Men of Anderas II: Dak the Protector (12 page)

He loved it when these weak, pitiful excuses
for men wanted to argue with him. Occasionally, there was even one
foolish enough to try and fight him. Maybe one of these disgusting
farmers had enough balls to try it. He was so very bored.

"Of course, Lord Draagon. Your
demands
. When …."

"Don’t question me again," Draagon
interrupted. "Your wives will be released within the hour.
Unfortunately, mayor, your daughter will be our guest for a while
longer. It seems the captain of the guard has formed an …
attraction … for the girl."

"Noooooo! Lord Draagon, I beg you. She’s
only fourteen summers."

"Calm yourself, man. Think of this as a
training period. Should she survive her
training
I’ll
arrange an advantageous marriage for her. Much more than she could
hope for in this miserable hole. Don't you agree?"

"I'll kill you! With my bare hands …."

"Take this load of garbage out of here and
kill them.” Draagon turned and left the room. No one dared
questioned his orders. He selected his Phantom Riders for their
unique abilities. They followed any order--even if he ordered them
to take their own lives--without question, without hesitation.

He ignored the screams and curses of the men
being dragged from the room. Their deaths would serve as a warning
to the others. Peasants were too stupid to understand the spoken
word. He had to constantly give them examples. Was there not a man
anywhere on this planet--this boil on the ass of the universe--with
the education and skills to make a worthy opponent? It was hard
being so much … more … than everyone else. It made a man lonely for
someone special to share in all his remarkable achievements.

Draagon had someone special. Someone
promised to him at her birth. Everything would be perfect as soon
as he found his betrothed. She was proving to be quite contrary in
her actions, but he knew the proper combination of pain and reward
tamed the most stubborn of women. Unfortunately, it would be some
time before she earned any rewards. Her deliberate evasion wasn't
merely costing him a great deal of gold. She was the one element
missing from his self-proclaimed destiny. His plans were much
grander than the modest inn that currently served as his
headquarters in this remote village. This entire planet was nothing
more than a stepping-stone to an empire. An empire he intended to
rule.

His quest would be so much simpler if he
knew her name. All he had was a vague idea of her age; that she and
her brother lived with their father on this planet; and a useless
description. Every pure-blood crystal witch shared the same white
hair and aqua eyes.

His deceitful mother knew the girl's name,
but the bitch managed to withhold that most important piece of this
puzzle from him. She was free enough with her secrets when it
suited
her
purpose. Not even his most persuasive torture had
forced her to talk. Oh well, it was something of a comfort to know
she'd never reveal any of
his
secrets.

Draagon checked the locked window
overlooking the town square. He had two fears. One was an open
window, the other a mirror. Both were portals to demons and
nightmares. An old seer, in a town he’d burned years ago, foretold
that his death would enter through a window seen in reflection.
From that very day, after he’d killed the old crone and destroyed
the town, he made sure he was never in a room with an open window
or any reflective surface.

A quiet knock at the door interrupted his
mental self-criticism.

"Enter."

"Lord Draagon," the captain of the guard
reported, slapping his fist against his shoulder in salute, "the
patrol was attacked. Luc is the only survivor and says he has
urgent information for you."

"I'll see him in the outer room.” Who could
possibly have the courage to fight his Phantom Riders? A tingling
anticipation spread through his body. A sensation not unlike sexual
arousal. He may have to see about a companion for the night.

Jud pulled a chair into the center of the
room for Luc then took his place beside the closed door.

"Report. And do stop bleeding on my
rug."

"The crystal witch arrived at the transport
station with two men. One left when they got to town. He registered
with the chancellor's office as an assassin. Talon was the only
name he used. The other two ordered supplies, made a stop at the
bathhouse while they waited for Smiley to deliver the goods, then
headed north. When it …."

"Who is the man still with her?” If she was
the one, a man in the picture could be a problem. He would be
killed, of course; but a crystal witch mated for life and was only
able to produce young with her mate. The "after death" release
didn't always work.
That
would be a problem.

