VirtualWarrior

by Ann Lawrence

  Tol smiled and shook his head. “I have not the luxury to wait that long. Nay, is there no other who might stand in his place?”

  “We have no such person in our company,” Ralen said.

  The woman at Tol’s side pressed her hands tightly together and bowed her head. Lien assumed that Tol wanted the Tolemac version of last rites.

  Ardra rose and took the woman’s hand. “Deleh, do not despair. We have a pilgrim. Will that not do?”

  The woman and Tol exchanged a glance, then a nod, but Ralen protested. “Nay. He is not a pilgrim. Ardra, what ails you?”

  Ralen jumped up and marched to where Lien stood. He prodded him in the chest. “This man has no means of proving who he is or whence he comes. When have you ever seen hair of such a color? Or eyes, for that matter?”

  The old woman floated gracefully in Lien’s direction. She gave him a close inspection, then issued a soft command. Everyone save Tol, Lien, Ardra, and Ralen left the tent. The woman bowed respectfully and asked, “Are you a pilgrim?”

  He could not lie to a woman with such an intense stare. In fact, she reminded him of a nun who used to scare the living daylights out of him in elementary school. “I was traveling to Nilrem for some wisdom. If that makes me a pilgrim, I’m a pilgrim.”

  “From where?” Tol asked in a breathy voice.

  Ardra went to Tol and placed a hand on his shoulder. “He is from beyond the ice fields. Just as the conjunction began, I was attacked by three outcasts. Lien saved my life.”

  “Ollach saw him disrobe; he wears a sign of evil.” Ralen crossed his arms on his chest as if that ended the discus­sion. “And who can cross the ice fields? ‘Tis nonsense.”

  “Show me,” the old woman said to Lien.

  Well, heck, Lien thought. Everybody else has seen me naked, why not Mother Superior? He pulled his tunic off.

  With no sign of fear, the woman brought her fingers close to his tattoo but didn’t actually touch him. She counted the snake’s coils and then bent closer to inspect the knotwork.

  “The serpent bears the Shield pattern, Tol.”

  “Come closer,” Tol whispered, and Ardra stepped aside, her hand still on Tol’s shoulder. Lien bent to one knee by the old man, and as Tol inspected the tattoo, Lien found he could not look away from Ardra.

  She was staring at him too, her gaze moving back and forth from his arm to the roses on his mother’s chain. She frowned, reached out, and touched the design. When her fingertips touched his tattoo, a hot pulse swirled around the coils, like blood pounding in his veins during sex. Where had that thought come from?

  Tol jerked and his breath hissed.

  “Tol?” Ardra slid her hand away from the tattoo. The heat disappeared, and Lien and Tol exchanged a glance.

  “Closer,” Tol said, lifting his hand. “Ardra?” She entwined her fingers with his. “Touch the snake,” Tol directed.

  Ralen shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.

  “Nay,” Ardra whispered, but she did as Tol bade, barely touching her cool fingertips to the tattoo.

  Lien was ready this time. He forced himself to be as cool and distant as she was. But the heat still surged, the pulse rioting around his arm to shoot up his shoulder and into his head. Tol moaned and jerked, pulling his hand from Ardra’s. The sensation instantly disappeared.

  Ralen jumped forward and thrust himself between Lien and Tol. “Stop this!”

  But Tol shook him off. “Nay. Leave the pilgrim here. He will do. He will do.”

  Ralen opened his mouth, but Tol forestalled him. “Say nothing. I have no time. By our father’s heart, be still.”

  The Mother Superior stepped in, ending the exchange. She handed Lien his tunic and then took Tol’s hand. Ardra knelt again at her lifemate’s side, her back to Lien and Ralen.

  Lien pulled the tunic quickly over his head and remained a respectful distance from the old man. Tol looked too frail to survive another hour.

  Ardra’s back was stiff, her hair in a loose mane. The tiny amber beads shimmered in the torchlight, set to trembling by some strong emotion, Lien suspected.

  “What do I do?” Lien asked no one in particular.

