by Anne Bishop
Sight shielded, Kaelas and twenty Arcerian males crouched on the roofs of the human dens, watching the bad winged males move around the village. Some of the dens had lights now that night had closed around them, and he could smell food cooking.
*Meat?* one of the Arcerian Warlords asked.
*No,* Kaelas replied. He felt a ripple of anger run through the other males. *The meat tastes bad.*
*We have come for the hunt but will have no meat to bring back to the home dens?* another male asked irritably.
*We promised the Lady we wouldn't hunt human meat,* a younger male said tentatively.
*These males killed a male who belonged to the Lady,* Kaelas said firmly. *They killed the pale humans who belonged to Lady Karla.*
Another ripple of anger, this time directed at the bad winged males. Arcerians didn't have much use for humans, but they liked Lady Karla and adored the Lady. For them, they would hunt and return to the dens without meat.
The wind shifted slightly, brought a different scent.
*We will take the animals that belonged to the pale humans,* Kaelas said. *The humans do not need them now. It will be payment for work.* He was pleased that he remembered that peculiar human idea. If the Lady snarled at him for taking animals from a human village, he could use those words.
*Payment for work?* a couple of males echoed. Then one of them asked, *This is a human thing?*
*Yes. We kill these bad males, then we can take good meat back to the dens.*
Satisfied, the Arcerians settled down to study their prey.
Kaelas watched the winged males for a minute. *We must hunt fast... and silent.*
*Fast kills,* the others agreed.
Kaelas watched the Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince walk to a den near the Sanctuary. But not for that one.
11 / Kaeleer
Jaenelle was waiting for him by the time Daemon reached Khary and Morghann's house.
"She's bleeding too much for this just to be moon's blood," he said abruptly as he rushed into the guest room, followed by Morghann, Khary, and Maeve, the village Healer. "And there's not much time left."
Jaenelle placed a hand on Karla's chest, her eyes focusing on something only she could see. "There's enough," she said too calmly.
Morghann laid a padding of towels on the bed.
Daemon gave her a cold stare as he laid Karla on the bed. Was the woman more worried about her precious linens than about a friend who had been poisoned?
"It'll disturb her less to change a towel than to change the linens," Morghann said quietly, her eyes clearly telling him she knew what he'd been thinking—and had been hurt by it.
There was no time for an apology. Morghann and Maeve stripped off the bloody nightgown and robe, and quickly wiped the blood off Karla's skin. Jaenelle paid no attention to the physical ministrations, remaining focused on the healing.
Daemon was about to tell her what he knew about the poison when he looked down at his blood-soaked sleeve. Memories of being soaked in Jaenelle's blood rushed at him. He ripped off the jacket, then the shirt. Khary took them and handed him a wet cloth.
As he scrubbed the blood off his skin, Jaenelle said, "There were two poisons used. I don't know one of them."
Handing the cloth back to Khary, Daemon moved to the bed. "One of them comes from a plant that only grows in southern Hayll."
Jaenelle looked up, her eyes blank and iced. "Do you know an antidote?" she asked with an odd calm that scared him.
"Yes. But the herbs I have are several years old. I don't know if they'll still be potent enough."
"I can make them potent enough. Make the antidote, Daemon."
"What about the other poison?" he asked as he started clearing a work space on the bedside table.
"It's witchblood."
A chill went through him. Witchblood only grew where a witch had been violently killed—or where she had been buried. Used as a poison, it was virulent and deadly—and usually undetectable.
"You can detect it?" Daemon asked cautiously.
"I can recognize witchblood in any of its forms," Jaenelle replied in her midnight voice.
Another memory rushed at him. Jaenelle staring at the bed of witchblood she had planted in an alcove on the Angelline estate. Did you know that if you sing to them correctly, they'll tell you the names of the ones who have gone?
Even dried into a poison, did the plants tell Witch the names of the ones who were gone?
Locking away the memories, along with his heart, Daemon concentrated on making the antidote.
"Maeve," Jaenelle said, "get some basic plasters ready. We'll have to draw out some of the poison. Morghann, I want you to leave the room. Don't come back for any reason until I tell you."
