The Malmillard Codex (14 page)

Madryn turned and propped herself on one
elbow, watching him sleep. She often watched him, wondering what
dreams destroyed his rest…what memories of blood and death visited
him when sleep fell across his eyes.

One burly hand twitched, as if grasping for
something that remained stubbornly out of reach. Val's chest,
crisscrossed with scars, rose and fell now quicker, now slower, in
time with his oftimes uneasy breathing. His dark reddish hair,
shorn close when she had first met him, now fell in loose curls
that framed his rugged face. One errant lock lay across his high
forehead, and Madryn itched to brush it back.

Any excuse to touch him,
she thought
with a wry grin.
Any excuse at all.

It had been the same with Valaren, too, and
from the first time that she had met him. That overpowering desire
to touch him, be near him, had been almost impossible to
overcome.

But Madryn had been forced to overcome her
desire for Valaren. She'd had no other choice—just as she had no
choice now. No matter how much she wanted this man who lay
twitching and moaning before her, Madryn knew she couldn't have
Val.

Not if she wanted him to go on living.

Val moaned again, and Madryn's hand was on
its way towards his forehead before she knew it had moved. She
smiled again at her actions; then she allowed a finger—one single
finger; surely there could be no harm in that—to linger just above
Val's face. That finger traced the pattern of his lips through the
air above them, brushed across the tip of his crooked nose,
doubtless broken in one of the countless battles in his past.

But her battles were many, as well. And they
had scarred her too…though not all her scars were as visible.

Madryn pulled her hand back, against her own
will, against a desire that filled her with longing—a longing that,
she knew, could only be assuaged by the muscular body that sprawled
before her, so warm, so inviting.

So helpless.

Helpless.

She wouldn't do it, not again. Never again.
She'd not go through what little life that might remain her with
Val's unhappiness on her conscience.

What little life remained…for she knew that,
if Valaren Starseeker still lived, against all belief, against all
proof, then her own life was worth nothing.

The lonely wail of a hunting pack shivered
across the sandy dunes. The sound reminded her of their last
conversation, just before Val had collapsed into restless
sleep—although precisely what it was about the wail that brought up
that memory, she could not guess. Perhaps she was at the point
where everything reminded her of Val. Why not? Thoughts of him
filled her every waking moment; dreams of him, her sleeping
ones.

But now the image of what awaited her at the
end of her journey was bile in her throat, acid in her mouth. To
have found Val, found him against all hope, all expectation…and now
to realize that she must lose him after all, in payment for a deed
done years ago.

The gods could be cruel. Damnation, when
were they anything else?

Val turned his head, and the curl that had
lain across his forehead slid back across one ear, dark against the
paler skin.

What would he think of me if he knew all
my past?
Madryn wondered.
What would he think of all my
filthy secrets?

One long-fingered hand snaked out, brushed
across that shadowy curl of hair, and then drew back, afraid of its
own desires.

What would Val think if he knew that she was
probably going to her own death, willingly and with her eyes open,
if the rumors she's heard of Valaren Starseeker were true? For
Valaren, if he truly lived, would not provide that same courtesy to
her…not after what she had done to him. Though how even he, with
his vast powers, could have survived what she had done, Madryn
could not imagine.

Well, she'd simply have to destroy the
threat that was Valaren Starseeker again. But, whatever her wishes,
she was sure that this time, she wouldn't survive his destruction,
as she had been lucky enough to the first time.

No. This journey would end in her death. She
could only pray to cruel gods that it would end in the death of
Valaren Starseeker as well.

Not that Madryn wanted to die, not now, now
that she had found Val against all hope. But the wheels of the
invisible machine had been set in motion long ago, the play
written, the jest designed, and by her own actions. Now she had no
choice but to go through with it. And for all that she wanted Val,
wanted to drown herself in him until the end of time, she would not
do it. Val wanted her, she knew, but she wouldn't do that to him.
She knew how much it hurt to lose someone you had loved.

