VirtualDesire (18 page)

The rocky walls were striated in the tones of the Tolemac
sky, sacred stones, and ice. Dripstones in the same colors stood about a large
pool of steaming lavender water like sentries guarding a treasure. A vague
scent of moss and age came to him. A memory teased at the periphery of his
consciousness—another pool, sand between his toes—but Ardra’s words sent it
slipping away.

“You will find steps cut into the side of the pool, just
here.” Ardra indicated a spot where centuries of feet had worn a path to the
edge of the water. “It is not very deep, but the bottom is smooth and sandy, so
avail yourselves of it without fear. ‘Tis said that in ancient times spirits
abided here. The stones—the blue-green, the lavender—are sacred and impart
their properties to the waters. Perhaps if you bathe your arm, it will be
cured.”

The pool enticed him. The skin of his face and neck crawled
with the noxious eel grease.

“I will find clean clothes for us all, and see my father, so
take this time to bathe.”

Vad dropped his load of arrows and furs to the ground. Gwen
knelt at the pool’s edge and ran a hand back and forth in the steaming water.
The sight of her well-cushioned bottom clad in the tight men’s breeches made
him feel as if a fever had gained control of him again, but it had nothing to
do with suppurating sores.

With a conscious effort, he looked away and sat on a large
boulder. “Concentrate on locating the maidens,” he said. “Discover where they
are being held. Ascertain the manner in which they are guarded and by whom. Who
has access to them? How are they fed? If you can secure clothing for Gwen, she
might be able to pass as a serving boy and help you in some way.”

“Serving boy? Am I trustworthy enough for such a position?”
Gwen jerked around to look at him.

“If you feel a desire to join Narfrom and Ruonail in their
endeavors, then do so. But count the cost first.”

She walked right up to him, her nose inches from his. “Do
you think, for even a moment, that I might join them? Didn’t I try to help you
fight Enec? Wasn’t I proving my loyalty then?”

“Any woman would oppose such men. They would have abused
you—”

“Nay.” Ardra rushed forward. “Enec would never do such a
thing. He must have believed me in danger.”

Vad could not contend with their roiling emotions. His
energy was drained as dry as a leaking cask.

“You have to choose, Vad,” Gwen said. Her earnest little
face looked up at him and he thought of how he’d held her hand and brought her
here—into danger. “Either you trust me,” she said, “or you don’t. I’m not going
to rescue maidens for a man who doesn’t trust me.”

Ardra gasped. “You are impertinent.”

Vad silenced her with a sharp slash of his hand. “Gwen has a
right to an answer. I can offer provisional trust.”

“Provisional? What’s that supposed to mean?” Gwen asked.

“It means I have only one act of dishonor on which to base
your character. Just as I have but one act of valor to weigh in the balance.
What you do from this moment on will tip the scales—one way or the other.”

“Great. And if I make a mistake and something goes wrong? I
don’t know your world, your customs. What if—”

He placed a weary hand on her shoulder. “There are no
answers to ‘what if’ questions. Do your best.”

To end the confrontation, he turned his back to them both
and spread the furs on the cavern floor. He laid out the arrows, inspecting
their tips. “I will sleep here tonight, you and Ardra above. Can it be done?”

“I shall send her to the kitchen,” Ardra said. “She will not
raise any curiosity there; it is filled with misfits. One more will not be
noticed. If she binds her breasts, she can work alongside the men and listen to
the gossip!” Ardra clapped her hands excitedly. “The worst of the gossips is in
the kitchen.”

“Vad?” Gwen said.

“What Ardra suggests makes great sense. And, Ardra, when you
place her there, gather these few herbs for me. Perhaps I can cook up something
particularly noxious. A potion to call everyone to chamber pots—at the same
time.” He grinned and took a piece of charcoal from a disused fire circle.
Using the smooth side of a fur, he scratched some words. “Think of something
everyone might eat or drink. Warriors fighting over chamber pots are not much
of a threat.” He offered her the fur. “This is what I need—no substitutes.”

