Janrae Frank - [Lycan Blood 02] - Fireborn Law

by Fireborn Law [lit]

  "That one."

  Kynyr knelt and picked up the checkers, putting them back on the board.

  "If that family of yours objects to mine so bloody much, then why the hell did you ever come to work for me?"

  "My family doesn't dislike the Redhands." A note of caution entered Kynyr's voice, knowing how easy it would be to say the wrong thing and let slip matters best left private.

  "Cahira"

  "Has issues. Gram doesn't discuss them. So I don't know what they are. I've told you that before. If you want to know what they are, you'll have to ask her."

  "I intend to."

  "Did you ask me here to play checkers or to interrogate me about my family?"

  "Neither." Claw jerked his thumb at the cabinets on the far wall. "Fetch that bottle of Dragonsbreath and a couple of glasses. And while you're at it, close the door."

  Kynyr could feel Claw's eyes boring into him with a thousand unanswered questions as he closed the door and fetched the whiskey. Claw snatched the bottle and poured for both of them as soon as Kynyr slipped back into his chair.

  "You tell Cooley I'll give him two coppers a week to help Georgie with the horses in the mornings, including Larkspur."

  "I'll do that. Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

  "That no-good son-in-law of mine." Claw's lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace of distaste.

  "If you objected to Malthus that strongly, why did you allow the marriage? He's not right for Merissa."

  "Crotchety bitches. All descended on me and complained I was ruining Merissa's life. If I hadn't said yes, I would never have heard the end of it."

  Kynyr released a sigh, scratching at his thick yellow sideburns. "I know that one. The Dreaded Horde could be a bit much to handle."

  Claw raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Your sisters."

  "Mine and Finn's. My six and his eight."

  "You were neighbors?"

  Kynyr gave Claw a long look. "I thought this wasn't going to be an interrogation."

  Claw considered that for a moment and changed the subject. "Are you certain it wasn't Malthus put a knife in your back last spring?"

  "Positive. He was walking away from me when it happened. The bitches and cubs were throwing rocks at me I guess because I bested him with the practice blades. Then someone it had to be lycan threw something sharper."

  "Women and children they're humans."

  "Yes."

  "What happened then?"

  "I keep telling you. I don't remember. I got hit in the head with one too many rocks. Going over and over this isn't going to make me remember." If I ever find out who did it, I'll gut them.

  Claw stacked the red checkers up again and relit his pipe. He puffed for a bit. "I've got too many deaths now. I've stopped sending my messages out on horseback. Someone's killing my couriers. Cullen was just the first."

  Kynyr went cold inside. "There's been more?"

  "Three. And then you add in the dead priest and the lawgiver. Pandeena's gone to get us a lawgiver. Someone good."

  "I thought she was visiting relatives"

  "That's what we wanted folks to think."

  Kynyr put his black checkers in their places on the board before answering. "I can see your point. But what has this to do with Malthus? You said that was what you wanted to talk about."

  "Make your move. If anyone walks in on us, just shut up."

  Kynyr nodded and started playing: suddenly all the invitations to play made sense the invitations that he was not allowed to refuse now that the crafty old chieftain had a mon in his household that he did not fully trust, the games had become a way of covering for conversations that Claw did not want anyone to take notice of.

  "So tell me, Kynyr. Is it true you beat Malthus?"

  "I did."

  "The young wolves are all saying you're the best I've got. You trained with Todd Sinclair. You ought to be."

  "Finn did also but I'm better than Finn." Kynyr tensed. "I wish that hadn't gotten out. Belgair has been pushing for a fight with me ever since people started talking about it."

  "Pretty hard not to." Claw chuckled and jumped two of Kynyr's piece. "He shows up with two of your uncles threatening to tear the place apart."

  "He didn't!"

  Claw shrugged with another laugh. "Nah. But when you said Todd Sinclair was your grandsire, I didn't know you meant that Todd Sinclair."

  "Can we stay away from the subject of my family?"

  "We can try. I don't know that Malthus had anything to do with what's happening around here. But then I don't know that he hasn't. The only thing I do know is that since the wedding he's kept my daughter in bed all day with her legs open and dumped his nieces on my family to watch."

