VirtualWarrior

by Ann Lawrence

  “I think you have an obligation to your mother. Your lifemate should understand that or she is not worthy of you.”

  He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah. Maybe here. But where I’m from, it didn’t really work out that way. Eve left me. She said my mother had made her own problems, and I needed to let her find her own solutions.”

  “I do not admire your intended, Lien.”

  “Yeah, well. I told Eve I wanted to feel that I’d done everything I could. So Eve left.”

  “I am sorry, Lien.”

  “I feel like I’m at that same decision point again.”

  “I have not asked you to choose.”

  He sighed. “I’ve come to realize over the past few days as I’ve watched Ralen that he wouldn’t run away from the challenge of helping you. He might stick with you for reasons that are self-serving, but he would stand by you. So I feel I have to do this, see this quest thing through.” He touched the robe.

  “But why as a pilgrim?”

  “That’s the other half of my story. See, where I come from, things are not black and white the way they are in Tolemac. Here, something’s honorable or it’s not. Something’s right or it’s not. I’ve been sitting on the fence as if I were at home. I’ve been saying, ‘Okay, I don’t want any hassles over my lack of arm rings, so I’ll hide behind the idea I’m a pilgrim.’ That’s what I’ve been doing, Ardra. Hiding who I am.”

  “And who are you, Lien?”

  “I’m either a pilgrim or I’m not. I’m not going to be unknown any longer.”

  “Lien. You can’t do this. Put aside the robe—”

  “Stop. One day you’ll meet the perfect man and he’ll—”

  “The perfect man. Not you,” she whispered.

  He walked over to the bed and pulled her up into his embrace. “Earlier this evening you asked me not to leave you, and I said I wasn’t going anywhere. I meant it. I’m not leaving you.”

  “But why a pilgrim?”

  “Because I’m not going to sit on the fence anymore. I’m going to put on this robe and be a pilgrim, with all the problems and deprivations that come with that status. It’s the only way I can help you. If I remain as I am, I will make love to you again.”

  “Love. Was it making love?” she asked. A tremor ran through her that he might love her.

  “Call it whatever you want, either way you will suffer because of what we do here. Samoht will use your behavior—sleeping with a man who’s not your lifemate—to prove you’re not the fine woman I know you to be.”

  So it was merely copulating, not lovemaking, to which he referred. The room was suddenly cold. “Lien—”

  “If I don’t choose this path, Samoht is going to challenge my status again, and I’ll no longer be able to help you.”

  “You bested him at the feast.”

  “I didn’t best him. I took advantage of your advice and the fact he’d had too much wine. Next time, he’ll insist on swords. And he’ll be sober.”

  She shook her head. “To kill a pilgrim is—”

  “Bad luck. True, and you said he won’t kill me because he might be killing his only way across the ice fields, but I saw his face when I knocked him down. He wants blood. He won’t let anything stop him.”

  “So you will play the pilgrim.”

  “I will not be playing. As long as you have nothing to bargain with, you have only the vial to save your fortress. And while you search for it, I’ll try to protect you.”

  The pilgrim robe would separate him from her forever. Tears welled in her eyes, so she turned her head away that he would not see her grief.

  Nothing to bargain with…

  Lien was wrong. She did have something to bargain with now.

  Cidre hummed a song as she dropped some morning dew into her persuasion spell. Ardra must be put out of the way. It was obvious that Lien would never accept his place as consort if Ardra remained available.

  A shiver of desire ran through Cidre’s veins, a desire she had not felt with any man—ever. It was so strong, she had to pause and lean on the table to wait for her body to return to a serene state.

  It was Lien’s dark hair, his nearly black eyes, that drew her. What powers the Daughter of Darkness would have if she was conceived of such a man’s seed.

  After the persuasion spell simmered precisely one rise and fall of the night orbs, she could put her plan into action.

  Cidre lifted a goblet and sipped another, more bitter, brew. She must be sure that no child already took root within her. No child of Venrali’s could equal one of Lien’s.

