Blood Ties (26 page)

There were guardsmen everywhere, lining the main foyer, all of them holding their rifles and all of them pointing them straight at me.

I endeavored to sound nonchalant. “If you're planning to fill me full of holes, would you mind if I took my coat off? Because this is a really excellent coat, and I see no point in having it destroyed. It certainly never did anything to you.”

The doorman smiled thinly. “Oh, we have very specific orders not to do anything to you, unless—of course—you attempt to resist or fight back. Then all bets are off.”

“Well, I've always been something of a gambling man, so I far prefer it when all bets are on.” I tried to sound jovial so as not to betray the rapid beating of my heart and my initial impulse to turn and run out the door.

“This way, then, sir,” said the doorman, and he went ahead of me. Obviously, he considered me so little threat that he didn't hesitate to present his back to me. He wasn't the least bit worried that I would endeavor to grab him and perhaps use him as a human shield. I didn't blame him; there wasn't much reason for me to do that. I wanted to go where he was taking me, and besides, knowing Reaver, he would have instructed his guardsmen to simply shoot right through any human shields I might care to use.

Moments later, we were standing outside the door to what I immediately recognized as Reaver's study. The doorman rapped twice, and called, “Sir! The fellow you were expecting is here.” He seemed to take particular delight in the mention of how I was expected, as if to drive home that there was nothing I could do at that point that could possibly take them off guard.

“Ah yes. Bring him in, please.”

I entered the study, and there was Reaver, more or less just as I had left him. He had company, a man whose face I had yet to see, but I could determine by his build and the way he was scowling darkly at me that he was the warlord known as Droogan.

“Well, well,” said Droogan. He sauntered over toward me and peered at me from beneath huge, bushy eyebrows. “The fellow who caused so much trouble for my men when they endeavored to take Blackholm. Who actually managed to beat back an attack by even your formidable creatures, Reaver. Is that whom I have the pleasure of addressing at the moment? Would this be the legendary Benn Finn?”

“This would be he,” said Reaver mildly.

He looked me up and down, and said, “Good to meet you.”

Then he drove a savage punch into my gut, knocking the wind out of me, doubling me over. I gasped, staggering, clutching at my stomach, trying to recover even as a gray haze fell over my vision.

“Droogan!” Reaver said sharply, but Droogan wasn't listening. He advanced on me, clearly ready to do more damage. I couldn't see him clearly; only the vaguest outline of him because of the pain behind my eyes. It was, however, all that I required. He swung at me again, and I was able to sidestep him so that he barreled right past me. With his right fist outstretched into a blow that didn't connect, he managed to overbalance himself and that gave me all the opportunity I needed to slam a fist into the back of his thick neck. It struck a nerve cluster perfectly, and Droogan pitched forward like a felled tree, landing just as heavily.

I turned to face Reaver. The haze from Droogan's blow was dissipating from my eyes, and I was able to see that several of his guardsmen were standing right behind him. As seemed to be the common practice in this house, they were aiming straight at me.

“That was very deftly done,” said Reaver. He actually seemed quite pleased about it. “I don't imagine you'll catch him that way a second time.”

“That's all right,” I said, trying to keep the pain out of my voice. “If it happens again, I imagine I'll come up with something else.”

“Yes, I imagine you will.” He scratched just under his chin with the jewel on the end of his walking stick. “You are an intriguing fellow, Mr. Finn.”

“Just ‘Finn' will do. I was never much for formalities.”

“As you wish. You seem to have principles, Finn. In this day and age of sell swords and people who are just out to get whatever they can—”

“Like you, you mean?”

He let it pass; I doubted he had much interest in anything I had to say. “As I was saying: Here comes someone like you. Fighting to protect the people of Blackholm, who really don't have much in the way of coins to rub together. So I assume that you didn't do it for the money but simply because you were compelled to fight on behalf of the underdog. You're a compassionate man, and you don't see a lot of compassionate men as heavily armed as you.”

