Miami Days and Truscan (33 page)

The shout came from my left rear. “Madda! Look out!” Dal’s voice rang in my ear, and the Prian who’d been about to shish-kabob me fell in the street. Dal pulled his dripping sword from the body and wheeled his horse around to my side.

“You’re supposed to stay back, brat! Don’t you listen?!” I shouted, wheeling Andromeda around so that we guarded each other’s backs.

“Well,
excuse me
if I take exception to a Prian skewering my mother!” he shouted back, both our swords ringing against Prian metal as we fought our way clear of the mass of Prians who’d magically converged around us. I reached in my saddlebag of wonders for one of the gunpowder mini-bombs for when we were sufficiently clear of the Prian bodies. When we were, I lit it and threw it back into the crowd. The smoke and the screams merged with the darkness of pre-dawn, a scene from Dante’s
Inferno
.

“You’re supposed to be with Crayton and Cretor! Where are they?” I shouted over the noise.

“Flanking Johnny, where’d you think they are? He’s not as young as he used to be! You didn’t really think we’d just stay back like babies, did you?” Dal shouted back. Well, I’d expected nothing of the kind; one rebel always recognized another. The little boy was well and truly gone and I’d miss him. But the newly emergent young man was going to be something else again, that much was already obvious. I strained my eyes and caught sight of Dalph, who’d also caught sight of us and just as I feared, was trying to backtrack.

“C’mon, we need to catch your father! And keep up!”

“What’d you think I’m
trying
to do?!” he shouted back, his sword engaging again. I saw another body hit the ground; one more Prian misguided enough to try this enraged Truscan Prince with the bloodlust of battle blazing in his eyes, the wolf predominant even in human form. I fleetingly wondered if all the Tornans looked so vulpine in battle; I’d never seen them attack as humans before. And I thought again how much I’d miss my little boy.

Through the continuing haze of smoky darkness and the hellacious roars of the explosions, I saw Dalph and then spotted Carlos. We were almost beside them. Mini-bombs exploded behind me, expertly thrown by our resident Demolition Man, and then we were together again, wheeling into a circle, guarding each other’s backs.

“Dal! What in the
hell
do you think you’re doing?” Dalph roared, in a tone I’d never heard him use to his son before, a tone that, the week before, would have sent shivers down Dal’s spine. It sent shivers down mine now.

Apparently, it didn’t make a lot of impression on Dal. “Guarding my mother!” he shouted back at his father. “And if you got a problem with that, get over it ’cause you have left me behind for the
last
time
, is that
clear
?”

Even in the heat of battle, I saw the shock on Dalph’s face, also reflected, I knew, in both mine and Carlos’ expressions.

Then I saw Dalph’s face changing, to what, I wasn’t yet sure. And then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Brentar and Brenden!” he shouted. “Re-born in battle! I’d never have thought!”

“Well, think later, Your Majesty!” shouted Carlos from his other side, who had adopted the ‘Your Majesty’ as his surreptitious means of letting both Dalph and myself know he was unimpressed with our royal status while simultaneously indicating to all others that he was overwhelmed with it. “We’ve got to move!”

The battle raged on. The explosions came from all around, all sides, simultaneously, birthing sweeping walls of fire in their wake, an inferno from the depths of Hell. And from all sides, the Prians surged from the structures, shocked out of sleep, wielding their heavy swords—rather ineffectively, thank the gods—from their disadvantaged position on the ground. And from all sides, from everywhere, the ululating howls of the invading Truscans permeated the air. Pegasus and Andromeda and Perseus, that trio named for the mythical trio of Greek legend, mythical themselves in appearance, alternately reared and pawed and lowered their beautiful, deadly, curving horns, clearing a path before us as we all wheeled around again and started once more toward Kruska’s stronghold.

