Page 12 of Til the End of Time

  But Sandor could have saved Limtana. He had told her his forces had the ability to take this strip of land that held the home he loved. He'd had the power to issue that order and he hadn't used the power. "Why? Why didn't you save it?"

  "I didn't have the right," he said simply. "I told you, Limtana has no strategic importance."

  But Limtana had been of monumental impor­tance to him. She didn't know whether she would have been able to make the same sacrifice if she had known she could save something she loved merely by lifting a finger. She felt a wrenching pain at the thought of what he must have gone through. Strength. Her first impression had been of the field of strength surrounding Sandor, but she'd had no idea how strong he really was.

  His expression was no longer guarded, and she could see the lines of pain etched in his face. And he had been trying to comfort herl "I'm sorry. I know there aren't any words that will help, but I'm so very sorry, Sandor."

  "I know you are." His lips twisted as his gaze returned to the scene in the valley. "I don't know. Maybe I needed to lose something I loved to the war. You were right when you said that I had less to lose than others. Maybe this is some kind of macabre justice."

  "No, I never should have said it. I didn't know She hadn't known how good he was or how much he cared. She hadn't known so many things about him. "There's no justice about this. I'd like to strangle Naldona."

  A faint smile touched his lips. "You'd have to stand in a long line." He slowly shook his head. "But not for this. Memories are more important than possessions. He can't destroy my memories. That's the reason I brought you here tonight. I wanted to have the memory of you here at the place I loved the most. It meant a great deal to me."

  The tears were falling again. She couldn't seem to stop now. She hadn't cried when Dimitri died. Her conflicting emotions—rage predominating— had prevented tears. "Sandor ..." She suddenly straightened and threw herself into his arms. "Hold me." She didn't want him to be alone. She didn't know if physical touch would help to soothe his pain, but it was all she had to give. "It will be all right. I'll make it be all right."

  His hands cradled her head, her fingers tan­gling in her hair. "How fierce you are." His lips brushed her temple. "We should be leaving now, you know."

  "A few minutes more won't matter." She held him tight, trying to communicate all the strength, sympathy, and love she felt for him. Love. Why had she been so afraid to acknowledge it? There was nothing to fear in loving Sandor. "Let me help you. Let me give to you."

  "Pity?"

  "No, I didn't mean—"

  "Shh. It's all right." He was rocking her gently.

  "I'm not too proud to accept pity. It's all a part of any decent human relationship to want to help the people we care about and to feel sympathy when they're in trouble."

  "I do want to help." The words were muffled against his shoulder. "Please tell me what I can do to help you."

  "You are helping." His voice was husky. It was true. The first raw pain was easing. His arms tightened around her. "You are helping, love."

  They didn't speak again. The only sound in the forest was the breeze rustling through the pines and the distant crackling roar in the valley below. They knelt there, holding each other, while the rocking horse's bright painted eyes gazed blindly toward the horizon.

  "It's not exactly . . . large, is it?" Alessandra asked as she gazed at the airfield enclosed by the ten-foot barbed-wire fence. "I guess I was expect­ing something the size of LaGuardia."

  "It's big enough. It has three runways long enough to accommodate jets." He laughed softly. "This is Tamrovia, remember?"

  "How could I forget? I feel as if I've walked over three fourths of the hallowed ground of your sovereign state."

  "I imagine you do. Can I convince you it's safe to put Leo down now? I promise I'll have someone from the field drive out and pick him up as soon as we pass the gates."

  "I guess so." She carefully set the rocking horse down in the grass at the side of the road and straightened with a sigh of relief. "I was begin

  ning to feel as if he were permanently attached to me." She frowned. "Are you sure he'll be all right?"

  "Positive." He smiled gently. "After all you've suffered for him, I wouldn't dare let anything hap­pen to Leo. How are your feet?"

  "Sore." She rubbed the nape of her neck wea­rily. "I'll survive."

  "I've noticed you make a habit of doing that." His smile faded. "I haven't taken very good care of you. I promise I'll do better. When this is all over, I promise you won't have to walk a step."

