Betrayer: Foreigner #12 (37 page)

It might
be
rigged, for what Bren knew. Tano and Algini could do that very quickly, and he couldn’t remember if they had come near the van while they were discussing what to do.

But they heard no explosion.

And it was highly possible that their enemy, failing to be blown up, was trying to figure out now where they had gone.

They might follow his bodyguard to Kajiminda, which would bring the enemy under Edi fire and complicate Banichi’s situation trying to get into Kajiminda.

Or they might decide right away that the track toward the woods was a decoy and go casting about for where they were, figuring a high-level hostage might save their situation.

Lucasi checked the locator at irregular intervals, just a fast look.

He did pick up something.

“It is not our associates,” Lucasi said. “We could be picking up Najida.”

“What about the enemy, back where we left the van? Can you tell direction?”

“One is not authorized to say.”

Damned Guild regulations, Bren thought.

And then Lucasi added, looking worried: “It may be our enemies, trying to draw a response, figuring we could take them for our allies. I must admit, nandi, that I am not an expert with this.”

At least Lucasi was not overestimating his abilities. That was actually comforting.

But the signal apparently stopped.

There had been the plane. Allies knew where they were. Or would know. Things could start to move . . . which itself could be a point of danger.

The sun had passed zenith. The temperature was a curious mix of cold rock, where they were sitting, and a potential for sunburn, where heat beat down from overhead. They hoarded their water, shared it very, very cautiously, and kept absolutely still.

There had been no repeat loop by the airplane. It was likely on the ground somewhere, either at the airport or at Najida, if not headed back to Shejidan airport, hours away, or down to Separti, or, God knew, some convenient patch of grass where Dur could report to somebody who could do something about the situation. One could hope things were going on, and that plans were being laid in detail—

Plans that involved the whole west coast and peace or continued war, not to mention lives saved or lost.

And here he sat, holding a good many of the keys to the situation in his head, and he wasn’t in shape to do anything. Lucasi had wilderness skills and a weapon, but he couldn’t walk far. So they were stuck on this damned hilltop. Plans could have gone to hell. The situation was changing, with that plane involved. One
hoped
his bodyguard had seen it, and had seen the convoy, and had drawn conclusions . . . but if they changed plans, they couldn’t advise him, either, without advertising their presence.

He thought wildly of just taking out on his own and hiking to Najida, hiding in ditches and behind rocks, getting there any way he could, then getting on the phone there and raising hell with Shejidan until he could get them to send his bodyguard some help over at Kajiminda. If he were Lucasi’s age and had two good feet . . .

But he wasn’t. And the kid wasn’t in shape for it, either.

He thought of a lot of things, none that were practical, and most of which were rash in the extreme, and he knew, sensibly speaking, that a stray, pale human in run-down boots and a pale dress coat wandering through the lines of fire was just not going to end well.

But, damn it! There were a lot of entrenched opinions out there about to bump into each other and in need of the paidhi to knock heads together . . . Edi mistrust, Ragi mistrust, Marid mistrust, several clans who didn’t like each other, the Guild itself fragmented, and the Marid under attack. People were going to get killed, people he intensely cared about were in the middle of it, and he needed a damned phone.

Which—he swept a careful hand back over his hair, trying not to look any more disreputable than he already did, unshaven and dusty as he was—would ironically make a cell phone a very handy thing, except such a call could be intercepted, and he would bring the whole damned renegade force down on him and Lucasi.

So what good was that? What the damned Guild locator couldn’t do, it couldn’t do either. His ideas were running up against two facts: he wasn’t in shape to run for it, and going against his agreement with his bodyguard was far too risky. Getting shot by the Edi was no better than getting shot by the renegades.

Lucasi leaned close and indicated direction with a move of his hand. “Someone is coming, nandi.”

From the south. From the direction his people should come—but from the direction the heavy firing had come earlier.

He drew a deep breath. And Lucasi flicked the button on the locator he wore.

Green light flickered twice and went out.

