Tara Ch. 03

Tara took a long sip of ale. "I've thought a bit." She glanced over at Epona, who was listening in silence. "You can eat, you know." The slave looked a bit startled; she quickly began to nibble on her supper. Tara hid a smile.

"And...?" Drea prompted.

"And I'd like to know exactly what the plan is. You know – my position, what you'd expect of me – that sort of thing." The redhead rested her chin on her hand.

Drea nodded. "Oh. Right. Of course." She scratched her nose awkwardly. "Well, it's like this. See, I'm sort of leading this outfit, so I can bring you in if I like, but...well, you being who you are, I can't just bring you in as muscle. Waste of your potential, and all. I'd more or less be bringing you on with an eye toward making you my second. Not right away, of course, but you'd be in some kind of leadership role."

"I thought as much." Tara ate a few more placid mouthfuls. "So I'll have to do the standard beat-and-intimidate thing right off the bat, to get their respect. And you'll want my help with organizing and strategy and whatnot, right?"

"That's right," Drea said.

"I see." The larger woman sat back in her chair until it creaked under the strain. She took a long, deliberate drink from her mug before catching Drea's eyes with her own. "If that's the case, I want more than a twelfth of the take. I want a tenth, plus my choice of any weapons, armor or horses we capture."

Drea hesitated for a moment. "Done," she said flatly. "You're worth it."

Tara grinned and stuck out her hand. "Then you've got yourself a redheaded second-in-command."

"Wonderful!" Drea clasped her forearm and returned the grin. "I'll go and warn the boys. Welcome to the team, you old warhorse. I'm looking forward to riding with you again."

Tara was well pleased. She shot her slave girl a smirk as Drea headed back across the tavern. "This'll be fun," she said. "I haven't had a good rough-and-tumble, teach-'em-who's-boss role in years." Epona nodded wordlessly. Her moss-green eyes were wide and anxious. "Oh, relax," Tara said with a grin. "I can take on that bunch, no problems." With that, she returned her attention to her supper. The slave quietly followed suit.

It really had been a long time since she had led a group of fighters. Tara had to admit that she really was looking forward to it. She sipped her ale and let herself dream of the days when she had traveled with Drea. Her lips curved upward. Yes, this'll be good. I think I'm actually looking forward to it.

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It was a beautiful day for riding, Tara thought cheerfully, her eyes sweeping the road ahead. She was in a very good mood, despite the fact that she was once again traveling with a group instead of by herself. There are compensations, she thought. The money will be good. And I suppose it's nice to be traveling with Drea again. She glanced ahead at the armored back of the woman in question. Heh, listen to me. I'm getting all sentimental in my old age.

The lean body in her arms shifted back against her. Tara looked down with an indulgent smile. She'd bought a decent cloak and a pair of durable boots for Epona, and she thought the girl wore them well. Tara leaned her head down to nibble lightly on the side of her slave's neck. "Nervous?" she purred.

"Yes, ma'am," Epona said softly. "This...isn't this really dangerous? I mean, all these..." She glanced at a scruffy-looking man riding to their right, and shuddered.

Tara grinned. "They aren't nearly as dangerous as your owner, you know," she said. "You'll be safe enough as long as you keep me happy." She slid upward to capture an earlobe between her lips and flick it with her tongue. "But you shouldn't find that too difficult. I've been very pleased with you so far." Epona's body quivered under her touch.

"Tara." The warrior looked up to see Drea looking at her. "C'mon up here a minute." Tara dug her heels into her horse's flanks and moved forward until their mounts were plodding alongside each other. "Listen," Drea said calmly, "I've told the boys that you're coming along to lend some extra muscle, but I think a few of them have guessed at what we've got in mind. They might give you a bit of trouble."

The redhead nodded coolly. "Well, we expected that. It's nothing I can't handle." She eyed Drea. "How much leeway have I got?"

"As much as you need," the dark-skinned woman shrugged. "Just try to leave enough of us alive and unharmed so we can still take down that caravan, all right?"

"I'll see what I can do," Tara chuckled. She felt Epona shiver and shrink down in her arms.

Drea's brown eyes moved down to the slave. "So what's the deal with her, anyway? You buy her somewhere?"

"Nah. She was part of my price to help some two-bit soldier take a town. The guy thinks he's a warlord." Tara's contemptuous smirk left no doubt as to her opinion on that score. "I picked her out myself."

