A Warlord's Lady (28 page)

He could feel Faustus building up to a spell and so without hesitation he sent another smack of power towards him. However, this one was intended to be fatal. Witty and clever this magician may be, but he could not let him live and destroy everything he’d worked so hard for.

‘Kill me, and someone worse will take my place,’ Faustus wheezed, shielding himself with a spell.

The camp was beginning to rouse at the sounds of their fight. Cain knew he would not be clearly visible to those in the clearing, but it would only be a moment or two before the sentries turned their weapons towards him.

He mentally implored Sabra to run and get away, but he could sense her there, still and waiting, hidden in the foliage.

Teyvada Sommai was galloping back, thundering through the undergrowth — and Cain could hear weapons, then more weapons readied and night vision goggles snapping into place over faces.

One more spell, and he could kill this magician, leaving the militia to find their own way without magic and be picked off by his guards.

Was there a better plan?

Faustus’s eyes were glistening and malevolent. ‘Kill me then, and see what monsters you bring upon yourself,’ he hissed. ‘I dare you.’

Time stood still, as it always seems to in moments like these.

Killing Faustus and bringing some other monster down on his people was a risk Cain simply could not take. With a frustrated growl he conjured a wicked-looking silver knife and threw it.

Faustus cringed and shielded himself. The knife flew harmlessly past.

It landed with a meaty thunk where Cain intended, at a precise and deadly location in Teyvada Sommai’s chest. The militia man staggered, a look of utter bewilderment colouring his face. A hideous gurgling and sucking came from his chest and he tumbled backwards with a soundless cry. By the time he landed on the forest floor, he was dead.

Cries of outrage erupted throughout the camp and several shots were fired. Cain sank back into the foliage and crouched low. Sabra’s camouflaged hand gripped his forearm tightly.

Faustus was staring at Sommai in disbelief as the general’s body twitched in its last death throes — but Cain did not wait. With the use of the
motus
spell, and amid the sudden squealing of activated Magical Ion Testing Devices, he disappeared with Sabra in a shimmer of magic.

***

They appeared moments later in the jungle beside Jürgen and Christy who were glaring at each other through the tropical gloom.

They stopped and stared as Cain appeared with a pale and naked Sabra by his side.

‘Ummm. Time and place, boss. Time and place.’ Christy averted her eyes. Sabra quickly brought one arm up to cover her breasts and the other to cover between her legs.

Cain looked at her, unable to repress the pull of desire her naked body caused, and uttered a quick spell, clothing her once again in camo gear.

‘We’ve got to go back to the compound,’ Cain growled, ‘now.’

‘Why what’s happened? Have you found the Rakshasa?’ Jürgen asked, standing up and stepping close to Cain.

Cain pushed him away, and stepped up towards Sabra whose wide grey eyes widened further.

‘We’ve found the camp and the Rakshasa. The army and the mafia magician have them.’

‘So?’ Christy asked. ‘Let’s go and have a party. We’ve got enough weapons here to cut through a crowd.’

Jürgen threw her a withering glance.

‘You’re so American,’ he growled.

‘And you’re so freaking German — shut up,’ Christy bit back.

Cain ignored them.

‘They’re going to release the Rakshasa in the morning, like it or not, and oath-bound to me as they are, they’ll lead them straight to the compound.’

‘Who leads the army force? Is it the usual suspects?’

Cain nodded wearily. ‘Teyvada Sommai led them.’

‘Led them?’ Christy asked. ‘Sounds mighty past tense, boss.’

‘It is. He’s dead, but the magician wants Sabra, and he’s going to lay siege and hostage off those at the compound until I give Sabra to them, and hand myself over.’

Jürgen and Christy were silent for a long heavy moment, their gazes met before settling on Sabra. Christy shook her head.

‘What good will it do going back to the compound — if that’s their plan? Aren’t you just walking into their trap?’ Christy asked.

‘We’ve got to evacuate the remaining women and the infirm. Sabra, I’m going to send you back to Australia. We’ve also got a few reserves at the compound, sentries and guards — together we can hold off the government forces…until….’ He faded off bleakly.

