by JANRAE FRANK
Mephistis regarded the ancient vampire; no one knew how old he was or of which lineage – even the lesser bloods eventually emerged from their initial animalistic state – yet Mephistis felt certain that Hoon was of the royals, not the lesser bloods. They speculated, but no one really knew and Hoon would never tell. He ran his life, lands and castle on a strictly need to know basis, rarely volunteering anything. "Will you help me?"
The vampire smiled, his long teeth showing. "Of course. You want to kill her through the link? Take what is rightfully yours?"
"Yes. So what do you suggest?"
"Mirrors. Several long mirrors – like this one set in front of the blood-table."
"Mirrors?"
"I will work the mirrors so that we can see to fight if Abelard should intervene."
"Yes." Mephistis grew excited.
"I will meet you the second hour past noon in the south dining chamber. The one you fed in last night. And it might interest you... Linden has a special captive that she has been holding back on consuming. A noble's only child."
* * * *
Linden woke late, opening her eyes to the nearly afternoon sun. Her na'halaef, Quellyn lay beside her. Although both of them were only in their early twenties, they already had three children. Linden and Quellyn had handfasted at fifteen, but they had been lovers since age ten. Like many races beset by savage forces, the Sharani achieved sexual maturity young and had an easy-going attitude toward precocious sexual exploration among their children – something they could afford since the magical energy called the kyndi protected them from pregnancy before their bodies were mature enough to handle it. Linden could not imagine life without Quellyn and it made her very protective.
"What's this about more guests?" Quellyn asked, rolling onto her side.
"Stay away from them!" Linden realized she had said that with more force than she intended. "Give me a day with them to assess things, feel it out. Mephistis may well be the most dangerous sa'necari alive."
"You're not saying that simply because the whole realm is looking for him?"
"No. No one knows which of the Waejonans holds the Legacy of Waejonan. It has to be either King Baaltrystan or Mephistis. I suspect the latter."
"Dangerous indeed."
Linden went to the closet, pulling on a dark tunic and pants. "I'm going to the guesthouse. Stay here."
She found Bodramet in an upstairs study. He turned from pulling a book from the shelf to face her, smiling. His fangs were extended and he ran his tongue across them to emphasize their readiness. There was an intense darkness to that one, power oozed from every pore of his psychic being and resonated with her own. Linden knew she would be playing a decidedly dangerous game even getting close to him. Yet Mephistis was still more dangerous than this one.
"Do you play nibble games with common sa'necari?" he laid the book on the desk, crossing to touch her face. "Or do you, like some I know, have a taste only for princes?"
"You're scarcely common, Bodramet. Your father, I hear, is Lord Jibade."
"He is."
"Or do you mean like Margren?" Linden let her own fangs descend.
"No, like Isranon. You've never met him or you'd know." Bodramet tilted his head, touching her fangs just enough to break the skin on his finger and rubbed the blood across her tongue. "Banewitch?"
Linden sucked his finger. Sa'necari blood was heady, making her want more. "Yes."
Bodramet nuzzled her neck. "Nibble games?"
"Not where it shows." Linden opened her shirt. "Mine don't go away as quickly as yours."
"Then you should have chosen our path," Bodramet said, settling cross-legged and dragging her to the floor beside him. "You have no fear of the dark, unlike the half-a-mon my prince sent north." He pressed his face between her breasts, licking his way to the artery. As Bodramet's fangs broke the skin, she bit him on the shoulder where the artery descending from his neck described a turn along the top.
The blood tasted intense and rich; had this not been a waystation for the upper echelons, Linden would have killed one or more of them, draining them for the bottles. The sa'necari murdered, dueled, and fed upon each other as much for the delicious taste of their blood, enhanced by a thousand varied rites, as for power – some gained power just from the blood alone.
Linden felt certain Bodramet would be more open with her after this sharing, that she would get more information from him about what had happened at Dragonshead. Frequently this was the case. Linden was a banewitch as her sire and ma'aram had been, working in death and blood, but not necromantic. It was the absence of necromancy that most distinguished the arts of the banewitch from those of the sa'necari. They did not make revenants, zombies, and skeleton warriors. They simply wove spells of death and fed upon it.
