After peering out the tent flap to make sure no one was within hearing distance, Mike confronted Saium. “What in the hell is going on here?”
“I don't know. I didn't see anyone I knew. I didn't even see our Windhunter Clan banner. My poor princess—the brute is no fit husband for her. What can the emperor have been thinking?” Face slack in a dazed expression, Saium sat heavily on one of the cots, hanging his head in his hands. “Things have changed so since I left as a young man, to accompany Shalira’s mother to the emperor.”
Stowing some gear under the bunk he was claiming for the night, Johnny said, “We going to the banquet?”
Mike nodded. “I think we'd better. We need to be congenial, unsuspicious guests, taking everything here at face value. Or so we let Bandarlok believe.”
Testing the comfort of the thin mattress, Johnny asked, “What's your plan for tomorrow?”
“I don't have one, beyond you and me riding out of here, early in the morning, and getting on with our mission,” Mike said, pushing his hand into the uninviting, hard pad covering what would be his bunk.
“I’d like to join you,” Saium said. “You could use a guide in the mountains, no matter what maps you have.”
Mike whistled in surprise. “You serious?”
“What about the princess?” Johnny asked, sitting up again. “Doesn’t she need you?”
“Bandarlok made it clear to me I’ll never see her again.” The old man swallowed hard, blinking. “She and I said our good-byes. I only wish I felt I’d brought her to a safe place. I’ll be powerless to help her.”
“Did Shalira know Bandarlok had a wife already?” Mike asked.
“I don’t know.” Saium considered for a moment. “She might have. She didn’t react as I would’ve expected when the woman came outside the compound. Don’t judge my princess harshly,” he said. “Her position at court was tenuous at best, and once the emperor dies, there’d have been no help, nothing to hold anyone back. People would have vied for the honor of ridding Maralika of her hated rival’s daughter. The empress never forgave Kajastahn for the way he elevated Shalira’s mother over her.”
Johnny shook his head. “But what about Shalira?”
“It doesn’t matter if she knew. This was her choice. She specifically asked me not to interfere or try to influence her.” Mike looked his cousin squarely in the eye. “Shalira intends to carry out her duty to her father and marry this guy. End of discussion.”
Johnny chewed his lip, obviously deciding to keep what he was thinking to himself. “Well then, guess we'd better get ready to attend the big feast,” he said.
Saium shook his head. “I’ve no desire to eat and drink at Bandarlok’s table. Perhaps I can nose around and find out more of what’s going on here, where my clan is, while you’re at the dinner.”
“Be careful,” Mike warned him. “For yourself and for her. Anything you do might reflect badly on her in Bandarlok’s eyes. She has enough trouble right now.”
“What about this no-weapons edict?” Johnny asked.
“I don't like it, but I don't see how we can refuse to comply. Lock our blasters with the other gear.” Mike glanced at his cousin. “We'll keep our knives. From what I've seen on this planet, no adult male goes anywhere without some kind of knife in his belt.”
“Better than nothing," Johnny agreed a bit more cheerfully as he took Mike’s Mark 27 blaster, stacking it with his own in a black and gray military container, then thumbing the lock closed. “Sun's setting. Shall we go?”
“One more little thing,” Mike said. “Where's the medkit?”
Shalira stumbled along after Arananta the Chief Wife, angry at being forced to move so quickly, but unwilling to make a fuss. “I apologize for my appearance. I’m sure I must look a mess but the chieftain was so—so anxious to arrive home, he wouldn’t give me a moment to freshen up or change my dress. I blush to meet you in this state.”
Her companion grunted, tightening her grip on Shalira’s wrist.
Enough is enough. Pulling back a bit, she tried to dig in her heels, twisting her arm to no avail, but stopping short of clawing at the woman’s fingers. “Please, may we stop for a moment? If we go more slowly I can begin learning my way around the compound. I count steps from point to point, you see. Then no one will have to lead me.”
The woman laughed. “You don’t have to learn the compound. Wasted effort.”
