Trapped On Talonque: (A Sectors SF romance) (40 page)

The small crowd of villagers standing sullenly behind the ring of spears was silent now.

Sarbordon yanked Hatur to his feet and pushed him toward the trailhead. The lowland ruler harangued the crowd of villagers as his soldiers moved out. “No one is to follow or interfere, do you understand me? All I want is to speak to the goddess. She and I have unfinished business. Then we’ll release your children and the old man after they’ve called her for me. Everything will be fine.”

“Hand over their bodies, he means,” Nate said. “We’ve got to get to the Place of Meditation Hatur mentioned before the enemy does, if possible.”

“He’s leaving a rearguard to block the trail,” Thom pointed out. “Can’t go openly without a fight. The sound will warn the enemy we’re coming. We need the element of surprise.”

“Do you know any alternative routes to the spot?” Nate asked Bithia.

“I only walked down from the facility above,” she said. “I’ve never seen it from this side.”

“All right, you two wait here. I’m going to find Daven. I don’t see him in the crowd, so he’s probably at the stable trying to find us. Maybe he knows a shortcut.”

Nate rolled over and got to his feet in a low crouch, working his way along the concealing fence line and disappearing behind the nearest house. A few minutes later, Nate shepherded a nervous Daven with him. “The boy says there’s a quicker, more direct way to this place where Sarbordon’s going. He and some of his friends used to sneak up there to spy on the ceremonies, since none of them were selected to be the dreamers themselves. Let’s move it.”

“Wait.” Bithia took the boy’s hand in her own. “I’m sorry we’ve brought this trouble to your village. We never meant to be the cause of any harm, least of all to Hatur and the children. My warriors and I will rescue your people if you can help us now.”

Daven swallowed hard. Nate could see him shaking. “We’re a peaceful town, Lady. We know nothing of weapons, of soldiers. We grow the mountain klixen for their wool, shear it and dye it, and then make blankets to sell to the lowlander traders. No one ever attacked us. All we know how to fight is the mountain predators trying to steal our klixen. They”—he nodded at the cowering villagers across the way—“are too scared to resist, even when the children are in danger.”

“And you?” Nate asked.

The boy raised his chin defiantly. “Sharla is my sister, Hatur my grandfather. The twins are my cousins. I can’t stand by and do nothing. I don’t trust the false words of the lowlander. Maybe he’ll keep his word, but I gazed into the eyes of the woman, the eyes of a killer.” He shuddered. Nate could relate to the boy’s emotions, having been up close and personal too many times himself with the deadly priestesses of Huitlani. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Good lad.” Nate patted him on the shoulder. “Now about this shortcut—”

The trail was nearly vertical. Nate was glad he’d had days of mountain-hiking conditioning already, or he might not have made it in time to have a chance at stopping the enemy’s plans.

He clambered the last few yards to the small plateau designated as the Place of Meditation and found it deserted. A small, round, windowless stone hut sat midway across the open area.

Nate halted the others below the lip of the plateau, assessing the situation. Convinced they’d arrived first, he nodded to Thom. “Go for it. I’ll cover you.”

Thom, Daven and Bithia ran for the hut. Nate took off as soon as the last of them ducked inside, Thom covering him from the shelter of the doorway. Nate could hear the crying of the children as the captives and their guards approached slowly on the winding, ceremonial trail.

Nate leaned against the stone wall of the hut, regulating his breathing after the sprint at this altitude. “What do your people use this hut for?”

“When there’s need to speak to the goddess, the selected children come here with Hatur and the other wisemen. The children are given the herbs and the wine and left to dream overnight, while the elders keep watch outside the hut. In the morning, the dreamers reveal their dreams to Hatur at dawn to interpret. It is said in the old days, the goddess would descend the mountain and speak to the headman herself, but now she only comes in the dreams.” He stared at Bithia, as if realizing for the first time who she actually must be.

“Plan?” Thom asked. “Not much time here.”

“I’m sorry, but it all depends on you,” Nate said, addressing Bithia. “When the others get here, I need you to go out to Sarbordon, talk to him. Try to get the children away from that damn priestess with the itchy knife hand if you can. But the most important thing is, you have to lure him in here. Then I’m going to kill him. It’s obvious this world will never be safe or at peace while he lives. And neither will we.”

