by Ann Lawrence
Lien noticed a walking staff stuck in the straps holding Nilrem’s saddlebags. A strong stick might be helpful.
Once upon a time, before his Johns Hopkins lacrosse coach had converted him to the attack position, he’d played defense. Although he had starred in the attack position, he had always been a defenseman in his heart.
Maybe he could talk Nilrem into getting him a stick.
And he’d need one just to walk if they kept him tied up this way. His best defense might be the appearance of weakness. Then the ice princess might take pity on him.
“Look, do you think you could get Ardra—”
“Mistress Ardra,” Nilrem corrected.
“—Mistress Ardra to untie me? I’m just a harmless merchant, and I can’t even feel my feet anymore. How am I supposed to take a leak?”
Nilrem scratched his chin. “Take a leek? I do not believe you will have an opportunity to eat leeks. The cook has few greens—”
“Not that kind of leak. I meant urinate. And I’m going to need a stop really soon. If you don’t untie my feet, someone’s going to have to carry me behind a tree. Think of how humiliating that will be. What do you say?”
“I like that…take a leak. I am seeing a cask of wine with a stream…heh-heh. I would imagine such a turn of phrase will delight Mistress Ardra’s men.” Nilrem grinned.
Then, gratefully, Lien watched Nilrem turn his horse toward Ardra. They took part in a spirited discussion that ended with the same soldier climbing into the cart again and freeing his feet.
Lien stretched his numb legs. At least he wasn’t going to have to crawl behind a bush somewhere. After a few minutes, the wiseman pulled alongside again.
“How are your legs?” he asked. “Tolerable now for taking a leak?” The old man cackled, and Lien saw Ardra frown.
Ardra forced her attention to her men. They were ranged on either side of her entourage. No outcasts, no rebels, would think of attacking them. Try as she might, she could not keep her eyes from the merchant. The vision of him ablaze in the setting sun, his hands raised to deliver the blow that saved her, kept coming into her mind’s eye. Why could she not douse the flame of this vision?
Did his appearance at the time of the most rare of conjunctions augur good or ill?
If good, she had mistreated him, according to Nilrem. The thought preyed on her mind, but no less than the knowledge of Samoht’s presence on her border.
A shiver ran down her spine. No matter what Nilrem said about Lien’s decorated arm, he carried red roses. Until he proved otherwise, she would treat him as if he were Samoht’s man.
Moments later, her company set up camp. She paced as fires were built and meat roasted. The delay in returning to Tol chafed her badly. Her guards helped Lien from the cart, and he swayed a moment before straightening. His walk was halting and he stumbled a bit as he disappeared with the other men behind a wall of brush.
She pushed her concern aside. He might truly be a serpent in her nest.
“Mistress Ardra,” Nilrem called. He led a grimy man forward. “This messenger is looking for you.”
“Ah, you have found us. What news?” Her heart began to pound in her chest. Did Tol still live?
“Tol has ordered himself taken to Samoht’s camp. He has called for the high eight to be assembled.”
She whipped around to conceal her grief. To have done so, Tol must know he had few sunrisings left of life. Tears welled in her eyes—hot, useless tears. She took a long, shuddering breath and then faced the messenger. “Is Tol strong enough to make it to Samoht’s camp?”
The man bowed. “It is not for me to say.”
“What of Ralen, Tol’s brother?” Nilrem asked. “Has any word of him been circulating?”
“Oh, aye. Samoht sent him on a mission.”
“Where?” If she knew where Ralen had gone, she could plot a course to intercept him. A warrior of Ralen’s level would meet directly with Samoht to make his reports.
“I know not where, only for what purpose. Ralen was sent to find the Goddess of Darkness.”
The Goddess.
A sudden haze clouded Ardra’s vision. Her hands went cold, her body hot. She swayed and put out her hand. It was clasped by a warm, strong one. For a moment, she allowed herself to lean on Ollach’s strength. Sickness swept into her belly, but she fought it, forcing herself to straighten and hold her head up.
