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BLOOD WRAITHS

DARK BROTHERS OF THE LIGHT-BOOK IV

By JANRAE FRANK

Once there were three brothers, Brandrahoon the vampire, Isranon called the
Dawnhand, speaker to spirits, and Waejonan the Accursed, first of sa'necari.
Isranon defied his brothers and was destroyed, his descendants forced into the
darkness.

St. Tarmus of Lorendon

"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 eachmon 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 silencealways 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."

Creed of the Dark Brothers

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Beware the Beast

Fear the night my darling child.

The Beast-she hunts where no one walks.

Anksha-demon of the wild.

No mercy there for those she stalks.

Akin to nonethough human seeming,

Beware her clawlest ye turn pale.

Though the Bitch of Brandrahoon's preening

Can never hide her furry tail.

All Sa'necari fear her well

She feeds alike on those, and man.

She'll rend and tear your skin to hell,

Or worseyour soul in mortgiefan!

Sad met this mistress in the dark.

Draw not close and don't be crude.

For an erring child out on a lark.

Shall meet their end as foul Anksha's food.

Lycan traditional teaching song

CHAPTER ONE: HOON

Hoon lay unmoving, unbreathing; his skin, cracked and desiccated, wrapped
along his bones in papery ribbons. The once black hair had turned gray and dry
as the straw he lay upon, forgotten in one of the king's dungeons. His
spread-eagled limbs, spellcorded to the metal loops at the ends of pegs in the
floor, no longer ached there was not enough muscle tissue left in them to
ache. He could not see. The fluid in his eyes had dried and without it he was
blind. The vampire hungered. He dreamed of blood and the taste of death in his
mouth. Hoon had no strength to move; his desire to struggle against his bonds
had faded to dim memory with the months of his imprisonment. At least his
captors no longer came down to torture and torment him. They had not even
bothered to put the deadly seals on the cords that would have slain him had he
tried to remove them. They had not needed to. By the time they chained him
here, the harsh attentions they had paid him earlier had left Hoon too wasted
and wounded to attempt anything. Now, he was just a creature of dreams and
memories.

Rats rustled through the straw, chittering along the edges of the dungeon.
Several of them ran across him and his wasted body managed a faint shudder as
he wondered if they had come to gnaw upon him. Then they were gone again or at

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least he no longer heard them and he slipped back into a dreaming state out of
torpor.

He dreamed of Amalthea. He had loved her.His wife. And he had murdered her.
He and Timon, his oldest son, had murdered her. He considered himself an
honorable man, for although he had raped and murdered her, he had not tasted
the smallest drop of her blood.

Murder: the word swirled through his mind, repeating and repeating. She had
helped Waejonan, Hoon's youngestbrother, murder Hoon's children, Timon's
brothers and sisters, in a rite of unholy magic.

He climbed the side of the stone mansion, his nails finding every tiny
crevice and irregularity, clinging to it like a lizard. When he paused to
glance to his right he could see at a distanceTormentLake where his brother
liked to hold his rites and his public executions. The golden sands of
foam-drenched, loamy soil would never be clean of all the blood that had been
spilled there. A circle of trees framed the lake and his view. Then he turned
his gaze again to the half-circle above him that was his wife's balcony. He
could smell her perfume, her musk, the sweet life in her veins even at this
far remove. Timon had chosen a different path to this place. He wondered how
his son managed.

Then he began to climb again.

The sound of softly padding bare feet on the smooth stone of the balcony made
him pause. Hoon listened until he was certain there was only one person there.
Then he peered over the edge between the wrought iron balusters.

There she was. For a moment all that he could think of was how beautiful she
was, her long black hair blowing in the morning breeze, her burnished copper
skin, her delicate cheekbones, and full lips. He heaved himself over
balustrade onto the balcony and stood before her. “Amalthea,” Hoon murmured.

As a Lemyari vampire, the sunlight held no dangers for him, and its touch
warmed his chill flesh like the kiss of life: it glinted on his black hair,
grazed the points of his ears and gilded his olive skin with golden
highlights. A dangerous sensuality lay in the depths of his large eyes,
exposed itself on the chiseled planes of his cheekbones with their hollows,
and settled on his full lips.

She started at his voice and retreated half a step. “Brandrahoon, you should
not be here."

"An odd greeting from a wife to the husband she has not seen in years.” Hoon
responded, his lips curling back with a trace of skepticism.

"You are exiled, that is all.” She came forward then and touched his face.
“Kiss me, husband."

He took her into his arms and kissed her. Her sweet body moved against his
invitingly and he felt his fangs start to emerge. One small taste just one
small taste But no, from the day he had known what he had become, Hoon had
vowed not to drink from this woman. He pulled away from her. “How are the
children?"

"The children?”She faltered and then took his hand. “They are well. Come
inside where you will not be seen. Let me give you a wife's proper welcome to
her husband. Then I will bring you to them."

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He did not tell her that he already knew they were dead, all seven of them.
Hoon allowed her to lead him through the curtained doors into their
bedchamber. The large bed with its tremendous columns still stood in the
corner, where he had gotten his children on her. Loss twisted through his
stomach in vines of pain with leaves of sorrow.

He studied the alterations in the room in an effort to drag himself from his
memories. The drapes had changed. When he had dwelled here, Amalthea had
preferred blues and deep greens. Now they were crimson and black. The wall
hangings too hadchanged, they now depicted lewd scenes of hunts and demonic
debaucheries. Hoon found a decanter of wine on the table and a glass. Since
his turning, he could not eat the fruits of the earth, but he could drink. He
poured a glass and drank it. His eyes widened at the taste: it was spiked with
human blood. When had she started drinking this?

Hoon turned to ask and saw that she had opened her bodice.

"Come, Brandrahoon, husband isthis what you want?” She lifted one breast free
and his manhood reacted to it.

For an instant his decision to kill her wavered as he reached for her
breasts. Her shadow on the wall, flickering in the lamplight, showed her raise
a death-runed blade to strike him down from the back as they embraced. Hoon
spun, seized her wrist, and crushed it. Thick carpeting muted the sound of the
blade falling. Rage took him and he threw her onto the bed, ripping her skirts
away. He forced her legs open and fumbled with the ties of his pants.

"I hate you,” Amalthea shrieked.

Then another form emerged from the bed curtains and seized her shoulders,
pinning her to the bed.

"Timon.”She faltered in her struggles and Hoon plunged his manhood inside
her.

Timon's eyes filled with tears. “Kill her father. You know what she did."

"Waejonan will destroy you both,” she snarled as Hoon tore at her body, her
thighs spread wide beneath his hands.

"You laughed when they impaled me I was a long time dying, mother,” Timon
said, his voice catching.

Hoon would never forget finding Timon, the pole lengthwise through his body,
spear tip emerging from his shoulder. He had turned him to save him.

As his seed spilled into her, he pulled a blade from his waist and opened her
throat. That was as close as the undead could come to the ugly rites of rape
and death practiced by the sa'necari. Sa'necari like his brother the way they
had murdered his other six children.

The memory dissolved as he took her dead body once more as a woman and then
he and his son loosed themselves upon the household ina carnage of vengeance
and blood. They left a single woman alive to tell Waejonan who had done it.

Rats. More rats. Their noises drew him again from his dreams. Would they
nibble his bones? Reduce him to dust as surely as a stake through his heart?
They swarmed over his arms and legs, pulling at him with claws like tiny
needles, puncturing his dried, papyrus skin with small, razor-sharp teeth.

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Hoon shuddered, wishing that he could scream, but his throat and mouth would
not work. His awareness fled into the darkest corners of his mind where his
thoughts spun and sped in looping spirals.Hunger.Hunger.Hunger. The
demon-vampire wished for death to free him of it. All of the organs in his
nude, gaunt body had shriveled and dried out like wooden husks within the
paper of his skin. His cock looked like a brittle twig where it lay against
his thigh. His ribs stood out, his sinews and his bones lay bare. Yet his
undead soul could not flee its casings.

Four thousand years since he killed her, give or take a few centuries. Six
thousand sincehe and his two younger brothers, Isranon the Dawnhand and
Waejonan had fled the wrath of Willodarus the God of the Woodlands and Wild
Creatures. Waejonan had slain the god's sylvan granddaughter, Melorien:
claiming it was an accident. Hoon and Dawnhand believed Waejonan, and followed
him into exile on this continent out of love for him, where they took wives
and settled to build a kingdom. They had thought themselves wise and worldly:
in the end they had been foolish and naïve.

Gylorean Galee, Willodarus’ lover, had been their teacher and their betrayer
as she led them into their betrayals of each other. She made Waejonan the
first of the sa'necari, necromancers of great power, remorseless hemovores
wielding all the abilities of the undead and cursed with their appetites. And
he was her favorite. Brandrahoon, as he was called then, she made the first of
vampires, demon vampires, the Lemyari. Only Isranon the Dawnhand had
questioned her and refused to become something she wished. She came to hate
him. At her urging, Waejonan had killed him for it.

Once there were three brothersOnce there were three brothers.It became a
litany in his head. Every race and nation had some version of their story and
it all started out the same, ‘Once there were three brothers: Brandrahoon the
vampire; Isranon called Dawnhand, speaker to spirits; and Waejonan the
Accursed, first of sa'necari. And they killed their middle brother and forced
his descendants into the darkness.'

Had there been any moisture left in his body, Hoon would have shed a tear to
think of it. Too late he knew what Gylorean Galee truly was: the
sa'nekaryiane, the Mother of Damnation, a fallen hellgod that always returned
to her god box where she waited to be released again upon the world he had
unwittingly been tricked into freeing her and restoring the fullness of her
power. Now, she held him captive.

He and his brothers had not known that sa'necari could get into people's
minds and make them do things they would not otherwise do. They had not known
that vampires could do such things. Hoon had only been a vampire for three
years when Amalthea helped his brothermurder his children. They had not really
understood what it meant to be a vampire or a sa'necari in those days, for
there had been none before them to teach them such things. Hoon had not known,
until a year ago no, longer, a year and a half ago, it was hard to think
clearly that Amalthea had been innocent, that Waejonan had taken her mind. He
had not told Timon. It was terrible enough that one of them had to live with
such guilt.

Oh, she had betrayed Hoon's bed without a single misgiving, but she had not
slain their children of her own free will. Amalthea wanted immortality and
Hoon had refused to give it to her. He suspected his wife had been sleeping
with his brother long before Dawnhand died, before he, himself, died and rose
undead. But the children

The rats came again, bringing his thoughts from the past to the present. Each
time there were more of them than before. The fact that he could not see them

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made it worse. They swept over him, their claws making holes in the parchment
his skin had become. Oh, to be able to scream!

To scream without stopping and release his anguish! Then they were gone once
more.

A tiny corner of Hoon's mind knew that he was slowly going mad. However, most
of the time, he was simply lost in it. His thoughts turned and twisted,
weaving through webs and spirals of lore, tales and stories, memories,
visions, nightmares until nothing matched and he could no longer tell one from
the other. There was no sun, no moon, no stars, only dancing flamesit burned,
but the colors were wrong, white hot brightness and burning blues that seared
his eyes. Buildings taller than he could ever have imagined possible, hundreds
of stories high simply collapsed, folding down into themselves, leaving
blackened shadowshapes against the skies like haunted memories of their
presences.People fleeing, screamingpeople in swarms thicker than ever he had
seen in the greatest cities of this worldtheir sheer numbers incomprehensible.
Then suddenly they were simply goneflashed out of existence and their
shadowsgods of hell, what was this? Their shadows remained against the walls
of the buildings like ashy paintings. Fires raged in other parts, but most of
the city, which sprawled as far as the eye could see, was leveled.

Hoon sensed the presence of divinity, dark divinity and it drew him. He heard
it cursing and crying out for its box.Its bloody box. The twisted creature was
female, clawing at the earthnot the earth, the ground, sheathed in some hard
surface and pulled up a chunk of it, exposing dead dirt beneath it.

A demon, its long fangs glinting in the shimmering hell-light of the
radiation, stood over the creature, dangling a box on a chain. Its horns
curved and straightened in constantly shifting patterns while its body flowed
like crystal waters up and down as the changes slid along it, colors and
shapes, electric patterns, glistening wet, now jewel tones, now pearl, never
twice the same, except for the fangs and the box. “I have it, Gylorean."

She writhed in his grip, snarling. “Give it.My godhood."

He/she/it extended his/her/its hand, catching the creature's throat and
controlling her easily. “Not yet. It will do you no good, my daughter, until
you have someone with both the power to open it and the tools to work the
proper rites to enable it. And you must be properly prepared to receive it. I
know what they did to you."

Gylorean Galee stilled and the demon relaxed its hold. “What do I do?” Galee
asked the demon.

"First I must pass you into undeath and then you must create a nekaryiane and
have it create a new living body for you."

Gylorean spat. “I am geised to aid my accursed husband."

Contempt oozed from the demon's voice, “He did not specify when. They have
fled west. The war goes against him. Tamikan is slain and her newborns have
been thrown to Tala's moonwolves. They devour them even now. Londar lies dying
beneath the claws of Willodarus’ gryphons. Aroana has slain his sons. Bellocar
stands at bay on the escarpment and Davera sends earthquakes and volcanoes.
Torrundar rages among his forces with thunder and lightning. Badonth is a
terror with his flaming sword. Nerindalori ravages the seiryn with tsunami.
Let us begin and then hideyourself . Emerge to subvert their people, daughter.
You will have only a few gifts. Use them wisely. In time you will find your
way back to your godhead and vengeance on both sides."

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Galee bowed her head. “I am the GlisteningOne and I will be a god again."

The demon seemed to smile, took his daughter in his arms, and sank his fangs
into her. She laughed as she died.

Hoon passed into darkness. At least he believed it was darkness. Perhaps it
was simply the absence of memory. Perhaps he still journeyed, but so deeply he
could not touch it.

Once more the ratscame rustling in the straw, chittering along the edges of
the dank stonewalls. This time they did not touch him and Hoon questioned
whether there was simply not enough left of him to interest them. That lent a
new horror to his returning awareness. By then they could have chewed his arms
and legs off and he would not have been able to feel it. Hoon wondered if his
limbs were still there and how much of him remained. That terrified him into
the darker corners of his mind, reaching for the hope of madness.

Amalthea.Her name sighed through him, soothing him strangely.Amalthea, my
love.My dearest love, my greatest love.I wish I might have tasted your blood
so that I might remember it now. How it would comfort me to remember the taste
of your blood as well as the warm wet sheath you gave my sword when we lay
together.

Galee had made the first of the Lemyari and the first of the sa'necari. But
where had the others come from?The lesser bloods, the varied species and
lineages? Had her cursed sire created them all?He and his people? Were they
here in these lands or were they in the uncleansed lands? Demons were all
over. Were they all his?

Amalthea.

I did not know we could do these things. Not at first. I learned. My brother
learned. He learned more swiftly thanI. Forgive me.Dreams. No. Please. No more
dreams. No more visions. What did she intend for Dawnhand? What was she going
to make from him? What third creature? And when he refused her, did she tell
Waejonan to murder him? Was that how it happened? Was it Galee's doing and not
because he refused to participate in the rite that butchered Dynarien,
favorite grandson of Willodarus the Woodland God, bringing the god's wrath
upon their kingdom of Waejontor?

The scaffolding where they would perform the principal impalements began at
the edge ofTormentLake and stretched like wooden nightmares toward the distant
homes. Bleeding tables were being set out on the grounds in front of the
scaffolding, members of Waejonan's sa'necari cult and his guardsmyn moving
efficiently among them. Their black marble tops insured that no blood would be
wasted by soaking into the surface. It would be caught in basins as the
victims died and then the corpses would be sent to Waejonan's sanguiner for
draining into golden preserving bottles that kept it fresh as if it had come
straight from the veins, still warm. The chosen victims for the rites had not
yet been broughtout, they were mostly captives from the most recent war for
territory. It seemed as if Waejonan was forever finding a reason for another
war.

Brandrahoon stood at the edge of a crowd of onlookers with his wife and
children as his brother, Isranon Dawnhand, was brought forward onto the
scaffolding. His hands were spellcorded behind him to block his powers. He
staggered between two guardsmyn, forcing them to hold him up. Brandrahoon
swallowed uneasily, feeling fear and anger gather in his stomach like rocks
being piled in his middle.

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His youngest brother, who had made himself king, had ordered that all of them
be present to watch this. He wished his children could have been left out of
this viewing, for Brandrahoon had had to spell the youngest of them so that
she would not look away, as he knew she would, lest Waejonan take that as an
excuse to rite the child. He had forbidden looking away just as he had
forbidden them to shed tears.

A herald unrolled a parchment and read from it themon's crimes. The
accusations were treason and conspiracy.Lies , all lies, Brandrahoon thought,
but dared not express it. Dawnhand would rather have left than oppose
Waejonan, because of the love that had once been between the three brothers.

His youngest brother strode up to him, laughing with some of his
friends.“Enjoying the show, Brandrahoon."

Brandrahoon said nothing.

"If you or any of your familyfail to watch. Or if any of you shed so much as
a single tear, you'll join him up there,” Waejonan reminded him.

"You said you wouldn't kill him,” Brandrahoon said stiffly.

Waejonan laughed. “Surely you never believed me. You suspected why I wanted
his staff stolen."

The herald withdrew and the guards stripped Dawnhand of his clothing, leaving
him completely nude. Brandrahoon's stomach tightened at how terribly marked he
was by the torturer's tools. Waejonan must have spent all the hours after
Dawnhand's arrest last night committing these atrocities. Guards lifted
Dawnhand to a table and tied ropes to his ankles. His legs were pulled so far
open it looked as if his hips must soon be torn from their sockets.

Then the executioner came forward, wearing a black mask over his features. He
was as muscular as a prime bull. His assistant held a thick pole with a sharp
steel head. The executioner nodded and his assistant began greasing the head,
while he examined the condemned's anus. He took out a short, broad blade and
opened this entrance for the pole wider with small, considered cuts. The
condemnedmon shuddered at each quick slice.

Revulsion tightened in Brandrahoon's gut, but he could not look away.

"Galee!”Dawnhand screamed. “Galee, my scions will cast your soul to the
winds!"

Galee, Brandrahoon wondered. Why Galee and not Waejonan? What had his brother
known, that he did not? Now, he would never get to ask him.

A sensuous woman with nut-brown skin and hair blacker than a raven's wing,
glided bonelessly to Brandrahoon's side. She put her long fingered hand on his
arm. Her long gown clung to her voluptuous body like a second skin and the
plunging neckline revealed more of her substantial bosom than any other woman
would have dared to allow. “I don't understand why he blames me. Everyone
always blames me, Brandrahoon."

"Galee.”Brandrahoon turned towards her. “Neither doI . It must be something
from the torture."

"But I wasn't there."

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Waejonan moved on, leaving Brandrahoon with Galee and his family.

"Come to the edge of the trees,” Galee suggested.

Brandrahoon shook his head. “Waejonan"

"He will not bother you so long as you are with me."

Brandrahoon sucked in a deep breath. “Amalthea, will you be all right with
the children?"

His wife turned to him with a venomous smile.“Of course. I knew what was
coming."

Her words shook Brandrahoon. “What?"

"Later for family squabbles,” Galee purred, “Come away with me, I have things
to discuss with you in private."

Brandrahoon nodded. He rarely refused his mentor anything. He followed her to
the edge of the trees and stood beneath the first green awning of hemlock
spruces, their tall crowns dappling them in shadow. Then they turned to watch
the execution. Brandrahoon knew better than to do otherwise. He had no wish to
find himself on the scaffolding next.

A sa'necari moved to the front of Dawnhand, placing a hand on his shoulder to
Read him as the sentence progressed and make certain everything went properly,
that the most important internal organs were not touched. Brandrahoon wondered
how they did it. The sa'necari smiled with obvious relish and Brandrahoon
shivered: themon was drinking in his brother's pain.

The executioner pressed the pole into Dawnhand's body and moved to the
butt-end with his hammer. He began to give it little taps, glancing at the
sa'necari between each set and, at his nod, would start again. Dawnhand
writhed convulsively and screamed. His bowels let go, followed by blood and
fluids. As the pole progressed deeper it stiffened his body out. Gradually a
bulge appeared in his right shoulder like a huge swelling beneath the muscles.
The sa'necari signaled a halt, pulled his blade, and sliced the bulge. Blood
and fluids gushed from it. The sa'necari nodded and the hammering began again.
The steel head emerged from Dawnhand's shoulder streaked in gore and glinted
in the morning sun. Once it had gone far enough through him, they tied his
ankles to the pole and, with great care not to jostle him, sat it in place
upon the scaffolding, nailing the bottom to the frame between two beams and
securing the top with a short strut. Dawnhand twisted and groaned.

Brandrahoon found the breath catching in his constricting throat. They had
done their work so expertly that it would take his brother at least a day to
die.

The crowd cheered; adults and children threw filth and garbage at Dawnhand.
It sickened Brandrahoon. The populace worshipped Waejonan and hated anyone he
called an enemy, even while he fed upon them.

"How long before he comes for me?” Brandrahoon asked bitterly. “How long
before I end like that?” He gestured at Dawnhand.

"I can make you strong, Brandrahoon.Strong enough to protect your
family.Strong enough to oppose your brother."

"I don't want to be sa'necari, Galee. I don't want to be like him.” Hoon's

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voice was hollow.

"Oh, but you would not be sa'necari at all. You would be something else
entirely. You would be like me."

Hope flared in Hoon's voice, “How?"

"I take your blood and I give you mine."

It seemed a small thing, to exchange blood. There were many small rites that
involved it, things as minor as the joining of spirit-brothers.But if it would
pass her powers to him. “Do it, Galee. Do it."

They walked deep into the forest. Galee sat upon the ground in a place heavy
with mulch like the memories of past seasons. In the muted light that escaped
the massive curtain of the trees to reach the forest floor, she patted the
earth beside her. Hoon sat down. Galee took her belt knife out and slashed her
wrist.“Just a little. It doesn't take much."

Brandrahoon placed his mouth to the wound and sucked. His body tingled as the
blood slid down his throat like wine. He had never tasted anything that filled
him with as much excitement as this.

He started to cut his own wrist, but she took the blade away from him and
opened his shirt.

"There is only a single thing left for you to do,” Galee said, wrapping her
arms around him and looking deep into his eyes.“Die."

"What?” His eyes widened in horror at the sight of her fangs. He had never
seen them before had not known she possessed them.

He tried to pull loose from her, but her strength was greater than his.
Brandrahoon had never dreamed a woman could be like this. He reached for his
magic and found it would not answer him. Brandrahoon writhed and twisted in
her grasp. She gripped him tightly, forcing him backward despite his
struggling, pressing him into the dank black soil and rotted leaves. Galee
straddled him.

"Oh, Gods, no.No.Noooooo!” Hoon gave a despairing scream that was cut off as
Galee's fangs plunged into his neck. He shuddered beneath her as she took his
life and left him in darkness.

A clunk of heavy glass striking, but not breaking, sounded against the stone
on which he lay, and a bottle rolled, then rustled against the straw. An
irritated squeal followed. Hoon heard it, but the tendons of his neck were too
dried and atrophied to move his head to look. The bottle rustled through the
straw. Then another bottle stuck stone. Small nails scrabbling on stone
reached his ears and grew near. Hoon realized that he heard the rats. For the
first time in weeks, he slowly became aware that he still had his limbs and
that the spellcords on his wrists had been gnawed away. Would they be gnawing
him next? His powers were free, yet he had no strength to move or use them.

Another bottle struck stone. How many bottles was that now?Three?Four? He had
forgotten to count.Timon was dead. Was Timon dead? His thoughts cleared a bit
more. That vampire Hoon had thought was Timon had not been Timon. Galee had
killed him to confuse Hoon and make him reveal the real Timon.Galee.Oh, gods,
forgive me.Galee.Always Galee.

Galee could not get the power she wanted from Willodarus so she played one

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set of his descendants off against the other, causing the kin-strife. Then she
used Waejonan against Tros. She needed to get the Hellgod free, but she dared
not let Willodarus know she had escaped until she had enough power to fight
him. So she made Waejonan a front for her efforts. But Waejonan would not take
direction.

So she made the vampires, starting with myself, to give her another tool to
play off against and with the sa'necari, keep them in line. And then she
wanted a third set of players, a third set of creatures. Only my brother,
Isranon, refused to play so she killed him and punished his entire lineage.
Isranon, son of Isranon, son of Isranon.

Galee had thrown it in his face several meetings back that Isranon, the last
of Dawnhand's lineage, was dying or dead because Hoon had listened to a
traitorous divinator, Mondarius, and leftfive sa'necari alive at his estate.
Hoon, himself, had wanted Isranon dead at one time, because he was a rival for
the affections of Anksha the Beast, Hoon's best weapon; but not this way, not
with a divinator's spells plunged into his body. When Isranon died, if he had
not already, a powerful curse would be unleashed. Divinator curses had brought
down kings and kingdoms, changed the direction of wars and other
struggles,twisted fate in a thousand myriad ways. What curse had they placed
in Isranon's dying body? Was Galee trying change Dawnhand's curse that he sent
her with his last words?Or something else. Hoon was too tired to puzzle it
further.

Now that Galee has her godhood restored, has all the power and resources
imaginable, she wants to pull all her little puppets back so she has no
rivals, even accidental ones.Galee bragged about those slayers she had sent
after Mephistis de Waejonan's two small sons infant twins that were the last
rightful heirs to the throne of Waejontor that it was only a matter of time
before they also died; that the Sacred King would not be able to protect
them.What a fool I've been.

Another bottle clunked down. Small claws backed across Hoon's face, dragging
a bottle that smelled of blood. The rat left the bottle's cork poised against
Hoon'smouth, climbed up his nose and pushed its paws into the corners of the
vampire's eyes.

I really think I'm an idiot doing this. You'll probably take one good swallow
and eat me.The rat's mind touched Hoon's.

A rat?I'm six thousand years old and I'm talking to a rat?

How much blood will get you changed into a bat? And get you out of here?

Fabulous! Galee has driven me insane!

Uh uh.I'll pull the cork on that one. There's two dozen more here. A carry
ball I stole is behind the hole in the wall. Past that you're on your own.

And in whose debt does this place me, figment of my delusion?

Nans Gryphonheart and Isranon, son of Isranon. They wish to meet with you on
neutral ground.The ruins of Aubrudrin on the night of the Spring Equinox at
the overthrown altar. There you will pay this debt by answering questions.

There is no overthrown altar. It is still standing.

It won't be when Nans gets there.

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What are you? Is there news of my son?

The rat pulled the cork, shoved the bottle down Hoon's throat, and as the
heady trolls-blood cocktail known as Sanguine Rose poured into the vampire's
desiccated mouth, the rat sent behind it,Timon is alive. He's in Tovante
waiting to take ship to Jedrua. I'm a sending from Gryphonheart. Then the rat
scampered away.

The blood.The blessed blood.And trolls blood one of the most potent of all.
Hoon soaked it up and, when he was able to move a little, he seized another
bottle, and then another, drinking thirstily. When he got out of here there
would be hell to pay.

CHAPTER TWO: THE MEETING

The midday sun burned upon the Rowdies faces with an intensity that boded ill
for summer's heat, which still lay a few months off, as they sat their
restless mounts within the grassy confines of what had once been a temple to
one of the hellgods. Gryphonheart's Rowdies, a freeranger search and rescue
unit, strove for a military stillness that their mouths refused to grant them
on this unholy ground. Ancient, shattered pillars stretched stilled-fingers to
the sky in silent accusation against their destroyers. Grass and brush grew
between the surviving pieces of the marble mosaic floor, leaving little of the
obscene depictions there untouched. A gigantic chestnut tree, fifty feet
around, gave mute testimony to how long this bit of ground had lain roofless
and open to the elements.Forest circled them in a green and brown wall.

Many of the rangers wore wide brimmed hats with tall crowns to shade their
eyes and keep the heat off their heads. They sat easily in their heavy saddles
with high, flared cantles and equally high pommels that had a knobbed horn in
front. Their highly trained mounts had intelligent eyes and fine builds, but
they were just horses, unlike the wynderjyns of the Sharani. Their
auxiliaries, eight wagons and their drivers, sat farther off near the edge of
the trees, watching them.

A long fragment of wall remained standing on the northeast edge, its deeply
carved bas-relief chipped and broken depicted figures making offerings to a
female creature with wide-spread membranous wings along one end and on the
other myn killing victims in obscene rites. In front of the wall fragment
running her fingers interestedly along it, knelt a small female creature, with
long black hair and a small tightly curled tail poking through the back of her
black leather trousers. Anksha the Beast dug at the incised runes in the wall
with her claws, removing the thick dirt of ages past encrusting them. Then she
brushed and blew with pursed lips to scatter the fragments before scratching
at them again.

In the middle stood a weathered, stone altar built for human sacrifice, in
the shape of amon with blood-grooves and spouts at the corners. The Rowdies
schooled their faces into impassivity and many looked away. Reports had
reached them that scattered bands of sa'necari had still used this altar as
recently as two years ago. All of them were trying not to imagine what it
might have been like for those who died there. The sa'necari killed their
victims while raping them in a rite that shattered their souls so that they
could be eaten: mortgiefan was one of the most hated acts in their world.

