“How could such a bed survive when a fortress of stone is corrupted?” she asked.
The swordsman shrugged. “There are other objects of gold that are apparently not affected by the sorcery. I found two goblets downstairs, exquisitely carved.”
She moved toward the bed, then angled away to the first of the three windows. From there the valley could be seen. “There’s another column of cavalry moving down,” she told him.
“I don’t care about the cavalry,” he said.
She swung toward him, her back to the window, her face blushing crimson. “You think I will let you bed me?”
“I think you should seriously consider it,” he told her with a wide smile.
“I don’t love you, Senta.”
“You don’t know that yet,” he said reasonably. “Here’s where you can find out.”
“You think love springs from the loins?”
He laughed aloud. “Mine always has—until now.” He shook his head, the smile fading. “You are frightened, beauty, frightened to live. Well, here we are, trapped in a decrepit fortress, our futures measured in days. This is no time to be frightened of life. You owe me a kiss, at least. The Gothir stole the last one.”
“One kiss is all you will have,” she promised, moving forward.
He opened his arms to her, and she stepped inside them. Reaching up, he pushed his fingers into her long dark hair, easing it back from her face and stroking the high cheekbones, his hand curling around to the nape of her neck. He could feel his heart pounding as he kissed her brow and her cheek. She tilted her head, her lips brushing against his skin. Their lips met, and he felt her body pressing against him. Her mouth tasted sweet and warm, and his passion soared. But he made no move to pull her to the bed. Instead he ran his hands down her back, halting at the slender waist, feeling the curve of her hips. And he kissed her neck and shoulder, reveling in the scent of her skin.
She was wearing a black leather tunic laced at the front with slender thongs. Slowly he moved his right hand to her breast, his fingers hooking to the first knot.
“No,” she said, moving back from him. Swallowing his disappointment, he took a deep breath. She smiled. “I’ll do it.” Unfastening the knife belt at her waist, she lifted the tunic over her head and stood before him naked. His eyes drank her in: the long sun-bronzed legs, the flat belly, the high, full breasts.
“You’re a vision, beauty. No question about it.”
He stepped toward her, but she stopped him. “What about you?” she asked. “Do I not get a chance to admire?”
“Every chance,” he told her, pulling free his shirt and unhooking his belt. He almost stumbled as he struggled to remove his leggings, and her laughter was infectious.
“You’d think you’d never removed leggings before,” she said.
Reaching out, he took her arm and gently pulled her to the bed. A cloud of dust rose as they fell upon it, causing him to cough. “Such romance,” she giggled. He joined in her laughter, and they lay quietly together for a few moments, staring into each other’s eyes. His right hand stroked the skin of her shoulder and arm, moving down until his forearm brushed across her nipple. She closed her eyes and slid in toward him. The hand moved on, over the flat belly and onto the thigh. Her legs were closed, but she parted them. He kissed her again. Her arm hooked around his neck, pulling him into a fierce embrace.
“Gently, beauty,” he whispered. “There is no need for haste. Nothing beautiful is ever crafted at speed. And I want this first time to be special.”
She moaned as his palm pressed gently against her pubic mound, and for some time he slowly caressed her. Her breathing quickened, her body moving into spasm. She cried out again and again. Finally he rose above her, lifting her long legs over his hips and guiding himself into her. He kissed her again, then drove into her, releasing the self-imposed chains of his passion.
He tried to keep his movements slow, but his needs were greater than his wish to make the moment last, and when Miriel cried out again in a series of rhythmic, almost primal groans, he succumbed at last. His body spasmed as his arms pulled her into a tight embrace. Then he moaned and lay still. He sighed, and his body relaxed as he lay upon her, feeling his heartbeat and hers together, pounding against the warm skin of his chest.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Was that love?”
“By all the gods I hope so, beauty,” he answered her, rolling to his back. “For nothing else in my life has given me so much pleasure.”
Raising herself on her elbow, she gazed down at his face. “It was … wonderful. Let’s do it again!”
“In a while, Miriel,” he answered.
“How long?”
He chuckled and drew her into his embrace. “Not long. I promise you!”
17
DARDALION OPENED HIS eyes as his spirit returned to the flesh, feeling the weight of his body and the silver armor on it. It was cold in the room despite the log fire burning in the hearth.
“They will not attack today and perhaps not tomorrow,” he told Kesa Khan. “General Gannis is a careful man. He has sent work parties to the woods to cut trees and make scaling ladders. He intends one great attack that will swamp us.”
The little Nadir shaman nodded. “We will hold them for one, maybe two assaults. After that …” He spread his hands.
Dardalion rose from the gold lacquered chair and moved to the fire, extending his hands to the flames, enjoying the sudden warmth. “What I do not understand—and neither does the Gothir general—is why the emperor has chosen this course. The coming Uniter will not be stopped. It is written that the Nadir will rise. There is nothing he can do to change the future. Nothing.”
“It is not the emperor but Zhu Chao who seeks our destruction,” said Kesa Khan with a dry laugh. “Twin needs spur him on: his hatred for the Wolves and his desire for absolute power.”
“Why does he hate you so?”