“Thank you,” she said and turned to Ollach. It was not he who held her hand. It was Lien. She jerked her hand away. He merely arched a dark brow and walked off. His gait was halting as he moved toward the cook’s campfire. He dragged his injured leg.
When he was out of hearing range, she turned to the messenger. “Please. What need has Samoht of the Goddess?” Just saying her name was difficult.
Nilrem placed a comforting hand on her arm. Did the old man know the Goddess was responsible for Ardra’s mother’s death?
The messenger shrugged. “Samoht does not explain himself to Selaw folk, mistress.”
She nodded. “But you know the gossip. It is why I pay you.”
“This needs a bit of extra, mistress. We are talking of the Goddess of Darkness.” There was a tiny thread of fear in the man’s voice.
“Aye. You shall have three pieces of gold.”
“Tolemac coin, mistress.” His words told her all she needed to know about the state of the Selaw treasury.
“Tolemac coin it is. Now, what need has Samoht of the Goddess?”
“‘Tis rumored—” the man shuffled close, “that the Goddess has stolen a treasure from the vaults under Tolemac.”
“How could she?” Ardra scoffed. “The vaults are impregnable.”
Nilrem squeezed her arm. “Let the man speak. What treasure?”
The man grinned. “Why, one o’ yours, Nilrem. The Vial of Seduction.”
“By the saints!” Nilrem’s fingers tensed into a claw about her arm. “This is a disaster. In the wrong hands…”
Ardra nodded. “From one catastrophe to another. First Tol, now this. With the vial, the Goddess will seduce someone powerful and take him as consort.”
“We must take comfort in the knowledge that only an honorable person may use the treasures. It is part of their mystery. A dishonorable person will not be able to use the potion to seduce—”
“The Goddess will find a way around the mystery.”
Ardra jerked from Nilrem’s grasp. “Oh, I see how this will go. The Goddess will be all-powerful on the east. Samoht on the west. And I and my hapless people must bow down to them both.”
“Now, Ardra. Mayhap Ralen has found the Goddess and taken back the vial.”
“Dream, Nilrem, if you must. When the vial was deposited in the Tolemac vaults, it was with the provision that the full council and only the full council would decide its use. This bodes ill for all people.”
“We must find Ralen, mistress, if you want a strong warrior to command in Tol’s place.”
With bitter anger, she whipped around to face Nilrem. Several of her men and Lien had drawn near. “Aye. We will hunt for Ralen. Let us find a man to hold my fortress.”
Then she decided on a course most men would fear even to consider. “We must save time. We will go by way of the Tangled Wood.”
“Ardra. Is that wise? You know the dangers of such an action.” Nilrem danced from one foot to the other like a small, frightened child.
“I know the dangers well. But if Ralen seeks the Goddess, he must traverse these woods as well. I will not miss Ralen or fail to see Tol one more time for fear of some woman. It is your sort—men—who continually tell me women are harmless. What need have I to fear a woman then? And perhaps you will think twice before concocting such treasures next time.”
Nilrem leaned on his staff, looking twice his years. Ardra regretted her hard words, but they were all she seemed to have since this final illness of Tol’s. “There will be ample light to ride during the night now the four moons are in alignment.”
Ard
ra strode quickly through the camp to see her horse saddled. Another shiver, more from fear than cold, swept through her. Only well-armed warriors ventured near the Wood. She would not be less than they in daring. She must show her mettle now more than ever.
When night fell, the turquoise moons mocked her. They cast a soft gleam across the distant Scorched Plain and touched the trees with a haze of silvery blue. The land changed drastically with each mile crossed. It altered from cursed barren rock to wind-blasted pine, to thicker stands of hardy fir. And finally, on the edge of the Tangled Wood, to great stands of timber.
“Mistress Ardra.” Ollach drew up. “Do you think this wise?”
She jerked her reins and pulled her mare to a halt. “You question my decision?”
“The men are uneasy.”
“Then they will grow even more uneasy. I want to cut more time from our journey by going through the forest, not around it.”
“Mistress!”
