"Where's Ashlynne?" he asked, then reeled back as Hassrick struck him across the face, the heavy ring on his left hand slicing into his cheek.
"You will not speak my wife's name again," Hassrick said. "Now, do as you were told."
Anger boiled up inside Falkon. There was little he could do with his hands shackled, yet he had an overpowering urge to try, and only the sight of Ashlynne coming down the stairs kept him from attacking. By Jupiter's rings, she looked like an angel. She wore a dress of some clingy pink material that outlined every curve. Her hair was coiled atop her head and held in place by a jeweled clip; one long curl fell over her shoulder.
She stopped near Hassrick. "What's going on?" she asked, nodding in Falkon's direction. "What happened to him?"
"Just a little discipline," Hassrick retorted. "Get in. We're late."
One of the bodyguards shoved Falkon into the backseat and sat down beside him. The second bodyguard took the other side. Hassrick activated the shackles on his feet.
Moments later, they were speeding through the city toward the space dock.
Ashlynne settled herself in her seat as the cruiser lifted off. Pulling a palm-sized portareader from her pocket, she selected a book and pretended to read, but the words on the screen were a blur. She was going home, only her home was gone, her parents were gone, and she was as much a prisoner as Falkon. She had dared not protest when Hassrick locked him in the cargo hold. She could still see the angry cut on his cheek, the blood dripping from the wound, the barely restrained anger in his eyes. She had to be careful, for both of them.
The Hassrick cruiser was sleek and fast. Hassrick rode up front, with the pilot, leaving her blessedly alone.
Now that it was too late, it occurred to her that she might have made a serious mistake in insisting Falkon go with them to Tierde. In her anxiety to have Falkon with her, she had forgotten that Drade was waiting on Tierde.
They arrived at Enjine Base Nine late that night. Hassrick had called ahead and made arrangements for a room. Ashlynne bit back her protest when Falkon was taken to the detention level, telling herself it would be for only one night.
Their room was small, just a bedroom with bathing facilities adjoining, nothing like Commander Casman's lavish quarters. She undressed in the bathroom, then slipped under the covers of one of the twin beds.
She could hear Hassrick's voice coming from the bathroom, though she couldn't distinguish the words. She wondered who he was talking to so late, but she didn't really care. Tomorrow they would be back at the mine. She didn't want to see it again, didn't want to be reminded of what had happened there, of all she had lost.
With a sigh, she burrowed under the covers and closed her eyes, wondering if the nightmare would ever end.
Chapter Twenty-five
The mine looked much as she remembered save for the addition of a gate on this side of the bridge. The buildings that had been destroyed had been replaced. There was a new domicile for the mine manager, new cells for the slaves. For there were slaves. Almost a dozen of them.
The slaves emerged from the bowels of the mine just as they arrived, eleven men fitted with the heavy collars that marked them as slaves, their faces and bodies covered with layers of fine black baneite dust.
The prisoners came out of the mine one by one and made their way to the cells, looking neither right nor left. It bothered her, their complete lack of interest in what was going on around them.
A guard trailed behind them, closing the cell doors, which locked automatically.
She slid a glance at Falkon, who was standing beside her, his hands securely shackled. She could feel the tension radiating from him as he contemplated returning to the mine. She had pleaded with Niklaus to let Falkon work up at the house, but he had adamantly refused.
"We have servants," he had replied coldly. "We don't need a dirty slave."
She heard Falkon swear softly, turned to follow his gaze.
A tall man with cropped brown hair and light brown eyes was striding toward them. He moved with the pride and arrogance that seemed to be characteristic of all military men, whatever their race or allegiance.
She recognized him immediately as the man she had seen interviewed on the tele-screen. Drade. The man behind the attack on Falkon's home.
A smile broke over Drade's face when he saw Falkon. "Niklaus!" he exclaimed. "You'll get a fat reward for bringing this one in."
Niklaus grinned as he shook the other man's hand. "I'm counting on it."
Drade laughed good-naturedly. "You should have it by the end of the week. Not that you need it."
"Excuse me," Ashlynne said, "but Number Four belongs to me."
Niklaus turned to glare at her.
Drade lifted one brow. "And who is this lovely creature?"
"My wife. Ashlynne, this is Commander Drade. He's been looking after the mine."
"Ah, Lady Hassrick, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you."
"Number Four belongs to my family."
Drade smiled expansively. "Be that as it may, he's an escaped slave."
"How can that be," she asked quietly, "seeing as how he is here?"
Drade looked at Hassrick and grinned. "A good point."
"He was never an escaped slave," Ashlynne said. "When we were attacked, he escorted me to safety. I would not be here today if it weren't for his loyalty and devotion. I will not have him executed."