"We couldn't find out. She traveled with a
resident authorization so she didn't have to register with the
chancellor's office. The flight records show she left here alone
and she caught the return shuttle at Safe Haven with her
companion."

"Continue with your report.” Good help was
so hard to find anymore. How hard could it be to ask a few simple
questions? Safe Haven? What would a crystal witch need from that
hovel?

"They traveled the north road most of the
afternoon when the man suddenly rode off into the woods. When he
got back, maybe an hour later, he led the crystal witch to a
secluded clearing a mile or so from the road. We waited until dark
when they settled down for the night before we attacked. We saw
them crawling into the vines and …."

"Didn't you say it was dark?” Draagon
interrupted. "How did you
see
them?"

"It was bright as daylight from the laser
guns firing into the clearing."

"I see.” Draagon slowly circled the table he
used for a desk and carefully sat down. "Are you telling me you and
your men fired at random into an area where my betrothed may have
been sleeping?"

"Y-yes-s, Lord Draagon."

"I can tell by your sudden nervousness that
you've realized the precarious state of your own life. We'll
discuss that later. Please, do continue with this report. And Luc,"
Draagon paused for effect, "you're still bleeding on my rug."

Luc tightened the tourniquet around his leg
until not a single drop of blood welled from the bone-deep gash in
his thigh.

"Thank you so much. Please continue.”
Draagon settled back against the thick cushions. It didn't matter
that Luc wasn't the leader of the patrol. His Phantom Riders took
responsibility for the actions of each other. If someone issued an
order perceived as being contrary to Draagon's ultimate goal, he
fully expected another Phantom Rider to eliminate the problem using
any method necessary.

"Uh … we … uh … were ordered to wait for
daylight before taking them prisoner and we just … uh … fired into
the trees to let them know we were out there. We didn't know he
followed us until he started picking us off one-by-one. I was the
only one left so I grabbed a horse and headed back here for help.
That's when the guy's gunfire caught my leg. He was close enough to
spit on so I got a good look at him. It was the assassin. The one
from the transport station."

"And did you kill this … assassin?” Draagon
stroked the crystal amulet he wore.

"N-no, Lord Draagon. I dropped my laser
gun."

"Excuse me? I'm sorry; I don't think I heard
you correctly. For just a moment, I mistakenly thought you said you
dropped your weapon. I was mistaken, was I not?"

Luc slowly stood, using the chair to
maintain his balance, and faced Draagon. "I offer no excuse, my
lord."

"I don't want excuses, Luc. I want results.
You didn't kill the man because you dropped your weapon. In your
rush to seek assistance, did you perchance notice if he followed
you here? Or did you suddenly become blind as well as stupid?"

"No, my lord. He rushed to the aid of the
crystal witch. I scattered the horses in all directions so he
wouldn't know which tracks were mine."

"Very well," Draagon dismissed the wounded
man. "If you have nothing further to report, seek medical
attention. We will discuss your punishment later, provided you
survive your injury."

"Yes, Lord Draagon. There is one thing we
learned that I think …."

"Don't think--just report. I'll decide if
the information is relevant. Understood?"

"Two months ago, an assassin--a different
one than the one who shot me--took the heads of a man and his son
in one of the nameless hamlets in the foothills. The bounty for
each was five thousand gold coins."

Draagon tried to make a connection between
the actions of a bounty hunter and his quest for his bride. Shaking
his head in confusion, he tried another approach.

"And this means … what?"

"I don't know if it means anything, my lord.
It's just … they both had snow-white hair. Even the son--and they
said he didn't look to be more than about thirty summers. Their
bodies were claimed by a woman named Kierin."

Draagon was incapable of speech. Finally,
after years of searching, this bumbling fool had given him a name.
He had followed the migration path of every crystal witch family to
leave the home world around the time that his bride's family
escaped the authorities. Dead-ends every time. He was down to three
families with daughters the right age, but he didn't know about
older brothers. His bride would be about twenty-eight with a father
in his mid-sixties and a brother about thirty-five.