“Tol fails as we argue the issue. Samoht awaits us at the border.” She made her tone as hard and cold as the ice and stone on which the Fortress of Ravens was built. She must be as strong.
Ollach took a deep breath and touched his brow, then bowed. “If that be your wish, mistress.”
It must be. The fortress and all who dwell there depend on it.
Lien figured that if he could get out of his bindings with a few pathetic groans, he could get out of his scratchy robe too. He contemplated the many men who rode in Ardra’s force. There were a few women, servants by the look of them, among the entourage, but mostly Ardra rode in singular female splendor, a green and gold jewel surrounded by a company of men in black and white.
He had finagled a horse by convincing Ardra that Nilrem needed the cart far more than he. Granted, she’d made sure his hands were bound, albeit loosely, before allowing him to swap places with the old man. Now Nilrem lay spread-eagled on the many packs, snoring.
Lien thanked heaven that his best friend in college had owned a horse farm in Maryland, so he could now ride with reasonable skill.
It was drafty wearing a long robe with no underwear. In fact, it was damned uncomfortable. He examined the men to see what kind of clothes he wanted. He settled on a compromise between what he’d like and what he could reasonably gain. With a little kick of his heels, he maneuvered his fat mare close to the wiseman.
“Nilrem.” He spoke softly so Ardra and her companion, Ollach, couldn’t hear him. “I need to get out of this robe.”
“You disturb my meditation.”
You mean napping. “Sorry. It’s just that I’m used to a bit more luxury.”
“Deprivation is good for the soul.” Nilrem sat up and stretched. “What had you in mind?”
Lien glanced about. “Well, I think I’d like a pair of those black leather pants.”
“Soft as butter, I would imagine. Warrior garb. Not possible.”
“But if I wore them under this robe, wouldn’t that be okay? It’s not as if I’m trying to be a warrior.”
Nilrem lifted his beard and used it like a napkin to stifle a cough. Or laugh. “Forgive me, son, you are about as far from a warrior as a man can be. You are a slave, I imagine, who has stolen his merchant master’s robes and run away. Not that I care.”
Lien had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping the old man’s head off.
Nilrem continued. “You cannot put warrior gear under a pilgrim’s robes.”
“Then maybe I could wear the pants with one of those tunic things.” Lien lifted his bound hands and indicated a portly man with white hair who bounced along behind a pair of warriors.
“Oh, the cook? Hmmm…what is wrong with the rest of his garb?” Nilrem lolled back in the cart, ankles crossed and hands, stacked under his head.
“Lacks dignity.” The cook wore what looked like tights under his tunic. Lien knew that if he wore tights he’d feel like a damned fool but the tunic, which reached to mid-thigh, looked soft and well made.
Nilrem opened one eye and began to laugh, then choked the sound off, looking beyond Lien’s shoulder.
Lien turned. “Mistress Ardra.” He made an awkward bow.
“I have heard what you said, Lien. You wish for different garb. Why?”
“I’m a merchant and used to better than this. The robe chafes the skin in some rather awkward places.” Why lie?
Her eyes dropped to his lap, then darted quickly to his face. “I see. We would not want you uncomfortable.” He heard the sarcasm in her voice.
“No, you don’t want me too uncomfortable. If I can’t ride, I’ll slow you down, won’t I?”
“I shall merely have you tied in the cart again.”
“Mistress,” Nilrem protested. “There is not room for two. I cannot possibly ride.”
She stifled a sigh, and Lien tried to keep his smile behind his teeth.
“I see. You, Lien, cannot ride in pilgrim garb, and you, Nilrem, cannot ride at all. Perhaps I should just leave you behind, merchant.” She wheeled away and took her place with Ollach.
Ouch.
They all rode in silence until the next stop. The cook prepared a hasty meal of cold meat and a tough-looking bread that was actually quite tasty. Lien had to eat with his hands bound. He had almost passed the meat by until he saw the cook take it from a barrel where it had been packed in ice and sawdust. The meat was cold and delicious, tasting like a cross between chicken and ostrich…not that he’d ever actually eaten ostrich.
