Gail Z. Martin - COTN 03 - Dark Haven (V1.0)(lit)

by Gail Z. Martin

  When they reached Carina's rooms, Lisette was waiting. She ran to Jonmarc, gently taking Carina from him, lifting her easily with immor­tal strength. "I'll get her cleaned up and put to bed."

  "Riqua will be here shortly," Gabriel said. "We can cover distances swiftly when the need arises. It takes a toll, but she'll have the chance to rest when she gets here. Royster's close enough that Jess can bring him without great strain. As for Taru," Gabriel shrugged. "Mages have their own ways to travel, and their own limitations. The time it takes her to recover after the power she spends will still be less than the time to ride from Principality City in this weather."

  Jonmarc sat down in a chair facing the fire. Now that the battle was over, emotion over­whelmed him. He sat, hands clasped, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs staring into the fire, giving in to shock and grief.

  Finally, he looked up at Gabriel, who leaned against the wall in the shadows near the fire­place. "If you're wrong," he said, and his voice faltered. He swallowed hard and went on. "If they've brought her across, I have a favor to ask of you, my friend."

  He knew, looking at Gabriel's eyes, that the vayash moru took his meaning immediately.

  Gabriel shook his head slowly, and Jonmarc saw pain in his expression. "Would you be a slave again? My slave? That's what a fledgling is, for many lifetimes." Old memories flick­ered in his eyes. "That's why I haven't made

  any new fledges in more than one hundred years."

  "I told her that I'd come for her. I won't leave her."

  The doors opened into Carina's bedroom. "She's resting," Lisette said. Jonmarc walked to the doorway. Carina lay in a fresh shift under the bedcovers. She was pale against the pillow, with her hands by her sides like the carving atop a catafalque.

  In the courtyard, the bells tolled the second hour of the morning. Riqua entered, followed by Royster. "Jess told us what happened at the village." Her voice hardened. "I spoke with Laisren and Kolin. They've gone to find Uri. We must convene the Blood Council."

  "The Blood Council means nothing without its members' resolve," Gabriel said, and Jon­marc could hear the undercurrent of anger in his voice. "Uri may get the war he's wanted— and Goddess help us if he does. I no longer expect the Council to make a difference."

  Riqua took a deep breath. "Agreed. So we must make our own way." She looked to Jon­marc. "Royster brought the books he could throw in his bag. Kolin will fetch whatever we need. If there is a way to heal Carina, we'll find it."

  Taru arrived before the next candlemark. She looked drained, but waved away concerns. After a hurried greeting, she joined Royster and Riqua to huddle over Royster's books.

  Outside, the bells tolled the third hour. Jon-marc dozed fitfully in a chair near the fire, while Gabriel and the others kept their vigil. Lisette drew the heavy draperies in Carina's room. In the darkness of the inner chambers, the vayash moru could work into the late morning before needing to take their rest.

  Taru and Royster continued to work after the vayash moru went to rest, conferring in low tones. Jonmarc paced or stared at the fire. No one spoke.

  Just after sunset, Laisren and Kolin burst in, dragging Uri between them. They pushed the corpulent little man into the room.

  "I demand to know what's going on! This is an outrage! I promise you, we won't stand for this!" Uri sputtered.

  Riqua moved in a blur, shoving Uri hard with both hands against his chest, throwing him so hard against the paneled wall that a nearby paint­ing crashed to the floor. "Why did you do it?"

  "Do what?"

  With a growl, the she-wolf tackled Uri, knocking him to the ground, her teeth grazing his throat.

  "Eiria, no!" Riqua shouted.

  The she-wolf bared her teeth to strike. Before she could go for Uri's throat, the 'male wolf lunged. Yestin blocked her, growling danger­ously.

  Goddess help us. Eiria's lost control of her shifting. Jonmarc thought as the wolves circled

  each other. Eiria lunged again, opening a bad gash on Yestin's shoulder. He howled in pain, nipping back at her. Her bite connected on the next strike, sinking into his foreleg. With a growl, Yestin launched himself at Eiria, teeth bared. He knocked her to the ground and pinned her with his heavy paws. With a yelp, she surrendered and struggled free, running from the room. Yestin followed.

