VirtualWarrior

by Ann Lawrence

  She remembered well Samoht’s arrogant face as he had bade her to his bed on his last visit to the fortress. Though she had never mentioned the incident, Tol had known. He had sensed the truth and been angered enough to draw his men about her whenever Samoht visited.

  A shout jerked her attention to the lead warrior. A party approached them. She felt suddenly cold. They were Tolemac warriors. Had they news of Tol?

  When the party drew near, she saw that unlike her own men, these warriors were well prepared for the forest trek. There were archers with bows ready, and the group was twice as large as hers. At the head of the phalanx rode a man she would know anywhere, anytime.

  ‘Twas Ralen. Each time she saw him, she thought of how Tol must have looked in his youth—tall, imposing, full of life and vigor. Ralen had the same shade of hair as her son. It reminded her of honey streaked with ribbons of gold. And like her son, Ralen had Tol’s eyes too. They were so pale a blue, they looked almost silver, but Ralen’s were often narrowed with displeasure. Ralen was not a joyful man.

  Ollach helped her dismount, and she went down on one knee to the warrior. “Ralen. I bid you peace.”

  “Mistress Ardra. Might I be so bold as to ask why you are in this bedeviled forest?”

  “I was seeking you.”

  Ralen dismounted and gestured for his men to circle their party. “There has been an influx of rebels in these woods. It is not safe for a woman—”

  “The goddess would disagree with you.”

  Ralen nodded. “Aye, but you are not she. Is my brother mad, that he sends his mate to risk her life?”

  “Nay; he is near death.”

  Ralen looked down. He whispered something she assumed was a prayer for his brother’s soul. When he looked up, his expression was grim. “So, now we know ‘tis not the birth of his heir that brings Samoht to the border.”

  “Aye. May I speak with you in private?”

  Ralen nodded and took her arm. He moved with her to the edge of the party, but not so far as to leave them unguarded. His grip was not gentle. It was the hold of a man who wished to demonstrate that he was in control and she but a nuisance.

  “What is it you wish to—” He abruptly turned toward Lien. “By the moons, who is that?”

  “A pilgrim who saved my life.”

  “He is not a pilgrim. Not garbed in such a manner. I have never seen hair so dark.” Ralen strode past her as if she were invisible.

  She wanted to scream in frustration. “Ralen. He can wait.”

  Ralen paused. He turned back and sketched a quick bow. “Aye, mistress, forgive me.”

  “‘Tis said you seek the Goddess of Darkness.”

  “I have just come from her domain. Samoht suspected her of a serious theft.”

  “Aye, the Vial of Seduction.”

  “You are well informed.” Ralen shrugged his shoulders. “It was a useless effort. If the woman has the vial, it is hidden so that mortal man cannot find it.”

  “You spoke to her?” Ardra watched him carefully. Had the woman bewitched Ralen?

  “Aye. The goddess is naught but another comely woman who works her wiles on old men. Her consort must be Tol’s age.”

  Two of Ralen’s warriors who stood nearby snickered.

  Ralen shot them a hard look, and they moved away. “Forgive me. I did not mean to imply—”

  “There is nothing to forgive.” Ardra cut him short.

  “As I was saying, if the goddess wants the vial in order to lure a younger man than her current consort, she has not used it yet.”

  Ardra knotted her ringers together to conceal her agitation. “And has she a daughter?”

  “None that I saw. Perhaps that is the cause of the rumors. The vial is missing, the goddess’s consort is old, and she has no daughter; thus she must have stolen it to find a more potent man.”

  An awkward silence fell between them. Ralen cleared his throat. “Now, you had something of import to tell me?”

  “Tol suffers much. The healer has tried everything, and Tol hoped Nilrem might know of some potion she did not. ‘Tis how I come to be here. It was the wiseman who thought we should find you, that you should be with Tol now.

  “I know Tol hopes you will stand in his place as a voice of reason when,” she had to look up to stem the tears, “when he passes. If you do not, I have no one. The Fortress of Ravens will be Samoht’s unless I fight, and without a warrior of your stature, I have little hope of holding out against him.”

  “I cannot fight Samoht. I am his lieutenant, and Tol knows that.” Ralen took a step toward her, but not near enough to show he held any interest in her troubles. Pain burst within her. Her search had been for naught.

  “Tol understands that you cannot stand against the high councilor, but someone must sit in Tol’s place at the council table and represent his chiefdom, and mine.”

  “I am not a councilor, nor do I wish to serve as such.”

  He was as cold as ice. “Tol believed it was time you took his seat.”

  Ralen shrugged. “I could never be content in a councilor’s chair. I much prefer the saddle. Tol presumes too much.”

  She must beg. She drew in a deep breath and fisted her hands so she would not weep and prove that women were weak and hapless beings. “I humbly beseech you to reconsider. It is not necessary, according to Tol, that you relinquish your warrior status to sit in his place while he yet lives. He said if he is too ill to take his seat, you may do so at his bidding.”

