VirtualWarrior (14 page)

“Do you think Einalem has something else on her mind?” Ralen
asked.

“I think Einalem and the Goddess of Darkness might be too
much evil in one forest,” she said.

“Einalem is not evil, merely concerned with little beyond
herself. She can be quite good company if she wishes.”

“I see.” She sighed. “Is that why Samoht did not object to
your leading this party? He did not want to displease Einalem?”

Ralen did not answer.

“Do you think we could make greater speed? Does your
influence
extend to taking control of our pace?”

She could not help a bit of emphasis on “influence” so that
he might know she understood the nature of his relationship with the high
councilor’s sister.

“Resume your place in line, and I will see to the pace.”

Ralen was as good as his word. He wove his way through the
long, meandering party and placed himself between Samoht and Einalem. After a
bit of conversation, Ralen edged his mount ahead. Einalem pulled forward to
speak to him as if attached to the tail of his horse with a bit of thread. When
Ralen picked up his pace, Einalem did too.

Ardra thought she should remember this method. He had accomplished
his goal through manipulation, not confrontation.

The Tangled Wood grew cooler as they moved deeper into the
goddess’s domain. Soon Ardra would meet the woman who was responsible for her
mother’s death. The thought knotted her insides and caused her hands to sweat
in their leather gloves.

With a glance over her shoulder, she checked to see where
Lien rode and saw him between Nilrem and Deleh. Lien scratched at his neck and
had a most disagreeable scowl on his face. The shadow of his beard was back.

She must tell Nilrem how she had tempted Lien from his vows.
What penance should she serve for such a deed? Nilrem would know what a priest
would say. Henceforth she intended to call Lien “pilgrim” as Nilrem did. That
would remind her of his celibacy.

Deleh looked frightened, peering up at the great arms of the
trees overhead. Whenever a blue-hawk cawed, she gasped. Lien reassured her each
time. ‘Twas folly for Deleh to come, but she had been too frightened to remain
behind with Samoht’s army. Luckily, her riding skills put Nilrem’s to shame.

Ardra caught Lien’s eye and glanced quickly away, but he
pulled from his position and rode up to her side. “Deleh’s a bit unnerved, I
think.”

“Again you are kind, pilgrim.”

He shrugged.

“Deleh has never been into the Wood.”

“You have?” He scratched his neck.

“Only the one time with you. What is wrong?”

“I think I must have done a lousy—”

“Lice! You have lice?”

“No. No. I don’t have lice. No, where I come from, ‘lousy’
also means bad. I think I did a
bad
job rinsing out this tunic. The
soap’s irritating my skin.” He smiled.

What straight white teeth he had. What had become of her
resolve? It would not do to think of his teeth…or mouth…or lips.

“I shall have Ollach find you a new tunic.” She glanced
around. Only Deleh seemed to be paying them any attention. “May I ask you a
question? One that you may refuse to answer if it offends you.”

“Ask away. If you get too personal, I’ll plead the Fifth.”

His grin annoyed her. “You are unlike any pilgrim I have
ever met. Pilgrims should be solemn, reverent, not…gleeful.”

His smile widened.

“You are so hard to understand. You sprinkle your speech
with words I do not understand. You speak too quickly, you slur your words
together—”

“Whoa. I’m sorry. Now, is that the question? Why is my
speech so bad?” His grin grew even wider.

“Nay. I wanted to know why you are so kind to Deleh. She is
naught but a slave. How do your actions serve you?”

“She’s an old woman. Why wouldn’t I treat her kindly? Why
does it have to serve me in some way?” He frowned, and she was sorry for the
loss of his smile.

“Because you are a man. And it is my experience that men do
only what serves them best.”

He examined her as if inspecting her for lice. It was a hard
look. Cold and hard. “Well, Ardra, I’m not like other men,” he finally said.

With a kick of his heels, he cantered up to the fore of the
company, nearer to Ollach than was seemly for a pilgrim. No one challenged
Lien. He seemed to have an invisible aura that made the other men wary.

“True,” Ardra whispered. “You are unlike any other man.”

