VirtualDesire

by Ann Lawrence

  Gwen wondered if it was her eyes that had immediately told Vad the woman was Selaw and not Tolemac. She came to a halt in front of Vad. “The help I need cannot be found in Selaw. There is peace between your people and mine now. I had hoped we might extend that peace to helping one another.” She tucked her hands up into her sleeves and began to pace again. “I have come far and have little time. If Nilrem has gone on a wander, I am in grave trouble.”

  “Can you help her?” Gwen asked Vad, who impaled her with a dark glare. “Well, you could try to help her, couldn’t you?”

  “I am grateful for your offer,” the Selaw woman said with a breathiness to her voice that bespoke her agitation.

  Vad shook his head. “My companion speaks too quickly. I have my own duties of which I must think, and my own time is short.”

  The woman bowed her head. A look of sorrow crossed her face, then was quickly masked. “I see.” She turned and went to the stream. Again she lifted her hem to wade across.

  “Wait,” Gwen cried. “At least tell us what your problem is.”

  “Gwen!” Vad hooked her arm and dragged her into the shadows. “I must get to the capital and confront the councilors. I have no time for women in distress. I must… Oh, by the sword…” He stomped in a circle, then called to the woman, “Come back.”

  She quickly waded back into the cave entrance and out of her men’s line of sight. “You wear the colors of the Tolemac army, and the gold on your uniform is a symbol of leadership. Surely you can help me.”

  Gwen eyed Vad as he nodded. She hadn’t thought of his embroidery as anything beyond decoration. She’d have to have a word with the man who’d written the Tolemac Wars II manual. It was sadly lacking in detail.

  Vad crossed his arms over his chest. “First, who are your ancestors?”

  “I am called Ardra. My father is Ruonail of the Fortress of Ravens.”

  “Ruonail? I know of him. Your father holds vast lands in Selaw. Some say to the detriment of his people.”

  Ardra nodded her head. “In the past he was thoughtless on occasion, but now he is…cruel. It is for him I have come…and for my people.”

  “What changed him?” Gwen felt left out when they ignored her questions. There was nowhere dry to sit in the cave. Her legs quivered with sudden fatigue.

  “But how could I, a Tolemac warrior, help a Selaw chief?” Vad asked.

  “My father is a powerful chief, controlling the mining of the ice. He has great influence in Selaw, but it is the influences on him I fear.”

  Gwen felt a prickle of apprehension as Ardra continued. Beneath Ardra’s serene appearance Gwen sensed a turmoil of emotions.

  Ardra continued. “A man first appeared more than four conjunctions ago. He comes and goes, sometimes staying for several sun-risings, other times from feast day to feast day. It is his influence over my father that I fear. Until this man, Narfrom by name, arrived, my father was for the peace between our people and yours.”

  “And now?” Vad prompted.

  Her pacing grew more agitated. “Now Narfrom controls my father’s every thought. He has convinced my father that our people will be richer and more powerful without the Tolemac peace. Narfrom claims we made a mistake exchanging the ice for food.”

  “Ice?” Gwen said.

  “Yes.” Ardra looked Gwen up and down, as if she were seeing her clearly for the first time. Her gaze lingered on her hair. “We Selaw stand between Tolemac and the ice fields.”

  Gwen knew the basics of the politics from the game. Tolemac wanted the ice. It allowed them to enjoy foods out of season, but she assumed it was also wanted simply because the Selaw had it and Tolemac didn’t.

  Vad added to her thoughts. “The ice fields stand between the Selaw and the lands beyond. If the legends of those lands are true, then the Selaw have access to those lands, and Tolemac does not. It behooves us to negotiate that access.”

  Ardra nodded. “I know the peace with Tolemac is good. For the first time, our people can plan their lives without the constant fear of invasion. Stop at any settlement now and you will no longer see the seasonal starvation that prompted so many years of war.”

  “Have you talked to your father about your concerns?” Gwen asked. She linked her arm about Vad’s and leaned on him for support.

  The woman looked from Gwen to Vad. “Who is this woman, and what has happened to her hair?”

  “Forgive us,” Vad said. “We have not returned the courtesy of an introduction. I am called Vad—”

  “And I’m Gwen.”

