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Date Posted: 09:18:42 12/24/01 Mon
Author: Leigh
Subject: Re: Orignal Gemstone 2
In reply to: Leigh 's message, "Orignal Gemstone" on 03:53:05 12/24/01 Mon

************

Nikita struggled to free herself from Michael but his hold was too tight.

"Will you stop moving," he whispered loudly. "I'm trying to help you."

She ceased her movement but the look she cast him was filled with distrust.

"I've got a horse waiting around the corner. Do you promise to behave yourself?" He could feel her jaw clench beneath his hand, then she relaxed slightly and nodded once. He released her and at the same time relieved her of the dagger sheathed in her belt. "I'll take this," he said, ignoring the glaring look she gave him. "Follow me."

True to his word there was a chestnut colored mare tied to a bush waiting for them. Michael removed from its back a long dark cloak and threw it at her. "Put this on," he ordered. "The guards at the gates will think you're one of the druids. Keep your mouth closed and you shouldn't encounter any problems."

Nikita stood looking down at the thick hooded cloak he'd thrown her and then raised her gaze up to meet his. "You arranged all this. You sent that guard in knowing that I would attack him."

"Stop talking and get on the horse," he replied. "You haven't much time." To his dismay though Nikita shook her head.

"I'm not leaving."

"What!"

She slipped on the cloak and turned to survey the building. "Your uncle has something that belongs to me. I won't leave without it."

"Are you crazy?" Michael hissed, grabbing her by the shoulders. "I'm trying to prevent another war from breaking out between our countries and you're worried about something my uncle took from you? What is it? A necklace? A bracelet? What is so important that you would risk your neck, not to mention the fate of thousands of lives over?"

Nikita shoved his hands off of her and stood glaring back at him. "He stole my birthright," she stated tersely, then poked a finger to his chest. "You're not the only one trying to prevent a war, Scythian. The ivory tusk with the sapphire? That is mine. It was stolen several years ago."

"You've not had it for years?" Michael asked, his voice fast becoming irritated. "Then why the hell do you need it now?"

Nikita lifted the hood of the cloak and covered her head with it. She took special care to stuff all of her light colored hair inside so that it was hidden from view. "I need it because if I return to Vatia without it, my mother and her armies will still attack this place in order to retrieve it. By now she knows that your uncle is in possession of it."

"Is it that important? Your mother would actually go to war to regain it?"

"Yes!" she replied. "Now point me in the direction of your uncle's room. I shall retrieve it and then I will be on my way."

"You really are crazy," he muttered. "Do you think you can just walk in there and take it? There are guards posted at his door. At his bedside are his viziards and druids. What do you plan to do? Kill them all in order to get to the tusk? Even if it is your birthright, whatever that means, it will mean your death to try and retrieve it."

She paused, frowning as she considered his words. Then a thought struck her and she turned to him, her eyes lighting up. "Then you must get it for me."


************


Michael entered his uncle's chambers and stood a moment as he absorbed the scene before him. The druids along with two viziards, his uncle's religious advisors, remained where they had been when he left his uncle's room several hours earlier. Dressed in their hooded robes, they knelt at the foot of the bed chanting prayers in a language he did not understand.

Incense had been lit and placed in the corners, its spicy fragrance lightly camouflaging the smell of death which hovered in the room. Michael strode slowly forward and joined Walter, his uncle's physician, who stood looking down upon his patient with a worried expression.

"There's been no change?"

The old man shook his head. Paul lay on his side, leaning slightly forward onto the cushions that had been placed beneath him. Blood continued to ooze from the wound on his back. Michael felt a mixture of feelings stir within him. Paul was the eldest of his mother's four half-brothers. When she died leaving an eight year old Michael alone in the world (he never did know who his father was) Paul had taken him under his care.

Things had not been easy between the two of them, though, for Paul and his three younger brothers lived a rough life dependent upon warfare and looting. Together the four Wolfe brothers and a few acquaintances formed a gang that plundered neighboring tribes and forced the captured men to either join them or die.

As the years passed the Wolfe brothers' holdings became larger, their following more populous. The brothers decided the time had come for them to split. They divided the land evenly amongst themselves and each set off to reign over his own portion.

Paul ruled the northern most land, east of the Caucuses and Megara, Rhus, and Stephen divided the plains to the south. Paul trained Michael in the art of warfare from the time he turned ten. But Michael, unlike his uncles, did not enjoy killing.

He was an excellent swordsman and could defeat any of the other men under his uncle's command but he lacked the desire to lead an army out to battle unless it was to protect their borders and the people within. It was one of the reasons Paul had sent him to the Lepenese rather then have him join in the attack upon Pontus.
Michael thought back to the blond Vatian woman waiting for him outside. The accusation and anger in her eyes as she'd revealed the destruction his uncle's army had caused sickened and disheartened him.

What had his uncle been thinking? Surely he knew that the Vatian's would retaliate, not only to seek revenge for Pontus, but to take back their princess -- if you could call the pale-haired warrior he left outside that. Somehow he found the title a bit too dainty for the Vatian. That wasn't to say that he found her unwomanly. No, Michael thought, she was the most appealing and fascinating woman he'd ever met. Brave, self-assured, and strong. And when she had looked into his eyes he had seen a reflection of his own soul in the blue depths. She was a warrior but she did not delight in bloodshed.

