A Warrior's Heart

by DL O'Neal

  Drakthe frowned, something niggling at the back of his mind. He shrugged off the disturbing sensation and continued with the story.

  "The Krees disappeared more than two chiliad ago. Or so legend claims. Not much more is known about it."

  "What about the Sheathe? Do you know what happened to it?"

  "Cheyna, it never existed," he began, an unaccustomed gentleness in his voice. At her pleading look, he gave in with a sigh. "No one does. The Great Lord's line had the keeping of it. When they died, the Crystal Sheathe disappeared. So they say."

  "What do you think happened to it?"

  "If it ever existed," he clarified, "I think they converted it to drekel centuries ago and just maintained the illusion of protecting it."

  "My lord! You cannot mean that!"

  He shot her a hard look. "You asked for my opinion. You have it. What did you want me to say, bondwife? That the Great Lord's line protected it with their last breath?" He shook his head in disgust. "Jkael, not another person on the face of this planet is as naive as you. Not even the children. They at least know the stories of the Crystal Sheathe and Krees are just that--stories."

  "What of the power said to surround them? Do you not believe in that either?"

  "The power exists because of the legends, House-daughter, not the other way around." The expression in Cheyna's blue eyes made him wince. His exasperated tone softened.

  "Look, Cheyna. Maybe they did exist. Once. Maybe they were just lost over the ages." Jkael, now she had him telling fairietales. Drakthe shook his head in silent disbelief.

  Cheyna shook her head in fierce disagreement, unable to still her protest. "Oh, they exist, my lord. People have just forgotten how to believe."

  Though not everyone, Cheyna reminded herself silently. Not if the rumors Slia and Sbraithe had related were accurate. She decided a change in subject was in order. "My lord, if we are to transport herbs back to Class, why do we not have pack animals with us?"

  The dark frown shadowing Drakthe's expression disappeared as the topic of the Sheathe and Krees was left behind. "Because it is not necessary that we transport an entire train's worth of herbs. All I--we need is a token amount to prove the validity of the contract. I will dispatch several trade-trains when we return to Class. If we do happen to need a pack animal, we'll purchase a taiger from a Guild at the Agora."

  "What of the difficulties we have had on the Plains? Would not another trade-train experience the same?" She gazed out over the never-ending shimmer of sand. No matter what direction she looked, everything appeared the same to her--flat, empty and deceptively safe. How would a trade-train ever find its way?

  "I've taken care to note the changes to the trail on this trip. Shouldn't be a problem, but if I have to I will lead the train myself. Besides," he muttered, "most of the difficulties should clear up once I have the contract in hand."

  Cheyna gasped, shocked. "You cannot mean you suspect the NaturPaths of deliberately laying traps for travelers?"

  He slanted her a glance full of derision. "I suppose I'm to believe it is sheer coincidence the Plains became untraversable just at the time the NaturPaths closed all trade?"

  Put that way, it did sound unreasonable. Unwilling to concede he was right, however, she set her chin mutinously and challenged, "And I suppose I am to believe a Guild that devotes its existence to healing and life would, with wilful disregard, create circumstances designed to kill?"

  Cheyna started as Drakthe reached out a hand to grasp her taiger's bridle, drawing both animals to a halt. He leaned over her until his face was very close to hers. The scent of hot sand, hot animal, and hot man filled her nostrils. It was not an unpleasant scent. Far from it. It evoked memories of ebony darkness and being enveloped in the heated strength of Drakthe's passion. A responding tingle of warmth flared in the pit of her stomach.

  "Go ahead and believe in the goodness of others, bondwife. Just don't be too disappointed when my suspicions and not your faith keeps us alive." His mouth covered hers with fierce resolve, his tongue insinuating its way inside with arrogant surety.

  The dark thread of evil didn't even try to hide behind mounting passion this time. Darting past her lowered barriers, it drove deep for the recesses of her mind.

  Wave after wave of agonizing pain undulated from the violated sections of her mind. Cheyna struck out, mentally and physically.

  "No!" she screamed in her thoughts, pushing sharply at Drakthe's chest.

