Traitor to the Blood

by Barb Hendee

  "Hedí said he cannot speak properly," Wynn whispered, "as if his throat was injured."

  Too many thoughts filled Magiere's mind from this long night. She dropped off the log to the ground beside Wynn and pulled the blanket around both of them without a word.

  "There is more," Wynn said. "In my journals and notes… the ones

  I sent back to the guild… Not everything I wrote was about the people and lands we passed through."

  "You mean about me," Magiere said flatly.

  Wynn glanced at her. Some color drained from the sage's olive face.

  It hadn't been hard to guess. From the very start at the Guild of Sage-craft in Bela, Wynn and her mentor, Domin Tilswith, had been quite curious about a woman born of a Noble Dead father.

  "You're not very good with deception," Magiere said with only a touch of ire, and as her gaze drifted to Leesil, her voice dropped to a whisper. "Not like the rest of us." She took a long, slow breath before she looked back at Wynn. "It's all right… writing about me, that is."

  Wynn sighed, huddling down closer to Magiere. "And how do we help Leesil?"

  Magiere didn't know how. He had ensured more death and suffering in his homeland. And all he had to show for it were the last remains of his parents.

  Leesil had lived with years of wine-smothered nightmares over what he believed had happened to his parents when he fled his first life. She had held him in the night, felt him twist and mumble in his sleep. Then in Bela, the Anmaglâhk named Sgaile had given Leesil a spark of hope that at least his mother had survived. Along the way he'd chosen to go looking for his father as well.

  He'd returned here to have his worst guilt-driven fears become real. This night, hope had died in that crypt more quickly than Leesil's last victim.

  "Leave him be for now," she said to Wynn. "Darmouth is dead."

  "Emêl told me. You did what you could, but I cannot imagine what this has done to Leesil, trying to save a man who abused him in youth… only to fail."

  Magiere gazed into the fire, not looking at Wynn. There was still a secret between them. Magiere could tell no one what had truly happened in the crypt.

  Korey and Hedí laid out remaining blankets in the tents as Emêl came to join Magiere and Wynn. Magiere had never been one to give manners much notice, but beneath his noble arrogance, there was something worthwhile in the baron. Perhaps.

  "I want you to take Hedí and Korey north for me," he said quietly. "To the fief of Lord Geyren. His people know us and will protect them for me."

  Magiere pulled away from Wynn to sit up on the log again. "What about you?" i am staying. You were wise to leave Omasta alive. I will try to get him to listen."

  "Are you mad?" Magiere said a little too loudly. "He'll execute you on sight."

  "I do not think so. Lord Geyren is in Venjetz even now. He's young but a good man, and we can both give credence that Omasta is Darmouth's son. Most of the soldiers will be desperate for someone to follow—anyone with a true claim as heir. If we act quickly and keep our heads, we might avoid civil war and stand against what comes at us from outside our borders."

  Wynn sat upright. "Omasta is Darmouth's son? How many know of this?"

  "Not many, but enough. Most of the officers."

  "Careful, Emêl," Magiere warned. "Make certain Omasta learns all this before you get near him. I suppose he's preferable to his father. And you might curtail a civil war."

  She looked over at Leesil, wondering whether he'd heard them.

  "Both of you get some sleep," she said. "Emêl… you, Hedí, and Korey take one tent. We'll take the other. Go on to bed, Wynn. We'll be along soon."

  Wynn nodded. She left Magiere the blanket and followed Emêl to the tents.

  Magiere sat by the fire awhile longer, watching Leesil. She finally got up and headed through the camp. As she passed Chap, still pacing, the dog whined and huffed twice. She crouched and put her arms around his thick neck, then leaned her head into his.

  "I know," she whispered. "You lost Nein'a and Gavril, just as Leesil has."

  Chap pulled away, snapping out two sharp barks for "no."

  Magiere didn't know how to make Chap accept the loss. Or how she could deal with Leesil's grief in the face of what he'd done in that crypt.

  She stood up and headed for the tree, coming up beside it to look down at a man she still loved but was no longer certain she truly knew. She knew only that when he suffered, she suffered as well.

  Magiere sank down along the tree. She reached over to grasp his face, and leaning close, held his head to hers. Then she gently touched the bundle he held.

