BlackWing: First Ordinance, Book 3 (25 page)

We were discussing the glass coffin that lay where we'd left it after removing the boy. I learned only that morning that curious Avii were visiting the thing and poking about it. According to Ordin, it was covered with Avii hand and fingerprints already.

"I say put it in a cell," Ordin suggested. "That way they can look without touching it. I'm concerned about the spell on it, and how it might react if one of ours gets, shall we say,
creative
in an attempt to open it."

"You think somebody may try to break the thing?"

"It has gold and jewel inlays about the edges of the base—what if they get curious to see whether more gold or jewels are in the bottom of it, beneath the silk bedding?"

"I see your point," I agreed. "Very well, clean it up and place it in a cell. Ardis," I called out. "See that Gurnil and Ordin have access to a cell and help them lock that infernal coffin inside it."

* * *

Puntia

"You have things to tell me?" Vardil narrowed his eyes at Whip, the only one to escape from the Killshot and evade his captors.

"Strange things," Whip nodded. "Bleek probably should have killed the girl when she was dropped inside the ship, but he didn't."

"What do you mean?" Vardil demanded.

"I reported to you when the girl appeared suddenly. I erred when I failed to give you her description. I have her image on my comp-vid—I was able to take it with me in the escape pod." Whip pulled up the vid in question—he'd downloaded it from the ship's security system shortly after her arrival.

He'd masturbated to the images, too, but he didn't intend to tell Vardil that.

Whip's first clue that Vardil was furious was when he stood, dropped the comp-vid to the floor and then lifted his chair to fling it toward the door.

"BlackWing is a woman," Vardil shouted. "Why didn't someone fucking tell me that?"

* * *

"Here is what we have from Vogeffa II," Dorgus placed a comp-vid in Vardil's hand. Dorgus worried about this comp-vid; Vardil had broken the one Whip brought earlier by tossing it on the floor. He'd then thrown his chair and anything else inside his suite he could lift.

Vardil, still seething but more controlled, accepted the comp-vid and stared. "Before LaFranza was killed by Bleek, this one served as his assistant in the tattoo shop. I am beginning to believe that she is seeking vengeance for LaFranza's death."

"Where did she get the money to build ships?" Vardil hissed. "We've seen four so far."

"I only have a theory," Dorgus backed away discreetly.

"What theory is that?"

"That she has allied with other criminals, with you offered as the ultimate prize."

Chapter 15

Quin

"My love, you may not be able to tend all who need help," Kaldill said. "I know you want to, but there are limits. Besides, you must be fully rested before you go."

He was right. I didn't want him to be right, but he was. Perhaps this was why gods and godlings didn't interfere much of the time. Whom do you choose to help? My shoulders drooped and my wings drooped with them.

"Will you take me tomorrow, then?" I pleaded.

"I think several of us will go. Caylon will keep Jayna here to drill with the troops, but I imagine that most of the others will come with you—to ensure your safety."

"Thank you," I sighed. I felt guilt for taking all of them away from duties or other plans, but something troubled me about the refugee camp.

We'd be close enough for attack from the crime families left in Der'Vek, too, so we had to be as secretive as possible. While Kaldill would likely shield us, I was concerned for the scattered refugees, who'd be left behind and vulnerable to an attack.

If the families bothered to fly over the camp, either themselves or by sending drones once the tents went up, they'd know someone was helping the refugees.

Still, we couldn't leave them to starve or freeze to death, and it was easy to see that the crime families had no sympathy for any but themselves.

"A helping hand can often do harm without intending to do so," Kaldill said softly.

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't—that's what Gran says," Bel Erland nodded.

* * *

The morning brought bad news, just before we were scheduled to travel to the refugee camp. Caylon brought a comp-vid to me and set it on the table at my elbow while I had breakfast.

"Cayetes works fast," Sal said.

My photograph, with a wanted notice, had been posted on a site frequented by criminals. "Kooper sent this to me a few minutes ago," Caylon said, taking a seat at the end of the breakfast table. "He wants you bad—many would sell their own mothers for fifty-million Alliance credits."

"You can't go to the refugee camps—people there will see you," Bel Erland pointed out. "That means they can sell information to anyone who asks, or report it to keep their lives if they're threatened. It's easy enough to shield us from outside eyes, but inside, especially if you're healing them," he shook his head.

Breathing a troubled sigh, I turned back to the comp-vid. The image of me had been recorded while I was on Vogeffa II—that was easy to see. I was grateful Terrett wasn't visible—I worried about his safety—as well as mine.

