named Revenant will intercept her.” She pushed a lock of lank, damp hair from Kaelan's brow. “The pirates will loot the ship and make off with four of its passengers."
Nick folded his arms over his chest. “Kaelan Hesar being one of those passengers,” he grinned.
“Who are the other three?” Thècion asked.
“The priest, no doubt, is one,” Nick stated.
“Aye and I believe the other two are princes, milord,” D'Lyn told him. She looked up from her patient and smiled. “From Serenia and Chale, if memory serves."
* * * *
“Why should I trust you?” Duke Dakin Cree queried. “The elders of your order are the ones who determine policy, who are seeking Kaelan's arrest. What power do you have?"
Occultus smiled warmly. “I will be Arch-Prelate within two years, Your Grace, and I am only twenty-five years old. With my People, I can live to be over one hundred and never look a day older than you do at sixty.” He spread his thin hands.
“Why should that matter, you ask?” The priest leaned forward. “Age brings wisdom to the mind; aging brings deterioration to the body. Old men are treated almost as children: their words are not heeded. But men who have the accumulation of a century of listening, learning, and leading, as well as the looks of a man still in his intelligent prime, are powerful men, indeed."
Dakin's mouth twisted with distaste. “I still don't see how...."
“When I am as old as you are now,” Occultus interrupted, “I will have created as much havoc within the Brotherhood as the gods will allow. I will have narrowly missed being murdered in my sleep and will have been ousted from the Order under dire circumstances."
“You know this for a certainty?” Dakin quipped, not having had much traffic with sorcerers or seers in his sheltered life as an ambassador.
Occultus looked down at the palms of his hands and nodded. “I have seen my future, Your Grace, and know well what lies in store for me. It is for that reason that I seek to make sure young Kaelan Hesar lives. The child of his union with your daughter will play a very important part in destroying the evil that has come."
The thick red brows of Dakin Cree drew together over his hook-like nose. “Of what evil do you speak?"
The priest took in a long breath then exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving the older man's face. He threaded his long fingers together in his lap and sat there quietly for a moment, listening to the popping sounds the wood in the buttresses overhead made as the Temple of the Wind settled on its foundation.
“You have heard rumors of what goes on at the Abbey of the Domination,” Occultus finally stated, breaking the long silence Dakin had been content to keep with him.
An uneasy look passed quickly over Dakin's broad face. “I have heard vulgar things about the Brotherhood, if that is what you mean."
Occultus nodded slowly. “And most of what you have heard is true.” He watched the disgust shift the florid features of his listener. “There are worse things than desiring your own sex for pleasure, Your Grace."
“I can think of none!” Dakin snapped.
“What of molesting children?"
The Chalean Ambassador jumped as though he had been prodded with a hot iron. His eyes grew wide in his face. “You can not be serious!” he accused. “Surely not even the black sorcerers of your Order would do such a thing!"
“They do and will continue to do so until the Dark Overlord's time comes,” Occultus broke in. “Not even he will be exempt from their perfidy, Your Grace, nor will his son be, but he will put an end to it as surely as we sit here speaking."
“And you are a part of that?” Dakin grated, his lips drawn back over clenched teeth. “I will not stay one moment longer in your company!” He made to get up, but Occultus reached out a staying hand, gentle yet firm, and prevented him.
“I have never laid hands to a child in my life, nor will I ever. That is the major reason I wish to be a part of seeing the Brotherhood destroyed. I have nothing but contempt for men who abuse children and will do all I can to stop them from doing so."
“Then do it, man!” Dakin snarled.
“I will need help,” Occultus reminded him. “I can not do it alone."
Dakin stared at the thin man for a long, long time, trying to decide if what the priest was telling him was true. He saw no guile in th—Occultus had opened his very soul to Dakin Cree, though the man had no way of knowing that.
