Lady of the Star Wind

by Veronica Scott

  There was much talk and laughter at the dinner, which lasted for hours and through so many richly varied courses that Mark lost count. Rothan recited the long tale of his adventures in the Empty Lands, of meeting Mark and Sandy, of the rescue by the Mikkonites, of the desperate search in the half-drowned city for the crown, the sea voyage aboard the Lady Dawn, and then confrontation with Farahna and the eventual escape from the tomb. The journey to the south took a brief time. Captain Khefer was allowed to share his adventure of burning the trading warehouses and stables when he stole the oxen.

  “An epic tale,” General Intef said at the end of the entire recitation. “We shall have to have the scribes record it for posterity. And now, King Rothan the First, by the grace of Khunarum and the gods, we must make some serious plans.”

  “Not tonight!” Princess Sharesi protested. “Tonight is for rejoicing and celebrating. No battle plans.”

  “You’re right, Mother, but so is my grandfather,” Rothan said. “Tomorrow, we’ll need to count those we can rally to the cause, which provinces have treaties with us, or can be trusted to fight Farahna beside us. We’ll have to sift through Captain Khefer’s information about the Maiskhan forces in the capital city and in the land at large. There’s much to do before we can launch any kind of successful rebellion. We must be successful; we will retake our homeland.”

  “To the downfall of Farahna and all tyrants!” Mark stood and raised his mug in a toast. Rothan came to his feet, followed by their companions around the table, all lifting mugs and goblets and repeating Mark’s cry with gusto.

  The dinner party broke up quickly. Rothan and Tia withdrew first, as royal etiquette required. Princess Sharesi came to Mark and Sandy. “I’ve ordered a suite of rooms prepared for you in the same wing of the palace as His Majesty’s. You need to be close should he have need of you. I hope the rooms I’ve chosen will be to your liking.” She extended a hand to Sallea. “Your chambers are in the same wing.”

  “I’m sure the accommodations will be fine,” Sandy replied graciously. “You’re very kind, Your Highness.”

  “I’ll walk with you.” The elder princess and Sandy fell into step together as they left the large banquet hall and traversed a long hall. Mark stayed a step behind, Sallea matching him stride for stride, and a small crowd of servants trailed him, as if he was leading a parade.

  Clearing her throat, Rothan’s mother asked, “I notice what must be the Mirror of the Mother at your belt?”

  Sandy stopped in the middle of the hall. “You know of it?” She half lifted the mirror from where it dangled on her hip.

  “I’m a high priestess of the goddess Haatrin, daughter’s daughter of She who created the mirror. I’m learned in the mysteries of my particular temple. This is a deep and old secret of a related temple.”

  “Do you know how to use it? To see with it?”

  Sharesi missed a step in her surprise. Mark grabbed her elbow to steady her. “You carry it, and yet you don’t know how to use it? How did this come about?”

  He didn’t like the trend of the conversation, much as he was drawn to Sharesi, who reminded him in an indefinable way of his own mother. He was wary of anything causing doubts about their assumed identities. Frowning at Sandy, he shook his head, but eager as always for knowledge about the artifact, she ignored his unspoken signal.

  “We found the mirror in our house at the Lost City of Khunarum. I’d been searching for it ever since we were in the Temple of Nuet. I was bitten by Sherabti—”

  Face set in lines of distress, Sharesi clamped her hand on Sandy’s arm so hard her knuckles were white. “Forgive me, but to speak Names of Ancient Power is unwise. Even the names of those much removed in time can draw the focus of disastrous energies. You’ve established no safeguards, Lady.”

  “I’m—I’m sorry.” Sandy glanced at Mark for help, rolling her eyes. “I’m frustrated because I don’t know how to use the mirror, to make it reflect.”

  “A great pity. This is a secret lost to time, then, I fear,” Sharesi said. “It’s not recorded in any scroll I’ve ever read. The mirror always fascinated me, ever since I read of it as a child, but not much is known.”

  Mark tried to do damage control in case any was needed. “We did explain to Rothan, to the king, I mean, we’re not the Lady of the Star Wind and her warrior who lived in the time of King Khunarum.”

