Just Desserts
by Nyki Blatchley

"Eltava." The high-pitched voice rose towards a screech. "I want you now."

Eltava winced, in equal parts from the spite in the voice and from the pitch, which she was sure would have smashed glass if there had been any around. Looking over at where the fifteen-year-old girl, pudgy face red with fury, was glaring at her from between the curtains of her litter, she wished that the ground would open and swallow Beshlaa, litter and all.

But she'd taken the job, and she had to do it. Gritting her teeth, she strode over to the litter. "What is it, Your Highness?" she asked, hoping that she'd managed a neutral expression.

Beshlaa scowled at her with a pout that didn't even attempt to look attractive. "We're not stopping for long enough," she snapped.

"We have a schedule," Eltava pointed out. "If we're to reach Nessit two months from now, we have to keep up a good pace."

"I want to be in Nessit now."

Eltava counted to ten. "Well, Your Highness, the quicker our pace is, the sooner we'll be there." Assuming I haven't strangled you first, she added mentally.

"The bearers are careless. They jolted the litter twice this morning."

"Some of the terrain was very difficult," said Eltava quickly. She could take her fee and walk away, but the bearers were slaves. She didn't want them punished to satisfy this little monster's spite. "I think they did very well..."

"You're paid to guard me, not to think."

"You'll find," said Eltava, her voice tight to keep it in check, "that I can't do one without the other."

Beshlaa snorted, a sound that made her seem very appropriately like a pig, and turned her back on her bodyguard. "And it's too hot," she added, as an afterthought, patting ineffectually at the ridiculous quantity of flounced, frilled clothes that adorned her.

This time, Eltava couldn't resist. "Well, Your Highness," she said, keeping her voice unnaturally calm, "the way I understand it, you're the one the gods listen to personally."

The look of hatred on Beshlaa's face as she swung back was so virulent that Eltava took an involuntary pace backwards. She decided never to turn her back in the Princess's presence.

It had seemed such a good idea, a couple of months before. She and the Traveller had been on a long voyage to sparsely populated lands, and it had seemed half her lifetime since she'd known any other company but her lifelong friend and lover. It was different for him, she assumed: being immortal, perhaps a year of his life seemed very little. But, having only ever known twenty-five of them, she'd been restless. Although he'd been clearly disappointed, when she'd told him that she wanted some time to herself, preferably on land, she knew that he would never try to stop her from doing something she wanted to. They'd arranged to meet up in the port of Kampash, in six months' time.

And this had seemed the perfect opportunity, taking the job guarding the Most Holy Princess Beshlaa of Truffur, Beloved of the Gods and Consort of the Heavens, to be married to the Lul Emperor in Nessit. She'd been a bit put out to discover how young the bride was, although she knew that it was normal in these lands and that, in fact, many royal marriages were contracted with a much younger bride than this. Besides, she gathered it was a largely impersonal alliance, and wondered if Beshlaa was aware that, if the rumours were to be believed, she was actually the wrong sex for the Emperor's tastes.

But there was no doubt that she'd have thoroughly earned her fee, by the time they reached Nessit. Indeed, she doubted whether there was enough money in the world to compensate for having to suffer the Princess's tantrums. Beshlaa had been brought up knowing that she was not only royal, but sacred as well. She was, apparently, the fulfilment of an ancient prophecy about the birth of a princess who would be so beloved by the gods that they would fulfil her every wish. Eltava had heard many stories about how the gods had instantly answered Beshlaa's slightest whim, which was, she assumed, just another way of saying that the girl got whatever she wanted.

And now, as the ultimate gift to support a treaty with the mighty Lul Empire, her little kingdom was giving her to be the Emperor's bride. Eltava had half expected Beshlaa to be as upset as she would have been about such an arrangement being made for her; but all the empty-headed child seemed to think about was the fabled luxury of Nessit. She wondered what the Emperor expected he was getting in return. Maybe, she thought humorously, he believed the stories about the gods' favours.

