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BLOOD PALADIN

DARK BROTHERS OF THE LIGHT-BOOK V

By JANRAE FRANK

Bloody Anksha

Blow softly ill wind of omen

I smell her scent, not born of woman

The Beast's scent is on the breeze

Through darkling woods she stalks

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Through halls no sane mon walks

Her glance, her scent will make you freeze

A rush of lust brings you to your knees

She listens not to all your pleas

Anksha, Bloody Anksha stalks the night.

She'll take your body, soul, and blood,

leave your corpse lying in the mud.

Anksha, Bloody Anksha stalks the night.

Those slain not become her slaves

Her dominance-link the soul depraves

In madness longing for her fangs.

Children listen, adults heed well

She is pretty, but she is fell,

Anksha, Bloody Anksha stalks the night

If underneath the moonlight bright

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You should glimpse her in the night,

Flee before she nears you, mon

You have not strength to fight her,

And no magic will affright her,

Anksha, Bloody Anksha stalks the night

–Lycan traditional teaching song

CHAPTER ONE

THE CAPTAINS

Isranon stared as the Rowdies came over the rise into the wide river valley
and saw fabled Ocealay, the City of the Five Captains, before them. It lay on
a strip of land made defensible by the islanding effect of two rivers
converging and then pouring into the sea, forming a broad, steadily deepening
delta to the west side; and a bottle neck where the captains had dug away the
isthmus to the landside, and sealed off their mon-made island with a
sophisticated canal and bridge works. Walls and towers enclosed the entire
island. He could not imagine how anyone would go about attacking it – or
getting off if the Ocealayens wished to hold them.

The bridge over the canal was down, allowing people to cross into the city
through the high outer walls. Various companies of freerangers, mercenaries,
adventurers, and others came through all the time, picking up supplies,
looking for hire and other business. There were a large number of open grounds
set aside beyond the walls for the purpose of their throwing up a camp as well
as caravansaries. The campgrounds would have an agent of the city posted to
collect fees.

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Nans Gryphonheart led the Rowdies onto the bridge, their horses dropping to
a walk on the steel-studded wooden surface. A merchant's wagons, drawn by
teams of horses, creaked along with its iron-rimmed wheels making grinding
noises against the sturdy wood beneath them. Myn rode past the Rowdies in
small clumps. Some raced along, eager to hit the town and find a room for the
night, then off for fun at the taverns, brothels, and gambling houses. Another
company, mounted and without wagons, rode past them. Nans gave them a quick
look, guessing by their red badges that they were more mercenaries. She could
already hear the hawkers on the outer green as they crossed to the far side.
The smells of the city drifted through, smoke from hearths and the forges of
the smiths, salt from the sea that met the fresh water of the river.

Their wagons rolled more easily on the flagstones of the street beyond the
bridge. The portcullis was up and the gates open. They rode into the
greensward beyond the inner walls and found most of it empty. Nans wondered at
that. Summer was a busy time of year. It should have been filled with tents
and wagons.

A mon with a red cap sat beneath an awning stretched over an open-sided wood
booth.

"You see him?" Nans pointed. "That's the fee agent. Don't get on the bad
side of him, whatever else you do. They could ban us from the city." She said
that mostly for the benefit of Isranon and his companions, since her original
Rowdies had been here many times over the past few years.

The street grew crowded, slowing their access to the city proper. A large
complement of troops pushed through the crowd to block their entry. The city
guard officer at their head, an officious looking mon with a bristling black
beard, gestured at Nans' banner.

"The Rowdies? I hear you have a mage of suspicious origins. The captains
would like to speak with you."

Nans regarded him coolly, her sapphire eyes darkening. "Perhaps we should
just ride out."

"We would rather you did not," the officer said. "High Captain Tamric is
most insistent. He wishes to speak with Lord Dawnreturning."

"Nans!" Haig shouted from the rear and Nans glanced to see that more guards
had appeared to encircle them, including archers with their bows already
strung and four ranks of halberdiers. They had been neatly enfiladed.

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The officer in front of Nans smiled smugly. "Please, consider this an
invitation, my Lady. You and your company will be allowed to depart once Lord
Tamric has had time to consult with your mage."

Anksha hissed as she and Isranon nudged their horses closer to Nans.

"What is going on?" Isranon asked, his dark eyes troubled. The breeze
flicked a long curl of ebony hair across his face, tickling his nose and he
put the strand behind his ear. No matter how tightly he tied his hair back,
the stubborn ringlets freed themselves of the leather thong that attempted to
imprison them. "Do they know what I am?"

"I don't know, but they are making us an offer we can't refuse," Nans told
him, and turned back to the officer. "Lead on."

The guardsmyn took them to a mansion on the west side. Its tall towers
overlooked the ocean. As they rode into the courtyard, Nans frowned. The place
was situated in such a way that to escape they would have to fight their way
through the entire city with nothing but the clothes on their backs – and that
only by gaining the outer wall and jumping into the ocean to the west or the
rivers on the other sides. Tamric would likely bring up archers if they tried
that. Furthermore, Haig's nibari had children. The children would never
survive a jump into the waters and would have to be left behind. Since she had
no intention of doing that, Nans had to deal with Tamric in some fashion.

The officer gave her a curt bow and led his myn away, leaving them there.
Nans signaled for the dismount and swung out of her saddle as the hostlers and
stablemyn began appearing to take their horses. She scanned the precisely
groomed lawn before her with its carefully manicured low hedge and sculptured
bushes separating it from the cobblestoned approach to the stables at her left
hand. The bright sun glinting on her cinnamon hair brought out the coppery
highlights in her long heavy braid.

She pulled off her riding gloves and stood a moment, slapping her thigh with
them. Then she walked into the mansion. Matters at Minnoras, when the city
fell, had forced her to reveal herself to a few people as yuwenghau; however,
circumstances had prevented it from turning into a rumor that could be
connected to her and spreading from there. Nans doubted Tamric knew that he
had just come up on the wrong side of a demi-god, a yuwenghau; for Nans was
the bastard daughter of Willodarus, God of the Woodlands and Wild Creatures.
If Tamric knew, he might have thought twice before detaining her and her
company. Still, it would be better not to reveal herself unless forced to.
Once a yuwenghau became known, the dark ones started stalking them.

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The entrance opened directly into the great hall, which was large with a
vaulted ceiling. Delicate frescoes of ships, whales, dolphins and merfolk of
various types graced the ceiling and walls. Skylights let the sun in. Nans ran
her gaze over the splendid outer hall with its brocade couches and wide
stairways. A pair of hallways opened to either side of both the downstairs and
the upstairs. Nans dropped her eyes briefly and swept them across the blue
tiled mosaic on the floor. This was doubtless intended for rich guests who
came to hire companies to fight in various petty wars. All those wars were
going to seem incredibly insignificant soon, if they did not already. Nans
wondered how much of that she should shove in Tamric's face.

The steward, who oversaw the household staff, came down the left one of the
dual S-shaped stairways that swept upward to the next story and greeted them
quickly. "I know you had not planned on this, my Lady," he said. "But be
welcome here. Normally we only have invited guests."

Nans gave him a wry look. "We were invited, just not the way we would have
wanted."

The steward nodded and heaved a sigh. "I have been informed of it. Your
people are not allowed to leave the grounds without express orders from the
captains, I apologize for this."

"It's not your fault..." Nans wondered what she could do here and just what
Tamric had up his sleeve. She definitely intended to rip the sleeves off him
if necessary to see what was under them.

The butler looked astonished to see the women with babes in arms enter. "You
have your families with you?"

Nans glanced and realized that he meant Haig's nibari. It would not do for
him to know the truth of it – that part of her company included vampires,
lycans, and a sa'necari. "Yes. That's Haig's harem."

"Oh." The butler nodded, sounding a bit flustered. "I will put them on the
north wing."

"You'll put us all on the same wing unless there is not enough space."

"But surely Lord Dawnreturning..."

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"The same wing," Nans growled. "Or we pitch our tents on the lawns. We may
be reluctant guests, but last time I heard, we were still guests."

"So be it."

* * * *

Nainee pressed close to Haig as she walked beside the Lemyari,
demon-vampire, with her son on her hip. She tried to present a serene front
for the rest of the nibari, who followed them in an uncertain and anxious
queue. Vampires who were not of the Borealysyn philosophy often slaughtered
their entire herds rather than allow them to fall into the hands of true
humans or sylvans. The existence of the nibari had been a closely kept secret
for centuries, but word of them had been steadily leaking out since the
Sharani overran Waejontor. Nibari were the cattle of the hemovores, such as
the vampires and the sa'necari, genetically altered and bred for docility over
tens of centuries. Bonded to their owners, they could not actively resist a
master's demands, even knowing that their deaths awaited them. However,
although all masters could demand their utter obedience, few could command
their complete devotion. Haig had the devotion of his and they would rise from
their ingrained docility in his defense. He owned nine females, a sterile
male, and a fertile male that he had ordered not to breed with his females.

Haig's herd kept their children close to them, carrying the littlest ones on
their hips. The males helped. The steward settled them into suites with
intervening doors, all adjacent to Haig's own.

Haig shared his bedroom with Nainee, who supervised his herd as lead nibari.
It did not bother her that when he slept he looked dead. A maid found a cradle
for her child and she got him settled there. Cradles would be the main
problem, as the nibari required nine. The steward had promised to request more
of them.

He stared down for a moment at the child in the cradle, wiggling his finger
in front of the infant's face and smiling when the small hands closed on the
thick digit. "He's going to be a strong one, Nainee," Haig said. "He'll make a
fine stud for my herd when he's old enough."

The infant started to pull Haig's finger into his mouth and Haig freed his
finger.

"No, little one, you don't want to bite me. You wouldn't like what that
could do to you." Haig experienced a flash of memory, reliving what it had

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felt like to be taken captive by the vampires he had been hunting and forcibly
turned. An old friend, Dane Jayce, was all that kept Haig from losing his mind
over the transformation. Dane Jayce, who turned out to be a vampire himself,
of the Borealysyn persuasion that did not believe in taking lives out of
appetite or for the simple pleasure of the kill.

Haig left the infant and sat on the bed where Nainee joined him.

"What are they going to do with us, Haig?" Nainee laid her head on her
master's shoulder.

"I don't know. But I have a feeling they've bitten off more than they can
chew." Haig flexed his extended hand and allowed the claws to emerge from
beneath his primary nails, venom dripping from the sharp points. "They are
underestimating Nans and Anksha, as well as Isranon. Especially Isranon. You
haven't seen what I have of his powers. He's gotten strong, Nainee. His body
may still be weaker than it was, but his magic is far stronger."

Nainee sighed. She climbed onto her knees on the bed, opened her blouse, and
assumed first position before him with her head tilted, her neck arched to
expose the favored vein, and her wrists crossed behind her. "I am afraid."

Haig sheathed his claws and kissed her hair. "Don't be."

Then he bit her and began to suck. The wondrous languor that swept into her
eased her fears and worries, and her body roused to his desires as her blood
slipped down his throat. This was the way it should always be, the total union
of nibari and master. She sighed softly and Haig stroked her back.

* * * *

Nans decided the final arranging of rooms and dragged the steward after her,
refusing to listen to him. She wanted everything arranged here as defensively
as possible. If Tamric wanted full cooperation, he'd have to throw them into
the dungeons, and he appeared to be trying to put on at least a pretense of
diplomacy.

Isranon was Tamric's target. She had no idea why or how much he knew, but
she would assume the worst and hope for the best, while reserving judgment as
much as possible. She placed Isranon in the middle of the hall in one of the
larger suites, bracketed him with Amiri and Zulaika, then herself and the
lycans, and finally put the rest of her Rowdies between them and the outer

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entry to the hall that opened onto the second floor landing. The four
remaining Lemyari went with Haig's group and the Ymraudes. It looked secure.
Tamric was not going to simply steal Isranon out from under them or shove a
blade in his ribs during the middle of the night – even assuming that was what
he intended. She considered it all with Isranon trailing beside her.

He walked with Warrior in his hand, the fabulous staff that had belonged to
his ancestor and namesake, Isranon Dawnhand. The wondrousness of Warrior
contrasted sharply against the plain clothing that Isranon wore; a loose,
knee-length black robe held closed by a blue sash that matched his pants.
Warrior was six feet of hard rock maple, its butt sheathed in nine inches of
diamond that had been magically grown onto it and incised with Kalirioni
runes. The entire length of it was intricately runed amid vines and leaves in
jeweled inlays. The upper body, head, and wings of a pegasus topped it, so
solidly done in heavy burnished kenda'ryl that it could be used to strike with
that end also. It was both a master mage's and a warrior's staff.

"It's my fault, Nans," Isranon said, as they moved just enough of their
stuff into the rooms as was necessary to get by. Nans wanted everything else
ready to pull out at a moment's notice.

Nans squeezed his shoulder to reassure him. "No. It's their fault, they are
choosing to do this."

Isranon exhaled sharply. "I will give myself up, if that will allow the rest
of you to leave safely."

"We don't even know what he wants, Isranon. Besides, you know Anksha would
never allow that. Nor would I or any of the others. This isn't about you or
me, but all of us. Your comrades-in-arms are not going to let Tamric have
you."

"Comrades-in-arms," Isranon repeated her words. They sounded nice. He felt
far from used to the way things were done among these people, so different
from the ways of his homeland. Only Nevin and Olin had ever been willing to
risk themselves for him before this; he had surrendered himself to Anksha,
becoming her blood-slave in an effort to prevent her killing them if they had
intervened, as they would had he chosen to flee instead. "We would have to
fight our way out."

"Yes, but I doubt Tamric is prepared for the kind of casualties we would
hand him, you and I."

"True." Isranon set his hands on his belt. "We've fought well together in

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the past. But I hope it doesn't come to battle. I still feel responsible..."

Nans gave him a shake. "Stop that. You can't take the weight of the world on
your shoulders. You have done great things since we joined up. I do not regret
it a bit."

Isranon gave her a tiny smile. "Thank you. So what do you think we should do
first, Captain?"

Nans smiled back. "Well, Lord Dawnreturning, first we make our situation
here as defensible as possible, then we wait and find out just what the hell
Tamric is trying to do."

She started to walk away and Isranon caught her arm. "Do you think he knows
I'm sa'necari? Could that be why the captain saida mage of questionable
origins?"

Nans gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Doesn't matter whether he does or not.
We're in this together."

"Thanks, Nans."

* * * *

Stygean sat on a bench in the salle, watching his father work out with his
blades. Adoration shone in the boy's face as Liuthan beat his opponent back
and disarmed him with a sudden twist. A movement to the side drew Stygean's
gaze.

Before the two combatants could begin another bout, a slender form slipped
up to Liuthan. It was impossible to be certain whether the mon was male or
female, because of the mask and cloak. It got cold at night on the coast, so
there might be some small justification for the garb, but it still seemed a
bit much. "They're here," the mon whispered.

Liuthan sheathed his weapons and grinned at his son. "Good job. You'll find
your usual payment left in the usual place."

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Then Liuthan walked off, gesturing for Stygean to follow him. "You have
learned the ritual aspects, my son, now would you like to see the rite done in
truth?"

"Yes, father," Stygean said eagerly, his eyes bright.

"Good. I had a nibari prepared when I heard they were approaching. We will
celebrate being a few steps closer to victory."

"Male or female nibari?" Stygean lengthened his stride to keep up with his
father, watching his face with a glow of devotion in his eyes.

Liuthan ruffled Stygean's hair, then caught his slender shoulders and hugged
the boy to him as they walked. "Female. Your mother will be assisting. It will
be a full formal rite. You will finally witness what it means to be truly
sa'necari."

Stygean's heart leaped to know that he would finally see the rites
performed. His father's alchemist, Jurgen Scathwick, who was also a priest to
the Hellgod Bellocar, had tutored him extensively. No one in Ocealay knew that
the Loosestrife household were sa'necari.

He ran his lessons through his mind as he walked beside his father.

Sa'necari, born to rule

With other races shall we duel

Our natures we'll conceal

Until it's time to reveal

Sa'necari hide their powers

Until Ocealay is ours.

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Sa'necari, strong and brave,

Other races shall enslave

By eating flesh, blood, and lives,

other races will enslave

by eating flesh, blood and lives

sa'necari shall arise

by eating flesh, blood and souls

sa'necari magic grows

through eating flesh, blood and souls

sa'necari magic grows

Rise to conquer lesser races.

cattle shall they be

As of old in Haradante.

Then a worried thought ran through Stygean. He was twelve years old and
still his fangs had not appeared. Once all sa'necari had been made in the
rites, over the generations, they had begun to be born sa'necari – as Stygean
and many of the children in the Loosestrife household had been, as his parents
had been – gaining all the powers, abilities, and appetites of the undead at
puberty. Stygean swallowed and tried not to think about that.

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All the myriad shades of blue dominated Liuthan's mansion, reflecting the
colors of his banners and his units, which were called the Blues. Each of the
Five Captains had a color and their companies were known by it. They walked
into the long, lamp-lit corridor of the house, and came upon a door opening
onto a narrow stairs into the cellars where Liuthan had his dungeons and other
secret places such as his chapel and altar to Bellocar the Hellgod.

Stygean frowned. "You didn't choose Farris? That one is mine, you said."

Liuthan mussed the boy's hair again. "No, I am leaving Farris for you.
Perhaps I should see if it's possible to breed a line of screamers. Imra is a
screamer also. But she's given me six young and I decided that was enough. I
have been promised a pair of nice studs, Black Cliff bloodlines, once the
renunciate mage is dead."

Stygean grinned. "Nice!"

"The price of heresy is death, Stygean. Always remember that," Liuthan said,
going suddenly serious. "The heretic is a blot on our race."

Stygean instantly matched his father's seriousness. "Yes, father."

Oil lamps hung on the stonewalls lighting the chapel in glaring brightness
that darkened the corners where the light did not reach and threw shadows from
the two tables in front of the altar. Black and crimson tapers burned in tall
holders wrought like strange, grinning demons on the altar amidst the skulls
and finger bones of previous offerings to their dark liege-god. The basalt
bleeding table stood to the left with the nibari bound to it. The tool table
sat to the right, with bottles of pigment, oils, and an array of blades
arranged upon it.

Stygean's mother looked up from painting the nude nibari's spread-eagled
body with black pigments mixed with scented oils. Liuthan's wife was a lovely
mixed blood mon with silken midnight black hair, a thin straight nose, and
full lips. Stygean thought there was no one more beautiful in the entire world
than his mother, Chinisi Loosestrife.

The nibari watched them with wide, frightened eyes, aware of the death
coming for her. Small sounds of terror made their way from her throat and she
twisted in her iron bonds. Tears ran down her face. Some banewitches were
known to drug their victims or spell them for an easier, more comfortable

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kill; however, most sa'necari liked them noisy, screaming their throats dry,
and writhing.

Chinisi set her jar of paint aside and went into her husband's arms for a
kiss. They clasped each other tightly, in an ardor that had not lessened in
fourteen years of marriage. Then she noticed her son standing behind her
husband. Chinisi had been just thirteen when she wed Liuthan, ten years her
senior, and a year later bore him Stygean.

Liuthan's mouth came free of hers and he hugged her. "You always have things
ready when I ask."

"Always." She smiled, and kissed him again. "Is Stygean here to watch or
participate?"

"He can help you ready me and hand me my tools."

Liuthan disrobed, revealing his clean-limbed, strong body. Chinisi put the
pot of paint in Stygean's hands. "You know what to do?"

"Yes," Stygean said and began to paint the symbols on his father, starting
at his cheeks and ending at the top of his cock, which was already growing
hard and thick. Chinisi lit the incense and walked widdershins around the
altar, swinging it and chanting. Stygean followed his father to the altar and
stood beside the basalt table next to it where various tools were laid out.

Imra's ankles and wrists were shackled between spouted blood grooves beneath
which were positioned basins to catch the blood. She began to scream as
Liuthan approached her. The sound was shrill and long, the drawn out sound of
incipient madness. Liuthan drank in the taste of her terror as he shoved his
cock in. She twisted and writhed in her bonds. Stygean found himself getting
hard in response to it; he stared fixedly at his father moving in Imra's body
with a slow, precise rhythm. The aroma of fear fed his necromantic senses with
excitement. Each death his father took, each soul he shattered in the rites
and drank in made Liuthan stronger. The thought made Stygean even hungrier for
his first rite.

Liuthan extended his hand for his blade.

"Stygean!" His mother's voice pulled him back from being lost in
fascination.

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Stygean swallowed, remembering his part in all of this and placed his
father's hellblade in Liuthan's hands. Then he added his voice to his mother's
chanting as she resumed it.

Liuthan made his first cut, matching the stabs of his blade to the thrusts
of his cock in elegant movements, harmonizing the pace of Imra's death with
his approaching orgasm.

Stygean went back to watching Imra die, his member hardening with desire for
the rite, studying his father's artistry. He had never sheathed his cock in a
nibari, although he had been tempted and had numerous opportunities to do so
since he had first been able to get an erection: his parents said it should
wait for his initiatory rite. A cool hand closed on his shoulder and he
glanced at his mother.

"Your time will come this summer," Chinisi promised him.

CHAPTER TWO

SECRETS

Isranon walked back to his suite with the lycan Nevin, along the dark, wood
paneled corridor of the mansion. Small oil lamps mounted on wall brackets cast
an orange glare over the corridor at intervals, throwing it into patterns of
light and shadows.

Nevin's dark-skinned face showed lines of tension. The demon finger bones
braided into a strip of his black hair denoted his rank as a lycan battle-clan
chieftain. A long scar traversed his face from his forehead, across a broken
nose to his upper lip that was half-split from a wound that had failed to heal
properly. A second long scar crossed his right cheek from the outer corner of
his eye to the edge of his jaw. Only runed-silver and kenda'ryl could do that
to a lycan. It gave his words a sibilant quality. "I don't like this, my
brother."

"Nor I," Isranon said, regarding his guurmondru closely. Guurmondru, a word
representing a uniquely lycan concept combining aspects of mentor, older
brother, parent, but most often translated into common as god-father.

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"However, I am certain that we can handle whatever this turns out to be
about."

Nevin tongued the split on his upper lip before replying. "So do I. These
humans cannot conceive of what we are and what we can do to them. Especially
you and Nans."

Isranon went pale and stumbled.

Instantly, Nevin's arm went around Isranon's waist as he caught at him.
"Another attack?"

Isranon nodded. "My legs ... and the Presence-Pain. Get me to my rooms. Find
Anksha," he gasped.

Nevin shouldered Isranon's weight. He walked him into the suite, sat Isranon
on the sofa, and opened the bedroom door. Nevin threw back the bedclothes and
returned for Isranon.

The mage had slid down and now slumped against the arm of the sofa, his face
flushed, and his breathing heavy. Splotches of blood stained his blue pants.
Nevin changed into his transitional form and lifted Isranon in his arms,
carrying him into the bedroom. A clacking of wooden and ceramic beads brought
Nevin's attention to the doorway as he began loosening Isranon's pants to get
at the re-opened wounds.

Amiri stood in the doorway. The beads in her long, corn rowed hair clacked
together as she shook her head at them. "How bad is it? I saw him stumble in
the corridor."

Isranon turned his head to look at her. "Just my legs. And the Presence-Pain
is bad."

Amiri ran one ebony finger across her chin. "I'll fetch Anksha. She must
stop being so reluctant to feed on you."

Isranon nodded slightly. The Presence-Pain went down to bearable levels only
when Anksha fed regularly from his veins, life force, mage centers, and
bio-alchemy. It was the price he paid for having been trapped and enslaved by
her two years ago. All of her blood-slaves eventually withered and died as a

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result of her feeding, but so far he had outlived them all. "Please fetch her,
Amiri."

"I will." Amiri pulled at a long strand of her black hair as she left the
room.

Nevin went to the packs that had been brought up and leaned against the
bureau. He took out several of the cotton pads that Randilyn, Amiri's nibari,
had sown for Isranon and carried them to the bed. With a little lifting and
pulling, Nevin stripped Isranon's pants off and gazed at the wounds. After
more than a year, whenever the embedded spells struck, the wounds re-created
themselves and looked as they had the day that Isranon's friends found him.
Nevin counted it lucky that only three of the wounds had been re-created. One
looked as if the blade had been stuck into the deepest part of Isranon's thigh
and sawed back and forth until it parted the muscle and emerged as if from a
side of beef the cook had been preparing. Nevin tied that one up first, and
then the other two.

Isranon's face twisted into a grimace of pain. Nevin drew a bottle of
Sanguine Rose from the pack next, sitting it on the table while he fished for
a cup. He poured it half full of the potent cocktail of troll's blood,
powerful drugs, and herbs. Isranon tried to force a smile and failed, as Nevin
helped him to sit and brought the cup to his lips.

The wounds would close again within hours in response to Sanguine Rose,
which lent hemovores like Isranon some of the healing qualities of trolls for
as long as the blood remained in his system. It would soon make Isranon
sleepy, but in large quantities it also led to dreams and hallucinations.
Isranon often dreaded the dreams it brought, yet could not live without the
Sanguine Rose. His sa'necari assailants had stolen his ability to heal with
normal blood.

Nevin got Isranon settled again on the bed and covered him with the light
blanket. The pain eased, and Isranon managed a genuine smile. "I don't know
what set it off," Isranon said. "I wasn't using my magic." An embittered edge
crept into Isranon's voice. "I haven't had one since spring. It's been ...
what? Two months or more? Damnit, Nevin!"

"All the more reason for us to reach Treth with all speed."

Isranon sucked in a heavy breath. He was already beginning to feel
light-headed from the Sanguine Rose. "But what if can't find healing in Treth?
What if King Bohannon decides not to allow it?"

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Nevin shook his shaggy head and a strand of black hair fell in his face. He
flicked it back. "Bohannon is a friend of Nans'. He won't do that."

"I'm sa'necari."

"You're a Dark Brother."

Nevin's words sent the creed of the Dark Brothers rushing through Isranon's
head.

"The Darkness hunts us and the Light does not want us. Better to step
willingly into the fires than to live undead. Better to die with honor than to
take a life in the rites. Let each mon go to his own path, but these are ours.
And these will always be ours, for this is what we were born to. This is the
path the gods have given us, for we are the Dark Brothers of the Light. We are
the walking dead who live, for our lives were forfeit with our birth. Forfeit
twice over for our choice to live as myn, not monsters, though we are forced
to dwell among the monsters. Set yourself apart in your words, in your deeds,
in your silence – always in your silence, for silence is your castle. Be as
still as the deer in the forest, and if you are fortunate the predators will
not notice you. For when they notice you, they will eat you."

"I'm not a Dark Brother any longer, Nevin. I haven't been in several years.
Not truly. I've killed sa'necari and others."

Nevin growled wordlessly a moment. "Are we going there again? It was in
defense of yourself and others. It was necessary."

"My hands are stained with blood ... and they will be again. My father, may
his spirit find rest, would condemn me for it."

"Your father was a pacifistic fool and he died for it," Nevin snapped in the
tones of the lycan lawgiver he had once been.

"My father was a good mon."

"He stood there and tried to reason with his attackers, Isranon. That's what
I call a fool."

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Isranon went silent for several breaths before saying, "I loved him."

Nevin's tone softened. He squeezed Isranon's shoulder in sympathy. "I know."

"I could never please him. I was too much like you..."

Nevin blinked at that admission. "Perhaps I should never have taught you the
lycan ways. But I wanted to keep you alive."

"No. You shouldn't regret what you did. I don't really. I was allowed to
step into the Light, to be accepted by Dynanna, God of Cussedness, because I
fought back. That was something denied to my people. I don't regret it. Truly
I don't."

"Then why do you keep bringing it up?" Nevin asked.

"I don't know. I guess I feel guilty sometimes."

The outer door opened and they heard two people crossing the room: the click
of Amiri's boot heels and the soft padding of Anksha's bare feet.

Anksha walked a few steps ahead of Amiri, with her head down, and her shirt
unbuttoned to her waist. Anksha hated clothes and tolerated them with great
reluctance. Her pale velvety fur covered her from the collarbone to her wrists
and ankles and was the merest shade darker than her skin. Black hair flared
around her face with twigs and leaves caught in its long lengths indicating
she had already availed herself of the mansion gardens.

"I don't want to hurt him," Anksha said, dragging each word out.

Amiri sighed. "You hurt him worse when you don't feed regularly. The
Presence-Pain has grown intense. I can smell it rising from him."

Anksha nodded and climbed onto the bed. She straddled Isranon, looking into
the depths of his eyes for a long time. He untied his blue sash and opened his
sapphire robe. Anksha ran her fingers along the many scars on his chest and
waist. "I love you, Isranon. You're my special friend."

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Isranon gave her a reassuring smile. He no longer dreaded her feedings, yet
they still made him uncomfortable at times. "I know. As you are mine."

Anksha nodded. None of her previous blood-slaves over the centuries had ever
befriended her. Isranon was special.

"Don't do it where anyone will notice," Amiri cautioned Anksha. None of the
humans in Nans' company knew that Isranon was Anksha's blood-slave and that
she fed upon him.

Anksha grasped one of Isranon's sleeves and he wiggled his arm out of it.
Normally she preferred the necks of her blood-slaves, but she had learned to
take from Isranon's limbs. She bent, licked along his arm, and sank her fangs
into his bicep. Isranon tensed and then forced himself to relax as Anksha
began to suck. Her power swept through him in patterns of flame and he let
himself become yielding pools of water before it. She drank his magic and his
bio-alchemy with his blood in the process that normally triggered the
withering in her slaves. The initial pain passed because he did not fight her.
They merged and danced instead. He grew weaker and then it ended before it
went too far.

Isranon felt her licking the wound closed.

Anksha moved aside and sat on the edge of the bed as Amiri pulled a chair up
and sat down to Read Isranon.

The Ymraude vampire, studied Isranon's body and confirmed that Anksha had
taken just enough that he would be recovered by morning. "You should have more
of the Rose. We want you as strong as possible when you must attend that
dinner with Tamric."

"Bloody dinner," Isranon growled. "Bloody Tamric, holding us here against
our wishes."

Amiri poured him another cup of Sanguine Rose. "Here."

Isranon accepted the cup. "I will drink it, but don't want to. Too much of
it makes me dream..."

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* * * *

As it so often did, the Sanguine Rose summoned Isranon down into the
netherworld of dreams composed in part of his memories and greatly of his
fears. The savagery of his existence and the often brutal price he paid for
survival haunted that landscape. He shifted uneasily in his sleep, nestling
between Nevin and Olin, the two big lycans in wolf form, one arm thrown around
Nevin's shaggy neck. Lycans without mates comfort-nested, sleeping together in
a non-sexual manner because they found it reassuring, just like their canine
brothers. Isranon had grown used to it, having been around them since he was
eight. But that night he found no easing of his burdens in their presence.

Anksha rose and walked slowly around the chairs, smiling in a calculating
fashion, her hands behind her back like a child planning naughtiness. She wore
a loose dress he had never seen her wear, a diaphanous azure blue with
midnight blue flowers embroidered on the hem. Her body looked different. The
sleek, slenderness he associated with her had vanished and her belly bulged as
if a child were growing there. The lucid part of his mind reminded him that
this was impossible, for Anksha was the last of her species.

He watched Yoris sitting in a chair blubbering and trembling uncontrollably
as Anksha picked Bodramet and pulled him down, dragging him over to Yoris'
feet.

Yoris ... Yoris.

Isranon's hand tightened in Nevin's fur. The wolf lifted his black-furred
head and regarded the sleeping mon with a low whine of concern.

Yoris. Again, Isranon was standing in the glade near Anksha's gate,
surrounded by five sa'necari led by Bodramet. Mist clung to Bodramet, blurring
his image, yet strangely leaving his dozens of oiled braids clear. Bodramet
shoved a carving knife into Isranon's stomach. Isranon grabbed at Bodramet's
hands, and flinched when Yoris stabbed him in the side with a blade that
embedded the divinator's spells in his body.

Isranon moaned and Nevin moved closer, nuzzling him.

Then Isranon was back in the drawing room, watching Anksha. She had taken
the other four, enslaved them. Only he and Yoris remained. They both knew that
they were doomed. That it was only a matter of time before she took them also.

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"Watch, Yoris," Anksha purred. "Watch closely. See what I intend for you."

Yoris cringed away from her, his eyes saucering in panic, whimpering like a
small creature pinned beneath a cat's claws.

"Anksha, I can't stand it any longer," Yoris wept brokenly, opening his robe
and shoving his chair away as he sank to his knees beside his compliant
fellow. "Bite me, I beg you. Get it over with. You'll do it anyway. Please, do
it now. I can't stand this waiting, this not knowing when ... or if I'll be
next."

The Beast shoved Bodramet aside, sending him back to the couch.

Isranon experienced a sharp surge of contempt for Yoris' cowardice, the
first emotion to break through his walls completely. He would not go down like
this, sobbing in terror.

"Are you certain?" Anksha asked, flashing her fangs. "Will you die for me?
Can I take all I want? Can I drain you to death?"

"Yes. If that's what you want. Only do it now. Please," Yoris gibbered.

"I will." Anksha leaped onto him.

As her fangs tore into him and her power swept through him, Yoris screamed
as shrill as a woman gone mad, "Noooooo!" Then he wet himself.

Yoris curled up in a tight, moaning ball when she finished with him.

Isranon decided it was time to make an end of it with all the courage he
could muster, show himself to be a mon like his father, unafraid of pain and
death. He opened his robe, and knelt. Isranon drew in a fortifying breath,
folding his hands together behind his back like a nibari in first position.

"Since there is no escaping my fate, Anksha," Isranon said. "Then let me
meet it well, rather than whimpering like the others."

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Anksha looked at him curiously, taking in the calm stoicism, the proud tilt
to his chin, shoulders and back straight. "You I could like," she said.

"No!" Mephistis shouted. "No, please, Anksha. Not Isranon. He is a good mon.
He isn't like the rest of us." Isranon's prince crossed the room, dropping to
his knees and pushing between them. "Please. Don't do this!"

"Move aside," Anksha hissed. "Or I'll not just take him, Mephistis, I'll
kill him." She twisted about, tearing her claws deeply across Isranon's chest,
gouging him. He bore it well, making not the smallest sound.

Isranon stared at Mephistis, the prince he had sworn allegiance to and
frowned in confusion. He knew this was Mephistis – so why was the prince
wearing Isranon's dead father's face.

"Do not plead for me, father. Do not dishonor me," Isranon said calmly. "Let
fate find me a man who does not fear it."The Darkness hunts me and the Light
does not want me. He centered himself in the serene acceptance of the
teachings, waiting for her with his head tilted now like a nibari's before a
hungry master, exposing the favored vein. A stoic stillness framed his utter
surrender.

His father withdrew, burying his face in his hands.

Anksha asked Isranon the same questions that she had Yoris, which he
answered and then she took him more savagely than the others, tearing him
further with her claws as well as her fangs. Isranon's sphincters tightened
and his body went rigid with the pain. He fought to stifle the groan that felt
as if it were climbing up his throat inch by inch until it escaped past his
clenched teeth despite his efforts.

Yet, he did not scream.

All his hopes and dreams died as his blood welled into her mouth and her
power swept through him in a roaring presence, claiming all of him – body and
soul. She snapped the dominance-link into place, jerking him hard and then
slashing through him with the blade of her mind, cutting him heart, mind, and
soul; lodging her linksagonizingly in every fiber of his being like a
thousand, searing barbed hooks. She was an inferno in his awareness, an
existential anguish beyond anything he had ever believed possible. Anksha
shattered his barriers, blasted the castle of his will into dust, and left him

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utterly broken like a doll dismembered by a hostile child.

"Father, father, father," Isranon muttered in his sleep. "I didn't scream
like the others."

"Isranon!"

He awakened to Nevin's hands on his shoulders shaking him gently. "I
dreamed..."

Nevin loomed over him, crouched on top of the covers, concern in his eyes.
"Another nightmare."

Isranon blinked, licked his lips, and rubbed his face. "I dreamed it was my
father begging for my life, and not Mephistis, when Anksha took me."

"He would have begged for you, too," Nevin said.

The white wolf with the black-saddle mark on his back stirred and raised his
head. Olin changed and sat with them, listening. Unlike Nevin who wore a charm
of changing that kept him clothed, Olin was nude. "Your father loved you,
Isranon," Olin said.

"Sometimes I believe that and sometimes I wonder," Isranon said. He sat up,
the sheets sliding down to his hips. His heavily scarred arms and chest showed
that Isranon had been in more battles than most twenty-one-year olds.
Sa'necari normally did not scar, blood healed nearly everything; but Isranon
had never crossed the line into darkness by committing the rites, and thus his
body did not heal as well or as quickly as theirs. They made a jarring
contrast with his handsome face.

Nevin settled back on the bed, cross-legged and shaking his head at that.
"Don't you think that when he chose to reason with his attackers that he was
buying time for you and your sister to flee?"

Isranon's eyes widened. "I hadn't really thought of it that way. Not in a
personal way. I mean, he did it for all of us, all the Dark Brothers."

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"He loved you," Nevin repeated.

"Yes. He did." Isranon lowered his head, staring for a moment at his hands,
playing with the edge of the sheet in a troubled manner. "Now they're all
dead, but me. My parents, my sister ... and I'm all alone."

"You're forgetting your son," said Olin. "And us. We're spirit-brothers and
we aren't going to abandon you."

Isranon glanced from Olin to Nevin, his glance hot as he met Nevin's eyes.
"My son. I wish to hell you had told me Merissa was pregnant! I would never
have left the valley. None of this would have happened to me."

Nevin exhaled heavily. "I wanted to. But it was Claw's decision. At first,
Claw was angry. He didn't want the disgrace of his clan knowing his daughter
was pregnant out of wedlock by a sa'necari. Less than fifty years ago, the law
was still that a clan woman who became pregnant by a sa'necari was stoned to
death. Even a chieftain's daughter like Merissa. Many villages still do it."

Isranon swallowed, shaken by an imagined picture of Merissa's ginger hair
splotched with blood from people throwing rocks at her. "Could I have some
wine?"

"I'll fetch it," Olin said. He left the room and returned a few minutes
later with wine for Isranon and some beer for himself and Nevin.

They made a circle on the bed, sitting cross-legged and drinking. Finally
Isranon began talking again. "I never meant to get her pregnant. Sa'necari
aren't usually that fertile. I don't understand it. I never meant to hurt
Merissa."

Nevin took a long swallow from his mug, swirled it around and stared at the
contents before answering. "Something is wrong with your assumptions about
sa'necari fertility. No, don't interrupt me." Nevin waved his hand at Isranon.
"Merissa was the second female you got with child in little over a year."

Isranon startled, his eyes widened briefly and then a shadow fell over his
countenance. "You mean Rose." A pang of sorrow lurched through him at the
thought of his first love, a nibari murdered while carrying his child. He had
been seventeen.

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"Yes. I know that it's generally believed that lowered fertility is a
characteristic of the sa'necari. But it doesn't seem to be that way for you."

Isranon caught a deep breath and brought the subject back to Merissa. "If I
went back and married Merissa, would make it better?"

Nevin snorted derisively. "No. Despite all appearances, you're a
blood-slave. Furthermore, Claw would never sanction a marriage between his
daughter and a sa'necari, no matter how fond he is of you."

Isranon's mood shifted, the heat fading from his awareness, replaced by the
same melancholy he had awakened with. "I want to know my son. Anksha has
promised to take me north once we find a way to heal me."

Nevin took another pull from his mug before nodding. "Claw will not prevent
you from being close to your son. But keep your hands off Merissa. If you got
another child on her, I think he'd kill the both of you to save face with our
clan."

"I promise."

* * * *

Tamric's room, with its dark stained oak walls and wide windows looking out
across the sea, had changed little since Nans was here last. The heavy
furniture was ornate, claw-footed, and well cared for, an extension of
Tamric's vanity and a symbol of his power as the High Captain. The dark green
drapes had been opened. Tamric, dressed in brown shirt and trousers, stood
before the windows, staring out as Nans and Travis were escorted in. He
ignored them at first, making them wait for his attention.

Travis glanced at Nans for her reaction and she shrugged. If Tamric thought
to make them squirm with his silence, he should think again. Nans might look
like a green kid, but she wasn't. He had not invited them to sit, and left
them standing.

Tamric was a lithe mon, narrow-hipped and small of stature, with a flare of
well-developed shoulders and whipcord arms. He carried himself with the easy
arrogance of one accustomed to taking on larger opponents and besting them. A
thick forelock of coarse, chocolate-brown hair interrupted the substantial
forehead of his craggy face. The rest of his leonine mane was caught at his

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neck by a thick thong of black leather that wrapped it into a long tail with a
small tuft sticking out at the bottom. His slate-gray eyes held the intensity
of a natural predator as he turned toward them, his hands folded behind his
back. "I'm not going to mince words. It's only a matter of time before the
witch finds a way to cross the Hillora. I want to hire your mage."

Nans and Travis glanced at each other in surprise. "He's not for hire," Nans
said.

Tamric scowled, then covered it over with a thin smile. "That's not the
answer I wanted. Every man has his price. I want the Lord Dawnreturning."

Nans regarded him steadily, matching his expression, which threatened to
turn it into a staring contest. "Dawnreturning is not for hire."

Tamric shrugged and sat down, indicating that they should also. "Gold?
Jewels? Power? Women? Magic artifacts? Enchantary devices?"

Travis started toward a chair and Nans stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Come on, Travis, we're leaving." Nans headed for the door.

"Maybe I should fetch the mon and ask him myself," Tamric's tone made that
an insolent suggestion.

"You won't be able to speak to him alone, Tamric," Nans said, pausing at the
threshold.

"And why not?"

"Because he never goes anywhere without his familiar, the malei'leonys."
Nans had a sneaking certainty that Anksha might prove more than Tamric was
prepared to handle.

Tamric smiled again and this time it reached his eyes. "Ah. I've heard she's
beautiful ... and deadly. She intrigues the other captains. There will be a
formal dinner. You will bring them both."

Nans gave him a small bow. "We understand each other, Tamric?"

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"Yes, I think we do. But I will hire your mage. I have given orders that
your company is to be housed in the guest mansion for the duration of your
visit. And, its duration is entirely up to you."

"A very short visit." Nans gave him a curt bow and left.

* * * *

Travis had to seriously stretch his legs to keep up with Nans. That meant
she was furious. He had rarely seen her so angry. It didn't show on her face,
but like many of her officers, Travis could read her to a fare-thee-well.

"Sooooo," Nans hissed, sarcasm oozing beneath her words. "Tamric intends to
try and keep us here until Isranon agrees to work for him."

"'Reputation is a double-edged sword.'" Travis quoted the old saying. "It
cuts both ways and some are always trying to take it away from you."

"Well, the captain is going to get cut," Nans said. "I get our business done
and we're out of here."

Nans emerged onto the third floor landing between the two sides of the
building. The stairs wound down both sides like in the majority of Ocealayen
buildings. She took the stairs two at a time, forcing Travis to jog. Anger
simmered and showed in her stride and body. As Nans and Travis reached the
second floor landing, a startled shriek erupted from a side hall. The
staircase of the Palace of the Five Captains was an elaborate, sweeping,
balustraded affair designed for them to impress the visiting dignitaries who
came to hire their armies. A young woman with dark blonde hair, a piquant,
pixyish nose and glasses dashed past them, "eeking" loudly and clutching a
wealth of petticoats high while looking madly about for another direction to
run in. Soldiers, guards and servants were quickly moving to surround her,
looking somewhat resigned as if they had gone through all of this before.

"I won't sing! I won't sing! I won't sing! No Arabella! No sing!"

"Squeaky, please, be reasonable," wheedled a twisted gnome of a silk clad
noblemon, whom Nans recognized as Piran, one of the Five Captains. "Last time
we let her out of the dungeons, she busted up six guardsmyn and a stone

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troll."

Travis's lips pursed in amusement, wondering just what this Arabella might
be.

"No Arabella, no singing. I'll scream myself hoarse. Eeeeeeekkkkk!"

"Shiiiit!" Travis clapped his hands over his ears and quickened his steps.
He and Nans were soon racing out of there, wondering what kind of creature
this Squeaky might be. They had not heard many humans hit such a high note.

* * * *

Isranon watched the servants setting out dinner on the long oaken table in
the upstairs dining room – the smaller room which still managed to seat forty
without crowding. The mansion was lovely and sunny with many windows, even
more so than Lord Edvarde's had been in Ildyrsetts: another large difference
from his homeland where mansions tended to be dark and dank, reeking of the
scents and vibrations from centuries of dark rites. Most of the company were
dining in another, larger room. Nans had chosen to have the leaders and
officers of her company dine together.

Nans sat at the head of the table, every inch the Gormondi noble she had
been born, even in her ranger's leathers. Isranon, Anksha, Nevin, and Haig sat
to her right. Nainee, although not an officer, occupied the chair to Haig's
left since she served as his aide and he rarely went to meetings without her.
Zulaika, Travis, Luck, and Amiri filled the chairs to Nans' left.

Anksha had the chair at Isranon's left hand, and was picking up the fork and
spoon, examining them curiously. She stabbed the tablecloth with the fork and
then ran her finger over the four tiny holes it made. He caught her hand.
"That's a fork, Anksha."

"I can't cut with it," she sighed. Hoon had never made her learn to use
utensils, since they only frustrated her and a frustrated Anksha was hard to
deal with. Nor had he ever insisted upon having her at a formal dinner. She
had generally taken her meals of flesh in his dungeons, killing and eating
captured trolls, demons, and imps there.

"You don't cut with it," Isranon said with fond patience.

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Anksha scowled. "Then what use is it?"

"It keeps your fingers clean."

Anksha pursed her lips in thought. The last time she had been at a formal
table had been last winter at Lord Edvarde's estate in Ildyrsetts and he had
always given her food that she could easily eat with her fingers, as well as
plenty of napkins.

Isranon lifted sizzling slices of pork onto Anksha's plate with his fork and
demonstrated its use with a knife. Anksha stabbed her meat and it slid to the
side of her plate, spilling food and grease onto the tablecloth. Isranon
patiently shifted the fork in her hand to the proper hold and, with his hands
covering hers, showed her how to use it all over again. "Formal dinner with
the Captains tomorrow, pet. You must act like a lady."

"I am not a lady. I'm Anksha." She cast aside the fork and set to with her
fingers.

Isranon sighed. He was hungry and not just for food. His mouth itched around
his fangs. Between Mariko assuring him that he was not a monster, just another
creature; and Nans' working on his primal centers as a basic predator, feeding
had become easier. Haig had offered him Nainee as a sanguine aperitif. Isranon
gained food value from the blood, even if it could not heal him, and there was
comfort in it. Perhaps he would even lay Nainee. She was the most beautiful
and skilled of the nibari. He glanced at her and she smiled at him.

"So we are prisoners?" Isranon asked after the servants had left.

"In a manner of speaking," Nans said. "Ocealay is governed by the Five
Captains, who see themselves as laws unto themselves. Five mercenary
companies. Tamric is the High Captain. Galee has them frightened. You've
beaten her back and gained a reputation so they want you. As the old saying
goes reputation is a double-edged sword. They can't really keep us. But we may
have to fight our way out. Or maybe not. If I play this right. So we'll see."

Anksha perked up at the phrase 'law unto themselves.' "I am a law unto
myself. I am the troll-tamer, the demon-eater. I could take the captains; make
them beg me to bite them."

All eyes turned to Anksha. Only three of them had not known her true nature:

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Nans, Luck, and Travis. Isranon's company had let it be known only that Anksha
was his familiar when they joined forces with the Rowdies and the two
companies had been integrated under Nans' command. She had become the company
mascot, a pet, and now that was all about to change.

Nans shared a glance with Luck and then focused on Isranon, her eyebrow
lifting in question.

Anksha saw Travis' brow furrow into an uncomfortable question and her burst
of enthusiasm dampened. "To touch me..." Anksha hesitated, squirming in her
seat while looking for the right word, schooling her usual patois out of her
words. "To touch me intimately is to become mine."

Travis looked at Nans and saw, from the look on her face, that she had not
been privy to that information either.

Anksha blinked, looking back and forth between Travis and Nans, trying to
read what was passing between them.

Amiri sighed and leaned forward on the table, resting on her propped elbows.
"I suppose this should have come out before now; however, I did not want
people becoming nervous of the little one. Yes, she could take the Captains.
All of them. But she is no danger to any of you. Nans, as a wilderkin and a
Reader, you understand the biological chemistry I speak of when I talk of
pheromones. The Tinkerer adjusted them on the natural, the supernatural, and
the magical levels in the demon-eaters. Anksha can trigger it. Initially it is
an overpowering sexual attraction, growing with contact until they are forced
to allow her to bite them. Once she bites them, a dominance link is
established and they become her blood-slaves. It is permanent and
irreversible."

Silence. Stunned faces.

Anksha, realizing what she had done in her impulsive desire to help, began
to whimper, and then to cry. She slid from her chair and huddled at Isranon's
knee. He drew her close, cuddling her, stroking her hair, murmuring reassuring
noises.

"Then what you are saying..." Nans voice had gone cold. "Is that she isn't
his familiar. He's her blood-slave."

Travis flinched from the word 'blood-slave.' "She's been getting her fangs

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in him all this time? We're tryin' ta keep him alive, and she's suckin' on
him? What the hell?"

Luck gave Travis a shove to shut him up. Travis glared at Luck for a second
and subsided.

Amiri glanced away and then back with a sigh. "Unfortunately, yes. She
realized he was the descendant of someone she loved as a child and it broke
her heart, but the damage was done. If she does not feed at regular intervals
the link will kill him because of her sustained proximity. And that, added to
the rest of the damage... Anksha is the one who killed the sa'necari who hurt
him."

Nevin went to Anksha, crouching as close as she would let him. She slapped
at him, claws sheathed and he caught one hand, patting it.

Nans set her plate aside and folded her hands together in front of her. "I
don't know whether it was a good or a bad thing that you waited so long to
tell us this, Amiri."

Amiri regarded Nans steadily. "In the beginning, we concealed it because we
did not want it known that we had come from Hoon's estate. Anksha is one of a
kind. The last of her species. Yet few people will blink at an unusual
familiar."

"I'm not talking about that," Nans said. "I'm talking about not telling us
... not telling me at the very least."

"The responsibility lies with me. I felt that it was better if you became
acquainted with Anksha as a person, before you knew how dangerous she is."

Nans gazed at the wall, reflecting. "I'm certain that my father knew. He
sees deeper than even I do into wild creatures."

Amiri smiled faintly at that. "When a god decides not to tell his daughter
something this serious, then he must have respected our reasons."

Nans nodded. "I knew Anksha was dangerous, but not nearly how much. At least
I know now and I'll write it into my equations."

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"Do not hold her nature against her. Think not of what she is, but of who
she is."

Hearing that, Luck nudged Travis in the ribs. Travis glanced at him and Luck
inclined his head at Anksha.

"Oh," Travis said, grasping the inference. He got down next to Anksha and
pulled some candy from his pocket. "Hey, we all make mistakes."

Anksha looked at him and then the candy. She snatched it, unwrapped the
twists of wax paper, and started crunching the honey candies.

Amiri favored Travis with a gratified smile. "Anksha's gifts were meant to
take those of great power such as demons and high echelon sa'necari. Were she
to seize simple humans she would probably rip their psyches to shreds in short
order, while they begged her to do it. Like a succubus. Let us pray the
Captains do not force her to do so."

CHAPTER THREE

THE INFILTRATOR

Malthus stood in the middle of the stout wooden bridge spanning the gorge
cut through the sheer stone walls by the deep cataract known as the Eirlys
River: the rushing roar of the Eirlys made fitting music for the entrance into
the lands of one Waejontor's most powerful lycan clans. On three sides the
land descended into rugged canyons and twisted valleys that looked like an
impossible giant had ripped his fingers through the soil. Most of the ruling
sa'necari culture did not know this valley existed, except for the upper
castes and their liegemyn who had used it as a waystation during the years
that the late King Baaltrystan's lords still held their mountain fastnesses.

He clutched two small girls close to him in a protective embrace, and
hesitated as the seven lycan guards in gigantic wolf form emerged from the
thick stand of fragrant white pine and cedars three spear lengths beyond the
bridge where a heavy barrier of brush and briars offered concealment for many
things.

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The newcomers looked ragged and worn: the girls' dresses were stained and
soiled. The hem of the older girl's skirt had come partially loose and dragged
in the dirt. Trail dust smudged their faces, forming muddied lines around
their mouths and noses where it had mixed with their sweat.

Malthus wore a brace of long belt knives at his hips, an empty scabbard that
had once held a sword at his shoulder, and a scruffy pack on his back. Several
pouches hung from his belt. He gazed at the assembled lycans through eyes wide
with fear and trepidation. "Please help us. I've been told sanctuary can be
found here for the children."

"Come to our side," said a tall lycan in transitional form, stepping forward
from among his wolf brothers and speaking with authority. He wore the runes of
a lawgiver.

While considering the lycans, Malthus immediately wondered how someone as
young as this mon could have become their lawgiver: he looked to be in no more
than his late teens, and the last time Malthus heard, the lawgiver for this
place was Nevin Scarface. Malthus began reassessing the situation in light of
this.

Although they traveled swiftest as wolves, they were at their most dangerous
in their hybrid shapes. All of the clans had a reputation for caution,
especially this one: with their valleys laying in Sharani-occupied Waejontor,
they were vigilant against both their old sa'necari overlords and their new
ones, the Sharani. One wrong move and they would rip him apart before he could
bring his magic to bear. The last thing he wished was for them to discover
what he was. However, the lawgiver was young, and probably no challenge.

Malthus' arm tightened around the two girls, squeezing them together against
his body while eying the lycans warily. He walked across the bridge toward
them, his worn boot heels clicking on the wood scarcely heard above the water
far below.

"These are my nieces. Sa'necari born. Their parents were slain. We barely
escaped with our lives."

The lawgiver nodded at that, as if that was what he expected to hear but
that it made no difference. "These are the rules. No lives are taken by
appetite or rite on Clan Red Wolf lands: we are Willodarians. Those who have
are unwelcome here. If you are sa'necari, state it now and return across the
bridge or be spellcorded." For emphasis he drew the bands and seals from the
pouch hanging on his wide leather belt. "Someone will be sent to Read you for
the taint, and if you have lied, we will execute you."

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"I am not sa'necari," Malthus said. "My mother was human, unlike my
brother's, so I did not inherit the tainted gene."

Nikko the lawgiver nodded again with his hand held up to forestall more
words from Malthus, and continued in his speech. "From the Eirlys River," he
pointed at the river, and then indicated the direction of the rest of the
landmarks, "to the piled boulders and six pines, north to the caves and south
to the broad meadows and place of fallen trees. All that belongs to Red Wolf.
All must ask permission before feeding on blood; make certain that your nieces
adhere to that."

"They carry the sa'necari gene, but they have not matured into their fangs
yet."

"All the better," replied Nikko. "You are welcome here so long as you obey
our rules, and you may make a place for yourself among the others who have
come seeking sanctuary. The homes and farms on clan land you enter only if
invited. You hunt game only if invited. If the Sharani should have reason to
pursue you to our borders we will kill you. We are law-abiding citizens of the
occupied zone. These are the rules."

Occupied zone.The words framed in Malthus' thoughts with distaste. These
stupid wolves. The young Queen Tomyrilen de Waejonan was beating the Sharani
back at every turn and they still considered themselves citizens of the
occupied zone. It did not matter to the sa'necari and other Waejontori
gathering to her banner that she was the bastard daughter of the late Prince
Shintar and a Sharani banewitch: what mattered was that, so far as any one
knew, she was the last of the Waejonans. If these foolish wolves continued to
obey the Sharani, then she would soon be torching their valleys. "We accept
them. You have teachers for the children to bring them to the path of Light?"
Malthus asked.

"Yes. A Willodarian priest. You look as if you haven't eaten."

"Not in three days. The children are hungry. I can work with my hands. I am
strong. I can earn whatever bread you can provide."I also have plenty of gold
to spend, but you needn't know that yet.

"The sanctuary can always use more hands. We are building shelters and
houses for the refugees like yourselves. Come and let us see that you are fed.
I am Nikko the Lawgiver."

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"I am Malthus Estrobian. My nieces are Ros and Lyrri. I was kandoyarin,
serving in Ocealay until I heard about the rebellion. Fearing for my family, I
came home. We're all that's left."

At their names, the two girls smiled shyly at the lycan lawgiver.

Nikko smiled back at them. "Welcome to Wolffgard Village."

Malthus smirked as Nikko led them into the yard around the Chieftain Claw
Redhand's home, which was the nearest building to the bridge, and sucked in a
breath of relief. He was in. Soon he could begin to sniff around for what had
happened to Troyes, his nieces' father. So far as he had been able to learn,
this was the last place Troyes had been seen.

Tomyrilen Dovane de Waejonan had appeared suddenly out of nowhere, claiming
to be the illegitimate daughter of the dead prince Shintar de Waejonan, and
half-sister to the late King Baaltrystan. Nobles and commoners alike were
rising to follow her standard. The rebellion had made reaching this valley
difficult, but Malthus had made a deal with the young queen's first advisor,
Lord Daemon. He had been allowed to slip through in exchange for becoming
Daemon's agent here. The valley would fall and Malthus would be well paid in
gold, land, and slaves.

Malthus was a bounty hunter with a reputation for subtlety and
resourcefulness – and sa'necari by birth. His father had been nobly born, but
Malthus came from the wrong side of the blankets. He would have inherited
nothing, even had his father's estates not been burned by the Sharani. Five
siblings on both sides of the blankets had been burned alive by the Sharani.
Knowing the swift way that sa'necari fertility faded, his father had gotten as
many children as he could in his youth. Yet, even so, only Malthus and these
two little girls were left. Unless Troyes was still alive somewhere. He would
let this play out to his advantage; once he decided what that advantage was
and who it lay with.

They followed Nikko past a large manor house with elaborate gardens
surrounding the back and east side. A large barn and stables swept out to the
west side of it. The simple practicality of water troughs and hitching posts
in the courtyard contrasted sharply with elegance behind it. Blue veins shot
through the chinked pale yellow stone of the manor house.

Nikko pointed at it. "That is the chieftain's house, Claw Redhand."

Malthus nodded, his trained eyes to sweeping the grounds. The three-story

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structure wasn't as large as some sa'necari manors, but he estimated that it
must have at least sixteen bedrooms in the main part and an equal number in
the servants' wing. Lycans did not build their homes for defense. They counted
on stopping invaders before they reached the houses and generally they were
alerted by the packs of true wolves that freely ran their valleys, which were
defensible areas in and of themselves. Those wild packs would need to be
located and destroyed early.

"How far have you traveled?" Nikko asked.

"Too far," Malthus replied. "Two months ago I was in Ildyrsetts."

"I have never been there. It is down along the coast?"

"Yes. A little over two weeks ago, I was in Dragonton near Torment Lake."
Malthus rubbed his pen quill thin mustache, pulling at the curving ends a
moment. He had more facial hair than most sa'necari because of his inheritance
from his human mother, which required daily shaving with the elegant folding
razor in his pocket to keep neat. Malthus used it to cut throats as well as to
shave. He had picked it up in Timbren while working for one of the wealthiest
bounty hunters in the business, Necrodez. There were rumors that Necrodez had
finally met his match near Ildyrsetts last winter, but Malthus would have to
see it to believe it.

Nikko nodded thoughtfully. "I hear there has been violence there."

"Not all of the old nobility wanted to accept the new queen. They met in
Dragonton to discuss what actions to take. The queen swept down upon them..."
Malthus let his voice trail away and made a cutting motion across his throat
with his finger. "My family was among them."

Malthus studied Nikko. The mon seemed much too young for his position, no
more than seventeen, or eighteen. Lawgivers were chosen by the location of the
stars at their birth or other omens and reared for the job, serving the elder
lawgiver. Malthus wondered what had happened to the old one, Nevin Scarface.
Well it worked to his advantage to have such an inexperienced lawgiver to deal
with. Now, if only he could be so lucky with the Willodarian priest.

They walked farther and entered the village proper. By that time Ros and
Lyrri were stumbling with exhaustion. Malthus lifted Lyrri into his arms.
Seeing the way Ros was faltering also, Nikko picked her up with a glance at
Malthus who nodded his permission.

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"I am sorry that it is so far," Nikko said. "We built the sanctuary in the
protected area on the northeast side."

"I can understand that. It is a logical way to protect those less able to
protect themselves."And a good way to isolate people until you decide whether
you can trust them. Canny wolves.

The rustic village contained mostly the traditional longhouses of variegated
stone, with newer frame houses sprinkled through, painted in the forest colors
beloved of the lycans. A single main street traversed the village, which was
almost large enough to be called a small town, with numerous residential side
streets. They passed a large assortment of shops and establishments, including
two eateries, a couple of taverns, a dry goods, a tanner's, and toward the end
a blacksmith and a harness-maker. The majority of lycans were no more than
semi-literate, hence the graphics on the signs over every place of business.
Where human villages tended to be dirty, with streets of dead brown, packed
down earth – the lycan main street was thick with trees of all kinds and grass
growing in a wide swath down the middle. Trees shaded the fronts and sides of
every building, with tree rounds and benches for sitting scattered through
with comfortable abandon. The lycans were fond of sitting outside and gabbing
with whoever happened by. People stopped to nod at them and acknowledge the
lawgiver in a mix of politeness and curiosity as they sized up the newcomers.

Malthus gave them his most humble expression salted with suitable anxiety as
if uncertain of his welcome. The two pretty little girls were his key to
opening doors and hearts, and he would see that they played it very well. He
patted Lyrri's back, slid into her mind and sent her to sleep. Over the course
of their journey, he had placed coercions, sways, and triggers in their minds
as deeply as possible. "She's exhausted. We all are. Is it much farther?"

"Only a little. Poor little thing," Nikko said. "We'll have you a place to
sleep and food in no time."

The sanctuary proved to be mostly a cluster of woven cone-shaped sheelings
that required dropping to your knees before crawling inside. Smoke rose from
ventilation holes in the roofs of the sheelings. A long house built of stone
stood at the center with a chimney in the middle of its roof. Several smaller
buildings of wood stood half finished. A short distance away three more stone
houses were being raised as permanent shelters by the refugees with volunteers
from among the lycans. Most of the volunteers were teenagers, yet they moved
to their tasks capably and without hesitation. All lycans were reared to a
trade as soon as they could walk.

A plump, middle-aged lycan wearing a shapeless, dark blue dress stood on the
green in front of the long stone house. Nikko walked up to her. "Beth, I have
more folks for you to care for. This is Malthus. The girls are Lyrri and Ros.
They're sa'necari born, but their uncle isn't. Their family was wiped out in

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the rebellion."

Beth quirked an eyebrow at that. "We're getting a few of those. Come
inside." She gestured at the longhouse.

Malthus said nothing when he saw her nostrils flare and she sniffed him in
passing. Lycans did not consider it rude to check newcomers out with their
noses. He knew that she was confirming his claim to be human. She would not
find anything. Malthus used an embedded spell on the ring he wore to mask his
nature, scent and sa'necari eyes. They could spellcord him, yet his eyes and
scent would still be hidden. The ring had been a gift from Lord Daemon, who
appeared to have an unusually substantial horde of early sa'necari artifacts.

The longhouse had a dirt floor and a deep fire pit in the center, around
which several children lay sleeping. A room at either end was separated from
the rest of the building by a half wall that had a curtained door and window
built into the slat panels. Weathered gray wooden frames were built into the
windows to the outside to hold the shutters that they closed on cooler nights.

Beth grabbed some bowls off a shelf and knelt by the pit. A huge kettle hung
above the pit, suspended on two iron posts with a rod across them. She dipped
up a hearty stew of lentils, lamb, and vegetables.

Malthus woke Lyrri as he knelt and set her on the ground. Nikko placed Ros
by her sister near the fire pit.

"I'll return tomorrow and check on how you're doing," Nikko said. He left as
Beth began handing bowls around to Malthus and his nieces.

Beth had a sweet, apple-cheeked face and a pleasant manner. She beamed at
the girls as they ate hungrily. "Have they been blooded yet?"

Malthus gave her a startled grin. "That's some years off. Female sa'necari
get their fangs with their menses, or so that side of my family told me."

Beth glanced at his wrists as if looking for spellcord, leaned in and
sniffed him again. "You're human."

"I'm afraid so."

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Beth sniffed Ros and Lyrri. "Sa'necari. How is it you're not?"

Malthus had expected to be interrogated. The lycans were cautious about
outsiders. Odds were that Beth might prove to be a bit of a gossip and that
could work to his favor. He gave her a straight look with just an edge of
concern. "My mother was human. One of my father's numerous mistresses. I was
born in Dragonton near Torment Lake."

Beth brightened. "I know the area. I have cousins up there. City wolves, but
nice folk."

Mixing lies with his truths, Malthus described a bit of his youth growing up
along the lake where their sa'necari overlords had once held most of their
rites since the days of Waejonan. His last name was not Estrobian, but he had
known the Estrobians well, having grown up with Volosarius Estrobian, the mon
who introduced him to Necrodez, his last teacher.

Beth warmed to him steadily.

"I never met any of the Estrobians when I visited my cousins, but I heard of
them," Beth said. "Fancy folk."

"Aren't all sa'necari in this land?"

Beth chuckled. "Not the ones working the sanctuary. We got them spellcorded,
sealed, and doing chores."

Shivers ran through Malthus at the thought of being spellcorded. "You have
adult sa'necari here?"

"Yup. Five women. Only way we'd let them accompany their children across the
bridge."

Malthus swallowed back his reaction to that news and changed the subject.
"Where will we sleep for the night? I would like to get the girls settled
soon."

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"Here for the moment. I'll get you some mats and blankets. Tomorrow one of
the women should be moving into a new house with her children. It's there –
and near enough finished. You can have their sheeling for the time being,
until you can get a house up."

* * * *

Dynanna sat in the middle of her bed in Imralon, where she had remained
after Isranon left early last spring. Normally she would have gone home to
either her cottage in the garden that she shared with her brother, or her
little house in the Badree Nym village of Summersnow near Blue Dog Pass.
Nothing she did could distract her from moping over the black bottle Dynarien
had given her for Isranon.

The bottle contained a euthanasia drug the Assassins Guild used. Isranon
carried a divinator's curse inside his damaged body. Divinators used the
bodies of their victims to turn the tides of wars, destroy kings, and deliver
terrible curses. She had no way to know what would happen if the embedded
spells killed Isranon.

Dynanna squeezed the bottle until her knuckles whitened. She shoved the
bottle into her pocket with a heavy sigh, and got up, wandering listlessly to
her wall with the slingshots on it. Dynanna took each of them down, turning
them around in her hands half-heartedly before replacing them with another
sigh. No doubt existed in her mind but that a great and powerful curse would
be unleashed upon someone with Isranon's death. The only ways to avert it were
to either get the spells out before they could kill him or to change the
manner of his death. Certain ways of dying would accommodate the spells, such
as the dark rites or a violent death, especially if blades were involved.
Contrariwise, if Isranon died quietly by his own hand...

Dynanna worried that if she gave him the bottle and explained about the
curse lodged within him, he might decide to simply take the drug and die,
rather than continuing his struggle to live and risk releasing the curse
should the embedded spells finally claim him. Her hand went to the bulge in
her pockets that was the bottle. "I wish you hadn't left this up to me,
Dynarien," she muttered.

Then a thought struck her that sent a shivering sea of goosebumps over her
body. What if Isranon's death was a curse directed at the destruction of the
Sacred King? Without the Sacred King and at least one mage-paladin of
Kalirion, matters could soon spiral out of hand what with the dark forces
pounding along the eastern bank of the Hillora. Kalirion had his king, but not
his mage-paladins; they were always pan-elementalists and life-mages. Usually
an Abelard.

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But there were none of them left.Except – except...

Dynanna suddenly had an idea. She had to talk to Kalirion. Dynanna had been
putting that conversation off because Kalirion always tried to seduce her and
he could be very persistent. She sucked in a fortifying breath and Jumped for
the Gardens of the Sun.

It was night in the world below, but it was always daylight in the garden of
Kalirion, which lived and blossomed in a wondrous eternal springtime. The
garden was incredibly lovely. Trees bloomed and fruited all year round.
Flowers in every shade of blue imaginable grew there.

Few signs remained to show that, up until a year ago, Kalirion's Jesmyrran
angels had still been coaxing Dynanna's gophers from it. At Dynanna's
insistence, they had released those gophers where they were now harassing the
fields and gardens of a particularly nasty tribe of goblins. The garden now
bloomed in its full beauty and luxuriant growth. Every shade of blue and
yellow could be found in a lush riot of color; from blossoms to fruit; on
bushes, vines, and trees. The grass grew deep and sweet in a soft carpet over
every open space. The winding paths were paved in topaz and turquoise, the
broad stones set in interesting patterns.

The Idyn tree at its center overflowed with large, iridescent, peacock blue
fruit and flowers, showing every sign of recovering from Dynanna's long ago
gopher curse. Looking closer, however, she could still detect a droop in its
branches. She felt a flash of guilt at that. Dynanna sighed. One of these
days, she would learn to keep her temper in check and not react without
thinking. She had come here seeking answers to a prophecy and Kalirion, who
was in love with her, had insisted she trade him a day and a night of sex for
it. Dynanna had agreed to the deal and then cursed his garden afterward. It
had taken his angels years to catch and remove all of her gophers.

She settled on an elegant white bench to wait for him to appear. He always
knew when she arrived these days.

Dynanna did not have long to wait. Kalirion emerged from his palace beyond
the Idyn tree, wearing only a short white kilt. He was an immense man, six
foot five inches, very muscular and clean limbed. Every time she saw him,
Dynanna became wet between her thighs with longing; however, her perverse
sexuality was such that every single time she had sex with a god, she got
pregnant. What was worse was that she could get pregnant with another child
every twenty-four hours for up to a week before it stopped. Multiple births
were a commonplace for her. Gods were fun in bed, but she preferred mortals
since she had not yet managed to get pregnant by one. Kalirion and Ishla both
said they were looking into a solution to her problem, but neither of them had
found it yet.

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"Have you come for conversation or for a favor, belovèd?" Kalirion asked,
joining her on the bench.

She looked into his eyes of flame. "A favor."

A bright, eager smile spread over his fair face and he flicked back a blond
curl from his forehead. "You know the price."

"Nope." Dynanna grinned cheekily. "I have something else you want just as
much."

The Elder God arched an eyebrow at her. "What would that be?"

"A mage-paladin. An Abelard."

His lips thinned. "There aren't any."

Dynanna grinned. "Oh, yes, there is."

"Give me his name. If you're right, then I'll give you your favor."

"Lord Isranon Dawnreturning of the lineage of my brother Dawnhand." The
words were scarcely out of her mouth when Dynanna could tell that she had
Kalirion's full attention. "He's mine, but I'll trade him to you."

* * * *

Malthus stood staring at the stars and thinking. The evening breeze had come
up early and blew strongly into the night, carrying a heavy scent of pine and
evergreens. It swirled his black hair, which he had loosed from the confining
leather thong. He heard the back door to the longhouse open, and from the
solid sound of the steps, knew it had to be Beth emerging.

"Mind if I join you?"

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"Please do," Malthus said, turning toward her.

Beth had changed into a pale pink shift that buttoned down the front as far
as her navel. The hem brushed her ankles with a soft swish. "What are you
thinking of? Your family?"

Malthus lowered his eyes. "What else would I think of? This is the first
time we've been able to stop running in four weeks."

"You'll be fine here," Beth said, coming up to him, swaying her large hips
in a manner that suggested she found him attractive. Her raw-umber hair had
been freed from its earlier bonds and hung past her waist.

"Yes, I think so. We will need all the help we can get. I will work hard in
exchange for it. I just worry about my nieces."

Beth stopped very close to him. "We will do all that we can. You seem like a
good mon to care so much."

"I try." Malthus, guessing that a bitch of her age and build did not get
much male attention, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I appreciate
everything you're doing for us, Beth."

She flushed and started to draw away from him, fluttering her hands. Her
size made the girlish movement seem grotesque.

Malthus gambled. Most lycans had strong minds that resisted sa'necari
intrusions, and unless they were caught off guard it required a prolonged,
systematic hammering to break them open. Malthus had always had a fetish for
lycans. Two of his last doxies had been lycan. Malthus had frequented their
taverns and brothels, partied, hunted, and gamed with them since early
adulthood. Dozens had died on his altars, and hundreds had perished in his
dungeons in his experiments with poisons and various other toxins, as well as
in his detailed examinations of lycan anatomy. He had even vivisected several.
There was very little he did not know about lycans. He had never completely
understood the attraction, yet he had never denied it.

He sized Beth up as someone who used charity work to fill up the empty hole
where a husband and children of her own should have been. The extremity of her

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neediness made her vulnerable.

"You're too kind," he murmured, and when he sensed her deeper flush of
pleasure, he lunged into her mind with a needle thin blade of power.

Beth looked confused, one hand went trembling to her face. "I want to be ...
kind. You don't need to be ... to be so..." Her voice trailed off as Malthus
captured her fingers and kissed them.

He twisted the invisible blade of his gifts deeper into her psyche. "You
like pleasing me."

"Yes, I do. I–" Beth shivered.

Malthus flicked his fingers across her nipples, and Beth shuddered. "You
want me, Beth. You want me as a woman wants a man." Each time he said her
name, he gave the blade another thrust into her mind, cutting through the
cords of her resistance.

"Yes, I do. More than anything."

"Good, Beth. You know what I am now, but you're not going to tell anyone,
are you, Beth?"

The light faded from Beth's eyes as he extinguished her will with each
repetition of her name. Her lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out.
Her arms settled at her sides in a lifeless manner.

Malthus kissed her again. "Come into the trees with me, Beth. I'm hungry."

"Yes."

The subtle coercions he wished to place in her mind would take time to
achieve. If he accidentally tore her, Beth's behaviors would change too
abruptly and someone would notice it. For the nonce a feeding trigger would do
nicely, set just deeply enough for her to open her veins and legs to him.

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As Malthus led Beth into sheltered copse, he asked her, "When was the last
time that a sa'necari guested with your chieftain? This used to be a royal
waystation."

Beth licked her lips with a little,hhhmmmn. "Must have been just over three
years ago. Two of them. Troyes and Isranon."

Malthus settled on the ground with Beth and began unfastening her dress. She
stared past him as if unaware of what was happening. Her body proved to be
fat, but not shapeless, and after a fashion appealing. "And where did they go
when they left, Beth?"

"Don't know. They just left. Only Claw's household knows. He don't like
folks talking about it, cause one of those two storked his daughter. The
child's sa'necari."

He fondled Beth's huge breast, eyeing the conspicuous vein along the top.
"Which one do you think did it?"

"Troyes. I was running with the wolves one night and stumbled on them going
at it. We should have stoned her, but the lawgiver wouldn't let us."

Malthus let his fangs down completely and breathed along her breast, as he
penetrated the innermost places of her being, binding her to his suggestions.
"Nikko?"

"No. Nevin. Nikko's his cousin ... was his apprentice then." Beth trembled
when Malthus removed her clothing and ran his hands up and down her body.

"What is this princess of farmers' name?"

"Merissa."

"You'll help me find a way to meet her?" Malthus began removing his own
clothing.

Beth watched him disrobe with a glazed expression. "Yes."

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"Good. Are you still a virgin, Beth? An old maid?"

"Yes. No one's ever wanted me."

"Be good and I'll take care of that tonight." Malthus laid Beth on her back.
He felt her psyche squirming as he showed her his fangs that were fully
extended from their sheathes. He rotated his power through every vulnerable
spot within her like a knife in a wound. "Beth, Beth, Beth. You're in love
with me."

Malthus threw himself on top of her, enjoying the way she moaned as his
fangs pierced her breast and he began to suck her rich lycan blood. If anyone
heard them, they would assume that someone was making love in the copse. And,
once he finished his meal, they would be.

* * * *

Malthus slipped out of Beth's bed before first light, lest one of the
children catch him there. He had ridden her several times in the night,
sa'necari having a greater sex drive than most other races. The children had
been forbidden to enter what passed for a bedroom in the longhouse, but that
did not mean they would obey – children were known for disobedience. Beth had
told him the truth – it was nearly impossible for anyone to lie with the blade
of a sa'necari's power lodged in her brain – she had been virgin. He had
thoroughly deflowered her to both their satisfactions. Malthus tied his pants
closed, pulled on his tunic, and belted his blades and pouch on.

Within a few days, he would have a perfectly cooperative tool in Beth. He
stepped silently around the children sleeping on the floor like a pile of
puppies, and emerged from the longhouse to the sounds of trees crashing to
earth. Malthus glanced toward the sounds and saw lycans in their hybrid forms,
wearing only pants, trimming away the branches of the felled trees with axes.

He nodded at that and went to the water barrels lining the west side of the
longhouse, took down a dipper from a wooden frame above them, and took a long
drink before splashing himself with the leftovers. If he wanted a bath, he
would have to go down to the stream.

"So you're new."

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Malthus straightened and turned at the sound. A tall, long-limbed mon stood
there, wearing the umber robe and forest green cloak of a priest to
Willodarus. He had a heavy nose in a long face that reminded Malthus of a
hound dog he had once owned. A leonine wealth of nut-brown hair topped his
head, and he had heavy-lidded steel blue eyes, framed in wrinkles beneath a
strong brow ridge. The priest carried a tall staff and a belt-knife so small
it could not be considered a weapon. At first glance there was nothing to give
Malthus pause to consider the mon a threat, yet his instincts said there had
to be. Malthus gave him a polite bow. "Yes, I'm Malthus Estrobian. My nieces
and I arrived yesterday. The girls are still sleeping, but I needed some air."

