The Malmillard Codex

by K. G. McAbee

  "Then it is settled," said Llar Zhan with a smile.

  "You understand, do you not, Master Garet, that we cannot pay you?" Madryn asked.

  Val wondered why she was even considering taking this worthless boy with them. Of what possible use could he be on their journey? Of course, if he knew where they were going, he decided ruefully, he might think otherwise.

  Garet gave a regal nod, as if he were receiving some worthy gift from a rival potentate. "Payment is an important consideration in all things, as we well know, mistress," he pointed out solemnly, "but often it is not the prime one. Knowledge, as we all know, is of far more importance. I will accompany you, I think."

  Thus it was settled. Val still could not determine why Madryn agreed to it, but there was no time for questions, either that day or the next.

  The caravan was readying to leave for Zamorna.

  Chapter Twelve

  The yearly caravan to Zamorna and the Janus Ridge was a long, wandering, uneven line that stretched across the savage desert. Far above the long train of horses and cattle and people, a flying wheel of vultures circled endlessly. Occasionally, one great bird would spiral downward with a squawk and a flutter of dusty wings, searching for a tasty tidbit in the rubbish discarded by the travelers, or examining with a calculating eye the health of the straining pack animals.

  Val shifted in his saddle and peered ahead, both hands cupped around his eyes to keep out the vicious glare of the sun. He had a cloth wrapped around his face; it was gritty with sand and smelled musty and tired. He suspected he smelled the same.

  They had been on the trail for seven days—seven endless, sweltering, boring, savage days, bracketed by hot dry nights.

  Val saw Madryn cantering towards him on her borrowed roan gelding. Her narrow brown face, even browner now, looked foreign to him under her tightly bound turban. The flowing robes they both wore for protection from the heat swirled about her as she pulled her horse to a halt beside Val.

  "Another twelve leagues to the next watering hold, or so Garet says," she said with a wry grin, her teeth dazzling in her bronzed face.

  Val was glad to see that smile. Madryn had managed few of them lately. More than once he'd caught her looking at him, an unexplainable something—was it fear?—hidden deep in her expression.

  "Why Garet would know, I cannot understand," Val shook his head, but returned her grin with one of his own. "He'd never left Lakazsh, by his own admission. How could he possibly know where any of the waterholes are, for all his pretense of knowledge?"

  "Yes," agreed Madryn. "Especially when he spends all his time at the cook wagon, cadging treats."

  Back in Lakazsh, when Llar Zhan had wished Garet upon them, Val had been against taking the boy on the dangerous journey—especially since he had no idea what their actual goal might be. A scrawny boy of indeterminate age, Garet was supposed to be making himself useful to them by brewing their morning tea, and setting up and striking their tents. Instead, Garet did no more than he had to, although he had proved useful at providing their meals, both plentiful and on time. Garet had a more than decided respect for his own belly, and Val and Madryn received the benefits of that love.

  Val slumped in the saddle, tired from his long string of near sleepless nights. Madryn rode alongside him for a while, her violet-gray eyes gleaming like precious stones from the dirty setting of her face. They were both tired from the arduous journey, but Val knew he was approaching exhaustion.

  The dreams…the dreams of being another man, had not left him. In fact, they had grown in power and detail; what little sleep he was able to snatch tormented him.

  But his waking hours were another thing. Ever since Madryn had introduced him to Llar Zhan as 'Valerik' instead of 'Val', he had noticed that her attitude toward him had undergone a subtle change. Perhaps it had actually been an ongoing process—he did not know, had no way of knowing. But Madryn now regarded him, he thought, as less a representation of someone else…and more a person in his own right. She spoke to him as an equal, instead of giving orders and waiting for his obedience. In the evenings, after the caravan had settled in for its short hours of rest—for they began each morning well before sunrise, and rested in the heat of the day—Madryn sat beside him at their tiny campfire amidst all the myriad other fires. She talked sometimes of her life before she'd met him, of her time with Llar Zhan, of her enlistment in the queen's army. Once, on their third night out, she had even spoken briefly of Lord Valaren Starseeker…

  "I'll ride on ahead, see if there are any signs of water," Madryn said, interrupting Val's reverie. Her rangy gelding pranced and swerved and she tightened her hands on the reins, controlling him with unconscious grace.

