Fifth Quarter

by Tanya Huff

  With the pressure of his chest grinding her against the floor, his hand closed around her wrist; the other reached for her throat. To her surprise, she broke his grip with a desperate move that Bannon should have been able to counter easily.

  Not all the advantages.

  This wasn’t Bannon. Aralt might have Bannon’s body, but he’d only been in it for hours. He didn’t know it. Didn’t know what it was capable of. Didn’t have the training that made physical responses instinctive.

  And a man fighting naked had areas he had to protect—whether he did it consciously or not. She crammed her hip into his groin. When he turned to shield it, she threw her weight against his shoulders and this time, hitting the floor, she rode him.

  His skin was cool, smooth. The nest of hair between his legs brushed against her ankle as they struggled. They were so close she could smell the peppers on his breath.

  Then the blade kissed his throat and he froze, a pulse throbbing just above the steel.

  “Now, Bannon! Do it now!”

  She felt him surge forward and for an instant, he was both in her and looking up at her.

  Then he was gone. The place he’d been echoed, empty. He stared up at her for another instant, triumphant; then his eyes widened in fear. Then they were a stranger’s eyes again.

  *NO!* Somehow, she reached out and clutched at the life being hurled into oblivion. For a heartbeat she was Bannon, she was Vree, then, as terror—hers; not hers—scraped jagged edges of panic against the inside of her skull, she slid into darkness.

  Three

  The rough hemp rope abraded skin as the corporal secured wrist to iron bolt. Her mouth set in a grim line, she muttered, “You both should’ve known better,” as she tied off the last knot.

  Head up. Don’t let them see you’re afraid. At the last flogging, the recruit had blubbered like a baby even before the first welt rose on his back.

  A tug against the binding nearly brought panic. It was one thing to know that movement would be impossible and another thing entirely to be held immobile. No. Don’t struggle. Don’t give them the satisfaction.

  So maybe it had been a stupid bet. But they’d been cooped up inside the garrison for far too long; it was time to fly. After all, wasn’t this what they were being trained to do? What difference was there between sneaking out of the garrison after lockup and sneaking into an enemy camp?

  What difference? Lips twisted into a trembling parody of a smile. Nine lashes.

  Wood pressed against shoulders, belly, and thighs, the breezes felt cooler than they should against bare, exposed skin.

  Getting out had been easy. They’d danced through the shadows of the town, picked up the proof the bet required, and danced back. The feeling of freedom had been exhilarating; even the night air had seemed sweeter. They’d almost made it.

  We should have made it.

  From behind, the lash snapped out, striking a practice blow at nothing.

  Swallow with a throat gone suddenly dry.

  Shake off the comforting clasp of fingers. The corporal had bound them together before lashing their inner wrists to the punishment beam.

  We would’ve made it if I’d seen that rotten board. Impossible not to tense, anticipating the pain. I should’ve …

  * * * *

  … seen that rotten board. Vree struggled to pull herself out of the memory before the lash could fall. She’d gone through it once when she was fourteen and had no intention of going through it again. And then she realized. That hadn’t been her memory. *Bannon?*

  *No …*

  *Bannon!*

  *Vree?* She could almost feel him pulling himself together, drawing all the scattered bits into a confused and fearful whole. *What …?*

  They realized they were bound at the same instant and for a moment their combined memories of pain and humiliation threatened to overwhelm them. Only exhaustion kept their struggle against the binding from tipping over into panic.

  A frenzied throbbing that threatened to smash the bones of her skull dragged Vree out of the gestalt. Fighting the instinctive urge to push Bannon away, she clung to herself and finally forced her body to still.

  “That’s better. You haven’t a chance of breaking free.”

  The tone was urbane, amused. The voice was almost familiar.

  Gritting her teeth, Vree heaved her eyelids up.

