by DL O'Neal
Cheyna swallowed hard. "How can you be sure I am the one you seek?" Her hand crept up to touch Drakthe's, her fingers tangling with his.
The elderly woman rose from her chair, skirted the table until she stood next to Cheyna. She ignored Drakthe, a dark scowl on his face, as she fixed her attention exclusively on Cheyna's pale features.
"Ask me where the journal is."
From the corner or her eye, Cheyna was aware of Drakthe's frown. Obviously displeased he was shut out of the exchange, he glanced from one woman to the other.
Cheyna began to tremble. A test. The demand was a test. The knowledge was instantaneous. Which did she fear more--failing or succeeding? She gathered all of her mental powers and formed the question in her mind, sending out delicate probes for the answer.
"Where is the journal?"
A slight throbbing began building behind her eyes. She concentrated harder, staring into the Elder's intent gaze. Still nothing. The throbbing became a nagging pain.
"Where is the journal?"
"It is here."
Images of a cave atop a high plateau popped into Cheyna's mind.
Her head jerked back, the pulse in the hollow of her throat thundering to life. Cheyna wanted to lower her eyes. Oh, how she wanted to look away. She could not. The calm grey eyes held her bound as surely as tleera hide ropes.
In Cheyna's mind, Treena lifted a hand and beckoned her.
"Follow me."
She led Cheyna into the pitch-black darkness.
"How are you doing this? How is it that I can see what is in your mind? Hear your voice in my head?"
The answer formed strong and clear in Cheyna's mind.
"I am not. It is you, Cheyna Ktal, who is using the mindtouch."
The reply was the final blow, unarguable proof that the Raipier had lied to her. Cheyna broke the link.
"Take me away from here."
Her hands were shaking so hard, she couldn't push the chair away from the table. She darted a pleading gaze up toward Drakthe.
A black scowl made his already harsh features savage as he pulled out the chair and helped her to stand. His hard glance dared the NaturPaths to interfere as he guided her outside.
They returned to the guest lodge in silence. Not until night was shut out and Drakthe had satisfied himself they were completely alone, did he turn to her.
"So, House-daughter, when did you plan to tell me who you really are? Or did you?"
Cheyna had forgotten Drakthe was just learning her true identity. She stared at him, mute, unable to form even a simple reply.
"You claimed your name was Rgan. You lied to me."
"I did not lie. The Rgan's, distant relatives to my mother, allowed me their familial name. They formally accepted me into their House."
"You used me, House-daughter. For all your talk of honor and trust, you used me." His gold eyes turned nearly black. "You used me to get inside these walls. Were the lies worth it?"
Cheyna backed a step. Myriad emotions swirled inside her, pain, disbelief, betrayal, an aching need to trust, and anger.
Above all, anger.
"Who used whom, my lord?" she demanded, funneling her own sense of shock and betrayal into the confrontation. "You captured me from the travel-train. You were willing to use force to make me agree to bond with you. You wanted exclusive rights to the NaturPaths' herbs, plus access to the Guilds' wares. You wanted the trade route. You now stand in possession of all."
"Tell me," she asked again, "who used whom?"
Drakthe swore, soft and low. "I told you. Forget the herbs. Forget the trade route. They're not important. I want to know why you lied to me about your name." In the blink of an eye, he was standing directly in front of her. A muscle worked in his cheek.
"Not important," Cheyna mocked. "They are the sole reason I am with you. You have a goal," she reminded him with sibilant softness. "You want to found your own House. Remember?" Her hand opened and closed. "It is now within your grasp."
"Do not push me, bondwife. Not this time. I want the truth. I want to know who you are. I want to know what this journal is. Most of all, I want to know why it is so important you find it." Drakthe leaned closer with each word until he had her backed flush against the wall.
She straightened slowly, with unconscious arrogance.
"I am Cheyna Ktal of the House of Talis. It is my duty to find the journal and recover the Crystal Sheathe."
Chapter 13
He was rich. Rich enough to establish his own House. The contract resting securely in his saddlebags guaranteed that. So how was it, Drakthe wondered three days later, he found himself following an unapprenticed NaturPath away from Class and toward some cave that might or might not exist? A NaturPath who had lied and led him a merry dance from the very beginning.
