TWENTY-SEVEN      

DELADION INCH REACHED THE DROUJ CAMP shortly before sunset of the following day, driving his armored ATV down out of the high country where he had dropped off Sider Ament and continuing on toward the flats west. Ament had told him enough so that he would know the girl he was looking for when he found her—as if there could possibly be more than one held prisoner in the Troll camp—and provided a roughly sketched map of the way back up to the pass through which he would bring her to safety. He had accepted both without comment, knowing that either might fail to help in the end, that things might change as they frequently did in a dangerous undertaking like this one.

In truth, although he might have said something to the contrary, he did not really expect they would see each other again. Odds were against it, and he paid close attention to the odds.

But he liked Sider Ament—genuinely liked him—enough that he hoped he was wrong and they would find each other in better times. If he hadn’t liked the other, he would never have agreed to this fool’s errand. Walking boldly into a camp of five thousand armed Trolls with the express purpose of taking something away from them that they had no intention of giving up—now, that was just plain idiotic. Didn’t matter how carefully disguised his intentions or clever his efforts, he was putting his head in the jaws of a steel trap and handing the trigger release to his enemy. You didn’t do things like that for anyone but a friend.

Except, of course, sometimes you did things like that for yourself, which was at least partially true here. His friendship with Sider Ament aside, spiriting the girl away would be akin to rubbing the noses of Taureq Siq and his boys in the dirt, and he found the idea immensely attractive.

He watched the Drouj camp grow closer as he eased the big crawler ahead at dead slow, rolling and heaving through the rough terrain like a great beast. Ahead, the first of the sentries appeared from their hiding places. They would recognize the vehicle and allow him to approach without attacking. Word would already be on its way to Taureq Siq, and the Maturen would be ready to receive him when he was escorted in. A part of him relished the meeting; a part of him whispered that it would be a good idea to turn around right now. Taureq Siq was unpredictable, and he had no special love for Inch. He tolerated him and sometimes even used his mercenary skills because the big man had training and weapons that the Trolls did not. As long as he found Inch useful, he would refrain from doing anything bad to him. But all that could turn around pretty fast. It was always a gamble when you got within strangling distance of the Drouj leader.

Well, he thought, permitting himself a wry smile, he hadn’t anything better to do with his day.

In some of his darker, wilder moments, those times when he could afford to think about doing things that were so reckless they bordered on idiotic, he imagined riding the ATV into the Drouj camp at full speed with all weapons firing, creating a killing swath of terrible proportions, leveling the hordes that would come against him, tearing apart tents and supplies and finally, ultimately, catching the Siq family in a murderous firestorm that would put an end to them once and for all. He thought about it again now, a momentary indulgence, fueled by a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of what lay ahead. Didn’t matter that he would end up dead, too. Didn’t matter that he would go the way of the Trolls and be another of yesterday’s memories. Sometimes that was enough.

When you were a mercenary of the sort he was, you thought about dying all the time. If it bothered you, it was time to get out of the business.

He rolled the ATV to a stop in front of the pair of Troll sentries who blocked his way, their impassive faces hiding the fear he knew they were feeling, and switched off the engine. Opening the gull-wing door, he climbed out and stretched, taking his time about it. He wore his black leathers and his body armor and carried both the flechette and the spray, one strapped over each broad shoulder. He’d belted knives at his waist and ankles and hooked several flash-bangs to his vest. He looked and felt dangerous.

Giving the sentries a smile, he closed the ATV door and punched the locking numbers on the keypad, alarming and arming it both. Get too close and it would howl like a banshee. Touch it and you risked finding yourself missing a few body parts. Try breaking in and you turned everything for fifty yards in all directions into charred lumps. The Drouj knew this; he had warned them often enough. Once, early on, he had given them a demonstration of his experience with explosives, one that didn’t involve any killing or maiming, but made his point about what might happen. It was sufficiently impressive that no one had chosen to test him on his warnings since. No one would today, either.

