Lara: Book One of the World of Hetar

by Bertrice Small

  “Hungry for my faerie wife’s delicious body,” he said with a wicked grin.

  “We have no privacy, Vartan,” she fretted. “Your mother, your brother, his wife and Noss sleep just beyond our curtain.”

  “We will be as quiet as mice.”

  “You are never quiet!” she teased him. But she wanted him now every bit as much as she knew he wanted her.

  “If you do not remove your night robe, I will tear it from you,” he threatened.

  Lara quickly pulled the gown from her slender form. “I will find a way to repay you for this,” she threatened, half laughing.

  “Oh, wife, I hope so.” And he pulled her into his arms, his hands caressing her eagerly. “Punish me with your kisses, Lara!” His mouth took hers in a searing embrace.

  She lost herself in his arms. When he had satisfied himself with her mouth he laid her back upon their camp bed and began to kiss every inch of her flesh, not only with his lips, but with his tongue as well. He suckled for a time on each of her breasts, covering her mouth with his big hand to still her cries of delight, his blue eyes blazing down into her green ones. He brushed over her belly, licking and breathing on the quivering flesh as he went. His fingers played between her nether lips, teasing her until she was drenched with her excitement. When he slowly and deliberately put those fingers in his mouth, sucking on them, she almost swooned. Kaliq and his brothers had loved her with exquisite delicacy, but Vartan loved her with a fierce passion that set her afire with longing such as she had never known.

  Suddenly eager to return some of the pleasure he was giving her, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him. Her fingertips brushed over his hard flesh, and putting one hand over his mouth, she pinched one of his nipples teasingly with the other. His big body jerked in surprise, but he did not unseat her. “Two can play at the same game, husband,” she whispered in his ear, licking it slowly and nipping at the lobe. Lara slithered down his long torso, kissing and licking as she went. Her sweetly rounded buttocks filled his sight. Now and again she would nip at him, but he restrained his cries. His excitement, however, was an entirely different thing, and when her hand reached out to enclose his burgeoning manroot, he stuffed his fist in his mouth to silence himself.

  Lara squeezed hard on the pillar of flesh in her hand. Then she bent to let her tongue encircle its blazing tip from which the tiniest milky bead slipped forth. She lapped at it then, releasing the manroot, took him into her mouth even as she felt him move beneath her, raising himself that he might taste her secret flesh with his own tongue. She suckled on him, but as she did her attentions were diverted by the sweet heat that his mouth on her was engendering. Lara bit her lip until it bled to keep from screaming.

  “Let me go,” she heard Vartan growl low, and when she did he pulled himself from beneath her, still keeping her on her knees and bent before him in a gesture of utter submission. His hands clamped themselves about her hips, and Lara felt him enter her in a single smooth motion. He remained still within her, swelling more until he filled her tightly.

  She had never felt a manroot with such incredible intensity. He was hot and hard within her pleasure sheath. She shuddered with pure delight. Then gaining a small mastery of herself, she squeezed him several times until he began to move slowly within her body. Lara thought she would die with the sweetness she was experiencing. He moved in a leisurely fashion, drawing himself out almost to the tip of his manroot, and then plunging back with great deliberation until he was fully encased by her hot flesh.

  “I love you,” he murmured low against her ear. “I will never love another woman except you, Lara, my beautiful faerie wife.”

  “Then why do you kill me?” she sobbed back. She felt aflame with her desire, a desire he seemed in no great hurry to satisfy.

  In response he began to move faster, and faster and faster, until sensing her impending crisis, he forced her into their pillows that her cries of pleasure be silenced as her ripe body shuddered with release. When she was finally still, he released his grip on her. Lara turned over and looked up at him in wonder.

  “I have never before been loved quite like that,” she whispered to him.

  Vartan smiled a small smile at her, pleased by her words. Then he wrapped her in his embrace, and they were both shortly asleep again.

  In the morning she told him of the flight she had taken in the night. “Kaliq can help us,” Lara said. “Each province has two members on the High Council. He can find out who ordered the incursion into the Outlands, and if the council is involved.”

