WindDeceiver (41 page)

“Be careful, Your Grace,” Belial warned his master. “He thinks to taunt you into dueling with him.”

“I could win against him!” Jaborn screamed, his eyes flaring wide with hate.

Conar snorted with contempt.

Jaborn’s male ego would not let him back down although he knew well enough he was no match for the Serenian. Few men, if any, were. Even after a week of little food and forced captivity, McGregor looked more than capable of taking on four men and running them through.

“Let me fight for you, Master,” Belial asked. “He fears me.”

Conar looked behind him and laughed. “I don’t fear you, you cocksucker. If you want a part of me first, come and try to get it.”

Belial began to draw out his sword.

“On second thought,” Conar quipped, “I really don’t have the time to fool with you.”

Before any of them knew what he was about, McGregor lashed out with his sword and the tip slashed across Belial’s face from ear lobe to ear lobe, just under the man’s nose, neatly bisecting his face with a deep enough cut to cause extreme pain and plenty of blood. Belial dropped to the floor of the cavern, his hands up to his face to hold the gaping parts together. Through his reddening fingers, those gathered could see the roots of his front teeth.

Rasheed stared as two of Belial’s Warriors of the Abyss helped their commander to his feet.

They stumbled away with him, his bulk making them grunt as they supported him. Jaleel’s servant looked slowly at his master.

Jaborn’s own stare was filled with shock at the ease with which McGregor had done his destruction. Some of the Warriors milling behind the Serenian were muttering among themselves for none of them had seen the attack coming until Belial’s face had been split apart.

“We are twenty to his one,” Jaborn called out. “Rush him. He can not wound us all!”

Conar backed up until he was within equal distance from the five men on his left and the fifteen on his right. His sword sliced through the air, singing a deadly tune, then tensed as its master looked from one group of men to the other.

“Who wants to try?” Conar asked. “Who wants to see how many men I can take down with me before I fall?”

The men’s murmurs grew louder and a few backed off, putting a safe distance between them and the man whose ice-cold eyes were staring through them.

“Cowards!” Jaborn shouted. “He is but one man! He can not win against you all!”

“I might not, but they’ll know I was here,” Conar laughed. He moved again and the loose pantaloons of one of the eunuchs dropped away from his hips to pool at his big feet.

The eunuch slowly lowered his gaze, took in the rent in the silk pantaloons then even more slowly lifted his eyes to the Outlander. He found that alien stare riveted on his privates and quickly covered himself.

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“If some man had done that to me,” Conar told him, drawing the eunuchs gaze, “I’d have done my damnedest to slice his cock in twain and make him eat it.”

Without knowing he’d done so, the eunuch shifted his attention to Jaborn, then returned it to Conar. He saw pity in the Outlander’s gaze and lifted his head.

“Did he do that to you?” Conar asked.

Jaborn could feel the hatred rolling toward him as the man beside him dipped his head in answer. He turned his gaze back to McGregor and found him sneering.

“Did he cut out your tongue, as well?” Conar asked.

When the eunuch once more nodded, the Serenian Prince let out a long breath. “And you still give your allegiance to a man like that? What does that say of you? What kind of men does that make the two of you?”

The hand of his fellow servant fell on Haji El-Sabor’s shoulder and the eunuch turned to look into the other man’s face. An understanding, silent as it had been for a long, long time, passed between the two men and they turned, pushing past Rasheed.

“Come back here!” Jaborn screamed, drawing out his dagger. “Do you hear me?” When the men continued on, he drew back his hand to throw the knife into Haji’s back, but found the back of his hand sliced open by the tip of McGregor’s sword. Jaborn yelped and dropped his dagger in the sand, turning to face his enemy with a snarl of fury.

“Only cowards aim for a man’s back, Jaborn. I guess that tells me what kind of man you are,” Conar sneered.

Celene saw the women coming down the stairs beyond them. She frowned for a moment, not recognizing two of them, but seeing Rachel with them, she knew the newcomers to be allies.

She saw Prince Guil glance behind him, then whisper something to Rasheed.

