Agent in Distress

***

"Lana, wake up! Lana!" shouted the familiar voice.

Lana felt her body shaking, and her face felt wet. Her throat was tight and she heard herself sobbing as the room slowly came into focus. A large figure was shaking her like a ragdoll, and she mumbled something unintelligible.

"Victor!" she cried suddenly, grabbing onto the man that held her. "He's dead!" she wailed, leaning forward and burying her head against his broad chest.

"Lana, it's me, Warrick!" said the figure. Lana leaned back and blinked at him.

"Warrick? What happened?" Lana murmured, looking about the room. It was the slave training room, and she began to remember where she was.

Warrick sighed with relief. "You were in some kind of trance as you told me the story. It was very odd. I tried to wake you but you just kept talking."

Telepaths sometimes entered a sort of trance when immersing themselves in their memories. They didn't just remember events, it was like reliving them. Lana paled. She must have been in a trance the entire time, and if so, she wouldn't have known to hold back any details.

"Oh god," she said. "Did I tell you everything?"

Warrick looked at her for a second. "So Victor is dead? Even your technology couldn't save him?"

Lana grimaced, her mind overloaded as all the memories came flashing back, brought to the surface by the trance-inducing story. She nodded. "I felt so helpless, I couldn't save him. It is said that long ago, some Elder telepaths could heal people with their minds. But the technique is forgotten."

After a long sigh, she explained to Warrick how after they'd found her in Victor's apartment, she'd been unable to speak for several hours. The police had identified Victor's murderer by the blood on her legs. The Colonel was known to own such an antique firearm, and an alert was put out for him. A few days later, an Institute security officer visited her in her dormitory and told her Nikolai had died in a shootout with GWA security.

The board of the Institute studied Lana's case, she explained, and had decided that to expel her would be just what Nikolai had wanted, so they let her stay, on the condition that she disavow all sexual activity and maintain outstanding grades. Based on Lana's testimony that Victor had used mental insertion on her class, they took only minor action against the boys in her telepathy class. However, the two boys from her martial arts class were expelled.

She told Warrick how she'd maintained a strict self-discipline during her remaining time at the Institute, focusing on her studies and refusing to enter into any romantic engagements. It wasn't easy, for the whole school knew of her, but the constant threat of expulsion kept her focused. In time, she'd excelled and turned into one of the Institute's top students.

After she'd finished her story, Warrick sat looking at her. "What?" said Lana, unable to decipher his expression. She reached out to his mind, but he was unreadable as always. Then she gasped. Warrick was unreadable just like Victor had been. She'd somehow repressed that memory as well.

"What is it?" said Warrick, concerned at her expression.

"Uh, oh, it's nothing," said Lana with a shy smile.

"Lana," said Warrick. "What did this Nikolai look like? You said he had a scar on his cheek?"

"Yes," nodded Lana. "From Victor's dagger."

"Which cheek?" said Warrick.

"What?" said Lana, confused. "Why would you ask that?" Warrick gave her an impatient look. "His right cheek," she said, annoyed.

Warrick said nothing, but he stood and moved over to his pack, looking for something. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and returned to stand in front of Lana. He showed her the parchment.

"Oh my god!" gasped Lana. There on the parchment drawn in black carbon was Nikolai's face, with the scar. She'd not likely have recognized him if not for her intense trance, which made the memories as if they happened yesterday. She looked at Warrick in confusion. He was frowning at her.

"This was smuggled out of Nikos' fortress by a spy," said Warrick, crossing his arms on his chest. "It's a drawing of Lord Nikos."

Lana felt dizzy and her belly felt like she was falling. "T-that's impossible, he's dead!"

"They

told

you he was dead. I think he escaped, stole your GWA weapons, came to our world, and your GWA covered it up, and lied to you."

"No, no, it can't be!" cried Lana, shaking her head. She grabbed the parchment from his hand, and looked at it again. But it was him, the sharp nose, the piercing eyes, the high cheekbones, and the scar, just where her dagger had sliced him. All this time, she'd taken some grim satisfaction in knowing Nikolai was dead. Now to find out he not only was alive, but he had done terrible things . . . it was unthinkable. And it meant the Institute and the GWA had lied to her. It was like everything she believed was a lie.

