Slavemaster's Woman, The (31 page)

Cushla watched the whole scenario unfold and
felt her heart begin to pound. Rube knew her, so why would he allow
her and her grandfather to exit the grounds?

“I still think we need to check this with
the king,” the second guard commented.

“Not that it’s any of your concern,” Rube
continued. “But the garments from the textiles this slave will
choose are intended to be a gift for Mecor from one of his
mistresses. Now open the gate.”

“Still,” the first guard snipped back, “I
think we should check—”

What transpired next occurred so fast that
Cushla barely had time to process it.

Rube pulled his stunner and fired, as the
second guard reached again for his communicator.

Simultaneously, the first guard drew his
weapon.

Suddenly, and to Cushla’s surprise, her
grandfather was now holding a weapon he’d been concealing.

She ducked within the cart, taking cover. It
was over quickly, two whirs, two thuds and then silence. Peeking
cautiously over the edge of the cart, Cushla blinked a few times as
she registered what had happened.

Both guards were sprawled on the ground,
Kleb and Rube staring down at them.

“Are they dead?” she asked.

Rube turned to gaze at her. “Do you
care?”

“Ah—no.” Cushla sat fully upright in the
cart. Scanning the area around them, she was sure there would be an
onslaught of other guards ready to take them down, but they were a
distance from the castle, out of sight of the quarries, orchards
and fields, and the discharge from the stunners were quiet enough
that it was likely no one had heard.

“I’ll take care of the bodies. Get your ass
out of here,” Rube told Kleb.

With a nod, Kleb tucked his stunner to the
inside of the vest he wore over his shirt, and it was secreted away
once more. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Cushla and
then turned forward.

Rube opened the gates, and Kleb drove
through.

Once outside the castle walls, Cushla looked
behind her to see Rube dragging one of the bodies into the
forest.

Chapter Twenty Three

Tarken jerked awake when the door opened,
the crimp in his neck from sleeping in the chair made it hard to
turn his head. Shre Vialin and Ayia entered his line of site.
Stretching out the stiffness in his muscles the best he was able,
he then shook off the grogginess from dozing. He then noticed that
Cushla’s father wasn’t with the two women. “Where’s Bazil?”

“Not here,” Ayia stated plainly as she
seated herself on the couch. Shre took a seat in another chair.

All three stared at each other, saying
nothing until Tarken finally spoke up, “So, Are you just going to
keep me bound?”

“Probably.” Ayia leaned back against the
shabby couch and closed her eyes.

“I’m no threat to you or whatever dim-witted
conspiracy you’re scheming. Cushla is my only concern and rescuing
her from Mecor’s grip.” There was no reply to this statement, so he
attempted a different approach. “I might be able to help you.”

Shre looked up from filing her nails.
“Listen here Slavemaster…” She rose from the chair and moved to
stand in front of him. “Things are much more complex than you can
imagine, and we have all the players we need.”

“And how is Cushla involved with this?”
Tarken waited for her to answer, but when no answer was
forthcoming, he continued, “What is her father’s connection?”

Shre walked back to her chair and sat again,
tossing the file onto a nearby table.

Tarken began to chuckle, “Ah…now I
understand.”

“What do you understand Slavemaster?”

“There is no plan,” Tarken taunted, his
motive to rile one of them enough to accidentally say something
that might give him another piece to the puzzle. “Perhaps some idea
of what you want but no actual plan on how to get it.”

Shre narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t even
attempt to pull that reverse, psychological bullshit with us,
traitor.”

“I can assure you I hold allegiance to no
one, and particularly Mecor,” Tarken returned.

Ayia stalked toward him, planting her hands
firmly atop the arms of the chair. Leaning in, she sneered at him.
“We have no affirmation of that, slavemaster. Greed often drives
motivation and we are well aware of the handsome compensation Mecor
bribes you with to keep your loyalty.”

“The king compensates well, yes.” Tarken
glared at her in return, but kept his expression flat. “But it is
no indication of allegiance. I’m sure Rube has enjoyed a fairly
lavish life style living as he does, yet it’s quite clear his
loyalty is to your cause and not to the king.”

Ayia and Shre exchanged glances.

