Her final act before opening the Gate had been the creation of the Ymraudes. They were subtle creations, designed to infiltrate the ranks of the other vampires, and destroy them from within. She paired them with the demon-eaters, deploying them in guerilla units. Whenever an Ymraude perished, her chosen nibari immediately transitioned into the vampire's replacement, making it close to impossible for the enemy to destroy all of them. Unlike their more powerful kinsmyn, the Lemyari, the Ymraudes did not suffer from the uncontrollable appetite for blood. Their instincts never dominated their faculty for reason.
The Ymraude shaman, Amiri, had been chosen by Ishla to guide, protect, and study the last of Ishla's demon-eaters. Amiri had gambled dangerously by tricking Isranon into biting Anksha, which brought the little demon-eater into season for the first time in her life and nearly resulted in the deaths of both Anksha and Isranon.
Amiri's friendship with Isranon had suffered because of it. Randilyn had told her that it would; but her master was stubborn when it came to her quest for scientific knowledge to replace what had been lost in the godwar thousands of years ago. The fragmentary texts on the demon-eaters, what little had survived the centuries, had been entrusted to Amiri and by extension, Randilyn.
She stared again at the sleeting rain, wishing it would stop. One of the few things that their liege-lord, Isranon Dawnreturning could not do was alter the weather. Randilyn wished he could. Going north was taking twice as long as coming south had.
She heard the beads in Amiri's corn rowed hair clack together and knew that her master had roused. Randilyn's mouth pursed. She opened the neck of her tunic and sank to her knees. I suppose you're hungry?"
Amiri's fangs descended, ivory against her crimson lips. What are you pouting about now?"
"Did I say I was pouting?"
"I know that tone of voice, Randi. Amiri settled behind Randilyn and licked her neck.
"Bite me and get it over with."
"Definitely pouting. Amiri's fangs broke the skin on Randilyn's neck delicately, sucking the delicious fluid that rose to her mouth from her nibari's veins.
Randilyn stiffened and pushed away Amiri's attempt to lessen the discomfort by swishing into her pleasure centers.
: Come on, Randi. Relax . : Amiri sent through their link.
: Won't . :
Amiri finished, licked the wound closed, and rocked back on her heels. What have I done now?"
"You lied to him."
"Isranon?"
"If truth dies / all that is left of life / is darkness and lies."
"Oh, for Ishla's sake, don't start quoting Padruig Caimbeul at me."
"I will if I want to. You lied to Isranon."
"If I had told Isranon the truth, it would have destroyed him."
"I searched the books, trying to find where you got your information. All I found was that vampires and sa'necari don't pin up and kill imps like he did because of the stress of battle ... unless they're going rogue."
"You have it all wrong. Hunger always becomes an issue when too much power is expended by a vampire or other high-level hemophages and hemovores. It isn't as rare as you think for a hemovore to drain an enemy in the midst of battle, Randi. When..."
"You've never done it. Accusation deepened in Randilyn's voice.
"I don't wield the kind of power that Isranon does. I don't spend that much of myself in battle, because I don't have it to give."
"The rogue state...."
"He isn't showing any other symptoms of the rogue state, Randi."
"You've been watching him?"
"Don't I always?"
"Then what do you think it is? He sends for more nibari every hour or so, sex and blood again and again. He wasn't like this three years ago. If that's not rogue, then define it for me."
"I assure you he isn't going rogue. He's sa'necari, not a vampire. If I tell him how utterly mystified I am, he'll come to his own conclusions, and those could be fatal."
Randilyn lowered her gaze and closed her tunic, fiddling with the buttons in a distracted manner. Corbienne is going rogue."