  "You want me to go back to keeping an eye on him?"

  "Yeah."

  "I'm going into Hell's Widow tomorrow. Aisha gave me a list of things to pick up for the manor. Would you mind if I spent a couple of days there? I want to talk to the prostitute who found Cullen's body."

  "Still not going to tell me her name?" Claw gave Kynyr that edgy, appraising look again.

  "No. She's frightened enough as it is."

  Claw blew a heavy breath out through pursed lips. "Don't go alone. Cullen was good with his blades and they still got him. I want to know how. I want to know who. Once I know who, I want you to take him out."

  "And if it's Malthus?"

  "Kill him." Claw jumped another of Kynyr's pieces. "King me."

  * * * *

  Kynyr's head whirled from the long conversation with Claw. He had promised his grandmother, Cahira Sinclair, that he would pick up some things for her at Hell's Widow when he went to pick up supplies for Aisha Redhand, Claw's wife, tomorrow. As he crossed the yard to walk into the village of Wolffgard, he noticed several children playing in the gardens.

  Searlait, Claw's youngest sister, sat watching them. She looked much like Kynyr imagined Merissa would when she reached Searlait's age. He could see the faded beauty in the aristocratic lines of Searlait's face, the wealth of ginger hair mixed with gray and a single white streak at her left temple. A basket of embroidery sat beside her and she held a hoop with a square of cloth in it, stitching, and looking up periodically to check on the children. Malthus' two nieces, Ros and Lyrri, romped with Darmyk Redhand, Cooley, and the two Scott cubs, Rory and Hamish. It looked like a game of tag. Darmyk's maned hunting cat, Kenly, lay beside Searlait's feet drowsing. Darmyk had been a year old when he acquired Kenly, and the name was actually the child's mispronunciation of 'Kynyr' in an attempt to name the cat after him.

  Kynyr gestured at Cooley. "I'm going to see Gram and I'd like to have a talk with you along the way."

  "I didn't do anything wrong." Cooley shuffled his feet as he joined Kynyr and stood staring at his toes for a few moments.

  "I didn't say you did. But we need to talk." Kynyr saw Rory and Hamish start toward them and waved them off. "Alone."

  The two brothers shrugged and went back to playing.

  "Am I in trouble?" Cooley asked, an uncertain frown wavering on his scruffy face. Small for his age, Cooley looked eight years old rather than ten. Kynyr hoped the cub would get a bit more height than his late father. Cullen had stood only five feet, four inches tall and taken a lot of kidding for his height. Which, now that Kynyr thought on it, might have been what had made Cullen so feisty.

  Kynyr noticed a puffiness around Cooley's left eye, stopped walking, and flicked a long strand of white hair that was just darkening into blond back from the cub's face. Under all the dirt was a bruise. "You got into another fight?"

  Cooley's expression flashed into sullen. "They were picking on me."

  "Did they hit you first? Or was it just words?"

  "They were calling my Ma a slut."

  "They know about your mother?"

  Cooley twisted away from Kynyr. "I told Lany O'Connor my mother was Silkie Faggini. I didn't think he'd tell."

  Kynyr stopped and dragged Cooley unresisting into a
hug. He ruffled his hair. "You mustn't tell people these things. Especially not about your father." Kynyr took a deep breath and expelled it in a huff. He had not wanted to frighten Cooley, but there seemed no other way to get him to keep his mouth shut. "Did your mother say anything about why she sent you to us? Why she let us adopt you?"

  Cooley shook his head, his expression flashing from sullen to sad. "I miss my Ma. I guess she just don't want me any more. I always was a problem."

  Kynyr grasped Cooley's hand and started walking with him again. "She sent you to us because she loves you."

  "That don't make no sense."

  "Cooley, did she tell you much about your Dad's death?"

  "Just that Da got killed. Courier's a dangerous job."

  "There's more to it. They tortured him to death for information. He died rather than give it to them."

  "He was brave."

  "Yes, he was." Kynyr ruffled Cooley's hair again. "Your Ma is afraid they'll try to kill you also. That's why she had us adopt you."

