VirtualDesire

by Ann Lawrence

  Forever.

  A cold night wind rose, whining about the bare arms of the treasure tree. What men did for honor and for fortune. How meaningless it all was in the end.

  A short exploration showed her that the hounds had recovered and were roaming the plain. She did not dare look in any other direction.

  She didn’t believe in dragons; a nest of them would send her over the edge.

  If Vad died, how would she get past the perils? And more, how would she get home?

  Did she even want to live if he died?

  She opened his cloak and tunic, then pressed her ear to his chest. His heart beat, but rapidly and faintly. Unable to resist, she kissed his smooth skin. His hand settled on her head—the first sign of life in hours. Anxiously she rose on her knees and tried to rouse him. He muttered “pepperoni”, then fell still again.

  She thought about the legends she loved and how she was living a legend at that moment with a man who would forever haunt her waking hours—and her sleeping ones. He lay so still, his unblemished cheek facing her, beautiful and silent—a sleeping beauty. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. His flesh burned against her lips; sweat soaked his hair. “I can’t allow you to just…drift away,” she said. “I can’t.”

  She climbed astride his body. His knife lay in its sheath, and she pulled it from the leather with shaking hands.

  The handle was ebony black.

  “No. No. No!” She gripped the icy handle in her palms and placed it on his chest. She entwined her fingers with his. The blade lay like a cross on his bare chest, pressed to his heart.

  His ring gleamed gold in the moonlight. The orbs overhead seemed to call him, but Gwen was determined he would stay with her. She knelt with her legs on either side of his hips and clasped his hands about the hilt, squeezing as hard as she could.

  “Come back to me, Vad. Come back. I need you.”

  The orbs chased each other across the sky. Failure nudged at the edge of her composure. Each beat of his heart seemed fainter. Her tears ran between their fingers, but she let them fall unchecked to drip between the spaces and run over the icy black stone.

  Her head grew dizzy, hot, filled with his feverish heat. The blade handle heated, his hands grew almost too hot to touch, but she hung on. Energy zinged through her veins, swam through her system.

  It centered on his hands, and hers, and the blade.

  Power and design. The power was hers—and his, the simple power of their love, and not wanting to give it up. The designs twisted and wrapped endlessly through his ring, along the crossguard of his blade, through their entwined fingers. She felt the power following the design, surging, moving, spinning through her consciousness, drawing her life force, linking them together, nourishing him.

  How long she knelt over him, she did not know. Her legs went numb; her hands flamed. She forced her mind to ignore the heat, the feeling of melting flesh, and hung on. She whispered nonsense to him, whatever thoughts came to mind, calling him back, begging him to fight off the poison and live.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Gwen took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Dark streaks of red, like blood, colored the indigo sky. Dawn broke. The edge of Vad’s tunic tickled her nose where it lay on his chest. Her fingers were frozen in place around his knife.

  His beautiful, gold-wrapped, turquoise blade handle.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to whoever listened.

  “Get off me.” Vad’s hips and chest heaved beneath her. “You are heavier than a Gulap. Get off me.”

  She rolled away and lay on her back, laughing.

  “What amuses you so?” He staggered to his feet and pulled his tunic straight.

  “Absolutely nothing. A few hours ago you were dying, I was praying over you, your knife handle was black as coal. Now you’re wonderfully…cranky.”

  He touched her cheek, his voice husky. “My blade was black?”

  “As Narfrom’s heart.” She covered his hand with hers. “I thought you were dead.” Tears welled in her eyes again. “I will not cry!” She burst into tears.

  He gathered her into his arms and squeezed her. Her heart beat against his hand; her breath feathered his chest. “How?”

  “I just…just held your hands all night.”

  “I thank you,” he whispered against her brow, feathering kisses there. “You saved my life.”

  Gwen struggled from his embrace. “Look!”

  He turned and stared. The eight twisted branches of the tree were in bloom. White petals like flakes of snow drifted from huge blossoms nestled in dark, glossy leaves.