  "The way I feel at the moment, I'd probably hold you to that promise. Just how do you intend to fulfill it? I refuse to be relegated to a wheelchair."

  "I was thinking of something more on the order of a ricksha." Sandor's eyes were suddenly twin­kling. "A very special ricksha, with wheels of gold and the spokes set with jade and amber. I believe you'd look quite regal in such a ricksha, Ales-sandra."

  "Pulled by a majordomo in a scarlet uniform with gold braid?"

  "If milady desires." He bowed.

  She made a face. "The only thing milady desires right now is a bath and a bed. And since there's no ricksha available, I guess I'll have to force these feet to move. Not that I—"

  "I congratulate you. For ghosts, you look in magnificent health."

  She jumped, then she relaxed as she recognized the big man who had seemingly materialized out of the trees. "Paulo, what on earth are you doing here?"

  "Looking for you. I'm glad to see Naldona's an­nouncement on his broadcast was exaggerated."

  "Broadcast?" Sandor frowned. "What broadcast?"

  "The one he made announcing your death, along with that of your 'brutalized captive,' Alessandra Ballard." He tilted his head and appraised her critically. "You don't appear brutalized—a little tired, maybe." His dark eyes twinkled. "But we all know how expert Sandor is at torture. No doubt the fiend could brutalize you without leaving a single mark."

  "When?" Sandor asked tersely.

  "The broadcast? Thirty minutes ago. Conal radioed the airfield from the base and asked me to go to Limtana and verify the report. I was just setting out when I saw you approaching the air­field." Paulo's teeth flashed in his bearded face. "Conal was very worried he might have to step into your shoes. He will be extremely relieved to know that won't be necessary."

  'Not as relieved as I am," Sandor said dryly. "What are you doing at the airfield?"

  "Waiting for you. You certainly tend to become distracted from your objectives when you're with Miss Ballard. I started at noon yesterday and ar­rived at the airfield last night. I was surprised to find you hadn't arrived yet. Then, when Conal heard the broadcast, he—"

  "Why were you waiting for me?" Sandor said incisively. "And why did you follow us?"

  Paulo grinned. "Good news. We received a mes­sage from Zack. He managed to untangle the prob­lem with the delivery. The arms were delivered to the base last night. Conal didn't want to risk a radio leak to tip Naldona to the fact that the assault was imminent, so he sent me to tell you and bring you back."

  "I'll say it's good news." Sandor's eyes blazed, the weariness falling away from him. "Lord, it's almost over. I've got to contact Conal and ..." His voice trailed off, and he strode toward the high fence bordering the airfield. He glanced back over his shoulder, shouting, "Take care of her, Paulo."

  Alessandra slowly shook her head as she watched him walk away. She supposed she should be grateful he had even remembered her existence. He had closed her out again. "Yes, take care of me, Paulo," she said ironically. "But be sure I don't get in the way."

  "The war is—"

  She held up her hand. "I know. I'm not criticiz­ing your Tanzar's dedication. Priorities have to be observed. I just don't like being put on a shelf and expected to stay there." They had shared so much in the last hours that she hadn't expected this rejection. "I think Sandor and I will have to discuss a few things. Now, do you suppose you could manage to find me a
bath and a place to sleep for the next few hours?"

  "The bath is easy. A place to sleep may be im­possible. Once Sandor begins to move, there won't be a quiet room or spot on the entire airfield." He shrugged. "Maybe not in all Tamrovia . . . but I will try. If anyone can do it—"

  "It will be you," Alessandra finished. "I have complete faith in your ingenuity, Paulo." She ad­justed the straps of her backpack and brushed the hair from her temple. "Shall we go and put it to the test?"

  "Do you want to take our friend, here?" Paulo gestured to the rocking horse. His lips were twitching with amusement. "I was going to question Sandor about it, when he ran off." He lowered his voice. "What is it? A new secret weapon?"

  "His name is Leo," she said, and sighed. "And yes, I think we'd better take him with us." If Paulo was right about the coming turmoil, there was no telling when anyone from the airfield would be free to come and pick him up. She bent to grasp the the oak runners. "You take the hindquarters."

