VirtualWarrior (32 page)

A hush fell over the hall. Without a look at anyone, Lien
reached out, gripped the stick with both hands, and took it from Nilrem.

Lien bowed to the company of slaves. A murmur ran among the
warriors, for no one bowed to a slave. Inund bowed in return and backed away,
his hands pressed together palm to palm.

Lien set one end of the stick on the ground with a decisive
thump of metal on wood.

Ardra watched Lien accept a pallet by the hearth with a few
of Ralen’s warriors. When everyone was asleep, she would approach Samoht to
learn of his decision. She imagined that the councilor would demand some proof
of her commitment to the bargain. Perhaps he would want to bed her this night,
but she would not give in to him until the bargain was written out and signed
by witnesses. Then…then she would do whatever was necessary.

Would she ever see her son again? Or would she travel about
with Samoht as he performed his duties for the council?

She touched her face with her fingertips, rubbed her
temples.

“What is wrong, Ardra?” Ralen asked. He was slumped in a
nearby chair.

“Ralen, what causes one face to be more appealing than
another? One man or woman more desirable? Or one less so?”

Ralen shrugged. “It is all nonsense. As far as I am
concerned, one woman is as good as another.” He grinned. “Or she is when the
candles are out.”

“Have you taken anything for your discomfort beyond the
wine?”

His grin remained in place, but there was a stiffness to his
mouth. “Nilrem gave me something which he said will dull my pain but not my
wits. If I could find a woman to warm my bed,” he said, reaching out with his
good hand for a passing servant, who giggled and skipped away from his grasp, “I
would feel quite fine.”

“I bid you good rest,” Ardra said and curtseyed to him.
“There is little point in holding a conversation with a drunken man,” she
muttered. “And sometimes little point even with a sober one.”

Next she stopped by the kitchen, for she was suddenly
hungry. She realized she had not eaten anything but the milk and honey given
her by Deleh, but when she entered the kitchen, the heavy, smoky air chased her
appetite away.

Nilrem sat beside Inund as he worked scrubbing a large pot.
His bandage had slipped over one ear.

She retied it for him as an excuse to speak with him. “You
bestowed a great honor on Lien.”

“He deserved it. We would all be dead if he had not aided
us.”

Nilrem held his hands out to the flames in the hearth. “Lien
is a good man. Strong and valiant as any Tolemac warrior.”

“Or Selaw,” the slave quipped.

“He is a pilgrim now,” Ardra said.

“Oh, aye, but a man can change.” Nilrem patted her arm.

Ardra doubted it. “Has Cidre ordered any particular food or
drink for Lien?” Ardra asked.

“Why?” Inund stopped scrubbing and eyed her up and down. It
was not an insolent look, but curious.

Nilrem answered the man. “There is a potion missing, and we
fear it is in the goddess’s possession.”

“You mean the portion Ralen came in search of? He must be
very lonely to come here twice for love.” Inund rolled his eyes. “The goddess
was very angry at Ralen’s intrusion the first time. She punished every mistake
with twice the fervor.”

Ardra placed her hand on the slave’s thickly muscled arm.
“We are sorry for it, but we still believe she has the Vial of Seduction hidden
here at the fortress.”

“The w-w-what?” Inund’s hand slipped off the pot, his
features blank with horror.

“The Vial of Seduction. ‘Tis what we seek now and what Ralen
sought on his first visit.”

“We heard only that Ralen wanted a love potion.” He bit his
lip and then began to tremble visibly.

“What is it?” Nilrem asked. He poked the man’s arm, and
Inund hastily resumed his work lest the other slaves in the kitchen turn their
attention on them.

“How can you be so calm? ‘Tis a terrible thing, a
catastrophe,” Inund said.

“Aye, ‘twill be a catastrophe if Cidre seduces the wrong
man,” Ardra said. “She has one consort already to do her bidding; why does she
need another?”

“A daughter, Ardra,” Nilrem said. “I need not remind you.
She must seduce a new consort, and I believe she has chosen Lien.”

