Tartarus

By M. Parnell
Copyright 1997

Chapter Fifteen

Gabrielle woke, heart pounding, listening to wolves outside the wattle hut. It was still dark, and she wondered why Xena was not yet moved to action. She spoke into her ear: "Xena?" then sat up. The warrior didn’t stir, but growled a sleepy "Hmmm?" in reply.

"Xena, something’s outside. Wolves."

Xena sat up, eyes still closed, her head inches from the low ceiling. Gabrielle couldn't make out her features in the dark. She listened for a moment, yawned mightily, and lay back on the layer of skins. "Only the wind. Go back to sleep."

Wind? Gabrielle was certain she was wrong, but Xena was never wrong about such things. What had she said about listening? She remained still and heard the sharp howling, remembered the winter night a pack of wolves had ventured near Potadeia. Her father had joined the men of the village on a foray to light bonfires to keep the wolves at bay. Still, she had been frightened, huddled up with Lilla in the room they shared, listening for wolves until near dawn. They had never returned, but lived on in the edges of Gabrielle's imagination. If there were wolves outside, they would be hard to see in the dark. She wondered if they could - or would rip through the little dwelling, which suddenly seemed flimsy. But Xena would not leave Argo to contend with wolves, and she would have known - A furious crash slammed the wall at her back, and her fingers clenched in Xena's hair. "Ow!"

"Xena, that can't be wind," she insisted.

"Gabrielle, let go of my hair," she seethed, and the bard loosened her fingers, bringing a few dark strands away with her. "Yeah. You know, I think you may be right. Wolves," she said grimly. "We'd better go to sleep before they hear us." She grinned in the dark, at the long silence, waiting for the bard's next question. It didn't come. Instead there was a small shuddering sound, shaky exhalations. She felt a warm thigh against her, and didn't imagine the shiver she felt there. "Gabrielle," she said, her quiet voice a jarring sound in the silence that filled the hut. "I'm joking." Outside the wind continued to wail. Like banshees. She sat up again. There was no need to grope in the dark for the other woman, there was no place she was not within reach. Her touch shocked the tense flesh, and an involuntary tremor passed through Gabrielle. Gods, Xena thought with remorse. Some joke.
"Gabrielle," she said firmly, anxious to be heard, "There are no wolves; the noise is just the wind." Gabrielle seemed so small sometimes, so young. Xena wrapped her in the wooly blanket, still warm from their body heat, and held her across her lap, stroking her hair with long fingers, until she was still.

"Sorry," came the soft murmur, I don't know why - "
"It's all right, Gabrielle," she soothed. "I shouldn't have joked about it. I had no idea you were so afraid of wolves. We've come against them more than once." And a lot worse she thought. She put a smile in her voice, hoping to hear it echoed by the bard.

"I'm not afraid of them; not like this," Gabrielle protested.

"You're afraid of something," Xena said with certainty. "I know this place shakes when a good blast hits it, but we're in no danger here." Not from the wind. "The other hill serves as a wind break, and this thing is so low to the ground it doesn't catch the worst of it. I won't let you blow away." She tightened her grip to demonstrate her holding ability. She felt Gabrielle relax a little, but the same misery was in her voice as she ordered her thoughts and spoke again.

"The wind never stops for long, Xena. Now always howling, but always blowing. Just gets on my nerves." She breathed something between a sigh and a yawn. "I guess I'll get used to it. Not much choice really, we can't make it stop, and we can't leave," she said with finality.

You don't get used to things like that, Xena knew. You dealt with it, maybe, or it took up residence in your soul until it drove you mad, or chafed at your nerves until it evoked some howl in response. "You know any stories about the winds?" Xena asked. That would take her mind off things, anyway.

"None I could bear to tell now," she replied, then hesitated. "I'd rather hear a song."

Xena smiled to herself, surprisingly pleased to have been asked. Gabrielle was clearly expecting a refusal; she wouldn't get it. Instead, Xena settled her bard comfortably, took a breath and drowned the terrors of the night.

"Xena. About last night, I wanted to say that - "

"You needn't say anything," the warrior said above her bowl of warmed over stew. They ate inside the little hovel, in deference to a nip in the air which refused to leave even in the presence of the sun. A smoky oil lamp cast deep shadows around them. "I've had my share of night terrors," she reminded her friend. "And you, more often then not, helped morning come a lot faster.

"True," the blonde head, nodded in slow agreement. "You haven't had a nightmare - "

"Since Prestia," Xena supplied. Since the night I followed Jalani's instructions to see it through to the end, she recalled. Jalani. The Amazon dream-reader seemed very close at that moment. Xena wished she was with them; she had much wisdom to share. "I miss Jalani," she said aloud, not quite aware of her intention until it was out. She looked at the Amazon Queen in the half-light of the hut. She was wrapped in a blanket, and looked very small, hair disheveled, face smudged with a bit of gravy that escaped a corner of her mouth. A wave of affection washed over the warrior, catching her off-guard, and her face softened, to one of those rare expressions which Gabrielle prized. She had a horde of such memories, always unexpected, always brief. The moment had already passed, but the warrior retained a wistful smile, and spoke again of Jalani. "She helped me find my way back to you," she told the bard, although Gabrielle already knew Jalani's role in that. Helped me stop throwing happiness away with both hands.

