Choosers of the Slain

by John Ringo

  "Not good enough," Mike said. "Give me a day. One night."

  "Jesus, Mike," Nielson said but Mike could hear keys tapping. "Tomorrow looks best. I'll have to shift my flag down to the Keldara, though."

  "Block out three hours in the evening for all the Keldara," Mike said. "And everybody in the caravanserai gets locked down. If they have to come and go, they use the back door."

  "Will do," Nielson said. "What's this about?"

  "It's a Keldara thing," Mike said. "I'll get back to you." He turned back to Father Kulcyanov and shrugged. "Tomorrow night?"

  "Very well, Kildar," the elder said. "We will be prepared."

  "And while I enjoy talking to you," Mike said, holding out his hand, "I am also up to my eyeballs in work. And now I must finish it faster."

  "I will go and ensure that Lydia is prepared," Father Kulcyanov said, nodding.

  "I'm more worried about Oleg," Mike said after the door was closed.

  * * *

  "Mr. Bezhmel?"

  "Yes," the security specialist said, sitting down at the booth. He'd gotten a call from someone he occasionally did business with who had set up the meet in the Moscow hotel bar. No names as usual, which was just the way that the business worked. "You have the need of special security arrangements?"

  "I have information that you need," the man, an American, said in Russian. Then he smiled. "And a special security need. You've been investigating the attacks on Rozaje and the Club Dracul?"

  "Perhaps," Bezhmel said, shrugging.

  "It is known that you work with the Dejti clan," the man replied, smiling still. "So I'll take that as a yes. You might be interested to know that the next target is Lunari, probably the Club Aldaris. Their mission is to extract this girl," the man added, sliding a picture across the table. "Her name is Natalya. And possibly to capture the DVDs from the Rozaje villa. This wouldn't be good, would it?"

  "No," Bezhmel said, frowning. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because I'm your friend," the man replied, then laughed quietly and shook his head. "God, I crack myself up. No, the reason that I'm telling you is that I need this girl killed before they get their hands on her. And this man ..." he added, sliding another picture across the table along with a thick envelope. "No idea what name he'll be using but he'll be near Natalya. There is thirty thousand euros in there. If you kill both, there is another sixty thousand that will be forwarded to you. If you kill only one, that is your pay. If you kill neither ... I'll expect a full refund. There are other security specialists in the world."

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Mike looked in the mirror and grimaced.

  "I'm not sure about this," he said, shooting his lace cuffs nervously.

  Mike still wasn't sure about the whole "Kardane" thing. For one thing, he had a very hard time wrapping his head around Oleg being comfortable with it. But since he'd agreed, he decided that it needed to be right.

  Part of that was setting the mood. He could, of course, simply pick up Lydia in the Expedition, drive up to the caravanserai, have a good old time and then dump her back at her house. That, however, had far too "casual" a feel for what was an intensely important event. One point that Adams, of all people, had brought up was that the Rite of Kardane was a form of bonding between the Kildar and the Keldara; the Keldara, effectively, provided a maiden sacrifice and the Kildar, presumably, responded by being more closely bonded to the Keldara.

  The Right also provided genetic input. Anastasia had done some digging and found old records of the Kildars dating back to the Middle Ages. All of them had been "foreign" soldiers-of-fortune of one race or another, Kurd, Greek, German, French and even British. All of them had attained the position by being superior fighters and commanders. So if Nature had anything to do with culture, the "genetic input" of the Kildars, through the Rite of Kardane, had added to the warrior component of the Keldara, bit by bit over the years.

  But he still wasn't sure about his outfit.

  "I am," Anastasia replied, smiling. "If you're going to do something, do it right ..."

  "... Or don't do it at all," Mike said, sighing.

  According to the Keldara elders, the Rite of Kardane hadn't been practiced since the time of the Tzars. And the last "true" Kildar had been a German mercenary who had started off as an advisor to the Tzarist Army and eventually worked his way into the nobility and been deeded with the Keldara.

  Anastasia, traditionalist to the core, had pointed out that it would only be fitting to dress in a traditional, and formal, manner for the occasion. And she, again, had done the research.

