Aisha started to protest, but Claw shook his head at her. His wife and sister left the room as if their feet were made of clay.
"I feel like I barely found him and now I'm losing him. Claw's eyes went distant, troubled. Is his brother still in Longbranch?"
"No. Todd's expression took a hard line. Kynyr's mother and his little brother have been moved to a Guild safehouse in Creeya. They'll stay there until the Grand Master himself decides it's safe."
Claw wheeled over to a cabinet, took out glasses and a bottle. Whiskey?"
"Even I don't drink this early."
"Special case, Todd. Claw set the glasses on the table and poured. First time I saw Kynyr ... it was like seeing my son again.'
Todd settled into a chair and stared into his glass, holding it to the lamp and turning it in his hand. It isn't easy."
Claw stayed silent for several minutes, drinking and thinking. I disinherited Merissa and her children."
"That's extreme. Todd downed the whiskey. It burned his throat and slammed into his empty stomach like a hammer. He turned the bottle around to see the label. Dragonsbreath. Appropriate."
Dragonsbreath was more famed for its potency than its taste.
"Malthus isn't going to rule through her children. Claw refilled their glasses.
"I see."
"Another thing. If Brock has not arrived within two weeks of my death, I want you to kill Malthus."
An ugly smile touched the corners of Todd's mouth. You have my oath."
* * * *
Kynyr's eyes opened. He saw Finn and Mary sitting in the room. Tired and weary, he half expected them to try to conceal the truth from him, so Kynyr decided to force it and avoid the platitudes they might offer. Black Mountain. I've ... known for weeks."
"Kynyr... Mary's voice thickened with grief, trying to frame a denial.
"Don't say it, Mary. I know what ... it means."
Finn glanced at Mary, his forehead knit, angling his eyebrows and the outer edge of his eyes.
Kynyr's eyes traced the ceiling beams as he tried to process the implications for those he loved. Finn, you'll take care of my son? And Kady?"
"Always."
"Where is Kady?"
"She went to Creeya to find a cure."
"There isn't one. Kynyr looked at Mary. How long do I have?"
A sob caught in Mary's throat. You could last two or three weeks ... or you could be gone tomorrow. It's hard to say."
Kynyr's thoughts drifted to Fergus MacFie and how he kept asking repeatedly for someone to tell his wife how much he had loved her. Kady ... if I ... don't last until she ... gets back. Tell her, I love her."
His eyes narrowed and his face twisted into a grimace. A low groan of pain came growling from his throat.
Mary poured a dosing glass of Pollendine and held it to his lips. Kynyr drank and then he slipped back into the darkness of fever dreams.
* * * *
For the first time since he arrived late last spring, Malthus sat alone at the Difficult Horse. No one spoke to him when he entered. No one joined him at his table. No one so much as looked at him until a nibari arrived to take his order. He paid for a tankard of mead and sat drinking it.
Hereward went about his business at the bar without as much as a glance in Malthus direction. Grief bowed the tavernmaster's shoulders and dulled his eyes. Malthus made a surreptitious survey of the common room in quest of Sally Wiggins and found only nibari waiting tables.
When the nibari returned to ask if he needed a refill, Malthus chanced a question. Where's Sally?"
The nibari's eyes filled. Convent. Master Hereward done shipped her off to the Sisters of the Woods at Chandler's Rock."
That caught Malthus unprepared, surprising him. Hereward had sent her to one of the few places that Malthus reach did not extend to. Chandler's Rock was a three or four days ride from Wolffgard and not even Malthus arts and influence could breach the walls of that legendary convent.
He stood the snubbing as long as he could and then headed for Sanctuary. The snubbing continued as he rode through Wolffgard and turned onto Cheshire Road.
He spotted Oswyl sitting alone on a tree round. Where's Shalto?"
Oswyl looked up, slack-mouthed, his eyes emptied of spirit. Dead. Oswyl spoke in a hushed voice. They left a note on him."
Malthus laid his hand on Oswyl's shoulder. I'm sorry."
