VirtualWarrior

by Ann Lawrence

  “Mostly from Nilrem. Of course, he got them from the wisemen who came before.”

  “Of course.”

  Lien drew Ardra up the beach, where Ollach joined them. The warrior commiserated with them about dragon venom, showing a spot on his sleeve where it had eaten a hole clear to his skin; then he headed off to the stables, while they continued toward the kitchen door.

  There they met the gap-toothed slave who had wielded the sword.

  “Lien, I must thank you for saving my life,” Inund said.

  “Look, you can show your thanks by making sure no one in the kitchen remembers seeing Ardra and me.”

  The man waggled his eyebrows, but bowed and opened an iron-strapped door. When Lien peered out, he saw another small set of steps. He sniffed the air but smelled only wood.

  Before he entered the dark space, he drew back and said to the servant, “Do you think you can find me a dry robe?”

  “Without doubt. Where will I find you?”

  “Uh—” he said, but Ardra interrupted him.

  “You must bring the robe to my chamber. No one would think to disturb us there.”

  Lien felt his cheeks flame as Inund grinned and hurried away. Cautiously Lien led Ardra up the winding steps to discover that the way was nothing but an innocent servants’ staircase to the bedchambers.

  Once in her room, Ardra immediately began to strip off her wet clothes. Lien turned his back. He eradicated the vision of her slim form from his mind, concentrating instead on the fact that he had nothing to wear again. A tap at the door made him whip around and hold a finger to his lips.

  Ardra wore only a thin linen shift that reached to her ankles. It had skinny straps and was tight across her small breasts. Damp, it molded her body, heightened the shadows, outlined her delicate bones. He swallowed. Mesmerized, he could not tear his eyes from the dark shadow of her navel. He wanted to bury his face against her and breathe in her scent.

  The tap came again. Ardra walked to the door and cracked it open. A pile of clothing was thrust through the opening.

  She stood a moment, head bowed, the clothes in her hands. Without turning around, she dropped the garments on a chair near the door.

  “I will wait for you to dress,” she said.

  The shift clung to her buttocks and legs. Lien no longer tried to look away. As he stripped and dried off, he watched her. He had a raging erection, but knew he was going to do absolutely nothing about it.

  Samoht would see her like this. The thought riled something very caveman-like in his nature.

  Inund had donated a pair of long trousers and soft boots which he cross-gartered above and below his knees as he’d seen some slaves and warriors do. The trousers were a bit tight, but he laced them as best he could.

  The robe, while similar to a pilgrim’s, was made of a softer, smoother cloth. It had a rough rope belt and a hood.

  “Okay. I’m done,” he said. “You can turn around.”

  She did. And gasped. “Your hand.”

  He looked down. The rash on his wrist had darkened in places and faded in others. “God.”

  The rash hurt no more than it had before, but what he saw was beyond his understanding. It was the same knotwork as on his tattoo.

  “The pattern is called the Shield,” she said. “It is a sign. You are good.”

  He took her hands and pressed them together. “Stop it. I’m no better than anyone else. It’s not a sign of anything.”

  Ardra shook her head. “It is a sign that you can feel evil. It darkens when Cidre is near. It spread across your back when you fought against Samoht.” She shivered.

  “You’re cold. Get changed.” He had to pretend that what she said was unimportant. He couldn’t tell her how his tattoo had pulsed in the attic like her heartbeat.

  He pulled his hands away from her and went to his pack. He needed something to do, so he tucked the bandage with the leaf Ardra had given him up under his robe, inside the front of his trousers. The cloth buffered his skin from the rough laces.

  “Lien.” Ardra came to him. “Please wait for me.”

  He nodded, one hand on the latch. He kept it there so he would not be tempted to take her in his arms. When she was finally ready, she looked none the worse for wear. Her clean gown was ivory with a serviceable brown apron thing over it. One tie was hanging loose. “Allow me,” he said.

  She turned around. He lifted her damp hair and gently placed it over her shoulder. As he touched her, his wrists cooled. He spread his hands on her shoulders and tried not to gasp as the fiery pain receded.

