VirtualHeaven

by Ann Lawrence

  “You will.” Kered addressed Vad, but stared into Maggie’s eyes. “I will move with all speed. When Maggie is safely hidden with Nilrem I will return and lend the weight of my words to avert this disaster.”

  “Kered, you are mad. It will take three days there and three back! All the men of war will be marshaled by then.”

  Kered spun to face his friend, his voice sharp and angry. “Then you will need to speak in my stead. Am I the only one who sees reason? Go to Tol, appeal to Flucir. Take word from me, damn it. I will write the words if need be. Just do it.”

  Vad pulled himself to his full height. Maggie watched an icy calm settle on him. “As you wish.” He was no longer a friend beseeching a friend; he was a soldier obeying his commander.

  Maggie began to weep. “No, no. I can’t let you make this journey. I’ll never forgive myself if there’s a massacre. Don’t make me responsible.”

  Kered gripped her shoulders. “How dare you think I do this just for you! As long as you are here, they may accuse me of being ensorcelled. My every word and gesture will be in doubt. The only way to counter the accusations of Samoht’s men will be to have you gone.”

  The realization that Kered might be taking her away to save his political future stabbed like a sharp dagger. “I see. Of course, you must not appear to be under any spell. How could I be so simple?” She ducked her head to hide her pain. What of the spell of love? she wanted to scream.

  “Aye. Now you understand.” Kered turned a last time to Vad, his tone commanding, brooking no disobedience. “I will give you a written authority to speak for me. Work only to delay any action until I return. Suggest that whatever retaliation they make will be equally devastating, no matter the delay. I will see to it. Now fetch some paper so I may pen the words.”

  Vad gave a short bow from the waist and went back into the building. When he returned, he stood at stiff attention as Kered wrote hastily on a sheet of paper. Maggie watched as he boldly scrawled his name across the foot of the paper, then rose and thrust it in Vad’s direction.

  Vad rolled the document, bowed again from the waist, and wordlessly left them, then stood in the arched doorway a moment before running back to them. Vad swept Maggie into his arms, kissed her soundly, and then set her on her feet. “Go with the gods. No matter what is said, I will champion you. I know you are no witch and have not an evil bone in your body. Though they lay hot coals on my tongue, or thrust burning rods up my—”

  “Stop!” Maggie cried. There was no humor in Vad’s tone, no indication he was joking. She pounded her fists on his shoulders. “How can this be happening?”

  Vad held her close and hugged her hard. “Look after him and send him back anon,” he whispered in her ear. “I have not his abilities. We need him.”

  Maggie sobbed on Vad’s shoulder. When Kered yanked her from Vad’s arms, she clung to her friend, not wanting to accept the reality of their departure, of what could happen in the next few days.

  “Kered,” she gasped. “My pendant. I left it under the bed.”

  Kered swore. “By the sword, what more could go wrong?”

  “Please, Vad,” Maggie called. “Get my pendant—under our bed. Keep it for me.”

  Vad nodded and raised a hand in farewell.

  They made their way through the darkened streets, Kered avoiding all her attempts at speech. Overhead, the four orbs, close together now, cast enough light to navigate without torches. At last they stood poised at the top of the long stair leading across the strait to the stables where Windsong waited. They had not spoken once. Maggie tried to catch her breath, for Kered’s relentless pace was back. He had not looked at her, nor offered her any reassurance. But when he began the steep descent, she saw him stagger. Who knew what the pace cost him?

  Puffins perched along the handrails to the stair—their only escape. Kered took the steps two at a time, ignoring the agitated fluttering of wings. When Maggie tried to grasp the rail, the birds pecked at her. “Kered, wait,” she called softly.

  He turned about and looked back. “Hurry, the puffins sense the blood.”

  She nodded, slipping her hands into her cloak, and tried to steady herself for the precipitous descent. In a sudden burst of sound, the puffins lifted off, circling and swooping, brushing her with outstretched wings. She screamed and Kered halted. He swung back and leapt the stairs between them.