  Lien would not easily come to her bed. If she had been able to get to him before he’d spilled his seed over Ardra, then perhaps the usual persuasion spell would have lured him to her.

  But it was too late to rue such misfortune. Deleh had told her of Ardra’s time with Lien. Deleh was so easily persuaded. Cidre had needed little of the spell to get Deleh to turn over her mistress’s secrets.

  Now Cidre knew that even if Lien and Ardra were under the persuasion spell, they might not do as she directed. Ardra might not refuse Lien’s advances, and even if she did, Lien might not turn to another. The spilling of seed between lovers created a powerful lure of its own, hard to counteract.

  A knock came at the door. Cidre glanced about. There was nothing to indicate she was preparing a persuasion potion.

  “Come,” she called out.

  Einalem, garbed in a turquoise and ivory gown with chains of gold at her waist, glided into the herbarium. “I bid you good day.” As was proper, Einalem curtseyed and waited for the touch of greeting on her shoulder.

  “Sit. Rest a moment while I finish my work,”-Cidre said.

  Einalem curled her feet beneath her as she sat in Cidre’s favorite chair, a broad one with wide arms. “What are you brewing?”

  “Oh, just something for one of the kitchen boys who burned his thumb.” Cidre lighted the wick beneath the persuasion spell, then stood back with a smile of satisfaction. For a moment she lost herself in contemplation of Lien’s passion. She could almost taste it on her tongue.

  To cover her delight, she drew up a stool. She sat lower than Einalem to give her a false impression of importance.

  “Now,” she patted Einalem’s hand, “how may I help you?”

  “I have done a very bad thing. Or a good thing, as some may view it.”

  “Ah. Am I one who will be pleased with what you have done?”

  “Aye. You see…that is, I have the Vial of Seduction.”

  “By Nilrem’s knees!” Cidre forced herself to show the proper dismay. Why had she not guessed? And how could Samoht be so blind as not to see the thief in his own nest?

  A little tear ran down Einalem’s cheek. “I regretted it the instant I took it. You see, I had shamefully peeked in on the council session the day they were discussing the fate of the treasures.” She chewed her thumbnail. “It tortured me, that potion. But I did resist for a very long time.”

  Cidre held Einalem’s hand still. “What made you succumb?”

  Einalem leaped to her feet. “I could no longer stand it. All around me, men and women are making love—feeling some tender emotion that eludes me.”

  “Surely you have many fine lovers? Ralen? Is he not one of them? He is very fine.”

  “Ralen!” Einalem said. “It was Ralen who pushed me to steal the potion.” She sank into the chair and leaned forward. “It is Ralen who is to blame. If he had but understood the great honor accorded him if he lifemated with me…but nay, he must reach higher. It is his fault, is it not?”

  “Oh, aye. ‘Tis Ralen’s fault. How could he not want you?” Cidre smoothed a finger over Einalem’s furrowed brow.

  “I do not understand what went wrong. I please him in bed. But he makes love as he makes war—”

  “He is cold.”

  “As cold as Ardra’s ice.”

  “Then it is not your fault,” Cidre said. “It is a fault of Ralen’s that he cannot give you his he
art. And so, you stole the Vial of Seduction to turn Ralen’s heart warm.”

  “Aye. I knew just the size and shape of the bottle. I asked my brother to show me the treasures, and when he was not looking, I substituted another, similar bottle. It was almost a conjunction before anyone noticed the switch.”

  “But the potion has failed.”

  “I have used it on Ralen twice. There is so little of the powder left that I feared if I did not seek advice, I would waste it. When I heard that Ardra was coming to you for this vial, I was amused. Then I thought ‘twas an answer to my prayers. You alone might be able to help me. When Lien insisted he should escort Ardra, I begged to come along. I thought you might help me find a way to make the potion work.”

  “What of your brother? Has he any inkling you have the potion?”

  Einalem’s eyes welled with tears. “Samoht has no idea I have the vial. He is sure you have it.”

  Cidre looked at the potion bubbling on her table. It was like water to the power of the powder in the Vial of Seduction.