  “Kneel here and bear witness to all we say,” the old woman whispered. Ralen made a noise in his throat and wandered over to a brazier. He lifted a set of tongs hanging beneath the iron bowl and began to stir the coals. His actions spoke of his contempt for the proceedings.

  “I have little time,” Tol began.

  “Do not say that. Wait to see if Nilrem’s powder eases your pain,” Ardra said.

  “Deleh?” Tol looked up and smiled at the old woman.

  “I gave him all of it,” Deleh said. “It is what he wished.”

  Ardra’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She bent her head, and Lien saw a tear roll down her cheek. “How could you? What of our son?”

  Whether she spoke to the woman or Tol, Lien didn’t know.

  “It is of him I think as I lie here,” Tol said. “It is his hard life I regret.” He put out his hand, and Ardra gripped it in both of hers. “I should never have presumed to add such a burden to your young life either. Had the boy Tolemac bones and not just the eyes, he might have faired well. ‘Twas folly for me to think that through our son I could change the story of time.”

  “Samoht’s child will also be of mixed blood.”

  “He cares little for the child save as a pawn to move on the board of power. He will hold the child as ransom for his mother’s good behavior. Watch that Samoht does not do the same with our son. Is he hidden?”

  “He is in the labyrinth beneath the fortress. No one will find him there.”

  Tol nodded and closed his eyes. No one spoke for about five minutes. The old woman wiped Tol’s brow with a cool cloth.

  He roused himself. “There is no place in our world for a child of mixed birth. He will suffer all his days, a man different from all others.”

  “Our son need not fear if the fortress is strong enough. I will gather the men and beseech them to—”

  “Ardra, Ardra. You dream, and I, to my shame, have allowed you to hope. No man will follow a woman. When I am gone, Samoht will send his warriors to guard the fortress in our son’s name, but in truth, it will not be so. Samoht will take the fortress, and to stand against him will mean death.”

  “I will not give up the fortress. It belongs to my people. Samoht sees all the Selaw as inferior. He will treat us little better than slaves—your son included! I beg of you to speak the words that will help me stand against him.”

  Lien could feel the energy she poured into the simple entreaty.

  Tol shook his head. “I will say the words, but you must accept what you cannot change.” The old man beckoned to Lien. He moved closer, his hip touching Ardra’s.

  “Young man, you stand as witness to my words. Although I think ‘tis folly, I beg of you to bear witness to Samoht of what I will now say. Ralen might be suspected of conniving with Ardra to gain power. Come back, Ralen. Set aside your ire and come here.”

  They all gathered about Tol. The old man’s voice now held a tremor and was as soft as a whisper. “It is my wish that Ardra take control of the fortress. It is my wish that she, and she alone, rule it for our son until he is of age.”

  Tol coughed and reached out blindly with his free hand. The old woman took it and motioned Lien and Ralen out of the tent.

  The two men left the tent together, but Ralen split off immediately and strode away. Men and women lingered in silence around the tent. They surely knew that Tol was nearing his end.

  Lien wanted to wait for Ardra. He saw a low stool near a fire that no one seemed interested in. He wrapped his arms around his middle to keep from shivering and waited.

  After a short while, Ardra came out of the tent and walked toward the river. Lien jumped to his feet and hurried after her, touching her shoulder. “Don’t you want to stay with him?” Lien asked.

  “Tol?” She looked back at the tent and sho
ok her head. “Nay. He wants this time with Deleh.”

  “Who is she? Some religious person?” He kept pace with her as she walked through the clusters of tents.

  “She is his concubine.”

  Lien stopped in his tracks. “Wait a minute. Concubine?”

  “Aye. She has been so since he first lifemated in his youth.”

  “Let me get this straight. That woman is a…never mind. Aren’t you jealous?”

  “Of Deleh? Nay. She is like a mother to me. Have you no concubines in Ocean City?”

  He was at a loss how to respond. “Explain the relationship a little better and maybe I can give you an answer.”

  She walked to the river’s edge. It was a formidable body of water, but the tents were at a ford. It looked as if it were filled with ink. Where it rippled over stone, it frothed with shades of lavender and gray. In places, the water looked about two feet deep. Shallow enough for an invasion.

