The Shades of Time (31 page)

He pulled
Veluria to her feet and said, "Go with Paulo. He will take you
wherever you wish."

If we live
through this, I promise I will bring him to you, M'lady, wherever
you are.

He turned away
and stalked into the night.

Veluria stood
transfixed, unable to move let alone breathe. The man was foolhardy
… and magnificent. And more than the others she understood that
should he find Antonio so terribly compromised that living would be
a burden, he would do the unthinkable. And then he would wreak a
terrible vengeance.

If you live,
Nicolo, only if you live…

One-by-one,
Nico's men rose and gathered their belongings, adjusting swords and
quickly setting the brush in a rough semi-circle around the grazing
horses.

Paulo came
behind her and whispered, "It would be best if you stayed here,
Madam."

Shrugging, she
reached for the short sword that Maso extended toward her. She
nodded, though she was sure Paulo could not see the movement.
Murmuring, "Yes, that would be best," she trotted after the men,
their long strides covering the ground between them and their
commander.

Nico had taken
the long route, aiming for the mouth of the gully in which they
sheltered. She knew without asking that the man intended to try for
a full frontal assault on the compound. He would rely on his
strength and his ability to penetrate the minds of his opponents.
She doubted even one so strong as he could handle more than one
opponent at a time. It would be their job to provide a sufficient
distraction to allow Nico to find his older brother before his
captors decided to summarily execute him.

Pulling
alongside Nico, she huffed shallow breaths in an effort to stay
even with the man.

He hissed, "You
should not be here."

"You need me."
He gave her a dismissive wave of his hand. "I can … offer a
distraction." Nico hissed, "No," but she continued, "It is my job.
It's what I do, Nico. Allow me to use my gifts."

Waves of
displeasure and something more rolled off the tall man but he did
not argue with her.

Paulo moved to
take point, the other two fanning out to the right and left,
slightly behind her and Nico. A click brought them to an immediate
halt. Nico had her arm in a vice grip as he moved to shield her
with his huge body. Someone was coming toward them. As one the
small group melted against the rock wall forming the east face of
the hollow, small brush and a few straggly trees providing the only
shelter.

Nico sank onto
his haunches, pulling her down to his level. Tapping his index
finger twice on her arm, he let her know two men approached—but
whether from the town or the hacienda was difficult to tell. The
sounds of shuffling feet seemed to emanate from their left which
would indicate the hacienda.

Had they lucked
out? Perhaps the men were bound for the pleasures of the town,
leaving two fewer at the compound.

The strangers
were speaking in low tones, not bothering to mask their passage.
They seemed at ease and strode with a casualness that indicated
there was no urgency to whatever their plans for the evening might
be.

When they
finally passed close enough for her to make out the words, she was
able to catch only a word here and there, the rest an
incomprehensible dialect.

When the men
had disappeared into the night Nico pulled her up and moved to
speak with his group.

Paulo hissed,
"Catalanese.

"I agree,
separatists for certain." Nico turned to her and asked, "Are you
sure of the number you saw at the inn?"

"Yes, there
were at least six, probably seven. I was trying to be inconspicuous
and at the time had no idea as to their intentions. But yes, at
least that many."

"Let's assume
seven. With those two gone, that will leave five."

Christo said,
"Two to patrol the grounds."

Paulo
interjected, "Perhaps only one. They seemed unconcerned. This is
not the first time they have gone into town for an evening's
entertainments."

Nico agreed,
"They've gotten lazy. But let's assume two outside." He touched
Christo's arm and said, "You and Maso, front and rear, quietly. You
know what to do."

The two men
melted into the night. Veluria asked, "What do we do?"

"We wait,
M'lady."

Nico had
learned patience at the knee of his formidable father. Being the
scholar of the three sons of Cosimo de' Medici had awarded him the
private tutoring and insights into the matters of state that so
consumed the older man's interests. It had been Antonio who'd
instructed him in matters of warfare and self-defense.

