WINDWEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "I can not leave my child! Don't ask it of me."

  For a long time he did not speak. When he did, she heard defeat in his tone. "Is that what you want?"

  "It is what must be," she answered.

  Brelan flinched. He had lost her again.

  * * *

  Morning brought with it a gray, sodden day to fit the mood into which Brelan had slipped. As he walked in the rain, his hands shoved into the pockets of his cords, he felt the telltale beginnings of a cold seeping into his bones. His head ached almost as much as his heart and he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He came to an abandoned cottage just after noontime and knew he'd best get in out of the elements.

  The interior smelled of rats and decayed food; he didn't care. He gathered up what remained of a table and a few chairs, some old clothing and started a fire in the lopsided hearth. As the flames came to life, he sat with legs crossed, his chin propped in his palm, and stared into the fire.

  And thought of what had happened between him and Liza the night before.

  Her body had been so warm, her scent intoxicating. He had waited so many years to touch her breasts, taste her nipples, drink from the fountain of her womanhood. The feel of her in his arms had been pure heaven and made him feel more of a man than any other woman's body ever had.

  The velvet of her sheath as he slid inside her had nearly brought a shout of victory to his lips, for he had dreamt of lying with her for as long as he could remember. Of possessing her, making her his. Now that he had, it was all he had imagined it would be.

  Her hands on him had been sheer ecstasy and had plied his flesh so sweetly, it was all he could do not to unman himself before he was able to take her. Her lips on his, her tongue swirling over his manhood had been nothing less than bliss.

  Though he had rammed into her as though his life depended upon it, she had met him thrust for thrust, her fingers gripping his hair, spurring him on to harder heights of passionate release. And when their climaxes came at the same moment, her cry had equaled his in strength and duration.

  He had branded her his for that moment in time and had hoped it would be forever.

  Now, he knew better.

  Still, she was everything to him, had been since childhood. His friendship with her brother, Grice, had survived bloody noses and chipped teeth just so he could be close to her. He would gladly lay down his life for her, do anything she asked, no matter how much her asking hurt him.

  And despite his love for her, he would help hand her into Legion's keeping, for he knew Legion loved her as much as he did.

  Brelan closed his eyes and sat before the fire, aching, hopelessly needing something he would never have. Desiring a woman who would never return the feeling.

  "Is this how you felt, Coni?" he asked, opening his eyes to stare into the leaping flames. "Is this how it hurt when you saw her in my arms in the stable?"

  Three times, Brelan thought. Three times he had given her over into the keeping of another. First Conar, then Galen, now Legion. What would transpire, he wondered, if something happened to A'Lex? Who was left for Tohre to hand her to?

  Me, he thought with a wild stab of hope shooting.

  But only if Legion A'Lex did not survive.

  It was a thought Brelan could not shake.

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  Four years was a long time to hide, he thought.

  A long time.

  He looked into the bright sunlight, squinting at the sharp clarity of its piercing fire. He felt sweat running from his body, felt the dryness in his mouth, tasted the acrid tang of its bitterness. Gazing at the multitude of cuts and scrapes and bruises on his dirty feet and legs, his hands, his arms, he shook his head. There were welts, gashes, the beginning of some rash.

  A long rip in the side of one breeches' leg was caked with dried blood. One heel on the boots lying beside him was gone from the once-shiny leathers. He was covered from head to toe with dirt and accumulated filth and his body odor made him gag. He could feel movement on his scalp and knew he had lice. There was some black, sticky residue under his chipped and broken fingernails and he remembered a headlong rush through blackberry vines that viciously pulled at his clothing and scratched him.

  Turning his head to his companion, he thought the man was no better off than him. He gently shook the other man.

  Tired brown eyes found his. Cracked lips tried to smile. "How close are they?"

  "Not far. They'll no doubt find us before nightfall, if not sooner."

  He heard the exhausted sigh, the giving in, the giving up. He sensed the fatalistic shrug of thin shoulders.