“Cudjion!” he greeted the sentries in their own language, using a general appellation meant as a designation for warriors. He gave them a friendly wave and walked over to greet them as if they were all comrades-in-arms. “Ejow mik su keshonen Maturen Taureq Siq.”

The sentries nodded. They already knew why he was there.

Or thought they did.

He followed them into the Troll camp, taller and broader than most, a big man looking easy and confident in his walk. He took his time, forcing the sentries leading him to follow his pace rather than trying to set their own. Once, early on, they had tried to take away his weapons on orders from Taureq Siq. He had advised them in no uncertain terms that they were not to do this. If the Maturen wanted his services, he had to accept Inch on the latter’s terms, not his own. Expecting him to give up his weapons while alone and surrounded by Trolls was just nonsense. Besides, what was he going to do? Was he going to suddenly start killing everyone around him when he was one man against so many? Taureq Siq had apparently decided not because he never asked him to disarm again.

If he had known Inch better, he would have insisted on it. He would have realized that the big man always thought about killing everyone around him, just because that was how he kept his edge.

Once, Grosha had tried to take the spray away from him. The boy was a fool, but he was dangerous, too. Inch had knocked him back a dozen feet and leveled the spray at him. He might have killed him, too, if he hadn’t thought Grosha so funny at the time. He didn’t think him funny now, and sometimes he thought everyone would have been better off if he had just done what his instincts told him when he had the chance.

Maybe today, he told himself. It was a good day for it.

After he found the girl.

The sentries brought him up to Taureq Siq’s command tent, where the Maturen was waiting for him, standing in front of the tent flaps with his sycophants and retainers and his miserable younger son. No sign of the elder, which might mean he was still inside the valley. It would be too bad for him if he was. Sider Ament would find him and put an end to him; Inch was certain of it. He’d seen the look in the other’s eyes when he’d learned the truth. Revelation, rage, and murderous determination—they were all visible. Scary, even to a seasoned veteran like himself. Sider wasn’t the kind you wanted to antagonize, and the Maturen’s elder son had gone way beyond that.

Inch came up to Taureq Siq, giving him a friendly greeting in the form of hands outstretched and palms turned up. It signified that he came openly and without bad intentions. A dreadful lie, but what could you do? The Maturen gave him a small nod and nothing more. Trusted nobody, that one. Inch knew why. Taureq was always expecting the worst of everyone and was seldom disappointed. One day Inch, too, would live up to his expectations.

He barely spared a glance at Grosha as he addressed the boy’s father in his own tongue. “Cudjion, Taureq. Word is you’ve made plans to make a new home in a valley beyond those mountains.” He pointed off to the east, toward where he had left Sider Ament to make his way back. “I thought you might need someone with my skills to help you get settled.”

The Maturen gave him a hard look. “How do you know of this? The Trolls don’t speak of it.”

Inch shrugged. “I met a man, one from the valley. He spoke to me about you. Said you had one of his people. He wanted to know what I could tell him about you, what I knew that might help him decide how to stop you. I told him he had better find a new home far, far away.”

Grosha started forward a step, snarling. “You spoke to someone about us?” he demanded. “You gave him information?”

“What I told him, he already knew.” Deladion Inch spoke to the father, ignoring the son. “What matters is that I know where to find the entrance to the valley, so maybe that’s information you can use. Maybe I can be of service, if there’s something in it for me.”

Taureq Siq’s face relaxed. “We already know how to get into the valley this man comes from. We know everything. Those who live there are not warriors, not trained, not skilled in fighting. They have no army, no unity of their peoples, nothing that would prevent us from taking the valley for ourselves. We don’t need you.”

Deladion Inch nodded and shrugged. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe you know all about their weapons and how to get past them. Maybe you aren’t afraid of something that can wipe out half your soldiers before you even get within bow range.”

It sounded good, even to him. The secret of the valley’s passes was compromised, along with the lack of any standing army trained to defend against invaders. But maybe the discussion hadn’t gotten to the matter of weapons.

