JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING BOOK I: MY SISTER'S KEEPER

by JANRAE FRANK

  Johannes' mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. "It's a company of Blinkin' Heroes!"

  Aejys' laughter grew louder at Johannes' discomfiture and carried back to the camp. "You could say that. Yes, I think you could."

  He turned again to leave and Aejys halted him with a word. "One more point, my friend, if any man of your unit offers the slightest harm or rudeness to women of the other units, he'll likely find the whole damn unit coming down on him. You understand? Comrades in arms do not make gender judgments."

  "Better than you know," Johannes replied.

  * * * *

  Aejys grew thoughtful and quiet after Johannes had departed. Fully half of Hanadi's elite forces were women. Nearly all of Aejys' household drawn from the people of Vorgensburg was male. Tagalong's six thieves were women.

  That boiled down to roughly two-thirds male. Johannes probably wanted to dump the females in order to make Aejys more dependent on his units. Or she could have misjudged and would end up with a gender war, or close to it, on her hands; which was something the Sharani High Ma'arams had predicted for generations. Then she heard a sighing in the wind as of a soft voice calling. Or was it in her head? Aejys could not be certain. It had been too many years...

  Dragons' fodder. Chaff and wheat divide. Noble will rise to the surface.

  Aejys drew her rune sword and drove the point deep into the earth where the moonlight could touch it. She knelt to pray before her God's sacred rune.

  At first the words came easily, gradually bringing a peace into her heart and a simple clarity that said when the time came, whatever came, she would be able to deal with it. But when she tried to move beyond the simple prayers of her childhood, her stomach tightened painfully, every muscle in her body seemed to crawl beneath her skin. She smelled the fires of Bucharsa temple, felt the iron grip of the stone trolls on her body. A scream rose in her throat.

  Strong young arms slid around her and she heard Tamlestari's voice, soothing and comforting. The young ha'taren held her as she wept, then kissed away the memories that seven long years had done nothing to blunt. Their mouths met, tentatively at first, then deeply, their tongues twining hungrily. Aejys' hands felt Tamlestari's firm young breasts, caressing them, feeling the nipples hardening beneath her touch.

  "Well, well, what have we here? A lover's tryst?" A deep male voice broke upon them.

  They stiffened, pulling away from each other. "Go on," Aejys whispered. "I'll catch up with you."

  Reluctantly, Tamlestari stood, vanishing into the night.

  Aejys' side twinged as she stood, yanking her sword from the earth and shoving it into the sheath. She did not know whether he had lingered or returned, but it did not matter, the moment was ruined. Her face burned with anger. "Johannes, get the hell out of here!"

  Johannes sneered. "As you wish." He started to leave, pausing, to toss one more taunt at her, "But what would my myn have said to see you so when they are denied such pleasures." He was gone before she could reply.

  She became aware of an aching soreness in her still healing shield arm; the pain and discomfort had probably been there all along, she guessed, but the distractions of the day had blunted her notice until then. Two slender forms stepped from the shadowed trees. Aejys' hand dropped to her sword hilt, but she made no move to draw it.

  Cassana and Tamlestari emerged into the moonlight. The blond was lengthening in her hair and the black ends hung like tips of a bizarre but intriguing crest. She walked lightly, scarcely moving the grass and tulles, like her ma'aram's people: the Valdren. Tamlestari reminded Aejys of Brendorn in the ways that members of one race all seem very similar to one another in the eyes of someone of another race who has not lived among them for any time. Aejys could still taste her young mouth, longing for the feel of Tamlestari's breasts, her sweet body wrapped in her arms. Yet she was very different from Brendorn, Aejys reminded herself, feeling the twinges of sadness swirl up, she drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly to master herself.

  "How long have you been there?"

  "Little thing with the blond roots, my ass!" Tamlestari mimicked savagely, then grinned, "Needs a hot poker up the toot if you ask me!"

  "Where's a bi-kyndi when you need one?" Aejys laughed.

  "I know one," Tamlestari said seriously. "In fact I know several."

