Longing's Levant (17 page)

“I can take the two of you with me,” Kaibyn told Evann-Sin and his lady, “but I don’t think the darkling is up to conveying a rider.”

“Well, let’s see,” Rabin drawled and grabbed Evann-Sin’s arm.

“No!” both Tamara and the king yelled as the warrior vanished.

“He’ll be useless for at least half an hour,” Kaibyn complained. He held out a hand to Tamara. “Lady?”

“I want to go!” the king announced. He hurried to his armoire to extract a set of clothing.

“Then I’ll come back for you,” Kaibyn said.

“Can you…?” the Panther started to say but when he turned around, he found himself alone.

Tamara stumbled and would have fallen had not Kaibyn snagged her waist with a strong arm. She slumped against him, her head spinning a bit less than the other times but with enough force to elicit nausea.

“He’ll be up and about in a few moments,” Rabin said. “Should I go back with you and get a few others?”

Kaibyn shook his head. “And then have to transport them all back?”

“King Numair wanted to come,” Tamara reminded them.

“He’s fine where he is,” Evann-Sin choked out. He struggled to stand and when he couldn’t, dropped back to a sitting position on the ground. “I need to go back and talk to my men.”

“That’s something the king will do,” Kaibyn stated.

“I’ll do it,” Rabin volunteered. Once more the dark man was gone in the blinking of an eye. It was only a moment before he was back. “He’s already seeing to it.”

Evann-Sin stared at his friend. “You are enjoying that shit far too much,” he accused.

“What can I say? I’m good at it!” Rabin chuckled.

“Start over there,” Kaibyn ordered Rabin. “You’ll need to whirl the dirt out of the grave and expose the corpse to the sunlight. Some will catch fire immediately. Those are the newest dead. Others, we will need to behead.” From out of nowhere, he produced four scythes, the blades of which appeared razor-thin.

“I never saw him leave,” Tamara whispered. Her eyes were wide. “I never
felt
him leave. Did you take me with you?”

“I will one day be that quick,” Rabin said with a sniff.

Kaibyn grinned. “You’re getting acclimated to the traveling, wench. The next time we make a trip, you most likely won’t feel anything.”

Evann-Sin struggled to his feet and grabbed one of the scythes from Kaibyn. “She won’t be doing any more traveling with you, demon!”

Kaibyn shrugged, though his dark eyes took on a wicked gleam. He handed scythes to Rabin and Tamara. “Do you know how to whirl the wind, darkling?”

“Stop calling him that,” Evann-Sin warned. “He has a name.”

Kaibyn rolled his eyes. “All right, Rabin,” he said, stressing the name, “you should…”

“Like this?” Rabin inquired and rushed across several graves. The rush of the wind at his passing partially exposed the bodies beneath.

Tamara had grown up with the Undead and had seen many of them taking to their coffins as the sun rose, but she had never seen fresh bodies squirming to get beneath the protection of the soil and it made her ill.

“We’ll be doing them a favor by sending them to the Gatherer,” Kaibyn told her. “Try not to think of what you are doing.”

There were over a thousand raised places on the plains of Celadohr and the members of the coalition knew they would be able to lay only a few hundred—at best—to eternal rest. With Rabin and the demon whirling away the earth covering the Undead, Evann-Sin and Tamara set about beheading as many corpses as time would allow.

It was a gruesome task that brought tears to Tamara’s eyes and caused Evann-Sin to grit his teeth and tamp down his human sympathy. By the time Kaibyn and Rabin were able to begin their own grisly duty, the sun was already beginning to lower toward the horizon. As the last rays of the sun began dying, those burrowed beneath the mounds began to rise. Only three hundred Undead had been delivered to the Soul Gatherer’s arms.

“There are nine hundred or thereabouts rising,” Rabin told them. He was staring at a hand clawing its way from the ground.

“We need to get back to the palace and make sure everything is in place. Unless I miss my guess, the battle will last most of the night,” Kaibyn said.

