He felt the sharp point of the long weapon and tried to move sideways, but she was still able to drive it home. She stepped into the thrust with all her weight. She felt one of her heels snap under the pressure as she spitted him, and the point of the pike emerged from his back. His sidestep meant that she missed her mark on his sternum and ran through his lower left trunk. The wound was serious enough to drop him to his knees, but it did not kill him. Using his sword as a crutch, he tried to rise, but failed. Moving crab-like because of her broken heel, Caitlin backed the pike out of him. She surveyed the silent arc of men-at-arms. Then very deliberately she rested the point of the pike on the middle of his chest.
“Please…have mercy,” he burbled, blood seeping out of his mouth.
“A fighting man,” said Caitlin contemptuously. His fellows looked embarrassed and made no move as she put her weight into a second thrust, driving the pike through the middle of his chest.
Aliuta silently picked up the wool wrap and draped it around Caitlin’s shoulders again.
“Come, Aliuta,” she said. “I must find some new footwear.”
Limping on her broken heel, Caitlin followed Aliuta back into the Keep and to the master suite. The men-at-arms wordlessly trailed them and arrayed themselves outside the door. Aliuta shut it in their faces.
Once they were alone, Aliuta came up to Caitlin and took her face in her dry hands.
“Lady Caitlin, you have not changed,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “Still protecting the weak, mindless of the consequences. The cheval will not be amused—these are his handpicked men.”
Caitlin gave her wry look.
“Given that man’s fighting skills, they are picked for loyalty, not skill,” she said.
She knew that her safety rested on the capricious desires of Nestar Crogus. For now, his men were ordered to keep her safe for the wedding. But one word from him, and they would fall on her like wolves.
“Aliuta, let me see your wound,” she said after a pause.
The old woman raised her blouse and allowed Caitlin to examine it. It was a puncture wound, about a centimeter deep. It had stopped bleeding, but the caked blood around it was still damp.
“Come with me to the bathroom,” she said anxiously. “And get a dressing. We must clean and dress this, or else it will fester.”
Fifteen minutes later Aliuta’s wound was clean, salved, and bandaged. Caitlin yawned and stretched.
“I am surprisingly drained,” she said tiredly.
“Of course, of course,” said Aliuta, bustling about. “You have faced the intense tension of battle—how thoughtless of me to keep you working like this. Let me service you.”
So saying, she undressed her charge and led her to the wide bed of the master suite. She got the bag of lotions she had put together and anointed her while giving her a full-body massage. She was very gentle as she worked on Caitlin’s belly, fussing over the extensive bruising from Guttanar’s beating. The colors were just beginning to fade, but they still remained quite bright.
“Oh, look at how they hurt my baby,” she clucked as she worked soothing oils and lotions into the discolorations.
It had been long since Caitlin had enjoyed such treatment, and she closed her eyes. It was easy to imagine herself safe and sound in Palace d’Orr. She relaxed, letting the tension of the day drain out of her, and very soon was asleep. Completing her task, Aliuta covered Caitlin with several heavy wool blankets and tucked her in. Then she stood back and surveyed her handiwork. Caitlin looked angelic with her silky hair spread out over the pillow, breathing gently. He will not have her, Aliuta thought fiercely.
Caitlin woke with a start and realized it was dark. Candles lit the master suite. The reality of the day came cascading into her mind. The dinner, the wedding! She threw the blankets back, and even as she stood up, Aliuta was there by her side.
“I was just going to wake you, Lady Caitlin,” she said. “It is time to dress you for the banquet.”
“How much time do we have?”
“The cheval has been here. I told him I am dressing you and will lead you to the Great Hall at six.”
Caitlin stood and allowed herself to be dressed quickly. Aliuta had everything prepared. She had laid out a red Zon wedding gown, matched with a beautiful red-and-black kanjiam scarf and some stylish, low-heeled shoes. Caitlin was afraid to ask where she had found all this finery, so she stood mute while Aliuta walked around admiring her. As a final touch, she slipped her dull-glow white gold armlet on Caitlin’s forearm and wrapped her in the wool wrap again. Then she led her to the Great Hall, shadowed again by their escort of men-at-arms.
