Page 11 of Til the End of Time

  She fell into step with him. "He's not a dragon; he's a rat. And, thanks, to my many ventures into subterranean Tamrovia, I've become very famil­iar with the breed lately. Who knows? I may be able to handle him better than you." "Naldona is—" "I'm going with you."

  They had reached the head of the staircase. "It appears you already have." Sandor raised his voice. "I'm here, Naldona. Say what you have to say and keep the lights turned out."

  "How cautious you are, Sandor." Naldona sound­ed almost hearty. He had discarded the mega­phone, but his voice carried clearly in the high-ceilinged hall. "I told you I had plans for you. I wanted to see your face when I told you about them. I have only a few men down here with me. Surely a legend like the Tanzar can't be afraid."

  "I've been enough of a fool for one night," Sandor said dryly. "I'm not about to walk right into your hands, Marc."

  "But you've already done that. I have a troop of soldiers at every entrance to the castle, with or­ders to shoot you on sight." Naldona paused. "Along with the lovely Miss Ballard. Are you there, Miss Ballard?"

  "I'm here."

  "I wondered how a mere woman was able to evade one of my best men. I should have known Karpathan was involved. It was very discourteous of you to violate my hospitality by departing without saying good-bye. I've had a good deal of trouble reassuring Bruner of my good intentions, and I'm very annoyed with you."

  Mere woman? "I thought the assassin you sent to my room would make my explanations," Ales-sandra said through clenched teeth.

  "Oh, he did. He was very eager to make excuses. Unfortunately, it didn't prevent his eventual de­mise. I was very angry that morning." His tone became silky. "But I'm not angry now. I couldn't be more pleased about the way things are work­ing out. Lovers should share the same fate. It's so very poetic."

  She could feel Sandor stiffen next to her. "Lovers?"

  "Oh, yes, I know about that. It was really to be expected. The dashing, romantic Tanzar and the whore of—"

  "Shut up, Naldona." Sandor's words cut him off with barely restrained violence. "Leave her out of it."

  "So gallant. I suppose that's to be expected too. You must forgive me. You can't expect me to have the same sense of delicacy as you. I'm only a poor peasant, while you're a nobleman."

  "I believe when we started out together we planned to eliminate that distinction."

  "I was an idealistic idiot then, but I soon came to my senses." Naldona laughed. "However, you never did realize what we had in our hands. You've been a fool in more ways than one, Sandor."

  "Perhaps." Sandor's voice had regained its cool­ness. "I'm particularly interested in identifying one aspect of my stupidity. I thought we'd made it into the castle unseen. How did you know we were here?"

  "You were unseen. I was a little upset that the guards had grown so careless. I suppose, after all this time, they thought it unlikely you would come back here." Naldona paused. "But I knew you'd come. I knew how you felt about this heap of stone. I would have been even more upset, however, if the guards had failed to pick up your voices on the monitors." "Monitors?"

  "I took the precaution of having the halls of the castle very thoroughly bugged. Both your voice and Miss Ballard's came over very clearly as you were giving her a tour of the ancestral home. My

  men called me at once in Belajo and requested instructions. I told them to wait until I could get here before they interrupted you in your romantic idyll. Wasn't that kind of me?"

  "Very kind," Sandor said. "But I'm sure you had your reasons."

  "Oh, I did." Naldona gave a low order, and there was suddenly the sound of rapid footsteps on the parquet floor of the foyer. "Don't be alarmed. My men aren't going to rush you. They're just going to the other rooms on this floor to carry out an order. I think you can imagine what that order is, Sandor."

  "Yes." Sandor's voice was harsh with pain. "I can imagine."

  "Oh, it hurts, does it? I do wish I could see your face. Can you smell it? The odor is very strong down here."

  "No, I can't smell it."

  "You will soon. I promise you."

  "Sandor?" Alessandra drew a step nearer. "What's happening?"

  Naldona's tone held malicious pleasure. "Yes, tell her what's happening, Sandor. Since she's going to suffer a tragic end, she should know the details."

  "Did you consider how difficult it will be to ex­plain Alessandra's death to Bruner?"

