Janrae Frank - [Lycan Blood 02] - Fireborn Law

by Fireborn Law [lit]

  LYCAN BLOOD: VOL. II

  FIREBORN LAW

  By

  JANRAE FRANK

  ISBN 978-1-60089-115-1

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2007 Janrae Frank

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information contact:

  http://PageTurnerEditions.com

  PageTurner Editions/Futures-Past Fantasy

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  DEDICATION

  To the memory of Leviathan, "Levy," my companion of eleven years. Seventeen pounds of love and loyalty, whose devotion never wavered. Because one of the things that dogs do best is love.

  And also to Livejournal Fandom who rose up and fought the Strikethrough 2007 war and won.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I want to thank my favorite Dutchman, Mark Prins, for reading through my endless drafts and helping me create the languages and slang used in my novels. Since most of the cultures and races emigrated to Daverana from Earth, the languages, words, and names are all derived from both living and dead languages with his invaluable assistance.

  I also want to thank Andrea Wideman, one of my first readers, for helping me to avoid stepping into plot holes and falling on my face. She has been an endless source of help and encouragement when I needed it.

  Jane Letty and Jean Marie Stine have given me endless moral support when called upon to keep me going.

  The list is huge, and I have only room to mention a few. Kaolin Fire and his wonderful covers. Phil Smith for fearlessly telling me when I'm wrong. Jane Beresford for keeping me on my toes. Sovay Jennifer Fox, because no one could ask for a better daughter.

  And last, but not least, Jack Kincaid for driving me nuts. Insanity loves company.

  THE EXILE'S CURSE

  When the Serpent comes, they all shall perish,

  The Redhands fall like sheaves of grain,

  until only the Exile shall remain

  of those who own their name.

  When fireborn law breathes hot upon the root

  One born of fire shall perish for the truth

  The exile's victory shall be his pardon

  Those he claims will rule

  The prince from shadows shall emerge

  To sit a blood drenched throne

  .Alistar Weems' dying words.

  THE FIRST MOTHERS

  [The lycans have a primarily oral tradition, although increasing numbers of them are becoming literate. This is the first poem that a young boy apprenticed to a lawgiver learns.]

  We howled to the moon one winter's night

  And she howled back to give us might

  From all the packs gathered 'neath her light

  She chose among us one single wight

  Tala took that male to her silvery home

  She told the packs to hide, not roam

  From that mating, Navaryn came

  To make us men in more than name

  Navaryn, first mother to us all

  By her blood our shapes are tall

  Pandeena, second mother to us all

  When they howl, heed their call

  They gave us laws, the ways, and speech

  they changed all things within our reach

  The ways of culture we were taught

  To bring us from old Skawtsslund fraught

  By dangers vile and dangers fell

  So goes the ancient, ancient tale

  Navaryn, first mother to us all

  By her blood, our shapes are tall

  The woodland god, at their pleading,

  Opened a Gate Arcane to end our bleeding

  On the strands of Skawtsslund fraught

  With the dangers mankind brought

  Pandeena, second mother to us all

  When she howls heed well her call

  We passed between the pillars tall

  To these new lands beyond man's pall

  We settled here and built our lives

  Where lycan kind can grow and thrive

  In a new world of hope and promise

  Beyond the reach of murdering Thomas.

  THE THREE BROTHERS

  Once there were three brothers, Brandrahoon the vampire, Isranon called the Dawnhand, speaker to spirits, and Waejonan the Accursed, first of sa'necari. Isranon defied his brothers and was destroyed, his descendants forced into the darkness.

  .St. Tarmus of Lorendon

  CHAPTER ONE

  LAWGIVER

  Pandeena Moonbow rode into the quiet village of Running Horse at the southern edge of the mountain fastnesses of Clan Silverpaw. She had not been here in centuries, yet it had changed little. Cubs played along the streets: in human form wearing scruffy traditional robes; rolling, barking, and darting about in wolf form; two who had mastered the hybrid form wrestled near a horse trough. People walked the tree-shaded main street, most of them wearing the traditional wraparound robes with loose ties, made of embroidered cloth for the bitches and rope for the dogs. The human clothing styles, prevalent in some of the larger towns, had not yet reached Running Horse. She saw few males in trousers and shirt, and no bitches; which made Pandeena all the more conspicuous in her freeranger-style dark green leathers, trousers and jerkin with a pale brown shirt. She carried a Sharani longsword at her shoulder and a pair of lycan fighting knives at her hips. A two-chambered bow case rode beneath the flap on her heavy lycan saddle.

