The World of Samar Box Set 3

by M. L. Hamilton

  “So you don’t think casual contact is enough?”

  She met his look. “I don’t believe it is, but I might be wrong. Any sign of illness should be treated like the epidemic and that person must be quarantined immediately. Otherwise, the death toll could be horrendous.”

  Jarrett studied her, not speaking. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. It made her want to fidget and she wasn’t a person who fidgeted easily. Finally, he turned away. “It’s good to know,” he said.

  She thought he would ride ahead or fall back, but he kept pace with her as they meandered down the mountain, following the ridge trail that led to Kazden. At first she was uncomfortable, wishing he wasn’t right there, but after a while, she relaxed. For some reason, his presence reassured her, made her feel safe. For a moment, she remembered what it had been like when they made the reverse journey so many years before, when the two of them were far less complicated.

  * * *

  “I want soldiers at every pass, on every trail. No one is to get by us without being cleared first,” said Kalas, pacing the length of his private suite in the house he kept in Kazden.

  The Baron nodded. “I’ll see it’s done.”

  “And when they locate my sister, I want her heavily guarded. Whatever protocol demands, double it. She’s to receive a full escort into the city.”

  Dolan exchanged a look with the Baron as Kalas paced to the fireplace and pivoted again. Ellette sat in a chair by the window and Attis stood by the suite door. A surgeon waited by a makeshift operating table in the sitting room, arranging his sterile instruments on a tray.

  “You need to let the surgeon tend your shoulder, Your Majesty,” said the Baron, stepping in front of Kalas and forcing him to stop.

  Blood seeped through the bandages they’d tied around his shoulder and he looked pale. They’d only just arrived in Kazden a half hour before. Kalas had summoned the Baron at once, while Dolan made sure the manor home was secure. The back half of the house sat on a cliff, overlooking the ocean, very defensible space, but the front was open to one of the main roads into the city.

  The ride through the desert had passed uneventfully. There hadn’t been another Nazarien attack. Either they thought Kalas was dead or so badly injured, he wouldn’t be any further threat. Dolan wanted to believe this, but he didn’t think it was true. The Nazarien were simply waiting for the best time, when their guard was lowered and Kalas was vulnerable. Dolan knew there was no chance of them giving up.

  “I will as soon as I’m sure we’ve taken all the precaution we can to intercept my sister before the Nazarien do.”

  “Why don’t you round them all up, except the Cult,” offered Attis. “You could lock them up until the Stravad Leader is safely within Kazden’s walls.”

  Kalas ignored him. “What else do you suggest, Baron?”

  The Baron shrugged. “His idea isn’t horrible. You might round up a few Nazarien and hold them for questioning, see if you can get them to divulge any information.”

  “Do it then. Round up as many as you can. See if they can identify any of the renegade Nazarien for us.”

  Dolan stepped forward. “We know the name of the leader.” He didn’t look at Ellette. He wasn’t sure she wanted anyone else to know the whole of her story.

  Kalas pressed a hand to his shoulder, but his gaze narrowed on Dolan. “How do you know that?”

  “I told him,” said Ellette.

  Kalas shifted toward her.

  She nodded at his shoulder. “You should let the surgeon look at that. You are still bleeding.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Quinn Laurel.”

  “Who else is part of his group?”

  “I do not know. We never knew. That is how he kept us safe, or so he said. That is why we were ordered to take our lives if we were caught, so we could not betray our fellow assassins.”

  The Baron crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Even so, they might still know something. I don’t think it hurts to round up a number of them and question them.”

  “Go ahead and do it,” said Kalas. “I don’t have another plan right now.”

  “I’m ready for you, Your Majesty,” said the surgeon.

  Kalas moved to the table and took a seat. The surgeon handed him a cup and he absently took it.

  “Drink up,” said the surgeon.

  Kalas lifted it to his lips, then hesitated, lowering it. “What is this?”

