Lady of the Star Wind (2 page)

“Tortured, yes. Killed, no.” He blew a gusty breath. “It’s a long story. We haven’t got time for explanations. Barent Kliin is downstairs, about to murder Portuc. His plans for you aren’t much better. Will you trust me to get you out of here in one piece? Once I have you somewhere safe, you can make your own decision about what to do next. Word of a
bogatyr
. Sworn on my family’s honor.”

Cheeks red, dark blue eyes flooded with tears, she stared at him, seeming lost in grief. “I knew, even when Portuc claimed to have found him, it had to be a lie. Grandmother never would have let Mark Denaltieri live. I wanted it to be true so badly.”

Mark knelt, placing one hand over hers. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

“Prove who you are, or I go nowhere.” Hand fisted, she shoved his shoulder. “I’ll scream and bring them running. I’d rather trust Barent than an impostor.”

Had he changed that much in twenty years? He’d never been able to forget her face, why didn’t she know his? Maybe she was blocking the memories. Or maybe he hadn’t mattered as much to her as he’d believed. Either way, he was committed to this action, no time for doubt. “If I convince you I’m Mark, will you let me get you out of here?”

She nodded. “But you can’t prove such a thing.”

Impatient, he threw off the heavy Kliin overcoat and yanked the left side of his blue tunic free of the pants, revealing his abdomen. “We met when I took a force knife meant for you, in the Spring of a year long ago.”

Fingers trembling, she touched the long, white scar running parallel to his ribs, near his heart. Even when he’d been severely injured in the Special Forces, requiring time in the rejuve resonator, he’d demanded the medtechs leave the scar. It represented the last pitiful link to his past. Proof he had indeed been someone else, with a far different destiny than the one forced upon him. Now he shivered, flinching from even the lightest touch of her hand. Too many memories. He endured the contact for a moment before pulling away and jerking the tunic into place as he stood. “You have a birthmark shaped like a heart in a very intimate place, Your Highness. If you require further proof.”

“I’d wandered off from a family picnic in the gardens at Nemalpaue.” Alessandra stared at him, eyes wide. “You’d recently been assigned to the house guards as a cadet, and you were lost, confused by your first time in the imperial gardens—”

“We were in the gardens at Tsiolovad, and you were reading a book by yourself,” he said, temper growing short as she continued to test his claim. “I was in the wrong place at the right time. In time to see the assassins entering the garden. I’d no chance of getting help, so, being young and stupid, I tried to take them on all by myself.”

“No, you were so brave, displayed amazing courage through the entire fight.” Staring at him, she massaged her temples as if to soothe a massive headache. Unexpectedly, she grabbed his chin, tilting his head until the lamp on the wall bathed his entire face in merciless light. Leaning forward, she peered into his eyes, then released him and fell against the cushions a moment later with a gasp. “It is you—that tiny fleck of gold in your left eye always fascinated me. I’ve never seen anything like it in anyone else’s eyes.”
 

He walked to the bureau and donned the helmet, visor retracted. “We have to go. Trust me, don’t trust me, believe me or not, but if we don’t leave this room right now, you’re going to be Barent Kliin’s prize. I’m not waiting around to go over old times in the cadets with him. Are you coming?”

“All right.” Her measured tone gave nothing away of her inner thoughts. “We can put aside the need for explanations temporarily. I always trusted you. You were the only one I could rely on.”

“Still am, at least to get you out of here. Trust me tonight.”

Moving like a coiled spring, she stood, kicking her tangled skirt out of the way. “There’s something I can’t leave behind.”

“You don’t have time to pack.”

Sandy ignored him, going to the closet and rummaging in the deep drawers under the hanging dresses, while Mark’s meager store of patience evaporated. She backed out of the storage space holding a medium-sized, caramel leather bag. The satchel appeared to be quite heavy, but she slid the strap onto her left shoulder with a practiced move and walked across the room to join him. “I’m ready now. What do you have in mind—a stroll out the front door?”

