by George Olney
Frenchy decided to up the pressure. "Now, little girl, I think you're bothering my friends. Why don't you just run off and play? Hm?"
She capped her comment with a motherly pat on Allurra's head that made the woman feel like a wayward child.
Allurra glanced back at the table and caught Maev's huge enjoyment at the scene. From Evan's quirky little smile, he also appeared to be having fun. She decided it was time for a quick withdrawal. She had the sneaky feeling these two overgrown copies of Agamathe, the ancient love goddess, made her look like a boy, anyhow. That wasn't good for her public image. Said public image, she noted, was deteriorating rapidly in the eyes of several of the young men at nearby tables.
Slamming her chair back, she jumped to her feet and spun to leave, favoring all with an inarticulate growl. "There, there, honey," Frenchy purred, gently patting the girl's bottom, "don't go away mad, just go away."
"Ohhhhhh!" Allurra moaned in fury and stalked off, looking for a place, anyplace, that didn't have a yellow haired woman in it.
"Gee," Evan commented mildly as he watched her storm away, "I hope it wasn't something I said."
The laughter that followed that remark was both loud and genuine.
Grete and Frenchy joined the pair at the table and a short round of friendly conversation followed, including a few jokes at Allurra's expense. Grete commented, "The Princess showed up here several days ago and promptly set about creating upheaval 'mongst the younger set of the Freehold. It quite pleases me that she's been routed. With luck, she'll be bags packed and on her way come first light."
"Off hand," Frenchy commented, "I'd say the story's going to go the rounds pretty fast. Enough folks saw her turn nasty and get tossed that it's guaranteed she'll be hearing about it as along as she stays here."
Glancing at Evan, she asked, "What set her off, anyhow?"
Maev, who had been dreamily regarding her Knight In Shining Armor, spoke up in that worthy's stead. Since Evan was generally ignoring most of the conversation in favor of his dinner, her action was appropriate. "He told her to get lost. He had a girl."
That this statement was a slight exaggeration was not lost on Evan. Neither was the proclamation of romance. He simply chalked it up to Maev's erratic reporting ability and went on eating. Maev, on the other hand, propped one elbow in the table, rested her chin in hand and went back to a bright-eyed study of Her Hero. She even spent a moment on his hands. They were the work toughened hands of a sculptor, calloused, heavy veined, yet flexible and knowing. She decided they suited him. They certainly suited her.
It only took a second for Frenchy to catch on to what was happening. Signaling Grete, the two made their excuses and left. Far enough away to be out of earshot of the table, Grete giggled, "Ah, child, but I fear for the continued independence of that man."
Frenchy was more succinct. "He's sunk."
"Why," Grete continued in mock amazement, "the lad has done a miracle fit to list him among the chiefest sorcerers of the ages! He's constrained Maev to the affections of but one male! Voluntarily, mind you! Could he have intended such a feat?"
Thinking back to a trail conversation, Frenchy nodded. "I'll just be willing to bet the guy's been working for this. Maev's an erratic little bird, but he seems to have figured out how to handle her."
Grete snorted. "That evaluation of Maev, lass, is but a hundredth of the truth! Courtesy forbade me to say that Maev's man chasing created as much furor as ever did that of Allurra. I had noted the constraint of her actions on arrival, and was intending to question you on't. So say you that lad with but one foot on the ground back there has a lock on her heart?"
Frenchy grinned. "He's more than that. Most of that is an act. He's sharp, a good fighter, and he was Grae's Top Sergeant during the War."
Grete's eyes widened a bit at that revelation. Then her face grew thoughtfully concerned. "This may seem passing strange to you, child, but I find myself with a bit of motherly care for the lass. She's never had her cap set for a man before. All her romantic liaisons were temporary and, thus, she has no defenses against the evils that some men do. Maev is a bit of a brat, to be sure, but a good hearted lass for all that. Do you feel her choice safe?"
Frenchy grew thoughtful in her turn. "Well, I've had more than a few bad experiences with men, but I don't think he's that kind of guy. I could tell from Grae's memories that he thought the world of him. I get good feelings from him also."
