VirtualWarrior

by Ann Lawrence

  “Hmmm. Then Cidre stole the potion to seduce a new consort?”

  “Deleh thinks so. She says Venrali has angered the goddess, or so the kitchen slaves say. He has fathered at least two sons on slaves. Deleh thinks the goddess must choose a new consort before she is too old to raise and train a daughter. It takes a lifetime, you know—”

  “Aye,” he interrupted her, not caring about goddesses and daughters. “I am sure ‘tis a long process. But whom do you think she wants the Vial of Seduction for?”

  “Whatever man she can find who has proven he is virile and can produce a female child.”

  “That could be any man.”

  “True. I suppose any virile slave would do. But Deleh says the kitchen slaves believe the man must be special. He must be a powerful match, her equal.”

  “There are few to equal her status.”

  Einalem went to the door. She pulled it open and smiled back at him. “I cannot think of many who would fit her requirements. A councilor would do. A warrior of Ralen’s status, perhaps. Why, you are not only a councilor, but you have proven your mettle on Boda. You have a daughter.”

  “Nonsense. Cidre cannot mean to use the potion on me.”

  “Why not? I would watch what you eat and drink, Brother.”

  “What a ridiculous notion. If she used it on me, I would slice her throat.” Despite his words, he felt a shiver of distaste. He glanced at the map table and the goblet of wine he had been drinking.

  “But if you are seduced, Samoht, you will not want to kill her; you will want only to bed her.”

  Samoht stared at Einalem a moment. “What you say holds merit. I shall have one of my personal guards taste my food and drink.”

  Einalem left, and Samoht returned to his table and the allure of his maps, dismissing Einalem’s concerns from his mind. He smoothed his hands over the map of the eight chiefdoms. There on the edge he saw the border between Tolemac and Selaw.

  “Aye, Einalem, I shall give Lien to you as a personal slave. He will be compliant to your wishes as you will be compliant to mine. When all of this is over, when Ralen is lifemated to you, I shall take your very compliant slave and direct an excursion across the ice fields. Lien can show me the wonders of his chiefdom. And then we shall see how long the Selaw hold out against me.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The hunting party made too much noise, in Lien’s opinion, to catch a damned thing. They were a formidable quantity of people that included at least a dozen slaves and one packhorse. Any self-respecting boar within twenty miles had long since found a nice cozy hiding place.

  Cidre, her hair braided into loops and covered by a gauzy green veil, kept up a running commentary on the trees. Some were pines, or tall oaks, a welcome straight line among all the matted twisting of the other trees.

  Nilrem jostled along in his saddle, looking as miserable as a rider could be. Venrali listened to the goddess as if he’d just arrived yesterday and repeatedly asked for some woodland fact. Samoht and Einalem, dressed like twins in black with lots of roses splashed on their hems and sleeves, oohed and aahed, asked questions, pointed, and generally sucked up to the goddess.

  Ralen had fallen into a hard silence. Ardra rode beside the warrior, likewise silent unless someone spoke to her directly. Her back was straight, her hair a sheet of gold down her back. Lien imagined she must be screaming inside, to spend the last of her eight days on a boar hunt.

  As far as Lien was concerned, it was not a hunting party but a social ride through the trees. He wondered what the true purpose of the journey was.

  Lien decided it was time to find out what was going on, but Venrali lifted his hand and the party halted in a broad glade filled with coppery sunlight. Bright white streamers of cloud floated in the purple sky overhead.

  At Venrali’s order, everyone dismounted. Ralen muttered under his breath as the slaves dashed about setting out cloths and opening saddlebags containing roasted birds and fruit.

  Lien could not eat. Ardra walked right by him to Samoht. Lien watched her touch the councilor’s sleeve and sweep out a hand in the direction of the horses. The two strolled over to the string like best friends. What the hell was going on now?

  Ardra looked up into Samoht’s lean face. He was comely if one looked beyond the lines that years of frowning had etched on his face. “I have a bargain for you, most Esteemed High Councilor.”

  “When a woman uses my title, I grow cautious,” he said. He rubbed the nose of his horse, a horse the color of thick cream, a horse whose saddle had red roses carved into the leather.