It was taller than the other Prian structures, but still squat and ugly, as though the Prian race were incapable of constructing anything different. By the time we got there, the Prian guards were already under attack by Truscan troops and we flung ourselves off the faltons. They immediately turned to face away from the main entrance, clearly indicating that they intended to guard the door for us in our absence. And I swear,
I swear
, Andromeda lightly poked Dal’s horse with one of her horns and
herded
him behind them and the protection of their horns and hooves.

There were Prians aplenty inside the castle, but they were in wild and ineffective disarray, swarming like bees but with much less purpose. We all reached for the smallest of the mini-gunpowder bombs, designed for use in close quarters, and tossed them into the groups of the running Prians, down the halls, and up the stairs. The building shook, the Prians screamed, the smoke stung, and in the midst of the mass confusion and the bloody Prian bodies, we heard it. Truscan battle howls. Coming from below our feet.

“This can’t be right!” I said, as though my protest would change anything. “We’re the first in the castle! Who could have gotten this far in before we did?”

“Missing any warriors we know of, Dalph?” Carlos threw over his shoulder while pulling his sword from a stray Prian.

No response. I looked up in alarm, and saw Dalph standing, stock-still, his face frozen as his head tilted upward, as though to obtain a better angle of hearing. Now that I was listening more closely myself, I caught—something. Two separate howls, one carrying the distinctive edge that the Tornans always had, even in human form, and one from a non-Tornan Truscan warrior. And there was something about both of them that I just couldn’t put my finger on.

Dalph howled, a series of high and low, short and long, that I’d never heard during all the practice signal howling that had bounced back and forth across Warrior Fields as the Truscans had practiced their own private Morse Code of howls. The response was immediate, matching howls, desperate in their intensity, coming from beneath our feet.

Dalph moved then, racing for every door that might lead downward, and finding one in the third hall that we turned into in the ill-planned, maze-like rabbit-warren of halls and doors and rooms that served as the Prian castle. I’d never seen him move like that, so agitated that I feared he’d drop his guard, something I’d never thought to worry about, but I was damn sure worried now. I tried to keep up but was falling behind and Carlos, obviously of the same mind, passed me, throwing his question over his shoulder.

“Dalph’s losing it, Tess, will you be all right? I need to stay—”

“I know. Go.
Go!
Dal and I are fine.”

“What the hell?”

“Not sure. Go!
Go
!”

But I had an inkling. Because the stones had insisted that we were not to blow the stronghold. Because I’d finally put my finger on that thing I hadn’t been able to put my finger on. The howls coming from the depths of what had to be Kruska’s dungeons had a very distinctive timbre. One that I’d only heard in two other Tornans, one being my husband and the other being his son. And it was the genetic timbre of Brentar and Madeleine’s line. I’d never heard those particular signals, either. A private code between brothers? I’d bet on it.

Dalph raced down the steep, dark, and treacherous stone steps, Carlos hot on his heels.

“Brenden! Madison!”

“
Dalph
?
Dalph
! Here!”

Right behind me as we made our more cautious way down the stone steps—I didn’t feel like being cautious, but Dalph would certainly not be happy if I took a tumble and miscarried—I heard Dal’s incredulous question.

“My
uncles
?”

“I think so, honey, I really think so!”

The steps opened into a long and noxious corridor, lined with heavy wooden doors. The Bastille must have looked so.

Dalph began issuing furious orders. “Get back from the doors! Right now! Carlos, can you—”

“Right behind you! Get out of the way!”

I heard another incredulous voice, heart-stoppingly familiar, even it was the first time I’d heard it, from behind the door.

“
American
?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers!” Carlos quipped, his hands moving furiously. “Get away from the door! Right now!” And he lit the short fuse of the charge he’d chosen and literally pushed Dalph backward back down the hall. “Sorry, Your Majesty, but your royal ass is about to get blown up if you don’t
move
!”

I laughed, I couldn’t help it.

“Okay, who’s next?” Carlos called.

