“I got rid of it.” He patted his chest at her alarmed expression. “Your comb and hair bodkin are safe here with me. I didn’t think you’d care about the firestick.”
Her eyes closed, tears darkening her lashes. “For all the death, all the loss, it’s still a good day. You’re here.”
She let him go, and he adjusted the pillow under her head before stepping away so that Pyder could continue his suturing. He finally noticed Cimejen standing nearby but didn’t comment as he left the medical tent for a second time. He didn’t stop under the awning he’d occupied earlier. General Golius waited for his report, and for the sake of his rapidly thawing heart, Bron needed to put distance between himself and the woman his dreams wouldn’t let him forget.
Cimejen’s grip on his arm halted him mid-stride. The mage had followed Bron outside, and his eyes held a glint of pity. “You poor bastard,” he said and passed him the wineskin.
Bron laughed, then drank, trying not to choke on the bitterness lodged in his throat despite the wine’s sweetness. Fate, fickle and harsh, had deemed that the ties binding him and Disaris together were not yet to be severed.
He fished inside his tunic and took out the hair bodkin, studying it as he ran a thumb down its smooth length to the point still sharp enough to draw blood.
Poor bastard indeed.
When Bron wasten years old, he went to war with the children in the village he now called home. It wasn’t a sudden decision but one made after months of ostracization, name-calling, and finally a shoving match that turned into an outright brawl between him and a boy named Hulgin. Both combatants had gone home with black eyes and numerous bruises, and those who once thought the pale boy with the oddly changing eyes was an easy mark learned the hard way they were wrong.
Bron didn’t always win the fights he was in, but what he lacked in martial skill, he made up for in resilience. Even those who won the row were hesitant to challenge him twice after nursing their own significant injuries. His mother had waded into the fray on his behalf, ready to brawl with other parents herself if necessary. She’d reluctantly backed down only when he begged her, arguing that her involvement made things worse.
Except for his mother’s unwelcome interference, he’d thought himself alone in this war of attrition until, one day, Disaris proved him wrong.
In the year and a half since he first met her, she’d been his only companion; someone willing to explore the woods with him, collect insects, and wade through the creek on hot summer days. She talked incessantly, unfazed by his silence or the occasional monosyllabic reply he bestowed on her. The light that blazed in her brown eyes every time she saw him kindled a gladness within him, a reaction he had no intention of admittingto anyone, especially her. He remained puzzled by her absolute devotion to him, though he’d never gotten up the courage to ask why. No doubt she’d simply shrug her shoulders and say “Just because.”
The first time she witnessed one of the other children bullying him, she’d attacked the boy with a feral violence that shocked everyone who saw it. It had taken a pair of adults to pry Disaris off Minghis jin Vorjes and not before she managed to bloody his nose and yank out a clump of his hair.
Both her mother and Bron’s as well had scorched Disaris’s ears for that escapade, and Bron spotted her a few days later cleaning the privy belonging to Minghis’s family. He’d expected to find Minghis nearby, taunting her about her punishment, but he was nowhere in sight. Disaris, despite being filthy and reeking, wore a smile that only grew wider when she spotted Bron. She waved, and he waved back, unwilling to draw closer in case his presence earned another punishment for her. Her defense of him had been admirable and made things worse.
"A chicken-shit hiding behind a girl’s skirt!”
“My baby sister is free next week if you need someone to fight for you, Bron-Bron!”
Those insults, and many more like them, rained down on him like a torrent after that, though no one dared to physically accost him, either wary of his willingness to fight all comers or of Disaris, who’d made it plain for all to see that she’d turn into a rabid dog if her precious Bron was threatened. That, more than the insults, humiliated him, so he began to avoid Disaris in case she decided to play savior again.
Their own questionable courage was displayed when, after a long day working in the village fields during harvest season, Bron faced a pack of his tormentors blocking his passage along one of the trails leading home. Five altogether, and he guessed they must have been waiting a good hour for him to appear.He knew them all—two of the blacksmith’s youngest sons, the cooper’s boy, and of course Minghis and Hulgin, who’d always been Minghis’s toady.
Hulgin spat on the ground, the wad of spittle landing near Bron’s feet. He smacked his fist into the palm of his other hand. “Hope you like the taste of dirt, Pink Eyes, because you’ll eat it today.” His companions sniggered, mimicking his fist-punching gesture.
