Goddess help us. Eiria's lost control of her shifting. Jonmarc thought as the wolves circled each other. Eiria lunged again, opening a bad gash on Yestin's shoulder. He howled in pain, nipping back at her. Her bite connected on the next strike, sinking into his foreleg. With a growl, Yestin launched himself at Eiria, teeth bared. He knocked her to the ground and pinned her with his heavy paws. With a yelp, she surrendered and struggled free, running from the room. Yestin followed.
Kolin and Laisren dragged Uri to his feet and threw him into a chair. "First the shepherds. Now an entire village."
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Uri's fear was plain. "What village?"
"Everyone in Westormere is dead," Riqua said, advancing on Uri. "Every man, woman and child. Vayash moru killings. They didn't even bother to drain most of the bodies. They posed them in some obscene tableau—"
"Malesh," Uri whispered. "He calls it his 'art.'"
"Where's Malesh?" Gabriel demanded.
"How should I know?"
Riqua slapped Uri across the cheek hard enough to snap a mortal's spine. "He's your fledgling. Young enough for you to know his thoughts. Where is he?"
Uri wiped at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture that was a memory from his mortal life, since no blood flowed from his split lip. "How should I know?"
Riqua reached out with her right hand to grasp Uri by the throat and dragged him to his feet. One by one, her manicured nails sank into his neck on either side of his windpipe. Uri gasped and twisted. " Vayash moru slaughtered the people of Westormere tonight. Seventy mortals murdered. I want Malesh to pay."
"I told you," Uri rasped, "I don't know where he is. He's been dabbling in blood magic. Most of it doesn't work—he's no mage—but he must have bought a talisman to shield his thoughts. I haven't been able to read him for months now." "And you didn't destroy him when he betrayed you like that?"
Uri looked pale even by vayash moru standards. "I thought he might come around." "Did you send Malesh to Westormere?" "No. You have to believe me. I didn't know." "Malesh tried to bring across Lady Carina." Uri frowned. "That won't work. She's a healer."
Riqua's voice was icy. "She's in the next room, neither living, dead nor undead, because of him." She reached for Uri again and he cringed, flattening himself against the wall. This time, her hand slid inside his brocade doublet, digging her nails into the silk shirt above his heart. "You're going to bring your cur to heel, Uri. Find Malesh and destroy him." Uri's voice was plaintive. "I don't think I can." Riqua's lip twitched. "Have it your way. You wanted to leave the Council, so you leave behind your protection as a member. You want to break the truce, then become the first martyr of the new order. There's not a mortal or vayash moru in the manor who would fault us if we burn you at dawn for what's happened." She raised her fingertips to brush against Uri's face as he flinched away. "Do you remember the feel of sunlight on your skin?"
"Enough!" Panic tinged Uri's voice. "I'll go after Malesh. I'll go. Just don't burn me."
Riqua's expression was remorseless. "Until you destroy Malesh, my brood and yours are bloodsworn. My brood will destroy yours on sight. You and yours will be hunted and outcast among our kind."
"I share the oath." Gabriel took a step forward. "My family will also be bloodsworn with Riqua's. We will join the hunt."
Uri fell to his knees before Riqua and clutched at the hem of her skirt. "Please spare them," he begged. "Malesh has at most two score of his own fledglings. Most of the brood isn't like him. Please, don't destroy my children." He looked to the stony faces of the others in the room.
Riqua snatched her skirts out of his grasp. Uri covered his face with his hands, groaning in fear and distress, denied the ability to weep by the Dark Gift. "Don't look to them for pity," Riqua said coldly. "They saw the slaughter. They burned the bodies." She nodded, and Laisren and Kolin stepped forward, each grabbing one of Uri's arms and hauling him roughly to his feet with enough force to have dislocated a mortal's shoulders.
"Understand this. I won't allow the Winter Kingdoms to return to a time when we hide in sewers and live in fear. We'll exterminate every one of your brood if we have to, but we won't let the truce die."
Uri was shaking. "I'll find Malesh. I'll stop him. But please, spare the others. I beg of you."