  "I was joking," Aejys told her, slipping an arm around Tamlestari in a companionable hug. The lapsed paladin could feel the warmth of her hard young body, smell the sweet muskiness of her skin. It would be so easy to love that one, Aejys thought, as desire warmed her heart and spread through her veins. She realized that Tamlestari was smiling up at her with a look that Aejys feared to interpret. The youth was just two years older than Aejys' daughter, Laeoli, while Aejys was the Lion of Rowanslea with a reputation that had spread far beyond the boundaries of her homeland; Tamlestari's attraction to her might be nothing more than the sweet vulnerability of hero worship. Aejys knew she had no right to take advantage of the youth – and yet she had allowed herself to be almost drawn into making love to her. What did she feel about the young ha'taren? Was it just the wounded loneliness of Brendorn's death that made her want to hold and touch and love Tamlestari? Or was it something else? Something she had no right to feel?

  The older woman released the youth and stepped away. "Come on, I want to pull my boots off. And," Aejys' voice dropped very low, "just between us I have a bottle of a sweet red Tovantei vintage crying to be opened."

  They walked silently through the camp settling down for the night around them. Horses were picketed beside the tents of their riders. Hostlers moved among the tents tending the animals. Aejys had complicated their task by not allowing them to keep the horses together at night, but the lapsed paladin was taking no chances on her people being surprised and separated from their mounts. She built the core of her defense around the lancers, which made their mounts doubly precious.

  The central fire still burned. Fire would attract some kinds of evil and discourage others: as a rule manticores disliked fire. Beside it, Tagalong laughed and rolled the bones. Two soldiers, the last by the fire besides the sentry, cursed. Aejys turned aside and stood over them as yet unnoticed.

  "You must let them win once in awhile, Tag," she said.

  Tagalong Smith looked up with a wry grin. "But, Aejys."

  "Give them back their money," Aejys said in a quietly stubborn voice.

  The men watched her with undisguised interest.

  "Ah, but Aejys, ya can't mean it! I won it fair."

  "Give them back their money," Aejys repeated, her tone going stern.

  One of the myn sniggered and the other elbowed him. The sentry paused to watch.

  The line of Aejys' mouth hardened and stillness came over her like the earth in moments before a storm. "You're Johannes' myn, are you not?"

  The pair hastily stood up, brushing their tunics off and coming to attention. "Yes."

  "Yes, what?"

  They looked at each other for a moment, obviously flustered. "Yes, Mistress."

  "I thought Johannes at least instructed you on how to address a Sharani of my rank."

  Their fluster turned to discomfort. "Master? Lord?"

  "Better. Those are titles of power in your lands. The power here is mine. Johannes works for me. Therefore you work for me. I'll tolerate no disrespect. Of me or my lieutenants. Understood?"

  The two mercenaries nodded. "Yes, Lord Aejys," they said together.

  "Make certain your comrades understand also, because I'll skin the next mon alive." Then she turned to Tagalong, "Give them back their money."

  Tagalong pulled her winnings out of her pockets and made a small pile on the ground.

  "If you don't want to lose, don't play with her," Aejys further admonished them. "Her luck is legendary in my lands. Dynanna, God of Cussedness, blessed her with it. Now, come on, Tag. We've got other things to take care of before we sleep."

  The camp cot that Aejys slept on was larger and better made than those of h
er soldiers, but it was still just a cot with a blanket and a favorite heavy quilt thrown over it. She did not believe in the kind of aristocratic nonsense that led other commanders and nobles during the war to bring along their heavy beds, dozens of servants and attendants with strings of sutlers and camp followers bringing up the rear. A long cedar chest made a night stand at the head of the cot. Two leather campstools stood opposite the cot. Tagalong settled on the ground, one knee drawn up, and her right arm draped over. Tamlestari moved her stool as close to Aejys as possible. Aejys opened the chest, taking out four ceramic cobalt blue cups decorated with bits of shell followed by a bottle of blood red wine.

  She passed around the cups of wine, then pulled off her boots and settled cross-legged on the cot. "Ah! That's much better." Aejys massaged her toes. "I'd forgotten what it felt like to spend a long day with my feet in heavy boots. I don't do that very often anymore."

  "Ya used ta sleep in 'em," Tagalong pointed out between pulls from her cup.

  "I probably will again once Margren starts throwing stuff at us."

