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Chapter 4 |
For a moment, they stared at each other. "Stand aside," Sandren spoke first, furious that his voice was shaking. With cold, he told himself, only with cold. "You bar the way of the emir's chosen." The Khannem cocked his head slightly and regarded the boy. "And where does the emir's chosen intend to go?" Sandren held his burnoose in front of him like a shield. With teeth chattering from fear and rage, he drew himself up to his full height. "I go where I wish." He willed his voice to steady. "You will step aside and let me pass." "I will," the big man said, still not moving from the doorway. "And I will help you." "Help me? You? How could you possibly help?" Sandren's laughter was tinged with hysteria. "You're nothing more than a crude barbarian in a land not your own. For all I know, you are a slaver as well, no better than those accursed Macouni." "I am the Khannem ranger Aza. This is my land. We are not slavers, something I would expect a Sakhari to know." The Khannem turned away, affronted. "Tonight we eat and sleep. Tomorrow I will show you the way to your home." "Yes," Sandren regained his equilibrium now that the Khannem did not seem a threat. "Go and prepare a meal for me, quickly, and find me a place to sleep. You may accompany me tomorrow." Sandren struggled with his wet burnoose, fabric clinging to his legs, sliding off his shoulders. Finally, unable to cope with the elaborate draping, he simply wrapped it around himself and stalked out to the small fire. Aza stoically set up camp and tended to the pot bubbling over the fire, pointedly ignoring the litany of complaints and commands. Sandren was too cold, make the fire bigger. He was hungry, cook faster. The horse reeked, re-tether it further away. Why was such a simple task taking so long? Were all Khannem as stupid, as lazy? If Sandren was as observant as he was vocal, he might have been alarmed at the dark anger that radiated from the Khannem. But Sandren was back on familiar territory, being waited upon and certain that his whims were of the highest priority. "When is my meal being served? I don't suppose you have any decent wine. What do you barbarians drink?" Sandren was too busy re-arranging his wrap to notice the black glance directed his way. "Are Sakhari children taught manners, respect?" That stopped Sandren for a moment. "Manners? Yes, of course. We Sakhari have the most elegant manners. We sit with ease at the table of the emir." Aza shook his head in disbelief. "I expect that you will be on guard tonight," Sandren resumed. "We will start early tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, there is only your horse, not even a decent camel, but I suppose that will have to do. You can walk beside…." "Here." Aza thrust a piece of flatbread into Sandren's hands, followed by a bowl of thick stew. Sandren looked at each with disgust. He nibbled the flatbread and found it acceptable. His eyes met Aza's across the campfire and Sandren sat up a little straighter. The Khannem certainly couldn't be allowed to think his wretched meal met with Sandren's approval. Sandren spat out his first mouthful of stew. "What swill! This is repulsive, fit only for dogs. It's something no civilized man would eat!" He tossed the bowl off into the tall grass. "Give me something to wash away the taste. Now." In the space of a heartbeat, Aza had a painful grip on Sandren's arm. He sank to the ground, pulling Sandren across his lap. Entrapping the boy's kicking legs with one heavy thigh, it took Aza only a moment to pull the loose burnoose up, entangling Sandren's arms and covering his head. He held it there with one large hand on the nape of Sandren's neck. "Let me go! Take your hands off me," Sandren shouted, though the linen muffled his voice and he feared getting sand in his mouth, so hard was his head pressed to the ground. "What do you think you are doing?" "I think," Aza said slowly, "that I am doing what should have been done when you were a child. I am teaching you the consequence of no manners." With that, Aza slapped Sandren's ass. There was a startled gasp beneath the burnoose, then another outburst. Aza ignored it and raised his hand to bring down on the other smooth cheek. With a steady, unrelenting rhythm, Aza applied a dozen slaps, slowing only to watch with amazement how Sandren's creamy white skin turned a soft pink, with his handprint clearly visible. Sandren bucked and twisted and shouted but Aza held him down firmly. Another dozen slaps and Aza stopped. He gazed down at Sandren's bottom, now fiery red and quivering. Sandren had gone strangely quiet, only an occasional strangled sob came from under the wet linen. Shocked, Aza realized he was achingly hard. He had only wanted to silence that haughty, arrogant voice, to stop the endless complaining, to instill some manners and gratitude. But now. Now? What did he feel? Aza wasn't a brutal man. He was a ranger, a protector of his land and his people; his very name meant 'comforter.' Why then was he aroused by beating this boy? He rested his hand on Sandren's hot skin and felt him shake. But he was silent. And that was good. Perhaps, Aza thought to himself, it was akin to taming one of the wild Khannem horses. They were hobbled and disciplined, rewarded for good behavior and punished for bad. And there came a day when warrior and horse stood eye-to-eye and the horse would drop its head in submission and accept the bit between its teeth. From that moment onward, the horse was part of the warrior, as important as family, home, weapons. The horse was well-fed, groomed, protected, cherished. But it always came at the end of a long struggle. Comparing humans to horses? Aza shook his head, disgusted with himself. And getting excited by putting one insufferable, unpleasant Sakhari in his place? He had better things to do. Perhaps he should have left him to the Macouni. He shoved Sandren off his lap and got up. "Find the bowl and clean it," he ordered. Sandren pulled his burnoose down around himself and looked as though he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. He walked off stiffly and eventually found both bowl and spoon. Aza doused the fire and spread out his furs. He glanced over at Sandren, who looked miserable. "You may share my bed, Sakhari," he said reluctantly. "I have only two furs but it is better than your damp cloth." Sandren shook his head and said in his usual haughty tone, "I'd rather freeze." Aza shrugged. He rolled up in the heavy bearskin and tried to put Sandren out of his thoughts. The moon was still high in the sky and the wind had picked up when something woke Aza. He lay still, assessing each sound. Choked breaths and small whimpers, like a puppy who had crawled away from its mama. Just that accursed Sakhari, who could freeze, as he said he wished to; Aza was not leaving his warm furs. Aza could stand it only a few minutes before his protective ranger instincts overcame his angry resolve. He stumbled out of his bed and approached Sandren, who was huddled in a ball and rocking, moans getting softer all the time. "Emir's chosen?" Aza chuckled to himself at not knowing the boy's name. He nudged gently but got no response. Foolish, spoiled boy to stay beneath a wet wrap on a cold night because he was too good for Khannem furs. Aza crouched down and impatiently shook Sandren's shoulder. "You. Wake up." Nothing. Heavy clouds passed over the moon and the wind was coming down from the north. The boy's teeth were chattering only sporadically now, but his body was wracked with deep, regular shudders, his skin cool. A bad sign. No matter how unpleasant, how ungrateful he was, he was in need. Much as Aza might wish it otherwise, he could not leave him to suffer. Sighing, he lifted Sandren off the hard ground and laid him down on the furs. He peeled the damp, tangled burnoose off the shivering boy and pulled the fur over him. Anchoring the burnoose's four corners with rocks, he hoped the night winds would dry it soon. Aza slid back into the nest of furs and adjusted the heavy covers. Stopped when the clouds parted and moonlight illuminated Sandren's face, so much more appealing without the ever-present sneer and withering looks. Aza brushed back tendrils that had escaped from Sandren's braid and pulled the shivering boy close to his solid warmth. Sandren's body, freed by the myriad rules and restrictions imposed by the priests and reinforced by his own mind, reacted instinctively and burrowed into Aza's side.
Just before sleep took him under, Aza wondered how much he would regret this in the morning.
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