In the Realm of the Wolf (36 page)

There was a fallen sword close by. Dodging between the milling horses, Angel reached for it, but a rearing hoof smashed into his head, and he fell facedown onto the grass.

He awoke to silence and a terrible pounding in his skull.

“I always seem to be stitching your wounds,” said Senta.

Angel blinked and tried to focus on the ceiling above him. It
was twisted at a crazy angle, and the window below it was canted absurdly. “There’s something wrong with my eyes,” he muttered.

“No. It’s this place—Kar-Barzac. Nothing is as it should be here. Kesa Khan says it has been corrupted over the centuries by sorcery.”

Angel struggled to sit, but his head swam and he fell back. “What happened?” he groaned.

“I arrived to save you.”

“Single-handed, I suppose.”

“Close. We waited until just after midnight, then, when the Gothir had fallen back for the fifth time, we ran for our horses. There were only thirty of us left, but it was enough to send the Brotherhood fleeing from the field.”

“I don’t remember that,” said Angel. “In fact, my thoughts are hazy. I seem to recall ghosts riding to our rescue in white armor.”

“Priests,” said Senta. “Source priests.”

“In armor?”

“An unusual order,” said Senta. “They call themselves the Thirty, although there are only eleven of them now. They are led by an abbot named Dardalion.”

“He was a Purdol. He helped Karnak. Get me up!”

“You should lie back. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Thank you for your concern, Mother. Now help me up, damn you!”

“As you wish, old fool.” Senta’s hand slid under Angel’s shoulder, levering him to a sitting position.

Nausea gripped Angel, but he swallowed it and sucked in a deep breath. “I thought we were finished. Where’s Miriel?”

“She’s safe. She’s with Dardalion and Kesa Khan.”

“And the Gothir?”

“Camped all around us, Angel. They’ve been reinforced. Must be seven, eight thousand men in the valley.”

“Wonderful. Is there any good news?”

“None that I can think of, but you do have a visitor. Charming little fellow. He’s sitting in the hallway now. I’ll send him to you in a while. I found him sitting by what we thought was your body. He was crying. Very touching it was.
Brought a tear to my eye, I can tell you.” Angel swore. Senta chuckled. “I knew you weren’t dead, Angel. You’re too stubborn to die.”

“How many did we lose?”

Senta’s smile faded. “Belash is dead, and Anshi Chen. There are some three hundred warriors left, but many of them are youngsters, untried. I don’t think we can hold this place for long.”

“They’ve not attacked yet?”

“No. They’re busy chopping down trees, making scaling ladders and the like.”

Angel lay back and closed his eyes. “Just let them give me a day or two. Then I’ll be ready. I’m a fast healer, Senta.”

“In that case we’ll try not to start the war without you.”

Senta found Miriel on the inner rampart, leaning on the twisted wall and staring out over the campfires of the enemy. Nadir warriors were standing close by, sharpening their weapons. The swordsman moved past the Nadir and halted beside the tall mountain girl. “Angel’s fine,” he said. “A few minor cuts and a large lump on that thick skull. I sometimes think if the world ended in fire and flood, he would walk out of the cinders with singed hair and wet boots.”

She smiled. “He does appear so wonderfully indestructible.”

“Come and see what I found,” said Senta, walking away to a set of stairs that led down to a narrow corridor and a large suite of rooms. The windows were distorted, shaped like open, screaming mouths, and the walls were crooked. But the large bedchamber was empty, and in its center was a golden four-poster bed, beautifully proportioned, rectangular and solid. There were pillows of silk and a coverlet filled with goose down.

“How could such a bed survive when a fortress of stone is corrupted?” she asked.

The swordsman shrugged. “There are other objects of gold that are apparently not affected by the sorcery. I found two goblets downstairs, exquisitely carved.”

She moved toward the bed, then angled away to the first of the
three windows. From there the valley could be seen. “There’s another column of cavalry moving down,” she told him.

“I don’t care about the cavalry,” he said.

She swung toward him, her back to the window, her face blushing crimson. “You think I will let you bed me?”

“I think you should seriously consider it,” he told her with a wide smile.

“I don’t love you, Senta.”

“You don’t know that yet,” he said reasonably. “Here’s where you can find out.”

“You think love springs from the loins?”

He laughed aloud. “Mine always has—until now.” He shook his head, the smile fading. “You are frightened, beauty, frightened to live. Well, here we are, trapped in a decrepit fortress, our futures measured in days. This is no time to be frightened of life. You owe me a kiss, at least. The Gothir stole the last one.”

“One kiss is all you will have,” she promised, moving forward.

He opened his arms to her, and she stepped inside them. Reaching up, he pushed his fingers into her long dark hair, easing it back from her face and stroking the high cheekbones, his hand curling around to the nape of her neck. He could feel his heart pounding as he kissed her brow and her cheek. She tilted her head, her lips brushing against his skin. Their lips met, and he felt her body pressing against him. Her mouth tasted sweet and warm, and his passion soared. But he made no move to pull her to the bed. Instead he ran his hands down her back, halting at the slender waist, feeling the curve of her hips. And he kissed her neck and shoulder, reveling in the scent of her skin.

She was wearing a black leather tunic laced at the front with slender thongs. Slowly he moved his right hand to her breast, his fingers hooking to the first knot.

