“Not even your life?”
Kane’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man who had ordered his life for so long. “Is that your offer?”
“Only in part. I trust you will take this as symbol of the value I put on you. I will give you back your life . . . and your position.”
Kane stared, genuinely startled. Never had Druas shown the slightest mercy, never had he taken back one known to have betrayed him. They had all died, slowly, painfully, at Druas’s own hand.
“You have reason to look well surprised. You surprised me once, Kane, when you became the greatest of warriors. I have never given a man a second chance. Yet I give it to you. Rejoin me, and we will build an empire like no other ever seen.”
Kane heard a smothered sound from Jenna, a sound of pain, of hope, of resignation; he could not tell. He still did not look at her. He could not. It was all he could do to speak her name levelly.
“And Jenna?”
“My generosity does not come without price,” Druas said. “I cannot have the warrior at my right hand bewitched.”
“So the price for my place with you regained is her life,” Kane said, keeping his voice even with an effort.
“She is merely a woman, replaceable in your bed,” Druas said. “Although I confess, I am surprised you allowed one to become so important to you. I thought”—Druas gestured toward the scar on Kane’s face—“I taught you better. Perhaps it is part of this magic?”
It was magic, truly, Kane thought, but not the kind Druas inferred. It was something more powerful than any spell Tal or his like could ever cast. And something Druas would never understand.
“She lives,” he said coolly, “or you die.”
“You’re hardly in a position to threaten me,” Druas said. “Did you think you found that hallway empty by chance? I knew you would come. You always had that stubborn streak of honor, no matter how I tried to crush it. But my guards are now merely awaiting my order to take you.”
“But you will die before they lay a hand on me. I promise you this. And you know I can do it.”
For an instant something flickered in the eerie pale eyes. “They would hack you to pieces.”
“So be it.”
With a sharp sound of protest, Jenna struggled violently against her bonds, the chair she was tied to scraping loudly across the stone floor. Neither man looked at her.
“You can have what you want at little cost,” Kane said softly. “It is me you hate, not her. She means nothing to you.”
“But she clearly means a great deal to you,” Druas said thoughtfully. Kane suppressed a shiver when he realized the man was trying to think of a way to use her against him. And of the ways he would come up with, given time.
“She is merely an excuse,” he said. “This should have been done long ago.”
“Stop it!” Jenna shouted. “I am not some pawn to be scrabbled over by a couple of dogs! I will not let you do this, Kane, give yourself up to this butcher!”
“You have two choices,” Kane said swiftly, before she could say any more, draw any more of Druas’s attention to herself; he was already looking at her with far too much interest. “Release her, and live. Or die.”
“Either way, you die,” Druas pointed out.
“Yes. But you will be deprived of the pleasure of killing me yourself. Slowly, as I’m sure you’ve planned these five years past.”
Druas said nothing for a long moment. Then he smiled, a bone-chilling smile that made Kane want to strike him down right now, before he could unleash any more evil on the world.
“I will let her live, in exchange for your surrender.”
Kane let out a breath. “Done.”
“Damn you!” Jenna cried out, “You have no right to do this, Kane! I do not want your sacrifice.” She looked at Kane, her eyes alive with a fierce pride and courage that made Kane want to take her in his arms and shelter her forever, simply because she did not need it.
“We will speak of rights,” Druas said ominously, “after I have your sword, Kane.”
“Release her.”
With a shrug, Druas drew his small dagger from his belt and strode over to slash through Jenna’s bonds, first her hands, then her feet. It was his mistake; as he bent to cut the rope that bound her ankles, Jenna grabbed the pottery wine decanter and brought it down hard to shatter against his head. In the same instant she brought her knee up hard and fast, hearing the satisfying crunch as she broke his nose.
His scream of rage echoed off the walls as he went down to his knees. But he swept one arm back and caught Jenna around the waist, dragging her down with him. Imprisoned by his considerable bulk, she could do nothing but pummel his powerful chest uselessly.
This was not what he would have tried, but Kane took the chance she’d offered and struck swiftly with the hilt of his sword, knowing he didn’t dare use the blade when Jenna was so close. Druas fended off the blow with one metal-gauntleted forearm. Only then did Kane see he had brought his dagger across Jenna’s throat, drawing blood from the pale skin. The sight stopped him cold.
“Drop your sword or I’ll slash her throat right here,” Druas ordered, his voice sounding muffled by the blood pouring from his nose.
“Kane, no! Don’t let him win!”
She meant it; he knew she did. She would truly die rather than let him hand himself over to Druas. As he would die rather than leave her in Druas’s hands. Something stirred in the back of his mind, some realization he knew was important. Yet he also knew he had no time to dwell upon it now. Druas was tightening his hold, and blood was welling from the fair skin beneath his blade, the skin that was softer than anything he’d ever touched. And there were noises coming from outside the stronghold’s walls, shouts, rumblings, footsteps; something was happening.
“Now,” Druas snapped. “Before I change my mind about our bargain.”
