Miami Days and Truscan (K)nights

by Gail Roughton

  “Truscan women aren’t overly bold in bed,” he answered as my hand kept moving. “No wonder my father was my mother’s willing slave,” he whispered, lowering his head and nuzzling the side of my neck.

  “And…” I said softly, “you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

  That, of course, was the moment the knock sounded impatiently on the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dalph growled, the sound so low it was actually animalistic.

  “I’m going to kill him!” he exclaimed.

  “Dalph—”

  “It’s Dal. He wanted to check on you after Lammas and I told him to stay away from this room if he wanted to live to see tomorrow—”

  “Dalph!” Johnny’s voice sounded through the door. “We got us a situation here!!”

  “It isn’t Dal,” I said.

  “But he’s still dead!” Dalph exclaimed against my ear and, raising his head, shouted toward the door. “Go away, Johnny!”

  “I can’t, Dalph, and I can’t stand in the hall shouting about it, neither!”

  Dalph spun off the bed, muttering a flood of Truscan which, insofar as I could follow, roughly translated into a string of profanity that would do a sailor proud as he moved to the door.

  “Dalph, wait!” I struggled to bring my robe together and just managed to re-belt it as he reached the door. He glanced rapidly back to the bed, saw I was decent, and jerked it open.

  “What?’” He growled between gritted teeth.

  I saw Johnny take in the scene, as the King stood before him, bare chest heaving in exasperated frustration, robe barely closed. His eyes moved lower and then back up and over to me as I sat up, clutching my robe tighter and moving my hand up to my tousled hair.

  “This is not a good time,” he said slowly, shaking his head.

  Dalph’s hand shot out and latched onto Johnny’s shoulder, virtually pulling him off his feet as he hauled him into the room and slammed the door.

  “What—is—it?’” he ground out. I moved to his side and reached up, tugging at his hand which still held Johnny’s shoulder in a vice grip.

  “Dalph, let go! You’re going to hurt him!”

  He let go, but his expression didn’t change.

  “This better be good,” he warned.

  “A rider just came in from Krenor,” Johnny said, reaching his hand up to rub his shoulder. “The Krenorian Tornans went out on regular patrol day before yesterday. Only one of ’em came back. The rest are pinned up in the hills about ten donas north of the city. Word is they won’t last much longer. If they’ve survived this long.”

  “The Prians are in Trusca?” I asked.

  “Krenor’s closer to the border,” Dalph threw over his shoulder as he moved toward his dressing room. “Johnny, gather the Tornans. We ride sooner than expected.”

  “Already sent out word.”

  “Make sure they have full provisions. We won’t have time to come back before tomorrow night. We’ll have to start night patrols from Krenor.”

  “Did that, too.”

  “Then go get Dal and get him ready.”

  “Dalph, this isn’t just patrol! This is battle, you can’t take Dal!” My objection was fierce, spontaneous, and without thought.

  “I won’t take him into battle, but he has to go.”

  “No!”

  “Tess, you don’t understand and I don’t have time to argue or explain right now. You have to trust me. I’ll keep him safe. Johnny—”

  “On my way,” he said, but he turned back from the door. “Dalph?”

  “Yes?”

  “Crayton’s with the Tornans. Cretor’s the rider who made it back to Krenor.”

  My heart contracted. I’d yet to meet Johnny’s boys, but Crayton was fourteen and Cretor was twelve! And Dalph was taking Dal! Just when I thought I was getting assimilated, this world came back and bit me in the rear.

  “Does Kiera know?” I asked.

  “Yes. And Tess, if you could—”

  “I’ll go straight to her,” I promised.

  The door closed and I heard the sound of Dalph’s patrol gear hitting the floor as he tossed the items out of his dressing room into the middle of the main floor. I moved toward him, intent on one thing and one thing only. He wasn’t leaving me until this marriage was a physical fact. I couldn’t let him. I had just fully found him and I might lose him. Already, before we were ever actually part of each other. That wasn’t going to happen.

