VirtualDesire (32 page)

“Oh, no. I feel…terrible.” She hugged her stomach, then
leaned over and threw up. She raised a hand before he could say a word. “Don’t
say it, I’m not feminine.”

“I was going to say you are too compassionate. He needed to
be punished for the hanging of the serving boy, if nothing else.” Vad took the
AK-47 and the smaller gun, and buried them along with their master in the
hillside, far away from the eight-branched tree and any future treasure seekers.

“What now?” she asked as he scattered the last of the earth
over the grave. They stood on the hillside and watched the snow melt in the
Tolemac sun. “How are we going to pass the hounds?”

“We do not need to pass them.”

“Then how do we get home? Ah, you’re thinking about the
dragons Narfrom killed, aren’t you?”

“Nay. I am thinking of the dreams I had when you were
healing me.” He took her hand and led her back along the hillside to the tree.
“I remembered who I was, my mother, how I came to be here.”

“Mittens?” She squeezed his fingers.

“Aye. I remembered mittens, too.” He scratched his scar.
“And something called Wheatabix.”

“That’s not a word in my vocabulary.”

“Perhaps one day…” He let the sentence die away.

One day might never come.
Gwen’s stomach churned as
he turned from her and looked out over the landscape. What was he thinking?
Wishing? Regretting? “How are we going to get past the hounds?” she asked to
prod him back to the here and now.

“The Seat of Wishes.”

“But it’s missing.”

“I think not.” His strong hands wrapped around her waist,
and he lifted her atop the cairn of rocks. “Can you not sit here and look over
the countryside? Think on your fate? Contemplate your future?”

“Make a wish?” she asked.

“Aye.” He scooped up the caldron and sat at her side. “It
cannot hurt to try.”

She snuggled her hip against his and wrapped her arms around
his waist. She linked her fingers around the handle of his knife and made sure
her new ring was lying against the engraving.

“What should we say?” he asked, a frown on his face.

“I don’t know. Why not…’Take us to the Tolemac council’?”

Vad swore and pushed Gwen aside. He lay half-on and half-off
a small padded stool that was digging painfully into his manhood inside the
Tolemac council tent. Luckily, it was a deserted Tolemac council tent. Gwen
moaned. He regretted pushing her away, and made amends by helping her to her
feet.

“Wow. That was incredible.” She rubbed her elbow. “One
moment there, the next here.”

Vad studied her face as she swayed in place. “Your face looks
green.”

She dumped the treasures out of the caldron just in time to
throw up in it.

“I guess I don’t travel so well.” She smiled wanly and
peered into the caldron. “I hope this doesn’t affect its magic.”

“Are you often sick?” he asked, stroking her hair from her
damp forehead. He spoke softly, mindful of sentries who might be patrolling
outside. The council tent was deserted, dim, but lit enough from the residual
glow of the sun for him to see she was going to faint.

He pulled her to Samoht’s seat and pushed her into it.

“I’m never sick,” she said over the caldron. “Well, just
that once when we arrived on Nilrem’s mountain.”

“You are with child.” He crossed his arms on his chest and
grinned.

Gwen flopped back in the chair and put a hand to her
stomach. “I can’t be. Remember? I have an implant.”

“I know what I know. I have bathed you in my seed. You are
with child.”

She groaned. “Can’t you express it in a different way?”

“I have loved you at the appropriate time of your cycle. Is
that more to your liking?” He grinned even wider.

“No, it’s not. And I’m not.” She would
not
be
pregnant. It wasn’t possible. She could not be pregnant here. Not here where
children of slaves were…slaves. “What’s our next step?” she said hurriedly.
“Other than cleaning this caldron?”

“We will garb you for the presentation. I will no longer
hide who you are, or why I must be joined to you.” He took the caldron with a
sour look and held it at arm’s length. Gwen gathered the rest of the treasures
and followed him as he lifted the tent flap and stepped boldly into the camp.

With all the authority of a true Tolemac warrior, Vad
demanded to be shown to Ardra’s tent. Three sentries accompanied them. Ardra
dwelled in one of the black tents marked with the distinctive banner with a single
red rose.

Vad handed the caldron to a servant crouched by the tent
flap and ordered him to clean it out. Ardra rose from the nest of pillows on
which she sat.

“Vad!” She ran into his arms. Gwen did not look away. They
looked great in each other’s arms, but now she understood who really belonged
there. How Vad would accomplish it, she didn’t know.

“Mistress Ardra,” he said very formally, setting her aside.
“Can you secure garments for Gwen? A gown, something very…feminine. I do not
wish to have anyone mistake her for a male when we go before the council.”

“You will wait for the morrow, will you not? You must rest.”

“I will not be given such a choice,” Vad said. “Even as we
speak, I imagine the sentries are informing Samoht I have returned.”