His father he
accorded the utmost respect and veneration for his knowledge and
political acumen, but it was Tonio who commanded his allegiance.
They could have been twins but for the five year difference in
their ages. Ever mindful of their similarities, as boys they'd come
to an unspoken agreement to go their own way, separate and equal,
neither relying on their shared gifts to gain advantage.

He long ago
accepted Tonio's devotion and love for their youngest brother, in
fact shared it, though with Tonio it approached an obsessive need
to protect Stefano from the vagaries of their world—and the gifts
both he and Tonio considered curses. It had made Tonio's abuse of
Stefano all the more shocking.

If they
survived this hell they'd fallen into, he and Tonio would need to
talk, seriously talk, about what had transpired that night. He'd
been deadly serious when he'd warned his older brother that he
would not tolerate such behavior. How far he would go to protect
Stefano was not something he wished to think on.

I can kill you
later, Antonio. If you do that ever again … I can and I will.

"Nico?"
Veluria's voice had a shrill, uncertain quality.

"I'm sorry,
M'lady," he whispered. "It's nothing." Damn the woman for reading
his thoughts.

It's not
nothing, Nico. I know what he did. And he will suffer for it 'til
the end of his days.

This is not the
time…

Maso appeared
out of the gloom, wiping his blade on his tunic. He slipped the
knife into the sheath and asked, "Where's Christo?"

Paulo answered,
"Not back yet."

"He was right
behind me. We saw only the one guard patrolling along the perimeter
by the olive grove." Patting the blade he said, "I took care of
it."

Nico muttered,
"Shit. Paulo, stay with Veluria. Guard her with your life."
Unsheathing his sword he growled, "Maso, you're with me."

Since
nightfall, he'd been shielding himself from Antonio, deliberately
cutting off all awareness so as not to distract his mind from the
task at hand. But he couldn't continue to hide his gifts. He needed
to find out where Christo—and most likely the other guard—were
located before an altercation alerted the house to their presence.
Tonio was ever in his thoughts, no matter the distance. For others,
he had to be close, sometimes almost touching, before his senses
kicked in and permitted his invasion of another's being.

Being with
Veluria had somehow accentuated his abilities, though he'd had
little opportunity to test that theory. Now was as good a time as
any to see if he was right.

With one hand
on Maso's shoulder he pulled the man to a halt and whispered,
"Hold." Extending his senses, he scanned the still night. Not a
sound—not insect or night creature—interfered, the beat of his
heart the only accompaniment to his labored breathing. With effort
he took shallow breaths, stilling his pulse. Tonio's essence wafted
past, too weak to pinpoint.

But you live,
my brother. Just a little longer…

He was about to
give up when the faintest sound caught his attention. A chink of
steel, gagging choked off, shuffling…

Releasing
Maso's shoulder he ran silently in the direction of a stand of
carob trees, the outline clear against the night sky. They'd yet to
round the curve of the hollow to where the hacienda would afford
pale light through the many windows. As it was still early in the
evening, it was best to assume no one in the household slept.

Christo
struggled to hold a small man squirming in his grasp, forearms
locked about the man's throat but failing to gain sufficient
purchase to finish the task. Nico idly wondered why Christo hadn't
just cut the man's throat. The answer lay on the ground—Christo's
blade had landed some distance away.

He pressed the
tip of his sword against the man's cheekbone and whispered to
Christo, "Do you need help?" He thought he heard Christo mutter,
"Fuck you," but couldn't be sure. Smiling he said, "Free him."

Christo
complied, though not without some reluctance. He pushed the man off
and rolled to the side, grunting in pain. Nico saw that his jerkin
and sleeve were covered in blood. He'd received a severe cut on his
upper right arm—it looked deep and nasty—that must have hurt like
hell when he applied pressure on it.

Slipping the
blade to the assailant's throat he drove the tip into the man's
windpipe, just enough to let him know he was deadly serious.