She read the list and then bit her lip. “What excuse have I
to gather herbs in the kitchen?”

“Deep regret that you have shirked your duties until this
day.” His sharp words silenced any further protest Ardra might have had for
visiting her own kitchen.

When Ardra had committed his list to memory, she bowed to
Vad and turned away. To his relief, Gwen followed.

Reluctantly Gwen trailed Ardra into the belly of the
fortress, her mind in turmoil. There would be a thousand opportunities to slip
up. Vad’s lack of trust was like a raw wound, chafed by his every word.

“What if I need to find my way back?” Gwen asked. Two turns
and she felt lost, disoriented.

Ardra halted and turned to face Gwen. She lifted the torch.
“You will never find your way to him. He must wait for us, and you must wait
for me to guide you to him.”

Gwen sighed.

“You are enamored of him, are you not?”

“What?” Gwen felt her face heat. “Enamored? Of someone who
distrusts me?”

“You had congress with him, did you not? And do not deny it.
I am not stupid.”

“It-it was the hypnoflora. It…we were foolish.”

With a nod, Ardra turned and continued along the stone path.
It rose in a gentle incline. “Aye. ‘Tis foolishness to lie with someone who is
not your own kind. You were angry with me when I said you were a slave, and as
I think on it, a slave would not need the nature of such things explained.”

“Then explain it. I’m listening.”

“He cannot mate with you, nor you with him. Such congress
leads to naught but heartbreak.” Ardra halted again before a wooden door, no
different from any of the others. “You are not from here. I do not know these
lands beyond the ice fields, but I do know there are a few rare folk who bear
Tolemac blue eyes and Selaw bones. Their life is hard—very. They fit nowhere.”
She tapped her upper arm, and Gwen knew she was indicating her arm rings. “A
misfit has no hope of status. Should you bear Vad a child, that child would
suffer greatly.”

A child. What a different set of emotions she’d be
experiencing if she had such a worry. “If that’s all that concerns you, then
rest easy. I’m barren.” It seemed the easiest explanation.

Ardra’s face softened. “I am sorry for you, but still, I
must offer you a warning: Guard your heart. A man of such perfection, such
beauty, will never remain with one woman long—barren or not. Why should he,
when he may have whomever he desires?”

Whomever he desires
. Ardra was right. Why would Vad
want her except when under some influence like hypnoflora? After all, he didn’t
even trust her.

Gwen slept poorly in an alcove off the kitchen, with Vad
somewhere unreachable in the caverns below, and Ardra equally inaccessible,
somewhere above. But upon waking she found she fit in with the kitchen workers
very well. She was just another misfit—smaller than most, weaker than several,
uglier than just about everyone, as the loud gossip made sure she understood;
still, she was a pair of hands and a willing worker.

Status among the kitchen folk was based on that willingness.
Men, Gwen now among them, carried wood to keep the fires beneath great boiling
caldrons of water burning and hauled buckets of fresh water to the cooks.

It was backbreaking, mindless, hot work. Her hair was
plastered to her head; her back and hands ached. At least she’d been given a
pair of gauntlets to wear when handling hot pots and rough wood. But, to give
Ardra credit, the place was a hotbed of gossip and innuendo—or it was once
everyone got over Ardra’s presence in their world. Their mistress puttered
about the hanging herbs, asking questions, taking samples. Gwen thought she
took more than Vad had requested to conceal what he wanted.

Once Ardra left, no one cared who spoke or what they spoke
about—including her. Names whizzed about her, and Gwen soaked up information
like her linen shirt soaked up sweat.

There was a general feeling of unease about the workers. It
was based on the ominous clouds forming overhead. They bemoaned the lighting of
torches in the daylight hours and repeated legends of dark times from the past.

Several women, those with less taxing duties than Gwen’s,
wore a single arm ring. Most of the men did as well. One woman, who did not,
bent forward to feed small sticks beneath a caldron, and her gown fell forward.
Gwen saw two white scars on her breast—each clearly an
X
.