Lucasi cut it off fast and looked at it as if it had been a bomb.

“Get to deep cover, nandi. Quickly!”

“What did it say, nadi?

“That was the wrong signal, nandi. We are in serious trouble. Go.
Quickly.”
Lucasi lurched to his feet and seized Bren’s arm, pulling him along, but it was a question who was helping whom . . . a damned sad situation, Bren thought incongruously, and with it came the hope the next shot he took didn’t land in the same spot.

Upon which, in between protecting his balance and Lucasi’s and trying to prevent them both from breaking their necks, he tried to think what to do, how to work their way out of this.

If he had to fall into hostile hands, the best thing was to stay alive, and keep the kid alive, and try to work his way out of it with words—a far better defense than a gun in his hand. The damage he could do Tabini—he could, Banichi’s word,
finesse
that. That was his job. Get him to a leader he could talk to, he could find
some
chink in the opposition’s armor,
something
to bargain with.

Brains. And a plan. A plan only happened if he had a situation in front of him.

He wasn’t doing damned well with Banichi’s kind of work.

They skidded, leaving a track. It was a wonder both of them made it to the bottom of the sandstone shelf in one piece, but they hadn’t been quiet about it. He caught Lucasi by the sleeve to keep him from pitching over, while Lucasi, with his bad ankle, was trying to balance the heavy gun in the crook of one arm, having unslung it from his back, and manage his makeshift cane with the other; it was not an outstandingly successful combination.

“Please do not attempt to shoot anyone even if you get a target,” Bren said. “It will only get us killed, nadi. I can talk to them.”

“This is my fault,” Lucasi said. Both of them were panting for breath, and bits of rock crumbled under their feet and slid downslope, rattling all the way. “Hide, nandi, and I shall lead them off.”

“You shall do nothing of the kind, nadi!”

“Forgive me, but Guild cannot accept civilian orders in a combat situation . . .”

“This is not a combat situation unless—” His foot skidded on the sandstone dome. He recovered, and Lucasi rescued him from pitching over in the other direction. “—unless I say it is, nadi!”

“One begs understanding, nandi. Banichi left me in charge of your safety.”

“Banichi
could have taken a rifle to the halls in Tanaja, and he refrained, because there are other answers in this world than Guild policy
,
nadi! At this moment I am at the end of my patience with Guild policy, when it would be perfectly possible—” Another difficult sideways step. “—to settle this directly with the lords involved—” Slip. “—without blowing things up.”

“The lord of the Dojisigi only
thinks
he is using the Guild who have taken residence with him . . .”

“The paidhi-aiji, however, is better-served, better-protected, and less a fool than the lord of the Dojisigi, who is probably
deceased,
nadi. I tell you that you are not to fire that rifle!”

“But,” Lucasi said.

“This is an order, nadi! If you fire, we shall both be dead, instantly. If I have my way, I can at least gain us a day.
Obey my order!”

“Yes, nandi.” A desperate maneuver for balance as they hit level ground. “But best hide and not be in such a position in the first place.”

“Just—” Bren half-turned to assist Lucasi, and caught movement at the top of the ridge.

Three uniformed Guild appeared at the top, an instant before one of them yelled,

“Halt!”

“Obey them,” Bren said, and held up empty hands. “Put down the rifle, nadi. Let me deal with them.”

There seemed to be four of them. Their enemies came down the sandstone slope in better order than the two of them had just done, and Lucasi held his rifle aimed at the ground.

“Nadiin,” Bren said, keeping his hands in sight. “My bodyguard is under my orders, so you may rest easy; and I trust you know—”

He didn’t know what had hit him. He went sideways, and fire sprayed the sandstone and came back. The whole world flashed black and red, and he was lying on the ground under Lucasi’s weight with an automatic rifle going off just over his head.

“Get to cover, nandi!” Lucasi yelled, over another three-shot burst, and got his weight off him.
“Go!”