  Once administered to Lien, Ardra could crawl on her knees naked to him and he would kick her aside. The image snatched Cidre’s breath.

  “I will help you use the potion, Einalem, but for a price.”

  “Some of the potion.”

  “Ah. You understand the value of what you have.”

  “I will share, but can you make the potion work?”

  Cidre took Einalem’s hand. “You poor woman. Did no one tell you that only an honorable person can use the potion? Just by stealing the vial you ensured you could never use it.”

  Einalem’s shock amused Cidre. What a stupid woman. To steal something without understanding its true nature.

  When Einalem had recovered, there was a tremor in her voice. “How will we make it work, then? How? It seems impossible.”

  Cidre found it amusing that Einalem assumed she, too, could not use the potion. She said, “Oh, I shall find an innocent to administer the potion for us.”

  “How can any woman, innocent or not, give the potion to a man, exchange a kiss with him, and then stand aside to allow his seduction by another?”

  Cidre stood up. She adjusted the wick beneath her persuasion potion. “I will think of something. Come here after the midday meal on the morrow and I will have an answer for you. Ralen will soon be yours.”

  Einalem went to the door. On the threshold, she turned back. “Oh, Cidre, it is not Ralen I want anymore. Nay. I have found another.”

  Cidre shook her head. Inconstant woman.

  “I feel as if I will die of the want if I do not have him. He invades my thoughts even when Ralen is in my arms.”

  “Who is this man more alluring than Ralen?” Cidre asked, though she cared little.

  “Lien. No other will do.”

  The air hissed into Cidre’s chest. She gripped the stirring stick so she did not thrust it into Einalem’s eye.

  Cidre waited until the door closed to give way to her anger. She threw a dish of flax seeds against the wall and stabbed a goh carcass again and again. Finally, she calmed. “Oh, Einalem, you will die of want. For you shall not have him.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lien took a deep breath and walked to the grotesque hearth, Ollach in his wake. The day was very new, the light just filtering into the hall. A few torches still smoked in the wall brackets. Cidre, on her carved throne close by the warm hearth, sat amidst her new best friends, the fawning pilgrims.

  She was garbed in a pale green gown much different from her other loose dresses. This one was fitted from stem to stern. A lacy gold chain encircled her waist, the ends falling to the hem of her dress. The lush body promised in the loose dresses was realized in this one. Her hair had pale green threads wrapped around some of the strands.

  Ralen and his men had ranged themselves about the hall, their black and white in harmony with Samoht’s strictly black-clad men. Einalem must still be in bed, and Nilrem snored on a bench in almost the precise place he’d been found yesterday.

  When Cidre greeted Lien, the hall fell silent.

  “Have you made a decision, Lien?” Cidre asked him.

  “I have.” He bowed to the goddess.

  Samoht, who sat at the table near Cidre, picked his nails and affected a look of boredom. The effect was ruined by the two-foot-long dagger embedded point down in the table by his elbow.

  The sight of the dagger cemented Lien’s resolve.

  Tomorrow Samoht might go after Ardra with something sharper than his raised voice and overwhelming personality.

  Lien made a show of laying out the pilgrim robe before Cidre.

  “So you eschew the pilgrim life,” Samoht said. He brushed his nail parings off the table, scattering them at Lien’s boots.

  Lien didn’t answer. Instead he undid his belt, placed it beside the robe, then took off his tunic.

  Samoht frowned. A few serving women gasped when Lien pulled the pilgrim robe over his head and settled the hood down his back.

  “Stick,” he said, and Ollach slapped it into his hand as an operating nurse might.

  “So you go, pilgrim?” Cidre said. “I am sorry. I found your company amusing. As did others, I am sure.”

  The goddess looked up, and he followed her gaze. Ardra stood at the top of the stairs, garbed in the long gold column she’d worn the first time he’d stepped over the invisible boundary—the invisible boundary that Ardra was starting to recognize. The invisible boundary he had been too jaded to have thought important until he’d stepped across it. Her face was a portrait of want and need.

  He turned away.

