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.Karen seethed with frustration.‘‘Fine.You’re his creature.So stay away from me.’’‘‘But, miss, I have your breakfast.’’‘‘Put it outside the door.I’ll get it when I get my appetite back.’’ Karen ducked back into the tent and stalked across the plush rug.Mingma.Mingma had betrayed her.She hadn’t seen that one coming.And why not? She’d worked in construction as a project manager, where every con man and wastrel flocked to her jobs in the hopes of cheating the stupid little woman.She’d learned the hard way not to trust anyone.Yet Mingma had slipped under her guard.Thank God her father would never know.Thank God.yeah, because if she didn’t break out of this prison, she’d end up being some wacko warlord’s plaything until he tired of her, or until the end of her life, and those two events might coincide closely.There had to be a way out of here.No self-respecting wacko would leave himself without an escape route.He’d placed the tent high on a platform against a cliff.Warlord was too canny to have done that by accident.She lifted the heavy tapestry that covered the back wall, and examined the weather-resistant tent fabric.There.A seam snaked up from the floor to a spot about halfway up the wall.Karen knelt and ran her fingers along the length.The work was done as an afterthought, the seam basted together by clear, strong nylon thread.She tried to tear it—impossible.A knife, something sharp.She ran to the holster strapped to one of the uprights on the headboard.Empty.Glancing around, she grabbed a gold-plated serving tray off the table and used the edge to saw through the thread above the knot, then slipped the stitching free.She spread the material and looked out.As she suspected, the platform jutted out a few inches beyond the tent, and just beyond in the cliff she saw the beginning of a path that wound into the mountains.Yet.she looked down.The path was six feet from the platform, and the drop was twenty feet onto sharp rocks—a fall guaranteed to break her bones.Warlord couldn’t jump that.Could he? He had to have some sort of temporary bridge.She knelt and groped under the platform, looking for something to span the distance.Nothing.She glanced inside the tent for a loose board that would hold her weight.Nothing.She didn’t dare wait any longer.Mingma would be back soon to try to convince Karen to dress in the harem clothes and play the coy maiden to Warlord’s conquering warrior.Bullshit.Karen wouldn’t do it.Again she measured the span with her gaze.She stood on the edge—and almost jumped.But like a sliver of glass, some sharp, bright thought cut her concentration.The icon.She had to take the icon.And her coat, of course.It was stupid to think of escaping into the Himalayas, even in the summer, without a coat.Hurrying to the camouflage parka, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and belted it around her waist.Irresistibly she slid her hand into the pocket and pulled out the icon.The Madonna stared solemnly at her.‘‘I’ll save you,’’ Karen vowed, and walked back to the hole in the tent.She slipped through and stood there, the breeze lifting her hair.She stared at the lip of the path six feet away.She’d done a lot of climbing in her life.She’d jumped crevasses with raging streams below.She knew the length of her legs, and she knew her limits.From a standing start.this jump was impossible.She wrapped her arms around her waist and swallowed the bile that built in her throat.She would fall.She’d dreamed this a million times.She would be horribly hurt, crippled, her bones shattered, her internal organs bleeding uncontrollably.Her breath hitched, and her eyes filled with tears.She was being dramatic.She was a coward.But she was afraid.On the other hand, if she stayed here, she’d be the plaything of a monster.Jump.So she jumped.She stretched out like Superman, hands forward, trying in midair to propel herself onto the path.She missed.She landed with a bone-crunching thump on her face and chest.Her legs dangled, wheeling madly.She slipped.Grabbed at the grass.Caught herself.The clump of grass broke.She slipped again.She was going down.Her foot found a rock lodged solidly beneath the overhang.One hand caught the branch of a shrub.She wanted to scramble up.She forced herself to slow down, to balance herself, to concentrate.Gradually she inched her stomach onto the path.She flung her leg up onto the ledge.She rolled.and she was safe.Safe.She took a long breath, the first one since she’d jumped.Safe? No way.Somehow, some way, Warlord would come after her.Magnus crawled forward along the rock at the edge of the cliff, his gaze fixed on the regiment below.He settled next to the man to whom he’d sworn his allegiance.Warlord rested on his belly, watching the movement of troops through the valley.He liked to keep an eye on them as they marched around, officiously and ineptly patroling the long, narrow river valleys and murderous peaks where the mercenaries held reign.Magnus wasn’t afraid of him.Not anymore.No reason to be.The scratch along his cheek had healed, stitched by a skilled physician in Kathmandu.He seldom woke anymore from the nightmare of a big cat’s weight on his chest and its hot breath on his face.He almost never thought of that night when he’d first realized the old, scary legends his poor mother had whispered in his ear were true, and monsters roamed the earth.Because, in the end, he knew he was already damned by his sins, and he’d rather die by Warlord’s hand—or paw—than live like most men did, chained to a desk or a dock, and ground down by poverty.Yet for all his loyalty to Warlord, he still kept a few careful inches’ distance from his master.In a low voice he said, ‘‘The army’s bloody casual about that payroll shipment.’’