Janrae Frank - [Lycan Blood 02] - Fireborn Law

by Fireborn Law [lit]

  "You don't have to. It's my business, not yours. Anyway, once she's ridden my stick long enough to swell, I'll have more free time to come here." A wisp of fresh irritation wafted through Malthus. Until Claw's health failed enough to serve as a distraction, Malthus did not dare to use his gifts on Merissa, and as a result it appeared to be taking longer to quicken her womb than it had the others. If it did not happen soon, Malthus intended to write his mother and ask for her advice.

  "And if the child is sa'necari? They'll know what you are then."

  Malthus gave Egidius a long, languid smile. "I'll mask the genes."

  Egidius lifted an eyebrow. "Can you do that?"

  "You have no idea what I can do, Egidius," Malthus replied. "I have stolen several major legacies in the rites."

  "Legacies! Which ones?"

  Malthus waved a finger at Egidius. "You don't need to know that. Many legacies that are believed to have perished with King Baaltrystan when the palace collapsed didn't. They ended on my altar at Carrion Crevasse."

  "Sometimes you frighten me."

  Malthus laughed and clapped him on the back. "That's as it should be. Now, about the females. Have you let our soldiers enjoy them?"

  "Some of them have been raped so often, they spend all the rest of the time curled into whimpering balls."

  "Have any of them caught?" Malthus walked toward the cave, thirsty for blood as his fangs descended from their sheaths.

  Egidius followed him. "A few."

  "Good. Send those to my estate."

  "What are you going to do with them?"

  Malthus laughed again. "I'm going to do what Waejonan failed to. I intend to establish a breeding program to reduce the race to something akin to the nibari. I'll want a few males, but not many. And I want them all young like the one you rited. No adult males. They're too much trouble to break."

  "The only way that we're going to fill your larder is to start taking villages. Shall I send word for Laetus to attack?"

  "Yes. I want all the adult males killed. That includes striplings. The only male cubs I want are age seven and under. Beyond that, what you do with your share of the harvest is your business. Drain them for the bottles.

  "Another thing, Mother says that the market for organs has increased. Especially for testes and hearts. Box up the testes, hearts, kidneys, and livers. There's a rumor that some of the divinators are interested in dried lycan spleens and willing to pay a fair price for them. So toss in a few and we'll see how they sell. Remember all of it has to come from un-rited bodies. The rites destroy the bio-alchemical properties that make the organs valuable."

  "I know that. How much of a cut am I getting from the profits?"

  "Fifteen percent. Mother's taking half since she's doing the processing and distribution."

  Malthus sauntered into the cave. It had been turned into a dwelling place long before Malthus and his comrades found it. Cabinets stood along one wall, and a table and chairs sat in the middle of the first chamber. Beyond a wasp-waisted connection, a second, larger chamber opened with beds and several chests in it.

  He had thought of this as his brother's cave since finding confirmation here that Troyes was dead. Malthus had found bottles of Troyes' blood, his blades, and the family crest he had worn in the cabinets. Troyes, his father's legitimate son, had been the only member of Malthus' paternal family that he had even come close to liking. Isranon murdered him and drained his body for the bottles. Once he had matters well in hand, he would kill Darmyk, and send pieces of the boy to Isranon let him weep for his son as Malthus had for his brother, Ros and Lyrri's father.

  He took pen and paper from the cabinet and sat down at the table. "Meet me halfway between Wolffgard and here in two weeks. I need to get my concubines safely to my manor. I'll mask all the genetics at my soonest opportunity, so don't question when I send you a pregnant woman, just get her there. Don't question whether the child they're carrying appears to be sa'necari or not, because you won't be able to tell."

  "So they all bred true?" Egidius sat down opposite to him.

  Malthus' eyes brightened with a smirk spreading across his face. "Indeed, yes. Four sa'necari children for me. There's another one coming, but she's in Hell's Widow. Heironim will be moving her to my estate in a few more weeks."

  "I don't see how you can be so fertile." Egidius' eyed Malthus speculatively.

  "Ask my mother. It's her doing." Then Malthus chuckled. "I have the fertility of a thirteen-year-old."

  "Impressive. It's been four years since I was last able to make a child, and I'm seven years younger than you."

