The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  Perhaps because of her outsider status, she attached herself to Aaron. She watched him closely and once kept a man from touching Aaron's weapon. Even so, she deferred to the rest of the freed prisoners in every other way. She even waited until they found clothing before looking for her own.

  Linley studied Aaron in confusion. Turner was a contradiction. His newest son-in-law was both supremely self possessed and terrifyingly unsure. Aaron did not fill any category Linley placed people into, and this bothered him. The boy was not the common man or near incompetent he displayed to the world. Aaron Turner existed somewhere beyond those, but how far beyond Roger did not know.

  One thing Linley did know, never before had he seen a face so consumed by murderous rage. When he stepped into the clearing, Turner had terrified him. His actions had been controlled and precise, but his face had exuded twisted emotion. Rage, hatred, and remorse and Linley did not know what else exploded out of the man.

  Was it any wonder the boy shut down afterward?

  Aaron's transformation had been abrupt once the action was over. The rage and hatred disappeared with the swiftness of a thrown switch, almost as if two people existed in the same body.

  Just how great a mistake had he made in marrying Melna to the man?

  Shaking off his thoughts, he got to work. Four prisoners had died during the rescue. Linley helped carry their bodies into the woods. One belonged to a young girl of no more than fourteen years. An artery had been cut when a slaver's arrow struck her thigh. Linley hoped Turner never discovered a slaver Turner shot had misfired and struck the girl. Obviously the man had a problem when it came to dealing with women. Despite ample opportunities to kill the female slavers, Turner had not even threatened them. Destroying those two had fallen to Linley.

  Fortunately, Linley had no problem killing armed women. Experience had taught him most women were more dangerous than any man.

  Using rocks and fallen wood, the freed slaves covered the bodies. The task was inadequately done, but it was accomplished as best they could manage. Respect was shown, and that was what mattered. Several people spoke over the shallow graves. Linley didn't understand more than one word in a dozen, but he heard their sorrow. When they returned to the clearing, the former prisoners were ready to move on. One woman spoke to him in broken Jut, saying they wanted him to lead the way to a road.

  Aaron came out of the woods. The protective woman trailed behind. Aaron's long weapon, the shotgun, was draped across his shoulder. Once again, Turner seemed to be the coolly composed man Linley had grown accustomed to these last few days. His expression appeared controlled, perhaps too controlled; his stride smooth and normal.

  The leader of the prisoners was one of the older women, maybe twenty-three or five. She organized the crowd before sending scouts into the woods, making sure they carried the fallen bows and swords. From her gestures, Linley gathered more than half the slavers had not been in camp.

  Scouts deployed, the woman indicated it was time to leave. Linley took the lead. Aaron stood guard at the rear.

  Behind them, the dead assassins lay untended. One woman's body smoked on top of dying embers.

  Chapter 15

  The caravan had grown considerably while they were gone. At least forty new horses were staked out, and twenty people came to greet them. Aaron recognized only the major. The others were strangers. Although the newcomers chattered excitedly, Aaron understood not a word until a gray haired woman rushed up to give him a bear hug, lifting him off his feet.

  "My son you have saved," the woman said in Jut so broken Aaron barely understood. She kissed Aaron's forehead and set him back on his feet. She then reached for Linley, seemed warned by the look in Linley's eyes, and grabbed at the man's hand instead of his body.

  People laughed and a few cried. Wanting to be alone, Aaron moved away, but his new shadow followed. Though bruised and swollen and owning a face smeared with her own blood, the woman's dark eyes remained watchful, darting quickly from side to side, taking everything in.

  Brushing past curious stares, Aaron moved through the camp until he reached his tent. He went inside after making it obvious he wanted to be alone. Shrugging, his follow-along settled down at the entrance.

  Sitting on his dirt floor, Aaron unslung his shotgun and ejected the unused shells. They were, he saw, all buckshot. If he had loaded slugs, he could have possibly saved the one girl from being branded, but he had not thought ahead. The buckshot would have spread too wide and injured her worse.