Until what? They give up? Not likely.

For a moment they all fell into a silence as deep as the shit pile they’d found themselves in.

He turned to Sabra. ‘I can’t risk you. I can’t let them take you. Our compound is…’

Lost,
he wanted to say. ‘Won’t be safe, and they want you badly.’ He fought the urge to kiss her upturned lips and instead ran a worried hand through his hair.

He could see thoughts scurry across Sabra’s face. She didn’t want to go, he knew that, but really, despite the mystery flowers, wasn’t she safer back in Geraldton than here?

‘Okay,’ she agreed, though the word was reluctant.

Cain looked up at Jürgen and Christy. ‘Start making your way back to the compound, give me a minute with Sabra.’

Jürgen blushed and nodded before stalking into the jungle, and Christy wasn’t far behind.

Cain turned to face her, his arms clasping her warmly around the waist. ‘You understand why I’m sending you back?’

‘Yes, but I don’t like it.’

Cain smiled wearily. ‘You did a great job scouting for me. Better than any Rakshasa — and infinitely more attractive.’

She smiled weakly at that.

‘If I lose here, things won’t be good for either of us, but at least there you’re hidden.’

Sabra nodded her reluctant agreement.

‘Can I kiss you?’ he asked very softly, and continued when she hesitated. ‘I know, I’ve made mistakes, and I know I’ve kept secrets from you, but there aren’t any more. I want you to believe me.’

Sabra nodded again, and tilted her mouth up to receive his kiss.

His lips touched hers and she yielded beneath him. His hands gripped her waist and squeezed her tightly to him. She tasted so sweet, but knowing he had to send her away, again, left the kiss bitter.

‘Goodbye,’ he whispered, and pulled away from her.

‘Bye,’ Sabra choked out.

Then conjuring his strength, he uttered a spell and sent her back to Australia without another word.

Days had passed for Sabra as she waited, hidden in the Geraldton apartment.

After her exciting exploits in the jungle the tedium of the apartment was maddening. She couldn’t blame Cain though, as she knew the danger that was lurking in Laos. Yet, the creepy sense of being watched in the apartment had intensified day by day. The shadows in her room seemed unusual and sometimes in the corner of her eye she’d see them shift and change — but as soon as she tried to focus the shadows seemed to return to normal. Was it Shadow Men? she wondered, then dismissed the horrid thought. It wasn’t possible, was it? Surely Felix couldn’t have traced her to Geraldton.

Yet…something was going terribly awry, she was certain. If she were a strange old woman fond of saying awkward things, she’d have said she could
feel something in her waters
.

In fact, there did seem to be something in her waters. Strange sharp pains, and a deepening suspicion that as a result of the mafia’s fertility treatment, and her latest encounter with Cain — she may be pregnant. Without the opportunity to go to the chemist and purchase a pregnancy test she’d tried to ask the thriae, but they’d been elusive in answering. Hexa seemed weak and quiet, though had strictly told Sabra not to leave the apartment — and she had obeyed — but it meant she was detained once again, useless and waiting to be saved. At times she felt like the heroine in an old-fashioned romance — waiting endlessly for her hero to save her. Yet she knew the thought was false, so surely there was something she could do? Although her feelings were strong for Cain, and always had been, the thought of his hand holding hers made her very nearly weep — she knew at some deep level that she needed to do something.

She threw another worried glance towards the thriae. They were increasingly frail and unwell. They huddled under the bedside lamp day in, and day out, only moving to consume miniscule amounts of honey.

‘Hexa, please tell me what’s wrong?’ Sabra asked, late one night.

The air was cool so she’d closed the window and put on the heater, and yet the tiny thriae were shivering beneath the warmth of a lamp.

‘Nothing, Sabra,’ she whispered, ‘we’re just tired.’

‘Tired? You’ve slept all day.’ She felt her brow furrow.

Their withdrawal from conversation and activity had been increasingly marked over the past few days. She’d heard them whistling incomprehensibly to each other, but they’d refused to tell her what was going on. Her stomach seemed perpetually tied in knots. She had not heard from Cain and some part of her feared that he may never return. His plight and the siege on his jungle compound was world news.

