WINDHEALER (34 page)

The Prince had to hop from one foot to the other in order to dry his feet, for if he sat under the overhang, he would have sat in water. The tile floor was slick with rain. Having to perform such an ungraceful, ridiculous-looking thing with, he was sure, Roget, Bre and the others looking, made his jaw tighten. When he was finished, he dropped the towel to the floor and glared at Pearl.

"You may enter," Pearl said and walked into the gym.

"Faggot!" Conar spat beneath his breath.

The room smelled more like mushrooms than before. The earthy odor was nauseating, overwhelming to a man who detested the things. Conar wrinkled his nose and added that insult to all the others for which Pearl was responsible.

"Ready to begin?" Pearl asked in a voice that always sounded as if the man had a terminal case of sore throat. The voice, like the man, irritated Conar beyond imagination.

"Let's get it over with!"

Liza stood with her shoulders bowed, her hands trembling, her soul shattered. She could hear Legion's soft voice, Teal's softer answers, and dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She didn't even flinch when Legion shut the door to their chambers, padded softly to her, and put his arms around her.

"We know Brelan is in Chrystallus," he said, turning her so he could pull her to his chest. The news had come to Boreas Keep by way of secret messengers. Legion had learned that Holm van de Lar had sailed some eighty-odd men into the harbor of Chrystallus' capitol, and only one casualty, Hern Arbra, had been among them. "I've sent word that we need him. If the news is correct, he has brought everyone back safely." He didn't think she needed to know about Hern.

"It's too late, now," she said, all hope gone from her voice. "Tohre left this morning. He has taken Corbin from the Temple to the Abbey of the Domination. Our son is out of our reach now."

"There must be a way we can get him back. The men of the Dark Overlord…"

Liza pushed away from him. She watched his blue eyes squint with fresh pain as he took in her ravaged face.

"Liza, I—"

She shushed him with her fingertips. "You and the others have done all you could." She walked to the window where she had kept a vigil for several days.

Legion took her in his arms again. "There must be a reason why Brelan didn't come back right away, sweeting. He knew how important it was to get Corbin away from Tohre before our son turned six."

That this wonderful man had claimed Conar's son as his own was a good mark next to his name. That he loved Corbin, was another. "He forgot," she said, tears flowing down her cheeks.

Legion could hear the betrayal in her voice. "There has to be more to it than just forgetting." With all his heart, he hoped there was. If Brelan had just simply forgotten about the timeliness of removing Corbin from the Wind Temple at Corinth, he'd slit the bastard's throat.

"It doesn't matter now," she whispered, her hitching sobs giving way to a torrent of pain. "There's nothing we can do." She collapsed against him.

He picked her up and carried her to bed. "There has to be someone who can help," he said as he laid his wife on the bed and sat beside her.

Liza curled into a tight ball. "There's no one. Not anymore."

Legion wished Conar had lived. If he had, Corbin would not be interned in the Great Abbey of the Domination high in the Serenian mountains where no mortal man could follow. But, Legion realized with a pang of guilt, he wouldn't be with Liza now had Conar lived.

"We can't give up hope," he whispered. "Somewhere, there's got to be someone who can rid us once and for all of Kaileel Tohre!"

Liza began crying, her broken sobs painful to hear. Legion was lost, his own heart breaking, and all he could do was lie beside her, mold his body to hers and hold her as she poured out her torment. Long into the night, they lay that way, each wide awake, unable to close their eyes.

Near dawn, Legion fell into a troubled sleep, his grunts and groans giving evidence of the turmoil in his soul.

With care, Liza eased out from under the heavy weight of his arm and left their chamber. Barefoot, she traveled the cold stone corridors of Boreas Keep, padded silently down the spiral stairs where once her beloved had been manhandled to his bridal chamber by the man who now claimed the room as his own.

Passing the portraits of long-gone McGregor's and their ladies, Liza deliberately looked away from the spot where once the portrait of the Prince of the Wind had hung. It was whispered in the halls of the mighty keep that no matter how many coats of paint were brushed across that pale rectangle of wall, the spot would not be filled in. The surrounding color was still darker than the spot where Conar's likeness had hung.

The Temple was colder than usual. The flimsy nightgown was little protection against the chill draft that flowed over the Queen of Serenia as she knelt before the altar. Trembling with the cold and with the agony that filled her, Liza A'Lex stretched out on the floor, arms spread wide, face to the carpeted runner that led to the altar.

"Bless me, Gracious One, for I have sinned."

