Night of the Berserkers: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Lee Savino

  “Lady, why have you come?”

  “You have a name Your mother gave it to you.”

  “I-I do not remember her.”

  “Try,” I stepped closer and for a moment the poisoned air and buzzing evil disappeared. The warrior lifted his head, his brow smoothing. I laid a hand on his cheek. Tristan moved beside me and stopped himself. A comforting weight at my back as I swayed closer to the tortured warrior,

  “She loved you,” I whispered. “She mourns for you even now.” The warrior closed his eyes as I touched his brow, like a mother with a babe. “Remember her.”

  His lips moved, but no sound came out. I shrank back, bracing myself for the evil miasma. But it never came. The spell, for the moment, had lifted.

  “Sleep in peace,” I murmured, and strode to the stairs.

  “Lady,” the guards bowed their head as I passed.

  I held my body still until I reached the stairs, where I crumpled. Tristan caught me, arms like iron bands lifting me, I let him, melted into his great chest.

  He carried me to the floor. Relaxed as the evil magic receded.

  “Is this how the mage treats his loyal warriors?” I asked and shook my head sharply. “Never mind. I should not speak—”

  Tristan held a cup to my lips. Not water but spirits, burned on the way down.

  “He was my best fighter,” Tristan said. “I can keep these men in fighting shape, but cannot stop…” He broke off and I let my head lie on his chest. His agony poured through me. I closed my eyes and breathed through it.

  A touch on my face stirred me.

  Tristan stroked back my hair. “You helped him.”

  “I do not know. That place...” I shuddered. “He needs more care. But I at least gave him relief.”

  Tristan studied me until I wanted to ask what he saw.

  “Thank you, lady,” he said and stepped back, formal again. “Now I will escort you to your rooms.”

  14

  Yseult

  Tristan offered his arm and I took it, grateful for a strong arm to cling to. He led me from the dungeon, through the cavernous halls, under stone archways guarded by great warriors. Though they saluted Tristan, I felt their eyes follow me, especially when our route took us down a covered walkway overlooking an atrium. Clusters of soldiers below turned as one, fists finding their breasts as they acknowledged their commander. Defenseless, still shaky from my encounter with the cursed warrior, I shrank under their stares. Tristan moved his hand to my back, at once steadying and guiding me with firm pressure until we were past.

  “It’s all right,” he murmured. “They won’t hurt you.”

  I willed myself not to sound shaky as I asked, “How is it they turn to greet us even when we make no noise?”

  “They scent you.” A touch of humor entered his voice. “They won’t hurt you,” he repeated as he drew me to another great door, wood crossed with iron. “I won’t let them.

  Another key, and he threw open the door. In addition to the lock there was a great bar on the inside. One to keep me in, one to keep all other’s out.

  The rooms were quiet and cool, faintly scented with mint and lavender. Women’s rooms. But I’d seen no women on our walk here, or any other, besides the warriors.

  “Does the king keep attendants, other than the guards?”

  Tristan pushed the door until it snicked shut.

  “The king has no need for human attendants,” Tristan said quietly, stalking past me, cloak swirling behind him as he led me forward. The rooms flowed into each other, low ceilings and a few windows open to an inner courtyard. A sanctuary, deep in the heart of the castle.

  “You’ll be safe here,” Tristan told me, and I remembered the bar on the inside of the door. The rooms had furnishings—gilt chairs and finely woven tapestries in blues and greens. Sounds of rushing water filled the air—a fountain, perhaps. The noise highlighted the deep, deep silence.

  Everything was clean, there was no dust, but the air stood heavy as if the rooms hadn’t been used in a long, long time.

  “How long since the mage took a wife?” I asked.

  He paused in an archway to the courtyard. “It’s been some time.”

  “And all women who venture near the castle are presented?”

  “No, lady. Only those who light the stone.”

  So now I was a ‘lady’.

  “What was that stone?”

  “The king uses it to discern the worthy. There are certain types of women he... prefers.”

