From Darkness Won Part 34

"Worked that out, we have. No more than a hundred can drink each night, which leaves most the men on guard, eh?"

Achan frowned. "Yet you seem to be indulging every night. Do you never take a turn on guard?"

Kurtz grinned. "Someone has to organize it all, he does. Besides, I'm on your personal guard."

Typical Kurtz. "I see. Still, it seems dangerous, don't you think? If we were to be attacked..."

"Bah! The bottle calms you, Pacey. I'll likely fight better than anyone, if it comes to that, eh? Besides, many aren't drinking. Cole, here, is afraid of it. And Sir Shung won't touch the drink. Just wants to dance with his la.s.s. That's all most the men want. A little friendly company. Plus, Sir Gavin's not here tonight. Rode off with his scouts to see about something or other. Tonight's the night, Pacey." Kurtz pa.s.sed him a bottle. "Think about it, eh?"

Achan accepted the bottle from Kurtz, muddled by the man's reasoning. It was true: all Achan wanted was a little company. To cross swords with Shung or wrestle out his anger.

Instead he walked toward the sea, flanked by Cortland and Achan's cousin from Nesos. The sunset dusted the prairie gra.s.ses in gold. The air smelled salty and cool in his nose and mouth. He swung the bottle by the neck, whipping the tall gra.s.s aside as he made his way to the beach.

The prairie gra.s.s gave way to sand, sloping down a small hill to the surf. Achan sat in the dry sand, staring at the gla.s.sy sea, the sun sinking into the water like a yolk into a simmering pot.

His gut festered. He wanted to rant at Arman about his misfortune, but he knew what Arman would say, if He bothered to answer. Achan didn't want to hear it. He wanted things to go his way for once. It was selfish, sure, but he didn't care.

He ripped Averella's sleeve off his arm and threw it. The lightweight fabric landed at his feet, the maroon glistening in the setting sun.

He brought the bottle to his mouth, worked the cork free with his teeth, and spat it on the ground. He smelled the contents, expecting the briny smell of mead, but the tangy combination of currants and cedar filled his nostrils.

Had Kurtz meant to give him wine? Achan had wine with dinner most nights, so it wouldn't matter to drink some now. He took a sip. Robust sweetness filled his mouth. He swished his tongue around, tasting the flavor as long as it would linger. Blazes, that was good. Much better than what Lord Eli had served in Mirrorstone.

Yet when the taste faded, the wine left his mouth dryer than before. So he took a longer drink and wished he had some food. The wine seemed to point out just how hungry he was. He should go back to his tent and eat.

Instead he took another drink.

The waves lapped against the sh.o.r.e, simmering like b.u.t.ter in a skillet. He dug the heels of his boots into the sand, extending his legs and making two deep trenches. He took another drink then stood and walked onto the smooth, wet sand. The tide slid in again, and he let it wash over his boots. As the water drew away, it pulled the sand from under his heels. He stopped and watched it erode, amazed at the power water had over dirt.

Arman had that kind of power over men. The power to give and take away. Dying for any cause of Arman's would be worth it. Achan recalled the intense pleasure the pull of Shamayim had brought. He would not be unhappy to return to that place. That much he knew.

Yet it seemed Arman wanted him here for now. So here, in Er'Rets, Achan must stay.

Now Sparrow, she had that same water-over-sand pull on Achan. He did not know how or when it had happened, but she affected him. Too much. The things she said. How she said them. The way she looked at him. The way she smelled. He tried to stop thinking about her, but that decision only made her ever more present in his mind. Sparrow and her stubborn ways. Even without her memory.

He took a long swallow.

He'd had enough of this weakness, this power Sparrow had over him. Was he man or boy? He was a man-a prince. Soon to be king. He needed to forget about Vrell Sparrow. There were plenty of women who would covet his attention. And now he was free to choose any of them. He could have his pick of the most beautiful women in the world.

His stomach clenched at that idea, for that was why Sparrow had claimed to be afraid to love him-back when she'd had her memory. That as king he would be surrounded by women seeking his attentions. He laughed to himself, alone on the beach but for his two Kingsguard shadows.

"Yes, Sparrow, I can hardly keep the women away."

He snorted, then flubbed out a long breath through his lips. The idea of throngs of women trying to turn his head. He laughed, then sobered when he caught sight of his guardsmen standing where the gra.s.sy prairie met the sand.

Achan suddenly wanted to see Sparrow's thoughts. Plant memories, perhaps? Make her remember him. The desire only made him take another drink.

The tide swept out, and Achan stumbled as the sand melted under his heels. He trudged up the hill. Dry sand stuck to his boots. He stomped to shake it free.

