A Warlord's Lady (25 page)

‘Yes, boss,’ they replied in unison.

Cain nodded curtly, then turned and focussed on Christy once again. ‘I could fix your shoulder with a spell and — if we had the time — I’d lock you in that damn cell and leave you there till you learnt some fucking respect.’ He paused and his voice grew deadly. ‘But we don’t have the time for that. Make no mistake, Christy, you have pissed me off. You’ve been parading around this compound as if you own the place.
You don’t.
You are supposed to look out for your comrades, not just your
crew.
’ He left the rest unsaid, before continuing. ‘You had no care or empathy for what Jürgen experienced when he caught Maggie South in his room, when you know exactly what that situation can be like for a Aufhocker,
or a werewolf
. For that reason I’m not going to offer you care or empathy. I’m going to relocate your shoulder, but I’m going to do it manually.’

Christy nodded, but he could see her swallow.

‘Come here,’ he growled, and she took a reluctant step forwards.

Cain took hold of her injured arm and bent it at the elbow. Without any tenderness, he then rotated the arm and shoulder inward to form an ‘L’ shape. He could see sweat bead on Christy’s brow, and heard her grit her teeth, though he did not relish her suffering as he thought he might.

Slowly but steadily be began to rotate the arm and shoulder outward, keeping the upper arm stationary.

‘Make a fist,’ he said softly. She did so, with a wince. ‘And hold onto that wrist with your other arm.’ Obediently, Christy did as she was told. Then, very carefully and with more tenderness than he’d planned, Cain began to coax the shoulder back into the joint.

By the time it popped back into place, Christy was pale and sweat was running rivulets down her face.

‘Done,’ Cain said and walked back towards the credenza to take a sip of
lao-hai
. He proffered it to Christy once again, and this time she gratefully took it.

‘I don’t know what I can say to make you two get along, but we’re in trouble here, and you two can either back me up, or leave and fight your petty squabbles elsewhere.’

Jürgen nodded enthusiastically, while Christy gave a weak nod.

‘Go to the armoury and kit up, and I want enough for Sabra, too. Be back here in five.’

Jürgen looked unconvinced, and Christy dared not show any emotion, but gave a curt nod, turned and left.

They were alone together.

Cain watched Sabra as she gnawed nervously at her lip.

‘I was impressed by your ability.’

‘Thanks. I guess that’s why my eggs are worth so much trouble.’ She shrugged.

Cain felt his shoulders tighten with displeasure.

Why did she insist on bringing up that topic? Hadn’t he made it abundantly clear he had no interest in them?

‘I’ve told you, I don’t care about the damn eggs,’ Cain said, trying not to sound aggrieved.

Sabra looked up at him, a wistful look in her grey eyes. ‘I just wish I could believe that,’ she said.

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, but it was not long before Christy and Jürgen returned.

Cain was careful kitting Sabra up. He strapped on a Kevlar vest that flattened her breasts and pushed the air from her lungs as she squirmed uncomfortably into it. To make matters worse, she’d looked frankly horrified by the small submachine gun he then strapped across her shoulders. She’d never used a weapon before, she’d told him — and the confession made him nervous. He didn’t want her to get hurt but he wanted her to be able to her to defend herself. Alas, being as green as she was in the world of guerrilla warfare, she was a massive rainbow-coloured liability. He looked down at her, and her skin was fluctuating wildly, the way it did when she was nervous or scared. She looked almost absurdly cute decked out in her camo, Kevlar and gun. He hoped that giving her this opportunity to come with them to recover the Rakshasa may just be proof to her once and for all that he wanted more from her than just damnable eggs. He turned abruptly and scoured the shelves of his library.

He walked along the rows and stopped. He had many copies of the prophecy here. It wasn’t a large document, a few paragraphs at most. He’d had them copied in calligraphy, into Lao and into English. He hadn’t
needed
it translated into English; it wasn’t as attractive-sounding and the riddles seemed even more convoluted, but he had. He found the section of bookshelf where the laminated cards of the prophecy were stored and picked one up. He read the words.

Jürgen was speaking softly to Sabra, and he turned the card over, grabbed a marker and scrawled a note on the back. He still believed in the prophecy, didn’t he? Until this very moment, he’d never doubted it. He’d never doubted that the lovely blush he’d seen on Sabra that day in the bar made her the rainbow of the prophecy.

