Warrior (29 page)

“No,” Thalia shouted at him over the pounding of their horses’ hooves.

Bent over the neck of his mount, Gabriel looked at her.

“I won’t let you sacrifice yourself to help us gain time!” she yelled.

He scowled. Holy hellhound, she’d read his bloody mind. “I don’t see any other damned alternatives,” he snarled back. He wanted to give her the ruby and kettle, and send her ahead whilst he provided a distraction. Clearly, she didn’t care for this plan.

They had reached their own group of riders, who, catching sight of Thalia and Gabriel racing toward them, inferred that they were being pursued. Thalia let their men know what they were up against. Eyes widened in surprise, but not fear. They began talking amongst themselves. Twenty of the men jumped down from their horses and began gathering fallen branches and sticks from the low saxaul trees. And while they did this, the Heirs’ army thundered closer.

“Come on, damn it,” Gabriel bellowed at them. “We’re riding, now!”

But the men paid him no mind, even as Thalia urged them on in Mongolian and Gabriel swore at them with every foul word he knew in English. They tied the branches to their horses’ tails, then remounted. One of the men, whom Gabriel remembered from the nadaam, spoke tersely with Thalia before setting his heels to his horse. The twenty men then rode off with him, veering toward the west. The branches tied to the horses’ tails dragged on the ground, kicking up enormous clouds of dust. The air became thick and yellow.

“What the hell do they think they’re doing?” Gabriel demanded. “They’re leaving a trail.”

“But not our trail,” Thalia answered with a shake of her head.

A gruff laugh sprung from Gabriel. She was right. Their Mongol allies were creating a huge screen of dust, not only creating the illusion that Thalia and Gabriel were headed west, but hiding them in the process and drawing the Heirs away. “An old trick from the days of Genghis Khan,” one of the remaining riders explained. Gabriel couldn’t help but admire their ironclad bollocks. No time to waste on admiration, though. He, Thalia, and the other riders wheeled their horses about and sped on their way, deeper into the unforgiving desert.

Henry Lamb was a ponce, or so Jonas Edgeworth thought. He’d complained to his father about being sent to Mongolia with a man who had more starch in his underwear than most blokes had in their entire wardrobe, including shirts for church. For Christ’s sake, Lamb didn’t even follow cricket. But Joseph Edgeworth had insisted that his son accompany Lamb.

“Ponce or not,” his father said, “Lamb is a valuable Heir. He can show you a few things out in the field that you can’t learn at home.”

Jonas was just now learning that you never, ever made Henry Lamb angry. The man might’ve been a ponce, but when he was enraged—devils protect Jonas. Satan himself would piss in his brimstone drawers from fear.

When Lamb discovered, after a whole day of chasing Thalia Burgess and her band of supporters, that he had been tricked, only God or Queen Victoria could have inspired so much terror. The eighty battle-hardened, heartless fiends Tsend had found cowered meekly as Lamb ranted and raged, actually tearing small trees up from the ground and using their trunks to bash in the head of an unlucky decoy they’d managed to catch. The others fled, but they had to hear the stomach-churning gurgles coming from their dying comrade.

Jonas, no stranger to brutality, couldn’t even watch as Lamb’s immaculate clothing became spattered with brains and blood. When the chap was quite dead, Lamb wasn’t done with him. Lamb’s prized Sheffield knife, polished and gleaming, was used to cut him into bits, which were left for the animals. Jonas would’ve been sick, but was afraid that, in Lamb’s frenzy, any sign of such activity would send him off on another berserker rage. So, instead, he swallowed his gorge and looked away as the true face of Henry Lamb was revealed.

After a half an hour of this, Lamb seemed to have sufficiently calmed for Jonas to speak to him. “Jesus, Lamb,” he said as they both mounted up, “all that wasn’t necessary, was it?”

Lamb barely spared the desecrated remains a glance. Of greater concern to him were the stains on his Bond Street clothing. He tsked and frowned over them like a disapproving valet surveying the night’s damage to a dinner jacket.

“Oh, that,” Lamb drawled. “That’s nothing compared to what I plan to do to that Yorkshireman.”