  He emptied the remaining bullets from his pistol and cleaned it. The cleaning took a long time as he tried to get every spec of burnt powder out of the mechanism. While cleaning, he reflected on Aaron Turner.

  Aaron Turner, he decided, was a monster.

  Without a thought, he had stepped out and killed several people. They might have deserved killing. Hell, they did deserve it. Still, the prisoners had been relatively safe. They would have suffered some pain and fright, but some of them wouldn't have been killed if he had taken the time to go back to the caravan and get help. The slavers might have been captured. They might have had a chance to live, and his hands would be a little cleaner.

  Holding up one hand, he looked at it. Small and pale, it trembled. Both had trembled since he rose to his feet in the clearing. Before then they had been deadly and steady. What kind of man was he? He knew the answer. He was a coward. His shaking hands told him that much.

  "Turner!"

  The major's voice rang loud. Aaron rose, went to the tent flap, and flipped it open. Fitzbeth and Melna stood before him, carefully watching the woman who stood guard. The woman's back was to him. Knees slightly flexed, she held a knife in her hand.

  Aaron gently touched her shoulder. "A friend and my wife. Please let them by."

  Nodding briefly, she stepped aside.

  After Major Fitzbeth and Melna entered Aaron dropped the flap. Their features lost distinctiveness in the dim light.

  "Mister Linley tells me you're a hero," Fitzbeth said. "He said a lot of the prisoners might have died if you hadn't moved in close. You did good."

  "Did he tell you I shut down afterwards?"

  "Yes. Frankly, I'm not surprised. Green troops often break down after a battle. As a matter of fact, I was surprised you handled killing the assassin back in Madura so well."

  "That was a battle," Aaron said flatly. "Today was murder. They didn't stand a chance. Not when all they had to defend themselves with were bows. The first man I murdered barely knew I was there."

  "Daddy said an arrow almost hit you," Melna said softly. "You risked your life to save those people. You are both heroes. I am very proud of my husband and father."

  "The prisoners came from the raided village we passed through," Fitzbeth added. "The local militia stopped to talk to us not long before you returned. They had given up hope once their friends and family crossed over the border, and that is where the problem lies. We are presently inside Nefra's border. Nefra is large and backward and is noted for encouraging the Assassin's Guild. Slavery is one of their biggest money makers. The thing is, since the assassins had broken no Nefran laws, they expected no trouble."

  "It didn't look like they were worried," Aaron admitted.

  "According to Nefran law," Fitzbeth continued,"you and Mister Linley committed murder against Nefran citizens engaged in lawful activity. Fortunately, I stopped anyone in the caravan from speaking to the natives. Only five of us know you freed those people. None of the natives know your names, so you are safe."

  "And I was right," Aaron said morosely. "It was murder."

  The major shook her head. "Deserved killings. Forty people died when those villagers were taken. Twelve prisoners died after they were captured. In all, sixteen people were responsible for fifty-two deaths. I'm told the numbers would have been higher if not for your girlfriend outside. Apparently, she was one of the raiders. The raid was a training mission for her and a couple other graduated apprentices. Instead of obeying her superiors, she
snuck ahead and warned the village."

  Fitzbeth drew a deep breath. "That's all I wanted to say. You did good. Keep it secret."

  Aaron turned his attention to Melna after the major left. Her hair was wind-blown. Her expression a bit wild, and her eyes were vortexes. A faint shine of unshed tears glistened on their surface.

  "I talked to your father," he said carefully. "He tells me you're angry because I've ignored you. Melna, I'm sorry. The only reason you married me was to keep me from being killed. I didn't want to put unwanted pressure on you."

  Drawing a deep breath, Melna released it slowly. Two tears tracked down her cheeks. "So," she asked quietly,"you ignored me instead? Was that supposed to make me feel better? You act like you hate me."

  Aaron ran a hand through his hair and wondered if he would ever learn how to deal with people. Somehow, it seemed no matter how hard he tried, he always screwed up. Hell, how could he deal with pampering other people's emotions when he was so seldom sure of his own?

