Ghosts of Atlantis (Immortal Montero Book 3) Page 13

  A serving girl set a bowl in front of me filled with a thick porridge, and laid next to it a wedge of dark bread.

  Santella wanted me to apologize. He expected me to do so as a prelude to begging him for peace between us. It occurred to me that enraging him would be more fun.

  I picked up the spoon, sampled the gruel. “I made it my business.”

  His face clouded at my words, brows merging over narrowed eyes. “Are you aware that I very much wanted the girl to be my bride? I have waited ten years and she belongs to me.”

  “Karina could choose whomsoever she wished until her sixteenth birthday.”

  “And you asked for her hand two days before that.”

  I winked at him, continuing to play the buffoon. “Star-crossed lovers, perhaps.” I poured more beer into his goblet and mine. “Perhaps fate brought us together, eh?”

  The Count regarded me with fascinated loathing. “It seems I am not making myself clear.” He picked up my bowl, stood, and hurled it into the fireplace. Vazquez was obliged to duck as my breakfast flew over his head, and the young lieutenant to his right ended up with the remains of my porridge on his blue uniform tunic.

  I looked up at the Count, holding my spoon, a quizzical smile on my face.

  “You owe me restitution,” he said.

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  Vazquez coughed derisively. “The man is a fool, my lord.”

  Santella sat, his eyes never leaving mine. “Tell me, Señor, are you too dim to understand you have crossed my wishes?”

  “No, my lord,” I said, setting my utensil down.

  “Then you will understand that I must have remuneration.”

  “Remuneration? Ah!” I gave a jolly laugh, directing my smile at the men around the table. My pulse kicked up at the expressions of disbelief, disgust, and dumb hatred staring back. They thought me a clown. I reinforced the idea. That might make them a half-second slow.

  “I have never heard of paying a past suitor for one’s wife, but very well, Señor Count. I may be the better man, but I can be humble too, eh? I will happily pay you a small fortune in gold to allow me keep Karina Cruz as my wife. There! Will that do?”

  Santella and Captain Vazquez exchanged a frustrated glance.

  The offer of gold was an empty one. Only a blind man would walk into this situation believing he would walk out unharmed. I knew that my apparent failure to understand him, and therefore show the fear he wished to see, had infuriated him to the boiling point. At the outset, accepting a beating coupled with a promise to return Karina probably would have been sufficient to salve his ego.

  At this point, Santella wanted my head.

  “I see you are still a bit slow, Señor,” he said, frowning. “You do not have that reputation.”

  “Does this mean you accept my offer?” I asked.

  “Regrettably, no, though your money does interest me very much. This is a matter of personal honor, Señor, and—”

  “And now you must have bloody vengeance.”

  “You understand, then. If you’re not a fool, why come here?” he asked in a mystified voice.

  “I had hoped we could make an arrangement.”

  “Did you think it likely I would agree?”

  “Not at all.”

  “That was wise. And yet you came anyway. Why?”

  “It is my duty to warn you, Count Santella, that if you do not agree to my proposal, I will be forced to kill you and your men.”

  Someone rapped my head from behind. “Feels like a normal head,” a voice said to guffaws. “The kind that will split open if you hit it right.”

  Santella looked over my shoulder, shook his head. Another blow, this time to the back of my head, with something sharp. I felt a trickle of blood roll through my hair and into my collar.

  The Count sat up straight. “So how shall we satisfy your debt to me?” he asked.

  “Since you will not accept my gold, I assume a good hard beating won’t do, either.”

  “Quite. We are long past that point.”

  There were tiny creaks of wood stress as the men around the table shifted slightly on their chairs, the anticipation of violent action threading the atmosphere.

  Santella said, “Don Alejandro understands very well he still has an obligation to me.”

  “What have you done?” I scanned the table quickly. Santella on my left. The captain directly across, flanked by two lieutenants. Two men to my right.

  The Count toyed with his signet ring. “We did nothing to him. His daughter is visiting with her husband. In spite of my reputation, they also felt they could interfere in my business.”