  "I'll find some way of casting the blame on you. Your death will give me considerably more time, Sandor. Your followers will be devastated and thrown into confusion. With Burner's weapons I'll be able to turn this war around."

  "It won't be that easy. I've trained men to take my place."

  "But you're the legend, and when a legend dies ..." There was the sound of footsteps in the foyer again. "It seems we're ready. You have your choice. You'll be blown apart if you try to leave by any of the entrances."

  "I know my choice."

  "Good. I'm leaving now." There was a sound of a door opening. "But I'll be outside watching. If it lasts all night, I'll still be there, and enjoying every minute of it. I want you to know that."

  Sandor didn't answer.

  "I do wish I could see your face." Naldona's tone was wistful. A tiny flame flickered in the doorway. A match. "Good-bye, Sandor." The tiny flame plum­meted toward a dark, shining pool on the floor.

  The pool exploded, sending flames leaping high! The front door closed behind Naldona. Flames were streaking across the foyer, eating everything in their paths and gaining strength as their hun­ger was fed.

  "Gasoline!" Alessandra breathed. "Oh, Lord, he's set fire to the castle."

  "Yes." Sandor's face was expressionless as he stared down at the inferno below.

  "Can we stop it?"

  "No." He stood there an instant more. "Naldona can be very thorough." He turned away. "It's not safe to speak. I imagine Naldona is listening to us right now. He'd love to hear us whimper. He's not going to do that." He took her elbow and turned on the flashlight. "Come on." He was half running down the corridor toward the back staircase lead­ing to the nursery.

  "Sandor, can't we—"

  He shook his head and touched his fingers to his lips. Then they were running up the flight of steps of the back staircase. It was only after the door of the nursery closed behind them that he spoke. "I think it's safe to speak in here. Naldona said the listening devices were in the halls, and he evidently didn't know how we entered the castle." He swiftly crossed the room to the panel of the secret passage. "After the first flight of stairs, the secret passage angles away from the castle to the hill. With all Naldona's forces gathered on the castle grounds, there should be no problem get­ting out unseen through the exit on the hill. The castle should burn for hours, and we'll be at the airfield before Naldona will be able to enter the ruins and search for our remains."

  Ruins. This home Sandor loved so much was being destroyed. Alessandra stood watching him as he began to tug at the panel closure, and felt a surge of wild anger. They had no right to do this to him. He had been so happy showing her the house and the objects he loved. He was good. He wanted only what was best for his country and his people, and Naldona was doing this monstrous thing to hurt him. She was experiencing the same frustrating despair she had known when Dimitri was dying and she hadn't been able to help him.

  Now Limtana was dying and she couldn't do anything to help Sandor either. Well, she couldn't stand here and do nothing. Not this time.

  "Damn, this panel is stuck again." Sandor's voice was harsh with impatience. The panel had opened only a few inches. "We'll be lucky if the smoke doesn't begin pouring in on us before I can get it open." He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the door of the nursery open behind him. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

  "Keep working on it. I'll be right back." She heard him call her name, but ignored it as she quickly ran from the nursery and down the back stairs.

  Eight

  There was alread
y the faintest drift of smoke ris­ing to the second floor. At the other end of the hall Alessandra could see an orange glare reflected from the blazing foyer. It sent a chill through her. That other fire had been like this, merely a reflec­tion at first, then alive and hungry like a beast clawing at— She blocked the thought swiftly. Not now. Never. It was gone. There was only now.

  It was too late to go downstairs. She had only a few precious minutes. What pieces had Sandor said the family valued most? The vase on the hall table. It had been a gift from his father to his mother. The snuffbox beside it had a cameo pic­ture of his grandfather inside the lid. The trip­tych given to his great-grandfather by Czar Nich­olas. What else? Oh, Lord, the casimarl

  She flew down the hall and into the master bedroom. The lovely silk shawl was lying on the chair beside the bed, where Sandor had tossed it.