“No,” she said, moving back from him. Swallowing his disappointment, he took a deep breath. She smiled. “I’ll do it.” Unfastening the knife belt at her waist, she lifted the tunic over her head and stood before him naked. His eyes drank her
in: the long sun-bronzed legs, the flat belly, the high, full breasts.

“You’re a vision, beauty. No question about it.”

He stepped toward her, but she stopped him. “What about you?” she asked. “Do I not get a chance to admire?”

“Every chance,” he told her, pulling free his shirt and unhooking his belt. He almost stumbled as he struggled to remove his leggings, and her laughter was infectious.

“You’d think you’d never removed leggings before,” she said.

Reaching out, he took her arm and gently pulled her to the bed. A cloud of dust rose as they fell upon it, causing him to cough. “Such romance,” she giggled. He joined in her laughter, and they lay quietly together for a few moments, staring into each other’s eyes. His right hand stroked the skin of her shoulder and arm, moving down until his forearm brushed across her nipple. She closed her eyes and slid in toward him. The hand moved on, over the flat belly and onto the thigh. Her legs were closed, but she parted them. He kissed her again. Her arm hooked around his neck, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

“Gently, beauty,” he whispered. “There is no need for haste. Nothing beautiful is ever crafted at speed. And I want this first time to be special.”

She moaned as his palm pressed gently against her pubic mound, and for some time he slowly caressed her. Her breathing quickened, her body moving into spasm. She cried out again and again. Finally he rose above her, lifting her long legs over his hips and guiding himself into her. He kissed her again, then drove into her, releasing the self-imposed chains of his passion.

He tried to keep his movements slow, but his needs were greater than his wish to make the moment last, and when Miriel cried out again in a series of rhythmic, almost primal groans, he succumbed at last. His body spasmed as his arms pulled her into a tight embrace. Then he moaned and lay still. He sighed, and his body relaxed as he lay upon her, feeling his heartbeat and hers together, pounding against the warm skin of his chest.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Was that love?”

“By all the gods I hope so, beauty,” he answered her, rolling
to his back. “For nothing else in my life has given me so much pleasure.”

Raising herself on her elbow, she gazed down at his face. “It was … wonderful. Let’s do it again!”

“In a while, Miriel,” he answered.

“How long?”

He chuckled and drew her into his embrace. “Not long. I promise you!”

17

D
ARDALION OPENED HIS
eyes as his spirit returned to the flesh, feeling the weight of his body and the silver armor on it. It was cold in the room despite the log fire burning in the hearth.

“They will not attack today and perhaps not tomorrow,” he told Kesa Khan. “General Gannis is a careful man. He has sent work parties to the woods to cut trees and make scaling ladders. He intends one great attack that will swamp us.”

The little Nadir shaman nodded. “We will hold them for one, maybe two assaults. After that …” He spread his hands.

Dardalion rose from the gold lacquered chair and moved to the fire, extending his hands to the flames, enjoying the sudden warmth. “What I do not understand—and neither does the Gothir general—is why the emperor has chosen this course. The coming Uniter will not be stopped. It is written that the Nadir will rise. There is nothing he can do to change the future. Nothing.”

“It is not the emperor but Zhu Chao who seeks our destruction,” said Kesa Khan with a dry laugh. “Twin needs spur him on: his hatred for the Wolves and his desire for absolute power.”

“Why does he hate you so?”

Kesa Khan’s eyes glittered, and his smile was cruel. “Many years ago he came to me, seeking to understand the nature of magic. He is a Chiatze, and he was studying the dark arts and the origins of the knights of blood. I turned him away. He had the wit but not the courage.”

“And for this he hates you?”

“No, not just for this. He crept back to my cave, and I caught
him trying to steal …” The shaman’s eyes were hooded now. “… objects of value. My guards took him. They wanted to kill him, but I decided to be merciful. I merely cut something from him, gave him a wound to remember me by. He still had his life, but he would never sire life. You understand?”

“Only too well,” Dardalion answered coldly.

“Do not judge me, priest,” snapped Kesa Khan.

“It is not for me to judge. You planted the seed of his hatred, and now you are gathering the harvest.”

“Pah, it is not that simple,” said the shaman. “He was always a creature of evil. I should have killed him. But his hatred I can bear. This fortress, and what it contains, is the second of his desires. There is more powerful sorcery here than has been seen in the world for ten millennia. Zhu Chao wants it … needs it. Once upon a distant time the Elders here performed miracles. They learned how to merge flesh. A man who had lost a leg could grow a new one. Organs riddled with cancer could be replaced without the use of a knife. Bodies could be regenerated, rejuvenated. Here was the secret of immortality. The force was contained within a giant crystal encased in a covering of pure gold. It radiated power, and only gold and to a lesser extent lead could imprison it. You saw the valley?”

“Yes,” said Dardalion. “Nature perverted.”

“Fifty years ago a group of robbers came to this place. They found the crystal chamber and stripped the gold from its walls. removing the covering from the crystal itself.” He laughed. “It was not a wise action.”

“What happened to them? Why did they not steal the crystal?”

“The power they unleashed killed them. The Elders knew how to control it, to focus the forces. Without their skill it has become merely corrupting, violent, haphazard sorcery.”

“I sense no power emanating from here,” said Dardalion.

“No. Zhu Chao sent men here. They removed the crystal from its setting. It sits now on a golden floor some two hundred feet below us.”

“Did these men also die?”