The Zenda Vendetta (TimeWars 4)

“I’ll ride to the castle directly from here,” said Finn.

“I’ll go with you,” said von Tarlenheim. “Two will be safer on the road than one.”

“All right, then,” Finn said. “Make speed, Sapt. It all depends on you now.”

“Your part is no less significant,” said Sapt. “Remember, above all else, the king must be protected.”

“If any harm comes to Rudolf,” Finn said, “it will be over my dead body.”

Sapt held out his hand. “You are the most gallant gentleman I’ve ever known, Rassendyll. God go with you.”

He mounted his horse and galloped off at top speed through the streets.

“Heaven help us,” said von Tarlenheim. “It all rests with a mercenary, an imposter, a group of aging soldiers, and a young nobleman who’s quaking in his boots. Shamed as I am to admit it, I’m afraid.”

“There’s no shame in that,” said Finn.”You’re not afraid, though, are you?”

“Me? Fritz, my boy, I’m scared spitless. More than you will ever know.”

“Have… have you any loved ones?” Fritz said.

“No,” said Finn. “No one who would miss me very much.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Fritz.

Finn clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s ride.” They mounted their horses and galloped off into the night.

11

Andre came to in a small, cold, drafty room. She was tied down to a cot, her hands at her sides, her feet stretched out straight. Instinctively, she tested her bonds and found that she could barely move, only enough to keep the circulation going. The knots that she was tied with were seaman’s knots and they were quite secure. She could move her head to look around and when she did so, she saw him. He was seated some fifteen feet away from her, on the cot on the opposite side of the room, against the wall. He was tall and muscular, dressed in surplus black base fatigues that were standard base uniform issue to the Temporal Army Corps. He had thick, curly black hair and a handsome face that would have been almost Byronic except for the fact that it was striking rather than pretty, the effect heightened by the long scar upon his cheek. His brilliant green eyes watched her steadily, their gaze uncomfortably direct.

“Corporal Cross,” he said in a deep, mellifluous voice, “your position may not be very comfortable, but it was the best that I could do under the circumstances. I have also done what I could for your shoulder and I’ve given you something for the pain.”

“Why bother?” she said.

“Because whatever else I may be,” he said, “I am not a barbarian.”

She grimaced. “I’d say that was open to debate. Where am I? Where are the rest of your people?”

He smiled. “You can stop trying to activate your comset with your chin. I have removed it. As to where you are, you are in a turret atop the keep of Zenda Castle and besides myself, there is only Falcon. At the moment, I would imagine that she is at Michael Elphberg’s home in Strelsau, but she should be here before too long.”

“There are only two of you?”

“We are all that’s left,” he said, with a trace of bitterness. “However, our number should be quite sufficient to the task.”

“So you must be Drakov,” Andre said.

“He told you?”

“You mean your father?” She made a wry face. “Yes, he told me.”

Drakov sat silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “How does he speak of me?”

“How do you think? How should a father feel about a son who’s become a terrorist?”

“He hates me, then. Good.”

“Believe that, if you like. I imagine you need some sort of justification for what you do.”