Cruel Enchantment (Black Lace)

by Janine Ashbless

  ‘Ghouls?’ the innkeeper said warily. ‘Where?’

  ‘One night out from the Bindar Well. We were camped and they came under cover of darkness. All our party were slain, except myself and this Kledish woman –’ she nodded over her shoulder ‘– who was also travelling in the party. I have employed her as my guide and my bodyguard, to bring me to this haven.’

  As she spoke, Jhearl saw in her mind’s eye the dull glow of the camp-fire, the dark figures struggling over it, the flash of steel in the torchlight. She remembered again the rock pressed into her face, the weight of Ambele on her pinning her to the earth, the salty taste of her hand clamped over her mouth, the pain of the other woman’s fingers tightening on her arm as figure after figure around the distant fire slumped to the ground until there were none left standing but the naked dog-faced ghouls first capering triumphantly and then hunching over the corpses of the fallen. Though she herself had lost no one in the skirmish but two slaves and her mule, Jhearl still felt cold at the memory. Her shudder was not dissembled.

  The innkeeper’s eyes were wide now. ‘You survived the attack? I have never heard of such luck.’

  ‘We were not by the camp-fire when the attack came,’ Jhearl said haughtily. She had gone out on to the darkened hillside to relieve her bladder in private and her path had crossed Ambele’s on the way back. She remembered how she had jumped at the first sight of that black figure climbing between the boulders, thinking she had been followed by one of the men from the caravan.

  ‘And you have walked a long road,’ the innkeeper said, ‘if you came from Bindar Well on foot.’

  ‘We came across the hills,’ Jhearl agreed wearily. ‘I did not think it wise to use the road any more, alone and with only one guard.’

  He nodded, his manner easing visibly now. ‘There is a good room free,’ he said, ‘if you will show me your money in advance.’ He indicated the interior of the building and Jhearl stepped forwards with a gracious smile. In fact, she was stung by her need to justify herself in public to a rustic innkeeper, and ashamed of her ragged clothes and dirty cast – but she would not have shown her self-disgust for anything in the world.

  ‘Will your guard sleep in the common room?’ the innkeeper asked. Ambele stood like a rock in the courtyard.

  Jhearl raised her arched brows. A lone woman lying in the straw of the common lodging would not dare to sleep all night. ‘She’ll share the room with me,’ she instructed.

  ‘Very good,’ said the innkeeper, and led the way into the shadowy depths of the building.

  The room was, to Jhearl’s relief, quite acceptable, though by her tastes rather bare. A shuttered window let slants of yellow evening light in to stripe the stone-flagged floor. The wooden bed, its fleece mattress covered with a blue woollen blanket, looked roomy and clean. Jhearl told the innkeeper to turn his back while she lifted her torn skirt and fished from beneath it the purse strapped to her thigh. ‘Thank you, lady,’ the man said as he accepted her coins.

  Ambele threw her water-skin into a corner and crossed to look out of the window.

  ‘Have you a bathing-tub in this place?’ Jhearl asked. ‘I want to rid myself of that part of the desert which I am still carrying.’

  ‘I’ll have a bath brought in to your room,’ the innkeeper promised, quite servile now that he had seen the size of her purse. Jhearl’s practice was to travel nowhere without enough coin to buy herself out of trouble – a habit left over from days when respect was a rarer gift than gold.

  ‘Find me clean clothes, too, if you would, and a comb. And for her.’

  ‘Of course. I will have your meals sent to this room as well.’

  Jhearl shook her head at this; she had had enough of silence and near-solitude. ‘No; if you have a bar-room that is fit for a woman to eat in, then we will dine there.’

  ‘As you prefer, lady,’ the innkeeper said, turning to leave.

  She hesitated briefly and then said, before she lost her chance, ‘The inn does not seem over-crowded. Do you have many guests at this time?’

  He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Not tonight. At this time of the year it is not steady trade – but in a week’s time we might be full, if a big caravan comes through. You can never be sure.’

  ‘Ah. There is no one here from Kuranes’ army then?’

  ‘No, lady.’ He paused as if awaiting her next question, but when she glanced away he retreated and closed the door.