  “A gentle scent,” he said, plucking a bloom and holding it to his nose. “But not as seductive as your scent, the scent of the white squares.”

  Gwen limped to his side. Her knees were wrecked from kneeling all night. She giggled. “You really like those dryer sheets, don’t you?”

  “Only when they are coupled with your scent.”

  “I’ll never be able to look at a dryer sheet quite the same.”

  He lifted her high and kissed her hard. Then he went down on one knee and offered her the bloom. “Thank you for my life.”

  She felt a true flush of happiness. “I just did what felt natural.”

  He rose and tucked the bloom behind her ear and kissed her forehead. “I will look after you always.”

  Always. That sounded like forever. Now, in the bright Tolemac dawn of purple skies, she felt some of her doubts returning. She smiled and forced the feelings deep inside. “Come on. Let’s dig. We have only three days to find these treasures and get…back.”

  Vad frowned. Why was she reluctant to accept his thanks? Why did she avoid his gaze? What was in the sky to make her little brow wrinkle?

  He set her aside to do the digging himself. As he thrust the tool into the dirt, he heard the thunk of metal on metal. “By the sword,” he swore. “Carefully now,” he directed as she knelt at his side and began to dig around with the jeweled dagger. In moments they had a small cooking caldron on the grass. Nothing else remained in the hole.

  “Look.” She tipped the dirt out of the caldron, and with it spilled several objects.

  “The treasures.” They examined the unprepossessing objects. He unwrapped a dirty cloth and revealed a golden game board. A handful of tarnished silver men rolled out onto the ground.

  Gwen picked them up. “Is this the game that predicts—”

  “A battle’s victor? Aye. If it were an ordinary game, each player would move his men outward from the center to claim territory. The player with the most territory wins. Simple.”

  “But this board plays by itself, right?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Aye. I am sure this is what the council most craves.” Carefully he placed each piece back into the caldron. “Let us not tempt fate. I have found, to my dishonor, that a wager on a game is hard for me to resist.”

  “Then don’t go to Atlantic City,” she said.

  “Not even for a war conference?” He lifted her chin.

  She smiled, but pulled away. “Nope. Not even for a war conference. Let’s look at the rest of this stuff.” She bent over the rest of the objects: a simple whetstone, a thick brown bottle, a knife with a short, curved blade, and a ring, which she held up to him. “This is certainly too small for your fingers, or most men’s, for that matter. One of the treasures is missing, isn’t it? Shouldn’t there be eight?”

  “Aye. No Seat of Wishes.”

  “Will the council be satisfied with just these?”

  He rose and dusted off his hands and knees. For a moment he stared at his torn sleeves, the dried blood roping his arms. “They had better be.”

  “The treasures don’t look like much.”

  “It is their powers, not their appearance, for which they are valued.” He shook the cloth and draped it about her shoulders.

  “Ohhh. I’m warm.” She drew the edges of the cloak together and nuzzled her nose into the folds. “This reminds me of how my gloves felt in
winter when I’d put them on the radiator to warm. It’s…toasty.”

  He pulled it off her and draped it over his own shoulders. “The Cloak of Warmth,” he said. “Gwen. I can smell wet wool from…mittens?”

  “Yes. Mittens.”

  With reluctance he took off the cloak and stared at his hands, the momentary vision gone, but the feel of the material was still on his skin, the scent in his head.

  “What’s this for?” she asked, the whetstone in her hand.

  “Watch.” He took the whetstone and restored the edge to the curved blade, then showed her the simple technique so she could sharpen the jeweled dagger.

  “If these objects only work for a brave, true—” she began.

  “Honorable.”

  “Honorable warrior…that means the treasures must consider me to be—”

  “Honorable. Brave and true.” He lifted her finger and slipped the tarnished silver ring on it. “The treasures recognize what is within.”

  The ring was heavy, thick with tarnish, the interlocking engraving just visible. “What does the ring do?” she asked.

  “It is called the Ring of Invisibility.”

  She inspected her arm, her hand, her legs. “I’m still here.”

