Heart of Steel Page 5

  "What?" She was already elbow deep in one of her hidden pockets, fishing around for a particular bottle. "Oh. You mean watches. I'll take first watch—you sleep. I'll wake you if a bear wanders in or anything. I've got some sleeping powders if you need a little help drifting off?" Loran pulled out the vial and wiggled it with a hopeful smile.

  The knight waved a hand, then began removing gauntlets one at a time. Loran's heart skipped a beat. She wondered if she might catch a glimpse of the knight's face, or perhaps old battle wounds. She imagined a deep scar cutting through back muscles, puckered burns from a literal trial by fire, or perhaps a missing eye—who knew what dwelt under those layers of metal?

  In the simplest of gestures, the knight tugged at the visor, and off it came.

  A simple lavender cloth covered the knight's brow, nose, and mouth, only the knight's dark eyes visible through open slot in the folds of cloth. Below, it fell into a loose scarf around a thick neck, just peeking out over the top of the gorget. The knight continued taking off pieces of armor: the pauldrons and gorget. Loran focused on those onyx eyes, studying them with a scientist's probing gaze until the moment the knight looked up.

  Loran looked away with a flush. "I'll, um, go scout the perimeter." She spun on her heel, but stopped when she heard a clicking sound, the kind one might use to get a horse's attention. She turned and saw the knight beckoning her with a hand, dark eyes looking back into hers with a hopeful gaze.

  The knight reached back over a plated shoulder, struggling to grasp at a buckle, and Loran understood.

  "Oh, of course. I've never squired or anything, but I'm certain I could figure out a few buckles." She danced over the dead leaves and broken bark toward the hulking figure. "Speaking of which, I'm surprised you don't have a squire yourself, as esteemed as you are..."

  The knight was still too tall to for Loran to see the topmost buckles easily, but just as she opened her mouth again to ask, the knight knelt to one knee.

  "Oh, thank you."

  The first set of buckles were easy enough to undo, but Loran could see how they would be difficult for the knight to fasten and unfasten alone.

  "So without a squire, do you usually do this yourself? Or do you have a wife who does them for you?"

  The lavender hood shook.

  "Just you then? That's impressive, but sad. I guess I'm not one to talk, having taken a vow of solitude... Any maidens worth courting where you're from?"

  The hood shook once more as Loran set about unfastening the buckles along the left side of the breastplate. Thankfully, the knight held it in place while she worked.

  "No? A lone wolf then. I can't say I'm terribly surprised by that, shrouded in mystery as you are." Loran smiled as she finished the last buckle. "There, you should be able to slip it off the other side now, right?"

  The hood nodded and Loran stepped away to let the knight finish taking off the breastplate.

  "Let me know if you need help with the other bits." Loran offered, her eyes lingering on the knight as more and more of the figure beneath all that armor became visible. A layer of chainmail covered the knight's torso and arms, but even through that she could still make out a muscled figure beneath. The knight wasn't as bulky as she'd pictured, but still she imagined running into someone so solid would end poorly for anyone who tried.

  "Get some rest." Loran hummed, dancing on the soles of her feet as she rose to walk the perimeter.

  The evening glow faded closer to darkness with each step Loran took, and her feet whispered over the brush with hardly a sound. The art of moving silently through nature was one of the first things she'd learned at her Haven, her Clutch. She remembered the long hours spent in the woods as she had tip-toed through the brush while one of the older apprentices tried to track her. It seemed too hard at first; she had cried and raged, demanded to know the secret of whisper walking, but they never told her. After her second year at her Haven, she'd discovered on her own how to listen to the trees, how to move at a pace that fit with the song of the sparrows and the creaking of the deep trunks, how to dance with the forest instead of sparring with it.

  The trees back there were taller than those around her now, more pines and fewer leafy kinds. Loran missed the pines, but more than anything, she missed the roar of the sea. It had lulled her to sleep every night through the stone walls, soothed her when she woke in a cold sweat with visions from beyond the veil dancing behind her eyes. The sea had been ever her deep, fathomless friend. She longed for it now. It would be days before she heard the crash of waves again, weeks before she went back to her Haven.

