by Ann Lawrence
Lien elevated the injured arm. Ralen’s body jerked and his eyes opened wide, but he made no sound, his lips clamped shut.
“Sorry. I had to raise your arm; your fingers are really swelling.”
“Thank you.” Ralen grimaced. “I will have someone’s head for this.”
“We have that same expression where I come from,” Lien said.
“It is not an expression. I will have someone’s head for this.” Then Ralen grinned. It was not much of a grin, but it was a sign he was not slipping into unconsciousness.
“So this is where the rebels were herding us,” Lien said.
“I believe so. They would have culled the ones they wanted and left the rest of us to rot.”
Samoht looked over the edge of the pit. “We are dropping rope and vines. The women have conferred over Ralen’s injury, and Nilrem will instruct you.”
Nilrem gave quick directions. Lien pulled Ralen’s belt from his waist.
Ralen groaned, his eyes closed.
“Look. Nilrem says I’m to tie up this arm or there’s no way you’re getting out of this pit.”
Nilrem looked down from the rim, nothing but a nose and a thatch of wild gray hair. “We need to get you out as quickly as possible lest the rebels return.” There was a quaver in the wiseman’s voice.
The bloody garments a warrior tossed down must have come from a corpse. But beggars can’t be choosers, so Lien used Ralen’s dagger to slash one of the tunics into strips. He padded Ralen’s arm with the other. While Lien worked, the warrior said not one word, but sweat dripped down his face and his skin was clammy cold.
Next, Lien lashed Ralen’s arm to his chest. The warrior groaned as Lien moved the limb, but did nothing to hinder the effort. Lien wondered if Ralen would be able to get to his feet.
A thick braid of rope and vines dropped at Lien’s side. He tested the line and hoped it was tough enough. Ralen was no lightweight and neither was he.
He heard a rustle behind him. Ralen was struggling to his feet. He swayed a moment, then with visible effort straightened up. Lien said, “Don’t pass out on me now.”
Ralen gripped his arm. “This was a planned attack.” He leaned heavily on Lien and groaned, then said, “Did you notice it was women and slaves who were the targets?”
Lien shook his head. “I barely saw beyond my stick.”
“You have to get out of this pit. Now. Protect Einalem; I am useless like this.” Ralen’s hand grasped Lien’s sleeve again. “Let some of my men get me out. You must get up there and tell Samoht my suspicions. Cidre has to be behind this.”
“I can’t believe it.” Lien made a sling out of the braided vines and rope for Ralen, then made a similar one for himself.
Ralen’s men hauled Lien up the steep sides. Mini-avalanches of mud showered down as he scrambled his way over the top.
Once there, he instructed one of Ralen’s men to go down into the pit and aid Ralen. He outlined the safest way to haul an injured man out of a pit, pretending he knew what he was talking about when, in truth, he had no idea if the warrior was even strong enough to hang on to the rope.
While a trio of men worked at getting Ralen out of the hole, Lien looked for Einalem.
She knelt by a wounded slave. As Lien watched Einalem work, he saw a shiver in the tangled roots beside her. He snatched up a rock and pitched it hard into the foliage.
A strange thrashing sound burst from the foliage along with a jet of slimy fluid. It cascaded over Einalem and the wounded man.
Einalem fell across the slave in a dead faint.
A creature burst from the tangled roots.
A dragon. A six-foot-tall, scaly, green dragon with a barbed tail.
Lien stared in disbelief. All about him, slaves and warriors alike stood in silence. Some warily began to back away. No one spoke.
A second creature, half again as tall as the first, emerged from the greenery. It swung its head in Einalem’s direction. A viperlike tongue flicked out to test the air.
“What next?” Lien muttered. He glanced about for a weapon. The damned creature had talons. It shifted closer to the prostrate Einalem. The slave beneath her rolled his eyes.
In another moment someone was going to move and the things would attack.
Something did move—in the trees and vines behind the dragons. A snake. Then another. And another. They were three long ropes of slick, shiny black, with red, hooded eyes. They twisted their diamond-shaped heads in Lien’s direction.
