WINDREAPER (6 page)

"You have no choice."

"I want this over-grown troll gone! Do you hear me, Roget?"

Roget glanced up with a frown of warning. It was the first time in a long time that Conar had called him by his given name. To lapse into such a dangerous mistake was a measure of how mad he truly was. "Lower your voice or, so help me, I'll have Bent gag you!"

Conar growled, his teeth actually bared. "Don't you
even
try something like that!"

"Then act reasonably and I won't." Roget closed his book with a snap and stood, facing Conar's anger with calm purpose. "Bent is here to guard your back. It doesn't matter what you want. You are more important to the cause alive than dead, skewered on the end of some Tribunal Guard's sword. Where you go, Bent goes. Live with it!"

Conar slammed his fist against the wall. "Hawk, but I will not be followed about like some irrational child. I can handle myself." He glanced at Bent's benevolent face. "I can take care of myself!"

"Bent will see that remains the case. He stays."

Conar glared at the giant. Short of skewering the man, he likely saw no way of getting away from him. He spat out vulgarities pertaining to Bent's maternal parentage, then slumped heavily onto the bed. He folded his arms across his chest, crossed his bare ankles over one another, and simply stared with red-hot fury at Bent's pleasant, smiling face.

"I'll try to be as unobtrusive as possible, Milord," Bent said sheepishly.

A snort of contempt came from Conar. Roget believed, if it had been possible, steam would have shot from Conar's nostrils and ears.

"Ignore him, Bent. Sometimes I think he gets on the rag like a female." Roget chuckled at Conar's answering grunt of hated. He glanced at his friend's set face and sobered. "It's for your own good. If we didn't love you, we wouldn't care."

* * *

As dusk settled on the land, Conar led the two men through a winding pathway of forest close to the western foothills of Mount Serenia. He had refused to speak to either of them as they saddled up and kept silent on the journey to Boreas Keep. Finally, while leading them past stunted trees beside the beach and into the overgrown scrub that grew low along the foot of the sheer cliff of mountain behind the palace, he spoke in a voice thick with nerves.

"The grotto is through here." He motioned with his hand at a twisted overgrowth of brambles.

"Can we get through?" Roget eyed the sharp thorns with obvious alarm.

"Of course." Conar dismounted and started easily slipping through the twisted growth. He turned toward them.

Roget glanced uneasily at Bent's bulk. "Well?"

Bent shook his head. "Where he goes, I go, Milord Hawk." He landed with a thud on the ground as he slid from his massive mount, a Viragon stallion. Bent took a deep breath and followed Conor with no little grace through the sharp thorns, drawing in his breath as his hands and face were scratched.

Conar's heart slammed in his chest. The passageway into the deeper part of the underground lake was confining, but it was not the close quarters of the now-unused grotto that caused his hands to itch, his breath to come in thick gasps. It was not his fear of tight, closed-in places that made him want to scream. It was the past causing him pain.

He leaned against the rock wall and could feel treacherous sweat running down his face. He wiped angrily at the telltale sign of weakness. This once-beautiful place now held a store of memories that made his heart ache, his throat close with emotion.

It had been here that Kaileel's men had taken him. Here where he had lost his freedom, his identity, his every precious possession. Here, men hired by his twin brother, Galen, had nearly beaten him to death. In this place he had been separated from the living.

And where he had last held Liza.

He tore his mind from the memory and, with a trembling hand, felt along the wall for support. He sucked in his breath as a jagged stone grazed the tender flesh of his palm. More pain in this place. More hurt. He felt as though he would scream. He must not remember. He would not remember. In remembering, he set in motion the agony that threatened to rip him wide apart.

"Milord?" Bent called, nearly plowed into Conar. The giant stumbled through the entranceway, ducking his head to clear the low ceiling of rock.

"Damn it!" Conar hissed, shoving his shoulder into the giant's midsection. "Get the hell off me, you over-sized gnome!" He forced his emotions deep inside the empty vessel that was now his heart, ignoring Bent's apology.

They heard the rush of water beneath them and the lapping of waves from the beach. A whisper of air moaned low along the iridescent walls, muffling their footsteps. Once in the grotto, the eerily glowing green water gave better illumination. The air smelled of salt and limestone.

