“I know what you’re thinking,” Raspnex growled, “and what the woman was about to say—that we should take the chance to sail over to the Accursed Land and investigate Thume.”
The other sorcerers looked shocked, amused, bewildered. “I reacted that way, too,” he said, “when she first suggested it. Now I think she may just have a point. Something Evilish odd’s going on over there, and has been going on for a very long time.”
A thousand years?” scoffed another dwarvish voice. “There is nothing going on in Thume!” Jarga protested from the doorway.
“That’s what you’re meant to think.”
“Tell us about this Accursed Land.” Moon Baiter said. “We have no history of it in the woods.”
So Shandie began to describe the War of the Five Warlocks and Inos remained silent. Obviously he was steering the meeting the way he wanted. Obviously Northern Vengeance would set course for Thume, simply because there was nowhere else to go. However thin the hope of finding a miracle in Thume, it was the only hope they had left, the only port in the storm.
It was Inos’ idea, she should be pleased.
The Morning Sea was a notoriously fickle stretch of water and Inos was the world’s poorest sailor. Yet far worse than the prospect of seasickness was the memory of the last time she had visited Thume. She had come within minutes of being raped by four men. She and Aunt Kade and Azak had almost died there. One thing she could not expect to find in Thume was a welcome.
3
“Do you believe in destiny?” Eshiala asked with a gleam in her eye.
“Of course. Why?” Ylo already had an arm around her, so he just squeezed it a little tighter. He carried a blanket over the other.
“Mm. Saw something. Come this way.”
The wood was eerily still in summer heat, as if all the birds and insects were sleeping or had flown away, the afternoon heavy with mingled scents of wild flowers. Leaving the path, Eshiala began pushing through the trailing branches and tall weeds. Ylo was forced to release her and follow behind, watching the play of sunlight and shadow on her blouse. She had pinned up her hair again with the tortoiseshell combs he had given her. A few fragments of dead leaves were caught in it, but he was not about to tell her so.
“Where in the world are you going, wench?” Twigs swung back at his eyes. “Ouch!”
“Through here. I thought I saw—yes. See? Yellow iris!”
“Very lovely. You want to pick some?”
“Ylo!” she said in mocking reproach. “You’re not concentrating on important matters!”
Trouble is, he was. He was drowsy and content from making love, and yet his previous worries were returning stronger than ever from their temporary banishment. He ought to be sharing them with her, but he hated to spoil the romantic perfection of this wonderful summer day. He ought to be saddling the horses and leading his love and her child out of the path of danger posthaste. He had already wasted half the afternoon and should not . . . No, those hours had emphatically not been wasted. They had been two of the most precious hours of his life. Perhaps the knowledge that they were foolish hours, stolen hours, had made them all the sweeter.
He put his arm around her again and glanced around the glade of golden iris with a smile only skin deep. “Are you implying that I can’t tell an iris from a daffodil?”
“Oh, no, darling, never! But perhaps the preflecting pool was a little vague on details? And you must admit that you might have been distracted by the rest of the vision you saw.”
“Distracted? I was driven insane. I still am insane.”
“Good! Spread out the blanket then.”
He laughed. “Eshiala, Love of my Life, I will do anything for you—anything you wish, anything mortal man can do. But what you are asking for right now is a miracle.” In fact, I thought the last time was a miracle. He tried to kiss her, and she slipped away.
“A destiny.” She took the blanket and spread it out, ruthlessly crushing irises. “Naked, I believe you said? Naked, on a blanket, smiling?”
Gods! “Listen,” he said. “Nettles . . .” he said. “Er, wasps?’ She was unbuttoning her blouse.
“Maya will be awake now,” he protested. “She will be upset to find you not there.”
“It’s a cruel world,” Eshiala said airily, stepping out of her skirt. “Mistress Ingipune promised to feed her candy cakes. I have been waiting for months for some serious lessons in outdoor lovemaking and that callous little brat has perversely frustrated me every time.”
“Lessons? Serious? You’re an instant expert! And you do not think your lovely daughter is a brat. And . . .”
His lady tossed away the skirt and began removing lesser garments. Gods! He moaned. No, it wasn’t possible, not so soon.
“Now,” Eshiala said. “How do I look?”
“Perfect! But . . .”
But perfect. The proud line of her breasts, slender limbs, the sweeping curves of hip and belly-never had the Gods made such a woman. Not a mole, not a freckle.
“How was my hair in the vision?” Without waiting for a reply, she pulled out combs she had so painstakingly replaced not twenty minutes before. She shook loose a torrent of black tresses. Dark eyes gleamed at him, appraising his reaction as he stood and gaped.
Drooled. Time was short if they were to make their escape today. He hadn’t told her the news. How could he tell her now?
“There!” She sank down and stretched out on the blanket. “What posture, my lord? On one elbow, like this? On my back, like this? Legs together? Apart? How wide a smile? Come here, you big lummox.”
The vision!
He dropped to his knees at her side, and his hand moved unbidden to caress her. Soldiers had been asking questions in the village . . .
“The man is half-wilted,” Eshiala muttered, and raised a hand to unbutton his shirt.
His hand stroked her arm, her shoulder. Her breast. Firm, heavy, smooth. Oh, God of Love! He had expected to be safe, here in the east, but now he had learned that the XIVth Legion had been withdrawn from Qoble and the XIIth was everywhere, even in Angot, so he dare not go there now.
With no recollection of moving, he was kneeling over her, tongue stroking nipple. When had that happened?
He could no longer trust their hostess, Mistress Ingipune, because a reward had been posted. Neighbors would talk in a little place like this. Eshiala had pulled off his shirt and was struggling one-handed with his belt buckle.
They must saddle up and leave, and head up into the foothills . . .
“Do take off those stupid breeches,” Eshiala said crossly. ”You will manage much better without them.”
Shock! He released her breast and ran his hand over the firm cream-smoothness of her belly. Then he turned his head to stare into her eyes incredulously. He made a gibbering noise.
A marvel of dimples appeared beside her mouth. “I was wondering when you were going to notice. I understood you were an expert on the feminine body.” Despite the banter, there was concern in the deep blackness of her eyes.
“Oh, my beloved!” he said, choking. “My dove! My darling! My love!”
He might have kept maundering like that for hours, had she not said, ”Then you’re pleased?”
“Pleased?” He grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her wildly. His child! She was going to give him a child! What legions? There were hours of daylight left yet. His child, too.
Somewhat later he paused breathlessly. “It still isn’t possible!”
Her hand slid around from his back and down to more intimate places. She knew all the tricks now. “Of course it is, see? And we are not leaving here until you do it.”
If she had loved Shandie like this, she would never have been his.
But she was his, all his. And it was possible. His love, his child.. Anything was possible, even miracles.
4
Before Northern Vengeance cleared the bar at Randport, Inos arranged a spare sail on the forward deck as a makeshift tent. She had furnished it with a water bottle and a straw-filled mattress and prepared to make the best of things. The spot lacked privacy, but it did have plenty of fresh air, and the rail was within reach when she needed it. Saying he preferred to suffer out of sight, Shandie had gone below.
Two days later she was still in her tent, ignoring the voices and activities of the others. The sun was hot and the wind fair. Gulls crying, ropes creaking, the ketch rose and fell over the green hills of ocean. Perhaps the swell was barely visible to the eye, but it felt like mountains to Inos. Until she arrived at Thume she would be useless; she could do nothing but endure life and curse the impish side of her inheritance. Her jotunn ancestors might be ashamed of her, but the other half would all sympathize. Shandie would be in no better condition than she was.