Rogue (31 page)

"Well, that's just great, isn't it?" Trag said in a voice heavily laced with sarcasm. "We've somehow managed to cross this cursed desert and we still aren't safe!"

"I thought there were mines," I said, looking around in bewilderment. "If that's the case, then where are the miners?"

I had no more gotten the words out of my mouth than what seemed like hundreds of heavily armed Darconians emerged from behind nearly every rock—and there were a
lot
of rocks—completely surrounding us. No wonder I'd gotten so spooked! "The next time I feel like I'm walking into a trap," I muttered, "somebody be sure and kick me for going blindly forth."

As I've said before, one Darconian looks much like another, and without uniforms to distinguish one sort from another, it's difficult to tell just who you're dealing with. I'd gotten better at recognizing palace guards by their insignia, but this was virgin territory as far as I was concerned. These could have been Dobraton's soldiers or the miners, either one.

"Do not move," one of our captors shouted.

As none of us had so much as blinked, this order was completely unnecessary.

Moving closer, he added, "Throw down your weapons."

"Great Mother of the Desert!" Trag mumbled as he pulled off the pulse rifle he had slung over his shoulder.

"I finally get a gun and have to give it up before I've even had a chance to use it!" Tychar handed over his own pulse rifle, but since no one could see my own pistol, I opted to keep it right where it was until someone insisted that I give it to them.

"Silence!" the Darconian shouted. "You, there," he went on, with a gesture toward Wazak. "What business do you have here?"

Obviously, these had to be the miners, since it was a given that anyone in Dobraton's army would have opened fire on us without bothering to ask.

"The Queen has been overthrown," Wazak said. "We have fled the city."

"Scalia overthrown?" the man scoffed. "By whom?"

"Dobraton," Wazak replied. "The Queen was assassinated last night."

There was some muttering among our opponents following that revelation, though I had an idea it merely confirmed some suspicions they already had. "Yes," the Darconian said, "Soldiers came yesterday in an attempt to take over the mines."

"So, you're miners, then?" I asked impulsively, forgetting I should probably keep my mouth shut. "How did you escape?"

"We did not
escape,
offworlder," he spat out contemptuously. "We defeated them."

"Oh," I said, duly impressed. "Cool! Think you could do it again?"

Wazak threw me a look that said in no uncertain terms that I should shut up and let him handle the negotiations. Still, if Dobraton had sent soldiers to take over the mines, obviously this was why we hadn't been pursued, for, had her forces been victorious, we would have been captured and undoubtedly executed once we reached the mountains. She must not have sent enough, though, keeping the bulk of her force to take the palace.

Her mistake...

I wondered what else Dobraton had targeted and decided that the spaceport would have been my first choice, and, if so, there might have been others who had also headed for the mountains. "Are there any offworlders with you?"

In reply, a small group of men—who were obviously
not
Darconians—stepped out, all bristling with weapons. They were some of the scariest-looking guys I'd ever seen in person—and I'd not only traveled halfway across the galaxy, but I'd also met plenty of Darconians!

Each one was decked out in weapons, boots, and bits of garb that had probably once belonged to soldiers in someone's army, along with plenty of scars and tattoos.

Their dress suggested the military, but, unless I missed my guess, I was looking at a band of interplanetary mercenaries—or arms dealers.

"Oh, let me guess," I said wearily. "Gun runners?"

So,
that
was how the miners had won out against an army! They'd been warned—and subsequently armed— by these guys. I wondered how many glowstones it cost them. "Always out to make a credit or two, aren't you?"

I chided them. "What'd you guys do? Sell weapons to both sides?"

One of them, presumably their leader, who was hooded and cloaked against the sun, stepped forward.

From what I could see of him—and I could only see the lower half of his face at the time—he appeared to be at least partly human. What the other parts were, I couldn't have said, because he had a tail like a lion's that was twitching from beneath his robes with barely concealed anger, frustration, or irritation—or perhaps all three. He shrugged contemptuously and said with a smirk, "Which is why we always demand payment in advance. That way, it doesn't matter who wins."