  The relentless sun had nearly blinded them both. They had not eaten for two days and it had been nearly twelve hours since they last had a drink of water, brackish though it had been. They were both bone-tired and terrified of what awaited them.

  "How many escaped, do you think?" the younger man asked.

  He lay on the hot sand and put an arm across his eyes to shield them from the glare of the midday sun, the heat. "Not many, if any at all."

  His companion lay down also, putting his head on his brother's shoulder, something he hadn't done since he was a boy of five or less. "We thought we could beat Kaileel Tohre."

  "We were wrong."

  "Others may still be fighting."

  "They'll lose everything just as we have." There was deep resentment, hard anger in the tired words and a kind of rapt sadness that overlay the helpless tone. A heavy sigh escaped the cracked lips. "Everything."

  "Do you think she'll be all right?" The question was rife with worry.

  "Legion will protect her. I have to believe he will keep her safe if he can."

  He sat up. He could hear the jingle of horse bridles close to them. Too close.

  "I miss her so much," came the youthful sigh. "I miss them all so much."

  The sound was louder now and the older man came unsteadily to his feet. He shaded his eyes and saw horsemen advancing toward them out of the sunset. A grim smile of resignation stretched his face. He reached down a hand to his younger brother. "It's time, Chandling."

  "Do you miss her, Grice?" Prince Chand Wynth asked. His mane of thick black hair was shaggy and dirty, hanging over the collar of his torn shirt. His thin face with its sharp chin was gaunt and pale.

  As he helped his brother to his feet, Prince Grice Wynth, now the heir to the throne of Oceania, ran a grimy hand through his own dirty black hair. "Aye, little brother. I miss her with all my heart." Brown eyes that normally would have sparkled with mirth were now hollow-rimmed with dark circles, the spark gone…perhaps forever. He was just a tad taller than his brother and he put his arm around the younger man and pulled him to his side. "We have to be brave for her."

  Chand raised his tired, aching head. "Conar endured his punishment," he answered, ignoring the frown on Grice's face at the mention of that name.

  "Aye, he did," were the last words he was able to speak before they were no longer alone.

  Both men stood wavering as the dozen or so horsemen encircled them, pinning them in, capturing the last two rebels of the resistance movement. After months of running, months of hiding, months of waiting, their time had come.

  Just as Conar's had.

  "You will be taken to the Labyrinth Prison Colony at Tyber's Isle where you will be incarcerated for life."

  They felt hard hands on their dirty arms and the words finally sank into their numb minds. It didn't matter, they both thought. Nothing would ever matter to either of them again. These were only words and words could not hurt them. It was what would follow the words that would hurt them, degrade them, kill the spirit, if not the body.

  They drew back their shoulders.

  Grice looked the leader of this Temple Guard contingent in the face. Dirty and hungry they might be, caught and helpless, they were, but they were still of the royal house of Oceania. Grice Wynth was, by all rights, King of his homeland.

  He extended his
hands to be manacled as though he was about to accept homage and fealty. His head rose high, his eyes became clear and alert, a gentleman even in defeat.

  * * *

  A few miles to the west, two other men sat manacled together in the pouring rain of Virago. They huddled along with five others who had been captured in the week past. All were hungry, tired, filthy, hurt in some way.

  Thunder rolled above them. Cold wind sharpened its claws in their shabby clothing. Not one among them had any doubt where they were going. They could see the ship through the rolling rain. The soldiers among them had once harbored visions of a quick execution, but because of their ties to her, they now knew better. They wished with all their heart that death might find them yet. They couldn't look at one another.

  How foolish it all seemed now. There had never been a chance, not from the beginning, but they had had to try.

  For her.

  For him.

  For his precious children.

  Hours passed. The rains on the dock came harder from the cold sky. The ground became drenched; thick slides of mud squished under their backsides. The sound of muffled hooves splattering the mud caught their attention, and they turned their heads.

