The Lone Warrior

by Denise Rossetti

  His eyes bright with interest, he watched the air boil and thicken, people emerge from their tents and try to run. The men thrust the women and children behind them, jabbing with staffs and swords, but it was useless. Sharp reports echoed across the desert, competing with screams of the wounded. The Necromancer’s gaze narrowed as a young woman snatched up a burning brand from the campfire and skewered the djinn descending on a child.

  With an ear-aching shriek, it exploded in glittering shards that twisted slowly in the wind and fluttered to the valley floor.

  “Highly sensitive to heat.” Dotty’s voice came from behind him. “Did you hear? It went . . . pop.” She giggled. “Pop, pop, pop.”

  “Should enjoy the glaciers in the north then.”

  “Oh, yes.” A stifled snort of merriment. “If it doesn’t kill you before you can offer to show it the way.”

  The camp was strewn with bodies, a half dozen or so still writhing, agony spilling out of them in high-pitched whimpers and moans. The djinn stones he’d seen in the old man’s mind, boring through living flesh until they reached the heart and shattered it. What an extraordinarily creative way to kill.

  Gathering his robes around him, the Necromancer smiled at Dotty. “I don’t think so.” He strode toward the carnage, Nyzarl’s strong heart pumping hard in his breast. “Come, Xotclic, there’s enough for both of us.”

  “Ss.”

  Walker’s white teeth ripped the last shred of meat from a sandmat bone. Tossing it to the expectant Scrounge, he lay back in the bower and stacked his hands behind his head. Speckled shadows dappled his long limbs.

  Mehcredi longed to dapple them too. With her tongue.

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” she said. “Not wearing clothes, I mean.”

  He shrugged. “Go to sleep.”

  She touched a knot on his collarbone. “How did you break it?”

  “Jumped out of a second-story window.”

  “And this one?” A pale ugly ripple on the dark skin of one forearm.

  “A diabloman with a throwing star.”

  “What about—?”

  He grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing, Mehcredi?”

  “Exploring.” She lowered her gaze to his groin, where his shaft lay quietly against a hard thigh. “I’ve never seen a naked man before, not close-up.” She leaned forward. “Oh, look, it moved!”

  “Godsdammit!” He came up on one elbow, the hard planes of his face flushed.

  She’d never have another chance. Mehcredi laid a palm against the center of his chest. “Let me?” she said. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

  For the space of three or four heartbeats, Walker stared at her, his eyes glittering. Then he blinked, a sweep of long sooty lashes. “What the hell.” He relaxed, shoving his pack under his head as a pillow. “Be my guest.”

  Oh, gods. She wasn’t going to rush this, not for anything. Her heart stumbling with excitement, she began with his hands, comparing their palms, stroking up over the muscled swell of biceps to the strong neck and broad shoulders, the complex struts of his collarbones and ribcage. Except for the scars, his skin was so smooth.

  His eyes were closed, his face calm.

  When Mehcredi pressed a kiss to the knot on his collarbone, he huffed out a breath but he didn’t stop her. Encouraged, she ran her hands over his ribs. Walker twitched. “Ticklish?” she asked.

  One dark eye opened. “No.” It fell shut again.

  A lie if ever she’d heard one. Grinning to herself, Mehcredi transferred her attentions to the muscled planes of his chest. His heart thudded beneath her fingertips, strong and a little fast. Fascinated, she stroked over ridges and dips, luxuriating in his heat, his sheer solidity. Gooseflesh chased her touch. A warm dark brown, his nipples drew up into small peaks. Her own nipples tingled in response. She’d loved him touching them, suckling them.

  Gods, he was a banquet, stretched out before her!

  She stared, her brows knitted. His cock had expanded, it looked . . . tighter, the soft skin slipping back to reveal the first hint of a broad rosy head.

  Keeping a cautious eye on it, she extended her tongue and licked around one nipple. He tasted good, clean and salty, his flesh like crinkled velvet. Untouched, his shaft stirred, filling.

  “Mehcredi.” His fingers skated over her shoulder to tangle in her hair.

  “Not stopping.” Gently, she tugged the other nipple between her teeth, and unable to resist, reached down to cradle his cock in her hand.

