VirtualWarrior (31 page)

Blood pounded in his temples.

He coughed and pushed past the door. The light of his torch
lit only a tiny corner of what he suspected was an attic the size of Cidre’s
hall. It was filled with the rest of Cidre’s tree. It burst from a floor
covered in muddy soil, and then crowded the attic with tortuously twisted
branches. Vines draped over every available space. He had to duck to prevent
them from touching his skin.

The rotting scent was nearly unbearable as he moved
cautiously through the maze of limbs and vines.

The white flowers hanging on the vines were spotted brown
and black, dripping slime on the muddy ground. Small rodents scurried away from
his boots.

“Ardra,” he called. His tattoo pulsed like Ardra’s
heartbeat. He forced himself deeper into the attic.

He found the heart of the tree where the limbs sprouted in
twisting profusion. A moan came to him over the rustle of leaves.

“Ardra.” He stared a moment. She looked as if she had been
spun into a dark green web. Her head sagged to the side. He touched her throat.
Her pulse throbbed. “Thank God,” he whispered.

He tore at the vines with his fingers. They resisted every
effort. When she groaned, he realized that every time he pulled on a vine, it
tightened up as if punishing her for his actions. He set the tip of the torch’s
flame to one thick vine.

It recoiled and shifted. He ruthlessly held the torch to the
thicker vines. They slithered back like snakes, releasing her. Ardra sagged
against the tree. He wrapped one arm around her waist and took her weight
against his shoulder.

Finally only one vine, a thick one about her ankle, shackled
her to the tree. He was afraid to lay her down in the slimy mud or bring the
torch too close to her foot. He jerked off her slipper and made a hard pull.
Her small foot slipped from the vine’s possession.

He stumbled back. He scooped her and the torch into his arms
and hurried toward the staircase.

The leaves rustled and splattered them with the
rotting-flower slime. His rash throbbed and pulsed with every step.

Ardra looped her arms about his neck. He feared the tree
would stop them from reaching the steps as vines slipped from branches and the
rotting flowers rained slime down on them.

He waved the torch back and forth, singeing vines, then
burst through the door and half slid down the steps. In the herbarium, he
paused to close the door.

Ardra murmured his name the instant they left the herbarium.
He carried her through the kitchen, now filled with workers tending pots.
Though they stared, no one tried to stop him as he burst from their domain and
out into the gardens.

When the cold air hit them, she opened her eyes. “Lien. I
cannot have you.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“I have offered myself to Samoht.” Her eyes fluttered shut.

Sweet God. Samoht.

Without stopping, he carried Ardra to the lake and into it.
He walked straight ahead until only her head was above the water. He dunked her
beneath the cold, clear water and said a fervent prayer of thanks when she came
up spluttering and gasping for air.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her hard. Then he
remembered what he wore and what she had done. He set her away.

“Lien?” She stumbled on her skirt and went under. He hauled
her upright and helped her slosh back to the pebble beach. They stood there in
water to their knees, chests heaving, staring at one another.

“What took you to the attic?” he asked.

She smoothed her wet hair from her face. “You were there.
Sitting among the branches. When I…went close…you were gone.”

“What possessed you to enter such a rotting, vile place?” He
shook her by the shoulders.

She tipped her head. “Rotting? It was beautiful. Filled with
the white flowers,” she pointed to the vines draping the outer walls of Cidre’s
fortress, “and the sweet scent of perfume.”

“Ardra. When I found you, you were lashed to a rotting tree.
The flowers were rotting, the vines, the place reeked of slime. You were—”

“Cidre.” She turned away and splashed water on her face.
“Deleh gave me a drink of milk and honey. She said Cidre put something in it to
give me strength.”

“So it wasn’t magic. You were drugged to see what Cidre
wanted you to see. I’m sure that if she wanted me in her attic, she’d make sure
I had something to help me enjoy the experience, too.”

Ardra walked toward him. Her dress was heavier than
Einalem’s had been back at the stream, but wet, this woman beat Einalem hands
down. She was as slim as a wand, her breasts firm mounds which he knew fit in
his palms as if created for him. He ruthlessly pushed the intrusive thoughts
aside.