Corbienne, one of five Lemyari vampires traveling with Isranon's company, had always seemed unstable to her; and the more that Randilyn learned of Corbienne's history, the more the nibari became convinced of it. Corbienne's father had owed gambling debts to a vampire of Lord Hoon's lineage. Not knowing the nature of the mon that he owed the money to, Corbienne's father had tried to avoid paying the money. The vampire had then demanded Corbienne as repayment for his debt. After slipping the young mon some of his blood in a glass of wine, the vampire had killed her in front of her family and abandoned her. When Corbienne rose three days later, the maddening hunger of the newborn had driven her to consume her entire family. She had then fled into the forests, grieving and confused, until Haig found her and tried to teach her self-restraint as he had once been taught by Dane Jayce.
Randilyn had recognized the signs of a breakdown in Corbienne following the battle of Chyniolus, and knew that she was Passion-Dancing her human lover, Iuf; mistaking appetite for love and gradually killing him. Amiri had made a study of the Passion-Dance, allowing several innocents to die for the sake of her scientific investigations. Randilyn had protested it then, and continued to try and act as Amiri's voice of conscience. Sometimes it worked, but far more often it failed and resulted in Amiri disciplining her for interfering.
"You ought to do something, Amiri."
"I've spoken with her time and time again. So long as she's in denial and refusing treatment, there's nothing I can do."
Tears welled in Randilyn's eyes. Won't you do something more than talk?
"No."
"You could tell Isranon..."
Amiri frowned, wiping the last traces of Randilyn's blood from her lips. I'll think about it. I promised Iuf that I would not speak of it without his permission."
* * * *
The huge scarlet pavilion dominated the south corner of the non-humans section of the camp where it met that occupied by the humans. Isranon's general, Nans Gryphonheart, had insisted upon the segregation to reduce the chance of friction. She had spread the myn of her original unit, the Rowdies, through all the groups, mostly as officers.
The gaudy pavilion served as a line of demarcation between the lycan units and the human. More than one hundred nibari were in the herd that Isranon had claimed as reparations from the sa'necari households his army defeated at Ocealay. The nibari were genetically altered human cattle, bred for docility over the centuries by the vampires and sa'necari. They produced high levels of endorphins, and very low levels of adrenalinetoo low to allow for aggressive behavior.
The majority of the nibari in their herd were female, while most of the humans in their company were male. In order to avoid dissention in the ranks arising over the non-humans access to females and the humans lack of it, Isranon had established a brothel for the troops by rotating a portion of his nibari slaves to serve in the Scarlet Tent.
Captain Luck Settlesby had served in Nans freeranger rescue unit for over twenty years. He had been just fourteen and his older half-brother, Itch Hollins, seventeen when they signed up with her. They had earned their freerangers runes while traveling the northeastern and central eastern portions of the Merezian continent with her.
Luck kept himself occupied and his phlegmatic nature did not lend itself to brooding; although there were times when he felt bitter and angry about Itch's death just over a year ago. The Scarlet Tent helped take the edge off his tensions and not a day passed without his getting in a bit of rutting. He had taken a particular liking to a golden-haired nibari called Farris and whenever she rotated into the tent, Luck reserved himself two sessions a day between her legs.
He emerged from the Scarlet Tent feeling satiated and relaxed. The rain had stopped. Luck pushed his broad-brimmed hat back on his head and spied Iuf walking past. He frowned at how gaunt and lined Iuf's face had become; the circles beneath his eyes were so dark they looked bruised. The branching
crow's feet spread around his eyes looked more deeply-sunk than before, etched into skin that had been weathered to the texture of old leather from years spent in the saddle. You okay?"
Iuf paused, pulling at his grizzled beard as he waited for Luck to reach him. Sort of. I was on my way to see Amiri. I need to get more of her tonics."
"Still sick? Luck's eyes narrowed, settling on the scarf that Iuf wore. Most of the myn wore heavy wool scarves around their necks to deal with the late autumn cold; however it seemed as if the way that Iuf wore it so carefully placed was suspicious. He wondered how many bite marks he would find on Iuf's aged neck.
"Yeah. Just a mite."
"Can I walk with you?"
"If you want. Iuf shrugged.
"She say what's wrong?"
"Gave it a fancy name I can't pronounce."