Because, he answered his own question, try as he might, he was unable to ignore the pain and vulnerability she couldn't quite hide behind that mask of serenity. As he'd told the NaturPaths, Cheyna needed him. More now than ever.
He scowled at the thought of the NaturPaths. They were behind his latest problem with Cheyna. Somehow, they had convinced Cheyna she was the one chosen to recover the Crystal Sheathe.
Yeah, right.
Drakthe bit back a few choice words. If he hadn't been so intent of getting her out of the Agora and away from those benighted women's influence, he would have forced her to see the truth then. But when, after dropping her bombshell, she had ever-so-politely asked if they could leave, he hadn't argued, figuring the hard ride would work off some of his fury. He needed to be calmer before they discussed her deception, otherwise he might strangle her.
He still might.
It occurred to Drakthe that he might have erred in not forcing the issue immediately. Cheyna seemed content to evade the matter.
Jkael, she was avoiding him. Oh, she was unfailingly polite when he spoke to her, she helped at their camps as always, but the moment he made a move to touch her she was either asleep or conspicuously busy.
He didn't like it, not one bit. Drakthe eyed her straight back as she rode ahead on her taiger.
Tonight. Tonight it would change.
He would begin by stripping her burnuese from her slender body. Ahead, Cheyna swayed gracefully in time to the taiger's gait. He pictured her swaying gently above him, her body moving to the ancient mating call of man and woman.
Caught up in the fantasy, Drakthe allowed his attention to stray from the trail. The first sign of trouble he had was the low rumble on the ledge above them.
His heart dropped to his stomach as a chilling howl split the air. Before he could react, a deep chestnut hide flew off the ledge and knocked Cheyna out of the saddle. She landed hard on the packed sand.
Digging his heels into his mount, a roar ripped from Drakthe's throat. "No!" His krees was out of its sheathe and in his hand before he landed on his feet, between the firecat and the dazed Cheyna.
The animal easily weighed twice as much as he did. In fact, it was the biggest firecat he could remember seeing. He moved the krees to keep the cat's attention focused on him instead of Cheyna.
The cat's red eyes glowed with deadly intent as it tracked the blade's movement. The firecat bared huge, black fangs and growled a challenge for the right of its chosen prey.
Drakthe moved to his left, away from Cheyna one cautious step at a time. He kept the blade angled toward the sun as they circled each other, using the flickering flash of silver to keep the animal's attention. He knew better than to underestimate the cat's intelligence. Firecats were cunning. On his first trade mission, a firecat had feinted toward a flock of carateks, luring him away from its intended victim. By the time he'd realized his mistake, he'd lost a fine taiger to the firecat. Never again had he made that mistake.
And he refused to today.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Cheyna rise. She gathered the reins of both taigers, and coaxed them backward until they were out of reach of the sharp claws.
Now, it wa
s between him and the huge cat.
The firecat paid Cheyna and the taigers no mind. As far it was concerned, his prey would be available when it defeated the hunter in front of him. Like Drakthe, it didn't underestimate its opponent. A seasoned fighter, the cat recognized a worthy adversary.
Drakthe crouched low, presenting the smallest target possible while he considered the best way to defeat the angry cat. Firecats were among the most dangerous animals the Plains had to offer. Smart, quick and utterly ruthless, they thought faster than most men.
The animal rushed, angling past him. At the last moment the firecat twisted and kicked out with its hind legs. The sheer power behind the blow knocked Drakthe off his feet. The sound of claws ripping through tleera hide boots barely registered as he slashed out sideways with his blade. He rolled with the momentum of the cat's blow, coming to his feet in one smooth motion, crouched in a fighter's stance.
Breathing hard, he waited for the firecat's next move.
The huge cat crouched, mimicking the man. A thin trickle of scarlet dripped in a steady stream on the dry soil beneath the animal.
Drakthe felt a grim satisfaction. He had wounded the firecat. At that moment, he became aware of a burning sensation in his calf. Jkael. The boots hadn't protected him, after all. This fight had to end and end fast. The teeth and claws of a firecat were tipped with a venom that, while not fatal, burned like fire and rapidly weakened the victim.
