Blood Ties (30 page)

To my abrupt shock, she grabbed me by the back of the head, pulled my face toward hers, and kissed me as passionately as I've ever been kissed. Then she released me, looked at me in that heated way that always felt as if her gaze was boring into my soul, and said, “Yes. I do.”

“Okay, well . . . okay,” I said, which was hardly the slickest answer I was going to come up with, but there it was.

“Everything depends upon our getting there before the Half-breeds do,” she said, having gained my full attention. “If we arrive after the fact, then we might as well just bring a couple of mops and trash cans to clean up the blood and body parts. If we get there before them, on the other hand, and we can manage to convince Droogan's people not to shoot us on sight, then we might be able to manage something.

“Something like what?”

She pointed at the twin bandoliers of grenades that she was wearing across her chest. “These can be absolutely devastating. Any one of these contains enough explosive power to blow a man to bits. I must have two dozen here. If we can lure the Half-breeds in, get them close enough, then detonate them . . .”

“You mean pull all the pins simultaneously?” I looked dubious.

“That won't be necessary. If one of them goes off close to the others, they'll detonate one after the other, in a chain reaction. The ultimate effect will be near-simultaneous.”

“All right. All right, that could actually be feasible. But how do we draw them in close enough . . . ?” My voice trailed off, then I realized. “Someone's going to have to be wearing them. That's your ‘plan,' isn't it? Someone acts as human bait to draw in the Half-breeds and, when there's a point of no return, that person blows himself or herself up in order to destroy the Half-breeds.”

“I didn't say it was a perfect plan.”

“It's a terrible plan!”

“It requires a sacrifice of one life to save far more,” Page said firmly. “I'll take a deal like that anytime. I can do this . . .”

“It's a terrible deal, and you're not going to do it. I sure know I'm not going to.”

“It's the most efficient way,” she said firmly.

“To hell with efficiency and, for that matter, to hell with you,” I said. “I don't know what sort of martyr compulsion you've developed as a result of all your reading and training to be a fighting monk and all that, but I'm not going to let you throw your life away like that. It's ridiculous.”

“Do you have a better plan? I mean, you can't even cope with the reality that you have to kill your own brother, so I don't see where you get to—”

“I'll find another way to save him, all right? I'll . . . I'll appeal to the humanity within him. They still haven't managed to snuff that out, not entirely. I'll get through to him, and he'll find a way to shake off this curse through sheer willpower; and then he'll be able to convince the others to do the same.”

“You call that a plan?”

“It beats blowing yourself to bits.”

“Not by much,” she said dubiously.

“Come on,” I said, not wanting to hear any more. “This is getting us nowhere, and while we're arguing, the Half-breeds are moving somewhere through the woods, bearing down on Blackholm.
Clash!
Lunch break's over!”

Moments later, we were once more on horseback and pounding down the road toward Blackholm.

The gnome had remained oddly silent during the trip thus far. He continued so as we continued down the path. I wasn't sure why, but I was hardly prepared to knock it.

I kept imagining that, in the near distance, I was hearing the Half-breeds as they made their way through the forest. I even kept worrying that they would, at some point, leap out directly in front of us, or drop down from overhead, knock us to the ground, tear into us before we had a chance to fight back. But nothing did assault us, and if I was hearing their cries from the distant woods or whether it was just my imagination, I would never really know.

We kept riding hard, and soon we were drawing within sight of Blackholm. I had no idea of what we were going to find. I hoped it was something that played to our advantage.

The wall still appeared intact, so I supposed that was something. We rode around to the great gate, and I was pleased to see that it had been repaired. That would be an invaluable asset.

I had to think that we had gotten there before the onslaught of the Half-breeds because all sounded relatively quiet within. I had no idea whether we were going to be dealing purely with Droogan's men or if the townsfolk were still alive as well. Then I realized that we, in fact, did have a way of finding out.

“Can you get up there?” I said to the gnome. “Do some reconnoitering?”

“Some
what
now?”

I blew air impatiently through my lips. “Look around and see if the place looks like it's nothing but Droogan's men, or if the people who lived there before are still living there, or even living at all.”

“Ah. Got it,” said the gnome. “Stay here. Be right back.”

We were positioned at a far corner of the wall. The gnome vaulted off Clash's back and latched onto the surface of the wall with his fingers or claws or whatever it was that he had that enabled him to climb so adroitly. In no time at all, he scampered up the side of the wall, achieved the top, and dropped out of sight onto the other side.

“He can be handy to have around,” Page was forced to admit. “How did you meet up with such an odd traveling companion?”

“I told you. He saved my life. He gave me warning of some hobbes that were creeping up on me. If he hadn't, they'd have had me cold.”

“And since then he's been tagging along?”

“Mostly so that he could insult me with impunity, yes.”

“I don't know,” she said, and there was actually a trace of whimsy in her voice. “I think he's come to like you. He seems anxious to serve you.”

“He just has some gripes with humanity. If you actually take the time to listen to him and even be sympathetic, he's really not so bad.”

A few more minutes passed, and the gnome appeared at the top of the wall and made his way down so quickly that it almost seemed that he was falling. Yet he managed to slow himself just enough that he landed noiselessly on the ground in front of us.

“Droogan's forces aren't there,” said the gnome.

“They're not?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“But I thought they took over—”

“They did,” the gnome told us. “But then Bowerstone royal forces showed up. Apparently they caught wind of what was happening and didn't want this Droogan fool getting even so much as a toehold here. As soon as Droogan's hired idiots saw that real men with real guns and real ready to use them were marching toward them, they abandoned the place.”

