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VirtualWarrior

Page 30

by Ann Lawrence


  “I am honored. It is a fine gift.” He bowed deeply to the slaves, then to Cidre.

  Ralen leaned near Ardra again. “He is the only person who fought for the slaves. No one will say so, for it would insult the rest of the warriors, but sadly, I realized a bit too late that Lien alone fought for them.”

  “Slaves are often forgotten in battle.” It was all she could manage as the significance of the gift struck her.

  “Lien, you must say a few words,” Cidre said.

  Lien’s cheeks flushed red. “I only did what was necessary, as did many others. I’m sorry we could not save everyone.”

  Nilrem pushed his way forward. “Wait, Lien. Before you accept the stick, I have something to say.”

  Venrali and Cidre nodded to the wiseman, and Lien stood aside.

  Nilrem took the tall, snake-wrapped stick from Inund and ran his hands over its surface. “Many wonder why wisemen always carry a stick. It is not a weapon to us. We carry it because it is the ancient symbol of a shepherd.” The slaves all nodded. Nilrem continued, “The shepherd leads and defends his flock. To carry a staff of sacred oak, even one so decorated, is a symbol that one is respected for his honor and his defense of those less able.” Nilrem held the stick before Lien, balanced like a sword on his open palms. “It is a fine gift, but one that carries much responsibility.”

  Would Lien take the staff? Ardra held her breath. He wanted no responsibility. He had said he would run in the opposite direction. He had said he did not want even the smallest tie to bind him.

  Ardra knew that the frown she saw on Samoht’s face was etched on her own as well. She imagined that the councilor did not like the symbolism of Lien as shepherd to the slaves.

  A hush fell over the hall. Without a look at anyone, Lien reached out, gripped the stick with both hands, and took it from Nilrem.

  Lien bowed to the company of slaves. A murmur ran among the warriors, for no one bowed to a slave. Inund bowed in return and backed away, his hands pressed together palm to palm.

  Lien set one end of the stick on the ground with a decisive thump of metal on wood.

  Ardra watched Lien accept a pallet by the hearth with a few of Ralen’s warriors. When everyone was asleep, she would approach Samoht to learn of his decision. She imagined that the councilor would demand some proof of her commitment to the bargain. Perhaps he would want to bed her this night, but she would not give in to him until the bargain was written out and signed by witnesses. Then…then she would do whatever was necessary.

  Would she ever see her son again? Or would she travel about with Samoht as he performed his duties for the council?

  She touched her face with her fingertips, rubbed her temples.

  “What is wrong, Ardra?” Ralen asked. He was slumped in a nearby chair.

  “Ralen, what causes one face to be more appealing than another? One man or woman more desirable? Or one less so?”

  Ralen shrugged. “It is all nonsense. As far as I am concerned, one woman is as good as another.” He grinned. “Or she is when the candles are out.”

  “Have you taken anything for your discomfort beyond the wine?”

  His grin remained in place, but there was a stiffness to his mouth. “Nilrem gave me something which he said will dull my pain but not my wits. If I could find a woman to warm my bed,” he said, reaching out with his good hand for a passing servant, who giggled and skipped away from his grasp, “I would feel quite fine.”

  “I bid you good rest,” Ardra said and curtseyed to him. “There is little point in holding a conversation with a drunken man,” she muttered. “And sometimes little point even with a sober one.”

  Next she stopped by the kitchen, for she was suddenly hungry. She realized she had not eaten anything but the milk and honey given her by Deleh, but when she entered the kitchen, the heavy, smoky air chased her appetite away.

  Nilrem sat beside Inund as he worked scrubbing a large pot. His bandage had slipped over one ear.

  She retied it for him as an excuse to speak with him. “You bestowed a great honor on Lien.”

  “He deserved it. We would all be dead if he had not aided us.”

  Nilrem held his hands out to the flames in the hearth. “Lien is a good man. Strong and valiant as any Tolemac warrior.”

  “Or Selaw,” the slave quipped.

  “He is a pilgrim now,” Ardra said.