  I cursed inwardly, knowing I had underestimated Santella. He had responded swiftly while I had spent a wedding night with Karina. Alejandro, Cassandra, and Cruz had not had any warning. I gazed into the Count’s eyes.

  “I hope your reaction was a mild one,” I said.

  “Oh, it was. No one was permanently injured…except perhaps the young man. I believe he lost a hand.”

  A loud laugh to the right, a thumping punch on my arm. The smell of sweat sharpened suddenly, sour and damp, the mood violently charged. Everyone was readying. My senses heightened to pre-battle clarity.

  “Who took the man’s hand?” I asked. My arm hung along my side as if numb from the soldier’s blow. The dagger up my sleeve slid into my palm.

  Santella gestured to the lieutenant on Vazquez’s right. The man smiled broadly, made a chopping motion with his hand. To laughter, he winked at me.

  With a quick flip, I pinned his winking eyelid permanently shut. For a moment everyone froze, mesmerized by the knife jutting from the man’s socket. In complete silence, the lieutenant groped at the haft before crashing onto his back.

  Lifting with neck-straining strength, I overturned the table into the faces of Vazquez and his remaining lieutenant, punched Santella on the side of the head. The Count sprawled off his chair.

  I yanked a stiletto out of my boot. Anticipating the soldier who had punched me, I skipped to my left as I turned. He plunged past, sword uselessly extended, the smile slipping from his face. When he realized his mistake and saw me coming for him, he let out a miserable scream. I jabbed his exposed side. He dropped when the blade punctured his heart. The haft tangled in his tunic and the knife was yanked out of my hand.

  A guard tossed a dagger at me before I could twist, injecting three inches of icy burn into my shoulder. Ripping the knife from my flesh, I flicked it back, burying it in the sender’s throat.

  Three soldiers down. Two left. Then Santella.

  I slid my sword from its scabbard.

  Captain Vazquez had stepped clear of the overturned table, his blade in his hand. His remaining lieutenant flanked him. Both moved toward me, angling to opposite sides.

  The Count had risen. He watched as his officers stalked me.

  The lieutenant lunged first. My vicious parry-riposte ended with my blade sliding into and out of his chest. As he crumpled, he grabbed my sword, pulling me down. I yanked it out, but before I could turn, the captain took the opportunity to attack from my right. With a deft lunge, Vazquez stabbed me in the side.

  Instead of retreating, I stepped inside his next attack, punched him in the neck. He staggered, brought his sword up defensively and blocked my thrust. I stepped over one of the dead guards. My foot caught on the man’s baldric. I stumbled. Vazquez slapped my rapier aside and jammed his sword into my chest.

  I went limp, slid off the blade, fell to the stone floor. The world blacked out for several moments before I came to my senses.

  Vazquez’s boots scraped on the stone floor as he stepped back, breathing heavily. “Filthy cabron!” His sword slashed, laying my cheek open.

  Consciousness drifted. A heavy kick to my head sent white hot pincers down my neck and spine, sparking sheet lightning across my skull.

  “The man must have been sick in the head!” Santella said. “Well done, Captain.”

  “What
do we do now?”

  Panting, Santella replied, “The puto killed four of our men! We ride to Tarragona with three hundred soldiers. I’m going to take the widow Montero in her husband’s bed. A good beating will straighten her out, and then we shall all have her. Then we burn down his estate.”

  “What about his gold?” Vazquez asked. “He is a wealthy man.”

  “We will take it if we can find it. How dare this man! He insults me then comes to me freely?” He kicked me in the back. “Carajo!”

  I’d had enough of being kicked and cut while down. Placing a firm hand on the floor, I pressed myself up and stood easily. My rapier flicked to the ready. The flesh of my cheek itched as the wound closed, emitting a golden glow.

  Vazquez’s eyes widened. He took a step back, made the sign of the cross. “Madre de Dios! Please, demon, leave me in peace.”

  Santella backed away, his expression mute terror. I pulled my knife out of the man lying at my feet and with a casual snap, flung it at the Count. The dagger thwacked into his thigh and he fell to his knees with a cry.