“Longer if Queen Lilit sends replacements for those we beheaded,” Tamara said. She edged away from a grave from which a rising corpse was growling its fury.

“I would if I were her,” Evann-Sin told her. He held a hand out to Kaibyn. “Let’s get going.”

Kaibyn’s teeth sparkled in the growing darkness and he winked.

“The Prophet, damn it!” the warrior shouted for his lady had been snagged up by the demon and had vanished.

“You’d better watch that one,” Rabin suggested as he put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“How, when I can’t even see the son-of-a-bitch?”

Chapter Ten

Ashes floated through the dawn air and the smell of burnt flesh settled on the defenders of the Akkadian palace like a cloying, wet blanket. Those standing upon the battlements were weary—their hands blistered from pitch falling from their rag-wrapped arrowheads. Servant women went from warrior to warrior, carrying ladles of cool water, hunks of bread, wheels of cheese, apples and pears.

“Look there,” Rabin said to his friend.

Evann-Sin turned where Rabin was pointing and winced. The vista for as far as he could see was rippled with raised mounds. Though the night had been lit with the rush of exploding bodies, still more corpses had appeared in what seemed a never-ending line marching across the Akkadian landscape.

“How many do you reckon are out there?” Tamara asked. Her hands were wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, the fumes of which helped to block the stench of death.

“At least as many as we destroyed last night,” Kaibyn ventured.

“With the help of my men, we can take out most of those before sunset, but will just that many appear to attack us tonight?” Evann-Sin said.

“There are hundreds of Undead on the Isle of Sanquis,” Tamara replied. “I believe Lilit has brought them all here.”

“We are running out of arrows,” Rabin complained. He looked to Kaibyn. “Should we not go fetch some?”

Kaibyn nodded. “Aye, but I’ve another idea, dar…” He stopped. “Rabin.”

Rabin arched a brow. “What idea is that?”

“I can time travel,” the demon announced. “I don’t like to go into the past, but I have been there a time or two.”

“Is there something there that could help us?” Tamara asked.

“Aye, but I don’t know if I have the strength to bring it here.” He shrugged. “I can only try.”

“You need help?” Rabin inquired.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” the demon remarked and was gone.

“I’ll never get used to seeing that,” the Panther remarked. He was sitting slumped against a barrel that was lying on its side. His face was soot-stained and his clothing peppered with holes from where burning pitch had lit upon the fabric.

Evann-Sin wrapped his arms around his lady. “I am about done in,” he confessed.

“Go take a nap,” the king ordered. “The both of you. Rabin and I will see to having my men start on opening those damned graves.”

“I should fetch some arrows,” Rabin countered, and at the king’s nod, left in a rush of hot wind.

The Panther sighed and shook his head. “No, I will never get used to such things.”

“I’ll speak to the troops, Your Majesty,” Evann-Sin said.

“You will not,” the Panther denied. “You will hie yourself and that lady to your room and rest, Riel Evann-Sin.” When the warrior would have argued, his king held up a staying hand. “That was not a suggestion, boy. That was an imperial command! Get yourself to bed!”

“His Majesty is right, Beloved,” Tamara said gently. She was as bone-tired as her lover and barely able to keep her eyes open.

Knowing he could not disobey his king, Evann-Sin struck a tired fist to his breast. “At your command, Majesty,” he replied.

It was a weary duo that sluggishly descended the steps from the battlements and entered the corridor that led to Evann-Sin’s quarters. Both were hot and sweaty, uneasy with their own body odors but not willing to mention their companion’s rank stench. Yet, as tired as they were, the lovers were overjoyed to find a large copper tub filled with water sitting in the middle of Evann-Sin’s bedroom.

“Thank you, King Numair!” Tamara muttered, and already her fingers were tearing at the buttons to her blouse.

Discreetly leaving the warrior and his lady to themselves, two maidservants and a strapping lad of about sixteen quietly exited the room. A golden trencher piled high with fresh fruit—strawberries, figs, dates, apples, pears and bananas—sat on a low table beside the tub alongside a sweat-glistening pitcher and two goblets.