He stood aside. “No, we’d run right into Kliin and his hired thugs. We’re going over the roof.”

She stopped, eyebrows raised, hand to her mouth. “The roof? Are you mad?”

“Let me see your shoes.”

She slid one high-heeled foot out from under the hem of the clinging turquoise skirt.

“Anything more practical in the overstocked warehouse you called a closet?”

She shook her head but kicked off the offending shoes.
 

“Barefoot?” Mark sighed but wasn’t about to argue. After he reconnoitered, he motioned for her to precede him into the hall. No sign of the maid, no sign of any alarm having been given. He told her to wait while he dragged the two unconscious men into the room, then closed the door behind him. Visualizing one of the alternate escape routes he’d identified when studying the plans, he led her deeper into the recesses of the house until they reached a staircase.
 

Every other riser creaked. Concerned the noise might draw unwanted attention, he urged Sandy to climb faster. When she reached the top floor of the house, he moved into the lead, going to a hidden door at the far end of the corridor. Burning through the lock with his blaster, Mark yanked the door open and pulled down a ladder. “Up here, quickly.”

Sandy clambered to the attic. He made quicker work of the ascent than she had, pulling the old-fashioned ladder closed behind him.

“I-I heard a scream.” She fidgeted with the strap of her bag.
 

Taking her elbow to escort her to the window, he felt tension vibrating through her. “Kliin probably got tired of toying with poor old Portuc and shot him. We’re running out of time. He’ll be scouring the house for you next.”

The window was sealed and set with security alarm sensors. Holstering the blaster, he got out a small toolkit. He went to work on the window while she watched with great interest.

“What are you doing?”
 

“Something illegal on all the civilized worlds.” He kept his focus on the task. “These tools are standard issue for the Sectors Special Forces.”

Leaning on the wall beside the window, she eyed him. “You were in their military?”

“Twenty years. Ah, there we have it.” He slid the window out of its frame. Stepping through the opening, he offered her his hand. “Come on, this part of the roof is flat.”

“Then what?” Gamely, she climbed through the opening after him.

“Follow my lead.”

He traversed the roof, staying close to the center, drawing her behind him, until their progress came to a halt at the rear wall. Sandy took one horrified glance and hunched closer to the ornamental fretwork running the length of the house in the center. “I don’t like heights, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s three stories to the ground. How are we supposed to manage the descent?”

“No problem. Antigrav pads.” He took them from a pocket of his borrowed coat and slipped the military devices onto the soles of his boots. Self-activating with a faint hum, the antigrav cast a blue glare. He rose a couple of feet into the air, gesturing to her. “I’ll have to carry you.”

Sandy glanced over her shoulder at the window she’d climbed through. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. We can talk to Kliin.”

“He’s not in the mood to listen.” Mark scooped her into his arms and stepped off the roof, floating to the ground faster than he’d expected—the pads were old, military surplus, and not rated for a double load, but the best he could get on the black market. She kept her eyes shut and her head tucked into his shoulder.

Rather unceremoniously, he deposited her on the manicured grass a moment later.

Shouting erupted inside the house. A glaring floodlight came to life above them. He shot it out and grabbed her by the hand, taking off at a dead run across the garden, toward the perimeter fence of the small estate. Forcing her to go first through a hole he’d precut about a week ago, he followed right on her heels, pushing her behind a large bush. “Wait here.”
 

“Where are you going?” She sneezed as a cloud of sparkling pollen from the ornamental plant drifted in the slight evening breeze.
 

“I’ve got to retrieve the rest of my gear. I’ll just be a second.”

Hoping she’d obey orders and stay hidden, Mark ducked and ran before she could ask any further questions. Working his way through the extensive hedge, he paused at the edge of the street. Then he stepped onto the pavement, sauntering to the idling groundcar. The local merc continued to listen to mind-numbing music, tapping his hand on the control panel with the beat. Mark stunned him with one efficient, silenced shot. Opening the door carefully to keep the body from toppling out, Mark shoved the man into the passenger side.

