Longing's Levant (13 page)

But the invaders had been waiting in the cavern and the women were attacked, scattering to the four winds as glassy-eyed warriors attacked like scavenging beasts. The queen and two of her ladies-in-waiting had stumbled through an open door and into the corridor where they now hid. Where the second woman had disappeared to was anyone’s guess.

Easing her hand from her mouth, Lilabet reached out a shaky hand to touch the woman beside her. Without a word, both women got quietly to their feet, the lady-in-waiting helping her queen to stand. Silently, they eased down the corridor, careful not to make a sound.

It was damp and dank in the corridor and the horrid stench of spilled blood wafted over them. The floor was slick beneath their sandals, sticky between their toes as they waded ankle-deep through the congealing fluid. Broken bodies littered the pathway and the women stepped gingerly over the obstacles, knowing well that come the night, the dead would begin to stir.

A startled moan came from the woman at her side, and Lilabet looked to where she was pointing. Beneath the sputtering light of a dying torch, the sight was a grisly one.

Dead eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream, Lady Dakhla was sprawled like a broken doll, her neck twisted, the flesh hanging in tatters where fangs had ripped eagerly into her throat. Lying near her was Lilabet’s daughter, Meritaten.

Meritaten had fared no better than her best friend Dakhla. Her gown had been ripped down to her waist and her breasts were bloody with puncture wounds.

The queen would have knelt beside her child, but her lady-in-waiting grabbed her arm and tried to pull her forward, away from the horrific find. When Lilabet resisted, her companion hissed beneath her breath and laid a firm hand on the protruding mound of the queen’s belly. The reminder of her unborn child stiffened Lilabet’s resolve and she nodded curtly.

Though she was loath to leave her daughter without one last touch, Lilabet understood the urgency of quitting the corridor and making their way into the bright sunlight. The door to the outside was still fifty feet away and that end of the corridor was devoid of light save the thin sliver of illumination that marked the portal’s header.

Stumbling over a corpse, Lilabet would have fallen had not her lady-in-waiting reached out to steady her. Something squishy—spongy and slick—coated the bottom of the queen’s sandal and she had to force herself not to retch. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned a human organ clinging to her foot and her bile grew hot and cloying in her throat.

From behind the women, a harsh rush of hot air buffeted their retreat and each turned, expecting a cadaver to loom up out of the darkness, but when Lilabet recognized her lover, Kaibyn Zafeyr, she could not stop the shriek of hopelessness that overcame her.

“Nay, Lady!” Kaibyn told her, holding his hand out in entreaty. “I am not one of them!”

Relieved that the man she had come to love so desperately—and rely upon so thoroughly—was untainted by the blood-drinkers, the queen threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, Kiabyn!” she cried, clinging to him. “Take us from this evil place!”

“Hold to me,” he said, soothing her back with his strong hand. “I will place you beyond danger.”

“Karmaria!” Lilabet cried out, reaching a hand toward her Lady-in-Waiting.

“Milady, what are you doing?” the lady-in-waiting cried, stepping back. “Why do you call the demon?”

Kaibyn snagged the other woman’s arm and in the blink of an eye, the three supernaturally fled the dark corridor, spinning like dervishes into the Void between space and time.

* * * * *

Evann-Sin was as weak as a newborn, unable to stop the Healer from pouring vile concoctions down his throat and pumping them into his helpless body. By the time the man was finished with him and had declared he would live, the warrior was madder and sicker than he could ever remember being in his thirty-odd years. Clinging to the edge of the mattress as the Healer’s helper braced him so he could take a sip of cool water, Evann-Sin thought of every conceivable agony he could visit upon the demon and then some.

“Who attacked you, boy?”

Hearing his father’s gruff voice—the commanding tones of the Akkadian King—Evann-Sin looked past the Healer’s helper. Standing at the door to the room with his bodyguards flanking him, the Panther was an imposing sight. His dark eyes were sharp, his lips pursed in anger and his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“Who dared harm you?” King Numair demanded.

