The Diamond Dragon (Kip Keene Book 4) (13 page)

“This is the type of man you brought me? We have good men, honorable men, and—”

“I’m right here, you know,” Keene said. He noted the hurt in Alessia’s eyes, being spoken to like a child—or like an outsider herself. Not to mention the exaggerations. Perhaps the men down here were honorable, but good was likely a stretch. They were emaciated, flea-ridden, eyes sunken deep within their skin from lack of nutrients and proper exercise. A paranoid life in the shadows had taken its toll, eroded whatever physical skills they might have once possessed.

Cladius and his legion would make short work of them.

“Enough of your insolence.”

“No question, then?”

“A more difficult one,” Prashant said, his gaze turning slowly back towards Keene. “For the clever man.”

Keene shrugged. There was no harder question. It would be the same as before, just with less room for error. And there had been no room for error before, because whatever Prashant was to ask was designed to be unanswerable. 

Prashant had been responsible for too many deaths, too many beatings, too many of his men shuffling off this mortal coil. The resistance leader had no interest in adding anyone to the ranks. Trust was just a small part of the issue. Perhaps the real problem was fear—an acute anxiety about being responsible for one more good man’s death.

Or maybe he just didn’t like Keene.

“You’re not responsible for me,” Keene said.

“What was that?” Prashant leaned back, off-kilter from the unsolicited response.

“I came here on my own,” Keene said. “I didn’t come for your help.”

“Kip, just let him ask—” Alessia started.

“So if you want to tag along, show me where this Diamond Dragon sleeps, be my guest,” Keene said. “But I’m all right with dying alone with Strike, too, if that’s fine with you.”

He turned to leave. Two of the men on the floor scurried to their feet and stood in the narrow exit. Keene sized them up with a weary eye. He had vastly overestimated the odds against him when he’d first entered. It would’ve taken little to break them both in half before he had begun to exercise. Now it would be merely unsporting.

At some point, the Shambhala Resistance had probably been strong, filled with well-muscled and daring young men. But those days were not now.

Keene took a step forward. To their credit, the men did not shake or show any sign of intimidation. They were willing to die, despite the odds, for their beliefs.

“What do you propose we do, then?” Prashant said. Apparently the unspoken question had been answered to his satisfaction.

Keene grinned. “Save the girl and save the world. Just like the old man said.”

“Then there is no time to waste,” Prashant said. He held up the leather pouch of mysterious berries. “Your first task, then.”

“Eat?”

“No,” Prashant said with a thin smile, “you must gather our army.”

“Where’d you find these special berries, anyway?” Keene said. He peered at the grassy ground. Fresh stalks tickled his nose. He breathed in the earthy soil and stifled a cough. They’d been lying in the back field prone for fifteen minutes, and the wait was getting to him.

Staking out a well wasn’t his idea of saving the world.

“They only grow high in the mountains. Where it is not too cold, and the snow cannot reach,” Alessia said. “It took many years for me to gather so many. They are the rarest of plants.”

“If they’re used to control people, then why’d you offer them to that man in the forest?”

“An overdose is euphoric. Heavenly. Or so they say.” Alessia peered down her notched arrow. “I’ve measured out the dosages where it’ll only be one per family. After they drink the infused water, they will become highly suggestible.”

“Don’t these people support you already?”

“This will eradicate their fear,” Alessia said. “And allow them to become heroes.”

“Fine line between a hero and a martyr.”

“Prashant says we all must sacrifice.”

“And what happens if the Romans influence them first?”

“Our men will filter into the village and deliver the water buckets, along with the message,” Alessia said.

“And if someone drinks too much?”

No answer from Alessia, but that was enough for Keene. Just one of Prashant’s sacrifices for the greater good. Overwhelming support would be necessary to siege the estate, attack the well-trained Roman legion.

Casualties were just a fact of life, here in the end times.

He hadn’t been reticent at all about holding Keene’s life in his hands. No—Prashant was paranoid, worried that his own hidden agenda would falter. Both he and Cladius had schemed for years, pitted against one another in a game of shadows.

Keene stared at an inchworm dragging itself past. It was making better time than they were. He scratched in the dirt with the tip of his combat knife. Following Prashant’s lead made him uncomfortable. Love didn’t blind him to some of the man’s more glaring character flaws. Beneath the charismatic and well-polished exterior, there was much hidden.

Whether that was good or bad, Keene couldn’t tell. But he did realize that this man—Cladius’ liaison to the locals—had become very good at obscuring his true intentions. Hiding in plain sight.

He nudged Strike and whispered in her ear. “I don’t trust Prashant.”

“That makes two of us,” she said.

“Quiet,” Alessia said, her voice hissing through the still plants. “They’ll hear us.”

“How many guards up at the well?”

“Two. I’m waiting for them to turn.”

Thoughts of the ice temple and the world’s impending implosion flooded Keene’s thoughts. His body itched to start moving. It wasn’t nervousness, but the lack of action that was bothering him.

Hell, he might rather be shot at.

“There,” Alessia said. She began scrambling on her belly through the tall grass. Keene gritted his teeth and followed, feeling the dirt rake over his elbows. Shambhala might’ve looked idyllic and pristine, but its soil was still littered with sharp rocks, just like any other place in the world.

She popped up and fired a shot from her bow. A muted crash followed. Keene emerged from the stalks to find himself face-to-face with a Roman Centurion. The soldier looked down at his fallen comrade, then to Keene.

Keene swung the blade towards the man’s neck, but the soldier ducked and caught him with a right hook to the stomach. Keene grimaced and wobbled, taking another blow to the cheek. The world began to blur.

