The Sword And The Pen (8 page)

No one guarded the treasures so casually on view, either. People moved freely among the booths, and in and out of the shops. Their voices and the laughter of the children skipping alongside nearly drowned out the sound of music playing. How different this marketplace was from those at home. Merchants there guarded their scant precious wares diligently against the beggars and thieves that abounded because of Roark's lackluster system of justice in the areas he controlled.

I wanted to stop and absorb everything, but the wizard hurried me into what appeared to be a clothing shop. Once inside, the level of commotion decreased. Different music played here, a soft, soothing tune. Though bright enough to reveal rack after rack of beautiful clothing, the lighting was muted and easier on my aching eyes.

"May I help you?" an elegant if strangely clad woman asked. Though how could I tell. Everyone I'd seen so far was dressed oddly. She gazed at the wizard with feminine interest.

"Yes, my friend needs some clothing," the wizard answered. He seemed unaware of her perusal, unaware of his masculine appeal. How unlike Donnie, who, though he'd never acted upon it during our time together, was well aware of his affect on women.

"Of course." The woman nodded and turned her gaze from the wizard to me with obvious reluctance.

I didn't understand the surge of possessiveness that made me lean in toward him. With a disappointed sigh, the woman said, "What type of attire is your friend interested in?"

Since she addressed the question to the wizard rather than me, and unsure of how to answer anyway, I shrugged.

"Casual stuff," the wizard answered. "Slacks, shorts, shirts and shoes. Also, she'll need underwear."

I grinned, recognizing his discomfiture.

"Almost a complete wardrobe," he continued. "Airlines lost her luggage."

"Airlines?" I asked, then grunted as he poked me in the ribs with his elbow.

The woman raised an eyebrow and asked me, "What size do you wear?"

"My friend doesn't speak much English," the wizard interrupted. "I don't think she knows her American size. She's been out of touch for a long time, so she's not up to date with styles and such, either. Maybe you can help her pick out something flattering."

He smiled at her, and the way the woman fell all over herself to help him made my gut churn. "I'll just wait here while you ladies shop." He plopped himself down on a chair in an open area of the large store.

The woman quickly turned professional. She stuffed me into a small stall lined with mirrors, and handed me item after item of clothing to try on. Usually clothes held little interest for me; they were merely something to cover and protect me from the elements--and looking back, the ones I'd worn had done exceedingly well consider their design. But these articles of clothing were different. Made of soft, colorful cloth, they felt good against my skin. When I looked in the mirror I barely recognized the tall, shapely woman looking back at me. I was like a courtier!

I studied several small tags attached to the clothing. Some of the words about the care of the fabric I could read, but being unfamiliar with this world's monetary system I couldn't decipher the costs. How much was $100 in gold or silver coin?

Again I wondered why the wizard hadn't conjured me some clothing instead of bringing me to this amazing bazaar and spending his coin. Did he mean to intimidate me with its size and splendor, cow me into acquiescence with this show of wealth, if indeed that was what this was? I had to assume it was, what with all the glass walls and sumptuous fabrics. But why do this when he had merely to speak a spell to put me back under his control?

None of the solutions I considered fit the man I was coming to know. The wizard was kind and considerate. Funny and intense. Stubborn and frustrating. With him, I felt like more than a simple commander of troops, more than Barue's last and best hope to defeat Roark. More than his creation. He made me feel my life, my wants, my needs mattered. He fed and clothed me. He spoke of me and to me as a real person.

Another more disturbing idea occurred to me. Perhaps he wasn't the powerful but inept wizard I believed him to be. If he was indeed only what he claimed--a scribe or troubadour--how and why had I come to be here? What power had summoned or created me?

And what chance did I have of ever returning to my home?

Brandon watched as Seri tried on outfit after outfit, shorts, slacks, skirts, blouses and shoes in a dozen different combinations, each more attractive than the last. Considering how much he'd hated shopping with Wanda, he was surprised to find himself enjoying the impromptu fashion show. And maybe it was because of Seri's reluctance to accept more than the bare minimum from him, but he insisted on buying almost everything she tried on. Her restrained pleasure and excitement was infectious.

