Keeper of the Black Stones (17 page)

“You are Lord Stanley?” he asked, smiling faintly.

The man in red nodded slowly. “And you are Richard's lead council. Lord Dresden, I presume?”

I gasped, then clapped my hand over my mouth to shut out the sound. Lord Dresden. John Fleming's son. The man with the evil smile was the man trying to kill Doc and change the world.

The two men gazed at each other, their horses dancing nervously. They obviously disliked and distrusted each other. They were just as obviously working to keep their tempers in check.

“I trust my brother is well?” Lord Stanley asked finally.

“He is being treated as a respected guest should be treated, I assure you,” Dresden answered quietly.

Stanley snorted. “You'll forgive my impatience. I am in no mood for civilized conversation. Set out the terms of my brother's release and have done. I do not wish to waste your time, or my own.”

A bark of laughter escaped Dresden's mouth. “A man of my own heart, then. Very well, let us discuss terms. I do not want money for your brother. I wish to offer you an alliance. An alliance that would assure your family twice as much land as you already hold, as well as Richard's word that your lands to the north will be protected.”

Stanley's face paled in shock. “Are you mad, man? You abducted my brother and now you expect me to ally with you?”

“You must choose a side, Lord Stanley. My sources tell me that you lean toward allying your house with the Earl of Oxford, and the house of Tudor.”

I gasped again. The Earl of Oxford. Doc.

Before I could draw any conclusions, though, Stanley interrupted me.

“What I do with my men–and my house–is none of your concern, Dresden.”

Lord Dresden quickly raised his right hand and pointed toward one of the knights near Lord Stanley. A flash of flame and smoke erupted from under Dresden's right sleeve, accompanied by a thunderous clap of sound. The men jumped and then froze, watching as Stanley's knight rocked backward off his mount and fell, clutching his chest. He landed with a hard thump at the feet of his horse.

“You were questioning my powers?” Dresden asked with a cold smile. “Everything in this country is my concern. And you will do as I say.”

“What is it you want?” Lord Stanley asked solemnly, looking down at his dying knight.

Dresden nodded slowly, accepting the victory, and placed both hands on the saddle in front of him. “The battle for the crown will take place outside the village of Bosworth two week from now. I had thought to delay it, but Oxford has forced my hand. You will fight on our side, rather than Tudor's. Assemble your army and assist Richard in defeating the pretender, thus keeping the crown where it belongs. Your brother will stay with me to ensure that our alliance is maintained. I will release him when I am satisfied that you have performed your duties. If you fail, or if you desert us, he will die a slow, unpleasant death. Is this clear?”

Lord Stanley nodded his head quietly.

“One more thing, Stanley.” Dresden paused dramatically. “I want the Earl of Oxford delivered to me. By the end of the battle.”

“Dead?”

Dresden shook his head. “I need him alive. He has information I require. Afterwards…” He flexed his hand and smiled wolfishly. “Well, that is none of your concern. But it will not be pleasant for him.”

Stanley gave Dresden a look of pure hatred, but nodded curtly. “Richard will maintain his crown.” His voice dropped with regret. “I will deliver the Earl to you, and leave
him to your mercy. I will expect my brother's release the day after the battle.” He and his band of knights wheeled their horses and galloped away, leaving Dresden smirking and victorious.

The humming sound around me intensified, and then everything went dark.

“NO!” I screamed. I opened my eyes and popped up, staring wildly around me. I saw a tangle of metal, glass, and upholstery, scenery flashing by … and then the back of Reis' head. Paul turned in his seat to stare at me. I was back in New Hampshire, safely driving to school. Back from … what had that been, exactly? Not a dream–I was sure of that. And not fiction, either. A flash of the present, or the future. Of a meeting that had taken place–or would take place–in the past. A meeting about Doc's capture and death. I gasped as I remembered the details–Stanley, Earl of Oxford. And Dresden's smile. It never occurred to me to question the vision. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it had been the truth, and that it had come from the stone. They were going to kidnap and kill Doc, and he had no clue. I had to get home. Had to tell him.

“Jesus,” Paul gasped. “You scared the hell out of me. Why're you yelling?”

I ignored him, turning to Reis. “Reis, you have to turn around, please. We have to go back.” I tried to sound calm and rational.

Reis glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “What are you talking about, kid? We're already running late.”

I glanced at my watch. It was already 6:47, and Doc would be leaving at 7. “Please, Reis, we don't have much time.”

By this time, Paul had turned around in his seat, to hang over the back. He looked at me anxiously. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“I had a dream. I think Doc's in trouble. Please, I have to warn him before he leaves.”

“A dream?” Reis asked skeptically. “Before he leaves?”

I transferred my gaze to Paul, hoping for an ally. “The stone spoke to me again, Paul. Doc's in trouble. There are people trying to kill him. We have to go back, Reis, please! Turn around. I need to go home, NOW!” I closed my mouth on the panic in my voice.