The dragons did, too.
Lien concentrated on the serpents. His tattoo pulsed as if the veins in his arm were suddenly too narrow for his blood.
One dragon thrashed its tail, smacking the roots behind it, causing the slave beneath Einalem to shriek.
The dragons thundered forward. Slaves and warriors trampled each other, shouting, running, stumbling over one another to escape. The dragons charged the clearing, past Einalem, past Lien, after the running men.
Lien pointed to the dragons and shouted, “Stop them.”
Like magic, the black snakes dropped from the trees and skidded along the ground. They darted between the dragons’ feet. One moment the dragons were charging slaves, the next, they were biting and hissing and spewing slimy fluid on the black vipers at their feet.
The first snake swelled. It reared its head and darted forward, biting the dragon on the neck. The other two snakes attacked it too.
The dragon shrieked. Its companion crashed into the trees, disappearing.
Lien watched in awe as the dragon turned and twisted, slashing with its jaws at the snakes that had clamped onto its feet. Men jumped away from the creature’s swinging tail.
The poison worked its way through the dragon’s system. The creature slowed its dance. Slime dripped from its open mouth—a mouth filled with jagged teeth. It shuddered, made one last snap at the snake, then stood still. It trembled, rolled its eyes, then fell to its side with a crash.
The snakes let go. Slaves cowered as the vipers slipped through the trampled grass toward Lien. They lifted their heads like cobras before a snake charmer. He found his hand steady when he pointed after the surviving dragon. The snakes zigzagged off into the brush.
Everyone in the clearing stood still, staring at the felled dragon. No one even looked in Lien’s direction. He took a deep breath, then went to where Einalem lay across the slave. Ardra reached her at the same time. Lien’s eyes met Ardra’s as he helped her pull Einalem off the slave. They placed her gently on her back. Her eyes fluttered.
The slave shook. Lien went down on one knee and checked the man’s bloody arm. The slimy stuff was all over him—sticky, smelling like a sewer. Lien called over his shoulder, “Hey, bring some water to wash off this slime.”
Slaves ran to do his bidding. He found himself unnecessary as Cidre and other servants bathed those who had been slimed.
Ardra placed her hand on his shoulder. “The venom can rot the skin. It is imperative we wash it off.”
While the women sluiced the dragon venom off Einalem and the slave, Lien nervously checked himself for splashes but found none. Then he helped Ralen onto one of the horses. The warrior’s eyes spoke eloquently of the pain he was in.
When Lien handed Ralen the reins, Ralen said. “I saw your command of the snakes. Is it something you want others to know?”
Lien looked over to where Ardra stood with Einalem, who was dressing a small wound on her brother’s leg. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“As you wish.” Ralen grimaced and wrapped the reins about his good hand.
“Lien,” Ardra said, hurrying toward him. “You must wash. You touched the slave.”
She held a pitcher. He was surprised to see it was wine she poured over his hands. It ran as red and warm as blood through his fingers, pooled in his palms. He rubbed it into his skin; then she poured the wine over his hands a second time. It splashed down her ivory gown.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Ardra
met his gaze. Her eyes were full of concern. “Better some wine than the venom.”
“Ardra, what were you and Samoht talking about before—” He spoke to the air as she walked away, offering the wine to some of the men who had been near the dragon.
He watched her move around the clearing, organizing the slaves and even the warriors. She designated a man to ride behind Ralen and curtly shut Ralen up when he tried to protest he was able enough to ride alone.
“We need to leave immediately,” she said. “What if the rebels regroup? Or the commotion disturbed a nest of dragons, not just these two?”
A nest of dragons? Lien glanced around. Which was worse, rebels or prehistoric dinosaurs spitting venom?
Ardra mounted up behind a small slave woman who had done nothing but weep since the first rebels attacked.
Nilrem came to Lien’s side. “We have treated all those who are injured; we must go.”