The gap-toothed slave shook his head. “Nay. Nay. The potion
is not used to seduce the consort. It is used to
make
the consort.”

“Make a consort? What do you mean?” Ardra asked.

A tear ran down Inund’s cheek. “If our goddess has chosen
Lien…nothing will save him.”

“From her seduction?” Nilrem asked.

“Do you not know the true nature of the Vial of Seduction?
Can it be only slaves who know its nature?”

Ardra exchanged a glance with Nilrem. What was this man
babbling about? Nilrem knew its nature. Did he not?

The slave scurried to the doorway and waved for them to
follow him, out into the indigo night, deep into the goddess’s orchards.

“I know ‘tis only slave lore…but often it is the tales of
the slaves that hold the truth, not the whitewashed versions told to those who
wear arm rings.”

Nilrem nodded. “That is so. What is it we do not know about
the potion?”

“Can I speak with freedom from punishment?” Inund directed
his question at Ardra.

“You may. Quickly,” she said. The man was agitated, glancing
about, sweating though the air was cold here in the dark shadows of the
orchard.

The slave jutted out his chin and took a deep breath, then
spoke. “The Vial of Seduction has nothing to do with love.”

The wind lifted. A mist rose to block Ardra’s view of the
lake. A chill came with it, a portent of some evil.

Inund paced, his hands in fists. “The potion has naught to
do with love, though ‘tis seductive in the truest sense,” he said.

“What is it, if not a potion to cause a man to fall in
love?” Ardra asked.

“‘Tis said in slave lore that if the powder in the Vial of
Seduction is mixed in liquid and then imbibed, it will cause the drinker to see
all.”

“All?” Nilrem and Ardra said together.

“All. All that is past. All that is present. All that is yet
to come.”

Ardra shivered. Nilrem took her hand and said what now
coursed through her mind. “And to know everything is—”

“To be all-powerful,” Ardra finished for him.

“To be all-powerful is the ultimate seduction,” Nilrem said.
“No man can know everything, be all-powerful, and not be drawn to the dark
side.” Nilrem’s fingers were cold in hers. “There is a saying handed down from
one wiseman to another, that all power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts
absolutely.”

“Nilrem,” Ardra said softly. “That means that whomever is
given the potion will be a truly dark and evil consort for Cidre.”

Inund nodded. “The potion will give the goddess what she
most wants—a fiend for a mate.”

“What is to be done?” Ardra murmured. She wrapped her arms
about her waist and whispered a silent prayer.

“It is said in legend that only the sap from a leaf of the
Tree of Valor will save a man once he drinks the seduction potion,” Inund said.

“The Tree of Valor?” Ardra stared from Inund to Nilrem.

“Aye,” Inund said. “But the tree does not grow in the
Tangled Wood.”

“It would not dare,” Ardra said, but with a smile. “This is
magnificent. I know just where to find such a leaf.”

Nilrem smiled too and clasped Ardra’s hands. “Then all is
not lost.”

“Thank you,” Ardra said to Inund. “You must return to your
tasks before you are missed.”

When the slave turned to go, she called him back one last
time. “Wait. May I make a request?”

“Ask anything of me if ‘twill protect Lien.”

She smiled. “You are a good man. We think Ywri will be asked
to give the potion to someone. Perhaps Lien. Perhaps Ralen—”

“What of Samoht?” Nilrem interjected. “He has begotten a
daughter. He has proved his virility.”

Ardra nodded. “Perhaps Samoht, but I saw a look on Cidre’s
face that makes me believe she wants Lien. Inund, will you keep an eye open for
Ywri? Let us know if she is given something by Cidre to offer any of our men?”

“It makes great sense that Ywri would be the vessel for our
goddess’s intent. Ywri is the goddess’s daughter, you know.”

Ardra and Nilrem exchanged a glance.

