VirtualWarrior

by Ann Lawrence

  “Where is your consort?” Ralen asked of their hostess.

  “Venrali? He is indisposed, but I am sure you will meet him soon.”

  “Can I be of some service to him? I am a healer,” Einalem said.

  Cidre waved a negligent hand. “Oh, he suffers only the pangs of age. He needs no healers.”

  Servants handed around platters of warm bread, bowls of sliced apples, and pitchers of sweet wine.

  Cidre sipped her wine from a goblet decorated with etchings of vines and flowers. Her guests’ cups were plain wood. The goddess saw to their every need, even noticing when Lien refused the wine and ordering spring water fetched for him.

  Was the food tainted with some potion? Ardra wondered. Was it safe to eat? Only Lien and she picked at their food, while the rest ate heartily.

  “Are you Ardra of the Fortress of Ravens?” Cidre asked while the slaves served the next course of fish and river snails.

  Ardra inclined her head. “I am.”

  “I am honored to meet you. I have heard much of you and your work with the Selaw miners. Your efforts have eased the hardships of many who cut the ice.”

  “So has the fine price the Tolemac treaties have placed on the ice,” Samoht said.

  Ardra acknowledged his words with a nod. “I do not wish to take credit where it is not earned.”

  A child of no more than six conjunctions edged down the steps. Her hair was wrapped in a yellow cloth to match her gown. She curled on a cushion in the corner.

  “What a sweet child. Is she your daughter?” Einalem asked.

  “I have no children,” Cidre said. “Nay, a slave’s child. She fancies a place here.”

  “Children serve here?” Ardra frowned.

  “If it suits me. Here is her father now.”

  A man not quite as tall as Lien or Ralen, nor as handsome as Samoht, carried in a huge meat tray. He set it before Samoht and offered him a carving knife.

  Ralen smiled. “Cidre’s kitchens are magnificent.”

  “Pork?” Einalem said, looking at the meat.

  “It is the wild sow, slaughtered when she is in heat. One cannot surpass it for taste,” Cidre said.

  “You do us great honor, then,” Ralen said.

  Cidre turned to Ardra. “The sow is my totem spirit.”

  The food stuck in Ardra’s throat. How was she to go about finding the Vial of Seduction in such a huge place? It could be hidden in some knothole in the tree hearth or behind a stone in Cidre’s bedchamber. Failure seemed inevitable.

  The meal ended and everyone rose. Ardra took her courage in hand. “Might I speak with you in private, Cidre?”

  “Of course you may. You need a potion, do you not?”

  When everyone fell silent, Cidre laughed. It was an amused, seductive laugh. “Not that potion. Rather, one for a womanly ill we all must tolerate from time to time. Come, follow me.”

  Heat filled Ardra at the personal remark, but she fought a retort. She must get close to the goddess.

  As they passed the men and Einalem, Cidre stopped before Lien. “I must say, I have never met a man with hair so dark.”

  She touched her hand to his cheek, then his lips, then the center of his chest.

  Lien merely sat there, one dark brow arched in question.

  Ardra felt the molten flames of envy.

  “You are strong,” the goddess said. “Not just of body, but of soul. You defend. It is your nature, is it not?”

  “I’m just a humble pilgrim,” Lien said and bowed.

  “Come, do not be too humble, else you will disappoint me.”

  Cidre turned away, and Ardra followed her to a small chamber in the lower levels of the fortress. The herbarium was a simple, whitewashed room, fragrant with hanging bunches of herbs and simmering pots of oil, lighted by ranks of candelabra fitted with thick candles.

  On one wall was a painted wheel. It was intersected by lines marking the holy days and festivals.

  There was a painted wheel much like it in Ardra’s fortress, in the kitchens.

  “Fear not, Ardra. Sit—” Cidre indicated a chair. “I am a simple healer, nothing more. Now, might I have your hand?”

  Ardra placed her hand in the goddess’s and wiped her mind as clean as possible. She sensed that the goddess used her touch to delve into a person’s thoughts.

