by Anne Bishop
Everyone, including herself, stank of fear.
But he was, after all, the Sadist.
It would have been worse, she told herself as she continued to sip the whiskey. It would have been much, much worse, if Jaenelle hadn't shouted that warning to ride it out. Funny. Every witch in Deje's house who wore a Jewel heard that warning and knew on some instinctive level what it meant. The men . . . There wasn't time for Jaenelle to be selective. Some heard her, some didn't. That's all there was to it. Those who didn't were dead.
What had happened to send him into such a rage? What sort of danger could have provoked that kind of unleashing?
Maybe the question to ask was, who was in danger?
Calmed by her own rising anger, Surreal set the whiskey bottle on the nightstand and called in a small leather rectangle. As soon as she was done, she'd get a little sleep. It was unlikely that anything would happen before tonight. The Sadist had seen to that, whether he'd meant to or not.
With her lips curved in the slightest of smiles, Surreal hummed softly as she slipped the whetstone out of its leather pouch and began sharpening her knives.
11—Terreille
Dorothea watched the flames in the fireplace dance. Any moment now, the Dark Priestess would arrive at the old Sanctuary. Then she could give the bitch the message and return home.
Who would have thought he could break a Ring of Obedience? Who would have thought, with him being on the other side of the Realm, shattering the Ring could . . .
How very fortunate that she'd started letting each of the young witches in her coven wear the primary controlling ring for a day, letting them "get the feel" of handling a powerful male, even if he was so far away they couldn't really feel anything at all. How very unfortunate her favorite witch, her little prize who had shown so much potential, had been the one wearing it today.
Since the body, although empty of the witch herself, still lived, she would have to keep it around for a little while so the others wouldn't realize how disposable they really were. A month or two would be enough. The witch would, of course, be buried with dignity, with full honors commensurate with her Jewels and social rank.
Dorothea shuddered. Sadi was out there, somewhere, with no leash to hold him. They could try to use the Eyrien half-breed as bait to draw him back, but Yasi was so nicely tucked into Pruul's salt mines, and it would be a shame to pull him out before he was sufficiently broken in body and spirit. Besides, she doubted that even the Eyrien would be sufficient bait this time.
The sitting room door opened for the hooded figure.
"You sent for me, Sister?" Hekatah said, making no attempt to keep her annoyance out of her voice. She looked pointedly at the small table, empty of her expected carafe of blood. "It must be important to have made you forget such a paltry thing as refreshment."
"Yes, it is." You bag of bones. You parasite. All Hayll is in danger now. I am in danger now! Careful not to let her thoughts become apparent, Dorothea held up a note, slipping it in and out of her fingers. "From Greer."
"Ah," Hekatah said with barely suppressed excitement, "He has some news?"
"Better than that," Dorothea answered slowly. "He says he has found a way to take care of your little problem."
12—Terreille
Greer sat on the white-sheeted bed in one of Briarwood's private rooms, cradling what was left of his good hand.
It could have been worse. If that limping stable brat hadn't slashed at him with a knife, slicing through his little finger so it only hung by a thread of skin, he never would have gotten the secondary controlling ring off in time when Sadi broke the Ring of Obedience. In that moment when he'd felt the Black explode, he'd ripped the finger off and flung it away from him. A guard, seeing something hurled toward him, grabbed instinctively, his hand closing around the ring.
Foolish man. Foolish, foolish man.
With the Ring of Obedience broken and with no way to know if Sadi had been hurt by the effort, Greer had run to Briarwood, where the healing would be done without questions. It was also the only place the Sadist wouldn't strike at blindly. Here they had some leverage—at least for a few hours more. After that he would be gone, speeding back to Hayll to melt away among the many, encircled by Dorothea's court. Briarwood and its patrons would still be here to quench Sadi's thirst for vengeance.
Greer lay down on the bed, letting the painkillers lull him into much-needed rest. In a few short hours, the Dark Priestess's little problem would be no more, and Sadi.
