VirtualWarrior (10 page)

He was at a loss how to respond. “Explain the relationship a
little better and maybe I can give you an answer.”

She walked to the river’s edge. It was a formidable body of
water, but the tents were at a ford. It looked as if it were filled with ink.
Where it rippled over stone, it frothed with shades of lavender and gray. In
places, the water looked about two feet deep. Shallow enough for an invasion.

“If a man has sufficient worth, and wishes it, he has
concubines for his pleasure. ‘Tis simple.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“Mind?”

“Object?”

She drew her hood up, and he could no longer see her face.
“A woman may not object to her mate’s choices in such a matter.”

“I don’t think you’d find it that way in Ocean City. I don’t
know too many women who’d allow their…mates to sleep with other women.” They
negotiated the low riverbank and stood at the water’s edge.

Ardra appeared to stare at the distant ice on the horizon.
“I imagine Deleh sleeps in the women’s quarters, Lien.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He picked up a flat stone and
skipped it across the water. “The women of my place would not take kindly to
their mates making love to other women. We’re kind of a one-woman,
one-man-at-a-time society.”

She handed him another stone, then glanced quickly back at
Tol’s tent. “Deleh came to the fortress with Tol and has been with us ever
since. If a man wishes to copulate, his concubine must be there. Would you
teach me the trick with the stones?”

Lien couldn’t see her face as she searched for more flat
stones by her feet. Her voice held no inflection.

“Sure.” He showed her how to hold the rock between her thumb
and index finger and how to flick her wrist. She got it on the first try. “The
object is to see how many times you can make the stone skip. So, let me get
this straight, the men of Tolemac only copulate with their concubines?” he
asked. What did he care about Tolemac sex lives? Why was he asking? They could
screw their horses, for all he cared.

Her head jerked up. She stared at him as if he were stupid.
“What folly you speak. If they wish a child to inherit their wealth and family
name, they must seek congress with their mate. Deleh attended our son’s birth.”

“I see.”

“I sense you disapprove. Do not men seek pleasure where you
come from?”

“Sure. All the time.” He thought about how to answer her.
“But where I’m from, if two people are mated, they seek pleasure from each
other…only. It’s part of the vows they make to each other. Some folks stray,
but I figure most people try to be faithful.”

“I cannot imagine a desire for such an arrangement.” She
scrambled up the bank and disappeared into the night.

Lien woke in confusion. Where was he? What time was it? Then
he remembered. Ollach had come to him at the river to say Ardra had found him a
bed. Not in the women’s quarters, darn it, but comfy just the same.

The tent in which he lay was smaller than Tol’s but every
bit as luxurious. He was on a couch, covered with furs, fully dressed. The air
was cold. A curious swooshing noise made him sit up. The sound came again, and
he saw it came from Ollach, who sat on a stool nearby and swept a whetstone
along the blade of a sword.

“Where is everybody?” he asked.

Ollach looked up. “They still attend Tol as he slips from
this life to the next.”

“I see.” Lien stood up, his muscles tight and sore. He went
through the stretching routine he’d always used before lacrosse games. He knew
Ollach was staring at him; the whetstone no longer hummed on the steel blade.

Lien knew he definitely needed a weapon to defend himself.
The tent, like Tol’s, was the color of the lavender sky. By the light of a few
wicks floating in oil, he could see that the ceiling was painted with puffy
white clouds and strange blue hawk-like birds. “Whose tent is this?”

“Whose tent it is need not concern you. Now you are awake,
so I will go.”

“Hey, before you go, do you think you might be able to find
me a walking stick or something to lean on? I’m really sore. I feel like I can
hardly walk.”

The noise Ollach made in his throat as he left the tent told
Lien he was now considered a weak, pathetic being. Perfect. If opponents
underestimated him, he might have a chance in this world of swords.

Ollach returned in a few moments, a long staff in his hand.
“This belonged to some beggar who died.” He tossed it to Lien. Lien
deliberately fumbled it and groaned as he bent over to pick it up. With a cluck
of his tongue, Ollach left the tent.

Lien weighed the staff in his hand. It was poorly balanced
and riddled with tiny holes, maybe from insects, but it would do. He held it in
both hands, horizontally, and poked the air. He grinned. “Once a defenseman,
always a defenseman.”

