Realms of the Arcane - Brian M. Thomsen [13]
"Nor this body," she commented, gesturing toward her lithe, humanlike form. This time, a hint of bitterness crept into her voice and her eyes.
The wemic could not dispute her words. Satarah was one of the "children" created from his blood, and as such he owed her the love that was any child's due. But it was difficult It was difficult even to look upon her.
Satarah was beautiful-not even the wemic could deny that-but she was not one of the lion-folk. She had two long legs rather than four, shapely human feet rather than paws, and a slender, curvy body that would be the envy of any human or elven woman who set eyes upon her. Even Satarah's face was more elfish than wemish, with delicate features and no hint of the blunt cat nose that so often appeared on the children begotten of Mbugua's stolen blood. The few lingering hints of her wemic heritage only served to make her appear more exotic: her silky black hair was as thick and abundant as Mbugua's mane, her skin had a golden, sun-dusted hue, and her large, almond-shaped eyes were a catlike shade of amber. Yes, she was very beautiful, and nearly ripe for mating. Neither fact would long escape her master's attention.
"Why have you come?" Satarah repeated softly.
The wemic met her eyes. "Has Ka'Narlist taken you to his bed yet?"
Satarah's gaze kindled. "Is the wizard still alive? Am I yet alive? Answer those questions, and you have answered your own!"
Her fierce tone and blazing eyes smote Mbugua's heart-and firmed his purpose. The bonds of blood were strong indeed: Satarah might not look like his child, but he saw something of himself in her indomitable pride. This one, regardless of the conditions of her life, would ever be free.
"You cannot strike the wizard without bringing harm to yourself," he advised her.
The girl grimaced. "This I have already learned." She lifted the heavy mass of her hair and showed him the multitude of long, livid streaks that scored her neck and shoulders.
Mbugua recognized the mark of fingernails, and noted with a touch of pride that Satarah used her hands in battle as well as any wemic would use her forepaws. It was a shame that such wounds had not remained upon Ka'Narlist, who so deserved to bear them!
"If he has sought you out once," the wemic noted grimly, "he will do so again."
"And when he does, I will fight again!" she growled back. "I quenched his ardor in blood, and so will I do again! I will have my honor or my death-it matters not which."
Mbugua started to bid her otherwise, but something in Satarah's eyes made him hold his tongue. He could not-he would not-instruct this fierce girl to tamely submit herself to the wizard. But he took the necklace he had made-a dainty clam shell decorated with his wemic clan symbol and hung on a string of freshwater pearls-and handed it to her.
Satarah took the bauble with glad, greedy fingers. For a moment the girl's face was bright with the pleasure of receiving a pretty gift from her father's hands, and the elven wizard was utterly forgotten. Then her eyes-eyes that saw nearly as much as a shaman's- settled upon Mbugua's uneasy face.
"What has this to do with the wizard?" she demanded, getting to the heart of the matter.
Mbugua decided to answer in kind. "There is an enspelled pearl within the clam shell. Wear it when Ka'Narlist sends for you. It will steal a portion of his spirit."
The girl nodded thoughtfully. There was no hint of fear in her eyes as she contemplated this attack upon her powerful master. "But how can this be done, that he will not notice?"
"Look at the sky," Mbugua advised her. "Does its sapphire hue dim when you take a single breath? Are the stars drawn closer when you weep? The sky cannot be diminished so. Thus it is with the spirit: it is a thing without beginning or end. The single breath of it that is drawn into the pearl will not disturb the wizard."
A rare smile broke over Satarah's face, and she quickly slipped the necklace