"We all need air. What god do you serve?"

"I haven't pledged to any, but I make offerings to all as the need comes to
me."

The priest's eyes went to Malthus' wrists. "Human?"

Malthus nodded. His eyes slewed to the side and he saw the lawgiver, Nikko,
leaning against an elm tree with his arms crossed. Malthus wondered what part
Nikko had played in bringing the priest to investigate him.

Nikko noticed Malthus looking at him, and nodded with a pleasant smile.

The priest's gaze seemed to deepen and extend into him. Malthus found
himself reaching out to the ring to strengthen his shields. "Waejontori
human?"

"Yes. But I've been away for fifteen years."

"Take your tunic off and show me your neck."

Malthus unbuckled his belt, dropped it to the ground, and then he pulled off
his tunic. His stomach tightened and he forced it to relax. He had not had the
ring of concealment tested this severely: the priest intended to Read him. "Do
you wish me to sit for this?"

"A good point. Bring your things to that boulder, and sit there." The priest
pointed to a huge rock in the middle of the yard near a wooden bench.

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Malthus obeyed, and the priest followed him. Once settled, the examination
began. The priest ran his fingers along both sides of Malthus' neck, Reading
for signs of his having been bitten, which could have placed him under the
control of Lemyari and other hemovores. The priest checked his arms, his
chest, his sides, and stomach. Then he grasped Malthus' wrist and Read him
deeply. Malthus analyzed the nature of the priest's powers as they moved
through him: the mon was human, not lycan. Interesting.

Without releasing Malthus' wrist, the old priest remarked, "I'm astonished
that one who has lived so intimately with the sa'necari as you have, is not
marked in some way."

Malthus shrugged. "I was a noble's bastard. I left young. There's no place
for my kind at court, except to bend over and offer my neck."

"I'm surprised they let you go."

The priest's tone irritated Malthus. "I'm human. Not nibari. My father was
not so low as to eat his own children."

"Are we getting a little angry?" The lines of the priest's eyes crinkled as
he grinned good-naturedly and let go of Malthus' wrist. "I apologize for
pushing you. It is my job to assess the newcomers, just as it is for the
lawgiver. Nikko is young, so he likes for me to examine them also." The mon
extended his hand. "I am Tempest Anstey."

Malthus grasped it. "It is good to meet you."

"I hope you find it so. We'll be keeping an eye on you. We do all of the
males at first. You see, not many have shown up here seeking refugee. Most
flee over the borders into Creeya. It is the women and children who can't run
as far or as well who come to us."

"I am here because of my nieces. I feared they would not survive that kind
of a journey."

"Understandable. I will leave you alone now. However, I will drop in again."

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"I will welcome you."

Malthus turned his attention elsewhere as Tempest departed with Nikko. Three
lycans, bare to the waist, in their transitional forms, dragged a tree into
the compound and set to it with hammers and wedges once they had ascertained
which way the grain lay. They split it into planks with swift efficiency.
Several young myn moved the planks to the houses that were being raised.

He drifted over to them and spied a young lycan who appeared to be in
charge. "Is there something I can do to help?"

Shalto straightened from running his hand along one of the planks. "You're
the new one." He extended his hand and shook with Malthus.

"I'm Malthus."

"Shalto. Well, there'll be plenty of work for you soon. You don't need to
start immediately."

"You're rather young to be in charge, aren't you?"

Shalto scowled. "I'm sixteen. I've been of age for two years."

"I meant no offense."

"Then none taken."

"Perhaps you'd allow me to buy you a tankard at the tavern in exchange for
telling me how best to fit in? I know very little about your customs, and I
don't wish to offend anyone."

Shalto grinned. "Can my cousin, Oswyl, come?" He thumbed at another young
mon with rust colored hair.

Malthus smiled broadly. "Certainly."

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"We'll take a tavern break in the afternoon when the sun gets hottest. Come
back then."

Malthus wandered the camp, observing the people. Naked children crawled out
of the low openings to the woven bark sheelings and ran laughing across the
yard, pursued by older siblings trying to pull clothes over them. The smoke of
cook fires spiraled out of the exit holes in the sheeling roofs as the women
began to cook their allotments of meal. Others emerged with their bedding and
hung them out to air on lines stretched between trees. Several women filled
pitchers at the water barrels and carried them back to their houses and
sheelings. Malthus could easily identify the sa'necari among them by the
spellcords on their wrists with the deadly seals attached – if they tried to
remove the cords, the seal would release a fatal spell upon them. He had only
been corded once, and that had been by his mother who wished for him to
understand the effect and she had released him less than an hour later. Still,
looking at the cords made him shudder.

The refugees were mostly young women with children. He ran his tongue across
his gums, feeling the sheathes of his fangs. There were several there that
Malthus would have enjoyed getting his teeth into, but caution was a watchword
with him. He would make do with Beth for the nonce. Greed would betray him to
the lycans faster than anything else. He had to also make certain that Ros
remained in firm control, since she was precocious and had been born with her
fangs.

He sauntered around behind the dwellings to the barns and watched four of
the homeliest nibari he had ever seen milking goats while the tethered beasts
nibbled at the low hanging leaves of a leaning oak tree. Once Malthus had
walked the entire length of the camp and found each of the red sticks that had
been placed around it to mark its perimeters, he decided on an isolated corner
sheltered by many trees as the spot where he wanted to place his house. He
would inform Beth of his choice and she would tell the others.

Shalto and Oswyl were sitting on tree rounds, waiting for Malthus when he
made his way back.

"Are you ready?" asked Shalto.

"I certainly am," replied Malthus, reaching into a pouch to flash several
pieces of gold and silver at the youths.

Oswyl nudged Shalto. "Let's go. I'm thirsty."

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"The Difficult Horse is the best," Shalto said as they began walking toward
the village. "Old Hereward makes his own mead from honey the farmers sell him,
and it's very nice."

"I imagine so. Lycans are famous for their mead."

"So we are," Oswyl acknowledged Malthus' comment.

The Difficult Horse, called that because of its sign that featured a horse
sitting on its rump while a mon tugged the reins before it, stood on Main
Street across from the village common. The interior, cool, dark, and pleasant
compared to the heat and glaring sunlight outside, provided a welcome relief.
Barrels with spigots jutting from them lined the rear wall behind a polished
bar of walnut heartwood. Sturdy chairs circled the round tables placed
throughout. Shalto led the way to their favorite table near the right hand
wall, and the young lycan indicated that Malthus should sit first. Malthus
chose the chair that put his back to the wall where he could see everyone
around him, an old custom that had saved his life in the past and played to
the caution in his nature.

A servingmon came to take their order and Malthus noticed the metal
ownership collar around her neck: she was nibari, a reminder that before Claw
closed their borders to his kind two years ago, this had been a waystation for
sa'necari passing through the occupied zone. The mon had been expected to open
her veins and legs to sa'necari passing through as well as to serve other
customers in the past. It irritated him and Malthus' thoughts went back to the
women of his kind shackled by sealed spellcords on each wrist. Spellcord on a
single wrist was not enough to completely stifle the flow of power through a
mage's shaukras and the mage-nets in their body, each wrist had to be corded
separately. His human mother had taught him that by making him wear them both
ways for a day. He wondered how his mother fared with her new employer, Lord
Daemon.

"So, what did you do before you wound up here?" asked Shalto, shifting back
in his seat as the tankards arrived and Malthus dropped some coins onto the
server's tray.

"I spent fifteen years as a kandoyarin."

"Mercenary. Hsaaah!" Shalto grinned, appreciation glinting in his pecan
shell brown eyes.

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Well at least they know the term. That's worth something. "I've been from
one end of the Blood Coast to the other."

From the corner of Malthus' eye, he caught a glimpse of Nikko covertly
watching them.Is he following me around? Or was he already here?

"Why'd you come back?" Oswyl asked.

"The rebellion. I had family in Waejontor." Malthus pressed his hands around
his tankard and stared into the contents before continuing. "I became worried
about them."

Shalto and Oswyl shared a glance as if deciding who would ask the obvious
question. As usual, it was Shalto who did. "Had?"

"They're all dead ... except my nieces. I didn't get back in time."

"We're really sorry to hear about that, aren't we, Shalto?"

"Yeah. Look, if there's anything we can do to help you, Malthus, you just
let us know."

"Thank you, I will."

Malthus bought them a second and a third round. By that time the two youths
were treating him like a long lost brother, including telling him about their
problems with females: they couldn't get any. Their problems with some of the
other young wolves: they felt that they deserved more respect than they were
getting. Their jobs at the camp didn't pay well, since they came from
donations to the shrine, but jobs were scarce. Malthus took their measures,
probed their vulnerabilities, and explored their dreams. He purchased a fourth
round and when they finished, the young pair staggered happily back to the
compound with him.

* * * *

Malthus crawled into the sheeling and dropped his pack well away from the
firepit. He withdrew a necklace of little crystal globes that looked like

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simple pretties. Holding them one at a time in the palm of his hand, Malthus
decided which one he wanted. He laid the necklace on the dirt floor, and
tapped it with a word of command. Two covered quivers and a long bow came out.
He tapped another, which brought forth a bowl and several bottles of a silvery
liquid. Then he began to dip the points in and stack the arrows against the
side of the sheeling to dry. The poison worked best when it was fresh.

The mountain air of the high elevation valley always became dramatically
cooler in the evenings. A small fire burned in the pit. Two reed beds lay
along the sides with a quilt to contain them and a light coverlet over that.
Ros and Lyrri crept in behind him. Ros appeared a bit peaked, and he knew she
must be feeling the effects of not having had blood to drink in several days.

At his gesture the girls settled together on their bed. He stroked Ros' dark
hair. "One more day, Ros. Then I'll have blood for you."

"Thank you, Uncle. I'm so hungry I hurt."

"I know how that is. I've had to go without a few myself."

Malthus put a finger to each of their foreheads and sent them to sleep. He
studied them both with a deep fondness while he waited for Beth to arrive. Had
he not needed them for this gambit, he would have sent them to his mother when
he took them from their maternal relatives, who in his estimation had been not
rearing them properly – timid sa'necari equally fearing both the queen and the
Sharani, trying to pass for human, and running a dry goods store as a front
for their existence. That was no fit life for his brother's children.
Especially Ros, who was a prodigy among sa'necari and would be very powerful
when she came into her own.

Beth scrambled through the opening, glanced back out to make certain she had
not been seen, and sat on his bed. Nothing they did would wake the girls, only
his command, or the sun in their eyes. She undressed without being told.
Malthus smiled at that. Beth had proved very susceptible. Just one night and
he had her trained this much. Tonight he would train her further. He needed
Beth to feed both himself and Ros until other arrangements could be made.

"I love you, Malthus," she said, her voice filled with eagerness for him. "I
didn't let anyone see me. I've been good, Malthus."

"I know, Beth." He looked at the healing bruise he had left on her breast
last night. Lycans healed more quickly than humans and it would be gone by
tomorrow. It would already be gone, if he hadn't torn her more than he
originally meant to.

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Malthus kissed her cheek and slid into her mind again, turning and knotting
the trigger tighter. He began the first layer of commands that would become a
coercion. "You want to protect me, Beth."

Once more he used repetitions of her name to strengthen his hold upon her.

"More than anything." Her earnest expression pleased him.

"Good girl, Beth." He gazed at her throat. Bellocar's Hells, how he wanted
to put his fangs in her neck – but that would show – it was all that he could
do to hold himself back. "You don't want anyone to hurt me."

She raised concerned eyes to his face. "I don't want them to do that."

"They would kill me, Beth."

Her eyes widened like a small creature trapped in the sudden glare of a
lamp. "No. I can't let them do that."

"You know what you need to do then, Beth," Malthus murmured into her ear,
kissing her head.

"I need to protect you."

"More than that. I need the freedom to come and go from this place. You will
cover for me, lie for me..." Malthus knotted the edge of the coercion. "Kill
for me."

Tears abruptly appeared in Beth's eyes and spread a river across her cheeks.
Malthus knew that she had finally realized what he had done to her, but he was
in too deeply for her to break free. Her psyche squirmed. She needed to be
disciplined.

He touched a single finger to her chest, with a tiny spell of muscular
disruption, which sent a fiery lance of pain through her. She gasped sharply

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and grabbed at his finger. He brushed her stomach with his other hand,
repeating the spell, and Beth doubled over with a cry.

He licked her tears away and kissed her breasts, dressing his threats in a
lover's soft tones. "Don't fight me, Beth. Don't make me hurt you."

"I won't," she sobbed.

"That's a good girl." He put another knot in the coercion. The more firmly
he placed his controls, the more aware of them he could safely allow her to
be, enabling him to enjoy the taste of her fear. "Do I frighten you, Beth?"

She trembled. "Yes."

"Good. Lie back and spread your legs. Which vein shall I open tonight?"

"Any you wish."

* * * *

The two young boys, eleven and twelve years old, stole up to Malthus'
sheeling in the dark, and squatted down listening to the grunting and moaning.
There had been some words earlier, but they had not heard them clearly.

"See, I told you Beth is finally getting some," Rory said.

"I never thought fat, old Beth would ever get any," Hamish replied.

"I doubt she's more'n a waystation to him. He'll drop her when he gets a
prettier sheath for his sword."

"What are you two doing out here this late?" Nikko asked, emerging from the
darkness beneath the trees. He had been on his way home from counseling one of
the human women in the compound.

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Hamish started to run, but Nikko was quicker and had him by the collar. Rory
escaped, running for all that he was worth. Nikko sighed, wishing he had been
faster and gotten them both. He would have to talk to their parents tomorrow.
That was part of his job as the lawgiver.

Nikko lifted Hamish onto the tips of his toes. "What are you doing?" he
repeated.

"Listenin' to it."

"What?" Then Nikko's sharp lycan ears were drawn to the sounds of two people
coupling loudly in the sheeling. For a second he wondered if Malthus was
molesting his nieces.

"Beth," Hamish hissed. "It's old Beth. We were goin' home from playing with
those Hansley kids and saw her go crawling into there. Then the sounds start
up. Oh, they been loud."

"Listening to it is rude. You go home right now," Nikko admonished him,
reconsidering his initial decision to speak to their parents and deciding to
wait and see if he caught them here again. "If I catch you again, I'll be
forced to inform your parents."

"Yes'm, Master Nikko."

"And you tell Rory that I said it."

"Yes'm."

Nikko released Hamish, and the boy raced off in the direction of his home in
the middle of the village.Well, maybe the admonition will be enough.

The sounds coming from the sheeling sent an odd shiver over Nikko, like the
skeletal hand of presentiment. Something wasn't right, but he was almost
afraid to touch it. Nevin would have known what to do. Nikko stared at the
sheeling for a moment. He shook himself. If it was not all right for the boys
to listen, then it was not all right for him either. So he walked home,
wishing Nevin were here to counsel him. More and more he went to Tempest with
his doubts and uncertainties, but Tempest was not lycan and failed to

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understand all of their ways.

CHAPTER FOUR

TAKEN

Anksha insisted on sharing Isranon's horse as they rode to the formal
dinner. She snuggled against his chest, her skirts hiked up around her hips.
Nans and Travis led with Haig bringing up the rear. A small guard of Rowdies
rode with them, eyeing their opposite number who were drawn from Captain
Liuthan's Blues. The Blues wore uniforms of deepest blue-violet trimmed in a
bright shade of chrysocolla-blue. They looked impressive compared to the
freerangers in their forest-green leathers.

Sea birds called skrrreeee, skrrrrreeee, as they drifted on the winds, while
seeking signs of fish among the waves. The tart sea breeze carried a cocktail
of scents, a twist of fish, a dash of salt, and a fragrant flurry of marsh
grasses.

"How we gonna handle this, Nans?"Travis asked in Night-Elf. More and more
they were learning to appreciate Willodarus' gift of that obscure and distant
language.

"We play it by ear, one step at a time, Travis. We can't do anything else.
Just stay alert."

When they reached Tamric's mansion and rode into the grounds, hostlers came
to take their horses. The crenellated walls were tall, with enough distance
between them and the house to make an effective killing field for archers. The
Rowdies could be decimated without a fight here – which was why Nans had left
most of her humans behind. The archers would have to get in a lucky shot to
stop the Lemyari and Ymraudes before those vampires tore their throats out.

A servant appeared, gesturing for their guards to make themselves
comfortable on some benches along the walls, and then led the invited members
of Nans' party into the mansion.

The Captains held the dinner in Tamric's great hall and it proved very

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formal indeed. High Captain Tamric sat with his lady at his arm. All five
captains had assembled for it: Tamric; small, gaunt Piran with his deeply
seamed face, reptilian expression, and walnut-stain skin; indolent Liuthan,
with his finely chiseled features and carefully manicured beard sat four seats
down from Tamric with his wife beside him; Lyrentine, the only female captain,
occupied the chair opposite Liuthan, looking entirely too serene; and finally
Memnon from Jedrua at the table's end. Several guards stood still as stone
along the walls.

While they styled themselves captains, they ruled as lords. No kandoyarin
worked the Blood Coast – not from the peninsula of Salmania in the North to
the far southern Cape of Jedrua – unless they paid dues to the Captains and
only bonded companies worked. The Captains were a law unto themselves and a
harsh one. They could prove capricious with those who were not employers. And
this was their city.

Mandolins played softly and a lovely voice sang from a dais at the far end.
The steward seated Anksha beside Liuthan, and Isranon between her and Tamric.
They split the rest of the Rowdies up, seating Nans with Piran; Travis with
Memnon; and Haig with Lyrentine.

Anksha looked vaguely uncomfortable in the silken dress with sleeves of
delicate Lyrian lace, which Tamric had sent her. She had insisted on slashing
a tiny hole in the seam to let her tail out. She kept shaking the sleeves
back. The singer intrigued her and she listened with her head tilted.

"Bird, bird, bird," Anksha murmured, watching Squeaky. Then she saw,
concealed near the back of the dais, a female creature who was securely
chained and wondered at that. The woman looked vaguely orcish. Thick-bodied
and impressively fanged, upper and lower. Heavily muscled, dark reddish hair.
The woman saw that Anksha was looking at her and winked.

"See sense, Nans, you are mercenaries yourselves. Chartered in five
kingdoms." Tamric pointed out, waving a spoon at her.

"Freerangers, Tamric. We do search and rescue. Not wars. There's a large
difference," Nans said. "And it's six kingdoms. We handle all of the
city-states. We pull children out of wells and dig trapped miners out of
collapsed mines. We don't do wars. We work for the temples. The green seers
send us out. Our people have an arrangement with yours for supplies and that
is the extent of it."

"I do not see it that way, my lady," Piran said sharply, leaning forward on
his elbows, a fork in his hand, pointing at her with a bit of octopus tentacle
jiggling on the end. Anksha stared at him and then at the small octopus on her
plate with the fascination of a cat, stabbing at it with her fork. She had not

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quite mastered the implements but enjoyed playing with them.

Liuthan's wife, Chinisi, grinned and nudged him toward Anksha. He smiled
slyly, his lips always half sneer, his eyes tracing Anksha's tail in a
sneaking fashion and finally his fingers reached for it.

Isranon had been watching him in an apparently casual fashion, so the mon
was startled when the mage said sharply. "Don't, Captain. For the sake of your
soul, don't touch it. She's magic. Chaos magic."

Anksha, realizing what Liuthan was about to do, snapped. "My tail is my own!
My tail is my own!" Then she slapped him. The other captains roared and
Liuthan flushed angrily. Chinisi patted her husband's knee beneath the table.

"A lady's bottom is, after all, private, Liuthan," said Tamric with infinite
drollery. "Even if it carries a very charming tail." He smiled at Anksha and
she calmed.

"As I was saying," began Piran again. "Your mage must be for hire. After
all, Nans, how much longer can you expect to hold onto to your charters when
it gets out that you are running with two sa'necari?"

Isranon went still. The people who knew had agreed to hold that secret. The
Taladrim knew. The Rowdies knew. Edvarde knew. His god and her family knew.Who
had told them?

"Where did you hear this?" Nans asked, her voice cold enough to freeze
summer.

"Liuthan brought us an offer from the sa'nekaryiane," Tamric said. "She
wanted to hire us. All five of us. We refused, of course. Then she offered a
bounty on both the mage and you, as well as another of your company, the late
Prince Mephistis' catamite, Isranon. Again we refused it. Then she threatened
us. I told her to go to hell. Sooner or later she'll cross the Hillora in
force despite the naiads' interdiction, or go over the top by way of Gormond's
Reach, or break through the south pass and round the Horn. When she does I
want your mage defending my city."

Isranon could not think. Galee had begun offering even the outlanders these
bounties and telling them what he was. Some, like Tamric would see him as a
tool, an asset; others would see him as a monster. Anksha startled him from
his thoughts by picking up the octopus with her hands to bite a piece from it.

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He took it away from her and cut the tentacles off. She slurped them down like
long noodles. "Anksha, pet, I need to teach you to eat like a lady."

"I'm not a lady, I'm Anksha."

"I know that."

Several of the captains laughed.

"My mage journeys to Treth in search of a cure," Nans said. "Dawnreturning
is ill."

Liuthan grinned, sliding a piece of paper down the table. It was passed
along until it laid it front of her. She saw that it bore Bohannon's seal.

Nans lifted an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"Read it," Piran said. "You'll find the gates of Treth closed to you."

Nans' eyes narrowed as she read, her voice going several degrees colder.
Bohannon had cancelled her charter and declared her company outlaw in his
lands. "You've figured all the angles, haven't you? Built the cage and closed
the door."

"We always do," Tamric told her. "The sa'nekaryiane either hates this mon
beyond belief or she is terrified of him. Or both."

Isranon stood. "I have no reason to remain here. And you cannot hold me."

"You have every reason to remain here," Tamric said smoothly, nodding at a
servant who opened a rear door allowing three people in mage robes to enter.

Isranon stilled, watching them cautiously. Anksha slipped from her chair to
crouch beside him, and Nans rose.

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"What is this?" Nans asked.

From the edges of her eyes, Anksha watched the female creature shifting
behind the dais and grasping the chains that held her firmly in her hands.
Anksha wondered what the creature was doing, or preparing to do.

"No cause for alarm, Nans. I've acquired some spell-breakers. Their methods
may be crude, but they should be able to get most of the embedded spells out
with a minimum of damage."

"Crude? They leave a lot of crippled bodies in their wake, Tamric," Nans
snarled. "What the hell, can you be thinking? They were a last resort after
losing the life mages during the war. What kind of an offer is that?"

"It's better than dying," Tamric said. "One of these attacks is eventually
going to kill him."

"What are spell-breakers?" Isranon asked Nans.

Nans shook her head. There was so much that Isranon did not know about the
lands beyond Waejontor's borders. "I'll explain later."

"You'll explain now," Piran said.

Movement to her left drew Anksha's attention away from the dais.

Liuthan had continued to watch Anksha's tail and now he drew a bit of
braided cord from his pocket. Anksha had promised to behave like a lady, no
claws, no fangs and no unnecessary roughness, but she recognized spellcord
when she saw it. She had no idea whether it was meant for her or Isranon, but
it made her angry. She picked up a whole octopus and crammed it in Liuthan's
face, grinding the tentacles into his sideburns and delicately formed beard.
Then she crowned him with the plate, jumped onto the table, and began throwing
food. Someone grabbed at her and the lower half of her gown tore away. She
wore nothing underneath, which drew the startled eyes of everyone present. A
resounding crash came from the dais and screams followed as it slowly
overturned, spilling the singers and musicians. Guardsmyn rushed into the
chambers.

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"Arabella! Arabella is loose!"

Nans stood in the center of the chaos of people rushing about. She heard the
singer called Squeaky screaming madly and then her voice abruptly broke off.
The dais came crashing and sliding across the room, forcing the Rowdies to
leap aside.

Arabella, a stout five-foot creature with upper and lower fangs framing her
full lips in a determined expression, darted through the room with Squeaky
slung over her shoulder. Heavy manacles and a few links of the chains that had
held her hung from her wrists. A guardsmon stepped in front of her. Without
pausing, Arabella grabbed him by the belt and tossed him from her path as if
he weighed nothing at all. She ran from the chamber before anyone else could
get in her way.

Tamric cursed. He did not intend to let the stupid stump-bynter ruin his
plans. One way or another he intended to keep the mage. The captain pulled the
spellcords from his pocket with a nod to his nearest guards and before Isranon
could react they had looped his wrists with the cords and snapped the seals
on, blocking his powers. They dragged him from the room with a hand over his
mouth.

Anksha did not see them take Isranon, but sensed his anguish through their
link. She saw Warrior lying on the ground near her feet. Isranon would never
have willingly left it behind. She shrieked, reacting in a rush of anger. For
two years Anksha had been content to let her guard down emotionally and simply
be the feral child-woman of her inner nature; now all the sophistication that
Hoon had trained into her for centuries leaped up, transforming her in an
instant into the conquering seducer. She sprang onto Liuthan, rubbing her
exposed body against his manhood, unleashing the pheromones in her primal
scent glands to slam through his barriers and awareness with irresistible
force.

"You love me, you want me, oh randy Captain?" Anksha said in a throaty
voice.

Liuthan shivered, his eyes glazed, and his member tented his pants. "Yes."

Anksha lunged deeper into his mind with the power of her sensuality. "Get us
out of here."

"Blues to me!" Liuthan shouted and a third of the guardsmyn hesitated before
breaking off from the others and gathering around the little demon-eater.

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"Liuthan, what are you doing?" Chinisi demanded, clutching at him in dismay.

"Shut her up," Anksha ordered Liuthan.

Liuthan backhanded Chinisi. She staggered, holding her cheek, eyes wide in
disbelief. "Cord her," he ordered.

Two myn seized Chinisi's arms. She twisted in their grasp. A third mon
brought out spellcord from a pouch at his belt, looped it onto her wrists with
a competence that came only from experience, tied it tightly, and snapped on
the silver-runed seals. Chinisi felt her mage centers and parts of her neural
net that commanded them go dead, leaving her mage-blind and helpless.

"Liuthan, please, what is wrong with you?" Chinisi cried.

Liuthan did not seem to hear or care what she said. "Bring her," he ordered
his guards. The two holding her arms pushed her toward the door. She looked
dazed and did not resist.

Anksha's eyes widened at the implication of spellcord on Liuthan's wife.
"Nans, grab the staff!" She shouted, "Rowdies, here!"

Nans picked up Warrior, and then drew back, motioning Travis and Haig to
withdraw beside her. "What the hell is going on, Tamric?"

Tamric stared at Liuthan, wondering whether to demand answers about this
apparent treachery yet fearing to give away his own hand by asking those
questions in front of the Rowdies. He would wait. He scanned the room for
Squeaky and Arabella who had chosen to try for an escape of their own. Squeaky
could get out, but not Arabella. He had put the same kind of seals on Arabella
with which he had sealed Isranon. She could not pass the city gates. Squeaky
was not likely to leave without Arabella. He would get his singer back.

"I told you that I would have the mage," Tamric said. "Now I have. One way
or another, he will be persuaded to defend my city."

"Dawnreturning will never fight for the kandoyarin," Nans said.

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"Get out of here!" Tamric snarled. His Reds closed around him, prepared to
defend him from the Blues and the Rowdies, but so far no weapons had been
drawn. Tamric let them go. He had what he wanted and needed to consider
Liuthan's actions before going up against him. He would call a council and
watch the mon.

* * * *

Arabella hated Tamric, and the hatred filled her being as she jogged down
the corridor. Her one hope of escape lay with the mage and she had to get out
of this compound. Squeaky's petticoats bounced and flared around Arabella's
shoulders and face with each step the stump-bynter took. Seeing several Reds
running toward the dining hall, Arabella pressed her face into the wealth of
Squeaky's petticoats and allowed the folds to hide the chains on her wrists.

Squeaky made a muffled noise around the muffin that Arabella had shoved into
her mouth to keep her from 'eeking' in fright every few moments.

"Later," Arabella said.

She darted into a side room, which turned out to be a linen closet. Leaving
the door slightly cracked to allow some light in, Arabella scanned the shelves
of expensive curtains, doilies, napkins, and other sundries until she spotted
a couple of small blue table cloths. Setting squeaky down, Arabella grabbed
the tablecloths and tossed one at her. Arabella put the other one over her
head and tied it like a voluminous scarf that partially obscured her lower
face.

"What are we doing?" Squeaky asked, imitating her friend and covering her
head.

"Shut yer squeaker, we're escaping."

Arabella put her fingers through the loops of chain and pried the lengths
open, tossing them in a corner. With luck, the bands of the manacles would
pass as bracelets if she kept them partially obscured by the blue cloth.
Behind the manacles, the spellcord in Arabella's wrist showed, with their
deadly seals upon them. Tamric had keyed them to the city-gates and Arabella
could not go beyond them.

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Once they were both covered, Arabella and Squeaky crept up to the door, and
peered out. Squeaky, being taller, leaned against Arabella's shoulder and
watched with her chin poised above Arabella's head as the stump-bynter
crouched. The Rowdies and that unit of Blues had finally caught up to them.
Arabella watched them carefully and, when the last one had passed, she fell in
behind them with Squeaky in tow. She hoped that neither side was entirely
certain about the composition of their sudden allies to note that they did not
fit in with either one of them.

She and Squeaky had been making a decent living along the coast after
Willodarus threw them out of Imralon for breaking things. They had been thrown
out of all the sylvan realms for breaking things, but the human realms were
usually more tolerant. Arabella was a stump-bynter, one of the few surviving
original sapient groups of Daverana. She liked to say that the name came from
the fact that they stumped people as to what they were and then left them bent
out of shape afterward. It wasn't really her fault that she had a bad temper
nor was it Squeaky's that she when she hit that high note, things broke.
Whatever the cause, they tended to leave havoc in their wake.

Squeaky was a swan may, though no one ever guessed it by looking at her. She
was a bit gawky, her blonde hair was a tad on the dark side, and she wore
thick glasses. Willodarus had taken her cloak away and she could no longer
change shape. Swan mays were the paladins of Willodarus, but the only time
Squeaky had tried to hit something with a sword, she had ended up ass over
teakettle in the mud. Arabella had laughed till her sides ached and declared
herself Squeaky's protector. They'd been fast friends ever since.

Tamric had decided to keep Squeaky once he heard her sing. Her soprano was
rich and lovely, and for three years she had been a bird in a gilded cage.

* * * *

Travis observed Anksha uneasily as they walked through the halls and down to
the courtyard. She snuggled purring in Liuthan's arms, insisting that the
captain carry her. She licked his face, making lewd suggestions while he
played with her tail. The ranger had never seen her like this and it made his
stomach tighten. Chinisi veiled her face with her scarf and wept quietly as
they traveled.

In the courtyard, Anksha insisted that Liuthan put her on his horse and then
mount behind her. Liuthan settled into the saddle, wrapped an arm across
Anksha, and covered her modest breast with his large hand. He put his chin on
her shoulder, pressing his cheek into her hair and she smiled, radiating the
dangerous sensuality that was her trademark. "Once you have lain with me, oh
randy Captain, you will never wish for another woman."

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Chinisi heard this and cried, "He's my husband. you can't have him."

"Shut the bitch up again," Anksha said.

Liuthan nodded to one of his guardsmyn, who then rode close to Chinisi and
struck her across the face with a riding crop. Anksha tilted her head to an
arrogant angle, her eyes glittering with triumph. Liuthan's hand descended
from her breast to her loins and his fingers worked between fleshy folds in
the silken black hair and then inside her. Drenched in Anksha's pheromones,
Liuthan's eyelids grew heavy and his pupils became glazed by her unnatural
eroticism.

Travis saw this and winced, turning his gaze to Chinisi. There was now a
long, bleeding welt down the side of Chinisi's face. The mon dragged her scarf
around it, and blood began to stain the lacy folds.

Arabella, with Squeaky mounted behind her, craned her head for a better look
at what was happening, but only caught puzzling glimpses from the rear of the
party.

Liuthan's Blues rode guard about the Rowdies as they returned, twenty riders
in light chain. The crowds in the street gave way before them. Rumors were
already racing of a split between the Captains, and the fears of a city that
had known safety too long ran high with dread. The cobbled streets swiftly
became deserted. Awnings flapped in the breeze on abandoned stalls. Dogs
shivered in doorways or retreated into the mouths of alleyways as if they
smelled the danger in the air that had caused their masters to forget them in
their desire to hide. A flash of lights in a distinct pattern broke from the
highest tower of the Palace of the Five Captains and was returned from the
highest tower above the distant gates to the island city. The flashes went
back and forth for several minutes, catching the corner of Nans' eye. The
signal mirrors flashed again and then stopped.

Nans' head shot up as she heard the loud grinding of tremendous gears in the
distance. "Shit! They're closing the island."

"They can't hold us," Jun said, extending his hand and allowing his venomous
claws to emerge from their sheaths beneath his primary nails.

"I guess they can't." Nans' mouth curved into a grim smile.

Travis kept glancing at Anksha and ducking his head afterward. "I don't like

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this."

"Let it be, Travis," Haig said. "They forced her to it. She saw them take
Dawnreturning so she took Liuthan. She is Brandrahoon's terrible demon-eater,
she can only be what she is."

"Don't make it easier," Travis replied, staring down at his hands which held
his horse's reins.

Chinisi's head came up with a gasp. "The Beast? She is the Beast?"

"Yes," Haig growled at her. "Many more will fall to her before this night
ends."

"Oh, gods, my husband has been taken by the Beast." Then she wept harder.

"Looks more like she intends to fuck him," Travis said bitterly. "We walked
right into it. Just handed them Dawnreturning."

Haig's lips framed an evil grin. "Hopefully she'll stuff something in
Liuthan's mouth before she makes him scream."

Travis looked startled. "Scream?"

"They always scream." Haig shrugged. "Except Isranon; by all accounts, he
never screamed."

The high walls surrounding the guest mansion came into sight and the gates
swung open at a gesture from Nans. Word must have gone out of their approach,
because several of their people waited in the courtyard. Zulaika stood at the
front with Nevin and Amiri flanking her. Luck, Iuf, and Olin spread out behind
them, and Nainee hung back searching the riders for Haig and then for a face
that was not there.

As the returning Rowdies and their escort dismounted, Nainee broke into a
run and threw herself into Haig's arms.

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Zulaika and Amiri exchanged glances at the way that Liuthan handled Anksha,
recognizing what it meant.

Nevin went directly to Nans when he failed to find Isranon. "Where is he?"

"They took him. It was a trap." Nans looked both tired and angry. Then she
switched to Night-Elf, grateful that Willodarus had given the lycans the
language."They don't know that Dawnreturning and Isranon are one and the same
... yet."

Liuthan dismounted and lifted Anksha from the horse, settling her in his
arms and fiddling with her nipple distractedly.

Amiri walked over to Anksha. "Is this one of the captains, pet?"

Anksha purred, stroking Liuthan's face. "Yes. He's Liuthan, and he's mine."

Nevin gave a harsh bark of bitter laughter. "Order him to defend this place
and then let's get our mage back."

"He isn't yours." Chinisi sounded her bitter refrain.

"That is his wife, Chinisi. Bring her," Anksha ordered. "I will have my
Dawnreturning back."

Olin and another lycan dragged Chinisi off her horse and held her imprisoned
between them. Frowning, Olin's nostrils flared and he sniffed at Chinisi. Her
scent was off, as if it had been shielded and something oddly familiar now
leaked forth too slight for him to be certain of.

"You're taking this rather calmly, Amiri," Nans observed.

"You have shown us what the light can do. Now let us show you what you have
styled the dark can do," Amiri said. "The Tinkerer learned to mimic their
powers and turn them to better purposes. The hellgods created savage vampires
with tremendous powers and hideous appetites. To fight them, she created
vampires, who lived in gentle symbiosis with great powers and cunning to

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compensate. She matched them power for power, creature for creature,
infiltrating, turning, twisting, out-thinking and out-fighting through
cleverness and camouflage. This is why, of all the original pantheon of this
world, only the Tinkerer survived to summon aid. But even so, it was a very
near thing."

"The important thing," Haig said, watching Liuthan order his commander to
send for more troops to defend the mansion. "Is to put her in a room with him
where the rest of his people will not hear him scream."

Travis was looking sicker by the moment as they walked into the great hall.
He wished that Haig would stop mentioning the screaming.

Liuthan looked more and more happy, fondling Anksha's breasts, with an
eager, idiot grin on his face. They spoke in very low voices, and what little
Travis caught made him uneasy.

Nans motioned to the others. "Let's find a room where we can have this
discussion in private."

The inner circle assembled in an upstairs drawing room. Nans pulled out the
chair from the head of a long table near the windows and sat down with her
hands on her knees. Travis dropped onto a corner of the sofa furthest from
Anksha. Olin's eyes lit on the spellcord Chinisi wore and he changed into his
transitional form, before dragging her into a corner and dismissing his
companion. Nevin brought a chair close to Nans and sat there. Luck took the
other end of the sofa that Travis occupied. Zulaika leaned against the
doorframe, her eyes unreadable. Amiri went to see what Anksha would do. Haig
stood behind Nans, with his arm around Nainee.

"On the floor beside your bitch," Anksha ordered Liuthan. The captain
obeyed, sinking to his knees and then folding his legs beneath him. Anksha sat
in his lap. She ripped her bodice open, and the blue fabric hung from her
shoulders like broken wings. She shifted to a more comfortable position on
Liuthan's lap. Her dark nipples stood erect, fleshy areolae surrounded by pale
fur. Her green eyes burned with a contained rage and energy that had darkened
them from a bright leaf green to nearly black.

Travis found his body reacting as it did with Darianna. He wondered if he
could ever feel the same about Anksha again and it shamed him. She had been a
pet for over a year now, a child, and suddenly she was something else and it
disturbed him.

"Are you going to take him now, pet?" Amiri asked, squatting beside Anksha.

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"Yeeeessss." The word emerged as a sibilance from Anksha's lips. She smiled,
showing her full, large fangs. The color heightened on her lips and cheeks to
a flush of crimson heat.

Chinisi struggled in Olin's grip. "No, please don't. Not my husband."

Liuthan whimpered piteously, moaning as Anksha rubbed her body over him like
a cat. His member had thickened and hardened until not even the folds of his
tunic could conceal it: it looked ready to burst the seams of his pants.

Nans shuddered.

"I guess I'm the only one who has seen it done before," Haig's deep voice
rumbled.

"I have read about it," Amiri replied. "I wish I had been with you to
observe it from the outset."

"Why can't they shut the fuck up and get it over with?" Travis muttered,
refusing to look.

"Take it easy," Luck said, patting Travis' shoulder while staring at the
tableau.

"Do they sexually join to seal this link?" Nans asked Amiri.

Haig leaned close to them. "No. Just watch."

Nans' wilderkin-predator instincts could sense the sheer rage rising from
Anksha, like heat off the desert floor in high summer, wave after wave after
wave in shimmering distortions.

"How much do you love me, Liuthan?" Anksha asked, her smile venomous. She
ground her hips into Liuthan's lap.

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"More than life itself, Anksha," Liuthan answered without hesitation.
Oblivious to his surroundings and the people there, he continued to explore
Anksha's body. Sweat glistened on his face and stained his tunic. He licked
his lips and moaned softly.

Anksha shot a nasty smirk at Chinisi. "Do you love me more than your wife?"

"Yes. More than anyone else. Let me show you how much."

In the background, Chinisi continued her pleading chant for Anksha to spare
him.

Anksha slid off his lap and stood over him. "Do you love me enough to let me
bite you?" she asked, her voice coy.

Liuthan rose on his knees before her, his eyes glassy with need as he pulled
his tunic off and tossed it aside. "Yes, Anksha. Bite me."

Anksha showed her fangs. "May I drain you into death?"

Nans lowered her head, tilting it slightly with an intrigued and considering
expression as Liuthan assumed the position of a nibari before a hungry master.
His head sidewise on his shoulder to expose the favored vein in his neck, his
arms behind his back with his wrists crossed as if bound there by invisible
ropes. The denouement approached.

"Yes, Anksha. Yes, drain me into death. My blood, my life, my soul are
yours."

Chinisi jerked free and lunged suddenly, grabbing at Anksha. "Noooooo! Not
my husband."

Anksha's hair haloed with energy, her face gone bestial with rage. The
fullness of her power struck Chinisi and the mon went limp, sprawling beside
Liuthan to lie unmoving. Anksha kicked her. "Filthy bitch, you're next."

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Liuthan did not flinch from his posture of submission, whimpering again in
anticipation. "I am ready. Open my veins."

"Surrender to my love," Anksha said.

Nans glanced at Amiri. "Can she do that? Can she take a woman as well as a
man?"

Amiri nodded. "She already has. I felt it happen."

"Bite me, Anksha. Bite me," Liuthan moaned.

"Then feel my love, which is death." Anksha laughed; a bitter, hollow sound.
She shoved Liuthan onto the floor. He lay passive and unresisting. She
straddled him on her knees. Her mouth opened wide and her fangs glittered in
the lamplight. The savagery in her expression banished all the prettiness from
her face. She gripped his hair, using it to twist his head in and to the side,
exposing the curve of his neck.

The room went silent.

The watchers hardly dared to breathe, including Nans.

Anksha's strike was sudden and bestial like a cobra. Her open mouth covered
the base of Liuthan's neck as her large fangs plunged into him. She sucked
loudly so that everyone present could hear it, slurping and gulping with
gluttonous abandon.

The illusory buffer of her control over the primary levels of Liuthan's
awareness vanished. He became conscious of what was happening as he spiraled
into agony, helpless to stop it or resist her in any way. He screamed on and
on as her power swept through his mind, body and soul in a roaring presence.

Haig sauntered over to Travis. "I told you she makes them scream."

Travis did not reply.

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Nans rolled up one of her gloves as she left her chair. She knelt beside
Liuthan and shoved it into his mouth. "I see what you meant about the
screaming, Haig." She put her hand on Liuthan's shoulder and Read him to study
what Anksha was doing.

Anksha's tail twitched in appreciation of Liuthan's suffering, following it
from a distance through the blood links. She snapped the dominance-link in
place, binding it into all the fibers of his being, and torturing him through
it. He writhed and jerked as if in the grip of seizures. Anksha shook him like
a dog with a rat. Liuthan's blood filled her mouth, dribbled down her chin and
ran along his neck. She fed from his mage, neural, and bio-alchemical systems,
rendering him weak.

Travis clamped his hands over his ears and sank to his knees on the floor,
retching.

Nans watched Liuthan's teeth grind on her glove. The color faded from his
eyes, leached away to white and then filled with amaranthine lacking whites,
pupils and iris. The mon was sa'necari.

"Damn! Nevin!" Nans shouted.

The lycan came to her side and stared.

"Can lycans smell sa'necari?" Nans demanded.

"Frequently. Especially my people," the battle-clan chieftain replied,
visibly shaken. Suddenly everyone in the room – except Travis who was too busy
with his stomach – knew that Ocealay had been infiltrated. Tamric might not
intend Isranon harm, but there was no telling how many others might be in the
city. "We have been around them for generations. The more lives they have
taken in the rites, the more pronounced the scent becomes. However, some
become quite skilled at shielding it. Knowing what we are looking for helps.
Anyone whose scent is a trace off, we'll round up, cord them, and then take
another sniff."

Haig flicked back the veiling scarf from Chinisi's face and stared into eyes
that matched her husband's. "Also sa'necari. That's why Liuthan ordered her
corded."

Liuthan stilled. Anksha lifted her face from Liuthan's unconscious body, her

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lips rimmed with his blood. She licked the wound to close it. Her hair
continued to halo, her body carried the edgy tension of a viper waiting to
strike and her face remained a mask of rage unlessened by taking Liuthan.

"Sniff me out some more, Nevin," Anksha growled. "Liuthan will not wake for
an hour and I do not wish to wait that long."

Amiri knelt and licked the blood from Anksha's face, smiling. "You did well,
little one. You have a very proper blood-slave and we will rescue your
Isranon."

Anksha's eyes were hard as stone and all the happy childishness was gone
from her voice. "Yes, I did and I have. I want more." She had changed like the
softness of early autumn into the whirling season of storms; Anksha the
playful feral child-woman was once more Anksha as Hoon had made her; the Beast
who fed on lives, flesh and blood, and utterly without mercy. "I cannot feel
my Isranon through the link. Either something blocks it, or they have killed
him."

Nevin inhaled sharply. "Nans?"

"Tamric wants him alive to defend his city. I don't think they would have
killed him." She rose and went to Travis. Nans turned Travis around. "I know
this looked ugly, Travis, but did you hear what we were saying?"

The ranger shook his head.

"Anksha just took a sa'necari. One of the upper echelons. Malei'leonys is a
cat, doing what cats do and playing with her food."

Travis sucked in a fortifying breath and nodded, letting Nans help him to
his feet.

"Amiri, get everyone together and clear this wing of all but our people,"
Nans ordered. "Have the nibari get him into a bed and spellcord him to be
safe. Nevin, I want everyone that isn't ours sniffed out. Anyone who smells
sa'necari is Anksha food. I want pen and paper. A message goes to Tamric. He's
losing his city and doesn't know it."

Anksha moved to Chinisi and tore her bodice open. She sank her fangs into

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Chinisi's breast. The stunned mon writhed up beneath her, eyes wide in terror,
as the demon-eater completed what she had begun by hitting Chinisi earlier.
Anksha had already cracked the woman open and did not need her little ritual.
Sa'necari were a bi-sexual culture so their females as well as their males
would fall to her. Chinisi screamed as loudly as her husband had.

Travis fled the room.

* * * *

Tamric sat for a long time in his study, shaking in rage at Liuthan's
betrayal of him. He stared out at the night sky between the green drapes. A
clear crystal goblet and a half-empty bottle of white wine occupied the center
of the desk he sat at. His papers lay in disarray on the carpet where he had
shoved them off in a fit of temper. A bottle of ink rested on its side, its
content spilled onto the correspondence that had been awaiting his signature.
Now it would have to be copied over again. It did not matter. He would get one
of his aides to do it in the morning. The beads from a shattered abacus lay
strewn across the room, with the broken wooden frame from which they had been
loosed resting beneath the window. Parts of his delicate scale for measuring
gold kept company on the carpet with the pieces of the abacus.

At least he had had the good sense to stomp out the candles before they
could set fire to the carpets. The sound of the breakage had brought a servant
running. Tamric had sent him for fresh candles, but refused to allow him to
clean up. He just wanted to be alone. The expensive carpets would need to be
replaced, but right then he didn't give a damn.

The other captains were demanding that he immediately act against Liuthan.
He had put them off until tomorrow. Sucking in long breaths to still his body,
he poured another glass of white wine, swirling it around in the clear crystal
glass and studying the way that it caught the colors of the candle flames.

He could not understand what Liuthan hoped to gain by turning on him. Piran
was already planning an assault on Liuthan's compound, and Tamric was certain
that the wily old mon would have Lyrentine and, possibly, Memnon with him at
that very moment. If Tamric failed to act decisively, Liuthan would not be the
only one to fall: the others would turn on him as well.

"Liuthan, why? Why did you do this to me?"

Tamric thought of the good times he had shared growing up with Liuthan, all
the plans they had made of becoming captains like their fathers, the rough
games, the sparing in the salle. He remembered the time that the undertow had

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caught him when they were swimming off the sea coast. Liuthan had pulled him
out before he could drown – Liuthan had always been stronger than he looked in
those days, a scrawny boy not much bigger than Tamric. They had seduced women
together, gotten into brawls in the taverns, danced at each others' weddings,
become god-father to each others' sons. Tamric had held Liuthan as he wept for
his dead father and comforted him. He had never loved any mon like he had
Liuthan. And, now, Liuthan had betrayed him.

"Why? Why, Liuthan? What can you possibly hope to gain? You are forcing me
to destroy you."

If Tamric went in ahead of the others, then he might possibly manage to
bring out Chinisi and Stygean alive. He would order his soldiers to take them
unharmed. Liuthan would have to die. Tamric's stomach clenched as he imagined
shoving his blade into Liuthan's body and watching him die.

Tamric bolted the wine and rose to his feet in an uprush of fresh anger,
overturning his chair. "It wasn't supposed to be this way, Liuthan." He threw
the glass against the wall and it shattered. The pieces of broken crystal lay
like shards of his life on the soft carpet. Tamric stared at it for a moment
and then stalked out.

CHAPTER FIVE

DYNANNA CHARGES IN

Dynanna, God of Cussedness and Perversity, Jumped home to sulk in her
private garden, which she had shared with her twin brother Dynarien before his
marriage. Kalirion had decided to wait and observe Isranon before making a
decision, so she still had the black bottle in her pocket, as he had told her
she should give it to Isranon. Dynanna had promised to do so when she saw
Isranon next, which meant that she didn't want to go anywhere near him until
she either found a way around her promise to Kalirion, or Kalirion accepted
Isranon and made the matter of the bottle his own problem.

The garden bloomed in glorious eternal spring, filled with fruiting trees
and berry bushes. A mossy rock-lined artificial pool glistened in the center,
and on the far end stood a quaint cottage that was larger on the inside than
the outside.

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Golden flowers overran the edges, filling up all the spaces between the
trees and other plants. Once they had been a carpet, but Dynanna had convinced
them to move off the central grass. They were a present from Kalirion. The
sun-lord could not find her garden to come here without her permission, but he
could still send her presents.

Dynanna did not like doing nothing. She became bored easily. Then she
remembered Edvarde telling her that Isranon had an illegitimate son in a
valley belonging to a lycan clan. She wandered over to her seeing pool and
settled cross-legged beside it.

Waving her hand across the pool caused it to cloud over.

"Baby boy, son of Isranon, descendant of Dawnhand, where are you?"

She waved her hand back across the pool. The water cleared, reflecting a
garden. Dynanna saw a ginger-haired lycan mon with a black-haired child
playing at her feet. A tall mon was talking to her. Something about the
standing mon made the Trickster uneasy.

"You can't trick a trickster," Dynanna muttered. "I've a feeling you're up
to no good."

She waved her hand back again. "What's happening in Waejontor?"

The vision in the pool changed to show armies fighting led by a queen on a
black steed that did not look entirely like a horse. There was a mon beside
the queen, and Dynanna squinted for a closer look. "Hoon," she hissed. "Well,
I'll just have to do something about that."

Dynanna straightened, snapped her fingers, and vanished from the garden.

* * * *

The mage shop sat on Silversmith Street in Rowan City, the capitol of
Rowanhart, near the docks of Sophren Bay. She could not simply Jump into the
shop, for another of her kind had warded it tightly. A manticore skull sat
near the door, the tanned skin draped over it, the stinger, claws, and teeth
strung on a leather thong and run through the empty eye sockets. Chimes
jingled from the top of the door as Dynanna entered. She spied three different

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kinds of hands of glory in one glass cabinet: one clearly orc and the other
two of species Dynanna had never seen before. There were dark things in that
cabinet. Many would have shivered at that, but Dynanna wrinkled her nose and
went for a closer look.

This shop was a mix, a neutral place: Full of things of both light and of
darkness and of everything in between and of things that would not bear the
king's notice. The owner was a Badonthian, one who believed in turning the
tools of the hellgod against him and so acquired them from time to time – such
as those hands – though she did not make them. Glass cabinets lined three
sides with floor to ceiling shelves behind them that had a variety of drawers
in them from tiny to huge.

Dynanna wore her disguise as Dyna, seller of used magic items, in case
anyone came in while she was doing business with the owner. Any outsiders who
saw her would perceive her as a hunch-backed crone. However, Amberlin would
not be deceived for an instant. Dynanna peered through at the hands of glory
and then moved to another glass cabinet that had little dishes of stones,
candles, jars of herbs, and bottles of oils in it.

The proprietor, on hearing the chimes, emerged from the back of the store.
Amberlin flicked a strand of black hair back as she walked, moving in a
slightly listing fashion due to her hugely swollen belly. She tensed the
moment she saw Dynanna.

"What are you doing here?"

"The usual," Dynanna responded. "I brought some stuff to trade. Also, I need
advice on hiring help and I need Lokynen."

"Why?" Amberlin's eyes narrowed at her husband's name. "What kind of trouble
are you bringing us this time?"

"There's war in Waejontor. Hoon's leading it and the last descendant of
Dawnhand is in danger."

Amberlin frowned deeply. "I'm in no condition to fight, as you can see." She
rubbed her belly.

"When's the squirt due?"

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"Two months. My husband's sleeping. He just got in."

"I need him, Amberlin. I need him bad."

Amberlin considered that. "Let's see the trade goods. You can give me your
want list. Then we'll sit and gossip until Lokynen wakes up."

"Done."

* * * *

Dynanna sat before an assemblage of twenty attractive male yuwenghau, the
young rogue gods and demi-gods that served as divine knights errant in a world
constantly threatened by dark forces. She had her hands on her hips, trying to
look stern and hoping they did not all try to jump her at once. Since she
wanted to get their attention, she had worn something nice instead of her
usual pocket pants and white longshoremon's shirt. The gauzy blue dress with a
tight bodice and plunging neckline set off her attributes in a fine fashion,
but she realized they were all paying more attention to her cleavage than her
face. They looked at her like a pack of hounds at a fox.

The legendary Lokynen Willidar, the son of the god of aggressive warfare,
and his lady, Amberlin, sat beside her to lend her moral support and pound
anyone who got out of line, so that helped.

Lokynen stood six foot five inches and weighed three hundred pounds, all of
it muscle. He was, so far as Dynanna had seen, the ugliest male in creation.
The Badonthian, a dark skinned, black-haired mon with one large scar cutting
between his eyes, across his nose and lips; and a second scar crossing the
left side of his face, was an old friend of the Trickster and sometimes a
friendly nemesis. Even without the scars he would have been plain ugly. A too
large, mobile mouth dominated his seamed, jowly face. His eyes were deeply
set, and as black as night, with dark purple shadows beneath. His bushy
eyebrows sat on a heavy ridge. His nose looked like it had been broken more
than once. He was very tall, and his body broad and blocky, with thick,
massive arms.

Lokynen had once beaten her twin brother Dynarien severely after learning
the red-golden haired yuwenghau had lent the Badonthian's face and features to
a mage who had wanted to sneak along on an adventure with his ex-wife. Lokynen
and Amberlin had tied the knot, which impressed Dynanna since marriages were
rare among yuwenghau – but then they were both Badonthians and Badonthians
were strange.

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Amberlin was part Sharani, with the height and muscles to prove it, as well
as being a battle-mage. Their relationship was a case of divine incest, since
they both had Badonth as sire, and Lokynen was her uncle ten generations
removed. Amberlin was a very young yuwenghau, having barely passed her first
century, yet already regarded as a power among them. However, her pregnancy
would not slow her down much if the males present decided to cause trouble:
her spells encompassed the heaviest battle-magic in existence. Had Dynanna not
felt capable of dealing with the possibility of the child deciding to pop out
in the middle of the meeting, she would have left Amberlin home.

Having them present meant that Dynanna felt very safe in calling this
meeting. Still, she had her moments of misgivings since all of the males
present, Lokynen excepted, had at one time or another tried to get her into
bed willing or not on the assumption that their sexual prowess would impress
her. She considered them a pack of idiots for that, since a member of the
ruling pantheon, the Nine Elder Gods, was also pursuing her: Kalirion the Sun
Lord. If she ever decided to settle down, it would be with him, not them.

"There's a valley to the north that I have a vested interest in defending,"
She began, flicking her wealth of red-gold hair back as she rose to her feet
and paced before them with her hands clasped behind her back. "It's being
threatened by sa'necari, vampires, irrfelghau and other uglies. It's a
Willodarian sanctuary for all those sa'necari children who have become
god-marked over these last few years since the rise of Dawnreturning. I have
goodies in my hoard that will be distributed to those who help. I'm also
certain that your parents and liege-gods will be happy for you to do this. It
is a noble work."

Dynanna paused to regard them and got a roar of approval. "And there is a
very special child there. I don't know his name. But he's wilderkin, marked by
my brother Teakamon. He doesn't have a father. However, he is of the lineage
of Dawnhand. The last of them." Here she lied a bit, but as the Trickster she
often twisted things just a mite. His father was Dawnreturning, whom she had
placed her godmark upon. She thought it best to keep this matter on a
need-to-know basis.

Then she summoned her pointer stick and swished across the room to a wall
map. She tapped it sharply on a corner of Waejontor. "That's where the valley
is. I'm willing to Jump you all there, since some of you can't Jump."

Another roar of approval and she moved in for the kill. "Now, should you
really impress me, I need another yuwenghau to replace my brother as the
deliverer of those reclaimed souls I've been rescuing from the soul vaults.
Which means sleeping with a lot of pretty ladies. Now that Dynarien's married,
he doesn't want to mess around any longer. Furthermore, when this is all over,
I'm going to want to sit down and listen to your stories."

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The next roar was especially loud, since they were clearly reading that last
as an opportunity at courtship. She briefly wondered why they had to consider
her the main game in town – probably because of her cursed fecundity. Gods
were not supposed to be as fertile with each other as she was. Dynanna masked
a sigh. Kalirion and the Tinkerer were still working on a way to give her
control of it. For the time being, she was keeping her legs crossed with the
divines since it always resulted in pregnancy.

"If you've got questions, now's the time to ask them. Otherwise, step right
up and put your name in blood on the contracts."

They rushed the table where Amberlin sat, fighting for the quills in their
haste.

CHAPTER SIX

CAPTIVES

Isranon found himself unceremoniously dragged up the winding stair of a high
tower and tossed into a room with narrow windows that overlooked the sea. The
cords on his wrists cut deeply into the flesh and he resisted the urge to rub
them. If he disturbed the runed seals upon them he could set off the spells
and the spells would kill or maim him: there was no way to be certain of how
they were set. He had no wish to find out. Holding each wrist, which were
banded separately, up to the light, Isranon studied the silver seals that hung
from the braided cords. The runes were unfamiliar. Spellcord seals could be
keyed to a god the way that the priests did them, keyed to a spell or element
the way that mages created them, or to an individual person – and Isranon
suspected that it was the last one, which would mean that only Tamric could
release him.

He paced the room, examining his prison from the heavy bed taking up half of
it to the chest of drawers on the other side and the small oaken chest, which
had a heavily glazed, tiled lid with the three leaping orcas of Ocealay at the
foot of the bed. A small round table with two chairs stood by the window. They
had left him some wine, a glass, and a plate of soft cheese with smoked salmon
bits in it, bread, and a spoon for spreading the cheese – not trusting him
with so much as a blunt knife. His hands ached for his staff. A different
hunger burned in his throat and middle. His fangs brushed his lips and tongue.

What had they done with the others? Were they being held like he was? No, he
doubted they could have taken either Nans or Anksha easily – at least not
alive. And Haig had been with them. A Lemyari was a very dangerous foe. He had
to have faith that they had won free and would come for him. Isranon tried to
reach Anksha through their link, but the cords blocked even that.

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"Damn them."

He went to the window and watched the sun set over the ocean in a thousand
savage colors and shades of blood and flame, seeing in it a reflection of his
brief life. What few interludes of peace and love he had known in his life had
always been so short, yet they had always given him hope that one day he could
find that special place where he would no longer face loss and be forced to
fight or flee.

* * * *

Liuthan had five hundred soldiers and a household of just over two hundred
servants, slaves, and aides. All night long, Anksha kept him sending for more
of them. By morning, his army would belong to Nans Gryphonheart and the Beast.
The lycans smelled their way through the ranks, sorting out the sa'necari,
banewitches, and vampires out. The vampires they killed outright. Any of the
banewitches that Anksha could not take, they spellcorded and chained in the
cellars of the mansion. The bi-sexuality of sa'necari culture made both male
and female easy prey to her powers. When Anksha discovered that most of the
slaves and servants were actually nibari, an alarm roared through the ranks of
the Rowdies, for so large a herd could only mean that a correspondingly large
number of sa'necari and banewitches were being supported on their blood and
flesh.

Nans sat at a table in the green drawing room, rubbing her eyes. Maps were
spread in front of her and several pages of interrogation reports lay to her
right, while pen, ink, and paper occupied a spot to her left. She had spent
most of the night sending letters to all of the remaining captains, warning
them. Liuthan's Blues were doing most of this for her.

Luck and Haig came in and settled into the chairs to either side of her.

"More and more, it looks like we'll have to fight Tamric," Nans said. "It's
the only way to get Isranon back."

"Not just that," Haig replied. "I had Jun, Corbienne, Keahi and Garin scout
the captains' compounds. Piran is marshalling his forces. It looks like
Lyrentine and Memnon are starting to also."

"Be my guess they think Liuthan's preparing some kind of coup," Luck put in.

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Nans pinched the corners of her eyes wearily. "I don't want to get flanked
by one of them while we're hitting Tamric's. If only they would reply, damn
it!"

"We're not soldiers, Nans. But we'll do our best," Luck said.

"Speak for yourself, Luck," said Haig. "I was a knight of Oakleigh, the
Ymraudes are soldiers, and Liuthan's Blues are mercenaries."

"There is that," Nans acknowledged. "Get the experts in here and come up
with a plan of attack, Haig, that will not leave this compound here too
vulnerable. Luck, come with me. I want to find Anksha and have another talk
with Liuthan. It's nearly dawn."

* * * *

Anksha went to see Liuthan again with Nans and Luck beside her.

Liuthan sat on a low couch watching Chinisi and weeping. She sat rocking
back and forth on the floor, playing with her hair and singing softly, her
eyes simple as a child's. There was nothing left of the woman he had loved.
Anksha had torn Chinisi's mind to shreds, burned out her intellect, and left
her a mental vacuum.

Hearing his sobs, Anksha's nostrils flared and she snarled, "Shut up, filthy
sa'necari. If my Isranon is harmed, I will feed you your entrails while you
die."

Liuthan shuddered and folded his arms across his face, praying that she had
not discovered Stygean. "What does it matter if I die or not? You have
destroyed all that was important to me."

Nans caught hold of his arm, jerking him to his feet. "Come on, you must
send for the last of your myn and whoever else might remain in your
household."

Stygean. God give him the good sense to know something is wrong and run
away,Liuthan thought.

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"Give me more," Anksha growled. "Or I'll tear it from your mind."

Liuthan flinched. "More? What more? We infiltrated all of the households of
the other four captains. They all have sa'necari in their ranks, all waiting
for my signal."

"Damn, it's worse than I thought," said Nans.

"More!" Anksha growled, sauntering over to Chinisi. She snagged the woman's
hair and twisted her head around. "More."

Liuthan gasped sharply, reaching toward Chinisi, yet not daring to touch
her. "The spell-breakers... Oh gods, we're dead..."

Anksha and Nans looked at each other.

"What do you mean?" Anksha demanded.

"The spell-breakers... They are sa'necari. I ordered them to kill him."

Nans' expression went cold with rage. "When? When is this supposed to
happen? How much time do we have?"

Liuthan shook his head. "I don't know... I wanted Tamric to do it
immediately. He disagreed. He wants to talk to the renunciate first."

"Renunciate?" Nans glanced at Anksha.

"Isranon. Sa'necari call Dark Brothers renunciates and heretics."

Nans turned back to Liuthan. "How much time?" she demanded. "Make a guess!"

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Liuthan began to suck in deep, gasping breaths. "I don't know. The captains
are probably after him to take me out – thinking it's a coup."

"Make a better guess," Anksha growled, stroking Chinisi's face with the back
of one finger, her claws unsheathed.

"Late morning. Early afternoon. He'll have to deal with the captains first."

"Let's hope you're right. I must get word to Tamric. If he doesn't reply
fast, I'm going to break his gates down with my bare hands." Nans ran from the
room.

"Isranon!" Anksha's voice caught and she blinked a moment before the
savagery returned to her face. She slashed Chinisi's breasts with her claws,
laying her bare.

Liuthan shrieked as his wife began to scream and sob. Chinisi tried to
cower, but Anksha's grip on her hair prevented it. Liuthan scrambled over and
reached between them.

"Please. Please don't hurt her."

"Come with me and I won't ... for now."

* * * *

Stygean ran through the silent mansion. The servants did not answer his
calls, nor did the nibari. His footsteps echoed eerily, rebounding from the
walls, floor and ceiling. Fear was a stone fist in his chest and gripped him
by the throat. He ran for his parent's bedroom, passing no one as he crossed
the great hall. Where was everyone? Why had they abandoned him? No, they
wouldn't have done that. His parents loved him. What if everyone was dead? Oh,
in hell's name, please not dead.

Almost – just almost he cried out into the darkness, demanding that someone
answer him as he reached the common sections of the mansion, and then he
swallowed it back before he could express it.What if something waited here for
him? What if something had gotten them all save him?He slowed and moved more
cautiously through the corridors. The night lamps had not been lit, suggesting
to him that this had happened around the time he fell asleep with his book

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while waiting for his parents to return from the dinner with Captain Tamric.
But how could this have happened so quietly? Surely if there had been violence
done, the noise would have awakened him, and there would be evidence of it
somewhere. He found nothing at all out of place.

When he opened the door to the sitting room of his parent's lush suite he
heard someone moving in the bedroom and a flush of hope flooded him. He opened
the door. "Father? Mother?"

His eyes went wide in terror. There stood a lycan in transitional form with
the bones of a battle-clan braided in his hair. There were no lycans in his
parents' household. Where had this one come from?

Stygean backed away and turned to run, but the lycan was faster. He snatched
Stygean up by the neck of his shirt. The boy twisted, throwing a punch at the
lycan, but unable to reach him because of his shorter arms. Stygean flailed
about helplessly and the lycan regarded him without any expression on his
hairy face. Stygean's shirt tore and he staggered back, tripped over his
father's bedroom slippers, and slammed hard into the wall. The lycan pounced
on him. Stygean cried out in terror as the lycan buried his face in the boy's
hair and took a deep sniff.

Nevin's disfigured lips curled back in distaste and he whipped out
spellcords, lashing them tight on the boy's wrists.

"Noooo!" Stygean cried out, for the cords cut deep and twisted him with a
nauseating rush of disorientation as they blocked him from his sa'necari
gifts.

Nevin jerked the boy roughly to his feet.

"Who are you?" Nevin demanded, the words catching slightly on his disfigured
mouth.

"Stygean Loosestrife, Liuthan's son." Stygean threw his shoulders back,
trying to look proud rather than frightened.

The lycan shook him. "Don't look so arrogant, boy," Nevin growled. "Your
parents are now blood-slaves to the Beast of Brandrahoon."

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Then Stygean screamed and the lycan hit him, knocking him into darkness.

* * * *

Stygean woke in darkness to the sound of many voices crying. He rubbed his
eyes and tried to see more clearly. He made out the bars on the cell first.
The torches in the corridor limned the black metal in white and orange.
Dungeon. He was in a dungeon. Many of the mansions in the city had them.
Mostly, they were converted cellars and pantries in the basements. He rolled
onto his side to see who he was in here with. His eyes quickly grew accustomed
to the dim light.

Seven children besides himself were crammed into this dank, dark room. Straw
covered the floor and two buckets had been set out. One with water to drink,
that one had a dipper; and one to relieve themselves in.

Crawling over to the children, he recognized all of them: they came from
among his father's sa'necari retainers. Stygean, at nearly thirteen, was the
oldest and the youngest was a girl of about five. All of them had been
spellcorded and sealed like himself. Stygean looked down at the cords on his
wrists, knowing that to tamper with them was death. "Whatever you do," he said
to the other children, "don't try to get these cords off. The seals will kill
you."

That caused the littlest ones to start crying in fright.

Jingen Scathwick, a sullen boy his own age, glared at him. "Our parents are
either dead or taken by the Beast."

Stygean felt nothing. He had gone numb inside. "I know."

Jingen flashed his fangs at Stygean. They caught the torchlight from the
corridor. "I intend to get some of them."

Stygean said nothing. He could not think. His mind could not encompass the
possibility that fate had turned against his father, who had always seemed so
strong and powerful. The Beast did not have them. It was a mistake. His father
could not have been beaten. Then the sound of sucking and slurping brought him
around.

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Jingen straddled the smallest child, a six year-old, pinning him down in the
straw with his fangs sunk into the base of the little boy's neck.

The child squirmed and wept, struggling with swiftly weakening movements.

"Stop that!" Stygean shouted and shoved at Jingen.

The little one stopped his vain resistance to turn begging eyes on Stygean
and the look cut the older boy to the heart.

Jingen raised his bloody mouth and sneered. "I'm hungry. I won't eat the
slop they gave us."

"We're all sa'necari here. That child is not a nibari. Let him alone."

"So what? They can be eaten also. That is what my father told me." Then he
bent his head to finish and Stygean hit him.

The sounds of the fight drew the guards. Three of them entered, one carrying
a lamp while two others separated the combatants. There was now blood on both
of their faces.

The lycan with the lamp bent over the injured victim of Jingen's appetite.
"This one is in a bad way." He turned a harsh gaze on Stygean and Jingen. "One
of them was feeding on him. Get them both out of here. Separate cells." Then
he scooped the little one up, carrying him cradled against his shoulder. "I
must fetch Amiri or we may lose this one."

* * * *

Travis stared out into the darkness, sitting cross-legged on the balcony. He
could not shake his sense of horror at seeing what Anksha had done to Liuthan.
He kept thinking of Isranon, picturing Isranon beneath her fangs.

Daree stole into the room they shared and onto the balcony. She wrapped her
sleek gray body around him. He dug his fingers into her ruff and buried his
face against her, smelling that sweet sharp pungency, half dog musk, half herb
that was pure lycan. He liked the smell of her. It hit him on all levels. As a

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child he had never felt safer than when he cuddled with his old dog Blue and
as a man he never felt more comforted than when sheathed in a woman's body and
clasped in her arms. Travis clutched at her, covering his face in her fur,
feeling her form shift in his hands.

"I can't get it out of my mind. I can't – can't stop thinkin' about it. She
did that to him. Six more in the last hour – in the basement. The way they
scream. And I keep thinkin' about Isranon. I was okay till I saw her do it."

Daree stroked his back. "Travis, she is being rougher on these than she was
with Isranon. She left five with too much free will and they nearly killed
him. So now she rips their minds."

"Isranon must have suffered. That mon has been through so much hell."

"Because he would not be a monster, he tamed the Beast. That is what Anksha
was called. The Beast took him and, then through love, he conquered her."

Travis' eyes filled suddenly. "That's what happened, Smokey?"

Daree stroked his face with furry hands, as she lay on his lap in her
transitional form. "Yes, through love, the slave became the master. Anksha
would lay down her life for Isranon. What you are seeing is the rage of the
lover for the loss of the belovèd." She altered her face until her features
were fully human, but her throat and the rest of her remained softly furred as
if dressed in silver velvet. Daree drew him closer, undressing him. "Love is
life's greatest treasure, Old Dog. And we will get Isranon back. Tamric will
not hold our brother long."

Travis cupped her breasts, worshipping the softness of her body. "Men aren't
supposed to be afraid..."

"Only the dead do not fear. Let me comfort you, Old Dog." Daree unlaced his
breeches, took him inside her, and folded her legs around him with only the
darkness of the night to conceal them on the balcony.

CHAPTER SEVEN

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MARCHING ORDERS

Isranon slept badly, his dreams filled with nightmare images of death and
destruction, burning cities and butchered myn. The darkness hovered nearer to
him now than it had in months. He resented the feelings of helplessness that
had descended upon him in the night, locked in this room, uncertain of the
others' fate, or of what awaited him in the morning. When he finally did sleep
soundly there were few hours of the night left to him. It seemed as if he had
barely slid into sleep when the sound of the door being unlocked and the bolt
slid back awakened him in the pre-dawn hours.

Tamric entered with two guards and a servant. The guards stood blocking the
doorway while Tamric sat down at Isranon's table. The servant set out a tray
with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

"The spell-breakers have told me that you may have a little wine this
morning, but no breakfast."

Isranon squared his shoulders, taking on a proud aspect, defiance written in
every line of his body. "I don't want any."

"Oh, come now. I thought we would sit, drink, and talk for a while," Tamric
said, running his finger around the rim of his glass in a reflective gesture.
When Tamric raised his eyes from the glass, Isranon observed a subtle tension
in the set of Tamric's shoulders and the way he sat in the chair. "Your
familiar is quite the resourceful little lady. She managed to turn one of my
captains against me. Perhaps you could tell me how she did this? Magic?"

Anksha had taken one of the captains, that was the only thing Tamric could
mean and he clearly did not understand what had happened. It also meant that
the others were alive and free. He felt an upsurge of hope and relief that fed
his defiance. "I won't tell you anything."

Tamric gestured at his guards and they seized Isranon, pinning his arms hard
to his sides. Although Isranon had begun to get more and more of his old
strength back and was a powerfully built mon, they had no trouble shoving him
into the chair. Isranon glared at them.

Tamric filled two glasses. "Drink. It will help you face your ordeal in a
few hours. Believe me, spell-breaking is an agonizing business. But a little
suffering now and a long life later... You will thank me."

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"I will never thank you." Isranon lifted the glass to his lips only after
watching Tamric drink his. "You are making a serious mistake. Let me go."

Tamric took another sip of his wine and leaned back in his chair, making an
effort to seem nonchalant. "No doubt you would think so. However, I plan
carefully for all contingencies. The other captains and I have sent soldiers
to place Liuthan under arrest for this treachery. I will have the matter under
control by late morning."

Isranon smiled wickedly. "Have they returned?"

Tamric scowled, tilting his head to one side. "Not yet. Why? What do you
know?"

"Nothing that I'm willing to tell you."

* * * *

Tamric returned from his talk with Isranon more troubled than he had gone
in. The mage knew something. For an instant, he was tempted to let the mon go,
but that would have been admitting weakness in front of the other captains. He
had made his decisions, acted upon them, and he could not turn back now.

He strode into his suite, entered his bedroom, and jerked open the wardrobe.
Taking out a set of old leathers, he dressed for his morning practice in the
salle. A workout would help take the edge off his aggravations. He slammed the
wardrobe door shut and left.

Were Nans and this mage in league with Liuthan before they arrived? The
agreement had been that Liuthan would subdue the mage's familiar while Tamric
captured the mage. Yet Liuthan had instead run off with the creature... What
was her name? Anksha? Malei'leonys? Whatever. He would deal with it.

People greeted him in the hallways as he passed them and received only the
most curt of nods in reply. He had no desire to talk to any of them – not with
Liuthan's betrayal still sticking him like a knife in his heart. Tamric ran
through the past few years in his mind, searching for clues that he had missed
to indicate at what point Liuthan had turned against him. He could not find
any. None of this made any sense to him.

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The other captains were coming here for a meeting after breakfast. He needed
to get hold of himself. He could not afford for them to sense the smallest
weakness in him.

His boot heels clicked smartly on the tiled floor of the salle as he
entered, and strode to the rack of weapons along one wall. Several young
members of his staff were already working at the far end under the supervision
of the stout armsmaster. Tamric's current partner for his morning workouts sat
upon the the narrow bench that lined the long right side of the rectangular
room. His partner was a dark-haired mon of the same build as Liuthan, and
Tamric wondered suddenly if – without realizing it – that could have been the
reason he had chosen him. Tamric gave his training partner a nod to begin.
When Tamric was young, this mon would have been Liuthan. They had been nearly
inseparable.

Liuthan! Why did you do this to me?

* * * *

The last one had had nothing important to tell them so Anksha had killed him
out of pique, draining him for the bottles afterward and labeling them
Vengeance. The rage in her was growing by the hour, and along with it her
power. Her hair haloed with energy and never settled. She tore through minds
and arcane shields like a blade through warm butter, clothing herself in
sa'necari blood. Nans and Luck were with her when she killed the last one, a
high-ranked sa'necari named Jurgen Scathwick, whose information had duplicated
what they already knew. Jurgen's wife, Disharyl, had been chained to the wall
next to him and forced to watch on Anksha's orders. Even Nans had been chilled
by the cold-bloodedness of it.

Nans and Luck walked out and left Anksha chewing Scathwick's flesh. The
preserving bottles were slowly filling up again. Mostly the vampires and
nibari worked this job and a few of the rangers with the strongest stomachs.
Nans wanted them to get accustomed to working with this side of Anksha now
that she understood the fuller range of the demon-eater's talents.

The first pink and gold of dawn's approach shone through a window as they
walked. Nans stared at it. "Sun's up. We're running out of time."

"Everyone's on alert status, Nans. Sleeping in their clothes with their
weapons ready."

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"Good."

"Damn," Luck said, reading the notes from the interrogation of each of the
captured sa'necari who were now reduced to blood-slaves. "The infiltration of
the Blood Coast has been going on for years. Looks like someone established a
network and then this sa'nekaryiane just took it over."

"That's how it looks to me," Nans observed grimly. "Rowanhart's the only one
that looks clean. That and Vorgensburg. Sacred King cleaned them both up."

Luck nodded thoughtfully and shifted the pages in his hands. "How's Travis
doing?"

Nans' expression was grim. "Taking this hard. Can't handle this side of
Anksha – Malei'leonys being on a rampage."

"It is a hard thing to watch, Nans. But I've always had a thing about
predators. That's all she is. She's a dear sweet little critter, but when she
hunts, she's a predator. Having her around is just like keeping a big cat."

They settled in one of the studies and passed the papers back and forth
between them for an hour, discussing the contents while waiting for the last
scouting reports to come in. Nans doubted that Liuthan's was the only
sa'necari household in Ocealay, but it was most likely the largest.

"We have to consider the possibility that Tamric knew about this," Nans
said.

Luck had started to reply when the door opened and his jaw dropped.

