VirtualDesire

by Ann Lawrence

  Ruonail threw back his wine in a single gulp. After a moment’s silence, others also drank their wine. Like a ripple across a pond, the arms rose around the room, one after another, and the Selaw people drank.

  “Nilrem’s throat,” Vad swore. Ruonail might be ill, but he still commanded his people with an iron will. “Go now. Cross the hall,” he said to Ardra. She lifted the edge of the tapestry and slipped away. He watched Ardra walk quickly across the vast chamber. Whispers followed her. Ruonail half stood; then when Ardra did not look in his direction, he sat back in his place.

  Vad moved quietly from the tapestry and up the steps. According to Ardra’s map, the room with the five maidens together was three rounds up and a few doors from the room housing Narfrom’s favorite. And where was Gwen?

  The stairs circled to the left to give the advantage to the right-handed warrior coming down. Vad moved his blade to his left hand. He kept his bare shoulder to the stone wall as he silently ascended. Three rounds up, he stopped and imagined the two guards, each with drawn swords, standing at each end of the corridor, facing the steps.

  He heard Ardra. “How fare the maidens?” she asked.

  The murmur of a man’s voice answered her, though the words were indistinguishable.

  “I wish to move this coffer to my chamber,” Ardra said quite loudly. “Would you two men help me? A few steps only?”

  How persuasive was her soft, feminine request. Vad heard the sound of a man’s footsteps moving away from his end of the corridor.

  Glancing cautiously around the wall, he saw the guard place his sword on the wooden floor and smile and nod at her. His fellow guard did the same. He would have had their arm rings for such a blatant lack of discipline.

  Silently he stepped up into the corridor. The men bent to lift a banner-draped coffer.

  He rushed forward, kicked the back of the closest guard’s knee, and slammed his knife hilt into the temple of the other. Turning back to the first guard, he kicked him in the groin.

  He whirled to where Ardra stood, her eyes wide with alarm. “Make not one sound,” he cautioned her for the conscious guard’s benefit, his blade held beneath her chin. She nodded and collapsed in a credible faint.

  He bound each man with his own belt and gagged the unconscious guard with a strip he tore off the man’s tunic. The other guard was too intent on his injured groin to make much noise. Vad grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the door of the room that held five of the maidens.

  Next, he pulled the unconscious man to the door as well. Last, he returned to the coffer. Over it lay a faded Tolemac banner, one taken in a border skirmish, he supposed. He swept the banner off the chest, tied it loosely about his waist, then checked the coffer for weapons. It was empty.

  Vad knelt over the still-gasping guard, drawing Gwen’s little fruit knife. “‘Tis said this knife is for cutting away sections of flesh. I think ‘tis more suited to cutting out an eye. What say you?”

  The guard gagged and choked, his eyes wide. He croaked for mercy. With the tip of the curved knife, Vad traced the line of the guard’s eye socket. “How many guards are inside this chamber and the next?”

  The man began to beg pathetically for mercy. There was only an old woman to see to the maidens’ needs; just one guard watched the other one, Narfrom’s favorite, the man stammered out between whimpers. Of Gwen, he seemed to know nothing. Vad rose, then dragged the man by his tunic to the other guard.

  Female whispers came to him. Silently he eased the door open. Five young women, ranging in age from about fourteen conjunctions to nearly twenty, were nestled like spoons on a bed. Their bare feet were tied. Their eyes opened wide, as did their mouths, at the sight of him.

  He touched his lips with a finger and gestured to the gray-haired woman who dozed at the hearth. They nodded, first one, then another down the row. Swiftly he untied their feet.

  Their gazes followed him as he circled the edge of the room, moving behind the woman. He undid the banner from his waist and twisted it into a rope.

  Quickly he dropped the makeshift gag over the woman’s head and across her mouth. She jerked awake and bucked against the cloth. He tightened it and knotted it in one motion.

