Slavemaster's Woman, The (35 page)

“How did you avoid being bedded by him?”

“I slipped something into Anzer’s wine, and
he passed out right after we got into bed. Slept like a babe. We
then carefully searched the chamber.” Juliada pointed out the
master panel for the slave bands.

It wasn’t what Tarken expected. He thought
it would be hidden inside of a wall or at the least concealed, but
it was nothing more than a flat tablet no bigger than his flared
hand and sitting openly on a small table. “Tell me something,
Juliada.” Picking up the tablet Tarken examined the contraption. It
felt light in his hands. “The corridor—”

“Listen Tarken,” Juliada interrupted. “Had I
known you would be on our side—I just didn’t expect that you would
be so, so…” Her gaze roamed his form and she cast her glaze aside,
sighing. “Never mind. I know your heart belongs to Bazil’s
daughter. I won’t interfere with that.”

“And how did you learn of that?”

“Rube of course, he told me it was quite
apparent.”

Without further comment, Tarken began
attending to the master control. He attempted a code to open the
system but it didn’t work. He tried another, again it failed.
Frowning slightly, he sat on one of the chairs and tried to work
out the pass code to access the system. With frustration setting
in, he glanced around the room, and his mouth fell open when he
spied a stone—a maurtzin stone suspended in the air. He stood and
crossed the room stopping in front of the podium the stone floated
over. It seemed to be trapped inside of some kind of bubble, held
to the center of it by rays of light. He reached his hand toward
it.

“Don’t touch that Tarken,” Juliada warned.
“It will burn your hand.”

“I’ve seen this kind of locking system
before. I—”

“You heard her slavemaster.” A voice behind
him spoke—a male voice. “She said don’t touch it.”

Chapter Twenty Six

Rube and Bazil stepped quietly from the
hidden panel between two large ornate urns that shielded them from
anyone who might be walking the corridor.

“Do you think Tarken has shut off the panel
yet?” Bazil whispered to Rube.

“I don’t know, there should have been enough
time.” he replied. “We have done all we can, but something doesn’t
feel right.” Rube took a cautioned glimpse past the huge urns to
check for activity in the hall.

“Let’s make for the King’s throne room.”
Bazil suggested. “Maybe Tarken’s already there, trying to retrieve
Cushla, and if he isn’t I’ll get my daughter myself.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Rube grabbed his
upper arm. “If you get nabbed…”

Bazil glared at him. “She’s my
daughter.”

For a moment Rube studied him, and then
released his arm. “I suppose we should at least assess the
situation.” He checked the time piece latched to his belt, removed
the commlink also attached there and pressed a button. “We’re out
of time regardless. I’ve just signaled the rebels to advance, and
there’s no stopping now. The signal will likely be picked up by the
communications monitors.”

“Hopefully, it will be too late by the time
they figure out what it is.” Bazil then checked the hall to see if
it was clear, and seeing that it was he stepped out from behind the
urns and gestured for Rube to follow. They crossed to the other
side where they slipped between two more urns, which stood on
either side of a recessed wall. Bazil tripped the door to the next
passage and they stepped through, closing the door behind them.

“How did you discover all of these
passages?” Rube whispered as he followed behind Bazil. He watched
while rows of dim lights triggered just paces ahead of them as they
moved through the secret hall.

“Jansee Mecor loved these hidden corridors.
We used wander them frequently as we chatted,” Bazil told him,
referring to the prior ruler and Anzer Mecor’s brother. “Anzer is
aware of many of them, but being the eldest and heir to the throne,
the mappings and secrets to unlocking all of them were bestowed
only on Jansee. Over the solars, as it became clear that Anzer was
growing increasingly envious of the throne, Jansee decided it was
time to entrust the passage secrets to only his most loyal. I was
one of them.”

“In case the use of them might be needed,”
Rube observed.

Bazil nodded as they stopped in front of a
seemingly solid wall. “Jansee was careful to keep this particular
passage in flawless working order.” He glanced at Rube and then
proceeded with the activating sequence along the bricked façade.
“Let’s hope it opens as mutely as it has before.”

It did. The wall rotated slightly and
silently inward, leaving enough space for each of them to shimmy
through. They found themselves behind the thick, massive drapery
that served as a backdrop to the king’s throne. Beyond that, voices
could be heard. Finding the opening between two panels, Bazil
opened them slightly and peered out, Rube doing the same over his
shoulder.