After the meal, Ollach dumped a pile of clothing at his feet. Lien picked up the clothes, thanked the man, then looked about for Ardra. Should he go and thank her? He decided not to. She seemed unapproachable, a green and gold wraith in a pool of moonlight.
He looked up into the alien sky. There were billions of stars visible, but none of them took on the pattern of constellations he recognized. More evidence that he was in another world.
One of the warriors led him a few paces behind a tree and untied his hands. Lien pulled on the soft, worn pants, bemoaning his lack of underwear, and laced them up the front. They fit reasonably well.
The tunic, long-sleeved and made of linen, was soft and smooth. It had a design of amber and black embroidery at the wrists and hem reminiscent of ravens in flight. Once he pulled the tunic over his head, he felt like a Russian Cossack from the steppes.
When he mounted the horse, it was with a lot more dignity than when he’d dismounted. No one had bound his hands. Ardra rode at his side for a bit. Before she opened her mouth, he knew what she would ask.
“If you are not one of Samoht’s men, how come you to have the roses?”
“Look, Mistress Ardra,” he touched the chain beneath his tunic, “where I’m from, the roses are jewelry, like the rings on your fingers. In fact, these are meant to be worn on the ears. They’re earrings.” Her gaze shifted to his ear, and he knew she’d noticed the hole there. “These earrings are sacred to me. They were made by one of my ancestors for my mother’s mother.” He indicated the relationships as one would in the Tolemac Wars game, invoking religion with the word “sacred”, hoping to defuse the political nature of the rose for her.
“I see.” She was silent for a moment. “What were you doing on Nilrem’s mountain?”
He’d figured out a story to explain his appearance on the mountain. After all, a merchant or craftsman belonged in the capital, not on some empty mountain. “I was seeking wisdom as most others who journey there do. I was a warrior, but gave it up.” He ignored her small snort of derision and tried to sound solemn. “I became a merchant when I tired of bloodshed, trading on the many rewards I earned in my warrior days. But I also thought I ought to make a pilgrimage of redemption. I made a vow never to raise a sword or dagger against another being.” That took care of his lack of sword skills.
She examined him, her gaze sweeping over him from head to foot. “You were making a pilgrimage of redemption?”
“Aye. To atone for some of my exploits.”
“You have no arm rin
gs. You are not a warrior.” She tossed her head.
The action did something to his insides. “Where I’m from, we’ve stopped wearing arm rings. We get tattoos instead.” At her blank look, he explained. “A tattoo is a marking on the skin that’s permanent. You did notice that the snake coils three times around my arm?” Thank God for that little coincidence. “And the scale pattern is in the pattern of the Shield.”
“You can be naught but a slave without arm rings.”
“Maybe here, but not in Ocean City.”
“Ocean City…your place? I knew someone from Ocean City once.”
She said no more, and he decided he wasn’t going to mention Vad or Gwen until he found out how they stood in the memory of this world.
“My men are troubled by the question of your status. They do not know how to treat a man who has no arm rings.”
“So I’ll pick up a few somewhere.” What would her reaction be to that crime of crimes?
Ardra’s eyes grew wide. She touched a gloved hand to her breast. “And have your belly slit and your entrails roasted while you still live? How can you make such a jest? To steal arm rings…to wear ones you have not earned…the penalty is appalling.”
“Arm rings or no arm rings, I’m a retired warrior who became a merchant and is on a pilgrimage. Nothing more.” He tugged on his reins and let his horse drop to the rear of the company.
Ardra thought about Lien’s tale. She knew of two people who had come from across the ice fields. One good. One evil. Both had disappeared. What manner of man was this one?
Her memory of the attack told her that Lien had appeared as if from the very air. But perhaps it was only her fear that had made it appear so.
It was a mistake to think a comely man was honest and good. Samoht, the high councilor, was quite beautiful, but she knew he could be ugly in word and deed.
Lien was alluring, perhaps dangerously so. His voice was seductive, his tale amusing. Yet he must be a man who had committed grave deeds to undertake a pilgrimage to Nilrem’s mountain.
