Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [58]
Worf leaned heavily on Grant and forced his throbbing leg to move. There were more lives at stake than their own—all those doctors and medics and nurses who had heard Grant’s claim about Mrs. Khanty. Those people were all dead if Worf and Grant were brought down here. The bodies would disappear, the courtyard would be scrubbed of the blood, and Odette Khanty would implicate the “missing” conspirators in the murder.
Aggravated that he and Grant might just have handed Mrs. Khanty her alibi, Worf drove furiously for the ornate stone gatehouse. His chest pounded. His pulse roared in his ears. Through the iron gates he saw people milling about in the public square. If they could reach the square—
His leg folded under him again. The dozen glass shards were impaling more and more muscle with every flex, working their way deeper through his clothing. The pain was crippling, searing his body as he struggled forward, scraping across the tiles, clinging to Grant, who didn’t have the power to carry a man the size of Worf.
They scraped across the tiles, driven by the clack of Ugulan’s boots and those of the other Rogues who were still able to see and move. The main gate began to swirl before Worf’s eyes. He was losing blood. Shock was setting in, blurring his vision. Desperation began to take over, just as rage was driving the Rogues in spite of their injuries. He had to reach the gate, he had to get Grant to the City Police. They could not be caught here!
Suddenly, Grant choked and grimaced hard, arching his spine as he staggered. He dropped Worf and dropped to one knee. As he fell, Worf shivered at the sight of Ugulan’s dagger embedded in the fleshy part of Grant’s back, just under the shoulder blade.
“Aw!” Gasping in pain, Grant coiled his convulsing arm against his body and braced himself on the tiled floor with his other hand. His eyes crimped tight. “Crap! Aw, crap, we’re all done now! Iced by gorillas!”
“Get up!” Worf snapped. “Up! Use your legs!”
He shoved himself upright, damning agony down his leg and halfway up his side, and scooped Grant up with his good arm.
“Move! Move!”
He could hear Ugulan’s footsteps and those of the other Rogues, getting closer and closer, clapping on the tiles unevenly. The Rogues were all hurt and staggering, but the distance between them was shrinking. Worf harbored no doubts that if that space closed, Ugulan and the others would find the strength for one more slaughter.
“Oh, God …” Grant sank against him.
“Move!” Worf demanded again.
“She won …”
“She did not win!”
“We’re beat, Worf, she beat us—”
“Not yet! Move!”
“You never listen to me.”
“Walk!”
Yard by yard they slogged toward the gate, but Ugulan’s very breath was chasing them now. Mere inches separated them from the bloody hands of the head Rogue and the bite of Mortash’s extended dagger.
Worf willed the blurring iron gates open before them, and the gates began to shudder with movement. The might of his determination caused the gates to part and swing inward toward them—magic! The gates were opening!
As effort drained him and once again dragged Grant to one knee at his side, Worf grieved at the steps between them and the opening gates. Just steps—
“Hold it! Stop!”
He raised his sagging head at the shout that came from the gate.
“City Police!”
A dozen officers of the law surged into the courtyard, weapons drawn on the stunned Rogues and on Worf and Grant, though it was plain who was chasing and who was being chased.
“Hold it, all of you! City Police!”
A stocky police officer, with thick hair that was silvering prematurely, got between Worf and Ugulan. The Rogues had no choice but to back off, faced down by the police weapons that would have cut their daggers out of their hands. The policemen surrounded the Rogues and divested them of their blades.
The lead officer, the one who had barked the desist order, approached Worf and Grant.
“I’m Lieutenant Stoner. You