Kesa Khan’s eyes glittered, and his smile was cruel. “Many years ago he came to me, seeking to understand the nature of magic. He is a Chiatze, and he was studying the dark arts and the origins of the knights of blood. I turned him away. He had the wit but not the courage.”
“And for this he hates you?”
“No, not just for this. He crept back to my cave, and I caught him trying to steal …” The shaman’s eyes were hooded now. “… objects of value. My guards took him. They wanted to kill him, but I decided to be merciful. I merely cut something from him, gave him a wound to remember me by. He still had his life, but he would never sire life. You understand?”
“Only too well,” Dardalion answered coldly.
“Do not judge me, priest,” snapped Kesa Khan.
“It is not for me to judge. You planted the seed of his hatred, and now you are gathering the harvest.”
“Pah, it is not that simple,” said the shaman. “He was always a creature of evil. I should have killed him. But his hatred I can bear. This fortress, and what it contains, is the second of his desires. There is more powerful sorcery here than has been seen in the world for ten millennia. Zhu Chao wants it … needs it. Once upon a distant time the Elders here performed miracles. They learned how to merge flesh. A man who had lost a leg could grow a new one. Organs riddled with cancer could be replaced without the use of a knife. Bodies could be regenerated, rejuvenated. Here was the secret of immortality. The force was contained within a giant crystal encased in a covering of pure gold. It radiated power, and only gold and to a lesser extent lead could imprison it. You saw the valley?”
“Yes,” said Dardalion. “Nature perverted.”
“Fifty years ago a group of robbers came to this place. They found the crystal chamber and stripped the gold from its walls. removing the covering from the crystal itself.” He laughed. “It was not a wise action.”
“What happened to them? Why did they not steal the crystal?”
“The power they unleashed killed them. The Elders knew how to control it, to focus the forces. With
out their skill it has become merely corrupting, violent, haphazard sorcery.”
“I sense no power emanating from here,” said Dardalion.
“No. Zhu Chao sent men here. They removed the crystal from its setting. It sits now on a golden floor some two hundred feet below us.”
“Did these men also die?”
“I think you could call it a kind of death.”
Dardalion felt cold as he looked into the shaman’s malevolent eyes. “What is it that you are not telling me, Kesa Khan? What secret strategies have yet to be unveiled?”
“Do not be impatient, priest. All will be revealed. Everything is in a delicate state of balance. We cannot win here by might or guile; we must rely on the intangibles. Your friend Waylander, for example. He now hunts Zhu Chao, but can he enter his palace, fight his way through a hundred guards, and overcome the sorcery at Zhu Chao’s command? Who knows? Can we hold here? And if not, can we find a way to escape? Or should we use the power of the crystal?”
“You know the answer to the last question, shaman—no. Else you would have come here years ago. No one knows what destroyed the Elders, save that there are areas of great desolation where once there were mighty cities. Everything we know of them speaks of corruption and greed, enormous evil and terrible weapons. Even the wickedness within you recoils at their misdeeds. Is it not so?”
Kesa Khan nodded. “I have walked the paths of time, priest. I know what destroyed them. And yes, I wish to see no return to their foul ways. They raped the land and lived like kings while fouling the rivers and lakes, the forests—aye, even the air they breathed. They knew everything and understood nothing. And they were destroyed for it.”
“But their legacy lives on here,” said Dardalion softly.
“And in other secret places yet to be found.”
Dardalion knelt by the fire, adding several logs to the blaze. “Whatever else, we must destroy the crystal. Zhu Chao must not possess it.”
Kesa Khan nodded. “When the time comes, we will seek it out.”
“Why not now?”
“Trust me, Dardalion. I am far older than you, and I have walked paths that would burn your soul to ashes. Now is not the time.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Find a quiet place and send out your spirit to seek Waylander. Cloak him—as you did once before—protect him from the sorcery of Zhu Chao. Give him his chance to kill the beast.”
On the highest tower Vishna sat on the ramparts with Ekodas beside him. The forked-bearded Gothir nobleman sighed. “My brothers could be down there,” he said.
“Let us pray that is not the case,” said Ekodas.
“I think we were wrong,” said Vishna softly, “and you were right This is no way to serve the Source. I killed two men in that charge yesterday. I know they were evil, I felt it radiating from them, but I was lessened by the deed. I can no longer believe the Source wishes us to kill.”
Reaching out, Ekodas laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I do not know what the Source requires, Vishna. I only know that yesterday we protected a column of women and children. I do not regret that, but I regret bitterly that it was necessary to kill.”
“But why are we here?” cried Vishna. “To ensure the birth of a child who will ultimately destroy all that my family has spent generations building? It is madness!”
Ekodas shrugged. “Let us hope there is some greater purpose. But I believe it will be enough to thwart the Brotherhood.”
Vishna shook his head. “There are only eleven of us left. You think we can achieve some great victory?”
“Perhaps. Why don’t you seek out Dardalion? Pray together. It will help.”
“No, it won’t. Not this time, Brother,” said Vishna sadly. “I have followed him all my adult life, and I have known the great joy of comradeship—with him, with you all. I never doubted until now. But this is a problem I must solve alone.”
