by Allan Cole
“It seems we do have your friend,” he said. “He’s safe. And well.”
“I’m overjoyed to hear that glad news, Your Highness,” I said. “I can be rejoined with dear Searbe when you bring me the rest of my men.
”Or tell me where they are, Your Majesty. I shall go tend them this instant. You needn’t trouble yourself with issuing a lot of tiresome orders.”
The king jerked back, the skin around his beard purpling.
He stammered. “Oh, uh, you couldn’t do that, uh...”
“I’ll bring them back to this hall,” I said. “And we can all join in the feasting. What a great moment to celebrate. Our rescue by such a great king. I have a troubadour among my men. A marvelous balladeer, Your Highness. I’m certain he’d be honored to make us a song about this great event.”
I turned in the direction of the lyre, widening my eyes as I pretended to notice it for the first time.
“Why, he could even play the new ballad on that lyre, Your Highness,” I exclaimed.
As I did so I jabbed my finger to indicate it, shooting a spark of seeking magic from the tip. It struck the lyre and I felt the burn of returned sorcery and snatched it back.
I smiled at the king, bland as could be.
I said, “You do like lyre music, don’t you, Your Highness?”
Before King Magon could answer the lyre suddenly began to play. The strings trembled as spirit fingers swept over them and glorious music sounded through the king’s feast hall.
Then a blinding light blasted from the lyre, filling the room so completely that all color was washed away.
The music swelled louder still and I looked toward the lyre, shielding my eyes as best I could.
Now the instrument was a great fountain of light, strings thrumming faster, music and light pouring all around and through us.
Then the lyre became a bird with marvelous glowing wings and a wide spread tail filled with all the colors of the rainbow. The bird shimmered as the music continued to play, its wings beating in slow steady time.
Then the music stopped and the feast hall dissolved around me and I suddenly found myself standing in a room rich with tasteful carpets and pillows and tapestries.
King Magon was stretched out on the deep pillows of a low-backed couch. A large white bearskin hung on a wall behind the couch, framing him.
I looked about. There was no one else in the room. But I felt a presence and glanced at the curtained alcove next to the bearskin. As I looked the curtains parted and a woman emerged.
She paused, gripping the curtain edges for just a moment, posing briefly so her beauty could be appreciated.
It was the woman I’d seen on Magon’s ship. She’d traded her colorful silks for scraps of gossamer that shimmered over her nude form. She was small and delicate, as I’d observed before, and so gracefully made that the nudity seemed less shocking - more of an artful costume than a blatant display of her charms.
Her skin was lightly tanned, as if she’d lived all her life running free under a warm sun. Her breasts were full and high and well-shaped, reminding me of the sweet golden melons that grow in the warm regions. Her waist was so narrow I could have put both hands around it and her hips flared like the magical lyre she played. Despite her small height her legs were long and slender, from dainty feet to where her shapely thighs met in the golden downy triangle of her sex.
The woman smiled at me, then stepped lightly away from the curtains, letting them sway into place.
The king groaned, pulled off his crown and rubbed his brow with thick hairy knuckles.
“Thank the gods you came, Novari,” he said. “My head is killing me.”
She gave me a glance, pale eyes blank, and made the shrug of one sister to another - forgive me while I tend to this man.
“You poor thing,” Novari murmured as she ankled over to him, the air stirring with the faint scent of a most marvelous perfume that made all the senses tingle - a touch of a delicious tension.
She stood behind him, took his head in both hands and began to massage his temples. The king closed his eyes and groaned in appreciation.
Then he said “Novari’s been mad at me.”
She kissed his head and tinkled laughter. “Well, you have been a naughty boy, my sweet,” she said. She pouted. “Making poor Rali wait in that filthy dungeon.” She shuddered. “That was very rude of you, sweetness. Admit it. You were rude. And I think you should apologize this instant.”
The king raised his head, rolling his eyes up to see her as she continued to massage his temples.
“I think we should just kill her, Novari,” he complained. “She’s just going to be trouble.”
Novari hugged the king’s head against the her breasts. He squirmed in pleasure. “Have I ever advised you wrong, my sweet?” she murmured.
He wagged his head from side to side, nestling in the tawny mounds of her breasts. “Never.”
“Then do this little thing for me, will you dear?”
The king turned his head up again. A sly grin.
“You want her as a gift?” he murmured.
“Yes, darling,” Novari said. “A gift.”
The king’s answer was to draw her around the couch until she stood before him.
“Then you shall have her,” he said.
He plunged his face into her belly and began kissing and nibbling around that small, tawny plain. Novari stroked his head, then turned and looked at me.