He it was, however, who came up with a temporary solution.
Change her wings back to their original color while we're visiting the camp
, Terrett suggested.
I doubt any would know it to be her
.

"Terrett needs a disguise, too," I said. "I don't want him placed in danger because of me."

He started to protest, but Kaldill agreed with me. "Quin will be herself when we visit the camps," Kaldill decreed. "Terrett will wear a disguise."

* * *

"Kaldill, his disguise must be permanent—until a time comes when he is no longer in danger from Cayetes," I said. I'd asked Daragar and Kaldill to meet with me before we went to the refugee camp.

"But why?" Kaldill asked. "I don't understand."

I didn't want to tell him what I knew, but Terrett's life could hang in the balance. "That image of me on the comp-vid—from that criminal site?"

"What of it?"

"That was recorded on Vogeffa II, while I was with LaFranza in Gungl. You don't see it—likely Terrett's image was cut off so only I would be shown. He stood beside me in the marketplace when that image was recorded. I didn't know—and those shopkeepers didn't know either—that the camera was there. That means Vardil Cayetes was spying on Gungl the whole time, from who knows how many vantage points."

"But still," Kaldill argued.

"No, you don't know what I do," I said, rustling my feathers. "Before Terrett was given to Marid of Belancour, he was enslaved by Vardil Cayetes."

* * *

Terrett

"You will choose the image yourself, because it will be permanent until you and Quin are deemed safe," Kaldill informed me. "She will wear her BlackWing disguise to fool him and draw his attention—as long as we can keep her safe that way. When necessary, she will wear her white wings. You, on the other hand—Quin says you were standing beside her when that image was recorded—the one Cayetes has placed on the site with her bounty. We worry that your image was edited out, but Cayetes will also be searching for you."

He was right, but perhaps not for all the reasons Cayetes would have for hunting me. I nodded my understanding.
I will choose
, I agreed.
Something to my liking—and to Quin's liking
.

"Then send for her—you can choose together."

* * *

Quin

His hair was longer; eyes dark, hair darker. Skin slightly darker as well. "He looks like someone from Wyyld II," Sal observed.

Terrett grinned at me—he was taller, too.

"New ID," Kaldill handed an identification chip to Daragar, who employed power to place it beneath the skin on Terrett's wrist.

"Are we ready to go?" Sal asked.

"I'm coming," Bleek elbowed his way into the crowd surrounding us.

"You won't be so easy to hide, Master Blevakian," Daragar said.

"I refuse to hide from Cayetes."

"Suit yourself," Kaldill agreed. "Let's go."

* * *

Avendor

"Liron! Where are you?" Wimla sounded desperate.

"He's here." Someone walked through the trees carrying the boy. Someone tall, with light-brown hair and wearing a grin as Liron rode high on his shoulder.

"Who are you?" Wimla demanded. "That is my son, the heir to the Avii throne, I'll have you know."

"And that's my son carrying yours," another man stepped forward. "I named him Ashe when he was born. Most people refer to him as the Mighty Hand."

"Well," Wimla huffed.

"It's all right, Dad. She has no idea who we are. Liron does, though, don't you?" Ashe swung Liron off his shoulders while the boy squealed in delight.

"Come on, it's time for dinner at the big house," Ashe said. "You'll be our guests tonight."

* * *

Quin

My heart sank when we landed in the fields the refugees had chosen for their temporary homes. Yanzi and Sal knew it, too, by the scent.

This was where they'd grown the drakus seed.

"How much could they have harvested?" Caylon asked as people in the distance only now noticed our arrival. "Could any have been left behind?"

"Not seed—they careful not to drop any," Yanzi whispered. "Roots—they grow again in spring if not stopped."

"Drakus seed is worth more per ounce than gold or platinum," Sal breathed.

"Is the food and tent drop ready?" Caylon turned to Bel Erland.

"Yes," he nodded. We watched as people in the fields were gathering to walk in our direction—we'd appeared from nowhere, so I couldn't blame them for being suspicious.

"You're sure none of it will drop on anybody's head?"

"It's designed to float gently to the ground—where there's enough space for it to land," Bel grumbled. I could see he didn't appreciate Caylon's doubts.

Without another word, we witnessed the drop—the sky above the camp was suddenly filled with floating food packs, and in between, the larger stove and tent crates. They couldn't have landed any better or caused more delight once the people learned what was inside, than if it had been planned for months. Shouts of joy could be heard everywhere as food packets were opened—the people were starving.

"Nice work," Berel grinned and high-fived Bel Erland.

