Daughter of Lir (52 page)

She paraded him like a fine stallion. No doubt it delighted
her fancy to boast of a bright chestnut amid all the blacks and bays. She kept
him by her; when he tried to escape to the chariots, she said, “Let them rest.
Honor the Goddess for a while.”

No Goddess of his, he thought. But he kept on holding his
tongue. He even smiled, if tightly, at women and girls and even a few men who
admired him none too discreetly.

He was surprised not to find people rutting in the streets.
In daylight they ate and drank to glorious excess, danced in interweaving
circles through the city and the fields about it, and sat to hear singers sing
the whole Great Song of Lir from beginning to end. That was a three days’
labor, from dawn to dusk, in rounds of singers who took turn and turn about.

He was adept enough now in the language of this country to
understand most of the words. If the Song was to be believed, Lir had stood for
thousands and thousands of years. At first it had been the domain only of
Mothers, and horses were not known there. Then horsemen came off the steppe,
came to conquer but made alliance, and there were kings in Lir. Those kings had
defended the city for years out of count, while the Mothers ruled and judged
and interceded with the Goddess.

There was no Mother now. Priestesses and king were at
odds—they had quarreled often through the winter and spring. Lir was growing
old, and weakening in its age.

That was not so evident in the king’s house, where the lords
and defenders had gathered, warriors male and female, and a scattering of
guests and traders. The herdsmen from the south were there, wiry dark men who
had not the bulk or height of the men of Lir. They greeted Rhian with
wine-scented gladness.

She had in courtesy to pay her respects to the king. That
was brief enough: he was deep in colloquy with some of his warleaders. He
spared Rhian a smile and Minas a distracted glance.

Minas would have been content to find a place out of the
way, but Rhian would not let him go. She dragged him back to the herdsmen and
pulled him down with her at their table. They were loudly delighted to see her,
and openly fascinated by Minas.

As they plied both with food and drink, the one who had cast
eyes on Rhian thrust himself in beside Minas, flung an arm about his neck, and
grinned broadly at him. “You’re beautiful. She told us that, but we thought—I
don’t know what we thought. Maybe that love is blind.”

Minas felt the heat of mortification on his cheeks. They
were all grinning like a pack of wolves. He hid as best he could in a cup of
wine.

His tormentor laughed, embraced him and kissed him on both
cheeks. “Why, you’re shy! Who’d have thought it? See, he blushes!”

Minas began to see, through a red haze of rage, that this
was a man who made free with every creature, male, female, human, animal, it
did not matter. Among the People he would be dead. Warriors did not tolerate
such liberties.

Minas took pleasure in contemplating that slow and painful
death. He managed a smile—bland enough, he thought, until Rhian plucked him
from the circle and dragged him out of the hall. He followed willingly, but
even so, her grip was bruising-tight.

Outside the hall, in the shadow of a pillar, she stopped.
She was breathing hard. He stood in silence until she composed herself.

“You can’t kill a man here,” she said. “You shouldn’t even
think of it.”

He raised his brows. “I didn’t think I was that obvious.”

“If looks alone could kill,” she said, “that man’s head
would be on your spear.”

“That,” he said, “would be a pleasure.”

“He means no harm,” she said. “It’s only his way.”

“Did you bed him?”

She stared at him.

“Did you bed him?” he repeated. “While you were among the
herds—did you find him charming?”

“I found him tedious,” she said. “But he’s very good with
the horses.”

“Then he should stay with the horses,” Minas said.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him till he was
dizzy. While he stood reeling, struggling to breathe, she slapped him lightly,
first one cheek, then the other. “You don’t own me,” she said.

“No,” he said. “You own me.”

“You should remember that,” she said.

“You did,” he said. “You did bed him.”

“If it had been you, and he had been she, and you had taken
her as tribesmen do, would I be permitted to be jealous?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t lie,” she said. “Don’t be a fool, either. Consider
where I am now, and where I was last night, and will be tonight, unless you
annoy me excessively. I told you before—I’ve lost my taste for black-haired
men.”

