The Infiltrators (26 page)

He lay out underneath the dim stars and
closed his eyes.

Chapter 35

When Righty felt a gust of wind against
his face, he thought he was still dreaming. Moments earlier, he had
been flying around on Harold’s back without a care in the world. No
kidnapped lady. No choice between turning his back on a friend and
losing a multibillionaire client, with whom he would probably be
shortly at war. No choice between keeping this a secret from his
most trusted subordinate and asking him openly to side with him
against his own flesh and blood.

Just pleasant breeze.

Yet, when he dared open his eyes and
saw Harold seated a few feet from him with business written all
over his serious face, he knew dream time was over. It was still
dark out. A quick glance at his watch revealed he had slept about
five hours. Dawn would be fast approaching.

“We know where she is,” Harold said
matter-of-factly.

Righty jumped to his feet as quickly as
if he were under attack. Then immediately felt an urge to go hide.
This was too soon to be good news. He wasn’t psychologically
prepared. A subconscious part of him now realized the agony of
uncertainty was still less terrifying than the moment of
truth.

“Really . . . how?”

“Rucifus has some big mouths working
for her. The konulans have been within earshot of every thug
patrolling her yard and reporting to me every several minutes on
their conversations. I already have a pretty good idea of what went
down that night, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Rucifus knows you went to jail, and
she’s mighty frightened about it. At one point, she had the window
down and was talking to one of her subordinates and told him to go
move Donive at once and triple the guard around her. She also told
him that if Pitkins steps one foot outside that jail before coming
to an agreement with her, Donive is to be killed immediately and
that she is starting to think it would be best to kill her very
soon if Pitkins doesn’t come to his senses.”

Righty saw Janie’s face in front of him
and suddenly recollected a nightmare he had before his blissful
dream took over. She had stood over his grave with crying Heather,
now a toddler. Heather asked her mother why her daddy had died.
Janie’s eyes had filled with tears, but the rest of the dream faded
away when confronted with the current reality of the situation like
darkness fleeing light.

He strained to recall whether her face
had been approving or vindictive. Had she seen him as a dead hero
or a dead fool who had abandoned his family to meddle in someone
else’s problems? Not even that relic survived. Sadness was the only
clear emotion.

“Righty?”

“Let’s do this,” he said
mechanically.

“Why do you care about him so much?”
Harold asked.

Righty paused, knowing he didn’t have a
perfect answer. “Perhaps my fate, or a loved one’s, will one day be
in the hands of someone else.” He paused. “She was rich before she
met me. But I’ve turned her into a monster. She had to have bought
up at least three-quarters of the nobles to be able to kidnap a
nobleman’s daughter and have her war-hero husband go to the gallows
for trying to save her.”

Harold studied Righty’s face, which was
studying the ground.

Righty looked up directly into Harold’s
eyes. “I’m responsible, Harold. Heck, we’re responsible, if you
want the honest truth.”

Harold looked away briefly.

“Let’s do this,” Righty said, the
mechanical apathy replaced with genuine determination.

He hopped onto Harold’s back and
immediately took off.

“Lucky for us, it’s still dark,” Harold
said.

Righty almost argued, before recalling
Harold’s night vision.

A konulan flew to Harold and emitted a
quick series of chirps before flying back towards town.

“We’ve got fifty konulans either
following Rucifus’s thugs or reporting back to me on their
location.”

Harold adjusted his direction slightly
each time a konulan approached him chirping.

In what seemed like cruelly
insufficient time for Righty to prepare psychologically for what
was to come, he heard the dreaded words from Harold, “They’re right
below us.”

“Are they with Donive or en
route?”

“En route,” Harold replied without
hesitation.

There couldn’t be a worse
leader in charge of tactical operations,
Righty told himself gloomily.

If you wait till they
arrive, you’ll be dealing single-handedly with a larger force. But
if you attack now, you won’t be able to find Donive.

“Are they our only means of finding her
. . . was an address or any other clue given?”

“None.”

Righty groaned.

“All right. We wait till the carriage
stops in front of a house, and then we strike. I’m gonna need your
help, buddy.”

“You got it.”

Harold soared in lazy circles, easily
keeping up with the plodding carriage.

Righty’s spirits vacillated from terror
to boredom and then back.

Then, when he least expected it,
“They’ve stopped.”

Righty didn’t have time to bark any
orders, and he barely had time to grab onto the strap around
Harold’s back and hold on for dear life as he abruptly dropped into
a vertical nose dive.

Just when Righty thought his insides
were going to explode from the pressure, Harold abruptly tilted
upright. A fountain of blood shot out from where Harold extended
his right talon and severed the head of a man just about to knock
on the door.

Harold then flared his wings out wide,
bringing them to a stop so quickly Righty felt his back was about
to snap.

But he didn’t miss a beat between that
and rolling off of Harold. No sooner had his feet touched the
ground than his hands went behind his neck, pulled out his dagger,
and then extended it to business size.