* * * *
Mephistis left Hoon and headed for the downstairs study where he had last seen Bodramet. He wanted the younger sa'necari to stay away while they held the rite, and also wished to ask Linden about this special captive. Hoon's description made Mephistis' throat itch and his loins tighten. He found Linden and Bodramet in the downstairs study playing nibble games with their shirts off; neither of them wanting obvious scars. Both of them had blood on their faces and a startled, embarrassed look when Mephistis surprised them. He knew that Linden and her parents had been banewitches.
"Nibble games and I've not been invited?" Mephistis settled into a chair. "Bodramet, find something else to do for a few hours. I don't wish you present at it. I intend a major rite of mortgiefan in the second hour past noon. I require mirrors. Enough to cover a wall. Remove the couch and bed from the south dining chamber. Center the bleeding-table, but keep the head toward the mirrors. Beyond that the usual candles and incense. Hoon tells me you have a special prisoner, a noble's heir."
"My, my." She said, buttoning her shirt just enough to cover her nipples, but left the substantial curve of her breasts showing. "Hoon has been talking."
Bodramet rose, excused himself with a bow, and went out.
They both knew Hoon was involved the moment Mephistis mentioned the mirrors. Very few sa'necari and vampires used them: Mirror magic was a nearly lost art except among the dark ones. Only the Fae, one of the sylvan races, were true masters of the mirrors.
"Do you have her?" Mephistis demanded, growing impatient. He was in no mood for games and would just as soon beat her bloody as look at her.
"Yes. I had planned to do her myself. Her ma'aram is a thorn in my side, contests every proposal I make in council. Now she's too busy searching for her missing heir to even attend."
"Ha'taren?"
"Yes."
"I want her. She's perfect." Mephistis rose from his chair and extended his hand palm down.
Linden visibly winced. Every line of her stance suggested her intense dislike of making a gesture of obeisance; especially since it entailed giving up something she did not wish to.
"Now!" Mephistis said. He disliked defiance, it made him uneasy. He suspected she would try to substitute another in place of the one he had asked for. That would be completely unacceptable. Linden existed to aid, succor, and cooperate with any and all sa'necari who came slipping through Shaurone. He would not have her defy him even in her most private thoughts.
She dropped to one knee before him, taking his hand. "In this life and in the next, by every turn of the wheel, I am yours to command for all eternity." Then she kissed his hand and rose.
"Have her there by the second hour past noon."
"As you wish, my prince." Her tone was casual, yet guarded. She warded her mind.
Mephistis sensed deception in her manner, felt it when she shielded her mind from him. His eyes narrowed and he seized Linden by the throat as she started to pass him, slamming her into the wall. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. Her eyes bulged. The sa'necari prince threw her to the floor, dropping his knees onto the side of her head and pinning her. If she moved the least bit he would break her neck. "You will give her to me. You will obey me. De
ceive me and I will take your na'halaef instead."
"Yes. Yes. She's yours. I swear it."
Mephistis savored the taste of terror rising from her as he ripped her shirt open, fondling her breasts. He would teach her a lesson she would never forget. Banewitches did not rise undead as the sa'necari did. He tore the sword belt from her waist as if it were tissue paper, casting it far from her reach. He bent over her, sinking his fangs deep into the large blue vein in her breast barely an inch from where Bodramet had fed. Linden moaned. He rolled her over on her back, straddling her.
Mephistis sensed the change when she began to mistake this for a rough nibble game, a token act of dominance. She rubbed against him as he moved to another vein when that one collapsed. Her guard dropped and then it was too late. Mephistis lunged into her mind, took her completely to the smallest cells of her brain, and made her his creature. He could have taken her mind at any point, but he had not wanted to tear it to shreds getting there. He wanted her as intact as possible. Otherwise she would have been of no use to him. She would still have free will, but not when such conflicted with his desires. He probed deeper and found that part of her mind and memories was warded by a power that rivaled his own. That troubled him. A sa'necari had been here before him and set wards. Which one? Why? His sire had led the occupation force when the Waejontori held Danae for a few years. Could it have been him? Or one of his lieutenants? Mephistis moved around them, pressing cautiously for an opening he could not find. Then he simply gave it up. The strength it would take to break them might destroy Linden.