"I heard that Amiri took you off active standing. Does Nans know?"
"Not yet. First big city we reach, I'll be leaving the company."
Luck frowned in concern. That bad?"
"Yeah."
Luck walked Iuf to Amiri's tent and wagons. The Ymraude shaman had two wagons and a large tent. Since she cared for all the ills of the company, the humans had had to get over their initial uneasiness at having a vampire as the main healer and surgeon for the army. However, most of them, Luck included, preferred dealing with Randilyn over Amiri. It was not entirely because Amiri was a vampire. Her stone cold way of dealing with myn did not go over as well as Randilyn's warm concern.
Iuf went inside the tent and Luck considered following, and then changed his mind. While Iuf and he were old friends, the mon was not in any of Luck's units and that made it none of his business. So he decided to give Iuf his privacy.
He turned at the sound of young voices and spied Disharyl Scathwick first. Only a few of Anksha's blood-slaves had that much freedom to move about the camp. Disharyl was one of them. She had been Liuthan Loosestrife's principal bio-alchemist on his estates in Ocealay; and Amiri employed her skills with herbs and arcane substances. Luck had never been comfortable around Disharyl, and it was not simply because she was sa'necari. Something about her had never rung true for him. She was small, buxom, and somehow tawdry although he could not quite place his finger on why he perceived her that way.
Jingen Scathwick ran past Luck and threw his arms around his mother and she kissed the top of his head. The boy had just turned thirteen. He was one of the two oldest of Anksha's twenty-eight child slaves, sa'necari-born, branded and collared, but not held in the destructive bondage of her Dominance Link. Jingen released his mother to give Luck a polite smile and dip of his shoulders.
Luck turned about, knowing that where Jingen went, his sullen companion, Stygean Loosestrife, was frequently close behind. Stygean carried an armload of firewood into the circle created by the two wagons and Amiri's big tent.
"Staying out of trouble? Luck stepped closer to the boy.
Stygean dropped the wood in a pile near the fire and backed away from Luck with an uncertain expression that soured into a glare. I'm not allowed to visit my father until my chores are done."
Luck studied the boy's eyes, noting the hatred in them. A shift in Stygean's scarf as the boy moved revealed the edge of the slave collar laying beneath it. Then you better get to it."
Stygean snarled and ran off.
Luck could understand why his friend, Travis Potshard, disliked the boy; however Luck himself had mixed feelings.
* * * *
Stygean threw himself down on his bedroll exhausted from a day of travel on horseback followed by hours of chores. A small chest sat at the head of his bedding. It contained all that remained of his personal possessions. His family had been wealthy and powerful. Now he had nothing except a few changes of clothing, three books that Isranon had given him, and an empty swordbelt and scabbard.
He pulled the tie off his tail of black silken hair, tucking it under his pillow. It hung to the middle of his back and would have grown all the way to his ankles if he let it. The blackened metal slave collar chafed his neck and his ran his fingers beneath it before letting them stray to the A rune burned into his light olive shoulder. Blood normally healed everything for a sa'necari-born like Stygean, but the smith who branded him had used a kendaryl iron. Nothing would ever make it go away.
His tent mate, Jingen Scathwickalso a slaverolled over in his bedding and propped his head on his hand. Finished?"
"They always make me do more than you. Stygean snarled a curse under his breath.
Jingen sneered at him. That's because you cause them more trouble than I do."
"I hate them."
"So do I. But that's no cause to get yourself disciplined every time you turn around. You ought to be more sneaky about things."
"I can't be. They killed my mother and they're killing my father. It eats me up to think about it."
Jingen shrugged and stretched out on his back. I'm beginning to think you've given up on our plans for vengeance."
"I haven't."
"You have to be nice to their faces, stick them in the back when we get our hands on some blades."
"Fat chance getting a blade."
"If you say so. Real sa'necari don't give up so easily. I think you're afraid of the Renunciate. The price of heresy is death, Stygean. We're the only ones free to do it to him."