It was too much of a coincidence. Five
thousand gold coins. Draagon knew there was an enormous bounty on
the head of any member of the family he was seeking. His bride's
father was a dangerous political criminal. Kierin. She had to be
the one.

As soon as the door closed behind Luc,
Draagon turned to his senior officer. "Send a patrol back the way
Luc traveled. If someone did follow him, I trust you will take care
of the problem. Next, take this message to the Communications
Center. It authorizes you to draw whatever funds are necessary to
locate that other bounty hunter and bring him back here. I want to
know who he was after and why. Use your discretion as to whom you
send. Make sure they know I expect a full accounting upon their
return.

"Find out exactly where the executions took
place. Take a patrol and scout the area. Find out where these men
lived. I want her, Jud, and I want to know if she's the same one
Luc encountered last night."

"By your command, my lord.” Jud slipped the
message into his jacket and turned for the door.

"Jud," Draagon stopped the soldier just
before he opened the outer door. "Stop by the medic's on your way
out of town. Tell him I want Luc's injured leg removed. That should
prevent him from running away from danger in the future. Don't you
agree?"

* * * *

Dak grabbed a shovel from the supply pack.
It would take him the rest of what remained of the night to bury
the horses. Considering the mood he was in, he didn't figure he'd
sleep much, anyway. The laser guns did a thorough job of dissecting
the animals. It wouldn't take a very deep hole--just a lot of
shallow ones. Setting a torch into the ground for light, Dak pushed
the shovel through the grass into the dirt.

As the hours passed, Dak replayed the
memories of his life hoping to find an incident--some proof--that
he wasn't a coward. The night his parents died he went running to
JarDan's mother and cried himself to sleep in her arms.
Okay, so
you were five-years-old. You can't count that one
.

When Morandoni kidnapped Arica, he sought
the company of JarDan and Zeth, too afraid to be alone. Everyone
thought he was helping JarDan deal with the loss of his mother, but
looking back, Dak could see the truth. He couldn't bear the thought
of losing anyone else he thought of as family. He was afraid of
being alone.

The face of the first man he killed in
battle still haunted his nightmares and brought the sour taste of
bile into his throat. Every time he gagged and emptied his stomach
during that battle, he'd been terrified that the enemy would catch
him bent over behind the bushes.

On and on through the night, Dak tallied his
sins. It surprised him to realize that Kierin’s lack of trust hurt
more than his pride. It twisted deep, awakening emotions he refused
to acknowledge.

When the last evidence of tonight's attack
disappeared beneath the dirt, Dak stabbed the shovel into the
ground and stretched the aching muscles in his back and shoulders.
Twisting his shoulders from side-to-side and arching his back
helped, but he knew he'd be sore tomorrow. He hadn't had such a
physical workout since leaving Anderas.

Grabbing one of the water bags Talon left
for them, Dak poured most of it over his head and shoulders. He was
hot and sweaty despite the cold night air. Adding another log to
the fire for Kierin’s comfort, he moved as far from the heat as he
could. With a soft groan, he straddled the lowest branch of a huge
evergreen tree and settled back against the trunk. Sipping the cool
water, Dak stared out across the meadow. It would be light in a
couple of hours. It was anybody's guess what the day would
bring.

A son. That's what this whole business
has been about. The woman is insane if she thinks I would be a
party to such a foolhardy scheme
. As though conjured from his
thoughts, an image of Kierin swollen with his child appeared. That
place deep in his chest--the place he refused to
acknowledge--softened and expanded.
Forget it. It's not going to
happen
.

A sudden gust of wind shook the branches
above his head sending a shower of needles and seedpods raining
down on his head. Brushing the stuff from his shoulders, Dak
suddenly remembered Talon's parting comments.
Everything that
goes up will fall down.
With slow, deliberate movements, Dak
lifted one of the palm-size seedpods from his lap and dropped it to
the ground. Gravity.
Yes! Thank you, Talon! I know what you were
trying to tell me.