  “Dalph, it’ll take a few minutes for the Tornans to assemble—”

  “I’ve waited this long. I won’t have our first time marred by haste.”

  “I don’t care. I need you. I need us to be part of each other before you go. Please.”

  “You aren’t ready, I’ll hurt you.”

  “You might be surprised,” I said, and pulled him toward me and toward the bed.

  “Tess—” he protested, and I moved my hands again, falling back onto the bed. “Trusco’s sword!” He groaned, and capitulating, covered me. And filled me. All I’d wanted was the physical contact, simply for the sake of it. I didn’t expect anything more; I knew there wasn’t time for any extended finesse and honestly didn’t want any. But when I felt his release, and saw his face, and knew how close I’d come to ruining this, I went over the edge, too. He raised his head and looked at me with something akin to wonder as he felt me climax. Truscan women were not overly bold, he’d said. Well, they needed to have a sexual revolution, that was pretty obvious. Maybe I’d start my own campaign.

  We stared at each other for a few seconds, all the time we had, of course, and I pushed his shoulders back gently.

  “You have to go.”

  He kissed me swiftly and moved to rise, dressing quickly. I adjusted his heavy fur tunic, noticing that it was different from the ones he usually wore, which were pullovers; this was an open sleeveless tunic, split in front, with no closures. Battle gear, I assumed, for ease of movement. I heard Johnny striding swiftly back down the hall toward us.

  “Your equipment?” I asked.

  “Always ready. In the stables,” Dalph said and strode to the door to meet Johnny. “Dal’ll be ready in a few minutes,” he said. “Saraya’s helping; he’ll be in the stables.”

  “Then let’s ride!” ordered the King. But before he took more than a few steps, he turned back to me and kissed me again, so thoroughly that I grabbed the door frame for support when he let go. Dalph surged forward out the door, striding rapidly down the hall, almost leaving Johnny standing still. I heard Johnny’s low commentary.

  “Well, thank the gods of both worlds!” he exclaimed. “I sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to Dalph’s company tonight after interrupting that!”

  “Johnny!” I called him back as he turned to go.

  “Yeah?”

  I couldn’t let him leave thinking that I’d never forgive him, either.

  “You were right. It would have taken me too much time to get here if you’d let me go on my own.”

  “You love him, girl?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good. ’Cause the boy’s been in love with you since the minute you made him knock you unconscious.”

  Johnny broke into a jog to try and catch up with Dalph, and with that propitious comment putting some humor back into the dark situation, I re-belted my robe more securely and went to sit with Kiera. I had responsibilities. I was the Queen of Trusca.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The night finally passed, and the dawn light streamed across the bed, falling on eyes that felt grainy and gummy from lack of sleep. Kiera, somewhere past midnight, had insisted that I return to my own chambers and that we both try to sleep but I had not been particularly successful in such activity, and I knew that she had not been either.

  The morning was interminable; the afternoon was no better. The night was a horrible dark eternity with no end in sight. No word came from Krenor, and no one had really expected it to. By the second afternoon, I could stand no mo
re, and I sought Kiera out and told her I was going riding.

  She was not pleased.

  “You should not! If the Prians have crossed the border—”

  “The Prians are above Krenor. And I’ll take somebody with me.”

  “But all the Tornans rode with Dalph, and all the regular guards are out in roving patrol around the city!”

  I knew she was right, and I knew it was not impossible that a small detachment of Prians might try to slip past the roving patrols and further, that they just might be able to do it. I think it was at that moment I first considered the possibility that the attack on the Krenorian Torans might, in fact, be not so much an ambush as a decoy. Suppose the real target was Trussa and not Krenor? Then I knew that Dalph had considered that possibility as well, else why were all the guards deployed around the perimeters of the city? But in any event, I was suffocating. I had to get out of the Rata walls; I had to get out of Trussa, just for a little while.

