In the morning, she woke to a memory of a dream, a dream in which, as crowned queen of Alkinoor, she was ordering Kyrik to be beheaded. It made her quiver a little, under her coverings. Would she, if ever she became queen again, order Kyrik to be slain? He was exasperating enough!
Her bedroom door opened. Kyrik stood grinning at her.
"Get up, lazy. I want to go for a swim. The water would be good for you too."
She lay there and smiled at him. "I'm comfortable enough, thank you."
"Come along. I'll teach you to swim." She nodded, at which he moved closer. His big hand went to the coverings, swept them away. She y lay naked on the bed, stretched out before him,
and his eyes were eating at that nakedness.
"Come on. Or I'll carry you down." No man had ever laid hard hands on her person except those men who had abducted her from her palace—and she had always considered herself immune to such things. She was no pleasure girl to be manhandled, no dockside trull to be carried off and raped.
She said now, “You wouldn’t dare!” It was the wrong thing to say. She knew that as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Because Kyrik laughed hugely, his hands went to her, and she was swung up into the air and dropped over his shoulder.
Adorla Mathandis fought and kicked, screaming out that when she came to power he would pay for this. His big hand slapped her buttock.
"Be quiet, girl,” he said. To her surprise, she was quiet. She was carried down into the big room of the hunting lodge, carried out onto the back porch and down the steps toward the lake.
Kyrik set her on her feet, then stripped off his own clothes. Adorla stood where he had put her, knowing herself unable to move, to run from him. Naked, he was a giant of a man, all over muscles and hardness, and —
She flushed, turned and ran when she saw that he was very much a man, and a man in want of a woman. Not that she wanted to run, she wanted him to throw her down and have her, but something inside her told her that a queen ought not be as eager as a tavern harlot.
He caught her after a few steps and threw her over his shoulder once again. Then he turned and walked out into the lake-water with her. He let her slide down his body and into the water.
"Swim," he growled, and spent some time in teaching her.
Adorla Mathandis swam. It was either that or be lifted up in those mighty arms and tossed like a child far out into the lake. She swam as fast as she could, but he was always beside her, and she caught sight of his grinning face from time to time.
The water was invigorating. She had to admit that, at least to herself. It was good to be swimming naked with this wild man beside her, and she forgot about being a queen and gave all her thoughts to the fact that she was a woman.
They swam to the middle of the lake and floated. She would have liked to be able to cover her breasts—they rose upward when she floated as though pointing her nipples to the sky—for his eyes touched them and lingered, and she could see the woman-hunger in their green depths.
“Time to go back," he told her. "I'm hungry." She did not want to go back, because she would have to walk up out of these lake waters that hid her and show herself off to those eyes. Still, she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her body had lost a little weight since she had been with him—they did not eat very often—but she was still nicely curved, and she had no reason to feel shame.
Defiantly she tilted her chin. If he wanted to see her naked, she was going to let him look.
She swam with Kyrik beside her, and when she felt the scrape of sand under her foot, she rose and walked naked from the lake. Drops of water clung to her skin, and her long brown hair fell almost to her buttocks. His eyes were on her, she could feel them with a woman's intuition, but she made no move to cover herself.
They were almost at the cabin when his hand caught her arm and turned her. She glanced up into his face and what she read in his eyes made her knees turn watery.
His arms went around her. He drew her in against him. "If you want to fight me, go ahead," he murmured.
Adorla Mathandis had no wish to fight.
Chapter EIGHT
Much to her surprise, she pushed her soft loins into him and slid her bare, wet arms about his throat. How often she had dreamed of a moment such as this, back in her lonely chambers in Alkinoor! A big man, a strong man, a man who wanted her for himself and not because she was a queen, taking her in his arms.
Their lips opened, meshed.
Adorla Mathandis never knew how long they stood this way, as though they whispered together with the fury of that kiss. All she knew was a crazy pounding of her heart, a weakening of her legs, and a wild desire to be made love to just because she was an attractive woman, not a queen.