She should never have brought him with her,
should have left him in Karleon, in Lakazsh. She should rise now
and disappear, never see him again…

Madryn reached out and touched a ruddy curl
that lay across a sleeping face.

***

The part of Val's mind that was still his
own, a tiny fragment buried deep inside his mind, realized that the
dreams, the endless dreams, were far more real tonight than they
had ever been before. More intense, more vivid…more
frightening.

Val's body twitched as an image of
Madryn—spread-eagle on a cold stone table, her manacled wrists and
ankles streaming ruby blood across the ashen surface—sprang up
before his sleeping eyes. Moaning aloud, though he did not know it,
Val tried to drive the images away.

But they ate into him like acid. Were they
real, his mind screamed? Were they images of an actual event, or
some strange projection of a horrific future?

No. Real they must be, for he had seen for
himself those scars that marred that lean, sleek body—and some of
them, he knew, were a legacy of Valaren Starseeker.

A deep, raging anger filled Val's soul as
his dreaming mind saw again the things that had been done to
her.

Madryn had been freeborn, but of a poor
family. Her talents, her intellect, had sent her first to Llar
Zhan, for training as a thief. After surpassing her master and his
craft, she had gone into the service of Ffania X, Queen of
NarBillin. There Madryn had risen rapidly through the ranks, making
a name for herself in battle against the hordes that rode across
the steppes, against the beasts that came from the Rift to some
strange otherwhere, then in the attempted usurpation by the queen's
twin sister, Ffanita. Soon, Madryn was the youngest commander in
the queen's armies…

And her youth had made her arrogant.

Lord Valaren Starseeker was of one of the
oldest families in Ffania's realm. Epicene, intelligent, an
indulger in the most lewd and erotic vices, Lord Valaren had
acquired both the knowledge and the power to control others, using
their own desires as his tool. He had destroyed dozens of men and
women, taking their innocence and manipulating their lusts, using
their weaknesses as weapons against them.

When Valaren and Madryn had come together,
as they had no doubt been fated to do, it had been a mixture of
fire and ice, destined to change and transmute each into another
form—while destroying the originals in a blast of sizzling
flames.

Val twisted and cried out in his sleep, as
the images capered across his sleeping mind…

Lord Valaren
Starseeker walked toward his private apartments, returning slight
nods for the bows that showered him from all sides. His broad
shoulders strained against the elegant silk of his tunic, and his
heavily muscled thighs and bulging crotch were outlined and
accentuated by the delicate fabric.

Lord Valaren always wore silk; it was one of
his more minor jests. He appreciated the contrast of his powerful
and commanding body draped in the softest and most gossamer of
fabric; the disparity appealed to one of his baser instincts.

Of course, all his instincts were base.

Some, however, were far baser than
others.

That was one of the things upon which Lord
Valaren prided himself. Not for him were the facile deeds, the
petty loves, the mingy kindnesses of others. Lord Valaren was after
stronger meat.

He reached the door to the private rooms
reserved for him in Queen Ffania's palace. Valaren was a member of
her majesty's council, known for offering advice that oftentimes
counteracted the flimsy advice of her weaker, more cautious
ministers. For that, as well as others things, Ffania was grateful,
he knew; she shared his bloodthirsty attitude in many ways. She
enjoyed seeing her council squirming at her incessant
tongue-lashings.

A young soldier, little more that a child,
in Valaren's estimation, stood guard outside the door to his
lordship's apartments. Callow, thin, his face a mass of splotches,
with a scabbard almost as long as his leg, the soldier was only a
year or two at best from being a boy.

He snapped to attention at Valaren's
approach. "My lord!" his voice cracked in the middle of the second
word and a deep, ruddy blush raced up the slender white throat,
suffused the narrow, girlish face.

Lord Valaren smiled his most carefully
pleasant smile, even as his inner self planned plans and thought
thoughts. "How lucky I am, to have such an impressive guard at my
poor door," Valaren murmured in a voice as smooth as honey.

