VirtualWarrior (9 page)

“Why didn’t Tol just turn the fortress over to Tolemac?”

“Is that what you would do? Of course—you are a man. Tol is
different. He understood…understands what the Selaw people need. It is not
subjugation to Tolemac.”

“Whoa. I understand. Don’t get in a lather.”

“I am not a horse.” She twisted her reins in gloved hands.

“I was not saying you were. It’s just an expression, not
much different from saying, ‘By Nilrem’s beard.’ I was saying I did not want
you to get upset.”

“Forgive me. You are so strange.”

“Thanks.” He smiled again, then winced.

“When next we stop, you must allow me to tend your face.”

“I think one of the tree people clunked me with something.”

No sooner had he spoken than their horses emerged from the
trees and the parties halted.

Ralen rode back to her side. “Come forward, mistress. See
what you ask.” He then cantered back to the fore of their party.

Ardra looked at Lien. “Will you come too?” she asked. She
did not know why it was important to her that he remain nearby.

“Sure. Lead on.” He swept out his hand to gesture her
forward.

It was such a startling thing for a man to tell a woman to
lead, she almost fell off her horse. Head up, she nodded and maneuvered around
him. He fell in behind her.

They reached the front of Ralen’s party, which had spread
out in a single line. The forest ended at a steep clifftop. Below was a rocky
plain cut by a broad river. The plain stretched for many miles, and even here,
sheltered at the edge of the forest, one could feel the change in the
temperature. The wind was sharper, the chill cutting through her cloak. On the
horizon a white streak was visible, the ice fields. And nearer, on the opposite
side of the river, lay her land and her people.

Between her and the river, scattered like gems on a
goldsmith’s table, were the tents of Samoht.

“So many,” she whispered.

“Aye,” Ralen said. “Look and understand what you wish to
stand against. And know you ask the impossible.”

Lien repeated every prayer he knew as their party negotiated
a narrow path from the cliff to the rocky plain below. Most of the time, he
couldn’t see the path beneath his horse’s hooves. He thought it might be easier
to walk a skyscraper ledge.

Sweat slicked his skin beneath the tunic. So he wasn’t real
happy with heights, so he wasn’t happy with windy, narrow paths on high cliffs.
So what? So he didn’t even ride the Ferris wheel on the boardwalk and had not
taken the mule ride at the Grand Canyon despite Eve’s ribbing. So maybe this
was the day he’d die.

So who would care? He closed his eyes and let the horse do
the work. He hoped the horse didn’t have a death wish.

Cold wind whipped Ardra’s skirts against her horse’s flanks
with dull snaps, but he was hot, almost burning in the rising, blood-red
Tolemac sun. He thought he might pass out.

Gwen would never know what had happened to him.

“Lien,” Ardra called out. She had twisted around in her
saddle. “You cannot allow your mount to wander. He nipped my mare.” She snapped
her fingers at him.

He managed a grin. So it wasn’t her skirt he’d been hearing.
“Sure. No problem. I’ll watch death rise up to meet me. Sure. I’ll let this
hapless nag drag me off the edge of nowhere,” he muttered. “Damn, teach a woman
a skill and see how she abuses it.”

His head hurt just one degree more than the rest of his
body, which was one giant ache. His horse nipped Ardra’s again. She snapped her
fingers at him.

His horse bucked. For one dizzy moment he hung half off his
saddle over the world below. The next moment, the horse had settled down. Ardra
scowled another warning. He wanted to lift his hand and give her a wave to let
her know that everything was okay, but he found he could no more let go of the
reins than he could open his mouth.

When the path widened, he took a deep breath. His throat
hurt.
Shit
, he thought.
I’m sick, and no antibiotics in sight.

That thought occupied him until his horse reached level
ground.

“Thank you, God,” he whispered.

The party picked up its pace and galloped toward a city of
tents clustered on the edge of the river. The pace did nothing for his insides,
his wounds, or his bruises.

Samoht’s army was massive. It took about an hour to work
their way through the formidable force that Samoht had brought to the Selaw
border. Lien figured Ardra’s fortress was toast.

As they passed he noticed the wary looks directed his way.
He would need to make himself as unobtrusive as possible and hope he wasn’t
challenged.

Ollach helped Ardra dismount. Ralen hustled her toward a
long tent that was the color of the lavender sky and decorated with painted
symbols of the sun and moon. The other tents were also of fanciful colors with
birds and animals painted on them, but only on this one were celestial bodies
depicted. The tent was surrounded by a small army of blond, blue-eyed warriors.

Lien dismounted and drifted along with Ardra’s men as if he
were part of the action. There was no way he was going to freeze out in the
wind. His nice, comfy tunic now felt grossly inadequate, damp as it was and
clinging to his skin. He’d have to wheedle a cloak out of Ollach.

Although the guards stared at his hair, when they noted his
tunic they let him pass along with the rest of Ardra’s men.

