Chapter 24
Sander jogged through the shadowy forest, directionless but constantly moving forward. He sought paths and found none, not even skinny deer trails. Some parts of the forest floor were clear of all but pine needles or leaves; other parts were laden with bushes, smaller trees and other plant life that made forward progress difficult.
He changed trajectory twice when the trees and brush simply obliterated the landscape, creating a green barrier impossible for a man to navigate. Whether he was still in his own country or another was a mystery. He hadn’t reached any sign of civilization or seen structures that might give a clue one way or another.
At least the echo of braying hounds had diminished to nothing. He heard no other calls or shouts of humans on the hunt, which was an encouraging sign. He didn’t for a second think his captors had given up the search but, for the time being, it appeared he had evaded the first wave.
Several minutes later he heard the distinct burble of a nearby stream. In dire need of a drink, he veered through the trees and came upon a four-foot-wide creek. He knelt at the water’s edge and used his hands to scoop up two large mouthfuls of clear, chilly water. The bend in his spine added stress to the embedded bits of shrapnel, creating new fissures of pain that bloomed across his back like fireworks.
He splashed his face with water after sating his thirst and sat back on his haunches.
“Put your hands behind your back. Slowly.”
Sander reacted the instant he heard the man’s raspy voice. He plucked up a rock from the ground and hurtled it sideways in the direction he thought the intruder would be. It was a quick action. From thought to movement in a second. That he hadn’t heard the man approach was unusual and a little alarming.
He looked in time to see the rock glance off the shoulder of a man dressed in black. A dog stood on point at the end of a long leash, ears pricked forward and eyes gleaming, but otherwise utterly silent. Sander surged to his feet as the man absorbed the rock strike and pulled the trigger of his gun. Sander saw the weapon too late.
What hit him wasn’t a bullet at all, however, but a dart that struck him in the thigh. Another snapped against his shoulder.
He swiped at the offending tranquilizer darts and pivoted to run in the other direction, curses streaming through his mind. Sander felt the effects of the drugs hit his system before he’d taken ten steps.
As his legs gave out and he hurtled toward the ground, his last thought was the bastard is one of us.
An intense, burning pain yanked Sander from darkness. He lifted his head an inch, too groggy to bring his surroundings into focus. Survival instinct demanded he move, get up, run. But he could not move his arms or his legs.
He was facedown on a rough-hewn table and had been stripped to the waist.
Someone stood at his left side, leaning over his back. Sander jerked against his restraints as another sharp pain resonated near his kidney. Was he being stabbed? Cut open? Mutilated?
“Hold still,” a man somewhere else in the room said.
“This one is deep. It will hurt,” said the man leaning over his back.
Sander hissed and bit down on a shout as the man slid a piece of shrapnel from his skin. That was what was happening, he reassured himself. No stabbings or mutilations. A moment after that he realized that the men were speaking his language. He’d been right about the man in the woods being a Latvalan citizen, as were the men holding him hostage.
They were traitors to their core.
An hour later, with the shrapnel removed from his skin, Sander was upright in a chair, hands bound behind his back. He was in the same barn he’d escaped from, the scent of hay heavy on the air.
Four men stood before him dressed in hunting attire. Their dogs sat behind them near the door, ears perked. Watchful but silent.
“What is it you want from me?” Sander asked. His tongue felt thick, his head still fuzzy from the tranquilizer drugs. He had no idea how he’d been transported back through the woods to the barn, and didn’t really care. The hunters had pulled a fast one, setting two sets of teams loose to track him. One set with loud braying hounds, the other with silent dogs that led their owners through the woods on his trail. His subterfuge with the tree hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.
The burning question of whether he was in Latvala or Russia had been answered: he was still in his homeland, held by his treasonous countrymen.
“We have issued an order for your people to bring Elias to us. If they do not, you will be shot where you sit,” one of the men said. He was tall and broad through the shoulders, hair hidden beneath a black knit cap. Blue eyes peered out from beneath a heavy brow.
“They won’t bring him,” Sander said. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Won’t bring him to save the king of Latvala? Oh, I think they will.”
“You don’t know my family very well. We don’t negotiate with traitors.” Sander jerked his chin to remove a length of damp hair from his brow. He only realized the dampness was blood when a crimson dot landed on his bare chest.
He was a mess of bruises, cuts, and wounds, both from the explosion and the capture.
The lead hunter smiled, revealing a chipped front tooth. “You underestimate your own worth, I think. Besides, we know Elias has no memory of his past. What good is he to the crown without that?”
“So what’s the end game here, then?” Sander answered a question with a question. He’d already discovered that whoever was behind all this was someone with intimate, inside knowledge of the royal family. Someone from the hospital or the small circle of trusted guards who had helped bring Elias to Kallaster.
Men Sander had handpicked. It just reinforced the idea that the right manipulation from outside forces could overcome even the most loyal of men.
“The eradication of the Ahtissari line, of course,” the man said.
Sander thought of him as Chippy. “For what purpose?”
“The annexation of Latvala.”
“You’re awfully free with your information,” Sander said.
“There is no reason not to be. I’m of the mind you should know what will happen to your country before you die.”
“The annexation of Latvala to Russia? Are you moles, then?”
“Let’s just say we believe Mother Russia will be a safer overlord for the upcoming war.”
“I can’t tell if you were approached by Russian intelligence to betray your country, or if you’re acting alone with the intent to hand Latvala over on a platter once you’re done here.”
Chippy didn’t smile that time. “Enough questions.”
A squeak of hinges heralded the opening of the barn door.
“I have Prince Mattias on the phone. He is asking for proof of life,” a man said, holding up a phone.
Yet another compatriot belonging to the group. Sander studied the men as they silently made a decision whether or not to allow him to speak to Mattias. Chippy snatched the phone and held it toward Sander’s mouth.
Sander did not waste time with needless greetings. He got right to the point.
“Do not do what these people are asking. I forbid it. Elias remains where he is, as well as the rest of my children. You know what to do when I’m gone. Tell Chey I love her.”
“You know we can’t—”
Chippy jerked the phone away from Sander. “Your time is almost up, Prince Mattias. What is your decision? This is our third and final call.”
“Do not do it!” Sander shouted.
“Quiet!” one of the other men said.
“I mean, it, Mattias.” Sander refused to be silenced.
“Stop! Or I’ll blow your knee out.” Chippy pointed his gun at Sander’s knee.
Sander heard Mattias’s voice through the receiver, but could not decipher the words.
“That’s an order, Mattias,” Sander said, unafraid of the gun being aimed his way. His life was well worth that of Elias’s. Of all his children. He would do the same for any of them.