* * * *

Isranon was standing by the window when Tamric returned with his four
spell-breakers. The door opened and two guardsmyn entered first, followed by
Tamric, then the four mage-gifted healers – the spell breakers – and finally
two more guardsmyn. Two of the healers carried large satchels hanging from
their shoulders. One of them moved Isranon's table to the left side of the
bed, and they put their satchels upon it. Isranon instantly caught a scent
from the third healer that sent a rush of adrenaline through his body:
sa'necari. He often wondered whether it was something peculiar to himself or

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whether the other sa'necari noticed it, but he could smell them. Perhaps it
was all those years spent among the lycans at Claw's farm. Whether it was one
of them, or all of them, he could not be certain until they came close, and he
had no desire to let them close.

"Don't touch me," Isranon gave a long, low growl at the first guardsmon to
reach him and knocked the mon across the room with a solid kick to the chest
that sent him into two spell-breakers.

Tamric jumped back to avoid going down in the tumble with the others and
shouted for more guards, then backhanded the one left standing when he saw him
reach for his sword. "The mage is unarmed and I don't want him damaged!"

One of the healers followed him out. "Spell-breaking is a painful,
unpleasant medicine, like cautery. But in the long run, it is for the best."

Tamric nodded. "In the long run."

"He will be grateful," the spell-breaker said with oily kindness.

"So I'm told. A life-mage would be better. But Rowan's got them all."

"You are very right."

Tamric turned to the two guardsmyn who had answered his call and sent them
into to help with Isranon before walking off and leaving them to it.

As Tamric started down the winding stairs, he heard the screams begin. He
wished they would put something in Dawnreturning's mouth. The spell-breakers
had begun to burn the embedded spells out. Tamric had not expected them to
start so swiftly. Dawnreturning did not seem too eager to let them keep him
alive. Or maybe it was just the price they were asking.

He could not think of that now. There was still Liuthan – and his myn who
had never returned.

The sounds dwindled behind him as he took the stairs quickly and closed the
bottom door. Once the sounds were sealed off, he felt better about the entire

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matter. The mage would thank him. Eventually.

An aide came up to him. "The captains are here."

"Let them wait. Give them what they want – within reason. I want to have
breakfast first." Tamric still heard the screams echoing in his mind and his
stomach was tight. He had killed in hot blood before and in cold blood also He
had ordered torture when necessary. So why did this feel so wrong? Tamric
shoved it out of his mind. He would pull himself together before he met with
the other captains. They would continue to yield to his leadership and he
would continue as master of the city. Once the spell-breakers had finished,
the mage would be in-debted to him. With the mage at his command, he would
have no one to fear – ever again.

* * * *

Although his sa'necari eyes could see well enough in the dark, Stygean still
wished for light. What little filtered in through the bars of the tiny window
in his cell door barely illumined the front of his small prison. Stygean stood
on tiptoe, pressing his face to the bars and called through them. "I demand to
see Lord Captain Tamric."

A large face in transitional lycan form appeared and peered in at him. "Shut
up."

Stygean shuddered at the thought of one of them getting hold of him again,
but refused to be balked. "I am his godson. You cannot hold me."

The lycan gave a growly laugh that rose from deep in his throat. "I doubt
Tamric will want anything to do with you when he learns what you are and what
your father was."

Was. Fear and loss warred inside Stygean, fear struggling to become the
dominant emotion as it slowly leaked to the surface. He had been fighting the
possibility that his father was dead ever since the lycans separated him and
Jingen, moving them into solitary cells away from the other children. "I still
want to talk to him."

"If he is still alive after Nans and my chieftain get through with him, I'll
ask." Then he walked off.

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Seeing there was little he could do but wait, Stygean settled himself again
in a corner beneath the barred window. He drew his knees up against his chest
and propped his chin on them, wrapping his arms around his legs. The first
tears came.

* * * *

Isranon cursed and struggled as the soldiers laid hands upon him. He struck
out with his fist and caught one in the face, knocking the mon backwards.
Another twisted his arm back and a third hit him in the midsection, forcing
the breath from his lungs. He staggered, doubled over and then they had both
his arms firmly pinned. Isranon twisted in their grasp as they bore him toward
the bed. He knew what was coming.

"Those myn are not spell-breakers," he cried. "They're sa'necari."

"I do not understand this at all," one of the sa'necari said calmly, smiling
at his fellows. "You would think the mon did not wish to be mended."

"You're going to kill me."

"Ignore him," said another sa'necari, named Shaynesder.

The soldiers grunted and shoved Isranon on his back on the bed.

"Turn him over, please. It works best that way," said Tyran. "And drag the
coverings off the bed, this could get a bit messy. We want him pulled tight,
suspended just a bit above the mattresses."

The soldiers gave a grunt of agreement and turned Isranon on his belly,
tying his wrists and ankles to the bedposts, pulling him as taut as a drying
hide on a frame. "Will there be anything else you require?" asked the soldier
in charge.

The four sa'necari moved close to them. "Yes," said Tyran in a pleasant
tenor voice laced with irony. "We wish you to die."

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Before the soldiers could react, the sa'necari had their fangs in the myn's
throats and blades in their guts. Their screams echoed through the hallways.
When the four sa'necari had sated themselves, they dragged the bodies to the
side near the door, which they placed a mage seal upon. Then they turned on
Isranon, examining him.

"I do believe that we have scored double here, my brothers," said the first
one. "This is not only Dawnreturning, he is also Isranon. How convenient."

Shaynesder and Woltrys opened their satchels and took out their tools. Pots
of black pigments mixed in scented oils, incense, and braziers, a variety of
blades and clips and scissors. They disrobed and paired up to write symbols
upon each other from their necks to their groins. Emdryan got the incense
burning.

Tyran sliced away Isranon's clothing and tossed it in a corner. Then he
fetched a pot of paint and drew symbols upon Isranon's scarred body to prepare
him for the rite. He bent over to reach Isranon's belly and groin, marking him
with swift strokes of his fingers. When Tyran finished and the pigments had
dried enough not to blur, Shaynesder carefully placed a pillow beneath
Isranon's belly to bring his hips up and into the necessary position so that
they could enter him sexually as the rite required.

It would be the full high rite and there would be almost nothing left of
Isranon's soul when they were done with him. Seeing that there was to be no
escape, Isranon retreated into the silences taught him by his father and the
Dark Brothers. His body relaxed and his mind found a point of serenity to
escape into. They would have his life and pieces of his soul, but they would
not have his fear.

Tyran sliced Isranon's arm open and watched the blood well, dipping his
fingers in it and tasting it, savoring it. "Such strong blood... I never
expected this. It's almost like those descriptions of yuwenghau blood."

Shaynesder came around and dipped his fingers into it also, tasting. "You're
right. Get the basins in place. I want to waste as little as possible."

They assembled interlocking metal troughs and slid them beneath Isranon. His
head hung down, curtained by his long, black curls, and his breathing came
hoarse and rasping from the angle of his throat.

"When the renunciate is dead," said Tyran, their leader, "I will signal
Liuthan and he will take the city. The captains will die on our altars."

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Isranon heard Tyran's words and his heart chilled. Their plots went deeper
than he had dreamed when they first lashed him to the bedposts. He prayed to
Dynanna, hoping that she would hear him, for their plot to fail. Surely Anksha
and Nans were more powerful than they dreamed possible. There was no sa'necari
so powerful that Anksha could not take him and Nans was a demi-god. He had
given nothing away to them or to Tamric. In his heart he forgave Tamric for
his death at these traitors' hands, yet cursed his blindness for not seeing
the spell-breakers and Liuthan for what they were. Dynanna, my liege-god,
claim the fragments of my soul and do not let me wander the earth in torment.

The others looked upon Tyran with envy as he moved to Isranon's buttocks and
positioned himself. He grasped Isranon's hip and guided himself inside with
his other hand before shifting it to the other hip to bring them tightly
together. Isranon flinched despite his determination to die with every bit of
stoicism he could mange. The others began to methodically cut him, beginning
with his arms and legs.

A low, animal moaning of pain escaped Isranon and shamed him. They intended
to prolong his death as long as possible.

"You are most generous, Tyran," said Shaynesder, drawing his blade along the
inside of Isranon's bicep and then bending to drink. Sa'necari rarely shared a
death: they were a greedy race.

"Always," Tyran said. He moved in and out of Isranon's anus in a slow
rhythm, wanting to draw it out before he had to allow another one to ride. It
would be the luck of the draw which one of them managed to perfectly harmonize
their orgasm with Isranon's death and thus get the largest piece of his soul.

The embedded spells suddenly erupted, covering Isranon's body in bloody
wounds. Isranon screamed.

Tyran nearly lost his erection. "What the hell is this?"

Shaynesder placed his hand on the small of Isranon's back and Read him. "A
divinator has already had him. The tools of the Master of Blood have touched
him. But look at the colors of his mage centers! They're a rainbow. I've never
seen this before in a sa'necari."

"No wonder he tastes so good," Woltrys said.

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"Peace," said Tyran. "His life and his soul are still ours. I wonder who
else dies when he does?" He returned to raping Isranon and began to intone the
words of the rite. The others chose which of the bleeding wounds appealed to
them, fastened on, and began to feed.

Shaynesder deepened the cut in Isranon's arm, folded the split flesh over
his member, then bent and slipped his tongue into a wound in Isranon's back.

Isranon stiffened in anguish as three of them began to fuck his wounds, and
he forced his mind away from what they were doing. Yet now and again the pain
would become too much and he would scream again.

* * * *

Arabella had hidden herself and Squeaky in the first big, walk-in closet she
found on the second floor where the bedroom suites were located as soon as
they got inside. She had brazened her way up the stairs with Squeaky over her
shoulder. A lot of people appeared to be traveling over someone's shoulder or
being dragged by members of that ranger company that had Tamric in a snit. So
long as they didn't get a good look at her face, she had figured all would be
well.

She had found a cloak in the closet. It was a bit big, but she bunched it up
and pulled the hood about her face, then left to have a look around for a
possible ally after admonishing Squeaky to "Keep yer squeaker shut."

The rangers all appeared to be human, except that some of them smelled a tad
off and Arabella was uncertain how to read that. Then she spotted the only one
in the company with a tail. That looked promising, so she made a judgment
call, trailed that one to a bedroom and stole inside.

There was no one in the sitting room. Arabella proceeded to the bedroom.

"You! Hey you!" Arabella hissed from the doorway. "Pssstttt!"

Anksha lay curled up in the middle of the bed with one of Isranon's dirty
tunics in her hand, holding the scent of him close for the comfort of it, as a
child would a stuffed doll. The demon-eater's head tilted curiously at the
strange creature that had come creeping into Isranon's bedroom. "You threw the
sitting thing at us," Anksha said, and flashed her fangs, her anger building.

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"Not at you, at them!" Arabella waved one wrist at Anksha to show the
spellcords on her wrists. "Had to get free."

Anksha sat back, regarding her curiously. "They chained you."

"Yeah. They didn't want me getting loose, but they didn't dare to not have
me present. Otherwise Squeaky wouldn't sing. No Arabella, no sing. That's the
deal."

Anksha slid off the bed and squatted before Arabella, her nostrils flaring
as she tried to figure out what this creature was. "You were prisoners? Like
my Isranon?"

"Yup. I try to pass the city gates with these things on and I'll go BOOM! We
gotta get your mage back. He's the only one who can get them off. Other than
Tamric."

"Where's your bird?"

"I stashed Squeaky in a closet. Wanted to make certain it was safe. She's no
good in a fight, couldn't hit the barnside of a broad with a boulder."

Anksha crept up until she was nose to nose with Arabella. "What are you? You
smell funny."

"I'm a stump-bynter. What are you?"

"I'm Anksha, the troll-tamer, the demon-eater."

"Sounds fairly fierce for a little bit of nothing." Arabella grinned. "But
I'll take your word for it. Just help us get out of here."

"Is. Ra. Non. My Dawnreturning." Anksha's eyes filled with tears.

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Arabella patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. You've got me now. There's no
door I can't break down and magic don't slow me down much. If you'd rally the
troops, explain my presence, we should get back there and get your mage fast."

They fetched Squeaky from the closet and headed down the hallway to the room
where Anksha knew Nans would be. The captain was sitting with Luck, going over
the interrogation papers. Anksha entered with Arabella beside her, dragging
Squeaky along by the arm.

"We have help," Anksha said. She staggered suddenly, her face turning pale
and then red with rage. "Isranon! They're killing him! I felt it through the
link."

Nans sprang to her feet. "We have no time. Luck, get everyone out into the
courtyard and mounting up." As she stepped out into the corridor, Nans spotted
Corbienne and Iuf walking together. They were an unlikely couple, and it
worried Nans a bit, causing her to watch for signs of the Passion-Dance
whereby the vampires killed their mortal lovers over a prolonged period out of
an uncontrollable confusion of appetite and love. However, they had been
together for months and still there was no evidence of it, no marks on Iuf's
neck, no dark circles under his eyes, no sallowness to his complexion.

"Corbienne, we've going to attack Tamric. Pick up another of your people and
get over there right now. Find a way over the walls and take out the archers."

"Aye, Captain." She gave Iuf a kiss and ran off.

Nans scowled at Iuf. "You're staying here."

"Why?" he demanded as she walked away from him. He followed her.

She answered without looking back at him. "It's not wise to keep sleeping
with Corbienne."

Iuf looked stricken. "Awwww, Cap'n. We're not hurtin' anyone."

Nans paused to shout again at her people, "Mount up! Mount up!"

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"Ya can't ride off without me. These are my friends you're taking with you."

Nans shook her head. " You're a liability, Iuf. Love affairs with vampires
are usually fatal unless you're nibari. And sometimes even then."

She lengthened her stride and he hurried to match it. "I know it, Nans. I
knowed it when I got involved with her. We fit together, Nans. No'un's gonna
get hurt."

Nans gave him an exasperated look. She knew she was taking her anger over
the stituation with Isranon out on Iuf, but she could not stop herself. She
needed every single mon in the best shape possible. "If I opened your shirt,
how many fang marks would I find on you?"

"We don't do that."

Nans let out a hiss like steam rising from the spout of a kettle. "Don't
make me order your shirt removed and count them."

Iuf winced. "Three or four."

"How recent?"

"Not very..." Iuf saw her frown deepen. "Well one's from a coupla days ago
... last night."

Nans stopped abruptly and grabbed the neck of Iuf's shirt, jerking him onto
his toes. "Which is it, Iuf?"

"You don't know what it's like, Nans, walking in a field of dreams with her
while she sucks me."

"When?"

"This morning. Just before we encountered you."

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Nans lowered Iuf and grasped his wrist while he remained still. She sensed
the leftover weakness from Corbienne's feeding. "Damnit, Iuf! Do this again
when you know I have the entire company on alert and I'll sack you. For now
you're staying here."

"Nah, Cap'n, I'm okay."

"My order stands." Nans started walking again and Iuf trailed after her.

"You don't know what it's like, Cap'n, I'm getting old."

"It's an addiction, Iuf. Just like alcohol or pollendine. Practice it on
your own time, not mine." Then she left him standing there watching her go.

* * * *

A mon of modest height, Tamric's steward, Grandin, wore his salt-and-pepper
sideburns long and thick and kept the jutting knob of his deeply cleft chin –
so deeply cleft that the halves parted like a woman's breasts – clean-shaven.
He moved with a quick, efficiency of stride, wearing immaculately clean and
well-tailored sienna shirt and pants beneath his bright red tabard. Although,
for the sake of appearances, Grandin wore no conspicuous weapons, he carried a
brace of stilettoes up his sleeves in forearm sheaths as many folks did.

The first of the captains had arrived – Lyrentine – and Grandin knew that,
while Tamric might make them wait for his own presence, he would want his
primary aide to attend them in the meantime. Tamric was not without some
vestiges of manners when it came to the other captains.

Grandin gave a quick knock on Kaitrim's office door and entered. Normally,
Kaitrim would have been there already at work, and Grandin wondered at his
absence. Assuming that Kaitrim would return soon, Grandin went to one of the
three chairs situated before the aide's desk and started to sit down. He
noticed that the waste basket beside the highly-polished maple desk had some
letters on the floor that looked to have fallen out. So, Grandin bent and
picked them up, intending to stuff them back into it. He eyes fell upon Nans'
signature first, and then upon the word sa'necari.

"What the hell are you doing here, Grandin?" Kaitrim's voice broke across
him like a blade stroke.

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"Why didn't you pass these to Tamric?" Grandin demanded, rising from his
chair.

Kaitrim stood just inside the doorway, his dark eyes glittering strangely.
He stood no taller than Grandin, but had fifty pounds on him because of his
sturdy, large-boned frame. "It's none of Tamric's business."

"I beg to differ, but if there are sa'necari, he should know about it."

Kaitrim stepped closer to Grandin, pulling an odd blade from a sleeve
sheath. Grandin knew that in a knife fight Kaitrim was probably his better, so
he snatched up his chair and struck Kaitrim with it. Kaitrim staggered back,
and Grandin struck him again harder. The chair shattered.

Roaring, Kaitrim lunged toward Grandin, who retreated and hit him with a
second chair. Kaitrim's eyes lost their whites, irises, and pupils, becoming
the amaranthine of sa'necari. Seeing that, Grandin faltered for an instant.
Kaitrim grabbed the legs of the chair that Grandin held and shoved it hard
into the older mon, pinning him against the desk.

Grandin shifted his grip on the back of the chair, and popped it up into
Kaitrim's face. That allowed him to draw his blades as he slipped below the
chair arms and rolled to the side. He rose on one knee, shoved a stiletto
under Kaitrim's sternum with a raking twist that caught the lower aorta.
Kaitrim dropped the chair, clutching at the wound as Grandin pulled his blade
free. He slashed at Grandin with his blade. Grandin threw himself to the side,
gained his feet, and shoved one blade into Kaitrim's back. He left the blade
standing there, and kicked Kaitrim into the desk. With his free hand, Grandin
seized Kaitrim's hair, knotting his fingers in the long locks to hold
Kaitrim's head in place as he forced his second blade into the back of
Kaitrim's skull, severing the spinal cord in its sudden journey to the brain.

Grandin stood back as Kaitrim's body slid to the floor, and realized that he
was shaking. He knelt and pulled his blades free. Then he snatched up the
fallen letters and ran out in search of Tamric.

* * * *

"Mount up!" Nans shouted, striding across the general hall and sending her
officers and assistants running. Nevin had Liuthan by the arm, shoving him
along while Anksha waltzed beside them as if they were going to a macabre

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dance, with her fangs showing and an insane glow in her eyes.

"I'm going to take them all," she chanted. "I'm going to take them all. I'll
make the captains dance with me and die."

Liuthan's Blues muttered in unease, watching her, and then rose with the
others. Anksha and the lycans had swiftly winnowed their ranks so that only
the humans remained. They glanced uncomfortably at Liuthan's sa'necari eyes
before flinching away from them. At the nod from their officers, they ran out
to form up and get their mounts ready. The discovery that they were serving
sa'necari masters had left many demoralized by a sense of betrayal, yet they
had rallied to their human officers who called for them to reclaim their
honor.

Arabella darted from a side hallway, where she had stowed Squeaky in a room
with a plate of muffins and a mandolin, and rushed out the front door into the
yard where she climbed onto a horse and waited.

Nans sat her horse at their head with her sword thrust skyward. "Since
Tamric refuses to reply, I'm going to cram my words down his throat," Nans
declared. With all of Liuthan's Blues under her command she could do that. She
would still have a difficult time getting out alive if the other four captains
chose to throw their forces at the Blues and the Rowdies ... but Tamric was
not keeping Isranon. Tamric had made a single try for Liuthan by sending
soldiers to his mansion and, when they found nothing, they had come here,
where their commander fell under Anksha's spell the moment he opened his
mouth. Now they were wearing blue also.

Nans sheathed her sword and led them out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ASSAULT

People scattered from the streets as Nans' company rode. A few ran off and
the streets thinned out to nothing fast as word spread that there was trouble
between two of the Captains. What had been rumor in the night had become
confirmed by the daylight march. There had not been a coup in more than a
generation, but such matters were never forgotten. The streets turned into
ghost towns, their voices silenced and given over to the cries of seabirds and

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the sound of the morning winds. The awnings of abandoned stalls fluttered in
the wind. Some of the tables had been overturned, but the goods were gone –
either stolen or removed in the night by their owners once the intial fear had
passed enough to allow their retrieval.

Nans dismounted at the high stonewalls of Tamric's compound, her troops
dismounting behind her and spreading into an orderly form for skirmishing. She
strode up to the heavy bars of the iron gates, and hailed the guard. "Open
them up. We've come for our mage."

The captain of the guard appeared, his clothing rumpled as he had been
summoned from bed. "Captain Tamric says you and Liuthan are not to be allowed
in."

Nans laughed at him. "You can't keep us out."

"This gate doesn't open to you," the guard captain said.

Nans squatted like a weight lifter, seizing the heavy iron bars of the gate
and the base rod. She pushed upwards with her legs. Her heavy arm muscles and
her broad shoulders bulged as she flexed them. Nans grimaced with strain, yet
refused to let up. The twisting metal yielded a tortured shriek. The guard
captain's eyes saucered in shock as the gate began to buckle. The metal
folded, the hinges gave, and the gate came away in her hands.

The captain retreated, shouting for the archers on the walls. Two figures
appeared on the catwalk in brown and green leathers, grinning and wiping blood
off their mouths. Jun and Corbienne lifted their bows and shot the captain
repeatedly in case he might be sa'necari. He fell like a stone, pierced six
times through the chest with an accuracy gained by centuries of practice.

Tamric's myn began to scream and yell, rushing from the narrow barracks
adjacent to the mansion with their shields raised. Sergeants at arms struggled
to breach the gap in command left by their captain's death and still keep
their to orders from Tamric.

"Yuwenghau!" several shouted. Their recognition of the nature of their
opponent caused the ranks to waver. Few wished to go up against a god, even a
minor one. The sergeants shouted, bullying them forward. They formed up to
charge and oppose Nans' company.

"Yeah and I'm going to slam your sorry asses," Nans said. It no longer made

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sense to keep concealing what she was.

She slammed the gate through the first swath of soldiers and dropped it on
them. Myn squirmed, trying to free themselves from the heavy weight. Liuthan's
Blues swept past and around Nans to engage those coming from the barracks to
her left hand. As the Blues ran across the fallen gate, they stabbed everyone
that moved beneath it. Soon only the dead lay below the twisted steel bars.

The Rowdies formed a tight guard at Nans' back as they made a charge across
the manicured lawn for the steps of the mansion. More guards erupted from the
door and spread out in front of them. Haig stalked at Nans' left and Nevin at
her right with his battle-clan behind her.

Anksha darted in front of them and hit the first rank with her initial
pheromone charge, stunning them, and then went racing through their ranks into
the mansion itself. Myn dropped to their knees, barely able to clutch their
weapons. Nans shouted after the demon eater and cursed. She did not want
Anksha getting ahead of her.

The fighting quickly became close and bloody as Nans broke through into the
mansion itself. She laid about her in an effective, yet artless manner, her
kenda'ryl blade swinging from side to side, as much a bludgeon as a sword. She
shattered breastplates and armor as if the myn she struck down were strands of
glass. The sword, forged for her alone as a coming of age gift by
GimliGloikynen, god of dwarves, stood her in good stead, making her a killing
machine from the Age of Burning.

Haig flashed his fangs and laughed as he hewed myn down. "Fighting is
thirsty work."

Nans ignored that. She had already instructed them that if they did decide
to drain one of the enemies to do it discreetly. "Secure the hall. Don't chase
them down the corridors. Nevin, Olin, come with me."

She spied Anksha on the stairs. "Wait there, Anksha. Don't go any further."

Anksha snarled at her, yet she waited. Her hair billowed around her in a
halo of rage. Nans could feel the heat of Anksha's power, even from the bottom
of the stairs looking up at her, and wondered what this presaged for Tamric
should they not reach Isranon in time.

* * * *

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Bathed and refreshed, Tamric headed for his study. He had ordered the
servant to bring his breakfast there where he could eat while reading through
some letters and papers that had arrived by courier the previous day. He
intended to check upon the progress of his spell-breakers in the early
afternoon at a time they had told him they would be finished with their
efforts.

The betrayal by Liuthan had left a bad taste in his mouth. His soldiers had
still not returned from Liuthan's mansion and he had sent more to look for
them. Something was going on and he wanted to know just what it was. He had
scheduled a late morning meeting with the other captains to examine their
options for dealing with Liuthan. The worst thing he could imagine just then
was an attempted coup. It had happened in the past and he did not wish to lose
his position – and possibly his life – in a repetition of the past.

The second heaviest matter on Tamric's mind was why the mage was going to
such lengths to avoid the spell-breakers, even lying about them being
sa'necari. Certainly the spell-breakers were as good as anything that Bohannon
could have offered him in Treth. Was it simply that the mage didn't want to
owe Tamric anything? None of it made sense to him. Healing was healing, no
matter how it was achieved. If, when it was over, the mage still refused to
work with him, then Tamric would resort to other ways. It was important to him
to have the mage ready to agree to his offers, to make him understand that he
could not refuse him.

Tamric descended the stairs to the second floor landing, intending to make
the other captains wait for him if they arrived before the appointed hour. His
ears picked up peculiar sounds, beyond the outer doors, which sounded
suspiciously like fighting. Yet he could not conceive of anyone getting beyond
the outer gates.

Grandin met him in the central hall, crossing quickly. "Gryphonheart sent
three messages and now she's come herself."

Tamric waved his hand dismissively. "I don't want to see her."

Grandin glanced in the direction of the tower, his face going pale. "My
lord, there's fighting in the courtyards. This is why." He pressed the letters
into Tamric's hand. "Read. I found these tossed in the trash by Kaitrim's
desk. Just sitting there! I'm going upstairs and stop them."

Tamric,

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Liuthan is sa'necari. Ocealay infiltrated.

Nans

Tamric,

Reply, damn it. Anksha is still interrogating Liuthan. We've discovered
seven others.

Nans

Tamric,

The spell-breakers are sa'necari shifters.

Tamric's eyes went wide and he spun toward the retreating steward. "Where is
Kaitrim?" Tamric shouted after him. "Why wasn't I given these sooner?"

"Because he's one of them," Grandin shouted back. "I killed him."

Tamric ran for the tower, shouting for his guards. An aide intercepted him
and he sent him to order a halt to the fighting, and to bring Nans and her
people up.

* * * *

Nevin stalked through the outer halls, his face a study in rage, carrying a
great axe he had picked up in the fighting, and which was now red with the
blood of Tamric's soldiers. His warriors spread out around him. They were
forcing Tamric's units to retreat into the corridors. Bodies lay strewn about
the floor of the great hall. Olin held Liuthan's arm and strode beside his
cousin.

Gesturing with his axe, Nevin motioned for some of them to follow him up the

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stairs to the second floor landing with Nans and Anksha. Nans had Anksha by
the hair and was holding on despite the demon-eater's snarling and spitting.

When they reached the landing, they found a mon standing there with a
handful of soldiers about him, holding his hands out in a sign of submission.
He wore an insignia of rank on his shoulder. "Please, lower your weapons. I am
not here to fight you. I'm Captain Tamric's second aide-de-camp."

"Where is Dawnreturning?" Nevin demanded.

"The west tower room," Tamric's aide said. "I am here to try and stop the
fighting. We just got your messages about the sa'necari."

"I'm going," Nevin said.

The aide indicated one of his soldiers. "Leryn will take you there."

"Me too," Anksha said, growling constantly under her breath like a lion.

Nans sucked air and tightened her grip on Anksha's mane. "No. You wait here
with me." She maneuvered the demon-eater to a couch and sat down with her and
Liuthan. Her eyes met Nevin's and their glances said it all: if they found
Isranon murdered, Anksha would become uncontrollable.

The aide looked uneasy as Arabella fell into step beside Nevin and watched
them follow Leryn to the tower. Several of Nevin's lycans in transitional
forms went with him. They reached the bottom door to the tower and ran up the
stairs.

When they reached the door to the room where Isranon was held, they found
the steward had two myn going at the tower door with heavy axes. Tamric stood
behind them, yelling for them to get it open. Their axes were barely
scratching the door. Nevin shouldered them aside with a snarl as he heard
another cry of pain break from Isranon inside. His scarred face was hideous to
behold. He put all the power of his unnatural strength behind his blows and
holes soon appeared in the wood.

"Isranon, hold on! I'm coming." Nevin struck the door again.

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"Damn stupid people, can't even get a damned door open!" Arabella growled.
She ducked under them and barreled into the bottom of the door, shattering it
with her shoulder. The upper half of the door sagged and Nevin finished it off
in a single swing.

Then he stepped through.

* * * *

"He's mine!" Woltrys hollered gleefully, mounting Isranon and thrusting
eagerly into the weakened sphincters. It did not bother him one whit that
Isranon had lost all bodily control and emptied his wastes with the approach
of death. "His heart is failing, he's mine."

Tyran wanted to rip Woltrys lose and take his place, but he did not wish to
look bad in the eyes of his followers and it was, after all, Woltrys' turn. A
death this strong would double Woltrys' fledgling powers: he was the only one
of the four who had not been born sa'necari. Tyran glanced over Isranon's
sagging body, the way his head hung. He lifted the curtaining black curls and
studied Isranon's face. Only the ropes supported the heretic now. A clammy
chill coated Isranon's body, signifying how near his death had drawn. Five or
ten minutes more and the renunciate would be dead. Tyran examined the wounds,
trying to pick one in which to sheath himself to be ready to take his share of
the heretic's delicious soul. This one was so pure. He stank.

A crash came at the door and Tyran lifted his head up. "Shaynesder, guard
the door. Someone's trying to break in."

Shaynesder threw Tyran a glare before moving to the door. His separation
from Isranon at this point would mean he forfeited any piece of his soul he
hoped to gain. Reluctance dragged at his heels and Shaynesder cast a resentful
glance at Woltrys.

Tyran ignored Shaynesder. It was unfortunate that someone had apparently
discovered what they were about, but he would not yield his part to increase
the wards himself. "Faster, Woltrys. Link with me."

Woltrys began to thrust rapidly into Isranon, trying to bring his orgasm on
faster. He reached out to Tyran, moving faster than the failing beat of
Isranon's faltering heart. Tyran had to compensate for Woltrys' desperate
efforts. He slid a long slender blade between Isranon's ribs and placed a hand
on his back as it went in. He Read the blade's progress until it was within a
fraction of Isranon's heart. The instant that Woltrys came, Tyran would drive

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it into the organ. Woltrys would have it all and then they could turn to
attack whoever came through the shattering door.

The door started to come apart at the top. Tyran wondered what could
possibly be on the other side. The only thing that Tyran could be certain of
was that it was nothing human. Shaynesder was still increasing the holding
spells and yet the door continued to splinter.

* * * *

For once Tamric was glad to see Arabella. If the obnoxious creature had not
hit the door, the sa'necari might have had time to finish. However, they had
not been prepared for a stump-bynter. They had reinforced the doors with
spells, but very little could block the creature. Even trolls gave them a wide
berth. Tamric turned sick at what greeted him in the room. The four guards who
had been left to assist the spell breakers lay dead, strewn in untidy, gutted
heaps. It had been their screams that Tamric had heard first.

The mage lay stripped, face down on the bed, wrists and ankles bound to the
posts while one of them rode him and others stuck him with blades. His blood
was draining into a strange trough beneath him.

"My gods,mortegiefan." Tamric drew his sword.

Shaynesder stood two feet from Tamric, shards of the broken door clinging to
his naked body. The backlash from Arabella's destruction of the door and his
spells had left him stunned. Tamric stepped through and shoved his sword in at
an angle that ripped into the sa'necari's heart. Shaynesder's eyes went wide,
his mouth opened and he shuddered. Tamric jerked his blade out as Shaynesder
crumpled.

Nevin's eyes snapped across the room, and saw Tyran's hand on the hilt of
the blade in Isranon's ribs. The lycan knew what it meant. He lunged for
Tyran, dropping the axe to capture the sa'necari's hand before the blade could
be thrust the final distance into his spirit-brother's heart. Nevin crushed
Tyran's hand to pulp and pulled it away from the blade. Tyran snarled at him,
a gesture of his free hand raising a spell to steal the breath from Nevin's
lungs. Nevin seized Tyran by the throat, and lifted him off the ground, slowly
crushing his windpipe while he trashed and struggled. The necromancer lost his
spell and his hands clutched at Nevin's in a futile attempt to get them loose.
As inhumanly strong as Tyran was from countless rites, Nevin was stronger.
Nevin shook him like a terrier with a rat. Bones snapped with a crack and the
sa'necari hung like a broken doll from Nevin's hands. The lycan threw him
away.

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Arabella never halted in her charge from the moment she hit the door
rolling, to the instant she came to her feet grabbing Woltrys by the ass. She
hauled him off Isranon. His seed fountaining over Isranon's buttocks, Woltrys
twisted, his hands became claws and he raked at her face. Arabella backhanded
him hard enough to break his nose. Then she threw him to the floor, and
stomped his spine, snapping it.

The last sa'necari, Emdryan, retreated to a corner with a spell on his lips.
Nevin lunged with a snarl, his claws out, and ripped the sa'necari's face off
before he could finish the spell.

Tamric saw the blade in Isranon's ribs. He had to pull it before cutting him
loose or else it would catch on the troughs and finish the sa'necari's work
for them. He sheathed his sword and pulled a clean handkerchief from a pocket.
Tamric folded the cloth up and shoved it in the wound in an effort to stop the
bleeding as he drew the slender blade from Isranon's body. Then he drew his
belt knife. He cut Isranon's ankles free. Isranon sank bonelessly into the
trough of his own blood. Tamric cut his wrists loose and turned the bloodied
mon over, which upset the troughs, spilling blood on the bed. He needed to
lift him off the troughs, but Isranon was too heavy for him.

"Get them off," Isranon gasped.

The sound of Isranon's voice startled him, for Tamric had thought him dead
or nearly so. Tamric touched the seals with a word and the spellcords fell
away. The High Captain started to shift Isranon around more, but the lycan
battle-clan chieftain, wearing a necklace of finger bones, shoved him roughly
aside to cradle Isranon. Tamric had heard that Nans had a battle-clan running
with her, but had scarcely believed it. Battle-mages, sa'necari renunciates,
yuwenghau, and lycan battle-clans... It was all too much and now it appeared
they had uncovered a sa'necari plot to take his city.

"Bloody fool!" Nevin growled savagely at Tamric. "Bloody stupid fool!" The
lycan cradled Isranon's nude, torn body to him protectively. "Be easy, my
brother. You're safe."

Isranon's eyes were heavy-lidded, a flame of anger burning between the
narrow partings in his thick black lashes. "Find me ... a live one. I am ...
the hunter ... now."

"Anksha's caught several."

"And their blades ... bring their blades."

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Arabella tore a curtain from the window and gathered up the four blades.

Tamric was startled by the sheer physical courage of the mon in refusing to
yield to his wounds and injuries while monsters still needed to be caught. The
High Captain had made mistakes here, and his world felt as if his world were
crumbling into ash. Never in his life had his judgment gone so awry.

Nevin snatched the bed sheet up and wrapped Isranon in it. Isranon smiled as
Nevin lifted him, carrying him out. The mage was solidly built and beginning
to regain some of the muscle on his broad bones. Had he been completely
recovered from what Bodramet and his companions had done to him more than a
year ago, Isranon would have been built more like a blacksmith than a mage.
Yet Nevin handled him easily.

Tamric stared at the serenity of Isranon's smile and felt as if he had
ruined something precious in allowing him to be harmed. His eyes traced the
maze of scars on Isranon's body – it was hard not to. This young male had seen
more fighting and torture than most myn twice his years.

"I see why the Taladrim say that he is sacrosanct..." Tamric murmured. "I am
sorry."

No one answered him. Everyone moved wordlessly aside to let Nevin pass. The
steward sent a servant for blankets and linen. They came to the central hall
where they found Nans, sitting with her captives. Twenty of her rangers in a
measured mix of lycan, vampire, and human stood around her. Anksha sat beside
Nans, growling softly and fidgeting. Nans had refused to allow Anksha to go
upstairs with Nevin, fearing that she would go into a blood rage had Isranon
been found dead.

Tamric followed them, pausing to catch a soldier by the arm, "Go tell the
other captains to get back to their compounds. They've all been infiltrated."

The soldier ran off to take care of it.

"A live one?" Isranon asked again, his voice still softer. "Can't hold on
much longer ... the Rose."

Nans heard. She seized Liuthan, shoving him roughly to Isranon's side.

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Liuthan looked terrified. Isranon lifted his hand, too weak to stretch,
shaking hard. Nans captured his wrist, bringing his hand to rest on Liuthan's
shoulder.

"All lies be ended, all truths be revealed," Isranon said. Power rushed and
sang. All the colors of the rainbow filled the chamber, flowing through the
palace and then raced out over the city. Screaming began as the sa'necari
found that they could no longer conceal themselves, the hellmark burning on
their foreheads and that of their allies. Liuthan's shrieks joined the others
as his hand went to his forehead to touch the skull-shaped mark seared into
his forehead. The guards and populace turned on them with harsh, sheer rage.
Isranon's face twisted up and his body tightened with a wave of pain. Someone
raised his head and shoulders, pressing a bottle of Sanguine Rose to his lips.
He drank, and scarcely remembered them binding his wounds and carrying him
out.

* * * *

Tamric walked the halls, heading for the yard of his mansion. "Cease
fighting! Cease fighting! Sheath your weapons!"

He heard Nans' officers shouting similar commands. The battle was over. It
would soon be time to lick his wounds in this unfortunate skirmish. He also
heard shouts of 'yuwenghau' and wondered who that might be. The last thing he
had expected was to find one of those in Nans' company. A yuwenghau meant the
possibility of enraging one of the Nine. Could this mage he had imprisoned be
the yuwenghau? He shuddered to think of the possibilities.

"Yuwenghau... What else do I need?"

Olin came up to him. "Nans is a daughter of Willodarus."

Tamric cringed inwardly at that revelation. "I didn't know."

Olin barred his fangs; he was still in his transitional form. "Treat all
your guests equally and you'll never need to learn this lesson again."

"So I know," Tamric said dully. All of his life seemed to have become smoke
and mirrors of illusions and deceit that went all the way back to his
childhood. None of it had been real, everything he considered precious had
been false to him.

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Olin shrugged off the statement. "We have eight sa'necari children locked
away in the guest mansion. One of them says he's your godson, Stygean."

Tamric's stomach roiled. "He is."

"He is demanding to see you."

Tamric flinched. "I don't – no, I guess I'll have to see him." A look of
consternation swept across his face. "Oh, gods, the children." Then he ran
back into the mansion with Olin at his heels. He paused in the main hall long
enough to grab one of his kandoyarin who looked unhurt. "Tell the stable hands
to saddle my horse." Tamric went upstairs shouting for his steward. When
Grandin appeared, he ordered him, "Get word to the others. I want the children
spared and brought to me. Kill the adults, but spare the children. I'll decide
what to do with them."

Grandin's face was grave. "Yes, my lord. I will do what I can. There is no
telling how many may already be dead or even if the others will listen."

"We can try, Grandin. We can try."

Tamric turned on his heel and strode away. Olin followed.

"Where are you going?" Grandin called after them.

"The guest mansion to see some children."

Tamric's horse was waiting for him in the courtyard. Olin retrieved his own
and they rode out through the ruined gates.

"I knew a sa'necari boy who grew up to be kind and gentle," Olin said.

Tamric looked distracted. "Did you?"

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"Yes. Dawnreturning."

"Is he a saint?"

Olin chuckled. "I don't know. Myn are declared saints only after their
deaths."

* * * *

Stygean looked up when the door opened. A lycan guard preceded Olin and
Tamric into the cell. Stygean's face brightened when he saw Tamric and he
rushed to him. The boy threw his arms around the high captain with a sob.
"Thank gods, you're here."

Tamric stiffened and put Stygean aside. He stared at the boy awkwardly as if
seeing him for the first time. His lips tightened into a thin line of
distaste.

Stygean's tears welled up. "You don't love me any more, god-father?"

"You're sa'necari." Then he turned and left, with Olin following.

The lycan guard chuckled at him as he followed Tamric out.

Stygean collapsed in the straw of his cell, his defenses and hopes
shattered. He balled up and wept.

CHAPTER NINE

MERISSA, MY OBSESSION

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As Beth had told him he would, Malthus found the young female sitting upon
an ornate bench in the gardens behind the chieftain's house with a child
playing in the grass near her feet. She reminded Malthus of Dyllys, his last
lycan paramour – only she was far lovelier than Dyllys had been. He had
thought Dyllys the most beautiful of all. She betrayed him and he rited her
for it. This mon had heavy ginger hair and fair skin, a delicate mouth and
nose, large blue eyes. He imagined she must make a striking wolf, since the
color of their hair reflected the color of her coat in wolf-form. The child
was black-haired and dark skinned; yet his eyes like polished turquoise marked
him as hers. This jewel among wolves had to be Merissa.

The garden was a simple affair of low hedges, rose bushes, and several rows
of herbs. A psychic nudge through the links he had placed in his nieces' minds
sent them running far ahead of him. They rushed laughing into the garden.
Malthus trailed them with a doting expression. The girls rounded the hedgerow
nearest Merissa and her son, and stopped with a squeal of fright. Malthus
blinked, wondering what they had seen. Then, as he came into view, Malthus
hesitated. A half-grown maned hunting cat, a mountain chekaya, rose from
behind the bench. He had not seen it until then. Malthus grabbed his nieces
and pulled them close to him.

Merissa sucked in a surprised breath, saw his reaction, and caught the cat
by the scruff of the neck. "Don't be afraid of Kenly. My son is wilderkin."
She indicated the toddler. "One day the mother cat appeared and gave him the
kitten." Merissa gave Kenly a pat and the cat settled again by her son.

Malthus wondered how dangerous that might make the child, whether the boy
might be a simple wilderkin, or the more rare and deadly predator
wilderkin.Caution, caution, caution. Take this one step at a time. "Have I
permission to sit with you? I'm still learning the ways of this place."

Merissa smiled pleasantly up at him. "Of course. Are these your daughters?"

Malthus lowered his head as he shook it, allowing Merissa a brief, fleeting
glimpse of his inner sorrow at the loss of his family. "Nieces. Their parents
are dead."

Always the more daring of the two, Ros crept up to Kenly and touched him
tentatively, just brushing her fingers across his forehead. "He's soft. Come
on, Lyrri. He won't bite. Will you, Kenly?"

Lyrri hesitated and Ros went back, bringing her forward. Soon both of them
sat petting the huge hunting cat.

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Kenly started to purr and then gave an odd cough.

Merissa directed a startled glance at Kenly before frowning at Malthus.
"She's sa'necari. Are you?" She looked at his wrists, which wore no
spellcords.

"Me? No, of course not. I thought you were not allowing any adult sa'necari
into the valley now."

"We have a few. They are all spellcorded, sealed, and watched. It is the
only way we would allow them to seek refuge here. They must repudiate the old
ways."

The thought of spellcord made Malthus' stomach clench, but he forced himself
to relax. He would rather die than allow himself to be corded and cut off from
his powers. It had happened once, but only once and he would never forget the
burn as the cords were twisted into his flesh, and the empty sickness of being
blocked from his dark inner core. What could possibly have driven his people
to allow themselves to be bound? But the other sa'necari here, besides the
children, were all women, and women were all soft in the head when it came to
their children.

What fools these lycans! No one who has tasted the rites ever truly
repudiates the old ways.Malthus decided not to point that out to her and thus
endanger his own kind. Instead, he inclined his head to acknowledge the
soundness of her statement. "Which is exactly as you should."

Merissa smiled again. She bent forward and lifted her boy to her lap. "This
is my son, Darmyk. He's two and a half. He'll be three at mid-winter."

"A handsome boy. Is he sa'necari born? Is that why you brought him here?"

Merissa hesitated before answering. "Sa'necari, yes. However, Claw is my
father."

"Then you are the Princess Merissa!"

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Merissa blushed. "We're not that formal here."

"May I call you, Merissa?"

"Yes."

"I am Malthus." He extended his hand and she placed hers into it. Malthus
gave a short bow and kissed her fingers. He lingered over her hand a moment
too long and she pulled away from him. "My half-brother was sa'necari as was
his wife. I was not born with that stigma. Ros is seven and Lyrri is six. I
thought we'd never reach here safely."

After watching Darmyk rolling over the huge kitten, the two girls joined
him, petting and laughing.

Merissa sighed, her lips tightening a fraction. "It's hard. Especially with
this rebellion against the Sharani claiming so many lives."

"I hope your husband has chosen to remain here in the valley."

"I'm not married."

"Widowed?"

"My son was born on the wrong side of the blankets. Not that it's any of
your business..." Merissa said, lifting her head to a proud angle, and her
eyes flashing with anger as if daring him to say something.

Malthus nodded. Considering the age of the boy, Beth was right. He wondered
whether it had been Troyes or Isranon who had gotten her pregnant. They had
stayed at this farm together. Troyes' orders had been to ride on after leaving
Mephistis' young catamite here, but if he had, no one knew it: Troyes had
never been seen again. "I meant nothing. I too was born on thewrong side of
the blankets. My father was married to someone else."

Merissa sighed more deeply. "I apologize for reading more into your question
than you intended, I'm sure. It's just that so many people look askance at me.
I just assume everyone I meet already knows. My lover rode off to follow his

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prince and left me. At least he was honest. He told me from the beginning he
didn't love me."

"I am sorry." Malthus almost laughed. Isranon, for certain, had rejoined
Prince Mephistis after the fall of the Lord Hoon's City of the Dead three
years ago. Could Troyes have done so as well? Which one fathered this little
boy? He suspected Troyes. The half-a-mon had never seemed masculine enough to
attract a female like Merissa, nor possessed of the boldness to force one.
Troyes had been both.

"At least he wishes to know his son and has promised to come when he can."

"I cannot understand how a man could not love a woman as beautiful as you."

Merissa shifted uncomfortably and stood up with Darmyk. "You are kind, but I
think I should go in now."

"Will you be out here tomorrow? Maybe the children could play together. My
nieces haven't made any friends yet."

Merissa smiled again, relaxing. "Of course they can play together. Darmyk
will like that."

Malthus watched her go. She was exactly his brother's type. Troyes would
have certainly tried to bed her. When Troyes chose a woman, he always got her.
Then Malthus thought of a third possibility. Could the lycans have killed his
brother and hid his body if he had managed to bed her and get this child?
Lycans generally abhorred having a sa'necari child born to one of their own.
Beth's words came back to him: we should have stoned her.

What a waste that would have been. Merissa was the loveliest piece of flesh
he had ever encountered.

Had Merissa been anyone except the clan chieftain's daughter, no doubt she
would have been forced to abort the child rather than bear it. Malthus needed
to discover the name of the child's sire.

Malthus continued to consider it as he returned to the sanctuary with his
nieces. Two sa'necari with their wrists spellcorded and sealed carried buckets
of water hanging from a pole across their shoulders. They looked tired and

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worn out. A tickle of anger started in his middle. Sa'necari women should not
look like that, nor work like that. The sanctuary owned only a dozen nibari,
all cast-offs donated from other lycan households. So feedings for those women
were scattered and few.Fools. Fools all.

"Go play with the other children," he told his nieces and went into the
longhouse. Beth stood at a tub, rising off the dishes from dinner. She set the
last one aside and went to Malthus, throwing her arms around him in a hug. He
stiffened, but Beth failed to notice it.

"I'm so glad you're back," she said.

"I will be glad of some time alone with you, Beth."

"Do you like my dress?" Beth asked.

Malthus finally stopped thinking about Merissa for a moment and stared. The
neck of Beth's dress was unbuttoned almost to her nipples. His hand tightened
on her wrist. "Come, Beth. Let's find a place to be alone together."I need to
adjust your triggers otherwise everyone will know I'm plowing your field. When
the time comes, you'll scream nicely on my altar. It's Merissa I want.

He took Beth to his sheeling and they crawled inside through the low
entryway. The girls would not be back until dark. They tended to stay away as
much as possible, leaving him to his business once he dismissed them. The
lycans had no nudity taboos, yet being unclad always made a female feel more
vulnerable before a dominant male. So he started each of his sessions with
Beth by having her undress for him.

She sat on his bed, her plump breasts resting on the firm roundness of her
belly, and her heavy thighs opened. The overhang of her belly partially
concealed the tuft between her loins. Malthus liked them slender, but his
friend Egidius liked them fat. He would introduce Beth to Egidius when he
arrived.

"I love you, Malthus."

"Yes, I know, Beth." He wondered if he had chosen the wrong first command by
making her fall in love with him. There were other approaches he could have
used that might have worked as well. Putting his hands on her breasts made her
tremble. Initiating rapport, Malthus wrapped himself through her awareness,
tied another knot into the compulsions regarding her devotion to him. "You

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must not be so forward in showing off your body in public like this. People
will get the wrong idea."

"What idea is that?" Worry furrowed her corpulent face.

"They will think I love you. I don't love you, Beth. I own you." He gave her
left nipple a savage pinch.

Her eyes teared up. "Yes, Malthus. I know that."

"I want to move my sheeling to a more private corner of your holdings. That
is where I want to build my house."

Beth swallowed and nodded. "Whatever you wish."

"Good. I have some friends coming. You will obey them as you do me. Without
question."

"Friends?"

"You know what I mean." Malthus could feel her trying to resist him and
squeezed her thoughts into a painful bundle, dragging up the worst memories in
her mind to hurt her with.

Beth cried out and clutched her head.

Malthus lunged deeper into her psyche and drove a nail of force through it.

"I'll obey," she gasped.

"You will lie for me. You will kill, if I ask."

Beth cringed. "I will. I will."

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"My lieutenant, Egidius, is bringing an army into your valley from the
north. I'm going to butcher your males and enslave your females." He spoke
sharply, provoking her reactions in order to pierce her defenses. Malthus
continued to stick, stitch, tie, and knot.

Beth's eyes glazed over and she slumped forward. Malthus shoved her onto her
back. Her flesh jiggled distastefully. Malthus could not understand why
Egidius preferred females like Beth.

"You will betray your people to me, Beth. Repeat that."

Her mouth twisted and she broke out in a cold sweat as she struggled to
resist him. Sensing that Beth might scream, Malthus touched one finger to the
hollow of her throat to stifle her noises. Beth clutched at her neck, eyes
saucering.

"No," she croaked, unable to raise her voice any louder.

Malthus rotated the arcane blade of his power in her mind.

Beth tried to shriek as she folded over her hands, trembling, her face gone
white from the agony of his intrusion.

"Say it, Beth."

"I will ... betray my ... people."

"I want Merissa. You will not interfere with that."

Beth shuddered. "I will not interfere."

Malthus climbed onto Beth and bit her. He had barely begun to use Beth, when
Ros arrived. She stood for a moment, watching them, licking her fangs, and
then joined them on the bed, biting deeply into Beth's leg.

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* * * *

Shalto and Oswyl helped Malthus move his sheeling to the secluded spot he
had chosen the next day. Afterward, with two young myn in tow, Malthus went to
see the blacksmith to replace his sword. A wide variety of fine blades and
tools hung upon pegs on the far wall.

"What do you want?" the smith's assistance asked, emerging from a sheltered
corner of the smithy. He eyed Malthus, measuring him in a suspicious manner.
Not all of the lycans felt comfortable with the influx of non-lycan newcomers.

"Loosen up, Torquil," said Shalto. "He lost his fighting to reach here."

"What do you know about swords, human?"

"I was kandoyarin," Malthus replied, walking to the wall and examining their
wares. He unfastened his sheath from his shoulder and turned, extending it to
Torquil. "Something that fits this?"

Torquil looked at the battered leather and nodded. "Longsword. Interesting
choice."

"Popular on the coast."

"And in Shaurone."

Malthus raised an eyebrow at Torquil's suspicious tone. "Have you been
beyond the borders of this valley?"

"No. But the battle-clans–"

Malthus cut him off. "Then don't question my choices."

Torquil shrugged. "We might have something. You have gold?"

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Malthus brought several coins from his pouch and extended them to Torquil.

Torquil tucked the sheath under his arm and took the coins. "Sharani
ten-dolu pieces. You've gotten around a bit."

"I told you, I was kandoyarin until a few weeks ago when I came home."

Torquil took a blade down from the wall and handed it to Malthus to inspect.
The steel was very well made, supple, and yet strong. It would not break easy.

Malthus slid it into the sheath and noted the fit. He paid for it. "You
should have a drink with us sometime, Torquil," he told him. "Shouldn't he,
Shalto?"

Shalto grinned. "Yeah. Malthus here likes to buy and he tells great stories.
I think I'd like to be a kandoyarin someday."

"I've met many lycans working for them, but you need to be able to handle a
blade," Malthus said.

"Would you teach me?" Shalto asked.

"Certainly. I'd be glad to."

Torquil laughed, with a trace of skepticism. "I'll have to stop by with a
pair of practice blades, human, and see what you can do."

"By all means ... do so."

As Malthus and his companions emerged, they saw Nikko and Tempest watching
them from across the street. A small, fuzzy dog frolicked around them,
returning again and again with a stick in his mouth, begging for Tempest or
Nikko to toss it. Malthus snarled inwardly. Sooner or later they would misstep
and he would eat them.

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* * * *

He had met a few adults of his own kind among the refugees. For the first
few days, he had avoided them out of fear of discovery: no one detected
sa'necari as easily as their own kind. Malthus noticed one of them standing
before her house, which was the closest one to Beth's, not counting the
sheelings. He tried to remember what her name was. She seemed to be watching
him with a speculative expression, holding a three-year-old on her hip. Her
son, as he recalled, was lycan. No wonder that she had fled. Their kind were
less tolerant of a female hooking up with a lycan, than they were of males
doing so.

The longer he waited to deal with his people here, the more he placed
himself at risk of being revealed. Malthus went to Beth's house and let
himself in. He found Beth sitting at her loom, weaving. She rose to greet him,
smiling, and threw her arms around him. Malthus shoved her away. Beth looked
hurt by his action, but said nothing.

"How many sa'necari are in this camp?"

"Five women," Beth said.

"Who's that one with the lycan child?"

Beth frowned. "Kandaishee."

"Fetch her."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Beth returned a few minutes later with Kandaishee. The child had been left
with one of the other women.

"What is this about, Beth?" she asked. Kandaishee's eyes went to Malthus,
and she folded her arms across her middle, shifting uneasily from foot to

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foot. Recognition glimmered in her eyes, telling Malthus that he had been
right: she had figured him out.

"I wanted to speak with you," Malthus said. He stepped close and touched the
hollow of Kandaishee's throat to mute her voice.

She clutched at her throat, turning to flee. Malthus grabbed her arm,
jerking her against him. Kandaishee clawed for his eyes. He caught that wrist
and forced both arms behind her, bringing her body hard against his. Her fangs
came down and she tried to bite his face. Malthus bumped her chin with his
shoulder and banged her face with his forehead.

"Hold her, Beth."

Beth seized Kandaishee's arms, pinning them.

"No, please," Kandaishee begged.

"You know that begging does no good, Kandaishee," Malthus said. "I can see
it in your eyes. You've practiced the rites."

Kandaishee pulled at her arms, but could not get free from Beth's grip as
the lycan changed to her hybrid form. "I've renounced them."

"A shame." Malthus stroked her face, Reading her. Her magic was
underdeveloped, suggesting that she had participated in only a few rites, just
enough to alter her eyes, and not enough to give her the substantial sa'necari
strength.

She tried to close her mind to him, twisting and turning her thoughts about
to prevent Malthus from getting hold of her. Spellcorded, Kandaishee's mind
lacked shields and would be unable to fight him off if he pressed it. However,
he did not wish to leave her wrecked. That would be noticed.

"Don't make me rip you open," Malthus hissed. "No one cares enough to notice
a change in you."

She twisted her head back, trying to look at the lycan behind her. "Beth,

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please let me go. He's going to hurt me."

Beth said nothing, only tightening her hold, her strong fingers digging into
Kandaishee's flesh.

Malthus ran his finger down Kandaishee's nose and across her check,
amusement turning the corners of his mouth. "Beth is mine. I claimed her my
first night here."

Kandaishee eyes softened into pools of despair, her mouth drooped. She
stopped straining against Beth's hands. "Gods, have mercy."

"You're praying to the wrong gods," Malthus said. "Be still and it won't
hurt as much."

"I know." Resignation crept into Kandaishee's voice. "I've done it myself
... many times."

"Then why resist? You know you can't. Open and let me in. It will be over
quickly."

Kandaishee's head lowered and her shoulders drooped. Malthus sensed her
surrender, felt her mind go still and yielding. He lunged in, working swiftly,
laying in all the coercions, compulsions, sways, and triggers at once. The
speed of his efforts caused Kandaishee more pain than going slowly would have.
She closed her eyes, turned her head to the side, and whimpered like a
battered puppy. To test his results, he raped her.

"Bring me another sa'necari," Malthus ordered Beth, as Kandaishee crawled
into a corner and huddled sobbing.

By the end of the day, Malthus no longer had to worry that one of his people
would recognize his true nature and reveal him to the lycans. What he had said
to Kandaishee was true: neither the lycans nor the humans that lived and
worked about the camp cared enough about sa'necari to notice a change in them.

* * * *

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One thing at a time. One day at a time. Malthus did not push things fast,
but steadily. He had now been moving about the village for two weeks, making
himself indispensable around the refugee camp, and using the cachet of his
kandoyarin tales to ingratiate himself with the younger wolves. He had a good
following forming up behind him. Malthus waited three days after buying his
sword, and then took his core band to speak to Nikko. They included Beth,
Shalto, Oswyl, and Torquil. He wanted to speak to the lawgiver to get
permission to hunt on clan lands. Hunting would give him a good explanation
for wandering far from Wolffgard Village.

Nikko lived with his widowed mother, Granta, on one of the better streets in
a two-story house with a basement. They shared one of the nicer houses in the
village. His late father, who had been architect trained in Creeya, had
returned to Red Wolf Valley to settle down, marry, and practice his trade. All
of Nikko's siblings had moved to homes of their own when they married. Nikko
had remained at home to care for his mother.

Malthus knocked at the door and heard Granta's pleasant voice tell them she
was coming.

Beth smiled uncertainly at Malthus and patted her dress to neaten it. "We'll
get this approved, Malthus. It's for the children, after all."

"I hope so, Beth," Malthus replied. "But I'm not lycan."

"I don't see how Nikko can turn you down," Shalto said. "It isn't like you
were wanting to hunt for sport."

Granta opened the door, and an expression of surprise at seeing so many lit
the pale eyes in her heavily lined face. Her ears looked a bit too large, as
did her eyes, but that was only because age had withered away the tissues
beneath her once delicate features. She wore her white hair in a knot at the
nape of her neck with a pin stuck through it. "Have you come to see Nikko?"

Nikko was the youngest of the aged bitch's five cubs, and she had ten grand
cubs from his siblings.

"We have," Beth said.

"Come in." Granta led them to a comfortable living room filled with soft
cushioned sofas and chairs. "Make yourselves comfortable and I'll fetch
Nikko."

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Malthus took a chair near the end of a long, low table, but allowed Beth to
take the head as if she led instead of him. Nikko appeared, tying a loose robe
over him as he walked, and eyed all of them, clearly wondering why a
deputation would come to speak with him. He let his gaze rest the longest upon
Malthus.

The sa'necari gave Nikko a polite smile and inclined his head in
acknowledgement. He knew that Nikko was only bothering to dress because
ahumanwas present.

"What is it you want?" Nikko asked.

"There isn't enough meat for the children," Beth said. "One of us needs to
hunt."

"So? Why does this require so many?"

"I want you to give Malthus permission to hunt on clan lands to provide for
the children," Beth said.

"The rest of us are too busy building and working at other things," Shalto
put in.

Nikko's gaze fixed upon Shalto and lingered there. "What is the point you're
trying to make?"

"That Malthus should do the hunting for the compound," Beth said. "He needs
your permission, since he's not lycan."

"Malthus? Since when did a human hunt better than a lycan? You have several
lycans working for the camp," Nikko pointed out.

Beth shook her head. "We need Shalto and Oswyl for the building. They're
stronger than a human. Malthus has the skills for hunting."

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Malthus met Nikko's skeptical gaze for a long moment. "I've had to live off
the land many times as a kandoyarin. I was hunter for my units in Ocealay. I
am capable of providing for the camp."

"Look, Nikko," Shalto interposed. "We're good at building things. Better
than Malthus will ever be. We can spare him, but not us."

Nikko frowned. "It sounds like you've already decided this amongst you
before coming to me."

"We have," said Beth. "We can spare Malthus, but not Shalto and Oswyl."

Nikko swept his gaze around the deputation. "So what are you expecting me to
do?"

"Give him permission to hunt on clan lands, permission to travel," said
Torquil, speaking up for the first time. "So long as everyone eats at the
camp, what objection can you possibly have?"

Nikko shrugged. "None I guess. I'll notify Claw of my decision. But if I
hear that the meat is not being shared..."

Beth growled at him, deep in her throat. "That's my decision to make. I
trust Malthus to take care of us. That's more than you've been doing."

"Beth, I have an entire village to attend to, not just your small camp, as
important as it may seem to you."

"Exactly," Beth snapped at him.

"So be it, I grant my permission, but I'll check in on this from time to
time."

"That's understood."

Is it?Malthus wondered.I think you gave in a bit too easily.

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* * * *

Malthus concluded his deal with Shalto's father to buy two horses, a good
riding animal, and a packhorse. He thought he had every thing resolved, and
nothing more to worry about as he rode back to his sheeling to work on his new
house some more before dark, only to find Tempest waiting for him. The priest
was seated on a tree round in the yard with his staff across his knees.
Tempest stood when Malthus arrived, and approached him with a stern look.

Dismounting, Malthus tied the horses to a tree and faced the priest,
wondering what this was about. "What can I do for you? Is this about my
nieces? Are they misbehaving?"

"Not at all. They are good students. This is about Beth."

Malthus rocked back on his heels and nodded. "Beth? What about Beth? Is she
okay?"

"That's a good question. Beth is a good mon. But she is a homely one. And
she knows it."

"I don't know where this is going."

"Perhaps nowhere, perhaps everywhere. Rumor has it that you are sleeping
with Beth."

The calm tone of Tempest's voice irritated Malthus, who felt as if the
priest was playing games with him. "And you want to know if I am? I don't
think that is any of your business."

"Beth is a very vulnerable female. She is a member of my congregation, and a
great benefactor of it. Both of her time and of the land for us to build on."

Malthus glanced around for Nikko. The lawgiver did not appear to be there.
"And that makes it your business?"

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"Yes, it does. I want to see her treated fairly."

"I haven't promised her anything. You are familiar with the lycan term,
'like the wild cousins' and all that it implies?"

Tempest sighed and lowered his head. "So youaresleeping together."

Malthus' lips curled back in a sneer. "Would you rather I had said that I
was jacking her, priest?"

"That's a harsh way to put it."

"Yes, it is. But that's what you came to hear, wasn't it? And that's what I
am doing." Malthus grew irritated, his contempt for this flower-kissing,
tree-hugger priest showed on his face and in the angle of his stance.

Tempest frowned at him. "It is very evident that she's in love with you. I
can't see why."

"She knows I don't love her. It is strictly like the wild cousins."

"What if you get her pregnant? Has that crossed your mind?"

Malthus shrugged. "It's unlikely. Lycans aren't as fertile with humans as
they are with each other."

"You seem to know a lot about lycans."

"I grew up around them. There is a large lycan community in Dragonton."

"You've been seen walking with Merissa."

"So now we get down to it," Malthus snarled. "I won't stop seeing Merissa."

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"How does Beth feel about this?"

"It doesn't matter how Beth feels about it. I've told her I don't love her."

"And Merissa? Does she know about Beth?"

Malthus straightened, his voice going chill. "Are you threatening to tell
her?"

"I am. Merissa's already had her heart broken once by a lover who left her."

Slewing his eyes around to check the area, Malthus ascertained that Tempest
was, indeed, alone. "I don't think you'll be telling anyone, priest."

"What?"

Malthus' hand shot out and pressed over Tempest's heart as he grabbed the
priest by the shoulder to hold him steady for the kill. Black energy slammed
into Tempest's chest. A loud groan of agony climbed up Tempest's throat, and
escaped his parted lips. The priest's eyes bulged in shock, and he gasped for
breath. His heart pounded as if ready to rip through his rib cage.

"Willodarus!" Tempest invoked his god, struck Malthus with his staff, and
staggered free. He faced off, with his chest heaving and his staff raised.

Malthus cursed. The priest was stronger than he had expected: that first
charge should have stopped his heart. Tempest jabbed at Malthus' stomach.
Malthus sprang to the side, caught hold of the staff, and jerked it above his
head, bringing Tempest stumbling toward him. He spun the staff, forced it from
the priest's grasp, and tossed it into the trees near the horses, which caused
the animals to shift uneasily. Malthus' hand shot out and touched the hollow
of Tempest's throat before the priest could draw away from him. A spell
plunged through the aged flesh.

Tempest's lips formed the word "sa'necari," but no sound came out. His hand
went to his throat as a look of horror came over his face. He mouthed the word
"no," and backed up two steps, turning to flee.

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Malthus kicked Tempest's knee, shattering it. The leg gave and the priest
fell into the dirt. Snarling, Malthus kicked Tempest in the chest, sending the
older mon onto his back, and he pinned him there with his boot heel grinding
into the hollow beneath Tempest's breastbone. "Time to die, old fool."

He dropped all of his weight into the pit of the priest's stomach and
straddled him. The breath whooshed from Tempest's lungs, leaving him stunned
and sobbing for air.

Malthus snagged Tempest's mane and twisted his head to the side as he
slammed his palm to the left side of the priest's chest. The loose wool robe
shifted under Malthus' hand, bunching up. He shoved his hand inside Tempest's
robe, feeling the slick aged skin beneath his palm. Dark power constricted
around the priest's heart.

"Don't fight me, Tempest," Malthus said with venomous compassion. "It won't
hurt as much ... or as long."

Sobbing and gasping as the unrelenting torment increased, Tempest grabbed
Malthus' hand, trying vainly to force it away. Flashes of pain shot along
Tempest's left arm as the pressure built in his chest. Dizziness enveloped
him, and the priest felt like fainting; yet Tempest knew that to loose
consciousness was to die. He blanched, breaking into a cold, clammy sweat.

With the strength from a thousand rites, Malthus held steady, shrugging off
Tempest's efforts to free himself, continuing to flood Tempest's chest with
the deadly magic that was slowly and steadily rupturing the organ. Tempest's
hold weakened. Malthus drank in his terror and anguish, savored his pain, and
fed deeply upon it, pleased at how hard the priest was dying. Tempest had
turned out to be a better psychic meal than Malthus had anticipated.

Malthus' cock hardened – a frequent sa'necari reaction to killing someone,
due to their necromantic natures enhanced by the rites. He increased the flow
of energy. Tempest's eye lids fluttered, his lips parted with drool coming
from the corners, his fingers slid away from Malthus' wrist. The necromancer
timed the struggling irregular beat of Tempest's heart.

"Your suffering is nearly over."

"My god ... have mercy..." Tiny convulsions rippled through Tempest, his
body jerked and twitched briefly, and then stilled. His pupils became fixed

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and staring. Within moments, Tempest looked several hours dead, with a deep
purple lividity along the back of his neck, his mouth locked into a grimace.

Malthus released his grip on Tempest's hair and sat back, licking his fangs,
wishing he dared to sink them into the priest's body. "It's over, old mon. You
died deliciously."

He extended his necromantic senses into the dead flesh, checking it closely
to see if anyone would be able to tell that it had not been a heart attack
that killed the priest. Once he had satisfied himself that it would pass a
Reader's examination, Malthus carried Tempest's body to his packhorse and tied
it down, covering it with a blanket. He retrieved the priest's staff and
shoved in under the saddle flap. It was best to get this over with before
evening when the lycans would be returning home from their fields and shops.
He would leave the body in the forest well away from his home.

Now there was only Nikko to be dealt with.

* * * *

The camp's children sat in the little schoolroom on benches behind long
tables. Nikko sat at the front in his chair beside the slate board. They were
waiting for Tempest, who taught the second half, religious studies. They had
arrived back from their break with bright, expectant faces, for everyone loved
Tempest's lessons, which were filled with tales of gods, monsters, and heroes.

Morning turned into early afternoon and still Tempest had not arrived. Nikko
began to worry. He watched the children start to fidget, crossing and
uncrossing their legs, drawing on the tables with their fingers, shifting on
the benches. The little boys began to pick at and poke the little girls. He
wanted to reprimand them for it, but he felt restless himself and remembered
too well how it had been when he was their age.Why is Tempest making them wait
so long?

"Go outside and play, but don't go far. I'll find Tempest and see what's
keeping him."

The children rushed from their seats without a backward glance, and Nikko
went to the rear door of the schoolroom that he had helped to build with such
loving care. The rear door led into a U shaped hallway. The door to his right
led into the shrine itself. He turned left and then right, passed the door
into the outside, right again brought him to the door to Tempest's apartments
first on his left and another door into the shrine on the right beyond it.

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He knocked at Tempest's door and received no answer, beyond the frantic
barking of Tempest's fuzzy, little dog, named Moss. Nikko's brow furrowed. In
the four years that Tempest had been here, the priest had never failed to
notify Nikko when he would be away and where he could be reached in an
emergency. The two of them worked hand in hand together.

Nikko let himself in. Moss leaped on him, whining frantically. Like many
lycans, Nikko had a strong affinity for natural canines. He disrobed, changed
into a wolf, and settled on the floor to ask Moss when was the last time it
had seen its master. What the dog communicated to Nikko disturbed him. Moss
had been locked up here since early yesterday, without food or water. That was
not like Tempest. He would never have left Moss uncared for. Usually, when he
was going away, he brought Moss to Nikko's mother to watch. Tempest was a kind
soul.

Nikko changed back and dressed. Moss watched him, periodically giving his
plumed tail an uncertaintock tockback and forth. Nikko went into the kitchen
and returned with a bowl and Moss' leash, buckled it on, and took him outside.
He tied Moss to a tree and dipped him some water from a barrel. While Moss
lapped water, Nikko walked to the center of the main yard.

"Has anyone seen Tempest?" Nikko shouted. "Anyone at all? He didn't show up
to teach the children."

"Maybe he's gone to the next village," Beth said. "He does that sometimes."

Nikko shook his head vigorously. "Not without informing me so that I could
arrange a substitute for him."

People began gathering down wind of him, watching him in a manner that made
Nikko uneasy. None of them came close enough for him to get a good sniff of
their emotional scents, not that he normally intruded in that manner. The
young lycans who worked at the camp came closer than the rest, hands on their
hips, regarding him with what? Hostility? Contempt? Nikko wished they would
come nearer so that he could get a whiff of them. The lycans among them would
be shielding their emotions, of course, so that their scent did not broadcast
as strongly. But the others...

Malthus strode up to him. "Have you checked his home?"

Why had Malthus come forward? The way that the others hung back and regarded
Malthus – it was almost like he was their leader. His nostrils flared and he

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tried for a scent clue from Malthus. Malthus was one of the mostly tightly
shielded humans that Nikko had ever encountered. "Yes. Moss hasn't had care
for two days."

"Check the taverns and infirmary, before you start worrying people,"
suggested Shalto in a disparaging tone. "You worry too much, Nikko."

Nikko scanned the crowd but no one seemed ready to join or support him. No
one offered to help. "I suppose." Nikko walked off with his shoulders slumped.
"But this isn't like him."

"When you've checked every place else, then come back here and we'll get a
search going," Shalto said, following his words with a derisive noise.

Nikko scowled, his insides quivering. He saw no respect in any of the faces
before him, nor concern for Tempest. When had that changed? And how? "I'll be
back."

He retrieved Moss and headed for his home to entrust the little dog to his
mother. Moss pulled at the leash frantically, looking in all directions for
Tempest as they traveled. Nikko could smell the dog's worry. At a watering
trough for horses, Nikko lifted Moss up so that he could get another drink.
People came over to him as usual to speak and to pat Moss, and Nikko told them
all that he had discovered concerning Tempest. He found that they gave him the
normal amount of respect due to a lawgiver, unlike what was happening at the
camp, which made him wonder why.

On arriving at his home, Nikko saw his mother Granta sitting on a bench
under a shade tree chatting with a neighbor. Moss immediately jumped onto
Granta's lap, whining.

"Is Tempest going someplace?" she asked, rubbing Moss' head.

"Tempest is missing. Moss had had no water or food since yesterday."

"Oh, poor little thing!" Granta made some noises deep in her throat and Moss
perked his ears listening. "Give me the leash. I'll take care of him, Nikko."

"Tempest is old. And, he's human," the neighbor said. "Something could have
happened to him."

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"I know. I'm getting a search going. People have already agreed to meet me
on the Common in an hour."

* * * *

Malthus finished chopping the extraneous branches off another tree with
Shalto and his cousin Oswyl as evening arrived. He wiped his sweating, dirty
streaked face on his shirtsleeve, and grinned at them. "If we're done for the
night, I have a cask of passable mead at home."

Shalto's eyes gleamed and he nodded with a quick smile of appreciation. "I
could do with some of that."

"Then why don't both of you come home with me?"

They dragged the tree from the forested edge of the camp to the center of
the yard, put away their tools, and then set off for Malthus' place. They sat
drinking mead on tree rounds in front of the house they had just finished
laying the foundation for yesterday and eventually the talk of women came
round, as Malthus knew it would.

"I must admit to liking your custom of doing it like the wild cousins,"
Malthus told them, with a knowing grin. He dropped his hand to his crotch and
made a humping gesture.

Shalto's eyes lit. "Yah, I've been hearing rumors of you and Beth." He
mimicked Malthus' gesture. "Wish I could get me some."

Malthus almost laughed at how easy it had become to draw the two
sixteen-year-olds onto the path he wished them to walk. "Ah, yes, Beth. She
surprised me. I never expected her to be so experienced."

"Beth?" Oswyl sounded incredulous.

Malthus ran his tongue over his lips and cocked his head, with a glance to
the side. "Well, yes. She's as talented and experienced as any doxie I've
encountered and I've had women from as far south as Ocealay to as far north as

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Havensword in Creeya."

"Hsaaa! And here we have always thought no one'd ever touched her. I mean–"
Shalto looked nonplussed.

"Then she's been more discreet than most here," Malthus said. "If that's the
case, I'm sorry I mentioned it."

"No, don't be," Oswyl said. "I mean, for the common folks like us, doing it
like the wild cousins is no bad thing."

"Then, maybe you should try her," Malthus suggested. "Would you like another
round?" He gathered up the tankards.

"Sure thing," Shalto said.

Malthus refilled the tankards from a barrel he had propped on a makeshift
rack beside his sheeling. The walls on his house would start going up
tomorrow.

"Look, if you don't have anything planned with Beth for tonight, maybe we'll
stop by and see if she's willing to accommodate us," Shalto said.

"You'll find her more than willing, Shalto," said Malthus. "She's been
telling me she had her eye on you."

Shalto grinned and Oswyl nudged him.

Malthus' grin turned evil. "And she likes it up the ass."

The two young lycans looked at each other.

Malthus laughed. "You're not very experienced, are you? I mean, you do know
that the ass is tighter than a well used cunt, don't you?"

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"I'd never thought of it," Shalto replied.

"Much tighter. Try it, you might like it. A snug sheath for your sword."

Malthus went on to describe the sexual practices of dozens of cultures,
finding the two inexperienced young lycans a rapt audience. He trusted that,
like all young males, they would brag to their peers once they had been with
his slut. Then, should Merissa learn of his liaison with Beth, the lycan's
reputation would be so completely soiled that Merissa would think nothing of
his actions.

* * * *

Beth opened the door. Shalto leered at her with a knowing smile and Oswyl
grinned over his shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat. The last group of
children that had been living with her had been fostered out to other females
living on the compound and she finally had the longhouse to herself again. Two
nights ago, Malthus had told her he intended to start sending males to use her
and that she was not refuse them, no matter they wished her to do.

She felt ill, but no matter how hard her will struggled in its bindings, she
could not get free. "Come in."

Shalto drifted to the curtains of the half wall leading into her sleeping
area.

"Can I get you anything?" Beth asked.

Oswyl nudged Shalto.

"You," Shalto said. "We hear you want it like the wild cousins."

Beth's head settled on her shoulder as she started unlacing her dress. She
wished she were free to cry, but Malthus had forbidden her to do that in front
of others.

Oswyl nudged Shalto again.

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"One at a time?" Shalto asked, and then paused thinking. "Or two up?"

Beth felt her heart break. She had assisted to whelp these two
sixteen-year-olds, watched them grow up with a longing fondness in her heart,
wishing they might have been her own. Now it was all being destroyed. "Any way
you want it."

Her shift settled around her waist, exposing her breasts. The eagerness in
their eyes made her cringe. Shalto fondled her breast, and she forced a smile.

Shalto looked to Oswyl. "Two up?"

"I've never done that before," Oswyl said. "But sure."

Shalto let out a series of enthusiastic hoots. "Get naked, Beth! Oswyl,
we're finally gonna get some." He grabbed her shift and pulled it past her
hips. "Oh yeah, gonna get some."

* * * *

On the third day of searching for Tempest, Nikko had grown disheartened and
certain that they would not find his friend alive, yet frantic to have closure
and see the priest's remain laid to rest. Braided through his shifting
emotions, lay a desperate need to be wrong, to find Tempest alive. Driven by
his inner demons, Nikko continued to search long after the others had given up
and gone home for the night. He thought of poor little Moss. The dog was
mourning, and Granta was spoiling him as a result. His mother had already
promised to make a place for Moss in their home.