I thought it mattered a great deal—and, being offworlders, it should have mattered to them, as well. It wouldn't have surprised me if Dobraton had bought weapons from them and then had them either killed or booted off the face of Darconia. But perhaps she'd tried, which might have been why, out of spite, they'd sold weapons to the miners.

"Well, if you've already been paid, then why are you still here?" Without waiting for a reply, I taunted, "Aw, what's the matter? Can't get to the spaceport?"

"And just who are you, woman?" he demanded angrily. "The Queen's handmaiden?" Obviously he wanted me to shut up just as much as Wazak did. I happened to catch a glimpse of Nindala just then, who was staring at me as though I'd suddenly sprouted horns, obviously thinking that this wasn't the same meek little woman she'd met on the cruiser.

I almost called him a sexist pig out loud, though I doubted he would have understood my meaning. Even if he had, I figured the worst they could do was kill me— but this was another of those times when I couldn't seem to keep my mouth shut. "Well, no," I replied, completely unperturbed. "Actually, I'm the piano teacher."

Pushing back his hood with an angry gesture, the man glared at me with dark, flashing eyes. He was quite handsome, really; dark-skinned with high cheekbones and a sharp, aquiline nose. There was some sort of rune tattooed on his left temple, where, even from where I sat upon my drayl, I could see his pulse beating. This man might have been a ruthless weapons dealer, but things hadn't gone so well for him this time, and he was
upset.

It was probably unwise to press him much further, since the weapon he was holding looked as though it could have launched a missile and blown up the palace from where he stood.

"The piano teacher," he repeated, as though he didn't quite believe me. "And just who were you teaching?"

"The Queen's children," I replied.

Nodding dismissively, his eyes then swept over our group, landing on Uragus.

"One of your students, perhaps?"

"Yes, and quite the little prodigy," I said proudly.

"You should hear him play!"

While the man didn't quite roll his eyes, he was obviously not one who cared much for music. "What about them?" he went on, with a gesture towards the Edraitians.

I waited for their manager to speak and then realized he wasn't with us anymore. He must have been the one shot down in the palace.

It was Nindala who spoke up. "We are performers,"

she said haughtily.

"Well, you certainly
looklike
you could perform," he remarked dryly, which prompted a rather forced laugh from his companions, who were obviously just as upset as he was by the recent turn of events. "And the others?"

he added, looking pointedly at Sladnil.

"We were slaves to the Queen," Tychar replied.

"I see," he said. "And now you are free?"

"Not really," Tychar admitted.

"How so?"

"Well, you're the one holding the bazooka," Tychar said reasonably. "You tell me."

Tipping his head to one side, I could see that this guy was just about to decide to trust us and lower his weapon. "What about the Darconians among you?" he asked finally. "How do we know we can trust them?"

"We are palace guards, loyal to the Queen and the remaining members of the royal family," Wazak said with a gesture toward the children. "Dobraton is now our enemy."

The weapons dealer appeared openly skeptical. "Loyalty can be bought, my friend," he knowingly. "That coup was an inside job."

"Yes, and Dragus killed at least one of them," I piped up. "Well...
sort
of..."

"My loyalty cannot be bought!" Wazak said angrily.

"I was Chief of Security for the Palace." He sounded as if he might have said more, but stopped himself there.

"And...?" our opponent prompted—obviously having felt there was more to it than that, as well.

Wazak took a deep breath and stood up a little taller— if that was possible. "I was also the Queen's consort,"

he replied. "And these," he added with another gesture toward the young ones, "are my children."

"Ah," the other man said, and though he didn't exactly lower his weapon, he seemed to relax his stance ever so slightly.

Our captors might have relaxed a bit, but everyone else just about had a cow.

"You're our father?" Zealon gasped in surprise. "I never knew!"

"You were not supposed to know," Wazak said shortly. "It is... traditional, and also the Queen's wish."

"Wow!" I said admiringly. "All six of 'em? Way to go, Wazak!"

