Charles Ingrid - marked man 02 The Last Recall (30 page)

Stanhope approached her cautiously. Alma wrenched herself upward in her bed, bracing her back against the wall.

"You don't know," she said wildly. "You can't possibly tell that way."

"Some of us can. There are tests, if you're far enough along. I think you are. Seven, possibly eight weeks.
You
should be able to tell
me.''

Her flesh had been so bruised, so torn. Her system, always irregular, and the trauma. . . . She hadn't thought anything at first. She grabbed for Stanhope's hand. "You can't tell anyone. You can't."

"But, Alma—"

"Promise me."

His dark eyes mirrored his reluctance. "All right," Stanhope answered. "But this should be good news."

"I have to find a way to tell the father, first. Then, we'll let the news out." Alma's thoughts raced ahead of her words. Rape. A child of rape. Bile burned at the back of her throat. "Let me take care of this," she got out.

Stanhope's worry softened. "All right. But you go to Lady as soon as you can. You're going to need to change your eating and sleeping regimen. We want a healthy baby!" He got up and moved to the door. "I'll let you sleep."

She felt numb. Like a stone. Like someone had planted a stone inside of her. "All right," she repeated. "I'll take care of it. "

He left her alone in the room.

But she wasn't alone in it. Her nightmare filled her waking mind as her rapist pounded himself into her flesh again. She shuddered again and began to cry.

Thomas left the schoolrooms, in a press of flesh congratulating him for Gray Walton's appointment and his delegacy. He fought off the momentary claustophobia he always had in like situations—so many weapons, so many opportunities for them to strike—and smiled when Lady showed her teeth to him, prompting.

It had only taken two days to accomplish the impossible. Gray's admitted fairness had helped immensely. He was a compromise candidate that all factions finally agreed upon. Bartholomew was not greatly pleased, but had acquiesced. And Gray, undoubtedly briefed by Lady before the proceedings had begun, had promptly tabbed Blade to go out and try diplomacy with the growing nester nation before all-out warfare became inevitable.

Judge Teal drew most of the crowd away from them by demanding the bar in the manor house be opened, and a hospitable round for all be poured. The judge gave him a last look, keen eyes measuring him as if to tell him that it wasn't over yet. Teal was not a man for compromises with justice and welfare.

Blade watched the man walk away, his older body still elegant within the lines of his suit. "He's not done with me yet," he remarked to Lady.

"Nor am I." She looked around. "Have you seen Drakkar and Shankar? I didn't like the looks of Drakkar when he caught up with his father's ambassador."

"I didn't see them."

"They were first out the door. Bolted for it, I'd say."

Lady's instincts were nearly as good as his. "Then I'd say we'd better find them."

Drakkar caught Shankar at the edge of the barn. He'd stripped off his soft-cuffed gloves and the ambassador edged away, shrinking inside his clothes, as he reached for him and caught him by the shoulder.

"Shankar," Drakkar said.

"Young chieftain," Shankar returned. He blinked at the bared wrist, so close to his neckline. "I have many duties awaiting me, Drakkar, not the least of which is notifying your father of this afternoon's events."

"My father will wait," Drakkar said. With his free hand, he patted down Shankar's body. He found a wicked-looking shiv, dropped it in the dust and kicked it aside. Inside the stable, a horse whickered shrilly. Drakkar continued his search, dipped his hand inside a pocket, and came up with tiny rolls of paper.

"Pigeon scrolls," he said.

"All blank, my lord," Shankar breathed.

"But the ones I have are not." Drakkar let the blank scrolls rain into the dirt. He pulled a missive from his front pocket. He began to read: "Settlement satisfactory. Confirm your agreement to our terms. Instructions for your deployment to follow.'' He returned the scroll to his pocket. "I went through a lot of pigeon shit to find this. Tell me, Shankar. Why would my father send such a message? Are you or are you not already his assignee? Or is it possible that your allegiance has just been sold?"

