by Ann Lawrence
“Nay. I am thinking of the dreams I had when you were healing me.” He took her hand and led her back along the hillside to the tree. “I remembered who I was, my mother, how I came to be here.”
“Mittens?” She squeezed his fingers.
“Aye. I remembered mittens, too.” He scratched his scar. “And something called Wheatabix.”
“That’s not a word in my vocabulary.”
“Perhaps one day…” He let the sentence die away.
One day might never come. Gwen’s stomach churned as he turned from her and looked out over the landscape. What was he thinking? Wishing? Regretting? “How are we going to get past the hounds?” she asked to prod him back to the here and now.
“The Seat of Wishes.”
“But it’s missing.”
“I think not.” His strong hands wrapped around her waist, and he lifted her atop the cairn of rocks. “Can you not sit here and look over the countryside? Think on your fate? Contemplate your future?”
“Make a wish?” she asked.
“Aye.” He scooped up the caldron and sat at her side. “It cannot hurt to try.”
She snuggled her hip against his and wrapped her arms around his waist. She linked her fingers around the handle of his knife and made sure her new ring was lying against the engraving.
“What should we say?” he asked, a frown on his face.
“I don’t know. Why not…’Take us to the Tolemac council’?”
Vad swore and pushed Gwen aside. He lay half-on and half-off a small padded stool that was digging painfully into his manhood inside the Tolemac council tent. Luckily, it was a deserted Tolemac council tent. Gwen moaned. He regretted pushing her away, and made amends by helping her to her feet.
“Wow. That was incredible.” She rubbed her elbow. “One moment there, the next here.”
Vad studied her face as she swayed in place. “Your face looks green.”
She dumped the treasures out of the caldron just in time to throw up in it.
“I guess I don’t travel so well.” She smiled wanly and peered into the caldron. “I hope this doesn’t affect its magic.”
“Are you often sick?” he asked, stroking her hair from her damp forehead. He spoke softly, mindful of sentries who might be patrolling outside. The council tent was deserted, dim, but lit enough from the residual glow of the sun for him to see she was going to faint.
He pulled her to Samoht’s seat and pushed her into it.
“I’m never sick,” she said over the caldron. “Well, just that once when we arrived on Nilrem’s mountain.”
“You are with child.” He crossed his arms on his chest and grinned.
Gwen flopped back in the chair and put a hand to her stomach. “I can’t be. Remember? I have an implant.”
“I know what I know. I have bathed you in my seed. You are with child.”
She groaned. “Can’t you express it in a different way?”
“I have loved you at the appropriate time of your cycle. Is that more to your liking?” He grinned even wider.
“No, it’s not. And I’m not.” She would not be pregnant. It wasn’t possible. She could not be pregnant here. Not here where children of slaves were…slaves. “What’s our next step?” she said hurriedly. “Other than cleaning this caldron?”
“We will garb you for the presentation. I will no longer hide who you are, or why I must be joined to you.” He took the caldron with a sour look and held it at arm’s length. Gwen gathered the rest of the treasures and followed him as he lifted the tent flap and stepped boldly into the camp.
With all the authority of a true Tolemac warrior, Vad demanded to be shown to Ardra’s tent. Three sentries accompanied them. Ardra dwelled in one of the black tents marked with the distinctive banner with a single red rose.
Vad handed the caldron to a servant crouched by the tent flap and ordered him to clean it out. Ardra rose from the nest of pillows on which she sat.
“Vad!” She ran into his arms. Gwen did not look away. They looked great in each other’s arms, but now she understood who really belonged there. How Vad would accomplish it, she didn’t know.
“Mistress Ardra,” he said very formally, setting her aside. “Can you secure garments for Gwen? A gown, something very…feminine. I do not wish to have anyone mistake her for a male when we go before the council.”
“You will wait for the morrow, will you not? You must rest.”
“I will not be given such a choice,” Vad said. “Even as we speak, I imagine the sentries are informing Samoht I have returned.”