Two men threw back the tent flap. When they would have led
Vad to the council tent, he asked and was granted time to bathe and attire
himself appropriately. He had merely to show his bloodstained sleeves and his
wishes were granted.

A flurry of orders were given, servants dispatched for
clothing, hot water, food, healing herbs.

When Vad was gone, Gwen quietly requested a few supplies of
her own. Ardra raised a brow, but gave the orders anyway.

Finally Gwen found herself alone with all she needed. She
bathed and nibbled on soft bread and honey. Next she put on the gown a servant
had brought.

It was perfect—white, long, flowing, delicate, and silky.
But best was the matching sash.

With a tiny brush in her hand, she deftly made a series of
dots on the length of cloth that comprised the belt. She then examined the
small pots of dye she’d requested. Her hand trembled when she began but, after
a few moments, grew steady. Slowly, in the colors of berries and barks, a
pattern grew on the belt. An interlocking pattern. Knotwork. The echo of Vad’s
knife, his ring, and the ring on her hand—a ring she must surrender to the
council.

Vad borrowed a clean tunic, one lacking the gold embroidery
of leadership. But he did not care. He no longer intended to lead anyone
anywhere.

When dressed, he donned an empty sword scabbard and strapped
on his knife. Then he smiled at the shiny, clean caldron. In moments the rest
of the treasures were inside, and he was threading his way through the city of
tents to the council’s. He noticed that everywhere he went, two sentries
followed a few paces behind. The council’s lack of trust no longer bothered
him. There was only one person’s trust he cared about.

He met Ardra returning to her tent. “Ardra, I must speak to
you before I address the council.” He drew her aside, out of earshot of the
sentries. “I know that when I present the treasures, I will be given a reward.
I seek only the return of my sword, the restoration of my honor, but I know
Tolemac politics. The councilors will try to bind the fortress to them and
benefit from its location at the ice fields. They will ask me to lifemate with
you.”

“I would obey,” she said quietly, with a low bow.

Vad acknowledged her bow with one of his own. “I, too,
Mistress Ardra, would lifemate with you if I had not already given away my
heart. I can offer you only my sword, my strength, my able help to defend your
fortress. My heart belongs to Gwen. Where she is, there I wish to be—no matter
where that place is.

“But if I must go to the fortress, it will be as your
protector only. And Gwen goes with me. I will ask that the council grant her an
arm ring that we may lifemate, but if they refuse, I will still honor her as if
we had vows between us. I ask but one favor of you, mistress—bring Gwen to the
council tent under your protection. Should something happen to me, aid her in
whatever she asks to see herself back to her home.”

Ardra sank into a low curtsy, her skirts pooling in gold
around her. “So be it.”

His two sentries approached. They formed more of a guard
than an escort. At the council tent, he took a deep breath and entered. Seven
seats were conspicuously empty. Vad made the customary obeisance and then stood
at an empty seat. “I have brought seven of the treasures, most esteemed
councilors, and the map.”

The councilors handed around the map, glancing at the perils
and then back at Vad. Their expressions confirmed his guess that they had not
really expected his return. Quickly he explained Narfrom’s use of the map to go
after the treasures, and his subsequent death by misadventure.

“And why only seven treasures?” Samoht asked, picking idly
at a thread on his flowing black robes embroidered at the breast with a single
red rose. “Surely our charge was to bring all eight treasures, was it not? Tol?”

Tol scratched his beard and yawned. “I do not recall.” He
looked about the table at the other councilors. “Did we actually state eight
treasures or did we just say treasures?”

The lesser councilor on his left whispered in his ear. “It
seems we asked only for treasures.”

“Esteemed councilors,” Vad interjected. “If I may explain
the missing treasure? The Seat of Wishes is a cairn of stone set by the
eight-branched tree. It is not possible to transport it. Nor would it work, I
imagine, without the perspective one has when sitting upon it. It is situated
just so to allow contemplation—”

“Enough of the Seat of Wishes. Let us examine the treasures
we have. Where is the Vial of Seduction?” Samoht paced behind his seat—a poor
sign, one that indicated that he was angry. Vad wondered if Samoht had been
called from the bed of one of his pleasure slaves, or if the lifemating
negotiations were not going smoothly. Was that why he wanted the vial? To aid
him in securing the Selaw daughter?

Vad handed the brown bottle over to Samoht. “The Vial of
Seduction.” A hiss of disappointment ran around the tent as the councilors
examined the heavy brown bottle and sniffed the dirt.

“Show us the rest of the treasures,” Samoht demanded,
slamming home the stopper on the bottle and casting it aside on the table much
like a piece of refuse.

As Vad put the caldron on the table, the tent flap lifted
and Ardra entered with Gwen a few paces behind.

