by Ann Lawrence
Another part of her suspected the wise man spoke the truth when he said her appearance at the conjunction, just when Kered needed help, was an omen. Her Native American background made her open to the idea of spirits and portents. Her Navajo grandmother spoke often of heeding omens.
Maggie’s shoulders sagged in weary resignation, and she rubbed her temples against the throbbing headache growing along with her fatigue. She dashed away a tear. Crying changed nothing, yet she knew it would be difficult to survive in this barren land alone, hiding from Kered and Nilrem. Should she follow the warrior and possibly discover the reason she had landed in Tolemac?
Strong hands took her shoulders and turned her. Maggie let Kered draw her against his chest. She hiccupped and choked back her fear and worry.
“Do you miss him so?” Kered asked.
“Him?” She pulled away.
Kered’s grip bit into her arms. “The one to whom you belong?” Then his hands abruptly gentled. “Or did he hurt you so badly you had no choice but to flee?” His hands swept up and down her bare arms, knocking the cloak from her shoulders. The cold mountain air chilled her skin and contrasted with the warm palms soothing and stroking her.
Maggie slapped his hands away. “Hear this once more! I’m not a slave. I’m not running from anyone. I’m just lost. I hit my head. I don’t know you or this place. I have no idea where I am or who you are!”
He crossed his massive arms. “Finally. The truth.”
“The truth?” Maggie stuttered.
“Yes. You remember nothing, save your name. You most assuredly are a slave. I accept that you remember naught of your master, but if you cannot remember, it changes little. Your speech is like to mine, yet different. You slur your words together, but not, I think, from your head wound. You do this from habit. And…no arm rings have ever graced this flesh.”
He stroked a finger up her arm, sending sharp shards of sensation shooting from her navel to her groin.
“One may not wear arm rings for very long before they scar the flesh.” Rolling up his sleeve, Kered twisted at the three silver-hued rings about his right biceps. With great difficulty, he got the narrow bands to edge out of position. The skin beneath them was calloused from years of abrasion. He flexed his arm and pushed the rings back into position. “You see now?”
A red splash of residual sunlight touched him with a fiery glow, making his skin bronze and his hair shine with streaks of copper. Maggie lost the sense of his words. He could be a god and this his Mount Olympus. His physical beauty hypnotized her. Then his demonstration made sense. No matter what she said, her undamaged skin marked her a slave to Kered and any other inhabitant of his world.
Maggie snatched up the cloak and stormed past Kered and into the hut. She wrapped herself in his odiferous cloak and curled into a little ball.
Kered likewise stretched out on the floor by the softly glowing coals of Nilrem’s hearth.
“I’m not a slave!” she whispered into the near darkness before turning her back on the warrior and his reality.
For what seemed hours she lay in stiff defiance of what her sense and senses told her. The low rumble of snores rose and fell unchanging through the night. She could not wait any longer.
She slipped from the bed. Only the soft whisper of Kered’s cloak on the floor marked her progress to the door. She snagged Kered’s pack from a hook and eased up the latch, gritting her teeth at the small snicking sound it made. Neither man stirred.
An icy breeze whistled around the corner of the hut, clawing at the cloak’s edges. Maggie hugged them to her as she ran into the shelter of the woods, pelting down the slope of Nilrem’s mountain. Her head began to pound in rhythm with her hammering heartbeat.
Kered’s pack weighed a ton. She paused briefly, set it down, and opened it. On top lay the game gun. The gun represented a deadly menace in Kered’s hands. She took it and a heel of bread. The bread would hold hunger at bay until Kered left on his quest, for Maggie had made her decision. She would hide from the warrior until he was gone, then explain her dilemma to Nilrem. No matter how long it took for Gwen to end the game or bring her back, she would wait. Quest or no quest, good omen or bad, no man would force her into slavery!
Maggie dragged some brush over Kered’s pack. She ran and stumbled on a small stone, falling hard on one knee.
