Cool Hand (44 page)

The plan held up well through the guards around Amaral’s camp.

They let us through without delay, and redeployed to face an attack from the Santa Fe pack coming in from the south.

Evans played his part, blood-spattered and wild-eyed. Almost too well—Yelena’s work in his head seemed to have pushed him further over the edge.

“You fucking bitch,” he shouted at me, laughing. “They tried to get you back and they failed.”

The Confederation had parked their convoys off the track about half-way up a hill. We stopped there.

Evans dragged me up the rest of the way, taking every opportunity to jerk my arms until I almost passed out from the pain. He was enjoying it.

“I get to keep you after Amaral’s finished with you tonight,” he hissed in my ear. “I’m looking forward to all the fun I’m going to have.”

“I knew you were a sick shit, Evans, but you’re stupid as well. You think Amaral can afford to leave me alive?”

I might as well have been talking Vietnamese for all the effect it had. When we came to it, I tuned him out to concentrate on what was happening in the middle of Amaral’s camp.

Stars blazed above us. It was full night now; the air was clear and the temperature was in free-fall.

The hill flattened out into a meadow and then became broken ground before falling into a gorge. There were braziers in the meadow, not burning brightly, just glowing with embers that provided sufficient light for paranormal eyes. The Confederation reserve was camped there, waiting while they were deployed or sent out on patrol.

The hillside was rocky; the biggest stones looked like old, weathered faces sunk into the earth. The ground was streaked with pale fingers of a light snowfall. The wind wove its way through tall ponderosa pine and stirred the snow like ghost hair.

It was flat at the top of the hill as well, where I was.

Here, Amaral had set up a windbreak in the shape of a U, using the sheets of black fabric I’d seen at the convent. The fabric billowed and waved in the wind.

Inside the break, he had a freaking conference table set up, with chairs. And behind that, I could see Diana surrounded by the children and Adepts, exactly as she had been in the convent. Her head was down and her eyes closed. I could feel the working hissing balefully at the edge of my consciousness.

Amaral himself was sitting at the table talking with an Adept. He was dressed in a business suit, ready for his appearance. Guards stood in loose groups inside the shelter of the windbreak. Too many for me to get anywhere near Diana.

They had diesel generators behind the break, thumping quietly in the night and powering a full mobile recording studio—cameras, lighting, the whole works—with operators and assistants rushing around. From the look of it, they were getting ready to go live any time now.

Come on, Felix, time to start the distractions.

Screens came up. I recognized a couple of the faces from meeting them at Haven.

One of the screens was focused on Diana, zoomed in close and cropped tight so that nothing of her surroundings showed.

If she wakes up and thinks the conference has started…

Not quite yet. Amaral realized we were there, and he and the Adept walked over.

One of the cameras followed Amaral.

If that went live…

My wolf growled.

Kill. Kill.

I wouldn’t need my arms, just my jaws. That’d look good on Athanate prime time—me getting shot by Amaral’s guards while I tore his throat out.

Felix, where the hell are you?

Amaral was focused on the upcoming conference. He barely listened to Evans’ story, continually glancing over his shoulder.

Another screen came up as another House came online. That made eight. There were probably four in there that would support a Convocation.

But there was a more immediate threat. The man with Amaral was Taggart, the leader of the Taos community of Adepts. A man who thought he might be as good as a Truth Sensor. He was suspicious, asking questions that Evans couldn’t answer.

Felix? Come on.

But plans have a way of not surviving contact with the enemy.

Evans was focused on Taggart. Amaral’s guards were behind him. I had a clear path.

I tensed myself, felt my wolf salivating.

Kill Amaral. Hardly a perfect solution, but maybe the best we could do.

Then O’Neill was running up the hill, shouting. And Liu removed the shielding he’d been holding over the Were on the Colorado side of the gorge. Their Calls were sharp and hard as ice knives in my chilled mind.