The company halted to rest the horses. Lien watched the
subtle way Einalem slipped into the woods after Ralen. To avoid the couple, he
walked upstream, following Ollach’s directions. Ollach said he’d seen a track
along the stream bed. Ollach thought if Lien followed it, he might find a quiet
pool for bathing.

Samoht insisted they camp long enough to make a hot meal, so
while Ardra steamed over the delay, Lien intended to find the pool. He needed a
bath—badly. His arms and neck itched like crazy.

The stream looked ice cold and deep, a river of grape drink.
The bank was steep and thick with roots. The trees by the stream all reminded
him of giant mangroves.

Flowers, similar to the ones entwining the tree roots along
the forest road, knotted themselves around the roots here. These flowers,
however, were tiny, the size of his thumbnail, and profuse, their peppery
perfume filling the air. He saw signs of deer hooves on the footpath, but no
snaky, slithery marks.

An
awking
sound drew his attention. On a nearby
branch, a sleek blue bird sat and watched him, following his movements with an
unblinking stare. It opened its mouth, and the
awking
sound came again.
The unearthly creature reminded him of a turkey buzzard.

“Hi there,” he said softly to the hawk. “Keep an eye out for
snakes, okay?” The bird lifted its wings and rose, soaring silently and
skillfully between the branches, and disappeared.

Another sound, one he recognized more readily, came from his
left. He had no wish to watch Ralen screw Einalem, so he veered to the right
and made a circle around them to come back to the trail.

Ollach was right on. The path led to a break between the
trees. The break didn’t exactly lead to a pool but to a narrow section of the
stream where several trees had fallen and formed a bridge. It was not quite a
darn—no water flowed over it, but the fallen trees did serve to slow the
current.

After stripping, he took a cautious step out on the tree
trunk, bounced a bit, and found it fairly solid. He walked to the center of the
stream and lowered himself into the waist-deep water. The bottom was sandy and
fairly smooth. His skin looked a sickly lavender in the water’s reflection.

“Gee, I hope I’m not this color when I get out.” The water
brought instant relief to his itching. He examined his arms and legs. His
wounds from the outcasts were almost gone, but a rash of tiny red dots
encircled his wrists, and he imagined it was the same around his neck, just in
the spots where his tunic was snug against his skin.

Because Nilrem had suggested it, Lien scrubbed the rash with
mud from the riverbank, then took a more conventional bath with some soap
Ollach had given him. The water wasn’t any colder than the ocean in midsummer,
so he swam in a lazy crawl for a bit, reluctant to leave its soothing relief.

He dunked and came up, shaking water from his hair. There on
the bank stood Einalem. She perched on the fallen tree between him and his
clothes, smiling like a Cheshire cat. Her dress, a clingy thing, was the
intense blue of her eyes. And mighty nice eyes they were when they weren’t
examining him like a raptor after a rodent—as they were now.

He resisted an urge to cross his hands over his groin.

“Nilrem informs me you suffer from a rash. May I see it? I
am a healer, considered gifted by many.”

He waded to where she sat. Although her blonde hair was in a
neat braid over one shoulder, not an errant strand in sight, and her dress
fairly wrinkle-free, she had a just-been-satisfied look about her that told him
old Ralen had been a naughty boy…or a very good boy, depending on your point of
view.

He extended his arm. “I think the rash is from my tunic. I
don’t think I rinsed all the soap out when I washed it.”

She took his arm and stroked her fingers over the red dots.
“Why did you not command a slave or Ardra to do your wash?”

He realized the grape-ade water wasn’t quite as opaque as
he’d thought, but Einalem seemed intent on her skin inspection.

“I like to do things for myself,” he said, and when she
released his arm, he took a step into deeper water.

Einalem pursed her lips. “I have seen many rashes, but none
such as this.” She leaned forward, peering at his throat. “Come closer; I want
to see your neck.”

She toppled into the stream. He watched her flounder about
for a moment, then rise to stand upright, spluttering and spitting water.

No one could fake such surprise. He laughed. She darted a
sharp look at him, then began to giggle too. The light sound wiped away much of
her haughty veneer.

Her dress was just about transparent against her breasts as
she waded toward him. Her nipples were large and distended. Mr. Happy was in
heaven.

