Rapture's Etesian (11 page)

“Near the Qabala border,” Lord Krull said. “On Amazeen lands?”

“Nay, Your Grace, but near there.”

“On Hell Hag lands?”

Leksi sighed. “Nay, Your Grace, but close to there, as well.”

“I see. Am I to understand you met this woman when you took it upon yourself to try to gain the help of those sissified Qabalans?”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

Lord Krull was silent for a long time. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked the length of the formation then turned and walked back to where Leksi stood at attention. He was in front of the third man down from the warrior, his back to Leksi, when Krull asked if it was at the villa of Galatea Atredides that he met the lady.

Leksi flinched, but was unable to answer for his mouth had gone suddenly dry.

“Captain Helios?” Lord Krull asked. “Did you hear my question or were you woolgathering again?” The Lord High Commander turned and locked his stare on Leksi.

“Aye,” Leksi managed to croak. “Aye, Your Grace. I believe that is the lady’s name.”

“And did you meet her nieces by any chance?”

Kratos flicked his gaze to Leksi. “Answer him, boy!” he hissed.

Knowing Lord Konan Krull somehow knew about Galatea Atredides and her band of Mad Rapists, Leksi hung his head. “Aye, Your Grace. I met them.”

Krull turned and walked back to his second in command. He came toe-to-toe with the warrior. “What I said while you were daydreaming of Galatea’s niece was that it was too bad we couldn’t get someone to marry that cow of a bitch Clea, Abalam’s daughter. I said that were such a stupid man be found to take on that assignment, I would guarantee him a seat on the throne beside Clea if he would but get her with child. Under such circumstances, she would be forced into Joining with that warrior, making him her consort, and thus assuring peace between Pleiades and Ventura.”

Leksi stumbled back as his commander crowded into him even more.

“It was said in jest, Helios,” Lord Krull snarled. “It was never meant to be a true mission but since you volunteered for it, I suppose we will go ahead and send you.”

Leksi groaned. He had, indeed, stepped in it this time.

“Or would you rather return to Galatea’s villa and visit a while with her nieces?”

Leksi stared at his commander. “You know?” he whispered.

“What goes on there?” Krull asked. “Aye, I’ve known for years, but this is the first time I’ve learned a Venturian has spent time at Atredides’ villa.” He waved a dismissive hand. “What happens to Akkadians and Qabalans are of no concern to me, and if a Pleiadesian winds up in Galatea’s hands, all the better!” He leaned forward and put his mouth to Leksi’s ear. “Did you enjoy your sojourn with them?”

“Nay, Your Grace,” Leksi said truthfully.

Lord Krull cocked an eyebrow. “Not even with the lovely Kynthia for whom I am told those bitches are seeking a mate?”

“Well,” Leksi said. “That is another matter, Your Grace.”

Krull straightened. There was a gleam in his eye and he half-smiled at Leksi. “Well, now, it’s like that, is it?”

“I have asked her to be my life-mate, Your Grace, and she has pledged herself to me.”

“I see. Well, congratulations, Captain. Too bad you won’t be able to keep your part of the bargain, eh?”

Leksi was stunned as his commander pivoted and walked off. “But, Your Grace!” he called out.

Krull spun around. “You agreed to my hypothetical assignment, did you not?”

All eyes were on Leksi, and the warrior was sweating profusely. He could see his future with Kynthia rapidly vanishing and he felt the grief of it to the marrow of his soul.

“You don’t want to marry Princess Clea?” Krull challenged.

“Nay, Your Grace,” Leksi replied.

“Nor sit the throne of Pleiades beside her?”

“Nay, Your Grace.”

“Or produce half-Pleiadesian, half-Venturian brats to seal a lasting peace between the two countries?”

“The thought of mating with Princess Clea…” Leksi began, shuddering, “…is a horror to me, Your Grace.”

“Nor carry out an assignment I gave you and for which you volunteered of your own accord?” Krull asked with his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Trapped, Leksi hung his head. “I have no choice but to do as you bid for I was foolish and was not paying attention. It is your right to punish me, Your Grace, and if that is your decision, so be it. I will make good on my vow and see the assignment through to completion.”

