"Can't imagine why." He laughed, more for his own sake than anything. "I said what I meant, Ammy. I always will."
Amaranth furrowed her brow, puzzling over those words for a moment. When they'd crossed another twenty feet or so and she was still for want of meaning, she looked to him. "Refresh my memory?"
"Nah," the man shrugged. "You'll figure it out. . . "
"Come hell or low land?"
"High water."
"Tch."
#
That night, the entourage set up camp off the path, nearly a hundred paces into the brush so as not to draw attention of any passing travelers or undesirables. To the untrained eye, they probably looked like a traveling mercenary company; Well armed and equipped, trained and disciplined, telling anyone that watched them that trying to steal their gear would require besting the people to which it belonged.
Once they'd finished burning the thicket down to bare ground and cast a rune circle to protect them from the perpetual growth of the woods- and their inhabitants- the sergeant at arms brought the horses to the corners of their encampment while the men set up the Duke's tent and their own, smaller, shelters. Inside of a couple hours they'd terraformed the dense patch of wood and brambles into an oasis among the greenery, likely the only 'safe' place in the entire forest.
If rune casting had been any less expensive, the main paths could have been protected, but as it was, they would have to ration their runes and their casting for the trip. It was at that point that Amaranth wondered if they had brought too many people. They'd need the men if they ran into lycans, but there wasn't much that could be done with their mundane weapons. The most they could hope to do would be to drive off the threat and escape. If fate was feeling particularly merciful.
The sergeant at arms went through the ranks assigning patrols and the like while men set up a cooking pit and broke out the first meal of the day; deer for the humans and hay for the horses. They'd eat during the night so they didn't need to stop during the day. It was a strange custom that Amaranth had never really figured out, or bothered to adhere to. What was even stranger was Richard's form milling about with the men dressed in simple cotton clothes the color of mud, helping set up right along side them. He'd break down camp with them, too.
Both Amaranth and his father had taught him well. The men fussed and made way for him, but he integrated himself well, neither being a burden or using the considerable strength she knew hid in those sinewy muscles to show off. She found herself smiling a little as she watched his- relatively- young body move.
He had a gentle strength about him, the kind of power that could have been built up with the life of a carpenter without the thick calluses to match. He wasn't tall and broad like Markus, but he had the same kind of presence; he drew from his natural leadership and the subtle gifts his more secret heritage had given him. He used that physical strength to earn respect, like he used his soothing voice and strong hands, with great care. Had things been different, had she not been his supplicant. . .
There were so many things wrong with the ideas swirling between her pointed ears, but she couldn't help herself. It wasn't wrong for her to dream- but by the gods, he would have made a good father. Kind, generous, humble and still firm enough to carry his station in a world gone completely insane. If anyone knew what he truly was, they would have hunted him. Yet he chose to stand in bold faced defiance of that and
help
the very people who had the most hatred for his kind. No human would have done that. None of them were that strong.
Amaranth nibbled her lower lip as he watched him heft the axe and start towards one of the trees at the edge of camp. She smiled privately at the men who parted for him. If they had
any
idea.
"Fine boy he turned out to be," Markus's throaty voice startled her. "Shame his father isn't around."
Amaranth pushed off from the half sunk post of her own tent. "I think his mother would be more proud, she always wanted him to be industrious."
Without so much as a look, he picked up one of her tent posts and started pounding it in the ground with a mallet. They were both creatures of habit; her not in a hurry to block her view of the stars and he in a hurry to protect her from the chill encroaching on their camp. "Hey, Ammy?"
"Hm?"
"That 'nothing' we talked about earlier. . . You want to talk about it now?"
"I don't, no."
He sighed. "It's hard to like you sometimes."
"Try being me." She managed to tear her gaze from her Duke, picking up a tent peg. "It's nothing, Markus. . . Female problems, hm?"
"Heh. Thought you didn't-"
"It's nothing that need be discussed."
"Can't fight your body, Ammy. . . Human enough, ay?"
"It's complicated." Amaranth said with finality, falling into silence as the steady pounding rhythm of the pegs, rustling canvas and clatter of arms and armor filled the camp. When all was said and done. The horses and men fed, Amaranth took first watch with a hand full of the younger soldiers.
