Firestorm (12 page)

Eight

"Er, may I ask you something?" Raina said the next morning, as Teague rolled up his bedding and stuffed it beneath the bunk.

She levered to one elbow, feeling better than she had in days. The fever seemed finally to have run its course. Her skin was healing. Her appetite had returned—with a vengeance. She would live and, because she would live, there were now some unresolved issues between them. Issues they would have to resolve.

The monk lifted a wary pair of silver-blue eyes to hers. "What exactly did you wish to know?"

After last night, she knew he was as uncomfortable with her as she was with him. Last night, their reluctant alliance had reached a crossroads. How they approached this day, and the ensuing days, would determine the future course of their relationship. Whatever that relationship was.

Raina approached that particular issue with great care and even greater hesitation. But she couldn't ignore the facts any longer. She owed Teague Tremayne her life. He could have, should have, left her and gone on with the mission. But he hadn't.

He'd also, in the course of the past days, learned more than she'd ever dare let anyone—save Marissa—know.

That realization angered her. Exactly how much she'd revealed in her delirium Raina now wished to discern.

Though she doubted the monk was the kind to use it against her, she had to know what he knew. His special knowledge of her put her at a disadvantage. What she'd inadvertently revealed she couldn't retract, but she could protect herself against it.

Raina's glance strayed to Rand's pack in the corner. "Is he able to hear what we say?"

"His communications device isn't turned off, if that's what you're asking."

"I'd prefer," she said, her gaze locking once more with his, "if it was. What I have to say to you is private."

Teague shrugged. "As you wish." He rose, walked over to the pack, found the audio switch, and flipped it off. Then, like a man going to his execution, he returned to the bunk.

As she gazed up at him, a sudden realization struck Raina. He's as unsure and as unwilling as I to broach the subject of last night. She hardened herself to that knowledge. For her sake, at least, they must talk.

She scooted over, then indicated a spot on the edge of the bed. "Sit, if you will. It's difficult conversing with a man towering over you."

"Indeed?" A faint smile quirked his mouth. "Don't care for the psychological disadvantage it puts you in, do you?"

Raina gave a disparaging snort and rolled her eyes. "That, and it puts a crick in my neck. Now sit, Tremayne."

He did as she'd asked. The bunk creaked, then sagged under his greater weight. Raina experienced a momentary surge of panic at his nearness, at his hip touching her thigh, then firmly tamped it down. She had invited him into such close proximity. It hadn't been of his own choosing.

In the coolness of the early morn, he'd donned his tunic over his breeches, though he'd neglected to close the deep neckline. As he sat there, expectantly awaiting her next words, his scent, of damp clothes and man, filled her. She caught a glimpse of the swell of his chest and the outline of the tattooed claws on his bulging pectorals. No matter how many times she saw it, the ritualistic markings never failed to send a tiny shiver of excitement coursing through her.

Raina shook her unnerving response aside as quickly as it struck her. She needed to discover how much he knew of her, not dwell on their undeniable and rising physical attraction. That was another problem in itself, and best not addressed. To do so would force the problem out into the open, perhaps even compel them to face and deal with it. And Raina knew she couldn't do that, at least not yet.

"I said . . . certain things . . . while I was ill," she made herself begin. Her glance slid away, careening into the muscled expanse of his thigh. The leg rippled with his slightest shift in position. Her mouth went dry, but she couldn't find the courage to meet his gaze. Curse this damned attraction, she thought.

"Yes, you did," Teague agreed carefully. "But they were the usual ravings of a fever-muddled mind. I thought little of them."

He was hiding something, Raina thought. But what?

She forced her gaze back up to his. "How much did I tell you about my past, and what happened to me when I was last on Incendra?"

His nostrils flared, his eyes widened but, aside from that the monk's expression didn't change. "I told you. You made little sense. I paid no heed to what you said."

"And I say you lie, Tremayne." Even more on edge than before, Raina eased up straighter in bed. "If you think to spare me by pretending not to possess a knowledge you have, think again. I'd rather know the truth than wonder."

His mouth went grim. He looked away. "I'd have indeed spared you. You are proud, Raina. I am aware you'd not like for me ... to know."

"Know what? Tell me, Tremayne."

Teague turned, subjecting her to a cool, direct look. "That a man named Malam wanted to life-mate with you, and when you rejected him, he raped you."

She could feel the blood draining from her face. Gods, he did know, at least part of it. Her worst fears had come true. Raina dragged in a deep breath. "You must have misunderstood. It ... it didn't happen that way at all."

He frowned. "You don't have to lie to me, either, femina. I don't think less of you for what happened."

"And do you think I care, one way or another, what you think of me?" She leaned forward, her anger flaring. "You . . . you insufferable, self-righteous holy man!"

Puzzlement furrowed his brow. "Insufferable? Self-righteous? Because I'm sorry about what happened to you?"

"I don't want or need your pity, Tremayne!"

The monk considered that for a moment. "No, I don't suppose you do. But I'm sorry nonetheless. No female deserves such treatment at the hands of a male."

