He was wet, naked but for boots, and armed, already out of the water, partway to them, sword in one hand, dagger in the other.\u00a0 His clothes lay on the grass at the water’s edge; he had stamped back into his boots without their hearing or seeing him do it. He stopped when they rose from the grass, some of them already turning to flee.\u00a0 Kirgan Marrakai frankly stared; the man’s pale skin was finely striped with scars, perfectly aligned, overlain by later scars clearly from war-wounds: larger, more irregular, one or two still colored darker.\u00a0 And yet the body itself–he had never seen such perfect balance of muscle and bone and sinew.\u00a0 Or such a perfect mask of indifference to his situation: naked and alone before wealthy men clothed.<\/p>\n
Then he grinned.\u00a0 “Oh, come, gentlemen, as I suppose you to be.\u00a0 Sons of nobility.\u00a0 Surely all<\/u> of you are not afraid of one man, even if he holds a sword!\u00a0 Draw yours, if you would feel more comfortable, while I go and dress.\u00a0 If you want to enjoy the water, I am through bathing, and the pool has been refreshed by the river’s flow; it will not taint your…purity.\u00a0 And it is a perfect coolness today, refreshing without biting.”<\/p>\n
Every syllable etched as finely as any courtier’s, with a precise fraction of indulgence, courtesy, scorn, and humor; Kirgan Marrakai felt striped by it, as the captain’s body by whatever had scarred it so.\u00a0 He felt his face heat with a telltale flush, and his friends, he saw, felt the same.\u00a0 Damn the fellow!\u00a0 And then the fellow turned his back on them, heedless of their reaction, and walked back to his clothes.\u00a0 There on his back, the same pattern of fine scars as on his front, and on one firm buttock, what could only be a brand.<\/p>\n
Horror forced the indrawn breath he heard from all of them.\u00a0 The man shrugged, pulling on a shirt, toeing off his boots, carefully holding his sword in one armpit and dagger in the other, while pulling up his trousers, his socks, fastening the belt on which hung the scabbard, and sliding his weapons home, stamping back into his boots, then turning around.<\/p>\n
“So, then: have you seen enough? Is your understanding now<\/u> complete? Because if you want to see anything else–”<\/p>\n
What else could there be?\u00a0 What other horrors?\u00a0 Kirgan Marrakai felt sick, and saw that Kirgan Serrostin, his closest friend, was faintly green around the lips.\u00a0 Had he actually thought of what else there could be?<\/p>\n
“–Then we must come to blades,” the captain said.\u00a0 “I think we would all benefit by not doing so, do you not?”<\/p>\n
None of them had drawn a blade.\u00a0 None of them wanted to draw a blade now.\u00a0 They all, knowing each other well, had the certainty of nervous cattle that what they all wanted was to get back to the army, their safe herd, and never speak of it again, at least to anyone else.\u00a0 Maybe someday, when two or three were alone together, it might be mentioned but…not now.<\/p>\n
He gave them a long, level stare out of grey eyes feral as a wolf’s.\u00a0 Then a sharp nod.\u00a0 “Good.\u00a0 We understand one another.\u00a0 I am returning to my unit.\u00a0 Please do not follow me closely.\u00a0 You may go ahead, or aside, as you please, of course, but I really can commend the quality of the bathwater here.”<\/p>\n
As he came up the rise, they parted, as for a prince, and when he had gone by they did not turn to watch, but stared at the ground awhile.\u00a0 No one wanted to bathe there.\u00a0 Kirgan Marrakai wondered if he would ever be able to strip off in front of his father’s body servant–or anyone else–again.\u00a0 Inside his clothes, his body felt alien to him, wrong in some way.\u00a0 He knew it wasn’t flabby or misshapen, but he felt ashamed even so.\u00a0 It was days before he realized that what it lacked was scars.<\/p>\n
They came back to the camp slowly, reluctantly.\u00a0 Would the captain have reported their spying on him? There was nothing wrong with seeing another man bathing naked in a stream…they had played in streams and ponds naked before.\u00a0 But they knew–and knew they had known when they did it–that sneaking after someone, some particular person, to peer at his nakedness, hoping to see something laughable or disgusting, was different.\u00a0 Not honorable.\u00a0 The Crown Prince would not, they knew, approve.\u00a0 Their own fathers would not approve.\u00a0 They could not approve themselves, or each other, and each one sought for another to blame. Kirgan Marrakai saw them glance at him and look away–he was the one who had told them about the captain.<\/p>\n
……………………………………………………………………………………………<\/p>\n
The other parts will come later this week, God willin’ and the power stays on, the roof stays on, and I get some other critical things done.<\/p>\n
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