“I don’t see anyone!” Adriano said, angrily scanning the open field.
The sounds, hellish groaning now, were coming from just beyond the rise.
“Oh, Christ,” Rafe whispered, staring at the road ahead where there was a gentle undulation in the rolling hills. His horse was spooked by the terrible sounds of suffering, but he forced the balking animal forward.
They rode forward cautiously, keeping the horses to a trot.
When they crested the rise, they all froze for a second in sheer horror, then leaped off their horses and ran to the edge of the spiked pit. All three horses and two of the men were already dead, impaled on metal spikes rising from the ground, in this barbaric defense structure resurrected by Orlando from an age of darkness.
Rafe slid through the dirt to the last surviving Royal Guardsman, but the gurgling man died as he reached him.
Then there was only silence.
Eerie, chill silence, with the crumbling hulk of the black citadel towering over them, not a quarter mile away through the trees.
“Oh, my God,” Rafe said after a long moment, staring at the bodies.
The others were perfectly silent.
He looked over at them with a hard expression, realizing that any manner of evil, insane devices might be waiting to snare them in this place. They were his closest friends and he could not bear to lose them. He wanted to turn back because he knew they might not all make it out of this alive, but if he did that, he might never get this close to capturing Orlando again.
All of Ascencion was at stake. He could not think as a friend. He must think as a king.
Elan had taken his spectacles off and turned away, looking like he might well puke. Adriano was white, as if he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Niccolo had climbed out of the pit, his face a rictus of rage, and was staring toward the citadel.
“There!” Niccolo suddenly cried. “Get down!”
A bullet slammed into the dirt near Rafe.
They dropped, the dead momentarily forgotten. Flat on his stomach on the edge of the pit, Nic took aim with his pistol.
“What are you doing?” Rafe asked him evenly.
“Save your fire. You’ll never hit him from here,” Adriano said with unnerving calm.
“You’re right, di Tadzio,” Nic muttered. “Excellent point.”
Rafe watched the brown-haired, brawny Nic slide back down into the pit with a look of pure, cold rage, as though his wits had snapped. Nic climbed over to the dead captain of the guardsman and wrenched free the rifle strapped to his back.
Rafe said, “I repeat, I want him alive.”
Angrily, Elan turned to Rafe with a wrenching stare. “Even now you want to spare him?”
“Especially now,” Rafe said in a low, bristling growl.
Nic dropped down on his stomach at the rim of the pit and took aim with the rifle. “Arrest me, then, Rafe. Because I say he dies.” He squeezed the trigger.
There was an agonized, demonic squeal from the shadows at the base of the fort.
“You hit him!” Elan gasped.
The black stallion bolted out from the place where Orlando had concealed himself in the brush, the duke clinging to the saddle.
“He’s still up! Did you hit him or not?” Elan pressed.
Niccolo didn’t answer, but merely reloaded.
“No, you hit the horse,” Rafe murmured, watching as the excellent black stallion finally stumbled, fell, somersaulting violently while Orlando dove to the side, tumbled, and sprang up, running back to the cover of the trees. “Let’s go. He’ll be on foot now.”
All strode back to the horses and mounted up.
Rafe’s stare tracked Orlando until the man sped into the cover of the woods. “Elan, Nic, you go that way,” he said, pointing left. “Di Tadzio and I will take the right. We’ve got to close him in. Avoid gunfire in favor of swords. Leave the rifle, Nic! Let’s try and avoid accidentally shooting each other. Is everybody all right?” he added, glancing quickly from one face to the next after the carnage they had witnessed.
They murmured grimly in the affirmative.
“Good. Let’s get him.” He nodded to Adriano and they wheeled their horses away while Elan and Niccolo cantered off in the opposite direction.
They rode past the black stallion, dead with a seeping bullet wound in its neck, then plunged into the darkening woods.
Rafe’s pulse pounded in his ears as they stalked Orlando, slipping stealthily through the trees. Adriano kept abreast with him about twenty feet to his right.
