by George Olney
The music changed again and Frenchy responded, improvising her movements with a boneless fluidity. She continued smiling, secure in her hold over the audience. She began to direct her thoughts towards Grae, expressing in her body's movements thoughts she'd never verbalized to him.
Every male in the room received the sexual message. All but one knew it wasn't for him.
As the music finished, she made a graceful bow, exhibiting again the controlled flexibility of her movements, and swayed slowly off the stage. She was still in her trance, oblivious to any external influence. Then a thought struck her that brought her back to earth. Damn! She'd just danced a three song set in her skin, just like she did in every strip club she'd ever worked. Once a stripper, always a stripper.
It was the wild cheering of the tribe that woke her up and made her blush. As she walked back through the yelling and clapping throng, she tried to smile on all sides and had to concentrate on her movements. Suddenly, she was the center of attention and felt clumsy again. As she approached Grae, his stunned ox expression made her giggle. He looked like someone had smacked him between the eyes. She sat next to him on the floor, grabbed his head and kissed him thoroughly. No use in letting the guy off easy. This was a nice little revenge on the superior son of a bitch.
Noticing Weykhaz's still glazed expression, Grete leaned over and bit him lightly on the earlobe. "Calm yourself, my old one," she whispered. "Later this night I'll show you just how alike a mother and daughter can dance, she on stage, I in bed." His response was everything she expected.
There were no more individual dancers. It became obvious, even to Frenchy, that the big blonde with the earposts had devastated the competition. She found herself figuratively crowned queen of the evening.
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Much later, Grae lay awake next to his sleeping woman and thought hard. Tonight's performance had opened up another aspect of this continually surprising person he'd so casually abducted. He found he wanted her with an intensity that he never thought he'd feel again. He wanted her, not with a juvenile sexual craving, but as a woman he felt was becoming another part of him. The dance stirred physical desire, but the real impact was the transmission of emotions between the two of them that had never been expressed. This was the coming together of two people in a sexual union that was both deep and broad.
He knew what was happening. It had happened once before. The thought of its occurrence frightened him. It shook the foundations of his tradition and belief. She needed to be gone soon. Emotional ties were already far deeper than he wanted. They couldn't be allowed to penetrate further.
Putting his mind to it, he finally thought of a way they could separate and give her what she needed. Then she would be on her way, happy. That was a rightness.
CHAPTER FIVE
It didn't take Frenchy long to fall back into the routine of the trail after they left the Freehold. She spent much of her time in the saddle ruminating on the strange twists her life had taken. She decided she liked her life now, with one exception: bondage. If only she wasn't Grae's property! Hell, she could love the bum if it wasn't for that. Maybe she did love him... and he loved her.
Scary.
Grete and Weykhaz, now, they had it right. Grete was a strange one to have as a mother, but Frenchy decided she liked the idea. In the short time they had together, Grete became far more her mother than the woman that gave her birth. Grete was her real mother... and friend. Grete represented a solid base to her life.
Finally.
Weykhaz was a little different story. Not as restrained as Grae, but definitely the same type of person. Obviously his father. Weykhaz's acceptance of her was wholehearted. In fact, if he wasn't under the sole proprietorship of Grete, she could easily fall for him.
She remembered watching the two of them wave good-bye yesterday as she rode away. Grete's final comments were both heartening and bothersome. "Remember, child, here you have a home. Go, as I said, and reach for your goal. You will find what you seek and mayhap that which will gladden us both. Now be off with you."
There were a few tears in her eyes when they left. That was the first time in her life it had happened.
Grae dropped back next to her. "There's a town about two more hours ride. I want to spend the night there. You get to sleep in a bed again tonight, mistress."
She smiled at him. "Hey, pal, you're beginning to spoil me. I was just getting used to hard ground and sleeping bags."
"Then maybe we ought to push past it."
"Uh uh, buddy." She smiled at his grin. "Your offer is a done deal. You won't keep this girl out of the sheets that easily."
He nodded in mock solemnity. "That's been my experience in the past."