Well, she knew one thing. Kyrik didn't care that she was a queen. Only because she was a woman had he caught and kissed her. And that pleased Adorla Mathandis as nothing else might.
She was swept up in strong arms, carried up the wooden steps and through the great common room, then up more steps and then, at last, into her own bedroom. He dropped her on her bed and then slid in beside her.
All that morning, he made love to her. When he finally let her go, she could not move. She lay prostrate but wildly happy. She knew now what it meant to be a woman, and in love. Never had she shared such bliss, such delight. This man beside her was a stallion.
She turned her head to look at him. He lay on his back, breathing fitfully. His was a strong face, his jaw was big and his lips were large, but curved just as a man's should be. His chest was deep, his belly was ridged with muscle, his legs were like thick oaks.
What a king he would make! And why not? If he were to win her throne for her, there was no reason why he should not share it. Oh, yes. He had said he was not interested in thrones, he had one of his own back there in—what was the place? Tantagol. Yes, Tantagol.
He could be king there, and in Alkinoor. They could unite their kingdoms, become the greatest power in their world.
She came out of her reverie when Kyrik slapped her belly. It was not a hard slap, but it roused her to fury. This was no way to treat his queen
Her hands made claws of her fingers as she leaped.
She was caught and swung sideways, helpless. His mouth was at her throat, her ears, her mouth. Was this the way he made love to that Romanoy girl, Myrnis? If so, then Myrnis must die. She, Adorla Mathandis, could not endure the idea of his loving any woman but herself.
"Do you want me again?’ she whispered. His laughter was like music in her ears. "Again, and again." Her laughter joined his own. Much later, when they were eating at the table on the porch which looked out over the lake, Adorla studied him as she had done on the bed.
There was a restlessness in him, she saw. He was impatient with idleness. Even this moment of peace was foreign to his nature.
He drew the jewel of the god-father from his belt-pouch and sat studying it, brows knotted into a black scowl. She shivered when she saw those sullen reds and angry scarlets in the gem. They seemed to reach out to her as if to swallow her whole.
"Put it away," she whispered.
He nodded, saying. "There is great magic in this thing. It was made by Avalar himself."
He put the silken scarf about it, tucked it back inside the belt-pouch. Adorla watched him a moment before she asked, "Do you have any plan?"
Kyrik shrugged. “I’ll go into your palace, throw Myrnis over my shoulder, and carry her off."
She stared at him, disbelieving. "Are you mad? Even assuming you could reach the queen's chamber, the royal guards would cut you down."
"Not if Myrnis called them off."
"Don't you know that she's under some spell? She won't know you! You'll be a stranger to her."
He barked laughter. “Myrnis will know me. She's probably just waiting for me to come for her."
"You fool! Ulmaran Dho and Lyrrin Odanyor are clever men. They'll be prepared for any such attempt."
Kyrik scratched his yellow poll. “They'v
e seen me, that's true enough. And they know that the gods are giving me help. Otherwise I'd never have been able to destroy that altar."
Her smile was cold. "All Alkinoor will be a spider's web—waiting for you to play the part of a fly. And you're going to oblige them by stepping into that web.
"What else is there to do?" He shifted in his chair and looked uncomfortable. "There isn't time to go back to Tantagol and raise an army to attack Alkinoor. By that time, Marrassa will have been raised up out of those hells into which he was thrown, so long ago.”
He concluded glumly, “Not even an army would be any good against Marrassa."
Adorla Mathandis wanted to weep. Her throne seemed further and further away at each passing day. For a few moments, she considered telling Kyrik that Myrnis could have the throne—if she herself could have him. What was that throne to her but an empty thing? It had never brought her happiness.
She did not look at him, but glanced outward across the lake as she said, “We could go on riding, just the two of us. We could go out of Alkinoor and into Barabia. We could wander the world together, you and I.”
