LINDSEY Johanna - Heart of Warrior Read online

  “What?

  “Corth II has arrived and turned off the interference, though not very diplomatically,” Martha complained. “I’ll have to talk to him about threatening to break people who don’t want to cooperate with him, and leaving stunned bodies all over the place. We’re going to have to wrap this up, kiddo. We’ve got about an hour before those stuns wear off and all hell breaks loose around here.”

  Dalden grinned. “I will have to thank him for releasing me from your restraints.”

  “If I don’t fry his circuits first,” Martha mumbled. “But all systems are back in full operation‑on our end. And those cameramen coming into the building haven’t realized yet that they’ve been disconnected from making a live broadcast. So it was the media transmission equipment causing‑Jorran is coming out. Show time.”

  “Show time?”

  “Time for you to do your thing, warrior.”

  Quite a few people were coming out of the mayor’s reception room. Dalden saw none of them until he saw Brittany and that she was all right. Jorran followed her. He looked harmless wearing local clothes, rather than his royal garb, but Dalden knew just how dangerous he could be, especially if he had a razor sword tucked into the pocket of his suit. Would he feel the need for a weapon here, or assume that the Altering Rod was all the weapon he needed?

  At least a dozen people had come out, including the mayor. “How many are Jorran’s people?” Dalden asked.

  “Three of them,” Martha replied. “The others with them are on the mayor’s staff, though probables say they’ve all been altered. Your main concern will be avoiding any rods pointed your way.”

  “I win have you to counter any suggestions that halt me, as Brock did for us on Sunder when we were told to forget my sister.”

  “That will work, but it requires time for the correcting speech to be said, time in which weapons can be used against you. Avoid the damn rods!”

  “This might help,” Corth II said as he sauntered up to join them. “The emergency essentials Martha called for, just in case the interference didn’t get turned off. Not exactly needed now‑except for the confidence gained in having the right equipment at hand.

  The right equipment in this case was Dalden’s own sword and his intricately carved arm shields. Martha was mumbling about creating spectacles, but Dalden had gone into ignore‑Martha mode as he stripped off his shirt and strapped on the Toreno steel arm shields that wrapped about his forearms from elbow to wrist. They were his only protection, but then not much more was needed with a four‑foot sword in hand. Droda, it felt good clasping his fingers around that hilt again.

  “I owe you,” Dalden told the android.

  “Yes, you do, big‑time.” Corth II grinned at him. “Just keep that in mind the next time I flirt with your beautiful lifemate.”

  That got him a scowl, but Martha wasn’t done, and suggested in reasonable tones, “You could at least make an effort to conceal that ridiculously long instrument of death until you get close enough to Jorran to use it.”

  “Martha is too cautious where her owner’s children are concerned,” Corth II pointed out, more as a reminder for Martha, since Dalden already knew it from firsthand experience. “She cannot be faulted for that. It is against her basic programming to allow

  anything to cause Tedra distress if she can prevent it. But now that the target has been located, there is no reason not to capture him with no holds barred. I’ll keep others from interfering.”

  “No more stunning unless absolutely necessary,” Martha warned Corth II.

  He just grinned cheekily and replied, “I have the third confiscated rod.”

  “Then why didn’t you use it on those broadcast people outside?” “Because we needed a guaranteed time frame, which the stunning has given us. Rod suggestions could have been countered, the machines fixed that I disabled, the interference turned on again‑”

  “All right already, I get the farden point. Let’s wrap this up, children.

  Chapter Twenty‑six

  BRITTANY WAS NERVOUS AS ALL HELL, AND BEING AFRAID that it was obvious only increased it. She’d worn a pullover sweater today with her jeans, so she could conceal the Altering Rod up her sleeve for easy access. Since City Hall was air‑conditioned, she’d figured she’d be okay in the thick winter sweater and had been comfortable‑until she came face‑to‑face with Jorran. She was sweating now.