He laughed and rode forward, dodging her playful swing at him.
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The town's name, it turned out, was Tokhaz. Nestled in a little valley, it was all half sunken buildings and peaked tile roofs tipped with carved monsters. Each of the carvings had a gaping mouth that created an eerie whistling, permeating the air when wind blew across the openings.
"In the early days," Grae commented, "that sound was intended to frighten evil spirits."
"Comforting to know tribesmen were once afraid of something," she returned ironically.
Grae grinned wolfishly. "The sound also lets the lee'thal know to stay far, far away after dark. At first, it attracted them. That was on purpose."
His expression made her shiver. Brother, what a bunch of homicidal nuts!
There weren't many people between buildings and she wondered about that, but decided not to ask anyone. Grae was intent on leading them someplace and Maev was quiet around her lately. Thinking about it, the girl seemed a little in awe of her since her performance on the dance stage.
The thought made her grin triumphantly.
Grae halted the party in front of a building that was larger than most in the town. "Gathering house," he explained succinctly, then dismounted and led the way down a set of steps to the entrance.
Once inside, Frenchy found herself in a large room that had all the elements of a combined restaurant, hotel lobby, and saloon - complete with stage. She decided the stage was for performance dancing and that she was going to see one in every tribal gathering place.
After a short conversation with the innkeeper/ hotel desk clerk/ bartender, Grae took them upstairs onto a gallery that overlooked the main room. A series of rough wooden doors lined the gallery's wall, the doors to guest rooms. To Frenchy, the whole thing was a cross between the Wild West and the Middle Ages.
Another impression went where the fairies go as Grae stopped before one door and softly commanded it to open. It swung wide on silent hinges. Frenchy once again reminded herself that swords, leather clothes, gorts, monsters, etc. aside, she was still wandering around in a pretty advanced culture.
The room was a close duplicate of the one in the Freehold, with a bigger bed. Three-across sleeping this time. Frenchy resolved to insure she herself was in the middle. That ought to keep Maev from getting frisky in the middle of the night.
"Get the packs up here," Grae ordered. "I want to size up the Gathering Room."
Frenchy was about to tell him what to do with his saddlebags, but he immediately left and Maev started back downstairs without comment. Irritated, she went to help the girl.
As they unloaded the gorts, Maev quietly said to Frenchy, "You know, we need to be careful."
"Huh?"
"We didn't have to come here," she continued in a soft voice. "Grae is here for a reason. What it is I don't know, but don't forget our original purpose was to take out a smuggler gang."
Frenchy pondered Maev’s statement for a few moments then realized her ax was up in the room. Without it, she felt uncomfortable. "You think there's going to be a fight?"
Maev shook her head in a slightly puzzled fashion. "I’m not sure. I think Grae would tell us if there's trouble coming, but he's always been so damnably close-mouthed about what he does. All I'm sure of is
he's here for a reason. We need to be careful and show nothing out of the ordinary."
Frenchy digested that. "Think I ought to leave off my ax?"
Maev nodded as she started back inside, burdened by her share of the saddlebags. "Best thing for us to be is a couple of helpless girls in bondage to an uncaring master."
Frenchy snorted, following the girl with the remainder of their gear. "How is that different from reality?"
Maev turned to her and favored her with a grin as wolfish as Grae's. "Grae cares. Besides, I'm an ex-Enforcement agent and you're handy with things that chop. Want to bet we couldn't provide some poor, innocently vile asshole with a big surprise if needed?"
Frenchy found herself grinning back with an expression that she knew matched the girl's.
The two struggled inside and up the stairs to the gallery with the saddlebags. In passing, Frenchy noticed Grae sitting by himself at a corner table in the main room, casually sipping a drink. She started to boil over then took a closer look at him. His posture conveyed total relaxation, but a flash of mental awareness told her that he was watching someone very, very closely.
Be careful, girl, she decided. It looks like Maev's right.
Together, Frenchy and Maev dumped the bags, took a brief look in the mirror, and headed back down stairs. Frenchy took a moment in the room to warn Maev that her suspicions might be correct. From Grae's actions, something was probably underway downstairs.
