Chapter 9

Shanna let herself slip further into the cool river, eyelids half closed as the sun touched the trees across the river. She had never, ever, enjoyed a cold bath as much as now. Even with no soap, let alone bubbles, she could feel a week's worth of road and ash lift free, float away. It was also nice to be nude. She had never appreciated how much that freedom mattered to her, until forced to spend a week clothed.

The water touched her chin. Heaven.

The column had stopped two hours before sunset, to the relief of all. Shanna pitied those at the head, those who had left camp long before sunrise. They had not even been able to take their first rest until the last wagon had crossed the bridge, lest they hold up the entire evacuation and endanger those yet to cross. She also pitied those camped on the other side of the road, cut off from the river. They could cross, yes, and she was sure a few of the women she saw around her doing laundry, bathing, had done so. With water so close, a little extra walking would not be a deterrent. The wagons would switch sides the following night, allowing equal access to all.

Deciding she had soaked long enough, the cold not THAT good for her aching muscles, Shanna pushed herself up. She stood, knee deep next to the riverbank, water dripping from her brown skin. She ignored the eyes of the women around her. While every one was different, she was more so, shape fleshier, more muscular. Darker. Shanna stood still, enjoying the feel of the warm breeze flowing over her skin, nipples hardening on breasts no longer encumbered by tight cloth and armor. Armor with built in padding. That's what she needed. Comfort and support.

Heh. That's how she could make her living: designing modern bras for these people.

Shanna climbed back up onto the bank, grabbing a towel. Her eyes went to the wagon circle as she dried herself, still enjoying the moment. How many men were watching? The distance from the wagons beside the road to here was reasonably far, enough to give the illusion of privacy. Some would be looking, though. The young men. So, too, when the women packed up and went back and the males took their place at the river's edge, the younger girls would be sneaking looks at the hard male forms exposing themselves. And who could blame them? Now that soldiers and civilians were mixing more, she could see for herself how many attractive options there were.

None had yet matched Piotr's smile.

She let her own smile cross her face, running the towel under her breasts. Shanna hoped he trained her some more that evening, despite all that had happened that morning. She needed training. Long, hard, hands on training...

"She's over there."

Something about the way the woman said that got Shanna's attention, elevating the comment over the other conversations around her. She, somehow, knew it referred to her. Turning, Shanna saw a teen girl walking up the riverbank towards her, an older woman in a faded blue dress turning away. Ah. That had been Ruta's mother. No wonder the tone had been recognizable. The teen, though, was a stranger. A slim thing, with red hair falling down her back, wet from a recent dunking. Her dress was purple, tied with a green rope at the waist, skin as white as any Shanna had ever seen. She would have guessed Irish, if asked to classify the girl, but all Whites looked the same to her.

"Are ... are you the Dark Hussar?"

The voice was soft, nervous, yet somehow strong. Shanna was also surprised to realize she was not really consciously translating. Who knew she'd pick up a language this fast?

"My name is Shanna." Deciding she really didn't want to stay nude in front of this girl, she bent down, began putting on what these people considered panties. "What can I do for you?"

The girl frowned, expression confused. Shanna realized she had spoken English. So, she wasn't adjusting THAT fast.

"Sorry," she said, now stepping into the pair of men's pants Ewa had fitted to her body. Her mind consciously considered each Polish word before she said it. "My language is not yours. My name is Shanna."

The girl's confused expression did not leave as Shanna buttoned up the fly, tying the rope belt. She bent down, breasts hanging like the udders they were, grabbed the "blouse", and slipped it over her head as she straightened. No bra tonight. Looking at the girl, her embarrassment was clear. Shanna was too tired for this.

"What do you want?"

The girl looked down, hands clenched before her. Shanna felt the eyes of the others on them. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ewa stand, the babe Marik trying to suckle her bare breast. The stranger raised her head.