The spreading boughs of the chestnut tree dappled Isranon's face in shadow,
muting the lingering signs of illness that gave him a haggard quality that
marred his darkly handsome features. The kindness and compassion in his ebony

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eyes vied with a deeper, haunted light for dominance of his face. Black curls
escaped their bounds tolay softly against his brown skin, and he flicked them
back with long-fingered hands. His haunted eyes looked older than his years.
The loose fit of his clothing over his broad-chest and heavy bones, making him
look more like a smith than a mage, concealed the degree to which his muscles
had become wasted. The twenty-one year old mage wore a knee-length tunic that
was belted into folds over his breeches and topped by a long, loose-laced,
sheepskin vest.

Isranon leaned upon a fabulous staff near the altar. The staff called 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 apegasus 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's and a warrior's staff.

In the center near the altar, Nans Gryphonheart bestrode her big, black-maned
golden stallion. She shook back her long cinnamon braid and dismounted. At
five foot eleven inches of rock-hard muscle, Nans dwarfed all of her company
for height except her First Lieutenant, Travis Potshard. The feral gleam in
her sapphire eyes betrayed her inner nature as wilderkin, those born with the
gift for animal speech and empathy; among the wilderkin, she was classed as a
predator, which was rare. The silver, runed hilt of her longsword jutted above
her broad shoulders, catching the sunlight in tiny flashes. She was
magnificent to look upon, as were most yuwenghau the divine knights-errant
drawn from among the minor gods, godlings and demi-gods, all children of the
mature deities.

Her long dead mother had been mortal; a princess who foolishly ventured into
a haunted wood late one night and, fleeing the creatures that hunted there,
ran straight into the arms of a god sleeping in the form of a tree. The
tree-god protected her and, by the time the searchers found her the next
morning, she carried his child: Nans.

Lieutenant Travis Potshard leaned forward in his saddle, folding his arms
across his saddle horn. Travis's cornflower eyes narrowed in his square jawed
face. “I don't like this place, Nans. My old dog wouldn't either if he was
here. I think you coulda picked a better rendezvous."

Nans shook her head, her lips tightening. “It's as good a place as any to
meet Hoon. My nephew LorenRain died on that altar two years ago. That's where
my father's people found his body,"

Travis's brow furrowed in sympathy, showing that it had suddenly gone from
rumor to fact with him. “Awwww shit, Nans, you shoulda said something."

Nans’ eyes hardened as she approached the altar. LorenRain had died in a rite
of mortgiefan at the hands of Prince Mephistis de Waejonan, a rite of rape and
death that had shattered his divine soul and stolen pieces of it. It had been
a hideous death. The Sacred King of Rowanhart had freed his soul, ironically
with a little help from Hoon who had thrust the prince into the path of the
king's blade.

"You were here, weren't you, Isranon?” she asked the young man with the staff
suddenly. “When they murdered him?"

Isranon looked queasy and distressed. Everyone present knew the young
sa'necari had been close to Mephistis. “Yes."

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Nans’ expression darkened. “Did you watch?"

Isranon dropped his gaze, focusing on the grass and broken tiles at his feet.
“No. I could never watch. Hoon tried to make me. Mephistis did not. Mephistis
always understood that I found such things abhorrent. I walked to the far side
of the camp and tried not to think about it."

Nans softened a little at his dismay. There were two types of sa'necari,
those who were created by the rites and those who were born that way, because
so many of their ancestors had been made sa'necari that their genes had
altered over the generations. Isranon was the latter kind. He had never asked
to be born sa'necari and bore it as a curse. “How did they take him?"

She could see the lines of pain deepening in his young face as he leaned more
heavily on his staff. Among the sa'necari the price of heresy was death; the
Dark Brothers of the Light had been sa'necari heretics, refusing the rites and
the taking of lives out of an appetite for the blood they needed to remain
alive.Five sa'necari had tortured, raped, and nearly butchered Isranon,
leaving him for dead with their dark magics woven inextricably through him so
that he could not heal himself with blood. Only a rite of mortgiefan, such as
had slain her nephew, could heal Isranon, yet he refused to step into the
darkness of the rites.

Nans felt a surge of concern and compassion for him as he reached for the
bottle of Sanguine Rose, the powerful troll's blood cocktail that was the only
thing keeping him alive. Troll's blood had an intense effect upon hemovores,
passing along some the creature's regenerative qualities for as long as it
lasted in the imbiber's system. Coupled with the drugs that laced the blood,
Sanguine Rose eased pain, brought sleep, encouraged healing, and, in very
large doses produced hallucinations.

He took a swallow before answering. “They have a spellcord that will hold a
god.Left from the Age of Burning. They made a net of it and snared him.A cache
of Galee's.Swords and other weapons, also from the godwar.Runes that I could
not read."

"We will talk more after you've rested again, Isranon. There will be no more
rites committed on this thing.” Nans went to the altar, squatted, got a good
grip on it, and heaved with her greater than mortal strength. Stone grated and
scraped; she could feel it shifting, but it did not come free. “Get some ropes
on it!"

The Rowdies uncoiled their ropes, made loops on one end and threw then over
the altar, wrapped the rope around their saddle horns and ran the ends around
their backs. Then they began working their horses backwards, playing the ropes
out as needed. Nans squatted again, adding her strength to that of the horses.
This time the altar came free along with a large chunk of ground. A hole
opened where the uprooted altar had been. Nans staggered and nearly went
sliding in.

"I'd like to see what's down there, but today's not the day,” Nans said.

"No, I would not believe so,” said a new voice. “After all you called a
meeting, and I am here for it.” The vampire wore finely tailored leathers with
a long black coat hanging open to his knees. He spoke precisely, in tones that
were all edges, as he stepped from among the trees.

Anksha leaped up from examining the wall, bouncing on the balls of her feet
as she rushed to the newcomer.“Hoon!” Anksha cried happily.

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He lifted her up, incredulous. “You are not with Timon?"

"Isranon needed me.” She dropped her eyes and slid from his grasp. Had she
bound her tail inside her pants she could have passed for humanat least until
she opened her mouth, which held an impressive set of fangs. The tiniest bit
of fur, so sleek as to be indistinguishable from the skin of her face, throat,
and hands, showed beneath the neck of her silk shirt. Out of habit, Anksha
wore a black vest over it to look as close to Isranon as she could manage. She
was a demon-eater, one of the many varied kinds of hemovores on that world.

"Isranon is still alive? None of your bloo” Hoon glanced around at the
Rowdies and did not finish the word ‘blood-slave.’ He did not know whether
these people understood Anksha's nature or that of her relationship to
Isranon. He would give none of her secrets away on the off chance of
reclaiming her. He had commanded her to take Isranon as her blood-slave before
they knew he was descended of Dawnhand, and she had done so. Most of her
blood-slaves withered and died quickly. How had Isranon, weakest of her six
sa'necari blood-slaves lasted so long? Especially crippled and wounded as
Galee insisted he had been left. Hoon covered his surprise at Isranon being
alive by kissing her, tousling her hair, getting the twigs and leaves out of
it. “I missed you, little one. Will you come away with me?"

"No.” Anksha shook her head, looking uncomfortable. “Isranon needs me."

Hoon kissed the top of her head again, concealing his bitter expression. As
he had feared, Isranon had stolen her affections from him, broke his bond to
her that had existed for centuries with that cursed resemblance to Dawnhand.
“You were always fond of my brother. He was the best of us."

"That is what our father says when he speaks of the three brothers.” Nans
said.

Hoon arched an eyebrow. His mother had never told him who his father was and
then she had killed herself, leaving him to raise his two younger
brothers.“Ourfather?"

"Are we not our father's children as well as our mothers', Brandrahoon?” Nans
asked.

Hoon did not answer her, but stood staring at the young mage. He was
familiar, yet unfamiliar, reminding him poignantly of Dawnhand. Then he knew
who he was.“Isranon?” His eyes filled with tears of guilt and shamed him. He
did not want to be seeing this. He did not want to be seeing this youngmon
looking so much like his lost brother.His only decent brother.Hell, help me I
should not be feeling anything for him. If he comes against me, I will kill
him. I should kill him for stealing Anksha. “Just tell me what you want, let
me give it to you, and let me leave."

"Lord Hoon,” Isranon said, looking confused by Hoon's reaction as he limped
heavily toward him. There was no love lost between them, yet this response
came unexpected. Hoon had tried to kill him. He shivered looking at him.

Hoon caught the reaction and retreated from Isranon, moving closer to Nans.So
Isranon still remembered the feel of his fangs in his neck, the way that Hoon
had hauled the life out of him and would have had his death, but for Anksha's
intervention. “Stay away from me, Isranon. I cannot bear to be near you."

"Why? What have I done?” Isranon glanced from Hoon to Nans and back again.

Hoon's voice tightened. “Go away, please."

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Nans gestured with her thumb, indicating that Isranon should go. Isranon left
the ruined temple to find a sheltered place to sit. Anksha scampered after
him.

"Is he well?” Hoon asked.

"No,” Nans said, her voice taking on a soft edge. “He gets better and then he
has another attack. He's dying, but he's fighting it real hard. The staff
helps. There's power in it. He's found his magic. But the sa'necari spells are
pulling him down, inch by inch. We can get it under control for a time, but it
doesn't last."

Hoon sighed. “It breaks my heart to look athim, he looks so much like
Dawnhand."

Nans sat down cross-legged and regarded him with a blend of skepticism and
hostility in her expression. “Mondarius, your divinator, broughtthe four
sa'necari the blades. I'm told the fifth one used a plain blade, I don't
understand that, since they use hell-blades of various kinds. They were forged
by the Master of Blood. You know what that means?"

Hoon dropped his eyes, unable to meet her gaze. So these people of the light
did not know the sa'necari had been blood-slaves, and possibly did not know
the true nature of Anksha, which meant they would not be using her full
potentials as a weapon. That gave him a tiny sense of satisfaction to
counteract feelings of betrayal.“Deathtree runes."

"And divinator runes, your divinator's runes. Four blades to make a complete
spell and the spells appear to be permanently embedded in his body with no way
to get them out. That's what is killing him."

Hoon sucked air as he lowered himself to the ground across from her. “And
that staff where did you get it? Did you make it or find it?"

"Why?” A tremor of suspicion entered Nans’ voice.

"Because it is or might be Dawnhand's staff. I suppose someone could have
tried to duplicate it, superficially from a description, but I would swear.
The staff was lost. It wasstolen, else Waejonan would never have been able to
take him."

Nans leaned forward with her elbows propped on her knees. “My friend who gave
it to him got it from a peddler of used goods. I have no idea where she got
it. But I will ask. It's possible that my sister, the one who's a few eggs shy
of a dozen, was involved and when she's involved anything is possible."

Dynanna.Of course the Trickster had to be involved with this. Hoon had nearly
succeeded in slaying the God of Cussedness and Perversity, patron of thieves
and rogues. No doubt she had stolen the staff from Waejonan after he murdered
Dawnhand. “The staff is very, very powerful. What does he call it?"

"Warrior.He named it himself."

"Dawnhand called it that.And.” Hoon paused; he had been distracted from her
earlier words by the sight of Isranon, now he recalled what she had said. “Did
you suggest that Willodarus is my father?"

Nans’ mouth hardened into a sneer. “I did not suggest. I stated that he was.
Didn't you know?"

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"No. Were all three of us?"

"Yes. And you know the reasons why you weren't told. You've consumed your
share of divine blood. You should have been told at maturity."

"Our mother died. I raised my brothers. Galee said Galee! Galee is why we did
not know! She said Willodarus killed our father."

"Plots and plots and plots.”Nans’ tone turned contemptuous. “You would never
have been able to take Tros and Dynarien so easily if you hadn't been born
yuwenghau. Nor would the three of you have grown so powerful."

"I have lived within your world, yet never been part of it. There is much I
could have learned. Enough! You make me ache!” Hoon snarled. “Tell me what you
want and be done with it!"

"Tell me everything you know about the sa'nekaryiane."

Hoon nodded. “You cannot stop her. I knew her as Gylorean Galee. She was a
Lemyari vampire, the first, and the one who made me. She made Waejonan, first
of the sa'necari. She intended for Isranon to be the first of something else.
What I do not know. Only recently did I learn the truth of her. Whenever her
body is destroyed, her soul returns to a box, which currently she wears around
her neck, until she can be reborn. She was the third wife of Bellocar. But she
plotted against him and was thrown down. She was a god, a powerful one, but
Bellocar stripped her of much of her power when he defeated her. That was when
she embraced a lord of darkness and became a vampire."

"What was her god name, do you know it?"

"All I know is that she was called the Glistening One and Mother of
Damnation. Her claws are venomous. She has the seiryn's song and the vampire's
power of fascination magnified several times over. Be careful. Be very
careful. She and her nekaryiane can hold many minds at once. But the song can
influence only males and only humans, tritons and such. I used the blood of
the sacred king, which I stole, to make the first one, so that they would be
strong enough to fight yuwenghau. I regret that."

"Life is full of regrets, Hoon. Don't wallow in them."

"Is that enough?"

"No. I fought an irrfelghau in Gormond's Reach. Where are they coming from?"

"The Hellgod has managed to open a secret gate in the east in Larquental. I
don't know its exact location. Galee did not say. It is not sufficiently
strong enough to let him or his wives escape, however those of lesser power
may pass it. Female worshippers come through. They lie with him and then
return to bear the children in these lands. Until Galee bled them white, the
Assassins Guild was killing them before they could grow into their powers. Now
there is an army of the creatures, scattered throughout the east. Only the
Lionhawk stands in their way. Galee is geised to aid Bellocar and seeks a way
to shatter the escarpment, or barring that to widen that narrow pass the
Nakesht use in the south wall to slip through onto the plains, the one they
call the Gate of the Hellgod. It's not even a pass really; it's a crack in the
stone that a single wolf can squeeze through. That's why the Euzadi have never
found the pass. Even the shadow hounds are too big to get through it
easily.But not the wolves. That's how close a fit it is. If she can do that,
then only the magical bonds will remain to be broken and those have weakened

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greatly over the millennia."

Nans felt chilled. “One last thing and I will call the debt paid. Our father
has long wondered: How did Waejonan get the staff away from Dawnhand? So long
as he held the staff he could not have been taken. How did that happen?"

Hoon turned his headaway, looking like someone had dropped a noose around his
neck and jerked it tight. “I took the staff while they slept. Waejonan swore
he would not harm them.Promised me peace for all of us. He would let all our
families leave Waejontor; seek new lands to live in. All I had to do was get
him the staff."

Nans went silent for a long time; she dared not tell Isranon this. She knewhe
and Timon, Hoon's son, had been lovers. The sa'necari of Waejontor were a
bi-sexual culture; and Isranon was conspicuously so, since Nans was certain
that he also slept with Anksha, his familiar. One day she would have to ask
Isranon just how he had managed to subvert the justly dreaded Beast and bind
her to him. Should Isranon ever learn that Hoon had betrayed his ancestor to
Waejonan, he would be bound by honor to destroy Hoon and at the very least
that would destroy Timon's love for him, possibly even make Timon his enemy.
“What are you going to do now?"

"My holdings in Merezia are all destroyed. I am going to join my son in
Jedrua and wallow in my regrets.” Hoon shape-shifted and flew away.

* * * *

Nans watched Hoon vanish into the distance, before turning her gaze back to
the hole. Travis had dismounted and now knelt at the edge holding a torch in
his hands, which he shoved into the chamber below and waved around in a futile
effort to better see what lay there.

She crouched beside him. “This place gives me a bad feeling."

Travis shrugged that off. “I want to investigate it, Nans."

Columns forested the chamber, blocking the reach of the torchlight through
their black and crimson fastness. Travis leaned far over and Nans caught him
by the tunic. “Not today."

"I swear I heard something move."

Olin joined them, his body in his transitional lycan form with nostrils
flared. “I smell a creature down there. I've never smelled it before."

"Let me go down and have a look, Nans,” Travis begged. “My old dog wouldn't
leave something like this unexplored. I'd be really quick."

Olin ran his left hand through his white and black hair. “I have no desire to
go down there. What ever is in the chamber is huge. I hear its heart beating
like a drum."

Nans nodded. “That's enough for me. Whatever is down there can stay down
there, but I'm not risking anyone to sate our curiosity. Keep everyone away
from the hole, Travis. And, don't go down yourself either."

"Aye, Captain,” Travis sighed.“But my old dog."

"I don't want to hear it.” Nans cut him off and strode away.

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CHAPTER THREE: GODWAR

Isranon sat on a stone under the broad branches of a red oak tree and took
out his flute. Anksha curled up beside him, more cat than human at that
moment, listening attentively to his playing. His sa'necari assailants had
destroyed Dawnhand's flute, the flute his father had given him when the
craving for blood came upon him at puberty. His father had told him that so
long as he could enjoy the music of a flute, he would never become a monster:
sa'necariwho were steeped in the darkness of the rites could not stand its
music, the music of life. It was a very fine flute and he could feel the magic
in it; yet it could never entirely replace the flute that had belonged to
Dawnhand and been given to him as a family heirloom. This one had been a gift
from his liege-god, Dynanna, when he embraced the trickster as his divine
lord.

The music emerged as a song of melancholy reflection. By embracing his
sorrows, he hoped to play his way past them, the music guiding him to a better
place. The marks on his body would soon be the only residue of his distress.
Fang scars lined both sides of his neck. Beneath his tunic lay many more scars
from blades, bites, and beatings. He was twenty-one as of last autumn and had
been Anksha's blood-slave for just over a year and a half. The Rowdies
believed her to be his familiar, a kind of pet to him and he encouraged that
belief.

When Anksha had taken Isranon as her blood-slave, her then master, Hoon, had
said that he did not expect Isranon to last three months, yet Isranon had
flourished until the five other sa'necari blood-slaves ambushed him. The
sa'nekaryiane had promised to free them from Anksha's power in exchange for
his death.

His hand drifted to Anksha's back, stroking her affectionately. Her nearness
made his body, nerves, and muscles burn, a sign of the Presence Pain
returning. It would grow steadily more intense until she fed. Once his blood
slid down her throat it would ease to a bearable level. She owned him flesh,
blood, and soul through the dominance-link, which lay embedded in all the
fibers of his being. Only death freed a blood-slave. He played again,
struggling against the memory of the day he had fallen to Anksha.

Hoon's arrival had sparked more thoughts and feelings than Isranon had
expected; he shifted uncomfortably, re-living the moment that Anksha had taken
him.

Anksha rose and walked slowly around the chairs, smiling in a calculating
fashion, her hands behind her back like a child planning naughtiness. Isranon
felt detached from all the people speaking around him, no longer putting names
to voices. Words were empty things. He watched Yoris blubber, trembling
uncontrollably as Anksha picked Bodramet and pulled him down, dragging him
over to that one's feet. The sa'necariwere accustomed to having cattle, not
being cattle. They bred and kept nibari herds, genetically altered humans, to
satisfy their arcane appetites. This made finding themselves as the cattle all
the more difficult and terrifying to endure.

"Watch, Yoris,” she 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.

"What I intend to do.”Another royal spoke somewhere to the left of Isranon.

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"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.

Yoris had always survived at Mephistis’ court by playing one person off
against another. Isranon understood the pattern of Anksha's depredations: she
had taken the strongest of them first, working her way through their ranks to
the weakest in power and the weakest of them all was himself.

Had he believed it would achieve anything, he would have offered himself in
their places; but it would not have helped matters any. It might even have
angered her further.

"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.

Mephistis closed his eyes until the screaming stopped. 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. The young sa'necari drew in a fortifying
breath, folding his hands together behind his back.

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

Anksha looked at him curiously, taking in the calm stoicism, the proud tilt
to his chin, shoulders and back straight. From her expression, the fact that
his body bore the many scars of others feeding, had registered in her mind;
yet she did not question what she saw. “You I could like,” she said.

Hoon paused in his speaking, staring at the multitude of scars on Isranon's
body.

"No!” Mephistis shouted. “No, please, Anksha. Not Isranon. He is a goodmon .
He isn't like the rest of us.” Mephistis crossed the room, dropping to his
knees and pushing between them. “Please. Don't do this! Hoon, please ask her
not to 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.

Hoon turned his back. “Take him and be done with it, Anksha."

"Do not plead for me, my prince. 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

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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.

Mephistis 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.

But 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 himbody and
soul. The dominance-link sank instantly into him like a thousand, searing
barbed-hooks. She jerked him hard through the dominance-link, and then slashed
him with the blade of her mind, cutting him heart and soul. 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 utterly broken like a doll dismembered by a hostile child.
He crumpled and lay unmoving before her.

Hoon was Timon's father. Isranon had begun to feel that to condemn Hoon was,
by extension, to condemn Timon. Yet Hoon had ordered Anksha to take him, and
had betrayed his beloved Prince Mephistis Coleth de Waejonan, first by setting
Anksha to enslave him and then by shoving him into the path of the Sacred
King's blade. Isranon shook off thoughts of Timon and muttered, “I hate you,
Hoon."

Anksha looked up at him and frowned after searching his face. “I am hurting
you, Isranon?"

"We'll fix it tonight in the wagon.” Since Isranon's company had linked up
with the Rowdies just outside of Merkreth's Crossing to rescue King William of
Gormond's Reach, and they had become integrated into their ranks, it had
become very important to keep the true nature of their relationship secret.
The Rowdies treated Anksha like a mascot or a pet, and he did not wish to see
that change. Where she had once fed consistently from his neck, she now fed
from his limbs so his clothing would hide the fresh marks.

"You make me sad,” she said in a small, faintly plaintive voice. “I feel like
I'm hurting Dawnhand."

This did not seem like an auspicious time or place to ask about the little
demon-eater's relationship to his revered ancestor. Anksha always avoided
answering his questions, although from time to time tantalizing tidbits
slipped from her mouth.

"You must tell me if I hurt you,” she said and then slipped into the patois
of her childhood. “Anksha does not wish to hurt Isranon. Anksha loves
Isranon."

Isranon smiled.“I know, pet."

Anksha rewarded him with a deep-throated purr. Then she yawned, exposing her
impressive fangs, and curled closer against his legs. Her fangs were made to
sever the spines of the strongest and largest of the demons. She liked to bite

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through bones and suck the marrow out.

Nevin, a tall lycan, came through the trees and lowered himself on his
haunches. “I smelled Hoon, my brother. So I decided to find you.” An ugly scar
traversed Nevin's 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. Only
runed-silver and kenda'ryl could do that to a lycan. It gave his words a
sibilant quality. His black hair reflected his coat color in wolf form, with a
bit of grey in it.

Isranon gripped the lycan's forearm in greeting. “Hoon refused to speak to
me. He asked me to leave."

"That is well. You have no business speaking with your enemy.” Nevin grasped
his hand and asked, “Are you cold? I could fetch your cloak."

Isranon shook his head. “No. I need to to be with Anksha soon."

Nevin's large, dark eyes went soft with concern. With Isranon, he was a big,
gentle wolf as gentle as he was fierce with his enemies. Nevin had been
Isranon's childhood mentor, constantly arguing with Isranon's pacifist father
over the need to teach the boy to wield a sword and knives. Every time
Isranon's father's band of Dark Brothers of the Light had been forced to flee
in search of safer ground, Isranon was sent to Nevin in the broad valley
controlled by Clan Red Wolf in northeastern Waejontor. “I will lie next to you
while she does it."

Anksha felt the warmth passing between the two myn and straightened, smiling
from face to face and back again. Without Nevin's help, Isranon would never
have survived that terrible first month after she took him. “You're a good
wolf,” Anksha said.

Isranon squeezed Nevin's arm. “Thank you."

* * * *

Nans came around the fragment of wall and gestured at the three of them. “You
can come back now, Isranon. Hoon has left."

"Did you get the information you needed?” Isranon asked.

"Yes."

"Good.” Isranon rose to his feet, nearly entangling them in Anksha's legs.
Nevin caught his elbow and steadied him. Then he followed slowly after Nans
with Nevin at his side and Anksha trailing. He scanned the walls again as he
started to pass them, noticing all the new ones that Anksha's scratching had
exposed. The runes looked odd and something bothered him. He knelt near the
base, digging at them. Dirt came away beneath his nails, revealing more of the
writing. Anksha set to work again beside him. Soon they had exposed a long
section and Isranon ran his fingers along the lines of text, reading them.
Nans squatted next to them.

"What are you looking at?” Nans asked.

Isranon frowned deeply. “Everyone keeps calling this a temple to Bellocar,
but the runes are wrong."

"So? Whose temple is this? It's still a hellgod, look at the damned altar I
pulled up."

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Isranon ran his hand over his face and then read the runes one more time
before speaking. “Yes. But it's an altar to the Glistening One. It's a Lemyari
temple. We know very little about her. I found some fragmentary texts while
reading in Lord Edvarde's library last winter. Apparently she was very
secretive and her temples were the first to be destroyed when the young gods
came countless millennia ago."

Nans looked uneasy. “Hoon was just telling me about her, Isranon. Let's break
camp and get out of here. I've a bad feeling about this. She may be the
sa'nekaryiane."

"That is well,” Isranon replied, getting to his feet. “I need to rest in back
of the wagon anyway."

"Do you need me to help you with anything?One of the other medicines?"

"Thank you, Nans. No. Nevin and Anksha can handle it."

Isranon's limping stride had become a faltering step by the time they reached
his wagon. The pain in Isranon's damaged legs had grown from a vague ache to
an agony, with Nevin's arm around his waist the only thing keeping him
upright. Anksha scampered up the little steps and opened the door into the
huge wooden home on wheels. Inside there were chests at each ends of a bed and
a cot. Cabinets lined the sides. At the front was another door, this one
leading to the driver's seat. Nevin settled Isranon onto the bed and helped
him out of his tunic and vest. Then the mage lay down on top of the bright
quilt. Isranon sucked in a fortifying breath. He was not afraid, but neither
had this become entirely easy.

Nevin changed into a huge black wolf and climbed onto the bed beside him. He
laid his head across Isranon's belly. The drawstring of Isranon's pants
tickled Nevin's nose and he wiggled it before settling better.

Isranon gripped Nevin's ruff tightly. “I am ready, Anksha."

She climbed up and sat on the opposite side of him. “This makes me sad."

"Please, Anksha, feed."

She took his arm and bit deep into the bicep, sucking hard. Isranon groaned.
In his already weakened state it hurt worse and cost him more dearly. Anksha
fed not only on the blood, but also on the magic, the life force, and the
entire bio-alchemy of her blood-slaves. She was a roaring presence in his
psyche, feeding on all of him, burning through his mind and body in a torrent
of dominance harmonized to his surrender. Their lack of privacy to do this
more frequently had cost him dearly. The physical anguish of the drain and the
searing power enveloping his body, mind, mage centers and neural nets swept
him from consciousness into darkness; for the first time in months, he fainted
from her feeding.

* * * *

In the darkness of the dust drenched chamber beneath where the altar to a
hellgod once stood, the creature shifted in his dreams. The first fresh air in
thousands of years carried forgotten scents to the creature's flaring
nostrils, making them twitch. Igmetzi rubbed them and turned over in his
shadowed corner, his armor clanking softly. His flapped ears perked forward as
he listened for the sounds that would signal that it was time to awaken, and
when he did not hear them in the silent crypt, Igmetzi slipped again into

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slumber.

* * * *

Nans refused to make camp near the ruins and the traveled late into the night
along a narrow cart path. The jolting movement of the wagon made Isranon's
damaged body ache and that night the memories would not leave him. Seeing Hoon
again had provoked too much pain inside him. Some were of Hoon and others were
not. By the time that they made camp in a clearing beside the road, Isranon's
body hurt as badly as his spirit.

Isranon stirred in his restless slumber, unable to wake and free himself of
them.

Shirtless in the summer heat, Isranon sat again beside the tiny postern gate
they called “Anksha's Gate,” waiting for her return. This was where she
entered and left the grounds on her hunts. He had liked sitting on the boulder
near the odd gate even before he had known that it was Anksha's. The deepest
part of the thickets in the most tangled portion of the far northwest section
of the garden concealed the gate from casual eyes. It was wrought of high
quality steel twisted into the shape of lions leaping. Bone runes were set
into the stone of the arch that held it. Isranon could not read those runes
and often wondered what they said. No darkness emanated from them, and the one
time he had touched them he had felt a clean savagery in their depths like a
wild beast's, something whose mind was not turned to evil for its own sake.

Isranon smiled. A small pouch with candy in it for Anksha hung from his neck
on a leather thong. He had just sat down on a boulder with his flute in his
hands whenthe five sa'necari emerged from the trees around him.

Isranon stood up. “What you do want?"

"To speak with you,” Bodramet said, coming nearer. Bodramet was nearly as
powerfully built as Isranon. He wore his black hair oiled and gathered at the
base of his skull in a dozen tiny braids.

Isranon stepped back without realizing the other blood-slaves had closed
behind him and he had placed himself into their hands. Instinctively, he
lifted the flute to his lips, trilling a melody of life and joy. Bodramet
flinched as the music cut through his necromantic senses with the sharpness of
a blade and the chill of ice. The others fell back from Isranon, clapping
their hands over their ears. Yoris dropped to his knees, covering his mouth to
stifle a shriek.