  "I am sorry," she whispered, "for this."

  Leesil trembled. He buried his face into Magiere's neck in silence. She felt his tears against her skin as they ran down across her collarbone.

  Chap watched Magiere hold Leesil while the half-elf trembled in small, steady intervals. Chap's anger grew upon one name stuck in his mind.

  Brot'an'duive… Brot'an… the elder Anmaglâhk in the crypt.

  Chap could recall any memory he had seen and bring it back to the surface of the owner's mind. A crude way to communicate—or influence—that gave Leesil fits of anger. But he could not give the memories of one person to another, and Brot'an's memories had revealed much.

  For the first time Chap truly longed for the power of speech. Elvish was more subtle and useful than Belaskian, but there was so much to relate. A frustrating amount depended on Wynn's translation. Even attempting to explain the truth would require a long night of pawing at the hide.

  Brot'an had triggered Leesil's vengeance with a lie.

  Chap padded softly up behind the tree, drawing ever closer to Magiere and Leesil. Before either noticed him, he swerved around the trunk and snatched the bundled cloak in his teeth. With a quick lunge, he jerked it from Leesil's arms.

  Magiere sucked in a sharp breath. "What are you doing?"

  Leesil gasped and clawed after the bundle, but Chap dragged it beyond reach. He shook the cloak until the skulls fell out upon the forest floor and then set his front paws around the one of the elven female.

  "Give them back!" Leesil cried.

  Chap snarled and added a loud snap of his jaws.

  Magiere grabbed Leesil about the waist and pulled him back, staring at the dog in shock. Chap locked his gaze on Leesil's eyes and called forth memories of Nein'a, one after another. He sharply barked twice for "no" as he nosed the skull of the female elf.

  "Stop it!" Leesil shouted, and curled into Magiere's arms, cringing under the assault of memories.

  Chap could not stop. Leesil had to understand.

  When Chap locked gazes with Brot'an in the crypt, the scars on the elder elf's face confused him at first. Brot'an had had no scars on the long-ago night he accompanied Eillean carrying a young Chap across the cold mountains. Disjointed memories twisted through the elf's mind like autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind. And like catching those leaves in the order they fell from the trees, it had taken time for Chap to understand all that he saw therein.

  Brot'an had been there eight years ago, the night Nein'a and Gavril fled from the keep…

  Eight years in the past, Brot'an'duive walked out of the Crown Range beside Eillean and entered the woodland foothills of Darmouth's province.

  Aoishenis-Ahare, Most Aged Father, had grown impatient with Cuirin'nen'a and requested that she be returned. Brot'an and Eillean had been sent to Venjetz to bring her home—along with her half-blood son.

  The request had been quick and sudden—with a hint of challenge.

  Brot'an feared that Most Aged Father now questioned his allegiance and that of Eillean. He said as much to her once on the journey. Her reply was a glower laced with concern.

  Disloyalty was unheard of in their caste. No Anmaglâhk was ever doubted for the sacrifice each made in service to their people. Alone in faraway places, they relied on their own judgment to solve any complication in their assigned tasks. Brot'an knew he now walked a line a
s thin as a web's strand and half as fragile. There was no choice but to comply.

  The journey was long, and passage through the mountains was bitter. Winter was not far off, and the return home through the hidden ways of the Crown Range would be worse. On the fifth night after entering the foothills of Darmouth's province, he stepped across the road running south to the gates of Venjetz. Amid the trees beyond, he quickly held out a hand for Eillean to stop.

  Harsh footsteps moved fast and stealthless through the forest. He glanced at Eillean, saw that she heard them too, and they separated to hide within the forest's underbrush.

  From out of the trees came Cuirin'nen'a and a human male, both sweat-soaked and breathless. Brot'an did not understand. Why and how had she run from the city straight to this happenstance meeting?

  He stepped out in their way as Eillean reappeared at his side.

  Cuirin'nen'a slid to a stop on the forest mulch, a pair of silvery stilettos clenched together in one hand. She stared at them, and her eyes settled upon Eillean as the human male looked frantically back the way they had come.

  "Mother?" she said.

