Lara (43 page)

“Your praise should go to my wife, for he is hers, Roan,” Vartan replied.

The horse lord looked up at Lara again. “Lady, whatever you desire I will give you if you will sell me this animal.”

“He is not for sale, and never will be,” Lara told him. “He was a gift to me from Prince Kaliq. He has magic, and is part of my destiny.”

“I can well believe he has magic,” Roan said. “But imagine the colts he could sire, and think of the price they would bring! I cannot be content unless you sell him to me. I would even share the profits with you.” He ran an admiring hand over the horse.

Dasras drew away from the horse lord. “My mistress has already told you that I am not for sale, my lord,” he growled in his deep voice.

Roan’s eyes widened. “He talks!”

“But he is not supposed to frighten people,” Lara scolded Dasras.

The stallion turned his head to meet her look. “This man has a determined will, my lady. He must understand that I am indeed magic, and your words are not those of some dewy-eyed maiden.” Dasras now turned to the horse lord. “My mistress has a destiny, Lord Roan, and I am part of it. We cannot be separated.”

The horse lord nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I understand, but should you ever long for some pretty little mares…”

Dasras chuckled richly, bowing his head to touch his foreleg. “I shall certainly remember your most kind offer, my Lord Roan.”

“Does everyone know he talks?” Roan asked Lara.

“We have tried to keep his talents discreet,” she answered with a small smile, and then turning Dasras, rode back to the enclosure where the Fiacre horses were stabled.

“She is not one of us,” Roan said.

“Nay, she is a halfling. Hetarian and faerie,” Vartan said.

“How in the name of the Celestial Actuary did you ever find such a woman to wed?” Roan wanted to know.

“I found her wandering lost on the plain, although she insisted she was not lost,” Vartan said. “She and her companion, Noss, had been with the Shadow Princes. She comes from the City, where her father sold her into slavery to advance his position.”

“How typically Hetarian,” Roan replied scornfully. “They will sell anything they have of value to gain more. What are we going to do about this incursion they have made into the Outlands, Vartan?”

“I do not think we can make any decisions until we have heard from the Tormod and the Piaras. It is their territory that has been compromised, according to the Devyn, but whatever they may say to us, we cannot allow the Hetarians to eat away at our territory. This is but the first incursion, a test of our wills. They think because we have no centralized government that we can eventually be subjugated. If we do not stop them at the beginning it will be harder to stop them later on, I fear.”

Roan nodded in agreement. “Perhaps,” he said, “it is time for us to form a stronger union than we have had. We meet but once yearly here at the Gathering. Given what is happening, we may have to form a council of some sort to handle problems like this immediately, instead of waiting for the Gathering. The Devyn who visited me said that the Hetarians came into the Outlands in late winter. It is now midautumn.”

“The one in my hall did not know how long they had been in the Outlands. Why did not Petruso of the Piaras, or Imre of the Tormod send to us for help?” Vartan wondered.

“You know how proud the mountain clans are,” Roan replied. “We shall have to wait and see if they come to the Gathering.”

Three days later the chieftains they had been awaiting rode into the Gathering. There were no women or children with them, and but few riders traveled by their side. The yearly council was called for immediately, and the clan families gathered together within the ring of stone columns. Vartan, as head of the largest clan family, called for order, and when all was finally quiet he said, “We call upon Imre of the Tormod or Petruso of the Piaras to speak to us now. Which of you will tell us what is happening in the mountains? The tales brought to us by the Devyn are disconcerting, and never before has a clan family come to the Gathering without its women and children.”

“I will speak for the Tormod and the Piaras,” Imre said stepping forward. He was a tall, sinewy man whose ash-brown hair was streaked with silver. His gray eyes swept the gathering. “Just before spring Hetar invaded us, coming into our villages with their Crusader Knights. We were shocked, especially as they treated us as if we were savages. They slew our elders. They penned our women and children into enclosures like animals. They separated our young women, putting them into my house, where they use them for their pleasure. Our young boys are being forced into the mines at too young an age. New mines are being opened every month. They do not restore the land as we always have. Our mountain valleys are becoming a wasteland. They poison the waters with their refuse.”

“Why did you not send to us for help?” Vartan asked Imre. “This action was a clear violation of the ancient treaties that separate Hetar and the Outlands.”

