"That's it," said Drakkar. "A little muddy, but that'll settle. Out you go."
He grabbed her about the waist to hoist her from the watering hole.
She struggled to get out of his way as soon as she saw him reaching for her, but it did no good. He was behind and flanked her, and his movement brought them together abruptly. His arm crushed about her.
Her heart seemed to stop. Then she felt it beat once, ponderously. The feel of him this close took her back to the afternoon he'd rescued her, and she had ridden home in front of him, carried in his loose embrace.
Drakkar sloshed backward a step. "Shit. " he said. "So that's who you are."
They each slogged to a bank of the pond and pulled themselves out. Drakkar watched her with accusing blue eyes, his crest half-erect.
"What the hell are you doing out here? No," and he squeezed his eyes shut. "I thought you were someone Shankar had sent after to spy on me. I should have known, should have thought. You've been watching Stefan like a hawk after a chicken. Damn it! Why didn't I know!" He watched her again.
"Don't tell. Please." Alma took her hat off wearily. "I can't let them send me back."
"We've come too far," Drakkar said. "Anyone else know?"
She'd been careful and lucky. She shook her head. "No."
"Well. That's that, then. No spies at least. You came after Stefan, didn't you?"
"We're married." She spoke defiantly.
That mocking smile half-returned. "I heard it was in name only.'' He put his hand up as she stammered wordlessly in anger. "Save it. If I got involved every time my father fought with one of his wives. ..."
"Involved! Who asked you?"
"No one," he said somberly. "But I know and now I've got the burden of the secret. I'm to protect your back, remember?"
"And I yours. I'll do my job, okay?" She got to her feet. Water and mud dripped off her. The string of horses stamped and tossed their heads up and down, eager for water.
"I don't think it's wise to keep secrets from Sir Thomas," He stood as well. "Not to mention that this will probably set the whole camp on its ear.''
She stripped the tie rope off its anchor. "And why would that happen?" She led the horses down to drink as the foaming water reached the brim of the pond.
"Because you're a woman, stupid." Drakkar led his string of horses and mules over. The horses plunged their muzzles into the water. The mules were a bit more circumspect, their long ears going forward and back before they dipped for a drink.
"And what is that supposed to change?"
He grinned. "How we dig the latrines, for one thing."
Heat blazed across her face. "Don't do me any favors. No one knew anything around here and wouldn't have until I told Stefan."
"And when and what are you going to tell Stefan?"
"Well, I—I wanted to wait until I knew Sir Thomas couldn't send me back. And then . . . then ... I didn't know what to say." Her anger cooled suddenly. "I thought he would know me. 1 thought he would just look at me and know."
"I would have," Drakkar said softly. She looked up sharply, but he had turned away by then, fussing with one of his charges.
"What would you do?"
"Truth?"
"Yes."
Those dark, impossibly blue eyes looked at her across the water. "I'd be madder than hell to have my wife trailing after me, nagging me to come home. Embarrassed, in front of the other mappers and Sir Thomas."
"But I—"
"You're doing all the wrong things for ail the right reasons," he said.
"How can this be wrong?"
Drakkar made a noise in the back of his throat. Then, "He's got his pride, dammit. And so should you."
"What's pride got to do with it?"
He blinked in the late afternoon sun. "Everything. And nothing, I suppose, to you. But it would matter to Stefan."
Alma examined her hat for a moment. It did not seem possible that the Mojavan could know who she was and yet not know who she was. She said softly, "Neither of us have room for pride. We could not love or marry anyone else, even if we wanted to. I'm the girl your father started a war over."
"You're the—you're the one Charles Warden sent to the Vaults?"
"Stefan and I, yes. It's not my fault—it's nothing I asked for and I'd change it if I could."
His face had paled unnaturally. "Don't ask to change it," he said. "You've got the genetic background to bring us back. I remember when my father found out about you. He raved for days. So you and Stefan have this sacred obligation and you've come to remind him of it."
She could not tell him all of her shame, this arrogant prince who looked at her so strangely now. Her stomach felt hollow. "What else could I do?"
