by Anne Bishop
Saetan stumbled over a severed arm and finally admitted he had to stop. Jaenelle's blood-tonic allowed him to tolerate, and enjoy, some daylight, but he still needed to rest during the hours when the sun was strongest. As the morning gave way to afternoon, he'd worked in the shade as much as possible, but that hadn't been enough to counteract the drain strong sunlight caused in a Guardian's body, and he couldn't take the strain of doing so much healing for so many hours.
He had to stop.
Except he couldn't until he found Jaenelle.
He'd tried everything he could think of to locate her. Nothing had worked. All Ladvarian could tell him was she" was here and she was crying, but neither Ladvarian nor Kaelas could give him the barest direction of where to
search. When he finally got Mistral to understand his concern, the stallion said, "Her grief will not let us find her."
Saetan rubbed his eyes and hoped his fatigue-fogged brain kept working long enough to get him to the camp Chaosti and Elan had set up. He was too tired, too drained. He was starting to see things.
Like the unicorn Queen standing in front of him, who looked like she was made of moonlight and mist, with dark eyes as old as the land.
It took him a minute to realize he could see through her.
"You're-"
*Gone,* said the caressing, feminine voice. *Gone long and long ago. And never gone. Come, High Lord. My Sister needs her sire now.*
Saetan followed her until they reached a circle of low, evenly spaced stones. In the center, a great stone horn rose up from the land. An old, deep power filled the circle. "I can't go there," Saetan said. "This is a sacred place." *An honored place,* she replied. *They are nearby. She grieves for what she could not save. You must make her see what she did save.*
The mare stepped into the circle. As she approached the great stone horn, she faded until she disappeared, but he still had the feeling that dark eyes as old as the land watched him.
The air shimmered on his right. A veil he hadn't known was there vanished. He walked toward the spot. And he found them.
The bastards had butchered Kaetien. They had cut off his legs, his tail, his genitals. They had sliced open his belly.
They had cut off his horn.
They had cut off his head.
But Kaetien's dark eyes still held a fiery intelligence.
Saetan's stomach rolled.
Kaetien was demon-dead in that mutilated body.
Jaenelle sat next to the stallion, leaning against the open belly. Tears trickled from her staring eyes. Her white-knuckled hands were wrapped around Kaetien's horn.
Saetan sank to his knees beside her. "Witch-child?" he whispered.
Recognition came slowly. "Papa? P-Papa?" She threw herself into his arms. The quiet tears became hysterical weeping. Kaetien's horn scraped his back as she clung to him.
"Oh, witch-child." While he and the others had been searching for survivors, she'd been sitting there all day, locked in her pain.
"May the Darkness be merciful," said a voice behind him.
Saetan looked over his shoulder, feeling every muscle as he turned his head. Lucivar. Living strength that could do what he could not.
Lucivar stared at Kaetien's head and shook himself.
Saetan listened to the swift conversations taking place on spear threads, but he was too tired to make sense out of them.
Lucivar dropped to one knee, took a handful of Jaenelle's blood-matted hair, and gently pulled her head away from Saetan's shoulder. "Come on, Cat. You'll feel better once you've had a sip of this." He pressed a large silver flask against her mouth.
She choked and sputtered when the liquid went down her throat.
"This time swallow it," Lucivar said. "This stuff does less harm to your stomach than it does to your lungs."
"This stuff will melt your teeth," Jaenelle wheezed.
"What did you give her?" Saetan demanded when she suddenly sagged in his arms.
"A healthy dose of Khary's home brew. Hey!"
Saetan found himself braced against Lucivar's chest. He concentrated on breathing for a minute. "Lucivar. You asked if I was strong enough for this. I'm not."
A strong, warm hand stroked his head. "Hang on. Sun-dancer's coming. We'll get you to the camp. The girls will take care of Cat. A few minutes more and you can rest."
Rest. Yes, he needed rest. The headache that was threatening to tear his skull apart was gaining in intensity with" every breath.
Someone took Jaenelle out of his arms. Someone half
carried him to where Sundancer waited. Strong hands kept him on the stallion's back.