“And Bazil…” Tarken added. “It’s no accident
he was on the same planet as his daughter. He was employed by
Mecor’s brother and was on Buranis as was Cushla when the throne
was toppled. I know you’ve been assisting Bazil.”

“And what plans do you assume those are?”
Shre leaned against the table, folding her arms.

Ayia snickered. “I must commend you for
figuring it all out. You’re not as stupid as you look slavemaster.
You’re absolutely correct. Bazil is here to retrieve his daughter
and nothing else. We are helping him, and as soon as we have her we
will be gone, and then you can return to your simple, disdainful
life oppressing and torturing the once free citizens of
Buranis.”

Tarken shook his head and snorted. “Even a
fool has eyes, Ayia! I have overseen the slaves for solar after
solar, studied their behaviors, their patterns. I am military
trained. Did you think you think it would go unnoticed?”

“You amuse me, slavemaster.” Ayia flashed a
smug grin. “Please continue. What fantasy swims your head?”

Tarken glared directly into her eyes and
then spoke, his voice even and low. “Tell me, when is this
rebellion to take place?”

Ayia’s grin vanished and her eyes narrowed
on him briefly before her head snapped toward Shre, giving the
woman an unidentifiable look. She then said nothing and pivoted
away from him. With her boots clanking rhythmically against the
bare floor…purposefully, she paced slowly toward the opposite wall
where she halted without turning around.

“Trying to avoid giving yourself away,
Ayia?” he commented, regarding her move to turn away from him.

“You really need a more fulfilling life,
Tarken.” Ayia feigned interest in the torn, poorly replicated
abstract painting hanging on the wall. She skimmed her fingers
across it and then turned to face him and laughed mockingly. “Such
nonsense you seemed to have convinced yourself of. Who in their
sanity of mind would dare such a thing? Unarmed slaves attempting
to overthrow a king as powerful as Anzer Mecor, it would be a mass
slaughtering…pure suicide!

It was Tarken’s turn to grin smugly. Having
been bound for so long he’d been able to speculate on several
things. “I’m aware of the weapons the slaves are harboring in
Mecor’s hold.”

“Argh!” Shre threw her hands in the air.
Drawing her weapon she stalked toward Tarken and pressed the end of
her stunner to his head. “I suppose we’ll have to kill the fucker
now!”

“Your plan is reckless,” Tarken continued.
Her reaction confirmed his suspicion and he was now sure he had
speculated accurately. “They wear the slave bands. The whole lot of
them will be wiped out with a press of a button.”

“No need to concern yourself. “ Ayia
returned. “Our insider is taking care of that dilemma.”

“Shut your mouth, Ayia!” Shre spit
angrily.

“Does it matter, Shre?” Ayia retorted.
“We’re going silence him permanently anyway. What difference does
it make at this point how much he knows?”

“If you believe your insider will be able to
accomplish this task,” Tarken went on. “You are sorely mistaken.
Mecor may be a ruthless tyrant, but he’s no fool. Free me, and I
will help you defeat him.”

Shre poked Tarken harder with her stunner.
“And how do you think you can help?”

“I can roam the castle grounds freely…”
Tarken told her and paused momentarily, allowing his words to sink
in. “…It seems to me you should take advantage of any inside
assistance you can get, and I doubt Rube can accomplish the task
alone.”

Shre lowered her weapon, now interested in
what Tarken had to say, though by the expression on her face, on
Ayia’s face as well and by the way they exchanged looks, he could
see the internal battle they struggled with. Ayia indicated to the
other woman to follow her to a corner at the far end of the room,
Shre followed her.

Tarken sat quietly and waited, saying
nothing more, as the two woman muddled over their options, speaking
in whispers, arguing with each other. He strained to hear what was
being said, but could only make out the tone of their voices,
rather than the words being spoken.

While they debated the door quietly opened,
and then closed again, but the two women were so busy debating his
fate, it appeared they were oblivious.

“Ladies?” Tarken called trying to get their
attention as he pondered how he was going defend himself if the
intruders were hostile.

“Shut it…Slavemaster!” Ayia snapped without
turning to look at him.

“Ayia.” A low male voice called out.

Whipping their heads around, Ayia and Shre
both looked toward the door. “What are you doing here?” They asked
in unison.