  “Oh, aye, but a man can change.” Nilrem patted her arm.

  Ardra doubted it. “Has Cidre ordered any particular food or drink for Lien?” Ardra asked.

  “Why?” Inund stopped scrubbing and eyed her up and down. It was not an insolent look, but curious.

  Nilrem answered the man. “There is a potion missing, and we fear it is in the goddess’s possession.”

  “You mean the portion Ralen came in search of? He must be very lonely to come here twice for love.” Inund rolled his eyes. “The goddess was very angry at Ralen’s intrusion the first time. She punished every mistake with twice the fervor.”

  Ardra placed her hand on the slave’s thickly muscled arm. “We are sorry for it, but we still believe she has the Vial of Seduction hidden here at the fortress.”

  “The w-w-what?” Inund’s hand slipped off the pot, his features blank with horror.

  “The Vial of Seduction. ‘Tis what we seek now and what Ralen sought on his first visit.”

  “We heard only that Ralen wanted a love potion.” He bit his lip and then began to tremble visibly.

  “What is it?” Nilrem asked. He poked the man’s arm, and Inund hastily resumed his work lest the other slaves in the kitchen turn their attention on them.

  “How can you be so calm? ‘Tis a terrible thing, a catastrophe,” Inund said.

  “Aye, ‘twill be a catastrophe if Cidre seduces the wrong man,” Ardra said. “She has one consort already to do her bidding; why does she need another?”

  “A daughter, Ardra,” Nilrem said. “I need not remind you. She must seduce a new consort, and I believe she has chosen Lien.”

  The gap-toothed slave shook his head. “Nay. Nay. The potion is not used to seduce the consort. It is used to make the consort.”

  “Make a consort? What do you mean?” Ardra asked.

  A tear ran down Inund’s cheek. “If our goddess has chosen Lien…nothing will save him.”

  “From her seduction?” Nilrem asked.

  “Do you not know the true nature of the Vial of Seduction? Can it be only slaves who know its nature?”

  Ardra exchanged a glance with Nilrem. What was this man babbling about? Nilrem knew its nature. Did he not?

  The slave scurried to the doorway and waved for them to follow him, out into the indigo night, deep into the goddess’s orchards.

  “I know ‘tis only slave lore…but often it is the tales of the slaves that hold the truth, not the whitewashed versions told to those who wear arm rings.”

  Nilrem nodded. “That is so. What is it we do not know about the potion?”

  “Can I speak with freedom from punishment?” Inund directed his question at Ardra.

  “You may. Quickly,” she said. The man was agitated, glancing about, sweating though the air was cold here in the dark shadows of the orchard.

  The slave jutted out his chin and took a deep breath, then spoke. “The Vial of Seduction has nothing to do with love.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The wind lifted. A mist rose to block Ardra’s view of the lake. A chill came with it, a portent of some evil.

  Inund paced, his hands in fists. “The potion has naught to do with love, though ‘tis seductive in the truest sense,” he said.

  “What is it, if not a potion to cause a man to fall in love?” Ardra asked.

  “‘Tis said in slave lore that if the powder in the Vial of Seduction is mixed in liquid and then imbibed, it will cause the drinker to see all.”

  “All?” Nilrem and Ardra said together.

  “All. All that is past. All that is present. All that is yet to
come.”

  Ardra shivered. Nilrem took her hand and said what now coursed through her mind. “And to know everything is—”

  “To be all-powerful,” Ardra finished for him.

  “To be all-powerful is the ultimate seduction,” Nilrem said. “No man can know everything, be all-powerful, and not be drawn to the dark side.” Nilrem’s fingers were cold in hers. “There is a saying handed down from one wiseman to another, that all power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

  “Nilrem,” Ardra said softly. “That means that whomever is given the potion will be a truly dark and evil consort for Cidre.”

  Inund nodded. “The potion will give the goddess what she most wants—a fiend for a mate.”

  “What is to be done?” Ardra murmured. She wrapped her arms about her waist and whispered a silent prayer.

