Frank-SQuest

by Serpent's Quest [lit]

  Baroucha felt an odd satisfaction in the alterations. She had begun to pride herself on her self discipline, which allowed her to deal with Malthus to her advantage. Having Malthus for a business partner made her feel less intimidated by Cahira. After all, what was a minor lycan mage compared to a consummate sa'necari.

  She was just closing for lunch when Malthus arrived. Baroucha knew what he would want first. He turned the sign to closed and headed for the workroom without a word. The healer followed, opening her collar and stroking her neck in anticipation. It still hurt when he bit her, but Baroucha had learned quickly how to endure it.

  Malthus sat on the sofa waiting for her as she entered the workroom. She joined him there, settling against the arm of the sofa so that it would support her once he began to feed. Fresh blood had qualities that flesh lacked. The sa'necari were dependant upon those qualities of the blood, relishing and feeding upon them at every opportunity. She knew it well.

  Anticipation sent a rush of adrenaline through her.

  His fangs descended and he wrapped his arms around her, breathing along her neck. Heaven or Hell, Baroucha."

  "Heaven. Let me feel young again."

  She shuddered as Malthus bit into her. Then he triggered her endorphins and sent her into dreams. For a little while, it was her beloved Alistar sucking on her neck. Baroucha was young and in love again. The dreams ended too soon as Malthus released her.

  He licked away the drops that had eluded his mouth as he fed. I'm going to hire you an assistant, Baroucha."

  "Why? I've never needed one. She grumbled low in her throat, half formed words that Malthus had trouble discerning.

  "You can do more important things for me. Malthus took a gold coin from his pouch and slipped it into her hand.

  "Carrot and stick? She stared at the coin, which was half a year's pay for the average lycan laborer. You tie my mind in knots and then give me gold?"

  "Which would you rather have?"

  "Gold. There won't be much for me soon."

  Malthus caught the bitter edge underlying her words. What do you mean?"

  "Cahira Sinclair ... Kynyr's grandmother ... She's opened a shop around the corner from the Difficult Horse."

  "You want to get rid of her? Or are you asking me to?"

  Baroucha's eyes glittered. You're my partner, aren't you?"

  Malthus stroked his beard, thinking. I'll have a look at her. If it's to my advantage, I'll remove her. Meanwhile, I have other matters to take care of."

  He got up to leave and Baroucha clung to his arm. One more thing."

  "What?"

  "Rumors. I've heard that your mother has potions to restore one's youth."

  A sly smile slid across Malthus lips. She has such."

  "How can I get them? Baroucha's hold on Malthus arm tightened with desperation.

  "Kill someone for me."

  * * * *

  In the middle of the afternoon, while everyone was working or at their chores, Malthus went to visit Granta with an empty satchel hanging from his shoulder. He had been watching her home for days, and he knew when he would find her alone. The little dog was tied out back. Malthus let himself in quietly, uncertain about how much age had reduced her hearing. After a quick search, he found her in the kitchen with the diaries spread over the small table in front of her. Her loosely tied robe gapped open at the top and parted at the knees, revealing the upper edge of her shriveled breasts, and her bony legs.

  The semi-literate crone read them aloud to herself, struggling with each word.

  On the far side of the kitchen, Moss began to bark and scratch at the door, demanding to come in. Granta's head came up with a frightened look and she closed the diaries.

  "Hello, Granta. Can I help you with that? Malthus asked, sauntering toward her.

  "You didn't knock. Granta pushed her chair back from the table.

  "You should not be alone, you know. Not with a murderer loose."

  "Get out of my house. Granta stood and changed to her hybrid form, which caused her belt to come untied. The robe fell open. Old and frail, completely white with age, Granta's skin sagged on her withered body, and her breasts drooped to her waist.

  Malthus halted just beyond her reach. Did Nikko write about me, Granta?"

  She brandished a thin claw at him, snarling, Get out."

  "When I'm ready. Malthus lunged, and threw an arm around her, pinning her wasted body to his, her arms to her sides.

  "Bastard. She twisted in his grasp, straining against the tremendous strength imprisoning her, and suddenly the realization of what he was shone in her eyes. Sa'necari."

