Jody Lynn Nye - Defender of the Small

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- Chapter 22

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- Chapter 22

Defender of the Small

Jody Lynn Nye

Dawna Keen-Eyed upended her water skin and drank the few last drops. Walking the rough horse track

between villages was thirsty work, but she was happy. It was better to be breathing country air full of the

smells of new-cut hay, wood smoke and pig poop than blood, rot, burning oil and the smell of corpses

beginning to decay. The way the land sloped, the river shouldn't be far ahead, and by it the town where

perhaps a decent meal and a clean bed waited. Her longsword, carefully cleaned from the last battle and

wrapped in its oiled cloth, and her shield with its red stripe down the center bumped against the tall

woman's back with every step she took. The red pennant that indicated her status as a mercenary

fluttered from the hilt and tickled the back of her neck under her long, brown braid. King Drealin III

himself had handed the pennant back to her with a brief statement of gratitude, at the same time that the

paymaster gave her her fee. The money wasn't much, but it ought to last long enough for her to reach

home. For the moment she longed to sit down. Her legs were tired, and she had finally worn through the

thin place in the sole of her left boot.

Cabbage Town, the gold-lettered plaque read, as the track changed from mud to gravel at the edge of the

village. Dawna glanced around with pleasure. Life was here, not death. It was market day. Hearty

merchants wrangled with their customers, apple-cheeked women in kirtles and wimples, or tall men with

colorful liripipe hoods. Farmers argued about the relative merits of this or that cow. Dogs slept in the

sun.

A plump gray puss slept tucked up on a window sill beside a scarlet flower in a pot. An orange-striped

mother cat, her teats heavy with milk, wound about the legs of the tables on which the merchants' goods

were displayed.

A group of shouting and laughing children ranging in age from five to ten or eleven years old raced up

the hill along a lane that led up from the river that Dawna could now see from the village's main street.

They stopped to stare at the mercenary in armor with her pack and sword slung upon her back. She

smiled at them.

"Good day to you," she said, shifting the heavy load to the other shoulder.

Immediately the children went wide-eyed with distrust and curiosity.

"Are you here to conquer us?" asked a little girl with long plaits tied with blue ribbon.

Dawna laughed. "No, I'm just back from the wars."

"You were fighting?" asked the biggest boy, hair the color of fresh wood and eyes of leaf green.

"Indeed I was. I killed eight men in the last battle at Songhelm. I and my fellow sell-swords were in the

front line when we laid siege to the pirates' stronghold at Valorin on the coast. We broke the walls down

in only three days, and saved the town."

"Ooohhh!" the children gasped, awed.

"Did you burn their boats? Did you meet the king? Did you find bags of gold?" Now that she had proved

friendly, questions bubbled up out of the children like steam in a stewpot.

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- Chapter 22

"Perhaps I'll tell you a tale or two later. I just want a rest now," Dawna said, with a smile. She turned

back to the butcher, who was hacking a slab of meat into collops. "Where's a good place to get a meal

and a bed for the night?"

The man stuck the tip of his carving knife into the chopping block and consulted the sky. "Oh, well,

there's Brenner's tavern, or Mistress Peck's . . ."

The biggest of the boys, bored by such ordinary talk, picked up a stone and heaved it at the orange cat. It

struck her in the side. She let out a cry and skittered underneath the weaver's table, next to the butcher.

"Stop that," Dawna ordered. The boys paid no attention. They picked up more stones and continued to

pelt the cat, who mewed piteously, trying to find a place to hide. "For Gods' love, what's the matter with

you? Whose children are those?" she asked the tradesfolk.

"Just children," the butcher replied, with a shrug. "Just a cat. What do you care?"

"It's wrong," Dawna exclaimed angrily. "Cats are the Gods' creatures, the same as we are."

The man blew a derisive raspberry. Dawna felt her temper flaring. Those brats were hurting an innocent

animal, and he didn't intend to do a thing about it. After all the killing she had seen, senseless cruelty

fired her blood.

"Mind that for me," she said, thrusting her pack into the butcher's arms. She drew her sword and stuck it,

point quivering, into the nearest tree. No need for it in what she intended to do.

As she turned the children instantly divined her intention. They dropped the rest of their stones and fled

down the street towards the river. A coracle lay on the churned-up mud bank. No doubt they intended to

make their escape in it, leaving the woman unable to follow them in her heavy leather-and-bronze

armor. They had the advantage of lightness, but her temper lent speed to her feet. With a surge of

strength she hurtled down the hill, angling to come up in front of the largest boy, the initial stone-

thrower.

"Now we'll see how much you enjoy a thrashing," she said, grabbing him by the arm. She sat down on

the coracle's edge and swung him over her knee. "That's for assaulting a poor innocent beast. And that's

for harming a mother. And that's for not listening to your elders." Her open hand smacked down hard on

his upturned backside again and again.

The other children fled as soon as their leader had been captured. By the time Dawna marched her

captive up the hill, a crowd had gathered.

"What the hell do you think you're doing to our children?" demanded the weaver.

"They needed a lesson," Dawna stated, thrusting the boy toward the crowd. He immediately ran to a

prosperous-looking man whose sandy-blond locks suggested to her that he was the boy's father. "Cruelty

to animals is a sin." The gray cat had been awakened from his nap by the shouting. He wound around the

legs of the crowd. The weaver distractedly aimed a kick at it when it brushed against him.

"Get away with you," he growled.

Dawna turned on him. "You're no better! Children learn from their elders. You should teach them

kindness. These animals are your friends and protectors."

"Oh, please," the weaver groaned, rolling his eyes. "Don't spout your animist noises at me. The Father

put all creatures under the command of humans. If He wishes us saved from plague, He will be the one

to save us, not some dumb animal." From the sound of the grumbling, the rest of the crowd agreed with

him.

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