Kane’s sword clattered to the stone floor. Jenna whispered something low and harsh. Druas got to his feet, dragging her with him, his eyes never leaving Kane.
Druas shouted toward the doorway, and the men who had been waiting, no doubt weighing Druas’s orders to stay out against the sounds they heard from inside, burst back into the room.
“Sir, there is something afoot outside—” The words stopped, all eyes widening at the sight of their leader’s bloody face and wine-soaked hair. At Druas’s sharp order the man who had spoken took Kane’s arms and yanked them behind him, tying his hands together tightly.
Druas gave a deep, satisfied laugh despite his bloody nose. Then he shoved Jenna toward one of the other men.
“Tie her to the bed,” he ordered. “It’s where I’ll want her, later.”
Jenna kicked out furiously, and the man trying to restrain her howled in pain. Kane swore, jerking free of his captors for an instant before they scrambled to restrain him.
“So you’ve taken to betraying your own word, Druas?” Kane spat out.
“I have not. I promised only that she would live. She will. But she will live as my whore. And you, Kane, will watch as I make use of her. ’Twill be my parting gift to you, before I skin you alive.”
“You will not,” Jenna said coldly as the man pushed her to sit on the foot of the bed, and struggled to bind her to the bedpost. “I will die first.”
“Noble, but wasted,” Druas said. “I am glad I thought of it. It is most fitting, that he watch the Hawk turned into a whore, and that you watch Kane the Warrior die, slowly, screaming.”
“I change my mind,” Jenna said. “I will kill you first.”
Druas laughed. “I do believe I will enjoy this.” He glanced at Kane. “I salute your choice in women, my—”
“Sir!” The clatter of booted feet echoed ominously in the corridor. A man wearing an insignia of rank at his shoulder pounded breathless
ly into the room. “Sir, we must secure for an attack! A mighty force approaches!”
Druas glared at the man. “A force of weaklings armed with nothing more fierce than burning arrows—”
“No, sir. ’Tis a real attack, not those simple clanspeople. I don’t know where they all came from, but there are scores of them, mounted, armed, and they are riding this way. They came out of the forest as if out of nowhere, a huge force! ’Twas a sight to behold, in the moonlight—”
“Enough!” Druas whirled on Kane. “This is your doing.”
Kane shook his head, knowing he must look as puzzled as he felt. “I know nothing of this. You’ve made enemies enough, perhaps they’ve joined together.”
“Sir, you must hurry,” the man urged. “They have a huge machine, the master of arms believes it is a catapult of some size.”
Druas growled something low and obscene, then turned to his officer. “Rally the rest of the men. I will come see this army of yours for myself.” He picked up the sabre Kane had dropped, then glanced back at its owner. “I cannot risk your escape,” he said.
Kane knew what was coming, tried to dodge, but he was held fast by the two men and could not evade the blow. Druas’s heavy metal-clad gauntlet caught him on the temple, and everything went black.
JENNA WRESTLED with the rope that held her, although her wrists were raw to the point of bleeding. Kane lay frighteningly still where he had fallen, his hands still tied tight behind him, and from here she could not even tell if he was breathing.
Panic welled up inside her; he could not be dead. Not Kane, not so simply, by a single blow from the likes of Druas. It just could not be.
She yanked at her bonds again, ignoring the pain in her wrists as she was ignoring the alarming noises from outside. And ignoring the chaotic tumbling of her thoughts, a much harder task. Kane had been willing to give himself up to a certain, painful death in exchange for her freedom. She did not know what to think of that fact, knew only that she could not, would not let him do it.
If he was still alive to argue the point.
Her throat tightened, and stinging moisture pooled in her eyes. She cursed herself; tears were a useless luxury she could not afford now. She swiped at her eyes with her forearm, all she could manage, tired as she was.
The motion brought into her field of vision a slight gleam coming from the floor beside her feet. She leaned forward. It was a shard of the pottery decanter she had shattered over Druas’s head.
She stretched out her legs, and captured the fragment between her feet. Twisting until she could barely breathe, pulling until she thought her arms would part from her shoulders, she managed to bring her feet up to the bed. She edged the piece to one side and let it drop on the coverlet. Shifting to her side, and thankful for the thickness of the feather coverlet that made it possible, she pressed the side of her leg downward until she caught the shard between her knees. Swiftly she doubled up her legs and caught it in her teeth, then transferred it to her hands, praying all the while not to drop it.
The edge was hardly knife sharp, but it was the best thing—the only thing—she had, and she sawed away until her wrists ran red with blood from her efforts. Each passing moment seemed an hour long, and with every sawing motion of her hands she knew they were one step closer to death. She could hear the sounds still echoing outside, and although she’d never been in one, she could not doubt these were the sounds of battle. She sawed harder.
When the rope at last parted, she stared for a split second, unable to quite believe it. But then she was moving, kneeling beside Kane’s inert body.
He was alive. For a moment that was all she knew or cared about, that rise and fall of his chest, the steady thump of his heart beneath her fingers.