"Yeah, us Amazons are special women," Gabrielle confided, with a pleased grin, then grew serious. "They'll be starting their harvest; I wonder if the new planting scheme worked out as well as they hoped?"

"The crops were looking good last time we were there." 'Last time': the phrase had a new significance. "They should have a more bountiful granary than ever." Lots better than Hermia's poor yield. Xena knew Hermia would be a source of bread, but she couldn't barter away what she didn't have. "We'll check the snares after breakfast, Gabrielle." She said abruptly. "Don't want any needless suffering."

"Sure," Gabrielle rejoined, puzzled by the sudden change in direction. " I wouldn't mind letting the rabbits go today; I'm ready for a change of diet," she confessed. "Not that your stew isn't delicious," she added hastily.

The blue eyes had a way of looking off in the distance to see things Gabrielle couldn't guess at. They went away now, seeing enough of the world to let her lace her boots and fish out chunks of food from her bowl, but distant enough to cause the bard to fall into silence.
"We won't have much change in diet, Gabrielle, not if we rely on what's here. Small game, fish, venison. There must be boar; that would be a nice change." She wouldn't take Gabrielle to hunt boar; wondered if she could ever leave her safely alone. "What's his name? Ikar? Forages throughout Tartarus for whatever's available? I wonder what he could provide, for reasonable return?" Gabrielle didn't respond; she felt that would be like horning in on a private conversation. "Of course, I guess rabbits and venison are pretty easy to get; surprised Hermia was so happy to have ours. Do you get the sense she did without prior to the harvest so she'd have enough to feed her workers?"

Gabrielle hadn't though about it; she did now, and recalled Xena's words: everything had a price; they wouldn't work for free.

"I guess I should dig the root cellar before I finish the house," the deep voice went on, "then we can cache away whatever we find. There are walnut trees," she nodded with approval. "And we'll begin to dry meat, and smoke it; fish, too." She looked at Gabrielle suddenly. "We won't starve, I promise, but there won't be much variety," she apologized.

She was back in the moment, and her eyes held that worry which no longer surprised Gabrielle. What can I offer here that's worth anything, she wondered. Protection? I choose not to trade on my warrior skills, so what do I have to offer? That was a confounding thought, and she scowled.

"Xena, forget about the variety; you know I'm a spoiled brat sometimes."

"Never that, Gabrielle. You've put up with more hard times…Without a murmur of complaint." The green eyes were lovely; with a pang Xena looked away. I can never make this up to her, all the time in the world and no means, no possible way…

"This isn't getting our house built." She placed her bowl aside, picked up her sheathed sword, hung the chakram from her belt and made the awkward exit the hut required. Gabrielle followed, wishing she'd never mentioned the rabbits.

Xena had let all the rabbits go, and not re-laid the snares. "We'll leave them for another day," she reasoned, and asked Gabrielle if she preferred fish or fowl. Fish settled on, they turned together to the task of home-building.

It was simple enough, with the tools she'd borrowed from Hermia, Xena said, to put up a frame, weave wattle around the frame in sections, and ultimately pack the wattle with the clay-like soil found in sections of Tartarus. Gabrielle wondered how easy constructing the frame would be; the pieces of timber Xena had trimmed seemed massive. Lifting them into position wouldn't be easy. She said as much to Xena. "We'll manage," she'd grinned.

Three days later Gabrielle conceded that Xena had so far she seemed to be right; even her use of ‘we’ was accurate. Although the broad shoulders, well-muscled, slick with perspiration, bore the weight of the beams, the nimble fingers of the bard fitted the pegs into the pre-drilled holes to join the beams together. Now Gabrielle understood Xena’s obsessive interest in whittling since they’d been in Tartarus. Xena’s back was to her, stooped under the weight of what was to be the first cross beam in place. This would be the last for the day, Xena had assured her, but she was anxious to see if her understanding of how a roof was supported made sense before the whole thing was in place. The evening wind would be a good test of the frame. She waited for Gabrielle to climb into place to insert the pegs, breathing through the pain which burned her muscles. Gabrielle climbed up the beam carefully, her feet finding the wooden slats Xena had affixed there to serve as steps.

"Xena, the peg-holes aren’t quite aligned; can you raise it another two inches?" She took the answering grunt to be a ‘yes,’ and waited, pegs poised while Xena straightened a bit, shifted the beam so that it was gripped in her large hands, and the beam was lifted into place. Gabrielle fastened one side, scrambled down the beam and up the one opposite. As the last pegs were pushed into place Xena felt the weight move off her shoulders. She sighed, and craned her neck to examine their handiwork. "Nice work, Gabrielle. Kind of hard to be a cynic when things start to come together, huh?"

"Xena, I never doubted you," she told her.

