Nate watched serving girls place plates and wine in front of Bithia. He reached around her to snare a choice bit of crispy roasted meat. Bithia unhooked the clasp of her black cloak and removed it. A small sigh escaped the crowd as her long, flowing blue and purple hair was revealed in the torchlight and the delicate planes of her face came more clearly into view.
Hatur kept his composure admirably. Nate pushed his own hood back, Thom following suit a moment later. He bet Thom was the only redheaded person of either sex on the entire planet. His own chestnut-brown hair didn’t blend in too well with the glossy black predominant hair color, but it was sure a lot less noticeable than Thom’s or Bithia’s.
Hatur harangued the musicians, who were gaping at Bithia from their platform off to the side of the head table, instruments forgotten. “Why aren’t you playing? Haven’t I paid you and fed you well enough, and yes, given you wine, lazy ones? We must dance, and my clumsy friends and neighbors can’t do the steps without your noise!”
A ripple of laughter greeted his sally. The five musicians launched into a new tune, more or less together, and slowly the crowd resumed the evening’s program of dancing and dining. Conscious of a great many sidelong glances in their direction, Nate regretted not discussing with Bithia in advance how they should present themselves in the village.
He leaned down to speak to her. “These people have to know who you are. Or who you’re supposed to be.”
“Yes,” she agreed absently. “What does it matter now? Sarbordon and Lolanta are dead. We’ve nothing more to fear from them or any of their people. Why don’t you and Thom relax and have something to eat?”
“Later.”
The bride and groom danced to the table and paused. “We’re honored you chose to bless us with your presence, great lady,” the bride said, eyes demurely lowered. “Won’t you join us in the dancing?”
Bithia cast an appealing look at Nate, who kept his countenance unreadable. He’d done any number of things for her on this planet, but dancing wasn’t going to be one of them. “I’m afraid we don’t know the steps, but thank you,” she told the girl.
“The next dance is only for the women, and all present must dance or bad luck follows.”
“I’ll be pleased to dance in the circle. Thank you.”
Nate helped her get out of her chair and handed her gallantly onto the dancing floor. Immediately surrounded by a laughing, happy circle of women and girls, Bithia whirled away into a rollicking circle dance weaving like a tolokon through every inch of the village square. Nate and Thom watched her obvious enjoyment.
Thom leaned over to tell Nate defiantly, “All I can say is there’d better not be a dance for the men, or I’m out of here.”
“You and me both. Local customs be damned.”
“You mean they didn’t teach you to dance at that fancy school?”
“Let’s say I paid more attention to the sword-fighting lessons.”
The music changed tempo, and suddenly the men and boys of the village were moving into the square, each seeking his choice of partner and separating her from the hand-linked chain of revelers.
“I don’t like this,” Nate said.
Bithia continued dancing, hand in hand with some young girls now, but she seemed nervous as the men surged into the area.
Nate vaulted the table and moved quickly to her side. Smoothly, he took her hand from the youngest girl and swept them both out of the dance, saying, “I can’t choose between you, ladies, so you’ll both have to be my partner for the evening, agreed?”
“Thank you,” Bithia said a bit breathlessly.
The young girl stared at him with awestruck dark eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely, my lady. What’s your name?”
“Sharla,” she confided, suddenly shy. But then she perked up, head high, making sure all her friends observed how the Lady’s warrior had chosen her. Nate judged she was about six. He’d only taken her hand and twirled her a time or two to smooth over his abrupt extraction of Bithia from the dance, but now he decided to play out the game. She was pretty, with long, shiny black hair falling in ringlets. Her dress was a riotous mixture of oranges, pinks and turquoise, and her small feet were shod in soft pink woven slippers.
When Nate got both ladies to the table, Thom had two chairs waiting. Bithia and Sharla sat, and Nate sat beside them. A plate was brought for him, and he made a game of feeding his new lady whichever tidbits she wanted from the feast.