  “I do not understand it.” But he understood the surge of want that ran through him as she twisted and turned, each move emphasizing her form in the snug breeches.

  “Should I keep it on?” She held out her hand.

  If she moved it to her middle finger, it would look like a mating ring.

  “Keep it. It is lovely on your hand. Perhaps I can clean it for you later.”

  “Are you hungry? We could test the caldron.”

  “I am hungry.” He drew her against his body and whispered in her perfect ear, “But not for food.”

  Dark clouds obscured the Tolemac sun. Gwen hugged him tightly.

  “I think you shall not be testing my caldron.”

  “Narfrom!” Gwen gasped.

  Vad felt no surprise, only anger as Narfrom strode up the hill. In his hands he held a weapon, larger and somehow more dangerous-looking than the one he had used in the fortress. Gwen quivered in his arms.

  “How did you get here?” she asked.

  His weapon aimed at them, Narfrom trotted up the hill. He wore his amber robes, his gold and silver belt. “Dragons are no match for an AK-47.” The only word Vad could think of to describe his posture was preening. “Now put the treasures into that little pot and hand them over.”

  Gwen did as he commanded, her eyes on the gun.

  Vad stood as still as a statue, but felt compelled to tell Narfrom the truth. “They will not work for you. You have no honor.”

  “Is that so, pretty boy? I have a very interested collector who will pay big bucks for the treasures, working or not. Let me give them a little look-see before I go. I’d hate to think you’d cheat me now.” Narfrom motioned Gwen to Vad’s side and pawed through the caldron. Gwen closed her fist over the ring.

  “This is it?” He rose, stiff with anger, and tucked the curved blade in his belt. He cast the cloak aside and walked across it. “Where’s the rest of them?”

  In concert with his anger, the wind rose and the sky darkened.

  Vad shrugged and sat on the cairn of the rocks, his boots crossed at the ankles. “Perhaps someone has been here first.”

  “Bloody unlikely. Did you see those dragons? Did you?”

  “Ah, no,” Gwen said, inching closer to Vad. “We came by way of the hounds.”

  Narfrom raised his gun. “Where are the rest of the treasures? The Vial of Seduction? Where is it?”

  “The brown bottle is the vial, I assume,” Vad said.

  Narfrom shook the bottle, pulled the wooden cork, sniffed, recorked it, and tossed it on the ground. “Just dirt. Bloody dirt. Where is it? You’re tricking me.”

  The ring was cold and hard in her palm. “Is that all you’re interested in? Seduction?” She wanted to punch him in the face.

  Vad restrained her with a hand on her arm. “Perhaps the vial was made of delicate glass. It may have been broken, the powder scattered conjunctions ago.”

  “Ardra would be mine if I had even a pinch of that spice!” Narfrom paced, the weapon loose in his hands.

  “When will you give up?” Gwen asked.

  Vad kicked Narfrom in the knee, snatched the weapon, and sent it sailing away. With a shriek of anger, Narfrom ran after it.

  In two strides Vad reached him. The little man was stronger than he looked; his own warrior’s strength had been sapped by illness. They circled, grappled, managed only to land a few glancing blows, before Narfrom ripped from his grip.

  Narfrom drew the sacrificial knife.

  Vad drew his long blade, the smooth turquoise handle, a comfort in his hand.

  Gwen held her place at the cairn of rocks, the trampled cloak clutched in her hands. The wind rose. It howled around them. The sky darkened to a purple so deep it was almost black.

  They circled and stalked each other.

  “When you’re dead, I’ll have Gwen and then Ardra. I’ll chain them side by side, and they can take lessons from one another.” Narfrom howled with laughter.

  A rumble of thunder followed.

  Narfrom’s words meant nothing. But the curved blade in his hand meant everything. It was sacrificial. What honor was there in sacrifice? For whom would it strike a killing blow?

  A crack of lightning tore the sky. “Come for me now.” Narfrom beckoned. “I’ll give you a scar on the other cheek—right before I slit your throat.”

  “Let us not play games,” Vad said, and walked straight to the man. Their blades engaged with a ring of metal on metal. The battle was joined, good against evil.