At last, the Chalean Ambassador sighed. “Tell me what my family and I can do."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Nineteen
D'Lyn opened the door to the tall man and bowed respectfully. Though she had never met him, never physically laid eyes upon him before that moment, she had been expecting him all her life. Though she did not know his name, she knew who and what he was, and that he had been sent by the Ancient Ones to help stop the flow of evil which dwelt on the summit of Mount Serenia.
“He is better?” Occultus asked as he and his men trooped into the kitchen of Holy Dale manor.
“Perhaps a little, Your Worship,” D'Lyn answered. “He wakes from time to time, but I do not believe he knows where he is."
“That is to be expected,” Occultus stated. He looked about him, his dark eyes roaming over the men assembled in the kitchen. His gaze finally settled on Traer Saur and a fain't smile touched his thin lips. “How is your little sister faring, Squire Saur?"
Traer blinked. “How do you know of her?"
Occultus inclined his head. “There is little of what goes on within the Seven Kingdoms of which I am not aware.” He kept his attention steady on Traer, then surprised the man by saying: “Your family will have its revenge, Squire Saur. Have no doubt of that."
D'Lyn had been listening closely to the exchange and when Occultus turned to stare sharply at her, she nodded her submission to his authority and made to leave.
“Where are you going?” Thècion McGregor called from the servant's stairs. From where he stood on the final step, he could not see the new additions to the gathering.
“She is about Alel's business, young McGregor,” Occultus answered for the witch woman.
Thècion came off the last step and into the kitchens not surprised to see the priest there, for they'd all been expecting him and his Tribunal guards. “Doing what?” the young prince asked, heading for the girl who was bundling up against the frigid cold outside.
“Do not let that concern you at the moment,” Occultus replied. “Alel has need of you, as well."
“I'm not letting her go anywhere in this weather in the dark!” Thècion snapped and started to get his coat when Occultus put out a staying hand and lightly gripped the young man's shoulder. Instantly, Thècion stopped, his head swiveling from the departing woman to the tall man standing beside him.
“You will escort me to Kaelan's room,” Occultus ordered softly.
Thècion's head bobbed in slow agreement, he turned, and led the way back up the servant's stairs without comment. “Aye, Your Worship, I will,” Thècion agreed.
“Lor!” Lumley Tarnes drawled. “I've never seen the likes!” The old sailor crossed himself, recognizing a powerful magi when he happened upon one. “He made the boy do what he didn't want to!"
“I've a feeling,” Raine Jale remarked, “that all our lives have just been turned topsy turvy and we might be gonna do a lot of things we've never thought of doing."
* * * *
Lars Utley was lost.
Rolf de Viennes uttered a vicious curse upon the Utley house and its progeny, then swung down from the saddle, infuriated that he was cold, thirsty, and greatly in need of a chamberpot.
Before Utley could stop him, he had stomped off into a camouflaging clump of tall bushes to relieve himself of the rich dinner he had consumed in Wixenstead.
“Don't wander too far away from us, Your Grace!” Utley called out.
“I can make myself no more lost than you have already made me!” de Viennes’ voice shouted back.
Utley swore beneath his breath, then climbed wearily down from his mount. He scowled as he took in the tracks their horses had already made the two times they'd traversed this path before.
“I've never gotten lost in my entire forty-eight years,” Utley snapped, surveying the area around them. “How in Alel's name did I do it this time?” He glanced at his men. “You might as well stretch your legs."
The three men who had accompanied Utley dismounted. Two headed for another set of bushes while the third rummaged in his saddlebags for the flask of warm brandy he had thoughtfully brought along. He offered a swig to Utley, who gratefully accepted the offer.
“How long does it take a nobleman to shit?” the man asked Utley.
Utley snorted. “He's probably looking for something to wipe his lily-white arse with."
Long after the other two men had returned, de Viennes was still about his business in the bushes.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Utley called out.
“Of course I am all right, you oaf! Leave me alone!” came the nasty retort.
