The Proving of Champions, Chapter 12

The Thorgaricks emerged from the shade of the Jungle floor into the light under the canopy just as the sky's light beyond leafy gaps was dimming towards red, purple, and navy. The Valcots hung hooded lanterns, bathing the camp in a soft, warm light as Lorens organized the cooking around a large collapsible pot on a small collapsible stove perched neatly on the crook of a branch. Leanna offered some of Shaw's noxious herbs to keep the beasts at bay, but Lorens took one whiff, pinched her nose in disgust, and said those herbs were not going anywhere near dinner. They could trust in their ballistae, which had sufficed so far. The Thorgaricks stared hungrily at the stove after days of cold, sodden meat and overripe fruits that the Colonies had dropped into their prison, but Hereward gave the soldiers and disciples instructions to find hammocks. Esmond was quick to throw himself on a hammock for some shuteye before dinner, while Ogden, who never missed an opportunity to run his jaw, was boasting to a Valcot soldier. They both earned the privilege of pitching and patching Terrell's tent. The rest of the Thorgaricks got their bearings and slowly dropped their packs into hammocks.

Bertram had spread his own people throughout the netting of the camp, leaving small pockets of freshly made hammocks for the Thorgarick disciples and swornmen. This forced the two camps to mingle, and Fleta supposed the mixing was intentional. Fleta could almost hear Shaw's wry observation: Funny how a few days of near-death experiences can make brothers out of rivals. She missed her teacher more than she would have realized when she was a young, distracted disciple-in-training. Her day getting to know Shaw better had been too short.

Lorens delegated the cooking, but Hereward soon caught up with her. They argued over formal procedures. Lorens welcomed help organizing watches and even planning drills so that the men and women could fight effectively in case of emergencies. However, the laid-back captain appointee of the Valcots did not think early morning roll call and inspection were as vital to maintaining camp discipline as Hereward did. Hereward had some choice words to say about Valcot discipline, and the conversation devolved further before Lorens gritted her teeth and, with the utmost restraint, encouraged Hereward to take a break and unpack.

Bertram promised Fleta a tent with the Undora champion, whose name she still did not recall. The only thing she recalled of the Proving banquet, where champions were introduced, was anxiety bordering on nausea. Apparently, she had some time to try to remember the Undora champion because her tent—or makeshift shelter—was still under construction. One of the Valcot soldiers was busy weaving vines into a rope frame for her tent, the other sewing together leaves for the privacy of the tent itself. Fleta watched their deft hands braiding and stitching for a moment, wracking her brain for the Undora's name. The name wouldn't come.

Fleta stood up, and she felt her calves, thighs, behind, and back all starting to lock up after the long day of running with the High Skald, running from the tarrasque, and eight hours of circling marching soldiers. She hadn't paused much until now and badly needed to stretch. Perhaps she could stretch conveniently near Bertram's tent and overhear that elusive name in their muted conversation. Yawning and stretching her arms, Fleta walked a few paces between the tents. As she reached for her toes, Fleta's back knotted and ached, so she carefully lay down across the fine netting and twisted to release some of the soreness.

"Need a hand?" Daralis asked. "I know I could use one." Daralis had sat her pack down, claiming on a nearby hammock, and combed out her pale yellow hair that she had kept tightly braided under a handkerchief for the hours of hiking. 

Fleta smiled and nodded. Daralis carefully put one hand on Fleta's knee and the other on the shoulder, slowly pressing harder to deepen the stretch. Fleta's spine cracked, and some of the tension eased.

"Oof, that's good," said Fleta.

"I'm just glad you have the sense to stretch," said Daralis. "After a few days in a prison cell, running from the Tarasque, and eight hours of marching, the Thorgaricks are going to be hurting tomorrow. And yet, they're all grabbing naps or chatting." Daralis released Fleta, and the young woman twisted to the other side.

"So you were captured the night of the storm?" Fleta asked.

"Yes, I noticed the mushroom people, but too late. We fled down the tree, but they caught up with us. Terrell used the voice, but then one of the mushroom people was able to mimic it. It was the strangest thing under the heavenly halls. The creatures can't normally speak; they don't have mouths or vocal cords." Daralis let Fleta up and lay down herself, twisting. "Do you mind?" Daralis Held out her comb for Fleta.

Fleta began coming, noticing how Daralis's frame had passed beyond lissom into gaunt. "Are you okay?" Fleta asked. "You seem... even thinner than usual."

"Oh, don't be like that," Daralis said. "They're all treating me like a delicate flower just because I was knocked out for a few days. Of course, they treated me like that before, too. Foolish. Terrell wouldn't have brought me if I couldn't handle myself."

Fleta flushed a little because she had much the same impression of Daralis. Daralis was too young to be an instructor but had enough years on Fleta that they never shared a class or competition. Yet the gifted disciple boasted no records. Fleta had always assumed the pale golden shadow was... less gifted, always hovering near Terrell at large gatherings, hoping the halo of his importance would give her gift a little extra shine. But, based on Daralis' facility scouting and her early warning on the night of the second Colonies attack, Daralis was clearly as gifted as Fleta. Or even as gifted as Alber had been.

Daralis casually flipped her hair, bringing Fleta back to the present. Fleta continued combing. "You were knocked out?" she asked.

"That's right, you didn't know," Daralis said. "You'll hear more about it tonight at a meeting after dinner. We all have some planning to do. But yes, I didn't eat or drink much for a couple of days.

"Oh," Fleta said. "I'm sorry. I'm glad you're doing better."

"Me too." Daralis both sat in silence for a moment while Fleta worked out the last of the tangles.

"You know," Fleta said. "You should have the tent, not me. I'm fine with a hammock." 

"Oh, that's sweet," Daralis smiled. "I wouldn't say no to the extra privacy, but maybe we can all fit. If it's not too crowded."

"Yeah, of course," said Fleta. "Maybe I should should ask... ask the..."

"The Undora?" Daralis finished Fleta's sentence. "Her name's Marina."

"I knew that!" Fleta protested.

"Did you?" Daralis tapped her temple, right next to her eyes. "Remember, I am the eyes of Thorgarick; I see all in a flash of lightning."

"Well, I'm glad to see you're proudly embracing your gift," Fleta grumbled. "Okay, no, I didn't remember her name."

"I saw you looking at Bertram's tent like you wanted to go in, but there was something in the way." Daralis smiled. "But maybe you were just working up the courage to surprise Bertram in his tent."

"Daralis!" Fleta blushed.

"Yes, I figured it was the probable tent situation and the name thing. You never were much for names, but that's what I'm here for," Daralis smiled, a mischievous glint in her blue eye. "You did seem pretty sweet on Bertram, though. I think I remember you saying, 'If only my dear Bertram were here...' before you went off to handle the tarasque."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't say 'my dear Bertram,'" Fleta said. "And he is really useful. I had a day to chat with him off and on, and he knows useful things. Like how to calculate anything or how to make stuff."

"Well, a woman of your talents could benefit from a clever ally," Daralis smiled and winked. Fleta didn't think she was referring to Bertram. "Don't be a stranger. And please let me know about the tent situation."

Fleta flexed and stretched her hamstrings before stumbling over to Bertram's tent.