  Gwen murmured a prayer as the men fought. The sky overhead flashed with lightning. Streaks of rose and violet and indigo darted through the heavens. The wind rose, shrieking all around them.

  Vad gave Narfrom no room to maneuver, fighting close, his wounds opening and splattering blood on Narfrom’s robes. But the robes were Narfrom’s undoing. He stumbled back and tripped.

  Vad stepped on Narfrom’s wrist. “Drop your blade.” Narfrom’s hand fell open; the knife dropped to the ground.

  Gwen watched in horror as Vad bent to retrieve it. Narfrom held another weapon in his left hand, a smaller but no less deadly version of the gun Vad had kicked away. It was aimed at her chest.

  “Back up, pretty boy, or I put a hole in your girlfriend.” Narfrom plucked the treasure knife from Vad’s fingers.

  She watched Vad. He stood as if unconcerned, but his eyes were on the gun. He’s going to go for it, she thought.

  “Narfrom,” she cried to distract him from Vad. “You can’t get away with this. This isn’t your world.” She gestured to the hillsides, the long vista to the bog. A scattering of snow followed the arc of her arm. “Vad,” she whispered. She swung her arm again, the ring icy in her palm. The scattering of snow became a sweep of wind and ice. It blanketed the eight-branched tree, the treasures. Vad. Narfrom.

  “Stop it!” Narfrom cried. “Stop it or I’ll shoot. I can’t see. I can’t see!”

  But she ignored him, for he was no longer visible. The world wasn’t visible.

  Vad burst into the circle of calm surrounding her, wrapped his arms around her waist, scooped her high against his chest. She lifted her arms overhead and he turned, spinning her around, laughing at the joy on her face. He whirled her about as if he were alone with her on a polished ballroom floor. The winds rose; the snow flew. Where they spun, the earth remained clear, a central vortex in a blizzard of ice.

  Vad lifted his face to hers. Her lips were as warm as her body against his, as warm as the love he felt for her. “My ice woman,” he said. “I dreamt you; you called me to you.”

  She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him.

  “Call me anytime,” he said, “and I will come to you. For you are mine.”

  They stopped spinning, dizzy, stagger
ing. The wind died. It fell silent with a soft sigh. The sleet hissed to the ground. A twig snapped in the brittle cold she had created.

  “Oh, Vad. It’s beautiful.” She felt a lump form in her throat. She’d done this, made this happen. Or the ring had.

  The hillside on which they stood was blanketed in snow. Icicles hung from the eight-branched tree. The red Tolemac sun laid a candy-apple red glaze over everything.

  “Narfrom?” she asked softly, afraid to disturb the silence.

  They looked about, but Narfrom was nowhere to be seen. Vad shook out the cloth from the caldron and placed it over her shoulders. It enveloped her in a marvelous warmth.

  They searched the hillside and found him inches from his gun, covered with snow. Vad flipped him over. Narfrom’s boot was caught in the hem of his robe; the curved blade was embedded in his chest, his hand still on the hilt. The earth beneath him was dark with blood.

  “Sacrificed to his ambition,” Vad said. “Another treasure worked for us, protected us.” He leaned over and searched Narfrom’s robes for the treasure map, found it, and with triumph gave it to Gwen. “This will prove we were not lying.”

  “Oh, no. I feel…terrible.” She hugged her stomach, then leaned over and threw up. She raised a hand before he could say a word. “Don’t say it, I’m not feminine.”

  “I was going to say you are too compassionate. He needed to be punished for the hanging of the serving boy, if nothing else.” Vad took the AK-47 and the smaller gun, and buried them along with their master in the hillside, far away from the eight-branched tree and any future treasure seekers.

  “What now?” she asked as he scattered the last of the earth over the grave. They stood on the hillside and watched the snow melt in the Tolemac sun. “How are we going to pass the hounds?”

  “We do not need to pass them.”

  “Then how do we get home? Ah, you’re thinking about the dragons Narfrom killed, aren’t you?”