  Malthus saw a flash of envy in Egidius' eyes. "Talk to my mother next time you see her. She might be able to help you, if you're not too far progressed ... if your cods aren't completely withered. However, I warn you, it will be expensive and rather uncomfortable at times."

  "To be able to get more children it would be worth it."

  "Indeed." Malthus gave Egidius' hand a squeeze. "Now, back to business. Get Laetus moving, and wait for me to send you word, or come myself to arrange for the females to be moved."

  "What about the chieftain? Are you still planning on leaving him until last?"

  Malthus chuckled darkly. "He developed heart problems the day of the wedding."

  Egidius grinned. "How convenient. You always go to the heart of the matter."

  Malthus poked Egidius in the chest over his heart. "It's my favorite target. I have another target that is just as important. Longbranch. There's a family there that must be exterminated down to the smallest infant."

  "Which one?"

  "The Maguires and to be safe, the Sinclairs also."

  "Why?"

  "They're a bastard branch of the Redhands. Branduff Maguire is Tarrant Redhand's bastard son. He's a school teacher. Kill him first."

  Egidius stroked his goatee. "Three Stones would have to be eliminated first. Longbranch is half a day's ride south of it. Laetus is over there now. I'll send word to him."

  * * * *

  Caimbeul sensed the undercurrents of trouble in Wolffgard without being able to put his finger upon it. Rumors of rapes and murders on the back roads leading into Wolffgard, but no bodies had been found and no complaints had been filed. The ambush of Kynyr had bothered him deeply, knowing as only a handful did, that Kynyr was son of a bastard or not the rightful prince of Red Wolf. The coincidence of having all but one of the surviving people who had been close to Cahira Maguire Sinclair during the time that she had been pregnant by Tarrant Redhand in Wolffgard at the same time stank of fate, or karma as the Creeyans called it. The only one who had not yet shown up was Sheradyn, Cahira's mentor. Sheradyn lived in Blue Rock Village to the southeast of Wolffgard with his much younger lover, Gillivray. Caimbeul felt tempted to ride down to Blue Rock and talk to Sheradyn, but shelved it. An itch along his spine kept telling him that, sooner or later, Sheradyn would come to Wolffgard.

  He had postponed checking out the refugee camp; because he wanted to avoid encountering Pandeena until he felt more prepared to deal with her and with his own feelings concerning her. Except for the day of the funeral, people in the village had little to say about Malthus; although they were critical of his choice of companions. Kynyr Maguire figured more and more in Caimbeul's contemplations. According to Odhran, Kynyr had regained consciousness four nights ago.

  His Training and experience as a lawgiver had driven his jealousy of Kynyr from his mind the moment that he learned of the ambush. Caimbeul's instincts kicked in and focused on Kynyr. There was bad blood between Kynyr and Malthus that seemed to center around Merissa. Although Malthus' alibi was iron clad, that did not mean he had had nothing to do with the ambush or the riot. Two attempts had been made on Kynyr's life. Five people currently living in Wolffgard knew the truth about his ancestry. One of them had no reason to keep that secret and every reason to want to harm the Maguire family: Baroucha Seaver.

  Caimbeul stepped into Cahira's shop, wondering how he might establish a connec
tion between Baroucha and Malthus assuming one existed. Nikko had done everything himself, and therefore Caimbeul found himself without servants, deputies, and other assistants. It would take time to set up and he had a feeling in his gut that he needed to know more about the people of Wolffgard before he recruited anyone. Caimbeul did not yet know who to trust, who was, and who was not connected to Malthus.

  Kady Wiggins sat at the table in the rear, totaling up a customer's purchases on a counting board. "Lawgiver, I'll be with you in just a moment."

  "Is Todd around?"

  "Third floor. The salle. Go on up."

  Caimbeul headed for the door into the hallway when Rory, Hamish, and Cooley rushed in from the back. The heels on Cooley's new riding boots clicked smartly on the floor. The three cubs' eyes sparkled with mischief. Caimbeul had heard Rory described as the penultimate village sneak and an idea occurred to him. Cubs loved secrets and conspiracies. They played the Great Game with a verve and devotion seldom matched by their elders.

  He crooked his finger at the cubs. "Rory."