  Malthus touched the hollow of her throat with a word of command, and she could no longer speak above a whisper. Granta's eyes rounded like tree burls.

  She bit for his face, but he lifted his shoulder and bumped her under the chin. Her mouth closed on his shoulder and the chain mail he wore hidden beneath his garments turned her worn old teeth.

  "None of that, Malthus said, brushing his finger along her collarbone, black power burning on the tip, as he spread her robe open more.

  "Aiiiii. Aiiiii. Granta's scream sounded hoarse and rasping beneath the smothering spell.

  His fingers formed a claw with his middle finger resting in the hollow between her breasts, and he enervated her with a word. Granta's head lowered, and she hung flaccidly in his grip. Her hands closed into impotent fists.

  "Don't ... hurt ... me."

  Malthus smiled thinly, cocking his head with a glance to the side. Relax and the pain will be short. He pressed his face into her neck, murmuring, It's time to join your son."

  Granta panted hard, her heart palpitating. Gods mercy, please no."

  "Yours ... will be a kind death ... compared to his. Malthus spoke in a soft voice, utterly without harshness, calm and dispassionate.

  He inhaled the pleasant lycan musk clinging to her as he slipped his hand beneath Granta's robe and placed his palm over her heart. The spell worked best flesh to flesh, although clothing, and even armor, was no barrier to it. He gave a sharp arcane jab into the heart muscle, and lapped up her suffering.

  Pacing was an art that he had mastered long ago. Hurt them a little, or hurt them a lot, but never let them know when the next is coming. Besides, this had to look progressive and different from the one suffered by Tempest.

  When he finished it would look as though she had suffered from heart problems for years. He knew lycan physiology and bio-alchemy inside and out. Inside and out . The phrase almost made him chuckle when he recalled how many vivisections it had taken to master the knowledge.

  Tears of pain and terror ran down Granta's face. Stop."

  Malthus liked the way flesh felt as it died. The auric taste of it, added to the rhythms of her fear, whetted his necromantic hunger. Her shuddering anticipation enhanced his pleasure and fed him. Now, in earnest. Ready?"

  Granta's feeble yanking and pulling at her arms in an attempt to get them loose achieved nothing. Please don't."

  He Read her, finding that her heart was not strongfor a lycannot nearly as strong as Tempest's had been. Still, to deceive the Readers who would examine Granta's remains, it paid to proceed carefully.

  She writhed in his grip, knowing what was coming, but not when. Please."

  Kissing her cheek, he sketched a death web over her left breast. The spell melted through her flesh and settled around her heart. He returned his palm to its place on her chest and stabbed her with power.

  Granta yelped at the shooting chest pains, yet her spell-muted voice released the sounds softly and sharply punctuated.

  Malthus began kissing her face as he increased the flow of the dark energies into her heart as he had with Tempest, all the while describing how he had killed Nikko, what it felt like for a lycan to die from Devil's Silver.

  "Neeekooo. Granta sobbed as much in grief as in pain.

  Beyond the door, Moss continued to bark and growl with increasing desperation.

  Malthus doubt
ed the dog would attract attention at this time of day, but decided to quicken the process of Granta's dying, since he needed to do it in stages to cover its arcane origins. He forced Granta back into fully human form with a needle of power in her mind, his arm tightening around her as she shrank. She would fail faster in that shape.

  The old crone whimpered in that canine fashion Malthus enjoyed hearing, her head wagging back and forth listlessly. It aroused him. Rubbing his erection along her body, Malthus realized how rite-hungry this was making him. Granta's breathing shallowed out, and increased again in a fluttering struggle. Her body erupted in a cold sweat. He licked the moisture from her face.

  "Don't fight me, Granta. It won't hurt as much, Malthus said in a soothing voice.

  Granta moaned, her eyes widened, and her mouth frothed, drool sliding from the corners. Please, no, she begged in a shaking whisper, fighting the unyielding spell lodged in her throat.

  Malthus savored the way her heart weakened. He covered her mouth with his own and sucked her breath out. Granta's legs gave and she slipped against him. Malthus held her to his chest, his lips touching her white locks. He straightened Granta's chair, settled her into it, and pushed it back to the table.

