Much later, the horses attended to, Breia and Terrano had indeed caught up with the villagers. Twilight settled over the village. Lively music played, and old and young swung partners in dance. The phallic pole stood resplendent among the revelers, its paper ribbons fluttering in the heat of bonfires lit around the square.
Breia lounged against the tavern wall, having lost her place at the long table. She sipped warmed wine and closed one eye to focus on Terrano. Challenged to an arm-wrestling match, he had assessed the risk and made a substantial bet. The raw youth who had challenged raised coin from his friends and matched Terrano’s stake. Others had joined in the betting, and now a noisy crowd surrounded the table where the combatants had claimed space.
Breia knew his technique. Had laid a bet of her own. Terrano’s lean form belied his strength. If he put coin on the line, it was fairly certain he’d win. Two years of riding with the Diamond Dogs had taught her much. His face contorted in a fierce grimace, and his biceps bulged. She grinned and took another swallow of spiced wine. Terrano’s opponent gave a mighty roar. Terrano twitched, a slight release of his shoulder. Breia closed her eyes and counted to three. Groans and cheers erupted from the watchers. She grinned and looked again. The massive youth rubbed his arm and shook his head ruefully. Terrano collected his winnings and tossed the defeated man a silver coin, to the loud approval of the crowd. With only a slight weave, he made his way to Breia.
“Yours, I believe.” He dropped two gold coins into her palm. “I thank you for your faith in me.” She inclined her head in gracious acknowledgment. Before she could suggest utilizing the winnings on a night in the comfort of an inn, the music stopped playing. In the sudden quiet, a rhythmic drumming began. A slight shift in the direction of the breeze blew smoke across the square. In the haze, a group of young women gathered. All wore mantles of bright-dyed wool, and slow-stepped around the pole in time to the drums.
A gradual hush fell over the square. Terrano took the goblet from Breia and drank, watching the ritual. The drumming stopped. A lone piper began a high, sweet melody. The girls formed a circle, moved to the edges of the crowd and began a weaving dance in and out of the line of young men who stood at the front. A fiddle and a flute joined the piper, and before long the drums began again. At the full crescendo of the music, the girls unfastened their mantles and each singled out a lad. The music stopped abruptly. Mantles flew. As each gay mantle settled around the shoulders of a young man, the girls stepped away, hands clasped behind their backs and eyes downcast.
The lads glanced around the crowd. Some grinned, some looked uncomfortable. One tall lad pulled the mantle from his shoulders and handed it back to the girl beside him, grinning awkwardly and shaking his head. Disappointment filled her round face, but she shrugged and smiled. Several others were similarly rebuffed, and the crowd groaned in sympathy with each returned mantle. When the youth closest to the tavern reached up with deliberate slowness and fastened the yellow mantle across his chest, the girl beside him threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with great exuberance. The remaining youths also accepted their mantling, and the musicians began a lively dance.
Terrano rolled his eyes. “Fools! Going so meekly to the mantle. Hardly more than boys, yet committing themselves to support a wife-and a babe before the year’s out.” He shook his head. “No experience of life, nor their options. Blind fools.”
Breia pursed her lips and glanced at him sideways. “What of the warm bed and the home, to say nothing of the care and affection? Mantling is good for a man, especially these village lads. Most of them will live here all their lives.”
Terrano snorted. “Or run away to sea when the squalling of babes and an acid tongue greet them each evening. I’ll settle for an occasional warm bed.” The beginnings of a smile curved his mouth at the corners. He leaned closer, tickling Breia’s ear with his breath. “Your bedroll or mine, Princess?” His hair brushed her cheek. He smelled of leather and wood smoke, and she leaned into him, already responding to his invitation. Jingling the gold coins in her pocket, she took his arm and tugged him toward the inn beside the tavern. “No bedrolls tonight,” she breathed in his ear. “Let’s get really comfortable.”
He grinned and followed her into the welcoming pool of lamplight that spilled from the inn’s doorway.
Two weeks after Breia and Terrano’s joint sojourn, all of the band except Keenan had completed their lists. Breia’s last kill still haunted her. A ragged and pathetic young whore, dying from her disease, a dead infant lying in filth at her side. Wrestling with her conscience, Breia had taken several days to complete the mission. Eventually, she smothered the girl with her own greasy pillow and vomited outside the shack until her eyes watered and bile dripped from her nose. Memories of the thin body twitching beneath her hands filled her nights with shame.
But it was over. The list was done, her future secured. Breia ran her fingers down the blade of her sword. She poured a dipper of water onto her whetstone and began the careful process of honing the weapon.
“Keenan’s back.”
Lost in her thoughts and the scrape of metal on stone, she started at the voice behind her. Terrano dropped to the bench beside her and leaned his elbows on the scarred table behind him. “We can be gone from here in the morning.” He scanned the worker’s quarters where they had lived for the past few months. Breia followed his gaze. The low building had been an adequate shelter in which to pass the winter-more of a bunkhouse than a home, but they had seen worse. A wide hearth set into the back wall was seldom without a blaze, and a cook pot hung close to the fire, bubbling with the evening’s offering. Rabbit with onions, according to the aroma that filled the quarters. She tested her blade with her thumb.
“So where to next? Any ideas?”
Terrano grunted and stretched out his legs. “Tag’s making noises about the northern lands.”
“And you?” Breia kept her eyes on her sword. “I heard tell you were run out of the north. Something to do with the Temple Tribunes, I believe.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So Tag talks in his sleep, does he?” She squinted down the length of her blade and frowned. Terrano chuckled. “The Tribs don’t last long. The Temple is a hard master. I doubt I’d be recognized now.”
“And the priestesses?” Breia sheathed her sword and tucked the whetstone into her pack.
He sighed. “Gentle does, with the curves of the Divine Witch herself.”
“And Divine Carrannah’s lusty appetite for pleasure, I hear.” Tagrin’s rumble announced his arrival. “Keenan scored. We’re to gather tonight at the tower.” He pulled a chunk of rabbit from the simmering pot and blew on it. “Did you see the latest development?” The meaty chunk waved in the direction of the tower, then disappeared into Tagrin’s mouth.
“The slide? Hm. Who would have thought that the old corpse-waker was building a helter-skelter?” Terrano barked a short laugh. “A desperate attempt to shore up his reputation-gain the approval of the townsfolk.”
“By providing a costly toy for their children,” Breia said thoughtfully. “The metal alone is worth much coin, not to mention the work that’s gone into bending it around that tower.” The chute had arrived in sections, and workers had this day assembled it, fastening and smoothing each length of the slide with the help of a metallurgist’s spells. The curved slide spiraled its way from the top door of the tower to the bottom, encircling it several times like a giant silver serpent.