  One of the easiest ways to spot a lycan village was to see how green it was. Unlike the humans in other countries, they had not given up their connection to the natural world. They built up instead of out for the most part, to allow for gardens and trees around their businesses and homes. The balconies of the buildings overflowed with flower boxes and roof top gardens abounded, all tended with loving care.

  Two things made Running Horse famous: their strong, tough horses that regularly won the log pull at clan festivals and their lawgiver, Padruig Caimbeul, who was celebrated for his wisdom, even-handed decisions, and utter fearlessness. Pandeena pondered what kind of reception she would get from Caimbeul, considering that they had parted in anger a century ago. The average lycan lifespan was six score years, barring accident, disease, or violence. Caimbeul, however, was nearly five hundred years old. His paternal grandmother had been a fireborn, and he had inherited the lifespan, if nothing else.

  Pandeena reached the village common, glanced across the expanse of open green, and spied the Lawgiver House sitting on the northeast corner of Roundtop Street facing the common. She turned her horse onto the green and cut across it, avoiding six sheep grazing there under the watchful eyes of two cubs.

  The Lawgiver House was a human-style building Pandeena noted that she was seeing more of those every time she ventured out into the lands of her people a blunt brick structure with a columned portico across the front and tie-up rails in the yard. Two lycans sitting on the portico in wooden chairs stopped in their conversation to stare at her as she dismounted and tied her horse to the nearest rail.

  She was accustomed to being stared at. Part of the reason was the way she dressed. The second reason was her looks: Pandeena was beautiful, as befitted a granddaughter of the Moon God, Tala, Mistress of Wolves and the Hunt.

  A young wolf, his silver hair like a touch of moonlight on a bright night, rose to his feet as she mounted the steps. "Can I help you?"

  "I'm looking for the lawgiver."

  "That's me. I'm Samuel Tarvish, lawgiver to Running Horse."

  Pandeena extended her hand to him, palm up, fingers curved into a half-claw.

  Samuel raised an eyebrow at that, grasped
her hand and sniffed her fingers. "Lycan?"

  Pandeena nodded. "I'm looking for Caimbeul."

  "Pity that." The other lycan, a gray-beard on his chin, chuckled. "Pretty bitch like you ought to stay away from that old crosspatch."

  She frowned. "We are talking about Padruig Caimbeul?"

  "Oh, aye. He's retired now. All he does these days is drink and snarl."

  "Where can I find him?"

  Samuel led her inside, where he drew a map on a scrap of paper to show her how to find Caimbeul's cottage.

  * * * *

  Pandeena found a cottage exactly where Samuel had said, but, looking at it, she was certain it could not possibly be Caimbeul's. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. The place was little more than a rundown shack built out of cast off slatboards. One of the posts on the porch had rotted away, causing the roof to droop. The sight of it gave her stomach an odd flutter, remembering how Caimbeul had once disparaged wolves who lived like this. The boards creaked as she mounted the steps and crossed the porch. She knocked on the door.

  "Caimbeul?"

  "Go away." The voice from inside the shack carried an edge of irritation marred further by slurring. "I don't talk to anyone."

  Pandeena frowned. This did not sound like the Caimbeul she remembered. "I need you."

  "Go away!"

  She turned the knob and stepped inside. The interior shocked her worse than the exterior had. The Caimbeul she had known years ago had been clean and tidy, everything had a place, and he wanted everything kept in its place. A king's ransom in empty beer and whiskey bottles lay scattered over the dirt floor of the one room shack. The acrid scent of rotted food drew Pandeena's attention to the square table shoved in a corner, stacked high with filthy plates and pans whose odorous contents would not bear close inspection. A dozen empty mead kegs with their sides busted in stood silent witness to a recent fit of drunken rage.