  She snatched it up and bolted from the room. The smoke was thick now, and she had to struggle not to cough. She spread the shawl on the hall table and placed the vase, snuffbox, and triptych in the center and tied the corners into a make­shift knapsack. Her eyes were stinging, and she couldn't repress the coughing now. Her lungs felt seared. She slung the knapsack over her arm and ran toward the back staircase. She had almost reached the top of the steps when Sandor opened the nursery door.

  "I was just coming for you. Why did you—?" He broke off as he caught sight of the silk shawl. "You went back for a shawl?"

  "Among other things." She came into the room and closed the door. "I see you've managed to budge the panel." She looked critically at the dark opening. "Well need to widen it a few more inches."

  "It's wide enough for us to slip through."

  "But not wide enough for Leo." She knelt in front of the rocking horse and began to slip the loop of the shawl knapsack from around her arm. "We're taking him with us."

  "What?" He was staring at her as if she had gone mad. "He's made of oak and must weigh forty pounds. Besides the stairs and over a mile of passageway, we have three miles of rough hill country to cross before we get to the airfield."

  "That's only twenty pounds apiece. We're both tall and strong." She knotted the shawl firmly around the neck of the rocking horse. "I'm not going without him."

  "Alessandra—"

  "No!" She turned to look at him, her eyes blaz­ing. "He's important. I'm not leaving him for Naldona to destroy. Open the panel wider."

  Clearly he was frustrated with her, impatient . . . and feeling some other, more gentle emotion as well. "Oh, hell!" He crossed the room and be­gan tugging at the panel.

  She stayed where she was, kneeling in front of the rocking horse. His bright black eyes were gaz­ing at her with eagerness about the adventure to come. "I'm afraid we're going to have to find you a new home, boy," she whispered. "There will never be another castmar here, but you'll be all right. You're a survivor, just like me."

  The panel finally slid back with a protesting creak. Alessandra looked up. "That should do it." She stood up. "We can go now."

  "Thank you." Sandor's tone was ironic and his expression as he looked at the rocking horse com­pletely shuttered. "I think it's time, since smoke is beginning to curl under the door. This is stu­pid, you know. Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

  "No. Do you want the rear end or the front?"

  "Ill take the hindquarters. They're heavier." He smiled mirthlessly. "And it's certainly appropri­ate. I'm being a complete ass for letting you bull­doze me into doing this." He handed her the flashlight. "Fasten this to Leo's knapsack. We'll have to have some light to negotiate those stairs. Ready?"

  She nodded as she finished tying the flashlight to the shawl. "Ready."

  The journey was just as cumbersome and taxing as Sandor had predicted. Their pace was excruci­atingly slow down the flight of steps from the nursery. By the time they had reached the second level they had to be careful not to touch the hot stone wall separating the passage from the castle. Alessandra could imagine what the fire was now doing to the gracious bedroom where she had slept so peacefully only a short time ago. Here and there, wisps of smoke escaped through cracks in the stone to curl around them like ghostly serpents and remind them what lay behind.

  The first level was even worse. The passage here was full of smoke, and Alessandra was coughing so hard from that and the strain of carrying the rocking horse, she wove down the last few steps as if she were drunk.

  "Put the damn thing down." Sandor was cough­ing, too, and the harshness of the order was mag­nified by his hoarseness. "This horse is slowing us down too much. You need to get out of this smoke."

  "No, you said it would be better when the pas­sage angled away from the castle. We'll be able to hurry once we've gotten to the bottom of these stairs. I didn't remember there being this many steps."

  "Eighty-three," he said grimly. "I counted them once when I was a boy. Alessandra—"

  "I can't talk to you now." It was true. It was difficult to breathe, much less talk. "Hurry."

  She heard a curse from the direction of Leo's hindquarters.

  Then they had finally reached the bottom of the steps opposite the dungeon, and the smoke was thinning out. "See, I told you we'd make it." Her steps quickened as she turned the corner of the passage that angled away from the castle. "We're practically home free."

  "Hardly. Tell me that when we're lugging Leo up

  the steps. Would you like me to tell you how many steps there are between here and the top of the hill?"

  She shook her head. "I think I'd rather be sur­prised." Her arms were aching and the muscles of her legs felt leaden. Close it out. One step at a time. "I like surprises."

