Free The Birthgrave by Tanith Lee

that.
    I walked along the river bank to be away from the tents, and came to large dripping stones with a green fur of moss. I had stopped, listening to the water, when a piercing whistle sounded a few yards behind me.
    â€œImma!” someone called—it was an insulting pet name among the bandits, meaning “small one.”
    I turned. Three or four men had followed me, soft-footed as cats. Now they grinned curiously. Dangerous, but not unfriendly.
    â€œNow what are you?” asked the biggest one, a black man with serpents embroidered on his tunic flaps, no doubt by some admiring female hand.
    â€œGleer says you’re a boy, and Maggur says you’re a girl,” put in another who had gold earrings.
    â€œAnd I think you’re a bit of both,” added the third and smallest.
    The fourth one—I could see now there were four—picked his teeth idly, leaning on one of the big stones, and leaving the repartee to his friends.
    It seemed an uneasy situation. Possibly they would want to find out what I was by personal investigation, and they were cold-eyed for all their dark grinning faces. They too did not like strangeness in their midst.
    I knew what they respected, so I said: “Whatever I am, I came here with Darak.”
    Their faces altered slightly, less friendly, and less dangerous.
    Then the handsome black giant swung slowly around on the pivot of his great legs, and cuffed the silent one with gentle amusement.
    â€œNo, Gleer, you’re wrong. A girl’s voice. And girl’s breasts, too. Besides, Darak’s never been a one for boys.”
    The gold-earringed man moved a hand up and down before his face.
    â€œWhy that?”
    It was an easy answer, for I wore the shireen of the Plains tribes.
    â€œI am a tribal woman,” I said. “I may only show my face to my lord. Or I die.”
    I had heard the wearers of the shireen were told this to help them keep their modesty.
    The black one—Maggur—clucked sympathetically for all of us, and sat down on a boulder. The others joined him, except for Gleer, who slunk off noiselessly. I did not understand their interest, but there seemed to be something forming between us, and I did not move away.
    â€œTell us, girlie. Does Darak whisper in your ear at night about his plans?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGreat pity.”
    Their shoulders twitched, but they stayed still. It was strange, very strange. I looked hard at them, and they seemed to be waiting for something—some signal—that would come from me. I measured them, slowly: the big man; the one with gold earrings; the small one who had a lively, living look about him. Muscles flinched in their arms and legs. Their eyes went everywhere except to me, and abruptly I knew
I
had drawn them here, and
I
held them here, though why I was not sure.
    â€œWell,” I said.
    Their eyes came back to me, three dogs waiting to obey.
    I saw a bow slung over the goldearring’s shoulder.
    â€œHow far can you shoot?” I asked him.
    He unslung the bow, set an arrow to it, and selected a sapling far off down the river bank. The arrow leaped, flew, and struck home. He was called Giltt, the other one Kel.
    It became a contest. Kel ran off and found a wooden target, and they played at it, doing well, or indifferently, and sometimes missing altogether, and cursing. One arrow caught a breeze, went deep into fern on the other bank.
    â€œLet her go,” Giltt said. It surprised me. Arrows were never loosed like that and left to lie.
    They looked uneasy. I went across the water, stepping on the boulders in the stream, and snatched the arrow up. Between the green tattered feathers of fern I saw a little mound of stones leaning together. I turned back and stared at the three of them. They looked at me, paler, their eyes slightly fixed.
    Another evil place, and I had come to it, and here I had got what I wanted without knowing, the royal bodyguard of a princess of a