Lucien's Khamsin

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Petros’ left eyebrow rose. “Oh, really? You still haven’t taken her?”

  Lucien shook his head and stuck his hands into the pockets of his leather britches.

  “How’s your head?”

  “It hurts but not as bad. I can handle it.”

  Lucien looked toward the pens. “Have you seen to the conditions?”

  “Aye and I have set two of the women to sewing a few new garments until the herders come back with more clothing.” He scratched his cheek. “I am very sorry I let the situation slip past me, Luc, and so is Tina.”

  “She has other priorities, but that,” Lucien said, nudging his chin toward the pens, “is our sustenance. We need to take better care of it.”

  “And we will,” Petros vowed.

  “Walk with me?” Lucien asked.

  The two men who had been friends since they were toddlers were comfortable with one another and had no need to carry on conversation when they were together. They were content to be in one another’s company, knowing if something needed discussing, the issue would arise in its own time.

  Thralls were stationed throughout the inner bailey and patrolled the perimeter of the battlements. Torches flared high above, lighting the night sky where bats swooped and owls screeched as they winged their way over Modartha.

  “Sibylline finally showed her face this eve,” Lucien remarked as they made their way to the corral.

  Petros glanced at his companion. “And?”

  “She admitted sending the wench to me.”

  “Um-hmm,” Petros said. “We figured as much.”

  “The question is why.”

  The horses were dozing but one woke instantly and tossed its black head in greeting. It nickered softly and trotted over to where the men stood.

  Lucien reached through the fence to pat the beautiful creature’s sleek nose. “Would you like to go for a ride, Fiach?” he asked, allowing the steed to nuzzle his face.

  As though the creature understood and was giving its answer, it bobbed its head.

  Lucien turned to Petros. “You coming?”

  “Do you think I’d let you go alone?” Petros growled. He put two fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle.

  Each of the dozing horses inside the corral woke, lifting their heads in unison. A big roan left the rest of them and came over to the fence.

  “I take it you don’t want to bother with a saddle,” Petros complained as Lucien pushed the restraining bar up on the gate and led Fiach out of the corral, his fingers wrapped in the silky mane.

  “I need to ride something, my friend,” Lucien said, taking a handful of Fiach’s thick black mane and vaulting onto the steed’s broad back. “And I want nothing between my cock and my beast but this thin strip of leather at my crotch.”

  “Disgusting pervert,” Petros grumbled. He led his mount out then slipped the bar back in place. He stepped back and swung himself up on the beast.

  The thralls on guard at the portcullis were accustomed to their prince riding out of an evening. They were already working the pulley that raised the ten-inch-thick iron bars with their jagged, sharp teeth.

  Standing at the window of Lucien’s room, Khamsin saw him and Lord Petros galloping down the plank bridge that led from the keep and across a steep gorge. The sound of those heavy hooves striking the wood echoed back to her and she thought she heard Lucien laugh.

  “Can you feel the wind rushing through my hair, wench?”

  She wasn’t surprised when the spectral voice spoke to her in her mind. She closed her eyes and could almost feel the kiss of a light breeze against her face.

  “I’d rather be riding you.”

  “I’m sure you would,” she said aloud and wrapped her arms around her for there was a night chill coming in through the open window.

  “Can you feel the friction between my thighs?”

  Aye, she thought, she could. There was a hardness pressing there and she knew he was allowing her to feel the same awareness he felt. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensation.

  “Tomorrow night I’ll take you with me.”

  She felt him pulling away from her and knew a moment of regret. The withdrawal of his presence left the room cold and lonely.

  * * * * *

  Lucien slowed his mount as he and Petros neared Lake Alcina. The moon rode high overhead and shone down upon the still, dark waters of the wide lake. A loon sang its lonely song to the skies and a flutter of wings nearby spooked the horses and made them sidestep. Reaching down to pat Fiach’s neck, Lucien soothed the animal, speaking quietly to it in the old tongue, calming the skittish beast.

