Part I | Part II | Part III

The Tavernkeeper's Sister

by Ella Quince

Prologue

A spark.

Then another.

Oil-soaked wood caught fire, then blazed into a passionate dance of heat and ash. Locks of reddish-blond hair mixed with the licking flame, then curled to black char.

The body burned more slowly.

When the funeral pyre was reduced to smoking rubble, the warrior ended her vigil and faded back into the forest.

Part I

I notice her right away. It's hard not to. In a tavern full of farmers and tradesman, an armor-clad warrior is rather conspicuous, even when she sits at a table in the back of the room and stares down at her hands.

"Has she ever been here before?" I ask Nicos as I wait for him to fill empty cups from the wine cask.

"No," he says. My brother is used to my questions by now and answers them with endless patience. "And with luck, she'll never come here again. We can do without her business."

"Why? Who is she?"

But this time he shakes his head. "You don't need to know everything."

I bite back an angry reply and busy myself with filling up a tray with drinks. I know so little that his refusal seems almost cruel, but there is no time to argue the point. Keeping my curiosity in check, I serve the regulars first: ale for the tanner and the weaver, port for the blacksmith, and hot barley water for the elderly farmer who is too poor to leave a tip but always treats me with respect.

"You're getting good at this, Larissa," says the old man as I place the mug in front of him. "You learn fast."

"I have a good memory," I say dryly.

He pats my hand with his gnarled fingers, and for that gesture of kindness I vow to sneak him some wine before the evening is over.

There is one last cup left on my tray, so I cautiously approach the stranger. I'm no expert on warriors, but even I can see the coiled tension in her muscled shoulders and arms. Judging from the mud splattered on her boots and the faint reek of horse sweat, she has been riding long and hard. With her unruly black hair and deep brown leathers, she's like a storm cloud of darkness.

Then she looks up, and I find more vibrant color in her eyes than in this entire dreary village. When the silence between us has stretched too long for comfort's sake, I recover my breath and say, "Port?"

She nods, and that slight movement draws my attention to the harsh planes of her face. "You look like you could use some food, too. When was the last time you ate?" My question startles her, and she frowns in thought, which is all the answer I need. "I'll bring you some soup from the kitchen." She nods again, and I begin to wonder whether she has a voice at all. But when I return to her table with a bowl of broth and a thick slice of buttered bread, the warrior finally speaks.

"Thank—" Her voice has a hoarse quality to it, as if she doesn't talk often. She clears her throat and says more clearly, "Thank you... Larissa. I hadn't realized how hungry I was."

Her accent is foreign to these parts, smoother and darker toned. My name sounds almost melodious on her lips, and I decide I could grow to like it if I heard her say it often enough.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"Yes," she says quickly, then seems to grope for an answer, "... salt... I could use some salt."

She hasn't even tasted her soup yet, but I fetch a small dish of salt from the kitchen and watch as her lean fingers sift the grains into her bowl. There is no other excuse to linger — not when it is late and we have so many customers — but even if the warrior and I had been the only two people in the room I can't imagine that I have anything to say that would interest this woman. I leave her to eat in peace.

Yet, for the rest of the night I feel as if she is watching me. It must be my imagination because each time I look back over my shoulder her face is turned toward the fireplace. Then, not long before we close, I glance at the back of the room and she is gone. She left without saying a word... not that I expected she would speak to me again... or perhaps I did.

As my brother bars the door behind our last customer, I wonder where she will spend the night. We offer the only lodging for miles around, and she isn't staying in one of our rooms. She must have camped—

"Larissa!" My brother's voice, usually so gentle, is loud with dismay.

Too late I notice the shifting balance of weight on the tray in my hands. Despite my desperate efforts to juggle my load back into place, two cups fall to the floor and shatter. Dregs of red wine splash across my sandals.

"I'm sorry," I say with a sigh. Setting the tray aside, I stoop to gather the shards of clay, but my brother takes my elbow and pulls me to my feet.

