Veil of Shadows (31 page)

She didn’t bother waiting to see how they’d respond. She turned, and Xan caught sight of her face, the grim set of her mouth, the unyielding green-gold of her eyes. Not a happy woman.

She strode in their direction. From the corner of his eye, Xan could see the Warlord’s face.

The bastard was smiling.

Syn stopped in front of the Warlord, a cool look on her face.

Xan had a good idea of what the Warlord saw when he looked at her. It was the same image he’d seen in those first days. An image he still had to wrestle with at times.

She looked too delicate for the job she did. But Xan knew from experience she was anything but. The sleeveless black cavinir tunic clung to her form, outlining her slight curves, revealing the tightly toned muscles of her arms.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she met the Warlord’s eyes and said, “I don’t know what we’re going to do with you.”

“Is it up to you?”

A faint smile came and went but she didn’t answer.

It wasn’t solely her decision, Xan knew, but if she told the commander the Warlord’s presence created a threat, Kalen Brenner would have no trouble killing the man.

Her fellow witches would likely agree with whatever decision she made. Only a fool would ignore a warning from those three.

Their commander was no fool.

She caught Xan’s gaze and said, “We’re going to escort our
guest
to the west hall. You will remain with him for the time being.”

The west hall—which, ironically enough, was located adjacent to the detention area.

Facing the Warlord, he said, “You might want to enjoy the next few minutes. They may be the last free ones you have for a while.”

“I’m hardly free,” the Warlord said. His muscles tightened, reminded Xan of the bonds at his wrists.

Xan gestured to the man, and they started off.

They’d made it ten feet before a rock came flying through the air. It hit the Warlord’s temple with a solid thud. Xan turned in time to see him take one staggering step before he righted himself.

Blood trickled down his cheek and already a knot was forming. The Warlord didn’t speak, didn’t do a damn thing. If it hadn’t been for the blood and that one staggering step, Xan might have wondered if he’d even noticed.

Others noticed.

The crowd that had yet to clear.

And Syn.

She was already striding in the direction the missile had come from and she stopped in front of the small cluster of soldiers. “Who did it?” she demanded.

Nobody spoke.

Syn crossed her arms over her chest and said again, “Who did it?”

When the silence continued, she smiled. “If that’s how you want to play it, fine. I will ask one more time, and if I do not get an answer, the lot of you are confined to quarters for an undisclosed amount of time. You will leave only for job rotations, which will be latrine duty for the next six months. You will not leave for meals, you will not leave for your free day, you will not leave for any reason unless your dormer catches on fire. Am I clear?”

A few nodded.

“All right. Let’s try this again. Who did it?”

The culprit didn’t step forward—he was shoved forward with enough force that he almost fell flat on his face. As he righted himself, Syn studied him.

Xan did the same. Young. Just barely old enough to be considered an adult.

And he looked pissed as he faced the Captain. “What the hell is the problem?” he demanded, his voice angry.

“There are several of them,” she said, her voice as cold as winter ice. “The first is how you’re addressing me, soldier. The rules in this camp haven’t changed—you address your superiors in the proper way. I’m rather certain ‘What the hell is the problem’ doesn’t qualify as proper.”

A muscle jerked in his jaw. He shuffled his feet and looked away. “I apologize, Captain.”

“That’s better.” Then she gestured to the bound Warlord. “I believe there is another requiring an apology.”

The man’s jaw dropped. Several others echoed his surprise. “You want me to tell that bastard I’m
sorry
?”

“You should. You assaulted a man in restraints—those restraints render him helpless.”

“He’s a fucking
Warlord
,” the soldier spat.

“Yes. And we expect
Warlords
to attack the helpless. However, we aren’t Warlords, and I will not tolerate any soldier of mine attacking somebody incapable of defending themselves.”

A dull red flush stained the soldier’s face red. “I’m not apologizing to
him
. He’s nothing but a fucking animal.”

“So you have no problem throwing rocks at animals, then?” She curled her lip at him and said, “If you wish to engage in violence, then perhaps I should have his restraints removed, and you can face him in the circle. Get as bloody and as violent as you want. Would that suit you?”

The color leeched out of the soldier’s face, leaving him white.

“Well?”

He glanced from Syn to the Warlord, skimmed the faces of those around him. Most wouldn’t look at him. Too many had the same mind-set as this soldier, Xan realized—nothing was too dishonorable, nothing was uncalled for when it came to the Warlords. But some looked as irritated as Syn.

“I’ll take your silence as a ‘no.’ What’s your name, soldier?”

He stuttered it out, still staring at his feet. Syn backed away and gestured, “You’re confined to quarters for a period of two weeks. You’re on latrine duty for the next month. You’ve lost your free day for the next two weeks.”

As he left, Syn faced the others. There was still a very large crowd, people meandering away at a slow pace, as though they couldn’t bear to miss a second of the drama. The captain raised her voice and said, “Let it be known—the next person caught assaulting a prisoner will have to deal with me, and I can assure you, you will not like the consequences. Additionally, with the exception of my team, if there is even one soul here in the next three minutes, the entire fucking camp will lose their free days for the next
month
.”

