As the dust settled, he heard the distinct crackle of current and the hum of instrumentation on overload. Broq waited, still expecting an explosion and his amazement grew when that didn’t happen. He thought it might, if the power wasn’t shut down.
He hesitated, afraid. He didn’t want to be onboard if the thing was going to blow up, but then he thought there had to be someone inside. Broq hesitated another moment, then started across the field at a run. He moved to the ship’s ramp, which had burst open a crack on impact. A sharp pop and shower of sparks greeted him just inside and he had to push aside some cabling to get in all the way. Lights flashed in the interior, creating shadows that leapt at him. Broq hurried to the flight deck, eyes widening at all the controls he didn’t immediately recognize, but saw that he’d have a problem if he didn’t get it shut down, a big exploding one.
There was blood everywhere too, and the smell of it struck him. He tried pushing all that out of his mind, including the man slumped over in the pilot’s seat. On second glance, he started to read and understand the layout. As quickly as he could, he managed to get all the critical systems shut down. By the time he was finished, he was breathing hard and his heart was pounding.
Broq looked down at the man beside him then, really afraid he was dead, and the thought of finding out sent a chill up his spine. His clothes were torn and several large blotches of red stained them. Cringing a little, Broq reached forward and touched his neck. He grimaced because at first he didn’t find any heartbeat, but just as he was about to let go, he found it. The man was alive, but not by very much. That made it worse instantly. Now, Broq thought, he was responsible for a life instead of a body.
He looked around and saw a panel marked as containing a medic kit, got it out and set it up. It was a far more extensive kit than the kind he could get at the Trading Post in town. He wasn’t exactly sure how to operate most of the equipment. His pilot courses hadn’t covered this type of situation yet.
Broq pulled in a breath, trying to steady his nerves when he heard his father calling from the ramp. “I’m here, Pop. The pilot’s alive.”
Riegle Marleen joined him a short moment later, taking in the situation with one quick glance around. “How bad is he?”
“Pretty bad,” Broq said without really knowing. He picked up the biomonitor and figured out how to turn it on.
“You know how to read these things?”
“Looks like I’m going to find out.”
Broq’s oldest brother, Rorin appeared then, looking over their father’s shoulder. “It isn’t going to blow up is it?”
“No.” The biomonitor told him that this man was in serious trouble, and what to do about most of it. There was plenty he didn’t understand. Broq discovered that the injuries hadn’t been caused by the wreck, but by a sword. “Someone needs to go for Doc Tro.”
Rorin pulled in a sudden breath, and leaned down. When he straightened he held in hand a sword that had sapphires set in the hilt, encrusted all over it. Rorin stared at it, and a frown knitted his brows together. He stared down at the pilot, then at his father. Broq thought a message was passed between them but then his attention was taken by the biomonitor’s chirp.
“I’ll go for the Doc,” Rorin said and set the sword aside, propping it up against the wall.
Riegle nodded. “Send Drey with the cart, and I expect your mother and Elana are on their way too. Tell your sister to stay at the house, and to get a room ready.”
Broq watched the list of procedures he had to follow slowly shrink as he used the dermal injector, changing the settings three different times. Whatever the medication was, it seemed to be working, except for the poison symbol that wouldn’t go away.
“Do you know who he is?” Riegle asked.
“He looks sort of familiar, and he’s got that sword. Someone attacked him and he got on this ship and got away from them. He’s been poisoned too.”
“Best if you don’t question too much, and if you do find out, keep it to yourself. Especially from Elana.”
Broq blinked at that, guessing his father feared for her for some reason because of this man, yet he was going to help him anyway. Broq nodded, but he knew he’d try and find out who this was. His father and Rorin already knew. Broq thought he should and looked closer.
Riegle turned and went back out to the hold. Broq could hear him walking around, making him wonder what his father was looking for. He shook his head, and went back to the biomonitor, trying to find out about the poison. He breathed as he read the deadly nature of it, then looked at the blood he’d gotten on himself.
Marinodrox poison was lethal when injected, and strong enough to make a man deathly ill just absorbed through the skin. Broq took a sterile cloth from the medic kit and wiped his hands off. He started wiping down the immediate area hoping to keep his father and brothers from being exposed, wondering at the same time how sick he was going to get from it. This man might die from it.
Riegle came back, pausing at the entry hatch. “There’s no one else onboard. Can we move him?”
“Yes, but you need to be careful about getting blood on you.” He explained why as he moved so that he could lift the pilot out of the chair. With his father’s help, they got him to the ramp. It took all of them, with his brother, Drey on the outside, to pull him through the small opening.
Broq left them to carry the man to the cart, and went back for the medic kit and noticed the sword again. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked it up and brought it out with him. His father eyed him when he saw it, probably wondering why he’d taken it. He set it down inside the cart. “Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that should be left lying around.”
Riegle looked doubtful, but nodded him on. “Let’s get him indoors.”