  "Where is your son?" Eillean asked. "We must take both of you back with us."

  Cuirin'nen'a fumbled for a reply. "No! Leesil must never come under Most Aged Father's influence."

  "Why are you here?" her mother continued in demand. "Where is Léshil?

  "Leesil is gone," the human answered. "And we are pursued!"

  A grating snarl rose from among the trees, and a dark form leaped into view, followed by another.

  The human shoved Cuirin'nen'a toward her mother. "Go!"

  Two great cats with dark, shining coats prowled forward in the moonlight, each as large as a mountain lion. Their eyes fixed upon their prey, but they hesitated at the sight of Brot'an and Eillean.

  Cuirin'nen'a's husband crouched with a stiletto in each hand, even as she twisted away from Eillean and separated her own blades. She tried to step in behind him.

  Brot'an snatched her cloak and jerked her back toward the nearest tree. One cat leaped for her husband.

  "Gavril!" she cried out, and swung back at Brot'an with one blade. "Mother, help him!"

  Brot'an ducked Cuirin'nen'a's swing, and Gavril glanced back when she shouted.

  The lunging cat landed on the man, one forepaw against his throat, and he went down. When he hit the ground, the animal's claws raked open his throat and the underside of his jaw.

  Gavril's stilettos rolled from his hands. Blood spattered his face. He lay twitching with his eyes still open.

  "No!" Cuirin'nen'a cried out.

  She tried to jerk her cloak free from Brot'an's grip as Eillean rushed at the cat perched upon Gavril.

  The second cat leaped for Cuirin'nen'a's back. It slammed her down upon the mulch.

  Brpt'an stumbled as her cloak tore from his grip, and Cuirin'nen'a's head bounced hard against the earth. The animal's large paws ground into her back. Its claws bit through her cloak and shirt into her skin. She neither cried out nor moved.

  Eillean called out from somewhere to Brot'an's right. Before he looked for her, twin stilettos tumbled through the air at the cat atop her daughter. Neither struck true, and both fell away, but the animal twisted its head with a snarl. Brot'an took in everything in that instant and hope died.

  Eillean thrashed beneath the cat that had killed the human male. Leaves and twigs flew up around her as she tried to fend it off without her blades. Her dark cowl shredded beneath its claws. The cat upon Cuirin'nen'a swung its head back to its own prey.

  Brot'an could not save them both.

  He leaped upward from the earth and pushed off a nearby tree with his left foot. High in the night air, he watched the cat atop Cuirin'nen'a turn to look frantically about, trying to find him.

  Brot'an became still and silent as his ascent slowed above the animal. Stiletto hilt gripped hand over hand, he focused upon the cat's neck just behind its skull. He began to descend on top of it.

  The cat glanced upward.

  The tree that Brot'an had pushed off from was too far out of reach. The cat pivoted to get from under him. He had to fold his left leg before his foot struck its back. His knee and shin hit instead.

  He drove the blade down, but the cat twisted sideways under his weight. The blade seemed to skim off of its head. The animal slapped at him with a forepaw as it screamed out in pain.

  Brot'an saw claws pass before his face. He toppled from the cat and pushed off against its side to throw himself clear. He landed atop Cuirin'nen'a, rolled away, and came up crouched above her. The right side of his face stung, and his heart pounded as he steeled himself for the cat's lunge.

  Instead, it writhed upon the ground, screeching.

  The sting in Brot'an's face grew to a burning as he saw that the cat's left ear was completely gone. The fur around that side of its dark head glistened as if wet, and dead leaves and pine needles clung to it. Something warm and wet ran down Brot'an's face into his own right eye.

  For an instant he thought it was sweat, blinking his eye to clear it. But this only darkened and blurred his vision more. There was blood running into his eye.

  He had not escaped the claws altogether and felt searing lines in his forehead and right cheek. He crouched and heaved Cuirin'nen'a over one shoulder then ran back through the trees at the road's edge. Within the thick branches of a fir tree, he crawled up along its trunk.

  The cat's screaming subsided to a rolling yowl that he heard coming closer.

  Brot'an braced himself among the branches, with Cuirin'nen'a's limp form draped over his bent legs. He pressed the branches slowly apart enough to see out and wiped at his right eye with the back of his hand.