"You're tired," he says. "Go on to bed."

"But I can't leave you with all my work." I must have straightened up too quickly because the room begins to twirl around me. If not for his steadying hand, I would fall.

"You're pale as a sow's belly. The healer warned you not to work too hard, so do as I say and go to bed."

With a weary nod I leave him to clean up the mess our customers have made, as well as the mess I have made. Perhaps it is just as well the warrior didn't stay here; it would have meant even more work for poor Nicos. And yet...

Slipping my hand into the pocket of my skirt, I finger the large coin I found tucked beneath the empty wooden bowl on the warrior's table. It is a very generous tip, more than my service deserved.

Just what was she thanking me for?

---

I'm jolted out of sleep in the middle of the night, my body gasping and trembling from a dream vision that is already fading from my memory. Despite my pounding heart, I'm not afraid. An emotion other than fear pulled me out of the arms of Morpheus...

...and out of the arms of the warrior.

I remember... but no, I remember nothing.

Curling up on my side, I try to recapture the oblivion of sleep, only to find myself thinking about the warrior again.

It was her eyes that drew me. They shone with an icy-blue brightness. One look at those eyes and I knew she had a cunning mind and a restless spirit. One look at those eyes and suddenly my life had seemed unbearably dull.

---

The next evening I see the warrior as soon as she pushes aside the tavern door. She strides through the room, head held high, staring down the curious as she makes her way to the table where she had sat before. The wild tangle of her hair has been brushed into submission and twisted into an intricate braid that runs down her back. She is taller than I had realized and moves with muscular grace.

"Don't gawk," says Nicos, handing me a tankard of port.

When I serve her, I notice that the chalky pallor of her skin has deepened to bronze, all traces of dirt have been worked out of her worn leathers, and the brass swirls of her breastplate are gleaming, even in torchlight.

"I'm more presentable tonight," she says wryly.

I blush that she can read my thoughts so easily. "You weren't that bad last night." She raises an eyebrow, and I feel my cheeks grow even warmer. "Oh... I... I... didn't mean...."

"Too bad," she says. Her laugh is teasing, but not cruel. "I don't often get compliments from young women — at least not often enough."

With a shiver of amazement I realize she is flirting with me. The next move is mine, but my wits have scattered; I can't think of a clever retort.

She misunderstands my hestation. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

Watching her face grow somber and contrite, I find my voice again. "I'm not offended," I confess, "just speechless."

Her smile returns. "I have that effect on some people."

My pride is stung just a little by that remark, and I find myself explaining. "I'm new at all of this. I haven't been working at the tavern for very long."

"Oh, really?" Her curiosity seems genuine and invites an answer.

"My parents died this last winter, so I came here to live with my brother."

"Your brother... that would be the man behind the bar who keeps glaring at me."

I can well imagine the expression on his face right now. "Nicos hadn't seen me since I was a child, so he's a little over-protective, but he means well."

"I'm sure he does," she says softly. "But that doesn't make it any easier."

"No." Who would have thought a warrior could be so understanding. Too understanding. I have to bite my tongue to keep from blurting out how lonely I am here, a newcomer in a community that does not welcome outsiders.

"Larissa!" My brother's call saves me from the humiliation of further revelations.

"I have to get back to work," I mutter, and flee from her sympathy.

Several hours pass before we can talk again. During that time the warrior sits quietly nursing her drink as the tavern fills with more and more people. To my amusement she begins to fidget as soon as Pestir starts his first oration. I expect her to leave, but when she doesn't I bring her a fresh cup of wine.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"Of what?"

She nods toward the scrawny young man whose arms are waving wildly in the air. "Of the bard."

I am too tired to lie or even answer tactfully. "He's not very good."

She doesn't react one way or another. "Everyone else seems to be enjoying his tale," she says in an uninflected voice, and sips her port.

