VirtualWarrior (6 page)

Did his appearance at the time of the most rare of
conjunctions augur good or ill?

If good, she had mistreated him, according to Nilrem. The
thought preyed on her mind, but no less than the knowledge of Samoht’s presence
on her border.

A shiver ran down her spine. No matter what Nilrem said
about Lien’s decorated arm, he carried red roses. Until he proved otherwise,
she would treat him as if he were Samoht’s man.

Moments later, her company set up camp. She paced as fires
were built and meat roasted. The delay in returning to Tol chafed her badly.
Her guards helped Lien from the cart, and he swayed a moment before
straightening. His walk was halting and he stumbled a bit as he disappeared
with the other men behind a wall of brush.

She pushed her concern aside. He might truly be a serpent in
her nest.

“Mistress Ardra,” Nilrem called. He led a grimy man forward.
“This messenger is looking for you.”

“Ah, you have found us. What news?” Her heart began to pound
in her chest. Did Tol still live?

“Tol has ordered himself taken to Samoht’s camp. He has
called for the high eight to be assembled.”

She whipped around to conceal her grief. To have done so,
Tol must know he had few sunrisings left of life. Tears welled in her eyes—hot,
useless tears. She took a long, shuddering breath and then faced the messenger.
“Is Tol strong enough to make it to Samoht’s camp?”

The man bowed. “It is not for me to say.”

“What of Ralen, Tol’s brother?” Nilrem asked. “Has any word
of him been circulating?”

“Oh, aye. Samoht sent him on a mission.”

“Where?” If she knew where Ralen had gone, she could plot a
course to intercept him. A warrior of Ralen’s level would meet directly with
Samoht to make his reports.

“I know not where, only for what purpose. Ralen was sent to
find the Goddess of Darkness.”

The Goddess.

A sudden haze clouded Ardra’s vision. Her hands went cold,
her body hot. She swayed and put out her hand. It was clasped by a warm, strong
one. For a moment, she allowed herself to lean on Ollach’s strength. Sickness
swept into her belly, but she fought it, forcing herself to straighten and hold
her head up.

“Thank you,” she said and turned to Ollach. It was not he
who held her hand. It was Lien. She jerked her hand away. He merely arched a
dark brow and walked off. His gait was halting as he moved toward the cook’s
campfire. He dragged his injured leg.

When he was out of hearing range, she turned to the
messenger. “Please. What need has Samoht of the Goddess?” Just saying her name
was difficult.

Nilrem placed a comforting hand on her arm. Did the old man
know the Goddess was responsible for Ardra’s mother’s death?

The messenger shrugged. “Samoht does not explain himself to
Selaw folk, mistress.”

She nodded. “But you know the gossip. It is why I pay you.”

“This needs a bit of extra, mistress. We are talking of the
Goddess of Darkness.” There was a tiny thread of fear in the man’s voice.

“Aye. You shall have three pieces of gold.”

“Tolemac coin, mistress.” His words told her all she needed
to know about the state of the Selaw treasury.

“Tolemac coin it is. Now, what need has Samoht of the
Goddess?”

“‘Tis rumored—” the man shuffled close, “that the Goddess
has stolen a treasure from the vaults under Tolemac.”

“How could she?” Ardra scoffed. “The vaults are
impregnable.”

Nilrem squeezed her arm. “Let the man speak. What treasure?”

The man grinned. “Why, one o’ yours, Nilrem. The Vial of
Seduction.”

“By the saints!” Nilrem’s fingers tensed into a claw about
her arm. “This is a disaster. In the wrong hands…”

Ardra nodded. “From one catastrophe to another. First Tol,
now this. With the vial, the Goddess will seduce someone powerful and take him
as consort.”

“We must take comfort in the knowledge that only an
honorable person may use the treasures. It is part of their mystery. A
dishonorable person will not be able to use the potion to seduce—”

“The Goddess will find a way around the mystery.”

Ardra jerked from Nilrem’s grasp. “Oh, I see how this will
go. The Goddess will be all-powerful on the east. Samoht on the west. And I and
my hapless people must bow down to them both.”

“Now, Ardra. Mayhap Ralen has found the Goddess and taken
back the vial.”