The lycan flinched from Malthus touch, threw his head back, and howled like a mad thing. He went hybrid so swiftly that his clothing ripped, and then became completely wolf. Oswyl tore free of the tattered remnants of his clothes, and ran for the forest, snapping at demons that existed only in his mind.
Malthus dropped onto the same tree round that Oswyl had been sitting at, shuddering at the change in Oswyl.
Vika came up to him. You're not welcome here, Malthus."
"My cottage...."
"Beth left you the cottage in her will. You can keep using it. However, that still does not make you welcome."
Then she walked away without another word.
Malthus went after her. Why?"
"You're a jinx. Vika made a sign against evil. Bad as Alistar Weems."
Malthus stride faltered and he turned toward his tethered horse. He had been called many things over the years, but this was the first time he had been accused of being bad luck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SEARLAIT
Malthus sat in the Great Hall, watching Aisha and Claw's sisters at their looms. Robert Morcar and William Galloway had the bitch-watch this morning. William got up, moved his chair closer to Searlait, and whispered something.
She paused in her weaving with a laugh. A jinx?"
"That's what they're saying in the taverns. William chuckled.
Searlait flicked a glance at Malthus and then away, an amused smile teasing the edges of her mouth.
Malthus seethed. It seemed like everyone in the manor was laughing at him. The news that the villagers thought he was bad luck had not bothered him much until Kynyr's friends got wind of it and started turning him into the butt of the joke.
He departed the Great Hall abruptly, stalking through the hallways glowering. The stairs to the roof rose before him and he stared at them for a moment. Malthus had come here without realizing it. He climbed to the roof and headed toward Sorcha's Solar.
"Malthus?"
He pivoted on his heel and glared at Belgair. You followed me ... to tell me I'm a jinx?"
Belgair shook his head. That's a bunch of superstitious crap. They're poking at you because it takes their minds off the bastard."
The captain of the guard walked past Malthus and entered the solar.
Malthus hesitated and then followed.
Belgair sat at the table in his customary chair studying Fianait's portrait over the rim of his glass. She was beautiful."
"Yes. Malthus settled into a chair and poured himself an early drink.
"It's nearly over."
"What is? Malthus set his glass aside and leaned closer to Belgair, studying his face.
"I have myn watching the Maguire Estate. They sent for the priest."
"Last rites?"
"Yeah. They'll quit poking at you when they hear that he's dead."
Malthus spirits rose after talking to Belgair in the Solar, and he spent the rest of the morning anticipating word of Kynyr's death.
By early afternoon, with no word concerning Kynyr forthcoming, Malthus began to feel itchy. He locked himself in his study for a time, and poured over his coded ledgers, comparing his records against the charts in his book of poisons. There was a small variation in how much it took to kill a lycan. Slight differences in bio-alchemy could have outsized effects. He might need to get a little more of the poison into Kynyr to push him over the edge. Malthus prepared another bottle of it to take to Larena.
An icy breeze flowed through from an imperfection in the window frame and pushed a page over. Malthus glanced down to turn it back and saw the entry
about his last letter from Lord Hoon. He put his finger on the date. Zinzi would be showing up any day now for a progress report.
Malthus had nothing to tell herno progress to report. Too many things had gone wrong. His brother was still unavenged. His assignment for Lord Hoon looked close to becoming impossible to accomplish. His friends and units in Hell's Widow were dead. He had lost a third of his forces in the debacles at Three Stones and Longbranch.
"A rite. I need a rite to steady my nerves."
Malthus was accustomed to having access to victims and blood meals any time he wanted them. The subterfuge required for his prolonged stay in Wolffgard was turning into a frustrating study in deprivation. The longer he was here; the hungrier he became.
He threw on a cloak, slipped out of the mansion by way of the servants stairs, and saddled Devilton. He turned off Pendarke Road onto a hunter's trace and took a roundabout path to Sanctuary, avoiding Wolffgard entirely. Coming up through the forest at the edge of the camp, Malthus spied a lone female gathering firewood. She startled when she saw him and backed away. He recognized her as one of those who carried his compulsions and coercions in her brain.