  “You are mourning, are you not?”

  “That is easy to divine. I wear no ornaments in my hair or rings on my hands.”

  “I too wear no ornaments in my hair or on my hands, but I am not in mourning.”

  “Then someone has told you my lifemate recently died.”

  Cidre smiled and leaned back in her chair, releasing Ardra’s hand. “You are correct. I heard it from one of my slaves as I saw to our meal. Let us not mince words. Samoht may say he is consulting me about the potion, but he believes I have it. You are his instrument, am I right?”

  “He has charged me to find the vial.”

  “You will not find it here. You are foolish even to try.”

  “I have but my eight days of mourning to find the potion; then I must submit to Samoht’s wishes in regard to my fortress. Would you want someone to claim this fortress? Would you not make the effort regardless of how futile?”

  Cidre took several dishes from a shelf. She spooned some of the contents of each into a bowl, ground them with a pestle, then tipped them into the center of a square of linen. She folded the linen into a triangle and fit it into the neck of a stone bottle. Next, she shook the cloth and withdrew it.

  Last, she put a wooden stopper on the bottle. She held it out. “Lie to Samoht. Hand him this and say ‘tis the potion. Tell him I wish to keep the vial itself as it is far too lovely to part with.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  A candle on Cidre’s table smoked, filling the chamber with a spicy scent.

  “I am not a thief. It insults me to be visited in this manner and suspected. Samoht may have me taken to the capital and put to the question. It is how my mother died, you know.”

  Ardra took a deep breath. “Nay, I did not.” The questioning was much like a Selaw testing. She had witnessed one and had no wish to see another.

  “The last high councilor had my mother questioned over a boy’s disappearance. He was only a slave, but the councilor had some mad notion that my mother might have ensorcelled the child and done some wickedness—sacrificed him even. By the gods, men are so stupid. A goddess practices herbal healing, nothing more.”

  “And your mother died during her questioning?”

  “Nay. She was questioned and found to know nothing. But the child’s mother got wind that she was to be released and lay in wait for her. She stabbed my mother eight times, one thrust for each year of her child’s life. If the high councilor had not believed the tales of old women and slaves, she would be alive today.”

  “He did not stab her.”

  “He put her in harm’s way. One cannot change the turning wheel of fate.” Cidre indicated the circle painted on her wall.

  Ardra stared at the wheel. Cidre’s mother had changed the wheel of fate for a small child years ago—her fate.

  “You are remembering how we are connected, are you not, Ardra of the Fortress?”

  “I know of no connection between us.” Her heart began to beat hard.

  “Was your mother not cursed by your father’s concubine? Did the woman not curse your mother by calling on the Goddess of Darkness to avenge her for your mother’s unholy treatment of her? Did your mother not fall ill and die soon after?”

  “My mother, wrongly, had my father’s concubine tested. The woman’s wounds festered, and aye, she did curse my mother on her deathbed. And aye, my mother sickened and died soon after.”

  Cidre stood up and pressed the bottle into Ardra’s hand. “But you believe your mother died because the concubine called on the goddess. It is what many believe. Let me tell you the truth.

  “Your mother died because her own evil permeated
her body, causing her to sicken. It had naught to do with my mother. The Goddess of Darkness is a legend. A tale to frighten children and silly women such as yourself. My mother was also named Cidre. She was Cidre, Goddess of the Tangled Wood, nothing more.”

  Ardra set the bottle of powder on Cidre’s table. “Samoht will not believe this is the potion. He will not believe you gave it up so easily.”

  “Then you are doomed to failure.”

  Ardra turned to go.

  “Oh, and Ardra. Is it not also said in the legends that the goddess birthed a beautiful daughter and an ugly son? I have no brother, just as I have no children.”

  “Lien? Where are you?” Ardra hurried toward him, weaving through the hall, peeking in corners, opening doors. She was all dressed up. He liked the way she looked, but much preferred her as she had been in his arms. Softer, unsure of herself, ready to explore.