“You’d better go,” she said. She motioned toward a far door. “There’ll be someone waiting there to take you to your rooms.”
The king pulled her tighter and I left.
Just as she’d said there were guards waiting on the other side of the door.
As they closed it behind me I heard lyre music again.
And I heard the king groan as if he’d come upon paradise itself.
When I think back to that time I’m amazed at how cold I’d become, how deeply I’d burrowed inward - drawing all emotion and feeling in after me. I reflected not at all, avoided all thought of the future, concentrating fully only on the immediate path before me. I’d been ambushed by the storm, blindsided by the sorcerous scorched earth attack by my enemy and I’d never had the chance to fully recover.
I’d seen what had nearly happened to Daciar and knew that any large spell performed by me would instantly blast back with disastrous results. Now that I was completely in my enemy’s power I’d have to be even more cautious.
Nor could I reveal the extent of my power and abilities so that I might have the element of surprise if I ever got the chance to use it.
Meanwhile all I could do was look for a crack in my enemy’s defenses and then exploit that crack, smashing at it with all I could bring to bear until it parted.
For two more weeks I lolled in splendid imprisonment in the lush apartments assigned to me. I was fed the finest food, drank gracious wines and spirits and was pampered endlessly by the serving maids. I gathered strength, hoarding every speck, quietly rebuilding my powers with every passing hour. I didn’t see this as a mistake on the part of my enemy.
I had no doubt I was being fattened for the kill. Although for what purpose was still a mystery.
As the days passed I stole small moments to myself. Only a minute or two each time. But those minutes were enough to gradually piece together a spell I could cast that would not be noticed by even the most wary and sensitive wizard.
Using that spell I turned the lizard bone into a long golden hairpin. I buried the pin in the jewelry chest, then pretended to find it one day. I made much of it, saying it might be just the thing for my hair.
The maids all agreed and one of them even thrust it through my hairdo herself and held out a mirror for me to see.
I looked it over as if unsure. The maids declared it perfect. They made such a to do about the pin, insisting it was so lovely that I must wear it at all times, that I knew I’d been right to refuse all metal objects offered to me. I teased them, preten
ding I wasn’t certain. But then relented.
From then on I wore it in my hair every moment, night or day.
One evening after dinner the maids suddenly burst into activity.
While one pretty trio cajoled me into taking a bath - liberally spicing the water with sweet oils, lemony perfumes and dilutions of warm wine and honey - the others fussed over the apartment, making certain all was tidy and perfectly arranged.
They draped me in a simple but elegant robe and while my hair was dried and brushed until it glowed, some of the maids fetched refreshments on a tray and placed them by the hearth, where they spread out pillows and poked up the fire until it gave off a warm cheery breath. They fixed my hair, adjusting the golden pin so all was just so.
I didn’t ask what was happening but took note that there were two ornate goblets on the tray of spirits they’d brought in.
Then they dimmed the lights and drew aside the curtains against one wall - it was the first time they’d done so - revealing a large window overlooking the frozen lake. The night sky was clear, filled with thousands of stars and a full moon glittered on the frozen lake surface.
The strings of a lyre, low and coming from far away, drew me to the window to stare out at the stark wintry beauty.
I heard silken rustling and out of the corner of my eye I saw the maids withdrawing silently.
The music grew louder, but pleasantly so, a shower of wondrous notes falling all around me.
In the distance I saw a small cloud drift across the face of the moon. It was winged, like a bird. Then the cloud became a bird and it swooped across the ice, dipping low in a long dive until it skimmed over the gleaming white surface, then shot up toward the window.
It flew straight for the glass - but spread its wings an instant before collision and hovered there.
The music swelled as the creature’s tail fanned out, revealing all the glorious colors, the feathers shimmering with song as if they were the strings of a harp.
It was the Lyre Bird.
The one I’d been awaiting.
The Lyre Bird fountained light and as I shielded my eyes it drifted through the glass. The music stopped. The light vanished.
And Novari was standing in front of me.
She posed for a heart beat, letting her heady beauty radiate out like a rare musk. Silk veils of many colors swirled around her perfect form. A thin tiara pebbled with diamonds held in her long fair hair. She smiled prettily, white teeth flashing through soft lips the color of a new rose. She took a flowing step forward, raising a dainty hand to touch mine in greeting. As she moved the silk veils parted, revealing glimpses of honeyed flesh.
I shivered as her fingers brushed across my knuckles. The shiver drew another smile and she looked deep into my eyes as if acknowledging a mutual attraction. Her eyes were pale mirrors, urging me to see whatever I might desire.