Let the bastard scream.
13—Hell
Saetan made another erratic circuit around his private study.
He stared at Cassandra's portrait.
He stared at the tangled web he'd finished a short time ago, at the warning that may have come too late.
He shook his head slowly, denying what the vision in the tangled web had shown him.
An inner web still intact. A shattered crystal chalice. And blood. So much blood.
He had never invaded Jaenelle's privacy. Against his better judgment, against all his instincts, he had never invaded her privacy. But now . . .
"No," he said with soft malevolence. "You will not take my Queen from me. You will not take my daughter."
There was only one place from which he could penetrate the mist. Only one place he could use to amplify his strength to reach across the Realm. Only one witch who had the knowledge to help him do it.
Throwing his cape over his shoulders, he flicked a glance at the door, tearing it off the hinges. Gliding through the deep corridors of the Hall, his rage glazing the rough stones with ice, he brushed past Mephis and Prothvar, seeing no one, seeing nothing but that web.
"Where are you going, SaDiablo?" Andulvar called, striding to intercept him.
Saetan snarled softly.
The Hall trembled.
Andulvar hesitated for only a moment before setting himself squarely in the path of the High Lord of Hell.
"Yaslana." The rage had become very quiet, very still.
This was what they feared in him.
"You can tell me where you're going, or you can go through me," Andulvar said calmly. Only a tiny muscle tic in his jaw betrayed him.
Saetan smiled, raising his right hand in a lover's caress. Remembering in time that this man was his friend and also loved Jaenelle, he sheathed the snake tooth, and the hand gently squeezed Andulvar's shoulder.
"To Ebon Askavi," he whispered as he caught the Black Wind and vanished.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
1—Terreille
Surreal dreamed. She and Titian were walking through a wood. Titian was trying to warn her about something, but Surreal couldn't hear her. The woods, Titian, everything, was silenced by the loud, steady pounding of a drum.
As they reached the edge of the woods, Surreal noticed a tree with a perfect branch, a tree sweating dark red sap.
Titian walked past the tree across a lawn filled with tall, silvery flowers. As she picked a flower here and there, it turned into a knife, sharp and shining. Smiling, she offered the bouquet to Surreal.
The drum beat louder, harder.
Someone was screaming.
Titian continued walking toward a large, mist-filled rectangle, pointing here and there. Every time she pointed, the mist drew away. Two redheads. A girl with no eyes. A girl with a slit throat whose eyes blazed with impotent fury. A girl with one leg.
At the far end of the rectangle was a mound of freshly dug earth.
The drum beat faster.
Someone was shrieking, enraged and in pain.
Surreal approached the mound, drawn by something lying over the dirt. As she approached, witchblood began to sprout and bloom, forming a crown around a length of golden hair.
"No!" Surreal yelled, flinging herself out of the bed. The heartbeat drum pounded against her ribs. The screaming in her head didn't stop.
2—Hell
"You're going to help me," Saetan said, turning to face Draca.
"
To do what, High Lord?" Draca asked. Her unblinking reptilian eyes revealed nothing.
"Penetrate the mist around Beldon Mor." His golden eyes locked with Draca's, willing her to yield.
Draca studied him for a long time. "There iss danger?"
"I believe so."
"You break faith with her."
"I'd rather have her hate me than have her lost to all of us," Saetan replied sharply.
Draca considered this. "Even the Black iss not sso far-reaching. A leasst not the Black you wear, High Lord. The help I can offer will only let you know what iss beyond the misst, to ssee but not to act. To act, you would need to link with another, sspear to sspear."
Saetan licked his lips, took a deep breath. "There is one there who may help, who may let me use him."
"Come." Draca led him through the corridors of Ebon Askavi toward a large stairwell that descended into the heart of the mountain.
As they reached the stairwell, hurrying footsteps made Saetan swing around in challenge.
