Satin's Tale: Dealings Done

====================

A Perplexing Riddle

Dust kicked up in small clouds as Satin skidded to the side and turned, raising the dagger in his right hand just in time to catch and turn aside the incoming strike.  His other hand darted around in a low slice as he turned his body into the deflection, but his opponent managed to get his wrist brace to the blade before the strike could make contact.  An instant later his opponent dropped low to the ground and Satin had to leap back, avoiding the fast sweep that followed.  He leapt back in to attack, but as the other man came up, Satin found his face sprayed with dirt and grit.  He staggered back, letting out a cry, and felt the flat of the man’s palm strike him in the chest hard, just as a leg hooked one of his, dumping him roughly onto his back.

He struggled to get up and clear his vision, but felt a weight press him down, the hard side of the man’s hand resting against his throat.  He relented.  The weight disappeared a moment later, and Satin sat up, scrubbing at his face.  Across from him, James was smirking, crouching down at his level and panting slightly.

“Damned if you aren’t the fastest pair of hands I’ve faced, Satin, and still growing, too.  Here, put your knives up, that’ll do for now.”  Satin blinked a few more times, making sure his eyes were clear, and retrieved his daggers from where they’d been knocked from his hands.  They were still in their light-weight sheaths, for practice, and he tied the back onto either side of his belt firmly.

“It doesn’t help much if you still beat me.”  The sun was low in the sky, and the other men and women were preparing for night work about their make-shift camp.  Satin stood, stretching and breathing deeply as the breeze cooled the sweat on his face.  James scrubbed a hand through his sandy blond hair.

“True, true, boy.  You’re good, and getting better every day, my word… but you fight too clean, too simple.  I can see it in your face…  when you fight, it’s just you and your opponent, and nothing else in the world.  And you know, if that’s all it ever was, you’d probably be beating most of us here already, young as you are.”  He shook his head after a moment.  “But it’s never just you and your opponent, see.  World isn’t like that; everything around you is important too.  It’s you and your opponent, sure, but it’s the grass and the dirt and the stones, too, the buildings and structures, walls, pits, obstacles, tools, all of it.  Be aware as you can of everything around you, and use it to your gain, and their loss.”  He tilted his head slightly, shrugging.  “Least ways, that’s the idea.  You’ll get the hang of it, to some extent I guess, but no-one’s ever as totally aware as they might be, not even old Marley, and he’s damn good.”

Satin spared a glance for Marley at the mention of his name, the older man going over the finer points of the evening’s plan with Hangnail and Whistler.  The seasons had turned and passed many times, though Satin didn’t really know the count of time.  It had been a handful of years at least, long enough that the band had become all he knew or remembered, save the dim and vague recollection of parents that he couldn’t recall the faces of any more.  Marley had grown a little more grizzled, but remained largely unchanged from when they had first met.

“Take our little scuffle just now.  See, you’re too fast for me already, I’ll admit that.  I can’t keep up with you, but you never took advantage of that as much as you might have.  Plenty of things you could have done to best me, rather than just fighting by what you’ve learned, weapon to weapon.  No way I could have beaten you either, without making use of something more than this.”  He waved the sheathed knife in his right hand back and forth.  “It’s why I like to keep one hand free the whole time.  Gives me options, you follow?”  Satin glanced at James’ brace, strapped tight around his other forearm.  It was a hardened leather guard, with some thin metalwork over the outer surface, and a hooked catch point just before it ended above his wrist.  He nodded, but hesitant.

“I still prefer two weapons.”

“Oh, aye, it suites you as well.  You’ve taken to the style well.  Quick as you are, you can probably make the most of it, too.  Anyhow, I’d best get to sorting my duties.  Long night ahead for some of us.”

“You done scrapping there, James?  Don’t tire yourself out too much.  Big night.”  The sun was beginning to set, and Marley was mounted up on his horse.  It was easy to miss, and easier to dismiss as nothing at all, but Satin caught it: the barest hint of a raised eyebrow from Marley, the almost imperceptible shake of the head from James in return.  He wasn’t ready yet, that’s what they were saying.  Satin suppressed the thread of annoyance that ran through him, rather than let them know that he’d seen, instead dusting himself off.

“You mind the camp while we’re away, Satin, boy.  Someone still needs to do it, and frankly, I’d rather it was you than any of our newer boys.”  He glanced up at the sky for a moment.  The light was fading quickly, and dark clouds stretched towards the horizon in all directions; there would be no moon, and no stars.  “Keep the fire high, boy.”  Satin nodded.

“Sure thing, Marley.”  He glanced away for a moment then back.  “Good luck.”  The other man nodded from the back of his horse.

