VirtualWarrior (34 page)

Lien ran to meet her.

“Lace those or you will lose them,” she pointed out. He
glanced down and grinned. He quickly laced up his pants and took his stick.

“Cidre!” Nilrem shouted from where he stood atop a table. He
pointed, and Lien saw that Cidre had made her way outside and was running
across the courtyard.

“Damn. Let’s go after her.” Together they ran into the
courtyard, but they were a moment too late.

Cidre had made it through the entrance, and the huge
drawbridge was closing behind her. When they reached the gate, they saw a guard
standing there, grinning. Next to him was a severed rope—a rope as thick as a
man’s thigh, a rope that worked the gears to raise the bridge. There was now no
hope of opening it without an army of help.

“We could go up,” Ardra said, pointing to a winding
staircase against the wall.

“No, you will not,” the guard said and raised his sword.

“Yeah, Ardra. We don’t have a chance with this guy.”

Lien pretended to turn away, then swung back and brought his
stick down on the man’s shoulder. The guard dropped like a stone.

“Well done,” she said, and grabbed Lien’s hand.

Moments later, they stood on the fortress wall. Behind them,
warriors and servants poured into the courtyard. Lien gripped his stick until
his hand ached. They were too late. Cidre would escape into the woods, and who
knew what evil she’d cause somewhere else?

“Stop!” he called after the goddess, feeling as ineffectual
as an unarmed slave against a warrior.

Cidre did stop, but not in obedience to his command. She
turned at the edge of the woods and raised her arms. Her sleeves fell back, and
her arms looked very white against the dark backdrop of the trees. She extended
her hands to the heavens. Sunlight glinted off the Black Eye on her chest.

Her voice came clearly across the open ground, carried like
a voice over water. “By all that is within me, all the sacred charges given me
by my mother, I call down the Darkness.”

An icy wind rose. It buffeted them where they stood, kicked
up white caps on the lake, sent the clouds racing across the angry sky.

A rustle as of thousands of leaves stirring came from the
castle walls.

Women and children, warriors and slaves, screamed as the
vines shifted, heaved, and raised their flowered heads.

“Lien!” Ardra cried. She gripped his arm as the vines near
her feet seethed.

“Sweet heaven,” he whispered as all around them vines
shimmered and shifted and metamorphosed into thousands of snakes.

Some were as thin as vipers and some as thick as rattlers.
They swarmed down the walls toward the hapless slaves and warriors. The vines
on the outside walls slithered up and over the ramparts, across Lien’s bare
feet and Ardra’s boots—then into the courtyard. They were like a tide of water
over sand. More snakes poured from the hall, and Lien knew they were from the
attic.

He felt a surge of anger. It flooded his mouth, rushed
through his veins like acid. It filled his ears with such a roar, he no longer
heard the screams of the people or the swish of the reptiles pursuing them with
icy zeal.

He raised his stick. He pointed to the serpents and shouted,
“Stop!”

Silence fell. He felt
dizzy
. Wasps buzzed inside his
head. His arm trembled. His mind reeled at the sight of hundreds, perhaps
thousands of snakes poised at his command.

Cidre shrieked and cried out for the Darkness to descend.
Lien whipped around and pointed his stick at her.

The snakes stirred. They swarmed in a tide of hissing green
back over the walls and across the clearing.

Cidre stood her ground, her hands aloft, her voice raised in
appeal to some power which Lien knew had abandoned her. The undulating green
wave reached her.

It swept over her in moments. And like the tide, the
reptiles receded
en masse
when their work was done. Not to the fortress,
but where he pointed his stick—into the lake.

When the silver surface of the lake was once again as smooth
as glass, Lien set the tip of his stick with a thump on the stone wall.

Ardra sagged against him. “You are magic,” she said,
entwining her fingers with his.

“I don’t believe in magic.” He squeezed her fingers.

“Neither do I.”

Lien sat in a wide wooden tub in the kitchen garden. He
bathed as quickly as he could. The air had grown cold, though the water Inund
had brought had been almost too hot to sit in.

