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VirtualHeaven

Page 19

by Ann Lawrence


  He bent his head and pressed his face to her neck, taking solace from the beat of her blood against his cheek, the warm sweet scent of her clean skin.

  The bath attendants had to speak several times before he responded and lifted Maggie to the bench. He settled her limbs neatly, crossing her hands on her stomach, but the posture reminded him of a corpse, so he arranged her arms at her sides.

  “Clothe yourself, Kered,” Einalem said, stepping into the chamber. Her azure silk robe, clasped with a gold chain, whispered against her long limbs as she came to Kered’s side.

  He spread a soft blanket over Maggie’s naked body, then hastily drew on his leather trousers and laced them as Einalem shook her head ominously over Maggie’s condition.

  “I did not know you were here,” Kered said to her as he pulled on his boots.

  “You and my brother were far too occupied with this one to notice me.” Einalem’s long, dexterous fingers pulled up one of Maggie’s eyelids. “I will not ask how this happened. If you choose to beat your slaves senseless, ‘tis your affair.”

  Kered bit back a retort. The old crone who had summoned help for him stood watching with avid interest and would surely spread gossip. He knew Einalem was a talented healer. It would not serve to offend her and it might cause hurt if he explained that he and Maggie had been reaching for heaven when suddenly they were dashed cruelly to earth. He contented himself with a fierce scowl in the direction of the many attendants who were clustered at the chamber’s entrance.

  “Go about your business,” Einalem commanded the gathering of curious women. “You should be about your duties, too, Kered,” she said, her pale blue eyes expressionless. With slow, sensuous motions, she plaited the long, silver skeins of her hair into a thick braid. “I will tend your slave. Be gone.”

  “Not until she comes to her senses. This is the second time she has suffered a blow to her head.” Panic had crept into his voice so he turned away, pulling his tunic over his head to hide the telltale glitter of moisture gathering at his eyes.

  “Such injuries are ofttimes fatal.” Einalem shrugged and pressed her fingertips to the pulse point on Maggie’s throat.

  Black thoughts coursed through Kered’s mind. Maggie’s skin was chalk white, her lips pale. She would not die if he could help it. “I will take her to my quarters. She may rest more comfortably there.”

  “How unseemly—” Einalem swept a hand out in protest.

  Kered ignored her and gathered Maggie into his arms, willing himself not to react to the way her head lolled against his shoulder.

  Kered strode the long corridor of the councilor’s palace, Vad at his side. The torches burning in iron sconces cast their shadows in a demon dance across gray stone walls damp with moisture. “You secured the sword and cup? Maggie’s gun?”

  “Aye. You will find them wrapped in blankets and stored with your other weapons,” Vad answered, then changed the subject to the one he thought closest to his distracted friend’s thoughts. “How fares Maggie today?”

  “The same. It has been three days and three endless nights, and still she lies senseless,” Kered said.

  “Are you not surprised that Einalem is so devoted to nursing Maggie?”

  “Aye. When I found my feet and discovered Maggie was senseless—not from ecstasy, as I had wished, but from cracking her skull upon the marble floor, I was too shocked to notice who came to help, or think on the consequences. Einalem camps in my chambers as if—’’

  “She owns them?” Vad finished.

  Kered growled with displeasure.

  They neared Kered’s chamber door. Kered paused, his hand on the latch. He studied Vad in the smoky light. “I find that my patience with this nursing is—”

  A pathetic, choking cry reached the two men. Kered flung the door open and stormed across the chamber, Vad at his heels. Einalem’s silver hair entwined with that of his slave Anna’s golden tresses to make a curtain concealing what went on in the bed. The cry came again, more of a whimper this time. He grasped Einalem’s arm and pulled her away. Maggie lay in his bed, feebly fighting off Anna’s hands. Her eyes were closed. She had no more color than her ivory pillows.

  “Leave off,” Kered ordered Anna, grasping at Maggie’s wrists. The instant he touched her, she fell back and ceased fighting.

  Einalem placed a gentle hand on Kered’s arm, but her words were sharp. “She must take the potion, else she will die.”

