Helene shivered in the pre-dawn chill. She’d been warm, lying next to Kamran. His body radiated heat like a furnace, the power source of his awesome vitality. His steady breathing and quiet rest had dispelled her initial fear he was feverish, and she’d moved closer as the night grew colder. Bereft of his warmth, she huddled close to the other women while she watched him inspect the companies.
This was no casual stroll along their ranks. He stopped in front of each man, checked his weapons and spoke to him. A half dozen so far, stood aside in a smiling group and an equal number in a more serious assembly. The only obvious difference being the extent of the latter’s wounds. When he finished his inspection, there were twenty in each group plus a corporal. Beyorn, the Westlander, commanded the first, and a wounded corporal the second.
One of the wounded claimed her attention and she wasn’t aware of Kamran’s approach until his boots intruded on the edge of her vision as she knelt by the feverish youth.
“How is he?” It was more than a casual question.
She looked up at his face. “His body fights the infection of his wound. If it wins, he will survive.”
“What does he need?”
“Rest, good food, regular changing of the dressings.
He nodded. “I never asked how you became so good at this. It’s an unusual skill for a High Born.”
“My family is poor. I collected strays as a child. Many of them were injured and I nursed them back to health. Then a peasant boy fell beneath my cart and I did what I could for him and my reputation grew. We had an epidemic a year later, and I did what was necessary. We couldn’t afford to lose peasants. They were our wealth.” Helene was soothing the wounded boy as she spoke, bathing his forehead, allowing him to hold her free hand.
“Join me when you are finished.” Kamran stepped back and she heard him walk away.
He was talking to the women when she joined him, explaining what he intended. “Helene will decide which of you comes with us. If I have not returned when the last of your charges recovers, you are free to do as you choose.” He sensed her presence and turned. “Select one woman to accompany you. We’ll be marching hard and I anticipate at least one serious skirmish. She must be fit and skilled enough to help you deal with the wounded. Both of you are to wear men’s clothing and march in the midst of the archers.” Helene nodded her understanding. “I’m leaving twenty walking wounded to guard the cave and the seriously wounded. They’ll extend the garden, resurrect the orchard on its far side, and hunt for fresh food. Anya will tell them what she wants and the corporal knows to listen to her.”
Helene was startled. Few men deferred to a woman and no High Born would consider asking advice from one. Kamran was calmly turning her world upside down. She’d gone to sleep last night in fear of her life and woke this morning a trusted accomplice, her advice sought and taken. Kamran wouldn’t have taken the risk of a potential enemy in his ranks lightly. He was too competent a tactician, and he’d proved himself immune to her charms.
“Where are we going?”
“Kordobah.”
Last night, she’d gambled desperately to stay alive. This morning she could view her machinations with the contempt they deserved. Only her analysis of his potential as a conqueror remained.
“You spoke of a serious skirmish. Who will we fight?”
He noted the we. She could see it in his eyes.
“With luck, no one.” He held up his hand to forestall further questions. “We march to Kordobah because I have the names of those who supplied them and grew rich from their crimes. What happens there will depend on the reaction of the High Born.”
Helene nodded. The smugglers existed because each principality imposed taxes on trade. For many of them, it was their only source of wealth because their land had degraded to little better than subsistence farming. Her family was a rarity. They’d improved their land, generation after generation, because no trade routes passed their borders and it, and their peasants, were their only wealth.
She stopped.
Kamran knew her name. Therefore, he knew her family history. This was no ignorant soldier. He might not know of her personally, but the attitude of her family to the peasants they controlled would have earned his approval—she hoped. It might explain her survival if he was giving her the chance to prove herself.
He watched her, eyes more gray than blue, a barometer of his thoughts she was learning to trust.
“When do we march? I need to prepare.” She accepted it was time for business.
“In an hour, the women have food ready. We march when all have eaten.” He smiled, turning his eyes bluer.
