by C. N Lesley
He remembered the scent of flowers, the sharp tang of animals, and the image, but not the smell of the calf’s destruction. All the colors and textures served to remind him of what his life currently lacked. How pathetic that he was reduced to sneaking into a tiny room to steal images from another person’s memories. The call of the surface world snagged his soul.
“The next part of our subject’s life contains a similar situation. Why don’t you refresh your memory? I will not permit any to disturb us.” A port slid open to release the umbilicus. It emerged without aiming toward Arthur, appearing content to wait.
Arthur hesitated. “I am still not trained for contact, Archive. Am I at risk of addiction?” Maybe he was looking for an excuse not to continue; he didn’t want to see a life destroyed, much less experience it along with the victim.
“What if you were already addicted? Would we be having this conversation?”
Arthur drew in a deep breath to smell nothing in the bland air of Avalon, knowing he would have to make his escape from Sanctuary soon if he chose this path. The Archive hinted at the reason the Outcast had begun her new existence. Perhaps this session would be the one to help him understand how to survive on the surface. He brushed aside the hair behind his ear to expose his outlet port for the umbilicus.
*
Earth Date 3874
Ashira woke in the early morning according to the time candle at her bedside, which had burned down to the third notch from its holder. Memories of the night before sent blood rushing to her face, yet a feeling of pleasure remained. Uther, the man, had demanded and received a responsive lover.
In sleep, the duke appeared almost boyish at her side, with long, dark lashes feathering his cheeks, his age betrayed by the rough beginnings of a beard. His bare chest, crisscrossed with mute testaments of past conflicts sliced into curling black hair, reminded her of an earlier promise given when he treated her wound. She thought again how strange it was that he hadn’t visited a priest before scars became inevitable. She traced a line near his heart with one finger. A change in his breathing made her look up. He watched her with a half-awake smile.
“Well, wildcat? Have I pulled your fangs?” His eyes began to glitter as sleep retreated.
“Yes.” She blushed at the raking look he gave her. “I wish only that our union had been arranged in the normal manner.”
“I don’t. How many rulers have a wife who leaps into danger when her man is threatened? I know my War Maid isn’t going to plant her dagger in my chest when I sleep. How many others sleep so well? Did you know Alsar’s third queen took an unholy interest in herbs until he forced her to drink the tonic she offered him? The results, I understand, were quite spectacular. She gave excellent examples of foaming at the mouth and drumming her heels before she died.”
“How many rulers wait so patiently for their women to return their love?” Ashira countered.
“I had no inclination to force a virgin. Had you behaved, or responded differently, I would not have pressed my attentions last night.” Uther stretched his lean body.
Unaccountably, for a second she imagined she could see his thoughts: in his present mood, she could ask anything. Curiosity goaded her to see if this peculiar side effect of their lovemaking bore results, or if he would evade her previous question.
“Is it true that you encourage Black Bands?”
Uther reached out to cup her cheek making her face him. His eyes narrowed a little and one eyebrow raised.
“Lady, I am not sure whether you most resemble a child or a butterfly, the way your mind flits from one subject to the next. To ask such a question now . . . Yes, they’re welcome to winter here, as you’ll see. They have their uses.”
“Which are . . . ?”
“My wildcat still has claws. Chastisement is called for.” He moved with the fluid grace of a warrior, trapping her, stopping her questions with kisses.
Ashira dissolved in waves of pleasure as his loving became purposeful. He gave no quarter. Her tender lover of the night had a score to settle. His laughter echoed around their darkened chamber when his victory became absolute.
*
Sounds of Tadgell stirring wakened Uther later. He brushed a tendril of hair from his bride’s face, waking her and making him sorry to leave a warm bed and a willing woman.
“I’ve half a mind to insist on face veils.” He frowned. “My woman is far too lovely for others’ eyes. Join me for breakfast in my business room as quickly as you can.” Uther hurried with his washing and dressing, wanting her again, yet concerned he might scare her.
