Page 16 of Dalla’s Royal Guards (Second Chance #3)

Nine

The hot wind whipped at Detri’s face as he reached the hangar entrance and looked out across the vast airfield.

Over a dozen nondescript military vehicles, their paint scratched and dull, patrolled the Kashir International Airport, their engines rumbling.

He needed to debrief the shaken remnants of his team.

He felt a knot in his stomach; he needed more information before contacting Kramer.

Tomás, the helicopter pilot, and Gunther Krauss, a German mercenary, nodded to him. His eyes flickered over the long wooden shaft embedded in the belly of the Huey before he grimly scrutinized the two men.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Gunther’s expression was stony as he replied in a curt tone, “We were attacked.”

“Attacked? By what? A medieval Viking living in the deserts of Kashir?” he retorted, his voice laced with scorn and disbelief.

Tomás shook his head. “A woman.”

Detri’s eyes widened at the comment. “You’re telling me a woman with a bow took down a military helicopter and sent you running like neutered dogs?”

Gunther muttered a curse under his breath before he pursed his lips. He knew he wouldn’t get anything out of the German now, not after insulting him. He turned his focus to Tomás. The pilot wasn’t as sensitive.

Tomás waved a hand at the three-and-a-half foot shaft protruding from the belly of the helicopter.

Detri pushed between the two men and walked over to inspect the shaft closer.

The arrow had pierced through the thin sheet metal and lodged in the center.

The tip was damaged, but he could see the rounded head.

Crouching, he studied the section under the helicopter.

He reached out and ran his fingers over the engraving burned into the wood. He didn’t recognize the words.

He rose and turned back to the two men standing silently behind him. Tomás was detaching his body cam while Gunther still looked pissed off at the world. It suddenly clicked why.

“Your brother was piloting the other helicopter, wasn’t he?” he asked.

“ Ja .”

A woman had saved the Narva princes and their niece in their first confrontation. This was the second time she had gotten in his way. Detri wanted to know who she was and where she had come from.

“Get the shaft out of there and send it to someone who can read the inscription. I want to know everything there is to know about it. Check it for DNA. I want to know who the woman is,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Tomás replied.

Gunther started to turn away, but Detri stopped him. He appreciated the hostile glare Gunther gave him. The man was burning with rage, and Detri would use it to his advantage.

“I want you to find her,” he said.

“And when I do?”

“Do nothing… yet. Just find her. I’ll let you know when to bring her in,” he responded.

Gunther gave him a terse nod and walked away. Detri grimaced as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the number.

It didn’t look like he was going to get all of his answers before he spoke to Kramer. Connecting the call, he lifted the cell phone to his ear and spoke.

“There’s been another setback.”

The steady hum of the vehicle, her dawn trek, and sleepless night soon lulled Dalla into dreamless slumber.

Musad glanced in the rearview mirror several times after they returned to the vehicle. They didn’t have time to waste. They were still technically in Kashir. Until they crossed the border into Simdan, none of them would be safe.

“I can’t believe she brought down a helicopter with a bow and arrow,” Nasser muttered.

Musad’s lips quirked at the thought. “I bet neither could the pilot and crew. I’m glad she did, or Donovan and the others wouldn’t have made it to safety with Cianna.”

“What do you think is in the mountains?” Nasser asked.

Musad shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“You don’t think this is a trap, do you? I know she saved our lives, but the stuff she said—it’s hard to believe.”

Musad glanced in the rearview mirror at Dalla. She was asleep. She had bundled her headscarf into a makeshift pillow and was resting her head in the corner between the seat and the window. Her eyelashes curved like twin crescents, lips parted with each quiet breath.

He jerked his eyes back to the road when he hit a pothole. He needed to focus. Pursing his lips, he thought about his brother’s question and shook his head.

“No, I don’t think it is a trap. I think she needs our help,” he said.

“Yeah, I think you are right,” Nasser finally agreed.

The ping of his cell phone mounted to the holder on the dash alerted him to an incoming message. Nasser reached out and pulled the phone free.

“Donovan says they made it to the airport and are about to leave for Narva. He’s asking if we need backup,” Nasser said.

“No, not yet. We’ll be in Simdan in a few more miles. Once we are across the border, we should have a measure of safety.”

Nasser nodded and sent a reply. Musad shot his brother a raised eyebrow when Nasser released a snort of laughter. Nasser grinned back at him.

“He said Father asks us to thank Dalla for her protection and says he can’t wait to meet her in person.”

Musad shot his brother a startled glance. “How did he know about her?”

“I have no idea.”

Musad looked in the rearview mirror again. His eyes connected with Dalla’s. He had to force his attention back to the road before he ran off it.

“We’ll cross the border in a couple of miles. We should be at the base of the mountains within the hour. Are you hungry or thirsty?” he asked.

“Both,” she replied.

“There’s a cooler and food container behind the seat.”

“Thank you. Would you like something?”

“I’ll take a water,” he said.

“If there are any coffees, I’ll take one,” Nasser said, yawning.

“One coffee and one water,” she said, holding out the bottles between the seats.

“Do you know where we are going once we get to the mountains?” Musad asked.