‘Here,’ he said, handing her the card. ‘Keep this.’

Sabra stared at the card, and it slowly dawned on her what it was. ‘The prophecy?’ she asked softly and took it. She stared down at the beautifully scripted words in fascination.

‘I hope it will go some way to helping understand things.’ He paused, watching her lips move as she read the prophecy silently. When she stopped, he added, ‘You’ll be pleased to note, that despite being filled with riddles, there doesn’t seem to be any mention of egg harvesting.’

Sabra looked up and held his eyes. There was something indefinable in her expression. He struggled a moment to decipher it, and failed. She gave him a small smile, but it was enough. She slipped the card into her pocket. ‘Thanks.’

Christy was itching to get going, and had finished kitting herself up. She was bristling with weapons, and each movement was heralded by a clatter of weaponry.

‘You should have this,’ Jürgen said, turning to Sabra.

She looked startled as Jürgen handed her a good-sized hunting knife, but took it with hands that coloured blue.

‘No, hold it like this,’ Jürgen said, and showed her how to hold the knife in the correct grip.

Cain felt his skin prickle with something akin to jealousy as the hulking German bent over Sabra and showed her a few useful moves.

His jaw tightened, but he did not otherwise say anything. Sabra caught his eye, and gave a bemused smile.

‘Thank you, Jürgen,’ she said eventually.

‘Just use your ability if we find trouble,’ Cain said gruffly.

His words must have alarmed her, as her skin flushed again and the knife she held fell to the floor with a clatter. ‘Okay,’ Sabra agreed, blushing purple. She bent awkwardly in her oversized vest and picked it up.

Cain took it gently from her and sheathed it in its holder at her belt. He allowed, for just a moment, his hand to linger at her side and caress briefly the gentle curve of her hip.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, as much to Jürgen and Christy as Sabra. ‘Now, let’s go and find those Rakshasa.’

***

It was hot and difficult trekking through the jungle — even with his magic to aid them. Using a simple spell, the jungle parted before him like yawning green jaws, but the heat and humidity sapped energy faster than they could gain it.

Jürgen and Christy said little but it was Sabra, however, who surprised him. Her small stocky body was strong, and though sweat drizzled down the sides of her face like rain, she did not once complain.

They stopped, and drank from their water canteens. There was no sign of the government forces, but it was known that they had a magician cloaking them — so they could literally be anywhere. Cain was desperate to know
which
magician would sell their soul and work for the government against
him
. It was lower than a snake’s belly. He worked to
enhance
rights for magical beings so whoever was working for the government must have a powerful reason for doing so. It was disturbing.

He took another gulp from his canteen and wiped away the rivulets of sweat that cascaded down from his hairline. It was a temptation to use a hunting spell to track them down — or he could use a Random Magical Ion Testing Device, but both those things may well alert the turncoat magician of their presence. So Cain decided to do it the old-fashioned way.

The Aufhocker and werewolf travelled through the heavy jungle silent as ghosts, helped by the soft, moist ground, but their natural stealth was an incredible asset. Sabra seemed to slip in and out of visibility. It was an illusion. He knew she was practicing her ability, but as a result she was neither a hindrance nor hazard to them. It was Cain who felt cumbersome and clumsy, but he felt he managed to keep up well. Christy and Jürgen’s tracking ability was invaluable.

They had picked up the track of the Rakshasa very quickly, after they’d left the compound. Fortunately, Rakshasa were dirty little demons who had left a trail of faeces, piss and dead wildlife behind them. The first indication of their track was a peed-on tree. Both Jürgen and Christy were taking it as some sort of competition, trying to identify Rakshasa odours first. Then it had been a dead monkey, eaten down to its skeleton, the bones organised in an odd and grotesque way, hanging from a tree. It had probably been some sort of macabre game, Cain surmised. Then they must have had a shit-fight, quite literally. Splatters of turd virtually painted a long section of track through the jungle, merely re-enforcing everyone’s view that Rakshasa were repugnant and no good for anything. Finally, it had been several dead birds, the plumage scattered for nearly a kilometre as they had plucked and eaten as they walked. Then the trail ended.

***

They walked for a while as the sun began to hang lower in the sky. Cain was up front using magic, while Christy stalked behind him with her weapons at the ready.

