mix of vomit and raw sweat. Muffled voices distantly moaned.
Mahzit’s hands clutched his ears, hoping to drown out the loud pounding blasting at him from the rhythmic beat of his heart.
A few deep breaths refreshed his memory of the night before, crippling him into agonizing embarrassment. Impulsiveness had, apparently, dragged him into another bitter humiliation.
Mocking tones grated in his head from Sarleni’s stinging voice.
Mahzit, shame on you! You’re in a Bel-loniean tank with a bunch of other wasted sots.
Get out of my head, he groused, resentfully.
You need to fix the trouble you started.
Her scolding was evident with every word.
He groaned, inwardly relieved to feel his sister’s thoughts fade.
All he’d wanted to do was enjoy a nice evening in Bel-loniea. The long trip to Kamina and back had been stressful. They’d accomplished their mission to find Sarleni. He deserved a little relaxation with his comrades. What went wrong? How’d he end up here? He tried to remember. Memories assembled slowly.
He’d been assigned to the local barracks with the other Helandi officers from the rescue team. Having little to do that evening, they decided to visit the famous Bel-loniean Pleasure Palace. Local taverns commonly provided entertainment and comfort for warriors at the expense of the government. This was a commercial establishment highly recommended for its international flair.
Richly ornate tapestries adorned the foyer and main salons where dignitaries of Bel-loniea and wealthy international travelers were regularly welcomed. Its inner courtyard rang with half drunken revelry. Songs enlivened the atmosphere, drifting through the upper balcony where merry diners would disappear later in the evening for private partying. Shaded alcoves were hidden from view as he and his friends were ushered through a patio and into a brightly lit lounge, with its central fountain and elegant statues.
Crackling fireplaces warmly flickered in each corner. Corridors and staircases provided easy access to upper floors. The adjoining bar and booths were occupied so their hostess split them up at different tables, near a ceiling-high fireplace. They were having a splendid evening, already engaged in bold conversation with their table companions, and soon gained the attention of several attractive women. The Helandian warriors immersed themselves in the light hearted camaraderie.
Mahzit felt flushed from the drinks and as he surveyed the young ladies near the bar, an all too familiar intrusion had usurped his privacy: his sister’s voice. They’d hardly connected since he’d dropped her off at the Dorta Estates.
Sarleni, you certainly have bad timing. What do you want?
I talked to Torlo Hannis about giving you a position under his command. Expect new orders and be sharp, brother. Take advantage of your exposure to Kamina. I promised your loyalty, your dedication to duty and your intelligence. I lied a little.
Her smugness had been softly biting. He’d wrangled with Sarleni’s cutting personality since childhood. She’d grown into a cleverly determined woman.
I’m not nearly as bright as you are.
She retorted: No man is!
Actually he envied Sarleni’s relationship with her new soul mate. He wondered if that would ever happen to him: maybe someday—if he was lucky enough.
His eyes scanned across the beautiful young women and then back to a brown eyed blonde who was gazing invitingly towards him. Eager to approach her, he shot back at Sarleni. Go dance with your toy-man, then!
My Adt is special. So don’t go insulting him; at least not within hearing of his keen ears. His sword point can nick his name across your face in.…
I’m not defenseless! Mahzit feigned hurt pride.
Next to Adt you’re an amateur. Remember he’s a Dorta, son of the famous Kigor, master of the blade.
I remember.
Oh, go and impress those ladies. They’ll enjoy your charades!
Then she left his head.
Mahzit motioned the blonde to join him. She was quick to respond, sitting down next to him. He ordered drinks for both of them.
The young lady had a musically light voice. Alluring intimacy colored her words.
When the drinks came, they saluted each other, playfully teasing. The Porshi had freed up his natural male virility. He wanted to take her flesh against his own. Instead, he managed to curb his appetite to the conversation. After dinner, would be soon enough to continue their flirtation in a less public, and more secluded setting.
Mahzit was ordering Ka to finish off their meal when a voice at the next table diverted his attention.
“There’s talk of war!” Somebody muttered: “Wouldn’t that be exciting?”
“War talk is just idle nonsense clamoring at the wind,” the young blonde chided. “You men live on war talk.”
Even as she spoke, he felt a slight shift of her thigh touching his.
A gentle voice from the other table said, “War causes mass destruction. Innocent people pay heavily.”
“So what? Life is a struggle! The strong and lucky survive.”
That sneer came from a square faced man with a thick middle and beefy arms. Yelling, bickering, and drunken talk had risen to a tense pitch, reflecting the street talk of Bel-loniea. The atmosphere had switched from joviality to tense war talk.
Mahzit wanted to ignore the ruckus and concentrate on the young lady—her thigh—and the rest of her, too, later; upstairs.
He touched her shoulder, letting his fingers trace down the slender arm to delicate fingers.
“You are so strong, and I love being with a strong man like you.”
A slight shift of warm damp skin against his thigh beneath the table accented the soft voice. Mahzit was growing anxious, wanting to subtly whisk her away to a private room.
From the other table the conversation continued to blare loudly.
“…influential families support this action.”
“Can we trust anybody? Who are these Helandi foreigners? From the Northern Territories, I’ve heard! Can’t be trusted, if you ask me.”
Angry shouts annoyingly interrupted his private talk again, as he heard a serious voice.
“They say the House of Dorta is involved!”
The man opposite Mahzit picked up the debate.
“Quite frankly the rumors about Outlanders are unreliable.”
His eyes met Mahzit’s.
“We know of the Northern Primitives. But who are these Helandians? Fantasy? Young Dorta is a Kordatic fool!”
The woman next to Mahzit arched up.
“Are you calling Dorta a liar?”
“They are all suspect!” the man rasped.
“Have any of you seen this woman Dorta brought with him? No! How do we know a subnormal spirit from the Mystery Gods of Helandi has not seduced him? Nobody has ever seen this…mythical land! I will not be tainted by hearsay.”
The man’s jaw was set, stone-hard and stubbornly determined.
“She’s a dangerous demon who seduced the House of Dorta.”
Someone chimed in.
“Yes, I’ve heard about that woman. Rumors.…”
“Everybody has!” other voices echoed.
Mahzit leaped to his feet, hand gripped his sword belt.
The man glared