  With a soft curse, Walker arched his hips, thrusting into her loose fist. Mehcredi lifted her head. Gods, he was swelling in her grip, the most amazing thing she’d ever seen, hot and throbbing and so alive. Experimentally, she squeezed, sliding soft delicate skin over an ironhard core.

  Walker swore again.

  “Does it feel good?”

  “Yes. Gods!” A pause. “Could be better.” His jaw was set, the tendons in his neck taut. “Use your mouth.”

  Sensory memory made the nerves behind her pubic bone contract in a silvery spasm. Lips, tongue, fingers. That night in the Three Rivers Inn, he’d made her throb, sent her flying. Surely she could do the same for him now?

  Walker shifted his legs apart so she could kneel between them. Mehcredi had to swallow hard. Sweet Sister, her mouth was watering.

  He was ferociously erect now, stiff and quivering, the heart-shaped head of his cock completely exposed, shining with moisture. When she bent her head to swipe her tongue across the curve of it, Walker inhaled sharply. Salty, a little bitter, the texture smooth and dense like a ripe fruit.

  Impatiently, she shoved his knee aside with her shoulder, opening him up so she could run her fingers over his balls. The swordmaster jerked once, then froze, his breath going raspy. Almost hairless, weighty and swollen, rosy and hot with life.

  A single blow and he’d be in agony. Gods, it wasn’t possible for a man to make himself more vulnerable.

  Mehcredi met the hot midnight gaze over the muscled length of his body. His eyes glittered when she licked her lips. “Tell me what you like.”

  “Lick. Suck.” He fell back, an arm over his eyes and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “No teeth.”

  “All right.” Dipping her head, Mehcredi ran the flat of her tongue over the ridge that bisected his scrotum, progressing with a long luxurious sweep up the underside of his straining shaft. She finished with a spiral lick around his cock head, whisking the tip of her tongue into the little slit there.

  Walker grunted and his free hand clenched in the robes beneath him, so she did it again. And again.

  She didn’t know quite what to call the sounds he made—Groans? Growls? Whines? But his hips were rising to meet her and she was drunk on erotic power. Her sex was so wet and puffy, she could pleasure herself simply by pressing her thighs together. Her heart singing, she fisted him at the root, cradled his hot heavy balls in her palm and sucked down as much of the rest as she could, relishing the way his girth stretched her lips, his weight sliding velvet smooth over her tongue. His heart’s blood pulsed beneath the thin skin. He tasted musky and strong, with a hint of bitterness like tears, like nothing she’d ever known.

  When his fingers speared into her hair, she fumbled, choking. He loosened his grip. “Sorry.”

  Mehcredi hauled in a breath and rolled her shoulders. She relaxed, allowing him to dictate the rhythm. With an inward grin, she got in a sly lash of the tongue on the sensitive head at every pass.

  At this moment, Walker was hers, and hers alone. He wasn’t thinking of all he’d lost or of killing diablomen; his whole world was under her control—she, Mehcredi of Lonefell, pleasuring him until he groaned and bucked, begging wordlessly for release.

  He tugged sharply.

  “Mmm?” she murmured, ramping up the suction, loving the way he shuddered.

  “Stop,” he grated. “Ride me.”

  Every nerve and muscle in her pelvis tensed with emptiness and yearning. Moisture trickled down her thigh. Mehcredi
bestowed a final nibble around the soft wrinkled collar of his foreskin.

  Walker set his hands at her waist and helped her to scramble over him. “Put me inside you.”

  Panting, Mehcredi fumbled about beneath her. “People do it like this?”

  His teeth flashed. “Think of it as the next level in the nea-kata of fucking. Take your time.”

  Inch by inch, she sank down, impaling herself. Her eyes wide, she gazed down at the muscled man beneath her. “Feels different,” she managed. “Fuller.” She clamped down, wriggled. “Gods!”

  Walker cupped her breasts, tugging at her aching nipples with clever fingers. Although his face was stark with desire, she told herself the curve of his lips was tender. “Most women like it this way. Gives them control.” He lifted into her. “Fuck me, cara—Mehcredi.”

  So she did, using the strength of her thighs to lift, dropping back carefully at first, then faster and faster, gasping with the effort and the jolt of pleasure each time she took him to the hilt.