Legion had quietly followed his wife from their chamber. As he stood in the nave, listening to her confession, he began to cry for his own guilt was crashing down upon his shoulders.

He had desired this woman from the first moment he had laid eyes on her at the swimming hole near Lake Myria. Though she was his brother's woman in heart and soul and in all else that mattered, Legion A'Lex coveted her as he had never coveted anything else. His love for her was so great, that he had once made entreaty to the gods to have her as his own.

"Careful what you wish for," his father, King Gerren, had once said. "You just might get it."

And at what cost? Legion thought as he wrapped his arms around his chest.

The woman he loved was his, but two men had died to see that happen. One man's death was of no consequence, but the other's was an inconsolable agony Legion felt every day.

"He wanted you to have her," Teal had said countless times. "Why do you insist on feeling guilt when you know he would want you, above all others, to be at her side?"

Legion walked to one of the pews and tried to blot out his wife's tearful words to her gods. He sat, rested his arms on the seat back in front of him and laid his head on his crossed wrists

"Why?" he silently questioned his own god. "Why do I feel guilty for loving her? For having her to wife?"

Because Conar's life was the payment to have her, a brutal voice in his mind reminded him.

A wail of misery, such utter hopelessness, brought up Legion's head. He saw his wife standing in front of the altar, tearing her gown. A moan pushed from his depths and he was out of the pew, running to her. Just as he reached her, she collapsed. He caught her.

"Conar!" she whimpered, her body limp against Legion. "Conar!"

Legion sank with her to the floor. His heart felt the shards of her grief.

"
Conar!"
she keened on a long note.

He pressed her cheek to his shoulder, rocked her against him, making shushing sounds to quiet her frantic sobs. "I am sorry," he groaned. "I am so sorry I could not save him for you."

"I failed him."

"No, sweeting. You did not."

"I let his son be taken."

Tears coursed down Legion's stricken cheeks and as he gathered his wife tighter against him. "No, my love. You must not blame yourself. Blame me."

But Liza was beyond hearing. She was lost in sorrow, her mother's heart breaking at the loss of her child. Her keening was shrill, mindless, as she clung to Legion.

"Lisa, don't," he pleaded, knowing the force of her grieving would make her sick.

"What have I done? What have I
done
?"

"You've done nothing. You are an innocent in this."

"No!" she shrieked and jerked out of his grasp. She stumbled to her feet, her hair wild, her eyes bruised with tears, her body trembling as though with the ague. "I betrayed him with you. And with Galen and Brelan! I lay with you and gave you a son. I lay with Galen and bore him a son. I whored with Brelan and a daughter was born of that adultery!"

"Don't say such things. You…"

"And this is my punishment! To have all that is left of Conar be taken and corrupted by the very filth that made my beloved's life a living hell!"

Legion flinched, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of his own guilt. "No," he said over and over again, shaking his head. "You can not—"

"I love you!" she shrieked, her voice so shrill the crystal globe on the Presence Light cracked down the middle. "I love you, Legion A'Lex and see what that love has cost us?"

"Merciful Alel!" Legion scrambled to his feet. He grabbed her arms and shook her. "Do not
dare
blame our love for this! Our love is the only decent thing to come of this entire mess!"

"I will be the death of you. If you do not get away from me, I will cause your ruin!"

She pushed at him, but he would not allow her to break free.

"Liza, stop!" he ordered, corralling her flailing arms in a firm grip. "Stop it, now!"

"Conar is dead because of me," she wept. "Galen died because he dared to stand up to Tohre to save Conar's son. I will be Brelan's death, and if you stay with me, I will be your death, too!"

"No!"

"
I want my son!"

"We'll get him back. If it's the last thing I do, I swear I will get him back no matter what!"

Liza screamed, her pain so great nothing but the darkness of unconsciousness could save her fragile sanity. She collapsed in Legion's arms. He swept her up, holding her high against his panting chest.

His angry eyes bored into the statue of Tethys. "How can you allow her to suffer like this? Haven't you done enough harm to this woman?"

From the dark corner of the room, a woman stepped out of the shadows. Her long black hair fell to her waist in curling ringlets. Her green eyes were filled with remorse as she stepped down from the altar and extended her hand to Legion.

In her palm was a red crystal vial. "This will help ease her pain."

Legion stared at the beautiful woman and felt an immediate stirring in his loins. He backed away, suddenly alarmed by his body's reaction.

"I am Raphaella. I am the Windweaver."

"Help her," Legion said, shuddering. He had heard of Raphaella Chastayne and her infamous keep, World's End, where upon entering its doors, no traveler ever returned. He took another step back.

