WINDREAPER (30 page)

He gulped the water. Some dribbled down his chin.

Meggie clucked as she swiped at the wet with her apron. "Such babies," she repeated. "Lay on down, lad."

Conar let her tuck the covers around him, then turned on his side and put his face into the pillow. "I feel like shit," he mumbled into the goose down softness.

"You'll live," Meggie assured him, drawing up a rocking chair to sit beside the bed.

"It'll get worse."

She set the chair to rocking. "This that fever you got at Tyber's Isle?"

"Uh, huh. How'd you know?"

"Heard tell of how you was one of them that contracted it." Her slippers made little tapping sounds on the rug as her feet touched the floor with each forward rock. "Storm Jale's wife said he got it, too."

"Don't leave me," he said, feeling the onset of the bad symptoms.

"Had no intention of doing so." The chair squeaked as she rocked.

"And don't let them find out where I am."

"We'll see," she answered, her look fiercely protective. "You just get on to sleep."

"I might cause you and Harry some trouble. They've had to tie me down sometimes when the convulsions set in. If I get too bad, call someone."

"Whatever you say."

"I don't want to be any trouble." The medicine had began to lull him.

"Go to sleep, now, Sweeting."

"Don't call them unless you have to," he whispered, falling into a thickly-wrapped peacefulness. "Meg?"

She sighed. "Aye, lad?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too, lad."

Brelan knocked at Legion's door, waited for his brother to bid him enter, then went in. "We found him."

"Where?"

"At the Ruck's." Brelan sat in the chair beside his brother's desk. "Sleeping off a drunk, I guess."

Legion smirked. "Well, at least you don't have to worry. That's something he's done enough times in his life to have it down pat."

"I guess so."

Legion looked up from the papers he was reviewing. "You're worried about him, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?" Brelan searched Legion's eyes. "I heard this morning that he's planning a raid on another temple near the Diabolusian border. He's been drunk all week. Do you think he's fit to lead such a raid?"

Pushing away the papers, Legion leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and studied Saur. "Do you think you can stop him even if he isn't?"

"It's more than the liquor. If what Marsh suspects is true, if he is taking some drug, then he's out of control. Maybe we should try talking to him."

"Talking to Conar is like talking to a mule. He might hear you, but he sure as hell isn't listening." Legion shook his head. "Let him go. He's a grown man. If he screws up, there won't be anyone to blame but himself."

"And what about the men who'll be going with him into battle? Do we throw their lives away because we can't make our brother see reason?"

"You have this notion that you
can
reason with him! That hasn't been my observation of late. He sure won't listen to anything I have to say."

Brelan stood, raking his fingers through his thick mass of curls. "Would it hurt to try?"

"I don't suppose so. But just don't expect him to listen."

* * *

Meggie wiped the sweat from Conar's face. He had come to for only a moment, no longer, but his eyes had focused on her for the first time in two days. "I'm with you, lad," she'd whispered.

"Water…" His pupils were dilated. Sweat trickled over his hot flesh. He turned his matted hair into the pillow.

"Not too much, now." She lifted his head and let the chilled water dribble past his parched lips. She eased his head to the pillow and smoothed away an oily lock of hair from his flushed face. "How are you feeling, son?"

"Like hell," he answered, turning his face into her palm.

Meggie smiled. He hadn't spoken in more than two days. His voice was hoarse, raw-sounding, the effort obviously draining. But at least he was coherent, something he had not been for forty-eight hours.

"Do you think you could take some broth?"

"I'll try."

Meggie stood and looked at Dorrie. "Stay with him until I get back."

"Aye, Madame." Dorrie moved toward the bed.

"And keep your paws off him!" Meggie snapped.

* * *

Dorrie waited until the old woman left the bedchamber before looking down at her charge. "Can I get you something, Milord?"

"Aye," Conar whispered, trying to stay awake. He beckoned her closer, annoyed when she grinned knowingly with satisfaction. As she bent over him, her foul breath fanning his face, he had to look away.

"What is it I can do for you?" she purred, her fingers stroking his arm.

He looked to the door, then in a rush, his strength waning, grabbed her arm. "Listen to me! Find Sern Jamar, the nomad. Tell him…tell him I'm ill and I need my medication." He watched her eyes, dumb as they were in her pretty face, trying to gauge her understanding. "Do you hear me? Find the nomad and tell him I need him to give you something for me." His voice became gruffer by the moment, his head throbbing, his body so limp he could barely move. "Don't let anyone see you with him and don't tell anyone I sent you to him. Do you hear?"

She frowned. "I don't understand—"

"Damn it, you don't need to understand!" he hissed, the effort taking more out of him than he would have thought. "Just do what I tell you. I'll see you get paid."