Utley clenched his teeth together, then huddled as warmly as he could into the comfort of his great cape. His men were standing as close to their horses as they could for warmth and Utley decided to do the same.
De Viennes pulled up his breeches and was tucking his shirt back in when he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. Turning quickly, the Court Chancellor drew the dagger from his thigh and faced the sound.
“Come out!” he demanded. “I will know who spies on me!"
“I was not spying, Your Grace,” a sweet, soft voice denied.
Rolf cocked his head to one side. “Show yourself, then,” he ordered.
She pushed her way slowly through the snow-encrusted shrubs, trickles of the icy fluff falling about her legs as she strode gracefully into a shaft of moonlight filtering down through the barren branches above. Her lustrous blond hair was streaked with silver highlights in the ethereal light. Her ripe, red lips were wet with the snow's kiss and her blue eyes sparkled with innocence. She could have been no more than twelve, possibly younger.
“By the gods!” Rolf whispered as the girl-child-her delicate little shoulders shivering with cold-made a clumsy curtsy before him. “What are you doing out here?"
“I meant no disrespect, Your Grace,” the girl-child said. “I was just on my way home."
Rolf looked around them. “You live near here?"
The girl-child pointed an arm off to the right. “Over there. Do you see the light?"
Aye, he thought, wondering why he hadn't before then. He sniffed and could even smell wood smoke, amazed that he hadn't while he was relieving himself, so intense was the aroma.
“Would you like to come in and warm yourself, Your Grace?” the girl-child asked shyly. “I've cider on the stove."
De Viennes squinted. “I would imagine your mother would not like a visitor this late of the eve."
“There is only me, Your Grace. I've been alone since my granny died,” she said in a small voice.
The Court Chancellor's brows shot up. “All alone out here?” he queried, his eyes going slowly from the lustrous hair to the small feet. “How old are you?"
The girl-child ducked her head. “I'll be ten come next Maytide, Your Grace.” She lifted hopeful eyes. “Will you come and sit with me a spell? It gets so lonely."
It could be a trap, de Viennes told himself.
Then he looked at her sweet, innocent young face.
There could be thieves waiting at the cabin.
His attention drifted down the tender young body.
There might even be neighbors who might drop in unannounced.
His manhood began to stir at the thought of the sweetness which lay between the child's slim legs.
And the decision was made.
“I will partake of your kindness, mam'selle. Thank you for the generous offer,” de Viennes said, licking his lips. He threw out his hand for her to lead the way.
* * * *
“Son of a bitch!!” Utley declared as he came stomping back to the camp he had ordered made. “Where the hell did he go?"
Utley's men dared not answer; dared not even look their leader's way. Utley was infuriated and his rage was not an easy sight upon which. All three men had been on the receiving end of a virulent tongue that had cursed each of them in turn for failing to find the missing nobleman.
“He didn't just wander off!” Utley barked.
“There's no sign of him,” one of the men mumbled to another. “Not nary a single footprint in all that fresh snow."
“Nor a turd where he dropped it,” the other agreed.
“Shut up!” Utley shrieked. He plopped down in front of the fire and held his hands out to the leaping flames.
For a long while the four men sat there, each lost in his own thoughts. How could de Viennes have vanished without a trace?
“Ransom, do you think?” one of the men ventured.
Utley scowled. “Mayhaps.” He tossed on another log.
“Murdered?” another asked.
“He's enough enemies,” the third man snorted.
Utley lifted his eyes, watching sparks flying up from the campfire until they extinguished themselves in the chill night sky. He sighed deeply.
“Could be Prince Kaelan got to him,” Utley finally put forth.
The other three men looked at him, one shaking his head almost immediately at the suggestion. “He weren't in no condition to come after us,” the man remarked."
“He weren't in no condition,” the first man repeated.
“Then who?” the third asked.
“Mayhaps, he'll just return on his own,” Utley muttered.
