Free Two to Conquer by Marion Zimmer Bradley Page A

tribute to Asturias, at least they will pay none to Ridenow or Serrais! Will you speak with the men and make sure all is in good order, or shall I?”
    “Oh, I’ll do it,” Beltran said with a yawn. “I suppose they must know that their prince cares for their welfare. I don’t know much of soldiering, but there are enough veterans here who can tell me if there is anything amiss.”
    Bard smiled wryly as Beltran went off. Beltran knew little of military tactics, perhaps; but he knew enough of statecraft so that he wanted to win the men’s liking and allegiance. A king ruled by the loyalty of his soldiers. Beltran was intelligent enough to know that Bard had the military command of this compaign; it could hardly be otherwise. But he was taking no chances that the men would think their prince indifferent to their personal welfare! Bard watched Prince Beltran go from man to man, making inquiries about their horses, their blankets and gear, their rations. The mess cooks were building fires and something was stewing in a cookpot. It smelled extremely good, after a long day of riding, with no more noon meal than a hunk of hard journey-bread and a handful of nuts!
    Left for a moment without occupation, he found himself drifting in the direction of the place, somewhat apart, where the leroni had their camp. The memory of the eyes of the pretty Mirella was like a magnet; she could not have been much more than fifteen.
    He found her making a fire. A tent had been pitched, and through the fabric he could see the hefty form of the leronis Melora moving around inside. He knelt beside her and said, “May I offer you fire, damisela ? He held out the oil-fed flint-striker which was simpler to use than an ordinary tinder-box.
    She did not turn her eyes toward him. He could see the blush he found so adorable, flooding over her pale neck.
    She said, “I thank you, my lord. But I do not need it.” And indeed, as she gazed at the piled tinder, her hand laid on the silken bag at her throat where, he guessed, she kept the starstone, the tinder burst suddenly into flame.
    He laid a light hand on her wrist and whispered, “If you would only look into my eyes, damisela , I too would burst into flame.”
    She turned a little toward him, and although she did not raise her eyes, he saw the curve of a faint smile at the corners of her mouth.
    Suddenly a shadow fell across them.
    “Mirella,” said Master Gareth sternly, “get inside the tent and help Melora with your bedding.”
    Coloring, she rose quickly and hurried inside the tent. Bard rose too, angrily, facing the elderly sorcerer.
    “With all respect, I warn you, vai dom ,” Master Gareth said, “do your wenching elsewhere. That one is not for you.”
    “What is it to you, old man? Is she your daughter? Or perhaps your light-o-love, or handfasted bride?”
    Bard demanded in a rage. “Or have you won her loyalty with your spells?”
    Master Gareth shook his head, smiling. “None of those,” he said, “but on campaign I am responsible for the women who ride with me, and they are not to be touched.”
    “Except, perhaps, by you?”
    Again the silent headshake and the smile. “You know nothing of the world in which the leroni live, sir.
    Melora is my daughter; I will not have her touched by casual amours except at her own wish. As for Mirella, she is to be kept virgin for the Sight, and there is a curse on any who should take her, unless she resigns it of her free will. I warn you, avoid her.”
    Stung, red-faced, feeling like a scolded schoolboy before the level eyes of the old sorcerer, Bard bent his head and muttered, “I did not know.”
    “No, and that is why I am telling you,” said the old man genially. “For Mirella was too shy to do so herself. She is not accustomed to men who cannot read her thoughts.”
    Bard cast a resentful look toward the tent. He thought it should have been the fat and ugly Melora, the old man’s daughter, kept virgin for the Sight, for what man