  Anna, fairly new to her tasks as Kered’s house slave, drew back into the shadows and away from Einalem’s anger.

  Kered ignored both women. Leaning with one knee on the bed, he murmured to Maggie to reassure her, gratified that she seemed to be at peace. Gently, he placed her hands on her chest. He studied her greasy hair. The room was rank with the odors of sickness.

  “What is this?” He picked up the cup that Anna had abandoned on a chest by the bed, sniffed it, and reared back from the sharp scent.

  “A purge,” Anna piped up, then scuttled back two more steps.

  Kered took the cup to his washstand. Very slowly, he dumped the contents into the basin there. He took a clean goblet from a table piled with rolled maps and documents and poured it full with fresh, cool water.

  “Water will do naught but knot her insides.” Einalem stepped between Kered and the bed. “I cannot allow you to interfere.”

  “Step aside.” Kered’s voice brooked no disagreement, and Einalem shrugged and did as he ordered, but not before he noted a defiant glare in her eyes. Kered sat at Maggie’s side, but it was Einalem he considered. “I know only that Maggie has wasted here for three days, growing weaker and weaker. Vad, open the shutters.”

  “You will surely kill her,” Einalem said. “Who knows what diseases this one might have? My brother said you found her on Hart Fell. She may even now be spreading some sickness to Anna or me or Vad. Leave her to my care.”

  Kered allowed his doubts full play, his words as sharp as Einalem’s had been. “Could you have misjudged her illness? In what way does a purge help a head injury?’

  In a swirl of rose silks, Einalem came to the bedside. “Are you questioning my ability to pick the best treatment?”

  He fought a retort that would reveal his doubts. Instead, he spoke with calm. “I do not question your ability, just your choice of treatment,” Kered continued.

  “‘Tis the same thing,” Einalem retorted.

  “She calls oft for you,” Anna said softly to Kered from a safe distance.

  “Does she?” Kered felt grief catch in his throat. He smoothed the dirty tangles of Maggie’s hair from her brow. She seemed wasted and small in his bed.

  “If you wish another healer…” Einalem began.

  “I wish only that you consult your books another time and consider some other course.”

  A silence, broken only by Maggie’s soft breathing, fell on the chamber. A raven cawed from beyond the shuttered window.

  Vad encircled Einalem’s shoulders and drew her to the door, his words placating. “Perhaps you could return at a later time, after you have perused your herbals? If Kered wishes to indulge himself, who are we to gainsay him?’’ Gently, using the charm that came so easily, Vad cajoled Einalem from the chamber. When the door closed behind her, he shot the bolt.

  Kered lifted Maggie’s shoulders and tipped the cup to her lips. She swallowed convulsively, water spilling over her chin to run down her neck.

  “At least she kept it down,” Anna said, coming back to the bedside one cautious step at a time.

  It was on the tip of Kered’s tongue to order Anna out, hut her unobtrusive presence and eagerness to please made him hesitate. He bit back the words and instead sought information.

  “Has she come to her senses at all?”

  Anna wiped the water from Maggie’s chin and neck. “Oh, aye. Now and then she opens her eyes. Fair wild she looks then, with all this raven hair. If I may venture an opinion?”

  “Speak up,” Kered said, impatience clipping his words. He
tipped more water against Maggie’s lips.

  “‘Tis my belief that water and sweet bread would better serve than purging. What good is treating her head through her belly and bowels?”

  Vad stepped forward and interrupted. “Kered, the full council is meeting now. You must hurry.”

  “Aye.” Kered nodded, but he lingered, his hand smoothing Maggie’s hair from her sweaty neck. “Anna, feed her tiny amounts as long as she can take them. And by Nilrem’s knees, bathe her and air this chamber!”

  With great reluctance, he settled Maggie back against the pillows. Her breathing was even and the frown had smoothed from her brow. He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and beg her forgiveness for not keeping her safe. Instead, he nodded curtly to Anna, turning aside before his emotions betrayed the depth of his feelings.

  Following Vad, Kered entered a small chamber that housed his weapons. Cupboard after cupboard held knives and swords and eight-pointed stars.

