Miami Days and Truscan (K)nights

by Gail Roughton

  Dalph rose and went to check the guards, and when he came back, we settled in together in our double bedrolls as far away from the others as was safe. We talked a lot in the night, softly, so that the sound wouldn’t carry, and I knew he treasured the quiet privacy as much as I did.

  That night, when we were warmly wrapped together with my back against his chest, spoon-fashion, his hand slipped from its accustomed position around my waist down to my lower stomach.

  “So, you truly aren’t going to tell me?”

  I don’t know why I was surprised; I suppose I thought he’d had too much to occupy himself with to notice. I’d also thought that though theoretically, he knew the women of my world had monthly cycles, he certainly hadn’t grown up with that knowledge and that probably the thought that Mother Nature hadn’t called but once during our marriage wouldn’t cross his mind.

  “I thought you had enough to worry about. And that it’d be a nice victory present.”

  “I’ve tried not to say anything, but it worries me that you might be pushing yourself too hard—so as not to worry me. You don’t feel ill?”

  I laughed softly. “No, quite the little Truscan warrior on campaign. I haven’t felt sick at all, actually. Or even much more tired than usual. As though he doesn’t want to interfere. His father’s son.”

  “No, Tess. Her mother’s daughter. Her name’s Madeleine.”

  I started. “You think it’s a girl?”

  “I know it’s a girl. Who was conceived in Miami when we passed through, wasn’t she? In her grandmother’s and mother’s world.”

  I turned over to face him.

  “Yes. Have the Stones been talking to you again?”

  “Well, I figured out you were with child on my own. But yes, the stones think Trusca needs more women from Beyond the Door. Much more efficient to make our own, don’t you think?” I wished I could see his face. He was grinning, I knew.

  “How chummy have you and the stones gotten? I can’t tell anymore when they’re talking to you.”

  “And it’s a bad thing that my head doesn’t nearly explode with pain and I don’t run wet with sweat anymore?”

  “Of course not! But still, what else are they saying?”

  “They are confident of victory. And I’m much more confident myself since seeing Prias. Still, I wish I were Truscan enough to believe them unconditionally, Tess. But then, I’ve never been wholly Truscan, I’ve always had too much of my mother in me. Brenden should have been first-born.”

  I reached up and over and kissed his cheek. “No, he certainly shouldn’t have been. Trusca would have fallen long since had a hot-head held the throne. It doesn’t bother you if it’s a girl? You won’t mind?”

  “There’s no if, Tess, and no it. She’s a girl, trust me. And certainly it doesn’t bother me. You know I have a weakness for the women from Beyond the Door.”

  “Yes, thank all the gods of both worlds, I know you do.”

  He kissed my hair. “Go to sleep, my Queen. Hard riding ahead.”

  “And you, my King? Are you actually sleeping?”

  “Enough. Go to sleep.”

  I yawned. “Miami Nice. I’ll explain later.”

  And two days later, we made our last camp behind a series of low, sandy hillocks; the camp from which we would ride on Prias, which Dalph and Carlos advised was about five miles outside the city proper.

  “So close?”

  “They’re overconfident. They don’t patrol this far inside the borders. But this is the last cover sufficient for such numbers. We rest a few hours. And then we ride.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It seemed I’d only just gone to sleep when Dalph shook my shoulders.

  “Tess, it’s time.”

  I opened my eyes and then closed them again briefly, in silent prayer to all the gods of both worlds—in supplication. We rode slowly and quietly, toward the Prian capital, until I thought I could see, faintly in the distance, the roof line of Prias. Dalph raised his hand, signaling a stop.

  He pulled out of the first line of riders, which was always the Truscan-American contingent, and turned Pegasus to face the Truscan troops. I expected a battle speech but I didn’t get one. Rather, Dalph threw back his head and issued a blood-curdling howl; a howl picked up and repeated by the entire Truscan army, as Dalph wheeled Pegasus around and flew like the wind toward the walls of Prias. The Truscans surged forward, the sound of pounding hooves mingling with those echoing howls that split the night and bounced back from the darkness; those howls that kept repeating, over and over, in different keys, from every Truscan warrior, eerie beyond description.