The Keep had been prepared for a celebration. Lacking batteries, Nestar’s men were unable to illuminate the light panels, so they had implanted burning torches in the walls. The halls smelled smoky, and Caitlin covered her nose with the scarf to keep from coughing. There was another honor guard at the entrance to the Great Hall. They had burnished their buckles and shields and even the metal tips of their pikes. They parted to let the women through, followed by their escort.
The Great Hall was laid out for a banquet, with a long heavy oaken table on the raised dais and rows upon rows of plain tables on the vast floor. All of Nestar’s captains, corporals, and picked men were there, dressed as well as they were able in honor of their cheval. Nestar saw Caitlin enter and stepped down from the dais and approached her. He was in gray wool and leather, his chevalric coat of arms on his tunic. His longsword hung from his belt, with the hilt now polished to a high sheen.
He touched her arm, running his fingers over the smooth skin.
“A beautiful gown, it suits you,” he said courteously. “What is it?”
“Zon wedding gown,” piped up Aliuta in her broken Utrish. “Red traditional Zon wedding color.”
Nestar smiled, pleased.
“The bridal color suits you, huntress,” he said. He paused here before he reached forward and took her hand.
“You have caused me some irritation,” he continued. “If anyone else had dared to kill one of my personal guards, I would have had them chopped to pieces.”
He paused, searching her face for clues as to her thinking. She strove mightily to keep a fixed smile on her face. She looked around for Aliuta and found her gone. Her confidence slipped, and she felt that she would stutter if she spoke. So she kept silent, holding his gaze with what she hoped was a mild expression.
“But the men tell me you can handle a pike,” he said, suddenly chuckling. “Even so, if you could kill him dressed in a gown, I am well rid of him.”
He led her to the dais and helped her up to the place of honor on his right hand, facing the mass of lower tables on the floor. At a sign from him, one of his men approached and bowed low, handing him a mihr-silk sash emblazoned with the Crogus coat of arms. He took it and handed it to Caitlin.
“As my consort, you will wear this,” he said.
She took the sash and ran her fingers over it, feeling its texture. It was soft and smooth, but it felt rough compared to her kanjiam scarf. She laid it on the High Table by her place setting.
“If I am your consort, I will wear it,” she said, trying to hide her nervousness and managing to get the sentence out without stuttering, but only just. By now the Great Hall was nearly full of Nestar’s men. They were talking loudly and already drinking heavily from the trays of wine being brought up by the Zon servitors. Caitlin felt very alone.
Nestar clapped his hands, and all the talk died away quickly.
“Welcome to my wedding banquet, men,” he said in an even and carrying voice. He pulled a rolled parchment from his belt and raised it. “Here is the warrant from King Shobar, elevating me to Baron of Steefen. This is your doing, men! Captain Guttanar, who has served me so loyally and brought me the Zon who is to become my baroness, is hereby elevated to my chevalry, with all its attendant lands and incomes. From my larger incomes as Baron of Steefen, I will make sure that each and every one of you is rewarded in
gold talents. And now I ask you to drink with me to my future baroness!”
Here he raised his glass. Everyone in the Great Hall responded by cheering and raising their glasses high. Caitlin reluctantly raised hers.
Before anyone could drink, Guttanar leaped to the center of the dais.
“All hail the Baron of Steefen!” he called out.
There was a thunderous response from every throat in the Great Hall.
Nestar gestured to Caitlin, and she turned to him unwillingly, a weak smile on her face.
“Now I will drink with my fiancée and future wife,” he said. “We will sip from each other’s glasses to affirm our troth.”