“I am unharmed, Majesty,” Evann-Sin stated. “Lest I was until your Healer took it upon himself to torture me.”

The Panther advanced into the room. “Where is your horse?”

Sighing heavily, for he knew the beast’s safety was of more import than his own, Evann-Sin assured his king the mount was in good hands.

“And in whose hands is the steed?”

“My lady’s,” Evann-Sin said and realized he had said the wrong thing for his king’s eyes narrowed and a muscle jumped in the older man’s lean jaw.

“What lady is that, Riel?” the king queried. “I was not aware you had a mate.”

Pushing himself up in the bed with the intention of getting out of it, Evann-Sin realized his head was still spinning, his stomach queasy, and he stilled, swallowing against the bitter bile that loped up his throat at the movement.

“What is the woman’s name, boy?” the Panther asked. “How did you come to know her?”

“Tamara Nabril,” Evann-Sin managed to say. “We met in Nonica.”

“Nabril? That is not an Akkadian name,” his king snapped. “From where does this female come?”

Knowing he dared not lie, Evann-Sin mumbled that the woman he had chosen as his own was from Bandar.

King Numair’s eyes widened and his lips parted. Among those who were witness to the scene between father and son, one bodyguard would swear on his life he saw the thick white mane of hair on the king’s head stand straight up like an angry porcupine’s quills.

“A Hell Hag?” the Panther asked in a whisper that hinted at his shock.

Evann-Sin flinched but he raised his chin and met his king’s unwavering stare. “Some would call her such but she is the woman I love and she engaged in battle the woman who harmed me and took her life.”

The king blinked. With his mouth still hanging open, he cocked his head to one side as though he doubted what he had heard. Lifting a hand to his head, he slapped the palm against his right ear three times then asked the warrior to repeat what he had just said.

Acutely conscious of the other four men in the room, Evann-Sin related what had happened at the inn in Nonica then told his king of Rabin’s funeral. He was somewhat surprised to see a passing glint of grief in the Panther’s dark eyes.

“I liked the dark man,” was all King Numair said then nodded for Evann-Sin to continue.

“I realized I was being followed after I left the funeral,” the warrior said, very uneasy about telling the whole of it. “I was drinking water at an oasis when I was hit from behind and rendered unconscious.”

The Panther held up a hand. “You did not sense danger, boy?” he wanted clarified.

“I sensed it, Your Majesty, but it came before I could stop it.”

Staring intently at his son, King Numair folded his arms over a thick, barrel-like chest. “Go on.”

“I woke to find myself tied spread-eagled to the ground,” Evann-Sin said, looking away from that intense gaze.

“It was the Hell Hags who attacked you,” the king stated.

“Aye, Your Majesty,” Evann-Sin mumbled.

“They raped you.”

Evann-Sin winced. “Aye,” he answered almost inaudibly.

Silence settled on the room. The king’s two bodyguards stood staring down at the floor and the Healer’s helper was looking at the coverlet over the warrior’s feet. As the stillness lingered on, Evann-Sin raised his head and looked up into the steady eyes of his king. Expecting to see disgust, shame or fury flashing from the Panther’s heavily lined face he was surprised to see the shimmer of tears.

“And this woman,” he heard the king say. “This Tamara? She was not among those who abused you.”

“Nay, Majesty,” Evann-Sin replied.

“She fought for your honor?”

Nodding because he could not speak past the lump that was lodged in his throat, Evann-Sin waited for the infamous temper of the Panther to explode.

“Hand-to-hand?” the king asked.

“Aye, Your Majesty.”

“I’ve heard the Hell Hags are almost as good at warfare as the Amazeens,” King Numair stated.

“I did not see the battle but I saw the aftermath,” Evann-Sin said. “Tamara was very angry.”

“No doubt,” the king said. “They took what she considered hers.”