The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the camp wrapped in blankets with Karla kneeling beside him, urging him to drink the witch's brew she'd made for him.
After drinking a second cup, he submitted to being pushed, plumped, and rearranged in a sleeping bag. He snarled a bit at being fussed over until Karla tartly asked how he expected them to get Jaenelle to rest when he was setting such a bad example?
Not having an answer for that, he surrendered to the brew-dulled headache and slept.
Lucivar sipped laced coffee and watched Gabrielle and Morghann lead Jaenelle to a sleeping bag. She stopped, ignoring their coaxing to lie down and rest. Her eyes lost their dull, half-dazed look as her attention focused on Mistral hovering at the edge of the camp, still favoring his wounded left foreleg.
Lucivar felt very thankful that the cold, dangerous fire in her eyes wasn't directed at him.
"Why hasn't that leg been tended?" Jaenelle asked in her midnight voice as she stared at the young stallion.
Mistral snorted and fidgeted. He obviously didn't want to admit he hadn't allowed anyone to touch him.
Lucivar didn't blame him.
"You know how males get," Gabrielle said soothingly. " 'I'm fine, I'm fine, tend the others first.' We were just about to take care of him when you and Uncle Saetan came in."
"I see," Jaenelle said softly, her eyes still pinning Mistral to the ground. "I thought, perhaps, because they were human, you were insulting my Sisters by refusing to let them heal you."
"Nonsense," Morghann said. "Now, come on, set a good example."
Once they got her tucked in, they descended on Mistral.
It would be all right, Lucivar thought dully. It had to be all right. The unicorns and the other kindred wouldn't lose all their trust in humans and retreat again behind the veils
of power that had closed them off from the rest of Kaeleer. Cat would see to that. And Saetan. .
Hell's fire. Until today, he hadn't given much thought to the differences between a Guardian and the living. At the Hall, those differences seemed so subtle.
He hadn't realized strong sun would cause so much pain, hadn't fully appreciated how many years the High Lord had walked the Realms. Oh, he knew how old Saetan was, but today was the first time his father had seemed old.
Of course, the rest of them were feeling pretty beaten physically and emotionally, so it wasn't much of a yardstick to measure by.
Khary squatted beside him and splashed some of the home brew into the already heavily laced coffee. "There's something bothering our four-footed Brothers," he said quietly. "Something more than that." He waved a hand at the still, white bodies lying within sight.
The unicorns hadn't cared what happened to the human bodies – except to insist that the intruders not remain in their land – but they had been vehement about not moving the dead unicorns. The Lady would sing them to the land, they had said. Whatever that meant.
But as the wounded mares and foals had been led to this side of the landing hill, the surviving stallions had become more and more upset.
"Ladvarian might know," Lucivar said, sipping his coffee. He sent out a quiet summons. A few minutes later, the Sceltie trotted wearily into the camp.
*Moonshadow's missing,* Ladvarian said when Lucivar asked him. *Starcloud was getting old. Moonshadow was going to be the next Queen. She wears an Opal Jewel. One
of the mares said she saw humans throw ropes and nets around Moonshadow, but she didn't see where they went.* Lucivar closed his eyes. From what he could tell, all of the Blood males who had invaded Sceval had worn lighter Jewels, but enough of them with spelled nets and ropes. could control an Opal-Jeweled Queen. Were the spelled nets preventing her from calling to the others, or had she been taken off the island altogether?
"I'll be back before twilight," he said, handing the cup to Khary.
"Watch your back," Khary said softly. "Just in case."
Lucivar flew north. As he flew, he kept sending the same message: He served the Lady. The Lady was at a camp near the landing hill. Healers were with the Lady.
He saw a few small herds of unicorns, who ran for the trees as best they could as soon as they sensed him.
He saw a lot of still, white bodies.
He saw even more exploded human corpses, and thanked the Darkness that Jaenelle had somehow kept her rage confined to this island.
And he wondered about the pockets of power he kept sensing as he flew over woods and clearings. Some were faint; others much stronger. He was turning away from an especially strong one that was in the trees to his left when something grabbed him. Something angry and desperate.
Using his Birthright Red, he broke the contact, but it took effort.