She would stand watch for half the night while Markus took the other half, they were expected to set the standard and serve as Richard's personal guard, should something go wrong. The soldiers would rotate out every two hours to ensure everyone was rested and fed. It was a familiar, though seldom practiced security ritual. As the half-elf grabbed her canvas folding chair, a thought struck her.
She had no books.
In her rush to leave, she'd forgotten to pack any books or even scrolls to read! She had paper and charcoal, but her attention was needed to keep watch and she couldn't split her focus. A curse nearly spilled from her lips before she plonked down heavily on the chair. No books, no reading. Just stillness and the croon of the insects of the night.
No, it wasn't a lost cause, she could still clean and maintain her gear. A far cry from a good story, but at least it was
something.
Yes, she promised herself. Leathers would need to be oiled, blades sharpened and armor polished. She had her activities for the rest of her watch, then. But no books? She had remembered to pack her favorite dress but somehow forgot the works of Blakewell and Crouse? "Hmph."
She settled down, gaze flicking about the camp and briefly settling on the ornate three room tent that occupied the center left of the camp. The sergeant at arms and his personal contingent would be staying with Richard in one of the rooms and he would be in one, too. Briefly she wondered how likely it would be for her to get in there during the night, but quickly dismissed it. Two months had filled her mind with things that didn't belong there. . . That distraction was going to become a problem.
Amaranth drew her ornate broadsword and began polishing its basket hilt. It was a light thing, lighter than many of the steel swords worn by the soldiers, but its craftsmanship and balance made wielding it as much an extension of her body as the fingers she wrapped around its leather grip.
Eastern sword styles were much different than what she had practiced growing up, relying more on heavy slashing and turning the opponent to ground than the graceful, fluid movements of the elven
Letechan
, literally 'Sword Play' style that cast combatants as leading roles in a three act play that would only end with the death of one of actors.
Amaranth smiled wanly in the dying light of the cooking fire as she cleaned her blade. There had only been two plays she participated in, yet she'd been quick to study, quick to script new moves that she quietly wanted to put to use. To please and impress both Richard and Markus. A half-blood had a lot to prove as it was, a half-elf
woman
had mountains to move before they could expect to be accepted as equals. Years of service were easily forgotten among the quickly changing nature of humans and their cities, making displays all that more important.
Her hand glided down the girth of the blade, reveling in its hum under the whetstone. From the swept basket hilt to the thick, penetrating tip that would give nothing. The blade would keep pushing, deeper and deeper, piercing through armor, through soft flesh, into the damp pink of a quivering, sweaty. . .
Amaranth chewed her lower lip as the image in her mind melted from combat to something far, far more enjoyable. She'd spent so much time hiding from what she was becoming, afraid that the men around her would think less of her, that they'd suddenly become disinterested or worse yet, scared. She did this, all the while knowing that, deep down, she was the one who was scared. There was no coming out on top of this situation, no matter who's child it was, she was going to destroy friendships and more with what she carried in her womb.
A sigh parted her lips while she slumped forward and ran her fingers through her luxurious hair. When she spoke, her voice was a haggard whisper, "Elisandra, I never ask for anything, but I could really use your help. . ." She sat there in silence for nearly a minute before she sighed again. Asking for help from the Goddess of Guides made as much sense as trying to pray to Isira to protect virgins from lust.
The irony was that Isira was also a goddess of virginity- of the perpetual variety. Maybe that meant there would be some hope for Amaranth. Priests and paladins of Elisandra were expected to have all the answers, to guide mortals in their daily lives and tackle the future confidently. Her dogma expressly forbade her faithful from asking Her for help and learning by doing. But what happened when doing would possibly cause more harm than good? The gods did seem to enjoy irony.
Something rustled behind her. Amaranth jumped to her feet and spun into a defensive stance, sword at the ready. Someone, a man, was peeking around the edge of her tent. Cloaked in shadow, it was hard to make out distinct features but when he spoke, the recognition was instantaneous; it was Richard. Her Duke. "Hardly the time for self loathing, don't you think?" A flicker of light caught his eyes, reflecting it as a glimmer of bright green.
She almost bowed, but he was just that bit quicker; he cleared the distance between them and took her hand, leading her into the shade of her the stand up tent. She was so caught off guard by his advance that she couldn't stop him to ask what he was doing.