  Two men were thrown from the horses. Guards dragged them to the other huddled men by the docks. They were shackled to the nearest man.

  "Can you hear me?" one of the men asked the new arrivals after the guards had returned to the warmth and safety of their hut.

  "Aye." The voice was weak, but full of hate.

  "Did they tell you where you're going?"

  A humorless laugh echoed under the distant boom of thunder. "There was never any doubt where, friend; it was just a matter of when."

  "I don't suppose there are any others of the royal bloodlines left fighting, then?" a calm voice asked the newcomers.

  "I have heard the kingdoms of Necroman and Chrystallus have banded together to form a strong line of defense protecting their countries. The rest of us have met our end, I guess." Grice began to pray, something he did a lot of, as of late.

  "Don't I know you?" Chand asked, squinting through the pouring rain, looking at the man to whom they had been shackled.

  "Aye, Your Grace. The name is Sentian Heil. The man next to me is Ward Summerall. We were part of his Elite."

  Chand nodded. "How did you come to be caught? I thought you were with our sister at Ivor."

  "Tohre realized I was too much of a danger to him."

  "How so?" Grice asked.

  "I was your sister's man."

  "I don't understand," Chand admitted.

  "It's not important. I'm no good to her here." His voice lowered. "Or where I'm going."

  "How's your eyesight, Grice?" an amused voice called.

  "Good enough to recognize you, Rylan Hesar," Grice snorted. "I see Chase Montyne of Ionary over there. Who's the runt beside you?"

  A guffaw of humor erupted and the man indicated shifted his weight in the oozing mud. "Screw you, Wynth."

  "Heard you were suppose to be one of the best swordsmen in the world, Brell." Grice drew up his knees and laid his head on them. He was tired. So very, very tired.

  Prince Tyne Brell of Chale thrust out his chin. "I am the best."

  "Then how'd you get your ass caught?"

  There was a moment of silence before Prince Paegan Hesar of Virago answered for him. "He saved my life, Grice. Mine and Rylan's. The bastard who captured us didn't believe we were the heirs to the Viragonian throne. It seems a lot of men have died while claiming they were royalty."

  "Aye, royalty gets sent to prison. Ain't we lucky!" Prince Rylan Hesar, heir apparent to the throne, first cousin of the Serenian royal family, snarled.

  "If I'd known where I was going," Tyne hissed, "I'd have claimed I was a serf!"

  "Who's that asleep at the end of the line?" Chand asked. He sneezed and wiped his nose on his filthy shirt. He had caught a blazing cold.

  Chase Montyne looked at the man beside him. "I don't know who he is, but he ain't asleep. He's dead."

  Grice shuddered. They might all be dead soon. He hoped with all his heart that would be the case.

  The men continued to talk quietly among themselves as rain fell in ever-increasing force. They turned their gazes to the black-masts of the ship that rode at anchor near them and their hearts thudded painfully in their chests. They didn't need to be able to read the name on the bow to know it. She was the Vortex. Bound for Tyber's Isle and the hellhole known as the Labyrinth.

  No food was brought to them. No water. No medical attention. No trip to relieve their throbbing bladders. They were prisoners, not royalty, not soldiers of the crowns of their homeland.

  They were now just so much flotsam in a sea of misery.

  Chapter 5

  * * *

  Legion stood in the Temple doorway and watched his young nephew. He wondered for the hundredth time why he had never seen this likeness before. There was no way Corbin could be Galen's child, he was sure of it. The small head held tight blond curls. The little chin in the round face already showed signs of a cleft. And the eyes were as blue as Conar's had been. Looking at Corbin was like going back in time.

  Legion leaned against the wall and let out a ragged sigh. "How could I not have known?"

  Because you didn't want to know.

  He guessed that was partially true. The clues had been all around. Liza's marriage to a man she hated, the babe coming early, Galen's abject horror when Tohre took the boy.

  Why had he not seen it?

  Because it was easier to blame her than to try to understand.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. He looked into Brelan Saur's face.