“Compassion only goes so far. Sometimes, you just have to say, ‘The hell with it,' and shoot somebody.”

“Oh, I can certainly appreciate that point of view.” Reaver made it sound as if we were long-separated cousins catching up on recent activities. He tapped his desk with his finger, and continued, “There's something you should know about me, Finn.”

“Other than that you love the sound of your own voice?”

“Who of us doesn't? It's how we know we're still alive.” He cast a mildly curious glance at the fallen Droogan, who was just starting to get to his feet. Droogan reached up and placed his hand on the table, gripping it for stability. Then his legs began to quiver, still not responding properly to the commands his brain was sending, and he fell to the floor again. Reaver shook his head and shifted his attention back to me. “The thing you should know about me, Finn, is that I'm a student of humanity. I'm always intrigued to see how far people can be pushed . . . especially when it serves their self-interest. So here you came into my sphere, a very dedicated and principled and compassionate man, as I've said. But I had something you desperately wanted. And I wondered, how far would you go? Would you be willing to kill an innocent woman—a former ally, even—in order to free your brother of my influence? Frankly, I suspected the answer would be ‘no.' Warlord Droogan, on the other hand, was reasonably sure the answer would be yes. That is because, I suspect, Droogan cannot see beyond the end of his own nose. He simply knows what he himself would do in a given situation, and I can assure you that Droogan would kill his own mother if it meant managing to conquer some town or village or outlying province.

“So we made a modest wager, Droogan and I. And, thanks to the fact that Page is still alive, I won it.”

“I was planning to kill her,” I said. “Your monstrosities interrupted me before I could—”

He waved a hand lazily, conveying the message that I should stop trying to convince him of that which we both knew to be patently untrue. “It's a bit late for damage control at this point, Finn. We both know the truth. Page is alive; I have her, I won the bet with Droogan—who was quite irritated to pay me my due. Droogan . . .” And he raised his voice slightly to get Droogan's attention. Most of the warlord's ability to stand had seemingly returned to him, and he pulled himself upright—still leaning against the long table—and glared at me with a stare so angry that, as they say, if looks could kill, I would have been a dead man. “Droogan . . . would you be interested in another bet involving our friend Finn? Double or nothing?”

“He's no friend of mine,” Droogan said with a growl. Then the rest of Reaver's sentence seemed to register on him. “What sort of bet?”

“Why, a very entertaining one. You've seen my arena in the Pits. That's where the charming Page is at this very moment, shackled to a rather firm stake. Her hands are free, and she still has her sword, so it's not as if she's without resources. But her maneuverability is somewhat hampered. What I propose, Finn, is to give you a second chance at winning your brother's freedom. I will put you into the arena with the beauteous Page. My Half-breeds are under strict instructions: They are not to attack you in any way unless you attack them first. Then they have free rein to do as they wish to you. If you simply stand there and allow the Half-breeds to rip Page to tiny pieces, then I will free your brother of his obligation to me, and the two of you will walk out of here. If, on the other hand, you attempt to fight on Page's behalf, well . . . the two of you will quite likely die, and your brother will remain in my ranks forever. What say you?”

There was really only one answer available to me. But before I spoke it, I decided to try to get some leverage of my own. “I want to add something to the stakes.”

“You,” snarled Droogan, “are in no position to—”

“Now, now,” Reaver interrupted him. He was smiling, as if he approved of my attempt to get some further concessions from him. “You're quite the negotiator, aren't you, Finn? The life of Page, the sanity of your brother, both on the line, and yet you want to try and make it
truly
interesting. All right. Name your term.”

“No matter what happens in the arena, Droogan and his forces never set foot in Blackholm. Ever. It's off-limits.”

Droogan laughed at that, and it was not a sound I was particularly pleased to hear.

