Swordmistress of Chaos (13 page)

‘You won your Hold-right in fair combat, Raven, but I must confess a desire that it had gone otherwise.’

‘How so?’ Raven’s eyes flirted with Goildar’s sea-grey stare.

‘Had I won,’ a smile curved his lips, ‘then I’d have claimed bed-right. As was my first intent.’

‘Why,’ her smile answered his, ‘surely a gift given freely is more pleasurable than one taken by force.’

For a moment her words failed to penetrate, but then Gondar’s smile broadened and a deep chuckle burst from his mouth.

‘True,’ he agreed, ‘but there are times a man has no wish to wait on the giver.’

‘Then, my lord,’ she murmured, ‘let us make the giving swiftly.’

Abruptly, Gondar stood, extending a torque-ringed arm to help her to her feet. Raven took it, walking from the hall at Gondar’s side, oblivious to the envious stares of the sea-wolves or the faintly unhappy glance Spellbinder directed at her retreating back.

‘I thought her to be your woman,’ Ivo Holdmaster remarked with the careful diplomacy of one long-used to settling internal disputes. ‘Hold-right grants you a say in such matters.’

‘No,’ answered Spellbinder. ‘Raven belongs to no man. She walks her own path to a high destiny; it is not for me to say her nay, or yea.’

‘So be it,’ murmured Ivo. ‘As you wish.’

‘So it goes,’ said the dark man softly. But there was sadness in his voice.’

Gondar’s quarters were rich with hanging tapestries and carefully-worked shields. Thick furs covered the floor and a single brazier suffused the room into which he led Raven with a soft, amber glow. A carven table offered wine in a silver-chased carafe, and as she sipped Raven studied the place, waiting for Gondar to sluice his face in cold water and comb his beard. A huge bed, spread with dark furs occupied the centre of the room, and her eyes were drawn irrevocably towards it. Gondar, joining her by the table, followed her gaze, smiling as he noted where it led.

‘My lady.’ His hands were gentle as he took her cup, setting it down.

She turned to face him, staring up, letting one hand rest against his broad chest. ‘A gift freely given brings pleasure to both giver and receiver.’

His arms closed around her and she was lifted off her feet as he crossed the furs in two long strides. The bed creaked once as he set her down and sank to her side, then the room was silent as she drew him to her, her tongue thrusting deep. Her hands moved over his clothing, tugging at fastenings, drawing surcoat and shirt from his torso, moving down to breeks and boots. Gondar rested still, letting her undress him, only his quickened breathing disturbing the urgent silence. When he was naked, she slipped from the bed, working on her own clothing. The sea-green gown fell like foam around her legs and the riever lifted up on one elbow, his eyes full of admiration. Raven stood for a moment, her nipples hardening as she felt his gaze like a caress upon her, then, deliberately provocative, she slowly unfastened the silver circlet binding her hair. Gold tumbled over honeyed skin, and a deep groan burst from Gondar. He reached towards her, his eyes lustful.

Raven smiled, enjoying the power she exercised over his body, and moved into his arms. He circled her hips as she stood above him, pressing ardent lips to her firm breasts, her belly, her thighs. A moan formed deep in her throat as she felt his tongue, her own desire mounting so that she fell across him, pushing him down onto the fur-decked bed. Slowly, despite her passion, she began to caress his body, lips and tongue tracing the contours of the scars he wore like battle honours, working downwards from neck to waist, then lower still. His manhood filled her, near choking her, though so great was her desire, that she took him in until he gasped and thrust against her. His hands, powerful yet gentle, took her breasts, kneading, stroking until she cried out and lifted up to straddle him.

Gondar looked up through half-closed eyes, feeling a new warmth enfold him. Raven’s head was thrown back, her lips parted as she rose up and thrust down against him, sucking him in, playing with him. Slowly, then faster, she moved in counter-stroke to his own driving shaft. He reached out to take her breasts, and she stooped to kiss him. She drew back, her breath coming now in gasps that were torn from the burning core that seemed to fill the centre of her being. Her movements became more urgent as her eyes closed tight and slow, heaving spasms began to shudder through her body. The sea-wolf felt her trembling as his own body tightened, his chest heaving in long, slow sighs. His back arched, lifting her from the bed, and she thrust down against him, ramming frantically towards the explosion of pleasure that was now only heartbeats away.

The core that grew within her seemed to rise up, spreading out to encompass her entire body until it became a pleasurable agony that demanded release. Then light danced before her eyes and she screamed her delight as Gondar’s heaving loins raised her into the air and a great, gutteral cry exploded from his chest. They shook and shuddered in unison, their bodies conjoined in wracking spasms that left them both drained, simultaneously fulfilled yet emptied.

