It took three minutes this time, but he loaded the bow again. She thought she saw him shiver, but he controlled it so quickly she couldn’t be sure.
This time when he fired, he staggered and nearly went down. Califa leapt to his side, steadying him.
“No more, Dax,” she said. She glanced at the tunnel. It went out of sight into darkness. She knew it had to be over fifteen feet now. An odd scent lingered in the air, an electric, burning odor she’d smelled once before, in the dank corridor of a prison.
“No more,” she repeated. “We’ll dig by hand if we have to, but you can’t fire that thing anymore.”
“No. Time. Air.”
She could barely hear him over the ringing in her ears. “Dax—”
He shook his head. He seemed to focus a little then. “Got to get out. They may . . . hear. Guess.”
She couldn’t deny that; the explosions were deafening in here, they must be at least audible outside. And they were running out of air in here; apparently he’d done a superb job of sealing the entrance.
He took another bolt from her. Moving slowly, he loaded it. Califa backed away.
God, she thought, as if only his God could help her now, what if I was wrong? What if it’s farther than I thought? He could die, for nothing. For a miscalculation.
The lightning flashed and the thunder cracked. Another five feet of ground vanished. And Dax went to his knees.
The warrior can die, the warrior can die, the warrior can die . . .
The words echoed through her mind in rhythm with the ringing of her ears. But Dax struggled to his feet. And fired again. And again. And the last time, when he went to his knees he dropped the bow.
“Load,” he gasped out.
“God, Dax, stop.” Sweat was pouring off him now, his face was as pale as her own, and his eyes were dark-circled and hollow looking.
Promise me that if you have to, you will take the boy and go. Get to the shuttle and get yourselves and Rina out of here.
He’d known. He’d known what he was going to do would probably kill him.
“Please, Dax, stop. You’re killing yourself.”
“Two. More.”
“You can’t—”
“Load!”
Trembling, she took the next to the last bolt and slid it down the groove as she’d seen him do too many times now. She notched the metal strand, startled at the amount of pull necessary; it took her both hands. Nothing happened. She made sure the bolt was up solidly against the metal casing. Still nothing.
Then, shakily, Dax held out his hand. She lifted the bow, amazed by its weight; he’d always carried and lifted it so easily. She placed it in his hand.
The bolt began to glow.
It happened slowly this time, the glow flickering a time or two in a way that made Califa bite her lip. But gradually it grew stronger. And brighter. Brighter even than before. As if he were pouring the last of his strength into it.
As if he were pouring his life into it.
He fired.
The burst of light and the roar of sound echoed back down the tunnel. The bow clattered to the ground.
And Dax collapsed at her feet.
With a cry of terror she knelt beside him. She rolled him over, cradling his head with her arms. She lifted him until his shoulders were across her lap. His head lolled back, frighteningly limp. Already he felt cold to her.
He looked waxen, his face pale and slack. The skin around his eyes stood out like bloody bruises. He wasn’t breathing, and Califa was afraid to feel for a pulse; she knew she would find none. He looked like a death mask of himself. She cradled him in her arms, and for the second time in two decades, she wept.
And then, on the tear-dampened skin of her face, she felt a cool breeze sweeping in from the tunnel.
“GIVE HIM THE bow back.”
Califa gulped back a sob and stared at the boy through eyes still blurry with tears. “Wha-at?”
“Give him the bow,” the boy repeated. He’d crept out of the corner shortly after Dax had collapsed. “The legend says even a dead flashbow warrior will rise again if you put his bow in his hand.”
A dead flashbow warrior. Califa felt a chill unlike any she’d ever known. God, she hated leaving him here, for the Coalition to find. But she couldn’t carry his body. Not through that tunnel, and all the way back to the shuttle.
But the boy was right; at least they would find him with the flashbow in his hands, so they would know who had truly stolen their other Triotian prize from them. She lifted the heavy bow and set it across his torso, then lifted his too cold, limp right hand to press it around the etched silver stock. Then she bent over him, stroking one last time the thick, dark mane of hair before pressing her lips to his, weeping once more as she felt the coolness of his skin, the slackness of his mouth.
“Oh, Dax, I wish—”
She wished a hundred things, none of them possible. But one thing was. She would finish this task he’d set for himself. She would take the Triotians, including this boy, home. And she wouldn’t leave Trios, no matter what Dare did, even if he wished to execute her, until they admitted that Dax hadn’t been to blame for anything except youthful folly and hot temper.
She kissed him again, wishing she could see those vividly green eyes just once more.
“Goodbye, my skypirate,” she whispered, then had to gulp back another sob at the realization that she would never hear him teasingly call her snowfox again.
It was a moment before she could bring herself to release her hold on him.
“We must go,” she said at last, easing his head to the ground as she slipped out from beneath him.
“No, something’s wrong,” the boy said. “He should come back.”
Califa bit back a sob. “He’s never coming back. We must go, so that what he’s done isn’t for nothing.”
The boy ignored her. “You have to load it,” he said suddenly. “That must be it.”
