Flying the Storm (16 page)

Then
through it all approached a woman, dressed in a cutaway blue gown, her hips rolling and her hands entwined as she danced her way through the jumping crowd. All the way across the square, her eyes never left his. Dark, gleaming eyes. Her lips were perfect, open slightly to reveal the tip of her tongue and white teeth; her dark, glossy hair hung almost to her waist. Aiden was drawn irresistibly to her.

Their hips connected
first, grinding and twisting to the beat. Her face was close to his, her arms raised by her head as she danced. Some kind of reed instrument had started to play along with the drums; an eastern, acidic sound that seemed to draw Aiden even closer to the woman before him.

Somehow, the music was both joy and sorrow. It spoke to him of the fights and the flight, the souls rescued and returned; of the watching dead.
Aiden felt attached to the people here like none before. He felt he understood suddenly what drove them, why they celebrated, why they mourned. It was wordless, but it was a story as old as Armenia itself, and Aiden had become part of it. Emotion welled in his throat.

His hands found her hips, and hers his neck.
Their foreheads touched. She was a little shorter than him, and he could feel her hot breath on his throat. Heat spread to his loins. He wanted her, badly, and he knew she wanted him. Their lips merged and they kissed. She tasted sweet, like berries. He kissed her with the passion of a survivor, and she responded feverishly.

The music became more intense, with the
duduk
climbing in pitch, screaming its song as the crowd surged and danced. The story was reaching its climax. Aiden’s eyes did not move from the woman he was holding, and they danced faster and more powerfully. He felt her hand on his wrist. She motioned with her eyes away from the square, and Aiden knew her meaning exactly.

He stopped dancing and
showed that she should lead on. She stopped then too, and led him by the hand, weaving through the crowd towards one of the streets. Aiden finished his beer and pressed the empty bottle into the open hand of a cheering bystander. Then, just as they were reaching the edge of the party, he spotted Fredrick not far away. Fredrick was dancing with his hands on a woman’s hips, smiling at her with his best, trademark crooked smile.

They rotated slightly, and Aiden balked as he
saw Vika’s face smiling back up at Fredrick.

He
planted his feet and stopped dead, openly staring at the blond Dane and the achingly beautiful Vika. Jealousy reared its ugly head in Aiden’s chest, and fuelled by the alcohol, he felt his blood boil. The music and the dance were forgotten. At that moment, he hated Fredrick. He hated him with every fibre in his body. He hated him for his looks, he hated his luck, and above all he hated him having his hands on Vika’s body. He was completely, stupidly furious.

He had forgotten about the
woman leading him, until she tugged on his hand and looked at him, confused by his sudden stop. Shaking his head and trying his best to smile, and hesitantly followed her once more. They left the crowd, taking a wide street away from the square. Behind them, the drums kept beating and the
duduk
howled at the night.

“
Ay-dan,
” said the girl, softly.

Aiden looked at her.
She knew his name? They had stopped in the middle of the street. He realised he must have had a face like thunder, so he tried to smile.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The girl looked at him, puzzled. He realised she had no English.

“Aiden,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest. He then waved to her, indicating that it was her turn.
She understood the gesture.

“Sona,” she said, gently taking Aiden’s hand and pressing it to her chest. Aiden’s lust flared again. She led him along the street.

Eventually they reached a
small, single-storey stone-built house somewhere in the town, though the route they’d taken was more or less lost on Aiden. He had been preoccupied, his mind filled with hate for Fredrick and terrible burning for Vika. The injustice of it gnawed at him mercilessly.

Sona led him into the house, closing the heavy wooden door behind
them. Inside were only three rooms, and the only one he saw was the bedroom. She let go of his hand there and crossed over to light a gas lantern. The room jumped into colour as the lantern shed its warm, hissing glow on it, illuminating an ornate rug, various ornaments and wall hangings. Against the wall to his right was a large bed, draped in quilts and skins, with vivid pillows stacked at its head. The room smelled faintly of incense.