Grete appeared to consider the matter settled. "Ah. My child, in that case, the peace of this Hold owes the man a debt of gratitude."
Frenchy decided it was time to broach her own idea. "Look, I had a little flash on the way here. Let me tell you about it..."
Swiftly, she filled Grete in on her plan. "What do you think?"
Grete frowned again. "You'd do this, knowing the way you feel about the matter?"
Frenchy shrugged uncomfortably. "It bothers me – a lot - but it's Maev, not me. She looks on it differently. You know I can't just tell her she's free."
Grete thought for a moment. "True...
"Well, then," she continued in a brighter tone, "let you do this with my blessing." Despite herself, she giggled. "I feel Master Evan may yet have much to be surprised at in the further course of this venture."
Frenchy looked back over her shoulder at the entrance to the communal dining room, through which she could still see Evan and Maev sitting at the table. Maev had yet to give up her starry-eyed posture. "Well," she said, turning away from her view of the pair, "that settles that."
"Aye," Grete said briskly, taking Frenchy by the arm. "Now, on to battle with a greater friend and foe."
Grete hustled Frenchy down several of the corridors until they came to a door at the end of one. "Home, hearth and battleground," Grete said. "Softly now, we have no wish to engage him who is its master until we are arrayed for battle."
Slightly puzzled, Frenchy did as ordered and followed Grete as silently as she could down a short hall. Peeking through an archway, Grete whispered, "Ah, my lord and master ponders deeply on weighty subjects, as is his want."
Curious, Frenchy peeked around the corner and saw Weykhaz. He was sitting in a heavily carved and padded wooden easy chair, slumped and still, with his legs stretched in front of him, ankles crossed. His head was on his chest and he had his hands clasped in his lap.
"He looks like he's sleeping to me," Frenchy whispered to Grete.
"So I said, lass," Grete replied softly. "Come."
In the bedroom, Grete reached behind her back and began to undo her leotard’s fastening. Swiftly stripping it and her undergarments off, she stood nude and began rubbing her skin the way a person normally does after removing binding clothing. "Ahh, that feels better! Although I, like you, have a liking for clothing that was imbued in me in my youth, being free to remove such encumbrances is also a joy on occasion. Come, lass, let you do likewise. Custom allows you such freedom, enjoy it."
Frenchy began hesitantly, "Well, I'm not sure... I mean..."
Grete waved a hand, dismissing all argument. "Concern yourself not, my child. Besides the comfort, it will aid our plan of battle."
Reaching for the fastenings of her own leotard, Frenchy stopped short and looked at Grete. "Hey, we're not going to try and overwhelm him with sex or something, are we? He doesn't strike me as the kind of guy that would let that bother him when he had to decide something."
Grete's eyes twinkled. "You have the right of him, lass. My man is not such a child as to be swayed in his course by the well-turned curves of the female form. Rest assured, as I am bonded to him, I know his deepest thoughts and emotions. I have another persuasion that will influence him and we do but aid it to its full effect.
"Also," she continued, helping Frenchy remove the rest of her clothing, "thy mother has the wisdom to know that, when doing battle, it's best not to do so with thy strongest weapons sheathed. Trust me, child, you will grasp my meaning in the fullness of time."
With Frenchy as bare as sh
e was, she turned and headed out of the bedroom. "Do but follow my lead," she said over her shoulder.
Frenchy reflected she couldn't do anything else. When her adoptive mother embarked on a campaign, she reflected, it was headlong charge and right up the middle. She had the feeling of being swept up and carried along by an irresistible force of nature. Come to think of it, both Weykhaz and Grae called her that.
Grete completely surprised her, opening her campaign by storming into the living room where Weykhaz peacefully napped and declaring loudly, "We shall NOT allow our son to throw away his life by falling in ill-conceived battle!"
Weykhaz woke with a start and jumped to his feet. After that, the riot was on. There was a great deal of shouting, waving of arms, stamping of feet, pacing about and posturing by both sides. Every time one would wind down the other would start it up again. Frenchy was totally shocked. Her image of bonded couples included no such domestic warfare.