  Which was why Mike was dressed in a dark-green, short-waisted velvet coat and a white silk ruffled shirt with matching, very tight, dark-green trousers. The knee-high riding boots completed the ensemble.

  "I feel like I ought to have a cap and ball pistol tucked in at my waist," Mike said, fiddling with the the lace at his collar. "You set?"

  "Very much so," Anastasia replied, straightening out the lace. "By the time you get back, I'll have gotten dressed and be gone. Speaking of which, it's just about sunset."

  "Right," Mike replied, pulling his jacket down to smooth out the wrinkles.

  "Time to go."

  * * *

  Petro held open the front door of the caravanserai as Mike strode through. Mike, despite trying to remain serious about what was, after all, a very serious event, could not help but play the bars from "Pomp and Circumstance" in his head as he strode down the stairs.

  Uncle Latif was holding the gelding by the mounting stand. Genadi had done a good job there. The gelding was an Orlov-Rostopchin "Russian Riding Horse," a breed dating back to 1845 and the premier riding horse of the Tzarist court. Flat black and about seventeen hands high, the beautifully proportioned gelding was trained for both dressage and "pleasure riding." According to Genadi, who it turned out had practiced in dressage at the university, he was both an easy ride and quite biddable with "a very smooth gait." The black leather saddle, with silver accoutrements, was almost invisible on the glossy horse's back.

  Mike, however, looked at the horse in trepidation. He hadn't ridden in years. He'd intended to get some refreshers in riding before he did this, but the current mission had taken up virtually all of his time.

  There was a smaller mare behind the gelding, a lead line running from her halter to the saddle of the gelding. The mare was a less common Braz Curly, a Russian warmblood that was a descendent of cavalry horses. "Gray" in horse terms, the mare was a beautiful, almost perfect, white, and her curly mane had been plaited with red ribbons. Despite being a warhorse descendent, the fourteen-hand mare was so placid as to appear drugged.

  The toughest part of the whole operation had turned out to be finding the sidesaddle. Two had eventually been ordered from a company in Germany, a severely plain "training" saddle for Lydia and a much more ornate one for the night of the ceremony.

  Mike looked the two horses over for a moment and then, realizing he was stalling, stepped up on the mounting stone, stuck his boot into stirrup, which was being held by Petro, and mounted.

  The saddle didn't budge. Then again, neither did the horse. No sidling, no shifting. It was like mounting a warm, furry, rock.

  Uncle Latif wordlessly handed him the reins and then stood back.

  "Good night, Kildar," the Keldara said, bowing.

  "Good night, Latif," Mike replied, settling in the seat. One thing that he did recall was that a horse wanted to know that the rider knew what he was doing. He took the reins in his left hand, gripped between two fingers and his thumb and slowly released pressure, giving a grip of his knees and a slight "click" with his tongue.

  The gelding automatically started walking, the mare following placidly, and Mike, just to be sure, walked them around the courtyard as the two Keldara went back into the caravanserai. He'd been clear that he did not want anyone seeing him trying out the horse.

  The velvet pants had a patch of suede on the butt and crotch and the first thing he
noticed was that the patch made for a very firm seat. He'd always ridden in jeans before, which tended to slide a bit, and he found this a much more reassuring ride. The horse was also responsive but not overly so. One circuit around the courtyard was enough to give him the surety to head down the road toward the Family's enclave.

  Actually, he sort of liked the outfit. Deep in Mike's scarred soul there was a peacock he vigorously suppressed; his normal mode of dress was jeans or shorts, depending on weather, and a T-shirt. For one thing, he really didn't feel he had the panache to carry off nice clothes. But when he had the chance to show off, he liked to. Hell, he even liked dress whites, which was something of a heresy among SEALs. He was pretty sure that didn't make him gay; he'd never had any interest in guys. But he was also sure that it wasn't something he was going to admit to Adams.

  There was no choice but to walk down the switchbacks; a canter would have been impossible at the corners and a trot was, for the time being, out of the question. Besides, it was simply safer for the horses to walk down a slope. So, despite the fact that he was running behind schedule he carefully walked down to the road and then, as he reached the relative flats, broke into a trot, then a canter.

