VirtualHeaven (23 page)

“Do you think we could have crossed unchallenged without
such a diversion? They attacked only Samoht’s man and the sentries. Perhaps
there is truth that Ruhtra’s soul abides in them. Surely, he was at our side
just now.” Kered’s words were clipped and he pulled away, reclaiming his cloak
and settling it over his sword.

Maggie did not answer. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Look!” she cried.

There on the palace side stood more men garbed in black.
Samoht’s men began the long descent, but were instantly hidden in the mass of
birds that lifted and dropped on them.

“Go,” Kered commanded. Maggie ran. She lifted her skirts and
pelted down the avenue. He outdistanced her in an instant, startling the
stableman. By the time she arrived, Kered had Windsong out of his stall and
bridled. There was nothing she could do but get in the way, so she stood at the
stable door and peered into the night watching for Samoht’s guards. An
unearthly silence had fallen. Only the sound of horses disturbed at their rest
broke the night. The scent of manure and oats reminded Maggie most poignantly
of her father’s stables, but this was to be a ride like none she had ever taken
before.

Kered brought Windsong to her side. His foot slipped in the
stirrup. He paused and visibly gathered his strength, then swung into the
saddle. His face was in shadow. The moons hung in a close line behind him, yet
she saw the ponderous way he pulled himself up. Maggie looked at the strong
hand he extended to her. A hand that made love and war with equal proficiency.

“You can’t leave,” she said. “The council needs you.”

“Mount, or by the gods, I will thrash you.” Kered slammed
his fist on his thigh.

“You would hurt me?” she asked.

His face softened. “Never, Maggie. Please mount. The
stableman is watching.”

Maggie looked at the man who hunkered down by the stable
doors. He was indeed watching, although they were too far away for him to hear
their words. She looked off down the street, expecting Samoht’s men to appear
at any moment. Yet she couldn’t climb into the saddle with Kered, either. It
signaled an end she couldn’t face.

“Please, there must be some way to fix this without your
leaving when you’re needed. Surely, Samoht’s behavior is against your Tolemac
laws!” she cried.

A trickle of blood ran down his cheek. “You do not
understand,” he said in a hushed tone. “There are no laws against what Samoht
did.”

“A man may flay another and it’s okay?” Maggie snorted.

“No. Samoht would have suffered great condemnation for his
treatment of me, if he had let me live to tell the tale. But there are no laws
against abusing and using slaves—especially if that slave should later be
proven a witch.”

Maggie’s stomach rolled. “I see. He can rape me, beat me,
and go unpunished.”

“Aye,” he said softly.

“I hate your world,” she cried in anguish.

“Good. Your hatred will ease our parting.”

The Red-rose warriors descended with the sun-rising, twelve
strong. They rode in a phalanx behind their leader, a black wedge coming from
the capital.

Kered spurred Windsong to his top speed, leaving the specter
of their pursuers in the dust. Maggie knew enough about the stamina of horses
to know that Windsong could not maintain that pace for long. Great patches of
foam flew off Windsong’s sides. The thunder of his hooves seemed to say,
“Hurry, hurry.”

Maggie pressed her face to Kered’s back. Her tears had long
since dried. Whatever was to come, she could not force Kered to choose between
her and his duty and honor. Regardless of the pain that throbbed through her,
she would not beg, would not weep, would not betray the intensity of her
feelings, no matter his decision.

Windsong faltered, his pace lagging. The threat behind them
gained, spread out, and separated as the plain allowed them space to maneuver.

“My gun,” Maggie called against the wind. She reached down
to Kered’s pack. “I want to try it one last time.”

He gripped her wrist and held it tight against the saddle.
“No gun. We will give them no opportunity to accuse you of further witchery.”

Maggie stifled a sharp retort and tried reason. “There are
too many of them. We don’t stand a chance.”

He didn’t answer. She leaned her head against his stiff back
and searched for something to say, something to offer. The warriors drew near
enough that she could hear their hooves thundering on the dry, packed earth.
Unconsciously, she gripped Kered’s waist tighter. Only when he squeezed her
hand did she realize he knew she was there.

Windsong stumbled then flew into a gallop again, seemingly
renewed by the falter. Two of Samoht’s men drew level. It occurred to Maggie
that they, too, had only swords and knives. This would be a fight in close
quarters. Kered’s hair whipped her face as he turned and assessed the riders’
positions.

They hadn’t a chance against so many. Twelve guards
distributed themselves around them, slowing Windsong and forcing him to fall
back. Maggie felt the subtle shift of Kered’s posture. In the next moment, she
nearly fell off as Kered pulled Windsong to a rearing halt, then forced him
into a quick turn. The horse responded. They burst between two guards. A knife
thrown in vain hit Windsong’s flank, the hilt doing no damage to the animal,
but frightening Maggie into cowering behind Kered’s broad back. The guards drew
near, too close on their heels.

Their new direction led to a stretch of forest. Kered
plunged into the trees. Branches snatched at their hair and dragged at their
cloaks. Except for two men, the rest of the guard fell back, impeded by the
density of the trees and their own numbers. The two warriors gained upon them,
their horses’ snorting breath loud in Maggie’s ears.