Glancing over to the small watering-hole in the semi-desert, where the Truffur ambassador was deep in conversation with the guide, Eltava guessed that they were going to be moving soon, and that someone would have to tell Beshlaa. Catching her glance, the ambassador nodded to her. Coward, she thought briefly but there was no avoiding the task.

"Your Highness," she said, turning back, "we have to get on the move again."

"I haven't finished resting," said the Princess, without looking at her.

Eltava hesitated. She guessed that the ambassador and the rest of the party, thinking as they did of Beshlaa as being Beloved of the Gods, would accept the decision and wait for her, adding to their stress and frustration. But she didn't see why they should have to put up with that to satisfy a spoilt brat.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," she said stiffly, "but everyone's relying on you."

Beshlaa stared at her from within her litter, disbelief etched across her pudgy face. "I don't think you heard me, Kal'shak," she said, and Eltava sighed. It wasn't that she was ashamed of the golden tinge in her skin or the almond eyes from her father's people; but she knew from experience what was coming when the Princess referred to her race. "I don't care what everyone wants. They're my subjects: they should feel honoured to wait till I'm ready."

Eltava knew she shouldn't argue: she was here to earn her fee, nothing more. But she couldn't resist pointing out, "And that means that you have obligations, too. If you really are better than them, you shouldn't let them down."

There was a moment's silence, while she saw the Princess's complexion, normally a natural tan gone pasty from lack of sun, turn several shades redder. "Who do you think you are," she demanded, "to remind me of my duty?"

"I agree," said Eltava, knowing she wasn't going to escape the tantrum now. "It's not right that I should have to remind you of what's expected of you."

"Everyone's always expecting everything of me." Beshlaa's voice was rising towards a scream. "I'm their princess. I'm the foretold Beloved of the Gods. Why should they expect anything of me? I wish they'd all just... go... away."

As the echoes of the high-pitched screech died away, Eltava realised that there was silence. Not complete silence: she could hear the breeze thrumming the canvas of the litter and playing among the few little shrubs, and she could hear Beshlaa's heavy, panting breaths. She could hear her own heart pounding. But that was all.

Looking around the semi-desert that surrounded the watering-hole, Eltava saw that she and Beshlaa were alone.

"What..." she began, but there seemed very little that was sensible to say.

"Why are you still here?" the Princess demanded, scowling. "I said all."

Eltava's mind was working rapidly, revising what she thought she knew. It wasn't that she hadn't believed gods existed, merely that she'd always assumed those who invoked their names had very little real idea about them. But she could only think of one explanation for what had just happened.

"Well," she said slowly, "you said you wished they'd all go away, and you were more or less talking to me. Where have they gone? Do you know?"

The Princess shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Somewhere horrible, I hope, but I don't really care. I suppose they'll be all right: the gods probably wouldn't actually hurt them, as I didn't say I wanted that."

"Well..." Eltava thought carefully before she spoke, realising for the first time the danger she was in. "All right, you've shown who's in charge, but I think you're going to need some of them, aren't you? Why not bring them back? That must be easy for you."

Beshlaa sighed. "Oh, I suppose so. I'm thirsty, anyway. All right." She spoke to the open air. "I wish all the people who were here to come back. Now."

There was a long pause. "They're not here," Eltava pointed out.

Beshlaa looked as if she was about to burst into tears, but yelled instead, "I said I want them back. Do what I tell you, now."

Eltava looked around, idly adjusting her iron helmet. "Do you think," she asked slowly, "that the gods might have taken they all to include themselves?"

An expression of appalled understanding crept over the girl's face. "But... but how am I going to tell them to come back, if they're not here? And... how am I going to find the others? And..."

The Princess burst into tears. Eltava sat herself down on the arid, dusty ground, waiting for her to stop and trying to think. Her instinct was to try and comfort the crying girl; but, quite apart from the fact that she knew it would be unwelcome, she didn't really want to offer comfort. It was Beshlaa's spite that had got them into this situation, and she should be left to contemplate the results of her selfishness.