"My name," the girl said, "is Anelie. My ... my brother was with you last night. The raft. He told me. Everything. How incredible you were!" Her eyes widened. They were dark green. "I saw it, too! Some of it! We had just crossed the bridge when the raft lit up! My god, you were amazing! I've never seen a woman like you before!"

She was babbling. Shanna felt tired. She didn't like girls who babbled.

"I am what I am. Again, what can I do for you?"

"I want to serve you!" The girl took a step forward, Shanna almost taking a step back in response. "I want you to train me! I want to fight, like my brother! Like you! I'll be your servant, your squire, whatever! Please!"

Shanna put a hand to her forehead, rubbing, a headache coming. She now had sympathy for James.

"Look..."

"Anelie."

"Anelie. I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm about to go get my butt handed to me in a sword fight..."

"May I watch, Miss Shanna?"

"What?" Shanna blinked. The redhead bowed her head.

"May I watch you use your sword?"

Well ... that wouldn't be committing to anything. She let out a sigh.

"Sure. Why the fuck not."

James lifted his hand from the white pawn, trying not to grin at the growing frown on Piotr's face. The young lieutenant leaned forward, hands on his knees. James was not the best chess player, but he knew the game. Had read some books, even played on the chess team for a couple years. He also preferred certain strategies which threw off more casual players. Castling on the queen's side had ruined Piotr's entire first plan of attack, and now his white pawns, freed of any defensive need, were advancing down on the black king's defenses.

Poor guy. James felt for the doomed king.

Felek stood next to them, looking down at the game with rapt attention. James doubted the kid had ever seen chess before, or any real board games. He'd have to teach him. And Ruta. The two ten year olds could battle each other.

A groan came from Piotr. James tried not to look smug.

"You are ... good, Your Grace."

"I'm just surprising you. You attacked while I had the advantage of being White, without waiting to see what I was going to do."

"Father," he sighed, "always said I was reckless at this game." He moved a hussar back from it's advanced position, threatening an exposed pawn.

"There's a place for it, but not against an unknown opponent. Not until you know what you're up against." James moved his bishop, the diagonal now clear, down the board. "Check."

"Whoa!" Felek said, eyes wide. "You're going to get his rook!"

Shoulders slumping, Piotr moved his hussar to block the attack, James following through by sliding his bishop into the rook.

"I think I have lost, Your Grace."

"You can probably put up a good fight."

"Yes, but..."

The sound of women's voices came to them.

"But chaos returns to us." The three males laughed. James sat up, rotating his shoulders. The chess set, with its golden inlays and incredible carved pieces, showing up like it did had made his day. He had not thought of the game in his time here, but it seemed to fit a need he should have known. His mind felt so much fresher. He held out his hand.

"Good game, Lieutenant Kosciuszko." The teen looked at him for a moment, unsure. James smiled. "My Dad taught me to always shake with an opponent, no matter the outcome."

Piotr gave his own grin, taking the King's hand and giving it a firm shake.

"Good game, Your Grace. You beat me soundly."

"And, by the look on her face, it's time for you to beat Shanna soundly."

"Oh, he can try." The brown woman looked down at them, cleanliness seeming to radiate from her body. Her clothing stuck to patches of wetness on her body in interesting ways, which as King, James felt no shame in admiring. Piotr, too, gave the woman a good long look, eyes seeming to focus on her breasts for longer than would be good for his health. She did not seem to mind.

"Well," Piotr said, standing, "if the foreign commoner wishes to be put in her place, I guess I can oblige."

"My place is standing over your defeated body."

"I wish you luck in that dream, Lady Shanna."

They moved away. James picked up the white queen, turning it over in his hand. Amazing craftsmanship. Amazing carved bosom. The former King who had commissioned this set had some obvious tastes in women.

Former Kings ... James looked off to the west, eyes on what could not be seen. These people had still not told him the why of this war. Why the Elves did what they did. They had NOT attacked last night. Nor on the road. And they could have- easily. Harassed. Delayed. But they had not. The Elves ... had LET them cross the river. Had let them flee.