  A cold wind swept over her, sending shivers from her spine to her fingertips. The night was cold with no fire, but without her usual tools and pathways, they couldn't risk the smoke giving away their location.

  The knight must be freezing, Loran thought suddenly.

  She traced her steps back to the sleeping figure, still covered in chainmail and cloth. Was the hood thick enough to keep the knight from freezing in the night? Did it cover more than just head and shoulders? Surely it did, but Loran knew so little about knights and armor, she couldn't be sure.

  Against her better judgement, Loran slipped a hand into the pocket at her hip, fishing out a small curved vial. She held it in her palm, shaped like a small flame. It glittered in the moonlight; the golden powder inside felt warm even through the bottle. It was tempting.

  "Never cast magic before eyes that haven't seen the veil."

  The second law of the priesthood hovered over her, stilling her hand, the sound of Elder Grace's raspy voice echoing in her mind.

  "But if their eyes are closed..."

  Loran murmured to herself, scarcely more than a whisper. She stood, the vial lying flat and warm against the palm of her open hand as it waited for her command.

  Leaves whispered as another cool breeze drifted through their makeshift camp. The knight made a sound, and Loran looked at the sleeping figure. Was that a shiver?

  "Never cast magic before eyes that haven't seen the veil. To do so will mean death upon the Tern and her flock."

  The law bounced back and forth in her mind, but she knew the truth behind those words. Magic was forbidden, punishable by death.

  She slipped the vial back into her pocket and left it there, turning to the woods to collect kindling instead. Casting meant certain death—a fire wouldn't. Danger, perhaps, but not certain death. Danger, she could do. The knight looked strong enough to take on anything that dare attack them, but only if they avoided hypothermia.

  It had been years since Loran had made a fire the old way. She knew the basics: gather kindling and logs, use the kindling to light the flame until the fire caught on the larger pieces. Easy enough.

  She remembered how quickly fire could spread and carefully set a small stone circle where she planned to build the fire, brushing away any dead leaves or grass that might catch flame. Once the pit was ready, she ventured into the trees once more. Gathering kindling had been simple, and she'd had both arms full in no time. Looking for some larger pieces that would keep the fire burning was a task that proved to be more difficult than she'd initially thought.

  There were very few fallen branches large enough to be more than kindling, and the ones she saw were far too large to fit into the fire as they were. She had only a small slender blade, nothing suited for chopping wood.

  Since chopping wasn't an option, Loran searched instead for dead trees, anything she might be able to snap off without too much trouble.

  She trailed her fingers over the bark of each tree she passed, feeling for flimsy bark or deep cracks, any sign of decay. She passed several healthy trunks before she felt the telltale rotten bark. Loran paused and looked up at the giant, thoughtfully trying to find the best starting point. Several large branches spanned out from the trunk, but even the lowest were well above her head. Granted, Loran wasn't especially tall to begin with.

  Undeterred, Loran took a few steps back to get a running start at the tree before lau
nching herself up toward the lowest branch. Her fingers grazed the bark, but didn't find purchase. She rolled when she hit the ground, letting out an indignant huff.

  "Stupid tree."

  She dusted the dead leaves from her clothes and got to her feet to try again. Once again, she took off at a run and leapt. This time her fingers grasped the branch just well enough to keep her hanging and Loran grinned victoriously. She swung back and forth, alternating hands on the branch until she had a firmer grasp, then looked up to find her next target. If she could get some of the higher branches, she could probably get all the wood she needed from this one tree.

  Determined, Loran began to swing once more, hooking one of her legs over the base of the branch where it met the trunk. Her right had a good grip now, but her left leg was still stuck hanging below. With another mighty swing, she got her left leg over the branch, now it was just a matter of pulling herself up.

  As she reached for the trunk to push against, a sharp crack jolted through the branch and Loran was falling.

