by JANRAE FRANK
"We will go there directly," the Patriarch told him, turning to Jimi. "You did well back there."
Osterbridge put his hand on the youth's shoulder. "You were born to command. Lead and I follow. The knights are yours. I am not in this to take them away from you."
Jimi felt both startled and encouraged to hear that from a Guildsmon. "I thank you all, now let us get to it."
When they arrived at Talons' rooms, they found that Dynarien had managed to exclude the treacherous Solance; so it was the trusted Sha who greeted the Patriarch, ushering him into the bedroom. "I did not want to clean her up until you could verify my suspicions." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think the vampires had to have had a human accomplice. These rooms are too heavily warded for this to have taken place here. They could not have done this in the hallways because they would have been seen. I think they took her to another room."
"Where are you going with this?" Patriarch Eshraf interrupted. "What do you need me for?"
The healer sighed heavily. "I think the undead raped her. I want a second opinion. I also know that with undead it becomes steadily more difficult to make genetic identifications, but I want you to try. The more recently undead they are, the easier it is. I want to compare it to the one I think got Arruth."
"You still believe that one of the girl's rapists were undead?"
"I'm positive."
"If we take him alive, I'll hand Arruth the mace myself, Sha, and I am not a violent man."
* * * *
The palace was in an uproar; the nobles near panic, screaming for an end to the outrageous depredations – depredations that they had chosen to dismiss as empty rumor when it came from the Poor Quarter. The vampire or vampires who stalked the city streets had broken into the heir's rooms and not only fed on her, but beaten her severely. Takhalme ordered a guard posted in the corridor at Talons' door. Everyone who could now traveled with a bodyguard or armed servants in attendance. All myn who lived in the city and came to work in the compound were taken aside and interrogated as potential vampires. More and more the palace compound became an island.
* * * *
Solance checked the tempered glass container on the little burner and adjusted the heat beneath it to make it simmer. All over the tables in his bio-alchemist laboratory concoctions steamed and boiled, making little roiling noises, hissing sounds of vapors rising through coiled tubes and then dripping into other containers as they cooled at the far end and congealed again into solids. He sniffed at some of them, checked the color on others, and added more ingredients to a few of them before returning to his desk, satisfied. He sat down and scooted the chair closer before taking up his pen and beginning to make more notations in his stack of ledgers. He pulled a book from the tall, multi-colored stack, wrote for a time, and replaced it before taking another. The stack started to topple and he grabbed them, wrapping his arms hurriedly around them and breathed a sigh of relief when none of them ended up on the floor. He released them when he was certain they were not going to fall and began to write again. The end of the black scarf, tied tight around his neck, caught the drawer on his desk. Solance jerked at it, realized it would not easily come free and opened the drawer to get it loose.
Scarves had become very important to him. He owned several now and only took them off to bathe and then hurriedly tie them back. Solance even slept in them. The evening that he awakened in the swan room after Belyla bit him, Solance's fear of the creatures had grown immeasurably. He considered it natural to fear Galee and Lord Wrathscar, but Belyla had been so much nothing. Belyla was timid, easily overwhelmed by his manner, controllable – and yet she had bitten him, sucked the living blood from his veins. While Solance would never admit it, he knew his confidence had been shattered by the experience. The least of the least and she bit me ... the very last one I ever expected. Solance straightened the scarf carefully, precisely, nervously feeling along his neck to make certain the scar was covered while trying not to touch it. It sickened him to even think about its existence on his neck. At least Belyla could not get at him again. The Master of Blood had her firmly secured in the nethermost reaches of the caverns beneath the sewers.
"You're working late, Solance," said a soft feminine voice.
Solance flinched with a jump motion that sent his arm flailing out to connect with the stack of books. The books toppled with a crash. He pushed his chair back to stare at Elomina, the Wrathscar daughter just younger than Philomea. "I dropped the bar! How did you...?"
"You left the windows open." Elomina kicked the scattered journals from her path, staring at her feet with her head tilted like a child's. Her yellow hair hung past her waist and she wore a filmy silk sleeping dress. "I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd visit."
