III

Except at certain peculiar times, smiling generally proved hard for Shyrrell, like as not due to her challenging life and never having learned the diversion of humour, or at least never having much reason to smile whilst growing up; maturity perforce thrust upon her precipitously. She did not remember her parents at all, as she had been captured even before her toddling years. Which is not to say the girl never knew ease; once she became wealthy far beyond her own conception of the term, she indulged in various pursuits such as building a fine stone manor house in the village of Tash Kulun, one of her early fiefs, collecting thereon various champion horses from across Calradia. Her castle in Narra she filled with myriad weaponry of unmatched quality; some she could not even wield herself, such as gigantic two-handed swords and master-crafted warbows with a draw beyond my beloved's rather formidable strength (even once she grew fully into her woman's body). Then again, many could not be wielded ahorse regardless, whence my Shyrrell practically lived.

Long ere came those times, however, when she found herself with a few hundred denar – whether actually 'to spare' or not – she spent it learning all the love poetry she could from travelling bards. Such as the first time I recall to mind…

"Are you mad or simply thick-skulled, child?" Artimenner, a haughty engineer from my own homeland across the sea in Geroia, joined us recently, though had yet to find his ease in our company. Dark brown eyes glared at Shyrrell – something I had already come to recommend against. "We barely scrape together coin enough so we don't have to starve for a while, and you squander it on poetry?"

"Poézïya." Mild, our young leader's tone, and misleading.

The stocky older man blinked, lifted his chin, scratched pointed black goatee. "What?" Creases in tanned face deepened as he scrutinised Shyrrell.

"She said 'poetry'," another newcomer, Baheshtur, supplied. Also from the steppe, albeit likely a different tribe, the Shamir – Shyrrell recalled not the name of her clan – he nonetheless understood her easily, both her ways and tongue. (Perhaps more than the rest of us save, mayhap, Deshavi, whom had also been held captive by Khergit bandits.) The lanky noble lounged against a wall of an Uxkhal tavern in Swadia whence our party now relaxed upon a successful delivery of ale from Ichamur, another Khergit town; one of our first real jobs.

Delicately sipping from his chipped clay mug, narrow black, upward-tilting eyes did not blink. Having a similarly shaped beard as the other man, Baheshtur's otherwise bald head sported a brown Khergit topknot and tail, matching the hue of heavy fur robe and contrasting with Artimenner's gold-and-scarlet finery. Added, "And it is her money."

"Nem fielaan!" Klethi agreed in her Sarranid tongue. "You got pay, yes?"

"And we are not starving," I put in. Shyrrell entrusted me with our cash; she still had no head for numbers, though I tried to teach her. I saw to our party's supplies and common equipment, and thus far we struggled – not surprisingly, given our newness as a group and inexperience – but not overly so. Furthermore, her personal financial situation should concern no one.

"You no like poedry?" Shyrrell asked the engineer. Though I did not at the time, I recognise now when tone and indirect glance offers warning.

"That isn't the point," he snapped. "I have some experience in these matters, and… Well, one never knows where one's next meal may come, is all. 'Tis best to plan accordingly. That's all I'm saying, girl."

"I like poedry." Our captain turned away from him, raised her mug of kumis. "Işiñiz!"

"She says, 'Drink up!'" Baheshtur advised, though the exhortation probably needed no translation.

We did so on many an occasion thence – Shyrrell rarely – travelling from town to village to city transporting all manner of goods for trade across the continent, for almost two years. My lady's restless spirit, however – perhaps more so an aggressive, some might say 'bloodthirsty', nature – allowed limited satisfaction as an itinerant merchant, thus we anon moved along toward our entwined destinies.