savage 04 - the savage vengeance

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “Where would you take me?” Clara asked.

  “Somewhere safe.”

  Clara followed, glancing back over her shoulder, the fragment's prize slipping away as they slept.

  She was glad of it but unsure of her future.

  Yet again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Band

  Matthew and his bandmates traveled the faint trail left by the viper cousin of Prince Frederic. Caesar's footsteps sunk deep in the grass Outside, breaking the light crust of the winter snow like soft glass.

  The tracks were deep from the extra weight of the passenger he had carried away.

  His Clara.

  Nay, it did no good to think upon her in such terms but Matthew did. His soul bonded to hers as surely as his heart beat, the hands which lay upon his weapons, his footsteps that sought hers.

  Matthew was hers with every fiber of his being. Right now, his soul was a wasteland without her.

  He moved forward, without sleep, without food for his belly, water in the flask his only sustenance for the journey ahead.

  Rowenna kept pace, waterproof boots of duck laced tight and insulated with a blubber concoction that was wrapped with the down of the goose to hold the heat. It was something she had shown them how to fashion. They all wore similar. It had been the singular concession of time allowance Matthew had made to Bracus. He allowed himself a grim smile as he remembered the conversation of a few hours past.

  Bracus had laid hold of his body, pinning his arms to his side. Matthew railed against him, fighting for all he was worth. He must get to Clara.

  He must.

  Matthew had promised Clara his protection and because of the fragment and that debauched royal, she was gone.

  Alone and without his protection.

  Bracus whirled Matthew to face him and Matthew slammed his head into Bracus', causing him to stagger backward. Rowenna charged him and in his surprise at being attacked by a female he hesitated.

  She never faltered, hammering the side of his knee with her instep, he folded as she moved her fist into the side of his jaw. It rocked back as he reflexively grabbed her forearm as he fell.

  It was the smallness of it that caused him to remember himself and he released her.

  That and the powerful instinctive protection, engineered since time immemorial for the express purpose of doing no harm to those of the select.

  She landed on him with a soft yelp and wrapped her fingers around his neck.

  He did not defend himself but grabbed her forearms and pressed her off him.

  “Do not,” he growled out. Matthew felt a blade press the tender juncture of ribcage and hip, the joining of the bones made vulnerable by the organs within. “Let go of my mother or I will twist my blade into your side.”

  Matthew loosened his grip on Rowenna as Bracus came for him. “Did you touch her in anger?”

  Matthew laughed. “She is a hellion. He who touches her does so at their own peril!”

  The tension of the room slipped down into something less dangerous and Maddoc moved backward, the blade in his palm, held with surety.

  Rowenna's gaze flicked to Maddoc. “I do not need your protection, my son.” She put her hands on her hips just as Bracus wound his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

  “I simply saved these two bulls of the Band from knocking their brains around yet again,” she rolled her eyes and Bracus and Matthew frowned at her while Maddoc hid a smile.

  Rowenna threw up her hands. “Be that as it may, my daughter has been abducted. By an insane royal.” Her eyes searched those gathered and finally landed on Sarah.

  “He is most definitely soft in the head,” Sarah responded with assurance. Clearly Prince Frederic had been beyond insane. The entire Kingdom of Kentucky lay on its proverbial ear and now the fragment had compromised the integrity of their sphere as well as her own. Sarah feared the obvious.

  Riot and rebellion.

  But for now she would take flight after Clara. Who somehow managed to get herself in the gravest of circumstance regardless of when or where. Sarah heaved an internal sigh.Sarah scowled. “I must accompany you,” she said.

  And it was Philip and Clarence that stepped forward, each glowering at the other. “Absolutely not,” Clarence said, affronted by her lack of propriety.

  Philip smirked, understanding instinctively that his discounting of her decision would make Sarah even more stubborn.

  He was right.