He strode to his business room in the hope of getting some work done before she arrived to torment his senses. At the threshold, he called to a passing server for two plates of bread and cheese. Uther had just settled at his desk when his second-in-command, Alvic, poked his head around the door.
“There is an Outcast scouting around near Tadgell,” Alvic said, one hand straying to the hilt of his sword. “Our morning patrol found a freshly abandoned camp.”
Uther pulled out a chart of his territory, a sense of unease growing. “Where?” Alvic leaned over the desk to point out a sheltered valley with easy access to Tadgell.
The place wasn’t near a trade route and that disturbed him. “Is he one we know?”
“He’s one I wouldn’t want to fight alone. Remember Copper from two winters back?”
Uther pictured the auburn-haired Outcast and the man’s skill with a blade. His unease grew branches. “I don’t recall him causing any upset during his stay.” He gestured at the empty chair near the door, and Alvic sat.
“When he wasn’t training with you, he worked in the forge. A couple of the girls chased after him, but he made sure never to be alone with them.” Alvic looked at the ground. “And there’s something else. Lerrys said Copper was at Menhill while you were there. He spotted him riding out with one of their patrols. Now why would Hald need an Outcast? He isn’t in conflict with anyone, and neither does he have a saurian problem.”
Fear took root. “Are you saying my woman is a traitor?” She had seemed so calm the day her father traded her. He’d taken her attitude for courage, but now he wondered. “She almost died fighting saurians.”
Alvic, looked up, his eyes narrowed. “What if Copper is here to snatch her back? Hald didn’t come out of his side of the bargain smelling sweet. The High King isn’t going to like his treating a Gold Band woman like a bag of turnips, even if he did have kin right.”
“Get ten of our best men and two large fishnets,” said Uther, deciding against shackles. Catching an Outcast without hurting him was one problem, but holding him always brought a swarm of his Brethren howling for blood. “You look after Tadgell, and I’ll deal with the Outcast. He’s more likely to hear me out first, before he starts fighting.”
“Are you going to take the g— duchess?”
“No. She is learning how to schedule rosters, so keep her busy. I don’t want her near Copper.”
Ashira and breakfast arrived together. Alvic stood and bowed, excusing himself. She took the recently vacated seat while the server placed the plates of bread and cheese on his desk. He didn’t know how to tell her he intended to leave her behind. Uther knew she would never forgive him if he made her appear weak.
He took a deep breath. “I am riding out, but I’ll organize all the rosters I haven’t already given to you for the next week. It shouldn’t prove a problem to oversee, and you’ll have my headman, a Silver, to help with any discipline matters.” He broke his bread, not wanting to see the hurt in her eyes. “I am also leaving you with my second in command, Alvic, in case of attack. I am assuming you studied defense tactics. Alvic will take responsibility for the mines, but I don’t think I’ll be gone for more than a week at the most.”
“When will you leave, my lord?”
Ashira’s frosty tone hurt him more than he wanted to admit. “Lady, I didn’t plan this as a personal insult. I have a report of an Outcast watching Tadgell, and
since he is one we know, I would have expected him to visit us. He is very dangerous. I can’t sit here waiting for a strike. I have to track him down now that I have you here to take responsibility.”
“Is that all, my lord?” Ashira turned to the door.
“No, and don’t take that tone with me. Come here.” He extended a hand, but when she took it, he hauled her around to sit on his lap. She sat as stiff as a dry thistle head and just as liable to fly apart. He nuzzled her neck, wanting to taste her.
“Let go. Suppose someone comes in,” Ashira protested.
“Then my people will see how matters stand between us.” He drew her closer, kissing a spot behind her ear he’d discovered to be sensitive. “Shall I shout to the world that I care for my wife? Shall I present a wide target to outsiders for attack by sending another to scout in my place? News travels fast. All eyes will be turned in our direction to detect weakness.”
“Truth?” She held her breath.
“That my woman holds my heart balanced on the points of her sharp claws, or that I fear she will be taken for ransom if any suspect?”