"He'll pay. You can be certain of that." As will my father, she silently added.

There was something, perhaps the hard conviction underlying her simply spoken words, that appeared to give the monk pause. "What do you mean to do?" he demanded suspiciously. "We're on a mission to retrieve the Incendarian stone, not to carry out some vendetta."

"I'm well aware of what our primary purpose here is," Raina gritted, his barely veiled warning setting her nerves on edge. "But once it's completed well, we'll just have to see how things go then."

"This Malam," Teague said, suddenly seeming to change tack. "Is he perhaps the usurper, Malam Vorax?"

"What if he is? What concern is it of yours?"

Teague gave a disbelieving laugh. "What concern? You talk of going up against the most powerful man on the planet, then have the audacity to ask what concern it is of mine? Think again, femina. We're partners now. What one does affects the other."

"No." She vehemently shook her head. "We're partners for this mission, and that's all. You'll never command or control me, no matter what debt I now owe you for my life. And when this is all over, if we survive, we'll once more go our separate ways. Won't we, Tremayne?"

He shoved to his feet and stared down at her for the longest time, anger, frustration, then confusion flashing through his eyes. Finally, a look of calm—monkish calm—settled over his face. "You know the answer to that as well as I, femina." With that, he turned on his heel and left the room.

Raina stared at the open door Teague had left in his wake, her own emotions a confusing, upsetting jumble. Did she know the answer? she thought, suddenly awash in a storm-tossed sea of apprehension like none she'd ever experienced. And did he, when all the subterfuge was over and the games they played with each other were done?

Those were indeed the yet unanswered questions. In the meantime, there was one thing she was certain of. Despite his now familiar and predictable retreat behind his monastic facade, she had seen the truth as surely as he. The monk hadn't been any more certain of the answers than she.

***

They set out across the Ar Rimal four days later, already a week behind schedule but, thanks to the heavy rains, at least their water supplies were fully replenished. Though Raina insisted she was ready for the journey, both Teague and Rand had their doubts. They finally agreed to her demands, with the proviso that the first day's travel be short, and only half the distance they hoped to travel each day.

The terrain was bleak, the sand little more than a fine gravel that lay in wind-layered ripples. Steep-sided gullies gouged deep tracks where the rainstorm runoff had flowed across the parched land. A few scraggly glass-wort bushes grew at wide intervals to maximize their absorption of water, the windblown sand collecting around their bases.

From time to time they passed grotesque rock formations rising from the desert floor, wide and capped at the tops, narrow at the base from the shearing effects of the wind that bounced along most times only a meter or so from the ground. A few desert birds nested high in the rock crevices. Small rodents scurried hither and yon from holes carved out at the bases. Once they saw a huge, long-fanged sand cat, its small, slender ears tipped with dark tufts, staring down at them from its rocky perch high overhead.

Even from the relatively safe distance of fifty meters away, Raina couldn't help a small shudder. Tales of the Incendarian sand cat had filled her growing years, as it had all children living in or near the vast Ar Rimal desert. No beast was more vicious or a more lethal hunter, taking most victims unawares and swiftly and efficiently slashing them to death with only a few swipes of its long, curved claws. Though both she and Teague carried stunners and blasters, Raina still felt strangely vulnerable beneath the animal's predatory stare as they skirted its vantage point and continued their trek across the desert.

The first day passed uneventfully, the blowing sand and oppressive heat the main discomforts. Yet even with the slower pace Teague had insisted they set to spare her, as the hours passed and the sun began to dip from its zenith, Raina found herself longing for the end of the day's journey. She gazed off in the distance, gauging what stand of rocks might suit them best for a campsite. As she did a fresh flurry of sand, heading straight toward them, caught her eye.

She stared at the strange cloud of dust, attempting to ascertain if it were but another wind devil or not. There was something about it, however, that didn't appear —

Raina grabbed Teague's arm, jerking him to a halt.

He turned a sand- and sweat-coated face to her. He wore the traditional desert garb of long white tunic over his boots and breeches, sleeveless brown cloak, and distinctive headcloth wound about his head and face and tucked up so that only the upper half of his face showed. Despite the protective garb, however, it was evident that he, too, was having difficulty readapting to the sweltering heat.

"What is it, Raina?" Teague asked, struggling to keep the weary irritation from his voice. "We just took a rest stop an hour ago. It's too soon for another —"

"Riders, Tremayne," she said cutting him off. "See, there on the horizon? There must be four or five, on equs, and headed straight toward us. What do you suggest we do?"

He frowned then glanced about him. They'd left the last set of rock formations an hour ago and were once more out in the open. "Well, there's nowhere to hide, is there?" he inquired mildly. "I'd recommend an attitude of friendly caution. If we're truly fortunate, they may offer us traditional desert hospitality and take us back to their camp."

His grimy face broke into a grin. "I don't know about you, but I used to love the sweet mentha tea and the thin pancakes the desert nomads frequently made for breakfast."

"Just like a male, to be led to the slaughter by his stomach," Raina muttered. "I suggest, instead, we keep our stunners ready and the blasters charged. Just in case they've other plans for us than the usual desert hospitality."

