Renegade

by Justine Davis

  “I did not bring him,” he said urgently.

  The man’s voice was ice. “I am to believe that?”

  “You must.”

  If he did not, it would all be over. Life on Ziem would be eradicated. He was aware that this should not matter to him, yet he could not deny that it did. He held the Raider’s gaze as he did what he had never done before. He pled for the life of a world he was here to subjugate.

  “Please, do not begin what the Coalition will finish.”

  Chapter 12

  IT WAS A SPLIT second only before the Raider called out, “Hold!”

  Paledan did not know how many the man might have nearby in addition to the air cover. He only knew he would do well not to underestimate the number; these Ziemites seemed able to blend into their trees and mist as if they assumed those forms themselves.

  He crouched beside Jakel, reluctantly reached out to touch the man.

  “You have deprived some Sentinels of a long-awaited pleasure.”

  Paledan’s gaze snapped back to the Raider at the wry observation. And found himself smiling, yet uncertain exactly why. He stood once more. “He is still alive. Take him. A token of my . . . thanks for your trust in my word.”

  “I simply weighed options and outcomes.”

  Paledan stared at the man. “You indeed would do well in the Coalition.”

  “And you would perhaps be better off with the Sentinels.” Paledan gave the Raider a sharp, penetrating look. The Raider eyed him back coolly as he added, “You are, at least, a good enough shot.”

  Paledan did smile then, before he looked back at Jakel, who was stirring now. His left leg was smoking slightly from the blaster’s hit. If he’d had it at full power it would have taken the leg off.

  “I left strict orders no one was to follow me,” he grated out the moment the man opened his eyes. They glinted red even in the misty light as he clutched at his wounded leg.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “How did you know which way to come? You were not close behind me.”

  Slowly he sat up. “The attendant at the main door told me which way you went.”

  Paledan’s gaze narrowed. “Did you hurt him?”

  Jakel laughed. “That boy? I merely had to look at him.”

  From the corner of his eye Paledan saw the Raider, simply standing, watching, waiting. Amazingly calm, given this was the brute who had tortured him near unto death not so long ago. His opinion of the man went up another notch. It took a serious amount of control to maintain such coolness in such circumstances. And make the kind of decision he had just made, on the fly, based only on trust and his assessment of the situation.

  The man wasn’t just a warrior and a commander, he was a leader.

  “I know I promised him to you,” he said with a grimace, “but it tests my limits to leave him alive.”

  Jakel frowned, clearly not realizing Paledan was referring to him. But the Raider laughed.

  “With that kind of thinking, then you are truly on the wrong side, Major. He is just the sort of tool the Coalition favors. His death is no benefit to them.”

  The Raider lifted his head slightly, looking toward the trees where Jakel had been. Paledan followed his gaze. He saw nothing, but apparently the Raider had, for he nodded.

  “I think,” the Raider said, “there is someone else who would find it even more difficult to leave him alive.”

  “You?” Paledan asked.

  Something about the warrior’s smile then left Paledan feeling odd, an empty sort of sensation that spoke of things never known rather than things missing.

  “No,” he said. And then, looking past Paledan’s shoulder he added softly, “Her.”

  Paledan whirled. And there behind him, barely two strides away, stood a young woman. In his shock that she had somehow snuck up on him, it took him a moment to place her, the bright-gold hair braided back, the eyes . . . the Davorin eyes.

  “You are his sister,” he said.

  She nodded. “I am Eirlys Davorin, daughter of Torstan and Iolana, and a Sentinel.”

  She said it proudly, with love and respect for her dead parents. Iolana. He fought down the image of the portrait, oddly more difficult now that he was facing her daughter. He searched for resemblance, found it in the eyes, the delicate nose, the chin, the shape of the mouth.

  “And the one he”—he gave Jakel a look of loathing—“used to trade for your brother.”

  Her voice turned cold, icy cold. “Yes.”

  She walked, with the grace that seemed inherent in the Davorins, over to Jakel. The man squirmed. The girl pulled a dagger with a carved hilt from a sheath on her belt. She crouched beside Jakel, tapping the blade against her palm. Then she turned her head to look at Paledan.

  “You meant what you said? You would give him to us?”

  He studied her for a moment. “I understand that you have an affinity for . . . beasts.”

  Her gaze snapped to his face. “You think me weak because of this?”

  “I would never call anyone able to shadow me as closely as you did with­out my knowledge weak.”

  He thought she almost smiled. “Wise,” she said.

  “I’ve found a certain judiciousness useful when dealing with your brother.”

  She did smile then. And looked at the Raider, who as before stood calmly. Yet Paledan did not mistake his readiness. Should he make one move toward this girl, it would be his last.

  “I see why you like him,” she said to her brother.

  He hid his surprise, but could not resist a glance at the Raider. The man faced him steadily, neither denying nor confirming what his sister had said.

  Eirlys looked back at Jakel, who was watching her—and her blade—warily. As well he should, Paledan thought. It would not do to underestimate either Davorin.