  Vad did not allow him any inner privacy. “You displayed far too much interest in Maggie’s health.”

  “What would you have me do—allow them to purge her until she was but bones among the covers?” Kered flung open the tall cupboard doors.

  “We both know that a man of influence would never publicly show such interest in a slave. He would remember that he must lifemate for the sake of alliances—powerful alliances.”

  Kered busied himself pretending to assess his store of weapons.

  “You would raise no eyebrows if Maggie were in the women’s quarters, the proper place for ill slaves. And what of the prospects of Einalem for your lifemate? You know it is but a matter of time before the council asks her to reconsider you as a lifemate. How must she be interpreting your interest?”

  Kered opened the rough blanket that wrapped the sacred sword, which Vad had hidden on the back of one shelf. Removing the woolen covering, Kered sheathed the sword at his hip. “I understand my responsibilities.” Kered stowed the cup of Liarg in a soft leather pack and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Do you?” Vad asked, softly. “I suspect you have lost your heart, my friend. Can you even remember why you sought Nilrem’s wisdom?”

  “I remember,” Kered answered, avoiding Vad’s eyes.

  “I think not. You wanted to end the Tolemac wars. As a councilor, it is possible. This foolishness over a slave—’twill be misinterpreted as a madness. Worse, you may find yourself cast out. Who will halt the Tolemac wars then?”

  “Am I the only man capable of negotiation?” Kered snapped.

  “At this time? In this place? Aye.”

  The two men studied one another. Tension, like a brewing summer storm, filled the air.

  “What of Maggie’s gun?” Vad asked, stepping forward and placing his hands on his friend’s broad shoulders. Then, as a personal slave would, he smoothed Kered’s military tunic of white and red.

  “Wrap it in the blanket and leave it where it is.” Kered knew Vad’s gesture was meant to appease him.

  Vad gave a tug to the hem of Kered’s tunic and then put the gun away, closing the cupboard doors securely. Last, he buffed the sword hilt with his elbow.

  “Nilrem’s beard! Leave off,” Kered protested to his friend. “You are not a slave!”

  “You must present the correct impression. I have hopes that you will be made one of the eight high councilors,” Vad said, running after Kered as he strode to the chamber door.

  “I have memorized my words and there is naught more to do. I do not aim so high—yet. I will be content as one of the lesser councilors. Their voting power, their oration rights, are equal with the eight chieftains. The chieftains might carry the weight of armies, treasuries, and history behind their words, but I have legend.” Kered was grateful for the opportunity to put aside his own dilemmas. “‘Tis absurd, I suppose, and yet I am confident. It is a shame you will not see their faces when I present the cup.”

  “How can you influence them to make a treaty with the Selaw if you are not one of the eight?” Vad asked, scrutinizing his friend once more for lint or wrinkles.

  “Debate. Words. Logic,” Kered said soberly.

  “You will need to be very good—and walk a path of propriety and levelheadedness.”

  Kered hoped that Vad would not bring up the subject of Maggie again. “There are those who will support me outright, for they know my abilities. Others are sheep and will go as one or another councilor goes.”

  “Aye,” Vad agreed. “Direct your words to Tol or Sallat. They think for themselves. Leoh will choose for himself, of course.”

  “And Samoht?” Kered asked his friend. “Where will he aim his words?”

  “Aim. A good word. He has Ronac in his camp already. Ronac cannot think for himself—is besotted with Samoht’s consequence.’’

  Kered knew the sad truth of Vad’s assessment. “Tarammur is Samoht’s man, too, and unfortunately wavers on every issue.”

  Vad followed Kered back to Maggie’s bedside. “Whoever offers Tarammur the most gold will have his vote and his wine.”

  “And Flucir is a powerful man,” Kered interrupted, “but as desirous as Samoht is to take from the Selaw without treaty. He lacks compassion, lacks conscience. His loyalties are not yet established.”

  “He greatly admires Leoh.”

  Kered nodded, knowing well the difficulties and treacheries of politics. Other thoughts intruded once more on those of chieftains and loyalties. He bent to touch Maggie’s brow. “Stay with Anna, my friend, and see that no one crosses my threshold, or you will answer to me.”