The cat leapt, an enormous lunge that took him up and over him. Drakthe struck out, his krees piercing the hindquarters of the cat as it sailed past. A raking pain slashed across his shoulders as the animal's hind claws found their target.
He clamped his teeth shut against the burning agony, and whirled to face the cat. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he didn't dare wipe it away.
Mouth open in a scream of rage, the firecat rushed. Jaws closed with crushing force on his forearm. Pain exploded as the cat bore down on his arm. The muscles in his legs screamed in protest as he braced them, bearing both his weight and that of the cat's. Drakthe forced his arm deeper in the cat's mouth, repressing the instinct to jerk it out.
Warm blood flowed, soaking the sleeve of his shirt. Slowly, inexorably, his knees began to buckle under the weight of the firecat. He knew he couldn't let the animal force him to the ground. Once there, he wouldn't stand a chance. If he died, Cheyna died.
Drakthe shut out the rending pain and wrapped the hand with the krees around the cat, bringing his arm down in a sharp arc. He stabbed the animal in the ribs. The blade skittered off the solid armored plating of bone, cutting flesh but doing little real harm otherwise.
Drakthe swore, his vision blurred by sweat and pain. Jkael, how could he have forgotten the plating? His grip, wet with blood and sweat, tightened around the krees. His knees hit the ground as the firecat, sensing victory, bore down with all its weight. He felt the jolt all the way to the top of his spine.
He had one chance. He had to make it count.
Chest heaving with the effort to draw air into his lungs, Drakthe gathered the last of his strength and drove upward with the krees. The tip of the blade sank into the soft, unprotected underbelly of the firecat. Hot blood spewed over his hand. He twisted the blade deeper.
An enraged shriek split the air. The firecat dropped to all fours, staggered a few steps, and collapsed.
Head hanging, lungs laboring for air, Drakthe eyed the animal, hoping, praying, it wasn't just playing dead to take him off guard. Sweat burned his eyes. He passed his unwounded arm impatiently over his face. The cat didn't stir.
Just the thought of moving made him nauseous. To do so would awaken the agony laying in wait. He gritted his teeth and swallowed a moan of pain, mustering the energy to sway to his feet. Weaving with a combination of pain and venom, he stood there and waited for the light-headedness to pass. When he felt fairly confident he wouldn't fall flat on his face, he approached the prone animal.
Blood poured from the mortal wound, but to his amazement the firecat still clung to life. Red eyes fastened on him as he moved closer. Drakthe thought he saw acknowledgment that he'd won. For an instant, he felt regret.
A worthy adversary.
The brilliant glare of life and hatred dimmed as its eyes started to glaze over. Drakthe dropped to his knees. Not wishing to prolong its misery, he placed a hand on the cat's shoulder and with one swift jerk of the krees put an end to the pain. It was the least he could do.
Cheyna, her heart in her throat, dropped the taigers' reins and rushed over to Drakthe. At the last moment, she slowed. Her hand held out, she spoke softly. "Come, my lord, let me tend to your wounds." She didn't think he'd heard her at first. He stayed on his knees, slumped, staring at the dead firecat. Finally, he lifted his head, staring first at her hand and then at her as though he couldn't place her. Recognition slowly dawned. He closed his hand about hers and struggled to rise. The tendons in his neck stood out with the effort.
"Here, let me help you." She slipped a shoulder under his arm and helped him to his feet. "That's it, my lord." Drakthe staggered, almost taking them both down. "Do not be afraid to lean on me," she encouraged. "I will not allow you to fall."
She led him to the back of the deep overhang. "Sit," she ordered. Drakthe groaned as he lowered himself to the ground. Cheyna bustled about, gathering wood for a fire and putting water on to heat, then lined her medicines up on a nearby rock, within easy reach.
After cleaning the jagged wounds on his forearm, Cheyna surveyed the damage. The depth and severity of it appalled her. The firecat's fangs had scraped clear to the bone.
"Tell me."
