Disclaimer: Can't believe its November already, do you think if I asked Santa Claus for the rights to TNT's The Last Ship for Christmas I'll get it? Nah, your right, I haven't been that good ; ) Also I don't own Anne Bishop's The Black Jewels Trilogy, I just love the books.
Chapter Ten
Wary of a run in with the ungrateful and dangerous landen of Tanamo, Tom chose the tavern of a smaller village at the edge of the bay for the meeting with the Ruskans. The nearest landen town was hours away on foot. Any army foolish enough to come by water would be spotted long before they posed a threat.
There was no sign of a Ruskan skiff or dingy on the dock when Tom and his landing party reached shore. Still they proceeded with caution to the sole tavern in the dead village. As a unit of six they cleared their way through the village. Quincy was the weakest link of their party, but as Rachel's formal escort and her friend, he had the right to hear what the Ruskans wanted Rachel for face-to-face.
It wasn't much of surprise to Tom when he sensed other Blood males in the tavern as his team approached. If Konstantin Ruskov really was their leader then he would've found a less direct route to the village and come early to throw them off their game. It was a strategy he'd used before and Tom had heard some about it from the few survivors of the Ruskan Admiral. When they entered the tavern and found Ruskov sitting at a table, tankard of ale in hand, Tom wasn't shocked at all.
Recognizing Ruskov wasn't hard. Even if the man hadn't been wearing his Red Jewel proudly against his dress uniform, Tom had seen his picture before and knew his face. Besides the other male was a Warlord Prince whose very presence challenged Tom's temper, as the lower ranking male though, Tom leashed his emotions and his desire to fight. Overall he was disappointed to learn Ruskov wasn't a ruse as he'd been hoping.
As his men and Quincy spread out to cover their half of the room, Tom approached Ruskov in an unchallenging manner, giving respect to the man's rank, but he refused to sit. Looking up at Tom towering over him, Ruskov sighed, but didn't stand.
"Good day Captain Chandler," Ruskov slurred his title, yet talked as if they were having afternoon tea and Tom fought his natural response to deck the man, that was what Ruskov wanted; "As you can see, I am whom I claimed to be. Now will you hand the Black Widow over? No, I suppose not. Well then, sit, let us talk this out. Do tell me, why the shields? Surely you do not believe we will attack you?"
The Admiral said it jokingly and a few of his men laughed, but Tom and his men remained silent. When they stopped, Tom gave Ruskov a measured look and his most diplomatic smile.
"The shields are a precaution against the plague, Prince."
"Ah that, well you have no reason to fear, no one on my ship is infected," Ruskov said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Still we'll keep out shields just to be safe," Tom replied.
He certainly wasn't going to trust the Ruskans with his men's lives or the knowledge of Rachel's infection test. Besides if it did come to a fight, Ruskov had more than enough power to snap through all of their shields without breaking a sweat, but that didn't mean they'd give up so easily.
"Fine, fine do what you want. To business then. My ship has blocked yours from leaving the bay. I alone hold the key to the mines and will not let you out until the Black Widow and her research are in my care. What is more, if you should try to fight your way out, my ship is carrying eight tangled bombs and I will use one on you if I must. But I am a reasonable man, give me what I want and I will let you and your crew go free. Yes?"
Tom schooled his expression as Ruskov talked. He didn't want the other man to have any idea of what he was thinking. But Mother Night, tangled bombs, there was no way Ruskov didn't know Tom was chilled to the bone at the thought of one much less eight of them.
Tangled bombs were the most dangerous weapons known to the Blood besides Warlord Princes. One tangled bomb could destroy a whole city, had destroyed one decades ago, in a matter of seconds. Made up of thirteen intricately linked tangled webs, a tangled bomb ripped through any shields it encountered, no matter how dark they were.
When the bomb reached its target, ship or city, it deployed the webs as a net. Then everyone within vicinity of the webs was plunged into the Twisted Kingdom when they activated. Not even Black Widows could fight the pull into madness. They were the only ones though with a chance of finding their way out of the dark roads of the Twisted Kingdom that lived inside the Blood.
"I understand you clearly Prince, but I have a better idea," Tom responded swiftly and confidently, nothing betraying his inner turmoil; "Why don't were work together? This plague is a danger to all Blood, pooling our resources we'll be able to do more, find the cure faster, and save thousands of lives it the process."
"A pretty speech Captain Chandler," Ruskov sneered; "But I think not. I know how you Amerikans work, promising to be allies and share the burden and the rewards. Then when progress is made, you take all the credit and the cure, leaving Ruska to die while you save those whom you decide worthy. That will not happen this time, not at all. This time Ruska will be the victor and Amerik will come begging of us. Yes, that is how it will be. So these are your choices Captain, your only choices: Give me the witch and live or keep her and die."