“Dream, Nilrem, if you must. When the vial was deposited in
the Tolemac vaults, it was with the provision that the full council and only
the
full
council would decide its use. This bodes ill for all people.”

“We must find Ralen, mistress, if you want a strong warrior
to command in Tol’s place.”

With bitter anger, she whipped around to face Nilrem.
Several of her men and Lien had drawn near. “Aye. We will hunt for Ralen. Let
us find a
man
to hold my fortress.”

Then she decided on a course most men would fear even to
consider. “We must save time. We will go by way of the Tangled Wood.”

“Ardra. Is that wise? You know the dangers of such an
action.” Nilrem danced from one foot to the other like a small, frightened
child.

“I know the dangers well. But if Ralen seeks the Goddess, he
must traverse these woods as well. I will not miss Ralen or fail to see Tol one
more time for fear of some woman. It is your sort—men—who continually tell me
women are harmless. What need have I to fear a woman then? And perhaps you will
think twice before concocting such
treasures
next time.”

Nilrem leaned on his staff, looking twice his years. Ardra
regretted her hard words, but they were all she seemed to have since this final
illness of Tol’s. “There will be ample light to ride during the night now the
four moons are in alignment.”

Ardra strode quickly through the camp to see her horse
saddled. Another shiver, more from fear than cold, swept through her. Only
well-armed warriors ventured near the Wood. She would not be less than they in
daring. She must show her mettle now more than ever.

When night fell, the turquoise moons mocked her. They cast a
soft gleam across the distant Scorched Plain and touched the trees with a haze
of silvery blue. The land changed drastically with each mile crossed. It
altered from cursed barren rock to wind-blasted pine, to thicker stands of
hardy fir. And finally, on the edge of the Tangled Wood, to great stands of
timber.

“Mistress Ardra.” Ollach drew up. “Do you think this wise?”

She jerked her reins and pulled her mare to a halt. “You
question my decision?”

“The men are uneasy.”

“Then they will grow even more uneasy. I want to cut more
time from our journey by going through the forest, not around it.”

“Mistress!”

“Tol fails as we argue the issue. Samoht awaits us at the
border.” She made her tone as hard and cold as the ice and stone on which the
Fortress of Ravens was built. She must be as strong.

Ollach took a deep breath and touched his brow, then bowed.
“If that be your wish, mistress.”

It must be. The fortress and all who dwell there depend
on it.

Lien figured that if he could get out of his bindings with a
few pathetic groans, he could get out of his scratchy robe too. He contemplated
the many men who rode in Ardra’s force. There were a few women, servants by the
look of them, among the entourage, but mostly Ardra rode in singular female
splendor, a green and gold jewel surrounded by a company of men in black and
white.

He had finagled a horse by convincing Ardra that Nilrem
needed the cart far more than he. Granted, she’d made sure his hands were
bound, albeit loosely, before allowing him to swap places with the old man. Now
Nilrem lay spread-eagled on the many packs, snoring.

Lien thanked heaven that his best friend in college had
owned a horse farm in Maryland, so he could now ride with reasonable skill.

It was drafty wearing a long robe with no underwear. In
fact, it was damned uncomfortable. He examined the men to see what kind of
clothes he wanted. He settled on a compromise between what he’d like and what
he could reasonably gain. With a little kick of his heels, he maneuvered his
fat mare close to the wiseman.

“Nilrem.” He spoke softly so Ardra and her companion,
Ollach, couldn’t hear him. “I need to get out of this robe.”

“You disturb my meditation.”

You mean napping.
“Sorry. It’s just that I’m used to
a bit more luxury.”

“Deprivation is good for the soul.” Nilrem sat up and
stretched. “What had you in mind?”

Lien glanced about. “Well, I think I’d like a pair of those
black leather pants.”

“Soft as butter, I would imagine. Warrior garb. Not
possible.”

“But if I wore them under this robe, wouldn’t that be okay?
It’s not as if I’m trying to be a warrior.”

Nilrem lifted his beard and used it like a napkin to stifle
a cough. Or laugh. “Forgive me, son, you are about as far from a warrior as a
man can be. You are a slave, I imagine, who has stolen his merchant master’s
robes and run away. Not that I care.”

Lien had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping the old
man’s head off.

Nilrem continued. “You cannot put warrior gear under a
pilgrim’s robes.”

