Eideard watched them for a long time. "Can we come along?"
"To the Crimson Lady?"
"Yah."
"You can't be there when I talk to her."
Eideard shrugged. "I didn't expect to. I just want to dip my wick. I haven't been laid since before I got cut up two months ago."
"I have no problem with that. I might do it myself." Kynyr smiled with a startling grin as he shook off his misgivings concerning the journey. Hell's Widow was roughly half a day's ride from the manor and Wolffgard Village. "I haven't had bitch under me in half a year."
Finn gave Kynyr a sidelong look. "What do you mean you haven't been laid in six months? Your bed was never empty from the time you was fourteen."
"My choice, Finn. I don't want to talk about it."
Eideard lifted an eyebrow, glanced at Finn and Ramsey, gave at nod at Kynyr's back and they shared a shrug. "It's my opinion that those myn who tried to grab Cullen off the street were sent by the same ones who later killed him."
"The night we were going to the Crimson Lady with Cullen?"
"Yeah. I owe the little shit my life." Eideard lowered his eyes, and rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off the grip of a bad memory. "I'm the one who's been leaving offerings on his grave ever since the priest brought his remains home."
"Look, guys," Ramsey interrupted. "The only proof if you can call it that that sa'necari were involved is a letter from one of the whores at the Crimson Lady. There was no evidence of dark magic involved in Cullen's death no psi traces of his having been fed on. The usual earmarks were not there."
Kynyr gave a small nod. "That's why I want to talk to her."
"Don't scare her, Kynyr." Ramsey's tone stayed quiet and gentle. "Don't buy everything she says either."
"I don't play intimidation games with bitches, Ramsey. I learned a lot from the Dreaded Horde."
Finn let a broad grin slide across his face. "HAH! She's lycan, isn't she?"
"I didn't say that." Kynyr shot back with a flash of defensiveness.
"You said 'bitch' not woman or female." Finn's grin broadened in triumph.
"Ellie!" Eideard crowed. "It must have been Ellie. She was Cullen's favorite and lycan. Cute little thing. Her cunt sucks oh mon, does it ever!"
"Shut up until we're across the bridge." Kynyr slowed the wagon down as rest of the stout wooden structure came into sight. "If one of the Bridge Guards catches a word of this it will be all over the village before we get back."
The bridge guards lounged on benches set back among a thick stand of fragrant white pine and cedars three spear lengths beyond the bridge on the lycan side where a heavy barrier of brush and briars offered them concealment from people approaching from the opposite side. They had a policy of getting a look at anyone arriving at the bridge from the Waejontori side before showing themselves, although they were clearly visible from the lycan side.
A couple of them waved at Kynyr and his companions as they passed.
Tree trunks formed the support columns of the bridge that spanned the gorge that had been cut through the sheer stone walls by the deep cataract known as the Eirlys River. The rushing roar of the Eirlys filled the air, drowning out the calls of circling birds. On three sides the land descended into rugged canyons and twisted valleys that looked like a giant had ripped his fingers through the soil. The lycan clans preferred to make their homes in hard to reach places, areas that could easily be defended against invasion.
The half-walls of the bridge's sides offered limited shelter while not blocking the view of people approaching it. Kynyr's wagon rattled onto the heavy boards. Eideard nudged his horse past the wagon to take the point. Finn and Ramsey followed him. The wagon was a hard spot to fight from, even with the crossbows, and severely limited Kynyr's options in a fight. That put the burden of defense upon the other three.
Kynyr had placed Morcar Ross in charge of the other four myn in their unit, the ones who remained behind to keep watch over Aisha, Searlait, and Fianait. Their responsibilities used to include Merissa, but since her marriage Malthus had insisted on removing her from their care.
The late summer heat made the chain mail he wore seem twice as hot and heavy to Kynyr.
They traveled in silence for nearly an hour before Eideard brought up the subject of the letter again. "So the letter was from Ellie?"
Kynyr gave him a sidelong glance, as it became clear that his friends were going to keep pressing him both about the letter and the identity of the prostitute who had sent it to him. "It wasn't from Ellie."
"We've been waiting a month for you to tell us and we are not taking no for an answer now." Eideard dropped back to ride closer to the wagon. "When you say one of them saw him killed, does that mean it happened at the brothel?"