  “And what sort of woman does he prefer?”

  “Women with certain... qualities. They are special.”

  “Touched by the Goddess,” I added. I didn’t make it a question.

  His eyes widened. “Yes.”

  With a finger I traced the gilt arm of a chair. “We have a term for such women in my time.”

  “Your time?”

  “My land, I mean,” I corrected. “The place where I come from.” Damn my loose speech. It wasn’t like me to make such mistakes. I must be tired.

  I leaned on the chair. “Spaewives, we call them. Women touched by the Goddess who possess natural... abilities.” Magic.

  “Not witches,” Tristan said. Again, it was not a question.

  “No. Women with natural magic.” Women like me—or who I once was, before the runes and rites burned my natural abilities away, replacing them with the power.

  Power I no longer had. “The stone must discern spaewives.”

  Tristan inclined his head yes. He didn’t seem surprised or suspicious that I knew what was happening. More... relieved.

  If you answer, I can let you go.

  The commander stood studying a tapestry of a trio of young women—nymphs—dancing in a field of white flowers. A happy scene, yet the sharp planes of his face were so grave.

  Was it possible he knew the fate of any young woman who took up residence here? Back in my time, my witch sisters had told me. To become the Corpse King, the mage sacrificed his brides. Those he did not sacrifice, his magic destroyed.

  These rooms were once filled with women. And they were empty, but for me. I sucked in a breath. Tristan knew my fate and wished to stop it.

  When I approached him boldly, he looked surprised. “May I see it again? The stone?” I prayed my guess was right. Tristan seemed to want to save me, otherwise, I would not dare request.

  He hesitated, then reached into his shirt, drew out a small chain. A pale light flashed between us as he raised the necklace—the milky stone hanging from the chain—and dropped it in my hand.

  “It is the same stone,” he said.

  I held it in my hands, waiting for it to flare to life. After a moment, it shimmered awake, not with the same intensity as the larger stone they’d used to test me, but still glowing with an inner light.

  Tristan cleared his throat. “My mother called it a moonstone. This was hers, and she gave it to me.”

  “It’s beautiful.” I turned it over in my hand, admiring it from all sides. My face warmed in its clement glow.

  Tristan hovered over me, his breath stirring my hair. I drew back and handed him the necklace. “Thank you.”

  He kept his eyes on my face as he pocketed it, and I couldn’t read his look.

  I licked my lips, suddenly unsettled. I felt so strange—but perhaps I was just tired and feeling the loss of my magic.

  “The stone... it only lights in the presence of a spaewife?”

  A nod, without him looking away. Heat suffused my body; I almost touched my cheeks and breast to be sure they were not glowing like the stone.

  I found my voice. “Do you know how your mother came to possess it?”

  “She had it when I was born.” He tilted his head. “You told my warrior to remember his mother.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I-I don’t know.” The way Tristan looked at me, I wanted to put my hands to my face, and hide. I wasn’t used to feeling so powerless, or so moved. “It seemed right.�
�

  Tristan looked away then. “Most of my warriors don’t remember their mothers. At least, not after a time.”

  Because the mage dabbled in evil rites. The lingering dark magic corroded their memory, and their joy.

  “Your mother—do you remember her?” I asked.

  “I do,” he said after a pause. “Sometimes.” He pulled the moonstone from his pocket again and ran his thumb over it. “Possessing something of her... helps me.”

  In his hand, the stone did not glow, but emitted a faint humming. I felt its energy then—strong and pulsing. Tristan must to be strong to keep it close. Of course, he must be strong, to rise in the ranks of the king’s guard, yet still be able to withstand the madness for so long.

  “I am glad you have something of hers,” I said.

  “And I,” he said abruptly, as if coming awake, and pocketed the necklace once more. “The warrior you saw... do you really think his mind can return?”

  “I don’t know.” I swallowed and said a silent prayer for the poor prisoner. “But I had to try.”