His stomach growled. He examined the tent and found a tray
of food under a linen cloth. There was bread and a bland, white cheese. He ate
it all and hoped it wasn’t supposed to be Ollach’s dinner too. There was only a
pitcher of water to drink, and as he gulped it down, he imagined invisible
microbes percolating through his gut. At least his throat no longer hurt. Maybe
the soreness had been from the screams he’d been holding in as they rode down
the cliff.

He threw himself back on the bed and contemplated the puffy
clouds overhead. When Tol died, Samoht would move his army across the river to
wherever his wife lay in childbirth. Once the child was born, Lien figured
Samoht would turn his army loose on Ardra’s fortress.

Lien rose and lighted a couple of thick candles from one of
the wicks floating in oil. He roamed the tent, drank more water, and examined
the decorative knotwork carved into the tables and chairs and woven into the
ivory cloth on the table. He paced, lifted the tent flap, and looked at the
moons, which were now down quite a bit. He must have slept a few hours anyway.

When he turned, something glinted in the light. It was a pin
in the bedding. Then he realized he’d been sleeping under a heavy cloak. The
hooded cape, black as night and lined with fur, had only a pin to clasp it. The
pin, of silver and amber, looked like a museum piece and was heavy in his palm.

He slung the cloak over his shoulders. It took him about
five minutes to fasten it securely enough so that the pin didn’t pop open when
he moved.

“First chance I get, I’m inventing buttons,” he muttered.

He gripped his stick, took a deep breath, and left the
security of the tent.

Outside, he stared up at the incredible moons. They were no
longer in a neat straight line. They were separating. The small orbs glowed
turquoise as if lighted from within. He saw no craters and wondered if they
were gaseous in nature; that might account for their incredible luminosity. A
pang of homesickness for the Earth’s dull old moon with its lumpy surface
lasted about ten seconds, swept away by a gust of icy wind. It whistled around
the tents and the men huddled at nearby fires.

Lien quickly realized he should have his cloak pinned at the
shoulder, not directly in front, to allow the hand holding the stick to be more
or less unencumbered. He shifted the cloak before lifting the deep hood.

Tol’s tent was easy to find. The crowd that stood outside
had grown considerably. Lien wormed his way through the throng and lifted the
flap. No one stopped him, which he attributed to the cloak. It was finer than
most of the ones worn by the people he passed.

Tol still reclined on his couch, but his eyes were closed,
his breathing labored, his skin snow white. Ardra, Ralen, and Deleh knelt by
Tol, their heads bowed.

A lean, handsome man stood behind Ardra. Despite his comely
features, he reminded Lien of a hawk waiting to strike.

The man did not kneel, nor did he wear the tunics and
leather of the warriors. Instead he wore a long robe the same color as the
moons, trimmed with rich silver embroidery. It must be Samoht, the high
councilor.

The scene before Lien reminded him of the deathbed vigil
he’d held for his mother. Only it had just been him and the priest there. No
crowds had awaited the news of one lonely alcoholic’s passing.

He knew the drill. The breaths would grow farther apart.
They’d all find themselves staring at Tol’s chest to see if he took another
breath…and one time he wouldn’t.

Lien left.

For two hours he wandered the shore of the river and
contemplated his options. He felt restless. His ass ached, but not his head.

He wondered if Ardra had been lonely during her time with
Tol, a woman outside the affections of a couple together for decades. Had Deleh
and Tol had any children of their own? And what did Ardra’s son look like, that
everyone had only to see him to know he was of mixed birth?

What came next? War over Ardra’s fortress? Or a simple
directive that she stand aside, accompanied by nothing more than her anger and
humiliation?

As the moons crawled across the bowl of indigo sky, he made
a decision. He would wait here until Nilrem’s party made it into camp. Nilrem
might have some advice for him.

But that might take a few days. What if everyone moved away
for the birth of Samoht’s child? It was ironic that as one important political
figure died, a political pawn was being born. And how long ‘til that happy
event? How would Nilrem find him, or he Nilrem if they moved? And would the
hulking warriors who guarded the tents and sat around the fires leave him alone
during the wait?

The last thing Lien wanted to do was get involved in Ardra’s
troubles. He’d come into the game to get away from his own troubles. He didn’t
need to adopt someone else’s. And what about his long-range plans? Where did he
want to go? His first intention had been to try to reach the Tolemac capital
and barter the jewelry he’d brought into local coin, then just travel around
for the hell of it.

