Windlegends Saga - The Windhealer Part 25

"When did Papa die?"

"About seven months after you were taken away," Brelan answered, seeing calculations forming behind the dull blue eyes.

"Then Galen was King?"

"Aye."

"And did he have a Queen?" The question was bitter with hurt.

"You know she had no choice, don't you?"

"Tell me the truth." Conar let his gaze fuse with his brother's. "Can I still claim her?"

"She loves you as much today as she did when you were together. She'll be happy you're alive."

Conar took in a long breath. "Is there a reason why my return would disrupt commitments she might have?"

"Commitments?" Brelan asked, vying for time.

"She thinks I'm dead. Would I complicate her life?"

Brelan wanted to hide. "Six years is a long time. Life goes on even when we are in pain." He managed to look away from Conar's face. "Things don't always stay the way we want them..."

Conar's forehead crinkled with an inner hurt that brought pain to Brelan's heart. "She's happy?"

"There are things you need..." Brelan stopped, his gut on fire with sorrow.

"Is she happy?" Conar refused to let Brelan look away. The force of those blue eyes made Brelan want to beat his fists into the wall, get rip-roaring drunk, kill something.

"As far as I know, she is."

Conar nodded, accepting it in his mind if not in his heart. "Is he good to her?"

"He loves her very much."

"Does she love him?" At Brelan's silent nod, Conar let out a long breath and threw back the covers, swung his long legs off the bed. "Where are my breeches?"

"I'll get you something," Brelan said, turning away from the scars running rampant down his brother's body. He hurried to a pile of clean clothing Roget had brought in earlier and found a pair of white cambric breeches. Never worn, the material was crisp, though somewhat wrinkled. He found a light blue s.h.i.+rt and walked back to hand them to Conar. "I know you're upset about this-"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore." Conar stepped into the breeches, then yanked the s.h.i.+rt over his head, leaving the laces untied to his waist.

Brelan watched him plow a shaky hand through his blond hair. He wanted desperately to say something, anything, that would erase the hurt on Conar's face, but he didn't know what. He saw Conar looking around. "What do you need?"

"A mirror."

"I don't see one," Brelan answered.

"Did you remove them?"

"I didn't."

"But they were removed..."

"It's just that-" "Give me your dagger."

"Why?"

"Don't worry," Conar sighed. "Just give me a dagger and tell me where the man responsible for Hern's death is."

"In the Indoctrination Hut, but..."

"The dagger!"

"I don't think-"

"The G.o.ds-be-d.a.m.ned dagger!"

Brelan gazed into the depths of his brother's ice-cold eyes and saw something evil, a ferocious gleam of vengeance and murderous intent Conar needed an outlet for his raging sorrow and Lydon Drake was to be his target. Brelan shuddered. He didn't blame Conar. No one could. Neither did he pity Drake. It was just that Conar's eyes scared the h.e.l.l out him and he was glad he wasn't Lydon Drake.

"The dagger?" Conar prompted again.

Brelan drew it from his waistband and extended it to his brother.

"An hour?" Conar asked as he jammed the knife into the waistband of his breeches. He headed for the door.

"Aye," Brelan answered, knowing his brother was asking when they'd be leaving. He couldn't look anymore into that vengeful face, so he looked away until Conar left. Brelan slumped into a chair. There had been a portent of things to come in Conar's eyes-the man who had been carried into prison was not the man who would be walking out. * * * Conar stopped at the hut where Drake was being held. Before the door, his brawny arms crossed over a wide chest, stood one of the few prisoners Appolyon had not been able to make cower in this h.e.l.l of h.e.l.ls. "Stand aside," Conar told the dark-haired man. "I've business with Drake." "I expect you do, Milord." He unfolded his arms. "I've been waiting for you to come." "Really?" "The honor of dispatching Drake should go to none other than you." "Who are you?" "Kyman Cree." "Rysalian?" "Aye. I was brought here from Asaraba." Conar stuck out his hand. "I hope to go there one day." "Pray to the Prophets you will." Cree took the proffered wrist in his strong grip. "Are you planning on going with us when we leave, Ky?" Cree shrugged. "As much as I enjoy this p.i.s.s pot, I am in need of a vacation." He grinned. "Have you a lady back home?" Cree nodded. "I pray to the Prophets that she is still there. She's a Chalean la.s.s. Who really knows with them?" His grin grew wicked.

"My lady is Oceanian," Conar sighed. "I hope she is waiting, as well."

The Rysalian warrior put a hand on Conar's shoulder. "The Wind be at your back, Prince of the Wind." He c.o.c.ked his chin toward the door. "Twist the dagger in his gut for me while you're at it."

The tall man walked away, his lips puckered as he whistled "The Prince's Lost Lady."

Chapter 15.

"As soon as we've finished setting the charges, we'll leave," Shalu told Holm van de Lar. "We've gathered up the weapons Appolyon had. They won't need them after we're gone." "What about those you've got locked up? How will they get out?" Holm inquired.

"We'll free them before we go. Not even I would leave a man caged in a place such as this."

Holm liked this tall dark man. He had surprised the fellow by sticking out his hand in greeting when Mister Tarnes introduced them. That particular thing must not have happened to the Necroman often, for the ma.s.sive warrior had simply stared until the sea captain had taken Shalu's hand in his own and shaken it. "Glad to know you!" Holm had grinned and Shalu had hesitantly grinned back. Something else Holm was sure didn't occur often.

Shalu had taken van de Lar's measure and was satisfied he was exactly what he appeared to be-honest, forthright, unprejudiced, and sincerely glad to make his acquaintance.

"My Grandpappy told me he met up with a Necroman once," Holm had said, nodding. "The old salt got s.h.i.+pwrecked on that little island off your southern tip."

"Bethany."

