VirtualWarrior (33 page)

“With wondrous joy, mistress.” The guard laced his breeches
and held out his hand.

Einalem took it and smiled. “You have had what you wanted,
now I shall have what I want.”

He helped her off the bed and with a touch of shyness held
out her cloak to her. “With pleasure, mistress. I will sketch you a map. ‘Tis
not far.”

Ardra prayed that Tol would forgive her for the disrespect
to his memory as she braided her hair into one thick plait down her back.

She shook out the groom’s garb that Inund had brought. “Turn
around.” While the slave did as bade, she switched her gown and soft
undergarments for those of a stable groom. The boy was slender, and the
clothing, a linen shirt and well-worn breeches, fit her well. She cinched the
belt at her waist and drew on her own riding boots.

Last, she stuffed everything she might need into Lien’s
pack—a long, sharp dagger purloined from Ralen’s saddlebags, several lengths of
rope to bind any of Cidre’s men who could be bested, and bandages and healing
powder for wounds.

When she met Ralen in the stable, she ignored his frown over
her garb. Then Einalem and Samoht came around the side of the building.

“What are they doing here?” Ardra asked, rounding on Ralen.

He touched his sling. “I am useless to you right now. And it
is Einalem who knows where Lien was taken.”

“We waste time. If we are to release this nuisance pilgrim,
we must be about it now,” Samoht said. He eyed Ardra from head to toe before
bending close to her ear, his lips hot against her skin. “I will much enjoy
stripping these breeches off you and teaching you proper womanly behavior.”
Samoht grinned before he stalked off, his sister in his wake.

Einalem led them into the woods. Every now and then she
consulted a scrap of paper she kept tucked in the bodice of her gown. After a
few miles she held up a hand for quiet. They tethered their horses and
proceeded the rest of the way on foot. They moved with silent caution until
they reached a small clearing. A woodcutter’s cottage sat there, smoke writhing
from its smoke hole.

“Einalem and I shall distract the guards at the front, while
you go in the back window,” Samoht said.

Ardra obeyed Samoht’s orders, for they must cooperate if
they were to save Lien, but she knew they were only on this mission because
Einalem wanted Lien for herself. Jealousy spiked through Ardra when Einalem
stepped daintily through the undergrowth and around the side of the cottage.

When given the signal, Ardra darted across the clearing to
the back window, whose shutter stood half open. With a quick peek over the
sill, she took in the room at a glance.

Lien lay on the bed. He was alone.

Heart in her throat, she signaled that only Lien was inside.
Einalem and Samoht would handle the guards. She would take care of Lien. In a
moment, she had slithered over the windowsill like one of the snakes that had
attacked the dragons.

She had her hand over Lien’s mouth before he could give away
her presence. His face was strangely blank of expression, his eyes wide, but
his lips moved in a whisper of a kiss on her palm.

“Who has the key to your shackles?” she whispered.

His eyes went to the door.

“The guards?”

He shook his head, though ‘twas more a convulsive shudder.
His eyes went to the door again, but then up.

She tiptoed to the door. Samoht’s voice could be heard
asking the guards if they had seen Cidre.

She ran her fingers along the door’s lintel and felt the
key. It fit easily into Lien’s shackles. Within moments, he was free.

But he couldn’t move. She tried in vain to help him rise.
Samoht must dispose of the guards and soon. She massaged Lien’s wrists and he
half gasped as the ugly rash began to fade. Along with it went his pain. She
saw the relief on his face. “Oh, Lien,” she whispered, and kissed him.

His mouth was hot on hers. She ran her hands over him, his
shoulders, chest, hips, thighs. Tears pricked her eyes.

He was found. Ywri had not yet given him the potion.

A commotion at the door made Lien freeze against her. She
looked around and saw Lien’s clothing in the corner. “Dress,” she said, and
drew her dagger.

Lien shook his head in wonder over Ardra, who stood with her
knife ready to defend him. He quickly pulled on his pants, stuffing the Tree of
Valor leaf down the front before lacing them up.

