Cursed by Ice (4 page)

The scream it released was of a different sort this time. It tried to lunge away, but Garreth would not allow it to get away from him. He cut a gash in its hide with the dagger in his left hand and pulled his sword free with the right. As the beast lifted away from the wall, Garreth held on to it with his dagger hand and stabbed into it again with his sword arm.

And then they were flying. He was hanging on to the beast by both of his weapons, but it was in the air and twisting about, skimming over the army below the walls, turning to and fro, trying to shake loose the man on its belly. Finally it caught a wing against the ground and went tumbling head over heels, dislodging Garreth into the dirt and trees. The beast stumbled up onto its feet almost immediately, flopping around like a fish out of water as it struggled to get its wings under itself. Garreth tried to get to his feet, tried to lunge for the thing again, but it gained the air and left him behind. But instead of flying into the city again, it flew off and away, into the mountains, until it was barely a speck in Garreth’s sight.

CHAPTER
THREE

Garreth was lying on a cot in the command tent several hours later, his armor having been peeled off him, taking layers of singed skin with it. He had already begun the healing process but knew he would not be restored to health before dusk came and his torment began. That promised to make the experience all the better, he thought wryly.

Dethan was there, and runners came in and out of the tent. The city was falling, far more quickly than they had ever expected, wyverns or otherwise.

“The gates! The gates are opening!”

The cry went out amongst the men and Garreth forced himself to his feet so he could see what the commotion was about. And sure enough, the city gates were opening. Dethan and Garreth moved forward to the edge of the crowd, both with swords in hand, ready for anything, as a small contingent of men came out of the gates carrying a golden litter.

“What’s this, then?” Dethan asked.

“I’m rather intrigued myself,” Garreth replied.

Garreth stepped forward as the contingent arrived. A small balding man was in the lead, with dark robes of scarlet on his body and a chain of gold around his waist.
He wore many golden and bejeweled rings on his short, stubby fingers. A thin man was beside him in a mage’s robes, the scarlet color of them marked with embroidered runic symbols. He had two thin white moustaches, small dark eyes, and hair as white as the driven snow, a huge contrast to his violet skin.

The other men also wore scarlet clothing—pantaloons and vests that only partially covered their bare chests. They were lighter skinned than the short man and the thin man, almost a pale lavender. The short man cleared his throat and then stepped forward.

“Oh, mighty conquerors,” he said. “We beg you to leave what remains of our city in peace. We never wished to make war upon you, so why do you make war upon us?” When Garreth made to speak, the man stopped him by raising a hand. “It does not matter why you have come, only that you leave. To that end, we are willing to make a treaty with you. Leave us be and we will give you the most valuable gift in our kingdom.” He lifted a hand behind himself, indicating the curtained litter.

“What is it?” Garreth asked, stepping forward. Again the man held up a hand to stay him.

“First, do you accept these terms?”

“No, I do not accept,” Garreth said harshly. “You have no bargaining power here. Your city is mine, in Weysa’s name.
You
will be held as mine. You will live under my rule. You will be mine in every sense of the word, your valuable gift and treasures included. I have beaten your walls, your city, and your wyvern. That is the end to it. If you wish clemency, you should ask that I do not take you on as my personal slaves.”

Garreth had no intention of making slaves of anyone, but this little man irked him. He had some big hanging ones to think he could come there and dictate the way things would be.

The little man had paled at the mention of slavery.

“Please,” he said, his voice and hands shaking now. “You can take all the slaves you want.” He indicated the lighter-skinned males. “The scourge are yours to do with as you please. But leave the noble Kithians to their lives in peace, I beg of you.”

“The scourge?”

“Yes. Our slaves. They are unwashed and unholy. You can see that by their diluted skin.”

So the paler-skinned Kithians were slaves to the darker, violet-skinned ones, Garreth thought. And for what reason? What made one so different from the other, besides their skin color?

“I will take it under consideration,” Garreth said sternly. “Now, what of this gift you are giving to appease me?”

He moved to the litter and, using his sword, parted the curtains. Inside was a lavender-skinned woman in a jewel blue robe. She was lying back on the pillows of the litter, panting hard for breath, her eyes full of the fire of hatred.

And Garreth’s crossbow bolt sticking out of her left shoulder, just above her breast.

He must have missed her heart by mere inches, provided her heart was located in the same place his was. He had seen many strange people in many strange lands over time and not all anatomy was universal.

But her anatomy seemed pretty above standard, he thought as he looked her over from head to toe. She was full of incredible curves, clearly having been well fed for a slave. But why would a slave be carried like royalty?

Unless …

“We give you the woman and the wyvern she controls and beg you for mercy.”

“Controls?” Garreth met her eyes, seeing the seething emotion there. “How?”

She set her lips stubbornly, breathing hard through her nose.

“She is soulbound to it.”

“Soulbound?”

“Her soul and the wyvern’s have been meshed together since the wyvern’s birth. I will let her tell you the tale of it one day. But she is my slave and now I give her to you. Do with her what you will and please let us live free.”

“Why should I let you live free and make her a slave?” he asked, his gaze never leaving the girl’s. He saw surprise enter her eyes, though she showed the emotion cautiously. She was in a great deal of pain, and yet she made not a sound.

“B-but she’s a-a-a …” The man stumbled over his words with his shock. He clearly could not fathom that someone would not be able to see the difference between his own vainglorious self and a simple slave girl like her.

“She’s mine now and I will decide what becomes of her,” Garreth said to the man. More softly he added, “And she’ll be the better for it, no doubt.”

