This eBook file was generated by MobiPocket Publisher Personal Edition.
To generate eBooks to be sold or for corporate or public usage, please purchase the commercial version at : http://www.mobipocket.com
The Tower of Two Voices…
>
A sharp, agonized scream ripped through the still air, then traveled upward in measured cadences from the bowels of the tower.
One guest is already here, brother, and the other comes apace, laughed the cold voice; the laugh sounded like breaking glass.
But what of the small one? complained the dark voice. I like not the feel of the small one. He has the smell of…I do not know. But I do not like the feel of him.
A shower of tiny ice spicules rained down inside the round study at the top of the tower, to bounce and tumble on the chill stone floor. A mouse, daring a dash for a crumble of dried cheese, was pierced by scores of the minute frozen spears; the ice turned at once to a vivid crimson as they leached away the animal's lifeblood. The mouse twisted and twitched for a moment…then was still.
What can such an insignificant thing as that do to us, my brother? asked the cold. See what my magic does to small, soft things? Why worry now, when our plans are almost complete?
True, agreed the dark in a considering tone.
True…true…true…ue…ue…came the whispering echoes, fighting for their transient lives against another thin, reedy scream. >The floating globe, suspended in dark and swirling mists, displayed deep in its depths a pair of tiny figures, one towering over the other, as they trudged through an eerie landscape.
But the small one has a most familiar smell, complained the dark. Skeletal fingers tapped against a flat tabletop of cold white stone; they made a sound like the clicking mandibles of a death beetle. That smell offends me.
I will remove it for you, brother, said the cold in a conciliatory tone. It will be my pleasure.
See that it is so, and you shall have a reward, promised dark in a syrupy voice.
My reward is to see you happy, dear brother, as always, said the cold. Happy-and avenged.
Escape the Past
>
by
K.G. McAbee
NBI
NovelBooks, Inc.
>Douglas, Massachusetts
This is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the characters, incidents, and dialogs are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2001 by K.G. McAbee
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and review. For information, address NovelBooks, Inc., P.O. Box 661,
Douglas, MA 01516 or email publisher@novelbooksinc.com
NBI
>Published by
NovelBooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 661
Douglas, MA 01516
NovelBooks Inc. publishes books online and through print-on-demand.
For more information, check our website:www.novelbooksinc.com or email publisher@novelbooksinc.com
Produced in the United States of America.
Cover illustration by Ariana Overton
Edited by Anita York
ISBN 1-931696-12-8 for electronic version
ISBN 1-931696-87-X for POD version
Previously published under
ISBN 1-929034-18-0 for electronic version
ISBN 1-58697-992-2 for POD version
Dedication
For Jerry, of course and as always.
And for the women whose strength, talent,
boldness and pertinacity I admire and aspire to-
Ann, Penny, Charlotte, Dee, Elaine, Peggy, Pat and Sylvia.
Chapter One
>Horns brayed, slashing spears of sound that raced through the dense forest.
A score of hounds echoed the hunting horns' nerve-wrenching blare; the unruly animals yelped and howled as they jerked at their leashes in excitement, eager to be let loose to follow the scent so thick and rich about them.
Valerik listened to the death so close behind him as he ran. Wincing when high dried grasses slapped against his bare legs, leaving blood and slivers of skin caught on briars and thorny bushes, he ran. Already, so soon in the hunt, the breath was ripping through his aching chest, sweat pouring down his naked body. Though the early morning was chill, the uneven ground holding fast to swirling pockets of fog and mist, he knew the sun would blaze down on his shorn head like a furnace by midday.
But midday was an unattainable goal, one that Valerik refused to consider. None of the hunted had ever been known to last so long.
The thickly muscled body of the running slave twisted and turned as he raced through the dank and dim forest. In the cool of the early morning, the heat engendered by his frantic running rose from his skin in clouds of steam-steam that reeked of fear and torment. His questing eyes, ever moving, ever seeking a place of safety, were wide and anxious, their nut-brown depths almost black in the grip of insistent terror.
~*~
They had cut him lose just outside the castle walls, where the trees crowded close to the ancient stonework and the ground dropped off in a gentle slope towards the denser forest below. Jerked from his straw pallet just before dawn, his scanty rags were stripped from him to offer the dogs as scent. Then he stood with arms outstretched as his manacles were struck away, leaving only a leather collar around his neck as anchor for a leading chain. His tormentors, minions of his former mistress, needed that chain as a leash to lead him through the long corridors and across the wide courtyard to the open gate in the high stone walls.
Valerik stumbled and fell twice, was whipped to his feet the first time, then dragged breathless the second before he managed to scramble to his feet again. The second time he fell, a thought raced through his mind like a galloping horse-why did he bother rising? Why not lie here and let them beat him to death? It would be easier in the long run.
But the desire for life was strong in Valerik. He struggled up and followed the armed men to the high barred opening in the stone walls.
Outside the gate, his new mistress, sister of his old one, sat on a heavy roan stallion. The sun struck sparks from her cruel barbed spurs as Valerik was shoved forward, to fall on his belly at her feet.
Slave, said the Lady Rivia in her high-pitched, grating voice, looking down her long nose at Valerik where he groveled on the muddy ground. Slave, you have been convicted and sentenced to death. The lady paused for a wide yawn, her thick lips spread in a huge circle.
The sudden and violent death of her lady sister did not seem to cause the Lady Rivia an overpowering burden of sadness.
The lady resumed, her words rattling out, her tone thick with disinterest and obvious boredom as the man condemned to a frightful death lay before her. In my mercy and as proscribed by law I give you the chance to escape the justice meted out to you. You have the time of one glass to gain a start. Reon!
Reon, the Lady Rivia's major-domo, lifted a small hourglass in one hand and exhibited it to the mounted freeborn and noble hunters, and to the gaggle of slaves that had been gathered together to hear the sentencing.
Valerik heard a gasp of dismay from the unruly mob of house slaves just inside the gate. One said, in a tone pitched in the lowest of undertones, to be heard by slaves alone and not by their betters cavorting on prancing mounts, The glass is too small. Valerik does not stand a chance.
Valerik knew the slave was right. He didn't have a chance. What slave ever had a chance in the hunt?
~*~
The undergrowth was thinning about Valerik as he ran, the stunted trees growing larger and more twisted. His frantic eyes jerked from side to side, in silent desperation marking here a tree with branches sturdy enough to climb, there a hole in which he might be able to lose himself before the hunters could reach him.
Then, before his hurrying feet could slow or dodge, before the sound of rushing water could warn him, a gushing stream spread wide before him, deep pools interspersed with shallow rocky stretches. Valerik plunged in, submerged his aching body, and gasped as the icy mountain water came near to taking away what little breath he had left in his straining lungs. With awkward strokes he struggled to shallower depths, spluttering as he drew great draughts of cold water into his burning throat, the water battling with the air that he needed just as desperately. With meticulous caution, he threaded his way over the slippery rocks to the other shore, careful to leave as undisturbed as possible the green slime that coated many of the stones.
His foot hit a steady-looking rock that proved a lie and he stumbled to his knees, his heart racing. It would not do to fall and break a leg at this stage of the game, so soon, so close to the castle. Nor had he any wish to blaze so easy a trail, a trail that any one of the hunters might follow with little effort.
Valerik struggled up and onward.
~*~
The hounds were loose from their leashes.
As he ran, Valerik could hear in the distance the change in their yelps, a higher pitch of intensity and eagerness. The cries they made showed how much the hounds, no less than the hunters, were determined, striving with all their might to find their quarry and rip it to pieces.
He increased his pace as the breath whistled through his nose and inflamed his already raw throat; his soaked skin dried as he ran, the air rushing over him to snatch sweat away even as it formed on his naked, aching body. Valerik topped a rise and dared a quick glance behind him, then slithered down the brushy bank and came to a stop, his heart in his mouth.
A segment of rough and rocky road snaked around a bend on his right and disappeared into the density of the forest to his left. Deep ruts full of muddy water littered its uneven surface, remnants of a late night shower that gleamed like lost jewels in the fragmented rays lancing through leaf-dappled branches.
Better running, a surface free of trips and traps for hurrying feet. But would it be easier for the hounds to catch his scent? Or would his smell mingle with that of others who used what looked to be a heavily traveled road?
Valerik wondered as he squatted on shaking legs and strained to catch his breath, his mind jittering like a mad thing. Did he dare use this route to try to throw the hounds off his track? Would his fear-laced scent mingle with the others that had passed this way?
A jingle of harness.
Valerik's heart froze within his chest, the air stopped in his throat.
No. The fearful, familiar sound did not come from behind him. Not hunters, then, not yet, not yet.
The sound, suddenly not so fearful, came from the thick trees at the sharp eastern bend of the road. It was the sound of a single horse, cantering down the road in his direction, soon to be in full view.
In an instant, Valerik was sprawled flat on his belly in the rank weeds that choked the roadside ditch, his burly body half-submerged in viscid slimy mud. His heart unfroze and began to race, galloping like a terrified horse. He tried to quiet it, sure the pounding would give him away as the sounds grew nearer. He drew in enormous silent breaths, mouth agape.
Without conscious thought, his hand tightened over a convenient sliver of rock.
After an eternity that consisted of perhaps a dozen rapid heartbeats, he saw the horse round the bend. Valerik peered at it through the screen of tender weeds. A great ebony stallion, it was traveling with high-stepping, well-fed, early-in-the-journey cheerfulness. An ebony stallion, but with a pale mane and tail tinged with gold-Valerik had never seen such coloring on a horse before-it carried a rider muffled in a dark cloak, with hood pulled up against the cool of the shadowy, tree-draped road.
Valerik held his breath, aching body death still, as the horse pranced ever nearer to his hiding place.
The great animal's pace slowed, from a canter to a trot, then a walk. Almost, Valerik thought, as if the beast had heard something that had startled…no, not startled, but interested it.
Valerik stared at the huge creature through the thick weeds, willing it to come nearer, to stop in a convenient place, to not see him until it was too late. His eyes squinted with the intensity of his desire.
Closer, closer…almost there…
The stallion stopped short of the ditch by several body lengths, too far for Valerik to reach it in one quick leap. He could feel the disappointment tear through his aching limbs, like barbed whips on naked skin.
The faint bay of hounds echoed in the distance.
A snort of interested interrogation blew from the stallion's nose. It shook its huge head in an almost human motion.
A hunting pack, came a low husky voice from within the hood, as if soothing-or answering-the horse. Not too far away, either, from the sound of them.
Valerik jerked to his feet, the sliver of rock gripped like a dagger in one hand. He flung himself towards the horse and rider, plunged his free hand into the folds of the black cloak and gave a mighty heave, toppling the rider to the rutted road. Then he scrambled into the saddle, mastered the great horse in an instant, and rode away from certain death at a gallop.
That, at least, was his hastily devised plan.
As is the case in many such plans, its execution fell somewhat short of Valerik's expectations.
The black stallion danced backwards at the sudden appearance of a naked rock-wielding man; it snorted its surprise as it shook its great head at him.
Valerik slammed a foot against a stone half-hidden in a deep, mud-filled rut. He fell to his knees in the puddle, splashing rank water into his eyes, effectively blinding himself with the stinging, filthy spray.
Valerik spat out a long string of curses in a low desperate voice, as his battered foot throbbed in agony.
Impressive.
Valerik heard that same husky voice, a quiet conversational tone with the faintest hint of humor in it this time. The pain in his foot-and his curses-had taken away his breath and prevented a reply…although he was sure that he could, at a less stressful time, think of a number of suitable ones.
Good thing you're not the prey of those hounds Daemon and I just heard, continued the voice with somewhat less evident humor, as the noise of baying grew noticeably louder. You'd hardly stand a chance, what with that vast fund of grace and speed that you've just exhibited for us.
Dashing the filth water from his face and eyes, Valerik glared up at the horse and rider. From his vantage point at their feet, they seemed to go up and up forever…towering over him and making even his large bulk feel insignificant. The sun behind them cut into his bleared eyes as he struggled to his feet, managing a bit more cursing under his breath and feeling like a clumsy fool.
A terrified, clumsy fool.
I need your horse, Valerik growled as he reached out and tried to seize the reins a second time. He brandished his jagged stone at the rider. Give him to me and you'll come to no harm.
You're a slow learner, was the only reply, coupled with a short laugh.
The square toe of a shiny black leather boot kicked upward once-and the stone in Valerik's hand went flying over his head, to land in a distant puddle with a despairing splash. The great black horse reared up, pawing the air so close to Valerik's head that he could feel the wind from those sharp hooves slashing past his face. The steed danced backwards on two legs, out of the desperate man's reach, then crashed to the ground with a jolt that made Valerik's teeth rattle.
I'm very much afraid that I can't let you have Daemon, called the rider with another laugh. He'd never allow it, you see.
A commotion of dogs sounded in the woods, from along the path that Valerik had been following. He could make out individual animals now, as their yelps became clearer and closer. Damn, he thought briefly as he turned, his heart in his throat, and peered back through the trees as he tried to calculate their distance from the sounds they made behind him.
Close.
Too close?
Had he time to run into the woods on the other side of the road?
Valerik turned back in time to see a brown hand fling the cloak back and pull down the hood. Tawny hair spilled over black-clad shoulders, gray eyes with a sardonic gleam gazed down at Valerik from a sun-darkened face.
Reckless, Valerik stared up into the face of the woman on the horse, daring a blow in punishment for his effrontery from the whip that hung from the saddle. A pleading expression spread over his face, though he knew it to be worse than useless.
He couldn't help it. Valerik didn't want to die.
But why should this woman-without a doubt of noble blood, richly dressed, on a valuable horse and with a blade at her side-why should she risk her own life to help a slave being hunted to his death?
However, continued the woman as she looked up the bank that Valerik had so lately slid down, sometimes…just sometimes, mind you…Daemon will allow a passenger. Come.
The woman kicked one boot free of a stirrup and stretched down a long-fingered hand. Valerik looked once in her eyes, once again over his shoulder. Was this another trick? Would she kick him in the face if he reached for her outstretched hand?
The hounds sounded almost at his back.
Valerik thrust his naked foot into the empty stirrup and swarmed with clumsy haste up behind the woman.
The woman shrugged out of her cloak, whirled it about Valerik's shoulders with one hand and spoke four words-two for him and two for the stallion.
Hold on. Run, Daemon.
The baying of hounds died away in the distance as the great horse, disdaining the weight of its double burden, galloped easily down the rutted road.
~*~
Valerik didn't like to hold too closely to the woman who had rescued him, but he had little choice in the matter. The huge stallion flew over the rough road, its mighty legs churning as it slowed for nothing, charging through deep puddles to fling muddy water onto its riders, dancing around tumbled stones. Once it threw all three of them into the air to clear a fallen tree. Valerik clung through handfuls of cloak to her sturdy shoulders; even in their present situation, he found time to relish the interplay of muscles as she directed the great horse.
Not much further! shouted the woman as they hit the ground with a rattling jar.
Valerik inched infinitesimally closer, the saddle hard and rough against his crotch, his bare legs pulled back to miss being mauled by bright metal stirrups.
Behind them once, through a break in the trees, echoed the long doleful wail of disappointed hounds. Valerik grinned to himself, barely able to keep from hugging the woman.
He had done it-with a stranger's help, aye, but he had done it. He had escaped the ravening hounds, the heartless riders. Whatever happened now, wherever he ended up, no one could take that immense pleasure away from him.
He had escaped the hunt.
Chapter Two
>The sun was a globe of molten iron sinking in the west behind them when the heavily laden black horse rode into the inn's enclosed courtyard.
Valerik slid from the horse's broad back as the gate closed behind them with a crash; he watched as two servants maneuvered a heavy beam across the structure, doubtless as a latch. He clutched close the cloak that was his only covering save for the rag wrapped tight around his loins. It would not do to let anyone see how near naked he was; it would proclaim his position as clearly as if he had shouted it to the thatched rooftop of the inn that loomed before them.
~*~
Earlier that day, Valerik had tried to make use of some of his rescuer's spare clothing, but though almost long enough in arm and leg, the shirt and breeches were far from being big enough for his husky chest or heavy thighs. Madryn was nearly as tall as he, but as lean as whipcord.
Madryn. She had introduced herself when they had stopped after a hard fast ride that had lasted until past midday. Madryn-no matronym or title, just that one word.
It was ridiculous, of course. Valerik had known that when first she said her name.
A single name would make her a commoner, or, more unbelievable yet, a slave like Valerik. This woman could not be a slave any more than she could be a commoner, not with her rich clothing and priceless steed, and especially not with the sword she wore at her lean waist, the dagger whose silvery hilt showed in the top of one fine leather boot. A slave in possession of a blade of any kind would be put to death at once, or set loose for the hounds to track. Gladiators in the arena, fighting to the death, were armed for their contests. But blades were taken from them as soon as they stepped from the dusty, blood-drenched arena and went to their cells.
No one knew these things better than Valerik
So Madryn had said her single name and though he knew she must be lying, Valerik had had no interest in asking further questions. He had torn with ravenous hunger into the bread and dried meant she had pulled from a well-stocked saddlebag and held out to him with a mocking bow.
Madryn had asked noting of him but his name as she watched him eat, and then downed her own smaller portion of food with a contemplative air. But Valerik had watched her eyes dance over him, never settling for long in one spot, now regarding his broad bare chest matted with hair and filth, now calculating the length of a scarred thigh or the circumference of a thick bicep. Those silver gray eyes had lingered longest, not on the scars from the slave collar that he had worn for so long about his neck, but on his face, plain and broad and broken-nosed. He had reached up a hand and felt the raw, scored flesh of his neck; it was a time-honored jest, to remove a slave's collar before a hunt, as if to taunt him with the hopelessness of escape from a pack of dogs and riders.
He could not understand her intent regard. It was not as if she were deciding whether to buy him; that particular regard, Valerik was familiar with from many occasions in his past. He could not remember how often a potential buyer had inspected him. But Madryn's inspection lacked the cold-bloodedness of his previous owners. He tried to pin down the difference as he gnawed in ravenous hunger.
Then he had it. It seemed almost that Madryn might be trying to remember if-or when-she had seen him before.
But she had said nothing else as they ate at the side of a rushing stream…perhaps the same one in which Valerik had taken an inadvertent swim at the beginning of the hunt. He made good use of it once more, washing the mud and blood from his shivering body. He no longer had his fear to keep him warm, and the day had not fulfilled its early promise of warmth.
Madryn dragged out a handful of clothing from her saddlebag as he twisted a fine black cloth about his loins.
I can go now, milady, Valerik had growled, his head down as he sneaked brief glances through his lashes at her. If they catch us and…and find that you have helped me, it would go bad for you.
It would indeed. I know, was her reply, in a tone as unconcerned as if they had been discussing the weather. But I cannot allow you to go without clothes. You'll be picked up as an escaped slave at once, especially in nothing but a loincloth. Here, try this.
Valerik had tried to squeeze into a pair of her fine breeches, but they would not rise above his calves as he hopped on one foot, feeling as ridiculous as he knew he looked. He had quite made it into a flowing shirt of sheer linen-an instant before it split across the breadth of his shoulders.
At last, they both gave up the effort.
Well, you will just have to keep well-wrapped in my cloak, said Madryn with a shake of her head as she repacked her damaged belongings. There's an inn at the edge of the forest, where we'll stop for the night. We can no doubt find you something more suitable there.
After refilling a leather water bottle, Madryn had remounted the huge Daemon. Valerik stood below, looking up at her.
Well, come along, Madryn ordered with no little impatience. I don't want to sleep on the ground tonight. She held out a hand.
Valerik took it, scrambled up beside her, and they had ridden on through the rest of that day that had started out so strangely and had gotten even stranger, to arrive at sundown here at this busy inn on the edge of the forest.
~*~
A distant range of mountains rose up around the setting sun's shoulders like a misty cloak, as Madryn strode towards the stables on long booted legs, her shadow an inky mass before her. Daemon followed close behind her, though she had tossed his reins over his head when they'd dismounted. Valerik trailed behind, with the saddlebag over his shoulder and the cloak clutched tight around him. He eyed the courtyard and its surroundings curiously in the dimming light.
The inn consisted of a series of long, low buildings comprising two sides of a square, with the stables making a third side, and a log fence with the heavy gate being the fourth. The courtyard thus enclosed was churned by the passage of many feet and hooves, and there was the comfortable smell of hay and hard-ridden horses emanating from the several open stable doors.
A hostler shambled out from one such door, detoured around a pile of hay under an overhand, then tugged his forelock at the sight of the new arrivals. He offered them a friendly, gap-toothed grin of welcome.
Milady. Sir.
Take your best care of my horse, if you please. He's had a long day, said Madryn, a clinking sound coming from the heavy bag at her waist. She reached for the ends of the reins and tossed them to the hostler's outstretched hand, as though conveying some great honor upon him.
Valerik knew that the man was unused to such a politeness in an arriving guest; his more usual greetings consisted of kicks and blows, no doubt. He eyed the ridged scars about the hostler's bare neck-a former slave, marked forever by the wearing of the leather collar.
The bent and twisted man nodded in eager agreement as he stroked the great head that towered above his stunted frame. A beauty he is, milady, a beauty indeed, offered the man over his shoulder as he led the unresisting stallion away. We're a bit full up tonight, but I'll care for him like he was my own son, that I will.
Probably beats and starves his son, murmured Madryn sardonically as she and Valerik watched Daemon being led into the stables. Still, no danger of that for Daemon-he'd never allow such treatment. Come along, Valerik, let's see what they can offer us for our own supper.
Valerik stumbled along behind Madryn as she stalked towards the rough wooden double doors at the front of the inn; his bare feet sloshed in muddy puddles and he was too tired to make any comment, even if he'd thought of one. Just as they reached the broad double doors, they opened wide from the other side. A stout person of indeterminate gender, draped in voluminous shirt and baggy leggings, beamed at them from within the threshold.
Welcome to the Dancing Toad, my lady and gentleman, welcome indeed. Come out of the evening, I pray you. I am your host, Frague. Frague of the Toad, you see, ha ha. A joke of my old dad's, an' it please you, gentles. Frague of the Toad, ha ha. A burbling laugh rose up from an impressive belly, past a series of overlapping chins and out a wide red mouth. A pink tongue peeked coyly from within the redness.
Valerik followed Madryn and their host over the threshold and into the inn's taproom. A wave of solid sound hit him just before a rush of smelly steamy heat. He gazed in wonderment about a room packed to the age-darkened rafters, where each and every inhabitant was yelling at the same time for ale, for wine, for beer and food.
Madryn took the five paces across the uneven floorboards to reach the bar, a long stretch of wood polished and stained by years of tankard rings and leaning elbows. Frague followed her, rubbing his thick hands together and studiously ignoring Valerik's lack of boots on such a chilly evening.
Valerik could see that the new guests intrigued their host, from the gleam in Frague's eyes as he studied the obvious richness of the fur-lined cloak that Valerik clutched so close about him and contrasted it with the filthy bare feet that peeked out below its hem.
A cross-eyed barkeep stood on the other side of the long expanse of battered wood; one of his eyes was focused on the rag he was wielding with great skill between the many mugs and tankards that littered the ancient surface, the other watching the innkeeper with a questioning air.
We'd like some supper and a room for the night, Master Frague, said Madryn just as Valerik reached her side. And two tankards of ale, barkeep, if you please.
I greatly fear, milady, that we're all full up, said Frague. All full up, the Toad is tonight.
Two overflowing tankards appeared before them on the bar as if by magic. A coin appeared just as magically in Madryn's fingers, a thick bright silver coin that gleamed in the murky light. She laid it on the wooden surface, took one tankard and pushed the other towards Valerik, then turned to their host.
Quite full, Master Frague? she asked with a lazy grin, then took a sip of the rich amber liquid.
Valerik slurped a mouthful of the sharp ale and at once felt a glow begin to spread throughout his exhausted body, and much needed heat coursing through his veins.
Frague laughed his burbling laugh, his barrel-shaped belly shaking. Well, perhaps not quite filled up, to be sure, he replied as his eye took in the silver filigree of Madryn's sword hilt. He added the decoration to the thickness of the coin he had just seen and calculated to a nicety the value of her boots, the fineness of her jacket cloth, and the cost of the hint of lace that peeked out at her throat. Let me just see what I can do, while we find you and your friend some supper, shall we? Come, I'll show you to a private dining room.
Valerik drained the rest of his ale in four hefty swallows and set the empty tankard down on the bar. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he followed Madryn and their host through a door to the right of the bar. The door opened onto a hallway lined with many other doors, through one of which Frague gestured them into a snug small room with a round table and three chairs. A fire crackled cheerfully in the tiny grate, sending out waves of warmth and sparkling on a shiny pewter plate that sat in lone majesty on the snowy cloth.
This room was reserved, but the gentleman has not appeared. I'll send the potboy along with another setting and some dinner for you, promised Frague as he began maneuvers to remove his massive bulk back out the narrow door.
Master Frague? Madryn said before he could shut the door.
Milady? A faint crease appeared in the approximate middle of their host, the only sort of bow possible to such a stout and impressive figure.
My friend here has need of some new clothing. Thieves on the road…you understand, she waved a negligent hand, as if to say how common it was for her or indeed anyone at all to be traveling with a near naked man wrapped in a cloak.
Or mayhap the gentleman has left his breeches beside a bed somewhere? asked Frague, with a good-natured leer at Madryn and a wink to Valerik
Damn the man, thought Valerik-he gave a ghost of a grin as he considered his naked and scarred state-he thinks I'm some sort of traveling bedmate-for-hire. An uneasy memory of his former mistress, now deceased, ran across his mind with icy feet.>You are speaking of my friend, said Madryn, her tone frigid.
Certainly, milady. Of course, milady. Your pardon, I'm sure, sir and milady. No-offense-intended-and-none-taken, I hopes. I have a servant who is about the noble gentleman's size and will have something he can put to use, I do not doubt, until he reached his no-doubt fine estates. I'll send Radisin along with some clothes and your supper, just as soon as ever I can.
The door closed behind the flustered innkeeper.
Madryn gave Valerik a wry smile of relief as the latch snapped home.
Chapter Three
>Valerik slid the saddlebag under the table and dragged one of the chairs closer to the fire. He sank into it with an almost inaudible sigh of contentment and held out frozen hands to the blaze. The black cloak bunched about his broad shoulders.
Silence, broken only by the crackle of flames. He chanced a glance at his companion, wondering for the hundredth time that hectic day why she had risked her life for him.
Why are you helping me? Valerik jerked out at last, unable to put off the question any longer. He had been half expecting to be denounced as an escaped slave since they'd arrived at the Dancing Toad, and he still could not fully wrap his mind around his getaway from the hunt. And now this mad woman-for mad she was, he had decided-had called him, naked and filthy as he was, her friend. What was wrong with her? Had she no sense of the proprieties? No concept of the danger in assisting a slave escaped from the hunt?
Madryn unbuckled her swordbelt and hung it on the back of a chair, then settled herself into the third with a sigh of relief. She stared at Valerik for a long moment as she drummed long fingers on the linen cloth, and then said with a shrug, I don't like hunts, slave or animal. She cocked her head to one side and watched him from narrowed eyes.
You're the only one I've ever met who did not, then, except for the slaves-and no doubt the animals-themselves, Valerik replied gruffly. The trembling was lessening now, his cold hands warming at last. But he could not, would not believe Madryn. He had never met a noble he could, or would, trust. Another image of his late mistress rose in his mind…her bloody hands wielding a whip…her surprised eyes staring into his as the light of life died from them…her blackening tongue lolling from her slack mouth…
There are others who do not like it, I assure you, and not only slaves, Madryn continued, interrupting his reverie. But I have a more personal reason than most to disapprove.
Worried about the horses getting hurt? Valerik suggested with a faint sneer and a passing thought for Daemon. He remembered hearing nobles express concerns about their steeds, even as they rode down women and men, trampling them to lifeless pulp beneath galloping hooves.
A good enough reason, to be sure, said Madryn with a slow smile, as though she could see what was passing through his mind.
But not your reason? Valerik couldn't resist asking.
Madryn's eyes locked onto his. Valerik could see that hers, which he had thought gray, were shot through with the oddest tendrils of violet against the smoky background. I don't like to see people killed, she said at last. Yes, even slaves, as you were about to remark. I have been too close to my own death to enjoy the sight of it. Especially in the name of sport.
She thinks they were chasing me for sport, Valerik thought uneasily, tearing his eyes from her violet gaze. What will she say when she finds out why they were really after me? What will she do then, when she discovers the real reason I was on the run? What will she do, when she learns that I…she's staring at me, waiting for a reply…>At that moment, to Valerik's total if unexpressed relief, a discreet knock sounded, followed the next instant by the door opening. Dwarfing the doorframe, a tall man with wide shoulders and a broad chest stood balancing a cluttered tray on one meaty hand. Almost hidden behind him stood a skinny boy, drowned in layers of folded cloth, a massive boot dangling from either hand.
Supper, milady, rumbled the newcomer as he strode into the tiny room and set his tray down with a clash and clatter on a shelf against the wall. And th' master said as how you might be a wanting of some clothes for a largish sort of gentleman, so I brought these along. My name be Radisin, an it please you, and this here be Dimm.
Dimm was a skinny boy and from the look in his large, gentle eyes, his name was more descriptive than most. He pattered in behind his huge friend and stood like some animated clothes rack, boots held out in extended hands, one arm displaying a shirt in a rusty brown color, the other coarse but serviceable breeches of almost the same hue. A wide belt hung like a necklace around the boy's neck, stockings peeped coyly from a pocket, and a leather jerkin was tossed about his scrawny shoulders to drag with studied elegance on the floor behind him.
I hopes as how these poor clothes might do, milady and sir, said the waiter as he unloaded the tray of its burden of covered dishes exuding savory smells, and placed them on the linen tablecloth. Valerik smiled as his stomach gave a lurch of expected pleasure. The waiter, misinterpreting Valerik's expression, smiled himself and continued, I believes that I be close to the size of the gentleman, barring a hand of height or so. He continued uncovering platters and dishes, releasing from each one a tiny cloud of succulent steam.
Indeed, Radisin was not quite as tall as Valerik, but he was every bit as broad and more. The servant's bulk was composed, however, of equal parts flab and muscle and bone, as opposed to Valerik's sleek but heavily muscled build.
These will suit us very well, I thank you, said Madryn as she uncorked a bottle of wine and poured some of its contents into two mugs. Will this be enough for your trouble? Another silver coin appeared, to disappear as quickly.
Thank you, milady, thank you, Radisin bowed as he backed out of the room, dragging the now unburdened lad with him, broad smiles on both their faces. Someone will be along to fetch you when your room is ready.
Madryn rose and latched the door behind them. There, I thought a room might suddenly appear, she said as she returned to the table, and now perhaps we can have a bit of peace while we eat. Why don't you pull those clothes on and let's get something hot inside us?
Valerik seized the breeches, slid into them, pulled the shirt over his head and buttoned it close about his scarred neck, and was still but an instant later than she sitting down. He watched, his mouth full of hot juices, as she heaped his plate full of meat roasted with root vegetables and a huge hunk of bread, then pulled it and a mug of wine across the table.
I fear we cannot ask much of the house wine, but one must travel rough when traveling fast, Madryn murmured, and then gave a small grimace after her first sip.
Valerik had no such niceties. He tore into the food, finishing his second plateful before Madryn had gone through her first. Another bottle was opened and demolished and a third was undertaken before they both slid their chairs back with matching sighs of repletion. Not one word had been exchanged during the meal, and neither said a word as they sipped their wine.
Valerik looked at his rescuer from under lowered lids; now that his most pressing physical needs had been met, he was back to wondering about her plans for him. Perhaps it was her pleasure to help him escape, give him hope, and then turn him back over to his owner? It wouldn't surprise him; in his experience of nobles-admittedly not a vast one-they had such depravity of tastes. His late mistress, for one…
Madryn gazed with absent interest towards the fire. Valerik took full advantage of her distraction to examine her. A tall woman, lean and quick and wiry, with little sign of the softness he had noticed so often in the nobility and the very rich-though her dress and habits marked her clearly as both the one and the other. One of her hands lay upon the tabletop, clever brown fingers turning a tiny salt spoon over and under like a conjurer with a card. Short wisps of tawny hair escaped from a hasty braid and framed a bronzed face, with a long narrow nose and a high forehead. A faint scar jagged across her right temple, white against the brown skin.
Not a beautiful face, by any means, but it was saved from plainness by those eyes, those remarkable eyes with their violet streaks against the gray. They reminded Valerik of a sunset at the end of a stormy day.
The odd poetic image made him smile. He could not remember the last time he had smiled. It felt strange as it pulled on his weary face.
Yes, a strange feeling, he thought. But stranger by far was Madryn's reaction to his smile. Without his notice, so lost had he been in his thoughts, she had brought her distant gazed back from the fire, to find his eyes full upon her. He watched in amazement as her face paled, her eyes widened, and an expression darted through their violet depths that looked almost like-fear?
No. It was not fear, Valerik knew. He was familiar with that particular emotion; none better. What was it, then? Anger, perhaps?
No.
It was recognition.
Madryn jerked to her feet, rattling the empty dishes and knocking an empty bottle on its side. Valerik grabbed for it, caught it before it rolled off the table, and set it back up on its stubby base. He watched Madryn as she took the three short paces to the grate and kicked aimlessly at a dying log, her back to him. Her back, rigid and straight, spoke of her irritation.
My lady, Valerik began, uncertain as to how he'd offended her, but she interrupted with what sounded like anger, though she did not turn to face him.
Call me by my name, if you please. We must give no one reason to doubt that we are equal companions, else you'll be returned to your interrupted hunting expedition. Neither of us wish that, I believe?
Valerik nodded, realized that she could not see his response, and said in a low gruff voice, I do not. I have not thanked you for…all you have done for me. If we had been caught by the hunters, you'd have been in as much danger as I was.
Valerik paused at the image of this elegant woman in black, stripped naked and bleeding, running through the forest at his side with the hounds at both their backs.
To help a hunted slave was punishable by death. She knew that, he was sure. A cold chill ran over him.
As if she had seen what was in his mind instead of the fire that crackled before her eyes, and answering shudder ran through Madryn's body. She turned to face him at last, leaned back against the mantel. There was a crooked smile on her long mouth, but Valerik didn't think it had been there long.