"Us, my friend, us. I couldn’t have done this without you." She waited for the bard’s answering smile, but it was accompanied by a comment: "Xena, you did most of this. The lumber, the pegs, the post-holes: all your work. I just – "

"Made it all hold together." She regarded the frame with satisfaction. This will work, she knew, astonished at the speed with which it was coming together. We did this; just the two of us. "And don't you forget it." She arched her shoulders, working the stiffness from them. "We have enough light to clean up in the stream." She lifted an eyebrow, but Gabrielle was absorbed with her finger, sucking and squeezing the tip.

"Sliver?" Xena guessed. Without another word she put the bard's finger in her own mouth, feeling with her tongue the end of a splinter. She ignored Gabrielle's whimper, sucked firmly, finally grasped it with her teeth and pulled it out. "All better."

"It is. Thanks," the bard said, examining the small hole that remained.

"Entirely selfish on my part Gabrielle. You couldn't massage the soreness from my shoulders with that in your finger. Let's move now; we'll freeze before we dry out if we wait for sundown."

Xena sat on the bank of the quiet stream, well pleased with the day, content to let the last rays of sun touch her body, while she watched Gabrielle paddle slowly in the natural pool which formed at the bend. "Let me massage you now," Gabrielle had suggested, waist deep in the water. "No." Xena had pulled the arms away. "I want warmth, and comfort and the taste of your body with it," she'd told her. "First, we'll steam the place up with hot stones placed in water. Then you'll hot-soak towels and lay them on my shoulders, and knead the muscles until the tension is gone."

"Then?" the bard inquired a curious smile on her lips.

"Then I'll do the same for you, hot moist towels wherever you like, my fingers wherever you need them," she'd breathed. That had been inducement for a quick scrub.

Her head cocked to one side, as a familiar sound touched her ear. Nightingale. It began its song at the same time each day. Odd to be in one place long enough to be familiar with the birds, yet she knew the trees he favored, knew the branch he was perched on now. She opened her mouth to alert Gabrielle to the sound, but Argo whinnied, and she grabbed her weapons instead, giving scant attention to the fact that she was still naked. "Gabrielle, we've got company," she said, certain of Argo's intention. She didn't hear the nightingale now, was attuned only to the sounds of Gabrielle exiting the water, and the soft scuffing noises she heard in the grass. Two people, approaching slowly, not caring if they made noise. She began to relax, even before she saw them, then her vigilance was replaced by annoyance. Lutus. Arthea. She grabbed her battledress and slipped into it before they spied her. She glanced at Gabrielle, happy to see that she, too had dressed. She somehow hated the idea of Arthea coming upon them while they were undressed. She had no time to think about that, they were ambling down the hill, casting angry looks at each other, eyeing the site carefully, paying special attention to the fire Xena had already built.

"Xena." Arthea's voice held genuine pleasure. She waved a hand to hurry Lutus along; he seemed to be limping. Xena made no reply, but Gabrielle was already walking past her, greeting Arthea warmly.

"It's good to see you." She thought Arthea looked more haggard than she had even a few days before. "You found our little place with no trouble?"

"Your directions were very good."

Directions? Xena's eyes flashed at the back of Gabrielle's head. Was this visit due to an invitation?

"We would have been here sooner, but Lutus has a bad sore on his foot." She jerked a thumb back at the sullen man. "Hope we haven't come at a bad time."

"Afraid so," Xena spoke for the first time. "We've had a long day." And there's no supper for you if that's what you're looking for.

She turned to Xena now, ready to face the warrior, armed with a small sack. "We found these on the way. Food is always welcome here," she said knowingly as she offered the sack. Xena remained still. After a moment Gabrielle stepped forward to accept the sack. She peered inside at a few apples, and showed them to Xena. Surely she couldn't think of them as tribute. They were few, and from the looks of them mostly rotten, inedible. For this we owe them supper, Xena thought, rolling her eyes and swearing fervently to herself. "Shouldn't have," she drawled.

"It's very sweet of you both," Gabrielle said, avoiding Xena's gaze. "Won't you join us for supper? It's only fish, as soon as Xena catches them, but you're welcome." Xena turned back to the stream to catch the fish. She couldn't bear to hear Arthea let Gabrielle coax her into staying.

Xena was silent throughout the meal, listening to a steady recital of woes and injustices heaped on Lutus and Arthea. Nothing worked for them, alone or as a pair. She wondered why they stayed together. With the disproportionate numbers of men to women in Tartarus, Xena was certain Arthea could find a better provider than Lutus. She had lost weight, the rosy blush in her cheeks was gone, but she was still attractive, with smoky eyes and a hint of fire in her voice that caught you off guard. She didn't have a hard time remembering her initial attraction to the woman. She swallowed and focused on the chatter.

"What did you do before you came here, Lutus," she finally blurted out, hardly aware that she'd cut Arthea off in mid-sentence. All three looked at her. "I mean, maybe you can find better way of supporting yourself," than looking for handouts, she left unsaid.
"I was a butcher. Had a little shop of my own," he said with pride.

"And?" she prodded.

He ducked his head, and looked at her through pig-eyes.

"He got drunk and sliced a man who was cheating him at dies," Arthea supplied. "That could be excused, maybe. Worse part is, he carved him up and sold him over the counter." She laughed.

