Chapter 46
“YOU HAVE MADE a grave miscalculation, Jakel.”
Paledan looked at the man, contemplating the quirk of nature that sometimes brutal creatures—for he thought of the man as little more than a beast—reflected their inner nature. He’d once heard Blakely joke that if a blowpig mated with a muckrat, the result would look like Jakel, but be kinder. He thought that fairly accurate.
“Blame your guard, who left his post,” the man said stubbornly. “I nearly had Davorin talking.”
“You tortured him nearly unto death and he told you nothing.”
Yet he spoke to me.
Paledan pondered the words Davorin had spoken before passing out. The Coalition dealt in power and force, and had little use for ideas and less for ideals. They cared for nothing that couldn’t be gained by force, and the concept of a belief that wouldn’t die even when crushed, that people would hold unto death, was dismissed without thought.
And yet . . .
“It would appear Davorin’s standing in Zelos is higher than I was led to believe,” Paledan said thoughtfully, glancing once more at the symbols on the wall, the Ziem sabers. “Why else would so many risk their lives to divert our attention from his escape?”
Jakel snorted. He was pacing Paledan’s office like the muckrat Blakely had mentioned, lumbering, heavy arms swinging. “You call surrounding that half-wit Ordam risking their lives? The man couldn’t fight his way out of a crawler web. I doubt he even knows how to fire a blaster.”
“On that, we can agree,” Paledan said.
Jakel appeared to interpret that as encouragement. “I still don’t understand how Davorin escaped. He was incapacitated, I swear.”
“He appeared to be, yes.”
“And the door lock was just . . . gone. How in hades did that happen?”
Paledan had an idea about that, but it was hardly something he would share with this man. “Mysterious.”
Jakel flicked a glance at him. Apparently, he felt braver, because he said, “You unlocked his chains from the wall.”
Paledan lifted his gaze then, locked it on Jakel’s face. The man stopped in his tracks.
“You do not,” Paledan said without inflection, “wish to open that subject.”
Jakel backed up a step. Threw up his hands. “No, no, I. . . . Look, give me some men, I’ll find Davorin and drag him back here.”
“You will not.”
“But—”
“You will, however, answer to me from now on.”
Jakel blinked. “What?”
“We are agreed Barcon Ordam is unable to command a curlbug, let alone a man such as yourself, are we not?”
“Uh . . . yes?”
“And am I correct in thinking he has treated you with less than respect?”
Something hot, almost red, flashed in the monster’s eyes. “Oh, yes.”
“Then it should be a relief to answer to the Coalition, should it not? And have Coalition backing at your disposal?”
The man’s expression lightened. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
“And the chance to teach Ordam that respect?”
The avid expression that came over Jakel’s face then warned Paledan that this man would have to be dealt with. But for now, he was a tool to be used. And Barcon Ordam had outlived—by a large margin—his usefulness.
“Then come with me.”
He strode out of his office. He never looked back; he didn’t have to, he could hear Jakel’s heavy tread close behind him.
They found Ordam huddled in a chair in his office. He let out a yelp of terror when Paledan threw the door open without knocking.
Ordam let out an audible sigh of relief when he saw who it was.
“Commander! You must have them arrested, all of them. I ordered the troopers to take them when they were here, but they refused!”
“My troops,” Paledan said, “do not take orders from you.”
Ordam cringed. “Of course, of course, but you can order it now, surely? I can identify them all.”
Paledan looked around. The office was remarkably tidy, given that some thirty citizens had been gathered, shouting and making demands, not two hours ago. They had taken care not to destroy or damage anything, Paledan thought. Under orders?
“On what charges?” he asked, his tone one of mild curiosity.
“Since when does the Coalition care about charges?” Ordam’s tone was incredulous.
“Contention valid,” Paledan agreed. “But explain how you justify tying up those troops ‘protecting’ you against an obviously orderly group, while a prisoner escaped and the mines were attacked? How did you not realize it was a ruse, a diversion?”
“How could I? They stormed this office! They accused me of being a traitor to Ziem, of handing them over to . . .”
His voice trailed away. Paledan smiled. “And did you not?”
“It was for their own good,” Ordam protested. “You don’t understand these people.”
“But you, being the special creature that you are, do.”
It hadn’t been a question, but Ordam nodded rapidly. “Exactly. Most of them are stubbornly independent, and foolish; they don’t know what’s good for them. They need a guiding hand, to show them.”