Helene could see the twenty men Beyorn commanded wolfing down food at the trestle table. They must be Kamran’s advance guard. She turned back to the young woman she’d selected to accompany her and started explaining, aware he’d walked away and happy to have a task she understood rather than her endless guessing as to his motives.
“Will we sleep with the archers too?” The girl’s question caught her by surprise.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“I’ve taken a spearman with the lead company. He’s a man-at-arms and can protect me.”
“Do you need protection?” Helene had been busy since her release from the smugglers.
“No. It’s our choice now.” Casual rape had been a feature of smuggler captivity, even on the march. “He won’t allow otherwise, but most of us feel better with one man. You know, you have him.”
Helene was about to shake her head, when she thought better and stilled the movement. Given the opportunity, she would choose Kamran. Was she reacting like the others and seeking safety in his arms? She’d endured the smugglers, forcing herself to cooperate whenever they took her, focusing on survival even when the future seemed bleakest. Even when she’d recognized Kamran’s livery and his connection to Fleur d’Gracay, she’d acted deliberately to gain his sympathy. He wasn’t Fleur’s type and her cousin cared little for the opinions of others, especially those tasked with enforcing the peace.
She knew him better now. His strength would have repelled Fleur, and she was glad. For reasons she didn’t care to examine, the thought of them together was disturbing.
She was waiting when the trumpeter sounded Assembly and took her place with the archers, who competed good-naturedly when their sergeant appointed two of them to each woman. “He wants them with us,” the sergeant said. “Make sure they are at the end of the day. Any fighting and it’s your job to protect them.”
Their formation was three abreast with Helene and her assistant in the middle file. The men on either side shared their burdens, a fact earning their gratitude before the first hour of the march ended. Kamran’s men marched at one hundred and fifty paces per minute, for ten minutes, with breaks of five, at a leisurely one hundred and thirty paces per minute. Noise discipline was rigid. All orders were by hand signals, repeated along the line, and his army flowed along the forest trail like a torrent, frequently changed scouts ranging ahead and to either side. They rested for ten minutes every two hours. Kamran prowled the length of the line, speaking to sergeants and individuals, Helene and her assistant included, giving encouragement and advice, setting an example.
She asked him about his leg and he shrugged. It was an irrelevance.
On the third break of the day, Beyorn and his twenty men caught up with them, all of them carrying bulging leather sacks as well as their usual equipment. No one had the breath to comment as they filed past on either side and took their place at the head of the march.
They left the trail with the last of the light, moving single file into a secluded clearing and making camp with silent efficiency. There only a few fires, each hidden in a deep pit, but every man received a full beaker of rich steaming soup, thick enough to be called stew.
Helene’s assistant disappeared with her spearman and left her squatting by the fire, allowing the heat to soothe her aching muscles.
“Come,” Kamran said. “Join me. It is my turn.”
Mystified, she followed him to the edge of the forest and a nook formed beneath an ancient tree. His cloak covered a bed of cut grass from the clearing.
“Strip and lay down on your belly. You made it through today, but you’ll need help to do the same tomorrow.”
Helene obeyed and Kamran massaged aching muscles until they relaxed and lost their tension, beginning at her feet and working his way up to her neck. It felt delicious and hardly noticed when he turned her over and began on her thighs.
“Your assistant’s spearman will do the same for her,” he said, and Helene wasn’t surprised. It seemed natural he should know. A blanket covered her when he finished, helping her naked body retain the warmth of his hands, but she was barely aware of it, sleep only a blink away.
She stirred when he joined her much later, rolling sleepily toward the warmth of his body, arms going around the muscled column of his torso. He shifted to accommodate her and Helene drifted back into sleep.
Waking alone in the predawn bustle of the camp stirring, Helen dressed hurriedly and went searching for Kamran. His wound needed checking. She found him addressing a group of his sergeants and corporals. She waited until he finished.
“Your wound,” she said, pointing at the bandage with its dark patch of blood. “It should be checked and redressed.”
