Lara Croft and the Blade of Gwynnever

by Dan Abnett

  Lara laughed.

  “For women to have been written out of history, Carter, they would’ve had to have been written into history in the first place. Imagine how extraordinary a woman had to be to be written about.”

  “I take your point, Lara, but where does it get us?”

  “Not far, right now,” said Lara, “but we’ll work it out. Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a plane to catch in the morning.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

  BEASTS

  The Couchette

  Lara heard the long, rising howl in her hindbrain.

  It subsided, and then swelled again, beginning low, rising, breaking, and then rising once more. She could see, in her mind’s eye, the stretched neck of the wolf, the toss of its head, the shape of its jaw silhouetted against the cloudless, moonlit sky.

  Lara jostled and tossed. She needed to sleep. She breathed long as the sound receded. Then she relaxed.

  There it was again. A perfectly pitched howl. A call, a song, bestial but sonorous, before it ascended through a scale until it was high and clear, breaking, dropping, and then rising once again.

  Lara rolled over, opened her eyes, blinked, and brushed her hand over the surface she was lying on. She was surprised to find herself on a blanket of mulch and moss, a scattering of newly fallen dry autumn leaves that shielded her from the cool night air.

  She stood and blinked again, her eyes adjusting to the twilight and the woodland canopy of trees, still half-clothed in their autumn leaves, red and gold.

  Lara swung hard at the waist as she heard the low rumble, the start of another howl. The wolf was close. Before it had sung half its scale, a second dog had picked up the call and was answering, not far away. The pack was forming.

  Lara stared hard into the shadows between the trees.

  There!

  Eyes of palest grey stared back at her. Head low, between and beneath slinking shoulders. Howls rang out all over the woods. This wolf was silent. It peeled back its lips, bared its teeth, its gums. Then it grinned, a wide-mouthed threat.

  Lara reached for her weapon. She did not think; she acted. When the wolf struck, the blade was already in the air, anticipating the attack.

  Lara took a long step forwards and swept the sword across her body in one killing blow. The swing of her arm cut the wolf through the throat, diagonally from left to right.

  A rustle of leaves behind her alerted Lara to the second beast. She turned and lunged, blade held firmly out in front of her, the point disappearing into the right eye of the second wolf before it had a chance to pounce.

  It was almost as if the weapon had a life of its own, as if it needed only for her hand to be curled around the grip for it to do its work. Lara did not need to exert herself, only to allow the sword to do its work. It felt weightless, magical.

  A third wolf lunged and took a blow to its back that severed its spinal column. Lara skewered the fourth through the chest.

  Dying, the fourth wolf screamed. The answering howl was a stuttering cry, unlike the clear, confident song, the call and return that had been the pack’s pattern.

  Then the howls subsided.

  Lara stood for a moment, caught her breath. The sun was filtering down through the canopy, spotting the woodland floor with dappled light. It was morning twilight. Time to catch the flight to Cairo.

  Lara looked down at her weapon. Why hadn’t she just shot the wolves? It would have been quicker and easier. She didn’t use a sword. Why was she holding the obsidian sword? The obsidian sword was in Cairo with Denny. Then she heard a guttural sound and instinctively sheathed the blade.

  It wasn’t the sonorous beginnings of a howl, but something new. Lara heard a gruff snort and shuffling footfalls in the mulch. She heard a tree creak, as if some heavy weight was leaning against it.

  On her guard, Lara crept around the clearing, keeping among the trees, looking for signs of company. The grunting and snuffling continued.

  Suddenly, she was looking into small, close-set, dark brown eyes. Sad eyes set on either side of a broad, brown, furred nose.

  The eyes looked back into hers. The beast tilted its head a little and made a noise, a snuffle, a breath. It tilted its head again, blinked, and almost nodded.

  Lara wanted to reach out and touch the bear. She should have been afraid, but somehow she wasn’t.

  She remembered that it was almost morning and that she needed to catch a plane to Cairo. She remembered that she was tired. She had a while yet. She chose a tree a little way away from the bear and sat down with her back to its trunk. She’d keep him company for a little while.

  She leant back and closed her eyes.

  “Lara, are you awake?”

  “Careful, Carter.”

  “What? What’s the matter, Lara?”

  “Bear. Don’t disturb the bear.”

  “Lara. Lara. Wake up. You’re just dreaming, Lara.”

  Lara sat up and then lay back down, clutching her head.

  “Damned bunks!” she said.

  “You just brushed your head. There’s almost clearance,” said Carter. “You’re fine, just startled. What were you dreaming about?”

  “I haven’t slept properly in days,” said Lara. “I guess I was just reliving the stuff with the wolves, and there was some wish-fulfillment mixed in, wanting to get the sword back. I was killing wolves with it. It was exhilarating, actually.”

  “Funny,” said Carter. “You were talking about bears.”

  “That is funny,” said Lara, getting off her bunk and starting to tidy herself up. “Come to think of it, there was a bear. A beautiful brown bear.”

  “Do they have bears in Turkey?”

  “I wasn’t in Turkey. I was in, I don’t know... It felt like old English woodland.”