Niklaus took Drade aside. Ashlynne could not hear their words, but she had the feeling that Niklaus was telling Drade that it was necessary to keep Falkon alive.
"If you insist." Drade slapped Niklaus on the back. "But I'm afraid that means you can't claim the reward."
Niklaus's smile seemed to fade a little around the edge as he muttered, "As you said, I don't need it."
"Indeed."
A look that could only be called conspiratorial passed between the two men.
"Well," Niklaus said, "we'll leave him in your capable hands."
"Don't worry about Number Four," Drade replied. "I'll take good care of him."
Was it her imagination, or was there a very real threat in those words? But she had no time to wonder. Taking her by the arm, Niklaus led her to a waiting shuttle and hurried her inside.
She looked out the window, her gaze lingering on Falkon, wondering if she would ever see him again.
Ashlynne stared at the house, unable to believe her eyes. "How?" she asked. "When?"
"Men working around the clock," Hassrick replied.
She shook her head. A new house stood where hers had been. A bigger house, three stories high, surrounded by a high wall. The windows were of Hodorian stained glass, very rare, very expensive. The grounds were landscaped with exotic plants and flowering shrubs. She saw a new barn in the distance.
"Well, shall we go in?"
Ashlynne nodded, amazed that he had built a house so quickly. He had hired a staff, too, a cook, a maid, a housekeeper, someone to tend the grounds, a groom to look after the three horses that had been sent ahead. She smiled faintly as he introduced her to the staff. The cook was a grim-faced man named Ogger; the housekeeper looked as if she had just graduated from school. She was young and pretty, with long red hair and slanted brown eyes. Ashlynne wondered, fleetingly, if Hana was there to do more than tidy up the place.
Niklaus followed her as she went from room to room. It was a large, spacious house, beautifully furnished, but she knew it would never be home. She remembered her parents' house, the cozy fireplace, the sense of security she had known there. Her bedroom had been filled with the treasures of her youth. She felt old now, lost and alone.
Her rooms were located on the south end of the second floor. His were at the other end of the house.
"I'll see you at dinner," Niklaus said. "Drade will be joining us."
With a nod, she closed the door to her room. The tears came then, hot swift tears that did nothing to ease the ache in her heart.
Falkon stood at the door of his cell, staring out int
o the compound. The new cells were no better than the old ones. They were just as small, just as dark. The only improvement was that he now had a hard narrow cot to sleep on instead of a hard dirt floor. Of all the rotten luck, he thought bitterly. Not only was he back at the mine, but Drade was in charge, at least temporarily.
Drade, who strutted around like some little tin god. Drade, who was sure to make his life a living hell. A living hell that started at dawn the following morning.
Breakfast was the same as always: a hunk of dark bread, a bowl of gruel, and a cup of the hot bitter brew so dear to the heart of the Romarians.
He was given a quarter of an hour to eat and relieve himself, and then the manacles on his wrists were activated and he was ordered out of his cell. When all the slaves were assembled, they were herded into the mine.
He kept his face carefully blank as he passed Drade and ducked into the shaft's opening. Once inside, his hands were released.
The underground cavern was enormous, lit here and there by small lamps that offered only enough light to work by. The black crystals, so precious to the Confederation, did not come easy. The ground was broken with a pulse axe, and then the crystals were dug out of the earth by hand. It was dirty, back-breaking work. The crystals were large and heavy, yet for all that, they were amazingly fragile.
The slaves toiled in the mine from dawn till noon, at which time they were given a break for the midday meal, and then it was back to work until dark. Seven days a week. A world without sun, without warmth. Without her.
During the next two days, he watched the comings and goings of the guards. There were fewer now than there had been before. As far as he could tell, there were only four guards on the premises; two who watched over the prisoners while they toiled in the mine, and two who patrolled the compound at night.
He had been in the mine just over a week when one of the slaves went berserk. With an inhuman shriek, he hurled himself at one of the guards. The results were immediate, and fatal.
The slave dropped to the ground, writhing in agony. A shrill scream erupted from his throat as pain shot through every nerve while the collar around his throat slowly strangled the life from his body.
The guard pointed at Falkon. "You. Haul his carcass out of here."
Wordlessly, Falkon grasped the dead man by the ankles and dragged him out of the mine. Emerging from the bowels of the cavern, he paused a moment, basking in the warmth of the sun on his face.
"What's going on?"
Squinting against the sunlight, Falkon saw Drade striding toward him.
"I asked you a question, Number Four."
"See for yourself."
Drade grimaced as he glanced at the dead man. "What happened?"
Falkon shrugged. "He attacked a guard."
Drade grunted, then gestured toward the bridge. "Get going. We'll dump him in the ocean."
