A March into Darkness, page 40
Tristan gave Rafe a meaningful look. “You treat your enemies well,” he said. “Why do you do it?”
“You are not my enemy,” he answered. “You ride well, and you drink well. And by the look of those weapons you carried, you also fight well. Your sword blade shows the telltale signs of many hard-fought battles.” Throwing his head back, Rafe laughed at his next thought. “And now Yasmin wishes to learn whether you do something else as well!”
Laughing again, then slapping Tristan on the shoulder, Rafe almost knocked the prince over. “Just because I plan on ransoming you doesn’t mean we cannot be friends! Tell me, are you hungry? We will dine together!”
Tristan nodded. “I’m starving,” he answered. “But before we eat, I must make a request.”
Rafe regarded him narrowly. “What is it?” he asked.
“When my warriors arrive, I want them treated humanely,” Tristan answered. “They are to be fed and cared for. I value them just as much as you value your clansmen. Surely we can agree on that score.”
Rafe nodded. “Unlike you, I do not command an entire nation. But I know what it means to lead, and to earn the respect of my people.”
Rafe clapped his hands. Soon the four women reappeared. Yasmin came to stand directly before Tristan. Looking up at her face, he was quickly reminded of her exotic beauty.
She was tall and leonine, with dark, heavily lidded eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul. Her jaw was rather square and her lips full, almost pouting. She stood barefooted before him in a blatantly sexual stance that reaffirmed her earlier intentions. Her long, dark hair was unruly, and hung to her waist. She was an amazingly strong yet also feminine creature, one that he couldn’t imagine any man ever truly taming. It would be a shame to break her spirit, he realized. This one’s wild side should be preserved.
“Bring food,” Rafe said simply.
As quietly as they had come, the four women walked away. As Yasmin left, Tristan found himself watching her body seductively sway to and fro. Reaching for the amphora, Rafe refilled their glasses. He smiled again.
“The truly beautiful ones have a way of getting under a man’s skin, don’t they?” he asked. “Not to mention his heart.”
Taking another sip, Tristan thought of Celeste. “That they do,” he said softly.
Soon the women reappeared with two trays of food and a large silver bowl. Tristan had no idea what sort of food it was, but it smelled wonderful. The women placed the trays and the bowl on the ground before Tristan and Rafe. One tray held warm bread and freshly churned butter. The other held two bowls of hot stew. Lean cuts of freshly roasted lamb swam in rich brown gravy alongside carrots, potatoes, and onions. Tristan noticed that no utensils had been provided.
Three of the women then walked away, leaving Yasmin standing alone. To Tristan’s surprise she sat down beside him on her knees. Wondering why, he shot a questioning glance at Rafe. The highlander chieftain smiled.
“It seems you have made quite an impression,” he said. “She wishes to feed you.”
Tristan turned to look into Yasmin’s dark eyes. Her gaze was intoxicating.
“Thank you, but that won’t be needed,” he said politely. “I can fend for myself.”
Yasmin bored her seductive eyes into his. “I don’t do this only for you,” she answered. Her voice held a husky quality that he found attractive. “You are unaccustomed to dipping into our hot stew,” she said. “You would burn yourself.”
Tristan scowled. “Why do you care?” he asked.
Leaning closer, she placed one hand on his thigh. He had to admit that it felt warm, inviting.
“Because should you accept the offer of my bed, I want everything working as it should—including your fingertips,” she said brazenly.
Reaching into the hot stew, she grasped a lamb piece between her index finger and thumb then offered it to him. Smiling again, Tristan accepted it.
The food was wonderful, and rather unlike anything Tristan had tasted before. Yasmin served him skillfully. As they feasted and drank, Tristan decided to offer Rafe a proposition.
Given the chieftain’s surprisingly friendly nature, the prince was becoming more sure that he and his warriors would eventually be released. But he desperately needed to return to Tammerland sooner, rather than later. Moreover, the highlanders impressed him—even though they were scandalous thieves. Such men could be useful, provided they could be controlled. And controlling them meant giving them something. As Yasmin fed him another piece of lamb, he looked over at Rafe.