  “Most would let him die.” Tristan gazed at me with such intensity, I wished I had the courage to ask what he saw.

  “He doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Doesn’t he? He’s a warrior. He chose his path.”

  “No,” I said, and repeated softer, “No. This madness, he did not choose it. It chose him.” If the mage did the rite to turn them into Berserkers, then the blame lay on him. But I could hardly implicate Tristan’s lord.

  “Some say we warriors were born to it. Our strength in battle is a curse.”

  “It is possible to be strong, and be good,” I offered.

  “I hope so, lady.” again his gaze swept over me, and I felt he heard more than I had said and saw more than I wished.

  “Commander.” Ivar and Lars appeared in the archway. Tristan and I darted apart. I touched my face, wondering if the moonstone had affected me as much as I affected it. My heart was beating faster. Ignoring the warrior’s, I entered the courtyard and wet my hands in the fountain.

  “Lady,” Tristan called to me. “I must leave you for a time.”

  I nodded, and he saluted me with his hand to his breast. His red cloak swirled away, and I stared dumbly, numb but for the beating of my heart.

  “Lady.” Lars bowed. He had a mocking grin, but it was not unkind. “How do you find your quarters?”

  “Well,” I said. “They are more than I expected.”

  “So are you.”

  I arched a brow, feeling more myself with his jesting.

  Ivar cleared his throat. “If you wish privacy, we will stand guard at the door.”

  I thought again of the bar at the door. “Am I in need of a guard?”

  “It is not good for you to be left alone.”

  “Are there so many dangers lurking in this castle?”

  “No. Just us.” Lars grinned at me, and I almost smiled back at his playfulness.

  “Do you mean to tell me I need defense from you?”

  “Not us, lady,” Ivar said. “Never us. But some of the others...” He trailed off. His cheek still bore a bruise from where the wild warrior had hit him.

  “I understand. I am grateful for your protection.”

  “As we are grateful for what you have done,” Ivar said.

  I blew out a breath. “I haven’t accomplished anything yet.”

  “You tried. It is more than anyone has done.”

  “We are grateful,” Lars repeated. “Anything you need, we are yours to command.”

  “Are you?” I purred, and just like that we were back to jesting. Lars’ scruffy face split into his signature grin. Even the high points of Lars’ cheek colored red. “Then by all means, stay.” I sashayed past them, smiling to myself at the weight of their eyes on my backside. Though they were large men, warriors in their own right, Ivar and Lars seemed younger somehow. I felt lighter in their presence, a girl flirting with two handsome men, one dark, one light.

  There was a bowl of fresh figs sitting on a table, along with a pitcher and some cups.

  “Is this meant for me?” I asked of the refreshments.

  “Yes. We brought it, lady,” Lars hovered behind me.

  “Thank you.”

  “You would be wise to only eat or drink what we provide,” Ivar said from where he hung back at the door. “There is no intent to poison,” he answered my worried look. “It’s only... there are no kitchens.”

  “Does the king not keep a cook?”

  “The king is very mighty, but he has no court. At least, not a typical one.”

  He has no need of human attendants. Tristan had said nothing of inhuman ones. If the king had progressed to using magic to do his everyday bidding, he was very powerful indeed. Too powerful for me to face him, even at the height of my powers.

  I may have arrived too late.

  “I understand. It seems as though it’s been some time since the king had any guests.”

  “Yes, lady,” Ivar sounded relieved I understood. The Corpse King was probably listening to our conversation. If not him, then one of his magical servants. I would follow these warrior’s lead and take care of what I said.

  My stomach growled. I touched one of the figs, hesitating.

  “It is safe,” Lars encouraged. “We plucked them earlier, for you.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured. The fig was sweet, the juices cool and refreshing. The warriors watched me hungrily, and again I felt hot, too hot. I put my hand to my belly to steady myself. It had been a long time since I had been noticed in this way by a man. Back in my time, my magic marked me as ‘other.’ I still seemed strange to these warriors but when they saw me, they saw a maid, and not a witch. Another effect of the spell stripping me of my magic.