  “If a man has sufficient worth, and wishes it, he has concubines for his pleasure. ‘Tis simple.”

  “And you don’t mind?”

  “Mind?”

  “Object?”

  She drew her hood up, and he could no longer see her face. “A woman may not object to her mate’s choices in such a matter.”

  “I don’t think you’d find it that way in Ocean City. I don’t know too many women who’d allow their…mates to sleep with other women.” They negotiated the low riverbank and stood at the water’s edge.

  Ardra appeared to stare at the distant ice on the horizon. “I imagine Deleh sleeps in the women’s quarters, Lien.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the water. “The women of my place would not take kindly to their mates making love to other women. We’re kind of a one-woman, one-man-at-a-time society.”

  She handed him another stone, then glanced quickly back at Tol’s tent. “Deleh came to the fortress with Tol and has been with us ever since. If a man wishes to copulate, his concubine must be there. Would you teach me the trick with the stones?”

  Lien couldn’t see her face as she searched for more flat stones by her feet. Her voice held no inflection.

  “Sure.” He showed her how to hold the rock between her thumb and index finger and how to flick her wrist. She got it on the first try. “The object is to see how many times you can make the stone skip. So, let me get this straight, the men of Tolemac only copulate with their concubines?” he asked. What did he care about Tolemac sex lives? Why was he asking? They could screw their horses, for all he cared.

  Her head jerked up. She stared at him as if he were stupid. “What folly you speak. If they wish a child to inherit their wealth and family name, they must seek congress with their mate. Deleh attended our son’s birth.”

  “I see.”

  “I sense you disapprove. Do not men seek pleasure where you come from?”

  “Sure. All the time.” He thought about how to answer her. “But where I’m from, if two people are mated, they seek pleasure from each other…only. It’s part of the vows they make to each other. Some folks stray, but I figure most people try to be faithful.”

  “I cannot imagine a desire for such an arrangement.” She scrambled up the bank and disappeared into the night.

  Lien woke in confusion. Where was he? What time was it? Then he remembered. Ollach had come to him at the river to say Ardra had found him a bed. Not in the women’s quarters, darn it, but comfy just the same.

  The tent in which he lay was smaller than Tol’s but every bit as luxurious. He was on a couch, covered with furs, fully dressed. The air was cold. A curious swooshing noise made him sit up. The sound came again, and he saw it came from Ollach, who sat on a stool nearby and swept a whetstone along the blade of a sword.

  “Where is everybody?” he asked.

  Ollach looked up. “They still attend Tol as he slips from this life to the next.”

  “I see.” Lien stood up, his muscles tight and sore. He went through the stretching routine he’d always used before lacrosse games. He knew Ollach was staring at him; the whetstone no longer hummed on the steel blade.

  Lien knew he definitely needed a weapon to defend himself. The tent, like Tol’s, was the color of the lavender sky. By the light of a few wicks floating in oil, he could see that the ceiling was painted with puffy white clouds and strange blue hawk-like birds. “Whose tent is this?”

  “Whose tent it is need not concern you. Now you are awake, so I will go.”

  “Hey, before you go, do you think you might be able to find me a walking stick or something to lean on? I’m really sore. I feel like I can hardly walk.”

  The noise Ollach made in his throat as he left the tent told Lien he was now considered a weak, pathetic being. Perfect. If opponents underestimated him, he might have a chance in this world of swords.

  Ollach returned in a few moments, a long staff in his hand. “This belonged to some beggar who died.” He tossed it to Lien. Lien deliberately fumbled it and groaned as he bent over to pick it up. With a cluck of his tongue, Ollach left the tent.

  Lien weighed the staff in his hand. It was poorly balanced and riddled with tiny holes, maybe from insects, but it would do. He held it in both hands, horizontally, and poked the air. He grinned. “Once a defenseman, always a defenseman.”

  His stomach growled. He examined the tent and found a tray of food under a linen cloth. There was bread and a bland, white cheese. He ate it all and hoped it wasn’t supposed to be Ollach’s dinner too. There was only a pitcher of water to drink, and as he gulped it down, he imagined invisible microbes percolating through his gut. At least his throat no longer hurt. Maybe the soreness had been from the screams he’d been holding in as they rode down the cliff.