He looked at her expectantly. Why not, she thought, if it would make the boy happy. She searched the ground and found the last bolt where she’d dropped it when Dax had crumpled. Gently she slid it down the silver groove until it was seated against the metal casing. With a great effort, she notched the string. The boy nodded, then reached over to flip the lever on the bow. Nothing happened.
“Now we must go,” she said firmly, taking the boy’s hand. She pulled him toward Dax’s tunnel, feeling the cool breeze increasing as they got closer. She’d promised, she kept repeating to herself. He’d known this would happen, that’s why he’d made her promise. He’d trusted her to keep that promise, and keep it she would.
“It’s not right,” the boy said, staring up at her, his lips trembling now. “He shouldn’t die like that, he’s a flashbow warrior; they’re supposed to come back if you give them their bow—”
“It’s a legend,” Califa explained gently. “Sometimes, legends . . . aren’t what they appear.”
And who had known that better than Dax?
She stepped into the tunnel, barely having to bend over, so huge was the hole the flashbow had made. It was dark, but she had the feel of that blessed breeze to guide her. She tugged on the boy’s hand again.
“No, wait!”
Califa sighed. She knew nothing of dealing with children, and she couldn’t deal with a stubborn one, not now.
“Look!” he cried, yanking fiercely at her hand, pulling her back into the cell.
Dax still lay where he’d fallen. The bow still lay across his chest.
But the bolt was glowing.
Chapter 23
FOR THE FIRST time in her life, Califa knew she had been given something just for the wishing of it: Dax opened his eyes.
She didn’t understand. She didn’t care that she didn’t understand. S
he only knew that she was on the floor of this bedamned cell looking down into a pair of jade-colored eyes she’d thought closed forever. Slightly glazed eyes, it was true, but his pulse was steady if not particularly strong beneath her fingers, and his breathing regular if shallow. He was still ashen, and far too cold for her comfort, but he was undeniably alive.
“I told you,” the boy exulted.
“Yes,” Califa whispered, “yes, you did.”
At her voice some of the dazed look left his eyes. “Sn . . .” He tried again. “Snow . . . fox?”
“It’s all right, Dax. You did it; everything’s going to be all right.”
“I . . . did?”
“Blasted that tunnel right through to the other side,” the boy exclaimed. Clearly Dax’s heroics had done much to help him forget, for the moment, that they were still in his cell.
Dax’s eyes focused on her then. His brows furrowed, but only for a moment, as if it were too difficult for him to hold the forbidding expression.
“You were supposed to get out of here.”
“She was going to,” the boy explained. “When she thought you were dead. She was crying. I had to tell her to give you the bow back, so the legend could come true.”
Dax never shifted his gaze from her face as she cradled his head in her lap. “You thought I . . . ?”
“You were, Dax. You were limp and cold and I—”
“Cried? You cried . . . for me?”
His tone was so astonished she wanted to shake him. Then the absurdity of it hit her; he’d literally come back from the dead, and within minutes she wanted to shake him. Laughter welled up inside her and she surrendered to it helplessly.
“Is she all right?” the boy asked warily, staring at the woman who minutes ago had been weeping and was now laughing as if demented.
“I’m . . . not sure,” Dax said. Then, with a ghost of his old grin, “But then I never am.”
Califa managed to control herself, wiping at her eyes. Dax was serious now, as he lay looking up at her.
“How long was I . . . out?”
“I . . .” How long had he lain there, dead to anything in this world? She suppressed a shudder. “Five minutes? Perhaps ten,” she amended. It seemed like forever, she thought.
“You’ve got to get out of here. They’re liable to discover the tunnel . . .” He stopped, and turned his head toward the gaping hole as a gust of that breeze lifted his hair. “It . . . really worked, didn’t it?”
Califa froze. “You weren’t sure it would?”
“I knew it would, in theory, but . . . that many shots . . .”
“Tell me something, flashbow warrior,” she said conversationally, “has anyone else ever fired nine bolts in succession and survived?”
He looked suddenly wary, and she knew her tone hadn’t fooled him. His next words proved it. “I think I’m in trouble if I answer that.”
“What’s that noise?” The boy was cocking his head, listening.
After a moment Califa heard it, too, an odd sort of scraping coming from the front of what was left of the bunker.
“They’re digging!” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” Dax said grimly. “Now will you get out of here?”
“You’re right,” she said, grabbing his shoulders as she got to her knees, “we’d better get moving.”
“Califa—”
“Maybe they’ll be so occupied with getting in here they won’t be watching the perimeter. We can—”
“Califa, I’m not going anywhere.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“I can’t. I can hardly move.”
“I know you’re exhausted, but the shuttle’s only a half mile away—”
“It might as well be on Trios. I’d never make it. And if I try, you never would. Just give me the bow. If they make it in here, I’ll slow them down a little.”
Califa scrambled to her feet. Dax grunted when his head, abruptly deprived of the cushion of her thighs, thumped against the floor.