The Maturen hesitated. “They have the same weapons we do. Except that they have one of the black staffs aiding them, as well. But one man is not enough to stop us.”

“One man, no. Fifty fire throwers and a dozen cannons that can reach a target a mile away, yes. Or am I missing something?”

Grosha spit at him. “You lie, mercenary.”

“Do I? You know this?”

“I know Elves don’t have weapons like that!”

He gave the boy a sympathetic smile. “Elves don’t want weapons like that. But Men do. What do your spies have to tell you of that?”

It was a calculated gamble, but it appeared to be working. There was a low muttering among those assembled, silenced quickly as Taureq Siq looked around angrily. “Do you know of these weapons?” he asked Inch. “Have you seen them?”

The big man shook his head. “Only heard of them. But I recognize how they work and what they can do from what I know of my own weapons. You don’t want to risk facing them without a plan.”

“Don’t believe him, Father!” Grosha snapped, fury twisting his blunt features. “He would say anything to share in what we have!”

Inch gave him another smile and looked at his father as if to say, These impulsive boys, what can you do? “You doubt what I’m saying, little pup? Let’s ask the girl, your captive from the valley. Let’s see what she says. Go ahead. Ask her.”

“We cannot ask her!” Grosha shouted, enraged. “We don’t speak the language well enough. Only Arik does. You know that!”

“I don’t know anything about it.” Inch kept his eyes on the father. “Why don’t you let me speak with her? I’ll tell you what she says. After all, I’ve got nothing to gain by lying to you about it. If I do, you’ll find out quick enough when you enter the valley and you’ll hang me from your tent pole.”

Taureq Siq was silent a moment, gesturing for his angry son to be silent, as well. He was clearly conflicted about it, but he was smart enough not to want to risk missing something important.

“All right,” he agreed finally. “But if you deceive me, you will die.” He gestured toward one of the guards. “Bring the girl.”

Grosha turned away in disgust, muttering to himself.

Deladion Inch took a deep breath as the guard departed. He was going to get his chance now, the chance he needed, but he still didn’t know how he was going to make this work. Somehow, he had to get the girl through the camp and back to the ATV if they were to have any chance of escaping. But Taureq would have his eye on him the entire time he was speaking to her, so he was going to have to be clever.

A sudden thrumming on the tent roof drew his attention. It was raining, a downpour. Funny, but he hadn’t even noticed rain clouds on his way in. He breathed in the fresh smells, the dampness and the cool. He glanced through the gap in the tent flaps; the daylight had faded, clouds covering the sun and masking the sky. It would be dark much sooner. The ground would be wet, and tracks would be hard to follow.

It took only moments before the guard returned with his prisoner. The girl was just a little thing, probably not much more than a hundred pounds, small and slender, with bright red hair and green eyes that looked right through you. She didn’t flinch from him when she saw him, clad in black leather and armor, weapons hanging off him everywhere. She simply studied him as she would an interesting specimen, trying to make something out of it.

Inch glanced at Taureq for permission to speak to her, and the Maturen nodded. The big man came forward and knelt in front of her. “You’re Prue Liss?” he asked her. “Sider Ament sends greetings.”

She stared at him, surprise reflected in her green eyes. “He sent you?”

“He did. He couldn’t come himself. Are you all right? Have you been hurt?”

She shook her head no. “What are you going to do?”

“Talk to you a minute. Ask you about weapons that your people in the valley don’t have. Pretend you’re telling me something about them. Just a quick few words. They don’t understand what we’re saying, so it’s all right. When I’m done, give me a hug. Look frightened. Can you do that? You’ll be taken back to where they’re holding you, but I’ll come for you. Understand?”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Remember the hug,” he said.

She nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on his face.

They talked about nothing, as he had said they would, pretending at questions and answers. It was hot inside the tent, and Deladion Inch could felt the sweat running down his back inside his heavy leathers. Outside, the rain continued to beat against the tent surface, a staccato rhythm. He tried to keep the girl’s eyes locked on his, willing her to play along, to make believe with such skill that the Trolls, who were pressing close about them, would not discover their deception. The girl kept looking at him, staring into his eyes, understanding what was needed. She never flinched.

