WINDKEEPER (36 page)

"Don’t kill the Prince!" someone shouted above the din of horses’ hooves. "Wound him if you have to, but take him alive!"

"Legion, watch yourself!" Conar shouted as he galloped toward his brother.

Throwing his leg over his steed’s neck, Conar slid to the ground beside Legion and pulled his brother’s sword free of the dying man who had at last tumbled from his horse. He tossed it to Legion.

Placing himself at Conar’s back, Legion brought up the blade in time to deflect a blow headed for his chest. He lunged forward under the attacker’s arm and his blade buried into the man’s midsection.

"Better odds wouldn’t you say?" Legion quipped, dancing away from one of the three surviving attackers.

"Aye," Conar had time to answer before one of the men came at him with enough force to knock him to the ground. His attacker stabbed downward toward his shoulder with the curved blade of a scimitar. Conar managed to roll away in time, and the man’s gleaming steel dug a furrow into the sand only inches from Conar’s left cheek. Lashing out with his foot, the young Prince kicked the man in the groin and sent his opponent doubling over in pain.

"I’ve never liked nomads," Conar snarled as he brought up his own blade to skewer the man like a shish kebab.

"Conar, be careful!" Legion snarled as the Prince stumbled against him.

Legion’s adversary had no real proficiency with his blade, his expertise lay with the crossbow he had had to abandon at such close quarters, but he more than made up in sheer determination what he lacked in skill.

Conar, however, had a more formidable foe. The broadsword he wielded with a heavy hand connected hard with Conar’s parries and each one of the robber’s hits landed squarely on Conar’s sword. The Prince felt the shock of them all the way down his lighter weapon.

The nomad smiled. There were great craters in the man’s oily, sweaty face above his beard, and his hair, now loose since his turban had been knocked off, was lank with grease. A stench like spoiled meat rolled off his heavy body and made Conar’s eyes water as he came close enough for the young Prince to get a good whiff.

"I’ll take you alive, Pretty One," the nomad whispered as he circled Conar. His black gaze swept over Conar, lingered on the young man’s crotch before coming back to lock with the pale blue eyes. "But you’ll regret it."

Conar was being slowly backed up to a stand of gnarled trees that lined the roadway. He knew he couldn’t last long with his back to the shrubs, but he couldn’t get around the man facing him. Every sidestep he took, the heavy-set man followed, edging Conar ever back toward the trees.

"Getting tired, pretty boy?" the nomad asked. He feigned a thrust at Conar and laughed as the young man stumbled, his ankle twisting in the loose sand. "I’ll let you rest. After I nick you a time or two, I’ll let you lay down and rest." A smile of victory eased over the nomad’s bearded face. "For awhile, anyway!"

Lack of sleep and the emotions that had drained him were playing a heavy toll on Conar’s defense capabilities. His anger was slowly dwindling with his supply of energy and adrenaline. He stumbled again, his blade catching his opponent’s down the cutting edge as the man sprang forward. He felt the man’s sour breath on his cheek as they came face to face.

"I’m going to take you, pretty boy," the nomad whispered. "As you took my Master’s woman!"

Conar’s forehead crinkled with confusion. What woman was the nomad bastard speaking of? He’d taken no Hasdu tribes-woman. Had never even seen one to his knowledge, unless…

Liza’s ethereal beauty flashing across his mind and Conar stumbled once more, nearly falling as he unknowingly spoke her name aloud.

"Call your whore if you like." The nomad laughed. "See what good it does you, McGregor." He lunged forward with lightning-quick speed, his blade flashing in the early morning sunlight.

Conar tried to push away from his opponent only to come up hard against the twisted trunk of a scrub pine. Shock flitted across his face and he tried to twist away from the nomad’s arcing blade as it loomed toward him. He miscalculated and the sharp blade ripped along his thigh, scratching a furrow in his flesh. He felt the pain all the way to his toes.

The nomad grinned. "By the Prophetess, I missed." The nomad chuckled, and danced away as Conar lashed out at him. The attacker brought up his blade. "Do not worry, McGregor. My Master, himself, wishes to relieve you of that offending growth between your infidel legs!"

Conar groaned, the pain stinging and burning. He threw himself to the right, violently twisting away from the man’s blade pushing toward his crotch. His left knee struck the nomad’s wrist and the blade flipped up, jagged forward and pierced the tender flesh of Conar’s side, opening a wide, deep gash just under his left ribcage.