  "What do you want, Pandeena?"

  Caimbeul's surly voice drew her gaze to a corner. The huge, grizzled wolf, nearly completely gray, lay on the floor with a bottle in his hand, and whiskey dribbling down his unshaven chin. He had developed a paunch. The tremendous biceps and muscular chest she had so admired had turned to flab. Caimbeul had finally gotten old; and he had not aged gracefully. Only the craggy features, now lined and weathered, remained to suggest he had ever been handsome.

  "I need a lawgiver." Pandeena kicked bottles out of her path and stepped further into the messy cottage.

  "I'm retired."

  "Are you, old lecher? I say you're sulking." Pandeena scanned the room again, trying not to stare at him. He had changed so much that she wondered if this had turned into a fool's errand.

  "Go away, Pandeena. I've had enough aggravation." Caimbeul pushed into a sitting position and leaned his back against the wall. He took another swig from his bottle of whiskey and glared at her.

  A faint frown drew lines across Pandeena's forehead. "Seems to me the only aggravation you've got comes out of a bottle."

  "Oh for gods' sake, Pandeena. Let me be."

  "I need a lawgiver and the best."

  Caimbeul threw the bottle at her, sending a spray of whiskey across the room. "Get out."

  Pandeena caught the bottle, looked at it, and saw there was some left. She wiped it off and drank it. "You're the best, Caimbeul."

  "I'm old. I don't do it anymore." Caimbeul snatched up two empty bottles and threw them in a determined effort to hit her.

  Pandeena side-stepped the missiles and the sound of shattering glass told her they had struck the wall behind her. "The Butchering Serpent is in Wolffgard."

  "The hell you say." He stopped short with another two empties in his grasp. "Look at you a fresh face girl of eighteen for the rest of your life." Caimbeul smashed the bottle he was holding against the wall. "Where were you when I needed you?"

  "You knew what I was when you married me."

  "And you knew what I was when you divorced me."

  "A lecherous old sot with no concern for my feelings."

  Caimbeul flinched. "I loved you."

  "Is that why I was always hauling your ass out of whorehouses when you went to Waejontor?" Her lips compressed into a tight line of annoyance.

  Caimbeul averted his eyes from her cool, blue gaze, and changed the subject. "What's this about the Serpent?"

  Pandeena folded her arms and stared at him for a moment before answering. "Are you really interested? Or just trying to avoid an argument?"

  "Cut the crap. What's this about the Serpent?"

  "Do you even know who he is? For all I know you've been too drunk to notice anything for the past twenty years. Or longer."

  "I heard about it. Okay? Sixteen years ago, the Assassins' Guild tipped off a Battle-Clan that someone was kidnapping city wolves and murdering them wholesale. It was a lurid tale. Vivisections. Toxin testing. Mass graves."

  "Would Fireborn Law like to take a shot at bringing him down?"

  Caimbeul winced. "Don't call me that. Fireborn Law died in Skeleton Creek when they killed my son."

  " Our son."

  "You wouldn't know he was yours way you were never home."

  "I loved him."

  "You barely knew him." Caimbeul snorted. "I raised him alone."

  "Not totally." Pandeena glanced away. "Look, I'll stop bringing up the past, if you will."

  "So, back to the Serpent."

  "Someone murdered the lawgiver well, tried to. Nikko Softpaws is with my mother. We don't know if he's going to live or not. He's in bad shape. His people think he's dead and it's best left that way."

  "He tell you the Serpent attacked him?"

  "No. Trauma wiped his memory. The only thing he knows is his name."

  "Then how do you know it's the Serpent?"

  Pandeena almost smiled. She could hear the quickening of interest in Caimbeul's voice. "It's a long story. Can I sit down?"

  "The floor don't mind."