“You said some stuff when I carried you out of there.” His
tongue felt too large for his mouth. “Is it true?”

“What?” She gathered her hair and wrung out the water.

“That you’ve offered yourself to Samoht.”

She splashed water on her face but did not look at him, and
he knew her words had not been the ramblings of an semiconscious woman.

“I had to do it,” she said.

“No, you did not.”

“There are no more choices, Lien. And he has not agreed. He
is weighing my worth.”

Lien gripped her arms. “Weighing your worth? Fuck him.
You’re worth a hundred of him. Ardra, don’t do this.”

She jerked out of his embrace. “You lost the right to tell
me what to do when you put on that robe. You can protect me if you feel the
need, but that’s all.”

He got a grip on his anger. They stood together in the cold
water, hot emotions sizzling between them, and he was powerless to do anything
about it. “I know this sounds crazy, but I don’t want Cidre to know that she
succeeded in getting you trapped in the attic, or that I took you out. I don’t
know why, but I want to keep her guessing. There’s a young woman who saw me—”

“Ywri. Lovely, but simple?” She held out her wet skirts with
a scowl. Water lapped their knees. “She saw me too.”

“I asked after you, and she’s the one who directed me.”
Their eyes met. “Ardra, I know you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“Aye,” she whispered. She dropped her hem and put out her
hand as if harsh words hadn’t come between them.

He entwined his fingers with hers. “She’s innocent, Ardra.
Beautiful. A man wouldn’t expect her to do anything deceitful.”

“She might offer a drink…food, and a man might take it.”

“Yes. He might.”

“And if she offered a kiss after?”

“We have to talk to Nilrem.”

Lien tugged Ardra through the water toward the pebbly beach.

“Lien! What are you doing?” Ollach stood near the shore like
a disapproving nanny.

Lien dropped Ardra’s hand, bent down, and splashed water on
his face. “Say we had dragon venom on us. Say it was burning your skin.”

“And if no one believes us?” Ardra did as he had, washing
her face and neck.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“We have that same expression here. We say we will jump that
fence when we get to it.” She stumbled on her long skirt.

He took her elbow. “Ardra, where do you get those little
expressions?”

“Mostly from Nilrem. Of course,
he
got them from the
wisemen who came before.”

“Of course.”

Lien drew Ardra up the beach, where Ollach joined them. The
warrior commiserated with them about dragon venom, showing a spot on his sleeve
where it had eaten a hole clear to his skin; then he headed off to the stables,
while they continued toward the kitchen door.

There they met the gap-toothed slave who had wielded the
sword.

“Lien, I must thank you for saving my life,” Inund said.

“Look, you can show your thanks by making sure no one in the
kitchen remembers seeing Ardra and me.”

The man waggled his eyebrows, but bowed and opened an
iron-strapped door. When Lien peered out, he saw another small set of steps. He
sniffed the air but smelled only wood.

Before he entered the dark space, he drew back and said to
the servant, “Do you think you can find me a dry robe?”

“Without doubt. Where will I find you?”

“Uh—” he said, but Ardra interrupted him.

“You must bring the robe to my chamber. No one would think
to disturb us there.”

Lien felt his cheeks flame as Inund grinned and hurried
away. Cautiously Lien led Ardra up the winding steps to discover that the way
was nothing but an innocent servants’ staircase to the bedchambers.

Once in her room, Ardra immediately began to strip off her
wet clothes. Lien turned his back. He eradicated the vision of her slim form
from his mind, concentrating instead on the fact that he had nothing to wear
again. A tap at the door made him whip around and hold a finger to his lips.

Ardra wore only a thin linen shift that reached to her ankles.
It had skinny straps and was tight across her small breasts. Damp, it molded
her body, heightened the shadows, outlined her delicate bones. He swallowed.
Mesmerized, he could not tear his eyes from the dark shadow of her navel. He
wanted to bury his face against her and breathe in her scent.