Bodramet shuddered as he forced himself to straighten. His lips drew back in
a grimace as he fought the power of the music. Isranon's eyes widened at the
effort Bodramet put into resisting it. He started to step backward when
Bodramet's hand shot out like a striking cobra and ripped Isranon's flute
away, casting it into the dirt.

"You'll not call the bitch to your aid this time.” Bodramet threw a web of
energy in Isranon's face.

The searing web melted into Isranon's head, blocking his ability to summon
Anksha through their link. Power slammed into his head from four directions.
His shields snapped up, only to buckle instantly before their onslaught, the
backlash of power making his head ring. His magic overmatched, he struck
instinctively with his hands, knocking Ennis into the bushes and doubling
Petros over with a solid jab to the solar plexus that whooshed the air from
his lungs. He glanced around for an avenue of escape and saw Bodramet close

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the distance between them.

Pain seared through Isranon. He dropped his eyes to Bodramet's hand and saw
the long carving knife being shoved into his mid-section. The point emerged
from his back as Bodramet ripped it upward. Desperate to gain control of the
blade, Isranon grabbed at Bodramet's fingers, trying to pry them off the hilt,
struggling to prevent him from moving it in the wound or piercing him again.

Bodramet slammed Isranon with a lance of power through the chest, reaching
into his being to wind his spells through the Dark Brother's core. As he
sobbed for air, Isranon's hands came loose from the blade-hilt and he grabbed
at his chest.

"I have done nothing to you,” Isranon gasped.

"Half-a-mon, you should have taken what I offered.” Bodramet gave the blade
another twist and Isranon shuddered. “When sa'necarikill sa'necari they do it
well."

Gareth yanked Isranon's arm around and stabbed him in the side. The blade
went in to the quillons and the deathtree runes seared his skin when they
touched it. “The Master of Blood sends greetings, Isranon."

Isranon tore his arm free and grabbed at Bodramet's hand again. He pried
Bodramet's fingers from the hilt and pivoted, looking for an avenue of escape
with the blade still in his body.

"The price of heresy is death,” Ennis growled, rising from the bushes and
drawing his blade. He lunged at Isranon and sheathed the blade in his ribs.

Isranon stiffened, then jerked, and opened his mouth to scream.

Laughing, Yoris popped one of Anksha's scarves into Isranon's mouth as he
plunged the runed blade into his back. Petros whipped a second scarf around
Isranon's head to secure the first one, swiftly knotting it tight.

Isranon tottered two steps when Petros released the knotted scarf, trying for
a small gap between Yoris and Bodramet.

"Traitor,” Petros snarled, catching Isranon's shoulder to halt the tentative
retreat, slipped his blade in; and completed the set of divinator runes
required to embed Mondarius’ spells in Isranon's flesh. The spells unleashed
themselves.

Blinded by pain, Isranon faltered. His hands dropped first to his sides, and
then clutched at his wounds, his shoulders hunching. Too late too late I
brought this on myself. I defied them I broke the teachings

Yoris caught him by the arm and stuck him again, slamming the Master of
Blood's runes hard against Isranon's bare flesh. The runes left a blackened
burn on Isranon's skin.

The dark magics of the demon-forged blades wove a flaming web of agony
through Isranon, burning like venom in his veins and arteries. Isranon reeled
away from them, struggling to keep his feet, heading for the trees. The
sa'necari were on every side; and no matter which way he turned, they stabbed
him. Again and again the hell-runed quillons met his skin as the blades
entered his flesh.

Isranon reached the first tree staggered three more steps.

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A trail of blood marked his progress.

In the shade of an elm tree whose leaves dappled him in shadow and light,
Isranon's body surrendered its strength to resist. He stumbled to his knees
before Bodramet. His chin settled to his chest. Five blades protruded from his
body. Isranon's eyes blinked slowly, unable to clear his clouding vision. He
swayed. Father I will join you soon.

Bodramet regarded him with satisfaction, head tilted and sneering faintly.
Gareth threw a net of death magic through Isranon and drew it tight before
dragging the blade along his arm. Isranon no longer tried to scream; he had no
strength left for it. He recognized the spells: they were severing his ability
to heal with blood.

"Are you lovers, Isranon? Did you trade one prince for another?” Bodramet
knelt, pulling the knife free. “Having had Mephistis, you had to have Timon?”
Bodramet hissed in Isranon's ear. Bodramet tangled his fingers in Isranon's
hair, twisting his head around. He pulled the second scarf down around
Isranon's neck and kissed his lips as he shoved the blade into Isranon's side
and rotated it in the wound.

Isranon looked at Bodramet with dulling eyes. He heard Yoris giggling; the
others jeering. The sa'necari pulled their blades out of him and slid them
into new places in his body. Isranon slipped into a netherworld of shock,
everything going gray around the edges.

Bodramet forced his tongue into Isranon's mouth and encountered the scarf. He
pushed two fingers in and pressed the scarf into Isranon's cheek, so that he
could twine his tongue around Isranon's before lapping at the blood pooling
beneath it. Bodramet kissed Isranon's lips again as he drew the blade slowly
forth. He noticed the sack of candy and sliced it open. Candy spilled across
the ground, stained with Isranon's blood, like an offering to the earth of
sweetness and sorrow.

Isranon crumpled forward, sagging against Bodramet. Ennis and Petros caught
him, holding him up to get at him better. Petros's fangs lengthened and he
sank them into Isranon'sneck, then drew his blade along the Dark Brother's
thigh and shoved it into his leg. Ennis bit him on the shoulder and began to
suck.

"How do you like our kisses now?” Gareth worked a spell to force Isranon to
remain conscious throughout their assault, yanking him back every time he
started to slip away. “You're going to feel all of itevery last bit of it,
until I release you or death takes you."

Gareth and Bodramet twisted their webs up from the bottoms of his feet, from
his hands and his head, knotting them together in his guts.

Petros lifted his face, Isranon's blood rimming his lips. “My steel cock
still hungers for you.” He put the blade repeatedly through Isranon's thighs,
working it in the wounds. “See how hungry it is?"

Bodramet drew the blade desultorily along Isranon's leg. He shoved Isranon's
pants down and pushed the others away. Bodramet dragged him to the boulder by
his heels, panting with eagerness. Dirt got into Isranon's wounds, the rough
ground pulling at his torn flesh, small rocks and soil coated his chest.
Bodramet draped Isranon over the boulder on his stomach.

Nooooo.Not the rite not the rite Isranon's fading consciousness shrieked as

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he hung unmoving, his hands and feet in the dirt, his cheek pressed against
the cold rock, feeling a chill more profound than stone settling through his
flaccid body.

Terror pounded in his failing heart as Isranon felt Bodramet's hands spread
his buttocks, and force his rod inside.

"Yeeesss!”Bodramet hissed in triumph, grasping Isranon's hips to go as deeply
and savagely as possible. His companions began demanding a turn. Bodramet's
juices spilled forth and he pulled out. “You may ride, but not rite."

Gareth mounted Isranonnext, and they took turns in order of their standing.
Finally, they hauled him off and straightened his clothing. They set Isranon
against the boulder as if he sat leaning there; but he would not stay upright.
So they wedged some sticks under his armpits, and braced them with rocks. Then
they walked off, laughing, and darkness claimed Isranon.

Isranon woke sweating, his heart hammering, and he grabbed Nevin's ruff. The
wolf raised his shaggy head, his black eyes filling with concern.

Nevin pulled out of Isranon's grasp and changed. “Do you want to talk about
it?"

"No I can't not yet.”Isranon eased out of bed, picked up his staff, and
climbed out of the wagon to see if silence and fresh air would still his
trembling body.

* * * *

Nans left the still sleeping camp in the early morning hours, walking deep
into the trees until she found a clearing sheltered by rowans, a tree that
strongly resisted the presence of dark power. The rowans made this a safe
place to make her summonings. She had recorded everything Hoon told her,
adding her own guesses and theories about it all, into her journal before
writing letters. It was time to call her animals and banner them so that
hunters would not shoot at them by mistake.

She sent out the Call with a high pitched ululation that caused all the
lycans to perk their ears and those of the Rowdies on watch to nod their heads
in recognition of what their captain was doing. It spread farther than her
voice could carry on the psychic webs and waves of her wilderkin connections
to wild creatures that she had inherited from the woodland god that sired her.
The answer began to arrive swiftly, with the first creatures settling around
her to wait for her wishes to be made to them. They came in all shapes, from
bounding stags to rumbling bears to soaring hawks and falcons.

A giant grizzly bear came to her first, rubbing his huge head against her
chest while she wrapped her arms around him, speaking to him through her inner
voice to his. She tied a bright red ribbon around his neck and hung the
message from it. People in the towns would recognize a Willodarian ranger's
mark and let him walk through unopposed. A tremendous antlered stag came and
knelt before her as the bear departed and she repeated her ritual with him,
bannering his horns. And so it went through the night. When the last of them
had gone, Nans became aware of someone standing in the shadows watching her.

"Isranon?"

He emerged from the trees, walking slowly, leaning on the staff. “That's
lovely magic, calling the animals."

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Nans thought he lookedmore pale than yesterday, but it could have been the
moonlight. He, also, moved more slowly, as if he hurt. “The Sacred King has
reached Rowanhart. We can ride openly now. I will be able to show you more
things like this."

Isranon eased himself toward the ground to sit beside her. She saw his legs
tremble, and fearing they would drop him, caught his arm and lowered him down.
Nans could tell at a touch that he was weaker, although she refrained from
Reading him.

"You aren't getting enough rest,” she accused.

"No, I'm all right.” The obstinate look came into his eyes that Nans was
beginning to recognize. He resented his crippling and gave into it only when
forced to, which made it all the harder for her and the others to take care of
him at times. “The creaturesalmost all the animals in Waejontor are twisted,
ugly things. There is no beauty in Waejontor.Except the trees."

"My father cursed Waejontor for the deaths of Tros and Dynarien. He sent away
all the good, natural creatures and gathered all the ugly ones there.The
deadly ones."

"I know,” Isranon said. “I heard the story from my father. Some of the
creatures eventually wandered back over the centuries, the deer, and elk. But
the Rose Warrior returned. He's the only one ever slain in a rite of
mortgiefan to have his shattered soul reborn. I don't understand how that is
possible."

Nans thought for a moment. There was so little Isranon knew about the gods
and realms of the light. He always seemed to hunger for it and delight in the
stories when she told him. “That's why they call him the Twice-Born Son. It
wasn't easy. My father, Willodarus, was Dynarien's grandfather in his first
life and his father in this one. When he heard Dynarien and Tros cry out to
him for help, he went, but arrived too late to save them. Tros was dead; they
had hung his body from a pole and drained his blood into bottles. Dynarien's
corpse was still lying on their altar on the shores ofTormentLake . Had
Waejonan not decided to make a public spectacle of their deaths, Willodarus
would never have been able to rescue the fragments of Dynarien's soul.
Willodarus could never have entered a temple to the hellgod so long as its
altar remained undesecrated."

Isranon listened with rapt attention and then asked, “But you can?"

"Yes, I can. The problems begin when altars are built. Once a god has altars
and worshippers, they cannot get into each other's temples. Well, there are
always exceptions. Dynarien and Dynanna cannot get into temples these days.
However, Hadjys the Dark Judge did grant Dynarien a special dispensation when
he was working to save Creeya that allowed him into theHighTemple ."

"But what about his soul?”Isranon leaned closer, his eyes on hers with such
intensity that she wanted to look away, yet she didn't.

"Willodarus gathered up the pieces, sealing them together to the best of his
powers. His domain is not souls. Then he placed the pieces inside his wife,
Mariko, and got her with child. The soul fragments were so fragile that they
split and two children were born, each with only a portion of a soul.Dynarien
and your liege-god, Dynanna. When the Sacred King destroyed your friend,
Mephistis, and the Legacy of Waejonan was released to the earth, they each
gained full souls."

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Isranon considered that. “I have another question."

Nans looked at him closely, seeing that he had grown paler as they spoke.
“No. Feed and then go back to bed."

She pulled her belt knife and slashed her wrist, offering it to him. As
always Isranon looked discomfited by this, but allowed his fangs to descend
and took her wrist. Nans’ divine blood, coupled with the Sanguine Rose, had
given him back his ability to stand and walk a bit after he believed he never
would regain it.

She owed Isranon a debt and intended to repay it by getting him and his
companions to Treth in hopes that the shaman-king, Bohannon, could heal him.
Nans had fled the fall of Minnoras with a handful of women, children, and
three men, two of them wounded. Isranon's company of renegade vampires, their
nibari, and lycans had come to their aid when they would have otherwise been
overwhelmed on the road to Merkreth's Crossing. They had not claimed a debt of
Nans, but Nans had felt one nonetheless.

Nans always paid her debts. She just hoped that her brother, Dynarien, did
not encounter Isranon and discover what he was. Dynarien still had all the
memories of his first life, dying at the hands of a sa'necari, and for that
reason would most likely strike Isranon down without asking a single question.

They had been traveling back trails and isolated roads since last fall to
avoid the Sacred King who was leading a mass exodus of the west bank of
theHilloraRiver . Had she encountered Isranon, the king would have ordered him
burned alive for being sa'necari. All the realms burned sa'necari when they
caught them. A legend had started to spread along the coast and among the
realms beset by the sa'nekaryiane's forces of a battle-mage called Lord
Dawnreturning who had been born sa'necari and rejected his birthright of
darkness. Few knew he was Isranon, and the Rowdies had been instructed to keep
it a close secret to protect him. He had rescued King William Gryphonheart of
Gormond's Reach and healed a dying girl. Yet that would not be enough proof to
some that Isranon was not a monster. So Nans had made very certain that her
Rowdies knew to keep their mouths shut.

* * * *

The next day they moved on. The more distance they put between themselves and
the haunted ruins of Aubrudrin the better they would all feel. Nevin drove the
wagon that housed Isranon. The wide, steel rimmed wheels and strong axles
handled the rough ground even when there was no trail to follow. A few times
the Rowdies had to dismount and hack brush away from the game trail they were
following to allow the wagons passage. No roads led to or from Aubrudrin. They
had long ago been swallowed up by the forest, although sometimes a stretch of
paving would appear and run along for several leagues, a strange gray pebbly
surface unlike anything Nevin had ever seen before. Nans said it was a
survival from the Age of Burning.

At midday Isranon crawled through the little door in the wagon that opened
onto the driver's seat and settled beside Nevin. He leaned the staff against
his knee: it rarely left his hand except when he slept.

Isranon gripped the staff, his fingers feeling the energy in it. It helped
strengthen him as much as the Sanguine Rose did. “Do you really think Bohannon
can help me?"

"Nans thinks so,” Nevin replied. “That's why we're going to Treth."

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"I want to believe it. But I've been disappointed so many times in my life. I
don't trust my hopes anymore."

"Don't talk like that. You'll get better."

"Why? Because Nevin says so and Nevin is always right?"

Nevin flashed him a hot, irritated look and saw that he was grinning. “If a
lycan pup has spoken to me that way, I'd've had him over my knee and soundly
spanked."

Isranon's grin turned playful. “You've been threatening me since I was eight
years old, Nevin. And you haven't done it yet."

Nevin chuntered wordlessly for a moment and then fell silent.

Isranon's expressionchanged, grew troubled.“Seriously, Nevin. I'm tired of
hurting."

Nevin's head came up and his eyes narrowed. “Are you showing signs of the
withering?"

"Red splotches under the arms and across the chest like Yoris? No."

"That'd be all we'd need,” he grumbled.“The blood-slave withering on top of
it all."

Isranon sighed. “We'd never be able to explain it to Nans. I don't want them
turning on Anksha. This isn't her fault."

"You're fond of her. I never expected that."

"Neither didI . She loves me, you know."

Nevin snorted. “She isin love with you, Isranon. Like a woman for a man."

Isranon looked as if he had been fetched up against a wall. “She's a
feral-child, Nevin. And we're not the same species."

Nevin gave another snort. “It hasn't stopped you from jacking her, my
brother. Besides, she has no members of her kind left to love. Why shouldn't
it be you?"

Isranon glanced away from Nevin, his hands fingering Warrior. “I'm her
blood-slave. This isn't credible."

"Then watch her and see if I'm not right."

"I will."

* * * *

Nevin sat long into the night, watching over Isranon as he slept. His cousin
Olin, a black saddled and masked white wolf, left the bed and changed into a
man. Olin settled onto a folding campstool in the wagon and observed his
cousin.

"You're in love with him, aren't you,” Olin accused.

"Does it matter?” Nevin asked softly. “The mentor should not fall in love

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with the student."

"But you are in love with him?"

Nevin squirmed under his cousin's pressuring. “Yes. Yes, I'm in love with
him. I haven't been in love since Larrigus died. I cannot afford to love. I
must protect him."

"Nevin.”Olin sighed. “You'll never learn Heart and honor do not always go
hand in hand."

"My honor first, then,” Nevin responded. “I fell in love with him when he was
fourteen and running with the wolves to hunt."

"Fourteen? You fell in love with him when you gave him his blades as part of
his manhood rite?"

Nevin sighed heavily. “Yes, I fell in love with him then. He was so strong
and brave, brandishing his spears before the boar. You saw him. He brought the
great beast down with his first strike."

"You will never have sons, so long as you are a lover of men."

Nevin did not answer that for a long while. “I have tried, Olin. But my rod
will not answer. I am a lover of men. The boys that I have trained are my sons
in spirit, like Isranon."

"You are not old enough to be his father, Nevin,” Olin rejoindered.

"I have been his mentor. I am his spirit brother. I cannot be his lover,
although I long to touch him.” Nevin rubbed his eyes.

"You are too honorable, Nevin.Too honorable by half. I would simply seduce
him if I were you. But my taste runs to women."

"I cannot be anything but what Iam, Olin and I will stand as father to his
child when he dies."

"You insist on not telling him about Merissa?"

"Yes. His life does not need to be more tragic than it already is."

"So he will never know that he has a son in the valley?"

"No, he will not learn that from me.Nor from you or Daree. You have given me
your word. See that you keep it."

Olin licked his lips and changed the subject. “Daree is lovely. I wanted to
mount her, but she eyes another."

Nevin sneered.“That inane old dog of a human.Foolishness."

"Perhaps she will lose interest in Travis once she has had him between her
legs. I can hope."

"Then you'll do better than I."

* * * *

Isranon ran hard, darting through the bushes and trees with his bow at his

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shoulder and his skinning knives at his hips. Panic gripped him and his heart
raced. Breathing was a lance of fire in his lungs and chest. He could hear the
sa'necari coming closer, riding him down. There must have been twenty or more
of them. Nevin had told him not to hunt this side of the river, to stay on the
clan lands. Yet, the buck had been too beautiful not to bring down. Such
tremendous antlers and so much meat! At fourteen, Isranon prided himself on
his stalking and hunting skills. He had been straddling the stag when the
sa'necari appeared out of nowhere; making leering remarks about riding and
riting him. Isranon cut one of them and got loose, fleeing.

The woods ahead of him thinned and he could see the bridge that would take
him back onto clan lands where his pursuers could not go without
permissionwhich the clan chief, Claw Redhand, would never give them under the
circumstances. He burst from cover into the path of four horsemyn he had not
realized were there because of his concentration on those chasing him. Strong
hands caught him by the collar and yanked him off his feet, dragging him
across the saddle. Isranon twisted and thrashed. The horse sidestepped
uneasily. A fist clipped his head in an admonitory thump.

"Be still, boy!"

Isranon looked up into a thin, almost effeminately sensual face with a tiny
goatee of silken black hair. “Let me go! Nevin and Claw will."

"Are you lycan then?” The man frowned, touching his face lightly. “I'm here
to buy horses from Claw."

Isranon's hair stood on end as the man continued to touch him and then he
felt the shivering goosebumps along his arms betraying the touch of the man's
power. Isranon screamed. The man was Reading him and in a moment, he would
know what he was.

"Sa'necari,” the man hissed. “And not blooded in the rites or your powers
would be stronger."

Isranon squared his shoulders the best he could despite being draped head
down. “Kill me and be damned. I do not fear death."

The man laughed. “You were running away from it fast enough."

The boy's pursuers drew rein around them. One rode forward, bowing low in the
saddle to Isranon's captor. “I see that you caught him, highness."

The man tilted his head with a thin, indolent sneer. “Caught who?"

"The heretic.We planned to rite him when we caught him."

"There is no heretic here, only my young friend,” the man snarled and then
whispered to Isranon, “what is your name?"

"Isranon,” the boy whispered back.

"There is only my young friend Isranon here and he is not a heretic.
Furthermore, he is under my protection.” The man's voice took on a dark,
venomous tone. “Touch him and I will destroy the lot of you."

Isranon goggled at the way they all started fading back into the forest
without contesting further. “Who are you?"

"Mephistis Coleth de Waejonan."

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"Mephistis, I miss you,” Isranon murmured into his pillow. He reached around
and found Anksha curled against him, nude. Isranon stroked her breast and she
woke, turning on her side to face him.

"Not on top,” she warned.

"I know.” Isranon had only tried once to get atop her and she clawed him for
it. He freed himself from his nightmares and memories in the curves of her
velvety body and the warm wetness of her loins.

* * * *

They had moved their camp down river from Aubrudrin to a grassy knoll where
they could circle the wagons. The waning moon was not strong enough to throw
shadows from the trees at the base of the knoll and the firelight did not
reach them past the wagons and tents. Instead, the trees were like a still,
dark wall. Nans sat by the campfire long after everyone except the sentries
had gone to sleep.

"Godwar,” Nans muttered, drawing a stick through the dirt by the fire. “Damn
it.”I should have known when I heard that Josiah Abelard the Mage-Master had
been reborn. Kalirion prophesied it would be one of the first signs. And now
he's dead, just when we need him most. “Damn it all, Dynanna, I see your hand
in this mess."

The thought of Dynanna made Nans furious. Her half-sister the Trickster could
not stop herself from meddling. Dynanna must have brought Josiah back and then
not had the good sense to keep an eye upon him growing up to prevent his fatal
damaging.

Nans flicked the stick into the fire and stalked off through the camp and
into the trees, still muttering to herself. “Damn it, Dynanna. Only you would
have known where to steal back Josiah's soul from the sa'necari. You're always
stealing stuff. You haven't the brains the gods gave an ant. You've brought
the godwar down on us before we're ready. Most of the continents aren't even
cleansed of the old evils. Damn it, Dynanna. Damn it, Dynanna."

She sucked in a fortifying breath, running her hands through hair and then
along her hips trying to calm herself. Every time she thought about what she
had seen while fleeing the fall Minnoras and now what Hoon had told her, she
became furious again.

No wonder that bitch the sa'nekaryiane began it by murdering all the priests
in Minnoras and desecrating the temples; that was the pattern from the first
godwar. Galee did not set herself up as a god; she was one and far greater
than a simple demi-god knight-errant like Nans.

She found a quiet place and knelt, invoking the creation for strength,
feeling at one with all living things, feeling the green growth around her,
the rightness of the universe and the fabric of reality. She was yuwenghau,
her portion of the divine blood was small, yet her responsibilities were large
so long as she drew breath she would hold back the darkness. Peace settled
over her.

CHAPTER FOUR: DAWNHAND RETURNED

He slept within the underground chamber that had once been the crypt of

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theTemple to the Glistening One. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the hole
in the ceiling, falling across his face and fresh air stirred the dust of ages
that coated him in a thick layer accumulated during the countless centuries he
had slept here. He blinked his eyes, opening them to stare upwards at the hole
that should not have been there. Climbing to his feet, he wandered in and out
of the patches of light and shadows, wondering at the changes. Then he tried
the chamber door, but despite his tremendous strength it would not budge. That
puzzled him.

Igmetzi had slept for thousands of years beneath the altar, where Galee had
hidden him when it became apparent that Bellocar would lose the godwar with
the Nine, waiting to be called again to battle.But if he was summoned, why
then did he find no priests, no incense, no singing. What had awakened him?

He leaped for the hole and caught a firm grasp on its edge. Two of his four
huge hands emerged from the hole, gripped the edges, and broke off pieces of
the packed-down crust of dirt and soil covering the flooring above the ceiling
of the chamber. Another pair of hands seized and crushed more of it, widening
the opening. His powerful hands were as broad across as half a wagon wheel,
mottled in shades of brown and taupe, glossy and glabrous, scaled like a
snake's skin. His wrists followed as he groped for purchase, feeling around
for what lay beyond the hole. Bronze and copper banded his wrists in arcane
symbols. Igmetzi tossed his weapons out: two greatswords, a pike, and a whip.
Then his arms came out and he heaved his gargantuan bulk up. His head and
shoulders emerged. The tips of his pale pink ears folded over, showing the
rough, salt and pepper back of his coarse haired head. His wrinkled snout
ended in curling tusks. A narrow ridge of stiff hair ran down his arms and
covered the backs of his four hands.

The sun had set and the quarter moon had risen while he worked to free
himself. It the dim moonlight, he finally stood revealed upon the surface.
Igmetzi the susgrag wore blackened mail with breastplate and greaves that bore
Bellocar's device of the deathtree with runes of death and destruction that
hung on every branch among its dark fruit of skulls and corpses.

He saw the altar where Nans had thrown it.Sacrilege. Sacrilege had awakened
him. He circled the ruined temple until he marked the way they had gone and
then set out in pursuit of them.

* * * *

Anksha slept curled beside Isranon. She had fed upon him that evening in the
privacy of their wagon, knowing if she failed to feed regularly on his blood,
her nearness caused him excruciating pain the Presence Pain. Until he had
explained it to her, she had never realized that she did this to her
blood-slaves. Isranon was the only blood-slave who had ever spoken openly to
her. She took her blood-slaves initially through the power of the primal scent
glands in her body. Then she sealed her dominance-link within every fiber of
their being with her first bite, which blazed like fire in their veins, their
neutral and mage nets, the cores of their souls and minds, and all their vital
centers. She could bring them to heel, break them entirely, or persuade them
to acts they normally found unthinkable.

Through countless centuries she had been known as ‘the Beast’ because no one
knew exactly what she was, not even Anksha herself. She proclaimed herself by
her deeds, ‘troll-tamer', and ‘demon-eater.’ Lord Hoon had found her as a
toddler in a forest and raised her as his pet. Anksha had the instincts of a
cat that liked to play with its food and steal nestlings out of trees as well
as claws, fangs, and a taste for blood and flesh especially the blood of the
powerful.

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The Ymraude vampires who had fled the estate near Minnoras with her as
Isranon's protectors had advised her not to reveal that Isranon was her
blood-slave lest it turn people against her. So she kept her feedings upon him
secret.

A scent wafted to her nose through the rear of the wagon, which they had left
open for a cool breeze. Anksha roused with a soft growl, her eyes widening.

Isranonstirred, his mind cob-webby with sleep and residual weakness from
blood loss. “What is it, Anksha?"

"Demon,” she hissed and darted from the wagon while Isranon forced his body
up to follow her.

For all that Anksha was a creature ofthought, she was even more a creature of
instinct, flashing back and forth between the dichotomies of her existence.
The scent roused both hunger and rage in her. Tension rippled through her
four-foot nine-inch body as she ran on the balls of her feet, her nostrils
flared and her lips writhing back from her fangs. Her claws unsheathed in her
eagerness to feel flesh beneath them, to feel muscles tear and bones break.
Power shimmered over her, causing the black hair on her head to halo.

Anksha could hear shouts and screams along the eastern edge of the camp. It
was there. Yes, it was there. The Rowdies and her companions were already
gathering and she raced through their ranks. She saw Igmetzi and started for
him when Nans caught hold of her hair and stopped her.

"It's too big, Anksha."

* * * *

Travis Potshard had never wanted to be an officer, but he did it well. He had
become Nans’ second-in-command after the death of his friend Itch Hollens. He
had become a ranger out of a desire to helppeople, which was why he worked
search and rescue, not wars. Travis had grown up with a love of helping,
because it gave him such a good, warm feeling; otherwise he might have been
content to stay on his mother's farm and raise his dogs and hunt.

Most Willodarian rangers had an innate gift of some kind, and Travis's was
dogs. All dogs loved Travis. And Travis loved all dogs.The fact that he tended
to think of lycans as dogs when he saw them in wolf form and therefore,
objects of boundless affectionfrequently got him into trouble with Nevin, who
felt that Travis was being condescending. But Travis never meant to be that
way.

He had command of the third watch that nightthe one that ended at dawn.
Travis was making his rounds to check on the sentries with Luck Settlesby and
Haig, one of the four Lemyari from Isranon's units, when he heard the prowling
lycans howl and broke into a run.

Nevin and Olin, Isranon's clan-brothers, had a habit of waking at all hours
just to prowl in wolf form, so it was that they stumbled upon the approaching
creature first.

The susgrag stood twelve feet high, clad in blackwashed mail and breastplate
bearing the Hellgod's device. Four thick, heavily muscled arms brandished its
weapons as it emerged from a patch of shadows beneath the trees. The tusked
jaws of its huge boar's head snapped open and closed repeatedly with a soft
popping sound. The lycan pair reacted instantly, growling and, when it failed

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to slow, snarling a moment before attacking.