“They told you all this?”

“No. I heard them singing drunken, self-congratulatory songs about all this. You humans are certainly huge fans of singing your own praises.”

“But that's fantastic!” I said, my spirits buoyed. “Page, did you hear that?”

“Every word. It almost seems too good to be true.”

The warning was right there in her words, but I took no heed of them because I was so excited by the prospect that we had finally caught a break.

The gnome chucked a thumb toward the gate. I could see that it was starting to open wide, welcoming us in.

“Excellent!” My heart was racing with anticipation as I wheeled Clash around and sent him running toward the inviting gate.

“Finn, hold on,” Page was saying, “maybe you should wait a moment and double-check—”

I didn't listen to her. I had heard what I had wanted to hear, accepted the best-case scenario blindly.

We rode through the open gate.

The instant we did, figures came at us from both sides, grabbing Page and me and hauling us off Clash. The horse whinnied and bucked, but someone grabbed him by the reins and quickly gained control of him.

I lost track of Page as I was slammed to the ground, all the wind knocked out of me. I looked up in confusion, the world spinning in front of me, and I saw a very familiar face leering down at me.

It was Trevor. Trevor, the mercenary who was missing both a left arm and any sense of humor about my doing things like making off with one of their best horses.

AS TREVOR LOOMED OVER ME, HE
spoke, and his foul breath washed up and through my nose as if mounting a frontal assault. “So it's himself, the great Ben Finn, is it?” he said. “Delivering himself right to us like a great big birthday gift.”

“Is it your birthday?” I managed to gasp out. “Because if so, I need to go back out and shop.”

The air was still knocked out of me, and I was able to offer only token resistance as they grabbed my weapons.

Page, as it turned out, was providing a significantly more impressive account of herself. As near as I could tell, they had never actually gotten a firm grip on her, and she had managed to fight herself loose before they could reapply it. She was standing with determination, her back against the wall—literally—and she had her sword out and was whipping it threateningly back and forth. One of the approaching men tried to engage her. She knocked his sword out of his hand in three quick moves, then kicked him in the crotch for good measure, doubling him over and eliciting a crunching noise that caused every man witnessing it to say, “Ooooo,” and wince in sympathy. After that display, no one was quick to be the next one to the attack.

I looked around, getting the lay of the land for the first time, to see where the supposed troops of our illustrious leader were. There were none to be seen. I did spy, however, Trevor and also Baron and the rest of that crew, along with a goodly number of men whom I didn't recognize. They were all wearing the black colorings and crests of Warlord Droogan. Unable to keep the disappointment out of my voice, I said, “Seriously? You signed on with Droogan's lot? After all the things you said?”

“He came up with decent money,” said Baron. “Sorry, Finn, but we go where the money is.”

“A loan from Reaver, no doubt.”

“Don't care about money's sources,” said Trevor as, even with one hand, he was able to haul me to my feet. “Just its spendability. Oh, and I also care when someone robs me of my property.”

“How about your lives? You care about that?” I said.

“What, you're threatening me now?” Trevor said with a sneer.

“No, I—”

Apparently getting me to my feet was simply to give him a better angle so that he could knock me off them. He slammed his fist into the side of my head and sent me flat to the ground again. I lay there for a moment, trying to stop the world from spinning. Then I spotted, perched nearby, out of sight of the others but more than obvious to me, the gnome. The little cretin. He'd known exactly the reception we'd get, and yet he'd fabricated precisely what I'd wanted to hear so that I'd go riding blithely right into it. I thought he'd changed, but that was what he wanted me to think. He was still as anxious to see me die as he had ever been; he'd just been more creative in finding a way to bring that about.

I didn't know whom to feel more disappointed with: the gnome because I thought he was changing and growing, or me because I'd been naïve enough to fall for it.

“Shut up and listen!” Page called. She was continuing to keep her sword between herself and her would-be assailants. We had to convince them quickly of the severity of the situation because sooner or later, someone was simply going to take a gun and shoot Page from twenty feet away. “Everyone here is in great danger!”

“What, from you?” said Trevor with a sneer.

“The Half-breeds,” I said. Putting my palms flat against the ground, I managed to push myself up to standing once more. It's difficult to make your case for something when you're lying facedown in the dirt. “Reaver's half-man, halfanimal creatures. They're on the way here.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You're talking rubbish!” Trevor drew back his hand to knock me over again.

The blow didn't fall. Instead, Baron caught his wrist. Trevor looked at him in surprise.

“Let him speak,” said Baron. “We've fought beside the man in the past. He's earned that much.”

“He's earned a quick death rather than a slow one if he's earned anything at all,” said Trevor. “But fine if it'll shut you up.”

Baron tentatively released Trevor's wrist. I looked around the town square, and all I saw were men working for Droogan . . .

No. No, I was wrong. There they were. Citizens of Blackholm, peering out fearfully through windows of their homes. “You let the people here live,” I said to Baron. “That's great.”

Trevor spoke before Baron could. “We're not wholesale slaughterers, no matter what you may think of us. Yes, the civilians stayed. They work for us. Bring us what we need, act as our servants. Entertain us.” And he chortled in an ugly manner that made me want to pick up my gun and put a bullet in his brain.

But there was no time for that.

“Reaver,” I said, “has lost control of his Half-breeds. They're out, they're even more animalistic than before, and they're coming here because apparently this was the last place they had been sent to overrun. Their most recent mission is embedded in their brains, and they're determined to complete it.”

Droogan's men looked at each other in uncertainty. They seemed to have forgotten Page entirely, distracted by this new and disconcerting piece of information.