And Pitkins?
And Donive?
A whir went past his ear, interrupting his thoughts. He quickly saw it was a konulan, and he turned into the first alley and began walking.
Five minutes later, he saw the konulan come back. Next thing he knew, Billy was hovering before him.
“News?”
“She’s not at Rucifus’s mansion, not anymore.”
“But she’s alive?”
“Unclear. I heard some of the guards outside the mansion say she had been taken elsewhere, shortly after Pitkins got clobbered.”
“Anything else?”
“The konulans have arrived from Selegania. There are about 150 of us. We have started following everybody that leaves Rucifus’s mansion. It’s only a matter of time before they lead us to her.”
“And just a matter of time before Rucifus gets weary with the whole thing and decides to slit her throat.”
Silence.
“And Harold?”
“He’s barking strict orders as usual, keeping us on our toes,” Billy said rather good-naturedly.
Righty felt some stress slide off his back at this mildly good news, but still felt he was carrying around a piece of lumber far heavier than any he had ever hoisted during his years at the lumberyard. He was exhausted, felt he had accomplished little today, and yet knew of nothing else he could do until he learned of Donive’s location.
And he had no idea just what in the hell he would do once he learned it.
He flagged down a carriage and then took it to the edge of town and then headed towards the woods. He needed to rest and wanted to be completely alone except for updates from the konulans.
He lay out underneath the dim stars and closed his eyes.
Chapter 35
When Righty felt a gust of wind against his face, he thought he was still dreaming. Moments earlier, he had been flying around on Harold’s back without a care in the world. No kidnapped lady. No choice between turning his back on a friend and losing a multibillionaire client, with whom he would probably be shortly at war. No choice between keeping this a secret from his most trusted subordinate and asking him openly to side with him against his own flesh and blood.
Just pleasant breeze.
Yet, when he dared open his eyes and saw Harold seated a few feet from him with business written all over his serious face, he knew dream time was over. It was still dark out. A quick glance at his watch revealed he had slept about five hours. Dawn would be fast approaching.
“We know where she is,” Harold said matter-of-factly.
Righty jumped to his feet as quickly as if he were under attack. Then immediately felt an urge to go hide. This was too soon to be good news. He wasn’t psychologically prepared. A subconscious part of him now realized the agony of uncertainty was still less terrifying than the moment of truth.
“Really . . . how?”
“Rucifus has some big mouths working for her. The konulans have been within earshot of every thug patrolling her yard and reporting to me every several minutes on their conversations. I already have a pretty good idea of what went down that night, but that’s neither here nor there.
“Rucifus knows you went to jail, and she’s mighty frightened about it. At one point, she had the window down and was talking to one of her subordinates and told him to go move Donive at once and triple the guard around her. She also told him that if Pitkins steps one foot outside that jail before coming to an agreement with her, Donive is to be killed immediately and that she is starting to think it would be best to kill her very soon if Pitkins doesn’t come to his senses.”
Righty saw Janie’s face in front of him and suddenly recollected a nightmare he had before his blissful dream took over. She had stood over his grave with crying Heather, now a toddler. Heather asked her mother why her daddy had died. Janie’s eyes had filled with tears, but the rest of the dream faded away when confronted with the current reality of the situation like darkness fleeing light.
He strained to recall whether her face had been approving or vindictive. Had she seen him as a dead hero or a dead fool who had abandoned his family to meddle in someone else’s problems? Not even that relic survived. Sadness was the only clear emotion.
“Righty?”
“Let’s do this,” he said mechanically.
“Why do you care about him so much?” Harold asked.
Righty paused, knowing he didn’t have a perfect answer. “Perhaps my fate, or a loved one’s, will one day be in the hands of someone else.” He paused. “She was rich before she met me. But I’ve turned her into a monster. She had to have bought up at least three-quarters of the nobles to be able to kidnap a nobleman’s daughter and have her war-hero husband go to the gallows for trying to save her.”
Harold studied Righty’s face, which was studying the ground.
Righty looked up directly into Harold’s eyes. “I’m responsible, Harold. Heck, we’re responsible, if you want the honest truth.”