  “It would be a form of betrayal for him, wouldn’t it?” Vartan asked.

  “No. The Shadow Princes are very isolated from the rest of Hetar. They are feared for their magic, but as no one wants their Desert, they are left to themselves. Kaliq and his brothers have little tolerance for those in the City who make the laws. They are more allied with the Faerie world than with Hetar. He will help us.”

  “You must take the shape of a bird, then, to reach him,” Vartan said.

  “I took the shape of an eagle last night. I felt strong and secure as I flew,” Lara told him.

  “The eagle is the talisman of the Fiacre, as I told you on the day we first met. I can take its shape as well,” Vartan said. “I fear to allow you to fly alone. Let me come with you, Lara, my wife, my life and my love.”

  “If you come you will see that Kaliq loves me, and you will be jealous,” she replied. “I do not want you ever imagining what was between this prince and me.”

  “I do not need to see him to know that,” Vartan answered her. “You are an incredibly beautiful woman, wife. I cannot be jealous of your prince, for he was forced to give you up. You are mine for an eternity, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword.” He put his arms about her. “I must attend the council today, but we will depart tomorrow. If I leave my brother in charge it will please him, and perhaps his wife will stop her harping.”

  “What of Liam?” she asked.

  “Liam never wanted the position, and will understand why I do what I do. He shall be the only one who knows where we go. Liam knows how to keep secrets,” Vartan said quietly.

  “I would go with you to the council today,” Lara told him. “Let me sit at your right hand to listen and advise.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Your position as the wife of the Fiacre chieftain must be enforced and acknowledged here at the Gathering.”

  “Have Sholeh join us as well,” Lara suggested. “That way my presence does not seem so obvious. She is a headwoman, and she is your kin.”

  “How does one so young have such wisdom?” he asked her.

  Lara shrugged. “I suppose it is instinct, and I have always had it.”

  He chuckled. “We must eat, for the council will last all day, with Floren dithering and attempting to avoid the inevitable while Gitta vacillates between Floren’s logic and ours. These growers of crops are reluctant to go to war.”

  “I have never faced a war, but I learned from my father’s tales that war is a futile pursuit, which no one really wins. Yet there are times when it seems the only way to settle a dispute is to go to war. Sometimes men cannot be reasoned with, and only a good bloodletting will bring them to their senses. The day we met you said Hetar would eventually invade these lands, but I do not think you believed it would be in your lifetime, Vartan. I am sorry that it is.”

  “So am I,” he answered her, and then he began to dress.

  Lara followed suit. Then they left their small curtained shelter, and came into the larger portion of the pavilion where Bera and Noss had a morning meal ready for them. Adon and Elin were already at table. Adon did not bother looking up, but Elin’s gaze was sharp. Lara stared directly at her until Elin turned away, a flush upon her cheeks, and her mouth in a thin tight line.

  “Feed us well, my mother, for we will be the day long in the council, I suspect,” Vartan said jovially. “Noss, have you eaten?” At her nod, he continued, “Go and tell my cousin Sholeh that I will expect her
at the council to advise me.”

  “Brother,” Elin burst out, “should women be at council? Is that not a man’s province? Women are not meant to govern. We are too frail, I fear.”

  “Perhaps you are, dear Elin,” Vartan responded, “but there are some women as strong as their men, and in some cases stronger,” he chuckled at her shocked look. “My wife shall sit at my right hand today. A woman’s opinion is necessary to any and all decisions that the council makes. We are not Hetar, scorning women’s wisdom. If we go to war many women and children will be left behind to care for the land, for the elders, to cope with the daily business of living. But some of our women will fight by our side.”

  “I should be at your right hand,” Adon said angrily. “Why do you always choose others over me?” he demanded.

  “Do you want to sit around all day in debate, little brother?” Vartan asked.

  “Of course not,” Adon said, “but you might at least have asked me. By your actions you say to the Fiacre that you do not trust me.”

  “I don’t,” Vartan remarked bluntly. “You are too greedy for power that you cannot possibly handle. You are short-tempered, and shorter-sighted, Adon, but you are my brother and I do love you. Now cease your carping so I may eat in peace.”