Forging his gaze with his king’s, Evann-Sin acknowledged that he was hers and she was his.

“So how did you get here?” the Panther asked. “Minus your steed and as sick as a dog who has lunched on rancid meat?”

The mental picture made Evann-Sin’s mouth water and he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the nausea at bay. Digging his fingers into the sheet, he told his king of meeting the Magi—of encountering Kaibyn Zafeyr and the resurrection of Rabin Jaspyre.

“He’s alive?” the king asked, his eyes wide.

“He’s Undead,” Evann-Sin clarified. “Zafeyr is a demon and it was…”

Once more the Panther slapped his ear with his palm. He shook his head to clear it then told his son to repeat what he had just said.

“He is a demon,” Evann-Sin stated. “It was he who transported me here, but I have no idea how he accomplished the feat. When I found out, I…”

“First you are raped by a band of Hell Hags then you are fought over by two women warriors. Your best friend dies but though the dark man is dead, yet he is not dead,” the king said. “You meet a demon who brought you here by supernatural means, conveyed to the palace on the wings of this demon and you leave your horse with a woman you barely know!” He squinted. “Does that about cover it, Riel?”

“You left out the Magi,” Evann-Sin said quietly. “And I didn’t leave Aswad. I was jerked up by that demon and delivered here so no doubt he can attempt to seduce my woman.”

Throwing his hands into the air, the king looked to the heavens. “Have you any notion how priceless that steed is to me, boy?”

“I know he’s more priceless than my life is to you,” Evann-Sin replied, hurt apparent in his voice. As soon as the words left his lips, he wished he could snatch them back.

The Panther slowly lowered his head. His dark brown gaze went unerringly to his son’s pale face and held. For the space of a full minute, nothing was said—the room was as devoid of sound as a grave. No one moved. Then King Numair told the other men to leave the room.

Uneasy at leaving their king unprotected, the bodyguards hesitated though the Healer’s helper made quick work of departing. They looked at one another—concern puckering their foreheads—until they were ordered out in a tone that brooked no denial. Hurrying to do their king’s bidding, they bumped into one another as they attempted to get out the door at the same time.

“And close the door behind you!” the king ordered.

When the portal was pulled shut and silence once more reigned, King Numair broke eye contact with his son and looked around him. Spying a chair, he went to it, grabbed the back and swung it around to stand beside Evann-Sin’s bed. He straddled the seat and sat—his knees braced apart, and leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs.

“I don’t know where you got the notion your life is of little value to me, Riel, but let me disabuse you of that impression,” the Panther stated. His deep voice was devoid of inflection though his face was set and his eyes hard.

“Your Majesty, I…” Evann-Sin began but his father held up a hand.

“For once,” the king grated. “For
once
will you call me Papa?”

Shocked at the request, Evann-Sin could only stare at the man sitting at his bedside. It was hard enough for him to recline there on the bed with his king’s head lower than his own but to have such an appeal thrown at him was staggering.

“I have acknowledged you as my son,” King Numair stated. “Many times over have I acknowledged you to my men.”

“Yet never to me,” the warrior interrupted.

As though he had not heard Evann-Sin, the king continued. “I have spoken often of how proud I am of you, and all that you have accomplished.”

“Yet never once said as much to me.”

The Panther drew in a long breath then exhaled slowly as though he were trying to calm his infamously raging temper with the release of his breath.

“How many fights did you have as a boy, Riel?” he countered. “How many bruises visited upon you for being the son of a king?”

“More than I care to remember,” Evann-Sin admitted.

“And how many more cuts and bruises do you think you would have had if I had shown my affection for you?”

King Numair had two legitimate sons and three legitimate daughters by his marriage to Queen Hessa of Inaya. The oldest of the boys was thirteen and the youngest nine. The daughters were born first and the youngest had married just the year before at the age of nineteen. The two older daughters had given the Panther seven grandchildren between them.