He laced up a pair of breeches that Ralen had provided.
Black leather Tolemac warrior breeches. He did not put on the tunic that went
with it. Instead he put on a leather tunic given him by Inund. One donated by
the metalsmith who’d made his snake-stick.

It was not pilgrim garb. It left his arms bare. He picked up
the other object the metalsmith had made, a two-headed viper earring, a
mini-reminder in case anyone missed his tattoo.

Women scurried away from him when he passed through the
kitchen. He merely smiled and lifted his stick, as he would if he wore a hat
and was greeting the old lady who sold newspapers in the shop next door to his
on the boardwalk in Ocean City.

Once in the hall, he stood just inside the door. He ignored
the murmurs rising around him. He was not too late. Ardra stood at the fore of
the hall. Her hair was braided into a long golden rope down her back, and she
looked the perfect warrior woman in her snug breeches and simple tunic. The
silver disk pendant lay on her breast.

His whole body ached with a need to go to her and offer his
support. But he remained where he was. She didn’t need him. She had more than
enough guts to take care of herself.

Einalem’s body had been laid out on the head table, covered
by a turquoise and gold cloth. Samoht sat near his sister, his head down,
looking dazed. Ralen flanked Nilrem. The warrior looked weary and far older
than he had a day or two before.

Nilrem saw Lien, gave a nod, and then stood up. “For those
who have just arrived,” Lien knew the wiseman spoke to him, “we were discussing
whether it is time for Ardra to take her rightful place. Her eight days of
mourning are over, but she failed to secure the vial. It is a small point, but
an important one. Should Ardra rule?”

“Never,” Samoht said. He roused himself a bit, sat a little
straighter in his place. “The Fortress of Ravens needs a warrior. A woman
cannot rule such a place. A man must stand beside her at the very least. No one
will do so now, not now that her father is known to be alive somewhere.”

“Any man would be honored to serve Ardra,” Ralen said.

Ardra kept her face serene. She felt a swelling of pride at
Ralen’s words, but she tamped it down. Pride would be misplaced. She had much
to prove before the council would accept her without condition. Any concession
from Samoht would be a victory.

“However,” Ralen continued, “I agree that Ardra needs a
warrior to stand with her.”

“Who will that be?” Samoht asked. He waved a hand. “Who
would dare?”

“Whoever it is, he must choose the role himself,” Nilrem
said.

Hope drained from Ardra. There was no one to take the place
beside her, and surely no man worthy enough to suit Samoht.

“I will stand with her,” a Tolemac warrior called out.

Lien watched the warrior stride confidently to the dais, his
hand on the hilt of his sword. It was the man who had challenged Samoht at the
feast, and Lien felt a hot surge of jealousy.

“I will,” called out another. Soon there was a cacophony of
voices all vying to be heard and a line of men behind the first warrior.

Ardra stared at the line of men in consternation. So many?
She watched myriad emotions play over Samoht’s face as his men joined the line.

A sound, a rap of metal on wood, caused everyone to fall
silent. It was a small sound, but it had the same effect as if the fortress’s
sonorous bell had tolled.

The crowd opened up, and Lien walked down the hall. He was
garbed all in black, his pilgrim robes gone. He was beautiful. Her heart jerked
as if a viper had struck her.

She watched him come, his snake-stick in his hand. He did
not lean on it. It was now as much a part of him as Ralen’s sword was a part of
who he was.

“I’ll stand with Ardra,” Lien said.

Something tightened and coiled within her.

“Never,” Samoht said.

“Why not?” Lien asked. He sounded so casual—as if he wanted
to know why the meal was not on the table, not whether he could be her
champion. “I’m willing, I’ve proved myself, as has Ardra.” Then his voice grew
cold and hard. “She’s jumped through enough hoops for you.”

“You are not a warrior,” Samoht said.

“That problem is easily solved,” Nilrem said.

“How?” Samoht and Ralen spoke at the same time.

The wiseman slapped his hands on the table. “Come. We all
know it takes but two councilors to decree a man a warrior.”

Samoht stood up. “And there are two councilors here. Ralen,
acting in Tol’s place, is one. But the other is
me
.”

