Convergence (44 page)

"Guide me, sweet girl. Take me in your hand and guide me." He whispered the words as he kissed and nipped at her ear, making her slender body shiver where it lay beneath him. "Show me what pleases you most, and I will return the pleasure you gave me earlier."

"Here, I need you here," she responded in a moan, reaching between them to grasp his renewed need. Then she guided it to the entrance of ultimate bliss, which was the heat and slick moisture of her own desire. Clarion thrust within the incredible tunnel, experiencing feelings he had never even dreamt of, not only grasped tight but also pulled even closer when her legs locked about his waist.

"Stroke deep, my fleeting love," she murmured, already beginning to move her hips in the most marvelous way as her fingers buried themselves in his hair. "Our time together will be over much too soon, but for the precious few moments we remain here, make me yours completely."

Clarion had begun to match her movements with his own, and was so lost to the flood of new and incredibly wonderful sensations that he found it impossible to reply to her. Instead he simply kissed her, loving her deeply for this precious gift she gave with no hint of reluctance. He now knew why the others had been so eager to visit with these ladies, and knew as well that next time he would take his turn with those going first.

Their motion went from slow to rapid to frenzied, and after a time it culminated in that indescribable explosion that left pulsing tremors tingling through him. The girl seemed to experience the same, and after they'd rested side by side for a short while Clarion turned to her again. He felt there was more to learn about this wonderful new undertaking, and that conviction led him to a determination to discover the rest. They began again, and this time Clarion asked to be shown the little things that pleased her. He would learn and learn, and then . . . when he felt a bit more clearheaded
...
he would exhibit his knowledge to one whose face had taken to invading his dreams.
But not
this
dream.
Only this girl beside him belonged in it, and he would remember it forever. . . .

twenty-three

Valiant looked up when Coll rejoined them at the table, pulled back out of his thoughts by the arrival. He'd been reviewing conclusions and decisions—and feelings—since he'd gotten back
himself
, and was still too deeply enmeshed to notice what Drowd did immediately.

"The lordling isn't with you?" the academician said to Coll, the usual smirk in his voice, "What's wrong, wasn't he able to perform? If the ladies laughed him off the premises, we'll have to make an effort to search for him."

"If you intend to search, I can show you which chamber to begin in," Coll returned immediately, paying more attention to the cup of brew he reached for than he did to Drowd. "I happened to be right next door, and as I was leaving, they were starting what sounded like seconds. If you ask him nicely when he finally does get back, he may agree to give you pointers."

"Don't be absurd," Drowd responded with a snort, clearly ignoring Holter's muffled amusement. "The day will never come that that
boy
can teach anyone about anything. Can't you all see he's completely out of his depth in most things? He doesn't even know the realities of his own class."

"He knew enough to pass his initial test," Valiant pointed out, too annoyed with the man to keep silent. "And someone really should have told you the followin' truth sooner, Drowd: anybody who needs somebody to laugh at as badly as you do
marks
himself as a man who's afraid he's inferior. You talk about other people's lacks and faults just to make sure no one notices yours, but it's a really annoyin' habit that I'm mighty tired of. If you don't have somethin' good to say, just sit there without sayin' anythin'."

Drowd's face had gone red by then, but the growl Valiant hadn't been able to keep out of his voice apparently convinced the man not to argue—along with the way Coll and Holter stared soberly and silently. If either of them had disagreed with Valiant's assessment, their expressions at the very least would have shown it. They were clearly just as tired of Drowd's digging, and realizing that kept the young academician quiet.

So Valiant was able to go back to his thoughts in peace. It had taken him some effort to get around being called a coward and a quitter by Tamrissa Domon, but once he had he'd been able to really notice the rest of what she'd said— and the way she'd said it. When she'd announced
she
would not be too afraid to do things the way other people were . . . Valiant was surprised he hadn't been knocked over by what she said she was determined not to feel.

That girl is terrified
of
somethin'
Valiant told
himself
for the dozenth time,
and that could be why she came down so hard on
me.
She sees givin' up as a threat to
her,
but why would that be? And why did she sound so strange when she agreed that her beauty always let her get her own way? There was bitterness in her eyes, and some kind
of
mockin' that had nothin'
of
amusement in it. . . .

Those observances had bothered Valiant, so much so that they had even interfered with his pleasure. It wasn't until he found himself calling the girl under him Tamrissa that he noticed he'd chosen a light-eyed blonde, and he'd barely managed to finish what he'd started. That seemed to be because the girl
wasn't
Tamrissa Domon, a cooling realization he'd never before had trouble with. The thought of Mirra had never kept him from enjoying himself in other ports, and he'd known Mirra a good deal longer and better.

So why had the thought of a girl he barely knew and had never had—and one who clearly despised him—affected him so deeply? It was ridiculous and meaningless and puzzling and disturbing, and he couldn't seem to stop thinking about it—or find any reasons for it. He wasn't an inexperienced child, after all, falling in love with the first pretty face he saw without knowing anything about what lay behind that face. Hadn't he learned
anything
from his association with Mirra, like being wise enough to stay uninvolved? What in the world was
wrong
with him?

Asking
himself
useless questions became a rut too deep for

Valiant to climb out of, at least not easily.
He was pulled out again when Mardimil finally returned, after a surprisingly long passage of time.