Suddenly every Confederation Were on the hill knew there were three large packs facing them across the state boundary, and a little night maneuver had changed into a possible pitched battle.

Amaral felt the shift, even if he couldn’t feel the Calls. “What’s going on?” he asked sharply.

Evans was forgotten.

“Denver,” O’Neill said, glaring at me as if it were my fault. “Cimarron and Cheyenne.”

“Cheyenne? They’re part of the Confederation. Is this some kind of trick, O’Neill?”

“No trick. I don’t know what they’re doing here. Something drastic must have happened.”

The absence of an immediate assault was confusing O’Neill.

There was just the vast, deep night and the Calls from across the gorge.

Hell, even the hair on my neck was standing on end.

“What do they want?” Amaral said.

O’Neill was still looking at me, when another Were came sprinting up the hill.

“Parley,” he said, panting. “They’re rejecting Gold Hill’s territory claims.”

Amaral stood stroking his jaw and looking back at the screens. A ninth screen had lit up. I could almost see the gears grinding in his head. He wanted to go on with the conference, but if he started and had to stop because of fighting, that’d make him look weak. Or stupid. That was
not
a way to win arguments with Athanate.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “We’ll meet them down at the river.”

The Were who’d played messenger sprinted back off to arrange it.

I held my breath, hoping he’d leave me near Diana so I could have a closer look at that lock.

Taggart was muttering in Amaral’s ear. He turned and looked at me. “I don’t trust her up here,” he said. “Evans, bring her along. It may be useful to show we mean business.”

Ten minutes later we were all down in the Toltec Gorge next to the shallow Los Pinos River.

Felix headed the delegation. Don Stillman stood on his left, his face impassive. A third alpha I assumed to be from Cheyenne was on his right. Behind them, Liu and Mary. I wondered how they’d managed to keep Weaver out of this.

Facing them were Amaral, Taggart and O’Neill.

There hadn’t been time to bring the Gold Hill alpha, so Evans was deputizing. He’d been told to shut up and let O’Neill do the talking.

Felix was eyeing Evans in much the same way O’Neill was eyeing the Cheyenne alpha. I could smell
lots
of delays brewing. Good.

I could also feel workings prickling along my bare arms: Taggart on this side and Mary on the other. This was no Assembly with Truth Sensors; we’d have to rely on our wits to tell us when people lied.

Amaral made a politician’s smooth opening.

Felix ignored it.

“That’s a member of my pack you’re holding there,” he said, pointing at me. “You have no right.”

It was O’Neill who answered. “She was in Gold Hill territory and she was acting in Athanate interests for Altau. We’re treating her as Athanate.”

“I’m not interested in Athanate issues at the moment,” Felix said. “Gold Hill don’t have a territory, and you certainly aren’t anything to do with them.”

Amaral held his hands up. “Leaving the Were territory issues to one side, there are Athanate reasons I’m holding Farrell, and maybe we can discuss her return when those are complete. But I state that both House Amaral and the Confederation have ties to Gold Hill, and support their territorial claims.”

“So, where’s the Gold Hill representative?” Don asked. “This man?” He pointed at Evans and raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Evans is deputizing as an observer,” O’Neill said. “But as the senior Confederation alpha present, our constitution allows me to answer for Gold Hill.”

That argument took ten minutes. That was less than I’d hoped and Amaral wouldn’t hear of  delaying until the Gold Hill alpha arrived.

Felix wasn’t finished arguing about me. “Farrell may have done some things for Altau,” he said, “but her main reason for being in New Mexico was to acquire a talisman to conduct a ritual to help Were who have problems with the change.”

Taggart and O’Neill leaped on that, but the more interested they got, the less Felix would say.

Another ten minutes went by on that and then O’Neill tried to find out what Cheyenne were doing there and got similarly stonewalled.

Don and Felix stomped down every mention of Gold Hill.

Twenty more minutes. Forty minutes and they hadn’t made any progress.