Lien heard a drum begin to pound in a low, steady beat. A
murmur rose from the crowd around Tol’s tent. Lien knew that Ardra’s lifemate
was dead.

Tol lay covered by a rich cloth decorated with turquoise and
gold knotwork embroidery. Some of the symbols were those of the Shield found on
Lien’s arm.

Inside, Ardra felt empty. Tol’s wisdom and patience were
irreplaceable. How empty and afraid she felt without the shelter of his power.
She was also angry. Tol had taken all of Nilrem’s potion and left her without
his support. Nay, left their son without his support. Why had he not seen to
the fortress’s rule before ending his life?

“Tol will be sorely missed,” Samoht said.

Ardra suspected that Samoht cared less for the passing of an
ancient warrior than for the opportunity to lay his hand on her.

“You will join me in my quarters,” Samoht said. “We need to
speak of your keeping now that Tol is dead.”

“I do not need a keeper,” she said, but to his back, for he
had walked away. She closed her eyes and touched her breast, then opened them
and touched Tol on the forehead. “I wish you peace,” she said.

Reluctantly she followed Samoht. As they passed through the
camp, she felt someone watching her. It was a strange sensation, almost a touch
on her skin, as if she had walked into the gossamer strands of a web and it
trailed behind her as she moved.

She glanced around and saw Lien.

The black cloak made him almost invisible in the darkness,
but it was as if something connected her to him. Why had she ordered Ollach to
give Lien the rich garment? What had happened to her fear of the pilgrim?

Without seeing it happen, she knew he followed. She clasped
her hands together within the confines of her cloak. “Samoht, I wish some
witnesses to our conversation.”

Samoht whipped around. “You question my integrity,
mistress?” For a moment, his handsome features looked as hard as stone.

“I question everything.”

“Whom do you wish? Ralen?”

“Aye, and Lien.”

“Leen? Who is he?”

“Leee-en is how he pronounces his name. He is a pilgrim who
saved my life and also served as Listener to Tol’s last words.”

Samoht glared at her, and she feared he would refuse her.
“Summon them.”

“I’m here,” Lien said, not ten steps behind her.

Ardra exhaled with relief, not aware she had been holding
her breath. “Thank you. Could you fetch Ralen?”

“Sure. I’ll find him.”

Ardra watched Lien hurry away. He held a tall walking staff
in his hand. What need had he of such a thing? Had he been injured anew? Nay,
he moved with the grace of a dark cat. She thought of the Gulap who roamed
Nilrem’s mountain. Huge black cats they were, uncanny beasts, wild and untamed.
They took the white hart with one blow of a huge paw, tore out its heart with
their long fangs. Heat pulsed in her middle.

Samoht interrupted her thoughts. “The pilgrim’s speech is
beyond strange,” he said. “Whence comes he?”

“He is from beyond the ice fields.” She watched Samoht’s
eyes widen, then narrow.

“You said he saved your life?” His attention shifted from
her face to Lien.

“Aye. I sought Nilrem that he might concoct something to
ease Tol’s pain. I was set upon by outcasts. Lien rescued me.”

“How many of your men did you lose?”

“None. I was alone.”

Lien and Ralen approached, and they all followed Samoht to
his tent. It was easy to pick it out from the rest; it flew a most distinctive
banner—a red rose on a field of black. His personal guard, black-garbed men,
each had a rose stitched over his breast.

There was nothing in the men’s greetings to indicate that
Samoht knew Lien. Still, Lien’s roses might still mean he was Samoht’s man—but
one too unimportant for him to know personally.

Samoht held the tent flap open for Ardra and followed her
in.

Inside the tent, a long table was filled with rolls of
documents and a map lay stretched out, anchored by Samoht’s seals of office.

Reclining on his bed couch was Einalem, Samoht’s sister. She
had hair so blonde it would appear white in moonlight. Like her brother, she
was comely. Even her gown, a silver material that gave a faint hiss as she
rose, was a mirror image of Samoht’s, trimmed in the sacred color of turquoise,
the embroidery thick at the hem and sleeves. Clasped around her waist was a
chain of silver links studded with turquoise. Bartered, it would feed many
Selaw families.

Ardra dropped into a curtsey to Samoht’s sister. Einalem
kissed each of Ardra’s cheeks. “I am sorely grieved I could not ease Tol’s
suffering.”