“What would it take for you to let me and my warriors go this very night?” he asked. “As you said, I am royalty—I need no one’s permission to make a deal. If we can come to terms and you release us now, I swear to you that you will be fairly rewarded.”
Rafe took another swig of the potent tachinga and laughed. “What type of fool do you take me for?” he asked. “Do you really believe that I would release my greatest prize on a mere promise? The clan elders would brand me a fool, or worse!”
Tristan thought for a moment. “How did someone so young become chieftain?” he asked. “I would have expected a clan leader to be much older.”
A sad look overcame Rafe’s face. After refilling his glass he took another long swig of tachinga. Removing his fur hat, he tossed it to the grass, then tousled his hair.
“The same way that it is said you did,” he answered sadly. “I inherited the post from my slain father. That is our custom, provided the firstborn son has reached a certain age.”
Yasmin held another stew piece before Tristan’s face. Smiling, he thanked her then said that he had eaten his fill but that the food was wonderful. Then he turned back to Rafe.
“I’m sorry about your father,” he said. “It seems we have more in common than I thought. Even so, I must get home quickly. Eutracia’s fate and the fate of the craft of magic depend on it.”
Reaching out, Yasmin placed the silver bowl between Rafe and Tristan. The bowl was filled with water and floating rose petals. Following Rafe’s lead, Tristan washed his hands and face, then dried them with a cloth supplied by Yasmin.
Rafe scowled. “You need to understand something,” he said. “I don’t give a tinker’s damn about Eutracia, or about the craft. Our way of life has been going on for centuries. My people have seen dozens of monarchs come and go, each one haunted by his supposed worry over the craft. And for what, we ask? As far as we are concerned, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I like you, dango. But I seriously doubt that you and your wizards are any different from the fools who have come before you. Unlike some other clans, we are not murderers or rapists. Here, you and your warriors needn’t fear for your lives. Even so, you will stay with us until I say otherwise.”
Still determined to get home, Tristan thought for a moment. “Of all the things in the world, what is it that you and your clansmen want most?” he asked, still hoping to appeal to Rafe’s greed.
Rafe looked thoughtfully across the clearing. “Despite our way of life, my answer might surprise you,” he said softly.
“What is it?” Tristan asked.
“Some of us—especially those who have children—wish to finally put down roots,” he answered. “They are tired of wandering, being looked down on, and living from hand to mouth. They want a better, more secure life. Not all feel that way, but many do. What I’m trying to say is that we want a homeland of our own.”
Tristan gave Rafe a look of surprise. “Do you feel this way?” he asked.
“I have purposely delayed taking a wife and having children, so that I might better lead my people,” Rafe answered. “Putting one’s personal needs aside is but one of leadership’s many burdens. Just now we are in the midst of a fragile truce with a rival clan—one that I am not sure will survive. Until I know my people are safe, my life must remain as it is.”
“Suppose I helped you with your troubles?” Tristan asked.
Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “How?” he asked.
“Order your entire clan to come with me to Tammerland,” Tristan answered. “I can guarantee your safety. You needn’t live behind the city walls, if you choose not to. In return for taking me and my warriors home, and granting me one other favor, I will give you your homeland. I will deed your clan any number of acres of land they want, and anywhere they want—all within reason, of course. I will grant the land in perpetuity, along with full hunting, fishing, grazing, mineral, and timber rights. You could even form your own province, should you wish to do so. Choose the right piece of Eutracia, and you could become rich beyond your wildest dreams. Best of all, it would happen legally, including the crown’s ongoing protection against rival clans. You could still practice your customs, provided you abandoned all illicit activities. Refuse, and you will remain thieves and nomads, your heirs and theirs perhaps wandering Eutracia forever.”
Tristan could see that he had impressed the highlander. “You would do that for us?” Rafe asked incredulously.
Tristan leaned closer. “Eagerly,” he answered. “The stakes for our country are that high.”
