The Wrath of the King (16 page)

Yanking a cloth off from a nearby table, she draped it over her head as if she'd come from the smoking wing and ran back to the stairs. Down, down down, the scent of smoke stronger, the shouts from men fighting the blaze more urgent than before.

She started passing guards vaulting the stairs on the last level, affecting an expression of fear and angst, portraying a woman only wishing to escape the threat of the flames.

Not only did no one stop her, she, along with certain members of the staff who were in the way rather than a help to combat the fire, were escorted straight outside into the courtyard. Wynn wasn't the only one with a blanket or other article of cloth
covering her head, which served to disguise her among the masses. Huddling with a group of women, she climbed into the bed of a truck and rode it out of the courtyard into the open, noting that several contingents of military in nearby tent housing were on their way to the castle.

Her plan worked much better than she thought it might, except Chey was nowhere in sight.

Distressed at the unknown fate of her best friend, Wynn used the cover of darkness and general confusion to break away from the camps, disappearing down the treed slope to a meandering creek. She ran along the edge, away from the castle, desperate to put as much distance between herself and Paavo as possible.

Along the way she prayed. Prayed that Chey and the baby were still alive.

Chapter Fifteen

Chey lifted the candle higher to better illuminate the next seven feet or so along the hidden passageway. She expected a set of steps any time, or a sharp corner before the steps—
something
other than what seemed like miles of endless corridor. She'd been at this for more than an hour, trying to make her way down to the ground floor so she could find a way out.

Thus far, she'd succeeded in losing all sense of direction and somehow doubling back on herself when she'd taken a wrong turn at a fork some distance behind. Reminding herself to remain calm and controlled, Chey experienced a rush of anticipation when she saw the landing and staircase ahead.

Finally. Another level leading down.

Holding a palm flat to the wall for balance, she eased onto the landing and took the steps one at a time. This was the most treacherous part, feeling her way with her feet. She couldn't see straight down, not any longer with her belly in the way, and bending forward threw her into vertigo. Tapping her heel against the back of each step, she descended, cautious and careful and determined.

Once at the bottom, she lifted the candle again to get her bearings. Fantastic. Another fork in the corridor. Reasoning over which direction was the best, she veered to the right, brushing away cobwebs and stray bits of dirt that randomly sifted down from the ceiling. She thought she was on the main level now after three flights of stairs. All she needed to find next was a doorway or tunnel splitting off from the castle. The passageway she walked down became mustier, more damp than before.

Almost before she knew what happened, she lost her balance and stumbled forward, too confident in the fact she was on level ground to think there might be more steps ahead. For ten frightening seconds, she scrabbled for purchase on the stone walls, twisting her hips and back to prevent an outright tumble. The candle pitched forward into the darkness, briefly illuminating the tunnel before the light doused altogether.

“Damn,” Chey said, getting her feet beneath her. That had nearly been disastrous. Breathing hard and fast, she coughed three times and straightened. She couldn't see a thing.

Not her own hand in front of her face. Using her feet in the same manner as before, she went down the final three steps to flat ground.

Now, thanks to the lack of light, the going would be much slower.

Determined to get out, she felt along the cold stone walls with her hands. Seeking, searching, hoping. There had to be a door somewhere.

She walked for approximately two hours, one foot in front of the other, testing the ground and the tunnel for breaks, stairs or other debris that might trip her up. When her toe hit something hard in the dark, she paused to feel it out with her foot.

Stairs. Leading up, this time.

“Oh no, not back up to the higher floors again,” she whispered to herself. That wasn't the way she wanted to go. Going back, however, wasn't an option. She ascended three shallow steps, hands coming into contact with what appeared to be a heavy wooden door. Finding a beam laying across to bar entry from the other side, she removed it and set it against the wall.

Opening the door required more effort than Chey wanted to give. She had to bump the thing with her shoulder and hip, teeth clenched tight, pain shooting through the lower half of her body. The door gave with a loud squawk, swinging outward while a gust of cool air and the scent of trees greeted her.