The woods were alive with the sounds of twilight, the breeze, the rustling leaves, the chattering birds. At the sound of a twig snapping, Rafe jerked his head, leveling his weapon, but three ghostly deer merely bounded by in a line, tearing through the brake.
He glanced over questioningly at Adriano through the semidarkness, sweat trickling down his cheek. The other man shook his head, indicating that he saw nothing so far.
Rafe realized Orlando’s black clothing would help him blend all the more easily into the growing shadows.
They pressed on.
Time had lost all meaning in the riveting tension, so Rafe did not know how long they had been hunting Orlando when suddenly two gunshots roared from some distance away and there was a shout. Immediately Rafe and Adriano drove their heels into their horses’ sides, sending the animals lunging forward through the undergrowth.
Another shot boomed, its echo rippling across the hillside.
Rafe prayed it was Niccolo doing the shooting. But when he and Adriano burst into a small grove by a stream, they found Nic flattened on his back. He tried to sit up as they jumped down from the horses and ran to him. Rafe swallowed hard, seeing the dark stain spreading across the front of Nic’s brown waistcoat.
“He dropped out of the trees,” he gasped out, his eyes round, his face ghastly white. “He ran! He could be anywhere.”
“Don’t try to talk.” Rafe quickly took off his coat, covering Nic with it. He ripped off his cravat and used it to try to stanch the flow. “Where’s Elan?”
Shaking violently, Nic whispered, “I don’t know. His horse threw him.” He began to choke.
Rafe pulled him up to a sitting position. Nic leaned weakly against Adriano.
“Stay with him,” Rafe ordered.
Adriano nodded as Rafe swept to his feet and scanned the grove. He drew his sword and thrust his way into the brake in cold fury. There was a place where the twigs were crushed and broken. Elan’s spooked horse had probably forged the path.
“Elan!” He sliced vengefully through a mound of thorns, casting an enraged glance up at the branches overhead. “You savage,” he said under his breath. “Elan!”
He dreaded what he might find. It was bad enough that the sarcastic, wisecracking Nic was down. Rafe refused to admit to himself that he knew Nic was going to die. He could only think that without Elan’s brains and steady, cautious nature to balance his own recklessness, he had no idea how he would go on.
“Elan! Answer me, damn you,” he added in barely a whisper.
“Rafe!” came the viscount’s thin cry from a small distance to the left.
“Elan! Where are you?” Rafe shouted, his heart pounding anew as he looked around frantically. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m here!”
Rafe whirled around as Elan picked his way through the thorns.
“Nic’s down, Rafe.”
“I know.” He saw that his friend was covered in cuts, his spectacles skewed, but he appeared to have sustained no serious wounds.
“My horse dashed. Orlando dropped right out of the trees in front of us and opened fire. He hit Nic. I think he only missed me because I was on his left.”
“Did you see which way he went?”
“Towards the citadel, I think.” He looked around, at a loss. “My horse is gone.”
“Forget the horse.” Gesturing to him, Rafe led the dazed viscount back to the grove.
Adriano glance
d up as they joined them. Seeing Elan, he let out a long breath of relief, then looked back down at Nic. “He’s unconscious.”
Rafe looked down bitterly at his friend’s wan face, etched with pain. Then, with his eyes narrowed and thunder in his heart, he scanned the tree line.
“Both of you, stay with Nic,” he said. “I’ll finish this.”
“You are out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you go after him by yourself,” Adriano said quietly. He looked up at Rafe with searing intensity from under his black forelock.
“It’s between him and me.”
“Rafe,” he said, “you don’t even know what Orlando is.”
“And you do?”
Adriano did not answer for a moment, a flash of guilty shame in his dark eyes which he quickly hid. “I have my suspicions,” he mumbled.
“What do you mean?” Elan asked him.
Adriano merely looked at the viscount, then stared at Rafe.
“Stay with Nic,” he repeated. “Those are my orders.” With that, Rafe walked away, the sword light and ready, humming in his hand for blood.
“Orlando!” he bellowed, his roar echoing in the deepening gloom.
Shoving branches aside with his sword, he marched on, too angry to feel the slightest fear.
The woods were growing thicker, more tangled.