“We were so shocked at first by what had happened,” Imre said, “that we lost the advantage. Petruso and I did manage to meet. We agreed that we had to escape, and reach the Gathering if we could not reach you before. It took weeks of planning, Vartan. The Crusader Knights are a cruel foe, and they were always on the watch, for several of our young men attempted to flee. They were caught and brutally tortured in our public squares before being killed. Our people were forced to watch, and they grew afraid. These few men who accompanied us did so at great risk. And we had to steal the horses we rode. We were pursued in the mountains, but as soon as we managed to reach the plain our captors fell back, and let us go. They could not afford to be caught so deep in the Outlands. When our identities are learned it is certain our families will suffer. We did discuss it with them, and our women agreed we must make the effort, and find help.”

Many of the women listening had begun to weep as Imre spoke.

Vartan turned to Petruso. “What have you to say, old friend?” he asked.

“He can no longer speak,” Imre said. “When he protested that Hetar was violating a centuries-old treaty, the Crusader Knights cut out his tongue.”

Petruso opened his mouth to show his fellow chieftains the stump of what had once been a most active appendage.

The chieftains all paled with this knowledge.

“Hetar wants the ores and the gems, is that correct?” Vartan said.

“Aye,” Imre said, and Petruso nodded vigorously.

“Then we will have to drive the Hetarians from the mountains, and kill as many as we can to make our point most clear,” Vartan said. “Hetar must not be allowed to violate our borders, or be encouraged by our lack of action to push further into the Outlands.”

“Aye!” those gathered in the stone ring cried with one voice.

“Winter is upon us,” Floren of the Blathma said. “We cannot fight a mountain war in the winter. And when the spring comes, who will tend to the fields if we are fighting? Can we not send a delegation to the Hetarians and negotiate this misunderstanding? They have always been a most civilized people. Surely they are open to reason.” He was a plump man with a perpetually worried expression on his face, but he grew the most beautiful flowers in the Outlands.

“If Hetar comes into your lands, Floren, they will lay waste to your fields and send the daughters of whom you are so proud into the Pleasure Houses of the City,” Imre said bitterly. “Hetar did not negotiate with us. They violated our boundaries and murdered our people. This is no small misunderstanding. This is an act of war. We have risked much to come to the Gathering and ask for your help.” He stood proudly looking around at his fellow clan family chieftains.

“If we do not put a stop to this aggression,” Roan of the Aghy said, “Hetar will push further into the Outlands.”

“Perhaps it is just the ores and gemstones that they want,” Torin of the Gitta said hopefully. “It is the only real thing of value in the Outlands.”

Lara stood up. She didn’t know if she should, but she did. “Your lands are the most valuable possession you have, my lords,” she told them. “The farmers in the Midlands have no acreage left into which they may expand their farms. They cannot grow enough crops to feed the people. The City is overcrowded, and people need a place to go. They have begun to encroach on the Forest. I know my people. First Hetar will steal the wealth in your mountains, and then they will come to steal your beautiful lands.”

“My wife knows well of what she speaks,” Vartan said.

“Because she is a Hetarian!” a voice among the crowd cried out.

“Yes, I was born Hetarian,” Lara said, “which is why I know the minds of those who rule that land. You must listen to me. Never have I known such beauty as is here in the Outlands. Never have I been treated better than here among the Fiacre. The people of Hetar are taught to believe you are savages, but you are not! I have come to love your ways. If Hetar invades the Outlands you will all lose your way of life. Many of you will be enslaved as the Tormod and the Piaras have already been enslaved. You must listen to me, for I have known both ways, and yours are better.”

“I believe her,” Rendor of the Felan said.

“So do I,” Accius of the Devyn agreed. “We must put a stop to Hetar now. We cannot wait until the spring. How many more people among the two clan families will die if we wait even a few months? We must strike now!”

“There will be snows in the mountains before we can assemble an army and march there,” Blathma protested. “It is the end of October.”

“And your fields lie fallow and will lie fallow for the next several months,” Rendor of the Felan said with a wolfish smile. “I know you, Blathma, and you wish to spend the winter as you always do, safe and snug in your warm house, planning new gardens and dreaming of the spring to come. But there will be no spring for many of the Piaras and the Tormod unless we come to their aid now. We have no other choice.”

“There are always choices!” Blathma cried.

“The only other choice is to wait for Hetar to come to you,” Lara told him, “and they will. But when the Crusader Knights come, Lord Blathma, your choices will be gone forever. Hetar will drive the Outlanders from their lands, and repopulate them with their own kind. You will be strangers in your own land. Where will you go? What will you do, my lords, when Hetar has taken away your home?”

“Perhaps,” Gitta of the Torin said, “they will share the land with us.”

“Mayhap,” Lara agreed, “in the beginning. But as their population grows again, and Hetarian law takes over here, the people of the Outlands will be squeezed out. You must remain separate from them as you have always done or you will be destroyed.”