‘‘Why shouldn’t they be?’’ Warlord smiled his expression of composed amusement.‘‘They’ve transported two shipments through the mountains with no trouble at all.It’s obvious the government crackdown has worked, and the rogue mercenaries are under control.’’‘‘Of course.’’ Magnus slapped his forehead in mocking dismay.‘‘I should have known.’’Warlord was coolly confident.‘‘When I came here fifteen years ago, I was a seventeen-year-old driven from his home by fear and guilt, sure of his damnation.Today we’re going to liberate the entire payroll for the Khalistan government officials.’’‘‘Ye’ve come up in the world.’’‘‘Yes.But have you seen the soldier who’s using the binoculars? The one with the bolts in his ears?’’Magnus had.The guy was tall, burly, with a face that looked as if it had stopped a freight train.He wore earrings—earrings that looked not so much like jewelry, but like machinery.‘‘Aye.I wonder who he’s looking for.’’‘‘He’s looking for us.’’‘‘So he’s one of the new mercenaries?’’‘‘Good assumption.’’ In a long, slow breath, Warlord pulled the air into his lungs.‘‘I don’t like the smell of him.He’s.sour.’’‘‘Ye’ve got the nose for trouble.’’ And now Magnus knew why.‘‘Shall we take care of him?’’Warlord watched the big man.‘‘No.That odor.it’s barely a hint on the air.But it reminds me of something; I can’t remember what.a danger to us.’’ His black eyes grew unfocused.He seemed to be looking inward.‘‘Something’s coming.but it’s not here yet."‘‘Yer instincts are talking to ye, then?’’‘‘Yes.’’ The word was barely a whisper on Warlord’s lips.‘‘It’s good to see ye have yer concentration back,’’ Magnus said.Slowly Warlord turned his head and stared.‘‘You do have your concentration back, don’t you?’’ Magnus asked anxiously [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Karen seethed with frustration.‘‘Fine.You’re his creature.So stay away from me.’’‘‘But, miss, I have your breakfast.’’‘‘Put it outside the door.I’ll get it when I get my appetite back.’’ Karen ducked back into the tent and stalked across the plush rug.Mingma.Mingma had betrayed her.She hadn’t seen that one coming.And why not? She’d worked in construction as a project manager, where every con man and wastrel flocked to her jobs in the hopes of cheating the stupid little woman.She’d learned the hard way not to trust anyone.Yet Mingma had slipped under her guard.Thank God her father would never know.Thank God.yeah, because if she didn’t break out of this prison, she’d end up being some wacko warlord’s plaything until he tired of her, or until the end of her life, and those two events might coincide closely.There had to be a way out of here.No self-respecting wacko would leave himself without an escape route.He’d placed the tent high on a platform against a cliff.Warlord was too canny to have done that by accident.She lifted the heavy tapestry that covered the back wall, and examined the weather-resistant tent fabric.There.A seam snaked up from the floor to a spot about halfway up the wall.Karen knelt and ran her fingers along the length.The work was done as an afterthought, the seam basted together by clear, strong nylon thread.She tried to tear it—impossible.A knife, something sharp.She ran to the holster strapped to one of the uprights on the headboard.Empty.Glancing around, she grabbed a gold-plated serving tray off the table and used the edge to saw through the thread above the knot, then slipped the stitching free.She spread the material and looked out.As she suspected, the platform jutted out a few inches beyond the tent, and just beyond in the cliff she saw the beginning of a path that wound into the mountains.Yet.she looked down.The path was six feet from the platform, and the drop was twenty feet onto sharp rocks—a fall guaranteed to break her bones.Warlord couldn’t jump that.Could he? He had to have some sort of temporary bridge.She knelt and groped under the platform, looking for something to span the distance.Nothing.She glanced inside the tent for a loose board that would hold her weight.Nothing.She didn’t dare wait any longer.Mingma would be back soon to try to convince Karen to dress in the harem clothes and play the coy maiden to Warlord’s conquering warrior.Bullshit.Karen wouldn’t do it.Again she measured the span with her gaze.She stood on the edge—and almost jumped.But like a sliver of glass, some sharp, bright thought cut her concentration.The icon.She had to take the icon.And her coat, of course.It was stupid to think of escaping into the Himalayas, even in the summer, without a coat.Hurrying to the camouflage parka, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and belted it around her waist.Irresistibly she slid her hand into the pocket and pulled out the icon.The Madonna stared solemnly at her.