Linden realized instantly what he had been done to her, but would never be able to tell anyone. For the first time in her adult life she was frightened. She tried to pull away, praying that he would let her go. He drank in her fear.
"Foolish little knight," Mephistis said. "I'm not done with you yet." He opened his pants, lifted himself out, and slit the crotch of her trousers with his belt knife, then pushed into her. He could beat her to death and she would simply lie down and let him do it. Mephistis did not intend to go that far, nothing that would not mend but much that would. He felt her delicate tissues tear as his thrusts turned savage. He cut away a piece of her shirt, balled it up, and shoved it in her mouth. Then he began to strike her in the stomach and chest without missing a beat as his cock slid in and out of her. Blood coated his member, ran down her thighs, and pooled beneath her buttocks. A feeding or ten would heal much of the damage, but she would hurt a very long time. He pulled his blade and began to systematically slice her.
* * * *
Everything was as he wanted it when Mephistis entered the south dining chamber. The remains of last night's dinner had been removed. Hoon leaned against the wall near the foot of the bleeding-table. The noble's heir lay chained to the table, nude. She had a fine strong body that reminded him vaguely of Aejys, but without the scars. She was barely eighteen, and when Mephistis learned her identity, Linden's audacity startled him: The young ha'taren was Meredouyn Dovane, only child and heir of Anaria Dovane, Regent of Danae on behalf of Reynan Dovane, daughter of the exiled Tomyris the Lionhawk. Mephistis could hardly believe his luck. An impressive catch – no wonder Linden had tried to keep the young woman for herself.
"Only Reynan, herself, would have pleased me more," Mephistis remarked. "The child must be about eleven by now."
Reynan's ma'aram had masterminded the conquest of most of Waejontor – but not even Mephistis' best agents and most powerful arts had been able to uncover where Anaria had hidden the child. Once he finished with Aejys Rowan, Mephistis intended to find Reynan and kill her. The lineage of Danae would soon end, just as Rowan would.
"I have never been able to find her," Linden answered. "You are setting this up different than any rite of mortgiefan I have seen."
"Aejys Rowan is alive. I was interrupted in mid-rite, we are linked. Josiah Abelard is abroad once more. He called her back from death. I intend to kill her through the link, but I may have to fight Abelard to achieve it."
Linden stood at the farthest side of the chamber where the bed had been, dressed to hide her bruises and wounds. She held a brazier already billowing with fragrant smoke. Mephistis placed the empty hilt of the Blade of Nine Souls between the victim's breasts. Then he disrobed. Hoon came forward, drawing arcane symbols on Mephistis' body in black paint mixed with sacred oils. He placed an obsidian blade in Mephistis' hand and withdrew to lean against the wall again. Linden circled the prince and the bleeding-table intoning, her stride faltering and limping.
Mephistis caressed Meredouyn's body with the blade, drawing a hot glance from her: as instructed the woman was fully aware, Linden had neither drugged nor spelled her. Mephistis contemplated the woman's body, focusing, remembering each place where Margren had shoved the blade into Aejys, wanting to repeat it as closely as he could.
The vampire moved to his side. "Whatever happens, you must complete the mortgiefan. I will stand at your side, put my hand on your shoulder. Should we encounter resistance, I will initiate rapport and draw on your strength to fight them through the eye of the mirrors."
"As you wish," Mephistis replied, without raising his eyes from the woman's body.
Linden slit the ha'taren's wrists and ankles, which were positioned to drain into the basins. Other wounds would drain into the grooves on the table itself. Mephistis mounted the woman.
A gesture from Hoon filled the mirrors with light and then images. Some speculated that Fae blood ran in Hoon's ancestry and Linden could believe it, seeing this. Hoon had far more talents and abilities than he allowed to become known.