"Wait for him to come back. If it was me, I would. And if he doesn't . . . there's nothing you can do to make him come back.'' A mule lifted a sopping wet nose and pushed at him, setting him back on his heels. Drakkar rubbed its muzzle gently.
"I can't wait for him. It could be years."
A sadness drifted over Drakkar's expression and disappeared. "Then I guess you have to do what you have to do. I'll keep your secret—but if you take my advice, you'll at least let him have a taste of the adventure he came for."
She looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"
"Don't say anything until we've had a chance to look over the College Vaults. If you're dragging him back home to be a husband, it'll be his only chance to do something extraordinary. Trust me.
"He's a fool," Drakkar added suddenly, "if he doesn't go home with you." He gathered up his lead rope. "Come on. We've got five more shifts to water before dark. I won't be treating you any differently than I would anyone else."
"I don't expect you to. But," and she paused, gathering up her own line, "what do you want out of all this?"
"Want? Why should I want anything?" He frowned deeply. "Say it's out of the goodness of my heart. I do have a heart, only my father's physicians say it's misplaced. I'm a mutant, you know." He stalked past, his boots flinging off bits of mud and sand.
"Drakkar!" Alma called, and then stopped. His back was ramrod stiff and she knew he wouldn't listen. She hadn't meant to insult him. Was every word a woman said deliberately misconstrued by a male listener?
"Damn." She hurried after, certain he would give her the all mule and donkey line to water next and those donkeys could be difficult to deal with. Not much different than Stefan and Drakkar.
Chapter 15
Thomas saw Drakkar stomping out of the wash, jerking his string of horses and mules behind him. He leaned on his shovel, enjoying reading the body language of Denethan's son. While it was evident that Drakkar had Talents that no one else had and which should be used to the fullest good of the survey party, it was galling to watch him duck out on duties the other boys had no choice but to take. Drakkar had no chance in a poker game, he mused—his crest had flared up, betraying his emotions, and Thomas had only to wonder what had crossed the Mojavan. That he'd found water was evident, his riding clothes clinging damply to him.
Thomas idly saw Diego slogging after Drakkar, decided the boys had had an argument, looked him over and returned his thoughts to Drakkar. Then, as though he'd been hit, he looked back to Diego. His Intuition hit him like a wall of bricks. A man in anger has an unmistakable walk—and so does an angry woman. Startled by revelation, he bellowed without thought.
"Alma! What the hell are you doing here?"
Illuminated by firelight and protected by night shadow, Alma looked beautiful though she'd been crying. The girl had her hat off now, her short, jagged hair fluffed about her face. Thomas couldn't tell trail dirt from nut oil staining and didn't care. Alma's large eyes dominated her face and he was glad he could once again recognize the soul behind them.
He had separated them from the rest of the camp and the startled remarks of "Holy shit, Diego's a girl!" had finally died out and the boys were showing a considerable amount of interest in Bottom's jackrabbit stew. The clamor had
grown quieter the moment the girl had been identified as Alma. Muffled remarks drifting across the way now reached him as, "Shit, I knew it was Alma all the time."
Drakkar lay on the far side of the campfire, long legs stretched out in front of him, indolently crossed at the ankle, his arms folded across his chest, back propped against his saddle and gear. Thomas couldn't read his eyes. All he was being given was a well-chiseled profile.
Stefan hunkered down, setting off more sparks than the old dried logs and chips the fire used for fuel. His white-blond hair had spiked up when he'd run his hand through it in exasperation and the sweat had dried it that way. Thomas stifled a sigh. What he wanted here was a happy ending and it was patently obvious he wasn't going to get it.
Alma had been talking through muffled sobs. Her voice trailed off into silence. No one said anything for a few moments. Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but Stefan cut him off.
"I don't appreciate the interference," he said, looking at Blade. "You encouraged her to come even after we talked and I made it clear what I wanted to do."
"I had nothing to do with it. She just told you that only Lady knew she was leaving the Warden compound."
"Lady, you, you're both the same."
