Dark Warriors: A Dark Lands Anthology (Darklands) (18 page)

Her face softened. “I know. What about you? These swamps are supposed to be dangerous.”

He stopped and faced her, ignoring their protective escort as he took her hands in his. “I will come back. I’ll send messages when I can. Have faith in me.” Solemn, calm, he kissed the backs of her hands and dropped a light kiss on her lips. He almost spoke, but seemed to change his mind. “Go. Cheer your friend.” His mind already moving to his mission, he squeezed her hands and strode rapidly away.

Kelsa sighed and reluctantly trudged into the harem.

“Checkmate.”

Kelsa scowled at the holographic chessboard, glowering at Vana’s smug face. “Is not. It’s check, and you’re a brat.” She circled her king around her pawn, the only thing still protecting his precious hide.

Vana raised her brows in mock haughtiness. “Might as well be. What are you going to do with a measly pawn? Let your king have some dignity: the poor guy’s been chased around by a knight and a bishop for ten minutes.”

Eyes narrowed, Kelsa shifted her king to counter Vana’s move. “I don’t hear any bonbon-challenged women singing yet.” She studied the board and blinked in surprise. A smirk of dazzling proportions curved her lips.

“What?” Vana eyed the board uneasily, and then saw it. Against all odds, Kelsa’s little duet had danced her into a checkmate. “Huh.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Kelsa leaned back and draped her arms over the back of her chair. “You may now kiss the ground I walk on.”

Laughing, Vana cleared the board. “In your dreams.” Pausing to sip her drink, she considered her friend. “So Kynan is rich.”

Kelsa flushed. “I didn’t even know until the harpies here started on about it.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“You don’t have to socialize with them. I feel kind of sorry for the wealthy guys out there, because they have no idea what’s in store for them. Now that they’ve gotten used to the idea of marrying and being waited on hand and foot for the rest of their lives, these women are rabid to find their own Daddy Big Bucks.”

Vana snorted.

“Really. There are a couple of women fashioning harpoons as we speak.”

“Lucky thing for Kynan he married you first, then.” The remark was far from casual, as was Vana’s intent consideration.

Kelsa shifted her eyes to her own drink. “We didn’t do the booth thing, Van.”

“It’s registered as a lawful marriage just the same. I saw the paperwork.” Silence stretched as Vana let that sink in before artfully changing the subject. “So, are you ready to be an honorary aunt?”

Blinking, for not even a hint of Vana’s condition had been breezed about, Kelsa asked carefully, “In the hypothetical future?”

“In about eight months.”

How to answer that without blowing her “light and happiness” campaign? “I’d spoil her rotten,” she answered thickly, unable to hide her surge of emotion. She couldn’t understand why Vana wasn’t falling apart. The public thought their Tzara was putting on a brave face, but Kelsa knew it wasn’t that. She really did believe her folk remedy was going to work.

With a steady expression that owed nothing to acting, Vana said quietly, “Have some faith in me, Kelsa. I did this for all of us.”

Nodding in understanding, Kelsa took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “How about another game? Scrabble this time; I’m getting tired of chess.”

Kynan swore as he slashed through a tangle of vines with his machete. Two days, one dead man and thousands of trees later and they still hadn’t found Vana’s tree, much less an entire grove. The fruits were bright orange for pity’s sake, and they shouldn’t be this hard to spot, but a heavy fog had settled over the swamps, making progress difficult. Combined with high humidity and the voracious insect life, it made for miserable work.

Static crackled over his helmet. “Man down! Celgan stepped in a nest of water lizards. Medic is on the job.”

Kynan grimaced. Water lizards had a mild but swift poison, enough to take a grown man down and keep him there for the better part of a day. Those unlucky enough to be bitten while traveling alone could be half-eaten before they managed to crawl away. Another point went to the swamp; their numbers were down to eight.

Glowing insects began to stir with nightfall, lighting the swamps with their luminescent wings. The mists lightened and the triple moons glowed down, turning the vine draped trees into mysterious pillars of darkness. Weary and disheartened, the men awaited the dawn on the edge of the swamps.