At that moment, Gwen wanted to scream. The room was too hot,
the air too thick, the future too frightening. This was not a game. This was
not the role she always played, that of the ice woman, a whirling, swirling
tempest who saved lives, plucked the hero from danger, and froze enemies where
they stood. No, this was a stark and frightening reality of wounded warriors,
kidnapped daughters, and evil villains.

Then she heard a tidbit that chilled her bones. Two men were
wagering that a certain hostage maiden would not be a virgin by the next
sun-rising. Narfrom, whom they all spoke of with suspicion, was enamored of the
girl.

The heavy, rich odors of roasting meat, baking bread, and
simmering wine suddenly sickened her. Her stomach flipped. She glanced around
and saw a basket. Filling it with bread and cheese, she asked a small boy how
to find Mistress Ardra. He merely stared at her, his bright amber cat’s eyes
gleaming, his light brown hair falling over his brow. She forced herself to
repeat her request slowly, with the best British accent she could fake, and
left out the contractions. He nodded once and dashed away.

Gwen tucked her small basket under one arm, then shifted it
in front of her, as the men carried things, and followed the boy.

As they climbed worn stone steps the air grew cooler, the
scent of food less heavy.

The boy led her to the family rooms. Here it was not
apparent that one was in a hulking, Dracula-style fortress. The family chambers
had polished wooden floors, whitewashed walls, and decorated chimneypieces.
Somewhere, far below in the bowels of the earth, Vad waited for them.

Ardra stood before a narrow slit of a window, the only sign
that her home was not just her living quarters, but also a stronghold. “Place
the basket there.” She pointed, and Gwen did as bid.

“Wait,” Ardra commanded as the boy gestured Gwen out. “I
wish a word with this slave.”

The boy scampered off. “At least he is one person who seems
unaffected by ill omens,” Gwen noted.

“Aye. He is a happy child, the son of one of my
seamstresses, born of a Selaw warrior who fell in battle.”

Another warning? A thick silence fell between them as Ardra
added various items to the basket. Outside, men shouted as they worked. A wagon
rumbled by on cobblestones, sounding a little like the thundering water below
in the grotto.

“Your gown is lovely,” Gwen said to break the silence.

Ardra hurried forward, flapping her hands in a gesture of
silence. “A male slave would not remark on a woman’s gown.”

Her golden-yellow wool gown was the color of her eyes. A
long silver chain, dotted with turquoise and amber, wrapped several times
around her slim waist before falling nearly to the hem. Her hair was loose and
rippled to her waist. She no longer wore the silver and turquoise necklace from
Nilrem. She wore a large silver disk with a center stone of polished amber
about her neck.

While Gwen told her the gossip she’d heard, Ardra rubbed the
disk thoughtfully.

Finally she turned with a swish of skirts. “We must get to
Vad. We must plan quickly. It is all worse than I had imagined. If Narfrom
forces her, it means that, rescued or not, she will no longer be a maiden.”

“No kidding.”

“She will be cast out.”

“What?” Gwen’s sweaty garments felt chilly against her
suddenly cold skin.

“Aye. A tainted maiden is worthless.”

Gwen hurried after Ardra through the dark maze of stone
corridors and wooden doors. Some of the paths they took felt vaguely familiar;
others did not. She thought she recognized a few of the corridors, with their
twisting veins of turquoise occasionally illuminated by Ardra’s torch. They
reminded her of the tunnels of an abandoned mine.

“We’re going a different way,” she said to Ardra as the
scent of the cavern and its heated pool came to her.

“Aye, ‘tis a shorter way. There are several paths to each
destination.” She opened a door on the cavern.

Vad looked as if he had not slept the night before or at all
during the day. Nor had he used the steaming waters; his hair was still thick
with eel grease. Although he looked exhausted, when they entered, his blades
were instantly in his hands, glinting, ready. Gwen swallowed, remembering the
death of Ardra’s men.

“Your voices arrived first,” he said, and sheathed his
blades. “What brings you back so urgently?”