  "I'm not in trouble, am I?" Rory asked, following Caimbeul into the hallway.

  Caimbeul took a ten penny piece from his pocket and waved it in Rory's face. "I hear you're a sneak and a good one."

  "Yeah." Rory eyed that coin hungrily.

  Hamish and Cooley stood in the doorway, watching in silence.

  "I need a spy. In fact, I need several. How would you like to become my spymaster?"

  "Oooooh." A big grin lit Rory's mud splashed face. "Can my friends help?"

  "Can they keep secrets?" Caimbeul whispered to him just loud enough to carry to Hamish and Cooley.

  "Yes."

  "You may have this to start. Come to the Lawgiver House after dinner and I'll tell you how to earn money. Agreed?"

  Rory nodded.

  "You mustn't tell any of the adults why you're coming. Tell them, I'm paying you to help around the place."

  Rory held up his crossed fingers and made a circular motion in what cubs called the Moon's Promise.

  "I'll see you then."

  Caimbeul headed for the stairs at the end of the hallway that folded upward. He climbed to the second floor and glanced down the hall toward the bedrooms to his left, repressing an urge to speak with Kynyr first. Cahira's voice drifted from the kitchen, talking to someone that Caimbeul could not identify. He turned and climbed to the third floor. There he found a short hall with three doors. Opening the first door on his right, he stepped into the salle.

  Half of the far end was covered in mats. Caimbeul had never practiced the Creeyan arts, but he recognized the movements as Todd worked through his forms with an axe in one hand and a broadsword in the other. Bare to the waist, massive scars showed on Todd's chest and mid-section. Few things could scar a lycan, but it looked as if Todd must have encountered most of them and lived to speak of it.

  Todd's eyes brushed Caimbeul and he continued without missing a beat. "Lawgiver."

  Caimbeul sauntered over to the table and sat down. A bottle of whiskey and four glasses sat in the middle. Caimbeul picked up a glass, examined it with a critical eye, and wiped it out with his shirt sleeve. Satisfied, he poured himself a double measure.

  "I want to talk to Kynyr. But first I want to talk to you."

  Todd stepped off the mat, bowed to it, and returned his weapons to the rack near the door. "I've been expecting you."

  "Last time I was here, Cahira explained her reasons to me. Under the circumstances, I decided not to argue."

  "Ayup. I appreciate that." Todd settled into the chair opposite Caimbeul, poured himself a glass, and leaned back. "Say what you got to say."

  "How many people know about Kynyr?"

  "More than I'd like."

  "That doesn't answer the question."

  Todd's bushy red eyebrows knit. "Cahira, Pandeena, yourself, Baroucha, Sheradyn. Bran's family, obviously. Kynyr's his only son. Ulicia's pregnant again. Due in a few weeks. My daughter-in-law insists it's a boy. That'll make two of them."

  "Your daughter-in-law?"

  "Mary, Trevor's wife. Ulicia is Kynyr's mother."

  "You've got a large family. Any chance one of them could have leaked it?"

  "Nope. They all know about the curse."

  Caimbeul exhaled heavily, rubbing his forefinger under his nose. "I don't believe in the curse. I think Alistar was hallucinating ... the pain put him out of his mind. I don't think he could have cursed anyone with that spike in his belly. You used runed silver, didn't you?"

  "Ayup. Nastiest runes Roarc O'Shea could charge."

  "Roarc etched them too?"

  "Ayup."

  "That proves my point. Alistar Weems died in too much pain to have laid a curse."

  "You're wrong, Padruig. You didn't hear him. I did."

  Caimbeul downed his whiskey, poured a second double, and folded his arms. "That doesn't agree with what I remember of that night. You and Tarrant came back directly. I know. I followed you. I watched you put that spike in Weems' belly. I heard the way he screamed."

  "Asshole. You should have said something."

  "Why? Had I spoken up, people would have asked why I didn't stop you. Tarrant not withstanding, what you did was outside the law."

  "Then why the hell didn't you stop us?"

  Caimbeul threw his head back and stared at the ceiling for several breaths before looking at Todd again. "Weems deserved it."