"Prince Ruskov," Quincy stepped forward, a slight waver in his voice; "I am the Lady's escort, the Black Widow that you want. Take me instead of her. She has shown me all she knows in case anything should happen to her. I can help you find the cure, so take me, not her."
It was a good bluff on Quincy's part, Tom thought. Unless it wasn't a bluff as Rachel's threat to the landen hadn't been. Either way it was a noble sacrifice on Rachel's behalf, her escort going beyond his duty to protect her from the Ruskans. It showed the caliber Quincy was made of, to defend Rachel the only way he had left. Too bad it was never going to work on Ruskov.
"A valiant offer that only a fool would accept. As I am many things, but not a fool, my answer remains the same. The witch before dawn or everyone on your ship will be dead before sunrise."
Then Ruskov rose, a short, unintimidating man without his Red Jewels and dangerous mind. With a signal to his men, they filed out of the tavern and headed for their hidden transport.
Tom waited until Ruskov was out of range before he snarled. One Warlord Prince to another he accepted the challenge to fight on the killing field. And even though he was no longer present, Ruskov knew it.
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The moment Tom returned to the Nathan James, Mike knew the meeting had been a bust and a fight was on the horizon. He'd expected as much. Whether or not they were really dealing with Warlord Prince Konstantin Ruskov didn't matter, though Mike would certainly ask later. Devising a fight plan where they could actually win was the trickier part that came first.
Trickier still would be making the plan with the meddling witchling on the bridge and under their noses.
"Did you have any luck finding another exit?" Tom asked, joining Mike in watching the Ruskans.
"There are several rivers that empty into the bay, but none that will get us out of here," Alisha reported.
"There is also a small channel the Nathan James might fit through, but my depth charts say it's much too shallow," Mejia finished.
"Are we thinking of running?" Mike asked, irritated.
"Not a chance," Tom bit out; "But the mission comes first. The Nathan James needs to survive to complete the mission and it needs an exit strategy. The fight will happen on the Vyerni."
"Prince Chandler, would you please explain to me why you are talking of fighting?" Rachel asked politely, as if her question wasn't at all out of place.
"He wants you, we're not giving you to him," Tom was terse, more important matters on his mind than another row with the Black Widow.
"And he is Konstantin Ruskov, a Warlord Prince even Queens' fear with good reason and he has tangled bombs. Tell me something I don't know Prince, like how you intended to fight and win when the enemy has the upper hand?"
She asked it with such authority, as if she wasn't going to allow Tom and those who fought besides him to die while the Nathan James escaped. That was of course exactly what Tom was planning to do, Mike knew. Mike also didn't like how ostentatious the witchling was being, she was much too bossy for a Black Widow, Gray Jewels or not, and it was grating his nerves and Tom's too from the looks of it.
"We are not handing you over to the Ruskans."
"Good, because I don't want you to. I would like you to consider alternatives to the killing field where you die on a suicide mission though."
"Like what?"
As much as the witchling annoyed him at times, Mike had to admit watching her argue with Tom was very entertaining. Even in life and death situations, it was like watching a cat chase a mouse, and it was hard to tell who was who until the end.
"While there isn't near enough time for me create a tangled bomb, I am a Black Widow; subterfuge is a specialty of mine," Rachel left the implications resting in the air.
"Fine," Tom growled after a stare-down with Rachel; "I'll look into alternatives. First though, we need to look into that channel. Mason, call below decks, I want two divers in a submersible ASAP."
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The divers made it all the way out to the channel with no problems. On the bridge, Mike and Tom helped Mejia mark the depths as the team relayed the information back through the radio. Threads were too unsecure to use with the Ruskans so close, which left only the radios, so Rachel had added a Gray aural shield to them to be safe.
"Come again Officer Ramirez?" Tom asked when the divers were three-fourths of the way through.
"It looks like the Tanamoans were in the process of deepening the channel sir," Ramirez replied in the same disbelieving tone he'd used minutes before; "Once the Nathan James clears that last reef, the depths deepen to nearly sixty feet or more and go on as far as we can see. We'll continue measuring, but it looks like the work goes all the way through to the mouth."
"That's good to hear. Keep up the good work," Tom answered, then released the mic.
"Why would the Tanamoans have been deepening their channel?" Mike wondered.
"That's a good question, I'll ask Prince Tex when I have time," Tom replied; "Now that we know there is a viable outlet, do you have any ideas for an exit strategy?"
The "ones that will please the Lady" was left unsaid, but Mike heard it clearly and so did Rachel, based on her tight expression.