The land was unpromising: a dry, open plain between the mountains and the desert, there might be food to find here, but it wouldn't be easy, especially when Beshlaa herself was worse than useless. But what other choice did she have?

Finally, the sounds of extravagant sobbing died down, and a sulky voice announced, "I'm thirsty."

Heaving herself to her feet, Eltava unslung her leather canteen and held it out. "You can finish it off," she said. "I'll fill it up again from the pool."

Beshlaa stared at the container in horrified disgust. "I can't drink that," she said. "It's water."

Eltava's teeth clenched, and she had to force the words through. "Of course it's water. That's what you drink, when you're out in the middle of nowhere."

"I've never drunk water in my life," said Beshlaa, "and I've no intention of starting now."

Eltava shrugged and withdrew the canteen. "Very well," she said, "more for me. You're going to get very thirsty, though."

"How dare you? If you talk to me like that again, I'll... I'll..."

"You'll what?" Eltava demanded, as the girl ground to a halt. "Your friends aren't around any more, are they?" She looked around. "Now, I don't think there's much point going on: the chances of getting to Nessit are pretty slim. It should only take a few days to get back to Truffur, and maybe they can organise another party. But we'd better start now."

"All right," said Beshlaa sulkily.

"You know," Eltava added, when the girl didn't move, "you're going to have to walk."

The outrage on Beshlaa's face was even greater than before. "A princess never walks," she said. "You'll have to carry me."

"Carry you?" Eltava looked, with complete disbelief, at the litter that had taken four burly slaves to bear. "Well, quite apart from the fact that I couldn't manage your weight," and she allowed a touch of viciousness to creep into her voice, "I need to be able to protect you. There are bandits up in the hills, and we're not a large, intimidating party now. The way I see it, you've got two choices. You walk; or you stay here till you starve, and the wild animals pick your bones clean. It's entirely up to you, because frankly, I couldn't care less."

"I'm going to have you flogged when we get home," said the Princess in a low voice.

"Really? Is that before or after you explain to your father what you did to your escort?"

For the first time, an expression of doubt, even genuine fear, came over Beshlaa's face. After a few heartbeats, she got unsteadily to her feet. Turning away, Eltava didn't look back to see if the girl was following her.

*****

"Aren't we ever going to stop for the night?"

Eltava glanced back at the Princess, then around her. "We'll stop for the night," she said, "when it gets anywhere near the night. We haven't been going an hour yet."

"Well, that's long enough. It's all very well for a peasant like you, you're used to walking, and you don't feel things like we do. I'm not destined for such things."

Eltava stopped for several heartbeats before answering. "In the _first_ place," she said at last, "I'm not a peasant. Not that there's anything wrong with being a peasant, but actually my parents are quite well off. In the _second_ place, what you're feeling now has nothing to do with destiny. It's got everything to do with being a spoilt, fat, mollycoddled little brat who's never had to do a thing for herself. Well, you haven't got that any more, so the quicker you learn to walk like any decent human being, the sooner you'll be back in your luxurious palace. Understood?"

Beshlaa stood furiously pouting for a moment. "You're supposed to say Your Highness when you address me," she said sulkily.

Suddenly, it was too much for Eltava, and she burst into hysterical laughter. "All right," she managed. "If you want it like that, then shut your mouth and keep walking, Your Highness."

Turning her back and walking on, she heard the Princess behind her muttering, "You're going to be flogged." After a few moments more, she added, "And I can do things for myself. Lots of things. If I want to."

Trying to put the brat out of her mind, Eltava glanced nervously around. They were very near the foothills, which were said to be crawling with bandits. This was the way they'd come: there were, after all, a score of armed men to protect the convoy in general, besides Eltava, who had the specific duty of guarding the person of the Princess. No bandit-chief with any sense would have attacked them.

It was different now, and Eltava would have preferred to be further from the hills, except that would mean heading out into the desert. It would be hotter there, harder to find food and water, and easier to lose their way. Although Eltava had studied maps of the route, not wanting to be travelling blind, she had largely relied on having a guide with them. Deserts were alien to her, without the kind of subtle variations that made the ocean easy to read.

