Windmaster

A cleric in the long brown robes of the Oracle of Givneh plodded down the steps into her line of vision. Ellspeth’s breath caught in her throat. He was the same man who had tried to take the Sea Falcon—to kill her crew.

“Dal,” she hissed, “he’s the one from the dock.”

Ellspeth’s thoughts raced. If she stayed, the cleric would recognize her. If she tried to leave, it would bring his attention to her even faster.

Dal’s strong arms wrapped around her waist. Ellspeth’s squeal as he pulled her onto his lap pierced the buzz of conversation and bounced off the rafters. His strength rendered her struggles useless. One of the men with his arms around a disheveled woman called out encouragement. Before she could object, Dal’s mouth covered hers. His right hand held the back of her head in a steel grip. Before her lungs were depleted of air, he released her just enough to catch a breath. The whiff of oxygen helped clear Ellspeth’s mind—and focus her thoughts. The cleric couldn’t recognize her if he couldn’t see her face.

Ellspeth tightened her leg muscles so her weight was supported by the edge of the bench rather than Dal’s knees. His exhalation was warm on her neck when he whispered “Good girl,” into her hair.

She entwined her fingers into his thick curls. A pull signaled her cooperation, and she threw herself into the deception. Three quick tugs loosened the laces of his shirt exposing his chest. With a shrug, she inched her gown further down her shoulders. The iron links of Dal’s vest were cold on her skin as her caresses moved down his back.

“M’lord,” she moaned.

Calls of approval interspersed with offers of varying degrees of suggestiveness came from every table.

“I’m next,” one called.

“Ten coppers for the night,” yelled another.

“Fifty silver coins to buy her.”

Ellspeth couldn’t tell which of the women said it, but a voice more screech than seductive made a counter offer. “You can buy me for fifty silver.”

The bass voice which belonged to the bearded tradesman in the corner, answered. “Who are you kidding, darling? Everyone has already had you, and we didn’t even pay a single copper.”

The proposals ended in an abrupt silence broken only by the crackle of logs in the fireplace. The cleric must have stopped at their table. Dal’s leg pressed against her thighs as he braced his right foot on the table leg. His wrist slid down her side to loosen the dirk in his boot under the cover of the table.

“You there.”

Without moving her head from where she nuzzled Dal’s neck, Ellspeth pictured the arrogance on the cleric’s face.

“I am talking to you. Pay attention to a bishop of the Oracle of Givneh.”

Dal’s hands hadn’t stopped roaming, when she felt his back suddenly stiffen beneath her fingers. “Wha d’ya wan?” his snarl sounded loud in her ears.

“I require the service of this woman for the night, and you and your troop to escort me to Givneh.”

Ellspeth’s eyes narrowed at the thought of what services she might provide to the Oracle. She gasped as the image of a stone altar filled her mind. The strength of Dal’s caresses forced a moan of pain from her. She knew he had pictured the flash of a knife and blood streaming from white skin.