  The younger man opened his mouth to protest, but Bera said sharply, “Adon!”

  “You have always loved him more than you love me,” Adon muttered, glaring at her. “Only my sweet Elin understands.” He took his wife’s hand.

  Bera snorted but held her peace, and served the meal.

  Sholeh arrived just as they were finishing. She hugged Bera and Lara, nodding to Adon and Elin with a small smile. Their meal concluded, the two went off into a corner of the great tent where they sat down whispering and nodding. She looked to Vartan, who shrugged with a small smile and drank down the contents of his goblet.

  The trio departed for the council, to be joined by Liam. They took their seats immediately. The wisdom of the Celestial Actuary was invoked and almost at once Floren presented his argument for arbitration again. Sholeh stood up when he had finished, before anyone else could speak.

  “And will you, Floren of the Blathma, lead the delegation to the invaders of the Piaras and the Tormod?” she asked sharply. “Or will you expect someone else to go and plead your case for you?”

  “I am not a diplomat,” Floren blustered.

  “Neither are any of us,” Sholeh said. “We are a simple people who prefer a simple life. We have managed to live in peace for centuries, respecting each other and our individual borders. We have no standing armies, no Crusader Knights to protect us from invaders. We are considerate of the land that nurtures us, and we esteem it. We are nothing at all like Hetarians, whose passion is for status, wealth and power. They have always scorned the Outlands, but now they suddenly desire its riches? First it will be the ores and gems of the Piaras and the Tormod. Next it will be for your land, and mine. They will bring their laws and their ethics, or lack thereof, into our Outlands, and we will lose our identities. What makes you think that men who would invade another’s lands and cruelly enslave the population can be reasoned with, Floren?”

  “We must try,” he replied, “if only to save ourselves from a war.”

  “You are already at war,” Lara told the chieftain of the Blathma.

  “She is right,” Roan of the Aghy said. “And only the Devyn stand between you, Floren, and the invaders. The Devyn will sing of this time in our history, and they will fight. Will you let the smallest of our clan families do what you will not?” He stood tall, his red hair like a beacon, staring out at his fellow chieftains. “Are the Blathma as weak and frail as the flowers they grow?”

  “We are not cowards!” Floren cried, his hand going to his dagger.

  “Then fight!” Roan roared. “There is no bargaining with murderous thieves!”

  “We have not yet decided upon a course of action,” Rendor of the Felan said quietly. “Sit down now, Roan. And take your hand from your belt, Floren. Let us discuss this reasonably as we have always discussed matters of importance between us.”

  Vartan now stood up. “The times are changing, my brothers, my friends. And we must change with the times, else we be left behind. But if we are to control our own destiny we cannot wait for Hetar to come further into the Outlands. We must form a central government, something we have never before done. And we need to speak with one voice. In the past we didn’t care that the Hetarians considered our Outlands a barbaric place. We had little if any contact with them. But as the years have passed they have grown to believe what were once merely words. They truly believe that we are savages, and therefore of little account. They will wrest this land from us if we do not stop them.” He turned to Floren. “I wish negotiation were possible, but it is not. We must strike these invaders hard. We must strike them now! Much blood will be spilled. The lives of those we know and love will be lost. But many more lives will be sacrificed unless we stop Hetar now. Look on the bright side, Floren. If we can crush the invaders before spring comes you’ll be home in time to plow your fertile fields.”

  A ripple of laughter echoed around the stone edifice at Vartan’s words, and a small smile even crossed Floren’s plump face.

  “We must put it to a vote,” Gitta of the Torin said, and the other chieftains nodded.

  “May I consider it unanimous?” Vartan asked gazing about the council.

  They all looked to Floren, who nodded slowly, saying, “I will hold you to your timeline, Vartan. I have seeds from two plants I crossed, and I want them planted next year so I may see if the flower is as beautiful as I suspect it will be.”

  There was more laughter.

  “What of a permanent council?” Rendor of the Felan asked.