  "You really think Margren's going to hit us?" Tamlestari asked.

  "Yes," Aejys said. "You saw the letter. She must have substantial forces out here of some kind. And I'll wager they're not Sharani or I would have heard by now."

  "Native's my guess. Margren was always trouble," Tagalong growled shifting into flawless Sharani, "I remember she tried to knife you for saving her from that unicorn stud the summer she turned twelve."

  Surprise showed on every face, all the cross talk died. Aejys realized that they were all staring at her expectantly. She felt naked and exposed. Tagalong, who had always been so careful with her secrets, now seemed determined that all of them concerning Margren be dumped in public view. "Tag, that's enough!"

  "I have never heard that one," Cassana said.

  "Tag and Kaethreyn, my ma'aram, are the only ones who know." Aejys swirled the wine in her cup, downed it in one quaff. "Kaethreyn called me a liar." She felt as if rocks were gathering in her stomach. She did not fear war and death. But the feelings and memories seemed ready to swallow her whole if she let them out: that loss of control terrified her more than anything else in her life. "I have always believed," Aejys formed her words with slow care, "that speaking ill of Margren was somehow breaking my vow."

  "Lying would be. Even perhaps relating tales of her misbehavior to someone who might be influenced by your words," Cassana said, "but the truth to someone who already opposes her, I think not. You are not doing her a damage by telling us things we already suspect."

  "I have never been one to speak of the things that trouble me. This is not easy."

  "Then maybe it is time you told someone else and started now," Cassana said gently insistent. "We are putting our lives, our honor and our fortunes on the line. We have a right to know."

  Aejys almost disagreed, but Suthana's admonition at the shrine that she 'lean into the sharp points,' echoed in her mind. Her hand went to the gray scarf tied to her arm. More than anything else she wanted to be whole and clean in her God's sight. Aroana, have mercy on my soul. "We're full sisters, womb and blood and sire," Aejys told them. "I was fifteen, Margren twelve. Our High Priest, Sonden, bowing to our ma'aram's insistence, had given Margren one last chance to bond with a wynderjyn yearling. They kept rejecting her."

  "So the rumors were true," Cassana said. "It is not unheard of, just infrequent among the noble houses."

  Aejys nodded. "That does not lessen the humiliation. A daughter of a ruling family who can never be more than a simple knight."

  "If yer not goin' ta tell it, I will," Tagalong interjected, sliding back into common. "I got a special dispensation ta accompany Aejys as body servant. They did not want ta give me that much, except that I was an Angtraden and some of the bradae, the priests, and especially Sonden, were wantin' favors from my father and his smiths."

  "Now we are getting even farther from the tale!" Tamlestari exclaimed. "Please, Aejys. I would like to hear it; to understand better."

  Aejys met Tamlestari's eyes and saw there such worship and love as a young warrior bestowed only on a much older lover and mentor. It gently prodded her, as force would not have. "I was one of the older students privileged to help move the herds to their late spring pasturage. I was just six weeks shy of sixteen. I would never get another chance to do it." Joy at the request. Sonden asking her himself. The touch of his soft hands on her callused ones as she knelt and kissed the Aroanan Rune on his ring. Her stomach tightened still more. The good memories hurt more than the bad ones. "Margren did not want me there. She asked Kaethreyn to persuade me not to go. Or order me." Aejys drew a deep breath and heaved it out again. She stood wincing before her ma'aram's wrath at her refusal. Saw Margren peeping from the doorway, a smug smile on her thin face. "But it was such an honor ... my last summer before my vows that winter. I refused to listen to either of them. Margren avoided me all she could." Margren greeting her with a silent glare, refusing to speak, and stalking off. Publicly snubbing her. "All summer Margren watched the younger girls bonding with their yearlings. I know it hurt her. It would have hurt me. And always the wynderjyns rejected her. In the wee hours of one morning ... I had been trysting with Brendorn in the woods..."

  "He was not supposed to be there," Tagalong said.

  "I know. I know." Aejys picked up her pipe, filled, and lit it. She took several long draws, and then began again, "I heard a yearling's scream. It was terrified. I left Brendorn and hurried in that direction." Lacing her pants up, staggering half clad, sword in hand, in answer to that terrible cry. "Margren had cornered one, trying to force the bonding."