  “Go on.” Walker’s eyes were black as sin, his cheekbones ruddy with a sexual flush. “I won’t break. ’Cestors’ bones, you’re gorgeous. Like a Battle Maiden.”

  He was moving with her now, rising and falling, flying with her. Climax hovered close, a breath away, but she couldn’t . . . couldn’t. Throwing her head back, Mehcredi keened her frustration.

  Slipping his hand over her stomach and into her sparse curls, Walker grinned. “Let me show you . . . ah, gods! . . . another advantage.” He pressed the pad of his forefinger against her clit, so that on the next downward thrust, every nerve burst into flame. The great coil of tension released, the whiplash so glorious, so vicious, that she stiffened, shrieked, then collapsed onto his chest as if she’d been poleaxed.

  Walker’s arms tightened around her like steel bands. His hips hammered upward. One stroke, two, three. Then he groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot and rushed. The wet wash of his seed spurted inside her.

  The long grass whispered its secret songs, the stream chuckled at its own joke and Scrounge crunched on a bone.

  Beneath her, the swordmaster relaxed, his palms drifted soothingly up and down her spine. She thought she heard him whisper, “Ah, carazada,” but that was probably imagination.

  When they emerged from the hidden valley a few hours later, all they had to do was head for the circling cloud of corpsebirds. The old man lay a little distance away upwind of the carnage, propped up against a rock, a knife and a water flask in his lap. He looked up at them without surprise, his rheumy eyes empty and tranquil.

  Walker squatted beside him and took his hand. “What happened here, Eldest?”

  “The Pasha would not let me warn them.” His head rolled feebly. “I have borne enough. First my village, all my kin, now this.”

  “The djinns?”

  Mehcredi picked up the flask and helped the old man to drink. Water trickled from the corners of his slack mouth. “He stood and watched. Smiling.”

  28

  “You mean Nerajyb Nyzarl?” Walker’s voice was completely without inflection. “Where is he now?”

  “Gone west.” The old man shrugged. “Following the djinns. Gods, he spoke with them. I saw him.” His eyes slid shut and the breath rattled in his wattled throat.

  “Eldest.” Walker leaned closer. “What did you hear?”

  “Nothing.” A feeble shrug. “Gibberish. The ice in the north. He said something about the ice fields, the stars, deep space. Nonsense.”

  “That’s not much. And godsdammit, there are any number of routes they could take.” The swordmaster’s brows drew together. “One set of tracks comes in here, but two leave. Did he send a group back to his estate?”

  The old man nodded.

  “Why didn’t you go?” asked Mehcredi. “You could have traveled in comfort in a wagon. Found a healer.”

  Slowly, the old man focused on her face. “You’re a stranger,” he said. “You don’t know. Something is broken inside.” He pressed a trembling fist to his chest. “I have chosen. This is my end.”

  The breeze shifted, bringing with it the sweet fetid reek of blood. Mehcredi drew a fold of her head cloth over her nose, bile rising in her throat. The dog pressed closer to her legs, shivering. “Did no one survive?”

  The old man made a weary noise. “Some took longer to die than others. The young and the strong.” Slow tears oozed from the corners of his eyes.

  Walker rubbed a gentle thumb over the back of the veined hand. “I know it’s painful, Eldest, but if you can tell me about their weapons, I can destroy them.”

  “You think?” What started as a chuckle became a wheezing cough.

  “They fling . . . stones.” The old man shuddered. “Evil things, like parasites. They worm through the flesh. Ah gods, the children, the screams . . .”

  “Wait here.” Walker got to his feet. “I won’t be long.” He strode away and the corpsebirds rose, scolding as he approached.

  “You’re a strange one.” The old man groped for Mehcredi’s hand.

  She tried to smile as she clasped fingers like a bunch of winter twigs. “I know.”

  “Pretty for a lad.”

  She snorted. “I’m not pretty, but I’m not a lad either.”

  “Ah.” The old man considered. “He knows?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Just as well, the way he looks at ye.”

  Mehcredi thought about it. Magnificent, he’d said. “Maybe.”

  They lapsed into silence.

  When Walker returned, he was white to the lips. “The same as the caravan,” he said. “But these were families. Children—” He broke off, his heavy-lidded gaze so intent on Mehcredi’s face, he could have been engraving her features on his soul.