  Val nodded. "See you at supper," he called as Madryn cantered off.

  ***

  The night was beautiful, as only desert nights could be, the stars a canopy over their heads and the sands warm beneath them. Garet had disappeared, doubtless dozed off already in some more comfortable spot, beside some more inviting fire. Val could picture the boy curled up like a cat in his pile of blankets, his shaven head, bristly with new growth, pillowed on one scrawny but fattening arm.

  Madryn had insisted that Garet wash and groom himself before she'd accept him as their servant. The boy had protested loudly, but Val could tell it was a halfhearted effort. Though the boy complained regularly, Val knew he had enjoyed the bath and having his head shaved.

  The quiet and stillness was soothing after a day of constant riding. Val sighed, wishing he could enjoy it longer. But soon enough would come the night and the disturbing dreams that awaited him…

  "Tired? I am." Madryn echoed his sigh. She lay close to him, sprawled on a blanket spread over the warm sand. Val could feel the heat that radiated from one long leg, so near was it to his own naked limb. For an instant he wanted to tell her about his dreams, recount to her the stories he saw when his eyes closed, as her how true they might be.

  But he didn't dare. He had found out too much about Madryn and Lord Valaren in those misty shores on the other side of sleep. Knowledge he found more and more difficult to hide each passing day…knowledge he hoped was not true.

  "Long day," Val said at last.

  Silence. A shooting star streaked across the sooty sky.

  "Val…we need to talk about…about where I have to go. I must leave soon, and I don't want you to follow me," Madryn said, the words tumbling out, jerky and discordant.

  Val felt a chill dancing across his arms; the hairs rose in protest. He did not want to hear another word. He did not want anything to break into this odd bliss that he was feeling, exhausted and disturbed though he was. He wanted to go on forever, crossing a desert that never ended, Madryn riding at his side by day, sleeping close enough for him to feel the heat of her body at night. It was all he wanted, all he would ever want. Even the dreams were a small price to pay.

  No use, he thought. I'll never have what I want.

  "Tell me," Val said.

  Another falling star bisected the heavens, falling to a dim death from its brethren on high.

  Val wondered if it was feeling the same things he was feeling now.

  "Valaren Starseeker is dead because of me—or I thought he was, at any rate," Madryn said, her voice as bitter and bleak as the desert that surrounded them. "I heard that…he was not as dead as I'd thought. I was on my way to discover the truth when you appeared before me in the forest that day."

  "How did he die?" Val asked, though he knew the answer. He had seen it acted out in all its gory horror, a dozen times in his dreams…

  Chapter Thirteen

  Madryn looked at the man who lay sleeping beside her in the desert sands.

  Val had dropped off almost as soon as they had finished speaking, too tired to remain awake. She was worried about him. Even more, she wondered about her feelings for this escaped slave, and especially now, after she told him some of the things she had done. Told him of Valaren Starseeker and the struggles she had undergone,
resisting that strange and evil lord's domination, fighting his uncanny powers.

  The heat that the sands collected by day emanated at night through their blankets, making all but the lightest covering almost unbearable. Val's long, hard body was nearly naked, the clothes he wore during the day piled as a pillow beneath his head. The twist of rag about his loins reminded her irresistibly of the day that she'd first met him.

  Madryn turned and propped herself on one elbow, watching him sleep. She often watched him, wondering what dreams destroyed his rest…what memories of blood and death visited him when sleep fell across his eyes.