“Damn,” she muttered. She rose and limped along. The trees grew dense and filtered the near-dawn light, making her progress laborious. Fresh pine and the light scent of rain-dampened earth rose with every step. The wind blew the boughs about her, misting her with drops of moisture. She prayed that her sense of direction would not fail her and that she could find her way back. Her steps slowed as the slope grew steeper and more stony. Behind her she heard something crashing through the underbrush.
Kered.
Panic raised her heartbeat to thundering and she put on a burst of speed, madly slipping and stumbling on the precipitous slope. She chanced a glance over her shoulder and glimpsed white through the shadowy reaches behind her. “No,” she whispered, falling and going down on her side, then rising and grabbing a branch to steady herself. A whoosh of sound from behind her made her duck and scream.
A blur of white swept over her. “My God!” she shrieked, as a white deer, the size of a small horse, leaped over her huddled figure. His snowy antlers stretched an arm-span wide, snagging branches and showering her with pine needles. Just as suddenly as the deer had appeared, it vanished. Only the continuing snap of small branches and showers of stone marked its passage.
“Honestly, Maggie. Get a grip! It’s just a deer,” she chastised herself. Brushing her hands on her dress, she stood up straight and took a deep breath, then shook pine needles from her bandaged head. “The bread!” she muttered, searching about on the ground with her hands. The dawn did not penetrate here beneath the trees, and every stone could have been the chunk of bread. She knelt and began a systematic search. Finally, her hands touched a smooth, rounded shape.
“No!” she cried, looking up the long length of Kered’s leg, past his endless torso, to his face hidden in the shadows.
“Lost something?” He dropped his pack with a thud beside her.
“No, no. Nothing,” she said, her hand on her racing heart. The damn man had tracked her like a scout from a 1950s cowboy movie.
He grasped the cloak and hauled her to her feet, heedless of the low branches. “You wished to make an early start upon the quest?” His words were mild, but clipped and spoken so softly, she needed to strain to hear them.
“Yes. That’s it. I thought I’d get an early start.”
“Or,” he continued as if she had not spoken, “perhaps you have seen your folly and wish to return home to your master.”
“That’s it. I really want to go home,” she croaked in desperation as his fist tightened on the cloak, forming a noose about her throat.
His voice rose to a near roar. “Then we go in the same direction. Let me offer you my services as escort!”
He bent and tossed her over his shoulder. As he swung about, she caught the scent of something putrid.
Then she saw it.
Leering eyes and a snarling mouth hung like a Cheshire cat grin from the shadows, so close she could almost feel the whisper of its fetid breath. Kered sensed it, too, turned, and dropped her. His sword sang from his scabbard as the thing pounced.
Chapter Four
Maggie shrieked. Pain streaked up her jolted spine and into her head.
Kered dropped his sword inches from Maggie’s feet. He snatched two handfuls of the beast’s ruff and heaved it from side to side.
“Gulap!” Kered shouted. “You malodorous fiend.”
They lunged into the shadows, tugging and pulling in a playful game of Who’s Stronger! The creature, a cross between a leopard and a…Maggie had no idea what to call it—swamp thing seemed somehow appropriate—batted Kered’s arms and howled. The two rolled like puppies down the hill, gathering twigs and leaves and
sending small stones and sticks flying.
Maggie staggered to her feet and considered sneaking off. Kered’s pack stood unattended. She wondered as she peered after them if he would impale himself on the ridiculously long knife strapped to his thigh. The thought of the first aid that might entail made her chew her nails in nervous agitation.
The combatants rolled to a halt in a sprawled pile of legs and paws.
“Come,” Kered cried up at her, rising, and drawing in great gasps of air. He patted the animal on its black, spotted flank with one hand as he gestured to her with the other.
“No,” she called. “Not a chance!” She backed against a tree trunk, distancing herself from the animal.
Kered bent and seemed to confer with the beast before climbing up the hill at breathtaking speed. “Surely, you are not going to be difficult?” Behind him stalked the stinking beast as if Kered were dinner and she dessert.
“That thing looks like it intends to eat you.” She gulped.