  I turned to Vazquez. “I have no quarrel with you, Captain.”

  He dropped his sword with a clatter. “I swear, I will never say anything about your existence. Ever.”

  “I know.” I lunged forward and drove my blade through his heart. “Perdóname, capitán. You would have told, because it is your duty.” He stared at me in dismayed shock before toppling into the fireplace, inert. His head banged against a flaming log. The smell of burning hair began to fill the room.

  Santella still clutched his rapier. His eyes bulged. Blood soaked his breeches where the knife protruded. Out of breath, he could only yell for help in a voice like a whisper.

  I kicked a chair out of the way and loomed over him.

  “You should have agreed to my proposal when I offered it, Count. However, since you rejected it. . .”

  He mouthed something, expression pleading.

  “I’m afraid we are past the negotiating stage,” I said. “This is where you pay for your poor judgment.”

  I raised my sword, held the pointed tip millimeters from his eye. “This is not for Karina,” I said. “This is for the two girls you terrorized and murdered.” I took a handful of damp hair.

  “Madre de Dios, no em facis això,” he whispered. Mother of God, don’t do this to me.

  “Please pay my respects to our Lord. Your fate before Him may be far worse than this.” I jammed the point of the sword into his retina, shoved. The blade crunched through the back of his skull. The Count shook with a series of de-escalating spasms before he slipped off the steel and pitched onto his back. His right heel thumped the ground twice.

  The stench of burning flesh filled the room. Vazquez’s head was aflame and his jacket had begun to smoke.

  Plucking my knife from Santella’s leg, I slid it into my boot and raced for the door. The fight had taken less than two minutes. So far, no one had raised the alarm. I dashed down the steps and across the compound, making it inside the visitor’s stables before any of the tower sentries spotted me.

  Perseus snapped his tail when I rushed toward him. I unwound his reins from the pole and led him outside.

  The same gate sentries were still on duty. Taciano smiled as I approached.

  “That was quick.” His gaze traveled my clothing and his expression turned suspicious. “What’s that? He has blood on him! What have you done?”

  Both guards reached for their swords. My dagger was already tumbling through the air. The blade pierced Zuniga’s throat and he dropped without a sound even as I rushed his partner. Taciano had his sword clear of the scabbard, but I was already on top of him while his blade still pointed uselessly toward the ground. He gave a cry of terror when he saw I was about to impale him. The sharp rapier pierced his chest, the steel sliding in with liquid ease. His eyelids fluttered. His shriek died with him. I shoved him into the guardhouse.

  Sheathing the sword, I retrieved my knife, replaced it in my boot.

  Two arrows banged into the ground in front of me.

  Shouts came from the watchtowers. Perseus skittered onto the drawbridge, startled by the violent action. I dashed toward him while arrows whistled through the air. One of them jammed into my shoulder, driving me the ground. I rolled, tearing it out with a roar. Leaping to my feet, I ran for Perseus, jumped into the saddle, and smacked the stallion on the rump. He charged forward, hooves clattering on the hard wood.

  An arrow whistled past my face. Another tore into my cheek and ripped away part of my upper lip. Two more slammed into my back. I screamed at the white-hot sear of my face coupled with the crunch against my spine. Reaching around, I tugged the shafts, pulling the heads from my flesh. The barbs ripped my skin, drawing another cry of agony from me as I hurled them away.

  Perseus and I pounded down the road. When we neared the edge of the forest where Esteban and Ramon waited, I whistled. My men burst from the trees and flanked me. I told them where we were going.

  Looking back, I saw that Santella’s men had only begun their pursuit. The three of us quickly disappeared from their view.

  We stopped at Alejandro’s, packed him and his belongings on a carriage, along with his staff, and my parents-in-law. Cruz’s right arm rested in a sling spattered with blood. I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Please forgive me,” I began, but he shook his head.

  “You did nothing wrong. Had you been here, they might have killed you. Tell me Karina is safe and this arm will hurt less.”

  “Karina is safe,” I told him and his wife, kissing them both on the cheek. “You will be with her soon, I promise.”

