Blood Ties (31 page)

One of them said, “Even if that's true—”

“It's not. He's lying,” Trevor said. “That's what he does. He says whatever's convenient for him . . .”

“But let's say that it is,” insisted the other man. “Even if they came here, we work for the warlord who hired them in the first place. So we're all on the same side. The townspeople,
they're
well and truly screwed.” And this prompted some laughter from the other men. “But not us.”

“The Half-breeds aren't going to distinguish,” Page spoke up. “Reaver was quite clear about that. They'll tear into whoever's still here, and once they're done with that, they're going to keep on going and spread out through the countryside, leaving destruction in their wake.”

“It's a miracle that we got here ahead of them,” I said. “You can thank Clash for that. But we have hours at best, and minutes at worst, before they come swarming over the walls.”

“That's . . . that's ridiculous,” said one man, who stepped forward and, from the way the others were looking at him, had a good deal of authority. “If that were happening, then Warlord Droogan would be here to tell us that himself.”

“Worked with him a long time, have you, General?” I said.

“ ‘Captain' will do, and yes, I have,” said the captain defiantly.

“All right, then. If you know him—if you really know him, as you claim to, rather than just holding to some idealized vision of what he is—then which do you honestly think is the most likely? That upon learning from Reaver the seriousness of the situation, he would hasten here, hoping to get ahead of the oncoming wave of slaughter, so that he could die at your side? Or that he would accept Reaver's offer to remain as a guest in his fabulous mansion until such time as this entire ‘unpleasantness' blows over? Which sounds more like him, eh? Honestly?”

I had partly expected the captain to dismiss the disparagement of his warlord out of hand. Instead, he actually seemed to be considering both possibilities quite thoroughly. It had suddenly become deathly quiet in the town square, all eyes on the captain, curious to see what he would say.

He came to a conclusion.

“That bastard,” he said.

Apparently, he'd come to the right conclusion.

He was looking around, his eyes narrowed, and I could guess what was going through his mind. I spoke up quickly in order to nip it in the bud. “Running away isn't going to help,” I said. “I mean, you could do it, yes. And the Half-breeds will come tearing through here, and you'll be gone. But if they find little to no resistance, they'll just keep right on going, like a horde of locusts. If you don't stop them here and now, the damage they'll inflict beyond this place will be incalculable. And they'll catch up with you, sooner or later. We're talking about creatures with human cunning and the viciousness of balverines. You really want them roaming the countryside, hot on whatever scent they happen to pick up on once they come rolling through here?”

Trevor kept looking from the captain to me and back. “You're . . .” he finally managed to get out to the captain,

“you're not actually thinking of listening to him, are you?”

Apparently, the captain actually was. He was a broadly built, intelligent-looking man with a bristling red beard. He raised his voice, and said, “Man the parapets! Hurry up! I don't know how much time we have, but I've seen these things in action. I was there for one of Reaver's demonstrations in the arena. Once they get going, there's no mercy in them.”

“You're going to need all hands,” Page said, seizing the opportunity. “Shouldn't the villagers have the right to battle for their lives as much as you?”

“She's right,” Baron said.

“She's
not
right!” Trevor protested. “We conquered these half-wits. Put guns in their hands, and they're as like to shoot at us as anything else!”

“Gather them together. Let me talk to them. You'll be allies by the time I'm done, trust me on that,” I said hurriedly, addressing the captain and ignoring Trevor.

The captain nodded once, then pointed at Trevor. “You. One arm. Make sure it gets done.”

“But—!”

Clearly in no mood to be questioned, the captain said angrily, “If the man's lying, we'll find out soon enough, and he'll pay for it. If we assume he's lying, and it turns out he's not, well . . . do you want to die later or die right now?” His hand hovered around the pistol in his belt.

Without further word of protest, even though he was clearly burned by the order, Trevor gestured wordlessly for Baron and some of the others to follow him, and he set out across the square.

Minutes later, all of the townspeople had been gathered in the square. A number of the warlord's men were standing around them in a half circle, including the captain. The citizens were eyeing the warlord's men warily, but then a number of them spotted me and quickly word passed among them. I was relieved to see that Russell was among the survivors. His eyes widened, and a grin split his face when he looked upon me. Many of the other men who had fought alongside me on the battlements were there as well although they looked downtrodden and frustrated.

Immediately, there were excited murmurings spreading through the crowd. I put up my hands to silence them. Page was standing next to me, watching me with interest. I think she was curious to hear what I was going to say.

“We're about to be under attack,” I said. “You'll notice the men already taking stations around the battlements. If some of them look apprehensive, it's natural that they do, because it's the beast-men who are returning. You remember them, I take it.”

The terrified expressions on the faces of the citizens were all the proof I needed that they most certainly did remember them. “These men,” I continued, “are out to defend this town from being destroyed by the beast-men, which I assure you is what they most definitely want to do. But there are not enough men here, not nearly enough. I need every one of you who can wield a gun with any accuracy—whether you fought earlier on the battlements beside me, or simply now want to fight for a chance to survive—ready to fight alongside these men.”

“They'll give us guns?” said Russell.

“There are armaments aplenty,” said the captain. “But I have to know that you're not going to try and avenge yourself on my men for taking over this town on the orders of the warlord.”

“It doesn't seem an unreasonable concern,” I said. “Some people will elevate fulfilling grudges above their own best interests.”

There were uncertain looks among the townspeople, then Russell stepped forward, his shoulders squared, and when he spoke, he reminded me very much of his father. It was the first time I could recall that being the case.

