Free Scabbard's Song by Kim Hunter

like you and me. But still, can you believe her song? Yes, because it feels right. Now that the memories have been stirred from the dust of my brains, they are familiar. They make sense of who and what I am today. I am, my darling, a knight called Sir Valechor a terrible fellow whose blood-rage has been responsible for starting wars. Here, in this world, I have killed, but as a soldier. In my last life I think I might have murdered in cold blood. Certainly it seems I was responsible for the massacre of the Drummonds, the last of whom is here too, having followed me or I him, its not certain yet he is here, to kill me. All this killing talk is doing your spirit no good. Come, sit on this silk cushion at my feet, while I soothe your brow with my cool hands. There, there, my husband. The stroking of his brow was indeed helping. The hot fever of agitation left him. He relaxed and even took a drink of wine. Layana continued speaking softly to him. Sir Valechor? That sounds a noble name. Much nobler than Drummond. Did he come from the same country as you, or was he an enemy from a distant land? We were almost cousins. Certainly we were both from border clans, neither in nor out of two neighbouring countries. Our allegiance was to the greater northern king, though the greater southern might call upon our arms if not our total loyalty in times of crisis. So long as these greater-kings did not fight each other, both Drummond and I might be of the same army. But in my world, border clans are notoriously unsettled, often earning their living by raiding, much as the beast-heads and the Hannacks do here. Our lesser-king knighted both of us, heads of families, hoping this would tame our wildness. It didnt, of course, it simply gave respectability to our savage ways. I understand, but that is in your past now, in a distant place you cant reach even if you wanted to. True. I gain some solace from that. I am no longer the man I was then, I hope. And I shall call you Soldier, not Valechor, for he is nothing to me, and you are everything. How well she understood him, this woman, this princess of an alien otherworld. Better than those in his own birth-land. They lay on the silk sheets of the bed and talked into the early hours of the morning. This was not a time for making love. This was a time for revelations, for speaking truths and discovering meanings. They clasped each other of course, and held hands, and did all those touching-things that new lovers did, for they had been parted many days. When the grey dawn came they fell asleep, to be woken, near to noon, by Velion. Velion lifted the tent flap and said bluntly, Kaff has come. Then let it fall back into place. Soldier dressed in his best sandals, put on the gold breastplate that he had been given by the rulers of Carthaga as a symbol of his generalship and command of their northern army. His sword and sheath he left behind, along with his helmet, to show he was not in a mood for war. Kaff was standing by a water trough, with his retinue of Imperial Guardsmen. His face was like stone. Once or twice, as Soldier walked to meet him with his own retinue, the Guthrumite stared round him as if checking that he was not going to be attacked without warning. General Kaff, said Soldier, stretching out his hand. Good of you to come. There is no need for your caution. There will be no ambuscade within these tents, the honour of the Red Pavilions will ensure that, sir. Whats all this? asked Kaff, his eyes narrowing and the hawk he had screwed on to his wrists fluttering her wings. I dont trust you. All what? Calling me General Kaff and all this smooth talk. Soldier said, It is time to talk peace. There has been enough killing. I am prepared to offer you open terms. We simply take off from where we left it, over a year ago. The Carthagans will remain as the mercenary troops which protect the outer walls of Zamerkand. The citizens of Zamerkand will throw open their gates again and the siege will end. No