  “There are shadows about,” Petros remarked as he slid from his big roan.

  “I feel them,” Lucien agreed. He threw a leg over Fiach’s head and dismounted. “They’ll stay where they are.”

  “You never know.”

  Lucien trailed behind his steed as the black ambled to the water’s rim and lowered its head to lap at the cool water. He squatted down beside the horse and scooped up a handful to refresh him.

  Petros kept watch, his nerves on edge. His hand strayed to the hilt of the dagger strapped to his thigh and lingered there.

  “If Stavros’ men were lurking about, we’d sense it, Pet,” Lucien said quietly. “Those are humans.”

  “Angry humans,” Petros corrected. “I can feel their hatred like a wet blanket over my shoulders.”

  “Aye, but they won’t attack us. They are afraid.”

  “I’ll send the herders out tomorrow to gather them up.”

  Lucien shook his head. “They are diseased, my friend. Can’t you smell it?”

  Petros lifted his chin and sniffed, his upper lip arching. “Aye, now that you mention it, I can. What the hell has gotten into me that I don’t pay more attention to the things around me of late?”

  “You have other things on your mind, obviously.” Lucien stood, flung the water from his hand. “They are starving,” he told his friend. “One is near death.”

  Tuning in to the situation around him, Petros nodded. “Aye, I believe you are right.”

  “Have the herders bring out a hindquarter of beef and a few bushels of vegetables. There is no honor in allowing the creatures to die even if they are of no use to us.”

  “Stavros would feel otherwise,” Petros reminded Lucien.

  “I am not Stavros,” Lucien snapped.

  Petros shifted his shoulders. “But is it wise to have plague victims this close to Modartha?”

  “They’ll not come within a mile of the keep, Pet. If I thought it would help, I’d have Christina come out to inoculate them, but since they already have the disease, it is already too late for them.”

  “Aye, but what of any other humans the diseased ones might come into contact with? Do we take a chance they won’t be contaminated? Is it not better to put these sick ones out of their misery?”

  “They won’t live much longer anyway, Petros. Just let them be. Besides, you know as well as I there are no viable humans within fifty miles of us.”

  Petros grumbled but he let the matter drop. He sat down on a rock as his mount swilled the water as though it hadn’t drunk all day. “Why is it,” he asked, “this water tastes better than anywhere else?”

  “It comes as runoff from the higher elevations of Mount Duáilce. Even in the dead of our summer, snow clings to those lofty peaks.”

  “I suppose you’re right. At any rate, it is as cool and refreshing as the water I used to get from my fridge, all those years ago when we still had electricity,” Petros said and sighed. “There are some things I truly miss.”

  “Sometimes—” Lucien said, stretching out on the grass on his side, crossing his ankles, and propping his head in his hand “—I entertain myself by remembering all the things that have been invented in my lifetime. We’ve seen it all, my friend—electricity, the telephone, automobiles, space flight…”

  “The Black Death, genocide, terrorist bombings, nuclear
war,” Petros added.

  Lucien sighed. “Always the pessimist, Petros.”

  The two men were silent for a moment then Petros grinned. “Remember licorice?”

  “Aye,” Lucien said. “And Italian ice.”

  “Cold soda pops on a hot day.”

  “Hot chocolate on a cold day,” Lucien amended.

  “The half-naked girls at Mardi Gras in Rio.”

  “Aye, back when we could take night flights to such great cities. That was something.”

  Petros suddenly grinned. “A man walking on the moon.”

  “A woman becoming Secretary General of the United Nations.”

  “Sno-cones!”

  “Hot fudge sundaes.”

  “Learning to make homemade ice cream.”

  “Learning to make homemade pizza.”

  Together, “Elephant ears!” And they burst out laughing thinking of the bakery treat from fairs long, long before.

  They sighed in unison.