  “How odd your predecessors left it there for you with no instructions. Legend speaks of it as a fearsome weapon as well as an instrument of farseeing.” Sharesi strolled farther, drawing them with her. The servants marched solemnly behind. “I know of an elder wisewoman from the western provinces who used to serve me as a maid. She might have additional knowledge, coming as she does from an area where a large number of the most ancient scrolls and tablets survived. I know she trained under a legendary wisewoman who, it was said, searched all her life for the mirror because she’d found a document setting forth the conditions for its use. This senior mentor hoped to find it, of course, but never did, so she passed on what she knew to Babsuket in the last days of her own life. Many are the legends about where the artifacts from Khunarum’s city ended up. I’ll arrange for you to meet with her.”

  “Marvelous! Tomorrow?”

  Appearing amused by Sandy’s eagerness, Sharesi bit her lip in an obvious attempt not to smile. “My serving woman is old, half blind, and retired to live with her great-grandchildren in a village at the far edge of this territory. I’ll have her summoned as rapidly as may be done with one of such age and infirmity.”

  “We could go to her,” Mark said, conscious of Sandy’s hunger to learn more.

  Sharesi shook her head. “It wouldn’t be proper. You are of the king’s inner court, and others must come to you, my lord. It will be her honor to be summoned. His Majesty will reward her well for the service.” Head tilted, quizzical smile on her rouged lips, the princess said, “I think you have many things to get used to here in Nakhtiaar of today. And now, here are your chambers.”

  Two servants swept the doors open as the princess gestured. Other people flowed around them, carrying lamps and torches, flooding the room with light. Their few meager belongings from the oxcart had already been laid with precision on top of a chest on the far wall. Exhaustion overtaking his willpower now that Sandy was safe in the general’s stronghold and he could relax his vigilance somewhat, Mark focused on the great bed.

  “I’ll leave you now. Should you require anything in the night, guards and a servant stand on duty outside the door.” Having assured herself all housekeeping details in the room were in order, Sharesi took her leave. “If you’ll come with me, Ambassador Sallea, we’ve selected a room for you with a patio, so your hawk may come and go as he pleases.”

  Mark heard Sallea graciously thanking their hostess as the two moved away in the corridor outside.

  Bowing, the servants left, the last man closing the door.

  Sandy strolled along the wall, small oil lamp in hand, admiring the paintings of water lilies, birds, and fish. She stopped at a small piece of furniture. “What a beautiful chest of drawers. The drawer handles are birds! And how elegant these tiny bottles are.” Sandy selected a small blue and gold blown-glass bottle from a collection of five sitting on top of the bureau and examined it in the torchlight. “Exquisite.”

  “Not what we grew up with, is it?” Mark vividly remembered the ornate, red and gold décor permeating Throne. The Zhivanov Dynasty had lavish, gaudy tastes.

  “No, but I like it.” She set the bottle with its fellows and strolled farther, exploring the room. “Kind of peaceful, reminds me of the time at sea on the Lady Dawn. I think we’re safe here, don’t you?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Yes, General Intef runs a tight, disciplined operation. I can see where Rothan got his military instincts. I’ve been watching—the soldiers are well trained, professional, sharp. Farahna and her Maiskhan allies would have a hard time taking this province.”

  Next moment, he real
ized Sandy was laughing at him. “Yes, but aside from all those excellent considerations, this place feels like a home. Princess Sharesi’s treating us like her personal guests.” She set the oil lamp on a small ebony table with cat-paw shaped feet and fell onto the bed with a gusty sigh. “No more sleeping on the hard ground or napping on a jolting oxcart!”

  “For a while.” Mark sat beside her on the bed and took her hand. “Rothan’s going to have to start a war to take the throne for himself.”

  “I know. I helped talk him into it, remember? But may I please enjoy the peace and quiet—and a civilized bed—for one night?”

  “Peace and quiet? I was contemplating something else.”

  Sandy laughed and scooted to the center of the large bed, extending one hand to him as invitation. “I’m tired, though, I have to tell you.”

  “Relax.” He pulled off his tunic and threw it on the floor. “Tonight is for me to pleasure you.” Unwrapping the kilt and loincloth took a moment longer. Kicking off the sandals, he stood naked before her.

  “And what comprises this ambitious plan?” She watched him disrobe with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

  “Lie back on those pillows and find out.”

  “Sounds promising.” Taking her time, moving with a languorous seductiveness he found hard to resist, she did as he’d requested.

