The Forever Hero (53 page)

The copper-haired woman shook her head, tossing the glistening curls back over her bare shoulders, conscious of the effect as she again exposed her breasts. She straightened her back as she reached for the crystal wineglass.

Leaning back against the pillows, she brought the crystal to her lips, first to scent, then to sip.

Gerswin refrained from shaking his head. The hard line of her jaw and the ever-occurring cruel glint in her eyes were so at odds with her slenderness and the softness of her skin.

He whistled three notes, double-toned, more as a test than anything else.

Helene shivered at the sounds, but said nothing and took another sip that became a gulp.

Gerswin paused before beginning another song, forcing himself to keep his face almost impersonal as he watched her reactions.

She raised her eyebrows, arching her back again.

Gerswin began another song, not a love song, for Helene had proved strangely indifferent to the gentle songs, the wistful ones, and had been aroused by his adaptations of the military themes, the ones where he had played hope against force, honesty against betrayal.

‘That's right,” the woman whispered hoarsely as she set the wineglass aside. “That's right.”

Her lips parted, her tongue running over her lower lip, wetting it and retreating. Her breathing deepened as his double-toned notes built toward what he would have called hope and its betrayal.

Her shoulders shifted, her hips beginning to move with the conflict of the song, as she began to lean toward him.

Gerswin could see her darkened nipples stiffening further as whatever fantasy played out behind her too-bright green eyes intensified with the last notes of the song.

Even before the tones died away, her fingers were digging into first his forearms, then his back as he in turn drove into her, directly, brutally, and without finesse or foreplay, knowing that such power was what she wanted, what she expected.

“AaaaaaAAAAHHHHH!”

Her cries filled the not inconsiderable expanse of the bedroom as her legs locked around him in a series of thrusts, and as her body arched into him and upward, upward.

Waiting until she subsided, he did not leave her, but turned his head to start another song, with a more muted conflict theme, drawing her into another series of releases, more gentle than the first, and letting himself go as well, trying to shut out other faces, other places, with a final thrust more brutal than he had intended.

“Ooohhh!”

Helene lay against him only momentarily before easing back onto the bed, propped against silken pillows, a faint smile on her face.

“You are a magician.”

The coolness of her tone brought him back to his purpose.

“Never said one way or the other.” He managed a cool mocking tone, which masked the contempt he felt, both for himself and for her.

“Where did you come from? I've never met anyone so strong.”

“Anyone you couldn't wear out, you mean?”

Without the spell of his music, she might easily have outlasted him, and then some, but that wasn't the question. He needed certain revelations from the copper-haired harpy.

“I would scarcely confess that, even if it were true.”

“What would you confess? You know, I know nothing about you, except your name and status. You could be some baron's young wife, for all I know, but he'd be a fool to let you run this free, and twice the fool not to.”

“Oh?”

Gerswin matched her smile with one a shade more mocking. “But then, you'd never let yourself be bound, would you?”

“That answer takes no magic.”

“But you do admit I possess some small magic?”

“I'll admit that, at least in some areas.” She sat up and took the wineglass, downing the remainder of the wine in a single gulp.

“Will you admit that you're sought after?”

“Surely. But for what? Body? Or money?”

“Both. For your wealth by the older, and your body by the younger. Like that angular-faced young fellow who couldn't keep his eyes off you at the arena. A puppy dog.”

“Him. He's nothing.”

“Some baron's offspring, I presume, ready to propose a contract in an instant.”

“He already has.”

“But you're here,” laughed Gerswin, “instead of in young what's-his-name's arms. Not that you couldn't be and still have accepted.”

“Duran wouldn't know what to do. No strength. No magic.”

“Seemed capable enough for a youngster.”

“Youngster is precisely right. He'll never grow up. He'd never be more than just a tool, even if I did accept his contract.”

“That indicates you have not. You're a hard lady, willing to use anyone…or your own magic.” Gerswin forced a leer, let it be seen that it was forced.

“Why not?”

“You feel no guilt,” asked Gerswin with a quirk to his lips, “about holding your body out to this Duran to get him to do whatever you want?”

“Of course not. Why should I? If you can use your magic to get my body—not that I mind—why shouldn't I use my body to get what I want?”

Gerswin laughed, a hard bark, knowing that the hidden scanners had more than enough on tape.

“Poor Duran…poor anyone. Whoever gets you won't know how to handle you.”

“Duran won't get me. He's too weak. Besides, I'd probably find a way to avoid the contract even if he did everything I asked.”

“Everything?”

Helene stretched, tossing her copper curls off her bare breasts.

“Sing me another one, a stronger one.” Her eyes brightened as she slowly dropped her head, letting her hair fall back across her breasts, before tossing it over her shoulders, squaring her shoulders, emphasizing her translucent skin, her nipples again taut with anticipation.