“Well, well, well. I finally have time to
deal with you.” Mecor chuckled as he crossed the massive room. He
halted in front of Cushla and crossed his arms over his scrawny
chest. “Maybe now your father will come to rescue you.”

Cushla strained at the chains mounted to the
large pillar. Her action did little except to scrape the already
bruised and tender flesh around her wrists.

Bazil bristled upon seeing his little one
subjected to such abuse.

Cushla’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want
with my father?”

“We have some unfinished business, and once
I’m satisfied I have what I need, you both can go off to be happy.”
He waved his hand in the air. “Or whatever you call your pitiful
existence.”

“My father will never help you!” Cushla spat
at him. “You’re lower than the lowest scums of the galaxy!”

Mecor stepped forward and grabbed her around
the throat. Squeezing, he smiled as she sputtered to catch her
breath.

The aggression against his daughter had
Bazil starting forward.

Rube gripped his shoulder. “Easy, it’s not
the time yet.”

Bazil halted, but he drew his stunner. “I
can get a clean shot from here.” He took aim.

“Patience Bazil, the rebels need to begin
the strike or we’ll all end up dead.”

Bazil’s tense body relaxed a margin and they
watched as Mecor leaned even closer to Cushla, his face nearly
touching hers. “He will do as I ask or he will watch you die, just
like he watched your mother die.” Releasing her, Mecor stepped
back, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled, anger clearly in his
expression.

Cushla coughed as she gasped for air, and
then rasped out. “Do you ever brush your teeth, Mecor? Your breath
stinks like a decaying ogdin, five dawnings old.”

Mecor merely snorted and turned away. He
then huffed air into his cupped palm and sniffed. With a shrug he
dropped his hand while slowly, menacingly turning back toward her,
his hard, cold gaze fixing on her face, more pointedly her slave
band. “You wear your band like a crown Cushla. Maybe I should let
you feel the pain that wearing a crown can truly cause.”

Cushla laughed at him. “Try your best,
Mecor. I’m numb to the threats and punishments of the band.” She
glared at him as she snarled in disdain.

A guard entered the room and bowing deeply,
he stated, “Pardon the intrusion, your Majesty, there is trouble on
the grounds. The slaves have armed themselves, and the controls on
our belts seemed to be deactivated.”

Mecor’s eyes narrowed as the guard’s words
sank in. “No matter,” he responded a bit too calmly. “I already
sent Durnin to retrieve the master control from my chamber.”
Pausing, he sneered at Cushla. “I have a little slave here who
needs to be taught a lesson, and I can reactivate your belts with
it.”

The room fell into a deafening silence.
Somewhere in the distance an alarm sounded. Mecor’s lip quivered,
and then his ire exploded. He began to pace. “Kill them. Kill them
all! I’ll show them who’s in control around here. How dare they
think they can rebel against me?” He halted in front of Cushla.
“How dare they!”

Cushla closed her eyes and turned her head
aside as he bellowed directly into her face.

“I am the KING! I make the rules.” He
stopped ranting and then glanced in the direction

of the door to the corridor that led to his
chamber. “Durnin is taking too long.” He turned to the guard and
growled. “Find out what is taking him so stars fucking long!”

A commotion ensued—a woman could be heard
releasing a string of curses, then a guard was yelping, “She bit
me!”

Durnin entered the throne room, carrying the
controller. Behind him, four guards had a firm hold of Tarken and
Juliada was kicking and screaming at another who jerked her by the
arm.

“Oh shit,” Rube cursed a bit too loudly from
their cover. He drew his stunner. “Let’s take him out now.”

“What goes on here!” Mecor demanded, placing
himself within the circle of his royal guards as he gazed at the
slavemaster and Juliada.

“I can’t get a clean shot now!” Bazil
groused low but harshly. “He’s in the middle of the mayhem.”

Rube pursed his lips. It was true. Mecor was
too close to Tarken and Juliada, and with all the prancing around
he was doing— they or even Cushla might end up in the line of
fire.

“Tarken!” Cushla yelped. She writhed against
her restraints.

Tarken’s brow wrinkled with distress at
seeing her but he didn’t speak.