"But—"
Jaenelle just looked at her.
Morghann hurried out of the room.
"May I stay?" Khary asked quietly. "You three will be involved in the healing. You'll need a free pair of hands to fetch things."
"This won't be easy, Lord Khardeen," Jaenelle said.
Khary paled a little. "She's my Sister, too."
Jaenelle nodded her consent, then leaned over the bed and said so softly Daemon was sure he was the only one close enough to hear, "Arms or legs, Karla?"
The answer, if she got one, was private—Sister to Sister. But it began a healing so gruesome he desperately hoped he would never witness anything like it again.
12 / Kaeleer
Kaelas listened to the sounds coming from the room and snarled silently. The Green-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord Prince was mating with the pale female, the young Priestess. Her cries disturbed him. They were not like the sounds the Lady made with Daemon. There was fear and pain in these sounds.
He almost slipped through the Green shield the male had placed around the room, almost decided to repay Morton's death with a fast kill instead of the kind of death that was owed when the female cried, "But I helped you. I helped you! "
Remembering KaeAskavi's she-kitten, who was now an orphan, and all the other pale humans that had belonged to Lady Karla and were now dead, Kaelas took a step back. The female had fouled her own den, had brought in poisoned meat. She deserved this winged male for a mate.
Careful not to disturb the Green shield and alert the male, he placed a Red shield around the room, caging the humans. He added a Red psychic shield so that when the male noticed he was trapped, he wouldn't be able to warn the other winged males.
Slipping out of the building, Kaelas paused, listened. There were more winged males than cats, but that didn't matter. The Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince was the only one of the winged males who wore one of the dark Jewels, and he was already caged. Among the cats here, Kaelas was the only one who wore a Red Jewel, but the shields from the Opal, Green, and Sapphire Jewels the others wore would protect them while they attacked with teeth and claws.
*Now,* Kaelas said.
Silent, invisible, the cats spread out and went hunting.
Chapter Twelve
1 / Kaeleer
Lucivar and Falonar stood back at a prudent distance and watched the women at archery practice. Hallevar stood a few feet behind the women, giving instructions that could be heard in the still morning air as clearly as the smack of sticks coming from the arms practice field.
The weather had turned overnight, bringing the warm promise of spring. It wouldn't last, but while it did, Lucivar intended to have the women on the practice field for a couple of hours every morning. This was the first day they were actually aiming an arrow at a target. Watching them would have been amusing if he hadn't felt so edgy.
A day and a half had passed since Daemon's order to "stay put and stand guard" had been relayed through the First Circle—an order which, a couple of hours later, had been reinforced by Jaenelle. The only other message he had received had been equally brief: Karla had been poisoned and Morton was missing.
He would have disregarded the order if Daemon hadn't been with Jaenelle, but he knew that if anyone could protect the Queen better th
an he could, it was the Sadist.
So he'd stayed... and watched... and waited.
Falonar huffed out a breath as a spattering of arrows made a pathetic attempt to reach the targets. "Do you really think they can do this?" he asked doubtfully.
Lucivar snorted. "During your first six months in the hunting camps, you couldn't hit anything smaller than the side of a mountain."
Falonar just looked at him. "But I didn't whine about taking up time that could be used to air out the bedding. What's the point of pretending they can use a— shit." That when a woman with a bow fully drawn started to turn toward Hallevar as he added instructions. Hallevar leaped forward and shoved her so that the arrow skittered along the grass instead of into the woman next to her.
Lucivar and Falonar both winced at the language Hallevar used to explain that little error.
"Do you see?" Falonar demanded.
"Hallevar didn't learn to leap like that because this was the first time someone had done something so stupid," Lucivar replied. He paused, then added, "What's really biting your ass about this?"
Falonar scuffed a boot over the ground. "If we aren't the warriors and protectors, we don't have much to offer— until a woman is looking for a stud. And that's not easy to stomach."
"Can you cook?" Lucivar asked mildly.