“The goddess ofttimes hides the girl away when men are about
for fear that one may take advantage of her. We believe it was once our goddess’s
greatest hope that, over time, Ywri would change, but it was not to be. Though
Ywri is now a woman, she is yet a child. I will watch her, but if the potion is
prepared in the herbarium, I will have little knowledge of it.”

Ardra looked up at the indigo sky, but saw it was choked now
with green-black clouds that reminded her of Cidre’s gowns.

She must warn Samoht as well. She could not keep her
self-respect if she did not warn Samoht of the dangers of the potion. Her first
thought was that he might wish to be all-knowing, but then, on further
contemplation, she suspected that even Samoht would understand the evils of
such power.

In the meanwhile, she realized, Lien slept in the hall,
oblivious to the nature of his danger. “I must go,” she said to Nilrem.

She ran past astonished guards, through the sleeping folk in
the hall, to the hearth.

Lien’s pallet was empty. She fell to her knees and placed
her palm flat on the woolen blankets. They were cold. She shook one of the
warriors nearby. “Where is Lien?”

The man smirked, but answered. “He went off to the privy. He
will not thank you for following him there.”

Ardra lifted her hem and ran back through the kitchen. She
darted among the trees a bow-shot’s distance from the gardens, where stood a
long, low building—the common privy. She flung open the door. Wicks in dishes
of scented oil flickered in the breeze.

No one was inside.

Ardra bit her lips in frustration. She must tell Ralen, but
first—she hurried up the stairs to her chamber. When she opened the door, she
saw Lien’s pack on the bed. Without hesitation, she opened the pack. First she
must get the leaf from the Tree of Valor. The pack was empty.

Cidre did as she was sure Einalem had. She spooned the
powder from the Vial of Seduction into a cup. This time it was not wine she
poured over it, but a clear spring water in which she then dropped a few thin
slices of apple.

Would Lien drink from the cup if Ywri offered it? Perhaps.
If he was thirsty enough.

She mused on the matter and added a touch of her persuasion
potion to another goblet—her own. If he wished to switch goblets, she would
comply. The persuasion potion would then make him more compliant.

“Ywri,” Cidre called.

When Ywri entered the herbarium, Cidre settled her on a
bench and offered her a small sweet cake. When Ywri had finished eating the
cake, Cidre leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. Cidre stood back and
smiled. “You look lovely. Your hair is very pretty.” Ywri smiled vacantly.

A shiver of anticipation swept through Cidre. It must be now.
This day. All that had been denied her must be hers before Ardra’s eight days
were over. For when the sun rose on the morrow, Samoht would take his party
away—and Lien with it. All her hopes for a new goddess would be dashed.

Venrali expected to share her bed this night. Unfortunately,
the battle had raised his ardor, and if he got her with child, it would ruin
everything. She wanted to tell him without equivocation that he had been
supplanted by another.

She would prepare Venrali’s favorite hot wine drink, and
after he drank it, she would tell him. She would insist he leave with Samoht’s
party, and if Venrali refused, she would tell him he should expect poison in
his meals at any time, any day. That should get him packing his belongings
quickly enough.

“I have something special for you to do,” Cidre said to
Ywri.

“Special?”

“Aye. I want you to offer a pilgrim a drink. It is a very,
very special thing you will do. And special things require a kiss, do they
not?”

Ywri smiled. “You always kiss me when you give me a special
cake.”

Cidre fixed a curl on Ywri’s forehead. “Just so. After you
offer the pilgrim the drink, you will give him a kiss.”

Lien woke, the scent of earth and leaves filling his head.
He lay with his back against the rough bark of a tree. Was he in Cidre’s attic
again? No. The smell was fresh and clean.

He tried to sit up, and chains rattled. “Shit.” He was not
only shackled to a tree, he was also naked as a jaybird. He struggled to his
knees but couldn’t get to his feet. Bands of metal encircled his throat and
wrists. The shackles were connected by looped chains to a tree. He was chained
like a dog on a very short leash. “Now, why should this surprise me?” he asked
aloud.

