JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING III

by JANRAE FRANK

  Queiggy gave a nod at Eshraf's discretion and then extended his hand to Alysyn. She was the only one in the room who did not already know about it. "It's me."

  He extended his hand, letting his fingers go twiggy.

  Alysyn's eyes widened, "You? I would never have guessed."

  "I am Queig, son of Teakamon. A yuwenghau of modest talents."

  Alysyn took that in and then said. "I would like to see my husband now. I would like to talk to him. Then I will get my Riders settled here. Afterwards, some rest, a bath and start assessing the situation and how to handle it, how we fit in."

  "I am not certain how wise that would be, but if Kalirion's people are willing, then we will test it carefully."

  "The situation is that fragile?"

  "Yes. All the gods of light are caught up in this effort."

  Alysyn went back.

  "She wishes to try and touch him," Eshraf to them. "She is his wife."

  One of the white robed Kalirioni considered and then nodded, he led her around to the side of Yukiah. She saw how laden the tables were with medicines and amulets, talismans and objects of power.

  "You see auras?"

  Alysyn nodded. She could see the blue and white grid lining Yukiah's body with patches of black and red to indicate the worst areas of damage.

  "Move forward in tiny incremental steps, should anything flare red or black, stop. Simply freeze and wait for it to change, if it does not, then withdraw. Worse, if the grid color itself changes, retreat quickly away from him. Think always loving calm thoughts. No anger. Not even at those who did this to him. Only love, reassurance. We are trying to keep his soul in his body."

  The Black Swan approached her husband in small movements: step and pause and wait, step and pause and wait. She filled her mind with images from the happiest days they had spent together. Whenever a memory of Rygen rose to stain her thought she saw the red flare on the auric field, and she repressed it and waited until the field stabilized again. Alysyn had fallen in love with Yukiah, nine years her senior, when she was ten in a fit of puppy love that matured into something more. Holding tightly to her memories, Alysyn reached Yukiah and bent over him, stroking his face, smoothing his hair. "Forgive me, Yukiah. I'm sorry I let Rygen get in the way. The memories. I'm sorry."

  Yukiah's eyes opened and his face turned towards her. "Isen?" A long pause and then his head inclined with an uncertainty of expression that deepened steadily until he said, "Jynny?"

  "Yes, Yukiah. It's Jynny. I'm here. And I will never leave you. Not ever again."

  * * * *

  Osterbridge sat uneasily in his favorite chair in the sitting room of their apartments, his long legs drawn tight against the edge while his mother-in-law sized him up. She was an impressive mon. Yukiah must have been the only mon strong enough to handle her.

  "So," said Alysyn. "You are Ceejorn Osterbridge. Eshraf tells me that the temple has already anointed you in secret to be the next Grand Master."

  "Yes, ma'am... My Lady... they did." Osterbridge squirmed. He still could not imagine himself as becoming the next Grand Master.

  "Have you gotten an heir on my daughter, yet?"

  "No."

  "You did consummate the marriage?"

  Ceejorn sighed. "Yes. I didn't want to."

  Alysyn arched an eyebrow at that. "Why not? Don't you love her?"

  "I love her. But she's so young."

  Alysyn laughed. "In many cultures they marry the girls off as soon as their first bleeding. Isen has been bleeding for two years now."

  Ceejorn's eyes widened. "You wouldn't have..."

  "No. No, I wouldn't have. But fourteen is a legal age to wed for a female and sixteen for a male in this realm. You did nothing wrong."

  "She just seems so fragile..."

  Alysyn laughed again. "The sinjin are not fragile. It is important, with this battle before us, that you make an heir with all speed. Should you die in battle, without issue..."

  Ceejorn dropped his head. "I have never been important before."

  "But you are now. You are the anointed Grand Master to be. My daughter's greatest chance of safety and rallying others to her cause, should all go wrong here, is to have your child in her belly."

  "Did Isen send you here to have this talk with me?" Ceejorn asked suddenly.

  Alysyn smiled warmly. "Not in so many words. I am her mother, after all. I asked her if she was pregnant yet and she told me of your inhibitions."

  Ceejorn sighed. He was trapped.

  * * * *

  A few days later, the five of them sat together in Queiggy's chambers, drinking ale with Tiderider. It was time to begin drawing everyone necessary into the conspiracy to save the realm.