Gabrielle sputtered in disgust; her last mouthful of food was projected from her mouth to land on Xena's boots.

"Just wanted to know," the warrior said evenly, as she wiped her boots with a bit of grass.

"So you could go from farm to farm during slaughtering season doing the farmers a service? Or apply for a place in the household of the overlord? I here he's accumulated a fair number of livestock."

He clearly didn't like the suggestions. "I don't have my tools," he pointed out. "Besides, I'm not meant for itinerant trade." He held up a shoeless foot and began to unwrap a filthy piece of his tunic to reveal a large, dripping wound on his right heel. For a second time Gabrielle was unable to conceal her revulsion. "Excuse me," she said, and made a hasty exit.

"Not when we're eating, lout," Arthea scolded him, and smacked him with the back of her hand. She looked at Xena apologetically, laid a hand on her arm, caught the warrior's eye, and removed the hand quickly. "He was hoping maybe you'd have a look."

Xena nodded, resigned from the first moment to dealing with this wound. This one wouldn't be free. "All right. I'll need water." She lifted the large pot from its place at the edge of the fire. "Fill this, then collect more wood for the fire. We'll need to get it good and hot. Then I'll need strips of cloth, from your tunic, or the sack, doesn't matter to me." She wouldn’t waste their own precious goods on this pair. "Get busy," she snapped, and Arthea scurried away.

She dealt none-too-gently with the wound, scrubbing and squeezing until the pus was gone and the blood ran freely. "You'll live," she assured him. "It'll be painful for a few days."

"Guess I should stay off it," he said hopefully.

"Suit yourself," she shrugged. "If I was you, I'd be more concerned about finding a place to pass the winter, or food to fill my belly day-to-day."
It was not the answer he'd hoped for. Gabrielle had returned to the fire and he sought her eyes, but she looked resolutely away, understanding that Xena's words were meant for her as well.

New approach necessary, Arthea decided. "Got any work you need done?"

"Nope."

"Once the foot is healed, Lutus will be worth a team of oxen," she continued.

"We're doing fine, Arthea."

"You are," the woman agreed, looking with envy at the ungainly hovel, then again at the beginnings of a house. "Should be right cozy this winter."
"I expect so," Xena agreed, nodding pleasantly. "It all takes foresight and hard work."

And skill, and talent, and strength Gabrielle considered, wondering if Xena was aware of how little some people had to work with.

"We have a lot more to do tomorrow," Xena went on, "and it's pretty dark. "You'll never get settled for the night if you don't leave now."

Gabrielle looked quickly at her, then away again. She couldn’t be serious, to send them away from the fire at this late hour, with Lutus limping as he was. Lutus and Arthea shared her feelings.

"I don't know if I can travel tonight, Xena," he ventured, ready for the rebuff. "You were pretty rough cleaning the wound; it hurts like Hades."

"I'll cut you a walking stick," she offered, and began to rise.

Gabrielle took a deep breath before the plunge: "Or maybe you could just go off a little ways, and build your fire. Then leave in the morning." She looked sideways to gauge Xena's reaction. Not good.

"Good idea," Lutus jumped at the idea. "If you could maybe help Arthea start the fire; I'm pretty hopeless at these things."
"Why don't you do that Gabrielle," Xena put in. She stretched. "I'm kind of tired, think I'll turn in."

An eternity later Gabrielle pushed open the door to the hovel, trying to make out the interior in the pitch-black. She didn't call Xena's name; she doubted the warrior had been asleep, knew she'd awaken at her entrance in any event. If she was in the mood to talk she'd make the first sign. The second campfire burned fifty yards away, Lutus and Arthea were nestled together under a thin blanket. Gabrielle had considered supplying a second, but knew she'd already gone too far for the couple. Xena's face had been dark when she left them. She hated to know Xena's mood now, knew it had to be faced sometime, but the morning would be soon enough. She stumbled over Xena in the dark, longed to snuggle next to her, but chose instead to face the other wall, and so they lay, back-to-back for some time. At last Xena spoke: "Feeling unfriendly?" she asked.

"Me? No. I just didn't want to wake you," she explained.
"I'm not asleep."

"Oh. Good." She took that as an invitation, and turned to face the warrior, then lay her head on the bare shoulder, feeling better that way, even though they couldn't see each other. "Xena, I didn't know what else to do," she said softly.

"We don't have to talk about them," the warrior replied. Her voice was sleepy; she hadn't lied about being tired.

"I just don't understand why you reacted that way. It's inhospitable to send people away from your fire, especially people who can't care for themselves."

"Won't take care of themselves," she corrected.

"Wait a minute, Xena. We all aren't you. Not everyone is born knowing how best to stay alive," she objected. "Would you want someone turning me away because I was helpless?"
"You're no Arthea," Xena told her fiercely, "and I don't want you encouraging her."

"How am I different?" she inquired. "Do you hold it against Arthea that she is, or was a prostitute? She's far from being the worst criminal here, you know." She was immediately sorry, as Xena seemed to stop breathing for a long moment.

"No. That's probably my distinction," the husky voice managed at last. "Chose your own company, then." She felt her shrug. "Now let me get some sleep."