Warrick reached out to her slightly trembling hands to gently take the parchment from her. "Lana, why did your GWA pick you for this mission?" he said, softly. "After all, it was you who was responsible for Nikos defecting and coming to my world in the first place."

Lana cringed as if stung, for the way he put it sounded terrible. Was she responsible in a way for all those atrocities he'd committed once he came to Dellune? Lana felt lightheaded, like she wanted to throw up. Suddenly Warrick grabbed her by the arms, looking intensely into her eyes.

"I am sorry, Lana, I should not have said it that way," he said, sternly. "Listen to me. You are not responsible for anything this madman from your world has done. And you are not responsible for the death of your . . . lover. You were just an innocent victim in the schemes of those two men. So remove all thoughts of guilt from your mind."

Lana looked at him, his intense eyes piercing her soul. Quietly she nodded, her psyche coming back from the precipice of guilt and remorse. Perhaps the Institute had lied to her in part to protect her, so she would perform the mission with a clear head. Lana winced at Warrick's iron grip on her slender arms, and then he loosened his hold suddenly, perhaps seeing her in pain.

"But still, were I in charge of your Institute, I'd not have sent an agent so personally involved. Your judgment could be compromised."

Lana thought back to her interview and subsequent briefings. She'd been a senior at the Institute, and she'd been summoned to GWA headquarters, where an Institute Elder and a GWA officer had explained the mission to her. "They had analyzed the mission and decided they needed a woman," said Lana. "They said it would be easier for a woman to blend in here. And they had only a few female graduates," she added. "I guess they were busy with the war and all. I was in my final year, and I was the strongest female candidate. Ever since the incident I'd repressed my memories of that time. I guess I showed no signs of being emotionally compromised. It wasn't until I told you the story that all the memories came flooding back . . ."

Warrick looked skeptical. "Lana, I think they picked you because they knew the mission would likely involve the agent disguised as a pleasure slave. They thought you'd be a good fit to that role."

Lana gasped, glaring at him. "Why would they think that?" she demanded.

Warrick looked pained. "Do you really want me to explain it?"

Lana looked at him for a second. Then she remembered that in her trance, she'd likely told him everything. Suddenly she blushed deeply. She'd practically behaved like Victor's little slave girl. "No, don't tell me!" she blurted, seeing him about to speak.

Thankfully Warrick changed the subject. "Lana, this changes everything. Nikos . . . Nikolai knows you. Our plan of sneaking you in is now unworkable, because the moment Nikolai sees you he will know you are here to kill him."

Lana shook her head. "No, it's been five years, and I was just another freshman to him. He won't remember me."

It was Warrick's turn to shake his head. "Lana, to yourself you may have been just another . . . fresh . . . man. But believe me, any man who'd seen you would remember you. And he didn't just see you . . ." Then he smiled. "It is often said that Nikos wears a scar on his cheek, and no one knows where it came from. He will surely remember who gave him that scar."

Lana blushed at his roundabout compliment. "You are right, of course," she admitted. Suddenly the confidence she'd had in the mission was gone. It was easier to imagine facing an unknown stranger rather than Nikolai. "So what do we do now?" she asked.

Warrick thought for a moment. "I may have an idea, but I will explain on the ride to Gorum." The big warrior sat down next to her again, appearing satisfied at least for the moment. Then he looked at her curiously. "Tell me, Lana," he said softly. "How did you lose your virginity? I did not hear anything in your story about that. It seemed that only your mouth lost its virginity?"

Lana gasped, blushing. "Oh god, you heard that too? Well . . . I mean . . . he did all those things to me . . . with the lingerie . . . he made me orgasm . . ."

Warrick shook his head. "Dellune girls give themselves many an orgasm, and they remain virgins." Suddenly he reached down between her legs, and Lana gasped, rising up off the chair. Warrick gave her a mischievous grin. "Did you lose it later, to one of your classmates, perhaps?"

Lana gasped and squirmed as his fingers gently explored her still-moist opening in a teasing manner. "No! I told you, after . . . what happened with Victor . . . I dedicated myself to my studies . . . and swore off sex! Please stop that!" she added, squirming.

Warrick continued tormenting her. "I find that hard to believe, Lana. Four more years and you never had sex?"

"The Institute told me if I didn't behave myself . . . I'd be expelled!" gasped Lana, her hands coming to grip his forearm tightly. "I wanted so much . . . to be an Arbiter . . . I didn't dare have any relationships!"