"Good choice," Drea commented. Her dark eyes rested appreciatively on Epona. "Pretty little thing." Tara's jaw tightened perceptibly; the smaller warrior gave a soft huff of laughter. "Oh, come on. I can't notice your slave's a cutie? You know me. Women and wine, remember?"

Tara nodded grimly. Her face had gone noticeably cold. "As long as the women and wine are yours, I've got no problem with that."

Drea's dark eyes sparkled with laughter. "Aw, you're not sharing your candy?" She thrust out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. "Not even a little nibble, Terror? Just a little bite?" The larger woman glared at her stonily, and Drea chuckled. "All right, all right. Hackles down, tiger. I wouldn't touch her without your permission, I'm just teasing you. Think I'm tired of living?"

"Maybe." Tara's tone was cool, but her expression softened a bit. There might even have been a faint twinkle in her eyes. "If you ever are, I can help you out with that."

"Don't I know it?" The dark-skinned woman laughed easily. "I'm pretty sure you could snap me in half with your bare hands." She glanced back at the mercenaries riding behind her. "Just try to keep that under your helm, though, hey? I can do without being twitted about it."

"I'll think about it." The redhead returned her attention to the road, with a barely-noticeable twitch at the corners of her lips. "So how'd you wind up as the leader of this group, anyway? When I left, you were still riding around after Vasilus. Did he decide to give up the war game, or did you just strike out on your own?"

Drea rubbed her horse's pommel absently. "Bit of both. I guess you didn't hear. Vasilus is dead." Tara raised a brow, and Drea nodded. "It's true. About six months after you left, we were attacking this little settlement west of here, and he took an arrow between the plates of his armor. Pierced his lungs – he bled out on the battlefield." Tara felt Epona shrink against her. "A lot of the boys decided to leave after that. I managed to claw my way into leading the rest of 'em, and here we are."

"Huh." Tara shifted her shoulders a bit, settling her shield more firmly on her back. "Well, he was pushing forty-five. That's getting up there, for a warlord."

The smaller warrior grimaced. "Aye. Isn't that the truth?" She glanced down at her own hands. "Not much chance of getting old in our business. Guts and glory, gold and grit, and fall in battle. And if you're lucky, some bard might make up a song about it."

This made Tara laugh. "Well, I've already reached the pinnacle of my career, in that case," she said. "I swear I don't know why the bards always pick on me to sing about lately. You'd think I was the only person riding around Argonia raiding villages, to hear them talk." She cast Drea a sidelong glance. "Maybe it's the red hair."

"That, and the fact that you're bloody ruthless." Drea grinned. "I'm just glad you're on my team, Terror. I'd hate to wind up on the wrong end of that blade of yours." The larger woman favored her with a cool smile. "You still toss boulders around every morning?"

"Yes," Tara said calmly. "And if you were smart, you would, too. That's how I build strength. Plain sword drills don't do that." She displayed one powerful arm, flexing to show the cords of knotted muscle. "And I run, of course. But you know that – you used to come with me."

The dark-skinned woman shook her head with a rueful smile. "Trail after you and puff into camp half an hour after you did, you mean," she said. "We both know you've got more than just muscle. You've heard what they're saying about you, haven't you?" Brown eyes glinted curiously. "You know, about Ares being your dearest daddy."

Tara snorted. "Ridiculous. I'm not even Argonian." She glanced at Drea and raised her brows slightly. "I hope you're not going to start some kind of bardic hero-worship thing with me, are you?"

"Nah. I know better. I've seen you drunk." Drea made a sound suspiciously like a giggle. "I can't speak for anyone else, though."

This brought a wicked smile to Tara's face. "The others can worship me all they like," she said. "Might even be safer for them if they do." She patted the thigh of the young woman riding before her. "Right, Epona?" The slave girl made a soft sound of agreement. Tara slipped her hand underneath the girl's tunic to rest in its favorite spot on the flat belly. She felt Epona lean back against her, and smirked.

The group rode all day long, with only a brief stop to eat and water the horses at around noon. They finally stopped about an hour before sunset. The mercenaries dispersed and began to set up camp with great efficiency. Tara sent Epona to help the camp followers while she and Drea set up the tent in which they would be sleeping. Even though it had been three years since Tara had done this sort of work, her hands still remembered their old skill. By the time darkness fell, the camp was finished, and the camp followers were preparing supper over a roaring fire at the center of it.

