by JANRAE FRANK
"She is not the last while her sister still exists."
"That can be remedied. I will have her."
"You are as obsessed with the Rowans as any newborn," Timon argued back. "It does not matter one whit that you did not drain Mother. How many Rowans have you drained? Because the blood calls to you? A hundred or a dozen? What does it matter? You did kill Mother, even if you didn't drink from her."
"And who held her down while I did so? You lurked in the folds of the bed curtains."
Timon's eyes went unfocused as if gazing into the mists of time and memory. "I know, father. I will always remember the way she looked at me..."
"For hell's sake, Timon. She and Waejonan murdered your brothers and sisters. Took them in the rite! They left you impaled, looking out across a field of your murdered kin. Don't talk to me of obsessions, when you have your own."
Timon winced and fell silent for a time. "I hate the sa'necari."
"Most of our people agree with you. We take lives, not souls. Now, am I going to have your cooperation or not?"
"You have it, father."
* * * *
"Margren, make a choice, damn you." Bodramet cursed, catching her by the elbow and steering her to the couch in his sitting room. "Mephistis or me."
She sat down, smiling maliciously. "And suppose I want neither? Suppose I've chosen someone else?"
"Hoon? It's Hoon you want?"
She made a moue. "I did not say that."
Bodramet snarled. "This isn't a game, Margren. Hoon knew what was between Amelie and me. He tortured her before he forced me to kill her. She probably told him everything."
"And just what would 'everything' be? That you might wish to eat Mephistis? That is well known to all but the prince himself. Hoon doesn't tell him much because of his condition. Mephistis is ill, or can't you see that?"
Bodramet paused, his eyes roving the carpet absently as his memory searched itself. "He is so strong... I had not noticed. But the way he was dragging on the walk here. It had occurred to me. His powers are still strong. Yes. I see it now."
Margren smiled brighter. "Deijanzael. Stolen Death. It's killing him. What would you give me, if I take your side in this?"
"What do you want?"
"Mephistis' death. But you must wait until Hoon heals him."
"Why?"
"Because only that way will you get the fullness of his power. What he has is fraying. Wouldn't you rather have all of it than part of it?"
Bodramet perked up at that. "The Legacy of Waejonan?"
"Of course. And then all the power in Waejontor would be yours. Not even King Baaltrystan could stand before you."
The thought of possessing all that power stirred his imagination and put a fire burning in his blood. "I want it."
"I imagine you do. Necari cannot sit the throne, but once you have the Legacy, I can show you how to take it and we can rule together."
Bodramet kissed her for answer.
* * * *
Hoon's forces moved swiftly. The principle part of his army included skeleton soldiers with lycan scouts and a mix of sa'necari and Lemyari. They crossed the narrow valley in a week's time and entered Norendel from the south. He took Margren and Mephistis with him, since they would wish to rite Aejys immediately upon capturing her. However, he left Bodramet behind. Hoon did not want that one complicating matters. He left Timon to deal with Bodramet as he saw fit.
* * * *
Haig refilled the chalices in his sitting room and sat them on the table before joining Bodramet. "You look less than satisfied. I should think you'd be grateful they did not take you along. Carliff is tough and he bitterly resents these intrusions of Hoon's."
"I should be with my prince." Bodramet grasped his glass, staring a moment into the ruby chalice, catching his reflection in the surface.
"I should think you were well quit of him. You dislike him heartily enough."
"Oh, I may be a complaining servant, but I am a loyal one."
"I'm sure." Haig lifted his glass in a toast, adding, "Then here's to your prince, may he return healed."
Bodramet smiled at that. "Yes. May he return healed."
The chalices clinked. They downed the blood blend that Haig favored and the bluff vampire refilled the chalices. Then he hollered for his nibari. They brought another one with them when they entered: the golden haired nibari Bodramet was so fond of finding in his bed.
"You know about her?" Bodramet asked.
"It's hardly a secret. So I thought to include her. She's been leaving your rooms on far too many mornings with your marks on her neck. Don't worry. Nainee would not have offered herself to you if anyone of authority opposed it. You are an honored guest here, as I am."