  “There haven’t been bears in Britain for a thousand years.”

  Lara laughed.

  “It was a dream, Carter. Just a crazy dream.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

  THE BUYER

  Cairo

  Le Riad in Old Cairo was only the second hotel that Lara and Carter visited.

  “Can I leave a message for Mr. Denny Sampson, please?” Lara asked the desk clerk.

  “Mr. Sampson is in his room,” said the clerk. “He has another visitor, but I can telephone, if you’d care to wait.”

  Lara and Carter exchanged glances.

  “No, thank you,” said Lara. “I don’t want to disturb him. May we wait? If you could let us know when his visitor has left.”

  “Of course, Madam,” said the clerk. “Can I offer you some refreshment? Some tea, perhaps?”

  “Thank you,” said Lara. “That would be most welcome.”

  Lara and Carter found a cool, quiet corner, out of the way, under some shuttered windows. Lara could see the entrance to the hotel, so could catch a glimpse of people entering or leaving, but unless visitors had a very good look around, she was unlikely to be spotted. Carter sat opposite her, his back to the door.

  “Nice place,” said Carter as they sipped strong, aromatic tea from tiny, coloured glass bowls.

  “You can say a lot of terrible things about Denny, and I do, but the man knows history, and he has great taste.”

  “I’ve never been to Cairo old town.”

  Lara looked shocked.

  “That shouldn’t surprise you,” said Carter. “I’ve worked out here—everybody has—but when it comes to hotels, it’s the pick of the cheap and cheerful, the crowded, the modern, and the dull.” He laughed.

  “Remind me to show you around, if we get the chance.”

  Carter laughed again.

  “What are the chances of that happening?”

  “Speaking of chances,” said Lara. “What are the chances of one of us recognising Denny’s buyer if he happens to walk through that door?�
�

  She raised her half-full glass of tea towards the entrance, and Carter looked over his shoulder. “Come and sit beside me. I want your eyes on this.”

  “Do you think we’ll recognise him?” asked Carter, switching seats.

  “If we do, it could give us a clue as to why the sword is such an important artefact,” said Lara. “Why men are willing to kill for it.”

  “The sale could be happening right now,” said Carter.

  “Then we’ll have a new lead to follow,” said Lara. “More tea?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Shh,” said Lara, ten minutes later.

  Carter stopped speculating on the subject of women warriors, mid-sentence, and listened. He heard what Lara had heard.

  The sound of Denny’s distinctive laughter filled the atrium as he jogged down the last few steps from the rooms above and walked towards the hotel entrance.

  Then they heard a woman’s voice, and Lara flinched.

  “So, you’ll meet me tomorrow, Mr. Sampson. You know where and when. If you can get me that footage of Lara Croft at Zizek’s auction, I’ll trust your authentication of the piece, and we can complete the transaction.”

  “Miss Croft is a fine woman,” said Denny.

  “She’s arrogant and obnoxious,” said the woman. “In short, she’s a delight.”

  They both laughed.

  Denny’s back came into view as the two figures embraced lightly, and then the woman was gone before Carter had got a good look at her.

  Denny stood for a moment longer, his back still to Lara and Carter, and then turned back into the hotel.

  “I don’t believe it,” murmured Lara.

  “What? Who was he with? You know her?” asked Carter.

  “Florence Race,” said Lara. “Manipulative, conniving, hateful Florence Race.”

  “You want to follow her?”

  “I want to punch her in the face,” said Lara. “Or worse.”

  She saw the way Carter was looking at her.

  “Long story,” she said. “Old story. Bad story.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No need for details,” Lara replied, shaking her head. “Last time we met, she went out of her way to double-cross me and try to kill me as many times as possible. She’s absolutely irredeemable, and the last person I wanted to find mixed up in this.”

  “Does this change things?” Carter asked. “Do we need to rethink?”

  “No need,” said Lara. “This is what it is, and we’re in it now. We can deal with Denny.”

  Lara got up from her seat, and stepped behind a pillar from where she got a view of the very friendly, very efficient desk clerk. She waited until the clerk had turned her back to attend to something, and gestured for Carter to follow her. They crossed the atrium and started up the stairs without being seen.

  “We don’t know what room he’s in,” said Carter.

  “He only ever takes two rooms here,” said Lara. “He’ll be in one of them.”

  Lara stood in front of the door with her right hand casually resting on the grip of the Sig nine in its thigh holster. Carter was standing where she had placed him, to one side of the door, against the wall, out of sight of anyone opening the door.

  She knocked. Two light raps. Carter waited with bated breath. When there was no answer for ten seconds, he let the breath go. As they made their way to the next room, Carter said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure that I wanted to do something,” said Lara.

  “Okay, then,” said Carter as they stopped in front of a second door. He took up his position. Lara rested her right hand on the grip of her gun, and knocked on the door with her left.

  They heard noises from inside, and then the door was opened.

  “Lara,” said Denny.

  Before he could say anything else, Lara had drawn her gun and its barrel was pressed to Denny’s forehead. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “That’s me,” said Lara. “The proverbial bad penny.”

  Carter stepped into the doorway beside her.