“You are known as the best healer in Tolemac. If you could
not save him, then ‘twas his time to go.”

“Aye. He had reached a great age.”

Samoht nodded. “He was a fine councilor, and his advice will
be sorely missed.”

Ardra knew that Samoht had rarely taken Tol’s advice, but
she nodded assent.

The tent flap was lifted by one of Samoht’s guards. Ralen
and Lien entered.

Einalem paused in her graceful turn and stared.

Samoht followed her gaze and frowned.

Ardra put out a hand to Lien, and after a moment’s
hesitation, he took it. She drew him forward. “This is Lien, the pilgrim who
saved my life on Nilrem’s mountain. He then saved my life in the Tangled Wood—”

Einalem interrupted her. “You ventured into the wood? Were
you not afraid?”

“I was well guarded,” Ardra said.

“You were attacked,” Ralen said. “You had not one archer
with you.”

“Folly,” Samoht said.

Ardra wished to kick Ralen in the leg. How dare he imply she
was not capable offending for herself? “I requested archers, Samoht, as you
will recall. You deemed it unnecessary.”

“I did not think you would be in a cursed place,” Samoht
said. “Now let us all be seated and discuss Ardra’s keeping.”

The more he said it, the more it would be believed that she
needed a keeper. “I will sit, but I will not need a keeper.”

Samoht waved her words aside with a long, elegant hand.
“Sit. Sit. Einalem, send for meat and wine.”

As Einalem moved past the men, she paused a bare moment near
Lien, and Ardra watched the woman slide her glance up and down him. Anger
flared through Ardra. Nay, not anger—’twas jealousy.
Jealousy?
It could
not be. Jealousy was a shameful emotion.

They took seats on low benches, Lien beside her and Ralen
alone. Samoht took the only chair, an ornately carved thing which she knew
served as a symbol of his authority when the council gathered in remote
locations.

Einalem returned with several servants bearing covered
trays. The cold had tightened her nipples, and it did not escape Ardra that
both Ralen and Lien looked at her breasts. Were men all alike no matter whence
they came? Was it naught but a pretty face and large breasts that drew them?

Einalem draped herself on Samoht’s bed couch. Ralen and she
chatted a moment while the servant set up a jointed table in the center of
their small group. How dare Ralen smile and whisper with Samoht’s sister?

Anger, hot and raw, filled Ardra. Then she reminded herself
of one of Tol’s many lessons. Never let an opponent see you angry. She wiped
her face clear of emotion. She accepted neither food nor drink. Her hands might
shake and betray her emotions.

“Now,” Samoht said once the servants were gone. “Tol
summoned the high eight here to the Selaw border while I await my child’s
birth. I fear the journey shortened Tol’s life, however. I imagine he wished to
ask the council that you,” he indicated Ralen with the point of a small dagger
he was using to pare an apple, “take his seat until a more permanent representative
could be found.”

Ralen accepted a goblet of wine poured by Einalem. “I have
no wish to sit on the council, although I am honored to take my brother’s place
in the short term.”

So, Ralen had given a bit, Ardra thought.

“Agreed. I shall put it forward on the morrow after we have
honored Tol.” They sat in silence, eating their apples and cheese, slicing meat
and drinking wine as if her life and that of her people did not hang in the
balance.

“Now, as to the fortress, Ardra.” Samoht leaned forward and
patted her knee. “You need not be concerned about its care. I will send my men
to see to it.”

“I ask that you do not. I have ample men of my own.”

Everyone stared at her. Lien drank from his cup, unmoved by
her incredible statement.

“You know that cannot be. Your men will not heed you.”

“My men will not wish to heed a Tolemac warrior.”

“I will send my personal guard, then. They represent me, not
Tolemac as such.” Samoht smiled. No warmth was evident in his cold eyes.

“I thank you, but still I must refuse the offer. I ask only
that Tol’s guard escort me home. I will release them to you at that time.”

Einalem laughed. It was a musical sound. “Oh, Ardra, you are
mad.”

“Hush,” Samoht said. He leaned forward to Ardra again. “Do I
understand you correctly? You wish no army, no warriors, to help you hold the
fortress?”

“You understand.”

“What do you think? Is she mad?” Samoht appealed to Ralen.

“Tol wished Ardra to rule the fortress,” Ralen said. Ardra
silently blessed him that he had not belittled Tol’s last request.