He had his tunic in his hand when the door opened. It was
Frick and Frack.

“Out,” Frick ordered Ardra. His drawn sword touched her
throat. She did as he ordered.

Samoht and Einalem stood outside. There was a wide grin on
Samoht’s face. “Cidre’s men and I have made a bargain, Ardra. You do much enjoy
a bargain, do you not? This one may not please you, but,” he touched Einalem on
the cheek, “it will please my sister.”

“Lien, you are to come with me,” Einalem said. “I will see
that you are protected from the goddess.” She walked to Lien and curtseyed to
him as if he were a warrior in truth. “You must be famished.”

“And thirsty,” Samoht said. “Ardra, you will come with me. I
have decided not to take you up on your offer, for you see, I have decided that
finding you here in this lonely cottage with a half-naked slave means you are
irredeemably wanton, and not worthy of rule. These kind guards will witness
that they saw this pilgrim mounted between your thighs.” He tossed a purse of
coins to each guard. “Would you like to double that?” he asked the men.

“Aye,” Frick and Frack said in unison, and Lien felt a sick
feeling in the pit of his stomach. He looked around for a weapon.

“Cut that vile serpent off even if it means cutting off his
arm,” Samoht said and pointed at Lien.

“Nay!” Einalem gasped.

Ardra fought against Samoht, but he held her in an iron
grip. “He will be just as useful, dear Sister, and less trouble.”

“Nay,” Einalem cried out. Frack drew his sword. As he turned
to Lien, Einalem tore across the clearing.

The guard swept out his blade, and Einalem ran full into it.
Blood bloomed in a scarlet line across her middle. She stood still, hands wide,
and stared at the soldier.

Samoht moaned and shoved Ardra away. As Einalem crumpled to
the ground, he ran to her, but Lien knew Samoht was too late.

Lien felt Einalem’s throat for a pulse, but her staring eyes
and the flood of blood across her hands told him all he needed to know.

“Go,” he ordered Ardra, jerking her to her feet.

“Nay,” Ardra said. “Not without you.”

“I want you out of here. Now,” Lien said. “This could get
ugly. Now go.”

Samoht roared with anger. He tore his sword from its
scabbard and turned on the guard. “Murderer.”

“Too late.” Lien stepped in front of Ardra, unarmed.

“It was an accident,” Frick began, but Frack interrupted
him.

“It was the goddess’s will. She wants these two women dead,
and no one stands in her way.”

Samoht shook his head. He swung his sword in a terrible arc
and with the one powerful stroke sliced the guard from shoulder to waist. The
man fell to his knees, then back, dead, his eyes as wide as Einalem’s.

“Mercy,” Frick said and held his hands out.

Samoht stood before the cowering guard, his sword raised.

Lien took Samoht’s arm. “Don’t kill him, Samoht. It will
gain you nothing.”

The councilor stood frozen in place, then sagged and lowered
his sword. Lien took it, walked to the guard, and held out his hand. “I’ll feel
a whole lot safer if I take yours as well.”

To Ardra’s complete astonishment, the guard turned over his
sword. What was it about Lien that caused strangers to obey him?

Lien strode across the clearing and disappeared for a moment
into the trees. When he returned, he was empty-handed.

“I’ll help Samoht bring Einalem back,” he said. “This guard
here will show us the way if he wants to live.” Then he leaned close to her
ear, his hand on her shoulder. “You have to avoid Cidre. I know she wants you
dead. Sneak in through the kitchen and have Inund fetch Nilrem. He may have a
calming influence on Samoht. And have him bring my stick. I have a feeling I’m
going to need it.”

“Something else we need, Lien—the leaf I gave you.”

“Would you go?” He cupped her face and gave her a hard kiss.
“We may not have much time. Find Nilrem.”

“The leaf, Lien—”

“Okay. Now go.” He gave her a push.

“I need Einalem’s map,” she said.

