Silence. Silence broken only by the creaking and travail of the ship's timbers as it labored easily in the lessening seas. Then, as always before, he heard her breathing change. The breath rasped in her throat, as though she could scarcely inhale, and he knew without seeing that her mouth was open.
She took one of his hands and put it between her thighs, pressing gently on it so he felt the easy tremor of long femoral muscles. She was slim legged, yet with a fullness of soft flesh that lay warm beneath the robe. She pressed her knees together harder, leaning forward, and he heard her breathing roughen as she bent close to him.
It was at such times that her words varied from the routine he had come to expect.
One day she had said: 'Drus are also women!'
On another day: 'How like a god you are!'
This day she muttered, so low he could barely hear, as she went to her knees beside the cot.
'Ah, Blade, if babes could be gotten so I would as lief conceive from your seed in my mouth.'
Blade swam on a misty sea of pleasure. To the drug already flowing in him was added the opiate of her mouth. He could not keep from writhing and his excitement spurred her own. This was sensual witchcraft beyond his experience, and while in the throes he did not know if she were human or not. That she was the mother of all fellatrices he did not doubt, and when he could think at all it was to wonder if it had something to do with the Dru religion. For she would submit to nothing else, even had he possessed the strength.
She had been plain about it: 'We Drus do only this to men. What we do among ourselves you may not know, or any man. Lie still, Lord Blade, and empty yourself of all dark spirits. They cannot harm me, for I am Drusilla!'
On this tenth day Blade, already drifting into dark limbo, had one last glimpse of her. Of Canace, called Drusilla. He knew her evil and he cared not. She had saved his life that she might use it, for her own vicious ends, and he cared not.
She smiled up at him, still on her knees, her velvety red mouth moist with his essence, and repeated what she had said once before.
'How like a god you are!'
She left, as she always did, without a backward glance.
Blade, tumbling into sleep, fought his torpid mind so that he might grasp two things— she hated being a woman and would be a man. And— a growing, though very faint spark of rebellion— she held him in thrall as much with her mouth as with her drug. If he could combat one he could— could—
The effort was too much. Blade slept.
Topside a large square sail slatted and boomed as it was hoisted up the single mast in the brisk wind. They had been running before the wind for days, under bare poles, and a great halloa went up from the sea raiders as the cloth firmed and slewed about and the rudder took firm hold. If this new wind held steady a week would see them in Bourne. Already the men spoke eagerly of new loot to come.
Jarl, though ruling them with an iron hand cunningly concealed, had been noncommital. He did not know of Blade's plans. First they would have to see if the new ruler lived or died.
At first there had been very little grumbling, thanks to the terrible storm which had menaced them all. It took all their efforts to stay afloat and it was one of Thunor's miracles that only five ships had been lost out of twenty. There having been no treasure on the lost ships, the concern for them was not great except in the case of relatives.
But the moment the storm began to fail the grumbling began. Men gave loud opinions without being asked, and certain brazen-tongued sea lawyers opined that it was stupid, as well as unprofitable, to march all the way to Voth when there was plenty of loot to be found nearer by. They could, for instance, go south to Alb and sack it after all. Not prime pickings, perhaps, but not bad and better than making the long and perilous voyage north to Bourne, a mere fishing village.
Jarl handled the complainers in his own way. He had a dozen soundly whipped, keelhauled three, and at last had to hang a man from the yardarm when he struck an officer in an argument. The grumbling went underground.
Jarl stood with the Princess Taleen on the tiny poop deck as the silver-haired Dru passed on the way to her cabin. She was cowled and did not speak or glance at them as she passed, carrying the ewer and flask she used in ministering to Blade.
Both watched her out of sight down the aft hold where the tiny cabins, hardly larger or cleaner than pigstys, were situated.
Taleen, dressed warmly for shipboard, her auburn tresses flying in the wind, looked at Jarl and frowned. They had become good friends during Blade's illness and Taleen, suspecting the truth about Jarl and women, did not mind at all and kept it to herself.
Taleen said: 'I would see Blade, Jarl. You must arrange it this very night.'
Jarl looked unhappy. 'I think it not wise, Princess. You know the Dru's orders. No one to see Blade, and only she to minister to him. I dare not go against her.'
Taleen's brown eyes flashed angrily in the sun. 'Ha! You are all afraid of her. And yet you call yourself men!'
Jarl stroked his smooth chin and a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. 'Yes, Princess. We are. And you are not afraid of Drus?'
She would not look at him and he thought that tears lurked not far below the surface. 'Yes,' she admitted. 'I am. I am as great a coward as any of you.'
'Only when it comes to Drus,' Jarl said stoutly. 'You will not find us cowards else. But I, who do not even believe in the gods, confess that I find Drus terrifying. I do not understand it myself. Yet they are powerful, Princess. Very powerful. And Blade lives, does he not? Hate and fear the silver Dru as you will, she brought Blade back from death. Our physicians— I will admit they are poor enough things— had all given him up and could only pray to Thunor for him.'