“Both.” She tried to wriggle around in his arms, but he held fast.
“Why else would I tremble at your mood, steal a kiss from a cold girl? Wretched cat! Do you think I enjoy being subject to your whims, or knowing other men see my treasure’s face?” Uther kept one arm around her, using his free hand to feed them both. “Now I remember a question about Outcasts, and I shudder to think what will happen if I don’t gratify my lady’s every wish.”
She relaxed, but the winter mood continued in her formal words: “You are very kind, my lord.”
“Kind is an emotion unknown to all Outcasts,” he began, hoping to get her focused on the problem and not on his leaving her. “They rarely survive beyond sentencing, thanks to the ‘kindnesses’ of former family, who track them down without mercy to erase their shame. Kindness is the law allowing forts to destroy Outcasts outside territory posts, so the wretched creatures are hunted for sport. Run to the point of exhaustion, and then allowed to crawl to their own destruction.”
“Are you sorry for these criminals?”
“Let us say I can understand how they become as they are.” Uther picked her braid undone as he spoke, not liking the golden mass restricted. “Even when working, others regard them as the lowest form of life, scarce spoken to except for orders. After three years, only the smartest of them remain, not the strongest, nor the most skilled in battle. Near total isolation from the rest of humanity makes Brethren ruthless killers. They live from one moment to the next.”
“What else do they expect to happen for committing a sin?” She relaxed back against him.
“They have their uses.” Uther’s heart started pumping hard. He tried to stay away from thoughts of her naked in his arms. “Our plumbing arrangements are the direct result of one Brother’s solitary brooding in the cold season. He earned his keep, although my priest resented the alterations.”
“Priests make dangerous enemies,” Ashira murmured, now nestled against him.
“I didn’t have water pipes extended to his domain after he objected to the idea. Cleanliness is an individual choice I wouldn’t inflict if the person concerned couldn’t take a hint from his fellows.” Uther caught a smile from her.
“Now go and make yourself useful. I need provisions for a party of ten over six days, and tell the cook I don’t like smoked fish. I know he has a huge store of it that he’ll try to lose in my direction.”
“Uther . . . if Outcasts are condemned from the moment of re-banding, unless they find others like themselves, why are there so many of them? How can they escape from forts . . . just one against a band of hunters? Why not kill them on fort territory?”
“Had you not avoided all religious occasions, you would know the answer. They will foul our land with their evil if put to death on their former home ground.” He attempted to restrict her curiosity by only answering her last question.
“I don’t see how the ill-wishes of a dying deviant can affect a fort.”
“Heathen.” He couldn’t help smiling at her lack of respect for religion. “The evil flows back to the living, where it causes deformed births, disease and even more sin. I don’t have to tell a woman how devastating it must be to bear a child to term, learn it is not human and have to watch as the priest performs the ceremony of purification. That is the ceremony you have a problem with I believe? Now be good and do as I asked, and then come back here.”
*
Uther had finished his tasks when she rejoined him. While she was busy implementing his orders, he considered what possible distrust his people might feel for her since he knew how fast gossip flew. An idea brought him to his feet and bowing to her; he used the gesture to throw her over his shoulder. She shrieked a little as he carried her to their bedchamber, but he wanted witnesses to his intentions.
Serving women scattered when he marched through the door and dumped Ashira on the bed they’d just finished making. Beyond thought at the vision of her now bared legs, he made an inarticulate gesture of dismissal. Not caring if they were out of sight or not, he unlaced his pants, pulled her skirt higher to thrust deep inside her.
Her dress kept bunching, getting in his way. He paused to take the edge of her bodice in his hands and ripped the thing open to the hem. She gasped, blushing a deep red, making him thrust harder until he released.
Expecting trouble, he tried a kiss, but she turned her face away. “Didn’t you think I’d want to get as much as I can of you before I leave?”
“You could have waited until the room was clear.”