“Aye.”  With a shout he began calling the others up, making sure everyone was ready to move out.  Before long, the camp fell silent as Satin stood the only one remaining.  A stamp and whiney came from where the horse lines had been, and Satin walked over to greet his own horse, feeling left out, most likely, now that the others had gone.  He ran one hand over her face and rubbed at her neck with the other.  Her greeting was warm in return.

“Easy girl.  Not tonight.”  She was small and light, as far as horses seemed to go, though Satin didn’t pretend to know anything more about them, other than how to look after her and how to ride.  He knew enough to tell she was all worked up for a run now, though, and wouldn’t calm without one.  Well, there was no harm in a short ride, at least.  She stepped impatiently, snorting again.  Satin allowed himself a small smile. 

“Alright, alright, let’s go then.”  He swung up onto her back lightly, leaning in close to her neck for a moment to murmur by her ear. “Fly,”

The air was cooling quickly as darkness fell, and as he rode, the wind was cold against his skin.  Beneath him, he could feel the shift and flow of his horse’s muscles as she stretched out and galloped fast across the flat plain, sure-footed and heedless of the failing light.  Others had suggested that he pick a name for her, but Satin had never seen the point.  She knew when he was addressing or commanding her, and that was enough.  The horse-stead she had originally been taken from had probably named her, and something in his mind hesitated at simply calling her something else, even if he didn’t know what that name had been.  She’d been barely a yearling when they’d first met, and had bonded to him quite happily, one child to another.

They turned, wheeling around the outskirts of the camp in a wide arc and Satin felt an unstoppable smile creep over him, despite his earlier dampened mood.  The wind rushed against his face, making the speed feel all the more intoxicating to him.  Before long they had finished a wide loop around the camp and Satin spoke quietly again, giving her the word to slow.  He found himself musing about that in particular as he brought her back to the line and dismounted.  The others had cautioned him away from teaching her to be commanded by word, but he found he preferred a simply word to and movement or touch, and had continued. 

He smirked to himself as he rubbed her down quickly, bedding her in again for the night.  Against their advice, he had been busy teaching her to disregard any cue she might take from his movement, and to listen only to his voice.  It just seemed more sensible to him.  

With a last friendly pat and rub, he left her to return to the centre of the camp.  It would be a long night before the band returned, though he honestly found that he hoped it went well for them.  For now, at least, well for them meant well for him too.  He built the fire up high, enjoying the heat that rolled out from the flames, then turned his back to them looking instead to the place where Marley had been discussing tactics before they had left.  In the shifting light from the fire, he looked at the diagram that Marley had drawn in the dust. 

It was crude, but efficient; there were lines representing the outside of the area, and rough rectangles within.  A well-established hold then, if there were buildings.  There were a few arrows marked at different entry points, and several more at places that seemed to indicate a wall.  Satin’s brow furrowed as he looked at it.  It seemed like he had been planning to alert both of the main gates, but to actually scale a wall where one of the buildings backed onto it and catch their backs with very little fight.  He found himself wondering what sort of place they were attacking, and what people would be losing a portion of their livelihood to the raid.  He wondered if there would be any young children, like he had been, who might die or see others get killed.  He wasn’t a little baby any more, of course, but he was still a child, according to the rest of the band.

There had been other new recruits and people taken in, over the years; outcasts and criminals, as well as those offered the choice after an attack, but no more children, like him. He could only wonder at why.

Satin kicked one foot though the dusty map, his anger growing again as he wondered how many people Marley would kill just to demonstrate how unfair the world could be, to people he thought might do well with the band.  One day the world would be cruel to Marley too, if he had any say in the matter, even if he had to do it himself.

He wandered around the camp to where most of the bandits kept their various effects, each separate in their own area, with whatever sleeping roll or blanket they possessed.  As often as not, Marley kept his roll of maps, charts and letters fastened securely inside the saddlebag on his horse, but sometimes he would leave it out after planning a raid, and Satin looked though his things hopefully, being careful to leave everything he searched just as he’d found it.  A grin dashed across his face as he found the tightly bound roll tucked under the blanket, nestled next to the heavy-looking pack.  Perhaps the wait would not be quite so long and uninteresting tonight.

Retreating from the sleeping area with his prize, Satin settled down a safe distance from the fire and carefully untied the fastenings holding the roll closed.  Whenever he could get time alone with the documents, without anyone knowing, he liked to look at all the charts and maps contained in the bundle, tracing the outlines of mountain ranges and rives with his fingers.  None of the charts were very detailed, but together they covered a very large area of land, from what he could tell.

The first time he had looked at them, nothing had made any sense at all, but he was gradually learning to understand them and decipher their meaning.  Rohan was the name of the land they lived in, and he knew what the word for it looked like.  Absently he ran one finger over the letters that formed it.  Rohan was a large expanse of mostly flat lands, even all of the parts of it that he hadn’t seen yet, if the map was right.  He knew what mountains and rivers and forests were, vaguely, and the lands beyond seemed to be full of them, compared to the plains.