  Drained and debilitated, Granta's neck could not support her head, and it flopped backward on her shoulders, which forced her to look into Malthus smiling face. Please stop... Granta gasped out. I won't tell."

  "Hush. The less you resist, the sooner it's over. He thought her eyes looked lovely with the glaze of pain in them. Malthus placed two fingers on each of her temples, sending the power into her head. Grief has caused you to have a fatal stroke, Granta."

  Granta clenched her eyes shut against the sensation of searing needles in her skull. She shuddered. Malthus Read her as he worked, selectively disrupting various impulses in her brain. Her eyelids trembled madly, face twitched, and abruptly the left side drooped.

  "Nearly finished. Malthus shoved his hand inside her robe, placed his palm firmly against her sagging breast, and renewed the pressure on her heart. You're dying nicely, like a good girl. He kissed her forehead. You and Nikko will be reunited soon."

  Malthus scanned her damaged organ, and discovered that the lower aorta was closing faster than the others. He focused, wrapped his gifts around it, and shut it off. Tilting her face so that it lay in the crook of his shoulder, Malthus held her like a lover, his cheek atop her head, to drink in her body's fading efforts to cling to the life he was stealing.

  He felt her awareness gray into shock, as Granta lost consciousness. Yes, Granta, he said, although he knew she could no longer hear him. Just a little bit more and we're done."

  Malthus tightened the grip of his power and stopped her heart.

  Her body gave a final convulsive jerk.

  The air rattled from her lungs.

  Granta's eyelids quit moving, her lips parted, and she slipped sideways over Malthus arm. He held her up, moved the diaries aside, and allowed her corpse to settle face down upon the table.

  "A fine effort, Granta. Exactly why I favor lycans."

  As he had with Tempest, Malthus searched her remains with his necromantic senses, studying his artistry to see how closely he had mimicked a stroke and a heart attack in her. Satisfied with his results, Malthus scooped the diaries into his satchel, searched the house for more without leaving a trace of his passage, and left swiftly.

  Moss howled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SEDUCED BY DARKNESS

  Claw,

  Isranon doesn't want the child. He says that the child isn't his. That Merissa was sleeping with Troyes and other sa'necari who came through. He called her a slut. Isranon, also says, that even if that were not so, that he would never recognize a half-breed bastard boy as his own. He has called the boy an abomination.

  He has changed a lot. Some months ago he embraced the darkness of the rites to save his life from the embedded spells on the blades that wounded him. He has embraced his birthright. The Rowdies and Lord Dawnreturning drove him out after learning this. I have no idea where he is now. But if he should, somehow, turn up in the valley, grant me a favor and kill him. He is no longer the boy I helped raise and train.

  Nevin

  "No, Merissa said, crumpling the letter and throwing it on the floor. This letter is a lie."

  "Merissa, it's Nevin's writing, his code, his seal, Aisha responded, trying to put her arms around her daughter. Merissa twisted away from her.

  "You should have expected it, Merissa, said Claw. He's sa'necari. You saw what he did to Troyes. He'll do anything to stay alive. So he's crossed the line and committed the rites. That changes them."

  "Will you repudiate his adoption into the clan? Aisha asked, her voice quiet.

  Claw growled wordlessly before answering. Yes. And if he shows here, I will kill him myself and eat his black sa'necari heart."

  "It's a lie! The letter is a lie. Merissa fled the room.

  Kynyr reached for her as she ran past him in the hallway. Merissa, what's wrong?"

  "Don't touch me! Don't come near me! I hate you!"

  He stared at her in confusion. What did I do?"

  Merissa spun about, snarling, hair sprouting along her arms, going wolf on him. You've been trying to chase off the only man who ever truly loved me."

  "Malthus? Kynyr blinked. He's not good for you."

  "Because he's human? He loves me, Kynyr. If you touch him, I'll never speak to you again."

  "Merissa..."