***
Viana Marleen set the pail into the basin and started the pump. Doctor Yuli Tro came in wiping his hands off. They’d all been doing that a lot. Riegle Marleen leaned back in his chair and looked at the sword resting on his dinning table. “Is he going to make it?” he asked.
Tro nodded, accepting the tea Viana poured for him. “He got the poison from contact exposure. He’ll survive it and the other wounds, but he’s going to be sick from it.”
“Contact exposure,” he repeated. “So someone else was poisoned and he got it through their blood. That would probably mean his brother died from it.”
Tro nodded, his face grim with weariness. It was late and they were all of them tired. “What do you want me to do, Riegle?”
“Can he be moved?”
“Yes. I can have a Medic transport come out. They’ll take him to Caladia.”
Riegle thought he should tell Tro to go ahead and arrange it, but he didn’t think Dynan Telaerin would survive in Caladia, not if word of who he was got out. And it would. Word could get out about where he was now too. He thought the authorities would have come by now, and as the night deepened, he began to wonder if they knew where the Prince was.
“I would suggest contacting the Palace, except I found this in his clothes.” Tro held out a Palace entry pass. “He’s already been there, and he was attacked since then.”
“His Majesty turned him away.”
“Seems that way.”
“I suppose you think I should too.”
“I just know you could be in danger having him here in your home.”
That was a consideration Riegle couldn’t afford to ignore. Everyone knew the Prince was a hunted man. Most everyone had heard the stories, but Riegle had friends on Cobalt. They told him it wasn’t true, that it was Kamien who murdered their father and killed their young sister. Riegle knew those people as well as he knew anyone and didn’t think they would lie, especially when lying was easier. Not long after hearing from them, he found out they’d disappeared.
The sound of horses outside the house drew his attention. That would be Rorin and Broq coming back from Gesta with the news. Riegle was hoping there wouldn’t be any, but when he saw their faces, he knew ther
e was.
“They’re trying to keep this quiet,” Broq said. “Cobalt’s Star Destroyer is orbiting Rynald. The Palace says that it’s here for a sanctioned patrol of the System.”
That explained why Creal had turned the Prince away. A cold knot of fear centered in Riegle’s chest. The Destroyer wasn’t here for any patrol, of that he was certain.
“We have to get him out of here,” Rorin said and drew a look from his brother. Broq knew then, but didn’t seem inclined to agree.
Viana turned from the basin, putting the pot on the stove to heat. “I’ll not have any of that talk,” she said, and Rorin subsided. “If we didn’t know who he was, we wouldn’t put him out. He’s sick and he’s injured. I’ll not have him taken from my house like that.”
“Would you rather they come for him while he’s here?” Rorin asked.
Riegle shook his head. “If authorities sanctioned by the Palace come here then we’ll have no choice but to turn him over to them. We’ll keep him here as long as we can. Long as it’s needed.” He could tell Rorin didn’t agree and Drey likely wouldn’t either. The decision was made, and they would all abide by it. “Broq, can the Destroyer find his ship?” he asked, and his son didn’t want to answer. “It can.”
“Yes, but they would have to know where to start looking. If they had that information, they would have been here by now. Surface scans take time, and his ship is dead so they won’t be able to trace it through the engines.”
“How can they then?”
“If they scan the area, they’ll see the ship and the path it made through the trees.”
“We’ll go out and see what we can do to make it less obvious. Doc, are you staying?”
“I don’t think I need to. And it would be better if I didn’t. More questions. I’ll have to tell Mia something.”
“Tell her Broq took sick,” Viana said. “Goodnight, Tro.”
“How are you feeling now, Broq?” Tro asked before he turned to go.
“All right.”
“You may not be by morning. I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
~*~
Chapter 20
He became aware of a burning itch in his side, recognizing the sensation as the irritation of a healing wound, and he remembered where he’d gotten it.
He felt soft covers draped over him, and a pillow beneath his head. He remembered people standing over him, a kindly woman, and a man who hadn’t been so gentle. He remembered hating their presence, knowing that they meant to keep him alive. He didn’t want to live, didn’t want to see their concern, or accept the food they forced into him. He remembered telling them to leave him alone, to let him die.
They hadn’t. Now he was faced with living again, faced with intolerable grief, and the agony of memory. In waking, he saw himself running, and felt his brother slipping away.
Dynan opened his eyes, coming fully awake.
“Well now, you just rest easy.”
He saw her by low lamplight, set to ease the dark of evening, sitting near at hand in her chair, sewing to pass the time. Sitting as he remembered her every other time he woke. He tried to push himself up, but found he lacked the strength.
She smiled, setting aside her sewing, and moved closer. Her hair, grey showing starkly through black, was twisted back into a loose bun. She was an ample woman, motherly, with blue eyes that sparkled from some source of inner mirth. “I knew you were a stubborn young man when we found you,” she said, lifting him so she could push some extra pillows behind his back. “That better?”
She got him some water, and held the glass to his lips. He couldn’t raise his arms to do it for himself, encumbered by dragging weakness. “You were sick enough, that’s for certain, but the Doc came out and did what he needed to. Said you’d make it. Seems he was right, even when the last relapse made me doubt it. Here you are, alive, and that’s a blessing.”