No one paid the women any heed. The councilors were
completely absorbed by the objects he placed before them. He donned the cloak
and then offered it to the councilors to feel the heat radiating from it. A few
councilors asked to try it, but with red faces, they found it offered them no
warmth. None of the others wanted to try it. Next he set up the game board.
When he placed the last tarnished piece in place, everyone gasped. A game began
to play.

Tol swept the pieces off the board. They rang together in
melodic harmony as they rolled on the table. “Are we sure we wish to see our
fate written here? I suggest we think well on this before using it.”

Samoht touched the curved sacrificial blade with a long
fingertip. “I wonder how many generations ago this was used to sacrifice to the
ancient gods? Still quite sharp, isn’t it?”

“I have sharpened it for you.” Vad set the whetstone in
place.

“None of these are remarkable.” Samoht picked up the
whetstone and drew his own dagger. After several passes of the stone on his
blade, he frowned. “Is this some kind of jest? This is useless.” No one
contradicted him. He dropped the stone to the table. “Where is the Ring of
Invisibility?”

Vad strode to Gwen. “Demonstrate the ring for the
councilors.”

She walked with great poise to where Samoht stood at his
chair, a glower on his face. She swept her arm out. Wind and snow blew on the
table, the councilors, the guards. They all threw up their arms to protect
their faces.

“It cloaks you in storm, hides you in ice,” Vad explained.
“Hence you are not visible.”

Tol smiled when Gwen lowered her arm. “And who are you?”

“My name is Gwen.” She dipped into a curtsy, not sure what
to do.

Vad held out his hand, as she had expected. She slipped off
the ring and placed it on his palm. Without it, the only designs she wore were
the ones about her waist. Grief filled her. They would order her taken away, or
give her over to Vad. Which would it be? Her suspense could not last much
longer. She trusted Vad to
want
to follow his heart, but knew that the
reality of the situation might dictate he could not.

Vad passed the ring to Samoht, who swung his arm about and
then cast the small silver ring onto the table with a grunt of displeasure. He
picked up the caldron. “What is the purpose of this?”

“No honorable man will go hungry with this caldron. It is
said in legend that the caldron will cook any food instantly,” Vad replied.

Samoht snapped his fingers. A guard stepped forward. “Bring
a haunch of pork and water sufficient to boil it.”

As they waited, Vad felt his first prickle of doubt. It was
the only treasure he had not used. Each of the others, including the ring, had
performed as the legends suggested.

Within moments, the water and pork were delivered, the
caldron filled. Nothing happened. The councilors left their seats and peered
into it. “Surely,” one remarked, “a fire is necessary?”

“No fire is necessary.” Vad held his breath.

The councilors each took turns removing and dropping the
pork into the caldron. Finally Samoht, in a low, tense voice, ordered Vad to
try his hand. Heart pounding, he stepped to the table. The pork lay on a
platter. He lifted it with his long knife and dropped it into the water.
Instantly the water seethed with bubbles, steam rose, and the pork cooked, the
rich scent of meat filling the air.

“Well, well. The legends say only an honorable warrior may
use the treasures,” Tol said. “What does that make us?”

“This is errant nonsense!” Samoht said. He tried in vain to
sharpen his blade again. Each pass of the whetstone only further dulled his
blade. He threw it into the caldron. The water stilled. “Are you telling me
none of us is honorable?”

Tol began to laugh. “The man sent after the treasures seems
to be the only one who can use them, and I will wager he is also the one man
who does not want them! Until we make some amends for our own behavior, I think
these treasures belong in the vaults.”

“Just what do you want, Vad?” Samoht said with a snarl. He
crossed his arms, his anger clear. “Your command back? Your name struck from
the rolls of infamy? Your sword?”

“All of those things. And none.” Vad met his eyes. “When I
crossed the ice fields, I did so in hopes of regaining my honor. I sought honor
from dishonorable men.” He had not known until he met Gwen that honor came from
within. The legends had said the warrior who obtained the treasure would gain
great wisdom. And so he had. “Honor is here.” He touched his chest. “It was
always with me, a part of me. No man, not you, esteemed High Councilor, nor any
of these other councilors could take it from me, nor give it back.”

Tol stood up. “Where is Vad’s sword?”

A guard placed a long silver sword on the round table. Gwen
could see the long gleaming blade, its engraved crosspiece, its turquoise
handle wrapped with gold. It was the twin to Vad’s knife.

“You would give this man his sword after the slur he has
cast on us?” Samoht sat in his chair, an insult to the standing older man and
Vad.

“Nay, I do not wish you to give it to me,” Vad said quietly.
He strode forward and lifted the sword from the table himself and sheathed it.
“I will take my sword from no man’s hand.”

