WindDeceiver (16 page)

Sentian had shoved Thom aside and grabbed the man’s robe, himself. “Who was your leader?” he shouted.

“Ben-Jani,” the man had gasped. “Hyles Ben-Jani! He is still the Commander of our Militia!”

“Who was second in command there?” Sentian bellowed, shaking the guide. “How many of our people died in the siege?”

Now, several hours later, Rylan watched as the guide mounted his nag. He still didn’t trust the man even though under close questioning he had sworn he had been among the twenty-four men who had come to Serenia to help their allies, the Oceanians, and had answered every one of their questions without dissemble.

“It had to have been common knowledge in Asaraba,” Roget had told the others. “Oceania has always been on friendly terms with this sector of Rysalia. If this man is a plant, he would have been schooled well with tidbits that would make us trust him.”

“I don’t trust him,” Thom had bitten out.

“Nor do I,” Roget had admitted.

WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 73

“Then why let him lead us?” Wyn had demanded.

“If not him, then who?” Grice had inquired.

“Ask him why he’s no longer an archer with their militia!” Jamael’s grating voice had challenged.

“Look at his hands,” Tyne had finally snapped. “If he does not have arthritis, I am a Diabolusian cockroach!”

“We just have to watch him,” Paegan had reminded the others. “Our lives may depend on it.”

Aye, Rylan thought as he watched the man riding out ahead of them. He’d watch the Hasdu. He let his hand fall to the dagger at his thigh. He caressed the hilt.

“Prove yourself, false, nomad,” he whispered, “and it will be the last thing you ever prove!”

Takahemmanon Khyrtuslish kicked his horse into a fast trot, thinking of the way the Outlanders had looked at him. He had no illusions the men trusted him. To them, he was just another Hasdu, another pog. Despite his assurances, the answering of their questions, they still regarded him as the enemy, someone to be watched, and watched carefully.

“McGregor,” he said the name softly to himself.

He remembered the twenty-two year old Serenian Prince who had led his men at Norus. A braver man, Taka, as his friends called him, had never known. Not even the gallant Nyles Ben-Jani, who was a national treasure, could hold a candle to the fierce warrior the Outlanders had called the

Prince of the Wind.

“See how he puts himself in the line of danger?” Nyles Ben-Jani had asked his men once when McGregor had rushed forward, oblivious to the arrows landing at his feet. “With no care for his own safety?” The wizened military man had nodded with obvious pride. “The man loves his lady well enough to die for her.”

“It is a good thing his brother pulled him back,” Taka remembered saying to his Commander, “else that quarrel would have pierced him through.”

“He is to be much admired,” Nyles Ben-Jani had told his men. “And protected with our last breaths, my friends.”

“Why?’ one of the young archers had demanded.

“Because he deserves it,” Nyles Ben-Jani had stated.

Taka glanced behind him at the eleven men riding behind him were all seasoned warriors, except perhaps for the youngest who he had only met just before leaving. He had been stunned upon seeing the young man, a carbon copy of his father at the same age.

“You are McGregor’s son,” Taka had breathed, looking at the boy who had come into the room after all the others had questioned him.

“Aye,” the boy had answered, glancing at the men frowning at him. “You know my father?”

Taka had smiled, thinking of the only time he had spoken to McGregor. “It was my honor to meet him once, yes.”

“They are riding into danger,” Taka thought, not remembering any of the men who had told them they had been at the siege of Norus: the ones called Tyne, Rylan, Paegan, Sentian, Thom, and Grice. He had not even remembered the warlock, the man called Jah-Ma-El, who it turned out was one of McGregor’s half-brothers.

WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 74

Taka squinted into the harsh weaving heat of the desert sun, wondering how he could aid these men, these allies of McGregor. He had tried to dissuade them from going to the place his people called the Abyss, but the men would not hear of it.

“Do you think we would leave him there?” the one called Roget had roared at him.

“What if he is already dead?” he had tried to reason with the man.

“I’d know if my brother was--“ The one named Jah-Ma-El had spat out a vulgar word. “I’d know!”

“He is our friend,” the small one, the one Taka now remembered was considered to be a great swordsman in his land, spoke up. “He is the oak--“

“We are the branches,” the one who seemed to be leading the group, Roget, finished.

