Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [55]
"Brookhollow will fall," he said confidently, "then the whole of the Shandolphyn and the Border Kingdoms beyond. By Gargauth, be it so."
"Indeed," she answered softly, smiling.
* * * * *
Quinsareth sat shivering by his campfire. Still aching from half-healed wounds, he had dozed off more than once. Sleep did not remain long as the trees of the Qurth, maybe a half-mile away, swayed in the wind with noises unlike anything he'd ever heard from a natural forest. He'd traveled through many lands and seen many forests, even those that thrived in the north around the Dalelands and the Moonsea. Through them all, he'd slept comfortably in the warrior's rest, that half-sleep of soldiers and wanderers that broke at sounds of danger. The Qurth, though, held a menace all its own, almost a sentience, and his weary mind could not abide letting down its guard for long.
That same awareness had picked out the regular rhythm of horse's hooves plodding through the muddied grassland. Nonchalantly, he raised an arm across his knees, blocking the fire's light so his natural darkvision could focus on the approaching visitor. He saw a beautiful woman astride a dark stallion riding toward his camp. Her hands held the reins at an angle that suggested a simple traveler, but her stance in the saddle was straight and strong and her hips swayed with the steed in the manner of a practiced rider, possibly a warrior. As she came closer, he could see the curve of a long bow over her shoulder, confirming his guess.
She stopped just outside the firelight and held up her right palm, a gesture denoting a lack of hostility in most civilized lands. Quin lowered his head as if tired and looked away from the low fire, shielding his eyes for the moment.
"Well met, stranger," she said casually, though he detected a tension in her voice.
"Well met," he replied. "Do I camp on owned land? If so, I shall move on with all due speed."
"No, sir. These are free lands, such as they are of late. I merely hoped I might share the warmth of your camp. I have ridden all night and seek a moment of rest."
Quin was surprised at her manner of speech, as he had been several times since entering the Border Kingdoms. Tales abounded of a land rife with war and bickering over land, with cutthroats and thieves around every bend in the road, but the formality of their language and use of the common tongue belied these wild rumors for the most part.
"By all means, be welcome."
In truth, Quin did not wish to entertain visitors, but he required information. He had suspicions about this woman warrior and her arrival out of the darkness on an empty road in troubled times. He felt sure there was more to her journey than casual travel.
She dismounted gracefully, removing a well-worn pack from the saddle. Her mount lowered his head and began to graze on the hardy, wet grass, nosing the blades aside to reach the shallow puddles of water standing on the soaked ground. The woman wore armor, an archer's style guarding the bow arm but leaving the other free to draw arrows from the low-slung quiver he spied near her hip.
He wondered bemusedly at himself a moment, taking stock of the situation.
A beautiful woman wanders into my camp and I spend my time studying her weapons and armor, scrutinizing the cut of her jaw. He smiled at the thought. What a tragic life this is at times.
Turning, she spread a small blanket and sat cross-legged across from him.
"I am Elisandrya Loethe of Brookhollow. Forgive my rudeness for not saying so before."
"You may call me Quin," he said at length. "I am from many places, truth be told."
It occurred to Quin that he'd said that same phrase a thousand times or more in his travels. Almost by instinct, it had become a part of him to lie. He'd not uttered his true name to a soul in over seven years. He did not lament the fact, really, but he'd rarely