Inside the tent, it was as quiet as a tomb and as hot as a
sauna. Braziers glowed in every corner. Everyone’s attention centered on a dais
and the old man reclining there. His bed, a sort of padded chaise longue, was
covered in furs and heavy gold cloth, making the man appear to be some
illustrious sultan. This must be Tol.

So he had made it to the border before he died. Ardra knelt
at his side.

An elderly woman stood beside the councilor. Despite her
long white hair and a face pleated in wrinkles, she was an arresting woman,
tall and stately, dressed in ivory and gold.

Tol might once have been a heavyset man, but today, so close
to death, he was skeletal, his robes hanging like a pile of old drapes about
his body. He had a mane of white hair and very pale blue eyes. He might be
brother to Ralen, but whereas Ralen looked anywhere from thirty to forty, Tol
looked near eighty.

Ralen knelt beside Ardra, and the rest of the party stood
respectfully aside near the entranceway.

“Tol, I bid you peace,” Ardra said.

Tol placed a trembling hand on her head and stroked her
hair. “I knew you would return in time.”

Ardra drew a small fabric packet from her purse and handed
it to the woman. “Four grains only.”

The woman bowed to Ardra. Tol beckoned the old woman near.
She leaned close to him, listened, and nodded gravely.

With a low bow to Ardra, the woman stepped to a long table
situated behind Tol’s couch. There she opened the packet, fussed about for a
moment, then poured what looked like wine into an ornate silver goblet set with
turquoise. It was she, not Ardra, who supported Tol’s hand as he drank.

Everyone held his breath as Tol settled back onto the couch
and gasped for air. Several moments passed in silence.

Finally, Tol spoke. “Ralen,” he said. “Can you fetch a holy
man or a wiseman? I wish to speak to Ardra on matters of grave importance.”

“Nilrem could not keep pace with us, Brother. He will be
here in perhaps a sunrising or two.”

Tol smiled and shook his head. “I have not the luxury to
wait that long. Nay, is there no other who might stand in his place?”

“We have no such person in our company,” Ralen said.

The woman at Tol’s side pressed her hands tightly together
and bowed her head. Lien assumed that Tol wanted the Tolemac version of last
rites.

Ardra rose and took the woman’s hand. “Deleh, do not
despair. We have a pilgrim. Will that not do?”

The woman and Tol exchanged a glance, then a nod, but Ralen
protested. “Nay. He is not a pilgrim. Ardra, what ails you?”

Ralen jumped up and marched to where Lien stood. He prodded
him in the chest. “This man has no means of proving who he is or whence he
comes. When have you ever seen hair of such a color? Or eyes, for that matter?”

The old woman floated gracefully in Lien’s direction. She
gave him a close inspection, then issued a soft command. Everyone save Tol,
Lien, Ardra, and Ralen left the tent. The woman bowed respectfully and asked,
“Are you a pilgrim?”

He could not lie to a woman with such an intense stare. In
fact, she reminded him of a nun who used to scare the living daylights out of
him in elementary school. “I was traveling to Nilrem for some wisdom. If that
makes me a pilgrim, I’m a pilgrim.”

“From where?” Tol asked in a breathy voice.

Ardra went to Tol and placed a hand on his shoulder. “He is
from beyond the ice fields. Just as the conjunction began, I was attacked by
three outcasts. Lien saved my life.”

“Ollach saw him disrobe; he wears a sign of evil.” Ralen
crossed his arms on his chest as if that ended the discus­sion. “And who can
cross the ice fields? ‘Tis nonsense.”

“Show me,” the old woman said to Lien.

Well, heck
, Lien thought.
Everybody else has seen
me naked, why not Mother Superior?
He pulled his tunic off.

With no sign of fear, the woman brought her fingers close to
his tattoo but didn’t actually touch him. She counted the snake’s coils and
then bent closer to inspect the knotwork.

“The serpent bears the Shield pattern, Tol.”

“Come closer,” Tol whispered, and Ardra stepped aside, her
hand still on Tol’s shoulder. Lien bent to one knee by the old man, and as Tol
inspected the tattoo, Lien found he could not look away from Ardra.

She was staring at him too, her gaze moving back and forth
from his arm to the roses on his mother’s chain. She frowned, reached out, and
touched the design. When her fingertips touched his tattoo, a hot pulse swirled
around the coils, like blood pounding in his veins during sex. Where had that
thought come from?

Tol jerked and his breath hissed.

“Tol?” Ardra slid her hand away from the tattoo. The heat
disappeared, and Lien and Tol exchanged a glance.

“Closer,” Tol said, lifting his hand. “Ardra?” She entwined
her fingers with his. “Touch the snake,” Tol directed.

Ralen shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.

“Nay,” Ardra whispered, but she did as Tol bade, barely
touching her cool fingertips to the tattoo.