“Nadi,” he protested, outraged, but there seemed nothing for it. There was a lump of rock half a body length away, and he rolled downslope to get there, tangled in the damned long dress coat and trying to get all of him into cover. Lucasi aimed another burst up the hill, on which there was one man down and no sign of the others. In the next second, Lucasi came rolling downhill into the same inadequate shelter. Lucasi, being considerably larger, needed more of the rock, which Bren tried to give him.

There was a moment of no-sound, which made Bren think he had gone deaf; but he heard Lucasi moving around. He heard the scrape of a rock under his knee.

“Nadi,” he began, exasperated.

“He would have fired,” Lucasi said. “Forgive me, nandi, but he moved to fire.”

And did the civilian second-guess Guild instincts? If it had been Banichi, he never would have questioned the judgement. It wasn’t Banichi, by a long shot. And he had lied to that dead man about having control of the situation. Clearly. He was upset about that.

But the fact was, they were alive and under cover. He didn’t know how they were going to get out of this nook, and he didn’t know how many rounds Lucasi had left. He could hope maybe the pair who had fled back up over the hill were waiting for reinforcements, but he had the unhappy suspicion they were just working around to a better vantage, to come at them from behind their rock.

“He would have fired,” Lucasi said again.

“One believes you, nadi.”

“One regrets shoving you so hard.”

“Since I am alive, I by no means take offense. You have actually done very well, nadi.”

It was a young face, struggling with distress and imminent failure. And they were in one hell of a mess.

“I have a gun,” Bren said. “One rather expects they will come around the hill and up. Might one suggest you bring the rifle to bear on that situation, and I will watch for anyone to come over the hill, at a range that will give me time to miss at least once.”

“Yes,” Lucasi said, and shifted about to do exactly that, while Bren took the pistol from his pocket and tried to still his racing pulse. He had, unfortunately, their precision weapon, and he was long out of practice.

They waited. There was a sound at one point, a thump, the shift of a light rock from somewhere over the hill. And then a rock sailed over the crest and rolled down the sandstone dome.

Do them both credit, neither of them was fool enough to fire at it. They sat pat.

They waited.

Then after a considerable time, a second sound, from their right. The rock they were hiding behind obscured the source of it.

“They are coming downhill,” Bren said.

“I have a signal!” Lucasi whispered, suddenly twisting about to show him the blinking green light. “Nandi,
our
signal. Your bodyguard is out there.”

From the certainty of disaster to a different kind of fear. They’d made enough racket and had enough guns going off to alert the surrounding countryside. His bodyguard knew he was in trouble and had surely gone from a stealthy approach to a desperate haste, maneuvering to take the opposition out.

But how many were there on the other side? Were they the advance guard of the whole damned force that had been banging and thumping away over at Najida? There could be a hundred or more in that convoy.

“What is my bodyguard doing?” he asked in the faintest whisper.

“They are coming in,” Lucasi said. “Nandi, do not fire.”

God, somebody with a correct code was moving up on their position. He took his finger deliberately off the trigger and curled it around the guard, for fear he might squeeze the trigger in sheer terror; but he wasn’t letting his finger stray far from it, either.

Then he heard the best sound in the world.

“Bren-ji?” Jago’s voice.

“Yes,” he said to the empty air. “Yes. Kindly get under cover, Jago-ji. One believes trouble has gone downslope to get around us.”

A little sound, the whisper of a leather-clad body moving, and with scarcely a piece of grit disturbed on the rock, a lithe, large shadow came around the rock and settled between them.

Bren just leaned back against the rock in relief. “Is everyone all right, Jago-ji?”

“Yes,” she said. “But this is a moderately difficult situation you have here, Bren-ji. We believe there are nine to thirteen of the opposition, perhaps more, scattered about.”

He carefully put the safety back on the gun and inserted it into his pocket on the second try.

“Are you injured?” Jago asked him.

“Perfectly fine,” he said. God, he was
not
going to shake like a leaf. He reminded himself they were a long way from out of this, which kept up a moderate draw on spare adrenalin. “Lucasi has kept me in one piece.”