“I pray you never get it back,” he said.

She drew his plait over his shoulder and wrapped it around
her hand. “I pray you never encourage me to get it back.”

He bit his tongue. She nodded approval of his prudence,
moving closer, opening her mouth to speak: something light, from her
expression; something wicked.

She never said it. His back was to the pillar. She could see
past him to the entrance of the hall.

People were coming and going, a constant bustle and clamor,
but just then it stopped. Just as Rhian did, they all stared.

Minas moved to see what so engrossed them. Rhian’s arms
tightened. He twisted in them, peering past the pillar.

His heart stilled.

Men of the People, warriors, charioteers. He knew them very
well. They were his brothers, sons of his father. And in the midst of them,
guarded like a treasure of great price, a woman in veils and gold. She had a
shadow, a woman likewise veiled, but the maid’s eyes were lowered. Hers stared
boldly into the hall.

Westerners were with them. Priestesses. The one who walked
foremost, he recognized: he had seen her in that same hall when he first came
to Lir. She was one of those who had wanted to kill Rhian when she was born.

It must be a deep pleasure for her to bring the witch Etena
into the king’s hall. She made it seem that she honored the king with her
presence, bringing this guest who had, she made it clear, insisted on being
presented to the king of Lir.

Minas struggled against the arms that held him. They had had
no warning. None at all. And she was walking through the unguarded gate,
approaching the king, entering into this world that did not know what she was.

Rhian was stronger than a woman had a right to be. He fought
her, but he was weak; he could not strike the blow that would set him free.

He lunged against her grip. It broke. He half-fell against
the frame of the gate, and stood staring.

Etena and her escort had come to a halt in front of the
king. The priestess was speaking. “Lord of warriors, I bring you a guest and an
ambassador. She begs you to hear her, and to offer her sanctuary.”

The king had risen at their coming. He looked strikingly
like his son whom Etena had bought as a slave—who was not here with her. Minas
would have given a hoard of bronze to see what expression she wore, looking up
at that face.

The king’s expression was unreadable at that distance, and
with his face so thoroughly concealed by the thick greying beard. He looked
down at the strangers. The priestess he did not acknowledge at all. “I will
hear you,” he said to Etena.

Etena said nothing. The priestess spoke for her again, as
the Voice spoke for the Goddess. “I come from the east,” she said, “from the
sea of grass. I bring a gift to you: chariots, and charioteers. I ask your
protection.”

“Protection?” asked the king.

“Against my enemies,” the priestess said. “They have
murdered my husband, my king. They have driven me into exile.”

Minas’ knees buckled. He clung to the frame of the gate. Of
course—of course she would be an exile, if she was here. But if she was—if the
king was dead—then—

“You have come far,” the king said, “to find sanctuary.”

“I came to the Goddess, who protects all women.” That was
Etena herself, in the traders’ tongue. She advanced from among the rest and
flung herself at the king’s feet. “My lord, I fled death and dark magic to seek
the Goddess’ aid. I was hounded across the steppe, and hunted to the river.
Only when I had crossed it did I find myself safe.”

“I see that you have found the Goddess’ protection,” the
king said. “No tribes have crossed the river; the steppe is quiet. For what,
lady, do you need me?”

“For your strong hand,” Etena said, “and the defense of your
name. I am an easterner, my lord. We trust in the protection of men, and in the
strength of warriors.”

“The Goddess protects you,” said the king. “I serve the
Goddess, as do all men and women in Lir.” He beckoned to the servants. “Come,
eat, drink. Share our festival.”

Minas came out of darkness under a crushing weight. As
light brightened about him and his wits recovered themselves, he realized that
he was flat on the tiled floor. There was a brawny black-bearded man on his
chest and another on his legs. Rhian was standing over them all, glaring at
him.

“Let me—” Minas gasped. “Let me up.”

She nodded to his captors. They hauled him to his feet, but
kept a firm grip on him.

“You will not kill her,” Rhian said. “You will
not
. Do you understand me?”

