I knew what she was saying.
“The king will defeat him,” I whispered and she looked forward again murmuring, “Without doubt.”
“This Dortak tried to claim me, the Dax severed his chain and –” I stopped talking when she abruptly halted us and her eyes snapped to my face.
“He severed his chain?” she whispered.
“Uh… yeah,” I confirmed.
“Oh my,” she breathed.
“What?” I asked.
“Oh my,” she breathed again and her eyes had a faraway look in them.
I shook her arm and hissed, “What, Diandra?” and her eyes focused on me.
“Warriors battle for their brides, as you know, my dear, and there are very few rules with anything to do with any fight, indeed anything to do with The Horde or the Korwahk nation, but the warriors of The Horde do honor their brothers. Although it is not unheard of for things to get out of hand and one warrior kill another for his bride, or, perhaps, deliver a wound that will eventually kill or one that festers and brings the warrior low. But this is very infrequent. Because of this, there are other whispers around the Daxshee, not just those about you. These other whispers are about Dortak and the Hunt. It is known that Dortak took the life of a warrior for the bride he was claiming. I just did not know it was you. Was it you?”
I nodded and whispered, “It was me.”
Her eyes went soft as she realized what I witnessed then she carried on. “This has not been taken positively as the warrior he brought low was well-liked and Dortak is not. Although the kill was not witnessed, because of his reputation many believe that it was not due to both warriors descending into bloodlust as the battle raged on but that he did not give the fallen warrior the opportunity to surrender before he delivered his killing blow.”
I didn’t know if this was true or not. I hadn’t been paying that much attention mainly because I was freaked right the fuck out.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know enough about this stuff to know if he gave that guy an opportunity to give up or not. And, I have to say, I honestly wasn’t taking much in, I had other things on my mind,” I told her.
She gave me an understanding smile and said softly, “Of course not, my dear.” Then she took in a deep breath and went on, “That said, although there are few rules, like I mentioned, there is also
honor and you do not sever a chain. Never. It is a slap in the face.
An insult. It says you hold no respect for the other warrior. If a warrior has attached their chain to you the other warrior battles until that warrior is beaten, surrenders or has fallen and only then can they detach their chain and hook their own to their chosen bride. To sever the chain is to say you feel the battle will be won before it is even started. It’s actually worse than a slap in the face. It is akin to spitting in it.” She looked away and started us walking again.
“Another bold statement,” she kept talking quietly, “King Lahn is forcing a challenge, I see. He grows impatient with Dortak. He wants him defeated.”
“But, if that’s true, why didn’t he kill him when he challenged him for me?” I asked.
“Because, my dear,” she patted my hand again and kept walking,
“that would bear no witnesses. He will wait for Dortak’s challenge so he can humiliate him before all. He wants that shame to be the last thing he feels before the Dax takes his head.”
Oh God.
Takes his head?
Oh God!
At that, I decided I was done talking.
Diandra didn’t and chattered away as we walked through the encampment then she walked me back to my tent. Then she spoke to my women who hurried off to do whatever it was that they did. Not long after, bunches of large, square pillows, some with fringe all around, some with tassels at the four ends, some with no adornment, all silk, satin or brocade and all in rich colors, were arranged on some thick hides on the dusty stone around our tent and we reclined in the cool (ish) shade of the tent as the women brought us flat bread, strong cheese, dried, spiced meat, almonds and crisp, fresh, deliciously cold (if it can be believed) fruit juice.
I couldn’t say I was comfortable being waited on while lounging and five women rushed to answer my every unspoken whim. What I
could say was that that particular conversation with the Dax was for some future time, if I was still around at that time (which, God, I hoped I was not) and if I ever decided I intended to try to speak to the brute.
A lot of people passed our tent as Diandra babbled at me and I part listened but mostly I tried to figure out what to do next. After awhile, it occurred to me that it was unlikely that many people passed the Dax’s tent on a normal day and it was much more likely that they’d come to check me out.
This made me feel weird, on show and I didn’t like it but then again, I didn’t like a lot of things so I kept my peace, kept my lounge and listened to Diandra talk.
In late afternoon, promising to come back the next day and take me to the marketplace bringing her daughter Sheena with her, Diandra left me.
And when she did I realized I’d forgotten to ask after Narinda and the evil (and apparently stupid) Dortak’s unlucky bride.
And after she left, I lay on the pillows noting that my women were busy bustling around doing whatever they were doing. But whatever they were doing, they were doing it no longer looking anxious but happy, smiling at each other while working and chattering.
I watched them and smiled whenever they caught my eye. They smiled back.
They seemed like nice ladies.
Shit, if I didn’t wake up home soon, I was probably going to have to get to know them and figure out what to do about them. But one thing I knew, whatever this world was or my place in it, I was not going to own slaves.
Then I sighed, fiddled with the tassel of a pillow, tried to sort my head out and smiled at anyone who passed by who smiled at me. I also nodded to anyone who caught my eye. And I took the lovely, pink flower from a little girl who dashed up and handed it to me,
murmuring, “Shahsha, honey,” as I took it. She giggled and rushed back to her beaming mother.
It was after a dinner of roasted, spiced meat, more flat bread and potatoes cooked in onions that I took at the table in the tent when I decided what I was going to do.
And it was after my women – Jacanda (petite, chubby and seemingly outgoing), Packa (also petite, not chubby and somewhat shy), Gaal (tall, thin and quiet but not in a shy way, a careful, watchful one that made me slightly uneasy) and Beetus (tall, skinny, the youngest I was guessing, mostly because she looked it but was also extremely giggly in a way I almost, almost found infectious) –