A red sunrise woke the swamp, brightening to a raucous carnival of bird song. Kynan kept his eyes fixed on the trees where the birds called their warning, his men instinctively following suit. They were not disappointed. Within minutes a group of three men in full body armor had walked out. They halted fifteen paces from Kynan’s group, their hands at their sides, pointedly not reaching for their weapons.

Recognizing Nikon’s distinctive battle armor, Kynan tilted his head and waited. This would be interesting.

“Greetings.” Nikon studied them. In the fiery blush of sunrise, his helmet reflected red. “Rather far from home, aren’t you?”

Kynan kept his peace, waiting.

“I understand your queen has a sudden craving for fruit.”

The implications of that statement were not lost on Kynan’s group. Tersely, Kynan demanded, “Why are you here?”

Slowly, Nikon reached up and removed his helmet. It was the ultimate gesture of vulnerability, and an unmistakable pledge of truth. His blond hair was cropped short, and his green eyes were flat, grim, a perfect match for his stern features. “I may be your enemy, Kynan Kingsfriend, but I am the last man who would poison your women. Steal them, yes. Murder all hope of future generations, no. My men have collected fruit from the Mother Tree for you. I understand time is short? Accept them now, and I will collect on my debt later.”

Kynan eyed him, wondering who his spies were. “You know who loosed the virus.”

“No, but I know you’ve recently taken a wife. Aren’t you eager to bring her medicine? Your time is short, Kynan.” It was a warning.

They needed the medicine. Now was not the time to hesitate, and though Dagon might want his head for it, his sovereign could sort it out later. Kynan had a feeling that Nikon had combed the swamp for at least ten miles and would guard every tree against interlopers. This time, Nikon had won. “Done. I’ll tell Dagon to expect you.”

He hoped this costly fruit worked, or Dagon was going to bury him with it.

Dagon spent more time on his knees in his grandfather’s chapel than he cared to admit. The small chamber was built of unassuming gray blocks with a small amount of carving around the windows and the block that served as an altar. There were no images in the room or glass in the windows, but the austere chamber held majesty. Generations of kings had knelt on stone floor seeking guidance, wisdom and peace, and the walls had absorbed that golden outpouring, radiating an invisible aura of divine reassurance.

Odd how moments like that could make a man turn to the faith of his fathers, Dagon mused. He hadn’t made a habit of coming here, privately believing that God had abandoned his generation. The threat of extinction hadn’t made him bow, but the threat to his new family had humbled him in an instant.

Dagon looked up and contemplated the ceiling. It was hard for a man to admit he couldn’t save the world. Ultimately, that honor rested in his wife’s small hands, and in the forming hands of his daughter. Men might rule the world, but women created life, made it grow within them. Without the womb there was no kingdom to govern, and a king was as useless as the next man.

His knees creaked as he pushed away from the floor. Giving the altar one last nod of respect, he sought out his wife as he had every night since the quarantine, willing to face decontamination every time he left rather than let her sleep alone. In a week, perhaps, they would have the final verdict. Either the virus would have run its course or the Mother Tree would have done its job.

The waiting was killing him.

Kynan had brought back the fruit yesterday, along with news of Nikon’s deal. Dagon had a fair idea of what he would ask, and he wasn’t comfortable with providing it. Unfortunately, he had little choice. Honor demanded he give Nikon the same chance at a family that Nikon had given him.

Vana wasn’t going to like it.

“Bottoms up.” Vana couldn’t suppress a grimace as she took a hearty sip of the Mother Tree’s juice, shuddering as it went down. Astringent, with a bitter aftertaste, the liquid had the medics all excited and the women who had to drink it grouchy. It was killing the virus and all signs said that her tiny daughter was thriving on it, but it didn’t make it taste any better.

Kelsa’s image glared at her balefully from the view screen. “You couldn’t have found a medicine that tasted any worse, could you?”

Vana raised her brows and took a deliberate sip, trying not to flinch at the taste. “I don’t know, I think I’m actually getting used to it.”