  “A sedative. I need to repair the damage. You shouldn’t have let them remove the arrow. They probably did more harm that way.”

  “They were afraid it was poisoned,” said Kalas, lifting the cup again. He started to drink once more, but stopped. “Wait a minute. I don’t want to be sedated. That seems like the perfect opportunity for the Nazarien to attack.”

  The surgeon gave him an arch look. “How am I supposed to operate, Your Majesty? I need to repair the muscles, stop the bleeding.”

  Kalas looked at Dolan.

  “I’ve doubled the guards and I’ll stay until you’re out of the sedation,” offered the Nazarien. “If you want, Attis can guard the door.”

  “With my life,” added the Cult member.

  The Baron gave him a wry look. “I’ll stay too.”

  Ellette rose and moved to the opposite side of the table, grabbing a chair and folding herself into it. She looked up at Kalas. “I’ll be here as well.”

  Kalas still seemed bothered, but he lifted the cup and drank the contents, handing it to the doctor. The doctor pressed him back on the table and Kalas complied, reclining on the pillows.

  “Keep me under only as long as necessary,” he said.

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Dolan edged closer. The surgeon was the best in Kazden, but Dolan would have felt more comfortable if he was operating in his own facility in town. Still, it was too dangerous to chance bringing Kalas there. This was the best they could do. Kalas couldn’t wait any longer for treatment.

  “Baron, I don’t want you to harm the Nazarien you bring in, but make them understand the consequences of silence. Should something happen to my sister, they will pay the ultimate price.”

  “I understand,” answered Parish.

  Kalas exhaled and Dolan could see the tension leave him. “This stuff works fast,” he muttered, blinking his eyes.

  “That’s the idea, Your Majesty,” said the surgeon, reaching over to take Kalas’ pulse. He looked at Attis. “Get my assistant in the hallway.”

  “Assistant?” Kalas tried to sit up, but couldn’t. He blinked his eyes again, fighting to open them.

  “No assistant,” said Dolan.

  The surgeon looked like he would object, but the three men glaring back at him stopped him. “I need an assistant. Someone to hand me instruments.”

  “I will assist,” offered Ellette. She unfolded herself from the chair and moved to the edge of the table.

  Kalas turned his head to look at her. “Ellette?”

  “You must trust me,” she answered. “I have given my pledge to protect you.”

  Kalas’ eyes closed and he sighed. “I don’t wann…” he began, but his voice trailed away. His muscles went slack and his hand slid off the table.

  “Wash your hands,” said the surgeon, holding out a bar of yellow soap, “and touch nothing else.”

  Ellette took the soap, but before she turned away, she lifted Kalas’ hand and laid it against his stomach, trailing her fingers over the back of it. Dolan frowned. Something about her action felt odd, out of place, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

  * * *

  Jarrett eyed the homestead through the trees. Like so many homesteads in the Groziks, it was a loose collection of ramshackle buildings with an orchard behind the main house. The fruit trees were overgrown and brambles choked the ground beneath their bows.

  Allistar brought his horse up beside him. “What is it?”

  Jarrett shot a look at the Stravad. He felt guilty for his black ey
e, but Allistar had given as good as he got. Jarrett’s ribs still ached. “A homestead. I want Tyla to sleep indoors tonight, if possible.”

  Allistar exchanged a look with him, but left it alone.

  “I was trying to get a feel for how many people might be around.”

  “The trees don’t look like they’re well-tended. Maybe the place is abandoned.”

  Jarrett shook his head. “There are flowers in the pots on the porch.”

  “If you can call them that.”

  “Why don’t I go up and you wait here?”

  Allistar glanced over his shoulder at the Stravad warriors. “You’d better be careful. The occupants might have a bow or something.”

  Before Jarrett could dismount, Tyla moved to his other side. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m going to the house and see if they’ll let us camp here tonight. I thought you might like a night indoors.”

