It was Cara that led Steelshod out of the hills.
They camped in a dense grove of trees when the night was darkest. They lit no fires, and half of them stayed awake at any given moment to stand sentry. Come the first gray light of dawn, Cara recommended they veer off the Cassaline road entirely. She suggested that they take a narrower dirt trail she knew. It was just wide enough for the wagons, and she swore it would make for a faster exit from the most dangerous parts of Wncari territory.
There was some grumbling and concern.
“She could be leading us into a trap,” suggested some of the men. “Can’t trust a savage.”
Yorrin was among them, at first. But when Aleksandr agreed to do as Cara suggested, Yorrin fell into line instantly. He even chided the other skeptics at any outward doubt they might show towards Aleksandr’s wisdom.
They cleared the dense woodlands a day earlier than expected. A half-day beyond that, and they descended out of the highlands of the Wncari Hills altogether.
This could have been much worse, Aleksandr thought to himself. Finding her was to our fortune. I hope it might be to hers, as well.
Cara, for all that she had guided them to safety, kept to herself and spoke little. She’d armed herself with the fallen weapons and armor of her people, that first day they met her. She carried a bow and arrows, a long knife, and a spear. She wore a few bits of hardened leather and iron strapped to her, whatever few pieces she’d found that seemed to fit her.
The woman going armed had been viewed, like everything else about her, with considerable skepticism at first. But Aleksandr felt it would not be right to force her to travel defenseless with a group of men she did not know. Not after what happened to her already.
She even rode a mount. Shortly after she’d joined them, she led them to a spot in the woods where a small collection of small, rangy horses were grazing. They were fitted with simple but well-crafted bridles and saddles.
“The Bán Capall prefer to go mounted,” she said when they found them. “They’d have left ‘em here when they got close to the road, though, especially as the others had no steeds. Would’ve figured they didn’t need horses to catch up with one wee lass.”
“You mean these belonged to the men that attacked us? Those we killed?” Aleksandr asked.
She nodded. “Aye.” She took the reins of a small white horse, dappled with gray and black. “This one was Lochlann’s, I reckon. Mine now.”
None had argued with her, or with Aleksandr’s choice to let her take the horse. The other animals were now lashed to a tether behind Giancarlo’s wagons. The Cassaline said he might be able to get a few silver pieces for them in Caedia, and Aleksandr knew he would need more coin if he hoped to fund a mercenary company.
Aleksandr’s decision to trust Cara first proved its wisdom a few hours after they’d put the hills behind them. She was moving at the head of the column with Yorrin and Conrad, still scouting as she’d done in the hills, when the three of them spotted a small band of roving Svardic reavers. Cara was the first to put an arrow into one of them, and by the time Aleksandr and the rest of the caravan caught up there were two dead Svards lying facedown in the dirt. The others had scattered far and wide.
“She did well, sir,” Conrad said to Aleksandr, when they reported to him on what had happened. “Knows her way around a bow, at least.”
“Hm,” Yorrin sniffed, clearly biting back a disparaging remark.
Or at least a disagreement, Aleksandr thought. He clearly has a problem with her for being a woman and an Wncar. I wonder if he has further misgivings, or if that’s all this is.
They camped rough that night, in a small grove of trees. They were clear of the Wncar, but not necessarily whatever Svards roved Caedia’s rural outlands. Aleksandr allowed them to light small fires, and they posted sentries all around the perimeter.
“This path, it reconnects with the Cassaline road eventually?” Aleksandr asked Cara. She was sitting a short but notable distance from the others, staring into the fire. Her dinner—a simple oat pottage Robin had cooked up—lay half-eaten beside her.
She glanced at Aleksandr, and nodded. “Aye,” she said. “It ought to in a day or two.”
“Well, which is it?” Yorrin asked from where he sat across the fire. “A day, or two?”
She shrugged. “Only been this far once before, and you Middish travel slow. Probably two.”
“Us Middish?” Aleksandr mused. He smiled. “I have not been called this before. I am from farthest northern reaches of Rusk. You are more Middish than I.”
Cara wrinkled her nose at him, and said nothing.
The next morning Aleksandr woke early. He stood near the horses, armed and armored, waiting for the others to rise. Kholodny was sheathed, and in his hands he held a pair of stout wooden staves he’d borrowed from Giancarlo’s wagons.
Aleksandr said nothing. He gave only slow, measured nods to those that wished him a good morning. One by one, they seemed to sense that he was waiting for them. One by one they approached, until the entire company stood in quiet expectation.