“For what it is worth, my friend, I think it is better to be unsure. It seems to me that most of the problems of this world have been caused by men who were too sure, men who always knew what was right. The Brotherhood chose a path of pain and suffering. Not their own, of course. They rode into that valley to butcher women and babes. Remember that!”
Vishna nodded. “You are probably right, Ekodas. But what will happen when one of my brothers climbs this wall, sword in hand? What do I do? He is obeying the orders of his emperor, as all good soldiers must. Do I kill him? Do I hurl him to his death?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Ekodas. “But there are enough real perils facing us without creating more.”
“I wish to be alone, my friend. Do not be insulted, I beseech you.”
“I am not insulted, Vishna. May your deliberations bring you peace.”
Turning, Ekodas ducked under the crumbling lintel and descended the undulating stairs. He came out into a narrow corridor leading to a long hall. Within it fat Merlon was helping the Nadir women prepare food for the warriors. Ekodas saw Shia kneading dough close by. She looked up and smiled at him.
“How are you, lady?” he asked.
“I am well, prayer man. Your arrival was a surprise most pleasant.”
“I did not think we would be in time. We first journeyed west into Vagria and then south to avoid the besiegers. The ride was long.”
“And now you are here. With me.”
“I was sorry to hear of your brother’s death,” he said swiftly as she rose from the table.
“Why? Did you know him?”
“No, but it must have caused you pain. For that I am sorry.”
Leaving the table, she moved in close to him. “There is a little pain, but it is my own. Yet I am also proud, for the man he slew was the same knight who killed our father. That is a blessing for which I thank the gods. But Belash is now in the Hall of Heroes. He has many beautiful maidens around him, and his cup is full of fine wine. Rich meats are cooking, and he has a hundred ponies to ride when he wishes. My pain is only that I will not see him again. But I am happy for him.”
Ekodas could think of no reply, and so he bowed and backed away. “You look like a man now,” said Shia approvingly. “And you fight like a warrior. I watched you kill three and maim a fourth.”
He winced and walked swiftly from the hall. But she followed him out onto the lower rampart above the courtyard. The stars were bright, and he drew in several deep, cool breaths.
“Did I insult you?” she asked.
“No. It is … just … that I do not like to kill. It does not please me to hear that I maimed a man.”
“Do not concern yourself. I cut his throat.”
“That is hardly an uplifting thought.”
“They are our enemies,” she said, speaking as if to a simpleton. “What else would you do with them?”
“I have no answers, Shia. Only questions that no one can answer.”
“I could answer them,” she assured him brightly.
He sat back on the rampart wall and looked into her moonlit face. “You are so confident. Why is that?”
“I know what I know, Ekodas. Ask me one of your questions.”
“I hate to kill, I know that. So why, during yesterday’s battle, did I feel exultant with each sword stroke?”
“I thought your questions would be hard,” she chided. “Spirit and flesh, Ekodas. The spirit is immortal. It loves the light; it worships beauty of thought and deed. And it has eternity to enjoy, time to contemplate. But the flesh is dark. For the flesh knows it has not long to live. Against the time of the spirit the life of the flesh is like a lightning flash. So it has little time to know pleasure, to taste the richness of life, lust, greed, gain. It wants to experience everything, and it cares for nothing save existence. What you felt was the surging joy of the flesh. Nothing more. And certainly nothing to cause you self-loathing.” She chuckled, a rich, throaty sound that touched him like fire in the blood.
“What is so amusing?”
“You should feel sorr
y for the part of you that is flesh, Ekodas. For what do you offer him in his brief existence? Rich food? No. Strong wines? Dances? Lust in the firelight?” She laughed again. “No wonder he takes such pleasure in combat, eh?”
“You are a provocative woman,” he scolded.
“Thank you. Do I arouse you?”
“Yes.”
“But you fight it?”
“I must. It is the way I have chosen to live.”
“Do you believe the spirit is eternal?”
“Of course.”
“Then do not be selfish, Ekodas. Does the flesh not deserve a day in the sun? Look at my lips. Are they not full and pleasing? And is my body not firm where it should be yet soft where it needs to be?”
His throat was dry, and he realized she had moved in very close. He stood and reached out, holding her at arm’s length. “Why do you torment me, lady? You know that I cannot give you what you desire.”
“Would you if you could?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“We have our own priests,” she said. “Kesa Khan is one. He also forbears from lovemaking, but it is a choice. He does not condemn it as wrong. Do you believe the gods created us?”
“The Source, yes.”
“And did they—he, if you like—not create men and women to desire one another?”
“I know where this is leading, but let me say this: there are many ways to serve the Source. Some men marry and beget children. Others choose different paths. What you said about the flesh has great merit, but in subjugating the desires of the flesh the spirit becomes stronger. I can, in my spirit form, fly through the air. I can read minds. I can heal the sick, removing cancerous growths. You understand? I can do these things because the Source has blessed me and because I abstain from earthly pleasures.”
“Have you ever had a woman?” she countered.
“No.”
“How does your Source feel about killing?”
In the Realm of the Wolf Page 27