The tap came again. Ardra walked to the door and cracked it
open. A pile of clothing was thrust through the opening.

She stood a moment, head bowed, the clothes in her hands.
Without turning around, she dropped the garments on a chair near the door.

“I will wait for you to dress,” she said.

The shift clung to her buttocks and legs. Lien no longer
tried to look away. As he stripped and dried off, he watched her. He had a
raging erection, but knew he was going to do absolutely nothing about it.

Samoht would see her like this. The thought riled something
very caveman-like in his nature.

Inund had donated a pair of long trousers and soft boots
which he cross-gartered above and below his knees as he’d seen some slaves and
warriors do. The trousers were a bit tight, but he laced them as best he could.

The robe, while similar to a pilgrim’s, was made of a
softer, smoother cloth. It had a rough rope belt and a hood.

“Okay. I’m done,” he said. “You can turn around.”

She did. And gasped. “Your hand.”

He looked down. The rash on his wrist had darkened in places
and faded in others. “God.”

The rash hurt no more than it had before, but what he saw
was beyond his understanding. It was the same knotwork as on his tattoo.

“The pattern is called the Shield,” she said. “It is a sign.
You are good.”

He took her hands and pressed them together. “Stop it. I’m
no better than anyone else. It’s not a sign of anything.”

Ardra shook her head. “It is a sign that you can feel evil.
It darkens when Cidre is near. It spread across your back when you fought
against Samoht.” She shivered.

“You’re cold. Get changed.” He had to pretend that what she
said was unimportant. He couldn’t tell her how his tattoo had pulsed in the
attic like her heartbeat.

He pulled his hands away from her and went to his pack. He
needed something to do, so he tucked the bandage with the leaf Ardra had given
him up under his robe, inside the front of his trousers. The cloth buffered his
skin from the rough laces.

“Lien.” Ardra came to him. “Please wait for me.”

He nodded, one hand on the latch. He kept it there so he
would not be tempted to take her in his arms. When she was finally ready, she
looked none the worse for wear. Her clean gown was ivory with a serviceable
brown apron thing over it. One tie was hanging loose. “Allow me,” he said.

She turned around. He lifted her damp hair and gently placed
it over her shoulder. As he touched her, his wrists cooled. He spread his hands
on her shoulders and tried not to gasp as the fiery pain receded.

“I can braid my hair on the morrow,” she said.

As he crossed the ties behind her waist, he realized it was
her way of saying her eight days of mourning would be over. When he brought the
ties to the front of her gown, she covered his hands and held them hard against
her.

“What will you do when I braid my hair?” she asked.

The simple statement shook him out of his trance.

“Ardra, no matter what happens about the vial, don’t give
yourself to Samoht. I can’t leave thinking you will be in his power.”

“But you will leave.”

Her hands were cold. He disentangled his and tied the apron
securely for her. “I’ll finish my pilgrimage.”

“We must tell Nilrem what we think about Ywri.” She left the
chamber, regal as a queen, her thoughts and emotions much better controlled
than his.

Lien took the back steps, cutting through the kitchen and
arriving in the hall before Ardra. He made a beeline to Nilrem.

“Ardra and I think we know how Cidre will administer the
seduction potion.”

Nilrem raised a shaggy brow. “Tell me.” He leaned close so
they could speak without being overheard.

“There’s a young woman named Ywri whom Ardra says is simple.
She’s also beautiful.”

“Say no more.” Nilrem patted Lien’s arm. “We have but to
watch for her and to whom she offers food or drink.”

“It’s too easy,” Lien said. “There’s a catch somewhere.”

Ardra felt the difference in the hall as soon as she started
down the stairs. No one spoke above a whisper. Among the slaves who brought out
the platters, many wore bandages and several limped.

Ralen sat by Cidre, his arm wrapped and strapped to a
splint. “This is clever.” Ardra said and touched the halter of cloth that
supported his injury.

“Lien fashioned it for me.”

