by Mind Guest
I gasped and doubled over as he hit me with the keying word, finding it
impossible to touch myself despite the screaming flames racing through
me. I'd been conditioned against touching myself at a time like that,
and I went to my knees with the effort of trying to fight hack. And
then I felt myself pushed flat to the carpeting, and a hand moved
deliberately under one leg of the riding dress and all the way up to
its target.
"You are helpless to do other than obey me, slave," Clero gloated as I
cried out against the way his hand began to control me. "You may
struggle and cry and dream of disobedience, and yet you will not
disobey your master will not allow you to disobey. He will allow you no
more than a taste of the whip."
I lay face down on the carpeting, leaning on the top of my forehead, my
hands clawing at the nap for the double grip I needed so badly, my body
twisting and writhing to Clero's merciless urgings. I'd been
conditioned as a slave and I was reacting like one, but I wasn't a
slave. I was free, damn it, and no one could touch me like that or whip
me and get away with it! No one! I tried to break loose from what Clero
was doing, moaned when I couldn't, and then felt the fear. If I didn't
get loose he would have me to whip forever, and the rage and terror of
that thought rose up so strongly that I was able to feel nothing else.
The strength of panic let me push myself into a sideways roll, and as I
rolled I brought my feet up and hit Clero right in the face. There was
no skill or damaging strength in. that double desperation kick, but it
was enough to knock the man away from me. I rolled two more times,
threw myself to my feet with the last roll, then grabbed the sword I'd
taken from the first guard and turned to face Clero. The Prince was
rising slowly to his feet, one hand to the bleeding cut on his lip, his
insane eyes seeing nothing of the way I struggled to calm my breathing.
He lowered his hand and saw the blood on it, raised those eyes to me
again, and a blood-chilling growl escaped his throat.
"You would dare!" he hissed, all rationality gone. as he held his hand
out toward me, his very round eyes blazing. "I will one day be king,
and yet you dared to strike at me! At me! For that I will mark you so
that no one will ever again look upon you without the need to shudder!
You will live on and on, suffering the most horrible tortures I am able
to devise! You will regret many times over the sin you have committed,
yet there will be no surcease! None! You have the word of a king!"
He drew his sword slowly and began to advance on me, and I wondered if
he realized that I stood there with my own sword. He was so far out of it that all he wanted to do was carve me up, but his ranting had given
me the time I needed to steady down. My nerves still felt raw and
bloody, but at least my hand was steady as I stepped out a short way to
meet him. Clero closed the distance between us and swung at my face
with his point, his intention obvious and easy to parry. I ducked his
back swing and parried four more wild tries at my face, and then a few
more threads in his mind snapped. He voiced a terrible scream and
attacked without any attempt at defending himself, a sudden all out
rush that usually demoralizes an opponent enough to let your point
reach his middle. Clero seemed to have given up on his previous ideas
and was now trying to put an end to me, and my arm felt the jarring
shock every time our blades met. I backed a couple of steps against the
onslaught, knowing I couldn't stand long against his hysterical
strength, but I couldn't disengage and I was running out of backing
room. I could feel the sweat on my forehead and the way my whole body
ached and then all of that was gone from my awareness. For a split
second there was an opening through Clero's wild swings, and instinct
took over. I beat his blade aside and lunged for him with every ounce
of speed I possessed and only just made it. My blade sunk deep into the
middle of his chest, but his gouged along my ribs, no more than an inch
away from doing some real damage. Pain flared wildly in my side as I
yanked my blade free, but at least I was still in a condition to notice
pain. Prince Clero was beyond that, his mad eyes glazing over even as
he crumpled to the carpeting at my feet. I watched him all the way down
before grabbing my cape and putting it on, then, with sword held
somewhat firmly ahead of me, got the hell out of there.
There was a guard at the bottom of the spiraling stone staircase, but
unfortunately for him he was taking a stretch with his back to the
stairs when I reached bottom. I don't think I killed him, but if the
hilt of my sword didn't give him a skull fracture, the Lord of Luck was
guarding him. I stepped over his body and eased my way outside, then
dived into the deepening shadows around the tower's base. The thing
stood a good distance from Clero's keep, but it still took some skill
and effort to cross the open space without being seen, even with
twilight and a dark cape both doing their bit to help. I was prepared
to walk away from that place if I had to, but one of Clero's mounted
guards spotted me once I made the woods. He came galloping up with the
clear intention of making a fight of it, but then he saw I was female.