  In the midst of the mad rush, I saw Johnny herd his three young charges to the side, and I knew he was reminding them that they were to stay as near as possible to the rear and side of the battle. And lots of luck with that, too, I thought, because I certainly didn’t share Dalph and Johnny’s confidence that the boys would do as they were told, probably because I was actually so much more a rebel than Dalph was. But there was nothing I could do about that, so I became, for the moment, pure American, and sent out another silent supplication—Holy Mary, Mother of God, please keep them safe.

  I roared into the city with the first Truscan lines and as we hit the streets, the explosions began—the gunpowder mini-bombs with which Carlos had armed them all, lit by means of the packs and packs of mini Bic cigarette lighters that Carlos had brought back in his sacks of wonders from Beyond the Door. I’d been amazed at his foresight when he’d pulled them out, actually, and had freely admitted that I wouldn’t have thought of the lighters, which admission had resulted in another ersatz fainting spell from Carlos.

  I’d fallen behind my assigned spot a bit, and looked around, intent on making my way to Dalph and Carlos, whose intended goal during this battle was to get to the stronghold located in the middle of the city. I was supposed to stay with them, but as always, “the best laid schemes o' mice an' men, gang aft agley.” In the mass of Prian bodies and the smoke of the explosions. I’d gotten side-tracked. It was my own fault, and I could only hope it didn’t put either of them in jeopardy because they’d certainly come back as soon as they saw I hadn’t been able to keep up. The explosions continued, and then I began to hear mightier explosions, and knew that the first of the plastique bombs had gone off. Prians were pouring into the streets now, and the explosions were getting louder, seeming to come from everywhere at once, and that’s why I stupidly lowered my guard as I plowed through, heading toward Dalph.

  The shout came from my left rear. “Madda! Look out!” Dal’s voice rang in my ear, and the Prian who’d been about to shish-kabob me fell in the street. Dal pulled his dripping sword from the body and wheeled his horse around to my side.

  “You’re supposed to stay back, brat! Don’t you listen?!” I shouted, wheeling Andromeda around so that we guarded each other’s backs.

  “Well, excuse me if I take exception to a Prian skewering my mother!” he shouted back, both our swords ringing against Prian metal as we fought our way clear of the mass of Prians who’d magically converged around us. I reached in my saddlebag of wonders for one of the gunpowder mini-bombs for when we were sufficiently clear of the Prian bodies. When we were, I lit it and threw it back into the crowd. The smoke and the screams merged with the darkness of pre-dawn, a scene from Dante’s Inferno.

  “You’re supposed to be with Crayton and Cretor! Where are they?” I shouted over the noise.

  “Flanking Johnny, where’d you think they are? He’s not as young as he used to be! You didn’t really think we’d just stay back like babies, did you?” Dal shouted back. Well, I’d expected nothing of the kind; one rebel always recognized another. The little boy was well and truly gone and I’d miss him. But the newly emergent young man was going to be something else again, that much was already obvious. I strained my eyes and caught sight of Dalph, who’d also caught sight of us and just as I feared, was trying to backtrack.

  “C’mon, we need to catch
your father! And keep up!”

  “What’d you think I’m trying to do?!” he shouted back, his sword engaging again. I saw another body hit the ground; one more Prian misguided enough to try this enraged Truscan Prince with the bloodlust of battle blazing in his eyes, the wolf predominant even in human form. I fleetingly wondered if all the Tornans looked so vulpine in battle; I’d never seen them attack as humans before. And I thought again how much I’d miss my little boy.

  Through the continuing haze of smoky darkness and the hellacious roars of the explosions, I saw Dalph and then spotted Carlos. We were almost beside them. Mini-bombs exploded behind me, expertly thrown by our resident Demolition Man, and then we were together again, wheeling into a circle, guarding each other’s backs.

