by Eileen Wilks
His wolf disagreed. Wolves hunted with their mates, and that part of him disapproved of going on this hunt without her. He could have kept her safe.
Good thing the man was in charge. Lily was in no shape for these rough, twisty tunnels. He glanced at his watch. Almost ten. He thought of his father—then shut that thought off. Concentrate on what he could affect, not what was outside his control. They had about two hours to find Brian and Dya and remove them before Lily would start down Friar’s tunnel.
Benedict lifted a hand in the universal signal to stop. Rule did, lifting his own hand to make sure those behind saw. They were drawn out single file at the moment because the walls along here varied from skin-scraping to narrow. Benedict first, then Arjenie, followed by Rule, Lucas, Sammy, and Paul, with José at their rear. Benedict had the lead because his ears were the best and he had an uncanny sense of direction. Arjenie had to be close to the front so she’d sense any wards—and her remarkable memory was a help, too. They’d all studied the 3-D map, and had brought printouts of its 2-D version, but Arjenie could recite their route, complete with depth notations.
Benedict had frozen, studying something ahead. He held up his hand again, emphasizing that they should stay put, and eased ahead until he was swallowed by darkness.
Rule saw nothing, heard nothing, for what seemed a very long time, but was probably five minutes. Finally his brother reemerged from the blackness ahead. Once Benedict reached them he made the signs for trail, jump, and down, paused, then added the sign for water.
Lucas tapped Rule’s arm. Rule leaned close and subvocalized. “There’s a drop-off ahead. And water.”
Benedict put his mouth next to Arjenie’s ear, no doubt telling her the same thing. Like Lucas, she didn’t know ASL. Rule wasn’t fluent in it, but everyone who trained under Benedict learned a few basics. Subvocalizing was useful if you were close enough, but with sign you could speak to the whole team without making a sound as long as you were in their visual range.
They continued single file, and within a few feet he picked up the damp scent of water. Rule’s heartbeat quickened in anticipation. There was a twenty-two-foot drop-off marked on the USGC map of their route. The map hadn’t indicated anything about water, but there were a number of things it didn’t include.
They’d chosen their route not because it was the quickest or shortest, but because there were fewer branchings where they could take a wrong turn. Since they’d passed the mouths of two tunnels that weren’t on the map, Rule wanted to conclude that the mapmakers had been less than thorough. The alternative would be that they were lost.
He hadn’t entirely convinced himself. If this drop-off was the expected twenty-two feet, he’d feel much more cheerful. It would also mean they were getting close to their destination.
That was a too-familiar spot. The last time Rule had been there he’d been a prisoner. So had Lily and Cullen. He’d watched his bother die, sacrificing himself for Rule. And Lily had fought and killed Helen. Oh, yes, he thought fiercely. He was very glad she wasn’t here. She didn’t need to revisit the place of her nightmares.
Benedict stopped and turned.
Rope? Rule signed. At Benedict’s nod, Rule turned and signed to Sammy, who passed up the coil of rope he’d been carrying.
Rule moved close to Arjenie and whispered barely above a breath next to her ear. “Pull harder on your Gift and see if you sense anything below.”
She nodded, paused, then shook her head, mouthing a silent “no.” He nodded, gave her a smile, and moved to the edge.
This time, Rule would take the lead. They’d known that at least one point would require a climb, so had planned for it. Arjenie couldn’t fight, so she needed to be the last down, just in case. Once Rule reached the bottom and signaled, the rest would take turns belaying each other, leaving Benedict and Arjenie for last. Her skills did not include shimmying down a rope or rock climbing. If there was a place to tie off the rope, Benedict would use it to descend with Arjenie riding piggyback. If not, Benedict would lower her, and Rule and the rest would form a pyramid to catch her. Then Benedict would climb down.
That was assuming the drop wasn’t more than, say, twenty-two feet.
Lucas took the other end of the Rope as Rule lowered himself over the edge.