There was just enough light to make out his grin, and then he
resheathed his sword and started to dismount. I felt absolutely no
hesitation about putting my point in his back, and then stepping on his
body to reach his vair's saddle; playing fair when your life is at
stake is a pastime for professional suicides. I turned the vair in the
direction that should have been south, and dug my heels in.
I was able to put a decent number of miles behind me before I
absolutely had to stop. The pain in my side was sharp enough to let me
know it was there, but that wasn't the main problem. I knew the wound
was still bleeding, because the entire left side of my riding dress was
warm and soggy and slowly getting soggier. The night was dark now, but
a single moon shone brightly almost directly over my head, and I
wondered if Dameron was looking down at me while I was looking up at
him. The air smelled woodsy-fresh and damp, with a light breeze blowing
enough to feather my hair, but l could still smell vair sweat from the
way I'd pushed my mount, and the leather smell of the saddle added
itself to the rest until I began feeling queasy. I drew rein beside a
small stand of thin trees, dismounted and tied the vair, then walked a
few steps away before beginning to tear up my cape lining. The makeshift bandages should take care of the bleeding, but I needed a few
lungfuls of clean air to settle my stomach. I had no idea how much
farther I would have to go before I was picked up, and nausea has never
been my favorite riding companion.
I gave myself no more than ten minutes before moving on again. The
chirping, creaking quiet of the woods was reassuring, and I rode
quietly enough so as not to disturb the denizens around and about me;
My
vair moved at the slow pace without fighting it, his head nodding up
and down in the rhythm of his gait, his breath coming out softly
explosive when the scent of something he didn't like came to him. I
patted his soft neck and spoke quietly but reassuringly, and he let the
scent of whatever it had been pass by with nothing more than a slight
shiver.
Another couple of hours went by, and I was trying to decide whether or
not to give myself a short break when the vair found a stream. I didn't
know if he was thirsty, but my mouth felt like a sandstorm in a desert,
and the calm gurgling in the quiet of the night was pure magnet to the
iron in my blood-or what there was left of it. I rode close to the
stream and dismounted stiffly, holding the vair's rein as I knelt down
and bent forward. My lips appreciated the ice-cold water more than my
palm did, and there was a satisfied stirring in my mind as I drank,
reminding me for the first time in hours that Bellna was still around.
There seemed to be a faint hint of fear left around her thoughts, and
she was steadfastly refusing to think about what had happened in
Clero's tower. All she knew was that she had gotten herself out of the
mess without help from anyone, and if I'd had the strength I would have
been furious. She was nothing but a parasite, and if I could have
gotten rid of her in any way short of half killing myself, I would have
done it on the spot.
The vair next to me was standing with his head up, sniffing the air,
making no attempt to drink from the stream. He seemed to be nervous
about something, but he'd shown himself to be a sensible beast, alert
but not skittish, and I knew he would drink when he felt it safe to do
so. I leaned forward again, to scoop up more of that sparkling water,
and the scream came so loud and close that my blood temperature dropped
ten degrees below that of the stream water. The vair went flying off in
three directions at once, sounding a fear-filled echo to the original
scream, but I was still holding onto his rein. When he found he
couldn't take off horizontally, he opted for vertical hysteria and
reared straight up, pawing the air. I had a fast, confused picture of
hooves rising above me, and then I was flying into the stream, no
longer holding onto a rein. The ice cold water closed over my head, but
I clawed my way back up to the surface, fighting the faint stream
current and my suddenly steel-heavy clothes. The pain in my side seemed
frozen in shock, so I took advantage of the fact to pull myself back to
the bank and up onto it, where I lay still long enough to restore my
heart's natural beat.
When I finally sat up, achingly aware of Bellna's blubbering inside my
head, the first sight that met my eyes was that of the vair, standing
no more than ten feet away, calmly chewing at the grass in the
moonlight. Whatever that original scream had meant, whatever had scared
the living hell out of the beast, it was obviously long gone and no
longer worth worrying about. My side stabbed harder than it had
originally; I was sure it was bleeding again-if not still-my head
ached, my lungs ached, and I was soaked head-to-toe all the way down to
my skin, but there was nothing to worry about. I climbed to my feet
muttering a few comments about how good vair steaks would probably be, then went to reclaim my transportation. At least with all the water I'd
swallowed I wasn't thirsty anymore.
I continued on through the dark woods, but the simple presence of water
added a large, messy complication to the trip. The night had been cool
but bearable before my stop at the stream, but the presence of sopping
wet clothes and hair changed cool and bearable to cold and shivermaking.