  “I can braid my hair on the morrow,” she said.

  As he crossed the ties behind her waist, he realized it was her way of saying her eight days of mourning would be over. When he brought the ties to the front of her gown, she covered his hands and held them hard against her.

  “What will you do when I braid my hair?” she asked.

  The simple statement shook him out of his trance.

  “Ardra, no matter what happens about the vial, don’t give yourself to Samoht. I can’t leave thinking you will be in his power.”

  “But you will leave.”

  Her hands were cold. He disentangled his and tied the apron securely for her. “I’ll finish my pilgrimage.”

  “We must tell Nilrem what we think about Ywri.” She left the chamber, regal as a queen, her thoughts and emotions much better controlled than his.

  Lien took the back steps, cutting through the kitchen and arriving in the hall before Ardra. He made a beeline to Nilrem.

  “Ardra and I think we know how Cidre will administer the seduction potion.”

  Nilrem raised a shaggy brow. “Tell me.” He leaned close so they could speak without being overheard.

  “There’s a young woman named Ywri whom Ardra says is simple. She’s also beautiful.”

  “Say no more.” Nilrem patted Lien’s arm. “We have but to watch for her and to whom she offers food or drink.”

  “It’s too easy,” Lien said. “There’s a catch somewhere.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ardra felt the difference in the hall as soon as she started down the stairs. No one spoke above a whisper. Among the slaves who brought out the platters, many wore bandages and several limped.

  Ralen sat by Cidre, his arm wrapped and strapped to a splint. “This is clever.” Ardra said and touched the halter of cloth that supported his injury.

  “Lien fashioned it for me.”

  “Oh.” She touched the tips of Ralen’s fingers to assess the color of his nails to decide if he was bandaged too tightly. “Does this hurt?” she asked. A few conjunctions ago, she would not have known how to care for an injured man.

  “I have had enough wine so nothing hurts.” He grinned.

  “I want to tell you how sorry I am for your injury.”

  “There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

  “Nevertheless. You were helping others.”

  Ralen adjusted his arm a bit, and Ardra suspected the wine had not completely relieved his discomfort.

  “I will soon be wielding a sword again, so stop worrying,” he said.

  She kissed her fingertips and touched his injured arm very lightly.

  Lien stood with Nilrem. He gave a barely perceptible nod, and she knew the wiseman had been apprised of their suspicions regarding Ywri. As soon as Ralen separated himself from Cidre, she would warn him too.

  She walked toward Samoht. She could feel Lien’s emotions across the hall—they rolled off him in waves. Or was it just some hope within her that he felt more than he did?

  Would Lien remain with the wiseman when the eight days were over? She tried to imagine Lien as a pilgrim on Hart Fell, living in deprivation, eating whatever was donated, spending his days in contemplation.

  Would Lien leave her to Samoht’s bed? Sorrow filled her that she would never lie in Lien’s arms again. His celibacy negated all hope. Part of her was angry with herself for feeling more than he
did. If he had felt the depth of emotion she had experienced, he would not have chosen the pilgrim path. He would have thought of another way.

  What way?

  Samoht watched Lien as a blue-hawk might watch a goh. It reminded her of Lien’s words that Samoht wanted blood. She must find a way to extend her bargain to include safe passage for Lien.

  Ardra remembered how she had once thought she loved a man. She had thought of the man in her idle moments and had felt an inner thrill when he had once tried to kiss her, but now that she had experienced physical pleasure with Lien, she knew that small thrill meant little when compared to what she had discovered in Lien’s arms. How would she bear Samoht’s embrace?

  She crossed her arms, and when she wrapped her hand about her upper arm, she felt the hard metal of her arm rings. It was all that separated her from Lien.

  Two rings of metal. Generations of tradition and close-mindedness. Then she realized that it was not their shared passion that made her regret parting with Lien; it was the fact that he offered her something no other man had ever offered her, Tol included.

  Lien thought her capable of all she hoped and needed to do. He did not doubt her. He encouraged and supported her. He had no wish to rule her life and thoughts.