Kyrik looked at her, and since her head was turned away, she could not see the pity with which he regarded her. She was a beautiful woman. Fer body hungered for a man. She had shown him that, clearly enough, an hour or two ago in that bed.
But he loved Myrnis. Very gently he said, “The gods are sketching out the patterns of our lives, Adorla. If the gods will that we should ride on together out of Alkinoor, they'll make it plain enough."
Somewhat startled, she turned her head and looked deep into his eyes. “When? When will we know?"
His big hand patted the belt-pouch. "I must go into Alkinoor. Illis expects it. The gods are acting through me. She gave me the god-father's jewel to use against Marrassa. In one way or another, I must do it."
Adorla Mathandis sighed. Tears welled up into her eyes. The gods were using her as a pawn, too, and there was nothing she could do about it. She just hoped that when the gods were finished with their little game, they would give this man to her.
For two days they remained at the hunting cabin. They swam naked in the lake every day and lay in the hot sunlight, until the gauntness was gone from Adorla's face and her body was rested.
For her part, she would have lived out the rest of her life in this cabin with this man. Yet she knew it was not to be. Kyrik would never be able to endure a life of such ease and comfort. The restlessness in him was something she had to accept, since it was so much a part of him.
On the morning of the fourth day, he was up early. He selected four horses, the strongest of all those they had brought here with them, and saddled them. The others he turned out of the corral, to forage for themselves.
He packed what was left of the food, and then he went to wake her.
"We go now," he said as she stretched lazily on their bed.
It is not easy to be a queen, Adorla Mathandis thought, and wondered whether Myrnis was getting more joy out of her throne than she had. She rose and dressed in garments she had found in a coffer, a little worn and ragged, but serviceable enough.
She walked with him to the porch and there she ate what he had prepared for their breakfast. She took her time, she stared out over the lake, she let her eyes run over Kyrik when she was certain that he was not watching her, and in her heart she wept bitter tears.
She would have given up her throne happily, if this man loved her the way he seemed to love the gypsy.
They left the cabin at a walk and now Kyrik let Adorla take the lead, because she knew the windings of the forest road that went from the cabin to Alkinoor City. They saw no one for a long time. This narrow road had been built with privacy in mind by her great-grandfather.
Gradually the trees thinned, and now they could see across the countryside, and glimpse in the distance the great towers of Alkinoor City, faint and far away beyond the tilled fields of the rich farmlands surrounding the city. They could also make out the rivers Hister and Thrumm where they met at the city to fashion a little lake.
"Remember, girl—we're travelers. Nothing more." His eyes touched her, went over her critically. “Remember, too, that you aren't a queen. Not now, at least."
His hand reached out, tugged at her hair. She had spent time with her brown hair, fashioning it into clever twists and whirls. But he disregarded that, to tumble it about her shoulders, so that it blew across her eyes.
“Must you?" she asked. He grinned at her. “Na, na. None of your queenly airs with me, or with anyone else. You're a wanderer's companion, now. Nothing more."
She eyed him boldly. "I could be a wanderer's companion—with you. If you'd give me half a chance."
He put his hand to her bodice, tugged until it tore and half a full breast lay exposed. Adorla opened her lips to protest, but then he was ripping at her skirt so that more of her legs would show. He tossed the torn piece onto the road.
"There now. You look more like a harlot." She glanced down at herself. "I'm half naked."
"And damnably attractive." He gave a mock sigh. "I suppose you'll get me into a fight or two, until folks learn you're my woman and that I take care of you."
From under lowered eyelashes, she regarded him. "If I were really your woman, you wouldn't get into any fights. I'd cling to you like a limpet."
Kyrik showed his teeth in a grin. "You are my woman."
His arm reached out and brought her half out of her saddle even as his mouth claimed hers. That kiss shook Adorla Mathandis to her toes. Her breasts hardened and her nipples rose up. If Kyrik had asked, she would have lain in the dirt by the roadside and let him take her.
