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A quick shake of her head broke the image. "I’m Brial, healer for my people. Our scouts found you lying injured on the road. Don’t worry," she hastily added, "it may not feel like it, but you’re not seriously hurt. Now just lay quiet until my wagon gets here."
Only moments later a familiar team of hauler beasts came into view. And Emrys was at the reins, not Gault.
"Thank you, Mother," Brial whispered. I won’t have to deal with Gault’s advances. Sliding her arms under his shoulders, she ordered Emrys to take the wounded man’s legs. His weight was no problem to arms used to managing the wagon teams and with Emrys’ help, the transfer of the injured man into the wagon was achieved without trouble. Loud calls of "Come up," and the crack of a whip accompanied the wagon rocking as the hauler beasts threw their weight against the harness. Grandfather will be pleased, she thought. Not a single wagon had to stop.
The rest of the day sped by, and dusk found the wagons circled miles beyond the pass. Brial slipped into the sleeping room of the wagon for another check on her charge. The unconscious man had made no move or sound since he was removed from the road.
A knock at the door told of Emrys’ return with a meal for her patient. No sooner had the door closed behind the boy than the uncomfortable feeling of being stripped returned.
Brial set the tray on the table and turned around. As she suspected her patient was awake. "Welcome back to the world of the living. I am Brial." She gestured at the room. "This is my wagon. Can you tell me who you are?"
Without conscious will, as if he had done it hundreds of times before, the man held out a hand in formal greeting. "I’m Medraut."
Brial shook his hand. Her skin flamed at the touch. The fire spread until it encompassed her body. Medraut's gaze bored into her soul. His eyes darkened until they turned the black of a moonless night. She knew it was only in her mind, but she stood naked before this stranger. Shivering, she jerked her hand free and wrapped her arms around her body.
The darkness of his eyes brightened. Not with a twinkle of mirth, but with flames. No matter how hard she fought, they pulled her in. Hands rose by unconscious volition to release her long hair. Her fingers touched a button, then with a twist undid it. They dropped down and opened the next button ... and the one below that.
"Beautiful," Medraut whispered. The flames in his eyes whirled faster, their shifting patterns mesmerized.
Her head bowed. Deft movements undid the braid so that her hair fell over her shoulders. A shrug separated the fabric of her shirt, opening it more.
A mournful cry escaped. What little self-awareness she had disappeared.
Loud knocks on the door echoed in the room. Brial sensed a thinning of the control that had held her captive. Anger at the invasion fueled her resistance. Her fingers tightened in a fist until the skin turned translucent. I am no man’s toy.
"Brial, it’s Karst." The rub of metal against metal accompanied several twists of the door lock. Next came the thump of a shoulder against the wood panel. "Brial, open the door." What before had been courteous knocks turned into a desperate hammering until the wagon rocked. "Brial, let me in."
Confusion weakened the fog holding her hostage even more. She had not locked the door when she came in so why was Karst pounding? Brial turned to face the door. She couldn’t move her feet to physically turn the latch. Instead, she visualized her hand reaching out to twist the turnkey.
The wooden panel rocked on its hinges. A heartbeat later it burst open and Karst stumbled over the threshold. The tray of food in his arms clattered to the floor. "Brial, what’s the matter? Why did you lock the door?"
Relief flooded through Brial’s frame, shattering the last splinters of fog controlling her will. It also freed the last of the shackles on her muscles. She swore she heard iron rings and chains clank to the floor.
She saw herself reflected in Karst’s eyes and realized she was half-naked. A gasp and she pulled the sides of her shirt together. But it was the fear and panic on Karst’s face that made her turn away to face Medraut.
Lust and confusion darkened his gaze. But about what? Only one thing made sense. Medraut was behind the power that had controlled her. He was the one forcing me to strip.
KARST TOOK IN THE TABLEAU with a single glance. The so-called wounded man lay on his side, head propped on his hand. His entire being seemed focused on Brial.
But it was the panic in her face that turned him into a granite statue. Questions swirled in Karst's mind. Why did she look so afraid? And the more worrying question. Why were her clothes disheveled?
"Brial, what is the matter? Are you ok?"
Only silence greeted his questions. With no answers to calm his racing pulse, he reacted to her fear. Pulling off his jacket, he wrapped it around Brial. Quick steps took him out the door and across the camp. He needed help. Silent curses that the healer had left on the last full moon flowed across his lips.
At least, Deneas and Trelleir are still here, he thought. Of all the women in the camp, Deneas is the only one who can help with Brial. And Trelleir is a scholar. He will make sense of what happened. Not only with Brial but the man in her wagon.
No consciousness directed his steps, but he walked with surety toward the wagon Deneas shared with Trelleir.
Whether by a silent summons or pure luck, the pair he sought walked from the darkness outside the circled wagons. Brial’s grandfather was with them. "Yes," Karst wanted to yell. All the people he wanted to see were together. He wouldn’t have to seek them out. Instead, he just fed more speed to his steps.
Deneas said something to the men and they turned. Feldt’s face showed worry, which he immediately hid.
