GS#2: When Sage Came to the Dell

         I am a fool.

         Frustrated that only those four words leaked from her quill, Feeona tried again.

         I will never leave this box.

         For two days she hadn't, except to check on Sage and use the bucket. She moved through the camp like a tree's shadow in her green cloak, its hood covering her hair even though it wasn't raining. Wisely, the men kept silent whenever her path crossed theirs. Even old Hoery left her alone, staying out of the box while she simmered in her own embarrassment. In her stealthy treks around the ring, she had not seen Jamis.

         I am the most foolish, most ridiculous, most useless person who ever breathed.

         Knowing the last sentence was absurd, she struggled to write why.

         Is it so important that the men think I want or need or fear nothing? Am I so vain that I must show the men I have no faults, when I have them plenty? If all sins are equal in God's view, then it follows all of us are as well. I am not truly free, even here. I am beholden to the men for their kindness. Or is it indulgence? Do they indulge me? But if I found real freedom, would I want it so much? And why did I accuse poor Jamis of vanity?

         With a humiliated groan, Feeona lowered her head and tried not to think one more time about the scene. Jamis would want nothing to do with her now. The others would know she was just a silly, moonish girl pretending to be carefree and brave.

         I will never touch ale again. she added, pressing so hard she nearly bent the tip of her quill.

         "Feeona! Lass, are you sleeping?" Hoery burst into the box, his wild eyes already focused on her corner.

         She scrambled to her feet. "No. What has happened?"

         "The lad Sage has vanished! Flumm is in a mad panic because he's convinced Den will toss him out of the band for being careless. But it looks to me like the boy was freed."

         Her jaw dropped but not from disbelief. Hoery was the eldest man and most experienced mercen among them. He could patch most wounds, pick any lock, and even smell another band's approach on the wind. Although he never liked to hear it mentioned, he was also Den's father. Those facts convinced Feeona to always trust what Hoery said, and she'd yet to see him proved wrong.

         Squatting down, she fastened the lid on her ink pot and shut her book without removing the quill. "Who would do such a thing?

         "No one can begin to guess it. Den has his suspicions, though. He won't say a thing to me, but he wants to speak to you, lass."

         "Me? Why?" Her stomach tightened. "Does he think I might have done it?"

         "A'course not, love. But Flumm is saying as much. He's kept a tight eye on that Sage ever since the lad entered our ring, and he's kept the other eye on you. Seems your visits did leave him suspicious."

         Disgusted, Feeona reached for her boots. "He thinks everyone is up to something."