"A wise precaution," Teague equably agreed. "We've both been gone many cycles and customs could've changed in the interim."

They set their stunners, charged their blasters, and hung them off their shoulders for easy accessibility, just in case they'd be needed. The group of nomads grew closer, the pounding of their big, heavy equs' hooves setting the ground to trembling the nearer they came.

The riders were dressed in desert garb and wore the traditional red and black colors of the Kateb tribe.

Teague and Raina exchanged guarded looks. The Katebs had never been well known for their hospitality, nor for their honesty, preferring to acquire wealth and whatever else they might need through raids and thievery. They were also not averse to murder, if it were necessary to gain their objectives.

"Great, just great," Raina muttered softly. "Of all the twelve tribes, the first one we had to encounter was the Katebs."

The men reined in their mounts in a cloud of dust, making a great show of settling their ample cloaks in place about them and checking the long, curved daggers hanging at their sides.

"Easy, femina," the monk whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "The battle isn't lost yet."

Raina smiled grimly. "Indeed. I hardly think four Katebs are much challenge to us. You are current on your warrior skills, aren't you?"

One of the nomads, vaulting down lithely from his big, heavy-bodied equs, cut short further discussion. The man sauntered over, eyed Raina's cloaked form briefly, then turned to Teague.

"I'm Fazir, leader of the Katebs of the Quadir oasis." He made a deprecatory motion toward Raina. "How much for the female?"

"I'm not for sale at any price, you son of a slimy, thieving—-"

The monk swiftly and surreptitiously grasped her hand, giving it a sharp, warning squeeze. "What the femina was trying to say," he smoothly interjected, "was that she's not for sale because she's already taken."

Fazir glanced disbelievingly from Teague to Raina, and back. "She's yours? Then why doesn't she maintain the proper respectful distance behind you? And why was she permitted to speak to a stranger?" He shook his head. "No, I don't think she's yours."

"We come from another land, far from Farsala and across the Great Sea. Our customs," Teague smilingly explained, "are somewhat different from yours."

"Across the Great Sea, eh?" The Kateb leader shot a smirking glance at his men. "Then that makes you not of our kind." He turned back to Teague, his hand moving to the dagger hanging at his side. "And requires no hospitality or consideration of your customs or your right to the female."

In the next instant, Fazir, dagger drawn, went for Teague. He slashed downward toward the monk's chest even as he leaped. Teague didn't have time to fire the stunner clenched in his hand, nor to swing his blaster into position. Both men fell to the sand, grappling wildly for the dagger.

Fazir's three compatriots jumped down from their equs and slowly fanned out in a half-circle before Raina. She stepped back. They advanced. She swung the blaster up into position.

"Stay back, if you value your filthy, thieving lives," she snarled.

"Now, is that any way to talk to your new masters, sweet one?" The fattest and dirtiest of the three gestured toward the blaster. "Give the pretty stick up now, and we'll promise not to hurt you. Well, not too much, anyway," he said with a lewd chuckle, glancing at his two cronies.

Then, in a lightning-swift move surprising for a man of his size, he flung himself at her. Raina fired, spraying him with a fiery blast. He screamed, then fell.

The other two men leaped at her. She took out one before the other struck her, knocking her to the ground. He grabbed for her throat. She didn't bother to stop him.

An instant later, her Nadrygean dagger was in her hand. A second more, and it sliced across her attacker's throat.

With a gurgle, he fell atop her, his lifeblood spurting from the severed artery in his neck. Raina shoved him aside and rose, searching for Teague and his opponent. Even then, the big monk was climbing to his feet, brushing the sand from his robe. Fazir lay writhing on the ground in death's last throes, his own dagger protruding from his chest.

Teague's eyes widened when he took in Raina's bloodstained clothes. "Are you all right, femina?"

Her mouth quirked wryly and she nodded. "Quite fine, actually. I just wish I wasn't wearing the blood of my enemy. I should stink like a pile of offal in another few hours and with no extra water to spare . . ."

"The Blandira oasis is less than a half day's journey from here. At this time of day I'd wager the Katebs, who aren't known to travel too far from a water source, weren't all that far from their camp and water. With the aid of these fine equs," he added, walking over to capture two by their reins, "I think we, too, will now make short work of the trek to the next oasis."

"Good." Raina strode over to take up the reins of one of the equs. "Let's get on with it. Already, I'm beginning to reek."

"A few minutes more, femina. We need to bury these men."

Raina eyed him in surprise. "You'd give men who meant to kill you the respect of a burial? I say, rather, leave them to fry on this desert until the carrion eaters find them."

Teague shrugged. "Do what you wish, but I cannot leave any man without a burial and the appropriate prayers said over his grave." He shed his cloak, rolled up his tunic sleeves, and walked over to stand beside Fazir. The man was finally dead.

With the butt of his blaster, the monk began to hack out a shallow grave in the sand. Raina watched him for a few minutes, then gave a snort of disgust and, taking her own blaster, stalked over to help him.