"I don't know..."
"Don't be a gutless cow. We'll bide our time and then we'll slip him the blade."
"The Renunciate? Stygean rolled over on his side to face his friend.
Jingen rolled his eyes. Yes. The Renunciate. He's a heretic. Death is his destiny and we'll give it to him."
"I just ... I just don't know. Stygean could not keep the hesitation from his voice.
"Are you sa'necari or have you become one of the cattle?"
Stygean tensed, pricked by the suggestion that he was not sa'necari enough. I am sa'necari."
"Then it's agreed. We stick him."
Stygean sucked in a long breath. I'm not afraid of them. I'll do it."
* * * *
As she did every evening once camp had been made for the night, General Nans Gryphonheart joined Isranon in the command tent for a glass of wine and a discussion of the day's events; they would also plan for what they might expect the next day based upon scouting reports and pin-point where they were on the maps of the region.
War had never been something that Nans expected to find herself involved in. She had earned her runes as a freeranger at seventeen, doing search and rescue work; which rarely involved fighting. Nans had taken out her share of monsters and bandits; however, war was far different.
One of the more pleasant discoveries of the previous week had been a town with a relatively intact collection of abandoned taverns, wine shops, and a distillery. They had seized every bit of good liquor in the place. Their foragers always went through the abandoned towns with swift thoroughness.
Tenly, Isranon's aide-de-camp, had a talent for making perfect mulled wine, adding the cinnamon, cloves, and sugar precisely to a warmed cup of claret. His skills, attention to detail, and unflappable nature, led Nans and her officers to overlook his private indiscretions; one of which was appropriating looted goods acquired in his foraging expeditions and then selling them to various soldiers under the table.
General Nans Gryphonheart tapped the map on the table in the command tent, a huge blue pavilion. She was a cinnamon-haired, sapphire-eyed mon and tallthough not by Sharani standardsat five foot eleven inches. Most people knew her only as a freeranger captain turned general; some knew that she was the bastard cousin of King William Gryphonheart of Gormond's Reach, daughter of a Gormondi princess who most considered mad. Until a year ago, only the Rowdies and close friends knew that she was yuwenghau, a demi-god; the wilderkin daughter of Willodarus, God of the Woodlands and Wild Creatures. Nans had been forced to reveal herself after becoming trapped in Minnoras as the city-state fell to the forces of a hellgod, Gylorean Galee. She had ripped the portcullis o
ff with her bare hands and led a group of refugees through to safety in Gormond's Reach.
"Once we strike the Lusatranden Highway, we should be able to make better time in spite of the weather. Nans flicked a wisp of cinnamon hair from her face.
Isranon sat with his legs wide and a nibari kneeling between them, her arms together behind her back in First Position. He listened to Nans with his fangs buried in the nibari's neck. The blood filled his mouth, ran down his throat, and filled his body with a pleasant warmth. She was his third that evening. He licked the wound closed and wiped his blood-rimmed mouth on a small square of black cloth.
"Tell me about the road, Nans. He noticed that she no longer stiffened when he fed in front of her. Isranon had met Nans on the edges of Gormond's Reach, leading a small party of refugees, survivors of Gylorean Galee's coup that caused a bloodbath in Minnoras. Their respective peoples were mortal enemies, and he had been reluctuant to reveal his nature to her, until a vampire-led ambush forced him use his fledgling powers to save them. They had crossed the gulf of distrust lying between them. Friendship had blossomed and devotion followed.
Haig entered, running a hand through his unkempt, coarse black hair. He wore a bearskin cloak thrown back which matched the generally hirsute aspect of his stocky, powerful body. One of the five Lemyari vampires in Isranon's company, Haig led his fellows in service to the Renunciate.
Tenly brought out glasses and three of the golden preserving bottles the sa'necari produced. He turned to Haig and asked in a droll tone, Troll, demon, or manticore?"
Janrae Frank Dark - [Dark Brothers of the Light 08] - Blood Hope Page 2
