VirtualHeaven (14 page)

Just then, a crackle of twigs heralded a rush of men. They
charged past Maggie, shoving her aside in their hurry to aid their friends. A
black horde of shadows fanned out before Kered and Vad. The two friends
circled, shoulder to shoulder, swords ready.

Kered and Vad hadn’t a chance against so many
. The
guards considered a woman of so little danger, they turned their backs to her.

Maggie took careful aim and just as a man charged into the
clearing she fired on blue, sweeping the orb-lit ground from behind the guards.
Like duckpins they fell, rolling atop each other, piling over the leader and
his fellows who lay bound back to back.

Gasping for air, she looked about. A silence had fallen
thick as a blanket of snow in winter.

“Are they dead?” Vad cried.

“No, just sleeping,” Maggie said, her voice shaky as she
stepped from behind her tree.

“Maggie!” Kered bellowed, charging her like a mad bull. He
skidded to a halt.

Her heart was in her mouth. Blood soaked his sleeve and she
thought she’d never seen anyone who looked so wonderful or so angry. “You’re
wounded,” she cried, reaching out to touch the crimson stains along his arm.
Her fingers came away wet and sticky. She flung herself into his arms.

Kered could feel Maggie’s heaving breasts against his chest.
The warmth of her and his shock at seeing the guard kick her so viciously made
him squeeze the breath from her. He yanked her head back by her long braid.
“You disobeyed me. You willfully disobeyed me,” he growled. He tasted the
metallic bite of blood as their mouths clashed. Their tongues tangled. He
lifted her against him. A spiraling sensation of falling made him stagger. The
press of her against him, the taste of her, his fear for her coursed in a
savage pounding through his veins. A longing, held at bay for weeks, took
charge of his senses. As a starving man, he feasted on her.

“When you have finished punishing her, may we get the cup?”
Vad asked, stepping from the trees.

Kered dropped Maggie to her feet and pushed her away more
roughly than he had intended. Her wet cloak shifted from her shoulder. A shaft
of orb-glow touched her breast. Its snowy gleam and dark peak made him snatch
the fur about her. His hands gentled, apologizing for his roughness as he
stroked her cheek. He did not need to see the tears brimming in her eyes to
know he had hurt her.

With a final silent atonement, he lifted her hand and kissed
her palm. “Come. Who knows how long these men may sleep? The cup still lies
under guard.”

“Wait. We must know how many men are loose,” Vad said,
walking about the slumbering enemy, counting heads and shaking his own in open
amazement. “We found their barracks,” he explained to Maggie. “There were beds
aplenty for a full company of men. There are twelve here. Two at the temple…who
knows how many archers on the shoreline?”

“Then we go with caution,” Kered said, taking Maggie’s hand.
They stealthily made their way through the dense foliage, avoiding the
well-trod path. The temple guards stood in fearful alertness, their eyes
trained in the direction of the rising smoke that trailed above the trees.

Kered had not spoken to Maggie, did not trust his words, but
he nodded when she raised one eyebrow in question.

She fired.

The temple guards crumpled to the ground.

“By the sword,” Vad cried. He went down on one knee and
kissed her hand. “‘Tis a magical goddess you are.”

“Oh, Vad,” Maggie said, smiling finally at the effusive
gesture.

“Are you quite finished? There are more soldiers about.”
Kered dragged Vad to his feet. “Her weapon is the marvel, not her.” No, he
thought, he was lying, mainly to himself. Maggie was the marvel, her weapon but
an adjunct to her. There was no way she could have come to help them but by
walking. The danger of it, the knowledge that she risked much to bring him the
weapon, made his stomach clench. He knew she had come to bring the weapon to
him, for him. But seeing Vad on his knees, kissing her hand, smashed through
his tolerance. The grinding jealousy, a choking emotion he had never
experienced before, only added to his burden and made a new enemy that he must
fight.

Every muscle of Kered’s body screamed for rest. He quivered
with a need to snap someone or something, but it must not be Vad. Wearily, he
turned away.

They moved cautiously down the dark and cool cave corridor.
The flickering torch lights cast eerie shadows on the walls. A half-naked
warrior leapt out at them as they rounded a bend.

Maggie swallowed a shriek.