“Here! Here!” That door was two doors down and on the opposite side of the corridor from the first one.

Carlos reached for the second charge and the process was repeated. Dalph having rushed in the first door, I rushed in the second. Even in the hurried, frenzied moment, I felt my heart break as I looked at the Truscan warrior, a shell of the man he should have been. Madison. Madison was the brother with the lightest hair and blue eyes, the one that had, from his portraits, just missed being blond. In his current condition, his hair color was hard to determine, but the eyes were unmistakable.

“A
woman
?”

“Well, at least you haven’t been here so long you don’t know the difference,” I said lightly, trying not to cry as I moved forward. He was trying to rise to his feet, but his physical condition was horrible. He looked like a rescued P.O.W. from ’Nam. “Can you stand?”

“And
another
American to boot?”

Carlos had followed me into this second cell, apparently aware that Dalph was quite capable of getting anyone to his feet and that I probably wasn’t. Through all of this, Carlos was keeping his head a lot better than Dalph and I, but I knew the Truscans’ appearance was affecting him as much as it was me.

“It just be raining Americans in Trusca these days!” Carlos threw out, and I laughed again over the lump in my throat, recognizing the altered line as one of Will Smith’s from
Men in Black
. He even threw some Will Smith attitude over the line as he said it.

“I’m Tess, Dalph’s wife. C’mon, let’s get you moving!” I moved to his other side as Carlos got him to his feet and offered my shoulder.

“Tess, no, get out and get back up, we can’t get trapped down here!” Again, Carlos was keeping his head a lot better than me, but then came welcome confirmation that getting trapped wasn’t much of a possibility. The Truscans had stormed the Prian castle, and the wolf howls reverberated above us.

“Thank God!” I exclaimed.

Dalph called from the corridor. “Move! Move! We have to get them out of here!”

Being more a hindrance than a help in assisting Madison out of the cell, I gave up and left him to Carlos, coming back into the corridor and my first sight of Brenden, in no better shape than Madison.

“You’re taking women to battle now, brother?” So much English was flowing that neither Brenden nor Madison had spoken a word of Truscan but that didn’t surprise me. The brothers were obviously so bi-lingual that they simply spoke in whatever language was spoken first.

“That’s my wife, Tess. Don’t make her mad. Even Mother never threw such rages! And my son, Dal.” Dalph threw the introductions out as he guided Brenden, who was leaning heavily on Dalph’s shoulder, down the narrow corridor toward the steps. “Dal, get back up! Grab four warriors and have them at the door to get them out of here!’

“While you do what, Dalph?” In horrible shape, emaciated, dirty, and weak as a kitten, I could see the battle light blaze in Brenden’s eyes.

“Finish Pria.”

“Finish?”

“Completely,” I threw in. “Trust us.”

From behind us, Madison posed a question as he leaned just as heavily on Carlos. “It’s not that we’re not glad to see you, brother, but why now? And how are we finishing Pria?”

“The Stones.” Dalph reached the stairs and started up, going as fast as possible. “Later. I’ll explain later. Just let me get you both out of here.”

“We have scores to settle, Dalph! Just give us a sword!”

“Brenden, you couldn’t
hold
a sword right now! But you still haven’t changed a bit!”

And with that, Dalph reached the top of the stairs and handed his brother over to the waiting Truscans.

“Get him out of here!”

“I could
too
hold a sword!” Brenden shouted back, as the warriors literally picked him up between them and virtually carried him, almost kicking and screaming in protest, out of the danger zone.

I reached the top myself and turned back to Carlos and Madison, who were approaching the top.

“Tess, don’t try and help, you’ll unbalance us!” Carlos ordered, reaching the top himself and handing Madison over to two more waiting warriors.

“Are
you
going to give me problems, too?” Dalph asked Madison.

“Hell, no, I
know
we couldn’t hold a sword. And you
could
show me a mite more sympathy, he’s all I’ve heard for the past ten years!”