Two more joined their little party, two with
whom Tarken was quite familiar—Kleb and with him, Tarken’s heart
nearly halted in his chest when he saw her—Cushla.

“Ayia!” Cushla rushed toward her and threw
her arms around the woman. “You’re safe! I was so worried you
were—”

“Dead?” Ayia hugged her back. “Hades no, I’m
made of sterner stuff than that I assure you.”

Kleb’s gaze fell to Tarken and his brow
lifted in surprise at seeing him. “Where’s Bazil?” he asked the
women while still staring at Tarken.

“Bazil’s gone to the palace to get her.”
Shre nodded toward Cushla.

“Tarken?” Cushla gasped, her fingers
pressing against her chest. Releasing Ayia, she crossed the room
and began looking him over from top to bottom. She tugged on the
cuffs that bound him and then snorted. “It seems you’re in a
predicament.”

“A predicament I hope to resolve soon.”
Tarken smiled warmly at her despite her mocking tone. She was a
delight to his tired eyes and a refreshing breath that brightened
the dark, musty room. “It’s good to see you.”

Angling her head and bending so he could see
her face she lifted a brow? “Ach, really?” She pulled and twisted
the cuffs as if trying to yank them off.

Pain shot up Tarken’s arms and he grimaced.
“Cushla, they won’t come off without the releasing device,” he told
her through clenched teeth.

“Who says I’m trying to get them off?” The
smile she gave him was filled with wickedness as she twisted the
bands.

“Agh!” Tarken growled. His muscles snapping
with shocks of pain that whipped through both arms, culminating in
his neck and then piercing his skull, told him that she might still
be just wee bit pissed off at him. She also understood the proper
use of the cuffs well—maybe a little too well.

Tarken supposed he deserved her retribution.
He also hoped that her need for such retribution ended before she
caused his arms to be ripped from their sockets. Hope wilted when
she twisted the cuffs even harder.

Shre snorted.

“Cushla, enough!” Tarken’s head snapped
back. He gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His
beautiful freebird was a devious little thing. She might even be
useful as an interrogator. Abruptly, the pain retreated, the
instant relief causing him exhale heavily, gratefully.

“Give me the key,” Cushla demanded.

“We might release him in due time,
princess,” Shre told her.

“I’m no princess and don’t call me that,”
Cushla replied harshly as she stepped to the front of the chair and
into Tarken’s view, planting her hands on her hips while looking
him up and down.

“Kleb,” Ayia asked, “Why did you come? I
thought you were at the castle?”

“When I found Cushla wandering outside I
thought it was an opportune time to bring her to Bazil. I had no
idea he’d gone to the castle. We didn’t pass him on the road
here.”

“He likely took one of the back roads,” Ayia
suggested. “To keep from being seen.”

Kleb turned his attention to Tarken. “What
has the master done to be bound like this?”

“He saw me enter the alley and followed. We
caught him snooping around,” Shre answered. “We’re not quite sure
of what to do with him, but I have no reservations about killing
him.”

“You know him better than we do, Kleb,” Ayia
interjected. “Do we kill him, or set him free?”

“Kleb,” Tarken spoke up. “This plan will
fail unless the slave bands are deactivated. If you begin this
revolt, many innocents will be killed. If they activate all the
slave bands they will use the highest setting and will connect all
of them, even those for the children.”

Kleb gave Ayia and Shre a bewildered look.
One that told Tarken that the slave bands were a hurdle they had
yet to clear.

“It appears you’re in a quandary,” he said
to them, probing for confirmation.

“As much as you might wish this,” Ayia
returned. “There is no quandary. The issue will be taken care
of.”

Tarken angled his head with curiosity. “By
whom, Ayia, by Mecor? The deactivating device is kept under lock
and key, as heavily guarded as the king himself.”

“As we told you, our man inside is working
on that,” Ayia .defended.

“I hope your emissary is well within the
king’s trust or he will get nowhere.” Tarken’s tone was taunting.
“Rube has only just recently been introduced to the king. I doubt
he will be trusted.”

“It is as he says,” Kleb spoke up. “When
last I spoke to our advocate, he had yet to determine the location
of the device, and he must take care less he be exposed.”