Geoffrey appeared around the corner, followed by Andulvar, Prothvar, and Mephis. Andulvar and Prothvar were dressed for battle. Mephis's anger blazed from his Gray Jewel.
Saetan flicked a dagger glance at each of them before his eyes and his anger settled on Andulvar. "Why are you here, Yaslana?" Saetan asked in his soft, dangerous croon.
Andulvar clenched his hands. "That web in your study."
"Ah, so now you possess the ability to read the Hourglass's webs."
"I could snap you like kindling!"
"You'd have to reach me first."
A slow grin bared Andulvar's teeth. Then the grin faded. "The waif's in trouble, isn't she? That's what the web warned you about."
"It's not your concern."
"She doesn't belong just to you, High Lord!" Andulvar roared.
Saetan closed his eyes. Sweet Darkness, give me the strength. "No," he agreed, letting Andulvar see his pain, "she doesn't belong just to me. But I'm the only one strong enough to do what has to be done, and"—he raised a hand to stop their protests, his eyes never leaving Andulvar's face—"if someone has to stand responsible for what's going to happen, if someone is going to earn her hatred, let it be only one of us so the others can still cherish her—and serve her."
"Saetan," Andulvar said, his voice husky. "Ah, Saetan. Is there nothing we can do?"
Saetan blinked rapidly. "Wish me well."
"Come," Draca said urgently. "The Darknesss . . . We musst hurry."
Saetan followed her down the stairwell to the locked door at the bottom. Pulling a large key from her sleeve, Draca unlocked the door and pushed it open.
Etched in the floor of the enormous cavern was a huge web lined with silver. In the center where all the tether lines met was an iridescent Jewel the size of Saetan's hand, a Jewel that blended the colors of all the other Jewels. At the end of each silver tether line was an iridescent Jewel chip the size of his thumbnail.
As Saetan and Draca walked along the edge of the web, the Jewels began to glow. A low hum rose from the web, rising up and up until the cavern throbbed with the sound.
"Draca, what is this place?" Saetan whispered.
"It iss nowhere and everywhere." Draca pointed at his feet. "Your feet must be bare. Flessh musst touch the web." When Saetan had stripped off his shoes and socks, Draca pointed to a tether line. "Begin here. Walk sslowly to the center, letting the web draw you into itsself. When you reach the center, possition yoursself behind the Jewel sso you are facing the tether line closesst to Beldon Mor."
"And then?"
Draca studied Saetan, her thoughts hidden. "And the Blood sshall ssing to the Blood. Your blood, darkened by your sstrength, will feed the web. You will direct the power from thiss offering sso it iss channeled to the one tether line you need. You musst not break contact with the web once you begin."
"And then?"
"And then you will ssee what you have come here to ssee."
Saetan tapped into the reserve strength in his Black Jewels and stepped on the tether line. The power in the web stabbed into his heel like a needle. He sucked in his breath and began walking.
Each step drove the power of the web upward. By the time he reached the center, his whole body vibrated with the hum. Keeping one foot in contact with the web, Saetan positioned himself behind the Jewel, his eyes and will focused on that one tether line.
He held out his right wrist and opened his vein.
His blood hissed when it hit the Jewel in the center of the web', formed a red mist. The mist twisted into a fine thread and began to inch its way along the tether line.
Drop by drop, the thread moved toward Chaillot, toward Beldon Mor.
For a moment it stopped, a finger-length away from the Jewel chip, blocked. Then it crept upward, a red vine climbing an invisible wall, until a handspan above the floor, it was over, flowing back along the tether line.
He had breached Jaenelle's mist. The moment the blood thread touched the Jewel chip, he would be able to probe Beldon Mor.
The thread touched the Jewel chip.
Saetan's eyes widened. "Hell's fire, what—"
"Don't move!" Draca's voice seemed so far away.