She rose quickly then, searching the room. Tossed in a corner she found, of all things, her small crossbow; she supposed Druas had found the little weapon amusing. But that was of no help to Kane at the moment, and she looked on. She found no kind of knife, and was about to begin the laborious sawing with the bits of pottery when she saw the corner of her small quiver protruding from under the rushes strewn on the floor. She grabbed it up; the feathered bolts relied more on force than sharpness, but they were still sharper than the pottery. And they meant she was armed, as well.
It took her only half the time to saw through Kane’s bonds. She rolled him onto his back, and welcomed the low groan that came from him. Blood trickled down the side of his face, following, oddly, the path of the old scar. She again fought back tears, trying to think. If only Kane would awaken, if only he would tell her . . .
“What would he have you do?” she whispered to herself.
Even as she asked it she knew. And she picked up the small bow, loaded a bolt in the groove, and notched the bowstring, ready for firing. Only then did she go to the earthen pitcher on a low table across the room. She found a small amount of water in the bottom, poured some of it out into the goblet that matched the one Druas had hurled at her. The rest she used to soak the corner of the coverlet from the bed, and wiped it over Kane’s face.
After a moment he stirred, his dark, thick lashes fluttering as his eyes flickered open. He stared at her blankly for a moment, the normally clear gray cloudy and confused. He tried to move, and winced.
“Don’t try to move yet,” she said softly.
He blinked, then focused on her face. “Jenna.” It was a warm sigh, both pained and wistful, and the sound of it tightened her throat unbearably. Then she saw awareness come rushing back to him, saw the moment when the sounds from outside registered on his trained mind.
He sat up abruptly, weaving a little as a wave of dizziness took him. She reached out to steady him, but he had already recovered.
“Druas,” he said in a hissing tone as cold as his speaking of her name had been warm.
“He hasn’t come back. Perhaps he will not, if this force is truly as great as they say.”
“He will come back,” Kane said grimly, “if he has to crawl, if he has to let every one of his men die to do it. He will let nothing stop him from killing me.”
“He would let his entire army die just to execute one traitor? That does not make sense, Kane.”
Kane laughed, short, sharp, and very harshly. “It does, when you consider who the traitor is.”
“He hates you that much?”
“He does. More than any other man who has ever turned against him.”
Jenna studied him for a long moment, bits and pieces of things said and seen whirling in her mind. Old scars and unprecedented offers and dead puppies and murdered children . . .
“You were more than simply his right hand, weren’t you?” she asked finally, very gently.
He met her gaze then, and she knew by the way he looked at her that her knowledge of the truth was clear in her face. He turned his head, averting his eyes as if he could not bear to look at her. When he spoke at last, his voice was a twisted, broken thing.
“He is my father.”
Chapter 22
“TAL,” JENNA MUTTERED as she helped Kane get to his feet, “is doing a mightily poor job of keeping his promise.”
“His promise?”
“Never mind,” she said. “But I would like to know where your magical friend is, now that we could truly use his help.”
She busied herself, once he was steady enough to stand, with gathering up her small bow and the quiver. When she straightened, she saw him watching her, his face expressionless.
“How did you know?”
She knew what he meant, and knew better than to even try to pretend she didn’t. She let out a short breath. “Many things.”
“We are . . . so much alike?”
The self-loathing that had crept into his voice startled Jenna. “No!” She shook her head fiercely. “You are nothing alike. It was not th
at, nothing like that. It was only things you had said, and his methods . . . and perhaps my hope that there could not be two such evil, cruel men. And that I could think of no other reason for him to hate you so much than if he felt you had betrayed more than simply his trust.”
“His blood.”
She nodded. And then something else came to her. “And his name,” she said softly. “You did not simply leave him, you left . . . everything. You turned your back on what he was, what he tried to make you . . . even on his very name.”
“I could no longer bear to carry it. He has turned the name of Druas into an depraved, poisonous thing.”
“So you are known only as Kane by your choice. Not simply because the legend is of Kane the Warrior.”
His mouth twisted. “Such repute will do us little good here,” he said, clearly not wanting to discuss it any longer. The noises from without were growing louder and closer, and his tone became ominous. “And if we do not get out of here, it will not matter.”
He glanced at the small openings in the south wall, big enough to let air in, and arrows out, but not much more. He walked over to the heavy oaken doors, inspecting them carefully.
“He had them locked, and barred from the outside, after he . . . struck you.”
Kane only nodded and continued his inspection.
“He is . . . the one who gave you that scar, isn’t he?” she asked.
Kane’s hand moved reflexively up toward his cheek. He stopped the motion and continued to study the doors without speaking. But Jenna knew he had answered as clearly as if he had said it; it indeed had been his father who had sliced his face open and left him with the mark he would carry for life.
“ ’Twill not be easy. They are solid,” he muttered, pressing a hand against the closest door.
It swung open.
Kane dodged back, clearly startled. Jenna stared.
“I heard them bar it, I know I did,” she said.
“I do not doubt you,” Kane said, never taking his eyes off the unexpected opening into the apparently deserted corridor outside. “He would be a fool not to lock us in.”
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