A scream of pain made her turn. One guard had not ducked
quickly enough and was swept from his saddle by a low-hanging branch. His
companion kept coming swiftly after them, ignoring the fallen man.

Windsong dodged the trees, leaped deadfalls, charged
saplings. Still the guard came on. Kered jerked Windsong to a halt and vaulted
from the saddle. “Go. Hide.” He tossed Maggie the reins and with a jerk of his
head, turned away, sword drawn. She obeyed him, kicking Windsong and tearing
deeper into the wood. She drew up, looped the reins over a branch, and snatched
down Kered’s pack. Blindly, she ran back. The clash of metal on metal told her
Kered was under attack.

Stealthily, she crept to a vantage point. Kered fought two
guards. She could tell his loss of blood had weakened him, yet he fought on. No
one had an advantage, for the close quarters hampered them all. She raised the
gun.

Kered’s words about casting spells rang in her ears. Another
horse plunged down on Kered, and she knew she had to balance the odds for him.
She aimed for the horse. Nothing. She swore and shoved the gun back into her
belt.

Frantically, she pawed through Kered’s pack. Her fingers met
his suede pouch of stars. With a deftness born of frustration and desperation,
she flung the star like a Frisbee. The metal star glittered across the horse’s
line of vision. The mare reared and crashed into a tree, then rolled upon its
rider, rose, and galloped off into the trees. The guard lay senseless on the
ground.

That left two. Kered relentlessly slashed and parried their
sword blows. The guards, smaller, less able, were no match for the fury that
drove Kered, for he fought for his life and hers. One man fell with a gaping
wound in his thigh. The other drew back, but hesitated a moment too long. Kered
took the advantage, sending the man’s sword spinning into the underbrush.

Maggie turned and ran back to Windsong. With shaking hands,
she freed the reins and led the stallion back to Kered. There was no way she
could mount unaided.

Kered had disarmed the Red-rose warriors of their knives. He
tied them to a tree, the wounded and the able, ignoring their entreaties for
release.

Kered heaved himself into the saddle, blood showing on his
bandages in mute testimony of his injured state. He closed his eyes briefly as
if to gather his strength, then reached down and dragged Maggie up behind him.
Windsong vaulted the prostrate guard, and they crashed back into the trees.

Did Kered know she’d interfered and used his stars?
Her mouth dried waiting for his condemnation or admiration. She bit her lip
with nervous anticipation, wanted him to acknowledge her. Her ears strained for
the sound of pursuit, but the ruckus Windsong made galloping through the woods
masked any other noise. “The others?’’ she asked, her heart in her mouth.

“Soon on our heels,” he called back.

They burst from the woods. Maggie gasped. So much for her
sense of direction. They’d circled around and come out almost where they’d
entered. She slapped his back in silent tribute. There was no sign of the rest
of the guard.

“Nilrem’s beard!” Kered swore. “Where is a dragon when you
need one?” He stamped through the shallow stream, soaking his boots and the hem
of his cloak. Maggie gingerly stepped from stone to stone to avoid the same
result. She knew they had but a moment to water Windsong and gather their own
strength. “Surely, we should be able to rouse one, even a babe,” he growled.

Maggie searched the stark red horizon. Their trail lay like
a bloody finger pointing to where they stood. The Red-rose warriors would have
to be blind to miss it. “What do you want a dragon for?” she asked.

“I would hope to offer him dinner—roses, in fact.”

She sighed. He turned abruptly and confronted her. “You used
the weapon, did you not?” He fisted his hands on his hips and glared down at
her.

“No, I swear it!” She held up her fingers in the Girl Scout
salute. “Honest, I threw a star, that’s all. You’ve lost so much blood…there
were three of them,” she finished weakly.

He chanted his ancestors’ names, bent, and cupped the water.
He splashed it on his face and turned to her, dripping. “Will you never do as I
ask?”

She soaked a clean bandage and wiped his cheek. The sweat
and grime had gathered along the cut on his face. “I was afraid for you.” She
dabbed at the ragged edges of his wound.

He shook off her hand and grunted. “We will ride through the
night.”

Maggie smiled. He didn’t look very angry. “Why don’t I put
the salve on your wounds and rebandage them?”

“No time,” he said, stepping from the stream. He patted
Windsong’s neck and praised his speed and agility. The horse bent his head and
nudged Kered’s shoulder.

Maggie’s eyes teared up; she, too, wished for such affection
and praise from him. She shoved the bandages and unwanted salve into Kered’s
pack and slung it up on the saddle.

They met the beggars just as the warriors reappeared on the
horizon. As the horde of little folk surrounded them, Maggie searched for and
found the ancient one who had spoken to Kered. Windsong picked his way daintily
through the curious crowd. Kered leaned down to Tolem.

“Nine men ride hither. They are after me and my woman,” he
said. “We need your help.”

My woman. Not my slave. My woman
. Maggie’s heart
swelled.