"Fool!" the nomad hissed. He backed away, his eyes stunned by the damage his blade had caused.

Conar stumbled forward, landing heavily on his right hand as he lost his balance and fell to the sand. He pushed himself up and dug his toes into the ground to get away from the man behind him. Grabbing his left side, he winced in pain, feeling the warm gush of blood flooding over and down his breeches. He was badly wounded and knew it. He was bleeding profusely from his thigh and his rib. He gained his feet, turned, and began to stumble backwards, away from the advancing man. He met the nomad’s unwavering stare and something inside him seemed to give way.

His sword arm throbbed from the blows he had countered and his head swam from the loss of blood. He glanced toward Legion, saw his brother triumphing over his own opponent. Saw Teal struggling to get up and Conar said a quick prayer of thanksgiving. Caught sight of Thom as that man tried desperately to remain standing on wavering legs. Both Thom and Teal were alive, he thought with relief. That was good.

He looked into the face of the nomad and thought he saw death emblazoned on that dark countenance. He swung his head toward Legion, saw his brother rushing forward, knew Legion would kill the man who was about to kill him. He flinched as he stumbled again, pain flooding his entire being. His breath was low and shallow, agony to draw into his aching lungs. His head hurt miserably. His heart beat so fast he thought it would burst.

"Stop struggling, McGregor," the nomad said as he put out his hand to grab Conar. "You are bleeding badly."

"Let go," Conar hissed, pulling away. Then the earth tilted beneath him and he fainted, whispering the one name he thought of as a talisman to ward off evil…"Liza."

Bright shafts of sunlight stabbed into the room, sending agony through his eyes and jarring his brain into a million pieces of fragmented pain. He tried to turn his head from the sunlight, but his neck wouldn’t obey. Hot sweat dripped down his temples and into his hair. He could smell his own fetid body odor and it made him ill. His throat was so dry that, when he tried to speak, only a whisper came out. Footsteps echoed on the plank flooring and a face swam into his vision. Squinting, he tried to make out who it was, but the effort was too great. Something wet was laid across his forehead and he tried to force himself awake, but he drifted back into a hot, troubled sleep.

"Legion?" Storm Jale, one of Conar’s Elite Guard called softly as Legion laid the cool rag on Conar’s forehead, "how is he, Sir?" Jale entered the room dressed in full battle gear, his sweaty face red from the weight and cumbersome heat of his leather armor.

"Badly hurt, but he’ll live," Legion told the man, but there was grave doubt in his voice. "We’re watching him closely."

"The King sent eight of us to guard him. We’ve reports other nomads have been seen nearby. Another four Elite will come to take Rayle’s body home later today." Storm’s face twisted with pain. Rayle had been a good friend. "His wife gave birth to their third son just yesterday morn."

Legion flinched. "I didn’t need to hear that." He took the rag, wet it again in the basin of cold water beside the bed, and laid the cloth on his brother’s fevered brow. "How’s du Mer?"

Storm shook his head. "Mad as hell because Thom won’t let him come in here. I hear you had quite a time with Teal."

"We had to tie the little bastard to his bed. Thom was in no mood for his foolishness and rather enjoyed trussing up du Mer like a feast goose. Being whacked on that big pate of his did nothing for the man’s good humor. He had a rather nasty headache and couldn’t remember who he was for awhile there." Legion wet the rag again and wrung it out. He glanced up as Storm took the rag out of his hands.

"Rest yourself, awhile, Commander. I’ll do this." Storm gently placed the wet cloth on the young Prince’s brow. "Has he awakened yet?"

Legion ran his hands over his tired face and spoke through his fingers as he rubbed his mouth. "I don’t think so. He mumbles and his eyes open every now and then, but I don’t think he’s aware of what’s going on. It’s been four days and that gods-be-damned fever is no better. We talk to him, bathe him in iced water, dribble broth down his throat." He put down his hands and slumped into the chair by his brother’s bed. "But he hasn’t responded to anything."

"He will," Storm said with confidence.

"Does his father know how badly he’s been hurt?" Legion asked and saw Storm shrug his broad shoulders.

"When you sent word there had been trouble, His Highness was mad as hell. He thought you guys had been up to no good. When the second messenger arrived with the news of Rayle’s death and His Grace’s injuries," Storm said, glancing at Legion, "I’ll wager he knew the trouble had been fierce enough to warrant protection for the Prince. He took precautions by sending us."