Yes, not a pretty thought, is it? But the main thing is, what am I to do with you? Taking you with me would cause problems. Leaving you here could potentially bring about more. Master Frague has decided that I've picked you up somewhere as a bedmate, so to leave you here would draw his attention all the more, and to both of us. It's an interesting conundrum…that I believe I'll sleep on.
As if in answer to her words, there came a knock at the door. Valerik, after a nod from Madryn, unlatched it and flung it open.
My lady, Frague intoned, broad grin illuminating broader face, after much travail and endless trouble, I have managed to find you a room for the night If you are quite finished here, it would be my honor to take you to it, you and your gentleman.
We were just wondering, and hoping, that you'd be able to accommodate us, Master Frague, said Madryn as she buckled on her sword. Weren't we, Val?
Valerik felt a shock of pleased surprise go through him at the sound of his new name…so short, so clean, so…not a slave. Not daring to risk a word, he nodded in mute agreement and gathered up in one hand the cloak and his new boots and stockings, which he'd not bothered to don until his feet warmed. Seizing the saddlebag with his free hand, he followed Madryn and Frague out the door.
~*~
Here we are, my lady and sir, here we are, burbled Frague as his row of bellies and chins shook in some secret delight. A fine room-clean as a needle, as the ole ones say-with a bed big enough for…well, quite big enough for comfort, as I was about to say, milady, if you'll pardon me, I'm sure.
Valerik had followed Madryn and their host down a long corridor, out of the inn proper, across a damp covered porch and into an ell that had obviously been built at a somewhat later date than the rest of the inn. Several doors, heavily barred, lined a long passageway that smelled of apples and vinegar and beer. Frague stopped at the very last door on the right. A window, shuttered against the rain that had begun to fall with abandon, was the centerpiece of the end of the hallway, a length or two from their door. The candle in Frague's flabby hand threw intriguing shadows in the wisps of cold breeze that crept through the window's slotted shutters. Frague fumbled with a key, then flung open the door with the air of a conjurer presenting a dazzling trick.
The room was small. It contained only a low broad shelf on the far wall, piled with a feather bed and a covey of blankets and pillows; above the bed was another window, shuttered just as the one in the hallway. A rock fireplace occupied the wall to their left, doubtless the end wall of the building. To one side of the fireplace was a small alcove containing a bowl and pitcher on a stand. A candlestick of polished pewter, replete with a fresh fat candle, rested on the low mantelpiece beside a thick pottery jar with three dark red autumn roses, overblown and far past their prime. Two low chairs stood before the cheerful fire that crackled and muttered secrets to itself.
Those flowers cannot stay. Take them with you, please. And that window over the bed, Master Frague, said Madryn as she stood in the doorway, with a nod towards the shutters that creaked in the wind, what's on the other side?
Oh, never you fear, milady. There's naught out there but the forest, was the soothing reply. Naught but trees and such. This part of the inn was added on in my old dad's day, when we needed more storage. I thought as how you might like it better here, being quiet and all, away from the bar and the other rooms. There be nothing but barrels of ale and side of bacon and such like in the other rooms. The burly innkeeper waddled over to the mantel and scooped up the flowers, pot and all, into one meaty hand.
My thanks, Master Frague, said Madryn as she entered the room at last. Valerik watched in astonishment as she made a wide berth around the innkeeper and his burden of blooms.
Frague gave a nod for answer and shut the door on his way out. They could hear his heavy body stamping down the hallway away from their room.
Madryn sniffed. Cider turned to vinegar, she identified, and then grimaced. Valerik could smell nothing but the vanished roses. Still, that's far better than those damned flowers. I don't think this room has been used for much of anything for some time, do you? Definitely not for sleeping, at any rate. I suppose our host didn't want us to wake his other guests with our noisy carryings on. A crooked smile crossed her face, was gone in an instant. It's warm and dry, at any rate; neither of which we'd be, if we were out in that.
A draft swirled under the ill-fitting door. Valerik watched the shutter over the bed rattle and shake, and heard the one in the hallway give reply. The storm was gaining intensity.
He flung his boots down before the fire, set the saddlebag on a chair and pulled another chair in front of the door. Even as he did so, Madryn was climbing onto the bed shelf to unlatch the window shutter.
Fresh nails and new boards for this, and that right recently. But there're bars behind it-Damn it!-rusty and loose, thank the gods.
Valerik looked to see the cause of her curse. She was shaking a finger that showed a thin streak of blood.
Caught it on a nail, she said as she climbed back down from the bed. Val, see if you can get one of those bars loose, if you please?
Valerik climbed up in his turn, opened wide the shutters and seized a bar in both hands. With a series of soft grunts, he pulled first one, then another, then a third completely out of the old dry wood into which they were set. Then he carefully reinserted them into their shattered holes, so it looked to the casual observer that they were still firmly in place.
You're quite obviously a mind reader, was Madryn's comment as he clambered down. I'll take the first watch. You get some sleep.
Valerik opened his mouth to argue, but it turned into a yawn instead. He gave into it, stretching his long arms out to the side.
Yes, we're both tired, but I think you need sleep more than I just now, Madryn said as if he'd spoken.
Valerik didn't argue further. He picked up a blanket from the pile on the shelf and offered it to her, but Madryn shook her head. She took up her fur-lined cloak and settled into a chair before the fire, her face towards the door. Valerik shucked out of his so recently donned new breeches and shirt, laid them on the floor beside the bed, then lay down and huddled under a cocoon of blankets.
He watched Madryn's profile, outlined by the fire, as she stared into the dimness of the room, wondering. Who was she, where was she going, this strange woman who had decided to help him? His mind whirled with old thought and new feelings…feelings he had never dared to feel before. He knew he would not be able to sleep for a long time, tired though he was.
Moments later, he was lost in deep black slumber.
~*~
An instant later, so it seemed-though he knew it must be longer, by the depth that the fat candle had sunk in its pewter holder-someone was shaking him. Valerik sat up.
Listen, Madryn whispered, her mouth so close to his ear that he could feel her breath. Do you hear that?
He could. It came from outside the door, in the hallway…the hallway that Frague had said was seldom used. A slithering kind of noise, as if bodies were congregating in a silent, watchful mass. There…a tiny click of metal against metal.
Madryn pressed a dagger into Valerik's hand. He looked around the room, his eyes bleary from disturbed sleep. The fur-lined cloak was spread across the chair and a fresh log from the pile next to the fireplace lay on simmering coals. Madryn's tall boots were on the hearth, gleaming black against the cheerful orange light.
I heard it when I rose to put wood on the fire, Madryn breathed. Valerik suppressed a chill of excitement. Get dressed. If they're after you, we may have to go out the window.
She tiptoed on silent feet, sword in hand, to lay her ear against the wood of the door. Valerik struggled into his unaccustomed clothing, striving mightily for silence, and then followed her. He had no need to catch her sense of danger; he had his own. He held his ear against the battered wood, listening for his life.
Almost at once, a look of relief spread across the narrow brown face so close to his own. She nodded to Valerik, a grin on her long mouth.
Sorry, she murmured and gave a rueful laugh before flinging the door open.
A woman and a man, both dressed in rumpled finery, were wrapped around each other in the drafty hallway. Their lips locked together, hands struggling for purchase, they swayed and turned, now leaning on the wall, now standing free. The swish of the two thickly embroidered cloaks that muffled them was the sound that had alarmed Madryn. It was interrupted from time to time by a soft clink from the metal beads of the embroidery as the two clashed together in the midst of their frantic pawing.
Would you be kind enough to continue this in your own rooms? Madryn called out. She tapped the hilt of her sword against the doorjamb.
The two stumbled apart, quite obviously far gone in both wine and lust, and their dull eyes widened at the sight of the cold steel. They mumbled unintelligible phrases of apology about lost rooms and abandoned parties, then staggered back down the hallway.
Madryn slammed the door with unnecessary force and snapped the latch.
Get back in bed, she ordered, her tone thick with irritation.
Valerik was glad to comply. He watched from his mountain of blankets as she settled herself back in the chair, pulling her cloak tight about her and resting her stocking feet on the low table.
This time, he thought, I know I'll never get back to sleep.>An instant later, he was snoring.
~*~
Valerik was running, running in desperate fear from a pack of ravening wolves. The wolves had human faces and hands, and their howls sounded like children sobbing in the night. The faster he ran, the closer the wolves came, but if he slowed the slightest fraction they backed away, as if anxious to keep the same distance between them, to keep him in constant and ever burgeoning terror.
A tree, with a grinning evil face set deep in its gnarly trunk, snaked out a root and tried to trip him. He jumped over the twisty wood and ran on, followed by wicked whispering laughter.
Then, from the very ground beneath his feet, an abyss opened before him, flames leaping up from its depths to tower high into the empty ebony vault that was the starless sky. He skidded to a halt, grabbing for a handhold-but not soon enough. A despairing wail echoed from his throat as he tumbled down, down, down into flame-pierced darkness…
Valerik.
Someone was shaking him. A wolf, it must be a wolf that had followed him into the abyss and had him in its pale human hands.
Val. Wake up.
Valerik shook and slithered out of a pile of congealed blankets; they fell away like a shed cocoon. He seized the hand shaking him, gave a growl of mingled threat and fear.
A gasp of pain. A familiar voice.
Yesterday. The hunt. His escape.
Madryn.
Valerik released the hand as if it had burned him.
Sorry, he muttered, careful not to meet her eyes. Bad dream.
So it sounded, Madryn agreed as she shook her hand, already reddening from his grip. I must remember to leave you in the next one, if I don't want broken bones.
Valerik looked dazedly about the room. Madryn was sitting on the side of the shelf that contained the bedding, her cloak around her shoulders. The room had grown chill and damp, the fire faded to cold gray ashes, the pile of wood beside it exhausted. Valerik gave a mighty yawn, stretched his arms to the sides then looked up at the window. An ashen pasty light seeped through the cracks of the shutter.
Valerik sat up, his face inches from Madryn's. You let me sleep all night, he accused with a quick frown of embarrassment. You said you'd take the first watch.
Madryn was looking at him with an odd expression in her violet-shot eyes, a faint mocking grin on her long mouth. You need sleep far more than I did, she said at last, her voice little more than a whisper.
It was not what she had been thinking. Valerik didn't know how he knew that, but he did.
Madryn did not draw away from him; instead, her face was a mere hand's breadth from his, so close their breaths mingled. Valerik scowled to hide the feelings her closeness, her clean scent, aroused in him.
Feelings weren't the only thing Madryn aroused. Even with his mind still drugged and sluggish from slumber, his arms and legs aching from the efforts of yesterday's hunt, Valerik suddenly wanted her so fiercely that his body burned with the desire.
A noble, any noble, could do anything whatever with or to a slave, use a slave's body in any conceivable fashion. But for a slave to desire a freeborn, let alone a noble, and to act upon that desire, was punishable by death, death in any of its myriad forms, but usually slow and always painful.
Valerik shifted away from Madryn's warmth, felt the blankets sliding away and grabbed at them. Too late. They escaped his grasp, exposing the emblem of his desire throbbing just beside her hand where it lay on the traitorous blankets.
How flattering, said Madryn after a glance down; one eyebrow cocked upward. And quite impressive. Your mistress must have hated to send you to the hunt. What did you do to deserve it? Or is this not the best time to ask?
Valerik could feel the hot blood rushing to his face-though not enough of it to dampen his desire. Madryn sounded arrogant, amused, condescending-noble-indeed, much as his late mistress had sounded. He jerked the blankets back and slid as far away from her as he could, until the wall at his back stopped him.
What did I do to deserve the hunt? he asked, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. I broke my mistress's neck. Four days after she bought me from the arena. I was a gladiator.
And she thought, no doubt, that she could make an interesting bedslave of you? Tired of her pampered, scented boys and girls, eager for…stronger meat, shall we say? Well, she paid for her stupidity; unfortunately, you nearly did as well.
You knew the Lady Alysa Stormcloud? Valerik gasped in amazement at the apt description of his former owner.
Yes, indeed I do-did. And I thought that you must have been her possession, finding you where I did. Lady Alysa and I are-were-old acquaintances, and I can't say I'm sorry to hear of her untimely demise. I knew of her…tastes. And of how she treated her slaves.
So, I suppose you'll hand me over to be sent back, now that you know I murdered my mistress? Valerik held his breath as he awaited her reply.
Madryn eyed him, her head cocked to one side.
No. I won't, she said at last.
Why? he asked. He wasn't quite sure he could believe her, but a certain tension went out of his back and arms. Why, I was planning on knocking her down and running, he thought in some surprise. As though I could get far from those long legs…
>Why? Because you remind me of another…acquaintance of mine, one that I have not seen for a very long time.
Why? Valerik asked again, not sure he had heard her aright.
Why haven't I seen him? Because he's dead. And because he's dead, I don't think he'll mind if you borrow his name while we travel, especially since it's so similar to your own. I called him Val and I will call you the same-if you do not mind, that is. I'd like to find out why you remind me so much of him, you see, when you're really very little like him…very little at all, in fact. I'd like very much to find out why we've been thrown together, just now, just when I'm on my way to…
Madryn's voice died away. She eyed him with that familiar calculating expression in those violet-shot eyes.
She wants to ask me something.
Valerik waited, wondering what it could be, wondering if he would be able to offer an answer that suited her.
But the only thing she said was, Come, get dressed. It's time for our breakfast, Lord Valaren Starseeker.
Valerik gave a sour laugh at the name. Who'd believe that I'm a lord?
Everyone. If you do. So get up. That crooked grin crossed her face, was immediately gone. If you'll pardon the expression.
~*~
It was a glorious morning, a morning on which it was good to be alive. The sky had been washed to a cloudless azure by the previous night's storm, and there was less chill than the day before.
They had breakfasted well, and so had Daemon. The great stallion trotted forward as if their combined weight was no more than a feather on his broad back, his ebony coat gleaming, his tawny mane and tail brushed to a golden glory. The hostler had treated him well, and Valerik was glad to see it.
No, not Valerik. Val. Valaren Starseeker. Lord Valaren Starseeker.
Val turned his new name over and over in his mouth as they bounced along, his arms clasped loosely about Madryn's lean waist. The cloak, its furred lining far too hot for the warmth of this new day, was bundled under him as a kind of saddle.
Valaren Starseeker. There was something familiar about that name. Val thought he could remember hearing it before, but just where and when eluded him. But he did remember that there was something about the name, the man, that he did not like…
The new Valaren did not know where they were going. He did not know why Madryn had decided to rename him and take him with her. But she had done both, and at this particular moment, he could find no more to ask of the gods. The previous morning, he had been jerked from a restless sleep and cast out, naked and defenseless, to be run to his death by a pack of hounds and riders. This morning, he rode high above the muddy road on the back of a magnificent horse, with a mysterious woman…that his body insisted on wanting even as his mind shied away from the inherent danger in that forbidden desire.
Short tawny hairs escaped from the thick braid that dangled in front of Val's face and tickled his nose as they feathered across it in the breeze of Daemon's trot. Val laughed a most unaccustomed laugh, a deep rumble that rose through his chest and snorted out his broken nose. A smile broadened his already broad mouth.
What a disgustingly cheerful sound, snapped Madryn, her tone cross, her lack of sleep evidently catching up with her. It sounds like Daemon when he's drinking from a bucket.
Another snort of laughter echoed across the fields to either side of them. They had left the forest a few leagues back. The road, its snaking twisting turns behind it for a time, shot straight as a board through sodden farmland, stubbly with cut stalks of grain. Far in the distance, a faint line of misty uneven bumps proclaimed a range of hills.
Where are we going? Val asked after a time. His sense of well being still bubbled inside him as they trotted far above the road; it was all he could do to keep from climbing down to run alongside Daemon.
To Karleon, came Madryn's reply, followed by a most prodigious yawn. There we must find a ship bound for Lakazsh.
Why? asked Val agreeably, trying to stifle the tiny thrill that raced up his spine at Madryn's use of the word 'we'.
Because.
It was the only answer that he received to most of his questions for the next several days, even after they could see the gates to the bustling seaport of Karleon before them, tall masts piercing the azure sky.
But he was satisfied.
For now.
~*~
Does the one suspect the other? asked the soft dark voice.
A misty globe hovered in the air, suspended by nothingness as it floated over a deep brass bowl carved with arcane symbols. Deep inside the globe was a faint image of a great dark horse, two riders clinging to its back.
No. It is good, thus far. They are neither of them suspicious, save perhaps the…no. Neither of them. The answering voice was as cold as the starswept night sky that draped the open window behind the globe. When they reach Lakazsh, the comedy will begin. And soon after, our vengeance will come at last, dearest brother.
Good, said the darkness.
Very good indeed, agreed the cold.
A scream echoed up from the bowels of the high stone tower, in the topmost room of which floated the globe. The terrified sound ripped through the frigid air like a red-hot saber…then died out in a long, shuddering wail.
A dark chuckle.
A cold laugh.
Chapter Four
>Karleon was a shabby rabble of twisting streets and tumbledown buildings, all clustered about the aromatic and ancient port. It had once been a much more inviting city, from the looks of several of the old manor houses that lined some of the broad streets away from the docks. But time and lost trade had sapped its strength and energy, leeching from the glad city most of its blood and booty. Now it stood, alone, on the shores of the Bay of Imahz; a dying village that now, instead of mighty vessels, catered to single merchant ships or small fleets that stopped there for water and provender before heading to richer ports to unload silks and swords, spices and slaves.
Daemon snorted in complaint at the odorous waves half a league from the town, far before they reached the actual gates to the city. Madryn reached down to pat his midnight-hued head.
Tonight you will bathe in oats and fresh hay, she promised the great beast.
Daemon shook his head, as if the thoughts of such riches did not assuage the stink that rolled through the gates still so far from them.
Val trudged along beside Daemon. The gritty dust of the road rose in wavelike billows about him, settling into the folds of his clothes and itching like a horde of angry fleas. Or perhaps there were fleas, he thought. The inn where they'd spent the previous night had not been near the quality of the Dancing Toad. Val scratched his stubbly chin, his other hand loosely clasped around a stirrup, and spat into the ruddy dust. He had been amazed, eight days before, just after they'd left the Toad, when Madryn had suggested that he give Daemon a rest by walking. Amazed, not at her suggestion-after all, it was a logical one-but at the fact that she took turns with him in the walking.
Daemon was her horse. The very clothes on Val's back had been bought by her and given him by her, asking for nothing in return. And she seemed to forget, willfully ignore, the fact that he was an escaped slave-an escaped slave on the run for murdering his mistress.
Her forgetting made Val's part easier to play, and he realized at last that that was why she did it. He looked up at the long, black-clad expanse of Madryn on the back of the golden-maned horse. He had wondered for days whether or not he should explain more about how the murder of his mistress had come about. Anyone else…any other person in all the wide world…would have insisted on knowing all the details, every bit of information that he could supply.
Everyone else but Madryn, it was clear.
As he stretched his long legs to keep up with the swiftly walking horse, Val let himself remember that final scene with Lady Alysa. The spilled goblet of wine in a bloody pool on the polished wooden floor. The murdered slave boy, his face wearing that surprised look that sudden death sometimes brings. The laughing, sneering noblewoman, a dripping knife in one flabby hand, telling the others cowering before her that this clumsy slave would spill no more wine on her new boots.
Then the shocked look that had replaced the laughing sneer on Lady Alysa's evil face, twin expression to the one on the dead boy's, as Valerik's anger grew inside him and his hands encircled her dirty bejeweled neck…
No. Madryn had not asked him any questions. She did not seem interested in his past or his story…although there did seem to be something about him that she found fascinating. Val had surprised an odd expression on her face, time and time again…but she never asked him questions. He had spent a great deal of time pondering that expression and what it might entail, during the days and nights while they'd made their slow way towards Karleon, the nights in shabby inns or open fields.
It was curiosity, he was sure, that look he intercepted from time to time in her violet-gray eyes. Madryn was curious about him, though no question ever passed her lips. Curious…but it was more than that. She was expecting something from him, something he didn't have-or didn't know he had.
Val shook his head, unconsciously mimicking the quick shake that Daemon had just given.
At the top of a small rise, before the straight road sank down toward the gate, Madryn pulled back on the reins. In one fluid motion, she kicked her boots free of the stirrups and slid down to the dusty road beside Val. Daemon stopped at once, steady and still as a horse carved from obsidian-then shattered that image as he snatched a mouthful of the short, browning grass that grew in a damp ditch beside the road.
Val stepped back, squinted up and down the causeway from under one broad palm. They were alone. Behind them stretched the road they had followed so long, a snake twisting through farmland towards the forest he'd run through, misty in the dim distance. Ahead were the walls of the town, gap toothed with gates and towers. Even at this distance, he could tell that the gates were not in the best of repair.
Madryn took down the leather water bottle that hung from the pommel, and downed a hearty gulp before offering it to Val. He reached for it, his scarred hand brushing against her long brown fingers.
That instant of nearness, of touch, raced up his arm and across his shoulders; it was almost a pain, as if he'd laid his finger on a burning ember.
Ridiculous. He drank down the warm water in thirsty haste, feeling the blood that suffused his face, raced through his body, and pounded in his veins. He tried to ignore it, but he could almost hear the water hiss and sizzle as it spilled across his burning face.> This is becoming more and more of a problem, Val decided. He expected to feel grateful to Madryn; she had saved his life, after all. But he had not been prepared for this overpowering desire that a mere touch could engender. Sleeping near her-or worse, next to her-was a torment. A torment he could do nothing about, not even toss, turn or move away. No…he would lie there, close to her, smelling the scent of her hair, feeling the heat from that long lean body so close to him.>And burn.
We should be able to find you a decent blade here, said Madryn as she took the nearly empty bottle back from Val and shoved the cork deep inside it.
Blade? Had he heard right? He looked up, saw the silver tracery on the scabbard that dangled from Daemon's broad haunch. He traced that long hard length with a practice, experienced eye.
Madryn laughed. Yes, a blade. For you, Val. You can't go around without a sword…especially when you look at mine like you want to eat it. Besides, no one will believe you're a lord without a sword.
I'm not a lord.
Doesn't matter. As I've told you more than once, others will believe you are if you believe you are-and act as if you are, she reminded him. And I know you can handle a sword, gladiator. Far better than I, no doubt. Perhaps you'll give me some lessons?
Val nodded, struck dumb with surprise.
Excellent. So, let's climb on Daemon and see what we can find in Karleon, shall we?
~*~
The westernmost gate of the town of Karleon was guarded-if that was the proper word, since the shaky wooden gate was wide open and latched back against a leprous stone wall-by a worthy woman whose weight far surpassed the combination of both Daemon's passengers. A swarthy soul with a cheerful expression on her broad flat face, she sat at her ease under a ragged awning of scabrous animal hide. About her feet clustered a rabble of street urchins, gambling and squabbling, their voices as shrill as baby hawks in the steamy late autumn heat.
Ho, visitors! rumbled the guard from deep within her massive bosom. And not even on market day. This is an occasion. Lars, Kinda, lower the rope for old Accascia.
The rope to which she referred was a many-knotted swag of coarse leather, draped as an ephemeral barrier across the wide open gate, and tied in a loose knot around a leaning pillar. A skinny girl and an even skinnier boy, their bony bodies draped in picturesque rags, leaped up and raced to untie the barrier as Daemon ambled forward.
Welcome to Karleon, my lady and my lord, called the vast Accascia from her comfortable perch. May you enjoy your visit and stay for days, nay, weeks, as you taste the delights of Karleon.
Delights, mistress guardian? asked Madryn with a grin. And what might these delights be, pray? My friend and I are all agog to be informed.
Accascia rubbed a meaty hand across her broad face. To be perfectly honest, milady, the delights of our lovely village are somewhat limited, she admitted with a shrug and an answering grin.
But we can obtain passage to Lakazsh, can we not? Madryn asked.
To be sure, to be sure, said Accascia with a knowing air. There are ships aplenty, all willing to take you wherever you might wish to go, milady and sir. But a single word of warning, if I may make so bold?
Yes?
Stay away from the inn called the Sailor's Delight, on the Street of the Courtesans.
Val felt Madryn stiffen against him. And why might that be, she asked the gatekeeper.
Accascia laughed. Why, they'll try to take your companion away from you, milady, she replied. Such breadth of shoulder, such length of arm…why, his like is seldom seen in freeborn men. And he looks as if he'd make some lady a fine bedfellow on a cold night. But you would know that better than I, I vow. This last was uttered with a knowing wink and a wide leer.
Madryn laughed, surreptitiously kicking Val's leg where it touched hers, on the side of Daemon opposite the gatekeeper. Startled, Val managed a sickly laugh of his own.
How flattering, Mistress Accascia, he chanced, his heart in his throat but mindful of Madryn's advice that others would believe him free if he did so. I knew my size would have to be of benefit some day. Perhaps I can make enough to offset the cost of some new clothing. He looked down ruefully at his travel-stained gear.
Accascia rose onto thick legs and stamped forward, her face wreathed in a cheerful grin, her leather jerkin creaking at the sudden added strain. The urchins parted like waves before her flowing bulk. Indeed, sir, and I hope you will not take the words of a poor woman amiss. It was merely admiration of your proportions, if you take my meaning, sir, she said when she stood beside the greater bulk of Daemon, patting him appreciatively. One seldom sees such a fine figure of a man outside the arena or off the slave block in this town, you see, sir. Gentlemen of your prodigious proportions… she admired her phrase enough to repeat it, …prodigious proportions remain at court, no doubt, where their assets can be of more use to them.
They do indeed, agreed Madryn. She patted Val on one thick thigh-and Val felt a tingle run up his leg to his center. I thank the gods daily that the High Lord Valaren has agreed to accompany me, instead of spending his time at court with others of his ilk.
Accascia nodded in complete understanding, as if she too were some royal refugee. Only pray remember, milady and milord, she repeated, stay away from the Sailor's Delight. I have a cousin who runs a most reputable place, fit for such folk as you. It's near the docks-but not too near, if you catch my meaning-and it's called the Drunken Raven. You will receive the best of our local hospitality there, at the best of prices. And no questions asked, milady and lord.
Tell me, mistress, asked Val, emboldened by his success, how much do you receive for advising us of this most reputable place?
The gatekeeper beamed up at him. Why, sir, only a tiny bit, as a thanks, to be sure, she said.
Madryn laughed and shook her head at the portly woman, whose head was level with Daemon's belly. We shall certainly try it, then, she said. But our more important need just now is a blade for my friend here. Where can the finest blades in Karleon be found?
Accascia ruminated for a moment as the urchins surged around her. Swatting at them as if at flies, she cocked her tousled head to one side and replied at last, I have a nephew…
Somehow I thought you might.
A nephew who does a thriving trade in all sorts of steel, from Tollino rapiers to the wide, heavy blades from Varaganisshe. And strangely enough, he can be found just south of the Drunken Raven, in the Street of the Artificers.
What a coincidence, agreed Madryn, laughing. And this nephew's name?
Baragin. A most likely lad, and I'm sure he'll be able to provide you with just what you wish.
No doubt. Daemon shook his head and strained against the reins. My horse is anxious for his supper, Madryn continued. Our thanks for your assistance and advice, Mistress Accascia. A coin glinted in the air as it appeared between lean brown fingers. A flip, and it tumbled towards the burly gatekeeper. Accascia grabbed at it, but it slipped through her pudgy digits and tumbled into the dust of the road.
At once, a herd of shouting, whining children landed on the tiny bit of metal. As Daemon cantered down the dirty street, his riders could hear a diminishing tumult of angry voices, interspersed with the sounds of blows and slaps.
~*~
The Drunken Raven was a shabby place that reeked at low tide and promised to smell only faintly better at high. Composed of a single large chamber below, its upper floor was cut up into a maze of wandering corridors lined with meager rooms. But the gatekeeper had been right. It was cheap, relatively clean, and most important of all, no one bothered to ask anything of this newly arrived pair of travelers.
Val breathed a sigh of relief as the door to their musty room closed behind them. The strain of remembering all the myriad things that could give him away as a slave had begun to wear on him almost at once after they'd passed the gate.
Look people straight in the eye, not with head submissively downcast or through lowered lashes. Stand up proudly, head high, shoulders straight as a freeborn. Do not leap to do a service; wait to have it done. For all the practice that he'd done with Madryn on their travels, Val had never realized how difficult it was simply being free.
And he was beginning to suspect that it may well increase in difficulty instead of growing easier.
Well, said Madryn as she dried her freshly washed face on the grimy bit of cloth hanging over the washbasin. Not the most elegant of accommodations, but with any luck, we won't be here for long. A blade for you, passage for us both and Daemon, and we're shut of this filthy little village and the Drunken Raven as well. Are you ready for a trip to visit a certain nephew, Val?
Val nodded. He didn't trust his mouth to form discernable words. Madryn had removed her jacket; the thin silk of her undershirt stuck to her lean body and outlined her taut breasts in a way that sent the blood pounding in his veins. He wondered, and not for the first time, what Madryn thought of his obvious and unmistakable desire for her.
Did it excite her? Amuse her?
Did it disgust her?
Val?
Madryn had an amused look on her face. Val had returned from his momentary reverie to find her eyes on his flushed and burning face, her mouth stretched into its usual crooked grin. Embarrassed, he nodded, and then watched as she slid the saddlebag into a cupboard and shut its door. Rusty hinges gave a shriek of protest. Then, with a jingle of coins, she donned her jacket and strode to the door.
Let's find a blade, then see about passage.
~*~
The Street of the Artificers was a grand name for a muddy length of narrow passageway that stretched between shabby buildings, some inhabited, some gutted by fire or age, some looking as if they'd been abandoned to their fate far in the distant past. Rows of stalls lined the already too narrow path, providing little more that a winding corridor, open to the sky and clogged by humans and animals going in all directions.
Val watched in silent curiosity as Madryn made her careful way, nose buried against one arm, around a vendor with baskets of flowers, including roses of all hues. He followed her, remembering how she'd had Frague remove roses from their room at the Toad.
An exhibit of special squalor and despair greeted Val at one point on their journey down the twisting, humanity-laden pathway. On a platform set against a filthy, tumbledown heap of stones, slaves were linked one to the other with a single chain. Trails of dried and fresh blood leaked from the leather collars that were the badge of their caste; they were being offered for sale.
Slaves, best to be had, whined the slavemaster, his bored voice sounding as age-old and world-weary as the chant itself. Slaves for sale, finest in all the lands.
Val tried to fight down the cold chill that went through him as he passed the platform, even though he was sure that the scars from his own recently removed collar were not visible under his shirt and jerkin. Eyes drawn against his will, he cast a curious glance at the selection. A motley crew of dirty, scabby and flea-bitten wretches, the refuse of a dozen towns and villages, cast out or born to the life, or sold to pay their debts. A lone child, a scrawny thing of no determinate gender, watched with red-rimmed eyes the antics of a tiny monkey at the next stall.
Sir, called the slavemaster, his practiced eye seeing that Val's gaze had lingered a bit too long on his string of merchandise. May I interest your lordship in a slave? Someone to cook your food, to care for your attire, to provide for your needs?
No, Val snapped as he tried to hurry on. Madryn had almost disappeared into the crush in front of him. Then, thinking that the slavemaster gazed at him with a curious turn of the head, he paused and looked harder at the selection. No, he said, in firmer if politer tones, not today, I think. But I congratulate you on your selections; they are most impressive.
Most impressive, says the lord gentleman, repeated the slavemaster in a loud, singsong voice. Come one, come all, to see my most impressive selection of slaves, recommended by a gentleman and lord of the highest birth and quality.
A toothless slave, his collar loose about a scrawny, withered neck, offered Val a smile that looked like the entrance to a dark cave.
Val pushed his way forward to catch up with Madryn.
~*~
Madryn stood waiting for him at a storefront that was set back from the street, actually inside one of the scabrous buildings that lined the thoroughfare. The glitter of polished steel, bronze and copper gleamed from within the shadowy depths of the store.
Slave shopping, Val? Madryn asked.
Val gave her a sickly grin. An odd sensation, he whispered, sure she would not be able to make out his words.
But she did. I know the feeling, she replied cryptically.
Then she nodded toward the storefront. Above the entrance was emblazoned a sign, embroidered in dingy orange silk, which shouted 'Swords for the Discerning Buyer' in three languages and the runic glyphs of the sacerdotal saragins of Syercyh. Beneath the sign in sprawling letters the name 'Baragin' was gouged into the dry wood over the low doorway, by someone who had not made any use of the sharp blades whose images littered the outside walls. Each tilting letter looked as if it had been chewed into the ancient wood and stone.
This appears to be our destination, Madryn said as she studied the display for a time, then entered the open door.
Val followed close behind.
My lady and gentleman! called a high-pitched voice in dulcet tones. A reed-thin figure, dressed in trailing robes of clashing and particularly virulent shades of green and orange, swirled into view from the back of the shop, making a careful way between tables heaped with daggers. The inside walls were hidden beneath scabbards, some empty, some filled out with sword, rapier or saber.
How delicious to see such discerning folk on this dreary, depressing day, continued the figure in lisping, pleasant tones as it made its way towards them. It stopped, peered up through shortsighted eyes. Pray, what can I offer you that would match your elegant albeit distressingly monochromatic outfits?
The figure, in the somewhat brighter light near the door, was revealed to be a slight man with a face like a ferret. His tiny feet peeped coyly from beneath his silken robes, and wafting waves of heavy scent did little to hide an underlying odor of unwashed body. I am the unworthy Baragin, a poor purveyor of the finest steel in all Karleon. Are you in the market for a sword, a dagger, perhaps an axe or three? The man's words trickled and fell from his mouth like endless drops of water breaking the surface of a still pond. I have the best selection in a hundred league radius, as well as the best prices. Not, Baragin interrupted his flow, twisting his hands obsequiously, not, of course, that that would make any difference to customers such as you, certainly. You are, it is most obvious, well provided with more than your share of the riches of the world. This last was offered in a sad little voice that fairly seeped with unshed tears.
We need-that is, my companion needs a sword, Master Baragin, Madryn began, trying and failing to hold back a smile.
