Van Laven Chronicles (6 page)

“Without a weapon? I think not.”

She followed him as he searched the area where the shooter had lain in wait. After a moment, Comron squatted down, brushed some leaves aside then reached for a small metallic object. He held it up, squinting at some writing on the side of it.

“A shell from one of the rounds he fired,” Vaush observed.

“So it would seem.”

“A bit sloppy of him to leave it behind.”

“I hit him. He panicked.” He turned the shell over until he found what he was looking for.

“Poor Halyn,” Vaush said sympathetically. “I have a feeling that first shot was intended for me. I’ve made so many enemies in my line of work, there’s no telling who might be after me. But what I can’t figure out is how they could’ve possibly known that I’d be marooned here?”

Comron slipped the shell into his pocket and stood. “You weren’t the target, just the bonus.”

“How could you possibly know that?” She tried to keep up with his long strides as he headed back to camp.

“You’ll just have to trust me,” he said over his shoulder.

“There’s someone out there trying to shoot me. I think I deserve to know who it is.”

Comron’s mouth drew to a firm line.

“You recognized the markings on the shell, didn’t you?” Vaush pressed.

He cut his eyes at her, admonishing her to lower her voice. The Ballarian was off to the side lamenting over Halyn’s body and Comron didn’t care to have anyone overhear their discussion. How could he confide in a Ti-Larosian that a Nethicaen assassin had been sent here to kill him? The markings on the shell were Nethicaen and indicated they were off the latest production lines, which meant someone very high in rank was behind the attack. He had no doubt the same person who orchestrated the assault on the imperial transport back on Nethic had likely tampered with the navigation system on the Mobias transport as well.

If only he could communicate this information to Crausin.

“The shooter will need time to treat his wound and possibly remove the projectile. We should move off, find somewhere else to camp before he returns.”

Her hands planted firmly on her hips. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you know.”

Comron glanced at the Ballarian whose eyes were now upon them. “Then stay here and take your chances,” Comron barked and moved past her to gather his things.

She huffed at him, but went to retrieve her gear. “Come, Wensel,” she said to the Ballarian. “I’m sorry for your loss, but we need to be on our way.”

Wensel looked up at her with wet eyes. “Please, just a moment more.”

Vaush nodded and moved off to join Comron. In a low voice, she continued her inquiry, “If I wasn’t the primary target, who was? And why would I be considered a bonus?”

Comron pulled his doublet on over his bare skin. The corner of his mouth tugged to the side as he held his silence.

But Vaush wouldn’t be deterred. “Only Nethicaens think of Bastionlis in those terms.” Her eyes widened with the sudden realization. “The assassin is Nethicaen, isn’t he? And he’s been sent here to kill…you.”

His jaw twitched, he shot her a hard look. “That’s dangerous information for a Ti-Larosian to possess.”

She leaned in closer and spoke sternly, “No more dangerous than you possessing knowledge that a Ti-Larosian intentionally saved the life of a Nethicaen Prince. Royalty or not, they’d split me on the rack and run me through with a disruptor rod if they ever learned of it.” She inclined her head in earnest. “You keep my secrets and I’ll keep yours.”

The tension visibly dissipated from Comron as his instincts told him he could trust her. The conspiratorial bond forming between them was a nuanced thing he was slowly warming to. Now that he knew for a certainty that Larrs Bastionli wasn’t responsible for the attack on the Mobias ship, he concluded that Vaush Bastionli had chosen to save the life of her worst enemy simply because it was the noble thing to do.

Clearly, this was a woman of noble character, a person unlike any Ti-Larosian he’d ever had the misfortune to know. Still discretion was warranted.

“Look, our truce still holds,” Comron said. “But we can’t have the Ballarian witness any unduly cordial behavior between us. You understand, don’t you?”

She looked away. “Of course.”

“It’s for your own good. You yourself stated what could happen to you if Larrs were to get word of it.”

She nodded reluctantly. They both turned as Wensel approached.