  "You knew." It was an accusation.

  Brelan nodded. "She asked me not to tell. If I had, you and I might well have gotten her to safety in Chrystallus with Aunt Dyreil. I should have listened to my heart, not my head."

  "She married Galen for nothing! Tohre obviously knew who Corbin was."

  "She thought she was doing the right thing. Who knows? Maybe she did." Brelan glanced at the boy as he sat with two Priests who guarded him night and day. "He hasn't been harmed."

  "Not yet."

  "Not ever, if we can do anything about it."

  Legion scowled at him. "He would have the child, if not the father. That makes me ill."

  "What it has all come down to is Conar, hasn't it? His wife. His children. The things we have done to try to protect his wife and his children."

  "And not a one left, save Corbin and Wyn, and only the gods know where that boy is."

  "I have bad news," Brelan said.

  "I'm not sure I can take any more bad news."

  "Grice and Chand were captured yesterday."

  Legion shook his head. "Alel help them."

  "Hern left this morning. I tried to stop him, but you know Hern. It wouldn't surprise me if he wound up at the Labyrinth."

  "Why?" Legion's voice was incredulous. "Why would he do such a thing?"

  "Sentian and Belvoir were captured, too. I guess he thinks he can help if he can get there."

  "And just how the hell would he accomplish…" Legion stopped, shook his head. "He'd do it despite hell and high water, wouldn't he?"

  Brelan grinned. "I would imagine."

  Running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, Legion's blue eyes were full of misery. "I wish I knew what had happened to Coron and Dyllon. I spoke with a man who says he saw them on the Boreas Queen, but I had Hern question the ship's captain. He denied knowing anything."

  A memory tugged at Brelan's mind. He tried to grasp it, but Legion's next question made the memory flee.

  "You know Tohre has set the wedding date for next Tuesday?" Concern creased Legion's handsome face.

  "And you know how I feel about your wedding, don't you?"

  Legion thrust his hands into the waistband of his breeches and stared at the floor. "I am very much aware."

  Brelan's voice had a hard edge. "And are you aware she is c
arrying my child?"

  Legion flinched. Within the past few months the two brothers had become close, but to anyone looking at them now, that would not appear likely. Legion's face was hard, brittle; Brelan's look was full of challenge. "She is expecting your child?"

  "She is." There was belligerence in Brelan's tone.

  "It won't make any difference. Tohre will give her to me because I am firstborn." His look narrowed. "When did this happen?"

  "Does it matter?"

  Legion looked back at his nephew. "I suppose not."

  "I love her. I have loved her for a long time, but I suspect it has been the same with you."

  A sad smile touched A'Lex's hard mouth. "And she will always love Conar. We are poor substitutes, wouldn't you agree?"

  Brelan bristled. "Maybe to you, you are."

  Legion didn't want a fight and could see one hovering in Brelan's dark face. He shrugged. "Are you going to Ivor to fetch her back?"

  "Teal took her to Ivor and he'll be the one to bring her back!"

  "That's where it happened, isn't it?"

  "Tohre sent her under heavy guard to Ivor to get her away from me and you. He wanted her separated from anyone who could help her. He didn't count on me getting to her." A fire started in Brelan's eyes. "He'll never be able to keep her from me!"

  "You aren't coming to the Joining, are you?"

  Brelan's face turned granite-hard. "What do you think?"

  Watching his brother stride angrily away, Legion knew it wasn't him that Brelan was angry with. And he also knew his brother's pain ran deeper than his own, for come the following week, Liza would belong to him, not Brelan.

  Legion made his way to the keep's library. Closing the door behind him, he walked to the windows that looked out over the garden.

  "It's going to happen, Coni. Just as you wanted."

  Leaning his forehead against the cold glass, A'Lex closed his eyes and allowed the memory, one he had tried so hard to keep at bay, to come.

  "Find her for me," Conar asked. "When you do, I will betroth her to you."

  "You don't mean that!" Legion protested.