Nainee knelt beside Bodramet's chair and laid her head in his lap at the proper angle. Bodramet stroked the line of the artery, feeling it pulse beneath his fingers. "There was another I favored..."
"Amelie? Pity, that. I liked her, myself. No one knows why Hoon decided to execute her. Had I known, I might have tried to spirit her off."
"You have no prejudices against sa'necari?"
Haig guffawed at that. "Not all vampires hate your kind, else wise I would not be drinking with you so frequently, or sharing my private stock. I only associate with those I approve of."
Bodramet liked Haig's liquor. It was nothing like anything he had ever drunk before and came frequently for a glass of it. It was rich and full-bodied, putting him at ease after a few glasses. He nuzzled Nainee's neck and drank lightly from there. She settled drowsily at his feet, leaning against him when he finished. He ruffled her hair affectionately. He wished he could take this one with him when he left.
They continued to drink late into the night and by the time that Bodramet, feeling happy and sated, started for his own rooms, he required help from Haig and Nainee to get him upstairs and into bed.
Nainee undressed him, and Haig slipped him between the blankets. The vampire stared down at the drugged necromancer. "You know which questions to ask him, Nainee?"
"Of course, Haig. Have I ever failed you?"
"No. Never." He kissed her forehead.
Bodramet heard them, but when he wakened the next morning he would remember none of it, and Nainee would be curled up naked in his arms waiting for his fangs and cock.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RETREAT INTO DARKNESS
"Are you certain, child, that you are recovered enough to do this?" The Patriarch in his black robes paced before the fireplace in his study, with a grim expression. Patriarch Eshraf was a large, heavy-boned man who carried himself well. He wore his thick black hair closely cropped and his beard long. His eyes, a warm brown, were sharp and intense beneath his dense brows.
"Yes," Talons replied. She looked pale and worn, but there was an intensely stubborn light in her eyes. Talons had spent a week, hidden away in the temple, pulling herself together under the ministrations of the Patriarch and Dynarien. "Since my grandsire chooses to ignore my safety, I'm probably safer on assignment than here." Her grandsire had privately told her that he believed the wounds to have been self-inflicted, part of a game she was playing – however he did not say exactly what she expected to gain from such a game, preferring to imply much and state little. He had practically called her a liar and when she still pressed him, he accused her of trying to cover up for a promiscuous lifestyle. That stunned her. Before he had always gone out of his way to be supportive and encouraging. It was as if she did not even know him anymore.
"I am sorry that this is happening. I've spoken to him at length, but he refuses to listen."
"I would rather talk about the assignment."
"So be it. Do you know what happens when the sa'necari or even an ancient vampire manages to turn a paladin?"
Talons shook her head. "No, Holy Father, I don't. But I assume it is something bad. A fallen paladin is a dangerous thing." She was finally starting to feel like herself again for the first time in weeks.
"I'm not tak
ing about fallen from faith, child," he said, "although that always follows if the form the sa'necari have cast them into allows for thought. I am speaking of undeath."
Talons nodded, thankful that she had become a marked paladin of Hadjys; she could not be turned or raised. Since the last long conversation with Dynarien, the specter of undeath had haunted her dreams. She knew about the taint on Aejystrys Rowan's soul.
"There is a rule, a measurement that says to the fullest extent that one is capable of good they are also capable to an equal degree of evil. Once their bodies are turned, their minds inevitably follow. That is why the elder gods withdraw from those whose souls or bodies carry the taint."
"But what of Carliff? He does no evil."
"Carliff is an exception. That is why the servants of the Hellgod call him 'mad.' His curse was brought upon him as punishment from the elder gods, not the Hellgod. We are not here to discuss Carliff. We are here to discuss Aejystrys Rowan, beloved of Aroana."
"Yes, Holy One."