  He reeled backward from the dual assault. "What the--?" he began, his hand dropping from the female taiger's bridle to his animal's shoulder. Catching his balance, he glared at her, his hand unconsciously lifting to his temple.

  The touch in her mind fled as night fled from day. Intending to tell him of the touch, to make him listen this time, she met a furious gold gaze. She swallowed instead.

  "Mind telling me what in the name of the Saints that was all about, House-daughter?"

  Her intentions melted under the silken fury of his tone. She just couldn't face his ridicule. Licking her lips, she racked her brains for a plausible explanation.

  "I--I thought I heard something." Heat rushed up and scalded her cheeks. Oh, Jkael, she had just told Drakthe an outright lie. The painful heat spread and burned hotter.

  Drakthe lifted an openly skeptical brow. "Oh, really? Just where did you hear this noise?" An encompassing wave of his arm took in the level plain, unleavened by even a bush or rock.

  "I--I am not sure." Cheyna stared at her hands. Shame threatened to melt her on the spot.

  "Well, don't worry, House-daughter. You won't have to worry about hearing any more noises. I understand perfectly."

  Back stiff, he kicked his animal into a gallop.

  Drakthe observed as his bondwife used her taiger as an excuse to linger away from the warmth of the fire. Away from him, he amended savagely, fury twisting his stomach into a painful knot. She couldn't have made it any plainer that she wanted nothing more to do with him. His bondwife had even compromised her precious integrity and lied to get away from his touch. What else did he expect, Drakthe derided, he a houseless bastard and she a House-daughter?

  Who had more in common than even he had dared to dream.

  Rich memories of his bonding night, of lessons in Sai and Kai, of her fire and fury at the hot pools slipped into his brooding. The desire to go on a rampage, to find something and tear it apart, slowly drained away. Drakthe stared into the darkness.

  What else, indeed.

  Certainly not what had happened today on the trail, not after her attempt last eve to reassure him that she didn't think him a bastard. He could feel the icy core at the center of his soul, just starting to thaw under the gentle warmth of Cheyna's acceptance, refreezing. The coldness was a familiar sensation, one that had been with him ever since he could remember, only he couldn't remember ever being quite so aware of it before.

  He had Cheyna to thank for that.

  She finally ventured into the circle of light provided by the fire. She settled across from him, refusing to meet his eyes as he handed her a platter of food. He was reminded of a small animal hoping to avoid notice by a predator.

  "Is it much farther, my lord, until we reach the NaturPaths?"

  He closed his hand with sudden violence about his fork. Always it came back to the NaturPaths. "Why, House-daughter? Contemplating leaving me when we get there?" Cheyna's head jerked up, her gaze meeting the fierceness of his before darting down to her plate.

  "No, my lord."

  His teeth gritted together. Her second lie. Enough was enough. Drakthe placed his plate on the ground with undue care and surged to his feet in a single motion.

  "If you're finished playing with your food," he said, taking the plate out of her hand, "then it's time to retire to an arena in which I know you don't lie." She only had time to utter a startled gasp before he pinned her back to the pallet.

  "No, wait, my lord. You must not."

  Drakthe cut her protest short with the power o
f his kiss. He didn't bother wasting time on subtleties. His tongue forged into the dark warmth of her mouth even as his hand found the softness of her breast.

  Cheyna arched and felt herself weakening, surrendering to the familiar potent force of her bondhusband's desire, when a ribbon of black fire seared through her brain.

  She moaned and shoved weakly at the massive shoulders looming over her. Oh, dear Saints, the intrusion was going to kill her this time.

  He lifted his mouth a fraction. "Don't fight me tonight, bondwife, for I can't guarantee the results if you do," he said, his words thick with warning. "Forget the NaturPaths. Forget the herbs. Forget that cursed Crystal Sheathe and Krees. All you need to think about tonight is me. Where my hands are. Where my mouth is. What I'm doing to you. What you want me to do to you. You're going to see, smell, taste and feel only me tonight. There'll be room for nothing else. That I promise you. Tonight no mysterious voices will be whispering in your head. All you'll hear is my voice as I tell you what I want to do, what I am doing to you, what I want you to do to me."