Inch finished, gave her a quick nod, and started to stand up. As he did, she rushed to him immediately and threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close. He patted her comfortingly and backed her away.

Then he turned to Taureq Siq. “She confirms what I already told you. But there is some good news. Not everyone has these weapons, only the Men of the larger villages. They have some small fighting forces, too, but they aren’t well trained. You can overcome them once you know how to jam their weapons.”

Taureq Siq was watching him closely. “You will explain all this to me. But not until Arik returns. He will be here by morning. You will be our guest until he arrives.”

Your prisoner, you mean. Inch had expected as much, but he was dismayed that the older son would be back so soon. He would have to act quickly if he wanted to get out of here alive. “I would be honored, Taureq.”

They were taking the girl back to where they had been holding her, the guard easing her toward the tent flaps and back outside. Inch glanced her way once, but paid no further attention. “I would appreciate some food and a place to sleep,” he told Siq. “I’ve been traveling all day.”

The Maturen nodded to the guards who had brought him in. “Give him what he wants, but stay with him.”

Taureq Siq turned away, his attention on something else, the interview over. Deladion Inch moved for the tent flaps, not waiting on his escort. He pushed through quickly, out into the rain, which had diminished from a downpour to a steady drizzle. Twilight had settled in, and torches burned through the gray haze, fighting back against the damp. Without seeming to do so, he scanned his surroundings, just managing to catch sight of the girl’s slight figure as she disappeared from view into a maze of tents and bodies. But he marked the direction in which she had gone, knowing it would help him find her later.

His guards caught up and motioned him in the opposite direction, staying well clear as they did so. Inch smiled and nodded, following their lead, taking mental notes of everything as they made their way to a small, shabby tent that was perhaps fifty yards away. The tent served otherwise as a supply dump or an animal shelter, a deliberate comment on his status. On any other occasion, Deladion Inch would have been furious. But it didn’t matter here. After tonight, he would never be back.

He ducked inside the tent and settled himself on a sleeping pad amid tent coverings and piles of ties and stays, happy to discover that at least his quarters were dry. His guards brought him food, and he sat down with his dinner. Some sort of stew and warm ale. It was sufficient.

He ate and drank and then settled back to wait.

IT WAS TWO HOURS LATER, the bustle of activity and the drone of voices died down, the rain diminished but the darkness complete, when he peeked through a tiny gap in the tent flaps. His guards stood just outside, looking bored and uncomfortable in their heavy-weather cloaks. There was little movement in the darkness beyond; most of the torches were extinguished, the Trolls were settling in for the night. He couldn’t wait any longer. He couldn’t afford to be there when Arik Siq returned, and that could happen at any time. He would have preferred it if everyone but the watch was asleep, but you couldn’t always have what you wanted in the rescue business.

He called one of the guards into the tent and asked him for a cloak to cover himself and another to lie down on. The guard, under orders to give Inch what he wanted, did not argue. He left and returned again with two all-weather cloaks. As soon as he had gone back outside to his watch, Inch built a dummy of himself out of sacks and covered it with one of the cloaks. Then he moved to the rear of the tent, cut a slit in it with his long knife, slipped on the second cloak with the hood pulled up, peered out to be sure the way was clear, and stepped through.

In the palm of his hand, he held the receiver to the tracking device he had attached to the girl’s clothing when she hugged him. A small red light blinked a slow, steady signal. As he got closer to her, it would blink more rapidly and brightly. It would lead him right to her.

Or so he hoped.

He was a big man, but he was among big people, so he wasn’t as noticeable as he would have been elsewhere. His cloak and hood hid his features, and the weather and darkness reduced visibility to almost nothing. No one paid any attention to him as he walked through the camp, absorbed in their own business and looking to get in out of the rain.

He glanced down at the signal to make certain it was growing stronger, that he was headed in the right direction. The signal told him he was. He could feel the old, familiar excitement flooding through him. He could feel himself giving in to its intoxicating rush, welcoming it like an old friend.