Taka feared for the men. Once inside the massive steel gates of Abbadon, it would be close to impossible to keep them from harm’s way. People had been disappearing behind those thick walls for centuries, never to be heard from again. Many a prisoner there had died in torment, his body never recovered for it was rumored a pit inside the very bowels of the fortress led to the Abyss, itself.

“What shall I do, Rau?” he asked the deity that had governed him all his life. “How can I help these men? Even though they do not trust me, I would do what I can for McGregor’s friends.”

The crystal-clear image of Nyles Ben-Jani flitted across Taka’s eyes and then wafted away on an errant wave of hot air. And yet the bold black gaze of the warrior reminded behind to remind Taka of better times.

Taka drew in a long breath.

He had received his answer.

WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 75

“Why do you persist in thinking everyone but you deserves happiness?”

“I want what is best for Catherine,” Conar protested, glaring back at Yuri with a steely glint that said the Outer Kingdom Shadow-warrior had gone too far.

“It is my belief you should let others decide what is best for them!” Yuri bellowed.

Conar threw up his hands. “Yet you’re trying to tell me what’s best for Conar McGregor!”

Yuri snorted. “That is a different matter altogether.”

“How is it different?” the Serenian growled.

“Because you don’t know what’s best for Conar McGregor!”

The Outlander’s face grew serious. “I know it’s dangerous for me to be with Catherine.”

Yuri’s face flooded with rage. “Don’t you dare to start with that insane pap about women who love you, you little shit!”

The men around the camp fire turned their heads toward the bellow of rage coming from Khamsin’s tent. Rupine’s hand stilled on the bread he was slicing. “Did he call Khamsin a little shit?”

“It’s true!” Conar snapped back at the warrior. When Yuri shook his head violently in denial, Conar’s voice rose even higher. “Aye, it is!
It is
! I have accepted it!”

“You are accepting a lie, then!” Yuri yelled at him. “I thought you had more intelligence!

Conar--“ He reached out to lay a reasonable hand on the younger man’s shoulder, but Conar flinched away.

“Don’t you dare to patronize me, Andreanova!” Conar fairly shrieked at him. His eyes flared.

“Fine!” the Outer Kingdom warrior roared. “Let others have the happiness you refuse to seek then! Give away all that would make your life content!”

“That would make my life unbearable to live!” Conar shot back at him. “Don’t you know how hard this is for me? If I lose one more person I care for, you might as well lock me away for I will have lost every bit of my sanity, by then.”

“You are stronger than that,” Yuri argued, lowering his voice to a harsh sneer.

“Am I?” When Yuri just stared at him, Conar clenched his teeth. “I don’t believe I am.”

Yuri gathered a mouthful of saliva and spat on the floor at Conar’s feet. “That is what I think of what You believe!”

“Get out of here before I have to hurt you, Andreanova,” Conar bit out, glaring at the warrior.

“You and what army?” Yuri shot back.

“Get

out!!!”

Sajin flinched, glancing up as Yuri came crashing out of Conar’s tent. The Outer Kingdom man’s face was set in hard lines of primal rage as he pushed roughly past one of the Kensettis and stomped off into the darkness beyond the camp.

“Who are they discussing?” Balizar asked.

“Catherine,” Sajin said, sighing. “Conar’s woman.”

“I thought his wife’s name was Liza,” Rachel commented.

“Woman and wife are not synonymous, little sister,” Asher corrected her.

Rachel blushed, looking away.

WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 76

“Sajin!” came the fierce bellow from inside Conar’s tent.

Balizar grinned at the Kensetti. “Our master calls.”

Sajin got up wearily, not wanting to discuss what he suspected Conar had in mind. He stood there for a moment, head down, hands on his hips, eyes closed.

“Sajin!”

The Kensetti Prince looked up, glaring at the source of the shout. “By the Prophetess, but that man is loud!” Sajin grumbled.

“You’d better not keep him waiting,” Asher warned.

Sajin cast his glance to his brother. He was about to head for Conar’s tent when the sound of horses approaching made him stop.

“Who?” Rupine asked, reaching for the sword that was not far from his hand.

