Mission To Mahjundar (20 page)

Mike nodded. “Home to Azrigone as my wife, if she’ll have me. I won’t be the first guy to return married to a local girl.” He frowned. “You know the regs, I’m allowed to bring home a wife.”

Johnny nodded. “Oh, I’m in. You know Command isn’t going to like it, us complicating our mission with personal business. Bandarlok won’t give her up without a fight.”

“I don’t care, this is my last job for them, we’re basically doing Command a favor to take this mission on. They can court martial me if they want. Keep the veterans’ acres.”

“We have to accomplish our own mission objective,” Johnny reminded him. “Only way to have what we want is to bring them what they want. Command made the parameters clear enough when they reassigned us to active duty.” He spat.

Mike was undeterred. “We won’t fail, my word on it.”

“Just one thing, cousin. I hate to bring it up, but what if the lady insists on staying with Bandarlok, like she did back at the tombs? What if you’re wrong and this necklace she gave you doesn’t mean anything? If she still won’t turn aside from doing what she sees as her duty to her father?” Johnny ran his reins through his gloved hands. “What’s our play then?”

For a long minute Mike was silent. “Fair question. If I’m wrong, if she says no, then I ride away without a backward glance.”

“Can you do that?” Johnny’s eyebrows were raised to his hairline. “You seem pretty invested, old son. And if she’s being abused—”

“I’ll have to. But first she has to convince me. We’re past the point where her loyalty to her father carries much weight with me. If the old bastard sent her to be abused and killed by this barbarian chief, there’s no reason for her—or me—to go along with the plan. I screwed up the first time by not telling her straight out what she means to me. I should have told her I love her. I won’t repeat the mistake. Now mount up.”

“Maybe we can find out what happened to Saium while we’re there tonight. Seems ominous to me the way he just disappeared.” Johnny swung into the saddle.

Dinner had been a crust of bread and a half mug of the sour mare’s milk. Shalira ate every crumb of the bread, even brushing the floor with the palm of her hand to be sure she’d gotten it all. It took her three tries, but eventually she forced herself to drink the milk. Foreign as it was to her, the fluid gave strength, and she couldn’t afford to waste a single ounce. After the meal, she sat wrapped in the scratchy blanket with her back to the wall, concentrating. Although there wasn’t much of the goddess’s power available to be channeled in this place the more she controlled her breathing and stayed calm, the fewer flashes of white light strobed in her field of vision and the more distinct the gray shapes became.
 

 
She heard footsteps coming to the door of her hut. A moment later the door was unlocked.

“Bandarlok sends for you,” a man said, his voice harsh.

Rising, Shalira smoothed her uncomfortable dress and walked to the guard as calmly as she could. She nurtured the cold ball of anger in her gut, trying not to give in to the fear pushing at her. Grabbing her arm hard enough to leave more bruises, the man hustled her along the complicated hallways and open spaces of the chief’s family complex. She tried to count steps as best she could. If these barbarians kept her alive long enough, she’d figure out her way around and she
would
escape, even if only to drown herself in the river or die of exposure.
My death at least is going to belong to me, if I can manage it.

She was in a new area of the camp, some place they’d never taken her before. The guard shoved her inside one of the tent dwellings. “I’ve brought the woman, sir.”

Shalira smelled the chief before he spoke, his hot, sweaty body odor unmistakable in the room, mixed with the scent of potent black wine.
 

“Fine.” A chair creaked as Bandarlok rose to approach her. Despite herself, Shalira tensed, startling reflexively as he took her hand, his touch less rough than usual. “Go,” he said to the guard, his wine-sodden breath washing over her face as he spoke to the man behind her. “I’m not to be disturbed this night, understand? Leave orders for someone to fetch the slave at dawn.”

So he doesn’t mean to kill me tonight, then.

“As you command, sir.” The warrior marched off.
 

Bandarlok led Shalira away from the entrance until her hip bumped a table. Releasing her, he hefted a wineskin, contents sloshing, and drank, sitting as he did so. The leather straps of his chair seat cracked, stretching under his weight.

