“And the other half wouldn’t last long.” Krysty had her blaster leveled, just out of sight.
“More and more. You know you’re on the hunting land of my father, Baron Nathan Mandeville?”
“No.”
“Does it make a scrap of difference now that you know, outlander?”
“Not really.”
One of the young men spoke up. He had a shallow, spoiled face and was, Ryan could almost swear, wearing women’s makeup. “Why not just shoot them all, Mistress Marie? Or simply take them all prisoner?”
“I have long believed that all of your brains dwell in your cock, Anthony. And from what I hear of your more recent ‘performances,’ it means they aren’t too profuse. Don’t think of speaking again unless I tell you that you can. Which will not be until we’re all back at Sun Crest.”
“Want us to leave your father’s lands?”
“Possibly. But no, outlander. You look more interesting than most of the border scum that come crawling up here from the mud of the Sippi.”
“Then can we all come out?”
“Yes.”
Ryan turned. “Stay on triple-red,” he said quietly. Louder he added, “Everyone out when I give the word.”
He turned back to the self-possessed woman. “After your sec men shoulder those Armalites, if that’s”
“Of course.” A wave of the gloved hand brought instant obedience.
Ryan led the way down the slope, leaning back to keep his balance in the loose earth. He was followed by Krysty, then Mildred and Doc. Michael came next, with J.B. cautiously bringing up the rear.
Ryan made the introductions, explaining the usual story they used. They’d been traveling around Deathlands, looking for any sort of work, leaving the suggestion that the “work” might have some connection with hired blasters.
“Our wag broke down five days ago. Gearbox just about dropped onto the highway. Been walking since.”
He had the feeling that the woman on the horse, looking down at him with a cool disdain, didn’t believe a word of it. But, oddly, it didn’t seem to matter.
“Very well, Cawdor. My name is Marie Mandeville. My father is the Baron Nathan Mandeville, and he owns Sun Crest and all the land as far as you can see to west and north.”
“That the ville over that way?” J.B. asked, pointing behind the riders.
“Yes, Dix, it is.”
It was bizarre that they were having a civilized conversation within ten feet of the stiffening corpse of the hunted man, butchered in as brutal a manner as Ryan had ever witnessed.
There was a long silence, broken by Ryan. “Well?”
She lifted her head, glanced at the four young men, silencing their whispering. “I am not used to having anyone speak to me in that tone of voice, Cawdor. My father is a baron of considerable wealth and power.”
“That’s good for you, lady. Doesn’t impress me all that much. Guess he eats and shits just like I do. Like he did.” Ryan pointed at the body.
“This person broke a number of rules and was legally tried and sentenced. And executed.”
“Sure. Now, you want us to come with you or go our own way? Just tell me.”
He could almost hear the wheels spinning in what he figured was a sharp little brain.
“This isn’t a place of dramatic landscapes,” she replied. “You sit down and the land seems to surround you like a bowl. My father has always been a man to try to relieve this monotony in any way he can. Outlanders like you and your companions might inspire him. Come and be our guests.”
Ryan glanced around at the others. None of them showed any great enthusiasm for the idea. But none of them showed any marked resistance, either.
“Sure,” he said.
FOUR OF THE SEC MEN reluctantly gave up their mounts, trudging disconsolately along behind the hunting party.
Ryan rode with Dean perched in front of him. Mildred and Krysty doubled on a tall gelding. Michael clung on with extreme unhappiness, arms locked tight around J.B.’s waist. And Doc rode in solitary splendour on a fine Appaloosa, grinning back at the four dismounted guards.
“Story of warfare through the ages,” he called to Ryan. “Cavalry never much cared for ending up with the poor bloody infantry.”