Sona turned to Aiden, walking towards him slowly, untying the toga at her shoulders. It fell away
, and Aiden’s eyes widened; his pulse accelerated. The very shape of her was incomprehensibly perfect. Her naked limbs were long and supple, with the definition gained by a life of hard work, and her skin shone golden in the lantern light. She cocked her head slightly to the side, a tiny smile on her lips, as she reached him and began to loosen his belt. He pulled his shirt off, and felt a little pride as her eyes lustfully took in the muscles underneath. As his clothes hit the floor, she pressed herself tightly against him, gripping his back with both hands.

As Aiden felt the soft pressure of her breasts against his chest and her smooth skin under his hands,
he forgot Vika. For that night, at least, he belonged to Sona. 

Elias
sniffed deeply as he reached the top of the steps into the dim council hall. It smelled strongly of wood smoke. He could still hear the sounds of revelry outside in the town square; the party showed no signs of dying out. In fact, more and more people were drawn to it as the night grew deeper, overflowing the square and flooding the side streets with drunken, dancing bodies.

Now the dawn approached, and Elias had business to conduct.

Rearden and one of his marines, Maddox, had gone in a few moments earlier with their pistols drawn. No shots had been fired, so Elias had deemed it safe enough to climb the steps and cross the threshold into the stone building. There was no sense in risking his own neck when there was a pair of oafs to do it for him.

I
t was a rectangular building, probably a seat of local government for some time even before the war. The stonework looked very old in places, however, and Elias rather suspected that it had been at one time long ago a church, though its roof and upper story had been renovated in a different, rougher style since their evident wartime obliteration.

I
nside the main hall was a circle of carved wooden chairs on the tiled floor. On the opposite side of this circle sat a hunched crow of a man, wearing grey wolf skins around his shoulders and a look of smouldering hatred on his face. The man had a henchman of his own, unarmed however, and standing by his side like a faithful dog.

Elias flicked his hand at Maddox, who pitched his
gagged prisoner forwards into the middle of the circle. The tubby man whimpered slightly as he fell to his knees, his disgusting vest soaked with sweat and spotted with blood. He leaned forward, head bowed, his back heaving as he panted. His bound hands were clenched into fists.
Defiance
, wondered Elias idly,
or simply pain
?

“Say what you have come to say, westerner,” spoke the fur-clad man, “for if you intended to murder us, I think you would have done so
.”

Elias adjusted his jacket cuffs, taking his time.
“I heard your man’s speech,” he said, in Armenian. “It moved me. In fact, I believe it moved just about everyone listening. This is a bad thing.”

The councillor shifted in his seat, his eyes fixed on Elias. “How so?” he said.
 

“O
h, but you must see it yourself. You are not a foolish man, Azarian. This Tovmas
character seeks to overthrow you.” Elias waited patiently for a reply. There was none. “Is it not obvious?”

The man waved dismissively. “You are mistaken
,” he said. “Tovmas merely wished to rescue his daughter. He stole the fuel for it, yes, but why would he want to overthrow us?”

“
Why indeed?” Elias looked meaningfully at the kneeling quartermaster.

The councillor leaned forward, speaking in hissed Armenian to the man, “What idea
s does your foolish brother have, Bedros?”

Maddox came
forward and cut the gag loose.

“Nothing, c
ouncillor Azarian! I swear it!”

“Now
, that is not what he’s been telling us,” said Elias, motioning to Maddox once more. The big marine went forward, drawing a knife as he did. Bedros sensed what was coming.

“No! I will tell! Please!” he cried
, twisting around to try and face the on comer. Elias halted Maddox.

“
We’re listening,” he said.

“M-my brother.
He says he wants Ashtarak to be strong. He says the other towns should follow us. He wants to reunite Armenia, but under Ashtarak’s rule.” The cowering quartermaster hung his head low.

“He means to bring war to our town,” said Azarian, leaning back in his chair, realisation on his face.
“Why?”

“
He thinks we seem weak to the other towns,” said Bedros. “He wants us to become a faction, to conquer the others and bring glory to Ashtarak. He does not think the council acts in Ashtarak’s best interests.”

“Tovmas is a fool!” shouted the councillor suddenly
, spitting with rage. “We must keep war away from our people, not thrust them into it at a whim! He of all people should know that war is a terrible thing!”

Elias was trying not to smile. This was going to be easy. He just had to time his
offer correctly.