  “I will think about it.” With a sharp, dismissive gesture Ralen walked away.

  She would not humiliate herself by running after him. He gave orders for his men to mount up and join her party. She heard him direct his men to the Selaw border. So, she would have some time with him and might convince him yet.

  Then Ralen strode to where Lien was checking his horse’s girth.

  “Who are you?” Ralen asked without any of the customary polite greetings one made to a stranger.

  “Who are you?” Lien asked in turn.

  Ardra shook her head slightly at his curt response and tried to send him a silent message that Ralen was not to be trifled with.

  Ralen ignored the question. “What are you doing with Mistress Ardra?”

  Lien gave her a barely perceptible nod, then spoke with more civility. “Mistress Ardra and I met by accident while she was gathering wood. Three outcasts attacked her, and I happened to be handy.” He mounted his horse, and Ardra suspected he did so to set himself above Ralen, who stood a hand taller than he.

  “He saved my life, Ralen,” she said. “I am giving him safe conduct.”

  The look Ralen shot her spoke his distrust of her and Lien. “You have never gathered wood in your life.”

  She clenched her jaw. “I have learned much at Tol’s knee, the least of which is that one must sometimes take care of oneself.”

  “So—” Ralen looked up at Lien, who in turn merely arched a dark brow. “You saved Ardra’s life? You expect my brother will reward you?”

  Before Lien could reply, she jumped in. “Nay. He asks nothing. You do not understand. Lien saved my life, and in doing so, lost all he had to my attackers. I have furnished him with clothing and a horse. It is the least I can do. I am also granting him safe conduct. You would do at least as much for one who saved your life.”

  Ralen placed a hand on Lien’s bridle. “Hear this, pilgrim. Whatever debt Ardra owed you, it is now paid. Do you understand? When we reach the border, I want you gone.”

  Ardra gasped. “Ralen. I will decide when my debts are paid.”

  Lien jerked his horse away from Ralen’s grip and moved into the line of men heading off through the forest.

  “If I stand in Tol’s place, I will decide.” Ralen took his reins from one of his men. “Now mount up and let us make all speed to the border. I have a report for Samoht that cannot wait.” He led his horse away.

  She silently cursed his broad back.

  When they’d gone a few leagues,
and Ralen was well occupied at the head of the party, she drew her horse next to Lien’s.

  “I hope you will accept my word that I do not consider my debt to you discharged. Food and clothing are not an equal measure for a life,” she said.

  He smiled. It was a lopsided smile as his cheek had puffed up in a most alarming way.

  “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t rescue you for a reward. I take it that’s Ralen.”

  “Aye. He is Tol’s brother. Does your face hurt a great deal? I have never seen such injuries. It is as if an invisible brush has touched you with color.”

  He touched his cheek. “Yeah. It’s just a bruise. It’ll go away without any help.”

  “We are not so afflicted when injured.” She wanted to skim her finger over the mark but dared not be so familiar. Still, the urge was there and it made her uncomfortable. She cleared her throat.

  “So why is Ralen so hostile? I thought you were going to hook up with him and stand against this Samoht.”

  “It seems Tol is wrong about Ralen. He did think Ralen would welcome this chance to take a council seat.”

  “It goes to his brother if Tol—”

  “Dies. Nay. Council seats are chosen. But if Tol recommended Ralen, a man of such high birth and respect would almost surely be granted the honor. There is no one who might vie for the position against him and win.”

  “No ambitious person waiting in the wings?”

  “In the wings? You have such odd turns of phrase. But I think I take your meaning. Nay. There is no one save Samoht who covets Tol’s chiefdom, and, thank the gods, Samoht may not represent more than one chiefdom at the council table. He is the high councilor and rules Tolemac itself.”

  “I see. So, there are a bunch of chiefdoms ruled by councilors and they all get together and sit around and decide what’s best for the people in general?”

  “Aye.” He was so easy to talk to. There had been one other like him…but nay, she would not think of the past and what could not be undone. “As Selaw folk, we have no seat on the council. We are not worthy.”

  “Are you saying that when this council meets, the Selaw aren’t represented?”

  “Nay. We are outside the eight chiefdoms. We have, through all the ages of the ice, stood alone.”

  “Then what do you need Ralen for?”

  “In an effort to avert war, I was given to Tol. As my mate, he controls all that is mine—the fortress is key to the power of the Selaw. Through Tol, we Selaw had a voice on the council. He spoke for us and kept the other councilors in check.”

  Lien scratched his chin. She noticed that, although Ollach and Ralen, who had not shaved in many days, had but a soft glimmer of golden hair upon their cheeks, Lien’s beard was dark, clearly defining the shape of his jaw.

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

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

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

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

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

  “Forgive me. You are so strange.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled again, then winced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “So many,” she whispered.

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

  Chapter Six

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

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

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

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

  Gwen would never know what had happened to him.

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

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

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

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

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

  That thought occupied him until his horse reached level ground.

  “Thank you, God,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Tol, I bid you peace,” Ardra said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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