The next day, riding south with their escorts, Varia and Curtis talked at length, speaking American for privacy. She learned much about his odyssey, and he gained a much better picture of the empire.
Not that they talked continuously. The day was clear but breezy, and cool for Six-Month—ideal for riding and enjoying the countryside—and there were moments of looking about, soaking up perceptions. Once, far overhead, an eagle screamed, and for a time, seven vultures, black as crows, sailed in silent, effortless circles. While the marsh, when they reached it, drew the eyes. It stretched beyond the edge of vision—expanses of cattails, black pools sheened with limonite, and here and there patches of ten-foot reeds, or islands of brush and trees. Creeks the color of tea passed with imperceptible currents beneath stone bridges, while along their narrow back channels, muskrat lodges humped like miniature beaver dens.
For Varia there were moments of reflection. Curtis had just told her of Arbel and his system of training, which obviously had had powerful effects. Yet he was still Curtis, Curtis transformed, much more powerful and charismatic now. Curtis minus much of the imprinting laid on him by family, church, and community, that had prepared him for life in Washington County. Before she'd slept, the night before, Raien had murmured, in reflections of his own, "We met a true lion today, Varia, the Lion of Farside. And discovered a friend."
The Lion of Farside. The metaphor had its attraction, but Curtis wasn't normally ferocious, certainly not cold-blooded. Deadly perhaps, and powerful, but not cold-blooded.
When they left the marsh behind, Varia was telling him of the irrepressible Hermiss, who lived at Ternass, and the stories she'd told her of life on Farside.
"Hmh! I wonder if she made the connection between your Macurdy and the marshal of the southern army."
"I doubt it. I don't think I mentioned your last name; to me you've always been Curtis, and Will was Will. Sisters and ylver are like most Rude Landers about names: mostly we use just one, however many you have."
The road topped a low hill, and now Varia could see, ahead and to her left, large ovals of ashes. Soldiers raked them, finding and piling bones, while prisoner details dug pits. This, she realized, was the battlefield, where the pyres had burned and the bones would be buried. Raien would be glad to know these things were being done.
They left the road, angling toward the broad tent camp of the southern army, a mile or so ahead. In the fields, whole cohorts played ball, a hundred in each game, or each melee. She wondered how many bones would be broken before the day was over.
Approaching camp, they sent their escorts off to the Kullvordi tentment. Her ylver would be fed there, and have tents assigned them. Then Macurdy led her to his headquarters tentment. As they approached Melody's tent, Varia felt curiosity, and a certain tension. "I hear her talking," Macurdy murmured, still in American, and halted his horse outside. He helped Varia down, though she didn't need help, and led her in as the two women inside looked up.
Varia stared startled, for one of the women was Hermiss, who stared back with her mouth open. "Varia!" she squealed, and rushing to her, hugged her hard, then stepped back to arm's length. "Oh Varia! You're so beautiful! As beautiful as ever. More, with your hair grown out! Where have you been? It's so wonderful to see you!"
Macurdy watched quizzically, and spoke in Yuultal. "If I had to guess, I'd say you two know each other."
"This is Hermiss that I told you about. My friend on the ride north."
"Ah! Maybe you two ought to go off and talk for an hour or so." He looked at Melody. "If it's all right with you? You and I have things to talk about, too." Melody nodded, frowning more from uncertainty and worry than hostility.
Varia and Hermiss went out into the sun, where Hermiss's horse was picketed too. They mounted, and rode northwest half a mile to a low hill. On the top, they remained in the saddle, watching the breeze riffle the grasses and wildflowers. "What were you doing in Colonel Melody's tent?" Varia asked.
The girl sobered at once. "I . . . Do you remember when I wondered what it would be like to be raped? I found out. Two nights ago. Some soldiers, Kormehri, came into town and grabbed fifteen of us, and took us to their camp." No longer animated, she described the ordeal. "But we were lucky, otherwise I might be dead now. Only three or four did it to me before Marshal Macurdy came and stopped them. All by himself in the middle of all those horny Kormehri with their breeches off! And when the Kormehri captain wouldn't obey him, Marshal Macurdy killed him with his sword! Then another officer wouldn't either, and he killed him too, and made the soldiers form ranks, and marched them off without their breeches."
