We kept going, even when the light began to fade. Clouds hid any light from the stars or moon and the temperature dropped quickly. I worried for Kahedin, who was far more injured than I. If he caught a chill, it might develop into something worse. We plodded on, our cloaks wrapped tightly around us as we nibbled on the bread.
"You alright?" I asked.
"Yes," he said softly, not looking at me. I guessed that since my violent streak had finally manifested itself and I had shocked him deeply. Up until now, they saw me as a daredevil rider and climber, but not a fighter—much less a killer. Well, there was nothing I could do about it now and there was no going back. Moreover their culturally sexist perspective was purely Roman in origin, since Sarmatians and the neighbouring peoples of the steppe lauded women who practised martial arts and had several heroic warrior queens in their past. The Amazons were even supposed to have originated from that part of the world.
I clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering and because I was worried about what the others' reaction to me when I appeared in a dress. It could go one of two ways: either my gender would be revealed, or they would mock me for my disguise believing I was simply perverse. Because Kahedin certainly wouldn't take responsibility for the idea. I sighed and my shoulders dropped.
"What's wrong?" Kahedin asked
Since this was his fault I didn't see a problem with him getting both barrels of my wrath. "While pretending to be a lady was all well and good for our escape, what will the others make of me in skirts?" I asked, my voice as cold as the air.
"Think of Tristan's and Gawain's expressions when you ride through the gates like a princess. They'll be so pleased." I didn't bother to turn and look at Kahedin. Nor did I dignify that with a proper response, merely hissing an exasperated sigh through my teeth as I tucked the cloak tighter around me. It was so cold. "How long until we get back to a town?" I finally asked.
"I'd say a while longer, why?"
"I'm just wondering if we might run into bandits. Or if the Prefect's men will pursue us through the night."
"Unless you're willing to fight them in the dark, then we'd be doomed either way." Kahedin said simply. This appeared to be his new recurring theme and it was starting to annoy me. Again with this fatalistic attitude. I acknowledged this with a nod and let my free hand brush along the various hilts that lay strapped to my torso. I could fight in skirts, I had done it before, but it was a damned annoying nonetheless.
~oOo~
When the light started to die and Tagiytei's flanks began to foam, Tristan finally decided to call an end to the day and return to the town where he was staying overnight. He didn't want the horse to catch a chill. Not only would that be grossly irresponsible, but Kation would also certainly—
He broke from that thought with a wince and a shake of the head. It was impossible to think of that. He had asked the villagers if they knew anything, had seen anything, but they had all shaken their heads. They were either too afraid or had been bribed. Perhaps both. Bloody rustics, cowering obeisance in the face of whatever brutal force promised to kill their children and livestock. He was tempted to make such threats himself, but thought better of it. They already thought him frightening enough.
These musings consumed him so much that he almost missed the sounds from the main road to the south heading his way, had it not been for a horse's snort. He drew Tagiytei to a halt and listened. No voices, no light, no wheels. Not a cart then. Two riders moving at a brisk walk on the grass verge, not the cobbled road. The hoof beats barely a whisper on the ground. He remained perfectly still, his hand already straying up to the hilt of his sword that peeped over his right shoulder. Its leather scabbard allowed not only for a smooth draw, but also a near-soundless one. He tucked his icy fingers into his collar, ready but looking casual enough, and waited for the riders to reach him.
They appeared out of the twilight rain, hoods of their cloaks drawn up and shoulders hunched against the cold. The smaller one stopped, flicking out a hand sharply to halt the other. They hovered just on the edge of Tristan's vision, waiting silently.
Neither party said anything for a long, long moment. Eventually, Tristan managed a gruff: "Who are you?"
The smaller rider let out a small, slightly choked laugh. "Tristan!" she exclaimed, urging her horse towards him, flicking back her hood with a toss of her head.
His fingers dropped from his collar as he too moved towards them. It was too bizarre. But here, like ghosts from the underworld, were Kation and Kahedin. His fellow Sarmatian laughed as he watched his old friend approach.
"Where have you been all this time?!" Tristan growled. "Who took you?"
"The Prefect, who else do you think would have the balls to abduct a knight from under his commander's very nose?" Kahedin snapped back.
"How on earth did you manage to escape?"
"It's a long story," Kation interjected quickly. "And Kahedin's injured, he needs to get off the horse as soon as possible."
