“So, you’d judge the woman harshly who used such…tactics?”
“I wouldn’t want to marry her, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“Marry? Marry? Why do you keep bringing up marriage. Are you married?”
“Yes,” Cade said.
Velia’s eyes softened. “Was she in the spaceship?”
“No,” Cade said, his voice hardening.
“Ah. Did your wife leave you, perhaps staying with Graven Tarvoke?”
Cade stared at Velia, annoyed.
She held his stare for several seconds, finally dropping her gaze. “Why are you angry with me for asking?”
He didn’t answer, but went to the weapons on the sand, examining them. He saw several braces of flintlock pistols, many of them still in a green sash. He drew one out, noticing the pistol was primed and loaded. On impulse, he took a sash and draped it over himself. This one had four loaded pistols.
Next, he went to the cutlasses, drawing them one by one and testing their balance. He chose his favorite and belted the scabbard around his waist, sliding the cutlass into it. The former cutlass and scabbard on his waist had been removed earlier.
He noticed that his boot-knife was still in place, though.
“Now that I’m in your power, your control,” Velia asked, “what are you going to do to me?”
Cade regarded her. It looked as if she’d unbuttoned several of her highest buttons while he checked the weapons, exposing more of her cleavage. She was well endowed indeed and smiled in an inviting manner.
He cleared his throat, focusing on her face. “How far is Val Dal Rock?”
“Are you asking if someone would seek you out to avenge me if you had your way with me?”
Damn, woman, quit making this so hard. “No,” he said. “I was wondering how difficult it would be for me to escort you home.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding crestfallen. “Val Dal Rock is nearly half a world away. Atticus was a far-ranging Crag Raider. In truth, he was hired by Lord Magnus.”
“Is Lord Magnus near?”
“Lord Magnus is a fallen Eagle-Duke, many say a renegade. He no longer strives to master unique skills but to gain political ascendancy over as much of Coad as he can. Many call him conqueror. Others say he is a butcher, a lover of bloodletting. A few think he is a shill for the Rhunes.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Rhunes dislike dealing directly with humans. Many say that a Rhune will kill a human on sight because of that, detesting their presence because human odors are repellent to Rhunes.”
“Have the Rhunes tried to exterminate the people on Coad?”
“No, no. That is not their way. Some scholars say that Rhunes find killing repugnant, but I don’t believe that.”
Cade considered that. “The Rhunes on the sky-rafts had no problems killing everyone on the airship.”
“Don’t you see? The sky-rafts killed from afar. The Rhunes didn’t have to witness the dying in person or smell the stench of spilled gore. They saved themselves from having to deal with humans face to face and thus kept their purity intact.”
“You’re not making sense,” Cade said. “Given what you said, why don’t the Rhunes use missiles against the humans?”
“They’ve tried in the past. That’s why the Eagle-Dukes keep their ancestral railguns ready. The railguns can knock down incoming missiles. And some of the Eagle-Dukes have ancient missile launchers. They would fire nuclear-tipped torpedoes at Rhune hideaways, killing many and poisoning the oceans for decades.”
Cade sat on a flat rock before the fire, warming his hands over the flames. “Let me get this straight. Eagle-Dukes have railguns, missile launchers and nuclear-tipped torpedoes, and yet a man like Atticus flies around in an airship with flintlock-armed raiders conquering places.”
“Railguns and torpedoes are ancient ancestral weapons,” Velia said slowly as if explaining realities to a simpleton. “They are irreplaceable. The Eagle-Dukes keep them in their strongest castles, protecting Coad from Rhune domination. But in everyday affairs, men use regular weapons, those they know how to make, like swords and flintlocks.”
“Does Lord Magnus have any ancestral weapons?”
“Don’t you understand what it means to be a fallen Eagle-Duke?”
“That Magnus lost his ancestral weapons?”
“Those and his castles,” Velia said. “Now, across many years and dealing with those like Atticus, Lord Magnus has built a conquering mercenary host. Some say he seeks to capture Eagle-Duke castles and ancestral weapons, regaining his lost honor. What scholars are undecided upon is if he does this for the Rhunes or for himself.”