  “The world has changed so drastically,” Petros observed. “No more electricity so there is no refrigeration, no movies or television, no gas to power automobiles, boats or planes. To come across the ocean—if anyone is stupid enough to try it—must be like in the days of Christopher Columbus.” He shook his head. “We have reverted to the dark ages in most of Europe and back to colonial days in America if what I hear is true.”

  “America had vast stores of some of the things we Europeans took for granted,” Lucien said. “We thought they were the stupid ones—wasting resources at will—but we found out differently.”

  “There is so much I will miss,” Petros said for both of them.

  “I’ll not miss hiding out to keep humans from knowing of us.”

  “Aye, but we got damned good at it over the years,” Petros reminded him.

  “If you have eight hundred years in which to practice, you’d better get good at it!” Lucien said with a chuckle.

  “But you know Christina once said that the old keeps here and in France and even in China helped to hide us. Who would know we were hiding deep in the old dungeons and in underground caverns to which we could retreat when hunters came looking.”

  “Hunters,” Lucien said, his lips twisted. “They were a plague from time to time. Misguided fools for the most part but dangerous, nevertheless. Now, we are the hunters.”

  “True but think of all we have witnessed in our lifetime, Luc,” Petros said. “All the innovations, the silly fads.” His eyes twinkled. “Remember the sack dress or the balloon dress? How about the flapper dresses?” He shook his fingers up and down. “Va-va-vavoom!”

  “We’ve seen it all,” Lucien agreed then the smile slipped from his face. “While we were in hiding, living vicariously through our thralls some of the time, as you recall.”

  Petros shrugged. “Aye, but just thinking of the accomplishments, the wondrous gifts humankind made in those last four centuries makes me proud of us all even if I had no hand in it.”

  “The thralls did, though, and the greatest gift they gave us was to keep us hidden and see to our welfares. We could never repay them for the service they did for us.”

  “Those who wished to we turned,” Petros reminded him.

  “But did we do them a service by doing so?” Lucien countered.

  “They have lived all these years with us. I’m sure they think we did right by them.”

  “Perhaps but they’ve known the ills as well as the boons to mankind so maybe it’s a wash, as they used to say.”

  “Speaking of ills that have befallen man,” Petros muttered. “What am I going to do about Lady Alexa?”

  Sighing again, Lucien turned over to lie on his back and look up at the stars. The heavens were crystal clear with no clouds in sight and the moon was full and bright. “What do you want to do about her?” he countered as he crossed his hands behind his head and drew his knees up.

  “The woman is a veritable pest,” Petros complained. “I can’t seem to fuck her enough.”

  “Is that your problem or hers?”

  Petros grunted. “A bit of both, I think. She tells me I’m free to screw whomever I please but…” He shrugged. “Keeping track of one woman is bad enough. Having to play court to another wears me out just thinking on it.”

  “Yet you offered to take Khamsin sight unseen,” Lucien reminded him.

  “That was to entice you,” Petros stated. “I knew what you’d say.”

  Lucien turned his head to look at his friend. “And when you saw her?”

  Petros flinched. “You could have knocked me over with a parakeet’s feather. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

  A gentle smile hovered over Lucien’s lips. “You would have sent her to Dorcha to keep me from seeing her.”

  Petros looked down at the ground. “I thought it best. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “It’s too late for that, my friend,” Lucien chided. “It hurts to look at her, but I’m trying to ignore the similarity between them.”

  “What will you do with her?”

  Lucien wagged his brows but even in the moon glow, Petros did not miss that reaction. He grinned. “You’re sure?”

  “There is a passing resemblance to Magdalena, but not enough for me to keep comparing the two of them. It’s been lonely without Sibylline, although I’d never admit that to the witch herself.”

  “Don’t you think she knew? Why else send the wench to you?”

  “I suppose, but she’ll never get me to admit it.”

  “And the wench? She seems a handful. Will you be able to break her to saddle without too much trouble?”

  Lucien had a smile on his full lips. “I’m preparing her, but it may take awhile. She’s willing—whether she knows it or not—so it is but a matter of being patient with her. I believe her worth the effort.”