She was sweltering in her leather jerkin and leggings, and the sweat-soaked iron helmet that stuck to her cropped hair, but she dared not take them off. Little chance as she might have if they were attacked, she'd have none unprotected. Beshlaa was even worse, in heavy, dragging skirts that seemed deliberately designed to be impractical. Eltava was sorely tempted to tear off the flounces and frills, which might make the girl a little more mobile, but she simply couldn't face the argument she knew it would provoke.

The Princess was quiet as they walked on, but Eltava wasn't fooled: she knew the girl was silently muttering curses against her. It didn't worry her too much, though she had considered once or twice what she'd do if the girl were to get her link with her gods back. But she'd ride that squall when it hit.

"Eltava," Beshlaa called suddenly from behind, "the ground doesn't feel right."

Eltava took a breath. "What do you want me to do, then?" she called back without turning. "Change it for ground more to your liking?"

"That's not what I mean." The girl sounded genuinely offended, Eltava thought, as if upset at not being taken seriously. "It's more like..."

Eltava whirled, as Beshlaa's words were cut off in a long shriek, to see the ground collapsing beneath the girl for several paces in every direction. Amid the cloud of dust flung up, she saw Beshlaa vanishing into the hole, flailing futilely at the air.

She didn't stop to think. She might hate the girl, she might not have any prospect of getting her fee, but it wasn't her nature to do nothing. Flinging herself at the hole, Eltava felt the ground collapse under her own feet. The world spun and turned upside-down as she tumbled into the earth.

She climbed shakily to her feet, wincing at the mass of bruises her body had suddenly become. A quick check assured her that nothing seemed broken, but she felt sore all over and her head was thumping. Squinting against the pain, she realised that some light was making its way down here, and guessed that she'd probably fallen four or five times her height. A tunnel burrowed off in one direction, and there was just enough light to see several figures dragging something along it.

Eltava hesitated. She could simply charge them, hoping to take them by surprise: the narrow passage would negate any advantage of numbers they might have. On the other hand, it would also make it almost impossible for her to use her sword, and she'd no idea who these people might be or how well they fought.

Moving warily and trying to walk soundlessly, she followed the group. There was little problem with this, since the passage didn't branch at all, although it wound so much that she'd no idea which way she was going. It seemed, to her dazed and aching head, that she walked for miles, and she wondered whether darkness had returned because she was beyond the range of the hole in the ground, or because night had fallen outside. She didn't really care very much.

It took a while before she realised that there was light ahead. It didn't seem like light, just an object in the passage; but Eltava found she could see a little better and noticed that the bright patch ahead seemed to flicker. The opening was almost upon her before she'd worked out what it was.

The flickering light came from the many fires dotted around the large cavern she looked out into. She thought at first that the figures crowding it were some kind of demons or ghouls: small and hunched, though they looked strong, they had skins of leprous white and large, luminous eyes. But she realised at last that, despite their strangeness, these were human. Warped and twisted, but human. They were clad in rough, badly-fitting clothes of skins.

As her eyes grew used to the way the light moved and shimmered in front of her eyes, Eltava found what she was looking for. Beshlaa was lying on the rocky floor of the cavern, struggling against the hands holding her down. One of the creatures standing over her, a stone knife in his hand, crouched and cut the girl's clothes off, hacking at the heavy material.

Eltava's first assumption was that this being, man or demon, was going to rape the Princess. Then, seeing him glance behind him at the nearest fire, over which a stone cooking-pot was suspended, her disgust and anger turned abruptly to a feeling that she was going to throw up.

She hesitated for a few heartbeats. She knew that, if she was going to do anything, it had to be now. But what could she do? There must have been at least three dozen of the creatures in the cavern. She hadn't seen any weapons except for the stone knife; but, given the nature of the ambush, she doubted they'd be unarmed. It would be madness to charge in there and throw away her own life too, for the sake of a thoroughly nasty bitch who had threatened to have her flogged.