Solance sucked air through his wide-open mouth, watching her. His chest tightened around his racing heart, sending an aching pain through him and then along his arm. He rose from the desk, backing away from her. His hand went to the scarf, fingering his neck. "Go away, Elomina. I'm forbidden meat."
"Are you?" She made a purring noise, deep in her throat. "Galee has three more bio-alchemists in Havensword now and there's the Master of Blood. But you knew that. It was one of Zarliche's drugs you gave Yahni the day that Belyla bit you. That's why she bit you."
"Please, Elomina. Go away." Solance put his back to the only bit of open wall and edged toward the door. Sweat broke out from every pore, soaking his robes, chilling swiftly in the night air.
"Is that scarf where she bit you?" Elomina's voice had a child-like quality as if she were asking about a skinned knee or a puppy.
Solance did not answer.
Elomina's nostrils flared, sniffing at the changing odors on the mon, and then she raised her face to show him how long and fine her fangs were. "I'm the only one of us who hasn't fully tested her new gifts. Although I did help Philomea kill Jajinga. I'm the one shoved his own blade through his chest."
Solance's hand dropped to the knob.
"If you run away, I'll kill you."
Solance stopped. His heart began to hammer erratically as Elomina closed the distance between them. Fear built to an unbearable level. He threw the door open and ran out into the hallway. There were three rooms on this floor and four on the bottom. It was a generous spire assigned to him through Wrathscar's influence. Solance fled to the stairs and ran, nearly tripping in his haste, to the lower floor. His chest hurt and his stomach soured. He glanced around the living room, trying to think, and finding his mind paralyzed with terror. The thoughts simply wouldn't come. Finally he headed for the main door to the twisting stair from the spire. He lifted the bar and then a heavy weight landed on his back, taking him to the floor.
Elomina flipped him over casually and sat on his chest, her knees on his arms and her hands tangled in his hair. "You cheated. You ran." She tore the scarf from his neck and stuffed it in his mouth. Solance whimpered. Elomina twisted his head to get the best angle and sank her fangs a little higher than Belyla's marks.
* * * *
Cass made up the beds, swept, and dusted. She finished by opening the window to let in fresh air. The aristocracy were arriving early with an eye toward the heir's wedding and whatever political leverage they could gain by being there. Every single suite of rooms would soon be occupied. Then she gathered her tools, put them on her cart, and started for the door. She enjoyed working in the west wing because it got the afternoon sun, which made her feel good. The lords and ladies who lived there half the year when they came to court were always nice to her. They talked to her like she was a real mon, not just a servant. A shadow passed over her and she yelped. "Oh, my lady, you startled me."
"I'm sorry, Cass," Galee said. "I didn't mean to. In fact, I was looking for you."
"I did the rooms all right, didn't I?" Cass swallowed hard. Galee was the only resident of the west wing that made her nervous, and she could not understand why. Galee had never been anything but kind and generous to her.
"You clean Talons' roo
ms, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, poor thing. She's having such a hard time of it. Me, I got five kids and never a sick day with any of them."
"You know why she's having such a hard time?" Galee tilted Cass' face up with a finger under her chin. Their eyes met.
Cass shivered, but could not look away. "No."
"It's because they're not giving her the medicine. You want her to get better, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, lady, very much so." Cass wondered how she could have misjudged Galee – how she could ever have felt uncomfortable around such a lovely, wonderful mon.
"Will you give her the medicine?"
"Yes." Galee was the sweetest, nicest mon. So concerned about everyone. Cass would do anything to make her happy.
"Promise me you won't let anyone catch you doing it. Just slip it into some wine and see that she drinks it before you leave."
"I will. I promise."
Galee pressed the vial into Cass' hands. "Each day, when you clean my rooms, I'll give you another vial of it. It'll be our secret. You are a very good mon, Cass."
* * * *
Galee smiled thinly as Cass left to clean the next room. Everyone trusted Cass. Nearly everyone, including both Talons and Edouina, adored the woman. This would go well. The damage to Talons' was nearly complete and irreversible. Soon it would not matter whether they caught Cass or not.