“My brother does not see it that way. As a
soldier for the Union, maybe he did. But now he can see that there is glory to be had. Glory he can only find as a leader. He wants it badly.”

“And you, Bedros, you agr
ee with him?” demanded Azarian.

“No, c
ouncillor!” he cried, his eyes flickering. “I have tried talking sense into him.
Tovmas
, I said,
this is madness
.
The people do not want war!
But he said,
Bedros, the people do want it
.
They only need to be shown
.”

“The fool!” shouted Azarian.
“And was this after his daughter was abducted?”

“No, sir, it was before. He has had these
ideas for a long time. I did not think they would come to anything, but when Vika was taken... I think he saw opportunity. When he went to rescue those girls, he knew it would unite the town behind him.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“I think he told only Magar and myself.”

“
Magar was killed in Baku. And the militiamen he had with him? What about them?” asked Azarian.

“I don’t think he will have told them. They will be loyal to him now, though, because he has given them glory.
When he needs men, they will follow him, I’m sure.”

“
Only half of them returned. That is not enough to topple the Council. We have a hundred more at our command.” He spoke strongly, but his eyes betrayed his fear.

“I
don’t know, councillor,” said Bedros. “They may follow him because he appears strong.”

The room was silent for a time. Elias
walked over to the ring of chairs, his footsteps echoing in the hall, and sat down. He chose his moment carefully.

“You know, I could
help you with this problem, if you’d let me,” he said.

“How
so?” asked the old councillor.

“I am here in the employ of the
Gilgamesh
,” said Elias, pausing to let it sink in. No doubt these people would have heard of it: everybody had, whether they’d actually seen it or not. “I have come to arrest the two western fugitives who appear to have made themselves at home in your town.”

“Why?”

“They murdered two marines in cold blood and shot down an aircraft, killing the pilot, a few days ago in Sevastopol.”

“I see.”

“These are dangerous men, councillor. I doubt you would want them to bring trouble to your town,” said Elias.

“Why should I hand them over?” asked the councillor.

“They are wanted for murder, councillor. It is not wise to stand in the way of the
Gilgamesh
’s wishes. I have a detachment of marines waiting just outside your town, ready to take the men by force if necessary. Whichever way you want to play, councillor, I will take those fugitives.”

The man said nothing, but glared at Elias. He
did not like to be threatened.

“So,” continued Elias, “you can
either help me, and the
Gilgamesh
will reward you for your service, or you can be uncooperative, in which case you and your town will suffer. I sincerely hope it does not come to that.”

Still Azarian wa
s quiet, brooding on his chair.

“Councillor,
this upstart,
Tovmas
, holds a tremendously valuable asset in the form of those westerners and their aircraft. With them at his command, he could project power across Armenia. You must know he will not hesitate to use it against you when the time comes.” Elias paused once more. “However, if you allow me to take the two pilots and their aircraft, Tovmas will have lost his most powerful weapon. He will not be able to stage his little coup.”

Elias could
tell that Azarian had seen sense, however a little lubrication of the agreement couldn’t hurt.

“The
Gilgamesh
will grant your council indefinite trade rights. Your town, councillor, could benefit greatly from such a gift. But only if you help me.”

The old man’s glare had gone. Elias knew he had won.

“Very well,” said Azarian, slowly. “We have an accord.”

Elias smiled then, genuinely
. It was a small victory, not exactly hard-fought, but it was satisfying nonetheless. Bending people to his will was so
easy
.

The old councillor turned to his henchman, murmuring an order. The henchman left the
hall by a back door.

“He will gather the militia. We will begin a search for your fugitives.
” The councillor stood up and proceeded towards the back door. “And keep your prisoner bound for now. We can’t have him warning his brother.”

Elias grinned, nodding to Maddox.
The big marine went forward and heaved the quartermaster onto a chair, wrapping a new cord around his waist to hold him there.

It was
all beautifully Shakespearean. The council conspired against its own hero just as the Senate had plotted against Caesar. Elias stood up from his chair and walked over to the bound quartermaster. The man was sobbing silently.

“
Et tu
, Bedros?” he said in the man’s ear, and laughed as he strode out of the hall.