She told him all about her friends and her pets and generally chattered away in the open manner of small children the galaxywide. Nate listened and asked questions when necessary, and finally she drifted off to sleep against his shoulder.
“I’m impressed,” Bithia told him. “You were good with her.”
“I have friends with kids at home,” he said, gently handing Sharla off to an old woman who came to claim her. The little girl didn’t even stir from her dreams.
“My granddaughter will be full of herself for the entire cold season now, warrior,” said Hatur, leaning across Bithia to address Nate.
“I hope I haven’t gotten myself handfasted or anything, sir,” he said with a laugh. “She surely is cute.”
“The favorite of this old heart certainly,” the elderly headman agreed. “The bride and groom will be retiring soon, accompanied by their more raucous friends, and then we old ones can decently seek our beds. May I offer you the hospitality of my own house, great lady?”
“I’d be honored, sir, as long as it doesn’t create any hardship for you?”
“The headman’s house is the largest in the village, and since my last child has married away from my household today, I’ve more room than I need. Let me escort you.”
“But Thom—my other warrior—hasn’t eaten.”
“I’ve been sneaking bits here and there,” Thom said.
Nate knew they were both eager to get out of this public place without further delay.
“In the morning after breakfast, I can escort you to the Place of Meditation on the mountain’s flank,” Hatur said graciously as they strolled across the now nearly empty plaza.
“Thanks just the same, but we can find it ourselves,” Nate said. “We’ll be leaving before dawn on our pilgrimage up the mountain, sir, so we’ll try not to disturb you as we go.”
Hatur seemed puzzled and a little hurt, but didn’t press the point. Indeed the most imposing in the village, his house boasted two stories, although the second floor was more of a low-ceilinged loft than an actual set of full-sized rooms. He led them up the narrow stairs to the loft and left them to sort out the sleeping arrangements. He popped up the ladder one more time to inform them he’d leave a tray of fruits and breads for their breakfast.
Bithia thanked him excessively as Hatur appeared to expect, and then they finally had peace and quiet. Even the shouts of the last, drunken revelers died away in the square as the party completely wound down and the musicians packed their instruments and sought their own beds.
At this altitude, especially after a full day of climbing, it didn’t take long to fall asleep. Thom took the first watch of the night, and Nate traded off with him a few hours later. Bithia slumbered peacefully in one low bed, covered warmly with quilts and furs. Thom curled on the other bed, the one Nate had just vacated, too short and too narrow for a full-grown man, and did his best to get comfortable. Soon he too slept, as evidenced by his low snoring, as his arms and legs draped off the bed, a man too tired to care about comfort.
Nate stared out the single window, which provided an excellent view of the mountain trail. Prepared for an uneventful watch, he did a double take when he noticed a line of torches coming into view on the farthest curve, wavering along the trail. Someone’s in a hell of a hurry to get to this outpost if they’re climbing at night. Nate woke Thom quietly. “Trouble. Big party coming up the trail.”
“At this hour?” Thom moved quickly to the window, drawing his Mark 27, while Nate woke Bithia.
“Time to evac,” Nate said, watching the lights move closer. The torchlit procession hit the last set of curves and would soon be at the edge of town. “This loft have a back door?”
“Why are you so sure this is something to do with us?” Bithia asked sleepily, stifling a yawn. “I’m reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed.”
“You told us no one comes here at this season, not without a damn good reason. Too much coincidence for me.” Nate ruthlessly flipped the quilts to the floor and drew her to her feet, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. “We need to move.”
“No other exit,” Thom reported.
“We’ll have to make time out the front and hope for the best. Come on.”
Nate led them quietly down the stairs. Despite their attempt at stealth, Hatur and his grandson met them at the front door, the headman wrapping himself in a quilted red and orange robe. He nodded as he realized his guests were awake and dressed, ready for departure.
“Someone is coming, great lady,” the headman said.
“We know. The newcomers could mean trouble for her, so we need to get her out of here. Is there someplace we can hide in the village, sir?” Nate asked.