“I’ll be right back,” Mark assured his victim cheerfully, in case anyone farther down the line of idling vehicles was paying attention, which he doubted. The nearby mercenaries were staring at the house, debating amongst themselves how much carnage was occurring inside. Retrieving his battered, green-and-black kitbag from concealment in the hedge, he heaved the equipment into the rear seat, before jogging to where Sandy crouched.

“Let’s get out of here, Your Highness. Our luck has held too long already.” He walked to the passenger side of the groundcar and pulled the unconscious man out, dropping him on the lawn.

Stepping over the guard, she slid into the front seat, clutching her bag.

“You there!” A shout from the vicinity of the house challenged him for the first time on this escapade. “What do you think you’re doing? Where’s Ivor?”

Mark got behind the manual controls as fast as he could, throwing his stolen ride into motion before he’d even shut the door. He yanked the vehicle in a tight circle, servo motors whining, and took off toward the center of town at high speed. There wasn’t much traffic to impede them at this late hour, even on Freemarket.

Sandy peered at the vidscreen. “Got four cars coming after us. Can’t you go faster?”

“Yeah. Hang on!”
 

He shifted into overdrive and tore through the streets, dodging slower traffic in his way. He’d memorized a variety of escape routes during his first week on the planet.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

“Local cops. Damn, I hoped the police would stay out of this like they usually do. Kliin must have paid them one hell of a lot of money to be at his beck and call. We’re going to have to ditch the car and make a run for it.” He took his attention off the road for a moment to assess how Sandy was holding up as the groundcar slewed from side to side in his violent maneuvers.

She screamed a warning, but even Mark’s reflexes weren’t fast enough to avoid a collision with the cargo hauler pulling into his lane. The groundcar rammed the side of the truck, safety mechanisms deploying instantly and retracting.

“Damn door is stuck.” Mark exerted his full strength, pushing the lock to release. “Are you all right?”

Ignoring his question, she shoved her hair out of her eyes. “The sirens are coming closer. Get us out of here!”

“I’m doing all I can.” He could hear the banshee wail of their approaching enemies. “Grab my kitbag from the back.”

She twisted in the seat to get both hands on the straps of his bag, dragging it over the divider into her lap.

“Where the seven hells did you learn to drive, pal?” demanded the truck driver as he burst from his vehicle. Cursing, the man yanked the door open, freeing them.

Mark half fell from the car, dodging under the trucker’s arm and coming up behind him, striking at the vulnerable spot on the man’s neck. The citizen collapsed, half in and half out of the car. Mark shoved him to the pavement and reached in to grab first his bag, then Alessandra’s outstretched hands.
 

“Now what?” Leaning on the car, she scanned their surroundings for an escape route.

Mark pivoted on his boot heel, getting his bearings. “The independent marketplace is this way. We can try to lose Barent and the local boys he’s hired in there. It’s a maze. The vendors don’t much like cops, which might work in our favor since we’re fugitives.”

Taking the lead, he ran down the alley away from the wrecked car and the cargo hauler. Even at this late hour, the marketplace overflowed with diners and shoppers. Mark slowed to a walk, keeping a tight grip on her hand. They walked past a whole row of jewelry merchants, ignoring the shouted offers from the eager vendors, then took a sharp right turn into an aisle of hanging baskets. He glanced behind and ducked under the nearest display, drawing Sandy after him, seeking a shortcut deeper into the convoluted arrangement of stalls and merchandise.

Fending off a rack of leather belts as she snuck under it, Sandy said, “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I always have multiple escape routes. We get to the other side, we can steal another groundcar from the parking structure. Are you okay?”

“My feet hurt and I twisted my ankle when we crashed, but I can keep up, don’t worry.”