by K. G. McAbee
Valerik sat up, his face inches from Madryn's. "You let me sleep all night," he accused with a quick frown of embarrassment. "You said you'd take the first watch."
Madryn was looking at him with an odd expression in her violet-shot eyes, a faint mocking grin on her long mouth. "You need sleep far more than I did," she said at last, her voice little more than a whisper.
It was not what she had been thinking. Valerik didn't know how he knew that, but he did.
Madryn did not draw away from him; instead, her face was a mere hand's breadth from his, so close their breaths mingled. Valerik scowled to hide the feelings her closeness, her clean scent, aroused in him.
Feelings weren't the only thing Madryn aroused. Even with his mind still drugged and sluggish from slumber, his arms and legs aching from the efforts of yesterday's hunt, Valerik suddenly wanted her so fiercely that his body burned with the desire.
A noble, any noble, could do anything whatever with or to a slave, use a slave's body in any conceivable fashion. But for a slave to desire a freeborn, let alone a noble, and to act upon that desire, was punishable by death, death in any of its myriad forms, but usually slow and always painful.
Valerik shifted away from Madryn's warmth, felt the blankets sliding away and grabbed at them. Too late. They escaped his grasp, exposing the emblem of his desire throbbing just beside her hand where it lay on the traitorous blankets.
"How flattering," said Madryn after a glance down; one eyebrow cocked upward. "And quite impressive. Your mistress must have hated to send you to the hunt. What did you do to deserve it? Or is this not the best time to ask?"
Valerik could feel the hot blood rushing to his face—though not enough of it to dampen his desire. Madryn sounded arrogant, amused, condescending—noble—indeed, much as his late mistress had sounded. He jerked the blankets back and slid as far away from her as he could, until the wall at his back stopped him.
"What did I do to deserve the hunt?" he asked, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "I broke my mistress's neck. Four days after she bought me from the arena. I was a gladiator."
"And she thought, no doubt, that she could make an interesting bedslave of you? Tired of her pampered, scented boys and girls, eager for…stronger meat, shall we say? Well, she paid for her stupidity; unfortunately, you nearly did as well."
"You knew the Lady Alysa Stormcloud?" Valerik gasped in amazement at the apt description of his former owner.
"Yes, indeed I do—did. And I thought that you must have been her possession, finding you where I did. Lady Alysa and I are—were—old acquaintances, and I can't say I'm sorry to hear of her untimely demise. I knew of her…tastes. And of how she treated her slaves."
"So, I suppose you'll hand me over to be sent back, now that you know I murdered my mistress?" Valerik held his breath as he awaited her reply.
Madryn eyed him, her head cocked to one side.
"No. I won't," she said at last.
"Why?" he asked. He wasn't quite sure he could believe her, but a certain tension went out of his back and arms. Why, I was planning on knocking her down and running, he thought in some surprise. As though I could get far from those long legs…
"Why? Because you remind me of another…acquaintance of mine, one that I have not seen for a very long time."
"Why?" Valerik asked again, not sure he had heard her aright.
"Why haven't I seen him? Because he's dead. And because he's dead, I don't think he'll mind if you borrow his name while we travel, especially since it's so similar to your own. I called him Val and I will call you the same—if you do not mind, that is. I'd like to find out why you remind me so much of him, you see, when you're really very little like him…very little at all, in fact. I'd like very much to find out why we've been thrown together, just now, just when I'm on my way to…"
Madryn's voice died away. She eyed him with that familiar calculating expression in those violet-shot eyes.
She wants to ask me something.
Valerik waited, wondering what it could be, wondering if he would be able to offer an answer that suited her.
But the only thing she said was, "Come, get dressed. It's time for our breakfast, Lord Valaren Starseeker."
Valerik gave a sour laugh at the name. "Who'd believe that I'm a lord?"
"Everyone. If you do. So get up." That crooked grin crossed her face, was immediately gone. "If you'll pardon the expression."