“Let us take the night, my lords, to think on this,” Accius of the Devyn said reasonably. “In the morning we will meet again, and decide what course of action we must take to protect ourselves, and to free the Piaras and the Tormod from the harsh captivity they now bear.”

“Aye!” the other clan chieftains said with one voice.

The council adjourned. Usually the evenings of the Gathering were meant for feasting and merriment, but tonight no one felt content to eat and dance. Everyone began to return to their own encampments. Lara walked hand in hand with Vartan.

“I could not help but speak up,” she said. “I hope I did not embarrass you, my lord. But suddenly I know what my destiny is, Vartan, and you must not laugh.”

He stopped and, smiling down at her, took her face between his two hands. “And what is your destiny, my beautiful halfling wife?”

“My destiny is to save the Outlands,” Lara said seriously. “Kaliq knew it, which was why he said I had chosen well when I decided to come to the Outlands. He could not tell me, of course.”

“You are certain your destiny is to help us?” Vartan said slowly. Of course! It was all beginning to make sense now. She was a halfling, a woman with certain powers. She had important friends, and a mother who was a queen.

“You must listen to me when I advise you, my lord,” Lara told him. “And you must not prevent me from doing certain things, Vartan.”

“What things?” He kissed the tip of her nose, releasing her face from his gentle grip. “What do you plan?”

“You must know your enemy, and quickly. Imre speaks from his anguish, but he tells us nothing of the Crusader Knights. How many of them are there? How and where are they transporting the riches they are stealing from the mountains? Who made the decision to invade the Tormod and the Piaras? But most important, just how far is the High Council of Hetar willing to go in this endeavor, or can they be forced out of the mountains if we resist them? These are the things you must know, my lord,” Lara told him, seriously.

“But how can we learn all these things?” Vartan asked her.

“I must think on it,” Lara said quietly, “but I will find the answers for you, I vow it. This is my destiny! This is what brought me to the Outlands.”

“It is, I suspect, but the beginning,” Vartan replied. “Your destiny, Lara, I think is much bigger than just this difficulty with Hetar.”

And the crystal hanging between her breasts began to glow brightly in response.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

S
HE
LAY
ON
THE
BED
they had made from furs in a corner of their pavilion. Beside her, Vartan slept content with the passion they had shared earlier. But Lara could not sleep. Finally she arose and slipped from the tent. The night was dark, and above her three of Hetar’s four moons glowed silver in the sky. She had not shape-shifted in many weeks. Could she even still do it? Lara thought of a young eagle, and silently said the words “Aral go!” She felt herself soar upwards, wings flapping softly. Catching a whorl of current in the air she rose higher and higher above the encampment. It was wonderful. It was amazing! She knew she dared not remain aloft for too long. Already the horizon was beginning to grow light at its edges. But she could do it! She could really do it! But she would need more than the ability to shape-shift to help the Outlanders. She needed magic, and she knew exactly where that magic was to be found. With Kaliq of the Shadow Princes. But not now. She guided herself back down to the ground near their pavilion again. “Lara return!” she murmured, and regained her own shape. Smiling she walked back into the tent, and lay down by her husband’s side.

“Where were you?” Vartan asked her softly.

“Seeing if I could still shape-shift,” she whispered back. “Go back to sleep, Vartan. I will tell you on the morrow.”

“I am hungry now,” he told her.

“Hungry? You ate like a pig at the evening meal,” Lara exclaimed.

“Hungry for my faerie wife’s delicious body,” he said with a wicked grin.

“We have no privacy, Vartan,” she fretted. “Your mother, your brother, his wife and Noss sleep just beyond our curtain.”

“We will be as quiet as mice.”

“You are never quiet!” she teased him. But she wanted him now every bit as much as she knew he wanted her.

“If you do not remove your night robe, I will tear it from you,” he threatened.

Lara quickly pulled the gown from her slender form. “I will find a way to repay you for this,” she threatened, half laughing.

“Oh, wife, I hope so.” And he pulled her into his arms, his hands caressing her eagerly. “Punish me with your kisses, Lara!” His mouth took hers in a searing embrace.

She lost herself in his arms. When he had satisfied himself with her mouth he laid her back upon their camp bed and began to kiss every inch of her flesh, not only with his lips, but with his tongue as well. He suckled for a time on each of her breasts, covering her mouth with his big hand to still her cries of delight, his blue eyes blazing down into her green ones. He brushed over her belly, licking and breathing on the quivering flesh as he went. His fingers played between her nether lips, teasing her until she was drenched with her excitement. When he slowly and deliberately put those fingers in his mouth, sucking on them, she almost swooned. Kaliq and his brothers had loved her with exquisite delicacy, but Vartan loved her with a fierce passion that set her afire with longing such as she had never known.