Dorrie smiled. "There's only one kind of payment I want, Milord." She eased her hand down his arm, briefly touched his fingers, then slid her hand to the V of his legs. "I just want to taste you again."

Conar nodded, swallowing hard, feeling his raw throat burning. "Anything. Just get the medicine." When she made to straighten, he yanked her arm, brought her closer, his voice a whisper. "Don't let anyone on to what you're doing."

"Aye, Milord," she whispered back. "I'll do your bidding like you want. But I dare not go 'til the old bitch comes back."

"Aye, you can. Just go!"

"No, Milord. She'd take a switch to my arse, she would."

Unaccustomed to having his orders thwarted, Conar knew an irrational anger that drove deeper than mere human fury. It pierced him with more frustration than the most seething rage. He tried to push himself up, couldn't, and fell back with a vile curse. "Damn it, woman! Do as you're told!"

Dorrie held her ground, as if fearing Meggie Ruck more than she feared him. She shook her head with finality. "Can't."

He shook, emotions running amok within him. His teeth clenched against the scream that threatened to burst. The moment he awakened, he had felt the itching along his chest, under his arms, and recognized the withdrawal symptoms that reminded him it had been days since he'd last taken Sern's elixir. He gathered the sheet in both hands, jerking on the material. "If you don't do what I say—"

The door opened. With pursed lips, Meggie took in the scene. Her suspicious gaze fell to Dorrie, who smiled sweetly. "What have you done?"

"Get her out of here!" Conar growled.

"Go!" Meggie literally shoved the girl through the door. Shutting it with force, she hastened to the bed. "What did that slut do to you, lad?"

He trembled, the need for Sern's drug so great he wanted to die. "Oh, god, Meggie!" he breathed, his teeth chattering as he scrunched down.

"Lad, what is it?" she asked, scanning his face. "Is it starting up again, then?" She sat by him.

He laid his head in her lap, put his arms around her, and held her fiercely to him. "Help me, Meggie…"

She cooed as she rocked him in her arms. "It'll pass, son."

"Stay with me, Meggie." He was ashamed of his weakness, afraid he might be sinking into madness, into the paranoid, hopeless mental degeneration the drugs could cause, but needing them just to take a breath.

* * *

Meggie sensed the inexpressible sadness in this man, a grief so out of control, so overpowering, that it made him seem just a little mad, a touch unbalanced. "I'm here for as long as you need me, son."

The tortured light in his eyes dimmed, turning the sapphire orbs almost obsidian. "Promise?" he asked, sounding like a boy needing reassurance.

"Aye, I promise, Coni."

A twitch of a smile touched his lips. He closed his eyelids, shutting off the power those eyes contained. His arms tightened around her waist and he buried his face in the folds of her ample belly.

"You just go back to sleep, lad. Your Meggie will be right here."

"Mama."

"What?"

"You're my mama," he whispered.

Meggie's breath caught in her throat; a lump came from nowhere to choke her. She felt a great desire to cry. She looked at him, at the long lashes fanning across his fevered cheeks, and experienced a protective urge greater than any she had ever felt toward her biological offspring. Her arms tightened around him. "Aye, lad, I reckon I am."

* * *

Meggie had gone to use the chamber pot in the room next door when Dorrie managed to sneak back into Conar's room. Quietly padding to his bedside, she gently covered his lips with her fingers, shushing him when his eyes flew wide. "I have your medicine, Your Grace." She put the packet of drugs in his hand. "The nomad said to be careful with it."

"You'd better go," he told her, relieved when she faded from the room as quietly as she had entered.

With relief, he closed his fingers around the oilskin packet.

* * *

"You think you're up to going home, do you?" Meggie inquired, watching Conar tucking his shirt into the waistband of his black cords.

He cast her a quick smile. "The fever's gone." He shrugged into the leather jacket Harry had brought, a jacket he had left at the inn several months earlier. It felt looser than normal.

Meggie gave him an irritated frown. Her lips tightened.

"Out with it."

"What are you going to be doing about your lady?"

"Amber-lea?" he asked, lifting one brow. "Why does everybody want to know my intentions toward her?"

Meggie shook her head. "Wasn't talking about that one and you damned well know it!"

An instant hardness spread over his features. "We've been through this before—"

"And we'll go through it again!"

"Elizabeth A'Lex is no longer my concern."

"The hell, you say! She is and always will be!"

"She doesn't see it that way."

With an annoyed hand, Meggie fanned the air in front of her. "If you believe that, you're a fool. She might be wed to your brother, but it's
you
she still loves."

"Aye, she loves me! I know that! But there's not much I can do about it!"