  Jhearl went and sat upon the bed. It felt soft enough to fulfil her every need that night – though by now she knew she could sleep upon bare rock. She sighed to herself and looked over at Ambele, who was gazing motionless out of the window. The stillness of the Kledish woman was something that Jhearl had not yet grown used to, that ability to suspend all animation and become a part of the desert background whenever no movement was necessary. Jhearl was aware that she was actually rather nervous of the tall woman. Her strangeness; her silence; her closed-off, guarded glance that betrayed no emotion. Jhearl was used to reading people and knowing how to act for them – she knew exactly what any man wanted within minutes, she prided herself – but Ambele was a mystery.

  ‘Does this place suit you, then?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Well enough.’ Ambele’s leather armour creaked as she turned. ‘It is good to sleep tonight without listening for danger.’

  ‘Where will you go from here?’ Jhearl enquired, a little shyly.

  Her hireling shrugged. ‘I do not know. I brought you here; you are alive. Now I have to find my own people. One cloud does not last long in the sky. But they are a long way from here, south, at this time. I will join a new caravan at this place.’

  ‘Well, while I am here, I will pay for your lodging,’ Jhearl said. ‘It is only fair. I brought you to this inn.’ She had a reputation in Celephais; beggars considered her heartless, servants demanding. Her generosity was never unearned, but to those who served her loyally she was unstinting.

  Ambele tilted her proud head back and looked at her narrowly. ‘You are meeting someone here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jhearl with caution. ‘A friend.’ She was startled at this, almost the first question Ambele had asked of her. There might have been more to come, but instead both women turned towards the door as they heard the rumble of thunder in the passageway beyond. It rose to a grumbling roar and then the door was knocked upon and opened. A middle-aged woman, needle-eyed and brisk, ushered in two men rolling a huge wooden half-tub, exactly like the bottom part of a wine-press. This was tipped noisily on to its base in the open centre of the room. Jhearl was impressed by its size, and by the speed with which other servants hurried in with buckets of water to fill it. The old woman folded on to the wooden clothes-chest two rough towels that had been draped over her arm, and placed on top of them a lamp, a bunch of twiggy green herbage and a jar of soap. The last person to enter the room was a little slave girl who carefully laid out a selection of dresses upon the bed. Jhearl nodded. The hiss of water slopping into the tub ceased and the old woman rounded up her underlings with a clap of her hands before following them out, all without saying a word to the paying guests.

  Jhearl eyed the tub with pleasure and dipped her fingers into the water. It was clear and tepid, delightful after the heat of the day. ‘See that no one else enters the room,’ she told Ambele, then as the other woman went and stood against the door she loosed her clothing and let the filthy dress slide to the floor. She kicked free of the silk rags and stepped into the tub, sinking gratefully into the cool embrace of the waters. She could not stretch out flat, but she found she could sit comfortably enough with all but her knees – pink and a little scarred now – and shoulders submerged, the little wavelets lapping about the swell of her plump breasts. She let out a sigh of relief, reached up to her hair and pulled it free of the knot it had been in for over a week now. It fell to her shoulders like tarnished sunlight. She ducked briefly under the surface to let the waters wash her hot scalp and rose streaming water and gold. She pu
shed her wet hair back from her face and looked over at the doorway.

  Ambele, her back against the door and her spear propped nearby, was undoing the strapping that held her armour on, absorbed in the knots. She glanced up in time for their gazes to meet and Jhearl, to her own astonishment, looked quickly away. She felt suddenly self-conscious about being naked in front of another, a sensation quite titillating in its novelty. The cool water had made her nipples tighten and now they broke the surface like little pebbles. Jhearl turned away, hiding her confusion in the action of reaching for the jar of soap. Her mind was suddenly racing.

  It was fine and expensive soap, scented with rose-petals. Jhearl scooped a handful from the stone jar and began to rub it into her skin. The wet slipperiness of it on her flesh was pleasant, as was the sensation of her own fingers expertly rubbing the sore muscles beneath. She massaged around her neck and collar-bones, into her armpits and down the gently curved line of her belly. Her flesh was both hot and cold, firm and soft, depending on where her fingers explored. She lathered up both hands and massaged her breasts in a double grasp, hefting the cool weight of them, feeling the cold jewellery slip through her fingers. She rubbed each toe individually and then had to kneel up in the tub in order to reach down between her thighs, and from behind between the plump curves of her buttocks, to soap the hot folds of her sex. She found that despite the cool water she was slippery there even before the addition of soap. She rubbed her pubic mound slowly, stirring the trimmed golden fleece, and glanced deliberately over at Ambele.