“And the girl?”

The gleam in Lamb’s eyes caused Jonas’s stomach to clench. “She won’t go quite as quickly.”

With that, Lamb ordered the men out, and no one complained about how tired and hungry they were, not a single man. Jonas rode alongside Lamb and wondered what, if anything, he could tell his father.

Allies or Enemies?

The reprieve would be temporary. As much as Thalia admired the courage and ingenuity of their tribesmen compatriots, nothing could keep the Heirs away forever, except outright defeat. She didn’t know how that might be possible. Only six remained in her company. The Heirs had many, many more, and she didn’t doubt that whatever men Henry Lamb had found were likely the sort who killed readily and happily for money. She, herself, had killed only once in her life, and never wanted to repeat that experience again. But being able to keep her hands unspotted with blood now seemed doubtful.

As the Heirs drew closer—and she knew they couldn’t be more than a day behind—she felt her first true taste of fear, finally understanding the extraordinary danger one faced when joining the Blades of the Rose. It was entirely possible that either she or Gabriel, or both of them, wouldn’t survive the mission. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the terror of losing him.

“You can still ride for Urga,” Gabriel said to her. They had stopped in the shadow of one of the large cliffs that had been rising from the earth for the past few miles to rest their horses, which were half-dead with thirst and fatigue. She pitied the poor animals, but they could not afford to let them go and attempt the remaining trek on foot.

Thalia, sitting on the rocky, barren ground with her arms braced on her knees, looked up at him wearily. She took the canteen he offered and allowed herself only a few sips of water, though she wanted to finish the whole thing. Everyone’s rations, not only those of the horses, were low.

“No,” she croaked back. “Stop asking me to.” She returned the canteen.

Caked in red dust, lips dry, tiredness turning his face into hard planes of bronze, Gabriel had never looked more beautiful. Campaigning sat well with him. Lean, sharp as a cutlass, capable of anything. He easily folded down to sit beside her and capped the canteen, despite the fact that he’d barely touched any of the water himself. Saving it for her.

“Have to ask,” he said without apology.

“Make this the last time.”

He shook his head with a rueful smile. “You’re stubborn as hell.”

Despite her own bone-deep weariness, Thalia couldn’t help but return the smile. She reached over and ran her hand along the sculpted lines of his cheek, his jaw. She felt it, even exhausted and thirsty, the insistent pull whenever she touched him. The pull that demanded she touch him more, until they were bare of everything except desire. She struggled, still, with the knowledge of her love. Impossible to tell him here, in the midst of danger. She did not believe he would run from her love, yet she also understood that knowledge of it whilst fighting for life and magic would be a distraction neither of them could afford. She hoped that, one day, and one day soon, she could tell him how he filled her heart. Instead, she said, “And you, my dear Captain, are one of the most biddable men I’ve ever met.”

Clasping her hand with his own, holding her to him, he asked, “Biddable, or beddable?”

“Both,” she chuckled, then sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a few gallons of water, a bath, and a nice, green place for us to lie down together.”

His eyes glinted with hunger as his fingers tightened around hers. “I’d kill for that.”

“We might have to.” She refused to consider that now, though her desiccated blood turned to sleet to think of what lay in store for them, what chased them. “So odd,” she murmured.

“What’s that?”

“After all this time, after I’d given up hope. To meet you now. Here.” She waved her hand at the austere beauty of the Gobi, silent except for the wind stirring the coppery dust. It was very far, in distance and feel, from the lush steppes on which she’d grown and lived. Whether or not they had actually crossed into China was a matter of debate. Borders, like so much of life, never remained fixed, but shifted without warning or reason.

“Not so odd.” He pressed the palm of her hand to his mouth. “Just right. For people like us.” Then his eyes sharpened, his body tensed. He stood, pulling her up with him. Their four remaining escorts looked at him, questioning, as he pulled his rifle. “Someone’s coming.”

“The Heirs?” Thalia asked. She was already heading toward her saddle for her own firearm.

He tilted his head, listening. “Too few. Not on horseback. Something else.”

