Protected: Chapter Three
Protected
Chapter Three: Shame
Kel’s hurts certainly didn’t make her life easy. At roadside stops she made sure to clean them with cold, clean water and rest her right hand as much as possible. She prayed fervently that Sir Martin and the men did not notice; the last thing she needed was to be sent back, or grounded to a village healer while the insensitive older knight went on to the mission unsupervised. Kel had a nasty feeling he may favor the humans over the ogres.
How many times had she been told that, while a knight’s duty was aggressive, negotiation and diplomacy were one of the realm’s strongest weapons? The peace between humans and law-abiding immortals was tenuous; her duty was to protect it. The Tortallan ogres were peaceable-- and a potentially valuable asset, in time. Would she let a few bumps and bruises keep her from her duty? She’d known Zahir as a page; knew his violent and bullying ways. She would not trust her kingdom’s internal peace to a thug and an old-fashioned bigot.
With these thoughts, Kel went on, along the river and over the bridge Sir Martin had been aiming for. A day and a half into the other bank she thought she saw Zahir study her with a frown. Advising herself to caution, she began paying attention to his incessant prattling about his family again. There was no knowing, with his type. Hadn’t she learned that when Lalasa was kidnapped?
The journey was improving; they lost no more men. Sir Martin made his decisions in the evenings virtually unchallenged. Kel’s mind often wandered at these times, but Sir Martin didn’t seem to notice or care. He probably prefers it that way, she decided. That way he knows I won’t stick my youthful nose into his planning and exquisite leadership.
One morning, well before they had packed camp and mounted up, Zahir approached Kel.
"May we have a private word?" he requested, quietly.
Kel nodded, and let Zahir lead her out of earshot but within sight of the quickly disappearing camp. She studied him half-heartedly. What could he possibly want to discuss with her?
"I didn’t want the soldiers to overhear," he began, "but I’ve been watching you since your slip on the riverbank. You’d taken quite a bruising there, and you’ve been favoring your left hand ever since." He paused, but Kel was silent, her eyes intent on his.
"If that were it, I wouldn’t be worried. Bruises heal quickly enough, and we didn’t get into any fights, so as long as you could ride it didn’t matter. But there are other things, too. You’ve been less active, less concentrated. You look flushed, and you’ve been drinking a lot of water. We didn’t think your fall caused any serious injuries, but the ones you sustained may have sparked a fever that your body has not had enough rest to throw off. You should really --"
"What?" she interrupted him. "Crawl back to the palace with my tail between my legs?"
Zahir frowned. "That’s not what I said at all. This foray we’re on, it’s not a battle, and it's not something we couldn’t handle without you. There’s no reason why you can’t stop for two or three days, rest a little, and wait out this fever. You’d probably even be able to catch up with us on the road!"
"Well," answered Keladry, "that’s assuming this fever you talk about is even real. I haven’t felt feverish," she said smoothly.
"You’re not up to your usual strength," argued Zahir. "You used to talk to the soldiers each night, and then all of a sudden you stopped."
"Those talks were meant to stem the depletion of our force," Keladry countered, getting angry. "Obviously, there have been no more desertions."
"Is that the reason you stopped?" the dark eyes she met were flashing.
"No, if you must know," she said in a soft, accentuated tone, "Sir Martin ordered me to stop."
There was a pause in the match.
"Consider my words, Lady Knight," Zahir said finally, his voice cold and contemptuous. "Your Yamani tricks of mind will not help us much if we are attacked by an aggressive and armed enemy, and your sword-arm fails you in the heat of battle. Our soldiers are mostly green, and fewer then we rode out with. We need fighting men, not an injured liability such as yourself."
Kel listened, her fury growing. Yamani tricks of mind? He would wish he knew such tricks! He was jealous, plain and simple, and he wanted her out of the way as he had back when they were both pages.
Most of all, he convinced himself that she was weak, when he knew otherwise, or should. She would show him who was weak, here; she’d done it before. His choice of words exposed him: hadn’t Sir Martin called her “a liability” only days ago?
With an effort of will, Keladry schooled her face to stone -- feeling oblivious rivers rush over her as she stood
"I warn you, Sir Zahir ibn Ilhaz," she said, coolly, "do not make this personal."