That cleared the area. Within the allotted three minutes, the common area was empty, save for Syn, her team and the Warlord.

Man doesn’t even seem to notice he’s bleeding,
Syn thought, heaving out a sigh as she turned to face him.

He didn’t look at all affected by the blood. There was a goose egg swelling up on his temple and she imagined it probably hurt like a bitch, but he gave no indication of discomfort. Hell, he barely gave an indication of
life
. Striding toward him, she glanced at one of the soldiers in the escort and said, “Fetch a medic to the west hall, if you would.”

She looked back at the Warlord and inclined her head. “I’ll apologize for that, Warlord.”

“Would you?” he asked, cocking a brow.

He had a deep voice, she realized. She hadn’t really noticed it earlier. Deep, smooth . . . her heart skipped a beat and she was horribly afraid she might start to blush. Horribly afraid somebody had noticed—

Noticed what?
She gave herself a swift mental kick. In a flat voice, she said, “Yes, I’ll apologize. We do not mistreat prisoners.”

“A few moments ago, I was a guest.”

Something glinted in his eyes—heated interest. The sight of it had her reaching deep, very deep, for control. It was enough to strike terror into her heart. No witch ever wanted to catch the attention of a Warlord.

Syn had to resist the urge to back away—get as far away from him as she could. Preferably hide behind Xan.

Settling on the strength of will that had served her well most of her life, she just gave him a cool smile. “I imagine you’re quite aware of your status here, Warlord.”

Turning on her heel, she continued to make her way to the west hall. She wasn’t going to throw his ass in the detention center—
yet
. He’d saved their lives, and imprisoning him wouldn’t rest easy on her honor.

But she would have him heavily guarded while she spoke with Kalen and tried to figure out what to do. And if Kalen wanted to make it easier on her and just make the call, she was all for that.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Bron and smiled tightly at him as he fell into step with her.

“Interesting company you’re keeping,” he said.

Syn grimaced. “Tell me about it.”

“I get the feeling this could get very, very ugly.”

“You and me, both.” Syn sighed and shoved her hair back from her face.

“What in the hell are we going to do with him?” Syn demanded some twenty minutes later.

Kalen sat at his desk, staring at a monitor with heavy intensity. “The Warlord isn’t my chief concern just yet, Captain.”

“Maybe he should be,” she bit off.

“You know, I’m getting very tired of being told how I should do things, what things I should do, what things I shouldn’t do.” He flicked a glance at her and then focused on the monitor once more.

“Damn it, Kalen . . .”

He held up a hand. “Relax, Syn. Just give me a minute—Egan is fine-tuning one of the sats and he’s trying to bounce an updated therma-map of the strike zone . . . There.” A pleased smile curled his lips and he gestured to Syn. “Come here a minute.”

She joined him behind the desk, absently resting a hand on the back of the chair as she bent over and peered at the image. Therma-maps showed signs of life, by displaying colored specks for any life force. All of the demons had a distinctive life-signature. Ickado demons were vivid, dark red—so dark a red it was almost black. Jorniaks had an orangish yellow signature on the therma-maps, and Raviners were orange. Humans and Warlords were displayed as reddish purple, undifferentiated. Their genetic makeups were pretty much identical, to Syn’s disgust.

Lifeless body forms were black.

Right now, the only colors she could see on the therma-map were reddish purple and a
lot
of black. The black was all centered in the strike zone. She pushed a button on the monitor, widening the range. Off to the west and north, she saw a few clusters of demon life. But not much—nothing compared to all of the black in the center of the strike zone.

“It worked,” she murmured, a pleased smile spreading across her lips.

“Damn straight.” Kalen was smiling as well, a wide, rather savage grin that echoed the glint in his eyes. “Damn straight.”

Thinking of Lo, her smile fell away, and she sighed. Backing away, she stared at the window. Flicking her hair back away from her face, she murmured, “Too bad I didn’t have this strike of brilliant thought before we lost Lo. And others.”

“We only now had the means to do this, Syn.”

Feeling the weight of his gaze, she glanced at him and shrugged. “Maybe we could have pushed harder from the supplies. Maybe we could have planned better—”

“And maybe the bastards back east could have done better to help us out,” Kalen said, his voice gruff. He shoved out of the seat and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You know as well as I do—there is no guarantee of safety here. Hell, not anywhere. Lo knew what he was doing, and it was no less than what you would have done, what I would have done.” Gently squeezing her shoulder, he added, “And he’d be damned happy with what we managed to do today. Lives were saved today, Syn, because of your idea.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. He spoke nothing less than the truth and she wanted to take comfort in it, but she couldn’t. Not right now. The wounds from all the losses were just too new.

Forcing a smile, she looked at Kalen and asked, “If you’re that pleased with the results, then maybe you’d like to deal with the Warlord for me. It would be a reward of sorts.”

“No.” Kalen curled his lip. “If I say so much as two words to him, I’m going to gut him, and I’d like to know why he bothered to help us before I kill him.”

“It was worth a try.” She started for the door, saying over her shoulder, “I’ll update you if I learn anything.”