“I might as well make the most of this opportunity and look
at your neck,” she said.

When she touched his skin, her fingers were cold. She
stroked along the rash where it encircled his throat, then drew her hand along
his shoulder to his arm, but did not touch his tattoo. “This is a most
fascinating thing, this mark. How is it done?”

“Needles and some dye stuff.”

“I could please you well,” she whispered. Her hand
disappeared under the water.

“No, thank you.” He protected Mr. Happy and waded toward the
bank. “Not to offend you, but aren’t you involved with Ralen?”

“And?” She lifted her arms and fussed with her hair as she
waded toward him. Her dress hugged her body. “And?” she whispered again.

“Uh. Pilgrims don’t like trouble.” What if he offended her?
Did she have enough influence to foul him up somehow? Leave him behind on the
trail, possibly? She was Samoht’s sister, after all.

He dove beneath the surface and swam underwater a few yards
before coming up in a pool of shadow where the water was much colder. She was a
nice, safe distance away.

“I forgot you were a pilgrim.” Einalem paused, looked up at
the bank, and dropped her arms.

“What are you doing?” Ardra asked, appearing suddenly from
the trees.

“I fell in the stream; is that not amusing?” Einalem put out
her hand. Ardra grasped it and helped Einalem climb up the bank.

From Lien’s position, Einalem’s dress looked like a second
skin; she might as well have been naked.

“Are you hurt?” Ardra asked. “Shall I fetch you a dry robe?”

“I am not hurt, am I, Lien?” Einalem said his name in a low,
sultry voice, turning to him.

Ardra turned as well. She looked at him, then at Einalem.
She curtseyed. “Forgive me for intruding.” In the next moment, she was gone,
lost in the greenery.

Damn.

“What ails her?” Einalem turned and gave Lien the full show.

“I imagine she thinks we’re doing something we shouldn’t,”
he muttered.
Damn and damn and damn.

Einalem wrung out the rope of her hair. “All I have done is
fall in the stream.”

How he wished the woman in the water with him were Ardra.
What would it be like to have her legs wrapped around his waist while the
strange water swirled around them?

Einalem plucked at her wet gown. “I will find a soothing oil
for your rash. Visit me when next we halt our party, and I will rub it on for
you.”

I bet you will.
“What about that gray stuff? Nilrem
probably has some with him. He put it on this wound here,” he pointed to his
arm, “and there’s hardly a mark left.”

“It has little effect on rashes.”

She picked up the clean tunic Ollach had found for him,
slipped it over her head, and walked off toward camp.

He flung himself onto his back and floated with the current.

Damn.
Now he’d need to get Ardra alone and explain
that nothing was going on. “Whoa,” he said aloud. “Why? Ardra’s nothing but a
sweet woman who’s horny but doesn’t know it. Or is it me who’s horny?”

When he climbed out of the stream, he let the air dry him
for a minute, more than a little annoyed that he had to put on his old tunic.

Ardra would not have taken his tunic. She was one of the
least selfish people he could think of. Everything she did was calculated to
serve her people. Was that what made her so interesting?

The red dots began to flare up now that he was out of the
soothing water. He reached for his pants.

A woman stepped from the shadows, coming from the direction
of the camp. At first glance he thought it was Einalem, but a second told him
it was a stranger.

Well, hell, would wonders never cease? Another blonde.
She stopped in her tracks and stared. Her gaze ran up and down him. His rash
tingled as though tiny insects were having a feast.

He held his pants in front of his crotch. She didn’t say a
word, but turned and vanished back into the foliage, directly into the tangled
tree roots.

He waited a few moments before tugging the pants over his
damp skin. As he laced them up, he froze.

Dangling in front of him, right where the woman had stood,
was a black snake. As thick around as his arm, it was at least six feet long.

He held his breath. The snake’s head lifted. It tested the
air with its red tongue.

Slowly Lien dropped his hands to his sides. A glance told
him he had nowhere to go except the stream. Common sense told him the snake
would get him before he hit the water.

Lien pointed at the snake. “Be gone.” The snake undulated in
the air, head poised to strike. Lien held his place.