It was too quiet when Gabrielle awoke; Xena was long gone, her warmth missing, her scent only found in the soft folds of the blanket they'd shared. The smoky fumes of a damp-lit fire drifted through the wattle-weave. Gabrielle detected something else, a sweetness, in the smoke. She dressed hurriedly and examined the newly-kindled fire as she went past. A large pot of water already simmered. A mass of burned pulp adhered to one of the containing rocks. The apples.

She followed the sound of scrape and dump, scrape and dump, to a new hole in the middle of the framework for the house. Xena had been busy, for quite a while it seemed. Already she stood almost shoulder deep in the center of the hole. Gabrielle had no concern about startling her when she approached from behind.

"Thought we were finishing the frame today," she began.

"Good morning to you, " Xena replied. "I felt like a change of pace."

"Something you could work on alone?" She sat at the edge of the hole, let her feet dangle in. "I think you're carrying this a little far."

"Maybe," Xena said tersely. "Let me know when your company is gone."

"My company? You forget, Xena, I met them through you."

A massive load of earth flew out of the pit before the sweating woman spoke again. Through me? Oh yes, And a little thing like an earthquake, and a bard who doesn't know how to follow instructions. Her face was taut as she filled the shovel again.

"And who gave them 'good directions,' here?" she demanded. "Was that me? Who asked them to stay for supper? Or to spend the night?" She stopped her work and looked at the woman who seemed capable of creating every kind of emotion in her. The one she'd kindled now was new; it was a kind of anger. It scared Xena a little. She gripped the shovel and bent to work again, flinging more dirt from the hole.

"Paying a visit to Hades?" Gabrielle asked, as she surveyed the ever deepening hole.

"Might as well," Xena grunted. The bard stood to leave. The conversation seemed like a bad idea. "Gabrielle." Xena stopped her. "You'll probably be feeding Lutus and Arthea before they leave, assuming they do. I got a few grouse at dawn. Save something for me."

"You know I will, Xena," she answered, hurt at what the words implied. Then she saw the same hurt in Xena's face. This had nothing to do with breakfast leavings, everything to do with a lost evening, shoulders that missed a loving touch. She almost leaped in the pit to make up for that on the spot, then remembered how close the others were. Instead she said "Just because I'm trying to be a good neighbor it doesn't mean I'm forgetting you."

"I didn't say you were. I just know how generous you can be."

"Where I come from, that's a good thing," she said with pride, but she kept her voice light, wanting not to challenge, but to soothe.

"This isn't where you come from," Xena reminded her, then looked up, pleading in her eyes. "Let me know when they're gone. Better yet, lure them down here, I'll dump them in and cover up the hole again." She grinned wickedly; Gabrielle laughed uncertainly, wondering why it didn't seem like a joke, but hoping for anything to break Xena's foul mood. Beneath the grin, Xena wasn't laughing. She knew she'd kill to preserve what was important to her. "Now go on, get rid of them. Let me get this finished."

They were gone as soon as breakfast was over, and Gabrielle summoned Xena to the fire. One large grouse remained, still warm, smelling of herbs and wild onion.

"You haven’t washed Xena," she objected, as the warrior approached.

"Honest dirt," was the reply, but she splashed some hot water from the pot over each hand, and shook them off to dry before she seized the bird.

Gabrielle sat next to her. "Want me to dig for a while?" she asked.

"No," was the amused reply.

"Didn’t think so," she admitted, "but I’d like to do something. Any suggestions?"

The warrior chewed thoughtfully for a few moments, and washed the bird down with water before answering. "Just one: You haven’t picked up a scroll since we’ve been here."

"I mean something practical." She poked the warrior gently. "My scrolls won’t keep us warm this winter. Winter is rough here. Hermia said it’s very different than outside." She spoke casually, just sharing information, but her voice was uneasy. Clearly she wanted consolation. Xena weighed honesty against assurance, and softened her answer with a lopsided grin. "Depends what outside you’re talking about. I’ve seen some rough winters, and I’m still here."

"Xena, you survived Tartarus, I mean the real Tartarus," she pointed out, admitting that there was reassurance in that.

"Hermia survived those winters," was her retort. "We’ll be fine." She recalled the lines which etched the woman’s face. "We’ll be fine," she repeated. "There isn’t much snow, from what I hear, except in the mountains, a lot of wet, though, and it gets cold." She looked at the bard. "It’s not just the kitchen help that talks, you know. Cramma had her own thoughts on the winter. Likes it." Less chance the tribes will visit, she had said, but Xena didn’t repeat that. The pressing tribes from the eastern borders would be heard from, of that she had no doubt. No point spoiling a lovely day by speaking of it now.

"At least we’ll have less company when the weather’s bad," she said, Lutus and Arthea still on her mind.

"Yeah, less company," the bard sighed, and began to gather the debris from breakfast. Wouldn’t mind some company now, she thought, say, Hermia bringing bread.

"Xena." A deep male voice boomed; in the hovel, Gabrielle clenched her fingers around the staff. If there was trouble she wanted to be at Xena’s side, but the instructions had been clear: "Stay out of sight unless I call for you. Please." She heard Xena’s voice now, clear, low: "Nerad."

