by Anne Bishop
As she stared at the other woman's reflection, she finally knew. All the minor illnesses, all the foods that had tasted a little off. And Ulka always there, being so helpful, acting so concerned. "You've slipped mild poisons into a lot of things this winter."
"Yes."
Poisons which had weakened her body but never made her ill enough to become suspicious—despite having been warned of her own death in the tangled web she'd created last fall. Oh, she'd been careful. She knew too much about poisons not to be. The fact that she hadn't been able to detect the poisons meant that whatever plants had been used weren't native to Glacia. She would have recognized one of those instantly, no matter how it was disguised.
With effort, Karla got to her feet. One moment her legs were full of fiery spikes, the next they were numb. She flooded her body with her Gray strength, accepting the pain her own power caused during her moontime in order to fight the poison.
As one staggering wave of pain ripped through her, she felt the Ebony shield in the ring Jaenelle had given her surround her.
"Why?" Karla asked. How could she have misjudged this bitch so badly? What had she missed?
Ulka pouted. "I thought I would be an important Lady in your court. I should have been in your First Circle, not the Third. "
"A witch who would poison her Queen isn't suitable to serve in the First Circle," Karla said dryly. "It's a question of loyalty."
"I was loyal," Ulka snapped. "But being loyal to you didn't get me anywhere. And then I got a better offer. Once you're gone and Lord Hobart controls Glacia again, I will be an important Lady."
"All you'll be is some man's whore," Karla said flatly.
Ulka's face became ugly. "And you'll be dead! And don't think they won't finish the kill to make sure they're rid of all of you!"
The ring Jaenelle had given her produced a sharp, warning tingle seconds before Morton's warning cry filled her mind.
*KARLA!*
*Morton? Morton!*
Nothing. An emptiness where someone had been for as long as she could remember.
Another kind of cold filled Karla—a cold that fed her body, gave her strength. "You killed Morton," she said too quietly.
"I didn't," Ulka replied. "But he's dead by now."
The bladed Eyrien stick Lucivar had given her was in her hands and whistling through the air before Ulka had time to realize the danger. The blades, honed to a killing edge, swept through Ulka's leg bones as easily as they swept through the woman's wool dress.
Blood gushed. Ulka fell, screaming.
Karla staggered, braced herself. She couldn't use her body this way and fight the poison long enough for ...
For what? With Morton dead, who would be able to reach her fast enough? No matter. She would fight to live for as long as she could. And she had more power at her disposal than her enemies had imagined since she didn't have to use her Gray Jewels to shield herself.
Looking down at Ulka, Karla raised the bladed stick. "Well, bitch, I may not be able to finish the kill, but I can make damn sure you're of no use to anyone when you become demon-dead."
She cut off Ulka's hands, then her head. The last stroke tore through the belly and severed the spine.
Karla staggered back a few steps, away from the growing pool of blood. Sinking to the floor, she carefully stretched out, her right arm wrapped around her belly, her left hand clamped around the bladed stick.
She had seen her own death in her tangled web, and she'd done what she could to change that part of the vision. But if she had to die now, she would accept it.
Dark power washed over her, warming icy limbs. She felt a tendril of power wrap around her and recognized a healing thread helping her fight against the poison.
Cradled by Jaenelle's strength, she turned inward to concentrate on the battlefield her body had become.
7 / Kaeleer
Daemon snarled in frustration when he felt the tingling coming from Jaenelle's Ring of Honor. He hadn't yet learned how to interpret all the information that could be absorbed from the Ring. He recognized this particular sensation as a call for help, but had no idea where the call was coming from. "Do you—" he said, turning toward Khardeen.
The intense blankness in Khary's eyes, the sense of focused listening, stopped him from saying anything more.
"Morton," Khary said quietly. "And Karla." He lunged for the door.
Daemon grabbed him. "No. You're needed here."