  Bannon—not Bannon—stood watching her from a double-body length away. He’d put on a pale green robe that didn’t quite fit and his expression contained more curiosity than threat. Beside him, piled on the end of the bed, were not only the weapons she’d been forced to carry in her makeshift pack, but also every weapon that had remained on her body.

  Shit.

  Not that it really mattered because she was obviously going to be given no chance to use them. She’d been tied, with what appeared to be silk scarves, to the heavy, northern-style chair she’d seen from the doorway. Although bruised from the fight, the greatest amount of damage seemed to have been caused by the sudden desperate grab for her brother’s life. Her head still rang as though all seven armies were marching through it.

  “You must be the sister.”

  It was so weird hearing the timbre of Bannon’s voice changed by a stranger’s inflections. Vree flinched as long, cool fingers took firm hold of her jaw and raised her head.

  “You look very much alike. Do you know that?” Bannon’s lips smiled. “Of course you do. I have to admit, I never thought to meet you—although you were close to the surface of your brother’s thoughts, he believed himself to be alone and I certainly didn’t expect you to be following so close behind. Had I known, I’d have lingered long enough to take care of things.” He released her and wiped his fingers fastidiously on the billowing folds of his robe as he straightened. “Mind you, I couldn’t possibly have expected you to gather the poor boy to your bosom, metaphorically speaking, and come trotting after me determined to shove him back into his fleshy shell. If asked, I’d have declared it an impossible situation. Obviously, I would have been wrong.” His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t often happen. I don’t like to be wrong.”

  *Say something, Vree.*

  *Say what? He doesn’t seem to need any encouragement from me.*

  The man who had been Governor Aralt walked over to the pile of weapons and prodded it gently, then he turned to face her again. “Vree. A diminutive of Vireyda. But no one calls you that, do they? Tell me, Vree, after this morning’s little adventure, are you still sane?”

  “Yes.” The question surprised an answer out of her.

  “Is he?”

  *I’ll soon show you how sane I am, you thieving son of a diseased pig!*

  “I know you’re still holding him. I felt you drag him back from the brink of oblivion.”

  “He’s sane.” Vree spit the words from between tight lips.

  “This is fascinating.” Bannon’s body folded itself gracefully into a cross-legged position on the end of the bed. “Absolutely fascinating.”

  *He’ll find it fascinating all right, with a dagger shoved up between his ribs!*

  *Try to remember that they’re your ribs.* She clamped her will down on her left arm, stopping its futile struggle against the russet scarf that bound her to the wooden arm of the chair. *And stop doing that.*

  “You’re talking to him, aren’t you?” Bannon/Aralt leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees. “Your eyes develop an inward cast and …”

  “Can I ask you something?” Vree broke in before he could begin another monologue.

  He spread his hands. “Ask.”

  “Why haven’t you killed me? Us.”

  “A good question. You intrigue me. And there isn’t a lot capable of that anymore.” He grinned, and the familiar expression plunged her into confusion. “My turn. Did you have any idea of the risks you took, or did you act in total ignorance of the danger?”

  “What danger?”

  “Insanity. Loss of self. Death. When you allowed him
to jump into your mind—and I assume you allowed it, he didn’t just force himself in?” He read the answer off her face. “Yes, well, when you allowed him in, you should have been pushed out. Destroyed. Your life sacrificed for his.”

  “I trusted him.”

  “Very commendable.” His voice picked up a sardonic edge. “I trusted someone once. But what made you think that you could hold two lives in one frail shell? No, wait.” He raised his hand as a thought occurred to him. “You didn’t think, did you? It was the only thing to do, so you did it. Blind faith succeeds where reason would have failed. That’s so touching it makes me ill.”

  Vree leaned back in the chair, subtly testing the knots that held her. “So now what?”

  “Another good question.” Aralt/Bannon stared down at his foot as though fascinated by the strength and flexibility of his toes. “You could still go insane.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I’d know.” She ground the words out through clenched teeth, and he smiled.