Black and white Olin lunged in, going for the exposed calf of Igmetzi's leg.
The left greatsword slashed down and Olin twisted to avoid it. The susgrag
turned the slash into a smashing whack that slammed Olin into a tree with
resounding force, and the wolf lay still. Haig drove his sword into Igmetzi's
armpit, leaping as only a Lemyari vampire could,got his free hand onto the
demon's arm and drove his nails into it, clinging long enough to get his venom
in. That did not even slow the demon down. Igmetzi's other sword chopped at
the vampire's back to cleave him in twain and Nevin went for that wrist,
chewing hard. The susgrag threw both his hands about furiously and dislodged
his attackers. Nevin fell stunned to his right, and Haig struck the ground to
his left. Haig scrambled to his feet near Olin.

Travis ran forward, seeing the susgrag lift his sword and bring it down at
Nevin. He could hear more rangers and lycans coming.“Hang on, Old Dog!"

In a half crouch and holding his bladeraised to guard, Travis grabbed Nevin
by the ruff. Adrenaline coursing through him, he threw the lycan behind him
and straightened to meet the descending strike of the monster. Then the
susgrag's blade crashed into Travis’ sword, slamming the ranger's weapon aside
as he opened him from the right shoulder to the left side of his groin. Travis
fell screaming, his sword dropped from his fingers, and he collapsed in the
dirt.

* * * *

Isranon lengthened his stride in an attempt to keep up with Anksha; but that
was hopeless, she was simply too fast. He passed Randilyn, who was crouched
down beside one of the wagons, her fingers pressing Dynanna's squiggly godmark
burned into her shoulder, shrieking Dynanna's name in panicked terror, tears
streaming down her face. He felt sympathy for her, but he did not stop to
reassure or comfort her. Randilyn was a nibari, one of the cattle of the
vampires in their band, and intensely in love with and dependant upon her
blood-drinking master, Amiri. But she was also a god-marked Dynannan. There
was a chance that she might be able to draw the Trickster's attention through
the god-mark, especially since no one wailed better than Randilyn.

The Rowdies had fanned out ahead of Isranon, waiting for Nans to order them
into the fray. Anksha crouched beside Nans, snarling. Nans had one hand
tangled in Anksha's hair, trying to hold her back.

"It's too big, Anksha. It's just too damned big."

Isranon pushed through the assembled ranks and his eyes saucered at the size
of the thing. Then he saw Nevin standing over Travis growling, trying to back
the huge creature up. Olin lay unmoving three yards off. Seeing them his
stomach clenched: the three of them were among his closest friends. Then anger
took over with a rush of adrenaline. He would stop this creature. Somehow he
would stop it. A year ago, he would have considered himself overmatched and
not have tried, except to join the Rowdies with his blades.

"Get back, everyone,” Isranon shouted, and added, softer, “Josiah, help me."

"What are you trying to do?” Luck Settlesby muttered as Isranon passed,
barely loud enough for him to hear. “Act like a damned Abelard?"

Isranon smiled as he heard Luck and sensed Josiah Abelard, his ghostly
mentor, manifest beside him in a shimmering white glow that only he could see.
“I am one strange sa'necari."

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"No. You are one strange mage,"Josiah's ghost corrected. He or rather his
ghost had become Isranon's mentor in magic shortly afterfive sa'necari left
Isranon for dead.

Isranon lifted his staff and shouted to bring the power forth. He had to
choose his spells carefully for fear of hitting his fellows. The armor on that
thing would turn nearly anything he could throw at it. Isranon laughed
suddenly.The sa'necariare supposed to be on this beast's side, so let's show
him otherwise. Isranon threw a death web, a very small one into Igmetzi's
eyes. The susgrag screamed, staggering back. Isranon stepped forward, trying
to get closer to Travis and Nevin.

When Nevin saw Isranon approach, he caught hold of Travis’ collar and began
dragging him back, away from the battle. Travis had stopped moving.

Isranon struck again at Igmetzi's eyes, but this time the susgrag roared and
charged him. The Rowdies started to rush forward. Isranon yelled, “Stay back!"

The mage threw his arms up with a word of command, Warrior raised high
overhead. The glade filled with light, bright and burning. The susgrag halted,
staggering back, all four arms crossing his face. Igmetzi struggled, fighting
the power, and struck downward with all its weapons, driving Isranon to his
knees. The mage held there, the wall of bright energy radiating from Warrior
all that was keeping the weapons from reaching him.

"There must be flaws in its armor,"said Josiah. “Look closely."

Isranon studied the armor, looking for weaknesses through which he could send
the sunfire lances. He called three bolts from the heavens, throwing them at
the demon's arms. The acrid, burning spell of fire magic filled the air. The
bolts crackled and sizzled as they struck. Shielding spells of darkness
embedded in the armor turned the bolts aside from reaching Igmetzi's flesh,
drawing them to the breastplate, which they could not pierce. Death webs
again, spidering along the demon's arms. Igmetzi shrieked and slammed him
harder. Isranon screamed and his shield of light wavered. He drew fiercely
upon Warrior's runes and the core of his will to strengthen it.

"If only it were full daylight,"Josiah cursed. “Then you could reach out to
the sun itself."

"Lord of Light! Sing to me!” Isranon did not know where the words came from,
but he spoke them. His shields steadied and the susgrag still could not reach
him with a weapon. Nor could Igmetzi strike at anyone else. Isranon's
attention wavered as he glimpsed Nevin and Luck pull Travis clear. The susgrag
gave a roar, pulling back. The sudden release of pressure left Isranon off
balance and the demon swung, striking his shields from the sides.

Isranon grimaced in pain, his eyes clenching shut for an instant as he
staggered and fell, rolling. The golden light vanished. Warrior fell from his
hands. Weakness overwhelmed him. Isranon could not breathe, could not move.
The susgrag raised his weapons, stalking after him. Isranon forced his body
up, forced himself to turn, and threw all his strength into a death web into
Igmetzi's face that disoriented him. Then Isranon spied Warrior and scrambled
on hands and knees to snatch up the staff that strengthened his struggling
body and focused his fledgling powers. He got his shields back up and felt the
warm flow against his body telling him that he had begun to bleed. His use of
the magic had allowed the embedded spells of the sa'necari to re-open his old
wounds. Isranon saw that he had left a smear of crimson on the grass. Then the
creature was on him again and he shoved the light in Igmetzi's face.

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* * * *

Nans watched the unequal contest and her mind raced. Some of them were going
to die this day, but she would try to make it as few of them as possible. She
was not a soldier and her myn did not do wars, but they knew monsters. They
had brought down more than a few during their years in search and rescue work.

"Anksha, all you vampires to me.At my signal, we're going to attack from the
front,” Nans told them. “Distract it, get its attention. Rowdies, get around
behind it. Come up real quiet. Stick it in the back. Understood? Let's go."

"You weren't planning on doing this without us, Sis?” The intense fragrance
of roses from distant shores, sweeter and more intense than anything grown in
mortal gardens swept the field of battle. The Twice-Born Son stood before her
in his golden armor with his shield and breastplate bearing his device of blue
roses circling and held by an eagle. The device and fragrance of roses had
earned him the name of the Rose Warrior. His red-gold hair hung loose to his
hips.

"Dynarien!”Nans grinned at him. “We've got this thing beat now."

"I'll say!” Dynanna stepped around him. The Divine Twins, warrior brother and
trickster sister, had arrived together as they frequently did.“Way Randilyn
was shrieking in my ear, I couldn't not hear.Shiiiittttt.Susgrag.Major ogre
demon.” Her green eyes narrowed dangerously and her piquant nose wrinkled. She
wore black pants with huge buttoned pockets lining the legs and a white
longshoremyn's shirt, half-unbuttoned, which slipped off one shoulder. The God
of Cussedness had freckles and undisciplined red-gold hair hanging in all
directions.

"Sis?”Nans faltered for a second on seeing that Dynarien's twin sister had
arrived with him, wondering whether this was a good thing or a bad one. Then
she shook it off. There was no time to worry about it.

Dynanna charged up as close to the susgrag as she dared, wiggling her fingers
and hissing, “Bees up yer nose and spit in yer eyes!"

Igmetzi blinked, drawing back from Isranon, trying to dig at its nose with
the little fingers of two hands while struggling to retain its weapons. Then
Dynanna summoned a hornet's nest and hit him in the face with it. The nest
broke open and the insects swarmed angrily, stinging every patch of exposed
flesh they could find. She reached in her voluminous pockets and brought out a
handful of glass globes, green, black, and orange. The trickster pelted him
with them. The globes shattered on his armor and skin. A terrible stench arose
amid blue chemical flames. The demon shrieked.

"Beast repellant,” Dynanna said smugly.“Gets'em every time."

Dynarien and Nans dodged the descending swings of Igmetzi's blades to drive
their own into his sides. Seeing this, Isranon rallied, rising on one leg to
shove Warrior with all his waning strength under the skirts of Igmetzi's mail
and into his enormous testicles. Igmetzi plummeted to earth on his back,
squealing like a pig that had been stuck by the butcher.

Isranon's strength failed. He folded forward on his knees, feeling the pain
of the embedded spells further recreating the old wounds in his body, lashing
him in their attempts to create fresh damage; yet all he could think of was
Travis. He gripped Warrior with both hands, using the staff to struggle
forward on his knees. Nevin had dragged Travis clear of the battle. “Please

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Gods,” Isranon importuned, “if any of you have mercy for monsters, let my
friend be alive."

Randilyn had her arms around the ranger, crying. Isranon did not see Olin and
worried for him also, but shifters were harder to kill than humans. Travis was
human. Isranon heard shouting behind him. Apparently the monster was not dead
yet. Not quite. But with three yuwenghau and a small horde of vampires, it
soon would be. He had bought them time to get help. For the moment, however,
he hurt so badly he could barely think and Travis needed him.

"Travis!"

The man had been opened from shoulder to groin. Blood dribbled from the
corners of his mouth. His eyes did not focus. His chest still moved so Isranon
could tell he breathed. There was a periodic restless movement of his head and
shoulders, a twitching of his eyelids. But otherwise there was no response.

Nevin shook his head sadly at Isranon.

"Travis!” Isranon seized him, pulling him from Randilyn's arms. His arm, the
one that held Warrior, wrapped around Travis's back as he crushed the dying
man to his chest. “Tell me about your old dog again, Travis."

Travis's head flopped back and Isranon's other hand moved up to support it,
pressing it into his neck. “Tell me about your old dog.” His voice caught,
strangling in his throat with grief as he searched Travis's body with his
finely tuned senses. The ranger's life force was a candle in the wind, the
flickering flame close to blowing out. Isranon reached for it, desperately
struggling to shield it with his own strength, to feed it. A white glow began
around his hands. Travis's consciousness slid farther and farther away toward
death. “No.Old Dog.Old Dog."

"He he stepped between Nevin and the creature,” Randilyn told him.“Threw
Nevin out of the way."

Luck started to protest Isranon's handling ofTravis, that he should let his
friend die in peace.Yet even as the words formed on Luck's lips, Nevin with a
lycan's sensitivity to the presence of magicstopped him. “Let him try.” The
old wolf breathed the words softly.

"Try what?” Luck stared at him and then at Isranon.

"He's trying to heal Travis."

Lycans began to gather in ones and twos and then threes, drawn by the purity
of the magics they scented, dropping in a circle around them, watching and
adding their power by thrumming deep in their throats as they would accompany
a shaman in his chants and dances. Luck shivered. Nevin just nodded
approvingly at the circling lycans, who were displaying their unity with
Isranon in his efforts: for only three of them came from the Red Wolf Clan
that had adopted Isranon as clan-brother. Now the lycans of the Rowdies were
forming their own clan around Isranon. The next full moon would prove
interesting as a result.

Travis sagged bonelessly against Isranon's shoulder, past thought, past
dreams, almost past life, hanging in darkness, in numb warmth of non-being. He
heard them howling his name. Wolves howling usually meant trouble. But this
this was different. This welcomed, called, demanded, “Come back, Travis."

"Old Dog, come back and play."

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A young woman, sleek with small, high breasts and long, straight steel-gray
hair with a streak of bright red down the middle regarded him with slanted
eyes. She wore gray leathers and a belt knife. “Come back, old dog,” she said.
“You act like alycan, you nest with us, hug us, stroke us and give us
nicknames. You think of us almost like dogs. You love us, you condescending
asshole. Come back, old dog."

He saw then that she had tears in her eyes and he almost thought he knew her.

Daree crawled nearer to Travis, pressing her nose into his hand, whining
softly. The red streak along her back lay against his leg. His hand twitched,
closing on her ruff. She gave a small sigh at the touch of his hand.

Isranon reached deeper into Travis's body for that fading spark, spreading
his own power around it, white and gold and green and flame. Brighter it
flared inside them both. The arteries sealed and Travis no longer bled. Bones
mended. Muscles pulled back together. The magic sang in the high, sweet tones
of the hymns of the heavens and swept over them, sheathing the two men in
layers of light, white, gold, flame, green, blue, red that faded through
scarlet to rose to the pink-gold of dawn's first kiss and beyond that to white
again.

"The Dawnhand has returned, Luck,” Nevin said quietly. “He's a bit different.
Not quite whole yet, but he's returned. Woes betide the dark powers. We're
going to find a way to heal him. We're not going to let him die again."

Travis stirred in Isranon's arms. The mage had a single instant to smile,
offering a small prayer of thanks to whatever Gods of Light might have aided
him, before the embedded spells found an opening and reared up to slice
through him with their evil. He stifled a scream, his face twisting in agony,
his shoulders hunching as he began to cough up blood, slowly listing toward
the ground. The hand holding Warrior went out in an effort to stophimself .
Luck dartedforward, pushing through the lycans to reach Travis, but Daree had
shifted into a transitional form and lifted Travis from Isranon, relieving the
mage's burden. The other lycans now made room for her to carry him to the edge
where she sat down with him beside Luck. Themon was weak, but the wounds were
closed, aged. She smiled shyly at Luck, and then went back to cradling Travis.

Nevin produced a clean handkerchief from his pocket, wiping at the blood
around Isranon's mouth, and then supported him as he coughed up more. He
shifted Isranon around to dribble Sanguine Rose in his mouth from a pocket
flask, and then held him as the drug called him into its gentle embraces.
“Fetch a healer,” Nevin said. “I want them both checked before they are
moved."

"Can you Read them at all, Nevin?” Luck asked, listening to the gray haired
female with the flame streak murmuring over and over about ‘miracles.'

"A bit.It's fairly plain: Isranon heals others, but he can't heal himself."

Josiah's ghost nodded sadly at Nevin's revelation, and vanished.

* * * *

The runes on the susgrag's armor glowed. Its legs kicked out, stamped down
and it came up, lashing to either side. Nans ducked and rolled, bounced to her
feet and came back. Dynarien caught both blows on his shield and stood firm.
His golden sword swept out, severing the hand that held the pike. The susgrag
staggered back, blood spurting from the stump. As Dynarien's rage at the aura

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of hate and evil rising from the minion of hell grew, so did the
manifestations of his power.

"I am the Twice-Born Son!” Dynarien roared.

Roses carpeted the ground in shades of blue and then vines of them emerged
from the earth, stretching forth their thorns to reach for Igmetzi. The
susgrag slashed at the plants, screaming. Dynarien did not do these things
consciously; they simply happened as an expression of his divinity.

Haig led the vampires in a charge by simply running in ahead of the others.
They could not dent the creature's armor, as the yuwenghau had, which puzzled
and enraged them. So Haig, thinking, stabbed it in the leg. The creature
screamed. Soon, they were stabbing it wherever they could find skin exposed,
darting about, and avoiding its strikes.

Nans slashed Igmetzi's shoulders, saw a small form flash suddenly from the
treetops, and realized that Anksha had entered the fray. The monster was too
large for her to reach by any other means, so she had climbed to the top of a
tree and simply dropped onto his neck like a great leaping cat.

"What in creation is that?” Dynarien shouted, unable to get a good look at
her.

"My secret weapon,” Nans shouted, fighting with renewed fury. “Malei'leonys."

Anksha's clawed toes dug into Igmetzi's upper arms. She reached around his
head and snapped her claws into his eyes, piercing the orbs and tearing chunks
from the sockets. The blinded demon flung his upper arms about trying to
dislodge her and still fend off his yuwenghau attackers. He struck wildly
around, forcing everyone to dodge and retreat. Anksha twisted to the side as
the back of his fist struck her on the leg. She dug in deeper, setting her
hind claws in his shoulders. If he dropped his weapons to pluck her off, the
others would lunge in and stab him; if he did not pull her off, she would
finish him.

She tore his throat open and slashed deep across the arteries in the sides of
his neck before biting into the back of it. Igmetzi made a gurgling noise,
finally dropping his weapons to clutch at the huge wounds. Blood spurted
through his fingers. He staggered as his life slipped through the tears. The
demon could not staunch the fatal flood.

Dynarien and Nans drove their weapons into his sides. Dynanna made another
rush with her globes of beast repellant.

Anksha wrinkled her nose at the stench. Her fangs clamped onto his spine and
she chewed relentlessly with her powerful jaws. She was a demon-eater and this
was a demon. The biggest demon she had ever seen, but still a demon; therefore
Anksha intended to eat him and there was no question in her mind about it. The
bone snapped with a loud crack and the susgrag collapsed. Anksha gave an
ululating yowl of triumph and then bounded to Nans’ side, rubbing against her,
face and hands bloody, her long black hair full of leaves and twigs.

"If you roll in the blood again, Anksha,” Nans warned, pulling some of the
leaves and twigs out while running her hands through Anksha's hair, “I'm going
to make you wash your own clothes this time."

"You are no fun, Nans,” the little demon-eater sighed.

Nans reached in her pocket and gave Anksha some candy.

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Dynanna had withdrawn by then and Dynarien had followed her, so Nans squatted
on her haunches and whispered, “Tell you what, maybe when everyone's gone to
sleep, you could sneak out naked and roll in the blood then. Just don't let
anyone see you do it."

Anksha laughed, happily crunching candy.“Deal."

Nans tousled her head, her mouth tightening as she turned her attention to
her people again. She had at least two down: Travis and Olin. She strode to
where Travis lay in the young lycan's arms, saw his ripped leather armor, and
felt a fist of sick shock hit her in the stomach. No one could have survived a
blow like that. If he was not already dead, she could at least give him drugs
or a stroke of mercy to put him out of it. She instinctively pulled the armor
open further and stared at a scar?

Darianna, called Daree, the youngest of their lycan scouts, raised her
slanted eyes to Nans and said in a hushed voice, “It is a miracle. Isranon did
it. He's a master life mage."

Nans snatched up Travis's wrist unable to believe what she was hearing and
seeing. All the bones had been set and grown back into place; they would still
need some time to be fully right, but most of the work was done.The same with
the arteries, organs, and nerves. Travis was weak and in pain, butbut by the
Creation, he was in no danger at all. Nothing a few weeks rest would not fix.
Her expression turned thoughtful. Isranon! With all the magic he was throwing
around, it had to have hurt him.

"Luck, get my bag,” Nans said.

Dynarien reached for Isranon and Nans nearly jumped out of her skin. Her
half-brother had a solid hatred of sa'necari and she did not want to risk him
Reading Isranon. “Don't,” she said.

The Twice-Born Son blinked and then nodded. “Okay. What can I do?"

"Bring Travis there. I'll bring my mage."

Nans noticed that her half-brother did not appear to be wearing anything
under his armor, which caused her a brief speculation that he had been dragged
away from doing interesting things with his mate, Edouina. Dynarien, after
centuries as a divine rakehell who left many children in his wake, had finally
been trapped and married. He had triaded actually, in the Sharani manner, but
one of his mates had been murdered two years ago, possibly by sa'necari.All
the more reason to keep him from touching Isranon.

Nevin allowed Nans to take Isranon from his arms without an argument.

"We can talk about this later. Nevin, bring Olin. Haig, you and Zulaika get
the armor stripped off that thing in case it's got some resurrectional
qualities embedded in it. I don't want to fight it a second time. Anksha, I
want you and some of the lycans to scout back to Aubrudrin and make certain
there's not more of them coming. Don't engage if there are, just come tell
me."

Dynanna stepped to Isranon's side as Nans rose with him in her arms. “He's
mine, ya know. I marked him."

Nans frowned disapprovingly. “Yes, I know."

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As Nans carried him back, she heard murmurs all around her from the lycans of
“Dawnhand returns."

CHAPTER FIVE: SIBLING DISASTERS

The Rowdies had never expected to find themselves in a war. Although most of
the rangers had training with herbs and skills in basic emergency medicine,
they had no dedicated healers. Nans was the best they had.

The vampires’ nibari, now serving as auxiliaries, quickly turned the command
tent into an infirmary and made the wounded comfortable.

Watching them, Nans reflected how up until now there had been very little the
Rowdies had been unable to handle. They worked search and rescue, bringing out
the injured, trapped and lost. The vampires, Lemyari and Ymraudes, were
soldiers, expect for Amiri, their shaman. Isranon's group had covered a blind
side in their resources.

Nans decided that she would get a fully trained healer at the next city they
reached so that she no longer had to divide her duties in a situation that was
becoming too complex. She would be putting in at Ocealay for supplies before
continuing on to Treth. Perhaps she could recruit one there.

More lycans in wolf form entered until the tent was filled with them. Some
lay with Olin and others with Isranon. Two went to Travis out of respect for
his love for his old dog and the fact that he had nearly exchanged his life
for Nevin's. Travis, dosed out with holadil and fire poppy, stirred, muttering
in his dreams about “Old dog” and “Blue,” slipped his arm around Darianna and
slept more deeply; she snuggled closer. Nans shook her head, doubting that
Travis's love of dogs extended to having sex with them; he tended to halfway
think of the lycans as dogs in an affectionate fashion in which case there was
going to be a disappointed scout when Travis got well.

Nans signed Haig over and whispered in his ear, “I want that demon cut up and
drained for your bottles. Pack some of the meat for Anksha. Globe it."

"Aye, Captain.” The Lemyari nodded and left.

Nans went back and started Reading all three of her patients again to be
certain she had done everything that she could for them.

Dynarien watched Nans finish with Isranon and move on to Travis. “Your mage
is lucky to have survived what the susgrag did to him."

"Susgrag didn't do this.” She Read Travis and snorted at the incredibility of
it: a sa'necari who healed. Nans swore that from this day forward nothing that
Isranon did would ever surprise her again. She could almost believe Nevin's
claim that Isranon was the Dawnhand returned. When she had first encountered
him, his magic centers had been almost typically sa'necari, death magic black,
except for a thin banding of gold that confused her. Now they looked like a
rainbow.

Olin lay on his side in a nest of blankets, his hips and hind legs splinted,
ribs wrapped, half an ear missing. Lycans healed fast, but it would still take
several days for the bones to knit and she did not want him healing wrong.

"If the susgrag didn't do that, Nans, what did?” Dynarien said, as they
returned to Isranon. “That's ugly."

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Dynanna sat stroking Isranon's dark hair, pulling the blood-matted curls from
his face, her head tilted,her expression pensive.

"Sa'necari.Embedded spells. His own magic use triggers it. They left him for
dead. He's the mage that saved my cousin,” Nans said. “You heard about that?"

"The one who saved King William Gryphonheart?A little.The so-called god-queen
of Minnoras sent a party of humans and demons to ambush him, but a mage turned
the tide there."

"No ‘so-called’ about it, Dynarien. She's one the Nine missed.The Glistening
One. I'll explain later."

"A hellgod loose?Something will have to be done about her, but I think I can
do more advising the Sacred King than launching into an adventure with you.”
Dynarien sat down cross-legged, by Isranon's head. He inclined his head to
look up at Nans standing beside him. “I thought he was a battle-mage. This
fellow is a life-mage.” The angle of his head shifted with his intensifying
puzzlement, his long red-gold hair sliding over his shoulders.

"Not a life-mage,” Isranon murmured so softly that Nans barely heard him.
“I'm sa'necari."

Nans glanced at Dynarien swiftly, praying that he had not heard. She wished
then Isranon were not so damned honest; he had begun to trust in the Light far
more than the Light deserved to be trusted in matters like this one.

Dynarien gave no sign of having heard it. He stretched and stood up. “It's
getting too crowded in here. I need some air and I want to check out that
thing's carcass."

Nans tucked a light coverlet around Isranon as her gaze followed Dynarien
from the tent. “Do you think he heard?"

"Nah,” Dynanna said. “He would've just chopped him. But maybe I should go ask
him?"

"I'll come with you.” Nans felt a sudden sense of camaraderie with her
half-sister that thawed the icy walls she normally raised between them over
Dynanna's impulsiveness.

When they emerged from the tent, they caught sight of Dynarien disappearing
into the trees beyond the edge of camp and trotted in that direction.

* * * *

Dynarien strode through the camp, his red-gold hair glinting in the sunlight.
The eyes of everyone he passed followed him, knowing that a legend walked
among them. Outwardly he seemed calm as a summer evening, inwardly the storms
of autumn screamed. His sisters had allied themselves with a sa'necari. They
had to have known what that would do to him. A breath of betrayal blew through
him. He had fallen in love with a Sharani and her mate, those triadic women
who required three parents to produce viable offspring, father, bloodmother,
and wombmother. The shining star around which he and Edouina had circled was
dead: murdered by sa'necari and their vampire allies. He had lain with Talons
only twice. The first time when she begged him to touch her and he left her
with child, and the second time when the three of them plighted their troth
and became married in the eyes of the gods, if not in the eyes of myn. The
next day Talons died. Now he and Edouina were raising the children without her

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and a bitterness rose in his throat.Bloody sa'necari.

Ahead of Dynarien, six rangers worked on the body of the susgrag, hacking him
to pieces. The cursed armor lay to one side in a bloodstained pile of wretched
metal. The mage had impressed him with his power and his determination, but
all that had become marred by the revelation of themon's true nature. Dynarien
could not understand how a sa'necari could have made his spells manifest like
a life-mage's. It did not matter. It would not protect him. Not now that
Dynarien knew the truth.

He turned away from the rangers, stepping into the trees. Dynarien did not
want to fight his sisters. His father would be unhappy with him if he hurt
them, and he would be unhappy with himself if he did so. Yet, the sa'necari
had to die. He would be protecting them both from themon's dangerous
influence. Dynarien moved deeper into a stand of hickories and then Jumped
back into the tent.

As he had expected, his sisters had followed him out and were probably
looking for him. Only a handful of lycans and the wounded occupied the big
tent.

Dynarien knelt beside Isranon again. Themon must have sensed his presence,
because Isranon opened his eyes and looked up at Dynarien.

"So,” Dynarien said in a casual tone, “you're sa'necari."

"Yes."

Dynarien smiled thinly, “I thought you were a life-mage or a battle-mage or
something. That was quite a trick you pulled with the susgrag."

Isranon frowned, uncertainly. “I am majios sa'necari. My magic is mixed."

"Majios sa'necari?I have never heard of such a thing."

Nevin stirred uneasily beside Isranon, lifting his black head to regard
Dynarien. Around the tent, the other lycans glanced toward them.

"I am the only one,” Isranon told him.

Dynarien's gaze was drawn to the staff beside Isranon and his eyes widened in
recognition. He had touched that staff twice in his existence and channeling
its power had nearly burned the soul from his body. “That's Warrior!My
brother's staff that was stolen from him when he was murdered."

Isranon sucked in a weary breath, frowning more deeply at the yuwenghau.
“Yes, it is."

Dynarien swiftly schooled himself to a mask of impassivity. “Let me show you
something just as wondrous."

"What?"

Very slowly, so it would not appear to be a threat, Dynarien drew his golden
sword and extended it where Isranon could see the gleaming metal with the
delicate runes incised on the blade.

"Kenda'ryl?” Isranon asked, recognizing the magic metal often referred to as
the metal of the gods because it could hold the strongest magical charge of
all the metals and was harder than steel.

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Dynarien grinned at him. “Yes. It was given to me when I turned eighteen by
GimliGloikynen. The God of Dwarves forged it himself."

"Truly?”A note of wonder entered Isranon's voice.

"Yes. It was forged to destroy monsters and evil things, evil myn such as
vampires and sa'necari.” With those words, Dynarien raised the blade suddenly
to drive it through Isranon's chest.

Instantly Nevin went for Dynarien's wrist, his teeth closing on it. Dynarien
yelled a curse and snagged Nevin by the throat with his other hand.

"Don't make me kill you, lycan."

Nevin held on as he felt the breath being shut off from his lungs. Darianna
changed to her transitional form and threw herself across Isranon, shielding
him with her body. The other lycans gave voice to howls and snarls as they
swarmed Dynarien, who tossed them about as if they weighed nothing at all.

* * * *

Nans head jerked up at the sounds of the struggle coming from the
tent.“Dynarien!"

She started to run back. Dynanna grabbed her wrist, “This is faster."

Nans had only a second to feel the tingle of a Jump and then they were
standing in front of the tent. She sprang inside and shoved through the
sprawled lycans who were getting to their feet for another try at stopping her
half-brother.

"Holy Gophers!”Dynanna shouted. “Don't you dare touch him, Isranon'smine. "

Dynarien glanced up just as Nans pounced on him from behind and locked her
arms around his chest, pinioning his upper arms. Dynanna lunged across the
distance and came up in front of him, hissing. She grabbed his sword-wrist as
Nevin lost his hold on it.

"He's a fucking sa'necari,” Dynarien shouted.

"I'll give you a case of bloody hives that will have you scratching for
eternity,” Dynanna threatened.

"Let go of me!"

