“You will be home shortly, Archeron,” Pelias attempted to soothe him. “This has been a difficult time for us all. Once you walk along the golden sands by the sea, and feel the clean wind on your face it will seem less distressing.”
“Aye, but the problem will still be there,” Archeron said. “It will not go away. Hetar’s way of life, the Outlands’ way of life-it is all changing.”
“I will speak with Prince Lothair,” Delphinus said, and hurried off.
The Shadow Prince was more than happy to take Archeron home, especially when he heard of the dark mood that had descended upon the Coastal King.
“His words frighten me,” Delphinus admitted to the prince. “He has lived longer than any of us, and we revere his wisdom. Sometimes he sees things, as I believe he does now. Is this a vision of what the future of Hetar is to be?”
“He is correct that things are changing,” Lothair said, “but do not be afraid, King Delphinus. Everything changes eventually. Sometimes the change is so swift we do not really notice it, and at other times the change is so slow that we can see it coming, and we are afraid. Change, whether for good or evil, cannot be stopped, I fear.”
“You feel it, too!” Delphinus cried.
Lothair smiled, and nodded. “When Archeron is ready to travel, come to me,” he told the Coastal King. “I will transport him.”
A few days later Delphinus bid Archeron farewell. The High Council was now in recess for the winter, but it was necessary for the general council members to remain until their replacements came in the spring. Only the head of the council might leave.
Back home in his spacious palace by the sea King Archeron rested, but the necessity of contacting the Outland chieftains weighed upon him. He sent a messenger to Rendor of the Felan asking that they meet in two days’ time on the seaside border between their two kingdoms. There would not be time for the messenger to return, and so Archeron, in the company of his son and heir, Arcas, set off in hopes of meeting Rendor at the designated spot. To their relief he was there. The two men, both of whom knew Rendor well, embraced the Outlander warmly, inviting him to join them beneath a blue-and-gold striped awning that had been set up upon the beach. There were chairs, and servants who brought wine to the three men.
“I have always enjoyed this air of elegance you bring with you,” Rendor chuckled as he took a sip of the excellent wine. “We Outlanders are a simple folk.”
“Not so simple,” Archeron replied, “that you did not destroy your enemy successfully, and with flair. The High Council, while shocked, was most impressed by those seven carts of dead driven into the City by their gaunt and hollow-eyed drivers.”
Rendor chuckled wolfishly, but then he grew serious. “It was unwise of Hetar to invade our lands,” he said. “I hope they understood the message we sent to them.”
“They did, and would return to the boundaries of the ancient treaties, Rendor,” Archeron said quietly. “I have come to ask how we should approach the various clans, and their chieftains. We would not offend your lords and add to the problem.”
“The offense was in your attempt to annex a portion of our lands,” Rendor answered. “But we have had our revenge, and now wish to return to the way it was between us. We have formed our own governing council because of this incident. It is obvious to us that we can no longer live quite as separately from Hetar as we have in the past. The lady Lara has convinced us of that, though some would resist. Your High Council needs to be able to speak to us as one when problems like this arise.”
“When was this council formed?” Archeron asked Rendor.
“After the battle. The clan chieftains met at Fulksburg before we departed for our own lands. The council is made up of our eight chieftains. Vartan of the Fiacre was elected its head. He remains in office until he chooses to step down or we vote to replace him, which is unlikely. His clan is the largest, and Vartan is both fair and wise.”
“With a beautiful faerie wife, I am told,” Arcas murmured.
“The Lady Lara is a halfling,” Rendor said quietly. “Her wisdom is as much admired as her beauty.”
“And she is a competent warrior, I have heard,” Archeron said.
Rendor grinned. “That sword of hers would frighten a demon,” he told the two kings. “It sings in a voice that goes from low to high as she battles. And when it is time for the kill Andraste sings of drinking the blood of the unjust and the evil. A man could die of fright facing that ferocious sword. And looking at that delicate beauty wielding it, you would not expect her skill with a weapon.”