  Her steps led her to Samoht.

  “Sit with me, Ardra.” Samoht’s smile was warm. Nothing was evident of the callous man who had attacked her. “If we are to share a bed at some time, we could at least share some food. Now, what pleases you?”

  Ardra blindly took slices of meat and roasted onions from the platter Samoht passed her. She could not eat, but she recognized the gesture of a councilor serving a woman as an extraordinary one she should not scorn. “I wish to petition you to grant Lien unconditional safe conduct.”

  “Free men have safe conduct.”

  She waited, fear for Lien making her throat feel tight.

  After a few moments Samoht shrugged. “If I agree to your bargain, it will be done.”

  She put her hand on his sleeve. “When will you make your decision?”

  He covered her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Soon. I have thought of nothing but your bargain. Of you beneath me. Ready. Willing. Begging me to—”

  “Ardra,” Lien interrupted them. “Ralen needs you.”

  “Go away, pilgrim.” Samoht jumped to his feet.

  A flush ran over Lien’s face.

  “Lien,” Ardra said. “Tell Ralen I will join him in a moment.”

  Lien walked away. He had broken the moment. She could no longer sit with Samoht. “I will be back after I have looked at Ralen’s arm. He is not one to complain, I imagine.”

  She swept away from the table. Ralen looked surprised when she sat beside him for the second time. So Lien had lied.

  “I would like to check your hand again.” She picked up his fingers and examined his nails.

  “Ardra,” Ralen said. “Might I make a suggestion?” When he lifted his wine to his lips, his hand shook. He quickly set the cup down.

  “I appreciate your thoughts on any matter, Ralen.” She pretended she had not seen his weakness.

  “Of course. You have been raised to understand your place.”

  If he were not injured, she would kick his shin for such a remark.

  Ralen nodded in Lien’s direction. “Why do you not petition the council to grant you Lien?”

  “Grant me Lien?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

  “He will eventually be declared a slave, no matter the snake that coils three times about his arm. At that time, and I suspect Samoht will push the matter, if your petition is registered first, the council will have to consider your request before any others.” He leaned close to her and glanced at Samoht. “You can ask for Lien as your protector, citing how he saved your life—”

  “Four times.”

  “Three times. You saved his life today.”

  “Three times,” she echoed. But it was four times. Ralen would never know of Lien’s rescue in the attic.

  Her own act during the rebel raid had been pure instinct. She would have fought the rebel with her bare hands to save Lien.

  She knew the taste of Lien’s essence, knew the touch of his hand in intimate detail. Lien was as much a part of her as if he had spilled his seed within her and quickened her with child.

  There would be no other man for her—ever. She might be bargaining her body to Samoht, but her heart was Lien’s—forever.

  “The council will be strongly inclined in your favor, no matter what other petitions might be made after yours,” Ralen said.

  “Who else would make such a petition?” She cut small slices from the roasted mutton and placed them piece by piece on his plate that he might eat with only one hand.

  “Einalem.”

  Ardra continued to cut the meat into ever smaller pieces. “Einalem?”

  “Oh, I know her well, which I am sure you know. I have seen the signs. She wants Lien, and with her brother as high councilor, she will likely have her way. Once Lien is declared a slave, she will go for ownership.”

  Einalem wanted Lien? “What hope have I against a councilor’s sister?” She had difficulty remaining in her seat. “And Lien would never accept slave status.”

  “He may have to go on the run, then.”

  She would never see him again. “Ralen, we cannot let this happen.”

  He gently stopped her from cutting his meat into tiny specks. “Then warn him to adhere strictly to every pilgrim convention.”

  Every pilgrim convention. Celibacy. Her heart ached.

  Ralen got to his feet. He bowed at Lien, who was approaching the table. It was a mark of great respect, but was ruined when he swayed. “I must thank you for fighting at my side, Lien. Many owe you their lives.”

  “I just did what was necessary,” Lien said. “How’s your arm? And your head?”