Thomas started to argue that vehemently and stopped. Instead, he said mildly, "If I had been planning to send you home to your wife, would I have groomed you for survey leader?''
Stefan's lip curled slightly as he answered, "You don't intend to let any of us go. We should have known that. Our blood is too valuable to the counties. You were going to let us go as far as the Vaults, tease us with stories of unexplored land, then rope us together and haul us back home."
Blade figured to hell with it. "I won't deny your value to the counties. Our population has never been high enough to lose good men. But this expedition was agreed upon, and you're going as far as you have the skill to get. Of course, it's going to be a little difficult riding with your head up your ass, but you might find a way."
Drakkar snickered.
Alma said, "Stefan, please. Nobody sent me. Nobody knew about me. I came because I—I couldn't see any other way to get you to come home." In spite of her speaking out, she cringed when Stefan glared her way.
"Get this straight. We don't have a home to go back to. We're not the perfect genetic pair anymore and I don't have to return to you. I'm sterile, Alma, and that gives me back my life."
Her mouth opened in a sad "o." Her eyes brimmed with another tear fall.
"We don't know that," Thomas said.
"I know it. I've been her husband for two years. Does she look pregnant to you? Look," and he surged to his feet. "Do what you want to with her. Just make sure birdman here keeps his hands off her.''
Drakkar turned about slowly to face him. He smiled. "You can't have it both ways, whitey."
Stefan's fists balled and then unclenched. He strode away from the fire and disappeared in the darkness fringing the encampment.
Alma buried her face in her hands. Thomas reached over. "He's hotheaded, always has been. He'll cool down. Let him think about it."
She looked up. She might have been all right, but Drakkar said, "How could you let him walk all over you like that?"
"Keep out of this," Blade snapped.
Drakkar got to his feet. He took his gloves off and slapped them against his thigh. "You should not," he said to Alma, "let others do your fighting for you." He looked at Blade. "I've got the horses to finish watering." He sauntered off without a backward look.
Alma dabbed at her eyes with the cuff of her shirt. She met Thomas' look. "He's right," she said. "First I went to Lady, then she went to you."
"It wasn't your fault. Stefan's been treated like a bull in a breeding pen. Neither of you needs that kind of pressure." Thomas stirred up the fire. "I'd like to leave you riding with Drakkar, if that's all right. He's the best man in a fight around here, outside of myself."
A sniffle. "All right. You're not sending me back?"
"You know I can't spare the manpower. You'll go back with me from the Vaults." Thomas stood. "I've ridden with Lady, so I'm not the kind to expect you wouldn't pull your own weight. Stay out of Stefan's way and let his temper run its course. He may change his mind after we've been through the Vaults."
Alma said nothing in reply. She sat, folded over as though she had received a mortal blow to the vitals. As Thomas strode away, he reflected that perhaps she had.
Thomas reined in. Harley came to a halt and snorted, blowing snot and foam through the air. The gelding showed his teeth at Stefan's mount as the young man answered Blade's signal to come forward and join him. The two horses leaned on one another and Stefan's mount threatened to cow-kick Harley until Stefan reined him away. It was definitely fall. The cool tinge of the late afternoon air made even these trail-weary horses dance about a bit.
Thomas looked across the Claremont-Montclair strip. They had just crossed the broad expanse of what had once been a major highway, an artery of the L. A. basin. It was more a hazard than a thoroughfare now. Huge gaps that could snap an unwary leg yawned in the road. Thomas breathed a sigh that he'd gotten the party across safely. Now he frowned at what worried him.
' 'What is it?'' Stefan asked. His tone was strictly business.
Blade indicated the broken cityscape, foothills rising behind it. "Because of the reservoir back in the hills, this is prime nester territory. Remember? We should be running into totems soon. Fetishes, at the least."
Stefan took off his hat, mopped his forehead with the back of his hand. "I didn't recognize the lay of the land," he said shortly.
Thomas hadn't expected him to. He'd been two years younger, greener, and in the company of a guard from the Vaults. "You wouldn't. We're coming at it from a different approach. But these streets are still territory, for all that." Blade sighed. "I don't like it."
