The Malmillard Codex (16 page)

"Why, Madryn, my dear," Valaren grinned.
"You're the only one, out of all the hundreds, who has ever had the
strength to resist my…lures. Oh, not at first, certainly; but after
a while, you did begin to resist me—and succeed. That makes you all
the more valuable to me, my darling; all the more desirable. The
pleasure it gives me, watching you fight to withstand me, is quite
the most thrilling thing imaginable. I almost hate to see you give
in…it does hurt you so, does it not? But you did give in, more than
once; and you will again. Won't you?" Valaren's voice, hitherto so
soft and polished, had deepened and taken on a rougher, coarser
texture. "They all give in, in the end, and you're no different,
really, for all my hopes. Why not…why not let it be now? Now, while
it's all you can do to keep your hands off me. Now, while I'm
readier for you than I've ever been before…"

Madryn's eyes were captured and held by the
obsidian orbs in the beautiful, evil face before her. She felt all
her strength to resist draining from her, like blood flowing from a
deep wound.

His eyes,
she thought, her mind
running in desperate, trapped circles.
His power.
It's in
his eyes.

"No," Valaren whispered as if in answer. "My
power is in your weakness."

He crushed his mouth against hers.

Madryn had dreams of his mouth, his arms,
his body against hers…and she knew that the reality was always far
more intense that those images of a fevered brain. Now, as many
times before, passion overcame her—a passion so formidable, a
hunger so consuming, that she shook with the need to assuage it.
That voracious force raced through her veins, took over her mind
and soul. She returned Valaren's kisses, her desire driving her to
the very edge of madness.

Valaren drew back, laughing at her
eagerness.

Almost…to the edge of madness…

At that instant, as her weakling body cried
out for fulfillment, her mind clamored for satisfaction, her very
soul cried out for release, Madryn opened her eyes—and caught a
single glimpse of Lord Valaren's face.

His voluptuous lips were stretched into a
contemptuous, sneer of a smile, mocking her and her weakening,
dying will.

"No!"

The smell of roses, sweet as sin, filled the
room.

"No," Madryn repeated, softer this time, but
with infinitely more determination.

She stepped away from Valaren Starseeker.
Those two steps were the most difficult she'd ever taken, but step
away she did.

Her sword, forgotten in one hand until that
moment, spoke with the cold, clean voice of steel. A fresh wind
blew off its shining surface, dissipating the florid, choking fumes
and swirling cool draughts of bracing, immaculate air. The sword
rose, almost of its own volition, over her head.

Lord Valaren looked up, disbelief turning
his cold, evil, beautiful face into a snarling mask.

But it was the beauty that was the mask.
Madryn knew that at last. This was his real face—vicious, hideous
and cruel.

The sword, as if animated by some distant
force and not her own strong right arm, made one swift and accurate
sweep—a surgeon's scalpel slicing away diseased flesh, to allow
health to return at last.

Val sat up, his
mind ripped screaming from sleep by the vision, yet again, of the
death of Lord Valaren Starseeker.

But this time, it had been different. This
time, he had seen inside Madryn's heart, her very soul, as he never
had before in any of his previous dreams.

And what he had seen there had astounded
him. Amazed him. Delighted him.

Madryn did not love—had never loved Valaren
Starseeker. His heart sang within him, the hideous dream images
fading to insignificance, leaving him with that single, wonderful,
uncontested fact.

The cool early morning of the desert—quiet,
serene, soft, before the ravening sun appeared to blaze down and
destroy all comfort and ease—caressed Val's naked body as he panted
and shivered, fighting against the images in his dreams that still
half possessed him.

Madryn did not love Valaren. She had never
loved him. Valaren had wielded his corrupt power over her, making
her want him, desire him…but never, never had she loved him.

Never.

Val looked around, blinking in the rosy
light. Beside him, on her pallet of blankets, Madryn lay curled on
her side, asleep. Her thin short robe had slipped off one shoulder,
exposing the honey-colored skin of her back. The scars that Val had
seen, just before the shipwreck, were paler stripes, crisscrossing
the creamy flesh.