  Kered jerked her into his arms and sheltered her as he ran down the remaining stairs. The sentries snapped to alertness when they passed by. Above a man shouted. Maggie looked up through the mass of soaring wings. A Red-rose warrior stood at the cliff top.

  The birds attacked. The warrior disappeared in a black cloud. The sentries rushed to his aid, shouting as the puffins turned on them. Maggie and Kered staggered past the men who blocked their path across the narrow footbridge to freedom.

  Kered placed Maggie on her feet and drew his cloak open. The guards, swatting at the birds and crying in consternation, saw the hilt of his sword and fell back against the rails in instant recognition of the ancient symbol. He swept his cloak about them both and they quickly passed the remaining sentries. The birds followed, cawing angrily, swooping and soaring overhead. Maggie felt her hair brushed countless times by wings, and yet, only the sentries seemed to be getting pecked. Their arms and faces ran with blood.

  Kered took the second flight of stairs at a slower pace, his breath laboring as he ascended the steep steps. She felt a tremor run through his arm.

  “By the sword,” Kered swore when they reached the summit. The puffins landed in thick rows along the stone walls lining the avenue to the stable. “‘Tis grateful I am to these black fowl.”

  “How can you say that? They attacked us!” Maggie huddled against his side, feeling the rapid beat of his heart that was only outmatched by the pounding of hers.

  “Do you think we could have crossed unchallenged without such a diversion? They attacked only Samoht’s man and the sentries. Perhaps there is truth that Ruhtra’s soul abides in them. Surely, he was at our side just now.” Kered’s words were clipped and he pulled away, reclaiming his cloak and settling it over his sword.

  Maggie did not answer. She glanced over her shoulder. “Look!” she cried.

  There on the palace side stood more men garbed in black. Samoht’s men began the long descent, but were instantly hidden in the mass of birds that lifted and dropped on them.

  “Go,” Kered commanded. Maggie ran. She lifted her skirts and pelted down the avenue. He outdistanced her in an instant, startling the stableman. By the time she arrived, Kered had Windsong out of his stall and bridled. There was nothing she could do but get in the way, so she stood at the stable door and peered into the night watching for Samoht’s guards. An unearthly silence had fallen. Only the sound of horses disturbed at their rest broke the night. The scent of manure and oats reminded Maggie most poignantly of her father’s stables, but this was to be a ride like none she had ever taken before.

  Kered brought Windsong to her side. His foot slipped in the stirrup. He paused and visibly gathered his strength, then swung into the saddle. His face was in shadow. The moons hung in a close line behind him, yet she saw the ponderous way he pulled himself up. Maggie looked at the strong hand he extended to her. A hand that made love and war with equal proficiency.

  “You can’t leave,” she said. “The council needs you.”

  “Mount, or by the gods, I will thrash you.” Kered slammed his fist on his thigh.

  “You would hurt me?” she asked.

  His face softened. “Never, Maggie. Please mount. The stableman is watching.”

  Maggie looked at the man who hunkered down by the stable doors. He was indeed watching, although they were too far away for him to hear their words. She looked off down the street, expecting Samoht’s men to appear at any moment. Yet she couldn’t climb into the saddle with Kered, either. It signaled an end she couldn’t face.

  “Please, there must be some way to fix this without your leavi
ng when you’re needed. Surely, Samoht’s behavior is against your Tolemac laws!” she cried.

  A trickle of blood ran down his cheek. “You do not understand,” he said in a hushed tone. “There are no laws against what Samoht did.”

  “A man may flay another and it’s okay?” Maggie snorted.

  “No. Samoht would have suffered great condemnation for his treatment of me, if he had let me live to tell the tale. But there are no laws against abusing and using slaves—especially if that slave should later be proven a witch.”

  Maggie’s stomach rolled. “I see. He can rape me, beat me, and go unpunished.”

  “Aye,” he said softly.

  “I hate your world,” she cried in anguish.

  “Good. Your hatred will ease our parting.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Red-rose warriors descended with the sun-rising, twelve strong. They rode in a phalanx behind their leader, a black wedge coming from the capital.