  The gelding had an excellent canter, long, smooth and fast. However, looking back, he noticed that the mare was up at a gallop. Next time he needed better matched horses. Lydia had been riding, though. He'd have to ask her if she was comfortable with a gallop on the way back.

  As he pulled to a halt by the Mahona compound, the door was opened by Mother Mahona, the senior lady of the Family. Mike drew a little comfort from the fact that she had a sober but not unhappy expression on her face.

  One of the younger Keldara females was outside, waiting, and she took Mike's reins as the Kildar dismounted. Mike had insisted that the minimum necessary males be included in the ceremony. Mike straightened his jacket again and then marched over to the door, pausing at the entrance.

  "I request the privilege of entering the home of the Mahona," Mike said, pausing.

  "This roof is yours, Kildar," Father Mahona replied from within. "These walls are yours. This home is yours to enter."

  Mike nodded, secretly sighing in relief; everybody was remembering their lines.

  Mike walked in and looked around. The main room of the Keldara houses was usually packed with people; there was a bit of housing shortage among the Keldara that he kept meaning to rectify. However, at the moment the only persons present were Mother and Father Mahona, Father Jusev, the Orthodox priest from town, and Lydia.

  The latter was wearing a white silk dress edged in seed pearls that looked not at all like most wedding dresses. It was cut down the front to reveal a rather startling amount of cleavage, stopped well above the knees and was form-hugging all over. She also was wearing a pair of white high heels. Normally, riding in high heels was damned near impossible, but with a sidesaddle it was much simpler. The outfit was, by Keldara standards, scandalous. One of the reasons that nobody else was present.

  The girl was looking nervous but had the presence not to tug at the outfit as she awaited her lines.

  "I am come to take my rights as the Kildar," Mike said, sternly, looking Father Mahona in the eye.

  "The right of the Kildar is acknowleged by the Keldara and the Family Mahona," the elder replied, nodding. "The Kildar is reminded of his duty to the future family."

  "I acknowledge my duty," Mike said, turning to Father Jusev, the priest. "I have come to take my rights as the Kildar."

  "The right of the Kildar is acknowledged by the church," the priest said nervously. The fact was that the Orthodox church acknowledged no such thing. But Mike, despite the fact that he never attended, was the local parish's single largest contributor. Father Jusev was also aware that the Keldara weren't exactly Christian. Between the two facts, he wasn't about to stand in the way of the Rite of Kardane. "The Kildar is reminded of his duty of teaching," the priest added, swallowing nervously.

  "I acknowledge my duty," Mike said, turning to Mother Mahona. "I come to take my rights as Kildar." His tone in this case was much less stern, intentionally.

  "The right of the Kildar is acknowledged by the women of the Keldara," Mother Mahona said, smiling slightly. She was the only one who apparently found the ceremony humorous. "The Kildar is reminded of his duty of gentleness."

  "I acknowledge my duty," Mike said, gently, then turned to Lydia, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. "My lady, I am come to crave a boon of you, one night of gentleness. May I have my time as is my right?"

  "You may, Kildar," Lydia replied, nervously. "May you remember your duties in all things."

  "I shall," Mike said, standing up and taking her hand. "I shall return with this daughter of the Keldara when the sun rises," he said, looking at the three. "I shall render my duty as tradition fits and no shame is had in this Rite."

  "No shame, only duty," Father Mahona said.

  "No shame, only duty," the priest intoned.

  "No shame," Mother Mahona said, winking, "only pleasure."

  Now that was off the script.

  Lydia blushed scarlet but followed Mike out of the room.

  The young Keldara girl was still holding the horses when Mike came out. She had unclipped the lead-line and held both sets of reins. Mike first helped Lydia into the side-saddle, not that she needed much help, then mounted and took the reins.

  "Have fun," the girl said to Lydia, giggling, then ran around the side of the house.

  * * *

  Mike kept it down to a light canter up to the flats, then Lydia kicked her horse into a gallop and hit the first switchback at a run.

  The gelding snorted and took off after the mare and Mike, working hard to keep his seat, gave the horse his head. However, when he drew up behind Lydia's mare, he reined back slightly, letting the mare set the pace.

