Page 15 of Brighter Than Gold

I huffed and broke off a bit of the cheese. I chewed furiously and swallowed a big sip of water to wash away the awful taste.

“Another.”

Prick. I repeated the routine, chew, swallow, swig. My belly groaned accepting the food.

“Good,” Callan said, satisfied with his small victory. I rolled my eyes and turned to the horse’s saddle bag. Snow and mud had crept through my leather boots and soaked my socks.

I pulled out a fresh, dry pair and plodded over to a rock where I could sit and change them.

The boot laces were nearly frozen in place as I struggled to untie them. Callan watched, looking like he may offer to help, but the sneer on my face warned him I may strike out like a coiled viper.

Eventually, I won against the stubborn laces, and the dry socks gave me the smallest comfort. But then my lips went pale, sweat formed on my neck and my cheeks flushed. I had only enough time to throw my head behind the rock before my stomach sent back all the bread and cheese I’d been forced to eat.

“Fuck,” I heard Callan mutter.

I took several deep breaths, gauging whether my stomach was finished its evacuation or not. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, stomach alleviated. I knew the men were staring at me, I kept my eyes forward until I heard boots crunching over the snow towards me.

Without a word Callan handed me the brown bottle. I tossed back a small sip, trying to save what I could.

“Is everyone watching?” I whispered.

“More or less.”

“Lovely.”

“Mount up you ugly fuckers!” Lazio yelled to his men.

Callan helped me to my horse. “I’m sorry if that was my fault,” he offered.

“It was,” I sniped. My irritation lay mostly with myself though. I needed to learn when to put my foot down with the general. I did outrank him after all.

We traveled only another two hours before Lazio led us off the road and up a sheer, rocky cliff. The path was so narrow there was barely enough room for the horses to walk, and my heart lurched into my throat on more than one occasion when my horse had lost its footing. But Lazio seemed to know exactly where we were headed, and crept along the rocky face unconcerned.

The cliff leveled off eventually, and as our mounts reached the top, the men threw their legs over their horses, dismounting.

We could see for miles up here, roads wound through the hills and small towns dotted the horizon. The men began to unsaddle their horses, allowing them to roam, and they pulled over several felled logs to block the only way up or down the plateau we now occupied.

“Turn them out, they’ll be fine,” Lazio said to Callan as he approached. “Nowhere for them to go up here.”

Once free of its saddle, Lazio smacked the rear of my mare and she bolted away frightened.

“We’ll be putting you to work right away, soldier,” he said to Callan. “Tannery down the road just sold the bulk of their goods to the palace. They’re flush with gold.”

I saw his lips curling into an ugly smile under his brimmed hat.

“The girl will have to stay,” he added.

“She comes.”

“No, she doesn’t.” His tone let Callan know this was not a negotiation. “Douland keeps the camp. He’ll stay here with her.”

“No.” Callan’s reply was just as clipped, just and warning.

“Here, look!” Lazio said delightedly, waving a hand and beckoning Douland over to us. The small, portly man hurried over.

“Drop your trousers, you mumbling idiot,” he said through a grin.

Douland’s face dropped, embarrassed, but he obeyed.

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