“You tell him,” Gwen said. She peeled off the wool tunic
she’d worn all day and flapped her sweaty linen shirt away from her body. There
was a steamy atmosphere in the cavern, but occasional breezes and errant drafts
kept it pleasant, unlike the kitchen, where the heat and steam probably never
dissipated.

“It is grave news I bring you. Narfrom is enamored of one of
the maidens. The eldest, daughter of Ranoc.”

Gwen saw that Vad did not need further explanation.

“Then we need to act without delay.”

“It’s not so easy,” Gwen said.

“If ‘twas easy, Ardra would rescue the damned maidens
herself.” He scowled at Gwen, as if she had some control over their situation.

“I’ll forget you said that.” Gwen placed the basket she
carried on the floor. “Here is some bread and cheese, the herbs you wanted, and
some other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” He rooted about and nodded his
appreciation of the spoons and a tiny caldron Ardra had packed. He grunted his
approval of a rolled parchment containing a crudely drawn plan of the fortress.

“I have marked the chambers in which the maidens are being
held,” Ardra said. “They are together in chambers near my father’s, guarded by
four men, in shifts of two on and two off, as at the grotto entrance. One only,
the youngest, is allowed to wander, and she has become somewhat of a pet of the
household.” Ardra took a deep breath. “The oldest maiden is here.” She touched
a mark, shaped like a tear, with the tip of her finger. “‘Tis a chamber between
those of my father and Narfrom.”

“What should we do?” Gwen asked. She rolled up her sleeves
and propped her elbows next to the map. Vad came to her side, and his shoulder
brushed hers as he leaned over the map. A zing of heat pulsed where they
touched. She shifted over to give him more room—and to give herself peace.

Vad absently tapped the map with the tip of his dagger as he
spoke. “We have several choices. I can go above and demand Narfrom meet me in
combat, with the maidens awarded to the victor.”

“Nay!” Ardra cried.

“Or I could rescue the maidens as quickly as possible and
let Ruonail settle Narfrom as he sees fit once the women are no longer in
danger. Did you think of anything everyone in the fortress might eat or drink?”

“The mourning wine,” Gwen said. “I saw some men bring up
these huge casks to the kitchen.” She spread her arms wide. “They said they
needed so much because everyone would be drinking to the dead men.”

“Dead men?” Vad rolled up the drawing.

“Enec,” Ardra’s voice broke on his name, “and my two
guards.”

Vad nodded.

“I had merely to tell my father of their treachery, that
they tried to harm me, and he wanted their heads. When I said they were dead,
he accepted it gladly. I told him I purchased a few slaves at the settlement to
help manage the boat on the return journey, and he accepted that, too. He was
distraught that I could not obtain Nilrem’s aid. He still cannot sleep.”

“And the guards at the grotto entrance?” he asked.

“They never asked who accompanied me, nor did they get a
good look at us in the storm. It is a testament to my father’s grave illness
that he was so unconcerned about the loss of his men. He was quickly
satisfied—and this from a man who relentlessly fought his way to the height of
power here in Selaw.”

“His reputation is well known.” Vad’s expression was grim.
“When a warrior loses his fighting spirit, his day is done.”

“Nay. Do not say such a thing. He will recover. You will
rescue the maidens; Narfrom will leave.”

“What are the funeral plans?” Vad began to pace about the
steaming pool.

Ardra continued, although her voice was still low and her
head bowed. “The men’s belongings will be burned in a few hours, the ashes
scattered on the ice. As is tradition, a mourning vigil will be held in the
chapel when the moons rise.”

“And before the prayers,” Vad said with satisfaction, “the
mourning wine will be drunk. Excellent.”

“Why would anyone mourn men who betrayed you?” Gwen asked.

“It is traditional to offer comfort to their families,
whether what they did was right or wrong. No wailing, no outward grieving will
be allowed, however. And…my father plans to use the ritual as a means of
chastising those who might stand against him.”