The guard's blush deepened in pleasure. "It
is a great honor, lord," the young man replied, standing up
straighter. "An honor I do not deserve, I fear."

"Nonsense, nonsense," Lord Valaren said, as
he calculated to a nicety the delights that the guard's untutored
innocence might offer him and his jaded associates. "You are quite
obviously well-trained and most competent. I will send word to your
captain that I wish to have you guard me—" Valaren's sugary voice
lingered an instant, as if tasting the word, then continued,
"—always. Good evening to you, lieutenant."

The guard somehow managed to stand even
straighter, his thin body as quivering and taut as a freshly
plucked bowstring. "Your pardon, most high lord, but I am merely a
corporal," he squeaked, delighted at the kindly attention of this
worldly and highborn gentleman. Only his recently finished military
training kept him from squirming like a stroked puppy.

"Indeed? Can it be so?" Valaren's tone was a
delicately balanced contrast between disbelief and amazement.
"Well, that can be remedied quite easily, can it not? Your
name?"

"Corporal Ranadal, an it please you,
lord!"

"Ranadal," drawled Valaren, with a slow grin
that could have been interpreted as interested, or salacious,
depending upon how well one knew him. "I will remember that name, I
assure you."

"Lord!" shouted the young man again.

Bored of his game, Valaren entered his
apartments through the door that the young guard jerked open for
him, then shut smartly behind him. There was a clatter, muffled by
the closed door, of a sword being drawn clumsily from its
scabbard.

Excellent,
thought Valaren with a
small wince of pleasure at the images that the sound delivered.
Another conquest.

He sauntered across the foyer toward the
room he used as an office, a smile still creasing his fleshy
lips.

Inside the office, his amanuensis looked up
from the great carved desk in time to see that smile—and blanch
white in fear.

"Lor-Lord Valaren," stuttered Danel as he
leaped to his feet, knocking his hard chair over backward onto the
lush carpet. "Your pardon, my lord, I did not expect to see you
back from the council meeting so soon. I trust everything went
well?" Danel wrung bruised, nail-bitten hands in an unconscious
gesture of dismay.

"As well as could be expected," snarled Lord
Valaren, his former good humor gone in an instant. "Those fools
still think that gold can be picked from trees, instead of worked
and planned for. Still…I believe her majesty will see reason soon.
So. What visitors are expected, the rest of this afternoon and
evening?"

Danel rustled through a thick, leather-bound
book with one nervous hand, the quill pen he had picked up
nervously in the other shaking in time to his heartbeat. "The
Countess Courtalney and her younger sister will be here in—" Danel
glanced at the ormolu clock that ticked comfortingly on the marble
mantelpiece, "—in half an hour."

"Refresh my memory," ordered Lord Valaren as
he poured a goblet of ruddy wine.

"The countess has large gambling debts and
wishes to offer security for a projected loan," Danel read from the
book.

"Ah, yes," Valaren nodded, and then sipped
his wine, rolling the fragrant vintage around with his tongue. "Go
on."

"Sir Alvarin is coming at seven to make his
usual payment on the loan you gave his father; Lord Minister
Fredoin will be here for a game of chess at eight; and at eleven,
Commander Madryn."

Danel looked up from the book, anxious to
see his lord's response to his next words; the secretary had little
enough pleasure in his difficult position, and he wished to savor
what he could. "Unless, of course, the commander is forced to
cancel her visit. Again," Danel finished, carefully
noncommittal.

Lord Valaren scowled, his handsome facing
going dark and ugly, as he remembered the last time he had waited
for Madryn; he had even canceled another appointment on the chance
that she would appear. He flung a quick look at his secretary to
make sure that there was no sign of pleasure at his lordship's
discomfiture.

Danel's face was a studied blank.

Satisfied, Valaren nodded. "Good. Then I
have time for a lingering bath before the countess and her sister
arrive." A feral grin spread over his lordship's face; a grin that
he was careful never to allow his more important acquaintances to
see. "Fetch me that young man at the door, Danel. He can wash my
back for me."