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something to
bargain with, I want some proper clothing… and a bath.”
    Grumbling, he pushed her aside and mounted his stallion, slipping his axe
into its scabbard. Looking down at her, he said, “There are some stacks of armor
and weapons in a nearby culvert.” He pointed it out. “There should be clothes
among them, but they won’t be what you’re used to.”
    “I’ll make them do,” she said. “And the food?” He nodded over a shoulder,
saying, “There’s a patch of forest over there… my guess is it’s full of
game.”
    She smiled. “Then by tonight… we should both be free of our prisons.”
    Without replying, he turned his horse away and walked it toward the black
ridge.
     
    Cobra watched him, holding her smile in place until he rode down into a
depression and was out of sight. Then she let it drop, and raced to the fallen
leaden vial. Snapping up both stopper and vial, she held them away so the beam
of black light could not touch her, and inserted the stopper. She slipped the
vial inside her cloak and breathed a sigh of relief. The black wine’s magic had
many uses and might help her prove her worth to her new lord if and when he
needed her help. She rose and started after Gath.
    When she caught sight of him, a rush of excitement flushed her cheeks, and
she hurried to catch up. After three strides, she slowed abruptly, shocked by
her actions. She was acting like a slave, and enjoying it.

EIGHT
    THE HUNTED

    C oncealed by a boulder, Cobra stood knee-deep in the forest pool bathing.
Moonlight filtered through the surrounding pines, dappling her creamy shoulders
and back. The rest of her was as dark as the night, invisible against the forest
shadows. Finishing, she waded quietly to the boulder and, bracing herself with
her hands, raised up on her toes and peeked over the crest.
    A campfire flickered in a small clearing beyond the boulder. The remains of a
roasted deer were spitted over it. Beyond the fire, Gath sat against a thick
oak. His weapons and armor were piled beside him, and he was naked except for
loincloth and helmet. The headpiece hung heavily between his massive shoulders,
and his burnished chest heaved impatiently.
    Cobra stared in awe and wonder, marveling at the mere sight of him. Huge.
Male. The most deadly force to walk the earth, and he needed her, was dependent
on her. The knowledge made her senses wilt with unruly pleasure. It was almost
girlish, not only enslaving her senses, but her mind and heart.
    Realizing that a decidedly unqueenly blush had risen to her cheeks, Cobra
slipped back behind the rock. She dipped her hands in the cold water and held
them to her hot cheeks, then did it again and again until they cooled. She
splashed her body with water so that tiny droplets flickered on her flesh like
moving moonlit jewels, then waded out of the pool into the firelight. There she
stood drying herself with her back to Gath, wearing her nudity with the same
audacious glitter with which midnight wears the shooting star.
    She could hear his helmet grate against its chain-mail cowl, then his dry,
harsh voice growled, “Hurry it, bitch.”
    Stroking the drops of water off her body, she asked, “Is it growing too heavy
for you?”
    “Just get over here.”
    “I’m coming,” she said, but it sounded like a long, time-consuming trip.
    Piled at her feet were ragged garments and a small dish of rose-tinted rouge
she had made from talidda and tamal berries gathered from the forest. She
applied the rouge to cheeks, lips and breasts using her little finger, then tied
her hair back with a scarlet rag and dressed herself in silver loop earrings,
indigo robe and cloak and rawhide boots. She tied the robe about her narrow
waist with a scarlet rope, then moved toward Gath.
    The stallion, standing in the shadows of the oak, moved restlessly as she
approached, and she glided to the animal, reached out a soft hand to its muzzle.
“Do I disturb you, pet?” She