  And how did the woman who had given up, thrown herself off the escarpment he would be able to see from here if not for the bedamned mist, manage to birth two such children? Was the strength they had inherited from their father so powerful that she hadn’t been able to weaken it? How did they possess the planium-strong courage they both had, when she did not?

  “If we are speaking of wisdom,” he said to Eirlys, “it would be wise of you never to trust this one.”

  “I would no more turn my back on this beast than on an enraged blazer.” She tapped the blade again. “At least, not until he is a eunuch.”

  Jakel scrambled back as best he could with his mangled leg. But he was glaring at her, fury boiling in his eerily red eyes. Paledan thought that she might well prod one of those mythical, fire-breathing creatures as easily as she poked at Jakel. And he couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling,

  “You share more than a bit of your brother’s reckless courage, little sister, but beware of this mindless fiend. I suspect he knows he has outlived his usefulness as a tool.”

  Jakel snarled.

  “Why did you not put him down yourself, then?” the Raider asked.

  “In truth, I was about to, although I had not yet decided.” He looked at Jakel. The man was clearly both enraged and yet cowering, a very dangerous combination. “It would appear I left it a bit too long.”

  “You would have been a bit too long had you killed him,” the Raider said dryly, “the day after his birth.”

  Laughter burst from him then. He could not stop it. And he wondered what the unfettered reaction meant, and why he found such enjoyment in his conversations with this man who should be his mortal enemy.

  Should be? Was he not?

  “Agreed,” he said.

  Jakel growled. Somehow he got his good leg under him. Launched. His sheer bulk carried him forward. Paledan spun back. Saw the girl move, deftly flipping the dagger into a striking grasp. He held back, let h
er do it. She had earned the right. She dug at the already wounded leg. Jakel roared. Fell side­ways. Tumbled toward him. Paledan had to leap clear.

  The instant he landed he felt the sharp, ripping pain in his back. And then it spread, rippling through him in waves as every muscle contracted in agony. He tried to bite back a scream, succeeded only in muffling it.

  His legs did not go weak, they vanished. He hit the ground. It sounded hard, but there was already so much pain he barely felt it. Was vaguely aware he had simply collapsed.

  It had finally happened. The shrapnel had shifted that last critical dis­tance, torn its way through flesh to bone and beyond. His legs were gone. His arms moved, but weakly, not as he commanded. And the mist of Ziem seemed to be closing on him. Or he was going blind in addition.

  He could barely lift a hand. His worst fear, that he would be unable to end it himself, had come to pass. He wondered how he was still breathing. Would it spread there, too, would he end not in glorious battle but suffocating as those muscles, too, were cut off from the natural signals?

  The Raider was there; he could hear his voice. With an effort that seemed impossible for such a simple thing, he opened his eyes. Looked up at the man in the notorious silver helm.

  “It is your old wound?” the man asked. Paledan could see that he was touching his arm, but he could not feel it. Nor could he feel the ground beneath him. Nothing.

  He thought he might not still have speech, but the words came. “It is the end I’ve expected.” The worst, most helpless end.

  The Raider looked to his right, gestured to someone Paledan could not see.

  “Kill me,” he grated out over the pain. How could he still feel pain when he could not even feel a touch? And yet he did, waves of it, rolling through him as if the mist had invaded him, burning him from the inside out. “Blaster, blade, it does not matter.”

  “Major—”

  “You have your enemy at your mercy. End it.” He saw something in the man’s eyes that made him add, “Please.”

  “I think you must endure a moment longer,” the Raider said.

  And then whoever he had summoned was there. The person crouched beside him, reached out, touched him.

  He felt it.

  His gaze snapped to the newcomer.

  Ah.

  He understood now. He could not move because he was already dead. So the pain would eventually fade, surely.

  He looked at her. She was even more beautiful here, in whatever place this was. More graceful, even more vivid. And her eyes, those eyes . . .

  And he decided in that moment that it was worth it, just for this glimpse of the woman in the painting.

  He smiled. This was merely some figment, provided by his brain in these final moments, perhaps to make the transition to nothingness easier. But just now it did not matter that it was a mirage; it seemed utterly real, and he would accept and be glad of it.

  And then she spoke, and her voice was all that he’d imagined it would be. Soft, low, soothing yet vibrant. Husky with emotion, the kind of emotion he had never felt. The emotion of the truly alive.

  “I can ease your path.”

  It took him a moment to realize he could still speak. And he found his own words an odd choice even as he said them. “Why would you?”

  “I would do it for any creature in such pain.”

  And then the mist closed in. All went dark.

  Chapter 13

  IOLANA STARED DOWN at the man for a long, silent moment. This was their enemy, was it not? Her instincts warred with her knowledge, and both were overlain by her undue and strange fascination with this man. She touched him, put a hand on each side of his chest. Closed her eyes, even as her mind continued to race. He was here, helpless, and it would take but a stroke to kill him. Left as he was he would die anyway; she could feel the process had started already.

  She knew what she wished to do.

  She could think of many reasons to do it, but feared too many were her own. And perhaps not the best for Ziem.

  Without opening her eyes she whispered, “Drake?”

