The Sword And The Pen (18 page)

"I know it sounds crazy." As the words poured out of me, I knew I was mangling everything. "Somehow I've been transported into my fictional world, into Donoval's body."

With each word, the storm in her eyes grew. "For what purpose do you spin this bizarre tale?"

In desperation, I knelt at her feet and clasped her icy fingers in mine. "You have to believe me." As I hadn't believed her. "Your life depends on it."

"Enough!" she roared.

Wrenching her hands from mine, she jumped to her feet. The action knocked me back on my tailbone. Pain shot up my spine.

"Do you still think me a simple-minded fool? What do you gain by spouting this insane tale?" She paced back and forth.

I eased myself to my feet as she continued her tirade. "Seri--"

"Do not use that ridiculous name. I am Serilda d'Lar. Lady d'Lar to you." She came to a halt; her tone grew harsh and foreboding. "You may be king in Shallon, but here you have no authority. No power. Here, you are just a man. You are Donoval. Not a person of another world." Her tone softened with concern and compassion. "Have a care how you speak. There are those who covet Shallon's riches, King Donoval. You are Shallon's strength. Do not fail her."

I slumped into the chair. I'd bungled this badly. What could I do to convince her of my identity, of the truth? Without her help we were both trapped. Maybe we were anyway.

I remembered my confusion when she appeared in my home, my failure to believe what she told me, who she was. How could I expect her to believe what even to my ears sounded like the ravings of a madman?

Maybe I was mad, even now locked away in some padded room, babbling insanely.

I considered using her enchanted name. Would using it give me power over her? I wasn't sure, and given her anger I feared she might run me through if I tried. Probably best to skip it.

I had to find a way back to the real world, and I had to figure out how to take Seri with me before the events I'd written played out to their deadly end. Before I blacked out, I'd been attempting to rewrite that ending, but I couldn't remember if I'd succeeded. When I tried to grasp the memory of what I'd written, the thoughts crumbled like termite-riddled wood.

"Donoval?"

No, I wasn't crazy. This was real. I was real. Seri was hovering over me, looking at me with concern that was real.

"Donoval, talk to me. Tell me how to help you."

She was right. Though my mind might rebel at the idea, in this world I was King Donoval of Shallon. If I wanted to find a way home it behooved me to play the part. I tried to think how Donoval would handle this situation--as if "perfect in his own mind Donoval" would ever find himself in this fucked up state of affairs.

I'd created him during a period in my life when I wanted nothing more than to be free of any emotional baggage, to be physically and mentally self-sufficient. A man so sure of who and what he was, he needed no one else in his life. Single-minded in his purpose. No inner conflicts or doubts. No flaws.

No heart.

I'd made him perfect, without any resemblance to a real human being--which was probably the reason his character didn't catch on with readers the way Serilda's had. Readers found him one-dimensional and hard to identify with.

It occurred to me that Donoval and I were not so different. Oh, I was far from perfect in any way, but like him, I avoided emotional involvement. To protect myself from the pain of rejection, I kept people at a distance. If I never let them touch me, I couldn't get hurt when they left. I poured all my emotions into building my fictional world, but allowed my characters to experience little of it.

It had been over seven years since I wrote the last Barbarian King book, four years since Donoval had even appeared in a Warrior Woman book. The particulars of his personality--aside from his absolute perfection--had faded in my mind, colored by Serilda's impressions, memories and feelings about him. Unlike some authors, I didn't have a good memory for my stories. I had book bibles to keep track of the characters and details of the worlds I created, but those bibles weren't available to me here. I'd have to rely on my faulty recollections.

In my mind I frantically plotted and discarded idea after idea before an acceptable story line came to me. I prayed that I could be as good an actor as I believed I was a writer.

I leaned forward and groaned.

"Do you need the healer?" Seri asked, alarm replaced anger.

"No!" I straightened. "My head is clear now. Forgive my rantings. On my journey here I was attacked by bandits and took a blow to my head. I spoke of nothing more than a dream."

"The healer mentioned no injury to your head." She looked doubtful of my claim.