She came out of the dressing room in an ankle-length wispy dress that molded to her upper body like a second skin and floated around her hips and legs like a cloud, and his heart rate accelerated. The soft cream color with its pale rose pattern turned her complexion a honey gold, and her hair to bronze. Thin straps left her shoulders and arms bare, while its scooped neckline emphasized her breasts. Though this dress covered more of her body than the skimpy outfit of earlier, it stirred his imagination and libido to new heights.

A touch of insecurity entered her eyes as he stared.

"We'll take it," he said, and handed the saleswoman his credit card. "Wrap up the rest. She'll wear this home."

Smiling, the saleswoman gathered up the clothing and hurried off to ring up the sale before he changed his mind. Brandon could almost see her mentally calculating her commission, and he was glad he'd made both women happy.

"It's not practical!" Seri stroked the material covering her hip with a loving hand. "You've already purchased far more than I need."

Whatever this woman was after, he didn't think it had anything to do with money. He shrugged. "Consider it payment."

"Payment for what?" Her gaze was wary.

"I don't know. For helping me overcome writer's block?"

"And how do I perform this task?"

He ran his hand over the base of his neck. "I'm not sure, but we'll work something out. For now, just enjoy the clothing."

"I--" She started to speak, but was interrupted by the saleswoman's return.

Brandon signed the credit card receipt and made arrangements to have the clothing delivered, he didn't care to have to cart the numerous bags and boxes, and then turned to Seri. "Come on, let's get out of here." He glanced at his watch. "It's nearly one. Are you hungry?"

She grinned. "Starving."

Back out in the mall, the reality of the sci-fi/fantasy fair hit him. The noise and the people swarming everywhere made him feel claustrophobic. His heart started to pound and his palms grew damp.

Seri, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the excitement. Her hunger apparently forgotten, she dragged him along as she moved from booth to booth to see the fair merchandise. A booth selling swords and knives caught her attention. To keep pace with her, Brandon pushed away his impending panic.

Before he could stop her, she picked up a sword. Without putting any of the people around her at risk, she tested its weight and balance with a series of ballet-like movements. Her dress swirled around her legs as she moved. Several people applauded.

"Wow!" the young man in the booth said. "You're good. A complete natural with that. Are you interested in buying it?"

"Thank you, but no. The balance on this sword is off." She carefully replaced the weapon. "In battle that could mean the difference between life and death."

The young man's smile wavered. "Yeah, well, most people just hang them on their walls." He stared at her for a moment. "You look familiar. I know!" He grabbed a well-read paperback from behind the counter.

Brandon cringed. He tried to tug Seri away, but she was busy examining the display of knives.

"You look like her." The young man shoved a copy of Warrior Woman: Serilda's Valor under her nose.

Memory of what he'd read the night before increased Brandon's growing panic.

She grimaced at the scantily clad woman holding a sword aloft in two hands as she stood over the body of a fallen opponent. "I don't believe so," she replied.

"Yes, you do. Though you're prettier."

"Thank you." Seri smiled at the young man.

He blushed and turned his gaze on Brandon. An expression of amusement crossed his face. "Hey, man, if your hair was longer you could almost pass for Donoval. Are you two here for the contest?"

He groaned. As promotion for his next Warrior Woman book, SERILDA'S JUDGMENT, and the pending movie deal, his publisher was running this contest. Insane. Ridiculous. As if any real woman could compare to the image in his mind.

The woman next to you far surpasses it.

He ignored the annoying voice in his head.

"No," he snapped at the young man. Before Seri could ask, Brandon grabbed her arm and pulled her away. Unfortunately he headed the wrong direction and ran smack into the middle of the festivities. Everywhere he looked, men and women were dressed in costumes straight out of the pages of his books. He and Seri were surrounded.

Seri froze in her tracks, pulling him to a stop. "What is this?" she demanded.

"You don't want to know," he muttered, and reached again for her arm. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Mauri?" She evaded his grasp and took a step in the direction of a young girl dressed in costume.