"So you are indeed still a virgin," said Warrick with a nod. He had a puzzled look on his face.

"I suppose I was . . . until you Dellune men started . . . sticking your fingers in me!" said Lana, accusingly.

Warrick looked at her and then chuckled. "One cannot take a female's virginity with a finger." As if to emphasize his point, he stabbed his middle finger deep inside her.

"Oh!" moaned Lana, her head coming forward to lean against his shoulder, her hands clutching his arm with a death grip. His hand was so big that even one finger seemed to fill her. "I . . . I never really cared about my virginity," she said, sucking in desperate breaths of air. "What then does it take?"

"A man must take you fully, with his manhood of course," said Warrick. He stirred his finger about, making her spasm.

"And . . . you will do this to me?" squeaked Lana, the thought of Warrick inserting his manhood making her insides clench down on his finger.

Warrick suddenly withdrew his finger, making her groan in disappointment. "I'm afraid your virginal state will make you more desirable. Much as I would like to, I cannot lower your perceived value or I would jeopardize the mission."

Lana made a face. "The mission? How would they even know? You didn't know I was a virgin until today!"

"Because you believed you were already broached," said Warrick. "Now you know the truth. They will have ways of extracting the truth from you."

Lana shuddered, not wanting to think about that. She shook her head, gripping his arm tightly. "Please, Warrick, you cannot stir me up like this and then leave me all . . . " she couldn't find the words to describe her condition.

"Oh, I will continue touching you," he said. Then he leaned in and took her lips in his. Lana moaned, throwing her arms around his wide torso as his deep kiss ignited her flames. Then he broke it off and leaned back, grinning at her look of disappointment. "I love seeing the proud warrior squirming helplessly with desire. I think I will keep you in this state." Then he frowned, getting to his feet and taking her hand. "Come, we have dallied enough, we will discuss things more on the ride to Gorum."

***

Sometime later, they moved through the town on horseback, people on foot dodging around Warrick's impressive horse, and watching Lana with unveiled interest. She felt terribly self-conscious, and was grateful to be at least substantially dressed in the red and white dress Warrick had provided. It was the dress of a free woman, not a slave, and Warrick had at least let her ride without bindings.

"A warrior like me would have no need of bindings to control a captured female," he'd explained, to her annoyance. They left the town through the south gate, and continued on a dusty trail that wound around a small mountain. They'd been traveling for an hour when they reached a choke point where the rocks closed in on both sides. Warrick stopped the horse suddenly. "What is it?" murmured Lana, sleepy already from the rhythmic movements of their travel.

"Shh," whispered Warrick. She heard him sniff the air, and she did the same, but smelled nothing but the fragrant odor of the green trees. Then she opened her mind, reaching out before them. Lana's eyes widened. She sensed several presences, in front and behind them.

"Warrick, there are three, nearby," she whispered. Suddenly two figures stepped out from the woods onto the trail.

"Bandits," said Warrick softly, as if the word caused a distaste on his tongue. He looked behind them to see a third step out to block their retreat. The two men in front wore swords on their hips, and long spears in their hands, and the one behind carried a heavy axe. It would be dangerous to try to ride past them.

"If you wish to pass, you must pay the tax," said the taller man in front. He had greasy unwashed hair and was missing several teeth, but his eyes looked sharp and dangerous.

"And what is the tax?" said Warrick agreeably. The two men in front chuckled, looking at each other. "We'll take the girl," said the tall one. "And we'll let you live."

"That is a very generous offer," said Warrick. "But I've a better one," he added, slowly climbing down off the horse. The two men watched him carefully as he moved in front of the horse and approached them, his hands casually at his sides, making no move to go for his sword. He stopped a few feet in front of the tips of their spears. "How about I kill you two morons and we continue on our way?" The two men looked at each other, then their eyes hardened. Lana shouted to Warrick when she sensed their intentions.