“Holy cow, he's right. We have to go back!” Paul turned to Reis and grabbed his arm. “Dude, Doc could be in trouble!”

Reis sighed heavily, but nodded; it was, after all, his job to ensure our safety. The car's speed, though, left something to be desired.

“Could you maybe go a little faster?” I asked anxiously.

“No kidding, senior citizens drive faster than this!” Paul agreed.

Reis shook his head and accelerated slightly. “Are you two always this high strung?” he asked, glancing again at the rearview mirror. This time, his worried glance went past me and to the road behind us.

“We're teenagers. We survive on Mountain Dew and Slim Jims. What do you want from us?” Paul replied.

I ignored them both, willing the car forward, and praying that I'd get home in time to stop Doc from jumping back in time. Or at least warn him about what was waiting for him in the past. I knew what the stone had told me, and after my experience last night, I didn't doubt the story. This time, death was waiting for Doc in the past.

The man in the light blue minivan nodded, then disconnected the call and dropped his cell phone in his pocket.

“What did he say?” the man seated in the passenger seat asked.

The man behind the wheel flashed a toothy grin and turned over the ignition. “It looks like we're through watching. Now that the old man's alone, we're to move in and grab him. The organization wants to take him in, figure out exactly what he knows.”

“And the boy?” the passenger asked.

The driver shook his head and put the vehicle in drive. “The kid's at school, and we don't know how important he is yet. He can come later. Right now our boss has some questions for the old man.” He glanced in his rearview mirror to see another colleague pulling an assault rifle from its case and inspecting the gun's magazine. “Are you ready back there?” he asked.

“Ready,” the man replied tersely.

“How much force can we use?” the passenger asked.

“As much as it takes,” the driver replied. He pulled the minivan out of Harvey's Truck Stop and onto Heater Road. “Our superiors want him for questioning. If we can get the journal as well, we have orders to do so. We need him alive, but we don't need him in good shape. He won't be going home anytime soon. Not until he tells us what he knows.”

11

T
he Volvo handled the sharp turn onto Heater Road like a German sports car coming off the Autobahn. We flew past Harry's Truck Stop, barely slowing at the stop sign. Reis was taking my request to hurry at face value, now, and we were making record time. Paul glanced back at me in shock, then transferred his gaze to the back window.

“That's funny,” he mumbled.

“What's that?” I asked impatiently.

Paul shrugged. “Nothing. Just seems like I see that blue minivan everywhere lately.”

Reis looked at Paul and glanced in the rearview mirror. “Do you know the driver, or recognize him at all?” he asked tersely. “Is he from around here?”

“No, I don't think so,” Paul replied.

I turned to look at the van myself, and studied the driver carefully. Nothing stood out about the man, but I was sure I didn't know him. “I've never seen him either.”

Reis' demeanor changed, and his voice hardened. He straightened and seemed to grow, suddenly all business. A military man in action. I could almost see the green beret on his head.

“I was afraid of that,” he answered. “Hold on, boys, this may get a bit bumpy.” He downshifted and stamped on the accelerator, throwing Paul and I back into our seats. The Volvo tore forward like a real sports car, its engine roaring to life.

“When we get home, get out of the car on Paul's side and run to the garage, quick as you can. Understood?” he snapped.

“What are you talking about?” Paul asked. He lunged forward to grab the dashboard as we rounded onto Bank Street.

“When we hit the driveway, run toward the garage. That's an order! How difficult is that?” Reis barked. He glared at Paul, then glanced back at me in the rear view mirror. I nodded wordlessly, confused.

Then I threw myself down onto the seat next to me. Reis had driven the car over a curb and onto the sidewalk, missing an oncoming truck by inches. Paul grabbed for the dashboard again and shouted a pointless warning at the oncoming traffic. A second later, Reis had pulled the car off the sidewalk and back onto the road, just in time to miss Baker Glasgow, who was delivering newspapers on his bike. If I hadn't been scared to death, I would have laughed at the sight of Baker flipping his bike in panic, dozens of papers flying through the air behind him.

“I'm going to get sick,” Paul groaned as the car picked up speed once again.

I nodded silently, stunned at the sudden action, and saw Paul duck as we flew through a row of shrubbery. The Volvo roared down Bank Street, and I turned to look out the rear window. I was stunned at what I saw.

Instead of falling behind, as it should have, the blue minivan had sped up. It was gaining on us, and the passenger was now hanging out his window and motioning wildly toward our car.

“Hold on!” Reis shouted. He downshifted the sedan and applied the brakes, simultaneously spinning the steering wheel hard to the right. The Volvo whipped violently around, its wheels chewing up asphalt and burning rubber as the car spun. We lurched forward again, onto Patriots Drive and into our driveway, where we screeched to a violent stop.