"Spit it out, Kynyr." Finn gave him an irritated look.
The three wolves were Kynyr's closest and most trusted friends, yet the idea of involving them in the investigation troubled him. He thought back to the fight months ago that had nearly gotten Eideard killed. Of the three of them, Eideard was the most headstrong and apt to act without consulting the rest of them. Kynyr knew that he could count on Finn and Ramsey to follow his lead and obey his wishes in the matters. Eideard, however, still had the instincts of the loner he had been before Kynyr befriended him. "If I tell you what I know, you must promise not to talk about it with outsiders And" Kynyr held up his hand to forestall comments. "I want your promise that you won't go acting on your own initiative. You'll consult me and if I veto it, you'll accept that. Anything else could get us all her included killed."
That brought a chorus of oaths and promises. Kynyr let it all die down before going on. "The letter was from Silkie. She didn't give me any details. And Cooley brought it."
"What the hell was Cooley doing in Hell's Widow?" asked Ramsey.
"Cooley isn't my cousin. He's Cullen and Silkie's son." Kynyr waited for a reaction and when he got none, continued. "Silkie loved Cullen. He had his faults but she loved him. They tortured him to death in front of her. The rest is guesswork, but Todd agrees with my guesses."
Eideard sucked in a breath. "Damn."
"She asked us to adopt Cooley because she felt he would be safer with my family than in Hell's Widow."
Eideard edged his horse to the side where he could glance over his shoulder at the others as they rode. "I'd say the cub just got himself three new uncles. What do you say?"
Ramsey and Finn nodded their agreement.
"We'll help you look out for him and teach him what we can." Eideard moved back into his place riding point.
* * * *
Preece got off the road as soon as he felt certain that no one was following him, turning his horse onto a game trail that paralleled Cataract Road until roughly two hundred yards from the bridge onto Clan Red Wolf lands. He watched the road as he traveled, screened from view by thick clusters of oak and elm and the occasional thicket of hawthorn.
The day was quiet and he passed no one until a little past noon, when the creaking of a wagon and the rhythmic beat of hooves on the hard packed dirt alerted him to myn coming from the opposite direction. Preece dismounted and put his hand over his horse's nose to keep the beast quiet. He had started to come down from the effects of the White Fire and felt sorely tempted to open the burlap sack and do another line of it. The stuff made him feel good.
He had been doing lines the day he killed his mother. She caught him and demanded to know where Preece was getting the money for it, asked him if he'd been stealing again: White Fire was an expensive habit. When she launched into her usual rant about him being a 'thorn in her side,' Preece gave her a thorn all right a long sharp steel one in the belly. Then he had dragged her into the woodshed and settled in to watch her die. The experience had been a revelation, filling him with sensations of power and exaltation that he still savored ten years later. Those rants of hers, combined with his knife skills, had given him the nickname Thorn back when he lived in Dragonton on Torment Lake. The only
one in Red Wolf allowed to call him that was his fourteen year old roommate, Rheu.
The wagon rolled closer, the sounds of it shaking Preece from his reverie. Now Preece could make out Maguire driving with his three companions ranged around the wagon. They were armed for bear, swords and bows as well as their long knives. Something was up. Those simple-minded clan wolves might miss the connections, but Preece was still a city wolf at heart it made him smarter than the rest and he knew a game when he smelled it. It was beyond coincidence that Malthus had bribed him so expansively just to get two letters delivered and now there went Maguire on his way to Hell's Widow. Preece regretted that he had never learned to read, because Malthus was running a game of some kind and the nature of it was probably in those letters. Moreover, there appeared to be a lot of money in it and it somehow connected to Kynyr Maguire or the Redhands or both.
He wondered if Maguire would be coming back from Hell's Widow on his wagon or in a canvas sack tomorrow. Irritation pricked him and Preece's lips curled away from his teeth. His thoughts drifted to the day of the riots at Sanctuary nearly three months ago.
The practice field had been Malthus' idea. Originally it had been a small clearing north of the corrals and barns where the camp's animals were kept, at the edge of a densely forested section. Torquil the smith's hulking apprentice had shown up with practice blades the day after Malthus purchased his swords. Preece had been skeptical of Malthus' claims to having been a kandoyarin mercenary until watching him humble Torquil. When Malthus offered to teach the wolves who worked at the Sanctuary, Preece had been the last to join in, preferring to take everyone else's measure first.