But, however spiteful Beshlaa might be, Eltava had taken responsibility for the girl and couldn't simply leave her to die horribly without making an attempt to save her. If all she could do was die with the Princess, that was what she'd have to do.

Drawing her sword slowly, trying painfully to avoid any noise, Eltava waited a few heartbeats until she was fairly sure no-one was looking in her direction, then burst into the cavern. She reckoned it would take her a score of heartbeats to reach Beshlaa, and she had surprise on her side. Still, the man with the knife was standing to face her by the time she reached him. Shambling and almost ape-like, he was a little shorter than Eltava but muscular; and the expression in his eyes was that of an unreasoning killer.

He ducked to avoid Eltava's sword-sweep, then lunged with his stone dagger. She brought her weapon backhanded to parry, knocking the knife aside and sending her assailant reeling back several steps. Glancing down, she saw that the other creatures had let go of the now-naked Princess. "Run Beshlaa," she yelled. "Now."

She half-expected Beshlaa to tell her indignantly that a princess didn't run, or to insist on getting dressed first, but the girl wasn't that stupid. Jumping to her feet, she made off in the direction of the passage.

Eltava returned her attention just in time to parry another thrust from the stone knife. Whirling back, she swung her sword two-handed, and it sheared into her opponent's neck. He staggered back with a scream, then collapsed to the stone floor.

Eltava glanced over to see Beshlaa hesitating in the passage mouth, looking back at her. "Get away," she shouted. "I'll keep them off your..."

She didn't hear the Princess's scream, as something heavy crashed onto the back of her head.

*****

Eltava's head actually ached less than before when she came round, but the mixture of darkness and leaping firelight made it difficult to focus. When a face leant over her, apparently to see whether she was awake, it was accompanied by a fuzzy ghost of a face just off to one side. The face (one of them, at least) gave a grunt and withdrew.

Trying to move, she found that the creatures hadn't taken the chance of her escaping, as Beshlaa clearly had. She was bound hand and foot by some kind of strapping that might or might not have been leather. She wondered for a moment what kind of animal it was made of, then wished she hadn't.

Looking around, she saw several of the creatures looking at her and got the impression of disappointment on their strange faces. She guessed why. Although she was taller than Beshlaa, the soft, plump body of the Princess must have seemed more succulent to them than her own lean, hard frame.

Eltava's wits were only gradually returning, although an instinctive fear in her guts had been present from the moment she'd woken. She was unsure why she was still alive. They had clearly been about to slaughter and cook Beshlaa, so why didn't they do the same to her? She couldn't be that unappetising.

She didn't understand until, turning her head, she saw what was left of her fallen enemy. Rolling onto one side, she threw up.

Time passed. No-one spoke to her: indeed, she couldn't make out whether the noises these creatures made actually were words. Eltava grew a little more accustomed to their activities, even managing to watch them eating the cooked remains of their fallen companion without being sick again. She still felt queasy, but that might have been the stench of filth and death.

More time passed. Eltava tried to work at her bonds, hoping that these creatures might not be good at tying knots. The strap binding her ankles was more sloppily tied than the one at her wrists, and eventually she managed to loosen it enough that she would be able to slip her feet out. But what good would that do? With her hands tied behind her, she couldn't fight anyone off, and it was unlikely that she'd make it to the passage. Perhaps, even though day and night probably meant nothing to them, there would be a time when everyone was asleep, and she could make it without being seen. In the meantime, it wouldn't do for them to realise she was loose.

After a while, though, she realised that the noises, whether speech or not, had changed: they seemed angrier, more insistent. Looking across, she saw a confrontation between two of the males, both of them growling and snarling at one another. She collected herself to spring, hoping that there would be a distraction if this argument came to blows; then, with a sinking heart, she saw one of the creatures pick up a stone knife and indicate her with it. The argument, she realised, had been over whether to kill and cook her now, or to save her for later. It was clear which side had won.