Gwen perched herself on a flat boulder. “What if the maidens
drink the wine? It won’t hurt them, will it?”

He shook his head. “Some it will put quietly to sleep.
Others…let us say there will be constant attendance at the chamber pots while
the people of the fortress empty their bellies and bowels.”

Ardra made a face.

“Our time of opportunity will be very short. Guard changes
are timed. If one of you can taint the wine, there will be little resistance
from the guards—or anyone else. For those who do not sleep, the misery will be
acute, but short-lived. It is the child who troubles me.”

Gwen nodded. “I thought she might be a problem, too, when
Ardra described her to me. She’s everywhere and nowhere at once. I think I saw
her running around with a few other children near the kitchen. Does she have
long blonde hair—all tangled? And a blue gown with silver embroidery?”

“Aye, that would be Liah.” Ardra said. “What shall we do
about her?”

“One of you must locate this Liah and bring her into these
underground rooms. Make an excuse to separate her from her companions that will
not raise a fuss.”

He began to lay out the items Ardra had gathered. “I shall
greatly enjoy testing my strength against Narfrom’s.”

“He is hardly a match for one such as you,” Ardra said with
just a touch too much admiration. Maybe Ardra had warned her off because she
was, herself, enamored of Vad.

He sketched a quick bow in acknowledgment of her compliment.
“I will also expect you to keep your father from interfering.”

“I have no power over my father!” Ardra looked from Vad to
Gwen and back. “Do not expect so much.”

Gwen could not help feeling compassion for her. She
remembered trying to persuade her own father that he should be supporting her
and not her sister when R. Walter had decamped. It was like talking to a brick
wall. To this day her father still believed it was Gwen who should bend.

“I trust you to do your best,” Vad said. “As I will do mine.”

“Once I get you to the upper levels, how will you persuade
the maidens to go with you?”

Vad merely arched a dirty brow. Ardra looked from him to
Gwen and lifted her hands in silent question.

“I think what Vad’s not saying is, ‘What maiden wouldn’t go
with him?’”

“Ah,” Ardra said with a smile. “Of course. And you are so
obviously from Tolemac.”

Ardra reached into the bodice of her gown and pulled out a
small pouch of soft tanned leather. “I have also brought some herbs from the
healer. Shall I dress your wound for you?”

Vad shook his head.

Gwen rooted about in the basket for something to do, but Vad
plucked a leather pouch from her hands. “You must not touch what you do not
understand. Some of these leaves are easily bruised.”

He carefully spread out the contents of the basket. Ardra
sat on a few furs and watched him work. She had packed a mortar and pestle, the
small caldron, and a stone flask of oil that Vad muttered happily over for
several moments.

Last, the basket revealed a half dozen or so pottery bottles
with wooden stoppers. “These will do well for adding the potion to the casks of
wine,” Ardra explained. “At Narfrom’s insistence, the wine is the very best.
All will wish a taste.”

Gwen put a hand on his wrist. “Before you start concocting
your potion, let me clean your wound.”

“After this task.” He shook her off, and she joined Ardra on
the furs, trying to ignore what was obvious here in the brighter light of the
cavern, his knife’s stone handle had no more hints of blue or green. It was a
solid, dull gray against the gleam of the gold wrapping it. And yet, as he
ground leaves, sniffed, added oil, heated his little caldron as if the
slightest change in temperature was important, she had to admit he looked hale
and hearty, whatever his blade handle might predict. His exhaustion had dropped
away as he worked. “It’s unfair that he’s not only good-looking, but also
handy,” Gwen whispered to Ardra.

“Is he not perfect?” Ardra whispered back. “Look at his
feet.”

“Huh?” Vad’s feet were rather dirty from traipsing about the
cavern barefoot.

“Have you ever seen such symmetry? Such bones?”

Gwen gave Ardra a long look. “There’s nothing special about
his feet. You don’t have a foot fetish, do you?”

“Foot fetish? What is that?”

“Let’s just say, do you ever feel an urge to collect shoes,
sniff them, and so on?”