“Get it then, and go.” Ardra watched Samoht lift Einalem
into his arms. The man appeared as confused as a small child.

When he saw Ardra looking at him, he said, “This is my
doing, is it not?”

How to answer?

He continued. “I loved her…” He broke off. Tears ran down
his cheeks, and he buried his face in Einalem’s neck.

“It was she who stole the Vial of Seduction, was it not?”
Ardra asked.

“She told me it was Tol who took it to barter for a potion
to ease his pain.”

“She lied,” Ardra said. “She wanted someone’s love, I
imagine, as do we all.”

Samoht tipped his head back and stared at the clear purple
sky. “How can the sun still shine? How is it possible when she is dead?”

“Get your map and go, Ardra,” Lien said, pointing to the
forest. “He’s grieving now, but later he may decide that someone else is to
blame.”

She touched Lien on the arm, then went to Samoht, who had
placed his sister on the bed in the cottage. Ardra made a show of arranging
Einalem’s gown in a more decorous manner; in the process she plucked the map of
the Tangled Wood from her bodice. It was curiously untouched by blood.

Once outside, Ardra showed it to Lien. “When you’ve found
Nilrem, you’re to hide,” Lien said. “Hide until I come for you. Do you
understand?”

“I will not hide. You might need my help.”

“Damn it, I said hide. If something happens to you—” He
jerked her against his body and kissed her hard, so hard she forgot all else
save his taste, his strong hands.

“Hide,” he ordered, “or I’ll take my stick to you when I
find you. This isn’t about you and me. It’s about you being safe to look after
your people.”

He was right. “I will do as you say. The leaf, Lien. Do not
forget.” She held him close for one more fleeting moment before darting into
the trees, but paused to take a final look back at him.

He stood alone in the clearing. The sunlight painted him
bronze and gold. She thought of a statue, every muscle carved in perfect male
beauty. He raised his hand to her, and the snake on his arm moved. Would she
see him again?

Ralen tried to get comfortable in his chair, but his arm
throbbed in time to the hammer pounding away in his head. Too many people roamed
the hall, all speaking too loudly.

“Are you a pilgrim?” a young woman asked. She held a silver
goblet in her hand.

Suddenly there were two of her. Twins? Ralen tried to focus
on her. He grinned and rubbed his eyes. ‘Twas but one small woman…a very beautiful
one.

“Are you looking for a pilgrim?” he asked. She was bountiful
in all the right places.

“I am seeking a pilgrim,” the woman said.

“Then I will be one for you.” She dipped a moment, but he
realized it was he who swayed, not she. Too much wine. Yet his mouth was as dry
as the Scorched Plain.

“Would you like a drink?” The lovely woman held out the cup.
He took it, looked in, and was disappointed to see water, not wine. But he did
not wish to disappoint her. And he would tell her so if she would only stand
still a moment.

He raised the cup. Some of the liquid slopped over the rim,
across his fingers, as he put the cup to his lips. The water ran cold and sweet
down his throat. When he lowered the cup, the woman rose on her tiptoes and
kissed his lips.

He lifted the cup again, thirsty for more.

Ardra found Inund in the kitchen. She wasted no time telling
him what had happened. He ran off to get Nilrem, and she looked about the smoky
room, where at least a dozen men and women labored.

Where should she hide? It went against her nature to cower
somewhere, but she would not disobey Lien.

Ralen. They had forgotten Ralen. Surely Lien would want
Ralen to know that Einalem was dead.

Keeping to the shadows, Ardra crept up the steps the kitchen
to the hall. The hall was crowded with warriors and servants.

Where was Ralen?

Then she saw Ywri, a delighted smile on her lovely face. A
smile for Ralen. Ralen with his head back. Ralen with a cup to his lips.

“Nay!” Ardra screamed. She flew across the hall and slapped
the cup from Ralen’s hand.