The link flared between Mephistis and Aejys, appearing as a multitude of black tentacles of power and hunger that leaped through the mirrors. Mephistis shoved the blade into the woman's stomach four times. He watched Aejys fall against her chair and the chair overturn, dumping her on the floor. Mephistis kept his rhythm steady. Hoon's hand dropped to his shoulder, initiating rapport. A small nerien knelt by Aejys, reading her. Another woman dived under the table and balled up. Then a huge triton stood over Aejys and battle was joined. Mephistis looked away from the mirrors as he sensed the sea-mage's magic rise against him. He had to let Hoon fight the battle since he did not have the mirror gift and dared not split his attentions.
Mephistis slid the blade into the woman's right shoulder, jerking it down through her until he slit the nipple. He shoved the blade into the woman's left breast an inch from her heart and left it there. Meredouyn screamed, writhing beneath him. Now he had come again to the moment before Aejys' ma'aram had put that blade in his side. He felt the pressure building in his loins, ready to erupt. He put one hand on the empty hilt that had once held the Blade of Nine Souls and the other on the hilt of the blade in his victim's breast. He twisted it into her heart. The woman died. Her soul shattered and Mephistis sucked up pieces as he erupted within Meredouyn, but only hers: His connection with Aejys had slipped free before he could take hers also.
"What in Hell's name, happened?" Mephistis demanded, wondering as he did if perhaps he should have first spent several days repeating the stages of torture to which Margren had subjected her sister. Perhaps everything had to match.
Linden was pale and trembling; Hoon, thoughtful. "She has two mages. A sea-mage and Abelard. Do you still have agents in Vorgensburg?"
"Yes. A sa'necari."
"You should take out her mages, and then we will either do this again or something stronger." Hoon smiled, his lips thinning to nothing. "Now, if you will excuse me, my prince, watching you has given me an appetite."
Mephistis turned to Linden. "There are preserving bottles in the saddlebags in my rooms. You will see that they are filled. I assume this paladin's blood to be reasonably potent. If there is anything left of it when my bottles are replenished, you may have it."
* * * *
"I apologize, dear Linden," Hoon said, sitting with one ankle propped atop his other knee, "for betraying your catch to the prince, but he needed one who was as close to
Aejys as he could get. I should have warned you, but there was no time."
They sat in Linden's study in the manor, a close, dark paneled room with many books along the walls.
Linden did not answer. She cast her eyes downward in uncomfortable silence, refusing to look at him.
"Mephistis suffers from deijanzael, stolen death, and I am the only one with the art to keep him alive. He must have Rowan's death or a greater one for his healing. I promised him this."
Still Linden did not answer. She drew in upon herself, her eyes half-closed as she struggled to deal with the terror of Mephistis' bindings within the fiber of her being.
"Is there something wrong?"
"A nibble game got too rough." Her voice was husky with strain, her mouth tightening.
Hoon raised one elegant eyebrow. "With which of our sa'necari?"
Linden wished desperately she could have told him the whole of it, but Mephistis' coercions were firm and would tear her mind to speak the words. "Mephistis," was all she could say.
"I am sorry." Hoon rose, reaching for her and she winced away lest he try to Read her. All vampires had that gift as it deepened their feedings. So did the sa'necari.
Realization swept across the ancient vampire's face. Hoon's eyes narrowed dangerously. "He bound your mind."
Linden rose, walking away from him without a word. She heard Hoon smash something in the study, but did not look back – she was hearing his anger at Mephistis. She suppressed a feeling of triumph, not knowing how far Mephistis' coercions extended. If there existed a match for the power of the Legacy of Waejonan, it had to be Lord Hoon.
* * * *
Mephistis brooded about Linden. The wards he had found in her mind – could something hidden there be strong enough or directed in such a way that his hold on her could be broken. He did not want to chance that. He required a second means of controlling her, of insuring her obedience. The knight was a pivotal part in the movement of Waejontori agents in and out of Shaurone. If he hoped to rebuild his damaged network, it would depend on controlling Linden and her entire household. He summoned her, telling her to bring her na'halaef to him. Quellyn was tall and broad-shouldered, an excellent example of Sharani genetics. She stared at Mephistis questioningly. "What is this about?"