Two men threw back the tent flap. When they would have led Vad to the council tent, he asked and was granted time to bathe and attire himself appropriately. He had merely to show his bloodstained sleeves and his wishes were granted.
A flurry of orders were given, servants dispatched for clothing, hot water, food, healing herbs.
When Vad was gone, Gwen quietly requested a few supplies of her own. Ardra raised a brow, but gave the orders anyway.
Finally Gwen found herself alone with all she needed. She bathed and nibbled on soft bread and honey. Next she put on the gown a servant had brought.
It was perfect—white, long, flowing, delicate, and silky. But best was the matching sash.
With a tiny brush in her hand, she deftly made a series of dots on the length of cloth that comprised the belt. She then examined the small pots of dye she’d requested. Her hand trembled when she began but, after a few moments, grew steady. Slowly, in the colors of berries and barks, a pattern grew on the belt. An interlocking pattern. Knotwork. The echo of Vad’s knife, his ring, and the ring on her hand—a ring she must surrender to the council.
Vad borrowed a clean tunic, one lacking the gold embroidery of leadership. But he did not care. He no longer intended to lead anyone anywhere.
When dressed, he donned an empty sword scabbard and strapped on his knife. Then he smiled at the shiny, clean caldron. In moments the rest of the treasures were inside, and he was threading his way through the city of tents to the council’s. He noticed that everywhere he went, two sentries followed a few paces behind. The council’s lack of trust no longer bothered him. There was only one person’s trust he cared about.
He met Ardra returning to her tent. “Ardra, I must speak to you before I address the council.” He drew her aside, out of earshot of the sentries. “I know that when I present the treasures, I will be given a reward. I seek only the return of my sword, the restoration of my honor, but I know Tolemac politics. The councilors will try to bind the fortress to them and benefit from its location at the ice fields. They will ask me to lifemate with you.”
“I would obey,” she said quietly, with a low bow.
Chapter Thirty
Vad acknowledged her bow with one of his own. “I, too, Mistress Ardra, would lifemate with you if I had not already given away my heart. I can offer you only my sword, my strength, my able help to defend your fortress. My heart belongs to Gwen. Where she is, there I wish to be—no matter where that place is.
“But if I must go to the fortress, it will be as your protector only. And Gwen goes with me. I will ask that the council grant her an arm ring that we may lifemate, but if they refuse, I will still honor her as if we had vows between us. I ask but one favor of you, mistress—bring Gwen to the council tent under your protection. Should something happen to me, aid her in whatever she asks to see herself back to her home.”
Ardra sank into a low curtsy, her skirts pooling in gold around her. “So be it.”
His two sentries approached. They formed more of a guard than an escort. At the council tent, he took a deep breath and entered. Seven seats were conspicuously empty. Vad made the customary obeisance and then stood at an empty seat. “I have brought seven of the treasures, most esteemed councilors, and the map.”
The councilors handed around the map, glancing at the perils and then back at Vad. Their expressions confirmed his guess that they had not really expected his re
turn. Quickly he explained Narfrom’s use of the map to go after the treasures, and his subsequent death by misadventure.
“And why only seven treasures?” Samoht asked, picking idly at a thread on his flowing black robes embroidered at the breast with a single red rose. “Surely our charge was to bring all eight treasures, was it not? Tol?”
Tol scratched his beard and yawned. “I do not recall.” He looked about the table at the other councilors. “Did we actually state eight treasures or did we just say treasures?”
The lesser councilor on his left whispered in his ear. “It seems we asked only for treasures.”
“Esteemed councilors,” Vad interjected. “If I may explain the missing treasure? The Seat of Wishes is a cairn of stone set by the eight-branched tree. It is not possible to transport it. Nor would it work, I imagine, without the perspective one has when sitting upon it. It is situated just so to allow contemplation—”
“Enough of the Seat of Wishes. Let us examine the treasures we have. Where is the Vial of Seduction?” Samoht paced behind his seat—a poor sign, one that indicated that he was angry. Vad wondered if Samoht had been called from the bed of one of his pleasure slaves, or if the lifemating negotiations were not going smoothly. Was that why he wanted the vial? To aid him in securing the Selaw daughter?