"Come to me."
She came unresisting. Once he had her up behind him on the horse, Malthus rode back into the forest. An hour later he had a corpse beneath him, the pleasant high of sexual climax, and the necromantic satiation of a devoured soul.
He remembered his preparations for killing Searlait as he rode home. Tomorrow he would have something to report to Lord Hoon.
* * * *
The first payment for the death of his brother had been made when Branduff Maguire died. With Kynyr out of the way, Malthus felt free to do as he wished. It was time to kill the rest of the Redhand family. The knowledge that the villagers now considered him to be a jinx had startled Malthus. With his usual self-confidence restored by riting a mon yesterday, Malthus felt certain that he would either be able to turn that around or make it work to his favor.
He got up before dawn, concealed himself in a thicket of pines, and waited for Searlait to leave the manor as she always did. When he saw her going into the trees, he slipped into the woods, smiling to himself, knowing where to find her. In the night ice had crusted the ground, but melted within hours of dawn. He guessed that she was going for one last visit to the river before the weather began to limit her access to it.
Malthus found Searlait sitting at her usual spot on a large smooth boulder that thrust out over the water from a root-tangled shelf of dirt and rock. She sat with her legs tucked beneath her long skirt to keep warm, and wore a wool shawl around her thin shoulders. She cast leaves into the water and watched them swirl around in frothy riffles, a distracted air clinging to her.
"Hello, Searlait. Malthus settled beside her.
She jumped and turned, flushing when she recognized him. Malthus. You startled me. My hearing isn't as good as it used to be."
"I apologize. Malthus slipped an arm around her thin shoulders. You've been very upset about your brother and Kynyr. I thought...."
Searlait nodded, staring into the water. It seems that sorrow is our lot."
"Merissa cried herself to sleep again."
Searlait's head came up, concern softening her eyes. That's not good for the babies."
"I can't seem to comfort her right. I thought perhaps you'd ... talk to her."
"Of course. Searlait patted Malthus hand. I'll do what I can."
"Thank you. Malthus kissed the old bitch on the forehead. His fingers went to her throat and stripped her voice so that she could not call out above a whisper. He could have taken it completely, but enjoyed listening to his victims plaints as he killed them.
She flinched, eyes wide, and twisted away from him. Searlait changed: white hair sprouted along her arms, her fingers grew claws, and canine fangs appeared in her mouth. Two seams in her bodice burst, dumping her left breast over the top. She struck at his face, her claws going for his eyes.
Malthus caught her boney wrists, pinioning them together in one hand. When he had fought Kynyr last summer with practice blades, he had been forced to conceal his true sa'necari strength, which more than matched that of the average lycan in hybrid form. The rites had made him strong.
He shoved his other hand down her torn bodice. A small spell, yet sharp as a narrow blade, pierced Searlait's chest.
Her struggles faltered with a groan, the color fading from her cheeks.
Malthus pressed her white-haired body to his chest in the crook of his arm, covered her lips with his, and blew a spell down her throat, forcing her back into human shape. That's better."
"No, please.... She pushed at him, unable to free herself. Don't kill me."
Fear scented her aura, delighting Malthus senses. I won't draw this out any longer than I'm forced to."
He ground his palm between her breasts, and enervated her.
Searlait sagged against him, breathing hard, her chin resting on her chest. Sweat broke out on her face. She felt as weak as a newborn field mouse. Malthus ... have mercy. I haven't done anything to you."
"Except eat my brother. Malthus lifted her head by her forelock, settled it on his shoulder, and shoved his hand into her bodice.
A stunned light entered her eyes. Troyes?"
Malthus fingers tapped a contemplative rhythm across her sagging breasts. His deceptions depended upon creating a layered effect as if the damage had been progressive. He waited for his calculated spell to disperse, leaving behind only its results. At least you remember him."
"I didn't kill him."
"No. Malthus inclined his head, tilted at a slight angle, his lips pressed together in faint amusement. You ate him."
"I wasn't there. I never touched him."
"You're lying. Merissa told me you were there."