  "How many of the inner circle of lords who support us remain whole?" Alysyn asked. She was still assessing the situation while more units of the Netherguard and her Riders arrived almost daily. If all else failed, she would invade the city. Although her white swan had been raised, his suffering had rage roiling beneath her calm exterior.

  "None," Tiderider answered. "Except Derryl. He left nearly two months ago for his hidden lodge to protect his wives. Leslie is pregnant after the Sharani fashion. He has not yet returned. We are beginning to wonder if he intends to."

  "We need him," Eshraf said. "We need his influence."

  "I have people who can find him," Alysyn said.

  "Of the second rank, only the Kjartens and a few younger sons," Tiderider continued. "My Lord Channadar is far too weak to go among them. Although I tell people that I speak with his voice, few seem to hear me."

  Alysyn did not want to face Derryl, even after all these years, but had arrived knowing she would and prepared to do so. A sudden chill brushed across her neck and along her arms. Had something happened to Derryl? "Let us hope they find him alive. I have a bad feeling," she replied. "A very bad feeling."

  Everyone looked at her then. "What is it, Alysyn?" Eshraf asked, putting his hands over hers. "What made you say that?"

  "Spirit shivers. When we are finished I'll send word to my allies to set off in search of that lodge. Does he still have that house in town?"

  "He closes it up whenever he's going to be gone this long," Mohanja threw into the pool of information. "There will be no one there."

  "There have been too many deaths. It seems I have come too late."

  "While we live, Black Swan, it is never too late." Tiderider folded and unfolded his golden fan.

  "And how many have we killed while I have been away?"

  Tiderider thought for a moment. "That is an interesting question. Something walks the gardens by night. The guards are frightened. It looks as if they are killing themselves in the gardens. A single powerful thrust, but the hand on the blade is their own and, when two or more are slain in the same night, they are positioned as if in the act of love."

  Alysyn shivered. "You are certain that one of ours did not do this?"

  "Positive," Mohanja answered this time. "That is how they found Terrys and Jajinga. They were nude, Jajinga lying atop her with her legs around him. Vampires killed them. But Jajinga had had his own blade driven into his chest and his hand was around it. It is almost as if their spirits were killing the guards."

  "There is another thing," Leonè added. "Aramyn tells me that something sobs in the closets and a child's voice is heard to call from them, begging for help. Any servant or guard – anyone at all who answers the call is later found dead. They have all apparently jumped from the windows."

  Eshraf leaned closer, his voice lowering, "And Tuhk tells me he hears the ghost of Yahni Kjarten wailing for his lost wife and cursing Lord Wrathscar outside his tavern at midnight. I have never heard of the ghosts of Guildsmyn lingering like this. I think they slipped from Hadjys' Halls of the Faithful on the Night of God Rage."

  Alysyn sketched the rune of Hadjys on her chest and the others followed suit. "Our dead walk."

  * * * *

  Osterbridge and Isen watched the procession of nobles
with their entourages slowly winding their way up the mountain and passing through the gates of Havensword. Bright banners snapped smartly in the autumn breeze. He kissed her forehead and then her lips, drawing her more securely into his arms, treasuring the warmth of his wife. They traveled nowhere alone. Even then two shivari lounged nearby pretending they were not aware of the small intimacies passing between them. They had learned to ignore their guards, to seal their awareness of them out so that it was as if they were alone with each other.

  Isen had wanted to see the nobles arriving for Talons' wedding. Osterbridge folded his arms across her, passing them beneath her breasts and rested his chin on her head. "It is quite a sight," he said.

  "Yes, it is. I never dreamed there would be so many of them." She pressed her head back against his shoulder. "But it is good they are coming in such numbers. It is very convenient for mother."

  Each day that passed more of the nobility and their retainers arrived for the wedding. Although they rode with the traditional panoply, there was a conspicuous aura of unease to it. The tale of what was transpiring had leaked far and wide. The Netherguard seized upon this opportunity to begin filtering into Havensword in greater and greater numbers. Eshraf accessed Derryl's network through Tuhk to find secure places to conceal them.

  "I am glad she came."

  "So am I." Isen raised her eyes to her husband's. "I want to go back now." With Osterbridge's back blocking her action from their protectors, she wiggled her body against his crotch.

