Linda Evans - Far Edge of Darkness

"There is not space for your horse," Decius called as the tired animal waded toward the little craft. "He has saved us. I am sorry."

For a moment, Charlie sat frozen on Silver's back. Not take Silver? Charlie turned his head away to hide a sudden rush of grief. He would have died—many times over—without this animal. He couldn't simply turn Silver loose on the beach to be roasted alive. Not and continue to look himself in the eye. What was it they said a man had to be able to do? Shoot his own dog?

I'm sorry, dammit, I'm sorry.

"Take Lucania!"

Decius manhandled the toddler aboard.

Charlie drew his sword and cut the rope between his saddle and the prow of the fishing boat, then handed over his crutch to the waiting Decius. The fisherman dropped it into the little boat without so much as glancing at it. Charlie's lantern, he secured to the rigging, near the mast. Carefully, Charlie slid out of the saddle into rough water.

He wallowed, half-floating, waist-deep in the troughs, nearly chin-deep in the swells and foamy whitecaps. He gripped the sword, then pulled Silver's head down. Charlie stroked his ears, murmured softly to him.

"Hey, fella, you did real good, Silver, you did real damned good..." He shut his eyes, trying not to think about what he had to do. "I'm gonna miss you, you big, faithful lummox..."

I can't...

He'd killed untold numbers of men. But one, stupid horse... Ruthlessly, Charlie brought to mind the image of Silver screaming, burning to death, trying to run into the sea, his mane crisping in the lethal, burning air—

With a quick thrust, he cut the great jugular vein.

The horse screamed. Charlie's insides flinched from the sound. Silver tried to rear. Blood sprayed horribly. Charlie grabbed the edge of the boat and pulled himself clear of Silver's thrashing legs. Decius and Phillipa grasped his arms and hauled him aboard.

They'd lit more storm lanterns, which swung wildly from ropes running from mast to stern and prow. Charlie slithered over the gunwale like a gaffed fish and landed with a pain-racked thump in the bottom of the boat. He dropped the sword and lay still for a moment, fighting waves of pain and weakness, then struggled to sit up. He was half blinded by salt water, only partly from the Mediterranean.

When he could see, he found Silver in the water, still struggling. But the light slowly went out of the horse's eyes. His front legs buckled and the frightened sounds faded. Silver finally rolled over onto his side, wet hooves glinting in the lantern light. The horse went under once, then finally bobbed quietly in the churning black water. Charlie squeezed shut his eyes, then groped for his daughter and cradled the sleepy little girl close. He would not think about Sibyl.

"Get the hell out of here!" He didn't care that his voice broke raggedly.

As the Roman fisherman set his prow seaward, Charlie didn't know whether he wept for the horse, for Sibyl, or for himself.

"Don't I even get a last meal?" Francisco asked quietly.

Lucille sobbed in one corner and pleaded with a man named Nelson. "Don't kill him—please, Nelson—"

"Shut up!" Nelson backhanded her.

Francisco swung before he could think better. He ended up on the floor, doubled over and retching.

Janet Firelli ran to him, kneeling at his side to see how badly they'd injured him. She glared at Nelson while Francisco fought for sufficient breath to hush her.

" Why kill him?" The young woman's voice shattered on a sob. "He's no danger, not here..."

"Janet..." Francisco wheezed around the pain in his middle. "Don't..."

"Get him into that parka," Nelson snapped. "I'm not taking any chances. He might poison us all just for the fun of it."

Francisco didn't think he could gain his feet. Not without assistance. So he just glared up at Nelson from the floor and said around the blood in his mouth, "At least... let me make sure the others are healthy. Unless you want to risk losing someone else? Conditions here are bad. Real bad. I'm surprised they aren't all sick."

Nelson locked gazes with him, then grunted. "Sure, why not, doc? But make it fast."

Francisco nodded and tried to sit up. Janet helped him. He leaned heavily on her shoulder, feigning more pain and grogginess than he actually felt. Anything to gain time. ... Not that he expected the cavalry to save him. Francisco doubted anything could save him.

Both Janet and Lucille were crying. Danny, Jr. met his gaze bravely. "They're going to kill my dad too, aren't they?"

Francisco pushed himself awkwardly to his knees and tried to ease the pain in his gut. Stall 'em, long as you can . "Not for a while, Danny. They still need him. Janet, can you give me a hand?" With her help, he tottered to his feet and wobbled across to the nearest army cot. "Let me take a look at you, okay?"

He took his time despite pointless threats from Nelson and performed very thorough physicals on each of the hostages. Lucille winced when he bathed her bruised cheek and dabbed alcohol and antibiotic cream on her split lip.

"How's Dan?" she quavered. Her eyes were far too bright. The circles under her eyes were far too dark. How long, subjectively, had they been here?

"He's holding on, Lucy. I wondered what was wrong. He told everyone you and Danny were spending the winter in Juneau."

"They haven't hurt him?"

He held her gaze. "No. He's lost some weight and I doubt he's been sleeping much, but he's fine. They need him, obviously. He's smart, Lucy. Hang on a little longer, okay?"

She nodded. "I'll be fine, really."

He managed a smile around the sudden lump in his throat.

Then he returned to Janet. As he put her through the exam, he murmured, "About Zac... Do what I told you, okay? Keep the incision clean and keep him quiet. Zac should heal quickly. Kids that age do."

"I'm scared," she whispered, eyes brimming. "I don't have any medical background at all. I'm a physics major, not a med student."

"You did fine in surgery. This will be easy potatoes, compared. And remember, if there are any complications"—he allowed his gaze to slide briefly toward Nelson—"you'll still have the surgical kit."

She caught her breath, then nodded. Hope flared for a moment in her eyes, then grief blotted it out. "I can't bear this! They can't just murder you!"

They not only could, they would. All too soon. And both of them knew it. He squeezed her hand. "Thanks, Janet," he said a little unsteadily.

He couldn't delay any longer. He'd already repeated a couple of things as it was. His hands shook as he stood up. Francisco drew a quick breath and turned to face Nelson—by far the hardest thing he'd ever done. Nelson's eyes were glacial.

"All right," Francisco snarled, "let's get this over with!"

Nelson and the man called Joey had already shrugged into parkas. Joey handed Francisco another, which he donned with fingers that shook so badly, he couldn't work the zipper. Danny muttered, "Here, let me."

"Sit down!"

He got the damned zipper closed. Danny flushed dark red and sat down, but he shoved his lower lip out and glared at Nelson with murder in his young eyes. For just an instant, he looked exactly like his father. Francisco drew a ragged breath and turned his back on the others. Bill held the door and flipped him an arrogant salute.

"So long, Major," he grinned. "Have a nice trip. I hear the skiing is great this time of year."

Francisco stumbled out onto icy ground. Nelson and Joey followed silently. The door slammed shut behind them. The cold was dry and bitter in his lungs. They marched him out across the snow field, away from the building. How far would they walk him? Out of range of the gunshot, maybe. Then again, maybe not. If the hostages heard him die, they'd be less likely to cause trouble in the future.