  The woman approaching him had a determined frown on her face. Much like the one Eve wore when she wanted to manage his life.

  “Right here, Ardra.” He shifted his shoulders against the swollen nipple of a dancing mantel figure.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “I have looked everywhere for you.”

  “I’m just admiring the artwork.” He resisted the urge to tell her the dancing babes made great scratching posts. It also sounded insane to say that he thought Cidre had somehow caused his itchy rash.

  “May we walk?” She gestured to the door, and he checked out her nails. Too short to be useful. He cast a longing look back over his shoulder at the dancing women. His glance also made a quick check for Samoht and his men. They were still at the table, talking and laughing.

  “Why are men so fascinated by large breasts?”

  “I have no idea. Ask Nilrem, he’s the wiseman.” A guard opened the double doors for them, and Lien noticed more of Samoht’s men and Ralen’s wandering about the courtyard, eyeing the goddess’s guards. They all wore expressions that said they’d draw swords in an instant and start a mini-war if anyone farted wrong.

  Lien’s stick seemed inadequately light and brittle. No one challenged them when they passed over the drawbridge and wandered down to the lake. It had a pebble shore, so he skipped stones while Ardra paced.

  He decided she was either regretting the sex or just overly shy.

  Finally, she came to stand near him. “The goddess gave me a potion to turn over to Samoht.”

  So much for male intuition. “I gather it’s not the right one.”

  “You gather rightly. She mixed it up from stores on her shelves. What am I to do?”

  “Search?” He groaned and raked his fingernails on his wrist.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shh. Lower your voice. I think the goddess must be around. Close, in fact.”

  “How do you know?” she asked in softer tones.

  “Well, I’m beginning to think this rash wasn’t caused by my tunic. The itching ebbs and flows. It’s at its worst when Cidre’s around. And it’s pretty bad right now.”

  “A woman cannot give a man a rash.”

  “Why not? She can give him a headache.” Ardra didn’t laugh. “Never mind. Look, I didn’t get the rash until I entered the Wood, and when she touched me, the red dots—” he pulled up his sleeve and showed her the rash, “prickled hot.”

  Ardra leaned very close. He felt her breath on his skin. Was it his imagination that the terrible itch subsided in just that spot? Wishful thinking, probably.

  “You must be sensitive to all this lush foliage. Did bathing help you?”

  “A little bit. And Einalem gave me an oil to rub on it this morning.”

  “I’m sure she did.”

  He decided to push her buttons a bit more. “She wanted to rub it on for me, but I said you’d be pissed.”

  “Pissed?” She frowned. “Piss is urine.”

  “In Ocean City it also means angry.”

  She tossed her head. The hair thing really did it for him.

  “I am not angry,” she said. “I am merely disappointed that she would try to tempt a pilgrim.”

  Lien hid a smile. “How soon you forget your own tempting kisses.”

  “Oh.” She touched her breast and licked her lips.

  The gesture caused an immediate reaction in him. He wanted to carry her to a soft patch of grass and finish what they’d started. “Look, Ardra, this is where we have the morning-after talk. We get all our regrets out in the open.”

  “Do you have regrets, Lien?”

  “I’m sorry you fell asleep.”

  Her eyes were dark amber, wide, unsure. “Forgive me for eating the bread. I know you must think me a fool.”

  “You didn’t know the bread was drugged.”

  “I stopped you before I ate the bread.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, you did. Why?”

  “I have never felt that way before. It was a small madness.”

  “It wasn’t regret?”

  She shook her head. Her hair slid across her breasts and shoulders. He remembered what it felt like against his chest.

  “I have only one regret.”

  His heart began to thud. “And that is?”

  “You found no happiness.”

  “Happiness? Oh, I was very happy.” And Mr. Happy is getting damned elated talking about it. “It was probably for the best; I was feeling a bit out of control. I don’t need to leave any little Liens around when I go.” She suddenly moved off a few feet. “Look, you have more important things to think about than my happiness,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it and extended her hand. A flat stone lay on her palm. “If this were the potion, where would you hide it?”