  Osterbridge arched an eyebrow. "Behave yourself, wife."

  Isen giggled. "Are you going to beat me with a stick if I don't? A big friendly stick?"

  "Absolutely. And I know exactly where to put it." He slid one hand to her loins and poked her. "Right there."

  "Shall we go home and see how well you do it?" Isen arched an eyebrow at him with a cheeky grin.

  Osterbridge let a slow smile spread across his lips. "You do have some interesting ideas, wife. Let's go test them."

  They turned and started home.

  Since his conversation with Alysyn, Osterbridge had delegated his work as armsmaster to others, in order to spend every available moment with Isen, showing her how much he loved her – most of it in bed.

  * * * *

  Lord Yron sidled along the south edge of the saddle gyre, watching some the Guild gryphons and a single roc being led out. The roc was Bright Eyes, Gaffer Hornbow's roc and he was headed for the Northwest Coast, which was about as far from Galee as one could get, since she had her claws most firmly into the eastern seaboard. Bright Eyes would do nicely. A small black cat with a broken tail scuttled past Yron. He kicked at the cat and it darted away from him.

  "Going some place, Milord?" old Jorry, the avian hostler, asked. He carried Twizzle nestled in his arms.

  Yron jumped with a yelp. "Yes. Yes, Grand Master's Orders. Letters to Rowanhart, you know. Special orders."

  Jorry scratched around Twizzle's ears appreciatively and the little cat purred. He smiled toothlessly and spat on the ground before smiling again. Twizzle leaped down, twining about Jorry's legs. "Come on and I'll see you get aboard. You're just in time. Storms coming in and only Bright Eyes can handle the big ones."

  Jorry showed Yron how to grasp the straps, got his foot into the stirrups and, just as the nervous lord started to pull himself up, the hostler's hand snaked out. Jorry covered Yron's mouth with his hand, jerked him backwards, brought his other arm around Yron, and shoved the blade into his heart. Yron's eyes bulged. Jorry pinned Yron against the placid roc with his body, holding him while giving the blade a good twist through the organ. The moments it took Yron to die seemed longer than they were. Jorry felt Yron's body turn flaccid and start to slump. Jorry dragged the mon into the barn where he gave the blade a few good twists before searching him. He found the documents Twizzle had spoken of.

  "Yup, Twizzle, they're getting careless. Nervous most like, wanting to get out fast. Queiggy still hasn't broken the code yet. Maybe Isen or Alysyn can. I hear Alysyn was serious good in her time. Okay, you get the documents to Alysyn and I'll feed the corpse to the perytons."

  * * * *

  Yukiah writhed, twisting in the physical expression of his anguish. Alysyn came to his side, feeling for a renewal of the fever. "Trouble," Yukiah muttered. "The darkness is moving." He had become highly sensitized to it since crossing into the realm of death and back again.

  Alysyn stepped back as the Kalirioni came forward to administer a dose of medicine to ease the broken prince. Then she turned and strode out, intuiting his words. She found Timjimikin waiting for her in the study. The man wore three strings of human ears around his neck and a bearskin cloak with the empty paws tied loosely across his chest. His face was seamed and battered, red-golden hair hung wild and undisciplined down his back, trapped away from his face only by a sweat stained leather headband. A wolf, ghostly white walked shimmering at his side.

  The Black Swan noted that he had added more ears to his strings over the past week. "What have you got for me, Timjimikin?" Alysyn asked.

  "The target has left the city with a small guard."

  "Lemyari and vampires do not need large guards," Alysyn gave a harsh bark.

  "They do when the Taladrim hunt."

  "There is that. Especially when the Taladrim run with the Netherguard." Alysyn snatched up her cloak and strode out with a sign to her waiting myn. She would slip out of the city in the night, taking no Guildsmyn with her. This was her fight. It did not matter that Yukiah had been raised. What mattered to her was that he had suffered and died, that he was still suffering.

  Guilt jabbed a spur in her side as she climbed to the top of the gryphon spire, leading her companions. She should have stayed with Yukiah and guarded his back, instead of fleeing Havensword and exchanging one guilt for another. When the guardian spirit Alysinjin appeared to her descendants and gathered them together, she had also given them the cloaks of feathers, armor and weapons of their ancestors, sent them blue gryphons. Twelve swan-mays in silver armor waited for them there. Alysyn donned her cloak of feathers. Ambrose thought he had a fair head start, as he would have had his pursuers been traveling on horseback.