"Now to tend to their other needs," I said, squaring my shoulders. I was surrounded by Lafe, Yanzi, Terrett, Kaldill, Bel Erland and Berel, with Bleek coming behind us, blades strapped to his back, his eyes watchful for any attack as we made our way toward the gathering, increasingly noisy crowd.

* * *

Puntia

"Tell me what you saw," Barstle demanded. He spoke via comp-vid with Reede Xilva, an ally in Der'Vek.

Nearby, Vardil and Deris listened in. They'd positioned themselves so they wouldn't be seen behind Barstle while he communicated with one of the younger Xilva sons.

"I was afraid to get close; I went to check on the fields," Xilva sputtered. "They were covered by the filth that ran from Der'Vek. I wanted to kill them, but didn't have a suitable weapon with me. I was turning to go when something happened."

"What was that?" Barstle, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, asked.

"I recorded images for you. You can see for yourself," Reede said. "You must tell me what to do—food and tents for the refugees dropped from the sky. Perhaps weapons were included in the drop; I cannot say. Is someone arming the commons against us?"

* * *

Terrett

"The drop was recorded," Sal said, flopping onto a chair at the kitchen table. "It's only a matter of time before Cardino learns we were there."

"You think he'll try to kill those people?" Quin asked.

"I think the one who recorded us may have been planning that before he saw us. He's a coward—he was a long way off when I scented him. Probably with a high-powered weapon so he could shoot from a safe distance and brag about his kills later."

"Is that why you got us out of there so fast?" Berel asked.

"It is. I'm sorry you didn't get to heal anyone," Sal held up a hand to hold Quin off. "I think we need to relocate that camp. Who has ideas—we need to make a plan."

* * *

Puntia

"You tell that Xilva filth that I have plans for some of those bodies," Vardil hissed in Barstle's face. "They're not for target practice, do you hear me? Go. Tell your friends to round them up immediately; I have testing kits. Those who meet my requirements I will keep. The others you may destroy in any way you see fit."

"But what about the food drop? Doesn't that concern you?"

"That is insignificant to me. It merely means that those I want won't die before I get to them." Vardil gripped Barstle's collar and pulled his face to his. Barstle's feet almost left the floor—Vardil in his newest incarnation was much taller and stronger than Barstle.

"But what if it's the same ones from Mundia?"

"We have people in Der'Vek, waiting for you to tell them to collect what is mine. You think those fools in Mundia can get to them faster than that?"

"No, Lord Cayetes."

"Good. Scurry. Tell that Xilva ass to move quickly. I want those bodies transported away by tomorrow."

* * *

"At least he's not looking at us," Barstle's valet whispered after Barstle ended the communication with Reede Xilva.

"What is he looking for?" Barstle whispered back.

"I overheard someone saying the proper blood type, but that sounds strange."

"Hmmph. I think he's as crazy as a lunar sloth-bear."

"Then he's a dangerous lunar sloth-bear," the valet muttered. "Has there been any other information from Mundia?"

"Messages aren't getting through," Barstle shook his head. "I know some of my spies have to be alive, still, but like the barrier keeping the drones out, I can't get any information to them."

"I'm concerned by the fact that Cayetes' warlock can't penetrate it, either."

"That only means they have a more powerful warlock. Easy enough to buy if you have sufficient funds."

"Perhaps we should buy one, then," the valet suggested.

"Take this," Barstle shoved a comp-vid into his valet's hands. "Go to the site. Offer whatever it takes to bring a fifth-level warlock to Vic'Law."

"Me?"

"Yes. Go. Do it now, while I let Cayetes know that Reede and his brothers are rounding up the commons from Der'Vek."

* * *

Bel Erland

"Grampa?" He'd appeared inside my suite shortly after dinner, giving me a smile and a hug before I could even say his name.

"Don't worry, I'm not checking up on you," Grampa Erland informed me. "Your father and I found something just released on one of the criminal networks."

"If it's Quin's wanted poster, I already know about that," I said.

"Nah—your gran and I already talked to Caylon about that. No, this is something new, and from somebody who sounds desperate. We need to find out how desperate, and exactly who they are."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Here." Grampa has a certain flourish when he
Pulls
anything into his hand. Gran calls it his
voilà
gesture. The comp-vid he held bore an advertisement for an incredible amount of money—for a fifth-level warlock. "We've traced the sending to Vic'Law," Grampa added. "Usually the sending is blocked, but it looks as if the sender either didn't know what he was doing or was interrupted before he could block it."