*You serve the Lady,* said a harsh male voice.
Lucivar hovered, breathing hard. *I serve the Lady,* he agreed cautiously. *Do you need help?*
*She needs help.*
Landing, he allowed the power to guide him through the trees until he reached its source. In a hollow, a mare lay tangled in nets and ropes, breathing hard and sweating.
"Ah, sweetheart," Lucivar said softly.
While most of the unicorns were some shade of white, there were a few rare dappled grays. This mare was a pale pewter with a white mane and tail. An Opal Jewel hung from a silver ring around her horn.
She was not only a Queen, she was also a Black Widow. The only combination that was rarer was the Queen/Black Widow/Healer. He never heard of a witch like that when he'd lived in Terreille. In Kaeleer, there were only three- Karla, Gabrielle, and Jaenelle.
Standing very still, Lucivar slowly spread his dark, membranous wings. He'd heard enough disparaging remarks about "human bats" in his life to recognize the advantage.
his wings might give him now. Wings, like hooves and fur, were usually part of the kindred's domain.
"Lady Moonshadow," he said, keeping his voice low and soothing, "I am Prince Lucivar Yaslana. I serve the Lady. I'd like to help you."
She didn't reply, but the panic in her eyes gradually receded.
He walked toward her, gritting his teeth as the male power surrounding her swelled, then ebbed.
"Easy, sweetheart," he said, crouching beside her. "Easy."
Her panic spiked when his hand touched her withers.
Lucivar swore silently as he cut the nets and ropes. They'd tried to break her, tried to shatter her inner web. The only difference between what the Terreillean bastards had tried to do to her and what they usually did to human witches was physical rape. Maybe that's why they hadn't succeeded before Jaenelle had unleashed the Black. They hadn't been able to use their best weapon.
"There now," Lucivar said as he tossed the last of the ropes away. "Come on, sweetheart. On your feet. Easy now."
Step by step, he coaxed her out of the trees and into the clearing. Her fear increased with every step she took away from that power-filled hollow. He needed to get her to the camp before her fear finished what those bastards had started. A radial line from the Rose Wind was close enough to catch, and he could certainly guide and shield her for the short trip, but how to convince her to trust him that much?
"Mistral's going to be very glad to see you," he said casually.
*Mistral?* Her head swung around. He dodged the horn before it impaled him. *He is well?*
"He's at the camp with the Lady. If we ride the Rose Wind, we'll get there before twilight."
Pain and sorrow filled her thoughts. *The lost ones must be sung to the land at twilight.*
Lucivar suppressed a shiver. Suddenly he very much wanted to be back in the camp. "Shall we go, Lady?"
Everyone had returned to the camp, physically weary and heartsore.
Everyone except Lucivar.
As he drank the restorative brew Karla had made for him, Saetan tried not to worry. Lucivar could take care of himself; he was a strong, fit, well-trained warrior; he knew his limitations, especially after extending himself so much today; he wouldn't do anything foolish like try to take on a gang of Blood-Jeweled males alone just because he was pissed about the kindred deaths.
And tomorrow the sun would rise in the west.
"He's fine," Jaenelle said quietly as she settled next to him on one of the logs the boys had dragged from somewhere to provide seats around the fire. Tucking the spell-warmed blanket around herself, she smiled ruefully. "The Ring's supposed to let me monitor his spikes of temper. I hadn't realized I'd messed up somewhere when I created it until Karla, Morghann, Grezande, and Gabrielle bitched about my setting a bad precedent since all the boyos want a Ring that works like that." Her voice took on a hint of whine. "I always thought it was just extraordinary intuition that he always showed up whenever I felt grumpy. He certainly never hinted it was anything more than that."
"He's not an idiot, witch-child," Saetan replied, sipping his brew to hide his smile.
"That's debatable. But why did he have to go and tell the others?"
He understood why the Queens were annoyed. The foundation of any official court was twelve males and a Queen. Through the Ring of Honor, a Queen could monitor every nuance of a male's life. But because the Queens respected the privacy of the males who served them and because no woman in her right mind would want to keep track of the emotional currents of that many men, they usually adjusted their monitoring to block out everything but things like fear, rage, and pain – the kinds of feelings that indicated the wearer needed help.