  Kolin and Laisren dragged Uri to his feet and threw him into a chair. "First the shepherds. Now an entire village."

  "I don't know what you're talking about!" Uri's fear was plain. "What village?"

  "Everyone in Westormere is dead," Riqua said, advancing on Uri. "Every man, woman and child. Vayash moru killings. They didn't even bother to drain most of the bodies. They posed them in some obscene tableau—"

  "Malesh," Uri whispered. "He calls it his 'art.'"

  "Where's Malesh?" Gabriel demanded.

  "How should I know?"

  Riqua slapped Uri across the cheek hard enough to snap a mortal's spine. "He's your fledgling. Young enough for you to know his thoughts. Where is he?"

  Uri wiped at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture that was a memory from his mortal life, since no blood flowed from his split lip. "How should I know?"

  Riqua reached out with her right hand to grasp Uri by the throat and dragged him to his feet. One by one, her manicured nails sank into his neck on either side of his windpipe. Uri gasped and twisted. " Vayash moru slaughtered the people of Westormere tonight. Seventy mortals murdered. I want Malesh to pay."

  "I told you," Uri rasped, "I don't know where he is. He's been dabbling in blood magic. Most of it doesn't work—he's no mage—but he must have bought a talisman to shield his thoughts. I haven't been able to read him for months now." "And you didn't destroy him when he betrayed you like that?"

  Uri looked pale even by vayash moru stan­dards. "I thought he might come around." "Did you send Malesh to Westormere?" "No. You have to believe me. I didn't know." "Malesh tried to bring across Lady Carina." Uri frowned. "That won't work. She's a heal­er."

  Riqua's voice was icy. "She's in the next room, neither living, dead nor undead, because of him." She reached for Uri again and he cringed, flattening himself against the wall. This time, her hand slid inside his brocade dou­blet, digging her nails into the silk shirt above his heart. "You're going to bring your cur to heel, Uri. Find Malesh and destroy him." Uri's voice was plaintive. "I don't think I can." Riqua's lip twitched. "Have it your way. You wanted to leave the Council, so you leave behind your protection as a member. You want to break the truce, then become the first martyr of the new order. There's not a mortal or vayash moru in the manor who would fault us if we burn you at dawn for what's happened." She raised her fingertips to brush against Uri's face as he flinched away. "Do you remember the feel of sunlight on your skin?"

  "Enough!" Panic tinged Uri's voice. "I'll go after Malesh. I'll go. Just don't burn me."

  Riqua's expression was remorseless. "Until you destroy Malesh, my brood and yours are bloodsworn. My brood will destroy yours on sight. You and yours will be hunted and outcast among our kind."

  "I share the oath." Gabriel took a step for­ward. "My family will also be bloodsworn with Riqua's. We will join the hunt."

  Uri fell to his knees before Riqua and clutched at the hem of her skirt. "Please spare them," he begged. "Malesh has at most two score of his own fledglings. Most of the brood isn't like him. Please, don't destroy my children." He looked to the stony faces of the others in the room.

  Riqua snatched her skirts out of his grasp. Uri covered his face with his hands, groaning in fear and distress, denied the ability to weep by the Dark Gift. "Don't look to them for pity," Riqua said coldly. "They saw the slaugh­ter. They burned the bodies." She nodded, and Laisren and Kolin stepped forward, each grab­bing one of Uri's arms and hauling him roughly to his feet with enough force to have dislocat­ed a mortal's shoulders.

  "Understand this. I won't allow the Winter Kingdoms to return to a time when we hide in sewers and live in
fear. We'll exterminate every one of your brood if we have to, but we won't let the truce die."

  Uri was shaking. "I'll find Malesh. I'll stop him. But please, spare the others. I beg of you."

  "No one spared Westormere." It was Jonmarc who spoke. Grief and rage drove out any ability to feel fear. "I made an oath to Staden to protect everyone in Dark Haven—mortal or not. But I'm not speaking as Lord of Dark Haven right now. Malesh tried to kill Carina." Jonmarc drew his sword, angling the point at Uri's heart.