Finally, the whole picture quieted down. Grete stood, facing away from Weykhaz in a posture of firm negation, arms crossed under her breasts. Weykhaz was looking at her in aggravation with his hands on his hips.
Shrugging, he made the first move. Walking to stand close behind her, Weykhaz tenderly placed his hands on her waist, kissed her lightly on the neck, and turned her gently to face him. As Grete turned, Frenchy saw her begin to smile. Looking down at his bondsmate's smiling face, Weykhaz asked in a voice reminiscent of his son's dry tones, "Well, are we ready to discuss this now?"
"In a moment, my lord," she replied in a soft voice. "You know such little flurries as this have a traditional ending." Putting her arms around his neck, she drew him down into a deep kiss.
Belatedly, Frenchy realized the whole thing had been a big act. They weren't really mad, just playing what was evidently a regular game to them. Starting the "fight" was Grete's way of opening the real argument. Judging from Weykhaz's enthusiastic participation in the kiss, she was already one up on the scoreboard.
Finally breaking free of his bondsmate's embrace, Weykhaz returned to his chair. He crossed his stretched legs again and clasped his hands in his lap, resting his elbows on the chair arms. His posture conveyed the fact that he was willing to listen, but Grete's argument had better be damn good. "All right," he pronounced, "now tell me why we should interfere with a decision Grae made of his own free will."
With a soft swaying motion, Grete walked over and knelt on the richly carpeted floor, knees together demurely, and rocked back on her heels in a graceful feminine pose, hands on her thighs. "I have intelligence, my lord," she began, "that, although such decision may have been his original free intent, it may not now be his heart's desire."
Swiftly, she told Weykhaz about the developing relationship between Frenchy and Grae. Weykhaz's eyebrows lifted when Grete told him about Grae giving Frenchy his sword to keep in Tokhaz. The eyebrows went higher when Grete added Frenchy's abilities to feel Grae's thoughts. He leaned forward and turned to her. "Well, girl, can you feel him now? Is he thinking about you?"
Frenchy walked over in a dancer's smooth stride to sit on her heels next to Grete, hands on her thighs, in an identically graceful pose. Looking into Weykhaz's piercing eyes steadily, she said, "Yes, even in his sleep. I can tell when he's thinking about me during the day, or dreaming about me at night."
Thoughtfully, he asked, "Does he want you so badly?"
Thinking hard for a moment, she decided what she was about to say was the truth. "Yes."
Weykhaz sat back in his chair for a moment, rubbed his chin and said slowly, "Well, this is a situation so rare I've never heard of it."
Grete broke in gently. "Wouldst want your death to be the cause of my demise, my lord?"
He looked at her tenderly and said in a soft voice, "No, mistress, you know I would not. Even though we would then be together in Beyond, it would not be right. There is time enough for that."
Rising to her feet, Grete walked over to him and whispered in his ear, "Think on this also, my old one. Look on her. Does she not appear bountiful? Wouldst not want a fat grandbabe or two for our joint enjoyment and the continuation of our line? If we do not help our son, at least give him another chance to embrace Life's sweetness, such a babe will never come to pass. Who are we to deny our unborn issue its chance?
"I do but wish our son the choice of life or death and to aid him in his battle should his choice be life. Our other desires will follow in nature's course as night follows day. She, I am sure, will see to that."
Her crowning argument made, she swayed gently back to resume her place next to Frenchy.
Weykhaz looked at the tableau made by the two women in front of him, fully aware of why Grete had set it up. She knew he saw her as both Nature and Life itself, a glorious affirmation of the joy of living. Her adopted daughter was only another aspect of the same force, a living argument against the stillness and dark of death. Weykhaz reflected he'd seen a great deal of death and was certainly going to see much more before he passed Beyond. Grete was too alive to destroy herself if he died first, no matter the weight of custom and grief. The thought was comforting.
His son deserved the chance to freely embrace living, now that circumstances had changed. Death was always lurking and irredeemable. Frenchy, he thought as he looked at her, represented the expansive glory of Life itself, as much as Grete did. He thought he knew which way Grae would swing, if given the ability to make the choice. It was a choice he deserved the chance to make.
