They clinked glasses.
"What are we going to do about Brock? Malthus asked.
Belgair grinned. I've already told you I'll kill him."
"What if he brings armed myn with him? What then?"
"Then we fight. I've sounded out my myn and they are all with me ... except for a handful that are enamored of the bastard. When Claw dies, we'll hunt them down and kill them all. All the traitors will die. Erskine, Finn, Vayle, Robert, William ... all of them."
* * * *
Word got out concerning Claw's injuries faster than the old chieftain felt ready to deal with. Six days after he was found at the foot of the stairs, Raonul the smith showed up at the manor with Quinn Sinclair, his new assistant, trailing him. Quinn carried a draped object that looked conspicuously like a chair.
Raonul faced Aisha in the Great Hall, a smile flickering across his face mixed of equal parts pride and the tentativeness of a little boy expecting rejection. Everyone knew that Aisha could be as crotchety as Claw was crusty, and Raonul could not tell whether she would view his gift as welcome or as presumptuous. It's a gift. My own invention."
"A chair? Aisha's gaze traveled the outline of the object beneath the drape.
"My own invention. He gestured at Quinn to set the object down and remove the drape. Have a look at it."
Aisha's expression turned to curiosity as Quinn removed the covering to reveal a comfortably padded chair on wheels with a board in front to support a mon's legs.
"Well? What do you think? Raonul grabbed the two handles in back and turned the chair about, pointing out how easily it pushed, the brake, and other aspects. A sudden worry flashed across Raonul's face. Master Claw's arms are okay, aren't they?"
Aisha circled the chair, taking in all the different angles. Yes."
"Well, then! Raonul's chest puffed out with more than a trace of pride. He sat down in the chair and demonstrated it. He should be able to get about in this chair I've invented."
"What do you call it?"
"Wheel-chair, what else?"
Aisha gestured for them to follow her. Bring it up."
Quinn carried the chair and followed as Raonul strutted proudly along behind Aisha. They went up to Claw's bedroom and set the chair where he could see it.
Claw looked at them, a listless depressed air about him. What do you want?"
"They've brought you a present, Aisha said before Claw could order them all out.
"On wheels, see. Raonul indicated the chair. You'll be able to move about."
Claw pushed at the bed, dragging himself into a sitting position by grabbing the headboard. Aisha shoved pillows behind him to support him. He studied the chair. Does someone have to push it?"
Raonul shook his head. Not necessarily. Here, try it out."
The smith and his apprentice got Claw into the chair and Aisha stuffed pillows around him. They showed him how it worked and Claw's expression lightened.
"You won't be able to use the stairs, but you should be able to get about on this floor, Raonul said.
* * * *
Aisha had the Blue Room altered to accommodate the wheel-chair. The damage to his legs had in no way affected the enormous strength of Claw's arms. At first the servants got him up each morning, into the chair, and wheeled him to the sitting room. Then he learned to manage it himself by setting the brake, dragging himself into the chair, and settling his legs with his hands. Malthus and some of the other males, including Belgair, played checkers and cards with him for hours at a time.
Gifts came in and visitors showed up at all hours, although only a handful were allowed to actually see Claw because Sheradyn kept telling Aisha that he feared having him tired by too much company. To Claw's growing irritation, Aisha kept listening to the bloody nancidawg. More and more, Claw felt as though control of his life was slipping from his hands.
* * * *
Mages were such a rarity among lycans that most of them never turned a thought to magic. There were always a few old wives tales floating around about magical occurrences, but never anything that could be proven. Rachel had considered going to Luciano's mage shop, but felt that might be too obvious a choice. Going to Cahira seemed the better choice because of the diversity of her shop. Cahira's shop carried the best scented-creams and perfumes, and Hereward's daughters had always been among her best customers.
Rachel's head started throbbing and hurting the closer she came to Cahira's shop. Her feet felt heavy. Malthus had not forbidden her from going anywhere, only from doing certain things. She clutched a small bag of returnable jars and bottles as proof of her reason for going to Cahira.