He looked down at it, as if surprised at the reminder of its existence. “Do it at the first break. I’ll come back to you.” He turned away as a corporal returned with a question, and Helene had to be satisfied.
The march began with the trickle of light through the treetops and Helene’s residual stiffness lasted only the first few minutes. Her world shrank to the half-seen figures on either side of her or the back of the man in front, her pace regulated by them, and their harsh breathing the only sound.
The first break came as a surprise and she’d forgotten her appointment to dress his wound until Kamran stood in front of her and she had to retrieve her burdens from the men who’d carried them. “Sit down,” she told him. “Leg out in front of you, wound up most.”
A trickle of water softened the caked blood and the silk bandage came away to reveal the puckered lips of the stitched gash. The edges of skin were pale and dead, but the flesh was cool to touch. She’d been right. He was a good healer. She wrapped it tightly with fresh bandages and stowed the soiled one in her pack. She’d wash it later.
“Thank you,” he said, standing to test the bandage and nodding his satisfaction. “You’ve done a good job.” He raised his hand in a signal and the break ended.
They stopped early that night.
“The road into Kordobah is just over the rise,” the archer at her right explained. “We’ll enter the town as their guards change for breakfast. It will add to the confusion.”
Their campsite had a small stream and Helene hurried upstream, both to bathe and to wash the bandage. The flow was great enough for it to present no problem to the camp water supply.
When she returned, Kamran was waiting. “Don’t go off on your own again. Take your assistant at least.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, aware it was concern for her safety from his choice of her companion. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“From tomorrow, the risks escalate.” He looked serious. “You must not move without your two archers. Only when you are with me will you be safe. The same goes for your assistant. Except when she is with her spearman, she must have the protection of the men assigned to her.”
“I’ll make sure she understands.”
They ate together, the camp quiet around them in the deepening dusk. They were close to the trail and to the road.
“Do I get a massage tonight?” She smiled.
“Do you need one?” He too smiled.
“I always need a massage.”
His smile deepened. “I don’t suppose I’d find anyone else to do it at this short notice.”
“Not if you value their lives,” she agreed.
“A wise commander avoids casualties.” He stood up. “Our bed is in that direction. I’ll brief the guard commander and join you.”
He took his time but Helene forgave him when she realized he’d bathed too. His hair was still damp, as was the bandage on his leg, and his chain mail shirt lay over his arm.
Her massage came first, but this time its effect was different. Her skin tingled to his touch and her excitement escalated to a point where self control was a distant memory, entirely unrelated to anything Helene might feel. He provided guidance not control, firm hands stilling her movements. He was giving her the choice. Helene moaned her consent, words beyond her.
“Wait,” he whispered. “It will be worth it.”
She didn’t disbelieve him but her body had a mind of its own, and she was captive to its demands, rather than his. His patience was inexhaustible, his self control absolute, as he coaxed responses from her she’d thought soiled forever by the smugglers.
She’d healed his leg and he was intent on healing her soul. He’d done this before—or had learned by failure.
It was odd. A part of her mind could think, could observe and reason, while the rest was so intimately involved in an irresistible arousal, it prompted her to scream her demands to the sky.
“Shush, baby.” He turned her over and covered her mouth with his, swallowing her moans as his hands shifted from massage to exploration, gently kneading her flesh into ecstasy as he discovered secret places to pleasure her—sensitive spots known only to her, before moving lower, his calloused fingers caressing so softly her skin quivered in response. Helen writhed in ecstasy when he found her bud, his touch incredibly sure for a man. He’d done this many times before.
She panted softly, her breath puffing into his mouth without breaking the contact of their lips. She had never been one for kisses, considering the pastime vastly over-rated as anything but a form of greeting relatives. She learned her mistake as his tongue teased and delighted her at the same time.