He staggered at the blow, knocked his injured arm against
Ywri’s shoulder, then collapsed into his chair, his arm cradled against his
chest. Ywri clapped her hands over her mouth and began to cry. Ardra pushed her
aside.

“You must rid yourself of the potion. Now, Ralen,” Ardra
said, tugging on his arm. He sat as immovable as a statue.

“Potion?” Ralen said.

Ardra dropped to her knees by his side so that she might
look him in the eyes. “Please, Ralen. Rid yourself of the potion. ‘Tis poison
and will kill you.”

Ralen leaned back in his chair, a vacant look on his face, a
look not unlike Ywri’s, who cowered near the chair, weeping.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Inund entered the hall and ran to them. “What happened?” he
asked.

Ardra could say nothing, only point to the goblet on the
floor, its seductive contents staining the polished wooden planks.

“Too late, too late,” Inund cried. “And Nilrem is off to the
forest to find Samoht and Lien. He cannot help us!” He put out a hand as if to
touch Ardra, but withdrew it. His eyes, filled with sorrow, must have reflected
the torment in her own.

“Can you…?” Ardra nodded her chin toward Ywri.

“I will see to her.” Inund took Ywri by the hand and led her
away. His cheeks were as wet as the girl’s.

Ardra watched myriad expressions cross Ralen’s features
while she begged him again to purge himself of the potion.

He shook his head like a great dragon waking from sleep. His
fingers, locked on the chair arm, looked like claws.

What was a hard but handsome face took on a malevolent cast.
He licked his lips.

She whipped around and impaled the nearest men with her
harshest glare. They were Tol’s men. “Take him. Purge him. Else he will die!
Now!”

Two men rushed forward and tried to snatch Ralen from his
seat. He fought them. He held off the two men with just one arm.

His strength was terrible.

Ardra hated what she must do. She reached into the hearth
and drew out a length of wood. She doused the stick in a pail of water set
nearby in case of fire, then turned and struck a hard blow across the side of
Ralen’s head.

He wheeled about to face her. For a moment she thought she
saw some semblance of recognition in his eyes, but it faded, and he crashed
back in his seat, still at last.

As if someone had doused their fears like the flames on the
stick, the folk in the hall fell silent.

Ardra ordered them to remain where they were. Even Ralen’s
and Samoht’s men obeyed. She stood over Ralen. If need be, she would hit him
again.

A sound drew her attention, but when Ardra turned from the
unconscious Ralen, she saw all eyes on the hall entrance.

Lien stood in the doorway. He wore only his buff breeches.
His feet were bare. He shuffled forward like an ancient man, his face a stone
mask.

Cidre.
Ardra looked about. Only Cidre could have such
an effect on him.

The goddess stood at the top of the stairs, hands resting on
the railing, her face ugly with anger. She stared down at the unconscious
Ralen.

Ardra looked back at Lien. His wrists and throat were cuffed
in so livid a red, Ardra feared that if she touched him he would bleed. She
knew that if he could turn around, his back would bear the knotwork marks, that
they would flare from his waist and rise like wings to his shoulders.

Nilrem stood behind Lien with the metal-clad stick. The
crowds of slaves and warriors parted to allow the two men to pass.

Ardra knew Cidre must not win. Her evil must not cripple the
man she loved. Nor could Ardra allow Ralen to become the fiend Cidre so
ardently desired.

Ardra dropped the wood. She met Lien halfway. The pupils of
his eyes were so wide, they appeared as solid and dull a black as the gem
around Cidre’s neck.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. A commotion drew
her eyes back to the steps.

Cidre was coming.
Flanked by two guards, she glided
down the stairs. The torches held high by her men gleamed on the gold chains
wrapped about her waist, on the Black Eye at her breast. The flames painted
streaks of gold in the waterfall of her hair trailing behind her.

Ardra realized that Cidre had garbed herself for some great
event. If it was her own mating ceremony, it would not happen, Ardra vowed.

Many in the crowd took a step back from the stairs in fear;
Samoht’s men placed their hands on their sword hilts.