Long strides carried Karst to the waiting trio. Terse words explained what little he knew.
"Feldt, I apologize for any damage to the door. I swear, it acted more like it was locked than stuck." Karst shrugged. "I didn’t hear anything untoward inside the wagon. Brial made no cry. She appeared confused, not aware of her surroundings."
Over Brial’s head, Deneas and Trelleir exchanged a look. The ice thickened around Karst’s soul. I will have to find out what that means later. Right now, Brial needs care.
A loud screech and a dark shape winged down in a steep dive, talons extended in attack mode.
"No, Tywyll. Don’t attack." Karst held up his arm. "Here, Tywyll. Come." He fought back a wince and muttered several epitaphs when the bird’s talons pierced his jacket. The leather gauntlet he usually wore when around the bird was back in the wagon. For several heartbeats, he stroked the agitated bird until it calmed enough to take the signal to a roost. "Tywyll, stay. Guard Brial."
The thump of the helwr’s heavy landing on the roof ledge sounded above their heads.
Now if Deneas would care for Brial, Karst thought, I can deal with Medraut.
As if she heard Karst’s silent wish, Deneas gave a curt nod and carried the oblivious woman inside the wagon.
The clan leader’s raised eyebrow encouraged free speech.
Relieved at Feldt’s tacit approval, Karst gave voice to his doubts. "There is something about the man we found in the rocks. His muscle tone isn’t that of an invalid. And, I think he has recovered more than he lets on." Now the pause was not because of the need to be careful of his accusations, but his fear. "I don’t know what would have happened if I had not arrived with the tray. I do know this. There was real anger in the newcomer’s face at the interruption."
Deneas slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind her. "Brial is sleeping. She claims she doesn’t remember anything." Her gaze looked over to the wagon Karst had just left. "As to why she is disheveled? She said she must have spilled some water while giving Medraut some water." Her eyes tightened. "I don’t believe it."
"So," Karst muttered, "his name is Medraut.” He took a deep breath to keep the fear from his voice. "According to legends of the desert villages, that is the name of a demon who turned women into slaves to fulfill his desires."
Shock filled Feldt’s face, to be quickly replaced with anger. "Men don’t treat women that way."
Karst hid the truth from the others but could not from himself. Men don’t treat women that way. Except for my father. But Caldar is not my problem right now. "Feldt, will you go to meet Medraut with me?" Then turning to Trelleir, added, "I know you are not a healer like Betrys. But you helped her, and I know you are a scholar."
Trelleir’s eyes took on a far-away look until Karst feared he had overstepped. When light returned to Trelleir’s eyes, determination filled his frame. "I think between Deneas and Tywyll, Brial will be kept safe." He gestured at the wagon Karst had just left. "I would like to meet this Medraut."
THE FAINT SHIFT OF the wagon from someone climbing the steps narrowed Medraut’s senses from his scan of the camp. Ever since the interloper had broken in and carried off the object of his failed seduction, Medraut had cast a magic net in search of his prey, to no avail. Somehow, the ethereal ribbon he had followed to the camp had been clipped. So I will see what the visitors can do for me.
Besides the man outside the wooden panel, two more waited. "And," he cursed, "one of them is the one Brial called Karst. Well, he can wait."
A smile twitched his lips. Gathering his magic, he pictured reaching out with his foot, to hold the door shut.
What had begun as a polite knock turned into a panel-rocking pounding. Now the fun begins.
When the sound of a body throwing itself against the door rebounded off the walls, Medraut counted to three and moved his invisible foot.
FELDT TRIED TO TURN the door handle. Despite his size, the metal refused to turn.
"Just like when I tried to get in before," Karst hissed. "What is happening? I know for a fact that the lock was working fine when we broke camp this morning."
The clansman waved the others back. His gaze hardened and he launched his not-inconsiderable frame against the recalcitrant panel. This time instead of the door rocking on its hinges, it swung open.
Karst looked inside. Nothing appeared changed from when he carried Brial out. Cups and food still lay scattered around. Only instead of lying with his head propped up, Brial’s patient sat on the edge of the bed dangling his feet. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and he held a mug of water in his hand. He waved. "Come in, gentlemen. I am Medraut. Who do I thank for the hospitality?"
To allow himself an extra few moments to calm the rage filling his body, Karst waited until Trelleir entered the wagon. Even then, he stopped on the threshold. Something prevented him from entering. Could it be the same force that was used on Brial?
He forced himself to focus on Feldt’s introductions. When Medraut turned his attention to Trelleir, the look in the wounded man’s eyes sent chills down Karst’s frame.
Trelleir’s nonchalant, "I am just a traveler whose path happens to be that of the wagons," helped bring back a measure of equilibrium.
The frigid cold deepened when Medraut turned his gaze to follow Feldt’s presentations and landed on Karst. Flames seemed to dance in the sitting man’s eyes. His entire being broadcast anger and hatred.
Who is this man? Although he didn’t fully believe in the legends, the thought refused to be ignored. Could Medraut be a demon? One of the Goddess' henchmen that brings those to be judged to the fiery chamber?
