61 A.D. (Bachiyr, Book 2) (25 page)

She had known he would. Her mother had ordered as much.“Is that so?” she asked. Haegre was young, and not especially useful to the campaign, else her mother would not have left him in charge of the Bachiyr, who seemed secure enough. By the look on his face, the fact that he’d been left behind to watch over a caged animal while his comrades found their glory on the battlefield did not sit well with him. Heanua could use that. “You would presume to stop me?”

Haegre nodded. “Your mother has commanded that no one be allowed to approach the creature, including you. It will meet its fate at sunrise.”

“I am not here for the creature,” she said, “I am here for you. You and your men are needed at the northern wall of the city. The Romans have proven stronger than we thought, and the northern wall still holds strong.” In truth, the northern wall had fallen an hour ago, but Heanua doubted the captain would know that. “My mother bade me to send you there right away.”

“She sent you? A princess? To deliver such a message? Does the queen use her daughters for clerks now?”

“You dare to question me?” Heanua felt the blood rush to her face. “My word is the queen’s word.”

“I’m sorry, princess,” he replied. “But I will need more than your word to disobey the queen’s command. If you have an official message, then please share it.”

Heanua fumed, but she reached into her tunic. She had expected this and come prepared, but the fact that Haegre had balked at her instructions irritated her. She pulled out a rolled piece of parchment, sealed with the queen’s brand, and handed it over, doing her best to keep her face even and calm.

Haegre examined the seal, then broke it and read the missive. He nodded, and turned to his men. “To the north wall, all of you. Quickly, now. The queen needs us.”

The men cheered. Apparently Haegre was not the only one who sought his glory on the field.

He turned to Heanua and saluted again. “My apologies, princess. A man in my position must be careful, you understand.”

“Of course. Now go. For the Iceni.”

“For the Iceni.” He saluted, then moved to the head of his men. After a few minutes, she stood alone by the Bachiyr’s cage.

Heanua sighed in relief. Haegre had not examined the wax seal closely, or he would have noticed it was made from the larger seal in the queen’s tent rather than the small one on her ring. Both were official, but in times of battle the queen often used the ring to save time. He undoubtedly knew as much, but had missed the detail in his eagerness to join the battle. No wonder her mother had left him behind. His lust for battle overruled his attention to detail.
When I am queen I will have him sent to the farthest reaches of the Iceni lands.

Heanua watched them go, then turned back to the cage, where she found the Bachiyr eyeing her, its face a mixture of anger and curiosity. She stepped up to the bars and placed her hands on the wooden floor. In her right hand was a set of keys. Heanua made certain to jangle them, just to get the thing’s attention. In her left hand was a crossbow, its bolt tipped with pitch. She wanted the Bachiyr to know from the start of their conversation that she could offer him freedom or death.

“Well, now,” she said to the thing. “You are in a bad place.”

“You speak Roman,” it said in perfect Iceni. “That’s interesting.”

So the creature spoke their language. It didn’t surprise her, the Bachiyr had been paying a great deal of attention to the comings and goings around the cage, especially the orders from the queen. No one listened that intently to conversations they couldn’t understand. “It is wise to know your enemy’s language,” she replied, switching to Iceni.

“More likely you were taught Roman before Nero broke his treaty,” it replied.

She nodded. It was smart. Good. “My name is—”

“Princess Heanua,” he interrupted, smiling. “Greetings, Princess.”

“I am here because—”

“You want something from me,” he finished for her. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Despite what you told our slow-witted friend, the north wall has already fallen, as you well know. I must admit I am curious. Why would a princess lie? Not that I am complaining, mind you.”

How the hell did he know about the northern wall? No matter. “I would make a bargain with you,” she said. “I will release you from this cage and from my mother’s sentence. In return you must perform a task for me. Do you agree to my terms, Bachiyr?”

“My name is—”

“I care not for your name, only for your answer.” She raised both hands, showing him the keys and the crossbow again. “I can kill you or set you free, the choice is yours.”

“What task do you require?” he asked. “Do you still wish to throw me back into the city to fight for your cause?”

Damn him. The Bachiyr had good ears. “I will tell you after you agree.”

“I should like to know to what I am agreeing to before I agree to it.”

“That is not the deal,” she said, jangling the keys for effect. “Agree to my terms or die with the sun. You choose.”

The Bachiyr turned his head toward the eastern horizon. The sky had begun to lighten slightly. It had not turned pink yet, but the black of night no longer reached the ground. Sunrise was an hour away at the most. He turned his face back to her, his thin lips tightened into a grin.

“It would seem I have little choice,” he said.

“I’ll have your word, Bachiyr.”

“You have it,” he replied. “Release me and I will perform any task you require of me.”

“Swear it.”

“By The Father, I swear it,” he replied. “What would you have me do?”

Heanua didn’t know what ‘By The Father’ meant, but it would have to do. She stepped up to the cage door and inserted the key into the lock, checking behind her to make sure no one was looking. Then she unlocked the cage door and stepped inside, setting the crossbow on the floor and pulling her dagger from her belt.

The Bachiyr eyed the dagger. “I have agreed to your terms princess,” he said. “There is no need for that.”

“It’s for the ropes, not you,” she said.