"It was brought to Hadjys' attention by a certain divine young rakehell of your acquaintance," the Patriarch allowed himself a small smile as he described Dynarien, "that Aejystrys Rowan carries the taint and seeks to free herself of it by retrieving the Spiritdancer from Mt. Kaliridonni. Just over a week ago her mage Jumped her and a catkin to Vallimrah; from there they will travel into Norendel. They think that if they move quickly enough, in a small enough number to escape notice, they can reach the sword and return safely. However, her undead sister, the necari Margren, has allied with Lord Hoon. Hoon has many eyes in Norendel and some in Vallimrah itself. Animals, strange creatures, shifters among them. Hadjys is concerned that Aejystrys will be recaptured and this time they will complete the rite. It has been foreseen that if this happens, she will rise as one of the most powerful paladins of the night this world has seen since Waejonan."
"What is it you wish me to do?"
"Become her shadow. Your first priority is to prevent her recapture and see to it that she reaches the sword. However, if they should kill her, you must take her head and heart before she can rise." The Patriarch took a gem from his pocket, placing it in Talons' hand, folding her fingers over it. "Should you be forced to destroy her, bring her soul back to me in this. I will see that it reaches Sonden."
"It will be done."
"If you leave before dawn, you should arrive at the west pass into Norendel ahead of her. When you return, do not go to the palace for any reason, but come straight to me."
"What about Jysy and Arruth?"
"They are quite safe. Last night several – I'll not say how many – catkin insinuated themselves into the ranks of the palace cats. Whatever is going on, proof will be discovered. And Hadjys has granted your young rakehell a special dispensation to enter the temple on your behalf. Should he again be forced to bring you here for sanctuary, he will not have to leave you at the doors."
The Patriarch turned away from her, sat down at his desk, and opened a book.
Talons recognized the dismissal and left.
* * * *
"Talons is gone!" Bryndel's face blazed with fury, his fists clenching and unclenching.
Galee watched him closely from the corners of her sharply slanted-eyes. No wonder Bryndel had never been accepted into the Guild, for all that he was assassin trained: hot heads did not belong in the field. The young mon was a liability. It was a shame that Lord Wrathscar had so many daughters, but only one son; otherwise she could eat him.
"Calm yourself, Bryndel," Lord Wrathscar ordered. "She will be back. Then we will hurry the wedding."
"The Grand Master should not have let her go!"
"His hands were tied. The Patriarch stated that Hadjys' himself had requested this."
"So he says. I think it was all a lie."
"That is neither here nor there," Galee purred. "We cannot move against the Grand Master until after the wedding has secured your succession. Then and only then do we place a seeking-blade in the hands of an innocent. But we can still act to consolidate our power."
* * * *
Six of them rode into Norendel: Gloriel, Aejys, Josiah, Dree and two other Valdren. The Vallimran side of the pass was clear and open. Aejys could see the mountains rising higher and higher on either side of them. The mid-spring grasses rose about the ankles of their mounts. By evening the trees had thickened into a dense, shadowy forest of oak, elm, and maple with scattered stands of white, papery barked ash and aspens shivering in the cold breeze. Aejys pulled her cloak tighter around her.
There was no road to speak of – it narrowed into a rutted path where the evidence of carts and wagons still remained though none had passed that way in decades; perhaps even centuries.
Norendel no longer traded with anyone. Since the curse fell more than five hundred years before, Norendel had gradually slid into a quiet isolation shattered only by the occasional Waejontori raiders striking from Hoon's valley. Those too had become rare since the Sharani incursion ten years ago had cut Hoon off from the remaining sections of the Waejontori held lands. Shaurone held nearly two thirds of what had once been Waejontor, but had not yet declared them to be part of the realm itself. Aejys believed that would come before long. Perhaps the Saer'ajan would declare a new mar'ajanate or simply cede the conquered lands to the mar'ajanates bordering them: Danae and Aluin.
They camped that night in a water hollow, a depression in the land along a small stream. Gloriel, worried about the possibility of shifters catching their scent, had ridden down the middle of the stream a ways before reaching this spot to camp.
Josiah rarely left Aejys' side; helping her with everything her ruined hands could not manage. He hovered over her like a banty hen and Aejys' obvious dependence troubled Gloriel. The paladin could do very little on her own and, should they get into difficulties, would be a dangerous liability. She had to be protected; and protecting her could easily get someone killed unnecessarily. Gloriel did not want to point this out, although she knew she would be forced to eventually. If they encountered shifters or other of Hoon's tools, the best thing Aejys could do would be to flee. That would be hard on the paladin's pride.
