The Gentle Master

Now, however, she plunged ahead in the pitch-blackness, any reservations about escape, vanished. Her life depended on flight. She needed no light, as she knew the dank hidden maze better than she did the palace that concealed it. She did not hesitate or even cry out when her bare feet stepped on one of the maze's furry, long-tailed inhabitants who squealed in protest.

Ariana knew of one exit to the outside world. During her childhood explorations, she'd found daylight staling through chinks in the stone. There was a round block of wood blocking a hole in the stones. She'd pushed it and found she'd reached the far corner of the palace wall. A thick cluster of gnarled old trees concealed the opening. From there she would be able to swim the moat and go into the cover of the Sylvan Lands.

As she'd known, faint rays of light showed up ahead as she approached the corridor that led to her escape. Swiftly, she moved along the cool packed earth, using the damp stone walls to guide her. The escape hole was small, with barely enough room to spare as she pulled the wooden block aside, dropped to her hands and knees and crawled through. The gnarled trees covering the escape hole tore at her dress, skin and hair, and the rocky soil dug into her palms and knees. But she lunged ahead, desperate to get as far away as possible before the queen's body was found. The first of the three Adaman suns was rising, and the other two would soon follow, leaving her completely visible.

Ariana plunged into the moat, splashing her way across the freezing water. Once across, she scrambled up the steep muddy bank and ran across the meadow, finally able to disappear under the thick canopy of the Sylvan Lands.

* * * *

Inside the forest was dark and cool, with only faint shafts of sunlight piercing the overhead branches. Ariana stumbled around for what seemed hours, unable to find any sort of path. Her feet and hands were badly scraped and she grew hungry.

As the day wore on and the first Weiran sun began to set, she grew exhausted from the potent combination of terror, hunger and grief. She wanted to curl up into a ball on the loamy ground and rest, but forged on lest soldiers from the palace come upon her and punish her as they had once punished the general.

The forest began to darken as the second sun faded over the horizon. What little light penetrated the forest canopy was rapidly fading. Ariana looked frantically around in the darkening gloom, whimpering in fear and frustration. Since she was a little girl, she had known only the palace where all her needs for food and clothing were met. Her only survival skills were those necessary for dealing with palace intrigues. Out here, she felt utterly helpless. She realized that her only hope was to stay in one spot and rest until the morning. The third sun was almost gone, and soon the darkness would swallow her.

Ariana crouched down, pressing her injured palms into the damp rotting leaves on the forest floor. She dropped to her knees, taking the first moment of rest she'd had all day. Soon her eyelids grew heavy and her head and shoulders drooped. She did not fight sleep, surrendering to the possibility of a few hours' escape from her peril.

In her dreams, she heard the night animals crying and croaking. Footsteps sounded on the wet leaves, pattering in her ears. Suddenly she gasped, ripped from sleep by a pair of huge, iron-strong arms gripping her from behind. With her arms pinned tightly to her body, Ariana could not move, and felt herself being hauled up roughly from the ground. She started to scream but a large hand clamped down on her mouth. Her toes dragged along the ground as her assailant carried her swiftly through the forest.

Though the forest was pitch black, her attacker moved with the sureness of a wild creature with night vision. Even in the midst of choking and bouncing around, Ariana realized that the man who carried her was not one of the palace guards. Not one of those men would be able to move through the Sylvan Lands in the black of night with such ease.

She did not struggle or try to scream again, and soon, her kidnapper stopped and slung her over his shoulder the way peasants did sacks of wheat or barley.

The man wore skins of chaya beasts, and the fur of his clothing brushed her face as her cheek bobbed against his powerful backside. He did not slow down until he reached a break in the trees. From her upside down position, she could make out the fiery orange ball that was the Adaman moon, deep in the purple sky. But that was the last thing she saw, for hanging upside down had caused all the blood to rush into her head. She was so nauseous from not eating and from being bounced upside down, that when her captor began climbing into the rocky hills of the caves, Ariana lost consciousness.

* * * *

When she awoke, she found herself in a shadowy room with firelight flickering off stone walls. For one brief moment, she thought she was back in the queen's bedchamber, having just awoken from a nightmare.