  Cooley's eyes went large and he made a choking sound. "Ki-kill me?"

  "Like they did your dad. That's why you must never tell anyone who your folks were. I'm sure Cahira can fix the situation concerning that slip of your tongue. But it mustn't happen again."

  "Ma gave me up because they were gonna kill me?"

  "Yes. Like your father."

  Cooley burst into tears.

  Kynyr stopped walking and gathered Cooley into his arms, patting his back. "Todd and I aren't going to let anyone hurt you. But you must keep your mouth shut."

  "I will."

  "Good." Kynyr hoisted Cooley onto his shoulders, grasped his legs firmly, and walked on with him.

  Cooley's sniffles gave way to laughing and their mood eased.

  "Before I forget Claw wants you to come to work in the barns for two coppers a week. Half days, mornings."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. You'll be exercising Larkspur and Bucky as well."

  "Bucky's awesome. I've sat on him a few times but I haven't exactly ridden him."

  Kynyr tried unsuccessfully to repress a smile at the audacity of the boy getting up on his big war-trained stallion. "You've been up on Bucky hmmn. Does Georgie know that?"

  "He made me get off him."

  "You stay off Bucky until I get back from Hell's Widow. Then I'll show you what he can do and how to handle him."

  "He's a war horse, ain't he?"

  Kynyr half-choked and then smiled. Observant little scamp. "Yeah. Todd trained him."

  "Could he teach me to train them?"

  "What would like to be when you grow up?"

  "A courier like my Da was."

  "It got him killed. Are you sure you want to do that?"

  "I'm not afraid."

  Kynyr lifted an eyebrow at that. "Really?"

  "Train horses?" Cooley suggested hopefully, watching Kynyr's face for a reaction.

  "That's better."

  * * * *

  Cahira's Potions and Notions stood on Elmind Street, around the corner and down two blocks from the Difficult Horse Tavern that Kynyr and his friends frequented. Underneath the words on her sign were three sets of symbols that the largely illiterate lycan community could understand: a mortar and pestle; a serpent wrapped staff; a book, a bottle of ink, and a quill. The shop combined Cahira's four specialties; apothecary, healer, scribe, and translator. She could read and write in six languages, and she spoke ten. Even for a lycan that was unusual. Most could manage to speak four lycan, common, Sharani and Waejontori and read none.

  Cahira Sinclair was that rarest of lycans: a mage. She had no large talents; nothing great enough to call herself anything except a generalist. However, Kynyr's grandmother had literally dozens of minor talents that she put to such skilled use that her lack of a major gift often went overlooked by those who did business with her.

  Kynyr sat Cooley down when they reached the shop. Cahira and Todd Sinclair, Kynyr's grandfather, lived on the second floor. Todd had turned half of the third floor into a salle and taken on a handful of students for combat training. The retired Battle-Clan armsmaster had become a teacher again.

  Cooley rushed into the shop, whooping about his new job, and Kynyr followed slower to give the cub room to brag and receive some notice from his adoptive parents. A pleasant array of display cabinets, wood halfway up and clear glass the rest, filled two sides of the shop with shelves built from floor to ceiling behind them. The rear of the shop had a low cabinet that flanked a long table with six chairs around it. Cahira sat at the table, totaling things in her ledger.

  His grandmother was a tiny bitch, barely five feet tall, with a long blonde braid hanging down her back. Despite her years, a soft beauty lurked around the delicate bones of her face along with the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes.

  Kynyr leaned against a wall with his arms folded loosely and smiled at Cooley. Cahira noticed him and waved a piece of paper.

  "Here's my list."

  Kynyr strolled over and nodded as he took the list from her hands and shoved it into his pouch. "I need to talk to Todd for a bit."

  "He's in the salle."

  "Is there anyone with him?"

  Cahira shook her head. "He's just working out."

  "Okay."

  Kynyr headed down the hall and went up the stairs to the third floor. He stepped into the room as quietly as he could, although his horsemon's heels clicked on the wood and gave him away to his sharp-eared grandfather.