The sun rose, and dawn illumined the landscape in shades of pinks and
oranges. Dozens of black circling shapes lifted from the trees, becoming a
spiraling blemish against the soft hues of sunrise, their raucous noises
drowning out the morning bird songs: ravens.

Nikko hastened toward them with his stomach clenching. His nostrils flared
and he smelled death before he it. The crows and ravens blanketed a carcass,
tearing at it fiercely, pecking at each other in a dominance dance for the
macabre feast. Flies buzzed angrily. Nikko plunged in, driving the crows and
ravens from their banquet with broad waves of his hands. The frustrated birds

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took refuge in the trees and watched him.

A figure clad in scavenger-savaged umber and brown robes rested beneath a
tree, with a staff still laying in the bony remnants of its fingers. The eyes
were gone and portions of the face. Maggots moved around the opened mouth.

Nikko's throat tightened and his stomach rebelled. "Tempest."

He sank to his knees, as shock sent him into his hybrid form, and he howled
his grief to the heavens.

CHAPTER TEN

SUSPICIONS

Malthus' house had gone up swiftly. So far he had a single room partitioned
off, with full walls and a door, instead of the usual half walls of the lycan
longhouses: his bedroom. His nieces slept in the living area for the nonce. He
intended to add on a study and a bedroom for them also. Shalto and Oswyl had
already laid the foundations. Eventually he would have a very cozy human style
cottage. There had been a bit of complaining among some of the myn who had
been here longer, however, once he got inside their minds, it stopped. The
growing insularity of the camp meant that the general lycan community did not
poke their noses in enough to notice the changes: the camp had become Malthus'
little fiefdom.

Beth sat weeping on Malthus' big reed bed. "They use me like a whore,
Malthus. Shalto, Oswyl, Torquil, and a dozen others. You have no idea what
terrible things they do to me."

Malthus leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and a chill expression
on his face. "I suggested most of it to them."

Beth shot him a disillusioned look. "My own people are doing this. How many
more are you going to send to use me?"

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"As many as I like. You are developing quite a reputation among the young
males as a slut. I don't see why you're complaining. You're getting more than
you ever did in your life."

She twisted her hands in her skirt, looking more forlorn by the moment.
Malthus had her wearing better dresses, brighter colors, and belts to show
that – although plump – she had a waistline. "I – I don't like it. Not this
way. Not so many."

"Are you going to refuse them anything?" His voice oozed with contempt.

Beth squirmed. "I know better than to do that."

"I'm sure you do."

Beth dropped her head. "They found Tempest."

"Oh?"

"He's dead. They're saying it was a heart attack. But – but I don't think
so. I think you killed him."

Malthus laughed derisively. "Of course I killed him. He was going to Merissa
about my relationship with you."

"That's what this is all about, isn't it? Merissa? You want that sa'necari
loving slut princess?"

Malthus came around and gripped Beth's face, forcing her to look at him.
"You're forgetting something, Beth.Youare a sa'necari loving slut."

"Oh, gods, I love you, Malthus."

"Stop saying that," Malthus grumbled irritably. "Take your clothes off.
Since you've been so busy for the past few days," he drew the words out with a
sneer, "I've been doing Kandaishee. I haven't had a taste of lycan in far too

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long."

Beth obeyed and sat waiting for him.

Malthus covered her temples with his palms and tore her mind open. "Once
Tempest revealed how far the rumors had spread, I had to soil your reputation
before Merissa could learn of it."

Beth whimpered as he worked on her, shoving more arcane needles into her
most private corners. Tears ran down her face.

"Shall I tell you how I killed him, Beth?" Malthus asked, his voice low and
sinister.

"No. Please. I don't want to hear it."

"You know how I hurt you with a single finger?"

"Stop, please."

"I put my hand on his chest, and I squeezed his heart until ruptured it. A
very painful way to die. Do you wish to die that way?"

Beth swallowed and her whimpering worsened. "No," she said in a small voice.

"I didn't think so. Be good, and it won't happen that way. Lie down and open
your legs, Beth," he said when he finished raping her mind. "You're going to
have a busy night. I have guests coming and I told them how insatiable you
are. But I want to be first."

* * * *

Nikko sat at the little table in his mother's kitchen four days after the
lycans buried Tempest beside his shrine. He pressed the whitening knuckles of
his fists together. "I shouldn't've let him go alone. I should have been with
him."

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Another fit of weeping took him. Moss whined and climbed into Nikko's lap.
He scratched behind Moss' ears distractedly. His mother put a cup of chamomile
tea in front of him. She drew a chair close and put her arm around him. "I'm
sorry, Nikko. But you couldn't have known his heart would give out."

"Tempest ... was like a second father to me."

"I know." She patted his hand. "We all miss him."

"I don't believe it was a heart attack. He never had anything wrong with
heart before, mother."

"Nikko–"

"Mother, listen to me. But don't tell anyone what I say."

"I won't, but be reasonable."

"I am. There's one of the newcomers. Tempest and I ... we never trusted him.
Sa'necari can make a death spell that appears to be natural, except to a
mage-gifted Reader. We have none of those in the valley."

"All the adult sa'necari are spellcorded."

"I've caught glimpses of strange things in the forest. Things I've never
seen before. None of them showed up before this mon arrived. I think Tempest
was murdered. I think this mon had something to do with it. Tempest had said
he intended to talk to him about something the day he died."

"Nikko, be careful what you're saying. You're the lawgiver. You can't accuse
without evidence."

"I'll get evidence. And then there's Beth."

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"Hsaaa," Granta made a disparaging noise, "Beth is a slut. Now that I think
on it, she probably always was and we never noticed."

Nikko sucked in a sharp breath, put Moss on the floor, and stood up, seeing
that he was getting nowhere with his mother. "I'm going for a walk."

He drifted through the village, acknowledging people with small nods, while
not paying them any real attention. When he reached the common, Nikko spied
Malthus going into the Difficult Horse with Shalto, Oswyl, and Torquil. It
seemed like every time that Nikko saw Malthus in the village Shalto and Oswyl
were with him, and sometimes Torquil. He was certain that Malthus had killed
Tempest, but he could not think of any way to prove it. Nor could he offer any
possible motives for Malthus having done it. Only that it was a lingering gut
feeling and Nevin had always told him to listen to his gut on such matters. So
how did he start to investigate Malthus without the mon knowing it? Most of
the young village males had befriended Malthus, and that did not make any
sense either.

* * * *

Well, I offered to work for my bread,Malthus thought, wiping his sweating
forehead on his sleeve. The lycans had put him to chopping wood that morning
as his contribution to the upkeep of the sanctuary. He had been at it for
hours, but now had the woodbins filled. This was the last of it. He laid the
ax aside and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto a bush. The cool
spring breeze sighed over his well-proportioned chest and arms, chilling the
moisture clinging to his limbs.

He had not yet deepened the compulsions he had set in the five adult
sa'necari enough to turn them into a harem, but was considering it – although
he had stolen a night here and there with Kandaishee. However, he did not dare
to risk acquiring the very reputation he had so carefully cultivated for Beth.

The sa'necari helped with the children, the building, and other chores
necessary to keep the sanctuary going. There was always at least one watchful
lycan with them, and more often several. The lycans provided the sanctuary
with nibari for the sa'necari adults and children to feed upon and all such
meals were carefully supervised. Malthus' deception denied him access to the
nibari, but he had always liked the taste of lycan best.

Lord Daemon's contacts had provided him with more preserving bottles of
blood, but it was not the same – there was no taste of fear along with the
blood – so he contented himself with Beth and fed Ros from the bottles. Even
the best trained and most trusting of nibari held some small measure of fear
before a master's fangs entered her. A rite would be better. That would

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completely satiate him for a time.

"I thought you might be hungry," Merissa said, walking up to him with a
basket of bread and cheese, a bottle of wine sticking out of the top, a folded
blanket draped her arm. "We can let the children play together. Darmyk kept
asking about Ros. He likes her."

The toddler rode his half-grown kitten beside Merissa. Ros and Lyrri rushed
up when they saw them and the playing began as they each got the kitten to
chase one and then the other in a game of cat tag. Ros and Darmyk grabbed
Kenly and fell into a little heap for a moment when he shook them both off. A
shiver ran up Malthus' back when he saw the hungry glitter in Ros' eyes as she
gave Darmyk's back several strokes. Ros was surprisingly strong for her years,
and he wondered how long his coercions would be able to prevent her from
sinking her fangs into Darmyk. Blood hunger was a nearly irresistible force,
especially in the young.

Malthus took the blanket from Merissa, spread it on the ground, and
indicated she should sit first. Her visits had increased from once a week to
nearly every day. He no longer had to go looking for her. Her beauty made heat
rise in his body, and his throat tighten with longing for a taste from her
veins. Malthus imagined the exquisite pleasure of entering her just behind her
delicate ear and opening her legs to his rod of possession. She would be
afraid. Done right, there was always fear before passion. He could see how his
brother would have wanted her: he wanted her.

Merissa sat and began taking food and drink from her basket, fruit juice for
the children and wine for herself and Malthus. He settled close to her where,
at the proper moment, his hand could steal across hers.

"Your son is a pretty child, Merissa," Malthus told her, watching the
children playing. He was very careful with them, concealing their precocities.
Ros had been born with her fangs, which was a very rare thing. It was only a
matter of time before she tried to feed on Darmyk, since she was already
obsessing on him.

"No more so than your nieces," Merissa replied. She opened the wine and
poured them each a glass.

Malthus accepted his with a languid smile and began to sip it. Merissa's
wine was always of a better quality than what the sanctuary provided, or what
he could buy in the shops. "You are a pleasant surprise, as ever, Merissa.
Your presence makes my loses bearable."

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Merissa hesitated. "I'm sorry for your losses. I'm glad ourfriendshipeases
it." She chewed her lower lip, and then burst out, "I hate wars. They took my
lover away from me."

"Perhaps they did. Perhaps they did not. You did say that he didn't love
you."

She tensed, her hand choking the glass in her hands. "In his eyes, we were
friends only. In mine?"

"I am sorry." Malthus' hand stole over hers and she pulled away from him.

Calling the children to her, Merissa made them sandwiches. "Don't feed your
food to Kenly. I know he'll beg, but he's had his breakfast."

A chorus of "awww" greeted her admonition, but when her expression showed no
sign of changing, they obeyed her.

Malthus took another swallow of his wine, wishing it had been spiked with
blood. Beth did not satisfy him at all. She had stopped keeping herself as
clean as she had before she became the village slut. He had to constantly
repair her mind. It was fraying around the edges, and people had begun to
remark on the changes in her. At least he no longer had to worry about the
nosy priest.

"You must get lonely with your lover so long away. I'm lonely." Malthus
sipped from his glass.

Merissa gave him a doubting look. "You have Beth."

He shook his head with a small smile. "Merissa, you're too innocent for
words."

She drew back, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Please don't take this wrong. Beth is the village slut."

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"Beth? I can hardly believe that."

"I didn't believe it myself at first. Don't take my word for it. Ask Shalto
or Torquil or Oswyl. They've all been with her. They're coming and going from
her home at all times of the day and night. But don't condemn her, Merissa. It
is after all the way of the wild cousins."

Merissa flushed and stared at her hands. "Not like that, it isn't. The wild
cousins ... well, that's more like unmarried serial monogamy. And it isn't
generally practiced among the upper classes."

"It's the reason I insisted on building my home so far from the main
compound. I didn't want the girls exposed to it."

"I never knew."

"Of course you didn't. You're too innocent, Merissa. Too trusting."

"I'm scarcely innocent. I've had a child out of wedlock."

"What did you say your lover's name was? If he rides with the Rowdies, I
might have met him."

A cautious light came into Merissa's eyes. "I didn't."

He reached out and brushed his fingers along her arm.

Merissa stiffened as he touched her. "Please don't."

Malthus withdrew his hands. "I meant no offense. Only that you're very
lovely and I am very lonely. It's been what? You said yesterday, three years I
think? How can you still wait for him?"

"Because I will wait for him until I die." Merissa picked up Darmyk, fleeing
in such haste that she grabbed only the basket, leaving Malthus with the wine,

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glasses, and blanket.

Malthus poured another glass of wine and knocked the contents down. His
fangs started to descend and he focused inward to send them back into their
sheaths in his mouth. He wanted to sink them into Merissa, but he would have
to make do with Beth.

"Or until he dies?" he said softly under his breath.

If the sire was Isranon, then his death would definitely be sooner than
Merissa could dream: both Queen Tomyrilen and the God-Queen Galee of Minnoras
had placed bounties upon Isranon's head and that of Lord Dawnreturning, as had
the Sacred King of Rowanhart. Assassins were coming at Isranon from all
directions. It was only a matter of time before one of them killed him.
Malthus wished he had a way to lure him up here so that the kill would be his.
No matter. Even if he had a lure, Isranon would probably be dead before he
could arrive here.

Malthus re-corked the bottle of wine, folded the blanket with the bottle and
glasses in the middle. At least returning them would give him a reason to see
her tomorrow. With Lyrri and Ros in tow, he walked back to the sanctuary. He
went to the half-finished two room house he had been building for himself and
his nieces, placed his stuff there, and went looking for Beth.

He found her overseeing some of the sa'necari women she had doing laundry in
a tub on the left side of the yard. Beth smiled at him.

"Where have you been?" she asked, giving him a hug.

Malthus wished she would not do that, but did not want to risk pushing the
triggers too far to the other side. "Ros and Lyrri wanted to play with
Darmyk."

"You were chasing Merissa again, weren't you," Beth hissed in his ear.

"Now, now, Beth. Let's discuss this alone, shall we?"

She turned her head in a pouting fashion, dipping her shoulders at him, but
did not resist when Malthus took her hand. He walked with her to the copse
they had once used for their trysting, and by way of the woods back to his

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house. The moment he had her inside away from the sight of other people,
Malthus pulled Beth down onto his bed.

She leaned against him, unlacing her shift. Malthus crooked a finger under
her chin and raised her head so that their eyes met. Beth smiled just as
Malthus lunged into her mind. Her eyes glazed and she went still.

"There will be no more jealousy, Beth," Malthus commanded in a silken voice.

"No more jealousy." Beth's voice was toneless and hollow.

Malthus found a vulnerable place in Beth's psyche built around her feeling
of self-worth: she disliked the way she looked. He stabbed her there with a
needle of power and a thread of spellcraft, knotting another coercion in
place. "You want to be beautiful, Beth?"

"Yes."

"You will become beautiful when you lay down upon my altar and die. You will
die for me, Beth?"

A frightened gleam of understanding showed in her eyes. "Yes. Upon your
altar."

"Good. You will tell no one and you will obey implicitly when I tell you it
is time to go there."

"Yes."

"And if I choose to bestow your death upon another as a gift, you will go to
him willingly?"

Beth swallowed, tears gathering in her eyes. "Yes."

"Now undress for me, Beth, and lie down."

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* * * *

Merissa sat in the spinning room before with the carding combs in her hands,
slowly working the fine wool back and forth until it was straight and clean. A
half filled basket of the carded wool rested on the floor between her knees.
Two baskets of the uncarded wool sat beside her. The clan had several herds of
sheep and goats. One of the goat herds, a breed called kazamerie, had hair so
fine that a shawl from it could be drawn through a ring and yet was wondrously
warm. When she finished, one of her aunts would spin and then her mother and
two eldest aunts would weave on the three great looms by the hearth in the
main hall. Only the family was allowed to work with the wool at this stage,
not the clumsy servants who had less to gain from it.

Malthus made her feel uneasy. Combining that with this room, made her feel
queasy. All of her troubles had stated in this room. The motions of her hands
became a meditation and she slid without helping it into her remembrances.
Yes, all of her troubles had started here.

Merissa wore a voluminous skirted cream dress with a tight, stiff bodice
that cupped her breasts and molded itself to them. A cream hair net held her
hair in place. Everything was cream, the color of this wool so that the loose
fibers would not show when they floated across as some always did. One of the
reasons the liked carding was that the lanolin in the wool made her hands so
soft.

She worked steadily, drifting off into daydreams. While the clan called her
a princess, she was really just a clan chieftain's daughter. At least that was
how she thought of it. Real princesses, like those at the court of King
Baaltrystan, did not card wool and weave. She was not certain exactly what
they did, beyond the descriptions of balls and intrigue in some old books, but
Merissa was certain it was far more pleasant and interesting than this.

Taking another handful of the raw wool, Merissa began to card again with a
deep sigh. All of her suitors were clan and she fancied none of them. The very
last thing she wished was to remain stuck in this valley or another clan
valley with each year much like the one before it. Troyes intrigued her. No
sa'necari who had come through this valley over the years had ever paid her so
much attention, but perhaps that had been nothing more than the fact that
before she had been a child. Now she was seventeen, a woman.

The door opened as if her thoughts had called him and Troyes came in. He
moved aside some of the baskets and drew a chair over beside her, settling
into it. Merissa's heart quickened. They had been flirting for days, but this
was the first time she found herself alone with him.

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Troyes gave her a languid smile, his eyes soft and sensual. He ran his
finger along her arm and took the combs away from her, setting them atop one
of the baskets. Merissa shivered at his touch. He stirred her longings in ways
that the lycan males did not. Troyes regarded her a moment, then leaned in and
brushed his lips across hers. She caught her breath sharply at the electric
tingle it sent racing through her body. Her loins grew wet and aching. Troyes
kissed her again and this time he parted her lips with his tongue, sliding it
inside. Merissa responded tentatively, twining her tongue with his, wanting
him to touch more of her. Her hands crept up his arms and linked behind his
neck.

The chair arms separated them, but Troyes leaned as far over as he could and
fondled her breasts as he continued to kiss her. Merissa moaned softly. He
moved to the floor and drew her after him. She went unresisting and lay there
on her back as Troyes pressed his body on top of hers, moving against her. He
pushed her long skirt up, reaching for her small clothes to move them aside,
while he jerked the strings on his pants loose with his other hand. She caught
his hands and stopped him, realizing that he intended to enter her.

"They will catch us. Mother comes up for wool or sometimes to check on me."

Troyes rolled off her, went to the door, and drew a sign upon it. A black
sigil formed, sank into the wood, and vanished to be sensed rather than seen.
Then he returned to her.

Merissa's heart hammered with sudden fear. "Troyes, please. I don't wish to
go any farther."

Troyes' eyes narrowed and his smile became poisonous. "You've been teasing
me for days, weeks. Parading your charms and practically begging me to touch
them. I am not one of your farmer boys. I am a grown man, and a sa'necari. I
will not tolerate having you get me worked up, and then withholding what you
have promised with your eyes and manner."

"I – I'll scream."

Troyes shrugged. "If anyone answers, I'll kill them."

Merissa shivered harder as he knelt between her legs and removed her
underwear. His fingers probed her with his thumb on the knob of her clit. She
whimpered in a tangled web of fright and desire.

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"A virgin. You surprise me, princess of farmers. I understand both your need
and your reluctance." He drew his hand back and licked her juices off his
fingers. "Anyone coming to this door will suddenly find something else to do,"
Troyes told her. "Do not fear discovery."

Merissa swallowed. She had not meant to go this far, but now there seemed to
be no way out of it. She had never gone beyond petting with her lycan suitors.
Yet, the fear was part of the attraction. Merissa had been craving the feel of
a male, a powerful male, inside her for two years now. If she did not yield to
Troyes, she had no doubt that he would force her and hurt her. The sa'necari
was completely different from the lycan youths who had tolerated her retreat
before it went too far. He was older, stronger than anyone she had ever
flirted with – stronger than any male she had ever known.

If she screamed, it would bring her father and Isranon, and Troyes would
kill them. With all the flirting, it would be assumed she had encouraged him,
possibly come to him willingly, and then cried rape to conceal her sins.
Either way she was disgraced. She wanted to weep and make excuses, but she
knew it was already too late.

Supported by one hand, Troyes' bulk hovered above her, while he continued to
unlace his pants.

"Please, Troyes, this isn't right. Let me go," Merissa said with more
insistence, shoving at him.

Troyes lifted his manhood out. "Don't make me hurt you, Merissa. You want
this. You know you do."

Merissa's breath caught in her chest at the size of his member, long, hard
and thick – more so than she had expected a male to look. Her pulse raced with
fear and an oddly delicious anticipation as fear seemed to increase her need
and make it sweeter. His knob bumped against her clit and the entrance to her
womanhood, causing it to tingle. Her loins grew more moist and she squirmed,
wanting to be touched and terrified of the consequences.

"Don't move," Troyes admonished. He settled his heavy bulk atop her and
pressed her down, pinning her.

Merissa swallowed back a scream, his acrid musk betrayed the countless
deaths he had caused in the rites, the lives and souls he had eaten to
increase his powers to a monstrous level; She felt trapped beneath the
pressure of his body. "Ancestors, have mercy," she whimpered.

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He entered her without another word. Merissa cried out softly as her
maidenhead tore. Blood coated Troyes' cock and stained Merissa's white dress
by pooling beneath her hips. Tears ran down her cheeks and he kissed them
away.

"Put your legs around me," Troyes ordered and Merissa obeyed. "I will teach
you the arts of the slut."

Merissa's crying worsened and he ignored it. Any man she lay with after
this, any husband she might be given to, would wonder who had been first. A
husband might even repudiate her on learning she was not virgin. Had she been
a commoner, it might not have mattered, but there were different standards for
the Chieftain's daughter.

It seemed as if he sawed at her forever, lasting long after her tissues had
begun to dry and she was becoming sore. Merissa wondered if it was always like
this, but there would be no one to ask without revealing what had been done to
her. Finally, he seeded her and rolled off, to lie there gazing at her. Her
underdress was wet with his fluids.

Troyes stroked her hair. "You are very beautiful, princess of farmers. You
belong at the King's court, not doing a servant's work... come to my bed
tonight and let me show you how it could be."

Merissa sucked in a deep breath, her head reeling with confusion. "I – I
don't..."

Troyes kissed her again with exquisite thoroughness, opened her bodice and
took out one of her breasts. His tongue ran around the nipple teasing it to
hardness. Merissa moaned low like an animal. His fangs came down and entered
the blue vein above the nipple. She gasped sharply and then felt herself swept
up as his power took the pain of his feeding from her. Troyes was very
skillful. Her perceptions tilted and shifted. Shegrew dizzy and confused.
When, at last, he lifted his bloody mouth from her breast he asked again.
"Come to my bed tonight?"

"Yes."

Merissa felt bile rising in her throat. She dropped the combs into a basket
and folded over her arms. "Was it rape? Or a forced seduction? Did I really
want him? Ancestors, what else could I have done? What in hell's name could I

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have done?"

She closed her eyes, breathing hard. "I should have fought him off... or
tried to."

An image of Malthus entered her mind and she wondered why he made her think
of Troyes.

The door creaked open and startling Merissa.

"Mommy?" Darmyk came in with Kenly trailing him, and climbed onto her lap.
"Are you sad?" He touched the wet streaks on her cheeks.

"No, honey," Merissa said, setting his little hands aside. "I got some wool
in my eyes. That's all."

Looking at Darmyk's chubby face, Merissa imagined what his fangs would look
like when the appetite for blood came upon him at puberty.

Isranon, I need you. He needs you.

* * * *

In the stillness of the night, Malthus dreamed of the taste of death.He was
back in the manor that a battle-clan had forced him to abandon years ago,
standing between two bleeding tables, comparing the speed with which a lycan
in hybrid form died versus how swiftly one in human form succumbed to
identical wounds. The hybrid form took longer to kill.

It had been there that he had rited his father when the mon refused to
provide him with an inheritance equal to that of his two legitimate brothers.
All the tremendous power he gained from his father that night had left him
drunk for days afterward. The image changed. His father lay spellcorded,
screaming his lungs out, while Malthus shoved the ritual blades into his body.
Gods, how he had hated that mon for way he and his mother had been treated.

The subtle tell-tales he had set on his doors and windows to alert him if
someone entered while he slept sounded through his sleeping mind, summoning

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him from his slumber. He flashed into consciousness, his hand going to the
naked sword beside his bed. Malthus slithered from between the covers, his
feet making no noise as he crossed the floor and slipped to the door without
bothering to cover his nudity.

Easing the door open, he stared into the living area where the two girls
slept on their reed beds along the walls. His eyes shown red in the darkness.
He could see almost as clearly as if it were daylight. Ros gave a soft moan in
her sleep and that was when Malthus saw the bat laying on her chest with its
fangs in her neck.

"What the fucking hell are you doing?" Malthus demanded.

The bat hopped away from Ros after closing the wound, and changed into a
short, ill-favored looking mon with four rows of heavy frown lines etched into
his forehead. His brow ridge jutted over his small, deep set eyes, and a thick
nose, humped and hooked above his thin sneering lips.

"Having a small drink," the vampire replied, gazing hungrily at the two
little girls. "I assume they are your wine-presses."

"Don't make assumptions in my home," Malthus snarled. "They're my nieces.
Don't touch them."

The Lemyari messenger shrugged. "That one," he pointed to Ros, "her blood is
intoxicating. She's going to be beautiful when she's grown."

"Stay away from my nieces, Sergei."

Sergei shrugged again. "Maybe I'll pay her another visit when she's old
enough to bed."

"Stop it." Malthus' hold on his sword tightened. Lemyari shifters were
always mages. Lemyari had a taste for mages, especially for recruiting them
into the ranks of the undead. By all accounts, Sergei Wraithsbane had been a
powerful battle-mage before Brandrahoon turned him. Malthus did not want to
test that – yet. He had only met Sergei a handful of times, and knew him
mainly by reputation – a reputation that said his tastes ran mainly to girl
children younger than twelve years old.

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"Why are you here?"

"Egidius has arrived, and he's brought your army. You have anything to
drink?"

"From a bottle. My wine-presses aren't accessible at this hour."

"That will have to do." The Lemyari grinned. He followed Malthus into his
bedroom.

Malthus opened a chest and took out two golden preserving bottles, passing
them to the messenger. "For your troubles. Now get out."

Sergei changed into a bat and left with his payment.

Malthus knelt beside Ros' bed and roused her. She moaned low, her hand going
to her neck. "I hurt."

"I know, darling." Malthus Read her and cursed silently at how much Sergei
had taken from her. She would be ill tomorrow unless he acted fast. His blood
was far stronger than anything he had bottled. He pressed her face into the
curve of his shoulder. "Feed, Ros.

"Uncle Malthus?" Ros asked in a dazed and sleepy voice.

"Feed on me, Ros. Heal yourself. A vampire got you, but I chased him away."

Ros snuggled in his arms, and Malthus held her tight against his chest as
her small fangs entered his bicep. He allowed her to feed until he felt
certain that she had recovered, and then he sent her back to sleep with an
admonition not to mention the vampire.

He fetched a bottle of blood and had a long drink before going outside to
think. Malthus sat down on a patch of grass, staring up at the brilliant
stars. "No one touches my nieces, Sergei. No one."

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

BLOOD-SLAVES

Tamric walked the beach with Nans, leaving their guards out of earshot in
the treeline. Sunlight glimmered on the waves in shifting patterns of diamonds
amid the froth. Seagulls cried, circling in the air above them. The smell of
the salt air was heavier here than it had been in the city. Bits of rocky
outcropping broke the golden sands in shades of black and orange.

He liked walking here when he needed to be alone to think. His life had been
shaken to its foundations and for the first time Tamric no longer trusted his
own judgments. All the defining moments of his life and self-validation
appeared to have been built out of smoke instead of stone. His best friend
from childhood, the brother he had not had being an only child, had apparently
been betraying him from the moment they met. Liuthan had been raised to betray
him. How could he have not seen it? How could he have missed all the clues to
Liuthan being born sa'necari? How could he have been so incredibly blind? He
who had prided himself on his strength, cleverness, and shrewd judgment of
myn?

Tamric ached for all that he had lost, but especially his belief in himself
and his fellow myn. He knew that he was hanging onto his position by a fraying
thread, and the other captains were already starting to question his
authority. He still wondered whether Isranon was a saint and if having harmed
him might still bring the wrath of the gods down on Ocealay. The gods would
ignore much and forgive much – but not all.

"You cannot begin to believe how sorry I am," Tamric said, settling onto a
knob of rock and drawing one knee up to drape his arms across it. "How truly
sorry I am. I saw what they did to Timbren. It's a burned out ruin. All the
free towns are gone. More than half of this continent is still demon haunted
wilderness, unexplored, full of gods alone know what. They nearly overran
Rowanhart two years ago and the Sacred King has the largest standing army on
the coast. I was afraid. This is my city."

Nans' expression remained grim and unyielding. "So you thought you'd keep
him as your ace in the hole."

"Yes. Liuthan said that was the way to play it. In the game of kings,
Liuthan had always backed me. I don't believe I would have lasted this long
without his support, nor risen so high."

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"He was her agent in the city. You were his puppet."

"I know that," Tamric said, rubbing his hands over his face wearily. "He
said that with Dawnreturning we would be not only safe, but as powerful as
Rowanhart. Everyone would come to us. Now it's all ashes."

"You aren't the first to get sucked in by the sa'necari. You won't be the
last. Your city is clean now. But you've royally fucked things up for us,"
Nans growled. "Treth was our only real hope and you've closed their gates to
us. Each time he fights her, if the battle doesn't kill him outright, there is
a better than even chance the backlash from the spells will kill him
afterward. And then there are random attacks."

"Spell-breakers... I might still be able to find some real ones."

Nans cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Won't help. When the Sharani were
fighting the Great War and there were not enough life mages to begin with, the
spell-breakers developed their skills mainly to deal with wounds from the
hell-blades, fast striking magical injuries. Situations where they had no time
and few resources, taking a hammer and chisel and literally chipping away at
the death magics until they could keep the person alive while the menders
cleaned up behind them. Dawnreturning's condition is divinator work."

"Damn." Tamric looked profoundly shocked. "There is so little known about
them and all of it bad."

Nans nodded. "It will be weeks before Dawnreturning is strong enough to
travel. The only thing that makes him sa'necari is an accident of birth. He
never crossed the line with the rites, so he doesn't heal like the rest of
them. You can see that by all the scars on his body. He has the fangs and he
feeds on blood periodically. But he has never taken a life out of appetite or
through the rites. That's why Mariko of Imralon named him the Dawnreturning
after he raised Talons Trollbane from the dead."

Tamric's eyes widened. "He raised the dead?"

"With some divine assistance, yes."

"He's a master life-mage?"

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"Yes. He can heal others, yet he cannot heal himself. He is the only master
life-mage in the world."

"No wonder the sa'nekaryiane fears him."The last master and I nearly
murdered him with my blindness.

"Now, let's talk business. Anksha has acquired fifty blood-slaves. Since I
feel I'm owed damages, I want five wagons with canvas covers and sturdy chains
to hold the assholes, plus another five wagons of supplies to carry feed for
them."

Tamric sighed and did not bother to haggle as he listened to Nans start down
her list. She had, after all, saved his city. He did not even argue when Nans
announced that Squeaky and Arabella would be leaving with the Rowdies. There
had to be some benefit to his status here, if he could find it.

* * * *

Anksha heard Captain Tamric's voice talking to Nans in an upstairs drawing
room and went to see what it was about. Tamric sat on the divan and Nans in a
chair near the window. The day had turned cold and rain pattered on the
windowpanes. It seemed to be an unlikely day for him to show up, having to
ride over in the wet. So whatever had brought him must be important. Anksha
thought he came far too often, arriving at least once every day, mostly to
talk to Nans and a few times to see Isranon – although he never seemed
entirely comfortable with Isranon.

"Several of the sa'necari that were either slain or taken by Anksha had
children," Tamric told Nans.

Anksha's ears perked up at this and she stepped in to hear better. She knew
about the eight children in the basement, but had been trying to ignore them.
She liked romping with nibari and human children, but these were sa'necari and
she was uncertain of her feelings toward them.

"Were any of them marked by Dawnreturning's spell?" Nans asked.

"They are all too young to have shown sa'necari attributes... I cannot have
them in my city, Nans. I cannot wait to find out whether they are sa'necari

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born or not. I need to either execute them or cast them into the wilderness."

The sound of that bothered Anksha. She had never had a problem about eating
children and babies before last autumn, when she met all those human children
that Nans and Isranon rescued. Now she wanted to know whether they were good
children or bad children before she ate them. Just because they had been born
sa'necari did not mean that they would grow up to be evil: Isranon had not.
So, thinking that, she crept further into the room and waited for them to
notice her.

"Are you asking me to make this decision for you? Or to offer you a third
solution?" Nans asked, leaning forward on the arms of her chair.

Tamric rubbed his face tiredly. "One of them is my godson – Liuthan and
Chinisi's boy. With two sa'necari parents, there is no way he could have been
born anything else. I visited him in the dungeons, but once I looked at him,
knowing what he was – I couldn't stand the sight of him. He's twelve, Nans. A
sweet-natured child. But come puberty he's going to change into a hemovore."

"I know it." Nans looked uneasy. "I am not certain that I can handle this
either."

Liuthan and Chinisi had a son?That bit of information intrigued Anksha. "The
children are mine," Anksha said, strolling into the middle of the
conversation. "I will teach them to be Dark Brothers."

They both stared at her for an instant: Nans knowing the full ramifications
of that statement; and Tamric wondering, but relieved.

Nans nodded. If anyone could teach them it would be Anksha and Isranon. "So
be it. Bring us the children, Tamric."

* * * *

For the first week, it was easier for Isranon to feed on blood than to find
the energy to eat solid food. He had seen the blades and knew that there were
more spells inside his body, reaching out for his death. Had those sa'necari
died by those blades instead of at the hands of Nevin and Arabella, the spells
would have been destroyed. Now he would have to fight them also to stay alive.
The spellcords had left a burn on his wrists that ached and itched, making him
want to scratch and dig at them. Randilyn patiently applied a salve and
wrapped them in linen, then sat by his bed for hours at a time, just to slap

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at him whenever he woke long enough to start rubbing them.

"Stop that! You'll get it infected," Randilyn said.

"Spellcord burn." Nevin settled on the other side of the bed, watching him
fondly. "Nasty stuff, my brother. Especially this kind they used. It's
different."

Randilyn lifted a piece from a bureau, holding it distastefully with two
fingers at arms length, as if it were a viper and might bite her. Isranon
recognized the colors, sucking in a deep breath to steady himself. "It's the
same Hoon used to bind LorenRain."

"They must truly fear you to bind you like a god, my brother. As your power
grows, Anksha's does also. She has taken fifty blood-slaves and many are like
this."

Anksha sat on a chair by the window with a sa'necari on the floor beside
her. At Randilyn's words, the demon-eater rose and the sa'necari did likewise.
Randilyn moved aside, allowing them to approach Isranon. The sa'necari walked
quietly a few steps behind Anksha. Nevin raised Isranon up to watch them.
Isranon felt a tremor of the old fear, expecting the sa'necari to be like
Bodramet and the others, but this man's eyes were glazed and tame, and he had
a pleasant smile on his face.

"Sit, puppy," Anksha said, pointing at the floor beside Isranon's bed, and
the sa'necari obeyed. "I haven't given him a name yet."

Isranon blinked. "Doesn't he have a name? I mean... When you took him, he
had a name."

"When they took you..." Anksha's voice grew sad and a little fearful,
wondering what he would think of her. Travis was still frightened of her and
that bothered her. "I became very angry."

Nevin snorted. "Calling it anger is like calling a hurricane a light
breeze."

Randilyn giggled.

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"I took Liuthan and discovered he was sa'necari. I made his troops defend
us. Then the lycans sniffed out sa'necari in his ranks. I ripped through them
and feared the infiltrators might have killed you. I – I didn't know I could
do this thing. I tore their will out, ripped their self-awareness, and stole
their names. They are now my dogs." Tears began to stream down her face.
"Everyone's afraid of me and no one gives me candy."

Luck Settlesby paused in the doorway with Nans, shaking his head. "By your
leave, Captain, since Travis is falling down on the job, you at all mind if I
chew some butts?"

"Go right ahead, Luck. Chew Travis' while you're at it."

"Can't promise results, but I'll do what I can. You can lead an ass to
water, but you can't make him see his reflection." Then he walked on.

Nans entered shooing the others, except Nevin, to the other side of the room
so she could Read Isranon and check his wounds. "I heard part of this
conversation. A lot of those she took were very lower rank sa'necari. It was
almost as if they were rushing them through the rites in order to build an
army of them in Ocealay as quickly as possible. We discovered a far larger
number of banewitches than sa'necari. We also found a nest of lesser bloods in
the sewers and twenty-six Lemyari. Martial law is in effect in Ocealay.
Readers and mages are quietly being sent out to every bonded company on the
coast to check for traitors. It's a shame that only a true master can wield
the Abelardian spells. This purge is going to have to be handled the hard way.
At least the ones in the city will all be caught."

Isranon perked. "I am a master mage, then?"

Nans laughed. "Humble, are we? You are a master of mages. A mage-master. You
cast Revelation. With that you practically walked with the divine. Now we need
to feed you a little Vengeance and a small dose of Sanguine Rose before you
start hurting again. A few more days and I'll let you out of bed."

Nans motioned for Anksha to bring the sa'necari to Isranon.

"Feed the nice mage, puppy," Anksha told her blood-slave. The sa'necari gave
a silly smile as he extended his wrist to Isranon and sighed happily when the
fangs entered the artery.

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Isranon felt the strength of the blood, realizing that this mindless, happy
creature had been very strong and he shivered. Anksha had unleashed all of her
power in her desperate rage to save him. He understood it and she was correct.
They had been killing him, taking him in the rite. Isranon had grown
indurated, having made his peace with this kind of death and the terror of it
was no longer there. Only a feeling of yawning distance. Like a chasm, only
deeper – an abyss. He needed no comfort this time. He could handle it. He had
lived among monsters, but now the gods had brought him to live among the
people of the light, where he had always dreamed of being.

"Could he pull those death spells out of me?" Isranon asked. The old spells
had become too deeply embedded, but he had a brief hope that the recent ones
could be drawn from him. "The way I did that girl at Merkreth's Crossing?"

The girl had been rescued from a sa'necari in mid-rite and was dying from
the death runes on a blade similar to those that had cut him a week ago.
Isranon had drawn the death webs out of her and cut them away with a blessed
blade.

Anksha glanced at everyone. No one answered, making it clear they did not
know whether it could be done. She decided to take a chance since the less
Isranon needed to fight, the easier it would be upon him. "Get the death
spells out, Puppy," she told the blood-slave.

The sa'necari gave her a bewildered look and then placed his hands upon
Isranon's bare arm. A web of magic began to form above him. Then Isranon
screamed in pain and twisted up.

"Stop!" Anksha yelled. "Stop, stop, stop."

The blood-slave ceased his efforts and Isranon sank again into the mattress.

"It's no good," Isranon whispered. "I'm the only one ... who can do this."

Something cool pressed his cheek and he looked to the side, noticing that
Nevin was touching the flask of Sanguine Rose to his face.

"Thanks." Isranon drank and allowed his clan-brother to settle him back. The
way that Nevin looked at him sometimes reminded him of Timon and Ephry, only
deeper. He had known Nevin for over ten years – he tried to think – fifteen?
Yes, fifteen. Since he was only a boy and Nevin already a mon grown. Nevin had

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taught him to hunt, to fight with blades, and a different set of ethics than
his father's.

His eyes fell upon a familiar object leaned against the bedpost and he
smiled. Warrior. They had even rescued his ancestor's staff. "Has there been
another letter?" He was starting to feel drowsy.

Nevin smiled. Every few months Claw and Aisha managed to get another coded
letter telling Isranon about his son out of Waejontor by bird, wolf and other
shifter allied clans, trusted clans that owed them favors and were no friends
to the sa'necari. Times were a trifle more secure in Waejontor since the
destruction of the Legacy of Waejonan by the Sacred King, but caution was ever
a watchword. "There is a letter, but it cannot reach the city. Martial law.
The courier is howling beyond the walls."

I have a son.Isranon slipped into sleep and when Nevin at last found himself
the only person with the mage, he kissed him.

* * * *

Stygean roused to the sound of more children being moved into the
surrounding cells and prayed that none of them ended up with Jingen. He peered
through the bars and counted them. Some he knew, but most he did not. Twenty
more children. They were all corded and sealed, looking frightened, dirty and
ragged. Some of them were battered and bruised. He wondered at who had
inflicted this and it angered him. His parents had always insisted that
children not be harmed, especially the nibari children. It was a waste of
bloodlines and food to damage good young property like the nibari. It also
made them shy about accepting their master's fangs. Somehow it seemed worse to
see the children of his own kind treated this way. They were not old enough to
have eaten anyone.

"Don't put any of this new group with either of those two boys," said one of
the lycans. Stygean felt certain that that one was the same who had laughed at
him.

"Still don't know which of them was doing the eating?"

"No. The boy won't say who got him."

Stygean sighed and settled again in his corner. At least Jingen would not be
hurting another of their kind.

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"I wish Anksha would come and make a decision about them," said a third
voice.

"She's busy don't you know," the first one said. "She's fussing over Dawn
returning now she has him back. There's also all those blood-slaves. Fifty of
them, I hear."

He wondered who this Anksha was who would be making the decisions about his
fate – and he wondered if she was the one who had taken his parents.
Dawnreturning. That was the renunciates name. So his father's attempt to kill
the renunciate was what had led to this. Fifty blood-slaves? Were they all
sa'necari? Stygean swallowed hard and tried not to think about it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

BITE

Even with their best efforts, Isranon healed slowly. The four sa'necari had
delighted in cutting him up with a variety of hell blades, savoring the taste
of his blood and flesh that the woodland divines had enhanced in Imralon,
drinking in his pain and raging when they failed to twist the smallest slice
of terror from his heart and spirit, furious at the mon who would give them
his death and nothing more.

Amiri took over Isranon's care from Nans and varied the blood they fed him.
Tamric came several times to check on the mage's progress and, on hearing
about the blood – and the lycan custom of offering their neck as an apology –
fed the mage his own blood late one sunny afternoon. It was symbolic only,
since Tamric's blood was merely human and of no benefit to Isranon beyond
basic food. However, they observed it with a bit of lycan pomp and
circumstance, and some guilts were eased. They also told Tamric about the
lycan messenger and Isranon got his letter.

The two Ymraudes, Amiri and Zulaika, sorted through the nibari that had been
taken as spoils from Liuthan's household and others, finding that some of the
males could be converted to Ymraude nibari and potions were made to start them
into the change. Amiri advised Tamric to sell most of them as slaves, since
that was all they were suited for, and they could not be trusted with freedom.
She built up a substantial common herd to be shared in principle, but who were

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in fact all owned by Isranon as their liege-lord. These would serve both as
servants to the Rowdies, and food for the Lemyari and Isranon.

Nans picked up enlistments, and the freerangers gradually, over the weeks,
became an army. All of those myn were carefully screened. Mariko's gold paid
for them and they were mostly veterans. The Rowdies did not hire the
kandoyarin in companies. They wanted individual myn desperate to fight the
sa'nekaryiane, myn wanting to take the fight north. There was incredible anger
and rage in Ocealay and Nans took full advantage of it. She explained the
differences to them between the ways of freerangers and kandoyarin. The way
they intended to fight would be to establish a hidden base and then strike out
in a circular style in lightning raids. They would be constantly moving and
striking, like the nomads of the great plains of Murshay'di. Leave it to the
King of Gormond's Reach and the Freeholder of Darr to actually take and hold
territory.

Each person who came and sat with Isranon told him what was happening, and
kept him entertained. All of it amazed him: Nans' determination not to
surrender him; the way his friends rallied to his cause; all the sheer love
and concern. He remembered how Mephistis had begged Anksha not to take him
that day, but he had not fought. The prince had merely seemed resigned.
Mephistis had allowed it to happen without a fight. Yet Mephistis had said he
loved him. So many, many people claimed to love, yet when it came to the hard
parts, they walked off, turned aside, or betrayed. Here was truly love. These
people had risked everything to get him back because they loved him. And
because they truly had honor.

"I am not a monster. I am loved by the Light."

His fangs had descended with his deepening hunger. This morning Amiri sent
him a fresh young Ymraude nibari not yet bonded. Once bonded with an Ymraude,
a nibari was never shared. More Ymraudes would be joining them in Merkreth's
Crossing to collect the new ones and strengthen their ranks. Zulaika had
already found a new mate to replace the slain Willa, falling madly in love
with a red-haired Ocealayen nibari claimed from among Liuthan's cattle.

The nibari that Amiri had sent him that morning was a young male who dressed
as a woman, in a soft pink dress covered in rosettes of Lyrian lace over three
delicate petticoats. The Ymraudes had begun, of necessity, to share their
secrets with Isranon. They had all begun life as males, transitioning fully
when they became undead.

Looking at Yelena, with all his new knowledge, Isranon could not see it.
Yelena's mannerisms were exquisitely female, her features surprisingly
delicate. Anciently, at the time of the first godwar, those who were destined
to become the Ymraudes had beseeched Ishla the Tinkerer to change them into
females. She agreed on the condition that they become her first vampires, the
proud six hundred. When an Ymraude perished, their bonded nibari turned to

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replace her, so that there would always be six hundred. They were infiltrators
in the early days of the war with the undead, a secret society with a unique
symbiosis; scouts, tricksters, and mystics who guarded and herded the little
demon-eaters in their forays against the greater monsters.

But the fog of war and devastation had thrown everything into chaos when the
Hellgod and his mates had wiped out all but the Tinkerer, their secret name
for Ishla, whom they served, and they had become scattered through the
uncleansed lands. Then the Tinkerer had managed to throw forth a mighty call
through the etheric cosmos and eight powerful gods had come to her aid and a
war was fought. Dozens and dozens of other entities flowed through the gates
in the elder gods' wake as they killed some of the Hellgod's mates and forced
him back, finally trapping and binding him behind the walls of the Katal
Escarpment. Now the Ymraudes were slowly finding each other and regaining
their purpose.

Isranon drew Yelena to him, nuzzling her neck and inhaling the fragrance of
her unbound hair. His fangs descended. She reminded him of Willa, which caused
him to hesitate. He would get Galee and her bounty hunters, but first he would
get Hoon.

Yelena sensed his hesitation and shifted slightly against him, just enough
to bring her ripening breasts, revealed by her half-opened bodice to brush his
chest. Her shoulders were broad, yet soft. Yelena was already well into the
change. The final part would not come unless and until she became Ymraude.

Isranon shook off the memories and tried to begin again. He ran his hands
along her, moving down to her full breasts. She shivered, arching toward him,
begging him to bring his lips and fangs to her nipples. He considered the blue
vein in one. That would be sweet. He licked along it, and then abruptly pulled
away. "I can't do it."

"You don't want me, Isranon?" She did not bother to mask the hurt in her
voice, clearly wondering if it was because of what she was, not a true woman
in his eyes.

"I'm too full of memories." Isranon stumbled over his words. "I enjoy all
flavors. It isn't you, Yelena."

Yelena pulled her hair away from her neck, crawling over him and offered him
the favored vein. "Feed, Isranon."

"No, I can't. Too many memories." He pushed her away from him.

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All these people were flocking to their banner, and yet the fact of what he
was had been made known by Tamric. The Five Captains had deliberately let the
information out. Nans could find her company declared outlaw in every kingdom,
lose their charters as they had with Treth. They could find themselves hunted
by the very people they were sworn to help. All because of him. Isranon's mind
began to spin in circles.What will that do to my son?

Yelena stared at him for a moment, grabbed her clothes, and fled the room.

Anksha crept out from behind a chair in a corner where she had been hidden,
watching it all.

"Oh randy Mage, you are starving yourself. You are not a monster, Isranon,
my love." She burned with strange needs since the days of rage when Tamric
stole her Isranon and the fires had not yet been quenched, although she fed
frequently. She wanted to touch him. To hold him. To stroke him. To feel how
real he was. She crept across the room like a stalking cat, walking on the
balls of her feet, half crouched with the tip of her tail twitching.

"Anksha?" Isranon rolled onto his side. He had not known that she was there.
He had not heard the door open – but then she often came and went through the
windows. She was nude with leaves and twigs in her hair, which told him she
had been romping in the treetops. "Today I feel like a monster. The Rowdies
will lose their charters when word goes out and it probably already has. If
Ocealay knows. Everyone knows. Treth has banned them."

Anksha shook her head furiously, scattering the debris from her thick black
mane. A burning light danced in her eyes, and her usual patois was completely
missing when she spoke. "Ildyrsetts' king renewed their charter in full
knowing."

Isranon sighed. "Edvarde is his uncle." Edvarde liked him, even knowing what
he was.

Anksha sprang lightly onto the bed and curled up against his chest.
"Connections. Ocealay has renewed their charter." Anksha purred. "Give me some
candy. You still have not read your letter."

Isranon stretched to the bowl, grabbed three, and popped them into her
mouth. "I'm afraid to."

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Anksha crunched happily. "Isranon. Of all those I have ever taken, you are
the only one I have ever loved."

His gaze traveled her body as if he had never seen her before, from the
short downy fur covering her from collar bone to wrists and ankles, to the
pale fair skin of her face and neck, which made his throat tingle oddly, to
the long black hair on her head and between her loins. Isranon wondered at
strangeness of her eyes, like a flame burning beneath the otherwise calm
exterior she projected. Isranon could smell the heady musk of her arousal
causing his body to react. It heightened the hunger in his throat.

Except for intermittent periods, she had not seemed her usual self since the
day of his rescue. "Do you do this deliberately, Anksha? Or does it simply
happen? Is it a spell? I love you. But not the way I have loved others. Timon,
the one I love most in the world, I cannot have because I am going to kill his
father."

Anksha rubbed her body up and down his, stretching and arching against him
with a rumbling purr. "I know, Isranon. That is why I fought so hard not to
tell you."

Her scent intensified, becoming intoxicating, clouding Isranon's mind with
lust. His fangs descended again, and he fought to pull them back. To bare
fangs in her presence was to risk punishment. He caressed her shoulders,
treasuring the feel of her soft fur. His cock hardened. As her slave, he had
rarely initiated sex with her. She had forbidden him to be on top of her.

Anksha rose abruptly on her knees and whirled to face him. Her dark eyes
became pools of sorrow and hunger, her head tilting to the side as she rocked
slightly, sighing. "I have not bedded anyone for months. I will not force you.
You are my friend and I love you."

Isranon gasped at all the changes in her, struggling to interpret them;
every new aspect and revelation startled him. He had known she loved him, but
not like this and not in words, for the sound of her voice belied the 'friend'
part of it. Anksha wasinlove with him. He could not answer, only listen to
her, his hands desperate to touch her.

Anksha leaned in and rubbed her body over his again. "I loved Dawnhand. But
I was a child when he died. You make me think of him. When I knew who you were
and I thought I had ruined you, I cried myself to sleep. I felt as if I had
hurt Dawnhand." Anksha sighed deeply. "I felt as if there were two of me.
There was Hoon's Anksha and there was Dawnhand's Anksha. I used to grieve for
Dawnhand's Anksha like she was dead. I thought you would help me become
Dawnhand's Anksha again. But you didn't. No, I'm someone altogether new. I'm

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Dawnreturning'sAnksha."

Isranon sucked in a deep breath, growing more uncertain of everything by the
moment – except his growing desire to run his hands over her. And that
maddening musk grew stronger, wrapping him in its compelling eroticism.

Anksha stretched out on top of him, her tail curling around his cock and
rubbing it. Isranon moaned and still could not speak.

"I have never been bitten. Bite me. Make love to me freely as if the links
were gone. My blood is very different. Very strong. Bite me. Drink from me."

Isranon's hands closed on her modest breasts, the hunger for her roaring
within him. Anksha's vitality called to him. He pulled back, struggling to
master his needs, appalled by the fact that she wished to be bitten. His
throat itched. He could see the vein in her neck, one of the few parts of her
that was not covered in fur. He wanted to sink his fangs into that vein and
glutton on her; to sheath his cock inside her and grind her into the mattress
to sate his appetites.This is madness. Madness!

"Anksha, please, go away. I'm so hungry, I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

Then his own magic rose in song within him in response to her open yielding,
prodding him forward with its irresistible music. It wanted to wrap itself
around and through her.What is happening to me?

Anksha lunged suddenly, kissing him, rubbing her neck across his lips.
Before he could stop himself, he had buried his fangs in her neck, sucking the
dizzying essence of her in desperate pulls. She cried out, weeping and then
moaning softly. Their minds met, embraced and melded, dancing like the touch
of the waves and sand, meeting and retreating to meet again. At some point, he
scarcely knew how it came to be, he found himself inside her, moving in gentle
rhythm until his seed spilled forth and they lay together, falling into
peaceful slumber, overwhelmed by the union of bodies and magics.

Nevin and Olin found them spooned around each other, Isranon's arm draping
Anksha's waist and his other hand cupping her breast as he slept. Nevin gave
Olin a grin and they moved their packs to other quarters.

* * * *

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Isranon woke feeling out of sorts and irritable as he stared at the light
through the window. The light coverlet slid across his nudity as he turned on
his side in search of Anksha. The taste of her blood lingered in his mouth
like a memory of wine. His tongue ran across his half-lowered fangs with a
rising desire to press his face into the silken curve of her neck. Anksha was
gone. Only the depression left by her body in the feather mattress remained to
show that she had slept beside him again last night. A sharp needle of
displeasure pricked Isranon. She should have waited for him to awaken in case
he wanted something.

Pressing his face into her pillow, Isranon inhaled the sensuous musk
lingering on the cloth. He knew what he wanted and murmured, "Anksha."

A knock at the door preceded Randilyn's entry with a young nibari named
Eevy. She was Black Cliff stock, like Nainee: blond, willowy, and exquisitely
delicate. Amiri still had Isranon on a primarily blood diet, and Randilyn
brought him a nibari or two every morning as well as a dose of Sanguine Rose.

"I've brought your breakfast, Isranon," said Randilyn, indicating Eevy. She
measured the Sanguine Rose into a glass by his bed and sat it on the
nightstand. "Shall I wait in the next room until you're finished?"

Isranon stared at both Randilyn and then Eevy, his irritation deepening.
They all knew his old proclivities: he frequently liked to fuck the nibari as
he fed upon them. Eevy had been one of his favorites for a long time. For some
reason, looking at Eevy turned his stomach that morning. "I'm not hungry."

Randilyn frowned and Eevy flushed in embarrassment. "You must eat," Randilyn
said. She picked up the glass of Sanguine Rose and carried it to him. "Start
with this. Maybe that will sharpen your appetite."

"I'm not hungry," Isranon repeated. Clutching the pillow in one hand, he
took the glass from Randilyn and sat it on the opposite nightstand. "Go away."

"Are you feeling unwell?" Randilyn persisted.

"I'm fine. Her blood tastes like sewer water." Isranon wished he could have
taken the words back as soon as they came out of his mouth and could not
understand why he had said it.

Eevy put a hand to her mouth and fled.

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Randilyn's frown became a scowl. "You hurt her feelings. This isn't like
you."

Isranon stared fixedly at Randilyn. "Then you should have left when I asked
you to."

"You must eat. I can tell you're hungry. Your fangs are down."

Isranon ran his tongue over his fangs. "Go away."

"I will send someone up with some meat and cheese."

He hugged Anksha's pillow. "Fine! Just leave. Have them put it on the parlor
table. I don't want anyone coming in here right now."

Randilyn shook her head in disbelief at the way Isranon was talking to her.
"Amiri will be around to check you in a few hours."

"Fine!" Isranon barked at her. "Justyouget out now."

Randilyn nodded in confusion and withdrew.

Isranon sat thinking about Anksha. His fangs came completely down. He
pressed his face into her pillow again. A spot of her blood stained the white
cloth and, before he could think, Isranon licked the spot. No taste came up.
He growled a moment at that.

The outer door opened and Isranon heard Anksha's soft footsteps enter. So he
used Warrior to walk into the parlor. She wore a scarf to cover the marks he
had left on her last night. That set him off worse and his anger heightened.
How dare she hide his marks as if she were ashamed of them! "Come here!"

Isranon sat on the sofa and waited for her.

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"Isranon?" Anksha asked, approaching him with a tentative stride.

He pushed the scarf down as he dragged her onto his lap. Anksha put her legs
around him in an effort to get comfortable. Isranon hugged her tight, ran his
tongue along her neck – which made her shiver – and bit without warning.
Anksha made a small startled noise and sucked a sharp breath into her lungs.
Isranon opened his pants and took out his member while he sucked her. Then he
tugged Anksha's pants down and shoved himself inside her.

Anksha gave a squeak, for he had not given her time to moisten. "Isranon,
that hurts."

Isranon ignored her, focusing entirely on sating himself. He could not get
enough of her and he could not get it quickly enough to satisfy his urges. He
continued to thrust and suck

After her initial surprise at his inconsiderate behavior, Anksha settled
docilely against him, gradually yielding herself up to his lusts. What made
Isranon happy would make her happy too. Her lids grew heavy, and her awareness
felt packed in cotton. Anksha's vision blurred to gray and then closed into
black as she fainted against him.

Isranon supported her until he finished with Anksha's limp body. Realizing
that she had fainted, Isranon Read her while licking the wound closed. Relief
that he had not hurt her melted swiftly before a hot surge of irritation.
Something was not the way that he wanted it to be and he could neither explain
nor understand what he was looking for.

* * * *

Amiri entered Isranon's bedroom to make her daily visit. He lay staring out
the window with a pensive expression that worried her. Warrior leaned against
the headboard and Isranon stroked it in a distracted fashion. Randilyn had
already alerted Amiri to Isranon's strange behavior that morning and she knew
how easily he was given to brooding.

"Good afternoon, Isranon," Amiri said, walking the edge of formality to
reduce the possibility of setting him off as Randilyn had done. She pulled a
chair from the window to the side of his bed as she always did and sat down.

"Hello," Isranon replied listlessly, avoiding Amiri's eyes.

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"How are you feeling?"

"Just fine."

Amiri could sense that he was avoiding something and wondered what it might
be. "I haven't seen Nevin and Olin here lately. Are you still nesting with
them?"

Isranon clutched at Anksha's pillow with his other hand. "No. They've moved
to other rooms."

"Does that bother you? Is Anksha sleeping here now?" Amiri caught a whiff of
his scent, smellingwhat? Fear? What could Isranon be afraid of? There had been
no lingering scent of fear on him when he was brought down from Tamric's tower
after nearly being rited... What could be worse than that?

Isranon glanced at Amiri. "You just missed Anksha... And, no it doesn't
bother me that Nevin and Olin have moved out."

Amiri smiled. "You must give me one of your wrists. Either release the
pillow or the staff."

Isranon flushed, released Warrior, and extended his wrist to Amiri.

Amiri found herself wondering at the significance of the pillow, examining
everything about Isranon.Why hold onto the pillow and not the staff he
considered so dear?She closed her eyes to Read deeply into Isranon's physical
and mage centers. There were patterns to his body that Amiri did not know how
to Read. She had learned to recognize the patterns of Anksha's dominance-link,
which was set like embedded fishhooks in every fiber of his being, physical
and arcane. This was nothing like them. Amiri Read deeper and found his mage
centers and mage nets changed. Something had tightened around them. This new
thread was a light gray with a scarlet center. Strange. It seemed to radiate
from the groin shaukra. She had never seen magic in those colors originate
from that shaukra. But then, Isranon was a very odd and evolving being.

Amiri ended the Reading and penciled notes on a small tablet she carried in
her pouch. "So you're feeling better?"

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Isranon craned his head to see what she was writing down and she snapped it
shut before he could read it. "Yes. I – I was wondering... Amiri, have you
ever had thoughts in your head that you couldn't get rid of?"

"It depends on what you're talking about. When I'm hungry I can't think of
anything except getting Randi in a room alone. Is that what you meant? Are you
hungrier than normal?"

Isranon flushed again. "No. Not me. I mean, I've been thinking of the
Passion-Dance."

"I can't help you there," Amiri said, and smiled thinly. "Ymraudes don't
experience that."

Isranon sucked in a deep breath. "Have you ever observed it?"

Amiri returned the tablet and graphite to her pouch before answering. "What
would you say, if I said yes? And that I did nothing to interfere with it?"

"I'm not sure." Isranon shifted into a sitting position and stared into her
eyes as if trying to discern something in their depths.

Amiri wondered what he was searching for in her eyes. "Would you be
horrified?"

"Probably. But I need to know."

"Why? To judge me?" Amiri asked suspiciously. She sat back in her chair,
putting more distance between them. The odor of his fear was growing moment by
moment, making her uneasy and wary. Normally she could ignore the scents of
people she liked, not being one to intrude too closely upon their feelings,
yet this was becoming steadily more impossible to disregard.

Isranon shook his head. "No, not at all. Just please tell me. I was thinking
of Iuf and Corbienne."

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"Well, that one doesn't seem to be turning into the Dance, Isranon. I have
observed the Dance from start to its unhappy conclusion three or more times in
my existence and made extensive notes on it."

"What are the symptoms?"

"Lust for one. Secondly, no other blood except that of the 'beloved' tastes
right or satisfies. There are others, but I'll have to find my notes."

Isranon visibly tensed at the description. "Would you look them up for me?"

"Isranon, I don't know why you sound so concerned. I'm keeping an eye on
them both. Furthermore, if you're speaking of yourself, sa'necari do not fall
victim to the compulsions of the Dance."

"Just do me this favor, please."

"So be it, now I must get on about my other business."

Amiri left the room feeling a shiver of trepidation. Something had happened
in the last few days that had made a change in Isranon, and Amiri wanted to
know what that was. She had wanted to ask more, but did not want to push him.
There would be time to probe further if she were patient, and Amiri prided
herself on her ability to patiently observe the objects of her study.

In the beginning, it had been enough to strengthen Isranon's bond with
Anksha in order to steal her away from Hoon. However, it had long since become
an object of study to her as the relationship between Isranon and Anksha
deepened. Until the Ymraudes had stumbled upon Anksha, they had been close to
giving up all hope of finding a demon-eater. Their entire existence, as their
liege-god Ishla had defined it, was based upon caring for and training the
demon-eaters. Amiri had never been able to make peace with the possibility
that the dark ones had driven the demon-eaters into extinction and with it the
Ymraudes purpose. Now she had one – the last one left. If only there had been
two of them... If only they had been able to find a mate for Anksha.

* * * *

Anksha looked at herself in the mirror, running her fingers tentatively
along the bite marks running from just behind her ear down to the juncture of

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her shoulder. Isranon had been uncharacteristically rough and her entire neck
felt tender. She went to her chest and took out a handful of the scarves she
stuffed in her blood-slaves mouths when she intended to make them scream.
Anksha tied one around her neck to cover the marks and found that one was not
enough. So she tied on another and then another. In a final attempt to hide
them all, she brushed her heavy hair over her ears.

Then she went to see the children. She had to force herself to do things
lately. A nagging exhaustion lingered in her body from Isranon's feeding and
his sexual demands. He was strange lately, and it both disturbed and compelled
her. He wanted her at all hours. She heard him constantly in the back of her
mind, calling for her to return and satisfy his appetites, which had grown
extreme. Anksha ached to be with him every moment of the day when she was away
from him. Only the fact that Olin kept reminding her about the children
sitting in their cells had brought her here.

She went down the stairs to the basement beneath the mansion to have a look
at them. Olin walked beside her. The lycans were the guards here. Everyone
else refused to handle the children. Anksha came to the first cell and pointed
at it. "Who is in there?"

"Stygean Loosestrife, Liuthan's son," said the guard.

"Age twelve, nearly thirteen," said Olin.

Anksha's lips curled back. "Old enough for the rites. Did you smell them on
him?"

"No." Olin took a ring of keys off a peg on the wall and unlocked the cell.

The dirty, ragged boy looked up at her with haunted eyes. He had been here
two weeks and the solitary confinement clearly dragged upon him. His clothes
had been fine before his capture, now they were tattered and torn.

"Stand up," Anksha growled at him.

Stygean rose to his feet, throwing his shoulders back with a pride that was
as ragged as his clothing. "I am Stygean Loosestrife. My father is one of the
Five Captains of the Coast."

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"Was,"snarled Anksha, flashing her fangs at him. "He is my blood-slave as is
your mother. They are mine to keep or kill until the withering takes them."

Stygean winced and then steadied, thrusting forth his chin. "You are the
Beast of Brandrahoon."

"Yes. I am Anksha, the demon-eater, the troll-tamer. I am a law unto
myself."

Stygean's mouth tightened.

Anksha glided to him, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed at him. "You smell
clean of the rites."

Stygean swallowed. "I am."

"Open your mouth."

Stygean wanted to cry and held back as he obeyed.

Anksha stuck her fingers into his mouth, feeling around his gums for the
membranous sheaths where his retracted fangs should be. She found nothing and
frowned in surprise. "Not yet mature?"

Stygean shook his head. "I'm a late-bloomer."

"That's good. The later you bloom, the longer you'll live."

"My parents – can I see them?"

"Maybe." Anksha turned and left. Olin locked the door behind her and they
went to Jingen's cell next. The boy was sitting in the straw in the far
corner, his food sat untouched near the door. He turned a sullen face toward
her when she entered.

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"What is your name?" Anksha demanded.

Jingen regarded her scornfully without rising. "Jingen Scathwick, son of
Jurgen and Disharyl Scathwick."

"Stand up," Anksha snarled, taking an instant dislike to this one. "Your
father is dead. Your mother is my blood-slave."

When Jingen made no move to rise, Olin jerked the boy roughly to his feet,
twisting his hand tightly in the boy's collar from behind.

Jingen snarled and his fangs came down as if to bite. Anksha sprang forward
and cuffed him in the head. Jingen winced from the blow.

"You will not show fangs at me, but you've answered my next question by
displaying them."

Then she smelled him. "You have not yet committed the rites. Thank your
stars for that. Otherwise, I'd take you like the others, child or not."

Jingen paled. "You are the Beast."

"Yes," Anksha hissed and repeated the declaration of her nature as she had
with Stygean. Then she left.

Olin threw Jingen into a corner and followed Anksha out. "That answers
that," he said as he locked the door.

"What?" Anksha asked.

"One of the other children was fed upon. We didn't know whether it was
Stygean or Jingen. The little boy refuses to say which of them it was. Now I
know. Stygean doesn't have fangs yet."

The rest of the children were much younger and Anksha found herself feeling

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sorry for them. They were still sa'necari and, she did not like sa'necari as a
rule. And yet, they were children and that bothered her. If she could turn
them into Dark Brothers, then she would let them live. If she could not, then
she would bite them.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DEAD MESSENGERS

Malthus packed his horse up, intending to go north and see what lay there
for himself. The first of his units would meet him there. In the month and a
half that he had been here, he had bettered himself faster than the other
refugees because he had plenty of gold to spend and other things came easily
into his hands to trade and bribe the lycans with for their assistance. And
then there was Beth. She had begun to talk her "lovers" out of gold on behalf
of the sanctuary and splitting it with him. She had also had to turn down
several offers of marriage from young males thrilled to have a female under
them that would be so cooperative in acting out their nastiest fantasies.

He periodically went into the town of Hell's Widow to meet with his contacts
there. So far, none of them had been Sergei. His bow case hung from his side.
It had a double chamber for his arrows, the shafts with the blue and white
fletching were hunting arrows, and those with the black and red were for
killing myn, which he had poisoned in the night.

Nikko's reluctant permission to hunt on clan lands had resulted in frequent
visits from the suspicious lawgiver to make certain that Malthus was sharing
his catch with the others at the sanctuary. Malthus sensed that the lawgiver
mistrusted him, but had no evidence to back up his feelings beyond the fact
that Nikko appeared to be watching his every move. If Nikko became a problem,
Malthus would give him a taste of what he gave the priest. The lawgiver was
too young, inexperienced, and uncertain of himself to prove much of a
challenge.

Beth came up to him with a basket of food. "You'll get hungry," she said.

"You didn't need to do this, Beth." Malthus knew that everyone was saying
she had fallen in love with him. Just as many were saying that Malthus was
chasing Merissa. If they expected to see sparks fly between the two women,
they were sadly mistaken. Malthus had his psychic hooks into Beth too deeply
now for her to object to anything he did – even sticking a knife into her
plump body. She brought him all the gossip, spied on those who distrusted him,

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and covered for his absences.

So far, except for Beth, no one knew he was also foysting with Kandaishee
and the other four sa'necari. He resorted to them rarely, and only when Beth's
bed was already occupied. Maybe he should start taking the camp's human
females also. After all, the camp belonged to him.

"I just wanted you to know I care," she said.

Malthus blinked, realizing he had let his thoughts drift. "I know, Beth.
You're sure it's not too much trouble for you to watch the girls for a few
days?"

"No trouble at all, Malthus. I enjoy having them."

"Good. Now I must be off."

Malthus rode north from the sanctuary, heading for the mountains where he
had been told there were caves. He kept deep in the forest, traveling through
shadowed places where he was unlikely to be seen.

After riding for two hours, he caught a flash of orange moving through the
trees above him. More and more of his watchers began to come out of hiding.
Imps scampered through the trees on every side of him, through the brush and
briars, and up in the trees leaping like wizened orange-skinned monkeys. He
had been promised the service of dozens, under the leadership of the
imp-warlord Gahni. Malthus and Gahni had worked together many times over the
years. Yet it had taken substantial promises of food, gold, and booty to
persuade Gahni to bring his people from the West Bank of the Hillora to
Waejontor.

Lord Daemon had promised that to make Malthus his agent here if he could
infiltrate the lycans; and he had. In return, Lord Daemon had kept his
promise, and given Malthus all that he asked for: substantial forces at his
disposal, a wide range of units and enough dark creatures to encompass all
possibilities.

The trees gave way steadily, thinning into a rocky fell. As Malthus' horse
topped the first treeless rise, he saw the northern border of Claw's lands,
the Place of Boulders. Huge rocks, which had fallen from the mountains rising
above it, broke up the landscape like the remains of a giant's scattered toys.
It looked like a good place for an ambush and Malthus rode cautiously through

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them.

When he reached the far side, he saw a stone bleeding table with a tool
table sitting next to it almost beneath the cliff. Remembering Nikko's
admonitions about no rites on clan lands, it was something Malthus had not
expected. He rode closer and could now see that a cave with a shaggy overhang
of moss and briars opened beyond the tables.

He dismounted and dropped his reins, knowing that his horse was well enough
trained to not wander far unless something spooked it, which was unlikely
given that it had learned at the hands of an irrfelghau. Lord Daemon had sent
this one to him, bringing his mounts to three at the compound. The lycans
assumed he had purchased it in Hell's Widow.

Malthus ran his hands over the table, feeling the deaths lingering on the
auric surface. He sensed human, lycan, and a single sa'necari death there.
That last one disturbed him. Could it have been his brother?

He shook the thoughts loose and ducked into the cave. No one had been here
in several years. The air smelled stale. There were two interlocked caves, and
they were roomy, around the size of a bedchamber. The first one had a dusty
cabinet, a table, and two chairs in it. He ran his fingers across the table,
trying to pick up any vibrations that might linger and identify who or what
had last lived here. All that he accomplished was to leave tracks in the grey
dust covering the table's surface. Dust flew in his face when he opened the
cabinet's doors and he sneezed hard. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he raised
his eyes to the contents. He found blood in the magical preserving bottles
crowding several shelves. Why would anyone abandon such a well-stocked larder?

One by one, Malthus turned all the labels to face him. Several of them read
"vengeance." That sent a rush of adrenaline through him. He reached for one
and hesitated, uncertain that he wanted his answer in that way: sa'necari
bottled the blood of their own kind and always labeled it "vengeance" in some
form. Instead he opened a drawer and found his answer there. Two of Troyes'
blades were there and the empty hilt of a third. The blades only shattered
when they were used to kill their makers. Beside the blades lay the crest of
their family carved into an ivory round, painted, and attached to a golden
chain.

Malthus closed the drawers after pocketing the necklace. Then he took down
one of the bottles of sa'necari blood, pulled the cork out, and smelled it. He
recognized his brother's blood: Troyes was dead.

He lifted the bottle, as if in salute, "For remembrance!" Then he drank from
the bottle. "I will punish them, Troyes. I will see that they suffer." He
spoke between swallows, carrying the bottle outside where he sat down and

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finished all of it. "I will send Beth here soon and make an offering of her to
Bellocar in your name."

* * * *

Late in the evening, two riders showed up. They dismounted and approached
Malthus, throwing back their hoods so that he could see their amaranthine eyes
glowing in the darkness.

"Malthus!" A tall mon hailed him, extending his arms for Malthus to grasp
them in greeting.

"Egidius." Malthus smiled, ignoring the mon's arms, to drag him into a tight
embrace. They parted, and Malthus regarded the shorter mon, wondering where he
had seen him before. "It is good to see you. What have you brought me?"

"You remember my cousin Laetus?"

"Laetus! Of course, I do. It's been years, hasn't it?" Malthus turned and
clasped the shorter mon as well. "You hadn't grown into your fangs yet."

Laetus grinned, baring his fangs. "You realize it's been fifteen years since
I was blooded?"

"You must be what? Twenty-five now?" Malthus slapped him on the back.

"Twenty-six." Laetus glanced around from the bleeding table to the cave.
"You wouldn't happen to have some vein-juice? Or a lovely piece of flesh I
could sink my pleasure spears into? I'm absolutely famished."

"I have plenty bottled. So far nothing but imps have shown up." Malthus led
them into the cave and took several of the bottles down. "For the sake of his
memory, share this with me?"

Egidius frowned. "Whose blood?"

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"My brother's. Troyes. They killed him."

Laetus shared a glance with Egidius and waited for his cousin to speak.

Egidius nodded. "Of course we will. In his memory. Troyes was a fine
sa'necari. A powerful mon. A good friend."

Malthus handed each of them a bottle and led them back out. When they
finished there would be no more of brother's blood left. "What about the units
I was promised?"

"They're camped north of here, just outside clan lands. Our scouts have
found evidence of another force moving in the valley."

"Lycans? A battle-clan?"

"No. We don't know what they are yet, but we can tell you what they aren't."

Malthus took a long drink of his brother's blood. "So what aren't they?"

"They're not Sharani, not lycan, not human. One of our Rakshasha scouts was
found ripped to shreds."

"That doesn't sound like sylvans. Could it be shivari?"

"That's the best guess we've come up with. But if so, they're traveling like
humans at least."

"How so?"

"Horses and boot prints. But the scent is all wrong."

Malthus pulled at his moustaches, stroked his oak-leaf beard, and asked the
inevitable question, "Yuwenghau?"

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"What the hell would yuwenghau be doing up here?" Laetus asked. "They've
never cared about what happened in Waejontor before."

"Just because it hasn't happened before, doesn't mean it can't happen now,"
Malthus said. "We need to be cautious. Locate and assess every village in the
valley. When the time comes, I'll take care of the chieftain."

"I hear there are some battle-wolves in the eastern villages."

"Kill them first. I will meet you back here in seven days or send you a
present."

"A present?" asked Egidius.

A smug smile touched Malthus' lips. "Yes. A lycan bitch I'm tiring of. I
made her my tool the first night I arrived. But now she's getting in the way.
Rite her here, if you wish. However, I want her remains so torn up she's
unrecognizable and left on the east side of the valley."

Egidius slapped Malthus on the back. "You always knew how to welcome a
friend. You send her along and we'll take care of the details."

* * * *

Malthus walked with Merissa in the garden while the children played under
the watchful eyes of two nibari and Kenly. He surreptitiously stole glances at
Merissa's breasts and loins when the dress she wore shifted as she moved and
revealed a bit more to his hungry eyes.

Last night, Malthus had gone to Beth to slake his thirst, and found her
wallowing on a cum soaked bed, sniveling about Shalto and Oswyl for always
insisting that she give them their jollies together. Beth had so appalled him,
that he could barely tolerate feeding on her, and made her clean herself
first.

On the other hand, Merissa smelled of fresh rosemary and honeysuckle, and
beneath her perfume, the scent of clean washed flesh. He wondered what her

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thighs would look like when he finally parted them – sooner or later Merissa
would give him what he wanted, just as she had given his brother. Troyes had
always set his sights on the best, and being the legitimate son, always gotten
it whether he deserved it or not – even when it was something Malthus had
wanted first. Except for Isranon, who had come to Prince Mephistis' court at
fourteen, a comely and inexperienced youth. The proud youngster hated his own
kind for reasons that Malthus had not understood at the time, but looking upon
Isranon made everyone at the court hungry for him. Including Troyes and
Malthus. The more Isranon refused their beds and fangs, the more they had all
wanted him. So Malthus had gotten a potion from his mother to allow him to
pass for human for a few days at a time. He seduced Isranon. The affair lasted
several weeks, before Malthus lost control and bit him. Isranon became
incensed and resisted Malthus, so he had calmly raped the youth. The next day
Mephistis showed up and informed Malthus that if he touched Isranon again, the
prince would order Malthus rited. And that was the end of that. It had made no
sense to Malthus why Mephistis would be so incensed over a mere rape – it
wasn't as if he had seriously injured the young mon. Now that Isranon's
secrets had come out, it made more sense to Malthus.

"What did you do before you came here?" Merissa asked him.

Her voice shook Malthus free of his memories. "I was a soldier. My father
was nobly born. A high caste sa'necari. He served King Baaltrystan at court as
one of his personal defenders."

"Have you ever been to court?" Merissa asked, with a trace of eagerness in
her voice.

"Yes. I served there for a time, but a sa'necari court is not the place for
a human who wishes to rise in the world. So I went south and became
kandoyarin. My father died beside the king, trying to shield him when the
palace collapsed after the Legacy was destroyed. When I heard about the
rebellion, I feared for my siblings and returned. However, I was only here two
weeks before the Queen's forces destroyed my family. She's slain all of the
old nobility who refused to follow her against the Sharani."