Tara sat down heavily on a log near the fire. Her dark eyes soon found the slender form of her slave. Epona was stirring a steaming pot and chatting shyly with an older woman to her left. From how the other camp followers were acting, Tara guessed that Epona was fitting in quite well. She nodded her approval as she fumbled at her side for her pipe. Good girl, little mouse. The pungent smell of tobacco soon joined that of the cooking food.

When the meal was ready, the mercenaries gathered around the fire to receive their portions. Tara watched as Epona approached with a bowl and a small loaf of bread. She grinned lazily when the food was laid into her hands. "Thanks," she drawled. "Glad I don't have to tell you what to do." Epona nodded, and Tara waved a hand. "Go get some for yourself, too." Then, as the slave obeyed, the warrior inspected the food. It seemed to be a stew of some sort, and there was olive oil drizzled on the bread. Tara began to eat with gusto; being outdoors again had strengthened her appetite.

Epona soon returned, and knelt down at her feet to eat her own supper. Tara felt a profound contentment. Good food, fresh air, an old friend, and a new adventure. I don't know of any better recipe for happiness. She reached down to grasp Epona's arm lightly, and pulled her over until she was kneeling between her owner's feet. Then, with a rough caress of the curly head, Tara let go. The slave quietly stayed where she had been put.

There had been a period of silence as the mercenaries and their servants ate. Now pockets of conversation began to open up. Tara watched her new companions in silence as she finished her supper. Some were ignoring her, but she noticed a group of five men to the right of the fire who were casting her dark looks. Her warrior senses perked up, and she felt a subtle thrill go through her muscles. Outwardly, Tara still looked relaxed, even half asleep – but she was alert. Something's going to happen here soon, she thought. I suppose I'd better get ready.

"Epona." The slave looked up from the last few bites of her meal. "Move behind me. You can finish your supper behind this log, all right?" Epona's eyes showed her perplexity at these instructions, but she did as she was told. Tara made a show of yawning and folding her arms casually. Her fingertips brushed the hilt of her sword.

Soon, there was movement. The group of men she'd noticed got up and approached her; an uneasy silence fell over the camp. Tara was conscious of Drea's presence on the other side of the fire, but she didn't look at her. Instead, she looked up calmly to meet the gaze of the young man who was evidently the ringleader of the smaller group. He looked about twenty years old, and had the large, rounded muscles of a naturally strong man. He stepped forward, stopping about three feet from where Tara was sitting, and folded his arms across his chest. "So you're that Gael wench that everyone's been talking about." He looked her over with a faint sneer. "You don't look like much."

Tara looked at him mildly. "My name," she said, "is Tara."

His sneer grew. "You think you can just waltz in here and take over, huh?"

The woman's eyes chilled to ice, but her demeanor didn't change. "I would imagine that's up to Drea," she said coolly. "She's the one who hired me on."

With a low growl, the young man jerked a heavy mace from his belt. "Well, we don't need your kind here," he snarled. "I ain't worked this hard just so's some redheaded Gael bitch can sashay in and tell me what to do!" His boot made a sudden motion, and a small cloud of dirt flew up into Tara's face. There was a blur of movement. In the space of a heartbeat, Tara was on her feet, snarling, her blade in her hand. One of the servant girls screamed; in the frozen silence that followed, the young man's headless body collapsed into the dust. A man uttered a muffled curse.

Slowly, Tara straightened up, drawing her bloodied sword into a defensive position as her icy eyes raked the remaining mercenaries. She looked every inch the daughter of the war god. "Would anyone else care to test my qualifications?" she asked, her tone very even. The silence was deafening. Tara's gaze moved deliberately from one fighter to the next – every eye dropped before hers. At length, she stooped down, very deliberately cleaned her weapon on the dead man's shirt, and sheathed it. "Good," she said. "In that case, I'll be in my tent if anyone wants me." She turned on her heel. "Come, Epona." The girl, who had been staring at her with bugging eyes and slack jaw, now scrambled to obey.

The darkness and relative peace of the tent was a welcome change. Tara calmly spread out her bedroll, slipping her dagger beneath the head of it. Then she discarded her shield and sprawled herself out with a sigh of contentment. "C'mere," she said, crooking her finger at her wide-eyed slave. Epona hesitated. Then, slowly, the small girl crept to where her owner lay. Tara pulled her down into her arms, cradling her slim body between her knees. She could feel Epona trembling. "Shocked you a bit, hey?"