“Calm yourself,” Kered hissed, grasping her arm. “‘Tis
paintings of our ancestors.”

The ghostly light lent a lifelike glow to the ancient
warrior, clad in a loincloth. She took a deep breath to calm herself.

Kered and Vad held their weapons ready and started at every
sound. Something scurried across her foot and she stifled another yell. She
would not be a coward just because the cave was dark and spooky.

As they moved deeper into the bowels of the cave, the
warriors who marched along the walls became uniformed, resplendent in fancy
black and purple costumes. Their spears gave way to swords and knives.

“Ruhtra,” Kered whispered, his hand touching a wall
painting.

Maggie studied the ancient ancestor. The resemblance escaped
her. She saw a bearded man in golden robes depicted as a mighty warrior, the
famed sword held aloft in one huge hand. Whatever romantic figure she’d
pictured in her mind, it had not been this portly gentleman with a belly Santa
Claus would envy.

“Come,” he urged her. They stepped into a large chamber. On
a marble altar at the center of the room stood a silver cup. Its thick neck, at
least two inches in diameter, was hollow in the center. Suspended there, as in
Maggie’s pendant and the sword at Kered’s hip, hung a lump of turquoise stone.
Eight strands entwined it and held it captive in the shining base. Maggie drew
the pendant from beneath the cloak and away from her skin. It had become warm,
almost hot to the touch.

Kered stepped forward and stood before the cup. He hesitated
and looked back at Vad. Both circled the chamber, searching the gloomy corners,
sending rodents scurrying in all directions.

Vad remained reverently several steps behind Kered as he
again approached the altar. “How arrogantly they leave the cup displayed.”

“What are we waiting for?” Maggie whispered to the men.

“One must ask the proper questions to take the cup,” Kered
said. A falling rock made them all jump and step back a pace.

“And if you don’t ask the proper questions?” Maggie hissed.

Kered ignored her. Vad supplied the answer. “‘Tis said that
he who asks the wrong questions will surely die.”

Maggie clutched the pendant in fear at his words. “Don’t
touch it,” Maggie cried, grabbing Kered’s shirt sleeve.

“Have faith.” Kered gently disentangled himself and smiled
at her. Gently, he smoothed back her hair that had tumbled from its braid. He
took the pendant from her fingers and studied it, stepping back to do so, then
clutched it tightly in his fist. “We have come this far, let it be finished.”

He opened her cloak and placed the necklace inside, his hand
pressing the warm metal to her heart. His fingers lingered there, then tugged
the edges of the cloak closed about her throat.

Maggie’s heart seemed to stop beating as he turned to the
altar. Did the pendant pulse hot against her breast, or was it just the
lingering touch of Kered’s hand that seared her skin?

“What is this cup? Whom does it serve?” Kered asked in the
heated silence. With bold confidence he stepped forward and lifted the silver
cup from the marble altar. No thunder roared, no lighting struck, no blades
dropped from the roof to impale them. “Much blood has been shed for this cup,”
Kered said in the expectant silence. “To me, ‘tis just a chunk of metal.”

Kered thrust the goblet unceremoniously into his shirt and
laced it up tight. Then he turned to Maggie. “I do not like being in here. ‘Tis
eerie and has an evil smell. I sense that our luck will change. Come.”

The journey back to the entrance took less time, but as they
neared the light, they slowed and walked with stealthy steps in case the guards
had regained consciousness. Vad darted ahead and slipped into the woods.

Kered went down on one knee and checked the life pulse of
the guards. Vad circled the temple clearing and waved for them to join him in
the trees. It took them little time to reach the beach, for they now knew the
way. Kered practically tossed Maggie into the boat the men had hidden. Vad
shoved them off shore.

The guard watched the little boat pull away. The stink of
the fires made him think of burning witches. In his short life as a N’Olavan
guard, he’d seen naught but boring duty. Now excitement had touched his life.
He had seen a witch and witnessed her magic. The rewards for naming her would
be immense. He sighed with bliss, imagining the gold coin and costly robes he
would demand for pointing her out. It should be easy to find her with that
black hair and pale skin.