  The ground hit hard, knocking the wind from Loran's lungs. She gaped for a few frightening seconds, struggling to draw in a breath. Pain spread like fire beneath her. It felt like something had stabbed her kidney, and another sharp pain screamed from her right side. Her lungs finally obeyed and she sucked in a lungful of air, promptly coughing it back out. At least she was breathing now.

  Loran couldn't hold back the pained whine that escaped her as she shoved the broken branch off and sat up, aching. Her fingers traced over her back, surveying the damage. The root she'd landed on had bruised her, but so far no blood. The relief lasted only seconds; her hand stopped at the feeling of wetness on her right side and Loran cursed under her breath.

  No sooner had she cursed than she heard the agitated trampling of heavy feet through the brush towards her, and Loran's heart stilled.

  The half-dressed knight came barreling through the trees, greatsword drawn with both hands, ready to defeat whatever beast had threatened their safety.

  Loran groaned. "Sorry, there's no need for alarm, it's just—" She hissed as she struggled to get to her feet. Her side was wounded worse than she'd thought. She swayed, resting a hand against the dead trunk of the offending tree. "I was just trying to get some firewood."

  Even in the dark, she could see the knight lifting a brow.

  "I know, I know... I thought fire was a bad idea earlier, but then it got cold and you looked like you were shivering—"

  The knight closed the distance between them quickly, sheathing the greatsword before gently scooping Loran into strong arms. Wide-eyed, Loran stayed limp in the knight's grip. Her side still hurt, but at least she didn't have to walk back. Thankfully, the knight had been careful to avoid her back, carrying her with one arm under her knees and the other at her shoulders.

  Once they got back to the clearing, the knight set her down on the bedmat with surprising care.

  "But this is yours. I'll only end up bleeding all over it. Just let me get out mine—" Loran

  argued, trying to get to her feet. A strong hand gripped her shoulder and kept her down, and the knight's dark eyes met her own in the dim light of the moon.

  "For someone who doesn't talk, you really are hard to argue with."

  The knight let out a snort, taking away the offending hand as soon as Loran relaxed where she sat.

  "I still don't want to get blood on your bed, so let's just hurry and patch this up so you can get back to sleeping, alright?"

  The knight didn't answer, of course, instead crossing to the other side of Loran to kneel behind her. Loran heard some rustling, then felt a gentle touch on her arm, a tug at the edge of her sleeve, asking silent permission. It took a moment for Loran to understand, but once she did, she nodded and carefully pulled her arm out of her sleeve. She tugged the fabric over her head to expose the injury, covering her chest with the limp cloth and taking a deep breath. The knight's hand retracted and Loran bit her lip to keep from making any discouraging sounds as firm but careful hands began inspecting her wound. Two fingers tapped her shoulder and Loran turned her head to see a hand holding up a flask.

  "Oh. Yes, do whatever you have to clean it. Thanks for, um, telling me."

  She faced front again, bracing herself for the sting. The liquid hit and she couldn't hold back a hiss of pain, balling her fists in the blankets below. The sting faded, a soft cloth dabbed at the edges of the wound, and then another enveloped it.

  Loran heard fabric rip and before she could protest, the knight pressed the fabric to her back, covering the wound and handing the wad of ripped cloth to Loran. The familiar lavender print told her exactly where it had come from.

  "You shouldn't have, I could have found something..."

  Still, it was already done. She carefully looped the fabric around her waist to hand back off to the knight. Another loop around and she felt a tug as the knight secured her wrappings. The pain wasn't debilitating, but it certainly wasn't going to make things easy if they had to run at any point.

  A soft pat on her shoulder told Loran the knight had finished. She turned carefully to face the knight, her mouth opened to give thanks, but the sound stopped in her throat when she saw the knight's face exposed. The features she'd been so desperate to see were laid out in front of her.

  The knight's kind dark eyes met hers without a hint of shame at the exposure, merely waiting for Loran's reaction. Black hair had been cropped in short textured curls, framing a brown ovaline face. Soft full lips parted in apprehension, and Loran realized the knight was waiting for her to say something. Loran drew in a breath, realizing she hadn't done so since seeing the knight's face.