Moving yellowish light played over the hanging rock formations around them. The white sand surrounding the grotto seemed to sparkle as though sprinkled lavishly with thousands of diamonds and fiery opals. The ceiling appeared to be alive with a green wave of light and a thick fog spread itself over the water. It was a peaceful place, deceptively calm and serene.

Motioning the men into a nearly hidden crevice, Conar wedged his body through the crack and made his way to the secret door which he knew opened to the keep's wine cellar. He ran his hand along the rock wall until he found a rusted ring that served as a door handle, then pulled. Obviously someone had oiled it well, for it slid silently open.

"Brelan," he whispered to Roget and Bent. He led them into the wine cellar, not surprised when he found no cobwebs spread over the entry. Thanking his brother for his forethought, Conar pulled the door closed behind them. He became aware of meager light in the musty-smelling room. He glanced around until he found the single burning taper. He picked it up and shielded the wavering flame with his free palm.

It took less than ten minutes for him to lead them to the secret door that led into the passageway outside the master bedroom suite. It would be there that Brelan, his second oldest brother, would have gathered the King and Queen of Serenia for the meeting. He stopped before a panel, a hidden door into the back of a special armoire, and waited for Bent and Roget to catch up with him. He heard the muffled sound of voices from behind the panel.

Roget seemed to sense Conar's hesitation, to feel the uncertainty, probably even hear the wild beat of Conar's heart. "Are you all right?"

Conar could only nod.

"Then put on your mask."

Without thought, he pulled the black silk kerchief from the pocket of his breeches and wound it around his head to hide everything except his eyes.

Conar heard a feminine chime of laughter from behind the panel and nearly bolted. He drew in a ragged breath, his lids snapping shut with pain.

Roget put a hand on his shoulder. "If you're not ready, we'll go back." Roget's voice was like a ray of hope in a desperate storm of destruction.

Conar shook his head. "I can't let my past destroy my future."

"And you can't let yourself be destroyed, either."

"I would rather be in Labyrinth colony than here, right now."

"I know." Roget gently folded Conar into his arms, stroking his tense back. "If I could do this for you, I would."

Conar took heart from Roget's warmth and love. He eased himself out of his friend's arms, made certain his mask was in place, then motioned for Roget to open the door before he could change his mind.

Also masked, Roget walked through the door. Bent followed, pushed into the room by Conar's impatient grunt.

"Bent?" a sweet voice asked in amazement. "We have missed you, old friend!' The light, lilting feminine laughter, rich with beauty and thick with the sultry appeal of womanhood, was like a flash of lightning through the darkened secret passageway. Her voice lit the dark like a million fireflies in summer. "I am so happy to see you again."

Though Bent answered in a deep rumble, Conar couldn't hear the words with blood pounding hard in his ears. He took a deep breath, willed his heart to cease its bursting beat, and entered the bedchamber. Squinting against the brightness of the gaily lit room, a room he remembered all too well, he raised his head and it was into her eyes his vision took him.

The breath in his lungs stopped, and he stiffened with fear. And pain. And memory. And rage.

But it was the other female in the room who took him completely by surprise as she rushed to him with a whimper of greeting.

"Brownie, no!" Liza gasped as her little dog jumped on the Darkwind, whimpering excitedly as she tried to gain his attention.

Legion started forward, as if intent on shooing away the elderly dog, but the masked man had stooped to pet the animal and held up a hand to stay him.

"He, ah…loves animals," Brelan said. None of them had even thought of Brown Stuff and her reaction to seeing her beloved master once more.

"And without a doubt, they love him," Liza said, laughing.

From his position on the floor, the masked man regarded her for a long moment, then after ruffling the little dog's floppy ears, stood and folded his arms across his chest, staring intently at Liza.

The dog rolled on to her back and continued to stare at the black-clad man, her tail wagging furiously in an attempt to have him pet her again.

"I'll put her outside," Teal said, taking a step toward the animal.

"Let her stay," came the rasping demand from behind the mask when the dog laid her head on his boot and seemed content to remain there.