Even Cara stood at attention, though she was apart from the others. Aleksandr noticed a few stood closer to her, as if granting quiet approval: Prudence, Dylan, Conrad, and Orson.
Prudence must feel kinship to the only other woman in the caravan, Aleksandr thought. Conrad saw her kill that Svard. Dylan… supporting me, perhaps? He hadn’t the faintest idea why Orson seemed keen to help the woman feel included.
“Something we must discuss,” Aleksandr said. “Now that we are out of the hills. You.” He nodded at Cara.
“Time to go your own way, woman,” muttered Robin. “About ti—”
Aleksandr held up a hand, and Robin’s mouth snapped shut.
“When we met, you said you wished to join us in fighting the Svards,” Aleksandr said to Cara.
Cara’s arms were crossed across her chest. She frowned at him. “Aye.”
“Do you still feel this way?”
“Aye…” she said again. She spoke cautiously, as if anticipating an unwelcome response.
“Good,” Aleksandr said. “Yorrin.”
Yorrin stepped forward. “Sir.”
Aleksandr gestured to the ground beside him, next to where they’d kept the horses. It was flat earth, covered with a soft layer of grass and fallen leaves.
Yorrin nodded. He walked past Aleksandr, pausing only to take a staff. He leaned close as he did so.
“Are you sure, sir?” he asked, too quietly for anyone else to hear.
“I am.” Aleksandr kept his voice equally low.
He heard Yorrin stifle a quiet sigh as he moved on to stand in the open area.
“Cara,” Aleksandr said.
She looked confused. “What’s this then?” she said.
“You asked to fight alongside us. To join Steelshod, first we must take your measure. Step forward.”
“Oh.” Cara dropped her spear onto the ground. She stepped forward, moving with a confident swagger that Aleksandr suspected was mostly bravado. She took the second staff from him, and stepped into the flat clearing across from Yorrin.
She shifted her grip on the staff a few times, swishing it experimentally through the air. “Not a bad shillelagh,” she said. “Little light.”
Yorrin stood a bit stiffly, holding the staff in a two-handed grip. It’s not his weapon of choice, Aleksandr thought. He’d thought that would make things more fair, assuming the Wncari woman was not necessarily as trained at arms as most of his company. Perhaps that was a mistake.
Cara and Yorrin stood across from each other for a few long moments. Suddenly, Cara snapped into action. She whipped the staff forward, striking at Yorrin’s face. He leaned back, narrowly avoiding the blow. The staff thunked against the armored jack covering his chest.
He struck back at her, a flurry of quick strikes. None of them had the force to do real damage, but Cara moved to block them anyway. The sound of the wooden staves clacking against each other filled the clearing.
They circled around the clearing for a minute or two, each probing the other for a weakness. Cara was the first one to get the better of an exchange, as she rapped Yorrin’s knuckles with a solid blow.
He winced, but didn’t drop the staff. Cara was a few inches taller than Yorrin, but the small man was nothing but lean muscle and boot leather. He narrowed his eyes, and his next several blows came faster.
He has truly learned a lot from Olivenco, Aleksandr noticed. In the holmgang he lost his focus, began acting on instinct. But when he keeps his composure, the changes to his stance and style are obvious. Even when he isn’t using the sword and dagger.
Yorrin’s footwork was much more precise than it had been before his lessons with Olivenco. He maintained awareness and control of the space around him. Simple lessons, ones that the Kerensky armsmasters had drilled into Aleksandr’s head before his thirteenth year. But even so, Yorrin had picked them up unusually quickly.
Cara was clearly no stranger to combat. He wondered if, among the Wncar, it was not unusual for a woman to learn the ways of battle. Much of their culture seems focused on fighting the Caedians, he thought. They are a dying people, fighting a power much larger and greater than they. Perhaps they have no other choice.
Cara used her height advantage to keep Yorrin back, and when he made an attempt to close she punished him with a strike to the face. Yorrin tilted his head to the side, the blow glancing off the side of his head, and then he jammed his staff between her legs and jerked it hard to the side.
Cara’s feet went out from under her. She hit the dirt hard, and the staff rolled from her grip. A chuckle was audible rippling through crowd of men watching. Aleksandr watched his company from the corner of his eye, and he was pleased to see the laughing die quickly.
“Hm,” Yorrin said. “Not bad.”