         "This time he's right about one of us," Hoery said. "So get yourself presentable and over to Den's box fast as you can."

~~~~~

         When Den called her inside, Feeona half expected to find Flumm there as well, eager and seething with a list of reasons why she helped the lad Sage escape. Instead Den sat alone on a stool by the woodstove. He motioned for her move closer.

         Feeona crossed the bare floor but refused his wordless offer of a chair. Den wasted few more words than Jamis did, but this time his silence was grave - almost angry - as he slumped on the stool and scowled at his own boots.

         "I want you in Grovesport by sundown. Twich will take you in a wagon."

         Feeona opened her mouth to argue, and Den lifted a hand. He still did not look up.

         "I've arranged for a day like this with Ma'am Cheltham at McCrimmon's Inn. She knows you might come early some years, and this will be one of them. If a boarder has your bed, she'll turn him out." His eyes lifted finally. "That's no small thing for her, Feeona."

         Confused to be talking about Ma'am Cheltham, Feeona watched Den's expression shift like wind-blown smoke. He seemed irritated and unwavering and sorry all at once. When sorry settled in, Feeona dared a question. "Why ask me to leave now? First frost hasn't come yet."

         Irritation returned. "Because I'm the leader of this band, and you're here by my grace."

         "I know that, Den." Her throat tightened, and she felt tears threaten to well. "I just want some reason - "

         "If you wish to keep that purple cloak, you'll do as I say." Straightening, Den folded his arms and turned away from her. "I don't think you set the lad free, if that is your worry. I know who did, and I'll deal with him in his turn."

         Although desperate to hear the guilty man's name, Feeona bit her tongue. She was innocent, and at least Den knew it.

         "Here, Fee...to show I'm not sore with you." Facing her, he extended a hand. A small pouch dangled from his grip.

         Feeona took it, feeling the weight of coins at its base. Mercens often used treasure to show their affection, and Den was no exception to the habit. Knowing she should be flattered, Feeona stopped short of hugging him. She was furious, really. Den sent her away with no explanation and no hint as to whether she should return in the spring.

         "Thank you," she whispered.

         "When you go to pack, ask Hoery to come over here. I need to speak with him."

         Suddenly worried for the old man, Feeona only nodded and slipped out without salutations or final gestures. Leaving the heat of Den's box, she pulled her cloak tighter before she left the porch. The day had turned colder, and heavy clouds hid any hint of the sun.

         As she crossed the ring, she felt new fear for every man she saw. Whent and Joskin argued beside Whent's box. Twich snapped twigs for kindling. Tevvy drained a stale water barrel. Someone among them was guilty of releasing the lad - even Den had admitted it - but the morning looked as normal as any she'd seen before.

         She stepped onto the porch of Hoery's box and lifted the curtain to enter. Almost like a phantom, Jamis appeared to her right, gliding between the boxes with a bucket of water in each hand. If he noticed her, he didn't look up. He was embarrassed for her, no doubt, and ashamed to have shown her any attention. She could only guess at what teasing the other men heaped upon him. For the briefest instant, Feeona actually felt relieved to be leaving the band.

         Frustration and sadness blurred what remained of Feeona's day in the Doubter's Dell. She packed her things quickly. With her bag at her shoulder, she hugged Hoery and Tevvy - the only men who would accept such affection. She waved goodbye to Joskin and Whent, who still argued. She said nothing to Flumm, even though their paths crossed twice in that short time, and Borgot just happened to step onto his porch when she passed his box on the way to the wagon. Giving him a sideways grin and silly wink, she didn't wait for him to react. He wouldn't. She avoided the other rings, ignoring the ones who always ignored her.

         Only after she was tucked into a narrow bed at McCrimmon's Inn did she let herself cry.

~~~~~

         For three days, Feeona worked at the inn. Ma'am Cheltham did turn out a boarder to give her a bed, and between singing ballads - sad ones only - from sundown to close, Feeona cleared tables as well. She didn't feel like writing, even though she'd promised herself to begin a new ballad when she returned to town.

         Ma'am Cheltham seemed happy to see her back. While Feeona ate stew in the kitchen, Ma'am spent a good hour voicing all her typical criticisms of mercen bands and the men within them. From time to time Feeona nodded, more than happy to agree. She never bothered to argue with Ma'am, whose opinions were long set and not to be swayed. But this time, Feeona didn't feel the need.

         As closing approached on the third night, Feeona started her habitual drift from table to table, gathering empty dishes from remaining patrons. She nodded at their compliments and dodged wandering hands with practiced ease until a bit of conversation made her freeze as she lifted a plate.

         "Skains say they got called to skirmish tomorrow."

         "Called? Called with coin?"

         "Sure, a chest full, and called to the dell. But they refused a'course. No one skirms on a Sunday."

         "What fool would call mercens to skirm on Sunday?"

         "A foreign fool, I think, one said to be in search of a missing lad. That lord's lost son, perhaps."

         "A'course, what band would plan to skirm on Sunday?"

         "None I know."

         Whirling around, Feeona nearly dropped the plate. Quick as she could with an arm full of dishes, she dashed through the crowded room and barreled into the kitchens where Ma'am stood humming while she washed plates in cloudy water.

         "Ma'am! Ma'am, I think I have to leave!"

         Without listening to Ma'am Cheltham's response, Feeona ran through the servant's entry and climbed to the second level. The ladder beneath her quivered almost as much as she did. Leaving behind everything but her green cloak, Feeona didn't stop to explain as she nearly jumped down to the ground floor.

