WINDDREAMER (5 page)

Conar, hurry...

He stopped, hearing Liza's voice in his mind, feeling her fear for him. Her love touched him like a caress. He closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth of her caring. He could see her in his mind, being held in Brelan's arms, her sweet face pale with worry, her slender body trembling.

It's all right,
he told her, though his lips didn't move.
I'm all right. I can do this, Sweeting.

Be careful, beloved...

"Little bird put mind on climb, not woman!" Ching-Ching ordered.

Conar shook his head to clear the vision. He gripped the brick with renewed strength and began to climb again. Soon he came within ten or so feet from the top, within sight of fallen timbers around the airshaft's opening. Idly, he wondered how much of the roof remained and how difficult it would be to get down to the jammed dungeon door.

"Little bird got up, little bird get down!" Ching-Ching mocked, his wizened monkey face crinkled with humor. "Little bird did not forget his lessons." The sound of spectral clapping echoed in the airshaft.

"You taught me well," Conar sighed as he gained the opening.

"You learned well, my son." Ching-Ching's apparition dissolved.

The roof was caved in all the way to the main floor. There was a twenty-foot drop down the side of the airshaft that could not be repelled. The sides of the tunnel were slick with no jutting brick, no dimpled mortar, while broken glass, jagged splinters of wood, and twisted iron ringed the base of the structure.

"Great," Conar snarled. "Just great."

Perched on the wide rim of the airshaft, he looked out over the destruction of Ivor Keep and felt a bitter arrow of hurt go through him. This had been the place where he had been conceived; where he and Liza had consummated their love night after night. Gone was nearly everything recognizable about the ancient keep. Left was a pile of tumbled stone, cracked timbers with their broken splinters of aging wood jutting toward the heavens, crushed furniture, and scattered glass.

"Hello up there!"

With a start that almost propelled him backward into the shaft, Conar jerked his contemplation to the ground.

A stranger stood amid the rubble, his hand shielding his eyes from the pelting rain, his feet planted wide apart. "Going to sit up there all day, are you?"

"You gonna tell me how to get down?" Conar shot back.

"You need help?"

"It would be nice!" Conar shivered from the cold around him. The rain cascaded down the collar of his black shirt and plastered his hair to his scalp. His fingers and toes throbbed with agony. He wrapped his arms around himself to gain some warmth.

"How'd you get up there in the first place?" the man called, putting his hands on his hips.

"I climbed! How the hell do you think I got up here?"

"Had nothing better to do with your time, eh?"

Conar wished he had something he could throw at the bastard.

"Can't climb down though, can you?"

Confining the man, his ancestors, his horses, and his gonads to the Pit, Conar's lips drew back over his teeth. "You gonna help or not?"

The man shrugged. "I guess I could." He rummaged through the rubble. Finding nothing, he walked over the destroyed timbers of the great hall and ran down a mountain of piled stones to the outer bailey.

"Where the hell are you going?" Conar shouted.

"Looking for a ladder."

Conar's brow shot up. There had to be one about somewhere. He craned his neck, looking out over the bailey. He spied what he thought could well be a ladder and pointed, drawing the man's attention. "By the stable. To the left of the trough."

Nodding, the man waded through the debris. "I found it!" He hefted the ladder and began dragging it toward the airshaft.

"It isn't tall enough," Conar yelled.

The stranger gauged the ladder's height, then lay it down on the rubble. "I can pile up some wood, brace it until you get down." He began to stack fairly good lumber at the base of the shaft, then lifted the ladder once more.

When the ladder slapped against the airshaft, about nine feet between Conar's dangling legs and the top rung remained. He stared down at it, wondering what to do.

"Tell you what," the man called. "I saw a rope by the smithy's. If I can throw it to you, is there something you can tie it to and swing down?"

Conar looked behind him. Spying a thick timber lying part way across the shaft's opening, he nodded. "Aye. Throw it."

Retrieving the rope, the man climbed almost to the top of the ladder, but must have thought better about going any farther. The stack of wood at the ladder's base didn't look all that secure. He threw the rope from there. "Heads up!"

It took three tries before Conar caught the hemp. When he did, he tied one end to the timber, then pulled to test its staying power. Satisfied, he gripped the rope, looping it around one wrist, then slid his feet down the brick. He swung his body out and turned so he could face the airshaft. Carefully, he made his way to the top rung of the ladder, breathing a sigh of relief when his toes encountered wood.

"Easy does it!" the man called. "Hang on to the rope just in case this baby decides to fall."