A burst of laughter pulled his attention back to the orange glow of the bonfire. Shadows of dancers circled over the tops of the tents. The fiddle hummed, voices chorused, and the clapping and laughter tugged at his heart.

He wanted to laugh too. So he did. Long and hard, like a madman. His guards followed a few paces behind. Achan glanced back every few steps, wondering what they thought of the laughing prince. The question made him snicker.

Well, why couldn't the Crown Prince have fun? Why must he always be alone in his tent or alone on the beach or alone with his advisors or shadows or servants?

"Bah." He smiled at the sound of his voice imitating Kurtz's favorite word. He said it again, louder this time, "Bah!" and laughed. His smile lingered. Head tingling, he set off for the reveling.

He stopped between two tents at the edge of the clearing. Over three dozen couples danced around the bonfire now. And the women were not all Berlanders. There were peasants in the throng. How had they gotten into camp? Was that safe? What if they were working for Esek? Wasn't someone going to check?

Achan furrowed his brow, wondering how anyone might prove such a thing about a woman.

A couple whirled past him. The woman's flowery smell brought Sparrow's face to mind. He smiled at the pleasing aroma, then spotted Shung and Lady Gali swaying in the crowd. Lady Gali laughed at something Shung said and tugged on one of Shung's fat braids.

Achan's smile faded. He squeezed the neck of the wine bottle. Why was it everyone could do as they pleased but him? Why could he not have fun? Forget the fear of the pending battle? Wash his cares away with a bottle of mead? Many men lost their sanity from the bottle. And he was safe here, was he not? He had two guards at his back, making sure of it, and an entire army of his own around him. He could think of no better time for such an experience. He tipped the wine bottle up to his lips.

Only a sip dribbled out.

Could he have drunk the whole thing? Impossible. Kurtz must have given him a half-empty bottle.

He dropped it and threaded his way through the dancers toward where Kurtz sat on the end of the wagon with a peasant girl on his lap. If anyone had a fresh bottle of wine, it would be Kurtz.

"Your Highness!" someone said.

"It's the prince!"

A chorus of greetings rang out. The music segued into "The p.a.w.n Our King." Another man spoke to Achan, but Achan ignored him and pushed through the crowd.

He b.u.mped into a pair of dancers. "Sorry."

"Not at all, Your Highness."

Another couple plowed by, knocking into Achan's sore shoulder. It hardly hurt anymore, but the contact aggravated the wound and threw him off balance. He spun halfway around, lost his footing, and fell onto the trampled gra.s.s. His shoulder stung, yet he couldn't keep from laughing. His guardsmen rushed up on either side and helped him stand.

"I'm so sorry!" someone said. "Is he all right?"

Cortland tugged Achan away from the crowd. "Your Highness, let's get you back to your tent."

Achan pulled his arm from Cortland's grip and rolled his shoulder, easing away the soreness. "I'm fine."

Sir Gavin Lukos.

Achan c.o.c.ked his head and listened. A woman's high-pitched giggle turned his gaze back to the wagon. Kurtz whispered in the peasant woman's ear. She giggled again, drawing out her laugh as if she were tired of laughing yet couldn't get enough of it. Kurtz kissed her neck, her lips.

The woman's eyes met Achan's. He stared, heart thudding in his ears. She whispered to Kurtz.

"Eh?" Kurtz pushed the woman off his lap and jumped off the wagon. "Heh-hay! Pacey! You came back!" He waved Achan over. "How's my favorite oarsman?"

Achan's ears tickled. Sir Gavin Lukos.

Achan grinned, remembering the time he and Kurtz had visited a tavern in Tsaftown. See? Kurtz knew how to have fun. "Your favorite oarsman is thirsty."

Kurtz's eyes lit up. "Ahh..." He threw an arm over Achan's shoulders and steered him back to the wagon. "The question is, thirsty for what?"

Achan's gaze roamed the wagon, searching the bottles for more wine, but his sights snagged on a set of dark brown eyes.

Sir Gavin Lukos.

Achan shook away the buzzing in his head. He blinked at the girl sitting in the back of Kurtz's wagon. She was Lady Tara, yet she was not, for Tara's eyes were blue. But this maiden had the same golden ringlets and sly smile that had weakened Achan's knees.

"Challa, would you like to dance with the prince?" Kurtz lowered his voice. "And if you don't mind my saying so, Your Highness, you look like you could use a dance."

Achan stared at the girl. "Yes, I think so too."

Challa crawled to the end of the wagon, an unladylike thing to do, for the position bared more flesh of her neckline than Sparrow would ever find appropriate.

Achan averted his eyes, then cursed himself for thinking of Sparrow again. Would she haunt him forever?

"Help me down, Yer Highness?"

