For four days, they walked along the beach, each night returning to the forest in search of food or fresh water. By the fifth day, Malcius’s clothes were ragged and his face had sprouted a dark beard. Yserria did her best to brush the tangles from her wavy locks with her fingers, but even braiding it was becoming a challenge. Malcius was glad that they could at least bathe in the ocean or streams to remove the stench. Yserria always led the way, and he was forced to watch her back all day, every day.
As he walked along the beach, Malcius wrapped dried sinew around the end of another small twig. He had used a sharp rock to scrape the twig smooth and sharpen the tip, which he had also hardened in the fire that morning. Yserria had challenged him to make a decent weapon, but he had thought to try something else first. After several failures, he was finally making progress. By the time they stopped to eat that afternoon, he had finished his project.
He walked up to Yserria and said, “Here.”
She took it from him and stared at it in confusion.
Malcius huffed. “It is a comb.”
She turned her gaze toward him but still said nothing.
“For your hair,” he said.
“Ah, yes, I can see that. It is a very nice comb. I just—I thought you were making a weapon.”
He scratched his scruffy beard. He wanted to say something, but he was not yet sure what it was. Instead, he said, “I did. We are in Lon Lerésh. Image is power. If we run in to anyone, you need to look good.”
Yserria frowned. “You sound like Rezkin. You give a gift and then take it away in the next breath.”
“What are you talking about? It is yours.”
She tilted her head and said, “Thank you, Malcius. I am sure this will be of great advantage should we encounter any opponents.”
Malcius nodded once then sat on a rock and started eating the dried meat he had been carrying in a pouch made from his old shirt.
“Are you feeling well?” she said.
“I am tired, hungry, and too hot or too cold. I smell, I itch everywhere, and I think I have fleas—on my face. No, I am not well.” He glanced at her. “You seem to be handling things.”
She pulled her messy tangle over one shoulder and began tugging at the knots with the comb. “I, too, am miserable. We have no choice, though. We must keep going. Complaining does no good.”
“I was not complaining. You asked.”
“I know,” she said as she tugged at a particularly nasty tangle. “I was just saying that I feel the same as you.”
Malcius paused in his chewing and looked toward the forest. He glanced back at Yserria who was also staring at the forest. “You heard it too?”
She stood, and he followed, moving through the trees as quietly as possible. About a hundred yards in, the trees gave way to a verdant meadow. Yserria crouched behind a clump of thorny bushes, and Malcius ducked down beside her. There, in the clearing, was a gathering of men and women dressed in all manner of finery—and some not dressed so much, Malcius noted. An open tract was at the middle of the gathering, with targets erected at one end and archers in a line at the other. Spectators sat on benches or stood; and, with each thunk of an arrow in a target, they erupted in cheers or jeers.
“We should go back to the beach and avoid them,” said Yserria.
Malcius was captivated by one person in particular. “Look,” he said, pointing to a man standing on the back of a wagon. “They have ale. Casks of ale.”
“No,” she said. “We can go around. There must be a village around here somewhere.”
“It could be anywhere,” Malcius said. “I want food. Real food.”
“And what will you use to buy this food and ale?” she said.
“We have been shipwrecked. We will tell them who we are, and they will be generous.”
“You are delirious.”
“All the more reason to get some food,” he replied.
Yserria sighed. “I will go ask some questions. I will not draw as much attention.”
Malcius looked at her askance. He waved toward the people and said, “How many warrior women do you see out there? You will draw all the attention.”
She looked at him quizzically and then dropped her gaze to his chest. She turned away, surveying at the crowd as she muttered. “Not as much as you will get.”
He felt his hackles rise and crossed his arms. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She sighed and looked at him. “You will not be dissuaded, will you?”
“No, I am going out there to see if we can get some help.”
Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Fine, but you need to stay behind me—and say nothing.”
Malcius’s blood felt as if it would boil over. “Watch yourself, knight. You let this land go to your head.”
Yserria quickly knotted her fiery hair atop her head, securing it with the comb he had made her. She said, “In this land, mine is the one that matters.” Then, she began skirting the crowd until they were behind the majority of the spectators. They went unnoticed at first, but as soon as they entered the crowd, people began to stare. Malcius started to wonder if she had been right, but his grumbling stomach was persistent.
Yserria stopped in front of a young woman and started jabbering in Leréshi. The woman wore what looked like a single length of grey fabric wrapped around her body, leaving her shins, arms, and shoulders exposed, and a green ribbon was braided through her hair. Upon arrival, Malcius had noticed others with ribbons, ribbons like Celise wore. Now that he was closer, he realized that nearly everyone wore a ribbon, even the men, and all in the same place at their temples.
As Yserria stood yammering with the other woman, he noticed that several women who had moved closer were eyeing his hair and openly perusing his body. Some of the men did the same to Yserria, while others refused to turn her direction, only glancing out of the corners of their eyes. Malcius had no idea what was happening. Their behavior made no sense. These Leréshi were crazy.
Finally, Yserria turned to him. “We are near the town of Specra at the western border of the Third Echelon, which is bounded by the River Rhen to the east. We need only travel through one echelon to get to Ferélle.”
“Thank the Maker,” Malcius said. “How do we get some food?”
Yserria glanced around and shook her head. “I think we had better go now.”
“Why? These people seem okay. No one and no thing has attacked us. It is a better welcome than we had in Gendishen.”
“Too late,” she said, gritting her teeth.
Malcius followed her gaze to where the crowd was parting to permit a woman who wore a long skirt but had the tiniest scrap of cloth covering her breasts. She was flanked by two large men in armor, each bearing a sword at his hip. “Who is she?”
“That is the echelon,” said Yserria. “This archery competition is part of the celebration for her visit.” She gave him a pointed look and said, “She is the reason I wanted to leave.”
The echelon stopped in front of them, and everyone in the crowd crossed their arms in front of their faces, touching their foreheads to their wrists. Malcius watched as Yserria stepped in front of him. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and rested her hand on her sword hilt. Malcius was inundated with mixed feelings. He was angry that she thought he needed protecting and ashamed that she might be right. Under Rezkin and the strikers’ tutelage, he had become an excellent swordsman, but Yserria was still far better. A lot of people were at the gathering, and they were giving him an undue amount of attention, especially considering his present state.
Yserria stood her ground before the echelon. She could show no weakness.
The echelon, who was nearly a head shorter than she, stopped in front of Yserria. She peered around Yserria to get a look at Malcius and smirked. She returned her attention to Yserria. “I am Deshari Brigalsi, Third Echelon. Who are you, and why have you interrupted our festivities?”
Yserria said, “I am Yserria Rey, Knight of Cael.”
“Is that so? I have heard of the would-be Ashaiian king’s female knight.”
“Your king,” said Yserria.