Falonar glared at him. "Of course I can cook. Any Eyrien who's been in the hunting camps knows how to do rough-and-ready cooking."
Lucivar nodded. "Then relax. Just because a woman knows how to catch her own dinner doesn't mean she's going to grow balls any more than you're going to grow tits just because you know how to cook it." He watched Surreal put an arrow into the outer ring of the target and smiled. "Do you want to go over and tell her you don't think she's capable of handling a bow?"
"Not while she's got a weapon in her hand," Falonar muttered.
They jumped when one of the women let out a loud yelp.
Lucivar relaxed when he noticed the way Hallevar was rubbing one hand over his mouth and the woman was surreptitiously rubbing her forearm against her right breast.
"Five minutes of free practice," Hallevar called before hurrying toward the other two men.
"What happened?" Falonar demanded.
"Damnedest thing," Hallevar said, breaking into a wide grin. "Didn't think to warn them about it 'cause... well, Hell's fire, I've never had to consider it before. How was I supposed to know you could catch a tit with a bowstring?"
"Catch a—" Falonar looked at the women—who had all turned to glare at the men. He looked at the ground and cleared his throat—several times. "Bet it stings."
Lucivar felt his jaw muscles cramp with the effort to keep from laughing. "Yes, I'm sure it does. I didn't think to warn Marian when I taught her, and I'd already worked with Jaenelle. But Marian's got ... a bit more chest."
Falonar choked.
Hallevar just nodded solemnly. "That's a fine, respectful way to phrase it—especially when there's a handful of women out there who might just get mad enough to actually hit something if you phrased it any other way."
"Precisely," Lucivar said dryly. "Work them through one more quiver and—"
He was running toward the arms practice field before the first panicked scream could be drowned out by furious shouts. He leaped up on the low stone wall that separated the two fields. Ice formed around his heart when he saw Kaelas give a Green-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord Prince a casual swat that opened up the back of one thigh. The ice became a painful cage when he saw Rothvar and Zaranar running toward the stranger with weapons drawn.
*NO!* he shouted on a spear thread. I’ll gut any man who raises a weapon!*
They skidded to a stop, their shock at his order rivaling their fury. But they, and the other men on the practice field, obeyed.
"Help me!" the stranger yelled as he swung his war blade at Kaelas, trying to keep the cat in front of him while he limped backward toward the other men. "Damn you all to the bowels of Hell, help me!"
Lucivar turned, looked back at the women. *Marian, take all the women up to our eyrie. Close the shutters.*
*Lucivar, what—*
*Do it!*
He strode toward the loose circle of men, Falonar and Hallevar right behind him. A gut-sick satisfaction filled him as he watched how easily Kaelas dodged the stranger's attempts to counterattack—and he wondered what the other men would say if they knew he had been the one who had taught the cat how to move with and against human weapons.
As soon as the Eyrien shifted into a fighting stance, Kaelas charged. The speed and the sheer weight behind the charge knocked the man back several feet. The claws ripped open the Eyrien's shoulders and followed through down the arms, leaving them useless. The cat leaped away and began lazily circling a man barely able to get to his feet.
Falonar looked behind them and cursed softly, viciously. Turning and opening his wings to hide the practice field, he snarled, "Go back with the other women."
"Don't give me any of that—oh, shit," Surreal said as she dodged Falonar and got a good look at the man and cat.
Kaelas continued the light, almost playful swats, inflicting surface wounds that would slowly bleed out his prey. He continued until the Eyrien stranger spread his torn wings and tried to fly. The cat leaped with the man, then landed lightly. The man, with his back ripped open, fell heavily.
"Mother Night," Surreal whispered, "he's playing with that man."
"He's playing," Lucivar said grimly as nerves twisted his belly, "but it's not a game. This is an Arcerian execution."
Surreal understood before Falonar did. Lucivar saw her face tighten—and he saw her eyes fill with cool professional interest.
"Yaslana," Falonar warned.
Lucivar sensed the growing tension in the other men and knew it wouldn't be long before one of them disobeyed his order and joined the "fight." He started to move closer.