  It was done. The arms were distributed and in place. Conal and Jasper would be on their way within the hour to position their troops for the rear attack on Belajo. He had only to fly back to base to join his men and take command of the frontal attack.

  Sandor leaned back in the chair and gazed at the radio he had just switched off. He should be tired, but adrenaline was charging him with vital­ity. He hoped to heaven it lasted. A long forty-eight hours loomed ahead for him. Forty-eight hours. After two long years, it was almost over. He would be able to stop thinking of war and begin think­ing of—

  "Your helicopter is ready." Paulo stood in the doorway of the radio room. "I'm surprised you decided to go by air. What about Naldona's anti­aircraft guns?"

  "They'll be taken out. Conal has sent troops to take care of it. A foray toward Limtana will act as a diversion to keep Naldona from noticing we're shifting our forces to encircle Belajo. If we move quickly, we'll take him off guard. He thought the news of my death would throw our forces into confusion." His lips twisted. "His men are probably still sifting through the ashes for our remains. The damage to Limtana must have been pretty close to total for him to risk the announcement without concrete proof."

  Paulo's expression was grave. "I am sorry about your home. I know how highly you valued it. I cannot understand this passion for a single dwell­ing, but I share your grief." He grinned. "Perhaps it is for the best. Who knows? Maybe when you have won this war, you will join my tribe and we'll show you how a man should live. No walls, no roots, no politics."

  "No politics." Sandor grimaced. "That alone makes your invitation irresistible."

  "We will hide you in the hills. If they can't find you, they can't make you president."

  "Well, I'll worry about that when we've gotten rid of Naldona." He pushed back his chair. "I have to see Alessandra before I leave. Where is she?"

  "In the machine shed."

  "The machine shed?"

  "She wanted to take a nap. It was the only place I could put her where your people wouldn't be stumbling over her. I put a cot in there and found her a pair of earplugs." Paulo's expression reflected satisfaction. "It worked very well. When I checked on her thirty minutes ago, she didn't even stir."

  "After what we've been through in the past two days, it wouldn't surprise me if she slept for a month. Meet me at the helicopter in fifteen min­utes, will you? There's something I want you to do for me."

  The machine shed smelled of oil and the con­crete floor was stained with grease and spotted with paint. Alessandra was totally unaware of either the odor or the roughness of her surround­ings. She was breathing deeply, evenly, sleeping the sleep of total exhaustion.

  Sandor knelt beside her. He didn't have much time, but he wanted to spend these last minutes with her. There were a hundred things he still had to say to her. Their time together had been pitifully brief and shadowed by violence and misunderstanding. His glance fell on the rocking horse someone had shoved into the far corner of the shed. He hadn't even told her how much it had meant, how much it had touched him, to have her fight so valiantly to preserve a part of his heritage. How could he hope she'd realize what they'd found together? He'd have to make her understand. When this miserable war was over, he'd find her and convince her he could be some­thing other than the rough soldier she had known these last few days.

  He reached out his hand to touch her cheek. He stopped in midair and let his hand fall to his side without touching her. He had forgotten the wari­ness that was always with her. If he touched her, he would wake her, and he didn't want to. He hoped she slept until all the horror of the coming attack was in the past. She had gone through one war. He would not inflict another on her. He would just stay here until it was time for him to leave. He would think about last night and the possibil­ity of tomorrow. It would be enough.

  Nine

  There was something wrong.

  Alessandra's eyes flew open, instinctive alarm jarring her awake. It was dark. The rancid odor of oil was heavy in the air. The machine shed. She remembered now. Paulo had found her a place to sleep for a few hours. . . . But that had been mid-morning, and it was dark now. She sat bolt up­right and fumbled to remove her earplugs. Why hadn't someone awakened her?

  Something was stirring across the room. She jerked around to face it.

  "It's only me." Paulo's voice. "Don't be afraid." A match suddenly flared in the darkness, illuminat­ing Paulo's bearded face and sparkling eyes. "Sandor asked me to watch over you. I'm glad you're awake. I was getting restless sitting here." The match was extinguished and she heard a rustling as Paulo rose to his feet and moved across the room toward the light switch. "You slept a long time. Sandor said you were exhausted."