The child looked up and smiled, but then an older woman in a Serilda costume and a red wig took her hand and led her toward a low stage in the middle of the mall's main court.

"Here we have Megan O'Connor as Mauri," a man's voice said over the loudspeaker. The stage where the girl was being presented was set to resemble the great hall in the castle Andre Roark had commandeered.

Seri flinched, and looked at Brandon in growing confusion. He had to get her out of here.

"Lovely costume, Megan. Judges, what do you think?" the announcer continued.

Before Brandon could snag her arm, Seri moved toward the stage as if in a trance.

"Wow! You're Brandon Davis. The Brandon Davis." A young man stepped between him and Seri. "They said you wouldn't be here. Would you sign my books?" He shoved a stack of novels and a pen into Brandon's hands.

Not wanting to call any more attention to himself, he murmured an assent and dashed off his signature inside the books. By the time he finished and managed to slip away, the announcer was speaking again.

"Thank you, Megan. We'll take a short break while the judges tally the vote for the Mauri lookalike and then we'll come back for the main event." The announcer paused for effect. "The Serilda contestants! So stick around, folks. The best is yet to come."

Brandon looked around. He'd lost Seri.

*** *** ***

In a fog, I watched the little girl move across the dais and disappear into the crowd. Everywhere I looked I saw people I knew: Jole, Hausic, and several girls of ten and three who bore more than a passing resemblance to Mauri. They hovered around the dais. And yet, none of them was who they appeared.

I grabbed one girl by the arm and turned her to face me. She squeaked in alarm and tried to twist free. I held tight and peered into her face. Pale blue eyes, not dark brown met my own.

"Lady, let me go or I'll call my mom," the girl said.

I released her and stumbled back. Was this some trick of the wizard's? Had he summoned alternate versions of his creations as a frightening display of his power? And none of these people seemed aware of not being real. They appeared entirely comfortable in this world.

I battled the panic churning inside me. An ache formed behind my eyes.

"Lady, you'd better get into costume," the youth from the sword merchant's booth said at my side. "You look like Serilda, but you'll never win in that getup."

I turned to him in confusion. "Costume? I don't have a costume."

"That's too bad. I've seen some of the other contestants and you'd win hands down. Hey, I know what. I've got a friend over at another booth who might be willing to help you out if you'd agree to mention his shop if you win. Come with me."

I hesitated for a moment and scanned the area for the wizard. He was nowhere in sight. Where had he gone? Did I dare leave his side? Had he abandoned me?

"I'm Matt. Come on. First prize is a hundred bucks." The lad reminded me of Jole in manner if not in looks.

"Bucks?"

He grinned at my lack of understanding. "Bread. Cash. Money. You know, coin of the realm."

I had no idea what things cost in this world, but a hundred sounded like a substantial amount, the same as the cost of the one item of clothing the wizard purchased for me. Perhaps I could repay him for some of what he'd spent.

Matt grabbed my arm and tugged me deeper into the crowd. Curious to see what would happen, I followed.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Matt hurried me to a booth filled with garments similar to those I was familiar wearing. The proprietor, an older man named Rick, smiled when he saw me. After a brief discussion he agreed to provide me with attire for this contest to see who most resembled the people from my world. I'm not sure why I agreed to participate in such an odd endeavor, but Matt and Rick's friendliness, and their enthusiasm for the competition, eased my apprehensions.

Soon I found myself clothed in leather sandals, soft leather trousers and a cloth tunic. Matt handed me the sword I had tested earlier, and I strapped a wide belt around my waist. Not giving myself time to consider the wisdom of what was happening, I let him rush me back over to the dais.

"Good luck," he said. "We're just in time."

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, what we've all been waiting for: the contestants for Serilda!"

Four women dressed in versions of my leather bra and skirt outfit went to stand on the dais, and I followed suit. I now wore a much more practical outfit than usual. The sight reminded me of how the wizard had manipulated me for so long. Amusement soothed my resentment, however. None of these women bore even a passing resemblance to me. Though all had short reddish hair, one was tall and flat-chested, the other short and plump, another too old and the last too young.