  “You listen to me,” Sarah said, ramming her finger underneath his nose, “I will go. Clara may need me. And beside,” Sarah flung her palm about, “have you considered the alternative of me staying behind in this loathsome sphere? By myself... unattended?” She crossed her arms underneath her breasts and cocked an elegant brow.

  Clarence appeared frustrated, Philip noticed with amusement. She was fierce like the wolverine when cornered. Philip did not ken that Clarence was man enough to tame her.

  Philip was.

  “I will assume responsibility for Sarah,” Philip said as he watched her roll her eyes and disregard his protection. It made Philip clench his fists. Could she not defer to his stewardship, even once? Did she need to be contrary at every turn?

  Philip came to stand beside her and Sarah stepped back. The Band was all well and good until they were in intimate proximity. It was then that their immense size was so intimidating. As was the case in this moment. Sarah swallowed and tried to calm her heart that raced. She had a few encounters in the past with Philip and knew he was dangerous. Dangerous due to the attraction she felt for him. She would not be joined to one of the Band.

  She could not.

  Philip watched her resolve and smiled inside himself.

  “I am going, as is Rowenna. My gender should not outweigh my desire and importance. She is my closest friend. I will attend her.”

  Matthew scowled at Sarah. “I care not if she comes. But be about it. I, for one, do not have need of anything but making haste.”

  The Band looked at one another, Rowenna held Matthew's stare the longest.

  “Let us go,” Edwin said.

  “Aye,” Clarence agreed.

  The eyes of the group looked heavenward, where yawning holes opened to the evening sky. Small now... but surely widening as the passage of time encroached. The chilled air came through the many pinpoint portals made by the salt pellets.

  Bracus turned to Matthew as they readied to take their leave. “I have sent the homing pigeon.”

  Rowenna cocked a brow, as she fed her foot into the boots that sloughed moisture away.

  “Who shall receive it?” Edwin asked.

  “Daniel,” Bracus responded.

  “What say you?” Sarah asked, perplexed.

  Bracus rolled his massive shoulders into a shrug and replied, “He understands their customs. Perhaps he can foster a negotiation of some sort.”

  “You deny the need for violence?” Maddoc posed.

  Bracus shook his head. “Nay, violence is a welcome companion, one I have an intimate relation with. However,” he met everyone's eyes in the gloom, “if we could but meet them at some point of reason, we may regain Clara, and ascertain their motivation for the disruption of the spheres.”

  “That should be most obvious,” Clarence said. All eyes turned to study him as he flushed an unflattering red. “I say, they are nothing but rogue heathen. Criminals from another time, deposited here for the express purpose of willful negligence. From all accounts, the Travelers felt the Band need police their actions.” He paused, catching his breath, Matthew giving him an intent look that spoke of his disinterest in conversation and his desire to leave. “They will not be reasonable. A show of force is best, coupled with surprise. That is the way of it. No other shall succeed.” He shrugged and Matthew groaned.

  “I care not if we show up naked with ribbons and bells tied to ourselves. We must go. Now.” Matthew did not wait for the others to follow, but emerged into the streets of the sphere, making his way
to where the underlings scurried about.

  The rats of this sphere would know in which direction Clara was taken.

  If they did not, some judicious encouragement might help matters along.

  *

  Matthew crouched down, pressing his fingertips into the snow that lay crushed beneath his flesh. He looked up and met Bracus' eyes.

  “He has her no longer,” Matthew said, standing.

  Bracus crossed his arms, the striated muscles of his forearms rippling beneath his skin. He nodded. “Aye. You will note that he met with others.” Bracus walked amongst a small treed area in a circle, held within the larger embrace of the Great Forest. Bracus knelt beside tracks that looked like a mess to Sarah but Rowenna had made sense of them almost instantly. “There are four sets,” she said, her nose bright red, the breath from her words showing as a plume of smoky frost.

  Bracus gave a small nod with a smile of pride. She stood and Maddoc joined her. Sarah looked at their height difference; she had thought Rowenna one of the tallest females she had ever taken sight of. Nevertheless, her son, almost a man now, was nearly a head taller.