"This is the only help I can give for now," she replied. "But one day, her pain will be erased. I promise." She moved her hand closer. "Take this. Give it to her. Her sorrow will be greatly eased."

"What is it?"

Raphaella sighed. "It is nothing that will harm her."

Reluctantly, he allowed the woman to lay the vial in his hand. As his fingers curled around the vial, he could feel the warmth of her flesh and felt his manhood leap.

"Take your lady to your chamber," the Windweaver ordered. "Part her lips and pour the contents of the vial into her mouth. Let her sleep away her sorrow."

He opened his palm, looked at the vial, then looked up again.

Raphaella was gone.

"Lady?" he asked, searching the room.

Liza stirred in his arms, whimpering in her unconscious state. He took one last look at the Mother Goddess and turned away, carrying his lady-wife back to their chambers.

He was lying flat on his back again, aftre being tossed through the air like a damned rag doll. He had landed better than usual, but his spine had felt the impact nevertheless. He got up, crouched, made a lunge…

Flat on his back once more, but at least facing the other way this time. He stared at the ceiling with a look of astonishment. Surely he wasn't this stupid! Why the hell couldn't he best the little faggot? He had a good fifty or so pounds on the man. He had muscles on his muscle's muscles. He did exceedingly well in every other training, so why the hell wasn't he doing well at
this?

He sprang up from the floor with a vile curse, intent on bringing the little turd down this time. He lunged…

Tumbling head over heels, he came to rest with his cheek pressed close to a bushel basket of the offending mushrooms. He gagged from the smell and slammed his hands on the mat in frustration and fury. Getting to his feet, he turned, faced the supercilious little snot and…

Landed on his left side in the middle of the floor. His forehead wrinkled with frustration; that last tumble had rattled him good. His body began to ache all over and a dull throb had began in his right temple.

"That's all I need!" he hissed, recognizing the onset of another headache. He tried to ignore it; other parts of him hurt worse. He got up slowly, shaking his head to clear it of the ringing, wincing at the immediate stab of pain. He turned to face Pearl. He stood a moment and then resignation compressed his lips. He took a step forward…

On his side, his arm folded under him so painfully he thought it might be broken. His head pounded, for the jolt of cartwheeling through the air had jarred his teeth and made him bite his tongue. He could taste blood.

This was ridiculous, he thought. He took a deep breath and then slowly let it out. He glanced at Pearl and snarled, his lips actually pulled back over his teeth. He scrambled to his knees, pushed up from the floor and lowered his head, intent on plowing into…

He hit the wall headfirst with enough force to dent the bamboo. His yelp was loud as he slid down the wall and landed painfully on his shoulder.

He didn't get up. He turned over on his back, lifted his knees, and brought his hands up to rub at his temples. His head screamed with pain and his eyesight narrowed down to the thin, cone-shaped tunnel that reminded him this was going to be one of
those
headaches. Already the nausea had started and his hearing was dull and muted in his right ear. He felt something hit his bare foot. He raised his head just enough to see a good-sized mushroom lying between his spread legs. He craned his head to look for Pearl just as another mushroom landed on his stomach.

Pearl Allegria was sitting in the middle of the mat with his legs crossed, a bushel of mushrooms by his side. In his lap was an arsenal of the gray fungus. He was grinning like an idiot. He lobbed a spongy missile at Conar, hitting him squarely in the middle of his chest.

Conar pushed himself up on his elbows in time to be bombarded with a mushroom bomb on the tip of his nose. One, two, three more mushrooms sailed over to him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he snarled.

Pearl's grin widened. He threw a larger mushroom, with more force, straight at Conar's face.

Conar ducked and the fungus went sliding past. He sneered at Pearl and was smacked in the right eye by a good-sized mushroom. He yelped, putting up his hand.

"Dammit! That hurt!"

"Oh, no!" Pearl cried in mock horror. "Does little Princey-Poo have a wittle boo-boo?" He cocked his head and wagged his brows. "Poor wittle Princey-Poo." He puckered his lips in a pout.

Conar sat up. He glanced at the mushroom baskets behind him, looked back at Pearl.

The puckered lips smacked, sending Conar a loud, wet, kiss. "Kissy, kissy, kissy!"

Conar got up, walked to a basket, grabbed a handle, dragged it back to the edge of the mat, then, despite his dislike and heaving stomach, plunged his hands into the crop of smelly fungus, grimacing at the slimy feel. With his hands full, mushrooms cradled against his bare chest, hating
that
feel even more, he sat on the mat facing Pearl.