“Looks like we’re moving out now.” He helped Nilrem onto the horse and climbed up behind him. The old man was exhausted, and Lien thought that if he let Nilrem go, he’d fall right off.
Nilrem craned his neck in all directions, his beard blowing in Lien’s face each time he turned.
“What happens when Ardra’s eight days are over?” Lien asked to distract the old man.
“Samoht takes her fortress. He will see no need to honor the treaties between Selaw and Tolemac. And why should he? He will have what Tolemac needs, a direct path to the ice fields and whatever lies beyond. And, of course, the ice. Let us not forget the joys of the ice itself.” The old man whispered, “‘Tis said Einalem much likes a shard of ice rubbed on her nipples.”
“More information than I need to know,” Lien said.
Cidre led her horse to their side and inquired after Nilrem’s health. Lien’s rash heated and the ant dance began again. He could no longer deny that it was a signal of some sort.
The return was torturous, and not because of his rash. Lien suspected it took so long because to go straight back to the fortress would demonstrate that they had ridden in circles.
Lien helped carry the wounded into the hall, which quickly became a hospital.
Venrali stood on the high steps and declared to all that their attackers wanted the horses. Samoht countered with the opinion the rebels were trying to kill him. The two men argued the issue while everyone worked around them.
Ralen’s words that the attack was planned ran in Lien’s brain like a hamster on a wheel. What did Cidre gain if Einalem and Ardra were dead?
The sun began to set, a reminder of the carnage, dripping its scarlet gleam over trees and vines. The courtyard was deserted except for Ardra, who remained until the last man was taken inside and the last horse was assigned a groom to see to its care. It was she who ordered a group of men to return to the clearing for the dead.
Lien watched her. She knew how to lead. There was something in her voice and manner that made everyone jump to follow her directions. Even the men from Tol’s guard who had been insolent obeyed her orders. That might be Ralen’s doing, but still, Lien couldn’t find fault with any of her decisions. This was another side of her, different from the softer woman who’d spent the night in his arms.
This woman didn’t need anyone. And had probably struck a bargain with the devil to get what she wanted for her son and her people.
Not once did she look in Lien’s direction for help—or to any other man either. He worked in the stable, which had an open front, so he could keep tabs on her.
She assumed a central location from which to marshal the slaves and warriors, one arm extended, pointing out tasks to be done. Her skirt was splotched with blood. Her hair was a tumble of snarls. There was a smudge of dirt on her chin.
A hard realization hit Lien like a fist in the chest. He loved the very things about Ardra that he’d sworn to Gwen did not attract him—Ardra’s slim figure, her serenity, and what had appeared in the game as coldness but was in fact an incredible self-possession evident even during the attacks in the forest.
She had not run or screamed. She had drawn her eating dagger and stood her ground. It was a damned good thing he was a pilgrim, or he’d be working off the adrenaline rush of the fight between the sheets, probably making little Ardras and Liens in the process.
Then he’d be stuck here forever.
The gap-toothed slave who’d fought for a moment at Lien’s side touched his arm. Lien tore his gaze from Ardra and looked down.
The slave held out the confiscated rebel sword. “Would you have it?” he asked.
Lien shook his head. “You should give that to one of Ralen’s men. I don’t need it.”
“I think you chose the wrong path,” the man said.
“What’s your name?” Lien asked.
“Inund. I come from the sea.” He gestured off in what Lien would call a southerly direction. “We have dragons that swim where I come from.”
Great. Loch Ness monsters. He glanced nervously toward the lake. “How’d you get here?”
“My father is a free man, but enjoys the grape too much, if you take my meaning.”
“Sure do.”
“When he lost his living—repairing fishing nets—he sold me to our Esteemed Goddess’s mother.”
“I see. Did he get much for you?”
The man smiled. “A side of boar delivered once a conjunction. I have fed my family well for half my life.”
“What would have happened to them if you’d been killed back there?”
The man lost his smile. “I suppose my father would sell my sister.” He bowed and departed. When Lien looked up, Ardra was gone.
