The Warrior Returns - Anteros 04 (18 page)

We came to what seemed like a landing at the top of the longest flight of stairs. As we climbed I automatically counted the steps. There were one hundred and seventeen. I remember that useless number to this day and have recounted the steps many times in my dreams.

When we reached the top I saw that the stone walls ended at the landing, to be replaced by bare, gouged-out rock. I twisted my head slightly to look as my captors hauled me toward what appeared to be a wooden-gated shaft.

They hoisted me up as if they were tilting a log on its end and carried me through the gate onto a wooden platform with slatted sides and an open roof. I craned my head back to look up and saw some kind of chain hoist mechanism that led into a yawning darkness that had a pinpoint of light at its end.

The heat was nearly overpowering, steaming up all around the edges of the wooden cage. Perspiration rolled down my face, stinging my eyes and cracked lips.

One of the men yanked a cord and I heard a far-off bell ring. The platform jolted under me, and then with a huge groan and rattle of chain we were slowly drawn upward. The cage's journey began clumsily, jerking and jolting and bumping into the walls, but then the rhythm smoothed out, the jerking motion stopped, and the pace speeded up.

Stone walls flashed past, moisture and bits of metal flashing in the light of the small glass pots of glowing crystals hanging from one of the cage posts.

The shaft's surface was broken now and then by tunnel openings, where men waited for transport and blinked in surprise as we rushed by instead of stopping. The openings, I realized after a time, led into mines. And I realized just how deeply my cell was buried beneath what later proved to be the deepest of all the mines.

As we were drawn past the mine tunnels, I heard the roar of fire, the clash of metal tools, the crack of hammers breaking rock, the rumble of wooden cartwheels, the curses of overseers, and the moans and cries of forced labor.

The ascent took several hours, and during that whole time the men never exchanged a word with one another or even glanced at me. After a time I nodded off, dazed by the stifling heat.

I felt a blast of cool air and the platform jolted to a stop.

My eyes blinked open, but I immediately had to squint against the light. Guards swung the gate open and I was hauled out into a cold gray day.

Before I could look about, a black bag was drawn over my head. A heavy smothering odor filled my nostrils, choking me. I fought for breath and drew in more of that nauseating gas.

Blackness descended once more.

I
dreamed
I
was in a leafy bower in the arms of a lover. She was strange and familiar to me at the same time, her face and form shifting whenever I looked closely at her. She was sweet and kind and all the things we want a lover to be, and when our passion climaxed, a delicious joyful languor enveloped me. In my dream I dozed off, my head pillowed in her lap.

I awoke to sounds of faint pipes playing a peaceful tune. Perfume and incense drifted on the currents of the air and I felt the delicious softness of deep pillows beneath my body.

As awareness returned I realized my fist was still clenched tight over the lizard bone. Relief washed over me. The weapon hadn't been found.

Someone said my name and I opened my eyes to find two young maids bending over me. They were pretty things with skin like fresh cream, and they were dressed in short sheer gowns with golden ties belted about narrow waists.

They had sponges to wipe my brow with perfumed water and a jar of light wine to slake my thirst. Gently they roused me from the comforts of a wonderful bed, with deep brocaded pillows and rosy-hued curtains that could be drawn to shut out the light.

They called me Lady Antero and said I must get ready to be presented to the king. I let them lead me through the chamber, paying no attention to their gentle chatter, which mostly consisted of gossip about their young friends.

I looked about curiously as I padded naked across deep carpets. The walls of the room were hung with fabulous tapestries covered with delightful scenes of field and forest and stream. There were scenes of beautiful young people at play. Chasing a deer, dashing across a meadow, or tenderly embracing under the trees. Although they were naked and some of the love scenes were quite explicit, all was done with much taste, so you were charmed rather than enticed or repelled.

The maids led me to a pool-size stone bath filled with steaming perfumed waters. I walked down the steps to enter the water, which came about waist high. They took my elbows and helped me settle down; then they clapped their hands and several other maids—each lovelier than the next— appeared from behind curtains. They were all so young, girls really, and it did lighten my mood to hear their innocent squeals of pleasure as they shed their clothes and climbed into the pool with me.

There, I was treated to the most marvelous bath. Gentie fingers probed here and there, sponging and massaging and pouring steamy water over me. They washed my hair, kneading my scalp and treating the damaged parts with conditioning oils.

It was as if I'd never left the dream but had been whisked away to a small paradise where my every need was catered to.

A paradise with danger peeping from every comer of the stage where I was the featured player in a charming scene. I went along with it all, laughing at small jokes, tickling a giggle from a girl now and then, using the actions to shift the lizard bone about so it wouldn't be discovered.

The maids didn't notice my crafty movements. They praised my looks, wept at my battle scars, and said, tsk tsk, poor thing, as they gently tended my weary body.

They toweled me off, rubbing my skin until it glowed, then draped me in more thick towels and settled me down before a small table where delicacies had been laid out to satisfy my hunger.

There was a clear broth, toasted bread dripping with butter and honey, rashers of bacon, eggs steamed in wine, and slices of iced fruit of every variety. I ate my fill, smiling and answering the maids when they asked me what I needed, but saying nothing else except please and thank you very much, my dears.

Then it was time to dress, and they drew aside a curtain, revealing a closet the size of a small room. There was every kind of costume imaginable in that closet, with shoes and sandals and boots to match each one. I looked them over, remarking on the quality of this and the pleasing color of that I didn't have to ask or try the costumes on to know mat each one would fit me perfectly.

The whole atmosphere was casual and natural. We were all sisters together, getting ready for a grand affair. I said nothing or did nothing to spoil that atmosphere, letting events carry me forward and storing up all the will and energy I could.