As they left the stairs, Frenchy stopped to scan Grae's table, only to hear an unlovely gruff voice from behind her shoulder. "Well, these are two of the nicest pieces I've seen in this dump."
She swung to identify the voice and found herself staring at an ugly character whose appearance fully matched his voice. He was well over six feet tall, heavy with a layer of fat over huge muscles and a full black beard that merged imperceptibly into the greasy hair that fell unbound to his shoulders. A yellow bar painted across his forehead did exactly nothing to improve his appearance. Old Ugly was grinning at her and Maev.
"Who do you two belong to, goldie? I think he's going to do a deal with me. You look like the kind of woman that ought to have a man like me to tend her."
Uh-oh, watch it, girl. She'd seen his type before in bars and they always spelled trouble. Don't excite the bastard. He's just looking for an excuse to explode.
He grabbed her arm with bruising force. "C'mere. Let a real man get a look at you, goldie."
This fitted the pattern. She knew what to do at this point, too. Reaching swiftly, she grabbed the thumb of the hand holding her arm and bent it sharply back.
"Ack! Bitch! That hurt!" he yelled as he jerked his hand away to keep his thumb from being broken. He swung his hand back and balled his fist. "You need a lesson in manners, bitch!"
Quite suddenly, his hand was immobile, the arm caught in Grae's rocklike grip. "Friend," he calmly said, "if I were you, I don't think I'd try that."
Ugly looked over his shoulder into the broad, mellow smile of the craggy face behind him. The smile didn't reach Grae's eyes and was somehow far more menacing than any spoken threat. The green lines of his face paint only added to the intimidation.
"I want the golden one," Ugly rumbled, seemingly undeterred at his position. "I'm going to take the other one for good measure."
Grae continued to smile. "Are you really sure you don't want to rethink your position, scumbag?"
The heavy man's face darkened and he started to swing his body around and close with Grae. By this time, the barkeep was shoving the two men apart, the large club in his hand making the unspoken threat that backed his actions. "Break it up, you two. Damn it, Yert, no more brawling inside. Hell, man, there isn't even a Cause."
Grae nodded in an amiable, absent-minded fashion. "True, there's no Cause."
There was a movement too fast to follow, and suddenly, Grae's knife was in his hand and a red line began to drip blood down Yert's cheek. "I think there's one now," Grae commented happily.
Yert touched his face, looking at the blood on his fingers for a moment then back at Grae, his expression congested with fury. He stared at Grae for a second through slitted eyes then said, almost rationally, "Outside in the street, whoever you are. I'll spill your blood as it should be done."
Grae nodded, still smiling. "Outside. Oh, it's Grae... Grae of the Yellow Knife."
"Yert."
"I know."
For the first time, a dim concern showed itself on the face of Grae's opponent. Shaking his head with a growl, Yert stomped out the door to the street, Grae trailing him casually.
Frenchy watched them go, momentarily frozen in place. She turned to Maev, apprehension beginning to grow. "Are those two going out there to do what I think they are?"
Maev nodded at her calmly. "Death duel. Long swords by Custom."
"B-but why did Grae force the fight? Surely to God they don't have to go to killing!" Frenchy's voice was rising in pitch with nervousness.
Maev was headed out the door. "Come on!"
As Frenchy hurried to catch up, Maev continued her explanation in a low voice. "For some reason Grae wanted this, damned if I know why. I'm sure Yert's who he was watching. Yert's listed as an Enforcement Arm Target of Opportunity and he's known to hang out in Tokhaz. The bastard's a woman seller, a slaver, and I think Grae came here after him."
That brought Frenchy up short for a second. Grae wasn't in just a common brawl. He was intentionally planning to kill a specimen of what she considered the worst human perversion existent, and doing it with official sanction. But that bastard wanted to kill him, too!
Frenchy rushed outside and stopped next to Maev. Both men were mounting their gorts and Yert was drawing his big sword from his saddle scabbard. She noticed the sides of the street were beginning to fill with spectators. Apparently the word was getting around fast.