"You look like you enjoyed yourself, Mardimil," Coll commented as the young noble resumed his seat at the table. "If you died right now, it would take the burial people a week to get that smile off your face."

"At the moment I feel as though the smile is a good deal more permanent than that," Mardimil replied with a small laugh as he reached for his cup of brew. "That girl was the most delightful creature I've ever encountered, and I couldn't seem to tear myself away. Perhaps I'll return a bit later, once I've restored my energies."

Mardimil emptied the cup of brew down his throat, missing the amused glances Valiant exchanged with Coll and Holter.
Which was a lucky thing, since he wouldn't have understood that their amusement was aimed at Drowd, who pretended to be too absorbed in the music and dancing to comment.
To say Mardimil had been successful with the lady would have been to state the obvious, something Drowd clearly wasn't prepared to concede. It would have meant losing the butt of his nasty jokes, an end he'd apparently refused to accept.

With all of them back at the table, the landlord Ginge sent a girl over to ask if they were ready to eat. The answer was a unanimous yes, so they were supplied with a thick vegetable soup, hot pork sandwiches on fresh, seeded bread, small salads, and generous wedges of apricot pie topped with clotted cream. Not quite two silver dins worth from each of them even with the brew and girls included, but Mardimil asked for and was freely given another sandwich and a pot of tea. The rest of them were told to ask if they decided on seconds as well, which meant Ginge was an openhanded host. He would definitely make a profit on them, but not at the expense of their good time.

The meal put them all in a nicely mellow mood, and when a group of musicians came out to relieve the boy and his instrument they sang and clapped along with everyone else. The trio played the most popular tunes that were known all over the empire, but
Valiant
noticed that Mardimil didn't seem to know the words to any of them. He clapped and laughed and even hummed the refrains, but clearly didn't know any of the words. Maybe that was because of the mild

drunk
he was in the grip of, something that had been true even when he'd come downstairs.

The evening wore on pleasantly, despite the fact that the tavern had long since become full. Most of the patrons seemed to be regulars, and most of them came over at one time or another to greet Holter. The little groom seemed pleased to see them, but even though he laughed and joked with them he made no effort to introduce them to Valiant and the others. After a while Valiant realized that was to keep from having to invite all those strangers to join them, which was very thoughtful on Holter's part. He'd brought them to the tavern so they might enjoy themselves in peace, not to go on display for gawking outsiders.

Valiant heard
himself
think that, and couldn't hold back on a quiet snort of self-ridicule. Anyone coming over would be a gawking outsider, but he himself was part of the special inner group. Never mind that he knew where every door out of the tavern was located, but still had to fight feelings of confinement almost constantly. He was still
one
of
them,
and was obviously considered better than some. He found it ludicrous that even Mardimil, tipsy and innocent as he was, was still doing better than the dashing Valiant Ro. Maybe
he
ought to ask Mardimil for lessons . . .

That thought pushed Valiant back down into depression, a state which perversely kept him from getting anywhere near as drunk as he would have liked. Why depression kept him sober was a question he'd never been able to answer, but that didn't stop it from being true. He didn't even notice when the trio of musicians paused to take a rest, and no one came forward to replace them.

But he did notice when the half-dozen customers at one of the tables began to loudly demand that the music start up again. The six seemed to be relative strangers to the tavern, sitting apart from everyone else and doing nothing in the way of exchanging greetings the way most of the other patrons had. They were all dressed in rough trousers and shirts and coats, looking not only well-worn but dirty. That description fit both them and their clothes, and their manners were a perfect match.

"Just keep yer shirts on," the landlord Ginge called from behind the bar when their noise refused to stop. "They'll be back after they get a bite feat and swaller some brew, so

"We ain't payin' fer
them
t'have a good time," one of the six interrupted Ginge in a loud, belligerent voice. "We's here fer our own good time, so you c'n jest get'm back out an' playin' like they's supposta be doin'."

"They'll be back when they's done," Ginge tried again, obviously working to hold his temper. "You all got full cups t'hold yer interest while yer waitin', so—"

"No!" the same man shouted, wobbling to his feet. "This stinkin' brew needs all th' help it c'n get, so you haul them three on out here
! '
R mebbe you'd like
us
t'do sum enter-tainin'."

With that he took his cup and hurled it across the room, wetting everyone it passed and landing on a table to spill the two cups sitting on it. People all over began to come to their feet with a roar, and that seemed to be what the six were waiting for. The five still seated jumped up whooping and laughing, and a moment later a melee was in progress. Small bits of sand and wood shavings flew everywhere, small clusters of flames tried to set everything on fire, small gouts of water turned everything they touched soggy, and small winds blew the various messes directly in men's faces. Ginge and his people dropped everything and tried to break it up, but after a moment it was clear they didn't have a hope of accomplishing it.

"I'm gonna help Ginge," Holter said over the shouts and bellows, looking around at the rest of them. "If'n any
a you
feels like doin' th' same, it would shorely be 'predated."

That was because more and more of the patrons were being drawn into the free-for-all, Valiant knew. He'd seen the same any number of times before, the exercising of ordinary talents in a way that was designed to let the combatants neutralize an opponent .to a certain extent before the fight turned physical. The six who had started it all looked to be really practiced in the technique, which meant the landlord and his people needed all the help they could get.