"Michael."

Michael dropped to his knees at the sound of his uncle's voice and knelt beside the bed, leveling their gaze. Paul's face was gray, his eyes dim, but a determination filled his expression as he reached for his nephew's hand and closed his fingers around Michael's.

"I'm here, Uncle."

"The gemstone..."

A line formed between Michael's brows. Gemstone? "Don't try to talk," he said, thinking that Paul was hallucinating.

"No ... I must ... W-where is the girl?"

There was a tightening in Michael's chest. "She's locked up," he lied.

Paul's eyes narrowed, his gaze intensified. "Promise me ... you'll keep her safe."

The tightening loosened and Michael felt relief flow through his veins. "Of course," he answered. "Anything."

"The Vatians will attack soon," Paul continued. "Make sure they do not get hold of the girl. Hold her till your uncles arrive. Give Rhus the ivory tusk ... and the girl. Tell him, tell him she is the gemstone."

Michael's mouth suddenly grew dry. What was his uncle planning? Rhus was the most ruthless of the brothers and the one that Michael detested the most. He remained silent though as Paul finished his say.

"Promise me, Michael."

Michael looked into his uncle's eyes then thought of the Vatian waiting for him outside. Then, with a slight nod, he gave his uncle a promise he knew he could not keep.

Paul drifted into unconsciousness and Michael rose to his feet and backed away from the bed. Walter moved beside him and placed his hand on Michael's elbow. "You do not look well," he said. "I can make you some tea that will help you to sleep."

"No." Michael shook his head, then pulled away from the old man's touch lest he discover his betrayal. Walter had always treated him kindly but Michael knew that the old man was loyal to Paul. "I need some air. That's all."

Walter nodded, though he continued to watch Michael. "Are you sure?" he asked, taking a step closer.

"Yes. Please. Just take care of my uncle. Make sure that he is comfortable."

The reminder of his patient's needs distracted Walter and he turned once again to the man lying upon the bed as Michael melted quietly to the back. He stood in the shadows and looked about the room until his eyes lit upon the ivory tusk that lay on the table a few feet away from him.
Quietly he made his way over and picked the tusk up. It was heavy. Solid. His fingers ran over the engravings upon it and he wondered at the significance of the meanings behind it. Then with a sigh he turned and headed toward the door.

"Where are you going with that?"

Michael froze and turned to see that one of the druids had risen and was facing him. The others in the room fell silent and had turned their attention to him. He could see suspicion mounting in their eyes.

"I promised my uncle I would keep it safe," he stated, looking over to the bed where Paul lay unconscious. "And that's what I plan to do."

*


Nikita fidgeted in the darkened alcove where Michael had left her. Where was he? She pulled the cloak tighter about her and had just made up her mind to go back after the tusk herself when Michael showed up.

"Do you have it?" she asked, her voice anxious.

Michael drew his cloak open and revealed the tusk he carried within its fold. Nikita reached anxiously for it but he held up a restraining hand. "How do I know I can trust you on this?" he asked.

"What do you mean? The tusk is mine. It belongs to my people."

"Yes, I believe that," he replied impatiently. "What I mean is, how do I know you will not still lead your army against my people?"

Nikita stood a while thinking. Then she shook her head. "You will just have to trust me," she said. "I give you my word that once I am back safely in my own land and show my mother the ivory tusk, she will agree not to attack against your people, unless, you should attack us first."

"I wouldn't go through all this trouble if I didn't want to avoid war," Michael said.

"I know." Then, to Michael's surprise, she reached up and pushed the hood back from her head, then removed something from around her neck. It appeared to be some sort of necklace, a charm of some sort that hung from a thin leather strap. She held it in her palm a moment then reached out and placed it in his free hand.

"What is this?" he asked, looking down at the flat stone-like charm.

"It’s a rune-stone," she explained. "My people believe that it has certain magical power that will protect the wearer. This is mine that I've had since my birth. I give it to you as a token of gratitude for all that you've done this night to help me. Even more importantly," she said, stepping closer to him. "If you should ever need my help, send this with someone you trust to my border. Have them give it to the first guard they encounter with the instruction that it should be delivered to me. I promise that as soon as I receive it, I shall come."

"There is no need for you to make such a gesture," Michael protested, but Nikita would not take back the stone.

"Give me the tusk," she said instead, holding her hands out. "I hope that you will never have need to send me back my rune-stone, Scythian. But in case you do, I will be here to repay my debt."

He handed over the tusk and watched as she stashed it beneath the folds of her cloak. Then raised her hands and covered her head once more with the hood before mounting the horse he had provided her. She gave him one final look, then turned and rode off into the night.

Michael stood for several minutes staring in the direction she had ridden off in. Then he looked down at the rune-stone in his hand and he closed his fingers over it. It was still warm from where it had laid, hidden beneath her breastplate. He lifted the string and slipped the necklace about his neck, then dropped the stone inside of his robe so that it lay against his skin. He didn't know if he believed in the stone's magic but he did feel a sense of comfort feeling it next to him. He turned then and retraced his steps back into the fort. Never once seeing the pair of eyes that had watched his exchange with the Vatian warrior.


************

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