She giggled with tension and the image, then hiccuped. Varia could see her quivering. "And do you know what? When he killed the second officer, there was a glowing light on the end of his sword! Some of the other girls saw it too. Then another officer took us to the Sisters, and they gave us pallets, and did magic to heal us and keep us from getting pregnant, and talked to us for quite awhile, asking us questions that seemed to help. And they gave us some of their clothes to wear, because ours were mostly torn and trampled on, and some of Marshal Macurdy's guardsmen took us home.
"And today he rides into camp with you!" Hermiss's normal animation began to return. "How did that happen?"
"A peace was signed this morning, between him and General Cyncaidh. The fighting's over."
"General Cyncaidh?!"
"He's Emperor Paedhrig's chief counselor."
"Really? That's wonderful! And—why did you come here? With Marshal Macurdy?"
The truth wasn't something Varia felt free to share. And if she started, she'd have an involved half hour of explaining to do. So she simply said, "Colonel Melody was hurt in the battle, and might have died. I've come to be sure she's all right. She's quite important to Marshal Macurdy." Varia changed the subject then. "What were you doing in her tent?"
"She talked to all of us who were raped, and gave us money taken from the soldiers who'd been there. To make up for it, or try to. She told us the marshal had had men hanged for raping women, but it still happened sometimes. Marshal Macurdy's really handsome—well, not handsome exactly, but good-looking—and so manly! I'd like to marry him! Not really of course. I'd be scared to death, he's so—powerful! Colonel Melody is powerful too, but . . . I mean, she's probably no older than me, or not very much, but she's a high officer in the southern army! Anyway I stayed around to talk to her more. You know me!"
My God, Hermiss! You're amazing! How long ago was it? Two or three days? And look at you, chattering and full of life! It must have helped, Varia told herself, to have been rescued and seen punishment delivered.
"I asked you some thoughtless questions, before," Hermiss went on, "and I hope this isn't another one. But—what have you been doing, Varia?"
Varia smiled at her. "I'm married, Hermiss. To General Cyncaidh. He's a very nice man—or ylf—thoughtful and loving. And we have a baby boy we've named Ceonigh. The ylver give their children names from their ancient language. Ceonigh means honor, and it sounds lovely, too."
Hermiss threw her arms around Varia, laughing delightedly and crying at the same time, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Oh Varia," she said, "I'm so happy for you! So happy! You deserve to have good things. You deserve them!"
They talked a little longer, of Duinarog, the Northern Sea, and Aaerodh Manor, then rode back to camp. From there, Varia, with an escort, accompanied Hermiss home. And when they parted, Varia told herself that this time she would surely write to her.
Varia rode directly back to Melody, whom she found alone. Macurdy had left, to give orders regarding the withdrawal, he'd said. Melody's aura was darkened by jealousy, but showed only a slight residual effect of her concussion, an effect she didn't feel and should be gone in another day. It also showed the usual hint of talent, but when Varia asked questions that should bring any latency to view, she found little. Even so, she decided to carry out the procedure as she had with Will, who'd actually shown more potential. It could do no harm, and if somehow it worked . . .
Melody was examining Varia as thoroughly as Varia had her. Mostly she saw physical beauty and poise, but her intelligence and power were also obvious. "Why did you come here," Melody asked, "if you're not married to Macurdy anymore? And why are you talking to me?"
Varia considered telling her, then didn't. Macurdy would, if he wanted her to know. Meanwhile she lied. "He asked me to make sure your head injury doesn't give you trouble in the future. But I'll need to put a spell on you."
Melody shook her head with no sign of a wince. "I'll be all right. I don't want anyone putting a spell on me."
"I understand that. I'd feel the same if I were you. Will you allow it when Curtis comes back? If he sits with us?"