  How did she get herself into this mess? This was no longer just helping a man she’d flipped over locate a wacko foreign thief. That had seemed easy, something anyone could have done, adventurous even. These people were dangerous. She had little doubt that the fat man’s “dispose of ” was of the permanent sort. This was a play for power, serious power. With that kind of stake involved, they wouldn’t care who got hurt‑or died‑in the process.

  And where the hell was Dalden? One of the newspeople had told the mayor they were having camera trouble, that someone had pulled the plug on their connection, so it would be a few more minutes before they were ready for his speech. That speech was going to turn this town upside down if Dalden didn’t do something before Sullivan had a chance to speak.

  Or if she didn’t.

  What would be the chance of her using the rod she had up her sleeve on Jorran before one of his two bruiser bodyguards put her out of commission? She wouldn’t have to say much, just tell him to call this off, well, maybe also mention that he didn’t want to be mayor‑or president, maybe even suggest that he should go home.

  She was standing close enough to him to do it. He’d moved in front of her, was so close that the few extra inches he had on her was blocking a good portion of the room from her view. But then the rotund fellow named Alrid was standing Just as close to her at her back …

  God, should she take the chance, or wait and see if Dalden was in the crowd gathering behind the camerapeople? She peered over Jorran’s shoulder to get a better view of the room, hoping to spot the big guy, and caught her breath when she did. He was there and marching purposely toward the gathering in front of the mayor’s offices. But half naked and with a sword in his hand? A sword, for crying out loud?

  Jorran had seen him, too. Jorran was smiling, not at all confused by what he was seeing the way she was. They knew each other. That was apparent. Perhaps Jorran hadn’t noticed the sword yet.

  He turned to tell his men, “A Sha‑Ka’ani warrior among us, how interesting. Do not interfere. This is going to be my pleasure.”

  “Jorran, if there is one, there will be more.” There was distinct worry in Alrid’s voice, in his expression as well. “We should‑”

  “Enjoy the diversion,” Jorran cut in. “They are men, subject to the rods Just like any other, and will make excellent bodyguards for me after my empire is established. But this one’s family thwarted my plans. This one dies. The rest that we find, we will tame.”

  Such confidence went beyond mere bravery, it was certain knowledge of having a huge advantage. Brittany couldn’t see what that advantage might be. Jorran lacked the muscle, the height, the brawn to compete with someone of Dalden’s immense stature physically in close combat, which the sword Dalden held seemed to suggest he had in mind to do. How, then, did Jorran think to win without a gun or other long‑distance‑type weapon that could stop him before he was within arms’ reach? And he had no weapon of that sort …

  He had something. It was taken from the pocket of his coat before he shrugged out of it and tossed it at Alrid. A tube of some sort, it looked like, no more than six inches in length, grasped in his right hand. But it wasn’t pointed at Dalden, it was squeezed, which caused an extension to shoot out of it, a little more than three feet of shining metal that was so thin, it could barely be seen if viewed from the side.

  “What the hell is that?”

  She said it aloud. Alrid heard her and answered, “A razor sword, capable of slicing a man in half with little effort. The Sha‑Ka’ani is about to find that out.”

  Brittany blanched, and was
rendered nearly immobile by the accompanying weakness that spread through her limbs. Jorran had said it. Alrid had just confirmed it. The plan was to kill Dalden, not just stop him or use the rod on him.

  It was so utterly bizarre, that scene in the middle of City Hall. A bare‑chested giant in tight jeans and knee‑high boots with what looked like an old‑fashioned transistor radio hooked to his belt, a mammoth sword in hand. And what appeared to be no more than a simple businessman in tailored slacks, silk shirt, and tie, with something hooked to his belt as well, a round disk flat on the side facing him, the size of an orange‑and a sword so thin it couldn’t really be called a sword, was more like an exaggerated razor blade.

  It was no wonder everyone there was staring open‑mouthed, disbelieving. People just didn’t come into City Hall carrying

  swords and looking like they intended to use them. But then she noticed that one man was ignoring the two facing off in the center of the room. Corth II was there, and working his way around the side toward Jorran’s bodyguards.