Within a week the young wolves had cleared an area that, according to Shalto, was as large at the Great Hall of the manor itself and they all started showing up for a couple of hours every afternoon to practice and learn from Malthus. A few trees dotted the cleared area, but all the rocks, boulders, and brush had been removed from the center, leaving a half-moon of trees, vines, and bushes on the far side. They had tree rounds and an oak log for those waiting their turn to sit on. A long trestle table stood off to the side near the remaining woods, covered in various kinds of practice weapons made of weighted wood and ranging in kind from knives and swords to axes and quarterstaves.
Preece noticed that Kynyr's wagon had gone around a curve and out of sight. He took his hand from his horse's nose, hung the dangling reins on a bush, and pulled the burlap sack from the saddle. Squatting, Preece opened the sack and took out a box lined with wax paper. Lifting the lid off, Preece's eyes gleamed with more life than he usually displayed as he dipped his little finger into the white powder and tasted it.
"Damn, this is pure. One for the road." Preece dug the little tube out of his pocket, arranged two lines of White Fire in the lid, and snorted it. The sensations of incredible well-being hit fast. Preece put everything away, climbed into the saddle and moved out onto the road.
His mind drifted as he traveled. His memories expanded and grew larger than life as he relived the day of the riot.
Preece slipped into the bushes with Rheu on the far side of the practice field. He liked little boys every bit as much as he did the bitches. Rheu was the longest relationship if you could call it that which Preece had ever had: nearly three years. Rheu had been an eleven-year-old street cub in Skeleton Creek when Preece rescued him from two slavers on a whim and made the cub say 'thanks' by sucking him off. Preece thought that was the end of it until he discovered Rheu had followed him out of town on a stolen horse. The cub worshipped Preece and never said no about anything. Preece liked that, and so he kept him.
Rheu snuggled against Preece, slipping his hand down the front of Preece's pants to stroke his bone.
Preece grabbed Rheu's wrist and stopped him. "Listen."
"What?" Rheu withdrew his hand and glanced back through the bushes, frowning in question at the hoots and whistles coming from the practice field.
Preece threw himself down on his belly and squirmed closer for a better look. "It's that bloody guardsmon, Maguire."
They watched Kynyr Maguire swagger across the clearing as if he owned the place. Malthus walked up to Kynyr and they spoke for a moment. Preece strained his hearing trying to catch what they were saying, and caught almost nothing; although the nature of the conversation became clear when Maguire stripped to the waist and picked up one of the practice blades.
"Oooh, he's gonna fight Malthus."
"Yah." Preece's gaze swept Kynyr. The guardsmon was built like a fighter and moved like he might know his stuff. "Malthus'll kick his ass."
"What if Malthus loses? I hear Kynyr's good."
Preece's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If Maguire wins, I'll kill him and he'll never see it coming."
"You're good, Thorn."
The fight lasted for close to half an hour. Preece had never seen anyone make Malthus work so hard or long. There was no question in Preece's mind that he was watching a pair of masters pushing themselves to their limits. They were both breathing hard and drenched with sweat. Preece had room in his life for just one master swordsmon: Malthus. The duel gradually brought both combatants closer to where Preece and Rheu had hidden for their tryst.
"Shall we call it a draw?" Maguire asked.
Malthus snarled and lunged at Kynyr with an upsweep strike at the lycan's head. "No."
Kynyr leaped to the side, his sword snapping into an upright block. He sprang forward with a feint to Malthus' stomach and kicked him in the side of the knee hard.
Malthus' leg gave. He swung about on Kynyr as he dropped to one knee. Kynyr circled left. Malthus managed a furious attack, the blades clanging together, as he tried to stop Kynyr from getting behind him before he could get to his feet again. Kynyr engaged Malthus' blade and trapped the edge on his crossguard, forcing Malthus' arms up. A swift kick below Malthus' sternum sent the kandoyarin sprawling. Kynyr brought his blade to rest against Malthus' chest over his heart.
Rheu's eyes saucered. "Shit!"