“I’m sorry,” Wensel said. “I thought it improper to just leave her there that way.”

“It’s all right,” Vaush replied. “I also lost a dear—”

“Unless you both want to end up like the girl, I suggest you get moving,” Comron said as he headed off. “Come on!”

CHAPTER 11

After trudging through three more kilometers of dense forest with nothing but the silvery light of the moon to guide them, Comron found a new clearing in which they could break camp for the evening.

The clearing was smaller than the previous one, forcing Vaush to place her bedding a little closer to Comron than she would’ve liked. It wasn’t that she feared he’d act inappropriately toward her, after all Wensel was here and despite his initial actions, Comron had proven himself to be a gentleman. It was her own feelings that gave her pause.

Try as she might, Vaush couldn’t banish the image of his tall, sculpted frame from her mind – the broad, rounded shoulders and muscular chest, the rippled abdomen where the water had cascaded down over his lower parts… His strong, sinewy arms had felt wonderful wrapped around her when he’d carried her after the panther attack. She’d never felt so safe or cared for when she’d slept knowing he would remain there, watching over her.

Even now, with the assassin out there, she felt safe with Comron near. Vaush hated that he felt obliged to maintain their distance for appearance sake. She would have liked to pass the evening talking to him, to take advantage of the rare opportunity to know the man, this Nethicaen Prince. She lifted her eyes to him and found it to be like gazing upon a planet-bound god. Her mouth twisted – a planet-bound god engaged to be married in four weeks!

She turned away and noticed that Wensel had already finished eating and had bedded down for the night. With his extra weight, the poor man wasn’t doing well in the sweltering heat and the unrelenting pace at which Comron drove them. No wonder he’d passed out so quickly. Perhaps she would have too if it weren’t for the exhilaration coursing through her. Again she found her gaze drifting toward Comron about a meter away. His long legs stretched out before him…

You have no right to entertain such thoughts, he is promised to another woman!

“Is something wrong?” Comron asked in a tone that suggested he was bored. He reclined against the trunk of a tree, and folded his arms behind his head.

“Pardon me?” Vaush said surprised he was speaking, but then she heard Wensel’s gentle snores.

“You look…perturbed,” Comron said.

Her faced burned shamefully at being caught in the midst of her carnal thoughts. She parried nonetheless, trying to right herself. “I was contemplating whether or not we would be rescued before the Murkudahl Treaty Hearings begin.”

His expression fell abruptly.

“They start in five days, you see.”

“I’m well aware of that,” he replied curtly, though keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Wensel.

“I may attend the hearings with my father,” she said, fabricating further.

Comron chuckled softly at that notion. “Only two delegates are permitted per territory. I seriously doubt your father would choose you over your brother, Skarus, or any of his senior advisors.”

A wave of humiliation and jealousy washed over her as she tried to figure out whether the barb was a compliment to Skarus or an insult to her. She knew that Nethicaen society held women in fairly low regard, celebrating them as glorified breeding vessels and providers of pleasure, but not much else.

So deep in thought, she almost started when Comron said, “You bruise far too easily.”

Vaush could already hear his next words, which shouldn’t surprise me, being that you’re an inferior female. Though he didn’t actually speak the words, she could see it in his smug countenance.

“If Larrs chooses Skarus over me, it will be because my father and I do not share the same opinion on the matter.”

Comron’s green eyes lit up beautifully. “Then you are in favor of overturning the Emperor's Edict?”

“No, I support the edict, but for altogether different reasons than my father.”

“Oh,” Comron said, disinterested.

“Father cares nothing for the welfare of Murkudahl. Guarding his share of the power generation industry is all that concerns him.”

The spark returned to his eyes. “And who knows what sort of innovations will be discovered once we open trade negotiations with them?”

She shook her head and smiled condescendingly. “The Murkudahl have no interest in engaging in trade with our system. They want nothing to do with us and have plainly stated as much.”

“They don’t know what we have to offer.”