  There was a short silence behind her. "Do you, love? I'll remember that." His voice lost its soft­ness and became crisp as he continued. "Anytime you decide you want to get rid of our burden, just tell me."

  "We can't abandon him. We'll make it."

  They did make it, though by the time they had hauled Leo up the final few steps Alessandra had her doubts. The strain on their lungs and mus­cles was almost unbearable. When she shouldered open the trapdoor and backed out of the tunnel, the fresh night air was a cool blessing on her face.

  Sandor stumbled out after her and set his end of the rocking horse on firm ground. "You can let him go now."

  "Can I?" She wasn't so sure. Her hands were stiff and sore from clutching the oak runners and, at first, refused to release them. She had to open and close her hands several times after she had set Leo down, before they felt as if they belonged to her again. "You're right, I can." She collapsed on the ground and closed her eyes. "Now you can tell me how many steps there were."

  "One thousand three hundred and forty-two." He closed the trapdoor and leaned back against the large boulder hiding the passage. "If I remem­ber correctly."

  "Oh, I'm sure you remember correctly." She drew a long, deep breath. Her lungs still hurt, but the fresh air was soothing them more with each pass­ing second. "There were at least that many."

  "We don't have to take Leo with us to the air­field. We could hide him in the shrubbery and retrieve him later."

  She shook her head without opening her eyes. "It's not safe. No telling what might happen to him. There's a war going on."

  "So I've been told." There was a thread of pain running through the words, and she opened her eyes, expecting to see it echoed in his expression. No pain, His face was as shuttered as it had been when he'd first seen the foyer burst into flame. "We'd better be on our way. Are you ready to go?"

  "Yes." She sat up. "I'm ready."

  He stood up and flicked off the flashlight, still gleaming in the shawl looped around Leo's neck. "We won't need this light to give our positions away. We'll be—" He broke off as his eyes lifted past the high mound of rocks. "My God!"

  She knew what he must be seeing, but she had to try to share the agony he was feeling. She stood up and moved a step closer in silent support as her gaze followed his to the valley below.

  Limtana was s
till there. Its massive stone walls were bravely withstanding the flames, as they had the centuries, but every window and opening re­vealed the harsh orange glare of the cannibal flames devouring it from within. Sparks had ignited a bush and two trees in the garden, and they were being destroyed by the same hungry beast. And Naldona was down there watching it happen. The anger and despair that exploded in Alessandra were titanic. Oh, damn. Damn. She wasn't aware of the tears running down her cheeks, until she felt Sandor's fingers gently tracing their path.

  "For me?"

  "For you. For Limtana. For me." She fell to her knees again beside Leo. "It's all so futile to save Leo and the casimar and have you lose Limtana. Lose it completely. I failed again. I had to stand by and let them take—"

  "You didn't fail." His gaze was still on the de­struction below.

  "It was my fault." Her arms encircled the neck of the rocking horse, and she buried her face in his painted mane like a bereaved child seeking comfort. "You wouldn't have stopped if it hadn't been for me. This wouldn't have happened."

  "It would have happened."

  "No, you wouldn't have stopped. My stupid feet ..."

  She was in pain. She was crying for his loss. He had to try to jerk himself out of this numbness he had deliberately placed on his emotions and help her. Tears would never come easily for Alessandra. Lord, but he didn't want to begin to feel again right now. Not yet. Not when he could still see Limtana burning. He closed his eyes. Think about Alessandra. Think about life, the future. Don't think about gaping windows filled with licking flames. Don't. . . .

  He opened his eyes and slowly knelt down be­side her. Her face was still burrowed against the rocking horse, and he began to stroke her hair. "It's all right. None of this is your fault. If it hadn't happened tonight, there would have been another night. I knew it was only a question of time."

  "You knew Naldona would burn Limtana?"

  He nodded, his hand moving over her hair with infinite gentleness. "When Naldona sent me the picture of Limtana, he made it very clear that no matter how the war turned out, I'd never have my home again. He said his first move when he knew he was defeated would be to burn Limtana to the ground."