  She turned her back on him, raced out of the manor into the yard, and scanned the gardens frantically, looking for an avenue of escape, not wanting to face anyone. Merissa blinked, trying to get hold of herself, realizing that people were staring at her, that the children had stopped in their play to look at her. All the gossip would start again, except that this time would be worse. Everyone in the valley and the village would be saying they had told her so, that sa'necari were not to be trusted, and calling her a whore and a slut behind her backand the boldest would do it to her face. She saw Darmyk playing with Ros and Lyrri, which meant that Malthus was in the garden. For an instant Merissa wavered as she spotted him sitting on a boulder beneath a spreading elm tree. Part of her wanted to go to him, part of her wanted to snatch Darmyk up and run off with him, while yet another part simply wanted to run until she exhausted herself.

  He rose to greet her, and Merissa knew she had to make a decision: she fled.

  * * * *

  Malthus sat on a boulder watching his nieces playing with the other children. The forged letter had arrived that morning and he had been here waiting for their reaction. Merissa was too emotional not to react in some spectacular and revealing fashion. He glanced when he saw the door open and Merissa came stumbling out with her hands over her face. He rose and headed for her. She wavered in front of him and then bolted past.

  Running after her, Malthus caught up to Merissa in a tangle of oak trees. She stood stock still, her fingers gripping her hair, her eyes red and half-wild, her cheeks wet. He went quietly to her side, hoping she did not flee again.

  "Merissa? What is wrong? he asked, his voice oozing with concern.

  She tore at her hair. Go away. I can't breathe. I can't think."

  Malthus lifted her head up with a crooked finger under her chin. Why are you crying?"

  "My ... my lover has repudiated our son. He embraced the darkside of his nature and declares that Darmyk is an abomination."

  "Ahhh. I am sorry. What a terrible thing for him to do. My father would never have denied me, despite my human mother."

  She swallowed back another round of crying.

  "Let's go for a walk and talk about it. Darmyk's life will be better than mine, because he has his grandparents and a wonderful mother. But it's difficult when a child is rejected."

  Malthus slipped his arm around her and she leaned against him. They walked across the yard and headed for a bench in an isolated stand of ash trees.

  "I loved Isranon. Since chil
dhood... Merissa's voice kept breaking. I thought I knew him. He killed Troyes to save me."

  Malthus stiffened slightly, listening to it come out. So Isranon had slain his brother. He would make certain to send Isranon some of Darmyk's body parts. A little hand perhaps?

  "I love you, Merissa. Marry me. I'll be a good father to Darmyk."

  "Let me think about it."

  * * * *

  Kynyr's eyes clenched shut for the space of several breaths and he shook his head in weary frustration. He had overheard Malthus propose to Merissa. After Kynyr's wounding, Claw had given him complete freedom to come and go as if he were a member of the family, rather than one of his guardsmyn. As a result, Kynyr had become Claw's eyes and ears both in the manor and in the village.

  He faded deeper into the trees and brush, circling about and that brought him to a bend in the Bonnie Draw River that ran through the extensive property. The rocky, Waejontori soil showed its teeth along the river in a sharp slope to the far side with piles of wind and rain smoothed boulders, worn flat and jutting out in layers. The near side, although less steep in its descent to the deep waters, had almost as many boulders and rocks as the far side. Rocks, many of them as jagged as a dragon's tooth, broke the surface of the creek, and water eddied around them in foamy whirls.

  "Hello, Kynyr."

  At the sound of her voice, he turned and saw Claw's youngest sister. Searlait. So this is where you hide."

  "You found me."

  Sitting in her favorite spot, a large smooth boulder that thrust out over the water from a root tangled shelf of dirt and rock, Searlait cast leaves into the water and watched them swirl around in frothy riffles, a distracted air clinging to her. A willow tree sheltered the rock, pressed along the right side, its roots humped across the edge and rear like a confusion of dried brown serpents. The long skirt of Searlait's blue dress spread out around her thin hips and legs, revealing her ankles and the lower part of her age-withered calves. An inch of cleavage showed above her tightly laced bodice, just enough to tease in the current de rigueur of fashion.

  Kynyr could see the fading traces of Searlait's vanished beauty, and wondered why she had never wed. She resembled her niece Merissa, with a wealth of ginger hair that had begun to fade toward white with age and a single ivory streak at her left temple. He imagined that Merissa would look like Searlait when she grew old.