“Aye. Why?” Cidre stepped from between the matted roots as
if they were cobwebs, her greenish-black robes swirling about her body. “A man
who can be surprised is a man who is not thinking.”

“So how’d I get here?” he asked.

“One of my guards hit you over the head outside the privy.”

“I hope it was on the way out and not on the way in.” He
grinned and resisted the urge to lunge for her. But she stood just outside his
reach.

“I am pleased you did not suffer much from the blow.”

Actually, his head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but it was a
small matter compared to the acid burn rising on his rash.

A thrashing of undergrowth revealed two of Cidre’s guards.
They took up places on either side of him. Frick and Frack.

Only then did Cidre wander close enough to skim her
fingertips along his hip. It was like being stroked with a hot needle.

“What is this mark?” she asked about a bruise on his hip now
purpling from his fall in the pit.

“I’m rotting.”

Her laughter filled the air. “Such an outrageous notion will
not free you.”

“Too bad.”

Her hand was warm when she cupped his genitals. “You are not
rotting here,” she said and released him.

“So why’d you tie me up?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t
touch him again. He might not have the rash on every inch of his body, but pain
filled him wherever she touched.

“I need you.”

“So you had me hit over the head?”

“I did not think I could get your attention in my hall.”

He jerked against his bindings. “You have my attention now.
I’m all ears.”

“All ears. How delightful.” She laughed again. One guard,
Frick, placed a heavy hand on his shoulder—as if it were necessary to restrain
him further.

“Each goddess has passed her knowledge down from generation
to generation,” Cidre said. “It is my turn to do so.”

“What do you need me for? Want me to find you a guy?”

“A guy? What is a guy?”

“A man.”

“Exactly. A man, though you need not find one for me. I have
found one on my own.”

“Venrali?”

“Nay. I thought he was the answer to my needs, but I have
found him inadequate.”

“Can’t get it up, huh?” He felt no give in his chains, and
the two guards were too close for any tricks.

Cidre shook her head and made a tutting sound. “You insult a
fine man. Venrali is virile enough. That is not the issue. He has failed with
me
.”

“Ah…but not with some other little slave girl somewhere.”

Her brow furrowed with what appeared to be only minor
irritation, but somehow Lien thought it was a deeper humiliation.

“Well, my advice—not that anyone ever takes advice—is try,
try, try again.” He flexed against the chains, then fell still when Cidre
dropped her gaze to his thighs.

“You do not understand, Lien. A man who fathers sons is
useless to me. I need a daughter.”

“Old Samoht might help you out,” he suggested.

“He might, but the moment I saw you, saw your dark hair,
your beautiful eyes, I knew who would father my child.”

“Even if you have a daughter, won’t it take a long time to
raise her and train her? Twenty, thirty conjunctions?”

“That is why I cannot delay any longer.”

Lien had seen enough movies to know that the best way out of
this kind of situation was to keep her talking and hope for the cavalry to
arrive. “So how do you train a baby goddess?”

“I believe you are uncomfortable.” She set her hand on his
wrist. Pain radiated from her palm. “I shall see what I may find for your
relief. A goddess is a healer, you know.”

“No, I didn’t. I just thought you hung out and looked good.
Where I’m from, a goddess is just a beautiful woman. Nothing more.”

“Here a goddess is worshiped. Honored. She need not be
beautiful. Such empty reverence insults me.”

“So what does a goddess
do
specifically?” He worked
his wrists in the shackles, but found no way to slip out of the metal bands.
His efforts drew the attention of Frack, who placed a boot on a loop of the
chain, dragging Lien’s arm straight down at his side.

Cidre made languid circles on the inside of Lien’s thigh
with her fingertip. “What would you like? Power? Wealth? All may be yours
through me.”

“Pilgrims aren’t too interested in power and wealth.”