No! She would have done the taking.
"That's better," he said softly, to her open mouth.
They came into Alkinoor City with the last rays of the dying sun. The streets were still crowded with the vendors who carried their wares on their backs or in little carts they pushed before them. Men and women were gathered here and there, buying food for their suppers. A mountebank was performing tricks of magic for the coppers tossed on the paving-stones.
Kyrik walked his horse between the crowds, with Adorla close behind him. He paused here and there, once to watch a girl do a lewd dance on top of a little stage—with Adorla rigid with fury beside him—and again to pluck a cup from a wine-seller to have him fill it and another for the girl.
In time they came to a little square before which a tavern sign hung on rusted chains. Kyrik nodded his head at the open doors.
"The Grape and Vine, he read from the sign, and looked at Adorla. "What do you know about this place?"
Her eyes were chilling. "I never wandered about the streets, she informed him.
"It seems as good a tavern as any other," he grinned, ignoring her mood.
They went into the big yard and dismounted. . Kyrik tossed a coin to a boy who ran to take the reins. "A good rubdown first, and then oats. See to it, and you'll earn yourself another coin, lad."
He put an arm about Adorla, drew her closer to him. She resisted, but she was no match for his barbaric strength. She was lifted half off her feet and half-carried toward the tavern door.
"Put me down! Put me down!” she panted.
“Are you going to be my trull? Or do you insist on remaining a queen without a throne?"
Anger went out of her. The man was right. If she were ever to have any hope of having him take her with him on these long travels of his, she must forget she had been a queen in Alkinoor.
“Your trull," she whispered. And she let her softness rest against his body so that he might know how firm were her breasts, how curved her haunches.
"That's better," he muttered. “Just don't overdo it."
She rubbed herself against him as might a cat. “Why not? If I'm your strumpet, I ought to act it."
She put her own arm about him and they walked into the tavern.
Everywhere he looked, Kyrik saw only glum faces. Men crouched over their goblets, they only t
oyed with their food. He and Adorla moved between the tables until they found one that was unoccupied.
"This place is like a morgue, he muttered. "And why not?" asked a voice. “This whole city is a charnel house."
A girl stood beside their table, a serving woman who had come to take their orders. Her face was pretty enough, though gloomy, and there was raw fear in her eyes.
"We've come a long way,"" Kyrik said. "All the way from Drakomon. I heard life was gay in Alkinoor.”
The girl looked around her, bent her head to whisper, "It used to be gay, but then—Queen Adorla changed. She's grown into a demon-woman."
Adorla sat up straighter. "Why has she changed?"
The girl shook her head. Obviously she was very frightened. She only said, "I've said too much. But if you value your lives, ride out of Alkinoor City — as soon as you've eaten."
She took their orders and went away. Kyrik was scowling. He grumbled, "Myrnis has changed. I don't like this. They've done something to her."
"Stolen her mind, her will." His glance was hard. "Can they do that, those two?"
"Lyrrin Odanyor is high priest. But he's also a magician. He would have ways of casting spells on a Romanoy girl, to make her into what he would want her to be."
His big hand balled into a fist and frost-fires lay deep within his eyes. "If that scum has harmed her...."
"Maybe we ought to ride out of here before something terrible happens to both of us."
But he shook his head stubbornly. He knew instinctively that he must stay here, that he must fight Marrassa and—destroy the threat of that dread i demon-god. Illis wanted it. So did Avalar the god-father. He was but a pawn to be moved about by them until he had done what they wanted.
The serving maid was back with platters on her arms. The steaming meat and vegetables told Kyrik that he could do nothing on an empty belly. He reached for his knife and began slicing off chunks of meat.
He ate, and as he ate, he thought. They would have surrounded Myrnis with guards, with a small army, to keep her safe. He was not going to walk in and lift her out of her royal bed, throw her over his shoulder and disappear with her.
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