VirtualHeaven (7 page)

“Recharge? How does one recharge? I understand charging. A
military tactic. But recharge? Is it a tactic from beyond the ice fields?”

“No, recharge means making sure the weapon is at full power.
When it loses that power, it will be useless.”

Kered plucked it from her hand. “Useless,” he murmured. “We
will save it as if it were the last jug of water in this dry land.” He tucked
it into his pack. “Are you sure it is not magic?’’

“Magic? I don’t believe in magic.” Maggie shook her head,
sending her hair tumbling over one shoulder. “Do you?”

He chafed under her scrutiny. “No…but strange things happen.
For those who believe, those strange things may be seen to be the work of
magic, or witchery.”

“I’m not a witch,” Maggie said softly.

Kered did not sense the presence of evil in this alluring
black-haired slave. No evil, just warmth and, perhaps beneath the surface, a
smoldering passion. “No, but your weapon could be proof of witchery to others
who may have a less practical view of life than I.” He swept a hand out to indicate
the vast wasteland before them. “The Scorched Plain is often cited by the
fearful as proof of strange and curious events at work in our lives.”

“How so?” Maggie asked, moving up close beside him and
peering over the precipitous edge.

He held her by the back of her cloak and itched to release
the scent of flowers by crushing her hair in his fist. “Legend has it that an
ancient chief of the Selaw lay with his friend’s lifemate. In an ensuing
battle, the friend struck the chief in such manner as to,” he fumbled for an
inoffensive word, “as to prevent the chief from bearing heirs. With the loss of
his virility, the land, too, lost its fertility, withering and wasting to what
you see today.”

Kered thought of heirs, heirs as unusual as Maggie. Heirs
with changeable skin. First the purity of alabaster, then the blush of a new,
pink rosebud. His knuckles itched to stroke her cheek or to see if, by a touch,
he could raise those tiny bumps of the goose on her arms. He fought the urge.
Children begotten of slaves were slaves—not heirs. “The way down is clear. We
will continue our journey. Get behind me.”

“Back to giving orders, Ker?” Maggie asked, a frown knitting
her brows.

“Only one may lead. You, by your paltry size and strength,
must follow.” He grinned to soften the insult.

“Then lead on.” Maggie curtsied to him, her frown vanishing.
Then with a trust he sensed came hard to her, she climbed onto his back and
wrapped her arms and legs about him.

He descended the cliff, leaping the final few feet in a
single bound, and then dumped Maggie to the ground. Without so much as a
backward glance, he struck off across the plain, parallel to the mountains. It
would not do to allow a slave to become too haughty.

Hours later, Maggie hoped something would eat him. The man set
a relentless pace. Her legs ached and her head throbbed. The scenery was
beginning to waver before her eyes as fatigue took its toll. She decided not to
walk another step. After all, she deserved a rest—saving a life and being a
guardian angel took a lot out of a girl. At least if they rested, she could
give him a piece of her mind! Why, at the moment, she could rival a Wartman for
disgusting dishevelment.

Maggie looked up.

Kered had disappeared.

“Oh, my God!” Maggie ran forward, then backward, then
forward, then in circles. “Ker! Damn you, Ker-ed!”

Her voice echoed off the sheer rock face. “You can’t just
vanish.” She whispered prayers and inched slowly forward, sliding her feet
cautiously in case a wretched, invisible quicksand had snatched him. Then she
saw it, a narrow crevice in the rocky wall. Peering through, she screeched with
anger.

Turning sideways, she squeezed through the narrow gap,
wondering at his ability to slip like a wraith through the crack. Before her
yawned a deep chasm. It opened up on a long valley, verdant and hidden from the
Scorched Plain. Kered moved across the valley, several hundred yards away—at
the same Kered pace.

Maggie cupped her hands and shouted.

“Ker-ed. Oh, Ker-ed.”