I summoned my most autocratic voice. "Then he is a f-fool." My voice cracked as she ran her fingers through my hair searching for lumps.

"She," Serilda corrected. "The healer is a she."

"That explains the oversight."

Her anger stirred again by my chauvinistic attitude, she accepted my less than brilliant explanation. Bristling at my tone, she snatched her hand away. Her fingers caught in my hair, pulling me forward until our faces were a breath apart. Her lips parted on a puff of air. The sweet taste of her breath touched my tongue. This time my groan was real.

A hint of pink touched her cheeks before she scrambled to her feet. "Why have you come?"

"I heard of your siege of Roark's castle."

"And came to revel in my failure?"

"You think so poorly of my character that you believe I'd celebrate your defeat? I'm crushed."

She gave me a puzzled look.

Maintaining Donoval's persona was harder than I thought. He really was a pompous ass. No wonder my readers preferred Seri.

"If not to gloat, why are you here?"

"To ask you once again to give up your quest for vengeance and bond with me," I improvised.

"Vengeance is but a small part of why I fight. I battle not only for myself, but also for the people of Barue. I cannot, will not abandon them to Roark and his kind."

Rather than yield to one man, she would devote herself to her people.

Before she could protest further, I pressed a finger to her lips. I gambled that her commitment to her people would overcome her need to be free of obligation to another--to Donoval. "Think before you decide. Give me the right to carry this burden for you. Perhaps you'll defeat Roark without my help, but at what cost? And what of the next power-mad despot? As a protectorate of Shallon, Barue will enjoy peace, prosperity and freedom from oppression. Is your personal freedom worth the cost of your people's? Let me do what you cannot: free them."

I wanted to say more. As Brandon and as Donoval. To tell her she'd more than proven herself. To tell her of my admiration for her strength and courage in the face of overwhelming odds. To tell her I'd never demand she surrender her independence.

To tell her I loved her.

But Donoval would never say those things. And if he did say them, she'd never believe him. I doubt he'd have the sense to think them. Damn his stubborn machismo. And damn me for creating him thus.

Serilda eyed me suspiciously. "If you seek to help me defeat Roark, why have you come alone?"

I searched my Swiss cheese memory for what I'd written before I'd blacked out. Bits of my revised plot came to me. "My troops needed time to prepare. I didn't want to wait."

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared. Since becoming king of Shallon, Donoval was always surrounded by bodyguards. From what I remembered of my revised ending, King Donoval arrived with a full contingent of troops; he didn't appear naked in her bed. It seemed the universe didn't take kindly to my intervention and had decided to stir things up a bit.

Suddenly, I wished I'd listened closer to Grandma's stories. I recalled something about how, by rejecting the real world for a fictional one, a writer summoned it into existence. Once it took physical form, the writer no longer completely controlled it.

Damn, the snatches I remembered weren't much help in figuring out what to do, and I scrambled to come up with an acceptable explanation.

"My guard was killed in the attack."

She didn't look convinced. "We found no evidence of this, no signs of an attack, no bodies."

I shrugged, but didn't offer any further details.

After a few moments she said, "If I agree to your terms, how long before your troops arrive?"

"I need only send a message and they'll come." I could only hope that the message didn't end up delivered to another King Donoval, who'd wonder what the hell was going on. No, I was sure that wouldn't happen. I had Donoval's body. I rubbed my palm over my flat, hard belly, and couldn't help but grin at the firm abs. I could get comfortable in this body.

"Dictate your missive." She bent over the desk and picked up a quill.

"Then, you agree to my terms? In exchange for my help, you'll bond with me?"

"With certain stipulations."

She gave me an odd look when I took the quill from her hand. To hide my grin, I bowed my head over the parchment. No wonder Donoval hadn't been able to bend her to his will. With her back against the wall she still negotiated the terms of her surrender. "Which are?"

"I'll bond with you after Roark is defeated and Barue is free."

"Fair enough," I agreed. If I failed, we'd both be dead anyway.