  Vad did not even glance in Gwen’s direction or acknowledge her touch. “She is my business. As to her hair…she was too vain and I decided to cut it off to tame her spirit.”

  Tame me? Gwen thought.

  Ardra shrugged and dismissed Gwen. “Is she trustworthy? Should we be speaking before her?”

  “If there are spies about, they are of Selaw origin.” Vad put a staying hand on Gwen’s.

  The woman weighed Vad’s words. Then her shoulders slumped. “I must trust your word. I have no one else to turn to.”

  “To question a Tolemac warrior’s word is—” Vad began.

  “Natural. After all, you don’t even know us,” Gwen quickly interjected.

  “It is as you say. I know you not.” Ardra began to wring her hands. Some of her stateliness crumbled. “I must trust someone! Why not you?”

  “What of your men outside?” Vad asked. He impaled Gwen with a glare to silence her.

  “They are my father’s men. They brought me here at his behest to secure a sleeping potion. My father is unable to sleep, you see. He wanders the fortress ramparts hour upon hour. He is aging before my eyes. But it is not just for a sleeping potion that I have come to Nilrem. I had also intended to query the wise man on how to break this chain of influence Narfrom has forged about my father. My men escort me with my father’s blessing, but if questioned will tell him—and Narfrom—anything they think he needs to know. I cannot allow them to know my true mission.”

  Vad nodded. “My time is limited, as is yours. State your wishes.”

  Ardra glanced about, looked Vad up and down, then just as carefully inspected Gwen. Finally she took a deep breath. “Narfrom has taken hostages—the maiden daughters of seven Tolemac councilors—and is holding them in the fortress.”

  “By Nilrem’s beard! And your father does not know?”

  “Oh, my father actually took the hostages, but it is Narfrom who thought of the idea and made the plans. If not for him, my father would never have thought of such treachery!”

  “What madness!”

  “Aye. Surely ‘tis a madness to want such power. You men are all sick with it. You cannot be content to have your small part of the world. You must have it all.”

  Vad bristled.

  Ardra swept in agitated circles, her skirts forming a perfect bell about her legs. “And yet, he is my father—my only family since my mother died. I love him. Or love the man he was.” She wrung her hands. “I would not have believed him capable of such treachery a few conjunctions ago. I thought the wise man might know of some spell Narfrom has cast that has made my father unable to think clearly, unable to see the folly of his actions. I came in hopes that Nilrem could break the spell.”

  Vad’s voice was gentle. “Nilrem is a man of wisdom. He is not a witch to cast or uncast spells.”

  “You may be right, but it matters not, since he is not here. I have visited all his places, including climbing to the top of Hart Fell, and he is gone.”

  “Aye. He is gone.” Vad nodded.

  Gwen felt an immediate need to pat the woman on the shoulder and tell her Vad would take care of her. Wherever had that thought come from?

  Vad went to the curve of the stream, where he could see Ardra’s men. He crouched down on his haunches and watched them, but spoke softly so only the women could hear him. “Has Tolemac launched an attack on Selaw to regain the maidens?”

  “No. The councilors would never let anyo
ne know my father has their daughters. It would prove the fathers unable to protect their own.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She took a step toward him and sank to her knees by his side as if begging.

  “Vad?” Gwen caught Ardra before she could fall. Vad did not move.

  Gwen gripped Ardra’s shaking shoulders. “Aren’t they concerned about their daughters’ safety?”

  “Narfrom has promised the maidens’ deaths should the councilors tell anyone of their abduction.”

  With a nod, Vad rose. He propped his shoulder against the cave wall and shrugged. “It is an age-old means of ensuring compliance. Take a hostage and it will be easy enough to dictate behavior and decisions. The hostage is rarely harmed.”

  Ardra stayed on her knees, her hands raised in supplication. Gwen tried in vain to get her to rise.

  “You must help me. Narfrom threatened to put a rope about the maidens’ necks and toss them off the ramparts to hang there for all to see if the councilors do not obey him. ‘Tis no idle threat. It was done to a serving boy who dared to defy an order of Narfrom’s. It is why I have hastened here.”