It's true. The villagers are laughing and clapping, and I can hear the chink of coins being thrown at his feet. I frown and wish the throbbing in my head would ease; the smell of spilled ale is making me feel nauseous. "I don't care what everyone else thinks. He's still not very good."

She smiles ever so faintly, and I read approval in her expression.

Soon after that, she leaves. Not soon enough for Nicos, however.

"Don't talk to her so much," my brother scolds. "She's a wild one is that Xena, and the tales that are told about her are not for your ears."

Xena... so that is her name.

As soon as the tavern closes and my chores are done, I slip out into the cool night air and go in search of the village bard. In exchange for a sloppy kiss and a groping feel of my breasts, Pestir tells me all about the Warrior Princess.

---

By the next day, like sparrows twittering over the appearance of a hawk, the entire village is gossiping about the warrior. Someone claims to have seen the glow of her campfire, another a glimpse of a golden horse, but no one can say for certain where she is camped or what brought her to this valley. For all their talk behind her back, the villagers don't have the courage to say anything in her presence. Everyone falls silent when she enters our tavern on the third night.

I reach for my serving tray, but my brother says, "I'll take care of this." His footsteps echo loudly on the floorboards as he walks up to the warrior's table and slams down a cup in front of her. Unruffled by his rudeness, she thanks him for the drink and Nicos has the grace to look slightly sheepish when he returns.

Eventually, when she does nothing more dramatic than sip her wine, the crowded room resumes its normal hum of activity. I wait until Nicos is busy in the kitchen to stop by her table. When she looks up at me there is a hint of relief in her expression, as if she's been waiting for me to approach her... and not certain that I would. Her doubt gives me the courage to speak boldly.

"I hear you travel with someone — a bard named Gabrielle."

"I did."

There is an undercurrent of pain in her voice. I should stop asking questions, but I need to know more. "And?"

She draws a deep breath. "And she was... hurt... in a fight, when I wasn't there to protect her."

"Where is she now?"

The warrior's body, always controlled, grows more still yet; her face, cut out of stone, is impossible to read. "We don't travel together anymore."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nicos return to the bar. My time is up. Reaching for her empty cup, I say in a low voice, "I'll be in the stables tomorrow, early."

I don't wait to see her reaction. If I am wrong about what she wants, I don't need to learn it now. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough to be embarassed by my fantasies.

---

The sun has barely risen above the horizon when I ease open the stable door and slip inside, taking a deep breath of the comforting smell of leather and hay and horses.

Xena is waiting for me.

During the night I had convinced myself she wouldn't come, that I had made a fool of myself for even thinking she cared enough to meet me here, alone. Seeing her now makes me reckless with joy, reckless enough to move so close that I could touch her if I just reached out my hand.

"I liked it better when you were sitting down." I angle my head up to meet her gaze. "You weren't quite so imposing."

"I'm even friendlier lying down," she says with a knowing smile.

So, my desire is that obvious. I see an answering fire in her eyes, but I wonder once again why this warrior is drawn to me, a common village girl. There are any number of unlikely reasons and one rather obvious possibility. "What does she look like?"

Xena turns away, not able to meet my eyes. "Who?"

I ignore this clumsy evasion. "Is she taller than me? She could hardly be much smaller if she fought beside you."

"She's about your size," Xena says at last.

"And is her hair black or brown... or blond?"

With a defeated sigh, the warrior turns back to face me. She raises a hand to brush a lock of my hair from my face. Her fingers play with the reddish-blond strands. "She's about your color."

Then I feel the light touch of her fingertips tracing a line on my left temple. "But no scar," I say, and wince at the memory of recent pain.

"It will fade." Her hand comes to rest at the base of my neck and begins to knead tense muscles. With a thoughtful frown, she asks, "How did you get hurt?"

"On my way here... my caravan was attacked by raiders. Nicos says this village will be next. "

"You don't need to worry about the raiders anymore," she says in a voice as soothing as her caresses. "Just concentrate on getting well and—" She breaks off abruptly. There is more she wants to say, but I can tell from the tight set of her lips that she has decided against it.