"I am sorry. I did not mean to bring up bad memories."

"You didn't. My father was a brave mon. My nieces and I are all that remain
of my family."

"I am sorry..."

Malthus put a finger to her lips. "Don't – Don't keep saying that. You

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haven't done anything wrong. I made my peace with their deaths."

"Have you seen the new queen?"

"From afar. She is very beautiful and powerful. But not as beautiful as you.
Merissa, you would turn every head at the queen's court."

"Don't say that."

Malthus saw how Merissa shivered in reaction to his simple compliment. "Why
not?"

"A sa'necari once said that to me. He convinced me to runaway with him. I
thought he was taking me to court, but instead he tied me to a bleeding table
in the hills."

It had to have been Troyes – what a fool. "A terrible tale. But you've
nothing to fear from me, Merissa. I'm human. As for the queen, with Lord
Daemon at her side, she cannot fail but win back her ancestral lands from the
Sharani."

Merissa shivered and drew her shawl tighter around herself. "This rebellion
frightens me."

"Don't let it frighten you. Let the war pass you by here."

"If the palace is gone..."

"The summer palace of Waejonan at Torment Lake still stands. That is where
the Queen dwells. Lord Daemon has been granted the ancient estates and titles
that belonged to Waejonan's brother, Brandrahoon."

"It's almost as if time were re-setting itself. Iamafraid. How can I not
be?"

"I would protect you, if you would let me."

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Merissa dropped her head. "Beth's in love with you."

"But I am not in love with Beth. How could I be when she's had half the
males in the village between her legs? I stopped touching her once I knew the
truth that I was just one more male to conquer."

"I can see that. I feel sorry for her."

"Beth will be all right. I'll talk to her, Merissa. I'm certain that it's
just a passing fancy."

"I hope you're right."

* * * *

Malthus rode into the clearing with Beth beside him. He had arranged to meet
her midway between the compound and the caves. She had cleaned herself up
before leaving, so at least he could stand the smell of her. Her eyes widened
at the sight of the bleeding table and she began to cry, shaking her head and
refusing to get off her horse. Malthus dismounted and tied his horse up to a
sapling growing near the mossy entrance.

He pointed sharply at the ground. "Come on, Beth. Get down."

She swallowed, sucked in a long breath, and left the saddle. "I'm not ready
to die, Malthus. Please–"

"Disrobe and lay on the table like a good girl," Malthus ordered. "Legs open
wide."

Malthus gestured and the coercions in her brain tightened painfully. Beth
took three tottering steps and her legs failed her. She went to her knees.

Shaking his head in a remonstrative fashion, Malthus sauntered over and
tapped Beth on the shoulder. "Now, now, Beth. Do as I told you."

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Egidius and Laetus emerged from the cave and approached them. Laetus crossed
his arms, a contemptuous moue on his lips, and moving with an exaggerated
swagger.

"Is this the present?" Egidius asked.

Laetus snickered. "Can't you make her more cooperative?"

Malthus scowled at them, spun, and hit Beth in the face for embarrassing
him. "Up, Beth. Go to the table."

Beth rose on wobbly legs, and her eyes teared. "I love you, Malthus."

"Then obey me." He added in the trigger phrase. "Be beautiful."

Beth staggered to the table, breathing hard. She fumbled with her dress,
pulling ineffectually at the lacings for several heartbeats before managing to
get it open. Her large breasts sagged through the parted middle.

Laetus laughed and shook his head.

She flushed, shoving the shoulders down and wiggling her arms out. Beth's
belly jiggled as she pushed the dress over it, got it to her hips and then her
knees. She sat on the table, dangling her legs, and kicked out of the
encumbering garment. Beth wrapped her arms about her and lowered her eyes.

"Lie down, Beth! On your back," Malthus commanded.

"Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me." She reclined on the slab, putting
first one shoulder to the cold stone where so many of her people had perished,
and then the other. Beth shivered on that chill bed of death, which not even
the heat of the sun could warm, with her eyes haunted and pleading.

Malthus strolled over to the table and slapped his hands between her thighs.
"Legs open. Wider, wider."

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Beth spread her legs until the basalt edge pressed into her inner thighs and
her ankles bumped the fetters attached to the holed knob of stone that secured
the first link in the chain. "I don't want to die."

"Yes, she's the present. However, I may need her still. I should know in an
hour or two."

Egidius secured Beth's wrists and ankles, straightened, and ran his hands
over her body. "An excellent catch. All I've caught so far were a handful of
bitches too lean for my taste, and a handful of scrawny cubs."

Malthus got his bow and quiver from his saddle, settling them at his side.
He walked back to stroke Beth's naked body. "Sweet Beth, when a sa'necari
slips a blade into a bitch like you, it's like sex and strong wine. Yours will
be a beautiful death. Egidius is a true artist of the rites."

"Can we at least enjoy her while you're gone?" Egidius said.

"That you may do. Now I need to get as high up here as I can. A wind-folk
courier arrived at Claw's home this morning. I expect that he'll be leaving
about now."

With his bow in his hand, Malthus climbed to the highest point atop the
piled boulders marking the northern limit to Clan Red Wolf's territory as the
sun began to dip over the distant snow-capped mountains. It formed a shadow
patch against the red glow and spreading orange of sunset. He strung his bow
as a wind-folk courier winged over the treetops.

So that is how they are getting messages in and out of the valley. Or at
least one of the ways. I'm certain they must use four foots also.

Six imps crept out from among the rocks and gathered at his feet.

Malthus decided to put a stop to the messages entering and leaving. He would
assign other units to do likewise. It would still take time to close all the
paths a messenger from the shifter clans could take, but Malthus felt capable
of doing so.

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He opened the compartment that held his mon-killing arrows, their large,
swallow-tailed heads were poisoned with his own special recipe, comprised
primarily of blended plant toxins, snake feces and venoms – venoms he had
spent years painfully immunizing himself against as his rite-enhanced
resistances grew – and as a tribute to the toughness of lycans, Devil's
Silver.

His mother was a bio-alchemist, and had served his late father as a
poisoner, creating and sometimes administering deadly substances. Her family
were the first to discover and refine Devil's Silver. It was silver liquefied
in an arcane solution compatible with snake venom and other specialized
toxins. One arrow was all it took to kill a lycan. The more arrows he put into
one, the faster they died. So far as he knew, no antidote for Devil's Silver
existed.

With the fall of his father's house, his mother had become employed by Lord
Daemon, which was what led his own work with the mysterious lord. Malthus had
a sudden urge to visit her and see what else she might have developed and was
testing.

Malthus set an arrow to his string and drew, following the messenger with
his eyes for a moment and then released the shaft. The courier jerked in its
flight and struggled to remain in the air. Malthus smoothly nocked, drew, and
released, putting three more shafts into the small body. He smiled as he
watched the dead messenger plummet to earth on the far side of the Eirlys
cataract.

"I never miss."

He glanced down at the six imps gathered at his knees, orange-skinned
withered looking creatures with blowguns and darts, as well as belt knives.
"Fetch it for me and don't be seen."

They skittered over the rocks in a rush to do his bidding, squeaking to each
other in eagerness. The imps would cross the Eirlys by way of two large trees
that had been dropped over the cataract north of Claw's borders. Malthus
stretched himself out across the boulder in the evening light to wait. He
wondered how Egidius and Laetus were managing with Beth.

The place of caves and boulders, the northern most limits to Claw's lands
was an interesting area. There were so many niches to conceal things. Were
Troyes' bones hidden here? What had they done with his brother's body? Clearly
Troyes had broken the rules. The lycans could have slain him simply for
committing the rites on their lands.

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Then a thought occurred to him that should have sooner. Lycans did not
bottle blood. They were not hemovores. Troyes died here and Isranon went south
– Isranon had to be the one that bottled Troyes' blood. Did the lycans merely
kill Troyes, and Isranon bottle the blood afterward? Or did Isranon kill
Troyes? Malthus felt he was getting closer to the facts of his brother's
murder.

Malthus slid down the boulders, off the final one, and walked toward the
table where Beth lay, running his finger along the bleeding table with its
grooves and spouts for carrying the blood of victims into basins. She flinched
when he touched her. Malthus ignored that, observing that her womanhood was
still oozing with Egidius' and Laetus' cum. There were fresh bite marks on her
arms and legs. The bloodstains interested him more than Beth did. They were
old and nearly erased from the stone, but rites had been committed here, he
could feel it. He wondered if Troyes had died on this table.

"Have you decided about her?" Egidius asked, sauntering up to him. "Her body
is strong, but her mind is going. The sooner I can stick her, the more
pleasure I'll get out of it. I don't get off on sticking the mindless. They
don't react to the pain as well."

"I want to see what's in that courier's satchel first. Then I'll tell you
whether you can stick her now or not."

Laetus came over and leaned against the table with his elbow propped on
Beth's breast. "Can we at least cut her a little? She's lycan. She'll heal."

"Very well. Just a little."

Malthus sat down beside the table and waited, enjoying the sound of Beth's
screaming, inhaling the fragrance of her terror and pain. Night deepened and
Malthus dozed against the table, dreaming of dead women. A little past
midnight the returning imps awakened him.

They laid the slain courier's body at his feet and placed the message pouch
beside it. It had lost its bird form and was now a fragile-boned, feathered
mon. Some pieces were missing from the body, indicating that at least one or
two of the imps had fed on it. They had an interesting resistance to toxins
that allowed them to eat both poisoned and spoiled meats. Once he had his
lands, he would create a large laboratory and test the limits to their
resistances and immunities. But it would not do to tell Gahni that.

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"No messages get in or out of this valley that I do not send," Malthus
ordered. "Make certain that is understood by the others."

The imps scattered to spread the word.

Malthus fished in the satchel, bringing forth three letters. Two were
addressed to Nevin Scarface, the lycan battle-clan chieftain, from Claw. The
third, in Merissa's lovely hand, was addressed to Nevin also. He tore that one
open first.

Nevin,

When are you going to tell him about the child? I cannot keep pretending
that he'll come. I know he isn't coming back. But please, please tell Isranon
about his son. Grant me that much."

Merissa.

Malthus crumpled the paper angrily. So the renunciate butt-boy had sired the
child, not Troyes. Had Troyes and Isranon fought over Merissa and his brother
been slain? No, that was impossible. The prince's catamite had not been
powerful enough to stand against Troyes. Malthus felt certain the lycans had
slain his brother and disposed of his body. He went inside the cave and lit a
lamp. Then he took up pen and paper, writing a swift letter to Lord Daemon.

Lord Daemon,

The lesser renunciate, Isranon, has a son by Merissa Redhand, out of
wedlock. The child is two and a half years old and named Darmyk. As you know,
he runs now with the other renunciate, Lord Dawnreturning and that cursed
freeranger unit called Gryphonheart's Rowdies. If this information has served
you in any way or will, send me a token and details on what you wish me to do
about it.

Ever your servant,

Malthus

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Abruptly, his mind turned another corner. Merissa had lied to him about the
mon wanting to know his son. Isranon did not even know he had one.
Interesting. Merissa did not want anyone to suspect how deeply she felt
rejected, how much she feared her son would be rejected by his father just as
she had been by her own kind when the knowledge of her pregnancy emerged. She
would prove a more vulnerable target than he had dreamed.

Malthus ran his tongue over his descending fangs. The sa'necari was hungry,
very, very hungry. He would go out and wake Beth, who had spent the night
sleeping on the bleeding table, waiting to die. At least he had something
solid to answer his suspicions. Darmyk was Isranon's son. It scarcely seemed
possible that a female like Merissa would prefer a half-a-mon like Isranon to
a male as powerful as his brother had been.

The only thing he wanted more was proof that Isranon was Dawnreturning. The
possibility was the source of endless debate, but if Isranon was
Dawnreturning, then it would answer how he had been powerful enough to
overcome Troyes – if that was what had happened. Malthus remembered the feel
of Isranon's fourteen-year-old body squirming under him, desperate to get
free, and how easily he succumbed to Malthus' spells. There was no way he
could be Dawnreturning. There was no way he could have killed Troyes – not
without some kind of treachery.

He bit into Beth's arm wakening her. She moaned and then began to whimper.
Feeling malicious, Malthus drew his belt knife and caressed her body with the
point while he fed.

The chieftain was fond of his grandson and so were the rest of the clan,
even if the matter had gotten off to a rocky start. It would be worth all his
time and effort among these trembling, boring folk, to take their little
prince. First he needed to get Merissa to trust him. Then he would find a way
to get the boy away from her so that he would rite the child – unless, of
course, Lord Daemon had a better offer to make him.

Malthus was tired of concealing his nature, scent, and essence from them;
tired of being simply Daemon's agent. The sa'nekaryiane would pay him well for
the child's death once she learned of its existence. He might even get paid by
both of them, Daemon and Galee. If their offers weren't substantial enough,
however, he might decide to rite the boy and send pieces of him to his sire,
simply because he belonged to Isranon.

One of the things that made him more accomplished than other sa'necari who
chose to support themselves through bounty hunting, was that he did not rely
upon his spells and hellblades to achieve the deaths. He had trained from
childhood with all the weapons that the humans, sylvans, and their allied
races used. None of his kills would have the earmarks of a sa'necari
assassination.

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He lifted his lips and wiped the blood off with a handkerchief.

Egidius came out of the cave yawning. "Well? Have you made a decision?"

"I need Beth a little longer."

"Thank gods," Beth murmured. "I wasn't ready to die."

"You're giving her too much free speech," observed Laetus.

"She has none in front of outsiders. Find a vein and breakfast before we
leave."

* * * *

Malthus sat on a bench in the chieftain's garden watching the children play.
It had become a daily ritual. Merissa sat beside him, her hand on the cold
stone, and his hand covering hers. She allowed him that much without pulling
away from him, but she still refused to give him more. Today she was very
unhappy with him.

"I don't care what kind of woman Beth is," Merissa repeated. "You must be
blunt with her. If you are going to keep seeing me."

"Merissa..." Malthus lowered his head in shame. "I keep telling her that."

"Then you are not being firm enough."

"I don't want to hurt her."

"What about me? You're hurting me. If you are going to continue seeing me,
then you must stop seeing Beth."

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Malthus let his shoulders sag. "So be it. I will stop seeing her except in
public on matters pertaining to the camp." He brought her hand to his lips and
kissed her fingers. "You are too precious ... too dear to me. I won't let
anything or anyone make you unhappy."

"Malthus..." Her tone softened.

Malthus leaned in with her fingers on his lips until only her fingers
remained between her lips and his. Then he drew her hand slowly down until his
lips pressed hers. His other hand slipped to the back of her head as he parted
her lips and kissed her deeply.

* * * *

Nikko went looking for Shalto and Oswyl. He missed Tempest and, with the
death of the old priest, had no one to really advise him. At nineteen, Nikko
was the youngest lawgiver the lycans had had in their extensive history. He
had shouldered the burden at sixteen when Nevin left abruptly with his
spirit-brother Isranon. Nikko knew all of the laws with the perfect memory of
one who had trained since childhood by reciting them. He knew the cases and
histories of the clan. Because of Tempest and Nevin, he was also literate,
unlike three-quarters of his people. Yet, he didn't always know how to proceed
on some matters.

He wanted to know how the rumors about Beth had started and when she had
begun seducing half the village. It troubled him because he had grown up
around her, and part of him could not let go of his memories of her as a warm,
soft, comforting presence that he could curl up with when he was a cub. He
used to play in the field where the camp was now. Beth always licked the blood
off his skinned knees, cuddled him when he cried because the older children
played rougher. It was Beth he had gone to when Nevin left, and Nikko felt
overwhelmed by his responsibilities.

The image of Beth as a slut who could not get enough jarred painfully
against his memories. If she had been a slut before, surely someone would have
noticed it, surely he would have noticed it. Certainly, Nevin would have told
him before he left. Sluts were troublemakers, whether they were male or
female. And then there was that newcomer, Malthus, who seemed to exert an
uncanny influence over Beth. He could not help but notice the unseemly
adoration in her eyes for the mon, and the way he failed to reciprocate it.
All of his instincts were screaming that Malthus was trouble.

He went to the Difficult Horse Tavern. Hereward always kept the lamps either
off or turned down in the daytime to keep the dark interior cooler during the
summer. It took Nikko's eyes a moment to adjust.

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"Can I get ya somethin' nice, Lawgiver?" Hereward the taverner shouted.

Nikko shook his head as he scanned the room. "No, thanks, Hereward. I'm
looking for someone."

He spied Shalto and Oswyl having a tankard of mead at their favorite corner
table. Nikko strode over, put his palms on their table, and loomed over them.
"I want to talk to you both. Now. Outside. Or I'll have you both arrested."

Shalto looked up, his brows knitting. "We didn't do anything!"

Sensing trouble, Hereward laid his big club on the bar and eyed them. The
club had silver spikes circling the top, making it a nasty weapon. "Do what
the mon says."

Oswyl raised his hands in a fending off gesture. "I don't know what has you
upset, but I'll cooperate."

Shalto, seeing he would get no support from his cousin, and fearing
Hereward, gave a quick relenting nod before following Nikko out of the tavern
behind Oswyl.

"Now what is this about?" Shalto asked.

"Beth."

"I don't know what's got your hackles up there. I heard you were getting
your share," Shalto said.

"I haven't touched Beth and you shouldn't be either. Something's not right
about all this."

Shalto settled his shoulders against the wall of the Difficult Horse, arms
crossed. "Everyone was talking about it. So we decided to get our share."

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A flush of anger swept Nikko and he started to shake, which startled him
because he had never been that upset before. He grabbed Shalto by the collar
and jerked him hard enough to stagger him. "You stay away from Beth. Tell the
others to also. If matters are as you say, I can have her whipped out of the
village and the rest of you with her."

Shalto's mouth parted, but no words came out. His lips wiggled a moment and
then he sighed. "Lawgiver, you'll be making enemies."

"Are you threatening me, Shalto?"

Shalto lowered his eyes and shuffled his feet. "No. Just stating facts."

Nikko gave Shalto a shove that sent him stumbling, and turned on his heel,
heading for the camp. When he reached it, Nikko paused in the yard and scanned
it for signs of Malthus. He found none. So he knocked on Beth's door.

The door opened a crack and Beth peered around the edge. Nikko saw an odd
glimmer in her eyes, and wondered why she didn't simply open it like she used
to.

"As the lawgiver, I need to speak with you," Nikko said.

Beth's eyes widened and she gestured for him to enter. "I haven't done
anything wrong."

"I'm hearing things that I wanted to talk to you about." Nikko walked past
her and sat on a small stool.

"What kind of things?" She swayed her hips suggestively as she approached
him.

Nikko blushed to the roots of his hair, and he could feel the red blooming
all the way to his navel. "That you're a sl – a loose female."

Beth began unlacing her dress. "I've been waiting for you, Nikko. I knew

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you'd come eventually. They all do."

"That's not what I meant – I'm not here for that. I just wanted to talk."

"Of course you did, Nikko." She dropped her dress as she spoke.

Her nudity did not bother Nikko as much as her obvious intent. Furthermore,
Beth's eyes looked strange and she smelled odd. He stood up. "We'll talk
later."

Beth caught hold of his pants and shoved her hand in. Nikko yelped and
changed to his hybrid form, which gave him the strength to lift the heavy
bitch bodily away from him. "Stop it, Beth."

"So you like it rough?" Beth changed to match him. "I like it rough too. Do
what you want to me."

She pulled the drawstring on his pants undone, and shoved them around
Nikko's hips. Nikko clutched at his pants, and knocked her to the floor. She
hit the ground hard, smiled, and opened her legs to him.

Where Nikko had been shaking with anger earlier, he was now trembling. He
darted around her and left the longhouse. As he reached the yard, Nikko
stopped to tie his pants closed, and the very last voice he wanted to hear
greeted him.

"Got some, did you?" Shalto laughed.

Malthus, Shalto, Oswyl, and Torquil stood there watching him.

"It isn't what you think." Nikko blushed.

All of them except Malthus laughed at him.

"No more holier than thou, Lawgiver," Oswyl said.

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"Was she a good ride?" Torquil asked.

"It's not what you think!" Nikko shouted. "I didn't touch her."

Malthus inclined his head with a glance to the side. "And what else would it
be, seeing you coming from her home pulling your pants up?"

"You're dirtier than the rest of us, Nikko," said Shalto. "As least we don't
lie about it."

Nikko fled.

* * * *

Malthus returned home and found Beth waiting for him in living room of his
home. The girls were already sound asleep in their room. His temper flared.
Nikko was probably out there at that very moment, watching the house. He had
to rid himself of Beth. Merissa had kept repeating to him on their last walks
together that he had to tell Beth that he was not interested in her.

Beth got up and embraced him, opening her shift. "I love you, Malthus."

Malthus shrugged her off. "Did you actually sleep with the lawgiver?"

Beth dropped her eyes. "No. I tried, but he refused me."

Malthus snarled, baring his fangs at her. "I have no use for you."

"Malthus, please. Don't be angry with me. I help you, Malthus."

"At least his reputation is stained now. No one believes that he hasn't been
sticking it in you. I'd like it better if he had."

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"I tried, Malthus. I tried."

He caught her arm, steering her into the room at the far end, where he
shoved her down on his bed.

Malthus stripped his clothing off, dropping it in the corner by the bed. His
member jutted from the thatch between his legs, hard and thick. His fangs came
down. "Undress."

Beth obeyed.

Malthus spoke the triggering phrase that would make her go gladly to her
death. "I'm going to make you beautiful."

Beth gave him a radiant smile. "I am ready for that."

"I know you are." He slammed into her mind with no pretense of art, twisting
and turning the blade of his power. She whimpered and writhed.

"Tomorrow afternoon, in front of everyone you will run crying into the
woods. You will refuse to tell them why. You will go to that cave I showed you
and stay there with my people until Egidius comes for you. You will tell
Egidius that you are ready to be rited. He will rite you with the greatest of
artistry. Your death will be a thing of beauty."

Beth shuddered and tears ran down her face. "Yes, beloved."

He touched the hollow of her throat and stole her voice completely so that
there would be no more words or sounds from her.

"He will let out your life with exquisite slowness." Malthus voiced the
words as if he were speaking of love. He leaned over her, licking the tears
from her face, enjoying the taste of fear and sorrow. "The blade will slide
into you again and again, as he slips his cock into you."

Malthus' hands roved her body. "You will die well, Beth. When your soul
shatters, part of you will always belong to him. Egidius is a master of

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elegance. He works slowly, using five blades in the style called Fifteen
Piercings."

Beth shuddered as he walked his fingers over her, poking her in the places
where the blades would be inserted. Then he bit savagely into her breast, and
began to suck, determined to enjoy his final taste of Beth.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE MADNESS OF ISRANON

Amiri sat at her table near the window, with the golden sunlight flooding
over her notebooks and journals. She dipped her pen into the inkbottle at her
right hand and began to transcribe her notes from the last few sessions with
Isranon. As far she could tell he was still not eating, unless someone besides
Randilyn was taking nibari and food up to him – he was still chasing Randilyn
and the nibari she brought her out of the suite. Despite this, Isranon had not
grown weaker. If anything, his recovery was continuing at a swift rate.
Something very strange was going on. The colors radiating from Isranon's groin
shaukras had progressively intensified. Amiri pushed aside the journal on
Isranon and opened the one she was keeping on Anksha.

She wondered why Anksha had begun wearing scarves. Amiri knew the Beast did
not like clothes, so scarves seemed an unlikely affectation. Also, Anksha's
coloring was off. She seemed pale to the point of her ivory skin looking
translucent with heightened spots of color in her cheeks. Anksha's walk had
also been sluggish lately, and she no longer bounced on the balls of her feet
the way she normally did. Amiri wondered if, perhaps, the demon-eater had
spent too much of herself in taking fifty sa'necari in less than sixteen
hours.

Randilyn emerged from the bedroom, with her golden hair loose about her
shoulders, and a frown marring her normally sweet countenance. "Come here and
listen to this."

"Hmmmn. What?" Amiri glanced up and wiped her pen off before laying it
aside.

Randilyn wore a loose sleeping robe of soft material that made her
accessible to her master's appetites. "The noises that Anksha's making."

Amiri grinned. "Are you turning into a voyeur, Randi?"

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Randilyn blushed furiously, the deep rose spreading from her face to her
shoulders and down across the exposed mounds of her ample breasts. Amiri's
eyes ran to Randilyn's bosom and the healing bruise on her left breast from
Amiri's feeding as they made love last night.

Seeing where Amiri's eyes had gone, Randilyn jerked her robe closed
indignantly. "No. It's just that the sounds aren't usually loud enough to come
through the walls like this... And – and I think he's hurting her."

"Isranon? Anksha would never allow a blood-slave to hurt her. She would
never tolerate anyone hurting her."

"That's just it. I think they are."

Amiri pushed her chair back from the able and stood. "I'll come listen."

They went into the bedroom, and already Amiri could hear the sounds coming
through the walls. Anksha was making noises as if she were in great pain and
terror, while Isranon cursed and grunted loudly.

The arrangement of the furniture was such that the headboard of their
amber-curtained bed was wedged between two built in cinnabar-lacquered
wardrobes along the intervening wall separating their bedroom from Isranon's.
Amiri climbed onto the bed and crawled up to the wall, pushing aside the bed
curtains to put her ear to the wall.

Randilyn crouched beside her on the floor, resting her elbows on the
mattress. "What does it mean?"

Amiri closed her eyes and extended her arcane senses to catch the vibrations
leaking through the wood. She sensed a pattern of charcoal and scarlet beneath
the emotions. Anksha's terror and a under current of inexplicable helplessness
bled through the pattern. The demon-eater both wanted Isranon to stop and, on
a deeper level wanted what he was trying to achieve. But Amiri caught no clues
to what that might be. Then she shifted her focus to Isranon who was swearing
abusively. For an instant, Amiri almost lost her scientific calm. Blast after
blast of enchantary energy shook the room beyond the wall with rage. Suddenly
it clicked.

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"It means that matters have gotten out of control. They aren't simply having
sex, Randi. They're mating. I wonder how long this has been going on?"

Randilyn's brow furrowed as she reflected. "This is the first time they have
been this loud."

"But you've heard it before?"

"A little."

Amiri blinked and settled back on her haunches. "He must have bitten her.
That's the only thing that could have brought Anksha into season."

"When I was cataloguing the texts last winter, I found only a few surviving
paragraphs on the mating behaviors of demon-eaters. Shall I look for them?"

Amiri nodded, got up, and walked into the parlor. "Yes. But observation is
important. And caution."

"But why is he being so cruel?"

Amiri exhaled loudly. "Because he doesn't consciously realize that he's
trying to impregnate her. So the bond is twisting his mind."

Randilyn's brow furrowed and she pressed her hands together, lacing her
fingers. "He can't do that." A hush of worry entered Randilyn's voice.
"They're not the same species."

Amiri brushed Randilyn's concerns aside with a wave of her hand. "With
Isranon, anything is possible. I suspect the anomalies I've been seeing in his
groin shaukras are the result of the mating bond taking hold."

"What happens if she doesn't become pregnant?"

With chill, scientific dispassion, Amiri said, "He'll kill her. As I recall,
there was one line about the mating bond driving males to murder infertile

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females. That's how it will read, no doubt."

"What do we do?"

"Observe. For now, we just observe. And while we are at that, try to find
those surviving paragraphs."

Amiri walked back to her table. A chest sat beside it. Amiri cleared a space
on the table and lifted the chest onto it. Opening the chest, Amiri stared a
moment at the books, fragments of books, and papers. This was all that
remained of centuries of knowledge that the Ymraudes had once possessed. As
shaman to her people, Amiri was their researcher and preservationist of
knowledge, a bio-alchemist, and a bio-magicalist with concentrations in arcane
subjects and creatures. She set the papers aside and dug through the
fragmentary books. As she recalled, it was in one of these that what little
remained known of the mating bonds of the demon-eaters could be found.

"Start here, Randi."

"Aren't you going to tell them?"

"No, and neither are you."

Randilyn's eyes teared in a sudden rush of emotion. "But you said he might
kill her. I'm fond of Anksha."

Amiri shook her head regretfully at Randilyn. "I'm willing to risk Anksha.
If she cannot breed, then the demon-eaters will become extinct."

"And if she cannot breed, he'll kill her."

"Randi, we have to take the chance. Isranon's magic is a rogue force and
maybe he can seed her."

Randilyn grabbed at Amiri's arm. "We have to tell them."

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"No! If he becomes conscious of it, he might find a way to snap out of it.
His power is that way. We must let nature take its course."

"Surely she won't let him kill her!"

Amiri gave Randi a stare that was as cold and brittle as a dagger of ice.
"Yes, she will, Randi. The bond renders her docile toward him, it overrides
the dominance-link. Say nothing. I am very serious. I don't want to do this,
Randi, but I'll drain you to the edge and leave you bed-ridden until it is
over if you disobey me in the slightest."

Randilyn raised the back of her hand to her mouth and her lips framed an
'O,' and she fled to the bedroom sobbing.

* * * *

Isranon used Warrior to walk to the window and stared out at the manicured
gardens and rose bowers. Once, looking at those gardens and bowers would have
reminded him of Hoon's lost estate in Minnoras and his lovers, Timon and Ephry
who had dwelled there. His memories of their love had grown clouded, gray, and
distanced, as if it had been a lifetime past. Images of Anksha were the only
vivid spots in his awareness, his memories, and his life.

"Dear gods of light, what if I'm succumbing to the compulsions of the
Dance?" Isranon muttered under his breath. "Amiri said sa'necari don't... But
what if I am? I'm a rogue power... I'm not right ... not in any way. I could
kill her. Oh gods, please help me. I'm losing control. Why doesn't Anksha stop
me?"

Isranon closed his eyes, thinking of the Dance, and answering the last
question for himself: because the beloved were bound to the Dance in such a
way that they could deny their hemovore lover nothing, because they became
strangely addicted to their pain and suffering.

He heard the outer door to the suite open, followed by Anksha's distinctive
footfalls crossing the tiled floor. Isranon went to the bedroom door and
waited for her. She looked surprised to see him up. A surge of inexplicable
anger swept through Isranon, lending the strength of insanity to his damaged
body as he seized her wrist. Isranon jerked her toward the bed. Anksha
staggered, recovered her balance, and went unresisting, as if a compulsion had
been laid upon her. Isranon leaned Warrior against the headboard, divested
himself of his clothes, and shoved Anksha down without a word.

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He snatched at the lacing of her pants, fumbling with them as a tremendous
fury rose to further disorient his mind. Resentment at finding her leather
pants between him and his goal flared hot. He broke the lacings, jerked the
pants off her, and threw them against a wall.

"No more pants," he growled in deep guttural tones. "Wear a robe or a
dress... and no underwear."

"Yes, Isranon," Anksha replied meekly. Then she saw his cock and stared: it
looked half again as large as she had ever seen it in the past two years that
he had been her slave. She hesitated and almost closed her legs to him.

Isranon's body slammed down upon hers, momentarily crushing the breath from
her lungs. Anksha had never lain beneath a male before, never imagined how
oppressively large and heavy he could feel lying atop her.

"Not on top," she whimpered. "Not on top."

Anksha squirmed uneasily in response to an unfamiliar and worsening sense of
helplessness, turning her face to the side to find a corridor of air to
breathe under the pressure of his bulk. He pushed her legs apart with his
hands on her thighs, shifted his grip so that his knees held her open while he
grabbed his cock and thrust the knob inside her without waiting for her to
become moist. He followed it with a painfully hard thrust. A twist of panic
tangled Anksha's thoughts and reactions. Isranon was growing more and more
dominant with her; more and more demanding; more and more ugly.

In her panic, a long suppressed memory flashed through and she realized that
this was not the first time a heavy, male body had been atop her.

Hoon. Anksha lay in the darkness, dozing with a sheet pulled tight in one
tiny fist. She was a small child, no bigger than a five-year-old human. Sweet
dreams from a satisfyingly weary day of playing with Hoon and Dawnhand's
children danced through her head. Her sensitive ears heard the door creak open
and instantly she came awake with the instincts of a cat. Hoon's distinctive
footsteps crossed her floor and he sat on herbed.

Anksha blinked sleepily at him.

Hoon drew the sheet away from her and began stroking her narrow, immature
chest. Anksha shivered, smelling a change in his musk, but unable to Read it.

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His long fingers slid to her loins, caressed the insides of her thighs.

"What are you doing?" Anksha asked, growing frightened. He had never done
this before.

"You know what I am doing," Hoon replied. "Giving you what you want. You run
naked through the house, looking at me, inviting me. Galee has noticed it
also. She pointed it out to me."

"What are you talking about?" Anksha blinked again, more in confusion now
than from interrupted sleep.

Hoon stroked her furry body. "You have been teasing and tempting me for
weeks. You want me to make you feel good, Anksha.

Anksha shivered in nervous anticipation, uncertain of what he meant. "I
don't understand."

Hoon fondled her loins.

It felt good and wrong at the same time. Anksha did not know how to react,
what was expected of her. She always tried to please Hoon.

He pushed his fingers inside her.

Anksha stiffened. Dawnhand's wife had always told her she should not let
people touch her down there. Anksha closed her legs. "Don't."

"Do not be coy," Hoon growled. "You want it. You want me."

He rolled onto his side on the bed, gently, yet firmly pressing her legs
open with his own. Hoon stroked her body. "I am not going to hurt you. You
want this. You have been begging for this."

"No. I didn't." Anksha shook her head furiously.

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"It is time I gave you your wish." He settled his bulk on top of her.

Anksha felt as if she were being smothered. Hoon had never seemed
sooverwhelmingly large as he did in that moment. Anksha cried out when he
forced his large member into her small opening. Hoon's hand covered her mouth.
"Cry out again, and Amalthea will hear you. She will be angry at you for
enticing me."

The thought of Amalthea hearing them cut Anksha to the quick. Amalthea,
Hoon's wife, was always blaming her for things she had not done, always
finding reasons to yell at her and punish her. Anksha ceased to struggle. Hoon
removed his hand, and she whispered, "You're hurting me."

"Be still. You will learn to like it."

Anksha brought one small hand to her mouth to muffle her noises and her
words, glancing fearfully around Hoon's bulk to see if Amalthea might appear.
"Please stop."

"You are a slut at heart, just as Galee says."

Anksha whimpered low around her clenched fist, which she ground into her
lips, as his huge body covered hers completely, his weight settling on her,
and he began to hurt her between the legs with his hard thrusts. His musk
filled her nostrils as his chestcovered her face. She twisted her head to the
side to breathe.

"Feel me," Hoon ordered, putting her hand on his thick member.

Anksha obeyed, her fear deepening with her pain, as her fingers circled
Hoon's cock. She tried to turn her thoughts away from the knowledge that
something so large had entered her privates. It seemed to go on forever.
Anksha smelled her own blood mixing with the odors from his ejaculate. He had
made her bleed and that frightened Anksha.

Afterwards he said that if she told anyone what he had done – and continued
to do each night thereafter for many years – they would blame her for it, that
everyone could see she was a slut. She had desperately wanted to tell
Dawnhand, but by the time she had gotten up the courage, Hoon had helped to
murder her protector.

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Anksha knew then why she never allowed anyone to be atop her. Panic gripped
Anksha and she thrashed, whimpering. "You're hurting me."

Either Isranon did not care, or did not to hear – or simply wanted to do it
this way because he continued to thrust hard while ignoring the rest of her
body. His eyes glittered like those of a wild animal. It shook her to her
core, deepening the terror she felt.

Anksha swallowed back an urge to weep, feeling diminished, reduced once more
to that small child she had been when the nightly rapes by Hoon began. My
fault. It was my fault Hoon did that...

"Put your legs around me, bitch," Isranon growled. "I'm giving it to you
like Hoon did."

Anksha flinched, realizing that Isranon had shared her flashback through the
link and enjoyed it. She folded her legs around his thighs obediently, unable
to rouse the smallest kernel of defiance to his wishes. Anksha felt crushed
and defeated without understanding why or where the feelings came from. The
demon-eater had gutted males for far less than what he was doing to her.

She had not been handled roughly during sex since she came into her powers.
As an adult, she had always been the aggressor. Always in control. He slid one
hand beneath her buttocks to bring her pelvis tight against his as his knees
slipped from her thighs. He pounded into her, forcefully, relentlessly, as if
he wished to split her wide open. Anksha surrendered to sobbing, even as her
body began to move with his and accept the pain. When she felt certain that
she could take no more, he exploded inside her in shuddering spurts of thick
white seminal fluid. He dropped and rolled onto his side, panting hard and
staring at her.

With wide frightened eyes, Anksha pushed away from him, sliding toward the
edge of the bed. He caught her wrist. She winced. "Isranon."

The disturbing feral light in his eyes stopped her retreat.

"Come back. I'm not done with you," he said in a chill tone.

Anksha's brow furrowed with distress, her lower lip trembled, and the

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corners of her eyes drooped. "Isranon, please..."

He frowned. "I said I'm not done with you!" His tone became harsh with an
undercurrent of suppressed violence. His hand clamped down harder on her arm.

She sucked in a fortifying breath and went docilely as he dragged her close.
The temptation to resist flickered through her when Anksha saw that his fangs
were fully down. As if in reaction to her brief desire to oppose his further
demands, her body lost all strength and went weak as a newborn child.

He ran his tongue over his lips, flicked it across his fangs, and leered at
her. Anksha's throat tightened and her mouth went dry. She wanted to protest
once more, but before she could, he jerked her arm to his mouth and sank his
fangs into her. He sucked her blood with bruising force while playing with her
slit. Anksha went still and quiescent, feeling a languor steal over her so
deep that when he mounted her again, she scarcely noticed it.

* * * *

Randilyn looked up from the table with her clenched fists covering the
passages she had found. It had taken her three days of searching to locate
them, and all the while she had been forced to listen to the noises coming
from Isranon's bedroom. "He hurt her again yesterday and all last night."

Amiri sauntered over and said, in a dispassionate voice, "I know. I heard
most of it. My ears are sharper than yours once I start listening for
something. Did you find what I was looking for?"

"Damn it, Amiri! How long will you let this continue?"

Amiri shrugged. "All the way to the end. I want to see it happen. Did you
find it?"

"Yes, most of it. Right here, here and here." Randilyn tapped the paragraphs
in each of the three books she had open. "I hate what you're doing."

Amiri walked around the table, and seized Randilyn by the hair with an
abrupt twist. "Don't start this, Randi. Please." She bent and breathed along
Randilyn's neck.

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"Isranon cannot produce the male pheromones. Therefore, Anksha will not get
pregnant and he'll kill her." Randilyn's voice caught as she protested.

Amiri licked Randilyn's neck. "You remember my threat?"

"Yes." Randilyn trembled.

She felt the prick of Amiri's fangs as her master lowered them against her
neck, and Randilyn knew what was coming. Amiri had already fed upon her that
morning. This could only be the promised punishment arriving. Randilyn's
stomach clenched around a seed of fear. Amiri had never punished her before.

Amiri's arms tightened around Randilyn's body, pulling her and the chair
away from the table so that nothing upon it could be damaged. "You found what
I wished, but not without interference and aggravation."

"Amiri, please don't. You're frightening me."

"I need a few days to observe unhindered."

"Amiri..."

Instead of relaxing in order to receive her master's fangs, Randilyn tensed
and knew that Amiri was aware of it, knew that it would be that much worse for
Randilyn, yet was callously ignoring it. Amiri's fangs grazed along her neck
and went in with a sudden thrust. Randilyn gave a small cry of pain at Amiri's
roughness. She took deep breaths, waiting for Amiri to take the pain away, but
Amiri didn't. Randilyn whimpered, afraid to move lest Amiri accidentally tear
her. Amiri continued to suck, continuing far longer than ever before. The
world grew fuzzy. Randilyn felt frightened as dizziness enveloped her. Amiri's
arms went around her as Randilyn started to slump forward. Withdrawing her
fangs, Amiri licked the wound closed and lifted Randilyn in her arms, carrying
her into the bedroom.

"I'm sorry, Randi. You need to learn obedience in this."

Randilyn managed a reproachful look, as she lay half-fainting in Amiri's
arms.

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Amiri shook her head at that. Randilyn's feet tangled briefly in the bed
curtains, as Amiri settled her on their bed. Too weak to move, Randilyn lay
there as Amiri disentangled her feet and drew a light coverlet over her.
"Sleep. I'll send someone up with snacks and your favorite candy. But I can't
afford you interfering with this one. You'll understand one day why I do what
I do."

"It's wrong." Randilyn breathed the words out in a hoarse whisper. "He
doesn't understand why he's angry."

"Shush." Amiri kissed her, a touch of her power overwhelming Randilyn's
enfeebled resistance and putting her to sleep. Amiri left to have a look at
the passages.

The sunlight fell upon the pages of a book that had obviously been in a fire
or tossed into a fireplace by someone trying to destroy the information. Amiri
intended to eventually get the fragments re-copied. She and Randilyn had been
working hard to save the information, but more knowledge had been lost than
had survived. Amiri settled at the table and began to read.

"While demon-eaters derive satisfaction from frequent sexual activity, they
only come into season after finding an appropriate and suitable mate. The
reasons for this are not fully understood. ... fre ... t..."

Amiri ran her fingers over the lost word, trying to pull the smallest
vibration out of the text to tell her what it had once said, but the book was
too old to have held onto it. She gave an angry sigh and moved to the next
word.

"Mating rage in the male occurs when the female's body refuses to respond
properly to insemination..."More lost words. "Secondary womb must react and
open..."Secondary womb?"When the stasis chamber of the secondary womb is
filled..."Lost words again. Amiri cursed under her breath. "Male's rage is in
direct measure to his attempt to overwhelm her pheromonal wash with his
own..."Lost words again. "The primary womb is forced open... Final conception
process occurs. In the rare cases where the male fails to open the primary and
secondary wombs... Murdered infertile females... Sanity of males in these
cases ... questionable."

"I need to Read Anksha," Amiri muttered. "But I doubt she'll let me."

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* * * *

Nevin and Olin had put the matter of the children off as long as they could.
Anksha had ordered the children moved into rooms on the same wing as the
blood-slaves, but with orders that they were not to see their parents until
she was ready to oversee it. That day they locked the children into shared
suites and assigned additional guards, segregating them by gender; which was
how Stygean ended up sharing one with Jingen, since the lycans were determined
to keep them away from the younger children.

Stygean wandered about the suite, looking at everything. The lycans and
rangers had cleared out anything that could be used to either escape or as a
weapon and they had been thorough. He pulled open dresser drawers and found
most of them empty. The chifferobes were the same.

Jingen roamed a little and then headed for the hot baths the nibari had
provided. Stygean followed Jingen. It would feel good to have the filth of the
dungeons off him at last. As Jingen slid into the water, he watched Stygean
closely. "I don't like this. They should be giving us more. We're sa'necari.
Their Lord, oh so holy, Dawnreturning is fucking sa'necari. They know how to
treat us."

"He's a renunciate." The word felt distasteful on Stygean's lips. He flicked
his eyes away from Jingen's member bobbing in the water, with smug
satisfaction in knowing his own was larger than Jingen's. For a fleeting
instant, Stygean imagined cramming it into the nibari that most attracted him:
Nolly.

"He's a heretic. If I could fix him, I would." To emphasize his words,
Jingen made a thrusting gesture with his hand as if he held a blade.

Stygean shrugged. He took his filthy clothes off and dropped them on the
floor, then slipped into the other tub. The water felt wonderful. "You'd never
get a chance I imagine."

"At least both your parents are alive," Jingen said, abruptly. "My father's
dead."

"I'm sorry."

"The price of heresy is death."

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* * * *

Amiri went looking for Anksha and found her emerging from Liuthan's chambers
in the wing now devoted to the blood-slaves and the captive children. It
seemed that Anksha was spending a lot of time feeding on that one. Amiri
wondered if that might be quickening the withering in him. She would find an
opportunity to Read all of the blood-slaves that Anksha had fed on most
frequently during the past few weeks. It might give her other clues to the
changes in Anksha's body.

Blood rimmed Anksha's lips, indicating that she had just fed, yet she still
looked pale and worn out. Amiri wondered if Anksha was getting enough food to
deal with the hormonal changes that Amiri knew must be occurring and the added
stress of Isranon's appetite for her.

"Anksha!" Amiri called out to her, stepping into Anksha's path. "I'd like to
talk to you."

Anksha's head jerked up and she looked uneasy. "No time. I must get back to
my Isranon."

"You look unwell. Are you sleeping all right?" Amiri asked, making her tone
as solicitous as possible.

A visible tremor ran through Anksha and her eyes widened. "I'm fine."

"Can't we sit for a moment? Have tea. You can reassure me. You wouldn't want
me to worry?"

"I got to get back. Isranon gets lonely."

Anksha sidled past Amiri and the vampire caught her arm.

"Anksha, you've known me for three years now. We're friends, aren't we?"
Amiri took some candy from her pocket and extended it to Anksha.

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The demon-eater eyed the candy longingly, then reached out, and took it.
"Yes. Friends."

"You're one of a kind. I'd like to Read you, if only to see how you're put
together."

Anksha put the candies in her mouth and crunched them. "You Read me when I
broke my arm and leg."

"Yes," Amiri persisted. "But that was a low level Reading. I want to do a
complete Reading. I want to know everything. After all, if you were to get
hurt, how would I recognize what was wrong if I didn't know what was right."

Anksha gave her a suspicious look. "How would I get hurt? I'm Anksha, the
demon-eater, the troll-tamer."

"There are great evils moving in the world now, Anksha–"

"Not now, later." Anksha fled down the hallway.

Amiri let out a hiss of frustration. She would try Isranon.

* * * *

Nainee sat in the kitchen talking to the cook with her infant on her lap,
his face half-concealed by her blouse while he suckled. The day felt pleasant
with a sea breeze cutting across through the opened windows to ease both the
heat of the ovens and the rising warmth of that summer morning. She nibbled a
piece of blue-veined white cheese between sentences about children and baking.
The aroma of strawberry breads filled the air, completing the pleasure of
sitting in a kitchen. The cook, a plump pleasant woman, had eight children
that she loved to talk about, and Nainee wondered what it would be like to
raise one of her own, rather than see it sold as soon as she could wean it.
Most of the nibari kept to themselves, but Nainee's training as a hostess and
her outgoing nature led her to interact with the human servants at the
mansion.

Anksha came in and paused, staring at the infant longingly. Her hands
fluttered across her flat stomach.

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"You want one of your own, don't you?" asked Nainee kindly.

Anksha's expression drooped. "I can't have any. I'm one of a kind."

Nainee could not think what to say to that. She could find no words to ease
the sorrow she heard in Anksha's voice. It had recently begun to dawn upon
Nainee that Anksha wanted to be a mother. Possibly it was because Anksha had
finally fallen in love with someone. There was no way that Isranon could ever
give Anksha a baby. He was not a demon-eater. Which made it all the sadder to
Nainee.

"Would you like to hold him, Anksha?" Nainee asked, indicating her child.

Anksha sighed and shook her head rapidly. The movement dislodged the top
scarf.

Nainee frowned, tilting her head to see better. "Aren't you hot in all those
scarves?" She reached out and moved the scarves.

Anksha blinked, and grabbed at the scarves, covering her neck again. "No. I
like them."

"I didn't ask if you liked them. I asked were you hot? Your face is
flushed."

Anksha kept her hand on her neck as a look of panic crept across her
features.

Nainee looked more closely at Anksha. "There's something on your neck."

Anksha paled and fled.

Nainee took that as an admission that what she saw on Anksha's neck was
real. She rose and went looking for Haig, with her child riding on her hip.
Nainee found him with Jun in the Golden Room, a chamber done all in shades of
bright yellow and soft gold, from the carpets and curtains to the ornate wall

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hangings. Dark furniture, divans and chairs, contrasted pleasantly against the
other colors. The Lemyari had begun using this one as a feeding chamber where
they could drink from their nibari in privacy.

Haig had a nibari kneeling in second position before him, with her arms
extended to the front and wrists crossed while Haig's stout legs framed her
back. His face nestled in her dark hair, as he took his breakfast from the
side of her neck.

A thirteen-year-old nibari, named Nolly, stood close to Jun, observing the
way he fed upon an older nibari kneeling between his outstretched legs in
first position. Nolly was a new one, taken from Liuthan's herds and not yet
blooded or bedded for the first time. It had still not been decided whether
she would be given to Jun, Keahi, or Garin for the completion of her training
and her blooding. In the meantime, Jun wanted to ease her into it.

Haig finished, licked the wound closed, and waved his nibari aside, dabbing
at his mouth with a handkerchief to remove the blood from his lips. He lifted
his eyes at Nainee's entrance. "What?"

Motioning him aside, Nainee said, "Haig, something is wrong with Anksha."

Haig frowned and leaned against the door facing. "What do you mean?"

"Someone has bitten her," Nainee whispered. "That's why she's wearing all of
those scarves."

Haig snorted, following that with a loud guffaw. "Hah! That's hard to
believe."

Nainee sniffed at him. "I know what I saw. Who would have done it?"

Haig scratched his nose and chuckled again. "It isn't a matter of who would
have done it. It's a matter of who she might have allowed to do it. And I can
tell you who would not have done it."

Nainee sighed at Haig's intransigence. "Could it have been Isranon?"

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"That's exactly who itcan'thave been. He's her blood-slave. And he doesn't
have it in him."

Nainee wished that Haig were not always so disparaging of her observations
concerning Anksha. Sooner or later he would have to admit she was right about
some of it. "Didn't you tell me that someone told him to bite her if she asked
him to?"

"Amiri. But that's neither here nor there. Isranon doesn't have it in him to
bite Anksha."

"I don't know whether to hope you are right or to hope you are wrong,"
Nainee persisted. "I tell you someone bit her."

Haig gestured for her to leave. "Nainee, take your foolishness elsewhere.
Jun and I must continue training Nolly."

Nainee felt stung by that, hefted her child better on her hip, and left,
trying to think of who she could tell this to.Nevin.He would believe her.

* * * *

Amiri waited until she knew Anksha had left to feed upon her slaves before
knocking on Isranon's door. A tremor of nervousness tickled through her, and
Amiri glanced down the corridor to see if anyone were observing her. There was
no reason that she should not knock. Amiri had done this every day since his
wounding, yet having an ulterior motive for this visit changed her inner
perspective. She received no answer at first, so she knocked louder.

"Go away," Isranon said.

"I need to Read you. It has been several days since I have."

"I'm fine, go away."

Amiri detected an uncharacteristic edge of irritation in Isranon's tone.
"The nibari say you aren't feeding."

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"Anksha brings me bottles."

Amiri blinked and put her ear to the door, uncertain of what more she might
be listening for – something, anything. "Shall I ask Nans to come up? She's
very busy, but I'm certain..."

The threat of Nans brought an instant change in Isranon's tone, a grudging
surrender. "No. Come in."

Amiri entered the parlor as Isranon emerged, tying his pants closed. She
could smell the sexual arousal rising from him, it mixed with a simmering odor
of anger and fear in equal measures.

"Have you ever known anyone who lost their mind, Amiri?" Isranon asked,
taking a seat at the table.

Amiri pulled a chair up close to Isranon and gestured for him to extend his
wrist to her. "I'll tell you when I have finished with the Reading. Let me
concentrate."

He glared at her resentfully before extending his wrist. She grasped him and
began to Read. The pattern of gray and scarlet had changed to charcoal and
crimson around the groin shaukra. Worse, it now appeared to be bunched into a
knot and bulging around the edges. It looked ready to explode. Amiri released
him.

"The answer to your question is yes. I'm six centuries old and I've seen
nearly everything. Including madness."

Amiri studied him while she waited for his reply, noting the way the scent
of fear increased. Isranon kept his hands under the table and she wished she
could see what he was doing with them.

Isranon's eyes traced the grain of the wood on the table, avoiding her
glance. "If I lost my mind and hurt or killed someone because of it... I – I
don't think I could live with myself afterwards."

The desolation in his voice made Amiri's skin crawl as she considered what

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she knew. She almost decided to tell him, and then held her tongue. "Deeds
done in madness are not the fault of the one who committed them."

"It must be so terrifying to go mad..." Isranon propped his elbows on the
table, his face tightening into a mask. The colors of flame washed across the
whites of his eyes, devouring them and dancing around the pupils.

Amiri felt his power rise and straightened in her chair, pushing back a bit
from the table as she watched the transformation. She felt a tremor of fear at
the possibility that he was gathering himself to strike her down.

Isranon began to sub-vocalize Anksha's name low in his throat and under his
breath. "Amiri?" He stared at her strangely, a note of panic in his voice.
"Amiri, get out of here. Now... Fast. Please!"

Amiri felt his power rising higher and a hot rage emanating from him. The
flames moved across his iris and pupils, enveloping them. She stumbled from
her chair and retreated to the door.Was this what greeted Anksha every time he
summoned her back?"It isn't your fault."

The smell of his rage became over-powering as his face twisted into a
hideous mask of bestiality. "Get out!"

The sub-vocalizing began again and Amiri fled the room. She staggered toward
her suite and saw Anksha rushing toward Isranon's door as if summoned by him.
Amiri reeled against the wall and watched, extending her arcane senses and
feeling the pull of the link that snared Anksha in the coils of its ropes.
Then Anksha entered Isranon's suite and his door slammed shut. Immediately,
Amiri ran into her own chambers, hurried to her bed, and climbed across
Randilyn to press her ear to the wall.

The movement woke Randilyn, who stared up at her. "What are you doing?"

"They are doing it again... And, Randi, I'm frightened. I've finally figured
it out."

Randilyn shifted in the bedclothes and sat up. "What do you mean?"

"He's becoming a demon-eater."

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"He'swhat?"

"I don't mean physically. Mentally. His personality has split itself. When
his mind is clear, he's human. Then the instincts of a demon-eater take over
and he changes."

Randilyn stared at her hands, squeezing them together. "And she responds to
him on the instinctual, rather than the intellectual level, as if he were a
male of her species."

"Exactly."

"Now, I'm scared too."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DESCENT INTO DARKNESS

Nevin straddled a chair with his arms draped over the back and his scarred
chin propped over one forearm. He regarded Isranon with a serious expression.
"I hear you've stopped allowing Amiri and Randilyn in," Nevin said.

Isranon ran a hand through his long black curls that hung unkempt to his
shoulders. He had not brushed them out in days and his fingers caught on mats
and tangles that were not normally there. He could smell himself. He had
changed his clothes, but he had not bathed in five days. And he sweated more
heavily than normal despite the cool breezes off the waters. "They told you?"

"I asked them about you," Nevin said.

Isranon rested against a stack of pillows on his side of the bed he shared
with Anksha. "I wish you hadn't've."

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"Why aren't you letting them in, my brother? They haven't done anything to
you."

Isranon shook his head, dropping his hand to his side. His hand landed on
Anksha's pillow and it felt better there. He dragged Anksha's pillow onto his
lap. "I – I don't feel right with them here."

Nevin wrinkled his nose at Isranon's odor. "Why?"

"I don't know. Only that you're the only one I'm comfortable being alone
with, except Anksha."

"Then let them come in pairs, if you don't want to be alone."

"That's not what I meant. Not at all. I mean, when Anksha's gone I don't
want anyone else here. I mean... Except you. I can still deal with you."

"You sound ragged. What's bothering you? And why aren't you bathing? Your
hair isn't combed. Look at you."

Isranon winced at the implied criticism. "I don't want to talk about it."

Nevin gave a resigned shake of his head. "So be it."

They went silent for several minutes and Isranon stared out the window,
clutching Anksha's pillow against his stomach. "Nevin, I have a question about
your people."

"Ourpeople. We adopted you, my brother." Nevin reminded him in an uneasy
tone.

Isranon sucked in a fortifying breath and nodded. "Our people. What do our
people do when they discover one of them is abusing his mate?"

Nevin regarded Isranon closely, pulling at his scarred lip, clearly

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wondering if they were finally going to get to the source of the mystery.
"Generally her brothers castrate the asshole."

"What if she hasn't any brothers?"

"Then the chieftain does it. We're civilized wolves, Isranon."

Isranon's fingers dug more tightly into the pillow.

Nevin's eyes narrowed and he leaned nearer to Isranon. "This is a very
strange subject for you to broach."

Isranon hugged the pillow to his stomach. "It just came to me. If the
subject bothers you, we won't talk about it."

"Isranon, you're still not well." Nevin stood and poured a glass of Sanguine
Rose, which he handed to Isranon.

"I'm sure that's it. I keep having odd thoughts."

"That's natural when you're not well. Drink and then try to get more rest.
I'll check in on you later."

Isranon did as Nevin told him and lay down. Nevin tucked the coverlet over
him and left. As the potent troll's blood cocktail overcame him, Isranon slept
and dreamed of death.

* * * *

"I'm losing my mind," Isranon muttered, swinging his legs over the side of
the bed and sitting with his head in his hands. After the incident with Amiri,
in which his control began to fray, Isranon had begun to fear being alone with
anyone except Nevin and Anksha. He could no longer trust himself and kept
asking, "What if I hurt them too?" He did not wish to talk to anyone, barely
wanted to eat. He refused to allow anyone other than Nevin into the suite when
Anksha was away, and rarely allowed someone to be there when she was present –
especially females.

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Guilt and shame haunted him in those moments of clarity that were growing
fewer and fewer, and further and further apart. It seemed to him that it was
only a matter of time before he went completely mad and became a creature
without a conscience.

He considered asking Nevin to spellcord him, but that would have meant
telling his spirit-brother what was happening and his insides turned to ice at
the thought of making such a confession.

"It's the Dance ... I know it is. I'm going to kill her because I love her.
Please gods, please!" He tangled his fingers in his hair, pulling at it in
despair. "Give me strength to resist this madness. Take it from me."

His mind reeled. The taste of her blood had done this to him.

"Or else, let me die."

He had been Hoon in her memory, forcing her legs open, savoring her terror.
Had Hoon helped to murder Dawnhand because he did not want Dawnhand
discovering he had raped Anksha? Dawnhand would have killed Hoon for it. And
yet the way she squirmed in fear beneath him had felt so good... Isranon
wanted to feel it again.

It was driving him mad.

His hands tightened again in his hair, tugging.

The blood was driving him mad.

The blood. The blood. The blood.

Although he knew he should be resting, restlessness descended upon him the
moment Anksha left their suite. He experienced a rising resentment of her
absence whenever she was away for so much as an hour. Isranon knew he should
not begrudge her doing what she had to do; yet he could not shut the thoughts
down – they tormented him.

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He could sense wherever Anksha went in the building, and hear her voice
talking to others. Sometimes he could even hear their replies. Jealousy surged
through him whenever she spoke to a male. He could feel the weight and shape
of every object she picked up in passing. He knew when she had started from
the kitchens with a tray of food in her hands for him by the way it felt and
the smells rising into her nostrils.

His throat ached for another taste of her blood, the exquisite taste of her
fear and pain when he hurt her, and his member hardened at the thoughts.
Isranon obsessed on getting her back into bed with him. His mind reached for
her through a link that had grown agonizingly intense. Isranon tried to
repress his needs, to turn his thoughts away from Anksha. If he focused on her
strongly enough, he could summon her back to him with the force of his lust.
When she was with him, all he could think of was dominating her with his body,
of plunging himself inside her as soon as he could get her legs open.

"This is madness. I've never been like this before. I must get hold of
myself. I must." He released his hair, ran his fingers through it, and bent
forward until his head lay between his knees. Desire crept through his body
and left flames burning in its wake.

He writhed and his body broke out in a heavy sweat. Isranon's heart
hammered, and he began to pant as if he had been racing hard across a far
distance.

"Anksha," he called abruptly before he could stop himself. "Anksha!"

Isranon sensed her head lifting in some far distant room, felt the way she
turned in his direction. He wrestled with his need, struggling to master
himself and not force her to return. Slowly his conscious control began to
melt before the fires, and then more swiftly. His intellect and his conscience
vanished, leaving him a creature of primal needs.Sex, blood, fear, and pain –
delicious."Anksha!"

He felt her running now, through many corridors and turnings. The outer door
to his suite opened and slammed shut again. His eyes changed to the colors of
dancing blazes as he rose to face her. Anksha stood in the doorway to the
bedroom, looking at him hesitantly. Isranon crossed the room in three strides,
grabbed her arm, and threw her onto the bed.

Anksha curled up, clutching herself, her eyes wide and uncertain at this
fresh turn of violence.

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Isranon sprang to the bed, snarling wordlessly, froth gathering around his
lips.

He ignored the way she whimpered in confusion as he shoved her down and
climbed on top of her. "I'm going to hurt you, you filthy little bitch. You
need it. You want it. Hoon knew exactly what you needed."

"No, please... I was a baby," Anksha begged. "It wasn't my fault. I was a
baby."

"Shut up." He slammed his cock inside her.

She gave a long yowl of pain and despair.

* * * *

Anksha found herself a small corner behind a huge chair in one of the
upstairs sitting rooms and curled up to cry. She wore a little lavender smock
that rubbed against her battered, tender breasts irritatingly. Her arms were
sore, chunks of fur were missing from the savagery with which he had bitten
her. Multi-colored scarves completely swathed her neck to cover the marks
Isranon had left on her.

Isranon never talked to her anymore. All of their long conversations had
ceased. He no longer played his flute for her or told her stories. The candy
dish in their room had been empty for days and he had not bothered to have it
replenished. Anksha felt as if she were being punished: the only thing he
enjoyed doing was hurting her. She felt used and unhappy, and yet when he
called she wanted nothing more than to get back to him as swiftly as possible.
The only thing that felt right and proper was to give Isranon whatever he
wanted. As much as Anksha was a creature of intellect, she was more so a
creature of instinct, and right then her instincts were overriding her
intellect in ways she could not fathom. Anksha tried to work through that
contradiction and failed.

She was so lost in her misery and confusion that she did not hear Arabella
and Squeaky creep around the sides of the chair on their hands and knees to
stare at her.

"What's eating you, tiny?" asked Arabella. The stump-bynter's fangs did not
retract like a hemovore's, and it gave her face a permanently savage
appearance, especially when she tried to smile reassuringly like she did just

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then.

Anksha's lips trembled. "My Isranon."

"Figures," said Squeaky, squeezing in behind the chair and sitting
cross-legged beside Anksha. Her skirt and petticoats crowded the space to
over-flowing. "That's boyfriends for ya."

Anksha's top scarf chose that moment to slip lower on her neck, revealing
two sets of fang marks.

"Boy, I'll say," Arabella observed, touching one of the marks. "You want me
to whomp on him some?"

Anksha shook her head frantically, her eyes wide, and her stomach clenching
up at the thought of Arabella getting her hands on Isranon. "No. Don't hurt my
Isranon."

"I can't see why you'd want to protect him when he's treating you this way,"
said Squeaky. "I mean, talk about abuse!"

"He doesn't mean to hurt me," Anksha said, her voice dwindling away to
nothing. "He loves me."

"I don't know what that is then, tiny," Arabella said, "but it don't look
like love to me."

A sob caught in Anksha's throat and she fled. "He does love me. He does. He
does love me."

Running through the corridor, Anksha collided with Randilyn and they both
went down in a tangle.

Randilyn sat up and Anksha slid sideways. "Whoa, watch where you're going."

Anksha turned a tear-streaked face up to Randilyn. "He does love me. He

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does."

"Who?"

Anksha's voice cracked as she spoke. "My Isranon. He does love me."

"I'm sure he does," Randilyn said in a soothing tone. "I'm certain."

"You are?" Anksha squatted next to her, a tentative smile tickling the edges
of her mouth.

"Yes. If you want to talk about it, I'm willing to listen."

Anksha began to look nervous as soon as Randilyn said that. "No. No, I'm all
right now." She straightened and backed away. "I don't need to talk."

"But you'll come to me if you do? Any time, night or day?"

Anksha nodded and fled again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

FINDING AN ANSWER

Randilyn opened the window to let in the morning breeze. The wind blew cool
over her face and she stood there for a moment with the curtains fluttering
like soft, tentative caresses across her cheeks. She listened to the sea birds
calling to each other as they soared, inhaled the salt of the sea and the
sweet of the river as they met in the waters surrounding the delta island. It
felt like a perfect summer morning.

The sound of glass breaking in the bedroom jarred her from thought. She

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jumped with a tiny squeal and whirled around, blushing in expectation of
Amiri's admonition to control her flinch and scream reflex. But Amiri was not
there.

Going into the bedroom to investigate, Randilyn found Amiri standing on the
bureau that stood against the wall they shared with Isranon's bedchamber. All
the perfume bottles and lotions that the steward provided as a courtesy to
female guests had been shoved aside. One bottle had fallen on the floor and
broken. Amiri shifted her feet again, and Randilyn darted to catch another
bottle before it also ended up on the floor. She gathered everything up in her
arms, pulled open a drawer with two fingers, and carefully put everything into
it.

Randilyn craned her head up at Amiri. "What are you doing?"

"There's a knothole up here. Bring me a chair, I can't quite reach it."

"You're going to put a chair on the bureau? Don't you think that's
dangerous? I mean, it won't really fit and you'll fall."

Amiri gave her an irritated glance. "Well, I can't levitate, like some can."

"You'll break your leg, if you're lucky. And your neck, if you're not."

"Well, get me something. I must be able to observe."

"Why?"

"He won't let me near him," Amiri told Randilyn. "He hasn't since the day he
started to have an incident in front of me. Now, get me something to stand on.
Anything."

Randilyn went back into the parlor and scanned the room. The only thing that
looked steady and would safely fit was the chest they kept the books in. So
she took all the books out, stacking them in neat piles on the table. Then she
carried the chest into the bedroom.

"Get down and I'll put it up there."

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Amiri climbed off the bureau by way of the bed and settled on the mattress.

"Why don't you ask Nans to have a look?" Randilyn said. "He can't say no to
her."

"I don't want to involve Nans. She'll ask too many questions."

"Why don't you simply tell Isranon and Anksha what is happening?"

"Because it's too late. They are both so deep into the bond, that it will
only add to their suffering. Isranon said that he does not want to live with
it on his conscience that he's hurt Anksha. And if he kills her, he'll either
lose the will to live or kill himself also."

Amiri climbed onto the bureau again, stepped onto the chest, and peered
through the tiny flaw in the wood. "I can't see anything, but I can hear
them." She pulled her belt knife out and started whittling on the hole,
enlarging it. "If it looks too out of control, I'll intervene."

Randilyn gave her a tiny smile, half-encouraged, yet still uncertain. "And
get fried to a cinder... What if he calls the sunfire lances before he
realizes it's you?"

"I don't think he'll react that way. Not inside a building. Imagine the
damage."

"I think he might if you got between him and Anksha when they were mating.
You've said yourself, he's not in his right mind."

"We need to either get in there, or find someone who can. But we can't tell
anyone who we ask to look in on them exactly why we want them to."

"I have tried to talk to Anksha. But she refuses to talk to me. She feels
unloved."

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"There must be someone he'll still let inside."

Randilyn thought about it. "Nevin."

"Then you go find Nevin while I keep an eye here. Be careful. We don't want
him to know why we're asking him to keep watch on Isranon and report anything
strange."

Randilyn walked to the doorway and paused. "What happens to the blood-slaves
if Isranon kills Anksha?"

Amiri looked as if she had been struck. "I don't know. I'll speak with
Zulaika. Our people should be prepared to go in and kill all of them. The
children as well."

* * * *

Isranon woke in the night, full of the same insane cravings that now haunted
his every moment. The night breezes could not cool the heat of his body, and
sweat streaked his face. His mind reeled in drunken patterns of shadow and
light, of knowing and denial; like a sot who could not drink enough from the
cup to satisfy himself, and yet, knew he should not taste it again. The cup of
his desiring slept in his arms. He rose on his elbows and looked upon Anksha
with hunger.

Reason fled before the assault of desire; the walls of his restraint were
thrown down by frenzy.

Clarity burned to ashes and blew away in the spiraling heat of a remorseless
conflagration of desire.

Isranon was no longer a man: he was a ravening beast.

His thirst parched his throat with the desperation of his need. His fangs
came down fully and he swiped his tongue across them before licking his lips
in a vortex of cravings as he looked at the creature in his bed with the
intention of sating himself on her.

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Anksha made a startled noise in waking as he shoved her onto her back.

"Isranon..."

He did not answer, leaping upon her like a stallion covering a mare, all
need and passion, plunging and bucking as he parted her thighs with his hands
and drove his hardened spear into her sweet, soft parts. Isranon had caught
her unprepared for his surging, mindless lust and she lay frozen beneath him
for several breaths, while he hurt her with the frenzy of his assault. His
necromantic senses inhaled her fear, drank her pain, consumed all the
suffering he could cause her. He wanted to crack her open, shatter her, and so
he reached through their link and melded into her psyche to find places to
break.

Anksha whimpered at this brutal coupling, which stole the last vestiges of
her dominance. She brushed his awareness through the link and recoiled,
finding only a bestial carnality. That opening allowed him to envelop her
mind, searing her most intimate connections. "You're hurting me."

"Shut up," Isranon snarled, his awareness twisting her dominance-link out of
her control, tasting the way she thrashed and fought to take it back, his rage
burning hotter. Her psyche writhed away from his and he captured it, holding
her trapped by both his body and his power.

Tears of fear and betrayal pooled in Anksha's eyes.

Isranon slammed his cock in deeper and deeper, his pelvic bones grinding
against her inner thighs.

"Please..." Anksha begged in a tiny voice.

"Shut the hell up," Isranon gritted between bared teeth. His fangs were
down, making him look savage. He battered her through the dominance-link,
lunging through her magic centers, her neural net, and the fibers of her body.

She sobbed and moaned, squirming beneath him like a desperate, trapped
animal; finally writhing as she suffered the fullness of his lust.

His eyes changed colors, becoming shifting patterns of flame. The magic
stormed through him, screaming that he embrace her on all levels. His

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consciousness burned with it, desperate to plant his seed firmly inside her.
Isranon needed to crack her open, slit the veils between his essence and some
part of Anksha's body – yet he had no words for what his instincts were crying
out for.

Anksha flinched away from his mind, trying to close the link and discovered
that she couldn't. "Let me go. Please, let me go!"

He pressed her down harder as his power spread to her and enfolded them
both. Anksha's consciousness dissolved into his and she responded at last, in
body and magic, her pelvis moving in rhythm to his thrusts, her fingers raking
convulsively along his back as she arched against him. Her nipples rubbed the
rough edges of his scars until they roused to erection. She wrapped her legs
around his buttocks to take him as deeply as possible inside her small body.

"Iownyou, Anksha. I own you."

No one had ever said that to her, much less a blood-slave. It made her
tremble violently.Owned. Owned. He owns me. I am the slave.

Spurred by that knowledge, Anksha tried to resist, but the harder she turned
and twisted within the link, the more she hurt and the weaker she felt, as if
her will were leaching out of her. She thought of Hoon and spiraled down into
a core of despair. Isranon's power thundered through her, demanding her utter
surrender. Anksha wavered on the edge of collapse, panting. She tried to
unsheathe her claw and rip him, but her fingers would not answer. A paralysis
of the soul gripped her and then she fell into the abyss of Isranon's
dominance, yielding entirely to his demands.

The pain of the link eased. His need became her need, their thoughts and
emotions twined and danced, merging into one being. Anksha moaned loudly,
tightening her legs still more. Her magic reached out to his and joined with
him. They roared and sighed with lust in each other's awareness. She sensed
the first pre-emptive dribble of his seed at the mouth of her womb and it
affected her as nothing had before. They felt the approach of climax in the
fiber of each other's being. He wished to fill her as intensely as she wished
to be filled by him, to be flooded with his milk. Isranon lowered his head and
breathed along her neck. He felt her shiver as she moaned beneath him.

Then he sank his fangs into her neck and drank. Anksha wept softly as his
seed erupted within her and her blood welled into his mouth.

Isranon noticed a tiny change in Anksha's taste, an alteration in her
bio-alchemy that satisfied him deeply. He had cracked her open a bit and might

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yet get all the way inside her where he craved to be with a nameless longing
he could neither explain nor identify. It soothed him inexplicably as he
sucked on her, taking the wondrous wine of her being into his mouth and
swallowing it.

Anksha was still weeping when he finished and licked her wound closed.

As the episode of madness faded, his head cleared and the hormone-driven
rage left him: Isranon drew back from her and realized how rough he had been.
Guilt and shame closed like a vice upon his heart. He felt certain that he had
been trying to kill her.

"Anksha, I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. I don't know why I'm doing this...
Please forgive me."

She swallowed back another sob and nodded at him, unable to speak for the
tightness in her throat.

He kissed her tears and cupped her breasts, ready to begin anew, but this
time determined to be gentler.

Anksha gave a small sigh and laid back, assuming the nibari position three
with her legs open to him. "Youownme," she said, with a depth of sorrow and
resignation in her voice that cut Isranon to the bone.

"I love you."

* * * *

Anksha awoke before Isranon and slipped from the bed. She pulled on a robe
and wrapped her scarves around her neck. Isranon had left more marks on her,
as well as leaving her sore between her legs. Arabella and Squeaky's reaction
to the bite marks had been bad enough, but now Nainee had seen them.
Insecurity crawled around in her stomach along with butterfly flutters of
shame and embarrassment. She wondered if people were discussing it, but was
afraid to inquire. Weariness clung to her – Isranon had been insatiable. She
was growing increasingly afraid of him. Yet his appetite had left her oddly
content. She tried to puzzle the contradiction out and then left it alone.

Trotting down the branching hallways of the mansion, Anksha headed for the

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section where they housed her blood-slaves. Her hunger and cravings were
especially keen that morning. She wanted blood and meat in great quantities.
The meat could wait. She would fetch a platter from the kitchen and have
breakfast with Isranon in his room.

The sa'necari being a bi-sexual culture, Anksha had been able to take both
male and female in her sweep through Ocealay. She trotted into Liuthan's
chamber and found the former captain and his wife in their sitting room.
Liuthan had a brooding look as he sat upon the delicate divan beneath the
window, wearing the black robe and pants of a blood-slave. Anksha had ordered
Liuthan branded, collared, and clad appropriately as soon as she brought her
Isranon home. The sash holding his robe closed could be opened with a tug to
bare his flesh to her fangs.

He glanced up at her and whimpered. Chinisi, his wife, moved back and forth
in the rocking chair with the serene expression of the mind-torn.

Anksha's cravings had become a roaring in her veins. She needed to drink
from at least two of them today, but which one first?

"Did you have to do that to her?" Liuthan asked, raising a face wet with
tears.

The demon-eater was unmoved by his expression, his sorrow. She wondered if
she should tell him yet that she had his son. "You tried to kill my Isranon.
The spellcords you carried were for me."

Liuthan dropped his head and did not answer.

"They were for me, weren't they?"

Liuthan wanted to lie or refuse to answer, but that would only earn him a
lashing through the dominance-link. "Yes ... yes they were for you. I was
supposed to give you to her ... to be sacrificed upon her altar."

Anksha stalked up to him, her claws out. "Whose altar?"

Liuthan turned his gaze back to his wife. "The sa'nekaryiane. Oh precious
darkness, my poor Chinisi..."

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Anksha hissed at him. "What is done, is done, oh foolish Captain. Now down
on your knees and bare your flesh to me. I will have you first and her
second."

Liuthan removed robe shirt and sank weeping to his knees, wondering how much
more of this he could stand without breaking completely.Stygean, please be
safe. Let her focus on us and forget you – if she even knows about you.

Anksha seized his hair and twisted his head around. "Assume first position."

Liuthan paled and exposed his throat in the proper nibari attitude of
submission. Anksha took him savagely, raking him with her claws and through
the link. Liuthan screamed. Chinisi continued to rock and smile.

* * * *

Amiri watched Anksha emerge from Liuthan's rooms, walk down three doors and
enter another blood-slave's chambers to feed again. The previous day, Amiri
had counted six rooms that Anksha entered in the morning and four in the
evening. She mentally kicked herself for not keeping a closer eye upon
Anksha's feeding patterns. At the rate that the demon-eater was consuming
blood, Anksha could easily have drained a single mon within twenty-four hours
– and her appetite was increasing.

Walking down the corridor, Amiri nodded to the lycan guards that kept watch
over this wing. They went about in pairs, in their transitional form, walking
the corridor. Amiri walked past them with a purposeful stride to reduce the
chances of their stopping her to ask her business. They all knew her, since
they came from the battle-clan that Nevin had formed in Imralon.

Amiri entered the room and paused, sweeping her gaze across it. The mon sat
on the floor with his wife in his arms. Chinisi lay very still and a bit too
pale by Amiri's estimation. Unlike the other blood-slaves, Chinisi still wore
the same dress with the torn upper bodice that she had the day Anksha took
her. Amiri crossed the floor and dropped to her knees beside them, putting her
hand to Chinisi's neck and Reading her.

"What have you come for, Ymraude?" Liuthan asked bitterly. "We're Anksha's
cattle, not yours."

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"Shut up and let me Read," Amiri said.

Liuthan stared at his wife's still face, caressing her closed lids and
parted lips with his eyes. "Her mage centers are dead. Yesterday they were
brittle. Today they're ash."

Amiri ignored him, concentrating. Chinisi's mage centers and mage net had
collapsed in on themselves, her bio-alchemical systems were thrown off and
exhausted, her shaukras had become blackened and shriveled. The mon was alive,
but only in the strictest sense of the word. Amiri sucked in a breath at the
damage and started unlacing Chinisi's bodice.