I was freezing. I closed my eyes and imagined a map with a marker labeled ‘Naryn’ inching close and closer.

When they’d stretched the discussion to breaking point, Don reluctantly suggested that, if it was just some Athanate crap that needed to take place on Colorado territory, maybe he and Felix would allow Amaral access for the time it took. Maybe. So long as no Gold Hill Were came across.

Whatever his unwillingness to get involved in a fight on New Mexico territory, the Cimarron alpha made a good ally for Felix in the negotiation.

And Amaral was interested.

O’Neill objected, but I got the impression it was for show. Amaral was getting impatient and pressuring him to accept. If O’Neill agreed, we were done and Felix would be expected to let them cross the river.

Felix sensed it too, and came back in with a refusal on the idea of a crossing unless there was also an immediate official withdrawal of any Gold Hill claim to any part of Colorado.

“The Confederation stands behind its members and their claims,” O’Neill said stiffly. “And you’d be best served joining the Confederation soon, Larimer. It’s only a matter of time. You, or your successor, will realize that. You can’t stand against us for long.”

A thinly veiled threat, considering how many alphas the Confederation had deposed.

I had to rein my wolf in from responding.

Felix was more in control. “In or out of the Confederation,” he said evenly, “Gold Hill’s claim is a complete fabrication. They don’t even have recognition as a pack. Not from
any
of their neighbors.”

Evans forgot to shut up. There was a snarling match between him and O’Neill, but the Wind River alpha was overwhelmingly more powerful.

Another five minutes used up, but I could hear Amaral and O’Neill shifting. For the Confederation, whatever gave them an excuse to be in New Mexico was useful; the size of the territory was irrelevant. For Amaral, it was simply a mechanism for him to be protected in Colorado for the time it took to issue the Convocation.

If they could get what they needed, they’d fold on Gold Hill, but O’Neill was reluctant. The Confederation couldn’t afford to get a reputation for not backing members’ claims. He had to have something to balance that.

Felix upped the ante. “So, what would it take to get you to withdraw all support from Gold Hill and agree to leave Colorado and the bordering packs alone, O’Neill?”

O’Neill frowned and started to shake his head. That was even worse than not backing their claim—to abandon a new member pack.
And
step back from the natural direction of growth for the Confederation.

Felix knew it. He brought out Plan B. “What about a way to help Were who can’t change?”

“The ritual you talked about earlier?” Taggart said. “It’s a hoax.”

Mary spoke for the first time. “It’s not. We’ve recently rediscovered a shamanic ritual—”

“Shamanic?” Taggart sneered. “Completely unreliable.”

Mary went on, ignoring him. “—a shamanic ritual passed down from Amber Farrell’s great- grandmother.” She paused, her eyes holding O’Neill’s. “Her Arapaho name was Speaks-to-Wolves.”

O’Neill started at the name, and he looked over at me, his eyes narrowed speculatively.

I wondered how old he was. Had stories of what my great-grandmother did spread along the Rockies? Could he have heard of her?

He turned to Taggart. “Is she an Adept as well?” He jerked his head toward me.

Both he and Taggart came over and stood close.

I felt Taggart try and press in on me with a working. The cold made it difficult to concentrate, but I pulled in my eukori and sought out that elusive feeling of the energy flowing through me; the feel of it passing undisturbed, without gathering information.

Taggart grimaced. “I can’t see anything.”

Mary had seen something when she’d first met me. Even Felix had sensed something. Either I was getting some skill at hiding it, or the injuries I’d done to Hana were obscuring any potential talent I had. Or Taggart wasn’t that good.

“You may not be able to,” Mary said. “But she is.”

Amaral had had enough. “Taggart, you’re a Truth Sensor,” he said. “Ask this woman outright if there’s a ritual that’ll work.”

Taggart turned to Mary.

Both of them had maintained some kind of working that made our paranormal senses duller.