“I’m sorry?” Is she upset because Bandarlok has brought in another wife? Surely she can’t feel threatened by me?
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Shalira felt the surface change under her feet as she stumbled across a threshold. Arananta dropped her hand and it was all Shalira could do not to fall. Taking a deep breath to calm her racing pulse, she stood tall, wishing she wasn’t so vulnerable and alone. She could hear other people in the room, breathing, clothes rustling, and a quickly stifled laugh.
“So, this is our high-and-mighty princess, girls, come to be a bride of the chief,” Arananta said. “Not so grand now, is she?”
Extending one hand, catching the chief wife’s sleeve, Shalira said, “Please, tell me who’s here? Introduce us?”
The woman yanked the fabric out of her grasp with a sniff. “Your betters, that’s all you need to know.”
Shalira was at a loss. Behind her she heard the sound of men approaching, treading heavily as if carrying quite a burden. Arananta pulled her aside and whoever was coming into the room brushed past her, knocking her off-balance.
“Are those her trunks?” asked an excited, young, female voice. “Can we open them now?”
“If they’ve brought my things, of course you’re welcome to see.” Hoping to make a good first impression on her new companions, she added, “I also brought gifts from the capital.”
A titter of laughter came from all around her. Shalira estimated there were at least ten women in the tent. The atmosphere was ugly. Something was going on she didn’t understand. Even at its worst, Emperor Kajastahn’s harem was more civil to newcomers.
“Get out,” Arananta said, apparently speaking to the men.
As soon as the tent flaps fell behind the departing warriors, there was a rush of women to the area of the room where Shalira’s trunks had been placed. She heard fingernails scrabbling at the locked clasps.
Arananta grabbed her shoulder. “Where are the keys?”
Jerking loose, upset, the princess said, “We should wait until the trunks are placed in my quarters. I need to be sure there’s no confusion about what’s mine and what’s to be a gift. I can put things away as we’re admiring them.”
“Give me the cursed keys, girl. I’m in charge here, and I say we’re opening the trunks now.”
Fumbling in the pocket of her dress, she handed over the tiny ring of filigreed silver keys, which Arananta grabbed. The princess backed away as she heard the women screaming and exclaiming and fighting over her clothes and other possessions. Fabric tore as two girls both coveted one dress and then apparently fell to hair-pulling, accompanied by vulgar name-calling because the garment was ruined. Disgusted by their behavior, saddened by the loss of the few things in the trunks that had been precious to her, Shalira was tempted to flee, despite having no idea where to go. She thought she remembered how many steps it had been to the entrance and started sidling away, with no clear plan what she would do next, only desperate to be away from the melee.
Her sketchy plan was succeeding until she ran into Bandarlok as he strode through the entrance. He grabbed her shoulder in one hand, yelling at the top of his lungs, “What do you women think you’re doing?”
Instant silence fell. Someone dropped a cosmetics box, sneezing as the expensively scented powder became a momentarily pervasive cloud.
“I’m perfectly happy to share, my lord,” Shalira said. “Perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding about what I brought with me.”
“Arananta, has there been a misunderstanding?”
“No, my husband.” The chief wife
was clearly smiling as she spoke. “The other wives and daughters may have been a bit hasty in their excitement.”
“And there’s been no misunderstanding, because?” He drew out his last word.
Still held by Bandarlok in a too tight embrace, Shalira heard the woman tread heavily across the floor to stand in front of her.
“Because a slave has no possessions,” Arananta said, taking her by the ear and yanking her forward.
Outraged, the princess instinctively slapped the woman’s hand away. “How dare you touch me?”
A blow from Bandarlok across the face sent her tumbling to the floor, ears ringing, white flashes running across the black screen of her lost vision. Wind knocked out of her, she lay where she’d fallen for a moment, incredulous. Rubbing her stinging cheek, she fought back angry tears.
“Undress,” he said, standing directly above her.
“What?” She was sure she must have misheard him.
Nudging her ribs with one booted foot, he repeated the command. “I said strip. I want to see what I’ve been paid to take into my bed. Hurry up, or I’ll have some of my men in here to play lady’s maid.”