  He took her dress off in one quick move and guided her hands above her head, twining her fingers between the leaves carved into the headboard. Sandy gave him a little frown before smiling and adjusting herself to lie comfortably on the massed pillows. Mark trailed featherlight kisses all over her slender, silky body, pausing to suckle at her breasts for a few moments while she writhed under him, obeying his unspoken order not to move her hands while he played. He teased at her left nipple, kneading her breast gently while he pulled at the rosy bud, twirling his tongue as if tasting the rarest delicacy. He kept his hand where it was but moved his mouth to the other side, to give the second tightly furled nipple equal treatment.

  Then he shifted position on the mattress to lie between her spread legs. Teasing her, he caressed her soft, sensitive folds with his probing tongue for a few moments, then penetrated more. She moaned and tightened her grip on the bed as he worked his tongue deeper, hot, wet, insistent.

  Sandy fisted her fingers in his long black hair where it lay against her thighs, tugging gently but insistently. “I can’t wait any longer. I want you inside me now.”

  He stopped what he was doing and raised his head. “Not too tired?”

  “Wretch!” She tugged at him again, urging him to comply with her request.

  He allowed her to pull him on top of her. She lifted her face for a kiss, lips parted, eyes closed in anticipation. Guiding his aching cock into the soft depths he’d prepared so thoroughly with his attention, he traced her lips with his tongue. She gave him entry into her warm mouth as she wrapped her body around his, holding him tight. Unable to delay any longer, he positioned his hips and drove deep.

  Sandy climaxed, keeping him locked inside her. Mark waited through her orgasm, still hard and ready himself, till she relaxed the slightest amount. Then he began moving inside her with a tantalizingly slow rhythm, building momentum for her to finish again, in unison with him this time. Mark fell onto the rumpled linen sheets, holding her to him, exhausted in the best possible sense of the word.

  He kissed her as he drew a thin blanket over them both, and then closed his eyes for the first untroubled night’s sleep he’d had in a long time.

  Ten days later, after Rothan was presented to the people of the province as the new king by General Intef, trusted couriers were sent with secret messages to various territories Intef regarded as allies, or with whom he had influence. Dispatched to the lowlands after a briefing from Mark on what kind of intel he wanted, Captain Khefer worked to reestablish contact with his network of spies in the capital. Mark was sure the clever young officer had his own ideas for strategies to foster success for the rebellion to come.

  Mark spent a day inspecting the estate’s stables, identifying a few spirited horses to break to the saddle. He and Sandy, along with Sallea, spent long hours with the general’s harness maker, trying to explain the concept of saddles, bridles, and other tack. Then Mark and Sallea reviewed volunteers from the ranks who showed an interest in learning to ride as opposed to driving chariots. Not too many stepped forward in the first wave, but Mark knew even a small troop of cavalry could be useful and prove the concept, so he persevered. He also had to admit to himself that he liked the idea of something unique he could make his own in the midst of the Nakhtiaar military structure. Sallea served as his enthusiastic lieutenant.

  After the initial flurry of planning and activity, those in command had no choice but to wait for their efforts to come to fruition. Rothan insisted Mark must learn how to use the local weapons. As an officer candidate, he’d been taught the elegant art of fencing decades ago, but this was slash, attack, and defend with shorter, heavier blades. Some of what he had learned so long ago was applicable, much was not. The use of the shield involved new techniques as well.

  He was hard at work in the courtyard of the armorer, sweating and struggling through a one-on-one swordfight drill with an old but cunning warrior, while Rothan called out instructions and admonitions from the side.

  About halfway through the scheduled time for practice, Djed came striding across the yard, and his voice intruded on the hot, dusty afternoon air.

  “Forgive me, my lords, but you’re needed in the main house!”

  Mark saluted his sparring partner, not unhappy for an excuse to give his aching muscles a rest. Handing the sword and shield to a waiting servant, he joined Rothan and the archer. “What’s going on?”

  “Queen Tia says you must come to the house at once and see to the Lady of the Star Wind,” the archer said. “I don’t know what’s amiss.”

  The three men headed for the women’s wing of the general’s mansion. “Wasn’t this her morning to work with the elderly serving woman, Babsuket, on the mysteries of the mirror?” Rothan commented, lengthening his stride to keep pace with Mark.

  “Yeah, I thought so too.” Mark shook his head. “Sandy was looking forward to it, in fact. She’s been absorbed by the riddle of the mirror and what it might be able to do for us. She couldn’t sleep last night, she was so excited about meeting Babsuket today and picking her brain—getting instructions, I mean—on how to use this mirror.”