He checked the signal. It was blinking rapidly. The girl was just ahead.

He saw the guard at the entrance to the tent through the screen of rain, and he knew she was there. No torches lit the entry. No light came from inside. Nothing to draw attention, nothing to suggest its importance. He glanced down at the signal. The blinking orb had grown brighter. There was no question about it; he had found her.

He started toward the tent and the guard.

And suddenly a small billowing of the tent fabric caught his eye, and he changed direction instantly. It might have been the wind and nothing more. But it might also have been something inside the tent pressing up against the fabric. Whichever it was, he didn’t like it. It was an instinctual thing, raw and sharp, the sort of internal warning he had learned to trust over the years, the sort of warning that had kept him alive.

He left the tent behind and then circled back from the rear. When he was still several dozen yards away, he stopped beside a rack of spears and studied the tent in the gloom and rain and thought about what he should do. Saving the girl using the direct approach no longer seemed like such a good idea. He needed a different plan, something that would expose the truth about what else was inside the tent. And he was convinced by now that something else was. He felt it in his bones. The posting of a single guard was a lure meant to deceive him. Kill the guard, slip inside, and get to the girl—that had been his plan and maybe, just maybe, someone had figured that out.

He couldn’t have said why, but he thought suddenly that it was more than possible; it was so.

He stood in the rain a moment longer, considering his options.

He could cut through the canvas, slip in from the back of the tent, and take his chances—or he could just walk up to the guard and ask to speak to the girl, say that he needed to check again on something she had said, say that Taureq Siq had sent him.

Neither option appealed to him.

He moved off to the left toward a storage tent he had noticed earlier, a large bulky structure containing food and clothing, perhaps medical supplies, as well, if he remembered correctly how the Drouj kept their camp. What he was about to do was going to place him in considerable danger, but then almost anything he did would do that anyway.

Besides, wasn’t that why he was here? Didn’t he want to see if he could cheat death one more time?

The idea of it made him smile.

Without further thought, he snatched a torch from its stanchion, walked to the supply tent, loosened the ties on the flaps, and tossed the burning brand inside. The flames found fuel almost immediately, exploding in a bright orange blossom, leaping quickly from the tent’s contents to the fabric of its walls. He was already moving away by then, circling back around to the tent where the girl was held captive to see what would happen.

Within seconds shouts and cries of alarm arose, and Trolls began pouring out of their shelters into the gloom and rain, converging on the burning tent. Inch stayed where he was, watching the tent with the girl. After a moment, the flaps opened and Grosha emerged, eyes flicking this way and that, searching the night. Then, abandoning his post, he said something to the guard and rushed off toward the source of the uproar.

Inch didn’t hesitate. He went instantly to the rear of the tent and, using his long knife, began to saw an opening in the fabric. The noise around him would hide the sound of his cutting so he didn’t bother with taking his time. Speed was important now.

It took him only moments and he was through. Still gripping the long knife, he slipped through the opening and into the tent.

He was attacked almost immediately. A huge dark shape catapulted out of the shadows, slamming into him with enough force to knock him to the ground. Rows of sharp teeth tore at him. A Skaith Hound. If he hadn’t been holding the long knife, he would have been dead, but he reacted instinctively, thrusting the knife into the beast’s throat and tearing across. Blood gushed out as the beast lurched and writhed, its growl cut short, and then it collapsed on top of him.

Inch threw it off, scrambling back to his feet to confront the guard rushing through the tent flap from outside, a short sword in hand. He blocked the sword’s thrust, sidestepped the blade, seized the guard’s arm, and wrenched it at the elbow. The bones snapped, the sword fell away from nerveless fingers, and the long knife put an end to him.

Bloodied and angry, his left arm torn open by the Skaith Hound, Inch shoved the dead guard away and searched the tent for the girl. He didn’t see her. Panic raced through him, but he forced it down. Either he would find her or he wouldn’t, but he had only seconds left to make the effort and then he would have to flee.