She exhaled a soft sound, her jaw set, a world of mistrust in her eyes.

“Get me a mem. Quickly,” he said to his page. “Who are you?” he asked the self-important man.

“I am Bento Thoth. Bennesah of Kith.” He gave Garreth a slight bow and looked like he expected an introduction in return.

“You have ruled this place?” Garreth asked him.

“Yes. For many turnings now. Ever since the great Bennesah Fortuno left this precious physical world.”

“Well, Bennesah, your reign is at an end. Have your people let my men into the city and they will help to put the fires out. I presume you have a castle or fortress of some kind?”

“Th-the keep is the seat of our government a-and my home.”

“No longer your home. I will stay there with my brother and my generals from this day until the city is rebuilt and its people understand it is now mine and the goddess Weysa’s.”

“But where will I—”

Garreth finally looked away from the woman and glared hard at the bennesah. “I don’t give a rat’s fart where you live. That is not my concern. My only concern is that
you
don’t live in the keep and that
I
do.” Garreth dropped the curtain. “Bring her into my tent. See to it she is given a cot, some water … food if she can stand it, and get a mem to take that bolt out of her shoulder. The girl is suffering.”

He looked to the sky.

“Dusk comes soon. Let us be about this quickly,” Garreth said.

Garreth walked into his tent some time later and found the girl lying on a cot as he had instructed. However, she was tethered to the tent pole by a chain around her ankle, something he had not requested. When he approached her, those eyes—the fairest blue imaginable—were glaring at him with hatred again.

“Who has done this to you?” he asked, reaching down to close his hand around the manacle at her ankle.

At first he didn’t think the stubborn chit was going to answer, but finally she ground out, “Your page. I think he did not appreciate me biting him.” She gave Garreth a smug smile.

“You have a lot of fire for a slave,” Garreth noted.

“I am no … I am slave only to the wyvern … and he is slave to me.”

“Yes, I am very interested to hear how that works. So
you are not willingly going to stay here with me, where you will be fed, clothed, and healed?” he asked her.

She seemed to think on it a moment. “A comfortable cage is still a cage,” she said bitterly.

“This is true. But the cage will not be forever,” he promised her. “Only until I understand your connection with the wyvern and can assure myself you will not set it upon me and my men again.”

“I make no such promises. You have injured him. You are foul and cruel.” Then he saw tears entering her eyes. Whatever she was, whoever she was, she felt deeply for the creature she controlled.

“How is it you can control such a mighty beast when you are so small and fair?”

She seemed taken aback by his description of her for a moment but then had her guard back up a second later. “You would have me tell you my secrets so you can destroy him. I will not do it.”

“Where has he gone? I will not have him coming back to attack my camp.”

Her bottom lip trembled, tension in her body bowstring-taut. “He will not. You have injured him and you have injured me. We cannot feel each other when we are in so much pain. I cannot control him like this.”

“That’s good to know. So to ensure the safety of my men I need only see to it you remain in pain?”

She got even more tightly wound in an instant, if that was even possible.

“Do what you must,” she said, her chin lifting with stubborn bravery.

Damn but he liked her. He had not seen this much spirit in a woman in all his lifetime. She was beautiful too, with her lavender skin, stunning blue eyes, and mouthwatering curves.

A woman this beautiful had been a slave?

He frowned as he thought of all that could mean for her.

“Tell me. You are the bennesah’s slave?”

“Yes,” she said shortly.

“What does that entail for you?”

“Whatever he wants it to be,” she said bitterly.

Garreth’s frown darkened.

“Does he make you a slave in his bed?” he found himself asking before he could stop himself.

She snorted and laughed a hard laugh. “The bennesah would not sully his precious cock on the likes of me, thanks be to all the gods.”

Garreth didn’t understand why he felt so relieved by that. He was merely glad she wasn’t being misused, he told himself.

“What is so different about you?” he asked her, wanting to hear it from her perspective.

“Did you not hear him? We are sullied and unwashed.”

“What does that mean?” he asked as he took a seat on the edge of her cot.

“It means that long ago the ancestor of the scourge supposedly made love to Jikaro, the god of anger, deception, and storms, and the scourge was born as a result. We are lies and deceit and the dirt beneath the Kithians’ heels, and we deserve no better.” She smiled without humor. “Or so the stories go.”

“But if you control such a magnificent beast, why not turn it on your captors rather than use it to fight for them?”

“Because it would mean turning it loose on the entire city … and there are those I love who would not be protected.” She said this last softly and quietly. “And they have used those I love as … collateral, to ensure my behavior.”

“And who is it you love?”

“As if I would tell you that! So you can use them to control me as well? I think not!”

“Them? So it is more than one.”

She took in a small breath and he realized she was cursing herself for the slipup.

“Your family?” he pressed. But she remained tight lipped. “You know I will find out eventually. The bennesah will no doubt tell me.”

“Why would he tell you his secrets?” she asked.

Garreth leaned in and gave her a thin smile. “Because I will slit his fat gut if he does not.”

“You are a barbarian,” she whispered, her eyes wide with fear and disgust.

“And he is better, I suppose? He who makes you a slave and blackmails you for your good behavior?”

“You wish to do the same!”

“Who says I do?” he lobbed back at her.

“But you said … you said I am to be locked up until you can hunt the wyvern and kill it.”

“When did I say that?” he asked her with a raised brow. “I think you are only hearing what you expect to hear. I merely do not want the wyvern to return and attack my men. If you can guarantee that, then you will be freed.”