The Lion of Farside by John Dalmas

He’d half expected Melody to be waiting naked, but she fooled him. She’d undressed, but put on a robe found in a closet. And with the robe, a serious face.

“Did I tell you you’re beautiful, spear maiden?” he asked quietly.

“No, but I knew it anyway. Pretty, at least.”

“Did I tell you I’ve been looking forward to this?”

Her gaze was searching. “Have you really?”

He stepped to her, put his arms around her inside her robe, and pulling her close, kissed her, then kissed her again before stepping back.

“Take your clothes off, Macurdy,” she said quietly. “Unless you’d rather I did it for you.”

He took them off himself while she watched. When he was naked, she dropped her robe. “Do you know what, Macurdy?”

He stared. “What, Melody?” He’d have to stop calling her spear maiden, he decided. She was too beautiful.

“I’m nervous,” she said quietly. “I can’t believe it, but I’m nervous. And the bath is hot. Hot enough that I closed the flue from the stove.”

He took her hand. “Then let’s go try it out.”

They walked into the small adjacent bath. The tub was tiled and half sunken, big enough for four or five to sit. The water wasn’t as hot as he’d expected, but more than warm enough, given that it was Six-Month and the room warmed by the stove. They sat not across from each other, but side by side, and within seconds were kissing again, embracing, fondling. Without either suggesting it, they got to their feet and clambered dripping from the tub. Towels had been set out on a bench, and they dried hurriedly, then went into the bedroom.

Later they donned robes and stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked fields. Dusk had thickened into twilight, and twilight into night, with the crescent moon still well up in the west. There was a cushioned bench, and they sat down on it together, for some time simply holding hands, saying nothing. At length Melody turned and found him looking at her. “I love you, Macurdy,” she murmured. “I really do. I have all along, but now it’s different. You’re a marvelous lover. I thought you’d probably be rough the first time, like a stallion, you’re so damned big and strong. And that would have been fine. But you’re not. You’re thoughtful and loving, and you do the right thing at the right time. It was nicer than I’d ever imagined.”

She leaned and kissed him. “This is going to last a long time,” she murmured. They kissed some more, and her hand slipped inside his robe. A minute later they went back inside.

* * *

Private Olvi Kalister stood on the porch beside the front entrance, spear butted by his right foot, thoughts on what he imagined was going on inside. He had a wife back at North Fork, whom he hadn’t seen now for—he didn’t pay much attention to dates, but it seemed like a long time. A mosquito hummed beside his face, then touched down on his cheek, and absently he crushed it.

“Did you get him?” Private Malakum murmured.

“If I didn’t, I scared shit out of him.”

“I’ll bet they’re not paying any attention to mosquitoes upstairs.”

“I’ve heard that mosquitoes don’t bite Macurdy. Flies either, or cooties.”

I’ll bet right now they could bite his bobbing ass twenty at a time, Malakum told himself, and he’d never notice. “You hear all kinds of things,” he said.

“I heard that when he went in and yanked the Kormehri around the other night, there was a ball of fire on the point of his saber.”

Malakum said nothing; he tended to skepticism. On the other hand, Macurdy’d done some uncanny stuff, in front of people Malakum knew well.

The door opened between the two men, and Corporal Freck stepped out. “You guys thirsty?” he asked in a half whisper.

The sentries’ attention sharpened. “What have you got in mind?”

The corporal chuckled. “A couple of us were snooping around the basement with a torch. Found a trapdoor in the floor, and went down in.” He held out a small jug. “It’s where they store their ale. We figured if the bigwigs could have a party, we ought to have one too. A little one, not enough to get drunk and in trouble. To celebrate the wedding. And the war being over without us getting killed; now there’s a reason! This one’s yours.” He handed it to Malakum. “The stopper’s out—didn’t want it lying on the porch in the morning—but no one’s drunk out of it yet. Just keep quiet, and bring the jug with you when you’re relieved.”

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