"No one spared Westormere." It was Jonmarc who spoke. Grief and rage drove out any ability to feel fear. "I made an oath to Staden to protect everyone in Dark Haven—mortal or not. But I'm not speaking as Lord of Dark Haven right now. Malesh tried to kill Carina." Jonmarc drew his sword, angling the point at Uri's heart.
"You have no idea how much satisfaction I'd get out of running you through. All your bluster gave Malesh his ideas. You're just as guilty." Jonmarc let Uri feel the pressure of the tip of the sword over his doublet. "I can't go after your brood—not without starting reprisals. But I want Malesh. Bring the ones who massacred the people in Westormere for judgment."
"Give me two days," Uri begged.
At Riqua's nod, Laisren and Kolin released Uri. "Two days."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Just after the eleventh bells on the next night, Taru walked into the sitting room. Riqua and oyster were behind her. Riqua looked grim. Royster's white hair was disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through it. Taru's face showed her exhaustion.
Jonmarc stood. "Anything?"
The others gathered from where they had been waiting, Gabriel and Kolin and Neirin, Yestin and Eiria. Yestin's arm was bandaged, and there were scratches across his face. Eiria moved with a limp.
Taru drew a deep breath. "Not as much as we we'd like. Between Royster's histories and Riqua's memory, we've found old tales where someone who was brought across regained mortality. Legends. Nothing detailed or reliable enough to be much use. We can't find any record of a healer being brought across without first losing the healing magic."
Jonmarc shook his head. "Carina won't want to exist without being a healer. It's too much a part of who she is."
Taru nodded. "I expected you to say that. I'd feel the same without my power. But it's an option. Since she hasn't been completely brought across, we're still looking for a way to bring her back. The Dark Gift is warring with Carina's healing power. It's like her body is fighting itself. Even if we can awaken her, we're not sure she can take sufficient sustenance either from foo'd or from blood. We don't have much time. A week at the most."
"Tell me what you need. I'll find it for you. Anything, just let me help."
The doors to the corridor opened, and Laisren stepped inside. "There's been another killing."
Jonmarc struggled to focus. "What happened?"
"Another body, dumped by the gates. The throat was torn out. And a letter, for you, pinned to the body." Laisren held out the parchment envelope.
Jonmarc took it from him and drew a deep breath. "Lord of Dark Haven," he read aloud. "I challenge you for the title. Meet me in the forest beyond the Caliggan crossroads tonight by second bells. We will slaughter another village each night you delay." He looked up. "It's signed, 'Malesh of Tremont."'
"He doesn't want the villages. He wants you," Gabriel said.
"Does he? Maybe he wants war. Maybe he thinks he can win. I'm pretty sure he wants more than just Dark Haven."
"The vayash moru who went to Westormere will gladly ride with you for a chance to punish the guilty ones," Laisren replied. "I'm in."
"So am I." Kolin stepped forward.
"And us." Yestin took Eiria's hand.
Jonmarc looked to Taru, Riqua, and Royster. "Don't stop. No matter what happens, do whatever you can to bring her back."
Riqua nodded. "I'll stay with Carina. Lisette and I will be protection as well as assistance."
Jonmarc turned to Laisren. "Take volunteers. Vayash moru only." Everyone but Gabriel followed Laisren. "Are you going to ride with us?" Jonmarc asked.
Gabriel nodded. "Of course."
"I know it's a trap. But I can't let Males
h pick off the villages. That's a sure way to bring war."
Gabriel stepped from the shadows into the light of the hearth. "Malesh tried to bring Carina across. We know it didn't work—completely— but we don't know how much of a bond was created. The bond between a maker and a fledgling is very strong. It takes lifetimes to weaken. Destroy the maker, and the new fledglings are also destroyed."
It took a moment for Jonmarc to find his voice. "There's no choice, is there?" he said bleakly. "Buy time for Taru to heal Carina, and Malesh kills a village every day we wait. Even if I could do that, even if it didn't break my oath to Staden, Carina would never forgive me for paying a price like that." His own voice sounded distant, as if someone else were talking. "Destroy Malesh, and I destroy Carina."