"You want war?" he asked, brows raised in challenge. "You got war!" He aimed a mushroom straight at Pearl's grinning face.

To the casual observer who might have been watching this War of the Fungi, it would have appeared that the two men had lost their reason. Mushrooms were pitched with force by one man to the other in a frenzy of pelting, squishing gray splats. The mushrooms bounced off noses, grazed cheeks, clipped ears, smacked into chins and made a complete mess on the rice matting. The gray globs sailed about the room, stuck in the bamboo wall panels, slid across the floor and huddled in the corners of the room where they were retrieved for further combat. The two men scrambled around the floor, scooping up pieces of the soft missiles, slipping and sliding over the aftermath of their fight, lobbing fungi, emptying the remaining baskets until the floor was covered in a slick, earthy smelling carpet of broken and pulverized mushrooms.

Intent on nothing save the bombarding of the other man with as many mushroom globs as he could scoop up, Conar had completely forgotten about the headache that had threatened to disable him. He scuttled across the room, slid his hands through squashed mushrooms, then scrambled on all fours to smear slick gobs of the carnage over Pearl's face and chest.

"Oh!" Pearl gasped, dead mushrooms invading his mouth. He spat, shoved Conar away, then gathered a handful of fungus to slather across Conar's naked belly.

Conar slid away on his rear end, crab walking backward on all fours, from his attacker and then lobbed a handful of at Pearl. Then he flipped to his knees, scrambled over to Pearl and started to shove a handful of goop…

"
What the hell are you two doing?"

Conar's hand stilled. He turned to see Shalu standing, open-mouthed, in the doorway. There was a look of surprise on the Necroman's face as he swung his eyes from Conar to Pearl and back again. The big man's hands were on his hips, and when his large mouth snapped shut, a heavy scowl came over his face.

"Have you men lost what little minds you had?" he bellowed in his deep timbre. He surveyed the room, his face filling with disapproval. He let his gaze settle on Conar. "Get up and shower, McGregor! Occultus expects you in his chambers in twenty minutes, or did you forget you had a lesson with him tonight?"

Conar blushed, ashamed for Shalu to have seen him covered in mushroom refuse, acting like a three-year-old. He glanced at Pearl, slimed with fungus, and groaned. He didn't dare look at Shalu.

"I said to get up and get showered, McGregor!" Shalu ordered.

"I'll be there shortly," Conar said.

"See that you are!" Shalu turned abruptly on his heel.

Conar got up from the floor, his head away from the man sitting on the mat. He tried to brush away some of the mushroom carnage from his chest and shoulders. He was coated in fungus. He looked at his feet and saw mushroom mush squishing between his toes.

"Poor wittle Princey-Poo gonna get a spanking for being a bad wittle boy!"

Conar's mouth opened to snarl, but he couldn't quite get the angry words out as he looked at Pearl's mushroom-caked nose.

"Maybe Princey-Poo get sent to bed without supper!" Pearl said and his lips moved into a pretend pout.

Conar tried his best not to laugh. He really did. But a coughing rumble deep in his throat bubbled out. His laughter came in bursts of staccato chuckles that had him bending over, his hands on his knees. "You look like hell!"

"And you don't?"

Conar glanced at the glob of mushroom clinging to Pearl's nose. Pearl screwed up his face, stuck out his tongue, and sent Conar into fresh spasms of laughter. "I don't look
that
bad!"

Pearl grabbed Conar's ankle and jerked, sending the him crashing face down on the mat. "Yes, you do!"

Instead of being angry, Conar doubled over with glee. He was still laughing when Pearl took a handful of mushrooms and pulverized Conar's hair.

Pearl slid the remainder down Conar's back and over his shoulder. "Had enough?"

Conar scooped up a handful of mushrooms, and rubbed them into Pearl's face. Hearing Pearl sputter made Conar laugh so hard his sides hurt. When the waistband of his breeches was pulled out and a gob of mushrooms creamed over his belly and tickled down his crotch, he stopped laughing.

"
Now,
have you had enough?"

For a moment, neither spoke. They regarded one another with eyes no longer filled with laughter. A strange mood settled over the room and brought back sanity.

Conar got up slowly and ran the back of his hand under his nose. He looked out the door for a long time, watching the rain. When he looked back at Pearl, there was no longer any trace of hostility. He put out his hand.

Pearl smiled. He reached up to grasp Conar's hand, half-expecting the young man to try to throw him, but the fingers were steady and firm as Conar levered him to his feet. He looked into Conar's carefully controlled gaze.