  “Do you intend to bar Einalem? A word or two from me may soften the possible insult to her healing abilities.”

  Kered cast one last look at the sleeping figure on his bed. “Perhaps that would be best. It sits ill with me that Einalem may be…delaying Maggie’s recovery. You will know the words to use.” With that, he left the chamber, closing the door on Vad and his inner turmoil.

  Kered marched with confidence through the maze of corridors that formed the palace. His own chambers were but one of many suites of rooms that honeycombed the building. If he had been alone upon his return to the capital, he would have gone to the barracks with Vad and bunked with his men.

  Maggie had changed all that.

  He nodded briefly to two sentries who knew him well. They gave him admittance to a long corridor crowded with men. The scent of many, the washed and the unwashed, met his nostrils. Gasps accompanied his progress through the throng waiting for the council session to end. They clamored to present their personal matters to one councilor or another, and when the huge double doors at the end of the corridor opened, the petitioners would swamp the councilors. Silence fell after the gasps, for many had noticed the sacred sword strapped at Kered’s side.

  At the massive double doors, he stated his name and waited patiently for admission. When the sentries opened the doors, he stepped in with confidence. It would not do to display any sign of the anxiety that knotted his stomach or the fatigue that shook his resolve.

  Leoh rose from his place at the inlaid table that seated the twenty-four councilors. Their status was marked by their chairs. Leoh’s throne, as befit the leader of the council, dominated the group. The other high councilors sat on ornately carved chairs, gilded and fitted with plush pillows. The remaining councilors, two for each high councilor, sat on less opulent seats.

  Leoh’s mane of hair was snow white—in sharp contrast to his deep ochre skin. Kered knew the yellow was a sign of disease—fatal disease. He swallowed down grief at the changes illness had wrought over the past few months in this man he called father. Where once had stood a stalwart warrior, now stood a gaunt old man, racked with tremors, his face etched with pain.

  “Come, Esteemed Warrior,” Leoh called in welcome.

  Kered masked his emotions and concern and walked boldly forward to stand before his father. He went down on one knee. Leoh extended a shaking hand and touched Kered’s bowed head. The ritual presen
tation of an esteemed warrior followed, Kered kneeling before each councilor, each man touching him briefly on the head. He felt the ripple of sensation as each man noted the sword at his side.

  When he had circled the table, completing the ceremony, he stood again before Leoh. “I bring to you an offering.” Kered opened his pack and lifted out the cup.

  Vad had personally polished it, and it shone with the light of a thousand silver stars in the glow of dozens of tapers. Kered placed it reverently into Leoh’s hands.

  “The cup of Liarg.” The old man’s voice trembled as he beheld the sacred object. “How?”

  “I sought the wisdom of the ancients and made the quest.”

  “‘Tis a lie.” Samoht leapt to his feet and snatched the cup from Leoh.

  Tol, on Samoht’s right, grasped Samoht’s arm. “Hold. Kered is an Esteemed Warrior. Your words challenge him.”

  Samoht shrugged off the older man, relinquishing the cup to Leoh with ill grace, then straightened his own ivory and red tunic. “Forgive me. I spoke in haste,” he said, although his facial expression belied his words.

  “Forgiven,” Kered said immediately to soothe the moment. “I have trekked the Scorched Plain, called the sword from its watery grave, and visited the Forbidden Isle. I offer the cup in the cause of peace and bear the arms to enforce it.”

  The stunned silence following Kered’s words was finally broken by the deep voice of Leoh. “What is your wish? Why have you endangered your life on this quest? ‘Twas thought the sword was but a legend and the cup too well guarded to be retrieved.”

  “Perhaps Kered had these forged in some Selaw armory.” Samoht sneered.

  “Your words ill fit your station,” Leoh said into the shocked babble that met Samoht’s words.

  Kered looked about the table, judging the moment, hesitation would gain him naught. “I wish to sit on the council. There is no doubt what I have accomplished. ‘Tis said in legend that he who bears the sword shall rule.”

  “No!” Samoht cried. “No. To sit here, one of us must step down. What manner of man are you to make such a demand?’’

 

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