  “And your father’s response to the hanging?” Vad asked. “Such executions for petty disobedience were banned in Tolemac and, I thought, Selaw, ages ago.”

  “I swear to you my father knew nothing of the order. He is haunted by the image of the boy—a fetching lad he liked well—and imagines the maidens’ fate. He will not admit he has lost control of Narfrom. ‘Tis why he cannot rest. Only some spell of madness could make him behave in such a manner as to support Narfrom. Please help us. I have little with which to reward you—”

  “An honorable warrior does not seek reward.” He shook his head.

  For a moment Gwen thought he might refuse the woman’s plea.

  “Think of the maidens,” Ardra begged. “They are but pawns in the games of men.”

  Gwen held her breath. She knew it was not her place to convince Vad to help the woman.

  “My time is limited. I have until the next lunar festival to return to the capital. It is my charge from the Tolemac council. If I am late, dire consequences will befall me.”

  “More dire than the end of peace and the death of the maidens? One has lived only eight conjunctions!”

  Vad met Gwen’s eyes. She tried to keep her expression neutral. He had to make his own decision. It was his life and his honor.

  “Well, my little one?” he asked her. “Where shall we go? To Selaw to rescue maidens or to the capital to see Samoht and complete my mission?”

  He did not ask idly, she realized, though he still leaned indolently on the cave wall. The day of fighting for an honorable cause, no matter the personal cost, was gone in her world.

  She held her hands out like a balance and moved them up and down. “Rescuing kidnapped maidens or facing Samoht? Hmmm. Either works for me. I’m still trying to cope with the purple sky.”

  Vad touched his hand to the hilt of the jeweled dagger tucked in his belt. “Mistress Ardra, it will be an honor to rescue your maidens.”

  The boat in which Ardra had come was a sorry excuse for a sailboat. Gwen eyed it with disdain. The sail was square-rigged and clumsy. She imagined the oars were used more often than not. In the bow was a rolled set of blankets and a painted wooden chest the size of a picnic basket.

  Small as the stream had been that flowed from Nilrem’s cave, it had taken but one sharp bend to join a wide and swiftly running river. The river had no name, according to Vad. It was unlucky to name rivers, he’d said.

  The sail was not raised, but instead of being carefully folded on the boom, it was dragging on the deck. Deck? The boards were rough and splintery, and Gwen couldn’t imagine why they weren’t leaking like a sieve.

  Vad sat in the bow by the painted box, his warm hip against hers, and kept an eye on the three Selaw archers in the stern. They took turns at the tiller, refusing Vad’s offer to spell one of them. He did not, however, look at Ardra, who sat on an embroidered cushion in the center of the boat.

  At the moment, handling the boat seemed fairly effortless to Gwen. The current was with them, and the only tricky part was negotiating gentle rapids.

  Her headache returned with a vengeance. The scenery was alien and yet…not. If one ignored the sinking red sun and the lavender sky, it could have been a trip along any river in New York or Pennsylvania, or for that matter the Cotswolds of England.

  She’d honeymooned in the Cotswolds—in a tiny cottage with rough stone walls and hanging baskets thick with flowers. The wound of her husband’s death usually seemed well healed until suddenly, the sight of a flower, a scent, and it would all come flooding back. She had learned to live with his passing, but not the loneliness of their parting.

  She thought of the Tolemac maidens and the anguish of their fathers, forced to make decisions in fear for a child’s life.

  “Gwen.” Vad touched her shoulder. “What do you think of these men?” He spoke softly by her ear. His breath was warm and woke nerve endings long dormant. She swatted at her ear as if a mosquito buzzed there.

  She inspected the men. The one at the tiller had a sullen mouth and a blind eye, its iris milky white.

  The second was tall and slim, his eyes an uncanny amber, tawny and quite beautiful. He had the hard expression of a man who had seen much and looked as if he’d steal a person’s purse—or her virtue—given the chance.

  The last was fair-haired like Ardra and the other men, but his greasy hair was less carefully tended than the others’.

  Gwen propped her chin in her hand and barely spoke between her lips. “I think the men are not happy escorting Ruonail’s daughter. They think they’ve better things to do than row her around the countryside.”