“If the Eagle-Dukes fear Magnus so, why don’t they use their railguns on him?”
Velia tilted her head, giving Cade a strange look. “Railguns are heavy stationary weapons, used primarily against orbital vehicles like your spaceship or space missiles. They can also shoot down incoming missiles or sky-rafts flying too high. None has ever used a railgun against a land army. How would an Eagle-Duke transport or power it?”
“How does he power one in his castle?”
Velia nodded. “Each railgun is powered by ancient atomics, or so the legends say. The atomics are in solid lead buildings, attended to by mechanic-priests. Some atomics fail over the centuries, some have leaked and poisoned the greatest castles, killing everyone there. Graven Tarvoke says he could repair those, but I think it’s a vain boast. Some say the Rhunes fear humans will return to poisoned castles and drop the leaking atomics into the sea for revenge.”
Cade eyed Velia, wondering at her fount of knowledge.
She lowered her head and touched her chest as if embarrassed. It intensified the wonder of her cleavage. “What is it, milord? Your gaze is heavy and intense. I’m powerless in your presence.”
“I doubt that.”
Velia looked up as if surprised.
Cade indicated the spitted meat, the weapons and canteens. “You seem uncommonly resourceful. You have beauty, wits and strength of will. And you have deep knowledge concerning world affairs. That’s impressive. What I don’t understand is your manner.”
“Your wife is a domineering, demanding woman?”
“Not in the least,” Cade said. “I loved her, and she loved me.”
“Why do you say that as if it was in the past?”
Cade frowned as he envisioned Raina. He remembered her as she’d been when he’d climbed the board steps of the platform to claim her as his prize. She had stood proudly in her long white dress and her with long blonde hair and flower crown. They had made glorious love after the marriage ceremony. Raina was his flower of loveliness, his rose of delight. Until death do us part, they had promised each other. If there were beguiling women in his path like Velia who would indulge a roll in the hay—Cade shook his head. He was a soldier. He did his duty in military affairs. Could he do any less for love?
There was something else to consider. Velia was a mystery, and she wanted to ensnare him. The question was why. Cade did not believe she was smitten because she’d seen him fight. Well, maybe she was smitten in a different way: seeing him fight and seeking to use his martial prowess for something. He was not like other men. Cade knew that.
“I see,” Velia said softly.
“What was that?” Cade asked, looking up.
“You must be an officer, a dedicated warrior of noble repute. Did you take an oath of celibacy perhaps, before Tarvoke let you go?”
“Why have you raised your voice?” Cade asked.
She peered at him closely, almost as if trying to memorize his face. “Listen to me, Marcus Cade,” she whispered. “I was hoping to get away before Lord Magnus sent others—” She shook her head. “I have a signal device. It just alerted me. Raiders have landed nearby. They’ll be here any moment, drawn by the firelight. I’ll act one way, but you must know that I secretly desire to go away with you. You’re a man, Marcus Cade, a man like no other. I will have you one way or another.
On that, you can be sure. Clearly, your wife is elsewhere. Well, sir, Velia De Lore is going to make you hers. What I’m saying, warrior, is that I will help you later to escape. I’ve grown tired of mercenaries like Atticus. They’re swine, without real honor like my father and Marek the Third. Nod if you understand.”
Cade nodded, and from outside he heard the crunch of boots on rocks and dirt. He saw torch or lantern light a moment later. Then, ten or more armed men appeared before the cave entrance. They carried and aimed long rifles and blunderbusses at him as a short man lead the way. The short man wore tall black boots, a red coat, cape and a fancy green-feathered hat. He wore black gloves and clutched the front of a broad belt. The short, bearded man flashed his teeth in a roguish smile.
“Velia!” he cried. “You’ve captured a spaceman.”
She nodded.
“And he allowed you your clothes,” the short man said with a laugh.
Velia laughed with him even as she buttoned the top of her blouse closed.
“Ah-ha!” the short man cried, drawing a rapier. “I’m too late. Did he already have his way with you, my dear?”
“Yes,” Velia said boldly.