She reached for the remote control and switched on the 24 hour news channel to watch for an update on Cain’s situation. She hated the fact that she, his most intimate partner, was forced to watch his life eroding on the television. She had hoped the sensational footage, explosions and long-winded bureaucratic hoo-ha was merely government propaganda, but when they’d shown footage of the tanks smashing through all too familiar jungle streams, her worry only grew. Since her disappearance there was hardly a day that went by that hadn’t seen her
own
face plastered over the news, and if they weren’t showing her, they certainly were showing Cain. On the screen more tanks were heading out of the army barracks and rolling towards the jungle. The air buzzed with helicopters. How could Cain possibly withstand an onslaught like this? He was just one man.

Her heart squeezed and the impotent frustration she felt burned like acid.

If the prophecy was real, what did this terrible situation in Laos mean for
her
and more importantly
them?
She fondled the card with the prophecy and laid it down on the bed. She hadn’t felt the need to read it or even look at it since she’d been back. She wasn’t certain she believed in it.

But then was anyone certain about anything?

Thus, her days were hopelessly boring. There was only so much pay TV one individual could stand. It was worse than being on home detention because she wasn’t actually at home. She’d read through every magazine and book Cain had in the apartment and frankly, they had been boring, too. Sun Tzu’s
Art of War
— she’d attempted three pages; a biography on Ghandi had been minutely more interesting, but still…Not a single romance novel graced his shelves — a terrible oversight on his part, but one that secretly pleased her as it meant that no other woman had stayed there for any prolonged period. She realised glumly, as she switched off the television, that at some time in the past few months,
life
had become more of an
existence
. It seemed that she existed only to wait; wait until Cain came back, wait until she had the guts to phone him, wait until the mafia or government found her, or wait until the shadows did. As a result, Sabra’s days were endlessly slow and her nights endlessly terrifying.

As she curled down into the bed, calmed somewhat by the gentle yellow warmth of the bedside lamps, she reached for the telephone and held it to her chest. She could call him, or he should call her — but she knew the trouble he was in. The phone remained resolutely silent, and so did she.

***

Things were worsening at the compound. As predicted the released Rakshasa had returned to the compound and lead Faustus to their door. The poor creatures had been devastated and excessively apologetic. They had begged him to let them make amends. Cain had forgiven them and released them from their oath. What use were the Rakshasa if he had no compound or people to protect anyway?

It was the murder of Teyvada Sommai that had caused the most turmoil. His death had caused massive international uproar. Cain’s impulsive action to dispatch the man who had caused him untold heartache had enemy forces up in arms. Most of Cain’s alleged allies had bowed out of the fracas stating that things were getting too difficult for them as known Warlord sympathisers. Their rejection and sharp disassociation from him stung more than just his pride — yet he didn’t begrudge them. He couldn’t. It seemed as though the world was imploding.

A number of other world governments had sent additional ‘peacekeeping’ troops into Laos to ‘keep the peace’ while they captured the rebellious warlord. The once magical jungle was screaming with the ruthless whine of chainsaws. Giant trees fell and pristine forest was shattered under the weight of heavy boots, army tanks and artillery trucks. Cain had literally forced the thriae swarm deeper into the jungle, out of the path of the army, and far away from the compound. Despite his substantial power, Cain could not keep the prolonged cloaking spell over the magical community in the jungle much longer. He was getting weak with the constant magic usage and no amount of food or rest could sustain that level of magic for long.

For days and nights, Cain and his other magicians had been evacuating the weak and infirm from the compound. A week later, there was only skeleton staff remaining. The remainder of his followers in South East Asia had disappeared like rats in sewers, protecting their own skins as if he’d never protected theirs. It was over. He had lost. He knew it.

The prophecy was damned.

He sat down in his den and drank a whisky. He’d drunk too much, he knew. The sound of explosions and gunfire rattled through the jungle, the insects that had once roared so lively were silent. Today they’d found the outskirts of the compound. He was too exhausted to cover it in spells any longer. His main building was the only thing still cloaked, and even that was weakened through his exhaustion. He was a broken man.