Vad handed the brown bottle over to Samoht. “The Vial of Seduction.” A hiss of disappointment ran around the tent as the councilors examined the heavy brown bottle and sniffed the dirt.
“Show us the rest of the treasures,” Samoht demanded, slamming home the stopper on the bottle and casting it aside on the table much like a piece of refuse.
As Vad put the caldron on the table, the tent flap lifted and Ardra entered with Gwen a few paces behind.
No one paid the women any heed. The councilors were completely absorbed by the objects he placed before them. He donned the cloak and then offered it to the councilors to feel the heat radiating from it. A few councilors asked to try it, but with red faces, they found it offered them no warmth. None of the others wanted to try it. Next he set up the game board. When he placed the last tarnished piece in place, everyone gasped. A game began to play.
Tol swept the pieces off the board. They rang together in melodic harmony as they rolled on the table. “Are we sure we wish to see our fate written here? I suggest we think well on this before using it.”
Samoht touched the curved sacrificial blade with a long fingertip. “I wonder how many generations ago this was used to sacrifice to the ancient gods? Still quite sharp, isn’t it?”
“I have sharpened it for you.” Vad set the whetstone in place.
“None of these are remarkable.” Samoht picked up the whetstone and drew his own dagger. After several passes of the stone on his blade, he frowned. “Is this some kind of jest? This is useless.” No one contradicted him. He dropped the stone to the table. “Where is the Ring of Invisibility?”
Vad strode to Gwen. “Demonstrate the ring for the councilors.”
She walked with great poise to where Samoht stood at his chair, a glower on his face. She swept her arm out. Wind and snow blew on the table, the councilors, the guards. They all threw up their arms to protect their faces.
“It cloaks you in storm, hides you in ice,” Vad explained. “Hence you are not visible.”
Tol smiled when Gwen lowered her arm. “And who are you?”
“My name is Gwen.” She dipped into a curtsy, not sure what to do.
Vad held out his hand, as she had expected. She slipped off the ring and placed it on his palm. Without it, the only designs she wore were the ones about her waist. Grief filled her. They would order her taken away, or give her over to Vad. Which would it be? Her suspense could not last much longer. She trusted Vad to want to follow his heart, but knew that the reality of the situation might dictate he could not.
Vad passed the ring to Samoht, who swung his arm about and then cast the small silver ring onto the table with a grunt of displeasure. He picked up the caldron. “What is the purpose of this?”
“No honorable man will go hungry with this caldron. It is said in legend that the caldron will cook any food instantly,” Vad replied.
Samoht snapped his fingers. A guard stepped forward. “Bring a haunch of pork and water sufficient to boil it.”
As they waited, Vad felt his first prickle of doubt. It was the only treasure he had not used. Each of the others, including the ring, had performed as the legends suggested.
Within moments, the water and pork were delivered, the caldron filled. Nothing happened. The councilors left their seats and peered into it. “Surely,” one remarked, “a fire is necessary?”
“No fire is necessary.” Vad held his breath.
The councilors each took turns removing and dropping the pork into the caldron. Finally Samoht, in a low, tense voice, ordered Vad to try his hand. Heart pounding, he stepped to the table. The pork lay on a platter. He lifted it with his long knife and dropped it into the water. Instantly the water seethed with bubbles, steam rose, and the pork cooked, the rich scent of meat filling the air.
“Well, well. The legends say only an honorable warrior may use the treasures,” Tol said. “What does that make us?”
“This is errant nonsense!” Samoht said. He tried in vain to sharpen his blade again. Each pass of the whetstone only further dulled his blade. He threw it into the caldron. The water stilled. “Are you telling me none of us is honorable?”
Tol began to laugh. “The man sent after the treasures seems to be the only one who can use them, and I will wager he is also the one man who does not want them! Until we make some amends for our own behavior, I think these treasures belong in the vaults.”