Conar concentrated on getting down the slippery ladder rungs without the balls of his feet skidding out from under him. When he finally reached the bottom, he leaned into the ladder, pressed his forehead to the wood, breathing deeply.

"That was fun, wasn't it?"

Smiling, Conar turned to thank the man.

The smile froze on his face.

The stranger grinned. "Hi there."

The last thing Conar saw was a fist flying straight toward his face.

His name being called woke him. That and the pounding rain in his face. He opened his eyes, blinking as the rain blinded him, and took a deep breath. He felt a horrid pain along his jaw and slowly let out the breath, wobbling his jaw from side to side to test whether it was broken. Feeling even more pain at the movement, he put a hand to his face and felt a lump.

"You'll live."

He turned his head and found himself lying in a pile of debris, fallen timber, plaster, and a chandelier. He squinted to see who had spoken, flinching as a crack of thunder sounded.

"Get your lazy ass up and help me with this shit."

He lifted his head and upper body, peered around the chandelier, and saw the speaker straining to lift a thick wooden beam. Pushing himself up from the rubble, Conar wavered on his feet, his ears ringing, his jaw throbbing, and rubbed his face.

"Damn it! Get over here! I'd like to get those people out of there before nightfall!"

Conar stepped over broken furniture, skirted a pool of shattered glass, and made his way to where the speaker dragged the beam away from the door leading to the dungeon.

"Duncan?" Conar asked, surprise and shock in his voice.

The man turned, looked Conar up and down, and snorted. "Aye." He bent to pick up another beam.

"Where have you been?"

A deep rumble of laughter came from the man's wide chest. "Here and there and everywhere."

"Why the hell did you hit me?"

"You scared the hell out of me, that's why!" The man shoved Conar out of the way and hefted another heavy beam, casting a cocked brow. "You gonna help me, boy, or are you going to stand there true to form and pretend to supervise while I get a hernia for my trouble?"

Conar picked up his end of the beam. "How'd I scare you?" He looked into the man's sweaty face and saw humor lurking there.

"I thought you'd been squashed in this pile of stones." He began to swing the beam away from him, nodded when Conar echoed his movement, then released the wood, which rolled down the mountain of rubble. "I came all this way to see you and what do I find but a pile of stone. I would've hated to have made such a long journey only to attend your funereal."

"You didn't have to hit me," Conar grumbled, flexing his jaw. "A simple 'hello-how-are-you'
would have sufficed."

"Made a point though, didn't I?"

Stooping to pull fallen wood and paneling from the doorway, the two finally freed the rubble baring the door. Putting a wide, massive shoulder to the portal, Duncan shoved once, twice, three times. The door bounced inward, hitting the wall and separating from its top hinges to lean precariously into the stairwell.

"You could have just knocked," Conar said dryly.

Duncan shrugged. "Why bother?" He poked his head into the stairwell. "You people all right down there?"

"Lord Darkwind, are you all right?" came the reply from the darkness.

Duncan stared at Conar. "
You?
" At Conar's smirk, he shook his head. "Now I've heard everything." He put his hands on his hips and looked Conar up and down. "I don't believe it. Serenia's hero is a pipsqueak of a boy?"

"Don't judge a dog's bite by its size," Conar answered.

Brelan came up the stairs and into the light. He stopped on the next to the last riser, his mouth dropping open with stunned surprise. "Duncan?"

"How's it hanging, Saur?" He took Brelan's hesitant hand and gripped the wrist so tight Brelan winced. "How many down there?"

"Thirty or so..."

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Saur." The big man grinned and rumpled Brelan's hair. "Haven't you heard resurrections are commonplace in the McGregor family."

A shocked gasp came from behind Brelan "Duncan Cree?"

Peering past Brelan's shoulder, Duncan nodded. "Got the entire family down there, A'Lex?" He motioned Brelan out of the way. "Is that lovely lady you married with you, too?"

Conar stiffened, but Brelan shook his head in caution. He moved back with his brother so the others could ascend the stairs. Even though the rain pelted hard around them, Conar knew no one wanted to be in the dungeon for a moment longer.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Roget du Mer grumbled as he saw the man with booted feet planted far apart in the rubble. "Duncan Cree, you sorry ass!" He wrapped his arms around Duncan's broad shoulders, lifting the man clear of the ground. "Where the hell have you been?"

Liza climbed the last stair and put her hand into Sentian's when he offered to help her. Her troubled eyes went to the dark heavens, flinched as lightning arced.

"Is this her?" came Duncan's awed, reverent voice.