The armed men laughed, many poking an elbow against a neighbor.
The short man approached Cade. He touched the sharp tip of the rapier against Cade’s chest. “You are my prisoner, sir,” the man said.
Cade said nothing.
The man leered at him. “I am Sir Dorian Blue, Captain of the Day Star. I’m here to take you to Lord Magnus so he can torture Tarvoke’s secrets from you. Will you resist us?”
Velia covertly and slightly shook her head.
Cade saw that and eyed the short man, realizing Dorian Blue relished the idea of running him through with the rapier. There was some resemblance between him and Velia. Were they brother and sister, or cousins?
“I’ll go with you,” Cade said.
“Really?” Dorian asked. He moved the rapier tip up against Cade’s chin, flicking his wrist and nicking the skin.
Cade did not flinch or touch his chin, even as a spot of blood welled. He understood the game.
Dorian raised an eyebrow, hesitated a moment, then sheathed his rapier and snapped his fingers.
A few men set down their rifles and rushed forward, ripping the brace of pistols and cutlass from Cade and shackling him with stiff leather ankle and wrist-cuffs. He had a moment to eye Velia. Had she really poisoned those from the Storm Rider? Could he trust anything she’d said? At the moment, Cade had no choice, shoved from behind so he staggered out of the cave, his leather bonds creaking.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, Cade squinted at sudden brightness as the wooden hatch to his prison rose. The men had secured him in the bottom cargo hold of a gondola last night, locking his bonds to a leather ring attached to a reinforced bulkhead.
Now, Sir Dorian Blue jumped down into the cargo hold with him. He wore the same garments as yesterday, including the fancy hat with its green-dyed feather.
The swaying motion of the gondola, muffled shouts and sudden up-and-down shifts had convinced Cade the Day Star was buoyant, heading out over the ocean, he supposed.
Dorian held up a key as he stared at Cade. There was mockery in the man’s eyes. “Velia says you deny being from Graven Tarvoke.”
Cade gave a curt nod.
Dorian tucked the key behind his broad leather belt and bowed at the waist. “Excuse me, sir. I’ve forgotten my manners. You must be hungry and thirsty.”
Cade remained silent to the obvious baiting. He was a prisoner. A prisoner’s duty was to regain his freedom. That meant waiting for the right opportunity and lulling them if he could. And then what? No. He refused to despair. He would doggedly take one step at a time, driving for the goal of freedom and a spaceship to find his way back to his universe. That meant learning as much as he could as fast as could, which meant he had to get them talking about things he needed to know.
Dorian chuckled, looking around. He dragged a wooden crate near, sitting on the edge, raising a leg and resting a booted ankle on the other knee.
“Shed!” he shouted.
A coarse-faced man peered down through the hatch.
“Toss me a flagon and a hunk of cheese,” Dorian said.
A leather flagon sailed down, which Dorian caught. A paper-wrapped object sailed down next. Dorian caught it as well.
“Catch,” Dorian said, tossing the leather bottle to Cade.
Cade’s bonds creaked as he caught the flagon. He pulled out the cork with his teeth and sniffed the strongly alcoholic contents, grog, no doubt.
“I’d prefer water,” Cade said.
“That’s not a warrior’s answer, but a soldier’s,” Dorian said.
“I am a soldier.”
“Are you now? That’s rather interesting. Do you know about the Eagle-Dukes’ fighting thralls?”
“Velia said they’re produced in a man-maker.”
“True enough. You’re really not from Tarvoke, eh?”
“The free trader tried to destroy my spaceship.”
“I doubt that, sir, as he would have done it if he’d tried. Tarvoke controls space.”
“Why did he send the threatening message just before our ship arrived in orbit?”
Dorian reached out, pulling the flagon from Cade and taking a swig, smacking his lips and shrugging.
“So the Eagle-Dukes would fire their railguns at my spaceship, which is exactly what happened.”
“You’re saying Tarvoke sent the message to trick the Eagle-Dukes?”
“No. In order to destroy my spaceship.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because Tarvoke wanted my ship,” Cade said. “It had an Intersplit engine.”