  She came to life herself then, figured the tall though lean fellow was going to need help with the two bruisers, and she was the least likely to raise their suspicions. She started with Alrid, whom she needed to get past to reach the other two, touched his arm and told him he couldn’t move or speak. She did the same with one of the bodyguards, but wasn’t quick enough to reach the other before Corth II did.

  The bodyguard might look the stupid sort, but apparently he wasn’t. He recognized the threat to himself immediately and used his own rod on Corth II. Brittany was close enough to hear Martha’s son say, “Sorry, big guy, but those don’t work on me,” before he grasped the offending hand touching him and, with absolutely no effort, broke it.

  She didn’t stop to wonder why Corth II was immune to the rods when no other man seemed to be. She was in active mode herself, and went ahead and used her rod on the bodyguard, telling him the same thing she had the other two, though she added for him, “You feel no pain.”

  Corth II chuckled at that, and told her, “You’re too soft, beautiful. “No, I’m just having a nervous breakdown,” she answered in an agitated tone, “since nothing going on here right now makes any sense.

  Others were beginning to be of the same opinion. The immobilizing initial shock had worn off, and now gasps, shouts, a general sense of panic were going on‑and the loud clash of metal. Brittany turned to see that Dalden and Jorran had engaged in combat, and the audience, not having believed it could possibly have come to that, was reacting normally, some backing away intent on getting the hell out of there, some calling for the police,

  the newspeople avidly watching, those with cameras shooting the fight.

  The people trying to leave the building were in for yet another surprise, no less equal to Brittany’s, though, when she

  noticed the exits to the building were presently blocked, The several men standing there keeping anyone from entering or leaving were just as tall as Dalden, just as brawny, just as barechested, golden‑skinned, golden‑haired‑actually, identical to Dalden except for their facial features, and with sword belts strapped to their hips. It was the identical part that gave her a clue. She didn’t know how they’d done it, but it had to be an illusion, those extra bodies, to make Jorran and his people think the odds had just been upped in favor of the Sba‑Ka’anis. She did what she could to alleviate some of the panic, working her way quickly through the crowd, repeating over and over, “It’s a local theater troupe, enjoy the performance, nothing to be alarmed about.” The spectators could now discount any blood they saw as fake. She wished she could as well. She had been deliberately avoiding looking out in the center of the room herself. She still heard the clash of metal on metal, knew they were still at it, but couldn’t bear to watch. She stopped by Corth to demand, “Why don’t you help him disarm Jorran and get it over with?”

  “He would dismantle me if I presumed to interfere in his personal fight,” Corth II replied. “Warriors are touchy about such

  things.

  “Dismantle?” she growled. “I’ll dismantle you myself if he gets hurt.

  A smile. “As long as there is life, he can be fully repaired.” What an odd way to say doctors could patch you up, if the

  wounds weren’t mortal. His lack of worry should have reassured her. It didn’t. And she finally looked toward the center of the room‑and wished she hadn’t. It was impossible to turn her eyes away now.

  Blood was splattered on the white floor, though not too much of it, and apparently just Jorran’s so far. There was a minor gash on his upper left arm that had cut the silk sleeve and left a red path in the material to his elbow. But most of the blood was conning from his nose and a cut on his cheek, which indicated that the flat of Dalden’s sword might have smashed against his face.

  Neither injury stopped the whirlwind motion of Jorran’s other arm, which held his weapon. It was nonstop, his efforts to slice into Dalden, and with such speed, it was fairly obvious the razor sword weighed next to nothing. But he was having no success yet, because Dalden’s arm shields, rather than his own sword, were constantly there to meet the razor blade and slide it off harmlessly to the side.

  Dalden was also using his own weapon, Just not as one might expect. When Jorran extended his reach too far in his impatience to inflict damage, Dalden grasped Jorran’s right wrist to prevent another swing and slammed his own sword against a vulnerable spot, but with the flat of his blade, not the edge. He could have disarmed him. He could have killed him. He cracked ribs and broke noses instead.