He stopped and turned around, then propped his hands on his
hips in what Maggie assumed was impatience. She began to slip and slide down
the narrow cut to where he stood like a giant redwood in the green valley. “I
suppose you didn’t notice a little thing missing—like me?”

“I knew you would come.”

“How? You just vanished.” She fisted her hand and slugged
him on the arm.

He grinned. “You are here, are you not? You found the
opening. Striking a warrior is a crime punishable by flogging.”

Maggie ignored him, gasping with joy as she saw the herd of
horses grazing in the grassy meadow. She ran toward them, then slowed as she
neared the closest. They were shaggy beasts standing on huge feet with thick
hair about their hooves. Long manes trailed along their necks. Maggie knew
horses. These looked like the ancient ancestors of the Clydesdales.

A mottled brown mare lifted her head and whickered at her
approach. Maggie stood still a moment and let the mare adjust to her. Then she
reached out a hand and stroked the long black mane.

“What charm did you use?” Kered came to her side.

“None,” Maggie said as she stroked the horse’s neck and
murmured words in her ear. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? I’m so glad you have
horses here.”

Kered grunted. “Tolemac may have no curs, but horses we have
aplenty.”

“Got any dragons?” Maggie teased.

“Of course. They are common as dust.”

“Oh, my God! Dragons?” Maggie ran behind Kered and peered
from around his arm, searching the horizon, remembering the Gulap from Nilrem’s
mountain.

Kered bellowed with laughter. “Have you no dragons beyond
the ice fields?”

“No,” Maggie said with a sheepish grin as she slipped away
from Kered’s protective bulk. “Of course,” Maggie’s voice dropped, “there was
that sixth grade teacher—”

“You mumble. ‘Tis disrespectful.”

“Never mind.” But Maggie found herself speaking to Kered’s
back. He strode away, past the horses, to a daub-and-wattle hut nestled beneath
a spreading shade tree. He ducked inside and Maggie’s curiosity began to gnaw
as the time lengthened and he didn’t return. She crept up to the hut’s doorway.

“Oh, my heaven!” Maggie spun around. She clapped her hands
over her face. Kered stood naked, back to the door. Gulping down her
embarrassment, she marched back to the horses and moved among them, finding the
brown mare and patting her flank. “Wow. You wouldn’t believe what I just saw,”
she whispered. The mare snorted down her nose and tossed her head. “He sure is
magnificent.” The mare snorted again as if in agreement.

When Kered finally emerged, Maggie gaped in astonishment. He
had discarded his rough clothing. His new shirt, a tunic, was of a fabric like
fine linen, heavily embroidered in black and gold about the neck and hem. His
trousers were supple black leather, as were his boots. The trousers clung to
his thighs and hips in what Maggie considered a blatant lack of modesty.

Sheathed at his waist was a long knife. Its engraved hilt
echoed the ornate swirls surrounding the gems in the dagger protruding from his
boot. He had slung a blue cloak across his shoulders that looked like velvet and
was shot with gold thread. As if they weighed nothing, he held a polished
leather shield and a gleaming sword in one arm.

Kered ignored Maggie and strode past her to a giant black
horse who trotted in their direction. It stood at least nineteen hands. As
Maggie watched, the black beauty bumped its head against Kered’s shoulder. The
two indulged in a childish head-butting routine for a few moments, then Maggie
noticed the saddle riding a low branch of a nearby tree. A deep brown leather,
embossed with a design like a Celtic interlace, it surely would fit the
oversized stallion.

Kered rested his shield and sword by the tree and took up
the saddle, laying it over the horse’s back with one fluid movement. In
moments, the girth and bridle were secured. He returned to the hut for his pack
and this he slung over the horse’s back. Finally, Kered strapped on the shield
and slid the sword into a scabbard that formed part of the saddle. He swung up
onto the giant stallion.

“Come.” Kered extended his hand. Maggie approached on wary
feet. She felt like a homeless person from a subway next to his obvious
splendor.

“If we were in such a hurry, why take the time to change?”