  He threw himself back on the bed and contemplated the puffy clouds overhead. When Tol died, Samoht would move his army across the river to wherever his wife lay in childbirth. Once the child was born, Lien figured Samoht would turn his army loose on Ardra’s fortress.

  Lien rose and lighted a couple of thick candles from one of the wicks floating in oil. He roamed the tent, drank more water, and examined the decorative knotwork carved into the tables and chairs and woven into the ivory cloth on the table. He paced, lifted the tent flap, and looked at the moons, which were now down quite a bit. He must have slept a few hours anyway.

  When he turned, something glinted in the light. It was a pin in the bedding. Then he realized he’d been sleeping under a heavy cloak. The hooded cape, black as night and lined with fur, had only a pin to clasp it. The pin, of silver and amber, looked like a museum piece and was heavy in his palm.

  He slung the cloak over his shoulders. It took him about five minutes to fasten it securely enough so that the pin didn’t pop open when he moved.

  “First chance I get, I’m inventing buttons,” he muttered.

  He gripped his stick, took a deep breath, and left the security of the tent.

  Outside, he stared up at the incredible moons. They were no longer in a neat straight line. They were separating. The small orbs glowed turquoise as if lighted from within. He saw no craters and wondered if they were gaseous in nature; that might account for their incredible luminosity. A pang of homesickness for the Earth’s dull old moon with its lumpy surface lasted about ten seconds, swept away by a gust of icy wind. It whistled around the tents and the men huddled at nearby fires.

  Lien quickly realized he should have his cloak pinned at the shoulder, not directly in front, to allow the hand holding the stick to be more or less unencumbered. He shifted the cloak before lifting the deep hood.

  Tol’s tent was easy to find. The crowd that stood outside had grown considerably. Lien wormed his way through the throng and lifted the flap. No one stopped him, which he attributed to the cloak. It was finer than most of the ones worn by the people he passed.

  Tol still reclined on his couch, but his eyes were closed, his breathing labored, his skin snow white. Ardra, Ralen, and Dele
h knelt by Tol, their heads bowed.

  A lean, handsome man stood behind Ardra. Despite his comely features, he reminded Lien of a hawk waiting to strike.

  The man did not kneel, nor did he wear the tunics and leather of the warriors. Instead he wore a long robe the same color as the moons, trimmed with rich silver embroidery. It must be Samoht, the high councilor.

  The scene before Lien reminded him of the deathbed vigil he’d held for his mother. Only it had just been him and the priest there. No crowds had awaited the news of one lonely alcoholic’s passing.

  He knew the drill. The breaths would grow farther apart. They’d all find themselves staring at Tol’s chest to see if he took another breath…and one time he wouldn’t.

  Lien left.

  For two hours he wandered the shore of the river and contemplated his options. He felt restless. His ass ached, but not his head.

  He wondered if Ardra had been lonely during her time with Tol, a woman outside the affections of a couple together for decades. Had Deleh and Tol had any children of their own? And what did Ardra’s son look like, that everyone had only to see him to know he was of mixed birth?

  What came next? War over Ardra’s fortress? Or a simple directive that she stand aside, accompanied by nothing more than her anger and humiliation?

  As the moons crawled across the bowl of indigo sky, he made a decision. He would wait here until Nilrem’s party made it into camp. Nilrem might have some advice for him.

  But that might take a few days. What if everyone moved away for the birth of Samoht’s child? It was ironic that as one important political figure died, a political pawn was being born. And how long ‘til that happy event? How would Nilrem find him, or he Nilrem if they moved? And would the hulking warriors who guarded the tents and sat around the fires leave him alone during the wait?

  The last thing Lien wanted to do was get involved in Ardra’s troubles. He’d come into the game to get away from his own troubles. He didn’t need to adopt someone else’s. And what about his long-range plans? Where did he want to go? His first intention had been to try to reach the Tolemac capital and barter the jewelry he’d brought into local coin, then just travel around for the hell of it.