I could see he was having a very hard time trying not to smile. It was becoming increasingly clear that Wazak had disapproved of Scalia's slave boys on grounds other than the usual moral objections to slavery. He was understandably jealous of them, but Scalia had been Queen, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Then I remembered that the Queen was dead, and Wazak had probably watched her die. "Oh, Wazak!" I whispered. "I'm so sorry! You loved Scalia, didn't you?"

"That is no longer important," he said gruffly, but didn't bother to deny it. "What is important now is to protect the children."

"Well, then," I said briskly, "the way I see it, there are two ways to do that. We can retake the palace and establish Zealon as Queen, or retake the spaceport and leave this planet."

"Leave Darconia?" Zealon exclaimed. "We can't do that!"

"Okay, then," I said with conviction. "We retake the palace."

Our captor laughed. "What is your name, piano teacher?"

"Kyra Aramis," I replied. "Hopefully soon to be Kyra—" Suddenly, I realized I had no idea—I didn't even know if the tigers
had
surnames. Twisting around to look at Tychar, I asked: "What's your last name?"

"Vladatonsk," he replied with a wry smile.

I stared at him for a long moment before I could speak. "You're kidding me, right?" I said. "Your name is Tycharian Vladatonsk?"

"No, he's not kidding," Trag assured me. "You've never heard my full name, either, have you? It's Tragonathon Vladatonsk."

"Great Mother of the Desert!" I exclaimed, feeling thankful that at least my first name was reasonably short.

"While we're making introductions," the arms dealer said with an expression of amusement, "my name is Lerotan Kanotay." Lowering his weapon at last, he stepped closer to Wazak, holding out a hand.

"And you are...?"

"Wazak," he replied, shaking Lerotan's hand.

"Just Wazak."

"Thank God!" I said roundly. "The rest of these names are about to choke me."

A murmur of laughter went through the ranks of the Darconian miners, who were lowering their weapons as well.

"So, Leroy," I began. "Ever try to infiltrate a palace?" Then I laughed as I remembered an important fact.

"We've got the keys."

"That would be helpful," he said, "but not required.

And no, I have yet to try to infiltrate a palace."

"Think you can?" I asked.

Lerotan grinned delightedly. "Without question."

"How about overthrowing a would-be queen?" Tychar put in.

"No problem whatsoever."

"Cocky fellow, aren't you?" Tychar observed.

Lerotan shrugged. "I have been called that."

"Don't happen to need a pilot, do you?" Trag piped up.

"Not at the moment," Lerotan replied. "Our ship has been impounded."

"I'm surprised that would stop a resourceful fellow like you," I said dryly.

"Let's just say that's next on my list of things to do,"

Lerotan said. "However, if I get the rightful queen rein-stated, that problem will solve itself."

"True," I agreed. "So, Leroy, are we friends now?"

This might have been a bit of a stretch, but at least we were fighting a common enemy.

"I suppose so," he said with a shrug.

"Then can we
please
go someplace and get out of the sun?"

With a smile, Lerotan beckoned us on to their mountain stronghold. Our numbers were growing by leaps and bounds. Maybe we had a chance after all...

We spent the rest of the day sleeping in the relative cool-ness of the mines. Wazak and Dragus took turns standing guard—I suppose even with an agreement reached between us and Lerotan, Wazak still felt responsible for our safety.

And for his children, too! I was still having some difficulty remembering that. I'd never really thought much about who might have fathered Scalia's offspring—or even wondered if they all had the same father—but if I had, I probably should have suspected Wazak, especially after the way he'd talked about her having been his first commander. What a pair they must have been!

Even on the stone floor of the mines, curling up with Tychar was heavenly compared with all we'd been through in the past day or so. So much had changed in that time, making it seem far longer than that since life had been normal. Scalia was dead, we were hiding out in the mountains, but at least the slaves were free. It was difficult to grasp the concept that Tychar really could be mine now, and not just a personal attendant on loan from the Queen. It crossed my mind that he might decide to go looking elsewhere for love, but what he'd said about making me glad I'd chosen him was very comforting.

Tychar might not have been able to do quite what he'd promised under the circumstances, but just being in his arms while he purred made me feel very much loved and made me very glad that I had, indeed, chosen him rather than his brother.