Several councilors nodded their approval. Tol came around
the table and clapped Vad on the shoulder. “Which of us spoke up and told Vad
it was these objects we wanted, most especially the game board, when we sent
him across the ice fields? Which of us was willing to challenge the others and
reveal the lie that would only cast dishonor on us? Which of us has been able
to use the caldron? Or the other treasures? Only ohe man. And for that matter,
even this little slave has more honor than we.” Tol pointed to Gwen. She trembled
as Samoht impaled her with a glare. “Even she can command at least one of
them.” Tol shook his head. “Vad seems to be the only man among us with honor.”

A heavy silence fell in the tent.

“And now, esteemed High Councilor,” Tol said to Samoht at
the head of the table, “we come to the issue of Ardra and the Fortress of
Ravens.”

Gwen thought she would be sick. She swallowed and crossed
her fingers. Vad nodded his head briefly to acknowledge the issue.

Samoht stared at the treasures. “It seems we need to provide
honorable
protection for Mistress Ardra. It has been proposed you take
her to mate as an adjunct to my own joining with the Selaw chieftain’s
daughter.”

“With due respect, I decline. I have given my heart to
another.” He put out his hand. Gwen slipped hers into his, comfortable for the
first time since entering the tent. His strength filled her. The heat of his
ring warmed her fingers.

“With all due respect, you cannot lifemate with a slave,”
Tol said gently.

“With all due respect, you will lifemate where I direct
you!” Samoht shouted.

“With all due respect, she is as honorable as the most able
warrior. Each treasure works for
her
. I ask nothing else, save this,
that you grant her an arm ring to make the match one you can approve. But arm
ring or not, she is mine,” Vad finished.

A cacophony of noise burst forth.

Tol waved the councilors to silence. “This does not help
Mistress Ardra, nor serve us at the fortress. Can you not keep this little
woman for pleasure…” The ex­pression on Vad’s face was thunderous and halted
Tol. “Never mind that idea. Well, we have a pretty dilemma. The fortress is so
very valuable to us.”

Vad nodded. “I offer my protection as a warrior, a commander
of the fortress guards. I decline only the offer of Mistress Ardra as a lifemate.”

Samoht snorted. “You will mate where bidden.”

“I have come to think quite highly of Mistress Ardra,” Tol
said, picking at his nails again. “Perhaps, as my lifemate has been dead these
last seven conjunctions, Ardra might consent to a lifemating with me instead of
Vad. That would mate her where we want and free this young warrior to make a
fool of himself. My household guard is more than sufficient to defend the
fortress.”

Gwen tried to force her face to remain neutral as the men
argued. Her cheeks were hot.

Tol looked back and forth between Vad and Gwen. “I cannot,
however, countenance an arm ring for this slave. It would set a dangerous
precedent. Imagine! Next men will want to free their concubines to mate with
them. Preposterous!”

Gwen’s heart sank. Vad’s fingers squeezed hers.

“Come forward, Mistress Ardra. You shall make the choice,”
Samoht directed with a tight smile.

“That is hardly fair,” piped up one councilor. “I know he is
scarred now, but still, what woman would not choose this warrior?”

Every head nodded. Samoht’s smile widened. “Indeed,” he
said, and Gwen knew that had been his intention. And perhaps it was all the
punishment Samoht could contrive for Vad for proving the council’s dishonesty.

Ardra would choose Vad. His scarred face would not matter to
her. She would choose, and Vad would obey. Vad would obey because of the very
honor he’d demonstrated. And she, Gwen, would still be a slave in this world.
Without thought, her fingers traced the design on her belt. She could not live
in this world without Vad. She could not live as a slave or have a child in
slavery, either.

A guard pulled her away from Vad and closer to the tent
entrance. The scent of the guard’s leather garments made her stomach dance.

Ardra, her gaze searching those assembled, found first Vad
and then Gwen. She walked very slowly forward. Gwen smiled. Whatever Ardra
decided, Gwen would not blame her. Samoht and the council were playing their
own game, and she and Vad and Ardra were each just a game piece on the board of
their politics.

Samoht stood. “Mistress Ardra. You have heard all of the
discussion about the fortress and its fate. The council has decided you must
lifemate. The fortress will fall without proper guidance. I offer you two men,
both more than worthy of your hand, both well able to hold the fortress. I give
you Vad or Tol. You must choose one for a mate. Which is it to be?”

One of the councilors licked his lips and hid a smile behind
his hand. Samoht also had a cynical smirk on his face.

Ardra sank into a curtsy before the men. “Most esteemed
councilor, I thank you for the courtesy of a choice. The answer is simple. I
choose Tol.”

“What?” Samoht sat down hard. “You choose a man older than
your misbegotten father to lifemate with when this man…this warrior could be
your choice?”

“Aye.” She walked around the table to stand at Tol’s side.
Her voice quavered a bit, but her gaze was steady and so was her hand as she
offered it to Tol. “I have had many talks with Tol. He understands the needs of
the fortress and my people. I trust him to see to their care.”