He heard the soldier cry something out in Latin.
Attack? Under attack? To arms
?

These were some tough sons-of-bitches. He flailed with the knife, but whiffed. Keene clenched his abs, expecting another punch to rocket into his midsection. Instead, he heard a knife
schwing
past his ear.

There was a slight gurgle. The cries for help stopped.

Keene saw the man’s armor glint in the mid-afternoon light as the soldier fell to his knees, clutching his ruined throat.

“Figured you could use a little help, partner,” Strike said. He looked up, his vision coming back into focus.

“I had him just fine.” Keene held his arms out to steady himself. He blinked and stared at the well. A roar entered his ears. He turned his head slightly, toward the estate on the hill.

An army of red-plumed helmets was already coming down the incline, swords drawn, footsteps perfectly coordinated. A dozen deep, ten wide. Over a hundred well-trained soldiers, the surviving remnants of a once magnificent Roman legion that, many centuries ago, stood over four thousand strong.

Except these weren’t cast-offs.

These were the best of the best.

And they were headed towards Keene, led by two black-armored men who projected another level of terror entirely.

“All done,” Alessia said. She held up the empty pouch. “We have little time.”

“But your men won’t be able to deliver the water.”

“That is not my place in the plan, and thus I will not worry about it.” Alessia began running through the tall grass, past Keene and Strike.

“Maybe Prashant fed
her
the berries already,” Strike said. “Christ.”

The stomping grew louder, bearing down on the well. The soldiers made no indication that they would break rank or accelerate. Discipline was their strongest attribute, serving them well for centuries. No reason to abandon it now.

Keene broke into a dead run after Strike, following the trampled stalks left behind by Alessia’s hurried footsteps. Even she had become sloppy in covering her trail at the threat of the Romans. Something told Keene that this was a product of some nasty close calls.

The trail suddenly ended in the middle of the field. Keene almost ran into Strike’s backside.

“She’s gone,” Strike said, her eyes searching the ground. “Into thin air.”

A whisper came from the dirt nearby. “In here.”

A patch of grass shifted slightly at the roots. Keene hurried over to find a trapdoor camouflaged by the grassland. It was cracked open merely a sliver. He lifted the cover and leaned forward, catching sight of a short ladder. At the bottom of the brief drop, Alessia stood in rapt conversation with Prashant. It was easy to recognize him from the glow of the soft tunic.

“I guess we’re going back underground,” Keene said, whispering back to Strike. “Watch your step.”

He slid into the hole, his feet searching for the first rung. Keene awkwardly managed to position himself, then descended the ladder. He set his feet on the ground and looked up to find Strike gliding down like a feather on the wind.

Show-off.

Keene stared at his surroundings. Another tunnel, hand-dug, fitted with dim candles. Prashant must have smuggled them back from his visits to Tillus. There must’ve been a whole network of tunnels beneath the valley. Now Keene understood where the fork led. The ground shook above, then stopped.

“They will find us soon if we do not give them something else to worry about,” Prashant said. His luminous eyes gave no hint that he was worried. “You have taken care of the water?”

“Some good it’ll do,” Keene said. “What with martial law breaking out.”

“It is done. If you are indeed the last hope Alessia claims, this step will prove your worth.”

Keene could tell Prashant didn’t think much of him or Strike. Not that Keene cared. If this man wanted to save his beloved—Keene watched as Prashant took Alessia’s hand and rubbed it with reserved reverence—then he’d have to learn to trust outsiders a little more.

“Man, you’d think we were with Cladius,” Keene said. “Nice greeting.”

Prashant said nothing in response. He gave Alessia a brief, passionate kiss, then ran down the tunnel. After he disappeared, she turned around and tried to punch Keene. Thanks to his new training regime, Keene saw it coming and ducked.

“A little respect wouldn’t kill you.” She panted angrily and reared back to launch a second blow. “The things he’s done, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” Keene said, watching the closed fist with a detached caution. It was early yet, and already the revolutionaries were splintering into factions. That had always been the problem with rebels.

They tended to be rebellious.

Keene met her gaze. He understood. But old wounds and sacrifices wouldn’t help them now. He stepped forward into the tunnel and began walking. He heard footsteps behind him, which meant that Alessia was really pissed about something. A weak jab bounced off his shoulder.

Keene turned around, blocking the tunnel. Alessia tried to slip by, but he held firm. “What now?”

“I go first,” Alessia said. “Prashant will act as if he has captured me sneaking in to the estate to save my father.”

“That’s the plan? They’ll kill you.”

“Our people will come to save me,” she said, and tried to get around Keene. He adjusted his arms to stop her progress. She struggled to move his elbow by pushing against it, then backed up, quickly notching an arrow in her bow. “If not, I’m already dead. Move.”

“What do you need us to do?” Keene said.

“My appearance will draw the Centurions towards the estate. Our remaining members will rally the townspeople and attack the estate. This will force Cladius to draw upon most of his men from all over Shambhala. The Diamond Dragon will be left unguarded.”

“You want me to sneak into the temple while you twist in the wind.”

“Secure the temple by killing any guards left behind and we will have won the battle.”

“Not if you die,” Keene said. “Then what? You can’t sacrifice yourself. This prophecy thing doesn’t really work without you, apparently.”

“Then it was our best shot, and we took it without hesitation.”

“I don’t doubt you want to die,” Keene said. “But one question before you commit suicide.”

“No more questions. Move.”

“Do you really think killing yourself will bring him back?”

The arrow wavered slightly, but it still remained ready to fire. “Don’t act like you know me.”