  “Yes, I believe you would.” He leaned forward suddenly, and for the first time, his eyes met hers. “If I let you live, you’ll continue trying to push me out of your brother’s body, won’t you?”

  *Yes!*

  *Bannon, no!*

  But he wasn’t listening. She felt him throw himself forward over the fragile bridge of her gaze, felt him slam into an impenetrable barrier, once again had to grab him and drag him back.

  This time, at least, she remained conscious. When her vision cleared, Bannon/Aralt was standing over her. “You can’t,” he said simply. “I’ve done this too often. I’m far too strong.”

  Her head felt like it was being ground between two large rocks. “Then you’ll have to kill me. Us.” At the moment, death didn’t look so bad.

  “No. I have a better idea. I have something you want. Something you need.” He spread his hands. “This body. Which, I might add, is a fine physical specimen—young, strong, handsome. I’m sure we can come to some sort of an agreement.”

  Vree glared at him. “And what do I have that you want?”

  “Skill. Training. Experience. How old are you? Your brother is twenty, so you’d be twenty-two? Twenty-three?” He sighed and shook his head. “You’re not going to tell me, are you? No matter. You’re a military assassin and a very good one if you’ve been doing it since you were fifteen.”

  “Twenty-one.”

  *Why are you telling him?*

  She winced as Bannon’s protest drove yet another spike of pain into her head. *What difference does it make? We need him to deal.*

  *We don’t need anything from him.*

  *Except your body.*

  *Which I’ll take back!*

  *How?*

  “Children …”

  Nobody spoke to her like that. Not if they wanted to live to see morning. After everything else that had happened; after discovering Bannon in a dying body not his own; after finding the precarious balancing point that let them both exist in her head; after tracking Aralt; after confrontation and capture—that smug patronizing tone was just too much. Vree’s eyes narrowed and she began working her strength against the scarves securing her; if the silk wouldn’t give, perhaps the chair would. All at once, it became very easy not to see her brother in the man sitting on the bed.

  *Vree, stop it. You’ll hurt yourself.*

  She could see his mouth moving, white teeth flashing between curved lips, but she couldn’t hear what he said over the roaring in her ears.

  *Vree, let it go. It isn’t worth it. Listen to him.*

  *You said we didn’t need anything from him.* Rage clipped each word to its bare essentials.

  *I was wrong.* She felt him sigh. *He has my body. We have to deal.*

  *How come you’re so slaughtering composed all of a sudden?*

  *Because you aren’t?* Bannon’s laugh still held a hint of hysteria, but his thoughts felt clearer than they had. *We’re a team, remember. I see the dangers you don’t. You spot the dangers I miss. I want my body back, Vree, as much or more than you want me out of your head. I, I can’t force my way in …* He hated to make the admission—Vree could feel him struggle with it. *… so we have to listen to him. We don’t have a choice.*

  She drew in a long breath and managed to unclench her teeth before she slowly let it out. *Maybe I should’ve fallen apart hours ago.*

  *Maybe.*

  “You haven’t been listening to me, have you?”

  “No.” With the fury gone, Vree sagged against the scarves.

  Bannon/Aralt shook his head and sighed. “Family matters? No, never mind.” He raised a cautioning hand, a gold signet gleaming on his second finger. “I don’t really want to know. I shall present the case once more. This time, I suggest you pay attention.” Steepling his fingers, he leaned forward slightly, the action at odds with the flesh he wore. “As admirable as this body is, it comes with none of the little extras that make life worthwhile, and I have no wish to remain in it for very long. So, did you stop to tell any of your comrades about what happened in Ghoti or did you rush blindly after me?” He read the answer on her face and smiled. “Good. You will use your skills to help me get another body.”

  “One with extras?”

  “Precisely.”

  “What kind of extras?”

  “Wealth. Power. Position.”

  “Why do you need me? Us? You seem to have managed fine so far.”