  Then he showed himself. The woman froze. She stared up at him. He knelt at her eye level and touched her shoulder gently. “I mean you no harm,” he whispered. “But you will be most uncomfortable for a bit.” As he spoke, he tied her arms and legs to the chair. Next he returned for the two guards and tossed them on the bed. Soon they, too, were trussed like spring lambs.

  When he turned around, the maidens, dressed alike in long white bed robes, were standing in a row by the door. Their heads moved as one, following his progress around the chamber as he gathered their shoes.

  “Come with me.” He had no need to say more. They linked fingers and followed him wordlessly. Just before he opened the door, he turned back to them. “Obey me.” They bobbed their heads and smiled. He felt as if he were being considered as a meal. “No matter what happens, you are to remain silent. Utterly silent.” He eased the door open and peered out, then jerked back into the room as he felt a warm hand on his back. “Do not touch me!” he said in a hiss.

  The maidens put their hands behind themselves and nodded vigorously. He sighed.

  “When it is silent below, we shall go down into the labyrinth.” Fear lit their eyes. They darted glances at each other. “Do not be afraid.”

  A whisper of sound alerted him to one maiden’s movement. He grabbed her hand in mid-caress. “You do not obey very well, do you? There is rope enough to bind your hands should I find it necessary.”

  The young girl had not even the decency to hang her head or drop her eyes. She smiled up at him with a look of adoration he had seen too often to be flattered by. Perhaps he would not wait for the mourners to leave the hall. It might be safer down there than up here with the women. Surely, in his weakened state, they could overpower him…

  “I keep my gun hidden, even from Ruonail,” Narfrom said. “I like this society in its primitive state. They’re no match for me just as they are.” Narfrom sighed deeply. “It is such a burden to be the most superior being in an entire world.”

  His words chilled her to the bone. “So Ruonail isn’t interested in crossing the ice fields for weapons?”

  “All of Selaw wishes to get across the ice fields and gain the marvelous weapons of legend.” He laughed. “They just don’t understand there is no ‘beyond’ the ice fields. But I have convinced Ruonail that bartering ice for weapons is senseless. He has become convinced he wants gold and jewels. After all, when you have enough gold and jewels, you can buy all the food you want—and all the weapons. And who has the gold and jewels? Tolemac.”

  Narfrom smiled. “My dear, there is what amounts to a mountain of gold outside, just waiting to be turned into the real thing. Ruonail just needed someone to show him how to use the ice to the best advantage. He was stupid to agree to the peace treaty. Ruonail trades the ice for food! Moronic! But now, with hostages, I am this close,” he held his fingers two inches apart, “to trading a worthless quantity of frozen water for a fortune.”

  “Or a map.”

  “Map?” Narfrom grabbed her arm and hauled her close. “Who said anything about a map?”

  “You did.” She hadn’t even realized she’d said the word out loud.

  “I said fortune. Not map. What do you know about a map?”

  “Slaves talk,” she said.

  “Oh, yes, they do. Somehow I think you know more than you let on.”

  Gwen shook her head. “I just heard about a map, nothing more.”

  Narfrom gripped her by the throat. “We shall see. They have a wonderful test of loyalty here in Selaw. Should you pass the test, you will need to keep my secrets, work for me, not against me, or I will see you offered to the slaves that mine the ice. They haven’t had a woman in months. They work shifts of eight men on and eight men off. Can you handle eight men, Gwen?”


  She tried to remain calm.

  “Put the dress on.” Narfrom pointed to the gown she’d done her best to ignore.

  “Here?”

  Sweat broke out in small beads across his brow. “I want to see the goods. Maybe you’d be wasted on ice miners. Now change.” He raised the gun.

  She knew its power, understood the threat. Turning her back, she pulled off her torn Selaw clothing. The gown was silky smooth, long, flowing. Its high neck was embroidered about with the familiar Celtic knotwork in turquoise and amber. Narfrom’s hands settled on her shoulders. “You are lovely,” he said, his breath scented with wine. Then he pulled back. “Did you hear something?” He walked toward the door, gun in hand.

  Was Vad outside rescuing the maidens? She had to distract Narfrom. “I can’t do up this dress. Can you help me?”