  She eyed the structure. Jarrett noted the dark circles under her eyes. “How do you know they’re friendly?”

  “That’s why I want to go alone. Wait here with Allistar, please,” he said. He tried to put it in his most reasonable voice, but that had never stopped Tyla before.

  When she didn’t immediately respond, he swung off his horse and dropped to the ground. He strode off before she had a chance to protest.

  The trees were dense and the homestead had little cleared space around it. The forest appeared to be reclaiming it a little at a time. As he moved through the underbrush, brambles tugged at his trouser legs and dried vegetation crackled under his boot heels. He reached the porch of the main house, but he didn’t mount the stairs.

  The hair on the back of his neck rose and he hesitated, holding his arms out to either side.

  “Come to steal more of my chickens, you blue-eyed bandit,” hissed a male voice behind him.

  Jarrett pivoted as slowly as he could until he faced the man. He was about his own age, maybe a little older, a good head shorter and thin. He had long, strangling brown hair and a shadow of beard on his jaw. His clothes were dusty but serviceable and his boots were worn.

  “Chickens?” Jarrett asked.

  The man held a bow in his hands as Allistar had feared. Lifting his eyes, Jarrett marked the anxious expressions on his companion’s faces and made a motion to hold the Stravad off. “Actually, we were wondering if we might impose on you for some hospitality. Maybe a barn to sleep in?”

  The man’s weapon never wavered. “Yeah, that’s right – impose some more, keep imposing ‘til there’ll be nothing left. I ain’t being robbed by the likes of you again.”

  Jarrett frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who robbed you?”

  “A group of blue-eyed devils just like you came through yesterday. Didn’t bother to ask me to stay. They grabbed up several of my laying hens, killed them, then roasted them in my yard right in front of me. When I told them to leave, they locked me in my root cellar. I finally broke my way out this morning.”

  “Blue-eyed devils? Nazarien?”

  “Dressed exactly like you.” He motioned toward the Stravad. “I guess you got another bunch back there with you, huh?”

  “No,” said Jarrett, exhaling. “They’re Temerian Stravad, not Nazarien. I’m the only Nazarien here.” He tilted his head. “I can’t imagine any Nazarien doing what you said…” He caught himself. Actually, he could. He knew exactly who had come through the homestead. He lowered his arms. “Look, I do know who came here yesterday. They are no longer part of the order. They were thrown out.”

  The man didn’t lower his weapon. “I don’t care. I want you and your devils gone from here.”

  Jarrett started to protest, but he was distracted by motion behind the man. Tyla was striding toward them.

  “Excuse me,” she called.

  The man swung the weapon around and pointed it at her. “Hold on just a damn minute!” he shouted.

  She didn’t hesitate until she stood before him, looking up into his face. Gradually he lowered the bow, staring at her in rapt fascination.

  “Did I hear you say there were other Nazarien here yesterday?”

  The man nodded, unable to speak.

  “And they stole from you?”

  “Killed my chickens right in my yard. Cooked them with wood from my trees.”

  Tyla glanced at Jarrett in surprise, then away. “I’m sorry about that. I’m Tyla,” she said.

  The man lowered the bow further. “Able.” He gave an odd chuckle. “My mama said I was always Ready, Willing and Able, but that was too long to put on the birth certificate.”

  Tyla smiled in return, her entire face lighting. “I like that.” She nodded at Jarrett. “This man is Jarrett Trauner. He’s actually the head of the Nazarien order, Able. We’re headed to Kazden, but we need a place to stay for the night. You have my word that we won’t touch your chickens or anything else of yours. In fact, we want to invite you to dinner. We have our own supplies and you might like to try some authentic Temerian cooking, yes?”

  Able beamed at her. “I would like that. Never been past these hills.”

  “Well, then I think it’s settled. Can I bring my men onto your property?”

  Able gave the Stravad an anxious look, but he was too captivated by Tyla to disagree. “Bring them in.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate you giving us the loan of your barn. I know we’d all like to sleep indoors for a night.”