She shivered as his gifts roved her body in prickling needles of awareness. Please don't do this. I've been good to your nieces."
"That's a matter of definition. He pursed his lips, nodding. You're ready for another little jab."
Searlait shrieked behind the muting spell at the stabbing pain of the arcane thrust. The worst passed quickly, leaving her lungs feeling tender, burning with each breath she took. Her chest ached as if rocks had been piled against her heart, and her flesh felt bruised although Malthus had not left the smallest mark upon her skin.
Malthus amused himself by squeezing her flaccid breast and pinching her nipple while he waited for the spell to settle properly. You will have a stroke, fall into the water, and drown."
"Gods mercy."
He chuckled at the same tired, old phrases so many lycans had used while he killed them. Such a predictable race. Not nearly as intelligent as they think they are. Be a good girl, Searlait, and it will end sooner."
A battered puppy whimper shivered from Searlait's throat as Malthus Read her, found the flaws of age in her body, and constricted various veins and arteries. A sharp, black lance of power opened a small tear in Searlait's heart, just enough to pass for a congenital imperfection.
She gasped, her lips drawn back, grimacing at the pain in her left arm, chest, and temples. It huuurrts ... Gahds, it hurts ... so ... so bad."
"Silly bitch. Of course it does. Malthus brushed her hair back from her face so that he could watch her eyes while the spell subsided and the traces dissipated.
"You're killing me. Her head swayed in a listless manner, her lips parted wide as if she could not get enough air into her lungs.
"And you're stating the obvious. How tiresome. He Read her again. Yes, we're ready for a little more now."
Searlait spasmed with a sob as he applied a steady pressure to her heart, simulating the first stages of a heart attack. Oh gahds, my heart ... my heart."
"Claw says heart trouble doesn't run in the family ... it does now."
Her chest heaved, her heart palpitating like a mad thing. Tears started from her eyes.
Malthus drew his finger through the salty rivulet on her cheek. Relax. It won't hu
rt as much."
Cradling her against his chest like a lover, he pressed his fingers to her left temple, insinuating the blades that slashed the insides and left no blood upon the skin to mark their passage.
Searlait yelped. Her head throbbed as if a migraine had erupted. Blood dripped from her nose. A flash of temper brought a feeble growl. Get it over with, damn you."
"Patience. Malthus counted down the time it would take for the spell to set, and then followed it with another strike into her brain. It takes time to do it right."
The left side of her face drooped and the edge of her eyes and lips twitched. Drool dribbled from the corner of her mouth, gathering on her chin. She panted as if she had been running for miles. Gaahds..."
"There. There. You've had a tiny little stroke. Malthus rose with her in the corner of his arm, straightened her skirts, and picked his way down the shelf to the brown clay shore.
Searlait dragged her feet and stumbled, resisting him by catching her toes on every bit of rough ground that she could. Malthus rewarded her attempts with more disabling pain, making her whimper.
"Don't fight me, Searlait. It's too late for that."
They reached the edge of the shore and Malthus studied the water's movement. He wanted a spot deep enough in the swift, frothing stream to drown her easily, but not so deep that he risked being swept up by the current, which narrowed from riffles into rapids a short distance from them.
A yard of tall, fang shaped stones half a spear's length out seemed to offer the best place for his purposes. Searlait tried to pull back from him as he waded out to the rocks. The water rose to his knees. Malthus flipped her around putting her back to his chest and knelt, drawing her with him. Her skirts billowed up about her waist like the broken petals of a crumpled flower, lending her more buoyancy than he liked.
He took hold of her hair at the base of her neck and, with his other hand digging into the fabric of her bodice near the middle of her back, Malthus shoved her under the water. Her skirts rose and swirled around them. A corner of blue cloth snagged on the rocks, ripped loose, and went spinning in the current.
Panic sent a fresh surge of adrenaline and some fight back into Searlait. She shook herself, tore her head free, and left a handful of ginger hair in Malthus hands. He flicked the hair from his fingers as she came up choking, spitting, and snorting water.
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