  Samoht pulled the long knife from the table and sheathed it. “Aye. We will be sorry to see you go.”

  Lien smiled. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I’m just changing my clothes.”

  “What are you saying?” Samoht rounded the table and stood toe to toe with him. Threads of red in the whites of Samoht’s eyes testified to the world-class hangover the man must have.

  “I’m saying I’ll be here for a while yet. Nilrem said I was to stick by Ardra’s side, and that’s what I intend to do. And in case anyone forgets my status, I thought I’d follow your advice, Samoht, and take advantage of the kind offer of this robe.”

  Cidre threw back her head and laughed. “You are a puzzle, Lien.” Then she turned to Pointy-nose. “It seems our friend will not be completing his pilgrimage at your side. I bid you good journey.” She pressed her hands together palm to palm and curtseyed to each pilgrim in turn.

  Her dress really hugged her every move. Pointy-nose looked as if he had a little fire going on under his robe, but he dutifully moved off with his comrades.

  The pilgrims strode away as a unit, and Lien could not say he was sorry to see them go.

  He looked up at Ardra. Did she regret what he had done?

  Her face was expressionless, her back ramrod straight. Ardra, the woman who could rule a fortress, now stood there looking determined. Turning her back to him, she disappeared from the hall.

  “Everyone sit. Sit.” Cidre clapped her hands “Eat.”

  Lien shook his head when Cidre swept out a hand, inviting him to sit by her side. His skin, clear of the rash since Ardra’s embrace, now prickled with the harbinger of its return.

  Instead he walked to the lowest position at the far end of the table—a seat that placed his back to the door—a pilgrim’s kind of seat. Ollach settled at his side, saying that Ardra had ordered him to suffer the same indignity as Lien by sitting in a position reserved for the least of diners.

  Lien smiled. He wanted to appear to Samoht as the least of men. One who might have bested a councilor when that councilor was drunk, but not one to worry about when sober.

  Underestimation was one of Lien’s few weapons. A trail of serving men and women brought out platters of bread, cheese, and fruit and ewers of wine and water. As Lien raised his cup of water to his lips, a ripple of sensation passed down the hall. His heart began a little dance when he lift
ed his eyes to the top of the stairs. Not Ardra.

  Descending the stairs was a tall, thin man with a magnificent head of white hair. He wore a dark green robe open over a loose tan tunic and buff breeches. Around his neck he wore the heavy gold chain and black gem Cidre had worn the night of their arrival.

  The Black Eye. A symbol of evil, according to Ardra. Everyone jumped to his feet. Cidre walked to the foot of the steps and dropped into a very deep curtsey. The man placed a hand on her head. When she rose, they walked side by side to the high table. Before they sat, Cidre kissed the man on each cheek. The motion drew Lien’s eyes to her consort’s. They were Selaw amber.

  Lien realized he’d stopped thinking of Ardra’s eyes as anything but beautiful. Now he noticed them again as something that separated chiefdoms.

  “I am so pleased,” Cidre said, “to present my consort, Vanrali.”

  Venrali bowed, kissed Cidre’s hand, and bade everyone to sit. Lien observed the man with intense curiosity. Finally, he had met the goddess’s mysterious sperm bank.

  “What a bore for a beautiful young woman to ride such «n old mount,” Ollach whispered.

  “That is disrespectful to your mistress.”

  “Ardra? She was given no choice. This woman chose deliberately.”

  “Then maybe she loves him.”

  Ollach coughed into his wine goblet. “A man loves his concubines, not his mate.”

  Lien saw Nilrem yawn, stretch, then head in their direction.

  Nilrem pushed his way onto the narrow bench on which Lien sat. The wiseman prodded every piece of fruit and sniffed each cheese before nibbling on his selections.

  “What do you think of Venrali?” Lien asked.

  “What do you think of a woman who chooses such a man?” Nilrem countered.

  Lien shrugged. “Maybe they’re in love.”

  “If she is truly the Goddess of Darkness, she is evil and he may be as well. It would be prudent to be wary of them both, though she may be the more deadly.”