Feldt’s shift to stand in front of Medraut broke whatever spell the man was casting.
No, Karst thought. There is no black-haired beauty in the volcano. No demons to do her bidding. Only my father to work the lever, to murder those who had something he wanted or threatened his power.
"You look much better." The clan leader tilted his head as if considering various options. "In fact, Medraut, you look well enough to be moved to one of the wagons we use as a single men’s dormitory."
"What about my nurse?"
Karst clenched his fingers at the sharpness in Medraut’s words. Not words, he decided, commands. A glance at Trelleir showed his hands curled into fists, ready to fight.
"I am sorry, Medraut," Feldt said after a few heartbeats. "Brial is not available. You are not the only one needing care. My granddaughter will check on you later. Or if she cannot, someone else will. There will be others around to provide whatever assistance you may need until you are fully recovered." His expression brooked no discussion. "Right now, someone else needs this bed."
The anger, or was it desire, in Medraut’s face forced Karst back a step. It vanished so quickly he wondered if he had actually seen it. Until he noticed both Feldt and Trelleir had strange expressions on their faces.
I will have to compare notes with Trelleir. And soon.
MEDRAUT WATCHED GAULT with an adolescent boy walking beside the wagon. He had been waiting for the proper time to approach the tall scout to recruit him as an aide and as a source of information about the members of the caravan—especially Brial. "And," he crowed, "I don’t need to waste my magic to get him to cooperate. His greed and intelligence combined with an innate gauge of people make him a natural opportunist."
Gault's voice was low and Medraut had to strain to hear the conversation. The scout not only used his size to intimidate but also his voice to cajole and coerce. Moments later the teen picked up a shovel, and head down walked toward the far end of the picket line.
"Well, well," Medraut muttered. "Gault got one of the younger riders to do his chores. Now what will he do?"
Wrapping a cloak of persistent non-visibility around himself, he followed Gault as he slipped between the wagons to where freshly-baked bread cooled on shelves. He hesitated then reached out and snatched a loaf. When no outcry came, a second loaf joined the first in his bag. A look over his shoulder as if debating on a third, but instead turned his back and walked away with his prize.
Now is the time, Medraut decided, and left his shadowed observation spot. Quick steps had him on an intercept course. "It is so kind of you, Gault, to bring me a snack."
"These are mine. If you want some, you go brace the oldsters." He chuckled. "Just be sure to duck. They may shuffle more than walk, but their reach with the rolling pin is long."
"No, rider, that is not acceptable." Medraut visualized a rope around the man’s neck. Smiling, he raised a hand and slowly closed his fingers.
The other man gasped, grabbing at his throat.
Not too hard, Medraut reminded himself. His grin broadened. I still want Gault functioning. Now to see how trainable he is. He held out a hand. "Now rider, what did you say about the food?"
Gault’s hands left his throat and he slipped the bag of stolen food from his shoulder. He looked down at the two loaves as if seeing them for the first time. "Sorry, master. This one is for you." He held one out. "Still warm, fresh from the oven."
THE TANTALIZING CALL of magic refused to let Medraut rest. Each day he roamed up and down the line of wagons, searching for the source. After four sevenday, all he had uncovered was the faint echo of power from Deneas and a fainter one from Brial.
"Master, Master."
"Not now, Gault," Medraut growled. "It is almost time. He had staked out the observation spot a candlemark earlier. Brial walked her hauler beasts to the watering hold every day at sunset and the spot between the two storage wagons provided the perfect view.
If I miss my daily viewing, Gault will pay. Just as quick as the thought of vengeance came, it was dismissed. Not because of mercy, but because the man had become useful. Even though his importune timing makes me want to kill him.
"I guess I had better hear him out," came out in a grumble. “The way Gault is practically vibrating, he must have news. It is about time." A sigh and Medraut turned away from his vigil. "All right, Gault. Report."
"Horses, very special horses, will be joining the caravan. I managed to get us on one of the search teams." The rider's voice dropped low. "I figure possession rules. Whoever drops a loop over the animal first, gets to keep it."
"Nicely done, Gault."
The other man fairly purred at the praise.
"Now what do you have on the other matters I asked you to investigate?" Medraut stifled a laugh at Gault’s now crestfallen expression. Warmth dampened his collar at the surge of his power. "Well?"
A gulp and Gault’s words spilled out. "Karst joined the caravan several seasons ago. He is the son of some big-shot in a backwater desert town." Derisively he added, "The father threw Karst out because he failed in some task."
"And Deneas?" Medraut probed.
"That one is from the same town as Karst. Also, a supposed slayer of dragons." His snort told of his real opinion. "She is more skilled with a sword, as long as it is only against children." Gault hesitated, then added. "No one knows anything about the scholar. He came with the healer Betrys to stop the fever but is not from her village. No one in the caravan has ever seen him hold a sword or bow."
Maybe I need to find someone else to serve me, Medraut thought. He let his face show his disapproval.
All color faded from Gault’s face. He held up his hands and backed off. "Sorry, master. I will do better."