Rafe slugged back the last of his tachinga. Staring into the bonfire, he thoughtfully rolled the empty glass between his palms. “And this other favor you mentioned,” he said, his wary skepticism returning. “What is that?”
“For a brief time I wish to command your marvelous horsemen in the struggle that is brewing,” Tristan answered. “When the fight is over I will release them from my service. I will need every able-bodied rider you can muster. For too long, Eutracia has been without a cavalry regiment. I fear that she will soon need one. Highlanders who might wish to stay and form a permanent regiment would be welcome.” Tristan looked hopefully into Rafe’s eyes. “What say you?” he asked.
Rafe looked over at Yasmin. It was clear that she was as stunned as her chieftain.
“Even as clan leader I do not have the authority to dismiss your offer out of hand,” Rafe answered. “Its ramifications are too huge. I will take it up with the council of elders in the morning. By highlander law, whatever the council says is always done. Soon after daybreak you will have our answer, Tristan,” he said, using the prince’s given name for the first time.
Tristan nodded. “Fair enough,” he said.
Just then they watched the massive Balthazar and several other highlanders push their way past the circled wagons and into the clearing. Walking up, Balthazar reached down to grab the tachinga amphora. Hoisting it up alongside his forearm, he took a long sideways drink. After wiping his mouth, he smiled.
“The winged ones will be here in a few hours,” he said. “They can be a handful, even when bound! What is to be done with them?”
“See to it that they are fed, and treated with respect,” Rafe ordered. “I have promised their master that it would be this way.”
“As you wish,” Balthazar answered. Turning to the highlanders standing behind him, he barked out some sharp orders in their secret language. They quickly went about their duties.
“Thank you,” Tristan said.
Rafe shrugged his shoulders. “A promise is a promise, even among thieves. Now then, it is time for us men to enjoy ourselves!” He looked over at Yasmin. “Would you and your sisters do us the honor of a dance?” he asked.
Coming smoothly to her feet, Yasmin gave Tristan a sly look. “By all means,” she answered. She disappeared quickly.
As Balthazar sat down with them, Rafe leaned closer to Tristan. “She has fed you, agreed to dance for you, and offered to share her bed. I can never remember a dango being so honored. This is truly a night to remember!”
Rafe again slapped Tristan hard on the back, this time forcing him to cough. For the first time since meeting the highlander, Tristan smiled. The chieftain’s manner was so infectious that he simply couldn’t help it.
Moments later, Yasmin and her sisters reappeared. They were dressed even more provocatively than before. Aside from the flimsiest of dark material draped over their shoulders and breasts, only diaphanous, blousy leggings covered the lower parts of their bodies. Their feet and midriffs were bare, and they bore bits of gold jewelry that pierced their navels. Each girl wore a sheer veil, draped seductively below her eyes. Looking closer, Tristan saw that they also wore a pair of thumb and finger cymbals on each hand.
The women walked to a place before Tristan and Rafe, bowed, then sat on their knees. They closed their eyes. Rafe clapped his hands.
From somewhere on the other side of the bonfire, lively music started. As it wafted its way across the clearing, the women stood and started their dance. Two of the girls quickly made their way toward other men, while Yasmin and her sister approached Tristan and Rafe.
Tristan had eyes only for Yasmin, just as she did for him. In the firelight, her undulating body was amazingly beautiful. Moving seductively to the music, time and time again she approached him, only to expertly tease his senses then slink away. Closing her eyes, she raised her slender arms overhead to start tapping her cymbals together. As the music grew louder, her movements became ever more provocative, the clashing cymbals and the alluring sway of her hips marking every beat.
She moved closer again, this time so near that Tristan could smell the enticing perfume sprinkled between her breasts. Slowly sitting on her knees with her naked back to him, she leaned back until her head and chest were in his lap. Like he and Yasmin were the only two people in the world, the entranced prince could hear only the music, smell only her perfume, and see only her beauty. She lifted her body, bringing her mouth nearer his. As if possessed by a spell, Tristan closed his eyes and parted his lips…
The scream that tore through the night was chilling. It was a male voice, coming from the opposite side of the clearing. The music stopped abruptly and the dancing girls went stock-still. Yasmin immediately came to her feet.