"Where could they have gone?"
"Back into the Angeles Crest, maybe. More water back in there, after a long dry summer. Or. ..." He let his thoughts trail off. Would a nester nation still have clans marking individual territories? What was he facing in these foothills, answering the challenge the dean had sent him? "We may not see anything, but they know we're here." He eyed the sky overhead. Sparrows darted aimlessly over the cityscape. He watched a lone crow make its way north. "Stefan, I'm going to put you mostly in charge.".
"Where are you going?" The towhead's attention snapped toward him.
"Right here. But I'll be using some Talent and I'll need the backup to catch details I might be a little slow on."
Stefan nodded.
Thomas continued, "Tell Bottom to take your trail buddy, you're switching with him."
"All right."
He twisted in his saddle, looking toward the rear where Drakkar and Alma rode an informal drag. "And tell those two to keep up and stay alert."
His lips tightened, but Stefan nodded again, pivoted his horse and rode back.
Blade returned to surveying the cityscape and the foothills. Unless the nesters had one hell of a shaman, he thought, they would no longer be seeing what they thought they were seeing. Painstakingly he began to gather the elements of the illusion he wanted to project. He could not keep it up for more than the length of the ride, but that was all the time he needed. By nightfall, they'd be camping at the ruins of the College Vault.
The dean cupped his field glasses to his eyes. He blinked, vision doubling, his eyes watering. He adjusted the glasses with a muffled curse, knowing the signs of age and hating them. He scanned the city lines below.
He picked up Blade downslope, only Blade, in spite of nester intelligence that he'd come with a full party, and the dean didn't like that. If they'd split up, where were the rest of the riders? He had plans for all of them.
He shifted on the ground. Rocks and pebbles dug into his lean flanks. He enjoyed the sensation. It reminded him of his rejuvenation into vitality. Propped on his elbows, he eyed the sky instead, thinking of Ketchum and his tracker instinct.<
br />
Behind Blade for a block, maybe further, birds continued to be startled into the air.
With a dry laugh, the dean lowered his binoculars. How the mutant screened off his party, he couldn't begin to guess, but they were there, invisible, trailing behind him. He almost wished that, in the past when he'd had Blade in his labs, he'd done a little more thorough experimentation. He'd like to know how the trick was accomplished.
"I've got you," he said softly. He began to laugh again. He dug in for a long night.
Thomas reached out and touched the fetish hanging from a tortured branch of the live oak. Summer-dried leaves cupped and shivered in the evening breeze. The fetish was old, faded, as dried as the oak leaves beginning to drift groundward. No nester would leave a fetish as old as this hanging. A weak fetish meant a weak chieftain. Old and shriveled meant the power was gone as well.
The encampment was deserted, nothing to mark that a nester had ever claimed this reservoir basin except the bare spots where the shacks and tepees had rested. The basin had been abandoned a year, maybe two years ago. Who could be strong enough to drive or order nesters away from a water resource this constant and this pure?
Stefan shifted in his saddle. "The boys are hoping to go swimming if there's enough light and before it gets any colder," he said. "They're getting kind of rank."
Blade could use a bath as well. The reservoir was low, way down its banks and lapping onto a shore, but there was plenty of water for bathing and swimming. The mappers were tired and giddy—theyd come this far, to the first of their goals, and they could use a little celebration.
He turned on a boot heel. He felt as if he was being watched. Had been watched all day. Are you out there?
He got no answer. He rubbed the back of his neck. His Intuition was gone, having fled in fatigue, and there was nothing he could do but take precautions. He'd gotten them this far. He looked at the broken crown of what had once been a proud mountain. It would take the morning light to dig out an entrance. "All right," he said to Stefan. "But I want a double guard posted tonight. They're expecting us. Sooner or later, there's going to be trouble."
There was a whoop from many mouths at his reply. Thomas found himself blinking in a cloud of dust as riders thundered past him, to draw to a halt and leap headfirst from their saddles into the reservoir. Dinner would be late tonight.
Charles Ingrid - marked man 02 The Last Recall Page 15