  “In with a bunch of other pebbles.”

  “Aye.” She threw the pebble into the lake. “I think I need to inspect Cidre’s herbarium with someone who knows potions. She has so much there, I fear the vial could be in plain sight and I would not know it. Do you think Nilrem would help me?”

  “You’d have to be sure Cidre wasn’t around. And that sounds mighty dangerous.”

  He took her hand. A warmth suffused his skin, and the itching at his wrist eased. Was it wishful thinking again, or something more? He certainly couldn’t remember thinking about his rash while caressing her.

  “Ardra, there are just some things that are life truths. One is, don’t spit into the wind. Going into Cidre’s herbarium while she’s loose in the fortress is asking for trouble.”

  Several of Ralen’s men walked over the drawbridge and stood there chatting, looking in their direction.

  “A cloud crossed your brow just now. What is it?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking of something Ollach told me. I cannot appear intimate with you in front of these men.”

  Ardra’s hand slid from his. It was a loss. Damned celibacy.

  “Come, Lien, we must have help. Let us consult Nilrem.”

  It was the first time she had made it a “we” venture. He wasn’t sure he wanted that much involvement.

  “Look. I don’t think there’s anything you can do during the day. How about after everyone’s in bed, in the middle of the night? Take a really long nap during the day, then let’s hook up…er, get together and search, just the two of us.”

  “Why did you hesitate just now?”

  He wasn’t about to tell her that “hook-up” referred to casual sex. He told her a partial truth. “Oh, I was just wondering how I would know when ‘later’ was. In Ocean City, we have timepieces to mark the hours.”

  “We have the same. Come, I will show you.”

  They walked up to the fortress and over the drawbridge. The men loitering at the massive gate nodded to Ardra in a rude, perfunctory manner. She returned their nods in the same elegant way she always did. He was completely ignored.

  Her spine straightened even more after the snub. She was positively sailing across the courtyard.

  “Ardra. Slow down. Why were those men rude to you
?”

  “It has been so since Ralen took control. They defer to him, but I no longer have their allegiance.”

  He would talk to Ralen. If he didn’t, he might end up shoving his stick down one of the warriors’ throats, and that would not do.

  “Why is there only one kind of flower here?” she asked.

  “Hmm. I hadn’t noticed.” She was right. Large or small, the flowers were the same. So were the vines, whether the lacy ones on the inside walls or the thick ones on the outside.

  Everything here was so different from…home. Even something as simple as a shadow held different shades of color. The lavender sky over the lake was now streaked with green and gray. It looked angry and powerful at the same time.

  In the courtyard, Ardra led him to a simple sundial surrounded by tiles.

  “Uh. Yeah. I know how this works. But won’t we be in the dark?”

  She laughed and had a coughing fit. He pounded her back. “You don’t laugh very often, do you?”

  Ardra ducked her head. “I have no time for laughter.”

  The urge to embrace her was almost overwhelming. He shook it off. “Speaking of time…” He tapped the sundial with his stick.

  “When it is dark we consult the stars. Or we know the time by the sound and rhythm of the fortress. You lie awake and listen. Guards make their appointed rounds. Cocks crow. You listen to the night sounds.”

  Like the sounds of lovemaking. Like Ardra’s sharp little gasps and stifled moans. He needed some distance. “Why don’t we make use of the daylight hours to consult Nilrem? I don’t even know what this vial is supposed to look like. Once we talk to him, we should rest. We can’t stay awake all day and then expect to be up all night.”

  They walked into the hall. Nilrem was stretched out on his back on a bench, fast asleep. When Lien shook him by the shoulder, the wiseman awoke quickly.

  “Eh. Pilgrim. Ardra. What may I do for you?” A burst of laughter drew their attention to where Samoht, Einalem, and Ralen still sat at the long table with Cidre, who had returned from her herbarium.

  “How can they sit there doing nothing?” Ardra asked. Nilrem answered her.

  “They have no cares. It is only you who has a care.”