Val had wondered, thousands of times, if his
dream were somehow real. Were these images that appeared to him
each and every night actual events, lost in time yet still in some
way accessible to him, and him alone? Or were they instead some
maddening chimeras, sent from unknown, unknowable sources to
torment him and make him doubt his feelings, his very
existence?

No. No longer. Now Val knew that the dreams
were actual events. Now he could understand some small parts of the
mystery that was Madryn. Not all, by any means. He still had no
idea of where she was going, or why.

That her journey must have some connection
with Valaren Starseeker, he had suspected well before now. But even
the dreams had never given him proof, absolute and total.

Val shook his head slowly. It made not the
slightest bit of difference to him. He knew he would follow Madryn
wherever she led him, if only to someday have the chance, the
single opportunity, to wipe the evil that was Valaren from her
mind—and replace it with his love.

Madryn turned over. Her arm brushed against
Val's naked leg. Val watched her eyes crack open, then widen at the
sight of his naked body so close to her, outlined by the fading
starlight.

"Val," she murmured, holding out her arms,
all her wariness defeated at the sight of him. "Val."

Val leaned over, his mouth seeking the
warmth that had been denied it for so long. His hands ripped aside
the fragile cloth that draped her lean, strong body. His tongue
plunged like a rapier into her eager mouth, plunged again and again
as her own thrust back in this, the oldest of duels. Val gathered
her to him, no long able to still his need for her. Arms and legs
in a glorious, sweaty tangle, their bodies surged as one toward
equal and ultimate fulfillment.

This was the only thing that Val had wanted
from the day he had met her, all those long days and weeks ago; he
now knew he'd wanted this utter possession, physical and mental,
for all his life.

Their bodies fell into a rhythm, the ancient
rhythm of lovers from the beginning of the world. Thrusting,
surging, caressing, tasting, smelling, all senses involved as if
one. Tiny cries, muffled against each other's flesh, spoke in
tongues unknown but all knowing, as they grappled in tender
violence, tried to blend into one single being. Val ran his tongue
across her taut belly, tasted the flavor of the skin around her
small firm breasts, and plunged repeatedly into her inviting mouth.
Madryn returned his passion with even greater fervor, as she arched
and strained to encompass him within her body.

At last, at the same instant, the ache that
each had carried for so long was assuaged. They fell, arms and legs
still entangled, back down to the earth, panting and spent.

A cool breeze, the last fresh breath of the
dying night, washed over their sweaty bodies. Overhead, the stars
were closing their eyes in sleep.

Madryn threw Val's arms off and sat up. She
seized the voluminous robes that they all wore for protection from
the day's burning heat, and slid into it. Groping blindly, she
found her soft riding boots and pulled them on. Then, reaching up,
she took great handfuls of her tawny hair and twisted them into a
hasty, untidy braid.

"Madryn," Val murmured. It was enough, at
this moment, just to say her name. It was all he needed, now and
forever, to make him complete. He reached out a slow hand, brushed
sated fingers across her arm.

Madryn looked down at his face, the rising
sun beginning to pick out the features. "I tried not to allow this
to happen, Val," she said. The sounds of the awakening camp rose
about them, squawks and complaints and shouts. Madryn sighed. "But
now that it has…it changes nothing. Do you understand?"

Val reached out and wrapped his fingers
around her wrist, encircling it in the loving manacles of flesh. He
pulled her towards him, captured her mouth with his own. Already
hungry for her again, he felt her answering hunger and
rejoiced.

But after a glorious instant, Madryn pushed
him away. "It changed nothing, Val," she repeated. "There is
something I must do, something I must find out and, if it is so, do
all that I can to rectify it."

"But afterward?" Val pleaded with lips and
hands and eyes. "I will help you, you know that. I am yours to
command, as I promised, whatever it is, whatever we must
accomplish. But afterwards?"

"Afterwards, Val? Afterwards, I fear I
die."