Finally, Thalia was able to hear it, too. Coming closer. But the cliffs made it almost impossible to tell where the sound was originating from, or how near. Gabriel tucked the wrapped bundle of the kettle under one arm and the ruby into a pocket. He motioned for everyone to gather in a circle, facing outward with their weapons drawn. Thalia’s heart knocked into her ribs. Perhaps the Heirs had found a way to bribe more men into tracking them down.

The wind picked up, raising clouds of dust. Thalia squinted into the swirling grit. Voices. Footfalls, but heavy. She tightened her grip on her rifle, her finger hovering over the trigger. And then large, dark shapes emerged. They made a hideous sound, an awful, hoarse bellowing.

“Stop!” Thalia shouted out in Mongol. “We are armed and have nothing of value.”

“You are valuable, English Mongol woman,” a voice atop one of the large shapes responded. The brief eddy of dust settled, revealing ten men mounted on shaggy, short-legged camels. One of the camels let out another terrible bray. Heart sinking, Thalia saw that the men were armed, too, with Russian rifles all pointed at her group.

“I think you must be valuable, indeed,” continued the man who’d spoken. He kicked his camel forward, so that only a few feet separated the unknown man and her. Gabriel immediately stepped in front of her, deliberate fury tightening his jaw as he kept his rifle trained on the man. “See how you are guarded?” the man said. “And you are chased by almost an entire army.”

“Did they send you?” Thalia shot back.

The man shook his head, but she would not yet feel relief. They were outnumbered, and, she realized as several of the men drew pistols from their belts, outgunned. “Tell your English friend that we will shoot him and then you if he does not lower his weapon.” Thalia had no choice but to convey the message.

Gabriel swore, but he could see, just as clearly as she could, that there was no way out of the situation. Everyone in their party was too tired and thirsty to put up much more than token resistance before being killed. With another oath, he lowered his rifle. Several of the men on camels dismounted and came forward, relieving everyone of their guns, then looked to the man who was plainly their leader.

“We are sent by no one but ourselves, and we would like to know,” the man said, bending over his saddle with an assessing stare, “just what it is that makes you so worth pursuing.”

The camp crouched in the maze of ravines, rising gold and red all around them. Winds had carved grooves into the cliffs, and sang through these ridges with an eerie, sad lament. As she, Gabriel, and the tribesmen slowly rode, the bandits behind them, pushing them forward, Thalia saw more men perched in these cliffs like nimble-footed goats. Goats who were also armed. She turned her gaze back toward the camp they approached.

“They don’t know what the kettle is,” Gabriel said lowly, glancing at his saddlebag where it lay. “Maybe we can give them something else.”

“But what?” Thalia asked, also careful to keep her voice down. “All we have of value is the ruby.” Glancing over at him, she realized that was exactly what he was thinking. She hissed, “We cannot! We swore to protect it.”

“The Source, and our lives, come first,” he pointed out, expression impassive. Thalia scowled, but he wouldn’t be dissuaded. “I had to make these damned decisions almost every day when I was in the army. The greater good. The lesser of two evils, and all that tripe. But,” he added, “as you’ve pointed out before, I’m muscle, and you’re in charge of this mission. The final choice is yours.”

“And you’d honor that choice?” She looked at him in disbelief.

“Your judgment is sound. However,” he added, a corner of his mouth tilting up, “that doesn’t mean I won’t try to convince you otherwise, if you’ve made the wrong choice.”

Thalia rolled her eyes. She should have known that, just because she and Gabriel had become lovers, he wouldn’t surrender his military arrogance. “None of this matters,” she said, “if we don’t leave here soon. We could lose what lead we have on the Heirs.”

“Might have an idea or two about that,” Gabriel murmured.

They had reached the camp. Far from a civilized ail, with families and animals, this was a place of basic necessity only. Thalia saw no women, no children. Only men slung with bullets, gathered around fires and watching the newcomers, appraising. Their clothing was a mixture of Mongol, Chinese, and Russian, taken, obviously, from the few remaining traders and merchants that traversed the old silk trade routes. Camels, not horses, were the mounts of choice in such an arid place. Shelter was comprised of makeshift tents, rather than gers. Hard living for a harsh clime, and the men were just as remorseless.