There was an extended silence; when she strained Gabrielle could hear the rustle of cloth, and the clatter of armor and wood, as if several people were moving at once. Nerad's voice came to here in a harsh, low, string of obscenities. She poked a finger through the wattle, creating an opening to peer through. A dozen soldiers were arrayed around the site, dismounted, standing alert; one struggled with a chair that Nerad had tried to sit in. It was an odd contraption, hinged at the middle, as if made for transporting. Nerad was lifting his squat body from the ground next to it, raining blows on a young boy; setting the chair had been his job. This was not the first impression he had expected to make on the Warrior Princess. He stole a glance at her as he rose. Her face was impassive, as if she had not just watched him fall on his ass.

Overlord, she thought with amused contempt. First Brascius, now this clown? The local talent was not impressive. She recalled that he had come to power through treachery. Seemed like the only way, yet even that would have required some cunning. She didn't see it in his face, couldn't see enough, yet, of those around him. Someone needed the wit to have conceived the treachery. This lot had the surly air of outlaws, it remained to be seen how effective they were at being more than bullies. It caused her some unease to wonder if Tartarus was filled with inept thugs, the dregs, rather than the cream of the criminal class, if there was such a thing. Great company I end up, in she thought sourly. It showed in her face.
"Xena, join me." He gestured to a second folding chair which was opened beside her.

"Glad you could join me," she countered, as she sat, indicating the expanse of the site, her site.

He smiled coldly; she knew then that he was not all buffoon. "We need to speak of that Xena; you have chosen a nice piece of my property to settle on." He looked with approval at the start that had been made in making the site a home. "It needs to be paid for."

No muscles in her face moved, yet the mild expression had become something fierce, unyielding. His tone softened with his next words: "You may not be aware of the protocol in Tartarus." She wondered if he knew what the word meant. Her silence unnerved him. "This area, The Sweetwater, is under my authority. It is left to me to determine who may settle in its bounds, and under what terms." He waited in vain for a reply, then continued, too aware of the steady blue eyes boring into him. "I am honored to have you under - " he broke off, then tried again: " - in my domain. However, I would have charged a great deal for this location, say," he looked around, spied the golden warhorse grazing nearby, and shrugged, diffidently, "the horse." Still she was silent, but the eyes held a hostile glare now. "For anyone else, that is. For you," he smiled, an ingratiating, thin smile, "it is enough that you swear fealty to me." He ended, keenly aware that his men hung on her reply.

The little chair was not comfortable; the hinge had not been wisely placed. She rose lazily, and caught the movement of hands moving to hilts at the edges of her vision. Gabrielle tensed, but Xena smiled. "Your boys nervous," she asked. Then: "Walk with me. I'll show you around my place." One man moved to follow them, a sharp eyed man with a lean face. "You really need company?" she growled to Nerad.

"Stay here, Placar," he growled at his follower. Placar; he was the danger-man in this crew, she decided.

Nerad hurried along beside her, his shorter legs churning to keep pace with her longer strides.

"This land, as far as I can tell, belongs to no one, Nerad, including you. I'm here, I'm building my home here. That makes it mine, as much as anyone's." She stopped to gaze over the stream, and the mountains beyond. "I like the view; I like the water, and I love the way the sun sets right there," she pointed to the frame of the house. "I plan on being happy here." Her eyes flared dangerously. "I don't plan," she stressed, "on paying anyone for the right to be here. I certainly don't plan on - what was that? Swearing fealty to you?" She snorted her contempt. From afar it looked like a good natured laugh. "You got all that?" Her smile was broad. The men, watching at a distance did not know the threat that was in the blue eyes above those dazzling teeth. The flashing smile spoke of harmony; Nerad smiled in return, anxious to support the illusion. She treated his position with contempt, yet had concealed it from his men. He didn't understand why that was, but it suited his purpose. "Was there anything else?" she finished.

He found the courage to venture: "Xena, it's the custom to fight und - with, the Overlord in times of crisis - "

"Against the eastern tribes?"

"Yes."

"I'll defend my home; against the tribes, or anyone else. I'm not real good at taking orders." Her voice had dropped to a harsh whisper, and she turned to begin the walk back to the band of waiting soldiers. While she moved she continued speaking quietly to the silent Overlord at her side.

"You seem to know my reputation, Nerad." He nodded; he would be glad to follow her lead against the tribes. "That's good; saves me having to prove myself, I can just tell you how far I'll defend my home: anyone molests me, or the people I care about, is dead," she said flatly. "Not only is he dead, those who stand with him are dead. Those who stand behind him are dead." The word hammered home like nails in Nerad's coffin. "You see, Nerad," I don't want to be overlord; you can keep that title," she assured him, and his face muscles relaxed. "I don't want any trouble. You stay out of my life, I stay out of yours."

"Those, you c-c-care about?" he stammered.

"Yeah."