  “Dal! What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dalph roared, in a tone I’d never heard him use to his son before, a tone that, the week before, would have sent shivers down Dal’s spine. It sent shivers down mine now.

  Apparently, it didn’t make a lot of impression on Dal. “Guarding my mother!” he shouted back at his father. “And if you got a problem with that, get over it ’cause you have left me behind for the last time, is that clear?”

  Even in the heat of battle, I saw the shock on Dalph’s face, also reflected, I knew, in both mine and Carlos’ expressions.

  Then I saw Dalph’s face changing, to what, I wasn’t yet sure. And then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  “Brentar and Brenden!” he shouted. “Re-born in battle! I’d never have thought!”

  “Well, think later, Your Majesty!” shouted Carlos from his other side, who had adopted the ‘Your Majesty’ as his surreptitious means of letting both Dalph and myself know he was unimpressed with our royal status while simultaneously indicating to all others that he was overwhelmed with it. “We’ve got to move!”

  The battle raged on. The explosions came from all around, all sides, simultaneously, birthing sweeping walls of fire in their wake, an inferno from the depths of Hell. And from all sides, the Prians surged from the structures, shocked out of sleep, wielding their heavy swords—rather ineffectively, thank the gods—from their disadvantaged position on the ground. And from all sides, from everywhere, the ululating howls of the invading Truscans permeated the air. Pegasus and Andromeda and Perseus, that trio named for the mythical trio of Greek legend, mythical themselves in appearance, alternately reared and pawed and lowered their beautiful, deadly, curving horns, clearing a path before us as we all wheeled around again and started once more toward Kruska’s stronghold.

  It was taller than the other Prian structures, but still squat and ugly, as though the Prian race were incapable of constructing anything different. By the time we got there, the Prian guards were already under attack by Truscan troops and we flung ourselves off the faltons. They immediately turned to face away from the main entrance, clearly indicating that they intended to guard the door for us in our absence. And I swear, I swear, Andromeda lightly poked Dal’s horse with one of her horns and herded him behind them and the protection of their horns and hooves.

  There were Prians aplenty inside the castle, but they were in wild and ineffective disarray, swarming like bees but with much less purpose. We all reached for the smallest of the mini-gunpowder bombs, designed for use in close quarters, and tossed them into the groups of the running Prians, down the halls, and up the stairs. The building shook, the Prians screamed, the smoke stung, and in the midst of the mass confusion and the bloody Prian bodies, we heard it. Truscan battle howls. Coming from below our feet.

  “This can’t be right!” I said, as though my protest would change anything. “We’re the first in the castle! Who could have gotten this far in before we did?”

  “Missing any warriors we know of, Dalph?” Carlos threw over his shoulder while pulling his sword from a stray Prian.

  No response. I looked up in alarm, and saw Dalph standing, stock-still, his face frozen as his head tilted upward, as though to obtain a better angle of hearing. Now that I was listening more closely myself, I caught—something. Two separate howls, one carrying the distinctive edge that the Tornans always had, even in human form, and one from a non-Tornan Truscan warrior. And there was something about both of them that I just couldn’t put my finger on.

  Dalph howled, a series of high and low, short and long, that I’d never heard during all the practice signal howling that had bounced back and forth across Warrior Fields as the Truscans had practiced their own private Morse Code of howls. The response was immediate, matching howls, desperate in their intensity, coming from beneath our feet.

  Dalph moved then, racing for every door that might lead downward, and finding one in the third hall that we turned into in the ill-planned, maze-like rabbit-warren of halls and doors and rooms that served as the Prian castle. I’d never seen him move like that, so agitated that I feared he’d drop his guard, something I’d never thought to worry about, but I was damn sure worried now. I tried to keep up but was falling behind and Carlos, obviously of the same mind, passed me, throwing his question over his shoulder.

  “Dalph’s losing it, Tess, will you be all right? I need to stay—”

  “I know. Go. Go! Dal and I are fine.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Not sure. Go! Go!”