“It doesn’t matter. Thirty years ago, after they nursed the crewmembers of the damaged ship back to health, they made it perfectly clear that they wished to be left alone. The Emperor’s Edict assures that the Murkudahl wishes will be honored.”

He cocked a brow. “The Emperor is dying as we speak. Once his son is enthroned, his first order of business will be to overturn the Murkudahl Edict.”

Her cheeks burned. “And you see nothing wrong or immoral about that?”

He favored her with a faint grin, his green eyes so entrancing she nearly lost her train of thought.

“Oh, aren’t you the brave one, storming off to exploit a pacifist society,” she chided. “You’d think twice if the Murkudahl ever had a mind to defend themselves with their vastly superior technology.”

“At least then they would earn my respect.”

“You think them cowards.”

“What would you call someone who stands by idly while others take what belongs to him? A man defends and protects what is his. If he won’t, he doesn’t deserve to hold on to it.”

“Perhaps what they truly treasure cannot be stolen by common thieves,” she retorted.

“Splendid. Let them hold onto what they value and we’ll take the rest.”

“And in the process, potentially rouse the wrath of an ancient alien race that has petitioned to be left alone. Did it ever occur to you that they are doing it for our good, not their own? Given their technological superiority, I suspect that if the Murkudahl ever had a mind to, they could rise up and squash our sad little civilization like a bug.”

The look in his eyes told Vaush he had considered this very thing. The Murkudahl were far more advanced than any civilization they’d ever encountered. Yet they stood aside and allowed themselves to be exploited by lesser beings.

The question of why had to be on the mind of any person of intelligence and good sense.

But if common decency wouldn’t dissuade him from the course, perhaps fear and shame would. “You will be consumed, to the point of annihilation, by your own pride and avarice. There is a primal rage rising amongst the masses and when it is unleashed in its full fury there will be nothing and no one left standing in its wake.” She would not be quieted by his mesmerizing gaze. “And instead of dealing with this like the grand statesmen you all purport to be, you cower like frightened children in search of bigger sticks, amongst the Murkudahl no less, to fight off your worst fears.” And now it was apparent that she had found his weakness.

“We are the ruling class,” his tone was arrogant, his manner full of divine right. “The way we govern will not be dictated by a bunch of rabble. My father has done a tremendous amount of good for Nethic, has turned it around and established it as a major contender in the financial sector. All Nethicaens should fall on their faces before him and laud him for the prosperity he has brought to them instead of fomenting rebellion and dissent.”

“Obviously, a significant portion of your citizens do not share in this prosperity. Why don’t you try listening to your people? You might find that all they really want is their right to—”

“They have no rights but what we grant them!” He said in a harsh, biting tone.

They both turned at Wensel’s stirring. Once Vaush was certain he was sound asleep, she spoke softly, “And yet you wonder why your own people sent an assassin after you.”

Her words struck him like a smart slap in the face. He looked away, fuming and sullen. Vaush’s heart raced with the exchange as she awaited his retort, but none came.

The prolonged silence that followed saddened her, so much had she enjoyed the verbal sparring.

And you thought I bruised too easily
.

CHAPTER 12

Profound hatred blazed within Crausin upon learning that Ti-Laros was also in orbit around Patheis as Larrs Bastionli’s daughter had also been aboard the fated Mobias vessel.

Fearing a bloody confrontation that would surely ensue between the warring factions, the Patheisan government insisted that the two parties remain in orbit while the authorities conducted the search on the ground. Each of them could send down a small unarmed party to assist with the search.

After several hours of meticulously searching every bit of the intended landing site, the first signs of the wreckage appeared. Floodlights illuminated the area surrounding one of the transport seats that still had a body strapped to it. A few minutes later, a series of flares were set off to notify the team that the transport had been found.

Word was immediately sent to both parties and the com-link established. On the large viso-screen, Crausin caught sight of the horrific wreckage spread out across the forest and he nearly collapsed from his anguish.

“Frithe have mercy.”