Harold looked away briefly.
“Let’s do this,” Righty said, the mechanical apathy replaced with genuine determination.
He hopped onto Harold’s back and immediately took off.
“Lucky for us, it’s still dark,” Harold said.
Righty almost argued, before recalling Harold’s night vision.
A konulan flew to Harold and emitted a quick series of chirps before flying back towards town.
“We’ve got fifty konulans either following Rucifus’s thugs or reporting back to me on their location.”
Harold adjusted his direction slightly each time a konulan approached him chirping.
In what seemed like cruelly insufficient time for Righty to prepare psychologically for what was to come, he heard the dreaded words from Harold, “They’re right below us.”
“Are they with Donive or en route?”
“En route,” Harold replied without hesitation.
There couldn’t be a worse leader in charge of tactical operations, Righty told himself gloomily.
If you wait till they arrive, you’ll be dealing single-handedly with a larger force. But if you attack now, you won’t be able to find Donive.
“Are they our only means of finding her . . . was an address or any other clue given?”
“None.”
Righty groaned.
“All right. We wait till the carriage stops in front of a house, and then we strike. I’m gonna need your help, buddy.”
“You got it.”
Harold soared in lazy circles, easily keeping up with the plodding carriage.
Righty’s spirits vacillated from terror to boredom and then back.
Then, when he least expected it, “They’ve stopped.”
Righty didn’t have time to bark any orders, and he barely had time to grab onto the strap around Harold’s back and hold on for dear life as he abruptly dropped into a vertical nose dive.
Just when Righty thought his insides were going to explode from the pressure, Harold abruptly tilted upright. A fountain of blood shot out from where Harold extended his right talon and severed the head of a man just about to knock on the door.
Harold then flared his wings out wide, bringing them to a stop so quickly Righty felt his back was about to snap.
But he didn’t miss a beat between that and rolling off of Harold. No sooner had his feet touched the ground than his hands went behind his neck, pulled out his dagger, and then extended it to business size.
He barely suppressed the desire to let out a warlike yell, which would have done wonders for relieving the unbearable tension but been less helpful at keeping the attack a surprise.
“Watch out!” a voice from the carriage cried a half second before Righty’s right boot pulverized the lock on the door.
Five terrified faces looked up from glasses of whiskey and a game of cards.
Righty brought his sword horizontally across the closest man’s neck and cut off his head so cleanly it stayed in place for a second before tum
bling off like an improperly balanced decoration.
The next man was halfway out of his chair before Righty brought his sword straight down onto the man’s skull, slicing it neatly in half.
The next man made it all the way out of his chair, and had his sword partially out of its sheathe when Righty crashed his boot into the man’s belly. The second Righty’s boot touched the ground he brought his sword across horizontally cleaving the man in two at the waist.
He blocked an incoming sword strike to his neck a blink before it would have sent a geyser of blood spurting from his jugular.
His block knocked the sword out of his opponent’s hand, and Righty brought his own sword down diagonally cutting the man in two from his left shoulder to his right ribs.
The final man held his sword out defensively with horror painted all over his face. The momentary pause in action allowed Righty to hear some terrifying screams from outside. He barely resisted the urge to see what Harold was up to, realizing even just one peek might result in him being the one screaming.
Righty feinted convincingly with a forward lunge. As the man’s sword came across center, facing downward to block the thrust, Righty quickly retracted his sword, brought it up over his head, and then brought it downward across the man’s sword hand, severing it instantly.
He then lunged forward and poked his sword through the man’s heart.
“HELP!!” came a frightened scream from a nearby room.
Righty kicked open the door so hard splinters went flying.
As he stepped inside, he would have been a dead man if a ready opponent had been within striking distance, for the sight he saw stole his breath from him.
Never before had he seen such beauty, such dignity. That she possessed it in light of unspeakable trials left him all the more spellbound. Her blond hair and blue eyes made him think he was surely dead from a lethal wound and was now witnessing a goddess come to soothe his soul.
He blushed when her alert eyes seemed to read his dumbfounded face, yet they were without judgment.