“My wife thinks we should keep you alive, for a while at least,” Bandarlok said. “She likes having a princess for a slave. It’s amusing to watch you work, she says.”

Shalira said nothing.
If he wants me to beg for my life, he’s doomed to disappointment.

“I haven’t decided,” he went on a moment later. “I like to keep my
wife
happy. She’ll tire soon enough of having a clumsy, unskilled blind girl for a servant, royalty or not.”

Standing still, Shalira blinked, trying to catch a glimpse of her surroundings. The gray mists were parting a little, but the view was hardly reassuring. Was there a massive bed across the room?

Clinking sounds were followed by scraping noises and the sudden odor of rubyfruit.
There must be a knife on the table if he’s peeling fruit.
Her hand itched. Even a small knife would be enough to slit her wrists.
Or plunge into his eye, if I got the chance.
The idea was appealing.

“Have a little bite, princess?” He pushed a slice of the dripping substance at her lips, which she clamped shut, turning her head to the side. She might be half-starved, but she’d be damned if he was going to feed her like a pet. Rubbing the fruit slice over her lips enticingly, Bandarlok laughed. “It’s quite a delicacy, rare here in the highlands. But suit yourself.” Noisily, he sucked on his portion, spitting out seeds, chasing the snack with another long drink.

Licking her lips to remove the sweet, sticky juice, Shalira made a mental note of where he’d laid the knife. By the dull clunking sound, she’d wager it was on the wooden plate holding the fruit. Temptingly close to her.

“Take your wretched dress off,” he ordered, leaning back in the chair if the creak of leather was any indication. “Slowly.”

Realizing that if she refused, he’d tear the garment from her body and probably enjoy the violent act, Shalira efficiently stripped, ignoring his command to prolong the process. The room was warm, overheated, and she stood in her filmy underthings, the Windhunter collar heavy at her neck.

“Not enough meat on your bones,” he said, critically, peeling another fruit by the sound. “I like my women substantial.” After a moment of silence, he laughed. “Still nothing to say? Well, the emperor paid me a huge sum of money to fuck you, so tonight I’m going to carry out my half of the treaty. You might even like it.” He drove the knife into the table and stood. “Get pregnant and I’ll let you live till the baby’s born, maybe even longer if it’s a boy.”

Moving like a striking snake, Shalira wrenched the knife out of the table, splintering the surface in her haste, and slashed out toward the sound of his breathing, hoping to catch some part of Bandarlok’s body with the blade. He bellowed in pain and anger, grabbing her arm so hard she feared he might break the bone. Squeezing her wrist like an iron vise, he forced her to drop the weapon.

“Bitch, you cut me.” He picked her up, Shalira kicked and punched fruitlessly as he carried her to the bed. Dumping her unceremoniously on the mattress, he held her down with one hand and slapped her across the face with the other. She lay stunned by the blow, while he undid his belt and bound her wrists together, pulling them over her head and looping them over part of the carved headboard. He grunted, climbing off the bed and standing for a moment, breathing hard. “Not so full of fight now, are you?” She aimed a kick where his voice was coming from, connecting with an unsatisfying, glancing blow. He laughed. “Well, maybe tonight will have its amusing moments after all. I didn’t think you had any spirit.”
 

Trying not to cry from the pain where he’d struck her, Shalira lay on the bed, tugging at her restrained wrists. Bandarlok walked away and she heard the sound of him bandaging the spot where she’d managed to wound him. Then he began peeling off his clothes, each garment falling on the floor as he discarded it. He fumbled with his pants, hopping on one foot, bumping into the table, swearing.

He’s so drunk. If I could only get my hands free, maybe I could fight him off.
She redoubled her efforts to get at least one hand loose. The leather was slippery, and the loops weren’t as tight as she’d first thought.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said, returning to the bed and kneeling with his bare, hairy legs on either side of her hips. “You’re going to stay right where I want you until I decide to send you back to your kennel.” As he ran one hand up her thigh he shifted on the bed, and she brought up her knee, hard. Howling, he fell away from her, only to come back a moment later. “Surprisingly rebellious. I think my wife is right–we should keep you around.” He guffawed.