***
It was a glorious morning, a morning on which it was good to be alive. The sky had been washed to a cloudless azure by the previous night's storm, and there was less chill than the day before.
They had breakfasted well, and so had Daemon. The great stallion trotted forward as if their combined weight was no more than a feather on his broad back, his ebony coat gleaming, his tawny mane and tail brushed to a golden glory. The hostler had treated him well, and Valerik was glad to see it.
No, not Valerik. Val. Valaren Starseeker. Lord Valaren Starseeker.
Val turned his new name over and over in his mouth as they bounced along, his arms clasped loosely about Madryn's lean waist. The cloak, its furred lining far too hot for the warmth of this new day, was bundled under him as a kind of saddle.
Valaren Starseeker. There was something familiar about that name. Val thought he could remember hearing it before, but just where and when eluded him. But he did remember that there was something about the name, the man, that he did not like…
The new Valaren did not know where they were going. He did not know why Madryn had decided to rename him and take him with her. But she had done both, and at this particular moment, he could find no more to ask of the gods. The previous morning, he had been jerked from a restless sleep and cast out, naked and defenseless, to be run to his death by a pack of hounds and riders. This morning, he rode high above the muddy road on the back of a magnificent horse, with a mysterious woman…that his body insisted on wanting even as his mind shied away from the inherent danger in that forbidden desire.
Short tawny hairs escaped from the thick braid that dangled in front of Val's face and tickled his nose as they feathered across it in the breeze of Daemon's trot. Val laughed a most unaccustomed laugh, a deep rumble that rose through his chest and snorted out his broken nose. A smile broadened his already broad mouth.
"What a disgustingly cheerful sound," snapped Madryn, her tone cross, her lack of sleep evidently catching up with her. "It sounds like Daemon when he's drinking from a bucket."
Another snort of laughter echoed across the fields to either side of them. They had left the forest a few leagues back. The road, its snaking twisting turns behind it for a time, shot straight as a board through sodden farmland, stubbly with cut stalks of grain. Far in the distance, a faint line of misty uneven bumps proclaimed a range of hills.
"Where are we going?" Val asked after a time. His sense of well being still bubbled inside him as they trotted far above the road; it was all he could do to keep from climbing down to run alongside Daemon.
"To Karleon," came Madryn's reply, followed by a most prodigious yawn. "There we must find a ship bound for Lakazsh."
"Why?" asked Val agreeably, trying to stifle the tiny thrill that raced up his spine at Madryn's use of the word 'we'.
"Because."
It was the only answer that he received to most of his questions for the next several days, even after they could see the gates to the bustling seaport of Karleon before them, tall masts piercing the azure sky.
But he was satisfied.
For now.
***
"Does the one suspect the other?" asked the soft dark voice.
A misty globe hovered in the air, suspended by nothingness as it floated over a deep brass bowl carved with arcane symbols. Deep inside the globe was a faint image of a great dark horse, two riders clinging to its back.
"No. It is good, thus far. They are neither of them suspicious, save perhaps the…no. Neither of them." The answering voice was as cold a
s the starswept night sky that draped the open window behind the globe. "When they reach Lakazsh, the comedy will begin. And soon after, our vengeance will come at last, dearest brother."
"Good," said the darkness.
"Very good indeed," agreed the cold.
A scream echoed up from the bowels of the high stone tower, in the topmost room of which floated the globe. The terrified sound ripped through the frigid air like a red-hot saber…then died out in a long, shuddering wail.
A dark chuckle.
A cold laugh.
Chapter Four
Karleon was a shabby rabble of twisting streets and tumbledown buildings, all clustered about the aromatic and ancient port. It had once been a much more inviting city, from the looks of several of the old manor houses that lined some of the broad streets away from the docks. But time and lost trade had sapped its strength and energy, leeching from the glad city most of its blood and booty. Now it stood, alone, on the shores of the Bay of Imahz; a dying village that now, instead of mighty vessels, catered to single merchant ships or small fleets that stopped there for water and provender before heading to richer ports to unload silks and swords, spices and slaves.