Her hands were tied above her with a rope fastened to the ceiling, and only by standing on her tippy-toes did she avoid being completely suspended in the air.
On the ground, face as red as an apple, hands shaking like leaves, was a man frantically trying to hoist his pants up over his nude legs.
Righty reduced his sword to dagger size with a quick snap and began walking towards the man with a dread determination in his eyes.
“NO!” shouted the man in horror, as if he had already guessed the specifics of his fate.
When he stuck a hand out to keep Righty away, he quickly grabbed his wrist and sliced the man’s hand off as casually as though it were the top of a carrot.
He then looked deeply into his eyes as he grabbed a handful of unmentionable material and then squeezed violently.
“AHHHHHH!!!” the man screamed.
“Don’t worry,” Righty said coldly. “It’s the last time you’ll ever feel pain there.”
A quick slice proved the point, and then the man went into convulsions of pain and writhing.
Righty picked up Donive’s dress from the floor and walked over to her with a business-like gait he hoped would reduce her shame.
With a quick motion of his sword, he severed the rope above her. With a surgeon’s proficiency, he grabbed both of her wrists and quickly hacked the rope between them.
He then handed her dress to her and immediately turned his back.
Only when he felt her arm encircle his, did he dare turn back towards her.
“Who are you?” she asked, a confused look on her face.
“A student of your husband’s, ma’am. Though I would like to consider myself a friend.”
“Where is he?”
“There’s no time to explain now. I need to warn you that you’re going to see some things that will make you think you’re dreaming. Please ignore them, and trust me.”
Her magical blue eyes seemed capable of withstanding anything to Righty, but for a moment he saw them cloud with fear.
She nodded with grim determination and followed him.
She came to an abrupt halt when the scant moonlight revealed that her next step would place her onto the feathery back of some unknown beast, but Righty eased her indecisiveness by immediately lifting her off her feet, carrying her onto Harold, and then giving him a sharp little whistle to take off.
Donive grabbed onto Righty’s hand so hard he was beginning to wonder if he would ever regain circulation.
“Easy there,” he said, giving her a little squeeze back to hint that he didn’t appreciate the vice currently probing the breaking point of his bones.
When she suddenly fainted, he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Half of him was beaming with pride for being a fairytale knight in shining armor with the rescued maiden; the other half was anxious to get rid of a burden so that he could go find his friend before Rucifus’s thugs pounded his skull the rest of the way in.
If there was anyone tailing them and who saw what happened, it was a race between that person to tell Rucifus and her sending someone to the jail, and Righty finding some place safe to deposit his golden treasure before returning there himself.
Harold seemed to read Righty’s thoughts, as he arched his head backwards and said, “Where to?”
“Her house,” Righty replied.
Righty’s heart sank as he realized he was going to have at least one more bloodbath tonight before he could even steal a few hours of peaceful sleep, after which he could then attempt to grapple with the enormity of his involvement in this affair and his acquisition of a powerful enemy at the same time his organization in Sivingdel was being infiltrated by some kind of shadowy, unstoppable force hacking its way to the top as easily as a swordsman through pillows.
Yet he realized he was going to have to get Donive some place out of Sivingdel. He knew intuitively Pitkins would rather Donive be tucked away somewhere safe, even at the expense of him having to fend for himself at the moment Rucifus’s thugs arrived at the jail to finish off what little was left of him.
Once Harold set Righty down, it seemed he was outside his own body watching himself from afar as he hopped off and ran into Donive’s house and came back with the large dog in his arms.
“Have you lost your mind, Righty?” Harold inquired.
“Possibly, but this here fella’s comin’ with us.”
“One bite to my back, and I’m chucking all of you off.”
Righty smiled, hoping he could convince Harold he was joking, although he knew he wasn’t.
The dog’s eyes shot rapidly back and forth with fear, but he then began to whine happily once he saw Donive.
“Wuf!” he shouted joyously.
This momentary calm was sufficient for Righty to get the dog onto Harold’s back without being bitten.
The Infiltrators Page 20