Even more fascinating than the charts were the other documents, sheets and rolls covered in the rough symbols Satin knew to be writing.  He found the idea ingenious, that somehow contained within the markings one even one small roll of parch was the same information that it might take a man half an hour to tell to another; that it could be prepared long before meeting a person, and read long after, and that two men meeting only for a moment, in passing, might still, like this, exchange an untold wealth of information nonetheless.  It was amazing. 

He couldn’t read any of it yet, but an excited determination pushed him to learn.  He knew at least that the words and letters were the same, somehow, as the words they spoke; it was just a matter of deciphering the way one related to the other.

Satin built up the fire three more times as the night wore on and he studied the letters and charts, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger that grew increasingly persistent at the edges of his concentration.  He had some food, but the others would be back soon enough, and there would be a chance to get something decent to eat without using his own supplies.  Stifling a yawn, he felt a chill ripple over his body, despite the heat of the fire.  The air had turned icy in the night, though the winds were only soft. 

He looked up as his eyes detected the gradual shift in light.  It was too early for dawn, he was sure, but the soft spreading glow was forming a faint false dawn at the horizon nonetheless.  Not yet dawn, but not long for it.  Satin bit his lip, then slowly began to reroll the maps and charts, securing the bundle again just as it had been before.  They should have been back before now. 

Carefully, he replaced the roll back amongst Marley’s possessions, then walked quickly to his horse, stretching as he went.  The band had only been this late back once before that he remembered, and though he hadn’t understood what had happened exactly, they had had to move fast, and there had been fewer of them than the day before.

As he roused her, another yawn crept up on him.  This one got the better of his efforts to stifle it and he had to stop for a moment, as it arrested his body.  Stretching again, he built up the fire again, stoking it high, then returned to his horse and swung up.  They would return, of that he was sure, but in this life, being late could only mean something had gone wrong.  He rubbed softly at his horse’s neck and walked her out to the edge of the camp area, in the direction the band had left, willing his eyes to stay clear and sharp, though tiredness was beginning to get the better of him.  Beneath him, his horse whickered, uncertain of what was happening and he patted at her neck again.

“Easy girl.  We’re just…  Ready, I suppose.  Waiting.”  He looked out over the plains, uncertain what to do, then scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to coax some more wakefulness into his mind.  Waiting might be best, but he couldn’t help anything just sitting still.  He nodded to himself and turned once, casting an eye over the camp.  There was no danger here; of that much he was certain.  The gentle movement of the air had picked up into a chill wind and Satin turned his horse again, heading out in the direction the band had left.

“Alright, on girl, fly.”

Satin blinked his eyes a few times as the first rays of true dawn began to edge over the horizon.  He must have been riding for a while at least, then.  Looking ahead, he could pick out a blemish on the landscape ahead which swiftly grew into the shapes of horsemen riding towards him.  Soon he was certain it was the rest of the band, though they rode more slowly than normal, and he counted several riderless horses.  He arced out in a small loop to bring his horse into line alongside the others as they drew near.  Marley, in the lead was sharing his horse with Whistler, and Satin could see that much of her clothing was stained with red.  He shouted across to the boy.

“Satin?  What are you doing here lad?  You can’t just leave the camp unprotected.”  Satin only grimaced as he tried to assess how many were injured.

“Better it than you it seems, Old Man.  You’re late, what happened?”

“Later kid, we’ve got injured here.”

“I saw.  I can help; my horse is fresh still.  Who’s the worst off?  I can get them back to camp faster and do what I can.”  Satin already knew who the worst injured was at a glance, but Marley seemed to almost be hugging Whistler close, in front of him, more than just helping her stay on, and he seemed reluctant to let go of her.  After a moment he bit his lip, then nodded, reigning in next to Satin.  They both stopped and Marley shouted at the others to keep on and get themselves back.

“It’s Whistler here, she’s… She’s in a bad way.  Lost a lot of blood.”  He climbed down carefully, helping Satin shift the injured woman over to his horse.  Whistler moaned as they shifted her, hissing through her teeth, but waved a hand weakly when they hesitated, muttering that she was fine.  An attempt had been made to stop the bleeding, judging from the bunched lengths of material pressed to her chest and against one leg, but they had bled through long ago, and didn’t seem to be helping much.  Marley didn’t look convinced, glancing back and forth between her and Satin.

“You stay awake now, you hear, Whistler?  Stay here, that’s what you always tell the boys when they catch it bad.  Satin’s going to get you back to camp fast as the wind, and get you comfortable, and we’ll sort you out, alright.  I’ll be there soon, just you make sure you stay awake until I catch up.”  He swallowed, then began climbing back onto his own tired steed.  “Go, Satin, go!”  Satin nodded, and urged his horse to run.

====================