He knew why Grae was still alive, this long after his bondsmate was gone but not dead, and Grete did, too. The fact that Grete would make this argument, knowing what she did, was a powerful argument in itself for Grae to continue living. The tie between Grae and Frenchy was strong, given the women's accounts. It might be strong enough to overcome Grae's hurt and horror. It was something he could hope for.
Besides, he felt the same way Grete did about grandchildren. Looking at the nude Frenchy, he was certain the girl would take care of that lack, if given the opportunity. She had the hips to bear good, strong children. And the breasts to feed them well, he thought wryly.
There was also the matter of the escetepus infected Somnolent smugglers polluting his land. Somnolent was a dirty business and he was one of the Agents on that first genocidal case. The problem of such human trash on his world needed addressing - not to mention escetepus - and he was still an Enforcement Agent, if a retired one...
He sat up in the chair. "Mistress," he said firmly, "fetch my steel. The blade's been dry too long."
Grete's bright smile was a treasured reward as she sprang up to get his sword. She knew Weykhaz was going to spend some time sharpening the blade that night and making it ready for use... good use.
Later, when settling Frenchy in the spare bedroom, Grete explained the whole idea behind her actions. "It was but a matter of knowing my man and putting forth an argument that would appeal to his basic nature. Deep inside, normal men see woman as the Life Force, the bringer of new life and its nurturer. My man is very much that way, especially when he looks on me. We were arguing Life against Death, so I but insured that when he looked upon us, Life most bountiful was arrayed in front of him in all its natural glory. None can choose death when its alternative is plainly making the argument so crystal clear in Nature's favor."
Frenchy smiled wryly. "Oh, we were arrayed in all our natural glory, all right. I guess it was in a good cause, though. It worked."
Grete said, eyes twinkling, "Of course it did. Do you be half so intelligently persuasive on my son and you will have your man. Nature will weave his fate and yours into its grand design. Then, dear one, the matter of issue becomes your speedy concern. I have long nursed a desire to be a grandam. My arms ache to hold new life once again, lass. As a dutiful daughter, I am certain you would not wish your loving mother to suffer such miseries for long."
Frenchy threw up her hands and stomped away, yelling to the room at large, "Sheesh! Already she's starting!"
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br /> In Evan's room, Maev and he were exploring the issue of companionship. Both were discovering facets to the idea they'd never imagined before meeting the other. Each found the discoveries delightful.
Evan was beginning to wonder if there was more to life than being a happy-go-lucky wandering artist. The more he came to know this exciting person that staunchly proclaimed herself his friend, the more addicted he was to having her around. Maev was lively, active, and different from the other women that had wandered into and out of his life in the past. Somehow, without quite knowing how, he was losing control of his destiny. What's more, he was enjoying the process.
Maev, for her part, decided her man-hopping days were over. There was a lot to be said for getting to know one man more than she'd ever known anyone else. After a short while, she made the further highly pleasant discovery that a sculptor's hands were rough surfaced, but didn't feel that way at the right time. They were sensitive, knowing, and, ohhh, very, very nimble.
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Grae lay on the jagged rock shelf, invisible as he willed himself to be a part of the dusty soil and sharp edged stone. Perfectly motionless, he waited patiently for the right moment to bring up his distance lenses. He wanted no motion to attract a wary eye. Long years of practice and experience gave him perfect confidence that he was hidden from even a fully alerted expert. As he waited, he indulged in a little curiosity about who the party riding his way was and what damnable luck seemed to be bringing them directly towards him. His alarm only told him there were five in the group, not who they were or why they were there. He took his time about moving. The right moment was going to come soon enough.
The approaching group spread out into file as their gorts began to single-foot down a narrow gut in the ridge face directly in front of him. When he was sure they were all concentrating on the path and their riding, he smoothly and very, very slowly raised his distance lenses to his eye.
For an instant, he was shocked! There, approaching him in the most isolated, distant part of the Barrens were five utterly familiar people. One was the woman that now mattered most in his world. Another face was from his deep past. There were his parents, by damn! Even Maev!