The abomination growing in her belly made her sick to think about. Rachel focused her mind on perfumes and creams, thinking of the wonderful fragrances and delightful scents. She turned down Elmind Street and walked two blocks. The sign on Cahira's Potions and Notions came into view.
Rachel forced herself the last few steps. The bell on the door rang as she entered. The heady scent of frankincense filled the shop. Cahira had incense burning. Rachel's headache vanished and her feet felt light. She did not know the words for it, but Malthus hold on her had loosened when she stepped inside.
Cahira rose from the table in the rear. Hello, Rachel."
She smiled back at the elderly mage and strode to the table. Rachel sat down and handed Cahira her bag of empties. I've come for some creams and perfumes."
Cahira sat down again and went through the empties, calculating Rachel's credit for them. You have a lot of them. There's five pence worth here."
"I keep forgetting to bring them back."
That brought a smile to Cahira's face. So I see."
"I hear a lot of odd tales in the tavern and some of them have me wondering."
"About what?"
"If they're true."
"Well, most likely they've been a bit embellished. However, tell me what story is bothering you and I'll tell you what I think."
"They say that the seiryns can sing a mon out of his home."
"Only if they've met before and set the come-hither on him."
"I see. Well, this customer said that he defeated one by wearing a necklace of elder berries."
Cahira laughed. That's nonsense. There's no such property to elder berries. Rowan is the only way to weaken a come-hither. It won't block it completely, but if your will is strong enough you can act in spite of it. That's what Melisande, the wife of Dawnhand, is said to have done. She made a necklace of rowan twigs to block Waejonan's power and then she jumped to her death. It was the only way to escape him."
"That's a tragic story."
"Yes, it is."
"I need to get back to the tavern. Thank you for talking to me."
"You haven't picked out your creams."
"I'll get them later."
* * * *
Malthus watched Fianait and Searlait hovering over Claw in the Blue Room. Aisha had the household to run, so his sisters did most of the fussing over and tending of Claw. Darmyk sat in a chair at the big table, swinging his legs and chattering. Ros and Lyrri sat at the table also, but everyone was ignoring them: even Fianait who used to make a bit of time each day for the girls. That irritated Malthus.
His nieces would not be orphans if Claw and Isranon had not murdered their father Troyes. Troyes had been one of Lord Feodras two legitimate sons; the only one that Malthus felt close to. The other four sons had been bastards like himself.
Claw's survival festered in Malthus like a splinter rotting beneath his flesh, itching and burning with growing inflammation. His hatred of Claw spread its infection to include Fianait and Searlait. He had always intended to kill all of the Redhands except Merissa, who he regarded as his property and whose belly he intended to keep filled with his offspring until her body wore out. His lovely Merissa had become his first experiment in prolonged lycan fertility.
The original plan that Malthus had envisioned had been to make Claw watch the executions of his family. After his marriage
to Merissa, he had revised it to kill Claw first. Standing there watching Claw's sisters ignore his nieces; it made him reconsider it again. Searlait and Fianait would die first.
Malthus left the Blue Room and went to his chambers where he tossed clean clothing into an oilskin bag, then rolled that up in a backpack. He passed Kissie in the hallway and nodded at the nibari. I'm going into the village to do a bit of shopping. I'll be back late."
He took the path to the village, but turned off into a stand of trees and doubled back to the Bonnie Draw where Searlait liked to sit in the mornings before starting her tasks at the loom.
Malthus spotted Searlait's favorite rock and went past it to a pine covert. There he knelt and removed the oilskin bag from his backpack. With quick movements, Malthus removed the pine needles and stray branches that had broken off around a large leaning rock that a pine's roots had forced from the soil at an angle. He stuffed the bag with his clothes between the rock and the tree, and covered it up again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KERRY
Kynyr woke in the early hours, nauseated and dizzy. Liquor could not account for it. He wondered if he had come down with some minor but annoying winter sickness. He could not afford to be ill. Too much needed to be done.