Rubbing his chin, Hatur pondered the question. The boy tugged at his sleeve. “I can take them to the stable’s basement, Grandda, but we have to hurry.”
“Excellent, go there. Daven will guide you. Quickly!”
The boy led them outside and in a crouching run to the stable behind. The yallurt continued to munch hay, snuffling a welcome as Nate hastened past. Daven kicked aside bins, and the men shifted a few bales of hay to reveal a trapdoor in the floor.
“I’ll let you out as soon as the visitors leave the village, or as soon as we find out there’s no menace.” The boy whirled and was gone at a run.
Raising the heavy wooden door, Nate eyed the unappealing, dark stairs leading to the cellar. Bithia touched his arm. “You said we must hide, so why the hesitation?”
He stepped back and studied the hayloft before glancing at Thom. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Hell, yes, always take the high ground.”
Nate spotted a crude ladder fastened to one wall by the yallurt’s stall. He unhooked the ladder and assisted Bithia in climbing its rickety steps to the loft. Thom followed her. Nate restored the ladder to the wall and then jumped, Thom catching his hands. The sergeant hauled him the rest of the way into the loft.
“Window over here, Nate.” Thom quietly opened a set of shutters on the barn’s rear wall.
“Can we get out?”
“Nice handy tree right there.” Thom pointed at the large tree growing close to the building. The branches rubbed the stable walls in spots. “We can get out of here and fade into the hills.”
“You first, and I’ll hand Bithia out to you.”
Thom holstered his weapon and clambered through the open window, stepping cautiously out onto a massive tree branch.
“Why are we doing this?” Bithia asked as she prepared to follow Thom. “Don’t you trust these people?”
Nate shook his head. “I don’t trust any situation I can’t control on this damn planet. I’m not staying in some cellar, or even in this loft, in a building where I’m expected to be. Just a precaution. No more talking, we need to move. Be careful out there.”
She swayed on the slick surface of the tree branch, but Thom quickly lowered her to the ground. He jumped after her, and they moved off, efficiently taking advantage of the shadows, Nate coming right behind them. They worked their way behind the neighboring houses, none of which had windows facing in this direction, and took a spot four houses away from Hatur’s stable, hidden behind a wooden fence, peering through the uneven slats to watch what transpired.
The torch-bearing party came into the central square of the town and spread out into a loose circle, the soldiers’ demeanors on the aimless side, as they were trying to decide what to do next. One man pounded on the door of the headman’s house. The loud knocking reverberated like thunder in the early morning air.
The door opened slightly, and Hatur peered out sleepily. Suddenly, the old headman was seized and dragged from his house into the square. As the party of newcomers regrouped, the torchlight fell squarely on the face of a man standing behind the others.
“Sarbordon!” Bithia gasped, doing a double take as the dawn light revealed the newcomer’s identity. Hand at her mouth, she shrank from the fence. “It’s really him!”
“Son of a bitch, you’re right.” Nate confirmed their enemy’s identity with his enhanced night vision. “He must have left Nochen right after discovering you were gone. And he sure as hell understood where to come searching for you.”
“There’s one of the damn priestesses,” Thom said.
“Shh, I want to hear what he’s saying.”
Fortunately, sound carried well in the still morning air. Sarbordon, surrounded by one priestess and a squad of ten soldiers, harangued Hatur and the few townspeople brave enough, or foolhardy enough, to come outside. The former ruler demanded to know if T’naritza or her warriors had been seen in vicinity.
“I’m the headman of this town and the voice who speaks to the goddess,” Hatur informed the disheveled noble. Even in torchlight, the deposed ruler’s appearance was haggard, as if he hadn’t slept or eaten properly in a long time. “The Lady hasn’t walked abroad in the land since well before the time of your forefathers, sir.”
“But she was seen with two of her warriors farther down the mountain trail a few days ago. She has to have come here.” The dethroned king’s tone grew more angry and strident. “There’s nowhere else for her to go, fool. Don’t lie to me.”