Meggie could see his pain. She sensed the gentle boy hidden just beneath the man's hard exterior, saw the loneliness that appeared as coldness and callousness, felt the caring that was being stamped down behind a facade of nonchalance. Looking at him in the glow of the early morning firelight, she knew his was a burden of sadness, weighing heavier on shoulders already bowed beneath tragedy and fate.

"Lad, can't you reason with your brother? Can't you make him see he's not only hurting you by keeping the lady, but her, as well? The two of you need to be together."

* * *

Meggie's words seeped into Conar's brain and echoed like the buttons on a rattler. He felt more alone than ever.

"He'll never give her up, Meggie," he said, his voice rife with hopelessness. "I wouldn't."

"Can't you use your power to make him?"

He flinched, taken aback. He could, he thought—aye, he could. With just a little effort, he could take Liza from Legion.

But he knew he wouldn't.

"Meg. I didn't ask for the powers I was given. I didn't want them. They scared the hell out of me when I was young and I'd try to push them as far down inside me as they'd go. I was afraid I couldn't handle them, or I'd misuse them. I was scared to death I'd get angry like my ancestor, Syn-Jern, and use that power to hurt people. I didn't know if I could control it, and I didn't want the responsibility of trying." He thrust his fingers through his hair. "Now, that I can control it, I'm damned careful how I use it. If Legion made me mad enough, I might harm him. To take Liza back by magic wouldn't prove anything except that I could do it. She's got to want to come back to me on her own."

"And you don't think she will?"

"I don't think she ever will."

"You have failed, Rasheed! One must pay for their failures."

In the tent, trembling uncontrollably, the kneeling man with his hands tied behind his back felt sweat running down his face. His voice was a strained whimper of regret as he answered his employer. "I have tried, Master. He is watched closely. The men from the Outer Kingdom. They—"

"Ah, yes. The Shadow-warriors. They are, indeed, an obstacle, but they can be killed just as you can."

Rasheed Falkar winced. He shrank back from the uncaring, unfeeling look his Master aimed his way. When heard a sound behind him, he turned his head, his eyes going wide with fright.

"Rasheed does not understand how important this is to me, Prince Guil," the new arrival said. "Perhaps you should explain it to him."

"Please," Rasheed begged, looking from the speaker to his Master. "If you would give me but one more chance, Highness, I will bring Conar McGregor's head to you on a platter!"

Prince Guil Ben-Shanar Gehdrin shrugged. "You haven't up until now. Why should we trust you further?"

"Master," Rasheed stated, trying to sound reasonable, although his heart thudded painfully in his ribcage, threatening to burst. "He will make a slip. The man is only human."

"There are those who don't think so," the other man remarked. "I, for one."

"I am inclined to believe that, as well," Prince Guil said. "Our serpent did not kill him. Even the Domination's wrath did not kill him."

"He is protected," Rasheed told them. "It is hard to get near him."

"What of your tribesman?" the second man spoke, coming to stand beside Prince Guil. "Have you spoken to him?"

Rasheed vehemently shook his head. "He would not help. He is one of McGregor's men and feels great guilt about—"

Prince Guil cocked a thick black brow, cutting off Rasheed's words. "But you won't know until you ask him, now, would you?"

"He let Akbar into the keep that one time—"

The second man laughed malevolently. "The fool who wound up stuck on a pole outside Boreas Keep's gates? If he is an example of the men in your employ, Rasheed, you are as good as in your grave!"

"Have your kinsman aid you," Prince Guil ordered. "If he can hide a serpent in McGregor's garden, sneak a man into the bastion of that bastard's domain, he can help you get close enough to McGregor to kill him."

Rasheed knew better. His kinsman suffered the agonies of the damned over something he had helped do long ago, and now would die before letting McGregor do so. But Rasheed understood his own situation, and arguing with Prince Guil was tantamount to losing his head. "I will try, Highness." Glancing at the other man, he ducked his head. "I will try to gain for you what is rightly yours, Prince—"

"Do more than try, Rasheed," the man demanded. "My patience is wearing thin."

* * *

Rasheed Falkar laid on his bedroll and stared at the brilliant stars overhead. His hand throbbed, hurt so badly he could not stay the whimpers. Blood oozed from the pulpy bandage wrapped around his left hand as he cradled it to his chest. He tried to concentrate on the stars, naming the constellations, counting the flickering blue-white dots in the heavens, but the pain was too great and he soon gave up. He turned onto his side and drew his knees up to his chest.

He hated Conar McGregor with a fury to equal the hotness of the stars he had been studying. He hated the man more than any other living being he had ever known. His hatred was boundless, irrevocable, and beyond the reach of humanity. It stretched from the road to Rommitrich Point in Serenia all the way to the sands of Basaraba, the capitol of the Southern Sector of Rysalia province.