  After the first turn, which they took faster than Mike liked, the mare began to struggle and Lydia let her slow to a trot then a walk.

  "That was fun," Lydia said, smiling over at him.

  "Had you ridden before you started training?" Mike asked.

  "Just some bareback on the plow horses," Lydia said, shrugging. "Not like this," she added, gesturing at the sidesaddle.

  "Well, you've got a good seat," Mike said, smiling. "A better one than I do, to tell the truth."

  "But you've got the better horse," Lydia said, grinning back.

  Two of the girls from the harem were waiting when they reached the courtyard, both in "traditional" harem dress, including veils. They silently took the reins as first Mike, then Lydia, with Mike's hand in assistance, dismounted. Then they just as silently led the horses around to the stables.

  "Are you okay?" Mike asked as they stood in front of the doors of the caravanserai.

  "Yes," Lydia said distantly then turned to look at him. "I will admit that I am even eager." But her eyes had a shuttered look.

  "But?" Mike asked.

  "I worry about Oleg," Lydia admitted, turning back to the open doors. "Not for the long term, but for tonight."

  "So did I," Mike said, taking her arm and stepping towards the door.

  "Did?" Lydia asked.

  "Oleg is ... taken care of."

  * * *

  "Have another beer, Oleg," Sawn said, shaking his head. "And tell me what's been happening while we were gone."

  "Nothing much," Oleg said, taking the mug from the other team leader and looking at it. "Training and more training."

  "We'll need it soon enough," Padrek said, spitting through his teeth into the fire. "I've heard McKenzie muttering about this mission."

  The team leaders were gathered around their own bonfire, taking a night off from training. Ostensibly it was a break so the teams didn't get too worn down before the mission. But everybody knew what the real point was; get Oleg good and drunk. The young man was superficially prepared for temporarily losing "his" girl to the Kildar, but it had to hurt.

  "Hairy," Vil said, nodding. "But we'll g
et it done."

  "To getting it done," Sawn said, raising his mug. "Hammer it, Oleg."

  "I'm fine," Oleg said, sighing. "Just fine."

  "You won't be if you br— " Vil started to say as there was a jingle of bells from the darkness beyond the fire.

  All six team leaders looked towards the sound and then their eyes widened.

  The woman, whoever she was, was wearing a blue harem girl's dress, transparent pantaloons, bikini panties and a blue midriff top. Lining every hem were small bells and more were on her fingers and toes.

  The apparition moved sinuously into the firelight until she was sure she had the full attention of the group and then began to dance.

  Somewhere in the darkness, a drum was being played, a beat that matched the human heart, as the woman sinuously glided in front of the fire until she was opposite Oleg. Spinning, bending and writhing, she appeared to dance only for him to the beat of the drum, until it abruptly stopped.

  "The Kildar feared that you would be lonely this night," the woman said, huskily. "He has sent me for your pleasure and to teach you the arts of pleasuring a woman. I am for you this night, a proxy for your bride to be. Do you approve?" she asked, chuckling and kneeling down before him gracefully.

  Sawn looked at his friend, who was sitting on the log with his mouth open.

  "I think he does," Sawn said, grinning. "But you might have to give him a hand."

  "Then I will," Anastasia said, taking Oleg's hand and pulling him to his feet. "Gentlemen, I will return him in the morning."

  "Alive?" Vil asked.

  The chuckles followed the pair back into the darkness.

  * * *

  Mike led Lydia upstairs to his private suite of rooms. As they climbed the stairs he could tell she was getting more and more nervous and he noted, with almost a chuckle, her surprise and shock when she was led to the kitchen.

  "What, I'm supposed to cook, too?" Lydia asked, when she saw the food laid out on the counters and the pan on the stove.

  "Not at all," Mike said, seating her on a bar stool where she could watch the proceedings. There were two places already set at the bar along with an unlit candle and flowers. He pulled a champagne bottle, one of three, out a large bucket filled with ice and water and uncorked it. "You get to watch." He poured two glasses of the champagne and handed one to her. "Cheers."