"And Barue shall remain a protectorate of Shallon only until the rightful heir to the Barue monarchy is found and set on the throne."

"You believe the heir is still alive? It's been eighteen years since Roark murdered the royal family."

During that attack, the newborn heir had been spirited away and hidden.

"Yes. I've been searching for years. My trackers found the nurse who took the infant to safety."

"So, you know who and where the heir is?"

"Not yet. The nurse is old and feeble, her memory spotty. But I will."

Yes, she would. To resolve that ongoing plot thread, the heir would be revealed by Roark just before his and Serilda's final fight. Wouldn't she be surprised and pleased when she learned the identity of the missing heir! Although, with the way it had originally ended. . .

No. I couldn't think that way. Things were going to change.

"And if the heir is never located?" It wouldn't do for me--for Donoval--to capitulate too easily.

"Then Barue will remain under the control and protection of Shallon until you deem otherwise," she granted reluctantly.

"Very well. I agree to your terms."

"Don't count the coins in your coffer too soon. We will find the heir. I'm certain."

"I hope you do. Having Barue as a strong ally on Shallon's southern border is preferable to having her as a weak territory."

She gave me a stunned look. If not for Donoval's insistence on turning Barue into a Shallon colony, rather than granting her independence, Seri would have long ago sacrificed her liberty for Barue's.

I signed my message with a flourish, folded and sealed it with the hot wax she provided then pressed the heavy royal ring I wore into the wax. Feeling hopeful I could change the fate I'd written for Seri, I leaned back. Now we would see what the day had in store.

*** *** ***

As Serilda dispatched her fastest messenger to Shallon, she pondered the Donoval puzzle. He wasn't the man she remembered. He might look the same, all tempting hard muscle and innate sex appeal, but his way of speaking and his attitudes were different. Though in exchange for his help he demanded her as his bond mate, she sensed he no longer wanted to control her every action. His willingness to listen as she spoke, considering and conceding to her logical requests, stirred her, resurrected in her the youthful passion she'd felt for him before she'd discovered his rigid views of a woman's place in the world.

But his bizarre if quickly abandoned story of being from a different world, of Barue and herself being his creations, made her question his reason. What had altered his attitude? Were his delusions merely a result of a blow to the head? Something nagged at her mind, an elusive memory of another place, another time, another existence. When she reached for them, the images dissolved, leaving her head aching and her heart empty.

Unable to decipher the Donoval riddle, she shook off her bemusement. She had no time for hopeless fantasies. Praising Algidar for Donoval's timely assistance in her fight, she summoned Hausic and returned to her tent to plan her battle strategy.

She found Donoval, brows pulled together in concentration, hunched over her maps and diagrams. He scribbled furiously on a piece of parchment. Another anomaly. With a natural instinct for battle tactics, Donoval was a powerful warrior and an authoritative leader, but when they'd met, like most people he'd been illiterate. After he'd won the throne of Shallon she'd convinced him a king needed the skills of reading and writing, and he'd reluctantly allowed her to teach him the basics, though he'd been a poor student with little patience for intellectual pursuits. Despite her efforts, he'd found reading difficult and writing nearly impossible.

Her years with the monks had instilled in her a love of reading, so the thought of being bound to a man who dismissed books as unnecessary frivolities had thrown the first damper on her lust. Now, to see him writing with ease made her speculate what else about him had changed.

Absorbed by his thoughts, he absently tapped the quill against his mouth. She grinned. Splotches of ink stained his fingers and lips, giving him a monkish look at odds with his commanding physical presence.

"What do you write?" She peered over his arm.

"Nothing."

Before she could decipher his scrawl, he crumbled and tossed the parchment into the fire.

"I think I've found a way into Roark's castle."

She dismissed his claim. "Impossible. I've studied the castle diagrams for hours."

"Infiltrating this castle is not impossible. King Aldredge commissioned it built to guard Barue's southernmost border. The castle, main bailey and surrounding walls were finished just before the royal family was killed. But the moat was never dug, nor is there a village attached to it. After the royal family's deaths it was abandoned, and it has stood empty for nearly twenty years."