Each man, however, only had to keep track of one Queen.
He'd have to talk to Lucivar about the self-imposed limits of that kind of monitoring. He'd be interested in where his son drew the line.
"Speaking of the pain in the ass who's not an idiot," Jaenelle said, pointing to the two figures walking slowly toward the camp.
Mistral bugled wildly. *Moonshadow! Moonshadow!*
He took off at a gallop. At least, he tried to.
As Mistral leaped forward, Gabrielle jumped up from her seat on the other log, reached out, closed her hand as if she'd grabbed something, and jerked her hand up.
Mistral hung in the air, his legs flailing.
Gabrielle's arm shook from the effort of holding that much weight suspended, even if she was using Craft. Watching her, Saetan decided he and Chaosti needed to have a chat very soon. A witch who could pull a trick like that after an exhausting day of healing was a Lady who needed careful handling.
"If you gallop on that leg, I'll knock you silly," Gabrielle said.
*It's Moonshadow!*
"I don't care if it's the Queen of the unicorns or your mate," Gabrielle replied hotly. "You're not galloping on that leg!"
"Actually," Jaenelle said with a dry smile, "she's both."
"Well, Hell's fire," Gabrielle set Mistral down but didn't let go.
"Gabrielle," Chaosti said in that coaxing tone of voice Saetan labeled male-soothing-female-temper. "She's his mate. He's been worried. I wouldn't want to wait if it were you. Let him go."
Gabrielle glared at Chaosti.
"He'll walk," Chaosti said. "Won't you, Mistral?"
Mistral wasn't about to turn down allies, even if they did have only two legs. Til walk.*
Reluctantly, Gabrielle released him.
Mistral plodded toward Moonshadow, his head down like a small boy who's been scolded and hasn't yet gotten away from the scolder's watchful eyes.
Now see what you did," K
hary said. "You made his horn wilt."
"I'll bet your horn wilts too when you're scolded," Karla said with a wicked smile.
Before Khary could reply, Jaenelle set her cup down and said quietly, "It's time."
Everyone became subdued as she walked into the trees. "Do you know what's supposed to happen?" Lucivar asked Saetan when he reached the camp and sat down next to his father.
Saetan shook his head. Like everyone else in the camp, he couldn't take his eyes off the mare. "Mother Night, she's beautiful."
"She's also a Black Widow Queen," Lucivar said dryly, watching Mistral escort his Lady. "Well, if someone's going to get kicked for fussing, better him than me."
Saetan laughed softly. "By the way, your sister has something she wants to discuss with you." When he didn't get a response, he looked at his son. "Lucivar?"
Lucivar's mouth hung open, his eyes fixed on the trees to Saetan's left – the trees Jaenelle had walked into a few minutes before.
He turned. . and forgot how to breathe. She wore a long, flowing dress made of delicate black spidersilk. Strands of cobwebs dripped from the tight sleeves. Beginning just above her breasts, the dress became an open web framing her chest and shoulders. Black Jewel chips sparkled with dark fire at the end of each thread.
Black-Jeweled rings decorated both hands. Around her neck was a Black Jewel centered in a web made of delicate gold and silver strands.
It was a gown made for Jaenelle the Witch. Erotic. Romantic. Terrifying. He could feel the latent power in every thread of that gown. And he knew then who had created it: the Arachnians. The Weavers of Dreams.
Saying nothing, Jaenelle picked up Kaetien's horn and glided toward open ground, the gown's small train flowing out behind her.
Saetan wanted to remind her that it was her moon time, that she shouldn't be channeling her power through her body right now. But he remembered that, behind the
human mask, Witch had a tiny spiral horn in the center of her forehead, so he said nothing.
She spent several minutes walking around, looking at the ground as if she wanted a particular site.
Finally satisfied, she faced the north. Raising Kaetien's horn to the sky, she sang one keening note. She lowered her hands, pointed the horn at the ground, and sang another note. Then she swept her arms upward and began to sing in the Old Tongue.