She couldn’t help but longingly stare at the bowls of tea the bandits drank, and the smell of roasting meat made her dizzy. Everyone dismounted, tensely watching one another. The leader of the bandits came forward. He was the same height as Thalia, but brawny, dark from the desert sky, and sharply intelligent. That mental agility glinted like obsidian in his eyes. He said something to another man nearby, who scuttled off quickly to do his bidding. “Have something to eat and drink,” the bandit leader said. At Thalia’s look of surprise, he said, laughing, “We are thieves, but we are Mongols, too. It’s more wrong to deny a guest than to take their belongings.”

They were herded toward a fire, where bowls of tea and meat were given to them. Gabriel eyed his suspiciously, and would not let her eat or drink until he saw some of the brigands eating and drinking the same food. “Strange code of honor,” he said over the rim of his bowl. They both watched as their horses were given water.

Thalia, busy gulping tea down her parched throat, could only grunt in agreement. Nothing had ever tasted quite so wonderful. But as her thirst was quenched, trepidation took its place. The bandits were not friendly, open tribesmen of the steppe. They weren’t even reserved but benign desert-dwelling nomads. For all her experience in Mongolia, as much as it was her home, she’d never had any interaction with men whose sole means of living was through thievery and other unsavory means. They could be capable of anything.

She glanced over at Gabriel, whose expression revealed nothing. Thalia tried to take some comfort in knowing that Gabriel probably had faced men such as these bandits many times over when he was in the army. She hoped he had some plan, because, short of bribing their way out of the bandits’ lair with the ruby, Thalia could think of nothing to extract them. Catullus Graves, no doubt, would have created some terrifying new contraption within seconds from nothing more than a few rocks and a piece of mutton. Bennett Day would have charmed everyone, and soon had them telling bawdy stories of conquest over shared drinks of arkhi. But Catullus wasn’t there—he was probably safe in Southampton, tinkering on his latest diabolical design—and neither was Bennett—sneaking out of some married woman’s bedroom window, no doubt—so it was left to Thalia and Gabriel to escape unharmed on their own.

The leader of the bandits stood across the fire, lighting his pipe. After a few puffs, he said, “Now you must repay my generosity by telling me what those Englishmen and their army want with you.”

Telling the truth was impossible. Fortunately, none of the tribesmen were willing to betray their precious cargo, and they kept silent, as did Thalia.

“A race,” Gabriel said in Mongolian.

Quite possibly, Thalia was more surprised than anyone. Next, he would start tatting lace. “I didn’t know you could speak Mongol,” she said in English, turning to him.

He shrugged dismissively. “Been picking up a few words here and there. Always had a head for languages.”

“What kind of race?” the bandit leader asked.

“Sponsored by a rich lord. For treasure,” Gabriel answered. “Much treasure.”

“Like this?” prompted the leader. He strode forward and, striking as quickly as a snake, plucked the ruby from Gabriel’s jacket pocket. Thalia and the tribesmen all yelped in horror, but a quelling look from Gabriel held them all back.

“That is nothing,” Gabriel said, indifferent. “Compared to what awaits.”

The leader considered the glow of the fire through the ruby, casting deep red light across his face and beard. “Then you will tell me where the finish for this race is.”

“At a temple.”

“Which temple?”

Gabriel, as if he had all the time in creation and didn’t care that the Heirs could ride up within moments, or that the bandits might slit their throats without hesitation, reached into his jacket. The bandits clustered around their leader tensed, but were held off by a restraining hand. Thalia thought she might shatter with tension. Gabriel wouldn’t possibly try to shoot their way out with a hidden pistol, would he?

But all he produced from his pocket was a cheroot. He bent forward and lit it, as casually as if he was in the officers’ club and not some brigands’ encampment in the middle of the Gobi cliffs. Nothing could disrupt his sangfroid. After taking a few draws from the cheroot and exhaling the smoke, he reached out and offered it to the leader.