warriors
had no need to temper their lusts, but some discipline was necessary so one did
not approach battle with important equipment unsheathed. He laughed at the
thought and Maggie spun around, her hair swirling about her shoulders. His
loins tightened. So much for sheathing one’s sword, he thought, and sank to the
ground before her.
“Food?” he asked.
“Sure. Any pizza in there?” she quipped as he rummaged in
his pack.
“Pizza? What is pizza?” Kered handed her a thick wedge of
brown bread.
“Pizza is a food from…my place.” Maggie sniffed the bread,
then gnawed on the chewy crust. “Hm, good, kind of a nutty taste,” she said
between bites.
“Water?” He held out a gourd stoppered with a wooden plug.
She nodded. When he pulled the plug she drank sparingly,
wiping her chin on the back of her hand. “Thank you, Ker.”
The flames leapt to consume the small sticks he fed them.
His face remained impassive, but his words betrayed his curiosity. “What is
a…cur, a mutt?”
Maggie sighed. “A mutt is a four-legged animal, a dog, from
my place. It is a tamed animal, furry, a pet.”
He smiled warmly. “We have dogs and pets in Tolemac. Not
such a bad thing to be.”
Maggie snorted in an exasperated manner.
“In what way am I mean-spirited? Mangy?” He continued to
pursue the subject, poking at the fire with a stick in studied nonchalance.
She considered his smile. “I guess the truth should be okay
for someone who’s reached the seventh level of awareness. You treat me with
contempt, without knowing if I am worthy of that contempt. It so happens I’m a
well-respected metalsmith in…my place.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Only men work metal.”
What was the point? But she tried again. “I assume
you hold all manner of people without your beloved arm rings to be less than
you. Where I come from, all men and women are created equal. In practice, many
are not treated so, but still, we try.”
“Men and women are not equal in Tolemac.”
“No kidding,” she muttered, picking at a ragged nail and
wishing for a manicure.
“It is not possible for men and women to be equal. You could
not best me in a fight. Want to try?”
Maggie looked up. He grinned, exposing his strong white
teeth, and Maggie found herself grinning, too. “No, I don’t want to try. And
I’m not referring to physical equality. I’m talking about equality of life,
liberty, and pursuit of happiness.”
“Happiness?” Kered shook his head. “I am no philosopher.
That, thank the wise men, is reserved for the twelfth level of awareness.”
They sat in silence. Warmth from the fire began to creep
outward to envelop them. Maggie rubbed her arms, realizing how cold she’d
become. The stone floor chilled her bottom. She could see Kered’s breath on the
air.
“How am I mangy?” he persisted.
Maggie studied him. “Your hair. When was the last time you
brushed it?”
“Brushing my hair is last on my list of priorities!”
“Fine.” Maggie drew up her knees and settled her skirt down
around her legs, propping her chin on her knees. “Tend to your own mangy
locks.”
Kered rummaged in his pack and withdrew a brush. It was like
the one Maggie’s father had on his dresser. It had no handle, but would nestle
in one’s palm. Kered tossed it to her. She ran her fingers over its dark blue
bristles. They were soft and seemed made of a natural substance rather than the
plastic she’d expected from the color. She bent her face and sniffed the bristles.
They smelled clean and fresh.
Maggie nodded her thanks and began to brush her hair. He
stared at her, watched her openly, and her hands grew stiff and her arm motions
jerky as his gaze became heated. Stealing a look at him, she saw that his
glance had fallen from her hair to her breasts.
“Come here,” he said in a low voice.
Chapter Six
“Why?” Maggie dropped her arms and hugged her chest.
“A slave must do as she is bidden,” Kered
had no need to temper their lusts, but some discipline was necessary so one did
not approach battle with important equipment unsheathed. He laughed at the
thought and Maggie spun around, her hair swirling about her shoulders. His
loins tightened. So much for sheathing one’s sword, he thought, and sank to the
ground before her.
“Food?” he asked.
“Sure. Any pizza in there?” she quipped as he rummaged in
his pack.
“Pizza? What is pizza?” Kered handed her a thick wedge of
brown bread.
“Pizza is a food from…my place.” Maggie sniffed the bread,
then gnawed on the chewy crust. “Hm, good, kind of a nutty taste,” she said
between bites.
“Water?” He held out a gourd stoppered with a wooden plug.
She nodded. When he pulled the plug she drank sparingly,
wiping her chin on the back of her hand. “Thank you, Ker.”
The flames leapt to consume the small sticks he fed them.
His face remained impassive, but his words betrayed his curiosity. “What is
a…cur, a mutt?”
Maggie sighed. “A mutt is a four-legged animal, a dog, from
my place. It is a tamed animal, furry, a pet.”
He smiled warmly. “We have dogs and pets in Tolemac. Not
such a bad thing to be.”
Maggie snorted in an exasperated manner.
“In what way am I mean-spirited? Mangy?” He continued to
pursue the subject, poking at the fire with a stick in studied nonchalance.
She considered his smile. “I guess the truth should be okay
for someone who’s reached the seventh level of awareness. You treat me with
contempt, without knowing if I am worthy of that contempt. It so happens I’m a
well-respected metalsmith in…my place.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Only men work metal.”
What was the point? But she tried again. “I assume
you hold all manner of people without your beloved arm rings to be less than
you. Where I come from, all men and women are created equal. In practice, many
are not treated so, but still, we try.”
“Men and women are not equal in Tolemac.”
“No kidding,” she muttered, picking at a ragged nail and
wishing for a manicure.
“It is not possible for men and women to be equal. You could
not best me in a fight. Want to try?”
Maggie looked up. He grinned, exposing his strong white
teeth, and Maggie found herself grinning, too. “No, I don’t want to try. And
I’m not referring to physical equality. I’m talking about equality of life,
liberty, and pursuit of happiness.”
“Happiness?” Kered shook his head. “I am no philosopher.
That, thank the wise men, is reserved for the twelfth level of awareness.”
They sat in silence. Warmth from the fire began to creep
outward to envelop them. Maggie rubbed her arms, realizing how cold she’d
become. The stone floor chilled her bottom. She could see Kered’s breath on the
air.
“How am I mangy?” he persisted.
Maggie studied him. “Your hair. When was the last time you
brushed it?”
“Brushing my hair is last on my list of priorities!”
“Fine.” Maggie drew up her knees and settled her skirt down
around her legs, propping her chin on her knees. “Tend to your own mangy
locks.”
Kered rummaged in his pack and withdrew a brush. It was like
the one Maggie’s father had on his dresser. It had no handle, but would nestle
in one’s palm. Kered tossed it to her. She ran her fingers over its dark blue
bristles. They were soft and seemed made of a natural substance rather than the
plastic she’d expected from the color. She bent her face and sniffed the bristles.
They smelled clean and fresh.
Maggie nodded her thanks and began to brush her hair. He
stared at her, watched her openly, and her hands grew stiff and her arm motions
jerky as his gaze became heated. Stealing a look at him, she saw that his
glance had fallen from her hair to her breasts.
“Come here,” he said in a low voice.
Chapter Six
“Why?” Maggie dropped her arms and hugged her chest.
“A slave must do as she is bidden,” Kered
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