Moments passed.
Rafe’s frustration escalated to rage. “Come out and stand!” he roared.
“What’s this? Does the king’s golden boy actually dare to fight me one on one? Man to man?” drawled a voice nearby.
Rafe whirled.
“Where’s your army, Prince Charming? It’s dark, and you’re all alone.” Orlando was leaning against the fat trunk of an oak, his arms folded over his chest, smirking coolly at him. “What an innocent you are.”
“Who are you?” Rafe demanded, bringing his sword up as he closed in on him warily.
Orlando merely smiled.
“Have you or have you not been poisoning my father?” Rafe ground out.
“Your father? Ah, you must mean the saintly King Lazar…that God-appointed shepherd of the flock who has never committed a sin, never cheated on his wife. You love your mama, don’t you, Rafie?”
“Answer my question,” he said through gritted teeth. “Have you or have you not poisoned the king?”
“Why, of course not, Rafe. You did. Just as you had your minions murder that useless young chef last night, before he could give away your plot. Don’t you remember?” Orlando smiled, his teeth flashing white in the dark. “What’s this? You look confused. Well, just ask Don Arturo. He knows the whole story.”
“I want plain answers! You are trying my mercy,” he said, bringing his sword up under Orlando’s chin.
The man flicked a contemptuous glance toward the blade, then sneered at him. “I don’t want your mercy, Rafe. Don’t you see? Your mercy only makes me hate you more. Such a gentleman. Such a prince. But your mercy cannot sound the depths of my hate.”
Shocked by his sheer venom, Rafe shook his head, holding the sword steady. “What did I ever do to you?”
“You were born, to start.”
“What did my father ever do, that you would poison him?” he demanded angrily.
Orlando laughed in soft bitterness, leaf shadows playing over his bruised face, so like Rafe’s own. “I was born, I suppose.”
Rafe stared at him, holding his breath. “Are you my brother, Orlando?”
“Merely your killer,” he answered, lifting a pistol into Rafe’s face.
Rafe threw himself forward, knocking Orlando’s arm upward as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew wild as Rafe bowled Orlando over. They landed in a heap at the wide base of the tree, tripping on the large gnarled roots. Drawing back with his grip wrapped around his sword hilt, he smashed his fist into Orlando’s face.
It did not knock him out, as Rafe had hoped, but it unbalanced him.
His chest heaving, Rafe stepped back, wielding his sword in both hands now. “Get up,” he growled.
Orlando held up his empty hands. “Are you going to strike me down, Your Highness? You can see I’ve no weapon.”
“Draw your sword.”
“What’s this? Does the gallant prince wish to duel?”
“Draw your sword, you coward!”
Orlando stared at him. “You’d better think twice about this, Rafie, because if I had you in this position, I would not for an instant hesitate.”
“I already know you don’t fight fair. Now stand,” he snarled.
“Very well, very well.” Orlando climbed to his feet, dusting himself off, chuckling. “But know that after I kill you, coz, I shall take for my prize the fair Daniela’s maidenhead.”
In answer, Rafe lunged viciously just as Orlando slid his saber from its sheath with a sinister whisper of metal. Their fight was wild. They engaged, then Rafe flung him back.
“How is it you still haven’t managed to bed your own wife, Rafe? Ladies’ man like you,” Orlando taunted him.
“You should see yourself,” Rafe answered with a disgusted smile. “You are truly…pitiful.”
“Doesn’t she fancy you?”
“Oh, I think she fancies me plenty,” Rafe said, slicing with his blade, his smile widening wolfishly.
Orlando sneered. “Since when?”
“Last night,” he replied smugly, edging closer.
Orlando froze for a moment. “Do you mean to say the little bitch finally let you mount her?”
Rafe’s fury flared anew at the insult to his wife, but he quickly checked it. Losing his temper would only give his foe the advantage. “Why, Your Grace,” he answered coolly, “a gentleman never discusses such things.”
Orlando grimaced with ugly fury and charged with renewed force.
Metal met metal, shearing sparks.