  "You're... beautiful." She blurted out, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. "Gods, sorry, that was—"

  Loran paused when she saw the knight trembling— no, she wasn't trembling. She was laughing. It was soft, just airy sounds and the curve of the knight's lips that told Loran she hadn't made a grave mistake in her mutterings.

  "I would never have guessed. I... I can't believe it." Loran grinned. "I have to admit, I was dying to see under your helmet for the longest time, but I'm sure you already knew that... I'm not exactly a subtle person."

  The knight snorted, shaking her head.

  "Hey!" Loran crossed her arms indignantly. "I'm just not good with people, that's all. I'm good at what I do, though. When I work alone. Which I always have until now."

  The knight pointed to herself and nodded.

  "You too, huh?" Loran nodded. "Lord what's-his-face is a dolt. Oh. Speaking of which, what's your name? If you don't mind, I mean, I've just been calling you 'knight' in my head, but that gets old. So do you have a name you like to go by? One your friends use?" Her heart warmed at the thought of being considered a friend, but she didn't want to press her luck. Even just seeing her face seemed like a big step.

  The knight nodded, holding up her hands to mimic pen and paper.

  "Oh, yes. Of course." Loran reached for her bag where it rested just beside the mat. Blindly, her fingers found the worn hide spine of her sketch pad inside. She pulled it out and flipped past several sketches to a blank page, then passed it and a bit of charcoal to the knight.

  After a moment of writing, the knight handed the sketch pad back to Loran to read:

  Kisa. I'm not beautiful, but thank you.

  Loran read thoughtfully. "Well, shall I call you handsome, then? Because that's just as true. I mean, I imagined scars and burns and all manner of terrible things that could have been under that visor of yours, but—oh gods I'm just going to shut my trap before I insult you if I haven't already."

  Kisa laughed again, her breathy whispers in the night were a soothing sound to Loran's tired mind. She reached for the pad once again and wrote, then held it up for Loran to see.

  You haven't said anything insulting, no need to worry.

  She wrote quickly and neatly, more so than Loran had expected. She assumed most knights were doltish, dumb brutes, though Kisa was quickl
y proving those assumptions entirely wrong.

  "Thanks." Loran smiled, willing herself to relax with a deep exhale. "I can't say you're what I expected from a knight. Not that I've met many knights in my work, but I just assumed... Well, I assumed many things and none of them have been true of you."

  Kisa smiled and Loran caught herself yawning. The last thing she wanted to do now was sleep, but Kisa was already scribbling on the paper.

  You should rest. I'll keep watch until sunrise.

  Loran felt her heart fall in her chest a little. She'd been hoping Kisa was as eager to speak with her as she was with Kisa. Maybe she'd misread her reactions.

  "Right, I suppose that's practical..." She couldn't help the note of disappointment that seeped into her tone. Kisa scribbled out a response once more and handed the sketch pad back to Loran.

  Use my bed. May I see your sketches sometime soon?

  Loran warmed. "Yes, yes of course. I mean, they aren't that good, just little chipmunks and birds I made friends with on my journeys..."

  Kisa stood and shrugged with a warm expression. She knelt and started putting the kindling Loran had gathered into the fire pit, arranging them like a miniature lean-to.

  Loran lay back on Kisa's mat, still worrying that she might bleed all over it as she slept. Once she settled on her back, the wound didn't seem to bother her all that much, so maybe it wasn't as bad as she'd thought. Or maybe Kisa had just done that good of a job tending to it. Her eyes fell closed, heavier than she'd realized. She felt the heat of the small fire, and drifted off to the gentle crackling of the tinder in the quiet night.

  *~*~*

  Loran woke in the grey early light of morning, the tree tops looming over her as she cracked open tired lids. Birds sang their greetings above as she tried to sit up, but she cried out as her back protested with a sharp bolt of pain. She'd forgotten about that.

  Heavy footsteps thumped closer and Loran tensed before she remembered her companion. Kisa knelt by her side, offering a hand. She was back in her plate armor, covered head to toe once again as if Loran had only dreamt of seeing her face the night before.