  Toron. I would take the stable-master with me. Toron had been a formidable warrior in his day, a lieutenant in the regular guards. He would undoubtedly still be in the guards were it not for the broken leg he had suffered some five years or so before which had not healed quite properly. Unable to face the thought of the Truscan equivalent of a medical retirement, he had opted to use his military knowledge to train the battle horses. And I wouldn’t go far. I was claustrophobic at the moment, but I wasn’t crazy.

  “I’ll take Toron with me,” I said firmly. “I won’t be gone over an hour or so.”

  Kiera turned and muttered under her breath in Truscan. I didn’t catch all of it, nor was I, as yet, overly fluent in the language, but I thought I detected some reference to the “craziness of the women from Beyond the Door.” I grinned. From what I had learned of Madeline, I certainly didn’t mind being placed in her category.

  “I’ll be careful, Kiera,” I promised, and rushed out into the Courtyard, heading for the stables, breathing gratefully in the open air. Just a short ride and I’d feel much better.

  My Truscan was, by this time, sufficient to express my wishes, particularly if I had the time to think my words out beforehand, and I had no trouble making my request understood. Actually, having immersed myself in the language for the better part of every day for the last four weeks, I could have made myself understood with a great deal more fluency than I did; however, I was ever mindful of Dalph’s admonition not to demonstrate my growing prowess with the language.

  Toron understood me well enough, but he was not overly enthusiastic. In fact, he declined the proposal entirely, speaking slowly, so as to be certain I understood his response.

  “It is too dangerous, my Queen. The King would have my head were I to take you out and anything befall you.”

  I wanted to give an enlightening lecture on the subject of free choice for women and queens, but my Truscan really wasn’t sufficient for that, so I spoke one sentence instead.

  “Then I will ride alone.”

  “You cannot!”

  “Then you will have to stop me. Won’t you?”

  A flood of conflicting emotions showed on his face, and I knew I had placed him in a classic Catch-22 situation. If he went with me and we ran into trouble, Dalph would be most irate. If he did not go with me, I would go alone, and Dalph would be livid. In order to stop me from going alone, he would have to physically restrain me, in which case I, his Queen, would be outraged, and such activity might also displease his king, as such would be insubordination of royalty, even if royalty in this instance consisted of a mere female. And besides, I was the chosen, sent by the gods through the door from the world beyond, expressly to take my position as Queen of Trusca. I sympathized with his predicament, but not enough to back down. I only wanted a short ride; it shouldn’t be a matter of state import.

  “I will have the horses readied,” he said finally and, shaking his head, moved into the stable.

  Andromeda cleared the gates, moving at an easy canter. I felt her strain and knew she wanted more than to stretch her legs; she wanted to break free and gallop. I wondered if she missed Pegasus. Poor Andromeda; her mate was gone, too. I leaned over and whispered in her ear.

  “Take over, girl!”

  She needed no further encouragement, and broke into a fast gallop that still didn’t take her to her limits, but left Toron behind in a cloud of dust. I heard him shout behind me, but what the hell? We were on the open pastures right in front of the city walls. Andromeda headed for the woods on the left, homing in on the wooded path Dal and I frequently traveled on our afternoon rides, the one that led to the little stream where Dalph had recounted for me the legends of the birth of this world. The stream was only a few miles into the woods; roving patrols were guarding the perimeters of Trusca. I would let her gallop to the stream, and then I would rein her in and wait for Toron. What could happen?

  I turned her around, with my back to the stream, and kept her standing as I waited to catch sight of Toron. The movements came from behind me, and I wheeled around in panic, but relaxed at the sight of the uniform. It was one of the guards, mounted on a large black gelding. Kiera and Toron were worry-warts; I knew the guards would be all over the woods.

  “Danta, Kabra,” I said, extending the Truscan greeting. The guard was a Kabra, roughly the equivalent of a Sergeant, but I didn’t know the guards well enough to put a name with the face.

  “Danta, my Queen,” he responded, and it was then that I heard the sounds from the other side, but not soon enough to prevent the folds of cloth from covering my mouth. I felt Andromeda’s muscles bunch under my legs, and knew she was gathering herself for a wild buck, but the tone of the Kabra’s voice as he spoke one word—”Look!”—brought my attention to his hand, and I saw the short sword in his hand, the point firmly held at the base of the falton’s neck.