I pull away from her, reluctant to leave but suddenly shy of staying any longer. "I have to get back to the tavern or my brother will come looking for me."

Her only protest is a soft sigh, enough of a reaction to flatter without pressuring me to linger. She could easily overpower me, yet her restraint promises a leisurely and gentle seduction.

When I reach the door, I look back. A question must be written on my face because she says, "Yes, I'll be there."

---

True to her word, Xena saunters into our tavern for the fourth night in a row.

"By Hades, she's back again!" Nicos grumbles as the warrior settles at her usual table. "Worse luck. She's starting to scare away the customers."

For the first time I notice that none of our regulars are present, which is bad for business, but I'm more worried that my brother will notice the quickening of my breath and the rapid beat of my pulse.

"Here," Nicos says with a resigned sigh, "take her some wine and keep her occupied."

It's hard to keep the grin off my face as I carry the full cup over to Xena. She archs an eyebrow in surprise when I plop down in a chair across from her.

"We're not very busy tonight," I explain, "so I'm under orders to entertain you."

Her answering smile is cooler than I expected, and my confidence falters when her voice echoes that lack of warmth. "Your brother is in a mellow mood tonight. I wonder why?"

"Well, probably because he's relieved to hear the raiders aren't coming." I didn't intend to launch into this sober topic so soon, but suddenly more frivolous chatter seems out of place. "There's been a defense force out looking for them, but when they found the raider's camp all the warriors were dead. Someone else had wiped them out."

She shrugs, as if the news has nothing to do with her, but I can see a glint of satisfaction in her eyes when she says, "I told you not to worry about them anymore."

"That's true." At the time I had thought she was simply trying to reassure me. Now I know she was stating a fact.

"So," her hand curls around the base of her cup, "where did Nicos hear this news?"

"Huh... I don't know." The question nags at me, making me newly aware of all the strangers who are scattered around the room. How could I have missed the edge of danger about them? "He must have heard from a passing traveller...." A very well-informed traveller, evidently. I don't mention the gossip about a mysterious funeral pyre that had also been found at the camp. The pyre was unusually small for a warrior, and I am certain the ashen remains were those of a woman.

Of Gabrielle.

Not hurt. Dead. And although I hold no grudge against the bard, I am relieved to know she can't come back into Xena's life; their journey together is over. I wonder just what the young woman meant to Xena. Although I sense a sadness in the warrior sitting across from me, she isn't grief-stricken. Death must be a common occurrence for her, so perhaps it isn't so strange that she is already looking for companionship.

"Anyway," I say, eager to change the subject to something less morbid, "I wanted to—"

"Larissa!" I hear Nicos call out from behind the bar. "I need some help over here."

Annoyed by the interruption, I frown and am about to refuse.

"Do as he says," murmurs Xena tersely, her voice pitched low. "Hurry."

There is an urgency to her command that demands immediate obedience. Bewildered, I rise from my seat, then freeze as a sudden clarity of vision warns me what is about to happen. It's a trap. My brother has set a trap for her, using me as bait. "Xena...."

"Yes, I know," she says grimly. Our table goes flying to one side as she jumps to her feet. "Stay out of the way. This won't take long."

In an explosion of movement her body shoots up and flips in mid-air, and by the time she lands in the middle of the room her sword is unsheathed and swinging in a wide killing arc to meet the attack against her. But even as those men fall, a second wave of warriors pours in through every doorway. She meets them with a ear-splitting war cry and a dazzling series of kicks that sends men careening into each other. She overturns tables and flings chairs about, transforming every piece of furniture in the room into a weapon or an obstacle. Although she is outnumbered twenty to one, within minutes she is the only warrior left standing in the tavern.

I stare, horrified, at the blood that drips from the edge of her sword. If she had been any less skilled, it would be her blood pooling on the floor.