Eltava tensed herself as the armed creature approached, ready for what she knew would be a futile bid to escape. Wait till he was off-balance, then...

A dozen paces from her, he staggered and fell, an arrow embedded in his back.

There was absolute silence in the cavern for perhaps a heartbeat; then, with whoops and shouts, a dozen or so armed men erupted from the passage, falling on the creatures. Bewildered as she was, Eltava slipped the bonds off her ankles and struggled to her feet, finding herself looking at the flushed, excited face of Beshlaa. Dressed now in a simple tunic, the girl was holding a knife.

"I did it, Eltava," she babbled. "I found help. They're bandits, but I got them to help. I did it, all by myself, I can. Turn round."

It took Eltava an instant to realise what Beshlaa meant by the last instruction, until she saw her brandishing the knife. Turning, she let the Princess cut through the bonds holding her wrists behind her.

"All right," Beshlaa called over to a tall man who seemed to be leading the attack, and he nodded back at her.

Looking around, Eltava saw several of the creatures dead; but, though taken by surprise, most now held knives or slings and they outnumbered the attackers. She stopped to recover her sword, which still lay where it had fallen, then followed the Princess towards the passage, to which the armed men were now falling back.

Eltava knew that the flight through the tunnel was ended only by the sudden appearance of stars above her. The hole in the desert floor was still open, but night had fallen while she'd been down in the cavern. Beshlaa led her to a rough wooden ladder placed against the side of the pit, and they climbed to the surface, followed by their rescuers.

Eltava stood still for a few moments, taking long, slow breaths of clean air. When she turned round, it was to see Beshlaa talking animatedly to the tall man who'd led the charge.

"I'm in your debt," she said, walking over to him. "Much longer, and I'd have been in their cooking-pot."

He scowled, although it didn't mar his handsome face, with its strong features and hazel eyes. "It was my pleasure. The filth have taken several of my men, but we didn't know how to find them, until Her Highness here," he gave a sketchy bow, "showed us the way."

His voice was pleasantly modulated, although the accent with which he
spoke the language of Truffur was heavy and outlandish.

"This is Keidri," said Beshlaa eagerly. "He's the leader of the bandits. Isn't he brave?"

Eltava regarded Keidri warily. Though she felt a lot safer with him than she had down below, she was wondering what his intentions were. As if he read her mind, he smiled. "Don't worry, I mean you no harm. Not if you're a friend of my beautiful princess."

Startled, Eltava looked at Beshlaa. It was true, she had to admit, that the girl actually looked pleasant enough, now that she was plainly dressed, and a glowing face had replaced the customary sulky scowl. But beautiful...

"I'm staying with Keidri," Beshlaa told her happily. "I'm in love, you see. Anyway, he's going to get me anything I want."

"Everything and anything," said Keidri softly. "You're all I've ever wished for, my darling."

Eltava opened her mouth, having realised what Beshlaa's flushed, glowing face was about, as well as how she'd persuaded the bandits to help. She'd wondered at first what Keidri was intending, but she realised that his expression was one of a man besotted. She was sorely tempted to tell him a few things about the girl, but it was really none of her business, she decided. He'd find out.

"You'll explain to my father, won't you?" Beshlaa asked.

"Right. I'll just go back to Truffur and explain to your father that not only is the entire escort lost, but his daughter is with a bandit-chief instead of marrying the Emperor. I'm sure he'll welcome me with open arms and double my fee."

Beshlaa frowned. "I don't think he will," she said. "Maybe you'd better not go back there. Sorry." An idea struck her. "Maybe you could stay here and join us."

"Tempting as that sounds," said Eltava, trying to keep her face straight, "I'll be fine. I've got a rendezvous in Kampash in a few months. I'll just make sure to keep out of Truffur."

"Stay with us for the rest of the night, at least," Keidri told her. "We'll give you supplies in the morning."

He turned, one arm around Beshlaa, and walked away. Eltava watched them for a few moments. I'll give it six months, she thought. At most. Ah well, it's what they want.

She followed them towards the hills.

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