He barely suppressed the desire to let
out a warlike yell, which would have done wonders for relieving the
unbearable tension but been less helpful at keeping the attack a
surprise.

“Watch out!” a voice from the carriage
cried a half second before Righty’s right boot pulverized the lock
on the door.

Five terrified faces looked up from
glasses of whiskey and a game of cards.

Righty brought his sword horizontally
across the closest man’s neck and cut off his head so cleanly it
stayed in place for a second before tumbling off like an improperly
balanced decoration.

The next man was halfway out of his
chair before Righty brought his sword straight down onto the man’s
skull, slicing it neatly in half.

The next man made it all the way out of
his chair, and had his sword partially out of its sheathe when
Righty crashed his boot into the man’s belly. The second Righty’s
boot touched the ground he brought his sword across horizontally
cleaving the man in two at the waist.

He blocked an incoming sword strike to
his neck a blink before it would have sent a geyser of blood
spurting from his jugular.

His block knocked the sword out of his
opponent’s hand, and Righty brought his own sword down diagonally
cutting the man in two from his left shoulder to his right
ribs.

The final man held his sword out
defensively with horror painted all over his face. The momentary
pause in action allowed Righty to hear some terrifying screams from
outside. He barely resisted the urge to see what Harold was up to,
realizing even just one peek might result in him being the one
screaming.

Righty feinted convincingly with a
forward lunge. As the man’s sword came across center, facing
downward to block the thrust, Righty quickly retracted his sword,
brought it up over his head, and then brought it downward across
the man’s sword hand, severing it instantly.

He then lunged forward and poked his
sword through the man’s heart.

“HELP!!” came a frightened scream from
a nearby room.

Righty kicked open the door so hard
splinters went flying.

As he stepped inside, he would have
been a dead man if a ready opponent had been within striking
distance, for the sight he saw stole his breath from
him.

Never before had he seen such beauty,
such dignity. That she possessed it in light of unspeakable trials
left him all the more spellbound. Her blond hair and blue eyes made
him think he was surely dead from a lethal wound and was now
witnessing a goddess come to soothe his soul.

He blushed when her alert eyes seemed
to read his dumbfounded face, yet they were without
judgment.

Her hands were tied above her with a
rope fastened to the ceiling, and only by standing on her
tippy-toes did she avoid being completely suspended in the
air.

On the ground, face as red as an apple,
hands shaking like leaves, was a man frantically trying to hoist
his pants up over his nude legs.

Righty reduced his sword to dagger size
with a quick snap and began walking towards the man with a dread
determination in his eyes.

“NO!” shouted the man in horror, as if
he had already guessed the specifics of his fate.

When he stuck a hand out to keep Righty
away, he quickly grabbed his wrist and sliced the man’s hand off as
casually as though it were the top of a carrot.

He then looked deeply into his eyes as
he grabbed a handful of unmentionable material and then squeezed
violently.

“AHHHHHH!!!” the man
screamed.

“Don’t worry,” Righty said coldly.
“It’s the last time you’ll ever feel pain there.”

A quick slice proved the point, and
then the man went into convulsions of pain and writhing.

Righty picked up Donive’s dress from
the floor and walked over to her with a business-like gait he hoped
would reduce her shame.

With a quick motion of his sword, he
severed the rope above her. With a surgeon’s proficiency, he
grabbed both of her wrists and quickly hacked the rope between
them.

He then handed her dress to her and
immediately turned his back.

Only when he felt her arm encircle his,
did he dare turn back towards her.

“Who are you?” she asked, a confused
look on her face.

“A student of your husband’s, ma’am.
Though I would like to consider myself a friend.”

“Where is he?”

“There’s no time to explain now. I need
to warn you that you’re going to see some things that will make you
think you’re dreaming. Please ignore them, and trust
me.”

Her magical blue eyes seemed capable of
withstanding anything to Righty, but for a moment he saw them cloud
with fear.

She nodded with grim determination and
followed him.

She came to an abrupt halt when the
scant moonlight revealed that her next step would place her onto
the feathery back of some unknown beast, but Righty eased her
indecisiveness by immediately lifting her off her feet, carrying
her onto Harold, and then giving him a sharp little whistle to take
off.

Donive grabbed onto Righty’s hand so
hard he was beginning to wonder if he would ever regain
circulation.

“Easy there,” he said, giving her a
little squeeze back to hint that he didn’t appreciate the vice
currently probing the breaking point of his bones.

When she suddenly fainted, he couldn’t
believe his good fortune. Half of him was beaming with pride for
being a fairytale knight in shining armor with the rescued maiden;
the other half was anxious to get rid of a burden so that he could
go find his friend before Rucifus’s thugs pounded his skull the
rest of the way in.

If there was anyone tailing them and
who saw what happened, it was a race between that person to tell
Rucifus and her sending someone to the jail, and Righty finding
some place safe to deposit his golden treasure before returning
there himself.

Harold seemed to read Righty’s
thoughts, as he arched his head backwards and said, “Where
to?”