"I heard you'd been followed here by - "

"A young woman," she finished for him. "Her name is Gabrielle. Anyone harms her will wish he'd died in diapers." She strode purposefully to the tent, and the eyes of every man on site followed her. Damn this hovel; she cursed the low entryway, then grabbed the cloak from a startled soldier, and held it before the doorway. She wouldn't have Gabrielle make her entrance on her hands and knees in front of this lot.

"Gabrielle," she called, and the bard, staff in hand, made an unseen entrance, on all fours. When Xena dropped the cloak she was beside her, facing the Overlord with aplomb.

"This is Gabrielle." Her eyes swept the gawking men, and the bard understood that somehow Xena had just secured her safety from them.

Xena's woman. The booted feet shuffled, eyes jumped from the tall, dark-haired beauty to the golden younger woman at her side. It was true, what they'd heard, that Xena had been followed by a spouse-of-another-sort. Regret played on their faces; Xena didn't care, as long as they understood her meaning. "A kindness to Gabrielle is a kindness to me," she intoned sweetly, keeping the outward tone of the visit pleasant. Leave it to Nerad to pass along the promise of retribution.

Nerad continued to play the role she allowed him, gestured for her to sit, then waited uneasily to determine Gabrielle's proper place in all this. There were, after all, only two chairs. Gabrielle decided the issue herself, lowering herself into the second chair with a gracious nod to Nerad. Xena's eyes casually surveyed the scene, resting only briefly on the woman seated across from her, but a twinkle of approval warmed those blue eyes. Gabrielle concealed her smile, but she was pleased to have guessed right about this.

Nerad summoned another seat from his attendants, and a small wooden chest, covered by a blanket was produced. Placar took a position next to him. He was a tall man; from his standing position he looked down on them all. Xena moved languidly; long legs stretched before her, and she grinned confidentially, winning a returning grin from the overlord. "I expect you carry a decent wine amidst all this baggage," she guessed, casting the merest hint of a glance at Placar.

"Ah," Nerad nodded, happy to show off the perquisites of his office. "Placar, wine," he snapped. The warrior moved away reluctantly, eyes already picking out the underlings who would actually fetch the wine. He was back in time to hear a conversation in progress.

"…incursions happen more frequently around the time of harvest. You know how that can be, Xena," he showed yellowed teeth in a tight grin.

Indeed she knew. Armies needed to be fed.

"I can't imagine the farmers here produce enough to feed Tartarus and the outsiders."
"They don't; it's a struggle. Some grain comes in from the peddlers, but they want to take your leg as payment if they sell you a boot." He shook his head with dismay. "So we can't afford to lose the food they take, let alone the lives they cost. Between cold-blooded butchery and abduction they take a toll." Xena saw Gabrielle shudder. "One reason so many folk crowd into little pockets like The Sweetwater. Safety in numbers."
"Now more than ever." Placar spoke with disapproval. "The latest herd of convicts seems to have clustered to The Sweetwater. Something about their attachment to a certain warrior woman who led a revolt on the journey." Loathing and resentment were mixed in his eyes. Xena stole a quick glance then turned her attention back to Nerad, a smirk on her lips.

"More workers, more tribute, more soldiers," she suggested.

"Soldiers? That fat lout Lutus? Ileander the weaver? More pathetic fools fighting for a share of what's available. No way to pay for what they take, let alone to offer tribute," Placar spat. Nerad looked a warning at him, but he forged ahead: "I'd trade the lot of them to keep the tribes at bay for the season."

Gabrielle's ears pricked up. "Trade?"

"Slave trade. They may as well be of use to someone," he said heavily, looking directly at the bard.

Xena's expression didn't change, but a sour taste caused her to take a long sip from the cup of wine. Placar was not a nice man; she wondered how it was that Nerad was still overlord.
"Surely it's more reasonable to make use of them yourself, Nerad, instead of strengthening your enemy." The effect of her blue eyes could be disconcerting; Gabrielle wondered with sympathy how long it would take for Nerad to wither and agree to her position.

"Very true, Xena," he observed, avoiding Placar's gaze; for safety he found the green eyes under the fringe of golden hair, and allowed himself a smile. He was wondering why this visit had seemed such a good idea. So far he had conceded a prime piece of property for no compensation, the woman refused fealty, he wouldn't even go near tribute, and Placar had intruded as a player in the game. Again. Gabrielle was smiling at him, and he was grateful. She mattered to Xena; it would be good to be in her favor.

Placar was not smiling. "You've agreed to fight under command of the Overlord?" he challenged, knowing the answer as he spoke.

"I'll fight," she replied, addressing him for the first time. "I prefer to fight on the winning side. Which means making the most of the available population. No one is useless. It also means coordination with your allies, whatever areas of difference there might be otherwise. I assume you work with the other overlords?" Uneasy glances passed between the two men. No coordination. She sighed inwardly; only Gabrielle knew the frustration she was feeling. "How, exactly, do you respond to their attacks?"

"With ferocity," Placar told her. "We slam them hard whenever we find them."

"Would that be before or after they do their damage?" she drawled. "Do you ever thwart an attack?" She raised an eyebrow. "Are there preventive measures? I haven't seen one signal fire since I arrived in Tartarus. I would think when you're protecting an area this size, there would be beacons lit to raise the alarm."