“Strangers!” was the cry from the lookout. “Two!”

The men of the camp took up their weapons. Conar came out of his tent, his anger obvious as he flung a heated look toward Sajin. Rachel left the warmth of the camp fire for the crossbow in her tent.

“Identify

yourselves!”

came the lookout’s challenge.

“Taborn!” was the deep bass reply.

“Shit!” Conar cursed, drawing his follower’s attention. They turned to see him standing at the flap of his tent, his face even angrier than it had been. When he viciously flung the flap aside and stalked back into the tent, they looked at Balizar.

“I don’t know,” was Arbra’s answer.

Sajin’s eyes grew wide as the big man rode into the camp on his prancing beast which was nearly twice the size of most of their mounts. The creature’s sleek black coat was so shiny it glowed in the light cast from the flames and the dark cinnamon frown on the newcomer’s face was equal to the one that had adorned Khamsin’s.

“Necroman,” Balizar stated, his mouth open. “Hern wrote me about him.”

“Who is he?” Rupine asked, lowering his weapon. “Friend or foe?”

“Where is he?” the big man rumbled as he crashed down from his steed to land with a heavy thud of large feet on the packed sand. He ignored the hasty hand put out by the young man he was riding with and dropped his reins. “I am told he is here and I demand to see him!” He swung his gaze over those assembled, passed over Balizar, leapt back and latched on with a squinted appraisal. “
Who
are you?”

“Balizar,” was the answer as that man strode forward. “Hern’s brother.”

There was a nasty snort. “Well, I certainly didn’t think you were Hern!”

“He did,” Balizar chuckled.

“
He
would!” the big man sneered. His penetrating stare moved on, lingered only a moment on Sajin before shifting away. “I don’t see the little shit.”

“He must be looking for Khamsin,” Rupine whispered to Asher.

“I am looking for--“ the big man began only to find himself staring at Yuri Andreanova as the Shadow-warrior came into view. “You could not keep his ass out of trouble?” he barked.

“I am overjoyed to see you again, too, Taborn!” Yuri spat.

“I have not come ten thousand miles,” Shalu explained, waving away his companion’s mumble of correction, “or however far I have had to come, to exchange pleasantries with the likes of you, Andreanova. Where is he?”

Yuri jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In there if you have the balls to go in, Taborn.”

WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 77

“This is my son, Lares,” the Necromanian king snarled. “Would you question my bravery before him?”

“Papa,” the young man groaned.

“Shut up,” Shalu commanded. “Do not whine. It is unbecoming of a Necromanian Prince.”

He strode toward the indicated tent.

“You have been given a reprieve, Your Grace,” Azalon chuckled.

Sajin sat back down and stared at the tent where the Necroman had entered without preamble. “I hope they are on friendly terms.”

“My father is one of the Cadre of the Wind Force,” Lares said with pride.

“How came you to be here, brat?” Yuri asked.

“The ship sailed without us,” Lares explained. “Papa was laid up sick with a bad cold, but when he heard the others were leaving--“

“What others?” Yuri interrupted, a cold shaft of dread digging down his back.

“The men of the Wind Force,” Lares answered. “They came to Rysalia to help the Darkwind.” He frowned. “We missed them again at Asaraba.”

Sajin looked at Balizar, then turned his full attention to the boy. “What do you mean you missed them?”

“They were there,” Lares complained, “but they left again before we could join up with them. It took us ten days just to find a ship out of Ciona that would take us to the Sinisters.” The young man grinned. “Boy, was that fun going through the fog!”

Yuri answered the Necromanian Prince’s infectious grin. “You liked that did you?”

“I haven’t had so much fun since I hid in a tree and knocked Dyllon McGregor off his horse when he came raiding once!” the young man chortled. “Knocked him out cold!”

“How many of Conar’s men are here in Rysalia?” Sajin asked, worried.

“Eleven.”

Yuri’s smile slipped away. “You think something’s happened to them?”

Sajin just looked at him.

Conar’s glower was steady as he surveyed the man standing in his tent. If he’d thought himself angry when he had been arguing with Yuri, he now knew that emotion did not compare with the all-pervading, towering rage he felt seeing Shalu.