  “Stop her,” he said shortly, and even had I not been able to interpret the Truscan, the meaning was clear; he would kill her before she could initiate the battle movements in which she had been trained. I jerked firmly on the reins, sending her the message—no—and she stood still, but shook in protest.

  I felt the bonds of the cloth tighten, and knew that whoever had slipped the gag over and around my head had now tied it in a hard knot. The Kabra grabbed Andromeda’s reins from my hand, his other hand still holding the sword in position at the base of her neck. He was controlling his own mount by his knees, and I tightened my legs around Andromeda’s sides. Her muscles were still straining, and I knew she was about to explode with her desire to break into the battle moves in which Toron had so skillfully schooled her, but those moves would do nothing right now except get her killed. Perhaps later an opportunity would arise. I tightened my leg muscles until they screamed in protest, sending her the silent message. Not now.

  Other hands grabbed mine, to be tied, I knew, and I glanced down. My eyes widened as my brain refused to interpret what I saw, and I jerked my head around.

  This was my first sight of a Prian, but Johnny had nailed it perfectly. They were ugly motherhumpers. I took in the wrinkled skin of the face, mottled pink and brown, the low forehead, the nose that was more accurately speaking a snout, the wide mouth. The hands had only four fingers, short and stubby and tipped with broad chitinous growth that bore as little relationship to human nails as human nails bore to hoofs and claws.

  I heard noises in the undergrowth from beyond the creek, and another Kabra swirled into the clearing. For a moment, I held some faint hope that this Kabra was a real Kabra, one of Dalph’s men, but that hope died at his first words.

  “By Trusco’s sword! We cannot be this lucky!!”

  Then I heard the other sounds, of a horse and rider coming down the path toward the stream’s clearing, and I tried desperately to shout a warning to Toron, but only succeeded in producing a muffled croak through the gag. The new Kabra, the one who had just entered the clearing, sent his own sword flying out of his hand, and implanted it, deeply and unerringly, in Toron’s chest. He fel
l without a sound, and I could see the point of the sword as it protruded obscenely from his back.

  I moaned. My fault, all my fault. My damned harmless ride had killed him.

  The newest arrival moved his own mount swiftly toward Toron’s horse and captured the reins, preventing the animal from fleeing back to the Rata, and my three captors now argued fiercely amongst themselves; the Truscan flowed in torrents, and I concentrated, making no attempt to understand them word for word, but merely attempting to garner the gist of the argument.

  The Kabra who still held his sword on Andromeda’s neck wanted to kill her and transfer me to Toron’s mount. Smart Kabra; he must know she was my only weapon and a very dangerous one at that, should the opportunity arise.

  But the Kabra who had so skillfully planted his sword through Toron’s heart would have none of it.

  “No!” he protested. “When she does not come back, they will search.” He dismounted, handing the reins for both his horse and Toron’s mount to the Prian, who didn’t seem to care what they did as long as they did it quickly. His Truscan was quite good, though; certainly better than mine. The second Kabra moved to Toron’s body, dragging it over to the rocks. He shoved Toron under a large outcropping and, searching for smaller stones, proceeded to cover the body.

  “This old fool, he is easy enough to cover,” he explained as he paused briefly in his activity. “We do not have the time to hide the falton’s body, and a dead falton announces to the rest of the guards that the woman is in deep trouble. This might give us a few more hours, they will think she has moved too far in front of her guard and is lost. Keep her with the queen.”

  “The falton is dangerous!” the first Kabra protested. “As dangerous as a Tornan!”

  “When ridden by a woman? Please, I do not have the time to laugh!” He finished his task and remounted his own horse, grabbing the reins for Toron’s horse from the Prian.

  “She has saved us much time. No need to sneak around the Rata in the night’s shadows. We have what we wanted. We ride!”