  The maimed cat pounded about the forest below but never found where he had gone. It turned back to join its mate, and Brot'an watched in anxious fascination.

  The two felines writhed upon forest mulch beside each other.

  Their bodies rippled into two naked forms—a man and woman of dusky skin and dark hair. The male held the side of his head, still kneeling in pain. They whispered to each other, gestures wild with panic, and both stared at Eillean's torn face and body. When they set upon her, Brot'an went rigid. His back pressed into the tree's trunk, and it ground into his spine.

  They sawed at her neck with one of her own blades and severed her head.

  Eillean had thrown away her life trying to save a human who was already lost.

  They severed Gavril's head next and ran off into the forest with their trophies.

  Brot'an saw no more of them. By the time he could bring himself to climb down, he no longer heard their running feet. He set Cuirin'nen'a's unconscious form on the ground. He crouched over Eillean's headless corpse, at a loss over what he could do for her so far from their homeland.

  Chap understood what Ventina and Faris had done. In fear of punishment, they stripped the skulls of flesh and presented these tokens to Dar-mouth. Their lord knew of only one elven female, and an elf's skull was proof enough of the couple's success.

  This token of death had deceived Darmouth. And Brot'an had used it again to goad Leesil's rage. In turn, master and slave set upon each other. All for the skull of the wrong woman…

  The last remains of Eillean, Leesil's grandmother.

  In the aftermath of the crypt battle, the memory of Most Aged Father's withered face surfaced in Brot'an's memory… along with the request made by the patriarch. Brot'an knew he could not fight his way past both Leesil and Magiere to reach Darmouth. Magiere had wounded him too badly. But he was determined to preserve Most Aged Father's trust. The only way was to force Leesil to murder the warlord.

  Chap shook off Brot'an's memories and snarled again. He could not give these memories to Leesil and only recalled Cuirin'nen'a's—Nein'a's— face over and over as he barked twice for "no." Leesil cowered away, covering his ears.

  "Enough!" Magiere ordered. "Stop this—now, Chap!"

  Chap glared at her. He kept his eyes lo
cked straight into hers, then nosed the skull toward her. He barked twice for "no" and slowly swung his head back and forth.

  Magiere held Leesil close in her arms, but anger faded from her face. She looked down to the skull between Chap's paws.

  "No?" she whispered, her head shifting slightly side to side, mimicking Chap's own. "Not… Nein'a?"

  Chap barked once for "yes." He lay down, his head upon the skull of the woman who had first brought him to Leesil, and closed his eyes. Magiere's dawning awareness of the truth was no relief to him.

  "Wynn…" Magiere said, voice hesitant, and then she shouted in panic. "Wynn, get the talking hide… get it now!"

  * * *

  As dawn approached, Chane crawled into a forest thicket and buried himself with dead leaves, tree needles and snow-crusted earth. He had tried to get back into the city, but the gates were sealed in the night. Soldiers openly patrolled the rampart with loaded crossbows.

  Hunger kept him from settling into full dormancy. Even hidden and shielded, the sting of sunlight crawled over his flesh like biting insects as he thought of Wynn. He lingered in discomfort until the sun finally set, and then crawled out shuddering, as if once again rising from that second grave. He was covered in cold earth and mulch. It was no less unsettling. When he neared the gates of Venjetz once more, hunger squelched his unpleasant memories.

  But he could not release Wynn from his thoughts. Had she even truly seen him in the keep?

  A few wagons and peasants on foot gathered before the city's main entrance, but the gate was still shut tight. A soldier upon the wall beside the gatehouse shouted down that "Captain" Omasta had closed the city until further notice. No one was allowed in or out.

  Chane did not know what had become of Wynn. Or his horse. Or Welstiel, for that matter.

  He stepped back into the forest. Wynn had his cloak and, except for his sword and the clothes he wore, everything he owned was still at the Ivy Vine inn. He lingered behind a tree and searched the gathering of wagons and people for an opportunity to feed.

  Most of those on foot stood before the city gate, arguing and pleading to be let in. A few remained behind among the wagons and carts. One was alone, sitting on the lowered gate of a wagon with a small lantern.