But when she tried to rise, she couldn't. Her wrists were bound together behind her back and her ankles were bound at the end of her outstretched legs. She was sitting up with her back against stone, looking out into what appeared to be a cave.

Her captor was in the middle of the room, crouched by the fire, bent over something she could not see. Beyond him, was a yawning hole through which she could see the dark night and the Adaman moon.

The man was large, and even covered in his tunic of furs, Ariana could make out his warrior's build. Part of his muscular back was exposed, the skin criss-crossed by deep angry scars. The firelight glinted off his mane of silver-blond hair. Ariana caught her breath. She knew exactly who had captured her.

As she watched, he turned around, obviously aware of her gaze on him. When he saw her eyes were open, he rose from the fire and approached her.

Karan knelt down, thrusting his large face close to hers. His eyes were a deep blue, the color of the sky when all three Weiran suns shone at once. He had high cheekbones, and his strong jaw was covered with a wild silky beard the same color as his hair. Though the beard was full, it did not quite cover the queen's brand on his right cheek. Ariana saw in him the beauty of raw male power and in spite of her fear, felt a slight pulsing between her thighs.

"Who are you?" he growled, so close that she could feel his warm breath on her face and smell the smoke of the fire in his beard.

"I'm Ariana," she said softly. "I was the queen's slave."

"Aye? Is that so?" he replied in a Pierran heavily tinged by his Veltish accent. "Did she send you to spy on me?"

At his question about Queen Maya, Ariana felt her eyes fill with tears. "My lady's dead, Sir. Someone poisoned her. I'll be to blame. I fled for my life."

Karan's eyebrows drew together. He wore a fierce expression and looked about to answer her harshly. But as he continued to stare into her eyes, he seemed to think the better of it and softened. "Why do you address me thus?" His tone was less gruff.

"Address you how, my lord?"

"Like that. With titles of respect. Don't you know who I am?"

"Yes, General," Ariana answered. "I know who you are."

Karan's face went dark and he reached out, grabbing a fistful of her hair and forcing her head back. "Do you mock me? Why shouldn't I drag you back down there to suffer your punishment as I suffered mine?"

Ariana began to tremble. Rivulets of fear pulsed through her bound body. She stared widely at him, grimacing from the pain of his hold on her hair. "Please don't, my lord," she begged. "I don't want to die there! I'm innocent!"

Karan once again pushed his face into hers, so close that their noses almost touched. "What if you're lying?" he growled. "I could just kill you right now."

Ariana looked into his eyes. After long years of struggling to survive as a slave in the palace, she had developed a sensitivity that enabled her to anticipate another's needs, motives and feelings just by a look or a gesture. Sometimes, even by the footfall of her approaching queen, she knew the woman's mood and what treatment would please her most.

Now, her gazed plumbed the depths of Karan's eyes, past the glittering blue to his soul. Underneath the anger he showed her was great suffering and torment. She felt his goodness and nobility. And she also knew he did not really want to hurt her.

All her fear left her in that moment. "I would rather die by your hand, lord. By the hand of one who is honorable and decent. And innocent. I know-"

"Stop it!" Karan hissed, releasing her hair as if it had burned him. He continued to stare at her. But after several moments, the ferocity drained from his features. He did not move away, and though he looked at her less harshly, his eyes still radiated mistrust.

Ariana squirmed again in her bonds. Her wrists were horribly chafed and pain radiated upward, all the way to her shoulders. "Please, my lord! Don't let them find me! I throw myself on your mercy!" She stifled a sob, though tears escaped unbidden. They ran down her cheeks, and she was helpless to stop them or wipe them away as she watched Karan for his next reaction. He seemed to have some sort of battle going on inside him, but what it was, she couldn't tell.

As he watched her, his eyes began to rake over her body as if he had just become aware of her beauty.

Under his gaze, Ariana realized that she was almost naked. Her silk dress, already sheer enough to show the outlines of her breasts and pubic mound, was badly torn, exposing her nipples. The skirt of her gown had also ridden up her legs, making her thighs visible almost to her crotch. One more inch and Karan would have been able to see the red curls that covered it.

"What will you give me in return?" he asked, his voice having fallen to a more husky tone.