Kaelas must have sensed it, too, because the playfulness ended. The Eyrien stranger screamed as the claws ripped his chest open, ripped his thighs to the bone.
"Kaelas," Lucivar said firmly, "that's—" He felt the crackle of Red-Jeweled power as the paw lashed out again. The object flew at him so fast, he instinctively caught it before it slammed into his chest. For a second or two, Lucivar stared at the head that had been severed at the base of the neck. Then he dropped it.
"Mother Night," Surreal said softly.
The Eyrien's right hand, with its Green-Jeweled ring, sailed through the air and plopped on the ground next to the head.
With a full-throated snarl of rage, Kaelas gutted the man, then defecated in the open belly before moving away from the corpse. Finally, he looked at Lucivar. *That one is still inside ... for the High Lord.*
Lucivar tried to swallow. Kaelas had deliberately not finished the kill. *Why?*
*He killed Morton,* Kaelas replied, making the effort to use a communication thread that could be heard by all the humans present. *And he killed the pale humans that belonged to Lady Karla.*
Fury washed through Lucivar, a cleansing fire. *Where?*
An image appeared in his mind, oddly focused but clear enough for him to identify the place. *My thanks, Brother,* he said, using a spear thread directed specifically at the cat.
Kaelas leaped, caught the Winds, and disappeared.
"I've done a lot of things as an assassin," Surreal said, hooking her hair behind her ears, "but I've never shit on the body. Is that some kind of feline quirk?"
"It's the way Arcerians show contempt for an enemy," Lucivar said. He looked at Falonar, who seemed to be fighting not to be sick. A quick glance was enough to confirm that most of the men were doing the same, despite their experience on battlefields. "I don't recognize him. Do you?"
Falonar shook his head.
"I do," Rothvar said heavily as he approached them. "When he found out I was immigrating to Kaeleer, he offered me a place in his company. Said he wasn't going to have to lick any bitch's boots, that he'd be ruling a fine piece of land
before a year was out. I never liked him, so I said no. But..." He glanced at the head, then away. "I heard... thought I heard... Did the cat speak true?"
"He wouldn't lie." Lucivar took a deep breath. "Falonar, select four men to go with us." Looking around, he realized Surreal was no longer with them.
Falonar turned, too, and swore. "Damn it, she's probably off someplace puking her guts—"
Surreal leaped over the low stone wall and trotted toward them, a large, dented metal bucket in one hand. When they just looked at her, she huffed and said tartly to Lucivar, "Were you planning to tuck that thing under your arm to take it to the High Lord?"
Lucivar smiled reluctantly. "Thanks, Surreal." He hesitated. His hands were already bloody, but he still hesitated.
She didn't. With another huff, she dumped the head and hand into the bucket, then covered the bucket with a piece of dark cloth.
The men winced. She snarled at them.
Seeing the wariness in Falonar's eyes, Lucivar said, "You have your orders, Prince."
Falonar and Rothvar left with more speed than discretion.
"Tell me he hasn't done as much on a battlefield," Surreal said with a hint of bitterness. "I suppose everything would have been just fine if I'd clung to his arm and begged for smelling salts."
"Don't condemn him out of hand," Lucivar said quietly. "He isn't used to a woman like you."
Surreal turned on him. "And what kind of woman is that?"
"A Dea al Mon witch."
Her smile came slowly, but it was genuine. "I suppose I should have been more tactful." She waved a hand at the bucket, then hesitated. "I'd like to go with you."
"No. I want you to stay here with the other women."
Her eyes frosted. "Why?"
Abruptly impatient, he snarled, "Because you wear the Gray, and I trust you." He waited until he knew she understood. "My eyrie has Ebon-gray shields, but Marian can key them. Don't let anyone in that she doesn't know—for any reason. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Surreal nodded. "All right. But you be careful. If you get hurt, I'll smack you."
Lucivar waited until she was out of earshot before he waved Hallevar over to him. "Send Palanar to my mother's house. He's to escort Lady Luthvian to my eyrie without delay."