Terrified, Shalira said nothing, trying to calm her breathing. Her vision was completely black now and she was fighting to hang onto consciousness.

Bandarlok got off the bed, going to the table with wobbling steps. He guzzled more wine, burping loudly.

Shalira rolled herself over on the bed, one hand slipping free from the restraint. Since there was no reaction to this from Bandarlok, she hoped he was distracted, ignoring her. Frantic, she pulled the other hand free and slid to the floor, the bed between herself and the chieftain’s voice.
 

 
Perhaps alerted by the sound of her body moving across the sheets, he cursed and came at her across the room, his footsteps heavy on the carpeted floor. Shalira pressed her spine against the tent wall, fists raised in self-defense.
 

“I’ll put you in chains,” he threatened. “Make sure you don’t move from where I want you.” He lunged across the bed and Shalira made a break for it, one hand on the bed frame as a guide, sprinting around the end and heading for where she remembered the small table being located. Tripping on the chair, which he’d moved at some point, she fell with a frustrated scream, grabbing at the table, which toppled over with her, spilling wine, food, dishes and utensils. Desperately scrabbling in the debris, hoping to find the knife by sheer luck, she was grabbed from behind by the hair and pulled to her knees.

“Enough games,” Bandarlok said, breathing hard. “I like a bit of a tussle in bed as much as any man, but we’re done with foreplay.” He heaved her over his shoulder and carried her to the bed as she cursed and clawed at his back.

Throwing her on the mattress with a snarl of rage, he ruthlessly knotted a cord around her right ankle, securing her to the bed. Despite her strenuous resistance, pulling his hair, clawing at his face, he captured her other leg and prepared to restrain her further. “You’ll pay for all this trouble,” he said. “The harder you fight, the more I’m going to make you suffer.”

Mike and Johnny watched the sentry patrols carefully from their place of concealment at the edge of the forest, figuring out the routes and timing. The guards were surprisingly lax, arrogant in their clan’s superiority, perhaps.
Getting in is going to be a piece of cake. Nothing like infiltrating a Mawreg base.
Mike tapped Johnny on the shoulder, getting a nod in answer before the two Special Forces operators moved out in separate directions. Mike slipped through the loose perimeter and hid in the shadow of the central cooking hut. Working his way from the shelter of one structure to the next, he vaulted the low wooden fence and reached the back of the largest building in the camp—Bandarlok's private quarters. Guards stood sleepily at the front entrance, leaving the sides and back of the massive, green and white striped tent unpatrolled.
 

Debating where Shalira might be held in the camp, Mike heard a scream from the closest tent, which was the chieftain’s. Sure that the woman in jeopardy must be his princess, he crawled the final few yards.

Mike was thankful the full moons weren’t due to rise till near dawn. Cutting a slit in the heavy fabric of the tent walls with his combat knife, he checked out the situation for a moment. Making no noise, he’d stepped inside the tent, finding himself in a small room full of boxes and baskets, when he heard crashing sounds and another scream that was definitely Shalira’s. Taking a few steps forward, Mike was able to see into the main bedchamber, where candles blazed. Creeping to the doorway, he had a clear view of the large bed close to the far wall of the next room.
 

Bandarlok was struggling with an angry Shalira, trying to tie her up. As Mike watched, Bandarlok slapped her hard across the face before bending over her unrestrained ankle, rope in hand.
 

Moving like a panther, silently stalking his prey, Mike came up behind the distracted chief, jerked his head upright by his messy red braids, and slit his throat ear to ear in one smooth motion, his hunting knife an effective, noiseless weapon. Blood spewing, the chief fell from Mike's grasp onto the woven rugs without making a sound, dead before he hit the floor.
 

Shalira lay still on the bed for a second, breathing hard, hands clawed, ready to resume the fight. “Who’s there?” Sitting up, still tethered by one ankle, she yanked the nearest fur to cover her half naked body.