Daemon snorted in complaint at the odorous waves half a league from the town, far before they reached the actual gates to the city. Madryn reached down to pat his midnight-hued head.
"Tonight you will bathe in oats and fresh hay," she promised the great beast.
Daemon shook his head, as if the thoughts of such riches did not assuage the stink that rolled through the gates still so far from them.
Val trudged along beside Daemon. The gritty dust of the road rose in wavelike billows about him, settling into the folds of his clothes and itching like a horde of angry fleas. Or perhaps there were fleas, he thought. The inn where they'd spent the previous night had not been near the quality of the Dancing Toad. Val scratched his stubbly chin, his other hand loosely clasped around a stirrup, and spat into the ruddy dust. He had been amazed, eight days before, just after they'd left the Toad, when Madryn had suggested that he give Daemon a rest by walking. Amazed, not at her suggestion—after all, it was a logical one—but at the fact that she took turns with him in the walking.
Daemon was her horse. The very clothes on Val's back had been bought by her and given him by her, asking for nothing in return. And she seemed to forget, willfully ignore, the fact that he was an escaped slave—an escaped slave on the run for murdering his mistress.
Her forgetting made Val's part easier to play, and he realized at last that that was why she did it. He looked up at the long, black-clad expanse of Madryn on the back of the golden-maned horse. He had wondered for days whether or not he should explain more about how the murder of his mistress had come about. Anyone else…any other person in all the wide world…would have insisted on knowing all the details, every bit of information that he could supply.
Everyone else but Madryn, it was clear.
As he stretched his long legs to keep up with the swiftly walking horse, Val let himself remember that final scene with Lady Alysa. The spilled goblet of wine in a bloody pool on the polished wooden floor. The murdered slave boy, his face wearing that surprised look that sudden death sometimes brings. The laughing, sneering noblewoman, a dripping knife in one flabby hand, telling the others cowering before her that this clumsy slave would spill no more wine on her new boots.
Then the shocked look that had replaced the laughing sneer on Lady Alysa's evil face, twin expression to the one on the dead boy's, as Valerik's anger grew inside him and his hands encircled her dirty bejeweled neck…
No. Madryn had not asked him any questions. She did not seem interested in his past or his story…although there did seem to be something about him that she found fascinating. Val had surprised an odd expression on her face, time and time again…but she never asked him questions. He had spent a great deal of time pondering that expression and what it might entail, during the days and nights while they'd made their slow way towards Karleon, the nights in shabby inns or open fields.
It was curiosity, he was sure, that look he intercepted from time to time in her violet-gray eyes. Madryn was curious about him, though no question ever passed her lips. Curious…but it was more than that. She was expecting something from him, something he didn't have—or didn't know he had.
Val shook his head, unconsciously mimicking the quick shake that Daemon had just given.
At the top of a small rise, before the straight road sank down toward the gate, Madryn pulled back on the reins. In one fluid motion, she kicked her boots free of the stirrups and slid down to the dusty road beside Val. Daemon stopped at once, steady and still as a horse carved from obsidian—then shattered that image as he snatched a mouthful of the short, browning grass that grew in a damp ditch beside the road.
Val stepped back, squinted up and down the causeway from under one broad palm. They were alone. Behind them stretched the road they had followed so long, a snake twisting through farmland towards the forest he'd run through, misty in the dim distance. Ahead were the walls of the town, gap toothed with gates and towers. Even at this distance, he could tell that the gates were not in the best of repair.
Madryn took down the leather water bottle that hung from the pommel, and downed a hearty gulp before offering it to Val. He reached for it, his scarred hand brushing against her long brown fingers.
That instant of nearness, of touch, raced up his arm and across his shoulders; it was almost a pain, as if he'd laid his finger on a burning ember.