  My hand fell on the pitcher which was filled not with water, but wine. “Would you like something to drink? There is more than enough.”

  Both warriors murmured assent, and I poured with undue concentration. Lars took his cup with a smile. Ivar made no move to take his, so I set it down on the low table surrounded by couches.

  “So,” I leaned against the sturdy wood, “How came you to be in the king’s guard?”

  “We joined the ranks almost as soon we were weaned from our mothers,” Lars snorted and drank his wine.

  “What? So young?”

  “Lars exaggerates,” Ivar spoke up. “But the training starts young.”

  Lars shrugged at my shock. “We were born to it. It’s all we’ve ever known.”

  “Are there many in training now?”

  “None,” Ivar said. “Lars is one of the youngest.”

  “The youngest but the best,” Lars boasted. “Ivar and I are both captains. We form the king’s honor guard, along with two others.”

  “Honor guard? Because you have so much honor?” I teased.

  “Aye,” Lars grinned and gulped more wine. “We do, lady. And we are better warriors.”

  “And so modest.” I crossed to refill his cup and set the pitcher on a low table between us, seating myself and motioning for him to do the same. When he did, I bit my cheek against laughing. His great size dwarfed the low couch. And he wasn’t the largest warrior I’d met in this place.

  “It’s true, though. We are the best fighters. We run faster, we shoot farther. And when we hunt we always capture our prey.”

  “Always? No matter the prey?”

  Lars leaned forward, the gleam in his eye making me flush. “Always, lady.”

  “Call me Yseult.”

  “Lady Yseult.”

  “Just Yseult. I am no lady.”

  “You are to us.” Lars’ smile turned coy. How many women had he seduced with that boyish smirk? His long blond locks spilled around his face, inviting me to stroke them away. For a mad second, I contemplated sitting on the low table before him and doing just that.

  “Lars,” Ivar said abruptly. “Commander wanted someone to patrol the north wall.”

  “Then go,” Lar
s said to him, still smiling at me.

  With a disapproving clank of armor, Ivar bowed to me and left.

  “Forgive my brother. He is not used to speaking to ladies.”

  “And you are?”

  “That is for the ladies to say.” He hid his smile behind his cup.

  “Well, I am no lady,” I smoothed my gown. “But I pronounce you well spoken. You have a skilled tongue.”

  “You have no idea.”

  I blushed and cleared my throat. “I do not fault your brother for not being comfortable around me. I am an outsider.”

  “It’s not that. His mother was a farseer. A prophetess. She passed some of her ability to him. It makes him…”

  “Somber?”

  “Cautious. More wary.”

  “I can imagine, if I Saw all the things that might be, I would be more serious.” I didn’t mention that I had a small gift of Sight, or perhaps still did, if my magic ever returned to me. “Imagine Seeing your own life—or death.”

  “Mmm,” Lars hid behind his cup as he drank.

  “Does he share is visions with you?”

  “Aye.” Lars drained his cup and took up Ivar’s abandoned one. Once he finished that he said, offhand, “He saw you.”

  “He did? When?”

  “He said he dreamed you. Only,” the bright haired warrior’s brow creased. “I think I did too. And Tristan. We all did.”

  I couldn’t keep my voice from shaking. “What was it about?”

  “Moonlight. And your face.”

  I rose and walked to the fireplace, leaning against the mantel so my arm blocked my face from view. “Why would you dream of me?” I forced a joking tone. “A simple maid?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps that is why Ivar distrusts you. You are more than you claim to be.”

  Curses. Half a day gone, and I had no progress. Who was I fooling? The witches should have sent another.

  A slight rustle told me Lars had moved.

  “Lady?” he touched my back. “Are you all right?”

  “He’s right. I am more than I claim to be.” It was a relief to admit it. His touch melted me. “I am in a strange land, without anyone. I have nothing. No protection. That is why I keep secrets.”

  “I will be your protector, lady.”