  Lara stood now. “With your permission, my lords, I will tell you of the High Council of Hetar,” she began. “The High Council consists of eight members, two from each province. They are rotated regularly that no member from any province can be bribed for his vote. The man from each province considered the most important takes his turn as head of the council. Again that honor is rotated, but in this case, every third moon cycle. The council head votes only when a tie must be broken. That is how Hetar is governed, my lords.”

  “It is a simple form of government,” Rendor of the Felan noted.

  “And still open to corruption, as all governments are,” Roan of the Aghy said.

  “All of us are open to corruption, Roan. We need to speak with one voice to Hetar,” Vartan replied. “If we do not, they could divide and conquer us.”

  “Perhaps,” Accius of the Devyn suggested, “we would do better to drive the Hetarians from the Piaras and the Tormod regions first, and then revisit this matter of a more formal government for our peoples. I would put Vartan of the Fiacre forth as our warlord, and Roan of the Aghy as his second in command.”

  “I will agree,” Rendor of the Felan said.

  “And I,” Imre, Torin and Accius said.

  “Petruso?” they asked the now mute leader of the Piaras, and he nodded in agreement, drawing his sword and waving it in the air.

  “Petruso says that while he can no longer speak, he can still fight,” Imre told them.

  Petruso nodded enthusiastically, and made several stabbing motions with his weapon to the cheers of his companions.

  “Such a shame,” Sholeh murmured to Lara. “He had the most beautiful singing voice. As good as a Devyn, and he always entertained us at the Gathering.”

  “I never knew Hetarians could be so cruel,” Lara replied. “I was sold into slavery so that my father could have his chance to become a Crusader Knight. He was a renowned warrior, but had not the means to join the tournament until I was sold.”

  “Were not his skills enough?” Sholeh asked surprised.

  “Nay,” Lara said, “they were not. A man who becomes a Crusader Knight must look as if he belongs among them. I hope my father is not among those who have invaded the Outlands. I do no
t know what I would do if I found myself face-to-face with him in a battle.”

  “Then you mean to go with Vartan?” Sholeh asked.

  “Aye, I do,” Lara told her. “I could not sit home at Camdene waiting for word. I am skilled with sword and staff. I must go with him. I am meant to fight this battle.”

  “Do you love my cousin?” Sholeh said.

  “I do not believe in love,” Lara told her. “I respect Vartan, and I admire him. I gladly share my body with him. Is that not enough for a man?”

  “I do not think it is,” Sholeh answered Lara.

  “It is the best I have to give,” Lara replied.

  “You will love him one day,” Sholeh told her with a smile. “Come, let us leave the council now. They will discuss how many warriors each of them should give, some saying because they have less land, they should send fewer men. It is the kind of argument that would drive a sensible woman mad.”

  “They must send a large army,” Lara said. “The larger the force, the more impressed Hetar will be. And we must win the first battle, Sholeh. That means we must have the advantage over them to begin with, and I know just how to gain it.”

  “How?” Sholeh asked her.

  Lara shook her head. “I will tell you after it is done, but not before. Vartan and I have already talked about it. Tomorrow you must see that Adon and his wife are kept busy, so busy that they do not wonder where my husband and I have gotten to. Can you do that? Include Noss and Bera as well.”

  “You will need an excuse for your absence,” Sholeh said.

  “We will be planning for the war with the other chieftains, and my husband wishes my advice as I have been raised in Hetar, and know them best.”

  “You do not call yourself Hetarian,” Sholeh noted.

  “Hetar is all of our world, but if it must remain divided,” Lara replied, “then I am of the Outlands, for that is where my heart is. I realized it the moment Noss and I exited the cave in the cliff into the plain. It stretched before me, and I knew immediately that I had come home.”

  Sholeh smiled at the answer, well pleased. Vartan had taken a good wife. That night she came with several of her children, and grandchildren. She invited Bera, Noss, Adon and Elin to join her the following day in preparing a special feast for the next night. “No one can ready a hot pit like you, Adon,” she praised her younger cousin. “And Elin’s sauces for the roasted meats and poultry are without equal.” She turned to Noss. “You could learn from Elin, my child,” she said.