  Kered spurred Windsong to his top speed, leaving the specter of their pursuers in the dust. Maggie knew enough about the stamina of horses to know that Windsong could not maintain that pace for long. Great patches of foam flew off Windsong’s sides. The thunder of his hooves seemed to say, “Hurry, hurry.”

  Maggie pressed her face to Kered’s back. Her tears had long since dried. Whatever was to come, she could not force Kered to choose between her and his duty and honor. Regardless of the pain that throbbed through her, she would not beg, would not weep, would not betray the intensity of her feelings, no matter his decision.

  Windsong faltered, his pace lagging. The threat behind them gained, spread out, and separated as the plain allowed them space to maneuver.

  “My gun,” Maggie called against the wind. She reached down to Kered’s pack. “I want to try it one last time.”

  He gripped her wrist and held it tight against the saddle. “No gun. We will give them no opportunity to accuse you of further witchery.”

  Maggie stifled a sharp retort and tried reason. “There are too many of them. We don’t stand a chance.”

  He didn’t answer. She leaned her head against his stiff back and searched for something to say, something to offer. The warriors drew near enough that she could hear their hooves thundering on the dry, packed earth. Unconsciously, she gripped Kered’s waist tighter. Only when he squeezed her hand did she realize he knew she was there.

  Windsong stumbled then flew into a gallop again, seemingly renewed by the falter. Two of Samoht’s men drew level. It occurred to Maggie that they, too, had only swords and knives. This would be a fight in close quarters. Kered’s hair whipped her face as he turned and assessed the riders’ positions.

  They hadn’t a chance against so many. Twelve guards distributed themselves around them, slowing Windsong and forcing him to fall back. Maggie felt the subtle shift of Kered’s posture. In the next moment, she nearly fell off as Kered pulled Windsong to a rearing halt, then forced him into a quick turn. The horse responded. They burst between two guards. A knife thrown in vain hit Windsong’s flank, the hilt doing no damage to the animal, but frightening Maggie into cowering behind Kered’s broad back. The guards drew near, too close on their heels.

  Their new direction led to a stretch of forest. Kered plunged into the trees. Branches snatched at their hair and dragged at their cloaks. Except for two men, the rest of the guard fell back, impeded by the density of the trees and their own numbers. The two warriors gained upon them, their horses’ snorting breath loud in Maggie’s ears.

  A scream of pain made her turn. One guard had not ducked quickly enough and was swept from his saddle by a low-hanging branch. His companion kept coming swiftly after them, ignoring the fallen man.

  Windsong dodged the trees, leaped deadfalls, charged saplings. Still the guard came on. Kered jerked Windsong to a halt and vaulted from the saddle. “Go. Hide.” He tossed Maggie the reins and with a jerk of his head, turned away, sword drawn. She obeyed him, kicking Windsong and tearing deeper into the wood. She drew up, looped the reins over a branch, and snatched down Kered’s pack. Blindly, she ran back. The clash of metal on metal told her Kered was under attack.

  Stealthily, she crept to a vantage point. Kered fought two guards. She could tell his loss of blood had weakened him, yet he fought on. No one had an advantage, for the close quarters hampered them all. She raised the gun.

  Kered’s words about casting spells rang in her ears. Another horse plunged down on Kered, and she knew she had to balance the odds for him. She aimed for the horse. Nothing. She swore and shoved the gun back into her belt.

  Frantically, she pawed through Kered’s pack. Her fingers met his suede pouch of stars. With a deftness born of frustration and desperation, she flung the star like a Frisbee. The metal star glittered across the horse’s line of vision. The mare reared and crashed into a tree, then rolled upon its rider, rose, and galloped off into the trees. The guard lay senseless on the ground.

  That left two. Kered relentlessly slashed and parried their sword blows. The guards, smaller, less able, were no match for the fury that drove Kered, for he fought for his life and hers. One man fell with a gaping wound in his thigh. The other drew back, but hesitated a moment too long. Kered took the advantage, sending the man’s sword spinning into the underbrush.

  Maggie turned and ran back to Windsong. With shaking hands, she freed the reins and led the stallion back to Kered. There was no way she could mount unaided.