“Then maybe I could wear the pants with one of those tunic
things.” Lien lifted his bound hands and indicated a portly man with white hair
who bounced along behind a pair of warriors.

“Oh, the cook? Hmmm…what is wrong with the rest of his
garb?” Nilrem lolled back in the cart, ankles crossed and hands, stacked under
his head.

“Lacks dignity.” The cook wore what looked like tights under
his tunic. Lien knew that if he wore tights he’d feel like a damned fool but
the tunic, which reached to mid-thigh, looked soft and well made.

Nilrem opened one eye and began to laugh, then choked the
sound off, looking beyond Lien’s shoulder.

Lien turned. “Mistress Ardra.” He made an awkward bow.

“I have heard what you said, Lien. You wish for different
garb. Why?”

“I’m a merchant and used to better than this. The robe
chafes the skin in some rather awkward places.” Why lie?

Her eyes dropped to his lap, then darted quickly to his
face. “I see. We would not want you uncomfortable.” He heard the sarcasm in her
voice.

“No, you don’t want me too uncomfortable. If I can’t ride,
I’ll slow you down, won’t I?”

“I shall merely have you tied in the cart again.”

“Mistress,” Nilrem protested. “There is not room for two. I
cannot possibly ride.”

She stifled a sigh, and Lien tried to keep his smile behind
his teeth.

“I see. You, Lien, cannot ride in pilgrim garb, and you,
Nilrem, cannot ride at all. Perhaps I should just leave you behind, merchant.”
She wheeled away and took her place with Ollach.

Ouch.

They all rode in silence until the next stop. The cook
prepared a hasty meal of cold meat and a tough-looking bread that was actually
quite tasty. Lien had to eat with his hands bound. He had almost passed the meat
by until he saw the cook take it from a barrel where it had been packed in ice
and sawdust. The meat was cold and delicious, tasting like a cross between
chicken and ostrich…not that he’d ever actually eaten ostrich.

After the meal, Ollach dumped a pile of clothing at his
feet. Lien picked up the clothes, thanked the man, then looked about for Ardra.
Should he go and thank her? He decided not to. She seemed unapproachable, a
green and gold wraith in a pool of moonlight.

He looked up into the alien sky. There were billions of
stars visible, but none of them took on the pattern of constellations he
recognized. More evidence that he was in another world.

One of the warriors led him a few paces behind a tree and
untied his hands. Lien pulled on the soft, worn pants, bemoaning his lack of
underwear, and laced them up the front. They fit reasonably well.

The tunic, long-sleeved and made of linen, was soft and
smooth. It had a design of amber and black embroidery at the wrists and hem
reminiscent of ravens in flight. Once he pulled the tunic over his head, he
felt like a Russian Cossack from the steppes.

When he mounted the horse, it was with a lot more dignity
than when he’d dismounted. No one had bound his hands. Ardra rode at his side
for a bit. Before she opened her mouth, he knew what she would ask.

“If you are not one of Samoht’s men, how come you to have
the roses?”

“Look, Mistress Ardra,” he touched the chain beneath his
tunic, “where I’m from, the roses are jewelry, like the rings on your fingers.
In fact, these are meant to be worn on the ears. They’re earrings.” Her gaze
shifted to his ear, and he knew she’d noticed the hole there. “These earrings
are sacred to me. They were made by one of my ancestors for my mother’s
mother.” He indicated the relationships as one would in the
Tolemac Wars
game, invoking religion with the word “sacred”, hoping to defuse the political
nature of the rose for her.

“I see.” She was silent for a moment. “What were you doing
on Nilrem’s mountain?”

He’d figured out a story to explain his appearance on the
mountain. After all, a merchant or craftsman belonged in the capital, not on
some empty mountain. “I was seeking wisdom as most others who journey there do.
I was a warrior, but gave it up.” He ignored her small snort of derision and
tried to sound solemn. “I became a merchant when I tired of bloodshed, trading
on the many rewards I earned in my warrior days. But I also thought I ought to
make a pilgrimage of redemption. I made a vow never to raise a sword or dagger
against another being.” That took care of his lack of sword skills.

She examined him, her gaze sweeping over him from head to
foot. “You were making a pilgrimage of redemption?”

“Aye. To atone for some of my exploits.”