Ryan, lying prone and watching out over the ville, reached out and grabbed Krysty’s hand. “Need you to stay here with the others while me and the boy go on ahead. Make sure we get welcomed instead of chased.”
“We’ll be here, lover.” The red-haired woman gave him a tight grin. “As far as sec guards go, these men haven’t impressed me.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “Be careful. Rebels aren’t always so brave close to home where they can’t hide their crimes.”
Ryan nodded, then crawled up beside Tarragon. “Let’s go.”
“Quietly,” the boy admonished. “These men know me by sight. If they see that you’re with me, it will mean death for both of us.”
Ryan followed the boy’s lead, crawling through the brush for another sixty yards, waiting until clouds scudded across the face of the moon. He breathed in through his nose, keeping his senses on edge as they headed across open territory.
“There.” The boy pointed at one of the small houses in the back of the row in front of Ryan. They’d made their way around a quarter of the cul-de-sac and were close enough to the stream that Ryan could hear the gurgling as it flowed over the rocky dam that had been built up to make a small reservoir.
The house was a single-story frame building. A narrow chimney stuck through the roof at an angle, belching a streamer of gray smoke across the dark sky. Like all the other homes, this one had a small garden in the back, as well as an even smaller fenced-in area occupied by a goat, chicken coops and rabbit hutches.
The waxed-paper windows glowed with the cheery warmth of oil lanterns. Occasionally shadows moved across them.
“Okay,” Ryan said. “Move out.”
Tarragon took the lead. Ryan followed him, hunkered down and carrying the Steyr in both hands. In seconds they were at the back door of the little home.
Ryan fell in beside the door with the assault rifle at the ready in front of him. Though the boy was certain he could trust the man inside, Ryan didn’t hold that belief.
The goat bleated a little, causing some of the other animals to shift and call out nervously.
Tarragon knocked quietly. “Cardamom,” the boy called softly, “it’s Tarragon.”
“Tarragon?” The man’s rough voice sounded querulous and doubting.
“Yes, sir,” Tarragon replied.
“I’d heard you were dead, boy.”
“Nearly was,” Tarragon said. “Pepper and his band killed Bean.”
The door opened slightly, and a thin, wizened man peered out. His eyes were close set, and his nose was a third again longer than it had any need of being. “I know they killed Bean, lad. Pepper brought that boy’s body back this morning, then burned it out in the open in front of his father and mother. Kept him from becoming part of Lugh Silverhand’s blessed cycle.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not to blame.” Cardamom laid a gentle hand on the shoulder of the boy, just then glancing up to see Ryan standing at the door. He didn’t look away as their eyes met.
“I shouldn’t have let Bean follow me,” Tarragon said.
“He was nearly as grown as you. Would have been nigh impossible for you to have stopped him, and him not wanting to be stopped. Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”
Ryan noticed the old man’s voice never shifted out of being friendly, but Cardamom also reached behind the door. Ryan figured it to be a knife or some kind of short sword. From what Tarragon had said, only Boldt’s sec people went armed with blasters.
“Ryan Cawdor,” the Celtic boy said. “He’s here to try to take back his friend. The Prince has her.”
“You’re referring to the black woman?” Cardamom asked.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “She’s still alive?”
“As of this afternoon, yes.” Cardamom kept his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Where’d you meet up with this man, Tarragon?”
Ryan could tell from the way the old man was gripping the boy that he was prepared to use him as a shield against any attack.
Quickly Tarragon related his adventures from the time Bean had been killed and how he’d ended up with Ryan and the companions in New London.