“No one calling herself T’naritza has walked in this village in at least ten generations. Behind me you see her mountain,” Hatur informed his unwelcome guest with a sweeping gesture at the looming peak. “You must seek her there, at her home. Maybe she’ll speak to you. Maybe she won’t. It shall be as the goddess wills it. Does she regard you with favor?” Hatur peered closely at Sarbordon’s face.
“I can ensure her favor. Or her cooperation at least.” The former ruler laughed shrilly. Bithia leaned on Nate, hiding her face in the curve of his shoulder. He gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze as the former king ranted on. “I know all about your rituals, old man, and how you communicate with the goddess, how you call her forth. I’ve read the old tablets. We’ll take the children and you. My priestess will conduct the ceremony herself, perform the sacrificial rite.” The woman in black, who looked oddly familiar to Nate, nodded and smiled. On her, the expression was feral, like a predator scenting helpless prey. Something about this priestess was eerily reminiscent of Lolanta. The comparison turned Nate’s stomach.
“We don’t sacrifice to T’naritza,” Hatur protested in confusion. “The chosen children drink of the sacred herb wine and dream, and the goddess speaks to the dreamers in the dream. But the ceremony is only done at the solstice, and this is months past then.”
“You speak of old ways, inefficient ways, foolish man. Warm beating hearts and blood call gods,” Sarbordon said. “If she speaks only to children, then so be it.” He grabbed Hatur by the robe with both hands and threw him to the ground. “Tie him up. Search the village and make sure she’s not here. Bring me all the children!”
“What is he doing? Is he mad?” Bithia lifted her head from Nate’s shoulder and stared across the square. “What does he want the children for?”
Nate closed his eyes for a moment, knowing the answer to that. He opened his eyes a breath later and looked at Thom, who nodded, obviously thinking the same thing. “Gonna get ugly.”
“Can’t you do something with these terrible weapons of yours?” Distressed as the ramifications of the talk about the children sank in, Bithia had a tight grip on Nate’s arm. “We have to help these people. It’s our fault the village is in this trouble.”
“Thom and I’ll do what we can, but now is not the time. No one’s in direct jeopardy right a
t this moment. Too many innocent people are in the way for us to launch an attack. There’s no guarantee we can get Sarbordon from this distance. We might have to hunt him house to house in a firefight, destroy the whole place. You don’t want that. Trust us, okay?” Nate was in combat mode, cold and emotionless.
Recoiling at his unusual tone, Bithia started to say something, but then bit her lip and nodded reluctantly. “Waging war lies outside my area of expertise. I trust your judgment.”
The rest of the villagers were appearing in the square, herded by the soldiers at sword and spearpoint. The house-to-house search was cursory, and the guards never made any move in the direction of the backyard fence where Nate and his companions hid. From their halfhearted attitude, he surmised the lowland men were less than fully engaged in this personal mission of their ruler’s. He wondered if he could play on their reluctance to his advantage.
The children clung to their parents, terrified by this unprecedented event. Some wailed. The former king and the priestess walked along the line of villagers, examining the children one by one, pulling out a small boy, then another, then two girls who appeared to be twins. Their last selection was Sharla, the little girl who’d been Nate’s dinner partner the night before.
Nate, Thom and Bithia watched this winnowing process silently, tight-lipped. As the black-clad woman went in and out of the torchlight, Nate studied her face, trying to figure out where he recognized her from. “Got it,” he said. “She’s Lolanta’s daughter, Nanzin.”
“The one who nearly caught us in the throne room in Nochen?” Thom squinted to view the woman better.
“The same. Remember what Celixia said about her? She was almost worse than her mother? I’m ready to believe it,” Nate said. “No mercy.”
The priestess took charge of the children, looping a length of cord lightly around each tot’s chubby wrists and herding them away from their families and onto the trail leading to the mountain. Two of the guards accompanied her.
Trapped On Talonque: (A Sectors SF romance) Page 29