"Aye," Legion answered proudly, stepping to Liza's side. "This is your Queen, Duncan. This is Elizabeth."

Duncan bowed gracefully before her. He took her small hand into his giant paw and brought it delicately to his lips. Kissing the inside of her wrist, he gazed down at her with pleasure. "You did well, A'Lex," Duncan smiled at the hesitant, tremulous answering smile on Liza's pale face. "This lady is worth a kingdom to possess. Introduce me, Legion."

Legion grinned, slapping the taller man on his back. "This is my brother Duncan." At Liza's apparent surprise, Legion laughed. "I believe he's somewhere in between Jah-Ma-El and Conar."

Liza stared at the man, not seeing any resemblance to the blond-haired side of Conar's family nor the side which had produced Legion or Brelan. She could only imagine what woman had born this brute of a man. Despite the fact that he was extremely handsome in a dark, mysterious way, his thick black hair, deep brown eyes, and square jaw bore no similarity to Gerren McGregor. He stood taller even than Thom Loure--who stood close to six-nine--and was broad in the chest, with heavy muscles bulging his leather jerkin, and large hands that looked capable of tearing a man in half. His accent sounded odd, not one Liza recognized from any of the Seven Kingdoms, or even Diabolusia. His clothing looked strange as well--leather jerkin, breeches of some coarse material that billowed out at the hips, boots that came up over his knees. He had strong white teeth, a crooked smile, a battered nose that bespoke many barroom brawls, and deeply dimpled indentions in his cheeks.

"And this is Corbin," Brelan said, pushing the young man forward. "He's the heir to our homeland's throne."

Duncan nodded approval. "You look like a King, young Corbin." He put out his hand. "I am your uncle."

Corbin took the man's hand and frowned, as if not liking some vibrations he might have felt along his arm.

"I am Regan," a small voice snapped. "Conar's son."

Duncan looked past Roget du Mer and saw the boy glaring at him. "Aye, that you are."

Liza wondered why Duncan did not offer his hand to Regan.

"I believe you are three months younger than me," Jah-Ma-El said, drawing Duncan's immediate attention and wishing he hadn't. The eyes that surveyed him weren't friendly.

"You one of Papa's spurts, too?"

Jah-Ma-El winced. The insult was intentional, the meaning clear. Duncan Cree considered him lower than the pigeon droppings plastered on some of the fallen wood.

"Jah-Ma-El is one of the guiding forces behind our organization," Brelan said. "One of the founding members of the Wind Force."

Duncan's eyes narrowed and he appeared to re-assess Jah-Ma-El. His expression didn't alter, but he held out a beefy hand. "Then you can't be all bad, can you?"

For some reason, Jah-Ma-El didn't want to touch the man's proffered hand. He saw Conar regarding Duncan with something less than respect. He looked back at Duncan and took the man's hand, feeling, as he did, a strange vibration of dislike traveling down his fingers to his very soul.

"Who was your mother?" Duncan asked. "Must have been one of the serving women, eh?" When a heavy blush came over Jah-Ma-El's face, he grinned maliciously. "Or one of the hordes of light-skirts who plied their trade around town?"

"That's enough," Conar said quietly, steel in his soft words.

Duncan cocked a thick brow at Conar and smiled. "Well, now, boy. My own mother was a farmer's wife that caught Papa's eye. A bigger whore you couldn't find in her village. Do you see me red-faced over it?" He looked back at Jah-Ma-El. "The woman who birthed us didn't matter. It was the sire that counted. Right?"

"Leave him alone, Duncan." When Conar spoke, everyone looked his way. Even through the gloom and pounding rain, his face shone with an inner heat that few wanted to test.

Duncan's dark brows lifted in surprise. "As you wish, Darkwind." The name on his tongue sounded condescending. "I meant no insult to the man."

"What are you doing here?" Legion asked.

The man draped one heavy arm around A'Lex's shoulders. "I came to be a part of this thing called the Wind Force." He jabbed Legion in the ribs with his free hand. "Didn't know I'd be taking orders from the squirt, there."

"We all take orders from him," Roget said. "He's our leader."

Duncan nodded sagely. "So it would seem." He looked around at the rain-drenched gathering of men; some he seemed to recognize, and he appeared to take the measure of the ones he did not. When he eyed Shalu Taborn, his dark orbs widened. "Necromanian?"

"Aye," the black man answered, matching his sneer with Duncan's tone. "Do you wish to take exception to my nationality?"

"I wouldn't if I were you," Legion mumbled.