“Yes… but we will have to hike in. I doubt there will be a road to where we are going,” she said.

A glance at his brother told him that Nasser hadn’t missed the soft catch in her voice either. Whatever had happened there still meant a lot to her.

“Turn up there,” she instructed, pointing to a spot up on the left side of the highway.

Musad frowned when he saw a narrow dirt road. They had been traveling for over an hour, with one brief stop at a checkpoint on the Simdan border. The soldiers had been pleasant but cautious. Musad and Nasser had presented their documentation.

The issue came when the guard had asked for Dalla’s papers.

Nasser had stepped out of the SUV and walked with the guard to a small building while his companion remained alert.

A brief call later, the young soldier and Nasser had returned, and the guards had politely bowed and wished them a pleasant journey before opening the gate.

Since the checkpoint, there had been little traffic along the route. Most merchants and visitors were trying to avoid the area until the regime was more stable. Given the last two days, Musad didn’t blame them.

He turned off the highway where Dalla had pointed and followed the road a short distance.

The road ended in a large circle that looked like it had been used as a staging area when the highway was being built and continued to be used by travelers as a camping spot.

Trash and the remnants of an old firepit pocked the area.

He pulled along the circle before stopping in the shade of one of the high cliffs that lined the loop. He shifted the Land Cruiser into park and stared up at the sheer walls. Graffiti marred most of the lower section.

“Are you sure this is where you want to go?” he asked, his voice laced with doubt.

“Yes. It has changed since I was last here, but this is the place,” she responded, pushing open the door.

He killed the engine, unbuckled, and stepped out. Sliding out, he turned in a circle, trying to see the area through her eyes. Nasser slid out of the other side of the vehicle and raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged—just as clueless as Nasser.

“Now, we climb,” she announced.

“We need to get our packs,” Nasser said hastily.

Musad walked around to the back of the Land Cruiser, pulled his pack forward, and added water and food before pulling forward the duffle bag containing an assortment of weapons. They might be in Simdan, but that didn’t mean they were safe.

“This should be fun,” Nasser muttered.

“I just hope we have a vehicle by the time we get back,” he said, keeping his voice low as he peered through the tinted window at Dalla.

She was standing several feet away from them with her longbow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back.

The arrows protruded high above her head and almost to her knees.

This was the first time he had really noticed how long they were.

It was incredible that she could fit one and fire it the way she did.

“Ready?” Nasser asked.

Musad nodded. “Yes. Let me hide these in the compartment underneath.”

He pushed the ice chest aside and lifted the carpet covering the hidden compartment, stashed the duffle bag in the hole, and then closed and locked the compartment. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of drunk teenagers breaking into the vehicle and discovering a small armory of lethal weapons.

He closed the back hatch and locked the vehicle. Dalla looked at them when they walked over to her and gave them a brisk nod before she turned and began walking.

They followed her as she hiked along the walled canyon to the opening and up a worn path to the left, walking along the ragged edge. A quarter of a kilometer to the north, a crack in the rocks opened up. Dalla ran her fingers along a weathered inscription in the rock before she began climbing.

Musad cursed under his breath. Nasser didn’t bother keeping his curses quiet. If they were climbing to the top, it was going to be a long afternoon.

He gripped a section of rock and pulled himself up. Sweat beaded on his brow, dampening his hair and running down his spine as the early afternoon sun beat down on them.

“I’m so looking forward to a shower the first chance I get,” Nasser grumbled behind him.

Musad chuckled. Nasser had never enjoyed getting sweaty. It wasn’t that he never did, it was just that he appreciated the finer luxuries of indoor plumbing and climate control.

Musad’s chuckle turned to a grimace when a rock dislodged under his hand and fell. He scrambled for a grip while Nasser ducked his head and cursed as powdered rock and sand cascaded down around him.

He dug into a crevice, steadied himself, and climbed on. It was only when he looked up that he noticed Dalla had disappeared.

“Dalla,” he called.

“I’m here. It isn’t much farther,” she said.

He breathed a sigh of relief when she peered over the edge and looked down at him. She had removed her headscarf. Her face was flushed from the ascent. He gave her a brief nod and continued climbing.

Five minutes later, he emerged onto the rock face beside her, undid the straps of his pack, and slid it off his shoulders. Bracing it between his legs, he removed a bottle of water and handed it to Dalla before retrieving one for him and another for Nasser, who was scrambling to his feet.

“Thank you,” she said, twisting the cap off and taking a long gulp of the lukewarm water.

When Nasser was beside him, he handed his brother the bottle of water and then uncapped his own and drank deeply. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at the narrow gap that opened up onto an old footpath.

“How did you know this was here?”

She lowered the half-full bottle of water and gave them a bittersweet smile. That haunted look had returned to her eyes. He stepped forward, brushing a strand of damp hair from her cheek before he could stop himself.

“There was a mark on the rocks. The path leading upward has been damaged by time, but I knew once I saw the mark that I was in the right place,” she explained.

“Who left the mark?” Nasser asked.

Dalla partially turned and gave him a crooked smile.

“I did—long ago.”