  “I use your title so you will know it is a council bargain I want to make.”

  “Go on. My curiosity is piqued.”

  “I want to trade myself for an assurance.”

  His eyes grew wide. “Indeed?”

  “I could wait until the morrow to admit I will not find the Vial of Seduction.” She wondered if she had his full attention as his gaze flicked to where Einalem sat alone in a pool of black skirts with red roses on the hem. Ardra hurried on, “But we both know how likely it is that I will fail. So I thought I would make my bargain now.”

  Samoht dragged his eyes back to her face and said, “If I wait until the morrow, I will have your fortress without making any assurances.”

  “But you will not have me. Not willingly. Not wanting to please you. Whenever. Wherever.” She lifted her chin and dared him to make a biting insult as was his habit.

  He said only, “What assurance do you want?”

  “I want you to write out an assurance that upon its signing, you will withdraw your army and go home. Leave my fortress under my rule to be governed by the treaties already negotiated by the council.”

  “And for this written assurance, I get you.”

  “Aye.” She kept her eyes on his face and forced herself to forget Lien and every moment in his arms.

  “Unconditionally.” Samoht raised one eyebrow.

  “Unconditionally.”

  “As my concubine? Available to my every whim? When I withdraw my army, you go with me? Openly?” He reached out and ran his fingertips along her cheek.

  She forced herself not to flinch. “Aye, I will leave a regent to rule for as long as you desire me.”

  “I will think about it. You ask much. I am not sure you are worth it.” He walked away.

  Lien watched Ardra and Samoht. The councilor looked like a fox who’d made it into the henhouse. Ardra looked as cold as her ice.

  What the hell had gone on between the two?

  Samoht strode back to his sister. A slave offered them fruit, and Einalem laughed over something Samoht said as he plucked an apple from the bowl.

  Lien thought about the alternative to being a pilgrim in this world. Slavery. Handing bowls of fruit around, or worse, sold anywhere to anyone for whatever purpose. If slavery appeared to be his lot after Ardra’s eight days were over, he was going to leave. Permanently.

  There wasn’t much in Ocean City to draw him home, but he would be of little use to Ardra in chains.

  Did he want to be of use to Ardra after this? And how could he sleep at night in Ocean City worrying about her here in this world?

  Even if he avoided slavery, he had little chance of passing himself off as anything other than what he now was—a man on a pilgrimage. He had no skills with weapons other than a stick.

  As for allies…Ralen would follow Samoht’s orders. It was what soldiers did. Nilrem would only commiserate and advise. Ardra would do what she must to save her fortress from Samoht.

  She would do whatever she must. Bargain with the devil if need be. Damn. Lien cut across the clearing toward Ardra.

  Cidre intercepted him. “You do not eat, Lien. Are you not hungry?” She smiled at him. She rubbed a finger across her lower lip. The rash on his neck and wrists flashed hot, darts of pain ran down his back.

  “Thank you, but no, I’m not hungry.” He sidestepped her and joined Ralen, who headed for his horse, which was tethered to
the one Samoht had ridden, just one of many in a long string.

  Ralen refused a cup of wine a slave offered him and said, “I wonder if this boar hunt is an excuse to close the forest, trapping us all here.”

  “How can someone close a forest?” Lien looked overhead and imagined the branches leaning in on one another, locking together in one solid mass.

  Ralen lowered his voice. “‘Tis said the goddess can cause the paths to vanish, the vines to choke each passage. ‘Tis said a victim will wander until he starves to death. Some say they have seen hapless victims roped to the trees in vines.”

  “Why are we standing here, then?”

  Ralen shrugged. “We have little choice. Samoht certainly gave me no choice about joining this hunt. It is a waste of time. Cidre has led us around in circles.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You are full of questions.”

  “If a pilgrim wears only this robe, what does he do when it gets really hot outside?” He resisted an urge to claw at his neck where the robe chafed his rash.

  “He sweats,” Ralen said and grinned.

  “Great.”

  “Look—”

  “Where?” Ralen asked.

