The Lady Penitent

XXI. Doubt

It was surprising how easily the Năluci forgave them once it was learned that they were enemies of the Princes of Iron. Orobas's endorsement didn't hurt them either. The camp was permanent enough that it might be called a village, though it was all hide tents. Bonfires offered warmth to the inhabitants, their smoke perfumed from herbs added to the fire to drive away the bugs. Holland could smell cooking meat and felt her sore stomach rumble.

Reverent eyes followed the hulking figure of the Horned King and his guests. The welcome was tentative, but people quickly relaxed. For such shy people, however, there were definite marks of hardness. Holland had yet to see anyone over the age of thirteen or so who didn't bear the scars of war. Weapons were omnipresent, mostly falchions, glaives, and small knives made of bog iron. Curious children clustered around Vladan quickly, trying to guess what he was. It amused the big anthroparion to no end.

"Gods," Khagra muttered when she watched a few of the smaller children start to scale Vladan like squirrels on a tree. "The big brute's certainly made himself popular. I'd better go keep an eye on him."

"Enjoy," Holland said dryly, taking a seat next to Ardashir on the ground near one of the fires. It was at least warm, even if it was a little damp.

"I WILL RETURN WHEN THE CAMP IS QUIET," Orobas said. "EAT. REST. COLLECT YOURSELVES. I HAVE MUCH TO CONTEMPLATE." With that farewell, the demon moved out into the swamp.

The penitent's thoughts were a maelstrom as she watched the flames leap and dance. There were little flickers of blue and green in the fire from the wood and she focused on them while she collected herself. This journey was not what she had anticipated when she left Tamaris. Nowhere along the line had she expected or prepared herself for a creature like Orobas...or the truths he carried. She wanted to ignore what he was saying, pretend it wasn't real, but it had the ring of sincerity to it. As untrustworthy as a demon might be, she couldn't quite swallow the idea that he was lying. She took a deep breath. She needed something to distract her. Conversation would have to do. "So what do you think of them?" she asked Ardashir. "Our companions, not the Năluci. I never did ask."

Ardashir considered it for a moment. "They both have their rough edges," the knight said, looking in the direction of their companions. "Vladan is a belligerent creature, but he's certainly capable. While he could use a bath, I am glad of his company. He is a staunch friend. As for Khagra...it is a good thing we have her with us, or we would likely all be dead. She is quite skilled, I would say."

"You seem to get along well," Holland said, noting the way he smiled faintly at the comment.

"I like to think so," Ardashir said, his dark eyes thoughtful. "I am still deciding what to think of her, to be honest. She is very different from the women of Yssa. It is hard to imagine her out of the wilderness, she is so much a part of it. Even if orcs do not hold to chivalry, she has the marks of it in her: honesty, fidelity, honor. She is not what I expected."

"She has a soft spot for you," the penitent said.

Ardashir looked over at her, his dark eyes surprised. "You are mistaken," he said with a dismissive shake of his head.

"Oh?" Holland smiled. "You think she would have spared Olon for Vladan or I?"

He colored slightly, which was not the reaction she had been expecting. His tan cheeks only flushed more when she laughed. "You are a cruel woman, Holland," he muttered darkly. "Jesting at matters of the heart."

"I do it gently and with good intentions." She bumped his shoulder with her own. "And that doesn't exactly sound like recoiling in disgust, either. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let her know that you're not as opposed as you might seem?"