  "I'll be right with you, Kynyr," said Todd without hesitating in working through his forms.

  The big lycan stood six foot three inches and weighed two fifty; yet despite his one hundred and seven years of age, Todd Sinclair was still mostly muscle and rock hard. His bright red hair was as much a Sinclair trait as was his size. Family legend held that the Sinclairs could trace their lineage all the way back for thousands of years to a hero of the first godwar a mon who was regarded by most as little more than a myth Aristotle Sinclair. Kynyr had never disparaged Todd's claims, although the older he got, the more it seemed like humoring the man.

  Todd left the mat, turned and bowed to it in a conspicuously Creeyan manner, before gesturing at the table and chairs on the far side of the room. The old mon had trained in the Creeyan and Sharani forms as well as the lycan arts. He had trained his children and his grandchildren with a mix of discipline and patience like an iron hand in a velvet glove. As a result of that, Todd and Cahira's huge extended family was the closest thing to a Battle-Clan that the village of Longbranch had.

  "You've got that look in your eyes, Kynyr. Something on your mind?"

  "Yeah." Kynyr considered his words before saying anything further. They both knew that Cooley was proving to be a challenge. The cub meant well, but he was having trouble fitting in. It was not just the differences between city wolves and clan wolves. Cooley had been raised in a brothel with only the children of prostitutes to play with; more to the point he had been the lone lycan cub in the bunch. The only lycans Cooley had known had been a handful of whores who worked for his mother; his father who rode into town from time to time and stayed only for short periods; and the males who came for their jollies. Now, at ten-years-old, the cub found himself thrust into a lycan clan community as a misfit among his own race. "Cooley. I'm going to Hell's Widow tomorrow."

  "Your Gram said. Are you going to talk to his ma?"

  Todd Sinclair had a strong, hearty face. The folded lines running from the wings of his nostrils to the outer edges of his lips were deep; the crinkles around his dark blue eyes were crevices in the stalwart earthiness of his features; his heavy eyelids did not lend themselves to clear expression of emotion, making any effort to read his features difficult even for those who knew him well. His calm, centered mien suggested a mon who did not go looking for trouble, but once it found him would be utterly relentless in dealing with it.

  "Yeah. I wanted to go before now, but Claw wouldn't let me until he was sure I had healed up."
>
  "Wise decision." Todd settled into a large chair that he reserved for himself alone. "Is he still bothering you about who your grandfather might have been?"

  "He stopped trying to convince himself that I might be his great-grandson once you spoke to him."

  "That's good." Todd regarded Kynyr for several moments. "You should never have come to Wolffgard. You're the spitting image of Tarrant Redhand. More so than your father."

  Kynyr looked away and then back, trying to hide his discomfort. "That's what everyone there keeps telling me. You're probably right. I never had someone try to kill me before ... except for the time Claw sent us to deal with those outlaws. But that's different."

  "You think it happened because they figured out you're Tarrant's grandson?"

  "I don't know what to think. Right now, I'm more concerned about Cooley. He told Lany O'Connor that he was Silkie's son. That was what the fight was about."

  "She was Cullen's favorite whore for many years." Todd rubbed his forefinger across his chin. "It's only a hop, skip, and a jump to seeing Cullen in him."

  Kynyr put his hands on the table, laced his fingers, and leaned toward Todd. "That's what worries me."

  "You think they'll make a try for the cub?"

  "I think the ones who killed Cullen have agents in Wolffgard, possibly in the manor itself."

  "So?"

  "They killed Cullen in front of Silkie. Until I know more, all I can do is make guesses."

  "Make them."

  Kynyr glanced away again, wishing that Todd would not put him on the spot this way. It made him uncomfortably aware of the difference between them in terms of age and experience. Todd was the master of strategy and tactics, of discernment and logic things that Kynyr, although he was considered a master by many of his peers among Claw's guardsmyn, still struggled with. He always worried about appearing the fool in front of Todd. "One. They tortured Cullen to get the names of Claw's other couriers. There's been three more killed. Claw's stopped sending messages by horseback. I don't know how he's doing it now."