"Friends?" he asked in his gruff, smoky voice. He was all too aware Conar still held his wrist.

"Pleasant enemies." Conar let go of Pearl's hand.

Pearl shrugged. "I can live with that for now."

Conar regarded him with steady eyes. "What do you want from me, Pearl?"

It was the first time Conar had ever said his name. Pearl liked the sound of it in Conar's soft Serenian drawl that was being gently corrupted with the odd-inflections of the Chrystallusian tongue. He shrugged again. "Marriage?"

A slow, genuine smile touched Conar's lips. "I'm already taken. Sorry."

"
You're
sorry!" Pearl said in a woebegone voice. "
All
the good men are taken!"

Conar's smile died. "Not all."

Pearl drew in a breath. He knew a compliment when he heard it. His face turned red and he ducked his head, suddenly very shy around this golden god. He heard Conar leaving yet he couldn't look up, he was staring intently at the mound of mushrooms caking his feet.

"Hey!"

Pearl pulled his head up, his heart ready for whatever scorn was coming.

"I still hate mushrooms."

Pearl could only nod, still waiting for harsh words.

"Good eve, Pearl." Conar's gentle smile returned. He put up his hand in farewell and stepped out into the rain.

Pearl stood stunned for several moments. He had been training Conar for more than three weeks. A faint smile touched his lips. Well, not exactly
training
him, he thought. It was more like
preparing
him for his next instructor. He envied the man who would be training Conar next.

Pearl knew his pupil would learn to be a good wrestler now that the hostility and stubbornness was gone. He sighed. Conar McGregor would be even better than him.

"Better than any man alive," he whispered.

* * *

A dusty messenger entered the wide gates of Emperor Tran's palace and asked to speak to Master Nikabuto, the Court Physician. It was to this man, whose great healing powers were known throughout the entire world, that the messenger was taken. Within a few minutes, Shalu was in Nikabuto's chambers.

"
Kym!"
Shalu shouted. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think you would be the one to bring me news of home!" Shalu crushed the messenger to him in a bone-smashing hug.

"Your lady thought it would be best.
Papa!
You're suffocating me!"

Conar had hurried here with his friend, praying it would be good news for Shalu. Obviously it was. The young woman must be his eldest daughter of whom he had spoken many times. A sad smile lit Conar's face. His own daughter, Tamara, would have been about this girl's age.

"Conar!" Shalu bellowed, draping his arm around the small girl. "Come meet my Kymmi!"

Conar took the delicate cinnamon-colored hand that was extended shyly toward him and raised it to his lips, then placed a feather-soft kiss on the upturned wrist. "It is my honor, mam'selle."

Kym turned to her father. "
Prince
Conar?" she asked in an awed voice. "
The
Prince Conar?"

He winked at Conar. "Risen from the dead and ready to roast his enemies!"

Fifteen-year-old Kym Taborn stared at Conar and lost her heart for the eighth time that week. Her oval face blushed. She lowered thick, sooty lashes over warm coffee-colored eyes. She dropped gracefully into a curtsy that made her father's eyes roll to the heavens.

"The honor is mine, Highness," she whispered in a throaty voice. She raised her head, close-cropped with thick, glistening curls, and smiled.

Shalu laughed, swatting the girl's backside. "He's too old for you!" He scrunched his daughter close to his side and placed a loud kiss on her forehead. "What of home? How is your mother? Your brothers and sister?"

"All well," she answered, her stare still on the gorgeous blond man who stood before her. Her feminine mind was racing.
Who
said he was too old? She batted her lashes and was a bit put off by the light chuckle and condescending grin the man gave her father.

"Stop flirting!" Shalu warned in a gruff, teasing voice. "He has a son older than you!"

An immediate light came into the girl's face. "Here?"

Conar couldn't help but see the gears turning in her head.

Neither could Shalu. He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "He looks just like his father."

Kym's inquisitive eyes flicked over Conar, assessing, appraising. She liked what she saw despite the wicked twin gashes on his tanned cheek. Somehow the scars gave him a sexuality that was hard to ignore. His bright blond hair, worn long in a queue, his sensual lips that had a slight trace of a smile, his physique, all combined to make Kym breathless. But it was his eyes that held her attention, gained her immediate notice. They were the most beautiful blue she had ever seen.

"Just like his father?" she asked in a low whisper.

"Exactly," Conar told her.

"Where can this son be found?"

"I haven't seen you in nearly seven years, girl, and you want to go chasing some boy?" Shalu lowered his brows and stuck out his thick lips. "How am I supposed to take that?"