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Chapter Three: Shame
Kel’s hurts certainly didn’t make her life easy. At roadside stops she made sure to clean them with cold, clean water and rest her right hand as much as possible. She prayed fervently that Sir Martin and the men did not notice; the last thing she needed was to be sent back, or grounded to a village healer while the insensitive older knight went on to the mission unsupervised. Kel had a nasty feeling he may favor the humans over the ogres.
How many times had she been told that, while a knight’s duty was aggressive, negotiation and diplomacy were one of the realm’s strongest weapons? The peace between humans and law-abiding immortals was tenuous; her duty was to protect it. The Tortallan ogres were peaceable-- and a potentially valuable asset, in time. Would she let a few bumps and bruises keep her from her duty? She’d known Zahir as a page; knew his violent and bullying ways. She would not trust her kingdom’s internal peace to a thug and an old-fashioned bigot.
With these thoughts, Kel went on, along the river and over the bridge Sir Martin had been aiming for. A day and a half into the other bank she thought she saw Zahir study her with a frown. Advising herself to caution, she began paying attention to his incessant prattling about his family again. There was no knowing, with his type. Hadn’t she learned that when Lalasa was kidnapped?
The journey was improving; they lost no more men. Sir Martin made his decisions in the evenings virtually unchallenged. Kel’s mind often wandered at these times, but Sir Martin didn’t seem to notice or care. He probably prefers it that way, she decided. That way he knows I won’t stick my youthful nose into his planning and exquisite leadership.
One morning, well before they had packed camp and mounted up, Zahir approached Kel.
"May we have a private word?" he requested, quietly.
Kel nodded, and let Zahir lead her out of earshot but within sight of the quickly disappearing camp. She studied him half-heartedly. What could he possibly want to discuss with her?
"I didn’t want the soldiers to overhear," he began, "but I’ve been watching you since your slip on the riverbank. You’d taken quite a bruising there, and you’ve been favoring your left hand ever since." He paused, but Kel was silent, her eyes intent on his.
"If that were it, I wouldn’t be worried. Bruises heal quickly enough, and we didn’t get into any fights, so as long as you could ride it didn’t matter. But there are other things, too. You’ve been less active, less concentrated. You look flushed, and you’ve been drinking a lot of water. We didn’t think your fall caused any serious injuries, but the ones you sustained may have sparked a fever that your body has not had enough rest to throw off. You should really --"
"What?" she interrupted him. "Crawl back to the palace with my tail between my legs?"
Zahir frowned. "That’s not what I said at all. This foray we’re on, it’s not a battle, and it's not something we couldn’t handle without you. There’s no reason why you can’t stop for two or three days, rest a little, and wait out this fever. You’d probably even be able to catch up with us on the road!"
"Well," answered Keladry, "that’s assuming this fever you talk about is even real. I haven’t felt feverish," she said smoothly.
"You’re not up to your usual strength," argued Zahir. "You used to talk to the soldiers each night, and then all of a sudden you stopped."
"Those talks were meant to stem the depletion of our force," Keladry countered, getting angry. "Obviously, there have been no more desertions."
"Is that the reason you stopped?" the dark eyes she met were flashing.
"No, if you must know," she said in a soft, accentuated tone, "Sir Martin ordered me to stop."
There was a pause in the match.
"Consider my words, Lady Knight," Zahir said finally, his voice cold and contemptuous. "Your Yamani tricks of mind will not help us much if we are attacked by an aggressive and armed enemy, and your sword-arm fails you in the heat of battle. Our soldiers are mostly green, and fewer then we rode out with. We need fighting men, not an injured liability such as yourself."
Kel listened, her fury growing. Yamani tricks of mind? He would wish he knew such tricks! He was jealous, plain and simple, and he wanted her out of the way as he had back when they were both pages.
Most of all, he convinced himself that she was weak, when he knew otherwise, or should. She would show him who was weak, here; she’d done it before. His choice of words exposed him: hadn’t Sir Martin called her “a liability” only days ago?
With an effort of will, Keladry schooled her face to stone -- feeling oblivious rivers rush over her as she stood
"I warn you, Sir Zahir ibn Ilhaz," she said, coolly, "do not make this personal."
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