The uncultured edge to Challa's voice curled Achan's lips into a small smile. She sat on the end of the wagon, kicking her bare feet and holding out both hands. He took them and tugged her forward. She jumped off the wagon and into his arms.

She did that on purpose.

Sparrow again. The words she'd said when Lady Jaira had fallen against Achan back in Mirrorstone.

Get out of my head, Sparrow, Achan told himself.

He stepped back from Challa and bowed.

She tipped her head back and laughed. "Such a gentleman, yeh are. No one's ever bowed to me before."

"A crime, my lady, for you look like a n.o.blewoman I know."

Challa giggled. "A n.o.blewoman? Me?"

"Aye." Achan bowed again, delighted by her laughter. "My lady Challa, may I request the honor of a dance?"

"Well, I already said I'd dance, didn't I?"

Achan grabbed her hand and waist, and they joined the crowd of dancers. They danced a long while, stopped for a drink, and danced some more. The crowd seemed delighted by Achan's presence, and he reveled in their unabashed attention. Then somehow-though Achan could not remember when it happened or whose idea it had been-he and Challa ended up lying on their stomachs underneath Kurtz's wagon, watching the dancers from the waist down and trying to guess who was who.

"That's Shung and Lady Gali, for I'd recognize those charmice tails anywhere," Achan said. "And there is Kurtz."

"No, Yer Highness, Kurtz has brown boots, not black. He's there." Challa pointed to the other side of the clearing.

Achan squinted. Everything blurred together. "The torches must be burning low, Lady Challa, for I can hardly see your hand let alone where you're pointing."

She waved her hand in front of his face.

He laughed. "Now that I see."

Challa set her hand against his cheek and turned his face away from the dancers. The torchlight reflected in her eyes like sparks from a firesteel. And suddenly she was kissing him, hungrily, like he was food and she hadn't eaten in days.

He gasped for breaths between kisses, surprised by her affection, wondering if he should say something, but not wanting her to stop. She slid her hand up his tunic and clawed at his back like a baby cham bear.

Achan heard himself whimper, sensed the barrage of words Sir Caleb might say, but kept all rational thought at bay, remaining firmly in the fog thrilling his senses.

Challa pushed him to his back and crawled on top, nearly b.u.mping her head on the bottom of the wagon. Dried gra.s.s p.r.i.c.ked the back of his neck, but she kissed him again, and he forgot the irritation. Her kisses grew more intense.

A distant song broke through the fog. A woman's voice, growing nearer. Familiar tune. Familiar lyrics. Achan held his breath, frozen like a rabbit that sensed a predator. Challa moved her kisses to his neck.

"... apart. Whenever we're apart. Though I am nothing to you, I love-"

"Fool song knows nothing." Shung's voice was a low growl. "Gali is Shung's moon, stars. Shung's everything."

"Aww. But still..." And Lady Gali finished the song. "I love you. How can I make it known, that I love you?"

Her voice... It raked over Achan like an icy wind.

He recalled Sir Eagan's words from his manhood ceremony. "It is a man's duty to protect a lady's honor."

And Sir Caleb's said during one of many lectures, "It's the very things a man never intends to do that sneak up and ensnare him."

Achan gripped Challa's shoulders and pushed her off him. "Forgive me, Challa. You are worth more than this."

"You want to pay me more?"

Achan blinked, squinting to see her face in the darkness under the wagon. "Pay you?"

"Well, Kurtz, he already paid me plenty of-"

Achan sat up and bashed his head against the bottom of the wagon. He groaned through the pain and crawled out from under the wagon's edge on his knees and one hand, the other hand clutching his head. He stood, and his vision swam in a blurry haze. He grabbed the wagon box to steady himself. When the dizzy spell pa.s.sed, he crouched down and found Challa giggling.

"Are yeh all right, Yer Highness?"

Achan spoke softly, hoping to ease the pressure in his head. "I mean to say... that I am drunk on wine and pain. It was wrong of me to take advantage of you."

"Oh, I don't mind, Yer Highness."

She didn't mind? "You should, Challa." Shouldn't she?

Not his problem. He stumbled away. Movement behind him caused him to turn, ready to apologize to Challa again if need be, but it was only his Kingsguard shadows. Both men averted their eyes when Achan looked their way. They had been standing nearby the whole night, he had no doubt.

He turned, cheeks blazing, and trudged out of the clearing. The path ahead blurred the tents together. He tripped over a guy line and barely caught his balance before his shadows swooped in to coddle him again.

"I'm fine!" He held out his hands to prove it and give his balance time to return. He stepped slowly along the path. Every movement sent pangs of nausea through his stomach.

"Your Highness! Wait!" Kurtz's voice, behind him.