She regarded him gravely, her lavender-blue eyes serious and calm. “I understand. I need no further explanation.” She leaned over and kissed him full on the lips with infinite tenderness. “Lolanta died by my hand. Sarbordon will die by yours. We’ll be equally avenged for the wrongs done in my name, for the evil done to you and Thom and Haranda, and so many others.”

“I love you,” he answered, not caring that they had an audience. He was grateful for her serene acceptance of what must happen. “If there was any other option, I’d never risk you within reach of the bastard.”

I love you as well, my warrior.
“But there
is
no other choice, not if we’re going to save the innocent lives,” she said.

“He’s here,” Thom said in a low hiss.

The plateau was relatively small, maybe twenty yards across, jutting from the face of the mountain as if soldered onto the peak in the long-ago past. There was a straight drop-off down the mountain in most directions, except the way Nate had arrived, the way the ceremonial trail ran and in a third spot where a faint trail traced its way toward the summit many thousands of feet above.
 

As the enemy and their prisoners came into view, the elderly headman was laboring to breathe. Hatur fell to his knees as two soldiers shoved him onto the plateau. The priestess came behind with her string of potential victims. The ex-king and four other soldiers brought up the rear.

Disgust in every line of her face, Nanzin clutched her fur-lined, ebony cloak against the brisk wind. “What a pathetic shrine! So fitting for the powerless old gods. There isn’t even an altar.”

“I told you we don’t sacrifice to the goddess.” Hatur pleaded with the woman from his knees. “She won’t come, no matter what you do. She manifests only in the dreams of the children after they take the sacred wine. We have none at this season—it isn’t the solstice—so the little ones can’t dream for you. Please, let the children go.”

Nanzin laughed, sounding eerily like her mother. A chill ran down Nate’s spine as he shoved away an unwanted flashback to Lolanta’s ravaged face looming above him, knife ready to carve out his heart.

“I can manage without this wine you prattle of, without even a proper altar for that matter. Never fear, old man. And if my offerings don’t motivate your goddess, spilt blood certainly appeases Huitlani. He’ll force your goddess to appear.”

“I’ve heard more than enough,” Nate said. “Let’s stop this before she gets really wound up. You ready?”

Bithia nodded, showing no trace of fear or nerves as she set aside her cloak and smoothed her tunic. Taking a deep breath, smiling fleetingly at Nate as she walked by him, Bithia stepped onto the plateau.

“I’m here, at your command. No need to talk of killing or sacrifice.”

“T’naritza!” Sarbordon seemed transfixed by the sight of his obsession. He rubbed a shaking hand over his face, blinking as if she might disappear as quickly as she’d arrived. “You’re here.”

Smiling, she nodded. “You knew I would be, didn’t you? You’ve passed the gods’ test, and now you may claim the prize.”

“Test? Prize?”

“Man doesn’t think well on his feet, does he?” Thom muttered.
 

Patiently, Bithia led him through the logic of his “accomplishments.”
 

“You survived the destruction my father visited on Nochen. You found me, fulfilling all the prophecies, so I’m yours to command.”

“Grab her, and let’s be gone,” the priestess said.

“This is none of your concern.” Contempt laced Bithia’s voice. “This is between the great king and myself.” She walked closer to him, swaying her hips seductively.

Nate’s hand tightened on his blaster.

The lowland ruler appeared to be regaining mastery of his emotions. Nate counted on the man’s belief in his own destiny as the progenitor of a new race of demigods. Licking his chapped lips, Sarbordon took a deep breath, eyeing her hungrily. “You know what I want of you, T’naritza. I told you enough times in Nochen, in the chamber when we were alone. Are you prepared to submit?”

“I must,” she said, feigning surprise at the question. “You won the challenge of the gods. But the first time must be here, in this sacred place.”
 

Uncertain, he evaluated the wind-swept plateau.

Bithia took his hand and gazed coyly into his eyes. “Not outside in the cold wind, my lord. Come to the privacy of my chamber in the meditation hut. I’ve prepared a wondrous place of magic for us to lie together.”