"That's not the way it works," Khary said sharply. "When one of us needs help—"
"You all take the bait?" Daemon asked just as sharply. "You have a pregnant Queen who can't defend herself without risking a miscarriage. Your place is here. I'll take care of Karla—and Morton." He studied Khary. "Who else will have heard that call for help?"
"Everyone in the First Circle who lives in the western part of Kaeleer. The Ring has more of a range than if we were trying to reach someone on our own, but the alert wouldn't be felt beyond that. However, every male who felt that call for help will relay a warning through a communication thread to the First Circle within his range."
"Then relay this message to the First Circle as fast as you can: 'Stay put. Stand guard.' " Daemon paused. "And locate Jaenelle."
"Yes," Khary said grimly. "The Queens need to be protected. Especially her."
Satisfied, Daemon rushed out of the house and swore. He couldn't reach any of the Winds from here.
He started to run down the drive, then turned toward the sound of pounding hooves. Sundancer slid to a stop beside him.
*I heard the call,* Sundancer said. *You must ride the Winds?*
"Yes."
*I can run faster. Mount.*
Grabbing a fistful of Sundancer's mane, he swung up on the Warlord Prince's bare back.
It was a short but harrowing ride. The stallion chose the fastest route to reach the nearest Winds without regard for what lay in his path, and Daemon's legs were shaking when he slid off Sundancer's back. Before he could say anything, the stallion pivoted and was gone.
*Fight well!* Sundancer said as he raced back to Khary and Morghann's house.
"You can count on it," Daemon replied too softly. Catching the Black Wind, he headed for Glacia.
8 / Kaeleer
Kaelas made an effortless leap to the roof of a human den in time to see Morton fall. He snarled silently, the desire to attack warring with the instinct for caution. Slipping down to the depth of his Red Jewel, where he couldn't be detected by the winged males who were there, he opened his mind and carefully let a psychic tendril drift toward Morton.
The first thing he sensed was the Lady's shield. That wasn't a problem. The Lady had made a Ring of Honor for the kindred males, too. So he had the same protection and, more important right now, he had the means to safely slip past that shield.
The moment he did, he knew Morton's body was dead, but he could still sense Morton, very faintly, inside it Morton was a Brother in the Lady's court, and the Brothers looked after each other. That was important. So he would get his Brother away from the enemy and then decide what to do next.
Looking in the opposite direction, he saw the Sanctuary that held the Dark Altar. Near it was a large, old tree that wouldn't wake again. The pale humans would have cut it down and burned it in their fires. They wouldn't need it now.
Using Craft, he opened the Sanctuary door, letting it swing as if it hadn't been latched properly.
Leaping from the roof, he circled around the backs of the human dens, air walking so that he would leave no tracks. Just because the sight shield made him invisible was no reason to be careless. Playing "stalk and pounce" with Lucivar had taught him that.
Thinking of Lucivar, he remembered something else: never show your full strength to an enemy until it was needed.
His Birthright Jewel was the Opal. Morton's Jewel of rank was the Opal. Yes, that might confuse the winged males.
Baring his teeth in what might have been a feline smile, Kaelas unleashed a burst of Opal s
trength at the dead tree. It exploded. Flaming branches soared through the air in all directions. Another burst of power shattered windows in the dens near the Sanctuary. Another burst of power sent enough snow into the air to form a small blizzard. The last controlled burst of power slammed the Sanctuary door.
The Green-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord Prince had spun around at the first blast, his face twisted with fury. Other males were shouting. When the Sanctuary door slammed, the Eyrien started running, shouting orders.
"What about that bastard?" one of the other men called out.
The Warlord Prince hesitated for a moment. "Leave him. He's not going anywhere. We'll finish the kill after we take care of our new guests."
Kaelas moved forward in stalk position, using all of his senses to keep track of the winged humans. Then, a burst of speed brought him to Morton.
One sniff of the body had him backing away, confused. Morton smelled like poisoned meat. He did not want to set his teeth in poisoned meat. But he had to get Morton away from the winged males.