"And neither will Duncan," Conar said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Duncan raked his scrutiny down Shalu's tall frame. "Perhaps some other time?"

A rare, deadly smile tilted across the black man's stern face. "I am available at a moment's notice," he challenged in his deep voice.

"I am at your service." Duncan grinned.

"We thought you were dead," Conar remarked, gaining Duncan's attention.

"Well, the men of our family have a way of coming back from the dead, now, don't they?" He winked.

"Where were you all this time?" Roget asked.

"In Diabolusia, for the most part." Duncan sat dwn on a fallen timber. "The five of us lived in the same village for a while."

"Five of whom?" Legion asked.

Duncan chuckled. "Your brothers, A'Lex."

Conar stared at him. "Who?"

"Well, now, let me see." He held up his hand and ticked off the names. "Nathan was already there before I arrived. Kirk arrived the day after me. They changed their last names years ago. Didn't want to be known as McGregor kinsmen."

"Why?" Jah-Ma-El asked, despite the annoyed look his question brought to Duncan's face.

"They had their reasons."

"Papa was the reason," Conar said. "Their mothers were some kin to Teal's mother, weren't they, du Mer?" At Teal's nod, Conar shrugged. "Papa had no use for men with sticky fingers and lying tongues. He was hard on them when they were growing up. They were taught one set of standards by their mother's tribe, while Papa tried to teach them a totally different set of values. It was understandable that there'd be a conflict between father and sons."

Duncan dug his booted toe into the rubble. "So Nathan, being the oldest, left first for the border, then Kirk followed. Unfortunately, he wasn't as lucky as his stepbrother. He spent some time at Ghurn, compliments of the Tribunal for lifting a pocket watch from a noble in Ciona. Then after I'd been there a few months, I nearly fainted when I looked up and saw Nicholas and Drew riding in together."

"Drew's alive?" Legion gasped. "I heard he'd been hanged by the Tribunal."

"Not so. As a matter of fact, the boy's a monk in the Wind Keeper Order in Diablo."

Liza's brows drew together. "That's a protectorate of the Multitude."

Duncan smiled at her. "I believe so, Milady." His dark look evaluated her. "One of your own, I take it?"

"What's Nicholas' last name?" Paegan asked, casting a quick glance at Holm.

"Beriault," Conar answered. "Why?"

"I remember meeting a man at the harbor in Haelstrom a few months back. He said to give Conar his regards. A lot of people come up to us and tell us that, but this man had the look of a McGregor about him, and I think I even mentioned that to Holm."

"Aye," Holm agreed. "A big man, dark, golden hair down to his waist, green eyes. He had a tattoo of a viper on his left forearm."

"That's Nicky," Duncan remarked. "He and Nathan bought a boat together. Wanted to see something of the world, they said. Last I heard of them was about five years ago. Nathan is back in Diablo, I hear, but I have no idea where Nicky is."

"How about any of the others?" Legion asked, looking at Conar. "Julian or Morgan? Gabriel?"

"Julian and Morgan were killed in battle some eight years ago, I think," Duncan said. "They were fighting near Fealst." His dark eyes swung to Conar. "When Gabriel heard of your 'death,' squirt, he went berserk, they say. Said he wanted to avenge the family honor." He looked at the debris at his feet. "He was beheaded in a scrap somewhere around Baybridge."

Conar flinched. The men were all older than he, and idealistic, as he recalled. Twins, Julian and Morgan were seldom apart. With their reddish gold hair and pale green eyes, they had looked more like their mother than King Gerren,.Gabriel had borne a striking resemblance to his father, more so than all the other boys.

"Do you remember that time Gabriel and Dyllon got into it over that nobleman's daughter. What was her name?" Duncan asked.

"Lydia," Legion supplied.

Conar smiled, shaking his mind from the news of their deaths. "They fought for hours until Papa caught them and sent them to stay with Hern for a few days. After Arbra got through with them, I don't think their thoughts were on Lydia or any other girl."

"How old were they then?" Paegan asked.

"Ten, I think," Conar said. "It was before I made my spurs."

"A few days before I left," Duncan said quietly. Getting up, he looked into the distance. "I never got to see you knighted, squirt. But you don't seem to have done too badly."

"He hasn't," Legion agreed.

"Well, anyway," Duncan said, stepping around a broken settee, "I'd better get my wards."

"What wards?" Roget asked.

Duncan sighed. "I was traveling alone, mind you. Being good." At Legion's snort, Duncan fixed him with a glare. "I was, A'Lex! Anyway, I was traveling when I heard this woman crying..."