“And these?” The commander indicated Haldred and his two comrades. One of them was still alive, huddled on the floor while a medic applied an anesthetic spray.
“If you’re willing to treat him, it would be seen as a gesture of goodwill,” Regis conceded. “As for him,” with a nod toward Haldred’s corpse, “I’ll inform his family.”
“With your permission, I’ll transport the bodies back to HQ. This will require an internal investigation. We will treat the remains with respect, and the families can claim them as soon as the forensic reports are done.”
Regis was in no mood to dispute such a sound plan.
With practiced efficiency, the Spaceforce team took charge of the wounded and the dead. Regis turned to the priest and issued a string of orders regarding the children. The cristoforo,visibly shaken by the turn of events, obeyed meekly. Soon nothing remained of the fight except bloodstains and the reek of charred flesh.
The Terran commander paused at the outer door. “I’m taking a big risk in trusting you to keep your word. How do I know you’ll punish those responsible? That you won’t exonerate them because they’re your own people?”
Regis glared at the man. “I have said it. I am Hastur.”
There it was, his word an unbreakable promise. It was a burden he would bear for all his days.
Something in his tone, his bearing, or perhaps his eyes, reached the Terran. The commander lowered his own gaze, nodded, and retreated back into the street.
Regis held out his hand to Ariel. She stared at him, eyes white-rimmed, mouth set in a tight line. Slowly she slipped her chill fingers into his. Now that the last traces of power had drained from him, Regis felt lightheaded, as if his bones belonged to someone else. He could not rest, not yet.
He lifted his gaze to the waiting children. “Come, little ones. It’s time to go home.”
33
They looked like a bunch of refugees, some of the children barefoot, others wrapped in oversized cloaks from the storerooms. Regis had worried about how the younger ones were going to walk all the way back to the Castle, but before long, he was able to hail a wagon half-filled with bales of unspun wool. The driver, an elderly, leather-skinned man, said it was no burden to his team to carry such little ones. He lifted the children one by one to perch on the soft bales. The younger ones giggled, as if this were a fine adventure. Ariel huddled beside Regis, clutching his hand.
When they arrived at the Castle gates, Regis dispatched a Guardsman to fetch Javanne. He dared not trust anyone else with the children, for fear of turning them over to Rinaldo’s agents.
A few minutes later, when the children were still clambering down from the wagon and thanking the driver, Javanne burst through the gate. Gabriel followed close behind. Ariel gave a piercing cry. Regis lifted the girl from the wagon and into her mother’s arms. Javanne pressed her daughter close, rocking her with exclamations of relief.
Gabriel caught Regis in a kinsman’s embrace. “You did it! I truly did not believe you could—but you freed them!”
“All is not well,” Regis said somberly. “The Legate’s son is badly injured and Haldred Ridenow—I’m afraid he’s dead. And a couple of other men, I don’t know their names.”
“Zandru’s demons! What happened?” Gabriel fixed on the blood-stained shirt. “Are you hurt?”
Shaking his head, Regis glanced toward the children, now clustered around Javanne. She’d put Ariel down and was herding the others together, clucking over their thinness and pallor like a mother barnfowl.
“Spaceforce sent a rescue party,” Regis lowered his voice. “They were armed with blasters. As you can imagine, the result was some nasty fighting. I’ll tell you more later. For now, we need to notify the families, and I must deal with my brother.”
“He’s in council with Lord Valdir and half a dozen others.”
Leave it to Gabriel, even when relieved of his command, to know the inner workings of the Castle.
“I can’t waste any time,” Regis said. “For all I know, Rinaldo’s already gotten word of what happened. Gabriel, I need your help.”
“You’ve got it. Regis . . . there will be Nine Hells to pay. You and I both know it.”
“That’s why this madness has to stop now, whatever it takes, before any more men die. Before we reach the point of no return with the Federation. Before there is too much anger, too much bloodshed, too much reason for retaliation.”
“Aye, that’s true,” Gabriel muttered. “Once the Terrananimpose martial law, they’ll never let go. We’ll become little more than a heavily armed spaceport.”
Once given a task, and with Ariel firmly in hand, Javanne regained her composure. She rattled off orders to a stream of servants. Within the hour, the children would be restored to their families. Knowing her, they would first be fed and properly clothed.
With Gabriel a half-pace behind, Regis stormed across the inner courtyard and into the main Castle. Servants and an occasional courtier scurried out of their way. Once a Guardsman began to intercept them but withdrew, bowing respectfully. Regis was not sure whether the man had recognized him or Gabriel as the former Commander, and he did not care.
As they approached Rinaldo’s council chamber, the Guardsman on duty outside the door held his ground. Gabriel stepped to the fore.
“Commander—” the Guardsman protested.
“Move aside, Esteban. That’s a direct order. One way or another, we’re going through that door. I don’t want to lose another good man to this idiocy.”
The Guardsman’s mouth dropped open. He let them pass. Gabriel knocked loudly and then, without waiting for a response, flung the door open.
The chamber was modest, once used for informal Comyn gatherings. A table had been set up in the center, with Rinaldo at the head. Maps and documents were laid out, along with a tray containing a carafe of wine, unwatered by its deep hue.
Rinaldo looked up sharply as Regis and Gabriel entered. To either side sat Valdir Ridenow, two courtiers from minor noble families, and the cristoforopriest who had conducted the conversions at Rinaldo’s court. Danilo stood a pace behind and to the side of Rinaldo, but the chair to Rinaldo’s right was conspicuously empty.
“Regis!” Rinaldo exclaimed. “Blessed saints, what has happened? Has there been an attempt on your life?”
“It’s not myblood.” Regis heard his own voice ringing through the chamber, then a terrible stillness, a waiting, an expectancy. Every head turned in his direction, some with expressions of amazement, others with dismay. Danilo shifted, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. Valdir’s eyes reflected the despair of a man confronted with his own worst fears.
Regis waited another heartbeat. “Some of this blood belonged to Haldred Ridenow. The man yousent to guard those children—children youabducted from their families against every principle of honor and decency!”
Several of the council cried out in protest. One started to rise. In a lightning move, Gabriel clamped one hand on the man’s shoulder and forced him back to his seat.
“I?” Rinaldo faltered. “I had nothing to do—”
“If this outrage was not carried out on your orders, then it was done behind your back, and you are still to blame!” Regis cut him off. It took all his discipline not to leap across the table and shake Rinaldo into sense.
“Do you think you can order men to do the things you are too squeamish to handle yourself and then deny all responsibility? Or that ignorance excuses incompetence? I tell you, if those who answer to you do evil without your leave, then you are doubly guilty, for you are responsible not only for their crimes but for your own blindness and your failure to stop them!”