Awkwardly, Shalira peeled off her dress and then her shift, standing in her underthings. Arananta snatched the outer garments from her hands, tossing them aside, presumably to the waiting harem. Next she grabbed at the necklace and the princess clawed at her hands. “My mother gave me this. You can’t have it!”
“Leave off. Let her keep the amulet of Pavmiraia,” Bandarlok shouted, unexpectedly. “Have some sense, woman, the goddess still walks the forestlands. We’ve no need to anger a goddess unnecessarily.”
Grumbling audibly, giving her rival a final push for good measure, Arananta stepped aside.
“Good enough for now. On your knees to me, girl,” Bandarlok said.
Straightening her spine, heedless of her near nudity, Shalira shook her head. “I’m a princess of Mahjundar. I kneel to no man, not even my husband.”
“You’d best learn to be more obedient, or your life is going to be even shorter and more unpleasant,” Arananta said, grabbing her elbow, tugging at her, trying to kick her legs out from under her. Another woman came to join in the struggle and eventually the princess was forced to kneel.
“My father sent you my dowry in good faith,” Shalira protested, shaking her hair out of her face, struggling against the hands holding her. “He expected you to treat me with dignity, not make me into a slave.”
Bandarlok put his face next to hers and she recoiled from the smell of his breath. The wife wrapped a hunk of her hair around her fist, holding Shalira still while the chieftain answered, “My spies tell me your father’s as good as dead. Once he’s gone, I’ll get the empress to pay me more gold to do her dirty deed for her. All Mahjundar knows she hates you. And my own vengeance will be complete.”
“What wrong have I ever done to you?” Shalira was dizzy, her stomach in knots. Her head ached where the wife was threatening to tear her hair out by the roots. This man is insane, his wife is just as bad, and I’m completely at their mercy.
“Oh, not you personally, princess,” he said, cupping her chin with one hand. “Your clan, now that’s another story. I’ll spare you the details, but I’ve dedicated my entire life to wiping out the Clan Windhunter for what they did to my people, to my father, to me. I swore on my mother’s grave to have vengeance, spilling the Windhunters’ poisonous blood down to the last man, woman and child.” He laughed. “You and your worthless old guard will be the last members of your clan to die. When your father’s emissary came, offering you in marriage, I felt the gods themselves must have arranged the final act of vengeance for me.”
She heard someone walk into the tent.
“I’ve brought the items, sir.”
Stepping away from her, Bandarlok rubbed his hands together, the sliding sound startling Shalira. “Good, good, let me have them.”
He was opening the box in which they’d stored her mother’s Clan insignia. Shalira could smell the faint tang of the wood the box was made from, which grew only in the lowlands. She flinched as the box was tossed to the ground, cracking to splinters by the sound of it. Bandarlok walked back to her. The strands of the golden necklace clinked together near her face, but still it was a shock when the cold metal encircled her neck. She tried to get a hand free as the chief fastened the necklace, but the women held her in a firm grasp, their hands like manacles around her slender wrists.
Laughing, he pulled the flat gold chains tighter and tighter, until she was choking, fighting to breathe, metal digging into her neck. “This is how you’re going to die, when I decide the time has come.” He bent over and spoke directly into her ear as she worked to inhale against the pressure of the necklace. “First, I’ll let my personal guards have you for a few hours alone in their tent. When they’re done with you, I’ll strangle you in front of the entire camp, so all my people can see the final triumph of Clan Bartuk.”
She was losing consciousness. He must have given some sign, because suddenly she was released by the women, falling forward onto her hands, frantically sucking air into her lungs. A coarse length of fabric was thrown at her head.
“Here, wear this,” said the first wife. “It’s good enough for a Windhunter slave. Get dressed. Be quick about it. You may be blind, but I’ve suitable chores to be done if you want to eat.”
With as much dignity as she could muster, Shalira tried to still her shaking hands and figure out the unfamiliar garment, glad to have something to cover herself with. As she was led out of the room, she heard the women shrieking with laughter and arguing over her possessions again, while Bandarlok encouraged them to fight over the spoils he’d brought them.