“Eight? An auspicious number.” Tolem leaned on his staff and
turned a cynical eye toward the black dots advancing with breathtaking speed.
“If ‘twas nine or seven, who knows?” A small, ragged bundle ran to Tolem and
jumped up and down, pointing and grunting at Kered and Maggie. Tolem looked
down at the boy. “Yet you asked nothing for this one’s life.”

The horde of beggars drew in, waiting, expectant. Tolem
assessed the approaching riders. “Do you wish them dead or detained?”

“Detained,” Maggie and Kered said in unison.

Tolem smiled, his yellow teeth sharp and singularly youthful
in his wrinkled face. “So shall it be done.” He raised his staff and jabbered
to his band of beggars.

Kered lifted a hand in thanks. Windsong danced and sidled at
the sudden seething motion of the little people. In a moment, they had strung
themselves out across the plain.

“Will they be harmed?” Maggie gasped as Samoht’s guard
charged the line.

“We wanted detained, not dead,” Kered said over his
shoulder.

“I meant the beggars,” Maggie returned, clutching at his
cloak.

“Perhaps.” His somber tone made her shiver.

Windsong had no strength left to gallop. They cantered away.
Maggie kept watch over her shoulder, biting her lip.

A wild, keening wail rose from the plain. Windsong sidled
and balked. The cry rose, tearing at their ears, assaulting their senses. Kered
kicked Windsong to move away from the cacophony that sounded like a cry from
the grave. As Windsong twisted and turned, his eyes rolling madly, Maggie saw
the Red-rose warriors fighting their own mounts’ fear, too. Like maggots on a
carcass, the beggars swarmed the horsemen.

Maggie caught a glimpse of an upraised arm, a flash of steel
before it was lost to view. The sounds of the horde grew mute, overwhelmed by
the whistle of the wind across the barren landscape and the shrill cries of men
under attack.

Kered honed his weapons, concentrating his attention on the
rhythmic and familiar task, shutting her out.

“Let me see to your wounds.” Maggie knelt before him,
placing a hand on his knee.

In answer, he rose and tossed aside his cloak. Maggie stared
up at him.
It was the poster.
The jerkin, the breeches, the knife
strapped to his thigh. Her face must have communicated her thoughts.

He went down on his haunches before her. “What is it?” his
voice commanded.

“I-I can’t tell you.” The tears ran down her face.
Never
had he worn this particular clothing. Never.

He gripped her chin, raising her face to his. “You will
answer me. You have thought of something—perhaps life-threatening. Some mistake
we have made. Tell me.”

His distant behavior, his change from lover to warrior, was
too much. The tears ran down her cheeks. “It’s your clothes. I’ve seen them.”

“By the sword! You speak in riddles.” His fingers tightened,
bruising her.

How could she explain?
The truth might make him think
her insane. “I had a dream about you. You stood on Nilrem’s mountain, the
sacred sword in your hand. You wore these clothes.”

“And?” he asked. His turquoise eyes hypnotized her to obey
him, answer him, regardless of cost.

“And you drew the sword, pointed it there,” she gestured to
the sky, “and a fireball appeared, flew through the sky to that mountain.” They
both looked where she indicated. The gilded peak loomed ominously near.

Kered abruptly stood and turned away. Maggie watched his
back as he considered the distant landscape. When he spoke, her stomach
clenched. “You dreamt this before coming to Tolemac, did you not?”

“Yes,” she whispered, nausea rising. It was a small lie. A
prevarication to preserve what little remained to bind them together.

“Mount up,” he ordered. In a moment he had sheathed his
weapons. He strapped his cloak to the saddle.

Maggie remained kneeling. “We have to check your wounds.”
She thought he would refuse. Instead, he turned to her and in a blatantly
sensual motion, stripped off his jerkin. With trepidation, she approached. Her
fingers were clumsy on the knots of the bandages, but she concentrated and
tried to ignore the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, tried to ignore
the sudden liquid heat of her insides.

The salve had worked wonders, yet the flayed patches over
his ribs still looked like raw meat. She secured the bandages and dropped her
hands to his waist. “The rest?”

Kered didn’t say a word as she unlaced his breeches.
Maggie’s hands traveled over his warm skin as she peeled the supple leather
from his hips, savoring the hard feel of his bones beneath resilient flesh. She
wanted to touch him, arouse him to match her own desire, but she didn’t.
Instead, she clinically removed the bandage about his thigh, and seeing that
the wound looked clean, she retied the cloth and gently pulled his breeches
back into place.

He shoved her hands away as she tugged the laces together.
In silence, she picked up his jerkin and offered it. He belted it, open to the
waist. A lump formed in her throat. But for the stark white cloth wrapping his
midriff, he looked as he had in the poster.
Beautiful. A warrior from
another time and place.

“Mount up.” He linked his fingers and she placed her foot in
his palms, swinging up into the saddle. The familiar feel of his thighs about
her liquefied her insides again. Her blood heated and thrummed in her veins as
he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. The odors of his
leather clothing, his sweat, and the oil he used on his weapons enveloped her.
She closed her eyes and shut out the world to drink in his heat, his touch, and
his scent.