As he looked with worry at Conar, terrified the man would reveal his true identity, Brelan was as unsure of himself as he had ever been in his thirty-three years of life. Unaccustomed to fear, not on close terms with nervousness, Brelan felt an anxiety he didn't like, for he felt as though he could not control it. He had to clear his throat twice before he could find his voice.

"King Legion, Queen Elizabeth, may I present Lord Darkwind?" He was suddenly sure that Elizabeth would recognize Conar. He glanced nervously at Roget and their gazes held.

King Legion A'Lex stepped forward, obviously wary of the masked stranger, but his lips lifted in a welcoming smile. After all, had not Brelan vouched for the man? Had not Brelan told him this man could be trusted? He reluctantly extended his hand. "We are happy you have come." When Conar made no move to accept his hand, Legion let it drop, seemingly embarrassed and a little more than annoyed. "My lady-wife thought you could help us to regain our son."

Roget du Mer's brother, Teal, stepped forward, embracing his sibling, patting him heartily on the back. His twin dimples, so like Roget's, indented his face in welcome. He had been warned not to reveal Roget's identity as yet, but his likely relief at seeing Roget had made him forget. "How are you?"

Roget sighed, glancing toward Legion. He removed the mask from around his face. "Teal was ever an impatient one, eh, Legion?"

Legion A'Lex flinched in surprise. "Roget?" He enveloped the man in a bear hug. "When did you get home? How long have you been here?"

"A little while," Roget answered. He smiled at his Queen's laughter.

"Perhaps you can keep this gypsy lord in line now that you're home, Duke du Mer," she teased.

"Doubtful, Milady." Roget grinned as he took her offered hand, bringing it to his lips. At Conar's snort of anger, Roget released her hand. He swept Conar a quick glance, then moved away. "I can try, though."

Legion turned his happy gaze back to the masked man. "I'd heard rumors that there were many men with you from the Labyrinth." He glanced at his brother, Brelan, then turned his full attention back to the Raven. "Bre tells us my wife's brothers are somewhere nearby. Would it be possible for us to see them?"

Conar looked away from Legion's avid blue gaze and stared once more at Liza. He closed his hands, forming tight fists, but he didn't answer A'Lex's question.

* * *

Anya Elizabeth A'Lex could not seem to look away from the man who glaring at her. There was something compelling about him, something that mesmerized her and keep her rooted to the spot. She had wanted to greet him, to thank him for coming to hear them out, but could not force her lips apart. She felt sweat lining her palms and the vein in her right temple pounded for no reason she could fathom. She felt the babe in her womb stir and covered her belly with her hand.

The look of pure hatred that shot from the man's eyes made her blush with shame. Annoyed she should dare to feel that way about a babe of Legion's made her capable of tearing her gaze from him. Nervous, she sat in a wingback chair beside the unlit fireplace.

Legion put his hands on his hips and cleared his throat. "Brelan has told you why we asked you here. I know it was dangerous for you and we greatly appreciate it. There is no one else we can turn to for help. It is imperative that Prince Corbin be taken from the temple before he can be consecrated to the Domination. I don't know how much you know about them, but…"

The Raven's gloved hand move in contemptuous haste. "I know enough!" The rasping, oddly accented voice through the black silk scarf seemed hard, deadly, impatient.

Somehow Liza found her voice. "Then you know why we want our son back. Kaileel Tohre has had him for three years, since he was only five." Tears formed, and her lips trembled. She had an uncanny notion the sight of her tears enraged him further. "I must have my son back, Milord."

"Why?" came the scratchy voice.

Legion looked hard at the man. "What do you mean why?"

"Why do you want him back?"

"That's a foolish question!"

"Not so foolish when you consider how long you have let the boy remain with Tohre." The man's scorn was obvious.

"There has been no way to get him back. Don't you think we've tried?" Legion's anger was escalating. "Every man we've sent there has disappeared."

The Darkwind swung his impaling stare once more to Liza who sat nervously on the edge of her chair. "I have been told your wife belongs to the Multitude. Why has she done nothing?"

Liza felt shock. Only a handful of people knew about her connection with the outlawed society. She glanced at Brelan, who nodded. Obviously, Brelan had told the man. She returned her regard to the Darkwind. "If I could have done something, Milord, I would have. I have little power left to me since…since my first husband died." She lowered her head. "What power the Oracle granted me was channeled only through him." A tear ran down her cheek. His memories still hurt. "When he left," she said softly, her voice breaking, "all my strength went with him."