Her tongue moistened her lips once more as Gerswin began the progression of double-toned notes, this time weaving the theme of betrayal versus betrayal.

Duran's long steps took him toward the portal of his father's screen center. He barely nodded at the security console as he passed through the endurasteel pillars, but his carriage stiffened and he slowed as he recognized the figure in black sitting in the chair across from his father.

His second surprise was the stillness, for all the screens had been blanked, save one, which displayed only the name “Helene” upon it.

The man in black stood, as did Jorge Fugazey.

“I believe you have at least seen Merhlin, Duran,” offered the baron to his son.

“Twice.” Duran's tone was as angular as his strained face.

“Merhlin has brought me some rather impeccable references, which I have checked thoroughly, as well as some rather interesting information.”

“I see.”

“The question was whether I let you see it before making my decision and whether I asked your opinion, or whether I did what I thought best and merely informed you.”

Duran inclined his head. “It must be rather earth-shaking for you
to have consulted with and gone to the difficulty of investigating a total stranger.”

Both his father and the stranger ignored the unconcealed bitterness in his tone.

“Before we continue, Duran, I suggest you view the segment of the tape on the console. I can verify, and have done so, that the speaker is indeed Helene, and that the tape has not been altered. There are no stress levels in her voice.”

The older man's voice contained a sadder note, one that brought Duran up short as his father continued, for he had never heard it before. “Knowing how you feel, please remember that the one thing I have never done is lie to you. That is also why I have gone to the trouble of having all aspects of this thoroughly checked.”

“Why all the sudden concern?”

“Because I would prefer that you leave yourself something besides the choice of suicide through a woman and suicide through stupidity or stubbornness.”

Duran swallowed. For his father even to have admitted the stranger, and then to have spoken so directly in his presence, meant that the man was either immensely powerful or in his father's trust, or both.

“There is a sound block around the screen. For your own peace of mind, I suggest you use it.”

Duran glanced from the pale face of his father to the impassively hawkish visage of the black-haired stranger, then walked to the console and tapped the sound block controls. The wall of silence enfolded him.

He touched the stud to start the sequence, sinking into the swivel as he watched Helen's unclothed figure swim into view on a rather imposing bed, tossing her glittering curls off her naked breasts.

Duran wanted to shut out the words, to turn away from the scene even as his eyes drank in the cruelty and lust in her face and the slender voluptuousness of her body.

He did not turn, forcing himself to hear every last word. Mercifully, the sequence was short, the betrayal shorter.

He reran her damning words twice, then blanked the screen.

After sitting there silently for several minutes, he dropped the sound block and stood, turning to face the other two, his eyes scanning the man identified as Merhlin, wondering how old or how young he was.

Certainly older, but how much?

He was letting his thoughts drift, Duran realized. Concentrating on the moment, he eased himself into the vacant swivel next to his father.

“Do you want my opinion?” he asked. Even to himself, his voice sounded thin.

“Do you want to give it?” asked his father gently. “You don't have to give it, you know.”

“It couldn't have been faked,” Duran admitted. “Don't tell me how, but I know that.” He paused and pulled at his chin. “Does it matter? I don't know. I knew I should be able to accept her for all her faults, knowing what I would get and what I wouldn't. Or I should be able to say good riddance.”

“What is the price you pay for taking her?” asked Merhlin.

“A man has to die. But all men die.”

“Would you stake your life on that?” asked Jorge Fugazey.

Duran looked from his father, the baron, to Merhlin and back again.

“I'm not sure I understand.”

“For all practical purposes,” added the baron, “you may regard both Baron H'Llory and Merhlin as allies and dependents of Commodore Gerswin.”

Duran sat immobile. After a time, he spoke.

“Does that mean you are withdrawing your support, should I continue my efforts to have Commodore Gerswin removed?”

“No. It means that the commodore can remove or negate any protection I can offer. That would mean some risk. Considerable risk. That I cannot deny, nor could I let you proceed, should I choose to, without your knowing that. That is why I thought you should see the tape. You are my oldest son, and you will be sacrificing your life for someone who cares nothing for you. From her, you would have neither respect nor love.”

Duran looked at the floor. “Do I have to decide now?”

“No. It might be better if you thought it over.”

Merhlin rose to his feet. “Fear my actions have caused a great deal of trouble, but I have been as honest as possible, and I think it would be better if I withdrew.”

“Do you call that honesty?” Duran's hand stabbed toward the console he had so recently sat before.

“Helene is free to make her own choices. So are you. You can live or you can die.” While Merhlin's light baritone penetrated, his tone was gentle, as if instructing a child.

“You think I'll die?”

Merhlin took a step backward. “That is what you must choose, Ser Fugazey.”

“Are you betraying Helene, then?”

“Scarcely.”