The tall man lunged first, his spear shooting forward toward Warrick's chest armor. The large warrior smoothly caught the spear with his right hand, pulling the bandit toward him to drop him with a crushing elbow to the face. The second bandit lunged as well, but Warrick turned quickly, the spear striking the air where he'd been a moment ago. He grabbed the spear with both hands and twisted it out of the bandit's hands, striking him with the wooden end in the forehead. The bandit dropped the ground like a sack of rocks. Without wasting a moment, the big warrior hefted the spear, then turned and launched it past the horse to strike the axe-wielding bandit in the chest as he charged Lana from behind. The man fell off the path, clutching the wooden stake that protruded from his chest. In just a blur, all three bandits were dead, and Lana gaped in shock at the unfamiliar expression on Warrick's face. Cold, merciless and efficient. It was a frightening side of the warrior she hadn't seen before.

Suddenly Lana sensed something. "Look out!" she cried. There was a whistling sound, and then she heard the thud coming from the direction of Warrick. Her mind filled with pain suddenly, and she realized it was coming from stricken warrior. Then she saw it.

"No!!" Lana screamed, an abject terror filling her mind. Protruding from Warrick's upper chest was a length of wood and feathers, blood beginning to pool where it entered his body. He was reaching for the arrow.

"No, don't pull it out!" cried Lana, but it was too late, the warrior ripped the arrow from his body, causing a spurt of blood from his chest. His arm went limp, the bloody arrow falling from his grasp as he slumped back to the ground. "Dear god, no!" wailed Lana, half jumping, half falling off the horse to run to Warrick's side. She placed both hands on the bubbling wound. "Please no, please no!" she wailed, her mind panicking.

"Don't harm her, he wants her alive and unharmed," said a distant voice. She looked up and saw several men through her tear-filled eyes, they were approaching from up the trail, one of them notching another arrow.

"I'm sure he does," said the one with the bow. "She'd fetch a fine price on the market."

"Yeah," nodded a third, "look at her, would be a terrible waste to shoot a body like that."

Lana turned away to look at Warrick. His blood was continuing to burble up around her fingers. She closed her eyes, reached out with her mind to him. Normally unreadable, she found his mind open, but fading, with little thought except the pain. She reached further, deeper, concentrating. "Open your mind to me, Warrick. Let me in," she murmured.

"Oh god!" she whimpered. His heart was damaged, the arrow had pierced his heart, maybe not all the way, but he would die in seconds. "No!" she cried, her heart rending in two. It couldn't happen again! Lana was galvanized into action, jumping to her feet and rushing to the horse, to reach into Warrick's saddle bag, withdrawing the flask of Somarian fruit juice. She ripped the top off and tilted the large flask above her head. The sweet fluid poured into her mouth, some of it spilling down her neck.

The ambushers were watching her with fascination. "Wait, she'd drinking poison, stop her!" said one.

"It's too late, she drank it all, so much . . ." said another.

"What if it's a potion?" said the archer. "What if she is a witch."

Lana was standing there looking at them coldly, her hands covered in blood, then suddenly she grasped her head in both bloody hands. The pain in her head was far worse than before, so intense she thought her head might explode. After a moment it subsided a bit, and then she felt like her mind was expanding, flowing outward from her. The men were watching her, her face now covered in blood, and they were suddenly fearful.

"To hell with orders, shoot her," growled the first man, who seemed to be the leader. "She's a witch or something. Do it now, before she regains her wits. Shoot her!" She watched as the one with the bow drew back an arrow, and let it fly, whistling toward her chest.

Lana plucked the arrow from the air, drawing a collective gasp from the four men.

"You see!" exclaimed the leader. "I told you she's a witch! Shoot her again!"

The archer clumsily scrambled to notch another bow as Lana stood calmly and faced them, her hands and face covered in blood, and the arrow clutched tightly in her right hand. Her face was eerily calm, devoid of emotion, despite the roiling anger inside her, and the four ambushers looked at her like they'd seen a ghost. The archer finally notched his arrow with shaky hands, and at that moment Lana whipped her arm forward, throwing the arrow. It accelerated once in the air, whistled forward and struck the archer in the neck. His scream came out gurgly and tortured, and he fell to the ground grasping at his neck.

Rage filled her mind, emanating outward. She sensed a presence behind her and turned. A fifth man had snuck up behind her, his sword coming at her in a powerful arc. She stopped it, the sword frozen in the air, inches from her neck, then she launched her attacker flying backwards until he crunched against the rock wall and fell in an unconscious heap. She turned back to the main group, the sword now in her hand. She must have looked terrifying, covered in blood, her eyes cold as ice. One of the men shouted.