Shankar trembled wildly within his clothes. His first pair of eyelids dropped down. "I know nothing of what you read." He threw an arm up over his head as Drakkar shook him violently.

"No? Just as you knew nothing about Micah's sudden illness, leaving this post vacant so you could conveniently claim it? Our Mojavan rebels have had a wealth of information from the Seven Counties, Shankar. Who sends it to them? Who finds it necessary to operate a pigeon cote secreted far from the Warden compound? Think before you answer, reptile. I have witnesses who have already testified as to your actions."

With a sinuous movement, Shankar slipped himself of his jacket. Drakkar found himself holding an empty garment as the ambassador went to all fours.

"You are a boy," the ambassador snarled. "You understand nothing of the real world! Your father is about to be overwhelmed and he does not even see the tide that is coming." He scrabbled about in the dust.

"Go for your knife," Drakkar spat out. "Let me see what you're really made of." His feather crest rose in rage.

"My God, Thomas," Lady breathed. "Drakkar's fighting bare-handed against Shankar!''

Blade was already slowing to a walk. He'd seen the wicked spurs free of their gloved confines. "I'd say he has the advantage," he replied, even as Shankar's shiv caught the sunlight as the ambassador lunged at his princeling.

Blade admired Drakkar's quick, space-efficient move out of the way, without a strike. The boy's mouth moved. He knew, hearing them, that the words were calculated to enflame Shankar further, so the wily ambassador would lose all rational thought and coordination. He put a hand out to catch Lady's wrist. "He's baiting him," he said. "He wants the ambassador alive."

She slowed reluctantly to his pace. "But," she answered, "does Shankar know that?"

Blade looked about. "I don't want any witnesses. We got enough shit over Drakkar while trying to get Gray nominated. If the Mojavans cause any more trouble or can't present a united front, we're going to lose all our backing for the alliance.''

Lady dropped back a step. She said, "Keep them in the shadows. I'll ward the stables as best I can. Mind those spurs! Accidents happen."

He left her behind as he approached the fighters.

On dusty trails in the inner counties, he'd often seen roadrunners baiting rattlesnakes. The encounter he watched now reminded him of those encounters, though this time it was the bird with the venom to be watched. But Shankar was a lizard man, with most of the dominant reptilian traits so reprehensible to the Countians. His movements were oddly jointed, incredibly fluid, and his speech had sunk into a low hissing of anger as he danced about Drakkar. The two wove a spectacle even as he felt Lady drop a cloak of seeming about it.

She joined him. "Put an arm around me," she said.

He did so, felt her body trembling from the effort of illusion. "What are they seeing?" he asked, his attention on the two fighters.

"Why us, of course. Kissing in the shadows."

He would have chuckled, but just then Shankar made a deadly strike. He caught Drakkar smiling, mocking him, even as the shiv hit home, skated off a rib, and ripped cloth.

"Damn!" Drakkar whirled away. His face went dead white, his eyes large in his face.

"Come closer," Shankar hissed. "Let me strike again."

Drakkar took his hand away from his right flank. He showed his teeth in a smile that was reminiscent of Blade just before a fight. "You'd be dead, old man, but I want you alive. Traitors are best served warm."

"Traitor? Your father doesn't know the meaning of the word. He knows nothing of friends or enemies."

Drakkar made a swift move, snagging Shankar by the collar of his shirt. "He'll know
you."

There was a slight rip of cloth. Then Shankar twisted about, shiv stabbing upward. He impaled Drakkar's wrist on the blade.

Drakkar made no noise. It was Lady who screamed, and cut her panic short with her hands as the two men suddenly entwined about one another, tumbling down in the dust. Drakkar jerked his wrist free of the shiv. The spur stayed direct and menacing. Blood streamed down his open cuff.

Lady swayed. "Thomas," she said lowly. "Stop them. I can't . . . hide this much longer. ..."

He took his arm from her as both men grunted, their bodies flailing, legs entangled. Drakkar had the shiv at his throat, his jaw clenched as he forced Shankar's hand away. Lady's legs folded up and she collapsed into a gentle sit-down at Blade's feet.

