Long Lost Leaves - Part III

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl slowed, allowing Branwyn's horse to draw level alongside her own. It was a question she had expected would be forthcoming, although not from him. She had spoken little with the mortal scholar, believing that they had little in common. He, for his part, had not sought to disturb or offend her, and that in itself was enough for him to have gained her good opinion, so far as this company was concerned.

His question, then, she took seriously, and gave him a wary look. 'It was fairly gained,' she told him. 'We of the Kindi do not take that which is not ours by right. A man of the Ultai gave this horse to me, in payment of a debt. She is a good horse, and I had need of one.' A flicker of concern registered in Tabrîl's eyes. It was important to her that Branwyn understood that she had not taken the horse without reason. 'I might walk with them,' she explained, gesturing back towards Haldis and the mules, 'easily enough, but should there be a threat to this company, I would be of little use there. It is better that I ride ahead.'

She was reluctant to say more of the debt itself, unasked. It was a sensitive thing, very nearly life-debt, due to her own thoughtlessness. It had been some four days ago, when her regular patrol of the area had taken her close to the Ultai encampment.

She had heard, faintly, shouts in some foreign tongue. Tabrîl froze, utterly still and silent as she tried to determine their source. Only a moment later she spotted some few figures in the distance, and she started towards them. Intruders they might be, or others strayed from the camp, and she intended to discover which.

Four there were, she determined as she got closer. Ultai - three of them chasing after the fourth, with hostile intent. Tabrîl frowned. These men were warrriors, were they not? What honor was there in such unequal challenge, three after one, and that one, from the look of it, insufficiently armed to defend himself, much less face opponents such as these.

Tabrîl found herself sprinting after them, fueled by her anger at the injustice of it, among warriors who, to her mind, ought to know better. 'Da têzha!' she called after them. 'Da têzha! Stop!'

They had not stopped, not until she herself caught up with them and stood between them. She had seen more clearly then, the markings that indicated they were of different tribes.' 'What is this?' she demanded of them. 'Have you such fear of this man, that it should take all of you to pursue him?' Tabrîl scowled at them, made a dismissive gesture. 'Some honor you should bring to your tribe - and are you not peace-bonded?!' Her voice rose sharply at this last, and her hand went to her own sword-hilt.

'Do you mean to fight us yourself, then, elf-woman?' one of them asked with a mocking grin.

'Should I? It seems better to me that I let your own people deal with you,' Tabrîl snapped. 'No doubt there is good reason for this, you may tell it to your khan.' One of them started towards her then, intent indeed on fighting her, but his companions seemed to have changed their minds on the matter, and held him back, reasoning with him in their own language, and it was not long before they left, arguing amongst themselves, Tabrîl seemingly forgotten.

It was only then that she turned to the man they had been chasing. 'Why-' she began, and then thought better of it. 'No. Do not tell me why. Simply take more care in future.' He looked to her to be in shock, and stammed his thanks.

'I don't know what would have become of me without - that is, I am in your debt, you-'

'No.' Tabrîl, alarmed, held up a hand to stop him, only then realizing what she had done. It had not been her place to interfere, and yet she had, her anger making her careless. He was a stranger to her, and now he thought he owed her his life, and if Ultai honor was anything like that of the Kindi, then he was beholden to her. He would be obliged to follow after her, leaving behind his people, until that debt was indeed repaid. It was the last thing Tabrîl wanted.

'No, do not say it,' she told him, 'it is a small thing, I did little. You will-' she tried desperately to think of something that might be acceptable to them both. 'You will send to me a horse on the day of our departure, a fine horse, good-tempered and able to carry me far, and that shall serve as full payment.'

If anything, Tabrîl thought, the man's astonishment only grew in reaction to her words. Doubtless he had not expected such kindness from her. It was small consolation, and she left quickly, uncomfortable with the situation.