She built a small fire and lay down beside it. It was not cold enough to require a camp-fire, but the flames comforted her, inducing a feeling of safety.
What was the evil the Eldarin had contained?
Karis wished she remembered more of her mother’s stories. The flesh-eating tribes of giants had a name, but she could not recall it. She awoke in the night as Warain’s front hoof pawed at the ground. Rising, she pulled her bow from the back of the saddle and strung it. ‘What is it you hear, grey one?’ she whispered, notching an arrow to the bow. In the distance a wolf howled. Warain’s head swung towards the sound.
In the bright moonlight Karis scanned the area. There was no sign of movement. ‘The wolves will not trouble
us, my friend,’ she said, moving to the horse and patting its long, sleek neck. Warain nuzzled her shoulder. ‘You are the most beautiful male in my life,’ she whispered. ‘Strong, and true. When we get to Corduin, I’ll winter you with Chase. You remember Chase, don’t you? The crippled rider.’ She scratched the grey’s broad brow. ‘Now settle down and rest.’
The fire had died and she lay down beside the embers, wrapping her cloak about her.
Just before dawn she woke, and sat up, hungry and irritable. Yesterday she had spotted a deer, but had not killed it. It seemed a great waste of life and beauty to slay such a magnificent beast for the sake of a meal or two. Now she regretted it. Drinking deeply from the canteen, she rose and saddled the gelding. ‘If we see a deer today,’ she told the horse, ‘it dies. I swear my stomach has wrapped itself around my backbone.’
Stepping into the saddle, she rode down once more into the new grassland, heading for Corduin.
The memory of the guard back at the gate was beginning to irritate her. She remembered he was a ten-heartbeat lover – grunt, thrust, sweat and collapse. But where? What had he said – fight like a tiger, live like a whore, look like an angel? He meant it as a compliment, but the word whore did not sit right with Karis. She used men as she used food: to satisfy a hunger, a need she could not -would not – rationalize. Unlike food, however, the men rarely satisfied her.
Even as the thought came to her she remembered Vint, the pale-eyed swordsman. He knew how to satisfy a woman’s hunger. His body was lean and hard, his caresses soft and gentle. And, as an added bonus, there was no emotion in him – no fear of love, or jealousy. She had heard that he became the Duke of Corduin’s Champion
after Tarantio had refused the post. So far he had killed five men in duels. If he was still in Corduin . ..
The sun was high, the sky cloudless as she rode through the green hills. To her right she saw a red hawk swoop down on a luckless rabbit. Hauling on the reins, she scanned the area for a falconer. Hawks, she knew, preferred feather to fur; they had to be wedded to it. But there was no man in sight. The hawk struck the rabbit, sending it tumbling, then settled down to feed as Karis rode on.
Then she remembered the night she had seduced the sentry, Gorl. She and her mercenaries had struck a wagon convoy sixty miles south of Hlobane, when she was under contract to Belliese. That’s where the willows were, and she had chosen Gorl because of the lustre of his beard and his deep, soft eyes. Her spirits lifted. Having remembered, she filed him away to be forgotten once more.
‘I hope you find a good man,’ her mother had said, as Karis prepared to run away into the night. Her father was stretched out on the floor in a drunken stupor.
‘You should come with me,’ she urged the tired woman.
‘Where would I go? Who would have me now?’
‘Then let me kill him where he lies. We’ll drag the body out and bury it.’
‘Don’t say that! Please. He. . . was a good man once. He truly was. You just go, my dear. You can find employment in Prentuis – you’re a good girl, with a fine body. You’ll find a good man there.’