Placar snorted his contempt. "We have more important things to do than - "

"Like collecting tribute?" she snapped. "What are people paying tribute for? Protection from the tribes? Or from the Overlord? Who are the other overlords?" she asked Nerad.

"I only know of Brachius."

"He's the nearest. His territory isn't as extensive as The Sweetwater, and the quality isn't as high. The water - "

"Yeah, we've been there," she said dismissively. "Who else?"

His mouth hung open for a moment as he considered. "Galate; further north, at the fringe of the mountains. Fiscus."

"Holds the wasteland," Placar laughed. "His rivals are rodents and serpents; his tribute, rat droppings."

Much like yourself, Gabrielle thought.

"Then to the east, Petra." Nerad merely looked at Xena as the name escaped him. Placar had a comment: "You two would get along."

Nerad cleared his throat. "Petra Tartras. She's one of the natives here, born of free people, before they made this a place of exile. She fights the tribes; she also fights us. Sometimes I think she's worse." He shook his head.

Xena was very still. "In what way?"

"She's here; she's clever, she knows this land, and fights like a she-wolf protecting its cub."

"This is her homeland," Xena reasoned. "There are worse reasons to fight."

"It's our land, too, Xena," he said, raising his voice for the first time. "What are we supposed to do? Live here, and never have it truly for our home?"

"Isn't there room enough for everyone here to find a home?" Gabrielle spoke quietly; the two men turned, startled by her input.

"No," Placar growled; he returned his attention to Xena. "We're caught is a vise: the Three Kingdoms to the west, the tribes to the east, and Petra picking at us in between."

He hawked and spat on the ground. "Ignorant Tartarus scum. Never been past the mountains on any side. She doesn't understand that the best chance she's got is to stand with us."

"Have you ever explained that to her?" Gabrielle asked, determined to be heard.

Nerad laughed. "No one sits with Petra long enough to explain anything." He made a slashing motion across his throat. "Quick with her blade."

Gabrielle wondered at the glint in Xena's eye. "Petra Tartras aside," the warrior said, "what arrangements do you have with the others?"

"Galate, Fiscus, Brachius are all fools. Let them handle the tribes in their own way. We'll pick up the pieces."

"Meaning you hope they are defeated, and you can have their territory."
Placar grinned.

"More land; good for you," she snapped. "More to safeguard, no buffer, less warriors available to fight. Sounds like you've got it all thought out. Fools." Placar stiffened. Xena didn't move, but Gabrielle knew she was a hair's breadth from action.

Nerad shook his head. "Xena, you don't know our ways yet. You'll see; it's best that we stay out of each other's territory. Working with them…" He shook his head a second time.

"Afraid they'll turn their dinner knives on you?" she asked.

That stung; Nerad stood hastily. "There was one other matter." He risked a chill in his voice. "One of my men was found dead not far from here. Stabbed."

"With his own knife? That the one you mean?" Xena asked. "He was stupid, he was rude, he was slow. I can't imagine it was much of a loss," she chided.

"His friends aren't happy." Nerad hoped he put enough menace in his voice: Placar was listening closely.

The dark head moved to one side; she pursed her lips, mocking regret. "I'd advise them to take this as a learning experience, or there will be more unhappy faces around your fire. I don't like threats," she ended darkly. She drained the cup of wine, and handed it to Placar. "This has been fun, but I have other things to do." She looked in the direction of the house under construction.

"It could be done in a day, with some assistance," Nerad decided, and motioned to the group of men squatting on the hillside.

"No," Xena told him quickly. "I want to do it." She looked at Gabrielle. "We want to do it."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. He nodded to Placar, who strode to the men on the hill cursing at them, waving a meaty hand in their direction. They mounted quickly. The boy rushed over to retrieve the chairs as Xena and Gabrielle stood. Gabrielle smiled at him, but he never raised his head to see it. He collapsed the two chairs, and turned to carry them to the sturdy pack mule which accompanied them. "Move, you slow witted bastard," Placar barked, as he delivered a gratuitous blow to his back. The boy sprawled on the ground. Placar's booted foot moved to follow him. In one smooth movement Xena reached to grab Placar's ankle and provided a deft twist to land him on his back. His sword was in his hand in a moment, then it was in the air, flying to land beside the stunned man.

Xena took a breath, seeking the source of the anger she felt toward Placar. His abuse of the boy had been minor; in the long run her reaction would probably make things worse for him. With an effort she reached out a hand to haul Placar to his feet. His confusion showed on his face, as his murderous impulse was confronted by a dazzling smile.

"Placar, the kid's not worth your energy. A man like you can find better ways to burn it off," she said with a confidential wink. "Earn your bread," she growled at the boy, who scrambled out of reach of them both, tripping over the chairs which were almost too large for him to carry.

"You'd do well to mind your own business, Xena."

"My sole intention," she assured him.

They were gone in a cloud of dust. Xena walked up the steep slope to watch them until they disappeared over the horizon. Gabrielle came up alongside her.
"That's our Overlord," she commented wryly.

"No. I have no Overlord Gabrielle, neither do you. They know it, now."

Continued...Chapters 16-17

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