“I humbled myself for wisdom. You may not approach a wise
man ornamented as if concerned with trifles.”

“And now?” Maggie continued to ignore his outstretched hand.

“Now, we seek the sword. It is most important to display
one’s status to the world. Those who think you poor treat you poorly. Now. Give
me your hand.”

“Why can’t I have my own mount?” Maggie laced her hands
behind her back. She reeked of sweat and her legs and skirt hem were grimy with
dust. Although she imagined he’d not bathed, he looked clean and tidy—even his
hair lay neatly bound at his nape.

“Slaves do not have mounts.” He slapped his thigh with his
palm and extended his hand.

“I am—”

“Not a slave. So you say. Mount now.”

“No. I want my own horse. I ride very well, even bareback!”

Kered sat in silence and stared down at Maggie. He was
chanting a litany of ancestors to prevent snatching her onto the saddle.

“Stop swearing!”

“Swearing? I do not swear!” Kered blinked as if in
disbelief.

“Then what are you muttering? Sounds pretty bad to me.”

“I am repeating my father’s ancestors’ names, in order, back
to the beginning of time. Pray I succeed in reciting the list, else I will most
likely throttle you!” Kered swung his leg over the neck of the horse and
slipped to the ground. Before Maggie could turn away, he grasped her by the
waist and heaved her into the saddle. Her breath whooshed out and before she
could inhale, Kered had mounted behind her.

The speed with which he galloped down the valley, at one
with the stallion, further stole Maggie’s breath. She could but grip the mane
and squeeze with her thighs.

When she became used to the horse’s rhythmic gait and the
press of Kered’s body against hers, she relaxed and leaned back. Immediately,
Kered wrapped an arm about her waist and drew her closer. Why not take
advantage of his massive chest? Maggie nestled into the natural space he’d made
for her. “What is this boy’s name?” she asked, patting the stallion’s neck.

“Windsong.”

“A beautiful name,” she said.

“Aye. He runs as swift as the sea breezes,” he answered.
“Still, he is untrained and subject to unruly behavior.”

“Why untrained? I’d think an important warrior like you
would have the best horse available.”

His arm tightened about her waist. “This is the fastest
horse available. My usual warhorse fell to a Selaw blade. Windsong will learn
his duties soon enough.” Windsong sidled momentarily as if to say, “We’ll see
about that.” Kered fought the horse’s recalcitrant behavior.

Maggie took a peek up at Kered at the same time he looked
down at her. Kered growled and bared his perfectly white teeth. She giggled. He
grinned and kissed the top of her head. With a sigh, she snuggled back and
drifted asleep.

Too soon the ride would end. He did not know what possessed
him to deny her a mount. Slaves often rode at their master’s side, rarely
double with their master. If they had no mount, they walked. Riding double
spoke of a familiarity, a favoritism that made him uncomfortable. She rested
against him, sure of his protection. Yet, he mused, who had saved whose life
the rising before? It boded ill that he had fallen asleep, leaving his little
slave unguarded. Then, adding insult to injury, she had saved his life and at
the same time witnessed his humiliation.

Kered flexed his fingers against Maggie’s waist. How thin
she was. Most pleasure slaves were well-rounded, mayhap even overfed to be sure
only softness pressed against manly hardness. This slave had a lean muscularity
similar to a field slave. Only a poor man took a field slave in pleasure. Even
a man of modest wealth would visit a plump fornitrix before availing himself of
a common laborer. Yet Maggie had come to him perfumed and garbed in a gown of
soft cloth, like silk. Her changeable skin had known no extended hours laboring
in the fields.

The perplexity of her condition and her beauty kept Kered
happily occupied for several hours. He sniffed a lock of her hair, now dusty.
He examined her ears, also dusty. Maggie needed a bathhouse—perhaps after the
quest. A long sigh escaped him, waking the object of his fascination.