Reaver actually looked saddened. “A h, Finn. I like your style and, believe it or not, I was inclined to grant you your additional stakes no matter how absurd they were. Unfortunately, that one is not within my purview. Droogan's forces have already taken Blackholm. Between the loss of some of their key protectors—including their being abandoned by you—and the damage inflicted by my Half-breeds, Droogan's remaining men were able to come marching in through the large, broken front gate and take over Blackholm without a single shot's being fired. They showed a great deal of initiative, actually. Which is a crying shame, because I was
so
looking forward to sending the Half-breeds back into Blackholm. It was practically all I could think about, so imagine my frustration and shed a tear for me. Or don't. Anyway, the upshot is that the warlord has already added Blackholm to his list of acquisitions, and there isn't much of anything to be done about it.”

My heart sank. All I could envision were those people whom I had abandoned in order to chase after my brother. I had not hesitated on that course of action when the opportunity presented itself, but now—

“You're second-guessing yourself, aren't you?” said Reaver. He actually sounded sympathetic. “You shouldn't; it's beneath you. You did what you felt you had to do, what was best for you. What served your needs the most prominently. That is exactly what I do, every single time a situation is presented me. I do what's best for me. I'm hoping that this experience actually brings us closer, Finn. If you learn from it, it might actually enable you to make the right choice in the arena.”

“And what do you think the right choice is?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

As always, sarcasm had no sway with Reaver. Instead, he said, “Actually, I'd rather do nothing to have an effect on the outcome. As I said, I'm a student of humanity, and I wouldn't want to do anything to skew the results of the test. In fact, just to avoid doing so”—and he looked toward Droogan—“I'll let you choose which side of the wager to take. Will he fight on behalf of Page? Or will he allow her to be killed so that his brother might go free?”

Droogan seemed intrigued by the choices before him. “Whatever else he is, he's not a stupid man, I'll grant him that much,” Droogan said begrudgingly. “This time it's his own neck on the line. And it's not like it's his wife or something like that. She's not, is she?”

“No,” I said quietly.

“You ever have her?”

“No. Never.”

“Then he's thinking with a clear head instead of letting his privates do the thinking for him. You're on, Reaver. I say he lets the bitch die.”

“Very well, Droogan. And I shall take the opposite opinion. And then we shall see what we shall see. Gentlemen”—and he nodded toward his guardsmen—“kindly escort Finn to the arena. And Finn . . .” His eyes were half-lidded, making it hard for me to determine if he was being sarcastic or not. “Best of luck. I mean that sincerely.”

“Yeah, that means a lot to me,” I said, as the guardsmen came to escort me from the study and down to the arena, where I would have my last chance to save either Page or my brother.

This time I had already made up my mind well in advance. I was going to save them both. That was my plan.

I just hadn't formulated precisely how yet.

 

 

I WAS LED DOWN THE SAME ENTRANCEWAY
to the arena as I'd traveled before. The Half-breeds saw me coming and started howling and snarling. “Good to see you,” I said, nodding, as if I were greeting old friends. “Hi. You're looking lovely today. Is that a new hairstyle? It suits you.” The casual tone I was taking with them seemed to bewilder them; some of them even looked at each other in confusion as if to demand,
What's he talking about?

“Benny . . .”

It was William. As was the case with the others, he was mostly in his animal phase now, barely holding on to his humanity. He was hanging against a door, his arms drooping through it, and I could see the inner turmoil in his eyes.

“William.” I started to take a step toward him. The guardsmen directly behind me began to prod me forward, telling me not to stop. I rounded on them, showing no fear, and snarled with as much ferocity as any of the Half-breeds might have displayed.
“This is my brother, for gods' sakes! What harm is giving me a minute to speak to him going to do anyone? It's not like we're trading secrets; you can hear every word! Do none of you have siblings you love? Well?”

I have to admit, I didn't actually expect my little outburst to have any impact on them whatsoever. And then, to my surprise, one of the guardsmen whom I took to be senior of rank rumbled, “Let him have his minute. But no more. And don't try anything funny.”