After the sounds of Christy’s footfall had faded off into the roar of insects, and Sabra was certain they were alone, she spoke.

‘Can I ask you something, Jürgen?’

Jürgen’s eyes widened, and turned to face her. He nodded gravely. ‘Of course.’

They walked on.

‘When I…I…left,’ she began, feeling Jürgen’s small eyes narrow, ‘how did Cain react?’

Jürgen looked away, and as if embarrassed by the question he stomped a few more steps ahead before turning and holding her gaze.

‘I only ask because I saw him when you were all searching for me, and he just seemed angry…I need to know if…’ she faded off, the words not coming.

‘He
was
angry,’ Jürgen replied, his German accent thick. ‘He had tried to give you everything you desired. Yet, you ran. This did make him angry.’

Sabra felt her heart close a little at Jürgen’s words. ‘So he wasn’t…sad?’

She tripped over an exposed root and found herself caught by Jürgen’s massive hand; she didn’t thank him, her mind was whirring.

Surely if he loved me as he claimed — leaving would have made him more sad than angry?

Jürgen looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘He was sad,’ he agreed and released her arm.

‘How do you know?’ Sabra asked softly.

‘He seemed lost. He wanted you so much and he cared for you. He wanted you to be happy and he failed. My lord is not used to failure.’ Jürgen paused. ‘Were you sad?’ he asked.

Sabra felt her words hitch in her throat. ‘I was devastated.’ She nodded. ‘Haven’t you read the book? When I found those other women…I couldn’t bear the notion of sharing him.’

Jürgen frowned. ‘What other women?’ he asked.

They walked under a low-hanging tree, and a fat droplet of water landed on the leg of Sabra’s camouflage pants and soaked into the thick fabric. She stared at him.

‘The women who give themselves to him. I’ve seen them.’

Jürgen laughed. ‘Ah, the mighty harem?’ he snorted. ‘Sabra, no, you never had to fear sharing him. Our warlord is a man of honour — never doubt that. Everything he does has a reason, and usually a good one. There has been no other woman since you, and you can stake your heart on that.’

She closed her eyes and gnawed on her lip, precariously close to tears.

Damn hormones
.

‘Are you lying to me?’ she asked, but she knew the answer.

‘Of course not,’ Jürgen retorted, outrage making his blond eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

She had only one more question.

‘Does he only want my eggs?’ she asked. ‘Like the government and the mafia do?’

Jürgen’s face reddened. ‘I would imagine the last thing my boss was considering when he met you was harvesting your eggs. Rutting you senseless perhaps, but Cain does not believe in breeding programs and scientific research on living beings.
It’s exactly what he fights against
.’

She’d had him wrong all along. She wiped away an errant tear and stared off into the jungle; the sun was setting now.

It took her a moment to realise, but Cain had stopped walking and she nearly collided with him.

‘I can smell something, but it’s not Rakshasa,’ Christy growled. There was no sound — they could not hear anything above the wild roar of jungle insects. The malodorous stink of the Rakshasa had simply disappeared into the heavy foliage around them.

‘They’ve gone to the other side,’ Jürgen muttered, kicking at a rotten log and watching it disintegrate beneath his boot. ‘Turncoats. You can’t trust a demon.’

‘Yes, you can,’ Christy retorted. ‘I’ve got demons in my crew and they’d never betray us.’

‘Yes, but they are not Rakshasa, are they?’ Jürgen reminded her. ‘Rakshasa are vile.’

Christy opened her mouth to say something, but clearly found herself in unwilling agreement with the statement so fell silent.

‘Any ideas, my lord?’ Jürgen asked, watching Christy rolling her shoulders as if releasing a tense muscle. The gesture caused her tank top to display a strip of her heavily muscled abdomen. Cain watched Jürgen’s pale eyes linger there for a second longer than they should.

***

Jürgen’s sexual interest had been aroused by Mags being in season and it made Cain uneasy. He thought of the female Aufhocker. She was locked in one of the more comfortable cells and guarded by Christy’s crew. She’d stoutly refused to say who’d sent her or how she’d got to his compound. No mean feat. Cain did not condone torture in general, but he figured a few days sans food may warm her up; Aufhockers were notoriously hungry creatures.