Gloriel ran her fingers through her long, auburn hair and tied it back. "I keep feeling as if something were watching us, but I never find anything."
"Could it be Carliff?" Aejys asked. She sucked on her pipe as Josiah put a burning twig to it that he had lit from a tiny, shielded fire.
"No. This is Carliff's valley. His eyes are everywhere, but no one ever senses it. Including me."
"Why do they call him mad?" Josiah asked. He carried the Horn of Sephree around his neck. It had been given to Aejys, but they both felt that, with her ruined hands, she would not be able to get it to her lips, much less use it.
"The Waejontori started that. It's because he and his undead refuse to feed on the living. They have an enchantary blood-fount in the courtyard, which they take their sustenance from. It was a gift from his former liege-god when he beseeched her after the curse fell. He did not want the living under his rule to suffer."
"That is an unusual lich," Aejys said, smoking thoughtfully.
"Carliff was a man of honor for most of his life. A single misdeed brought the curse down. And it was one of your ancestors, Aejys, who laid it upon him."
"How did it happen?"
"Hoon's Valley once belonged to a lord of the Rowan lineage," Gloriel explained. "Carliff had sworn a pact to go to their defense. They were attacked by the Waejontori. When it became certain that the Rowan Lord's castle would fall, he sent to Carliff for aid. However, Carliff's wife, whom he loved, was near to term with their first child. A seer told him that if he left her side, she would die in the birthing. So he did not answer. His wife and child survived, but the castle fell. Everyone in it died or was turned. Except for a single priest, the lord's youngest sister. She escaped and reached Carliff's citadel in the north of this valley. She laid the curse. In a single night, everyone in Carliff's household, saving his wife,
child, and a few others of true and innocent faith, became undead. The curse will hold until a priest or paladin of the Rowan lineage forgives Carliff."
"I pity him," Aejys said. "If I can release him, I shall."
Gloriel went silent for a time, and then she gave Aejys a long hard look. "If we get into trouble, you must promise me one thing."
"What is it?"
"That you will run and keep on running. If you stay, someone will die trying to protect you. It's better if we catch up with you later."
That hurt Aejys' pride, but of course, she knew Gloriel was right. "I promise."
* * * *
They followed the stream for half a day, through thickets of large ferns, brush and briars which grew in high brown walls with a flourish of green on top and edges, new growth built up on the old. Gloriel left the stream at noon, taking a game trail southeast. The ground rose subtly, almost unnoticeably until it gave way at last to an open space at the low crest. Gloriel rode out first into the open, pausing with the alertness of a deer scanning for predators. When they started to follow her, she waved them back into the trees, retreating to their side.
"What is it?" Aejys asked.
"I'm not certain," Gloriel replied, "but it looked like a red gryphon. There have never been any reds in this valley. Fireborn don't like them. I'm also seeing small flights of fireborn too often for my comfort. Three and five, flying together. If the fireborn are making sweeps, something bad must be going on. I wish I knew what they were looking at."
* * * *
On the fourth morning since crossing into Norendel, Gloriel heard the raucous cries of carrion crows. They swept round over a spot not far from where the company rode. Gloriel signaled a halt.
"Stay here."
She dismounted and went ahead on foot. Another one of Norendel's scores of tiny streams bubbled and rushed over the rocks, pouring in little falls through the descending stairs worn by its passage.
A chattering, scolding carpet of crows covered something, picking at it and squabbling over the pieces. Gloriel scattered them. She had hoped it would turn out to be an animal carcass and not a corpse. Her hopes did not prove out. The torn, shattered body lay upon the remains of its clothing. The eyes and most of its face were gone. Gloriel circled cautiously so as not to disturb any clues that might remain to tell her how the person died. She spied prints similar to what a wolf might have left. Dropping to her knees, she measured the prints with her hand. They were too large for a natural wolf and the toes were too long. Shifters. That could only mean that Hoon was in the valley. He always sent his shifters in first to scout. Every fiber of the ranger's being cried out to her that the body needed burying; but she dared not linger that long. She had to consider the others, especially Aejys. The shifters could still be in the area somewhere.