Raven sighed, stretching out atop the riever’s chest Gondar folded her into his arms, burying his face in her dampened hair. And they slept.

Three times that long night they woke as though by mutual consent and loved again, and in the morning Gondar’s steward found them curled in tumbled furs, sleeping past cock’s crow. Grinning, the man left fresh-baked bread, meats and cheeses, a jug of steaming, aromatic chafa, and a pitcher of spring water.

Gondar awoke as the man set the stuff down, rising to pour water. His thirst slaked, he brought food to Raven where she rested on the great bed. They were both mightily hungry and breakfast was eaten in silence, a sense of companionship filling the sunlit room.

‘So,’ said Gondar as he cradled a mug of chafa, ‘sword-skill is not your only talent.’

‘Nor axe-wielding yours,’ answered Raven.

Gondar laughed, touching her hair. ‘Stay with me, Raven. You’re a fitting queen for Kragg. We’ll rule the holdings together, and when the wolf-boats ride the waves you’ll stand beside me, mistress of land and ocean.’

‘No.’ Raven shook her head. ‘Tempting though you be, to rule Kragg is not my destiny.’

‘What is?’ Gondar’s voice was partly curious, partly resentful. ‘To wander the world with Spellbinder?’

‘Perhaps,’ murmured Raven. ‘He has proved a noble companion.’

‘As should I,’ said Gondar. ‘And more besides. I’ll make you a queen, bring you riches. Why,’ there was a hint of reluctance now, ‘I’ll make Spellbinder my lieutenant.’

Raven laughed, stroking the riever’s chest.

‘You do me too much honour, Gondar, and I am greatly flattered. But still I must say
no.
I cannot tell you what destiny I follow, for I am not sure myself, except that when the Stone spoke to me I knew I must follow its instructions. I must find the Skull of Quez, return it to the Altan in Karhsaam. Only in that way will Karl ir Donwayne come beneath my blade.’

‘You want Donwayne so badly.’ Gondar’s tone implied statement, not question.

Raven nodded, a coldness coming into her eyes, the blue sparkling hate so that Gondar’s chin drooped onto his chest and his own gaze clouded.

‘I could lead Kragg against Karhsaam to hand you Donwayne’s head for a bride-gift.’

‘No Gondar.’ Raven set a hand upon his corded forearm. ‘It must be me who slays him, and to win that prize I must find the skull. Why, or how, I know not, anymore than I understand why I trust the words of the Stone. But trust them I do.’

‘So be it’ muttered Gondar. Then, in a louder tone: ‘If finding the Skull of Quez be your task, then I’ll help you. The wolf-boats roam far and if I can hold you no longer than the sea-journey, at least I’ll stand beside you in that.’

He rose, crossing to the bath-house door where he turned, a slow smile replacing his frown of disappointment.

‘I’ll have Ivo ready the men. An honest fight will be welcome, and I’ve a feeling we’ll need strong blades to back us. We sail in three days’ time, my lady.’

‘A straight path is not necessarily the shortest, at times it is better to approach an objective obliquely.’

The Books of Kharwhan

Lean and low, the wolf-boats rode at anchor, readied for the sailing. Gondar Lifebane’s own black-sailed
Storm-runner
was flanked by a green-grey vessel named
Worldbane,
captained by Torit Gruntson. Both commanders, like their waiting crews, were anxious to be off, eager to feel the heaving boards beneath their feet again. The weather was clear, a stiff wind blowing from the east, provisions were stowed, weapons readied, yet they held to the anchorage.

Impatient though the sea-wolves grew, Raven refused to sail, waiting for Spellbinder to give the word.

For three days the dark warrior had roamed the island alone, taciturn, answering questions in monosyllables that left the askers as devoid of satisfaction as though he had not spoken at all. He refused to say what he waited for, and had it not been for Raven’s standing with the Lord of Kragg, Gondar would have sailed on chance-hope alone. As it was, he chafed against the delay, growing irritable to the point where only Raven’s seductive blandishments held him to the land. He checked and rechecked
Storm-runner,
until it appeared as though the wolf-boat herself surged against her anchor ropes in a fury of impatience. Yet still they waited.

Then, on the fourth day, Spellbinder came racing down from the upland meadows. His black-clad figure took the narrow trail at a headlong pace, legs flailing and arms spread wide to keep his balance. Straight through the holding, he ran, ignoring the curious stares, the shouts that followed his passage.

