Authors: Brock E. Deskins
Evelyn slept in fits and starts, startling awake every few minutes throughout the night. Aniston had not returned last night, and she feared her nightmares would be born out on the morrow. The sound of the door opening to the living area of her rooms roused her fully awake.
She leapt from her bed and hurried across the room. She threw the door of her bedchamber open, but the smile on her face vanished. Evelyn stood in the doorway, numb and trying to force down the fear and revulsion lodged in her throat.
“Were you expecting someone else?” Martin asked. “Given your little schemes, I imagine you expected anyone other than me. It was quite clever, almost worthy of an agent.”
Martin’s short stay in the cells beneath the palace had obviously not been a pleasant one. He favored his left leg, and his face was a mosaic of bruises and abrasions.
“Where is Aniston?” Evelyn asked, trying to pitch her tone to be as neutral as she could.
“Oh, he is quite dead. I am afraid he met a rather brutal end early this morning, as traitors often do.”
“Aniston was a patriot. It is the usurper wearing my father’s crown and those who put him there who are the traitors!”
Martin shrugged. “I have little interest in politics aside from doing my duty. I do appreciate you sending Aniston off on those errands. It did a splendid job of proving my innocence and securing my release so that I might get back to it. Having been falsely accused and sentenced a second time for something I had not done weighed particularly heavy on my soul.”
“Anyone who sides with The Guild and their murderous lot has no soul!”
“Perhaps, but at least we have our freedom and our lives.” Martin grinned, a haughty gleam his eyes.
Evelyn turned and slammed the door behind her.
“Yes, Highness, do get comfortable. You will be spending a great deal of time in there.”
Evelyn collapsed to her knees next to her bed, buried her face in the covers, and wept.
***
Opatia’s capital of Betham lay cradled in a valley surrounded by towering peaks. Second only to Leva in population, at least for the “civilized” nations, its splendor equaled and even surpassed Anatolia’s grand capital.
Even travelling the new trade road had taken ten days of steady riding through the twisting, rising, and plummeting mountain passes. Garran had wanted to avoid the well-travelled and patrolled highway, but Adam’s argument regarding the preciousness of time had swayed him. Adam’s god-touched gift had managed to allow them to pass the numerous patrols and toll stations without incident.
The only conflict that had arisen was at a customs station when they confiscated Garran’s remaining opium and the laudanum the physic had given him for his injury. Adam doubted that the wound troubled him much as it had scabbed over and knitted together with startling rapidity, but Garran was adamant in his insistence that the potent painkiller was crucial for his recovery. So much so, that Adam was only barely able to prevent him from fighting the entire customs guard force and ruining what had thus far been a trouble-free journey.
“Do you think we will have better luck with Mathias than we did Anton?” Adam asked as he laid out his court clothes upon the inn’s bed.
“We don’t have to worry about Mathias. He is as useful as a three-legged chair and half as intelligent. The real power lies with Queen Ingrid.”
“Will she help us?”
“Her secret contributions to your father were substantially greater than Anton’s were, and she has never kept secret her dislike for The Guild. Whether her courage and hatred are enough to support us in such an overt manner, I cannot predict. We do have one powerful tool we can use that Remiel lacked.”
Adam looked up from brushing his doublet. “What’s that?”
Garran grinned and swiveled his hips.
“Your tool is covered in rust from years of misuse and likely too small for the job.”
“Hey!”
“Seriously, Garran, don’t get us thrown in prison again.”
“That was not entirely my fault. But just in case, I will prepare for such an eventuality as I always do while I’m setting up our appointment. Don’t wait up, and don’t leave the room.”
“Just do what you need to do and come back. Don’t get…distracted.”
Garran reached up and pinched Adam’s cheek. “Aw, you miss me when I’m gone. I knew you were sweet on me.”
Adam slapped Garran’s hand away and stepped back. “I just don’t like sitting in these rooms by myself when people are hunting me!”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” Garran blew a kiss at Adam and strode through the door.
“Ass,” Adam grumbled and locked the door behind him.
Adam retrieved his book of scriptures from his pack, lay on the bed, and began reading. His mind kept drifting to thoughts of Evelyn, causing him to lose track of the words and forcing him to reread entire passages. Every morning, he woke hoping to find that this had all been some kind of incredibly lucid nightmare, but each sunrise only brought another day of despondency.
Garran’s presence did little to make him feel better. While he had done a remarkable job thus far keeping him safe despite his vulgar behavior, he was the lesser of two evils only by a narrow margin. Garran was like a tourniquet. Although he was keeping him alive, it was only a matter of time before he ruined the limb and it necessitated amputation.
Adam’s stomach grumbled, castigating him once again for failing to arrange dinner. He thought of going downstairs to order a meal brought to his room, but Garran had told him to stay inside. It would only take a minute, but it would also only take one person to recognize him.
Cimmaron had been a narrow escape. While Garran had neutralized Victor and his hunters, he did not have him here to watch over him. Adam hated the fact that he needed Garran’s protection. It was like having a guard dog with rabies…and probably a host of sexually transmitted diseases.
With a resigned sigh, Adam retrieved some trail food from his bag and ate the unappealing, dry fare. His hunger grudgingly placated, he lay back down and began reading again until his eyelids grew heavy. He was just losing contact with the conscious world when there came a soft knocking at the door.
“Adam,” a woman’s voice whispered from the other side of the door.
Adam’s heart raced, and looked around the room for a weapon.
“Adam, it’s all right. Garran sent me. Open the door.”
Adam leaned in close to the door and listened for anyone else who might also be in the hallway. “Thank you, but I have quite had my fill of prostitutes either real or imagined.”