Her nipples, the gently aching cores of her breasts, demanded his touch and the center of her being had shifted south to a yawning chasm that throbbed its need. Yet, he would not hurry, prolonging each moment until her arousal became eerily selfish. Nothing mattered but her, and the world receded to leave only the means of her satisfaction, not as part of him, but individual items with entirely separate entities. She reached for what she wanted and guided it home with no sensation that the flesh impaling her had an owner. It acted to her desire, not his, and she exploded time and time again around it until exhaustion claimed her and she spiraled down into the darkness.
* * * *
Rachael felt impatient. They’d reached the shore at first light. She’d set up her signal on the broad beach and expected rescue at dusk. Now past midnight, she felt hungry, tired, and longing for the comfort and security of the mother ship. Too many strange things had happened on this planet.
A new phantom had invaded her mind, a woman called Helene. She shared flashes of her experiences in her dreams, felt her fear of the sergeant, and the growth of another emotion she couldn’t yet define. Her tiredness made her more vulnerable it seemed.
“Your friends aren’t coming tonight.” Anneke sounded definite. “I’m going to see what food I can scrounge in the village.”
Rachael nodded distractedly. “I’d better stay here, just in case. Be careful.” Their beach lay between two fishing villages, the closest one just beyond the point.
“Bet on it.” Anneke’s teeth showed whitely in the gloom.
Rachael wished she could match her friend’s robust cheerfulness. Nothing fazed Anneke. She was as impervious to tiredness as she was to fear and despair. A friend first and foremost, her connection to the Alliance an irrelevance, Anneke had opened Rachael’s eyes to the world outside the Federation, and she would never be the same again. “I’ll keep watch until you return.”
She sensed Anneke’s nod rather than saw it.
“Here’s the last of our food. You might as well chew on it while I’m gone.” Rachael felt the knob of dried meat pressed into her hand. “I’ll find something.” Anneke chuckled. “Even if it’s a discarded boot.” She turned away and disappeared into the darkness.
Rachael sat down with her back to one of the tumble of rocks forming their hiding place at the foot of the cliff. Well above the high tide mark and approachable only from the sea, its only drawback was the lack of an escape route. Anneke was unworried by the fact and Rachael had grown to trust her judgment. They wouldn’t be there for long.
She gnawed at the edge of the meat, wishing she had a knife. Coated with herbs and dried to the consistency of granite, it resisted her efforts at first. Her saliva rather than her teeth won the day, softening the edge and she gained a miniscule morsel to chew and soften. Its taste bordered on obscene but Rachael’s hunger was so sharp it overwhelmed fastidiousness. Half the lump had disappeared before she noticed the denser loom in the darkness of the sea and jumped to her feet.
They’d come!
The shuttle would have landed over the horizon and sent their silenced motor launch along the radar beam to the location of her signal. She ran down the beach, waving her arms.
* * * *
Helene woke with the feeling she’d made a mistake. She couldn’t identify it, and the failure bothered her. The feel of Kamran’s arms around her and the slow thud of his heart as her head rested on his chest should have made her feel better, but they didn’t, so it was connected to him.
She lay there thinking, and it took a while before it came to her.
He’d treated her with unique consideration and she’d responded as selfishly as any High Born, thinking of nothing but her satisfaction, which made her little better than the smugglers, giving nothing and taking impersonally.
She must retrieve his good opinion.
At first, she moved tentatively and evoked no response. She was about to stop, afraid she would compound her earlier selfishness by waking him.
“You are awake too.” His voice came to her through his chest as much as from his mouth.
“Yes, I’m awake,” she agreed, lifting her head from his chest and looking up at his face. “I want to thank you properly and ask a question.”
“In which order.” She could see his lips quirked at one corner in the dim light.
“What was her name, and where did you learn to make love like that?”
“That’s two questions.” His teeth gleamed whitely in the darkness. “Her name was Leticia, and I failed her.” He paused. “As for your second question, In Xanadu, did Kublai Khan a stately pleasure dome decree.” He chuckled. “I’ll have to know you a little better before I can explain further than that.”
“That leaves the matter of thanking you properly.” She could return to his answers later.