  The dark woman stood watching, her muscular arms folded over a thin, stained shirt. Her face was impassive, but her eyes did not flinch away when Jhearl turned. She did not partake of that studied carelessness that women affect when they are naked together, looking quickly elsewhere as if to say, ‘Breasts? – no, I hadn’t noticed. Why should I? They don’t mean anything to me.’ Ambele might have been fascinated, or she might have been contemptuously indifferent, but she was not pretending that she did not see.

  Jhearl sank back into her pool and unhurriedly soaped face and hair, swirling them clean before arising again with a gasp. Then she reached out for a handful of the twiggy herbs that had been brought with the bath and began to scour her arms and legs with them. The crushed leaves gave up a bitter green scent. The dirt was stripped from her now and her skin felt like it was singing. She was almost finished.

  ‘Would you scrub my back?’ she asked Ambele.

  Without a word, the mercenary took the herbs from her dripping hand and kneeled behind her. Jhearl straightened her back, felt a slop of cold soap hit it and then Ambele’s long, strong fingers start to rub it in. The first jolt of desire tripped through her like a hot coal jumping from a fire. She had to bite her lip to keep from making a noise that would betray her. Jhearl was familiar with sex; to her it was a skilled craft, complex and nowadays even pleasurable – but the sick dizziness of desire was something she thought she had forgotten long ago.

  Ambele’s hands moved up to her tight shoulders and massaged soap into the base of her neck.

  ‘Uh,’ Jhearl breathed. ‘That’s good.’

  The twiggy claws of the scrubbing-brush raked her spine, stabbing her with pleasure, stripping the ache from her bruised flesh. When she had finished that, Ambele dropped the leaves aside and put both hands lightly on Jhearl’s shoulders. ‘What do these mean?’ she asked, leaning close, her warm breath tickling the bather’s ear as she reached down over Jhearl’s shoulder with one hand and flipped the silver ring that pierced her right nipple. Jhearl fought a shudder. All the skin across her breasts tightened and her nipples lifted, out-thrust and swollen.

  ‘They don’t mean anything,’ she managed to say. Desire was so strong in her it felt like fear, constricting her throat. ‘I wear them for decoration. And because it feels good.’

  ‘Oh?’ Ambele said. There was a new edge of amusement in her voice. She caught the silver ring between thumb and forefinger and tugged gently, drawing the nipple out with threads of fire. Jhearl gave a tiny whimper.

  Ambele chuckled, a rich unexpected sound that made a pulse jump in Jhearl’s groin. And then she was gone and a waft of cold air had taken her place. Jhearl turned quickly to see her bodyguard standing again, holding out one of the towels towards her. Dizzy with colliding emotions, Jhearl stood and took the towel. She wrapped it around herself and stepped from the tub. Ambele’s gaze was cool and open.

  ‘Do you wish to bathe?’ Jhearl asked. Ambele looked dubiously at the now scented and cloudy water.

  ‘A river is better,’ she said. ‘But you must never waste water.’ So saying, she pulled the shirt over her head and unfurled the leopard-skin from about her waist. Jhearl dried the last moisture from her face and neck, feeling her blood thump in her throat. Ambele, her skin the same colour as her breast-plate had been, hardly looked naked; there was no vulnerability about her as she stepped into the pool and sank to her knees, just grace and confidence. She cupped her hands to sluice water over her face and back, her palms flashing pale against her thighs as she stooped.

  ‘Shall I soap your back?’ Jhearl offered, her throat dry.

  Ambele cast her a surprised glance, but shrugged one shoulder, striped where the water had cut the pale dust on her skin, and settled down deeper into the water. Jhearl tucked her towel in under her armpit, took up a handful of cold soap and began to rub the scented glop into Ambele’s muscular shoulders. Ambele relaxed after the first touch and leaned forwards against her thighs, letting Jhearl’s small but expert hands knead the tension from her.

  ‘You are good at that,’ she murmured at length.