“Even though you will lose your lady and your freedom?”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Leksi said in a defeated voice.

“Too bad I don’t intend to hold you to it, eh, Captain?” Krull inquired, and when Leksi looked up, the Lord High Commander grinned. “Unless, of course, you would prefer Clea’s distinctive looks to those of Kynthia Ancaeus.”

Laughter rang out over the assemblage and Kratos broke ranks to slap Leksi on the back. Such was the ease with which Krull’s men held him, other soldiers came to mill around Leksi and shove him good-naturedly for his folly.

“So, Clea won’t gain the handsome Captain Helios to husband, but we still need a plan to get into the keep and take Abalam,” Lord Krull said. “Let’s meet back here at nine of the clock tomorrow morn. I will expect a plan by then, gentlemen.”

Kratos slipped an arm around Leksi’s shoulders. “You do realize he could well have held you to your vow, don’t you, brat?”

“Aye,” Leksi answered, looking across the room to where Lord Krull was deep in conversation with a Tribunal member.

“What was that all about concerning the villa where you met your lady? Is there something I should know about there?” Kratos inquired.

“I’ll tell you someday, old friend,” Leksi replied.

Kratos lowered his voice. “Has it to do with your lady being a shape shifter?”

Leksi glanced around but no one was close enough to hear. “That is a secret it would be dangerous to her for others to know, Kratos.”

Pressing his index finger and thumb together, Kratos imitated sealing his lips. “Not from this mouth will anyone hear of it, Leksi.”

“Good man,” Leksi said. “Now let’s go speak with Lord Krull, and extend my lady’s offer to him. Perhaps I know of a way we can gain Abalam’s keep and take that troublemaker into custody.”

Chapter Seven

King Abalam Robeus was an evil man. No one disputed that fact and those who had reason to observe his evil up close swore he was not only evil but wickedness personified.

As ugly as he was evil, his malevolence stabbed from beady little eyes that resembled those of a pig. Grossly fat, he had stubby little fingers—each adorned with a large, expensive ring—and feet so small it was hard for him to stand. With flabby jowls that wobbled as he talked, flesh the color of mottled clay and legs so bowed a good-sized boulder could pass between them and not touch either knee. There was nothing in the least appealing about the king.

His daughter was just as unattractive as he but in a different way.

Reed-thin and overly tall, with a face as sharp as a razor, huge eyes that watered constantly beneath sparse eyebrows that formed one long line across the top of her beak-like nose, bony hips that protruded against even the most expensive gowns, huge, flat feet that slapped the floor as she walked and a peculiarly bad odor that clung to her even fresh from a long soak, Clea Robeus was a very unenviable person.

But her pitiful ugliness did not mirror her soul for she was of a sweet, charitable disposition and bore a wicked sense of humor—telling jokes even at her own expense—that often set the somber, terrified court to laughing.

“Never will I find a man to Join with me unless his life depends upon it,” she said often, followed by, “Even then I imagine he would prefer death to my bony embrace.”

Since his daughter did not share his penchant for evil, the king ignored Clea as faithfully as he had fucked her hapless mother thirty-nine years earlier. He could not have cared less if she ever snared a mate and certainly would never put himself—or his court—to the trouble to find her one.

“Let the gods-awful hag wither and die for all I care,” King Abalam had been heard to say. “Had she been a male child, I might have given a shit, but what good is a female but to hump, and not even I would lay hands to that bitch!”

Sitting with her ladies-in-waiting, Clea was hard at work on a tapestry that depicted the Great War between Pleiades and Ventura. Though neither country had won the war, both sides had lost thousands upon thousands of its inhabitants and many heroes had been born upon the battlefields.

“Ah, Your Grace, that is a very elegant rendering of Lord Konan Krull,” Marbas, one of Clea’s ladies-in-waiting proclaimed as she came to view the progress her princess had made on the tapestry.