“She has a killer’s instinct?” Arcas asked.
“Nay, my lord, not at all. But her heart cries out for justice,” Rendor said.
“Can you take a message to Vartan from our High Council?” Archeron asked the Felan chieftain. “If it is possible I should like to meet with him, and apologize for the actions of our people against yours. Might he come to your hall? Or should I go to his?”
“I think, my lord, that he might enjoy seeing the Coastal Province. I will ask, but I will also offer him the option of having you come to him,” Rendor said.
“Thank you, old friend,” Archeron said. “Now, please tell me you did not lose many men in that battle at Fulksburg.”
“But five,” Rendor said. “Our losses were all minimal, unlike those of Hetar.”
Arcas and Archeron laughed. The Outlander was enjoying his victory, and they did not blame him. If it had been theirs they would have done the same.
The three men finally parted, and Rendor rode back to his own home. The next morning he dispatched a messenger to Camdene, relaying all that had been said at that meeting. Rendor hoped Vartan would come to his coastal lands that he might meet with the Hetarians. He knew that Vartan had never met any Hetarians but for his beautiful wife, and young Noss. If he was to lead the Outlanders, it was time that he did. To his pleasure, Vartan agreed and he and Lara returned with the Felan messenger. The two men greeted each other warmly, and then Rendor bowed with respect to Lara whose beautiful golden gilt head bowed in return.
“So the Hetarians wish to return to life as it was,” Vartan said with a grin.
“Aye, although until you meet with King Archeron you will not have the full tale, which I suspect is an interesting one,” Rendor replied. “He was, as I wrote you, willing to come to you at Camdene. Do you wish him to come here to my village, or will you go to him at his seaside palace? I have been once, and it is both amazing and glorious.”
“I think it is time I began to familiarize myself with Hetar,” Vartan said slowly. He turned to Lara. “What think you, my life?”
“I have never been to the Coastal Province. It is said the Coastal Kings are the true aristocrats of Hetar,” Lara said slowly. “I am curious to meet them, but this decision should be yours, my husband.” She looked to Rendor. “You have become friends with these men, I am told. What think you of them?”
“I like them,” Rendor answered. “They are a people filled with wisdom and honor. We were cautious with each other at first, but our friendship has bloomed into a true one. I believe they are trustworthy, and they did vote not to invade us last year.”
“That in itself speaks well of them,” Vartan replied. “How do they live? Have they villages as we have? And how many kings are there? Must I treat with each? Or have they a high king?”
“They are all, it would seem, of one family. Long ago it was decided that the head of each family branch would be called king, that there be no quarrelling over the title. Each king leads a clan family much like ours. The oldest of them, in this case King Archeron, is recognized as the ultimate authority should disputes arise. Each family has a palace built into the cliffs by the sea. These palaces are spread out to house all members of each family, but I would not call them villages in our sense.”
“Where does their wealth come from?” Vartan wanted to know.
“No one knows,” Rendor replied. “They are as mysterious a people as are the Shadow Princes. Some say they
may even be related by an ancient bloodline. They have some magic, but not as much as the Shadow Princes.”
Vartan considered, and then he said, “I should like to see these palaces, and I think my going to King Archeron shows a respect for his position.”
“Good manners is highly appreciated by these people,” Rendor responded.
“I will go with you, husband,” Lara told him.
“Of course,” he agreed. “Though you have never been in the Coastal Province, you are Hetarian-born, and will advise me to the best of your ability, I know.”
Lara smiled and nodded to her husband. He could not guess how much her knowledge of her own people would help him. “I would bathe,” she told Rendor. “Have you the means for it? I have brought a special garment given to me by my Shadow Prince that I will wear. I have told you how much the Hetarians value appearance. These Coastal Kings know of my background. They know I was a humble mercenary’s daughter, and later a slave. But they also know that my mother is a queen among her own people, and that my skills were honed in the company of the Shadow Princes. I cannot go with you looking like a warrior, or a simple woman.”