“We wish to fight for our town,” he said to the captain. “And your men want to fight for their lives. Where our interests intersect, I don't see any reason that we shouldn't be battling side by side for our mutual interests.”

I saw the others nodding slowly in agreement and immediately looked over toward the captain to see his reaction.

He didn't hesitate. In a loud voice, he called out to his own men, “Get them armed! Hurry it up!” Then, as his men hastened to do his bidding, he strode over to me. He held a warning finger up in my face. “If this turns out to be some sort of massive hoax on your part . . . an attempt to get these people armed so that they can try to fight back—”

“I almost wish it were,” I said. “Because then the stakes would be so much less than they are right now. But I think you're a smart man, Captain, and I think you know when you're hearing the truth and when you're not. Truth always has a more positive ring to it.”

“There is something to that. Also”—and he glanced toward Page—“I am well aware of the involvement you had with the battle of Bowerstone, Miss. I happened to be standing in the back of the court when you presented your stands on certain issues in opposition to Reaver's. You were most impressive.”

“Thank you, Captain—?”

“Thorpe,” he said with a slight bow. “Captain Thorpe.”

Page eyed him up and down. “Can't say I understand why an obvious military man of your breeding is working with a rotter of a warlord like Droogan.”

“Can't say I'm entirely pleased with the actions of the individual sitting on the throne in Bowerstone,” replied Thorpe. “Sometimes you just decide to opt for the lesser of two evils. But considering recent events, perhaps I could have made better choices.”

“Perhaps you could have.”

“All right, all right,” I interrupted, suddenly feeling a bit impatient with this newly blooming mutual-appreciation society. “Can we please stay focused on the impending fight for our lives?”

Thorpe cast me a casual glance, then shifted his attention back to Page. “Is he always this jumpy?” he asked.

“You have no idea. Now listen, I have a plan to deal with these creatures—”

I knew she was going to fill him in on the suicidal notion of blowing them to hell with all the grenades, so I didn't have to stand around and listen to it again. Instead, I turned away and quickly followed the citizenry to the armory, where the soldiers were leading them. The citizens looked relieved once they saw me there, and I quickly took charge, however unofficially it might have been, of overseeing the distribution of weapons into the hands of the eager citizenry.

Trevor leaned in toward me, and growled, “If just one of these bastards so much as looks at me funny, I'm going to authorize my men to gun them all down. And if this so-called threat of yours fails to materialize . . .”

“You should be so lucky,” I said.

I walked among them, matching the weaponry up as best I could with the people who wanted to wield them. There were some children as well, goggle-eyed, clearly scared, not grabbing weapons but instead asking if everything was going to be all right. The adults were busy assuring them that yes, absolutely, of course it was all going to be all right. After all, Ben Finn was here, so how could it
not
be all right? I saw no reason to start listing all the ways that my presence could wind up with things most definitely not being all right.

I found refuge for the youngest children in a wine cellar at the tavern. We shuttered them in there and warned them not to emerge until one of the adults came for them. The notion of the Half-breeds finding them there was a horrific one, but we had done all we could to ensure their safety. Now it was just a matter of doing everything we could to make sure it wouldn't come to that.

Emerging from the tavern, I heard the familiar voice of the gnome speaking from directly above me. “Did I hurt your wee feelings?” he asked.

I didn't even bother to look his way. Instead, I kept walking. Seconds later, he was by my side, matching my stride and puffing out his chest so that he would be presenting an air of self-importance that I figured was intended to mock me. At that moment I didn't care in the slightest. “What's the matter, Finn?” he said. “Can't take a joke?”

“You deliberately lied to me. You set me up in hopes that I'd come riding in, and they'd kill me on the spot.”

“I knew they wouldn't.”

“You knew no such thing.”

He shrugged. “I figured if they killed you, good for me, and if they didn't kill you, then good for you, and there'd certainly be plenty of opportunity later for you to be killed.”

I turned on him, and said, “Have you considered the possibility that just once, just
once
, it might be nice to actually try and befriend a human instead of treating us all like the enemy?”

“There are two kinds of humans,” said the gnome. “The kind who's killed gnomes . . . and the kind who hasn't killed gnomes yet.”

“Get away from me,” I said, then returned to my original path.

“Finn!”

I stopped. The gnome addressing me by name was an unusual enough moment that it caught my attention. I turned and stared down at him.

The gnome glared, and said, “I didn't like that I was starting to like you.”

I tilted my head. “What?”

“I've being hating humans for more lifetimes than you can count. Hating pissants like yourself. It's become . . . comfortable. A comfortable way of thinking, hating the lot of you. But you were making me uncomfortable. So I thought this was the perfect opportunity to get back to being what a gnome is all about.”

“And how'd that work out for you? Not so well as you would have liked? You could apologize, you know, if you're actually feeling guilty.”

He glared at me. “Drop dead,” he said.

I walked away then. I was actually fairly sure that he would ignore me and follow me to the parapets, shouting insults the whole way. But when I glanced behind me moments later, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Finn!” came a sharp voice that I instantly recognized as Thorpe's. His beard seemed to be pointing directly at me as if it had taken up some sort of personal issue with me. As he drew near, he lowered his voice, and said, “Page informed me of your plan.”

“
My
plan?”

“Trying to draw the creatures into the square. Blow the hell out of them.”

“Okay, first of all—”

He didn't give me a chance to explain that it was purely Page's idea, and I did not endorse it at all. “I think you're not thinking big enough. I'm having my men seed the area with packets of gunpowder to create an even bigger explosion. Right now I'm having my aide inform the rest of the defenders that, if we're not able to stop the monsters from getting in, then we should try to herd them to the center.”