The riding dress clung to me all over, the cape weighed an ice
cold ton, and my feet squished in the boots that had once protected
them from the damp. Just to make things even better, the breeze ha4
stiffened enough to be noticeable, pulling at the wet strands of my
hair with cold, invisible fingers. It took almost no time before I was
shuddering violently, having trouble with even so simple a thing as
holding onto the reins. The vair snorted and danced, wondering what was
going on, and I tried talking myself into taking the wet clothes off,
knowing I'd dry out quicker without them, but I couldn't do it. I was
already so cold that I couldn't stand the thought of being bare in that
wind, having nothing to keep its full breath from me. I shivered and
shook, and wished to hell that I had even a thin green shawl that was
dry and warm.
After a long time the shivering subsided, but I almost didn't notice
that it had stopped. My entire body had begun to ache, I was having
trouble sitting straight in the saddle, and my face felt as though it
were burning up. I saw the moon again and remembered all the
inoculations I'd been given up there, wondered why the hell they had
bothered, then gave up on wondering. I had a bad fever, probably an
infection to go along with it, and I didn't even know where it had come
from.
Not long after that, the moonlight took to rippling. It danced all
around me, making the dark ripple with it, and my head pounded with
thunder that had come out of nowhere. I was riding something, going
somewhere, but I couldn't remember what or where. There seemed to be
trees all around, waving tall and dark through the night, getting in my
way, stopping me, making me turn back. A faint, faraway voice screamed
through the thunder, but I couldn't make out what it was saying, and
didn't really care. A heavy weight hung at my waist and I almost took
it off and threw it away, but my left arm wasn't moving well and I
couldn't fumble the buckle open.
Then I was riding through a cleared area between the trees, an area the
trees had left clear, a broad, dirt and stone emptiness that I could
ride on. It went on for a long while, the moonlight rippling, the
thunder pounding, and then the moonlight fell from the sky and stuck to
the dark in front of me, lighting up part of it in funny-looking
squares. I peered at the squares as whatever I rode moved closer, and
finally decided that the odd-looking squares were the windows of a
house, a three-story house. I leaned heavily on my mount's neck and
stared at the house, and after a while realized that it wasn't getting
any closer. My mount had stopped almost directly in front of the house,
and maybe the house was where I had been going. I slid off its back,
nearly going all the way down to the ground, but my feet stayed under
me and my knees firmed up a little, so I left whatever I'd been riding
and made for a lopsided door. The door swayed back and forth,
shimmering the way the dark had shimmered, but I grabbed for the
doorknob to hold it still and it finally settled down enough so I could
open it.
Inside was nothing I knew, nothing that had been expecting me. My eyes
slitted against the bright lamp-light as I moved forward, looking at
strangers seated at long tables whose conversation didn't quite penetr
ate the thunder in my head. I suddenly realized how warm it was
in the room with heat pouring out of the fireplace, and fought with the
catch that held my cape closed until it clicked open and let the cape
fall to the floor behind me. Some of the strangers in the wavering room
had been staring at me, but once the cape was gone one of them suddenly
appeared in front of me. He wasn't very tall, but he was very fat, and
his fat face frowned as his piggy eyes looked me up and down.
"Who are you, wench?" he demanded, his words and accent strange and
harsh against the pounding in my ears. "How dare you enter my house so
covered with wet and filth, and how dare you wear a man's weapon?"
It took a minute before I understood what he was saying, and then I
started getting mad. Nobody talks to a Special Agent like that unless
they're tired of living. Ringer would be mad as hell if I killed the
jerk and caused an Incident, but Ringer wasn't there just then and I
couldn't even remember what my assignment was. Getting mad had made my
head hurt worse, and that stupid fat man was to blame. If I killed him,
maybe Ringer would never know. I moved my hand to the back of my neck,
looking for the knife that was usually sheathed there, but it was gone.
I didn't remember taking it off, and the fat man was shouting at me
again, and my left hand brushed up against the weight hanging at my
left side. I reached for it right-handed and found a sword in my grip,
noticing the dry, red-brown stains with disapproval. You never leave
blood on a weapon you've used, not unless you expect to use it again
very soon. I looked up from the blood to the shouting fat man, and felt
the disapproval vanish. I'd used the weapon and bloodied it, and now
was about to use it again. I'd clean it right as soon as I was through
using it.
Walking was hard on the tilted wooden floor of the house, but I had to
walk on it to reach the fat man. He saw me coming and his face paled as
his hands rose protectively in front of him, but that wouldn't do him
any good. He'd find out what it meant to challenge a Special Agent, but
the knowledge wouldn't do him much good either. Cold-blooded killers,
some people called us, and saviors of the Federation, said others, and
the hell of it was they were all right and all wrong.
I moved another step closer to the quivering fat man, the blade in my