  Able blushed beneath the shadow on his jaw. “I can’t let a lady like you sleep outside. You can have my brother’s room. It’s dusty, but the bedding is clean, I think?”

  “Thank you, Able, you don’t know how much I appreciate that. And would you tell us more about your encounter with the Nazarien while my men set camp? I know Jarrett is alarmed by what you endured.”

  When Able glanced at him, Jarrett nodded emphatically.

  “All right,” said Able, “I’ll be happy to tell you the whole thing, but first let me show you the room.”

  He ambled off toward the house.

  Jarrett signaled Allistar, then fell into step beside her. “I was handling it just fine,” he remarked.

  “Of course you were. That’s why you had an arrow pointed at your heart.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Whipping the hat off his head, Parish entered the small library Kalas kept in the manor house and crossed to the table where Dolan sat. Dolan had the curtains closed against the sunlight outside, preferring to use the table lamp to light the map of Kazden he was studying.

  “Baron,” the Nazarien acknowledged.

  “Dolan,” he answered. “Is he resting?”

  Dolan didn’t need clarification. “I believe so. Attis is guarding his room.”

  “And the woman?”

  “I had a seamstress come to fit her for a more appropriate wardrobe.”

  Parish’s green eyes danced and a dimple appeared in his cheek. “I’ll bet she’s hating that.”

  “It was the only way I could get her to leave Kalas’ side. I don’t like leaving her alone with him.”

  Parish nodded. “I sure wouldn’t trust her. I wish he’d send her away.”

  “He won’t now, not after she saved his life.”

  Parish sank into the chair, dropping his hat on the table. “I’m actually glad he’s not here. I have unpleasant news to share.”

  Dolan leaned back. “Go on.”

  “I was just at the morgue a few hours ago. They’ve reported nine deaths in the last week.”

  “The plague?”

  “They died vomiting blood. I think it’s a good bet that’s the cause.”

  “Do we have an exact count?”

  “I’m working on that. We’re checking all of the hospitals and the smaller funeral homes. I should have a number for you by tomorrow.”

  Dolan rubbed at the tattoo on his cheek. “This is bad news.”

  “It gets worse.”

  Dolan forced himself to lower his hand. He clasped his fingers to keep hi
mself from rubbing his cheek. “Go on.”

  “One of the patrols we sent came back about an hour ago. They made it to the base of the Groziks before they returned.”

  “Why did they return?”

  “They found a body.”

  Dolan narrowed his eyes, but didn’t respond.

  “Burned beyond recognition, but when they turned it over to find identification, they discovered a mail bag.”

  “The missing messenger.”

  “That’s my thinking.”

  “Could they read any of the letters?”

  “No, they crumbled to ash in their hands. They looked around for the man’s horse, but it wasn’t there. They did find horse prints riding toward the west.”

  “Nazarien?”

  Parish shrugged. “You can bet they wouldn’t have wasted good horse flesh.”

  “It wasn’t Nazarien,” came Kalas’ voice from the doorway. “Nazarien wouldn’t do that. It was Quinn Laurel and his men.”

  Dolan looked up, then scrambled to his feet. Parish rose a moment later, ducking his head in obeisance as Kalas crossed the room. His arm was in a sling and he looked pale. Dark circles marred the flesh beneath his eyes.

  “You need rest, Your Majesty.”

  Kalas smiled at him. “I can’t sleep for worry about my sister. Do you know how much sleep that woman has cost me over the years?”

  Parish shared his smile. “I’ve lost a few hours to her myself, Your Majesty.”

  Kalas sank into a chair and grimaced as he jarred his shoulder. “Sit, gentlemen,” he ordered.

  Both men obeyed.

  “I agree with you, Your Majesty,” said Parish. “No regular Nazarien would have done anything like that, but Quinn might have guessed that Tyla would attempt to contact you about the plague.”