Finally, the procession stopped at the hearth, with Cidre
positioned in front of Lien and beside Ralen. “I am sorry I will not have you,
pilgrim. But you had one thing I had not counted on.”

When Lien spoke, his voice was low and halting. “Only one?”

“Aye. The help of Venrali’s daughter. Did you know she is
his child?”

Lien’s face did not change, but Ardra felt his questions
flow over her like a torrent of water. Why had she not told him? What must he
think of her?

“Aye,” Ardra said, knowing she must be honest now, before
them all. “Venrali is my father. So you see, you already had a consort who had
proved himself.”

“That is the only reason I allowed him to serve me,” Cidre
said.

“He ran away from his people, away from retribution. I
thought him dead until I saw him here. I had no idea what to do.” Although
Ardra directed her words to Cidre, they were for Lien.

“And now he is gone again,” Cidre said.

“Gone?” The word was a strangled syllable from Lien’s lips.

“Gone.” Cidre placed a hand on Ralen’s shoulder. “He knew he
was no longer needed.”

Ralen looked like the corpses that turned up in the thawing
season from time to time, unfortunate souls who ventured too far upon the ice
fields.

Lien took a step toward her, but Cidre lifted her right hand
and pointed at him. He swayed in place, one foot forward. “Come no closer,
pilgrim. And you,” she swung her arm in Ardra’s direction, “stay there or my
guards will cut you down.”

Lien ignored Cidre. Ardra thought his feet seemed nailed to
the floor, but he forced himself forward.

One of Cidre’s guards stepped in front of Lien, but the
goddess waved the man away with a short laugh. “The pilgrim is harmless. And so
is Ardra—as impotent against my will as her father was.”

“Ardra.” Her name came slowly but clearly from Lien’s lips.
His hands rose from his sides, fisted, palms up, but so slowly she thought they
would never finish their journey toward her.

She knew what he wanted. Nay,
needed
.

“I love you,” she said softly, ignoring all the crowds of
warriors and slaves who huddled so close, forming an oval much like the arena
for the stick fight. She ignored the consequences of telling a pilgrim she
loved him. She ignored the consequences of taking sides. “Forgive me that I did
not trust you enough to tell you the truth.”

Lien’s lips trembled; then one corner kicked up in a macabre
smile.

She placed her fingertips on his clenched fists, feeling the
intense heat, readying herself to absorb the shock that would radiate from the
angry lines on his skin.

“No.” He spat the word, and she jerked her hands back. “M-my
w-waist.”

His words drew her eyes to the lacing of his breeches. Not
knowing what he wanted, she touched the soft, dark line of hair that
disappeared into his breeches. He moaned, and she knew her touch caused him
some physical sensation, whether of pain or healing she knew not.

Silence fell around them. She heard the creak of wood
beneath a nearby warrior’s boot as he shifted his weight.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Cidre said.

Fear of the goddess, her powers, of Ralen’s awakening, made
Ardra’s hand shake, but she kept her eyes on Lien’s lips.

He forced out another word. “Lower.”

She skimmed her palm down his smooth skin to the lacings on
his breeches and lower—and knew what he wanted. She smiled up at him and
hurried to jerk the laces open.

“Surprising man,” she said, and plucked the small square of
white cloth from inside the waist of his breeches.

With her back to Cidre, she opened the cloth and saw the
leaf. Glossy. Supple. As fresh as if it had been plucked from the tree that
moment. She tucked it into the front of her tunic, and although Lien’s whole
body urged her to turn and help Ralen, she could not.

Not yet.

She took a huge breath and slapped her hands on Lien’s
wrists. Hot pain shot through her. It surged up her arms and into her head.

Behind her, Cidre laughed and a murmur rose in the crowd.
Ardra hung on, her fingers wrapped around Lien’s wrists, her eyes locked on
his.