Ridiculous. He drank down the warm water in thirsty haste, feeling the blood that suffused his face, raced through his body, and pounded in his veins. He tried to ignore it, but he could almost hear the water hiss and sizzle as it spilled across his burning face.
This is becoming more and more of a problem, Val decided. He expected to feel grateful to Madryn; she had saved his life, after all. But he had not been prepared for this overpowering desire that a mere touch could engender. Sleeping near her—or worse, next to her—was a torment. A torment he could do nothing about, not even toss, turn or move away. No…he would lie there, close to her, smelling the scent of her hair, feeling the heat from that long lean body so close to him.
And burn.
"We should be able to find you a decent blade here," said Madryn as she took the nearly empty bottle back from Val and shoved the cork deep inside it.
"Blade?" Had he heard right? He looked up, saw the silver tracery on the scabbard that dangled from Daemon's broad haunch. He traced that long hard length with a practice, experienced eye.
Madryn laughed. "Yes, a blade. For you, Val. You can't go around without a sword…especially when you look at mine like you want to eat it. Besides, no one will believe you're a lord without a sword."
"I'm not a lord."
"Doesn't matter. As I've told you more than once, others will believe you are if you believe you are—and act as if you are," she reminded him. "And I know you can handle a sword, gladiator. Far better than I, no doubt. Perhaps you'll give me some lessons?"
Val nodded, struck dumb with surprise.
"Excellent. So, let's climb on Daemon and see what we can find in Karleon, shall we?"
***
The westernmost gate of the town of Karleon was guarded—if that was the proper word, since the shaky wooden gate was wide open and latched back against a leprous stone wall—by a worthy woman whose weight far surpassed the combination of both Daemon's passengers. A swarthy soul with a cheerful expression on her broad flat face, she sat at her ease under a ragged awning of scabrous animal hide. About her feet clustered a rabble of street urchins, gambling and squabbling, their voices as shrill as baby hawks in the steamy late autumn heat.
"Ho, visitors!" rumbled the guard from deep within her massive bosom. "And not even on market day. This is an occasion. Lars, Kinda, lower the rope for old Accascia."
The rope to which she referred was a many-knotted swag of coarse leather, draped as an e
phemeral barrier across the wide open gate, and tied in a loose knot around a leaning pillar. A skinny girl and an even skinnier boy, their bony bodies draped in picturesque rags, leaped up and raced to untie the barrier as Daemon ambled forward.
"Welcome to Karleon, my lady and my lord," called the vast Accascia from her comfortable perch. "May you enjoy your visit and stay for days, nay, weeks, as you taste the delights of Karleon."
"Delights, mistress guardian?" asked Madryn with a grin. "And what might these delights be, pray? My friend and I are all agog to be informed."
Accascia rubbed a meaty hand across her broad face. "To be perfectly honest, milady, the delights of our lovely village are somewhat limited," she admitted with a shrug and an answering grin.
"But we can obtain passage to Lakazsh, can we not?" Madryn asked.
"To be sure, to be sure," said Accascia with a knowing air. "There are ships aplenty, all willing to take you wherever you might wish to go, milady and sir. But a single word of warning, if I may make so bold?"
"Yes?"
"Stay away from the inn called the Sailor's Delight, on the Street of the Courtesans."
Val felt Madryn stiffen against him. "And why might that be," she asked the gatekeeper.
Accascia laughed. "Why, they'll try to take your companion away from you, milady," she replied. "Such breadth of shoulder, such length of arm…why, his like is seldom seen in freeborn men. And he looks as if he'd make some lady a fine bedfellow on a cold night. But you would know that better than I, I vow." This last was uttered with a knowing wink and a wide leer.
Madryn laughed, surreptitiously kicking Val's leg where it touched hers, on the side of Daemon opposite the gatekeeper. Startled, Val managed a sickly laugh of his own.