  "That cannot be forced," Cassana said, softly. "Our God decides who will be chosen. The bonding is merely a sign of her favor."

  Aejys nodded. "I saw the stud, horn lowered charging Margren. I grabbed my sister and forced her down, shielding her with my body. She fought me like one insane. I could barely hold her. The yearling escaped. The stud left with it. When Margren saw that..." Aejys closed her eyes, unable to go on.

  Tagalong finished it. "She cut Aejys twice 'fore Aejys got the dagger away from her. I bound the wounds and we never told anyone except Kaethreyn."

  "The cuts were not serious." My first wounds and from the hands of my sister.

  "Huh!" Tagalong snorted, "That wasn't fer lack a tryin'! Scored her a good one across the ribs and another up side the head." Tagalong reached to part Aejys' hair, revealing the long scar. Aejys jerked away, blocking Tagalong's hand.

  "Don't!" Aejys snapped. Then she again felt their silent faces pressing at her. "Margren worked herself into a hysterical fit. She was so incoherent that no one figured out what had happened. They sedated her and sent her home that afternoon. Afterward they told Kaethreyn that Margren was too emotionally fragile even for knighthood. She did not even get the crumbs... She has always blamed me for her not bonding. For what fell out of that morning."

  Tamlestari moved to sit on the cot beside Aejys. "It was not your fault. You did what was right, protected her."

  Aejys stroked her lip with the pipe. "Maybe."

  "If ya'd been where yer were supposed ta be," Tagalong said unpleasantly, sliding back into her usual Engla Common, "The stud would'a skewered her and we'd have no problems now."

  "And when people began to call you the Lion of Rowanslea that must have made her hate you all the more," Cassana mused, half to herself.

  "I cannot escape that..." I tried and failed. I cannot go against my nature.

  "You can never escape your fame, your legend," Cassana answered.

  "Nor can you. You were just fifteen when you followed Kalestari into the wilderness."

  "And met Colin. I was a ma'aram at sixteen and a widow at seventeen. I guess I'm living my life in reverse."

  "Did you kyndi?" The question came out of the lapsed paladin's mouth before she could stop herself. Aejys winced inwardly at her own bluntness. "Forgive me, I did not mean..."

  Cassana stared at her
for a moment, startled by the intimacy of the question, as aware now of the silent faces as Aejys had been. Tamlestari moved from Aejys to put her arm around her aunt. Cassana smiled at the reassuring pressure. She sucked in a breath and nodded. All present were people who loved her, whom she felt safe with. And after pressing for details from Aejys, she owed her equal in return. "Yes. Valeda the Jarian wombed my children. Full twins. But it was out of compassion, not love."

  Aejys looked away, then back. Compassion children. It was almost as ugly a word in Shaurone as bastard was in the patriarchal outlands. "Valeda always was – is a very kind person. Is she still alive?"

  "I don't know. When the children were a year old she left. She was never the same after Darya died."

  "You still miss Colin?"

  "Yes, I still miss him."

  "Eight years is a long time ... to be lonely."

  "It's closer to twelve, Aejys."

  * * * *

  Except for the sentries, the camp slept. Yet noise filled the night: the dry crackling of the crickets amid the deep boom of frogs singing along the stream banks loudly sounded their end of summer matings and farewells. A lone figure carrying a pilgrim's staff slipped past the sentries and walked the perimeters of the camp, scratching signs of protection on trees and patches of bare earth. So lightly did he move, that neither birds nor grass were disturbed by his passage.

  As Eliahu set his wards he saw a movement upstream and a tiny splash of flame as from a fire someone had tried to conceal and not quite succeeded. He paused and watched, trying to discern the forms more clearly, then approached cautiously. One form stood out and he could see that it was huge and vaguely ogrish.

  If we are stalked by ogres, I may be forced to reveal myself this night, Eliahu thought. It would not be well to alert whatever powers have allied with Margren Rowan to my presence here.

  Nevertheless, he went on. As he drew near he heard three distinct voices, each a separate racial type judging by the nuances: only one of them ogre. He came to the edge of the camp, just to where the low branching trees sheltered him from their eyes and listened.