WindBeliever (47 page)

Sabrina stroked the pale blond hair and smiled, crooning softly to the man whose head lay in her lap. She smoothed the flaxen mane from his high forehead and caressed his lean cheek.

“Did you miss me, Sirocco?” she asked.

Chase Montyne nodded and nuzzled his cheek against her cool palm.

“It was him,” she said, looking up from the handsome face of the Ionarian. “I knew it would be.”

Her words meant nothing to him, but he grunted in question and saw her look back down at him.

“He doesn’t know you’re here.” She watched as instant fear shot through the pale eyes of her bedmate. “No,” she told him, soothing him. “He is a friend, Sirocco. An old friend of yours.”

He grunted again, questioning.

“In the morning,” she said. “I’ll bring him in. Now that I know he means you no harm, I will let him see you. Perhaps your face will bring back his memory.” She bent down to kiss his forehead. “And seeing him will bring back your voice, sweet wind.”

Chase studied her face, thinking it the most beautiful he had ever seen. He reached up and cupped the back of her neck and drew her head down until their lips touched. Sweetly, gently, he caressed the dusky fullness.

Sabrina had known many men in her lifetime--had lain with more than she could count and be truthful with the sum. But never had she felt the depth of emotion the tender kiss this man gave her caused. She pulled her head back, looking down at him with wonder.

“Was that gratitude, Sirocco?” she asked.

Chase shook his head and drew her down to his lips again. His kiss deepened a fraction of a second before his tongue came out to probe inquiringly at her lips.

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Sabrina opened her mouth to him.

As she opened her heart.

Conar climbed out of the wagon, not really surprised to find no guards standing there to keep him from doing so. For a reason he could not fully explain to himself, he trusted the black woman even though she had opened a can of worms in his mind that were wiggling so furiously he could not sleep.

He walked around the wagon, out of sight of the campfire where the caravan drivers sat, and relieved himself. The night was chill, as desert nights always are, and he shivered as he stood there. Looking about it, all he could see was miles of dark sand stretching as far as he could see to his left and right. Glancing behind him, he saw the same. Beyond the top of the wagon, he could see palm trees.

“Did you get enough to eat, Khamsin?”

Conar jumped, not having heard the man called Kharis approaching. He quickly adjusted himself and turned to face the man.

“I can make do until morning,” he answered.

Kharis leaned against the back of the wagon. “Do not try to run away, Khamsin.” He flung out his hands. “There is nothing between you and safety for twenty miles. This is the last oasis before we reach the Nilus and there are asps and scorpions and jackals every foot of the way.”

“I have no intention of trying to escape,” Conar said, although the thought had briefly crossed his mind.

Kharis nodded. “That is good because ....”

Both men turned, hearing the loud, shrill war cry, both automatically crouching, reaching for weapons that neither carried.

“Quick!” Kharis shouted, reaching out to grab Conar’s arm. “Get back inside!” He pulled Conar around to the back of the wagon and tried to shove him inside.

“I need a blade, man!” Conar yelled at him.

“Kharis!”

Kharis swung his head around, seeing the dark shapes running through the encampment, hearing Sabrina’s frightened voice. He didn’t have to time to stand here and argue with the Outlander. He had to get to his mistress.

Conar stumbled as the man pushed away from him. He stood there for only a moment before dashing after the man as he ran headlong toward the largest tent in the encampment.

“There!” he heard someone shout. “There he is! Get him!”

He spun around, seeing men running toward him, instinctively realizing they meant to apprehend him. He had no weapon on him to defend himself and realized his best chance was to make it to one of the horses tethered at the picket line. Digging his strong legs into the sand, he bolted for the animals.

“Catch him! Don’t let him escape!”

Sabrina stood in the doorway of her tent, the man she called Sirocco cowering in the far corner behind her. She watched Conar McGregor running for the horses, saw him fumbling with the reins of one sleek black mount, held her breath as he gathered a handful of the steed’s thick mane and swung himself up on the horse’s back.

“Go, Conar!” she yelled out to him, seeing him glance around at her for only a second before lashing out with his bare foot to kick an intruder in the feet. “Go!”

Chase heard the name and something stirred in his sleeping mind. He came slowly to his feet, WINDBELIEVER

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shaking his head, hearing Sabrina shout the name again.