  But when Mark walked into the large audience room dedicated to today’s initial session between Sandy and the old wisewoman, he realized at once things weren’t progressing satisfactorily.

  “Your Majesty must forgive me, but I’m compelled to tell the truth.” Brow furrowed in a frown, Babsuket pointed a trembling hand at Sandy. “This woman will never be able to wield the power of the mirror,” the old woman said, even as she bowed to Rothan as required by court etiquette.

  “Rise, honored old one.” Rothan took his seat at the edge of the room. “There’s no need for apology if some barrier exists of which we were unaware.”

  “Wait, I’m missing something.” Mark glanced from Sandy to Tia, and then to the old crone. Shoulders hunched, she’d hobbled to stand next to Princess Sharesi as if for protection. “The mirror came to my Lady. It was meant for her, so why the fuss?”

  “Look at the mirror.” Babsuket spoke in a harsh monotone.

  He did as ordered and stared at the golden object now resting on a low table. The fan-shaped mirror’s opaque surface gleamed as usual, not reflecting anything.

  “See you not the handle?” Babsuket’s tone was insulting, as if she addressed a backward child. “Pick it up, warrior, and examine those who stand there.”

  He took the mirror in his left hand. Lingering uneasiness about the way Sandy had come to have it in her possession made him reluctant to touch the artifact. The whole issue of the identities they’d inherited was unsettling and spooky in his mind.

  Swallowing hard, h
e glanced at the handle as it lay in his hand. The core was a tight braid of three thick golden columns, a figure standing at the top of each, their upraised arms supporting the disk above them. Facing upward, the beautiful, serene face and form of a young goddess swathed in a swirling dress was revealed in intricate detail.

  Babsuket spoke again, her voice guttural. “Your Lady was the untouched innocent when first you met.”

  Angry embarrassment flashed across his nerves, like a match striking flint, to be discussing these intimate matters in a room full of people. As the old crone stated, he knew Sandy’s personal history, none better. Involuntarily, he glanced at the princess, who was staring at the floor.

  Babsuket continued her recitation. “She’ll also be the elder wisewoman in time. She has an unusual portion of knowledge now for one so young. I’ve been told how she does healing with her own magics, even saving the life of our king when you first met.

  Mark spun the handle of the mirror clockwise, examining the depiction of the goddess in her guise as old woman, beautiful in her way but ancient, her face wrinkled. He clicked the handle clockwise one more time and stared at the warrior carved on the third side. The man’s face was strong, determined under the elaborate crested helmet.

  Babsuket sighed as she watched him turn the handle to the warrior. “Now that I behold you standing next to the one who would wield the mirror, I perceive it can never be. The foundation is flawed, the braid between the two of you not tightly woven.”

  Adrift, Mark found this conversation perplexing. Sandy shook her head, refusing to speak, and walked a step or two away from him, making a show of pouring herself some wine.

  “Wait, are you saying Sandy won’t be able to make this thing work because there’s something wrong with me?” Anger spread through him like acid. “With our relationship?”

  “The scrolls from ancient days spoke of the need for the Lady to have a consort to bind the energies together, as the handle of the mirror itself shows. There were rituals, ceremonies, oaths between the two. She wields the mirror, the warrior consort wields other powers of his own, given to him by his gods. Ultimately, he protects her, and she draws upon him for the most exacting tasks.” Closing her eyes for a moment, Babsuket reached out a hand as if parting curtains and said, “I see a jagged crack in the bond between the two of you, a crevasse, as if many years were spent apart. Perhaps if she’d already owned the mirror, she could overcome this, but with both of you untested, the fatal flaw must always prevent the power of the mirror from expression.” Opening her eyes, the elderly woman gave Mark an unpleasant smirk. “Or if she chooses another consort and starts fresh, perhaps she might achieve the bonding required. But not in time to fulfill the prophecy and assist our new king in gaining the throne.” Babsuket raised her hands, palms up. “Useless for me to pour two parts of the knowledge into a broken vessel. Why this great gift of the ancient goddess came to her I don’t understand! Perhaps it was a mistake, perhaps it wasn’t meant for her to have, despite what all of you believe. It cannot be the time of the ancient prophecies, for she can’t use the mirror. What this means for the success or failure of your campaign, Your Majesty, I can’t predict.”