Melody pursed her lips, her eyes intent on the Sister. "If he's here, yes. If he wants me to. It's not that I think you'd do something bad. I just don't like the idea."
Varia smiled. Thank you, spear maiden, she thought, for the polite lie. I don't blame you for distrusting me. "Fine. When he's free, I'll come back with him."
Half an hour later she did. With Macurdy there, it took only two or three minutes to relax Melody sufficiently, four or five more to put her under, and another fifteen or twenty to run the procedure. Then, on a slow count, Varia brought her back to consciousness. After directing her attention to objects in the tent, to reorient her, she asked how she felt.
"All right," Melody said slowly, as if examining how, in fact, she did feel. Then, "I feel fine," and looked at Macurdy as if uncertain what was next.
He grinned at her. "Good. The army will start south the day after tomorrow. The last cohorts will leave two days later. Jeremid will take care of the planning and coordination."
Melody looked bothered by that. "I'm your chief of staff!" she said. "That's my job!"
"Uhm. Actually I had something more important in mind for you. I thought you and I could get married tomorrow afternoon. Jeremid and Tarlok will witness it, and Asperel. I claimed half a helmetful of silver coins from a Teklan plunder wagon, and rented the house of the district governor for two days and nights. The cook and servants come with it. The governor and his wife will stay in town with their son."
Melody had listened, staring. Now, with a whoop, she leaped from the chair and embraced Macurdy, kissing him hard. Varia left without a word.
"Come back after dark tonight, Macurdy," Melody growled, "and they'll have to help you to the wedding. Loro can sleep with the Sisters if she wants to."
Macurdy laughed, disentangling himself from her arms. "Omara wants you to rest till tomorrow, and there's a lot I need to get done so I can give you my full attention after the wedding. I don't want Jeremid interrupting us with a bunch of questions and authorizations to handle."
She made a face at him. "All right, troll prince, one more day. One more day and you're mine." Her next kiss was less forceful and more sensual; he left grinning.
Varia mused in her tent, feeling vaguely jealous. Not like an ex-lover, but more like—a mother! How dare that impetuous young woman lust for my Curtis! she asked herself, and chuckled. Have you forgotten when you seduced him? What a night! It's a good thing his spear maiden's strong; she may get more than she expects.
Remembering brought a backwash of that lust, but it had little force. Tomorrow morning Curtis would come to say goodbye; they'd shake hands and probably never see one another again. Then she'd ride away north to Raien, not having to wonder any longer, and in a few days they'd be back with baby Ceonigh.
The house, known locally as Korens Manor, was not large for a governor's residence, but it was more than large enough for Macurdy's two-day honeymoon. He'd chosen the master bedroom suite at one end of the second floor, while his orderly and couriers, and two squads of guards under a lieutenant and two sergeants, occupied rooms on the ground floor. It would have felt unsafe to be there with no more than the servants.
The household staff stayed mostly out of sight. Macurdy and Melody, with the witnesses as their supper guests, were met at the door by the steward, who did his best to ignore the foreign soldiers standing guard with swords and spears. What might they do to him if something happened to their commander? Suppose a piece of meat stuck in his throat! Or some dish upset his stomach and they suspected poison!
Unlikely, he told himself, but wasn't entirely assured. After all, these people were barbarians.
Macurdy savored the last of his pudding and laid down his spoon. Excellent, he told himself, especially considering that civilian distribution of everything, food in particular, had been disrupted by his foraging parties. The wine, the first he'd ever drank, had even been cool.
"Here's to the cook!" Jeremid said cheerfully, pushing back his chair.
"Here's what to the cook?" Macurdy countered. "We need to take a collection for her. And for the steward; he's probably the one who actually got the stuff."
"The locals will be glad to see us go," Tarlok grunted. "They're on edge. Been holding their breath, afraid we'll go on a rampage before we leave. You can almost smell it when you deal with them."