Ariana felt the gentle pulsing resume between her thighs.

"Whatever you wish, my lord," she answered. "I swear it. But please, unbind me, I beg you. I'm in pain and I haven't eaten since yesterday. And I'm cold. I promise, if I prove to be a wretch, you may kill me."

Something in her voice must have touched Karan, for he gave a start, as if shocked from a trance.

"Forgive me," he said softly. "I have become the animal they tried to make of me." He leaned over and untied her wrists and ankles. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I'll bring some bandages."

He went to a corner of the cave and disappeared, returning with a bowl of water and a rag. Gently, he washed her cuts, carefully taking each hand and foot in his large hand and smoothing the wet rag over the damaged skin. Then he patted the wounded parts dry and bandaged them.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, and Ariana leaned back, closing her eyes with relief. When she opened them again, Karan had gone to the fire and brought her back a crude wooden plate with a piece of roasted meat on it and a goblet of water.

"Here," he said, setting her meal on the ground beside her. "It's not palace fare, but it's all I have." He sounded embarrassed.

"Thank you, my lord. For me, it's a feast." The smell of the food made her mouth water and she devoured it like a starving beast, grateful that the general had turned his back on her ravening and gone to the fire again. She washed her food down with greedy gulps of water.

When she'd finished, Karan took her plate and cup. He then went to a trunk against one wall and pulled out some fur skins. He set one on the floor for a bed and draped the other one over Ariana's near-nakedness.

"There," he said. "Sleep now."

Ariana looked up at him, almost in tears. "Thank you, lord," she said in a whisper. "You are kind."

He looked down at her. The fierceness was gone from his face and she saw only sadness. Had she not been so pained and exhausted, she would have embraced him a placed a tender kiss on his lips.

He sighed. "Sleep now," he repeated. He turned and went back to his place by the fire.

The warmth of the flames reached Ariana and she lay down, wrapping the fur covering tightly around her. She felt the beginnings of illness stir in her body, remembering her chill in the freezing water along with all the other grief and stress she'd endured.

She glanced at the General's strong crouching form. Now she could hear the gentle scraping of a knife blade against wood. Her head still hurt and her body ached mercilessly. She knew how utterly helpless she was now, how completely dependent on Lord Karan's sense of honor for her life.

Ariana closed her eyes, lulled by the crackling of the fire and, strangely, by the general's nearness. She knew deep in her being that in spite of how he had treated her at first, he was truly a man of honor and would keep her safe from the palace guards. For his protection, she would gratefully serve him. She had nothing else to give but her body.

Except her heart. He so obviously had gone deprived of the softness of love. She craved to give that to him as well. He was everything she'd seen when she looked into his soul. He was decent and honorable and strong. He had all of Maya's good qualities without her rapaciousness. Ariana had loved the woman, but was not blind to her faults.

The sounds of Karan's wood carving grew fainter. Ariana felt herself succumbing to sleep. But not before she uttered a silent prayer to Lord Galen. Please, Lord! She begged silently. Let it be your will that he would have me!

CHAPTER THREE

By the gods, but she is exquisite! Karan thought every time he looked at her in her sleep. She had been slumbering for nearly a full turn of Adamah around the Weiran suns, and he recognized by the rasp in her breath that illness was overtaking her. He knelt down and placed a large, callused hand across her forehead. The skin burned to his touch, and her sensual lips had turned from dusky rose to a chalky purple.

Karan blamed himself for her condition. After the way he had manhandled her and stared her down with his general's glare, speaking to her as he would a prisoner of war, only a miracle would have made her feel no effects.

He remembered the way she had gazed steadily back at him, refusing to be cowed. She had answered his every question with dignity and respect. A respect he knew he didn't deserve. But by doing so, she had reawakened something in him he had long thought dead, murdered by the queen and her vicious minions. He had felt once again the racing of a warrior's blood in his veins, not because of the fear he had engendered in her; that had made him ashamed, but because of her words.

The girl's avowed faith in his honor had made him feel the power he still possessed, crouched within him like a panther or a chaya beast ready to spring on its prey. Perhaps that was what had made her so beautiful to him, what had made him burn with an unexpected desire to possess her. No man worth his blood could resist such faith shining from a woman's eyes. The last woman who had looked at him that way had been Lilya, his beloved, and the mother of their daughter, Lara. Only days before all the horror...the last time he'd made love to her, and she'd whispered his name...