He would demand protection. If she pointed her finger at
him, he too might fall into unnatural sleep. They should strip the arm rings
from the men who aided the witch. Or perhaps the warrior had been enthralled by
some evil spell and been forced to take the sacred cup. He had seen the bold
display of the man’s arousal when he had pushed the witch away. Aye. Perhaps
the warrior would also reward him for helping burn the witch and breaking her
spell.

The guard swore on his ancestors’ names when he saw the
boats. He ran from one to another, but each had a hole in the bottom and water
sloshing about. The sun rose and the orb-path was closed to him. It would take
hours to repair a boat. He stood in the shadows of the isle and watched his
quarry get away.

Kered grunted in answer to Maggie’s many questions and
finally she fell silent. She wondered how to deal with him when next they were
alone. His fervent embrace and now his anger ate at her composure. She much
preferred the ardent man to this one who scowled so fiercely as he rowed them
back to shore. It did not take a detective to note the tremors in his arms as
he rowed or how Vad picked up the beat each time Kered missed a stroke. Perhaps
his surly mood was just a result of fatigue.

Perhaps he could rest once they were far from the beach and
possible retaliation. Vad had said the N’Olavan boats were as riddled with
holes as a moth-eaten coat. By his grin, she knew the name of the hungry moth.

As they pulled in to shore, Maggie saw the stain of pink
that signaled sunrise. Water sloshed waist-deep across the road to N’Olava. The
sea began to seethe with angry waves. No one could use the path to come after
them.

Kered heaved Maggie into his saddle, handing up his pack,
which held the precious cup. He leapt up behind her, giving her no choice but
to ride before him in the shelter of his embrace. He must tend her feet. The
sight of her small, bloody footprints on the boat floorboards had shaken what
was left of his composure.

They fairly flew up the path to the cliff top where Kered
halted Windsong and ventured a final look out at the roiling sea. The isle lay
silently off shore, smoke still curling above the trees. The smoke joined a
mist that had risen along the beaches, wreathing the isle and beginning to
obscure it. It seemed to be dissolving before his very eyes.

Kered shivered and drew Maggie against him, offering her his
warmth. With a boldness he did not feel, he slipped his hand into the damp
cloak. He pressed his palm to her heart. Her hand captured his and held him
there. The beat of her heart reassured him, the warmth of her seemed made to
fit his palm. Yet, he remained stiff and wary at her back. Finally, he broke
the contact and gathered up the reins.

Windsong sidled and bucked occasionally as they ate the
miles at a swift gallop.

“What’s wrong?” she finally shouted above the wind.

“Naught!” he bellowed back.

“There is. Tell me.”

He tightened the reins, and Windsong skidded to a halt, dust
rising about their thighs. Vad drew up and raised an eyebrow.

“Ride ahead and scout the terrain,” Kered said. Vad nodded
and accepted the order, swinging his horse in a circle and cantering off to the
horizon. When he was well out of sight, Kered spoke. “Aye. I will tell you what
is wrong.” He dismounted and paced, fists on hips. He could not really tell her
how he felt or admit to the cramps that racked his body from lack of sleep and
nourishment, or mention the pounding in his skull, the throbbing in his groin.
He could not apologize for his ill treatment of her or admit that fear for her
had made him forget all the levels of awareness that made him rational and
calm.

One small part he could admit and did. “A female procured
the cup. You put them all to sleep and made a mockery of armed combat.”

“Is that it? I put them all to sleep? No one died? You only
got to prick one man’s skin?” Maggie began to laugh. She laughed so hard,
Windsong reared and tossed his head.

Kered’s shoulders slumped. Words fumbled through his brain,
but he could not shape them, could barely make his chest take in air.

“Come on. Surely, a man at the seventh level of awareness is
able to accept a small thing like a woman’s help?” Her laugh became a brilliant
smile.

“Hmpf.” He stomped about. Her smile, as bright as the sun at
midday, made it difficult to maintain his indignation. Finally, he snatched the
reins from her hand. If he did not soon mount, he might not be able to put bis
foot in the stirrup. He swung up behind her and drew her back against his body.
“Hmpf. I suppose ‘tis acceptable. Only if—”

“I never tell anyone?” She leaned back and reached up,
caressing his cheek and cupping her hand about his neck, urging him down for a
kiss.