  Cheyna only partially heard his dark promise. All her energies were focused inward, focused on building protective barriers and slowly edging that malevolent presence out of her mind. If only Drakthe would move away for a moment.

  She rolled her head fretfully and shoved again. If he would just give her the opportunity to repel that presence without distraction.

  She wanted to explain, to make him understand the danger, but just couldn't muster the strength to combat Drakthe and the forced mindlink at the same time. So she did the only thing she could; she withdrew into her mind.

  Despair washed over Drakthe at Cheyna's passive submission. His bondwife no longer tried to push him away, but all her fire, all her passion, was gone. Anger vied with desire.

  The closer they came to the Agora, the more his bondwife attempted to distance herself from him. Well, he wasn't going to let her. They were bonded and he intended to remind her of that fact in the most basic way he knew.

  Determined to get a response from her, Drakthe intensified his seductive assault, using every scrap of knowledge he had of her body against her.

  Her burnuese and travel tunic melted away, leaving her clothed only in the shimmering light of Scimtar's twin moons and the flickering shadows of the fire. He covered the point of her breast with his mouth, teasing and tormenting the darkened aureole with his tongue until it hardened. Drakthe lifted his head and stared down at her. Satisfied with the result, he turned his attention to her other breast, giving it the same thorough attention.

  A small quiver shuddered through her. Drakthe felt a surge of triumph. He could make her respond. He slid down her body until he was cupping her sleek hips in his hands, his warm breath caressing the fiery curls at the apex of her thighs.

  "That's it, bondwife," he urged as, with a little shiver rippling just under her skin, Cheyna parted her legs to make a place for him. "You want me. Tell me, bondwife. Let me hear you admit it."

  She remained silent, but her arms came around him to cling with a fierce strength. Drakthe didn't push for an admission as he fell under the spell he was weaving.

  Later, Drakthe studied his bondwife as she slept, a hard, leaden knot in the center of his chest. Cheyna had finally given in and became hot, clinging and receptive but, sated and utterly exhausted, he was left with the sinking knowledge something was lacking.

  His bondwife was holding a part of herself aloof from him.

  Drakthe ached to hit something. Despite doing everything he could think of to stop it, his bondwife was slowly, steadily slipping away from him.

  In the middle of the barren plains, the sprawling stronghold shimmered to life. One moment it wasn't there, the next it was.

  The Agora.

  The sight always gave Drakthe an uneasy feeling. Like it had peered into his soul and decided he was not worthy of stepping inside its walls.

  He studied its blunt, iridescent walls and towering spires. An uncomfortable shiver slid down his spine. He had a bad feeling about going inside those blank walls.

  Much to his disgust, Cheyna loved the Agora the moment she set eyes on it.

  "Just don't sit there with your mouth hanging open, bondwife. Let's get this over with," he growled.

  Her whole attention focused ahead, she ignored his bad mood. "I did not realize it would be so large. How many Guilds reside within, my lord?"

  Drakthe's back teeth ground together. His bondwife's fascination with the Agora and all it held was fast passing a sore point and becoming an outright irritant. "Each métier has representation."

  "Will they recognize us?"

  "Yes."

  She finally dragged her attention away from the Agora and focused on him. "How do you know?"

  "Because they let us get this far," he muttered.

  Her mouth dropped. "Do you mean to tell me you still believe the NaturPaths' responsible for all our travails on this journey? Including the storm?"

  "Yes."

  She snorted in delicate derision at his uncompromising answer. "Then, my lord," she pointed out, more than a touch of astringence in her voice, "you are in effect saying you believe the NaturPaths possess the ability to manipulate the very elements, but not the ability to touch another's mind?"

  "Yes. No. Don't start with me House-daughter." Drakthe shifted in the saddle so he could direct the full force of his scowl toward Cheyna's tauntingly serene face. "Not now. Not when we are so close to our goal." He smiled with grim satisfaction when she lowered her lashes in acquiescence.

  "Speaking of goals, have you got the terms I'm willing to accept straight? I do not want you bargaining my profit away," he instructed, savoring a spurt of dark satisfaction when she glared at him.