Evann-Sin was slower to undress for he was enjoying his lady’s stripping. The sight of her shapely body and long limbs took away much of the fatigue that had only moments before been plaguing his aching body. His hands stilled on his shirt as she lifted a long leg and climbed into the tub for he had gotten a tantalizing glimpse of the ripples of sweetness between her legs.

Tamara plucked a bar of soap from little wire basket fashioned like a saddlebag that was draped over the rim of the tub. One side held the soap while the other held a large sea sponge. She brought the soap to her nose and her eyes widened with delight.

“It smells of lemons, Riel!” she trilled.

The warrior could not get the sight of her most private of parts out of his mind. His staff was hardening even as he thought of that delightful, slick area. Fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, he grew impatient and finally ripped the shirt from his chest.

His lady looked up at the sound of rending material but almost immediately her gaze lowered to the swelling in his britches and her look darkened with heat. Slowly, she raised her eyes until she was looking into the lusty stare of her lover. She unconsciously stuck out her tongue and licked her upper lip, her heart skipping a beat as she saw the effect her action had upon the warrior.

Evann-Sin shrugged out of the remnants of his filthy shirt and made quick work of the belt looped at his waist. Dragging the leather from his body, he dropped the belt and stood on one foot to pull off first one boot then the other, tossing the heavy footwear away.

Tamara’s attention was glued to her lover’s broad chest where muscles rippled as he moved. The flex of the biceps of his brawny arms made both her mouth and her nether region water. She swallowed as she listened to the hard thump of the blood rushing through her ears. Her hands ached to touch the warrior’s staff, to caress it, and the sight of that weapon as it sprang free from Evann-Sin’s britches brought a groan of anticipation from her lips.

He had heard that low groan, and it caused his cock to leap with an expectancy of its own. He was at full staff, the burgeoning blood coursing through his veins as he kicked aside his britches and advanced toward the tub.

Likening her lover’s approach to the fabled tales of his kingly father, the Panther, Tamara felt weak and helpless as he came toward her. He was all male—all sexual being as he hunkered down beside the tub. She could not tear her eyes from his for he held her enthralled with the mesmerizing depths of that golden, intense look. Her breathing was ragged, too fast, too shallow, and it made her giddy, caused her head to spin.

Her lover reached out and took the soap from her hand. He dipped it in the water as he knelt on his knees by the tub then lifted her arm to run the silky bar along her flesh.

Tamara closed her eyes and laid her head back along the low rim of the tub. His touch was exquisite—as soft as a feather. The slippery feel and scent of the soap was heavenly. As he laved her arm, her shoulder, her neck—her head cocked to one side to give him access—and the upper portion of her chest, she held her breath, expecting his hand to dip to her breast but it did not. Instead, she heard him stand and without opening her eyes, felt him climb into the tub with her. She drew her knees up to give him room and once he was settled, she felt his hands on her ankles, pulling her legs over his and placing them on his hard thighs. When he scooted forward in the water—his feet bumping her hips as he planted them beside her—she opened her eyes and watched him.

He took her other arm and laved it, spreading the lemony lather over her limb. He took care with her shoulder and neck, each finger of her sword hand, before lowering the soap in the water and lathering it once more.

Her legs were splayed along his thighs, her calves resting on the flanges of his hips. So large was the tub, her feet did not touch the opposite end so she rotated her ankles, grinning as each popped in turn.

Evann-Sinn laughed softly at the unladylike sound. His lady was unlike any he’d ever encountered and it was the little things—like the enjoyable cracking of an ankle joint—that endeared her to him.

Tamara opened her mouth to tease him, but his hand slid to her breast and all thought vanished from her brain. Every sensation, every emotion, every notion had settled between her legs and she felt her womb quicken as his thumb glided over a suddenly erect nipple.

“Sweet,” she heard him whisper then sighed as his hand came away from her breast.