Kered whirled on the beast and snarled. The “cat” retreated a few steps and clawed the air. “Stay, Gulap,” he ordered. “‘Tis simple to see you terrify this slave. Nilrem will spit you and roast you should you harm one hair on her head.”
Maggie, breathing through her mouth to avoid the animal’s noxious odor, could see that the animal was indeed from the cat family. It weighed far more than any tiger in a zoo, and most assuredly, it was tame, for as Kered spoke, it sat back on its haunches and seemed to nod in agreement.
“Now. An explanation of your behavior.” Kered crossed his arms over his chest. He might have looked forbidding except for the twigs in his hair and a leaf stuck to his cheek. The dawning light that pierced the trees bathed him in a warm glow.
Maggie mentally girded her loins. “I can’t go with you. I might not remember all about my circumstances…but something within me says I should remain here.”
He studied her for a moment, then bent and retrieved his discarded sword, sheathing it in one smooth motion. He dropped one hand to the hilt and let the other hang loose at his side. His relaxed pose calmed her. “I see. You regret leaving your master.”
“Honestly,” she muttered, then smiled. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. “If that’s what you choose to think.”
“Perhaps we may reach a compromise.”
“I thought warriors only used force!”
“We warriors are occasionally known to see reason.” He grinned boyishly.
Oh, dear, she thought. If he was going to be reasonable and smile like that, she’d probably agree to go along on his quest, offer to carry his pack, or maybe shine his sword.
Behind him, with tiny subtle movements, the cat edged closer, claws unsheathed.
“I believe Nilrem is correct. You must accompany me. Whatever meaning these events have, Nilrem thinks you necessary. What if we strike a bargain?’’
The cat stretched and licked a paw with a studied nonchalance. Maggie kept one eye on the feline as she listened.
“You will accompany me on my quest. You will offer assistance in whatever way I deem necessary—”
“Where’s the compromise?” She snorted.
The cat rolled over to its back and yawned, stretching out and pawing the air in Kered’s direction.
“You interrupt. Did your mother not teach you manners?”
He had an excellent memory and used it! “I’m sorry, continue,” she directed, properly chastised.
The cat rolled again, moving closer to Kered’s boots, fangs bared.
“As I was saying, you will accompany me and make yourself useful, and I will return you to Nilrem’s mountain at the first possible opportunity.”
Maggie considered the proposition. The cat put its head on its paws and used its back legs to inch ever nearer.
“Consider, too,” he continued, “this land is barren. To cross on your own would be foolhardy. To move beyond the ice fields, impossible.”
“Kered!” she cried, pointing behind him as the cat nearly hooked the warrior’s boots from under him.
He whirled and smacked the Gulap on the nose. “Foolish trick!” he chastised, then captured Maggie’s hand. “Come. See how useful you have already proven to be. Gulap will need to seek some other prey.” Grinning, he hefted his pack and moved with his now-familiar grace down the mountainside, hauling her behind him. The cat howled and screeched as if bereft at the loss of their company, but luckily did not try to follow.
“What’s a Gulap?” she panted.
“Gulap? A canny beast. His name is from the Selaw, meaning claw.”
“Appropriate! Is it coming with us?” she asked, stumbling after him, unable to do anything else with his tight grip on her wrist. Now that she’d seen at least one creature from the mountains, the idea of wandering or hiding there alone made her hair stand on end.
Kered laughed and shook his head. “No. His prey is on this mountain and his master, too.”
“What’s his prey?” she asked, peering over her shoulder.
“The white hart and hind,” he answered, “and foolish folk who wander unsuspecting about these hills.”
Maggie shivered and thought of snow-white Bambis being torn limb from limb. “Who’s his master?” Her foot slipped and she found herself skidding on her rear. Kered turned and waited until she had righted herself and brushed off her dress.
“Gulap is his own master. Yet, if any man may command him, ‘twould be Nilrem. The beast wanders where he will, but I have not known him to stray much beyond Nilrem’s Hart Fell.” With that, Kered let go of her arm. He turned away, leading now, not dragging her.