Madryn scrambled to her feet and stalked off
towards the corral of horses.

Val ran a tongue over his lips, savoring the
taste of Madryn that still lingered there. He didn't know what she
meant. He had no idea what her quest might be, why they were
heading south, what their destination was. But one thing he did
know. Madryn was not going to die.

Not if he had anything to do with it.

As Val watched
Madryn walk away from him, he decided that he had to tell her of
his dreams. Somehow, he must make her understand that he knew of
the horrors she harbored within, the events that had blighted her
memories in the same way that his brief time with Lady Alysa had
blighted his own.

Today, he promised himself. Surely he could
snatch a bit of time today to tell her. And if not this day, then
tonight.

But all that endless day, Madryn rode far
away from Val. And that night, it was their turn to be on watch, to
ride single circuits on the outskirts of the great caravan, keeping
eyes and ears open for signs of the bandits that, they were
assured, were just biding their time before attacking.

Val had no opportunity to speak to Madryn
that night, and the next morning her lack of sleep made her sharp
and short with him, when he tried to talk to her. At last, he left
his tired horse in the communal corral, to snatch a bite of grain
and a drink of water before its morning journey began, and left in
search of Garet.

They had not seen their servant boy in the
last two days or nights. Not that Val had missed the lad. But now
he needed to talk to someone, and the garrulous boy was his only
choice.

"It's not natural, I tell you," Master Aubry
was telling a group of hungry guards and caravan members; he tore
off great hunks of fried bread and stuffed them into his mouth
between words. The caravan master offered Val a nod and motioned
toward the wide tin trays overflowing with their morning meal.

The cook tent, an awning that spread out
from the side of the huge wagon, where simmered and sizzled great
pots all through the day and night, was the common meeting place
for the guards before the beginning of each day's travel. It was
also, Val knew, Garet's favorite place; the boy could spend his
time cadging treats from the cooks while they strove to make him do
small chores for them in return.

"I've traveled this route for eleven years,
and I've seen bandits each and every time; even on the short runs,
I've seen them. This year, though…" Master Aubry shook his head,
his greasy red plaits standing upright like tiny soldiers." "This
year…" he repeated in wondering tones, "…there's something about
this year that's not natural."

The guards scrambled to snatch extra bits of
food as the cooks removed the trays, in preparation for the
caravan's morning departure. Soon, the long train of conveyances
and people and animals would begin its morning lurch, like an
arthritic snake, towards the distant mountains—not so distant as
they were, and beginning to be faintly visible across the southern
horizon. The track that the caravan followed wound away before the
weary travelers, daring them to follow into the dim and fearful
distance.

Val walked away from the cook tent, looking
in likely places for Garet. Almost at once, he spied a skinny form
behind two camels; the beasts were on their knees, and their riders
were just settling themselves into padded saddles.

"Garet," Val called, motioning for the
boy.

Garet looked up, his mouth working busily.
His hands were full of his favorite delicacy, greasy bread stuffed
with whatever the cooks had handy.

The boy scampered towards Val. "Master, I
know that I was supposed to be at our camp this morning to pack up
your blankets and load them on the donkey, but the mistress said
that I might attend the dancing at the tent of Allar bir Shan, so I
did, and then there was food, and I'm afraid I went to sleep and
I'm terribly sorry and…"

Val waited patiently, knowing that Garet
would finally run out of breath and he would be able to get in a
word or two before the boy resumed his description of his
adventures.

At last Garet was forced to pause for
breath, and Val said, "Come along with me and I'll give you a ride
this morning."

Garet's face lit up at the idea of this
special treat; the boy's greatest love, after large amounts of
food, was a horse. The permission to ride one, even behind Val's
saddle, always exhilarated him.

Garet pattered along with Val, dodging the
wagons and carts as they threaded their way towards the horses set
aside for the caravan guards. The smells and sounds of the camp
preparing to move were overwhelming in a morning that was already
growing hot. Jingling harnesses, crying babies, shouting men,
screaming women, all these sounds and more heralded each day.