Macurdy turned his gaze to Jeremid. "I'm depending on our operations officer to see that no one does."
Jeremid grinned. "I've got ears out to here." He gestured, indicating something rabbit-like. "But it's unlikely. The whole army heard what you did, or supposedly did, in the Kormehri camp. Not that the Kormehri exaggerated." He laughed. "Not having been there, I get this picture of you buffaloing a whole damn company all by yourself, pulling guys off women by the hair, gutting the company commander and first sergeant, and marching the rest of them out to the battlefield bare-assed, then running them in circles till their balls dragged."
Tarlok snorted. "Ozman, I was there. Not that I did anything to help; I was scared spitless. And what you just said is a pretty good description. If I'd tried it, or you, or both of us together, they'd have torn us apart. And if we'd gone in with a company of guards, there'd have been a riot as bad as the damned battle."
"That's the secret," Macurdy said. "Do it alone. Grab guys and start yanking them around. They don't know what to do then; they think you must be more than you are."
Tarlok shook his head. "If it'd been me, they'd have carved me up like a solstice ox. Besides, I saw your sword when you . . ."
Melody had been watching and listening without taking part. Now, getting to her feet, she interrupted. Firmly. "That's it! Party's over! The good guest knows when to leave, and this is when. I'm taking my husband upstairs and scrub his back for him."
"Spear maiden . . ." Jeremid began, then thought better of it. "May it be a night to remember. Macurdy, I'm glad you finally got smart. You two belong together."
Melody left then, while Macurdy walked their guests to the front door and out onto the lawn, where he shook hands with the three of them: Jeremid, Tarlok, and the Teklan, Asperel, who'd felt a little out of place with these ex-rebel comrades. They waited without saying a lot, while their orderlies saddled and brought their horses. Then Macurdy watched them ride off in the dusk before going inside and up to his suite.
He'd half expected Melody to be waiting naked, but she fooled him. She'd undressed, but put on a robe found in a closet. And with the robe, a serious face.
"Did I tell you you're beautiful, spear maiden?" he asked quietly.
"No, but I knew it anyway. Pretty, at least."
"Did I tell you I've been looking forward to this?"
Her gaze was searching. "Have you really?"
He stepped to her, put his arms around her inside her robe, and pulling her close, kissed her, then kissed her again before stepping back.
"Take your clothes off, Macurdy," she said quietly. "Unless you'd rather I did it for you."
He took them off himself while she watched. When he was naked, she dropped her robe. "Do you know what, Macurdy?"
He stared. "What, Melody?" He'd have to stop calling her spear maiden, he decided. She was too beautiful.
"I'm nervous," she said quietly. "I can't believe it, but I'm nervous. And the bath is hot. Hot enough that I closed the flue from the stove."
He took her hand. "Then let's go try it out."
They walked into the small adjacent bath. The tub was tiled and half sunken, big enough for four or five to sit. The water wasn't as hot as he'd expected, but more than warm enough, given that it was Six-Month and the room warmed by the stove. They sat not across from each other, but side by side, and within seconds were kissing again, embracing, fondling. Without either suggesting it, they got to their feet and clambered dripping from the tub. Towels had been set out on a bench, and they dried hurriedly, then went into the bedroom.
Later they donned robes and stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked fields. Dusk had thickened into twilight, and twilight into night, with the crescent moon still well up in the west. There was a cushioned bench, and they sat down on it together, for some time simply holding hands, saying nothing. At length Melody turned and found him looking at her. "I love you, Macurdy," she murmured. "I really do. I have all along, but now it's different. You're a marvelous lover. I thought you'd probably be rough the first time, like a stallion, you're so damned big and strong. And that would have been fine. But you're not. You're thoughtful and loving, and you do the right thing at the right time. It was nicer than I'd ever imagined."
She leaned and kissed him. "This is going to last a long time," she murmured. They kissed some more, and her hand slipped inside his robe. A minute later they went back inside.