He staggered down to the kitchen, trying to remember where Kissie kept the poppy milk. If he could just keep masking the symptoms until after he had killed Shalto and Oswyl, then he could take to his bed and rest until the worst had passed. Kynyr poked around the pantry, looking for where Kissie kept it. A hard cramp in his belly nearly doubled him over. He grabbed at a shelf and sent the bottles cascading toward him. Kynyr managed to keep the bottles from ending up on the floor, but everything was now out of place and he doubted he could find the poppy milk. He tottered to the table and dropped heavily into a chair with a groan as his stomach cramped again.
Isbeth and Kissie came in to get the stoves heating to cook breakfast. Kissie stared at him in concern. Are you all right, Master Kynyr?"
"Poppy milk ... I'm sick."
"Isbeth and I shouldn't keep giving it to you. You ought to go to Sheradyn."
"Please, give me enough to get me through the day. I can't afford to be sick."
"You should talk to Master Sheradyn. She went into the pantry and clucked at the confusion on the shelf. You've messed it all up. Isbeth, see if you can find it."
"I'll talk to Sheradyn, I promise. Just one more bottle."
Isbeth reached onto the undisturbed shelf above the one that Kynyr had left in disarray. She took down the poppy milk and added the poison to it, relieved to know that she would not have to administer the poison again today. The thought of what she was doing made her sick. She shook the bottle until she was certain that it had mixed well, and took it to him.
Kissie nodded at Isbeth and turned back to Kynyr. Try not to go through it too fast. Mistress Aisha will be unhappy with me if too many bottles go missing."
"Right. Kynyr opened it and took a big gulp.
"And you'll talk to Sheradyn?"
"Yeah."
Kynyr rose from the table as his symptoms eased and walked out into the garden. The shrubs and hedges looked dead in their late autumn retreat. He could smell the approach of snow. It had already snowed twice, but melted before noon. He had not left a gift on Tarrant's grave in weeks. At one time, Kynyr had faithfully gone to the grave each time the moon changed its phases.
He found the headstone half buried in wind tossed debris and that bothered him. His leg ached, so he gripped the headstone and started to lower himself to the ground where he could sit and clear it away. Severe cramps began in his stomach. He lost his grip, doubled over, and fell on his face. His chest felt packed with stones and he had trouble breathing. He rolled onto his side, clutching at his stomach and chest. A bloody vomit erupted from his throat. He fumbled with the bottle of Poppy Milk and drank several swallows. This time it brought no relief as he sobbed for air and vomited again.
As he finally managed to straighten himself, his gaze fell upon his hand and arm. Red splotches ran from his palm to the inside of his elbow.
Black Mountain Fever.
His world crashed. He would not see his son born. Despair and a yawning sense of desolation gripped him. There was still so much to be done to protect his family. Death did not frighten him as much as dying while matters were still unresolved.
"Tala, dear my god, let me live long enough to get the last of them. That's all I ask."
He prayed a long time. The pain eased. Calm acceptance of his fate settled over him. I'm cadhbair imhaig ."
A ghostly form walked from beneath the trees beyond Tarrant's grave, clothed in mist and limned in white as pale as the snow. Kynyr shivered at her approach and then recognized her as the spirit he had freed when he killed Heironim Traxton.
"Be strong my wolf, she murmured. The shadows obscure the truth, and you are a prince of shadows."
"Am I truly cadhbair imhaig?"
The ghost sighed and it was like the sound of wind stirring the twigs of sleeping trees at mid-winter. You are indeed a deadmon walking. The Serpent has killed you although you yet live. Be strong."
"Who are you?"
"In life, I was Brigit Silverpaw, Tarrant's first love. In death, I am a fading memory. She turned wispy and blew away on an autumn breeze.
"I will be strong, Brigit. I will be."
Kynyr rose from Tarrant's grave and walked into the manor.
* * * *
Kady examined herself in the mirror. What do you think, Mary? Do I look just a little bit pregnant?"
"Just a little? Mary chuckled softly. I'd say thoroughly. Is he kicking yet?"