“You would display your beauty before these kings?” Vartan said, an edge to his voice. His look was hard.
Lara shook her head. “Have I not told you before that you must not be jealous, husband?”
He flushed. “I cannot help it,” he admitted low.
“But you must,” she said. “You swore to me that you would not impede my destiny, Vartan. And I warned you that my destiny would sometimes take me from you. I must treat with these people in my own way if you are to succeed, husband. Do not love me so much else I break your heart,” Lara warned him softly.
“My wife will see you have your bath,” Rendor said jovially. “I have sent a message to King Archeron that you are coming to meet with him, Vartan. We will depart on the morrow for his palace. It is but a day’s travel.”
“Should we not wait for his permission?” Vartan asked.
“Nay, I told him I would send word when it was decided how you two would meet. By tomorrow evening you will be welcomed into King Archeron’s palace. I will come with you. I always enjoy the company of these Hetarians.”
Lara enjoyed the bath which Rendor’s wife, Rahil, provided for her guest. She poured a small bit of scented oil into the hot water, pinning up her hair so it would not get wet. Rahil sniffed appreciatively as the perfumed steam arose from the water. Seeing her Lara said, “Do you like it? Here.” She handed the small vial to the woman. “I think a woman should always have something lovely to enjoy.”
“My thanks,” Rahil said smiling. Then she added, “I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you, lady. You are careful to hide it in your warrior woman’s garments, but here in your bath, as the Celestial Actuary created you, I see how dangerous a burden that beauty is for you to bear. Will you display it before the Coastal Kings?”
“I must, for my legend precedes me,” Lara told her as she washed herself. “Like all Hetarians, they will be impressed with Vartan for having such a wife. Because of your good husband they have already begun to make friends among the Outlands. Now we must obtain them as allies, for if I remember Gaius Prospero’s passion for profit, his incursion into the Tormod and the Piaras is but the beginning of our troubles.” She stood and wrapped herself in the drying sheet Rahil handed her.
“You think Hetar will attack us again?” Rahil said, wide-eyed.
“Yes, I do,” Lara replied. “I will know more after we have spoken with the Coastal Kings and I have heard the story of the carts entering the City. That was a very powerful lesson. People in the street, ordinary citizens in the City saw those carts with their dead. More families than not have blood kin among the Guild of Mercenaries. And those among the dead with others dependent upon them for their daily bread would have those family members, wives, children, parents, left now without a home, or a means of support.”
“They would lose their homes?” Rahil was aghast.
“There are only so many hovels, and they must be kept for those who give service to the Guild,” Lara said.
“And they call us barbaric!” Rendor’s wife said angrily.
Lara slipped into a simple gown, and braided up her hair again. “I have found the Outlands more civilized than the City,” she said quietly. “Now, how may I help you with the supper?”
“My servants are well-trained and have it all in hand,” Rahil said, “but you could pour the Frine.” She was impressed by the fact that Lara had offered to help. She might be a great lady, but her human side was mannerly.
After the meal Vartan and Lara were taken to their host and hostess’s own chamber. When Vartan protested, Rahil told him it was an honor for the Felan that the new Head Councillor and his wife would sleep there. Then bowing, she left them. Vartan, cautious by nature, threw the bolt on the door, and turning about found that his wife had shed her garment. He smiled a slow smile. “You mean to palliate me, wife.”
She smiled back holding out her hand to him. “Yes,” she said.
He pulled his own garments off, dropping them upon the floor. “When the Coastal Kings smile at you I will want to kill them.”
“I know,” she replied.
“When they gaze upon your beauty and desire it for themselves, I will hate them for it,” he told her.
“You will,” she agreed amiably.