  “No. I didn’t mean actually look. I meant…never mind. Ardra and Samoht were just talking. I think some agreement was made between them. He looked way too smug when she walked away.”

  Ralen’s whole body went stiff. “Agreement? What agreement could they possibly…”

  “Exactly. What bargain would they—”

  “She has nothing to offer except—”

  “Herself,” Lien finished as the idea popped into his head. His stomach lurched almost as if he were on a roller coaster. “I’m going to talk to Ardra.” He shoved past Ralen.

  Men burst from the trees. They rushed in from the far side of the clearing, swords and axes raised.

  “Rebels!” Ralen shouted.

  Lien whipped around. Ardra was across the clearing—too far away. Too far. He set out anyway.

  Einalem screamed and threw herself at Samoht. Cidre stood frozen beside Venrali. Ollach swept Ardra behind him.

  Every warrior drew his sword and met a rebel head-on.

  Noise burst over Lien, his way clogged with fighting men. Shrieks and screams echoed through the clearing.

  He ducked beneath the rope holding the horses. He dropped to the ground, crawled to his horse, and jerked his staff from the saddle. When he shoved his horse’s rump aside, he stared in disbelief at the carnage around him.

  The attackers slashed and chopped at Ralen’s warriors. The clearing swirled in a chaos of men and swinging weapons. Lien was pinned near the stomping hooves of the heaving string of horses.

  Einalem and Cidre huddled together behind Samoht. The councilor held off two rebels with ferocious slashes of his sword.

  The horse behind Lien reared. He pivoted just in time to see a hairy man raise an ax. He thrust his stick up under the man’s arm into his chest and snatched the ax as it fell. He heaved the ax into the dense woods.

  He felt a blow reverberate along his stick into his hand and shoulder.

  He staggered around. Another man raised an ax; Lien jammed his stick into the man’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound. With a look of surprise, the man collapsed on his back.

  Another marauder ran at the horses, who reared and slashed with their huge hooves. Yet another man crawled on the ground toward the mounts, a knife ready to cut them free.

  Lien cracked his stick down on the man’s wrist. He howled and scrambled back amid the horses’ hooves. In moments, the man was a bloody wreck.

  Ralen’s men formed a protective shield around the women and Nilrem. The warriors fought, outnumbered two to one. Then Ardra pulled out her eating dagger. She plunged it into the arm of a man who had breached the warriors’ defenses. The man howled.

  Cold cascaded through Lien. He used his stick to move forward—to fend off another rebel’s advance on the horses. There was no way to get to Ardra. Slaves huddled between her and him. Undefended slaves. Slaves cut off from the rest of the party.

  A rebel turned on the slaves, his ax upraised. Lien stepped behind the attacker and jabbed his stick into the man’s kidneys. The man dropped to his knees. An intrepid slave with a gap-toothed grin bashed the gasping man on the head with a stone.

  A moment later, the end of Lien’s stick was lopped off by the swinging blade of another rebel. It happened in slow motion, the blade sweeping down, leaving the stick half its former length.

  Lien raised it to parry another blow, then at the last moment rolled aside. The rebel turned on the cowering slaves.

  Two warriors ran past the slaves and joined the defense of Samoht and Einalem.

  The charging rebel grinned through his ragged beard. He gave a low laugh and slashed at the slaves with his sword, taunting the men who were unable to defend themselves.

  Without thought, Lien swung his stick across the back of the man’s knees. The rebel fell. When he rolled onto his back, Lien planted his boot in the man’s groin.

  Another rebel rushed the defenseless slaves. Lien faced him.

  He held the howling rebel off, parried the man’s sword blows, jamming his stick up under the man’s swinging sword.

  Suddenly the rebel reeled back, and Lien hit him in the chin. The man sagged, blood gushing from his mouth, and lay still.

  The gap-toothed slave jerked the sword from the rebel’s grasp. He joined Lien in holding off the rebels attacking either the horses or the slaves.

  The rebels fought with ferocious intensity, driving the women and warriors along the path. The ragged company howled and pushed, slashing their axes indiscriminately into the flesh of horses and men.