As Grae was settling himself in the saddle, he looked at Frenchy and beckoned to her. She ran over, put a hand on his leg, and looked up at him. "Don't do this. You don't have to fight this bum."
He smiled at her. "Yes I do, mistress. There's more here than you know. Don't worry about me."
She shook her head, conflicting emotions making her confused. "I do, damn it. I do," she said softly.
Still smiling, he tenderly leaned over and stroked her cheek. "Remember, mistress," he said softly, "what I do, I do for you. Stay calm, no matter what happens. I would never do anything to hurt you. I--"
He stopped what he was going to say. Abruptly, he dropped his hand from her cheek to the pendant below her throat. Snatching it from her neck, he threw pendant and broken chain to Yert. "You're willing to fight for her, scum. Here, she's yours. Do you still have the nerve to cross blades?"
Surprised, Yert's reactions were still good enough to grab the small piece of jewelry from the air with his free hand. "Blood was spilled, fool. I intend to see yours in return," he rumbled.
Looking at Frenchy, frozen in dumb surprise with her hands still on Grae's leg, he sneered evilly. "Goldie, I'll have fun with you later, when I've finished with him."
Grae turned from her and began to ride to the end of the street as he drew his own sword. Frenchy stood there staring stupidly at him for a minute, until she heard Yert's gruff voice. "Want to wish me luck, my precious prize?"
She turned on him, glaring at his sneering face. "Go to hell," she returned coldly. "That man will cut your heart out and I'll be glad to see it happen."
Yert's sneer dropped, replaced by a look of rage. "I'll cut your tongue out for that."
Maev called out. "Frenchy, that's Cause! You can kill him for that threat."
Frenchy looked Yert dead in the eye. "I will, if Grae doesn't beat me to it."
A cold certainty settled inside her. This man was going to die. By her hand or Grae's didn't matter. Yert was a walking dead man. For the first time in her life, she felt capable of killing a man in cold blood.
Yert looked at the stony calm expression on her face and didn't like what he saw. S
narling at her again, he wrenched his gort around and rode swiftly to the opposite end of the street from Grae.
Frenchy turned to watch Grae. Maev silently joined her.
"Why did Grae do that?" she quietly asked the girl, her eyes still on Grae as he turned and stopped at the end of the street.
"I know," Maev returned calmly, "and you will too, after this is over.
"Now," Maev said harshly, her voice tense with emotion. "You may not be Grae's, but you're still a Yellow Knife woman, and that's a Yellow Knife warrior going to battle. Send him your support!"
Frenchy shot a quick glance at her, only to receive a wolfish grin in return. With that, Maev threw back her head and howled a high ululation that went on and on. It was a battle cry. A battle cry for Grae! Frenchy wanted to do the same thing. It was so right, but she couldn't duplicate the sound Maev was making.
Well girl, she thought, there are other ways to tell the enemy to go to hell. Matching Maev, she threw her head back and let go with the wildest rebel yell she could produce. Grae turned his head at the scream and saw who it was. Grinning in reply, he sketched a salute to her with his sword and took her bright-eyed smile as his reward. He reached up and pulled the thong from his hair, shaking his head to set it free. Throwing his long sword in the air, he caught it by the hilt and held it over his head. He spurred the gort and screamed the Yellow Knife battlecry, "Nir-r-r-r Ya-a-a-l-l-l-la-a-a-h!!"
He charged.
Yert began his rush. The two were going to meet in the middle of the street nearly in front of the women.
Frenchy knew that never, as long as she lived, would she forget that scene. Time seemed to slow as she watched Grae come on, each detail clearly etched in her vision, the whole an incredible picture. The furious gort thundered forward, head down and horn extended, a massive and deadly juggernaut. Grae was firmly and smoothly fixed to his back, the image of strength and grace as his muscular, bare-chested body flowed with the beast's motion. His long sword was held over his head with both hands, hair streaming like a banner behind him as he rampaged towards his enemy.