"The bond between maker and fledgling is so close that the fledgling dies the maker's death."
Jonmarc closed his eyes, trying to breathe. He lowered himself into a chair and stared into the embers. "Sweet Chenne." "I'm sorry, Jonmarc."
"Malesh is mine. Just give me a clear shot. I'll take him quickly, painlessly. It's more tha'n he deserves."
Gabriel said nothing, but Jonmarc knew from his expression that he understood. "I'll help Lais-ren make ready," he said, and left the room.
Jonmarc stood and walked to the doorway of Carina's room. She lay on the bed, her eyes closed, unmoving. Jonmarc could not see her chest rise and fall. The candlelight softened the pallor of her skin.
He crossed to sit at her bedside, and took her hand in his. It was cold. "I shouldn't have brought you here. I should have known better. Everything I touch crumbles." He withdrew the ruined shevir from his pocket, straightened it as best he could, and slipped it onto Carina's wrist. "I'll come for you," Jonmarc said qliietly, bending forward to kiss Carina on the forehead. "Wait for me."
Quickly now, before I lose my nerve, he thought. When he reached the door, he looked back for a moment, and then, taking a deep breath, left the room.
He crossed into his own rooms. With practiced speed, he dressed for battle. Beneath his sleeve, he strapped the single quarrel in its launcher. He went to his desk and took a bottle of ink and a stylus, slipping them into his pocket, sure now of what he must do. Carrying his cuirass and cloak, he put out the candles and closed the door behind him."
Dark Haven was quiet. Mortals were asleep, and the vayash moru were busy elsewhere. Jonmarc encountered no one as he descended the stairway. The familiar coldness of battle settled around him. It was the same emotionless chill that had gotten him through Nargi, through Chauvrenne. He'd hoped never to feel it again. Now it returned, as if it had never left.
He paused only a moment at the arched entrance to the chapel. The chamber was lit by banks of candles; the stained glass image of Istra flickered with the torches that made it glow here, where no sun reached. Steeling himself, Jonmarc stripped off his shirt. He moved to stand in front of the large marble statue of Istra. Some long-ago sculptor had depicted a moment of anguish, with Istra lifting up the body of one of her fallen children as if to beseech the skies. At her feet was a large bronze reflecting pool.
Jonmarc knelt and opened the ink. He dipped the stylus, pleased that his hand was steady although his heart was pounding. Better not to think about it. He carefully drew the symbol of the Lady over his heart. The ink would stain his skin. It wouldn't be permanent, but there would not be time for the mark to wear away.
Jonmarc set aside the stylus and unsheathed his sword. He struggled to recall what he had seen men do on the eve of battle, years ago when he fought with the armies of Eastmark and Principality. He drew a deep breath, and raised his sword across his open palms as he bowed his head.
"Istra, Lady of Darkness. Hear me. I come to bargain with you." Only silence answered him. "Give me the life of my enemy, Malesh. Let him fall without pain by my hand, and in return, my soul is forfeit. I swear it." A slight breeze stirred in the chamber. The candles flickered, and a tremor moved across the surface of the water in the basin. As quickly as it came, the breeze was gone. Jonmarc sheathed his sword.
"A noble gesture, but unnecessary." Gabriel's voice sounded from behind him. "It's done."
"You're already the Dark Lady's chosen." "She has a strange way of showing favor." "There's still time. There's still hope." Jonmarc pulled his shirt over his head and fastened on his cuirass. He looked at Gabriel. "I'm done with hope. Now, there's certainty. I'll destroy Malesh. And I'll come for Carina. Let's ride."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gail Z. Martin discovered her passion for science fiction, fantasy and ghost stories in elementary school. The first story she wrote—at age five—was about a vampire. Her favorite TV show as a preschooler was Dark Shadows. At age fourteen, she decided to become a writer. She enjoys attending science fiction/fantasy conventions, Renaissance fairs and living history sites. She is married and has three children, a Himalayan cat and a golden retriever.
You can visit Gail at:
www.myspace.com/chronicleofthenecromancer www.chroniclesofthenecromancer.com
Read her blog: blog.myspace.com/chronicleofthenecromancer
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