  He veered back with a grin. “How nicely you ask. I would be happy to help you.”

  As he came to her, Gwen strained her ears for some sound beyond the heavy wooden door, but heard nothing. There were thin ribbons down the back, which Narfrom tied tightly, pulling the gown snugly against her chest and abdomen. When he finished, he slid his hands about her waist, then up the silky cloth to cup her breasts. He stroked the barrel of the gun over her nipples. “In our world, you’re a bit out of shape. Here, you’re perfect.”

  Gwen remembered the rumors about this man, the London tabloid headlines that had linked him with the beating of his girlfriend—a beating that had left the woman comatose. After that, he’d disappeared for months—in jail, she’d thought. Now she wondered if he’d come here to escape prosecution.

  She stepped decisively away from his embrace. “Don’t touch me. I can’t see any reason why we should be enemies—I have no loyalty to anyone here—but if you so much as touch me again, you’re dog meat.”

  His eyes glittered. “Lucky for you, you’re not my type. I much prefer the subservient ways of Ardra. She knows her proper place. You’ve been indoctrinated for far too long in the equality of women. Such a waste.” He waved his gun toward the door. “Now come, I’ve a charming little room where you will be quite comfortable until Ruonail is free to attend the testing.”

  Vad led the maidens to the bottom of the winding steps to where Ardra stood waiting behind the tapestry, gripping her pendant. Together they led them down into the first levels of the labyrinth. His heart pounded at the amount of noise the maidens made. He stopped Ardra at the first door. “What of the child?”

  “She is in the kitchen, sorting beans.”

  “Is she safe there while I return above? There is one more maiden to save, and I must find Gwen.” Ardra nodded, and he took the steps up two at a time and hastened back along the still-deserted corridor. It was his best hope that Gwen was inside with Narfrom’s favorite.

  He eased the door open. A naked man was climbing onto the bed—and a woman. Seeing Vad, he leapt off and grabbed his sword from the floor.

  Vad snatched the jeweled dagger from his belt and threw it. It was not a throwing knife, but it found its mark.

  The man fell to his knees, the gaudy hilt protruding from the center of his chest.

  With a cough, he fell forward. Vad caught him, drew the knife, and let the man collapse. He wiped the knife on the bedcovers, sheathed it, and leaned close to the woman. “You must be silent if I am to take you away from here.”

  The young woman nodded, her eyes wide, a fist pressed to her mouth.

  Gently he pulled the woman’s skirts down. “Was that Narfrom?” he asked her with a gesture to the dead man.

  “Nay. A guard.”

  “Where is Gwen?”

  “Ruonail has her.”

  He took in the manacle, the other empty shackle, and swore silently. Bowing his head, he gathered all his concentration, applied every awareness lesson he had ever learned. He opened his eyes, wrapped the woman’s chain about his hand, grasped the pin, and pulled.

  Nothing.

  Sweat broke out all over his body. He closed his eyes and gathered his strength and will and pulled. Slowly, so slowly he almost did not believe it, the pin shifted. His hand and arm shook with the effort. The pin gave way.

  He scooped the woman into his arms.

  She linked her arms about his neck and began to weep. Within moments she was with the other maidens. He pulled Ardra aside. “She may have been forced by a guard, and most certainly witnessed his death, so go gently with her. She says your father took Gwen, but she is not in the hall with him. Where can she be?”

  “Narfrom must have taken her to one of the prison pits. It is all I can think of.”

  “And where are these pits?” Gwen in a pit? The image was not to be borne.

  “Beneath the fortress, by the river entrance, but above the water.”

  “Take the maidens below to one of the caves. They need to be hidden away. And do not forget the child!”

  Ardra did as he bade. How long she was gone, he did not know. His impatience ate away at his composure. He saw in his mind the guard between the maiden’s thighs, and imagined a similar fate for Gwen. His mouth was dry.

  Then he imagined heavy iron manacles around Gwen’s wrists, saw her in an earthen prison with nothing but a grate overhead for air and light. Either fate was intolerable.