He started walking towards Aleksandr. Behind him, Cara reached out and grabbed the staff. She lurched to her feet, brushing some dirt and leaves off of her clothes.
“What? Done already, are you?” she growled.
Yorrin paused, his back to her. He glanced at Aleksandr. Aleksandr gave him a slow nod. Yorrin returned the nod, and he turned to face her.
“Guess not,” he said. He moved in, staff raised.
Cara shifted on her feet, knees bent slightly, shoulders squared. She seemed to be ready for him, but when Yorrin grew closer he moved with a sudden burst of speed. He juked around her—a movement that reminded Aleksandr of the way he’d maneuvered his opponent Svard off the dock—and slammed the staff into her side.
She grunted in pain, tried to bring her staff around to engage him. But the blow had staggered her, and Yorrin pressed his advantage. He stepped in close, choking up his grip on the staff and ramming the tip into her armpit. She struggled, trying to disentangle herself, but when he kicked one of her legs in the shin she lost her balance and toppled backwards.
She hit the ground harder than the last time. Aleksandr heard her breath catch as the wind was knocked from her chest. She took a few loud, ragged breaths as Yorrin turned and began walking away again.
Yorrin had nearly reached Aleksandr when Cara climbed back to her feet. She leaned heavily on the staff. “What, y’ scared of a lass?” She called out. She panted between words, but she still managed to sound mocking.
She’s proven her mettle, Aleksandr thought. There is no need for this to continue.
Yorrin rolled his eyes, and he turned around again. “Again?”
“Again,” she said, grimacing.
Yorrin came at her quickly. She was obviously still catching her breath, but Yorrin didn’t seem at all interested in giving her a chance to recover. He unleashed a wild onslaught of strikes, obviously opting for speed and power over finesse.
It was the right choice. She deflected the first few blows, but Yorrin began landing one strike for every two she turned. He hit her arms, her legs, her torso. Her piecemeal armor absorbed a few of the hits, but Aleksandr had no doubt that she would have many bruises by the time the day was done.
Yorrin struck low, and she moved to parry. It was a feint and he shifted his blow to the opposite end of the staff. The wood moved so fast it whistled through the air, and it connected with Cara’s face.
A spray of blood, and she went down again. The onlookers were deathly silent.
This has gone too far. Aleksandr frowned. “Enough,” he said. “Orson.”
Orson hurried forward, satchel of medical equipment in hand. Before he reached them, however, Cara was climbing back to her feet.
She was bleeding from her lips, and one nostril. “Fuck off,” she growled to Orson. He stopped, looked back to Aleksandr for guidance.
“We have learned what there is to learn,” Aleksandr said.
“Don’t think so,” Cara said.
“What, you want more?” Yorrin asked. “I figured I’d given you enough by now.”
Cara spat blood onto the dirt. “Enough? Little man. Little manhood. Little chance of you giving any woman ‘enough’.”
A few in Steelshod laughed, particularly Robin and Bear.
“Yes, I’ve never heard a jape about my size before, very clever,” Yorrin said, unamused. “I’d be happy to put you on the dirt as many times as you like. But Aleksandr said we’re done. So we’re done. ”
“I didn’t yield!” Cara shouted the words with venom. Her green eyes were wild, and Aleksandr did not miss the glassy sheen on them.
This was a mistake, he realized. It was not a friendly test bout to her.
“No, you did not,” he said. He stepped forward, and took the staff from Yorrin’s hands. Yorrin seemed relieved to have the spectacle over with. “Cara… this was not a duel of honor. Not a matter of yielding at all. It was just a test, to take your measure.”
Cara wiped blood from her face with the back of her left hand. Her right still clutched the staff tightly. She spat again, more blood than spittle. “Fine,” she said. “Taken it then, have you?”
“You are a determined fighter,” Aleksandr said.
“Not much skill, but yeah, at least she’s tenacious,” Yorrin agreed.
Cara took an angry step towards him, but she stopped when Aleksandr raised a cautioning hand.
“You are determined,” he repeated. He took a few steps closer to her. “You do not yield. This is admirable. You truly wish to join us? To fight the Svards with us?”
Cara nodded. “Aye,” she said. “More’n anything.”
“Then you will,” Aleksandr said. He reached out a hand. She shook it, leaving a smear of red on his glove.
Cara grinned through the blood.
“Welcome to Steelshod,” Aleksandr said. He raised his voice loud enough for all to hear. “Someone get her a cloak.”