  "I don't know what I thought. I don't know what I feel. I like you, but I'm confused. When Sarah and the baby died, part of me died with them. " Looking down, he studied the grass at his feet. Since the ground held no answers, he looked back to her. "I'm willing to try. I just don't know how to do it anymore."

  "I'm outspoken," she said. "My temper is sometimes short, and I'm often irresponsible. I am, however, a hard worker. These last few years I've learned a lot. I'm going to learn more so the world had better look out because I'm on it. I'm probably smarter than you. In fact, I'm smarter than almost everyone. Can you work with that?" Her voice challenged, but shakiness lay beneath.

  "I think I can," Aaron answered carefully.

  "My morals need work," Melna admitted. "Sometimes I lie. I've stolen things. I like to watch people when they're being raw. I like to think about what they are doing even if I've never done it myself."

  "I frighten easily," Aaron told her. "I'm openly friendly, but it's all surface. I drink too much, or I did. I'm trying to stop. Sometimes I want a drink so bad I'd crawl for it."

  "I knew that. " She tossed her head. The corner of her mouth twitched. "I'm as thin as a rail and not as strong as I should be. My legs are nice, but my ribs are bony, and I have almost no butt or tits. My nose is too long, and my ears stick out. My father is Caucasian, my mother was Asian, and my face is neither."

  "I like your legs. Your face is aristocratically lovely. Your body suits you, and we both know you're looking for a compliment," Aaron said. "I'm small for a man. I'm fit but not strong. I have far too many scars inside and out, and sometimes I get dandruff."

  "That's enough. " Standing abruptly, she brushed off her pant legs. "We have a lifetime to trade histories. I expect you to start talking tomorrow. Begin with the first year of your life. I'll be back."

  The lowering sun peered briefly past the tent's flap as she brushed it aside and left.

  Perplexed, Aaron frowned. He scratched his head, decided he was clueless, and picked up the shotgun. He put it back in its case and boxed the unused shells.

  The tent flap opened again, and Melna pushed a bundle inside.

  "What's this?"

  "My things. I'm staying here. " She tied the tent flap down. "We've been married just over two weeks. It's past time for us to cohabit. " Blushing, she straightened and turned to face Aaron. "If we don't get past this part we'll never move on."

  With a quick movement, she pulled her top over her head. She was correct. Her breasts were incredibly small, and her rib bones protruded.

  "This is a tent," he protested. "The walls aren't soundproof."

  She bent over to remove her pants, paused, and peered up at him with teasing eyes. "Kind of exciting, isn't it. Gotta tell you, I'm going to feel a little foolish if you don't start taking things off."

  "People will know what we're doing."

  A practiced movement of her feet kicked her pants away. Wearing only underwear, she stared straight in his eyes as she hooked her thumbs under the waistband. "That's the exciting part. Tell you what, I promise not to yell."

  Twenty minutes later, she yelled.

  * * *

  His unwanted guardian didn't leave with the villagers. Instead, she remained with the caravan. Aaron wasn't surprised. Although tall, her features showed strong signs of Chin parentage , though the name she gave, Kim, wasn't Chinish. Like Melna, she was a mixture of at least two cultures.

  Despite his protests, Kim continued her self-appointed guard duties. Having no concept of privacy, she accompanied Aaron wherever he went. Surprisingly, Melna had no problem with her presence. Aaron supposed her attitude was a cultural adaptation. Most women in this world assumed their husbands would roam, so jealousy was rare.

  The only place the ex-assassin allowed him freedom from her scrutiny was in his tent. Unfortunately, Aaron still had no privacy. Melna always entered shortly after he did. Despite this, she never again became personal. The one time had been enough. Further experiments could wait until they were someplace more private. Apparently, Melna didn't appreciate several overheard comments concerning her vocal performance.

  Aaron began each day with a workout. Melna exercised beside him. Kim watched closely. At first, she treated their efforts with a snort of disdain, but then she looked on with interest. On the third morning she asked if she could join in. She surprised Aaron early on. Kim had picked up several of the moves just by observation. She did them perfectly the first time. When Kim practiced with Aaron, everybody left him alone. Aaron understood why. She intimidated people. Hell, she intimidated him. Her movements were that sure.