And those letters, those wonderfully indiscreet letters to Lord Westli, Lord Commander of the City Guard, Patriarch Eshraf, and old Queiggy and his assistants of the Guild, ordering them to disregard all requests for assistance originating from the heir and her companions; suggesting all such requests originated from an unfortunate and very permanent side effect of having the bi-kyndi bound: the heir's growing madness. Solance had served that well with those tales concerning unnatural Sharani sexual practices, those claims of a drug no one could find in her system, and other peculiar things. Many people had seen the way she held conversations with those cats as if they were people. Takhalme had written and signed the letters while begging her to bite him. A mage Reader would authenticate them. There would be no help for Talons or any of them – unless it came from the temple. Eshraf infuriated her, defying them all to aid the heir. Maybe she should kill a few priests. After all it would eventually reach Creeya that she was killing lots of priests along the east coast and many, many Guildsmyn; some were bound to escape and word would reach Creeya. She needed to kill them faster. They would not connect it to her, of course, any more than they would connect her to Cass.
* * * *
The hunt began at dawn. Seventeen of the knights accompanied Osterbridge, Brundarad, and Hanadi to the church. They all wore leather over chain mail to give the catkin, riding on their shoulders, more purchase. Lo'Ah had sent nearly his whole force with them. Twizzle rode on Osterbridge's shoulder, clinging to the leather straps of his Guild harness of weapons and a bandoleer of soft pouches. He stroked the little catkin – he knew what they were now. Eshraf's resources amazed him. Osterbridge wished he had known about all of this in time to save his friends. It made him sad. A chill anger overrode that sorrow, for he was determined to make the monsters pay.
Father Karakin waited for them before his temple. The small grounds were well cared for, walled in by thick, twelve-foot, old growth hedgerows. Twenty of his parishioners waited around him, armed with sticks and staves, carrying sacks of stakes to be driven through the vampires' hearts; and a crowd had gathered outside the hedgerows. The good priest had meant to keep this matter quiet, but word had leaked out despite his best efforts. Rage simmered beneath the stillness of the waiting crowds. Karakin had demanded the quiet. He did not want this to boil out of control, but too many had vanished loved ones.
The crowd opened a corridor for the knights to pass through and they noted Osterbridge's uniform with soft remarks that the Guild had come to their aid after all. The shadow hounds drew notice also and everyone wondered whom they belonged to.
"Father Karakin," Jimi said, nodding to him as he halted in front of the temple. "I want three groups, each goes to a different one of the houses of your lost people. If we cannot track from there, we'll regroup at the temple and take it street by street."
"Tell off your units, young sir." Karakin added, "And then I'll match them up with mine."
Jimi immediately signaled his companions. He took one unit; Alora and Osterbridge took the others. Then Karakin paired them with his parishioners.
* * * *
Osterbridge went to the house where the young mon with the two children had lived. It was a dingy brick structure, narrow and pressed wall to wall with houses to either side. The door was locked. Twizzle crept across his shoulders, recognizing what Osterbridge's intentions were going to be, and wanting a better perch. Osterbridge stepped back, and kicked the door solidly by the keyhole, splintering wood and causing the aging lock to pop.
"Twizzle, do your duty."
< I always know my duty. I'm a bachelor male. Maybe this time I'll get some status and attract some mates. >
Osterbridge smiled at the voice in his head, but his eyes were grim. "Go to it."
Twizzle jumped down and went sniffing into the house followed by Osterbridge and six knights, then the armed parishioners. A crowd waited outside. The inside of the home, although covered in dust, was neat and tidy. A glassed in cabinet suggested that this quarter had not always been poor. Mismatched plates, cups, and saucers filled it to capacity. Osterbridge walked on. He found himself thinking of Yahni. He had loved that mon; no one could have asked for a better brother, a closer friend.