"Why?" I ask. "Why would they do this?"

With a world-weary sigh, the warrior princess says, "For money, for revenge, for reputation, because the raiders were dead and there was no one else to fight... I'm tired of counting the reasons people want to kill me."

"Please, you have to get out of here. Nicos will be back soon with help."

"I promise I won't hurt him."

Her concern for my brother shames me. Looking up, I say, "I was worried about you."

Blue eyes blaze with hope. "I'll leave now... if you come with me."

"Because I remind you of Gabrielle?"

"Because I want you to."

That is enough reason for me to go.

---

We melt into the shadows of the night, leaving behind the shouted alarms of the town rousing for a fight against the warrior. But I know they will never find her, not if she's determined to stay hidden. She leads me through the forest with a touch to my arm or a whispered caution. The ground beneath my sandals grows steep and rocky, then she pulls me through a shadow that is darker than any other. I hear the crack of flint being struck, and a sudden blaze of torchlight illuminates the cave in which she has made her camp.

After wedging the torch into a crack in the rockwall, she turns to face me. "We'll be safe here, Gabri—" She breaks off, catching herself too late.

"You can't forget her, can you?" It isn't really a question; I know the answer. The only question is why I fooled myself into believing Xena could want me instead of the dead bard. "I'm nothing more than a... a ghost taking her place in your life."

"You're not a ghost. You're very real."

"No more lies!"

"All right," she says grimly. "No more lies." Her blue eyes deepen in color, taking on a smoky grey hue that is the reflection of some strong emotion she has kept hidden from me until now.

I wait.

"You aren't taking the place of Gabrielle... you are Gabrielle."

Silence hangs between us for a heartbeat.

"That's crazy," I say, swallowing hard. "You're crazy!" It's dangerous to argue with a madwoman, especially one as formidable as this warrior, but I'm too unsettled to keep my peace. "My name is Larissa. I have a brother named Nicos, and... and...." And it is time to run.

She senses my panic before I even move, and steps in front of me to block my flight back down the mountain.

"I know you're confused, Gabrielle, but you've got to trust me."

"No!" What a fool I've been to follow her. Now I'm tangled in a net woven of her grief. The strands threaten to choke me. "No... I don't see how...."

"It was an honest mistake," the warrior says, with a calmness that echoes sanity. "Larissa looked very much like you, or at least she did before the raiders carried her off and...." She shudders at some private vision. "You must have fought to protect her caravan, and when Nicos saw you among the wounded he claimed you as the sister he hadn't seen in years. He wanted to believe she had survived the attack."

I can feel my life — faint and insubstantial — slipping from my grasp. Without memories of my own I am nothing more than a tale told by others. "It's still just your word against his."

"I can prove you're Gabrielle."

"How?"

"I know you," she says with a slow smile. "There's no part of your body I haven't touched. Listen to my hands." She slips a hand across the back of my neck and begins a featherlight caress so delicious it makes my head swim. Her other arm wraps around my waist and catches me just before my knees give way.

"Oh... how did...."

"I know you better than you know yourself," she says, pulling me into the circle of her arms. "And this is where you belong."

She kisses me with enough force to silence my protests and with enough gentleness to disarm my fear. There is no need for her to push me down onto the blankets — her embrace unstrings my limbs and I sink beneath the weight of my own desire. At her whispered urging I uncover myself and my skin flushes under the heat of her gaze.

Then she lies down beside me, and with hands and lips and tongue she steals my body from me. Her caresses set the rhythm of my pulse and mold the arch of my back. She stops my breath, then just as easily gives it back again, only twisted into gasps and moans. A fierce hunger grows under her hands, so fierce I hear myself begging for her to touch me here, touch me there, touch me harder.

"Sing for me," she commands, and my cries ring out.

When my body finally stops its trembling, she says, "You're Gabrielle."

"Yes," I answer.

She believes enough for the both of us, so I stay.

» Continued in Part II of III