"That would be it!" Holm laughed. "Grandpappy told me this big man came out of the bushes and near scared him to death! And my Grandpappy was one of the bravest men I've ever seen! That fellow countryman of yours was lost on that island, too."

"An easy thing to do if you get caught in the falls at New Church."

Holm shrugged. "Don't know if that was the case. All I know is they got real close until a s.h.i.+p came by. They lit a bonfire and got rescued, but not before they taught each other about the other's culture and such."

The image of the white sea warrior of an old Necromanian tale flitted through Shalu's mind and he knew it was the G.o.ds way of putting Their stamp of approval on Holm van de Lar. Shalu hadn't thought of that tale since childhood.

"Did they ever see one another again?" Wyn asked, interested.

Holm shook his head. "But Grandpappy told me on his wedding day, he received a..." He lifted his cap and scratched at his thick mane of white hair. "...I can't rightly recall what that little carving was called."

Shalu nodded. "A gris-gris."

"That's it! That little thing was supposed to bring good luck and..." He blushed. "...Fertility to my Grandpappy."

"And did it?" Shalu asked.

"Fourteen children!" Holm snorted.

"It was a great honor your father received from my tribesman. We do not give gris-gris to outsiders unless they have done something extraordinary."

"They was just friends."

Shalu looked at him. "Such as you and I will be."

"I can see that happening."

"We've made sure there's enough food to last them a year," Tyne Brell commented to the men as he strolled up. "We've left salt pork and cured ham. The meat won't last long, but they have seeds for the corn and vegetables." He shrugged. "If they don't learn farming, they'll die."

Holm regarded the small man with admiration. There was a lot of spit in this little fellow. He hadn't been introduced, but looking at the sword now strapped to his short thigh, Holm couldn't help but wonder if the man knew how to use it, or even had the strength in his slim hands to wield it.

"His name is Tyne Brell," Shalu remarked.

Holm whistled. "A pleasure, Your Grace. A real pleasure, indeed. I've heard all about you."

Tyne put out his hand. "Call me Tyne. There's only one true Prince here."

As his wrist settled in the small man's palm, Holm raised one brow at the fierce grip. Thinking Brell had meant Coron, Holm nodded. "We'll be putting the rightful King of Serenia on the throne one day!"

"Aye." Tyne looked at Shalu. "That we will, eh, my friend?"

"Without doubt," Shalu swore.

Holm rubbed his hands together. "There's just one thing left to do before I leave." He swung his large head about the compound. "Where's the graveyard, gentlemen?"

"Graveyard?" Tyne echoed in puzzlement.

"You don't think I intend to leave him buried here in this evil place, do you?" Holm asked.

Thom, standing nearby, thought he understood. "You mean Hern Arbra? He's buried-"

"We'll take him along, too," Holm interrupted. "I was referring to His Grace's coffin. Tell me where it is and I'll see to it myself."

"His Grace?" Thom asked, his forward crinkling.

"He means my father's coffin. Conar McGregor's coffin," Wyn said softly, joining them.

Shalu looked to Tyne. "Hasn't that been seen to already, Brell?"

"I believe so," Tyne agreed. He looked at the captain. "See Brelan Saur concerning that."

"That I will!" Holm replied, grinning.

It took van de Lar nearly twenty minutes to find Saur. He looked in every hut and shed except those containing prisoners, ducked into the mine, tried the door to the Indoctrination Hut only to find it locked and silent, glanced about the compound, his beefy face growing set and hard. When at last he came to the Command Quarters, he found Saur packing doc.u.ments into a valise.

"Everything about ready?" Brelan asked.

"I reckon." Holm walked up to the smaller man and glared down at him, his big hands on his st.u.r.dy hips. "Where is it, Saur?"

Brelan's brows drew together. "What?"

"The coffin, man! I've looked everywhere and I ain't seen any sign of it. The Necroman said things had already been taken care of. Where did you put the boy's coffin?"

Brelan glanced past Holm's shoulder and smiled. "Well, it's like this...we won't be taking his coffin back with us."

"The h.e.l.l you say!"Holm exploded, savagely grabbing Brelan's left arm. "That was the only condition I had to risking my hide for you! I want his coffin taken to home soil! And it will be if I have to dig it myself from this wretched sand with my bare hands! Don't be looking for excuses!" He shook Brelan. "And I don't care who is standing behind me, he can't help you none, either! So, you'd just better be explaining real hard why you ain't answering my question."

"Wouldn't you rather have the living man than a dead one?" a voice asked.

"I'd rather you minded your own b.l.o.o.d.y business!" Holm shouted, spinning to fix his steely-eyed glint on the man who dared to intrude. When he saw the man, the old tar staggered, gripping Brelan's arm tighter to keep from pitching to the floor.

"h.e.l.lo, Holm."

"It can't be!" Holm whispered. taking in the long blond hair, the build, the heralded blue eyes, the scars on the man's cheek.

Conar walked forward. In his hand was the wicked-looking dagger. He held it out to Holm. "I wanted to kill him. No one would have blamed me if I had; but I remembered you were here and that right should go to you."

Holm heard the words, but they made no sense to him. At that moment, nothing save a hard punch to his granite-like jaw would have intruded into the close scrutiny he was giving Conar.

"Here," Conar said, placing the dagger in Holm's hand. The grip was sticky with blood. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d who raped your daughter is in the Indoctrination Hut. If you don't want to do it, I'll finish what I started." He turned to Brelan. "He wasn't as good with a knife as he thought."

For the first time, Brelan noticed the blood running down his brother's left arm and the thin streak of red on the front of Conar's s.h.i.+rt. "You let that b.a.s.t.a.r.d loose and fought with him, gave him a knife?"

"I gave him more of a chance than he's ever given me."