Teal laid a hand on her shoulder. "That is a memory we try to keep her from thinking about. If Prince Conar had lived, he would never have allowed his nephew to be taken from us." He flinched as the man's sharp, cutting words stabbed at him.

"If Conar had lived," the Darkwind said in a sharp, cutting tone, "his
nephew
would not have been born!" His disgusted snort insulted Liza as his gaze swept contemptuously over her. "Conar would have seem to that!"

"If you came here to insult my wife—" Legion shouted.

"I came here, King Legion, at your request, at great risk to my life and the lives of my men, to undo a wrong. Give me reason to, A'Lex, and I will leave just as I came!" There was hot steel in the rasping voice.

"Please!" Liza stood, her hands before her in pleading. "We need your help, Milord Darkwind. It matters little how you feel about me or my husband. I will take all the insults you wish to fling at me if you will only help us get back our son!"

"Liza!" Legion hissed.

She turned toward her husband. "I will do anything, Legion, anything, to get Corbin back! Let him insult us all he wants." She looked toward Conar. "You were obviously loyal to Prince Conar and you believe he was betrayed in some way. Is that not true?"

He directed no words to her. Instead, he hunkered by the dog, scratched her behind the ears, mumbled something, then stood. He turned to Legion and sneered. "I will let you know my decision in the morning."

He spun on his heel and was about to duck through the secret door when Liza called to him.

"Whatever you want from us—gold, men, arms, whatever—we will see you get it if you bring our child back to us." Her voice broke; she buried her face in her hands. It galled her to beg this man for anything, for she could feel his hatred of her. He had made it clear he thought her beneath contempt. If he had been a friend, a supporter of Conar's, he had been no friend of hers, she was sure.

"My lady-wife is expecting our fourth child," Legion said through clenched teeth. "This is upsetting to her." He pulled her into his arms. "You have no right to hurt her."

A tight laugh, filled with scorn, came from the mask. "I have the right to do whatever I want, A'Lex!" He ducked through the door and was gone before Legion could respond.

"Do you still see him as a romantic figure destined to save our people from Tohre?" Legion asked her after the men were gone.

Her throat closed with tears, Liza could only shake her head. Although her husband's hands roamed over her back, soothing her, she felt lost, bereft, and try as hard as she might, she could not shake the feeling that a bit of her light had been extinguished when the Darkwind left the room.

* * *

"That was a sorry thing you did," Brelan raged at Conar as they settled down for the night in a hidden room just off the unused dungeon. "You deliberately baited her!" He threw a twig on the brazier and leaned against the wall. "It was uncalled for."

"Don't question me."

"You hurt her!"

"No more than she hurt me," Conar reminded his brother as he flung the mask from his blond hair.

"I don't understand you. Let the past go; bury it! You will only do more hurt to yourself and others if you keep letting it control what you do." Brelan looked to Roget for support.

"He's right, Conar," Roget added. "You can't go into battle with your mind divided. That's the quickest way to get yourself killed."

"I'm dead already."

"But
we
have no wish to be," Brelan snapped.

Roget sat beside Conar. "There are a lot of people counting on you. Without your help, they have no chance of winning this battle with Tohre. An army without a leader is chaos. Is that what you want for your people?"

Conar stood, his hands clenched at his side. Bombarding emotions started to level him. "What is it you all expect of me?" he shouted. "I am only a man! Flesh and blood and muscle. I am no super being who can breathe life into a dying world! I have feelings, the gods help me! Feelings I had prayed, I had begged, to have destroyed." He plowed his strong fingers through his hair. "I have pain like anyone else." He scanned the dark room. "I need a drink."

"You can do without it," Roget told him.

Conar turned to glare. "Then get me a woman!"

"Why?" Brelan shot back, heedless of how the shout would carry in the stone room. "So you can pretend it's another woman instead of the woman you're riding?"

Conar felt hurt, shame, regret before setting his face into a hard, sardonic sneer. He turned his back on them, walked to the darkest portion of the room, and slid down the wall, his back pressed tight against the moist rock. Then, he buried his face in his hands.