  When Ardra returned, she quietly led him to a set of storerooms. “The child is gone—wandered off again. She will be punished for disobedience this time. We must go on without her and hunt for her on our return.” Ardra pulled on his arm. “No one will notice a little noise as the mourners make their way to the chapel for the final funeral prayers, but I bid you, go quietly.”

  She opened an iron door and led him toward a simple, oft-used corridor. This was not a hidden part of the fortress. This was a common prison entrance.

  Ardra lifted a hand, and he hung back while she proceeded. She turned a corner, and he heard her voice take on an imperious tone. “Who is in these pits?”

  “Why do you ask?” came a man’s response.

  Ardra gasped. “Narfrom. Father? What are you doing here?”

  Vad took a step closer to the corner to better hear the men.

  “My child, you must be gone. We are going to test this slave. Go,” commanded a voice Vad assumed was Ruonail’s.

  “Nay. You cannot.” There was a scuffle and the sound of a grate being lifted.

  “Go. Now,” Ruonail repeated. “Get to your chambers.”

  Ardra came around the corner in a rush. She ran into Vad’s arms. He slapped a hand over her mouth so she would not give him away. He lifted her into his arms and silently carried her out of earshot. “What is going on?” he whispered.

  “They are testing her.” Ardra touched her amber pendant with a trembling hand.

  “You must stop it.” He placed her on her feet and implored her with every fiber of his being.

  “Me?” Her eyes widened.

  “You know the test,” he said in a hiss. “Burning coals in her hand or an iron on her breast.” He had no the strength to argue. He did something he had never done before to a woman. He went down on one knee and bent his head. “I beg this favor. You can stop the test. I ask it of you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For a few moments Vad knelt in silence; then he felt Ardra’s hand on his head. Her words were barely audible. “How can I refuse you?” Then her voice strengthened. “You have brought the maidens to safety. I will try to stop the test, although I have never had the power to command my father. Now please rise. You shame me.”

  The effort to rise to his feet was almost too much. His head felt swollen; his ears rang.

  His imagination painted the scene. Gwen, her hand extended, or worse, her breast bared for the hot iron. If the wound festered, she would be taken out on the ice fields and abandoned. In Tolemac they had no ice fields. They would have set her out at the rise of tide and let the sea take her.

  Ardra turned and walked resolutely away. He followed to the corner and nocked an arrow. Every sound, every
scent, every touch of air on his body was heightened by his desire to know the outcome. Should Ardra fail to have the test stopped, he would step out and kill whichever man performed the test, most likely Narfrom. He was slipping, failing. He had not asked the most important question—how many other guards were at the pits, men who were not speaking? He would just have to keep shooting until he ran out of arrows—or was stopped.

  Gwen stood before Ruonail and Narfrom, her chin high. She would not allow them to see how disconcerted she was. She blinked away the torch smoke that drifted toward her.

  “This slave knows about the treasure map. How, I ask? We must determine the extent of her knowledge.” Narfrom spoke rapidly, his voice hypnotic, and cataloged all the reasons she should be tested. Her eye color, her outcast status, her lack of arm rings, and last, the one that startled her most, the fact that if she truly had been sold by the Selaw to Ardra, why was there no X on her breast to mark the transaction?

  Ruonail paced, a frown on his face.

  An indefinable flow of heat eddied about her sheer gown. It reminded her of the heat that flowed from Vad to her each time he touched her. Was he near?

  What would the test be? Some question she had to answer? She ran over all the little clues she remembered from the game. Which chiefdom wanted what. Who was allied with whom. She prayed they’d ask her something simple, like how many councilors made up the Tolemac council or how many moons were overhead.

  Ardra, her back straight, came around the corner. Ruonail froze. “What are you doing here, daughter? I told you to be gone.”

  Narfrom frowned and gripped Gwen by the upper arm. “Shall I have the guards recalled?” His fingertips bit into her tender flesh. She stifled a moan. “Shall I have Ardra taken away?” Narfrom asked.

  “Father, I beg you, do not send me away until you have heard me.” She made a deep bow.