handsome, although his blue eyes in a world of dark-eyed people made some nervous in his presence until they had been in his company for a time.
He was also quite rich. Thanks to Lieria he'd fled Zanzair with enough precious gems in his saddlebags to match even the greatest miser's measure of immense wealth.
Since he'd returned to Kyrania the young maids had buzzed about him like ardent bees, making it known they were available. A few had even made it plain that marriage wasn't necessary and they'd be satisfied just to share his bed. Scandalous offers indeed in puritanical Kyrania. In the early days, when Leiria still graced his bed, many an old Kyranian woman's tongue had been set clucking whenever she passed. In the moral double-standard favored in Kyrania, Safar was not blamed. A man will do what a man can, was the motto. And it is a woman who must preserve respect for Dame Chastity.
Now that Leiria was gone, Safar's mother and sisters were constantly conspiring to get him betrothed to a 'decent woman.'
Safar had gently eluded their little traps. To tell the truth he thought it unlikely he'd ever marry. He had good reasons for this, although he didn't mention them to family and friends. It was his secret shame. A secret he'd mentioned only to Leiria, who'd told him he was insane. Insane or not, Safar was convinced he had caused the deaths of two women who had loved him and broken the heart of a third.
Safar frowned, remembering Leiria's final words on the subject…
…It was their last night together as bedmates. Neither had spoken of this, but it was understood between them. Leiria had come home that day after a long ride in the hills. She'd been in a reflective mood, but full of single-minded determination at the same time. Safar had watched in silence as she gathered her things, then whistled up a boy to get her horse and a pack animal ready for the morning.
Finally she'd hauled out the brandy and they'd both gotten gloriously drunk and had made love until they'd fallen asleep. But an hour so later they'd both awakened, made love again, slow and full of secrets and depths neither could decipher, much less plumb. Then they'd talked. Retold old stories about shared adventures. About the time the Demon King Manacia thought he had them cornered and they'd sprung a trap on him instead. And the trick they'd pulled on Kalasariz, who had seized Kyrania with a demon army. And then the even better trick they'd played on the demons to free the valley.
They talked until it was almost dawn.
And then Safar said: 'I'm sorry, Leiria. I know I said that once before, but this time I have even more-'
'— Six years ago,' Leiria interrupted.
'What?' Safar said, confused.
Leiria nodded. 'Yes, it was six years ago almost to the day. I remember we were in the stable near the east gate of Zanzair. You didn't know if I was friend or foe and you were thinking about killing me. By the Gods, you were stupid! To ever think I'd ever hurt you!'
'Yes, and I'm sor-'
Leiria put a finger to his lips, silencing him.
'Let's not make it three times,' she said. 'Twice is once too many. I deserved the first 'sorry.' Back when we were in the stable and you were doubting me. But I don't want, much less deserve, the second.
'As always, my love, you reach too deep for guilt. Be sorry that you ever doubted me. I'll keep that. I'll put it away for some weepy hour when I need to drag it up, along with as many others as I can. There's nothing I like more than a good cry on the eve of battle. It loosens the sword arm wondrously.
'As for any other 'sorries,' I say camelshit! You didn't break my heart, Safar Timura. I broke my own heart. It was a good lesson for a naV ve soldier. And it was also something every person needs for the future. Man or woman. If you're wounded early in life it gives you something to reminisce about when nobody thinks you are worth a tumble.
'So, camelshit! Safar Timura. You didn't break my heart, anymore than you killed Methydia or Nerisa!'
'You have to admit,' Safar said, guarding the odd comfort of familiar guilts, 'that if they hadn't met me they'd be alive today.'
'That's ridiculous!' Leiria said. 'They were on whatever road the Fates decided. Sometimes you're ambushed. Sometimes you turn it around and ambush your enemy instead. Either way, you're on the same road the General commanded you to take. So you do your job. March when they say march. Fight when they say fight. Rest when they say rest. And when you're resting you pray to all that is dreaded in the Hells they keep for soldiers that you meet somebody you can love. Methydia and Nerisa had that, Safar. And if they were alive today they'd both give you a piece of their minds for feeling sorry for them.
They weren't the kind of women who could bear that sort of thing. If their ghosts were to speak they'd tell you exactly what I'm going to tell you now. Which is this:
'Almost no one ever really experiences love, Safar. You get bedded. You get warm. Maybe you even get a sort of intimacy. I don't have much experience at such things, so I can't really describe what I mean.
I've only been with two men in my life, after all-you and … Iraj. And yes, I loved him too … once. And that's my own 'sorry.' Hells! I have more sorries than I care to think about when it comes to Iraj.
'Sorry that I didn't see who he really was. Sorry that I gave him everything I had to give. Sorry that for a moment, however small, I really did think about betraying you. One thing I'm not sorry about. You killed him. And good riddance to Iraj Protarus. The world is a better place without him.
'So don't you feel guilty, Safar Timura. Especially not about the women who have loved you.
'I speak for all of them!'
That was the end of the conversation. They cuddled for awhile in silence. Then Leiria rose, bathed, and dressed in her light armor.
He didn't watch her leave. He stayed in his room, head bent over the Book of Asper. He heard her ride away. Heard the clatter of her armor. The creak of her soldier's harness. And just before the sounds faded from hearing he thought he caught a whiff of her perfume on the morning breeze.
In his whole life he'd never encountered a scent that lingered so long and lonely…
Safar shook himself back to the present, thinking, no matter what Leiria had said, his hesitation would remain. It would be a very long time-if ever-before he chanced being the cause of harm or sorrow to another woman. But guilt, large as it was, had only a supporting role to play in the drama that made up Safar Timura. To him it seemed whenever his emotions came into play it exposed him-and, more importantly, his purpose-to danger.
Take love, for instance. The last time Safar had declared himself to a woman … say her name, don't dodge the pain of that old wound … her name was Nerisa.
Nerisa was a former street urchin who grew to became a woman of beauty, wealth and power. These three things-but mostly it was his love for Nerisa-had brought him into conflict with the king. And Iraj Protarus had used that love to find a weakness to betray Safar. The incident had ended with Nerisa's death and Safar's bitter repayment. The epilogue of the tale saw Safar kill Protarus and bring down his empire.
He'd fled the glorious demon city of Zanzair, leaving palace and riches behind in the flames that had consumed the city-flames evoked by the great spell he'd cast to slay Iraj.
Six years had passed since that day. A little longer, actually, since it had been several months since the day Leiria had noted the tragic anniversary. Six years of relative peace-at least in Kyrania. In the outside world things were much different.
Safar went to his bedroom window and looked across the beautiful valley he called home. His house-a narrow, two-story cottage set on a hillside near the cherry orchard-overlooked the dazzling blue waters of Lake Felakia, named for the goddess whose temple was now in his care. On the lake he could see fishermen casting their nets. In the rich farmland surrounding the glistening waters men and women were tending the green shoots that were just now poking their heads from their warm blankets of soil to greet the spring sun. In the distance two boys were driving a herd of goats up into the mountains to the high meadows where the lush grasses made their milk sweet. The shouts of the boys and bleating of the goats drifted to him on the breeze flowing down the mountainside. It was an idyllic scene, which Safar doubted could be matched anywhere in the world.
Yet his thoughts were not on the beauties of his native valley that morning. Or even-after he'd stirred through the pot of guilt-were they permanently fixed on Leiria, Methydia or even Nerisa.