  Vad wrapped her into his embrace, drawing her close to his body, his mouth at her ear. Wonderful warmth flooded her.

  “I think they intend to kill us.”

  Gwen jerked in his arms. “Kill us?” she said in a squeak against his throat, all warmth gone in an instant.

  Vad pulled her closer and more tightly against him. He brought his mouth very close to hers. She felt the heat of his breath, imagined it scented with caramel popcorn. “Aye. They exchange looks when Ardra is not facing them. They have noted my lack of sword. The one at the tiller has nodded twice to the one on our right.”

  “Maybe they’re just afraid of you.”

  He tipped her chin back and whispered against her lips. “How able are you? If they come for me, can you defend yourself?”

  A quiver ran through her body. Vad’s hand moved like a lover’s against her hip, caressing, moving up to her waist and then to her stomach. Something cold and hard pressed against her. She covered his hand, as if to stop its progress toward her breast. Her fist closed over the jeweled dagger.

  She swallowed hard. “I can’t,” she whispered against his lips. “I can’t.”

  Chapter Nine

  Every muscle screaming with tension, Gwen sat silently at Vad’s side. He remained as still as if carved from marble—very warm marble, his long thigh hard against hers.

  Gwen clutched the jeweled knife in her skirts for several miles, her nerves taut, her hands cramped into fists. With every foot they traveled, they drew farther away from what was familiar—or familiar to her from the game. The terrain grew rockier, although the greenery remained thick, the trees still mostly conifers. The air cooled despite the bright red disk overhead.

  Abruptly, Ardra rose. “Put to shore. I need a moment of privacy,” she said, staggering as the boat rocked violently. Vad shot from his seat to steady her, putting an arm about her waist. He held her hand and eased her onto her cushion.

  With a lack of skill that made Gwen grit her teeth, Greasy Hair beached the boat with a jarring scrape of the bottom on marl. He leaped out and wrapped a frayed rope about a jagged boulder. Then he attacked.

  He whipped in a circle, snatched up a handful of muddy pebbles, and cast them in Vad’s face. But Vad was gone—over the side i
n a long, flat dive. In moments, a flurry of arrows hit the water where Vad had disappeared.

  Gwen screamed. Blind Eye yanked her over the side and onto the muddy ground. Her feet tangled in her nightgown hem, bringing her to her knees. She almost lost her grip on the jeweled dagger. With a vicious jerk, the man dragged her forward. Her feet sank into the stony mud; her skirt slapped heavily against her legs. He threw her to the ground.

  “Stop!” Ardra shouted at her men. “What are you doing?”

  The remaining two men sent another hail of arrows into the water. “Be still,” Beautiful Eyes growled. “He is an outcast.”

  “My father will hear of this treachery,” Ardra cried as she scrambled over the side of the leaning boat and grabbed Blind Eye by the cloak. “Let her be!”

  With a quick thrust of his arm, Blind Eye pushed Ardra away.

  “There,” Greasy Hair shouted, and another barrage of arrows entered the water.

  Blind Eye turned away. Gwen wrenched herself from his grip, the dagger caught in the folds of her skirt as she raised it.

  “Do it and die.”

  Beautiful Eyes stood in the boat’s stern facing her—not the river. He raised his bow. “Give me the knife.”

  “What are you doing?” Ardra gasped. Water sloshed about her skirts as she ran to where he stood.

  “She has a knife!” the man said. “Take it from her!”

  “Enec, you do not understand. You shall rue the day you attacked him,” Ardra sputtered, and wrung her hands. “The warrior said she has healing powers. She is needed to help my father. He was needed!”

  Blind Eye burst into laughter and turned from his deadly task. “Then we shall keep her alive until we get to the fortress. Just a mite worn around the edges.” He wiped his arm across his brow and asked over his shoulder of the other two bowmen, “Any sign of him?”

  Enec turned his beautiful eyes on Gwen. They touched her with a tangible stroke of malice. “He is surely dead. A man cannot stay beneath the water for so long. But he is unimportant. We have this one.”

  Gwen’s body quivered with fear. She glanced behind him for Vad—or blood. The other two bowmen peppered the water and nearby reeds with arrows.