Chey's wince turned into an expression of utter relief. Exiting the tunnel, she closed the door behind her, leaving the mouth of low hill that helped disguise the entrance from easy view. Trees crowded close, though at least out here, Chey had the stars and the moon to provide at least a little light.

Filling her lungs, she picked her way over thick roots, around large rocks and across a small stream. She stopped several times to catch her breath and rub the side of her stomach when a cramp struck.

What she needed to find next was an ally. Someone to trust with her life. Not an easy task at all, considering where she was located. Once she had her breath, she started forward again, moving closer to the tree line.

At a certain point, she could see past the thick trunks to vast pastures and meadows. Moonlight slanted across tents lined up row after row, a few larger ones denoting a higher ranked official, she thought.

Paavo hadn't wasted time in organizing those loyal to his cause. A thought she'd had before, flying over in the helicopter. It was more visceral here on the ground, several hundred yards from the encampments. If she had to judge, she was perhaps a quarter mile from the outer bailey wall of the castle.

She'd gone farther than she thought in that underground tunnel.

When a group of men went running off into the night in the direction of the holding, Chey's attention shifted higher, to the upper floors, wondering what caused the mild uproar.

Seeing flames shooting out a window, she covered her lips with her fingers. Fire had broken out. No wonder more and more men were converging on the gate.

Retreating deeper into the tree cover, determined to use the distraction to her advantage, Chey continued to pick her way through the foliage, sticking to shadow where ever possible. There could be scouts along the edge, prepared for someone to come slinking out of the trees from other parts of Latvala. She doubted they'd expect an escapee of the castle itself.

Along the way she thought about Sander. Wondered if he was all right. Her worry
over her husband had the ability to cripple her if she didn't stay focused. He was strong, capable and as determined as she to be here when their child was born.

He would be okay. He
had
to be okay. The alternative was unthinkable.

All she wanted was to get back to his side, where ever that may be. She wanted to feel his arms around her, wanted the security of his presence. Once, she choked up thinking about seeing their baby for the first time, touching a downy cheek. It had been all Chey could think about over the summer, seeing Sander's expression gazing down at their son.

Getting her emotions under control, she put those thoughts aside in favor of survival. She wasn't out of the woods yet, figuratively or literally. There were miles to go, danger in every direction, and people more loyal to a traitorous brother than the King.

. . .

From helicopter to waiting Hummer, Sander and his team moved through the night as quickly and as efficiently as they could. Bodies strapped with weapons, they used the cover of darkness to drive ever closer to Paavo's holding. Twice they had come upon soldiers, all of whom looked the other way when they noted the ranking bars displayed on each of their hats. Because Sander and Gunnar were the most notable, they had taken pains before departing the hideout to grease their faces and tie back their hair. It changed their appearance just enough to allow them to go unrecognized under the right circumstances.

Surprised at the level of organization Paavo had achieved in a short amount of time, Sander chose to shift his focus from troop settlements to the recovery of his wife. Fury boiled just under the surface every time he considered Chey in trouble or distress. Brother or no brother, Sander would show Paavo no mercy if one hair had been harmed on Chey's head. Even then, the desire for retribution was strong. Paavo, orchestrator of the attack on the caravan, could not be allowed to go unpunished for his crime.

“We're coming up on the road that will take us to the main gate,” Leander announced in the Latvala tongue. His accent was perfect, flawless.

“Are you sure this is the best way to get inside?” Gunnar asked for the third time.

“We number too few to fight off all the soldiers you saw out in the tent city, little brother. Our best option is to bluff our way past the guards, to the front doors, and inside the castle. Then, and only then, do we stand a chance. You remember the drill?” Sander asked.

“I remember,” Gunnar said.

Leander drove the Hummer at a decent but not reckless speed, as they'd discussed back at the hideout in the city. Sander wanted to give the impression to anyone watching that they were bold about their business and had a right to be there.