Lien was ready this time. He forced himself to be as cool
and distant as she was. But the heat still surged, the pulse rioting around his
arm to shoot up his shoulder and into his head. Tol moaned and jerked, pulling
his hand from Ardra’s. The sensation instantly disappeared.

Ralen jumped forward and thrust himself between Lien and
Tol. “Stop this!”

But Tol shook him off. “Nay. Leave the pilgrim here. He will
do. He will do.”

Ralen opened his mouth, but Tol forestalled him. “Say
nothing. I have no time. By our father’s heart, be still.”

The Mother Superior stepped in, ending the exchange. She handed
Lien his tunic and then took Tol’s hand. Ardra knelt again at her lifemate’s
side, her back to Lien and Ralen.

Lien pulled the tunic quickly over his head and remained a
respectful distance from the old man. Tol looked too frail to survive another
hour.

Ardra’s back was stiff, her hair in a loose mane. The tiny
amber beads shimmered in the torchlight, set to trembling by some strong
emotion, Lien suspected.

“What do I do?” Lien asked no one in particular.

“Kneel here and bear witness to all we say,” the old woman
whispered. Ralen made a noise in his throat and wandered over to a brazier. He
lifted a set of tongs hanging beneath the iron bowl and began to stir the
coals. His actions spoke of his contempt for the proceedings.

“I have little time,” Tol began.

“Do not say that. Wait to see if Nilrem’s powder eases your
pain,” Ardra said.

“Deleh?” Tol looked up and smiled at the old woman.

“I gave him all of it,” Deleh said. “It is what he wished.”

Ardra’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She bent her head,
and Lien saw a tear roll down her cheek. “How could you? What of our son?”

Whether she spoke to the woman or Tol, Lien didn’t know.

“It is of him I think as I lie here,” Tol said. “It is his
hard life I regret.” He put out his hand, and Ardra gripped it in both of hers.
“I should never have presumed to add such a burden to your young life either.
Had the boy Tolemac bones and not just the eyes, he might have faired well.
‘Twas folly for me to think that through our son I could change the story of
time.”

“Samoht’s child will also be of mixed blood.”

“He cares little for the child save as a pawn to move on the
board of power. He will hold the child as ransom for his mother’s good
behavior. Watch that Samoht does not do the same with our son. Is he hidden?”

“He is in the labyrinth beneath the fortress. No one will
find him there.”

Tol nodded and closed his eyes. No one spoke for about five
minutes. The old woman wiped Tol’s brow with a cool cloth.

He roused himself. “There is no place in our world for a
child of mixed birth. He will suffer all his days, a man different from all
others.”

“Our son need not fear if the fortress is strong enough. I
will gather the men and beseech them to—”

“Ardra, Ardra. You dream, and I, to my shame, have allowed
you to hope. No man will follow a woman. When I am gone, Samoht will send his
warriors to guard the fortress in our son’s name, but in truth, it will not be
so. Samoht will take the fortress, and to stand against him will mean death.”

“I will not give up the fortress. It belongs to my people.
Samoht sees all the Selaw as inferior. He will treat us little better than
slaves—your son included! I beg of you to speak the words that will help me
stand against him.”

Lien could feel the energy she poured into the simple
entreaty.

Tol shook his head. “I will say the words, but you must
accept what you cannot change.” The old man beckoned to Lien. He moved closer,
his hip touching Ardra’s.

“Young man, you stand as witness to my words. Although I
think ‘tis folly, I beg of you to bear witness to Samoht of what I will now
say. Ralen might be suspected of conniving with Ardra to gain power. Come back,
Ralen. Set aside your ire and come here.”

They all gathered about Tol. The old man’s voice now held a
tremor and was as soft as a whisper. “It is my wish that Ardra take control of
the fortress. It is my wish that she, and she alone, rule it for our son until
he is of age.”

Tol coughed and reached out blindly with his free hand. The
old woman took it and motioned Lien and Ralen out of the tent.

The two men left the tent together, but Ralen split off
immediately and strode away. Men and women lingered in silence around the tent.
They surely knew that Tol was nearing his end.

Lien wanted to wait for Ardra. He saw a low stool near a
fire that no one seemed interested in. He wrapped his arms around his middle to
keep from shivering and waited.

After a short while, Ardra came out of the tent and walked
toward the river. Lien jumped to his feet and hurried after her, touching her
shoulder. “Don’t you want to stay with him?” Lien asked.

“Tol?” She looked back at the tent and shook her head. “Nay.
He wants this time with Deleh.”

“Who is she? Some religious person?” He kept pace with her
as she walked through the clusters of tents.

“She is his concubine.”

Lien stopped in his tracks. “Wait a minute. Concubine?”

“Aye. She has been so since he first lifemated in his
youth.”

“Let me get this straight. That woman is a…never mind.
Aren’t you jealous?”

“Of Deleh? Nay. She is like a mother to me. Have you no concubines
in Ocean City?”