"He's been doing that for a while. It feels so startling to have something moving around inside me."
"Yeah, you're fat, Larena said in a bored tone. At least you're married."
Mary caught the tiny wince in Kady's shoulders and changed the subject. You're quite the diplomat. If the Grand Master had been in residence, I bet you'd have had an army marching to the relief of Red Wolf already."
"Actually, Stoneriver promised to bring military aid to Red Wolf."
"He's a bastard. Larena sprang to her feet and rushed out the door. A bastard!"
Kady glanced at Mary. What was that all about?"
"No idea."
"Next time we go to Creeya, I want to leave Larena behind. She did nothing but embarrass me the entire time."
"Agreed. I'm certain Cahira will agree also."
Damayanti rose and stretched in the middle of Kady's bed. She scooped the cat up and stroked her. Such a pretty lady."
Kady set the cat down and dressed. She and Mary walked through the hallway toward the kitchen and heard laughter coming from Cooley's room.
"Cooley's back to normal. Those new children are very good for him."
"Is Kynyr coming home tonight?"
Kady's eyes went worried and her brow furrowed. Oh, Mary. I completely forgot."
"What?"
"The curse. I have all the words to it. Don't ask how, but I have them. I was supposed to show them to Kynyr and I completely forgot. It's been weeks."
"Show it to me?"
"Yes."
The door opened and Betrys came in holding Artair's hand. Mother, Artair and I have something to tell you."
"What? Mary eyed them suspiciously.
"We went to the Clerk of Records. We're married."
Mary's thoughts flew into disarray. Where are you going to live?"
"The shop. Artair is going to help Gram with the shop."
"Did your Gram agree to this?"
"Yes."
* * * *
The last time that Lokynen came to Wolffgard, he had been accompanied by Phelan the headmon of Three Stones Village after he, Hathura, and Meleajys saved Phelan's village from attackers led by sa'necari. Phelan had introduced him to his sister, Nathara, who rented him a house on the outskirts of Wolffgard. So far Lokynen had not spent much time there, but he intended to
remedy that now.
Considering that Lokynen looked huge enough to roll an elephant up and bounce him around like one of those inflated pig bladders the local children used as balls for their games, he knew that there was absolutely no way he could ever be inconspicuous. But at least being at the outermost edge of the village afforded him some privacy. He looked around his comfortable cottage and, after taking in the dust that had settled since his last visit, decided he would need to ask Nathara to suggest someone who could do some discreet cleaning.
Lokynen sat down on a large chair, took the carry ball out of his pouch that his wife Amberlin had been thoughtful enough to pack and send him by way of one of her shape-shifting apprentices, and tapped it with a word of command. The sitting room promptly filled with all of his favorite things, including three casks of his favorite beer. Lycan mead was tasty, but could not match what came up by ship along the Blood Coast to Rowanhart where Amberlin had her shop.
He sat the casks on a stand in the kitchen, popped in a spigot, and filled a large tankard, which he carried back to the sitting room to drink while he considered where to put everything.
A soft scratching came at his door, like a small creature with claws seeking entry. Lokynen had seen enough strangeness in his long life to recognize a summons. So he sat the tankard on a low table and went to the door. As soon as he opened it, a black and orange, tiger-striped cat darted inside and jumped onto the sofa.
Lokynen returned to his chair, took another swig from his tankard, and nodded at the cat. Welcome. Have we met?"
The cat's form shimmered in an orange field of arcane energy and became a tall, lean mon. No, but it's impossible not to recognize the Battle-Master."
Lokynen chuckled. No one whomps Lokynen. What's your name?"
"You can call me Kerry."
"What's your business?"
"Advance scout. I need to make contact with all the yuwenghau currently lodged in Wolffgard so that my mission can be coordinated with theirs."
"Are there a lot of us?"
"Enough. Pandeena, Hathura, Meleajys, Toniqua, Gyongy, Seoshef, Jushan."
Frank-EReturn Page 19