“It is your place to make this decision,” Ralen said to
Samoht. “I will stand firmly on Lien’s side that he be decreed a warrior, but
as head councilor, you must decide.”

Samoht walked around the long table. He stood by Einalem’s
body. He touched the cloth that draped her form and murmured something only she
could hear. Then the high councilor turned to the crowded hall. He shifted his
shoulders and raised his head. Something of his old manner returned as he
looked over the crowd.

“Let it be so,” he said. “Lien has earned the right to stand
for Ardra.”

The ceremony was simple and quick. Samoht asked Lien if he
was willing to give his life for the people of the Fortress of Ravens.

Lien answered with a truth that a few weeks ago he’d have
laughed aloud to hear. “I will,” he said. It felt like a marriage ceremony,
solemn, but quickly done, the results to last a lifetime.

Three silver rings were placed around his arm. A common
blacksmith placed a strip of leather under them and moments later touched a hot
iron to them, sealing them over his tattoo.

When Lien rose from his knees, Samoht sat down and turned
toward his sister, everyone else forgotten.

Tears ran down Ardra’s cheeks, but no one would see them as
a sign of weakness.

She kissed her fingertips, then touched the metal arm rings.
Heat swirled along his flesh, along the coiled snake beneath the rings—not a
bad heat, but a warmth he imagined was going to be a part of how they were
connected from now on.

Nilrem said, “Lien, you have assumed great responsibility
today.”

“And what of Samoht?” Ralen asked. “There must be more than
just a burial today. Resolutions need to be made, penance paid.”

Nilrem walked to where Samoht sat, head bowed, his fingers
holding the hem of Einalem’s drape. The wiseman held out the simple robe that
had been Lien’s until that morning.

“Put on this robe, Samoht. Return with me to Hart Fell and
contemplate your life and future. Take the next conjunction to plan what amends
you will make for seeking power at the expense of those who trusted you.”

Samoht stood up and stared at the robe in Nilrem’s hand. He
nodded and took the garment.

“All’s well that ends well,” Nilrem said.

Everyone broke up into small groups. Lien followed the old
man to a table of food laid out for the evening meal. Lien tossed Nilrem an
apple. “So, how long have you been coming and going into the game?”

Nilrem took a bite of the fruit. “How did you know?”

“All the little sayings. So, how long?”

The old man glanced around. “I came by accident years ago. A
wiseman on Hart Fell took me in. He taught me to love these people and how to
help them without—shall we say—interfering in their natural progress. When he
died, I took his place.”

“Do you miss our world?” Lien asked, one eye on Ardra, who
moved about the hall in regal elegance despite her humble garb.

“In truth,” Nilrem whispered, “now and then. Once I figured
out how to come and go, I sometimes made a trip back to recharge my batteries.
The people accept my absences because my mentor used to go on what he called a
‘wander’ and be gone for days of contemplation in the wilderness.”

“And where do you go? Club Med?” Lien quipped.

“Nay!” Nilrem said indignantly. “The Bodleian Library at
Oxford.”

Ardra found Lien standing on the shore of the lake. The four
orbs poured their light onto the glassy surface.

“I’m still marveling that all those snakes are—”

“Gone,” she finished. They looked back at the bare walls of
the fortress. “There are some around here still, I’m sure. We have them at the
fortress. They dwell in the crevasses of the ice.”

“Ralen will burn the fortress at dawn. Did you know that? He
wants the evilness of Cidre’s tree destroyed.”

“Aye. He told me. I have offered to take all who wish back
to the fortress with us.”

“Us,” he said.

Ardra licked her lips. They were suddenly dry. “Are you sure
you can make my fortress your home?”

He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sure. I think I’ve learned
a simple truth. Home is where the heart is.”

She put her arms around his neck. “I thought you would hate
me for deceiving you about my father.”

He shook his head. “I think you were in an untenable
position. You’d grieved for him, mourned who he once was, and then arrived here
to find him alive and plotting to use your son. I don’t blame you for not
knowing who to trust with the information. I certainly didn’t make you feel as
if I was here for the long haul.”