         She prayed all the way, hours of begging God for help while she half-ran down the black road. "Please do not let me be late," she pleaded under her breath. "Please let me help these men!"

         The sky above her changed from a pallet of sparkling ink to the heavy blue of a new bruise. Forgetting to feel tired or even winded, Feeona began to sprint. Her boots crunched on the gravel as she rounded the last bend and finally felt the road slope beneath her feet.

         Careening left, she chose the secret entrance - an ivy-strewn path known only by the Densmen - and flung herself through its far side to find the ringfire still burning. Two silent silhouettes flanked the blaze. Crossbows raised, both turned to face her when she left the scratchy leaves.

         Jamis lowered his bow first. "Feeona?"

         "What in Heaven's name are you doing here, girl?" Den marched toward her, his voice low but riddled with fury.

         She had dashed the last part and was panting. "Den...the Skains...someone asked the Skains to attack today...Sunday."

         "The Skains?" He shot a confused look at Jamis.

         "They refused...I think. But they...the men who wanted the Skains...they want to find a missing lad!" Catching her breath, Feeona waited while Den reached the same conclusions she had.

         "Someone was trying to find help with attacking the dell today?" Den echoed.

         "Yes, yes! A foreign lord wants to find his missing son!"

         Den inhaled, looking threatened by her mere words. "Feeona, you must go back to town now!"

         "Den, she can't." Jamis stepped closer. "What if she meets them on the road?"

         "They won't take the road."

         "Can't you just tell them that Sage ran away?" Feeona asked. "It isn't your fault you don't have him."

         The two men locked gazes, their eyes battling with equal strength and clear disagreement.

         Jamis broke away first. He stepped toward her again, drawing near enough to touch her arm if he wished. "It's not him they want. Sage was a spy."

         Amazed that Flumm had been right, Feeona stared at Jamis. "A spy to find what?"

         Den heaved a thick, frustrated sigh and walked to the far side of the fire.

         Glancing at him, Jamis lowered his voice. "It's me they want, Fee."

         "You?" She gaped as her mind leapt to the next conclusion. "You are the lord's son?"