There was no time for verbal niceties so he slipped directly
into the man's mind and demanded,
How many
are in the house?

The squirming
stopped, replaced by abject terror. Unlike Antonio who could sift
through the strong emotions with impunity, he was often stymied by
his victim's fears and misgivings, needing to expend time and
energy he simply did not have.

I will make it
quick … and painless.

"Th-th-thr—" It
came out a choked-off gurgle as Nico drove the blade clean through
the man's throat.

Christo
staggered to his weapon and bent down to pick it up, his fingers
grasping the hilt but unable to grip it sufficiently to lift it off
the ground. With a groan, he used his left hand and hoisted the
heavy sword awkwardly.

"You are of no
use to us now, Christo. Go back to Paulo and take his place. Guard
the woman as best you can."

As Christo
moved unsteadily to do his bidding, he and Maso stepped cautiously
toward the house, mindful they might be spotted at any time given
the lack of sheltering vegetation. Maso tapped his arm and bore
right toward the hillside. A small wooden outbuilding that reeked
of urine and worse lay behind the rear porch with a flagged stoned
path leading to it.

Candlelight
flickered and wavered in the still air, throwing uncertain shadows
onto the ground outside. The building had an air of neglect.
Several window panes were missing and others were cracked; the
porch at one time had been tiled but now lay littered with broken
ceramic bits and dried vegetation.

Whatever
occupied the residents did not require wasting beeswax in the rear
rooms. Though small the hacienda was likely laid out in typical
fashion with a central courtyard surrounded by a colonnaded archway
with rooms leading off from it.

Paulo joined
them, ghosting to a halt beside him. With a nod he acknowledged he
understood when he motioned his men to the right and left of the
house.

But before he
could take a step, a piercing scream rent the night.

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Veluria sliced
at the hem of her shirt, making a strip long enough to bind
Christo's arm. The fabric was filthy from their travels but she had
nothing better with which to tend to the man's wound. The slice was
deep, nearly to the bone, severing muscle and blood vessels. The
bleeding was less than expected given the nature of the injury, but
she feared infection without the ability to cleanse the cut of dirt
and debris. Even if the man managed to avoid complications, she
doubted he would ever have full use of that arm again.

Christo
muttered, "That's fine, madam," and pulled away with irritation.
Clearly he was unhappy about being relegated to sitting on the
sidelines seeing to her safety. She had to agree.

The piercing
scream was like a dagger to her heart, reverbing down the walls of
the gully. As one their heads snapped around, following the source
of the sound. Christo groaned and struggled to pick up his
sword.

She cried out,
"No," but the man was beyond listening to her. Even in the dark she
could see the bloom of fresh blood on his tattered shirt.

Shifting the
heavy weapon to his left hand, he growled, "Stay here," and moved
away, each step labored.

Veluria
hastened to Christo's side and wrapped her arm about his waist,
taking as much of his weight as she could. He grunted, "M'lady,"
and gratefully accepted her help. They moved slowly but steadily
through the now silent night.

Are you there,
Tonio? Can you hear me? We're coming for you.

Only the sounds
of their labored breathing and the soft scuffling of boots on loose
gravel and packed earth measured their progress. Veluria
desperately hoped that the pain and misery of that single sound had
come from some unfortunate creature of the night, prey in the grips
of a predator. But she knew it came from Antonio and it was the
final thing that snapped his control and forced him to vent his
agony.

The bastards
had finally broken his body. She feared they'd broken his mind and
his spirit as well. A flash of fury such as she'd never known or
felt before blazed through her mind—Nico.

Nico froze in
place, allowing the echo of his brother's scream to wash through
his senses in a cleansing flood of pitiless revenge. Veluria's
terror had threatened to consume him. He needed to shut everything
out, to allow the madness to take him, for nothing and no one
mattered now. He knew what they'd done to his brother, every
heinous act, every violation of body and spirit—the pain ripping
through him with deft strokes, filling his throat with bile so
thick he wanted to choke on it.