"I will avenge you, my brother," he vowed, his mind touching briefly on the face of his beloved older sibling, Mohammed. "I will make McGregor rue the day he caused your death."

He pictured his enemy—the golden hair, the once-handsome face now engraved with the reminder of another enemy's vengeance. He thought of the tiny piece of Conar McGregor he had once held in his hands, which had been delivered to him by his kinsman at Boreas Keep.

"I should not be doing this," his kinsman had said, looking with sorrow at the infant. "This babe is innocent."

Rasheed remembered taking the girl-child from his kinsman, assuring the man no harm would befall her. "Prince Guil only wants to hold the babe as ransom for the righting of the great wrong done to his old friend."

His kinsman stroked the little girl's sleeping face, then turned to go. "Take her while I will still let you."

And Rasheed had, riding out of Boreas with the babe tucked firmly under his arm. He had not stopped until he reached the stable of the tavern where Prince Guil's friend waited.

"This is McGregor's daughter?" the man asked, reaching for the bundle.

"Yes, Your Grace. Her name is Nadia." Rasheed started to dismount, but Prince Guil's friend held up his hand.

"Ride on. The dhau waits for you at the seaport of Ciona."

Rasheed looked with worry at the man, not liking the expression on his face. "I promised my kinsman no harm would come to the child."

A pair of hell-spawned black eyes locked with Rasheed's. The man holding Conar McGregor's child smiled. It was the most evil smile Rasheed could ever remember seeing on a human countenance.

"Ride on, Rasheed Falkar," the man ordered, his face hard. "You have done your job."

Now, lying under the stars of his homeland, Rasheed could still hear the strangled cry that had come to him that day as he started away from the Hound and Stag Tavern. He shuddered, remembered seeing the dagger dripping with bright crimson blood, watching the man drop the infant to the ground. Rasheed had known the child was dead, its throat slashed by the friend of Prince Guil. He had looked into the man's face, seen the hatred ruling that handsome visage, and kicked his mount into a fast canter away from the tavern and the revenge that had taken place.

"I hate you," Rasheed spoke through his clenched teeth. "But your child did not deserve to be slaughtered for what you did."

It had been hard to explain to his kinsman that he'd had no part in the girl's murder.

"I should kill you!" his kinsman had bellowed, lunging for Falkar.

"Think!" Rasheed cried. "Think who is the cause of this! Does not the blood of the child stain its father's hands? If not for the father's sins, would the child have been punished?"

Such words, carefully chosen and holding a far greater meaning to Rasheed's kinsman, had stilled the hands wrapped around his throat. But Rasheed still felt his kinsman's curse down to the very depths of his soul.

"I will see you in the Abyss for your part in the babe's death!"

Turning over to once more stare at the heavens, Rasheed thought about what Prince Guil's friend had told him only that morning, just before the man had bound him, his left hand splayed on a rock.

"I don't want you to forget how vengeful I can be!"

Rasheed could still see the flash of the dagger as Prince Guil's boyhood friend had drawn the blade from his burnoose, could still feel the fear running through his blood as the dagger settled on his hand, could still feel the unholy pain as the blade sliced downward, severing two of his fingers.

His scream of agony had echoed in the still desert air as he watched his fingers roll off the rock and into the sand.

"Fail again, Rasheed Falkar," the man told him, "and it will be your head that rolls from this rock!"

No, Rasheed thought. He would not dare fail again to do what Prince Guil's friend demanded.

* * *

Prince Guil glanced up as his old friend joined him at the fire. He smiled. "Can't sleep?"

The man shook his head. "I haven't slept easy since that bastard took what was mine."

"I understand."

"Do you?" came the harsh reply.

The Rysalian Prince regarded his friend with a knowing look. "There is something I want, as well, and can't have. Or have you forgotten that?"

"No." There was distaste in the word.

"Don't judge." He stretched out on his left side and looked as his companion. "I don't judge you."

A hot black stare fused with Prince Guil's gaze. "How many men will we lose before this is over and done with?"

"As many as are needed," the Rysalian answered. "Are you concerned with peasant lives?"

"You know better."

"Then don't be concerned about what we have to do to gain your objective, old friend. McGregor will fall. I promise you."

He stood, his back to Guil, and stared through the flap of the luxurious tent. "I want to feel his neck in my hands, Guil. I want to gut him and pull his insides out with my own hands."

Guil sighed. They'd been through this before. "I know."

"I want to torture him, make him beg for mercy I will not give. I want to succeed where the Domination failed!"

"Yes, yes," Guil said, yawning.

"And I
will
one day, Guil!"

"That goes without saying."