The Seared Lands by Deborah A. Wolf

Author:Deborah A. Wolf
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan Books
Published: 2020-03-17T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY - ONE

On the seventh day of the rebirth of Kal ne Mur, a handful of the Lich King’s faithful used sticks and swords and spears to lever open a tent-sized ball of dung and foul offal which Arushdemma had left behind as a parting gift. Therein they found Sudduth befouled and naked, curled protectively around her little clay pot.

Sudduth uncurled herself and rose, shaking free her glorious waist-length locks and cradling the precious plants close to her breasts as she stepped down from the bonelord’s dung-ball as if she were a queen rising with the first blush of dawn. Stepping gracefully, she paid no mind to the jagged shards of bone that poked at the soles of her feet, or the ragged bit of cloak that clung to one heel as she crossed the distance between them. Sudduth looked neither to the left nor the right, but had eyes only for her king.

Ismai groaned inwardly. Wars had been started—and ended—by women less angry than this one.

Shat out by a bonelord, Ismai commiserated. She is never going to forgive this.

Shut up, Kal ne Mur snapped, and he breathed through the urge to leap onto Mutaani’s back and run for the hills. You know nothing of women.

I know enough about women to know when I am in trouble.

You are fortunate she is not vash’ai, Ruh’ayya added. Or you would be digging through the sand trying to find all the pieces of your face.

Sudduth took her place at his side. Ismai did not mention the viscous filth that befouled her hair and skin, the loss of her armor and clothing, and he most certainly did not wrinkle his nose at the stench, which was all but overwhelming.

“Sudduth, I am very—”

She held up a hand.

“I am fine,” she said in a low and even voice that made all the hairs on both arms stand up.

“But—”

“I am fine,” she insisted. “It is fine.”

“I found your sword!” Uruk shouted. Still waist-deep in shit, he brandished the weapon and grinned. “And one sandal!”

“Sudduth—” Ismai tried again.

She reached up and patted his cheek, leaving streaks of green and black bonelord shit on his face, which he did not dare wipe. “We will never. Speak of this. Again.” Sudduth turned and walked away, pausing only to snatch a cloak shamefacedly offered by Findla, who had been a war-chief of Sundergaard in the long ago. Both women turned and glared at him for a moment, and then Sudduth stalked out of sight.

Ismai let out the breath he had been holding. His face where Sudduth had touched him stung, and it stank, but all in all, he thought, he had gotten off lightly.

“She took that rather well,” Naara said as she joined him. She wet a rag with liquid from her own waterskin and reached up to wash his face. Ismai rubbed both arms to rid them of chillflesh.

“I do not remember being so scared in all my life.”

“Which life?” She made a face at the rag and tossed it onto the sand.

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