Well, of course he does, Baragin agreed, as if they argued the fact and he must convince them. Such a strong arm cannot do without an even stronger blade. A heavy and wide steel, I think, tempered with just the faintest touch of copper for strength, and a hilt wrapped in the finest leather and studded-studded, mind you-with nails of silver. Baragin gave Val a gentle shove with one unwashed finger toward an errant sunbeam that had managed somehow to find its way into the shop from the street outside. By your leave, my dear lord, but just allow me to measure your length of arm and breadth of shoulder. A professional such as my humble self would never deign to offer you anything that would not be of a correct and proper size and weight, naturally. Why, I have been the purveyor of the most desired and treasured blades for years, aye, and my father before me and his mother before him.
A strip of coarse linen, marked off in regular increments, appeared from under Baragin's grimy robe. Val good-naturedly allowed himself to be positioned by the meager shopkeeper in the brightest section of the shop. Slender dirty fingers handled the ribbon of measured linen as if it were a thing alive, whipping it across Val's shoulders and along his arm. These swift movements were accompanied by mystical mutterings, interspersed with cries of wonder and amazement.
Remarkable. Astounding. Incredible, chirped Baragin as he whirled and spun about, his scent thick in the cluttered, musty room. Madryn gave a disapproving sniff and stayed as far from the little man as she could.
At last, the measurements were done to the master's satisfaction. Baragin stood back, gazing in unabashed admiration at Val.
Sir, I think that I have the perfect weapon for you. Pray step to the back with me, so that you may see it and judge for yourself. Also, he added with a wink, there's a bit more room, so that you may swing the blade and give me your expert opinion as to its weight and heft. Sir, my lady. If you will follow your poor servant?
Val threaded his careful way past the multitude of obstructions in the shop, followed closely by Madryn. Their diminutive host twisted and turned, his flowing robes keeping clear of sharp and pointed metal by some familiar magic of its own.
The back door of the shop opened onto a wide, debris-littered alley that smelled of fish and garbage. Still, there was an open area just outside that was wide enough-just-to swing a sword.
The blade that Baragin had seized on his way, in a sleight-of-hand fashion that Val was barely able to notice, was a wide bladed beauty that glittered like silver in the sunlight. Its hilt felt comfortable in Val's grip, as welcoming as an old friend. He swung it with pleasure, happy to have a weapon to hold again. His days as a gladiator had been far from happy-what slave ever had happy days?-but there were some few pleasant memories. The studies in the vast, dim libraries, full of tomes on ancient and modern methods of fighting-for gladiators were the princes of slaves, all taught to read early in their training, to increase in yet another way their knowledge of mayhem and destruction. The daily training with every sort of weapon and with bare hands, the satisfaction to see abilities and knowledge grow day by day, the joy in remaining alive when others about you are dying, some by your own hand…these things had brought some small measure of pleasure.
Val cut at a pole that protruded from the side of the building, giving it a glancing blow that rang the steel in his hand like a bell. He nodded in satisfaction and grinned at Madryn.
It seems that you have made a sale, Master Baragin, said Madryn. How much for such a magnificent blade?
Thus, Baragin and Madryn entered into the time-honored bargaining phase of the transaction. Val continued to swing and turn with the blade, testing its strength and weight against his own. The murmur of offer and counter offer died away behind him as he gazed at the shining steel with admiration and a kind of gloating satisfaction. A slave would, could never be in possession of any kind of a blade, no matter how small, unless fighting in the arena for the entertainment of his or her betters. The sheer exhilaration of simply holding such a blade as this spread through Val like a drug, singing along his sinews, echoing through his muscles. The memory of feints and parries, cuts and thrusts, came back to his arms and shoulders, reoccurred to his dormant hands like the memory of old lovers.
Val, my dear?
Before he could stop it, Val felt his mouth fall open at the endearment. He turned, the sword forgotten in his hand. Baragin was grinning like a mouse at a heap of cheese, a pile of silver and gold coins in one dirty hand. Madryn was watching Val, her head cocked to one side, her long mouth quirked upward at one end.
Master Baragin has offered us both a new dagger, to finish the deal. Will you pick them out for us? I surrender to your greater knowledge.
Val tried, but could not remove the grin that he felt plastered across his mouth. He knew his eyes must be sparkling with delight.
Well, he thought. I'm supposed to be her friend, am I not? I'm supposed to be Lord Valaren Starseeker. Why don't I thank her properly for my gift?>Without further thought, Val ran over and scooped Madryn up into a hearty hug, his cheek pressed against hers, the sword hanging loose but not forgotten in one hand.
Baragin surveyed the two with satisfied eyes.
Val's face was smothered against Madryn's tawny hair. He could smell a faint scent that lingered there, a gentle reminder of fresh air and green grass in this odorous, slimy alley. The feel of her lean, firm body against his brought on that sudden and totally irresistible heat, the desire that he had been unable to control from the day he'd first met her.
But this time, for the first time, a joyous and remarkable thing occurred. Val felt and answering heat in the body pressed to his, heard a faint gasp of pleasure-or was it pain-from the mouth that was almost against his own. Was that Madryn's heart, pounding, sending tremors through both their frames, or was it his own?
Madryn gently disentangled herself. Her face was flushed, her violet-gray eyes narrowed.
I'm so glad you liked your present, Val, she murmured-in that arrogant, condescending tone that was icy water against his passion. But pray, let us get our daggers and be gone.
Chapter Five
>The rest of the day was strained and difficult for both Val and Madryn…until they were attacked that evening after supper.
The trip back through the crowded streets from Baragin's shop was strangely silent for both of them. Val spent the time wondering what Madryn must think of his clumsy, hasty way of thanking her; wondering if she were insulted at being touched so by a slave; embarrassed by his blatant desire for her. He had not…he had never intended to make it so obvious, so apparent.
And he had never expected, never dreamed to find that Madryn returned his desires, even in the slightest and most unconscious degree. Perhaps that was what had angered her? The silence that came over the two of them in Baragin's shop continued throughout the rest of the day, and even Val's pleasure in the shining sword that swung with such reassurance at his waist, the sturdy feel of the specially chosen dagger that rested in one boot, could not assuage his unease and his discomfort.
Would Madryn leave him now? Would she go on her way without him? She had made him no promises, had not even told him where she was going or if she would take him with her. But, a tiny voice whispered apprehensively in his mind, she had brought him so far already; surely she had some plan for him? What could she want with him; what possible use could an escaped slave be to her, a rich noblewoman? Why, Val knew very well, she could buy a dozen like him in the slave markets of any of the larger cities, could no doubt find one or two of his size even here, in a tiny backwater like Karleon.
Still, Madryn must have a plan for him. Val knew that must be so…no one took on the risks of traveling with someone like him, not without some sort of pressing agenda.
Val shook his head at his whirling thoughts. His only hope was that, whatever Madryn's plans for him, she would not change them now. He knew he would not be able to stand it if she left him here, alone. Oh, he could survive with no problem; he could steal enough food and a horse to get out of the city, and then become a mercenary to earn his bread. Living would be the least of his worries.
But living without Madryn would be impossible.
Val determined to ask her these and other questions, this very night. He had to find out, had to stop living with his heart in his throat, where it had taken up residence since the day he'd met her. Tonight, he would find out his future.
Val had just reached this point in his musings when they returned to the Drunken Raven.
Innkeeper? Madryn called as they entered through the heavy street door that hung from rope hinges. Val looked around. The taproom was filled with somber, silent women and men, all gazing into brimming mugs, none of whom paid them the slightest attention.
A curious incident in itself.
A massive woman with an uncanny resemblance to her cousin the gatekeeper stuck her head up through a hole in the floor, her mighty bulk nearly blocking this entrance to her cellar. The ladder on which she balanced gave a protesting shriek that shot across the quiet room like a moan from a damned soul.
Milady? Sir?
Do you serve food in this place?
No, indeed, milady, but there is a good eating place just a few paces down the street, run by my sister and her boy.
Damn, Madryn muttered under her breath. This entire village is one huge family.
My sister is a famous cook, and she'll be pleased to arrange a most delicious dinner for you and the gentleman, continued the innkeeper. Shall I send word to her to have it ready, say, sundown?
A silver coin winked into existence and was gone almost as quickly, caught between two tubby fingers. Val spared a passing thought to the abundance of silver. How much could Madryn carry in that single saddlebag? How long until her supply ran out?
Madryn turned to him. Her hooded eyes told him nothing, but her voice was cold. I'm going to the docks to see about a ship. Will you make sure Daemon is taken care of for me? I'll meet you at this eating place at sundown and we'll have supper.
Val nodded, but she had already disappeared without waiting for a reply.
Would the gentleman care for a drop of something wet? asked their landlady, who had finally managed to emerge from the depths of the cellar.
Val fingered the few coins that he had in his belt pouch, remembering when Madryn had tossed them to him the previous day. For incidentals, she'd said, then gave him a crooked smile. His heart had twisted within him at her tone, so like that which one would use to an equal. At once he had been filled with a desire that burnt into his vitals. Not just the desire for her, though that was the greatest part of it; a desire to be her equal.
But he wasn't. He never could be. And he didn't even have the satisfaction granted to some, the remembrance of being free. He had been born a slave.
Why do you treat me this way? Val had snapped. The words appeared of their own volition; he could not have dared to say them otherwise.
What way is that, Val? Madryn asked, her lean brown fingers unconsciously turning another coin.
You treat me…like a friend.
Ah, I see…it's that dislike of the nobility that eats at you? Am I not supposed to speak to you at all, then? Idiot! We're on the run, or had you forgotten? Sarcasm leaked from her voice. If I treat you like a slave, how far will we get?
Val had nodded once, an unreasoning anger roiling in his belly-not at her, but at her tone, at the impossible situation. Yes…but you surely don't have the need to treat me so in private. Why do you do it?
Madryn laughed, but this was not her usual soft, sardonic chuckle; this was sharp and bitter, more pain than pleasure. I beg your pardon; if I had known it bothered you so, I would never have dealt with you as an equal. I know how…irritating it can be, being treated above your station, she said, and her words were thick with hidden meaning. She turned and wandered towards the single window of their room, which looked over the water of the harbor. Her back was stiff and unrepentant.
Val followed as if drawn by some magic force; he watched her as she peered through the slatted shutter. A sea bird whistled outside, arguing with another over a piece of rotten fish.
Val felt very much like that piece of fish.
But it's not, Val said at last. You don't.
Madryn turned and looked into his pain-filled eyes. Her own softened. Not perhaps the clearest of statements-Did you ever have training as an oracle, by any chance?-but I think I can decipher your meaning. It's not irritating? I don't speak as if I'm far above your station?
No. Yes.
Madryn reached out one long finger and wrapped it around a lock of Val's hair. No longer shorn to the skin, it was beginning to curl over his broad forehead in thick auburn ringlets. He had contemplated cutting it, but remembered that lords and gentlemen cultivated their hair as they did their bodies.
Madryn gave the lock a gentle tug. You remind me of someone, Val, she said as she twisted the hair over her finger, staring at it instead of meeting his eyes. More and more each day…it's almost frightening how much. And you should have realized by now that I do not share the common opinions of my-class. So try to get over this feeling of inferiority, won't you? Although, grant you, it's far more pleasing that Val's-the first Val, you understand?
Was he arrogant and high-born? Val asked, trying to control the shaking in his voice.
The most arrogant and the highest born, she agreed with another bitter laugh.
Were those tears in her eyes?
There were times when I most willingly could have slapped his arrogant, beautiful face. But of course, I didn't dare.
Why? Val smiled, not believing that there was anything this woman would not dare.
Why? My dear Val, he'd have had me whipped to within an inch of my life, of course.
Her words were a blow to Val's belly that knocked all the air out of him. His view of the world gave a sudden, unexpected lurch.
Whipped you? Even to his own ears, Val's voice sounded strangled with disbelief.
Of course, Madryn replied, releasing the lock of hair as if it had grown hot under her fingers. It's what one does to one's slaves, is it not? Remember, Val. Slavery is not always something that is done to you. Some of us, poor fools that we are, seize the collar with sick joy and tighten it about our throats with our own hands.
Before Val could think of a reply, Madryn had turned and left the shabby room. She waited for him downstairs, and without another word, they had gone out to seek his blade.
And now she had left him alone again.
~*~
The trip to Daemon's stable residence was quickly accomplished. The huge horse was glad to see him, snuffling and snorting as Val reached up to rub his arched neck. Val checked to see that his water was fresh and his food plentiful before leaving Daemon to the competent hands of the stable attendants.
Now, the day stretched before him, empty until sundown. Val cast a quick look at the brassy sky. At least three more hours until his supper with Madryn. The town beckoned; he had never been alone, unattended, without a guard or an owner, in any town. He wandered away from the harbor, his sword slapping companionably against his thigh. It was a most enjoyable feeling, and did some small part in lessening the tight pain in his chest.
In the Street of the Courtesans, he garnered a great deal of attention from the boys and girls offering their bodies for rent. He eyed the merchandise spread out for display, noting here a full bosom, there a lean flank, as he strolled down the street, smiling at their calls. In his time as a gladiator, Val had been used as breeding stock, producing with carefully chosen females a series of sturdy children, none of which he had ever seen or held. He wondered in passing what the parents of these young ones felt at their profession; doubtless, they considered it just another way of earning bread in a hard world.
Shaking his head, Val turned a corner and escaped from the throng-filled street into a smaller, quieter side passage. At once the noise level, until now pounding against his head like thunder, lessened to a more manageable roar. Soon it was almost silent as he walked deeper into and along a dim alleyway.
At the far end, Val found his progress halted. The end of the alley was closed off with bars as thick as his wrist, flaking with rust and decades of collected grime. With a sigh, he turned to retrace his steps.
A tiny wind whirled scraps of rubbish into a funnel shape. A harsh rasping sound echoed in the stillness, like some great beast breathing.
Val felt an icy sense of danger race down his spine. He looked around, noticing for the first time that he was alone, and with no idea of where he was, or who-or what-might be sharing this filthy alley with him.
A high-pitched voice, like the plucking of tightly stretched gut strings, whispered in his ear.
Valaren Starseeker, it whined.>Val swallowed through a throat gone dry. Surely, he imagined that eerie voice, those words? Or did he really hear someone-something-called the name that he had appropriated?
Valaren Starseeker, whispered the voice once more, the faintest bit louder this time, but no more recognizably human. Valaren Starseeker.>Val snatched his sword from its scabbard, taking comfort from the sturdy hilt, the silver nails at first cold against his palm, the warming to match the heat of his hand.
Another cold wind caressed his cheek, lifted the straggling curls from his forehead.
Valaren Starseeker, hissed the whining voice. >Val looked about him. Dizzy, his head whirled; his feet were so far away, and suddenly were not able to support his weight. A smell rose about him, sharp and strange amid the simmering reek of alley, a spicy smell, dazzling and unknown.
Val watched in fatal fascination as the rough cobbled floor of the alley rose up to slap full against his face. He felt a trickle of blood begin to leak from his nose as his mind floated away.
~*~
Another slap rocked Val's head backward.
But cobbles or eerie winds or magical voices did not administer this particular slap. This one came from a most mortal and human hand, delivered with the utmost in enthusiasm and a certain glee.
Val opened bleared eyes and tried to settle his vision as it bounced and ricocheted from succeeding slaps. Before another could land, he lashed out with his own hand and seized a scrawny wrist, encircled it with his strong fingers.
He squeezed.
A mouse-like squeak ripped from a gap-toothed mouth. Your pardon, sire, said a small boy, his unwashed body nearly naked. I was only trying to wake you, indeed I was, sire my lord, afore the rats began to nibble on your toes.
Val sat up. He was still in that same alleyway littered with rubbish and thick with a rancid, musty smell. But beneath that smell common to all alleys, there lingered a sharper, stronger scent, bitter as blood, seductive as opium.
A dim fragment of memory twined tendrils through his dizzy mind. A voice, a strange whispering voice…an order, a command…
The memory was gone, blown away by the fresh air of his returning senses, dissipating even as he tried to grasp it. Gone. What had it been? What had it wanted of him? What…what had it ordered him to do?
Val struggled to his feet, one hand reaching out for purchase on the stone wall beside him. He saw with relief that his other hand was still firm about the handle of his new sword, and his dagger still rested securely in the top of his boot.
The boy who had been slapping him sat back on bony heels, his skinny body a collection of sticks covered in rags.
What did you see, boy? Val grated, leaning against the wall as a sudden dizziness threatened to drop him again.
Only you, sire, indeed, a lying here all alone, with the rats beginning to gather, said the boy, casting a nervous glance at Val's sword.
Nothing else?
No, sire, nothing else indeed. Well, barring a strange sound, like as it might have been a very big rat a scuttling away. There be some fearful big rats near the harbor, sire, concluded the boy, as if satisfied in his own mind what the odd sound must have been.
But Val was not convinced that it had been a rat, huge or otherwise. He jingled the coins in his belt pouch and watched as the boy's face lit up.
Indeed, sire, it was my pleasure to save you, but if you was a'wanting to offer me a reward, I won't say no, he said, a grin plastered across his dirty face.
Val dug out a small copper coin and tossed it to the boy, then shook himself once and walked from the alley.
The boy bit down with two of his remaining teeth on the coin. It was enough to buy bread for the whole family, he thought in satisfaction. Or enough to buy meat and ale for one.
The boy scampered toward the ale shop at the corner.
Chapter Six
>The sun was casting out its last faint rays in a net of gold as Val approached the cookshop where he was to meet Madryn. The crowds in the street had lessened from earlier in the day. It was that time when approaching nightfall had sent many of the weaker indoors, even as the predators who thrived on darkness rose from sleep and began their wanderings in the soon to be murky streets.
The cookshop blazed with light. Succulent smells drifted out the unglazed windows, to gather like clouds end and entice the passers-by.
Val paused outside the open doorway and stooped to peer inside. Not seeing Madryn's lean, black-clad figure inside, he looked up and down the street. He was still shaky from his encounter with…whatever had been in the alley.
What had happened while he had lain there, unconscious, in that dank and smelly abode? Why had no one, in this village that lived off thieving, stolen his weapons, his money, his boots, while he lay there helpless? These and other questions ran round and round his weary mind as he stood like some great bronze statue before the cookshop.
You must be starving, Val, a voice whispered in his ear.
Val jumped, bumped into an inoffensive burgher and sent him sprawling against a dirty stone wall.
Carefully, laughed Madryn as she helped the man to his feet and brushed him off. Your pardon, sir, but my friend hasn't eaten all day and he has a mighty appetite.
The man, quite small himself, looked with careful consideration at the height of Madryn, the breadth of Val, and the weapons of both, and decided that he had no complaint whatsoever in the matter. He offered a weak smile and scurried away, to disappear into the darkening street.
Come along and tell me about your day, Madryn said, taking Val's arm and leading him into the shop. Was Daemon well?
Val nodded as they stepped over the threshold.
Clamor and steamy smells rose like a wall before them. A narrow, deep room cluttered with tables large and small, the shop reached away into a dim distance towards a huge fireplace that belched out a pale gray smoke through and around its collection of pots and kettles and pans.
A tall young man came toward them through the crush, his dour face as white as uncooked dough. You are staying at the Raven and have ordered supper, he informed them in tones that showed he would brook no argument on the subject. Then, without waiting for a reply, he led them to a table set for two in a relatively quiet corner near the door.
Madryn unbuckled her swordbelt and hung it on an unoccupied chair, then settled into another with a sigh of relief. Sit down, Val. You look like you could use a bottle or two of wine. Her anger of earlier in the day had dissipated…or had it?
Val hung his sword beside hers and sat down. Should he tell her of his adventure in the alley, he wondered? Yes…of course…Val opened his mouth….
A harried boy, his apron stained with an archipelago of greasy spots, arrived at that instant with a deep tureen clasped to his hollow bosom. He set it down with solicitous care, then dashed off and returned with two wide shallow bowls, spoons, and a long loaf of brown bread on a tray.
Soup, the boy announced unnecessarily, dealing out the bowls and spoon and dishing up helpings of a savory liquid swimming with unrecognizable chunks of green and brown.
A sturdy woman, her face a reverse mirror image of the dour young man's, approached their table. Welcome, welcome, she sang, welcome, most honored guests. My sister gave orders that I was to treat you well, so ask for what you wish, I pray you.
This is an excellent beginning, madam, Madryn said around a mouthful of soup. A pair of bottles would not be amiss.
Our best wine, Leone, my son, trilled the woman as she danced away on cheerful feet.
The dour-faced young man trudged over with a dusty bottle and two mugs in his hands. He ripped a cork out as if it had done him an injury and poured both mugs to the brim, emptying the bottle in the process. Then he stamped away, the spent bottle hanging from one morose hand.
What strange coupling produced that most opposite of sons? mused Madryn as she tasted her wine.
Since Val had been wondering the same thing, he grinned weakly and shook his head at her echo of his own thoughts.
Too soon, the soup was finished. Val wiped his mouth on his hand, seized his mug and downed the contents with one huge gulp. The fiery wine coursed through his veins, adding strength to his weakened muscles, clearing his still-addled brain.
I was walking around the town earlier and… Val began, anxious to tell Madryn of the strange happenings in the alleyway.
And I have found us a ship to Lakazsh; it leaves tomorrow at noon, she interrupted. I'm…eager to be shut of this pestiferous place, and we need to get to Lakazsh before the yearly caravan leaves for the mountains. If we don't, we'll have to travel alone, and that's not the safest way to journey to the Janus Ridge.
Val nodded. While I was walking, he began again, I entered-
The harried boy reappeared with another tray, his return timed to coincide with the emptying of their soup bowls. Piling the dirty bowls on top of each other, he dealt out two plates already heaped with grilled fish and bread.
Madryn leaned closer to her plate and gave a suspicious sniff. She picked up a piece of fish that had fallen away from the bones and popped it into her mouth. Good, she mumbled. Do go on, Val. You were walking in town. And?
Val opened his mouth-then shut it. What could he tell her? The images were fading away even as he tried to grasp them. He remembered little more than awakening in the alley, a dirty boy slapping his face.
It's a strange town, he said at last.
Madryn nodded. Well, we won't be here much longer, and that's a relief. Eat your supper.
They exchanged no more words as the fish disappeared, followed by huge slabs of yellow pudding that tasted faintly of grapes.
At last, they were both replete and sleepy after too much food and wine. Val had almost managed to still the questions that still plagued him. He leaned back in his chair and gazed about the crowded room.
Madryn's hand locked onto his knee under the cover of the table. Val just managed not to jump; he also just managed not to let a silly smile spread across his face.
Those three, there at the table closest the door. I think they're watching us, she whispered, her lips barely moving.
Val glanced about the room again, his eyes moving idly as one who has dined too well and is interested in nothing. The three that Madryn pointed out-two men and a woman-were armed with swords and daggers. They sat, sipping from mugs, their eyes playing over the entire room.
Except for the table where sat Madryn and Val.
Yes, you're right, Val nodded, his voice loud as if he were far gone in drink. It's time for bed.
Madryn nodded and rose, shoving her chair back so hard that it bounced off the wall behind her. The resultant clatter, falling as it did in the midst of a momentary silence, brought heads turning toward them from all over the room.
Except for the heads of the three near the door.
Chapter Seven
>I believe it's time to return to the inn, don't you, Val?
Val groped for his swordbelt at Madryn's whisper; he watched as she rose to her feet and began to clumsily buckle her own belt.
The three at the table still did not glance their way.
Val buckled his belt and checked his boot dagger as Madryn tossed coins on the table to pay for their meal; then they made their way to the door.
The three who had been so carefully not watching them rose and followed them out the door. Outside, it was full dark, with a sickle moon riding high in a starry sky. For the moment, the street was empty. Val followed Madryn toward their inn.
There was a rush and a clatter behind them, just as they reached the mouth of an alleyway. Pale moonlight glinted on steel, on ruddy bronze, as a stern voice ordered Halt!
Val's sword sprang from its scabbard like a living thing; Madryn's was already out. Without words they maneuvered back-to-back, Val with a fleeting sense of surprise at her skill and knowledge. But he had no time to wonder long. A sliver of steel came flashing towards him; he flung up his sword to meet it. Sparks flew in the dim night. The clang and clash rang up and down the street, as from the shadows there sprang the watchers that always appear when trouble erupted.
Madryn parried the thrust of a slender blade with surprising skill, even as Val tore his eyes away and fought off an attack from a short woman who knew full well which side of a sword to grasp. A sighing gasp echoed behind him and he heard the sound of a body collapsing onto cobblestones.
Another filled the gap thus created, with another behind him, Val noted with quick glimpses over his shoulder. Then he had to give up watching Madryn as his own blade was engaged again and again. Strong blows, slashing at throat and belly, aiming for a kill instead of a crippling. This was no robber attack, meant to steal their coins and blades. Nor were they after an escaped slave, to take him back for vengeance. These people wished Val and Madryn dead.
Why?
The crowd grew; the townsfolk had not had such an entertainment in a long while. Val could feel Madryn's body behind him, her back pressed to his. He struck out, flinging away a blade seeking his throat, then yelled at her over his shoulder, Run!
To Val's surprise, the maddening woman laughed at him!
Not this time, Val. Madryn disposed of another attacker with a quick, vicious thrust. Then she shouted, Tax collectors!
At once, the gawking bystanders were transformed into a yelling mob. The three who had first attacked them, added to the other four that had been waiting in the alley, were overcome by a mass of club-wielding, rock-throwing, enraged and murderous townsfolk.
Now we run! Madryn shouted. Seizing Val's arm, she raced with him, twisting through the angry mass of people to the safety of their inn's front door.
The innkeeper was waiting for them. They shot inside and she slammed the door to, barring it with a stout board.
Panting, Madryn leaned against the wall, her tawny hair drooping about her sweaty face, her sleek leather boots spattered with mud and filth.
To Val, she had never been more desirable.
How did you know to shout that? he gasped.
A guess, she grinned. But a calculated one, in a village as poor as this.
~*~
Val patted Daemon's glossy neck and whispered soothing words into a twitching, upright ear. The two of them stood on the shore next to the quay. Tied to the ramshackle pier was the Atria, her stout, broad outline not looking particularly seaworthy to Val. But then, he'd never been to sea, so he didn't think he had much right to judge.
Daemon tamped one hoof in irritation; the sodden earth that coated the shore was stuck in his hooves and as he stamped, great clots of mud the color of dried blood flew in all directions.
Madryn stood on the spotless deck of the tubby craft. She was arguing with the captain, a small man with the widespread legs of a sailor. Up to now, Captain Zenobio had had little trouble understanding Madryn's speech, but he had suddenly lost the habit of it. He gabbled and shook his head as she held out a handful of silver coins.
This is the price we agreed upon, Captain, Madryn insisted. Half now, half when we reach Lakazsh.
The captain shook his head; it was wrapped in a colorful red cloth woven in the southern plains and traditionally worn by sailors. He spat over the side of his craft, his study legs braced for the waves that did not enter this peaceful harbor.
More, he said. The horse will take up valuable cargo room. Another three pieces of silver or you find another way.
Madryn shrugged and handed him another coin. The rest when we arrive, she said.
A stream of profanity gushed from the captain's mouth around stumps of teeth that resembled brown fence posts rotted from bad weather.
Val watched the bargaining continue as he thought back over the events of the previous evening.
~*~
The streets outside their inn were empty; they could see no one as they gazed down from the window in the corridor. No fallen warriors. No stricken saviors.
No one at all.
Why were they after us? Val looked at Madryn in the pale moonlight trickling in through the unshuttered window.
She shrugged. I don't know. She closed the shutter and latched it. Could have been a number of reasons.
Val took her arm and spun her around to face him. They were after me, of course, he said, not caring that his fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arm.
Madryn gave no sigh of pain, nor did she try to shake off his fierce grip. I don't think so. But even if they were, what could we do about it? Give you to them? That's not one of our options, Valaren.
Val looked up and down the corridor. All doors were closed. Even so, he lowered his voice to the merest whisper…though the intensity in that whisper was louder than if he'd shouted the words. I'm not Valaren, he said. I'm Valerik. An escaped slave. And if they catch you with me, we're both dead. I'm leaving tomorrow. Alone.
Could he leave her?
No. We're both leaving tomorrow. Madryn shook off his hands with an ease that surprised him, then strode towards their room at the end of the hallway. At the door, she paused, looking back at him. Well? Are you coming in? Or do you want to sleep out here?
Val looked at her, standing impatiently, one hand on the latch. An image of her naked body rose before him-stripped, whipped and cast out, to be hunted by a pack of ravenous hounds. A chill went through him at the very thought; a chill that had gone through him dozens, hundreds of times since they'd met and begun this strange journey together.
Damn the woman, he thought. When he wasn't burning for her, he was freezing for her. With a sharp bark of laughter at his thoughts, he followed Madryn into their room. She slammed the door behind him with unnecessary force.>Valerik, she said distinctly as she watched him unbuckle his belt, we are in this together. I need you. I need your help. I had hoped, at the beginning, that I would need no one's help, but I was wrong. Now I know I cannot…
Val paused in the act of unbuttoning his shirt. Cannot do what?
Madryn shook her head, wandered over to the tiny grate that held dying embers. She gave a vicious kick to a log, leaned against the mantel; her back was to Val. I'm going south to finish something I started long ago. I thought I could do it alone, but it appears I cannot. I need your help, she repeated. I can't tell you any more just now, but I need your help.
Val sat down in the room's only chair. Is that why you helped me, back in the forest?
Why else? Madryn shrugged.
Why else indeed, he thought. Why else would she have helped a slave? She had no doubt been on watch even then for someone whose aid she could enlist. Val was just the one who came along first. For a moment he allowed himself to sink to abysmal depths of despair, worse than he had felt when on the run for his life. Gone were the rosy dreams of Madryn helping him because she'd been drawn to him from the first. Foolish dreams, he had known from their outset, but they had proved irresistible. Like a drug, they had filled his mind with hope and comfort.
But now Val knew the truth. Madryn had used him, would continue to use him for as long as she needed him. Them she would cast him aside and go on with her life. What else could he have expected, really? He was a slave, after all.
Val, Madryn began.
He interrupted her, his voice harsh and unyielding It doesn't matter. I'll do all I can for you. If they catch us, I'll say I forced you to take me. You can say the same. They'll believe a noblewoman like you. He laughed. The ones who haven't seen you fight, at any rate.
Madryn turned to face him at last. There was a look in her eyes that Val had never seen before, a look he had never seen in anyone's eyes at all.
But Val's pain was too great at this moment to examine that look further. If he had, he might not have felt the way he was feeling now.
He might have shouted for joy.
Chapter Eight
>The good ship Atria wallowed like a cow in the rolling waves. Val's stomach surged in sympathy.
They had been at sea for six days and until today, his stomach had been a gentleman…although his dreams had not. Ever since his adventure in the alley, he had tossed and turned each night, caught up in powerful dreams, only to awaken each morning, tired and bleary-eyed. Strange images, confused and frightening but somehow oddly…familiar…haunted his sleeping mind; images he could not recall clearly when he awoke, save for flashes and shreds.
Val debated about telling Madryn of his dreams. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He had told her nothing about what had happened-what he thought had happened-to him in the alleyway at the time, and since then she'd been distracted and worried. Val had no desire to add to her anxiety. They had passed their days on board the small craft apart, avoiding each other as the gentle waves rolled the broad-beamed ship hypnotically from side to side.
But today the waves were enormous. The storm that had been brewing all morning was increasing in intensity, and Val's insides were reacting to the shifting, rolling deck. He held tight to the frayed rope that stretched down from the forestay sail as the stubby craft pitched, laboring to stay afloat in the heavy seas. The Atria was a two-masted galley, and Val tried to shut out the terrified cries of the galley slaves as they stood to their oars in the dank hold below.
Captain Zenobio shouted some unintelligible nautical term from his precarious position on the afterdeck. A brace of sailors sprang to the ropes, swarming up them like apes from the southern jungles. High above, in a position so elevated that Val's neck hurt every time he tried to look up at it, the crow's nest harbored a restless sailor with a spyglass growing from one eye.
They were in pirate waters. The captain had told Madryn and Val about the area the previous morning, before the seas had become so heavy. Pirates. Just what they needed. Val could almost feel the weight of a slave collar around his neck again. For if they were captured, they would either be held for ransom or enslaved. And who'd pay a ransom for him?
Val looked up as Madryn slithered down the afterdeck ladder and, seizing handholds where she could, made her slow way through the salt spray towards him. Stopping a length or two away, she shouted over the roaring winds, Captain says go below!
Val reached out for a fresh handhold while releasing the one he had-just at the worst possible time. A wave struck the slab-sided craft and rolled her sideways, immersing the larboard side almost to the gunwales in foaming salt water. Val, caught between handholds, grabbed frantically at the multitudes of hanging ropes that draped the ship. As if toying with him, they stayed just out of his grasp; he stumbled sideways, towards the low barrier that was his only protection from the raging seas. He tripped; fell to his knees, his mouth full of salt and fear. The sodden deck, awash knee-deep, offered no foothold and Val began an inexorable slither towards the waist-high railing.
A strong hand caught hold of Val's shirt and heaved him into a tangle of ropes that had come loose from the mainmast. He thrust his hands into the mass of rough hemp and wrapped lengths about both arms.
Graceful as ever, shouted Madryn into his ear. She held on with equal desperation beside him. A wave washed over their heads and, as if in answer to it, a moaning roar rose from below decks-where the galley slaves sat chained to their posts.
A crack like a cannon ball sounded over their heads. Val spat out a mouthful of seawater and looked up, expecting to see the mainmast come tumbling down onto their heads. It had indeed cracked in half, but it dangled, trapped and entangled by the huge canvas sails.
Around them, sailors clung to the woven ropes. One poor woman, her eyes starting from her head, was so entangled that a loop had encircled her neck, choking the life from her struggling body as others around her watched, helpless.
But surely the waves were dying down, their intensity lessening? Val would have prayed so, if he had known the names of any gods.
A slippery rope slid through Madryn's hand and she snatched at another. Unattached, it gave way as well, falling as limp as a lifeless snake. Val grabbed her by her silk shirt-it split with a sound like a rotten stick breaking in his hand. Her back was bare to the waist.
Val felt himself go cold, even though the sultry, stormy seas were warm. Crisscrossing Madryn's back were long scars, a sick pale white against her brown skin.
Val knew what made scars like those. He had a quite impressive collection on his own back. A lash. A whip, long leather strips interlaced with metal wires or bits of sharp bone, that would cut through the skin and bring blood from a single blow.