The Bachiyr laughed, then slid his hands from behind his back. The wrists and palms were so thin they looked almost delicate. She stared, her eyes wide, as they filled out, thickening to their normal girth in a matter of seconds.

“As I said, there is no need for that,” the Bachiyr stated, pointing at the dagger.

“You could have walked away at any time,” Heanua noted.

“Not quite. The archers, you see.”

Heanua nodded. The archers would have filled his body with arrows the moment he twitched. “Then you did need my help. So to our bargain.”

“Indeed,” the Bachiyr said. “What does a princess of the Iceni wish of me? You want me to steal into the city and slaughter the Roman guards there?”

“No,” Heanua said. “That will not be necessary. The battle for Londinium is well in hand.”

“I hear the other princess is lost somewhere inside the city. Do you want me to find her and bring her back?”

Damn him, how did he know all this? He must have ears like a bat! “My sister has made her choice,” she said. “She will turn up or not, as she sees fit.”

 
“Then what—”

“I want you to kill my mother.”

***

Baella removed her claws from the throat of her last opponent, sending a spray of blood in the air. The body slid to the street and landed in the sticky dirt with a wet thump. All around her lay the torn corpses of the men who had accosted her and cost Baella her prize. They got what they deserved. Of the dozen or so men that attacked her, eight now lay dead at her feet. The other four had come to their senses and left to find easier sport elsewhere. But the damage was done.

Ramah was gone.

“Damn you,” she kicked the body of her last victim, hearing the satisfying crack as his ribcage shattered. “You cost me everything!” The unfortunate man groaned in pain, but it was weak and shallow. He would be dead before she left the street. Now that the battle was over, she wished she could prolong his life, that she might make him endure more pain than he already had.

But there wasn’t time. To the east, the sky had begun to lighten. She had an hour at the most before the sun peeked over the horizon. If she was not in a safe place by then, it would no longer matter where Ramah had gone.

Ramah!
The sun might kill him, too. If he did not regain consciousness before the sunrise, he would be stuck on the back of that horse while the sunlight turned him into ashes. She couldn’t allow that. He was too valuable.

Her portal was in the center of the city, which had not yet been destroyed by the Iceni attack. As it happened, the Council of Thirteen maintained a similar portal nearby, which is where Ramah would go if he did awaken in time.

Baella set off down the street, trying to determine which way the horse had gone. Both portals were close at hand, so she could spare a little time to try and find him. She would have to be careful around the Council’s portal; no telling who would emerge from that dark hole. With such a great prize at stake, however, she would risk it.

Ramah, the great Ramah. Second of the Council of Thirteen. Inside his head lurked all the secrets of her race. Four thousand years of history and conquest could be hers, and the information in his head could be used to bring the Council of Thirteen to its knees and end, once and for all, The Father’s influence in the world of the Bachiyr. Truly, he was a great and valuable prize, indeed.

Yet for Baella, Ramah’s greatest value lay in what he
didn’t
know.

29

Taras wiped the blood from his lips with his sleeve, but only succeeded in smearing it further. The Iceni woman, her attention focused on him rather than her own feet, barreled into the last of her attackers. Both fell over in a tangle of limbs, clothes, and hair. Her fingers clawed and scratched, and the man punched and kicked. They looked like two drunken brawlers in the street. He stepped forward to intervene, but it soon became apparent that the woman, in a fair fight and left to her own devices, was quite capable of defending herself.

Military training,
he realized, and wondered if all Iceni women received it. He did not intend to stick around long enough to find out. Through the small window, he noted the lightening of the sky. Dawn was close. Too close. If he meant to escape the city with his life he would have to leave soon and make his way to the smuggler’s hole. Hopefully it remained undisturbed since the last time he’d used it.

He stayed in the room long enough to hear the man scream and watch the woman remove her bloody dagger from his belly. She drove it in a second time, twisting as she went. The man’s cries could surely be heard out in the street, if there was anyone out there to hear it. Given the secluded location—the men had wanted their privacy, after all—Taras doubted it.
Just so,
he thought. The man deserved everything she did to him.

She stabbed the man five more times, until his screams turned into soft whimpers, then quieted to a weak, choking gurgle. By the time she finished the man lay still on the wooden floor, his blank eyes staring up at the ceiling. She spat on his face and rose to her feet. The smell of blood was everywhere, but Taras had fed already. His urge to kill the woman faded as the brigand’s blood filled his body. She was no longer in any danger from him, if indeed she ever was, but she could not know that.

As she turned around, Taras stepped behind the corner, not wanting her to see him standing there. He should leave now. He hadn’t meant to stay behind this long, but he wanted to make sure the woman lived. Now that she had, he could go underground and wait out the day.

But he didn’t.

He listened for the sound of the woman’s feet. When they finally came she sounded off balance, her feet shuffled along the floor with a soft hiss. Something was wrong with her. Probably something to do with the blood on her legs. Initially he’d thought the blood the product of the men who tried to rape her, but now he wasn’t so sure. Out in the street, weak and injured, she would have little chance if another group of Romans came upon her.

 
It’s not your concern,
he told himself.
You have helped her once already.

He stepped around the wall and looked at the dead man on the floor. A trail of blood led away from him and down the hall, spotted here and there by bloody footprints. There was too much blood for it to all belong to the dead man. Some of it must be hers.