  Einalem broke from the circle of protection. She ran across Lien’s path. He grabbed her cloak and tossed her behind him into the kneeling slaves just as an ax embedded itself in a tree by her head.

  A giant man with a huge sword ran like a madman after her.

  Lien met him, just as he would an opponent running full-tilt toward the goal. They hit in a clash of bodies. Lien parried every sword thrust with his stick, using only instinct to hold the man back. If the rebel got by, the slaves were dead.

  Lien’s stick shattered, carrying him backward to land with a thud on his back.

  The giant raised his sword and grinned. Then his eyes went wide. He slapped his hand to his neck where a small blade protruded. Lien took the opportunity to lift the shattered end of his stick and crush the man’s hand. His sword fell from his grip. With a gurgle of anger, he bent down, groping for his blade.

  Ralen ran up and with a mighty swing of his sword, ended the rebel’s life.

  The warrior thrust his dagger into Lien’s hand. But it wasn’t needed. The rebels had lost their will with the giant’s death. They backed away, disappeared among the trees, and sprinted off on nearly invisible paths.

  Cidre ran to Lien. Her eyes were bright blue and wide, her hands questing over his bloody robe. “Did he hurt you?” She glanced at the giant by Lien’s feet.

  “No. I’m fine. But others aren’t.” Lien carefully disentangled himself and set her aside, removing the acid burn of her hand.

  He turned in a haze and looked for Ardra. She knelt by a warrior, bandaging an arm. Something ferocious inside him settled.

  Then he saw it—the small dagger protruding from the giant’s neck. Lien’s legs were suddenly shaky. He bent over the giant and jerked the blade from the man’s neck.

  It was Ardra’s eating dagger. Adrenaline pumped its way through his body again. Ardra had thrown the knife. And saved his life.

  He wiped the blade on his sleeve, walked straight to Ardra, and touched the crown of her head.

  She looked up. Her amber eyes were liquid gold, wide, not dazed like those of the injured man she helped, but determined.

  “Thank you.” It was all he could say as he gave her back her knife.

  Ralen walked by them toward a horse tha
t had managed to get loose. He stumbled. A hole yawned at his feet. Lien grabbed for Ralen’s tunic. They slithered in wet leaves straight toward a void. The horse whinnied and scrabbled backward.

  The ground gave way—straight into a pit.

  It was over in moments.

  Lien stared up at the purple sky. Shocked faces stared down at him from the rim of the hole. He tentatively moved his limbs. A groan nearby shook him out of his lethargy.

  When he took a deep breath and sat up, he saw Ralen on his side, blood in his hair.

  “Ralen, are you all right?” Lien crawled to the warrior.

  His eyes were wide open, and for a moment Lien thought he was dead. But Ralen groaned, and his eyes closed in a brief spasm of pain. “Where are you hurt?” Lien asked.

  His own body felt bruised and battered.

  He realized there were rocks beneath a thick mat of muddy leaves. Ralen shifted to his back, and his left hand shot out to grasp Lien’s arm. He closed his eyes. For Ralen not to speak, he must be very hurt, impaled on his sword perhaps.

  “Is he alive?” Samoht called from above.

  Quickly Lien ran his hands over Ralen’s tunic, searching for blood, seeing only what stained his hair. But his arm was bent at an awkward angle.

  “He’s alive, but his arm’s broken.”

  Samoht swore.

  “Can you sit up?” Lien asked. Ralen nodded but didn’t move.

  “Damn.” Lien looked up. The pit had sheer sides cut with a digging tool, not caused by a collapse of nature. “Is this some kind of boar trap?”

  “A man trap,” Ralen said, then hissed in his breath.

  Lien stood up and called, “Make some rope out of those vines and get it down to us. Be quick about it.” The fear that the rebels were rallying their forces made him order the onlookers as if he were in charge and not Samoht.

  “Do you want me to do something about this?” He touched Ralen’s arm.

  “Nay. Leave it to the women.” Ralen opened his eyes, then licked his lips.

  Although Ralen’s face had not paled, there was a look about his mouth that told Lien that speaking was an effort. Sweat slicked his brow, but his skin was cold. He was going into shock.