  “He’s just playing with him,” Brittany said aloud, some annoyance now mixed in with her worry.

  “Yes,” Corth II agreed.

  “But Jorran isn’t.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “Then why take the chance that Jorran Will get lucky?” she demanded.

  “Because he’s a warrior.”

  “So instead of getting the job done by the easiest and quickest means possible, he’s got to do the macho thing instead? That’s positively medieval.”

  “Actually, barbaric would better describe it” was Corth II’s reply.

  It was said with that cheeky grin of his, as if it Were Some kind of inside Joke she should have grasped. She didn’t, and it made Brittany want to hit him, a barbaric impulse of her own. Was she the only one who could see the difference, that macho grandstanding was misplaced when life hung in the balance?

  Chapter Twenry‑seven

  THEY CAUTIOUSLY CIRCLED EACH OTHER FOR A FEW moments. Dalden allowed the break, which was what it was. Jorran was breathing heavily. Sweat beaded his brow, soaked the silk shirt under his armpits, down the center of his back and chest. It was hard work, trying to slice someone to bits. Dalden’s exertion so far had been minimal in comparison.

  “Surrender is an option you may want to consider,” Dalden remarked casually.

  “Are you offering to do so?” Jorran replied.

  “I am not the one losing.”

  “Nor am I.”

  “Are you not? Warriors learn from witnessing mistakes. Having seen the effectiveness of your razor sword, Falon and I both have trained to deflect it.”

  “Practice does not equate to a razor intent on your life,” Jorran smirked.

  “True. But nor does your own experience prepare you for a Sha‑Ka’ani warrior intent on yours.,,

  Jorran wasn’t expecting an aggressive move, when Dalden had shown him only defense thus far. Nor were his reflexes quick enough to avoid being lifted and tossed a dozen feet across the room.

  Dalden added when he came to stand over Jorran, “Your fight with Falon was not to the death, from his perspective. Have you realized yet, there is a difference?”

  This fight wasn’t going to be to the death either, if Dalden could help it, but Jorran didn’t need to know that‑yet. And he was furious now. The toss had rattled him. It was not something one did to High Kings, tossing them about like so much refuse. The resulting anger wa
s yet another point in Dalden’s favor.

  Jorran rolled away from him, went immediately on the offensive again. It was nearly a blur, the movement of that razor sword now.

  It was finally an effort to keep up with the raging razor. Good. The fight had been too easy up till then. And he didn’t want Falon, who was sure to be furious that it was not he facing Jorran here, to feel less able, because his previous fight with Jorran had not been as easy. Of course, Jorran’s advantage then was that Falon had tried to use his heavy sword, while Jorran’s weighed next to nothing. They knew now how to defeat a razor sword.

  The anger was Jorran’s downfall. The furious burst of energy it had produced brought him quickly to exhaustion. And the moment his swings slowed down, Dalden made his move to end it.

  Instead of just deflecting the next swing, he thrust it away from him, throwing Jorran off balance. In quick succession, he then smashed Jorran’s kneecap with the flat of his own sword, further unbalancing him, and while Jorran was absorbing the shock of that, Dalden disabled him completely by twisting his right arm behind his back until it broke.

  It was overkill. At almost anytime during the fight, he could

  have snatched the contamination shield and let Martha take over. There would have been no punishment in that, though, merely defeat. Jorran deserved more than that. Dalden now ripped the shield from Jorran’s belt and tossed it to Corth II, who smashed the metal in his hands as if it were a wad of paper. Only then did he let Jorran drop at his feet.

  “He is yours, Martha.”

  “N‑!” Jorran began to shout, but was gone before he could finish.

  “And no meditech for him,” Dalden instructed, ignoring the collective gasp that went up in the crowd when Jorran disappeared before their eyes.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” Martha agreed. “The slap on the wrist he’ll get when we take him home isn’t nearly enough for what he’s done.”