The wind gusted. Dust rose, obscuring faces, as bodies rolled. He hesitated, unsure of whom he reached for, his wrist knife coming smoothly into his own palm.

A boot toe kicked him sharply in the ankle as he stepped in. The pain rocked him a second and he lost sight of whose face was on top as the fighters rolled again. Then he saw Drakkar, left wrist crimson, fighting Shankar to the ground, hand clenched about the other's forearm, the shiv paralyzed between them.

The point was at Drakkar's eye, but Shankar could not force it home. Drakkar's face showed the strain, but a savage joy lit his features. Shankar's arm shook. The ambassador kicked up, planting a knee solidly in Drakkar's solar plexus.

The tactic worked. Drakkar deflated and recoiled abruptly, but his hand remained clenched about Shankar's as the point of the shiv dropped. It stabbed brutally at his shoulder, ripping through cloth and flesh.

Drakkar had him a second time, both at counterpoint to one another, shiv frozen, its tip dripping blood between them. They held one another off, sinews tight, faces intent.

Drakkar suddenly smiled. "My tailor," he said, "is going to hate you." He struck, cracking Shankar's arm across his kneecap, and the knife went flying.

Shankar's eyes widened, then narrowed. Drakkar caught him up and drew him with him as he knelt in the dust. Shankar kicked and twisted, but could not free himself from the hold. Drakkar looked up and saw Blade for the first time.

"Politics," he said.

"At the very least. What happened?"

"Our dear Shankar has been running his own messenger system for some time, perhaps since he first arrived. He has two masters, maybe more. Father would like to know who."

Blade resheathed his knife. "I wouldn't mind knowing either," he said.

Shankar showed his too sharp teeth as he gulped for breath. "I'll tell you nothing."

"That," Blade said, approaching him, "is where you're mistaken."

Shankar reached for Drakkar's wrist. With an abrupt movement, he drew the poisonous spur across his throat.

Drakkar dropped the Mojavan as though he'd been struck. He got to his feet. "Damn."

The ambassador began to convulse in the dust. Lady struggled to her feet. "Where does he keep the antidote?"

"In his quarters." Drakkar turned after her. "Wait, Lady Nolan. There's not enough time."

Shankar began to strangle, his lips going blue, his eyes bulging. They watched as the ambassador died a horrible death. Drakkar, hands shaking, pulled his gloves from his belt and tugged them on, despite the gaping wound in his left wrist where he'd been impaled.

Lady reeled and Thomas caught her up, steadying her. "Illusion gone," she said weakly.

"Son of a bitch," Drakkar said. "I wanted that information." He looked at Thomas. "What are we going to tell the others?"

"I'd say," Blade answered, looking him up and down, "you look battered enough for me to say you defended yourself against an assassination attempt. You'd better get that rib scoring and wrist looked at. The shoulder's negligible, but you're right. Your tailor is going to hate you."

They were suddenly surrounded by a crowd, voices rising in excitement and curiosity at Shankar's twisted corpse in the dust. Thomas moved Lady back as Drakkar's guard bulled their way through. He was not too familiar with the guard as they'd kept to themselves, but now the headman went to one knee in front of Drakkar. Blade made a point of memorizing the triangular, too sharp face, the mottled tan and sienna patterning of the skin, human and yet inhuman.
Tando,
he thought.
That's the one called Tando.

"My lord. Are you all right?"

"I will be."

"What happened here?" Bartholomew's voice rose over the general clamor.

Drakkar turned, found the warty man's face in the crowd, and said coolly, "I was attacked. I defended myself."

Tando got to his feet and signaled the other three to pick up Shankar's body. The nails of the hands and his lips had gone blue-black. Two-handed Delgado said, "Ain't never seen a knife wound do that before."

Drakkar's crest had settled around his shoulders and the boy's face remained deathly pale, but he looked steadily at the drover. "Then I suggest," he said, "you don't pull a knife on me." He tried to push his way past, following his guard.