“Are you? Here for the long haul?”

“If you want me.” His voice got a bit husky. “I think you’ve
got my heart all wrapped up.”

“Oh, Lien. I cannot imagine my life without you.”

“Or I without you. What do you say to a lifemating?”

She found a lump in her throat. “Now? Here?”

“Is that legal?” he asked. He tipped his head and glanced
around. His eyes were black in the shining orb-glow, but not the dead black of
Cidre’s pendant, a sparkling black, alive and rich.

“What do you mean, legal?” she asked. “A lifemating is but a
few words, spoken before witnesses.”

“Then where do we find the witnesses?”

Ardra shook her head. “That part is easy. We will ask Ralen
and Nilrem to stand for us in the morning, if you like. But that is just a
formality. We can say the words to each other right here…now…and it will be so.
We will be mated for life. If,” she ducked her head, “if we seal the vows with
copulation.”

He kissed her forehead. “You don’t have to whisper. And I
prefer to refer to it as lovemaking.” He folded her in a fierce embrace. “What
are the words we need to say?”

“Do you wish to be my lifemate? Now and forever?”

He kissed her nose. “I do. I told you so. Now what words do
I say?”

She ducked her head and bit her lips. “Those are the words,
Lien. ‘Do you wish to be my lifemate? Now and forever?’”

He smiled and laughed. “I do.” Then he repeated the question
for her, and she answered. The words were barely out of her mouth before he
snatched her up in his arms.

“It is good to start our time together with laughter.” She
stroked her fingers along his lips. “Kiss me.”

The kiss lasted so long, she thought she might expire of the
joy of it. The taste of him was both a promise and a vow. Unbidden, tears ran
down her cheeks. Somehow she found herself on her back with her breeches
unlaced.

His lips were hungry on her breast, then her belly.

“I want you so,” she said, pushing back the leather jerkin
from his shoulders. He looked up.

“You are warm. Mine. So strong.” She leaned forward and
plucked at the laces on his breeches.

“Not now, Ardra,” he said, clamping his hand on her wrist.

“Aye. Now. Now.” She slid her hand further into the opening.

“Not now.” He wrenched from her grasp, rolled away, and came
up on his knees. He snatched a serpent from the grass, just inches away. “Not
now means not now.”

The snake was as long as his arm, its red tongue flickering
back and forth.

“I still want you,” she whispered. “And now would still be
nice.”

He tossed the serpent on the ground and pointed at it. “Go,”
he commanded, and when the snake obeyed, he burst into laughter. “I think we’ll
have to adjust to snakes as part of our life.”

She snapped her fingers—twice. And smiled.

The small fire she’d lit inside him flared hot. “So you
remembered that, did you? You want me, do you? Right now?”

“Come.” She stood up and held out her hand.

“I intend to,” he said softly, entwining his fingers with
hers.

She led him deep into the orchard, to a spot filled with
purple shadows and bright spots of blue-green moonlight. The grass was cool and
soft to his feet when he took off his boots.

Ardra jerked her tunic over her head, shoved her breeches
down, and tossed them aside. Then she stood still, her hands lightly covering
her breasts. She was an ivory column of warm, sweet woman, touched with gold
and dusky shadows.

“I think I like watching you take down your pants as much as
I liked watching you raise your skirt,” he said.

“And I like watching you, too, Lien.” She tipped her head.

He found that her intent gaze inflamed him. Instead of
ripping off his clothes, he pulled them off slowly, enjoying her quickened
breathing. She dropped her hands. Her nipples were tight, dark peaks. The
moonlight silvered some marks on the rise of her breasts—marks of motherhood.

“You know,” he said, “I was an only child. Until this
moment, I’d forgotten how much I used to hope I’d have a home full of kids when
I grew up.”

She raised her arms and slowly unbraided her hair, her gaze
firmly fixed on his groin. “You are very grown-up, Lien.”

He combed his fingers through the silk of her long hair. “I
love how you smell and taste and think and talk.”

“That is a great deal of love, Lien.” She captured his hand
and placed it on her breast. “I hope to be worthy of it all.”