I chose a simple tunic and matching leggings with a floppy-sleeved blouse to wear under the tunic. As I drew it on I hid the lizard bone in the sleeve.

There were doeskin boots for my feet and a belt of silver chain for my waist The maids opened a velvet-lined chest with all kinds of clever drawers filled with all sorts of jeweled adornment from tiaras to plain gold bracelets and earrings.

I demurred, saying I really didn't like jewelry, which was a lie. But I knew better than to wear metal and crystal given to me in the realm of a strange wizard.

The maids were completely unconcerned with my decision, and when they shut the chest I wondered if I was wrong and the jewelry safe. I touched the lid, pretending to help fasten the catch, felt a warning buzz of sorcery, and knew I'd been right to refuse.

Finally I was ready. I looked at myself in the mirror as the maids fussed over me, rearranging the tuck and fold of my clothing and pushing stray curls under the jaunty cap I'd chosen to top off my outfit.

Hard knuckles rapped on the chamber door. One of the maids opened it and two mailed soldiers stepped in.

It was time to meet the king.

we moved along
many corridors, ascended and descended many flights of stairs, passed through more halls and chambers than I could make note of, and finally came to two great wooden doors guarded by sentries with spears.

Raucous noise came from behind the huge doors, wild music and laughter and loud indistinct boasts bellowed from drunken throats. Then the doors opened and I was escorted into King Magon's feasting hall.

It was long and narrow, with rough tables and benches set on either side of a broad aisle. Chaos reigned at those tables, where burly warriors sat, stabbing up joints of meat with daggers and shortswords, swilling enormous jugs of ale—brew foaming down their beards as they drank—and brawling over small delicacies.

Servants of both sexes darted in and around the tables, carrying jugs of spirits and trenchers of meat and roasted vegetables, dodging blows and clumsy caresses. Entertainers pranced among the tables and along the aisle, juggling knives and pies, tumbling and somersaulting over the tables, balancing on wires stretched over the heads of the celebrants. The warriors jokingly jabbed at the wire walkers with bread sticks and even swords.

The sound of carousing was deafening, and the music, which came from a small group of long-suffering musicians set up in one comer, was somehow less distinct with the doors open.

My escorts prodded me forward and I walked down the long aisle, gradually gaining the notice of the celebrants, and was showered with leering comments about my physical characteristics that I'm sure some of the men thought were complimentary. If it'd been another time and place, I would've paused to teach them better manners. Instead I concentrated on putting one boot in front of the other, dodging tipsy celebrants and weary acrobats, but at the same time not making the guards nervous about my intent.

I kept my self cold, casually unrevealing. I kept my magical senses tight about me, giving nothing away. Above the din of the brawling men, I could feel th
e distinctive buzz of a sor
cerous presence.

The farther I walked along that aisle, the stronger that feeling became.

Near the end of the feast hall the crowd cleared and I saw the king.

Even sprawled in the big throne
-
like chair set before his dining table, the king was as big as I remembered from my first distant view. He was dressed in a loose white shirt, stained red with wine, and he had a royal robe pulled carelessly over his shoulders. The heavy, gem-encrusted crown had a dangerous tilt to it. His boots poked out from under the table, one big foot propped on top of the other. His high-backed chair carried the carved head of an ice bear.

There was a small crowd gathered about the king, who was bellowing so loudly that I could hear him above the din. As he spoke he thumped the table with a meaty fist to underscore some deeply held royal opinion.

Then I saw a small delicate man lean toward the king and whisper in his ear. The king nodded, and as he looked to see what the small man was pointing out, he wiped greasy fingers in his beard. Magon's eyes found me as I reached the stairs leading up to the platform where his dining table was set. One of the guards tugged my sleeve and I stopped.

The king bellowed for quiet, but you couldn't hear the words plainly much beyond me. He flushed with impatience, hauled himself to his feet, and pounded the table with a wine jug.

"Silence!" he roared.

The jug shattered, wine flooding out everywhere. But he got the silence he'd commanded. All turned to look at the king.

"Boys," he said, his voice rough with drink and manly cheer, "we've got a special guest tonight. Down here to see us all the way from the North country."

He gestured at me, and everybody craned to get a better look. I searched for the source of the magical buzz as he talked. It wasn't him. The king was no magician. It wasn't his aide—the small delicate man. And it wasn't any of the people around him.

As I searched, the king was saying, "She's from a real rich family, too, boys. From what I hear, it's the most important family in all the North. Brother's a big merchant prince or something. Explorer, too. At least that's what they tell me."

He smiled at me. "Do I have it right so far?" he asked.

I bowed slightly. "As right as you can be, Your Highness," I said.

"You're also a witch, I'm told," he said—but loudly, so all could hear.

"Actually, I'm an Evocator, Your Highness," I said. "Which in my city is an official post."

"No matter how you cut it," he said, "it's still the same thing."

I smiled, accepting his kingly correction. "Yes, Your Highness."

The king nodded, absently thrusting out a hand for a wine mug. There were none within reach, but a servant instantly scooped up a full goblet and thrust it into the king's fist. Magon, without acknowledging that the goblet hadn't been there a moment before, clasped it and drank the wine down. He dangled the goblet, then let it fall. The same servant snatched it out of the air so the crash wouldn't disturb His Majesty's serenity.

Magon belched and wiped his beard. Then he leaned forward slightly, looking me over for some reaction. I made none. Although I did note that much of what I was seeing might be a pose.

Then he asked, "What brings you to our kingdom?" He waved a hand, indicating his warriors. "We're honored, of course. Such an important person traveling so far. Isn't that so, boys?"