  ‘Practice,’ said Jhearl, moving down to the biceps. There was hardly any fat on Ambele at all, her muscles hard and sharply defined under the hairless skin. Jhearl wanted to bite the smooth ridges beneath her hands. She moved around the side of the tub until she was facing Ambele as she worked on each arm in turn, then, gently, without a break in her rhythm, shifted her touch to the top of the breastbone, to the pectorals. She dropped a new fingerful of soap between Ambele’s breasts and began to massage that across the deep ravine. Her eyes lifted briefly to meet Ambele’s; the Kledish woman was staring at her, wary but unresisting. Jhearl demurely dropped her gaze and ran both hands over the soft peaks, working up a lather with dextrous fingers. She felt the big nipples harden under her palms and encouraged them with circular caresses, the slippery flesh sliding and quivering under her grasp.

  Ambele let out a pent breath with a sigh.

  ‘Good?’ asked Jhearl in a low voice.

  ‘Good,’ Ambele admitted, almost reluctantly. She leaned back against the side of the tub and watched Jhearl work. The towel wrapped about her employer’s torso had slipped, freeing her round breasts. The silver rings in her pierced nipples danced, flashing, as those pale orbs jounced and quivered.

  Jhearl rolled the other woman’s nipples between thumb and forefinger and Ambele gave a sound like a purr. Suddenly she seemed to submit to the pleasure; her eyes shut and she tilted her head back, her shoulders sagging. Jhearl pressed her advantage further, tugging and pinching gently, raking paths through the soap with teasing fingertips.

  ‘May my husband’s ghost forgive me,’ Ambele said sadly, ‘but you are better than him at this.’

  ‘You were married?’ Jhearl asked. She wanted to press those breasts together and take the twin nipples in her hot mouth. She wanted to delve under the water to the weed-lined grotto beneath.

  ‘He died at the Bindar Well,’ Ambele said softly. ‘The other man with us was his brother.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jhearl with genuine sadness. ‘I’m sorry.’ She leaned forwards and kissed Ambele softly upon the lips. Ambele’s eyes flew open; brown gazed into blue.

  At that moment there was a loud knock upon the door. Jhearl jerked to her feet and grabbed her towel around her.

  ‘Lady,’ came a male voice from the other side, ‘Your food is ready when you want it served.’

  ‘Goo
d,’ said Jhearl dizzily. ‘Of course. I will be a few minutes.’ She heard a heaving splash behind her.

  ‘Lady,’ the voice repeated, quieter now as if in confidence, ‘There is a man here who asks if you are Jhearl of Celephais …’

  Jhearl moved to the door and stared at the blank wood. ‘I am,’ she said in a low voice, barely enough to carry through the barrier.

  ‘He has been here several days. He says he has been waiting with a message for you. He says the message is from an old friend of yours.’

  ‘Ah.’ Jhearl lifted her head, frowning. ‘You may tell him that I shall be pleased to speak to him when I dine,’ she instructed.

  ‘As you wish, Lady. A table is prepared for you.’

  Heavy footsteps retreated down the corridor. Jhearl stared at the whorls and knots in the wood for a few moments more, as if trying to read their strange script. Nyan was not here, then. She felt let down, though some concern leavened the dough. But he had sent a messenger. That was good; better than no word at all.

  She turned back into the room. Ambele was standing with her back to her, rubbing the thick sheaf of her hair through a towel. She had already wrapped a white cloth around her, tying it over one shoulder. It sheathed her from shoulder to ankle, clinging damply where it touched across her hard, flat buttocks, a cool white tubular barrier to eye and hand. Jhearl bit her lip against her sharp pang of disappointment.

  ‘Let’s go and eat, now,’ she said softly. ‘We are both hungry.’ That was an understatement; for over a week now they had subsisted on what game Ambele had been able to spear – small rodents, mostly – together with stringy desert tubers and a handful of dried dates that she had carried in her purse, all of it cooked roughly over an open fire or not at all. Only the desert heat had smothered Jhearl’s hunger-pangs, and now that she had cooled it was hard to ignore them.

  Ambele’s face was closed once more when she turned, a blank mask from the deep places of Kled. It was as if a spell had been broken and the enchantment which had animated her and warmed them both had faded under the evening shadows.