He proffered his glass to her, and she halfheartedly extended hers toward him. Just as she was about to drink, she felt her arm struck violently, and both her glass and Nestar’s were sent flying. Wine flew in all directions, creating large, wet stains on Caitlin’s gown, on Nestar’s tunic, and on the mihr-silk sash by Caitlin’s place setting.
Aliuta fell to her knees, saying, “Me very sorry, lord! Me slip, very sorry, very bad!”
Nestar’s face went white and he did not speak for several moments. A hush fell over the Great Hall as the crowd held its collective breath. Finally, Nestar beckoned two of his personal guards.
“Take her away,” he said in a calm, conversational tone. “Rape her, beat her, do what you want with her. When the sun is up on the morrow, set up a vat of water in Upper Town Square and boil her alive.”
The guards each grabbed an arm and yanked Aliuta to her feet.
“I am sorry, my baby,” she said desolately to Caitlin in Pranto. “I have failed you. Only our mother, Ma, can protect you now.”
Before they could drag her away, Caitlin took Nestar’s hand.
“Wait, my baron,” she said urgently. “This punishment is too severe for mere clumsiness. You gave her to me. Surely you will allow me to set her punishment?”
Nestar looked at Caitlin with a pleasant look on his face that did not reach his eyes.
“Do you think me a complete fool, huntress?” he asked. His tone was bantering, but his eyes were cold. He called to one of his Zon servitors, an aged crone standing down on the floor of the Great Hall. She was petrified with fear and uneasily climbed on the dais and stood before him.
“Mop some of this wine from the table, squeeze it into a glass, and drink it,” he commanded.
The crone timidly did as she was bid. Once she had drunk it, she stood fearfully, waiting for his next command. He stared at her expectantly. Finally, he waved a hand and said, “You may go.”
Hugely relieved at her reprieve, she turned and stepped down from the dais. She took only two more steps before beginning to lurch from side to side. Then she fell on her side, rolled over, and was still. There was commotion as the men crowded around the fallen servitor.
“Just tell me if she is dead,” called Nestar in his carrying voice.
One of his captains rose from his knees beside the fallen crone and approached the dais.
“Yes, lord,” he said. “She is dead.”
“So, Aliuta,” said Nestar conversationally. “Poison is your weapon of choice.”
“I will make sure this never happens again, my baron,” interposed Caitlin quickly. “And I will pay you for her transgression.”
Nestar looked amused.
“I am most curious to hear how you plan to do that, huntress,” he said sardonically.
“I have heard that you men take payment in kisses,” she said, trying to sound coquettish. “Or is that only in fairy tales?”
“Why should I accept in payment what is mine for the taking?” he asked slowly.
“Baron, what you take and what I give are two very different things,” said Caitlin calmly, giving up on acting coy.
She adjusted her kanjiam scarf to cover her cleavage and hide her nervousness. I find even the fluttering movements of her hands attractive, he thought. But I must be careful, for this Zon huntress is as dangerous as she is beautiful. Finally, he signaled two of his guards.
“Pinion her arms,” he said briefly.
They obeyed with alacrity. He took the one step that separated them and put his fingers in her hair, reveling in its silky softness. He pulled her face down to him and kissed her. His breath was sour, and he had doused himself with a scent that was sickeningly strong. She felt a wave of nausea but fought it and kissed him back, her tongue fierce and probing. She thought the kiss would never end. Just when she felt like she was going to throw up, he broke off. He still held her head in his hands, breathing heavily. His eyes were glazed, and he looked a bit deranged. He kissed her again, and this time Caitlin had to mentally repeat the Goddess Psalm, over and over, to control her biliousness and kiss him back.
When he finally ended it, she felt faint and dizzy. She was aware that he was caressing her face with uncharacteristic gentleness. Nestar’s guards released her, and she had to put her palm on the table to keep from falling.
“I would not have believed it possible, huntress,” she heard Nestar saying. “But you have indeed paid for the life of your perfidious maid, Aliuta. If this is how you kiss, I can only wonder how you make love. I cannot wait.”