A shrill whistle sounded above them. From the still intact foremast, a shout: Land ho! Land, Cap'n!
Val gave a mighty jerk and pulled Madryn to him, her bare back hidden against his broad chest, one brawny arm around her waist, while the other held them both safe in the tangle of rope.
A wave rose up, up, higher than the broken mainmast, higher than any other wave they'd seen. It broke over the Atria, pouring its huge weight of water onto the frail craft.
But the Atria was made of far sterner stuff than she looked. She shivered like a dog bitten by a snake as the horrible weight cracked and split her aging timbers.
But she stayed afloat.
Val hugged Madryn tight, her hair plastered across his face. Against his straining arm, he could feel the quick but steady beat of her heart. She twisted in his grip and he was at once filled with the fear of losing her. He pulled her closer still, amazed that even now, even with their lives so close to what might be the end, he could feel a wild sort of thrill from her nearness. He threw a leg across her as well, just to increase that blessed contact. For now, for all the time that they might have left, he would have her for his own.
With a snap of cracking wood, the broken mainmast tore free from its entangling mass of sail. Val watched in hopeless fascination as it drifted down in a slow and stately fall from grace. It tumbled end over end.
And landed full atop Val and Madryn. A smothering mass of sodden and dripping canvas settled over them like a shroud. One splintered piece of spar cracked Val sharply over the head and he fell down, down into the waiting darkness.
Chapter Nine
>Lord Valaren Starseeker was the center of all eyes at Queen Ffania's levee. He stood by her majesty's side, as befitted her chief counselor, his tall and heavily muscled body draped in the finest and sheerest of silks, in the burgundy that he fancied above all others and that brightened his somewhat swarthy complexion. Lord Valaren's smooth, perfect face held a perpetual smile. Glints of snowy teeth were a reward for some lucky recipients, as his smile waxed and waned according to who stood before him.
Lord Valaren? said Queen Ffania in an undertone, leaning sideways in her cushioned throne and pulling on her counselor's elegant sleeve.
Majesty? Valaren bowed, the better to hear his queen's question.
That woman there, the tall one with the sword. That is Commander Madryn, is it not? The one who performed so well at the Rift forts?
Lord Valaren looked across the huge chamber, pretending to seek out the one who had gained the queen's attention-even though he had been eyeing her himself for some time. I believe that your majesty is, in this as in all things, correct, he said smoothly. She is a fine soldier, I have heard.
In need of a bit of appreciation from her queen, no doubt? asked Ffania as she looked down her long nose at the remaining nobles waiting to present themselves to her. Queen Ffania IX had begun holding these levees only recently, and a great bore she found them, too. Good soldiers are not always known for their wealth, hey? continued her majesty with a snort of laughter. And our throne is always in need of stalwart soldiers to protect us from our enemies. Have her brought to my private chambers tomorrow, just before the council meeting.
She will doubtless be honored, majesty, murmured Valaren, his head cocked to one side as he eyed the tawny-haired woman who stood across the huge room.
Commander Madryn was drinking a cup of wine, a sardonic smile on her long mouth as she watched the colorful masses swirl and sway before her.
I will have to get some of that arrogance out of her. Valaren gave a secret smile at the thought. He watched her tall, lean figure. Dressed in the midnight and gold of the queen's army, she looked like some somber stork caught amongst a swirl of cackling parrots.> Or at least show her how to hide it, his thoughts continued. >I've been thinking, you know, said Ffania, that I need a new captain for my personal guard. This woman might perhaps be a good choice. What think you, my lord?
Her record is impressive, agreed Valaren, his constant smile broadening. And she plays a good game of chess.
Ho, my lord, said her majesty roguishly, another of your conquests, is she? By my sword, you work quickly, sirrah. How long has she been at court, a sennight?
Valaren looked down at his queen. The smirk on her fleshy lips, the twinkle in her deep-set eyes, spoke volumes to a man who could read them.
You know, madam, that I cannot resist a good player, Lord Valaren said, his voice a caress that surpassed the one he stroked down his queen's plump arm. I hope to improve my own prowess, in hopes that one day I may offer you a worthy challenge.
Certainly you may try, yawned Ffania as the line crept forward. Her own abilities in the game of chess were legendary. One soft hand, stacked with glittering rings on each finger, slapped gently on the arm of her throne in time to the music that filled the vast room.
Lord Valaren sighed in satisfaction. His plans were beginning to come together. He shifted his position and gazed down the line of royal suppliants. His smile broadened. All of them, he thought with a secret smile, were potential tools.
~*~
Val?
Someone was calling his name.
Val?
Wait. Was that his name? Yes, of course it was. His name was Valaren. His closest acquaintances sometimes called him Val. So it was his name.
Satisfied, he tried to go back to sleep.
Val, can you hear me?
Now someone was shaking him, sending pulsating waves of agony through his head. Val opened his eyes, only to slam them shut again as piercing rays of blazing light cut into them like brittle knives. He heard a groan.
He realized it was his.
Val carefully cracked open an eye and peered through a tiny slit at the face that bent over him.
Madryn, her tawny hair stiff with salt and blood, her face scratched and bruised, looked down at him. A smile of relief and-was it joy?-raced across her face, then was gone before Val could fully decipher it.
Damn you, Val, Madryn whispered. I've been trying to wake you since sunrise.
Val shifted on his hard bed, irritated at Madryn. How dare she wake him without his express orders? And he had given no such orders, he knew. Well, she'd be sorry. He knew full well how to make her sorry for disobeying him.
Something pressed into his left buttock. It felt very much like a rock. Why were there rocks in his bed, he wondered idly? Shouldn't he be on his thick feather bed, with his dozens of pillows and the silken sheets?
Val opened his mouth to ask Madryn why there were rocks in his bed, and why his head was pounding so. Had he too much wine at dinner? Why had she allowed it, damn her?
Then his mouth shut with an audible snap.
Valerik. He was Valerik. Valerik the slave. Not Valaren the lord.
Then why did he remember being both?
Who was he?
Another groan issued from Val's mouth as Madryn eased his head up and fed him sips of brackish water.
Damn you, Val, she repeated in a shaky voice, I thought you dead. They had to pry your arms and legs from around me after we'd washed ashore.
Val struggled to sit up. At last, with Madryn's strong arms supporting him, he was able to look around him.
They were on a sandy shore and the sun was beaming down rays like copper swords. All around them lay the litter and debris of a shipwreck. Spars and ropes in Gordian knots. Barrels split and whole, lumber and bits of cargo. Women and men lying bloated and white, never to sail again, some with the chains of the galley slave still encircling their ankles. Others, passengers and crew alike, wandered amidst the wreckage, picking out useful articles, dragging split and sodden lumber to throw on a roaring fire down the beach.
Val took another sip of water, then shifted and squirmed.
There was a rock under his buttocks.
He lost consciousness again.
~*~
Madryn grinned across the table at Lord Valaren Starseeker.
Checkmate, my lord, she said as she moved her queen onto a red square.
Valaren leaned back in his cushioned armchair. His dark eyes sparkled in the candlelight. He grinned in return.
How did you learn to play chess so well, Commander? he asked as he reached for his silver goblet and took a sip of his favorite vintage.
Madryn laughed as she slid her own chair back from the small table inset with the chessboard of red and black marble squares. Her long legs sprawled across the thick rug that carpeted the small study, glossy black boots in sharp contrast to the multicolored embroidery. We don't have swords in our hands every second, my lord, she replied. There are weeks, months even, when we spend all our time practicing our strokes and playing games.
Nothing more than that? asked Valaren smoothly, his own smile answering hers, thick with hidden meaning.
Madryn looked at him, her violet-gray eyes narrowed. This man disturbed her, those eyes said. But he attracted her even more.
What else would we do, my lord? she asked, the smile gone from her narrow brown face. She sat up straighter in her hard chair.
Valaren nodded at her, watched as she twisted and turned her eyes away in discomfort. His power over her was growing day by day.
Good. This one would take all his powers.
He only hoped they would be enough.
~*~
Val awoke again and again that long and painful day, and each time his confusion was greater than before. His memories overlay and intermingled with those of another man, and he had great trouble, each time he awoke, deciphering just who and what he was.
He wanted to tell Madryn about his dreams. But she was in them, always; a part of every scene, every moment. Val had to find out what she felt for Lord Valaren Starseeker. He had to follow the dreams to the end…and hope that he would remain at the end.
At last Val awoke and stayed that way for some time, drinking tiny sips of water, wincing as each wave of pain shot through his battered head. By sunset he had recovered enough to walk a few steps, his muscles sore, his head still tender from the glancing blow it had received when the mainmast had broken free and landed atop them.
You saw it coming and threw your body over mine, Madryn told him as they paced slowly up and down the beach, Val's strength returning with every step. Not satisfied with saving my life once, you had to go and do it again. Now what am I to do with you?
Val looked over at her face, so near to his own. They were walking-stumbling, rather, in his condition, he thought wryly-back toward the fire that had been started from the ruins of the Atria. A savory smell wafted towards them…fish sizzling on heated stones.
Madryn looked straight ahead. Val examined her profile: straight nose, firm chin, high forehead, and amber hair in a thick braid down her back. She had taken a swim earlier, washed most of the grime and blood away.
Val's mind whirled in confusion. He looked at Madryn and saw another woman overlaying her, a faint ghost of a woman in midnight blue and gold, even as his odd and fragmented memories of Valaren Starseeker overlay those of the slave Valerik.
What had happened to him after that blow to his head? Why did he have memories of a man he'd never met? Were the dreams he'd been experiencing, ever since that strange confrontation in the alley in Karleon, now simply becoming more accessible?
Madryn, he began, hesitant, not sure if he could tell her about what was happening within his head, when the mast hit us-
And you saved my life? she interrupted with a sidelong grin. It split her profile most intriguingly from his viewpoint, and he was overcome with a brief but sharp memory of that smile in different days. He remembered her crooked grin across a table from him-from him? From Lord Valaren, surely?-after beating him at chess. It had been a hotly contested game, and Madryn had beaten him after hours of move and countermove.
But how could he remember something that had happened to another man? Had Lord Valaren Starseeker somehow come back, possessing a slave's mind as he had possessed their bodies in life? For Starseeker was dead, Val knew…
And Madryn had desired Lord Valaren Starseeker. Val was convinced of that, not only from things she had told him, but from fragments of that other man's memories that flashed like comets across his sleeping mind. Madryn had wanted him with a passion that matched the slave Valerik's for her. But Lord Valaren had not wanted her…not, at least, in that same way.
This too Val knew from the alien images that thronged in his mind, overlaying and intermingling with his own thoughts.
Why had Madryn, to Val the most incredible of women, wasted her passions on one such as Lord Valaren? How had Val gained these memories, memories of a man that he knew he never was, could never have been? Where had they come from? And what, in the names of all the gods whose names he did not know…what was he going to tell Madryn?
~*~
The dark voice gave a whinnying laugh. The storm was a bit much, was it not?
Cold answered with an invisible shrug. It was necessary. The meeting in the alleyway taught the part. Now the stage is set for the play to be acted.
The globe floated within a thin inky mist. Tendrils of the mist wavered and fought for position, twining and twisting together like disembodied fingers of Nibiat warriors. Deep within the floating globe there was the image of two tiny figures walking along a sandy shore, their arms draped about each other.
No suspicion as yet? asked the dark.
None in the least, assured cold.
You are too sure, it seems to me, replied dark in an ebony whine. We have waited long for our plans to come to fruition. It would be bad to lose our advantages now, when we are so close to our ultimate goal.
A frigid wind blew through the chamber, across rows of books bound in warty skin, around tall glass jars containing grinning heads. The gust rifled piles of papers on the top of a long desk, papers held secure with weights of lead-filled skulls.
Cold was laughing. We will obtain the final pieces to our puzzle, brother dear, promised cold, when the laugh had died away at last. What was found before shall be found again. And before all is lost forever.
Outside the tall stone tower, a sizzle and crack of lightning spat across a jet sky. Stars jostled against each other outside the open window, gathering to spy on the inhabitants of the round, sad room.
See that it is so, then, reminded the dark voice. I would have them suffer anew.
Suffering, after all, is our business, brother, agreed cold.
A stone lying on the windowsill cracked wide in the icy air and split into twin sections. One piece fell out the window, tumbling for long, slow instants before it reached the sere and arid soil, where nothing dared to grow.
Chapter Ten
>The stars spread over them in a canopy of glory. The sound of waves breaking on the shore was a soft and distant accompaniment to their words. Val and Madryn lay side by side on the warm sands, separated by an arm's length of sand, sheltered by a high jumble of rocks from a blazing fire and the remnants of survivors. Madryn was still, her breathing soft and gentle. Val twisted and turned, his face a mask of pain and confusion.
Five days had passed since the wreck of the Atria.
>Val enjoyed every moment of every one of those sun-drenched days. He ate his fill of shellfish and regained his strength, first walking and then running up and down the sandy shale. He spent every waking moment in Madryn's company, ignoring the others as he spoke with her, watched her walk and sit and eat; waiting for that crooked smile to light up her narrow face. On the third day, she taught him to swim, laughing at his mad antics and the clumsy paddling of his thick, strong arms.
But at night…at night, there were the dreams. The first night Val slept poorly, drifting in a daze far short of true sleep. But as his bruised and battered head began to heal, he slept…and the dreams began in earnest.
Each night, as soon as his eyes closed, Val found himself in the body and in the world of Lord Valaren Starseeker. He walked through marble palaces, he ate from golden plates, he slept in feather beds, and he dressed in silks and satin. It was a life that was at once familiar and utterly alien to Valerik the slave. He had all the things in his dreams that he had ever wanted.
And he hated it all. Lord Valaren was a cruel, arrogant man, full of his own importance, viciously belittling others. Anything that he could not control infuriated him; anyone who dared to cross him irritated him; and any who did not share his desires astonished him.
Madryn infuriated, irritated and astonished Lord Valaren. To a great extent, Val could understand the man's feelings; Madryn often had the same effect on him.
But not for the same reasons.
Val began to dread sleep, to hate the man whose mind he inhabited during the long reaches of the night.
How could Madryn have wanted a man like Valaren Starseeker?
~*~
Captain Zenobio had survived his ship and another was sure to be on its way, he told the other survivors each morning. The ship had the great good luck to weather the storm just long enough to wreck within sight-and reach-of the shore. The captain assured the remainder of his passengers and crew that they had landed just to the south of the city of Lakazsh. A messenger had been sent to the city on a hastily rigged raft, and it was only a matter of time, the captain kept repeating, before a ship arrived to take them the rest of the way.
Many of the passengers had survived the storm, as well as a good portion of the crew. The galley slaves, naturally, had perished, save for a pair who had managed to slip their emaciated ankles from the manacles that bound them to their stations.
But by the second day, Madryn had given up all hope of finding Daemon alive. The great black stallion had been housed under a temporary shelter on the afterdeck, tied down to prevent him from breaking a leg on the rolling, tossing ship. After the storm struck, no one had the time or the opportunity to check on his condition. The last time any of the survivors remembered seeing the horse was just before a huge wave broke over the stern.
Val hated to think of the stallion being gone. He offered his clumsy condolences to Madryn on the third day, laying a hand on her arm.
Madryn looked at him, her violet-gray eyes heavy with unshed tears.
Thank you, Val, she murmured.
Then she had spoken no more of Daemon.
~*~
A ship hove into view on the morning of the sixth day. Val awakened with the sunrise, tired and confused from his uneasy night spent as another man. He looked around at once for Madryn. She slept near him every night, within touching distance, often waking him for sips of water when his restless dreaming woke her. Once he'd had a fever raging through him, his body racked with chills; Madryn clung to him, the heat of her body soothing him in his pain.
But Madryn spoke little during the passing days. Her eyes were glued to the sea, or fixed with a calculating air on the rough, rocky cliffs that rose above their beach. Val could tell that she was counting the days left before the great yearly caravan left Lakazsh for the south; the caravan that she was determined to be a member of, at whatever cost.
So Val was very glad to see the rescue ship come into view. It was indeed the one promised by Captain Zenobio, and the survivors were loaded into the ship's boats and taken aboard before the sun was fully overhead.
Madryn and Val were in the last boat. Madryn's eyes were fixed on the shore behind them.
Val knew she still hoped for a glimpse of a huge black horse.
~*~
The trip from the wreck site took two days. Captain Zenobio was right again, his navigation skills as accurate as he'd promised. Late on the second day, the thickly settled shores of the trading capital of Lakazsh D'Nali came into view.
The city of Lakazsh, capital and main port of the mighty land, was as different from Karleon as it was possible for a city to be. Through its center, long broad streets paved with flat stones bisected the city into huge squares, thronged with elegant houses and tree-filled gardens. Near the bustling harbor, littered with ships, the streets were narrower, though still paved with the same wide block of gray stone. Nobles' carriages pulled by teams of matched horses shared road space with less elegant equipages hauling high-stacked piles of cargo to the great marketplace at the north end of the metropolis.
Madryn had been here before; it was evident. Val scrambled to keep up with her as she walked down a lane leading away from the harbor. They crossed streets, passed businesses, glanced at shops, and all the while Val thought how familiar was this city that he had never visited.
But he had visited it, he realized-only not as Valerik the slave. No, not he, but Lord Valaren Starseeker had once been a denizen of these teeming streets, these elegant houses.
Madryn paced on her long legs as if she were late for a most important appointment. Val kept up, though his equally long legs were soon aching, grown soft after their two lazy days at sea. He noted, with little surprise, that they were on their way to the southernmost gate in the city walls, the gate called Obsidian. Just outside Obsidian Gate, Val knew without quite knowing how, the caravan was gathered for its yearly trek to Rinidia and Catalafl, ending its journey at Zamorna in the foothills of the Janus Ridge, that range of mountains that faced and defended the barren icy wastes of the southernmost lands.
I'm not forcing you to go with me, you know, Val, Madryn told him the day before, as their rescue ship sailed into view of the vice-ridden harbor of Lakazsh. You've saved my life more than once. Anything I did for you, you've repaid. And this trip…is bound to be dangerous.
Val looked down at her clever brown fingers lying against the swollen wood of the ship. You told me once that you had need of me, he pointed out, looking away from those fingers and out toward the fast-approaching city. That cannot have changed, whatever I've done to help you. I won't leave you now.
No, he wouldn't…couldn't leave her now. Val had learned from his dreams many things about Lord Valaren Starseeker-and one important thing about himself. Living the life of a man used to commanding, Val realized that he had always had someone to give him orders. Now, when he at last had the chance, he would make his own decisions.
Madryn closed her fingers into a tight fist. I will see that you get enough gold to take you wherever you wish to go, she continued as if Val had not spoken. It will take some few days, as I lost most of what I had with me in the shipwreck. But it is the least that I can do. No one will look for an escaped slave here. You could set up as a merchant… or buy a gladiator school of your own.
No, Val laughed. The very idea was ludicrous. Not a gladiator school. Spare me that, at least.
Something else, then, Madryn insisted. I owe you.
If you feel you owe me…then tell me where you're going, and why.
I can't, Val, Madryn said with a helpless shrug. I can't.
You said before that you needed my help.
No. I see now that it's something that I must do, but-
Then, he interrupted, its something we both must do. I'm going.
Val tried to decipher the look that filled her eyes, before she hooded them and turned away.
He was sure he had seen that look before, but he could not remember where or when.
Chapter Eleven
>They were lucky. They had made it just in time. The caravan would be ready to leave in two days.
You cut your time very close, growled the caravan master as Val and Madryn walked beside him down the long line of wagons. Master Aubry's rust colored hair was tied into a multitude of plaits and shone with grease; his traveling robes were sleek and elegant, of the finest and thinnest silk, dyed in a blaze of contrasting colors. He strode along like a king, tossing comments to first one and then another of the travelers he passed, tapping all the while with the tip of a braided whip against the side of his bright red boots.
Madryn and Val matched Master Aubry pace for pace as he marched past the endless lines of horses and mules, camels and dromedaries, elephants and oxen, all staked out near the conveyances they would be dragging across the desert for the next four moons.
We're leaving at dawn, day after tomorrow, continued Master Aubry in his low, gruff voice. You have just time enough to arrange for horses or camels, but I seriously doubt that there are any decent ones left in the city. If you indeed cannot find any, perhaps there are some travelers that might have room for you in their carts. How far did you say you were going?
We didn't, said Madryn.
Well, you'll go until you decide to stop, no doubt, as others do, said the master as he stopped to flick his whip against the back of a sluggard slave.
Val winced at the sound the leather made against bare skin.
The cost to accompany the caravan is four gold pieces-each, continued Master Aubry.
Val watched as the master cast a faint, sneering glance from under his lashes at Madryn's fine but worn clothing, Val's nondescript attire, and their boots, all of which had seen better days.
Payable in advance, concluded the master.
That will present no problem, Master Aubry, Madryn agreed, but, as you so rightly point out, horses and pack animals may. Perhaps you, with your widespread connections, might be able to offer us some help?
Master Aubry shrugged noncommittally. It is possible. But the prices for what decent animals remain, at this late a date, may prove to be a bit steep.
Madryn nodded. Of course. But they do exist?
Almost anything can be had in Lakazsh, for enough coin, agreed the master.
Val cleared his throat, and the other two stopped to look at him. What reports of bandits this year, master? he asked.
A boy laden with a bale of cloth half his size scurried by, kicking up a cloud of gritty dust. A camel sneezed, showering all its neighbors with spittle.
Master Aubry eyed Val with the smallest possible increase in respect. He tapped one boot top with the tip of his whip. Bandits are always a problem, sir, the master admitted at last. Bandits or sand, which is thicker in the southern deserts, as the old saying has it. Why do you ask, lord?
Val shrugged and cast a quick glance at Madryn, to see if she had taken note of his sudden advancement rank, before continuing. Just that four gold coins is a large price to ask of two who can offer their swords to your own, no doubt, plentiful protection? he inquired innocently.
Master Aubry looked at his two companions with consideration in his squinting eyes. A tall lean woman, with an air of competence. A taller muscular man, with a face that looked as if it had had its fair share of disagreements. And both of them with swords that hung ready at hand, and that they treated with quiet familiarity.
An interesting idea, sir, said Master Aubry, rubbing his chin. Let us discuss it at my inn over supper, shall we?
~*~
The super was a long and wet one, floating on a sea of wine. Along with Val, Madryn and the Master, there were several other members of the caravan: stout merchants, sleek mercenaries and elegant nobles, all thrown together by their need or desire to travel south. Many bottles were broached, many bibulous reminiscences were shared, before the final toast was drunk and the revelers staggered off to their beds.
Val and Madryn wandered through the streets towards the minute caravanserai where they'd obtained a room. Already, there was a faint gleam in the eastern sky; morning was not far off.
Very good work indeed, Val, Madryn said, sidestepping a hooded figure huddled beside the roadway. I was worried I'd have to steal enough to pay our way. Now that you've found positions for us, I won't have to be bothered, nor wait for some money to be sent, either. It would never arrive in time.
Val gave a short bark of laughter at the image of Madryn as a burglar.
You may well laugh, sir, she agreed as they turned a corner. It's been so long since I stole anything that I'd probably be caught at once. I could hardly go to…to Zamora with a slave collar around my throat, now could I?
A tiny figure, unnoticed by either of them, paced them step for step, bare feet silent on the pavement.
No, agreed Val, you couldn't. But now you're a caravan guard, with your own tent and two horses and your way paid in full.
And so are you, Madryn said, giving the coins in her belt a rattle; they gave back a satisfying clink.
Madryn was just the faintest bit unsteady on her feet-the wine had been as potent as it had been plentiful.
You should be proud. You've got from escaped slave to guard in…in…well, in quite a short time.
The figure behind them stopped, as if considering the words just spoken, then followed them in continued silence.
Even I'm impressed, slurred Val, giving an answering clink of his own money pouch. After this, who knows what else I can become?
They wandered a bit further along the dark street.
Val? asked Madryn after a time.
Yes?
We're lost, aren't we?
I believe, Val said, trying to stifle a burp, that we are.
A rush of feet behind them pattered like rain across the cobblestones. An instant later, they were surrounded by an array of dark, dimly discernable figures. A glint of steel, the rattle of metal as daggers were drawn, then a soft voice said, Give us your money and we'll let you live.
Val, said Madryn, I do believe we're being robbed. There was no trace of drink in her voice or stance.
Instantly sober as well, Val jerked his own sword into view.
You said they were falling-down drunk, complained that same soft voice, pitched a bit higher this time.
They were, whined another squeaky voice. I've been following them all day.
Your money, and we'll leave you in peace, ordered the first voice, careful this time to pitch itself low and menacing.
Madryn's sword appeared beside Val's, shimmering in the faint reflected glow of the sickle moon overhead. The two could hear a low-voiced argument all about them, as they set back-to-back, swords held breast high.
What don't you understand about the term 'unarmed'?
I tell you, they were drunk.
We'll have to take their money by force, then.
Look at them. This voice was thick with dismay. Look at those swords!
Well, you've got a blade too…don't you?
A blade, certainly, and it's quite as long as my hand, you great fool!
Amazed, Val heard-and felt-Madryn laughing behind him.
Llar Zhan? she asked.
Val heard consternation all about them.
What did she say?
She called the name, you fool!
Tell the world, why don't you?
Well, it is the name, isn't it? And she did say it, didn't she?
Yes, you booby, but it's not for such as she to say, is it?
Aye, look at her sword. She's no Llar Zhan, that's apparent!
Madryn sheathed her sword. Strike a light, gentlemen and ladies, I pray you, she asked politely.
After some further bits of bickering, a lighted lantern appeared from beneath a shrouding cloth. Its dim rays were almost as bright as daylight in the dark street; they illuminated a band of ragged urchins, ranging in size from waist high to Val, on up to nearly Madryn's lanky height.
I thought so, Madryn laughed. Llar Zhan, for all the world. What inestimable luck. I had no idea that the ancient order had spread as far south as Lakazsh. Where's your master, children?
The tallest of the group puffed out his puny chest and replied, with the greatest dignity, We are not children. We are here to rob you and cast your lifeless bodies into the ditches, for the streetcleaners to find on the morrow.
Yes, I know, Madryn nodded. You sound most impressive, and I'm very frightened, I do assure you. But you're Llar Zhan and I'd be pleased to meet your master.
A rustle of discussion rose like crickets on the night air.
She knows of Llar Zhan!
Who in all the world does not, you great booby!
No one in Lakazsh, for starters.
Doesn't this mean we have to kill them?
Kill them with what?
Enough, said Madryn, as the bickering showed no sign of conclusion. Take us to your master. Now.
~*~
How good it is to meet an old student of the great Llar Zhan, said the soft-spoken gentleman; he smiled at her as at a long-lost friend, his white curls bouncing in glee. He pressed Madryn's hands between his own, then released them and offered a frail hand to Val.
Not at all, sir. It is an honor and a pleasure to be in your presence, lord, replied Madryn with a low bow. If I had known that Llar Zhan was here in Lakazsh, I would not have been so concerned about affording a place in the caravan.
Val and Madryn had followed the ragged gaggle of children to a flimsy old collection of sheds and shelters on the outskirts of town, just outside one of the minor gates. Val tried more than once to ask Madryn what was happening, but they traveled so quickly-and so quietly-that he could not manage it. Now here they were, in this shabby residence in the middle of a slum, with a man who acted as if he were a king-and a group of grimy children who treated him as combination of god and grandfather.
You need money for your passage, child? asked the old man, beaming at Madryn.
Val's mouth dropped open in astonishment.
Not now, sir, Madryn replied with a grateful nod. My companion has arranged for us to be guards with the caravan, so our most pressing needs are cared for. Allow me to introduce him to you, sir. Val-Valerik, sir. Val…this is Llar Zhan.
The old man gave a stately bow, his hand on his breast. The man's threadbare jerkin was tucked into dirty breeches, and a pair of toes showed through the tops of his short boots, but he acted as if he were doing Val a great honor by receiving him.
Val gave a clumsy bow in response, hoping his confusion didn't show on his face.
A vain hope, it appeared; Madryn shook her head at his expression, and then took pity on him. Forgive me, sir. I must explain these strange events to my friend.
Only if afterwards you both will honor us by sharing our breakfast, insisted the elderly gentleman.
It will delight us, sir. Madryn took Val by the arm and led him outside the musty shack.
Who are these people? Val asked as they settled on a dusty pair of stone steps that led upward to nowhere.
In the distant past, there really was a Llar Zhan, it has been said, began Madryn.
But you called him-
I know, Madryn held up a hand, clearly outlined in the ever-brightening light of morn. I said that the old man's name is Llar Zhan. It is; he is Llar Zhan…in a manner of speaking. He may well be the hundredth, or the thousandth, of that name. And there may well be dozens more of the same name spread about the lands. Llar Zhan is the name given to a master thief, one who takes on children to teach them that time-honored trade. Some instructors are better than others, naturally, but all of them are offered the greatest of respect and admiration by their students.
And they're all called Llar Zhan?
Every one, Madryn nodded. The one who taught me was so old he had forgotten his original name.
Val couldn't be sure if it was the residue of last night's wine, or this new information, that made his head feel as it did. Then you were once a thief?
Of course I was a thief, Madryn said, as if it were the most expected of occupations. Among other things, of course. Where did you think I got my money?
Val shook his head. I thought you were a noble, rich, powerful…
And now? Now that you've found out I was once a thief? Does that change your opinion of me?
Yes, it does.
Madryn's face fell.
It increases my estimation…if that was possible. After all, anyone can be born with money. It takes talent to steal it.
Much more than you may realize, Madryn said, relieved. It's a pity you were born a slave, Val. You'd have been a damned good thief.
Thank you, he said, well aware of the compliment he'd just received.
A covey of children descended upon them, all yelling at the tops of high-pitched voices.
I believe, Val, that we're summoned for breakfast.
~*~
Of course, you must have a servant on your journey, said Llar Zhan as the children removed empty plates and bottles with a loud clatter and a distressing resumption of their eternal squabbling.
I think not, sir, Madryn replied. We travel as caravan guards, you see. Our meals will be provided by the caravan master's cooks, and we have few possessions save our swords. Added to that, I'm afraid we have no money to pay a servant.
But nonetheless, you will have one, said Llar Zhan, a twinkle in his pale blue eyes. And I believe I have the perfect choice for your needs. Garet!
A short skinny boy, his face as dirty as it was possible for a face to be, scampered up and squatted on bony haunches before the old man.
Sir? the boy inquired, grinning politely at Madryn as to a fellow initiate, and casting a faint sneer in Val's direction, as to one undeserving of notice.
I believe I heard you say that you were wishing for a bit of travel, to broaden your knowledge, my son? said Llar Zhan in his tremulous old man's voice. Now, what about a visit to Zamorna? That may well be the perfect thing for you, do you not agree?
Garet set his face in a mask of solemn consideration, careful to keep his delight from showing. He stroked his nose with a filthy forefinger, and then nodded. It might be quite bearable, lord. There was a thoughtful look hidden under the dirt on his face. The mistress needs someone to look out for her, if she insists on traveling with that. Garet pointed with utter disdain at Val's broad chest.
Then it is settled, said Llar Zhan with a smile.
You understand, do you not, Master Garet, that we cannot pay you? Madryn asked.
Val wondered why she was even considering taking this worthless boy with them. Of what possible use could he be on their journey? Of course, if he knew where they were going, he decided ruefully, he might think otherwise.
Garet gave a regal nod, as if he were receiving some worthy gift from a rival potentate. Payment is an important consideration in all things, as we well know, mistress, he pointed out solemnly, but often it is not the prime one. I will accompany you, I think.
Thus it was settled. Val still could not determine why Madryn agreed to it, but there was no time for questions, either that day or the next.
The caravan was readying to leave for Zamorna.
Chapter Twelve
>The yearly caravan to Zamorna and the Janus Ridge was a long, wandering, uneven line that stretched across the savage desert. Far above the long train of horses and cattle and people, a flying wheel of vultures circled endlessly. Occasionally, one great bird would spiral downward with a squawk and a flutter of dusty wings, searching for a tasty tidbit in the rubbish discarded by the travelers, or examining with a calculating eye the health of the straining pack animals.
Val shifted in his saddle and peered ahead, both hands cupped around his eyes to keep out the vicious glare of the sun. He had a cloth wrapped around his face; it was gritty with sand and smelled musty and tired. He suspected he smelled the same.
They had been on the trail for seven days-seven endless, sweltering, boring, savage days, bracketed by hot dry nights.
Val saw Madryn cantering towards him on her borrowed roan gelding. Her narrow brown face, even browner now, looked foreign to him under her tightly bound turban. The flowing robes they both wore for protection from the heat swirled about her as she pulled her horse to a halt beside Val.
Another twelve leagues to the next watering hold, or so Garet says, she said with a wry grin, her teeth dazzling in her bronzed face.
Val was glad to see that smile. Madryn had managed few of them lately. More than once he'd caught her looking at him, an unexplainable something-was it fear?-hidden deep in her expression.
Why Garet would know, I cannot understand, Val shook his head, but returned her grin with one of his own. He'd never left Lakazsh, by his own admission. How could he possibly know where any of the waterholes are, for all his pretense of knowledge?
Yes, agreed Madryn. Especially when he spends all his time at the cook wagon, cadging treats.
Back in Lakazsh, when Llar Zhan had wished Garet upon them, Val had been against taking the boy on the dangerous journey-especially since he had no idea what their actual goal might be. A scrawny boy of indeterminate age, Garet was supposed to be making himself useful to them by brewing their morning tea, and setting up and striking their tents. Instead, Garet did no more than he had to, although he had proved useful at providing their meals, both plentiful and on time. Garet had a more than decided respect for his own belly, and Val and Madryn received the benefits of that love.
Val slumped in the saddle, tired from his long string of near sleepless nights. Madryn rode alongside him for a while, her violet-gray eyes gleaming like precious stones from the dirty setting of her face. They were both tired from the arduous journey, but Val knew he was approaching exhaustion.
The dreams…the dreams of being another man, had not left him. In fact, they had grown in power and detail; what little sleep he was able to snatch tormented him.
