The Conqueror (30 page)

It was an amazing moment.

They were face to face, although he was
still under the sheets and she was on top.

He brought his right hand up to her
hip. He let it rest there lightly.

“
Was there something you
wanted to tell me, Lowren?” She searched his face.

“
Yes. Majesty.” Pulling her
in close, he put his lips on hers as the lady stared into his own
questioning eyes and he carefully proceeded to do just
that.

He was nothing if
not
thorough,
thought Eleanora, as she happily wriggled in a little closer.
She squeezed a little tighter and just let it all
happen.

He pulled back for a breath, and a look
full of long pent-up emotion. There was a wash of tears in his
eyes.

“
You…”

“
Me, what…?

She sighed, eyes demure and downcast,
and still not making any attempt to resist. Those clear eyes
stabbed him with a sudden look.

“
You may continue, good
sir.”

They smiled.

“
Heh, heh, heh.”

He would find the words, and so would
she. It might take a while, for it was a lot to take in all at
once.

It was enough to know, in that one very
special moment in time, that the two lovers were together at
last.

***

The season had finally turned snowy,
white and cold. With his wound healing, soon it would be time for
Lowren and his small group to complete their journey homeward.
There were four or five inches of fresh, soft snow.

They followed the hoof-prints of her
servants, sent out before dawn to sweep the snow away and lay a
carpet at what was a well-known local shrine of sorts.

Both were heavily dressed for the cold.
Eleanora and Lowren rode along a trail that led up from the valley
of Winderemere into the rugged foothills of the Juniper
Mountains.

Their breath and that of their ponies,
high-spirited young animals glad to be out for a run, hung in the
air. They were keeping the mounts to a slow walk, just enough to
keep them warm but not break a sweat. Their voices were oddly
muffled except when facing directly one another, and it was as if
everything was swallowed up by a thick blanket of soft white
snow.

Lowren straightened up in the
saddle.

He gave her a look.

“
Ah. Now I know where we’re
going.”

She nodded, serious now after the sweet
nothings and small talk of the first part of the
journey.

The Blue Stone was on a high
promontory, where once a colony of rattlers had existed, before the
sea-going people that were the ancestors of her people destroyed
them in their own colonization. The path led up, ever up and
around.

There were one or two more turns and
then they dismounted. Leaving the horses well back from the cliff,
they approached the Blue Stone. The inscription was in an ancient
tongue, and the translation was pure tradition—no on alive today
could say whether it was proper or not.

It might just be gibberish.

Lowren approached the tall stone,
tapering to a point, with a small pyramidal section on top as if to
finish it off.

Pulling off his heavy fur mitt, he
touched the stone.

“
Hmn.” It was almost warm
compared to the surrounding air, which was chill with a brisk wind
on the exposed lip of the escarpment.

That much of the legend was true, at
least.

Not that the sun wouldn’t warm it,
thought Lowren, whereas the snow reflected back all that heat and
light with its searing glare in the noonday sun.

Eleanora came up beside her
lover.

Looking out over the valley and her
city below, she took a breath and began to recite.

The strong man is gentle, for he has nothing to
fear,

The coward is always cruel, and he dies a thousand
deaths.

Beware the paths of glory

For in the end, all is vanity.

Before you there are two paths

One is easy and the other one is hard.

Choose wisely, for this shall be your fate.

“
Great Jupiter! Is that really what it says?” Lowren was
dumbfounded.

“
According to legend,
yes, Lowren…my love. That is what it
says.”

There was
a long silence and Lowren touched the stone again, then put his
mitt back on. He couldn’t say if this one particular stone was any
warmer than any other—the rocky ground under them was right there
if one cared to make the comparison.

He shook
his head, dismissing it. It was all true, of course.

“
Interesting.”

With a
knowing smile, she pulled a silver flask from an inner pocket and
turned away to where the ponies patiently waited.

The days
were at their shortest, it was very cold, and they were looking at
a long ride back down the mountain.

And it
was good advice, if you could take it.

E
nd

About the Author

Louis Shalako began writing for
community newspapers and industrial magazines. His stories appear
in publications including Perihelion Science Fiction, Bewildering
Stories, Aurora Wolf, Ennea, Wonderwaan, Algernon, Nova Fantasia,
and Danse Macabre. He lives in southern Ontario and writes full
time.

> Louis
Shalako <