  “It is said in legend that only the sap from a leaf of the Tree of Valor will save a man once he drinks the seduction potion,” Inund said.

  “The Tree of Valor?” Ardra stared from Inund to Nilrem.

  “Aye,” Inund said. “But the tree does not grow in the Tangled Wood.”

  “It would not dare,” Ardra said, but with a smile. “This is magnificent. I know just where to find such a leaf.”

  Nilrem smiled too and clasped Ardra’s hands. “Then all is not lost.”

  “Thank you,” Ardra said to Inund. “You must return to your tasks before you are missed.”

  When the slave turned to go, she called him back one last time. “Wait. May I make a request?”

  “Ask anything of me if ‘twill protect Lien.”

  She smiled. “You are a good man. We think Ywri will be asked to give the potion to someone. Perhaps Lien. Perhaps Ralen—”

  “What of Samoht?” Nilrem interjected. “He has begotten a daughter. He has proved his virility.”

  Ardra nodded. “Perhaps Samoht, but I saw a look on Cidre’s face that makes me believe she wants Lien. Inund, will you keep an eye open for Ywri? Let us know if she is given something by Cidre to offer any of our men?”

  “It makes great sense that Ywri would be the vessel for our goddess’s intent. Ywri is the goddess’s daughter, you know.”

  Ardra and Nilrem exchanged a glance.

  “The goddess ofttimes hides the girl away when men are about for fear that one may take advantage of her. We believe it was once our goddess’s greatest hope that, over time, Ywri would change, but it was not to be. Though Ywri is now a woman, she is yet a child. I will watch her, but if the potion is prepared in the herbarium, I will have little knowledge of it.”

  Ardra looked up at the indigo sky, but saw it was choked now with green-black clouds that reminded her of Cidre’s gowns.

  She must warn Samoht as well. She could not keep her self-respect if she did not warn Samoht of the dangers of the potion. Her first thought was that he might wish to be all-knowing, but then, on further contemplation, she suspected that even Samoht would understand the evils of such power.

  In the meanwhile, she realized, Lien slept in the hall, oblivious to the nature of his danger. “I must go,” she said to Nilrem.

  She ran past astonished guards, through the sleeping folk in the hall, to the hearth.

  Lien’s pallet was empty. She fell to her knees and placed her palm flat on the woolen blankets. They were cold. She shook one of the warriors nearby. “Where is Lien?”

  The man smirked, but answered. “He went off to the privy. He will not thank you for following him there.”

  Ardra lifted her hem and ran back through the kitchen. She darted among the trees a bow-shot’s distance from the gardens, where stood a long, low building—the common privy. She flung open the door. Wicks in dishes of scented oil flickered in the breeze.

  No one was inside.

  Ardra bit her lips in frustration. She must tell Ralen, but first—she hurried up the stairs to her chamber. When she opened the door, she saw Lien’s pack on the bed. Without hesitation, she opened the pack. First she must get the leaf from the Tree of Valor. The pack was empty.

  Cidre did as she was sure Einalem had. She spooned the powder from the Vial of Seduction into a cup. This time it was not wine she poured over it, but a clear spring water in which she then dropped a few thin slices of apple.

  Would Lien drink from the cup if Ywri offered it? Perhaps. If he was thirsty enough.

  She mused on the matter and added a touch of her persuasion potion to another goblet—her own. If he wished to switch goblets, she would comply. The persuasion potion would then make him more compliant.

  “Ywri,” Cidre called.

  When Ywri entered the herbarium, Cidre settled her on a bench and offered her a small sweet cake. When Ywri had finished eating the cake, Cidre leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. Cidre stood back and smiled. “You look lovely. Your hair is very pretty.” Ywri smiled vacantly.

  A shiver of anticipation swept through Cidre. It must be now. This day. All that had been denied her must be hers before Ardra’s eight days were over. For when the sun rose on the morrow, Samoht would take his party away—and Lien with it. All her hopes for a new goddess would be dashed.

  Venrali expected to share her bed this night. Unfortunately, the battle had raised his ardor, and if he got her with child, it would ruin everything. She wanted to tell him without equivocation that he had been supplanted by another.