“Damn.” He headed for the hall.
It was a mini-hospital. Shaken slaves poured water and wine while others huddled in corners and whispered. Einalem moved about like Florence Nightingale, while Cidre wandered, not paying much attention to anyone. When Cidre saw him, she perked right up and hurried over.
“Lien. Come. You must remove your robe and let me see if the dragon venom touched you anywhere.”
“It didn’t.”
“It did.” She pointed to his boots, and he saw what she meant. There were holes here and there as if acid had burned them. “Strip off everything,” she said. “Leather is no protection.”
“Later.” Where the heck was Ardra? He didn’t see her anywhere. And there was no way he was getting naked with the goddess.
“Later may mean death,” Cidre said.
Lien heaved a deep sigh. “Thanks for your concern. Later.” He walked away, through the hall, up into the corridor of chambers. No Ardra. He opened doors on empty chambers; everyone was occupied in the hall.
One door revealed an opulent chamber fit for a sultan, and he recognized Cidre’s scent and Venrali’s robes. With a glance at the door, Lien did a little vial-hunting, running his hands through the clothing in coffers, feeling under mattresses, looking in pots, sniffing bottles. The seduction potion could be in any one of them and he’d never know it, although he saw nothing that looked like the dirt Nilrem had described.
He flipped back the lid of a wooden box about twelve inches square. It was quite plain in comparison with the richness of the room. Inside, nestled on a green silky cloth, was a pile of rusty chains attached to wide metal bands. He picked them up and stared. It was a set of shackles.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ardra met Deleh at the door to the kitchen. Deleh held out a cup. “Come, Ardra, you have eaten nothing all day. Drink this milk or you will faint and be of use to no one.”
Ardra took the cup and drank. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stared into the cup. The milk tasted strange. “Deleh, did you make this yourself?” she asked.
“In the kitchen with my own hands.” Deleh took the cup back.
“It has a funny taste.”
“Oh, ‘tis probably what Cidre added to it.”
Ardra grabbed Deleh’s arm. “What did Cidre add?”
“Just something to give
you strength.”
The door closed behind Deleh. Ardra ran through the kitchen and into the garden. She stuck her finger down her throat, gagged, and coughed up some of the milky drink. Although she tried several times, she could not disgorge it all.
She stood among the vegetables and tried to assess how she felt. Was her skin warmer? Were her hands tingling? What of her fatigue? Was she more tired or less?
Why would Cidre poison her?
With relief, Ardra realized she felt as she always did. Lifting her hem, she went back through the kitchen and to the lower levels of the fortress.
She saw Cidre coming, a leather pouch in one arm and a basket in the other. Ardra stepped backward into the shadows and waited for the goddess to pass her. A chill air swirled after her.
Unable to resist looking inside the herbarium once more, Ardra tiptoed down the corridor and past a smoking torch.
She opened the door and froze. “Oh, I thought this chamber was empty.”
A young girl stood still, a spoon in her hand, a vacant look on her face. It was the girl from the orchard. The one Lien claimed Cidre put them asleep to protect. She was beautiful.
“My name is Ywri,” the girl said, smiling shyly. “Your face is very dirty. It is not pretty like mine.”
Ardra touched her cheek. “I’ll have to wash it.” How was she going to get this young woman to leave the herbarium? “I think Cidre could use your help in the hall…or the kitchen,” she said, fumbling for a reason to send the girl away.
Ywri curtsied and smiled. “I will go to the kitchen.”
A moment later, Ardra was alone in the herbarium. She pressed a hand to her heart to still its rapid beat.
The herbarium was brightly lighted with ranks of oil lamps giving off myriad scents that somehow blended into a soothing, sweet whole.
A mixture bubbled over a candle. It smelled and looked like stewed berries.
Ardra scanned the chamber. It was useless. Everything looked as it should. She was turning to go when a breeze kissed her cheek.
Along with it came a spicy, exotic scent. It appeared to come from a tall cupboard that held bunches of dried herbs.