He locked one thick hand in a choking grip at her neck. He shook his other hand loose from hers and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her close. “If this is a trick—”

“No trick,” she answered calmly, despite his hold on her. “I’ve always been yours to command, even in Nochen. Remember? Nothing has changed. You can…fully command me now, here. In all ways. Nothing keeps us apart, save your own delays.”

“Wait here,” Sarbordon said over his shoulder to the guards.

Nanzin’s protest was immediate. “But the sacrifices.”
 

“No innocent blood must be shed in this place,” Bithia said. “Send the children and the old man away. The hostages have served their purpose.”

Frowning, the ruler addressed his priestess. “On no account are you to commence your rituals, do you hear me? Not until or unless I give the command personally.”

She glared equally at him and at Bithia, apparently not liking being deprived of her prey, even momentarily. “What of her warriors? Why don’t you ask her where the men are?”

“Damn,” Nate and Thom swore in unison.

“Your mother killed them both,” Bithia told Nanzin, eyes narrowed, her voice believably trembling like she was a woman in total anguish. “She spilled their blood on the altar, gave their hearts to Huitlani. I was too late to save them, but I killed her myself in revenge when I realized what she’d done. You wanted to be High Priestess of Huitlani? The title is all yours now.”

Sarbordon and Nanzin recoiled in the face of Bithia’s intensity, her palpable grief and fury. Nate admired her acting ability.

“The people at the farm said two men accompanied T’naritza.” From the timid tone of Nanzin’s reminder, she feared being struck with whatever power Bithia had used against Lolanta, but she was also unwilling to let go of her suspicions entirely.

“Men of my village.” Hatur spoke, panting between words. “Sent for by the Lady when she decided to come home at long last. Daven and Harit, my grandsons. They’re below, in the village. You can ask them yourselves whether they accompanied the Lady.”

“We’re wasting time,” Bithia said, softening her voice and running her hand through Sarbordon’s hair, smoothing the coarse strands from his face. “I’ve waited for so long for a man such as you to fulfill the prophecies.” She took a step toward the hut.

He yanked her back by the neck. “No tricks, I warn you!”

Bithia tenderly caressed his cheek with her fingertips.

Knuckles white as he clutched his blaster, Nate ground his teeth.

“You’ve won, great king. There’ll be no more resistance from me or my father’s forces.”

The ruler allowed Bithia to lead him across the plateau in the direction of the hut, her arm intimately placed at his waist. Nanzin glowered but subsided, going to stand by the guards. The children clustered beside Hatur, who murmured comforting words.

Bithia entered the hut first, by a step. Thom grabbed her forcibly away from Sarbordon and Nate shot at the ruler, intending to kill him out of sight of those on the plateau. Warned at the last second by some instinct, or inadvertent tensing in Bithia’s frame, the dethroned king hesitated just enough so the bolt from Nate’s blaster struck him a glancing blow on the right arm. Cursing, he retreated before Nate could get off a second shot. Blaster in hand, Nate chased the injured man, but his quarry was waiting as he exited the hut and launched himself at Nate’s back, knife clenched in his good hand, trying to slash Nate across the throat. The two men fell onto the plateau, locked in combat.

Thom exited the hut door, blaster blazing, mowing down the row of Sarbordon’s guards.

Nanzin flung herself at the children and snatched Sharla, using the girl as a shield.

“You won’t kill her to get at me, will you?” she taunted Thom. “We have a standoff, yes?”

Dropping the blaster, Nate grabbed Sarbordon’s knife hand and broke his grip on the weapon, elbowing his enemy in his unprotected rib cage and throwing him to the ground. Sarbordon kicked him in the left knee and rolled away, scrabbling to his feet as Nate retreated a step. He knew the despot had been schooled by hard years fighting battles all over lower Talonque, taking captives for the altars and defending his borders against the Githholz and others. Gossip in the sapiche training camp had said he’d survived more than one assassination attempt. He had his own well-honed skills. Nate wasn’t allowing himself to underestimate this opponent, or his hatred for the man to cloud his judgment.