Bron’s fast-beating heart threatened to thump its way out of his chest. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. The willingness and ability to fight didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid, and at the moment, he nearly choked on terror. Five against one guaranteed he’d lose this confrontation. With any luck, he’d land a few punches, blacken an eye or two and maybe keep most of his teeth before the bullies beat him to the ground. The image of his mother’s face, pinched with sadness and impotent rage, stiffened his back, and he raised his fists in readiness.
For all their bravado, none of the five rushed him, unwilling to be the first to take a punch from their victim. Minghis shoved Hulgin toward Bron. “Go on, Hulgin. Hit him!” The toady’s eyes widened and he hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Minghis who gestured impatiently. “Hurry up! There’s five of us and one of him.”
Bron balanced on the balls of his feet, waiting for Hulgin to charge. The other boy never got the chance. A muffled thump followed by Hulgin crying out and clutching the side of his head startled them all. More noises, of something hard hitting something softer sounded, and this time Minghis and the cooper’s son joined Hulgin in the chorus of pained howls. Soon all five were spinning about, searching for the source of their agony as a hail of small stones sailed rapid-fire across the path, striking the five with stunning accuracy. Bleeding and crying from the injuries inflicted by their invisible attacker,they abandoned their goal of fighting Bron and fled in different directions, sobbing and crying for their mothers.
Left alone suddenly in the middle of the path, Bron turned in a slow circle, searching for his savior among the overgrown hedgerow lining the way. He allowed himself a small smile when one particularly lush bush parted and Disaris stepped out, the pockets of her apron bulging, her hands full of river stones. “I wondered if it was you,” he said. “How did you know they’d be here waiting for me?”
She shrugged. “I overheard them talking by the creek, so I picked good rocks and ran here to wait in the bushes.” She regarded him with a puzzled look. “Your eyes are purple today, not pink, though I’ve seen them that way before.” An angry fire ignited in her gaze, and her face squinched into indignant scowl. “It isn’t fair, five against one,” she said, letting the stones she held drop to the ground. “I also hid so they wouldn’t make fun of you.” Her mood was as mercurial as her expression, changing from outrage to sorrowful pleading. Her lower lip jutted out, and her chin quivered. “Will you play with me again now?”
An uneasy guilt settled alongside his growing affection for this wild, fierce girl. Disaris had declared herself his friend the instant they met and had remained so since, even when the others in the village ostracized him for his odd appearance and shyness. Even if she’d embarrassed him on occasion, she’d been a better friend to him than he had to her so far. The quiver in her chin and the simple request made him regret his shunning of her.
“Yes,” he said and held out his hand for her to take. “I’ll walk you home.”
Her delighted gasp and the way she almost squeezed his fingers numb made him smile even more and the two played a game of chase on the way to their respective homes. They reached Disaris’s first, and Bron bowed to her father, Reylan,who sat on a stool outside the front door, puffing on a pipe as he whittled a stick of white oak with the knife he held. He barely gave them a glance when Disaris raced to the door, bellowed a greeting to her father, then an equally loud farewell to Bron before disappearing inside, waving so long she almost closed the door on her fingers.
Bron waved back, offered another bow and made to leave only to halt in his tracks when Reylan spoke.
“For all that you’re no more solid than a rasher of wind, you possess backbone to admire and don’t run from a fight.” He paused in his work, his brown eyes measuring as he regarded a wide-eyed Bron from head to foot. “She told me what she overheard. I helped her gather the stones.” He went back to his whittling. “But all that courage won’t do you much good if you don’t have skill. Won’t help my girl much either, and she won’t always be around to save you.”
The hot blood of shame set Bron’s face on fire, and he struggled not to lower his gaze and look for the secrets of the world in the lacings of his shoes. He gulped, praying he wouldn’t stutter when he answered. “No sir. She’s braver than I am, and good at throwing rocks.”
Reylan gave a gruff chuckle. “More courage than sense most of the time. I’m teaching her the sling. We’re starting with basic target practice.” His amusement faded, his craggy features returning to their usual serious mien. “You don’t have a da to teach you such things, but I’ve seen you’ve a willingness to learn, even if you have to teach yourself. If you want, come by each evening after the harvesting, and I’ll show you a few tricks for putting those turds who bother you in their place.” He gestured with the whittled stick and knife. “I’ll teach you this too if you’re interested.”