It would have been an easy descent if his ribs hadn’t been sore. As it was, he had no real difficulty. He simply hurt more than he liked. Arjenie sent one of the dim mage lights with him, which helped. The smell of water strengthened as he descended. Stagnant water, he decided. A pool of some sort … yes, he could see it dimly reflecting the mage light—a small pool in the center of a small rocky chamber. High ceiling, he noted with relief. Thirty feet or more.
The ground, when he reached it, was dry. That was good. Even better, his estimate for the descent was about twenty feet. Best of all, he saw light.
More accurately, he saw a patch of dimness rather than stark black at the mouth of a tunnel to his left, just where memory told him the map had shown it. He bent his attention to his ears, but didn’t hear anything. But what was that smell? Not airborne, he thought. The air remained deadly still. He crouched, lowering his face close to the ground.
Something warm-blooded had passed this way in the last week or so. Not a human, he thought, though in this form he couldn’t be sure. He straightened. Once the others were down, he’d have Sammy Change and see what he could learn. But now it was time to get them down. He tugged once on the rope.
One by one they came. No need to form a pyramid; once down, Sammy told Rule—subvocalizing—that Benedict had tied off the rope. As soon as those two were down, Rule signed smell and Change and pointed to Sammy. The young redhead had an excellent nose and could Change twice in a row without needing to rest.
A moment later, a tawny wolf stood on the empty clothes that had fallen to the ground when he blended himself into and through an unreal dimension. He shook his head once as if to clear it, then started sniffing at the ground. He took a step, then looked at Rule.
Track, Rule signed.
Sammy nodded and padded silently around the pool, nose down, heading for the dim maw of the tunnel. He paused there, looking over his shoulder.
Rule held up a hand to stop him, about to sign Change. Vertigo struck like a hammer a split second before the darkness all around swarmed in and swallowed him.
ROBERT Friar’s house was as large and unlikely as Lily remembered: two stories of wood and glass with a staggered veranda—God forbid you should call it a porch—three gables, and camera-ready landscaping. Lights were on inside, she noted as they pulled up in front, and the landscape lighting glowed discreetly, but he’d forgotten to leave the porch light on for callers.
Lily climbed out as soon as Cullen shut off the engine. Cynna’s door slammed on the other side, and Cullen climbed out on hers. As they started for the door, Lily half expected to see some of the militia types Friar had running around everywhere.
Sometimes half-assed expectations come true. A burly cliché in fatigues, complete with blond, buzz-cut hair and shoulder-slung AK-47, stepped off the porch. “Mr. Friar isn’t available right now.”
“Pity, but we’ll be going in anyway. Agent Lily Yu, Unit Twelve, FBI.” She held out her badge, and damned if he didn’t take it and study it. “I’d like to see your ID, also.”
“Looks genuine, but I’ve seen some good fakes.” He handed it back.
“You travel in interesting circles, Mr… .”
“Brewster, Calvin.” He reached in his back pocket. “I’m complying with your request for ID, Special Agent, but after that I have to ask you and your companions to leave.”
“Can’t do that.” She managed to brush his fingers as she took the driver’s license he pulled from his pocket. No tingle of magic. She handed the license to Cynna. “Jot down the number, would you?”
“Sure.” Cynna dug in her purse.
“The open gate gave you legal access to the property,” Calvin said, stony but polit
e. “But you have to leave when asked.”
“Not when I’ve got a search warrant.”
“I’ll need to see that.”
“Actually, you don’t. Robert Friar does. You aren’t Friar.”
“I’m responsible for the security of Mr. Friar’s place.”
“You a relative of Friar’s? A member of his household?” She shook her head. “The law’s funny, Calvin. If you’d been inside the house when we arrived, I’d have to show you the warrant. But you aren’t. I have no reason to believe you have access to the house, which means you have no right to see the warrant. Got to protect Mr. Friar’s privacy.”
His lips tightened into invisibility. He stepped back a grudging pace and pulled a phone from his shirt pocket. “Sergeant, I’ve got a situation here,” he said as Lily walked around him, with Cullen and Cynna right behind.
She rang the bell. Waited. Rang it again, adding a firm knock.
Nothing. No sound of footsteps, no television noise … “You hear anything inside?” she asked Cullen.
“Not even a mouse.”