"What the hell are you doing?" Liuthan demanded, grabbing Amiri's hands.

"I'm an etheric. I need to check the physical signs and symptoms."

"Didshesend you? What is Anksha doing? Sending you here to measure how fast
she can destroy us?"

Amiri gave Liuthan a hard stare before answering. "She didn't send me. I
came because I was concerned. She's feeding more heavily of late."

"Heavily? It feels like chunks of my life force are being torn out of me
each time her fangs pierce my flesh." Liuthan gestured wildly with one hand,
his finger splayed. "And she's doing it every god-forsaking day."

Amiri watched him until he calmed a bit. "I'm a healer, as well as a
bio-majicalist and bio-alchemist. I want to help, if I can."

Liuthan's voice softened suddenly and the force went out of him. "All
that..." He considered a moment, his expression gradually taking on a faint
touch of hope. "Will you help her?"

Amiri did not answer until she had Chinisi bare to the waist. She examined
Chinisi with clinical dispassion. A black metal collar with 'property of
Anksha' inscribed on it circled Chinisi' throat loosely and the fanged 'A'
that was Anksha's registered slave brand had healed well on Chinisi's
shoulder. Red splotching and streaks covered her breasts and stomach, and
lined her sides. "She's withering swiftly. There's nothing I can do."

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"There must be something." Liuthan's voice turned pleading.

"The one who could have helped is in no condition to because of you!" Amiri
snapped.

Liuthan dropped his eyes. "You mean Dawnreturning."

"Yes." Amiri lifted Chinisi and carried her into the bedroom, where she laid
the mon out and covered her before returning to Liuthan. "Open your robe."

Liuthan wore the loose black robe over black pants that Anksha ordained for
her blood-slaves. Amiri wondered why Chinisi had been allowed to retain her
own clothing.

"I'm nearly as bad as she is," Liuthan said.

Amiri nodded and watched him open his robe. Liuthan allowed the robe to
slide from his shoulders and settle on the floor around him. The welts and
streaks covered his stomach and lined his sides, and a few had turned into
oozing sores. "I can give you something for the pain and a cream for the
sores."

Liuthan gave her a suddenly grateful look. "The pain never goes away. The
sores burn. I have tried to ask Chinisi if she hurts, but she hasn't been able
to speak since the day that Anksha took us."

"I will have one of the lycans provide you both with a dose of pollendine
twice a day. I can't trust you with the bottle. Some of Anksha's slaves have
suicided over the years."

"I imagine so." Liuthan lowered his head as she Read him. Amiri found that
his mage centers, nets, and shaukras were nearly dead. "I have a son," Liuthan
said as she finished. "I would have word of him, if you can and will without
endangering him."

"I don't know..."

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"Please."

"Most of the children from your estate are dead."

"Oh gods have mercy." Liuthan closed his eyes, lowering his head.

Amiri struggled to remain detached. She thought of how Anksha's hand
fluttered longingly across her stomach, wanting a child. A sense of guilt
inserted itself in her heart like a thin blade – they were risking Anksha's
life in hopes that Isranon could get a child on her and save the species. A
child of Anksha's would be the nearest thing that Amiri would ever have to a
child of her own. She thought of her own longings and asked, "What is his
name?"

"Stygean. He's nearly thirteen."

The boy's age hit Amiri a hammer blow. "Then he's most likely dead. All who
have participated in the rites are either dead or taken by Anksha."

Liuthan grasped her arm, his face full of misery and desperation. "He
hasn't. Stygean is a late-bloomer."

Amiri nodded. "Then I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you."

Amiri left him, haunted by the knowledge that if Isranon killed Anksha, she
would have to tell Zulaika to give the Ymraudes the orders that would start
the butchering of the surviving children. For the first time, Amiri did not
feel comfortable with her usual emotionless expediency.

* * * *

The sa'necari children, twenty-eight of them came into the courtyard
surrounded by soldiers. They looked terrified. Olin and some of the other
lycans had got them bathed and into fresh clothes to make them presentable to
Anksha. They looked better than they had when they were first brought up from

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Tamric's dungeons and placed in the one beneath the guest mansion.

Tamric had locked them there as much for their safety as for his comfort of
mind. Given a chance, his own guards would have butchered every single one of
the children. The other three captains had been less merciful than Tamric.
Captain Piran had personally slit the throats of every sa'necari child his
guards had captured. Lyrentine and Memnon had impaled the children first while
their parents watched, before giving the adults the same slow deaths as their
offspring. The bodies were still hanging throughout the city, rotting on the
poles that had been raised upon the campgrounds and greens around Ocealay.
Only Tamric had not condoned the murder of children. Yet, had he not
surrendered these to Nans and Anksha, sooner or later his fellow captains
would have forced him to kill the little ones.

Nevin herded them forward to where Anksha waited. She regarded them for a
long time, causing the littlest ones to squirm and clutch at their fellows for
comfort. Then she examined them one by one, checking their teeth and eyes,
smelling for signs of their hemovore latencies. A blacksmith had set up beside
the watching guards with a hammer and tongs and a barrel of metal objects that
rattled as he settled it beside the anvil. Amiri stood next to the mon in
front of a table with pen, ink, and paper set upon it. As a concession to
Anksha's hopes of turning them all into Dark Brothers, the children would not
be branded like their parents.

"You are all mine by right of conquest," Anksha told the children. "You are
slaves."

Several of the small children began to cry.

"I want to see my father," said one slender, black-haired boy. She
recognized him after a moment as Stygean Loosestrife.

Anksha's eyes narrowed dangerously as she strutted back and forth in front
of them on the balls of her feet to give her lecture in stern, carefully
considered words. "I am the Beast. I am Anksha, demon-eater, troll-tamer. I am
Brandrahoon's terrible demon-eater who killed Waejonan the Accursed when I was
still a small creature, not quite grown."

The boy shuddered. "What about our parents?"

"All your parents are either dead, or are among those I captured as
blood-slaves. Only death frees a blood-slave from the Beast."

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Anksha snarled, baring her impressive fangs, larger and longer than either a
sa'necari's or a vampire's. "I took them. They have been properly bitten and
bound through the dominance-link. Eventually they will begin to wither and
die. Some have been mind-torn. I regret that, but I was angry. When I become
angry, someone dies."

Stygean continued to eye her suspiciously. She caught his arm and he snarled
at her, his fangs coming down, which startled him as much as her because until
that instant he had not them. All the Stygean could think of was that stress
must have forced the transition on him. She hit him and he staggered,
clutching at his face, which now bore the reddened imprint of her knuckles.

One of the children screamed and several began to sob louder.

Anksha dragged Stygean to the blacksmith. "Rule one, no one bears their
fangs at me in anger! I am a law unto myself. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Stygean, rubbing his face, fighting not to cry. His parents had
never hit him, nor allowed others to physically punish him: now he had been
struck by Anksha and days earlier by Nevin.

"Tell him your name," she demanded.

Two lycans moved close to the twelve year old, baring their fangs in threat.
He looked from them to Anksha before answering. "Stygean Loosestrife, Captain
Liuthan Loosestrife's son."

Anksha nodded to the smith who took a collar from the barrel. Olin came
forward and deftly etched the boy's name into the collar beside another
sentence that had been cast into the metal: Property of Anksha – Stygean
Loosestrife.

Then the smith fastened it to the boy's throat, clamping the catch
permanently shut with a pair of pliers.

Stygean wilted as the reality of it all set in and tears welled into his
eyes. One by one, the children were brought forward and collared. Amiri wrote
their names down on a sheet of paper and jotted down whether their parents
were among the survivors of Anksha's rage.

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"Where is my mother? My father?" Stygean asked her again when the last of
the children had been processed.

"Blood-slaves. The first I took. Do not push at me, oh foolish child. Their
blood flows down my throat daily."

Stygean's face went several shades paler than before. "My father was
strong..."

"I am stronger. Remember that."

Stygean sucked in a fortifying breath. "Can I see him?"

"When I am ready." Then she had the children gathered again in front of her,
assembled into four rows. "Second rule, no magic, no matter how small. If I or
anyone catches you working magic, especially sa'necari magic, we'll spellcord
you. Continue to break that rule and the magic will be burned out of you."

That could only mean that she intended to remove the cords from their
wrists. It offered Stygean a small measure of comfort, yet he dropped his head
to conceal a glare of hatred. "What are you going to do with us?"

Anksha regarded him very closely. All the children were watching him. "I am
going to see that you are taught a better way than those of your parents who
have fallen to me in battle."

"Are you going to eat us?" asked another boy.

Anksha looked at the boy, whose name was Jingen if she remembered rightly.
There were so many new things to remember. He had already been blooded, but
not yet initiated into the rites. Jingen would bear watching.

Anksha shook her head. "Not unless you do something really nasty. Nevin, the
lycan battle-clan chieftain, is also a lawgiver. He will give you the rest of
the laws and the rules. You will follow them to the letter. Lord Dawnreturning
will be your teacher. And since I now own you all by right of conquest, I will
be your Mama."

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Liuthan's son glowered.

The speeches she had given the children were the longest ones she had ever
made in Common. It had taken concentration and effort not to slide back into
her nervous patois. Anksha made most of her decisions based upon her
predator's instincts, and on reflex without thought. Although she could think
clearly when she wished to reflect on matters, reflection was not one of her
strong suits. Several times Isranon had been harmed because of her lack of
foresight and foresight required reflecting on matters.

Then she marched them over to see Nainee.

"Nainee, if they misbehave, lay hold of their ankles, jerk them off their
feet and paddle their bottoms," Anksha ordered. "You are their nanny."

Nainee gave the children a sweet smile and said, "I'll have one of the
vampires do the spanking."

The children looked still more frightened.

"They won't eat us?" Stygean asked.

Anksha considered the fear with an edge of defiance in the boy's voice. Was
he asking this to frighten the others into following his lead? To make them
turn to him out of fear of their captors? She would need to break this one,
break him down to kindling and spare parts; otherwise she would be adding him
to her collection of blood-slaves in another year or two. There would be no
more Bodramet's to endanger Isranon – not even very young ones like Stygean. A
blade in the dark did not require a mature hand to drive it to its
destination. The more she studied Stygean, the more things she picked out
about him: the hungry look in the depths of his dark gray eyes; the manner in
which he covertly considered his surroundings as if seeking the weaknesses in
them; the proud line to his mouth that was already returning. The other
children tugged and fidgeted with their new slave collars, but Stygean simply
ignored his now he had recovered from the initial shock.

Nainee split the children up into four groups of seven by age. "If the
collars bother you," she said. "You must tell me. I know many ways to help
with that." She opened the neck of her dress and showed her own black metal,
nibari collar.

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Stygean's eyes widened and he screamed in outrage. "A nibari? You've put a
nibari in charge of us?"

Nainee paled.

Anksha backhanded Stygean. "I will put a dog in charge of you if I wish to.
You're slaves. Slaves do what they are told. Furthermore, you'll all have
chores. The chores will be done. Chores and lessons both. Understood?"

The children chorused, "yes," all except Stygean, who was silent.

Jingen nudged Stygean with his foot, but Stygean ignored him.

* * * *

Amiri stood staring out the window, deep in thought. She had found Liuthan's
son, but felt uneasy about telling him the circumstances under which Stygean
had fallen. The boy was proud, doubtless like his father had been before
Anksha began to break Liuthan. Perhaps she should not have promised to find
the boy for Liuthan, much less tell him about Stygean.

She gripped the windowsill and looked farther out over the gardens.

"Look here!" Randilyn shouted at Amiri. "Just look here!" She slapped an
open book lying before her on the table.

"What?" Amiri turned from the window and walked to Randilyn's shoulder,
where she stood glancing down at an unfamiliar book. "Where did you get that?"

Randilyn swiveled in the chair and met Amiri's eyes. "I found it in with
some of the miscellaneous books were brought from Hoon's library when everyone
fled."

That captured Amiri's interest. "What about it?"

"There is more about Anksha in it. Demon-eaters, I mean. But it's calling

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them by one of their older names."

Amiri pulled another chair around, sat down, and took the book from Randilyn
without losing her place. "Let me see."

"The docility is complete," Randilyn said. "The female cannot so much as
unsheathe her claws against the male. She cannot use her power against him.
Complete, magically-enforced docility."

The female, bound up in the cords of the mating bond, is sealed to docility.
She cannot resist or evade whatever abuse the male is driven to by rutting
rage. There are several recorded cases of a female waiting quiescently for the
male to return with a blade and kill her simply because he ordered her to.
These are extreme cases. Normally the female is seeded within a few days of
coming into season and the rutting rage never reaches this point. Once the
primary and secondary wombs have been opened and conception has been assured,
the mating-bond releases the male instantly and fades gradually from the
female.

Amiri looked up from reading. "The male deliberately murdered the female in
the grip of mating rage and she allowed him to do so."

"Yes. Amiri, we need to tell Nans. We could spellcord him, take away any
weapons..."

Amiri shook her head. "He would use his hands."

"Separate them?"

"It would rip their psyches to shreds. Furthermore, Anksha would never allow
herself to be separated from him."

"Tinkerer forbid this! I don't want to lose either one of them."

"We could lose both of them."

* * * *

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Amiri went to Liuthan the day after the meeting with the children, and found
him sitting near a window while his wife played on the floor with a rag doll
that someone had given her. Liuthan appeared even more wilted and worn than
the last time that Amiri had seen him. He looked up when she entered and hope
blossomed on his face.

"Did you find him?"

"Yes. Your son is alive."

"Oh thank the gods."

"Don't be thanking them too soon," Amiri cautioned. "He belongs to Anksha."

Liuthan went pale and began to shake, his fists clenching at his sides. He
threw his head back and howled, "Ohhhh gods, nooooo!"

Amiri shivered at the unbridled grief in his voice. His reaction to the news
left her leery of going into more detail. "His fate has not been decided yet."

"Stygean."

"Give me your wrist and let me Read you. Then I'll Read Chinisi."

Liuthan did not offer his wrist; but he did not resist when Amiri took it.

She Read him carefully. "I will have the dosage increased on the pollendine
and a larger dose at night so that you can sleep."

Then she went to Chinisi and, when she finished, Amiri lifted her head and
shook it sadly. "She has at most two weeks, maybe three before the withering
kills her."

Liuthan clutched Chinisi to his chest, weeping into her hair. "Leave us,

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please."

* * * *

Anksha fed four times on blood and it barely slaked her thirst. Only the
growing lateness of the morning prevented her from visiting a fifth
blood-slave. She wanted to breakfast with Isranon. She trotted down to the
kitchens and cornered the servants, her pale blue skirt swishing around her
ankles.

"Meat," she ordered the cook. "Lots of it. I am very hungry. And I am taking
breakfast to my Dawnreturning."

The cook, a round male in a stained apron, sliced beef from a large roasted
shoulder left from yesterday when an entire cow had been cooked.

Anksha saw that most of what he was slicing was well done and growled. "I
want plenty of the pinkest parts. I like my meat still bloody."

The cook sighed and cut into the very center, exposing red, rare flesh.

Anksha grinned cheekily. "That's more like it."

Soon she had a heavily laden tray containing the platters of meat, bread,
cheese, and eggs as well as a pot of tea. Her stomach growled and she blinked
down at herself.What an incredible appetite she had that morning!Then she
headed for Isranon's suite. Nevin was just passing in the corridor when Anksha
reached the door to Isranon's rooms and, seeing that she was heavily laden,
opened it for her. She stepped quickly inside. When he started to follow, a
wave of hostility swept through her.

She growled at him. "No."

Nevin shrugged, then his eyes widened as the scarf shifted on her neck.
Abruptly he back-pedaled with a slight smile. "I will return later."

"Do so." Anksha growled deeper.

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She kicked the door closed in his face, set the tray of food down on the
small round table in the sitting room, and poured a measure of Sanguine Rose.
They were still dosing Isranon with it morning and evening as part of the
regimen to keep him healing and healthy.

"Anksha?" Isranon called from the bedroom.

"Yes. I have brought breakfast." She went into him and saw him sitting up in
bed, the sheets around his waist. "Drink your Sanguine Rose," she told him,
starting toward him with the glass.

"Later, pet. Take your clothes off and get in with me. I want you."

Anksha blinked. "Isranon ... I'm hungry."

He shook his head impatiently. "There is blood on your lips. You can wait a
little while."

Anksha set the Sanguine Rose on the nightstand with a sigh. Isranon seemed
less and less like himself all the time. It seemed that she barely got into
her clothes before he had her out of them again.

"Come little one, I want to fuck you," Isranon's tone made the word sound
very, very dirty and she grinned at him.

Anksha undressed, tossing her clothes into a corner of the room. "Be gentle,
I'm sore."

"I will. I promise. Only come to me now. My cock is starving for you and so
are my lips."

Anksha moved more quickly, leaping onto the bed and crouching beside him. He
reached between her legs and stroked her clit tenderly. She shivered. Isranon
ruled the bedroom. The strange madness that had possessed him since the day
she begged him to bite her had made him her master.

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I am owned.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE BUTCHERING SERPENT

Malthus struck the ground again with his hoe, driving it in, heaving up
grassy clods of earth, breaking up more clods, and then repeating in a nearly
unendurable monotony. Ros and Lyrri sat beside the row of ground, shaking the
bits of grass loose, and making piles of them to the side. Once finished, the
girls would feed the gathered grass to the goats. Tomorrow they would put in
the seed and the seedlings from the community mudroom.

"Ah, hells, I hate this," Malthus muttered.

Sweat glistened on his smooth chest, gilding the flare of his wide, bronze
shoulders. His cotton, drawstring pants – the lightest weight garment he
owned, which he had purchased in the deep south – felt heavy with sweat, and
had slipped from his narrow waist to hang around his well-formed hips.

The lawgiver had informed him that now that his house was up, he had to have
a private vegetable garden like the others. Those in the central sheelings had
to work in the communal garden or help with the building and other camp
chores. The ultimate goal, according the Nikko, had been independence, so that
everyone became less of a drain on the resources of the camp and the donations
of larger lycan community. He hated keeping up this pretense of being part of
the community. At least his house was at the farthest edge out of sight of the
others. He still spent the first half of each day working at something the
lycans considered normal, except when he went hunting. Hunting. If the lycans
knew what he did when he wenthuntingthey would not sleep so soundly in their
beds.

Beth had been missing for a week, and no one had bothered to go look for
her. Everyone assumed she had run off with someone, or moved on to a village
where her reputation was not known. Clodagh, the young lycan who had taken
over the day-to-day handling of the camp following the discovery of Beth's
body, refused to stay there after dark. That had limited his opportunities to
add Clodagh to his collection of tools.

Malthus had wanted to watch Beth rited, it had been years since he had

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witnessed the kind of artistry that Egidius brought to the rites, but had had
not wanted to risk being discovered away from camp on the same night she
vanished. There had been no further sign of Sergei, but he didn't want to
leave the girls alone on the chance that the vampire was lurking about, and
someone would have known he was away if he left them with a sitter. Kandaishee
was turning out to have an extremely susceptible and pliant mind. Eventually
he would have her watching them whenever he needed to be away, and covering
for his absences.

The sound of rushing footsteps on packed earth, and a swish of skirts and
petticoats alerted Malthus of Merissa's approach. She was one of the few
lycans who dressed like the ladies of the queen's court, with a form-fitting
bodice and a wealth of under garments. Most of her people preferred clothing
that would not hamper the change to wolf or hybrid.

Seeing her run along the path toward him, Malthus quit working. He walked to
his house and leaned the hoe against it. "Go feed the goats and don't come
back for a while," he told his nieces. They ran off obediently.

"Oh, Malthus! It's terrible!"

He could tell she had been crying. Malthus opened his arms to Merissa and
she threw herself into them. "What's happened?"

"It's Beth. She's dead."

"Oh, gods, no." Malthus' voice caught. "What happened?"

"You remember the day she ran off, crying?"

"Yes, of course. How can I forget it? It was the day I told her I could
never see her again." Malthus set Merissa back a bit to look in her eyes and
noticed someone moving in the trees, watching them. Nikko. Every time he
turned around that god-forsaken lawgiver was spying on him. Sooner or later,
he'd catch that young idiot alone and that would be the end of him.

Merissa swallowed and then began to sob. "I'm sorry I made you tell her.
Truly I am. I just thought..."

"It isn't your fault. If it's anyone's it's mine. Where did they find her?"

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"Iudris Meadow where those battle-clan myn were slain. There was barely
enough left of her for the Readers to identify. It's horrible."

"Were they able to tell what killed her?"

"No." Merissa began to weep harder.

Malthus wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, her face pressed
against his neck. She was so deliciously distraught and helpless, that it was
all he could do to keep his fangs in their sheathes. "I am so sorry, Merissa."

"I'm afraid the war is coming here. I'm afraid that is what it means. I
worry about Darmyk and his father."

"Why won't you name your lover, Merissa? Are you ashamed of him?" Malthus
asked.

Merissa looked startled. "No. I'll never be ashamed of loving him."

"Does the boy know his father's name?"

"No."

"Love and what results from it, is nothing to be ashamed of." Malthus leaned
in and kissed her. Merissa's lips yielded to his, parting. He slipped his
tongue between them, flicking hungrily around her own. She pressed against
him, her body moving along his. He cupped her breast, catching her nipple
between his fingers and kneeding. Merissa moaned, and arched her back. His
hand traced her thigh, wishing that her petticoats were not preventing him
from feeling the special place between her legs.

Abruptly, Merissa made a soft, almost indescribable sound that Malthus read
as a sob mixed with longing. She pulled away him and lowered her head, her
face flushed, her breathing rapid and hard.

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"I'm not ready."

Malthus crooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face up. "I'm falling
in love with you."

She twisted away from him, refusing to face him. "Don't."

"Why? Am I that ugly?"

Merissa raised startled eyes to his face. "It isn't you."

"Is Beth going to haunt us?" He gripped her arms, kneeding them.

"No. It isn't Beth either. I'm just not ready." Merissa shoved away from him
and he let her go.

Malthus watched Merissa as she ran, her skirts lifted to free her feet. He
licked his lips and ran his tongue across his fangs. "You'll be ready very
soon, Merissa. Very, very soon."

More movement caught his eye, and Malthus observed Nikko leaving the
grounds. "Follow me into the forest, Nikko," he murmured. "I know a good place
for you to die."

* * * *

Nikko knew that Malthus rode frequently into the forest, allegedly to hunt;
yet he rarely came back with anything these days. So Nikko began staying out
all night in his wolf form, watching Malthus' home. He always left his home,
went into the forest and changed into a wolf there after hiding his clothing.
Then he would swing wide and come around behind Malthus' house, which required
crossing a stream that ran through the village, to lie in wait for Malthus to
leave. Eventually his patience was rewarded, and Malthus rode out just before
sunrise one day with his packhorse in tow. Nikko slipped though the trees and
underbrush after him, moving from shadow to shadow, trotting as fast as the
terrain allowed. Malthus turned onto a hunter's trace, and Nikko followed. As
Nikko moved deeper into the forest he knew so well, he began to hear creatures
in the trees, chittering back and forth in a language he failed to recognize.

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He gradually became aware of them being on all sides of him. Their numbers
increased steadily and now he caught flashes of orange skin. He did not know
what they were, for their scent was unfamiliar. Yet he could smell their
hostility. It raised the hackles on his neck. One of them stood forth in the
treetops, giving Nikko his first clear view of one. It was a nude male,
wearing only a belt of pouches that also held a blowgun, a bandoleer of darts,
and a necklace of bones.

Nikko recognized them from drawings in Tempest's books: imps. Their darts
would be either poisoned or drugged. Nikko realized that he was in trouble,
and knew that he needed to break free before they closed with him.

He reared up in his transitional form and broke for what he believed to be
the weakest portion of them. Nikko found two facing him with their blowguns to
their lips. They fired, striking Nikko in the shoulder and arm. He throttled
one and broke the other's head open against a tree, dropping the bodies on the
tarry black soil. Darts peppered him from all sides. Nikko shrugged them off,
bursting into the open. For an instant, Nikko experienced a lightness that he
interpreted as relief at getting free of them. He felt over his body, grabbing
the darts from his flesh, and dropping them on the ground.

Then suddenly, he felt as if he had struck a wall or run headlong into a
large tree. Nikko blinked dully, feeling the poison hitting his system harder
than he had expected. He had hoped that his hybrid form would be able to shake
off most of it. But he had been wrong. Lethargy crept over him and a trembling
weakness swept through his muscles. Confusion and disorientation caused Nikko
to make a stumbling circle that brought him back onto the game trail. Gazing
ahead of him, Nikko saw Malthus standing with his bow raised at full draw and
an arrow to the string.

"What are you doing?" Nikko asked, swaying like a drunkard.

For answer, Malthus released the shaft and drew another.

Nikko tried to dodge the missile, but the dart drugs had slowed his
reflexes. The arrow struck Nikko in the chest and he staggered, feeling the
burn of some incredible poison in his body, far worse than the other.

"Devil's Silver. I'm killing you," Malthus said calmly, releasing his second
shaft.

Nikko clutched at the shaft protruding from his chest as the second one hit
him in the ribs. He crashed through a stand of briars and stumbled into the

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trees trying to flee. The shaft snapped off in his hand and fell into the
briars when he tried to jerk it out, leaving the long, barbed head lodged in
his chest and lungs, spreading the poison into his blood stream.Devil's Silver
... oh, gods. It must be...

Two more arrows pierced his back, making him jerk and stagger. Another
flight of darts punctured his body. The imps chittered excitedly, crying out
their victory over him.

All of Nikko's muscles hurt from the swift acting toxins. He thought of
Nevin, his first mentor, who had been an exemplar of courage, and steeled
himself to fight it. He had to tell someone, but his sense of direction failed
him.

"You're dying, Lawgiver. No need to run," Malthus sneered, putting another
arrow to the string.

Nikko did not stop. A fifth arrow pierced his thigh, nearly dropping him.
Nikko's fingers dug into the wound around the shaft, forcing the leg to hold
him up. Had it not been for the Devil's Silver, he might have won free. Lycans
could take horrendous damage from normal weapons. He forced himself a few more
steps and then a few more. A sixth arrow hit him low, close to his spine. The
smallest movement had become torment. He could hear Malthus and the imps
following him.

"I killed the priest. I killed Beth. Now I've killed you. No one interferes
with me," Malthus shouted at him. "I'm sa'necari."

Nikko staggered on, weaving from side to side.Sa'necari! How could we not
have known it? A fit of coughing nearly sent him to his knees. Blood, white
froth, and yellow bile foamed around his muzzle. Some force inside him said,
"keep going, keep going," and he did, even though he knew Malthus was right –
he was dying.

The young lycan clutched at his chest and stomach as he struggled onward.
I'm a fool. I should have gone to Claw with my suspicions.

"Follow him. He won't get far. There's enough poison in him to kill twenty
lycans," Malthus said. "Retrieve my points from his body. And my shafts."

Imps scampered after Nikko.

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You're right, you bastard ... I won't ... get far. But maybe ... far enough.

He heard Malthus riding off in another direction. Nikko's vision blurred.
Fits of spasming rushed through his muscles, making his body twitch and cramp.
Nikko felt weak and tired, with a pressure in his chest like a fist closing
around his lungs and heart. The constriction left him struggling to breathe,
unable to voice a warning howl into the dwindling light – assuming it could be
heard by anyone – or scream at his pain and anguish.

He could barely keep his feet, could barely move. He focused on picking one
foot up and then the other. Nikko's feet slid around under him. His knees kept
threatening to drop him as if they belonged to a broken doll. Two huge willow
trees grew close together ahead of the young lawgiver. He heard the river
rushing a few feet beyond the trees. If he threw himself in the river, perhaps
his body would wash up near one of the fishing villages. They could match the
arrows in his body to those Malthus carried, identifying his murderer.

Nikko tottered into the trailing curtain of branches, clutching at a trunk
to hold himself up. The fletching on five shafts protruding from his body
looked like small, dark birds perched in the willow curtain. The shafts caught
on the branches as he struggled for one last step – the step that would carry
him into the water – and twisted the heads in his wounds. The death scream he
had been unable to voice earlier erupted from his throat in a long ululation
of suffering.

* * * *

Malthus dismounted before the bleeding table at his brother's cave – that
was how he had begun to think of it – his brother's cave. A dead body draped
the table and seven more hung from sturdy poles with their heads tied back,
their throats cut, and their blood draining into basins. He hoped that his
companions had brought plenty of preserving bottles: the valley was rich in
blood. Malthus had arrived at the meeting ready to be fed, but not expecting
it. Food appeared plentiful and fresh – assuming they had held something back
for him.

Egidius, Laetus, and five others sat around on the ground and small
boulders: two Rakshasas in their lovely female forms, sat sharing a
dismembered arm, slicing chunks from it with their long knives; a huge,
barrel-chested brukulaco kept licking his lips hungrily while gazing at the
bodies on the poles; and a pair of lamiae waited for their share of lycan
flesh, their female human torsos emerging from the coils of their serpentine
legs. Malthus nodded at them. Lord Daemon had procured him some very powerful
allies, which was necessary when dealing with the tough lycans.

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A banshee like cry, half-wail, half howl shattered the air.

Egidius' head came up sharply. "What was that?"

Malthus shrugged. "Lycan death scream. You've heard them often enough."

"Yes, but so close to here..."

Malthus smirked. "That was the lawgiver. I shot him. Nikko turned out to be
a more impressive specimen than I expected." He moved around the table,
examining the dead lycan there. She had been almost pretty. "I hope you saved
some for me. I haven't had a rite in months."

"We did. Our scouts stumbled on an isolated group of steadings. The last of
the males have been drained, as you can see." Laetus pointed at the bodies on
the poles. "We have a dozen women and children chained up in another cave."

"Excellent. I've been craving a rite." Malthus stroked the corpse, sticking
his fingers in the wounds, pulling them out, and licking them. "You haven't
been done with this one long."

Laetus laughed, his eyes dancing merrily. "You're good, Malthus. I'd barely
gotten my pants pulled up when we heard your horse."

"Lycans don't call me the Butchering Serpent for naught." He slapped Laetus
on the shoulder. "I'll pick out some to be sent to my estate in Carrion
Crevasse. I want to start my experiments again when this job is done."

"About Nikko," Egidius said. "What did you mean by impressive?"

Malthus chuckled. "My imps had him looking like a porcupine. I put three
arrows into him before it even slowed him down. I put two more into him to be
certain he didn't get far. And then another. Judging from that scream, it
still took him a while to die."

The imps would eat Nikko and then bring a few trophies back to Malthus, as
they always did. The toxins in Nikko's corpse would not so much as give them

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indigestion. With luck, the imps would bring him Nikko's runes. He wanted to
analyze the way they had been consecrated. The lycans were primarily ancestor
worshippers, only recently turning to the Nine Elder Gods of Light.

"What news?" Malthus asked them.

"Our eastern units saw fighting with the remnants of that battle-clan. We
exterminated them. Word should be reaching the villages eventually. We
butchered the bodies to feed our allies, drained the captives and wounded. But
you know lycans; they don't need bodies to know what went down there. That's
why they have wet noses."

"We need to take a few hamlets soon," Malthus said, pulling at his
mustaches. "Eliminate the little stuff and then move on to bigger game. I want
to frighten the lycans."

"Our units are in place around three of them. And what are you going to be
doing in the meantime?"

"I'm getting married to the most beautiful lycan in creation."

"You said that about Dyllys. You rited her the day before the wedding. You
have no idea how that affected me. I was looking forward to the parties
afterwards."

"I had my reasons," Malthus snarled. "But Merissa is far more beautiful than
Dyllys ever was. Furthermore, she's already had one sa'necari child. That
means she should be able to give me several heirs."

"Thinking of settling down?" Egidius smirked.

"I am. Mother would approve of her."

Laetus guffawed. "You mother would approve of anything that got you back
into the family business."

Malthus shrugged and turned his back on Laetus, the fool was young and too
easily amused. "I forgot to ask, Egidius ... did you enjoy Beth?"

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Egidius joined Malthus beside the table. "Yes, indeed. I made a proper rite
of it. The full Fifteen Piercings. Dedicated her death to Bellocar in your
brother's name."

"Thank you." Malthus hugged Egidius. "You're a fine friend."

* * * *

Nikko fell to his knees, hunched over. Some of the shafts struck the ground,
moving the barbs in his body. He groaned, wheezed, and coughed up more blood.
Nikko broke off the shaft whose point lay buried in his lower ribs. He
desperately wanted to lie down. Weak and exhausted, he bent forward, resting
on his hands among the roots of the willow trees, unable to go any farther. He
thought of trying to crawl to the water, but his arms trembled violently and
gave out. With no strength or will remaining, Nikko instinctively curled up on
his right side to die, which slowed the amount of blood seeping into his good
left lung.

He smelled reeds and the sweetness of the water lilies.

He wished he could have heard birds one last time, but the imps had scared
them away.

He thought of his mother, and wondered who would take care of her when he
failed to come home.

Another round of small convulsions shook him and the world went hazy. Each
moment of anguish seemed to stretch forever.

How long does it take to die? Let it end. Please, gods, let it be over. I
can't take anymore ... I can't take the pain.

Nikko tried to embrace his death, and slide away into it, so that the pain
would cease. People in the stories did it. Nikko couldn't.

The imps came out of hiding and crouched around him, licking their lips like
hungry scavengers. The one that Nikko had seen earlier wearing a necklace of

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bones and teeth approached him. Nikko tried to lift his hand to shove the
creature away, but could not find the strength to move. It squatted in front
of him, grinning with a mouthful of misshapen, yellowed teeth. The leader
gestured, speaking in a few high-pitched sounds.

They grabbed Nikko and yanked him out of his curl. One behind him forced the
shafts through his body so that the barbed heads ripped out of him. Nikko
groaned, and cried aloud. His body discharged its wastes, leaving him feeling
like a sick, brutalized puppy.

The leader broke the heads off, and dropped them into a pouch at its waist.

Mother, I'm so cold. For a moment, he felt her presence, his mind blurred
and he was a cub being wrapped in a blanket.Mother, hold me. I'm afraid.

The sensation vanished with a wave of fresh searing pain as the one behind
Nikko jerked the betraying shafts back through him. The imp bundled the
shafts, and passed them to the leader, who tied them to its bandoleer: there
would be no evidence of who had slain him. Despair enveloped Nikko like a wet
blanket in the snow, chilling him to the marrow of his bones.

Another one picked up his arm and bit a chunk from it. A canine whimpering,
more animal than human, came from Nikko's throat. Their leader, the one
wearing the necklace, thrust this fellow away, and gestured for the others to
draw back. They obeyed, making complaining noises.

The one that had bitten Nikko sat chewing the piece of his flesh and
grinning. "Guud," he muttered in that squeaking imp tenor. "Tasty."

Nikko's stomach surprised him by clenching up – he had thought his body
incapable of reactions. This one had spoken in Common to be certain that Nikko
knew they were going to eat him. Nikko prayed they would let him die first.

The imp leader grabbed the lawgiver runes around Nikko's throat to yank them
off, and yelped. He sat back on his haunches, shaking his burned fingers. The
runes had been consecrated generations ago and could not be touched by a
creature of the darkness.

Nikko felt a small flash of satisfaction at that.

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The leader snarled, seized Nikko's hand, bit his forefinger off, and dropped
it in a pouch.

Nikko grimaced, moaned low in his throat, and closed his remaining fingers.

It can't be much longer. Not when I hurt like this.

The leader stepped back, gestured for the feast to begin, and left. They
swarmed over Nikko.

Oh gods, no. Nikko's mind shrieked as they bit him. He realized what the
deer felt like when his people, running as wolves, pulled them down in the
winter hunting.

A large creature crashed through the trees near Nikko and then another. The
imps screeched. Nikko could smell their panic. He heard a swish of something
heavy and several imps fell dead across him, their blood mingling with his.
The others fled through the trees with a crashing of leaves and branches.
Battle-magics filled the air with an acrid odor.

Then silence.

Nikko's awareness narrowed into darkness. He knew it was nearly over for him
and the evidence had been carried away.

Hands touched him and he felt the wash of a Reader's power through him.
Someone forced a bottle between Nikko's teeth, a burning liquid poured into
his mouth as a hand thumped his chest. "Swallow, damn you. Swallow. It will
help."

Nikko swallowed convulsively. The liquid burned worse going down than it had
in his mouth, yet the pain eased.

"It's bad," said a voice with the lilting accents of the Faery folk. "I
don't think he'll make it. There's Devil's Silver all through him."

Nikko opened his eyes and his fading sight took in the visage of the ugliest
human he had ever seen. Beside that one crouched a slender Fae with a pair of

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golden fans folded and tucked into his sash. He had to tell them, and tried to
force the words out. "Saaaaa... Saaaaa... necari. Mal–" Nikko's head listed to
the side, settled on the arm of the ugly human, and he went still.

"Was that a word or name he was trying to say? Mal?" Hathura asked, glancing
at Lokynen, as he unshouldered his pack, dug around in it and brought out
lengths of linen. He bandaged Nikko's wounds, and removed the darts from his
body.

"Devil's Silver?" Lokynen asked, wishing that his wife Amberlin were with
him. She knew all of that stuff. However, she was too close to giving birth to
be risked out here.

"Silver dissolved into an arcane acid that is compatible with certain snake
venoms and plant poisons," said Hathura. "Unless we get him to Navaryn fast,
he'll die. It may already be too late. He's lapsed into shock." He shouldered
his pack and rose with Nikko cradled in his arms like a child as if the
full-grown lycan weighed nothing at all.

"Jump out of here."

"I can't. The Jump alone would kill him. Run with me."

* * * *

Three dead lycans had been removed from the poles and Malthus' allies sat
eating them. The brukulaco had a femur in his hands from which all the flesh
had been gnawed off. He broke the femur open and began sucking out the marrow
as he watched the imps approaching.

"Ahhhh," Laetus said. "Here they come."

The leader of the imps trotted up to Malthus. He reached into his pouch,
took out a bloody severed finger, and put it in Malthus' hand. "Dead now." He
gave Malthus a pouch, untied the shafts, and dropped them at Malthus' feet.

Malthus opened it and counted the points. "All here. You did well, Gahni."
Counting the shafts, he frowned. "One's missing."

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"Give more meat?" Gahni asked, gesturing at the lycan corpses hanging from
the poles.

"Take one down and enjoy it," Malthus said. "But see that you find the other
shaft before morning."

"Generous. We find."

Malthus wondered about the missing shaft. Perhaps he should change his
fletching. No. Gahni's people would find it. He felt certain of that. "Well,
it's time for you to show me that cave. I want to pick one out and have that
rite I've been starving for."

* * * *

Navaryn's house nestled in a tiny dell that had only one outlet, a narrow
neck in the stone that required myn to pass single file. A sheer cliff blocked
the back with a waterfall descending from its heights to feed the stream
running through the center of the little valley. Her gifts concealed the
entrance from all but those who had been given permission to approach her.
Elms and maples shrouded the garden and the yard. Goats and sheep bleated in
the pasturage behind the house. Two big dogs rushed out at Lokynen and
Hathura, sniffed at them and then the mon in Hathura's strong arms. The dogs
trotted back to the house to let their master know that she had company.

The master of the house was standing on the veranda when they reached it.
Navaryn toyed with a long length of her pale, silvery hair as she reached out
to touch Nikko. "A village lawgiver," she said, noting the runes hanging from
his neck. The lycan born yuwenghau Read Nikko with a quick brush of her
fingers. "Arrow wounds and he's full of Devil's Silver. Bring him."

Hathura tossed an irritating glance at Lokynen, as if to say:yes, there is
such a thing.

They entered the large, airy house through an expansive foyer. To their left
opened a long, deep sitting room and ahead of them waited the kitchens and the
hallway leading to more rooms and a stairway to the second floor. Navaryn's
daughter, Pandeena was just coming down the stairs. She wore a soft,
knee-length shift and light sandals whose thongs wrapped up her shapely legs
to the hem of her shift.

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Navaryn gestured for Pandeena to come with them. "I need you."

Pandeena squeezed against the balusters so that they could pass, and
followed them back upstairs. She ran to the linen closet in the hall and
returned with several thick pads.

Hathura carried Nikko into a guest room that Navaryn indicated with her
hand. Pandeena darted past Hathura, turned back the covers, and spread the
pads on it. It was easier on a patient to change the pads than to change
complete bed linens. They were also very absorbent and easily cleaned.

Navaryn helped them settle Nikko on the bed. She glanced at them. "Hathura,
you should know better than to tear barbed heads from someone."

Hathura looked distressed by her statement. "I didn't do it. Imps did. None
of the shafts or heads were left behind either."

Navaryn frowned. "That's strange."

Pandeena went to tall chest of drawers, opened one, and started laying her
mother's tools and medicines out on the nightstand.

"What's more," Hathura touched Nikko's hand, indicating the missing finger.
"Their leader bit his finger off and took it with him like a trophy."

"Proof of his death?" Navaryn suggested. "Imps don't use arrows, although
they've shot him full enough of Death Lotus to put him down."

Hathura and Lokynen exchanged glances. "We didn't see anyone else," Lokynen
said.

Navaryn began cutting away the bandages and probing the wounds as she spoke.
"Damn! These imps never leave evidence behind. Their master is cunning."

"You know him?" Lokynen asked.

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"Only by his deeds and his trademark. Hundreds of my people have died at his
hands. He's the Butchering Serpent."

"You should leave now," Pandeena said. "Mother and I must try to draw the
poisons out of him and mend his injuries." She gazed down at Nikko. "He's so
young, mother, to be suffering like this."

"It's always the young males who die first in these wars. Now hush and
work," said Navaryn.

* * * *

Hathura followed Lokynen down to the sitting room before either of them said
anything. Dark brown polished furniture filled the airy room, contrasting
pleasantly with the whitewashed walls and blue carpets. Linen curtains
fluttered in the breeze from seven huge windows. Sofas, heavy chairs, and
long, low tables filled it. Despite the obvious stoutness of the furniture,
only the largest chair at the far end felt comfortable to Lokynen's massive
body. So he headed for that one, as was his wont.

"What do you know about this Butchering Serpent?" Lokynen asked.

"Rumor mostly," Hathura replied. "A battle-clan hit a manor house that the
Sharani missed. It was well hidden in one of these interminable craggy
valleys. There are thousands of them in the Eiralyskali Mountains. Any way,
their leader had heard that someone was kidnapping lycans, mostly city lycans,
and experimenting on them. The manor was abandoned when they arrived. The
owner must have gotten wind of their coming."

Lokynen took his favorite seat.

Hathura's eyes lidded as he sat down in a chair by the window nearest him.

"And?" Lokynen asked impatiently.

Hathura sucked in a breath. "What they found in the basements were cells
filled with dead or dying lycans. Mutilations, vivisections, poisonings. Those
that lived long enough told them of mass graves on the estate. Spellcorded
lycans, with coercions in their minds to prevent flight or fight, had been
forced to dig the graves for their own kind. The graves were found. They

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contained more than two hundred bodies. All lycan."

"Did they describe the bastard?"

"No. He came them to them masked. They did know one thing. He was
sa'necari."

"Damn them! I'd like to see every single one of them dead."

"So would I," Hathura said softly. "Sooo would I."

"How many villages are close to where we found this mon?"

Hathura considered. "Close enough for him to have traveled in half a day?"

"Yeah."

"Three. There's a fishing village near Big Willows. That's where we found
him. Big Willows. There's Wolffgard where the chieftain lives about half a day
southwest on the banks of the Eirlys. I seriously doubt the main village would
have such a young lawgiver. Last time I was there it was a big lycan named
Nevin Scarface. And there's Muddy Paws to the east of Big Willows."

"Can I get either of you wine?" Navaryn's housekeeper, a middle-aged lycan
named Ruthvena, entered with a tray bearing a bottle of red wine, plates of
cheeses, and glasses. She set the tray on a nearby table and opened the
bottle.

"I could use it," Lokynen said.

They drank for a time and then Lokynen asked, "Could you Jump me around to
those villages to have a talk with some of the folk?"

"Jumping, old friend, isn't as simple as you think it is. First you have to
have visited a place or already gotten some kind of fix on it. Then you must
make certain you're going to pop out in an unoccupied spot. You don't want to

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materialize partly in someone else's body or a wall."

"Then how am I going to check these places out?"

"Nothing is simple. We either walk or we see if Navaryn will loan us horses.
Assuming she has anything big enough to carry you."

Lokynen glared at Hathura a moment. "Okay. We walk."

"And another thing. They aren't going to trust you right off. You're not
lycan."

"And we can't simply walk in and declare ourselves yuwenghau."

Hathura laughed at him. "No, we certainly can't. The first thing this
Butchering Serpent would do would be to shoot us both – in the back."

"Take me back to where we found him. Maybe we can find which way he came
from."

"All right my friend, finish your glass and give me your hand. Ruthvena,
we're leaving. Tell Navaryn we won't be gone more than a day."

Lokynen put his big hand over Hathura's slender one and felt the tingle of a
Jump. Instantly, they were back at the spot in Big Willows where they had come
across Nikko. The bodies of dozens of slain imps lay scattered upon the ground
and among the trees. Flies buzzed thick, crawling over the orange skinned
corpses.

Hathura studied the ground, walked around the tree that Nikko had been found
beneath, pointed to the broken brush. "There's your trail."

They backtracked from there, following Nikko's trail, and found the place
where he had left the hunter's trace. A bit of crimson and black feathers
caught Hathura's eyes.

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"Hmmmn. What's this?" Hathura knelt and stuck his hand very carefully into
the briars, withdrawing a broken shaft. Let's take this back to Navaryn and
see if she recognizes the fletching."

"I want to know where he came from first," Lokynen said.

"I can tell you that. The game trail leads to a road that way." Hathura
said. "He came from Wolffgard."

"Then I'm going to Wolffgard. The Serpent is there."

Hathura caught hold of Lokynen's massive arm, his long fingers could not
encircle that limb. "Lokynen, listen to me. Our wounded wolf could have lived
somewhere else and simply been visiting. We need to get someone inside that
village to ask questions without drawing undue notice. The Butchering Serpent
is extremely danerous."

Lokynen shrugged Hathura and started down the game trail.

"If you mess up, Amberlin is going to be very disappointed in you."

Lokynen stopped in his tracks, turned slowly, and glared at Hathura.

"Just ask yourself, Lokynen, what would Amberlin do?"

"Talk to Navaryn."

Hathura nodded.

* * * *

Malthus sat feeding upon another slain messenger, sucking all the juices out
of the limp body. His imps crouched around him, begging for pieces. They
preferred the flesh. Thanks to his efforts, the valley was becoming
increasingly isolated. He had slipped the garrote around their unwitting
throats, yet they would not realize it until he tightened it and cut off their

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breath. No messages had gotten in or out for weeks. It was time to send
Merissa one of his own and sign Nevin's name to it. Apparently Isranon had
known about the child since late spring, but Claw had chosen not to inform
Merissa of that. He would need to send Claw one also in the same package.

He had begun to see many strange faces among the last batch of newcomers to
arrive here. Most had come asking for refuge like the others, but some had
simply appeared out of nowhere and taken up residence in various households or
built their own on the east fringes of the lycan village. Some of them smelled
of power, which made Malthus both curious and cautious.

His imps had eaten Nikko and tossed his bones in the river like they always
did. No Reader would be able to establish Nikko's identity from his bones, nor
what had killed him. Malthus had never expected that the poison would take so
long to kill Nikko; therefore, he would change the formulation a bit, increase
the amount of Devil's Silver in it, or use a more concentrated form on his
next batch. If the right Reader got hold of those points, or the remains of
one of his victims, they would recognize his trademark poison – but he had
never missed a kill yet and no one would be able to connect his face to them.
No victim had ever lived long enough to describe him.

Malthus liked the name the lycans had given him over the years: the
Butchering Serpent. He had enjoyed telling Dyllys just who she had almost
married that last morning, when she had awakened from drugged slumber on his
altar. She had cursed, pleaded, told him she loved him, right up until the
moment he shoved the first blade in. Then she had screamed. She deserved it
for betraying the location of his manor to that battle-clan.

He wanted to take the chieftain alive, if possible, and kill him last. That
would serve Claw for taking the Sharanis' part in this war. Once they took the
first villages, Claw would be forced to take the field against them and that
should leave the main village more vulnerable to their tactics.

A daydream of Merissa flitted into his mind. Malthus vividly imagined her
writhing desperately and ineffectually beneath him as he violated her and sank
his fangs into her lovely neck; watching her belly swell with his child;
taking her home to his mother to show what a docile and loving wife she had
become.

"You're daydreaming about her again, aren't you?" Egidius said, climbing up
the rock to sit beside Malthus.

Malthus lifted his blood rimmed mouth, lowered the fragile windsmon's body
to his lap, and snarled, "So what if I am?"

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Egidius shrugged, making a gesture for peace. "I don't get it. That's all. I
don't mind them on my altar or in my bed, but I'd never marry one."

"You don't appreciate their finer points."

Malthus tossed the body to the imps and watched them scramble to divide it
up with their knives.

Egidius settled against a boulder, sitting on one with his back to the rocks
and his legs hanging from a sharp edge. He pulled a perserving bottle from his
pouch – they were nearly unbreakable – and took a long drink before
continuing. "And how is she going to handle it when you execute her family?
They're traitors to the queen, after all."

Malthus wiped his mouth on a handkerchief and returned it to his pocket.
"I'll make her understand. Even if I must rip her mind apart to do it."

"You could have done that with Dyllys. Then we would still have had a
wedding and parties."

"I don't wish to speak of Dyllys. Never mention her again."

Egidius shrugged. "So be it."

* * * *

Granta walked into the refugee camp as Malthus came looking for Ros and
Lyrri who had been playing with some of the other children. She scanned the
yard, searching through the faces of each young lycan male she spotted. Her
hands clutched each other at her waist, opening and closing, tightening and
releasing. The old crone was so evidently disturbed that people stopped work
to look at her.

Malthus caught Ros and told her, "Get your sister and go home. Stay there."

The tenor of the camp had changed since Beth's murder. The children were
watched closely and the females did not venture out alone, only the males did.

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Clodagh crossed the yard, and the crowd parted, allowing her to reach
Granta's side. "What's wrong?"

"Nikko." The old mon looked at every face. "Has anyone seen my son? My
Nikko? He's missing. Two days."

"I'll help you look for him, if you wish," Malthus offered. He glanced at
Shalto and Oswyl. "Well?"

"Yes," Shalto said. "We'll help too."

"Wait," said Clodagh. "Two days? I'm going for Claw." She gestured to
Kandaishee. "Make Granta comfortable."

Kandaishee took the old mon to a tree round under a spreading chestnut tree,
and fetched her a dipper of water.

The females gathered close around her in a circle, murmuring words of
reassurance.

"I've looked everywhere," Granta said. "It isn't like him to be gone so long
without telling me. A day I could understand. He has duties. But two?"

"That doesn't sound good," said Kandaishee.

Malthus pulled at his mustache and stroked his oak-leaf beard. "We'll find
him, Granta. Don't worry. I'm certain he's okay."

A small band of armed lycans wearing boiled leather armor with swords at
their shoulders and long knives at their hips arrived, led by their graying
chieftain. Clodagh walked beside Claw.

"What's this about the lawgiver?" Claw demanded.

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Voices rose in a chatter of concern and Malthus lifted his hand. "Let Granta
tell it."

Claw's sharp eyes raked Malthus' and then he turned to Nikko's mother.
"Speak old mon."

Granta's face furrowed, and she looked on the edge of tears. "Nikko's bed
has not been slept in for two days. He did not say where he was going or that
he would be away."

"All the males, come with me," Claw said. "The rest stay here, in the yard
together."

Claw instituted a formal search, beginning in the center of the village.
Increasing numbers of people joined in as the day progressed. Knocking on
doors and asking if anyone had seen Nikko, they searched 756 homes, all the
dwellings in the village, all the shops, and businesses. Tired and exhausted
by late evening, the searchers gave up and Claw told them that he would send
riders to the outlying farms.

* * * *

Merissa sat with Nikko's mother at the small table in the kitchen where
Granta and Nikko had sat so often together. Her ginger hair veiled her lowered
face, and her long fingers drew idle patterns on the surface. She and Nikko's
sisters had been taking turns sitting with Granta. Moss climbed into Merissa's
lap, and she patted the dog without looking at him.

"Can I make you another cup of tea?" Merissa asked.

Granta shook her head, her shoulders drooping, and her white hair
disheveled. "No. I don't want anything. Just my Nikko. My baby."

Nikko was the youngest of five, a change of life child for Granta, and her
special baby. When Nikko was ten, his father Maldwyn died of a stroke while
overseeing some new houses being built. Nikko had been at his side at the
time, and it affected the boy deeply. Maldwyn's death, the Reader's said, had
been swift and relatively painless, but that was small comfort.

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"I could brush your hair," Merissa suggested, looking at the disheveled
white locks.

"No."

The sun westered toward evening, and most of the riders that Merissa's
father had sent out had returned. All of them had the same thing to say: no
one had seen Nikko.

By nightfall, Granta's hopes had faded, and she launched into periodic bouts
of weeping that Merissa did not know how to handle. Granta's two daughters had
promised to return soon, once they had taken care of their own families. There
would be comfort nesting in Granta's house tonight. Her daughters would not
let her sleep alone while she was this troubled.

"My Nikko is dead. I know it. I feel it in my heart." Granta slapped her
hand over her heart for emphasis. She began to weep again.

Merissa felt Granta's sorrow. It mirrored her own for Isranon when she
learned the Beast had taken him. "You mustn't give up hope, Granta."

"I have no hope. He's dead. My little Nikko."

Merissa swallowed. She rose from her chair and hugged Granta. "Don't give
up."

"One of the newcomers killed him. I know it in my heart."

Merissa's heart skipped a beat. There were forty newcomers, counting the
children, but only one that Merissa had fallen in love with. "You can't know
that."

Granta straightened and wiped her eyes. "Yes, I can. He told me he was
suspicious of one of them. Tempest had been also."

"Which one?"Oh gods, don't let it be Malthus.

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"He did not say the name. That would be a violation of his ethic."

"Then you can't go making accusations, Granta," Merissa admonished.

Granta glared at Merissa. "I can and I will. Nikko kept diaries. I'll find
the name there, I'm certain."

"Oh, Granta, don't tell anyone about the diaries. Give them to my father. If
someone did harm Nikko, they'll steal them and maybe even hurt you."

"It doesn't matter, I've had a long life. I want the murderer caught."

"Then give them to my father."

"I'll think about it."

Granta's two daughters arrived and Merissa gratefully excused herself,
almost fleeing into the yard.

* * * *

Malthus waited for Merissa in the shadows of a stand of trees growing at the
edge of Granta's property. Every tragedy seemed to make her more vulnerable,
lending her a sweet, defenseless innocence that made his mouth water and his
cock harden. Granta's daughters arrived, and Malthus knew that Merissa would
be leaving soon. He licked his fangs and drew them back into their
sheathes.Soon, soon, he told himself, fighting an urge to simply drag Merissa
off into the bushes the moment he got his hands on her. The door opened again.
Merissa stood there, briefly illumined by the lamplight, in her tightly laced
bodice that pushed up her fine breasts so that the upper curve of their mounds
showed. Recently, she had begun dressing in a way that showed her charms off.
Malthus suspected that it was for him. He straightened and stepped from the
darkness into the light from the windows.

"Let me walk you home? I don't think you should walk alone."

Merissa stood swaying. Her eyes lifted to his, her lips trembled, and she

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rushed into his arms to be held and comforted. "Granta's convinced that
someone from the camp killed Nikko. I couldn't talk her out of it. She thinks
she'll find it in his diaries."

Diaries? The lawgiver was literate?"I can't imagine anyone from the camp
harming the young mon." Malthus felt Merissa's shivering, inhaled the fragrant
aura of her fear and worry. He kissed her mouth, long and deeply. He clasped
her firmly against his body, his hardening spear begging for release. "If
there is anything I can do to bring Nikko back, I will. I'm riding out with
Shalto and Oswyl tomorrow as part of the search party."

"Be careful. I don't want to lose you."

She slipped her hand into his, and they walked slowly back through the
village. From time to time, he would lift her hand to his lips and kiss her
fingers, or stop beneath a sheltering tree to press another long, searching
kiss on her mouth amid the green concealment. Lights shone in the houses they
passed. The sounds in the taverns were muted. The village seemed to have
folded in on itself in its concern for the missing lawgiver.

"If something were to happen to me, Merissa, would you take care of my
nieces?"

"Oh, Malthus, you mustn't let anything happen to you." Merissa's voice
caught.

"You haven't answered my question." Malthus kissed her fingers.

"Of course I would. They might as well be my own. They're sweet children.
They adore Darmyk and he adores them. And ... and they'd be all I had left of
you."

"I love you, Merissa."

"I don't know what I feel. Only that I don't want to lose you."

"What do you feel this very moment? Say the words. I won't hold you to them
tomorrow."

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"I love you."

Malthus pulled her into the shadows of a huge chestnut tree, pressed her up
against it, and kissed her again. His body moved along hers, with only their
clothing separating them, and he kneaded her breasts. Merissa moaned, melting
into him. Abruptly, Malthus pulled away, grabbed her hand, and ran toward the
manor. "This won't do. I must get you home before we do something you might
regret."

They reached the manor house, Malthus kissed Merissa goodnight at the door,
and left her.

He walked back through the darkening village, beneath the sprawling shadow
forms of thickly planted trees that loomed blacker than the night. Lycans
never bothered with street lamps, having little need of them; but neither did
sa'necari need them, although they liked them. Malthus reached the middle of
the village and turned onto the side street that Clodagh lived on. Despite the
lateness of the hour, the lights were still lit in Clodagh's small longhouse.
Malthus' resentment had festered for a week over the Chieftain giving an
outsider supervision of the camp. If they had given it to Shalto or one of the
others who already worked there, Malthus would have felt secure. However, the
chieftain had not done that. They had sent to Shaurone for a priest – who
wasn't coming, because Malthus' agents had overtaken their messenger a day's
ride beyond Hell's Widow and secretly killed him – in the meantime, Clodagh
ruled the camp. Malthus intended to change that with this visit.

He knocked on her door.

Clodagh answered, opening the door a bare crack and peering around the edge,
which suggested to him that she was nervous of the night – but then a lot of
the females were becoming cautious. She recognized him, stepped back, and
swung the door wider.

"Hello, Malthus." She swept her arm at the interior. "Come in. Is there a
problem at the camp?"

Malthus noted the fact that Clodagh wore the old-fashioned lycan robe that
wrapped around with a simple sash and could be easily shed to accommodate her
shape changing.

"The people in the camp are frightened, Clodagh," he said, as she showed him
to a chair. Clodagh had nice furniture, but a dirt floor and the traditional
half walls to separate rooms on either end. A square table sat in one corner

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with four chairs around it. A long folded cloth lay on the table, with a
section caught in a round embroidery hoop and the brightly colored threads
beside it. Instead of a firepit, she had a small hearth in the rear, with
cabinets to either side of it.

Clodagh brushed her fingers through her long sienna hair, with a troubled
shake of her head. "I don't know what to do about it. I've tried to reassure
them."

Malthus regarded her. She was pretty in a round faced fashion, and about the
same age as Merissa. Clodagh would be a pleasant change from Kandaishee and
the other sa'necari he had begun sating himself on the day after Egidius
killed Beth. "As have I."

"Can I get you something?" she asked. "Beer? Wine? Water?"

"Wine."

Clodagh fetched a bottle and glasses from a cabinet. She poured for them
both.

While her attention was away from him, his fingers darted to the hollow of
her throat. A spider-web of dark magic melted through her flesh and choked off
her voice. Her eyes widened and she dropped the bottle. The heavy bottle
struck the floor, and rolled at her feet.

She staggered back from Malthus, changing into her hybrid form.

Malthus overturned his chair as he straightened and lunged at her. "You
can't win."

Clodagh came at him snarling and swiping at him with her claws. Malthus
sidestepped, seized her wrist, and whipped her arm behind her back, doubling
her over as he planted his knee in her stomach. He forced Clodagh to her
knees, and then down on her face. Placing his knee on the small of her back,
Malthus raised her shoulder and shoved his hand between her breasts. Black
energy lashed through Clodagh's chest.

She cried aloud in pain, but her voice failed to carry past the muting
spell.

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Malthus touched her temples and the fight went out of her. He released her,
and Clodagh curled up, sobbing. Slipping his hand inside her robe below the
tie belt, he ran his finger from her loins to the top of her belly, sending
waves of anguish through her.

"Stop! Stop, stop, stop. Please."

"I hate making this rough and rushed," Malthus said. "But I have very little
time."

Malthus pushed her over onto her back, pulled the tie on her robe, and
opened it. He struck her in the chest and ribs with another round of spells to
be certain that not the slightest bit of resistance remained in her. Clodagh
went limp, but her eyes watched him, knowingly.

"You killed them, didn't you?" Clodagh's whispery voice rose from her throat
with an edge of fear and a slice of grief.

"Who else? When I'm finished, you'll not be able to tell anyone."

Malthus caressed her breasts, pinched her nipples, and stroked her face. He
enjoyed the feeling of lycan fur beneath his fingers. She shivered, but did
not move from the position Malthus placed her in. He liked that.

Tears came to Clodagh's eyes. "A sigurni said ... one of you ... would get
me."

Needles of energy went into her brain, making her whimper. "But, did she
know it would be the Butchering Serpent?"

"You? The Serpent?" Clodagh's voice shook.

He stitched and knotted the sways and triggers in her mind, and bound her
tongue so that she could not betray him. "Yes. You'll be ill for a few days.
Rushing it this way has that effect on a lycan."

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She would recover nicely and be very useful to him from now on. Malthus
opened his pants, and lifted his spear and his rocks free. Clodagh shut her
eyes and turned her face away from him. That, being her first and only
movement since he enervated her, brought a chuckle from Malthus.

Clodagh's tears finally escaped her eyes.

"Never had a lover before?" Malthus lowered his body on top of hers, parting
her legs with his knee. He pressed his fingers to her temples, inserting more
arcane needles into her mind, her psyche, and her awareness. Since Clodagh was
lycan, Malthus needed to build the compulsions and coercions slowly as he had
with Beth.

Clodagh's whimpering turned to sobbing.

His cock pressed the edge of her mouth of pleasure.

His fangs came down.

"You have a sweetheart?"

Clodagh sucked in a long breath, struggling not to answer.

Malthus sent a wave of sharp, blinding pain through her head. "What is his
name?"

"Odhran." She wept.

"Break it off tomorrow, or I'll kill him."

Then he bit deeply into her breast, sucking her rich, ripe blood as he raped
her.

* * * *

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For three days Merissa and Nikko's sisters took turns sitting with Granta.
The old lycan refused to be comforted by anyone. On the evening of the third
day, Merissa had managed to convince Granta to sit in a comfortable chair in
the parlor with her. A long, low table occupied the space between the tables
and the sofa. Merissa had drawn her up as close to Granta's as she could, so
that she could periodically pat the old one.

The door opened, Claw came in looking grim. Granta's two older sons, as well
as Malthus, Shalto, and Oswyl followed the chieftain inside. Claw carried a
bundle of clothing in his hands that he laid on the table in front of Granta.

"We found these. I'm sorry, Granta. Your son is dead," Claw told her.

Granta let out a long keening cry, collapsing onto the floor and pulling at
her hair. "My Neeekkoooo."

Merissa knelt beside her, gathering the old mon into her arms and holding
her while she wept.

"Have you brought his body in?" Merissa asked.

"No body," Claw said. "Imps got him. They ate him."

"Then how can you be so certain?"

"We found his clothes, and then stumbled on the scent of a blood trail. It
ended at Big Willows. We found some dead imps. From the amount of blood soaked
into the ground, he was already badly wounded before he made his stand there.
Some of his flesh and fur was caught in the dead ones' teeth."

"But if you didn't find–"

Claw shook his head regretfully. "The blood stank of Devil's Silver. Imps
eat those they bring down. They devour them alive. The trail ended there."
Claw rubbed his hand over his face. "Nikko did not walk away or we would have
found traces. He died there. I'm sorry."

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Granta shrieked again.

Malthus covered his surprise by lowering his head.So Nikko managed to kill
some of Gahni's people before he died? Impressive.

Claw grimaced in distaste, looking impatient to be out of there.

"I'll stay with her until her daughters get here," Merissa said.

"I don't want you walking home alone," Claw said.

"I'll see that she gets home," Malthus said.

Claw eyed Malthus. "You're that Malthus who's always hanging around the
gardens."

"I am. My nieces like playing with Darmyk."

"I've heard a lot about you," Claw growled. "No messing around. Just bring
her straight home. You understand?" He laid the bundle of Nikko's clothes on
Granta's table, turned, and strode out.

Once Granta's daughters arrived, Merissa walked home with Malthus' arm
around her shoulders, leaning her head against his chest. Fresh bouts of
weeping continued to come. "Why Nikko? He was so kind. Tempest, Beth, and now
Nikko. I feel like my heart is being ripped out of me."

"Nikko was a good mon. The village couldn't have wanted for a better
lawgiver," Malthus said.

"Nikko and I grew up together. If I hadn't already been in love with someone
else at the time, I think I could have loved him. He was so kind and gentle.
So patient."

* * * *

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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

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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

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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 strong – for a lycan – not
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.

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Malthus doubted 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

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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 EIGHTTEEN

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ANKSHA'S SURPRISE

Olin found Nevin sitting alone with a pint of mead and a turkey leg in the
outer room of the apartments they had moved into the first night they found
Anksha and Isranon sleeping together in a sexually suggestive position.

Nevin chuckled to himself intermittently between bites and sips.

"What are you laughing at?" Olin asked.

"He bit her. Nainee told me, but I didn't know whether to credit it or not.
Now I've seen it for myself."

Olin quirked an eyebrow at his cousin. "Who?"

"Isranon!" Nevin slapped his thigh for emphasis. "Isranon finally bit Anksha
back. I cannae believe it." His brogue thickened as he spoke.

"How do you know?"

"Ohg, Olin. Have you seen her in her little scarves? She's hiding the marks,
mon. Hiding the marks! And oh, what large marks he left. The scarf came askew
and I saw them."

Olin grinned at his cousin's infectious amusement. "I recall Amiri saying
that biting her back would surprise her. You think it did?"

"I'm certain of it." Nevin took another long drink from his beer. "Come on,
let's pay them a call. Roust them out of bed."

Olin quirked at eyebrow at his cousin, and being ever the cautious one,
asked, "Is that wise?"

"Wise or not, I'm for it. She said to come back later. I'm only taking her
at her word."

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The two lycans went and knocked on Isranon's door.

"Who is it?" Isranon called.

"It's Nevin. And Olin."

"Come in. We're in the bedroom."

They glanced at each other. Isranon's voice sounded extremely hale, far more
so than they had heard in a long time. So they entered and closed the door
behind them. On reaching the bedroom, they found Isranon sitting with pillows
to his back and Anksha nestled tight against him with the sheet pulled up to
her neck as if hiding something. The lycans grinned. Anksha had never had a
nudity taboo, preferring to run through the trees and brush without clothing
most of the time. The lycans had no problems with nudity either. This was
distinctly not the usual attitude for Anksha.

Isranon pulled the sheet away from Anksha with a small nudge. "Get dressed
and we'll eat that breakfast."

Anksha stiffened, then put on her proudest air, and walked past them to pick
up her clothing.

Isranon's mouth curved into a wicked smile and he leered at her as she
dressed. "She knows her place now," Isranon said with an uncharacteristic
contempt in his voice.

Anksha flinched.

Nevin started at Isranon's comment and tone, then stared at Anksha. She had
numerous bites on her neck, shoulders and breasts, all flecked with dried
blood. Chunks of fur were missing from her. Isranon was not simply biting her,
he was feeding on her – savagely. Their relationship had taken a turn that no
one had expected and Nevin suspected that they had not begun to see the half
of it.

Isranon swung his legs around and picked his pants up off the floor, drew
them on, and joined his clan-brothers at the small table. A platter of sliced

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meats, cheeses, bowls of vegetables, and bread sat in the center of the table,
flanked by a pair of glasses and two bottles of wine, one a locally grown
white and the other an expensive imported red. Plates and utensils had been
set out for two. Anksha sat beside him. She heaped her plate and started
eating as if she were starving, refilling her plate three times with stacks of
rare beef.

"Fill my plate, Anksha. And get me a glass of wine," Isranon directed her
with lazy arrogance.

Anksha stopped eating, laying a piece of meat reluctantly back on her plate.
She reached for the glasses and a bottle of white wine. She opened the bottle
and had just started to pour when Isranon growled at her, "Not that one. the
red."

Anksha hesitated and moved the glass to her side, then took another glass
and filled it with red for Isranon. She put meat, cheese, bread, and
vegetables on Isranon's plate. At his nod, she returned to eating her own
food.

Isranon ate more slowly, savoring each bite. Nevin glanced from one to the
other.

"Had a good night, did you?" Nevin asked.

Isranon grinned. "Yes, my brother. And a fine morning. One of the finest in
a long time."

"It is good to hear that. Nans expects that all will be in order to move on
again within a couple of weeks ... providing that your health is up to it."

"It will be, now that my little wine-press knows her place." Isranon reached
across and patted Anksha. "And you do know your place, don't you, pet?"

Anksha dropped her head, blinking the moisture back that gathered in her
eyes. "Yes, Isranon. I know my place."

Nevin found his stomach clenching both at Isranon's tone and Anksha's docile
acceptance. Anksha had spent weeks conspicuously trying to hide her changed
status from everyone and here was Isranon making a point of it to them. Nevin

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had to force himself to be pleasant and noticed that Olin had to struggle not
to stare at the signs of abuse on Anksha's body. Nevin remembered Isranon's
questions concerning abuse and wondered how long this had been going on.

They made small talk for a time and then Isranon drank his Sanguine Rose and
returned to bed. The lycans left.

What Nevin had seen and heard disturbed him. Isranon appeared to be getting
his pleasures by hurting Anksha. This was so unlike the Isranon that Nevin had
known for so many years, that he could scarcely encompass it. He felt an edge
of hostility creeping into his feelings for Isranon. Nevin loved Isranon, yet
now he was wondering whether he liked him.

In the corridor, they saw Amiri walking toward them. Nevin whispered in
Amiri's ear in passing. "Isranon has bitten Anksha. Is that what you wanted me
to look for?"

Amiri stopped in her tracks. "Did you notice anything else?"

"So you knew about that, did you?" Nevin's tone turned suspicious.

A frown crossed Amiri's face only to be chased away by eagerness. "Yes, but
what did you notice?"

"Let's find a place to sit. I'll talk better with a pint of beer," Olin
suggested, hopefully.

Nevin nodded. "The parlor of our suite." He gestured at a passing nibari.
"Beer in my rooms."

"Yes," the nibari replied. "I'll fetch it now." She ran down the hall toward
the kitchens.

Nevin led, with Amiri and Olin flanking him. They were soon seated at the
round table in the center of the parlor. Nevin propped his elbows on the
table. "Now what is it that you aren't telling me?"

Amiri shook her head. "I'm not at liberty to say yet."

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"To hell you aren't!" Nevin roared. "He's abusing her! Humiliating her. He
called her his little wine-press, the way vampires do in the grip of the
Dance."

Nevin started to say more, but the nibari arrived with glasses and bottles
on a tray that she set on their table before withdrawing.

"It isn't the abuse I am concerned about," Amiri said.

"You're a cold-hearted bitch," Nevin growled, opened a bottle and poured
beer into a mug.

"I am a scientist," Amiri responded without emotion. "I observe and record."

"If you're not going to stop it, I am."

Nevin began to change into his transitional form and Amiri grabbed his arm.
He pulled away from her and she slammed his hand onto the table.

"Stop it, Nevin. Intervene and you'll doom them both."

Olin finally looked up at them and said in a quiet voice, "Why?"

Amiri gave Olin a grateful look as his simple question made Nevin relax and
sit back. "It's the blood," she said. "The moment that Isranon tasted it, he
began to change."

Nevin studied Amiri's face, but could discern nothing there. "Is it
permanent?"

"No." Amiri exhaled the word. "Isranon should come out of it in a week or
so. I'm certain of it."

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"And in the meantime he continues to torture her?" Nevin accused. "While we
just stand by and watch it?"

"That's too strong a word, Nevin," Amiri replied.

"I have never seen a woman treated this badly before by her lover," Olin
said.

"I have," Nevin said. "As lawgiver to Clan Red Wolf, I presided over his
execution."

A note of alarm crept into Amiri's voice. "You're not suggesting–"

Nevin gripped his mug and swirled the contents. "Do you have any idea how
many would be happy to see the Beast so reduced?"

"Are you one of those?" Amiri asked.

"Two years ago, I would have been. When she took Isranon as her blood-slave,
I was angered. I understand her more. She's been a lion-on-love's leash almost
since the first, and now he's treating her like this!"

"I swear to you that he will return to normal eventually. I've been reading
on it."

Nevin took a long swallow from his mug. "You are certain?"

"Yes. Before my god, I swear he will eventually return to his old self."

Nevin took another drink and nodded at her thoughtfully. "What is it you
want me to do?"

"What you've been doing, watching them and telling me what you notice."

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* * * *

To keep the children busy, they put them to cleaning out the stalls. Stygean
and Jingen were given separate stalls to work on because of their size and
age. The littles were organized into groups of twos and threes, armed with
rakes and picks to pull the soiled straw from the stalls.

Stygean was sweating and aching by mid-day. When they finished, the vampire
and two lycans watching them allowed them a break.

"I can't even keep their names straight," Jingen said sarcastically,
glancing at their watchers from the corner of his eyes while appearing to
focus on a bit of straw between his fingers.

Stygean didn't notice the sarcasm at first, he was just too tired, and so he
said, "The vampire is Haig. He's some kind of senior counselor to the
renunciate Lord. The male is Olin. The female is Daree or something."

"Iknowtheir names," Jingen snarled.

"You – oh, you were being nasty?" Stygean flicked back a length of lank,
sweaty hair and then ran his finger under his slave-collar. His skin was damp
and itchy beneath it, and the weight oppressed him. At night, if he shifted
wrong, it made sleep unpleasant and he would awaken with his neck aching. At
least no one had tried to bite him yet, but he had a feeling that was coming.
He could imagine a vampire's hot breath on his neck – or worse, Anksha's – and
it made him shiver. Then a flare of anger would drive those thoughts away. He
had still not seen his parents and he worried about them.

"They deserve no less. I resent their drivel, shoving it at us each morning
before they set us chores. They will not make a wuss out of me." Jingen
sneered. "'You shall not take a life in the rites.' What drivel. I'm
sa'necari, for hell's sake. We were born and bred to take lives in the rites
and blood from hot veins."

"Yes." Stygean hated agreeing with Jingen, but the boy was right.

"Have they blooded you yet? Now that you have your fangs? Your father would
have done it immediately."

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Stygean bit his lip. "From a bottle. Not a real blooding."

Jingen gave a tiny laugh of derision. "At least they let me get my fangs
into a nibari, since I've been feeding for a year now. But they Read me and
watch that I don't take too much. It leaves me hungry."

Stygean nodded. Anksha had said that she would blood him, but she had not
come to see the children in several days. "I miss my parents. I want to see
them. Don't you?"

"I want to see my mother. My father's dead."

"Don't keep reminding me. You know what I meant."

Jingen licked around his fangs. "I hear they put all the hellblades in a
chest in one of the Ymraudes' wagons. Probably the shaman's. If I could get my
hands on one I'd stick that renunciate. I'd stick him well. 'When sa'necari
kill sa'necari, they do it well.'"

"So would I."

* * * *

Anksha dragged past Nans in the early morning, heading for her blood-slaves.
Swathed in a long-sleeved robe and her scarves, Anksha looked pale and
haggard; her stride was shaky and sprattle-legged. Beaten down and exhausted
by Isranon's carnal dominance, the fist of her need for blood ground its
knuckles in her stomach. She did not dare to be away from Isranon for long.
Her awareness of him had heightened to the point of discomfort. The
demon-eater could feel him summoning her, demanding that she crawl into his
bed and surrender. She had to feed quickly, fetch breakfast, and be there for
him.

He owns me. I am the slave. It had become a chant, reminding her of her
place in a way that left her both resigned and disturbed.

Nans held out her hand to stop her. "Anksha? Are you all right?"

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Anksha startled, and her head jerked up. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine." She bolted
down the hallway before anyone else could speak to her. She knew what she
looked like; she had seen it in the bedroom mirror. It was as if she had been
looking at someone else. She had begun to look gaunt and ill. She reached the
blood-slaves area and tore open the first door, which happened to be
Liuthan's.

The former captain sat upon the floor with his wife in his arms, holding her
tightly to his chest and weeping. "We did not deserve this," he said to
Anksha.

"I say you did," Anksha snarled. Hunger was becoming a roar inside her. She
needed to get her fangs into flesh soon. Her appetite grew and grew with each
passing day. She knew that she should stop Isranon from feeding so heavily
upon her; and yet she could deny him nothing. She wore a loose shift with long
sleeves to hide the marks on her arms, and a scarf around her neck. "Shut up
and disrobe, I'm hungry."

Liuthan looked as if he did not hear Anksha as he continued talking in a
distracted manner. "I love her. Even sa'necari can love. It is no different
from what you feel for Dawnreturning. He's sa'necari."

"You are evil. Because you can love, only makes you less evil than some
others," Anksha growled.

"We were born sa'necari." Liuthan released his wife.

Chinisi pushed away from him to sit twiddling her hair and staring at a
point on the wall.

"All myn want power of some kind. We merely sit at the top of the food
chain, like lions. No one questions lions."