"I’d like to know just who it was that wanted Conar so badly," Legion answered, leaning back his head. "The man who wounded him so gravely had orders to bring him in alive."

"Did you get to question the bastard?" Storm asked, frowning.

"We questioned him, all right. He died screaming, but we got no answers."

"He was a Hasdu, wasn’t he?"

"Aye, but there’s so many different offshoot tribes, we’d be hard-pressed to find the right one." He let out a tired breath. "Besides, they might have been hired by someone else."

"I doubt they’ll try again, Commander," Storm assured him. "No harm will come to him now."

"I hope you’re right, Storm," Legion sighed, his words slurring as he began to fall asleep. "I pray you’re right."

* * *

Down the hall from Conar’s room, Thom Loure swatted Teal’s hand away from the doorknob. "Get your ass back in that bed, du Mer!"

"I want to see him, Thommy," Teal protested and tried for the knob again, only to find himself picked up bodily and handed to another Elite.

"Keep this jackass in his room!" Thom bellowed and fixed Teal with a steady, menacing glower. "You’ll do yourself more harm. That gods-be-damned shoulder is broken, du Mer!" Thom put a hand up to his head. "And you’re making me hurt again, fool!"

Grimacing with pain, for his shoulder had banged hard into the Elite’s broad chest as Thom had plucked him off the floor and swung him into the other man’s arms, Teal felt his knees grow weak and his head swim unmercifully with the pain.

"I’m worried about him, Thommy," Teal gasped as the Elite laid him as gently as he could on his bed. "I’m no invalid."

"He has men with him. They’ll come tell you if anything changes." Thom’s face softened as he saw Teal wince from trying to relax. "Will you be all right?"

"Go to him," Teal motioned with his good arm, his throat closing with emotion. "Don’t waste your time with me. I’ll be fine."

"As soon as there’s any change, I’ll send for you."

"I know."

Thom walked out of the room, nodding to the guard who stood outside du Mer’s door. "Call me if the gypsy needs anything. I’ll be in with His Grace."

Outside Conar’s room, two guards snapped to attention as Thom strode forward. One of the men reached for the doorknob, pulling the portal open with quiet ease. "Captain," he said as Thom nodded at him, "you have our deepest regrets, Sir."

Despite his loss, his weariness, and his own aches and bruises, not to mention the headache from hell that pounded inside his giant skull, Thom Loure couldn’t help but smile at the man’s mistake. He laid a big hand on the fellow’s muscled shoulder. "I’m Thom. It was the Captain who…who…" He couldn’t seem to say the words.

"Captain Rayle Loure is no longer with us," the Elite answered, tears building. "His brother, Captain Thompson Loure, is our leader now." The man held Thom’s astonished gaze. "We will serve you as we served your brother, Cap’n."

"Surely there is another from among the Elite who deserves this honor!" Thom protested.

"There is none we would honor as we do you, Sir," the other guard spoke. "Lieutenants Edan and Jale nominated you, Captain, and the vote was unanimous. The Prince will have to confirm the vote, but we all know what he’ll say."

Thom’s heart pounded and he couldn’t find the words for these men. He managed to nod, hunching forward, his forehead wrinkled. He walked through the doorway before he could unman himself in front of the men.

Legion glanced up as Thom entered and he smiled. "Captain Thompson Loure," he said softly. "I rather like the sound of it, Thommy."

Thom could only shake his head. "I don’t deserve it," he mumbled and nodded at Storm. "I am honored you have such confidence in me, Jale." His attention went to Conar and he was struck anew by the pallor of his friend’s face, despite the red flush over his high cheekbones. A sickly yellow tint had chased away the summer’s tan and the bright blond hair was dull with oil and sweat as it lay brushed back from the Prince’s forehead. "No change?"

Legion shook his head. "How’s Teal?" He couldn’t hide the yawn.

"Better than you. Go get some sleep, Commander. I’ll watch him."

Again Legion shook his head. "I can sleep in the chair as well as any bed."

Storm met Thom’s gaze and smiled. "If you’ll give me a chance to get out of this leather-work, I’ll bring you men some supper."

"Take your time, Storm, I’m not all that hungry," Thom said. "Get something to eat yourself, first." He sat on the foot of the Prince’s bed. "His Grace isn’t going anywhere and neither am I." He laid a big hand on Conar’s cheek. "I’m here for you, Highness," he whispered, "in my brother’s place."