  "You have no idea how much satisfaction I'd get out of running you through. All your blus­ter gave Malesh his ideas. You're just as guilty." Jonmarc let Uri feel the pressure of the tip of the sword over his doublet. "I can't go after your brood—not without starting reprisals. But I want Malesh. Bring the ones who massacred the people in Westormere for judgment."

  "Give me two days," Uri begged.

  At Riqua's nod, Laisren and Kolin released Uri. "Two days."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Just after the eleventh bells on the next night, Taru walked into the sitting room. Riqua and oyster were behind her. Riqua looked grim. Royster's white hair was disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through it. Taru's face showed her exhaustion.

  Jonmarc stood. "Anything?"

  The others gathered from where they had been waiting, Gabriel and Kolin and Neirin, Yestin and Eiria. Yestin's arm was bandaged, and there were scratches across his face. Eiria moved with a limp.

  Taru drew a deep breath. "Not as much as we we'd like. Between Royster's histories and Riqua's memory, we've found old tales where someone who was brought across regained mor­tality. Legends. Nothing detailed or reliable enough to be much use. We can't find any record of a healer being brought across without first los­ing the healing magic."

  Jonmarc shook his head. "Carina won't want to exist without being a healer. It's too much a part of who she is."

  Taru nodded. "I expected you to say that. I'd feel the same without my power. But it's an option. Since she hasn't been completely brought across, we're still looking for a way to bring her back. The Dark Gift is warring with Carina's healing power. It's like her body is fighting itself. Even if we can awaken her, we're not sure she can take sufficient sustenance either from foo'd or from blood. We don't have much time. A week at the most."

  "Tell me what you need. I'll find it for you. Anything, just let me help."

  The doors to the corridor opened, and Laisren stepped inside. "There's been another killing."

  Jonmarc struggled to focus. "What happened?"

  "Another body, dumped by the gates. The throat was torn out. And a letter, for you, pinned to the body." Laisren held out the parchment envelope.

  Jonmarc took it from him and drew a deep breath. "Lord of Dark Haven," he read aloud. "I challenge you for the title. Meet me in the forest beyond the Caliggan crossroads tonight by sec­ond bells. We will slaughter another village each night you delay." He looked up. "It's signed, 'Malesh of Tremont."'

  "He doesn't want the villages. He wants you," Gabriel said.

  "Does he? Maybe he wants war. Maybe he thinks he can win. I'm pretty sure he wants more than just Dark Haven."

  "The vayash moru who went to Westormere will gladly ride with you for a chance to punish the guilty ones," Laisren replied. "I'm in."

  "So am I." Kolin stepped forward.

  "And us." Yestin took Eiria's hand.

  Jonmarc looked to Taru, Riqua, and Royster. "Don't stop. No matter what happens, do what­ever you can to bring her back."

  Riqua nodded. "I'll stay with Carina. Lisette and I will be protection as well as assistance."

  Jonmarc turned to Laisren. "Take volunteers. Vayash moru only." Everyone but Gabriel fol­lowed Laisren. "Are you going to ride with us?" Jonmarc asked.

  Gabriel nodded. "Of course."

  "I know it's a trap. But I can't let Malesh pick off the villages. That's a sure way to bring war."

  Gabriel stepped from the shadows into the light of the hearth. "Malesh tried to bring Carina across. We know it didn't work—completely— but we don't know how much of a bond was created. The bond between a maker and a fledg­ling is very strong. It takes lifetimes to weaken. Destroy the maker, and the new fledglings are also destroyed."

  It took a moment for Jonmarc to find his voice. "There's no choice, is there?" he said bleakly. "Buy time for Taru to heal Carina, and Malesh kills a village every day we wait. Even if I could do that, even if it didn't break my oath to Staden, Carina would never forgive me for paying a price like that." His own voice sounded distant, as if someone else were talking. "Destroy Malesh, and I destroy Carina."

  "The bond between maker and fledgling is so close that the fledgling dies the maker's death."