“What did you have in mind?”
She’d taken pleasure from him without regard to his feelings, so a proper response was to give pleasure without reward. She’d never done this willingly before, one of the smugglers had removed her gag to attempt it but had been stopped and made to replace the gag by his leader, so it was all new territory.
Her hand moved of its own volition and she felt his shaft thicken in her hand. So far, so good. Her fingers explored it, beginning at the tip and working their way around the ridge of its helmet. He was circumcised, an oddity on this planet. She recalled a rumor his father had been a spacer. It responded to her touch, the head nodding as in agreement. Her thoughts were distracting her and she put them aside.
He deserved her full attention.
The fuzz of hair around it base was wiry, full of tight curls and the twin sacs containing his testicles bulging firmly. She’d seen the same reaction in oxen when they scented the herd was in heat. Damn! She had to discipline her wandering mind again. A glance at his face reassured her. He was smiling. A trickle of liquid ran down his shaft onto her hand, surprising her. It felt viscous, yet lubricated her grip.
The next step was going to be awkward. She rose to a kneeling position at his side, changing hands to surreptitiously sample the liquid with the tip if her tongue. It had no unpleasant taste, a little salty perhaps, but bland. One hurdle overcome. The angle of his shaft forced her to approach it from the side and she began tentatively, licking the crown of its helmet. It jerked in her hand with each lick and she wondered if he were doing it consciously. She took the tip in her mouth, careful to avoid touching it with her teeth by using her tongue to cushion and stimulate.
His hand stroked her bare back, gently caressing the vertebrae and she shivered with pleasure as she experimented with different movements, trying to judge what pleased him most by the responses of his shaft. Some were involuntary she thought, the others deliberate movements she could limit with her hands. She had both clasped around the base of his shaft now and she moved them in unison with her mouth, increasing the tempo as she felt his excitement grow. The awkward position made it difficult and her neck muscles had just begun to protest when his shaft convulsed in her hand and a jet of warm liquid hit the back of her throat.
She fought down the automatic reaction to jerk away and swallowed instead, owing him that much and more. Four more spurts followed. It had a stronger taste, still not unpleasant, but saltier. She kept stimulating him until his shaft softened, then licked it clean before raising her head to look at his face. “Satisfied?”
His hands clasped her shoulders and she felt herself drawn upwards so she lay on top of him. “Yes,” he said, and kissed her.
* * * *
Rachael came to Kordobah lying in the bilges of a boat, gagged by a foul tasting cylinder of wood jammed between her teeth and lashed in place by thin cord, her head covered by a coarse sack and her arms bound. Kicks from the men above her as they rowed deterred any movement. The weave of the sack was loose enough for her to distinguish shapes but not details, but she knew she was in the hands of smugglers.
She’d run down the beach, expecting rescue but straight into the arms of a big man with bad breath, and had been captured quickly by men used to their trade. Realizing further struggle was futile and contrary to survival, she’d allowed them to bundle her into the boat. She laid quietly, listening to their conversation and learning they were bound for the warehouse of their supplier in Kordobah. She wasn’t the first captive they’d taken from the coastal villages, and their speculation on her fate chilled her. The High Born paid well for pretty things, and their exploration of her body suggested she was comely.
“It was too dark to be sure, but her face felt soft. She’s a rare bonus for a bad trip. It’s a pity time’s so short. I’d have enjoyed a sample of her wares, but we must be through the water gate before first light.”
“Shut up and pull, you bastards.” the rough voice came from the stern of the boat. “Save your breath.”
The steady creak of the oars and her helplessness had been oddly soporific, and Rachael had slipped into sleep congratulating herself that Anneke was still free.
The lurch of the boat, as it thumped into the wharf, woke her, and she could see the gleam of lanterns hung on wooden beams above her.
“Come on, girlie.” Rough hands grasped the ropes around her arms and pulled her upright. “Time to enjoy your new home.”