What had Daemon done? Saetan thought as he picked up the aftertaste of rage. Sinking beneath the cacophony of the lesser Jewels, Saetan searched the Black, the too-still Black. There should have been three minds within his probing reach. There was only one, the one farthest out, the one at the Dark Altar.
Keeping his eyes locked on the Jewel chip, Saetan sent a thought along the thread, spear to spear. "Namesake?"
His answer was a brief, annoyed flicker.
Saetan tried again, spear to distaff. "Witch-child?"
For a moment, nothing.
Saetan heard Draca gasp as light flickered around him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw all the Jewel chips begin to glow, all the silver strands of the web blaze with a fiery cold light.
Something sped toward him. Not a thought. More like a soap bubble cocooned in mist. Faster and faster it sped toward the web.
The sudden light from the Jewel at his feet blinded him. He threw his arm up over his eyes.
The bubble reached the Jewel chip and burst, and the cavern . . .
The cavern vibrated with the sound of a child screaming.
3—Terreille
The screaming stopped.
Surreal raced across Briarwood's empty lawn toward the hidden door. The Gray Jewel around her neck blazed with her anger. Tonight there wasn't a lock anywhere in Beldon Mor strong enough to keep her out. Once inside, however, she had no idea how to find the one she sought.
A few strides away from the door, someone shouted at her, "Hurry! This way. Hurry!" Swinging to the right, she saw Rose gesturing frantically.
"They're too strong," Rose said, grabbing Surreal's arm. "Kartane and Uncle Bobby are letting him draw on their strength. He's got the room shielded so I can't get through."
"Where?" There was a stitch in Surreal's side from running, and the cold night air burned her lungs. It made her angrier.
Rose pointed at the wall. "Can you make the pass?"
Surreal stared at the wall, probing. Pain and confusion. Rage and despair. And courage. "Why isn't she fighting back?"
"Too many medicines. She's in the misty place and she can't get out." Rose tugged on Surreal's sleeve. "Please help her. We don't want her to die. We don't want her to be like us!"
Her lips pressed into a tight, angry line, Surreal reached for the knife sheathed against her right thigh, but her hand swung across her body and pulled out the knife from the left sheath.
Titian's knife.
A slow smile curled Surreal's lips. Never taking her eyes away from the wall, she held out her other hand to Rose. "Come with me," she said as she stepped forward and melted into the wall.
Briarwood's outer walls were thick. Surreal didn't notice.
This time . . . This time she would wash the walls in blood.
>
The shield was there, braided by the strength of two. Fools. Two Reds might have slowed her down if they were aware of her presence. But Kartane and Uncle Bobby? Never. Never.
Surreal unleashed one short blast of power from her Gray Jewel. The shield around the room shattered.
Surreal leaped. Landing in the small room, she whirled to face the man on the bed. Even as he thrust into the too-still body under him, he raised his head, his face twisted with hatred and lust.
Lunging forward, Surreal grabbed his hair with one hand and slashed Titian's knife across his throat.
The blood sang as the white walls turned red.
Still pushing forward and up, Surreal drove the knife into his heart, lifting him off the bed with the strength of her rage.
He fell to the floor, Titian's knife still in his heart while his maimed hands groped feebly for one heartbeat, two.
Finish the kill.
Squatting over the still body, Surreal pulled out her other knife to drive it through his brain, intending to use the steel as a channel for the Gray to break and destroy what the husk still contained. As she raised her arm for the final strike, Rose's low moan made her glance at the bed.
There was a pool of blood between Jaenelle's legs. Too much blood.
Surreal leaned over the bed. Her stomach rolled.
Jaenelle stared at the ceiling, her unblinking eyes never changing when Surreal passed her hand in front of them. Her body was a mass of bruises; a cut on her lip leaked blood.
Surreal glanced back at the Warlord and noticed scratches on his face and shoulders. So. She had fought for a while.
Surreal felt for a pulse and found one. Weak and growing weaker.
Something hit the locked door.
"Greer!" someone shouted. "Greer, what's going on?"