As Merhlin's eyes caught Duran, the younger man felt as though he were pinned in his seat.

Merhlin bowed to Jorge Fugazey, the bow of an equal, Duran observed, and said, “I will depart…as I arrived.”

He stepped out through the portal, which closed behind him.

“What did that mean?” snapped Duran.

“Duran…your foolishness could have cost us both dearly.” The Baron Fugazey's voice was harder, in a resigned way, than Duran had ever heard it.

“I don't understand—”

“That's right. You don't understand. Console three beta. Run it before you utter another word.”

As Duran stumbled toward the indicated console, the older Fugazey stood. His steps took him in a tight circle, and his eyes darted to the console where his son studied a series of scenes.

When Duran had completed his assignment and blanked the screen, he turned and eased himself toward where the baron stood.

“I sound like a locked loop, but I can't say I understand. Could you explain…please?”

“Duran, those last scenes. Who was there?”

“Me, Mother, Aermee, you, Donal, Frynn.”

“And the vantage point?”

Duran glanced down. Never had his father asked so many questions he couldn't answer. Accounting and law—there he could hold his own. The same for marketing, tariffs. But this?

The baron swung his head from side to side slowly.

“Do you know who Merhlin is?”

“No. Does it matter?”

“Yes. While I do not know exactly who he is, I know what he is. Besides being supported by Fernand H'Llory, who by the way fears him rather thoroughly, and besides being, shall we say, an agent of Gerswin, he's a professional assassin of assassins, who, if he's who I think he is, was the one who broke the Guild, the one whom the Eye Corps refused, it's rumored, to attack.”

Duran looked absently puzzled, knitted his forehead in a quizzical gesture, and looked up to see the continued disapproval in his father's face.

“It's obvious that your life has been too sheltered, Duran.” The
baron wiped his forehead with the back of his left hand. “I'll put it in simple sentences. That sequence showed clearly that Merhlin could have assassinated every one of us in less than a three-hour period, and done so without triggering a single security precaution within the villa.

“That sequence with Helene showed that Gerswin would rather not do so, and was directed at me, not at you.”

“At you?”

“At me. Gerswin simply delivered a clear, two-pronged message. First, that Helene isn't worth a conflict over, and second, that if I disagree he understands he would have to destroy the entire family, not just you, and that he is fully capable of doing so.”

Duran could feel the color draining out of his face.

“Now…I see you are beginning to understand. Do you also understand that Merhlin saw you did not understand and left so that you could not act before we could discuss the matter?”

“But why?”

“I don't know. Gerswin is not adverse to violence, necessarily, though he tries to avoid it.” Jorge Fugazey looked at the blank screens arrayed to his right. “The second sequence had a preface, but it blanked after the first scan. He said he hoped I would understand. I remember his words clearly. He and Merhlin speak in the same tones. He said, ‘Once I had a son…'”

The elder Fugazey shook his head. “Too sentimental, but it makes no difference. He's offered us a way out, one that doesn't ruin us, and a way to save face.”

“He's insulted you!”

“If showing me that your intended is both a bitch and a tramp, as well as not up to keeping her word, if refraining from destroying me and everything I've built because of your stubbornness and inadequate research, and if doing it with enough tact to keep it quiet—if all this is an insult, then by all means think so. But I will, with great regret, inform Gerswin that your quarrel with him is strictly personal and does not involve Fugar House. While I love you, Duran, hard as that is for you to comprehend, I also love Margritte and Aermee and Donal and Frynn. And if you want Helene after all this and after all she has already put you through, what you really want is suicide.”

“What will people think?”

“Nothing. They won't know, unless you tell them.”

“But…Helene?”

“You confirm to her that you have totally withdrawn your offer for contract, with great regret, and you leave her free to follow her heart,
as you cannot meet her conditions. What can she say? If she tells anyone the reason is because you refused to murder someone you do not know, then you come out looking like you have better judgment than you so far have shown. The only question in people's minds is why it took you so long to see through her.”

“You leave me no other choice.”

The Baron Fugazey sighed. “No. I do not. Someday, perhaps, you will understand with your heart as well as with your head.”

Duran matched his father's sigh.

“I understand now. But don't expect me to like it…not now.”

The two regarded each other across the open space between them.

“May I go now?”

“You may go, Duran.”

“I will send confirmation of my withdrawal as you suggested. Then, I think, I will leave for New Avalon.”

Jorge Fugazey nodded, but said nothing as his son left. An even deeper sigh escaped him as the portal closed behind the young man.

He had not told Duran that he had sent a copy of the sequence showing Helene to the Baron Daeris, with his own notation that any further action against one Commodore Gerswin would be most unwise, particularly from the viewpoint of the commodore, Fugar House, and Baron H'Llory.

Daeris would understand, even if Duran did not.