The children's room opened to his left along a short hallway and their mother's to his right. He considered a moment and walked into the children's room. The mantel above the fireplace had small, carved wooden figures on it, the paint chipped with age, but two of them had clearly been painted in Guild colors. A family had lived here. Osterbridge could feel the lingering ghosts of their hopes and dreams rising up at him. A battered toy chest sat beneath the window. On impulse he opened it and nearly screamed. Inside lay a child, curled on its side, unbreathing, still. No. Not a child, a thing. Blood rimmed its lips and gilded the exposed fangs. A lesser blood. An Ylesgaire. Not like the things that killed his friends. No. Those had been royals, but this one was close enough. He settled his pack, took out the hammer and a stake. Osterbridge positioned the sharp spike of wood. "For Yahni!" He shouted and with one sure, powerful strike drove it through the sleeping creature's heart. Ichorous blood fountained around the stake and belched from the dead thing's mouth, splattering the Guildsmon. Osterbridge ignored it.
He rose, glancing around the room and called out to his companions. "I've killed one. There were two children here. Where's the other?"
"In the chimney," one of the knights shouted back. "Yimmer found him. I killed it." The young mon's voice sounded faintly ill.
"Good mon!" He met her as he left the room, recognizing her by the blood. Osterbridge clapped her shoulder. "Good work, Guildsmon."
She straightened at that, flicking a blood-dampened string of black hair back, and holding his gaze for a moment with a pair of slanted East Creeyan eyes that reminded Osterbridge poignantly of Terrys. He shook it off.
"Thank you, sir," she replied. "I'm Twynin Twillys."
Osterbridge gave her a nod and went on.
< I've found the mother, > Twizzle sent. < Come to the bedroom. >
Osterbridge shoved through the knights who were crowding the hall and went into the mother's room. Twizzle crouched before a deep wardrobe, his tail lashing back and forth. Osterbridge opened it. The mother slept, half-hidden by clothing. She had been pretty in the worn way that sustained poverty tended to lend people. He drove a stake through her heart and then lifted the dead thing. He carried her out and threw her corpse on the pavement. "The bodies must be burned. The children were turned also. They've been staked."
A murmur of rage began as people ran to fetch faggots of wood.
< I've found anothe
r trail. Fresh. Very fresh. Lesser blood. > Twizzle sat in the street three houses down. Osterbridge wondered briefly how the little cat could move so fast.
"I'm coming, Twizzle. Guildsmyn, this way!"
Twizzle skidded to a halt, back arched and hissing. < Jimi's found them! Two warehouses! They're going inside! >
Osterbridge felt a rush of alarm. "Tell them to get out! Tell them to wait in the sunlight for me! Damn it!" Osterbridge cursed and began to run as Twizzle bolted down the street.
* * * *
Jysy kept close to Jimi as they walked. They had found nothing in the house where two young brothers and an older sister had lived. The catkin riding Jimi's shoulder was a ginger and black female called Whiskey Lips because she liked a nip now and then, and was known to creep onto tables to sneak sips from people's glasses. Hanadi had immediately picked up a trail from the house. It seemed that the lesser bloods sometimes liked to return to the places they had inhabited while living.
"You stay behind me, Jysy," Jimi told her.
"Like hell," Jysy replied in a very cool voice. "I've fought monsters and you haven't."
"I'd call the ramtras of the plains monsters and I've killed three." The ramtras were eight-foot tall, flightless predatory birds.
"Hunting in a group doesn't count. Arruth and I dropped a noose around a stone troll's neck and jerked it off the floor."
"A stone troll?" Jimi asked, skeptically.
"Yup. Course, it knocked us silly afterwards. But it counts."
Jimi gave her a look of pure admiration that made Jysy feel warm all over, inside and out.
< Jimi, > Whiskey Lips sent. < Hanadi has found them. You're not going to like it. There's an abandoned warehouse full of them on the west side. Hanadi says old cloth warehouses. >
Jimi sucked in a sharp breath and Jysy saw him tense for a moment. He raised his hand, signaling a halt. Then he turned to face his unit, the parishioners, Father Karakin, and the trailing crowd. "Listen to me! Listen up, everyone."