  But I had an inkling. Because the stones had insisted that we were not to blow the stronghold. Because I’d finally put my finger on that thing I hadn’t been able to put my finger on. The howls coming from the depths of what had to be Kruska’s dungeons had a very distinctive timbre. One that I’d only heard in two other Tornans, one being my husband and the other being his son. And it was the genetic timbre of Brentar and Madeleine’s line. I’d never heard those particular signals, either. A private code between brothers? I’d bet on it.

  Dalph raced down the steep, dark, and treacherous stone steps, Carlos hot on his heels.

  “Brenden! Madison!”

  “Dalph? Dalph! Here!”

  Right behind me as we made our more cautious way down the stone steps—I didn’t feel like being cautious, but Dalph would certainly not be happy if I took a tumble and miscarried—I heard Dal’s incredulous question.

  “My uncles?”

  “I think so, honey, I really think so!”

  The steps opened into a long and noxious corridor, lined with heavy wooden doors. The Bastille must have looked so.

  Dalph began issuing furious orders. “Get back from the doors! Right now! Carlos, can you—”

  “Right behind you! Get out of the way!”

  I heard another incredulous voice, heart-stoppingly familiar, even it was the first time I’d heard it, from behind the door.

  “American?”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers!” Carlos quipped, his hands moving furiously. “Get away from the door! Right now!” And he lit the short fuse of the charge he’d chosen and literally pushed Dalph backward back down the hall. “Sorry, Your Majesty, but your royal ass is about to get blown up if you don’t move!”

  I laughed, I couldn’t help it.

  “Okay, who’s next?” Carlos called.

  “Here! Here!” That door was two doors down and on the opposite side of the corridor from the first one.

  Carlos reached for the second charge and the process was repeated. Dalph having rushed in the first door, I rushed in the second. Even in the hurried, frenzied moment, I felt my heart break as I looked at the Truscan warrior, a shell of the man he should have been. Madison. Madison was the brother with the lightest hair and blue eyes, the one that had, from his portraits, just missed being blond. In his current condition, his hair color was hard to determine, but the eyes were unmistakable.

  “A woman?”

  “Well, at least you haven’t been here so long you don’t know the difference,” I said lightly, trying not to cry as I moved forward. He was trying to rise to his feet, but his physical condition was horrible. He looked like a rescued P.O.W. from ’Nam. “Can you stand?�
��

  “And another American to boot?”

  Carlos had followed me into this second cell, apparently aware that Dalph was quite capable of getting anyone to his feet and that I probably wasn’t. Through all of this, Carlos was keeping his head a lot better than Dalph and I, but I knew the Truscans’ appearance was affecting him as much as it was me.

  “It just be raining Americans in Trusca these days!” Carlos threw out, and I laughed again over the lump in my throat, recognizing the altered line as one of Will Smith’s from Men in Black. He even threw some Will Smith attitude over the line as he said it.

  “I’m Tess, Dalph’s wife. C’mon, let’s get you moving!” I moved to his other side as Carlos got him to his feet and offered my shoulder.

  “Tess, no, get out and get back up, we can’t get trapped down here!” Again, Carlos was keeping his head a lot better than me, but then came welcome confirmation that getting trapped wasn’t much of a possibility. The Truscans had stormed the Prian castle, and the wolf howls reverberated above us.

  “Thank God!” I exclaimed.

  Dalph called from the corridor. “Move! Move! We have to get them out of here!”

  Being more a hindrance than a help in assisting Madison out of the cell, I gave up and left him to Carlos, coming back into the corridor and my first sight of Brenden, in no better shape than Madison.

  “You’re taking women to battle now, brother?” So much English was flowing that neither Brenden nor Madison had spoken a word of Truscan but that didn’t surprise me. The brothers were obviously so bi-lingual that they simply spoke in whatever language was spoken first.

  “That’s my wife, Tess. Don’t make her mad. Even Mother never threw such rages! And my son, Dal.” Dalph threw the introductions out as he guided Brenden, who was leaning heavily on Dalph’s shoulder, down the narrow corridor toward the steps. “Dal, get back up! Grab four warriors and have them at the door to get them out of here!’