  Cruz’s gaze traveled my chest, noting the blood and holes. Though he looked puzzled, he said nothing.

  Alejandro plucked at my jacket. For once, I was thankful his eyesight had failed, and that he couldn’t see the damage to my clothes.

  “What about the future? Will we have to stay with you forever?”

  “Not at all, Don Alejandro. You are making a temporary visit on the occasion of your daughter’s wedding.” I gave the three of them an unsmiling look. “The future has been assured. On my honor, you will never again be bothered by Count Santella.”

  Señora Cruz embraced me, crying, and kissed me before they boarded.

  I gave the driver four gold dobla castellana, forty times his usual fare. “We will remain behind you to keep a watch on possible followers. Please do not fall asleep. If you travel to my estate in two days, I will pay you two more when I arrive.”

  “Yes, my Lord. I’ll get them there.” The carriage clattered away.

  After following them closely for four kilometers, Esteban, Ramon, and I slowed and walked our horses off the road to give them a rest. Our journey had taken us past three side roads. We waited thirty minutes to see if anyone followed. So far, no pursuers appeared. That was not surprising. Since no one knew who I was, Santella’s men would not know which direction to go or how far to continue the chase.

  We had escaped without loss of life on my side.

  Chapter 21

  Esteban and Ramon spoke in low voices. When I stared at them, they stood slightly apart.

  “What happened with the Count?” Esteban asked.

  I held the feed bag under Perseus’s nose. “He no longer represents a threat to us.”

  “How did you convince him?”

  “The only way possible.”

  Both men looked me over. The blood on my clothes showed clearly in the morning light.

  “You killed him?” Ramon asked.

  “In self-defense.”

  “But how…what about his guards?”

  “I was able to neutralize them.”

  They exchanged a glance, eyes filled with superstitious fear.

  “If any other man told me that, I would not believe him,” Esteban said. He reached over and plucked at the holes in my doublet. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had been stabbed.”

  I continued feeding
Perseus.

  “Turn around,” Esteban said.

  “No.”

  The two of them fell on me, each gripping an arm. Perseus shied away and his bag of oats fell to the ground.

  Esteban put his face close to mine. “How could you get out of there? Past his guards and the sentries at the gate? It’s impossible.” They twisted me so they could see my back, taking in the ragged holes the arrows must have left, blood staining the surrounding fabric.

  “Dios Mio.” Ramon’s voice vibrated with awe.

  Esteban sucked air through his mouth, his face slick with sweat. “This can’t be.”

  “Release me,” I said, voice low

  Ramon obeyed instantly, taking several unsteady steps back.

  Esteban kept a grip on my bicep. I did not attempt to pull away, only looked in his eyes.

  “Now,” I said.

  He pushed me away. Perseus snorted and returned to my side.

  “What are you?” Esteban asked.

  I curled my arm around Perseus’s head and pulled his cheek to mine. “A man. At least, I am human like you.”

  “No. Not like me.” His hand curled on the hilt of his sword. “How did you survive those wounds?”

  Ramon shook his head as if he did not want to know the answer.

  “That’s your blood, isn’t it?” Esteban pointed.

  “Some of it. Yes.”

  “You were stabbed?”

  “Yes.”

  “That rip is over your heart.”

  Ramon gave a low moan. I held a placating hand in his direction. “You have nothing to fear from me,” I told him.

  “Are you a demon?” Esteban’s hand remained tight on his sword.

  I deliberately shifted my gaze to his bunched fist. “You would attack me?”

  He blinked, glanced down, released his grip. “No, of course not. It’s just…” He looked at Ramon helplessly, spread his arms, palms out. “What is all this, Sebastian? What are you?”

  Releasing Perseus, I took each man by the arm.

  “Sit with me,” I said, pulling them down. Once we were on the soft grass, our knees touching, I took the dagger out of my boot. With a quick slash, I cut the back of my left hand, smarting at the sharp sting. Dark blood welled. Ramon grunted. After replacing the knife, I wiped at the line of blood so we could see the skin beneath.