“Oh.” She touched the tips of Ralen’s fingers to assess the
color of his nails to decide if he was bandaged too tightly. “Does this hurt?”
she asked. A few conjunctions ago, she would not have known how to care for an
injured man.

“I have had enough wine so nothing hurts.” He grinned.

“I want to tell you how sorry I am for your injury.”

“There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

“Nevertheless. You were helping others.”

Ralen adjusted his arm a bit, and Ardra suspected the wine
had not completely relieved his discomfort.

“I will soon be wielding a sword again, so stop worrying,”
he said.

She kissed her fingertips and touched his injured arm very
lightly.

Lien stood with Nilrem. He gave a barely perceptible nod,
and she knew the wiseman had been apprised of their suspicions regarding Ywri. As
soon as Ralen separated himself from Cidre, she would warn him too.

She walked toward Samoht. She could feel Lien’s emotions
across the hall—they rolled off him in waves. Or was it just some hope within
her that he felt more than he did?

Would Lien remain with the wiseman when the eight days were
over? She tried to imagine Lien as a pilgrim on Hart Fell, living in
deprivation, eating whatever was donated, spending his days in contemplation.

Would Lien leave her to Samoht’s bed? Sorrow filled her that
she would never lie in Lien’s arms again. His celibacy negated all hope. Part
of her was angry with herself for feeling more than he did. If he had felt the
depth of emotion she had experienced, he would not have chosen the pilgrim
path. He would have thought of another way.

What way?

Samoht watched Lien as a blue-hawk might watch a goh. It
reminded her of Lien’s words that Samoht wanted blood. She must find a way to
extend her bargain to include safe passage for Lien.

Ardra remembered how she had once thought she loved a man.
She had thought of the man in her idle moments and had felt an inner thrill
when he had once tried to kiss her, but now that she had experienced physical
pleasure with Lien, she knew that small thrill meant little when compared to
what she had discovered in Lien’s arms. How would she bear Samoht’s embrace?

She crossed her arms, and when she wrapped her hand about
her upper arm, she felt the hard metal of her arm rings. It was all that
separated her from Lien.

Two rings of metal. Generations of tradition and
close-mindedness. Then she realized that it was not their shared passion that
made her regret parting with Lien; it was the fact that he offered her
something no other man had ever offered her, Tol included.

Lien thought her capable of all she hoped and needed to do.
He did not doubt her. He encouraged and supported her. He had no wish to rule
her life and thoughts.

Her steps led her to Samoht.

“Sit with me, Ardra.” Samoht’s smile was warm. Nothing was
evident of the callous man who had attacked her. “If we are to share a bed at
some time, we could at least share some food. Now, what pleases you?”

Ardra blindly took slices of meat and roasted onions from
the platter Samoht passed her. She could not eat, but she recognized the
gesture of a councilor serving a woman as an extraordinary one she should not
scorn. “I wish to petition you to grant Lien unconditional safe conduct.”

“Free men have safe conduct.”

She waited, fear for Lien making her throat feel tight.

After a few moments Samoht shrugged. “If I agree to your
bargain, it will be done.”

She put her hand on his sleeve. “When will you make your
decision?”

He covered her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Soon. I have
thought of nothing but your bargain. Of you beneath me. Ready. Willing. Begging
me to—”

“Ardra,” Lien interrupted them. “Ralen needs you.”

“Go away, pilgrim.” Samoht jumped to his feet.

A flush ran over Lien’s face.

“Lien,” Ardra said. “Tell Ralen I will join him in a
moment.”

Lien walked away. He had broken the moment. She could no
longer sit with Samoht. “I will be back after I have looked at Ralen’s arm. He
is not one to complain, I imagine.”

She swept away from the table. Ralen looked surprised when
she sat beside him for the second time. So Lien had lied.

“I would like to check your hand again.” She picked up his
fingers and examined his nails.

“Ardra,” Ralen said. “Might I make a suggestion?” When he
lifted his wine to his lips, his hand shook. He quickly set the cup down.

“I appreciate your thoughts on any matter, Ralen.” She
pretended she had not seen his weakness.