But his waking hours were another thing. Ever since Madryn had introduced him to Llar Zhan as 'Valerik' instead of 'Val', he had noticed that her attitude toward him had undergone a subtle change. Perhaps it had actually been an ongoing process-he did not know, had no way of knowing. But Madryn now regarded him, he thought, as less a representation of someone else…and more a person in his own right. She spoke to him as an equal, instead of giving orders and waiting for his obedience. In the evenings, after the caravan had settled in for its short hours of rest-for they began each morning well before sunrise, and rested in the heat of the day-Madryn sat beside him at their tiny campfire amidst all the myriad other fires. She talked sometimes of her life before she'd met him, of her time with Llar Zhan, of her enlistment in the queen's army. Once, on their third night out, she had even spoken briefly of Lord Valaren Starseeker…
I'll ride on ahead, see if there are any signs of water, Madryn said, interrupting Val's reverie. Her rangy gelding pranced and swerved and she tightened her hands on the reins, controlling him with unconscious grace.
Val nodded. See you at supper, he called as Madryn cantered off.
~*~
The night was beautiful, as only desert nights could be, the stars a canopy over their heads and the sands warm beneath them. Garet had disappeared, doubtless dozed off already in some more comfortable spot, beside some more inviting fire. Val could picture the boy curled up like a cat in his pile of blankets, his shaven head, bristly with new growth, pillowed on one scrawny but fattening arm.
Madryn had insisted that Garet wash and groom himself before she'd accept him as their servant. The boy had protested loudly, but Val could tell it was a halfhearted effort. Though the boy complained regularly, Val knew he had enjoyed the bath and having his head shaved.
The quiet and stillness was soothing after a day of constant riding. Val sighed, wishing he could enjoy it longer. But soon enough would come the night and the disturbing dreams that awaited him…
Tired? I am. Madryn echoed his sigh. She lay close to him, sprawled on a blanket spread over the warm sand. Val could feel the heat that radiated from one long leg, so near was it to his own naked limb. For an instant he wanted to tell her about his dreams, recount to her the stories he saw when his eyes closed, as her how true they might be.
But he didn't dare. He had found out too much about Madryn and Lord Valaren in those misty shores on the other side of sleep. Knowledge he found more and more difficult to hide each passing day…knowledge he hoped was not true.
Long day, Val said at last.
Silence. A shooting star streaked across the sooty sky.
Val…we need to talk about…about where I have to go. I must leave soon, and I don't want you to follow me, Madryn said, the words tumbling out, jerky and discordant.
Val felt a chill dancing across his arms; the hairs rose in protest. He did not want to hear another word. He did not want anything to break into this odd bliss that he was feeling, exhausted and disturbed though he was. He wanted to go on forever, crossing a desert that never ended, Madryn riding at his side by day, sleeping close enough for him to feel the heat of her body at night. It was all he wanted, all he would ever want. Even the dreams were a small price to pay.
No use, he thought. I'll never have what I want.>Tell me, Val said.
Another falling star bisected the heavens, falling to a dim death from its brethren on high.
Val wondered if it was feeling the same things he was feeling now.
Valaren Starseeker is dead because of me-or I thought he was, at any rate, Madryn said, her voice as bitter and bleak as the desert that surrounded them. I heard that…he was not as dead as I'd thought. I was on my way to discover the truth when you appeared before me in the forest that day.
How did he die? Val asked, though he knew the answer. He had seen it acted out in all its gory horror, a dozen times in his dreams…
Chapter Thirteen
>Madryn looked at the man who lay sleeping beside her in the desert sands.
Val had dropped off almost as soon as they had finished speaking, too tired to remain awake. She was worried about him. Even more, she wondered about her feelings for this escaped slave, and especially now, after she told him some of the things she had done. Told him of Valaren Starseeker and the struggles she had undergone, resisting that strange and evil lord's domination, fighting his uncanny powers.
The heat that the sands collected by day emanated at night through their blankets, making all but the lightest covering almost unbearable. Val's long, hard body was nearly naked, the clothes he wore during the day piled as a pillow beneath his head. The twist of rag about his loins reminded her irresistibly of the day that she'd first met him.
Madryn turned and propped herself on one elbow, watching him sleep. She often watched him, wondering what dreams destroyed his rest…what memories of blood and death visited him when sleep fell across his eyes.
One burly hand twitched, as if grasping for something that remained stubbornly out of reach. Val's chest, crisscrossed with scars, rose and fell now quicker, now slower, in time with his ofttimes uneasy breathing. His dark reddish hair, shorn close when she had first met him, now fell in loose curls that framed his rugged face. One errant lock lay across his high forehead, and Madryn itched to brush it back.
Any excuse to touch him, she thought with a wry grin. Any excuse at all. >It had been the same with Valaren, too, and from the first time that she had met him. That overpowering desire to touch him, be near him, had been almost impossible to overcome.
But Madryn had been forced to overcome her desire for Valaren. She'd had no other choice-just as she had no choice now. No matter how much she wanted this man who lay twitching and moaning before her, Madryn knew she couldn't have Val.
Not if she wanted him to go on living.
Val moaned again, and Madryn's hand was on its way towards his forehead before she knew it had moved. She smiled again at her actions; then she allowed a finger-one single finger; surely there could be no harm in that-to linger just above Val's face. That finger traced the pattern of his lips through the air above them, brushed across the tip of his crooked nose, doubtless broken in one of the countless battles in his past.
But her battles were many, as well. And they had scarred her too…though not all her scars were as visible.
Madryn pulled her hand back, against her own will, against a desire that filled her with longing-a longing that, she knew, could only be assuaged by the muscular body that sprawled before her, so warm, so inviting.
So helpless.
Helpless.
She wouldn't do it, not again. Never again. She'd not go through what little life that might remain her with Val's unhappiness on her conscience.
What little life remained…for she knew that, if Valaren Starseeker still lived, against all belief, against all proof, then her own life was worth nothing.
The lonely wail of a hunting pack shivered across the sandy dunes. The sound reminded her of their last conversation, just before Val had collapsed into restless sleep-although precisely what it was about the wail that brought up that memory, she could not guess. Perhaps she was at the point where everything reminded her of Val. Why not? Thoughts of him filled her every waking moment; dreams of him, her sleeping ones.
But now the image of what awaited her at the end of her journey were bile in her throat, acid in her mouth. To have found Val, found him against all hope, all expectation…and now to realize that she must lose him after all, in payment for a deed done years ago.
The gods could be cruel. Damnation, when were they anything else?
Val turned his head, and the curl that had lain across his forehead slid back across one ear, dark against the paler skin.
What would he think of me if he knew all my past? Madryn wondered. What would he think of all my filthy secrets?>One long-fingered hand snaked out, brushed across that shadowy curl of hair, and then drew back, afraid of its own desires.
What would Val think if he knew that she was probably going to her own death, willingly and with her eyes open, if the rumors she's heard of Valeran Starseeker were true? For Valeran, if he truly lived, would not provide that same courtesy to her…not after what she had done to him. Though how even he, with his vast powers, could have survived what she had done, Madryn could not imagine.
Well, she'd simply have to destroy the threat that was Valaren Starseeker again. But, whatever her wishes, she was sure that this time, she wouldn't survive his destruction, as she had been lucky enough to the first time.
No. This journey would end in her death. She could only pray to cruel gods that it would end in the death of Valaren Starseeker as well.
Not that Madryn wanted to die, not now, now that she had found Val against all hope. But the wheels of the invisible machine had been set in motion long ago, the play written, the jest designed, and by her own actions. Now she had no choice but to go through with it. And for all that she wanted Val, wanted to drown herself in him until the end of time, she would not do it. Val wanted her, she knew, but she wouldn't do that to him. She knew how much it hurt to lose someone you had loved.
She should never have brought him with her, should have left him in Karleon, in Lakazsh. She should rise now and disappear, never see him again…
Madryn reached out and touched a ruddy curl that lay across a sleeping face.
~*~
The part of Val's mind that was still his own, a tiny fragment buried deep inside his mind, realized that the dreams, the endless dreams, were far more real tonight than they had ever been before. More intense, more vivid…more frightening.
Val's body twitched as an image of Madryn-spread-eagle on a cold stone table, her manacled wrists and ankles streaming ruby blood across the ashen surface-sprang up before his sleeping eyes. Moaning aloud, though he did not know it, Val tried to drive the images away.
But they ate into him like acid. Were they real, his mind screamed? Were they images of an actual event, or some strange projection of a horrific future?
No. Real they must be, for he had seen for himself those scars that marred that lean, sleek body-and some of them, he knew, were a legacy of Valaren Starseeker.
A deep, raging anger filled Val's soul as his dreaming mind saw again the things that had been done to her.
Madryn had been freeborn, but of a poor family. Her talents, her intellect, had sent her first to Llar Zhan, for training as a thief. After surpassing her master and his craft, she had gone into the service of Ffania X, Queen of NarBillin. There Madryn had risen rapidly through the ranks, making a name for herself in battle against the hordes that rode across the steppes, against the beasts that came from the Rift to some strange otherwhere, then in the attempted usurpation by the queen's twin sister, Ffanita. Soon, Madryn was the youngest commander in the queen's armies…
And her youth had made her arrogant.
Lord Valaren Starseeker was of one of the oldest families in Ffania's realm. Epicene, intelligent, an indulger in the most lewd and erotic vices, Lord Valaren had acquired both the knowledge and the power to control others, using their own desires as his tool. He had destroyed dozens of men and women, taking their innocence and manipulating their lusts, using their weaknesses as weapons against them.
When Valaren and Madryn had come together, as they had no doubt been fated to do, it had been a mixture of fire and ice, destined to change and transmute each into another form-while destroying the originals in a blast of sizzling flames.
Val twisted and cried out in his sleep, as the images capered across his sleeping mind…
Chapter Fourteen
>Lord Valaren Starseeker walked toward his private apartments, returning slight nods for the bows that showered him from all sides. His broad shoulders strained against the elegant silk of his tunic, and his heavily muscled thighs and bulging crotch were outlined and accentuated by the delicate fabric.
Lord Valaren always wore silk; it was one of his more minor jests. He appreciated the contrast of his powerful and commanding body draped in the softest and most gossamer of fabric; the disparity appealed to one of his baser instincts.
Of course, all his instincts were base.
Some, however, were far baser than others.
That was one of the things upon which Lord Valaren prided himself. Not for him were the facile deeds, the petty loves, the mingy kindnesses of others. Lord Valaren was after stronger meat.
He reached the door to the private rooms reserved for him in Queen Ffania's palace. Valaren was a member of her majesty's council, known for offering advice that oftentimes counteracted the flimsy advice of her weaker, more cautious ministers. For that, as well as others things, Ffania was grateful, he knew; she shared his bloodthirsty attitude in many ways. She enjoyed seeing her council squirming at her incessant tongue-lashings.
A young soldier, little more that a child, in Valaren's estimation, stood guard outside the door to his lordship's apartments. Callow, thin, his face a mass of splotches, with a scabbard almost as long as his leg, the soldier was only a year or two at best from being a boy.
He snapped to attention at Valaren's approach. My lord! his voice cracked in the middle of the second word and a deep, ruddy blush raced up the slender white throat, suffused the narrow, girlish face.
Lord Valaren smiled his most carefully pleasant smile, even as his inner self planned plans and thought thoughts. How lucky I am, to have such an impressive guard at my poor door, Valaren murmured in a voice as smooth as honey.
The guard's blush deepened in pleasure. It is a great honor, lord, the young man replied, standing up straighter. An honor I do not deserve, I fear.
Nonsense, nonsense, Lord Valaren said, as he calculated to a nicety the delights that the guard's untutored innocence might offer him and his jaded associates. You are quite obviously well-trained and most competent. I will send word to your captain that I wish to have you guard me- Valaren's sugary voice lingered an instant, as if tasting the word, then continued, -always. Good evening to you, lieutenant.
The guard somehow managed to stand even straighter, his thin body as quivering and taut as a freshly plucked bowstring. Your pardon, most high lord, but I am merely a corporal, he squeaked, delighted at the kindly attention of this worldly and highborn gentleman. Only his recently finished military training kept him from squirming like a stroked puppy.
Indeed? Can it be so? Valaren's tone was a delicately balanced contrast between disbelief and amazement. Well, that can be remedied quite easily, can it not? Your name?
Corporal Ranadal, an it please you, lord!
Ranadal, drawled Valaren, with a slow grin that could have been interpreted as interested, or salacious, depending upon how well one knew him. I will remember that name, I assure you.
Lord! shouted the young man again.
Bored of his game, Valaren entered his apartments through the door that the young guard jerked open for him, then shut smartly behind him. There was a clatter, muffled by the closed door, of a sword being drawn clumsily from its scabbard.
Excellent, thought Valaren with a small wince of pleasure at the images that the sound delivered. Another conquest. >He sauntered across the foyer toward the room he used as an office, a smile still creasing his fleshy lips.
Inside the office, his amanuensis looked up from the great carved desk in time to see that smile-and blanch white in fear.
Lor-Lord Valaren, stuttered Danel as he leaped to his feet, knocking his hard chair over backward onto the lush carpet. Your pardon, my lord, I did not expect to see you back from the council meeting so soon. I trust everything went well? Danel wrung bruised, nail-bitten hands in an unconscious gesture of dismay.
As well as could be expected, snarled Lord Valaren, his former good humor gone in an instant. Those fools still think that gold can be picked from trees, instead of worked and planned for. Still…I believe her majesty will see reason soon. So. What visitors are expected, the rest of this afternoon and evening?
Danel rustled through a thick, leather-bound book with one nervous hand, the quill pen he had picked up nervously in the other shaking in time to his heartbeat. The Countess Courtalney and her younger sister will be here in- Danel glanced at the ormolu clock that ticked comfortingly on the marble mantelpiece, -in half an hour.
Refresh my memory, ordered Lord Valaren as he poured a goblet of ruddy wine.
The countess has large gambling debts and wishes to offer security for a projected loan, Danel read from the book.
Ah, yes, Valaren nodded, and then sipped his wine, rolling the fragrant vintage around with his tongue. Go on.
Sir Alvarin is coming at seven to make his usual payment on the loan you gave his father; Lord Minister Fredoin will be here for a game of chess at eight; and at eleven, Commander Madryn.
Danel looked up from the book, anxious to see his lord's response to his next words; the secretary had little enough pleasure in his difficult position, and he wished to savor what he could. Unless, of course, the commander is forced to cancel her visit. Again, Danel finished, carefully noncommittal.
Lord Valaren scowled, his handsome facing going dark and ugly, as he remembered the last time he had waited for Madryn; he had even canceled another appointment on the chance that she would appear. He flung a quick look at his secretary to make sure that there was no sign of pleasure at his lordship's discomfiture.
Danel's face was a studied blank.
Satisfied, Valaren nodded. Good. Then I have time for a lingering bath before the countess and her sister arrive. A feral grin spread over his lordship's face; a grin that he was careful never to allow his more important acquaintances to see. Fetch me that young man at the door, Danel. He can wash my back for me.
~*~
Commander Madryn, newly appointed captain of Queen Ffania's personal guard-a position given her, she'd been told, as a reward for her impressive courage-strode on her long booted legs down the corridor toward Lord Valaren Starseeker's apartments.
The commander was dressed in the height of fashion, and in the colors of the Queen's Guard. Darkest blue jacket, the collar embroidered with gold wire, was tucked into the sleek leather breeches of the same hue, which in turn disappeared into the tops of short polished boots with gold-colored heels. Her tawny hair was cut short and curled around her narrow face; the sword that clanked at her waist had a hilt thick with gold inlay.
It was late, and the hallways were emptier than usual, here in the most impressive and desirable section of the queen's palace. Doubtless, most of the inhabitants of these elegant apartments were busy behind their carved doors, relieving the tensions of the day in their own particular fashions.
Commander Madryn's thoughts kept time to her footsteps, racing around inside her head. She nodded at the occasional guard who she herself, at the queen's command, had stationed outside certain doors. Some of the guards were for the protection of the inhabitants, in this court full of deceit and fear. Some were there to prevent escape.
And some were there for other reasons, as Madryn knew full well.
The corridor leading to Lord Valaren's rooms was deserted at this time of the evening, too late for dinner, too early for assignations. The hallway was lined with thick draperies in the royal colors of midnight blue and gold, interspersed here and there with statues of valiant leaders or dead rulers. Behind some of the curtains, Madryn knew, secret doors led to observation ports and less desirable places.
Information was the prime currency at Queen Ffania's court.
At the farthest end of the corridor was the main door to Lord Valaren's chambers.
Madryn paused as soon as she saw it, all her senses alert. No one stood guard duty at the opulent entrance. The thick dark wood, carved by the finest of artisans, gleamed alone and unappreciated in the silent corridor.
Madryn paced slowly forward, her eyes leaping everywhere, her battle-honed nerves twanging in alarm.
But the scene was a peaceful one; only the empty space beside the door spoke of any reason for apprehension.
Madryn seized the handle that was formed in the shape of a dragon; her other had was on the hilt of her sword. She swung the huge door open and entered on silent feet, peering around the dim hallway, alert for traps of any variety.
Empty. Silent.
A luxurious room, off which opened doors to other rooms, all closed. Thick scented candles lined a narrow shelf just above her eye level; most of them were cold, but a few gave out a soft golden glow.
A flicker of movement caught Madryn's eye. Her grip tightened on her sword-an instant before she recognized the flashing shadow as her own reflection in the tall mirror that stood opposite the door, at the far end of the hall.
Heart pounding, Madryn shut the outer door behind her. She made sure she heard the latch click home, and then with one hand-the other was still glued to the hilt of her sword-she maneuvered a long iron rod across it, to bar all entrance.
There, she thought in satisfaction. If anyone is here who shouldn't be, there'll be no escape this way.>The entrance secured, Madryn walked softly toward the door to Lord Valaren's office, beyond which were his study, bedchamber and bath. The door opened at her touch; she entered the office, all her senses alert.
All was hushed and still, as empty, save for its flamboyant furnishings, as the hallway outside.
To cross the room took the blink of an eye. Madryn stood silent, sword in one hand, the other against the door to Lord Valaren's innermost, and most private rooms.
A small sound, so soft that Madryn was not sure she had heard it at all, echoed gently from the other side of the thick door. She pushed it open.
A square study, the walls lined with books to the high ceiling, a long desk across one corner. Light from two tall candles danced across leather bindings, cast shadows that flickered in the small draft from the now-open door.
Empty.
But that so soft sound was louder now; not a single, but a series of sounds, almost decipherable to Madryn's troubled mind.
Again she crossed the room on silent feet, the golden heels of her boots leaving faint impressions in the sumptuous rugs layered three deep on the floor.
The next door opened onto Lord Valaren's huge bedchamber. Madryn knew it well. The door was cracked open and there was an internal glimmer of light, brighter than in any of the preceding rooms.
Madryn pushed the door open. The muffled creak of the hinges sounded like a cannon roar to her heightened senses.
But that small sound was lost on the two inhabitants of the opulent room.
Lord Valaren Starseeker, council member, advisor to her majesty the queen, was sprawled naked across his high, silk-sheeted bed, belly down. His thickly muscled back, arms and legs glistened with the scented oil. The oil came from a fluted vase, and Corporal Ranadal was in the process of pouring more of the thick, viscous fluid onto his lordship's broad back.
The soft little noises that Madryn had heard through the almost closed door came from Ranadal. Now she could tell that they were tiny gasps and moans of pain. Purple bruises glowered on his scrawny naked back. There was blood…
Ranadal, Madryn said.
The abused corporal turned around, and Madryn saw whey the noises were so soft and weak. Ranadal made them, as best he could, through lips that were split and bleeding, swollen to more than twice their normal size.
Commander, said the corporal in a wondering, weary voice, his eyes bleary and confused. An instant later, his recognition of his commander brought back some small degree of comprehension to his slack and bleeding face. He snapped sluggishly to a ragged sort of attention.
The fluted vase fell from his nerveless fingers to crash on the polished wooden floor. Instantly, the smell of roses-ripe, thick, cloying in its intensity-spread throughout the room.
Lord Valaren rolled over in the huge bed with cat-like grace. Propping himself up on his elbows, he grinned at Madryn.
A bit early tonight, aren't you, Commander? he purred. No matter. I was bored with this one anyway. He waved a negligent hand at Ranadal.
A tremor ripped through the naked, boyish figure; two tears welled from a blackened eye. The corporal's ribs, easily counted, deflated as a great, defeated sigh poured from within his scrawny chest.
Madryn felt something squeeze down hard on her heart at the sight of the young guard. She had heard the rumors. Indeed, who could not have heard them? And no one knew better than she the effect that Lord Valaren could have on others-he had the same effect on her. But her own desire for this naked man sprawled on the bed before her was so great, so overpowering, that she had discounted the rumors, the whispers-not wishing, not daring to believe them true.
Corporal. Get dressed. Get out of here, Madryn snapped.
Another pair of tears welled from the dark pits of the young man's eyes. Bu-bu-but, Commander, he wailed. Thin clear fluid tinged with red began to drip from his battered nose. But, Commander…I don't want to leave.
Lord Valaren laughed, his fleshy lips spread wide in dark delight. There, you see, Madryn? Not everyone finds me as distasteful as you must.
Madryn strode toward the guard. Her legs were trembling. Her hand, she noticed with surprise, was still clenched tight about the hilt of her sword. She sheathed her sword and dropped both hands to her side, though they itched to reach out and help the poor sniveling man-child that stood beside the bed, his pale thin legs looking barely strong enough to support his undersized body.
Disgust rose in a sudden mass, rancid and acidic in Madryn's throat and mouth, coming near to choking her. But what disgusted her even more than the man who had damaged this poor creature before her, was her own continuing, sick desire for Valaren Starseeker.
You are dismissed, corporal, Madryn said, swallowing around the sick obstruction in her throat. Get dressed and go.
Corporal Ranadal scrambled on the floor for his discarded clothing, stepping into the pool of scented oil. A shard of glass from the broken vase stabbed into one bare foot; blood, rich and bright, gushed out, its coppery scent mingling with the overpowering odor of roses. Face confused, eyes dazed, Ranadal looked at his damaged foot, then leaned down and pulled the shard out with a slow, lingering movement. A small smile of pleasure crossed his bruised face. He pulled on his boots and crammed his head into his jerker, then wandered like a somnambulist from the room.
What did you do to him? What did you give him? Madryn spat.
Lord Valaren rose into a seated position on the bed, his legs spread wide and his naked body gleaming in the light of the many candles massed in the room. He twisted slightly, and his impressive member sprang forth at once.
Madryn's eyes locked onto that glistening shaft. With an effort, she dragged them away, looked Lord Valaren in his laughing black orbs.
Answer me, damn you, she said through gritted teeth, determined to control herself before this man.
Why, I only introduced him to a few pleasures, Madryn. No harm in that, is there? Surely we all deserve a bit of pleasure in this dreary, mundane life? And the boy enjoyed himself, as you saw. He did not wish to leave, did he? No; you heard him say so yourself.
Lord Valaren's deep, slow voice purred like some great jungle predator as he stretched and twisted in the rumpled purple sheets, offering bulging muscles and sleek flat belly for Madryn's observation…and admiration.
Madryn could feel the pulse beating in her throat, her breath growing ragged and thick with desire. But the image of the beaten and bruised corporal stood before her, his blackened eyes leaking tears even as he expressed his desire for more abuse.
Did she wish to become like that poor boy? Did she wish to lose herself in her desires, give up all control to this man before her, as others had already done?
As she had done on more than one occasion.
Get dressed, Madryn ordered, her voice cracking with the strain of control.
Lord Valaren laughed. Dressed? he asked. What fun will that be? Better yet, get undressed, Madryn. I will show you pleasure that you have only dreamed of until now.
Madryn shook her head. She was surprised to find that her hand was again tight on the hilt of her sword. She was even more surprised to feel it leaping from its sheath, the gleaming silvery length clean and true in this dark room that reeked of the odors of fear and lust…and roses…
Lord Valaren, his mouth spread once more in that feral grin, swung his legs off the bed and stood up in one fluid movement, like a dancer; he was careful to avoid the puddle of rich oil, now tinged ruddy with blood.
And just what do you think you're going to do with your sword, my dear? he asked, his grin broadening to a leer. Use it against me? I really don't think you can.
He sauntered forward, each line and angle of his body infinitely desirable, amazingly provocative. Madryn watched the intricate interplay of muscle and bone, tendon and skin, as he moved toward her with his cat-like grace.
Valaren stopped just close enough to touch her. But his arms hung loose at his sides, his broad chest gleaming, the tiny hairs that curled across it golden in the flickering candlelight.
Well, Madryn? Here I am, well within reach of that fierce blade. What are you planning to do with that long, hard thing in your hand? he taunted.
Madryn swallowed; her mouth was as dry as desert sands. What did you do to the boy, Valaren? What did you do to him, and to all the others like him? What did you do to me, to make me want you so?
Lord Valaren moved faintly closer…so close that Madryn could see herself reflected in the inky depths of his eyes. The scent of the oil that covered his sleek, shining body rose up in hot waves, almost visible in the air about him.
Why, I do nothing, nothing more that you-and they-wish me to do, Madryn, he murmured, one long finger stroking her cheek, tracing the outlines of her lips.
Madryn felt his touch run like wildfire down into the center of her being.
No, she said, her breathing ragged; she tightened her hand on her sword, holding it as if it were her lifeline. No. I do not want-to want you as I do. No, and neither do the others. You use some sort of power, some sort of spell on us all.
Valaren shrugged, and the candlelight caressed the muscles in his arms and shoulders. Well, yes. I must admit that I do, he said with a silky laugh. But my poor powers only work on those seeking the kinds of pleasure…that no one but I can offer. Most of the others-you have heard of them, I see, but I think you did not want to believe that they existed-they come to me for just that reason. Some, like that ridiculous young man you just sent away, don't know what they're seeking until they…taste it. You, on the other hand, are an enigma.
Am I so? Madryn fixed her violet-gray eyes on his dark ones, not daring to allow them the opportunity to roam elsewhere over that sleek, hard body so close before her. In what way?
Why, Madryn, my dear, Valaren grinned. You're the only one, out of all the hundreds, who has ever had the strength to resist my…lures. Oh, not at first, certainly; but after a while, you did begin to resist me-and succeed. That makes you all the more valuable to me, my darling; all the more desirable. The pleasure it gives me, watching you fight to withstand me, is quite the most thrilling thing imaginable. I almost hate to see you give in…it does hurt you so, does it not? But you did give in, more than once; and you will again. Won't you? Valaren's voice, hitherto so soft and polished, had deepened and taken on a rougher, coarser texture. They all give in, in the end, and you're no different, really, for all my hopes. Why not…why not let it be now? Now, while it's all you can do to keep your hands off me. Now, while I'm readier for you than I've ever been before…
Madryn's eyes were captured and held by the obsidian orbs in the beautiful, evil face before her. She felt all her strength to resist draining from her, like blood flowing from a deep wound.
His eyes, she thought, her mind running in desperate, trapped circles. His power. It's in his eyes.>No, Valaren whispered as if in answer. My power is in your weakness.
He crushed his mouth against hers.
Madryn had dreams of his mouth, his arms, his body against hers…and she knew that the reality was always far more intense that those images of a fevered brain. Now, as many times before, passion overcame her-a passion so formidable, a hunger so consuming, that she shook with the need to assuage it. That voracious force raced through her veins, took over her mind and soul. She returned Valaren's kisses, her desire driving her to the very edge of madness.
Valaren drew back, laughing at her eagerness.
Almost…to the edge of madness…
At that instant, as her weakling body cried out for fulfillment, her mind clamored for satisfaction, her very soul cried out for release, Madryn opened her eyes-and caught a single glimpse of Lord Valaren's face.
His voluptuous lips were stretched into a contemptuous, sneer of a smile, mocking her and her weakening, dying will.
No!
The smell of roses, sweet as sin, filled the room.
No, Madryn repeated, softer this time, but with infinitely more determination.
She stepped away from Valaren Starseeker. Those two steps were the most difficult she'd ever taken, but step away she did.
Her sword, forgotten in one hand until that moment, spoke with the cold, clean voice of steel. A fresh wind blew off its shining surface, dissipating the florid, choking fumes and swirling cool draughts of bracing, immaculate air. The sword rose, almost of its own volition, over her head.
Lord Valaren looked up, disbelief turning his cold, evil, beautiful face into a snarling mask.
But it was the beauty that was the mask. Madryn knew that at last. This was his real face-vicious, hideous and cruel.
The sword, as if animated by some distant force and not her own strong right arm, made one swift and accurate sweep-a surgeon's scalpel slicing away diseased flesh, to allow health to return at last.
Chapter Fifteen
>Val sat up, his mind ripped screaming from sleep by the vision, yet again, of the death of Lord Valaren Starseeker.
But this time, it had been different. This time, he had seen inside Madryn's heart, her very soul, as he never had before in any of his previous dreams.
And what he had seen there had astounded him. Amazed him. Delighted him.
Madryn did not love-had never loved Valaren Starseeker. His heart sang within him, the hideous dream images fading to insignificance, leaving him with that single, wonderful, uncontested fact.
The cool early morning of the desert-quiet, serene, soft, before the ravening sun appeared to blaze down and destroy all comfort and ease-caressed Val's naked body as he panted and shivered, fighting against the images in his dreams that still half possessed him.
Madryn did not love Valaren. She had never loved him. Valaren had wielded his corrupt power over her, making her want him, desire him…but never, never had she loved him.
Never.
Val looked around, blinking in the rosy light. Beside him, on her pallet of blankets, Madryn lay curled on her side, asleep. Her thin short robe had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the honey-colored skin of her back. The scars that Val had seen, just before the shipwreck, were paler stripes, crisscrossing the creamy flesh.
Val had wondered, thousands of times, if his dream were somehow real. Were these images that appeared to him each and every night actual events, lost in time yet still in some way accessible to him, and him alone? Or were they instead some maddening chimeras, sent from unknown, unknowable sources to torment him and make him doubt his feelings, his very existence?
No. No longer. Now Val knew that the dreams were actual events. Now he could understand some small parts of the mystery that was Madryn. Not all, by any means. He still had no idea of where she was going, or why.
That her journey must have some connection with Valaren Starseeker, he had suspected well before now. But even the dreams had never given him proof, absolute and total.
Val shook his head slowly. It made not the slightest bit of difference to him. He knew he would follow Madryn wherever she led him, if only to someday have the chance, the single opportunity, to wipe the evil that was Valaren from her mind-and replace it with his love.
Madryn turned over. Her arm brushed against Val's naked leg. Val watched her eyes crack open, then widen at the sight of his naked body so close to her, outlined by the fading starlight.
Val, she murmured, holding out her arms, all her wariness defeated at the sight of him. Val.
Val leaned over, his mouth seeking the warmth that had been denied it for so long. His hands ripped aside the fragile cloth that draped her lean, strong body. His tongue plunged like a rapier into her eager mouth, plunged again and again as her own thrust back in this, the oldest of duels. Val gathered her to him, no long able to still his need for her. Arms and legs in a glorious, sweaty tangle, their bodies surged as one toward equal and ultimate fulfillment.
This was the only thing that Val had wanted from the day he had met her, all those long days and weeks ago; he now knew he'd wanted this utter possession, physical and mental, for all his life.
Their bodies fell into a rhythm, the ancient rhythm of lovers from the beginning of the world. Thrusting, surging, caressing, tasting, smelling, all senses involved as if one. Tiny cries, muffled against each other's flesh, spoke in tongues unknown but all knowing, as they grappled in tender violence, tried to blend into one single being. Val ran his tongue across her taut belly, tasted the flavor of the skin around her small firm breasts, and plunged repeatedly into her inviting mouth. Madryn returned his passion with even greater fervor, as she arched and strained to encompass him within her body.
At last, at the same instant, the ache that each had carried for so long was assuaged. They fell, arms and legs still entangled, back down to the earth, panting and spent.
A cool breeze, the last fresh breath of the dying night, washed over their sweaty bodies. Overhead, the stars were closing their eyes in sleep.
Madryn threw Val's arms off and sat up. She seized the voluminous robes that they all wore for protection from the day's burning heat, and slid into it. Groping blindly, she found her soft riding boots and pulled them on. Then, reaching up, she took great handfuls of her tawny hair and twisted them into a hasty, untidy braid.
Madryn, Val murmured. It was enough, at this moment, just to say her name. It was all he needed, now and forever, to make him complete. He reached out a slow hand, brushed sated fingers across her arm.
Madryn looked down at his face, the rising sun beginning to pick out the features. I tried not to allow this to happen, Val, she said. The sounds of the awakening camp rose about them, squawks and complaints and shouts. Madryn sighed. But now that it has…it changes nothing. Do you understand?
Val reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, encircling it in the loving manacles of flesh. He pulled her towards him, captured her mouth with his own. Already hungry for her again, he felt her answering hunger and rejoiced.
But after a glorious instant, Madryn pushed him away. It changed nothing, Val, she repeated. There is something I must do, something I must find out and, if it is so, do all that I can to rectify it.
But afterward? Val pleaded with lips and hands and eyes. I will help you, you know that. I am yours to command, as I promised, whatever it is, whatever we must accomplish. But afterwards?
Afterwards, Val? Afterwards, I fear I die.
Madryn scrambled to her feet and stalked off towards the corral of horses.
Val ran a tongue over his lips, savoring the taste of Madryn that still lingered there. He didn't know what she meant. He had no idea what her quest might be, why they were heading south, what their destination was. But one thing he did know. Madryn was not going to die.
Not if he had anything to do with it.
Chapter Sixteen
>As Val watched Madryn walk away from him, he decided that he had to tell her of his dreams. Somehow, he must make her understand that he knew of the horrors she harbored within, the events that had blighted her memories in the same way that his brief time with Lady Alysa had blighted his own.
Today, he promised himself. Surely he could snatch a bit of time today to tell her. And if not this day, then tonight.
But all that endless day, Madryn rode far away from Val. And that night, it was their turn to be on watch, to ride single circuits on the outskirts of the great caravan, keeping eyes and ears open for signs of the bandits that, they were assured, were just biding their time before attacking.
Val had no opportunity to speak to Madryn that night, and the next morning her lack of sleep made her sharp and short with him, when he tried to talk to her. At last, he left his tired horse in the communal corral, to snatch a bite of grain and a drink of water before its morning journey began, and left in search of Garet.