The search team unleashed silver mechanical dogs and sent them into what remained of the transport. No humans were allowed for fear they might contaminate the site, jeopardizing the work of the forensic team. The metallic skeletal structures pranced lightly around the transport with sensors on high alert to detect even the most miniscule scrap of evidence.

Within the hour, the Forensic Director was ready to deliver his preliminary report. The conference lines were opened, the director’s face appeared on the screen in the main window, Larrs Bastionli’s in a smaller one.

Crausin gritted his teeth as his anger broiled. A quick wave of his hand over the controls wiped Larrs’ dark, brooding face from his screen.

“We found substantial traces of blood and tissue specimens in the vessel indicating severe trauma and loss,” said the fair-haired, middle-aged man. “The weapon used was a deuterium based bomb, commonly used in guerrilla warfare scenarios. The initial attack targeted the navigation system, but when the pilots quickly circumvented the problem, the attackers chose to detonate the bomb. It seems the initial blast from the bomb ripped away the cockpit exposing the rest of the transport—”

“Enough with the science lesson,” it was Larrs’ rumbling bass voice interrupting the director. “Where in the blazes is my daughter?”

From the brief glimpse of him, Larrs was just as Crausin had remembered – a tall, barrel-chested man with dark curly hair rapidly graying at the temples and sideburns. But his reddish-brown skin remained free of the wrinkles that should accompany a man of his age.

Under the weight of Larrs’ aristocratic tone, the forensic specialist became flustered.

“Y-Yes, Your Grace. I was just getting to that.” He looked down at his comp-pad, tabbing the pages, seeming to have lost his place. “Here we are. We did find small traces of her blood, indicating that while she was aboard at the time of the attack, she was not mortally wounded as a direct result of the explosion. However,” his eyes fixed upon Crausin. “We found substantial amounts of Prince Comron’s blood on the floor of the transport, indicating that he sustained severe injuries in the attack.”

Crausin suddenly couldn’t breathe and the room began to spin. “But his body, my son’s body isn’t among the wreckage, is it?”

“No, my lord. It’s not, which is the mysterious part. The blood that flowed from his wound had been exposed for about thirty hours, yet twenty hours ago he was able to leave you this message.” The specialist showed Crausin the metal serving tray. Written in blood were the words, “Crausin, going to the coast. Find me there. 1250hrs 3143.”

Crausin’s eyes glistened with unimaginable joy and relief.

Comron, I’m here! Just as you knew I would be.

Already, he could feel the specter of his father, Edred, shrinking back, cursing in the darkness as he withdrew into the mental abyss.

He took a slow deep breath. His tone was even, restrained. “So, he survived the crash and is making his way toward the shore. Excellent.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the specialist said. “But the evidence also clearly indicates there must be at least one other survivor.” He seemed to be offering Larrs some hope, however small it might be. “My guess is, Prince Comron was severely injured and one of the other passengers administered medical aid to save him. Look.” He fed more data into the com-link, a three dimensional model appeared. “There are shoe prints in his blood, far too small to belong to the prince, so we can assume they belong to the person who tended to him. But we only see one set of shoe prints outside of the transport. They’re larger. I think they belong to the prince.”

“What happened to the smaller prints?”

Crausin could hear the scowl in Larrs’ voice.

“I don’t know. But given that there is no one inside the transport, I would say the smaller passenger left as well. There are no signs of a struggle or trauma beyond the immediate wreckage. It rained about twenty-five hours ago in this area. It’s very possible the smaller passenger helped Prince Comron and then left before or during the rain, therefore his or her prints were washed away.”

“In which direction have they headed?” Larrs asked.

“I’m hoping the mechanical dogs will pick up their scent soon and give us some indication. But with the atmospheric distortion their abilities are substantially curtailed.”

“Well, I’m taking my men and heading to the coast,” Crausin said full of optimism.

“Unless the dogs pick up a scent indicating otherwise, I recommend we follow suit,” said the specialist.