There was silence for a moment. "You...y-you..." Epona's voice was choked. "You just killed him. He...his head..."

The warrior stroked her fingers through the dark curls that had tumbled across her chest, her lips curved in faint amusement. "Yes, I did. And you watch – I won't get a peep of opposition after this." The slave girl shuddered deeply. Tara gave a low chuckle and kissed the top of Epona's head. "You'll get used to these things, beag luch. Get some sleep. It'll be another long day tomorrow."

The tent flap opened. Tara had a brief glimpse of Drea's profile before it closed again, plunging the tent back into darkness. There was a pause. "Well," came the dark-skinned warrior's wry voice, "I guess you won't have too much trouble with the boys after that little scene."

"Nope." Tara grinned up into the blackness, her hand still threading idly through her slave's soft hair. "I won't."

There was some shuffling, and then a grunt of satisfaction as Drea lay down. "Thanks for leaving the rest of 'em alive."

Tara chuckled darkly. "No problem." Then silence fell. In time, even the murmurs of conversation from outside the tent ceased, and the camp sank into the stillness of night.

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Epona's eyes slowly blinked open. A moment later, she wished that they hadn't.

She'd been dreaming of her older sister, and for the first time since that horrible raid, it hadn't been a nightmare. She'd been with her at home, and they'd been talking and laughing together. It had been sweet, and Epona had been happy. The raid, her sister's death – everything had been just a nightmare, and everything had been all right.

The slave squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears. She was lying half on top of the powerful woman who now owned her, with her head pillowed on a muscular shoulder. Two strong arms were wrapped around her body, pinning her in place; Epona couldn't have moved if she'd tried. She didn't dare to try.

It had all happened so quickly, she still couldn't really fathom it all. It still seemed like a dizzying blur. It was just an ordinary night, Epona thought numbly. It was just...we ate supper, and I was thinking about going to bed...would've been my harp lesson the next day. And then the screams, and the fire, and...and...

And running. And roaring, armored figures disgorged by the darkness, as deadly and horrifying as the monsters in the books she so loved to read. Epona couldn't even remember where she and Marcella had run; she'd been so terrified that she couldn't even see straight. And then a big bear of a man had loomed out of the blackness before them. She could remember the firelight glinting off well-oiled chain mail, and blazing eyes under a black helm, and a cowl of wolf fur. Epona had screamed and frozen in abject terror. The armored figure had raised a huge battle-axe. She remembered her sister's shriek as it fell. Then she'd been spattered with Marcella's blood. There she had stood, staring down at her sister's headless body, numb with shock.

Someone – Epona still didn't know who – had grabbed her by the back of her tunic a few minutes later and dragged her over to a huddled group of prisoners.

Marcella. The slave girl choked on the lump in her throat, and felt a couple of tears escape. Her closest friend. Her protector.

Epona thought back over the short years of her life. Marcella had taught her how to ride their pony, she remembered. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the older girl's steadying hand on the small of her back, and the warm glow the new achievement had given her. She could picture Marcella's laughing brown eyes as she'd slipped some little sweetmeat into Epona's small hand at bedtime. She remembered the comforting warmth of her sister's arms around her as they'd snuggled together in front of the fire on winter evenings with cups of warm apple cider.

There were darker memories, too. Epona could see her father's face, twisted in a fury that she couldn't understand, and feel the pain of the kicks. Marcella had been there, too...she'd always been there. Epona could almost hear her voice shouting, and see her thrusting herself between them, taking the blows for her. There had been quiet times afterward, too, when Marcella would have to go to bed for a while, and Epona would wash her bruises for her. Sometimes she would even crawl into bed with her. That had usually made Marcella cry, although Epona had understood that those were good tears.

Epona swallowed hard. She felt the arms holding her shift a bit; her gaze flicked up to the face of the woman holding her, but the warrior didn't wake. The slave let out her breath slowly in relief, and gingerly let her head rest against the woman's body again.

She didn't quite know what to make of Tara yet. The first she'd seen of her was about two seconds before her powerful hand had closed on her arm and yanked her to her feet. That first impression had been frightening – a massive woman, taller than any woman she'd ever seen in her life, with brown eyes as cold as ice and flame-red hair. She was white, too. Her skin was nearly as pale as Epona's, which was unusual.