Kynyr snarled at Malthus, his lips drawn back from his teeth. "If this were real, you'd be dead."
"Asshole." Preece drew his left knife, balancing it for a throw as he shifted into his hybrid form.
Rocks showered Kynyr. He flinched and stepped back. All of the females and children were throwing rocks. The males stood laughing and pointing at him.
Rheu giggled and reached for a rock to throw. Preece toed the youth in the side and shook his head. Rheu dropped the rock.
Malthus rolled away from Kynyr with a chuckle. "If rocks were blades ... you'd be too."
Kynyr spun about shouting. "Stop it."
He threw down the wooden practice blade and sheltered his face. A rock caught him on the cheek, leaving a long cut. Rocks came from all sides, striking him in the head, chest, back, and stomach. He staggered toward the trees. "Hell's goat-sucking... Stop!"
Malthus walked across the clearing as if nothing were happening.
"Malthus! Tell them to stop."
The silver blade snapped from Preece's hand, thrown with such force and accuracy that it plunged to the quillons in Maguire's back. Preece smiled all the way to his eyes as he watched the guardsmon collapse in the dirt.
"Back so soon, Preece?" Odhran called out to him as Preece crossed the bridge onto Clan Red Wolf soil.
Preece glanced up, startled by Odhran's voice. He had been so lost in his thoughts, riding the drugs racing through his bloodstream, that his arrival at the bridge had not registered. "Money goes fast when you spend it at the Crimson Lady."
* * * *
The Three Candles Inn in Hell's Widow stood three blocks off Main Street on Wheelwright Road in the lycan section of town. Most of the various citizenry called it the 'ghetto,' and the term always bothered Kynyr because he saw it as a bad reflection on his race. The ghetto was the prettiest quarter in Hell's Widow. The buildings shared fences, but not walls as they did in the human sections. Every shop had a garden along the sides, flower boxes on the upper floor wi
ndows, planters overflowing on the balconies, and rooftop gardens. They rode into the yard, and the hostler, Jordi, appeared in the door of the livery stable.
Kynyr reined the horses in, set the break, and climbed down. He dug in his pouch, brought out a silver, and tossed it to Jordi. "Do a good job."
Jordi caught the coin and shoved it in his pocket. "Yessir. I will, sir."
The four myn entered the inn through a side door just off the kitchen. Amos Raggat's wife, Nainsi, walked to the door and waved at Kynyr. "Good to see you back."
Kynyr gave her a nod and a smile and kept on walking. They found Amos in the common room, attending to some other customers. Kynyr grinned at the fat lycan, who reminded him of an apple dumpling on legs.
"You'll be wanting rooms for the night?"
"One room. One of those Comfort Nesting rooms you got with two double beds."
Many unmarried lycans still practiced the old custom of Comfort Nesting, taking wolf forms and piling up together to sleep in a non-sexual manner.
"Comfort? Or watching your backs?"
"A bit of both."
"Cullen?"
"What do you think?"
Amos gestured for them to come into the keg room behind the bar. Casks were stacked two deep along three sides and a rectangular table with six chairs occupied the center of the room. He pointed at the chairs, fetched a bottle and glass from a shelf, and sat down. Ramsey moved to the door and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed loosely. Amos glanced from Ramsey to Kynyr. "You come in armed like that." Amos gestured at their swords. "Everyone will know you're here on Clan business."
"I decided that safety was more important than discretion this time." Kynyr watched Amos pour, lifted his glass, and sipped the whiskey. "Good stuff."
"I just laid in several cases of Tormuth Whiskey. Ever since that priest what was her name? Pandaira found the body folks have been laying bets as to how long it would be before Claw sent someone to look into it. I guess you're it."
"Pandeena, not Pandaira."
"Yeah her. That's the one. When Cullen didn't come back that first night, I had my suspicions. Then this cub, Cooley comes by with a note from Silkie saying Cullen was dead and Larkspur belonged to you." Amos knocked his whiskey down in a gulp and poured another. "Made me nervous as hell having that horse here, but I knew better than to try and get rid of it. Claw would have tacked my hide to the wall. Staining her black was my idea."
Janrae Frank - [Lycan Blood 02] - Fireborn Law Page 7