“And what does an Intersplit engine do exactly?”
Would it hurt telling Dorian? Cade didn’t see how. He might actually learn more this way. “It allows a spaceship to travel faster than the speed of light.”
The man frowned, taking another slug from the flagon.
“Do you realize this is a single system pocket universe?” Cade asked.
Dorian stared at him, and his left eye twitched. There was something odd about it. The pupil almost seemed glassy. It hadn’t before this moment.
“Damn eye,” Dorian muttered, rubbing it. “Took a wound there once. It acts up sometimes. Ignore it.”
Cade filed the comment for later, as it struck him as odd. “What do you conceive of as Tarvoke’s purpose for his supposed warning?”
Gingerly, Dorian touched the left eyelid. The good humor seemed to have drained out of him. He removed his hand from the lid, saying, “You’re trouble, sir. You’ve stirred my sister to lust and stupid maneuvering. She played a bad hand yesterday. I think it’s your fault.”
“By bad hand, you mean her poisoning some of her captors?”
“She called them captors?” Dorian asked.
“I take it she lied about that.”
“Watch your tongue, sir.” Once more, Dorian touched the left eyelid and then shrugged. It took him a moment before he regarded Cade. “Tell me honestly, sir, do you desire my sister?”
“Is she really your sister?”
“Ah-ha!” Dorian cried, his good humor returning. “You think I’ve come down here to run you through so I can have her to myself. Well, sir, she’s my half-sister. But I’m not an Eastern Isle barbarian. I don’t mate my cousins or half-sisters so I can breed a race of savage, defective louts. We understand genetics in the mountains, if not old-style morality. It seems you’re quite the preacher. You told Velia a song and dance about fidelity to your distant wife. That only whetted her lust, of course. I’m beginning to think that’s yer game.”
“What’s yours?” Cade asked.
Dorian frowned as his fingers tightened around the throat of the flagon. He laughed a moment later, lifting the leather and taking another healthy swing.
“What’s mine, ye ask?” Dorian’s accent shifted
to Crag Raider from yesterday, making him sound cruder and stupider. “What’s me game in the middle of a mercenary host of raiders? One, I’m a noble by me mother, a fallen Eagle-Duke fourth removed. Ye might think that’s one generation too far, but trust me, I do not think the same.”
“Is that Velia’s mother as well?”
“I should slit yer throat for asking, as yer insulting the memory of me dear departed mother.”
“That wasn’t my intent.”
“Velia and I both have the same scheming father, a guttersnipe bastard with a face like an angel, the ladies used to say. He had a cock like a donkey and humped anything that moved. He was clever, ye can bet, and he had secret communication with Captain Graven Tarvoke!”
“Oh?”
“Velia told me how ye slew the last of the Storm Rider’s crew. She says yer a champion at arms. Is that true?”
“I can fight.”
Dorian’s head jerked back, the left eye becoming glassy again. The glassiness only lasted a moment this time. The man breathed deeply, and the roguish smile reappeared. “You can fight, you say,” as he reverted to his original way of speaking. “But can you woo a lass so she loves you the next morning?”
Cade opened his mouth, perplexed about Dorian’s strange behavior. “You’re talking about Velia.”
“She’s smitten, Marcus Cade. She wants you, and she wants me to take you into our confidence. I’m not so sure. For one thing, you have funny ideas about wives.” Dorian snapped his fingers. “If wives are good, have a dozen, I say. Make Velia your wife, if you want—if that will make your conscience sleep.”
Before Cade could stop himself, he said, “I don’t want my conscience to sleep, but to warn me when I’m about to do something immoral.”
“Immoral!” Dorian laughed. “What a concept. I’ll tell you what’s immoral: failing to grab life by the tits. Grab the gusto every second you can because tomorrow you die.”
Cade looked away. This was getting him nowhere. He wasn’t an intriguer like Halifax, but a soldier, a fighter. He pulled at the leather ring, sick of the confinement and tired of talking to the crude Sir Dorian. Maybe he should try a direct approach.
The Soldier: Escape Vector Page 11