Blood Ties (25 page)

“Or I could just shoot you.”

“Well, that would be one way to go. I'd like to find an alternative that entails considerably less dying on my part.”

She had been lying there the entire time, never shifting out of the position save to steady her grip on the gun. Now, though, she slowly sat up and, at the same time, lowered the gun. I let out a low sigh of relief as she got to her feet.

“Okay,” I said, “now that that's—”

Her right fist flew before I could react and clocked me on the side of the head. I went down, a ringing inside my skull so loud that I felt as if I had stuck my head inside a bell tower. I placed my hands flat and firmly on the ground as the world swirled around me.

“That,” she said, “was for being less than honest with me. We were partners in a great battle, Finn. I deserve more consideration than that.”

“I think you've made your point rather emphatically,” I said, rubbing the side of my head. I moved my jaw side to side and felt a slight clicking within. I hoped that would go away in short order; I had no desire to live the rest of my life with that.

She shook out her fist and flexed the fingers. Bone on bone was never the smartest way to punch someone. Far better to aim for the gut or right at the nose. But I guess Page felt she had to make a point. “So the question before us now is: Now what?”

“I don't know,” I admitted. “Honestly, I'd be thrilled if you came up with something.”

“First you try to kill me, then you're going to follow me. That about sum it up?”

“If I'd really been trying to kill you, Page, you'd be dead.”

“I had my gun on you the entire time, Finn. The only thing that saved you was that you never cocked your weapon. If you had, I'd be standing here trying to decide whether to bury you or leave you to be a feast for crows.”

“Well, I guess we'll never know,” I said, endeavoring to summon what was left of my injured pride. “So what now?”

“What now? What should really be now is that I go back to Bowerstone and leave you to this mess that you got yourself into.”

I shrugged. “All right, then. Can't say I blame you. If that's what's going to have to—”

“Be quiet.”

“Okay, then.”

She stroked her chin, walking back and forth, considering the matter. I could practically hear the wheels spinning inside her head. Already, I was starting to feel a few more shreds of confidence than I had earlier. Perhaps Page really could develop some sort of strategy. She was, after all, not emotionally invested the way I was. She would be able to study the problem dispassionately and come up with a workable plan. At least that was the theory, and I was praying that it would turn out to be fact.

Suddenly, Clash, who had been quiet the entire time, reared up. His reins were tied to a tree, but I was sure that had they not been, he would have bolted. He whinnied loudly, his brown eyes wide with terror.

I have to chalk it up to Page's basic antipathy for animals that she didn't realize something was wrong. “Would you shut that beast up? I'm trying to think!”

There was no time. Something was coming, something that was terrifying Clash. I yanked out my sword, and Page jumped back, perhaps thinking that I was going to use it to attack her. Instead, I swept it down and cut through the ropes that were keeping Clash attached to a tree. Clash backed up, still whinnying.

Page had yanked out her flintlock once more and was aiming it in my direction. “I'm not the enemy!” I shouted above Clash's terror. “The enemy is out th—!”

I never made it through the sentence as an onslaught of Reaver's Half-breeds came pouring out of the forest.

They had approached with complete stealth. Had it not been for Clash's terror, I'd have had no knowledge that they were anywhere in the vicinity. My sword still in my hand, I yanked out my pistol with the other. I fired nearly point-blank, and the closest Half-breed went down, but two more were right behind him. Now that they had revealed themselves, all need for silence was gone.

Page fired off a quick shot and yanked clear her steel broadsword. She met the charge fearlessly, shouting defiance. A broadsword isn't designed for subtlety. You wield it in the same way that you would an axe while trying to cut down trees. Page laid into them, whipping her blade around, trying to get a cut at anything within range.

Ideally, we would have gone back-to-back, protecting each other's flank while trying to chop our assailants into pieces. But we didn't have the opportunity because the flow of Half-breeds cut us off from each other.

I slashed away with my cutlass, trying to hack through them and make it to Page's side. But there were too many of them, pushing me back. I retreated, still swinging. They seemed to be coming from everywhere, and I wasn't sure if my brother was among them. I certainly hoped not. It would be a hell of a thing if, after all this, I wound up bisecting my brother in the heat of combat.

Page suddenly screamed in pain, and I saw blood pouring down her face from a slice in her forehead. If the blood got into her eyes, blinding her, she was done for. I redoubled my efforts to get to her, shouting defiance. Then one of them managed to get in behind me and grab me by the back of my shirt. He flung me as hard as he could, and I literally sailed through the air. My head slammed into something big and hard, and I had just enough time to register that it was a tree before I slid down to its base. The last thing I saw was the creatures bearing a still-struggling Page to the ground, then blackness enfolded me. I was sure that I would not be returning to the land of the living.

As was true about so many things, however, it turned out that I was wrong.

When consciousness slowly flooded into me, I became aware of the heavy breathing of a horse. I opened my eyes, and there was Clash standing in front of me, studying me with obvious concern. If he'd been a dog, he would have been licking my face.

“What happened?” I said wearily, holding my head. Clash didn't respond, which wasn't really all that surprising.

And then an all-too-familiar voice piped up: “They took her.”

I moaned, partly from a steady ache in my head and partly from hearing that annoying gnome again. I looked up and saw that he was perched on a tree branch overhead.

Now was not the time to argue with him, though. I pulled myself up, keeping my back against the tree to prevent me from toppling over since the world was still tilted a bit. “Took her?” I echoed.

“Knocked her out and carted her off like so much laundry. It was glorious,” he said with a chortle.

“They took her where?” Immediately, I answered my own question. “To Reaver. They're hauling her back to Reaver.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they didn't kill her here. If Reaver just wanted her dead, her corpse would be lying there.”