"Let go of Nevin!” Nans shot back.

Dynarien looked into his twin's determined, outraged eyes, and his resolve
faltered. He remembered the time he had been locked in their father's dungeon
for the night and how Dynanna had passed him cookies through the bars until
Willodarus let him out the next day.

Nans sensed the change in Dynarien's body that signaled a shifting of his
thoughts. “Give us a chance to explain all about Isranon."

"Isranon?”Dynarien asked, his tone turning puzzled. His hold on Nevin
loosened in that moment of surprise and the lycan pulled free. “That's his
name?"

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Nevin changed to his transitional form and sat rubbing his throat and sucking
huge lungfuls of air.

"Yes,” Nans said. “Will you hear us out?"

Dynarien glanced atWarrior, the staff had belonged to his brother, Isranon
the Dawnhand. Something more was going on here than he could easily make sense
of. “Yes."

"Swear not to try any thing until you have heard us out?"

"I said yes."

Nans glanced at Dynanna.

"Not good enough,” Dynanna said. “Swear you'll hear us out, but pledge it on
our father's name and the creation."

Dynarien gave a huff of impatience. “I do so swear on our father's name and
the creation.” Hevanished his golden sword back into the sheath with a
thought.

Darianna rolled off Isranon and crouched, watching Dynarien.

Nans released her hold and sat back a moment. She moved to one side of
Dynarien, and Dynanna settled on the other still glaring at her twin.

Dynarien glanced sharply at his twin. “You gave Warrior to a sa'necari? This
is the one you gave the staff to?” He sounded affronted.

Dynanna gave a tiny shrug.“Yup. You got no complaints coming. It was mine to
give, since I stole it."

"Whatever can you be thinking of, Nans? Siding with a sa'necari?” Dynarien's
voice had gone dangerously soft, with an edge creeping into it. His hand
dropped to his sword-hilt again. “And you, Dynanna, giving the staff to a
sa'necari!"

"He's mine!” Dynanna chirped, pushing the shoulder of Isranon's robe open to
reveal her mark as if that made everything right.

"Gods of Light!What have you done?” Dynarien growled at his twin.

"He's the Dawnhand returned.” Nevin spoke in the severe tones of the lycan
lawgiver he had once been. “We all witnessed the auric manifestation when he
healed Travis.” Nevin dropped to his knees beside Isranon, gave his arm a
comforting stroke, and changed to lie beside him.

"He's Dawnhand's descendant,” Nans added.“The last. Warrior is rightfully
his."

"Dawnhand?”Dynarien frowned. “You're descended of my brother Dawnhand?” He
looked more closely at Isranon, studying him carefully. “Yes, I can see it."

"I am a Dark Brother of the Light,” Isranon said, his voice soft with pain,
which was easing due to the Sanguine Rose, the cocktail of powerful drugs and
herbs in a troll's blood base. “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 eachmon go to his own
path, but these are ours."

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He paused to catch his breath and drag himself into a sitting position using
Warrior to lever himself into place. Darianna wrapped an arm around Isranon
and helped him, which drew a small smile from Isranon.

"And these will always be ours, for this is what we were born to,” Isranon
continued. “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 silencealways 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."

Dynarien'sexpression softened as he listened to Isranon recite the creed.
“That is a hard way to live."

"It has been my life,” Isranon replied. He looked close to fainting again.

"Rest, Isranon,” Nans said.“I'll tell it."

"What kind of blade did this to him?” Dynarien asked, finally, his expression
thoughtful.

"Four blades.Sa'necari runed on one side and Divinator on the other.All
different, so the four made a whole.Hellgod runes on the quillons and hilt.
Maker's mark was the Master of Blood's."

Dynarien's face went chill. “I was nearly beaten to death with some of
Blood's tools. Do you have the blades?"

Nans sent Amiri, the Ymraude shaman, to fetch them. She watched Dynarien
closely as she told the tale: of all the people she had shared Isranon's
secret with, Dynarien was possibly the most dangerous and the one with the
most reason to simply kill the mage out of hand. If she had to fight Dynarien
over Isranon, she would; although she doubted she could best him.

"Try anything, Dynarien,” Dynanna warned suddenly. “And I'll help her whip
your ass. Isranon is mine."

Dynarien rolled his eyes heavenward. The only time he had bested his twin was
when had he caught her sleeping as a child and glued her hair to a tree. That
had earned him a spanking from their father and a night in the palace
dungeons. His sister's determined glare softened him. The tension eased from
the set of Dynarien's shoulders, the tightness of his expression softened as
he listened to Nans and then, with a deep breath, he relaxed.

"I could be healed with a single rite, but it is a price I refuse to pay. I
will not stain my honor, with such a horrific act of injustice,” Isranon said
at last.

"Honor is a harsh master,” Dynarien replied. “My belovèd Talons died for the
honor of her god and people."

"It is my life. Perhaps it is a strange honor, having lived it among
monsters. I'm learning to live my honor differently among humans. Better."

"That is a fine thing,” Dynarien responded.

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Amiri came with the box of blades, gave them to Nans, and then left again.
Nans slipped on a glove that was folded over her belt and opened the box. She
took the blades out along with the cloth wrappings and exposed them to her
siblings’ sight. Dynarien's eyes widened, and Dynanna, who had not seen them
before, winced.

"This is bad,” Dynarien said, turning the blades over with a bit of cloth. He
glanced up at Nans with his eyes hard. Then he shifted into night-elf,
confining his speech to only himself and his sisters. “There are spells set to
go off against someone when he dies. Normally, if a person dies from something
besides the spells and the timed deaths, the curse is not unleashed upon its
target. Two years ago, I helped a Sharani paladin die byher own hand rather
than the results of the Divination. That is usually the only way to prevent
the curse."

"I won't ask him to die,” Nans said. “I'm trying to keep him alive."

"I am not asking you to, Nans. But you should understand this."

"If we get the spells out, then he'll live."

"Nans, I'll Read him. I am not saying that I can help him,” Dynarien said
“Either the spells have to come out, or he needs to find a way to die without
activating their curse. It's his choice."

Dynanna scowled at her brother,then turned back to Isranon.“Life mage! You've
got both sides of the gift.” She stroked his forehead lightly, clucking at all
the pain and damage.“Both sides of the gift!"

"Yes,” Isranon said. “Don't know where it came from."

She turned to her brother eagerly, “Didn't Kalirion tell you that the child
with both sides of the gift could raise Talons from the dead? After all, Daddy
caught her soul in plenty of time to raise her I mean, both sides of the
gift."

Dynarien nodded, frowning slightly. “But Kalirion said the child."

"Yeah, I know Isranon isn't exactly a child, but he does have both sides of
the gift,” Dynanna prattled on.

"Both sides.”Dynarien said thoughtfully.

"Would you go to Imralon with us, Isranon?” Dynanna asked. “There is someone
there who can only be raised by someone with both sides of the gift."

Hope flashed across Dynarien's face as she said that. Kalirion, God of
healing, prophecy and the sun had told him that only someone with both sides
of the gift could restore his lost love Talons Trollbane to life. This mage,
born with the dark necromantic gift and the life magics had that power.
“Isranon, you can give her back to me, to us.Sharani triad. Our mate Edouina
is in Rowanhart with our three children.Three beautiful little girls who have
never known their bloodmother."

"A jump like that could kill him,” Nans said emphatically. “I won't let you
do it."

"Maybe if Dynarien and I jumped with him together, we could shield him. Are
you willing to risk it, Isranon?"

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"Yes,” Isranon answered.

"We'll bring you right back."

"You're not listening to me!”Nans’ voice rose, lined with urgency.

"Yes."

"You'll kill him!” Nans protested again. “Read him."

"Do you mind?” Dynarien asked.

Isranon extended his hand. Dynarien took his wrist and Read him, his eyes
widening with astonishment and then sobering. “Sa'necari. You were born
sa'necari. Yet you are pure and clean. I find life magic, death magic, earth
magic, and.No . You're an Abelard. This simply cannot be."

"Read his body, damn it!” Nans grabbed her half-brother and shook him.

"I see what you are talking about, Nans, but I still think we can shield
him."

Anksha crept growling to Isranon's side. She had disobeyed Nans’ order to
scout and remained in camp. “I go too. I protect my Isranon."

"The Beast,” Dynarien cried, stepping back. He had finally gotten a close
look at her. Anksha was nude, coated in the susgrag's blood, dirt, leaves and
twigs clinging to her; it was a thing of horror that stared back at him from
Isranon's side. He recoiled from her, eyes wide.

"She's mine, too,” Dynanna said, grinning cheekily. “If she wants to come,
she comes."

"Only you, Sis.Only you.”Dynarien simply could not believe his sister had
gone this far.Of all the incredible creatures to add to her entourage of
worshippers, Lemyari, Ymraudes, nibari, a rogue sa'necari life-mage, and
theBeast. Things were seriously getting out of hand with her. What would their
father say? He was bound to find out sooner or later.

"Well?” Dynanna demanded.

"All right,” Dynarien sighed. “Gather tight around him, and hold hands."

Anksha impudently flashed him a mouthful of fangs, in imitation of Dynanna,
as she took his hand.

"Press tight against him so that our bodies touch him, we're making a
shield,” said Dynarien.

"I can't let you do this!” Nans shouted, grabbing her siblings by their long
red-golden hair and yanking sharply. Nevin changed and chomped Dynarien on the
rear.

"Hey!” Dynarien yelled, stepping backwards.

"Nans, don't. For my honor's sake, let it be,” Isranon protested.

"Cut it out!” Dynanna shrieked, twisting, unable to get her head turned
around enough to see to aim a spell.

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Haig came in to investigate what all the shouting was about and saw, to
hishorror, that his captain appeared to be trying to pull his liege-god's head
off; since he obviously had to do something, he hit Dynarien the only one that
would not get him in trouble. Or so he hoped.

"Why hit me?” Dynarien yelled.

"Because you're not them!”Haig said and hit him again, having failed toso
much as stagger the godling.

"I shouldn't have asked.” Dynarien hit Haig, knocking the vampire into his
sister. In passing, one of Haig's flailing arms grazed the injured Isranon,
sending him onto his bottom. Dynanna went down beneath Haig, who
simultaneously rolled off his liege-god and knocked his captain's legs from
under her while apologizing profusely. The normally ept and graceful Nans
executed a crumbling pirouette that brought her down on Haig with the end
result being that Dynanna was crushed beneath both of them.

Dynarien paused to stare and then burst out laughing when he found himself
the only one left standing. Isranon saw Anksha exchange a conspiratorial
glance with Nevin, shifted Warrior to the crook of his arm, made a grab at
them, and missed. Dynarien's laughter choked off with a shriek as they nailed
his ass and he stepped on his twin sister.

Dynanna had had enough and more than enough. She was getting no respect. Not
from mortals, not from vampires who fell on top of her, not from horny gods
who chased her from all directions, not from her brother and certainly not
from this sister of hers who had grabbed her by her hair. This was the last
straw. Her temper flared bright and hot. Her power flashed out around her in
an unthinking arc. The tent, all the creatures, people, every little thing,
and person in it, simply vanished.

* * * *

Luck yelped, grabbing Zulaika who then shouted for Amiri, shaman to the
Ymraudes. Amiri came running and the entire camp was soon gathered. Over the
course of the last weeks, they had all come to think of themselves as simply
the Rowdies as Nans merged them into a single company. This moment, as Luck
turned to Zulaika, became the test.

"They're gone. Travis was second. Nans named you third.Orders?” Luck's
half-brother, Itch Hollens, had been second, but he had died in Minnoras.
Isranon's company had happened on them fortuitously, compensating for their
losses at Minnoras and more. Luck respected that.

"I say we wait. Amiri, what do you think happened?” Zulaika asked.

Amiri knelt, motioning everyone to move far back. “I need space so your
presences do not disturb the vibratory influences.” She closed her eyes,
Reading them carefully, crawling along the ground,feeling with her hands.
“Yes.A broad spectrum Jump, not a gating.Hastily done. Someone lost their
temper. I suspect my liege-god. She'll bring them back when she's cooled off."

"What do we do now?” asked Luck.

"We should wait for now,” replied Amiri

"Then we wait,” Zulaika said. “How are we doing for supplies, Luck?"

"Gettin’ low.Shall I arrange a hunt?"

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"Scout the area first. Make certainthere's no surprises ."

"For sure there."

"Amiri, I want wards and tell-tales set up around the parameters."

CHAPTER SIX: THEWOODLAND DIVINES

Anksha knew that something had happened when her body tingled fiercely and
the tent collapsed. She erupted shrieking and clawing through the folds to
stare at the garden where a single wondrous tree was a forest, its aerial
roots descending to the ground at the ends of branches to form the trunks of
new trees. Marble columned walks that traced the pattern of the bear rune of
Willodarus had become lost in the maze of the banyan tree's spreading growth
over the centuries and the runic pattern was no longer noticeable. An artesian
spring fed a pond of rainbow carp beneath a single baobab tree. Near that was
a curious tree that looked very like a sleeping man. It drew Anksha. She
cocked her head deeply to one side as she crept up to him.

Dynarien sliced through the top of the tent with a belt knife, emerging next
with pieces of canvas sliding down around him. He sheathed his blade as he
watched Anksha, and followed, sensing no harm in her, only curiosity. Anksha
squatted, peering up into the tree's face. The tree shook itself. Its trunk
separated into legs and arms. Willodarus lifted himself out of the earth,
slowly reforming into a man. Power sang through the garden. Anksha yelped and
retreated.

The ancient god looked gnarled and twisted like a tree from the side of a
wind-swept mountain. His skin was a deep, warm brown; his fingers long and
twiggy; his hair a long dark forest green hanging to his knees; his face was
gaunt and seamed while his eyes were a midnight blue alive with dancing silver
sparkles. He wore only a rough loincloth. His form smoothed still more, every
muscle becoming well defined until finally he could have been carved from
mahogany by a skilled artisan.

"What have we here?” the god asked in a warm, melodious voice like a breeze
in the leaves on a summer's evening “Where did you come from little one? I do
believe you are a demon-eater."

"Tree, tree, tree, tree,"Anksha gibbered, feeling the power rising from him
as a burning palpable force, and nodding frantically. She slid into an old
language in her nervous reaction. Willodarus quirked his head at that,
following her words easily though she spoke a language generally believed
extinct.

"Ishla has been looking all over for you and the rest of your kind. I won't
hurt you."

Anksha backed into Dynarien, spun around, and climbed up him. He grabbed her
waist and then her buttocks, and finally her legs in an attempt to slow her
down as her hind claws tore the fabric of his tunic and leggings, grazing the
skin beneath in her hasty progress. Anksha settled on his shoulders and he
sighed with relief.

Haig came next, followed by Dynanna and Nans, who were eyeing each other as
if ready to go at it again. Anksha immediately leaped onto Nans’ back, wrapped
her legs around her waist, and clung there, growling softly at Willodarus when

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he came too close.

Willodarus’ eyes narrowed, going suddenly dangerous, angry.“Vampire!"

"Daddy, don't!” Dynanna threw herself in front of Haig just as the vampire
had the good sense to prostrate himself before the elder god.

"Most Holy Father of MyLiege -God,forgive my unworthy presence,” Haig said
hastily.

Willodarus’ eyes narrowed still more and then snapped wide.
“Yourwhat?Dynanna!"

"I'm his captain,” Nans interposed. “And I've got a sa'necari around here
somewhere."

Willodarus looked affronted and thoroughly shocked. “I expect this kind of
behavior from Dynanna, but not from you, Nans."

Akira, the night-elf war-leader, appeared with a small host of his people.
His sapphire skin gleamed with a faint sheen of sweat and his white hair hung
to his knees in a braid.

"Vampire?"the warleader demanded in the night-elf tongue. Very few of them
spoke any language save their own, having limited experience with outlanders
on their isolated island continent.

Haig stared at them uncomfortably without rising, uncertain of what they
were.

"Let him be, Akira. He is a guest here so long as he does not kill or turn
anyone."Willodarus answered in the same language,then turned to Dynanna and
Nans in common, “Well, daughters? Where is your sa'necari?"

Nans and Dynanna exchanged glances. “Isranon and the lycans must still be
under the tent,” Nans said. “And my wounded? What have you done to them?"

"You havewounded, daughter?” Willodarus asked her.“How many?"

Nans flashed a furious look at Dynanna and turned to her father. “Travis and
a lycan named Olin, as well as Isranon."

Hearing the name a second time, the god wound his lips around it.“Isranon?"

"Yes.” Then Nans turned on Dynanna with a wordless snarl.

Dynanna knelt at the edge of the canvas, slowly rolling up the tent, and
tossing the pegs and posts aside. She exposed the first lycan, Daree, laying
out cold. “Holy Gophers, I never tried to bring so many with me andI
stunned'em."

"You idiot!”Nans got a fistful of her hair shaking her again. “If you've
stunned the lycans, what have you done to Isranon? If you've killed him"

Dynanna continued to roll, having to do so with one hand holding her hair to
prevent Nans from pulling a chunk of it out. Haig and Dynarien joined in. Soon
the night elves were helping also. Nans released Dynanna to help them.

When they reached the middle, Isranon levered himself slowly, painfully to
his feet to stand before the god. Anksha immediately sprang from Nans’

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shoulders and rushed to his side where she crouched, a furious human cat ready
to defend her loved one.

Willodarus looked at him and then at the staff.“Dawnhand! They said you were
dead, my son."

Isranon, who had been striving to remain standing, swayed and then crumpled
unconscious. Anksha hunkered over him, hissing at everyone, feeling the power
of this place like a roaring in her ears. It had finally become too much for
her. Her body hair stood on end and the long hair on her head flared and
danced in the energy like a dark halo. She unsheathed her claws, crouching
lower, until her stomach pressed against Isranon's back, her shoulders lifted,
and her knees pressing into his side. Anksha bared her fangs in a
demon-eater's instinctual display when faced with a possible enemy, her feline
body gathering itself to spring. Power crawled through her, itching and
burning, setting her nerves on end. She wanted to run away from it; but she
refused to leave him.

"You hurt him,"Anksha hissed. “You hurt my Isranon."

"No!” Dynarien cried, stepping between Anksha and his father. The Twice-Born
son turned to Willodarus. “Isranon came to help Talons, but the Jump may have
killed him. Dynanna lost her temper andJumped the whole tent with everyone in
it."

"So the demon-eater is Isranon Dawnhand's protector,” Willodarus said,
regarding Anksha's furious display kindly. “Ishla will find that interesting.
Little one, do you know who I am?"

Anksha spat at him."I do not care who you are! If you hurt him, I will bleed
you."

Willodarus smiled at her ferocity and courage, her absolute devotion to
Isranon. He loved all the wild creatures, even those like Anksha. “I imagine
you would try. But I will not hurt him. I am Willodarus, God of the Woodlands
and Wild Creatures. It is my power you feel. Let me help him,” Willodarus
extended his hand, his power changing, shifting, soothing.

Anksha blinked. Had she been a natural creature, she would have purred. As it
was, she had to fight to resist it. “He is not Dawnhand. Dawnhand is dead.”
Even after centuries it still hurt. She had loved Dawnhand and transferred
that love to his descendant, Isranon who carried his name and his visage. “He
is Isranon, son of Isranon, son of Isranon.” Willodarus’ magic swept more
deeply into her, gently releasing her barriers, her anger and, by mischance,
bringing up her griefs instead. “I I took him before I knew who he was.” Tears
rolled down. She sheathed her claws, throwing herself flat across Isranon like
a cat."He offered himself so I would not hurt the others the bad ones. ” A
tiny sob emerged and she made a soft choking sound, drew herself off him, and
nestled beside him."My Isranon.My poor Isranon."

Willodarus gathered her up unresisting onto his lap, nestling her while he
Read Isranon. “So this is your sa'necari, my daughters. He's sa'necari born,
but with both sides of the gift. He's clean.Abelardian genetic
patterns.Curious. He's dangerously weak and damaged. Fetch Fusaaki, Dynarien."

"He's the Dawnhand reborn, Father,” Nans said, “I've seen the auric
manifestation when he healed my second."

"You'll help him?” Anksha asked, finally gathering her wits enough to return
to common.

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"My domain is not healing, little one,” Willodarus said, ruffling her hair
and stroking her as if she were a puppy. “And I'm rather tired. I'm pouring
tremendous power into one of the uncleansed lands.The one where your people
come from. We're trying to find the rest of you. Ishla thought your kind were
all destroyed in the Age of Burning until we heard rumor of you from the
Ymraudes, but they were not certain that that was what you were. Ishla was
always very fond of her little demon eaters. Then they finally found you."

As a further comfort for her, Willodarus extended his powers to the lycans
and gently roused them. They came to their feet, groggily trying to make sense
of their environs. Dynanna went to their side.

Fusaaki arrived quickly, following Dynarien along with six of his assistants
and litters for the three wounded. He politely dipped his shoulders to
Willodarus before kneeling beside Isranon and Reading him.

Fusaaki was young, a mere five hundred years old. Despite that, his abilities
were highly regarded and he was held in great esteem by his colleagues. He
wore simple folded robes of sky blue and thonged sandals, reflectinga
simplicity of spirit that few possessed who had known as many honors as he had
been given. “Holy One, this is bad."

"Give him what he needs. Everything to heal and help him,” Willodarus
commanded.“If necessary, feed him blood."

"Holy One?"Fusaaki sounded as if he could scarcely believe his ears.

"His spirit is clean. His appetite has never taken a life, Fusaaki."

"Holy One, it will be done."Fusaaki gave another small bow of his shoulders.

Isranon was settled onto a litter and his bearers followed Fusaaki out of the
garden. The lycans followed. Night-elves got Travis and Olin onto litters and
hurried after them.

Anksha stirred in Willodarus’ arms as if to follow, but he held her. “Stay
little one, let them do their work. We will see him later. Remain with us,
Dynanna. I have questions for you. And you, Nans."

Dynanna looked uncomfortable, made a little coughing sound, and stared at her
hands. People were dispersing from the gardens and soon only the two sisters
and Anksha remained with Willodarus.

Nans grinned like a cat at a mouse hole.

Willodarus’ gaze came to rest upon Dynanna. “How did he get the staff? Well,
daughter, my little thief?"

Dynanna blushed, examining her fingernails. “Waejonan stole the staff."

"Yes, I know that. Where did Isranon get the staff?"

Dynanna sucked in a sharp breath, squared her shoulders, but still refused to
meet her father's eyes. “I stole it back. In fact, I raided Waejonan's entire
hoard right after the little demon-eater here killed him. I got everything
except the dust on the floors."

Willodarus sighed and counted the years to figure how old she would have been
at the time. “Fourteen? You were fourteen! Have you any idea how dangerous

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that was?"

Dynanna nodded vigorously at the first part, gave a tiny shrug at the second,
and then swallowed. “I wasn't alone,” she protested. “Dynarien was with me.
I've had it in my hoard a long time. I had to dig through some huge piles to
find it."

"You dragged your brother into it!” Willodarus shook his head in reproach.

"None of them were as dangerous as Waejonan, Daddy."

"There is that.” Willodarus stroked Anksha's head again approvingly. “You are
a very brave little demon-eater,” he told her, eliciting a purr. “You must
have quite a hoard by now, Dynanna."

"I definitely do,” Dynanna said smugly. “I've been posing as a used magic
item dealer named Dyna for years. When Edvarde wanted a solstice gift for
Isranon I sold it to him."

"Ah ha!”Nans shouted. “I should have known that was you! And those two kids
were your paladins! I'm telling Edvarde."

Dynanna rolled her eyes heavenward. “He's in on it."

"Ah. I understand,” said Willodarus. “Do you know what most of the items you
sell do?"

"Nope.I just sell them or give them away."

Willodarus sighed. “You are probably the most dangerous god on this world,
child."

Dynanna shrugged.

"This audience is at an end,” Willodarus said, walking away from them.

Nans followed Dynanna into the palace. “Edvarde's in on it? Are you out of
your mind?"

"He always has been. He identifies stuff for me.Been doing it for years. You
ever notice how you're starting to sound like Dynarien?"

* * * *

Isranon lay in a pleasant airy room, oblivious of his surroundings, sliding
in and out of consciousness. The windows were raised and the horizontal bamboo
shutters propped open on long sticks. The night-elves had stripped him down to
his small clothes, removing his robes and pants that were of a cloth too heavy
for the warmth and humidity of this place.So cold.He felt so cold.As cold as
death and lost. The Jump had hurt worse than even the blades and spells of the
sa'necari. Dynarien and Dynanna had taken him to the far side of the world an
incomprehensible thing. He had never dreamed they meant to go so far; never
dreamed that a yuwenghau could Jump that far or he would never have agreed to
go.

Around the bed, the lycans crowded so thickly that there was scarcely room to
move. Nevin stood beside him, arms folded across his chest, his face as
impassive as a stone idol. Olin waited by the door, having been pushed back by
the others and not having the determined nature of his cousin to wade through
them. Caught in the middle of this, Fusaaki began to wave and gesture at the

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lycans to get out. Nevin simply growled softly in response.

Fusaaki could not work with all the people and creatures crowding him.
“Please, leave,” he said in Valdren and then repeated himself in Sharani,
following it in Creeyan. “I cannot work with all of you in here."

"The others can leave,” Nevin growled in common and shook his head at
Fusaaki. “I am his spirit-brother. I will not leave."

Fusaaki threw his hands up and his head back.“Lords of Heaven!" Then he tried
three more languages, getting nothing more than blank stares. None of them
seemed willing to leave. He made a shrewd guess that Nevin was the leader, and
grasped his arm, bowing, pulling, and gesturing, doing everything he could
think of to communicate that he wished them to leave.

Nevin snarled, his face lengthened into a snout full of sharp teeth and
Fusaaki released him in a rush, backing away.

A soft moan of returning consciousness from Isranon restored Fusaaki's
determination. “Get out! Get out, you can come in later,"Fusaaki told them,
gesturing still more frantically in an attempt to shoo them out.

Nevin growled at him. “No. He needs us."

Isranon became gradually more aware. “Don't don't send them away. I don't
want to die alone.” Isranon's voice was a rasping whisper.

Drawn by the shouting, Dynarien appeared at the doorway beside Olin and sized
the situation up. The Twice-Born pushed through into the room. “They don't
understand,"he told Fusaaki in night-elf.

Fusaaki shook his head. “I don't care! Get them out of here."

Dynarien ran his eyes across everyone in the room, speaking in very clear
common, “Please, all of you wait outside. You can return later."

"Don't send away.” Isranon repeated.

The others filed out all except Nevin. “I'm not leaving,” Nevin said.

Dynarien frowned a moment and sighed. He turned to Fusaaki. “His name is
Nevin. He's Isranon's spirit-brother. He stays, but I'll ask him to sit on the
couch."

"Keep him out of my way."

"You must have a language in common. You know some of the Merezian tongues!"

"Which one?I've tried six,” Fusaaki shrieked in unseemly desperation to get
back to his patient.

Isranon gave Dynarien a grateful look as the yuwenghau indicated that Nevin
should sit on the sofa. Nevin settled there with his arms crossed and a
suspicious expression on his face.

Dynarien sighed and glanced at the lycans watching from the doorway. He began
to translate everything that Fusaaki said. His father would have to begin
giving at least some of them the language soon or fights would start to break
out between the night-elf warriors and the lycans for certain. Then he closed
the door.

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"You are not alone,"Fusaaki told Isranon, administering a fine powder to the
mucous membranes of his nostrils and gums.

Isranon looked to Dynarien for a translation and then asked, “My friends"

"I will let them in soon."Fusaaki measured and mixed liquids and powers, then
gave it to Isranon to drink. He waited for a few minutes, Read him again, and
shook his head. “Those holy hellions should have done somewhat to strengthen
you before dragging you off."

Dynarien accepted the indirect rebuke in silence: Fusaaki was right. The
healer could notremonstrate the lawful prince of the sacred realm, but he knew
how to walk the line between a trifling impertinence and an outright insult,
especially where a patient was concerned.

Fusaaki finished and opened the doors, letting in a herd of lycans before
returning. Nevin rose from the sofa and took his usual place in the chair
closest to Isranon.

"That's better, isn't it?"Fusaaki asked Isranon, returning to his side.

Gratitude gleamed in Isranon's eyes. “Yes."

Dynarien lingered, gazing at the staff where it leaned in the corner near the
bed. He had borrowed it twice from his sister's hoard a few years ago. He had
promised Kalirion that he would not touch it again. The staff contained a
blend of magics, those of his father and Kalirion. He had nearly burned
himself out using it to raise a shattered man from the dead at the instant of
his death and to heal the half-fae lord of Hellsguard. Dynarien doubted that
Isranon would make it through the night without more help than Fusaaki had
been able to give him.

He shook his head ruefully: He was becoming as reckless as his sister.
Dynarien walked over and retrieved Warrior. Nevin's eyes followed him warily.
Dynarien carried it to the bedside and placed the staff between his and
Isranon'shands, laced their fingers together and pressed their forearms tight
against each other's.

Isranon's eyes had grown heavy-lidded in response to the drugs and weariness.
“What?"

Dynarien shook his head. “Let me try this.” Then he called on the staff,
which he only half expected to answer now that it had found its rightful
master, and cast shared life. The surge of energy from Warrior half-staggered
him; his knees almost buckled. Pieces of himself and his life force tumbled
into Isranon as well as his blood. The random factor to the spell, which
Dynarien had long believed he had found a way to control, had just erupted and
given Isranon far more than he intended and could calculate.