“Just what do you want, Vad?” Samoht said with a snarl. He crossed his arms, his anger clear. “Your command back? Your name struck from the rolls of infamy? Your sword?”
“All of those things. And none.” Vad met his eyes. “When I crossed the ice fields, I did so in hopes of regaining my honor. I sought honor from dishonorable men.” He had not known until he met Gwen that honor came from within. The legends had said the warrior who obtained the treasure would gain great wisdom. And so he had. “Honor is here.” He touched his chest. “It was always with me, a part of me. No man, not you, esteemed High Councilor, nor any of these other councilors could take it from me, nor give it back.”
Tol stood up. “Where is Vad’s sword?”
A guard placed a long silver sword on the round table. Gwen could see the long gleaming blade, its engraved crosspiece, its turquoise handle wrapped with gold. It was the twin to Vad’s knife.
“You would give this man his sword after the slur he has cast on us?” Samoht sat in his chair, an insult to the standing older man and Vad.
“Nay, I do not wish you to give it to me,” Vad said quietly. He strode forward and lifted the sword from the table himself and sheathed it. “I will take my sword from no man’s hand.”
Several councilors nodded their approval. Tol came around the table and clapped Vad on the shoulder. “Which of us spoke up and told Vad it was these objects we wanted, most especially the game board, when we sent him across the ice fields? Which of us was willing to challenge the others and reveal the lie that would only cast dishonor on us? Which of us has been able to use the caldron? Or the other treasures? Only ohe man. And for that matter, even this little slave has more honor than we.” Tol pointed to Gwen. She trembled as Samoht impaled her with a glare. “Even she can command at least one of them.” Tol shook his head. “Vad seems to be the only man among us with honor.”
A heavy silence fell in the tent.
“And now, esteemed High Councilor,” Tol said to Samoht at the head of the table, “we come to the issue of Ardra and the Fortress of Ravens.”
Gwen thought she would be sick. She swallowed and crossed her fingers. Vad nodded his head briefly to acknowledge the issue.
Samoht stared at the treasures. “It seems we need to provide honorable prot
ection for Mistress Ardra. It has been proposed you take her to mate as an adjunct to my own joining with the Selaw chieftain’s daughter.”
“With due respect, I decline. I have given my heart to another.” He put out his hand. Gwen slipped hers into his, comfortable for the first time since entering the tent. His strength filled her. The heat of his ring warmed her fingers.
“With all due respect, you cannot lifemate with a slave,” Tol said gently.
“With all due respect, you will lifemate where I direct you!” Samoht shouted.
“With all due respect, she is as honorable as the most able warrior. Each treasure works for her. I ask nothing else, save this, that you grant her an arm ring to make the match one you can approve. But arm ring or not, she is mine,” Vad finished.
A cacophony of noise burst forth.
Tol waved the councilors to silence. “This does not help Mistress Ardra, nor serve us at the fortress. Can you not keep this little woman for pleasure…” The expression on Vad’s face was thunderous and halted Tol. “Never mind that idea. Well, we have a pretty dilemma. The fortress is so very valuable to us.”
Vad nodded. “I offer my protection as a warrior, a commander of the fortress guards. I decline only the offer of Mistress Ardra as a lifemate.”
Samoht snorted. “You will mate where bidden.”
“I have come to think quite highly of Mistress Ardra,” Tol said, picking at his nails again. “Perhaps, as my lifemate has been dead these last seven conjunctions, Ardra might consent to a lifemating with me instead of Vad. That would mate her where we want and free this young warrior to make a fool of himself. My household guard is more than sufficient to defend the fortress.”
Gwen tried to force her face to remain neutral as the men argued. Her cheeks were hot.
Tol looked back and forth between Vad and Gwen. “I cannot, however, countenance an arm ring for this slave. It would set a dangerous precedent. Imagine! Next men will want to free their concubines to mate with them. Preposterous!”
Gwen’s heart sank. Vad’s fingers squeezed hers.