  “Passable. You have fought before, have you not?” Ralen said. “You told the truth when you said you had once been a warrior.”

  “Uh. Sure.”

  “How do you know Lien was a warrior?” Ardra asked Ralen.

  “Lien knows where to place himself when confronting an enemy. He knows how to adjust his position when another man joins him in the fight.”

  “Thank you,” Lien said, and Ardra suspected he wanted an end to the discussion.

  “Perhaps it was luck,” she said.

  Ralen shook his head. “It is often a matter of footwork. You displayed excellent footwork, Lien.”

  “Thanks again. Where I’m from, we divide up into attack and defense players—uh, warriors. I was in the defense group for years, and then my coach—my leader—changed me to attack. But once a defenseman, always a defenseman, I guess.”

  “So you prefer to defend rather than attack,” Ralen said. “I have men who excel at one over the other. It is important to know their strengths when deploying the men in battle.”

  “I was good at attack, an All-American to be exact, but I have to say I much preferred defense.”

  “I do not know this term ‘All-American’, but I assume ‘tis an honor.” Ralen smiled down at Ardra. “You see, it is no surprise Lien saved your life so many times. There is something within a man that leads him down one path or the other. I suspect Lien will not start a fight, but will delight in drawing it to a close.”

  “It matters not. Lien has chosen to set aside his warrior ways.”

  Lien acknowledged her words with a bow but was saved from speaking when a slave rang a bell. Its deep, sonorous tone caused everyone to fall silent.

  A commotion at the entry to the hall drew their attention. A line of slaves, many leaning on one another, filed into the hall. Lien went to the far end of the table near Nilrem as the band of slaves approached Cidre and Venrali.

  The man at the fore was the gap-toothed slave, Inund. He bowed deeply to Cidre and waited for her to acknowledge him.

  “What honor is this that all my servants have come to the hall?” Cidre stood up, and s
o did Venrali.

  Ardra could not get used to seeing her father here in this hall. Nor could she get used to the idea that he never looked in her direction. Not once had he looked at her in the forest. She had kept her eye on him. He had defended only Cidre. The knowledge hurt. If only she could confide in Lien.

  Inund said, “Most Esteemed Goddess, we, your slaves, wish to offer a gift to Lien, the pilgrim, for his valiant defense of us.”

  “Lien.” Cidre said the name softly. “Come, pilgrim, join me here. My people wish to honor you.”

  Lien approached her, and Ardra knew the pain it must be causing him, for the skin around the open neck of his robe was as red as the Tolemac sun. The stain was the color that painted his face during embarrassment or passion. Though ‘twas his proximity to evil that flushed him so at this moment.

  Her father frowned. His displeasure jerked Ardra from her thoughts. Did he think as Nilrem and Lien did, that Cidre wanted a new consort? Ardra looked from Venrali to Cidre to Lien, who now stood at the goddess’s side. The goddess smiled up into Lien’s face.

  A terrible truth dawned on Ardra.

  Deleh was right. Cidre wanted Lien, too.

  The slaves huddled behind their leader like whipped dogs cowering before their master. Ardra hated their subservience. No one cowered in her fortress. Or not since her father left.

  “Here is Lien,” Cidre said to Inund. “What gift have you for him?”

  The slaves handed Inund a long, wooden stick, adorned like no other stick she had ever seen. From tip to end it was wrapped in metal—shaped like a snake’s body coiled about a branch. A serpent ready to attack.

  “I have seen nothing like this in my life,” Ralen said to Ardra. “It is magnificent and echoes that paint upon his arm. It reminds me of those snakes in the woods today.”

  “What of the snakes in the woods?”

  “The snakes that did as Lien bade,” Ralen said.

  “You have had too much wine.”

  He shrugged. “I forgot…’tis a secret.” He sat down abruptly.

  Deciding that Ralen was too sotted to make sense, she turned to hear Cidre address Lien.

  “My people honor you.” She curtseyed to Lien as he took the stick. “It is oak, the straightest of trees, rare in the Tangled Wood, and clad in metal strong from the forge.”