Suddenly eager to return some of the pleasure he was giving her, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him. Her fingertips brushed over his hard flesh, and putting one hand over his mouth, she pinched one of his nipples teasingly with the other. His big body jerked in surprise, but he did not unseat her. “Two can play at the same game, husband,” she whispered in his ear, licking it slowly and nipping at the lobe. Lara slithered down his long torso, kissing and licking as she went. Her sweetly rounded buttocks filled his sight. Now and again she would nip at him, but he restrained his cries. His excitement, however, was an entirely different thing, and when her hand reached out to enclose his burgeoning manroot, he stuffed his fist in his mouth to silence himself.

Lara squeezed hard on the pillar of flesh in her hand. Then she bent to let her tongue encircle its blazing tip from which the tiniest milky bead slipped forth. She lapped at it then, releasing the manroot, took him into her mouth even as she felt him move beneath her, raising himself that he might taste her secret flesh with his own tongue. She suckled on him, but as she did her attentions were diverted by the sweet heat that his mouth on her was engendering. Lara bit her lip until it bled to keep from screaming.

“Let me go,” she heard Vartan growl low, and when she did he pulled himself from beneath her, still keeping her on her knees and bent before him in a gesture of utter submission. His hands clamped themselves about her hips, and Lara felt him enter her in a single smooth motion. He remained still within her, swelling more until he filled her tightly.

She had never felt a manroot with such incredible intensity. He was hot and hard within her pleasure sheath. She shuddered with pure delight. Then gaining a small mastery of herself, she squeezed him several times until he began to move slowly within her body. Lara thought she would die with the sweetness she was experiencing. He moved in a leisurely fashion, drawing himself out almost to the tip of his manroot, and then plunging back with great deliberation until he was fully encased by her hot flesh.

“I love you,” he murmured low against her ear. “I will never love another woman except you, Lara, my beautiful faerie wife.”

“Then why do you kill me?” she sobbed back. She felt aflame with her desire, a desire he seemed in no great hurry to satisfy.

In response he began to move faster, and faster and faster, until sensing her impending crisis, he forced her into their pillows that her cries of pleasure be silenced as her ripe body shuddered with release. When she was finally still, he released his grip on her. Lara turned over and looked up at him in wonder.

“I have never before been loved quite like that,” she whispered to him.

Vartan smiled a small smile at her, pleased by her words. Then he wrapped her in his embrace, and they were both shortly asleep again.

In the morning she told him of the flight she had taken in the night. “Kaliq can help us,” Lara said. “Each province has two members on the High Council. He can find out who ordered the incursion into the Outlands, and if the council is involved.”

“It would be a form of betrayal for him, wouldn’t it?” Vartan asked.

“No. The Shadow Princes are very isolated from the rest of Hetar. They are feared for their magic, but as no one wants their Desert, they are left to themselves. Kaliq and his brothers have little tolerance for those in the City who make the laws. They are more allied with the Faerie world than with Hetar. He will help us.”

“You must take the shape of a bird, then, to reach him,” Vartan said.

“I took the shape of an eagle last night. I felt strong and secure as I flew,” Lara told him.

“The eagle is the talisman of the Fiacre, as I told you on the day we first met. I can take its shape as well,” Vartan said. “I fear to allow you to fly alone. Let me come with you, Lara, my wife, my life and my love.”

“If you come you will see that Kaliq loves me, and you will be jealous,” she replied. “I do not want you ever imagining what was between this prince and me.”

“I do not need to see him to know that,” Vartan answered her. “You are an incredibly beautiful woman, wife. I cannot be jealous of your prince, for he was forced to give you up. You are mine for an eternity, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword.” He put his arms about her. “I must attend the council today, but we will depart tomorrow. If I leave my brother in charge it will please him, and perhaps his wife will stop her harping.”

“What of Liam?” she asked.

“Liam never wanted the position, and will understand why I do what I do. He shall be the only one who knows where we go. Liam knows how to keep secrets,” Vartan said quietly.

“I would go with you to the council today,” Lara told him. “Let me sit at your right hand to listen and advise.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Your position as the wife of the Fiacre chieftain must be enforced and acknowledged here at the Gathering.”

“Have Sholeh join us as well,” Lara suggested. “That way my presence does not seem so obvious. She is a headwoman, and she is your kin.”

“How does one so young have such wisdom?” he asked her.