  One burly hand twitched, as if grasping for something that remained stubbornly out of reach. Val's chest, crisscrossed with scars, rose and fell now quicker, now slower, in time with his oftimes uneasy breathing. His dark reddish hair, shorn close when she had first met him, now fell in loose curls that framed his rugged face. One errant lock lay across his high forehead, and Madryn itched to brush it back.

  Any excuse to touch him, she thought with a wry grin. Any excuse at all.

  It had been the same with Valaren, too, and from the first time that she had met him. That overpowering desire to touch him, be near him, had been almost impossible to overcome.

  But Madryn had been forced to overcome her desire for Valaren. She'd had no other choice—just as she had no choice now. No matter how much she wanted this man who lay twitching and moaning before her, Madryn knew she couldn't have Val.

  Not if she wanted him to go on living.

  Val moaned again, and Madryn's hand was on its way towards his forehead before she knew it had moved. She smiled again at her actions; then she allowed a finger—one single finger; surely there could be no harm in that—to linger just above Val's face. That finger traced the pattern of his lips through the air above them, brushed across the tip of his crooked nose, doubtless broken in one of the countless battles in his past.

  But her battles were many, as well. And they had scarred her too…though not all her scars were as visible.

  Madryn pulled her hand back, against her own will, against a desire that filled her with longing—a longing that, she knew, could only be assuaged by the muscular body that sprawled before her, so warm, so inviting.

  So helpless.

  Helpless.

  She wouldn't do it, not again. Never again. She'd not go through what little life that might remain her with Val's unhappiness on her conscience.

  What little life remained…for she knew that, if Valaren Starseeker still lived, against all belief, against all proof, then her own life was worth nothing.

  The lonely wail of a hunting pack shivered across the sandy dunes. The sound reminded her of their last conversation, just before Val had collapsed into restless sleep—although precisely what it was about the wail that brought up that memory, she could not guess. Perhaps she was at the point where everything reminded her of Val. Why not? Thoughts of him filled her every waking moment; dreams of him, her sleeping ones.

  But now the image of what awaited her at the end of her journey was bile in her throat, acid in her mouth. To have found Val, found him against all hope, all expectation…and now to realize that she must lose him after all, in payment for a deed done years ago.

  The gods could be cruel. Damnation, when were they anything else?

  Val turned his head, and the curl that had lain across his forehead slid back across one ear, dark against the paler skin.

  What would he think of me if he knew all my past? Madryn wondered. What would he think of all my filthy secrets?

  One long-fingered hand snaked out, brushed across that shadowy curl of hair, and then drew back, afraid of its own desires.

  What would Val think if he knew that she was probably going to her own death, willingly and with her eyes open, if the rumors she's heard of Valaren Starseeker were true? For Valaren, if he truly lived, would not provide that same courtesy to her…not after what she had done to him. Though how even he, with his vast powers, could have survived what she had done, Madryn could not imagine.

  Well, she'd simply have to destroy the threat that was Valaren Starseeker again. But, whatever her wishes, she was sure that this time, she wouldn't survive his destruction, as she had been lucky enough to the first time.

  No. This journey would end in her death. She could only pray to cruel gods that it would end in the death of Valaren Starseeker as well.

  Not that Madryn wanted to die, not now, now that she had found Val against all hope. But the wheels of the invisible machine had been set in motion long ago, the play written, the jest designed, and by her own actions. Now she had no choice but to go through with it. And for all that she wanted Val, wanted to drown herself in him until the end of time, she would not do it. Val wanted her, she knew, but she wouldn't do that to him. She knew how much it hurt to lose someone you had loved.

  She should never have brought him with her, should have left him in Karleon, in Lakazsh. She should rise now and disappear, never see him again…

  Madryn reached out and touched a ruddy curl that lay across a sleeping face.

  ***

  The part of Val's mind that was still his own, a tiny fragment buried deep inside his mind, realized that the dreams, the endless dreams, were far more real tonight than they had ever been before. More intense, more vivid…more frightening.