  She cleared a space on the floor and settled cross-legged. "Nikko was shot with a special blend of Devil's Silver that only the Serpent is known to use. I decided to look into it. When I got to Hell's Widow, Amos Raggat told me that Wolffgard's priest had died."

  Caimbeul's eyes got that old familiar steel in them, and Pandeena knew that this was not a fool's errand after all. "Priest and lawgiver both?" He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Sa'necari always send someone in to kill the priest and the lawgiver as a prelude to invasion."

  "You taught me that."

  "You learned something. Go on."

  "Claw Redhand sent his best courier to fetch a priest from Shaurone. Cullen Blackwood."

  "How is Cullen? I haven't seen him in years."

  "Dead. Sa'necari butchered him. I suspect it happened in Hell's Widow."

  "Damn." Caimbeul's hands clenched into fists, his mouth tightened, and his gaze roved the roof beams. "I used to win a lot betting on him. He could ride like Death over a battlefield. Cullen was a prick and a slut but he had a good heart."

  Pandeena flicked a strand of golden hair out of her face. "I know. I didn't like him at first. He got on my nerves. I'm the one found his body. Kynyr Maguire asked me to scry for it so we could bring his remains home. They'd dumped him into a shallow grave outside Hell's Widow. That's why I think he died there. Cullen was given a proper burial and lies behind my shrine in Wolffgard."

  "You think the Serpent did it?"

  "I'm certain he did. According to Kynyr, one of the sluts from the Crimson Lady witnessed the murder. A mon in a serpent mask killed Cullen."

  "Anyone can wear a mask, Pandeena."

  "Put it together, lawgiver. Mask, signature poisons, signature arrows. It's him."

  Caimbeul sucked in a deep breath, a calculating look came in his eyes, his manner focused and steadied. "I don't own a horse. Only clothes I got is what I'm wearing. I'm not presentable."

  Pandeena eyed him for a second, trying to decide whether his statement was the beginnings of an excuse or a true sugge
stion of need. "Clothes and a horse I can provide them. Does this mean you'll come?"

  "Count me in."

  * * * *

  New clothes and a bath did wonders for Caimbeul and Pandeena soon had him looking acceptable. She missed his long hair, but the mats and snarls had been so bad when she set to work on it, that Pandeena had been forced to cut it short and close to his head.

  Caimbeul stood in front of the mirror in his room at the Sleeping Dog Inn and wagged his head at the image reflected there. "I can't say if I like it or not, Pandeena."

  Her nose wrinkled at him. "I imagine it took a lot of scrubbing to get the dirt off."

  "Well, yes and no." Caimbeul grinned and left her to make what she would of the implications. "So I'm to be Lawgiver of Wolffgard."

  Pandeena had spent the past days giving Caimbeul more details, and he had mulled them over. The facts of the situation bothered him greatly. The previous lawgiver had been unusually young; Nikko Softpaws had received his place at the age of sixteen and held it for only three years when he disappeared. He was believed dead, although his body had never been found. Bits of his flesh had been discovered lodged in the teeth of several dead imps. Imps ate their prey alive. The bits and pieces of Nikko's flesh were Read, and found to contain traces of Devil's Silver, a deadly poison to lycans, but not to imps. Imps did not use Devil's Silver. Myn did. He had scrutinized all of the information that Pandeena had given him and found her reasoning sound.

  "Does it bother you? The idea of being senior to all the lawgivers in Red Wolf?"

  His eyes went distant and he crossed the room to a small table where his pipe and tobacco pouch lay beside a small box of lucifers. He settled into a chair, filled his pipe, and lit it. "A century ago I would have leaped at the chance. Gwythyr would have been proud of me he was anyway but you know what I mean." Caimbeul caught the look in Pandeena's eyes and made a fending off gesture. "I don't want to talk about our son. I'll try to stop mentioning him. But you must understand, Pandeena not a day goes by that I don't think about him."

  Her eyes softened. "How does this affect your willingness to go to Wolffgard?"

  Caimbeul looked away, his head lowered; then he sucked in a deep breath and straightened. "I'm not as sure of myself as I used to be."

  "I know that."

  "Have you picked our route?"