“What?” Samoht stood up. He fisted his hands on his hips.

Anger whipped visibly through his body, and Ardra knew why
Tol had counseled her not to let her anger show. She now knew the extent of
Samoht’s desire for the fortress.

“What sickness possessed Tol’s mind that he would wish such
a thing? He was not of sound mind. Support me in this, Einalem.”

Lien forestalled Einalem. “I witnessed Tol’s final words. He
stated that Ardra should rule. He might have been weak, but he was clear and
decisive. I can quote him if you like.” To Ardra’s delight, he did not await
permission. “Tol said, and I quote, ‘It is my wish that Ardra take control of
the fortress. It is my wish that she, and she alone, rule it for our son until
he is of age.’”

Einalem stared at Lien. “You are bold,” she said.

Lien shrugged. “I assume my purpose is to be a witness to
Tol’s last words. He said Ardra should rule.”

Ralen cleared his throat. “It is as the pilgrim says,
Samoht. Tol was not in any state of madness, and I will not allow you to
besmirch his memory with such an idea.”

“Einalem?” Samoht threw himself back into his chair.

“What, Brother? I was occupied in my tent, treating a cook’s
burn. I did not attend Tol’s final moments. Since I was not there, I cannot
speak to his final state of mind.”

Ardra said to Samoht, “Did you not bring each councilor to
Tol’s side as he arrived so that he might make the customary greeting? ‘Tis
tradition that you do so, is it not?”

“Aye.” Samoht’s frown deepened. He knew what she implied by
her words. Each time a councilor greeted another of higher station, ancient
words were spoken. It was a long and tedious set of speeches when one man was
near death. If Tol was capable of remembering his part and greeting each man
without prompting from either Deleh or the high councilor, Samoht could not
charge that Tol was not of sound mind. That was the purpose of the greeting.

“Let me understand,” Ralen said. “We have here a vacant
council seat. Someone must wish to sit in it, and that person must be deemed
worthy. I certainly have no wish to serve, but will sit in the seat as Tol’s
brother until another is chosen. Second,” he nodded at Ardra, “we have the
issue of the Fortress of Ravens and who will see to its care and that of Tol’s
son.”

“Aye, this would not be an issue if your father had not been
treacherous,” Samoht said. He stabbed his finger in Ardra’s direction. “Your
father should have been brought here and punished for his crimes.”

“My father banished himself on the ice. He is dead.”

“He almost destroyed the treaty between our people. I should
have sent an army then and taken control of the ice mines once and for all.
Instead, Tol pitied you and took you as his mate.”

“Tol served the Selaw well,” Ardra said.

“No one questions that, but it is imperative that a proper
authority take Tol’s place. Your father escaped onto the ice, something you
allowed and did nothing to stop. For all we know, your father could be mounting
an offensive to take back the fortress now that Tol is dead.”

“No one survives the ice,” Ralen said.

“No one?” Samoht said. “Lien. Are you not from beyond the
ice fields? Tell us. If no one survives the ice, how did you come to be here?”

Lien tried to keep his tone mild and unassuming. “Actually,
I have no idea. I do not remember much of the journey once I reached the ice. I
had a raging fever—caught a chill, I guess. In fact, when I found myself on
Nilrem’s mountain, I thought I was dead. Of course,” he looked at Ardra, “the
minute I saw the men attacking Ardra, I knew I was alive.”

“He cannot remember.” Samoht threw up his hands. “We should
put him to the question.”

“Nay.” Ardra shot to her feet. “I will not tolerate the
torture of a pilgrim. Ralen, surely you will not countenance such a thing.”

Torture?

Ralen opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Einalem
did. “Ardra, take your seat. Brother, we have no need to examine this man. He
has naught to do with our business. Now, Ardra, you say Tol wished you to rule
in his place?”

Lien saw a hard glance exchanged between Einalem and Samoht,
but didn’t know enough about them and Tolemac politics to interpret the look.

Ardra remained standing. “Tol made his wishes clear. He said
he wished me to hold the fortress. Ralen and Lien have confirmed it.”

“Never. I will not allow it,” Samoht said. “You have shown
no ability to handle authority. You went into the Tangled Wood without archers,
and let us not forget the circumstances that necessitated this pilgrim saving
your life.”

“I requested archers and was denied,” Ardra said calmly.