  “Maddoc?” she said his name as a question.

  He understood what she wished.

  “She is alive, but...” he looked at Rowenna, something had changed. Maddoc looked at the sky, now almost light with dawn's approach. He shrugged and Matthew came toward him.

  “Is she... has she been...?” Matthew could not say the words.

  Maddoc shook his head. “No, I think not. But,” his gaze was steady on the most volatile of the Band, “she travels.”

  “With whom?” Edwin queried.

  “I do not know,” Maddoc said.

  He did not say what he was unsure of, but the feeling that played the taut fibers of his intuition said Band. How this could be when she was taken by the mad royal, then subsequently met by the fragment, he did not know.

  It was too preposterous for words. He would stay quiet about his internal deliberations. Better not to raise the hope of his group.

  “What direction?” Matthew asked impatiently.

  Rowenna put a calming hand on his shoulder and he looked down on her. “It is not an exact thing, Matthew. Mayhap he leads true, mayhap no.” Her eyes searched his and she found desperation in his.

  It echoed her own.

  With unspoken agreement, the group pressed deeper into the woods, the cold a stinging and alien enemy against the two of the sphere which traveled alongside the Band.

  Sarah and Clarence walked by each other. He reached for her gloved hand and she clasped his.

  Philip brought up the rear, his eyes trained on their small alliance.

  He stifled a growl.

  Sarah would be forced to face the truth of her regard for him soon enough.

  Philip's eyes never stopped roaming the woods, looking for fragment, hoping for Clara. His keen senses were on full alert and a dull warning bell had begun to chime. They should have garnered the support of their neighboring allies before traipsing off after Clara with only four of the Band. Five if he were to include Rowenna.

  Philip glanced at her and thought that she was an adept fighter. But female. She was more distraction than helpmate. Philip scowled. He did not like their numbers.

  They were too few.

  Too few for war.

  And a battle was coming. He felt it in his marrow.

  His eyes swung back to the couple in front of him. Their hands clasped together like an unspoken promise.

  Philip had one of his own. It had been made on first sight. He had beheld Sarah and knew she was the one for him. The one that made his soul weep for union.

  Philip clenched the dirk's handle in a grip that made the metal creak under his strength and followed.

  Sarah's blond hair shimmered like silver tinsel under the illumination of the moon, a beacon of hope and light.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Clara was thirsty and all manner of everything else was needed: food, shelter and the like.

  But that was not to be had. Calia was beyond even the males of the Band she had known when traveling, pushing forward without pause.

  “When may we take respite?” Clara asked. Even as she asked she dreaded the answer.

  “When we collapse from exhaustion, I shall lay down my weapons, and quench my thirst.”

  Clara stifled a sigh. Her clothing was not suited to winter of any kind. Thank the Guardian she had worn velvet and that wretched Caesar had thought to provide a bedroll.

  Calia had stripped her small offerings down to barest essentials. She had used her dirk to cut armholes in the woolen blanket and Clara now wore a cape of sorts over her royal costume. Calia had thrown it at Clara and told her to don it. She had, the crown grabbing at the itchy material as it fell into place over Clara's dress.

  Calia's eyes had fixed on the crown. “Must you wear that?” She had pointed at the crown, encrusted with Alexandrites and pearls. It had been Ada's.

  “No. It is not required. But, it is of value and may serve a purpose in the future.”

  Calia had sauntered toward Clara as she had held her ground. “You think we may need it for trade to protect us from the fragment?”

  Clara nodded, once.

  Calia grinned. “You are worth twenty crowns. What need do the fragment have of precious jewels when all they seek are breeders and the spoils of others?” Calia emphasized her point by tapping the flat of her blade against the portion of Clara's crown that made a swooping filigree of shining metal and arced in its center. The furthest tip holding a singular Samuel's pearl, the size of her thumbnail. It was the largest ever harvested. The gallery of gold securing it resembled the finest spider web.

