"Who is Talons Trollbane?"
"She was the heir to the throne ... until someone poisoned her. The healers all thought it was a disease until it was too late."
"That's terrible."
"We all miss her. Anyway, what were you telling me about Cahira?"
"My husband, Kynyr's father Branduff, was the son of Cahira and Tarrant."
"So that's how a Maguire ends up as Prince of Red Wolf."
"You knew that already? Kady's eyes narrowed.
"I know a lot of things, but I want to hear you tell it. So go on, please, Lady Maguire."
"I feel like I'm being interrogated."
Stoneriver chuckled. You are."
Kady bristled; glanced at the cheese-filled biscuit she had just bitten into, and tossed it in his face. You're a bloody bastard."
She pushed away from the table and stalked back into the Music Chamber before he could stop her. Spotting the host, Kady stomped over to him. I want a lycan menu and a table for one."
"Lady Maguire, Stoneriver said behind her.
Kady indicated him with her thumb. With chairs too small for the arse to fit into."
"Lady Maguire... Stoneriver put his hand on her shoulder.
Kady whirled around, faster than he had expected. A rainbow aura enveloped her as she lashed out and struck him in the face with her fist. Stoneriver went flying backwards, overturning chairs and tables in his path until the wall stopped him.
A stunned look played across his face for an instant before melting into a rueful expression and he rubbed the back of his head. I haven't been hit that hard in years. You might have warned me that you were a battlemage."
"I'm nothing of the sort. Kady blinked in confusion, uncertain of exactly what she had done. My guurmondru is Todd Sinclair."
"I see. Stoneriver nodded thoughtfully. Let's start over? Brock Redhand asked me to speak with you. I'm his aide-de-camp."
"Ooh. Kady's eyes widened and she hurried over to him. You should have said that in the first place. I hope I didn't hurt you. Kynyr says I'm entirely too grumpy since I became pregnant."
Stoneriver got to his feet and gestured at the host who looked half-ready to summon the bouncers. Put the damage on my account."
"Does this happen often? Kady asked, following him back to their table on the balcony.
"About once a year. Only I've never been the one who hit the wall before."
Kady giggled.
A servingmon came onto the balcony with a bottle of sparkling wine and gestured at a black-skinned giant of a mon wearing a lionskin around his waist and leaning on a crutch. Compliments of his lordship. He says he's always wanted to see someone knock Stoneriver on his ass."
Stoneriver burst out laughing and made an obscene gesture at the black mon that was returned in kind.
"Who's that? Kady tried not to stare. She had never seen anyone with such dark skin before.
"Mohanja Raam, second High Lord Lieutenant to the Grand Master in charge of Records and Research."
Kady gave him a nod of thanks and waited until Mohanja had moved on before asking the obvious question. What's wrong with his leg?"
"He was injured fighting a pack of Ylesgaire vampires. His leg healed wrong. There was a lot of trouble in the palace that year. If Mohanja had taken the time to stay off it and let it heal it would have been fine. Instead, he refused to be invalided by it, and sacrificed his own healing for the good of the realm."
"He sounds courageous."
"He is. Stoneriver closed the intervening doors to give them privacy. Give me your word of honor not to repeat what I tell you and I will make an offering of trust to you as an apology."
"You have it."
"I'm an intelligence officer. My immediate superior is Brock Redhand. And we're Netherguard, not Guild. We have reciprocal ties. I've been assigned to investigate and research the possibility that the Butchering Serpent is at large in Red Wolf."
"Oh my. Kady felt like she was in over her head with this and that thought triggered a memory of the times that Kynyr had had to fish her out of various rivers because she had never learned to swim.
"Everything you tell me will be placed in a report to be handed into Brock. We're giving you the opportunity to convince us whether or not to prove military assistance to your people."
"So I had better start talking."
"And eating. Don't let your food get cold."
* * * *
Stoneriver paced the parlor of his suite reading a report from the stack on his table. As soon as he had escorted Lady Maguire to her rooms, Stoneriver had put in an expedited request for reports concerning events in and around Red Wolf for the past year. Queiggy the head clerk had gotten them to him in less than an hour.