They squared up and I could feel the pull as their workings tested each other out.

Mary’s face was serene.

Taggart thought he could get through enough to question Mary. “Is this woman, Amber Farrell, an Adept?”

“An Adept in training, yes,” Mary said.

“Can she successfully perform this Were ritual we have been speaking about?”

“Yes,” Mary replied without hesitation.

I held my breath. Technically, I could perform some ritual. If I did it on a Were who could already change, it would ‘work’.

Could you fool the Truth Sense that way? Or was Mary strong enough that Taggart couldn’t see through her defenses?

I could see Taggart wasn’t convinced by what he sensed.

Amaral fidgeted. “Well?”

Taggart shrugged. “Apparently, she believes it,” he said. “Whether it’s true or not is another matter.”

O’Neill tried to dominate me. I’d had enough practice recently. I held my ground.

We’d succeeded in wasting another ten minutes.

A messenger waded across and muttered something to Felix.

“A break for private discussion,” Felix said.

“Ten minutes,” Amaral agreed, glaring at his companions.

We made our way off to the side, Evans still jerking my arm at every opportunity.

“I think we should consider their offer of safe passage,” Amaral said. “We can’t wait around for the sun to come up. I need to issue the Convocation tonight, and we need to get out of here before someone calls out the National Guard.” He studied O’Neill, who was looking into the distance, eyes unfocused.

“That ritual,” O’Neill said. “I want to see it.”

Amaral pursed his lips. “Evans,” he called him over. “Leave Farrell with us. Go get your alpha. We need him here. Hurry.”

And Evans went off at a sprint. Bonehead—they were only getting him out of the way.

I sank down on my knees as if I was exhausted. It didn’t take much acting.

There was silence until the sound of Evans’ running faded.

“I don’t give a damn about wolves changing or not changing,” Amaral said. “I need my conference back on track and access to Colorado in the next couple of hours, without fighting through three packs of Were.”

Taggart and O’Neill nodded, O’Neill still looking distracted. Good. We had him going on the ritual—the idea of finding a way to stop losing Were who couldn’t change was irresistible. Now I just had to hope he’d refuse to ditch Gold Hill unless he could make sure it was worth his while.

“It is only three packs?” Amaral prodded O’Neill. “Cheyenne isn’t going to be joined by Medicine Bow, or some other pack you’ve lost control of?”

“There must have been a challenge,” O’Neill said defensively. “That wasn’t the alpha we installed.”

“I don’t care about your excuses,” Amaral snapped. “I need to know what we’re facing over there, if anything goes wrong.”

“It’s just the three,” O’Neill confirmed. “With no common purpose. They definitely don’t have the cohesion to attack us.” He paused, eyeing Amaral, letting the tension build. “I wouldn’t recommend crossing the river without my backing, though. If they decide to turn on you, you’ll need my pack.”

“Without your backing?” Amaral said. “Look, Larimer’s only keeping out Gold Hill’s allies and associates. Just get rid of Gold Hill. They’re dead weight, and you’ll have to deal with them sometime anyway. You saw their behavior in Taos; they’re one step from rogue.”

O’Neill shook his head. “You’re the one who suggested the plan with Gold Hill. We recruit packs by offering them the support and protection of the Confederation. If we renege on our promises to Gold Hill, it could undermine the confidence of every member pack, present and future. I’d need a damned good reason to take that risk.”

Amaral saw where this was going, and he snorted with impatience. “This ritual,” he said. “Are you telling me you won’t back me unless I delay my conference for a damned Adept circus?”

O’Neill said, “If it works, it’s worth getting rid of Gold Hill.” He looked like he’d be glad to—he just needed a good enough reason.

“And if it doesn’t?” Taggart asked.

“Larimer could lose control of his pack.” O’Neill shrugged. “If that happens, their alliance comes apart. Even if he keeps his position, he’s exposed as a fool in front of the other packs. They’re not going to be in any state to fight.”