  Poor Belyla, Alysyn had felt that simple lost soul calling to her in her dreams of desperation and not dared to go to her. She had sent her instead what strength she could, since she could not yet reveal herself and the reality of the branch clan to the enemy. Then she became Alysinjin and changed into a black swan, as did her women. Her males mounted the blue gryphons she summoned, as did Timjimikin whose wolf changed into a ghost and climbed up behind the Taladri. They launched from the spire, circled the city thrice, and set off in pursuit.

  * * * *

  Ambrose's horse spooked, rearing in panic as the armed myn emerged from the forest ahead of him. He struggled to control his mount, brought it down with an arresting drag on the reins that cut into the beast's mouth, and turned it. That direction, also, was blocked. Swan-mays drew their blades, waiting for him. Then the gryphons moved into view. He recognized their leader, for Alysyn was nearly as unchanged and youthful as she had been when he murdered Rygenas Tormuth.

  "Alysyn, my friend, what is the meaning of this?"

  She favored him with a smile of disdain and her voice was ice. "Hadjys rot your soul. You murdered my husband."

  "I don't know what you're talking about. I never touched the mon. I was as grieved as everyone, if not more so, at his tragic death."

  Alysyn disregarded his words. "If you'd dared face him like a mon, instead of a bloody coward, he'd've cut your cockwhoring heart out. You could never have matched him. He was always twice the mon you were. So you had to stick him from behind."

  "Alysyn, grief has unhinged your mind. I'm willing to forget you have said these things. You don't want to press this matter. Just let us go before blood is spilt and you have reason to regret it." He turned his horse, making it clear that he had no intention to fight her fairly on foot. This would not be a duel. Am
brose drew his sword.

  Apparently, he considered the swan-mays the easier to cut through. Alysyn signed her companions and they spread out in a skirmish line. She would not make this easy on him. "He lived long enough to speak. He named his murderers. Your wife was a vampire and died with my husband's blood on her lips."

  "Your messengers have been delicious. And so informative," Kerr added, grinning as he allowed just his upper body to change and drew his blade. His hands turned clawed and stripped in orange and black fur.

  "Ahhhh." Ambrose signaled his guards and they charged the swan-mays.

  Arrows with Taladri fletching, black and white, flew between the myn to strike down the horses. Ambrose was thrown by his dying mount, rolled and came to his feet to find himself facing Alysyn.

  His blade came down at her in an overhand. Hers met his and she held him just long enough for their eyes to meet. "Ready to die, Alysyn? I killed him. And Rygenas."

  Rage surged up within her and she threw him back. Her strength caused a sudden widening of his eyes to betray his surprise.

  "Ready to die, monster?"

  She lunged in with a two-handed cut to his side and he blocked it, circling away from her. Alysyn followed cautiously. Their blades met in a flurry of strikes and parries that flashed in the sunlight with a sharp ring of metal upon metal. She drove him backwards, forcing him to retreat.

  "Damn you! You're as good as he was."

  "No," Alysyn contradicted him. "I'm better. I'm the Black Swan."

  "That's a myth." He glanced over his shoulder quickly for a direction in which to escape, but found his retreat barred by gryphons.

  Alysyn came at him again, and this time, she drove him to his knees. He blocked her descending cut and once more their eyes met. She felt the intrusion as, in desperation, Ambrose attempted to snare her mind. Alysyn kicked him in the chest, knocking him onto his back, and severed his sword arm. He screamed, clutching at the stump of his arm while black, ichorous blood fountained. Alysyn stomped him to make him release his stump and cut the other hand off. Ambrose curled his mutilated body into a ball, shrieking and writhing.

  Around her, captured myn – most of them already wounded – from Ambrose's guard were losing their hands on the assumption that they were probably Lemyari. They striped the armor from them before bringing out the stakes and hammers. Ambrose's shrieks rose to a fever pitch. Two shivari turned him on his back and held him firmly down. Alysyn bestrode him and sat on his hips. Kerr passed her the stake and hammer.