Standing quickly, Tristan looked at Rafe. Balthazar and the highlander chieftain were already upright. Looking across the campsite, Rafe’s eyes held a peculiar mixture of worry and hate. Snapping his head around, Tristan saw the object of Rafe’s concern.
A highlander was running toward them. Standing, Tristan coiled up at first, then relaxed as he recognized the fellow who had led the charge toward the ravine. As he neared, Tristan saw that he was carrying something. Yasmin came to stand beside Tristan.
Running pell-mell, the highlander skidded to a stop before Rafe. Looking down, Tristan saw that he was carrying a canvas cinch bag. Tristan froze as he saw the bag’s bottom. It was dripping blood.
“Master…,” the breathless highlander said. He handed the bag to Rafe at arm’s length, like it was full of deadly snakes. “This was just found at the camp’s edge!” he exclaimed. “I have not opened it, but I fear the worst.”
Rafe untied the bag and looked inside. At once his face blanched and twisted into a terrible grimace. Closing his eyes, he dropped the bag to the ground, then turned his face away.
“What is it?” Tristan asked. Forgetting himself for a moment, he started to reach for the fallen bag. Before he could grasp it, Balthazar roughly shoved him aside. Saying nothing, Balthazar picked up the bag and looked in. A hateful look overcame his face as well. He too dropped the bag like it was cursed.
“Zorian traitors!” he growled. “You will pay for this!” Shaking his fists in the air, Balthazar raged against the night. “Do you hear me, you bastard sons of a thousand fathers? This insult will cost you your lives!”
As other highlanders crowded around, Tristan reached down to retrieve the bloody bag. He did not wish to offend anyone, but he had to know. He pulled the bag open and looked inside.
It contained a severed male head. It was bloody, and cut many times by what had probably been a razor-sharp dagger. The eyes had been sewn shut with bits of coarse leather, and its teeth pulled out by some crude instrument. Clearly, the man had been tortured before being killed. Closing the bag, Tristan respectfully placed it back onto the ground, then looked at Yasmin.
“What does this mean?” he asked.
“Our truce with the Zorian clan has ended,” she said sadly. “The head in the bag is that of Casimir, Rafe’s brother.”
“The Zorians are a rival clan?” Tristan asked.
Yasmin nodded. “They are butchers, rapists, and cutthroats—including their women.”
“Casimir was captured by them?” Tristan asked, trying to understand.
“No,” she answered. “During a truce it is often customary for each side to exchange hostages. The hostages are almost always persons of importance. As long as the hostages live, so does the truce. By killing Casimir and sending his head, the Zorian elders have ended the truce. A challenge has been made. Rafe has but one choice left to him now.”
Looking over, Tristan watched Rafe turn back around. The highlander chieftain’s face was resolute. Yasmin placed her lips near Tristan’s ear.
“Whatever happens, you must not interfere. This is highlander business. Rafe likes you, but he will tolerate no dango intrusions.”
Rafe nodded harshly at Balthazar. Understanding, the giant quickly walked away.
“We should sit,” Yasmin whispered into Tristan’s ear. “We have no part in this.”
The prince sat down on the dewy grass. Yasmin sat beside him. Despite the tense circumstances, he was struck by how comfortable her presence felt.
Balthazar soon returned with a bound prisoner in tow. The man was about Tristan’s age. His face was dark and cruel-looking, and his long hair fell about his shoulders. His hands were tied behind him.
Several more Kilbourne clansmen came forward. Two of them carried a thick, rough-hewn pole. They quickly pounded it into the ground before the bonfire. Pushing his prisoner toward the pole, Balthazar viciously shoved the man’s back up against it.
The two other highlanders quickly untied the prisoner’s hands, then bound them tightly again behind the pole. They then did the same to his feet. Placing a leather strap around the man’s forehead, Balthazar pulled the strap tight and tied it, pinning the man’s head to the pole.