  Jonmarc closed his eyes, trying to breathe. He lowered himself into a chair and stared into the embers. "Sweet Chenne." "I'm sorry, Jonmarc."

  "Malesh is mine. Just give me a clear shot. I'll take him quickly, painlessly. It's more tha'n he deserves."

  Gabriel said nothing, but Jonmarc knew from his expression that he understood. "I'll help Lais-ren make ready," he said, and left the room.

  Jonmarc stood and walked to the doorway of Carina's room. She lay on the bed, her eyes closed, unmoving. Jonmarc could not see her chest rise and fall. The candlelight softened the pallor of her skin.

  He crossed to sit at her bedside, and took her hand in his. It was cold. "I shouldn't have brought you here. I should have known better. Everything I touch crumbles." He withdrew the ruined shevir from his pocket, straightened it as best he could, and slipped it onto Carina's wrist. "I'll come for you," Jonmarc said qliietly, bend­ing forward to kiss Carina on the forehead. "Wait for me."

  Quickly now, before I lose my nerve, he thought. When he reached the door, he looked

  back for a moment, and then, taking a deep breath, left the room.

  He crossed into his own rooms. With practiced speed, he dressed for battle. Beneath his sleeve, he strapped the single quarrel in its launcher. He went to his desk and took a bottle of ink and a stylus, slipping them into his pocket, sure now of what he must do. Carrying his cuirass and cloak, he put out the candles and closed the door behind him."

  Dark Haven was quiet. Mortals were asleep, and the vayash moru were busy elsewhere. Jon­marc encountered no one as he descended the stairway. The familiar coldness of battle settled around him. It was the same emotionless chill that had gotten him through Nargi, through Chauvrenne. He'd hoped never to feel it again. Now it returned, as if it had never left.

  He paused only a moment at the arched entrance to the chapel. The chamber was lit by banks of candles; the stained glass image of Istra flickered with the torches that made it glow here, where no sun reached. Steeling himself, Jonmarc stripped off his shirt. He moved to stand in front of the large marble statue of Istra. Some long-ago sculptor had depicted a moment of anguish, with Istra lifting up the body of one of her fallen chil­dren as if to beseech the skies. At her feet was a large bronze reflecting pool.

  Jonmarc knelt and opened the ink. He dipped the stylus, pleased that his hand was steady although his heart was pounding. Better not to think about it. He carefully drew the symbol of the Lady over his heart. The ink would stain his skin. It wouldn't be permanent, but there would not be time for the mark to wear away.

  Jonmarc set aside the stylus and unsheathed his sword. He struggled to recall what he had seen men do on the eve of battle, years ago when he fought with the armies of Eastmark and Principal­ity. He drew a deep breath, and raised his sword across his open palms as he bowed his head.

  "Istra, Lady of Darkness. Hear me. I come to bargain with you." Only silence answered him. "Give me the life of my enemy, Malesh. Let him fall without pain by my hand, and in return, my soul is forfeit. I swear it." A slight breeze stirred in the chamber. The candles flickered, and a tremor moved across the surface of the water in the basin. As quickly as it came, the breeze was gone. Jonmarc sheathed his sword.

  "A noble g
esture, but unnecessary." Gabriel's voice sounded from behind him. "It's done."

  "You're already the Dark Lady's chosen." "She has a strange way of showing favor." "There's still time. There's still hope." Jonmarc pulled his shirt over his head and fas­tened on his cuirass. He looked at Gabriel. "I'm done with hope. Now, there's certainty. I'll destroy Malesh. And I'll come for Carina. Let's ride."

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Gail Z. Martin discovered her passion for science fiction, fantasy and ghost stories in elementary school. The first story she wrote—at age five—was about a vampire. Her favorite TV show as a preschooler was Dark Shadows. At age fourteen, she decided to become a writer. She enjoys attending science fiction/fantasy conventions, Renaissance fairs and living history sites. She is married and has three children, a Himalayan cat and a golden retriever.

  You can visit Gail at:

  www.myspace.com/chronicleofthenecromancer

  www.chroniclesofthenecromancer.com

  Read her blog: blog.myspace.com/chronicleofthenecromancer