Tristan looked them over critically—both were wrapped up in thick cloaks against the cold, but he immediately noticed Kahedin's rigid posture and Kation's…
"What are you wearing?!" he roared, causing all the horses to flinch at his sudden explosion. Kahedin cursed under his breath as his injuries were jostled and Kation flinched away from him.
She recovered swiftly. "It's a dress, Tristan. Try not to faint." She said coldly.
"But… but…" he swallowed and tried again. "Why?"
Kat pointed to Kahedin. "It was his idea," she said sullenly. "After all, they'll be looking for a man and a boy—not a man and a woman."
"Hardly a woman, you flat-chested devil." Kahedin teased.
Kation's hands curled around the reins, and her horse tossed its head in protest, but she said nothing as she relaxed her fingers, staring ahead in a very fixed sort way.
And so they set off for the nearest town, Kahedin taking it upon himself to describe their audacious escape to Tristan in vivid detail. They had got to the point where they had stolen clothes from the laundry-women when Tristan interrupted. "And where did you get these horses?" he asked. "They look like the finest Spanish stock."
Kat glanced down at her horse and patted its arching neck with a wry smile. "Kahedin was just about to tell you… but we stole them from the Prefect's stable."
The sheer cheek of it dragged a dry chuckle from Tristan as he shook his head. "Little monster," he said affectionately, reaching over to gently shove at her shoulder.
She gave a small gasp and shot him a sharp look, but quickly regained her composure. Tristan felt his lips tighten at the implication. She had been hurt too.
They rode on, Kahedin backtracked through the narrative to rake the girl over the coals again for her deplorable 'talent for killing people'. Tristan was surprised as well, but kept his own counsel on the matter—after all, he was supposed to know the girl well. And it didn't really matter if she was hiding something like this—since she wasn't in the habit of picking fights, but invited disaster on a far wider scale. She had already become notorious. However he did feel put out about the fact that she had been lying to them again. He would speak to her (lecture her) about honesty amongst allies when Kahedin wasn't around to moralise on the worth of human life, which was of secondary importance.
When they finally reached the town's tavern, Tristan immediately set to work, barking orders for his charge and his injured friend to be taken inside to his room and for the local medicus to be fetched immediately. He saw that the Prefect's horses were stabled near Tagiytei before entering the tavern and going up to his room to find Kation gently easing Kahedin onto the single bed with the help of a barmaid.
"… I'll get his tunic off," Kation said. "Could you go fetch a large pot of warm water, some salt and clean cloth?" the wench nodded and scurried off, leaving Tristan to hover, unsure of what to do. But as if by some supernatural instinct, Kation turned to look at him. "Can you get his boots? They'll track mud all over the sheets."
He sidled over and wrestled Kahedin's footwear off, ignoring the man's protests and feeling positively dizzy at the stench.
"Ow! Fuck!" Kahedin exclaimed as Kation carefully eased his injured arm out of the sleeve. She scowled, but didn't say anything, although Tristan could well imagine her retort. When the girl returned with the supplies she was followed by the medicus, a grizzled man who was more likely an apothecary than a military qualified surgeon. Nevertheless, he would make sure nothing happened to his friend. The medicus bent over Kahedin and began to examine him.
"What happened to you?" he asked quietly.
"Got the shit kicked out of me," Kahedin growled. "What does it fucking look like?"
"Precisely that, I was merely showing concern," the medicus replied sharply and set about ministering to the injured knight.
Kation, satisfied, nodded and turned to the tavern girl. "I need a bath and a room of my own to sleep in—please can you arrange a tub, more hot water, a spare gown and some soap? I shall help you, if you need assistance."
"Oh no, miss, I can manage. I'll come get you when it's ready." The young woman cast Tristan a frightened look and scurried off.
Kation sighed and rubbed at her face, only to wince and pull her hand away, blinking hard.
"What?" Tristan asked, his question coming out harsher than he meant it to sound. Kation shot him a weary look of 'Really?' before turning away. She was moving stiffly now and he wondered what had happened to her. From the light of the lamps, Tristan already knew that her lip was split and she was developing a bruise on one angular cheekbone. What else was better hidden?
He was about to ask her precisely that when the barmaid reappeared. "If you'll follow me, miss," she murmured. Kation left at once, not even looking in Tristan's direction again. Something wasn't right.