Leah: Caravan

[moonshadows]

“I’m goin’ with ye.”

Haedrig’s brogue shatters my train of thought and I glance around the inn to see if anyone’s taking interest in our little corner. “What? No, I’m not taking you with us.”

The blacksmith shrugs burly shoulders. “Yer takin’ the caravan to Caldeum? So am I. Whether ye take me or not, I’m goin’ with ye. There be nothin’ for me here with Mira gone, an’ I need somethin’ more than makin’ spades an’ horseshoes t’ occupy my time.”

“We’re hunting down witches and demons,” I point out. “It’s not going to be safe.”

“It hasn’t been safe here either, if ye recall,” he retorts bitterly, and I have to give him that. “I’m no fighter, but I can make weapons for them that are, an’ that’s just as good, in my mind.”

“A warrior without a weapon does not last long,” Tyrael says in that resonant, grounding voice of his. “And a weapon forged by a brave heart serves its master well.”

“I wouldn’t mind a steady supply of free arrowheads,” Lyndon chimes in, and I know I’m outnumbered.

“It’s settled, then.” Haedrig takes a seat on the bench next to Uncle Deckard. “Now, I assume ye got enemies sniffin’ at yer tail?”

Lyndon offers him a lopsided grin. “You could say that, yes.”

“An’ they’re gonna be on the lookout for a young girl with pale hair an’ her elderly uncle.”

“I can dye my hair,” I say, “but it’s not going to be so easy to disguise Uncle Deckard.”

“Ye might be surprised. He can travel with me; cart’s easier on old bones than a horse, anyway. Isn’t that right, grandpa?”

“I won’t deny it,” Uncle Deckard quavers, “but your grandfather is too well-known around these parts for me to pass for him.”

“O’ course not.” Haedrig jerks his chin at Lyndon. “Yer not my grandpa, yer the father o’ my wastrel brother-in-law over there.”

“Me?”

“Why not? Mira wasn’t from around here, and no one knows ye. Who’s to say yer not the younger brother o’ my late wife, here with her sainted father on yer coattails t’ beg for my mercy after ye squandered yer inheritance?”

“Oh, he’s good. I like him.”

“With Mira gone, I’m headed back t’ Caldeum t’ ply my trade there,” he continues as if Lyndon hadn’t spoken. “It’s only natural I’d take my wife’s kin with me, an’ my father-in-law clearly can’t be a young woman’s uncle.”

“But where does that leave Leah?” Tyrael asks.

“At the side of her new husband,” the blacksmith replies promptly.

I glance at the mortal angel. “No one’s going to believe we’re newlyweds.”

“Alright, then. He’s the bond-man o’ yer betrothed, fetching ye t’ his master’s side for the wedding yer parents arranged at yer birth. He’s t’ make sure ye don’t get frisky with anyone on the trip. That better?”

“A young woman on the way to an arranged marriage with a man-at-arms, and the grandfather of a scoundrel brother-in-law to a blacksmith. A far cry indeed from a girl and her uncle,” Uncle Deckard says warmly.

“I can wear a headscarf if you can look impassive and maybe surly,” I say to Tyrael.

“I think I can manage that,” he replies with an absolute serious expression. It’s hard to tell if he’s deadpanning, or being earnest.

“The caravan should be here tomorrow.” I glance around the table. “We should get everything together tonight. Haedrig, you’ll do the talking for Lyndon and Un- his father, and I’ll get out a headscarf and make the arrangements for myself and Ty-rel, the bond-man of Mistress Liara’s betrothed. They’ll be on the road again at first light, so if we’re careful and quiet, we can sneak Grandfather over to your place and it will be a few days before anyone notices Leah and her uncle are gone."

“I believe I am conveniently coming down with a cold,” Uncle Deckard says with a twinkle in his eye. “No doubt I will need to stay in bed for a week with you to tend me.”

“I believe you are, Uncle. Let me go talk to the cook and see if I can get a chicken to make soup with.”

Lyndon stares at us with mock-pride. “You’re all as dishonest as me. I think I may cry from joy.” He glances at Tyrael. “Well, not you. I don’t think you have a dishonest bone in your body. In any case, I believe I shall take my leave of you all – blacksmith, you’ll find me in your stable later.”

Haedrig nods. “I’ll stay here a while longer an’ drown my sorrows. Perhaps I’ll do a bit o’ lamentin’.”

 

 

 

 

“If you were a man, Mistress Liara, you would make a glorious Templar!” Kormac cleans greenish fluids from his sword and checks his shield for dents.

I shoot him a sharp look as I tuck my daggers back away. “What do you mean, if I were a man? Your order doesn’t accept women?”

He looks uncomfortable at that. “Well…no.”

“And why not?”

“Women are the fairer sex; they should be protected and cherished, not subjected to the rigors of battle.”

Is he even listening to what he’s saying? “You mean like the battle we just had?”

Kormac shifts from foot to foot. I roll my eyes and gesture for him to follow as I hop back onto the wagon and signal the caravan master that we’re ready to continue when everyone else is. He doesn’t meet my eyes as he mounts up again.

“Kormac, what are you not telling me?” I ask once we’re underway again.

“Warriors of my order are plucked like weeds from the fields of the righteous, purified through blood and pain. We were criminals,” he clarifies at my blank expression. “Our sins are stripped from us through physical punishment, leaving us pure weapons of the Light.”

My carefully-dyed eyebrows arch skeptically. “And you think women can’t be criminals?”

“Even a woman sullied with crime should not be used so,” he retorts stiffly.

“So tell me,” I say sweetly, “how are female criminals punished in Westmarch?”

Kormac looks away, clearly troubled, and I leave him to his thoughts.

 

“I do not understand,” Kormac says as we clean up from yet another skirmish with some goblin-demons, “how evil can walk in the day. Should it not fear the light?”

The knowledge that my father walked the world with impunity leaps into my mouth, but I swallow it. “Perhaps the sun is neutral,” I suggest blandly.

He gestures with his sword towards the corpses. “But the Light is both a literal and figurative foe of evil!”

“Then maybe what you’re seeing isn’t evil.” I shouldn’t bait him like this, but the long hours between attacks are very boring without being able to while them away with Uncle Deckard.

He goes up the caravan while I go down, checking to make sure no one needs help before I climb back up on the wagon