The clash of their swords rang through the woods, blow after blow, both men seeking blood. Then they circled, having tested the bounds of each other’s skills. The tips of the two blades danced in lethal opposition, weaving small rings in the air around each other, as each man tried to deceive the other into leaving himself open.
Orlando’s sword suddenly darted at Rafe in a straight thrust at his breast. Rafe smoothly passed his blade under the oncoming sword, deflecting it with the forte.
With timing honed in endless practice, Rafe saw the withdrawal of his enemy’s blade and sensed the start of his covering action. He lunged. The lightning-fast riposte drove past Orlando’s defending blade, biting deeply into the man’s right shoulder until it struck bone. Orlando roared like a wounded beast, falling down on one knee in agony.
Rafe pulled back from the thrust with a barbaric growl of satisfaction. Orlando glanced down at his wound.
“Yield,” Rafe ground out, his chest heaving as he held Orlando at bay. He longed for recompense for Nic, but he checked his vengeance. Orlando had much more to answer for.
Staring down at his wound, Orlando slowly lifted his head, his eyes nearly red with rage. “I will never yield to you.” He supported his faltering right-hand grip with his left and spoke in a voice from hell. “I’m used to pain. You’re not.” He staggered to his feet. “But you soon will be.”
Orlando attacked again, drawing on a strength that Rafe could only guess came from demonic hatred. Still, Rafe was expert enough a swordsman to parry every ferocious thrust and swing of the razor-sharp blade—until his heel caught on the oak’s swollen, gnarled branches.
It was just enough to knock him off balance. Immediately Orlando lunged. Rafe allowed himself to fall to escape the blow, but to his horror, he lost his grip on his saber in the instinctive response to catch himself, breaking his fall with his right hand.
He reached frantically for his sword, feeling the shadow of Orlando’s blade above him, poised to deliver his death blow.
“Goodnight, sweet prince,” Orlando said with a leering grin.
“Don’t move.”
There was a click. The
sound of a pistol being cocked pierced the silence.
Grasping his sword, Rafe looked up and saw that Adriano had come out of nowhere and was standing with his pistol resting against Orlando’s temple.
Rafe sprang to his feet and wrenched the sword out of Orlando’s hands, throwing it aside. “Good timing, di Tadzio.”
“Don’t mention it, Rafe.” Adriano held his ground unflinchingly.
With Adriano’s gun to his head, Orlando began to laugh with a sneer. “Well, well, if it isn’t the prince’s pretty bitch-boy.”
Adriano thrust the gun against Orlando’s cheek. “Let me kill him, Rafe. You don’t need him. Let me kill him for Nic and those men back in the field.”
“I think somebody’s nervous,” Orlando chided in a singsong voice as he slid a glance casually from Adriano to Rafe. “What’s the matter, love? Do you think your friend would find the truth about you a bit hard to, shall we say, swallow?”
“Rafe.” Adriano gulped. His dark eyes were wild, desperate. “Don’t listen to him.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Rafe muttered gruffly, lifting his sword toward Orlando. “Turn around and walk with your hands behind your head.”
“But wait, coz,” Orlando said, “I think there’s something you should know about your little friend di Tadzio. You see, there’s a compartment in Chloe’s bedroom with a peephole in the wall—”
“You’re a liar!” Adriano shouted savagely. “Don’t listen to him! Don’t listen to his filthy lies!”
“—and from there, your pretty boy watches you screwing Chloe. She lets him watch. Every actress loves an audience, you know—”
Rafe was frozen in midmotion, completely taken aback.
“No, I didn’t! I would never do that!” Adriano all but screamed.
For an excruciating moment, Rafe could not bring himself to look at his friend. He stared at nothing, then abruptly shook off Orlando’s accusation.
It was of no consequence whatsoever at the moment.
“Shut up, Orlando,” he said. “You’re a snake, all right, but you’re not slippery enough to get out of this. Ignore him, di Tadzio.”
“Let me pull the trigger on this son of a bitch, Rafe. He deserves it. You know he does,” Adriano said through gritted teeth.
“Calm down,” Rafe ordered him curtly as Orlando laughed.
Gaelen Foley Page 30