“They accosted me, Anzer!” Juliada
shrieked.

“Should I care?” Mecor retrieved the control
panel from Durnin and began examining it. “From what I know of you
Juliada, your legs fall apart quite easily.”

Juliada responded with an offended huff just
as an explosion rocked the room. Everyone inside startled as dust
shook loose from the ceiling and sprinkled down on them.

Mecor rose from his cower, snapping quickly
upright, bellowing to the guards posted at the door. “Get a report
from me on what those bastard slaves are doing! I want whoever is
responsible brought here. I will cut them apart piece by pathetic
piece and feed him to the royal yupgers for supper!” He then turned
to Tarken and Juliada giving them the once over. “What were you
doing in my private chambers!?”

“I caught these two fucking in your bed,
your Majesty,” Durnin snickered as he gave Tarken a distasteful
glance.

A choking gasp came from Cushla, and Tarken
met her gaze. He shook his head at her in denial but her nostrils
flared and she snarled. Her eyes narrowed on him.

Bazil bristled at Durnin’s words, watching
the affect it had on her. “I’m going to kill him,” he mumbled. “How
dare he claim to love my daughter?”

“The controller was lying next to them,”
Durnin continued.

“You deactivated the slave bands!” Mecor
shook the panel at Tarken. “You traitor!”

“No your Majesty.” Tarken turned his
attention toward the king. He glared directly into Mecor’s eyes and
the king shrank, clearly intimidated. Tarken continued to weave his
counterfeit tale. “I discovered the controller in my quarters was
missing, and an uprising beginning to occur in the fields. There
was no time to inform you as the slaves were beginning to riot. I
knew you kept another unit in your bedchamber, so I headed directly
there.”

“Ah— yes,” Juliada chimed in. “And I saw him
in the corridor entering through the door and followed him…”
Strolling casually toward Tarken she leaned against him, gazing
lustfully up at him. “I saw a perfect opportunity…” She skimmed her
hand up and down his thigh.

The action caused Cushla to release a
screech filled not with anguish but with monumental fury.

Tarken shook his head again, his eyes
directly on her.

Bazil, having reached the level of his
tolerance at seeing his daughter in such a state started forward,
but Rube grabbed the collar of his shirt. “Easy,” he warned. “We
can’t just go charging in there.” From their helpless position,
Rube and Bazil listened to their cohorts continue their
explanations. It was then that to his right, through the corner of
his eye, Rube saw movement. Someone was behind the drapery and
moving along its length. “Fucking hellstars,” he mumbled. Likely,
he and Bazil had been heard, and now they’d been seen.

“We have to move now damn it!” Bazil was
about to spring forward.

Rube restrained him by wrapping and arm
around his throat from behind, and then aimed his stunner to the
back of Bazil’s head.

“What the…” Bazil struggled, but his
strength was no match against that of the younger royal. He
stiffened when he realized that Scoac was standing beside them, his
stunner aimed at both of them. He was accompanied by six guards.
“—fuck. Where did you come from?” Rube asked.

“I think the better question is where did he
come from?” Scoac indicated Bazil. Reaching, he snatched the
stunner from Bazil’s hand.

“He was about to assassinate the king,” Rube
tried to explain. “I’ve subdued him. There’s a mutiny going
on.”

“I’m aware,” Scoac returned. “I came through
the back way and took the secret passage, leading here.”

“You know of it?” Rube asked. He winced when
he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the door to the passage
was indeed ajar.

“I’m aware of much little brother,” Scoac
answered. He lifted a suspicious brow. “What surprises me is how
you knew.”

“I…” Rube hesitated. What in hades blazes
was he going to say?
Deny…deny everything…
“I didn’t. I
spotted Bazil, saw him open the wall and followed him through.”

“Ah…” Scoac replied. He then laughed loudly
and smacked Rube on the back. “Well nice work then, little
brother.”

Rube slowly released the breath punching
around in his lungs when it seemed Scoac believed him. “What’s
happening outside?”

“We’ve killed at least thirty villagers
attempting to storm the gates and the slaves who are still alive
should be rounded up soon. Idiots they are, believing they could
overthrow the throne.” Scoac snickered as he looked Bazil up and
down. “Mecor is going to love this.”