“They knew what I was about. If they didn’t leave before I started, then that isn’t my fault.” He got his kiss, but she held back. “Ashira, the servers are more likely to obey you if they know how I treasure you.”
Her eyelids drooped, and he realized he’d kept her up half the night. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I can find my way out of my own fort without you sending me off.”
*
Ashira tossed the shredded dress in a corner once he’d gone. She considered creeping into bed, and then decided to change into her riding clothes after a relaxing bath, rather than have someone rouse her in her nightgown. The dress wasn’t to her taste anyway, and she enjoyed his attentions more than she let him know. More because she missed Uther already than for any need of protection, she laid her weapons belt on his empty place.
She hoped he would soon return from his encounter with the Outcast. While she knew of them as a War Maid, her knowledge had been slight, until now. The horror of their existence bothered her. Such a one would have no sense of humanity.
Hours later, a recurring bad dream of eyes watching her roused Ashira into a sense of wrongness. Only the time candle glowed, the others had burnt down, not replaced as usual by servers. Instinct guided her hands to her weapon. She eased off the bed and strapped on the belt, not yet sure why. Many footsteps moving nearer sent her hands to her sword.
Her door crashed open. Men rushed in, weapons drawn and torches blazing. Half-blinded, she grasped the hilt. Hands grabbed at her, pinning her arms behind her back. A fist crashed into her temple, making her head whirl, stars before her eyes. Silent soldiers, wearing the duke’s own dragon tabards, dragged her out.
Alvic, the duke’s second, walked at the head of the men. His face stayed blank when she cried out to him. None of the soldiers registered expressions of any type, looking as if they all walked in their sleep. Down through the fort they went, into Harvester chambers. Shoved from behind, she stumbled into the center of a circle of soldiers with hostile stares. Somehow, this room appeared both brighter and darker at the same time. The walls looked a deeper shade of gray with dark shadows lurking in cracks and crannies. Torches flared as if with a hidden source of fuel. Evil dwelt here.
The priest glided forward, his wide yellow robe swishing as he raised his rod of office. A tongue of power licked toward her. Ashira’s world dissolved into
a nerve-screaming agony of blue. Pain upon pain, torment built until something snapped deep within.
Chapter 7
Earth Date 3874
Time, space, drifted in endless convoluted eddies. A spark of awareness floated, lost, helpless. Pictures formed against a blue background. A white horse changed to chestnut. A dark man’s face intent on passion, or was it the foxy face of one enjoying another’s anguish? Was this death, or the moment of birth? Shattered fragments of will coagulated slowly. A splintered soul groped for coherence, drawing together strands of itself. Danger registered at a cellular level – the force tearing thoughts apart must not know any remained. There lay the path to extinction.
The soul drifted, no longer attempting to establish will, but allowing feeling to return undetected, absorbing rather than probing. A sensation of weight came first, then pain. Agony heaped on agony. Tears of blood flowed from eyes of molten fire. Screams tore in silent, endless outcry.
Burning sight registered a form, a shape of horror. Blood-red, catlike eyes bored into the naked mind. The head was wide and flat, covered with thick, armored, scaly plates that tapered to a fleshy, bald crest. No nose, rather, twin breathing-pits where one should be. A mouth like a sword cut snarled, revealing sharp teeth when the creature articulated sound. The soul registered this image as important, to be retained.
Something else: a shadow-shape hovered just at the periphery of vision. A set of matte-black eyes gleamed from the walls of the cavern. The dream-watcher stalked, waiting.
Weightless, drifting, the soul found substance, folding into a waiting shell, a body. Feeling, sensation, sight, sound and smell returned, yet the soul remained wary. Shapes, forms resolved into a circle of rabid men’s faces, and one bland visage radiating casual cruelty. The soul writhed in a strange and hostile world. Faint strands of reason floated in the gray madness of its mind. A female once, from a distant recollection, she found she could access the minds around, know their thoughts. They considered her an animal, one who had sinned. Death stalked here. She would have to be very careful.