She shrugged. “You soon will be. Now I must go. My guests
must wonder what has become of me. But know that I will have you. I knew the
moment I touched your hand that you would be mine. You reek of power, leashed
power. And I intend to release it. I shall be back, and these kind men will
take you to a comfortable place where we may indulge our desires.”

After the goddess walked off into the foliage, Frick and
Frack unlocked his chains and half dragged, half carried him along a path deep
into the Tangled Wood.

Ralen opened his chamber door to find Einalem in his bed. He
tossed the blanket covering her onto the floor. “Come, wake up.”

She rolled over and smiled. “I would prefer to return to my
dream. In it, you were making love to me…along with several of your men. All as
well endowed as you.”

He tried to concentrate on what he needed to say. His throat
was parched from the wine, but he saw no water in the chamber. “I would love to
join you, but Ardra has discovered that Lien is missing.”

“Lien? Missing?” Alarm filled her face.

“So, I am right. You would like Lien for yourself. Well, help
in the search, or it will be Cidre who gets him.”

“How can I help?” She slipped out of bed, but for once, her
nakedness did little to arouse him. It was always so; once he knew a woman’s
ways, he lost interest in her.

“I found a slave who saw one of Cidre’s guards hit Lien over
the head with a club of some sort,” he said as Einalem threw on a turquoise and
ivory gown. When she turned her back that he might lace it, he tersely reminded
her he had but one functioning hand.

She made a dismissive gesture and did the best she could
alone; her words tumbled from her lips in agitation, “Cidre and Lien? I cannot
believe it.”

“Could you question a few of Cidre’s men? I think they might
offer more information to someone like you,” he cupped her breast, “than
someone like me.”

Lien sat on a soft bed in a small, one-room, thatched
cottage. The cottage was bare except for the bed and an open fire pit in the
center of the room. A cauldron bubbled over it.

The bed was neatly draped with linens stitched in a pattern
of tangled leaves and vines. A thick white fur was folded at the foot. There
was no pillow.

Frick and Frack had dragged him to the bed and locked his
chains to an iron ring on the wall so he was forced to sit on the edge. They
had left him alone for the rest of the night, then returned to check his chains
before stepping aside for Cidre,

She gave him a smile and opened the shutters to let in air
and the coppery glow of sunlight.

Lien’s tongue felt thick in his throat. He didn’t fear the
potion; she couldn’t make him eat or drink, but he feared the writhing,
cramping pains that ran up his arms and across his back.

The goddess went to the cauldron. Smoke twisted up in a
column through a smoke hole in the peaked roof.

“Making a witch’s brew?” he asked.

“A simple soup, Lien,” Cidre said. She stirred the contents
with a long, smooth stick. The cauldron was etched with figures that danced in
a naked chain, covered only by flowering vines.

“Look, you’re just making trouble for yourself. Venrali will
be pissed, and Samoht and Ralen will bring their warriors here and tear this
cottage down around you.”

Lien’s hands were stiff, but not from being shackled. They
were locked in a rictus of pain caused by the rash that tormented his body. The
agony had ebbed when Cidre left but had now redoubled. He could no more fight
her guards or run away than if she’d broken his arms and legs. Each movement of
his body was agony, the pain and cramps escalating each time Cidre wandered
near to stroke his body. And she wandered near often.

“The men will not miss you. The women—well, they might,” she
said, tasting whatever she was cooking up.

“What women?” He didn’t like the way she said “the women”.
Was Ardra in danger? And who else was Cidre referring to? Einalem?

She trilled a laugh that sent waves of pain up his neck into
his head. “Ardra. Einalem. But they will not have you.”

“Fine with me.” He groaned and leaned forward. Nausea
crowded his throat. “The one’s a cold stick, the other a scheming bitch.”

“You do not desire Einalem? Or Ardra?”

There was an emphasis on Ardra’s name that tormented him
worse than any bodily pain. Then Cidre was next to him. She ran her hands over
his bowed head and lifted his face to her. “You will drink my potion and be
filled with—”

“Desire for you,” he managed in a low tone. “I already
desire you.” Would she believe him and leave Ardra alone?