  Alessandra blinked as Paulo switched on the harsh overhead light. She swung her feet to the floor. "What time is it?"

  "Three in the morning." He shrugged. "Maybe later."

  It was the middle of the night. For a moment she couldn't take it in. "Why didn't somebody wake me? Where's Sandor?"

  "Gone back to the base."

  "Without me? He left me here?"

  Paulo nodded, not looking at her. "He said it would be safer for you. He's radioed Zack to send a jet to take you to Zurich. He told me to tell you he'd join you as soon as he could."

  Alessandra stared at him blankly. "I'm to go to Switzerland and hell join me when jt's convenient?"

  Paulo nodded. "It shouldn't be too long. Sandor has already launched the attack on Belajo. They should be in the thick of the fighting right now."

  Fighting. Sandor was surrounded by violence and death and she wasn't with him. He could die and she wouldn't even know it. And he wanted her to go to Switzerland? "How do I get to Belajo?"

  Paulo smiled in satisfaction. "It's very danger­ous," he murmured. "And difficult. Sandor will be angry."

  "How do I get there?"

  "Fighting is fierce around Limtana, and we have to cross that territory to get to Belajo."

  "How, Paulo?"

  "We walk."

  She made a face. "I was afraid of that."

  "It will be veiy interesting. I know many ways to avoid—"

  "I'm sure you do, and none of them in a straight line. It will probably take us twice as long as the trip coming here."

  "Possibly. You do not like to walk?"

  "Let's just say walking doesn't like me."

  Paulo's eyes were innocent. "You could stay here or go to Zurich. I'm certain you'd be very comfort­able at either place."

  "We walk."

  He threw back his head and laughed. "I thought you would. That's why I didn't argue with Sandor when he asked me to stay. I knew that you and I would have a better time together than I would have had with him in Belajo. Battle takes little skill. It is the hunt that challenges a man. Whether he's the prey or the hunter, it is the hunt."

  She found herself smiling. He was like a zestful child, and his enthusiasm was contagious. Paulo and Leo would have made a fine pair, she thought with amusement. The adventure
just over the ho­rizon beckoned to both of them. She felt a tiny thrill of anticipation herself as she started for the door. "Let's hope the challenges aren't too extreme this time. Let me wash up and get something to eat and well be on our way."

  Belajo was a madhouse of joy. Singing, dancing in the streets, cafes giving out free wine and ale. Paulo had to step in twice before they had gone four blocks from the city gates to keep Alessandra from being swept away by a wave of enthusiastic merrymakers.

  "Perhaps we had better go down one of the side streets," he suggested, his big hand holding firmly to her wrist to keep her at his side. "Victory has a way of causing a certain amount of madness. A pleasant madness. It is good to see the people so happy. They suffered much under Naldona, and Sandor is extremely popular."

  "That's very obvious." She had heard many shouts of "Karpathan!" and "Tanzar!" since she had entered the city. "Is it really over?"

  "So it seems." Paulo shrugged. "I will know more when we run across one of Sandor's officers. The city is secure and we had little trouble crossing Limtana. Sandor's army evidently made a clean sweep."

  "But where can we find Sandor? The palace?"

  "Possibly." He frowned. "You look very tired. Sandor will not be pleased. Why don't you sit down at that outdoor cafe across the street, and I will find Sandor and bring him to you."

  It was tempting. The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare of pain and exhaustion. The trip through the hills might have been an inter­esting exercise in evasion for Paulo, but for her it had been fraught with agony and worry. She hadn't been certain Sandor was safe, until they ran into a troop of soldiers outside the city who told them of Sandor's victory. Now all she had to worry about was finding Sandor in a city gone crazy with ex­citement, and trying to stay upright on feet that felt as if they'd been slashed by the knives of Sandor's mermaid story. She shook her head. "No. I've come this far, and there's no telling how long it will take you to find Sandor."