," she ordered. The young woman climbed up. Without being told, Epona moved to where she had been bound the day before. Tara gestured. "Give me your hands," she instructed. "I think you're going to behave yourself, so I'll tie them in front of you this time. Don't make me regret it." The girl shook her head emphatically as the warrior bound her wrists, but said nothing. Tara couldn't quite restrain a smirk as she passed the ropes around Epona's body and tied her back against the wall of the cart. She'd expected the girl to be easy to dominate, and she was certainly being proved right.
But again, never be complacent,
she thought calmly, wrapping a few lengths of cord around Epona's slim legs.
I'd hate to have to waste my time tracking her down if she decided to run.
"Ma'am?" Tara paused in the act of turning away as the soft voice reached her. She turned back. Epona's head was bowed, and she was looking at her through the soft, black fringe of her lashes. "Please, where are we going?"
The warrior rested her hand on the hilt of her sword and put her head on one side. The hint of a smirk played about her lips. "Well, normally I'd say nowhere in particular," she said. "My work usually finds me without any problems. But I've spent nearly two months sleeping under the stars now, and I wouldn't mind a hot supper, a warm bath, and a soft bed in the near future. So we're heading east. There's a village about three days' ride that way; their inn has the best sherry this side of the sea." The prisoner nodded silently. "You've never done much sleeping on the ground, have you?" Tara was faintly amused as Epona shook her head. "You'll get used to it," she said, turning away. "And you'll get used to walking, too, once I've got myself a decent horse and gotten rid of this cart."
A decent horse.
Tara's lips curved upward as she swung into her mount's saddle. There was another reason she was heading for this particular town – it was renowned for its powerful horses. It had been a long time since she had owned a proper warhorse. If she could get one, she'd also be able to wear heavier armor again, and even carry a decent shield. She thought fondly of her sacks of coin.
Yes, this will be good,
she mused.
If I can get a few more jobs like this last one, maybe I can get myself set up properly again. Pretend these last two years never happened.
Her brown eyes grew pensive.
She had been a fighter all her life, and from the day she'd first left home, she had proved that. From barroom brawls to street muggings to actual battle, Tara had nearly always found a way to come out on top. She'd earned herself the nickname "Terror" from her fellow mercenaries after a particularly punishing brawl, in which she had dealt out three broken noses, many bruised ribs, and far too many black eyes to count; she herself had come out of it without a scratch. Tara had always possessed unusual physical strength, speed and agility, and she used them to great effect.
But even the powerful Tara wasn't immortal, and that had been proven two years ago. She had made many enemies in the course of her life. Until that fateful day, she'd always managed to stay one step ahead of them. Tara had been riding by herself over a flat stretch of land. She'd let the fact that she could see for miles make her a little complacent, and had let herself relax in the cool autumn breeze. Then it had seemed like the road erupted, as brigands burst out of the covered pits where they had been hiding. There had been only confusion and pain and darkness after that.
She had awakened in the dead of night with her face resting in a muddy pool of her own blood. She had been stripped of her armor and weapons, and her horse was nowhere to be found. Countless wounds had scored her flesh; she'd counted five arrow shafts protruding from her legs and left side. After a while, she'd realized that she wasn't too far from the place where she'd been ambushed. Even though she'd been more than half dead, Tara had managed to drag her broken body fifty yards back to the road, and collapse there. She'd then lain there for two days before a passing merchant spotted her and took her to a nearby town, where she had finally been seen by a healer. She never did find out which of her enemies had finally managed to track her down.
Her physical recovery had been slow, and her mental one even slower. Where she had been cold and ruthless before, she became even more so; her temper, which had always been short, became deadly. She'd been feared; now the tales of her exploits became almost legendary. Tara had lost track of how many souls had fallen under the pitiless edge of her blade. Hundreds, for sure. Maybe even thousands.
Tara's dark eyes warily scanned the road ahead as they traveled. Occasionally they moved upward to scrutinize the trees that overhung the road. She would be glad to get out of these woods, she reflected. She much preferred to travel in open spaces, where most threats could be seen and met properly. Tara idly loosened her sword in its sheath. Even her boundless energy had been a bit taxed by this last round of fighting. It had taken three long days of battle to bring down the city completely, and she'd had next to no sleep in that time. It would be good to rest at an inn for a while, she thought.
Maybe I'll stay three or four days, instead of one or two. Might as well get fully rested up before heading out again.
At noon, Tara stopped to let the horse drink and rest for a while. She gave him a bit of a rubdown, as well; a bit less thorough than the one she'd given him the night before. Then, as she hitched him back up to the cart, she thought of her prisoner.
Oh, right. I suppose I'd better check on her.
Epona looked at her timidly. She looked rather miserable, Tara thought. Coolly, the warrior checked the girl's bonds to ensure they weren't chafing her too badly. Then she pulled the cork from their water skin. "Here," she said shortly. "Open your mouth." The slave obeyed, and Tara let her have a few mouthfuls. With that, the mercenary headed back for the horse, and swung astride.
They made fairly good time that day. Tara found herself in a good mood by the time they stopped for the night. She went around to the back of the cart and released her prisoner. "Set up camp," she ordered as she pulled the cords from Epona's wrists. "I'll deal with the horse. You can start my supper once you've done that." The black-haired girl nodded quietly. Tara began to attend to the russet hide of the horse.
Horses had always been a private pleasure of Tara's. She not only enjoyed riding them, but also taking care of them. She couldn't really put her finger on why. It was something about the way a horse's coat looked after she'd groomed it – as smooth and shiny as satin. She hummed absently as she brushed him down, casting a glance at Epona every now and then as she worked.
It was interesting to watch the girl, Tara thought. Even though Epona's limbs were long enough to be almost ungainly, her movements were never clumsy. She moved with a certain subtle grace that peasant girls could never quite match.
She almost reminds me of a yearling colt,