Moving forward again, he brushed against the Lady's shield, felt it recognize itself in the Ring of Honor he wore and let him in. He put a snug Opal shield around Morton's left arm. When he took that arm between his teeth, the Opal shield was between him and the poisoned meat. Satisfied, he used Craft to float Morton on the air, expanded his sight shield to cover both of them, then raced for the trees.
When he was among the trees, he slowed slightly, but didn't stop until he reached the hiding den KaeAskavi had dug. Releasing Morton's arm, he studied the den. The human would fit easily enough without the pointed sticks— the arrows—poking out. But the Healer would need the stick part to remove the arrow. Wouldn't she?
After a little thought, he used Craft to shear the shafts in half. He tucked Morton into the den and placed the sheared-off shafts next to him. Then he paused again.
He had never seen human Blood become demon-dead. He didn't know how long it would take for Morton to wake and reclaim the dead flesh. But he did know that when Morton woke and found himself in a strange place, he would wonder if the enemy had put him there.
Kaelas pressed a forepaw into the snow near Morton's head, leaving a deep imprint, then put a shield over the print, so that it couldn't be brushed away carelessly. Morton would see the print and understand.
Pleased that he had worked out the complicated thinking required to deal with humans, he covered up the den, leaving a small airhole. A dead human didn't need air, but the freshness would show Morton the easiest place to dig free.
Now to take care of the bad winged males.
After sending out a summons for the dark-Jeweled Arcerian Warlords and Warlord Princes to join him, Kaelas headed back to the village.
9 / Kaeleer
Ignoring the official landing web, Daemon dropped from the Winds as close as he could get to Karla's home. The moment he appeared on a street, he wrapped a Black sight shield, psychic shield, and protective shield around himself. He ran a couple of blocks, turned a corner, and stopped.
The street was full of struggling, fighting men. Blasts of Jeweled power made the air smell like lightning. Those who had already drained their Jewels, or had never worn them, were fighting with mundane weapons. He spotted some women, fighting desperately but ineffectively.
So familiar. He didn't need the whiff of rot present in some of the psychic scents to recognize Dorothea's hand in this. He'd seen it too many times in Terreille. Those whose ambition far outstripped their ability would sell their own people for Hayll's "assistance." The fighting would eliminate the strongest males and females, the ones best able to oppose Dorothea, and the ones who were left...
This time he didn't have to be subtle. This time he didn't have to dance around the agony Dorothea would inflict on him if she suspected his interference. But being subtle had become ingrained in him. Besides, a silent predator was the most feared.
Smiling a cold, cruel smile, Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and glided between clumps of fighters—invisible, undetectable—and left devastation in his wake.
He entered Karla's mansion. The fighting must have started here and spread into the street. He stepped over corpses, homed in on the psychic scents that had a flavor he associated with Dorothea, and killed those fighters so swiftly, so cleanly their opponents froze for a moment, stunned and confused.
A Warlord Prince wearing the badge of the Master of the Guard was fighting off other males near the staircase, using the last of his Jeweled strength to shield himself against three men who were still fresh.
Three flicks of Black power. Three men fell.
As he started up the stairs, Daemon saw the sharp hunter's look in the other Warlord Prince's eyes, saw the moment the man guessed something dangerous was climbing the stairs.
A White-Jeweled Warlord rushed at the Warlord Prince, forcing him to turn toward the enemy who was attacking.
Daemon climbed the stairs. Even exhausted, the Warlord Prince would have no trouble with the Warlord, and it would keep him occupied a little while longer.
No need to hunt for Karla's room. The Ring of Honor led him unerringly, the throbbing against his organ irritating him enough to hone a temper that had already risen to the killing edge.
The door stood open. He saw a hacked-up woman lying on a blood-soaked carpet. He saw five men sending blast after blast of power against the shield surrounding another woman. Karla.
He didn't know who the men were—and didn't care.
