On the Black Wind to Baldairn Motte

Part 5.

By the time she reached the outskirts of Gaulang, Lyrie wished she hadn't refused the man-at-arms' offer to carry her knapsack. Everild was his name—that much she had learned from him. He ignored every other question she asked and strode silently forward, pushing his way through any crowds and keeping an unrelenting pace that forced her to run periodically to keep up.

He led the way out of the city through the south gate, and Lyrie was taken aback to see it was more crowded beyond the walls than it was in the city itself. Hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers mulled about in makeshift campsites comprised of tents and wagons. They were a pitiful lot, Lyrie, decided. She had in her mind expected to see warriors on horseback with silver armor and glimmering shields heeding the Earl's call to arms, but the majority of these men were on foot and were nothing more than scrawny farm boys or old men. Only a small fraction of them looked to be fighting men, either men-at-arms or mercenaries.

Lyrie was attracting a lot of attention, she realized, and she felt foolish for having worn her best gown and not wearing a headdress as was the custom among women in Gaulang. A woman with uncovered hair was seen as a temptress, which was certainly desirable in her profession, but here she was the only woman in sight except for a few bedraggled camp whores who weren't worth a copper bit, and without the head-dress, none would mistake her for a proper lady.

A toothless man with an axe strapped to his back strode from one of the roadside camps and grabbed Lyrie by the arm.

"I 'fink I'll try some of your cunny, whore."

Lyrie gagged at the stench of his rotten fish breath. She tried in vain to yank her arm free but the man laughed and pulled her closer, and then Everild was there—a blur. There was a dull cracking noise and when Lyrie opened her eyes the toothless man was on the ground trying to staunch his bleeding nose.

"She's not for you," Everild said flatly, and then he continued on down the road, leaving Lyrie to scurry along behind him.

When the toothless man was safely behind them, Lyrie grabbed at Everild's sleeve. "Everild, thank you for that."

He stopped and looked at her, and for a moment she thought he would return her smile, but instead he grabbed her by the wrist and twisted it until she thought it would break. "When we get to camp, you will stay in the tent," he whispered over her gasping. "A war is no place for women, not even whores, and especially not whores like you. You'll stay out of sight and when we leave on the morrow, you'll dress as a boy. The Earl has forbidden whores and other hanger-ons from traveling with the fleet for wont of space, but Lord Klaye means to smuggle you aboard whatever ship we're on. If it were my choice, you'd not be going along with us, but Lord Klaye has his desires, and he is not one you want to deprive of his desires. Am I understood?"

Between the pain in her wrist and the realization she had just become a camp whore, tears filled Lyrie's eyes. All she could do was nod.

"Very well then. Keep close and keep quiet, whore."