  Heat rose in her cheeks. “What?”

  “Nothing.” But the gray tinge beneath the bronze of his skin made her uneasy.

  She touched his knee. “Walker—”

  He turned away. “Eldest, can you hold on a little longer?”

  The old man murmured his assent.

  “Mehcredi, come with me.” Taking the ponies, Walker stalked away up the valley, until they were screened by a rocky outcrop. “Here.” Shoving both sets of reins into her hands, he crouched to redistribute the contents of their packs.

  “What are you doing?” she asked with deep misgiving.

  “I want you to go back to Caracole, the fastest way possible. I’m giving you almost all of the money and the steward’s map. Ride hard for Belizare and buy passage on a ship there. Sell the pony and take a galley if you have to. If you hustle it shouldn’t take more than four or five days. Do you remember Rose?”

  She shut her mouth with a snap. “No! I mean, yes, of course I remember her, but this is stupid. I’m not going.”

  The swordmaster continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Go straight to The Garden and ask for her. She’ll haul Deiter out of a bottle long enough to listen to you and the queen will listen to him.”

  Mehcredi set her hands on her hips, her guts heaving. “Do you have some sort of death wish?” Walker stiffened, shooting her a murderous glare. She winced. Tactful as ever, half-wit.

  Hastily, she regrouped. “Look, you can’t take on Nyzarl and his demon and the Sister knows how many djinns all by yourself.”

  “I don’t intend to. But we can’t afford to lose track of them either. They don’t seem to move fast and Nyzarl’s wagons will slow them down. If I can circle around the first wave, I can warn the people in the settlements ahead.” His mouth twisted. “I’ve waited fifteen years for Nyzarl. I can wait a little longer. But the djinns . . .” He shook his head. “Deiter and his godsbedamned bargains. The old bastard couldn’t lie straight in bed, but I have to know who this woman is. You tell him everything you can.”

  “He won’t listen to me. And Prue and the others . . . They hate me.”

  Walker tightened the last strap with a vicious jerk. “Convince them.”

  “I�
��m not going.” All that way alone? Gods, he must be mad.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No.” What would she do without him, how would she manage even the most ordinary of conversations, great lump that she was? And besides, besides . . .

  “Your Mark!” she exclaimed in triumph. She patted her breast. “I can’t leave you, even if I wanted to—which I don’t.”

  Walker gripped her shoulders in strong hands. “I put it on, you think I can’t remove it?”

  Instinctively, she folded her arms across her chest. “Do you have to?”

  He shifted closer, cradling her face in his callused palms. “Don’t you understand? Many lives depend on you, Mehcredi, mine included.”

  “I can’t do it,” she whispered. “I don’t know how. And I’ll never see you again.”

  “You can do whatever you set your mind to,” he said, spacing every word for emphasis, his eyes boring into hers. “I believe in you. You underestimate yourself, Mehcredi. It’s your greatest fault.”

  “It is?” She must be goggling.

  Walker’s lips curved, the smile warming his eyes. Mehcredi caught her breath. “Let’s see, hmm? Intelligent”—he ticked them off on his fingers—“quick-thinking, resourceful, more than passable with a blade. And brave, so brave you frighten me.” He pressed a fleeting kiss to her temple and stepped back.

  The smile died. “If you refuse to leave me, I will leave you.” He brushed his fingertips over the skin behind her ears, raising goose bumps. “A quick nerve pinch and I’ll have all the time I need. This is Shar land. You’ll never find me.”

  Mehcredi turned away. “You’ve thought of everything,” she said bitterly.

  “Yes.” A heavy arm curled over her shoulders. “Undo your laces.”

  Dully, she shook her head. “You do it.” Closing her eyes, she laid her head against his shoulder and braced herself. “Will it hurt?”

  She thought she heard him sigh. “Yes, but not you.”

  Before she could demand an explanation, warm fingers slid under her shirt to trace the Mark, all the way from her cleavage to the swirl that embraced her nipple, and she could no longer think at all. Walker’s breath changed, became deeper and rougher, his heart thudding beneath her ear. He cradled her breast, his thumb idly rasping her nipple until it stood proud and long.