He turned to his assembled men.
“All hail the Baroness of Steefen!” he shouted loudly.
The deafening response echoed around the Great Hall. In the midst of the cheering, Caitlin grasped Aliuta’s wrist and whispered in her ear in Pranto, “Stay close to me; cry out to me if they try to take you away.”
Nestar sat down to the banquet. With considerable trepidation, Caitlin sat beside him, wracking her brains for a way to avoid the marriage bed.
TWENTY-ONE
AS DURGA HAD promised, she was able to pick a path along the mountainside that did not involve climbing. It appeared to be nothing more than a mountain goat path, and more often than not, it skirted precipitous drop-offs. Greghar was able to keep going by averting his gaze from the worst of the cliff edges.
Durga started out at a fairly mild pace, but she kept increasing it, especially once the sun was up. Eventually the pace was punishing, and Nitya was unable to keep up. She did not complain, but she began to lag farther and farther behind. Finally, Greghar remonstrated with Durga.
“You cannot expect the little one to maintain this pace,” he said when he was able to get her attention. “You must slow down.”
Durga shrugged her shoulders.
“She can see us, she will be able to catch up when we take a break. Proceeding in this direction along the mountainside, she cannot miss us.”
“She is only a child,” Greghar entreated. “Give me a harness. I will carry her and keep whatever pace you set.”
Durga kept going, but thought it over.
“Okay,” she said, just when Greghar thought she would not answer. “We will slow down till she catches up. We can secure her to your pack.”
When Nitya came up to them, Ielani swung her up on Greghar’s pack and looped some leather straps around the shoulder pads for her to hold on to. She patted the girl’s behind, saying, “You get to ride, you lucky thing.”
When they started again, Nitya whispered in Greghar’s ear, “Thank you, Greghar. I am sorry to be such a burden.”
“You are not a burden, little one,” said Greghar. “We are team, you and I, remember?”
They hiked on. Nitya prattled away and found ways to distract Greghar whenever they encountered precipices. In general, the time passed very pleasantly for the two of them, except every now and then, when their conversation veered toward Caitlin. Greghar could see her in his mind’s eye, riding easily in spite of her bound arms. He cursed himself anew for letting her take a watch and allowing her to fall into the hands of the Skull Watch.
Durga did not stop for lunch, but Elena passed around thick biscuits of oats and honey that they munched as they continued. They washed them down with handfuls of pristine snow. By mid-afternoon, the sun was already sinking behind the steep r
idgeline of the gorge, and they proceeded on in shadow. It was more difficult now to discern the patches of black ice, and their pace inevitably slowed. Durga led on, her untiring step setting the tempo for them all.
The shadows were turning into a real dusk when they caught the first sight of the citadel. The mountainside grew progressively steeper as they came closer. Centuries before, the builders of Ostracis had chosen the spot for precisely this reason. The last half a kilometer, they had to cling to the mountainside to move forward. Nitya fell silent, and Greghar blindly followed in Ielani’s footsteps, his eyes riveted on her back.
Suddenly Durga stopped. Greghar looked up and saw that they were only fifty meters from the citadel’s walls that rose before them, ghostly white in the darkness. As he knew, the walls were much shorter on this side, only about three meters high. There was a sentry post directly ahead of them, marked by a burning brazier. Greghar’s keen eyes picked out first one and then a second sentry, tramping around the battlements, obviously trying to stay warm.
“I’ll have to take a couple of laser pistol shots,” whispered Durga over her shoulder. “A ’grator blast, even at low power, would be too loud.”
“Durga, even laser shots will be heard,” whispered back Elena. “It is a still night; the sound will carry. Ielani and I can climb up the mountain and drop on them from above. But we could get one, so you would only need to take one shot.”
Unmindful of the drop-off to his left, Greghar stepped close, brushing against Ielani’s back.
The Empire of the Zon Page 45