  Kered had disarmed the Red-rose warriors of their knives. He tied them to a tree, the wounded and the able, ignoring their entreaties for release.

  Kered heaved himself into the saddle, blood showing on his bandages in mute testimony of his injured state. He closed his eyes briefly as if to gather his strength, then reached down and dragged Maggie up behind him. Windsong vaulted the prostrate guard, and they crashed back into the trees.

  Did Kered know she’d interfered and used his stars? Her mouth dried waiting for his condemnation or admiration. She bit her lip with nervous anticipation, wanted him to acknowledge her. Her ears strained for the sound of pursuit, but the ruckus Windsong made galloping through the woods masked any other noise. “The others?’’ she asked, her heart in her mouth.

  “Soon on our heels,” he called back.

  They burst from the woods. Maggie gasped. So much for her sense of direction. They’d circled around and come out almost where they’d entered. She slapped his back in silent tribute. There was no sign of the rest of the guard.

  “Nilrem’s beard!” Kered swore. “Where is a dragon when you need one?” He stamped through the shallow stream, soaking his boots and the hem of his cloak. Maggie gingerly stepped from stone to stone to avoid the same result. She knew they had but a moment to water Windsong and gather their own strength. “Surely, we should be able to rouse one, even a babe,” he growled.

  Maggie searched the stark red horizon. Their trail lay like a bloody finger pointing to where they stood. The Red-rose warriors would have to be blind to miss it. “What do you want a dragon for?” she asked.

  “I would hope to offer him dinner—roses, in fact.”

  She sighed. He turned abruptly and confronted her. “You used the weapon, did you not?” He fisted his hands on his hips and glared down at her.

  “No, I swear it!” She held up her fingers in the Girl Scout salute. “Honest, I threw a star, that’s all. You’ve lost so much blood…there were three of them,” she finished weakly.

  He chanted his ancestors’ names, bent, and cupped the water. He splashed it on his face and turned to her, dripping. “Will you never do as I ask?”

  She soaked a clean bandage and wiped his cheek. The sweat and grime had gathered along the cut on his face. “I was afraid for you.” She dabbed at the ragged edges of his wound.

  He shook off her hand and grunted. “We will ride through the night.”

  Maggie smiled. He didn’t look very angry. “Why don’t I put the salve on your wounds and rebandage them?”r />
  “No time,” he said, stepping from the stream. He patted Windsong’s neck and praised his speed and agility. The horse bent his head and nudged Kered’s shoulder.

  Maggie’s eyes teared up; she, too, wished for such affection and praise from him. She shoved the bandages and unwanted salve into Kered’s pack and slung it up on the saddle.

  They met the beggars just as the warriors reappeared on the horizon. As the horde of little folk surrounded them, Maggie searched for and found the ancient one who had spoken to Kered. Windsong picked his way daintily through the curious crowd. Kered leaned down to Tolem.

  “Nine men ride hither. They are after me and my woman,” he said. “We need your help.”

  My woman. Not my slave. My woman. Maggie’s heart swelled.

  “Eight? An auspicious number.” Tolem leaned on his staff and turned a cynical eye toward the black dots advancing with breathtaking speed. “If ‘twas nine or seven, who knows?” A small, ragged bundle ran to Tolem and jumped up and down, pointing and grunting at Kered and Maggie. Tolem looked down at the boy. “Yet you asked nothing for this one’s life.”

  The horde of beggars drew in, waiting, expectant. Tolem assessed the approaching riders. “Do you wish them dead or detained?”

  “Detained,” Maggie and Kered said in unison.

  Tolem smiled, his yellow teeth sharp and singularly youthful in his wrinkled face. “So shall it be done.” He raised his staff and jabbered to his band of beggars.

  Kered lifted a hand in thanks. Windsong danced and sidled at the sudden seething motion of the little people. In a moment, they had strung themselves out across the plain.

  “Will they be harmed?” Maggie gasped as Samoht’s guard charged the line.

  “We wanted detained, not dead,” Kered said over his shoulder.

  “I meant the beggars,” Maggie returned, clutching at his cloak.

  “Perhaps.” His somber tone made her shiver.