  Almost two weeks later, they traveled past the borders of Elega late in the afternoon. Most of those with the caravan remained in Kracatow, the capital city, which lay only a few miles inside the border. Most of the soldiers stayed in the city, but the major took Aaron to an estate owned by the area governor. Melna insisted on coming along. Kim followed without bothering to ask.

  Before they left, Roger Linley had a protracted goodbye with his daughter. He had a much shorter one with Aaron.

  "I'm still not entirely sure of you," he said. "You seem honest, and you impressed me back there. You frightened me, too. I gather you've killed people before."

  "Too many."

  Linley nodded. "My first was as ship's boy. I was thirteen. We were boarded by pirates, and I stabbed one in the back. I've had to defend myself several times since then, and I learned when it comes to killing there's no difference between a man or a woman except women are often deadlier. Not one person I've killed bothered my conscience for more than five minutes."

  "Is there a point to this?" Aaron asked.

  "Yes. You ignored the women back there. One was about to shoot you just as my arrow hit her. You would have died because you weren't willing to defend yourself. Don't make that mistake again."

  Aaron nodded and left. A man unconcerned about those he killed was too far gone for Aaron's liking. Still, Linley had a point. Much of the violence Aaron encountered came from women. After all, they outnumbered men and were not trapped into the traditional roles his birth society had mandated for them. In this land, women were caretakers and power mongers. They healed and destroyed with the same wild abandon as the men around them.

  The estate Major Fitzbeth took them to consisted of a three mile square plot of land enclosed by a native cedar fence. The house was bigger than any mansion he had seen. Five stories tall, it was at least four hundred feet long. Cathedral windows rose three stories high along the center of the stone and hardwood building. Ten acres of carefully manicured lawn surrounded the manor. People wandered over the grounds, playing at bowls and croquet. The men were impeccably dressed in their best outdoor suits. Most of the women wore dresses, skirts, or business suits that put the men's to shame.

  Aaron suddenly felt grubby in his travel worn fake jeans and stained flannel shirt. An experimental sniff proved he smelled as bad as he looked. Melna was no better, and Kim was even worse in her mismat
ched, found on the ground clothing. Worse yet, unlike Aaron and Melna, Kim had no other clothes.

  Major Fitzbeth, of course, appeared impeccable.

  As they made their way across the grounds, they received several disdainful looks and a few snide insults, which set Aaron's uncertain temper on edge. The Fasberly jeans would stay--after he cleaned them.

  The major led them to the front door. "I'm leaving soon," she said. "It wasn't fun, but I'll admit you're not the pampered rich man I expected when I was sent after you. " She held out her hand. "Maybe we'll meet again."

  Taking her hand, Aaron eyed her speculatively. "How long until you retire?"

  She laughed. "Me? I'm a Fitzbeth. Hasn't been a one of us in five generations who lived long enough to retire."

  "If you ever do, come look me up. I'll have a job for you."

  "Even knowing as little as you do about me?"

  "How much more is there to know?" Aaron asked.

  "Tell me, in what country's service am I a major in? Who asked me to bring you here?"

  "You're from Corsica," Aaron said,"so I suppose they sent you."

  "I was serving in Corsica," she said. "I'm not from there. I'm a mercenary, Mister Turner, hired to do a job. I've no doubt fifty others were hired to do the same job."

  "But what about your family and not retiring?" Aaron asked.

  She grinned. "I told you I have a little money. My family owns the mercenary company. Now, shall we proceed?"

  Admitting defeat, Aaron raised his hands and shrugged.

  Fitzbeth knocked on the large engraved door. After a few moments, it swung open to reveal a servant who was so precisely dressed Aaron bet himself the man had servants of his own.

  "Yes?" The word was Jut, but his accent was heavy.

  "Mister Aaron Turner with his wife and companion for the conference," Fitzbeth intoned formally. She saluted Aaron, tuned, and marched off.