I let her lust magic coax a smile in return. Let my loins tingle with the warmth she intended. Felt my nipples rise in response to her seductive aura. But beneath it all I kept all my defenses up, guiding myself by feel through the perfumed thicket she’d created.
Novari tensed and I caught a pout of disappointment because I was apparently unmoved by her charms.
“How kind of you to come see me,” I said. I gestured at the trays of spirits and delicacies set by the fire. “Although it seems I was expecting you.”
I felt a boil of energy as she came to full life and she threw back her head and laughed. The sound was rich, her breath smelled of poppies.
“You want truth, Rali,” she said. “That’s my specialty. I speak nothing but the truth. I cannot do otherwise.”
She gave me a wink, bawdy and conspiratorial.
“Come, my sweet. Ask me what you will. I find the prospect so, so - “ she paused, shivered as if she’d just had a sexual climax, then: “- so full of delicious surrender.”
She looped her arm through mine, squeezed my wrist against her softness, then guided me toward the hearth where the refreshments and soft pillows waited.
She made a big fuss over me as I sank down onto the pillows. She rearranged the pillows, plumping them up, then personally served me a little plate of tasties and poured out a goblet of brandy.
I let her fuss. I made her fuss more. I’d play her own game - throw it back at her, demand subservience to my femininity and exaggerate those claims.
I complained about small things, saying some of the tasties were liver and I disliked liver as a food above all the creations of the gods. Although, I confessed to her in sisterly tones that when I had my monthlies I did like a good piece of heart.
I primly pushed away the brandy, saying I’d much prefer tea. But while I did I let my the top of my robe fall open and saw the hunger in her eyes.
I blushed and pulled it tight, casting my eyes down, letting my long eyelashes flutter like delicate wings.
And all the while I was secretly laughing at her, a full-bellied soldier’s chortle if I could’ve given it voice.
Novari became flustered, face flushing from irritation and no little lust.
“You know,” I said, as she handed me a cup of tea she’d brewed herself over the hearth, ”perhaps I will have a little brandy after all.”
I shivered. “It is a chilly night.”
I dumped a hefty slug into the teacup, sniffed its fumes, then drank.
Then I looked her in the eye with a flat soldier’s stare.
“I can play princess,” I said harshly, “or you can play princess. So long as we both know that either way it’s only play.”
Her pale eyes flickered and although her face remained a gentle mask I could see my small dart had struck home.
She recovered, tinkling laughter.
“You are an amazing woman, Rali Antero,” she said.
“As much woman as you’ll ever meet, my dear Novari,” I replied, mock toasting her with my brandy, then drinking it down in one long swallow.
I hooked up the jug with a crooked finger and refilled the goblet.
I eased back into the pillows, crossing my ankles and resting the goblet on my chest.
Then I eyed her, one lip curled in amusement. “You claim you’re bound to speak the truth,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“I won’t say whether I believe that,” I said. “We’d only get into a lengthy and useless discussion about ancient riddles and philosophic terms.
“When truth can be a lie... and a lie the truth.”
“Shall I tell you my story, Rali?” she said. “And then you can make up your own mind?”
I shrugged. “If you like. I’m yours to command, and all.
“But I still won’t know if its the truth, will I?”
“I’ll tell the tale anyway,” she said. “And see if you say the same thing when I’m done.”
The fire had died down.
I made a magical gesture and it flared into life again, crackling merrily.
Novari laughed and the sound was that of lyre strings.
“I’ll take that as acceptance,” she said.
She frowned, lovely brow furrowing in concentration.
Then her brow cleared and she began.
CHAPTER TEN
THE LYRE BIRD’S TALE
“I am one of a kind,” she said. “So far I as I know there are no other... presences... like me.
“I came into being long before the first Ice Bear King - perhaps a thousand years ago... or more. I was created by a powerful wizard to be the slave of his prince. Through me the wizard intended to command his master and his master’s kingdom.
“To create me, the wizard scoured the countryside for the perfect clay. He sought the most beautiful intelligent virgins. I don’t know how many were swept up by his hunters. Two thousand. Or more.”
She drank. Not a dainty sip like before but long and deep. I saw her perfect cheek twitch in painful memory. It wasn’t an act. The memories she was dredging up were not pleasant.
“When h
e was certain he had enough, the wizard sacrificed the girls in a temple he’d had specially built on the palace grounds. The blood flowed like a river. The screams of the dying girls, it was said, could be heard for so many miles that villagers shuttered their windows and barred their doors, thinking a terrible storm was brewing.
“Then the wizard - using their substance, their souls, their torment, their everything - created a single creature. A sexual slave who delighted in her slavery.”