"I have a few," Mike decided to remain curt.
Not fighting went against his and Tom's very nature, especially when an enemy was another Warlord Prince. But they couldn't exactly refuse when a Gray Jeweled witch was threatening to fight them every step of the way. She wasn't actually breaking Protocol, but bending it very cleverly and to refuse her would dishonor the Old Ways. Mike just wanted to understand why she cared so much.
An hour later, Tom and Mike were having a disagreement on a spear thread about one idea of Tom's. The divers were on their way back to the Nathan James, mission complete, having determined the channel had been excavated the rest of the way to the mouth of the sea. Rachel was watching the Warlord Princes as if she knew exactly what they were arguing about and found it amusing, but didn't want to give that away.
"Mayday, mayday," the radio crackled to life, Ramirez panicking; "We're under fire!"
"What is your location, Team Bravo?" Mason radioed back.
All the line picked up was static.
"What was their last location?" Tom demanded and Mejia rattled off the coordinates.
They were too late. Mike felt it when he reached out along with Tom to offer his strength to the divers. The enemy had already drained their Jewels and burned their minds. Far below him on the Green, Mike could feel power rising, the dark of the Gray.
"Lady no," Tom ordered Rachel who looked at him in surprise; "Let me handle this."
A pause, a choice, and then a nod of consent; the power disappeared and Tom took charge.
"Ready a torpedo, I'll paint the target, fire on my command."
Journeyman Barker, their operations specialist on the bridge, relayed the command to munitions and psychically took charge of the torpedo.
"Paint it red," Tom called out seconds later.
Mike heard and sensed it as the Summer-sky laced torpedo of Sapphire strength launched from the Nathan James. Farther out, near where their men floated dead, Mike felt another set of minds cave under Tom's onslaught. Mike added his own fury to the mix when it came time to finish the kill.
"Captain Chandler," Ruskov boomed over the radio on the unsecure line; "Why have you attacked my men? Do you want to begin this fight already?"
"Your men paid the price for killing my men unprovoked," Tom snapped back.
"My men were under order to fire if they saw an escape attempt being made," Ruskov fought to return to a more neutral tone; "Were your men trying to find another exit Captain? I certainly hope not, because that simply will not do. I didn't think you would be so foolish as to search for escape. As you have seen, any endeavors to flee your ship or explore for exits will be met with death, this is your final warning."
"Will you at least allow me to collect my men's bodies?" Tom asked, he owed to the men and he didn't want Ruskov to suspect they'd been coming back from a mission instead of setting out on one.
"Fine, but you will be closely watched, any tricks and your lives are forfeit," Ruskov cut the line after his last warning.
"Mike, ready a retrieval team," Tom then turned to Rachel; "Lady, please go rest while we finalize our plans. I'll give you the details for your part later."
"As you wish, Prince."
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"Quincy what are you doing?" Rachel asked as she entered the workroom she was borrowing on the Nathan James.
Almost guiltily, Quincy shut the lid of the trunk that held the heavily spelled, enclosed samples of the plague. The samples she would need to test her healing brews on to find the right potency for a cure.
"I thought I'd check the spells for you, one less thing for you to worry about while crafting the supplies the Captain asks for," and then Quincy narrowed his eyes, which always signaled he was about to get bossy; "You're supposed to be eating dinner, what are you doing here?"
"I came to make myself a brew," Rachel replied, heading towards the chest were she kept an assortment of brews.
"What kind of brew?" Quincy blocked her path; "Not the one that puts off your moontime."
"So what if it is?" Rachel started to get riled up at this challenge in his stance.
"Mother Night, you've already taken it three times on this bloody mission Rachel, you can't take it again."
"I will if I have to, if that's the price for finding the Primora."
"And if you do that and the Primora isn't found, what will you do the next month? You know that with each successive use the potion's potency will decrease and the after-effects get worse," and Rachel snarled at him, but he drew the line and held his ground; "So what will you do when your moontime finally hits and you're waylaid for a week or longer? What if the Primora is found during that time? What use will you be then, Lady?"
Rachel wanted to snap at him, but couldn't. With that last word Quincy had turned the conversation from one of friendship to one of Protocol. So she reeled in her temper and addressed him in rigid court civility:
"I thank you for your concerns, Lord Tophet, and will take them into consideration," then she waited a beat, to let the mood of the conversation shift again before adding softly; "You know why I must."
"I know," Quincy said gently, placing a hand on Rachel's arm; "But I don't want you in that much pain, it hurts to see."
"I understand Quincy and I will think about it," Rachel gave his fingers a squeeze and he nodded in acquiesce, signaling an end to the conversation for the time being.