         An arrow slid from the wall of foliage near the road. Narrowly missing Feeona's head, it crossed over the fire and plunged into the middle of Den's chest.

~~~~~

         "Doyen!" Jamis' shout bounced across the clearing as he stumbled to where Den fell. One hand reaching for Den's body, Jamis shifted to point the other at Feeona. "Fee, get out of here! Climb a tree, run for the stream - just go!"

         Feeona screamed as an arrow sunk into Jamis' right shoulder. His body snapped backward like parts of it wanted to break free, and he hit the earth only inches from the campfire's glowing coals.

         She screamed again, feeling a strange relief at hearing her own stricken voice. She ran to Jamis, afraid to touch him but desperate to help. "Where are the men?"

         "We sent them away."

         "Why?" She didn't want to believe him.

         "This isn't their fight." His face creased with pain. "Their lives aren't worth mine."

         The courage within her began to dissolve. "Where did they go?"

         "Deep forest. They left yesterday." Jaw clenched, he propped himself up on his left elbow. "Help me?" His words were a breathy hiss, his chest heaving from the effort.

         Feeona clasped his good shoulder and accepted its weight as Jamis managed to lift his back from the ground. He groaned as his waist folded. Right arm limp against the earth, he dragged it onto his lap. Leaning forward, Feeona saw a neat circle of blood creeping from the wound.

         "This is the mighty band of Densmen? One dead, one hurt, and one in skirts?"

         Instantly Feeona hated the voice. Its owner was a match to the malevolent tone - a tall man hiding his gaunt form in a swath of crimson cloak. Even with grey hair and the tired lines of age, the man was at once elegant and formidable, his light eyes and halting posture a contrast to the soft, silent forest.

         At his back, a pack of men closed in around him like dark ghosts rising from the forest. All of them wore swords and armor. None of them were mercens.

         Before them, Jamis went still and cold, his face stoic except for brief tremors that made his eyes tighten. He stared at the older man but said nothing.

         Kneeling beside him, Feeona folded her hands in her lap and struggled not to faint. Her stomach felt like a wild horse, her mouth like a dry well. She tried not to think of Den, dead just beyond where they sat. As she grappled to stay composed, she felt Jamis' left hand cover both of hers.

         "This is where I find you, living among filth." The older man gazed at the ring as if noticing for the first time where he stood. He seemed almost startled by the boxes and trappings of the Densmen's camp. "Have you spent all these years among such rabble?"

         Jamis did not reply.

         "You told your mother that leaving was the noble choice. What do you know of nobility living here like a pig in the wood?"

         "I will not answer a question like that."

         Startled by how thin Jamis' voice had become, Feeona glanced over at him. His skin had gone ashen, his forehead and cheeks glistening with sweat. But his eyes were as hard and defiant as she'd ever seen them.

         "Then answer me this." The older man smiled coldly. "Why did you send the lad back? Why reveal yourself now?"

         Feeona stifled a cry of disbelief.

         "Nine years is a long time," Jamis said.

         "Yes, it is." The man sounded oddly empathetic. "Nine years is a very long time to make excuses for a traitorous son. For nine years, I have offered every lie I could think of. I paid others to say they visited with you. I told everyone that you were the man threatened because you were born sooner and better groomed to lead. I even offered apologies to preserve some bit of your honor. Perhaps if you thank me now, I'll be inclined someday to forgive you."

         Nothing but birdsong and the scrape of wind-tossed branches filled the camp.

         "In case you still care to know it, your mother is dead."

         His lips parting, Jamis gave a small gasp.

         "She died giving birth to another child - a girl, as it turned out, and of no use to me."

         As she listened, Feeona's skin crawled. Despite their cloying tone, the man's words were far from normal. He was not incensed or even vengeful, she realized. He was mad.

         "Have you nothing to say?" he demanded.

         Jamis stared back, his face creasing with pity.

         As he stepped closer, the man's silky words dissolved to a snarl. "I deserve some explanation for your insupportable behavior. You abandoned your home, your obligations to hide like some wild animal among beggars and thieves. Why betray your family like this?"

         "Did you kill him?" Jamis asked.

         The abrupt question meant nothing to Feeona, but Jamis' father clinched his right hand as if he squeezed a living neck. "No." He glowered at his fist. "I cannot kill him until you come home."

         "Then I will not come home."

         "That is not your choice to make!" his father hissed. "I did not search all these years to see our family disgraced!"

         "You disgrace it by wanting what is not ours."

         He pointed a gloved finger at Jamis. "That fool cousin of yours is not fit to rule, and if you return with me, you will see why. He is a whelp and a waste of flesh, but I cannot kill him until you return."

         "Then you need to kill me."

         Jamis' calm response terrified Feeona. She wanted to protest. As if he knew it, Jamis tightened his hand over hers.

         Shivering with rage, the man lifted the crossbow and pointed it at Feeona. "Your whore will die first."

         As Feeona stared at the bow's quivering tip, a heavy sob escaped her chest. Jamis' father was what she had always imagined the devil to be - handsomely cloaked and even charming until refusal made him treacherous.