“Prostitute? I am not a prostitute. I am here to help you.”
“How do I know Garran sent you?”
“You don’t, and I don’t have a lot of time to convince you. Garran spotted several men following him through town on his way to the palace. He saw me near the Anatolian embassy and asked me to move you to a more secure place in case there was another team moving to capture you while he was out. He was right. I saw another group of men moving in on your position here just a moment ago. They will be here in minutes, so we need to go.”
Adam swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and fought to keep his breathing steady. “Who are you?”
“My name is Karla. I work at the embassy.”
“You’re an agent?”
“I’m just an analyst. I knew Garran in school. Please, Adam, we need to go.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t. You’re a grown man, Adam. What am I going to do, kick your ass and drag you away by force?”
Adam looked around the room, broke a clay pitcher, and set a thick shard on the floor a few inches from the door. He unlocked the door and opened it a crack, using the shard as a doorstop to prevent anyone from forcing it open. Peering through the narrow opening, he looked to see if Karla was alone.
“Smart,” Karla said, “but you should always have a small mirror handy so you can see around the doorframe.”
Karla produced a polished piece of steel from inside her cloak and held it up. She angled it so Adam could see that the hall was empty. Satisfied she was alone; Adam kicked the makeshift doorstop away and opened the door.
Karla was an attractive woman with long, black hair, blue eyes, and a ready smile on her full lips. Her cloak concealed most of her body, but Adam caught a glimpse of dark leathers that complimented her figure rather well.
She nodded at the open pack next to the bed. “Is that your stuff? Grab it and let’s go. I’ll take Garran’s gear.”
Adam followed her orders, shouldered, his bag, and followed her from the room. Karla paused at the top of the stairs leading toward the common room before descending.
“There are two watchers in the common room, so we’ll need to go through the kitchen.”
Karla led him through the kitchen and into the alley. Looking up and down the street at the end, she stayed close to the buildings, darting from shadow to shadow like a sneak thief. The pair wound their way through the city using the alleys to stay off the main thoroughfares as much as possible.
Adam was sweating and breathing heavy when they finally came to a halt. Karla stopped next to a sturdy, enclosed wagon and tossed Garran’s pack through the open door.
“Get in,” she ordered.
Adam looked warily at the stout door with bars set in the top center. “What is this?”
“It’s a prisoner transport wagon. I’m taking you to a safe house on the other side of the city, and this is the best way to do it without drawing attention.”
“It’s a prison cell on wheels.”
“Sorry, Highness, it’s the best I could do on short notice. Now, if you will please get your royal ass inside, we can get going.”
Adam looked at the wagon then at Karla who was getting visibly impatient. He mentally noted her form-fitting outfit again.
“Do you normally wear leathers?”
“Even analysts have to do some legwork once in a while. Look, I’m putting off some rather important duties to help you and Garran out, so if you would kindly take a seat in the wagon.”
Adam looked from her to the wagon again and shook his head. “No, something is not right here.”
Karla sighed and shook her hands as if she had just washed them. “I had hoped you were going to make this easy on me, but if you want to choose the hard way, so be it.”
Adam took a step back. “What do you mean, the hard way?”
“Remember when I mentioned something about kicking your ass? Well, now that’s what is about to happen.”
Adam raised his hands defensively and looked around for an escape. “Look, I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
Karla smiled as she slipped a lead sapper into her hand. “Aw, that’s sweet. I’m going to almost feel bad for what I’m about to do.”
The woman moved startlingly fast, launching a flurry of jabs at Adam’s face. Adam used his priestly training to block the strikes until Karla made a sweeping motion with her left hand, forced both of his arms down, and struck him between the eyes with the heel of her right hand.
Adam stumbled back and caught himself against the side of the wagon. “That’s Ka-Rugh! It is supposed to be a meditation exercise!”
Karla smiled and shrugged. “A girl has to know how to protect herself, and when something works so well for purposes other than what it was intended, it would be a sin not to use it.”
“It is blasphemy to use it for selfish gain!” Adam focused on his power and sent Karla a powerful command. “Stop!”
Karla froze as every joint in her body locked. She scowled, focused her mind, and forced her body to move. She moved as if a rope had been holding her back and suddenly snapped. She leapt and kicked Adam in the chest, driving him against the wagon.
Adam pushed off the carriage and attacked with a series of swift jabs and swings. Karla blocked them with practiced ease, slipped under a hard right cross, and delivered three blows to his stomach. Adam felt himself deflate and fought to catch his breath. Karla grabbed his left wrist in her hand, slipped behind him, leapt onto the wagon wheel, and jumped onto his shoulders. She locked her legs around his neck and rode him to the ground.
“Good night, sweet prince,” Karla crooned just before striking Adam atop his head with the sapper.
Adam outweighed the agent by a good fifty pounds, but she was no weakling. She pulled his arm over her shoulder, hoisted his bulk onto her back, and tossed him into the back of the prisoner wagon like a sack of grain.
Karla climbed onto the driver’s bench, flicked the reins, and urged the two horses into a trot. She kept the animals moving at a steady clip until they were about five miles from Betham. She then allowed the fatigued horses to plod on at a walk for another three hours before guiding them far off the road and onto a logging path.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself an hour’s nap before her well-trained mind told her it was time to get moving again. Karla answered the call of nature and gathered up some wood to start a small fire. She suspended a coffee pot from a small tripod over the flames and approached the wagon.
“Hey, Prince Cupcake, you conscious back there?”
“I am, and I do not think it is necessary to be rude just because you engage in kidnapping.”