She considered a moment. Glanced over her shoulder. Another militia guy was rounding the corner of the house, headed their way. She moved so that she blocked Cal’s view of Cullen, raising her voice slightly. “Odd that someone as security conscious as Mr. Friar would leave his front door ajar, isn’t it?”
Cullen grinned. “Damn weird, if you ask me.”
Cynna nodded. “Makes me think something’s wrong. We should check.”
Calvin spoke sharply. “That door’s closed and locked.”
“Was it closed earlier?” She turned to look at him. “Because it isn’t now. Is Mr. Friar in the habit of leaving his front door ajar?”
“It’s not—”
“Sure it is,” Cynna said. “See?” She gave the door a shove and it swung open.
And that was another reason Lily had wanted Cullen along. He was very good with locks. “Looks like you’re wrong, Calvin.”
“I’m going in with you.” He started toward her.
“Nope.” She moved to block him, giving Cullen and Cynna a chance to go in. “Same deal. Not a relative, not a member of the household, so you stay out here.”
“I’m going in with you.”
She cocked her head. “Those allergies give you a lot of trouble?”
“What the hell are you—”
“Gesundheit,” Cullen said, pointing at him.
Calvin sneezed. Sneezed again, and again—a paroxysm of sneezes that left him bent over.
It was Cullen’s newest trick, one he was quite proud of. He and Cynna had cooked up the spell together, but she had trouble executing it—something to do with the difference between runic charms and spoken spells. Lily grinned and slipped inside, locking the door behind her.
Her grin slid away. She listened a moment, then called out, “Mr. Friar? Special Agent Lily Yu here. I have a warrant to search your house and physically connected structures.”
No answer. She looked at Cullen. He shook his head. “Can’t hear a thing. Either he’s playing hide-and-seek, or he isn’t here. If he isn’t here, I bet I know where he is.”
So did she. Belowground someplace, either in his tunnel or at the node. Where Rule was headed. “Cynna?”
“Ready, set, go,” the taller woman said, and shook out her arms. “I warned you this could take awhile. If he’s warded the entrance to the tunnel, it’ll be hard for me to Find.”
“Understood.” Maybe Rule would be knocking on the other side of the tunnel’s entry before they found it. Maybe not. Either way, they had the best Finder on the planet looking for it. And while Cynna hunted her way, she and Cullen could try more common methods. Hands and eyes. “Let’s get started.”
THE moon was half full. Plenty of light for lupus eyes on a clear night, enough to see the looming wooden ghosts of the mining operation that had died here over twenty years ago. Also the vehicles pulled up in the dusty yard in front of what had once been the office. And the men gathered to one side of the vehicles, near a fire pit complete with a small blaze.
The wind was having fun with that fire, Isen noted, though they’d dug the pit deeper than usual. One of Stephen’s men hovered near it with a bucket and a blanket. Fire was traditional at a Challenge, and tradition carried great weight for Stephen.
Isen’s driver pulled up at the end of the row of vehicles nearest the gathered men. He glanced at his watch and nodded. Two hairs past ten o’clock. Excellent.
He did enjoy making an entrance.
Jason got out on the far side of the car. The driver got out on her side … the driver being Nettie. Isen heard the exclamations from those waiting and grinned and opened his own door.
The noise cut off. Eight startled faces stared at him—five Etorri, including Stephen; Myron from Kyffin; and the two Ybirra clansmen who’d driven in to support their Lu Nuncio and bear witness. Plus a ninth, furious face. Javier was not pleased to see him.
“You seem surprised,” he murmured, moving forward. “Myron, how is Billy?”
“Well enough, though he’ll—”
“What trick is this?” Javier demanded. “Why are you here? And that woman. Who is she?”
Isen paused, eyebrows lifted gently. “I believe Nokolai has been Challenged. Did you think I would allow my heir—who was injured today, as you must know—to fight in his condition?”
Javier scowled. “He didn’t plead injury as a reason to delay.”
Isen said nothing, but he allowed rebuke to enter his gaze.
Myron snorted. “As if he could. You’d have screamed to high heaven that he was up to something. It’s Rule’s ribs were hurt, I think?” he asked Isen.