“Of course. You have been raised to understand your place.”

If he were not injured, she would kick his shin for such a
remark.

Ralen nodded in Lien’s direction. “Why do you not petition
the council to grant you Lien?”

“Grant me Lien?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“He will eventually be declared a slave, no matter the snake
that coils three times about his arm. At that time, and I suspect Samoht will
push the matter, if your petition is registered first, the council will have to
consider your request before any others.” He leaned close to her and glanced at
Samoht. “You can ask for Lien as your protector, citing how he saved your
life—”

“Four times.”

“Three times. You saved
his
life today.”

“Three times,” she echoed. But it was four times. Ralen
would never know of Lien’s rescue in the attic.

Her own act during the rebel raid had been pure instinct.
She would have fought the rebel with her bare hands to save Lien.

She knew the taste of Lien’s essence, knew the touch of his
hand in intimate detail. Lien was as much a part of her as if he had spilled
his seed within her and quickened her with child.

There would be no other man for her—ever. She might be
bargaining her body to Samoht, but her heart was Lien’s—forever.

“The council will be strongly inclined in your favor, no
matter what other petitions might be made after yours,” Ralen said.

“Who else would make such a petition?” She cut small slices
from the roasted mutton and placed them piece by piece on his plate that he
might eat with only one hand.

“Einalem.”

Ardra continued to cut the meat into ever smaller pieces.
“Einalem?”

“Oh, I know her well, which I am sure you know. I have seen
the signs. She wants Lien, and with her brother as high councilor, she will likely
have her way. Once Lien is declared a slave, she will go for ownership.”

Einalem wanted Lien? “What hope have I against a councilor’s
sister?” She had difficulty remaining in her seat. “And Lien would never accept
slave status.”

“He may have to go on the run, then.”

She would never see him again. “Ralen, we cannot let this
happen.”

He gently stopped her from cutting his meat into tiny
specks. “Then warn him to adhere strictly to every pilgrim convention.”

Every pilgrim convention.
Celibacy.
Her heart ached.

Ralen got to his feet. He bowed at Lien, who was approaching
the table. It was a mark of great respect, but was ruined when he swayed. “I
must thank you for fighting at my side, Lien. Many owe you their lives.”

“I just did what was necessary,” Lien said. “How’s your arm?
And your head?”

“Passable. You have fought before, have you not?” Ralen
said. “You told the truth when you said you had once been a warrior.”

“Uh. Sure.”

“How do you know Lien was a warrior?” Ardra asked Ralen.

“Lien knows where to place himself when confronting an
enemy. He knows how to adjust his position when another man joins him in the
fight.”

“Thank you,” Lien said, and Ardra suspected he wanted an end
to the discussion.

“Perhaps it was luck,” she said.

Ralen shook his head. “It is often a matter of footwork. You
displayed excellent footwork, Lien.”

“Thanks again. Where I’m from, we divide up into attack and
defense players—uh, warriors. I was in the defense group for years, and then my
coach—my leader—changed me to attack. But once a defenseman, always a
defenseman, I guess.”

“So you prefer to defend rather than attack,” Ralen said. “I
have men who excel at one over the other. It is important to know their
strengths when deploying the men in battle.”

“I was good at attack, an All-American to be exact, but I
have to say I much preferred defense.”

“I do not know this term ‘All-American’, but I assume ‘tis
an honor.” Ralen smiled down at Ardra. “You see, it is no surprise Lien saved
your life so many times. There is something within a man that leads him down
one path or the other. I suspect Lien will not start a fight, but will delight
in drawing it to a close.”

“It matters not. Lien has chosen to set aside his warrior
ways.”

Lien acknowledged her words with a bow but was saved from speaking
when a slave rang a bell. Its deep, sonorous tone caused everyone to fall
silent.

A commotion at the entry to the hall drew their attention. A
line of slaves, many leaning on one another, filed into the hall. Lien went to
the far end of the table near Nilrem as the band of slaves approached Cidre and
Venrali.