  “Yes, well, the body I have in mind—if you’ll pardon the expression—will be heavily guarded and I’ll need you to help me get close enough to make the transfer. When that happens, your brother will have his body back.”

  “What happens to the life from this new body?”

  “Why should you care?”

  Why should she? As long as Bannon got his body back, what difference did the death of one stranger make? “Who is it?”

  “Prince Otavas.”

  The youngest of the Emperor’s four children, Prince Otavas, at seventeen, had just begun to take his place in public life. His coming of age had been celebrated across the Empire and the Sixth Army had happily drunk a river of beer in his honor. Pounding heads made for a silent parade the next morning, but the swearing of allegiance had rung out with enough volume to echo off the garrison walls lest word get back to the Emperor that the Sixth Army was less than sincere in their support of his son. Vree, her own head eggshell fragile, had shouted as loudly as the rest although she’d aimed her voice directly at Bannon, who’d turned a pale green at the noise.

  “No.”

  Bannon/Aralt smiled. “Aren’t you being just a bit hasty? Don’t you think you should talk it over with your brother first? I mean, you do realize what your alternative is …” Picking up one of her daggers, he tested the point against the ball of his thumb and frowned at the crimson bead of blood. “Very sharp.”

  *Vree …*

  *No. We swore an oath to serve the Imperial House. We’ve been serving the Imperial House all our lives. Don’t ask me to break those oaths, Bannon.* She tried to swallow around the sudden obstruction in her throat that seemed to have edges sharper than her dagger. It he asked her, she’d have to do it and then there wouldn’t be anything left of her at all. She’d already given him the army, surely he couldn’t want her honor, too.

  *Do you think I could break those oaths so easily?*

  *I …*

  His mental voice held equal amounts of hurt and anger. *I’ve served the Imperial House just as you have. I’ve killed for them. I’ve bled for them. What makes you think your oaths mean more to you than mine do to me?*

  Vree closed her eyes, shutting out the distraction of Bannon/Aralt. *He has your body.* It was the only answer she could give him.

  *And that’s all he’s getting.”

  *I’m sorry. I should’ve known.*

  *Yeah. You should have.* He sounded as though he’d been betrayed.

  She was too tired to react, too tired for
that underlying accusation to cut as deeply as it would have under other circumstances. Given the way she felt—physically drained and emotionally flayed—a quick death looked almost inviting. She only wished they could have died in battle. *I wonder if we’ll get stuffed into the same crow.*

  *What?*

  *Because we’ll die in one body,* she explained, wondering why he hadn’t understood. It’d seemed obvious to her.

  *We’re not going to die.*

  *Bannon, I’m tied like a festival goose. What am I supposed to defend myself with? Spit and a prayer?*

  *Lies.*

  *What?*

  His grin lit up the inside of her head. *We’re going to lie to him. It’s a long way to the Capital and the prince, and we’ll be chewing at his defenses the whole time.*

  *And if we can’t get through?*

  *Vree, there’re two of us to one of him. And we’re the best. There’s never been a defense we couldn’t get through. Has there?*

  *No …*

  *So we agree to give him the prince, but we get my body back before we have to.*

  *He’ll think he’s safe because I won’t hurt the body he’s in, and he doesn’t think you’re strong enough to push him out.*

  *That’s the only reason he would have made the slaughtering offer.* His tone held an approving nod. *The arrogant carrion eater.*

  “I’m waiting for a decision.”

  Vree opened her eyes. “We’ll help, on one condition.”

  *Vree!*

  *Shut up, I’m trying to make this believable.*

  “I hardly think that you—either of you—are in a state to be imposing conditions, but what is it?”

  “After you’re in the prince and Bannon has his body back, we’re to be given time to get away. No yelling for the guards.”

  “And what makes you think you can trust me?”

  She lifted both brows and layered silent sarcasm onto her response. “The same thing that makes you think you can trust us. We have something you need.”