The embedded spells of darkness rose up and shoved against Dynarien, trying
to prevent the flow of fortifying energies. His lips curled back in a snarl at
the tightening tendrils of power. He raised his own green power with his other
hand, placing it upon Isranon's chest. Green strove against black, shearing
away the tendrils, folding them back and down. Abruptly it ended as the
divinator spells withdrew to their unholy nests where the blades had
originally entered Isranon's body.

Dynarien had triumphed for the moment.

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Isranon's color had improved, but he remained too pale. Nevin's expression
turned hopeful and he nodded thanks to the yuwenghau.

"Josiah's spell.”Isranon whispered.

Dynarien started. “You knew him?"

"He taught me."

"Josiah was a good mon,” Dynarien said. “I'm sorry we hurt you. We didn't
mean to."

"I know."

Dynarien released Isranon, returned the staff to its place, and walked back
to Nevin. He gripped Nevin's shoulder briefly. “My Father will help him. I
promise. I'm sorry, my sister and I acted without thinking.” Then he left.

Nevin dragged a chair to the bedside. “I want to be alone with him,” he told
the others. “Find somewhere else to sleep."

One by one they changed to wolves. One by one they came and sniffed Isranon
as if it might be the last time they smelled life in him. Then they went
through the door into the hallway and Nevin closed the door behind them. As
soon as they were alone, the scarred lycan cradled his clan brother. “Listen
to me. I know this is the worst one yet. But they will not let you die. I
trust them."

Isranon's eyes fluttered toward closing.

"Don't sleep yet. Listen to me,” Nevin pleaded, deciding that Isranon needed
another reason to fight harder to live.

"Nevin?"

"Your son.When all this is done, I'll fetch your son.Your lycan son and
Merissa."

Isranon blinked.“My son? I I have a son?"

Nevin smiled when he heard that tiny strengthening in Isranon's voice. “Yes.
Claw and Aisha hid them hid Merissa and Darmyk. That is why they sent her
away. She was pregnant.” He did not add that at first Claw had wanted Merissa
to abort the child, certain that it would be born sa'necari. Merissa had
fetched him to stand as her spokesmon to save her unborn. As the lawgiver,
Nevin had had great influence before he gave it all up to follow Isranon from
the valley.

"A son.”His drugged, weary mind struggled to encompass the information and a
thread of anger that he could not express wove through his awareness.
Exhaustion and pain muffled his emotions and trying to feel anything strongly
was like reaching through a thick wall of raw cotton.“A son."

"You can't die on me now, can you? Surely, not now before you've seen him?"

"I guess I can't. But you should have told me.” He closed his eyes and this
time Nevin let him sleep.

* * * *

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Dynarien went looking for his twin the first moment he could get away from
the others and found her in her rooms. Mounted on pegs along one wall hung his
sister's collection of slingshots, peashooters and blowguns. Sitting on her
dresser in the right corner was a small, lightweight mace, the spiked head
resembling the seed case of a castor tree. She sat in the middle of the floor
cross-legged brushing her hair.

Dynarien went over to the mace and lifted it, feeling the perfect weight and
balance, the traces of power. “Where did you get this?” he asked suspiciously.

Her mouth tightened petulantly. “It was a gift."

Dynarien knew that expression well.“Okay, sis. Who did you get it from and
please, please, please don't tell me you're messing with the Nine again?
You're asking for trouble whenever you get involved with any of the Elder Gods
except our father."

Dynanna shrugged.“Lokynen."

"Awwww, shit.” Dynarien would never forget some of the beatings that Lokynen
Willidar, a son of the war god, Badonth, had given him over the centuries. It
had almost always been because of some outrageous prank of his sister's on
Lokynen and, being her twin brother, he would step in between them and get
pounded. “Stay away from Lokynen. Please!"

"I can't. He's teaching me to use the mace. Its name is Basher. You know,
he's mellowed out a lot now that Amberlin is having the baby. Really, he has."

Seeing that this was going to get him nowhere, he changed the subject. He
hated going round and round with her. “Okay, we won't argue about Lokynen. But
do you realizeReally , understand, about Isranon?"

Dynanna's lower lip thrust out in a pout. “I don't need to. He's pure, he has
the power, and he's mine."

He caught his sister's arm, his hold tightening on it. “Don't be cheeky. This
is important. Do you know why the Beast looks after him? I mean, beyond her
evident affection for the mon?"

Dynanna shrugged. “No."

"He's her blood-slave. She feeds on him."

Dynanna's eyes saucered.“Like a nibari?"

"No, worse than that.”Dynarien shivered, remembering everything he had seen
while Reading Isranon's body. “She has written herself into the very fiber of
his being, his body, his magic centers,his soul. Anksha owns him. Most of her
blood-slaves wither within months. The greater their power, the longer they
last. And she feeds also on their power, their very life force. Do you know
how she takes them?"

His sister cringed.“Nope."

"She has pheromones that dominate anyone with a sexual attraction to females.
Initially the scent drives them wild to couple with her. She makes them beg.
Then she asks them to yield up their will to her, let down all their guards,
magical and otherwise, to promise her that should she wish it, she may drain
them into death."

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"I don't want to hear this,” Dynanna muttered.

"Well, you're going to,” her brother said sternly. “When they agree to this,
she takes them, biting them savagely. The first taste of their blood initiates
the dominance link. She can rip them apart from the inside, make them do
things they would not normally, agree to things they would not. She can order
them to kill themselves and they will do so gladly. And then there is the
Presence Pain. They are always in pain from her presence, but it worsens when
she does not feed frequently upon them."

Dynanna seemed to collapse in on herself. “Oooh, Creation."

"Exactly.The danger here is not Isranon, but Anksha. He will do anything his
master tells him. Anksha is a random bolt of lightning. You see it flash but
don't know where it will hit."

"Anksha is mine. I marked her also,” Dynanna said stubbornly.

"Sometimes I think you don't have the sense creation gave the ants."

Dynanna said nothing in reply, just glared at him.

"Sis, Anksha is Hoon's terrible demon-eater,she could be still under his
influence. After all, she belonged to him for centuries. She has only been
with Isranon for a few years."

Dynanna squirmed, wanting to change the subject. “Does Nans know?"

"I doubt it. Nans treats her like a pet and so do the lycans. Isranon and
Anksha seem to be keeping this secret. But I saw the linkages when I Read him.
I recognized them. I see deeper than Nans and I look deeper than you bother
to. I don't believe you even realized that his wounds were from a Divinator's
blade either, until I pointed them out."

Dynanna cringed still more and moved to the little couch by the window, where
she drew her knees up and propped her chin on them. “I knew they were
similar."

"But you didn't know they were exactly! I think I must have gotten all the
brains, while you got nothing."

Dynanna scowled at him. “I don't like you talking to me this way!"

Dynarien sighed. “Sis, I don't like being hard on you. But this time, I think
you deserved it."

"Maybe.”Dynanna closed her eyes, closed him out for a few breaths. “So what
do I do?"

"I don't know. I do know I can't get those Divinator spells out of him. Had I
discovered him sooner, possibly I could have at least bound some of them. But
now they've worked themselves in too deep. I would probably kill him trying to
get them out. And only death frees one from the Beast."

Dynanna swallowed, her expression going sad. “What do I do?"

Dynarien released his twin's arm. “This is what you have to do. If the spells
kill him, then a curse will fall on someone. I don't know who or what. But if
it looks like they are going to, then he needs to die by his own hand or in
some way that does not direct violence such as a blade or like Dawnhand.”

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Dynarien pulled a bottle from his pocket and placed it in hers. “He took you
as his liege-god, therefore you need to give him this and explain the
situation."

"What is it?” Dynanna turned the bottle of a thick black liquid in her hands.

"The Gentle Path.A euthanasia drug.The Assassins Guild uses it for those
dying in great pain and in other circumstances."

"But I don't want him to die."

"Neither doI . But the choice should be his."

* * * *

Travis woke hurting in a teakwood bed. The windows had been propped open and
a cool breeze made the humid heat bearable. Linen curtains waved and turned in
the gentle breath of air. Cool fingers of air caressed Travis’ bare chest. He
shifted under the sheet that had been folded down to his hips and realized he
wore nothing at all. The while silk sheet slid across his cock like soft
fingers. He had no idea where he was, but he knew full well where he was not.
The room was walled in an unfamiliar wood and filled with simple furniture
made of perfectly matched saplings, notched like grass, and bound together
with strips of the same material and nails. The air was filled with unfamiliar
scents, both sweet and sharp.

The air felt strange on his skin. Every muscle in his body felt bruised.
Theimage of that huge blade descending on him flashed through his mind, making
him flinch , and was gone. Then he saw the young woman sitting by his bed. She
had grey hair streaked with red. She looked familiar but he was not certain.
He suspected she was lycan.

"Where am I?” Travis asked.

She turned and now he was certain that he knew her.“Imralon."

Astonishment and doubt flooded Travis.“The sacred realm itself? How in hell
did I get here? Am I dead?"

Daree laughed. “You are very much alive. Dynanna brought us."

Travis regarded her more closely, a little more of the fuzz separating itself
from his mind. “I saw you. You were in my visionYou kept calling me to come
back."

"Yes, Old Dog, I did. So did the others of my clan. We howled for you."

"You're lycan?” Travis saw the pronounced eyeteeth as she smiled. That
confirmed it.

"Yes,” Daree replied shyly. “I'm Darianna Daree."

"Which one are you?"

Daree laughed softly. “You've been calling me Smokey. How do you feel?"

Travis made a rueful noise. “LikeI been beat all to hell and back."

She assumed an air of playful naughtiness. “I have something to fix that, Old
Dog.Several things.” Daree poured him some medicine.

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Travis tried to sit up on his own and fell back into the sheets and pillows.
Daree slid her arm around him and helped him to sit and drink. She wore only a
shoulderless sheath of brightly patterned cloth that hung to her knees. Her
bare arm felt silken against his skin. Then she kissed him on the cheek and
lips. Her long fingers stroked his face and traveled down his chest.

"Daree.”He flushed. “I don't know you all that well."

She made a moue. “Oh, yes you do. Just not in this form. You've been stroking
and hugging me for months."

"Oh, well. What can I say?” His flush deepened.

"Exactly.What can you say, you condescending asshole?” She reached under the
sheet and ran her fingers up his thigh to his balls and then along his cock.

"Hey, stop that."

She merely smiled. “I told you I have many things to make you feel better."

"Daree.Ooooooohh.”Travis shivered as her strong fingers worked his cock. It
seemed wrong to just lie there and let her do it. He was too weak to fight her
off and not entirely certain that he wanted to. Daree was a wolf in human
form. He loved dogs and wolves, just not in this way. Having sex with them
just seemed wrong, even if they werethen all thoughts left his mind because
she had put her lips over his hardness and begun sucking him off. “Ohmagawd,”
he sighed and stopped fighting it.

* * * *

Nevin sat listening to the unfamiliar bird calls in the forest and wondering
if he had done the right thing in telling Isranon about Merissa. He glanced at
the pack of stuff he had rescued from the collapsed tent earlier before anyone
could move or rifle through it. Isranon would need Sanguine Rose when he woke.

Shoving out of his chair, Nevin went to the large canvas pack, opened it, and
rummaged through it. The bottle of Sanguine Rose was easy to find. He held the
golden preserving bottle up to the lamplight and saw that it was nearly empty.
This was the only bottle, other than Isranon's small pocket flask, that had
managed to be dragged off to Imralon in Dynanna's ill-considered Jump. It was
far from enough.

Nevin carried it to the bedside table and placed it beside the other
medicines. He kept going back and forth between hope and worry. Isranon's
words haunted Nevin, ‘I don't want to die alone.'

"You won't die alone, my brother,” Nevin whispered softly. “When the time
comes, I will hold you in my arms until you take your last breath."

Willodarus had promised them aid.Yet, what if they could not help Isranon? A
thread of tension wove through Nevin's body. Healing was not the woodland
god's domain. If they could not help, then only another dangerous Jump to
their camp to continue onto Treth offered hope for him. Nevin thought briefly
of asking Dynanna to Jump Isranon directly to Treth and then shoved it aside:
if the previous Jump had been any measure of consequences, he did not want to
Jump Isranon into an unknown region without an opportunity to judge it
gradually.

Nevin felt a scratching in his side from something in his pockets. He dug

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into them and found the most recent letter from Claw about Merissa's child.
Knowing he had a son, what would Isranon do? Would he still put himself first
and try for a cure at Treth? Or would he instead insist upon turning north
again and try to travel back through enemy territory to reach Merissa in hopes
of seeing his son before he died?

Laying the letter beside the Sanguine Rose, Nevin exhaled wearily.Too many
things to consider.Too many possibilities. “Did I make a mistake in telling
him?"

The door opened softly and a white haired head peeked in.

"What do you want?” Nevin asked, pitching his voice low so as not to awaken
Isranon.

The servant entered with a large silver tray and carried it to the teakwood
table near the open window. Two pitchers and a pair of delicate stemmed
glasses molded like ivory flowers framed a platter of meats and cheeses. The
servant turned, pantomiming eating and drinking rapidly, pointing from the
fare to Nevin. He bowed hurriedly and repeatedly to the lycan as he retreated
into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Nevin realized that he was hungry and went to investigate what the servant
had left him. He sniffed at the pitchers first. One was water and the other a
grain based alcohol that might be what passed for beer in this strange place.
He poured a glass of the brew and tasted it. It was sweeter and thicker than
any beer he had encountered before, but definitely beer. He tried each of the
cheeses, finding them sharp, yet tasty. None of the meats were familiar
either.

He ate as he considered everything.

Nevin had watched the pain and illness erode Isranon's determination before
he gained the staff and knew that it could start to erode again. So now Nevin
had given him one more reason to live. He prayed to his ancestors that it
would be enough.

Conversely, the knowledge could also worsen Isranon's burdens. It all
depended on which way Isranon chose to deal with the news. He was Dawnhand
returned to them at last. He had to be preserved and protected at all costs.
The lycans could not lose him again. According to the old knowledge, it had
been Dawnhand who rescued his people from Waejonan when the rising power of
the sa'necari first threatened them.

Nevin drank his beer, wishing the glass were a tankard. It didn't seem proper
to drink beer from a fancy glass. He rolled some cheese up inside a long slice
of meat and carried it back to his chair with the beer, still of two minds
about what he had done.

CHAPTER SEVEN: MIRACLES

Willodarus assembled the lycans and Haig under his favorite banyan tree to
give them the language of his night-elves before anyone could get into
trouble. He thought about how much he loved all the animals: even those wiros
such as the lycans. The fact that they bred true, rather than adding to their
ranks by arcane methods put them within his domain. He had several lycan packs
that roved the continent of Sealandia where Imralon was located; he had them
within his household; and there were wandering packs on other continents that

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served him. Since the tropical continent was so rich in resources, the lycans
of Sealandia were hunter-gatherers and had never settled into fixed
communities like their Merezian and Jedruan cousins. He shared their worship
with Tala, she who was Master of Wolves and God of the Hunt and Moon.

Nevin disliked leaving Isranon's side, but he could not refuse a command from
one of the Elder Gods. So he had answered the summons and led his fellows to
kneel before Willodarus. “What is it you wish, Holy One?"

"Change and open yourself to me, Nevin son of Nevarin."

Nevin raised an eyebrow at Willodarus’ knowledge of his ancestry. Then he
changed and placed his head on his paws. The god's power flooded him with a
shock as Willodarus placed his hands on both sides of the lycan's head and
sent the language into his mind. When he finished, Nevin reeled away from him,
staggering and changed “What did you do?"

"I have given you the language here, which I will do for the others as well.
But something special comes for you tonight, Nevin. You must accept it when it
comes because it will only come once. Take your pack and run with her."

"My pack?”Nevin's dizziness worsened his perception and fuddled his
understanding of the ancient god's words.

"All of your lycans here and any of mine who will choose to run with you."

"Her?"

Willodarus gave him a gentle smile, hinting at great mysteries. “You will
know her when you see her. She requested permission to come here and I granted
it. If you have half the wisdom you are reputed to, lawgiver, you will answer
her summons."

Nevin's brow furrowed. “But who is she?"

"You will know her when you meet her.” Willodarus waved Nevin off and the
lycan headed back to Isranon's rooms.

The lycans, who had been waiting under the trees, proceeded forward one by
one until finally only Haig remained. The vampire looked doubtful as
Willodarus gestured for him to come. “Do you wish to touch me? Knowing what I
am?"

"A faithful follower of my wayward daughter.It is enough."

Haig knelt and Willodarus touched him. For a second he expected to be blasted
into ash, but then the power wafted through him delicately so as to not upset
his undead body. Haig sighed with relief, but when he rose he staggered like
all the rest. Everything around him seemed different. “I'm still me?"

Willodarus laughed delightedly. “Yes, you are still you.And undamaged."

* * * *

The servant who had been sitting with Isranon left when Nevin returned. The
lycan settled once more in the chair nearest the bed. His conscience said he
should also look in on his injured cousin, but he could not bear to be away
from Isranon any longer than necessary. Willodarus’ words echoed through his
mind, weaving strange patterns as he tried to imagine who the Elder God had
referred to. ‘You will know her when you see her.'

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"But who is she?” Nevin said aloud.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Isranon's voice.

"Nevin?"

The lycan looked down. His spirit-brother looked so pale. Nevin filled a
small glass with Sanguine Rose. “You need the Rose?"

"Yes,” Isranon said, his voice struggling to emerge from the depths of his
weakness.

Nevin helped him drink and sat again, holding his hand.

"I didn't mean to to get a child on Merissa."

Nevin frowned in concern, wondering where Isranon was going with this. “I
shouldn't have told you. Do you regret it?"

Isranon sucked in a deep, sluggish breath. “I would never hurt Merissa."

"Are you ashamed of the boy?A half-breed?” An edge of tension entered Nevin's
voice.

"No! Had I known, I would. I would never have left her."

The tension eased in Nevin and he ruffled Isranon's curly hair. “I know."

"Sa'necariaren't . I didn't think I was that fertile. That there was a chance
I would do that to her. By all that's holy, you should have told me.” Anger
threaded his words.

"Merissa said she had promised you it would be like the wild creatures, that
she would not force you into a relationship."

"It would not have been forced. I never meant to to leave her pregnant. I
deserved to know! I would never have rejected her or the child."

Nevin hesitated and then did not interject that Isranon appeared to be more
fertile than the average sa'necari. Another child of Isranon's had died unborn
when its nibari mother was rited by his enemies. They had all made mistakes:
Claw for sending Merissa away; Nevin for not arguing harder that Isranon be
told, for not telling him to begin with. The child would have kept Isranon
safe in their valley; he would not have followed Mephistis south, been taken
by Anksha, and made a blood-slave; and he would not be laying here
suffering.Too many mistakes.

"Nevin, believe me” Isranon broke off suddenly, his body spasming into a
convulsion.

The lycan shouted for help and wrapped his arms around Isranon, holding him
tight to his chest as his spirit-brother continued to shake and twitch. He saw
Isranon lose consciousness. The Sanguine Rose had not been strong enough when
faced with the added stress of knowing about his son. Nevin wondered again at
his lack of wisdom in telling Isranon.

Fusaaki appeared promptly, ordered Nevin aside and set to work.

* * * *

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"This is my fault, Father,” Dynarien said, emerging from the sickroom last.
Although Willodarus could more properly be called his father in this life,
since Dynarien had all the memories of his first life as well as this one, he
frequently slipped and called him ‘Grandfather'; while Dynanna, his twin,
always called Willodarus ‘Daddy'. It led to endless rounds of confusion. “I
was so desperate to have Talons back, that I went along with the scheme
without caring what it might do to the mon to make such a far Jump while he
was still so badly injured."

Nans regarded him with a tiny smile as her opinion of him went up two
notches. “Is there a place we can take this conversation, Father?"

Willodarus motioned toward a veranda at the far end of the palace. In the
hot, humid climate of Imralon most of the palace chambers were large and airy
to let in the breezes and the long hallways led to a wealth of verandas and
porches with bamboo awnings that could be let down to close the rooms or
opened up at need. Nans spied Travis in the garden as they passed, speaking in
gestures with one of the night-elves. Fusaaki had him resting on a pallet
beneath a banyan tree to get some air. Travis had gone native apparently,
wearing a sashed silk kilt in an effort to deal with the heat. His impressive
scar intrigued the warrior. When he was healed more, Willodarus intended to
give him the language also. He had one of the Rowdies’ lycans, a silver-haired
youngster named Darianna, hovering over him in a shyly possessive manner amid
the night-elf ladies. Nans wondered if Travis had connected her with her
wolf-form yetshe was the one he had always insisted on calling “Smokey."

When they reached the far veranda, they pulled the bamboo chairs close
together and formed a circle with Willodarus taking the large Imraloni
throne-chair at the circle's head. The veranda fronted on theOrchidGardens and
was fragrant with orchid, jasmine, and lotus, which Willodarus cultivated, as
well as the scent of roses, which followed Dynarien. There were five of them,
including Nans: her brother, Willodarus, Fusaaki, and Dynanna who had chosen
to trail them.

"Tell me again, Dynarien, as well as you can remember, what did Kalirion say
to you?” Willodarus asked.

"He said that only the child with both sides of the gift could restore
Talons."

"He did not say what both sides of the gift were?"

"No, Father."

Willodarus leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the arms. “If we assume
that one side is life and the other is death, then we must consider the
masters of those magics. On the one side would be the life-mages of Kalirion
and on the other the true masters of the magics of death are the sa'necari.
And the greatest of the sa'necari are those of the lineage of Waejonan."

"What about the lineage of Dawnhand?” Dynanna interrupted.

Willodarus glared at her. “Daughter, you are here to listen. Start
interrupting andI will glue your hair to the tree this time! You caused this
unfortunate circumstance."

Dynanna's mouth closed with an audible snap and she straightened with a
slight jump. The last time it had been Dynarien who did the gluing and they
had been all of nine or ten years old. Dynarien had gotten spanked and locked

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in the dungeon for the night. Then Dynanna, feeling sorry for him, crept down
and spent the night passing him cookies through the bars. She wondered if he
would pass her cookies this time, because she had a terrible overpowering urge
to point out that it was not entirely her fault. Instead, she said, meekly,
“All right, Daddy.” Then she had to sit on her hands and bite her lip, while
rocking back and forth trying to look as innocent as possible.

"The lineage of Isranon Dawnhand was forced to become sa'necari by Waejonan
and his descendants, Father,” Dynarien continued, his eyes slewing around at
his twin nervously. “Their families were held hostage to force them into the
rites. When their very genes changed, they fled. That's why Isranon's soul is
so clean. He's never done it."

Willodarus nodded. “What happened to him, Nans?"

"Father, because he would not participate in the rites, a group of sa'necari
sent by the sa'nekaryiane nearly butcheredhim, embedded divinator spells in
him, and left him for dead. They flare up in attacks each time he uses his
magic strongly, sometimes even when he doesn't. Any time something leaves him
exhausted, vulnerable. So long as he paces himself, gets his medicine, we have
been able to keep him stabilized. But even that has begun to fail. It's taking
more and more, and stronger and stronger blood and drugs."

"Fusaaki?”Willodarus nodded to the healer.

"Hai, Holy One.” Fusaaki gave Willodarus a polite bow of his head and
shoulders before answering. “Dynanna's precipitous actions have hastened his
demise. He fails quickly. I do not understand the sa'necari physiology enough
to stop it. It is totally alien to me."

Dynanna's eyes blazed and she started to make a smoking remark, but her
siblings both grabbed her hair at the same time and jerked her. She stiffened
sharply, grinned guiltily, and then shrugged. The God of Cussedness folded her
hands and rubbed her thumbs together, making a small humming noise and rocking
a little faster with a sidewise twist.

"How have you been keeping him alive, Nans?” Willodarus asked next. If he
could just keep Dynanna from interrupting long enough he could resolve the
situation and perhaps save themon by understanding it all. There were
complexities here that none of them understood and his daughter tended to
plunge into it all without thought.

"I have been keeping him alive with my own blood and that of the trolls we've
caught. Sa'necariare hemovores. They need to feed periodically on blood to
stay well. However, the embedded spells are so strong they deny him the
benefits of ordinary blood. I have been barely able to hold his condition
stable. The more strenuously he uses his magic, the more severe the relapses
are. Like this one, the spells have re-created the original wounds in his
body."

Willodarus considered this for a moment. “Yet he continues to use his
powers."

"Yes, Father. Had he not engaged the susgrag, I would have lost half my
rangers. And then he dragged himself to Travis and healed him."

"Dawnhand returned indeed.” Willodarus turned on Dynanna, his eyes gone
stern. “Your sons are demanding that we release Talons’ soul immediately.
Through the godmark on her breast they can rip her soul out of my stasis and I
have not the power to stop them."

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"No! They would not do that!” Dynanna had three grown sons by the god Hadjys,
all very powerful young gods.

"Yes, they would and they are. Hadjys lies desperately wounded through the
symbiosis, which exists between himself and his paladins and priests. Galee
not only killed two-thirds of them, she stole their souls."

Dynanna's eyes widened in horror.“That's not possible! That'snot possible!
Hadjys snatches their souls too quickly when they die."

Nans reached for Dynarien, whose face had filled with grief. He had fought
hard on Hadjys's behalf against Galee in Creeya, before finally ripping her
head off.

Willodarus began to speak again. “A gate exists that we did not know about
it. It had been buried. It is now exposed and opened.A small gate. The dying
priests and Guildsmyn were thrown through the gate so that their souls were
then caught within the very barrierthat we, the Nine, ourselves had built.
Anyone going through that gate after those souls would surely be slain. The
only way to restore Hadjys would be to release the Hellgod. Holding Talons’
soul is one more pledged soul lost to him, weakening him. For now your sons
serve in his place and they want her returned."

"Strong blood, father,” Nans said. “Very strong, divine blood might call
Isranon back."

"It would have to be extremely strong,” Dynarien said. “I gave him my own
through Shared Life. I had to fight the spells to manage it. All I seem to
have bought him is one more night and I cannot get the spells out."

Willodarus’ expression turned reflective. “Mariko, my wife, is Davera's
granddaughter and sired by a divine visitor who rode a ram and liked to
laugh."

Dynanna choked. “Holy Gophers, you're gonna ask Mom?"

"It is that orlose Talons.One last thing, Dynarien. Who do you suppose is
this other person with both sides of the gift, this child?"

Suddenly it clicked and the yuwenghau knew at last. “There are two children
in Rowanhart who were sired by Mephistis Waejonan. It must be one of them.The
one who is rumored to be a life-mage."

Finally Willodarus smiled.“Ahhh.So even the darkest of lineages can be
brought into the Light.Both sides of the gift. Get close to that one. If the
enemy seeks to destroy Isranon, then it surely seeks the death of that child
also."

* * * *

Nevin roused to the sound of howling in the night; it was no wolf or lycan he
had ever heard before and female. Commanding and imperative, it resounded
through the compound. He wanted to resist it. He had never heard a female with
such power to draw him. He glanced reluctantly at Isranon as he remembered
Willodarus’ admonition and gave in. Nevin changed and ran from the room into
the courtyard. Now he could hear her more strongly.

The courtyard filled up with sixteen lycans, more than twice as many as had
come to Imralon with him. He glanced at all the strangers and his own people.

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Silent, they acknowledged his present supremacy. Silent, the younger males
challenged him with their stares. The boldest of them would try to steal that
supremacy tonight. Nevin understood the signs from his years as the lawgiver
to the clan Red Wolf. This night a chieftain would be made, and a pack
gathered from disparate individuals. The primal call of the she-wolf beyond
the estate declared this so. Nevin shivered inwardly, yet he showed no sign of
it to the young males with their glowing eyes. Part of him did not want to
answer that call; he was a civilized wolf. The other half screamed to be
allowed out, to let go of the strangling cords of civilization, and become
simply a beast freed to chase the needs of its primitive nature. Then the call
came again and he began to lope toward it in a long, ground-eating stride.
Whatever waited out there to be claimed, he would have to fight the younger
males for it and he would.

Nevin raced out the open gates with the pack following him. They swept
through the jungle growth, darting through the banyan forests and tearing
holes in walls of vines that draped the aerial roots. The full moon limned the
dark world in silver, laced the vines and tree branches with chill edges. The
howling grew nearer. They broke onto an open plain and Nevin saw her. She
shimmered in a white aura, a silvery wolf.Very tall for a female. He could
smell her power and it demanded he follow. Now was the time to run and to
fight. Now was the time to conquer.

Nevin became aware of all the young males surging forward. He snapped at the
two running nearest to him as he broke ahead of the pack once more, running
full out, desperate to reach her first. She was divinity on four legs. Her
pheromones filled his nostrils irresistibly. Nevin had never wanted a female
before and now he could think only of finding himself inside of her. Her power
bound him, demanded he come to her. Nevin snarled at the other males, driving
them back as they came alongside him, forcing them to roll onto their bellies.
He gashed one along the ribs and leaped upon a second one. They rolled
together, snapping and biting viciously. Nevin found that one's throat and
felt him go limp in surrender. Nevin sprang off, not noticing his own torn
face and shoulder. Blood stained his coat.Conquer. Conquer. The word echoed in
his brain dimmed by primal urges.I must conquer them and claim her.