If there was a pattern to what was happening, Stoneriver had not found it yet. He scratched idly at the thick black hair on his chest. He wore only his soft wool trousers.
A soft knock came at his door. Stoneriver set the report down and answered it.
Larena Wiggins stood there in a filmy dressing robe over a lacy negligee. May I come in?"
Stoneriver felt tempted to slam the door in her face, reconsidered, and called it research. By all means, Miss Wiggins."
Larena sashayed over to his couch and settled on it, wiggling a bit as if trying to get comfortable. One shoulder of her robe slipped off, flashing him a view of her nipple which the sheer fabric could not conceal.
I've seen better. He turned his back on her, heading for a cabinet as he felt the old rage and resentment start to sour in his stomach. Wine, Miss Wiggins?"
"Whiskey. And call me Larena."
"Larena. Right. He returned with a bottle of single malt Cair Dairmud. Stoneriver sat down in his favorite chair, unwilling to sit elsewhere despite the fact that it put him closer to her than he wanted to be. He poured for both of them.
Larena turned the bottle around to see the label. You've got expensive tastes."
"Why are you here?"
"To get to know you better. Larena's eyes scanned the lush furnishings. You must be a lord or something."
"Or something. Stoneriver's finger described an impatient circle on the chair arm. It's hard to believe that you're Lady Maguire's sister.
Larena flicked the tie to her robe open.
Stoneriver tried to ignore it, focused on her face rather than her breasts, but the hungry bitch look in her eyes infuriated him. How was your shopping?"
"I bought this today. Do you like it?"
"I suppose."
That must have been the wrong thing to say, because Larena threw herself between his outstretched legs and buried her face in his crotch. All of his restraints snapped in a surge of wrath. He threw her to the floor and pounced on her snarling. I'll give you what you want, slut. Then you'll answer my questions."
Larena screamed.
The hulking creature that mounted her was neither human nor lycan. Covered in coarse black hair, the light-tipped guard hairs gave the beast a grizzled appearance. Wicked teeth filled the long snout on its terrible broad head. The paws that gripped her shoulders had heavy claws that could rip the bark from tree trunks.
* * * *
Mary answered the knock on the door.
Stoneriver stood there, immaculately dressed in wool oxblood shirt and trousers with a sleeveless black leather tunic, and tall boots. A sword hung from his tooled leather belt.
Kady glanced over Mary's shoulder and smiled. Even out of uniform, Stoneriver presented a military figure.
"May I come in?"
Mary opened the door wider and stepped aside.
Kady extended her hand in greeting. Stoneriver accepted it, bowed over her hand, and kissed her fingers.
"Lady Maguire, Cahira expects to be busy with the Patriarch all day. So Patriarch Mikkal has asked me to show you and your companions around the shops in the Cloverleaf."
Larena averted her eyes from him and said nothing.
Stoneriver offered Kady his arm and she took it.
<
br /> * * * *
Artair MacFie had been gone for over two weeks when he finally rode into the yard of the Three Candles Inn. He dismounted, threw his reins to a groom, and strode through the back door of the inn wearing a bright smile on his face. Artair passed the kitchen on his way to the common room. Nainsi Raggat, the wife of the owner, raised her hand in greeting and Artair nodded in reply.
Entering the common room, Artair saw that dinner had been set out on a long trestle table. His dreaded cousin, Darcy MacFie sat at the head of the table. By rights that should have been Lord Brodrig's place, but the fourteen-year-old lord never argued with Darcy if he could avoid it.
Brodrig, seated at Darcy's right hand, grinned at him. Artair, welcome back."
At Darcy's left hand sat Tobrytan MacFie. His eyes narrowed at the expression on Artair's face. You took your time."
Darcy looked up from her dinner and glared at him. She had strong features and hair the color of a red fox, which she wore in a tight braid, revealing that she had only half her left ear. A large gold loop hung from the right. She wore a breastplate over her shirt of heavy chain and carried a broadsword at her shoulder.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Artair swaggered ever so slightly to the table and sat down between Eanruig and Tobrytan. I wrote you about it."