“When I see in their eyes the image of the dreams they will have of coupling with you I…”
She put her hand over his mouth. “But you are the only man I desire, Vartan,” she told him. “They cannot have me if I do not wish it, and I do not.” She stood before him, and pressed herself against him even as she took his sinewy arms, and wrapped them about her. “I desire you, and you alone, my husband.”
“But you do not love me,” he said looking down into her small upturned face.
“You know I do not believe in love,” she replied.
“Then how will you give me the son I desire of you?” he asked seriously. He could feel every inch of her delicious flesh as it pressed against him seductively. “I know that faerie women do not give children to those they do not love.”
“I am only half faerie,” she responded softly, her pointed tongue encircling the shape of his ear teasingly. “Do you not want me, husband?”
His length was hard. It throbbed between them. “Witch!” he groaned. Yes, he wanted her! More at this moment than he had ever wanted her, but it was always that way each time they lay together. No matter how much he took of her, no matter how much she gave of herself, it was never enough for Vartan. He wondered if it ever would be. He wanted to hear her tell him that she loved him, but it would seem along with her faerie beauty she had inherited a cold faerie heart. Nonetheless he could not resist her. “I love you, Lara,” he told her, and then he picked her up and laid her upon the bed that awaited them. His big hand caressed her small heart-shaped face, his mouth taking hers in a passionate kiss. His long fingers tangled in the soft golden hair with its gilt highlights. So soft, he thought as their mouths drank of one another. Everything he touched was soft and smooth, and yet beneath it she was like iron.
He rolled onto his back, drawing her atop him as one kiss blended into another and another. Then she drew away from him, and sitting up, began to caress his broad smooth chest with her hands. Her emerald eyes gazed into his meltingly, and he felt weak but for his manroot which raged, pinned beneath her round buttocks. Reaching up, he began to play with her breasts, and when he teased at her nipples she teased at his in exchange, pinching them lightly, bending to lick at them.
He lifted her up, and impaled her slowly upon his manroot. With a deep sigh she sank down, enveloping him within her body. Taking him deep into her heated flesh, leaning back and sighing again. “Ride me,” he growled at her, feeling her thighs close against him as she steadied herself with her hands, tightening her sheath around him as she pressed and released, pressed and released until he be
gan to make whimpering sounds for she was not yet ready to allow him his fulfillment. Raising herself, she leaned forward so he might have the pleasure of her breasts. His mouth closed about a nipple, and he sucked on her hard until Lara began to feel the tension building.
She leaned further forward, burying her head in the space between his shoulder and his neck. She felt his hands closing about her rounded buttocks, kneading them as she thrust, and thrust and thrust against him. Finally unable to endure any more of her sweet torture, Vartan turned them so that Lara now lay beneath him. He thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew until it was she who now whimpered. He was so attuned to her that he could sense her impending crisis, and held himself back until they could attain pleasure together. And then the heat enveloped them both. They were filled with their passion, and finally collapsed from their delightful efforts, without another word falling into a peaceful sleep. But Lara, before she closed her eyes, touched the crystal she always wore, as if seeking a reassurance from Ethne that she would not allow herself to find with Vartan.
In the morning she awoke before he did, and she wondered if perhaps these feelings of protectiveness toward her husband, and the yearning she had for his touch, were not perhaps the beginnings of that so human emotion known as love. She was not all faerie, after all, and if she had hardened her heart against love was it possible she had done it in order to survive what she must, in order that she reach her destiny? She was weary, she realized, of the knowledge she carried. She suddenly had a great yearning to be just a simple woman. To carry her husband’s child within her body. To birth that child, and care for it.
Stirring, Vartan drew her into his arms, and she laid her head against his heart. “What are you thinking?” he asked her softly.
“Woman’s thoughts, husband. Thoughts best kept to myself for now,” Lara told him. She wanted to spend the rest of the day in his arms, and not be bothered by anyone, but they had a long ride ahead of them.
“Give me a child, my life,” he said softly to her, and he kissed the hand on his chest. “A beautiful little girl like her mother.”
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