Her knees trembled, her insides churned. The burning
sensation flowed from him along her fingers to her arms. A living river of
pain. It was fire. It was ice. It traveled straight to her heart.

And beneath it, another current. One as hot as the other,
but without pain. His pulse. She felt the running stream of his blood in her
fingers, her breasts, her insides.

It aroused her. Here, before them all. Who saw it? Who knew
it?
He did.

A flush stained his cheeks—the same flush he wore during
lovemaking. A surge as intense as a climax made her cry out and tremble. But
she kept her hands in place.

Then his skin began to clear. The stain on his wrists, his
throat, faded. With it went the fear, the pain, and the arousal.

“Thank you,” was all he said. He turned his hands over,
gripped her fingers for a fraction of a moment, then pulled his hands from
hers.

She plucked the leaf from the front of her tunic and slit
the center vein with her fingernail. “It is the antidote.” She handed the leaf
back to him.

Their fingertips were stained by a spurt of red fluid that
flowed from the opening, but he curled her fingers over the leaf. “I think you
should give it to him, Ardra. It probably ought to be someone who is good and
brave inside and out.”

Ardra took the leaf which dripped its red essence over their
fingers like blood.

Cidre laughed when Ardra approached Ralen. “What is this?”

“Step aside,” Ardra said.

“There is nothing you can do. ‘Tis too late. He has had the
potion. And a kiss. He is not the one I wanted, but as Nilrem says, beggars
cannot be choosers. It will be soon, very soon. He will awaken. Watch him.”

Ardra did. Ralen was no longer unconscious. His eyes watched
her with avid curiosity. Before Cidre could stop her, Ardra grasped the thick
hair tied at Ralen’s nape and jerked his head back.

A gasp ran through the crowd as Ralen stared up at her. His
ice-blue eyes looked so cold, she shivered. She raised her hand.

The leaf’s blood dripped down the center vein, down the
stem, down her fingertips, and onto Ralen’s lips. He licked it up as a predator
licks the blood of his prey.

Cidre no longer laughed. She raised her hand and cried out,
“Enough of this. Take her.”

Her guards tore Ardra away from Ralen. Lien growled like a
feral animal. He snatched his stick from Nilrem’s hand and dealt the closest
guard a blow on the wrist.

The man gasped with pain and released her. She used the
moment of freedom to smear more of the blood-red fluid across Ralen’s lips.
Then Cidre ripped the leaf from her hand.

The instant the goddess’s fingers touched the leaf, she
screamed and dropped it.

The second guard hauled Ardra away from Ralen’s side while
more of Cidre’s men fell on Lien.

He used his stick to hold them off. The swords struck sparks
on the metal snake that twined around it. As the crowd formed an oval, coins
flew as if it were a simple challenge of warriors, not a fight to the death. And
death would come, Ardra knew, her heart in her throat.

She drew her dagger and stabbed her guard’s hand. He turned
a shocked eye on her as he stared down at his bloody hand. Yet he did not
relinquish his grip.

With little thought, she reached across the man’s body and
pulled the longer, sharper dagger from his belt. As she drew the blade from its
sheath, she dragged it along the front of his tunic.

He shrieked and released her. Ardra turned on Cidre—the
source of all the evil. “Call them off,” she ordered as two more guards
surrounded Lien, looking for their chance.

“Never. You will both die here.”

Men swamped Ardra from behind. Cidre’s men. One struck her a
sharp blow on the chin and another hoisted her into his arms.

Lien parried the guards’ blows. Small skirmishes broke out
all around him as men chose sides. Women fled to the upper levels. He fought as
he never had before, spurred on, by the sight of a guard running from the hall
with Ardra in his arms.

With all his strength Lien hurled his stick. It tangled the
man’s feet, and with Ardra in his arms, the guard could not save himself. He
fell, and Ardra scrambled from his grip. She grinned back at Lien and stomped
on the guard’s hand when he went for his sword. In moments, Ardra had the
guard’s sword in one hand and the snake-wrapped stick in the other.