“Certainly not! I am merely noting a thing of beauty, worthy
of preservation in marble or wood.” Ardra tossed her head, and the mass of her
golden mane slid from her shoulder. It was held back from her brow by a circlet
of silver. Her tawny eyes gleamed catlike in the fire’s glow. Gwen felt
disheveled, and woefully missed her hair dryer.

Then a thought occurred to Gwen as she inspected the
alabaster smoothness of Ardra’s complexion; maybe Ardra was more comfortable
raving about Vad’s feet than his face. “Frankly, I think his face is far more
worthy of sculpture than his feet,” Gwen suggested. “They’re just big and
dirty.”

“They are not big,” Vad said as he hunkered down and sniffed
a spoonful of his potion.

“His ears are big, too,” Gwen quipped. Ardra fell into a
paroxysm of giggles, and for the first time Gwen saw the happy, youthful girl
she might be if not weighed down by the gravity of her father’s situation.

Vad glared at Gwen, and she gave him a toothy smile as she
leaned near Ardra to keep her words private this time. “You know, his nose is
not so perfect either.”

With great seriousness, Ardra studied Vad. “I see nothing to
criticize about his nose,” Ardra whispered back.

“Take another look. The bridge is too high.”

Ardra ran a finger down her nose as if tracing the
perfection of Vad’s. “Nay. ‘Tis exactly what his face requires.”

“Okay, what about his hands? Too big, just like his feet.”

“No, you go too far. How noble he is, how strong.”

“How can you accuse me of liking him when you’re in love
with him yourself?” Gwen said under her breath.

Ardra shook her head, her hair flaring out in a golden bell
about her shoulders. “I cannot love a Tolemac warrior. It is against all my
teaching. I might admire his form, his honor as a warrior, but only a Selaw man
can command my heart.”

Gwen realized that maybe Vad hadn’t captured her heart
because Ardra was already in love—or had been. “Enec? What about him?” Gwen
touched Ardra’s tightly clenched hands.

She dropped her eyes and bit her lip. “He was…unworthy of my
attentions. A mere bowman, of good family, but…he is dead now.”

Gently, Gwen took Ardra’s hand. “I lost my lifemate, you
know.” Ardra nodded and looked up. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You will
find another to love one day.”

Ardra shook her head and impatiently wiped her cheeks with
the back of her other hand.

Gwen squeezed her fingers. “Yes. You will. And I’m not
making light of your feelings, or what mine were. He will always bring an ache
to your heart, but you will find room in there for another one day. There’s a
saying we have in Ocean City. ‘Time heals all wounds.’ And it’s true.” The only
answer Gwen received was a return squeeze of the hand. “Let’s see what cooking
boy is up to. He looks neglected.” Gwen rose and tugged Ardra to her feet.

When they knelt at Vad’s side, he glared at them. “Are you
quite finished criticizing me?”

“Criticizing? Were we criticizing, Ardra?” She nudged Ardra,
who raised a small smile. Tracks of tears still marred her cheeks.

“No, Vad. We were admiring your many…skills,” Ardra said
with great tact.

He grunted. “When I have saved your father, I will ask for
your oath of secrecy that no man of Tolemac will learn what I have been doing
here.”

Ardra took up one of several spoons Vad had laid out in a
neat row and stirred his concoction. “I shall swear now. No man will know you
have done women’s work.”

“I think you’re wasting a payback,” Gwen said. “Can’t you
think of a better reward? Pot of gold? Cask of jewels?”

Vad’s and Ardra’s eyes were equally round and incredulous.
“Ask for payment for such aid?” he said. “‘Tis more important that I maintain
my dignity.”

“There’s nothing undignified about cooking. In Ocean City,
men cook all the time. Some of my world’s finest cooks are men. What’s the big
deal?”

“Amusing. Next you will say women can be warriors.” Ardra
smiled, her spoon poised in midair.

“You bet, if they want. Everyone’s equal—or at least we try
to make sure everyone has equal chances, male or female.”