"Tell you what, my lord?" she asked, not really listening as she spread a yellow glob of dzion ointment.
"Tell me the real reason we are risking our lives after we have completed our goal of obtaining the trade route." His breath hissed out from between his teeth as she probed a particularly deep puncture.
"I apologize," she whispered at his exclamation. She selected a needle and threaded it, avoiding the too-shrewd gaze. Cheyna tested a jagged tear to see if the anesthetic had taken affect yet. A hard hand curved beneath her jaw, lifting her face. A gaze filled with determination and pain refused to allow hers to evade his. Cheyna surrendered to the silent demand with a sigh.
"You know I did not journey to Class because of the trade route. At least, not entirely." The arm beneath her fingers tensed. A waiting stillness permeated the air.
"Talk to me, House-daughter." Cheyna shivered from the chill in his voice. "If I am to die on a fool's errand, do I not at least deserve to know the full truth."
Her gaze skittered up to meet his. The cynical acceptance she saw there stunned her. Words poured from her lips.
"Please, my lord, believe me. I would have told you had I not been sworn to secrecy. I never intended my mission to harm you." Her fingers ran up and down his arm, unconsciously seeking to soothe the tension from the coiled form. She touched his cheek fleetingly. "On my honor, my lord." The tips of her fingers came to rest on his full bottom lip, just the merest touch. "Never."
A harsh expulsion of air rushed past her fingers. "Then why, Cheyna? Tell me why we are risking our necks when our mission is done."
"Because my mission has just begun."
"What mission?" he demanded.
"To recover the Crystal Sheathe. I told you that at the Agora." Cheyna forced her gaze to remain steady as his intently searched hers.
"You are serious, aren't you? You actually accept what those NaturPaths told you, that you are destined to recover the Sheathe?" While the harsh plains of his face didn't soften, some of the tension seemed to leave it. "House-daughter, the Crystal Sheathe is a legend. You are on a fantasy chase."
Cheyna shook her head, confident she was nearing the end of her mission. "The Crystal Sheathe is more than legend, my lord. You heard Elder Treena. My mother left me a journal. It is my duty to retrieve the Crystal Sheathe and restore Consonance."
"That tale should have died
with the House of Talis."
"I am of the House of Talis."
"How do you know?" he challenged. "All you have is the word of the NaturPaths. How do you know they are not using you for their own purposes?"
"They are not," she stated with absolute assurance, dabbing at the blood running down his arm.
He grabbed her hand. "You can't be positive of that," he insisted. "Listen to me, bondwife. All you have is their word, the word of women you didn't know a ten-day ago. How much faith can you place in them?"
She was shaking her head before he finished.
With more than a touch of irritation, he buried his free hand in her braids and held her still.
"I have more." Her bondhusband was not going to be pleased to learn she'd withheld the information from him. She drew a deep breath. "I am Cheyna Ktal of the House of Talis. ..."
"I already know that," he interrupted impatiently, only to close his mouth when she continued.
"...and of the Great Lord's family."
Drakthe dropped his hands as if burnt. "Don't lie to me. Never again. Especially over something like this," he warned her, his voice low and dark.
Cheyna raised her head with unconscious pride. "I am the Great Lord's daughter."
"You used me, House-daughter. You not only lied to me, but you used me." The accusation was a mere breath of graveled sound.
He had a nerve accusing her of using him! "We've had this conversation before, my lord. You took me from the trade-train because you wanted the trade route. Well, you got it. I agreed because I needed to reach the NaturPaths safely. It seems to me, my lord, that we used each other."
"You used me for more than to reach the NaturPaths. Or have you forgotten the fifty percent of the trade-train you conned me out of?"
Cheyna heard a faint sound, like a drop of water against stone, before she could retort. She glanced down. A thin stream of blood from Drakthe's arm pooled on the hard floor of the cave. Reminded of his injuries--injuries he received protecting her--her anger muted. They could finish discussing blame after she tended his wounds.
"Allow me to finish dressing your wounds. We can talk as I tend to you." He didn't budge. The puddle was growing at an alarming rate. Cheyna touched his face with gentle fingers. "Please, my lord."