She moved her tail aside to receive him, the angle of her body inviting,
tempting. Her clitoris was swollen and hungry like that of a she-wolf in heat.
The scent of it drove Nevin mad. Two males dodged around Nevin to reach her.
The one that bedded her would rule. Nevin lunged; he caught the first one by
the ruff and threw him tumbling. Then he saw the last male rear up to cover
her, his chest on her haunches. Before his rival could consummate the union,
Nevin bit down on his tail and tore him backwards; he ripped the young male's
side open, snapped a bone in his foreleg in half, and forced him back. Nevin
spun about and mounted her; his cock rejoiced in the gripping warmth sheathing
it. The pack spread out around them to observe and sanctify it with their
howling.

He drove hard into her in a rapid rhythm of bestial need. She shoved firmly
against him, taking him deep. Nevin swelled to fullness, locking them together
while his seed pumped into her. He panted and moaned, rubbing his body over
hers, his huge shaggy head resting between her shoulders. When he spent
himself, he fell away from her to lie trembling at her feet, shaken to the
core of his being by what he had done.

She changed into a nude, strong-limbed, powerful woman with a necklace of
bones around her neck and a small pouch at her waist. And he knew her. He had
coupled with one of the Elder Gods: Tala, She Who Holds Back the Darkness,
Master of the Moon and Hunt.

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"Well done, Nevin,” she said in a voice like silk. She took the bag of bones
from around her waist, placing them before him. “Wear these, Battle Chieftain,
for you are now mine."

"Oh, my lady,” Nevin moaned, changing once more into a man.

"Do you accept me as your liege-god?"

"Oh, yes. Yes.” He pushed himself to his knees, feeling so overcome by
emotion that he could scarcely speak.

Tala smiled at him. “Then take my gifts and wear them. I will send your son
to you when he is born."

Nevin choked. “Aa son, from you?"

"Of course.That is the way I make my battle chiefs. It is the trade. They
rear our offspring. When I mate as a wolf, I always catch. Already I feel him
nestled within me.A fine and powerful son."

Nevin's thoughts whirled in confusion. Hehave never expected to have a son,
having never before been able to get an erection with a female since his
tastes ran so strongly to males. Yet, Tala was not a mere woman, but a god.
The madness of the moon, her power, had been upon him, driving him to enter
her. He was to have a powerful son, a yuwenghau son. It was beyond belief and,
yet, it was real. Nevin became aware that the pack had surrounded them. He
looked at each and every face as they knelt to him and their god.

"Howl wolves and pledge to your battle chief,” Tala commanded. A new howl
began and lasted until the first light of dawn.

Nevin had conquered.

* * * *

Mariko, the Lady of the Sprites and Queen of Imralon, followed her husband to
Isranon's room. She wore her wealth of white hair wound and folded atop her
head and held in place by an array of jeweled clips and pins. Mariko's
fingertips rested on her husband's hand, glistening blue-black skin like
sapphires against the mahogany cast of Willodarus’ hand. She seemed to glide,
rather than to walk; her footsteps made no sounds, even to Anksha's ears as
the demon-eater trailed them. The deep green and blue silk of her brocaded
outer robes brushed the ground, and the soft, pearl gray of the inner robe
showed against her skin at her throat and wrists.

Anksha glanced from face to face. Neither of them had noted her appearance at
their heels yetat least they had given no sign of itand she wondered if she
should let them know that she had slipped in behind them as they entered
Isranon's room. She hid herself by curling up behind a large chair. Fusaaki,
the healer, bowed to the two deities and stepped away from Isranon's bed.

"Nans says he needs strong blood, very, very strong blood to pull him
through.Perhaps the blood of a god as old and mature as yourself, my wife.”
Willodarus turned to Mariko, taking her delicate black-skinned hand withit's
lovely jeweled sapphire hues. He kissed her fingers.

Mariko lowered her eyes demurely as he kissed her fingers. “If that is what
you wish, my husband."

"It is. We are running out of time to restore Talons. The Sons of Hadjys are

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demanding that her soul be released. With the war in the east going against
their father's worshippers and so many of their priests and paladins slainthey
want her soul returned. We cannot wait for this child that Kalirion has spoken
of to grow into his powers. Here we have a man already grown into them if we
can save him."

"And he can restore her, my husband?"

"Yes, Mariko."

She drifted to Isranon, her long dress swishing. Anksha wondered what magic
had been obscuring her ability to hear the dress when she was following,
because now she heard it clearly.

"He has fangs?” Mariko pressed her fingers to his lips, incredulous. “His
mouth is so small, husband! Where can he put them?"

Dynanna peered through the window, scowling at her mother's elaborate
clothing. As soon as she could walk, she had begun ripping her clothes off and
running around in nothing; and then when she got a mite bigger she had taken
to wearing Dynarien's stuff. Willodarus had supported her in this and Mariko
had eventually given up. What Dynanna wanted, Dynanna got. That still held
truemost times.

The spoiling was understandable, which was why Mariko put up with
itWillodarus felt such an intense sense of grief and guilt at being unable to
save Dynarien from Waejonan.

Anksha noticed Dynanna at the window, and gave her a cheeky grin. Dynanna did
not appear to notice her and failed to return the smile. So Anksha, feeling
reluctant to announce her presence yet, made no further moves in Dynanna's
direction, lest it carry her into Willodarus’ view.

"They appear and disappear, Mariko.” Willodarus stepped to her side.

His night-elves were the result of an inter-marriage of his sylvans and a
group of people from a distant world that he rescued when a volcano sank their
island, destroying a castle and the surrounding villages. He had been visiting
their lovely sun god. As an opener of gates, Willodarus brought them through,
giving them refuge here, on his continent of Sealandia. Their language had
become a hopelessly confused merging of the two; the only traces of their
origins lay in their names, the fighting styles of the males, and some of
their customs. They were fiercely devoted to Willodarus, which waswhy, he
chose them from all his peoples to dwell in his sacred city. Their coloring
was to reflect the night sky on distant shores with stars and they glistened
like polished sapphires. This was in token of the night they had been swept
from their world. A fringe of orange and red ran through their heavy white
hair, this in token of the volcano whose eruption had cast them here by
necessitating the opening of the gate. For some there were little wisps of
black among the orange symbolizing those lineages who had lost relatives to
the eruption before Willodarus could get the gate open enough for the flight
to begin. They were all works of art: genetically, magically designed works of
art. None of it was cosmetic. This was simply the way they were, the way they
had become, and they were beautiful. And Willodarus loved them.

Mariko thought of her grieving son, Dynarien. He had begun to be better, but
she still caught that look in his eye. She had seen him in theOrchidGarden
again that morning when he thought no one was looking, his face pressed
against Talons’ coffin, talking to his dead mate with tears in his eyes. “I
will feed him."

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Fusaaki started to protest, but her gaze was imperious and not to be argued
with.

Mariko drew a pin from her robe, grazing her wrist. As the blood welled, the
god pressed the wound to Isranon's lips. She wiggled her fingers inside to
open his mouth, pushing her wrist more firmly between his teeth and then
frowned at her husband and the healer. “Fusaaki, do something. He is not
swallowing and there are no fangs."

The healer immediately began to stroke Isranon's throat. Willodarus stepped
to the chair, motioning Anksha to emerge. The demon-eater crept out, eyes
wide: so he had known all along. Although she was becoming less afraid of the
deities, she was still far from comfortable at the roaring presence that was
their powers. She bounded onto the bed, seeing what they were trying to do. “I
can make him feed."

"You can?” Fusaaki asked.

Willodarus gave her a kind glance filled with such compassion that it brought
tears to Anksha's eyes. “You do not have to tell them why. Just make him feed.
The nature of your bond is private."

Anksha curled around Isranon's head, sliding into his mind and body; the webs
of dark magic burned and seared her. She whimpered. The colors of his magic
centers had changed since last she had been here; they spun in rainbow
patterns. Then she felt him stir weakly, trying to protect her. White
soothing, coolness spread through her, buffering her. Anksha sighed, feeling
the changes, the loveIsranon loved her. Not that forced love of the dominance
link. He truly, truly loved her for herself, as a special unique friend, with
a tiny dash of occasional lust at odd moments when Anksha's pheromones were
dancing.

"I love you, Isranon. Please feed. You are not a monster. You are a good
mon."

Mariko glanced at her husband. “This is what he fears?"

"It must be,” the elder god said.

"You are no monster, Isranon,” said Mariko kindly, every inch the Lady of the
Sprites with compassion for all. “Feed. It is freely given."

Willodarus put his hand on Anksha's back, adding just a little of his power
to her connection to Isranon. At first she shrank back; then she allowed it.
“You are not a monster, Isranon,” he said.

Isranon's fangs descended and he began to feed on the wondrous intense blood
of a fully mature god, freely given in complete and absolute trust.

* * * *

The heat was getting to Travis that night and he went out for a walk, using a
staff. The moon was full and there were lamps hung from posts throughout the
garden. The howling of the lycans as they swept out of the palace grounds had
ended the last of his thoughts about trying to sleep. He lowered himself,
aching, to the ground beneath a banyan tree and leaned his head and shoulders
against it. Travis could still hear the lycans, but their howls were dwindling
into the distance. He wondered what was going on. Then Daree appeared out of
the darkness, wearing nothing at all. The lycans had no nudity taboos.

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Travis dropped his eyes and refused to look at her. “I'd've thought you'd be
with the rest of them. Sounds like some shindig they've got going."

Daree shrugged. “It is a rite for the males.Although most of the females have
gone to witness it."

"Daree, you're not wearing anything,” Travis said lamely and felt like a
fool.

She laughed. “Would you feel more comfortable with me if I were like this?”
She changed. The grey wolf with the red stripe was back and she rubbed against
him to let him know without looking that it was safe to peek.

Travis sighed and reached for her, catching hold of her ruff. He desperately
wanted to touch her, and then let go and drew back, feeling ashamed. “Daree,
it was real nice what you did that night I first woke up but."

Daree changed again, becoming a voluptuous young woman. She squirmed against
him. Her silken skin against his bare chest set his body to reacting, and his
thickening cock was tenting his short kilt to a perilously revealing degree.

"Oh god, Daree.I can't do this."

"Of course, you can, Old Dog.” Daree ran her fingers along his chest, deftly
avoiding the scar without lifting her hands from him.

Travis caught at her hands, but she pulled them free and flicked his kilt up
to reveal the truth of the matter. His cock was almost blue with need and
straining for release, the veins standing out sharply.

"Dogs and wolves can getalong, Old Dog Your gifts attract us.” She dropped
one hand to fondle his balls.

He cupped her breasts with a sigh.“Gods, how I want you. You're both sides of
the same coin."

Daree smiled sensuously. “I know. Let love be. There is no harm in love."

Travis bent forward, wincing slightly at the aching in his muscles, he was
still healing. He mouthed her nipple, sucking on it, feeling it tighten and go
erect. His fingers slid between her slit and found her already wet and ready
for him. Travis gave a long moan of longing and then pushed his fingers into
her vagina, rubbing her clit with his thumb. She arched against him.

He pressed his face between her breasts, murmuring, “I don't want to fall in
love with you, Daree. I just want you."

She kissed the top of his head, pressing his face deeper between her clefts.
“It doesn't matter, Old Dog. Let's just be like the wild creatures."

"I'm too sore for anything athletic."

Daree took hold of his cock, rubbing the head against her opening.
“That'sokay, we'll take it slow and easy."

Travis pushed at her shoulders and she lay down, spreading her legs wider. He
poised himself above her and then entered her.“Oh gods, Daree."

She wrapped her legs around the small of his back. “It's been a long time,

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Old Dog?"

"Yes.Too much traveling around no time to find a woman.” He began to move
inside her.

"Well, the woman has found you."

Travis closed his eyes, losing himself in the exquisite pleasure of being
inside Daree as her pelvis moved in rhythm to his thrusts. She stroked and
licked his chest, carefully avoiding the scar. When it healed completely, then
she would lick it.

He gasped sharply as he came and release left him weak. Travis sagged and
rolled onto his side. “Daree, don't take this wrong."

She pressed her fingers over his lips to silence him. “I love you, Old Dog.
But you don't owe me anything you don't have to love me back."

Then she began stroking him again and he did not resist her.

* * * *

Isranon lay on his back on the grass near the koi pond, listening to the
sounds of birds in the trees. An ancient baobab tree grew at the edge of the
pond, some of its roots hanging deeply into the water on one side. The
spreading branches threw the pond half into the shade at this time of day. He
felt healthier than he had since Anksha had first taken him and oddly at
peace. The sounds of this place were unlike anything he had ever heard before.
The cerulean sky wasmore blue than any he remembered seeing. He could sense
Anksha nearby, yet the pain had gone completely out of their link. She came
frequently to crouch on the pale, orange-veined marble edge of the pond and
watch the fish flash about in the water like living multi-colored jewels. She
never tried to catch them.

He heard little splashes and Anksha's delighted laugh, so he rolled onto his
side to see what she was doing. Anksha tossed food to the fish and then kicked
her heels when they rose to take it. She gave a small squeal as more fish saw
what she was doing and came for their share. He laughed at her. She cupped
water in her hands and threw it at him. A few drops struck his face with
cooling sweetness, but most of it missed entirely.

"Anksha, come here,” he said, extending his hand to her.

She frowned. “Am I hurting you?"

Isranon smiled and gestured at her. “Come here, I have something to tell
you."

Anksha bounced to her feet and bounded to his side where she settled
cross-legged. “What is it?"

"I have a son.” As he spoke those words, a poignant longing filled him to see
Merissa again and this child of his. Hope mingled with the other feelings for
the first time in two years.

Anksha's eyes widened in astonishment and then melted into an expression of
happiness.“A baby Isranon, son of Isranon?"

Isranon laughed at her again. “No, she named him Darmyk after her
grandfather.” He wondered if this could be an omen, the first time a

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first-born son had not been named Isranon in his lineage. The poignancy of
regret stirred in his heart as he wished he could have been there with her
while she carried his son, could have been there when she delivered him from
her body so that he could have held his child in his arms in those first sweet
moments of life.

Anksha leaned close and kissed him on the nose, sliding into her aspect of
feral child-woman. “You did the naughty with the princess, didn't you? And you
left her wearing her apron high, O mage of mine."

Isranon flushed and choked for an instant. “You guessed it was Merissa?"

"Of course.Anksha has been around the barn. I was just a little thing when
Hoosomeone put it in me first,” She slipped into the dialect of her childhood.
“When you told me the story, did you think I would not guess?"

"I really didn't think. I did not mean to I mean, sa'necari are so
infrequently fertile, I thought."

Anksha burst out laughing, holding her sides, and rocking. “If you keep
sticking it in, sooner or later you make a melon."

Isranon lowered his head and rolled onto his back to stare up at the sky. His
fingers twined the grass around him. “Had I known she was pregnant I would
never have left her, Anksha. But her father sent her away without telling me."

"Does that make you sad?” Anksha asked and moved closer.

Isranon considered before he answered. “Yes. A kind of happy-sad, bittersweet
I guess you'd call it. Happy to know I have a son. Sad to know I was not there
with her when she birthed him. Sad because I'm not certain I'll ever get to
see him."

Anksha sprang to her feet and kicked Isranon in the shoulder. “You think I'll
refuse to take you there? We find a cure for you and we'll head straight for
this valley of yours."

Isranon's expression softened with his shifting emotions. “You would do that
for me, Anksha?"

"Of course, my Isranon.If you wish, we could even live there so you could
help raise him."

Isranon drew her to him and kissed her. “Thank you. You are a kind master,
Anksha, and a good friend."

Nevin walked along the garden path and joined them beside the pond with seven
lycans beside him. “What are you two going on about?"

"Isranon made a melon in a princess.” Anksha grinned and then abruptly her
face went incredibly sad, her arms framinga make -believe baby in her arms. “I
can't make a melon. There is only one of me and some day there will be none of
me.” Her eyes filled with tears and she leaped into the trees, swinging
through the branches like a monkey.

"You told her about Merissa?” Nevin asked, sitting down with a bag that
rattled in his hands.

"Anksha and I have no secrets from each other.” Isranon noticed the slender
braid in Nevin's hair with demon bones and carved bone charms in it. He placed

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his fingers on the charms with a wry smile. “They made you chieftain,"

"Yes, we're a battle-clan now,” Nevin said, opening the bag and passing
around a single bone bead to each of the lycans with him. “We will pay the
sa'nekaryiane for what she's done."

The lycans began to braid the beads into each others’ hair as they sat there.

* * * *

Isranon sat with Willodarus in the east garden, which was called the Garden
Given over to Thought Sealed within Contemplation and Lost within the Idle
Thread of Sleeping Memory, chambers within chambers within chambers, all
sealed by walls of trees and nothing wrought by the hand of man save that one
marble table and delicate silver chairs shaped like birds and flowers in forms
that could never exist save in dreams. It lay within a glade of banyan circled
by baobab and guarded by an impenetrable wall of kapok. There Willodarussat,
looking like one more tree that had grown over the throne chair at the table's
head. His green hair spread like leaves over his shoulders, and over the
chair's back. His twiggy hands gripped the arms lightly. He wore a short
baobab leaf-green robe and his limbs looked carved from mahogany, burnished
and polished with great and loving care, every muscle defined.

Isranon sat on the ground with his legs drawn up beneath him, leaning against
a huge pungo tree, Warrior cradled in the bend of his arm. His sleeveless
loose robe, the color of new leaves, was gathered at his waist by a black sash
and he wore simple sandals. The day was hot and humid, very different from the
climate he was used to. Sweat made the pale scars on his dark arms stand out
all the more. He had begun to gain some strength and weight back, but he was
still far from what he had been before his wounding a year ago.

"Had Waejonan's people not stolen into my ancestor's home by the night and
taken this staff, they would never have been able to seize him."

"Waejonan's people could never have entered his home,” the god responded.

"What do you mean?” Isranon straightened from leaning against the pungo tree.

"Because Dawnhand suspected treachery and warded his home. Only someone he
trusted could have entered and taken it."

"But who then?"

"I do not know. The small creatures I might have asked are long gone now. I
was too caught up in my rage and sorrow at the deaths of Tros and Dynarien to
investigate the loss of Dawnhand. I was barely able to gather the pieces of
Dynarien's shattered soul and bring him back when word of Dawnhand's death
reached me.Waejonan. So much evil was in that one and yet he was my son."

"I wish I knew who stole it."

"It is enough that you have it now."

"I want to know who stole it,” Isranon persisted, his voice tight with an
undercurrent of impassioned need, like a rain-swollen river pressing at a
weakening dam. “All my life, I was taught to hold back because I lived among
monsters. They were the hunters and I was the hunted. Well now, I am the
hunter and they are the hunted. And why did Dynanna wait so long to give it to
me?"

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"Had she given it to you sooner you would not have been able to use it.
Dawnhand was a pan-elementalist, like the Abelards. You had to come into your
powers first.And your wounds?"

"I will live in spite of them. I will deal with them. Eventually they will
kill me. But until they do, I will kill as many of these creatures as I can.
They will no longer stalk the land with impunity. I will have vengeance and
justice. There will be an ending."

Willodarus studied the passion in Isranon's face. “You are choosing to walk a
path that has never been walked before by your kind. No one can say where it
will lead you. Possibly not even Kalirion when the voice of prophecy is upon
him. Are you still determined to go forward with this?"

Without hesitation, Isranon answered, “I am."

* * * *

The day had finally arrived that the woodland divines felt Isranon was strong
enough to try and raise Talons from the dead. All the Willodarian yuwenghau on
the continent of Sealandia, where Imralon lay, had been gathered to aid his
efforts. Yuwenghau with the gift of Jumping had come from the continents of
Merezia and Jedrua to observe and assist, also. They walked two by two in a
long procession led by Mariko and Isranon. Anksha scampered ahead of them,
watching the multi-colored array that seemed to encompass all the races of
Daverana from black-skinned Jedruans to pale complexioned northerners, and all
the sylvan races except the Badree Nym. The only thing they held in common was
divine blood from either a parent or a grand parent.

Isranon walked with his arm through Mariko's. Dynanna came behind him with
someone Isranon did not know. Dynarien had been supposed to walk beside his
sister, but not appeared when they gathered. The scent of roses mingled with
the fragrance of orchids in the garden told Isranon that Dynarien was already
there. A crystal coffin lay in a small glade surrounded on three sides by the
flowering arbors. Dynarien knelt beside it, leaning,his body half-draped
across it. Mariko, leading the procession, went quickly to his side to speak
softly to her son, raising him up.

Isranon, at Dynanna's nod, joined them beside the coffin. He stared into it.
The woman lying there might have been any where from fourteen to twenty-six in
that nebulous long-lived Sharani youthfulness. Isranon suspected the latter,
for she was dressed in black leather with a katana in her folded hands, which
wore fingerless black gloves.

Anksha crouched beside Isranon.

"When they lift the lid, Isranon,” Mariko told him, “you must catch her soul
quickly before it can flee. The Hadjysheens are calling for it to be freed.
Then you must send life into her body and awaken it, healing it.Very fast. We
will lend you our power at need.” Mariko laid her hand on his shoulder.
Dynarien did likewise. Dynanna touched his back.

Isranon sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. He had called out for Josiah to
come and advise him, but the ghost had not answered. Isranon was on his own in
this and he dared not fail. He was a necromancer by birth who had somehow
gained the life gift. Undeath he understood, but life? It was the other side
of the coin. Surely he could do this. He had to do this. Isranon remembered
the girl, Ari, that he had pulled the deathweb out of after she had been cut
with a bane-blade by a sa'necari who had been riting her at the time. A
Taladri had rescued her and Travis had brought Ari to him. He had felt the

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shifting patterns of life and death then just as he had when he healed Travis.
He said a silent prayer to the Nine as he approached the coffin.

"I must become a vessel, a conduit, for mine is the gift, but not the power,”
Isranon said. “I must pull the death out of her and put the life into her. Put
the strongest powers around me in the first circle of rapport and the next
strongest in the next circle from there other circles. The first circle is
shared life. From what you tell me, she died of massive blood loss. I will
need to flash back the lost blood in an instantaneous return without losing
her or harming anyone in the process. I need a large circle of strong donors
to take from all at the same time."

Dynarien, who knew how to cast shared life, looked at him in complete
incredulity. “That can be done?"

Isranon, lost in reflection as he gathered his will and power, nodded to him
absently. “I can do it. I do not know if anyone else can. And this is a
special circumstance. I'm working with divine energies in rapport."

"True,” Dynarien said.

Isranon gestured. “Lift it."

Four warriors raised the lid. As theylaid the lid aside, Willodarus’ stasis
spell dissipated and vanished. Immediately Talon's soul reached for its
freedom. Isranon glimpsed the silvery fluttering thing, connected to the body
by the fraying cord that was her soul. It rose from the coffin like a
butterfly desperate for release from the tangling strings of a spider's web.
Isranon tasted fear and panic. Themon's soul could not grasp its situation,
trapped between life and death. His power shot out and snared it
instinctively. It struggled against him. He held it, speaking her name,
reassuring her that he meant no harm.

Isranon had never held a soul before, although his darker brethren frequently
imprisoned powerful souls on their hellblades. The fragile soul smelled of
misty woodland dawns to Isranon's arcane senses. He formed a warm bubble of
comforting energy the soul around as he shoved his power into her body, the
white, white power of his soul; the same power with which he had saved Travis.

The rainbow hues of power manifested around Isranon, flowering like the kiss
of dawn upon a night drenched world.White, gold, orange, all the colors of
flame, fading through the spectrum of red to rose to pink and finally to gold
and white again. An awestruck hush settled over the gathered divines to see a
mortal cloaked in an aura of divinity and purity.

"Shared life!”Isranon commanded.

Instantly a dozen yuwenghau placed their hands on Talons’ reviving body.
Isranon drew from them. Divine blood flowed into Talons. Her heart awakened
and pumped.

She breathed.

She warmed.

Her eyes opened.

Isranon continued to pour power into her. She was so badly damaged it
saddened Isranon to think of how she must have suffered. He Read Talons as he
worked, wrapping his strength around her. She had been poisoned. He could see

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that now. It was not just the blade wound. He cleansed, healed and mended,
making her stronger than ever before. Then the spells that damagedhis own body
sensed an opening and reared up to strike at him. Agony sliced through him
like a blade. He screamed, collapsing into the coffin across her. Mariko and
Dynarien poured their own power into him and he fought past his own pain to
continue his work on Talons. Finished, he slid away from her, curling on the
ground in his suffering.

Anksha pulled at Isranon, her face tight with worry.

"I'm all right,” he murmured. “I'm all right."

Anksha grasped his shoulders, drawing him onto her lap until his head nestled
against her neck.

"Isranon, you have called yourself Dawnreturning. Now I name you that in
truth,” Mariko said, taking Isranon from Anksha and gathering him into her
arms as Dynarien lifted Talons from the coffin. “You have given my son back
the light in his life."

Isranon looked Mariko with gratitude. Among his lineage, the children were
not given their spirit-name until they came of age. It was given to them by
their fathers. Isranon's own had died before a name could be given to him. Out
of a need for concealment, Isranon had presumptuously and impulsively called
himself Dawnreturning. In his secret heart he had regretted claiming a name
for himself. Now he had been granted it by a god.

CHAPTER EIGHT: ANKSHA'S SECRET

Willodarus regarded Anksha reflectively, standing by the pond, watching the
way she stared at the rainbow carp flashing among the roots of the baobab tree
that had overgrown the edge of the pale, orange-veined marble. Anksha wore
only a loincloth and breastband in the humid heat. Mariko would have liked her
to wear more, but after having fought her into clothing twice only to watch
her shred it and then leap stark naked through the treetops, Mariko and her
ladies had surrendered. Her behavior had reminded him of Dynanna as a child,
although his daughter had not possessed the incredible claws and agility of
Anksha.

"I like the fish. But I don't touch them,” Anksha said with a quick glance at
Willodarus to make certain he heard her. “I don't touch your fishes. I feed
them.” She opened her hand and scattered fish food. The fishcame flashing to
the surface to snatch the pieces as they began to drift into the water.

He tousled her hair. “You are neither good nor evil, like most wild
creatures, little demon-eater."

"I'm Anksha,” she responded, cocking her head up at him.

Willodarus smiled. “Yes, I know."

"I do bad things."

"So do lions if you consider eating whatever they can pull down bad. However,
it is your nature to be like them. Your ancestors were very similar to my
lions, Anksha."

"Nans calls me malei'leonys."

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"And very appropriately so.Isranon tells me that you knew my son, Isranon the
Dawnhand."

Anksha went very still, lowering her eyes from him. “Yes, I knew Dawnhand. I
was a baby."

"He said that also. When you were grown, you avenged my son Dawnhand by
killing my other son, Waejonan.” A note of sorrow entered the god's voice.

Anksha's eyes grew large and she shifted uncomfortably, putting half a
spear's length between them while staring at the water. “Waejonan was your
son?"

"I sired the three brothers, Brandrahoon, Isranon the Dawnhand, and Waejonan
on a woman who, by terrible misfortune, turned out to be my daughter. Incest
is a great taboo, little one. Even the divines are reluctant to enter into it.
But like so many of my kind, I have had so many children that I have not kept
track of them all unless they call out to me or bring themselves to my
attention."

Anksha craned her head to look up at him now, her curiosity stirring.

"It is hard to love a mortalwoman, they fade so quickly, wilting like fragile
blossoms. I stayed with her for many years. Being sylvan, she was long-lived
compared to humans, but nothing at all compared tomyself . She was my
mistress. I gave her a magical house and servants. One day I came to visit
with her and she had killed herself.” Willodarus drew in a shuddering breath.
“She killed herself because someone revealed that I was her father. Until then
neither of us had known. I suspect, now, that it was Galee discovered this and
told her. Galee would never tolerate a rival."

"You're not angry with me?"

"For killing Waejonan?No. If any of my sons have deserved killing, it was
that one."

"Was she pretty? Was she a princess?"

"Yes, she was pretty. She was beautiful. But she was a simple country girl.
She thought I was a foreign prince, which was all I alluded to.” Willodarus
regarded Anksha for a moment and then asked, “Tell me, little one, do you know
who stole Dawnhand's staff?"

Her head jerked suddenly down and she stared fixedly at the fish.

Willodarus settled himself cross-legged beside her. “You do know, don't you?"

He cupped her chin to bring her head up and she twisted away from him,
refusing to meet his eyes.

"Isranon wants to know,” he said.

Anksha sighed as if the weight of the world had suddenly descended upon her
slender shoulders. “It will make him sad."

"Ahhhh.So you do know. Why will it make him sad? Was it someone he loves? Was
it you?"

Anksha looked up, realizing she had said too much already and fled leaping

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into the trees.I mustn't tell him. I mustn't. It would hurt him . She found
herself a sunny spot in the top of a banyan tree and curled up. Anksha had
been around the level of a human five year old at the time that Dawnhand
perished, and she had consciously suppressed most of the images from that
terrible day, yet sometimes they still came back to her. There had been
nothing she could do to stop it.Nothing at all. So why did she feel so guilty?

