At last, the long night of vigilance in the grotto was over. Somer Krest smiled at his daughter’s and Yew Rue’s unusual sleeping arrangements. Rue was flat on his back, arms extended with a dagger clutched in each fist.
Zin lay with her face and shoulders on his chest, arms extended to either side of him so as not to wound him with her dagger and fighting sword. In spite of the awkward weapons, the two seemed warm and content. Somer Krest shook them with a booted foot.
“Hey! Love kittens! We survived the night. We are safe enough to take care of our needs, or did you two do that already in the dark?”
“Father, I’m appalled,” she fumed.
Yew smiled at her mock purity. “I tell you true, Krest. I haven’t bonded with your daughter. But, I will when I have your blessing.”
Krest smiled. He knew his intelligent daughter had captured this prize male warrior, Yew Rue, but not because of the usual female blunders of immodesty. Yew had a paranoid disdain for being toyed with. He wanted control and never to be controlled.
“I give you my blessing now. Here give me your hands.”
Krest was medicine man, shaman, and wise man. Not doing as he requested could be a challenge for a death duel.
“No, Krest, my friend. You know my love for this woman you have trained. Do not make trite our bonding, but seal us together. Give me a quest first.”
Krest frowned. He had anticipated the need for a symbolic rite of passage. But he had not anticipated the timing. These were perilous days. Any quest would be a dangerous one. He looked in his daughter’s eyes. She was his prize, too. Zin had chosen according to her wishes. And he sensed her joy that her father had taught her the method of choosing.
So Yew wanted pain and isolation: an initiatory ordeal. He’d give Yew the same assignment he was forced to give him anyway. But maybe, Yew knew this fact also and was being politically dramatic and using showmanship.
“There is only one quest worthy of Yew Rue. You must free a princess imprisoned by the Dragoness Lamia.”
A hush revealed the serious nature of the quest.
“How can he deliver this maid?” asked Zingara with wrinkled brow.
“Simple. Kill Lamia first,” said Krest.
“I’ll be a widow before I’m even a bride. This isn’t right. Father, are you sending Yew to his death? Are you jealous you’ll lose my affections?”
“I love you, Zin. And it is true, I envy any man who attracts you. But I’m not the first man feeling such for his precious daughter. There is more to my request than foolery.”
Krest paused and stroked his beard as if wondering how much story to tell.
“Zin, I would not waste a good husband unless I had reason. But we must break away from here and set camp closer to the Dragoness’ castle. Come on, let’s travel.”
Everyone hurried making preparation for battle camp. A cold breakfast and warm drink were the mornings only pleasantries.
Krest sat outside in the warm sun, gnats flitting about. From the castle, an annoying noisy buzz of some distant machinery sounding like a huge insect never sleeping but groaning on and on. Those were the blood machines harvesting city corpses.
Krest pulled a hoarded piece of dried date out of his war pouch and concealed it in his mouth to rehydrate. He rolled it from side to side as he stared up at their objective, the looming stone castle of Shiloh. This was now the refuge of Lamia, the Dragoness. He heard the sandwalk of a trained fighter near. It was Yew Rue.
“May I?”
“The sand is soft and wide. Please, your company is welcome. I’ve some things to tell you in private anyway.”
“It’s about the quest isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“There are some things you neglected mentioning about this trapped princess I need to rescue. Why don’t you tell me now?”
Krest smiled at Yew Rue. From the corner of one eye, he watched a large black dog meander in the dusty street. He secretly wondered if Yew would betray him someday. He was intelligent and charismatic. He would make a formidable adversary.
“You know there are times I feel I’ve taught you too much. You are a perceptive cuss. Yes, I deleted some things in the cave for obvious reason which you’ll soon understand.”
“Is this going to take a long time? We’ll be missed soon and others need our direction.”
“No, I think I can be pretty quick about it. The Princess’ name is Ungula. She has recently had a spell cast on her disguising her as a hideous old cripple. The only way to free her and break the spell is to first destroy Lamia.”
“Why all this bother over an ugly old woman? Lamia destroyed many girls who were perfect and young. Why does she hold this luckless woman like a valued hostage of war?”
Krest chewed the now gooey fig stick in his mouth. He used the delay to think how to say his next words. The Great One was toiling for select words.
“Ungula is no ordinary woman. She is the twin sister of Zingara. And she is an anchoress.”
It was Yew’s turn to stall for words. Too many questions came to Yew at once.
“Does Zin know she has a sister?”
“No, she thinks she’s an only child.”
A chill raced down Yew’s back, too many unplanned elements spell bad fates.
“Why haven’t you told her?”
“I was afraid she’d be killed getting her sister out. Then I’d have no daughters, no children.”
“Who is their mother?”
“Curse me for this. Their mother is Lamia, my sister.”
Krest leaned forward drawing letters in the sand with his index finger. The sand letters spelled popular military slang meaning: illegal joining. He quickly rubbed it to oblivion. The black dog sat in the hot street watching with innocent curiosity, tongue hanging out.
“I’m beginning to understand why you haven’t talked much about these things ’til now. Must be difficult.”
The battle-fatigued Krest drew a deep breath, cinched up his knees, and shocked Yew by stifling a muffled sob in his battle cloth. Krest’s emotion ended quickly. He had finally told someone. Someone he could trust.
Yew began to comprehend. He was chosen to finish old family business. It smelled of a secret mission or assassination not a quest. And it stunk.
“Check behind that short dune. I think I heard sandwhisper,” said Krest as he batted at the small gnats buzzing to drink from his moist eyes.
Soon Yew returned.
“Some sandwalking wardog left a squat is all,” said Yew, “Obviously, not paying attention to us. Pretty sure.”
“OK. Let’s move on,” said Krest stiffly as he rose to his feet. Yew was glad Krest hadn’t asked any more questions. Yew lied again to Krest. The “squatting wardog” was a future bride who wore a size 5 women’s combat boot. Zingara probably overheard everything. When the timing was right, the woman would make a move to join the war party for sure. The best thing for now was letting her think she was undetected.