Isen nodded. “They’ll mend, but not in time for the Challenge. You said Billy is doing all right?”
“Didn’t even need surgery, though he’ll wear a collar for a while. Thanks for sending Nettie.” He smiled at her. “How interesting to see you again so soon.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Isen said. “I believe Javier asked about her.” He gestured for Nettie to step forward. “This is my granddaughter, Nettie Two Horses.”
Stephen of Etorri spoke for the first time. “It’s irregular to bring a woman to a Challenge.”
“Irregular, perhaps, but no one stipulated that we only bring male clan. Nettie is Nokolai. She’s also a doctor, healer, and shaman.” Isen beamed at them. “I expect to need her services, and hope that Javier will, also. I’ve no desire to kill you for being an idiot, boy.”
“I’ve no desire to kill you, either, old man. Feel free to cry loss and submit.”
Isen chuckled. “That’s telling me. Well.” He pulled off his shirt and handed it to Jason. The wind chose that moment to kick up its heels, stinging his bare chest with sand. “I assume the circle’s been drawn?”
“It has,” Stephen said. “As mediator, I ask if there is any way your clans can reconcile this difference without Challenge.”
“Nokolai owes a blood debt for their betrayal.” Javier’s eyes glittered in the firelight. “Ybirra means to claim it.”
Isen’s good humor fell away. He looked at Javier and allowed his mantle to rise. “Rule has explained what happened. You will not listen, blinded by anger and grief and the unwillingness to know yourself wrong. In your blindness and arrogance, you aid our ancient enemy. Our Lady’s enemy.” He paused, letting his voice drop to a growl. “When we step into that circle, know that you will have to kill me to win. I will not submit. Nokolai will not abase itself, submit to a lie, to satisfy your refusal to deal in reality instead of rage.”
For a moment, doubt flickered in Javier’s eyes. Uncertainty. Isen smiled grimly. “I will bleed you, boy, but I’ll only kill you if you give me no choice. I don’t want Manuel to lose a son. I don’t want our people to lose a fighter—for believe me, the time is coming when we will need every fighter. Come. Our Lady needs us, all of us. You can still withdraw your Challenge.”
That was a step too f
ar. Javier’s head jerked back, as if Isen had struck him. “I do not withdraw.”
Bloody young idiot, thinking withdrawal meant cowardice. And a bloody old fool he was for mishandling the boy. Ah, well. He looked at Stephen. “Ybirra will not withdraw. Nokolai will not submit. It looks as if we had better get started, doesn’t it?”
FORTY-FOUR
RULE came to with the same suddenness he’d passed out. He lay utterly still, allowing no muscle to tighten, using his other senses to gather information before opening his eyes.
Piss. That smell was so strong it took a second to sort out the rest, but Benedict was close. José, too, was near. And Sammy, Paul, Lucas … was that Brian? Yes, though his scent was so smeared with the stink of illness it was almost unrecognizable. He heard a heartbeat … no, two heartbeats, both of them unnaturally languid, but strong and steady.
He was lying on a hard, rough surface. The air was chilly and calm. His ribs ached, but nothing else hurt. Benedict was on his left, also lying down. José was on his right. Either they were still unconscious or they were faking it well. Better than he was, for he was sure his own heartbeat had speeded up.
“Rule? You awake?”
Brian’s voice. Rule opened his eyes. “So it seems.”
He was in a cage. No, only one wall was barred; the others were rock. Someone had made use of a handy cubbyhole in the rock to form a cell. The stone of the ceiling glowed—mage light, but fixed to a surface instead of floating free.
That ceiling was much too close. Only two feet from Rule’s head when he sat up. Too low to stand.
Panic twitched at him, a puppeteer demanding that he move, run. He breathed in slowly, deliberately, and looked around.
The stink of urine came from a bucket at the back of the cell, not far from where Brian sat, leaning against the stony wall The sanitary facilities, it seemed. Their cell was about twelve by eight, just enough room for their captors to lay everyone out neatly and naked … no, not everyone. Only the lupi. And not entirely naked. Rule touched his ribs. They’d left his elastic bandage on. How thoughtful.