Resisting the urge to refuse, Falkon slung the dead man's body over his shoulder and headed for the gate. Drade punched in the code and the heavy iron gate swung open.
It was a quarter of a mile to the ocean. Falkon was sweating profusely by the time they reached the water. A natural dock formed by a long finger of land extended about twenty yards into the surf. Falkon carried the body to the end of the jetty and dumped it into the water. He stood there a moment, feeling the spray on his face, wondering what his chances were of overcoming Drade and making a break for the jungle.
He cursed as Drade activated the manacles on his hands. The man was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid.
Turning, Falkon walked back to the beach. "Why?" he asked. "Why did Hodore attack the mine? Why did they destroy Myrafloures?"
"Let's go, slave."
"Answer me, dammit."
Drade laughed softly. "I don't owe you any explanations."
"You owe me plenty."
Drade ran his finger over the controller. "Amazing, what this can do, don't you think?"
Falkon's hands curled into fists. His gaze bored into the other man's. "Go ahead, use it." Heart pounding, he waited, wondering what foolishness had prompted him to say such a thing. Drade had always been a bully, always enjoyed inflicting pain. At the academy, he had delighted in tormenting the incoming cadets.
He took a deep breath as Drade's thumb hovered over the controller, looked up as the sound of hoofbeats reached his ears. Ashlynne! Mounted on a snow-white stallion, her hair flowing wild around her shoulders, she looked like an avenging angel.
She reined her horse to a halt a short distance from where they stood. "What's going on?"
She directed her question to Drade, but her gaze rested on Falkon.
He bit back a grin at the sound of her lady-of-the-manor tone.
"Just disposing of a dead slave," Drade replied easily. He smiled at her, his gaze moving over her in a long, slow look that bordered on insolence.
"What killed him?"
"He attacked one of my men."
"I see."
Drade shrugged. "It happens sometimes. They all go a little mad after a while. Fortunately, there's always a ready supply of rebels like this one to take their places."
"Number Four is not to be hurt," Ashlynne said. "He belongs to me, not to you. Nor to Niklaus. You would do well to remember that."
"Yes, my lady. Your husband made that quite clear. Of course, if he attacks one of my men, he'll have to suffer the consequences."
"He's not to be hurt," she said again. "If anything happens to him, I will hold you personally responsible."
It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. Niklaus was in charge. She had no power at all.
"Yes, my lady," Drade replied. "I'm sure Number Four appreciates your concern, but we've got to be getting back now."
Ashlynne gazed at Falkon, drinking in the sight of him, longing to go to him, to wipe the bitterness from his eyes, the perspiration from his brow.
"Are you well, Number Four?" she asked.
He looked up at her, his expression closed, his jaw rigid.
"Number Four?"
"I'm fine."
"Are they treating you well?"
"Oh, yeah," he replied, his words edged with bitterness. "Food fit for a king. A feather bed. A hot bath and a massage every night." He regretted his words as soon as he spoke them. Pain flickered in the depths of her eyes.
Drade laughed. "Let's go."
Falkon looked at Ashlynne and shook his head, silently asking her forgiveness.
Drade poked Falkon with the riding crop he always carried. "Move it, slave. Being out in this hot sun is making me thirsty." He touched his forefinger to the brim of his cap. "Pleasure seeing you again, Lady Hassrick."
Ashlynne nodded, her heart aching as she watched Falkon turn and walk back toward the mine.
"I'll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning," Hassrick said. He sat back in his chair, a look of utter contentment on his face as the housekeeper filled his wineglass. "Thank you, Hana."
Hana smiled at him, then turned and walked toward the door, her hips swaying provocatively.
"You're leaving?" Ashlynne said.
He nodded, his gaze following Hana.
"How long will you be gone?" She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice.
"No more than a week. I have business on Hodore."
"Hodore!" she exclaimed. "What kind of business could you possibly have there?"
"Nothing you need concern yourself with. I'll require your signature on a few documents before I go."
"What documents?"
He looked at her, a lazy smile playing over his lips. "I think it would be in your best interest to assign ownership of the mine to me."
She stared at him. "Why would I do that?"
"Perhaps I phrased it wrong. It would be in Number Four's best interest if you did as I asked."
The unspoken threat made her stomach clench. "And if I refuse?"
"I'm afraid your slave might meet with an unfortunate accident."
"And what's to keep him f
rom having an 'accident' once I sign?"
Niklaus regarded her through narrowed eyes. "I get the feeling you don't trust me, my dear."
She looked at him, her hands tightly clenched in her lap, but said nothing.
Niklaus blew out a sigh. "Very well. When I return, I'll have some papers for you to sign."
"What kind of papers?"
"It doesn't matter. You will sign them."