  “Back up, Denny,” said Lara.

  Denny made a move to turn around.

  “There’s nothing behind you, Denny,” said Lara, “and I want to see your face. Now, back up.”

  Denny stumbled backwards into the room, Lara’s gun pressed against his forehead the entire time. Carter stepped into the room behind them and closed the door. He moved past Lara, and she tossed him a cable tie. He took hold of Denny’s hands, and secured them behind his back. Then he sat him down on the bed.

  Lara handed Carter her other gun, and he trained it on Denny. She lowered her own weapon, but didn’t holster it.

  “You seem upset, Lara,” said Denny, trying a half-smile on her.

  “Upset doesn’t begin to cover it,” said Lara.

  “That’s a pity,” said Denny, “because you were just the person I wanted to see.”

  “This must have something to do with your dealings with the despicable Miss Race,” said Lara.

  “Oh,” said Denny. “You found out about that, huh?”

  “You left us in that bloody fortress in the middle of nowhere to die,” said Lara. “If Vata hadn’t killed us, the wolves would have.”

  “And the hyenas would have devoured the evidence,” said Denny. He laughed. “There isn’t a scrape on earth you couldn’t wriggle your way out of, Croft.”

  “You double-crossed me,” said Lara.

  “That’s what I do,” said Denny.

  “With Florence Race.”

  “You make it sound like a delicious love triangle,” said Denny.

  “You’re a pig,” said Lara.

  “So you said,” said Denny. “But this little piggy can take you to market.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” asked Lara.

  “It means that I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine,” said Denny. “Okay, so I set you up. If you do me one small favour, I’ll do you a big favour in return.”

  It was Lara’s turn to laugh.

  “You’re bound and I’ve got a gun trained on you, Denny, and you still think you stand a chance,” she said. “What do I have to do to convince you that you’ve screwed with me for the last time?”

  “Okay, Lara. You win this round. I like you. What do you want?”

  “You can start by telling me what you’ve got planned,” said Lara, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of Denny.

  “Just free my hands, and we’ll have a nice long chat about it,” said Denny.

  “Not a chance,” said Lara, “and keep that gun on him, Carter.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Denny, “but don’t expect me to cut you any slack in the future.”

  “Assuming you have a future,” said Lara. “Now talk.”

  Denny sighed.

  “I’m going to sell the artefact to Florence Race,” he said. “She has deep pockets, but she wants assurances.”

  “That’s why she was asking for footage of me at the auction,” said Lara.

  “I told her that you’d seen the artefact and authenticated it. That you would have bid for it at Zizek’s market, if I hadn’t taken Strand and made him pull it from the sale.”

  “And she believed you?” asked Lara.

  “I’m a convincing storyteller,” said Denny. “Mostly because I stay close to the truth. But she wanted proof. She trusts your judgment. She talked about you so much, I wonder if she has an obsession with you, Croft. Perhaps there’s a touch of the Sapphic about Miss Race.” Denny laughed.

  “Well, good for her,” said Lara. “But if you have the footage, you don’t need me.”

  “I don’t have the footage,” said Denny. “There is no footage. Zizek’s clie
nts are not public people. The first hint of surveillance cameras and no one would show up for his little spectaculars. I was bluffing.”

  “Great,” said Lara.

  “Great that you’re here,” said Denny. “You can come with me to the meeting tomorrow and tell her yourself that the sword’s the real deal.”

  “Like I said, not a chance,” said Lara.

  “Hear me out,” said Denny. “Here’s my half of the bargain. I tell you everything you need to know so that when the transaction’s complete—when the money’s safely in my pocketbook and the sword’s in Miss Race’s possession—you get the chance to take it back.”

  “By force?” asked Lara.

  “Didn’t you just take out a pack of wolves?” asked Denny, “Oh...and a pack of Wolves!” He broke into his belly laugh, coughed twice, and composed himself, with Lara and Carter looking on in disbelief. “See, Croft, anything can be funny.”

  “I could just take the sword off you now, by force,” said Lara.

  “You could if it was here,” said Denny. He tried to shrug, but the gesture was limited by the cable tie securing his wrists. Lara raised her gun and pressed it once more into Denny’s forehead.

  “Search the room, Carter,” she said, “thoroughly.”

  Carter searched the room. He emptied drawers and cupboards, checked Denny’s luggage, and then went into the bathroom to search there. He returned empty-handed.

  “And the bed,” said Lara.

  Carter took Denny by the arm and helped him to his feet. Lara stood, too, keeping the barrel of her gun in contact with Denny’s forehead at all times.

  Carter stripped the bed and checked the pillows, the mattress, and the divan. Then he checked under the bed.

  “It’s not here, Lara,” he said.

  Carter sat Denny on the stripped bed, and trained his gun on him once more. Lara lowered her gun and took the seat opposite Denny.

  “Where’s the sword, Denny?” she asked.

  Denny laughed again.

  “I’d have to be really incredibly stupid to tell you that,” said Denny. “The sword’s the ace up my sleeve. If I told you where it was, that would be the end of this delicious game. This is the most fun I’ve had in years.”