"All you said was having a good time and will be home eventually. What the hell was that supposed to mean?"
Artair laughed. It means I'm getting married. I'm only back to pack my things and leave."
Tobrytan rose from his seat, grabbed his youngest brother's arm, and jerked him to his feet. Are you drunk? He sniffed Artair's mouth.
"Perfectly sober. Artair laughed and shrugged Tobrytan off.
"You're high on something. Darcy glowered at him.
"Love. I am high on love. Artair headed for the stairs.
"He's lost his mind. He's lost his bloody mind. Tobrytan exchanged glances with Eanruig and then both stared at Darcy. This is your fault, Darcy. You've been ugly with him every time he turned around."
"My fault? Darcy struck the table with her fist. What do you mean, it's my fault? If he's lost his mind, then he had best find it."
The two brothers ran from the common room and chased Artair up the stairs and down the hallway.
"I'm getting married. Artair shrieked with joy.
"You've lost your mind. Tobrytan made another grab for Artair.
"Married, Artair repeated in a very small voice. I met the bitch of my dreams."
Eanruig looked at his brother. I think you're the one we ought to tie up and send home. Not Darcy."
Artair winked at them. If I'm not back by midnight tomorrow, Todd's coming to get me."
"Todd Sinclair? Tobrytan shared an uneasy glance with Eanruig.
"He's my betrothed's grandfather. Betrys is the most beautiful, most brilliant bitch I have ever met. She reads and writes four languages. She can speak seven fluently, and she quotes poetry."
"So you're leaving us to deal with Darcy without you?"
"Toby, think of it this way. I'll be able to give Finn MacIver pointers on Darcy while I'm there. He intends to propose marriage to her."
Eanruig looked hopeful. That could work, you know."
"I still think MacIver is mad to court Darcy, Tobrytan scoffed. But we'll work on it from this end."
CHAPTER TEN
RETURN TO HELL'S WIDOW
The morning sunlight slanted through the window and glistened on Preece Malloy's sweating nudity, writhing and moaning beneath Malthus, their bodies tangled together in the throes of passion. Preece gasped as Malthus fangs entered the base of his neck.
"Mmmn. Hurts good."
Malthus licked the wound closed, lifted an eyebrow with an impish grin. You like pain?"
"I'm not adverse to it ... when it's this good."
"We'll have to test your limits ... I know many interesting ... bedroom games."
"I bet you do. Preece rolled over and kissed his blood off Malthus mouth. We still going to Hell's Widow?"
"Just the two of us. I need to discover how much damage Kynyr Maguire did to my organization there."
"I'm gonna kill Maguire."
"Not from the front. He's a master, Preece."
Preece shrugged. Who said anything about the front? I'm not going to face him down. I'm just going to stick him."
"Best way to handle it."
"Malthus, about Oswyl..."
"What about him?"
"He's a weak sister. I think we ought to kill him."
"I've no problem with that."
They dressed and hitched the horses to Malthus wagon. The journey to Hell's Widow would take half a day at most. Cullen Blackwood had held the record for the run from the manor to Hell's Widow, shaving it down to four hours riding Larkspur. The Race to the Widow had been a regular event each spring until the war in the north erupted. Wagons traveled slower and, depending on weather conditions and the quality of the horses, could easily take up to seven hours, but more commonly it took six. Few people were willing to risk ruining their horses by making the trip and back the same day, so inns flourished on both sides of the border between Red Wolf and Waejontor.
Stands of white pine and blue spruce shaded the broad dirt road on the west side of Wolffgard, making it seem colder there and the bite of late autumn more bitter. As they neared the bridge, shadowy canine forms moved beneath the trees, lycans patrolling in full wolf form, watchers whose job was not to engage the enemy, but to sound the alert should something untoward occur.