Private Olvi Kalister stood on the porch beside the front entrance, spear butted by his right foot, thoughts on what he imagined was going on inside. He had a wife back at North Fork, whom he hadn't seen now for—he didn't pay much attention to dates, but it seemed like a long time. A mosquito hummed beside his face, then touched down on his cheek, and absently he crushed it.
"Did you get him?" Private Malakum murmured.
"If I didn't, I scared shit out of him."
"I'll bet they're not paying any attention to mosquitoes upstairs."
"I've heard that mosquitoes don't bite Macurdy. Flies either, or cooties."
I'll bet right now they could bite his bobbing ass twenty at a time, Malakum told himself, and he'd never notice. "You hear all kinds of things," he said.
"I heard that when he went in and yanked the Kormehri around the other night, there was a ball of fire on the point of his saber."
Malakum said nothing; he tended to skepticism. On the other hand, Macurdy'd done some uncanny stuff, in front of people Malakum knew well.
The door opened between the two men, and Corporal Freck stepped out. "You guys thirsty?" he asked in a half whisper.
The sentries' attention sharpened. "What have you got in mind?"
The corporal chuckled. "A couple of us were snooping around the basement with a torch. Found a trapdoor in the floor, and went down in." He held out a small jug. "It's where they store their ale. We figured if the bigwigs could have a party, we ought to have one too. A little one, not enough to get drunk and in trouble. To celebrate the wedding. And the war being over without us getting killed; now there's a reason! This one's yours." He handed it to Malakum. "The stopper's out—didn't want it lying on the porch in the morning—but no one's drunk out of it yet. Just keep quiet, and bring the jug with you when you're relieved."
He went back in and closed the door softly behind him. Malakum took a swig, exhaled a forcible "Ah!" and handed the bottle to Olvi. "Good stuff," he said. "Strong."
Olvi drank and grunted. "Better than my Uncle Loth brews. Freck is all right, bringing us this." They continued passing it back and forth, and after a bit sat down on the top step, their spears lying beside them. Olvi had been part of Orthal's Company when Macurdy first turned up, and without exaggerating much, told stories about their commander. By the time the jug was empty, each man had relieved his bladder onto a shrub, and the moon had set.
Then a woman's scream tore the air, from inside, and both guards jumped to their feet, spears in hand, unsure where it had come from, though it almost had to be . . . It was followed almost at once by a roar of anger, also inside, and a moment later another, this time from the balcony outside the marshal's suite.
"Get beneath the balcony!" Malakum snapped, then banged through the door, headed for the stairs, and bounded up three at a time. From the far wing, boots hammered down the hall, for the windows were open, and the screams had reached the guardroom. At the last door on his left, he grabbed the handle, turned it and yanked, then dashed in. The only light came from the corridor, enough to see dimly a large figure half dragging and half carrying a smaller, who was struggling and swearing. The marshal's voice shouted, "Bring a lamp, for God's sake!" and Malakum sprinted back out to take one from a tripod in the hall. By that time two more guardsmen came dashing up, one of them barefoot, and ran in.
The marshal stood naked, one thick arm across the throat of a man fully dressed. Blood ran down the marshal's right forearm, and both men were smeared with it. The bed was overturned, the mattress partly beside and partly beneath it. "Get manacles," he said, his voice controlled now. "And turn the bed over. I think Colonel Melody's under the mattress."
Malakum, holding the lamp, stared while the barefoot guard upended the bed onto its feet and threw the mattress on it. On the floor was the marshal's naked bride, bloody from face to feet, either dead or unconscious. More men came in. Malakum looked back at the marshal. The officer of the guard tried to manacle the intruder, and when he resisted, the marshal's arm tightened against the attacker's throat till he went slack.
As soon as the man was shackled, the marshal moved to his wife, swept the sheet off the bed and threw it to a guard. "Make bandages!" he snapped, and the guard began to tear it into broad strips. The marshal's hands went to two of his bride's worst knife wounds, and he began to chant. After a minute he turned to the guardsmen, his voice level but intense. "Send someone to the Sisters. Fast! Tell Sister Omara what's happened, and bring her right away. And take that—" he gestured with his head at the prisoner "—outside. But don't damage him. I'll do the damaging myself, later."