“There seems to be something going on,” Leander said some minutes later as they approached the gate.

“What do you mean?” Sander said.

“There are soldiers running in through the gate in groups—is that smoke?” Leander stared up through the windshield as he slowed the vehicle.

“Smoke?” Sander looked out the back side window. Between the tint on the glass,
the darkness of night and the height of the bailey wall, Sander couldn't see anything.

“I thought I caught a glimpse of smoke,” Leander said.

“Just get us through the front gate.” Sander readied his gun, angling it across his lap. Gunnar, who sat in the back with him, did the same. They averted their faces just enough when Leander brought the Hummer to a halt and exchanged curt greetings with the gate guard.

It seemed Leander was right. Something
was
going on. The guard gestured them
through with all the respect he might show a carload of Generals, except there was an urgency to his motions and a wildness to his eyes that shouldn't have been there on any given night.

Leander wasted no time. He surged through the open gate, avoiding a running guard by a spare inch, no more. Men ran everywhere, some shouting, others on phones. Surprised at the activity, Sander readied to disembark the moment the Hummer stopped.

This could be the best or worst situation, depending on the level of distraction. Jaw tight with tension and concern for Chey, Sander gave Leander a nod after meeting the man's eyes in the rear view mirror.

Now or never.

Jamming open the door when the Hummer stopped, Sander pulled a mask over his face, along with Gunnar and Leander, and exited the vehicle. He rushed the stairs leading to the front doors, pausing to pull a pin and slide a device onto the floor. Hissing smoke spewed out, surprising several guards. Another went sailing into the great room; a third flew up the stair case where smoke seethed across the ceiling and filled the upper hallway.

“What the hell--” Sander didn't stop to think. He ran forward, immune to the effects of the grenades, and vaulted up the staircase like a man possessed. He knew exactly where the Red Room was, knew precisely how to take the shortest route to Chey. He tossed another disc down and threw one ahead onto the second floor. It got lost in the other smoke pouring more thickly down from that level.

Someone shouted
Stop!
Sander didn't stop, didn't look back. Leander and Gunnar had their orders, knew what to do. Barging around a corner, he went low to a knee, tripping a guard, and using the butt of his rifle to crack the man in the back of the head. Not a killing blow, but the guard wouldn't rise for a good half hour or more. Someone else loomed from the smoky gloom, eyes round, mouth an 'oh' of shock when the butt of the gun took him in the forehead.

Adrenalized, Sander shook off a brief spate of dizziness and took the next set of stairs in short order. He cut through the upper hallways, moving by instinct and memory. The smoke, thicker here than on any other level, made it hard to see. He took down three more men, ignoring the feel of a wound ripping open along his ribs.

Arriving at the Red Room, the open door gave Sander little pause. He burst in, ripping the mask from his face.

“Chey!
Chey!
” A cursory check turned up nothing. She wasn't here. Cursing vividly, he yanked the mask back down over his face and hustled into the hallway. Rounding into another room, he searched for his wife. There was so much smoke, he feared finding her unconscious on the floor. She wasn't there. Nor in the next room, or the following.

Coming out into the hallway at a run, he bumped off a body and lifted his
weapon, ready to either shoot or fight when Gunnar's mask loomed out of the smoke.

“It's me, it's me. Did you find her? There's a fire downstairs, spreading fast from what I can tell. Leander's taking care of business behind us,” Gunnar said.

“Search the whole floor. I haven't found her yet,” Sander shouted. The mask muffled his words.

Gunnar nodded and jogged the hall to start at the very end and work his way forward.

Sander left his brother to it, departing that floor for the second. He passed prone bodies, Leander's work no doubt, and sank himself into the much smokier hallway. Panic threatened to seize his chest at the thought of Chey locked in one of the rooms.

Gunfire broke out; he swerved into a room, bringing his weapon up to eye level. That was the way he searched, crouched and moving fast, leaving no space unearthed. With no way to get closer to the opposite hall that was on fire, Sander descended to the first floor.