The man at the fore was the gap-toothed slave, Inund. He
bowed deeply to Cidre and waited for her to acknowledge him.

“What honor is this that all my servants have come to the
hall?” Cidre stood up, and so did Venrali.

Ardra could not get used to seeing her father here in this
hall. Nor could she get used to the idea that he never looked in her direction.
Not once had he looked at her in the forest. She had kept her eye on him. He
had defended only Cidre. The knowledge hurt. If only she could confide in Lien.

Inund said, “Most Esteemed Goddess, we, your slaves, wish to
offer a gift to Lien, the pilgrim, for his valiant defense of us.”

“Lien.” Cidre said the name softly. “Come, pilgrim, join me
here. My people wish to honor you.”

Lien approached her, and Ardra knew the pain it must be
causing him, for the skin around the open neck of his robe was as red as the
Tolemac sun. The stain was the color that painted his face during embarrassment
or passion. Though ‘twas his proximity to evil that flushed him so at this
moment.

Her father frowned. His displeasure jerked Ardra from her
thoughts. Did he think as Nilrem and Lien did, that Cidre wanted a new consort?
Ardra looked from Venrali to Cidre to Lien, who now stood at the goddess’s
side. The goddess smiled up into Lien’s face.

A terrible truth dawned on Ardra.

Deleh was right.
Cidre wanted Lien, too.

The slaves huddled behind their leader like whipped dogs
cowering before their master. Ardra hated their subservience. No one cowered in
her fortress. Or not since her father left.

“Here is Lien,” Cidre said to Inund. “What gift have you for
him?”

The slaves handed Inund a long, wooden stick, adorned like
no other stick she had ever seen. From tip to end it was wrapped in
metal—shaped like a snake’s body coiled about a branch. A serpent ready to
attack.

“I have seen nothing like this in my life,” Ralen said to
Ardra. “It is magnificent and echoes that paint upon his arm. It reminds me of
those snakes in the woods today.”

“What of the snakes in the woods?”

“The snakes that did as Lien bade,” Ralen said.

“You have had too much wine.”

He shrugged. “I forgot…’tis a secret.” He sat down abruptly.

Deciding that Ralen was too sotted to make sense, she turned
to hear Cidre address Lien.

“My people honor you.” She curtseyed to Lien as he took the
stick. “It is oak, the straightest of trees, rare in the Tangled Wood, and clad
in metal strong from the forge.”

“I am honored. It is a fine gift.” He bowed deeply to the
slaves, then to Cidre.

Ralen leaned near Ardra again. “He is the only person who
fought for the slaves. No one will say so, for it would insult the rest of the
warriors, but sadly, I realized a bit too late that Lien alone fought for
them.”

“Slaves are often forgotten in battle.” It was all she could
manage as the significance of the gift struck her.

“Lien, you must say a few words,” Cidre said.

Lien’s cheeks flushed red. “I only did what was necessary,
as did many others. I’m sorry we could not save everyone.”

Nilrem pushed his way forward. “Wait, Lien. Before you
accept the stick, I have something to say.”

Venrali and Cidre nodded to the wiseman, and Lien stood
aside.

Nilrem took the tall, snake-wrapped stick from Inund and ran
his hands over its surface. “Many wonder why wisemen always carry a stick. It
is not a weapon to us. We carry it because it is the ancient symbol of a
shepherd.” The slaves all nodded. Nilrem continued, “The shepherd leads and
defends his flock. To carry a staff of sacred oak, even one so decorated, is a
symbol that one is respected for his honor and his defense of those less able.”
Nilrem held the stick before Lien, balanced like a sword on his open palms. “It
is a fine gift, but one that carries much responsibility.”

Would Lien take the staff? Ardra held her breath. He wanted
no responsibility. He had said he would run in the opposite direction. He had
said he did not want even the smallest tie to bind him.

Ardra knew that the frown she saw on Samoht’s face was
etched on her own as well. She imagined that the councilor did not like the
symbolism of Lien as shepherd to the slaves.