“Are we near?” Maggie yawned, stretching in Kered’s arms. He
grunted as her breasts grazed his hand.
Small and firm, not soft
. With a
great effort, he resisted the urge to grasp a nipple between his fingertips.
The one closest to his hand was taut against the fabric of her gown, and it
tempted him badly.

He hauled on the reins and, lifting Maggie, slipped to the
ground. “We will rest here.”

Maggie decided to rename the warrior Mr. Surly.

She also decided her best course was to avoid him. They
stood by a slow-moving brook. The water looked clear and inviting, but Maggie
knew from personal experience at the New Jersey shore that appearances could be
deceiving.

“Is the water safe to drink?” she asked.

“Aye. We will fill the carrier.”

“Do you have any soap?” Maggie reached for his pack.

“No. It is not a necessity of travel.” Kered placed a hand
over the pack’s flap.

“May I peek inside?” Maggie asked, her hand covering his.

“Why?”

Maggie studied him a moment. His frown was back, digging
grooves along his mouth and across his forehead. “Do you think I’ll take my
gun,
my
weapon, and use it on you?”

His hesitation told her all she needed to know. He didn’t
trust her.

“No. Don’t answer that. It’s clear without any words.” She
stormed away. She had saved his life. How could he think she might use the gun
on him? Tears gathered. Stress and fatigue conspired to bring them spilling
over her cheeks.
Take your own advice—avoid him.

A gnarled tree, like a witch’s oak, hid her from his view.
She peeked around and watched him arrange rocks for a hearth. Her skin itched
with the coating of dust. She reeked. The frustration of mistrust and the grime
of several days’ journey needed release. Maggie whipped her dress over her head
and dropped her panties. Kered could not see her. Carefully, she lowered
herself into the running water. Its delicious coolness slipped over her limbs.
She ducked beneath the clear surface, using her fingers to untangle her dirty
tresses. The luxury of water caressing her skin vanquished her bleak mood.

Maggie kicked over to the bank and dug a hand into the sandy
soil that edged the deep brook. She used the sand to scrub her skin and even
worked it into her hair, rinsing it thoroughly several times. A shadow blocked
the bright light of the red Tolemac sun.

“Are you mad?” Kered bellowed.

“Mad? Yes, I am. I’m mad at you.” Maggie hugged the roots of
the overhanging bank, blocking his view of her naked body.

“Snakes.” He leaned forward, hands on hips. “Snakes.”

“Snakes?” Maggie whipped around, her hands clasped over her
breasts.

“Aye. Snakes abound in these streams. Out.”

As much as Maggie wanted to levitate from the water, she
could not just climb from the stream, dripping wet and naked. “Could you turn
around?’’

He grunted and obliged, although he did not step away from
the water’s edge. Maggie paddled downstream a few feet and scrabbled out near
her dress. She shuddered before pulling its grimy fabric over her wet body; she
picked up her panties. There was no way she would put them back on without a
wash.

Kneeling at the edge of the brook, she ignored Kered’s
presence and scrubbed her underwear with sand. Just as she gave them a final
rinse, a large hand reached over and plucked them away.

“You wretch!” Maggie squealed as Kered held her panties over
her head at eye level.

“Nilrem’s beard!” Kered whispered, as his hands stretched
and turned the faded scrap of cotton. “What manner of garment is this?’’

“You cur. Give…me…my…underwear!” Maggie bit out.

He turned to her and scratched his head. “How would such a
thing keep you warm?”

“They aren’t supposed to keep you warm.” Maggie leaped up
and tried to snag the panties, but he blocked her with his shoulder, holding
them aloft.

“What purpose do they serve?” He flipped them inside out and
splaying his fingers, peered inside the waistband.

Maggie’s face flushed as dark as the setting red sun. She
pressed her hands to her face in mortification.

Kered raised his eyes in bafflement, then froze. “Maggie,”
he said, and placed a hand on her shoulder, “forgive me.”

Maggie shrank from his hand, slipping away from the heavy
weight of it. Kered extended her panties. She snatched them from his hand and
clutched them to her chest.