Reaching up from the depth of the Black, he slipped under the men's inner barriers and unleashed iced rage, turning their brains into gray dust and consuming their psychic strength, finishing the kill.
He was across the room before they fell. Kneeling beside Karla, he dropped the sight shield and reached out cautiously.
The shield around her held a feral, deadly hunger.
Not sure how to get through the shield, and wondering what he might unleash if he did it incorrectly, Daemon took a deep breath and brought his hand a little closer.
A flick of power against his palm. A tasting. An acceptance.
His hand passed, unharmed, through the shield.
"Karla," he said as his hand closed on her arm. "Karla." Her rasping effort to breathe told him she was still alive. But if she'd gone so deep into a healing sleep that she couldn't hear him...
"Kiss kiss," Karla rasped.
Relief washed through him. He leaned over her so that she could see him without trying to move her head. "Kiss kiss."
"Poisoned," she said. "Can't identify. Bad."
Pushing her robe aside, Daemon laid his left hand on her chest and sent out a careful psychic probe. His knowledge of healing Craft was limited, but he knew about poisons. And he recognized at least part of this one.
"Get your hand ... off my ... tit," Karla said.
"Don't be bitchy," Daemon replied mildly, probing a little more. Her body was fighting it far better than he would have thought possible, but she wouldn't survive without more help than he could give her. He hesitated. "Karla ..."
"About... three hours left. Body... can't fight more..."
Riding the Black Winds, it had taken him almost two hours to get there from Scelt. Pandar and Centauran were closer, but he didn't know Jonah or Sceron as well as he knew Khardeen, and he didn't know if the satyr or centaur Healers could deal with this poison.
Besides, Jaenelle would most likely head for Scelt. And that decided him.
"I'm getting you out of here," he said as he started to lift her. Then he realized her hand was still clamped around the bladed stick. "Sweetheart, let go of the stick."
"Have to clean... the blades. Can't... put a weapon away... without cleaning the blades. Lucivar... would skin me."
Daemon almost gave her his succinct opinion about that, but glancing over his shoulder at the hacked-up woman, he swallowed any criticism he might have had about Lucivar's training methods. "I'll clean the blades. And I promise I'll never tell Lucivar
you didn't do it yourself."
Karla's lips curved in the barest of smiles. "You'd be likable if ... you weren't so male."
"My Queen likes me that way," Daemon said dryly. He vanished the bladed stick, carefully lifted Karla, and turned.
Her Master of the Guard blocked the doorway. "What are you doing with my Queen?"
"Taking her away from here," Daemon answered quietly. "She's been poisoned. She needs help."
"We have Healers."
"Would you trust them?" Daemon saw the moment's hesitation. "I have no quarrel with you, Prince. Don't force me to go through you."
The other man studied him, focused on the Black-Jeweled Ring. "You're Lady Angelline's Consort."
"Yes."
The man stepped aside. As Daemon passed him, he said quietly, "Please take care of her."
"I will." Daemon paused. "Have you seen Morton?"
The Master of the Guard shook his head.
There was no time to think about Morton or what might have happened to him. "If you see him, tell him I'm taking Karla to Scelt. Don't tell anyone but Morton."
The man nodded. "Come this way. There's a Craft-powered carriage out back. It'll get you to the Winds faster."
The Master of the Guard drove the carriage while Daemon held Karla, using those precious minutes to wrap Black shields around her to protect her during the ride on the Winds. They stopped a few feet from where he had landed.
"May the Darkness embrace you, Prince," the man said.
"And you." Wrapping his arms around Karla, Daemon caught the Black Wind and rode hard toward Scelt.
He stopped once, halfway there, to send a message to Khary. *I'm on my way back with Karla. She's been poisoned. We'll need a Healer and a Black Widow. The best you have.*
*Jaenelle's on her way here,* Khary replied.
That was all he needed to know. He caught the Black Wind again and continued the journey, knowing the sand in the hourglass was trickling away far too fast.
10 / Kaeleer