They had not seen their servant boy in the last two days or nights. Not that Val had missed the lad. But now he needed to talk to someone, and the garrulous boy was his only choice.
It's not natural, I tell you, Master Aubry was telling a group of hungry guards and caravan members; he tore off great hunks of fried bread and stuffed them into his mouth between words. The caravan master offered Val a nod and motioned toward the wide tin trays overflowing with their morning meal.
The cook tent, an awning that spread out from the side of the huge wagon, where simmered and sizzled great pots all through the day and night, was the common meeting place for the guards before the beginning of each day's travel. It was also, Val knew, Garet's favorite place; the boy could spend his time cadging treats from the cooks while they strove to make him do small chores for them in return.
I've traveled this route for eleven years, and I've seen bandits each and every time; even on the short runs, I've seen them. This year, though… Master Aubry shook his head, his greasy red plaits standing upright like tiny soldiers. This year… he repeated in wondering tones, …there's something about this year that's not natural.
The guards scrambled to snatch extra bits of food as the cooks removed the trays, in preparation for the caravan's morning departure. Soon, the long train of conveyances and people and animals would begin its morning lurch, like an arthritic snake, towards the distant mountains-not so distant as they were, and beginning to be faintly visible across the southern horizon. The track that the caravan followed wound away before the weary travelers, daring them to follow into the dim and fearful distance.
Val walked away from the cook tent, looking in likely places for Garet. Almost at once, he spied a skinny form behind two camels; the beasts were on their knees, and their riders were just settling themselves into padded saddles.
Garet, Val called, motioning for the boy.
Garet looked up, his mouth working busily. His hands were full of his favorite delicacy, greasy bread stuffed with whatever the cooks had handy.
The boy scampered towards Val. Master, I know that I was supposed to be at our camp this morning to pack up your blankets and load them on the donkey, but the mistress said that I might attend the dancing at the tent of Allar bir Shan, so I did, and then there was food, and I'm afraid I went to sleep and I'm terribly sorry and…
Val waited patiently, knowing that Garet would finally run out of breath and he would be able to get in a word or two before the boy resumed his description of his adventures.
At last Garet was forced to pause for breath, and Val said, Come along with me and I'll give you a ride this morning.
Garet's face lit up at the idea of this special treat; the boy's greatest love, after large amounts of food, was a horse. The permission to ride one, even behind Val's saddle, always exhilarated him.
Garet pattered along with Val, dodging the wagons and carts as they threaded their way towards the horses set aside for the caravan guards. The smells and sounds of the camp preparing to move were overwhelming in a morning that was already growing hot. Jingling harnesses, crying babies, shouting men, screaming women, all these sounds and more heralded each day.
Garet sneered at a boy, only slightly smaller than he, as the youth struggled to clamber onto a shaky cart already overloaded with too many other children.
Child, watch out for that infant there, he shouted, motioning towards a baby that threatened to tumble out of the cart.
With a satisfied smirk at the boy's answering scowl, Garet followed Val towards the horses. Did you sleep well, master? he asked as they skirted a recalcitrant camel that refused to rise, despite repeated blows from its owner.
Ignoring the boy's question as best he could, while the hot blood rose in his cheeks, Val asked, Where is this caravan going, boy?
Garet gazed up the long expanse of Val in bemused wonderment. Your pardon, sir…but you're traveling in it, and you don't know where we're going?
Val slowed his stride to allow the shorter legs of the boy to keep up. I'm traveling with Madryn, as you well know, he said, his voice dropping as he mentioned her name. She is on her way to some particular destination, but I'm not sure just where or why. How many stops does the caravan make?
Garet gave a sage nod. I thought, sir, that anyone with any sort of knowledge at all could clearly see that the mistress is going to Mallowdwyn, he said, his very tone a sneer.
Val already knew that Garet had no appreciation for anyone who did not belong to the ancient sect of Llar Zhan, as both Madryn and the boy did. Val, to Garet, was merely someone who accompanied the two most important members of the caravan on their journey-Garet and Madryn.
Mallowdwyn, Val rolled the strange name over his tongue. Where is that?
It's not a where, you great b-master, Garet said, it's a what. Or a who, perhaps.
Val reached down and grabbed the skinny boy by the back of his ragged robe and lifted him high above the ground; scrawny legs dangled over dusty ground. Val was not in the mood for Garet's obscure answers. Not today.
Listen, boy, Val said, his face close to the boy's, so close he could smell the dates on his breath. I need to know everything you do. Understand?
Garet snickered, not at all put out by his present location. I fear that would take years and years, master, he pointed out with an infectious giggle; his logic was, to Garet's mind at least, inescapable. But I will be delighted to tell you all that I know of the ancient order of Mallowdwyn, if you wish it.
Val gave a grim chuckle at the boy's generous offer. And what will it cost me?
Garet smiled. Well, as you know well, master, I don't really enjoy traveling on a cart or, worse yet, on my feet. He wriggled like a fish hanging from a line. But if I were to find someone who would offer me a ride, say you, for example…oh, sir, I could tell you many things. Things that would amaze and delight you.
I'm sure they would, agreed Val. I'm sure they would.
~*~
The adepts of Mallowdwyn are a most ancient sect, began Garet, his scrawny arms linked tight about Val's waist as their mount cantered towards the front of the line; the dust rose up from beneath trotting hooves and settled on them in a thick coat. A sect of powerful mages, if you understand what that is, sir.
Val snorted, and Garet hastily resumed.
So powerful are the Mallowdwyn that, it is said, they can hide their vast cities in plain sight of all, and yet no one will see them unless the adepts themselves allow it.
Then how does anyone ever know that they're there? Val asked, and with some logic, he thought. How can Madryn be going to this Mallow-place, if no one can see it or even knows if it exists?
Garet released his grip about Val's waist just long enough to box him lightly on one ear. Pay attention, you great huge lummox, he commanded in his high-pitched voice, or you'll never learn anything.
Val, secretly amused at this demotion from 'master' to 'great lummox', kept silent.
Now, Garet resumed in a smug tone, clearly surprised that he wasn't to be punished for laying hands on Val, the Mallowdwyn, as I have so carefully pointed out to you, are a sect of powerful adepts. Adepts are, as we all know, possessors of magical powers; these powers, by their very nature, are forbidden to you common folk. Therefore, the Mallowdwyn hide themselves for just that reason.
And what reason is that, oh teacher?
Why, you great blundering booby, because they have powers, Garet repeated. This means that-they-are-powerful. And if they are powerful, then that power can be used for a great many things. And likewise if-I say if, mind you-someone, some ordinary person, could manage to gain ascendancy over a being with these aforementioned great powers, then the adept could possibly be forced to serve this ordinary person and do her or his bidding.
Garet peered around Val's bulk, to make sure he was paying attention. Now, you may well ask, how could any such ordinary person-like as it might be yourself, for instance-gain ascendancy… Garet liked this word so much he repeated it, ascendancy over a powerful magic worker?
Val was silent. Garet punched him in the ribs with a skinny elbow.
How, oh teacher? Val asked agreeably.
Well you may ask, Garet replied with a satisfied nod. Well you may ask. It has been said that one can gain mastery of a Mallowdwyn by only two methods.
Those methods being? Val asked hurriedly, to prevent another assault on his ribs.
Those methods being, one: trickery. Two: treachery. And no other way.
Val waited for more, but Garet had apparently shared all he thought necessary.
Very interesting, Val said, but it tells me nothing at all. I know no more about our destination that I did at the beginning. Why do you think that Madryn is going to this Mallowdwyn at all?
Garet snorted in disgust. Because, you hulking imbecile, Zamorna is the destination of the caravan. Zamorna, the dreaming city, is the only place in all the lands where one may actually see and speak with a Mallowdwyn adept.
Very interesting, to be sure, Val agreed. His sleepy brain was not making any sense of these meanderings, and he wondered if Garet were simply taking advantage of his condition with clever stories, so the boy could ride in state and sneer at the other servants as they stumbled in the dust. Very interesting. But this does not, oh teacher, tell me why Madryn might be going there-if she indeed is. I have neither seen nor heard any connection between her and these legendary invisible witches of yours. In fact, I believe you've just made them up, to entertain me.
Garet gave a patient sigh, and then spread his hands as though to ask why he was cursed with such an ignorant fool for a master.
Their mount chose that exact instant to trip over a partially buried skull, bleached by the sands and sun.
Garet snatched at a handful of Val's robe. The Mallowdwyn are the only ones who can remove a curse, he continued with a bit less of his former bumptiousness. It's apparent to any but a fool that the mistress is laboring under a curse.
Plain to you, perhaps, oh teacher, but as you so rightly point out, not quite so plain to the rest of us fools, Val said. And even if she has been cursed, what makes you think these Mallow-folk will remove it for her? What does she have to do, just ask them, and they do it for a favor?
It is said, began Garet in a sonorous singsong, the cadences of the professional storyteller, that the great adepts of Mallowdwyn will remove a curse if one offers them something in return.
Mercenary magic workers, aren't they? What does one offer, money?
Garet leaned around to catch Val's eye. Val was surprised at the utter seriousness on the boy's usually cheerful face. They must be offered something that will increase their own power, you see, he said.
And that might be?
Garet tightened his arms around Val's waist. Usually, he admitted, usually, but not always, of course-a life.
After a moment of uneasy reflection, Val asked hopefully, Do you mean these adept people are looking for slaves, to toil for them and cook their meals while they're busy casting spells and such?
No, said Garet. They have plenty of slaves for such mundane tasks as that…creatures, I have heard, that they conjure from some nether world and set to work. No. To remove a spell takes something more than slavery.
Val was suddenly impatient and more than a little angry. Tell me, clear and open, what these witches do with a life that is given them.
A tiny sigh came gusting out of Garet's garrulous throat.
They use blood to destroy the spell, the boy admitted. Everyone knows that the only way to remove a spell is to drown it in innocent blood.
~*~
For the rest of the day, Val rode along in a stupor, barely noticing the boy who clung to him and jeered at others who had to walk. Val's dazed mind raced from image to image, trying to make sense of the information he had received from Garet. Was it true, or simply the boy's imagination? And if it were true, how did it couple with the happenings of the last days and weeks-and especially, with what had happened last night between Madryn and himself?
Was Madryn indeed cursed? Were his dreams somehow a part of that sinister magic? Was Madryn going all this weary way to have a curse removed by these Mallowdwyn adepts, as Garet had opined with such assurance? But how could Garet, an untutored boy from the streets, know such things, especially about Madryn?
No, Val decided. The entire story was ridiculous, the silly imaginings of a dreaming boy. What could Madryn have done to deserve a curse…?
Yes, he decided. Lord Valaren Starseeker had died at Madryn's hand; there may well have been a curse placed on her in revenge. Evil though Valaren had been, he still may have had followers, powerful and ready to avenge his death in any way possible.
Cursed? Madryn, cursed?
No, impossible. Madryn was not cursed. Yet when he thought it over again, all the things that had happened to her from the moment they'd met-attacks, shipwrecks, set upon by thieves-in fact, she could well have been put to the hunt herself, for giving him assistance.
His escape. Why had Madryn been passing by at just the particular time when she would meet him, running for his life? Was that another part of the curse, ill met and dangerous?
Images and questions fought in Val's exhausted mind, running around and around and around…as he struggled to make some sense of it all. So lost was he in the roiling depths that Garet had to beat on Val's back with angry fists for several moments to draw his attention.
Master! yelled the boy.
He had been shouting for some time now, Val realized dimly.
Master! Bandits!
An ululating scream rose up behind Val.
Behind? he wondered dizzily.>But, without realizing it, Val had managed to wind up at the back of the caravan, with the detritus and the camp followers, those who had not the money to travel in state and who lived-when they did live-off the discards of their more affluent brethren.
Val pulled hard on the reins and struggled to wheel his horse about while at the same time trying to see behind him.
There, high atop a mounded dune that reared to one side of the trail, and outlined in black against coppery sky, rode a long line of mounted, hooded figures. The wailing that he'd heard must come from them, he decided; long, drawn out screams so high-pitched that it was difficult to believe that they originated in human throats.
Bull-roarers, whispered Garet, his hands tight around Val.
Val had forgotten the boy was there. What? he asked distractedly as he tried to count the bandits.
That sound, Garet replied, his voice shaking. Bull-roarer. It's a sound they make with sk-skulls tied to leather strips and whirled through the air very fast, in cir-circles. Even in his fear, Garet was trying to increase his ignorant master's knowledge.
Val's spirits rose as a concrete enemy rode towards the caravan. At last, something he could understand-and fight.
With a shake of his shaggy head, his broad mouth splitting into a grin of pure delight, Val laughed. Just what he needed-some heads to bash and bones to break. Something to do battle with that he understood.
The long dark line of mounted figures began a steady and rapid descent of the mounded dune, and then raced with ever increasing speed towards the end of the lumbering, vulnerable end of the caravan.
Val darted quick glances to right and left. He was the only guard in sight. The others must be further up the long train of horses and wagons. He had to warn them, had to send word to Madryn and the others.
Did he have time? Val watched the mounted figures race forward, tried desperately to gauge their speed, deceptive in the shimmering desert air. Val looked around; there, a horse struggling to pull a too-heavy cart from a deep indentation in the soft sand. The horse must have wandered from the hard beaten path; now the inattention of its driver would cost him.
Val cantered over and slid from his saddle, pulling the reins over his head as he dismounted. Slashing through the carthorse's harness took seconds with his sharp blade.
Val reached up, pulled Garet from his horse and, without letting the boy's bare feet touch the sand, boosted him onto the top of the now-unencumbered animal.
Ride to the front of the caravan! Val shouted to the boy. Warn the others! Find Madryn!
With a slap on the horse's rump and a startled grin, one part terror to three parts delight, Garet was away. His shrill whoops whipped back to Val, born on the wind of his ride.
Val remounted, wheeled his horse around and looked to see how close the bandits were. They were even closer than he'd feared. He looked about; the camp followers were dropping to their knees as if they felt the sharp knives against their throats already.
Unconscious of a sigh of satisfaction, Val settled himself more firmly in his saddle and awaited the first wave of bandits.
~*~
Have our pawns reached the gathering place? asked the dark voice.
A whisper of wind blew through the empty eye socket of a bleached skull, rustling the pages of an open book bound in the stitched skins of a dozen warty toads.
They're just there, I think, replied cold with a dank, chill chuckle.
A spider, its legs as long as the breadth of a big man's hand, scampered across the stone floor, leaving markings in the thick dust.
It is almost time for the last act, then. Good. I grow weary of this everlasting waiting.
Obsidian tears flowed down a stone idol's face.
When they arrive, shall we play with them first? asked the dark, in a tone that already knew the answer.
You must stop repeating your same old mistakes, brother, warned the cold, with a chuckle like the gasp of a dying man. The next time, you might not escape so easily.
Easily? asked the dark petulantly. An ebony crow, its orange beak the only color against the sallow stone walls, froze solid and fell from its onyx perch, to crash and shatter into a thousand jetty shards.
Easily? repeated the dark as it eyed the globe that floated in the middle of the chamber.
Deep within the murky depths, a tiny string of shadowy horses was faintly visible, riding against pale dun sands. Far behind the string, two horses paced it, following, always following…
Chapter Seventeen
>The destruction was not nearly so great as it could have been, Garet repeated to his band of small admirers as he strutted before them, a long dagger slapping against his bony thigh. If I had not, at the greatest danger to my own life, he paused, liking the sound of that last phrase enough to repeat it, at great danger to my own life, ridden to the caravan master and informed him of the coming attack, there would have been far more casualties.
Oohs and ahhs of admiration and awe greeted this comment, and Garet was emboldened to continue. Yes, he poked out his hollow chest, it was I, above all others, who really saved so many of us from death and destruction from the bandits.
Val listened with half an ear as he strapped provisions onto the back of the second horse. No smile broke through his concentration, even as the boasting rose to mountainous heights. Val's heart was heavy within his chest, and even the antics of the garrulous Garet could not lift it.
The bandits had captured Madryn. Val had not found out until long after the battle was over, the marauders driven away with no more than a few wagons overturned and burned, a score of lives lost, a handful of guards wounded. During the attack, Val had no time to spare thought for Madryn. She could take care of herself in a fight. No one knew that better that he did. So even after the bandits had been repulsed for the second time and had gathered their own wounded and raced away, Val had not thought to look for Madryn. Doubtless she was somewhere in the midst of the clean-up after the fighting, her sword bloody to the hilt, that strange light in her eyes that he had seen many times before, both awake and in his dreams of another man's life.
Madryn had been a soldier; Val remembered as he at last began his search for her, after the bandits had disappeared into the dusty depths of the desert. Surely she, of all the members of the caravan, would be safe in battle?
But Madryn had not been safe. Not safe…not safe…the words ran round and round his weary mind as he gathered supplies for a solitary trek into the surrounding dunes.
Of course, Val was going after her.
I don't blame you, Master Aubry had rumbled, his plaited hair spattered with gore. She's one in a thousand, that one. Take a spare horse and enough supplies and go. We're just four days from the oasis, with Rinidia not far beyond. A wondering look crossed the sun-darkened face of the caravan master. Odd, that, he murmured, as if to himself. Odd that the bandits would attack us here, so close to our first stop, instead of the long reaches between Rinidia and Zamorna. I don't believe I've ever known it to happen before, in all my years as rider and master.
The towering man strode off, to whip his disordered and disheartened charges back into shape for traveling.
Val picked out a good spare horse; Madryn would need something to ride when he got her back.
And he'd get her back.
Val had no doubts on that matter.
~*~
Garet surprised him.
The boy insisted on accompanying him.
Now how in all the world, Master Val, could you even consider leaving me here? he'd asked in high dudgeon, when Val had informed him of his plans.
Val would have smiled at his recent elevation from 'great lummox' to 'Master Val'-if he'd been in the mood for smiles.
Besides, continued Garet as he added extra dates to the already plentiful supplies, and lashed another water bottle to the saddle, how in the names of all the gods do you expect to get the mistress back from a thousand bandits, without my assistance-and my brains, might I add?
Val made no reply as he boosted the chattering boy into the saddle of the second horse. He suspected the main reason Garet wanted to accompany his quest, regardless of his admiration and respect for Madryn, was that the boy would be allowed to ride the other horse.
After all, Garet went on in a loud voice, for the benefit of his cadre of admiring onlookers, I was the one who saved the caravan. Who better to ransom my mistress from that vast horde of vicious bandits than the valiant Garet?
The boy watched complacently as Val mounted a fresh horse and turned its head to the rear of the caravan.
Farewell, cried Garet as he kicked his own horse to follow Val. Farewell, and do not worry. I shall be back soon, with my mistress and my master.
Val hoped he was right.
~*~
They could easily make out the bandits' trail across the dun-colored sands, picked out as it was here and there by lost or discarded bits of booty. The horde had no more than half a day start on Val and Garet, and such a huge mass of horses and riders could not travel as fast as a single man and a boy on fresh horses.
Yet Val could see no sign of the bandits. Hour after hour of weary riding, the sun beating down on their heads, the heat reflected back from beneath their mounts' hooves…and still, no sign of the horde.
Yet the trail was disappearing, growing fainter as they followed it, as if it were aging by days and months for each heartbeat that passed.
How could such a huge throng of riders disappear, in such a desert as this, rolling away to the misty distance, Master Val?
Val shook his head. They were at the top of a tallish rise, and he could see the horizon in all directions. Where could they have gone? How could such a multitude have vanished?
There must have been five or six score of them in the attack, Garet continued as he gazed from under his palm. No pack that large could hide in a dip in the sand, a hollow or depression scooped in the shadow of a dune. So where are they?
Val shrugged and kicked his horse. But he wondered as they ate away at the leagues, the spoor growing fainter at each stride, yet still clearly visible behind them, stretching back toward the caravan.
Where were the bandits? How were they making their trail disappear?
It didn't matter. Val would find them and Madryn.
Or die in the attempt.
~*~
The sun was a blistering ball of molten metal, sinking into the dunes before them. Soon it would be too dark to follow the trail. Soon they would have to stop for the night, or risk losing their direction and spending valuable time the next morning backtracking…or not be able to find the trail at all.
This was what frightened Val the most. He looked over at Garet. The boy had been silent for the last few leagues, his stubbly head bobbing on his thin neck in time to his horse's trot. Val wondered if the boy regretted that he'd insisted on coming along.
No, he doubted that very much, Val decided. Garet, for all his boasting and bragging, did have an actual concern for Madryn.
His concern for Val, however, was debatable.
Finally, it became too dark to see the trail before them. Val waited until the very last moment before stopping, hoping against all hope that the moon or stars would cast enough light to continue. But it was not to be. Instead of the fabled glory of the desert night, moon blazing above, stars too thick to count, there was a hazy mist over everything, twining about the ground and rising into the air so high that nothing could be see for more than a few lengths in any direction.
Val pulled back on the reins, his heart sick within him. Garet's horse continued for a few more paces, its rider's head drooping in unabashed sleep, before stopping of its own volition. Garet's body swayed for a moment, then slid bonelessly to the sands.
The boy sat up, a surprised look just visible on his face. Master Val? he quavered, looking about in startled fear. Now that Garet had no other children to impress, he'd reverted to his boyish state.
I'm here, Val called groggily as he dug into a saddlebag, seeking rations for himself and the boy. The first thing he found was a handful of dates; he shared them with the exhausted Garet. Then they both sank down and wearily pulled blankets over them.
They were both asleep almost at once.
~*~
That night, Val's dreams took off on a new tack altogether.
Instead of seeing and living Valaren's depraved and perverted court life, Val now saw earlier into the lord's existence, long before he had become that heartless creature that had so repelled-and attracted-Madryn and others.
Val wore Valaren's child body as he wandered through a blasted and arid landscape, crying out for his father as cold winds blew about his shaking form. He gazed up through the child's eyes at a tall stone tower, its outer shell decorated with the most appalling of motifs-hanged men, their twisted heads gazing downward with frightened, sightless eyes; women with bleeding stalks where their heads had been, carrying their lost appendages under one arm; skeletal horses, fire and smoke billowing from their nostrils; the deadly denizens of a thousand nightmares, huge teeth bared in hideous grins.
But not only were these depictions on the tower the most graphic and lifelike of carvings; no, they moved, cavorting and capering together across the gray rock.
The boy Valaren wandered away from the tower, across blasted heath and arid moor, his soul crying out in torment as demons danced about him. He reached a stony outcropping, where stood an idol carved of obsidian, its eyes weeping sable tears.
Father! cried the boy. Father?
Val could not tell if the boy cried out for his father-or to his father.
He did not think he wanted to know that answer.
~*~
A scream jolted through Val's ear.
He sat up, sand showering away from him in tiny rivulets, scrabbling wildly for his sword.
A vulture, the skin of its bare, crusty head gleaming pink in the feeble rays of dawn, watched Val with a black and considering eye. The bird was less that an arm's length from his tangle of blankets.
Get way! Val snarled, batted at it with one hand while the other finally found his sword.
Disappointed, the carrion eater hopped backward on scaly claws, then spread huge wings and flapped upward with another long, eerie scream.
Not today, the scream promised Val. Perhaps not tomorrow. But soon…soon…>Val looked blearily around, his normal confusion upon awakening from his uncanny dreams even greater than usual. He shook his head, trying to drive away the dim images that still cluttered it; his sense of urgency, his need to resume his quest, was already making his heart pound.
The light from the sun just peaking over the distant horizon grew stronger with every heartbeat; it was already casting long shadows from the empty saddlebags that lay in a discarded heap, blankets and supplies piled beside them.
But where was his horse?
Val shook off his blankets and struggled to his feet, his muscles aching. He did not remember unsaddling his horse, but he remembered with the utmost clarity tying its reins to a peg driven in the sand, to prevent it from wandering off in the night. Where was it?
Good morning, Master Val, chirped a cheery voice.
Garet, his scrawny figure casting a shadow a dozen feet tall and as thin as a post, slithered down the side of an adjacent sandy dune. The boy's arms were wrapped tight around a huge bundle.
Where are the horses? Val snapped. Have you seen them? And what's that you have?
Yes, yes, and breakfast, sir, sang out the boy as he slid to a stop just in front of Val. Dates, almonds, and fresh baked bread. And a jar of milk, of course.
Val eyed the boy with concern. Of course, he repeated, concerned that the previous harrowing day had unhinged the boy's mind.
Val rubbed a hand over his gritty face and wondered if he dared splash a bit of their precious water on it before they went in search of their wandering mounts. For they had merely wandered off in the nighttime, he knew; he dared not allow himself to contemplate any other scenario.
And if you'd care to bathe, continued the boy as if he'd read Val's mind, although I for one consider the custom unhealthy and overrated, there's hot water as well. Garet set his burden down with tender care.
Val felt his mouth drop open in amazement as Garet opened his bundle, removing the cloth in which it was wrapped and spreading it out as if it were the finest of embroidered table linens.
Dates, their sticky wrinkled skins as dark as burnished midnight, tumbled forth in a raucous mass. Almonds followed them more sedately, shaped like a beautiful woman's eyes. A thick round of brown bread, still steaming in the cool morning air, sent out succulent odors that filled Val's mouth with sweet, hot juices. A leather jug, plugged tight with a bit of twisted rag, sloshed in invitation.
I've gone mad at last, Val whispered.
Oh, do not worry your poor head on that matter, Master. Indeed, it happened years and years ago, if I may be so bold, said Garet tartly; he tore the loaf in chunks and began methodically stuffing his mouth full. He offered a hunk to Val with dirty fingers that were almost the same color as the loaf.
Tell me quickly, boy, where these riches came from. We have no time to dawdle; we must find our mounts and be on our way, before the trail grows any colder. Val-his mind chanting 'hurry, hurry' even as his belly growled-seized bread and took a bite, glaring down at the hungry boy.
Oh, the horses, Master? They're just over that dune, to be sure, sir. Where breakfast came from, don't you know? said Garet as he pulled the rag stopper from the mouth of the jug. The boy gave an absent nod toward the sandy height down which he'd just slithered.
Val twisted around to peer up the steep expanse, then turned back to Garet with a snarl of disbelief on his face.
Garet eyed the jug and then Val, as if wondering whether his master deserved, in his present snappish condition, any of the contents. Reaching a decision at last, he reluctantly offered the first drink to Val.
What's there, an oasis or such? Val snapped. He grabbed the jug and turned it up, guzzling fully half its contents. Hurry, boy. We must find our horses, pack up and be away.
Garet took the jug and sipped the contents delicately. We've plenty of time, Master, he said airily as he examined the dates. The sun is only just up, after all. And the horses are still having their breakfasts; I'm sure they'll travel much better on full stomachs too.
His patience exhausted, Val shouted, Have you forgotten why we're here, you little fool?
A hurt look spreading across his grimy features, Garet sat back on his haunches. How little you know me if you think that, Master Val, he mumbled around a mouthful of dates. He chewed them methodically and spit the stones into a neat pile, before resuming, I have forgotten nothing at all. When I was offered this booty in the small camp just over that dune, I thought it only right that they share it with me…and I with you, naturally. We have to eat, you know, to keep up our strength; we'll need it for our journey, won't we?
Val started towards the dune. Camp, he said, his voice low. The bandit camp?
Oh, I hardly think so, indeed, Master, the boy shook his head. Thieves and bandits they are, no doubt, but they're not our bandits, if you take my meaning, sir. These folk are really quite pleasant, I must say. Of course, they and I do have a great deal in common, so it's not surprising that we'd hit it off so well from….
Ignoring the boy's ceaseless chattering, Val raced up the hill, his sword free in one hand. Just before he reached the top, he fell to his knees and peeked a cautious head over the summit.
A green oasis, as Val suspected, its small central water hole hardly bigger than one of the wagons in the caravan. The tiny pool shone like a jewel in the fresh morning light. A handful of palms clustered around the pool's ragged shore, their thirsty roots digging deep into the sandy soil.
A small encampment circled the oasis, no more than half a dozen tents flapping in the breeze. Horses and camels, perhaps a score of them, were imprisoned in a small corral made of the briery bushes that tumbled across the sands with every wind.
Val could pick out their own mounts, dark instead of sand colored, in the huddle of animals. A couple of cook fires sent up thin spirals of smoke, silver gray against the dun sand.
They're really quite friendly, sir, whispered a tiny voice in Val's ear. Garet had slithered down beside him, quiet as a mouse. They gave me all this food and said they'd like to talk to us after we eat.
About what? Val snapped.
Why, our quest, naturally, huffed Garet. He stuffed another date in his mouth from the handful he had thoughtfully brought with him.
I suppose you told them everything about why we're here and what we're looking for? Val snarled.
Actually, they already know all about it, was the surprising reply.
A man dressed in flowing tan robes stepped out of a tent and looked up toward the dune atop which Garet and Val lay. The man waved his hand in a beckoning motion, then stooped and disappeared back inside the tent.
Val shook his head, his eyes glued on the scene below them. This is madness, he said-his mind urging 'speed, speed'. We must be on our way. The sun's up and we can't waste any more time. The bandits who have Madryn-if she's not here-are no doubt already on horseback, getting farther and farther ahead of us by the instant.
You'll never catch them on horseback, said a voice.
But this was not Garet's squeak. Val turned at the sound of the deep, harsh tones, his heart pounding in surprise, his sword coming up in ready defense.
A tall man stood behind them, just below the crest of the slippery dune. Draped in flowing robes the exact color of the sands, he cast a quick wary eye at Val's sword and then smiled down at him as if they were old acquaintances.
Not on horseback, said the man. Horses can't survive where she's gone. But a man can, if he takes the proper precautions.
~*~
I don't understand, said Val. Where have they taken her?
He looked around at the assembled bandit band, their sunburned faces dark against their pale robes.
They've gone through the portal, said Aanakun, his voice grim. Few who enter the portal ever return to this world unchanged.
Aanakun had led Val and Garet down the slope and into this tent. The other bandits, a dozen or so all told, squatted or reclined on piles of threadbare blankets and rugs, as they sipped fermented camel's milk from brass mugs.
What portal is in the middle of the desert? Val scoffed. His frantic need to follow Madryn made his hands tremble. My friend was kidnapped by a horde of bandits yesterday, a hundred or more. I helped fight off their attack.
So did I, said Garet indistinctly, his mouth full of dates and almonds.
We followed their trail until dark. We need to be after them now, before they disappear. We need our horses, and we'll go on our way.
You can't follow them on horseback, as I've already told you, Aanakun repeated, stroking his bearded chin. And there was no horde of bandits.
I saw more than a hundred of them, Val said, in the slow and measured tone of a man who realized he was in the presence of madness. He took a deep breath and tried to still the trembling of his hands. His mind whispered 'hurry, hurry'. I killed three of them myself, saw many others die, and saw their blood sink into the sands. We drove them away. They took Madryn with them. I can still catch them if you'll let me have my horse so I can be on my way.
Hurry, hurry, Val's mind whispered. >Aanakun sighed, but gave no sign that he could see his burly guest was shaking to be gone. There is no horde, he repeated. We are the only bandits in this stretch of desert, the only ones between Rinidia and Lakazsh.
But the caravan master said there were hundreds of bandits. He hired us to- Val said helplessly.
They're all mad, his mind said calmly. And so am I. He just managed to restrain a hysterical cackle of laughter.>We have an old agreement with Master Aubry, interrupted Aanakun, his pitying eyes locked onto Val. We make sure that travelers believe in us enough to pay his exorbitant fees; we appear, make a bit of bother, then ride off with a few baubles. Aubry shares a portion of his fees with us at the end of every passage. It's a simple plan that provides for both our needs and his.
But we were attacked, Val insisted-though he remembered Master Aubry's surprise. If you are the only bandits in this part of the desert, then who attacked the caravan?
The horde was not from our world. They were conjured by a most powerful pair of mages, who reside on the other side of the portal, began Aanakun.
Val recognized the pity in the man's eyes.
We were gathering together with our north camp brethren, Aanakun continued, using his hands to describe the two bands joining. We'd arranged with Master Aubry to stage a mock attack just before the caravan reached Rinidia, then conveniently be driven off before any of our number could be hurt.
They are Llar Zhan, chirped Garet, as if that explained everything-which to his mind, Val realized, it did.
We are, agreed Aanakun, smiling at the boy.
But I thought Llar Zhan were children led by old teachers, said Val helplessly.
Yes, but we don't stay children forever, do we? asked Garet, his hands on his bony hips. We grow up, as all folk do, of course. Some of us farther than others, it seems. The boy eyed Val's bulk with a disapproving eye. Then we are forced to go into other lines of business to keep ourselves fed. Some lucky few retire on their acquired wealth. Some study to become adepts, some hire out for mercenaries. Some even become politicians-although those of us who still retain our dignity never acknowledge them after that. And some…become bandits in the desert.
This is all very interesting, Val sighed, but I really must be on my way after Madryn. If you'll give me my horse back, I'll be on my way.
But that's just what he's been telling you, Master Val, Garet said as if explaining a simple fact to a backward child. Mistress Madryn has been taken through a magical portal by some demons conjured by powerful adepts. We can't ride our horses there. We must go on foot.
Listen, Val growled, his eyes full of uncanny light. I have not had a very good journey thus far. Madryn is missing. I've got to find her. Are you going to help me, or must I kill all of you and then take my horse and go?
Can you find the portal without our help, think you? asked Aanakun, not appearing frightened by Val in the least.
I don't know anything about a portal! Val shouted, springing to his feet and grabbing for his sword. All I want to do is ride out and find Madryn!
Why? Aanakun asked, the pity clear on his bearded face. So you can die with her?
~*~
A strange, monotonous hum filled the dry, dusty air, a sound almost palpable in its intensity. It emanated from an odd stone construct that sat at the bottom of the crevice, on the edge of which lay Garet, Aanakun and Val.
The portal-if that indeed was what the thing was, thought Val-rested at the bottom of a deep arroyo in the deserts sands, no doubt the site of a long-vanished river. The ancient rushing waters had gnawed deep into the shifting sands and into the underlying bedrock before they had disappeared into the mists of the past. Their disappearance had left only a narrow ravine that could not be seen unless-or until-one fell into it, so well hidden was it from prying eyes.
The trail that Val and Garet had followed all the previous day, as faint and unclear now as if it had been made months ago, ended at the very edge of the ravine.