“I would, had I the time, spend a few minutes explaining reality to you, Ordam. But I have other demands on my time at present. And so, I will leave your education on the price of treason to someone else.”
He glanced at Jakel, then back at Ordam. “One other thing. He works for the Coalition now.”
Ordam looked merely puzzled. Until Paledan nodded at Jakel and said, “He’s all yours.”
Paledan heard the screams all the way down the hall.
BRANDER STARED down at the broken man in the narrow bed. Even if the truth hadn’t gotten around, the disguise was hardly necessary now, he was so battered. He had stopped Mahko barely halfway through reciting Drake’s massive injuries, because he couldn’t bear it.
“I’m so sorry,” the healer whispered, his expression devastated. “I have eased his pain slightly, but I can do no more for him. He does not have long.”
Brander dropped more than sat in the chair beside the bed. He felt a touch, a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. Eirlys. She was about to lose the man who was both brother and father to her, and she was trying to comfort him? He couldn’t even look at her.
“I will be just outside,” she said, and he wondered that she was able to think at all, let alone think to give him some moments alone with Drake.
For a long time, he couldn’t bring himself to look at the man he had grown up beside, planned beside, and fought beside. But when he finally did, he realized Drake’s eyes were open, at least as much as they could be given the swollenness of his face where Jakel had beaten him.
He tried to speak.
“Bran—” The hard B sound was too much for bloody lips, and he stopped.
“Don’t try to talk,” Brander said, leaning in.
“Have to. Things . . . need said.”
“Drake—”
“Twins. Look out for.”
“Of course. You know I will, until you’re able.”
Drake’s eyes closed. Brander heard the hiss of sound as he labored to breathe. Then he was back, looking at him steadily. “Not . . . this time.”
He saw the knowledge in his best friend’s eyes. Saw the resignation there, and could only imagine the pain he must be in for it to be there.
“You must—” again, his lips seemed to protest making the sound, but this time he forced himself to go on, stronger now “—take over. Raider can’t die.”
“You are the Raider.”
Drake gave the barest shake of his head. “An idea . . . a symbol. They will fight for you.”
“No.”
“They will. Use the scars, the helmet. The legend . . . has to go on. If the Raider dies . . . Ziem dies.”
He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t Drake. Oh, he’d fought beside him, he’d carried out missions on the edge of crazy, but he was no leader. Not in the way Drake was, inspiring all, bringing out the best in them, and single-handedly keeping the Coalition endlessly on guard.
“Swear to me.”
The words were barely audible, and Brander knew talking was weakening him.
“You are . . . the only one . . . I trust to do it. Swear it.”
Brander met Drake’s gaze and did the only thing he could.
“I swear.”
Drake let out a long, weary breath of obvious relief. Brander understood. Knew that Drake knew it would have been easy for him to promise just to ease his passing, but that he would never say it unless he meant it. For all his sins, and they were many, Brander Kalon was a man of his word.
He thought Drake had drifted off, and caught himself checking to make sure he still breathed. And then, softly, he heard, “Eirlys.”
Brander’s own breath caught in his throat. “I will see to her. Always.”
Drake’s eyes opened then, and he saw the understanding there. His brother in all but blood knew. He drew in a breath, let it out slowly, and then admitted it out loud for the first time. “Yes,” he said, answering what had not been asked.
Drake’s nod was barely perceptible. “My . . . blessing.” Something shifted, and for an instant, the old Drake, the Raider, was looking back at him. “As if you’d require it.”
“No,” Brander admitted. “But I will treasure it.”
And, that simply, the bond between them was renewed, brothers by their own choosing. That it was likely the last time they would acknowledge it made it a bittersweet thing, both unwanted and necessary.
Drake’s eyes closed again, and this time he did not stir again. The sound of his breathing was like a rasp over raw nerves, painful, hated. The only thing Brander dreaded hearing more would be the moment when it stopped.
He couldn’t just sit here and wait for that damned, eternal silence. Nor did he want to watch Eirlys and Kye sit here, waiting helplessly for the death of the man they loved. Or watch Mahko hover, regretting that his healing skills were not enough. The fact that no healer’s skills were enough wouldn’t matter to the gentle man.
No healer’s skills were enough.
For a long moment Brander didn’t move. He barely breathed. And then he leapt to his feet.
“Hang on, Drake.” He said it as if he’d already assumed the mantle of command. “You just hang on.”
Then he turned and headed for the door.