  Clara at once felt an overwhelming need to cry and bit the inside of her cheek to stop the emotion from manifesting.

  Calia looked at the sphere-dweller with curiosity. She was most fragile in her bearing but... Calia could sense her steely core. She had not obtained that through a life without strife. Perhaps she had misjudged Clara.

  The mystery of this queen deepened. Who was she really? Calia wondered. Furthermore, she must return Clara to her sphere. Even though she knew that the one who had taken her was a sphere-dweller as well. There was a convoluted situation afoot she must reconcile. Calia would not steal her away from one nest of snakes only to drop her into another.

  Clara regained control of her emotions with an effort and disengaged the crown from her hair, leaving the woven pearls behind. They were deeply intertwined in the portion of her hair that lay plaited at the center of her head. When the crown was put away in the small rucksack that Calia carried, Clara touched her hair, feeling the cluster of pearls at the crown of her head, then the hair that fell to her waist from the nape of her neck. She knew from experience the pearls would become cruelly entangled and she did not look forward to asking this female of the Band for her help.

  It was quite apparent that she found Clara a disappointment as a female. And as a human being.

  No matter. Clara was steadfast in her resolve. The spheres were degrading as she traveled, her people had placed their faith in her. Calia's low esteem was of little consequence in the end.

  Matthew sought her even as she moved here, now... in this moment.

  Clara knew it.

  *

  Tucker stalked around in a rage, brutalizing the small amount of belongings Queen Clara had been sleeping in. He kicked and tore at the pillow, the one blanket and hand towel that were there, shredded. He railed and shouted out, breathing heavily.

  He whirled on the two fragment that trailed him like beaten and whipped dogs, their metaphorical tails between their legs.

  “How is it,” Tucker swung his fist into the air, spittle flying out of his mouth as he said it, “that a female could escape without our notice?”

  His face was a mask of rage and the braver of the two restated the facts as he knew them to be, “Four of the sentries steep in their own blood even as we speak. It couldn't b
e helped. Whoever did this understood our methods. Our timing.” He shrugged and Tucker removed his blade and in a move so fierce, so raw, he cut the throat of the fragment who had uttered his last, in one swinging thrust.

  The man clutched his throat, blood leaking in a sticky spray from between his fingers, his eyes bulged from lack of comprehension and surprise as Tucker bellowed in his twin's face, “Now tell me what I wish to hear!”

  The other fragment stilled as his comrade clutched his clothing, grasping at it as one drowning. He clung and slid down the other's clothes, blood pumping in a crimson tide everywhere he touched, the ground a sponge for his life, sucking at it until his chest stopped rising.

  “Answer me or die,” Tucker whispered, his soft tone making the bowels of the fragment clench in a sickening lurch.

  “I have found the tracks. They're traveling even now,” he said, mesmerized by the blade covered in the blood of the man now dying at his feet.

  Tucker straightened, a grin sliding into place below a nose that was mangled beyond recognition. “Excellent. Tell me who's stolen the royal select from underneath our noses.”

  The man swallowed, knowing he might die. He would die anyway if he lied.

  Neither choice was ideal.

  He'd never wished to lie more than he did in that moment.

  “Another female, sir. Queen Clara has been taken by a woman.”

  The blade flashed again, silver mixed with blood an inky omen that sailed down like a falling star, broken and uncompromising.

  When it struck, the man was surprised that it hadn't hurt more. It felt like someone had punched him in the throat. Even when he crumpled on top of the other fragment there was no pain.

  When the burning began and he could no longer breathe he watched Tucker lean down into his face, the foulness of him choking his last breath.

  “Liar,” he breathed into the fragment's face as death stood waiting just out of reach.

  Tucker wiped the blade on the man's shirt and as he walked away, the last thought the man had was that he hadn't lied. For once, a man of the fragment had been entirely truthful.