“Nay. Knowledge.
All knowledge.
All knowledge from
the past, the present, and the future. Only the ill-informed think the Vial of
Seduction holds a love potion. What simpletons you all are. I have persuasion
charms to bring about love. Nay, I want you worthy of being called Consort to
the Goddess of Darkness.”

“You can’t make me eat or drink anything,” he said through
clenched teeth. He suddenly understood why the vial had been locked up in the
Tolemac vaults.

“Nay, and I shall not try. You will receive the blessings of
the potion through another. When the cup is offered, you
will
drink. You
will be so thirsty, you will not resist.” Lien was grateful he knew about Ywri.
If not, he might have taken something from her. Involuntarily, he shuddered.

Cidre ran her hands over his hips, her nails scratching at
his skin. “Our child will be filled with the black depths I see in your eyes.”
Her breasts grazed his chest when she touched her lips to his eyelids, first
one, then the other, slowly drawing her tongue across his eyelashes.

He buried a scream that threatened to erupt from his lips as
each sweep of her tongue burned like a live electric wire on his skin.

“You are mine, Lien. Mine.” She licked her finger and put it
on his wrist, then drew it up the inside of his arm to his tattoo. She gasped
and jumped away from him, her hand to her mouth. “Fiend,” she whispered, eyes
wide.

He forced a smile. “Seems my snake doesn’t like you.”

“It is a warrior’s mark. It centers your male vigor.”

“Just don’t touch it.”

She sucked her fingertip like a small child. “A man’s
strength is not just in his manhood.” She kissed his lips.

“More,” he whispered. He must convince her that she had
nothing to fear from Ardra.

She smiled. “So you are just like any other man, are you
not? And you will be ready here,” she gripped his sex, “when I am.”

He wanted to vomit.

“Let’s do it now,” he managed to say through clenched teeth.

Cidre laughed. “Not yet. But we can sample the pleasures if
you wish.” She slipped her robe off and dropped it beside his feet. She planted
her hands on his thighs. Her breath was warm when she pressed her lips on his.

His muscles locked in cramps, but he forced himself to put
his arm around her neck. He held her hard against him in feigned desire. Pain
radiated in excruciating waves from every point their bodies touched. The idea
of Ardra being in danger from this woman gave him focus. He tightened his arm
around her throat and bit her lip; the metallic taste of blood filled his
mouth.

She screamed and tried to break away. He locked his hand
over her wrist and pictured Ardra.

Frick and Frack barged into the cottage and tossed Cidre
aside to get to him.

“Nay!” she screamed. “Do not harm him.”

Her men stepped instantly back. “He would have killed you,”
Frack said.

But Cidre waved them back after shrugging into her robe.
“‘Twas my foolishness to approach so closely. My stupidity. He did what all
warriors are trained to do.”

“He tried to strangle you,” Frack persisted, and set himself
between her and the bed.

Lien dragged air into his lungs. He tried to stretch out the
knots in his arms and legs. When his chains rattled, Cidre stepped past her
guard. “Warriors kill. Now go.”

The men left the cottage, but Lien imagined they weren’t far
from the door. Cidre rubbed her throat. “You might have killed me, but you
would have bled to death on these sheets soon after.”

He said nothing because he couldn’t speak. The pain had
stepped up with her anger; his body was crippled with it.

She smiled and smoothed a hand over his hair. “We will have
a mating ceremony, Lien. You cannot prevent it. You will be filled with all
knowledge, and I with your seed. I will have my daughter. Why fight it?” She
released him. “Oh, and there will be no women of status in attendance…they will
be…gone by then.”

Einalem closed her eyes and conjured up Lien’s face as one
of Cidre’s guards grunted over her. He took an inordinate length of time to
finish, so she hurried him a bit with feigned moans.

Finally he found his pleasure and climbed off her. She sat
up and smoothed her skirt down. “Is our bargain met?” she asked.