The rest of the nightmare day passed in a blur of harsh words, slaps and pokes from the chief wife, and endless vegetables to wash and peel by touch alone. Shalira’s hands were cut and bleeding by the time a guard took her to a small, unfurnished, unheated prison hut. After he’d locked her in, she crept into the farthest corner and wrapped herself in the thin blanket she found there. Only then did she dare give in to the weeping she’d held off all day, unwilling to allow her enemies to see her grief and terror.
After sundown, Mike and Johnny walked across the camp toward the designated red tent. Mike could hear raucous music, mostly drums and pipes. As he’d anticipated, no objections were raised to their retaining knives on their belts. Waved into the tent by two guards, he surveyed the smoky, noisy scene. Highland warriors were packed into the space, some already eating, others playing games of chance, and the rest ogling the nearly naked dancing girls in the center of the tent. It seemed there were different rules of conduct for a woman who danced for a living in the clan, versus Shalira and the other wives.
As he walked past the giant bonfire on the west side of the tent, a large branch broke with a crash, sending up a shower of sparks. Mike glanced at the blaze, and did a double take. Charred and glowing, the carved Windhunter insignia was lying on a pile of kindling at the edge of the pyre. As he watched, a man tending the fire shoved the wooden staff toward the heart of the flames, and the winged bird blazed fiercely as the inner core of dried wood caught. What the hell? We go to all the trouble to retrieve the thing so Bandarlok can burn it like kindling?
“What’s the matter?” Johnny asked, retracing his steps.
“Nothing, tell you later.” Mike shook his head, brushing ash from his shoulder. “Quite a bonfire they’ve got going. Perfect on a cold night.”
The dancing troupe was two short, since Bandarlok had a buxom redhead by his side and a curvaceous blonde in his lap. The chief beckoned to Mike across the tent, his voice carrying easily above the pipes and drums.
“Come, outworlders! Sit by me, in the place of honor!”
Mike worked his way through the edge of the crowd, taking care not to step into the open space where the dancers gyrated and spun. As he walked up to the chief, trailed by Johnny, Bandarlok gave each woman in his lap a wet kiss on
the lips and shooed them away. Pouting, the dancers stepped clumsily into the undulating rhythm of the dance troupe and whirled away to elsewhere in the tent.
“Wine! Bring wine!” Bandarlok took two bulging wineskins from a server. The food and drink were coming from an adjoining room, on an endless series of platters. “Sit! Meet my other honored guests, chiefs of the eastern tribes.”
Performing introductions, their host was distracted from time to time by the gyrations of his favorite dancers.
Mike found it to be a long night. Bandarlok wasn't much for conversation, other than periodically urging the outworlders to eat and drink while they could, since they were surely fated to perish in the Djeelaba Mountains. He repeatedly offered them the company of his dancers, which Mike and Johnny graciously refused. The chieftains who’d come to make a treaty with Bandarlok didn’t speak any dialect covered by Mike’s hypnotraining. Eventually, Johnny accepted a stack of gaming tiles and dice, after which he and the chiefs had a fine time, making wagers and arguing unintelligibly about the results of each round of some incredibly complicated game of chance. A great deal of wine flowed. At one point, Johnny allowed himself to be drawn into the dancing by the well-endowed redhead whom Bandarlok had been nuzzling earlier. The sergeant's efforts to duplicate her swaying steps and alluring movements brought great gales of laughter from Bandarlok. Seeing his amusement, the clansmen felt free to laugh at the outworlder also.
Drinking deeply from the skin of potent black wine, Mike politely declined to try his luck at the gaming. Unbeknownst to his host, the headclear he’d taken prior to walking across to the feast neutralized the alcoholic content of the beverage as soon as it hit his bloodstream. Johnny was equally sober but they’d agreed it might defuse their host’s suspicions if at least one of them played the drunkard.
Mission To Mahjundar (A Sectors SF Romance) Page 13