  She would prepare Venrali’s favorite hot wine drink, and after he drank it, she would tell him. She would insist he leave with Samoht’s party, and if Venrali refused, she would tell him he should expect poison in his meals at any time, any day. That should get him packing his belongings quickly enough.

  “I have something special for you to do,” Cidre said to Ywri.

  “Special?”

  “Aye. I want you to offer a pilgrim a drink. It is a very, very special thing you will do. And special things require a kiss, do they not?”

  Ywri smiled. “You always kiss me when you give me a special cake.”

  Cidre fixed a curl on Ywri’s forehead. “Just so. After you offer the pilgrim the drink, you will give him a kiss.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lien woke, the scent of earth and leaves filling his head. He lay with his back against the rough bark of a tree. Was he in Cidre’s attic again? No. The smell was fresh and clean.

  He tried to sit up, and chains rattled. “Shit.” He was not only shackled to a tree, he was also naked as a jaybird. He struggled to his knees but couldn’t get to his feet. Bands of metal encircled his throat and wrists. The shackles were connected by looped chains to a tree. He was chained like a dog on a very short leash. “Now, why should this surprise me?” he asked aloud.

  “Aye. Why?” Cidre stepped from between the matted roots as if they were cobwebs, her greenish-black robes swirling about her body. “A man who can be surprised is a man who is not thinking.”

  “So how’d I get here?” he asked.

  “One of my guards hit you over the head outside the privy.”

  “I hope it was on the way out and not on the way in.” He grinned and resisted the urge to lunge for her. But she stood just outside his reach.

  “I am pleased you did not suffer much from the blow.”

  Actually, his head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but it was a small matter compared to the acid burn rising on his rash.

  A thrashing of undergrowth revealed two of Cidre’s guards. They took up places on either side of him. Frick and Frack.

  Only then did Cidre wander close enough to skim her fingertips along his hip. It was like being stroked with a hot needle.

  “What is this mark?” she asked about a bruise on his hip now purpling from his fall in the pit.

  “I’m rotting.”

  Her laughter filled the air. “Such an outrageous notion will not free you.”

  “Too bad.”

  Her hand was warm when she cupped his genitals. “You are not rotting here,” she said and released him.

&
nbsp; “So why’d you tie me up?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t touch him again. He might not have the rash on every inch of his body, but pain filled him wherever she touched.

  “I need you.”

  “So you had me hit over the head?”

  “I did not think I could get your attention in my hall.”

  He jerked against his bindings. “You have my attention now. I’m all ears.”

  “All ears. How delightful.” She laughed again. One guard, Frick, placed a heavy hand on his shoulder—as if it were necessary to restrain him further.

  “Each goddess has passed her knowledge down from generation to generation,” Cidre said. “It is my turn to do so.”

  “What do you need me for? Want me to find you a guy?”

  “A guy? What is a guy?”

  “A man.”

  “Exactly. A man, though you need not find one for me. I have found one on my own.”

  “Venrali?”

  “Nay. I thought he was the answer to my needs, but I have found him inadequate.”

  “Can’t get it up, huh?” He felt no give in his chains, and the two guards were too close for any tricks.

  Cidre shook her head and made a tutting sound. “You insult a fine man. Venrali is virile enough. That is not the issue. He has failed with me.”

  “Ah…but not with some other little slave girl somewhere.”

  Her brow furrowed with what appeared to be only minor irritation, but somehow Lien thought it was a deeper humiliation.

  “Well, my advice—not that anyone ever takes advice—is try, try, try again.” He flexed against the chains, then fell still when Cidre dropped her gaze to his thighs.

  “You do not understand, Lien. A man who fathers sons is useless to me. I need a daughter.”

  “Old Samoht might help you out,” he suggested.

  “He might, but the moment I saw you, saw your dark hair, your beautiful eyes, I knew who would father my child.”

  “Even if you have a daughter, won’t it take a long time to raise her and train her? Twenty, thirty conjunctions?”

 

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