What happened to the horses they rode, if horses cannot live on the other side of that thing? whispered Val. He was not sure why he was whispering, but it seemed to be the proper thing to do when faced with the humming construct below. And he was far from sure that he believed Aanakun, even faced with this extraordinary bit of evidence.
They weren't riding horses at all, though they made them appear so to us, replied Aanakun in similarly hushed tones. We've watched this portal for years, ever since it first appeared down there. The Mallowdwyn pay very well for information on what goes in and out that thing, as well as when.
Mallowdwyn? Val had heard the odd name before, he knew. An image of Garet clinging behind him on his horse, chattering about some nonsense, rose up in his mind. They're some sort of magic workers?
They are, agreed Aanakun. The desert nomad seized Val's robe and dragged him away from the edge of the ravine and behind a sandy dune, out of sight of the strange construct-but not away from that eerie hum, which followed them and surrounded them.
But the sound did lessen to some degree, save for a tiny irritating whimper of teeth-grating noise.
The Mallowdwyn have been curious about that portal ever since it appeared, what, nearly thirty years ago. Some of the adepts believe that it has some similarity with the Great Rift that appeared in the northern wastes at about the same time, Aanakun explained.
His words had little meaning for Val, until he remembered some fragments of the history of the Rift from his dreams.
That's the same Rift that Madryn was involved in destroying? Val asked hesitantly.
The same. In all the time that the portal has been down there, we have watched it for Mallowdwyn, taking careful note of what happens around it, what passes through it in either direction. Our watchers have seen some bizarre occurrences over the years, but none more uncanny that the creatures that came out…and became the horde of bandits that attacked your caravan. Aanakun rose and dusted the sand off his hands, motioned to the other two to rise. It began as a whirling mist of mingled black and copper. I saw it myself, it being my turn on duty.
Aanakun led them towards another segment of the snaking ravine. Against its side, a ladder made of rope and strips of metal led downward; the twists and turns of the ancient, long-departed river had wrapped the resulting crevice almost on top of itself in some spots. Here, so close to the alien portal that the hum could still be heard, it was still possible to hide a small encampment deep in the shadowy depths of the ravine.
The ladder supports were cut into the rocky limestone walls; at certain sections, wide ledges made it possible to stand and walk before being forced back onto the ladder. Strong, protruding poles outstretched, making it possible to lower supplies into the ravine instead of carrying them down by hand.
The poles also made convenient handholds for those without a head for heights; Val was pleased to discover. He made full use of them as he clambered down into the darkening pit. Descending before Val, Garet slithered down as if he used the ladder every day of his life.
At the bottom of the arroyo was a shelter, a cave that penetrated into the side of the cliff and disappeared into darkness. Inside its gloom, Val and Garet sat down to learn all that Aanakun could tell them about the portal.
It wasn't much. Val wondered if it would do them any good. He'd still not quite accepted that Madryn had been taken inside that thing that rested around a corner of rock from them, but he'd seen the tracks that disappeared before it.
The portal opens each day at sunrise and sunset, Aanakun said. It remains open only the briefest of times, so you must be careful to enter it at precisely the proper moment, no sooner, no later, and to come out, he paused, then repeated with even greater emphasis, and to come out at exactly the correct moment as well. We've never seen any horses go into it; that's why we believe that they cannot live inside there. It's not surprising, really, considering what it's like on the other side.
You've been inside?
Several of us have been just on the other side of the portal, on the very outskirts of the place that exists there, Aanakun admitted with a nod. It is one of our tests, when new arrivals come from the city or some village desiring to join our band. If an initiate can enter through the portal and stay there in view of the central tower for the space of one full day, sunrise to sunset, then she or he is accepted into our band.
Tower? asked Garet, even his normally high spirits somewhat dampened by the otherworldly hum that still surrounded them, an irritating insect of noise. What tower?
The tower…the tower that reaches to the sky within that dark and frigid place, said Aanakun, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a shudder.
So the things that took Madryn went through this portal, into a strange cold land, at dawn today? And to follow her, I must go through it too, and at sunset, I take it? Val asked to make quite sure he understood. He was almost sure that he remembered this very tower from a recent dream, though the image was vague and unreal.
But it didn't matter. If that was where Madryn was, then that was where he was going too.
But he thought again of that tower in his dreams and shivered, though the cave was warm and dry.
We test our initiates by sending them in to spend the day, Aanakun reminded Val. We know not what might happen if one enters at night, for the few who have tried it…did not return. That is why I think it safer if you enter at sunrise, and remember to return at sunset when the portal opens again. Time travels on different feet inside that land beyond the portal; days, even longer, will seem to pass for you as you wander there. You must keep careful watch upon the sky. It will darken from its ruddy hues to a jetty black, and stars will wink into view, one by one, until there are thirteen. Then the portal will open. Remember, the most stars that any of our brethren have ever counted there-and lived to tell of it-are thirteen.
So I must spend my time counting stars? Val laughed grimly. His hands moved in slow and measured strokes as he ran a whetstone down the length of his blade. The scrape and singing of stone against steel punctuated his remarks. I don't think so. I will enter, find Madryn, and then bring her back. And nothing, not even stars, had better get in my way.
Perhaps you will, shrugged Aanakun. Stranger things have happened, to be sure.
The stone ceased its constant motion for an instant, and then resumed.
Why are you helping me? Val asked. He'd wondered this many times over the course of that day, but he'd been too pressed by his need for hurry to voice his question. Now that he'd seen the trail he had followed end up at the edge of that odd stone portal to nowhere, he'd started to accept the other things Aanakun told him. But doubt still nagged him, and he had no desire to risk Madryn's safety on a man he'd just met.
The desert bandit scratched his grizzled beard. We make our living off others, as most do through all the lands, I suppose, Aanakun began; the faint echoes of his deep, slow voice were captured and reflected by the uneven cave walls. But we have learned from the Mallowdwyn that this world in which we live is a fragile creature, needing our protection. We do our little part to keep it on a stable path.
Val spat out a bitter laugh, thinking of his time in the slave pens, in the arena, his brief days in the house of Lady Alysa…thinking of the kind of man Valaren Starseeker had been, and the damage he had worked on Madryn and others. Stable? he asked. If you consider the way our world works 'stable', then perhaps we'd be better for a bit of a stumble.
Aanakun scooped up a fistful of sand and smiled as he held it, grains trapped within tightly clenched fingers, before Val's eyes.
Balance in all things, Master Val, he said, then open his sand-filled hand flat. At once, rivulets began to flow from his horny palms, and soon most of the sand had sought and returned to its former place upon the ground, leaving only errant granules on the broad flat hand. Some of us suffer more than others, it is true. Some are luckier than others. But if they who live behind that portal were to have their way with us-we would all suffer, all the time.
The sing and scrape of stone and steel was the nomad's only reply.
Chapter Eighteen
>When the portal began to open, Val caught his breath in wonder.
The portal had hardly been worth a glance when first they'd seen it over the top of the ravine. If not for the obvious ending of the trail he'd been following at its very mouth, Val would have passed it by, thinking it to be merely a fragment of some ancient, forgotten temple left to rot in the desert, or perchance a bit of the skeleton of some primordial building, tumbled and worn by endless desert winds.
The portal consisted of a pile of weathered gray stones gathered into two uneven columns; one was as tall as three tall man, the other shorter by almost one half; there was perhaps half the height of the taller column between them.
Yet, surely the thing's age was such that it must have stood here abandoned in this ravine when it was filled with rushing waters? But no, Val remembered. According to Aanakun, the portal had appeared only some thirty years before.
Val had spent a restless night, hardly daring to sleep for fear of missing the few moments he had to make use of the gate, and not trusting anyone to awaken him in time. He'd tossed and turned, dozing off for brief moments and then jerking awake, his nerves clamoring in alarm. He was glad of this alarm; he had no wish to spend this night of all nights submerged in the memories and life of such a man as Valaren Starseeker-not when he must go through the portal the next dawn.
Now it was almost time to enter. Now, as the portal changed and shifted before his wondering eyes as he watched it from the cover of a pile of rocks, its image of age and abandonment vanished, shattered in an instant. The topmost stone began to glow from within, losing its age-worn appearance as the first rays of the sun struck it over the tip of the ravine. Coruscating beams of light, their colors unnamable to Val, spat out like bolts of lightning from the stone as the sun's rays caressed it, and the substance took on the glow of polished marble. A wind leaked from between the columns-no warm desert zephyr, but icy cold and thick with the smell of danger.
When the last stone of the right member begins to glow, you must enter between them, repeated Aanakun in Val's right ear, his voice rising to a shout to be heard over the rising icy winds. Remember the thirteen stars and be ready to come back through when they appear.
Val nodded. I'll remember. He wondered if Aanakun realized he had no intention of leaving without Madryn. Whatever had happened to her, whether harmed or whole, mad or sane, Val would find her and bring her back.
Or die there, in that strange place beyond the portal, in her arms.
Garet squawked in Val's other ear, his voice tinny and uncertain over the rising cacophony. I'll help you to remember it all, Master Val. Who can count better than a thief, after all?
The boy's cheerful nature was only slightly damped by the uncanny sight that occurred before them. They squatted, two men and a ragged boy, behind a tumble of rocks, protected to a small extent from the frigid winds, but not at all from the sounds that rose like banshee wails about them.
Val cast a quick look at Aanakun, jerked his head in Garet's direction. The bearded chieftain caught the look and nodded. Val watched the bandit lay a hand across Garet's back, entangling his fingers in the boy's ragged tunic. Garet, engrossed in the eerie sight before him, took no notice of that small, surreptitious movement.
Val had to enter the portal. He did not have to drag the boy inside with him. Garet would be safe with the nomads until Val's return-if he returned.
Another stone began to throb and sing with color and light, then another. The winds rose in force, became a gale of icy fear.
Another stone, then two more.
Val tugged at the straps that bound a small pack of supplies to his back, ran a finger across the hilts of the dagger in each boot top, then laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. A brief glimpse of the past rose before his eyes-how he'd hugged Madryn when she'd bought the sword for him…the surprised look she'd had in her eyes…
He'd see those eyes, gray shot with violet, again. Val had no doubt of it.
He would not, could not allow himself to doubt.
Three stones were left that had yet to join their brethren in colorful display. Val stood up, buffeted at once by the whipping winds that slapped at him with icy fingers. Garet stood up beside him, a smaller pack on his back, a long dagger in a leather sheath cinched tight around his narrow waist. The boy's eyes and mind were so caught up in the display going on before them that he did not notice when Aanakun stood up behind him and tightened his grip on Garet's tunic.
The next to last stone began to glow on its very topmost edge.
Now! shouted Aanakun.
Val began to run towards the portal, gauging his steps so that his timing would be perfect.
Master!
Val heard Garet's faint wail behind him.
Good, he thought as the cold winds stung his face, the portal looming tall before him. At least the boy will be safe.>Val paused for one measured heartbeat at the very entrance to the portal, as the last stone of the towering left pylon was touched with light. The temperature of the air, already icy, dropped even further; Val could feel the frigid winds trying to rip the hair from his head, the clothes from his back, forcing him, shoving him backwards as he gathered his courage for the final step.
In the next instant, the last stone shimmered with light. A shivering spiral of uncanny colors opened up between the pylons, pulsing and glowing with magical splendor.
Val flung himself through the gate…and disappeared.
With a wailing shriek and the ripping of rotten cloth, Garet tore free of Aanakun's grip and dashed forward. Just as the spiral that had swallowed up Val began to shrink from its former magnificence, the boy leaped into the center of it.
In less time that it takes to wink an eye, Aanakun the bandit chief stood alone before two tumbled piles of weathered stones. The desert dawn was still and warm around him.
In one outstretched hand dangled a dirty strip of torn cloth.
Chapter Nineteen
>You were going to leave me behind, complained Garet for the hundredth-or was it thousandth-time.
They were trudging along a narrow rocky pathway that skirted a perfectly round pool of dark, strangely shimmering luminescence.
And after all I've done for you, too, Garet continued.
Val made no reply; he was engaged in rubbing his sore ribs, where a flying mass of bony boy had struck him.
Just after Val passed through the portal, he turned to watch it close behind him; he wanted a clear image of just what he needed to look for, so that when he found Madryn and brought her back here, he'd know exactly what it looked like when it was time to go through the gate.
He gazed up, up, up. On this side of the portal, the stones higher that the highest tower, and they displayed a workmanship that far surpassed any Val had ever seen. The stones fit together in jagged, uneven seams, though their edges were smooth and sharp and there was no visible mortar. Each stone section was of a different shade, gray, bluish, ruddy, and colors that had no name.
The icy winds that buffeted Val on the other side of the portal were nonexistent here; in some fashion, they'd died away somewhere between this place and the desert from which he'd come.
Val gazed up at the tall pylons, watching the central spiral through which he'd leapt as it shrank away with a soft, murmuring moan of whirling air.
It was at that exact instant that a flying bundle, composed of little more than bony elbows and knees and outstretched sharp fingers, slammed into Val's broad chest, with the speed and accuracy of an arrow from a crossbow. Val fell backward, his arms with unconscious concern clasping Garet to his breast as they both tumbled into deep, sticky mud, just on the edge of a murky, ice-rimmed pool that bubbled busily.
Garet jumped up, as unharmed and resilient as a toy, and like a toy, he bounced around Val, all the while making his aggravation know in a squeaky, offended voice.
You tried to leave me behind! How dare you, Master Val? Who would help you rescue the mistress?
Val lay there gasping, unable to make an intelligible reply as his catapulted servant knocked all the breath from him.
Before Val could totally regain his breath, Garet's strident voice died away into a mumble as the boy began to notice the sights around them.
The two of them had just left desert steppes and ravines clogged with sand, just departed a land of heat and dry air. In the space of a few heartbeats, they had arrived in a damp and somber landscape, composed of single rocks rising from pits and pools of thick, viscous mud that was black as pitch. These pools were scattered with a prodigal hand throughout their range of visibility, and each one was as perfectly round as a master navigator's glove, though varying in size from no more than a puddle, to vast lakes. Each rock that rose from the glutinous mud was of faultless geometric shape as well, ranging from soaring pyramids with sleek, shimmering points, to tiny cylinders with precisely rounded sides. Interspersed between these tarry bodies of water were open, empty pits.
Garet pattered toward one of these, stared down into its depth.
Ah, Master Val?
Val had nearly regained his errant breath at last. He rose to his feet; the mud into which he'd landed made evil sucking sounds as he pulled himself away from it. Val looked at the boy.
I don't believe that this…hole has a bottom to it, Garet informed him.
Then, Val panted, you won't…hit the bottom…when I throw you…into it.
Garet did not deign to dignify this comment with a reply. The boy turned around in circles-staying far away from any open pit in the area-and observed the uncanny landscape that surrounded them.
With his hands on his hips, Garet said, Well, Master Val, what a place I have brought you to, have I not? Wait until I tell the others back in Lakazsh about this. He pattered towards Val, keeping a careful watch on his path. But if you're quite through resting, sir, I really believe we should get on our way, you know, the boy continued testily. I for one do not wish to spend any longer than necessary in this cold place. We should find the mistress and get back her, don't you agree?
Val nodded in agreement. They opened their packs and retrieved the heavy cloaks that Aanakun had insisted they bring. The thick goatskin coverings felt good against the piercing cold.
Take careful notice of our position, Garet, and of where we go, Val ordered as he buckled his swordbelt around the outside of his cloak. That tall stone pyramid there will be our landmark; I don't see anything else around here like it. And there, he pointed off into the distance, then rubbed his hands together in the frigid air, is the tower where Aanakun thinks they may be holding Madryn. We must be there, retrieve her, and be back here at the portal before the thirteen stars shine in the sky, remember.
Garet shot a doubtful gaze at the heavens above them. Instead of blue depths, a vast ruddy dome stretched over them. What light there was apparently emanated from the very air about them, a cold clear light that cast few shadows. I suppose there are stars? I suppose there is a night? the boy squeaked. Aanakun told us about them, to be sure, but what if he was wrong? Or mistaken? And is there a moon?
Val shrugged. It didn't matter to him if ships sailed across the night sky in this uncanny place, or flames of burning vapors, or dancing fishes.
All he wanted was to find Madryn, and then get all three of them out of there.
~*~
A sharp, agonized scream ripped through the still air, then traveled upward in measured cadences from the bowels of the tower.
One guest is already here, brother, and the other comes apace, laughed the cold voice; the laugh sounded like breaking glass.
But what of the small one? complained the dark voice. I like not the feel of the small one. He has the smell of…I do not know. But I do not like the feel of him.
A shower of tiny ice spicules rained down inside the round study at the top of the tower, to bounce and tumble on the chill stone floor. A mouse, daring a dash for a crumble of dried cheese, was pierced by scores of the minute frozen spears; the ice turned at once to a vivid crimson as they leached away the animal's lifeblood. The mouse twisted and twitched for a moment…then was still.
What can such an insignificant thing as that do to us, my brother? asked the cold. See what my magic does to small, soft things? Why worry now, when our plans are almost complete?
True, agreed the dark in a considering tone.
True…true…true…ue…ue…came the whispering echoes, fighting for their transient lives against another thin, reedy scream. >The floating globe, suspended in dark and swirling mists, displayed deep in its depths a pair of tiny figures, one towering over the other, as they trudged through an eerie landscape.
But the small one has a most familiar smell, complained the dark. Skeletal fingers tapped against a flat tabletop of cold white stone; they made a sound like the clicking mandibles of a death beetle. That smell offends me.
I will remove it for you, brother, said the cold in a conciliatory tone. It will be my pleasure.
See that it is so, and you shall have a reward, promised dark in a syrupy voice.
My reward is to see you happy, dear brother, as always, said the cold. Happy-and avenged.
~*~
Val regarded the tower that crowned the outcropping of rock rearing above them-with a persistent, yet vague, memory of having somewhere, some time, seen it before.
The tall cylinder of shining white stood out like a beacon against the murky sky, and the background of misty, parallel hills that rose behind it. The tower's construction was so detailed and precise that there were no lines to show where one stone left off and another began; it was almost as if the thing had grown straight up like some uncanny mushroom from the rotting, rancid soil.
But there were lines visible in the lustrous surface. Again, Val was almost positive that he had seen something very like them before. Pale gray lines, ever changing, ever twisting into new and horrible shapes and patterns. Pictures would form from those busy lines-clearly visible from Val's vantage point-pictures that drew the eye and enthralled the questing mind, pictures of hanged men and headless women and nightmare creatures that writhed and turned upon and into each other.
Garet squatted beside Val, his teeth chattering with the chill. The boy had kept up with the long legs of his master all that morning-Had it been a morning? Did this strange place have a morning?-his constant recriminations about almost being left behind his only conversation. They had traversed the alien landscape, skirting ice-coated pools of murky black. They had been forced more than once to backtrack around impassable upshot piles of smooth rocks, fearful all the while that they would lose their way. They had crossed plains of glutinous mud that sucked and squelched and threatened to pull the very boots from their feet; the mud, if mud it was, reached up insinuating tendrils of glossy black, wrapping around their legs like a living thing.
Each and every difficult step that they took toward the shimmering white tower appeared to thrust its shining surface further and further from them. A trick of the eyes, of the strange light? Val wondered if it was that…or something far less canny. Whatever it was, they had taken far longer to reach their goal that Val would have thought possible when they'd first begun their trek.
But they had arrived at last. They crouched at the bottom of a rise or hill, on the top of which rested the enigmatic tower.
Unfortunately, there was a most unexpected problem to add their long list.
Are you quite, quite sure that the mistress is in that horrible place? whispered Garet, blowing on his frozen fingers in the vain attempt to bring some warmth back into them.
If she's not, then your bandit friends have steered us wrong, Val replied, his voice gruff with concern for the boy.
For them both.
He eyed the skinny, shivering form beside him. How long a time had passed since the two of them-one, somewhat more precipitately than the other-arrived through the portal into this place? How long until the night appeared, thirteen stars as its herald? How much longer could he, could the boy, last in this insinuating cold that cut through their heavy cloaks like razors?
Long enough to free Madryn and get back to the portal, back to their own world.
Val offered up a prayer to any god that might be listening.
Aanakun didn't lie about the portal, did he? asked Garet with a flash of his usual spirit. He didn't lie about the tower, or the way this place looks, or what we must watch out for, did he? Although I do admit, I was somewhat disappointed that he tried to prevent me from accompanying you. Still, I hope that all the time we spent last night, listening to him tell us all he knows of this eerie place, is not going to be wasted.
But he never mentioned those, now did he? countered Val, with a nod up the hill.
'Those' were the guardians of the tower, and Aanakun had most assuredly not mentioned them at all.
Val was not entirely sure that he would have mentioned them either-especially to anyone who had never seen them. For he was positive that it would take seeing for anyone to believe in such creatures. And even then…
There were two of the creatures. One, the one that stood on the right side of the wide-open doorway to the tower, was the largest animal that either of them had ever seen. Or so they'd thought; an instant later, it had shrunk down to the size of a mewling puppy compared to its fellow guardian, which appeared on the other side of the open door.
But, the longer Val stared at the beasts, the more confused he became about their actual sizes and shapes. Oh, there were clear impressions of scales and claws, of long tails and more than the usual complement of legs, of gaping mouths full of rows and rows-and rows-of long sharp teeth. But the things would shift in and out of visibility, one moment clear and distinct in the biting air, the next dim and hazy, as if hidden behind vapors or the miasma that rose up in lazy waves from the icy ground.
That looks to be the only entrance, Val whispered, nodding at the well-guarded black maw that broke the white expanse of the lofty spire. The opening lay just across a bridge that appeared to be composed of mist, pale and insubstantial. The vaporous bridge spanned a deep moat, in which they could see, floating to the surface of inky liquid, segments of bodies >or limbs. These fragmented body parts would fly up from the dark waters and attach themselves to the guardian beasts, with audible and extremely unpleasant sucking sounds. Other chunks would detach from one beast or the other and fall down into the murky liquid with a repugnant splash.
How are we going to get past those…things and get inside? Garet asked as uncontrollable shivers wracked his scrawny frame.
Val had no idea. His heart was savagely thumping and exhaustion threatened to overcome him at any moment. He felt as if he'd lived on the edge of a precipice for years, and was losing his footing and ready to tumble over the side.
And always, he felt the need for speed.
Follow Madryn, get her back from whoever, whatever had taken her, get all three of them back to the portal, in as short a time as possible, wandering through a strange and savage land, thirteen stars in a darkening sky, hurry, hurry…
Damn the woman,> Val thought in sudden, overwhelming anger. Damn the woman. Why had he ever agreed to accompany her on this useless, hopeless quest? It would have been better, far better, if he had died in the hunt that day, now so long in the past, than to have ended up in this hideous place, chasing after a woman who cared no more for him than she would a pet, an animal...
A slave.
He should have killed her on one of the many occasions when he'd had the chance, Val decided. Broken her neck with his own hands, as he'd done to his late mistress, or run her through with the sword she'd been idiot enough to give him. Giving an escaped slave, a gladiator, a sword? What sort of fool was she? And the way he had caught her watching him, many a time. Watching him, calculating just what use she could make of him, leading him on to do her bidding, making use of his own desires to enslave him anew…
Val's eyes narrowed in contemplation. Those eyes had changed in the last few moments, changed in this odd, uncanny light from their usual chestnut color…to a dull and ugly black, a black that seemed to draw light into them and reflect nothing back.
Look, Master Val, whispered Garet, thrusting a sharp elbow into Val's ribs.
Receiving no answer, Garet looked up at his master's face, but instead came into range of those flat, black eyes. The boy gave a gasp and shrank away, raising his hands above his face in a protective gesture.
Val ignored the suddenly frightened boy; instead, he looked up at the tower.
One of the beasts that had been lounging beside the door was moving away, off to the right, disappearing around the bulge of the white tower. The beast shrank too quickly for something of its enormity, lessening in size as if it had gone a league away, instead of merely a few steps. Soon the creature was out of their sight, hidden by the round side of the spire.
Guard duty? Val gazed at the other beast in hazy wonder. Did the things walk some preordained course, protection for the tower? Was there another entrance on the opposite side? Did some other creature hold guard there, if so?>But Val knew what guarded this tower. Had known it for years…
Val stood up from behind the pyramidal stone behind which he and Garet were crouching, his body exposed from the waist up to any viewer that cared to look.
Master! Garet whispered urgently. Master?
Val reached down a long arm and seized the boy.
Garet stifled a shriek as strong fingers trained to kill encircled his bony arm and dragged him from behind the rock. Garet's boots scrabbled in the thick mud as he tried to gain purchase, tried to get away. But the boy was helpless in that strong, suddenly savage grip.
Val plucked the boy clear of the mud, clear of the rock, and tossed him over one shoulder.
Garet swung head down. With desperate squeaks and squawks, he protested this treatment and his undignified position.
Val ignored him. He lay a massive hand on the struggling boy's back, and began a slow but purposeful stride towards the tower at the top of the hill.
~*~
The single remaining guardian watched Val's approach with a benign, almost loving regard. It licked its scaly lips as if it could already taste the toothsome morsel walking toward it on determined-and, it decided, delicious-sturdy legs.
Val paused just out of the reach of a pair of man-length claws. He gazed up-and up-into the creature's golden eyes. Since there were three of these orbs to choose from, Val's flat, ebony eyes locked onto the one in the middle.
Val grinned.
The creature, which had opened its enormous mouth in a threatening snarl as Val approached, appeared a bit nonplussed as to how to react to a grin. It shut its toothy mouth with a snap, and a disappointed and sulfuric snort of overheated air rushed from all five of its nostrils.
Garet's squirming, which had been ongoing since he'd found himself suspended over Val's shoulder, stopped as a cloud of rank, disgusting breath enveloped him in his uncomfortable perch. The boy choked and coughed against Val's cloaked back, then twisted his shorn head at an awkward angle and was just able to see what was happening.
Get out of my way, he heard Val snarl.
The creature that towered over them, its scabrous head held thoughtfully to one side, looked to be considering just where to bite Val-and, due to his unpleasant position, Garet-first. The boy gave a preparatory wiggle, desiring more than anything to escape from his untenable location; but a huge hand tightened painfully on his legs, and Garet stilled at once.
Get out of my way, Val repeated, his tone no more pleasant than the first time he had so commanded the beast.
But this time, he punctuated his words with the slither of a sword leaving its scabbard.
The creature eyed the shining length of steel with one eye, which then turned upward to take counsel with the two other orbs that shown from sockets above it. Apparently, all three were in agreement.
With a snort of ponderous dignity, the beast shuffled away from the doorway.
Val, sword in one hand and Garet across his shoulder, still offering wistful albeit hopeless wiggles, marched across the bridge and through the unguarded tower door.
Chapter Twenty
>What is the meaning of this travesty, brother? spat the cold voice. The large one is inside our home already, and we have not prepared a suitable greeting.
An elongated figure of outlandish emaciation stalked back and forth across the round tower room; its emaciated bare feet appeared and disappeared like flickering ghosts beneath a flowing crimson robe.
In the center of the room, the mist-filled brass bowl that had once held a floating globe stood empty on its tripod, a shimmering pentagram etched in the dust on the floor beneath it. The globe itself, dull and flat now, its images lost, hung imprisoned between skeletal fingers. These bony fingers threw the globe like a child's toy from one pale hand to the other, petulant irritation evident in each quick, short toss.
Against the wall, the long stone table had been swept clear of its esoteric rubble. Gone were skulls and skin-bound books; gone were enchained ravens and glass jars with grinning, pickled heads; gone were piles of manuscripts covered in arcane symbols.
Now, the only burden the table bore…was Madryn.
Stretched across the icy stone, her wrists and ankles bound to the tops of the table legs with manacles of rusty iron, Madryn gazed up through slitted eyes, counting the arching stones that supported the ceiling of the tower…to keep from screaming.
Let him go, Valaren, Madryn said, her tone weak but controlled. He's done nothing to you. Let him go.
A shambling figure dressed in dingy, colorless rags stumbled from the doorway towards the table, and stood looking down at Madryn's supine, defenseless form. One claw-like hand jerked the chain that held one of her ankles bound to the table-then smirked at the gasp of pain it drew forth from the prisoner.
I'm very sorry to deny you this boon, my dear, drawled Valaren Starseeker.
But this was not the stylish courtier, toast of her majesty's court, dressed in foppish silks of rainbow hues. No, this Valaren was a scarecrow of a man, his wasted face drawn and pasty, the skin of his hands wrinkled and sere. A thick scar circumnavigated his reedy neck, and his overlarge head jerked and bobbled on its unsteady perch, like a loose button hanging from a single thread.
Very sorry indeed. But how else can I return to my former glory, without his necessary assistance? continued Valaren, with a smile that split his ashen face in two uneven segments. Surely you cannot expect me to remain trapped in this body-that you condemned me to, as you recall-forever?
Madryn turned her head to glare at the creature that stood beside the table. His scanty hair grew in patches on his leprous skin, and his eyes were sunken black lesions in his pale flesh.
Oh, I don't know, she said, considering. I think that body rather suits your nature.
Valaren Starseeker gave a vicious tweak to a dangling chain, and was rewarded by another gasp of pain.
I have a far better body on its way to me now, he grinned down at Madryn, a thin trickle of spittle drooling from his slack mouth. A body trained and tempered and honed for strength and endurance. Why, it's almost as strong and as beautiful as the one you tried to destroy, my dear. My mind is already half inside its new host, you know. The rest of the procedure will take but a short time. And then…and then, my darling Madryn, I shall have the pleasure of seeing you lust after me once more, as you have lusted after this burly slave of yours for these last days and weeks. What a jest, Madryn! What a deliciously unholy jest! I, whom you struggled to refuse again and again-aye, and succeeded more than once, I will admit-I shall be inside a body from which you cannot keep away. Won't it be a pretty sight?
Madryn twisted arms and legs against the restraining iron, adding to the blood that already trickled down each table leg in a slow, lazy stream. On the dusty stone floor beneath her rested four tiny onyx bowls, one set at each table leg; each was nearly half full of scarlet fluid, beginning to congeal already in the frigid atmosphere.
The elongated form dressed in flowing crimson stalked toward the table where Madryn lay, stopped short beside the ravaged form of Valaren.
You need not wait much longer to see your friends, my dear, said a cold, clear voice. A skeletal hand rose up and pushed back a deep ruddy hood.
Billows of hair, as chalk white as the stony walls, poured out of the hood to hang down the back of the crimson robe.
My dearest brother Valaren and I have waited long for our revenge against you, said the woman thus exposed, her fiery eyes burning down on Madryn from a milk-pale face. Now that our time has finally arrived, I would have it last as long as possible. The tip of a pink tongue jutted out through alabaster lips, was captured for an instant between snowy teeth and then released. The woman's scarlet eyes caressed her brother's shaking form. My beloved Valaren will be grateful to me for this boon I bring him, she whispered as she ran one gaunt finger around Valaren's slack, drooling lips. Will you not, my darling brother?
Isole, you know that I will worship you forever, as I have always done, promised her brother, his head wagging on its damaged stalk. You and I, my dearest sister, with these two fine, new bodies, will take our rightful place in the warm world on the other side…and leave this empty place to our father and all his ilk.
Isole shrugged out of her enveloping ruby robe; it dropped to the dusty floor to puddle in a carmine pool about her bare bony feet. Her meager frame was wrapped and wound in thin strips of silk, ivory as her skin and hair. Her face gaunt, her cheeks hollow, her fierce burning eyes glaring out of shadowy pits, she lifted thin lips in a snarl of a smile.
My most beautiful sister, whispered Valaren.
The door to the tower study burst open from without.
Chapter Twenty-One
>Val stood in the doorway to the tower room.
His burly arms were bare to the shoulders; the muscles stood out across those shoulders like twining ropes of sinewy steel. His coarse linen shirt was torn to remnants, and the leather jerkin that he wore over it was open down to his flat belly, exposing his broad chest scattered with ruddy curls. His legs, long and thick with muscle, were widespread, and his feet planted firmly on the cold stone floor.
There was a time when he would have been a formidable sight. But now, that heavy muscular body was oddly unthreatening. Val's arms hung loose at his side, his hands empty and slack. No blade dangled from about his lean waist, no dagger peeked from the top of a high boot.
There, Madryn, you see what a beauty I shall be? crowed Valaren as he rubbed his pallid hands together in delight; narrow strips of ashen skin peeled from them and fell to the floor. Even better than my last body, is it not, my dear? It is a pity about all those scars, though.
Madryn twisted her head painfully to one side.
Val walked with slow, measured steps into the center of the study, his dull black eyes blank, his face empty. By the shallow brass bowl on its tripod he stopped, as rigid and lifeless as a statue.
Valerik, breathed Madryn, straining to read some familiar expression in those blank, barren eyes.
Isole laughed. That laugh slithered about the room like a viper, venomous and deadly. He's almost gone, your Valerik. Soon he will be only what we have made him.
Valaren Starseeker shuffled toward the rigid statue of flesh that stood so silent and still in the center of the lofty room. He stared up in incredulous, delighted wonder at this fresh new creature he had almost made his own, his diseased gaze crawling like maggots across the muscular form, lingering in pleasure on the vacant face.
What delights I shall enjoy with this body, my sister, said Valaren. What spirits I shall crush, what souls I shall abuse. I will be greater-far, far greater-than ever before.
We must finish the spell before you are all these things, my brother, Isole said. She had remained by the stone table that held Madryn imprisoned on its surface, and now she bent down to collect the tiny onyx bowls, each almost full of its burden of ruby blood.
Isole scooped the thimble-sized containers up on one bony hand.
As usual, I see, I must do all the work while you have all the pleasure, Isole continued, her voice harsh and irritated and cold, so cold.
She set the four bowls in a square pattern on the top of a carved, slender, three-legged stool that sat before the single open window, tweaking them until she was satisfied with their position.
Bring him here, brother, Isole ordered. Your blood must mingle with his for the transference to be properly accomplished.
Valaren laid a shaking, palsied hand on Val's unresponsive arm and gave him a slight tug towards the window and his sister.
Val took one step and was still.
Come along, brother, snapped Isole; she tapped impatient fingers against the top of the stool. See, the first star has already taken its place in the sky. Soon it will be the time of the change, and we must be ready to grasp that arcane power while we may.
Madryn twisted and pulled against the unforgiving iron about her wrists.
