Leola’s heart warmed, but the cool feeling overtook it as soon as she felt it. She sat next to Sedrak and gazed at the table of food. Numerous places were set around the table. She had been famished only moments before, but her appetite flew from her. “Who is joining us?” she asked.
Sedrak poured himself some wine from a cask, and also into a wooden goblet next to her place setting. “Tonight my warriors will gather with us. We shall eat, and then you shall retire as I speak to them.”
Leola looked at him, fear in her eyes.
“You must place your trust in me, Leola,” he said quietly. “My own men must be handled like children at times. They shall not respond as Grudin did to the wagging of a woman’s tongue, so I beg of you, hold yours.”
At that moment, a boisterous group of men entered the tent, laughing and speaking loudly. Their Northern dialect was gibberish to Leola, but she was able to understand what it meant when they fell quiet and cold upon seeing her seated at the table.
“Come. Sit,” Sedrak said with forced joviality. “Feast with me.”
The men grumbled and sat down, and Leola looked at her food through blurry eyes, but she could not miss the glares they cast in her direction when Sedrak was not looking. Or perhaps even as he was.
“We shall reach the Eastern borderlands in two days’ time,” an aged warrior with gray hair said, after a few minutes of silence, while the men tore hungrily into their food. “We have awaited your arrival, or we would be there already. My lord.”
Sedrak was quiet, and poured some wine into the man’s goblet. “Let us allow the woman to finish her meal,” he said quietly, after looking at the man with piercing eyes for several moments. “This is the talk of men.”
Another man grumbled something Leola could not understand, but fell to silently eating when Sedrak turned his fierce glare upon him.
“I am… quite satisfied,” Leola said quietly. “I shall retire.” She rose, and the men looked at her strangely. Then they looked at Sedrak. Quickly she added, “If you so desire, my lo—Master,” she said.
Sedrak waved at her to leave. “Go,” he said. “Rest well. We journey at length tomorrow.”
Leola nodded, fighting back tears. She did not know what made her feel like crying: the coldness of Sedrak’s tone? The fear that Dorva spoke the truth?
“Take her, Barval,” Sedrak commanded, when she reached the flap of the tent. “See that she remains in her tent for the night.” To this command he added something sinister-sounding in Northern dialect.
Barval escorted her silently, and Leola sensed a great revulsion radiating from him. He said nothing when they reached a tent, only meters away from Sedrak’s own. It was large, well lit, and comparable in size and comfort to Sedrak’s own.
Leola waited, but when Barval said nothing, she entered, and only then did she allow herself to cry. The tears welled up and poured silently down her face.
* * *
The interior of the tent was much like Sedrak’s; she had the impression that someone had been forced to vacate it—perhaps a warrior—so that she could have it. She lay upon the furs and covered herself with them.
As night dragged on, her fire waned, and it grew cold, but she dared not rise and tend to it. The sounds of the camp died away slowly, and she thought she could hear whispers all around her. The sounds of gossip.
From Sedrak’s tent came the voice of men, rising and falling, loud and then fiercely quiet. At last, she heard them file out, their heavy footsteps mingling with disgruntled murmurs.
She rose, creeping toward the side of the tent nearest Sedrak’s. She could hear his voice, and the voice of another, but they were low and difficult to make out. She could not understand what they were saying.
Her feet felt like ice, so she buried herself beneath the covers and tried to sleep.
Time passed slowly, and much of the noise faded away. She strained to hear Sedrak, prayed that he would come to her, and fold her into his arms to reassure her, but he did not. She heard Barval cough, and wondered if he would sleep that night.
The hours dragged on, and she could stand it no longer. She crept in the darkness to the flap of the tent, peeking out into the darkness.
Barval was asleep across the threshold of the tent, and the sight of him put a dagger of fear through her, but he did not stir. She peered into the darkness: Sedrak’s tent, only a few meters away, glowed with a great fire, and she saw his shadow move upon the outer walls.
She retreated into the tent and crept to the side of the structure, feeling at the bottom edges of the material. It was a heavy fabric, but when she pulled at it, it lifted from the ground and gave way; she could, by crawling upon the ground, worm her way beneath it.
She was still dressed, so she felt around for her shoes and put them on her icy feet. Then she held her breath and listened.
Nothing stirred.
She took another deep breath and lay down on the ground, the length of her body parallel to the tent wall. Slowly, her heart knocking at her chest, she edged herself beneath the wall of the tent, into the cold night air. She looked around; moonlight bathed the camp in a dim and eerie light. She scooted out further, seeing nothing move.
She was almost completely out from under the tent when she heard the crunch of soil beneath a heavy boot, and then a rain of them. Something sharp pressed against her spine, and a foot stepped gently on her hand, before the yelling began.