Pinching her nose, Kelsa waited a minute to kill her taste buds and took a gulp. Shivering, she demanded nasally, “Couldn’t the cooks add some sugar or something? I feel like I’m drinking vinegar with alum.”

Vana’s mouth twitched in sympathy. “Sugar and cooking kills its active properties. The medics are trying to dehydrate it into pill form. Until then…” She raised her brows in helpless resignation and downed the rest of her drink, grateful it only took a small glass to get the desired effects. On the bright side, the orange tonic had cured her morning sickness.

Grateful to have the morning ritual completed, she waved to the harem on the view screen and turned it off until Kelsa could find a private terminal. She figured the communal juice drinking would make the medicine go down easier, and so far she’d been right. Thanks to a sense of humor she’d fostered about it, they now took it as a rite of passage unique to women, one of those bonding rituals that men could never share, like PMS and childbirth. Of course, so far none of the men were complaining about being left out.

Kelsa’s signal flashed on the console, and Vana turned on the view screen. Unusually serious, she studied Vana’s face. “Have they found out who gave you the virus yet? I think Kynan knows more than he’s telling me.”

Averting her eyes, for Vana had been warned not to discuss it, especially over the public terminal, she gave the stock answer. “They think it was someone from Nikon’s side.”

“Uh huh.” Kelsa’s brow rose. “I think I have a better idea who it might be.” Smart enough not to say more, she merely watched Vana for clues. “Are they going to get the death penalty? Attempted murder should at least warrant that.”

Vana sucked in her cheeks and fiddled with her water glass. “It’s not up to me. As the injured party, I’m not likely to be called as an impartial judge.”

“What about Dagon? Will he have a say?”

“It’s up to the council this time.”

“Is the suspect at least under guard?”

“It’s being handled, Kelsa. We don’t have enough evidence yet to make a formal accusation. You’ll know as soon as everything goes public.” It wasn’t a blessing to know the details of the case, not when Dagon’s mother was the prime suspect.

Dagon wasn’t surprised at the direction the evidence was going. No one knew Ellyn’s moods better, and he’d known that Ellyn wouldn’t take Vana’s public insult at the adoption ceremony lightly. She held a grudge forever, and while she could act in the best interests of their people, like helping the women to settle in, and initially helping to make Vana queen; she put her personal interests ahead of any political or philanthropic instincts. Her many public indiscretions were just a sample of her willfulness, and she wouldn’t hesitate to ruin Vana’s life, uncaring of what it did to Dagon and their people.

Bringing her to trial would be touchy. Dagon was determined to see her punished to the full extent of the law, but their society was staunchly conservative. He judged the odds of his council rendering a strong punishment as slim. It would help that women were no longer scarce, but Ellyn was a former queen and a revered matriarch. It wasn’t going to be easy to overcome their protective instincts.

“You can’t let her get away with it,” Kelsa said softly, voicing Vana’s thoughts. “She tried to kill your baby.”

Vana took a deep breath. “Let it wait. Hotheaded justice is no justice. She’s going to get what’s coming to her…Dagon will never rest until this is taken care of.”

Sadly, she wondered if Dagon would ever be able to rest afterward, either.

“Lighten up, Dagon!” Kynan parried Dagon’s strike with unusual force and disengaged, panting with anger and exertion.

Dagon stared at Kynan before allowing his guard to lower an inch, reluctantly recognizing his burning muscle’s need for air. “Sorry.”

Shooting him a skeptical look, Kynan sheathed his sword. “Tell that to my wife after you explain why my head is no longer attached.” He moved to the side of the room and swiped up his water jug, taking a hearty swig. Sweat trickled down his throat as he brushed his wet bangs off his face. “Council being difficult?”

Dagon looked away, heading for his own drink. “Always. I think I might have them close to seeing sense, though. Exile isn’t the answer, not for attempted genocide.” He kept his face closed, though he wanted nothing more than to destroy something. The mirrored walls of the practice room would do for a start.