But Rolf de Viennes was never seen again. There are those who say he lost his soul to a banshee that fateful winter night, while some say the demons from the pit rose up to drag him down to the Abyss with them.
And there are those who swear they have seen a miniature of his likeness floating in a glass jar of murky liquid, on a shelf in D'Lyn Aubert's witch's hut, his tiny mouth opened in a never-ending scream of horror.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty
Dakin Cree came out of the inn with the Viragonian king and stopped still in his tracks. A sleigh pulled by four large draft horses was passing in front of the inn, Dakin's son, Nicholas, seated beside the driver. In front of the sleigh, already past the inn, were four Tribunal guards and behind the sleigh, eight riders, three of whom held the reins of riderless horses. The Tribunal's messenger, Occultus Noire, rode a magnificent black steed which pranced elegantly along the snow-packed street.
“By the gods!” Duncan Hesar breathed. He took a step toward the procession. “That's Revenge!"
The big black stallion tossed its head at the sound of its name and whinnied. Its rider, thin fingers easily gripping the reins, clucked soothingly to the steed and the animal calmed.
“And your runaway son!” Duncan's eyes bulged as he noticed the man lying in the back of the sleigh. “And my gods-be-damned brother!"
Dakin put out a hand to stop the king from rushing right up to the priest, but Duncan shrugged away the restrain't. “Who the hell are you?” the king shouted.
Occultus lifted a hand and the sleigh's driver stopped. He inclined his head and fixed Hesar with an imperial look. “I am Occultus,” he said simply, knowing no further explanation was necessary.
Duncan blanched, his head jerking toward his brother's unmoving body. “Where are you taking him?” he asked, less sure of himself now that he was dealing with so powerful a person.
Occultus’ left eyebrow lifted. “You have not been made privy to the Tribunal's Edict concerning your brother, Your Majesty?"
Deep furrows formed in Duncan's brow. “I ... I have been away from Court for several days,” he stammered. “I am not sure."
“Prince Kaelan has been accused of witchcraft, did you not know this?” Occultus interrupted.
> Duncan laughed, stifling the laughter quickly for he saw no humor in the stern visage glaring back at him from the top of Revenge's sleek back. He coughed away his amusement. “Your Worship,” he said in what he hoped was the right amount of deference, “my brother is no witch or warlock, either. He wouldn't know a spell if one bit him."
“Nevertheless, he has been accused and, as such, must be taken before the Tribunal for questioning,” Occultus informed the king.
“Your Worship, really,” Duncan said with exasperation despite trying not to. “The boy is headstrong and I know he made those silly curses on the village which, much to his astonishment I'm sure, came true, but he certainly meant no harm.” He put a hand out to touch the priest's leg then thought better of it. “You can see how it was, can't you? A man sorely put to the test by a vicious group of fools who were intent on driving him out."
“He must go before the Tribunal and be questioned,” Occultus stated firmly.
Duncan's face turned hard. “Tortured, you mean?” he grated.
Occultus smiled hatefully. “Why should it matter to you what happens to the man?” he countered. “Did you not disclaim him as kin? Exile him from court and remand him into the hands of those who treated him less than human?” He fixed Duncan with a sardonic glower. “I ask again: Why should it matter to you what happens to him?"
Duncan lifted his head. “He is my brother,” he replied.
A brutal look blazed from the eyes of Occultus Noire. “And he is my prisoner!” the priest spat.
With that, the priest lifted his hand again and the procession moved forward, Nick Cree turning a stony stare to the Viragonian king.
“Where are you going, Cree?” Duncan shouted.
“As far from this heathen place as I can get!” Nick snarled.
Duncan stood where he was, watching the procession wind down to the docks. In the harbor, was a sleek gray ship that had not been there the day before. Beside it, straining at their anchors were the three Serenian ships, the Boreal Wind and the Boreal Queen, and the Aubaine, Duke du Mer's private schooner.
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