She decided to accept the subtle change in status until something else occurred to her—something that didn’t involve becoming lunch to fantastical cats with periodontal problems.
With great difficulty, she kept pace with the warrior. It did not take much imagination to calculate the speed with which he would move on a flat surface.
Maggie watched the change of crimson light as the trees thinned on the lower slopes. Hart Fell had a gentle declivity as they approached the barren stretches of plain. Taking a quick breather, Maggie leaned on the trunk of a kind of fir tree she didn’t recognize. She reached down to pick up a large cone from the ground.
Where her head had been, an arrow quivered in the wood. Stunned, she stared at the trembling shaft.
Kered snatched her down. She found herself pressed face to the dirt. A hail of arrows thunked in quick succession over their heads.
“Be silent. Do not move,” Kered whispered.
The heavy weight of his body made compliance inevitable. She dug her fingers deep into the cushion of pine needles and said a quick prayer, closing her eyes tightly.
Kered crushed Maggie flat. She heard the sound of his blade being drawn. Maggie only needed to hear the sound a second time to know it was permanently etched in her mind.
“Wartmen. I will return,” he whispered into her ear. His weight shifted and cold air caressed her legs where her skirt had ridden up. Maggie begged him to stay, but the muttered words met empty forest air. Kered dodged among the trees.
A bloodcurdling cry sent a shiver down her spine. She had to know what was happening. Cautiously, she risked a peek and raised her eyebrows. Nothing stirred. With even greater caution, she lifted her chin, and like a groundhog in February, she looked about.
Long legs wrapped in dirty fur leaped over her. Longer legs encased in familiar leather followed, stomping down inches from her fingers. She yelped and scrambled to her knees.
The expression on the wart- and dirt-encrusted face of Kered’s opponent made her pray even harder. His gaping mouth and stumps of blackened teeth grinned with a wicked glee. The condition of his hair made Kered’s tangles look merely wind tossed. Maggie could guess her fate should Kered be wounded.
Kered’s smile was no less deadly than the Wartman’s. The blades the men held and the concentration on their faces told Maggie whoever made a misstep was dead. With a subtle
shifting of feet and hands, Kered placed himself between her and the enemy.
Kered’s adversary flicked a glance in Maggie’s direction. It was all Kered needed. He lunged forward and the man fell to his knees, his hand to his breast. Blood seeped between his fingers to soak the long gray tunic he wore. A bubble of blood rose to his cracked lips, and he fell forward and lay still.
Maggie reared back on her heels, her hand to her heaving chest. Kered grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. He drew her behind a dense deadfall. “‘Tis not over. There are three more.”
“How do you know?” Maggie hissed. His fingers held her tightly as if she might run away.
“The arrows.” He nodded to the tree where Maggie had been standing. “Each is fletched with different feathers.”
“What will we do?” Maggie asked, frightened at the odds of three to two, or realistically, three enemies to one useful fighter. Perhaps she could improve their odds. “Should we try my gun?”
Kered studied her in the brightening light, and she became conscious of her vulnerability in his primitive world. “How far from the foe may we use it?” he asked.
Maggie bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she whispered. Another arrow hissed overhead to be lost harmlessly in the woods.
“Then we will stay with what I know and hold the magic for after we have tested it,” he said. “I know the power of my own weapons. Stay,’’ he ordered. Crouching low, he crept to the pack he’d dropped to the ground. In a moment he was back, just reaching the safety of the deadfall before yet another arrow whizzed by.
“They are not close. A man may shoot such an arrow for many yards,” Kered instructed as he opened his pack, sounding to Maggie’s ears like a pedantic English professor. “This should do nicely.” He opened a suede pouch and withdrew a bouquet of eight-pointed stars. Hammered of a shiny metal, each edge was viciously honed. “Now to draw them out,” he whispered. He grasped a low branch and set it to trembling.
A flash of yellow between the trees caught Maggie’s eye. She flinched as Kered threw his star with a powerful flick of his wrist. A man’s cry testified to Kered’s accuracy.