Karan shook himself from his agonizing memories and tended to the ill woman, the slave called Ariana.

Her fever lasted several days, during which Karan only left her side to grab a mouthful of food to keep him going. He'd tended many a wounded and sick soldier on the battlefield, but never had he feared for a fallen man's survival as he did for hers. Though he had known her a mere few days, he feared losing her. If she died, he would be alone again, simply battling for existence, haunting the lands surrounding the palace, waiting for some sign to tell him when he could penetrate its walls and rescue Lara from her Pierran slavers.

To this day, the raucous laughs of their captors echoed in his memory.

"She'll make fine bed sport one day for the future king!" one of them had gibed before dragging Lara off to the palace and him to be whipped, branded and set loose like wild game for the hunt.

Karan pulled back the fur covering, allowing the heat of fever to escape Ariana's body. The gown she wore was torn and soiled beyond repair. He reached out and grabbed hold of the silken cloth, tearing it as easily as a spider's web, and pulled it away from her body so he could bathe her. Had she not been so ill, he would have taken more time to gaze on her beauty, the cream-colored skin and fiery hair, both on her head and her pubic mound. He had not lain with a woman since the Pierrans had felled him. The sight of her caused his long-slumbering drive to awaken.

He soaked a rag in a bowl of cool water and tenderly passed it over Ariana's burning skin, across her neck, down her chest to the underside of her breasts. He dipped the rag back into the water to rinse from it the body heat it had absorbed and wrung it out again. He continued on her stomach and over her mound where the water caused the scarlet curls to glisten. Gently, he parted her legs and wiped the cool cloth between them, parting her vaginal lips where the heat of fever gathered and was trapped.

When he had finished bathing her, he left her uncovered so that the air would chill down her fever. When her skin had cooled slightly, he replaced the fur coverlet and watched, crouched beside her, for her teeth to stop chattering and her body to stop shivering. For a moment, her eyes opened and he thought she gazed at him. The emerald pools were glassy from the fever. He realized she was not seeing him. She whimpered and closed her eyes again, making him wonder what images were passing through her fevered dreams.

He shivered again with the fear of losing her, and dug into his heart for his long-buried faith. He reached out his large hand, from which the queen's brand would never fade and tenderly smoothed back her hair.

"By your grace, Lord Galen," Karan muttered, "Let her live." The force of his prayer grew with each passing of his hand over her brow. "Please," he whispered, beseeching the god he had worshiped until his downfall. "Let her live."

Ariana never remembered having so many dreams. She only knew that when there was a pause between them, she would open her eyes, wishing to rise, only to find her body heavy and molten, surrounded by crackling flames.

She succumbed to the dreams, a hazy mosaic of scenes from her life that passed through the engulfing fire. Mostly, she saw Maya gazing on her, a bewitching smile on her golden face. She could hear the queen's silvery laughter falling in a silken shower around her, and see light glinting off her raven hair. She felt Maya's lips pressing against hers and her mistress' graceful fingertips caressing her breasts and her moist cleft.

Sometimes, though, in spite of her fevered dreams, she would become aware of the general. She would feel his large hand cradling her head, gently ladling cool sips of water between her parched lips. She felt the damp cloth that he passed over her burning skin. A few times, when she opened her eyes, she would see his face hovering amidst the flames, watching her with concern.

He was still there when the flames cooled and perspiration drenched her hair and skin. He had been watching her and she swore she saw moisture glistening in his eyes when she looked up at him. She didn't have the strength to speak or to lift her head, but she was happy to see him and managed a weak smile. Though she wanted to stay awake, she couldn't and began to drift back into a cooler, more restful sleep. But not before she felt his large hand caress her brow.

By the next night, she was able to sit up with Karan's help. He leaned her back against the wall for support and crouched beside her, spoon-feeding her some broth he had made. He brought the spoon to her lips and let the broth slide between them in careful and tender movements, as if she were a child. She thought to herself she had not received such gentle care from a man since her father.