Sandon glared back over his shoulder as he was dragged away toward the storage sheds. Ka Vail and Ky Menin were returning to the house. Edvin was standing there watching, a smug grin on his face. Finally, all the fight just went out of him; he was just too tired to struggle any more.
#
The groundcar stuttered once or twice as they pulled out of the holdings and headed into the open countryside. Jarid, one hand hanging beside his seat, fingered the tool thoughtfully. He knew exactly what he was going to do now, but he had to find the right moment?far enough away from the estates, but not too far along their journey. He needed to get back, to warn them of the terrible thing that had happened?.
Roge was concentrating on the way ahead, thankfully not talking for the moment, though occasionally lapsing into brief mutters to himself. Jarid watched through narrowed eyes. He traced the side of Roge's cheek, his neck in his minds eye, looking for the spot, testing the action in his head. He kept part of his attention on the surrounding landscape, what little he could make out in the darkness and the rain. Water spattered against the front screen, running in rivulets and waves, blurring the dim smudged image of the outside.
There! There was what he was looking for. A stand of trees lay off to one side. Mostly, the surrounding countryside had been cleared of trees, but a few remained here and there. Here was his opportunity. Taking a grip on the tool's handle, Jarid took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then, in one quick motion, he lifted his hand, slamming the tool into Roge Man Darnak's neck.
Roge's eyes went wide. A strangled cry and his hands flew to his throat. Jarid pulled back, wresting free his makeshift weapon and plunged again. As Roge scrabbled at his neck, trying to dig the shaft from his neck, Jarid leaned across and slapped the controls, bringing the groundcar to a halt. There was blood. Blood all over his hands, all over his clothes and the smell of it filled the confined space. Roge was struggling, bucking, making strangled sounds in his throat. Once more for good measure. He gripped the tool, yanked it free and then plunged it back into Roge's chest, burying to the handle. Then he sat back and watched as the last of Roge Men Darnak's life left him.
It didn't take him long to set the controls, pointing the groundcar toward the cluster of trees. As he watched the vehicle plow into the heavy ajura wood trunks, the rain beat down upon him, sluicing his face and hair, washing the Men Darnak blood away. With one last look at the crumpled groundcar, Jarid nodded his satisfaction, slipped the tool, the evidence away, and turned, starting the long trek back to the estates.
#
Markis looked around at his companions and around at the camp in which he now sat. A few wagons, the small canal with the longboats moored in place with thick ropes, the shed, cobbled together from bits of old metal and wood providing some sort of shelter from the weather; all of it so unfamiliar. Nothing seemed to make sense any more. All he really knew was that he had to keep low for a while. Maybe with time, all this strangeness would simply blow away.
And speaking of blowing, he'd been heading back to the mines when the most recent storm had descended on him with a vengeance. Desperately seeking somewhere out of the elements, he had stumbled upon this camp, this small way station used by the population of itinerant workers that roamed the countryside.
"Hey, Marky. What you doin' 'ere, staring at the water, eh?"
"Hmm? Oh, hello, Abaile. Just thinking I suppose."
"Well, thinking too much never did no man no good, Marky. Come get something to eat and something hot to drink."