Valerik. Valerik! she called, her voice frantic as she too saw a single bright star peering in at the window. Valerik, hear me, please.
Isole reached for a tiny lancet that lay as a page marker across an open book that rested on the windowsill. Holding the sharp instrument between two ivory fingers, she leaned over to read from the exposed page, her thin lips moving silently as she repeated certain words to herself.
Valaren prodded Val's unresponsive body a second time. Again, the ensorcelled body made a single step.
Another prod.
A single step.
A prod.
A step.
At last, a blank-eyed Val stood just in front of the small stool, whereon sat four black bowls with their weight of scarlet fluid.
Isole looked up from her studies and grinned in appreciation at the husky, massive body that towered over even her great height.
Madryn twisted against the cruel, cold metal, then saw with a sinking heart another star blink into existence outside the window, beside its sibling. The ruddy sky was darkening perceptibly, taking on an indigo tinge. It would darken to black in less that a score of minutes, she calculated, as each star blazed forth, each opening the way for its succeeding brethren.
But there was something strange about the twinkling stars, something Madryn had not seen during that last, horrid, painful night she had spent chained to this table.
What was it?
Valerik, Madryn called, her voice a frenzied plea.
Isole seized a filthy rag stained with ominous ochre tints, then stepped to the table where Madryn was bound.
Keep quiet, hissed the pale woman. She stuffed the rag hard into Madryn's mouth. It will be our turn soon enough.
Oh, I don't think so, squeaked a familiar squeaky voice.
Madryn wrenched her head from side to side, trying to expel the noisome rag, trying to see around the skeletal figure that blocked her view of the doorway.
The doorway from which a familiar squeak had just come.
But Isole was frozen in place and, try as she would, Madryn could see nothing past the woman's thin but elongated form. The stinking rag sickened her, and she could feel the bile rising up her throat, threatening to gag and strangle her.
Madryn swallowed it down. Not now; she didn't have time to choke to death just now.
For that was Garet's voice. She recognized it now, even from those five words, even in this hideous place where he should never be.
But how? Why? Didn't the little simpleton know that these two would slaughter him, as swiftly and thoughtlessly as an insect squashed beneath a boot?
Madryn struggled to fight down her terror-even as a tiny whisper of hope struggled up from deep inside her.
A hope that she knew must be-had to be-false.
I told you I did not like the smell of him, my sister, whined Valaren as he shuffled away from the solid form of the enslaved Val to stand beside his towering sister. See. I told you so.
Be quiet, you fool, snapped Isole. Her bony hands were clasped behind her narrow back-and the tiny sliver of sharp-edged lancet twinkled between thumb and finger.
Madryn flung her head back and forth, trying to dislodge the malodorous rag that threatened to cut off all air to her laboring lungs.
So, said Isole in a sibilant whisper, our other visitor has decided to make his appearance.
Madryn stopped her struggles for a brief instant, listening, listening. She heard the patter of small feet against cold stone floor. She strained to see around the unholy siblings that blocked her view, her tongue working against the mass in her mouth.
A further patter of feet, and at last Madryn could see…
Garet, standing close enough to Val's unresponsive figure to lay a hand on his rock-hard chest. Garet, his shorn head jutting out on its skinny neck from his overlarge tunic and jerkin, his baggy breeches cinched tight with a bit of rope, a flash of dirty toes showing through the end of a battered boot, standing quite at his ease in this frightful, frigid room. The boy would have been a figure of fun in any other circumstances.
But here, now, he looked to Madryn every inch a savior.
Though what this scrawny boy could do, she had no idea.
The Mallowdwyn have decided to take a hand at last, I see. Isole's words amazed Madryn to the very depths of her frightened soul. To what do we owe the honor of this visit, wizardling?
We have waited, as we always do, until the proper time, Isole, said Garet, the squeak miraculously in abeyance. It is our way, after all. As you, above all others should know full well.
Garet raised a hand and laid three dirty fingertips against Val's rigid belly.
A tremor went through that stolid form. If Madryn had been gazing into Val's dull black eyes, she would have seen a startled look flash across them, like lightning imprisoned in a bottle…only to die away like a snuffed candle.
But Madryn could not see that faint look.
You forget, I was cast out from your august assemblage, Isole snapped, her gaunt face creased into a snarling mask. I was not deemed worthy to be counted among your members.
Garet laughed. No, you weren't, were you? he agreed. Never will be, neither, with your shoddy tricks and cheap spells. You and your useless brother have been thorns in our sides for too long, Isole. It is not the Mallowdwyn way to interfere with ordinary folk, nor with those who use their powers for good. But you and Valaren Starseeker, who feed your own weaknesses off the weaknesses of others-your time has passed.
Isole stalked forward, her hands still behind her back, out of Garet's sight. She stopped in front of the dirty boy-the dirty boy who was so much more than he seemed-her towering form dwarfing his minute frame. She glared down at him, her fiery eyes throwing out palpable sparks in the icy room.
Do you think you have the power, little man, to harm me or my brother? Here, in our homeland? Here, where our illustrious father still resides?
Ah, yes, why so he does, said Garet with a grin, his head crooked to one side as he gazed up, up into her stormy face. He still resides here-in the stony form to which your pride, your ignorance-your bungling condemned him. Your poor father…frozen into an idol that weeps endless obsidian tears.
Isole glared down at Garet's unassuming form, her red eyes snapping and crackling in ire. He deserved it, she snarled. He tried to keep me from my dearest brother.
How did your father do that? Garet asked as he cast a wondering gaze at her skeletal form. Oh, yes, I remember now! By making you so ugly that Valaren was forced to another world for the release of his desires, wasn't it? Is that not the real reason Valaren left you here, while he departed to the warmth of that other world beyond the portal-to slake his hungers while he grew in wickedness with the ready assistance of so many, many others?
The gag was loosening in Madryn's mouth, driven out by her pressing tongue. Her hands twisted inside the iron manacles as her eyes flicked from one to the other of the two who argued in the center of the room-Isole, enraged, her hands still toying with the sharp-edged lancet behind her back-Garet, looking cheerful, happy and completely at home-and the other two who waited with her for the argument to end. Val's frozen form still stood, unmoving and silent; Valaren waited impatiently by the open window, his eyes locked on the wrangling pair, his drooling mouth stretched into a glassy, expectant smile.
Outside in the darkening sky another star winked into glittering life.
Enough of your insults, said Isole, as if the star had announced its appearance with a shout, we have no time for this now. Brother?
Valaren shuffled forward. Pallid fingers reached for Val's unresponsive hand, seized it, and pulled the rigid figure toward the carved stool that held the onyx bowls full of Madryn's blood.
I'm glad you're here, Mallowdwyn-spawn, said Isole as she smiled down at Garet. Your words cannot anger me any longer. You may see how my power has grown, and then take word of them back to your jealous brethren. Watch, watch, weakling, while the bloods of four mingle and interchange…watch while the transitional powers of this land, our home, are harnessed and contained…watch, little fool, while two die… and two more become whole again.
Isole's voice had taken on arcane and hideous cadences as she glared with bloody eyes at the short form that stood so calmly before her.
Outside the window, another star opened its glittering eye and peered down with amused interest at the tableau.
Six left, Madryn thought desperately. Six more, and the portal will open…and we will all die.>Garet grinned. Very impressive, Isole. What's your next trick, pulling a rabbit from a jug?
Isole flung her long arms over her head. They stretched, lengths of bone only lightly covered with pale skin, up toward the high arched ceiling. One had had its fingers outspread, and tiny sparks crackled in the spaces between the fingers. The other was closed in a tight fist, with a blue nimbus enclosing it.
Madryn knew what was hidden inside that glowing, milky fist. She worked harder against the gag that kept her from shouting a warning to Garet.
Valaren positioned Val's unresponsive body to one side of the stool, and took his own place opposite. The onyx bowls, their ruddy contents shimmering in starlight, bubbled and smoked in response to the great forces released in the room. Cold winds whipped about the upper levels of the study, danced across the floor, birthing minute whirlwinds of choking gray dust.
Now you will see what you and your proud members expelled from their coven, Isole shouted.
Madryn, at last, spat out the gag.
Garet, she shouted, her voice hoarse and rough, she has a blade!
Garet looked up and a wide-eyed expression of surprise and shock spread across his grimy face. Even as he gazed upward, the tiny lancet plunged toward his unprotected heart.
Madryn held her breath as the tiny, gleaming point sped along its short journey, its tender destination a beating, living heart.
Garet flung up a hand, mouthed three words, and the downward path of the silvery sliver slowed.
Slowed, but did not desist. Still, his spell gave Garet enough time to jerk aside. The descending blade slashed across his ragged shirt, slicing through the flimsy cloth like a razor.
A thin stream of blood began to seep into the dirty linen.
There is entirely too much blood in this place, Garet said crossly as he fingered his ruined shirt. I've had quite enough of it.
With a negligent wave of one small hand, Garet turned…and pattered out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Two
>A coward, like all his kind, sneered Isole as she watched the door slam behind Garet's departing figure. Then she cast a quick look out the window.
Ten stars shone within that frame.
Come, Valaren, we have but little time left to us, Isole said. Get the woman, and I shall bleed your new body to gain nourishment for my spells.
Valaren hobbled to the table where Madryn was sprawled. With a wave of one trembling hand all the manacles fell away, with a rattling clank of chain, onto the stone floor. Valaren seized a handful of Madryn's hair and jerked her, with unexpected strength, off the table.
Madryn fell to hands and knees on the cold, hard floor. She tried to rise, but weakness overcame her. With a hand still entangled in her tawny hair, Valaren gave a yank and began to drag her toward the tableau before the window.
Hurry, brother, snapped Isole. Two more stars and the portal opens. Then, the powers for transference will be at their greatest. Hurry, brother!
I'm trying my best, whined Valaren as he tugged and pulled at the kneeling Madryn.
Here, let me show you how to handle the bitch, snarled Isole. She reached out and slashed the lancet across the frozen Val's wrist. At once, a thin trickle of ruby blood began to seep from it, to fall into one of the onyx bowls over which Isole held his hand. I'll cut his throat next if you don't move! she warned Madryn.
Not my beautiful new body, sister, pleaded Valaren.
Fool, snapped Isole. With a satisfied sneer at Madryn scrambling forward on hands and knees, Isole continued, See, brother, how she moves now? Even now, so close to both their deaths, she cannot see him harmed.
A shiver, almost unnoticeable, went through Val's placid form…even as his blood dripped into an onyx bowl, its contents simmering and bubbling.
What a pity we cannot keep the merest bit of her alive, sister, said Valaren as he shuffled after Madryn. What a sweet revenge, to realize that she herself condemned her lover to eternal enslavement.
Sweet indeed, brother. But we dare not chance it, not if I'm to acquire her body as you do the slave's. Surely, it will be sweet enough to watch the last remnants of him die as you enter his body and take it for your own?
Madryn used Val's stiff form to pull to her feet. She stood at last by his side, her hand tight about his arm, her body pushed as close against him as she could force it.
Was that an answering movement? A sudden hope sprang up in her heart. Was that a soft reply to her hand upon his own?
No. It could not be…and even if it was a response, it had come far, far too late.
The twelfth star winked beside its brothers outside the window.
Madryn would give her last remaining breath to see Val look at her once more with recognition in his eyes.
Not that her last breath was a great deal to offer-considering how very few that they both had left.
Madryn calculated the distance to the window, and kept her hand tight on Val's arm…
Isole reached out one long, bony arm and slashed the lancet across her own palm. She moved the bloody hand in a careful pattern, muttering words of power beneath her breath.
One lazy drop of her dark, thick blood fell into each tiny onyx bowl.
Now you, dearest brother, Isole commanded.
Valaren held out a shaking arm, winced and gave a soft mewling sound as the icy blade carved into a vein.
A stream of sluggish crimson trickled into bowl after bowl.
Now, brother, take the hand of your new body, ordered Isole, her voice a screech that battled with the rising winds that whipped about them.
Valaren seized Val's other hand in both his own and held on for dear life.
Precisely what he is holding onto, Madryn thought hazily; the cacophony increased as she took a small step toward the window, Val's other hand still tight in her own.>The mixture of the four bloods in their minuscule containers spat and sizzled. Isole chanted, her voice growing louder and louder in competition with the howling winds.
And Madryn took another short step toward the gaping opening that looked down, down, to the sharp rocks far below.
A murky miasma, redder than the brightest blood, began to seep from the onyx bowls, rising in sluggish menace-just as the thirteenth star opened its bright eye and spread its jagged rays to join its brothers in rough formation.
The time! The time is here! shouted Isole.
The ice-pale woman reached across the bubbling, roiling, rising mist and seized Madryn's arm.
A tempest, far greater than the fierce but contained winds that already circled the chamber, blew in through the wide window. The storm blew the tiny onyx bowls over, and their ruby contents leaked out onto the carved stool.
A brilliant flash of light seared Madryn's eyes. She groped desperately for the windowsill-determined that the spell would never be complete.
Then, she felt the flesh under her hand-Val's thickly muscled arm-grow warm and responsive, as if life itself flowed through it in a steadily increasing stream.
Valaren's life, Madryn knew. Valaren's mind, Valaren's desires…Valaren's evil.
But she would not let go, not until she was sure that all that was Val-was gone.
Then she'd do her best to make sure they both died…a true death, of body and spirit and soul.
Perhaps their spirits, Madryn thought hazily as the room twisted and spun around her, perhaps their spirits would maintain some faint and fragile contact with each other, even after a death in this horrid place.
It was the only hope she had left.
Madryn began to pull Val toward the window.
Chapter Twenty-Three
>Garet sat on a crumbling step outside the tower study. His eyes were closed in concentration, his face tense but composed, his grimy hands clasped tightly in his lap.
The step was the topmost of many more cracked and disintegrating steps; they snaked down into the ever-deepening darkness, down into the rank bowels of the pale tower. From the bottom of the steps echoed uncanny groans and screams.
The guardians of the gate were feeding.
The heavy wooden door to the study, its surface scratched and pitted and marked with runes of power, bowed out toward Garet.
It sounded as if the greatest tempest ever to manifest was raging on the other side of that frail, damaged door.
~*~
Valaren! The high, shrill screech ripped across the devastated chamber, a sound like a thousand bats in direst agony. Brother!
Isole… came a low, despairing wail in answer; a wail that trailed away into ghastly, hopeless silence.
~*~
Garet opened one eye. He regarded the door to the chamber-now silent and still-with a curious and considering eye.
The pitted wooden slab hung loose by one hinge; warped and twisted and smoking, it gave off a faint smell of sulfur and…was that roses, Garet wondered?
Scrambling to his feet, the boy dusted his breeches with meticulous care, straightened his jerkin, and gave a disapproving 'tsk' at the slice that ran across the front of his shirt, its smooth edges stained a rusty brown. Beneath the sliced material, the somewhat dirty white skin showed not the slightest sign of damage.
Garet pattered to the damaged, loose door, reached out and gave it a shove.
The door creaked open a hand's breadth and hung in that position for a pair of heartbeats. Then the only remaining iron hinge gave way, with a tearing sound like rotten cloth, and the massive timber fell with a great crash to the stone floor. The entire mass disintegrated into a shower of splintered wooden fragments.
Garet shook his head.
What unbelievably shoddy construction, he murmured in disgust.
Then with extreme care, he climbed over the heap of wood…curious to see what other damage he had managed to inflict.
~*~
The study was a shambles.
Garet nodded and gave a satisfied smirk. Good. He had always wondered just what a shambles might look like, and now he knew.
The window that had once opened onto a starry indigo sky was gone. In its place a great hole gaped, its edges rough and jagged. A part of the ceiling had fallen in just over the hole, so that now the pattern made by the stars was framed in choking dust and rubble.
The pattern made by the stars.
Garet checked the brilliant sparks, took a quick count to make quite sure.
Excellent. Just as expected.
Garet picked his cautious way over the littered floor toward the cold stone table-once Isole's desk and then the rack where Madryn had been chained. Two of the rusty iron manacles had vanished, but the other two were still there, connected by lengths of chain to the table's legs; they lay like coiled vipers on the rubble-strewn floor. The top of the table was bare, swept clean by the tumult that had ravaged and destroyed this room.
Under the table, Garet could make out two huddled shapes, their arms in a tangle about each other. The boy laid a finger on the tabletop-then drew it back with a hiss and at once stuck it in his mouth.
The stone was still sizzling hot from the overwhelming forces that had been unleashed.
Garet squatted and peered under the table.
I believe it's quite safe now. You can come out, he said in a loud voice. We really need to get on our way, you know. The stars will be out in a little while, and the portal will open.
A face, filthy and covered with blood from a graze across the forehead, looked out and violet-gray eyes stared in wonder at Garet's scrawny form.
But the stars… Madryn said, I thought they were…
Already up? asked Garet. He grinned a gap-toothed grin. So did Isole. That was my plan, you see.
Madryn gave a soft shake to the bulky, silent form that lay across her lean body.
Val? she whispered.
Another shake.
Val?
A groan like a lion's roar came from the huge mass.
My head, complained Val as he slid one arm from around Madryn and reached up to rub his face with a filthy hand-then snaked the arm back around her and continued, my head feels like it's been danced on.
By large men with heavy boots, no doubt, agreed Garet tartly. Be glad that the nearly useless thing feels at all. Now, can you get up? Be careful of the table…it's still just the faintest bit warm.
With slow and ponderous care, Val helped Madryn slide from underneath the table-but not before he tightened his arms around her and gave her a mighty squeeze. Then he followed her, stifling his groans as aching muscles popped and grumbled.
At last, they were both able to stand, with Garet's assistance.
What happened? asked Val. I remember...beasts at the door to the tower…and then waking up with Madryn in the middle of a tornado.
All in good time, promised Garet, but explanations must by need wait a little. The stars are rising and the portal will open shortly thereafter. If you recall Aanakun's instructions, we should be on our way as quickly as we can.
But what about the guardians? asked Val as he pulled Madryn to him with one brawny arm, gathered up a handful of Garet's jerkin with the other hand, and marched toward the fallen study door with them both.
They're both busy just now, Garet squeaked, scrambling to keep up with Val's long legs. Having dinner, you might say.
When they reached the bottom of the crumbling stairs and stepped to the door, Val and Madryn could see what Garet had meant by 'supper.'
The two great creatures were positioned comfortably on either side of the bridge over the moat-and they were feasting on their former masters. A white arm here, a severed head ripped from its flimsy hold on a withered body there, were all that remained of the two evil siblings, Valaren and Isole.
How do we…? Val began uneasily. The creatures looked fully capable of enjoying the three of them for desert, and his sword no longer hung by his side.
Don't worry, they'll be satisfied-for a while, insisted Garet. Look. The seventh star. We must hurry if we are to reach the portal in time. And I, for one, have no desire to spend a night in this place. You might just ask the mistress what's it like…but I advise that you wait until we're home before you do.
For reply, Val seized both his companions by the hand and dragged them after him, across the eerie landscape and toward the portal, shining pale and inviting in the distance.
The eighth star winked down at the travelers with a knowing eye.
~*~
Val could clearly remember their first journey, from the portal to the tower-it was after that when his memory suddenly became dim and faulty-and he marked off the landmarks in reverse as they struggled past them. He had caught Garet's sense of urgency, but it was unlike the urgency he remembered from days past. Inside his aching, bruised and panting chest, his heart was singing.
Madryn was by his side.
Val snatched glimpses of her as they struggled through fields of clinging mud and circumnavigated round pools. Madryn's face was scraped and filthy, she was covered in splattered mud, her wrists and ankles were bloody and torn, her feet bare-and she was quite the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in all his days.
As if she felt his eyes upon her, Madryn looked up at him-and smiled. Her eyes, those glorious eyes that had once reminded him of a sunset after a stormy day, were wide with amazed shock…and a certain amusement. She gave his hand a squeeze as they struggled forward, Garet continually urging more speed as he kept a wary eye upon the sky.
~*~
Twelve stars danced in a sky as dark as burnished ebony.
Val, Madryn and Garet stood before the portal, watching in relief as a tiny central spiral began to form. Winds, warm and inviting with the faint hint of the desert, began to blow around their exhausted, aching bodies.
Get ready, ordered Garet as he watched the sky. Only one more to go.
The thirteenth star opened its brilliant eye. The spiral that hung within stone pylons, between two worlds, grew and swirled and coalesced. The winds shifted and gathered strength from the potent forces of both worlds.
Val took a fierce grip on Garet and Madryn. He had no intention of losing either of them, ever again. He gauged the time, kept an eye on Garet, and when the boy gave a short nod, the three flung themselves into the open portal.
An instant later, the portal snapped shut on the frigid and silent land.
But on the other side, the swift desert twilight had just begun. Sand that had been bombarded with the intense rays of the sun all day began to offer up its hoarded heat, as Garet and Madryn and Val felt full well.
They tumbled out from between the pylons and fell into the edge of the sand dune that had collected at its foot.
Garet rose, spitting sand out of his mouth. Warm, he breathed. I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever be warm again.
Val rose up on shaking legs and pulled Madryn up beside him.
Could someone please tell me what just happened? he pleaded.
Chapter Twenty-Four
>Aanakun passed the leather bottle of fermented camel's milk to Garet. The boy took a swig, shuddered and made a face, then passed the bottle to Val.
The four of them were seated outside the small cave, in the side of the ravine just around the bend from the tall stones of the portal. The desert night, with its cold blanket of stars, blazed over their heads.
We have been watching Isole and her brother for some time, Garet continued in his squeaky voice. Valaren was easy to watch while he was here in our own world, of course. When Isole snatched her brother's beheaded corpse and took it back to her own world, we suspected that she would reanimate his corpse and seek revenge.
We? asked Madryn.
The Mallowdwyn, Garet admitted. Our order is a sort of watchdog for, er, unpleasant magic workers, you might say.
A watchdog? Then why, Madryn asked, when Valaren was alive in our world, did you not stop the things he did to others?
We did, said Garet, and laid a gentle hand on her clenched fist. We managed it so that you would meet him. We knew…well, we hoped that you would not give into his powers, and that you would not allow something like Valaren to live.
Madryn wrenched her hand away from Garet's. Hoped? You hoped that I would not fall under his spell and blindly follow his orders…as so many others did?
Garet watched Madryn twist both her hands together in her lap. The boy glanced at Val. Val was watching them too.
We depended on you, on what we knew of your strength, your honor, your sense of self, Garet replied. We did not expect you to stay free of his spells-
As I did not. Madryn gave a bitter laugh, as sharp as broken glass.
-but we did expect you to be able to overcome his power. As you did.
So, said Madryn, looking over Garet's head at the rough rocky wall behind him, you threw me like a rock at his head, hoping I'd bash his brains out for you…and you could keep your own hands clean? And then, this midsummer, you sent word to me that he still lived, so that I would go and find him-and what? Make sure that the second time I killed him, he stayed dead? The tone of her voice, strained and bitter, made Val long to reach out to her.
But he knew she would fling his hand and his comfort away.
Not precisely, said Garet; he shifted uncomfortably on his blanket. We Mallowdwyn hide ourselves behind many barriers-appearance, location, even position. We are not allowed to take an obvious hand in most events, for fear of exposing our true selves. But sometimes-not often, thank all the gods-sometimes there comes a particular situation that threatens the stability of all the myriad worlds, and not just our own. This, er, episode with Isole and Valaren was just such an occasion. We made a mistake. So one of our number was forced to help rectify it.
Aanakun smiled through his grizzled beard. I do not think that killing a beast like Valaren could have been a very big mistake, he pointed out, then turned up the leather bottle.
Not killing him, no, agreed Garet. But the things that his death set in motion, here on our world and in his own, were. If both Isole and Valaren, fueled by their desire for revenge, had managed to take on new bodies-your bodies and, by extension, your own quite interesting skills-then their own powers would have increased enormously. They would soon have been able to inhabit not only this world and their own, but may others…and they would have been in a position to spread their own particular kind of diseased fear and torment throughout all of them.
I understand that you had to stop them, Val growled. But I don't see how you could destroy them in their own land?
I didn't destroy them, said Garet with a grin. To be precise, they destroyed themselves. You see, Isole released a huge amount of power, to fuel the transition between their bodies and yours. But the power turned on her and her brother instead…after I had managed a bit of legerdemain with the stars, you see.
You kept them from appearing? Aanakun asked.
I'm afraid that would be a bit beyond my small powers, admitted Garet with a small smile that said 'but not by far.'
Then what did you do?
I convinced Isole, with a small trick or two, that the stars were up beforetime, Garet explained. This made her proceed with her quite proper spells-but at precisely the wrong time. And, as everyone knows, the right spell at the wrong time equals-disaster.
So her spell turned back upon her and her brother, clarified Aanakun with a delighted chuckle.
Yes. The power that they had was not as large as they wished, and this made them see it as larger than it was, Garet said cryptically.
I think I understand, Val said, his eyes still locked on Madryn's twisting, twining fingers. But why can't I remember what happened in that place? Why is my memory so…dim?
Valaren's mind had almost taken over yours, Garet explained. I suspect that you have been having strange dreams? And for quite some time now, no doubt?
Yes, Val admitted. I was…it was an alley in Karleon…there was a voice, and a smell…and the next thing I knew, I was waking up while a boy was trying to rob me. I wanted to tell you, he said to Madryn, but I did not know how to even start….
Isole had made a Sending. You were implanted with Valaren's memories in that alley. It was only your incredible stubbornness and strength that kept you from becoming Valaren here, in our world; that was why they finally had to bring you to theirs, to enact the final spell and complete the process that would allow Valaren to don your body.
But Isole grew greedy. She decided that if her brother was to have a new body, why shouldn't she have one of her own? There was Madryn, bait to bring you to them…and with a perfectly good body as well. So Isole's plans changed and burgeoned…as did her pride.
So Val and I have been the Mallowdwyn's puppets from the beginning? asked Madryn.
No, not puppets at all, Garet said. But we have made full use of you, I admit. You and others. For that I am truly sorry. The scrawny boy hung his head for a moment. Then he looked back up with an irrepressible grin. Still, it turned out very well, you know. You have each other, he pointed out.
Val felt his face grow as warm as the desert sun.
Have each other? he thought. Do we? How can I hope to believe that Madryn feels anything for me? I am an escaped slave, less than the dust beneath her feet.>Madryn saved my life when she rescued me from the hunt, Val shrugged. I was only returning the favor.
Why, you great lumbering lummox! shouted Garet. She loves you, imbecile!
Madryn looked up at last, to find Val's eyes locked onto her face, willing her to see the surprise-and the love-that poured from them for her.
I am not worthy…Valaren was able to control me…he made me do…what if there is someone else who can…I cannot allow…you cannot be….
Madryn's voice stuttered and stumbled into silence as Val pulled her into his arms and covered her protesting mouth with his own.
Fools, the pair of them, commented Garet with a sigh and a shake of his shorn head.
Then he took another sip from the leather bottle and grimaced with distaste.
The End
About the author of Escape the Past
K.G. McAbee always intended to be a writer, but life kept getting in the way. Finally, she decided that she had no intention of wondering on her deathbed whether or not she could have made it. So she took a leap of faith, quit her job, and gave herself two years to get something, anything published. After eighteen months of non-stop rejections, she was starting to consider revamping her resume, when she sold her first fantasy short story to that incredible Canadian sf/f magazine Challenging Destiny. Shortly afterwards, she received her first book contract and hasn't looked back. Eight books, forty short stories, and several awards later, she's now doing what she loves and loving what she does.
K.G. McAbee is also the executive editor of NovelBooks, Inc., a burgeoning new electronic-and-POD publisher of the finest in genre fiction. In her few nanoseconds of spare time, she enjoys reading, collecting books, gardening and traveling to spots that whet her passion for history-England, Mexico and Egypt so far. She can be reached at kgmcabee@hotmail.com or check out her website at http://i.am/McAbee.
> >
The Dragon's Horn
>by:
Glynnis Kincaid
ISBN #1-931696-14-4 (Ebook)
ISBN #1-931696-85-3 (Print)
>http://glynniskincaid.com
In a world on the brink of war, to shelter a dragon is to court disaster. The Demon of Fire has vowed to destroy the noble creatures and use their magical horns in his bid to overthrow the Gods. But when the Immortal maiden Xlana finds a wounded dragon in the forest near her home, something about him tugs at her heart. Despite the danger, she uses her skills to heal him, only to learn he is far more than he seems. He is Rynak, Heaven's Dragon and an Immortal, able to assume human form. And he has been chosen by the Gods to lead the fight against the Demon.
When Rynak regains his strength, he gives his horn to Xlana as a pledge of his love. Overjoyed, she realizes they are soul mates, her destiny joined with his. Together, she and Rynak call the last two living dragons and their Immortal mates from hiding. The six form an alliance to combat the Demon's armies, but they suffer a shattering setback. The Demon seizes hostages, each dear to one of the three couples. Now they must decide whether to capitulate or condemn their loved ones to a lingering death. And if even one of them weakens, all may face utter ruin.
For the Six must stand as One-or lose the world.
The Gunn of Killearnan
by
Dorice Nelson
>To become chief of his clan, warrior Gerek Gunn, Scotland's renowned Beast of Battle, must marry a woman not of his own choosing. That's how things were done-or so he thought, before he met the fiery beauty destined to be his wife.>
Catriona MacFarr had no intention of marrying a man known as the 'Beast'-he sounded so much like her vicious and savage father that she was horrified. Such a lifelong disaster could not be, no matter the consequences! Never…..
ISBN #1-931696-01-2 (eBook)
ISBN #1-931696-98-5 (Print)
www.novelbooksinc.com/authors/doricenelson
______________________________________________________________________________
>
Unlawful
Unlawful
by
Dorice Nelson> >Butchery branded their introduction… > Enslavement parted them…>
Thus began the time for bravery or betrayal…and checkmate!
> >Deadlocked by a cursed legend, Kellach must find her mother to remove a Druid's Curse and save her people from the rampaging Norse. Bruic the Badger, must find Irish ports for the Norsemen to save his sons and find his lost Irish siblings. Neither had time for love. Fate and circumstance took the advantage away from both…
ISBN #1-931696-16-0 (eBook)
ISBN #1-931696-83-7 (Print)
>www.novelbooksinc.com/authors/doricenelson
FINDERS KEEPERS
>By:
Linnea Sinclair
Dumped, destitute and desperate. Captain Trilby Elliot's last chance at survival in the space lanes is to salvage a crashed fightercraft, and return its pilot for a reward. Except for one small problem: the pilot, Rhis, is intent on commandeering her ship and, he hopes, her heart. But there's another much larger problem: someone very powerful wants Trilby Elliot dead.
ISBN #1-931696-00-4 (eBook)
ISBN #1-931696-99-3 (Print)
>______________________________________________________________________________
GABRIEL'S GHOST
>By:
Megan Sybil Baker
Captain Chaz Bergren has more trouble than she needs. Stripped of command and sent to the harsh prison world of Moabar, her life can't possibly get any worse.
Until she falls in love with a dead man with a mission: Gabriel Ross Sullivan. Mercenary, smuggler. And ghost.
ISBN #1-55316-559-4 (Print)
ISBN #1-55316-081-9 (Ebook)
>
NBI
>Check out these
New Releases from> NovelBooks, Inc.> >Finders Keepers by Linnea Sinclair Science Fiction/Romance>
When Captain Trilby Elliot rescues a downed pilot, all she wants is a reward. She doesn't want to fall in love. And she definitely doesn't want to die.
Lions of Judah by Elaine Hopper Romance Suspense>Who can a dead woman trust?
The Gunn of Killearnan by Dorice Nelson Scottish Historical>Treachery, lies and love...
The Chance You Take by Linda Bleser Contemporary Romance>Sometimes taking a chance on love is the biggest gamble of all.
Wild Temptation by Ruth D. Kerce Historical>When a mysterious stranger comes to town, Skylar Davenport must discover if he's really a hot-blooded rancher, or a cold blooded killer...her life depends on it.
Fate by Robert Arthur Smith Paranormal/Suspense>Compelled by the spirit of a murdered woman, Toronto writer Judy Armstrong tries to save a boy's life.
Winter's Orphans by Elaine Corvidae Fantasy>Will she save them...or enslave them?
Love and the Metro Man by Rosa Knapp Romantic Comedy>Forget the white steed...This Prince Charming rides the subway! Two hearts on track for the ride of a lifetime!
Trouble or Nothing by Joanie MacNeil Contemporary>He was her kid brother's best friend. And now he's back in her life…more man than ever.
>
Desert Dreams by Gracie McKeever Paranormal/Suspense>Old World Evil vs. New Age Passion...Can their love survive?
The Anonymous Amanuensis by Judith Glad Regency>Regency England is a man's world, until one woman writes her own rules...
No More Secrets, No More Lies by Marie Roy Contemporary>
Secrets, lies, and consequences. What consequences does Sydney Morgan pay when all secrets are exposed?
The Blood That Binds by Rie Sheridan Fantasy>In Ancient Days, when elves were king…
the legends tell of wondrous things…
Three Dragons. Three Immortals. One Choice. But what will they choose? Will they rescue their loved ones, or fight to redeem the world?
Escape the Past by K. G. McAbee Fantasy>Can they escape their pasts and find a future in each other's arms?
The Binding by PhyllisAnn Welsh Fantasy>He's an Elf Lord trying to save his people. She's a fantasy writer trying to save her sanity. Chosen by the gods to rescue an entire race, they first have to save each other.
Dream Knight by Alexis Kaye Lynn Medieval>Do you believe in the power of dreams?
Allude to Murder by Emma Kennedy Suspense
Balkan smuggling conspiracy entangles two Americans
Mating Season by Liz Hunter Contemporary>One lucky sailboat captain + His fetching first mate + Hurricane Season? Mating Season!
Unlawful by Dorice Nelson Medieval >Butchery tainted their first encounter… Enslavement separated them… Deception and deceit reunited them… Thus began their struggle of courage and conquest…
NBI
NovelBooks, Inc.
>www.novelbooksinc.com
Quality Electronic Books
>o Microsoft Reader o Adobe Reader o > o PalmPilot o Glassbook o HTML o >
Y
>Show how much you loved that book!
Now Available at our CyberShop!
>o T-Shirts o Sweatshirts o > o Coffee Mugs o Mousepadso >Featuring NBI Bookcovers
and our Illustrious Logo