Anksha snarled. "I am malei'leonys, Mama Lion. Do not tell me about lions.
How many lives have you taken in the rite?" Her stomach followed those words
with a low growl. If this kept up, she didn't know how long she could hold
herself back from just draining him all the way down.

Liuthan sighed. "Hundreds, but what does it matter? How is it any different
than kings who rule by the sword?"

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"It is a filthy rite. Better a clean death by the sword, than a soul
shattered and defiled." Anksha stalked up to him and shoved his shoulder.
"Open your robe."

"I never dreamed the Beast could be so articulate... We go round and round
each time you come for our blood."

"When the mood is on me..." Anksha hit him. "Assume the position."

Liuthan rose onto his knees and bowed his head at the proper angle. He
shuddered and a long scream escaped him as her fangs sank in. Her need had
grown to such proportions that she took him even more roughly than usual,
tearing deeply into his flesh and sucking strongly. Liuthan's eyes rolled up
in his head and he collapsed. Anksha grasped his neck as he started to slump,
holding it tight to her mouth to avoid tearing him and went down on top of
him. He writhed beneath her, his heels and fingers digging convulsively at the
bare floor. Anksha drank until he stilled. Immediately she released him,
checking that he still lived. She was not ready to kill him yet.

The edge was not off her hunger. She did not remember being this hungry in
her entire life. Chinisi began to hum a broken melody. Anksha stole up to her
listening for a moment, and then pushed her down. She went unresisting as a
child and Anksha began to feed again, more gently than with Liuthan. Control
returned to her as her appetite eased.

She left them unconscious as she went in search of a third blood-slave. The
image of Disharyl Scathwick's plump breasts entered Anksha's mind and that
decided her on who to feed upon next.

* * * *

Randilyn saw Anksha go into the blood-slaves wing and headed for the
kitchen, guessing that would be her next destination. Knowing that Anksha had
come into season and formed a mating bond with Isranon had her concerned. She
had spent most of last night, while Amiri slept, going through the fragments
of old accounts again and trying to find anything they might have missed.

Had Anksha grown up among her own kind, she would have understood what was
happening to her and probably dealt with it better. Randilyn wondered what
Anksha and Isranon would say if they realized that the instinct-driven side of
the demon-eater had decided it was time to try and make a baby. According to
the small clues Randilyn could garner from the incomplete accounts, the time
was drawing near for Isranon to kill Anksha if she failed to catch. Worse,

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under the compulsion of instinct, Anksha would let him do it.

Knowing the sensitive side of Isranon's nature, killing Anksha would destroy
him emotionally once he emerged from the mating-madness. Randilyn prayed to
both the Tinkerer and Dynanna that Isranon's life-magics would be strong
enough and focused enough to prevent the worst from happening.

Amiri had promised to intervene if the moment arrived for Anksha to die.
However, Randilyn did not feel confident that even Amiri's vampiric abilities
could prevent Isranon from doing murder. Isranon had grown too strong
magically.

The waiting had become too hard for Randilyn to handle. She knew she would
never be as cold and clinical in her observations as her master, and she did
not wish to be. The softer side of Randilyn, which Amiri loved, would not
allow her to stand aside and watch tragedies happen just for the sake of
studying them.

She did not want to anger Amiri either, not wanting to be taken down to the
edge again. Randilyn still felt the echoes of pain, weakness and fear that had
haunted her for days after Amiri left her ill and drained.

Randilyn settled in the kitchen and it was not long before Anksha appeared.
The demon-eater proceeded past Randilyn without noticing her, her expression
preoccupied as she began ordering the cook to fill a platter and several
pitchers with food and drink. The platter became overloaded before Anksha quit
asking for more.

As Anksha turned toward the door with her feast, Randilyn smiled at her.
"Good morning, Anksha." She rose and took several of the items from the
demon-eater. "Let me help."

Anksha swallowed and ducked her head, nodding.

"How do you feel?" Randilyn asked her in a carefully offhand manner.

Anksha flinched. "Fine. Just fine."

"If you need anything at all ... want any questions answered, you'll ask me
or Amiri?"

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Anksha blinked, looking confused. "I have no questions. I'm just taking care
of my Isranon."

"But you will come to me?"

"For what?"

Randilyn licked her lips. "Well, let's say, if you should start feeling
strange or something..."

"I'm fine." Anksha walked off, forcing Randilyn to trail her.

Randilyn followed Anksha into the suite and settled the food on the table,
then wandered into the bedroom to check on Isranon before Anksha could tell
her not to. She found him looking perfectly healthy, sitting up in bed with
pillows to his back, nude with the sheet drawn to his hips and barely covering
the erection tenting it. It was all as Randilyn had expected to see. Amiri was
right about what was happening.

"Hello, Randilyn," Isranon said. Although he gave her a thin smile, there
was an edge to his voice that told Randilyn she was unwelcome. "I will send
Anksha if I have need of you or Amiri, now can you leave us alone?"

"Of course," Randilyn departed rapidly, but not before pausing at outer the
door to the suite and hearing Isranon dragging Anksha into bed with him.

* * * *

Day by day, Isranon's lust built to the edge of true madness, a strange and
all consuming, hormone-driven insanity that struck him at all hours throughout
the days and nights. Anksha had grown exhausted, her female parts tender and
irritated. It took greater and greater amounts of blood and flesh for her to
sustain herself so that she did not simply collapse. At times she wanted to
fall asleep and never awaken. Each time that his fangs entered her neck, she
felt a fluttering of dread in her stomach that he would drain her dry. On
several occasions Isranon had taken so much blood from her that Anksha had
fainted. That frightened her. Anksha had fleeting impressions that Isranon
intended to kill her and that she would soon die under him.

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She desperately wanted to refuse him, but the compulsion, which had been
laid upon her when he bit her the first time, kept her docilely obedient. A
pervading sense of helplessness in his presence filled her waking mind. Terror
invaded her dreams, where she again became the child smothered by Lord Hoon's
huge body, and more and more often Hoon wore Isranon's face.

Their constant couplings had degenerated steadily from making love to simple
brutishness, which only the dance of magic made bearable. He was awakening her
three and four times in a night by simply pushing into her or turning her into
a position he wanted for mounting. She could not be long away from him without
the imperious call of the link summoning her back.

The full moon cast its glow through their open window, limning Anksha in
silver as she slept uneasily. The white sheet she clutched in her hand gleamed
in the illumination. Strong hands startled her awake, flipping Anksha onto her
stomach. She gave a small squawk of surprise as her face landed in her pillow.
Isranon gripped her by the hips and shoved her up onto her knees, buttocks in
the air. Anksha cried out sharply as his fingers dug into her flesh, bruising
her.

An image of Hoon flashed through Anksha's mind and she shrieked. "You're
hurting me. You're hurting me. I'm sore."

"Hold your tongue, bitch!" he screamed and then groaned, piteously. "The
madness... The madness in my blood... Gods forgive me!"

"Isranon..." Anksha twisted to look back at him as she sobbed.

The tiny window of sanity vanished as Isranon's face distorted into a mask
of rage and lust, his eyes turning the color of flames. Isranon's breath came
in panting gasps. "On your knees, you stupid little whore and be still."

Anksha moaned in dread, his anger lashed her through the link and she caught
an image from his mind: he wanted to beat her senseless with his fists, to
pound her until she could neither move nor speak. Anksha tried to unsheathe
her claws, but they would not slide out. The compulsion on her mind and body
would not allow it.

"When I've kindled that filthy cunt of yours, you'll appreciate me."

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"Yes," Anksha said meekly, uncertain what else to do.

That one word put Isranon over the edge and he backhanded her across the
face. His fist struck her between the shoulder blades. "I ought to kill you."

He hit her twice more. "Fail me now and I'll kill you."

Anksha screamed.

Isranon grasped her waist and pulled her forcefully against him. He brought
one hand back and probed for her entrance, while his member bobbed against the
silken hair and fleshy folds. Isranon found it and he rammed his way inside
her. "I'll break you open. I'll break you... I'll break you."

The demon-eater wept, feeling the magic and other sensations in parts of her
she had never felt it before. Her body seemed to become liquid, to dissolve
and then fill again with life and flesh. The pain was worse than ever. She
felt as if Isranon were ripping her open with his fierce thrusting.

The magic, which previously had made this bearable, spread through her with
its own special anguish. All her nerve endings tingled and burned, rising from
the point where he was deepest within her and spreading through her like
red-hot wires in her veins.

Anksha grew terrified. She wanted loose. She wanted free. She wanted him to
stop hurting her. Isranon was tearing her apart, slashing asunder her psyche,
her body, and her magics. His member had become a blade to stab her with. It
felt like he was killing her. He had said he ought to. He had said he would if
she failed him – but how was she failing him? What more could she give him?
What did he expect?That's it,she thought,he expects me to die. Panic set in.

She yowled, twisting and writhing against him, desperate to sink her claws
and fangs into him, to make him stop. Yet somehow she could not get free. The
magic lashed them together like a pair of dogs once the male has swollen
inside the female.

Anksha tried to raise the dominance-link against him and found it blocked
off.

All of her powers had been stolen from her.

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Anksha screamed. "Isranon, what are you doing to me?"

He reared back, going deeper still, harder, ripping mercilessly at the
delicate tissues of her vagina. "Giving you what you deserve! Giving you your
dreams, bitch."

"Please don't kill me," Anksha whimpered. "Not this way."

Isranon snarled. "I'll fuck you to death, whore."

Anksha felt something tear inside her, something change and alter. It felt
as if she had been stabbed all the way through her womanhood and into her
belly. Dizziness swept through her and the world turned gray. "You've ...
killed ... me."

She went limp in his grasp.

Heedless, Isranon held her buttocks against him and continued to pump until
all of his seed spilled within her. Only then did he realize how still she
was. His grip loosened. His flaccid member slipped from Anksha's body, coated
in their mingled juices, as she slid into a little heap among the blankets
when he released her.

The madness with its iron compulsions vanished from Isranon's mind, his
body, and his awareness. He no longer felt her presence; not so much as the
smallest traces of it. She lay unmoving and he could not tell if she still
breathed.

Her last, despairing words haunted him:You've killed me.

Isranon touched her face tentatively and got no response.

"Anksha?" Isranon tried again. All the lust in his heart had spent itself,
leaving guilt in its wake. The little demon-eater showed no sign of awakening.
He turned her on her back and brushed the sweat-drenched black hair from her
face. Grasping her wrist, Isranon tried to Read her and found himself barred
from her. Either he had lost his magic, or a wall had been erected between

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them–

Or she was dead.

Fearing that he had slain her, Isranon extended his necromantic senses and
realized, with a shock, that it was as if the bed were empty. He could not
detect Anksha at all, except with his eyes. Feeling for her through their link
produced only a sensation of emptiness, as if she had vanished.

Filled with anxiety and trepidation, Isranon slipped out of bed and threw on
a robe. Taking Warrior in hand, he went out into the corridor. He headed south
along it until he reached Amiri and Randilyn's suite, where he pounded on the
door.

Randilyn gave a squawk and then Amiri asked sleepily, "What is it?"

"It's Anksha, please come."

Randilyn's hand went to her mouth and she murmured low behind it, "Merciful
gods, don't let her be dead."

The door opened a crack, revealing that Amiri was half unclothed. "What
about her? It's late, Isranon."

"I don't want to talk about it in the hall... I think she's hurt ... or
sick."

A harsh light came into Amiri's eyes. "Is she in your bed?"

"Yes." Isranon glanced at Randilyn and saw the nibari had tears running down
her cheeks. Something was going on – something far more than he realized.

"Go back to your room. I'll be there in a moment," Amiri told him.

Isranon nodded and as he started out, Amiri called him back with a stern
tone. "Isranon, whatever you do, keep your hands, your cock, and your fangs

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away from her."

He flushed and fled to his suite, drew a chair close to the bed and held
Anksha's unresponsive hand. How did Amiri know what they had been doing? Had
their lovemaking been that loud? Possibly. Had Nevin told her what he had
seen? Worse, she seemed to suspect him of deliberately hurting Anksha. Did
Amiri think he had used his magic to rape the demon-eater? Anksha was his
master, not the other way around... Or was she? He tried to think of all the
ugly things he had said to Anksha during their rutting. Could any of them have
been true? Isranon felt drained and emptied out, his emotions changed from
rage to shame and guilt. A cottony layer shrouded his memory of the past few
weeks. He had demonstrated Anksha's subservience to Nevin to disparage her and
hurt her feelings. It all came back at him like a blow to the stomach.

Amiri arrived with a satchel of herbs and potions. She saw Isranon holding
Anksha's hand and snarled, "I told you not to touch her."

"I am sorry – I didn't think."

Amiri moved Isranon and took his place. She turned back the sheet, which
Isranon had pulled up around Anksha's shoulders, and grimaced at all the
wounds. "You've been violently feeding on her?"

Isranon's expression turned troubled. "For weeks," he said, with shame
thickening his voice.

"And you've been fucking?" Amiri flicked the sheet back all the way. She
dipped her fingers in the milk of his come, which was flecked with Anksha's
blood from her torn womanhood.

"Oh, gods, yes," Isranon said, becoming more distressed.

"It looks more like rape and attempted murder, Isranon," Amiri said in
severe tones.

A cracked edge came into his voice and he paled. "I didn't mean to hurt her.
I was out of my mind."

"That is why you asked me about madness?"

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Humiliation flooded Isranon's cheeks with red. "Yes. It came with my first
taste of her blood."

Amiri grasped Anksha's wrist and Read her. Her face took on a strangely
satisfied look, which bothered Isranon. "I'll want Nans to confirm the damage
I'm Reading."

"Damage?" Isranon gasped. "She's going to be all right, isn't she? I didn't
mean to do it. Oh gods, I'll never be able to live with myself if I've injured
her."

"More or less, she should be fine."

"You're not telling me anything!"

"Tomorrow. Leave me with her. Find somewhere else to sleep. Under no
circumstances are you to touch her. Don't even hold her hand."

Isranon gathered his clothes and headed for Nevin and Olin's suite, feeling
troubled to the bottom of his soul.

* * * *

Amiri continued to sit with Anksha waiting for the demon-eater to wake. This
was probably the first full night's sleep that Anksha had had in three weeks.
Amiri wanted her to get as much rest as she could over the next few days.
Isranon had achieved the impossible with his rogue magic and the race of
demon-eaters would not become extinct. She touched Anksha's wrist lightly,
extended her arcane senses though Anksha's body to brush against the hours old
embryo growing in the primary womb. The secondary womb's stasis chamber had
filled with embryos also. Anksha would drop one or two of those at a time into
the primary womb over the course of the next few centuries, and they would
become children also.

Demon-eater woke in the early dawn. She blinked at Amiri. "Where is my
Isranon?" Anksha asked her. "What are you doing here?"

"Isranon is sleeping in another room," Amiri said.

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"I must go to him." Anksha started to get out of bed and fell backwards, her
face pale and slightly greenish. "I'm sick."

"That's why you're sleeping alone for the nonce." Amiri took Anksha's hand
and squeezed it gently. "You're pregnant."

Anksha looked perplexed and slid into her nervous patois. "Isranon swelled
my belly?" She flicked the sheet back and ran her fingers over her flat
stomach. "I don't see it."

Amiri gave a soft laugh. "It takes time, Anksha, for the child to grow
enough to show."

Anksha blinked and considered it. "I reallyamgoing to have a baby?"

"Yes." Amiri patted her hand. "Lots of babies. But just one to start with."

"Maybe Isranon will stop being mean to me." Anksha covered her mouth as soon
as the words were out.

"That's okay. We knew about it." Amiri's expression went soft and regretful.
"Isranon will never be mean to you again. I should have told you from the
first. I'm sorry."

Anksha frowned, her nostrils flaring to take in Amiri's scent, attempting to
catch clues to what lay behind Amiri's words. "What are you talking about?"

"The dominance-link is gone forever between you. The mating-link has
replaced it."

"Quit talking around the barrel," Anksha growled. "Why was Isranon being
mean to me?"

"The mating-bond caused it. When you invited him to bite you and he did, it
brought you into season. Had he been a male demon-eater, he would then have

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dominated you with his pheromones – yes, the males have the same abilities as
you – only he isn't one. That would have caused your womb to open and allow
you to become pregnant."

Anksha interrupted her with another low growl. "Still talking around the
barrel."

Amiri closed her eyes for a moment and exhaled loudly. "Anksha, male
demon-eaters kill infertile females, when a female does not become pregnant
soon after the mating bond is engendered, they become enraged and try to use
the force of their anger to increase their pheromones, forcing the female to
open up. It worsens until the female either becomes pregnant or they kill
her."

Anksha let out a loud yowl of anger. "I knew he was going to kill me! I knew
it! Why didn't you do something? Why didn't you tell us?"

"At first I simply wanted to watch and see how it progressed..." Amiri held
her hands up to forestall another outburst from Anksha. "Then I became afraid.
I intended to intervene if it looked like he was reaching the final madness."

Anksha stopped short and stared. She knew a lot about madness having
witnessed it in her blood-slaves thousands of times over the centuries just
before they died or she was forced to kill them. "Madness? Like the withering
madness? Is my Isranon withering?" A note of worry crept into Anksha's voice.

"No, he's not withering."

"But hewasmad. Just like the withering madness."

Amiri shook her head. "Yes and no. It is a true and all encompassing madness
while it lasts, but the one who is destroyed in a failed mating is the
female."

"You knew and you let him hurt me." Anksha closed her eyes, and Amiri could
sense her reaching through the link for Isranon.

The link became a one way connection while the effects of the mating-bond
continued to linger in the female after it had released the male. It kept the
female docile longer, allowed for reconciliation between them, since otherwise

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the female would kill the male once the mating proved successful. Except
during the time of mating, the female was the more powerful of the two.

"My Isranon is sad," Anksha murmured. She opened her eyes, glaring at Amiri.
"This is your fault."

"No! Listen to me. You are the last demon-eater. Without demon-eaters, the
Ymraudes have no purpose to their existence. I had to take the chance that he
could give you a child and he has."

Anksha chuntered under her breath unhappily. "My Isranon is sooo sad."

"Isn't having a baby worth what you went through?"

That stopped Anksha short, and she began to stroke her stomach in a
half-preoccupied fashion. "You should have told us. My Isranon is a kind mon.
He would have used his magic to give me a baby sooner if you had told him."

"There was no way that he could have known how to do it. He had to discover
it."

Anksha stopped stroking and her lips curled back from her fangs. "Isranon
would have looked for it. My Isranon is not stupid. My Isranon could have
asked the spirits for answers. Like the ghost of Josiah Abelard. The
mage-master's ghost would have told him."

Amiri blinked. "Oh gods have mercy. Yes, he could have. I didn't take that
into consideration."

Anksha smirked, her fingers circling her stomach again. "My Isranon is a
good mon."

"Yes, he is and he's probably feeling terrible right now. Once pregnancy
occurs in the female, the male is released from the mating-rage."

"You've hurt my Isranon and me with your silence." She patted her stomach.
"My belly would already be swelling. Will I get as big as Nainee?"

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Amiri's face split with a tentative smile. "Well, you're not as big as
Nainee to begin with. However, you'll stick out just as far."

Anksha grinned at the image and held her hand out above her stomach,
considering it. "Baby, baby, baby. I want lots of clothes. I want to look like
Nainee with my swollen belly."

Amiri could see the signs of the first psychic changes in Anksha: if the
fragments were correct, thoughts of the baby would engross her waking mind,
altering her reactions and interpretations of many things, exaggerating the
dichotomy of gentleness and savagery that was her inner nature. "Several of
the nibari in the common herd are seamsters."

"Will you take me shopping for materials?"

Amiri's smile became a broad one. "Of course I will. You'll look like a
queen."

"I must tell Isranon that he's going to be a papa," Anksha said.

"We need to wait a few days, find the right time. First I want Nans to Read
you and verify what I have told you."

"Okay." Anksha patted her tummy. Amiri gave her a drink to help her heal
from the weeks of abuse. After a little while, Anksha yawned widely and fell
asleep again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SEDUCED BY DARKNESS

Claw,

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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, running from the
house into the yard. She 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 back – and 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

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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 letter, bearing his forgery of Nevin's seal, 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 come 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 had 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."

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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 childhood..." 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?

* * * *

Malthus possessed the largest home in the camp, having added a study and a
bedroom for his nieces onto it. Ros and Lyrri walked sedately beside him: they
had worn themselves out playing with Darmyk and his cat all day. Once they
entered the deeply forested area in the waning light, Malthus extended his
necromantic senses in a low level scan of the area. He still feared that
Sergei would return for Ros. His hand settled on the hilt of a long knife at
his hip as he sensed two presences near his home.

"Stay behind me," he whispered to the girls.

They dropped back without a word.

Malthus found Shalto and Oswyl sitting outside waiting for him. He touched
Ros on her shoulder, "Take your sister inside, and stay there until I say you
can come out."

"Yes, Uncle Malthus." Ros took Lyrri by the hand and they went inside.

Malthus waited until the door had closed before turning to the two young
lycans. "What's brought you here?"

"We wanted to ask you a few questions," Shalto said.

Malthus tensed, wondering if they had seen him doing something better left

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unknown. So far they had proved too good a tool to waste by killing them.
"Certainly. Would you like a drink?"

Oswyl grinned and nodded.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," said Shalto.

Malthus fetched tankards of mead. He hesitated a moment and sat them on the
table before going back outside. The tankards were a deliberately mismatched
set, one a coppery color with a hunting scene in bas relief, the second was a
goldish tone with a leaping stag, and the third bore a dragon wrapped around a
tree. He sketched a rune with his fingertip on the first two tankards. The
runes glowed for a moment, then vanished. Malthus carried the tankards out and
handed them around.

The two young myn looked delighted, as always, to drink with him. Malthus
watched them drink deeply and smiled with his head lowered. "Now tell me all
about it, good fellows."

"All the deaths are making folks nervous about coming around the camp," said
Shalto.

"Yeah," said Oswyl. "We're having trouble getting more help."

"Tell me everything that's troubling you. I'm listening," said Malthus in a
silken tone designed to set his suggestions into their psyches as deeply as
possible.

Shalto scratched at his chin and took another long pull from his tankard.
"People are saying that either someone in the camp is doing it, or the camp is
cursed."

"Which do you think?" Malthus asked.

"Bad luck and coincidence," Shalto replied and Oswyl nodded agreement.

Malthus noticed that they had gone through the contents quickly. "Would you
like me to get you another?"

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Both of the young myn nodded eagerly. Malthus repeated his steps, refilling
and renewing the spell on the tankards. He returned to them and sat down.

"I agree with you both. Just an unfortunate coincidence." He handed the
tankards around. "Is there more?"

Oswyl made a silly face at Shalto and nudged him.

"Females. None of us have been getting any since Beth – you know – and since
you know so much about females, we thought you could..."

"Shalto, my friend," said Malthus. "I have the perfect solution to your
troubles."

Oswyl's expression grew sillier, filling with a drunken delight.

"I knew you would," Shalto said. "You always do."

Malthus licked his lips, savoring the way his spell added with the liquor
made them more open and suggestible by the moment. "Have you considered the
sa'necari?"

"Sa'necari?" Shalto looked surprised.

"Yes. Sa'necari are all sluts. Every last one of them. It's their nature."

"Won't they try to bite us?"

"No, Shalto. Not if you don't want them to."

"Have you ever done it with one?" Shalto asked.

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Malthus chuckled. "I've played nibble games. I've tried everything. I'm a
very experienced mon."

"Wow, maybe I'll try that," Shalto said.

Malthus gave a tiny glance to the side. "None of the females in the camp can
really say no. They have no rights. They are here by your forbearance."

"Clodagh won't like us getting sluttish with the women here," Oswyl said.

Malthus laughed long and loud. "She's no one to speak. She's as big a slut
as Beth was."

Their eyes saucered and they stared at Malthus.

Malthus wagged a finger at them. "Just be more discreet about it this time.
The chieftain and elders will shut the camp down, if they think it's turning
into a whorehouse."

"Yeah, they will," Shalto said.

"Can we tell our friends? Like Torquil?" asked Oswyl.

"Those that you can trust to keep their mouths shut."

"We will," Shalto said. "You think it's a good time to roust out a couple of
those whores?"

Malthus' smile broadened with a secret turn at the corners. "Clodagh moved
into Beth's place today. Why don't one of you tell her I sent you and the
other do the same with Kandaishee?"

"Howls, yes!" Shalto slapped Oswyl on the back.

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"Is there anything else?"

"Nah," said Shalto. "We gotta go get some."

Malthus watched them race through the trees while he sipped his mead. "How
very amusing. They'll believe anything I tell them now ... as if they didn't
to begin with. Shalto, Oswyl, you don't know it yet, but I own you both."

* * * *

Nikko lay on the bed at Navaryn's, barely breathing, his skin almost
translucently pale. The day had turned hot, and Navaryn had turned the sheet
back to his hips to let the afternoon breezes cool his skin, which was bare
except for his bandages. She leaned close, touching the back of her hand to
his forehead to check for fever. Navaryn stroked his cheek, her head titled to
the side, and concern twisting the corners of her lips when Nikko failed to
respond with so much as a fluttering of his eyelids.

"I'm afraid we're going to lose him," Navaryn said.

"Has he said anything else?" Lokynen asked, coming to stand beside the bed
where Nikko lay in fevered slumber. "Anything that would help us identify his
attackers?"

"He's said nothing." Navaryn flicked back her silvery hair. The lycan
daughter of Tala, Mistress of Wolves, and God of the Moon and Hunt, Navaryn
was a legend to the lycans who did not suspect she still lived. "I recognized
the poison. There's an assassin in one of the villages. No one knows what he
looks like. Only his handiwork. This mon is a lawgiver. Rather young for one,
but his runes cannot be handled by anyone who serves the darkness."

"Can you send someone out to check around and see who's missing a lawgiver?"

"Ask Pandeena. She can do that for you. I don't dare leave this poor youth
alone for more than a moment. I keep having to call him back when he starts to
slide into the final darkness. I've drawn a lot of the poison out of him. But
there's still more. It takes time."

"You'll send me word if he speaks?" Lokynen asked.

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She nodded. "Or if he dies, which is more likely."

"Or if he dies. We need one of those life mages out of Rowanhart."

Navaryn shook her head and the silvery strands slid around her face. "They
would not be able to do much more than I am. None of them is a master mage."

"A master exists. Lord Dawnreturning."

Navaryn's head came up and she looked at Lokynen with keen interest. "Can
you get him here?"

Lokynen's lips squeezed together and he stared at his big hands. "I don't
exactly know where he is. Last I heard, he was just south of the Ruins of
Aubrudrin."

"Then your information does me no good."

Hathura grinned at Lokynen's discomfort. "You should get outside the valley
more often, Navaryn."

"Well, I don't dare now. Not with this young mon depending on me and the
Butchering Serpent in the valley."

"There's a catch to it anyway," Lokynen said. "Dawnreturning is sa'necari."

Navaryn cast him an indignant glance, hot with skepticism. "Impossible."

Lokynen shook his head. "He's one of the last two Dark Brothers of the
Light. Furthermore, he's a freak. A polymancer. A descendant of Dawnhand."

"Well, that explains it. Dawnhand was a good mon," said Navaryn. "I wept
when word reached me of his death. Without him I could never have saved my

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people when the sa'necari cult first began. The necromancers wanted to turn us
into genetically altered cattle, like their nibari."

A sly look came over Lokynen's face. "The Trickster gathered us here to
protect the last descendant of Dawnhand. Yet, I hear rumors that Lord
Dawnreturning is of that lineage. The descendant in the valley is a small
child."

"His cub?" Navaryn guessed.

"Must be."

"Then it has come full circle. We failed to rescue Dawnhand's children from
the grasp of the evil ones. We shall not fail this time."

* * * *

Malthus woke before dawn, rolled over, and spooned around Clodagh, twisting
her nipple to wake her. She squeaked, and shifted onto her back, wearing a
whey-faced, get-it-done-with expression. Bruises covered her breasts, many of
them from his feedings, and some from simple, sa'necari maliciousness.

"You don't look well," Malthus said.

"I always look this way in the mornings," Clodagh spit back at him. "It's
your fault."

Malthus chuckled as he mounted her. "Shut up, Clodagh."

Clodagh turned her face away.

"Look at me!"

A stab of pain tore through her head, and she yelped. Clodagh looked him.

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"Good."

He sawed at her for a long time before he came. Like so many sa'necari who
were steeped in the rites, Malthus had problems reaching climax, unless murder
was involved. He fed with his flaccid cock still sheathed inside her. Then he
pulled out and kicked her off the bed.

"Go home before someone sees you."

Clodagh pulled her robe around her, sashed it, and fled.

Malthus drew his pants on, snagged a bottle of blood from the chest, and
padded out into the living room. He heard the girls playing in their bedroom.
Malthus poked his head in and a fond smile blossomed on his face. They sat in
the middle of the floor in their nightgowns, moving carved wooden figures
around. "Come out and I'll get you some breakfast started."

He poured Ros a glass of blood and gave Lyrri plum nectar. "When you're
finished with your breakfast, we'll go pick wildflowers."

"You're going to see Merissa?" asked Lyrri.

Getting a fire going in the hearth, Malthus sliced cheese, placed it on
bread, and slid the pan with it onto brick and metal shelf above the fire to
melt the cheese.

"Is she going to be our new aunt?" asked Ros.

Malthus grinned, leaned in, and put his finger to his lips. "Shussssh. Yes.
The flowers are for her."

Ros ran her tongue as far around her mouth as she could reach, capturing
even the smallest bits of blood. "I like her."

Wrapping a cloth around the handle, he brought the pan to the table and sat
it in the middle. Malthus put plates around and served the food up.

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"And Darmyk? How do you feel about Darmyk?"

A smoldering heat entered Ros' eyes, and her fangs came down. "He wouldn't
last long, Uncle Malthus. I want to taste him. I ache for him."

Malthus realized that he would not be able to contain Ros' appetites much
longer. Children and youths experienced their need for blood with greater
intensity than an adult, just as at puberty the desire for sex burned hottest.
"Soon, Ros."

* * * *

Clodagh started home, and changed her mind. She turned into the trees,
slipping between the bushes and the undergrowth, careful to leave no trail.
Every time Malthus touched her, she felt soiled. She dropped her robe and sat
down on the stream bank with her legs dangling in the water. The fragrance of
the thick stand of sweet pepperbush delighted her nostrils, and she inhaled it
gratefully. A loon called, shivering the air with its high eerie notes. The
sound of splashing came from two trees over and Clodagh leaned out to see who
or what was there.

Kandaishee paddled around, came up to the bank, and settled on it. The
slight swelling of the sa'necari's belly drew Clodagh's eyes, and she spoke
before she could stop herself.

"You're pregnant!"

Kandaishee startled, seized a stick, and looked around. She calmed when she
saw Clodagh, waded over, and sat beside her. Her light amaranthine eyes –
their pale color reflecting how few rites she had committed – held a haunted
mirror to Clodagh's own. "You have that look. Are youhisalso?"

"Yes. Is the childhis?"

Kandaishee placed her hand across her belly, lowering her head with a faint
nod that spoke eloquently of both her shame and sense of helplessness. "He got
me the first week he arrived."

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"I think mine is also. If the coercions were not in so deep ... I'd take
tansy and lose it."

Kandaishee sighed. "I tried. But the coercions are in too deep."

Clodagh kicked her feet in the water, watching the ripples as she formed the
questions she did not wish to face, yet felt forced to ask. "Are there other
women like us?"

"Do you mean pregnant or under his sway?"

"Both, I guess."

Tension threaded Kandaishee's voice. "All of the women living at the camp
are under his sway. He's taken us all."

Clodagh sucked in a breath, her hand going to her mouth. "Even the humans?"

"Allof us. There are five other pregnancies besides ours."

"Which ones?"

"The other four sa'necari, and one human."

"Are they all his?"

Kandaishee snorted. "Certainly not the human's child. That one must be a
lycan's bastard. The Butchering Serpent wouldn't stick his yard," she said,
her mouth twisting in distaste, "in a human unless she was on his altar. He
likes lycan flesh best."

"Could you Read us?"

"Not wearing these things." Kandaishee waved her spellcorded wrists at

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Clodagh.

Clodagh broke a white flowered end of a stalk of sweet pepperbush and
stroked the water with it. "If I took them off, would you let me put them back
on?"

"I would have no choice. I can't leave with what he's done to my brain."

"Is – is this what Waejonan did to Dawnhand's wife?"

Kandaishee touched Clodagh's arm, and the lycan flinched. "Look at me when
you speak, Clodagh. Please. I'm not the enemy."

Clodagh raised her head, still clutching the stalk, playing with it
nervously. "I didn't think you were. It's shame that makes me look away."

"Then we share it. I recognized him and failed to speak in time. As to
Melisandra Dawnhand, yes. Waejonan did to her, what Malthus has done to us.
Only she found the strength to throw herself from a balcony after he filled
her belly."

"I wish I had that kind of strength..."

Kandaishee shook her head. "None of us do. The arts have been perfected
since Waejonan's day, and Malthus is a master. We cannot do anything he would
not wish us to."

They dressed and Clodagh led Kandaishee back to the camp by a path that only
she knew. Reaching the longhouse that had been Beth's, Clodagh went in first.
Entering this house always made Clodagh shiver for several breaths until she
grew accustomed to it. She had done everything possible to get Beth's scent
out of it: while Malthus had never said as much, they all knew Beth had been
rited. A small brick oven covered the fire pit, and carpets topped a layer of
woven reed matting on the floors. Malthus had not allowed her to bring much
from her old house when he moved her in her. She used her tinderbox to get the
fire going in the oven and put a kettle on for tea.

"Will you fetch them, Kandaishee?"

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Kandaishee gave a nod and left.

Clodagh removed her clothing and draped it over a chair. She put her
precious grandbitch's teapot in the middle of the table surrounded by cups,
added a sugar bowl as a special treat – sugar being expensive – and answered
the first knock at the door.

Ystina and Laleyna, two sa'necari stood looking at her uncomfortably.

"Please, come in."

Ystina ran her eye over Clodagh's nudity. "Are we doing this lycan-style?"

"Yes." Clodagh noticed that her kettle was steaming. She put the tealeaves
in a small ceramic ball that hung from a tiny chain, and dropped it into the
teapot before pouring the hot water over it.

Clodagh noticed that Laleyna was as swollen as Kandaishee and shivered. That
one had to be his also, for the lycan youths had not begun using the sa'necari
that early. Ystina was not showing yet, but that did not mean that it might
not be his.

Oliffyia and Tryphaina, also sa'necari, arrived next, and seeing the others'
nakedness, disrobed without comment. Clodagh saw the way their bellies had
begun to round, and a hollow, heartsick feeling settled in her chest and
stomach.Malthus' child. Malthus' child. Oh gods.

Kandaishee brought Ethne, one of the humans, last. Ethne looked hesitantly
about her. "Disrobe," Kandaishee said, as she shrugged out of her loose shift.
"It's the best way to do this."

Ethne nodded, and removed her clothing.

"It would be best if we sat in a circle on the floor," said Kandaishee,
taking a place with her back to the half wall into Clodagh's sleeping room.

To set the example, Clodagh joined Kandaishee and sat at her right hand.

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Clodagh sucked in a breath to strength her resolve, and reached for
Kandaishee. "Give me your hands."

"You're really going to do this?" Ystina asked.

Kandaishee extended her wrists. Clodagh's hands shook with an extremity of
trepidation as she touched the seals and opened them with a word that worked
only for Clodagh, because she had been attuned to the seals. Deep-rooted fears
of sa'necari, made worse by the violation of her mind and body by Malthus,
made her tense.

"Freedom doesn't change me, Clodagh. I'm still your friend. Relax."
Kandaishee rubbed her wrists with an expression of relief as her powers surged
back to her. She turned her awareness inward. "Yes. My child is his. Who
next?"

"Me," Clodagh said. "I've been used by all of them, but I think I felt it
happen with him."

"I would not be surprised. It's a fairly common womanly talent among my own
people," said Kandaishee. She placed her hand on Clodagh's belly, and Clodagh
felt the tickle of Kandaishee's Reader's gift. "I'm sorry, Clodagh. It's his."

Clodagh's shoulders sagged.

The others looked hesitant, as if dreading the knowledge. So Kandaishee took
charge. "Come, Ystina. You next."

Kandaishee Read Ystina. "The child is lycan."

"Can you tell which one sired it? He's made me sleep with all of them," said
Ystina.

"Not without having the possible fathers here to compare the genes with."

"That won't do," said Clodagh. "I can't afford to get into trouble."

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"I hope it's Odhran's. He's the only one who doesn't get rough with me."

Clodagh flinched. The love that she had felt for Odhran drained out of her,
knowing that he was using the females in the camp. The dream she had once held
of becoming his mate and bearing his children, which she had harbored since
childhood, dissolved like a bitter powder in water. She became lost in her
unhappy thoughts and barely heard the rest of it.

As she had expected, Oliffyia and Tyrphaina's bellies contained Malthus'
offspring. Laleyna and Ethne's were lycan.

The sound of Oliffyia crying drew Clodagh back from her troubled musings.
She rose, fetched a small glass and a bottle of Dragonsbreath from the
cabinet. Clodagh pressed a glass of the powerful Dwarven whiskey, more famed
for its strength than its taste, in Oliffyia's hands. "I think you need this
more than tea."

Oliffyia nodded, and sipped it.

Clodagh turned to Kandaishee. "I never believed sa'necari were so fertile."

"We're young and not deepened in the rights," said Kandaishee.

"But what about him?"

Kandaishee considered for a moment. "His mother is human and a bio-alchemist
of great talent. This could be her doing. She's also a half-breed. Her mother
was a sylvan harem-slave." Kandaishee extended her wrists to Clodagh. "Put
them back on before I lose my nerve."

"At the rate your people are using us, Clodagh, every female here will be
pregnant by mid-winter," said Tryphania.

Clodagh restored the cords and seals to Kandaishee's wrists. The look of
pain that crossed Kandaishee's face made her stomach clench.

"Even during our menses, they come to us. The smell excites them." Ystyna

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said.

Clodagh looked weary. "That's because we're wolves who became myn. When the
wild cousin comes into season, she bleeds.

"The story goes that our packs were being hunted to extinction on a distant
world in a realm called Skawtsslund. We appealed to the moon, and she sent us
Navaryn who made us myn. Navaryn led us through the world gate to this place
and we settled here."

* * * *

Malthus arrived at Claw's door holding a bouquet of wild roses behind his
back. His nieces, who were being watched by Kandaishee, had enjoyed the
morning gathering them for Merissa. All felt right in his world.

The door opened and a nibari stood there. "Who have you come to see?"

"Merissa. I'm Malthus."

"Please follow me." The nibari led him from the foyer into the main hall
where Claw sat whittling. He looked up.

"Malthus?" he growled suspiciously, leaning around to see the flowers. "I
know you didn't bring those to me."

Malthus' lips drew together in a roguish smile. "They're for your daughter."

Merissa descended the stairs and entered the room wearing her carding dress.
Malthus gave her a bright, eager smile and brought the flowers out.

She laughed. "Oh, they are beautiful, Malthus!"

"I spent all morning gathering them near the falls."

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Merissa hugged him. Malthus kissed her chastely on the cheek.

Claw made a grumpy noise. "If you're set on courting my daughter, remember
this, sirrah, last one that hurt her, I ate his heart."

Troyes' heart?Malthus swallowed back his reaction, placed the flowers in
Merissa's hands, and faced Claw. "I assure you, Lord Claw, my intentions are
honorable."

"It's just Claw. And, keep them that way."

"On my honor, I swear it." Malthus gazed at Merissa. "Walk with me,
darling?"

"Yes."

A nibari came up to them smiling and extended her hand to Merissa. "I'll put
them in water, mistress."

"Thank you, Isbet," Merissa said.

Malthus walked with his arm around Merissa and her head leaning on his
shoulder. They left the house, crossed the yard, and walked down a narrow path
through the trees. Sunlight shimmered in patches on the ground like a
scattering of jewels. His hand stole up and brushed the base of her breast as
he kissed her cheek. Merissa stiffened momentarily and then pressed more
firmly against him. He cupped her breast and felt her nipple harden through
the fabric. "I am in love you with you, Merissa."

She looked away from him. "Malthus..."

Malthus' voice softened until it was like a little boy's full of woe. "Have
you no feelings at all for me? You said the other night you loved me."

She shifted in his arms, turning half away from him, yet not quite rejecting
his nearness. Her ginger hair veiled her face from him, so he could not see
her expression. "I feel confused. Frightened. I have made so many wrong

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decisions."

"Just because you made a single mistake, is no reason to reject love."

Merissa tensed. "Two mistakes. I have had two lovers. Both sa'necari. I
never expected to fall in love with a human."

Malthus stopped walking and pulled her into his arms, cupping both of her
breasts. "Let me make love to you. Let me show you how much I love you." He
could simply have shoved his power into her mind and body, rendered her
incapable of resisting, but he did not wish to take her that way and reveal
himself. There were too many dangers to trying to take Merissa. She could have
wards from her two previous sa'necari lovers, or her mind could be stronger
than it seemed. Certainly she had a core of strength or she would never have
been able to insist upon her rights to bear Darmyk.

"I love you, Malthus. But please don't ask for more than I can give yet."

Malthus lowered his hand to her waist and continued to hold her. "So be it.
I love you enough to wait. I want to marry you, Merissa."

"I will think about it."

* * * *

Pandeena sauntered onto the bridge over the Eirlys River dressed in green
and brown ranger leathers, pants and tunic, bow at her back and arrow case at
her side, sword and two knives buckled to her belt. Seven lycans rushed out to
face her. An eighth emerged from the sheltering trees in human form, and she
noticed immediately that he did not wear the runes of a lawgiver. It should
have been a lawgiver who met her here if they were going to question her right
to cross.

"Peace brothers," she said. "I'm Pandeena Moonbow. I have heard you needed a
priest."

"Are you a priest?" the older male asked.

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"I am indeed. Priest to both Tala and Willodarus in their guise as joint
guardians of the wolves." She drew her silver runes and the symbol of a bear
holding the lunar orb from beneath her tunic and flashed them at the lycans.

The leader eyed her closely. "A wolf priest?"

Pandeena favored him with a cheeky smile, extended her arm, and allowed it
to change. "And lycan."

"Come across, fur-sister," the lycan leader said. "You will need to meet
with the chieftain."

"The chieftain? Why not the lawgiver?" Pandeena wondered what was going on.
She had learned from a lycan at Hell's Widow about the dead priest, and
thought it a fine opportunity to ease her way into the community. However, she
had heard nothing about problems with the lawgiver.

The other wolves changed to myn and stared at each other.

The leader rubbed the back of his neck, and refused to meet Pandeena's eyes.
"We have no lawgiver. He's dead."

Dead, not missing? Was the Serpent killing all the lawgivers?Pandeena
wondered as she crossed the bridge.

"I'm Odhran," he said, extending his hand to her. They clasped hands and
sniffed each other's fingers.

Satisfied, Odhran took her to Claw's house and knocked on the door.

Isbet appeared. "What is it?"

She frowned at the unfeminine clothing and said nothing at all about it.
Some of the females who ran with the battle-clans dressed that way. But in
general very few lycan females did so.

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Claw was sitting in the big hall to the left of the foyer, smoking his pipe.
"Who's this, Odhran?"

Odhran dipped his shoulders to Claw. "A priest answering our request for
someone to take Old Tempest's place."

Claw's eyes raked Pandeena. "You're a priest?"

Pandeena showed him her runes. "I am."

"You don't look like much of one," Claw grumbled testily.

Pandeena's brows arched, her back straightened stiffly, and her head came up
at a proud tilt. "Why? Because I'm female?"

"Another crotchety female," Claw chuntered. "No. Because you're dressed out
like a battle-clansmon or one of those freerangers that show up here
sometimes. Can you use all that weaponry?"

Pandeena gave him a bright smile. "And more."

"You're gonna need it."

"Because of the rebellion? I thought it hadn't reached here yet."

Claw mumbled low, and Pandeena failed to catch all of it.

"What was that?"

"I said, don't be too sure. There's been a lot of deaths in the valley. A
steading was wiped out northeast of here and the attackers' spoor was strange.
Like nothing I've ever seen. An eastern battle-clan was destroyed. Something's
out there in our forests."

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"I can take care of myself, if that's what you mean."

"I hope so. You're an attractive young bitch and I would not like to see
something happen to you."

"Like what happened to your lawgiver?"

Claw shot Odhran a sharp look. "He told you?"

"I asked him. It isn't normal for a commoner to be doing the work of a
lawgiver."

Claw bristled and went hairy on her. "Imps got him. Grief killed his mother
a few days later. Our old priest is dead, and the bitch that ran the refugee
camp was killed and eaten. Possibly by imps, but possibly not. Some children
from the local farms have gone missing and we've not been able to pick up a
trail on them."

"Whose side are you on in this rebellion?"

"Ours. Whatever it takes for my people to survive."

"Our people." Pandeena crossed and extended her hand to him. He sniffed her.

"Lycan? I expected you to be human."

Pandeena shook her head, her eyes narrowing. "If you side with the Sharani,
or try to remain neutral, and should the queen win, Queen Tomyrilen will take
a tithe of our people for her rites."

"They were taking tithes already. I want no part of the queen."

Pandeena's smile broadened. "That's what I hoped you'd say. Just between
us," she glanced from Claw to Odhran, "with nothing of this being spoken
beyond this point..."

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The two males nodded.

"The gods have promised us help. Teakamon, shepherd of the wilds, is in the
valley, as is Hathura Waveskimmer and Lokynen the Battle-Master."

Claw's eyes lit with hope. "Praise the guardians."

"Yes, indeed. And I'll have you a lawgiver as soon as possible. I know
several who trained as such, but haven't been given a see yet."

"Thank you. Odhran will show you around, get you settled."

"We'll speak further, chieftain."

"Yes, we will."

Odhran showed Pandeena through the village. She strode along, attracting
every eye with her unfeminine garb and her golden beauty.

"You'll live in the old priest's home beside the shrine. It's built on the
eastern edge of the refugee camp," explained Odhran. "If there is anything you
need, just ask."

* * * *

Malthus had been lounging against a tree, talking to Shalto and Oswyl when
he saw Odhran coming toward them with a pretty young lycan. He swept his eyes
over her and licked his lips. He had never seen this one before.

"Come everyone!" shouted Odhran. "Come meet our new priest."

Clodagh emerged from the longhouse, flinching when she saw Odhran, recovered
herself, and crossed the yard to hold out her hand to Pandeena. "Welcome,
priest."

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"Pandeena. Call me Pandeena."

Clodagh smiled at her. "I'm Clodagh. I supervise the camp, although I
suppose you'll be doing a lot of it now. The priest always has the governance
here."

Malthus blinked. That slip of a girl was a new priest? Where had she come
from? How did she know they needed a priest? His agents had killed the lycans'
messenger before he could get beyond Hell's Widow. He caught Shalto's eye and
nodded toward Pandeena. "Awfully pretty for a priest."

"Much better to look at than old Tempest."

"Shalto, my friend, you're learning."Another threat to be eliminated.

They sauntered over and studied Pandeena.

She spied Malthus and offered her hand to him. "I am Pandeena Moonbow,
priest to the Guardians, Tala and Willodarus."

Malthus extended his awareness through the palm of his hand and took a quick
assessment. Lycan, but with the stink of power, and heavily shielded from
enchantary prying. The wolves produced albinos more frequently than mages.
Something was distinctly odd about her.

Pandeena withdrew her hand as a frown flitted across her features.

"I'm Malthus Estrobian. I live at the camp with my nieces." Malthus felt a
quiver of worry. Had She detected his attempted intrusion? Was she mage gifted
in some way? He had not heard of a lycan with that gift in a long time.
Perhaps it was a priest gift of some kind.

"You're one of the refugees?"

"Yes. My nieces – my half brother's children – are sa'necari born. We

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escaped the clutches of the queen and came here. Tempest, our priest, was
teaching the girls to embrace the Light. They've had no teacher since the
deaths of the priest and the lawgiver. I hope that you will be stepping into
their shoes."

"I will be." Pandeena turned to Odhran. "You have a schoolroom?"

"Yes. It's attached to the shrine."

"Explain to the mothers that I want all the children there tomorrow, bright
and early. I'll have a lesson planned for them."

"I'm very helpful around here," Malthus interjected. "If there is anything
you need, ask."

Pandeena gave him a look that Malthus could not interpret. "I will. Now,
Odhran, explain a few things to me. How many children?"

"It's just the camp children. Religious training, writing and reading."

Malthus watched them walk off together. His gums itched around the sheathes
of his fangs and he licked them. Something was not right about this. If she
got in his way, she could meet the same fate as the others. And, yet, he
coveted her, almost as strongly as he did Merissa. He found it difficult to
say which was the more lovely. With Beth gone, he had been using Clodagh and
Kandaishee most often. He wanted something finer. If he had not encountered
her shields, he would have gone after this new priest. Her youth suggested
inexperience, but her shields suggested otherwise. She was a disturbing enigma
– one that he wanted to discover more about.

"Well, what do you think of her, Shalto?" Malthus asked.

Shalto grinned. "I may have to put it to her."

"Shall we discuss it over a tankard? I'm buying."Maybe he could let them
handle her.

Oswyl nudged Shalto.

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"Yeah, let's get one," Shalto said.

* * * *

The Shrine to Willodarus proved to be a simple building, a square box with
two wings, located in a shady yard with grass and flowering hedges. Pandeena
liked it.

"We gave it the best we knew how," Odhran said, opening the door and
gesturing for Pandeena to enter ahead of him.

"I'm sure you did." Pandeena gazed about her, taking it all in as she
stepped through the doorway. "That young bitch, Clodagh I think her name was.
She kept looking at you strangely."

Odhran looked uncomfortable, staring at his feet. "Your holiness..."

"Pandeena."

"Yes. We were sweethearts ... since childhood. A few weeks ago, she rejected
me. I don't know why."

"Would you like me to speak with her?"

Odhran brightened. "Yes, holiness. It would ease my heart, if only to know
what I did wrong."

The interior was dusty with disuse. Pandeena's boot heels clicked and she
glanced down to see that the lycans had given the shrine a tiled floor.
Apparently some of the congregation had money and a willingness to give. The
ranks of benches for the worshippers were eight deep on two sides. Ahead of
them stood a railing, separating the altar from the congregations' space. A
basket for offerings from the congregation sat on the floor by the far right
of the railing, so that they could make their offerings after receiving the
priest's blessing.

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Pandeena noted the basket was empty and dust had collected in the bottom.
"How long has it been since you lost your priest?"

"Months."

Pandeena stepped around the railing and went to the altar, running her hands
along it. The vibrations were warm and loving. The entire place had been
properly consecrated. If someone here was harming the people, why hadn't he
desecrated the altar? "What happened to the priest?"

"Heart attack. He was old ... but there are rumors."

"Of what?"

Odhran glanced away from her in a manner she interpreted as reluctance.
"Well, for one thing he was found in a part of the forest he had no reason to
be in. None of the farms are out that way. Nothing to attract him. It was all
very strange."

"And?"

"No footprints. No scent trail."

"As if the body had been dumped there."

Odhran pursed his lips. "Yes. Exactly."

"If I were you, I wouldn't mention this to anyone else."

"Oh, I won't. Believe me, your holiness."

"Pandeena. Just call me Pandeena."

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"Thank you. I will."

Pandeena left the altar area and walked around to a hallway on the side,
Odhran followed her, trying to look helpful and she smiled at him from time to
time. The first door opened on the priest's apartments. She found three cozy
rooms, a sitting room, kitchen, and bedroom.

Plenty of nice furniture filled the apartments, including a huge bed that
dwarfed the rest of the furniture. "Why such a large bed?"

Willodarians weren't sworn to celibacy like the Taladrim, however, she was
looking for clues.

"A donation. I remember Tempest saying that at his age, he didn't need
something that large ... but a gift is a gift."

Pandeena nodded and raked her teeth across her lower lip. "I'll want clean
linens. Can you arrange that?"

"There are several women in the camp who used to help out with the
housekeeping here. I will get them over to see you."

"Good. So the priest had no liaisons in the village?"

"I doubt it. I doubt he even touched the slut."

Pandeena frowned. "The slut? You have a slut here?"

"Had. The bitch that ran the camp here, name was Beth. She was a slut. Rumor
says she even had the lawgiver and possibly the chieftain between her legs."

Pandeena's mouth opened in a surprised 'O' that she chose not to voice,
instead her tone went dark and dangerous. "And did you ride the slut?"

Odhran flushed.

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"Truth. I'll know if you're lying."

"Yes. Many times."

"That's probably the reason Clodagh rejected you. I want to talk to her."

"She's dead."

Pandeena nibbled her lower lip. "How convenient ... for someone. How did she
die?"

"Imps, near as anyone could tell."

"Where did they find her body?" Pandeena strode out of the apartments and
back into the hallway, which formed a U around the rear of the shrine.

"East side of the valley, over near the piled boulders. Iudris Meadow, I
think, it was."

"What was she doing over there?"

"Don't know. Last time she was seen here, she was in tears and wouldn't talk
to no one. She ran off."

"Why? Did she have family over there?"

"Nope. No family. Rumor's that the fellow she had her cap set for rejected
her."

"Who was that?"

"Now you're asking too many questions..."

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Pandeena's gaze went harsh. "I'm your priest. And until I find you a
lawgiver, I serve in that capacity also. So answer me."

"Malthus."

"That fellow I met back there?"

"Yup. Malthus. He's seeing Merissa these days."

"The princess?"

"Yup."

Continuing around, Pandeena guessed that the one at the back led out of
doors. She confirmed that there was another door on the far side, which had to
lead into the west wing and the schoolroom. The school could wait, she wanted
to see the grounds.

Directly behind the shrine, she found an area marked off as a graveyard by a
dotting of white stones. A wooden arch framed the entrance with the likeness
of the Willodarian bear atop it. She walked through and discovered only a
single headstone.

She spied a fuzzy little dog lying on the grave, his head on his paws and a
woeful expression, tail and ears drooping. "Whose grave is that?"

"Tempest's. He was our priest."

"And the dog sleeping on it?"

"That's Moss. He was Tempest's dog. Our lawgiver, Nikko, took the poor
little lad in after Tempest died. But imps got Nikko and his mother died of
grief. Moss won't let anyone else keep him. He spends nearly all his time
here. A few people have tried to lure him inside, but he always gets out and
comes here. The whole village feeds him, waters him."

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Pandeena squatted down. "Come here, little fellow. Come here, Moss." She
made a soothing noise in her throat.

Moss perked up and stared at her.

She repeated her words and noises, patting the ground in front of her.

Moss came and sniffed her hand. His tail swung back and forth. Pandeena
extended her wilderkin gifts and comforted Moss. He climbed into her arms.
Pandeena stood, cuddling Moss.

"Well, I'll be," Odhran said. "He hasn't done that since Granta died."

"Granta?"

"The lawgiver's mother."

"Moss and I are going to be good friends."

Imps got the lawgiver ... or did they?Pandeena looked down at Moss and
wondered.What was that word or piece of a word, the lawgiver had said. Mul,
marl, mal?She needed to ask her mother.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SHAME AND REGRETS

Isranon drifted along the hallways, too filled with remorse and
mortification over what he had done to Anksha over the past few weeks to face
anyone for long. He could have gone to Nevin and asked to share his and Olin's
bed, or found a servant to show him to another bedroom. Instead he wandered

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with his staff in his hands, carrying his clothing squashed to his stomach in
an untidy bundle, and feeling the pain start again in his spell-damaged legs.

As the aching in his legs grew, Isranon knew that he had to find a place
soon to spend the rest of the night. He started peeking through open doors
that were mostly drawing rooms and, since the vampires and lycans in his
company were up at all hours, he found someone in all of them. The last one he
looked into was the yellow room. He saw Jun and Haig there with four of the
nibari from the common herd. Jun had that unblooded thirteen-year-old of Black
Cliff stock, the one everyone said showed so much promise, kneeling unclad to
the waist while he stroked her breasts. Nolly, Isranon remembered her name.
They were easing her into her duties slowly so that she would not be afraid
when the time came to blood and bed her. He saw Jun hovering over Nolly so
often with such protectiveness that Isranon felt tempted to gift Jun with her.
He could have the ownership papers drawn up tomorrow.

Naked, Haig was nearly as hairy as the bearskin cloak he frequently wore. He
rode a nude nibari on the floor in third position, fangs in her breast and his
member moving between her loins, her legs pushed up and draped over his
shoulders.

Nolly watched Haig nervously while Jun continued to stroke her with soothing
words. "Don't worry, Nolly. He's not hurting her and I won't hurt you when
your time comes."

Nolly turned a glance on Jun, her eyes filled with trust and adoration.

Isranon backed out of the room and hurried down the hallway. Anksha's words
were burning louder in his mind: "You're hurting me! You're hurting me."

He darted into a room that was done in reds and oranges. Two sofas and four
chairs circled a low, round table. Isranon dropped his clothing on one sofa
and fetched a couple of the embroidered throw pillows from the other one. He
pulled his day robes on and stretched out with the pillows beneath his head
and Warrior leaning against the arm of the sofa. Closing his eyes, Isranon
attempted to fall asleep.

"Wouldn't a bed be better?" Jun asked.

Isranon opened his eyes and stared. Jun and Haig had followed him. They had
apparently rushed to do so, since Haig was still tying his pants closed. "I'm
fine right here."

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Haig gave a derisive laugh. "Anksha chase you out for jacking her too
rough?"

A bright flush spread over Isranon's face. "I don't want to talk about it."

"We've seen the marks on her neck," Jun said, putting his hands on his hips.
"I assume you made them."

Isranon wanted to flee, rather than answer, as he sat up. The sash he had
not bothered to tie slid to the floor and he caught the end of it, crumpling
it up in his hand. He tried to find some of his old pride, but shame had
melted it down like a lit candle. "Yes. I made them."

"And now she's chased you out?" Haig asked.

"No. No, she didn't. Amiri did."

Haig flicked a glance at Jun, who frowned back.

"How badly did you hurt her?" Jun asked.

Nolly entered, bringing Nevin and Olin along. Nevin rubbed at his eyes to
get the sleep out of the corners. The wolf yawned. Nevin wore just his pants,
his hairy chest bare. Olin had pulled on a sleeping robe and stood tying the
sash closed.

Isranon flinched from looking at his spirit-brothers. He wished that Jun had
not sent for them. "I don't know. Amiri didn't say. Anksha fainted and I
couldn't rouse her."

"You've been abusing her, Isranon," Nevin said. "I'm surprised you didn't
kill her."

Nolly fled to Jun and the tall Lemyari put his arm around the girl. She
clung to Jun, her fingers digging into his arm.

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Isranon saw the fear in Nolly's face, the accusations in Nevin's, and he
folded up, his face in his hands, with the end of the sash trailing through
his fingers. "I don't know what possessed me. Does everyone know?"

Nevin's gaze swept the room. "Only those on our end of the wing."

Jun nodded. "The Lemyari, the Ymraudes, and the lycans. So far as I know,
we've kept it from the humans."

"You were quiet at first..." Nevin said. "But the past two weeks she's been
howling like a banshee. Impossible not to know you were jacking her."

"Doing a right good job of it too," Haig chuckled. He made a finger circle
with one hand and shoved the forefinger of his other through it in forceful
motions.

Nevin scowled at Haig.

"Well, if she didn't like it that rough, she'd not've been letting him do
it," Haig grumbled at Nevin.

"I won't be rough with Nolly when the time comes," Jun said.

Nolly pressed her face into Jun's side. "Make it soon, Jun," she murmured.
"I'm afraid."

Jun kissed the top of Nolly's head. "Don't be. I'll never hurt you. You're
my special girl."

"I was never rough with anyone before," Isranon said. "I'll never be rough
with anyone again."

"See that you don't," Nevin said, his voice harsh and unrelenting. "You know
what our people do to those who abuse their mates."

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Isranon swallowed and lowered his hands, but still could not meet Nevin's
eyes. The sash slipped a bit more through his fingers. "I – I took control of
the dominance-link away from her and beat her with it."

The silence that held them all briefly was finally broken by Haig. "That's
not possible."

"That I would do something like that? Well, I did!"

Nevin shook his shaggy head. "That it's possible. None of her blood-slaves
have ever taken control of the dominance-link away from her before. She's
eaten her way through thousands of them."

Isranon spotted Nolly cringing against Jun. "Jun, take Nolly out of here. I
make her a gift to you. I'll have the papers drawn up, only take her somewhere
else. She doesn't need to hear this."

Nolly smiled and Isranon noticed there were tears in her eyes.

"Take her somewhere and comfort her, Jun."

"You're mine, Nolly. For always. Thank you, Isranon." Jun gave Isranon a
nod, gathered Nolly into his arms, and walked out with her.

"Isranon, I think you need a night's sleep before we go any further into a
conversation like this," Nevin said. "Come on, you can sleep with Olin and I."

Isranon's eyes filled with tears of gratitude and regret. He got to his feet
and accepted Nevin's outstretched hand. "Thank you, my brother."

* * * *

Nans had been too busy to take much notice when Nevin and Olin moved to
separate quarters and Anksha moved in with Isranon. There were simply too many
matters demanding her attention. However, that morning, the male trio were
having an early breakfast in the parlor of Isranon's suite, while waiting for
Amiri and Nans to come and examine Anksha. Isranon had more color in his face
than Nans had seen in weeks and far sooner than the captain had expected to

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see it, yet his pensive expression concerned her. Nevin looked contemplative
as he raised his head to regard her. Nans settled into a chair next to Isranon
and, taking his wrist, quickly Read him. The mon was tired, but the last
vestiges of the damage had vanished. Only the embedded spells remained. She
had never seen him recover so swiftly or so completely before. Nans shifted
her perceptions to his mage centers and found a crimson banding that she had
never seen before. It smelled like passion of some kind, and animalistic. It
both intrigued and disturbed her. She had no idea how to interpret it.

"Where's Anksha?" Nans asked.

Amiri stood with Nans, watching them with an uninterpretable look on her
face.

"Isranon's bed. Sleeping." Nevin's thoughtful look deepened into what
appeared to be suspiciously like worry. "I doubt she'll get up."

Amiri winked at Nevin. "I agree with you."

Nevin scowled at her.

Nans glanced from Nevin to Amiri, wondering what was really going on here.
They went into the bedroom and found Anksha lying nude, curled up with a
fistful of sheet. A trail of bite marks ran from her neck down one arm and
another to her breast.

Nans stared.Had Isranon done this?The captain touched her and called her
name. Anksha grumbled, slapping at Nans.

"Anksha?" Nans was surprised at the reaction. The little she-creature
usually woke quickly.

"Don't feel good," Anksha grumbled. "Tummy. I'm sore."

She took Anksha's wrist and Read her. The result was startling, but then
nothing connected with Isranon and his magic should surprise her. First she
saw that Anksha's fiery rage of magic had finally settled back to normal
levels. Malei'leonys was herself again. The physical had changed drastically
and Nans wondered how Anksha would handle it. If Isranon was responsible for
it, she wondered howhewould handle the news.

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"Is this what you wanted me to confirm, Amiri?" Nans asked.

"Yes. I thought you would see as deeply as I did."

Nans sighed. "Anksha," she said gently. "Anksha, wake up."

Anksha stirred further, rubbing the back of her hand across her face. "I
hurt," she moaned. "Tummy is all funny."

Nans sighed more deeply. "That's normal, Anksha. You're pregnant."

Amiri smirked.

Anksha pulled the sheet up again. "I know. Amiri told me." She smiled
suddenly, her hand rubbing her stomach. "I'm going to have a baby. Just like
Nainee's."

"Well, not like Nainee's," Amiri said. "Yours will be a demon-eater, like
you."

"What did you sleep with?" Nans asked. The Beast had been coupling with
humans and others for centuries and produced nothing. What had changed?

"Isranon." Anksha looked suddenly pleased, smug as a cat in the cream,
forming a cradle with her arms. "I'm not one of a kind anymore. There's going
to be two of me. And woe betide the world. I gotta tell Isranon. He's going to
be a papa."

Nans caught Anksha as she started to slide out of bed. "Anksha, let me tell
him."My sa'necari life-mage has sired a demon-eater. What next? What in the
name of Creation have the Nine given me?

"Thank you, Nans. I had wanted additional confirmation on this," Amiri said.
"I'll take it from here, see that she gets enough to eat and the right
things."

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"Don't want to eat," Anksha moaned. "Upset tummy."

"You must," Nans said. "You're eating for two."

"I'll send Randilyn with some blood-slaves and breakfast for Anksha," Amiri
said, and gestured for Nans to follow her out. "Let's discuss this further
when we're alone."

Nans frowned and ran her fingers through her cinnamon hair. "We'll do it in
my command room."

* * * *

Isranon saw Nans and Amiri emerge from his bedroom, which he had given up to
Anksha. He caught Nans' hand as she started to pass him. "Is Anksha going to
be all right?"

"Yes," Nans replied. "We'll talk later."

Then they walked on, leaving Isranon staring after them.

"She didn't say much," Nevin said. "Now are you going to explain about what
happened last night?"

Shame flushed Isranon's face. "I injured her... I think I... I think I
nearly..." he struggled for the word, wavering between using a euphemism and
the proper word for it. "I nearly ginicomtwigged her to death."

Olin blinked and looked away, struggling to repress a snicker at the rare
euphemism and then failing entirely.

Nevin lips curled into a snarl, made uglier by his scarred lip. "You mean
raped. That's the only word for what you were doing to her – even if she was
allowing it."

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Isranon paled. "I didn't mean to do it. I – I don't understand what came
over me. She begged me to bite her and then... And then I just went mad.
There's no other way to put it. I don't feel that way any longer."

"You must make it up to her. You owe her more than an apology, Isranon."
Nevin spoke in the stern tones of a lawgiver.

Olin had sobered from his first reaction to the euphemism and nodded
solemnly. "Yes, you must."

"I will." Isranon folded his hands around his tankard of morning beer, which
he had taken with his breakfast, and stared at his hands. The entire world
felt closed out by his feelings of shame and worry. "I was too rough. She kept
telling me I was hurting her, but I refused to stop. Then she fainted and I
couldn't rouse her. Amiri checked her and chased me out. Which is why you
found me in the sitting room last night."

"Now it makes sense," Nevin said. "I had wondered."

Olin patted Isranon's arm. "If she hadn't wanted you to put it to her like
that, she would not have kept coming back for more."

"That doesn't matter," Nevin said. "He should have had more control."

Isranon shook his head. "I keep thinking there was more to it than that. You
don't know what it was like. Oh gods, if she doesn't get better, I don't know
what I'll do. I won't be able to live with myself."

Nevin took a long drink of his beer and wiped his mouth on his forearm.
"Don't worry about it, my brother. Anksha is being well-tended."

"I hope so," Isranon said, yet he did not sound certain. "I can't stand to
think of what I've been doing to her these past weeks... I've been so cruel."

"Do you want to see her?" Olin asked.

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"Yes. But Amiri says I'm not allowed to go in alone. Will you go in with
me?"

Nevin finally cracked a smile at that. "Of course we will."

Isranon rose and went into the bedroom, followed by Nevin and Olin. Anksha
lay with the covers drawn up to her breasts. A nervous smile flickered across
her lips when she saw them.

Isranon went to her and kissed her fingers before grabbing a chair, turning
it backwards and straddling it. He intended to use the chair back as a wall
between himself and Anksha. His eyes ran over the marks on her neck and arms,
the missing fur, and he swallowed uneasily.What manner of monster have I
become? "Anksha, I am sorry. I am so very sorry."

A brighter smile flickered across Anksha's face. "I know. You'll never be
mean to me again."

Isranon swallowed nervously. "I swear it on my soul."

Anksha stroked her tummy in a distracted fashion, stealing glances at
Isranon, her face settling into a dreamy, satisfied expression. "I believe
you."

* * * *

Nans strode down the hallway, indicating that Amiri should accompany her and
walked into her command room. Her aide-de-camp, a kandoyarin she had recently
employed, looked up from his paperwork. He was a sturdy mon named Freyrick,
who had once worked for Liuthan, and been appalled to discover his employer
was sa'necari. Nans had chosen him because she felt the growing number of
humans in her company would prefer a human liaison. Zulaika, her third in
command, could handle the vampires and the lycans fell under the leadership of
Nevin.

"Freyrick, Amiri and I need an hour alone. Could you find some other work to
do elsewhere?"

"Of course, General." He rose and left them.

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A faint bemusement touched Nans' features and vanished. Being called
"general" would take some getting used to, but now that their soldiery
numbered nearly five hundred, it did not do to call herself a mere captain.
She adamantly refused to allow anyone to call her Lady Nans the way that she
had been while growing up as the bastard daughter of a Gormondi princess.

She settled in her big chair at the end of the great table and tapped the
chair beside her for Amiri to sit there. "There are several anomalies, but I
didn't want to mention them in front of her. I sensed a single child, yet
there were echoes elsewhere in her body."

Amiri favored Nans with a sly smile as she sat down. "The Tinkerer planned
for every contingency. Anksha has two wombs. The secondary acts like a stasis
chamber. I suspect there are at least a dozen embryos stored there – if not
more. She will continue bearing his children long after he is dead."

Nans raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."

"Yes. In more ways than one. She has the child none of us believed she would
ever have. Without demon-eaters, the Ymraudes' main purpose for existing would
have been obviated. We were created to be their guides, teachers, and
protectors – they were the weapons and we were the wielders, although we also
fought the dark one directly. Isranon has just restored the race of
demon-eaters to the world. He has restored our purpose."

"They won't be the same, Amiri. They're part sa'necari and whatever else
Isranon might be."

Amiri gave her a thoughtful nod. "Yes, but it is better than what we had –
nothing."

Nans rubbed her hand over her mouth, thinking. "One thing bothers me. It is
very clear that she's been severely battered. Did Isranon do that?"

Amiri turned solemn. "Yes. The mating-bond causes very rough sexual
practices. It is in the nature of the demon-eaters for the male to become
subject to rages until he successfully seeds the female.

"Isranon is not a demon-eater. I would never have believed it possible for
him to do this to anyone."

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"For awhile he was. In the grip of the mating-madness, he possessed the
psyche of a demon-eater, operating from their instincts. In moments of
clarity, he was Isranon the mon."

"That must have been hard on them both. Does Isranon know?"

Amiri shook her head. "I will explain it to him when we tell him that she's
pregnant."

"I know this is a very good thing for your kind, Amiri, but it is a bad
thing for this company."

"Anksha will be healed within a week. Remember when she broke her leg?"

Nans snorted. "I'll never forget it. I expected to find she'd been crushed
when I lifted the dead horse off her."

"Demon-eaters are tough."

Nans leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. "I realize that, but
I didn't know just how tough under the circumstances. Anksha was one of our
best weapons."

"Was?"

"I'm not going to risk her now that she's pregnant."

"Nans, until the last third of her pregnancy, she should be perfectly
capable of fighting. Demon-eaters are tremendously tough, Nans. I wish we had
dozens like her as we did in the previous godwar. They took the most powerful
demons and turned them against their fellows, turn commander against
commander."

"I still don't like it."

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"Trust me to know when to retire Anksha from the field," Amiri said.

"No. You will inform me ahead of time before you deploy Anksha in the field.
You understand? And I mean each and every time."

Amiri gave Nans a reluctant nod. "Yes."

* * * *

Isranon entered the yellow room where the Lemyari met to feed and found a
dozen nibari in the room waiting upon the masters to arrive. Haig and Jun were
already there. Nolly wore her new collar with Jun's name on it as her owner.
She played with the collar nervously, having never worn one before. The brand
on her shoulder, which bore Jun's newly designed mark, was healing well.

Bare to the waist, Nolly sat cross-legged on the floor with Jun beside her.
The vampire kissed and licked along her neck as if preparing to feed. Nolly
shivered, her hands folded together in her lap, clasping and unclasping them.

"Now, Jun?" she asked.

"No, not yet. Just get used to the feel of me. When the time comes, I want
to do it right. It should be special."

Isranon's eyes lingered upon Nolly's young breasts, their piquant fullness
making him hungry. His fangs came down and he brushed his tongue across their
needle-sharpness. Isranon hoped that Jun was as skilled as he seemed, for it
was very easy for a vampire to scar with the tiny hooks on the bottom of their
fangs. His own were slender and long, sa'necari fangs. Anksha's were huge and
tearing. Every type of hemovore had slightly different fangs and it was
frequently possible to tell which kind had fed on a nibari – or taken a victim
– by examining the marks. Only the highly skilled or careful among the
vampires and others failed to scar their victims. Some simply enjoying marking
their nibari up. Others liked concealing the evidence of a feeding. Nibari
generally did not scar easily.

He walked farther into the room and found a comfortable chair near the
window. His stomach growled and surprised him with an appetite much keener
than he remembered it ever being for blood. Isranon felt famished. He leaned
his staff against the chair. Two nibari noted his arrival and went to him, one

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male and the other female, opening their robes to bare their flesh to him.

Isranon grinned. "One more. I'm very hungry today."

The male gestured at a second female. The first female knelt between
Isranon's opened legs. "Let me be first, Lord Dawnreturning," she said. "My
name is Ula."

"A nice name. First position."

Ula crossed her wrists behind her back, tilted her head, and arched her
neck. Isranon cupped the warm roundness of her light olive-skinned breast,
squeezing it and thumbing her nipple. Normally he liked to feed in private, so
that he could make love to his chosen nibari as well as taking sustenance from
their veins. Sharing a bed with Nevin and Olin in a lycan comfort nesting
arrangement had its drawbacks. It saw him through the worst parts of his
recurrent illness, but it also made his nibari assignations awkward at times.
So long as they were here, he could ask the steward to set aside a room for
him. Isranon decided to do that once he finished sating himself here.

He licked her neck and broke the skin, sliding into her, his lips fastening
tight as he sucked the delicious blood, so warm and reassuring to his senses.
Isranon's hand tangled in her light brown hair to hold her head steady. He
lost himself in his thoughts as he fed. Ula slumping in his arms snapped him
back from his reverie. Isranon pulled out of her, staunched the wound with a
word, and Read her swiftly.

Her heart fluttered toward stopping. Aghast, because he had never before
failed to pay attention, Isranon reached out to the nibari with his power,
sharing his life force with her, returning some of the blood he had taken. The
other two nibari, who had been looking frightened by what they saw, now looked
on with awe. The entire room had gone silent and everyone stared at him.

A rainbow aura surrounded Isranon as he used his magic. The air filled
suddenly with a sound of distant singing.

Ula opened her eyes and gazed at him in wonder. "I have never felt anything
like that before."

Isranon ruffled her hair. "I hope you never need to again."

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"He healed a nibari," the male kneeling before him exclaimed.

Isranon glanced at him, seeing this one as an appetizing youth as well as
one of the nearly one hundred nibari in the herd Isranon now owned as
recompense and spoils of his enemy. "What else should I have done?" He
gestured at those still across the room from him. "Two of you, see her to
bed."

He waved to Haig, "Come here and Read the nibari as I feed. I'm still
voraciously hungry and I don't want to hurt another."

Haig nodded and joined him. "You're a good mon, Isranon."

Eevy, who had joined the others close to Isranon, squirmed to the front. "I
know a private room."

Isranon squeezed her shoulder. "Eevy, forgive me for being rude to you two
weeks ago."

Eevy blinked and her cheeks flushed delicately. "My master does not need to
apologize."

"A private room?" Isranon said gently. "And you first?"

Eevy gave Isranon a brilliant smile like the sun bursting from behind the
morning clouds. "Yes."

* * * *

Anksha measured the flatness of her stomach each morning by placing her
thumbs on her sides and sticking out her forefingers. She understood what had
happened with the magic, even if no one else did.Four days and still flat.
Anksha wrinkled nose at her belly.This is going to take forever.

She had spent two days in bed thinking, while Isranon waited upon her hand
and foot. That gave her plenty of time to reason through it. Now she not only
knew how to have sex, but how to make babies.

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Anksha folded her hands across her stomach and purred. "Baby in my belly.
Bun in the oven." She heard the door open and went silent.

Isranon came in with a tray laden with demon flesh stew one of the nibari
had created, crackers and bread, honey and butter, and a dish of candy. "Amiri
was bringing this, but I thought it should be me."

Anksha gave him a mysteriously feline smile. "Not hungry, but will eat."

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't know what came over me..."

Anksha got out of bed and wrapped her arms around him. "It's okay. The
soreness is going away."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Isranon repeated. "I can't understand it. I
never meant all those ugly things I said to you."

Anksha had to struggle not to tell him, but Nans had insisted she wait until
the proper moment. She could see that the madness had deserted him, and he was
her beloved Isranon once more. All would be well.

Isranon gave her a startled look as the link between them rekindled.
Uncertain of what this would lead to, Anksha unconsciously reached inside
herself and shielded the baby from his awareness. He touched one of the ugly
marks he had left on her neck and healed it. One by one, Isranon healed every
injury he had done her. Anksha writhed in delight at the soothing warmth.

"I love you, my Isranon."

He blinked and then kissed her cheek chastely. "And, I love you, Anksha."

* * * *

Amiri sat upon the sofa in her parlor with Randilyn kneeling happily between
her knees. A small spot of blood and bruising showed where Amiri had lifted

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her mouth from Randilyn's flesh. Raising her eyes, Randilyn saw that Amiri
still had a bit of blood rimming her mouth, so she waved a napkin at her.
Amiri took it and cleaned away the blood. "Did I get it all?"

"Yes," Randilyn giggled. "Sure did."