“I’d leave them alone if I were you, you son-of-a-bitch,” Conar said, seeing where Rasheed’s attention had gone. He couldn’t make out who the women were from where he stood, but he knew he wasn’t going to let them be hurt.

Rasheed looked from the Serenian to the women, then his face went pale for there were even more of them coming down the stairs, their faces set and cold, crossbows and daggers in their slender hands. He looked once more at the Serenian, then shoved Jaborn aside and ran.

“Rasheed!” Jaborn shouted, trying to reach out to grab the man and keep him there, but the servant was too quick for him and was soon sprinting toward the newer parts of the catacombs.

The fleeing servant did not see the group of six women who broke away from the stairs and began to follow him, but the fifteen men to McGregor’s left did. Looking nervously at one another, then turning their fearful attention to the women advancing on them, they, too, turned tail and ran.

Celene saw the fear beginning to form on Jaborn’s face. It was already there on Prince Guil’s, but not in the same way it was leaching across Jaleel Jaborn’s. As soon as Jaborn noticed the women coming toward them, he bent down and snatched up his dagger. Swinging it in a low arc, he started toward the Outlander.

From where she was, Catherine watched the deadly smile creeping across her husband’s face. As much as she wanted to run to him, or to at least call herself to his attention, she knew she dared not, for there was bloodlust in Conar’s dirty face and it was a craving she knew would be satisfied with nothing less than Jaborn’s total destruction.

“Milord!” Rachel shouted, though, drawing that frigid stare to her.

Conar caught the dagger thrown to him. It felt familiar and he spared a glance at the black crystal blade every Daughter was given on her Initiation Day. He smiled. Shielding the dagger at his side, he stepped away from the wall.

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“You want me, Jaborn?” he cooed. “Then go for it.”

Jaborn’s irrational hatred of the man before him turned into a red haze of madness. He lunged at McGregor, intended to skewer the man.

“Jaleel!” Guil screeched. “Be careful!”

Sabrina pushed past Rachel and stood watching the fight between the two men. She folded her arms and admired the fluid ease with which the Outlander put a nick here and a cut there and a deeper cut elsewhere. Her mind was on the tale Liza had written to her of this man’s fight with three would-be robbers at a tavern on a lonesome road in Serenia. Liza had not exaggerated his prowess with his steel.

Catherine was unaware that she was gripping Meggie’s arm in a punishing clutch that would leave horrible bruises on the old woman’s flesh. Nor was she aware that she was trembling or that the babe inside her womb was leaping.

But Meggie was. She felt the babe move against her and she looked down to the swelling mound of Catherine’s belly. Maybe, she thought, her face softening, maybe this once I’ll get to see one of his bairns birthed.

Celene took her mother’s hand as Miriam shoved Guil aside and went to stand beside her daughter. Both women kept their gazes on their Champion, silently applauding his ability.

Jaborn knew he was outmatched. He knew there was no way he could hope to win fairly against this man. He kept glancing back to Guil, hoping his old friend would come to his aid, but every time he caught Guil’s gaping stare, a little more color had drained from Gehdrin’s face and, every time he looked at Guil, McGregor put another slash on his skin.

Conar was peripherally aware of the women gathered in the wide chamber. One quick sweep of his eyes, not close enough to distinguish faces, told him there must be at least fifty to seventy women watching him. He heard some male voices and thought he recognized one in particular, but he knew he had to keep his mind on what he was doing. One slip would be all it took for Jaborn to plunge that dagger into his belly.

Chase Montyne eased past several of the women and reached Sabrina’s side. He took her hand and felt her squeeze his fingers with what he knew had to be immense relief that he was all right. She leaned against him and he put his arm around her, drawing her to him.

“That is his own blade,” he heard Rachel say. “The one Jaborn is using. He has worn it since the day it was stolen for just such a time as this.”

“What does that mean?” Celene asked her mother.

“It means,” Meggie answered for them all, “that only a weapon of his own, one forged especially for his hand, can kill Conar McGregor.”

A tremor of fear raced through Celene’s body and she clutched at her mother’s hand.