“He’s getting away!” someone yelled from right outside the tent. “Get him! Get McGregor!”

Conar McGregor, Chase thought. Conar is out there and they are trying to hurt him. I have to help him. He looked about him, puzzled that his weapon was not nearby, vaguely confused for a moment at the strange-looking fabrics and furnishings of the tent. He heard a woman urging Conar to get away and, seeing her framed in the doorway of the tent, started toward her.

Sabrina’s eyes went wide in her face when her bedmate pushed past her, rushing out into the darkness. She saw him staring at Conar as that man struggled to get his horse away from the three men blocking him.

“Somebody give me a crossbow,” she heard her lover shout. “Damn it, hurry! Conar’s in trouble!”

Conar managed to get his mount turned, kicking out at two more men before there was a clear spot for him to head for. He dug his bare heels into the horse’s flanks and the animal shot forward, its powerful hooves digging into the sand.

“Milord?” a Hasdu guard yelled at Chase and held a crossbow out to him. “Do you know how to use it?”

Chase jerked the weapon out of the man’s hand and jammed a quarrel into the crosspiece, locked the bowstring and brought the weapon up, sighting it directly in the center of the back of the man who was at that moment bringing his own bow up to deliver an arrow into the horse beneath Conar McGregor.

“You can’t hit him from this distance,” Kharis shouted, seeing where the blond man was aiming.

“If I can’t, no one can,” Chase snarled.

Sabrina watched the archer go down, her lover’s quarrel buried deeply in his flesh. She saw Conar jerk on his mount’s reins, saw him racing the horse toward them, beating the reins against the horse’s front legs. She stared in open-mouthed wonder as the steed leapt high into the air, sailing over a low wagon, before crashing down only ten feet from her, its flashing hooves scattering the men who had overrun the camp.

“Go, Coni! Go!” she heard her lover shout.

“Get him! Shoot him if you have to!”

Conar looked back, saw a spear aimed at him, caught sight of a blond haired warrior leveling his bow at the spear carrier. The warrior looked familiar in the shifting glow of the campfire, but he didn’t have time to think long on it. He drummed his feet into his steed’s sides and the animal shot forward.

Chase brought down the spear carrier, but had no time to bring his weapon to bear on the archer whose quarrel arced through the air to strike Conar’s mount in the ribs.

“Damn it!” Chase bellowed, training his quarrel on the bastard who had shot Conar’s horse.

The deadly missile zinged from the crossbow and buried itself in the man’s throat.

The steed stumbled, but regained its footing, its sides heaving as it dug craters in the loose desert sand. Conar knew it had been hit, could see the deadly tip of the missile wobbling as it stuck there in the horse’s side.

“Go, boy,” he begged the horse, leaning low over his steed’s neck. “Give it all you’ve got.”

Chase lowered his crossbow, panting deeply as he watched the horse and rider disappear into the night. All around him, the caravan men were battling the intruders, and winning, but three other horses had managed to gallop off in the same direction Conar had.

“Alel, protect him,” Chase muttered. He looked down as a gentle hand settled on his WINDBELIEVER

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shoulder. He shook his head. “I did all I could, lady,” he told her.

“You gave him time,” Sabrina answered. “No one else could have, Sirocco.”

He took her in his arms and held her, his chin on the top of her head. “Pray Alel that it was enough time.”

Sabrina held him to her, feeling his strong steady heartbeat, reveling in the comforting arms which held her. “Sirocco?” she questioned, drawing back her head to look up at him. He was still staring toward the place where Conar had disappeared.

“I’m all right, lady,” he answered, not looking down at her. “I’m all right.”

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Once more into the Void, Conar thought as he raced his horse across the burning sands. Once more evil was close upon his heels but he was putting distance between them. He glanced back—determined to outdistance his pursuers. There was nothing ahead of him but blistering sand and nothing behind him except men determined to bring him down. It was but a matter of time before the brave animal beneath him gave out, for blood was pouring from the wound in the beast’s side.

He could hear the laughter of Raphian—that pitiless Destroyer of Men’s Souls—

reverberating through his ears. Looking up to the heavens, he could not see that hideous monster but he could feel His wrath bearing down upon him and he knew escape wouldn’t be so easy this time.