Zulaika sat across from them in a chair with her red-haired Luca in the same
position as Randilyn. Luca's eyes held a glaze and she seemed lost in dreams.
Zulaika had put her under with the power of fascination. Luca was far from
fang-shy, but not yet accustomed to the differences between sa'necari and
vampiric feedings, including the Ymraude's larger fangs.

"You have truly turned the Beast, Amiri," Zulaika observed dryly. "She will
never return to Hoon's influence now that Isranon has given her a child."

Amiri shook her head, a wise look in her dark eyes. "No. Love turned the
Beast. Even should Isranon die tomorrow, Anksha will remain true to his
memory."

Zulaika lifted Luka delicately aside and moved to the center table. Luka
leaned against the side of the chair and watched. Zulaika laid her blades on
the table, took her cloth and oils from her pouch, and began to treat her
blades with them. "I never expected this."

"Nor did I. It takes great magic on both parts to cross the barriers between
their species. I think that it was a foregone matter, however, when her rage
became so great. I would hate to see anyone touch him now. She'd hunt them to
the ends of the earth to destroy them."

"Even Hoon?"

"Yes. Even Hoon."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SPY-HUNTERS

Nikko woke in a bright sunny room that he did not recognize. A pleasant

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breeze blew through the windows, carrying the scents of the forest, flowering
bushes, and farther away goats and sheep. A soothing lethargy held him in a
gentle imprisonment on his bed, with no desire to move. His awareness felt
cottony and displaced. Nikko yawned. He wondered if one of his people had
found him. Then he wondered who were his people, and why they should have
found him. Why should they even have been looking for him? The emptiness in
his mind shoved needles of panic into his chest. His pulse raced and his heart
hammered, which brought on a feeling of increasing pressure in his chest as if
a tremendous hand were squeezing his heart.

"Awake, finally, Lawgiver?" said a soothing female voice.

Nikko started to turn on his side, and gasped sharply in pain. A pair of
long-fingered hands pressing on his naked chest stopped him from moving
further.

"I'm having a damned hard time keeping those wounds closed." Navaryn put her
cool fingertips to his temples. "Relax. Breathe deeply. Your heart is damaged.
Tense up like this and you'll set off an attack."

Nikko dropped flat and obeyed her, feeling her warm power flow through him.
The chest pain eased.

"Lawgiver?" He angled his head to glance at the bandages on his chest, ribs,
and stomach. Beneath the light coverlet, he felt another near the base of his
spine and one on his thigh. Nikko could not remember being hurt. He reached
for the memories, and his mind flinched away from it, leaving him staring into
a darkened abyss again.

"Yes. You wear a lawgiver's runes," said Navaryn. "What is your name? Which
village are you from?"

Nikko blinked, his thoughts racing as he became aware of the chain around
his neck and pulled the runes forth from where they had settled along the edge
of his neck amid the pillows. "My ... my name? I don't remember. It's all
gone."

"I'm not surprised, really. You had nearly as much poison as blood in you.
Death lotus – it took me days to dig all the broken off ends of the darts from
your skin. Snake venom and Devil's Silver. It shocked your system. It's the
gods' own miracle that you're alive. If you wish to stay that way, don't get
out of bed without my permission. You're still in bad shape."

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"How bad?"

"To start, you only have one lung left. I managed to save one kidney and
your liver. I may yet be able to fix your damaged heart. Time will tell. If
that arrow that struck near your spine had been a fraction closer, you'd be
paralyzed. So count yourself lucky. Now do you understand why I want you to
stay in bed?"

"Oh, gods. Yes."

She rose from her chair and poured a greenish liquid from a bottle into a
small glass. "Devil's Silver does that when they get enough of it into you."

Nikko turned a pleading face to Navaryn, as he accepted the glass and drank
the contents. Despite some sweetening, it tasted dreadful. He wiped his mouth
with his arm, grimacing. "Do you know who did this to me?"

"We were hoping you could tell us."

"I can't remember anything."

"You're the only person alive who has ever seen his face. It was the
Butchering Serpent who shot you."

"Oh, gods. And he's loose among my people."

Navaryn smiled and Nikko thought she was the loveliest female he had ever
seen. She touched his forehead and he felt the wash of a Reader's power
through him. He caught her hand when she removed it and sniffed her fingers.
At least he could move his arms without pain so long as the rest of him did
not move. "You're lycan."

"I am," Navaryn said. "At least all of your knowledge is intact. It's the
personal you can't access. There's hope for that."

Nikko felt his mind and body go cottony. "What did you give me?"

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"Holadil and a pollonae extract. Among other things."

"Not pollendine?"

"You're not dying. Unless you try to do more than your body's ready for.
Hathura gave you the last of the Sapphire Elixir when they found you, or you
would never have reached here alive."

"Who is Hathura?" he asked. "Who are you?"

Navaryn's lips curled into the smile of one who had a secret and expected
the revelation to take some getting used to. "Hathura Waveskimmer. I'm Navaryn
Moonbow."

Names out of legend. Nikko's brows knit. "You're descended of the first
mother?"

Navaryn's bemusement deepened. "Iamthe first mother."

The lawgiver looked so stunned that he could have been knocked over with a
daisy. "I – I think I want to sleep."

"Good. If you need anything, just pull the bell cord. I've tucked the end
under your pillow." Navaryn stood, preparing to leave him.

"One more thing. How long have I been here?"

"Nearly four weeks. Now, rest. I'll be back to check on you."

Four weeks. Urgency clutched at his middle, and a feeling of displaced
danger that he could not hold onto. Nikko closed his eyes as Navaryn left him.
Soon he slept. Finally he dreamed of a faceless mon chasing him through the
woods, shooting him with burning arrows. And he wept in his sleep.

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* * * *

Pandeena sat at the small desk in the living room, books stacked around her
and a quill in hand as she scribbles notes, preparing the next day's lesson
for the children. She had been there a week, knew everyone in the camp by
name, yet Pandeena could not get past the air of distrust that the camp's
adults displayed. She found that odd and disturbing, considering that the rest
of the villagers accepted her with open arms, as befitted a new priest. Just
after nightfall, a knock came at her door, and she answered it, finding Shalto
and Oswyl standing there.

"What do you want? It's late."

Shalto pushed past her with a leer and Oswyl followed.

"I didn't ask you in, yet," Pandeena said, irritation rising in her voice.
She slammed the door closed and treaded toward Shalto, who appeared to be the
one in charge of the pair.

"You didn't need to," Shalto said. "You've been begging for this visit since
you laid eyes on us."

"What?" Pandeena's eyes narrowed, surreptitiously scanning her living room
and deciding how to avoid breaking any furniture. "I want you to leave."

Oswyl nudged Shalto.

"We know you must be lonely," Shalto said. "A fine looking bitch like
yourself shouldn't be alone nights."

"Get out, or I'll throw you out," Pandeena growled, placing herself near the
door into the hallway that circled the shrine, well away from the sofas, end
tables, chairs, and desk.

Shalto circled her casually. "You don't mean that."

"We wanted to talk about the wild cousins," Oswyl said, an eager note in his
voice.

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"I'm your priest, not your slut," Pandeena growled still lower.

Shalto sidled up to her. "Everyone's talking about the way you look at me."

"Way I what?"

Shalto slid his arm around her, and cupped her breast with his other hand.

Pandeena stared down at his hand. "Move it, or lose your fingers."

"Awww, you don't mean it."

Oswyl came up on the other side of her. "Maybe she likes it rough?"

Pandeena elbowed Shalto hard in the face. He released her with a sharp howl,
staggering backwards, hunched over, and clutching his bleeding nose. She spun
faster than the eye could follow and kicked Shalto in the stomach, slamming
him into the wall by the door. He slipped to the floor and lay stunned.
Pandeena followed and stamped his hand, grinding his fingers under her boot
heel.

Shalto screamed.

"Maybeyoulike it rough," Pandeena snarled.

Oswyl heard the bones break in Shalto's hands, his eyes bulged, and he ran
for the other door, but Pandeena was faster.

"You came for some together," she sneered. "So you'll get some too, Oswyl."

"Hey, I didn't mean no harm... We weren't gonna hurt you none. It's just a
friendly weapon, after all." Oswyl backed away from her.

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Pandeena hit Oswyl in the nose and heard the bone crunch. Oswyl cried out,
and his hand went to his nose. She saw Shalto getting groggily to his feet,
grabbed Oswyl by the arm, and hurled him on top of Shalto. The two young males
went down in a heap together. Before either could recover, she came at them
like a fury out of hell, kicking and stomping on them.

They shrieked, screamed, howled, and finally begged. Yet, Pandeena did not
relent until she felt that they had been damaged enough to satisfy her. When
they lay in a bloodied curl, too frightened to move, she stood over them with
her arms crossed.

"I'm your priest, damnit! If I find out that you're treating the women of
the camp like you tried to treat me, I'll give you a worse thrashing next
time."

Shalto shook his head frantically, his eyes like dishes on an alabaster
cloth. "Won't happen again, holiness."

"Nope, won't happen again," Oswyl agreed.

Pandeena threw her front door open and stared. It looked like the entire
camp was standing in her yard. She spotted Malthus, Clodagh, and Kandaishee
near their head.

"This is what happens to anyone who mistreats a female in this camp,"
Pandeena shouted. She snatched Shalto up and sent him tumbling into the yard.

"My leg!" Shalto screamed. "She broke my leg ... and my fingers."

Pandeena tossed Oswyl out next.

He landed sobbing. "My arms! My arms, she's broken them both!"

Pandeena wiped her hands off on her pants leg. "Someone find them a healer.
I refuse to help them. They got what they deserved."

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She closed the door and went to wash the blood from her hands before
settling down again to work on the lesson plan.

* * * *

Malthus sat cross-legged on the floor of his study, dipping his arrowheads
in the newest batch of poison. He had increased the amount of Devil's Silver.
Images of Pandeena circled through his mind, blending with the way Shalto and
Oswyl had looked lying in her yard when she finished with them. He wanted to
fuck her, or rite her, but he felt certain that he would have to shoot her
instead.Such a waste.

A small knock preceded Lyrri's entrance.

"I told you not to come in here."

"Uncle Malthus, I can't find Ros."

"What do you mean you can't find Ros?"

Lyrri blinked and dropped her head. "We were playing hide and seek. When she
didn't find me and it got dark, I started calling her. But she doesn't
answer."

Malthus set his arrows aside. "Go into my bedroom and stay there. Drop the
bar on the shutters and the door. Don't come out for anyone except me."

He waited until he saw Lyrri go in and heard the bars drop into place. His
bedroom had the strongest magical defenses in the house. Malthus had relied on
tell-tales for the girls.

Once in the yard, he started calling. "Ros? Ros, come here. Come now. No
more games."

Fear was a rock in his stomach and a fist in his chest. He circled the
house, still calling and getting no response. Malthus extended his necromantic
senses and caught a flicker of something. It drew him to a thicket of aspen
trees, beyond that to a tangle of briars, and then to the clustering stands of

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sweet pepperbushes bordering a small freshet. Cattails thrust their green
brushes thickly along the edge, shoving against the long tips of the sweet
pepperbush stalks with their profusion of tiny white bells. Ahead of him, a
large willow tree overhung the edge of the stream. He saw a bit of blue cloth
among the humped chaos of roots and cattails. Ros had worn her favorite blue
dress that morning.

"Ros!"

Malthus got no answer.

He scrambled over the roots.

Ros lay half in and half out of the little stream, water flowing across her
dangling legs halfway up her naked thighs, her skirts ripped away, and her
small clothes gone. Blood and drying cum coated her loins. A courier pouch lay
tucked behind her head. Malthus dropped to his knees, dragged her into his
arms, and turned her head to the side. On her neck he found the distinctive
scrape and pierce marks of a Lemyari. He extended his awareness through her
body. Life – he almost missed the flicker of it. A moment more and he would
have found her dead. Malthus slit his wrist and pressed it into her mouth.
Blood flowing over her tongue caused her fangs to come down, she bit
reflexively without regaining consciousness, and sucked him.

Rage brought Malthus' fangs to full extension, and sent a flush across his
dark features. He saw a piece of paper folded and shoved into the neck of what
remained of her dress. Opening the pouch, Malthus shoved that in with the
rest, not bothering to try and read it in the darkness – he knew already who
had written it.

His lips writhed back from his fangs. "I'll kill you, Sergei. I'll kill you
for this."

The rumors that Sergei had a taste for little girls had finally been
confirmed to Malthus. If the vampire had fallen into the grip of Passion-Dance
of Obsession, Sergei would keep coming back until he had killed all of them,
and then go looking for the rest of Malthus' family. Malthus intended to make
it Sergei's last dance.

Malthus let Ros feed until he was certain that he'd pulled her back from the
edge. Lifting her in his arms, he settled her against his shoulder, picked up
the pouch, and carried her home. He put Ros to bed, and then fetched a basin,
ewer of water, soap, and a soft cloth. One he had cleaned Ros up, he let Lyrri
out.

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"Lyrri, your sister is hurt. She fell in the water. Don't disturb her."

Her eyes were large as she nodded solemnly. "I won't, Uncle Malthus.

Malthus put Lyrri to bed, and sent her to sleep with a touch of his hand.
Afterward, he took the pouch to his office and sat down at his desk. Malthus
untied the leather thong holding the pouch closed and drew out two sealed
letters and the folded paper he had found shoved into Ros' dress.

He unfolded the paper first, and found that the message had indeed come from
Sergei. The note, written in an elegant hand with graphite said simply:

"Playing both sides of the game? That could get you killed.

"By the way, she was delicious. I'll come back for the other one."

Sergei

Malthus crumbled the paper angrily, kneading it in his hand for several
minutes before dropping it into the woven basket beside his desk. He would see
that it was burned with the rest when he finished. Sergei was so certain of
his power, that he was taunting Malthus, and it rankled. Was Sergei
threatening him? More reason to kill the vampire and be done with it.

Two more letters, one from Lord Daemon, and the other from the god-queen
Gylorean. No wonder Sergei made that threat. He must think he can blackmail me
here. No matter.

Malthus broke the seal on the first letter.

Malthus,

I want the child alive. He is worth a chest of gold to me. If you can get me
his mother also, I will make that two chests. They are more valuable than you
can imagine. But only if they are alive when they reach me. I am the only one

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who knows how to use them. Do not disappoint me.

Daemon, Lord Brandrahoon.

Malthus felt a moment's elation until he read the signature. Lord Daemon had
just given his true name, and with that name came an implicit threat. For the
first time in his life, Malthus knew fear. He wished now that he had not told
Brandrahoon of the child and its mother.

He knew all the stories and most of the rumors concerning the oldest vampire
in existence. He was one of the three brothers who had founded Waejontor.

Once there were three brothers: Brandrahoon the vampire; Isranon called
Dawnhand, speaker to spirits; and Waejonan the Accursed, first of sa'necari.

The words trembled in his mind. The hellgod-queen Gylorean Galee had made
Brandrahoon the first vampires. Back in the days when the sa'necari were
merely a cult led by Waejonan the first king of Waejontor, they had learned to
fear Brandrahoon. The dreaded Lord Hoon, a vampire lord with many holdings
throughout the continent, had to have been Brandrahoon all along.

Historians and others had long speculated on whether the ancient vampire
still lived or not. Now Malthus knew and he wondered how many others did also.
Brandrahoon would only have revealed himself if he felt secure in his position
and his power. The queen must be aware of this, after all she had given him
back the estates he held before Waejonan exiled him – before he and his
she-creature killed Waejonan and disappeared into the shadows for centuries,
rising only as a rumor here and there.

Did the she-creature still exist also? If so, he would not risk a
face-to-face encounter with her – he would shoot her from a distance. Were his
poisons enough to kill her? What more could he add to the blend? Lemyari.
There were rumors of an antidote, but Malthus didn't credit them. He would
secretly take one of those Lemyari who served him, and imprison it to milk its
venom.Sergei. It ought to be Sergei. If only I could trap that one.

Considering his choices allowed Malthus to recover from his initial shock,
and he pulled himself together. So Brandrahoon wanted Merissa as well as
Darmyk. Malthus wanted Merissa for himself. She had given Isranon a child, she
could give him one. He needed legitimate heirs, and he could not afford to
wait much longer. At thirty-six, Malthus knew he should have already been
nearly sterile, yet to judge from how many camp females he had impregnated he
was far from it.

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While there existed many theories concerning his people's progressive
infertility, none of them fully explained it. Although almost humanly fertile
at adolescence, it degenerated rapidly into sterility, and no one's theories
had yet proven out. He suspected that his mother might be correct when she
said the rites caused it. Acting on that belief, she had periodically dosed
him for prolonged periods with the same potions that had allowed him to appear
human in the hopes of maintaining his fertility.

And, of course, there was also a small percentage of variation there, but
not enough to remark on. When they bred outside their own kind, more children
resulted, but few of them were born sa'necari. Here was a young lycan who had
borne a sa'necari child. It made him want Merissa all the more. That decided
him. Malthus would find a way around yielding Merissa to Brandrahoon.

Then he thought of Pandeena, the mysterious priest, and his loins tightened.
He wanted that one also, but something about her disturbed him. Spellcord.
Yes, that was what he needed. Spellcord her, and then make her his. Make her
spill her secrets, and open her legs to him.

Malthus opened the letter from Minnoras and discovered that the god-queen
had written him only a single line:

Send me the child alive.

Damn! They both wanted the child delivered to them alive. So there was no
possibility of getting paid double.

Malthus reconsidered everything. The gold would be nice. However, he had
already been promised a title of nobility, lands, and slaves for betraying the
valley into the Queen's hands. Malthus ran his tongue over his fangs
thoughtfully. He had not specified whether the child had been born lycan or
sa'necari. Perhaps he could substitute Kandaishee's child for Darmyk... That
was a thought. The two cubs were the same age. Give that child to Brandrahoon.
He was more of a threat than Galee was. The god-queen still had Angrim,
Beltria, and Shaurone to plow through before she could reach him.

He would have his promised vengeance on Isranon for killing his brother –
butcher Darmyk and send pieces of the child to his father.

But Merissa? Merissa was another goal entirely. Perhaps he could substitute
Clodagh for Merissa after a bit of fiddling with her mind to convince the
bitch she was Merissa.

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He should never have sent those letters, but at least he now had a plan.

* * * *

After closing all her curtains and shutters in her apartments, Pandeena
cuddled Moss in her arms. He licked her face with a wag of his tail. "Yes, I
love you too, Moss. We're going to visit a friend of yours."

Pandeena Jumped to her mother's house, and as she walked passed the front
room, she saw that the chairs, sofas, and floor overflowed with members of
Teakamon's his band in mottled gray and brown. Teakamon sat at the head of the
room in the chair that Lokynen favored, wearing his natural form: his hair the
color of fresh spring leaves hung loose to his buttocks, a seal-brown loin
cloth was the only clothing on his sorrel skinned-body and his lean frame with
its well-defined muscles, and modest flare at his shoulders, looked as if he
had been carved from a light, reddish-brown wood and then highly polished.

Teakamon rose from his chair when he saw Pandeena, straightening to his full
seven-foot height. A gray-eyed woman dressed in doeskin trousers and tunic
shoved herself from a chair and followed him. Pandeena's eyebrows lifted at
the sight of Reynan Sharani, the Watcher of the Woods, knowing that Teakamon
would only have brought her if times had become exceedingly dangerous.

"What have we here?" Teakamon asked, reaching out to stroke the dog in
Pandeena's arms. "I do believe it's little Moss."

"You know him?" Pandeena asked, startled.

"Why, yes," Teakamon replied. "I gave him to Tempest ten years ago. He's a
cedar puppy. I grow them on my special tree. They're very intelligent as dogs
go, and long-lived." Teakamon parted the hair on Moss' tail to show the green
spot where Moss had once been connected to the tree he sprouted from.

Pandeena sucked in a sharp breath. "Tempest is dead. They say it was a heart
attack."

Teakamon frowned, his bushy green brows knitting tightly together across his
narrow forehead. "That's not possible."

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"He was old..."

The son of Willodarus shook his head. "Tempest could not die of that. I
linked his heart to a tree. He was one of my favorites."

Tension rippled through Pandeena. "Could a sa'necari have stilled his heart?
As if it were a heart attack?"

"Death magic, yes. Did you see Tempest's body?"

"No. He was returned to the earth months ago. He's buried beside his shrine
in Wolffgard."

Sorrow washed across Teakamon's features. "Poor little Moss. Has he been
alone all that time?"

"No. I think he had other people for a time. Actually, I think our injured
wolf upstairs belongs to Moss."

"I assume that you are taking him there?"

"I watch and see, but may not tell, of all the evil that I smell," said
Reynan in a singsong voice. "I hunt it down, I kill it well, I show to all
however small."

Pandeena shivered. She had never heard the Watcher speak before. All she
knew about Teakamon's great paladin was that the mon had been geised at birth
by her bloodmother's enemies. "Yes, I am."

"Shall I come with you?" Teakamon asked.

Pandeena shook her head. "I'll come back down and we can talk then."

"Good. Reynan and I have things to show you."

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Pandeena climbed the stairs with Moss. When she entered Nikko's bedroom,
Moss began squirming to be let down and whining. Pandeena tightened her hold
on him.

"What do we have here?" Navaryn asked, glancing over her shoulder as she
handed Nikko a glass of one of her potions.

"A friend of his, I think." Pandeena knelt and released Moss. The little dog
immediately ran across the room, jumped onto the bed, and bounded up to Nikko.
He licked Nikko's face furiously.

"Moss! How did you get here?" Nikko said. He stopped and blinked. "That's
his name, isn't it?"

Pandeena grinned broadly. "Yes, it is. Moss!" she spoke sharply to get the
dog's attention. "Find Nikko."

Moss bounced at Nikko again with a loud bark.

"Well, that settles that," Navaryn said. "Your name is Nikko."

Pandeena nodded. "Nikko is the missing lawgiver from Wolffgard Village. They
think you're dead, Nikko."

"It's just as well," Navaryn said. "If the Butchering Serpent knew you
lived, he'd come looking for you."

"Does the name Malthus mean anything to you?" Pandeena asked.

"Mal – Malthus?" Nikko abruptly doubled over with a cry, clutching at his
chest and stomach. Navaryn sprang from her chair and slipped her hand onto his
chest, flooding it with warmth and energy, taking from her own life force and
sharing it with Nikko, linking the beat of his heart to hers, so that hers
beat for both of them. Pandeena put her hand on her mother's arm and linked
with her in rapport, lending her own strength to Navaryn's. There was still
too much of the poison lingering his Nikko's body, too much damage had been
done.

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Navaryn pulled Nikko into her arms and cradled him, maintaining the link
between them, which was all that was keeping him alive. "Get me the powdered
Amphereon and the tube."

Pandeena broke rapport and brought the bottle from the cabinet. She filled
the steel tube with Amphereon and passed it to her mother. Navaryn shoved it
into Nikko's nostril and blew. She passed the tube back to Pandeena. "Refill
it."

The inserting and blowing was repeated, bringing the highly refined
Amphereon into Nikko's blood stream fast through the mucus membranes. Navaryn
Read him and saw that his damaged heart had steadied.

"Now the blue arcane and the pollendine, quickly."

They managed to get the drugs down him.

Navaryn released the link and they settled Nikko back among his blankets and
pillows.

"What happened?" Nikko asked in a soft, dazed voice, his hand on Moss' back.

"A name triggered a paroxysm. We won't say it again until you're stronger."

Nikko stared at a point on the wall, raking his teeth over his lower lip.
"Can I keep Moss?"

"I have no problem with that, Mother. I doubt that anyone will notice that
Moss has vanished. They'll probably decide something happened to him and get
on with their lives. No one is going to go looking for a small dog."

"Then, yes, you can."

"Thank you." Nikko cuddled Moss and was soon asleep with the dog beside him.

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Pandeena knew that Nikko was nineteen, but right then he seemed more like a
frightened little boy. "Well, I think we know who shot him."

"Don't say the name until we're out of here," Navaryn said, and led her
daughter down to one of the lower small sitting rooms.

Pandeena licked her lips and raked her teeth across her lower one. "Malthus.
He appears to be human, but he tried to Read me."

"He's the Butchering Serpent. Be careful."

"I'll kill him."

"No. We can't break the very laws we helped to create. We gave the lycans
laws, culture, and civilization. Ours will not be the hands that destroy it.
Watch him. Catch him in the act or find a witness to it. At least we finally
know what the Serpent looks like."

"We have a witness."

"Not Nikko. Not until his memory comes back completely."

"We have Moss."

"A dog cannot be a witness. You know the laws."

"Then I'll watch him."

"And I'll get hold of Lokynen and have him join you at the village.
Teakamon's people are too conspicuous."

"That's a sound plan." Pandeena leaned against the wall beside the linen
closet, her arms crossed. "Teakamon wants to show me something."

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"You don't need to see it. The Watcher has a basket of trophies. Lemyari,
sa'necari, and Rakshasha. You must get another lawgiver for the village. Under
the laws, you will need one to find the truths and declare Malthus guilty of
his crimes."

Pandeena thought for a moment. "Caimbeul of Running Horse. It will probably
take me a few days to talk him into it, but his apprentice is thirty years old
and more than ready to take over."

"It would be easier to get the apprentice. Besides, do you really want to
complicate your life with Caimbeul again?"

"I don't want the apprentice, I want Caimbeul. And I can handle the old
lecher." Pandeena winked at her mother.

"I know. Do what you can."

Pandeena Jumped back to her home in Wolffgard and made arrangements to be
gone for a couple of weeks, figuring that it was better to allow for more time
than she expected to need, rather than too little. She shoved a few items in
her backpack, and Jumped to Running Horse in Clan Silver Paw's valley. Only
Caimbeul would do for her purposes. Red Wolff would not normally accept an
out-clan lawgiver. Caimbeul, however, was a legend and one of the long lived
owing to having a fireborn among his ancestors. His wisdom was considered so
wide and all-encompassing that he was frequently called in to settle disputes
between clans.

* * * *

Sergei's attack upon Ros had unsettled Malthus far more than he wished to
admit. He slept badly, constantly getting up to check on the girls, and
finally fell asleep in a chair in the living room. It had been years since
anything had left him feeling this threatened, even when removing his people
to safety after learning that battle-clan planned to assault his holdings. He
shifted uncomfortably in his dreams.

Images of Sergei and Brandrahoon haunted him. His nieces crouched at his
feet, terrified as the vampires seized him. Brandrahoon shoved a blade into
his heart while Sergei recited what he intended to do to Ros and Lyrri. I
should not have brought them – I should not..." he mumbled in his sleep,
writhing as the blade went in and he felt himself die.

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A tug on his shirt brought him lurching from sleep.

Lyrri stood there, her eyes wide with worry. "Ros won't wake up."

His breath caught in his throat as he propelled himself from his chair at a
run. He threw open the shutters to allow the morning light to play across Ros'
still features. She looked as pale as fresh snow. He sat on the edge of Ros'
bed, took her wrist, and Read her. She lived, yet remained extremely weak.
Malthus mentally kicked himself for not looking for it last night. But it had
seemed so unlikely that a Lemyari would give a seven-year-old a taste of the
venom when fascination and blood loss would do for her.

Malthus stripped Ros out of her nightgown and began going over every inch of
her body. He found it partially concealed by other bruises along the inside of
her thigh, high up near her vagina: a single puncture.

A little of the venom paralyzes, more kills."How much did you give her, you
goat-jacking bastard? I'll kill you." Another thought entered Malthus' mind.
"No, I'll chain you in my dungeon and milk you like a cockwhoring serpent."

He opened his wrist and put it in Ros' mouth. Her bite and suck reflex
worked, but her eyes did not open. Malthus let her take as much as she would,
then he closed the wound on his wrist with a swipe of his tongue, cleaned away
the blood rimming her mouth, and slipped her nightgown back on her.

Ros needed more attention than he could give her, a female's attention –
which meant fetching Clodagh. But what if Sergei was out there watching him?
He could put the strongest wards he knew how on the bedroom and have Lyrri
stay there with her sister, while he went for Clodagh. But what if that priest
showed up? She appeared to have several arcane talents. If any of those could
detect mage-craft, then she would know what he was if she arrived while he was
away. Malthus remembered how Tempest had been waiting for him the day that he
murdered him.

"If she gets in my way, I'll kill her."

He strengthened the wards and went to his study. Taking out the necklace of
carrying globes and placing it on top of his desk, he tapped the red one with
a word of command. Three bundles of blades came out, each wrapped in a
different colored cloth, crimson, azure, and black. Malthus unwrapped the
blades in the crimson cloth. Two knives as long as short swords lay there. He
handled the plain, unadorned blades cautiously, exchanging them for what he

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normally carried at his hips. A tap and a word put the rest of the blades back
into the globe.

The poisoned blades prepared him to deal with Pandeena should he need to.
Malthus shielded his nieces into their bedroom and left. He paused in his yard
long enough for a low level scan for undead. If Sergei was still out there,
then he had withdrawn beyond the reach of Malthus' ability to detect. Sergei,
like the one who turned him, used his powers discretely and rarely, so that no
one knew their full range and what he was capable of. Flashy mages who used
their abilities constantly and for every little thing, generally did not live
long – someone eventually ate them.

Malthus strode along the dirt path leading back to the main compound. He
could hear female voices as they queued up for their weekly allotment of dry
goods. When he came in sight of them, Malthus could see the buckets each woman
held and the three at the head of each line, who were dispensing goods from
large sacks. The camp's small buckboard was pulled up, and Torquil was handing
the large sacks down to another male. The smith's apprentice did this once a
week with his master's permission. Clodagh stood at the head overseeing
everything.

"Clodagh, I need to speak with you. It's important."

"A moment, Malthus. I'll be right there." She excused herself and turned
over her duties to another before crossing the yard to his side. "What is it?"

"Ros is hurt. I need you to come help me with her."

"Oh, no." Her hand went to her mouth. "What can I do?"

"Sit with her, keep her comfortable."

"What happened?"

Malthus glanced around the camp. "I can't tell you here."

"Let me throw a few things together."

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Soon they were headed back along the path through the patches of sunlight
and shade. Malthus stopped in one of the largest patches of sunlight and
looked a long time at Clodagh.

"Is something wrong?" she asked him.

"Your color is off. It's been like this for days."

She dropped her head. "I'm nauseated in the mornings. So are seven of the
other females in camp."

"Morning sickness?"

Clodagh flinched away from Malthus. "Yes."

"Has anyone told a Reader or the healer?"

Clodagh shook her head, her shoulders sagging. "Kandaishee Read us."

"Kandaishee?"

"I uncorded her long enough to do it. We were afraid to ask anyone else. We
were all terrified that what we're carrying is yours."

"I hope they all are." Malthus' lips curved into a sly smile. "My sire was
unusually fertile for a sa'necari his age."

Clodagh shuddered. "Only four are."

"Only four?" Malthus licked his lips and started walking again, forcing her
to follow him. He might have left children behind him somewhere. He didn't
know because he had spent too many years moving around. Dyllys, his only long
time mistress, had insisted upon using herbs to protect herself from
pregnancy. Neither the herbs, nor the other method of contraception – having a
mage seal their wombs through kweigeyl – were available to the camp's females
because the methods cost money they did not have and there were no mages at

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Wolffgard.

"Which four, Clodagh. I will move them to safety before my forces take
Wolffgard."

Clodagh's shame painted itself across her face.

Malthus chuckled. "One of them is you? Who are the others?"

"Kandaishee, Oliffyia, and Tryphaina. They're farther along than I am.
Kandaishee and Oliffyia are already showing."

"Is what's growing in your belly sa'necari or lycan?"

"Sa'necari. They all are. What about their other children?"

"I'm feeling generous. The children will go with their mothers.

"And those who aren't carrying your children? What's going to happen to all
these females you've taken?"

"I may still decide to keep my little harem."

They reached the house and Malthus released the seals on it before ushering
her inside. He settled her in the most comfortable chair in the living room.

"Stay there."

Then he released the holds on his nieces' bedroom. Ros looked the same as
she had when he left her. Lyrri was curled up crying.

"She's hurt, but I'm making her better. Clodagh's here to help."

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Lyrri rushed out, and started to climb into Clodagh's lap.

"Not yet," said Malthus. "Go sit down, while I do something."

Lyrri went and sat down in a corner.

Malthus opened Clodagh's robe and put his hand on her belly. She flinched
when he began to Read her. "Kandaishee's right ... yes." A broad smile spread
over his face. "It's mine. He's sa'necari. My first son."

Clodagh's shoulders sagged. "I knew it when it happened. I'm gifted that
way."

"Really? And when was that?"

"The first rape. That too was foreseen."

"Foreseen? Foreseen! What is all this foreseeing? Who did it?"

"An old wandering peddler named Dyna."

"What else did she foresee?"

"I don't remember. I was Ros' age at the time. All that I remember is her
telling me that ... actually she was telling it to my mother, but I was
listening at the crack."

Malthus put his finger to her head and lunged into her mind, searching. He
had not known to look for it, so he hadn't found it. In a tiny corner was a
ward, surrounded by a forgetfulness spell that stank of yuwenghau. His moment
of joy was spoiled. "Come on," he snarled, grabbing her by the arm. "I'll show
you what to do for Ros."

* * * *

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Lokynen, Hathura, and Meleajys the son of Kalirion stalked through the pines
and hickories on the northeast side of the Valley near where a battle-clan had
perished at Iudris Meadows. The arrival of Teakamon and his entourage, who
were heading for the area around Wolffgard to join Pandeena, had freed the
trio to investigate this area.

The three yuwenghau were a study in contrasts: massive Lokynen with his
barrel chest, and arms like temple columns, his legs like tree trunks;
Hathura, slender to the point of appearing fragile, yet flaring through the
shoulders, translucently pale skinned with white hair and silver eyes;
Meleajys, a dark-skinned blond, whose lanky build stretched his ropy muscles
along a raw-boned frame.

They emerged onto the broad expanse of open ground with asphodel already
sprouting to mark where one hundred lycans had died in battle with an
unidentified force. One thing was certain, they hadn't been any imps here.
Imps never fought in the open where their small size worked against them.
Iudris Meadow was awash in golden flowers on tall stalks as well as the pale,
white asphodel – death flower – and shone brightly in the morning sun.

White oaks clustered with thickets of hickory on the far side of the meadow
and the ground rose up beyond that into stands of aspens that whispered in the
early breeze. A dark object rose above it all in the distance.

"What's that over there?" Lokynen pointed to a hillside barely visible
beyond the trees circling the meadow.

Hathura's eyes narrowed as he strained to make it out with his sharp Fae
eyes. "It's a steading on that hill."

"Let's have a look."

They all carried an array of weapons that reflected their divergent origins,
for Hathura's mother had been Fae, Meleajys' two mothers had been Sharani, and
Lokynen's mother had been half-Sharani. Hathura carried his silver longbow at
his back a pair of short curved knives at his sides. Lokynen wore his big
sword, Thunder, at his shoulder, two long knives at his hips and a pair of
axes thrust through his belt.

Light-footed, Hathura ran ahead of the others. Lokynen and Meleajys crossed
the meadow, but by that time Hathura had already disappeared up a winding dirt
path that climbed the hill. Lokynen's eyes searched the woods as they walked.

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When they reached the stands of aspens, they saw Hathura racing back to them.
The Fae's eyes were troubled.

"Something's wrong up there."

"What do you mean?" Meleajys asked.

"I saw no one in the fields or moving about the three houses."

Lokynen's mouth tightened. "Come on." He strode out ahead of the others,
authority in his movement and purpose in the way he held his arms. Hathura
strung his bow and followed.

Silence.

The creak of a broken shutter in a sudden breeze.

That was all they heard. Not even the lowing of a cow in the fields.

Lokynen paused and unsheathed his big sword. "That door is standing open."

He pointed at it and Hathura nodded as Meleajys moved to Lokynen's opposite
side. Lokynen strode up to the house, and pushed the door fully open with his
sword. A flight of ravens rushed out, skimming his head. None of the yuwenghau
so much as flinched in surprise, completely calm and centered. Hathura
unstrung his bow and put it in his case, pulling the deadly golden fans from
his sash instead.

Hathura's eyes hooded a moment. "There's death upstairs. I can sense it."

Broken and overturned furniture littered the front room. Lokynen stepped
through it, heading for a crude stair into the loft where the bedrooms had to
be. The buzz of swarming flies could be heard as they climbed. A narrow
corridor opened on three rooms at the top.

Lokynen looked in the first one. Two child sized beds stood against opposing

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walls. A nightstand was overturned in the middle. Lokynen walked into the
center and studied the room for an instant. A huge red stain was spread across
a patchwork quilt. A large crockery basin sat beside the bed with a cup in it.
Lokynen picked up the cup and scratched at the red-black crusting it around
the imprints of lips. "Blood. Old blood. A child died there. They drained him
and drank his blood."

The eyes in every face hardened.

Hathura nodded. "Check the other rooms."

Meleajys went to look in the next room while Lokynen and Hathura took the
one at the end. Lokynen jerked the door open. The third room swarmed with
flies, huge flies. Hathura snapped his fans open and spun into the room. From
his fans emerged white birds with trailing tails that consumed the flies and
vanished. In the middle of a double bed lay a body bound spread eagle, the
narrow chest showing that the female must have been spellcorded in her hybrid
state. The cords were gone now and only the ropes that held her to the posts
remained.

"Mortgiefan," Lokynen snarled.

"We know what happened to the people who dwelled in these three houses."

Lokynen nodded, his lips tight, and walked out.

They met Meleajys looking as grim as they did. "There's a body in there." He
pointed at the second room.

"Mortgiefan?" Lokynen asked.

"Yes."

"One in there also." Hathura pointed back where they had come.

They searched all the houses, finding six more rited bodies.

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"Fire the buildings and pray for their souls," Lokynen said.

Hathura went to each doorstep and summoned a firebird with his fans. They
checked the barns and found them empty. "It looks like the livestock was
driven off by the attackers."

"There's nothing in the fields," said Meleajys, staring out across the open
grounds.

"Let's see if we can pick up their trail," said Hathura.

Lokynen nodded and they walked to the far end of the little road beyond the
houses.

"See," Hathura said. He pointed to a trampled area with many and diverse
footprints. "A meeting was held here. The Trickster is right. The valley is
endangered."

Lokynen knelt beside a large paw print and measured it with his huge hand,
spreading his fingers. "Rakshasha. Several of them."

"And myn. Many myn and imp prints," said Meleajys from the far side. "Some
are going toward the hamlet of Three Stones."

"Let's follow them," Lokynen said.

When they drew near to the village, Lokynen signed a halt. "We've lost them.
The Trickster hasn't said anything about our revealing ourselves to the locals
yet."

"We have a group of predators to find and destroy," said Hathura said. "I
wonder how Pandeena is doing?"

* * * *

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Malthus arrived to take Merissa walking. She carried a basket on her arm and
wore a red ribbon in her hair, the first bit of brightness he had seen on her
since she received his forged letter concerning her lover's betrayal. Merissa
wore a slate skirt of soft material that swished around her ankles alluringly,
drawing Malthus' eyes instantly, and a loose blouse that matched the ribbon in
her hair. There were no petticoats and tight bodices to guard her from his
hands. It brought a speculative smile to his face. She had dressed for him;
the red vibrant against her fair complexion.

He glanced around for Darmyk and the cat, but found they weren't there.
"Just us?"

"You don't mind, Malthus?" Her voice held a tentative edge, a soft
vulnerability that attracted him and made him hungry. "Do you have someone
watching the girls?"

Malthus kissed her. "Need you ask? And, yes, Clodagh is watching them. Where
would you like to walk?"

"Silver Veils."

His hopes rose, knowing that the Silver Veils was a lycan trysting place.
Malthus took the basket from her, slipped his arm around her shoulders, and
pressed her close against him, feeling the warmth of her. She leaned into him
and, when his hand chanced to brush her breast, Merissa smiled.

The folks they passed nodded greetings. They were becoming accustomed to
seeing them together. Some stopped them as they passed, extending invitations
to dinner, telling them to bring the children. Merissa laughed delightedly at
this. Nothing had turned out as badly as she first expected and she felt she
owed it to Malthus, her ever-present defender. Rather than treating her
child's repudiation as more reason to chide her for her mistakes, they were
responding to Malthus' arguments for compassion.

"See, I told you they like you, Malthus," she said.

"It isn't me, Merissa, it's finally seeing you smile again." He kissed her
dark hair and her face brightened. She slipped her hand into his. He squeezed
her soft fingers.

They spread their blanket beneath a tree near the largest of Silver Veil's
falls, the rush of the water like a counter-point to their words. Malthus'

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hand stole across her to lightly brush the firm, fullness of her breast.

Merissa stiffened for an instant. "I – I haven't let anyone touch me in
nearly four years... Not since he left."

"Too long without a man's touch for someone as lovely as you." He cupped her
breast, patiently observing her reaction. She shivered, yet did not retreat
from him. His thumb moved across her nipple, rubbing gently. Merissa rested
against him, her head on his shoulder. He pressed his lips to hers, pushing
them open as he slid his tongue inside. She twined hers about his, accepting
him hungrily. Malthus' eyes glittered: yes, she had come to give him what he
desired.

He freed the bottom of her blouse from the skirt, sliding his hand along
beneath it, finding not to much as a breastband to interfere with him, and
fondled her breast. She moaned softly. Malthus stripped her blouse off, and
laid her on the ground. Merissa's eyes filled suddenly as the blouse came free
and she lay half-exposed to him.

"I can never replace him, Merissa. I can only love you, poor mon that I am."

Merissa swallowed back her tears. "I know."

Malthus nuzzled her breasts. His mouth closed over her nipple, teasing it
with his tongue, sucking it to hardness. She moaned again, this time long and
low. Malthus gave her one last flick of his tongue and straightened.

Time to act the gentleman and pull back. "If you wish, I will leave it at
this. I don't want to push you, Merissa. I love you too much."

"No. I want you." She stroked his hardness, slid her hand inside his pants,
her fingers closing firmly around his cock. "I love you."

Malthus reached beneath her skirt, ran his hand up her leg, and discovered
that she wore nothing beneath it: she had come prepared to yield to him. His
hand covered her womanly parts and his long forefinger played with her
entrance.

"Oh gods, I shouldn't let you do this..."

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"Why?" He slipped his finger inside her.

Merissa caught her breath sharply. "I'm too close to my fertile time... What
if I'm making a mistake.

"Marry me, Merissa. I swear I will try to be a good father to your son...
And to ours should we have them. I love you."

"Yes. I'll marry you." She lifted him free of his pants, caressing him.

Malthus removed his clothing. Merissa slid out of her skirt, opening her
legs to him. Her beauty filled him with an eagerness beyond anything he had
experienced before, even with Dyllys.This is the sweet bitch who will bear my
heirs ... legitimate heirs. Forget my concubines and their bastards. I'll keep
them, as my father did his, but nothing more.

He stroked her body, sucking and probing, bringing her to readiness. Malthus
entered her and her legs tightened around him. He began to move gently, and
then harder, deeper as her body responded to his. Malthus was slow to come
when a death was not involved. Merissa wept at the height of her passion, yet
Malthus had not yet had his. She gave him an odd look as he strove harder.
When his seed spilt into her, Malthus dropped, rolling to the side so that his
weight was off her. "When we return, Merissa, we will tell your parents."

Merissa clung to him. "Yes."

"Let us marry immediately. Life is too fragile to wait."

"Yes."

* * * *

"Marriage?" Claw looked Malthus up and down. They stood in the large main
hall of the house near the hearth where Aisha, Merissa's mother, and her two
aunts had their looms. "If you are looking to get something out of this, mon,
forget it. You're not lycan. Everything goes to my grandson and any lycan
heirs you get on her."

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Malthus met his gaze squarely. "All I want is Merissa. I love her. And I've
grown very fond of little Darmyk. He and my nieces get on well together."

"Father, I have a right to a little happiness," Merissa protested. "I love
Malthus more than I've ever loved anyone."

"What did you do for a living?" Claw demanded. "What can you do now?"

"I was a soldier. But I can learn to farm and herd. Whatever is required to
provide for Merissa and Darmyk I intend to do."

Aisha rose from her loom and put her arm around her daughter's shoulders.
"Let it be, old mon," she said in her crotchety old wife's voice. "Let her
have her love."

Claw grumbled under his breath and shook a hairy finger in Malthus' face.
"You treat her well, or you'll answer to me!" Then he stomped out.

"Was that a yes?" Malthus inquired.

Aisha nodded. "Now both of you go sit down over there and I'll have a nibari
fetch some of those rolls I baked and a little mead."

Three days later Malthus married Merissa in a Willodarian ceremony at the
Silver Veils, moving himself and his nieces into the great house with her
parents since his cabin was deemed too small.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

STYGEAN'S BLOODING

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Anksha went to Liuthan that morning, feeling grumpy and nauseated from
morning sickness. Until her stomach settled each day, blood went down easier
than solid food. She spent too much time thinking about what Liuthan said to
her and it made her uncomfortable. It seemed that the people of the Light had
been as quick to judge her Isranon as the people of the Dark had been. Both
sides seemed ready to eat him. Speaking with Liuthan made it easy to become
confused on the subject of good and evil. He chose his words deliberately,
like it a subtle vengeance for what she had done to his wife. Or perhaps he
thought he could make himself another Isranon in her eyes and thus escape the
withering.

There could only be one Isranon. Liuthan was dirty; Isranon was pure.
Anksha's instinct laden mind preferred simple patterns like that. Today she
would give him a very simple pattern, a simple rebuttal to his arguments.

She thought of all the good people she had met since Isranon's company had
encountered Nans. She thought of kindly Lord Edvarde and his obsession with
collecting stories and lore for his books; Nans who had been willing to Read
Isranon and give him the benefit of the doubt; Gaeatyra, the Taladri, who came
to kill Isranon and declared him to be sacrosanct instead; and even Tamric who
had apologized to Isranon with his blood. Anksha held it all firmly in her
head as she opened the door to Liuthan's suite.

The demon-eater did not like feeling confused and she frequently struck at
the cause of her confusion in a violent fashion. This time she would do
violence with compassion. She would finally break Liuthan to her will without
having to rip his mind. Amiri had brought it to her attention that Chinisi was
very advanced into the withering, and the knowledge colored Anksha's decision.
She knew that people were considered compassionate who put down injured
animals, like horses. Therefore she reasoned that she could be both
compassionate and terrifying at the same time. Chinisi would suffer no longer
and Liuthan would be broken completely, as a good blood-slave should be.

She unlocked the door and entered the suite.

Liuthan sat upon the floor, watching his wife play with a dirty rag doll one
of the other blood-slaves had brought her. "So you've come back? Fifty
blood-slaves and yet you come for us again and again?"

Anksha frowned at him. "Yes."

His lips thinned into a hard line. "What shall we talk about this time
before you open our veins?"

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"Compassion." Anksha snapped the word out like the crack of a whip.

Liuthan stiffened at her tone.

Anksha jerked Chinisi off the couch at his side and threw her onto the
floor. "You have no compassion, but I do... I am going to show her the
compassion one shows a broken horse..."

"Oh, gods, no!" Liuthan grabbed at Anksha. She snarled and ripped his arm to
the bone with her claws. He shrieked and clutched his arm, the blood running
between his fingers and dripping on the floor.

She brandished her claws at him, before slamming him into the floor through
the dominance-link. He doubled over screaming and hugging his head.

"Go sit in the corner and watch closely," Anksha snarled.

Liuthan's eyes dulled as he obeyed. The former captain crawled to the corner
she indicated and straightened, his eyes upon her as Anksha turned Chinisi
onto her back. He sucked his arm to stop the bleeding.

Chinisi hummed a broken tune, oblivious to what was coming. Anksha tore
Chinisi's bodice open and stroked her breasts. They were nice breasts, larger
and fuller than Anksha's. Anksha liked them. She rarely got to take females,
except when she went up against a bi-sexual race like the Sharani or a
sexually non-discriminate race the sa'necari. Amiri had told Anksha that her
breasts would be large and full while she was feeding the baby when he
arrived. Anksha fondled Chinisi's breasts and then cupped her own, gauging the
differences between them. Chinisi sighed.

Anksha tore the dress open all the way to the lower hem. She shredded each
layer of clothing, studying Chinisi's body, noting the tiny imperfections that
must have existed for a long time. Chinisi's stomach had hairline stretch
marks from giving birth. Anksha wondered if Stygean was their only child. It
had been a long time since female sa'necari had fallen into her hands; now she
had several. She liked to bite them on the nipple and suck blood from there as
if she were drinking from her long-dead mother, since that was her last memory
of the mon. Chinisi would be no loss, and the mind-torn required much more
attention than those she had left whole. She stroked her finger up the middle
of Chinisi's body, slowly allowing the claw to emerge from its sheath. By the
time Anksha's finger reached Chinisi's breasts again, blood welled in a long

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thin line from her navel to her nipple. Chinisi wept softly, but did not
resist her.

Liuthan whimpered, "Please spare her, Anksha... Please!"

Anksha ignored him. Part of her wanted to take this death from the breast
and dream; yet she had promised a quicker death for Chinisi. She took firm
hold of Chinisi's hair, twisting her head around to expose the carotid artery
to her fangs and licked along it, bringing it more to the surface with her
rough tongue. Anksha intended to give her a quick if savage death. Anksha
straddled Chinisi and got an anguished noise from her as if she suddenly
comprehended what was about to happen. She stunned the sa'necari through the
dominance-link to quiet her. The only screams she wanted to hear were
Liuthan's.

Anksha's lips curled back from her fangs and her eyes narrowed. She shifted
up on Chinisi's body until her knees were planted in the curve of the
sa'necari's armpits and her hips beneath Chinisi's ample breasts. She shoved
Chinisi's head to the side, grinding it into the floor and licking again at
the artery. Then Anksha reared back and struck hard.

Chinisi cried out briefly in pain.

Liuthan screamed. "Oh, gods, no ... no... Chinisi!" He desperately wanted to
turn away, look in any other direction, but Anksha's hold upon him through the
dominance-link forced him to watch her kill his beloved wife.Stygean, be safe.
Please be safe.He remembered Amiri saying that his son's fate had not yet been
decided.

Chinisi writhed beneath Anksha on the floor, fingers clawing at the carpets,
heels digging frantically. Sitting in his corner, Liuthan shrieked Chinisi's
name over and over, holding his head in his hands. Anksha slurped and sucked
greedily, gluttoning without her usual cautions. The bio-alchemy and mage
centers had gone dry weeks ago, making Chinisi's blood less than satisfactory
to Anksha; yet the taste remained somewhat pleasing. She had not given into
the animal side of herself this freely since the day she killed and ate Jurgen
Scathwick in front of his wife.

Anksha felt Chinisi's skin turn clammy with shock. The sa'necari's
convulsing slowed, her hands went limp, her heels ceased to move, and her
heart stopped pumping blood into Anksha's mouth. Anksha lifted her bloody face
from Chinisi's neck, revealing the large hole she had bitten in the side of
it. Chinisi's eyes, already glazing in death, stared at the window unseeing.

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Liuthan balled up, sobbing. "You're evil..."

"How many times have you done that to others?" Anksha demanded. "How many
times have you made their loved ones watch?"

"Oh gods..."

"How many times?" Anksha demanded again, stalking to him.

"I have lost count!" he shrieked. "I am sa'necari. It is what I was born to
do. They were cattle."

Anksha nodded as she rose. "To you, they were cattle, But to their loved
ones, they were people." She stepped away from Chinisi's corpse. "To me,youare
the cattle."

She released the dominance-link upon Liuthan. He crawled over and cradled
his dead wife's cooling body.

Anksha started to leave, paused in the doorway, turned for a second, and
flung her parting words at him, "I have your son Stygean. Perhaps I should eat
him next." Then she walked out.

"Nnnooooooooo! Not Stygean!" The words emerged first as a groan and became a
scream that followed Anksha down the hallway.

* * * *

Every day, Stygean heard the screams coming from farther down the hall in
the section the children were not allowed to enter. Some of them sounded like
his parents, and it made him tremble with both fear and anger. When it was
still and quiet, he would wander the suite, running his hands over the
furniture in the endless monotony of imprisonment. This suite remained as much
a cage as his cell in the dungeon had been, although it was a better, more
comfortable cage.

Stygean moved to the window of the outer sitting room and looked down at the
courtyard, studying it. He had discovered where they were being held. It was

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the guest mansion where visitors of high rank stayed. His father's attackers
were apparently using it as a base. Stygean had visited here several times
with his parents when those they had been brought to see either had children
along or wanted to meet him also. Some customers assessed people as much by
their families as by their reputation. Then Stygean had always been coached
into pretending to humanity. It had not been hard, really, not to Stygean's
mind. It had just required not mentioning certain topics and pretending an
interest in matters that bored him. When he had been very little, his parents
had spelled him to hold his tongue until he was old enough to keep it shut of
his own accord.

He turned toward the door as he heard the clink of the key in the lock.
Jingen must have heard it also because he emerged from the bedroom. Jingen
spent nearly every minute sleeping, it seemed to Stygean. Anksha and two
lycans came in. Stygean saw some others standing outside the door.

"Have you finally come to let me see my parents?" Stygean asked her before
she could speak, standing with his hands on his hips like a soldier ready to
draw his blades in a cross pull. Stygean knew his blades. Part of his training
with his father, as a mercenary captain's son had been with swords and knifes,
long and short.

Anksha scowled. "Your mother is dead. I ate her."

Stygean went pale, tears started and then he mastered himself. "And my
father? What of Liuthan Loosestrife?"

"And what of my mother, Disharyl Scathwick?" Jingen said, emerging to stand
beside Stygean.

"Tomorrow for you," Anksha growled. "Today for Stygean and some of the
littles."

Stygean ran his hand under his slave collar as she led him out. Anksha
shoved him when he dawdled, and locked the suite again. Several myn waited for
them in the hallway. She had brought two Lemyari, Haig and his friend, Jun,
with them and two nibari, Eustyn and Eevy. She led the way to Liuthan's suite
and left them just outside the door and went in alone. Haig moved to stand in
the threshold. Stygean peered around him.

Liuthan was dirty, his beard and hair unkempt. He sat in the rocking chair,
staring at nothing. He did not bother to look up, merely removing his robe,
which he balled up on his lap, his fingers tightening on the cloth in
anticipation of what was coming.

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"I have brought your son," Anksha said, assessing him. She already had
seamstresses making blood-slave robes and pants for them all. The robes were
designed to accommodate her feedings, a tie belt could be yanked, and the robe
would fall open.

Liuthan's head jerked up and his eyes went wide, desperate. "No. Please
gods. Tamric..."

Anksha hissed at him. "Did you really think his godfather would dare keep
him once he knew he was sa'necari? The Ocealayens were going to either execute
all the children or abandon them in the woods to die. There are children's'
bodies rotting on poles throughout the city."

"Gods of Darkness... They would have burnt the children?"

"Tamric saved as many as he could," Haig interjected. "Eight from your
household and twenty from his and the others."

Liuthan's gaze snapped over to Haig standing in the doorway. "Eight?"
Liuthan gasped. "You only saved eight? There were twenty-three children..."

"Yes. I took them all, made them my slaves." Anksha kept her voice to the
level of a cat's hiss, low and threatening.

"You made blood-slaves of children? You're a monster!"

"What does that make you?" Anksha spit at him. "And no, not blood-slaves.
Just collared slaves for the moment."

"But Stygean is only twelve-years old... You killed his mother. I will
wither and die soon. Have mercy on my son."

"Why should I have mercy upon your child?"You had none upon the father of my
child.Anksha snatched the robe from his hands. "Sit straight. Let your son see
what I have done." The scars she made on sa'necari could not be healed with
blood unless she gave their bodies permission to heal through the
dominance-link. Liuthan was badly marked, neck, arms, shoulders and chest, for

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he had been in her custody for three months.

Anksha went to the door and gestured for them to bring Stygean in. Jun and
Haig entered with the boy and a couple of nibari followed.

"Stygean!" Liuthan cried out, stood up, and his son rushed into his arms. He
held him for a long moment. Then he set him aside. "Your mother..."

"I know," Stygean said, pointing at Anksha. "That one ate her."

Liuthan's voice went soft. "I was forced to watch." His eyes slid accusingly
across the top of his boy's head to Anksha.

"Show him your collar, boy," Anksha told Stygean.

The boy swallowed and opened the neck of his tunic to reveal the dark metal
ringing it. "I am a slave, father."

"Your son needs to be blooded," Anksha said.

"No. He's not – oh gods," Liuthan gasped, tilting his son's head back, "Let
me see."

Stygean opened his mouth, revealing his fangs.

"Stress must have brought it on." Liuthan cast desperate eyes at Anksha.
"You aren't going to take him too, are you? Please–"

"Begging doesn't work with me, Liuthan. You learned that, oh foolish
Sa'necari.

"He's a child..."

"He has fangs."

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"Please."

Anksha's frown deepened and she folded her arms. "Assume first position."

Liuthan sucked in a breath, set his son aside, and knelt quietly, his head
slightly bowed with the artery turned up, his wrists crossed behind his back.

The boy's expression clouded over with anger at seeing his father humiliated
and forced to kneel in submission like a nibari to be taken.

"Bring the boy close and make certain he observes well, Haig," said Anksha.

She grasped Liuthan's shoulders and licked along his neck. He groaned as her
fangs sank into him, fighting back a scream so that he did not frighten his
son. The boy stifled a sob in Haig's grasp. Anksha sucked hard, greedily.

Haig moved very close with one hand on Stygean's shoulder. He brushed
Anksha's hair back so that it did not veil her actions and began to point out
matters of technique to Stygean who squirmed in his grasp and answered with
reluctance.

Liuthan swayed, sagging toward Anksha.

"I think she's going to take him down all the way," Jun speculated, coming
to stand over them with the two nibari.

"Father..." Stygean gasped, his mind reeling and his heart hammering at the
possibility that he was watching his father die.

"I don't think so," Haig replied casually. "Why bring two nibari unless one
was for him?"

Stygean sucked in a frightened breath. He could see how his father had begun
struggling to breathe, his chest jerking and pulling.

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Anksha came loose, lifting her bloody mouth from his neck and closing the
wound with a swipe of her tongue.

Liuthan crumpled. Jun bent over him, checking him. "He needs to feed soon,
Anksha, or he's going to die."

"When I am ready," Anksha growled.

Stygean threw himself onto his unconscious father, weeping. Haig caught the
boy's wrists and imprisoned them behind him so that he could not offer his own
blood to revive his sire.

"Eustyn," Anksha ordered and a slender male nibari came forward. Eustyn was
well trained, and although he was currently the property of Haig, had once
belonged to Isranon before he became her blood-slave.

He knelt quietly in first position, arms behind his back. "Master Anksha."

"Second position," Anksha ordered.

Eustyn's arms came forward and his wrists crossed in front of him. If he was
at all nervous about this he gave no sign of it.

"Stygean, it is time for you to be blooded," Anksha told him. "You will feed
lightly, not take from Eustyn as much as I did your father. He's only a nibari
and more fragile than a sa'necari."

"You care more for them than you do us," the boy accused bitterly.

Anksha backhanded him in the face. "Come and be blooded." She pushed his
lips back and examined his fangs. She turned one of Eustyn's wrists up. "When
you have learned to drink properly, then you will be allowed to drink from the
neck where the wine is sweetest."

Stygean winced, glancing back at his father whose breathing was stertorous.
"My father..." His voice cracked.

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"The other nibari is for him. If you do not drink soon, your father will die
and it will be your fault," Anksha said. "You are making him wait. He has
barely enough blood left to keep his heart beating."

Stygean took Eustyn's wrist and sank his fangs in. Eustyn grimaced. The boy
was clumsy, but this was his first feeding. Stygean's eyes took on a kind of
drunken glaze as he fed and, when Anksha indicated he should stop, he drew
back, and simply sat looking dazed. "It was wonderful. I'd like to drink one
down to nothing."

Anksha hit him.

Already, Jun had Liuthan up and feeding from Eevy. Liuthan's breathing eased
as he fed. Stygean watched his father improve with growing relief. When
Liuthan had finished, Stygean pressed himself into his father's arms and cried
himself out.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

DARK PALADIN OF THE LIGHT

Isranon took his letter to the balcony to finally read it. Under the intense
stress of the madness that had gripped him, and his subsequent worries about
Anksha, he had left the letter from Claw unread. Concerned about the fact that
his sa'necari nature had been revealed far and wide by the Five Captains,
Isranon had voiced his disquiet to Nans. She had summoned sunhawks to carry
letters to both Gormond's Reach and Darr. The replies that came back were
positive. Gaeatyra and the Taladrim had already done the work for her. The
legend of the man who would not be a monster and had taken up the cause of
Light against his own kind had been spread well ahead of the ugly rumors out
of Ocealay. Edvarde had been doing his part also. The only person giving them
trouble was the Sacred King. The word from her was "so long as you avoid
Rowanhart, you're safe." Tamric had fresh news going out about how Isranon had
rescued Ocealay and calling him a master life-mage.

Isranon opened his letter and unfolded it.

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"The boy's getting big. He already looks like you. Merissa misses you.
Before you know it, we'll be teaching him to hunt. Now that we know the Light
will accept your kind if they walk the right paths, we are teaching him the
ways. He was born with an odd bear shaped birthmark, so I'm thinking
Willodarian. I'm building a shrine on the property."

Claw Redhand

"Isranon!"

Isranon shoved the letter into his pouch at the sound of Josiah's voice, and
straightened.

The ghost shimmered in the sunlight. "Turn around and go back. Galee has
attacked Angrim. No one will help them. No one in their right mind. They've
brought this on themselves with their bigotry and oppressions, but still...
And it will soon spill over into Gormond's Reach."

Isranon squared his shoulders, his head lifting to a proud angle. "I will
go."

"I am very glad you said that. You have proved your point, Josiah. He is
worthy," said a new voice. "I did not begin to credit it until Dynanna spoke
on his behalf also."

The balcony filled with blazing light and warmth, greater than the light had
been before, hotter than the morning heat. The man who stood there could only
be a god. "I am accepting you as is, no boons, no favors. I am offering no
solutions, no lightening of your sufferings. If anything I am adding to them.
I will mark you where all can see and perhaps that will make a difference. You
now belong to Kalirion, if you are willing."

Isranon slipped to his knees, trembling, all his world thrown into confusion
and wild joy. This was what he had been praying for, the fulfillment of his
promise to Josiah and more. The true acceptance of the Light. To be called by
one of the Nine. "I am willing, Lord."

Kalirion's eyes regarded Isranon as if from a sudden distance. "If you
travel my path, you will not live to see your children grown, but you will
touch the lives of many for the better. If you turn aside now, before I mark
you, you will live a long life. However, many people will suffer for want of
your gifts."

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Isranon drew himself up resolutely. "Better a short life with honor and
purpose, than a long life without it."

"So be it."

Kalirion pressed his palm to Isranon's forehead. The touch burned, but
Isranon bore it. When the god drew back his hand, the
sunburst-cradled-in-flame brand remained for all to see. "There are many who
will benefit from one like you who has both sides of the gift. I have deepened
my understanding watching you. Seeing how you and others, like Carliff, pulled
the webs of death out of people because you know how it is put into people."
Then he laughed. "I am not the only one. Willodarus also sees the benefit.
He's marked your son. And Teakamon goes north to ward him. My belovèd Dynanna
gathers an army of yuwenghau and others to defend that valley. Now get
yourself north, mage-paladin."

The god vanished.

Josiah gave Isranon a bittersweet smile as a book materialized on the bed
and a chest beside it. "I will not be coming to visit or help you any longer."

"Why not? I still need you. You're my teacher."

"That's what the book is for. There are more in the chest. Kalirion has
forgiven me. He has allowed you to take on my burden. By teaching you, I
earned out. My soul is no longer barred from returning to the wheel."

"I'll miss you."

"I'll remember you. I've been granted the gift of recognition and
remembrance without pain, as Sonden has it. What I need to know I'll know when
I need to know it. We will recognize each other in our hearts should we ever
meet again, my friend."

Then Josiah misted out and was gone. Isranon felt suddenly lonely. He
glanced down at the book in his lap, the gold-leafed letters. The words made
his heart quicken all over again. It read: "Josiah Abelard: spell book."

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His friend's ghost had some how managed to bring him the long lost spell
book from his first life. He laid the book aside and opened the chest. It was
filled with the mage-master's journals from his first life.

Isranon dressed and went to tell Nans. I guess I should start acting the
role of a mage-paladin.

As he stepped into the main hall he spied a servant. "Send word to Captain
Tamric, we are leaving his city within days. My god has commanded us to march
north to the respite of King William and others. Angrim has been attacked and
he prophesies that it will spill over into Gormond's Reach." The servant
stared at the godmark on the mage's forehead, bowed, and ran from the room.

The Rowdies who were lounging there sat up to see what was going on. Travis
stopped talking to Luck and shifted around to see as Iuf began to stamp his
foot in excitement from across the room. Corbienne, standing beside Iuf,
clapped and laughed in joy.

"Unholy bloody hell, look at the damned mark!" Iuf shouted. "It's
Kalirion's."

Isranon flushed. The Rowdies came to their feet to slap him on the back,
only Travis remaining silent. When the others were done, Travis came forward,
his eyes thoughtful.

"Kalirion wishes us to march north immediately," Isranon said.

Travis glanced down and ran his calloused, thick fingers across his rough
chin. "Isranon, this means we're not going to get help for you, unless we
stumble on it by accident."

"What is one life compared to what the sa'nekaryiane is going to do to all
those people? This is an act of faith. I can no longer say that the Darkness
hunts me and the Light does not want me, because the Light does want me." He
touched the godmark on his forehead. "I'm not a monster. I will never be a
monster. Whatever the Light asks of me I will give it."

* * * *

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Nans had put it off for days, but Anksha kept nagging, going around patting
her belly and looking mysterious. People had started giving her candy again,
as if sensing the change in her and treating her like the same old
malei'leonys. Part of that resulted from getting their butts chewed by Luck.

She came into the hall to the sound of cheering and congratulations. The
rangers and auxiliaries had broken out casks and bottles of wine, and everyone
was making toasts and celebrating.

"What's going on?" Nans asked.

"First mage-paladin to Kalirion in five hundred years!" shouted Luck. "And
it's our own Dawnreturning!"

"Dawnreturning, Anksha's–" Nans stopped and stared. "One of them had to
claim you eventually, but this is the last one I expected. I should have after
what you pulled off in Imralon. Do you know what you've done?"

"I'm a mage-paladin of Kalirion."

"Isranon, Kalirion has mages and he has paladins. Come into the other room
and sit down with me. I'll explain it there," Nans said.

Isranon trailed Nans to his sitting room. Nevin came up to see what was
going on. He and Anksha followed Nans. Nevin still carried his tankard and
settled at the table in the center. Anksha climbed on top of the table and
swung her feet back and forth impatiently. Isranon and Nans chose the two
overstuffed chairs near the bedroom door.

"It's alright that they listen?" Isranon asked.

Nans nodded. She wore such a serious expression that it worried Isranon. He
wondered if he had done something wrong or misinterpreted something about
being accepted by Kalirion.

"Okay, here's what I have to say. A mage-paladin is a very special thing. We
tend to lump them all in under the term battle-mage. But a Kalirioni
mage-paladin is much more. Badonth tends to have dozens and dozens of
battle-mages." She scanned their faces to see if all of them were listening.
"Kalirion, on the other hand, never has more than a handful of mage-paladins

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at a time. He's extremely selective. Not since Josiah Abelard, five hundred
years ago, has there been even a single a mage-paladin. His last incarnation,
which was very damaged, was a fluke of the Trickster. He never attained his
full powers this last time. You have. And yours are still growing. You are
caught up in a dangerous game. They will be hunting you even as you are
hunting them. Riding with us is probably the best thing you could be doing.
Best thing for a rainbow mage."

"Rainbow?" Isranon asked. He had heard that term used in a sexual reference
for people, who like himself, had wide tastes; yet he had never heard it
applied to magic.

"Multi-talented. Pan-elemental. Abelardian. Polymancer."

Isranon considered that. He had still not told anyone except Anksha about
Josiah, and that was after the first time she saw the ghost for herself. "Now
what is this about Anksha?"

Anksha's face lit up, knowing what was coming and her legs began to swing
faster.

"She's pregnant. She says it's yours. Are you planning on marrying her?"
Nans asked.

"Marry her? I... I... pregnant? Are you certain?" Isranon stared at Anksha
and she winked at him, patting her stomach. "I mean, she's been coupling with
humans for centuries and nothing has ever come of it. I need a drink." Isranon
faltered, went to the table, and poured a glass of wine before returning to
his chair and sitting down with a thump. "This is what you meant by damage?
This is what is wrong with her? Why she fainted?"

Nevin choked on a mouthful of ale and spewed it back into his tankard.
"Anksha's pregnant? And you're suggesting it's Isranon's?"

"Yes. I wanted to find a good time to tell you," Nans leaned closer to
Isranon. "Is there something you did different?"

"I bit her," he said in a wee small voice, thinking how sweet her blood
tasted sliding down his throat as his fangs pierced her skin. In all those
centuries no one had ever bitten her. He felt suddenly as if he had taken her
virginity. His mind reeled. What would Merissa say? Would she deny him access
to his son, knowing he had sired another child on Anksha? And Anksha? How did

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Anksha feel about this? The alpha males among the lycans and other non-humans
sometimes took more than one mate. Surely Merissa would understand, since Claw
would never have agreed to a marriage between them any way. He certainly could
not abandon Merissa. He wanted to be there for her and his son. He had to
return to her if Anksha would allow it.

"Say again," Nans asked.

"I BIT her." Isranon felt more and more flustered.

"Okay. And how does that cause this?"

"Amiri said that should Anksha ever ask me to bite her I should and that the
results would be surprising. Well, I'm surprised. Aren't you? Do I still have
to marry her, Captain?"

"I guess that's up to Anksha."

"I don't have a problem exactly, except I have a son." Isranon found himself
growing more rattled by the moment.

Anksha sidled up to them, rubbing her tummy.

Nans looked from face to face. "I think people have been holding back on me.
Is Dawnreturning married? What's this about a son?"

"Oh," Anksha said, "that's the lycan princess, Merissa. Their son is Darmyk.
She shouldn't have a problem about my baby."

"It's mine," Isranon sighed. "It's definitely mine. And Nans, I'm not
married. I didn't know about my son until Imralon. I didn't even know Merissa
was pregnant when I left Claw's Valley to follow Mephistis."

Nevin laughed. "I don't know how you did it, but it's masterfully done, my
brother. You've storked the Beast. So now you must have a circle of mates and
lovers as befits a mon of your stature."

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Isranon recovered himself a bit, and as he looked upon Anksha's glowing
face, he realized that he loved his savage innocent more than he had loved
anyone else in his entire life. He took Anksha's hand, and walked back out to
face the crowd. "Good friends!"

The room quieted.

"Somehow, I triggered the magic. And now I must make an announcement. My
belovèd Anksha and I are having a baby!"

Travis' eyes grew large. He went to them, determined to be the first to
offer his congratulations. He shook Isranon's hand. "Good job," he grinned,
and dropped to his haunches to look Anksha in the eyes. All the distress and
strained feelings from those days when he had been terrified of her vanished.
He gave her hair a stroke, put a piece of candy in her hand, and smiled.
"Malei'leonys indeed. Is little mama lion happy to be pregnant?"

"Yes." Anksha rubbed her tummy.

EPILOGUE

Stygean curled up in his pillows, crying brokenly. His blooding day should
have been a thing of joy and wonder, not terror. He fondly remembered how his
parents had said it would be. It would be like a birthday with presents and a
celebration, for he would truly be sa'necari. He would have his first rite
that very same day, yielding up the virginity of his body and of his spirit.
The change would become fully mature as someone died beneath him. His eyes
would change on that day to reflect it, becoming amaranthine. Most sa'necari
hid the color of their eyes while walking among humans with cloaking spells.

Instead, he had learned that his mother was dead and been forced to watch
Anksha take his father to 'the edge'. It did not change the fact that he had
enjoyed his first drink from living veins, and she had beaten him afterward
for saying he wanted a death.

"Stygean?" Jingen came in and sat on a corner of his bed.

"They ruined my blooding day. My mother is dead and they nearly murdered my
father."

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"I'm sorry. You must hate them."

"I do."

Jingen smiled slyly. "Then you should do something about it. My own blooding
day was wonderful. The only thing missing was the rites. My parents felt I was
too young, my powers not sufficient to conceal my eyes."

"My father promised me Farris for the rite. She's a screamer."

"Screamers are fun. My father said that screamers are best when fresh. I've
seen Farris in camp by the way."

Stygean perked up. "You have?"

"Yes. Wouldn't you like to have her? Not for the rites, they'd catch you.
But a little extra food? And you could oil your sword for the first time if
you haven't already."

"They'd find out."

"No, they wouldn't. I've been doing it for days. Let me tell you how."

* * * *

Caimbeul, a scruffy old wolf, nearly completely gray with craggy features,
came up behind Pandeena as she was rolling up her blankets, wrapped his arms
around her, and cupped her breasts while nuzzling her neck.

"None of that, you old lecher," she scolded, unable to completely school the
fondness from her voice.

"Just once for old times sake?"

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"No. The relationship's been over for three centuries. Let it go."

Caimbeul withdrew his hands. "It was nice ... living in that little house
... watching the boy grow up."

Pandeena softened. "I loved our son. It broke my heart when they killed
him."

"It could be nice again."

"No, Caimbeul. It's over. We're just good friends now. I like it that way."

Caimbeul rocked back on his haunches with a sigh. "The least you could have
done was to Jump us to Wolffgard."

"I don't want them to know what I can do." Pandeena straightened and carried
her bedroll to the horses. She tied it to the back of her saddle.

Caimbeul followed her. "You really think this Malthus is the Butchering
Serpent?"

"I'm certain of it. The evidence, however, is only a little dog and a
seriously wounded young lawgiver who can't remember his own name and who
everyone thinks is dead."

Caimbeul pulled at his stubbled lip. "Well, once we get there, I'll think of
something."

"I'm sure you will. You always did before."

* * * *

Amiri arrived the next day with some tonics and bottles for Anksha. "If you

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two are going to start fucking and feeding on each other again, I will have to
set some ground rules."

Isranon nodded. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding Anksha's small hand.
"Tell us and we'll do them, won't we Anksha?"

Anksha smiled toothily and nodded also.

"Good," Amiri said. "If you are going to feed, then you must have at least
one other present who can be fed upon, preferably Anksha's blood-slaves, since
sa'necari blood is reasonably potent depending on how deepened they are into
the rites. Or one of the lycans. Otherwise, you risk over doing it and taking
too much out of passion."

Isranon blinked and then looked shame-faced. "Which is what I was doing..."

"Yes, Isranon. That is exactly what you were doing. You could have killed
her."

Anksha's eyes saucered. Before she could move or speak, Isranon swept her up
into his arms, buried his face in her hair, and wept out, "Oh gods, Anksha. I
would never deliberately hurt you. Never! I love you, Anksha."

Anksha's expression softened and she purred, feeling completely loved for
the first time in her life. "You're my mate."

Isranon stroked her hair. "Yes."

"It would never have been consciously done, Isranon," Amiri told them both.
"You were trapped by the joined magics that brought her into season. The
mating-bond would simply not release you until she conceived. That is how it
is with demon-eaters. However, it would also have led you to greater and
greater violence against her in reaction to her failure to conceive."

"You could have told us," Isranon said, a bitter edge creeping into his
voice.

"By the time we knew she had been bitten and the magic triggered, you were

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too deeply into it. Separating you would have destroyed you both. Anksha could
have gone mad with need, experiencing your lust in all the fibers of her being
and awareness. So we watched you closely instead."

"Still..."

"Isranon, there is more knowledge lost than saved where the lore concerns
the demon-eaters, the Sirikinabarin. I have only a few pages, and they are all
that survive from a lost book on them. Those pages had been copied and
re-copied for centuries by my people."

"Sirikinabarin? That's what I am?" Anksha asked in a small voice.

"Yes, little one, that is what you are."

"Then what does that make my baby?"

Amiri laughed softly. "It makes him your baby and he'll be perfect."

Anksha snuggled deeper into Isranon's arms.

"Make certain that she cleans her plate, Isranon. She's eating for two now."

"I will, Amiri," he said. "I promise."

Amiri smiled and got up. "Then I'll leave you two alone now."

Isranon felt conflicted. He thought of Merissa who had borne his son without
him, a son he had not known existed until last spring. He still intended to
see his son Darmyk, but now he no longer felt entirely ready to deal with
Merissa – not with Anksha pregnant by him. Certainly Anksha had no misgivings
about meeting Merissa, no jealousy there – yet – and a willingness to let him
have more than one mate in his life apparently. But what would Merissa say
about Anksha? Of course, Merissa had no right to say anything about anything.
She forfeited that by not getting him word of his son sooner. He had remained
in Claw's valley nearly six months after he last saw her. She should have
gotten him word before he left the valley. And now Darmyk was three years old.

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* * * *

Jingen's good behavior earned him a few privileges, and he was allowed to
visit his mother Disharyl in the afternoons briefly each day. She sat in the
sitting room of the suite they had placed her in.

"I have told them I am an alchemist," Disharyl told Jingen. "And now they
put me to work there mostly. Anksha doesn't feed upon me as often either.
There are benefits to having a skill and appearing cooperative."

"So you suggest this for me as well?" Jingen asked.

"Deception works well where survival is concerned. Act the lamb, be the
lion."

"I will."

"When the time comes, we will kill the renunciate."

THE END

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