  "Our profit, my lord," she reminded him with stubborn insistence. Her expression changed, a subtle amusement lighting the blue eyes from within. "Besides, my lord, if I can bargain a contract with the great Merchant Master for half his profits, what chances do a bunch of women committed to nonviolence and poor business practices have?"

  Drakthe wasn't amused. "Just remember, bondwife, I have no such commitment."

  "My lord--Drakthe?" Cheyna addressed the saddle horn. "You pride yourself on your logic, do you not?"

  Drakthe agreed warily, wondering what his House-daughter was up to now.

  "My lord, I feel, as your bondwife, it is my duty to inform you that, at times, you are the most illogical man I have ever met." She tapped her heels against her taiger's sides and urged the animal through the opening gates, a most unserene smile spreading across her face.

  No one appeared to pay any attention to them as they rode through the gates, just as though they were an expected trade party on a regular trade mission.

  All of Drakthe's nerves bolted to attention.

  "Stick close to me," he told Cheyna in a low aside.

  "Drakthe, they are not going to hurt us."

  "Argue with me on this, bondwife, and we'll leave this instant." His gaze roved the courtyard, making careful note of the nooks, crannies and locations of seemingly unconcerned Guild members.

  It was too normal.

  "You will lose your chance of founding your own House if you leave without a contract," Cheyna reminded him.

  He leveled a feral grin, lacking even the merest grain of amusement, at her. "In which case, my one pleasure shall be in reminding you that because you couldn't follow orders I lost my profit." He heard her sigh, and knew he had won.

  "You would."

  "In a heartbeat. So what is it going to be, bondwife? Do we stay or leave?"

  "We stay."

  Satisfied, he led the way to the Keeper's Office. His unease slipped up another notch when he saw the small coterie of NaturPaths waiting for them beside the hitching posts. The NaturPaths were nothing if not bound by custom.

  Custom did not dictate an escort.

  Keeping his face impassive, Drakthe helped Cheyna to dismount and followed the NaturPaths to the small
building that housed the Keeper's Office.

  "You will retire to the guest lodge."

  Drakthe swiveled his head around. His eyes narrowed on the speaker. "I will wait outside the Keeper's Office as is custom," he corrected softly.

  The NaturPath, a small, frail woman of undetermined years refused to back down. "It is the wish of the Keeper that you partake of the hospitality awaiting you in your assigned chambers. The trip has been a harsh one."

  "And just whose fault is that?" he queried, his tone even softer. He paid no heed to Cheyna's offended hiss and kept his attention centered on the woman whose head barely reached the middle of his chest.

  The woman continued as if he had not spoken. "Water is available for freshening and food to relieve your appetite. When we have negotiated the contract, we will escort your tradewife to your chambers."

  "Bondwife. She is my bondwife, not my tradewife."

  The woman inclined her head in regal acceptance of the correction.

  "I will wait here," Drakthe stressed implacably. Let them argue all they wanted. He wasn't giving in on this point. Not when his gut burned with warning. "It is not only my duty but my intention to ascertain that nothing untoward--" Cheyna's hand on his arm caused him to bite off the implied accusation. He set his jaw and turned toward Cheyna.

  She sighed, the soft sound barely reaching his ears. "My lord, your distrust is going to complicate a very simple situation. I will be fine."

  "You can't be certain of that. They," his waved hand encompassed the entire group, "are not acting in character. The trader always stands guard outside the meeting hall. His duty is to protect the tradewife during negotiations. They don't want me to perform my duty. I do not like the fact they are changing the rules," he said, biting each word off.

  "Be reasonable, my lord. What can they do to me? As you, yourself, said, the NaturPaths are dedicated to nonviolence. It is possible they just want to talk with me without you hovering impatiently outside."

  Drakthe allowed a derisive snort to convey his opinion of that possibility.

  "Or," she continued, a hint of asperity creeping into her tone, "perhaps they wish to convey new rules for the trade route's resumed operation without a trader--the Merchant Master, at that --exerting pressure, however subtle."