  “He is dying?”

  “He will. Unless . . .”

  “Assessment?”

  She withdrew her hands, unable to focus on both, something that had never happened to her before.

  Too much was different about this man.

  She looked up at her son.

  “It is his spine. I sense something . . . foreign. I cannot yet tell how com­plete the injury is. It is old and yet . . . new.”

  She shook her head sharply. She reached down to touch Paledan again, probed deeper. And then she had it. She pulled back and looked up at Drake.

  “The old was incurred in a battle. It is a shard of planium. Embedded. The new is the shard shifting. It has damaged his spine. I do not yet know how severely. But he cannot move. If left, he may never again. If he survives. And . . .”

  Drake lifted a brow at her. “And?”

  “He knows this. He has known it since the original wound.”

  Drake looked down at the man lying helplessly on the ground. “That is why he begged me to kill him.”

  “He would not wish to live that way.”

  “If we were to leave him here, like this . . .”

  “He will die. Slowly.”

  “He is the head of the Coalition on Ziem, and so we should welcome this,” Drake said, but Iolana heard in his voice he was not yet convinced.

  “There are people alive in Zelos because Paledan refused to order their execution,” she reminded him, not certain why she felt she must. “And he has, in his way, protected the twins.”

  “Yes,” Drake said. “And he came here today to warn us of the inevitable order to come from the High Command.”

  She could almost feel her son thinking, analyzing, weighing. The rush of in­formation she’d gotten during her brief encounter with this man ran through her mind again. She hesitated because the decision was the Raider’s to make, but he should have all the information necessary, should he not?

  “I have said he is not cruel. It is not in him. He is more . . . unfeeling, al­though I do not mean that in the usual sense. I mean he does not react emo­tionally, to anything. It is as if he has not learned how. Or it has been crushed in him. He is utterly rational, and does not believe in killing for the sake of it.”

  Drake’s mouth twisted. “No wonder he and Jakel didn’t get along.”

  She glanced at their downed enemy once more before adding quietly, “You must decide now, Drake. Or he will be beyond my capability to help.”

  “But you can help him?”

  “I believe so.”

  Her son studied her for a moment. “And you wish to.”

  It was not a question. It seemed her son was becoming quite adept at reading people as well, albeit in a different way. “Yes.”

  Eirlys, who had been securing—fiercely—Jakel, approached them and spoke for the first time. “If he had a portrait of me secreted away in his office, I would wish to speak to him, too.”

  Drake nodded, taking his sister’s opinion seriously; he had learned much as well since his charade as the beaten, cowed taproom keeper had finally ended.

  “Pryl?” he said, and Iolana gave a small start; the woodsman had appeared as if out of nowhere, so quietly did he move.

  The old man gave a one-shouldered shrug. “He’s Coalition, but . . . he is different. You’ve said that from the beginning. And if the Spirit is right about him stalling off High Command, I’m thinking his replacement could be much worse.”

  That much from the usually taciturn Pryl was tantamount to a declara­tion. Yet Drake still hesitated. “So the Spirit heals him, and we send him back? The commander of the enemies who will eventually try to wipe us all out?”

&
nbsp; “Or we let him die, they bring in someone new, one that will likely do it tomorrow,” Pryl answered. “They would not take lightly the death of one of their heroes while we had him.”

  “Contention valid,” Drake agreed. Then, with a smile he clearly could not suppress, he raised his voice. “Come in and join the parlay instead of just listening in, Kye.”

  Eirlys grinned. “I thought I heard a faint swish a moment ago.”

  “She’s bedamned good with that rover,” Pryl said, his grin echoing Eirlys’s.

  “And now we have the man who designed it,” Drake said. Iolana’s gaze snapped back to Paledan; she had forgotten that discovery of Brander’s.

  Kye emerged from the mist. “You’re really going to let Iolana save him?”

  “He has but a moment or two to decide,” Iolana reminded her son; she could sense the man on the ground slipping away.

  “They will come looking for him,” Kye warned.

  “That is true,” Drake said.

  “Unless we can divert them somehow,” Pryl said.

  “Surely he told someone he was coming? And when he would be back?” Eirlys asked.

  “Perhaps not,” Drake said slowly.

  “The idea would likely not be met with encouragement from High Command,” Iolana said.

  “Exactly my thought,” Drake agreed.

  She felt a sudden inward chill, as if something icy had brushed her heart. “Now, Drake,” she said urgently. “You must decide. I can at least stabilize him, give you more time to consider.”

  He met and held her gaze. Then nodded. “Do what you can.”

  She swiftly knelt beside the dying man, and reached out to touch him once more.

  “CAN’T TRUST YOU alone for a moment, can I?” Brander’s tone was joking as he stepped into Iolana’s home, but she heard the note of relief beneath. She also heard a distinct lack of surprise at the trouble they had brought with them. “Why here?”

  She felt Drake’s glance but didn’t open her eyes; she was so weary it was all she could do to stay upright on the cushions Grim had brought for her. She needed respite. Yet she could not rest, for she knew this was only temp­orary.