Lara shrugged. “I suppose it is instinct, and I have always had it.”

He chuckled. “We must eat, for the council will last all day, with Floren dithering and attempting to avoid the inevitable while Gitta vacillates between Floren’s logic and ours. These growers of crops are reluctant to go to war.”

“I have never faced a war, but I learned from my father’s tales that war is a futile pursuit, which no one really wins. Yet there are times when it seems the only way to settle a dispute is to go to war. Sometimes men cannot be reasoned with, and only a good bloodletting will bring them to their senses. The day we met you said Hetar would eventually invade these lands, but I do not think you believed it would be in your lifetime, Vartan. I am sorry that it is.”

“So am I,” he answered her, and then he began to dress.

Lara followed suit. Then they left their small curtained shelter, and came into the larger portion of the pavilion where Bera and Noss had a morning meal ready for them. Adon and Elin were already at table. Adon did not bother looking up, but Elin’s gaze was sharp. Lara stared directly at her until Elin turned away, a flush upon her cheeks, and her mouth in a thin tight line.

“Feed us well, my mother, for we will be the day long in the council, I suspect,” Vartan said jovially. “Noss, have you eaten?” At her nod, he continued, “Go and tell my cousin Sholeh that I will expect her at the council to advise me.”

“Brother,” Elin burst out, “should women be at council? Is that not a man’s province? Women are not meant to govern. We are too frail, I fear.”

“Perhaps you are, dear Elin,” Vartan responded, “but there are some women as strong as their men, and in some cases stronger,” he chuckled at her shocked look. “My wife shall sit at my right hand today. A woman’s opinion is necessary to any and all decisions that the council makes. We are not Hetar, scorning women’s wisdom. If we go to war many women and children will be left behind to care for the land, for the elders, to cope with the daily business of living. But some of our women will fight by our side.”

“
I
should be at your right hand,” Adon said angrily. “Why do you always choose others over me?” he demanded.

“Do you want to sit around all day in debate, little brother?” Vartan asked.

“Of course not,” Adon said, “but you might at least have asked me. By your actions you say to the Fiacre that you do not trust me.”

“I don’t,” Vartan remarked bluntly. “You are too greedy for power that you cannot possibly handle. You are short-tempered, and shorter-sighted, Adon, but you are my brother and I do love you. Now cease your carping so I may eat in peace.”

The younger man opened his mouth to protest, but Bera said sharply, “Adon!”

“You have always loved him more than you love me,” Adon muttered, glaring at her. “Only my sweet Elin understands.” He took his wife’s hand.

Bera snorted but held her peace, and served the meal.

Sholeh arrived just as they were finishing. She hugged Bera and Lara, nodding to Adon and Elin with a small smile. Their meal concluded, the two went off into a corner of the great tent where they sat down whispering and nodding. She looked to Vartan, who shrugged with a small smile and drank down the contents of his goblet.

The trio departed for the council, to be joined by Liam. They took their seats immediately. The wisdom of the Celestial Actuary was invoked and almost at once Floren presented his argument for arbitration again. Sholeh stood up when he had finished, before anyone else could speak.

“And will you, Floren of the Blathma, lead the delegation to the invaders of the Piaras and the Tormod?” she asked sharply. “Or will you expect someone else to go and plead your case for you?”

“I am not a diplomat,” Floren blustered.

“Neither are any of us,” Sholeh said. “We are a simple people who prefer a simple life. We have managed to live in peace for centuries, respecting each other and our individual borders. We have no standing armies, no Crusader Knights to protect us from invaders. We are considerate of the land that nurtures us, and we esteem it. We are nothing at all like Hetarians, whose passion is for status, wealth and power. They have always scorned the Outlands, but now they suddenly desire its riches? First it will be the ores and gems of the Piaras and the Tormod. Next it will be for your land, and mine. They will bring their laws and their ethics, or lack thereof, into our Outlands, and we will lose our identities. What makes you think that men who would invade another’s lands and cruelly enslave the population can be reasoned with, Floren?”

“We must try,” he replied, “if only to save ourselves from a war.”

“You are already at war,” Lara told the chieftain of the Blathma.

“She is right,” Roan of the Aghy said. “And only the Devyn stand between you, Floren, and the invaders. The Devyn will sing of this time in our history, and they will fight. Will you let the smallest of our clan families do what you will not?” He stood tall, his red hair like a beacon, staring out at his fellow chieftains. “Are the Blathma as weak and frail as the flowers they grow?”

“We are not cowards!” Floren cried, his hand going to his dagger.

“Then fight!” Roan roared. “There is no bargaining with murderous thieves!”