Empire of Ashes

Chapter V - Washed Away

The battle-hardened warrior looped his arm through mine to escort me to the river. I must have been the first slave to be protected by an Iyrak. An unexpected luxury, although it meant my escape attempts would have to wait. If I tried something on Fendur, I didn't think Temris would ever let me out of his sight again, and he was the hardest to catch off guard.

Fendur led me down a well-trodden path. The smells and sounds of the camp were a constant burden on the senses. You couldn't take a step without hearing the scrape of whetstones on blades. The stench of horses, ale and unwashed bodies stung the inside of my nose. When camped, an army had little to do besides sharpen their weapons and drink themselves into early graves. 

The Iyrak took his job seriously. When an intoxicated archer stumbled into me, my bodyguard put him on his arse without hesitation. I didn't have to do a thing. There was little trouble with him at my side, but from the nature of the glances thrown my way, I could tell that wouldn't be the case if I were alone.

The river was wide, deep, and murkier than it should have been. It couldn't have been considered hygienic, but the colour helped conceal the bodies of the many men who were bathing there. It would help conceal me too, I hoped. Most of the shame had been beaten out of me on the road, but I wasn't eager to strip off in front of Fendur. Friends didn't see each other naked, and that was what I hoped I could make in the Iyrak.

"No, not here," Fendur told me as I tried to approach the river. "We'll go further upstream. It's cleaner and quieter."

We walked maybe half a league, past the borders of the camp. Up there, the river was devoted to washing clothes. A dozen women — hard women with hard eyes — sat on the shoreline scrubbing at fabric. Someone had built wooden tubs at the river's edge, where the flow was gentle enough to leave clothes to soak. This was an army, after all, and blood didn't wash out easily.

"Impressive," I commented dryly. I knew enough about war camps to know they were not usually this elaborate.

"We've been here a long time, Lyra," Fendur said and shrugged. We had stopped at an empty section of the bank. "The Ragnyr had to set the men to doing something."

I inclined my head. "Yes, but why are you camped here, of all places?"

Fendur took off his cloak and held it up to cover me from prying eyes while I slipped out of my clothes. It was an unexpected courtesy. He daren't leave me to change alone after Temris's threats about losing me, but he did keep his eyes fixed on the sky above us or the ground at his feet.

"We're sat on the main road. Our presence cuts off the supply line to your liege lord and discourages any rebellious antics. It's also the perfect position to descend on Saford when the time comes," he explained.

Shirt and loose-fitting trousers discarded, I waded into the river far enough that everything important was covered. It was cold, but not unbearably so. Only when I flicked a handful of water at Fendur did he lift his eyes from the floor and refasten his cloak. He kicked the surface of the water in retaliation, drenching me.

"Could you rinse my clothes?" I asked, almost shy. It had been a long time since I'd asked a favour of someone. Even the fresh shirt was sweat-stained and muddied from my wrestling match with Temris.

"Aye, but I should warn you — I don't have the first idea how to go about it. And they'll be soaking wet."

"Better wet than filthy."

Fendur looked uncertain, but he soon begged a bar of horse chestnut soap off the nearest washerwoman. Crouching on the ground, he dipped my shirt tentatively in the river and wiped a smear of soap on it. I withheld a laugh. At least he was trying.