  * * * *

  Merissa sat watching the children playing in the garden, with her hands in her lap. Her gaze stole to the wedding arch. She knew that she should order it taken down, so that Malthus could make the rounds of the taverns and exercise his bragging rights. Merissa didn't want to tell him yet. Some part of her kept holding off. She had recognized the first tiny changes in her body the moment they began, and knew from her previous pregnancy what it meant. Merissa had never expected to become pregnant so soon. She was not certain why she kept holding back.

  "Merissa," Claw's voice came from behind her.

  She swiveled on the bench. "Father."

  "He spends a lot of time hunting, that husband of yours," Claw growled.

  Malthus had gone hunting two days ago to provide meat for the sanctuary as he had been doing frequently since late last spring. Shalto, who worked at the sanctuary, had stopped by to inform Malthus of the need and off they went. Merissa always felt relieved when her husband left for a few days, because he kept her on her back with her legs open more often than not when he was home. Since the day of the wedding, his work for the sanctuary and his trips to Hell's Widow had become the only thing that gave her time to herself, time to be with Darmyk. Maybe that would change once he knew his efforts had proved fruitful.

  "He still provides for the sanctuary, father," Merissa responded. "He feels responsible for them. He's a good mon."

  "He should be here. He has other responsibilities," Claw grumbled.

  Knowing what her father referred to, Merissa glanced at the arch and then stared at her hands. "Take the arch down, father."

  Claw's face lit, and he pulled her into his arms for an awkward hug. "So he's done his job. I have another grandcub on its way."

  She stirred uneasily. Ever since the letter from Nevin stating that Isranon had repudiated Darmyk and called her a slut, her father had been trying to be more comforting and affectionate with her, as if to fill the emotional gap in her life and relieve some of her pain. She hadn't told anyone that she still cried over that letter. "Yes, father."

  "Shall I send for Baroucha?"

  Merissa pushed away from him, shaking her head. "I don't like Baroucha." She shivered, remembering how hard Baroucha had pushed for her to abort Darmyk, and how the healer had threatened to poison Isranon. "I'd rather you sent for Sheradyn. He attended me while I carried Darmyk. I'm sure granny can spare him."

  Claw kissed her forehead. "Whatever you wish. Now go in and tell your mother. I'll get that arch down, so your mon will know his efforts have been victorious."
<
br />   Merissa gave a demure nod, and headed into the manor. She found Aisha at her loom, weaving a bright pattern into the cloth. Fianait settled her skirts into place as she returned to her loom. She needed to get out her old maternity clothes and see what shape they were in. Merissa had become depressed during the final months of carrying Darmyk, crying over the fact that she would probably never see his father again, and as a result wore mainly dark unflattering colors until a year after Darmyk's birth. Malthus would expect her to dress better than that while carrying his child. She would need to have their nibari start stitching for her.

  Robert Morcar sat near the door, carving a toy soldier from a block of pine for Darmyk. The dark wolf watched her from the corners of his eyes. Merissa felt suddenly conspicuous. There was always a guardsmon in the Great Hall with them, in the gardens with them, wherever they were there was a guardsmon, as if her father feared that the enemy would burst through the doors at any minute. The attack on Kynyr had only made matters worse. Searlait made a game of sneaking off to be alone in the mornings, and so far, no one had discovered where she went. Merissa suspected that Kynyr knew where she went, because he always vanished from the manor shortly after Searlait did. She wondered who if anyone was watching over her since Kynyr's wounding. Kynyr had always been so devoted to her family maybe if her father had not kept pushing Kynyr at her She shook herself loose from those thoughts. She was married now and it was too late for such regrets.

  Merissa drew a chair up so that she could sit behind her mother, and sucked in a fortifying breath. "Mother, I'm I'm pregnant."

  Aisha laid her shuttle down and pushed her seat back, studying her daughter. "You don't look happy."

  Merissa looked away, wondering why it was so hard for her to meet the eyes of the people who loved her. "Malthus will be very happy. Father is."

  "What about you?"

  "I'm happy. Really, I am. It's just for some reason I want to cry, and keep crying."

  "That's normal," said Aunt Fianait. "You're young. You'll get over it."

  Merissa, feeling strangely uneasy, bit back a retort as to what Fianait would know about bearing cubs considering that Fianait had measured every dog wolf against her twin, Brock, found them lacking, and remained an old maid.