“Aye, but he is a handsome man, is he not?” Clea asked with a heartfelt sigh. “So tall and brave and does he not sit his destrier well?”

“Who is that warrior?” Marbas asked. She pointed to a young man holding two soldiers at bay with his mighty sword.

“Lord Leksi Helios, son of Sirius. He, too, is quite the chevalier, eh?”

“Very handsome, Your Grace, but not as wickedly beautiful as the Lord High Commander.”

“Nor as brutal as Krull,” Clea commented as she adjusted the tapestry stand to alleviate the ache in her shoulders. “Though I am told he is the very gentlest of lovers with his wife, the Lady Isabell.”

“Oh, to be the mate of such gallant men,” Marbas said with a heavy sigh.

“You will find a husband one day, Mari. Have no fear of it.”

Clea had run out of yarn for her needle so she sat back in her chair and picked up a skein. Her eyesight was fading as she grew older and the condition that caused her eyes to water constantly made her squint, thus deepening the creases in her face.

“When you are queen, do you think you could find me a mate who is as handsome as Lord Krull?” Marbas asked.

Her mistress laughed. “I doubt me there are any men quite as handsome as that one, but I will do my best to find you one who will be a good husband to you and…” She lowered her voice. “A very skilled lover!”

Marbas blushed and ducked her head.

“Milady, might Lord Nergal have a moment of your time?” Sariel, another of the ladies-in-waiting asked.

Clea looked up to find one of her father’s toadies standing poised in the doorway. She frowned deeply for the man was one she loathed. “Aye, Lord Nergal?” she ground out.

“His Majesty has issued an order that you are to remain in your quarters for the coming week,” Lord Nergal stated.

Laying her hands in her lap, Clea stared at her father’s Chief of the Secret Police and consigned him to the very depths of the Abyss. Each time she was forced to look upon Nergal, she felt queasiness in the pit of her stomach.

“May I ask why I am being relegated once more to my quarters and not allowed the freedom of the keep, Lord Nergal?”

Though his extraordinarily striking features turned the heads of beautiful women who were not aware of his despicable proclivities, Nergal preferred the company of less comely females with whom he felt he did not have to compete. With the Princess, he felt superior, and his manner and tone suggested as much. Despite the fact she was of royal heritage and in direct line to the throne of Pleiades, he did not feel she was due even a modicum of respect since her father showed her none, himself.

“If he had wanted you to know, he would have given me permission to tell you,” Nergal snapped.

“And, naturally, you would have been overjoyed to give me his reason, wouldn’t you, Lord Nergal?” Clea returned.

“Keep yourself to your quarters, woman, and do not question the motives of your king. Best you keep to female things like that hideous tapestry you seem too unskilled to complete,” Lord Nergal said.

The women around Clea gasped at the man’s audacity and looked to their lady, expecting her to chastise the offender. But Clea picked up her tapestry needle and thread, and kept silent.

“You,” Nergal said with a grunt, pointing at Marbas. “Come to my quarters at half-past the hour.” He turned and started to walk away but Clea’s voice stopped him.

“She is suffering from the pox, Lord Nergal. Do you still wish her to come to your bed?”

Lord Nergal turned around and glared at the king’s daughter. His handsome features were tight with disgust. Without another word, he spun around and marched off.

“Milady, he will go to the Healer and—”

“And the Healer will tell him that each of Princess Clea’s ladies-in-waiting are pox-riddled,” Clea assured her. “I have greased his filthy palm many times over to save you women the curse of being mauled by a piece of offal like Sorath Nergal!”

Marbas rushed to her mistress and knelt down beside her, wrapping her hands around Clea’s scrawny legs. “Thank you, Your Grace. Oh, thank you!”

Clea put a hand to the girl’s dark hair. “We will save your virginal offering to a man worthy to claim it, Mari. I swear that to you on my beloved mother’s grave.”

“I wish the Venturians had won the war,” Sariel stated. “With a man like Lord Krull at the head of our Tribunal, the women of Pleiades would not have to suffer at the hands of men like Lord Nergal.”