Then he turned back to his bride as if none of them were there, continuing to touch and chant while Private Malakum stood wooden with dismay.
Lieutenant Sarsli and one of the guards took the intruder out between them, the man's feet bumping down the stairs. "Be glad it's not your head," the guard said. Macurdy had dislocated the man's elbow, and the soldier jerked the arm a couple of times, making the man cry out in pain. "Stop that!" Sarsli snapped. "You heard what the marshal said." They hustled the prisoner out the front door and onto the lawn, where the soldier threw him down.
"How did you get in there?" Sarsli demanded.
"How do you suppose?" The man's voice was high-pitched with emotion. "I climbed the vines to the balcony. And I'd have killed him, if it hadn't been so damned dark in there. I stabbed his whore by mistake."
"The vines?" Sarsli turned and stared at Olvi, who'd come back to the porch.
The intruder laughed bitterly. "I watched from the fence while your so-called guards sat drinking and talking on the porch. When the moon went down, I sneaked across the lawn and climbed the vines. They wouldn't have noticed if I'd gone over and goosed them."
Oh shit! Sarsli thought, dread settling in his gut. He'd known about the ale. He should have made sure the men on watch didn't get any. No one should have; he should have stashed it till they went back to camp. The marshal would likely kill him now; flogging wouldn't be enough. For just a moment Sarsli considered killing the prisoner, but that wouldn't help. The marshal would find out about the ale anyway, and have two reasons to kill him. As it was, he might be lucky, and a flogging he could survive. Especially, he told himself, when he so richly deserved it.
Macurdy sat naked and bloody on the bed beside his bride. She had an aura, but he could find no pulse. He'd had one of the guards light the lamps in the room, and bring him wet cloths. Arbel's blood-stopping spell had worked, and now, gently but firmly, he washed the congealing blood from around the multiple stab wounds on her breasts and left shoulder, the deep and ugly slash on her left arm. But didn't bandage them; when Omara came, she'd want to see them.
He became aware that the soldier who'd brought in the first lamp still stood holding it. "Soldier," he said softly, "didn't I say everyone out?"
"Yessir."
He watched the man's aura flicker. "What is it you want to tell me?"
"Marshal Macurdy, sir, I was on guard at the front door. I'm to blame for what happened. For that guy getting in."
"I doubt he came in the front door."
"No sir, I'm sure he didn't. Nor any other door. The lieutenant locked them before I ever came on watch, and posted a guard at each end of the downstairs hall. He must have climbed the vines to the balcony. We should have seen him from the porch, crossing the grass, but we had a jug of ale, and sat there talking and forgot to watch. We weren't drunk. We were just—" he paused, swallowed—"celebrating your wedding."
Macurdy looked at him silently for a moment, and when he spoke, it was quietly. "It's done now. We'll see later what we need to do about that."
"Yessir."
"Take the lamp back where you got it and tell my orderly and couriers to stay where they are in case I need them. They're out in the hall, not sure what to do. Then go back to your post."
"Yessir." The man left.
Jesus Christ, Macurdy thought, celebrating my wedding, then began the healing formulas Arbel had taught him for loss of blood.
He couldn't have said how much time had passed when Omara entered with her aide. He'd heard them coming down the hall, along with someone wearing boots, but only the Sisters came in. Omara's eyes settled on Melody. "Wash yourself, Marshal," she said. "I'll see to her."
Going to the washstand at one side of the room, he filled the basin and washed, while behind him, Omara half sang, half murmured her spells. Most of the blood that reddened the wash water was Melody's, he decided. The knife gash on his arm seemed to have stopped bleeding by itself, though it was deep enough that tonus kept it open. He wondered if Varia's spell of long youth had made a difference.