Lifted onto the wooden deck of the wharf, she was bustled through winding alleys, into a house, along a dark passage to a heavy wooden door and thrust through, a final shove sending her headlong. She retained her feet, more by luck than judgment, as the door slammed behind her. She heard the click of a lock, leaving her in pitch blackness.
Exploration was the first priority. Careful shuffling determined she was in a bare room with damp stone walls, but a wooden floor. A waft of air suggested there was a window, but it must be high in the wall. She could see no loom of light, even after twenty minutes in total darkness. Her bonds were efficient, her wrists bound behind her and her arms pinioned to her sides. There was no give in any of them, and squirming exploration revealed no knots her fingers could work on. She fought down panic and forced herself to think.
From the men in the boat, she knew dawn must be near, but her captors would be in no hurry to inspect their goods. They’d rowed for much of the night and would eat and sleep first. She wasn’t going anywhere, and it was pointless tiring herself needlessly. She backed against the wall and slid down to a sitting position. It wasn’t comfortable, so she rolled onto her side and lay down. She must rest if she was to be fit enough to grasp the slightest opportunity to escape.
* * * *
Helene watched the light creep into the sky above them and heard the first stir of movement as the guard commander woke the sleeping men. Kamran had made love to her twice after their kiss. The first time was with incredible gentleness, almost an act of worship, and the second the culmination of a rain of kisses on every part of her body. Then he’d slept, his body relaxed in her arms. She hadn’t. Too many things had happened. Too much had changed. She should feel tired, but strength flowed through her body like fire.
“Morning.” He woke, passing from sleep to consciousness instantly, an ability that amazed her.
“Yes,” she responded. “A great morning.”
“You sound satisfied.”
“Aren’t you?” She turned to look at his face.
“Eminently.”
“You speak very well. Who taught you?” They taught peasants their numbers and little else; less than one percent could read anything beyond the simplest texts.
The guard commander interrupted them. “The camp is roused,” he said. “Orders?”
“Weapons cleaned, shields polished. I want to put on a show when we enter Kordobah. Send Beyorn to me as soon as he’s eaten.”
The man nodded his acknowledgement and saluted with a clenched fist to his breastplate. “What time do we march?”
“At sunrise.”
The man completed his salute and left.
“I’ll need to change your dressing.” Helene was all business.
He looked down at the bandage on his thigh. Other than a light stain around the wound site, it was clean. “Do it now, please. There won’t be time later.”
She nodded and reached for her pack. The wound was clean and healing more rapidly than she’d seen before, especially considering the rigors of the march. She saw no signs of infection and it felt cool to touch. The bandage she’d washed last night was dry and she used it, binding his thigh firmly.
“Thank you,” he said, rising to his feet as Beyorn approached. “Good morning.”
“You wanted to see me.” The Westlander had the relaxed stance of a man who knew he was in no trouble.
“Once we reach the road, the companies will shift into the five files of ceremonial formation. I want to decorate every spear of the leading company. Are there enough?”
“There’s a few spares.”
“Keep the most presentable and get rid of the others.”
Beyorn nodded. “The men will be pleased. They’re a bit ripe.”
“We’ll get rid of them as soon as they’ve served their purpose.”
Beyorn saluted and left.
“Wha—” Helene began, but Kamran shook his head.
“Time to eat,” he said. “Soup and hard bread, I’m afraid.”
Each man carried his own dried stock, adding his portion to the iron pot shared by five men. Kamran’s meal, and hers, was contributed to by all, the competition to please him fierce.
His chain mail had been burnished with sand and water overnight, making it gleam like silver, as did his helmet, shield, and greaves. He armed himself at the finish of the meal, becoming a grimly impressive figure. Helene shuddered at the reminder of his trade in death. He sensed it, because he turned to her and his smile dispersed her fear.
“Appearance can win battles,” he said. “I don’t want to fight, if it can be avoided.”
The first notes of the Assembly sent Helene hurrying to her place with the archers.
The march to Kordobah had begun.