Her piercing eyes lighted on his, and he turned from her, unable to meet her direct and knowing look. “You may not think it a blessing now, but in time, you’ll see that it is. You talked enough in your sleep and delirium. Death is a natural part of living, but when life is taken in violence, well, that makes it all the more difficult to bear. Give yourself some time. You’ll see. It gets easier.”
She stood, moving to a small table. Sparsely furnished because of its size, the room held the bed, and her chair, which he doubted was meant to stay. A small chest stood at the end of the bed. The room was tiny, barely five kem wide and eight long at the most. When she turned back, he saw that she held a bowl of steaming broth. He didn’t want it.
“Now, you can have this on your own accord, or you can have it the other way. Riegle isn’t a gentle man, or patient, but you will eat. I’ll not have spent a month tending you only to have you die of starvation.”
“A month?” he said, startled into speaking. His throat still hurt, and he winced.
“Yes. Long enough. You’ve been very ill.” She put a spoon in the liquid, then held it for him. After a brief hesitation, and the memory of Riegle to convince him, he decided it would be better to eat.
After a taste, he had to admit it was good, and soothing to his throat as well. That she was feeding him as she would a baby caused him some discomfort. He felt his face warm with the realization she likely had to take care of other things far more personal. The slight smile she wore confirmed the thought.
“Now, don’t worry yourself. I’ve raised four children, and I’ve seen worse. Though I must say it’s been a good number of years since I last set eyes on such a form as yours.” She giggled to herself, while Dynan gaped at her. “Riegle now, he’s a fine man, but he’s not much to look at. A good man, and decent, but he’s more full of bluster than a hog going to slaughter. He’ll have some questions, no doubt, but the way I see it, unless you’ve done murder he’ll not turn you over.”
Dynan couldn’t hold her gaze again, and felt her studying him.
“Murder is a long way from defending yourself against ruffians now. I think you know the difference.” She set the bowl aside, pleased that he’d eaten most of the broth, and said so as she adjusted his pillows down a notch.
“What’s your name?” she asked, and he was suddenly afraid if they knew who he was, Riegle wouldn’t wait to tell the authorities about him, but put him out at once. He was taking too long to answer. When he tried to speak, nothing came out.
“De Alurn,” he said finally, looking at her to see if she believed him.
“I’m Viana Marleen. Who was Dain?” she asked softly.
It took some time to answer. She was the first person other than Maralt to know of Dain’s death, making it more real, more undeniable. She waited him out. “My brother.”
Viana closed her eyes, and he was surprised to see tears in them. She nodded and patted his hand. “I’m very sorry.” She stood, handing him a small bell. “You sleep now. If you need anything, just ring this. Don’t worry yourself about it either. The more you get help now, the quicker you’ll get your strength back. Any time, you hear me? I’ll not tolerate any foolishness, now that I’ve got you on the way to health again.”
Dynan suddenly felt exhausted, and a grey cloud came up and swallowed him. He didn’t hear her leave the room.
When he next opened his eyes, light streamed in through a window he hadn’t noticed before. He felt better too, but he became aware of a sudden, urgent need to relieve himself. He pushed up slowly, discovering as long as he was careful he could do it. He didn’t really want to ring for help in this, stubborn pride or not, but realized he might need to when he stood and nearly fell. The table proved sturdy enough to support him, and he discovered a chamber pot beneath it.
He stood for a moment, pushing back the curtains to look outside, squinting in the unaccustomed brightness. He saw a brood of chickens picking busily at the ground, and beyond, the expanse of Viana and Riegle’s farm opened. A barn stood off to the left. He saw two men, young, strong, and sturdy going about their morning chores. Two of the
four children, he thought, except they were probably older than he or close to the same age. He reached to draw the curtain closed.
He heard a gasp behind him and turned, startled, forgetting that he had nothing on. It wasn’t Viana, but a young woman who stared at him, really stared at him, brown eyes moving up to his. She wore her glossy black hair tied loosely, and it draped down her shoulder. She was beautiful; the way young girls are before they realize it. All innocence. Her cheeks reddened, which only heightened her appeal.
Viana came in right behind her, and Dynan turned, wondering if the entire family had shared the same viewing.
“Rather ambitious of you, I should think,” Viana said briskly. “Elana. Your chores are waiting.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Dynan sat down, pulling the bedcovers up around him, but saw Elana watching still, until her mother firmly closed the door. “Well, this is a fine bit of work,” Viana said eyeing the chamber pot. “You could have just as easily fallen on the floor as managed this. I gave you that bell for a reason.”
Dynan shrugged, because he’d managed just fine.
Viana grunted. “Do you think you can stomach a bit of solid food? Fresh eggs, sausage, biscuits?”
Dynan started to nod, and then suddenly remembered the meal he’d had with Dain. The same, and their last together. Grief quenched his appetite. Such a simple thing too, silly almost, except for the terrible emptiness that reached out to drown him.
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