“I understand that that sorceress has somehow, by the will
of the gods below, found her way to this country and set her claws in your
king. I also understand that she has corrupted your priestesses. She breathes
poison here as she did among the People. The sooner she is dead, the better for
you all. Does it even occur to you to wonder how she came here? Who cast her
down? And where your king’s heir is?”

“If you kill her,” Rhian pointed out, “we’ll never know any
of that.”

“I’ll ask, then kill.”

“No killing.”

To his astonishment, she bade his captors let him go. They
grinned and petted him like a dog, and at the arch of Rhian’s brow, wandered
off in search of further amusement.

Minas was beyond anger, and almost beyond humiliation. “The
gods are laughing at us,” he said.

“Listen to me,” said Rhian. “Listen very carefully. She
knows you’re here—the priestesses will have made sure of it. We are going to
throw her into confusion. Can you master yourself? Can you follow my lead, and
act exactly as I bid you act?”

Minas eyed her warily. “How shall I act? Groveling like a
slave?”

“Like an honored guest and a prince in exile.”

“Then I shall have to call for her death,” he said, “because
she is my enemy from life into life.”

Rhian struck him hard, with none of his weakness that kept
him from striking a woman. As he reeled under the blow, she hissed at him.
“Stop that! Think—if you are capable of it. She expects to find a slave, beaten
down, vanquished. If you give her the truth of you, and make it clear that you
enjoy the king’s favor, that will throw her off balance. Then,” she said,
“then, when we can, we’ll warn the king. Though I think he sees her for what
she is. Did you notice? He didn’t welcome her to Lir. He’ll feed her, because
that is the law of the festival, but more than that he’ll not give her.”

Minas blinked. He was still dizzy.

She shook him, which did not help at all. “This is not your
tribe. Our men are not like your men. They know how strong a woman can be. She
could blind your king and seduce him and destroy him. But not ours.”

“No,” he said. “Only your priestesses.”

Rhian did not hear him, or chose not to hear. “Follow,” she
said. “Remember. We will destroy her—but not now. Not today.”

He set his teeth and lowered his eyes and hoped that she
would take that for acceptance. It seemed she did. She turned on her heel and
swept into the hall. He strode in her wake.

o0o

She did not reduce them all to silence as the others had.
Rather the opposite in fact. Two who left as abruptly as they had were known to
have left in honor of the Goddess, as people spoke of it here. Rhian encouraged
them to think so by linking hands with Minas and drawing him to a place near
the king.

As it happened, some of the chariotmakers were there, and
some of the tamers of horses: a much more congenial gathering than the herdsmen
from the south. They were drinking wine and telling tales.

Mabon the captain reeled into their orbit and dropped beside
Minas. He was flying high with wine, or so it seemed; he challenged them to
sing a song that had nigh as many verses as the Great Song of Lir.

Under cover of it, he leaned toward Minas and said
distinctly in his ear, “Stables, later. Both of you.”

Minas sketched a nod. From where he sat, he could see the
king and his unexpected guests. They could hardly fail to see him, surrounded
as he was by black-haired people.

As he had hoped, one of his brothers caught sight of him. It
was gratifying to see how he started and suddenly paled. Minas smiled the sweetly
terrible smile he had learned from Rhian, raised his cup and saluted with it.

Lycon looked ready to faint. Clion next to him turned from
eyeing the full-breasted girl who served them, saw what he was staring at, and
leaned toward Sardis on his other side, whispering rapidly.

Minas watched the whisper travel toward Etena. When it
reached her she stiffened wonderfully. She was too wise to let Minas know she
was aware of him, but he had no doubt of it. He let his smile linger, dreaming
of sinking his dagger in her heart, and carving it living from her breast.

Rhian’s substantial weight dropped into his lap. She linked
arms about his neck and nibbled his ear. Just as he sighed, letting the
pleasure wash through him, she nipped him hard enough to bleed. He bit back a
yelp.

“You look like a man in love,” she said in the wounded ear:
“ready to eat her alive.”

“Heart first,” he murmured. “Then liver. Liver is sweet, raw
and warm—
ah
!”