“You son of a Carelian slimehog! I didn’t realize what was happening before, that you knew that many shots would kill you. Well, listen to this, my fine flashbow warrior. Committing suicide on your own is one thing, but if you think I’m going to knowingly help you do it, you are demented!”
Dax blinked. The boy backed up a step.
“I went through your dying once; I’ll be damned to Hades if I’ll do it again. So you can just get yourself moving, oh infamous skypirate. And you’d better do it soon, or I’ll toast your ass with a disrupter for encouragement!”
There was a long, silent moment. Then, incredibly, Dax laughed. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Push me to it,” she offered, still glaring at him.
He looked suddenly thoughtful. “I suppose a comment along the lines of how incredible you are when you’re furious would get me toasted that much sooner?”
Califa felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but ignored it. “That,” she ground out, “I can promise you. Now are you moving, or do I have to—”
Dax held up his hands in defeat. “I’ll try,” he said, although he sounded doubtful. Then he glanced around the small cell and grimaced. “Not my idea of a good place to die, anyway.”
“Good. Now you—” She looked at the boy and suddenly realized something. Her tone softer, she spoke again. “I’m sorry, we never even asked your name.”
“It’s Denpar. My friends . . . used to call me Den.”
“Den,” Califa repeated, nodding. She lifted the flashbow from the floor. “Do you think you’re up to carrying this through the tunnel?”
The boy’s eyes lit up with an almost worshipful glow. “I’ll do it. I’ll carry it all the way, if you wish.”
“You may have to,” Califa said grimly as Dax battled to get to his feet.
He hadn’t, Califa soon realized, been exaggerating much. Every move was an effort that made her weary just to watch. Yet somehow she sensed that only her continual badgering was keeping him going.
“So crawl,” she snapped when he fell the first time in the tunnel. “You’re too tall to walk through it anyway.”
He crawled. And collapsed. And got back to his knees and crawled some more. And then went through it all again.
She let him rest for a moment when they reached the outside. She couldn’t resist the look of relief that spread across his face as he lay there, looking up at the night sky. Besides, she needed to reconnoiter the area anyway. She headed silently toward the commotion coming from the other side of the hill.
She was back in barely three minutes.
“Looks like every hand at the outpost is digging at that pile of rubble you left them. I think we’ll be all right, but we’ve got to get moving.”
Dax nodded. He’d quit talking a while ago, to conserve his breath, Califa thought.
“I should have arranged this sooner,” she said. “You’re a lot more cooperative this way.”
As she’d expected, he grimaced at her, his lip curling sarcastically. But he moved.
He made it to his feet again, but he was swaying dangerously. Califa quickly moved in to support him, and they started off, the boy following closely behind, cradling the silver bow in his arms as if it were the most precious of treasures. Which, since it had saved them, she supposed it was. But if they were spotted, the two disrupters would have to deal with it; she wasn’t about to let Dax get his hands on that bow to fire that remaining bolt. She was too certain it would be the last. Forever.
It was a long, torturous trek; the ground was uneven, tripping up the exhausted Dax at what seemed like every other step. Twice he gathered his breath to speak, and twice she silenced him before he could begin.
“Don’t even think it, skypirate. I don’t want nobilit
y from you, and I don’t want sacrifice. I just want your feet moving.”
She was rapidly becoming fatigued herself. Dax was a big man, and she was bearing a lot of his weight, although he tried hard to ease the load. The boy was beginning to waver, too; he’d been chained up a long time, and the flashbow was no slight weight for a thin, weakened boy.
Once Dax went down completely, a low groan her only warning. They were out of sight of the outpost, so she decided to take the risk of letting him rest for a few minutes. The boy sank wearily to the ground also, but he clung to his burden faithfully.
“We’re close, Den,” she assured him. “Not much longer.”
He nodded, as if he, too, had adopted Dax’s silence to save his breath. He was as tough as every other Triotian she’d met. She’d once thought peace brought softness, but these people were living proof otherwise. Perhaps, she thought, lifting her head to look at the stars, maintaining peace was even harder than fighting wars.
She wondered if Dax had been able to pick out the sparkling light that was Trios, when he’d first seen the sky again. She imagined that he had.
“Califa.” She turned to look at him. “I don’t think—”
She cut him off. “Good. When you do think, you make a mess of it.” This, of the man who, no matter what he said about her or Dare, had the best, most innovative tactical mind she’d ever known. She suppressed a smile. “If you’ve got enough breath to talk, then you’ve got enough to get moving. Up and walking, skypirate. You’ve got a job to finish.”
He groaned, but he rolled to his knees. Den had to help her get him up this time, and their progress was even slower. But at last she saw the rocky outcropping that marked the cleft.
She pondered for a moment, then decided the benefit would be worth the risk and reached for the comlink on Dax’s belt.
“Rina?”
“Califa? Thank God, I thought—”
“I know. Get the shuttle fired up and ready. We’re going to have to move fast, they may not be far behind us.”
“Dax?” The girl’s voice was shaky; she was obviously wondering why Califa was doing the talking, and fearing the worst.
The Skypirate Page 33