  “That’s another thing about Alexa,” Petros said. “She wants to be of the Blood.”

  “I don’t see that as a problem,” Lucien commented. “You have my permission if you wish it. Do you have some concern about turning her?”

  “She’ll have power I’m not so sure I wish her to possess,” Petros stated. “I think I prefer her as my thrall rather than my equal. What of the special one? There is no question of you turning her. The law forbids it. Won’t you be hurt even more as she ages then dies, Luc?”

  Lucien was quiet for so long it seemed he might have fallen asleep. When at last he spoke, there was firm resolve in his deep voice.

  “The law states that I can not coerce her into becoming One with the Blood nor can I turn her without approval of the Clan Tribunal. There are provisions that would allow her to ask to become one of us if she wanted that of her own free will.”

  “True,” Petros agreed, “but every drop of her blood is precious to all Revenants. It would have to be drained completely and replaced with yours. She might not survive such an ordeal.”

  “She will,” Lucien said with confidence. “I’ll make sure she does.”

  Petros’ forehead puckered. “You already have feelings for this wench, Luc?”

  “Don’t you think it past time I moved on?”

  “You know Tina and I have been nudging you to do that for centuries, but why now?”

  Lucien exhaled slowly. “There is something about this wench.” He smiled ruefully. “As Tina said, she’s going to give me a run for my money.”

  Petros’ frown deepened. “Then we’d best make damned sure Stavros does not learn of her existence. He’d move heaven and hell to take her away from you.”

  Lucien sat up and captured his raised knees within the perimeter of his arms. He stared across the moon-shot lake. “That is the only thing that worries me, Pet.”

  “We still have a traitor amongst us,” Petros stated. “I’ll double my efforts in finding him or her.”

  * * * * *

  Stavros Constantine’s spy watched Prince Lucien and Lord Petros as they walked their mounts up the serpentine mountain road toward the
keep. There were others too close for him to open a psychic link between himself and Lord Anchises, to give his report. Someone might pick up on that link so the thrall was forced to bide his time. Gingerly, he lifted a hand to his eye and winced.

  “She got you good, didn’t she, Ari?” another thrall asked.

  Aristotle Pavli ignored the taunt. There would be time to make the bitch pay for giving him the shiner. Before he turned her over to Prince Stavros, Ari vowed he would have her splayed beneath him and her body one long wince of agony by the time he had had his fill of her. He remembered well the feel of her full breasts as he felt her up as she lay unconscious in his arms, the pressure of his nerve constriction on her neck having put her out like a light.

  “Open the portcullis!”

  Taking one last look at Prince Lucien, Ari turned and headed for the guard’s quarters. Dawn was only an hour away and already the Revenants were moving lethargically, their movements slow. The keep would be locked down until sunset, the bridge drawn back across the steep gorge it spanned. There would be no entry—or exit—from Modartha unless Lord Petros sent out herders and the chances of that were slim.

  But when Ari was about to enter the guardhouse, Lord Petros called out to him, the Lord of Security walking as slowly as the rest of those of the Blood.

  “Prince Lucien wants a hindquarter of beef taken to Lake Alcina,” Petros ordered. “Take a wagon filled with bushels of whatever vegetables you can load along with you. Just leave the provisions there at the lake and return. I’ve already spoken to the gatekeeper and he’ll be there to let you in and out.”

  Ari grimaced. “Why am I taking good food and leaving it in the middle of nowhere?”

  Petros glared at the thrall. “Because your prince ordered it!” he snapped and continued on, his footsteps dragging as he climbed the steps into the keep.

  “Not my damned prince,” Ari muttered, his beady eyes following Lucien Korvina as that one disappeared beyond the main door. So trusting had Petros been, he had never questioned Ari’s assertion that he was in thrall to the Korvina clan when he had shown up at Modartha ten years before. Because Petros had accepted the lie without a moment’s hesitation, no drop of Lucien’s blood had ever been injected into Ariostle Pavli.