When he'd washed, he pulled on a pair of breeches, then went back to watch Omara work. The Sister looked up at him. "She'll live," she said, examining him calmly. "Who taught you healing? Varia?"
"We weren't together long enough. I learned it from a shaman in Oz. I was his student for a while, but did poorly on my healing tests."
"It wasn't for lack of talent." Omara turned to her aide. "Narella, bandage her. Tightly so the healing spells work properly. We don't want great scars on the marshal's bride."
She got up from the bed, a handsome woman in uniform, managing to seem long mature, despite her youthful appearance. Macurdy wondered how old she actually was. "Let me bandage your forearm, Macurdy," she said. "Gaping like that, the scar will be large and subject to damage. Besides, the blood needs to circulate through the flesh there."
After she'd washed and bandaged it, she sang a brief formula quite different from Arbel's. When she was done, she stepped back and looked at him. "I'll stay with her tonight. Wounds and blood loss like hers shock deeply. I'll not harm her, nor anyone in my care. I was trained first in healing, and only later in other magicks."
Her aura assured him. "Thank you," he said. "I have to see about something." He finished dressing, donned boots, then belted on his knife and saber, and left. On the lawn, a whole platoon of soldiers were guarding Melody's attacker now, despite his manacles. They'd been sent for, as if Sarsli thought someone might try to rescue the man.
Macurdy stopped a few feet away and stared at the attacker. A youth, really, staring back gray-faced but defiant. "Stand him on his feet," Macurdy said. Two soldiers lifted the young man by the arms so that he cried out with pain. When he was standing, Macurdy drew his knife.
"My wife will live. She won't even be badly scarred. Does that cheer you?"
"It wasn't her I climbed the vines to kill. It was you! And if it hadn't been so dark . . . But if killing her would hurt you enough, I could still rejoice in it."
"And you like knives. Have you ever been cut by one? Badly?"
The man said nothing, but fear collapsed his aura.
"I'll show you what it's like. First I'll cut off your ears, then your nose, then your horn and balls, and then . . ."
Abruptly words burst from the young man. "And what of my father? Will you let him do those things to you? A squad of your soldiers raped my mother and sister in front of him, and laughed when he wept and pleaded with them. They took my sister with them when they left with our valuables; God knows what became of her. Afterward my mother killed herself. Will you let him cut you up for that?"
Macurdy stared a long moment. "Where did this happen?"
"In the village of Black Gum, some ninety miles south. My father is the miller there."
"How did you know where to find me?"
For a moment it seemed the youth might refuse to say more; then he answered. "I'd been here in Ternass, apprenticing as a teacher in the common school. When I heard your army had crossed the river, I went home. Too late. So I came back to avenge my family." His defiance faded, leaving him momentarily desolate, but he rallied. "When I got here, everyone was talking about your wedding, as if it was something to celebrate! Everyone knew where you'd be staying. And we apprentices had been invited to the governor's once for Learning Day. Given a tour. I could guess what room you'd be in."
"Um." Macurdy sheathed his knife. "The people in Ternass had something bigger than a wedding to celebrate. A peace has been signed."
"Peace! What good is peace to my family?"
Instead of answering, Macurdy turned to his orderly. "Bring my horse. And one for the prisoner."
With three soldiers, Macurdy took the youth into Ternass, to the jail there, and had the jailer wakened. The man went pale at Macurdy's story. "We'll . . . we'll have him tried tomorrow, I'm sure. And hanged promptly."
"No. I want no trial or hanging. Lock him up. Have a physician do something for his elbow. Keep him here for a week before you let him go. And while he's here, have him visited by the girls I rescued. His soul is scarred like my wife's body. Perhaps their stories will help him." He paused. "There's one named Hermiss that I met two days ago. A friend of the Cyncaidh's wife. Let her arrange it."
"Hermiss? I know her! Her father is principal of the common school."
Macurdy's eyes widened for a moment. "She'll be perfect. No doubt she knows this young man."
As he rode back to the manor, Macurdy told himself grimly that if this had had to happen, some good would come of it yet.