‘‘I’ll save you,’’ Karen vowed, and walked back to the hole in the tent.She slipped through and stood there, the breeze lifting her hair.She stared at the lip of the path six feet away.She’d done a lot of climbing in her life.She’d jumped crevasses with raging streams below.She knew the length of her legs, and she knew her limits.From a standing start.this jump was impossible.She wrapped her arms around her waist and swallowed the bile that built in her throat.She would fall.She’d dreamed this a million times.She would be horribly hurt, crippled, her bones shattered, her internal organs bleeding uncontrollably.Her breath hitched, and her eyes filled with tears.She was being dramatic.She was a coward.But she was afraid.On the other hand, if she stayed here, she’d be the plaything of a monster.Jump.So she jumped.She stretched out like Superman, hands forward, trying in midair to propel herself onto the path.She missed.She landed with a bone-crunching thump on her face and chest.Her legs dangled, wheeling madly.She slipped.Grabbed at the grass.Caught herself.The clump of grass broke.She slipped again.She was going down.Her foot found a rock lodged solidly beneath the overhang.One hand caught the branch of a shrub.She wanted to scramble up.She forced herself to slow down, to balance herself, to concentrate.Gradually she inched her stomach onto the path.She flung her leg up onto the ledge.She rolled.and she was safe.Safe.She took a long breath, the first one since she’d jumped.Safe? No way.Somehow, some way, Warlord would come after her.Magnus crawled forward along the rock at the edge of the cliff, his gaze fixed on the regiment below.He settled next to the man to whom he’d sworn his allegiance.Warlord rested on his belly, watching the movement of troops through the valley.He liked to keep an eye on them as they marched around, officiously and ineptly patroling the long, narrow river valleys and murderous peaks where the mercenaries held reign.Magnus wasn’t afraid of him.Not anymore.No reason to be.The scratch along his cheek had healed, stitched by a skilled physician in Kathmandu.He seldom woke anymore from the nightmare of a big cat’s weight on his chest and its hot breath on his face.He almost never thought of that night when he’d first realized the old, scary legends his poor mother had whispered in his ear were true, and monsters roamed the earth.Because, in the end, he knew he was already damned by his sins, and he’d rather die by Warlord’s hand—or paw—than live like most men did, chained to a desk or a dock, and ground down by poverty.Yet for all his loyalty to Warlord, he still kept a few careful inches’ distance from his master.In a low voice he said, ‘‘The army’s bloody casual about that payroll shipment.’’‘‘Why shouldn’t they be?’’ Warlord smiled his expression of composed amusement.‘‘They’ve transported two shipments through the mountains with no trouble at all.It’s obvious the government crackdown has worked, and the rogue mercenaries are under control.’’‘‘Of course.’’ Magnus slapped his forehead in mocking dismay.‘‘I should have known.’’Warlord was coolly confident.‘‘When I came here fifteen years ago, I was a seventeen-year-old driven from his home by fear and guilt, sure of his damnation.Today we’re going to liberate the entire payroll for the Khalistan government officials.’’‘‘Ye’ve come up in the world.’’‘‘Yes.But have you seen the soldier who’s using the binoculars? The one with the bolts in his ears?’’Magnus had.The guy was tall, burly, with a face that looked as if it had stopped a freight train.He wore earrings—earrings that looked not so much like jewelry, but like machinery.‘‘Aye.I wonder who he’s looking for.’’‘‘He’s looking for us.’’‘‘So he’s one of the new mercenaries?’’‘‘Good assumption.’’ In a long, slow breath, Warlord pulled the air into his lungs.‘‘I don’t like the smell of him.He’s.sour.’’‘‘Ye’ve got the nose for trouble.’’ And now Magnus knew why.‘‘Shall we take care of him?’’Warlord watched the big man.‘‘No.That odor.it’s barely a hint on the air.But it reminds me of something; I can’t remember what.a danger to us.’’ His black eyes grew unfocused.He seemed to be looking inward.‘‘Something’s coming.but it’s not here yet."‘‘Yer instincts are talking to ye, then?’’‘‘Yes.’’ The word was barely a whisper on Warlord’s lips.‘‘It’s good to see ye have yer concentration back,’’ Magnus said.Slowly Warlord turned his head and stared.‘‘You do have your concentration back, don’t you?’’ Magnus asked anxiously [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]