"What kind of brew did you come here to make?"
"A soothing brew for my stomach," Rachel answered truthfully and winced as Quincy went into fussing mode.
"Another one today? Have you been able to eat anything at all?
"You were there when I had breakfast, and yes I had midday. I had a small dinner just before I came here. I'm going to have that brew and then rest in my room for a bit before I meet the Captain," Rachel pacified him, recognizing this was one of those nights when she needed to give in to her protective male.
"I'll have a journeyman bring you a snack for before bed once we're in the clear."
"Quincy," Rachel put all her exasperation into his name, but it did no good.
"You've been losing weight, even the other men have noticed," which wasn't good as they might start fussing over her too; "I can always ask Lord Halsey to bring you something to eat."
Sweet Darkness, he wasn't fighting fair today.
"Fine, send your snack, I'll eat it," Rachel grumbled and shooed Quincy out of the room.
He gave her a tight lipped smile and a formal bow that would've left others wondering had they'd seen it. Then he was gone.
In the quiet solitude, Rachel started to make her brew. Then she stopped, replaying their conversation over again as the lingering psychic scents swirled around her. There was a scent of desperation and guilt in the air left by Quincy which didn't fit.
On a hunch, Rachel walked over to the containment trunk and opened it. A quick glance was all she needed to slam the lid shut, swearing under her breath. She made sure the containment spells were undisturbed and then she put a twisted lock of Gray and Sapphire on the trunk. Then she followed after the Purple Dusk Warlord.
Quincy, what are you up to?
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Tom had decided to join the journeyman- and apprentice-sailors for the evening meal. It gave him the chance to get to know the men and women who crewed with him better and allowed him to pick up on any dissention and fix it before it became a problem. It also let him give the crew a sense that despite the problems they faced, he knew what he was doing. As his normal liaison with the journeymen and apprentices, Hugh joined him to help put the crew at ease.
Everything was going well until Lord Tophet walked in. Attuned to the comings and goings of the personnel from the dining hall, Tom wasn't quite certain what had him honing in on Quincy the moment he entered. Trusting his instincts, Tom focused in on the Brytol Warlord as the Warlord Prince in him screamed danger.
There was nothing immediately hostile about the Purple Dusk Jeweled man; in fact he seemed mostly nervous. But there was something wrong, something off about the psychic scents Tom was getting from Quincy. Then Danny and Halsey entered the dining hall. The dog took one look at the Warlord, who was walking towards the kitchens, and started growling, his ears flat against his head.
Tom rose to the killing edge as he surged from his seat and moved to intercept Quincy in the center of the room. Hugh moved to back him up while Halsey and Danny blocked off Quincy's main route of escape. Two other Warlords and Miller helmed Quincy in from the sides while the rest of the males moved to guard the women and get them out of the hall. Quincy took it all in, trembling, as the room chilled with rage.
"Lord Tophet," Tom barked, issuing the challenge and demanding an answer.
"Stay away from me!" Quincy cried, calling in something to his hand.
*His smells are wrong,* Halsey growled, a bit of confusion coming across the thread.
Tom almost paused, to give the man a chance to explain, but then he saw what Quincy held in his hand. One of Rachel's plague samples. If released so close to the kitchens it would contaminate the food and endanger the whole crew. Tom called in his war blade, about to blast the enemy with his Jewels and follow that with a killing blow. Then Gray shields snapped into place around the enemy Warlord.
Tom snarled at that and then all the men snarled as Rachel forced her way into the room. Danny tried to block her, but Rachel shoved him out of the way with a Sapphire shield and cowed Halsey with a look. Tom would've moved to block her, but Quincy was in the way.
"Get out," he snarled at her.
"No," she snapped back and then focused her attention on Quincy; "What are you doing? Give that to me."
Breathing heavily, Tophet fell to his knees, pleadingly, before Rachel.
"They have them," Quincy sobbed, his entire body shaking.
"Who?" Rachel demanded.
Tom signaled the men as he came up with a plan to get Rachel out of the way, take out her shields, and deal with Tophet. A sharp glance from Rachel had him stepping back, for the moment, and being more discrete.
"Ruskans, they have Kelly and Ava. They're, they're holding them hostage on the Vyerni. They want you."
The room grew even more frigid at those words. Tom stalked closer to Quincy as Danny and Halsey moved to protect Rachel, who shoved them all back with a Gray shield.
"They wanted me to trade you for them. The Black Widow for my family, but I can't. I won't," now Quincy was begging, begging for something unspoken that Tom didn't understand.