He reached the landing and seized the hammer of the great warning gong that hung from its dark frame where wharf joined rock. Three times he struck the oval of hammered metal, striking deep bell tones loud through the still air. Before the last echo had died away he was on the after-deck of Gondar’s vessel, shouting for the others to join him. They were there in moments, casting free the mooring ropes and hauling the anchors. The square black sails lifted to the mast-tops as men took their positions at the oars. Gondar called the stroke and
Storm-runner
nosed out through the bottleneck guarding the cove with
Worldbane
hard astern.

‘Where do we point her?’ Gondar’s shout was joyful, the wind that whipped at beard and hair bringing a smile to his face. ‘What course?’

Spellbinder pointed west: ‘Follow the bird.’

Raven looked to where he pointed, and her breath was sucked in with a gasp of surprise. Beating the wind-lashed air with pinions of black was a great, dark shape, almost too distant to be visible. It seemed to hang motionless, save for the heavy striking of its widespread wings. It rode the air currents until the two wolf-boats had come within bow shot, then, uttering a hoarse cry, it turned its great head westwards and began to flap away across Worldheart.

Gondar watched it, turning the steering-oar to head
Storm-runner
after it, an expression of wonderment and awe upon his tanned face.

‘Three times now has that bird come to your aid,’ he grunted to Spellbinder. ‘First during the storm, when it threatened to rip our sail and evaded every arrow we fired so that we followed it and it led us to you. Secondly, in the hall, when Belthis sent his fire-demon against you, the bird or its shadow, guarded you again. Now, when we wonder on our direction, so it comes back. What is it? Is it mortal flesh, or some spirit-thing?’

Instinctively, he touched the blue-painted eye, symbol of the All-Mother, carved into the great steering-oar. Spellbinder saw the gesture and smiled reassuringly.

‘No spirit, friend Gondar, but a living creature. Somewhat different to its feathered brethren, but mortal as you or I.’

‘It reeks of Kharwhan,’ stated the riever, moodily, ‘and its presence reminds me of a doubt I’d put aside. You, Spellbinder, are you of the Ghost Isle?’

‘If I were?’ Spellbinder diverted the conversation somewhat. ‘Should I then be your enemy?’

‘You draw dilemmas from the open sky,’ rumbled Gondar. ‘I’ve sworn brotherhood with you, and you know I’ll not go back on that, but Kharwhan is another matter.’

‘Why so?’ Raven entered the conversation. ‘Why do you war with the Ghost Isle?’

‘Not war, fair one,’ grinned the Lifebane, ‘but a sea-wolf’s curiosity. We of Kragg sail where we will, take sword-toll as it pleases us. We’ve travelled to the corners of the world, tasted the luxuries of the Southern Kingdoms and clashed steel with Karhsaam. Our wolf-boats have grounded on Quwhon’s frozen shores and along the inlets of Ishkar, Xand, and Sly. Men know us in Quell and Tirwand, and a myriad other places that have opened their gates to us—or suffered the penalty for inhospitality. Only Kharwhan stands aloof, its shores hidden by the magic mist. Kragg would know what lies behind that mist, and so long as the sorcerer-priests deny us free passage I’ll seek to penetrate their defences.’

‘Be the bird of Kharwhan, or not,’ said Raven, ‘it has helped me in the past. It means me no ill, and so cannot be harmful to you while you aid me.’

‘Fairly said,’ answered Gondar. ‘We’ll not chance a friendship on doubts. How say you, Spellbinder?’

He ended his sentence with a back-slap that threatened to pitch the black-armoured warrior overboard.

‘Fairly said,’ gasped Spellbinder. ‘Follow the bird, for its flight guides us to the Skull of Quez, and where so rich a prize is stored, I’ll wager there’s more wealth to make the voyage worth your while.’

The moment of dissension was passed and they continued westwards without further discussion of Kharwhan or Spell-binder’s origins. Throughout the days the bird soared effortlessly ahead of them, setting at night in the rigging, from where a raucous croaking warned of any deviation from their course.

They continued in this manner for nine days, the weather remaining unnaturally calm, the wind blowing ever strong form the east, sending them smoothly over the sea that might have been glass for its uninterrupted tranquility. Then, on the tenth day, the bird veered southwards, drawing
Storm-runner
and
Worldbane
after it as a magnet might draw filings from a sword’s blade. For ten more days they travelled in a southwesterly direction, veering slowly around until they were headed west again. It was, Raven thought, as though the bird took them deliberately north and west of Kharwhan, choosing its path to avoid any possible temptation the Ghost Isle might exert on the sea-wolves. They saw no other ships, and after some thirty sunsets their provisions grew low and Gondar thought of steering for the nearest landfall to replenish their supplies.