The thought was barely completed before he caught sight of movement under a set of blankets stacked in the far corner. Throwing back the coverings, he found her bound and gagged beneath. He cut her loose and brought her to her feet. Her eyes were bright with fear.

“Can you run? Look at me! Can you run?” He saw the fear disappear, and she nodded. “Good. We have to hurry. Stay close to me.”

He wrapped her in the dead guard’s cloak and took her out through the back of the tent, stepping over the bodies of the hound and the Troll. The fire he had set was still blazing, a bright wash against the darkness. He took her another way, trying to avoid an encounter with the milling Trolls. He walked her steadily forward, resisting the urge to run, keeping their pace slow and steady. Behind them, the shouts and cries continued to rise, but he didn’t think the Trolls had discovered that the girl was missing yet.

That changed in the next ten seconds. A fresh cry went up, and now an alarm horn sounded, its deep wail booming out across the flats. His hand dropped to the handle of the flechette, unhooking it from his shoulder, letting it rest against his leg. He didn’t want to fire it, knowing that if he did, they would be after him instantly. But he might not have a choice.

The outcries were growing stronger, and the number of Trolls milling about increased exponentially. He knew they had to reach the ATV if they were to have any chance at all. But the vehicle was still a long way off. He pressed on, increasing his pace. Beside him, the girl was a silent black shadow within the cloak, working hard to keep pace. She was tough, that one; she had real iron inside her small body.

Abruptly, a handful of Trolls blocked his path, their hands raised to stop him. He gestured them aside, shouted at them in their own language, and to his amazement they gave way. He hurried on, not bothering to look back, trying to suggest with his body language that his business was important and he should not be interfered with. It worked until he reached the perimeter of the camp. He could just make out the ATV through the gloom when a clutch of sentries converged on him from both sides. He shouted and gestured anew, but this time the Drouj were not giving way.

Pushing the girl behind him, he brought up the barrel of the Tyson Flechette and blew away the two on his left, then swung the barrel right and killed three more. The explosions were loud and the air was filled with the smell of residue from the firing.

“Run!” he shouted at the girl, pushing her ahead of him toward the crawler.

There was no point in pretending now. The game was up. Trolls were converging from everywhere. Ahead, the crawler stood waiting, no sentries in sight. Arrows whizzed by his ears, and he could hear the sound of pursuit. He didn’t look back. He ran behind the girl, using his body as a shield.

Several arrows thudded into his back, striking him heavy blows. The body armor and the leathers kept them from penetrating. But if one of them managed to find his exposed head …

As they reached the ATV, he wheeled back and fired half a dozen shells into the Trolls coming on, knocking down some, scattering the rest. He punched in the code on the keypad to open the doors and disarm the security devices and shoved the girl inside, diving after her. The doors closed behind them, and he switched on the engine.

There were Trolls all around them in seconds, hammering on the vehicle’s metal shell, trying to break through the windows with their heavy spears. He laughed at them as his fingers worked the controls, powering up the engine and engaging the thrusters. The ATV leapt forward, knocking the Trolls aside as if they were made of straw. Rolling and bouncing across the rough terrain, he wheeled the crawler away from the camp, heading south for the flats where he could swing the vehicle east toward the mountains and the pass leading through to the valley beyond.

Inch powered the vehicle out into the night, leaving the Drouj camp and its inhabitants behind. He could see them for a while, blocky forms giving chase, a hopeless effort driven solely by rage, and then they were gone, even their shouts faded away. But he didn’t slow, keeping his speed steady, watching the terrain ahead for deep ruts or holes that might crack an axle, determined to put as much distance as he could between themselves and their pursuers before easing off.

He glanced over at the girl. Her eyes were wide, her hands gripping the seat as she pressed herself against its padded back. He had forgotten; she would not have seen anything like this before. It would be a new form of magic for her.

He laughed in spite of himself. “Don’t worry! We’re safe now!”

Seconds later, the entire vehicle shuddered and broke apart beneath them.