  Val's body twitched as an image of Madryn—spread-eagle on a cold stone table, her manacled wrists and ankles streaming ruby blood across the ashen surface—sprang up before his sleeping eyes. Moaning aloud, though he did not know it, Val tried to drive the images away.

  But they ate into him like acid. Were they real, his mind screamed? Were they images of an actual event, or some strange projection of a horrific future?

  No. Real they must be, for he had seen for himself those scars that marred that lean, sleek body—and some of them, he knew, were a legacy of Valaren Starseeker.

  A deep, raging anger filled Val's soul as his dreaming mind saw again the things that had been done to her.

  Madryn had been freeborn, but of a poor family. Her talents, her intellect, had sent her first to Llar Zhan, for training as a thief. After surpassing her master and his craft, she had gone into the service of Ffania X, Queen of NarBillin. There Madryn had risen rapidly through the ranks, making a name for herself in battle against the hordes that rode across the steppes, against the beasts that came from the Rift to some strange otherwhere, then in the attempted usurpation by the queen's twin sister, Ffanita. Soon, Madryn was the youngest commander in the queen's armies…

  And her youth had made her arrogant.

  Lord Valaren Starseeker was of one of the oldest families in Ffania's realm. Epicene, intelligent, an indulger in the most lewd and erotic vices, Lord Valaren had acquired both the knowledge and the power to control others, using their own desires as his tool. He had destroyed dozens of men and women, taking their innocence and manipulating their lusts, using their weaknesses as weapons against them.

  When Valaren and Madryn had come together, as they had no doubt been fated to do, it had been a mixture of fire and ice, destined to change and transmute each into another form—while destroying the originals in a blast of sizzling flames.

  Val twisted and cried out in his sleep, as the images capered across his sleeping mind…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lord Valaren Starseeker walked toward his private apartments, returning slight nods for the bows that showered him from all sides. His broad shoulders strained against the elegant silk of his tunic, and his heavily muscled thighs and bulging crotch were outlined and accentuated by the delicate fabric.

  Lord Valaren always wore silk; it was one of his more minor jests. He appreciated the contrast of his powerful and commanding body draped in the softest and most gossamer of fabric; the disparity appealed to one of his baser instincts.

  Of course, all his instincts were base.

  Some, however, were far baser than others.

  That
was one of the things upon which Lord Valaren prided himself. Not for him were the facile deeds, the petty loves, the mingy kindnesses of others. Lord Valaren was after stronger meat.

  He reached the door to the private rooms reserved for him in Queen Ffania's palace. Valaren was a member of her majesty's council, known for offering advice that oftentimes counteracted the flimsy advice of her weaker, more cautious ministers. For that, as well as others things, Ffania was grateful, he knew; she shared his bloodthirsty attitude in many ways. She enjoyed seeing her council squirming at her incessant tongue-lashings.

  A young soldier, little more that a child, in Valaren's estimation, stood guard outside the door to his lordship's apartments. Callow, thin, his face a mass of splotches, with a scabbard almost as long as his leg, the soldier was only a year or two at best from being a boy.

  He snapped to attention at Valaren's approach. "My lord!" his voice cracked in the middle of the second word and a deep, ruddy blush raced up the slender white throat, suffused the narrow, girlish face.

  Lord Valaren smiled his most carefully pleasant smile, even as his inner self planned plans and thought thoughts. "How lucky I am, to have such an impressive guard at my poor door," Valaren murmured in a voice as smooth as honey.

  The guard's blush deepened in pleasure. "It is a great honor, lord," the young man replied, standing up straighter. "An honor I do not deserve, I fear."

  "Nonsense, nonsense," Lord Valaren said, as he calculated to a nicety the delights that the guard's untutored innocence might offer him and his jaded associates. "You are quite obviously well-trained and most competent. I will send word to your captain that I wish to have you guard me—" Valaren's sugary voice lingered an instant, as if tasting the word, then continued, "—always. Good evening to you, lieutenant."