The bridge guards lounged on benches set back among a thick stand of fragrant white pine and cedars three spear lengths beyond the bridge on the lycan side where a heavy barrier of autumn-browned brush and briars offered them concealment from people approaching from the opposite side. They had a policy of getting a look at anyone arriving at the bridge from the Waejontori side before showing themselves, although they were clearly visible from the lycan side.
A couple of them waved at Malthus as they passed.
Tree trunks formed the support columns of the bridge that spanned the gorge that had been cut through the sheer stonewalls by the deep cataract known as the Eirlys River. The rushing roar of the Eirlys filled the air, drowning out the calls of circling birds. On three sides the land descended into rugged canyons and twisted valleys that looked like a giant had ripped his fingers through the soil. The lycan clans preferred to make their homes in hard to reach places, areas that could easily be defended against invasion.
The half-walls of the bridge's sides offered limited shelter while not blocking the view of people approaching it. Malthus wagon rattled onto the heavy boards.
As they crossed over the Waejontori side of the River, Malthus wondered what he would find when he arrived in Hell's Widow and if there would be anything left to salvage there. He had been postponing the trip for weeks, but it could not be put off any longer without arousing suspicion. People had started asking him when he would be going next and waving lists at him of things to pick up for them when he went.
* * * *
Fourteen-year-old Rheu Lawson had plans, big plans. He had spent weeks savoring his memories of the night that he had helped murder three people: Padruig Caimbeul, Odhran Lafferty, and a nibari whose name he could not recall. It made him feel powerful and dangerous.
His eyes drifted to the chest at the foot of the bed he shared with Preece. Rheu knelt in front of the chest and opened it up. The first things he spotted were the blades that he had worn the night they killed Caimbeul. Preece had told him not to wear them in public. Carrying a poisoned blade was illegal in Red Wolf, especially one coated with a blend of Devil's Silver.
The poison called Devil's Silver had been developed by the Romilay family specifically for killing lycans. True silver was dissolved in an arcane solution, blended with other toxins, and processed according to a secret formula that no one had been able to precisely replicate.
Rheu took his blades from
their sheaths and replaced them with the poisoned ones. Then he took a small box from his pouch and filled it with White Fire from Preece's stash. Digging in his pouch, Rheu found the metal tube he had recently acquired. He laid out lines of White Fire on a plate and snorted them. Preece never let him do more than two lines, but Rheu was feeling like a big dog, so he did four. He replaced the tube and the box in his pouch, and swaggered out of the house.
Vika spotted him. Rheu, I need some help with the goats."
"Forget it, you old slut."
She stared at him open-mouthed as Rheu headed down the path that led to Cheshire Road. Rheu laughed at the expression on her face. He had always wanted to say that to someone and now he had.
He intended to find three obnoxious cubs named Rory, Hamish, and Cooley, and kill them just to watch them die. That would pay Kynyr Maguire back for interfering with the Lycamornots.
Today Rheu Lawson felt like a big, dangerous dog, and he liked that.
* * * *
Malthus walked into the Devil's Dance Inn with Preece beside him. The large common room had a long bar to his right, booths along the walls, and round tables in the middle. The light from the candles in the chandelier above the room cast everything in flickering shadows. Malthus recognized some of the faces at the tables. The place had its regulars. No one directly met his eyes, but they were all aware of him.
The Devil's Dance had a public face and a private one. It served as a waystation for sa'necari passing secretly through the region and others whose errands would not bear close inspection by the Sharani garrison.
Dymier Bianco, the owner, frowned at Preece and stalked over to them. We don't want your kind here."
Preece dropped his hands to his knives. Malthus touched him on the shoulder and shook his head. Preece relaxed.
"He's a friend of mine, Dymier, Malthus said in a soothing voice. You've never had problems with my bringing my friends here."
"If it were anyone else, Malthus, I'd toss you both out."
Malthus lowered his head with a small glance to the side. What's wrong?"
"MacLachlan. That's what's wrong. Their damned bitch of a general, Darcy MacFie is taxing the human-owned shops on the east side, calling it reparations. You don't pay; they come in and take every thing you own."
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