But Rachel understood and grew rigid because of it. There was a tense moment as Rachel came to some decision. Then in two steps she crossed through her own shield and stood above Quincy.
"Do you serve Lord Tophet?" she asked invoking Protocol.
"I serve," Quincy responded, stilling, though tears streaked down his face.
"Then give me the carrier," she held out a hand.
Quincy handed over the plague and bowed his head as Rachel vanished it, but didn't remove her shields. Tom stood on the killing edge, trying to understand what was going on. Then Quincy murmured:
"Your will is my life."
A jolt went through Tom at those words. The Warlord probably hadn't meant for anyone but Rachel to hear. But those males who circled her shields heard and knew what those words meant.
Those were words of service, offered only to a Queen. Words that bound an honorable male, that promised he would never betray her. To offer such a pledge to anyone but a Queen went against everything the Blood stood for in this realm. Looking at Rachel's face though, Tom saw the words were not a smear on Protocol. He didn't understand how, but he was going to find out.
He stepped away from the killing edge and vanished his war blade. A new, hot anger began to replace the cold fury of the killing edge as he regarded Rachel. She looked back at him frigidly, wrapped tight in her shields until he snapped at the rest of the men to stand down. Then she dropped her shields and he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door.
"Miller, Green, escort Tophet to his room and keep him there," he ordered as people moved out of his way.
As he escorted Rachel to the formal court room, he heard Halsey say:
*Rachel is a Queen!*
And he growled. He would be having a word with Danny and Halsey after he dealt with the defiant witch in his grasp.
The moment he pushed Rachel into the room before him, he put the table between them. He had a feeling he was going to need the deterrent to stop himself from throttling her in the conversation to come. Hell's Fire, he needed the deterrent already.
Hugh followed in after them, taking up a position at the door, a sign that Rachel would not be leaving the room until the males decided to let her go. A few seconds later Mike slipped inside, his face a blank mask of courtesy, but underneath the same anger Tom felt burned, so he knew; Hugh had probably told him. And even Hugh simmered with the understanding that Rachel was a Queen, even if they didn't understand how, yet.
"I think Lady," Tom fought the urge to snarl at her, "that it is time you told us the whole truth, not just the bits and pieces you feel are relevant."
"I am a Queen and a natural Black Widow," Rachel confirmed that she was one of the rarest combinations of witches and warned the men to keep silent with her eyes; "It is because I am both that I saw the cure when my sisters saw only death. Lady Carmilla of Brytol refused to listen to me because I am a Black Widow. Her actions cost me precious time in finding the Primora. The Blood could not afford for me to waste any more time, time that would've been lost if I'd had to convince Queen Debra and every male in her Court to allow me on this ship as a Queen. I knew I had to be a part of this mission, so I found a way to hide my caste as a Queen and played out my ruse."
"And your First Circle just allowed this?" Mike growled.
"My Court was broken before I made the decision to come to Amerik," Rachel retorted hotly; "They had no say when I made my decision to hide my caste. Quincy was the only one who knew, he argued with me for days about it, but in the end he yielded."
A court could break from many reasons, but Rachel didn't seem keen to share why hers did. Tom needed to know, but not right then.
"Can you remove what's hiding your caste?" he asked; his voice calmer than he felt.
"I can, but not right now," Rachel replied, almost guiltily; "The web was difficult enough to create the first time, I need to keep it intact until I can make another and can finish copying down the spell. I will need time to do it all properly."
"It's too dangerous for you to remove it with the Ruskans here anyway," Hugh spoke, his quiet anger still simmering unlike Tom and Mike who were trying hard not to burst and yell.
"Then I will do it as soon as we are away," Rachel bowed to the males' request, understanding their need and placing her confidence in their skills to get her away; "I'm afraid your plans for dealing with the Ruskans will have to change, Princes. If Quincy is right and Prince Ruskov has his wife and daughter, then you need to rescue them."
"And why is that?" Tom growled, resisting the desire to dump her in her room and lock her in.
Everything in the dynamic of their relationship had changed now that he knew she was a Queen. He was duty-bound to listen to her, drawn to obey her, and consumed with the need to protect her. Ruskov's challenge to fight meant nothing now when a Queen's life was in danger. He and the crew would get her out of here, no matter the cost, and that was all that mattered. A Queen's safety came first, before any man's family.
"Quincy's daughter, Ava, is an adolescent Queen."
Hell's Fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. They'd gone from having no Queens to directly worry about, to having two out at sea and in danger in only a matter of minutes. And one of them was in the hands of the Ruskans. As if Tom's day couldn't get any better.
"I understand Lady," Tom replied as he started to rework his plan, his anger would have to wait; "If you are still up for it there are a few things I need you to make."