The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [173]
He stood five paces away, the metal object that had been at his belt now gripped in two hands thrust before him. There was a click as the man did something to the object. Beltan still did not understand what the thing was, but by the way the man held it, he clearly believed it would protect him.
“I said drop!”
Beltan decided to see if the guardsman was right, if the thing would indeed protect him. After all, what did he have to lose but his own cowardly, murdering life? Beltan tensed, then lunged forward.
There was a high-pitched screech, and something dark and fast sprang from the shadows. Long arms stretched out, and the thing landed on the guardsman. There was a loud boom like thunder that caused Beltan to stop and flinch.
“No!” a shrill voice screamed.
Larsen rushed forward, tears streaming down her face. The guardsman grunted and sat up, shoving his attacker off him. The chin-pasi rolled onto her back, arms flopping limply against the ground, empty brown eyes staring upward. In the center of her chest was a deep, bloody hole.
A wave of dizziness crashed through Beltan. He took a staggering step forward. “My lady …”
“Ellie!” Dr. Larsen shouted, kneeling beside the crumpled form of the chin-pasi.
Still sitting, the guardsman lifted the metal weapon and pointed it at Beltan. “I said drop, you bastard.”
“You idiot, don’t kill him!” Larsen cried, staggering to her feet in front of the guard, who swore and leaped up.
Beltan only watched, motionless. Bastard. So even on this world they knew what he was. The chin-pasi’s blood was pooling on the hard, black surface of the ground now. Beltan felt his knees buckle as the strange strength finally fled him. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. Before he could fall to the ground, rough hands grabbed him under the armpits, hauling him up.
The guard who had slain the chin-pasi stepped forward, face red and puffy. “Let me at that bastard.”
Again Dr. Larsen interposed herself between the guard and Beltan. There was fear in her eyes, and her hand trembled visibly as she held it out, but her voice was resolute.
“You will not harm him. Do you know how much we have invested in him? More than you’ll earn in your lifetime, you moron. Got that?”
The guard stared at her with a mixture of rage and chagrin.
Larsen turned, addressed the men who held Beltan. “Get him to the truck with the other subject. Now.”
Hands started to pull Beltan away. He could not resist.
“Let me go,” he croaked.
Larsen took a step toward him, her expression one of wonder. “My God, you really can speak our language.”
“I said let me go.”
“They won’t harm you.” Her eyes shone with wetness now. “Don’t be afraid.”
He bared his teeth, holding her gaze with his own. “My father was right,” he said softly. “I should have killed you.”
She stared and lifted a hand to her bruised throat.
A fog seemed to be settling all around now. The guards moved like wraiths in the gloom, and it almost felt like Beltan was floating on a gray ocean.
There was a moment when the fog cleared a little, and he stared at a peculiar sight. A man in a black robe stood near a group of several chin-pasis. They scurried, dragging bags behind them and loading them into one of the t’ruks. Only something about them wasn’t right. The fingers of the chin-pasis ended in long, curving claws, and their eyes were not soft and brown, but large and bright as moons.
The man in the black robe touched his face, and as he did several of the not-chin-pasis squealed and moved quickly in the direction he pointed. Then the man turned, and Beltan felt his heart wrench in his chest. The man’s face was made of gold.
The fog closed back in. It seemed to be seeping into his head now. There was a stinging in his arm. Had they poisoned him again? By the time he was able to blink his vision clear, he saw a set of black doors above him. A hand opened one of the doors. They were loading him onto one of the t’ruks. But the others were coming, the enemies of his captors. Only they wouldn’t know where he was.
Hands reached down for