“They could have dragged her off into the woods and killed her there.”

“True, but why? What would be the purpose? You think creatures like them are worried about witnesses? For that matter, they could have killed me as well. I was helpless. But they didn't. And that,” I said, my mind racing, “means only one thing: Reaver wants me to follow. He wants the both of us. This whole thing is like one big game to him, and he's moving us around like chess pieces.”

“And I suppose you're too stupid to make the obvious move.”

“Meaning?”

“Take yourself off the board. He's expecting you to go running after her liked a damned fool. Which, of course, you are, but that doesn't mean you have to act like one all the time. Let Reaver have her. It's perfect.”

“Perfect? How is that perfect?”

The gnome hopped down out of the tree and crouched in front of me. “Right now,” said the gnome, “he's not going to do anything to your overly manly friend. He's going to wait for you to come and rescue her so that he can play whatever games he's playing. But as days and days pass, he's going to realize that you're not coming. So he'll just kill the manly woman himself and be done with her. Then, a month or so later, you come strolling in like you own the place and demand your brother be released. After all, she's dead, isn't she? You held up your part of the bargain.”

“But I didn't kill her!”

“Oh yeah? You got her out of Bowerstone. You brought her off into the middle of nowhere. Reaver's hordes would never have been able to just cart her off so easily if it weren't for you. The fact that she didn't die at your hand doesn't matter. You set the stage.
That's
what matters. That's what you say to Reaver, and that gets him to let your brother go.” Then he added with a shrug, “Or he just kills you for your arrogance. As opposed to killing you however he currently has planned. Either way, it all works out well for me.”

“I guess it does.”

I moved quickly to Clash and vaulted onto his back.

“You're going after the manly woman, aren't you?”

“Her name's Page, and yes, I am. Because part of what you're saying is absolutely right. She wouldn't be in this fix if it weren't for me, and I'm the one who has to get her out of it.”

I snapped the reins before the gnome could respond. Clash wheeled around and let out a defiant whinny as if he were about to charge into battle. Just before I was able to urge him forward, there was a soft thud from behind me. I didn't even have to turn to see what it was, namely, the gnome landing on the haunches.

“That anxious to see me die, are you?”

“Always,” said the gnome, sounding remarkably chipper.

I urged Clash forward, and we pounded down the road in the direction of Reaver's mansion. Killing Page hadn't worked out the way it was supposed to, so I would have to see how efforts to keep her alive would go.

I RODE HARDER THAN I EVER HAD BEFORE
. In retrospect, it was incredibly dangerous and foolhardy. Riding bent for leather in that way, particularly at night, I was running the risk that Clash could trip, fall, break an ankle. I was risking the destruction of a magnificent beast all in the interest of trying to get to Page as fast as I humanly could. But I wasn't thinking about that at all. All that was in my mind was the image of Page being driven to the ground by that pack of ravening Half-breeds.

“Ya know they may have eaten her by now,” the gnome shouted from directly behind me. “If they were in the mood for a snack on the way. They're more animal than man anyway.”

I shook my head. “Reaver said he had total control over their actions beyond their simple desire not to lose their humanity. Assuming that he wasn't lying, then he's going to be making sure that they bring Page back to him in one piece. I'm positive of it.”

“Oh, well, and if you're positive of it, then it must be so.”

I didn't bother to reply, mostly because I was, in fact, not positive of it at all. I was just hoping with all my being and praying that it would turn out the way that I wanted it to.

The dawn was just starting to break when I reached the narrow path that led directly to Reaver's mansion. Clash, for all his strength, was obviously exhausted, his breath running ragged in his great chest. I slowed us to a trot as we drew within sight. Unlike earlier, when I had been going to find Page and had no clue how I was going to handle things, this time I knew precisely what I was going to do. It wasn't going to have anything to do with skulking my way around the mansion. There was no way that Reaver wasn't expecting me, so there was no point in pretending that he wasn't.

I rode up to the front door just as I had done the other day although it seemed an eternity ago. Dismounting, I didn't even bother to tie off Clash. I very much suspected he wasn't going to be going anywhere. He was still huffing and puffing, and I hoped that when I returned (optimistic that, thinking “when” rather than “if ”), I wouldn't find him slumped over from a heart attack.

As if I had an appointment, I knocked firmly on the door, then waited. A few moments later, I heard the steady shuffling of footsteps, and the door opened to reveal the same doorman I had encountered the last time I was here. There was a sizable bruise on his right temple, and the moment he saw me . . .

. . . he smiled.

I hadn't been sure what sort of reception to expect, but that certainly hadn't been it. The fact that he was smiling upon seeing me told me something very specific. It said that Reaver had plans for me; that they weren't going to be to my benefit; and that the doorman had been informed of them and was looking forward to seeing them implemented. None of which filled me with much joy.

Trying to sound casual, I pasted a wide smile on my face, and said, “I'm here to see the master of the house.”

“Of course, sir. Right this way. He's expecting you.” He glanced behind me, then over his head. “Didn't bring your belligerent little friend with you this time?”

I tried to look casual as I glanced around and saw that, indeed, there was no sign of the gnome. He had apparently vanished into the ether yet again. “So it would seem,” I said.

“A pity. I would have liked the opportunity to shoot him.” He pulled back his coat, and I saw the butt of a gun extending from his belt. It was a not-so-subtle message to me that he would not be caught unawares a second time. I was reasonably certain that I could still knock him out with a quick right jab before he was able to do a thing to stop me, but I honestly didn't see the point. I had no time to waste with underlings; I had things of more significance to be worried about.

He stepped aside and gestured for me to enter. I strode in and stopped dead in my tracks.