         "No!" Jamis shouted the word and removed his hand. "She is not mine. You'll gain nothing but spite from a lowland manor lord if you kill her."

         Keeping the crossbow stiff in her direction, the man almost smiled. "She is noble?"

         "She is hiding here...like me."

         Unable to force her gaze from the crossbow, Feeona wondered what Jamis meant to see happen. He made her seem guilty of his crime. Tears spilled from her eyes as she reminded herself they might soon be in Heaven. Death was not the worst the world had to deliver; she was seeing the worst before her.

         "Then, like you, I suppose she has betrayed her family?" Jamis' father kept his arm steady. "Perhaps I do that lord a favor by disposing of her."

         "Would you want another man to make such a choice for you?" Jamis asked.

         The question threw him into a fury. "No man controls my fate...or that of my son! No man makes my decisions! No man steals what is mine!" His chin lifting with resolve, he moved the crossbow's tip to rest even with Feeona's brow. "I steer the course of this family. I know what I am owed, and I mean to claim it. But first, you will learn a lesson. I will make sure you remember what betrayal had gained you."

         Shutting her eyes, Feeona heard the arrow's hiss before the dull thud of its landing. She expected a blanket of pain and then emptiness to flood her head and thoughts. Instead a strong hand encircled her neck and pressed her to the earth. Folding over, she cried out when her cheek smacked against gravel.

         "Don't move!" It was Jamis' voice, hoarse but insistent in her ear. "Don't move."

         Daring to peek, she realized motion had erupted all around them. Feet pounded the ground. Cries slid from the forest along with a spray of arrows that downed the soldiers as they struggled to draw blades or aim crossbows of their own.

         His face resting close to hers, Jamis locked his good arm around her shoulders. They stayed there, flat on the dirt, as familiar faces began to crowd the campsite. Suddenly Hoery's hands were on them.

         "It's safe now," he muttered. "All's safe again."

         Feeona rose first, pushing herself from the ground to see Jamis still lying on his left side. Taking his good arm in hers, she guided him while Hoery bore the weight of Jamis' uninjured shoulder. She didn't let go until the old man did.

         "Go slow," Hoery cautioned. "It won't do to tear that wound."

         Sitting up, Jamis looked no better than before. Pain made him squint and breathe strangely, and his eyes didn't seem to see anything until he noticed his fallen father. For only a moment, his gaze stayed on the corpse until he jerked his head, and then his whole form, toward the spot where Den had died. Groaning, Jamis crawled the few feet between them, his right arm braced against his stomach.

         Feeona followed, wanting to say he shouldn't move. He shouldn't bend like that to rest his head on Den's shoulder. The wound would bleed worse, and he would faint. He would have to be carried to his box.

         Squatting behind Den, Hoery reached out to pat Jamis' head. "I know what he was to you, son." Sorrow clouded his worn face, and he looked away.

         Feeona put a hand to her mouth as a sob escaped it. If she cried now, she would bawl like a child. She felt a different hand on her back, a finger poking her with familiar persistence, and she turned to see Twich hovering beside her.

         "You okay, Fee?" His vacant grin didn't appear, lost to an uneasiness that made him fidget and twist.

         "I'm okay." She wiped her eyes, knowing her tears would only worry Twich more.

         "You didn't climb a tree."

         "No, Twich. Not this time. But you still did a fine job. All the men did." She stopped talking, overwhelmed by what the Densmen had done for Jamis. Glancing around the ring, she spotted every man she hoped to see. Borgot and Tevvy canvassed the trees for any men still hiding. Whent and Joskin argued about how to dispose of the corpses. Flumm crept among the fallen soldiers, poking their stomachs with a broken sword to make sure none were pretending. Other men passed the gathering circle, moving with purpose until they noticed Jamis and Hoery, and then Den. Hoery waved them on with his club.

         Jamis had straightened, his left hand covering his eyes as he worked to catch his breath. Realizing he cried, Feeona knelt beside him. His reserve, his stern resilience - it was gone like frost beneath the spring sun.

         Sweeping her hand over Jamis' hair, she rested it where the curls touched his neck. "Nine years is a long time," she said softly.

         He nodded once at her words, then rubbed his face as he stared at Hoery. "You didn't leave."

         Through his own grief, Hoery managed a grin. "We defend this dell against any band, mercens or otherwise. Den wouldn't hear of us leaving you to suffer, and neither would I. Nor would Feeona, it seems."

         Jamis looked over at her, and this time, he did smile. With red eyes and wet cheeks, and a body stiff with pain, he smiled just enough for her to see his relief. "Feeona." He reached for her face to brush the dirt from it. "Thank you for coming to warn us."

         Wincing as his fingers hit the bruise beneath, she felt more teardrops threaten to fall. She caught his hand with both of hers and held it between them. "Can I help you to your box?"

         His widening smile was an answer, and she noticed the hope in it. When Jamis leaned upon her to stand, pain took his mood again, but he did more than let her help. He held onto her. Feeona did not look back as she led Jamis forward, and neither did he.