“Don’t worry, girl,” Meghan Dunne called out. “Our Dark Overlord will win. Have no fear of that.”

Guil swung his head toward the old woman. He found several women looking at him, watching him, and he dared make no move that would cause these bitches to fall on him as he knew they had fallen on Rasheed and maybe every man in the keep.

“I warned you, Jaborn,” Guil whispered beneath his breath. “I warned you not to trust these women.”

From the back of the crowd of women, several older women pushed their way through and came to Meggie and Meghan. They whispered something and both of the old women smiled knowingly and nodded. Guil watched the two old hags exchange a look, then turn their attention on him. He backed away from those looks and plastered himself against the wall.

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Kharis glanced behind him and saw other women coming down the stairs, accompanied by men he was not all that surprised to see. He nudged Chase with his elbow then cocked his head back toward the stairs.

Chase craned his neck to look in the direction Kharis was indicating. When he saw Shalu Taborn bulldozing his way through women not inclined to give ground to the Necromanian whirlwind, he chuckled, then returned his full attention to the one-sided fight.

Jaborn was winded. He was bleeding freely in more places that he could count, but he felt each and every one of them. He had managed to get close to McGregor only twice and both times had resulted in deep cuts on the Serenian’s arms, but the man had not even batted an eyelash at the pain. He had simply struck out what that hell-blade Rachel had tossed him and put another mind-shattering cut on Jaleel’s chest.

Shalu hissed into the face of a young woman who hissed right back at him and was shocked to the very core of his foundation when the diminutive woman shoved him hard enough to actually make him stumble.

“Be careful, Necroman,” she warned him. “Friend or no friend of our Overlord, I don’t let no man push me around!”

Balizar’s eyebrows shot up as he saw the black man step aside for the woman. If there was anything he didn’t think Taborn was capable of doing was feeling contrition. He had been wrong.

If it were possible for Necroman’s to blush, he thought Shalu well might be doing it at that moment.

“How many of our men were hurt?” Chase asked Sajin as the Kensetti Prince finally made his way to the front of the rapidly-enlarging group of onlookers.

“None,” Sajin answered, his attention on Conar to make sure the man was unharmed.

“When we got here, the doors had been thrown open and there were about a hundred women out there waving us in.”

“Just doing their jobs,” Meghan sniffed. “I’d have been disappointed if’n they hadn’t done it to the best of themselves.”

Sajin crooked a brow at Chase, but the Ionarian only shrugged. He had no idea who the woman was.

Shalu cursed as he was bumped from behind and rolled his eyes to the heavens. Woman or no woman, lady or not, he was not about to be mauled by these bloodthirsty little pieces of fluff.

He spun around, meaning to take whoever had plowed into him to task. His scowl was met by the tired, sad face of Sentian Heil.

“We heard he was down here,” Sentian said softly. His haunted expression was painful to look upon.

Shalu nodded. He put a beefy hand on Heil’s shoulder. “How are you, son?” he asked.

Sentian shook his head. “I don’t know, King Shalu.” Tears began to fall down his cheeks.

“I really don’t know.”

Ching-Ching was pushed forward respectfully by some of the women and he came up short as he saw the burly Necroman taking Heil into his arms and comforting him. The little monkey man cleared his throat and ducked his head, overcome by emotion, himself.

Thom Loure helped Paegan through the gathering and looked back as Holm gripped his shoulder. Thom smiled wearily. “He was told his brother is dead.”

Paegan shuddered, overcome with grief and felt Holm take him into his arms. He flung his arms around the sea captain’s neck and began to sob.

“Where is my papa?”

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Conar heard his son’s voice and knew Wyn was all right. The young man’s words were greeted by such a roar of feminine shushing, the very walls trembled with it. But it put a smile on the Serenian Prince’s lips and more strength into his weary body.

Guil saw the moment Jaborn realized he was going to die. The fierce light of battle died in the man’s eyes and his face became slack. His shoulders, despite the crouch in which he still fought on, seemed to sagged beneath the weight of his knowledge and it was at that moment that McGregor moved in for the final hit.