* * * *

Dynarien walked through the orchid gardens, his arm around Talons’ waist,
pressing his face into her dark hair for the thousandth time that morning,
inhaling the sweet aliveness of her. All the terrible dark shadows that had
hung about his life, about their lives, had been banished at last. She laughed
softly at the way he could not stop touching her, tentative at times as if
expecting to discover she was not real. Sometimes when Talons would stop and
look at him she would see the tears there. Then she would kiss them away.

"I am real, Dynarien. This is real.” She turned into his arms, taking his
lovely face in her hands and kissed him deeply, lingeringly. The intense
Sharani sexual energy of the bi-kyndi surged from her mouth into his being and
he shivered.

"By the Nine and the entirety of Creation,” he murmured, catching his breath
at last. “You are real."

"And there is nothing that can keep us apart any longer. I am no longer the
heir to the Grand Master of Creeya. Grandsire is dead and the Branch Clan sits
the throne. I've no desire to change that. All I want is to be with you,
Edouina and our children."

"That's how it will be, Talons.Forever."

The light of old mischief gleamed in her dark eyes. “Now are you finally
going to take me to meet Isranon or do I kick you?"

The first part of their spiky courtship had comprised his trying to kiss her
and Talons responding by kicking him across a room. He had gotten past her
guard by telling her stories of other times and other places, making her
laugh, and being there when she needed him. Politics had forced her into a
marriage with someone who treated her shamefully. But all that was behind them
now and they were together at last thanks to Isranon.

Dynarien pulled her tight against him, one hand cupping her left buttock
while his other ran fingers through her hair and he kissed her again. She
pressed eagerly into his body, her hands traveling his thighs. When they came
up for breath, Dynarien looked stunned by happiness and gilt with lust.“My
na'halaef” my wife in Sharani.“My love.My Talons."

"My ba'halaef.My love.My Dynarien.”Then she pulled away from him and lifted
one leg as if to kick him.

Dynarien laughed, caught her hand and they ran down the path to the arbor
where Isranon waited for them. The mage sat in the shade of a baobab tree with
his staff across his lap and Anksha curled up at his side, her head against
his leg while her eyes traced the patterns of sunlight on the leaves. Nevin
sat beside him, three lycans around him. Travis flanked Isranon's other
side.All this lent Isranon's gathering an air of someone holding court, with a
silver-haired woman watching him shyly from nearby. Her hair startled Dynarien
when he saw how young her face wasnot more than seventeenand then he realized
that it must reflect the color of her coat in wolf form.

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There was something different about Nevin, Dynarien thought, and then he
noticed the single braid in the scarred lycan's hair with demon's teeth woven
through it and the carved bone charms of a battle-clan chieftain. The lycans
of Nans’ freerangers had made some changes since coming to Imralon.

"Isranon, I want you to meet Talons Trollbane, my mate."

Isranon started to rise, but Talons dropped to her knees instead and extended
her hands. “They tell me that you should still be resting,” she said.

"They will not allow otherwise,” Isranon replied. He smiled and, as he did
so, realized just how often he did so these days. Some times it seemed as if
he were no longer the sameperson who had been with Mephistis at Dragonshead
three years ago, fleeing the wrath of the Sacred King.

"We are leaving soon,” Dynarien said. “Before we go, I wish to mark you,
Isranon. Not a true godmark. But a link, so that you can call out to me should
you find yourself in desperate danger. If I Hear and can answer, I will."

"So be it.” Having already been marked by Dynanna, Isranon knew what was
required and opened his loose tunic and shirt, slipping out of it.

Talons tried not to stare at the maze of scars on his body: one who was
sa'necari-born should never have been so badly marked by fang, claw, and
blade.

Dynarien touched his palm to the right side of Isranon's chest. The mage bore
the brief pain without the smallest wince. When the yuwenghau took his hand
away, a rose had been burned into the mage's dark skin. Dynarien grasped
Talons's hand, raised her up and they vanished.

Anksha picked up Isranon's shirt and tunic, playfully trying to pull them
over his head. He fended her off. “Wait. I have something to say. Travis,
because the lycans have adopted you, you need to know something. I have a
son."

"Yes, tell him about the baby and the princess. The whole story as you told
me.” Anksha grinned.“Isranon, son of Isranon, son of Isranon."

Isranon felt his face grow hot. “Merissa did not name him Isranon."

"A princess?”Travis raised an eyebrow.

"Merissa is a lycan clan princess,” Isranon explained. “I told Anksha a
slightly different account of it the first time to entertain her. She liked
it."

"Yup,” Anksha agreed cheekily. “But it wasn't a prince rescued her, it was
you."

Olin, who had been present for the first recitation and was nowback on his
feet, shook his head in bemusement.

Travis laughed.

Then Nevin chuckled. “Embroidered a bit? That's what got him adopted,” Nevin
told him. “But he had always belonged."

"Is that how you got so cut up?” Travis asked Isranon.

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"No. I was just a bit battered."

"A bit battered? A bit battered, he says!” Nevin guffawed. “Troyeshalf-killed
him. Isranon knew he would too.” Nevin's eyes changed to steel and flint
striking fire. “He never hesitated. Bloody pup! He went after them alone,
Travis. There was no one to go with him. We were all out with the herds. He
was a man of blades, even as you are, before he found his power.And a fine
one."

"So what are you going to do about your princess and your son?” Travis asked
Isranon.

"If Nans can find a safe place for them in Gormond's Reach, I would like to
send for them."

Nevin smiled. This was good on two counts. For one, it gave Isranon something
beyond himself to cling to life for; and for a second it gave Nevin hope that
Isranon's relationship with Timon could finally be severed with no possibility
for restoration. Nevin held no personal dislike of Timon and even admired the
vampire. During the time they had believed him slain, Nevin had grieved with
the rest of them. However, he had reflected upon the situation for the entire
time they had been in Imralon. One thing had come more and more to mind as the
darkness continued to stalk his beloved Isranon: there was a curse of blood on
the lineages of the three brothers. No matter how good and noble Timon might
be, he was still his father's son; while Isranon was of the lineage of the
only pure and noble brother of the three, who had accepted the evil forced
upon them to spare their families. He felt certain that once reunited with
Merissa, once Isranon met his son, the mage would put all thoughts of Timon
behind him.

* * * *

"Anksha knows who stole the staff,” Willodarus told Isranon. He had called
him again to theGardenofThought . They sat as they had before, the god in his
great seat and Isranon leaning against the pungo tree. “She says that she will
not say the name because it would make you sad. She speaks it is as if your
heart would break to know it."

Isranon looked stricken. He could think of only one person he held so dear,
so close to his heart that it would break to think that the man had betrayed
his own blood. He could not live without his honor, yet neither could he live
without Timon. And yet, if Timon were responsible for the horrors that had
been visited upon his ancestor and his descendantsall that pain and suffering?
He had to know. Isranon rose.

"I must go and ask her."

Isranon found Anksha by the pond watching the carp. He squatted beside her.

"Timon stole Warrior?"

Anksha shrank back from him, seeing the pain and horror on his face, the
grief. “I did. I stole the staff."

"You're lying.” Insight flashed along the psychic bond they shared, which had
grown stronger over time.

Anksha felt this connection and a wave of desperate panic surged through her
to disrupt it. She lashed out, for the first time in months invoking the

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dominance link. She slammed him hard, savagely. “I stole the staff!” she
screamed. “You will believe me. Timon did not do it."

Isranon doubled over, clutching at his head and stomach; the hand that held
Warrior was pressed across him and he would not release it. “You are lying,”
he gritted out, fighting the link harder than anyone had ever fought before.
“You are lying."

"I stole it! I stole it! I stole it!” Anksha gibbered and sobbed, tears
running down her face, yet she hit him again through the link. She had never
had to hit anyone full out like this twice. She pounced on him, dragging his
head around as he collapsed on his side. Isranon had never fought her before:
his resistance upset her. Hurting him distressed her further.

Blood ran from the corners of his mouth as their eyes met again. Yet he
rasped out, “Liar."

Anksha released her hold on his head, knowing herself beaten. She could no
longer break him to her will.

"Did Timon steal the staff?” he asked again, more quietly.

"No,” Anksha dragged away from him and sat with her back to him, hugging her
knees.

"Hoon?"

"Yes."

Isranon touched her, drew her to him. She came limply, unresisting. He knew
she could have shredded his mind through the dominance link and had chosen not
to. She could have torn his body, forced him to let her drain his body into
death. “I love you. You held back."

"If you kill Hoon, Timon will hate you."

"So that's it.” Isranon brought her to his shoulder. Anksha wrapped her legs
around his waist and he stood up with her, carrying her toward their rooms,
leaning heavily on Warrior. “You have given me a terrible headache. You must
feed to relieve it,” he whispered very softly into her ear as they left. He
had noticed the eyes among the leaves and branches, the trees and bushes their
shouting and the huge use of magical energies had attracted watchers from
among the sensitive inhabitants of Imralon.

Several faces peered into the glade, watching them depart.

"What was that all about?” Nans asked, arriving late with Nevin and Travis.

"Anksha has told him who stole the staff,” Willodarus replied. “Now that he
has forced the knowledge from her, I would say that he is strong enough for
you to return home tomorrow."

* * * *

Isranon sat awake, alone in the darkness, hollow and empty, no tears left to
cry. “Forgive me, Timon, but I have no choice. For my honor's sake, I must
destroy him. Dawnhand perished and my family has suffered for generations for
his betrayal. Waejonan would never have been able to force these terrors on us
had your father not stolen the staff.” Isranon stared into the night, his eyes
unfocused. Nevin curled around him, and then changed.

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"Honor is a harsh mistress,” Nevin said.

"Have you been there long?"

"No."

"Do you think Timon will take the field against me? Whether he does or not, I
still intend to kill his father. My sister died because of the curse Waejonan
visited upon my family. A curse that could never have been laid had Hoon not
walked into my ancestor's homehis brother's househis brother who trusted and
loved him and stolen the staff.The curse of being born sa'necari. I am a
monster because of Hoon as much as because of Waejonan."

"You are not a monster, Isranon,” Nevin said patiently.

Isranon's shoulders squared and his expression chilled. “That is a matter of
definition."

"I doubt he will take the field against you. He knows his father's evil. But
he loves his father. It will end your relationship. I think he will be content
to take his people to a place of safety and keep them there. You will break
his heart."

"I have broken mine. And I have already broken Anksha's. She cried herself to
sleep. She has loved Timon far longer than she has me. He is like an older
brother to her. In forcing her to tell me, I also forced her to choose between
us. She hurt me, but she did not kill me she did not rip my mind to make me
comply. No matter how powerful I become, she will always be my master. That is
the nature of her power. She could have demanded I kill myself as she did
Bodramet and I would have done so."

"She hurt you through the link?"

"Wehurt each other."

"Hoon is a terrible and resourceful enemy, Isranon,” said Nevin. “He nearly
killed you the last time you fought."

Isranon gave a small nod at those words. “I had not found my power then. I
have now. And even if I didn't and hadn't, I would still go after him. He is
responsible for all the harm that has been done to my family and all of my
ancestors."

"Then we are together in this.” Nevin clasped Isranon's shoulder.

* * * *

"Father, we need to talk.” Nans had found him sleeping under the banyan tree
with his hands deep sunk into the soil.

"About what?”He drew his hands forth, the fingers slowly separating.

"Galee is the sa'nekaryiane."

"Galee my fallen angel.Dynarien killed her. How can she be the
sa'nekaryiane?"

"Whenever she is slain, her soul returns to her God Box and waits to be
released again through a series of rites. Brandrahoon released her. She is

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also the Glistening One, the Mother of Damnation."

"So the only way to destroy her is to capture the God Box as well as to slay
her again.” Willodarus fell silent. “One of your cousins, a tree-gifted named
Queig translated a captured journal of Galee's, which said she was the
Glistening One, but I did not credit it completely. I should have. I have made
mistakes, daughter. The first one was letting her into my bed in the centuries
after the godwar, but we were tired, all of the Nine were tired. Bellocar and
his wives and get were powerful antagonists. So I did not look beyond her
beauty."

"It isn't your fault, father."

"Ahh, Nans.” He patted her hand for a moment and then hugged her. “You are a
good daughter. It was through her journal we found the antidote to her venom
and saved Dynarien after she envenomed him. I am only now beginning to fully
understand her nature."

"Let me tell you what Brandrahoon said.” Nans told him everything and then
added, “Brandrahoon stole the staff."

"I know. I was there when the little demon-eater let that out. I would like
to see that son of mine destroyed."

"Then I will do it."

* * * *

While the others were assembling in the garden to leave Imralon, Isranon
walked to the koi pond with Willodarus for a few last, private words with the
Elder God. He stared for several minutes at the flashing fish, gathering up
his courage to make his request. Only the fact that he had no time left to ask
it face-to-face forced him to take this chance and risk rejection.

"Would you accept me as your liegemon, Willodarus?” asked Isranon.“To be
godmarked to serve and worship you for all of my existence?"

Willodarus regarded him so long before answering that Isranon began to quail.
“Why?"

Isranon lowered his eyes from the god's face. “Because it would mean that I
had stepped fully into the Light."

Willodarus shook his head. “We would be a poor match, Isranon."

Isranon squared his shoulders, trying to find some shreds of pride in the
face of rejection. “Is it because I am sa'necari?"

A gentle, compassion came into the god's eyes. “No. My daughter would be
unhappy with me for stealing you away."

"And that is your only reason?"

"No. You have the green gift, but you are not truly of the woodlands and wild
creatures. You are meant for another."

"Who?"

"I do not know. But I am certain that one of the other eight will see into
your soul, as I have and find you pure. You will be chosen."

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Isranon exhaled slowly. “I pray that you are right."

"Did the little one share her secret with you?"

"Yes."

"Then pursue the destiny the secret has given you and you will be chosen."

CHAPTER NINE: LUCK

Luck Settlesby went looking for Amiri. He wanted the Ymraude shaman to check
out some odd spoor his scouts had stumbled on. Amiri had gone into the woods
to hunt for herbs with her nibari, Randilyn. A soft moan drew him into a
thicket of elm, and he stopped dead still. Randilyn had her bodice off,
revealing a pair of the nicest tits he had ever seen. Amiri was wrapped around
her back, fondling them while her fangs were sunk deep into the white skin.
Randilyn had her neck turned in an attitude that he had seen all the nibari
take at least once while kneeling before their owners, whether they were
Ymraude or Lemyari: neck arched and head tilted. The moaning came from
Randilyn who looked close to ecstasy. Amiri made soft sucking noises. Their
baskets of herbs lay half full beside them.

"Ahhmn,” Luck cleared his throat meaningfully.

Randilyn snatched her bodice up without moving her head and neck. Amiri
looked, saw him, and disengaged her fangs carefully, giving the wound a lick
to seal it so it would not scar. They both looked a trifle embarrassed. The
Ymraudes did not scar their nibari. Most of the Lemyari scarred theirs either
because they did not care or they had never gained the skill of avoiding it.
Haig was Lemyari and he never scarred his. That the nibari were slaves did not
bother the rangers since slavery was a given in most kingdoms and there was
nothing to be done about it.

Of all the Rowdies, Luck took the most accepting and phlegmatic approach to
the vampires who had become members of his company: so long as they weren't
killing people out of appetite or biting someone who didn't want to be bitten,
it was fine with him. The only one of his men who had given it a try, to his
knowledge, had been old Iuf the very last one Luck expected. Iuf had talked
Corbienne, one of the five Lemyari, into the sack with him and later described
it as a very interesting experiencebut he never did it again to Luck's
knowledge. At least the vampires were discreet about these matters, doing it
in their tents, their wagons, and in the woods.

"What is it?” Amiri asked, daintily wiping the blood from her lips with a
handkerchief.

Randilyn sat furiously lacing her bodice and glancing at both of them. She
was an odd one in Luck's estimation. Randilyn had a scream reflex if a large
insect or a mouse ran across her hand, but she did not mind having her
master's fangs in her neck. Luck wondered how the nibari ever got used to
that. But then, as he had heard it, the vampires started them young, around
twelve or thirteen.

"Scouts have found some odd spoor. Zulaika wants you to have a look at it."

"Give me a moment,” Amiri replied, pushing Randilyn away from her and then
Luck saw that Amiri's tunic was hanging open, suggesting that she had been

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rubbing her bare breasts along Randilyn's back.

He turned around and folded his arms to wait for Amiri to makeherself decent.

* * * *

Luck waited outside Amiri's wagon while she went inside for a few things and
emerged with two bandoleers crossing her body. Then they headed off on
horseback with Zulaika to investigate what had been found. Zulaika led them
deep into a small elm hollow along a nearby freshet. Zulaika signaled for them
to dismount and led them forward in a crouch to a stand of pussy willows
drooping over the chattering water amidst the cattails.

When Zulaika reached the water's edge, she raised a hand to indicate they
should stop. She pointed at several places on the ground, closed her fist, and
brought it down. Luck and Amiri came forward, each of them examining another
bit of muddy ground on the shallow watercourse's edge.

Luck found himself staring at group of strange three-toed prints that he had
never seen before. He wondered what had made them. Boot-prints in the
surrounding mud indicated the beasts had not been alone. Judging from the
depths of the animal prints and the direction in which the boot prints had
come and gone, Luck could be certain that several people had dismounted from
them, ranged along the watercourse looking for something and then remounted
before riding on.

Amiri knelt, testing the soil around the prints with her arcane senses and
measuring them against the spread of her fingers.

"Well, Amiri?” Zulaika demanded.

Amiri nodded. “Lacunya with riders, come up from the south no doubt."

"What the hell's that?” Luck asked.

"Only found in Jedrua and along the southern coastline,” Zulaika replied.

"Never been there,” Luck said, getting one of his troubling hunches that this
was a bad thing.

Amiri led them the way the beasts had gone and discovered the strangers had
circled the Rowdies’ camp. They continued to track and found tents standing
downwind of the rangers to prevent their lycans scenting them. Luck counted a
dozen myn andfour sa'necari in black robes . By Luck's estimate, they were not
enough to take the company head onnot with the ten Ymraudes and the four
remaining Lemyari to off set any advantage the sa'necari might offer. Yet
their numbers were sufficient to have caused serious damage to the company had
they been able to take them unawares and breach their perimeters in search of
their quarry.

Luck felt certain that they had come after Isranon. Bounty hunters who had
been chasing Isranon last winter had murdered his close friend, Woodfine.
Luck's half-brother, Itch Hollens, had been slain by a vampire a few months
before that in the fall of Minnoras to the sa'nekaryiane. Last year had been a
year of deaths. Luck knew there would be many more, but he didn't have to like
it.

"They're stalking our camp,” Zulaika whispered. “I don't like it."

Luck nodded. The fight with the susgrag had kept the company on high alert

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for days afterward, which had led to their scouting sweeps finding their
spoor. “Me neither."

Luck had never seen anything like the lacunya the sa'necari rode, strange
three toed beasts with long necks and roached manes. Two sa'necari were
tethering their beasts nearby and Luck could hear them speaking to each other.

"Two deaths,” the taller sa'necari said to his smaller fellow. “The
sa'nekaryiane wants two deaths. She was vastly displeased to learn the two
renunciates lived."

"Damn bounty hunters, they're thicker'n thieves,” Luck whispered, watching
the pair through a parting in the bushes he crouched in. Amiri squatted beside
him with Zulaika.

"Yes. The battle-mage, although how such a one can exist is beyond
understanding. And the other, Mephistis’ catamite, Isranon,” said the other
sa'necari.

Luck signed to Zulaika, :they don't know they're the same?:

Zulaika nodded with a thin smile. :Exactly. :

:Isranon's ploy of taking another name serves well . : Amiri signed back.
:Isranon is their principal target . :

:I'm going back for reinforcements. : Luck signed.

Amiri shook her head. :We can take them. :

Zulaika raised an eyebrow. The Ymraudes had handled the five that nearly
killed Isranon easily, but there had been more of them to join in that fight.
Sa'necari had spells to rip their undead souls from their bodies if they were
skilled enough to use them and had time to bring them into play.

Amiri smiled and brought a handful of glass globes of Dynannan beast
repellent from her pouch. :No fair fight. :she signed.

Zulaika grinned and gestured for Amiri to proceed.: Unlimber your bow, Luck
and pick your targets well. :

Luck took his bow from his back, strung it, and set his arrows into the
ground where they could be grabbed up fast. Then he indicated his readiness
with a nod.

Amiri straightened. She threw the first handful of globes in amongst the
retainers, snatched another handful, and hit the riding beasts, lobbying a
third in amongst the sa'necari. As the globes struck the ground, they
shattered. Fire, a heavy stench, and clouds of green and gray vapors vomited
forth from the globes.Myn shrieked, mounts panicked.

The two sa'necari nearest them,spun around to see who attacked them. Spells
glittered in their fingers. Luck shot rapidly, feathering their bodies with
shafts. They staggered and the spells died uncast upon their fingers. One
plunged further into their camp, yanking the arrows from his flesh like mere
splinters. Luck grimaced. That one was old in death. The ranger hoped Zulaika
and Amiri knew what they were doing.

Zulaika grabbed up her spears and charged into them as Amiri threw another
handful of beast repellant globes.

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The enemy was thrown into chaos by the unconventional assault. The only thing
that might have hit harder would have been Iradrim fire and the stuff was hard
to get. Their tents and clothing caught fire. The green vapors oozed through
their armor and clung to their skin, burning and itching to the point of
agony. The myn threwthemselves onto the ground rolling. The gray vapors made
the air nearly unbreathable, which did not bother the two vampires at all.

Luck picked off those who were not immediately taken out by the initial
assault, choosing his targets phlegmatically and shooting steadily. He put
nine more cloth-yard shafts into two sa'necariwho , showing no signs of
collapsing, treated their wounds like trivial injuries and turned to face the
two vampires. “Old in death,” he muttered, again.“Hard to kill."

Zulaika and Amiri would have to account for those, so he focused on the
myn-at-arms instead. Most were down from the fumes, acid clouds, and fires;
Luck feathered all who were still standing. When he exhausted his arrows, he
drew his sword and pulled his neckerchief over his nose as he ran into the
fray.

"Phewwww-ieee!”Luck yelled, getting a whiff of the gaseous cloud Amiri
hadraised .

Amiri seized one of the sa'necari that Luck had shot, spun him around, and
looped his wrists with spellcord, snapping on Ishlanan seals so they could not
be removed. He screamed wordlessly at her and she backhanded him with stunning
force before dropping him.

Luck yelled a warning and she turned to see a sa'necari coming at her back
with his hellblade out and a spell on his lips. The necromancer's robes were
singed by her initial attack and his hair fried around the edges, his eyes
were wide with the insane desire for blood that marked his kind. Amiri sprang
over his head and kicked him in the back. He went to his knees and she kicked
him again. He landed face down in the dirt and she secured his wrists with
spellcords and seals.

Zulaika growled at the sa'necari facing her. Nine of Luck's shafts still
protruded from his body yet had failed to slow him down. The patterns of a
spell formed like a black net of glowing energy in his hands. She thrust one
spear into his heart, causing him to lose the spell and the second into his
gut. Then she slammed him into a tree and pinned him there with the spears.

"Old-in-death, you can still die,” she growled.

Zulaika turned back to see how the rest of their battle had fallen out. Luck
was already securing the survivors. Amiri bent over one of those dying from
Luck's arrows and her fangs were down. “Luck, you should go back and fetch
some to get the prisoners to camp."

"I'd like to stay and help. I think the three of us could manage,” he said.

"No,” said Zulaika overruling him.“You don't want to see what we do to the
dying."

"Like the coup?"

"We do not give our dying enemies the stroke of grace,” Amiri said flatly.
“We eat them."

Luck swallowed and nodded. “You'reright, I'll fetch some help now.” Then he

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turned and left.

Amiri kneltbeside a dying mon, his body pierced by Luck's shafts. “You will
carry the memory of me into hell with you,” she told him.

He screamed as she tore the barbed arrows from his body to make his flesh
easier to reach. Amiri sank her fangs into his neck and clawed his arms. When
he went silent and stilled beneath her, Amiri went in search of another. One
by one, she and Zulaika proceeded to drink those too badly wounded to survive,
into death. Luck returned with several more Ymraudes and the Lemyaris Jun and
Corbienne, as they finished.

"I thought there were four sa'necari,” Luck said, counting heads and bodies
and thinking, as he saw the grey corpses, that Zulaika was right about his not
watching.

Zulaika frowned. “You're right. There were. Where is the other one?"

They searched through the captives, bodies, and debris, failing to find him.

Zulaika spun on her heel. “Jun, Corbienne, try to pick up his trail.If you
find him. Kill him."

* * * *

Rage smoldered in the Rowdies’ camp. As a search and rescue unit, they had
dealt with forest fires, rescued children from haunted ruins, all without
worrying unduly about who it was needed rescuing. They had once even pulled a
dog from a tree. Yet, after months of being stalked and attacked by sa'necari
bounty hunters and their lackeys, seeing their own cut down mercilessly by
stealth, spell, and blade, the Rowdies had begun to be soldiers. Their
loyalties had polarized: them and us. Before now they had simply cut their
enemies down in the heat of battle. For the first time they now held captives,
someone to focus that anger and resentment upon.

They dragged the captives back to their camp and Zulaika ordered poles and
frames erected. The captives, three humans andtwo spell-corded sa'necari, were
stripped naked and bound to the frames, their wrists and ankles lashed into a
wide spread-eagle, their genitals hanging exposed between their thighs.

"We only need to break one of them, Luck,” Zulaika told him. “Put up a blind
between each of them so they can hear the others scream, but not see what
we're doing to them."

Several of the Rowdies hooted at the image of that. The captives flinched
from the implications of their noises.

"Will do,” Luck said.

He told off six myn to cut and trim branches that were laced tightly together
and then placed between each of the captives. Once in place, the blinds
isolated each captive from his companions. The captives’ imaginations would
intensify the impact of the torture, wondering when it would be their turns,
and what would be done to them.

One of Nainee's large kettles had been drafted to hold hot coals and a fire
to keep them hot. Blades from their defeated foes were shoved into the coals
to serve as heated irons. The camp did not own tools of torture and had to
make do with what they could substitute. None of the Rowdies or the vampires
had been trained in it; but imagination and anger made up for that deficiency.

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The nibari children hooted and hollered insults at the captives, just as
normal city children would have at their demonized enemies. The sa'necari had
come to kill, rape, and carry off as they always did. The children had heard
all of those stories from the time they could talk: ‘stay close to your
masters, lest another band carry you off to worst things’ ran the old nibari
proverb.

The normally compassionate rangers, who had seen too many friends murdered,
watched the proceedings with grim fascination and an edge of satisfaction at
seeing these fiends getting the sharp end of their own sword.

Sitting on the ground, near a wagon, Nainee flicked her long, yellow hair
back, and settled her infant on the ground by her feet to crawl about. She
watched dispassionately as Zulaika began to torture one of the captured
sa'necari and ask him questions. Torture was a fact of life in all kingdoms,
especially Waejontor, but normally it was done with more discretion and not in
full view like this.

Luck leaned on a wagon with his arms folded, thinking about his half-brother
Itch Hollens, dead from wounds taken during the fall of Minnoras as those
Rowdies who had gone into the city with Nans tried to flee. Ten had ridden
into Minnoras and only five had returned. He remembered looking at the corpse
of his friend Woodfine, stabbed and drained as he stood his watch along the
road to Ildyrsetts. Luck's face reflected a grim acceptance that torture had a
place in his world now. The ones who had killed Woodfine were dead; he would
probably never know who had killed his brother, but these evil myn had
intended to do the same things to more of his companions and it gave him a
small satisfaction to see these getting some of their own back.

His friend, Iuf, a grizzledmon of late middle years, stood near Luck with his
Lemyari lover, Corbienne. Luck glanced at Iuf, wondering if the two of them
were still sleeping together, since Iuf had only admitted to it once. If they
were, then Corbienne was probably drinking from Iuf. Luck wondered how Iuf
could stand that well each to his own.

Zulaika chose to start by working on the strongest one, the most powerful of
the two surviving sa'necari. She wore gloves as she pulled the hot iron from
the fire and shoved it into the sa'necari's armpit. He shrieked.

"What were you after?” she demanded.

"Nothing!"

"You were tracking us,” Zulaika said flatly.

"No, we were just traveling. You attacked us."

She nodded to Jun and the Lemyari came forward with the whip in his hands, it
was a cat'o'nine tails with barbs on each of the ends. Jun began to beat the
sa'necariwho jerked and screamed himself hoarse.

When the sa'necari sagged in his bonds, Zulaika indicated that Jun could
stop. She dragged the captive's head around. “Why were you tracking us?"

"We weren't. I swear we weren't."

Zulaika drew her blade and grabbed one of the sa'necari's fingers. With a
deft turn and a snap, she removed his smallest finger. One by one, while he
shrieked, she severed the rest and dropped them in Jun's hands. “Shove these

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into one of the humans’ orifices, take your pick."

Jun grinned and walked down the line to the lastmon . He showed them to
themon , who began to writhe, his eyes bulging. Jun shoved the first one up
themon's ass and put the second in his mouth. “Spit it out and I'll kill you
now.” Jun unsheathed his claws and let themon see the venom dripping from the
tips. “Like this."

Themon closed his eyes and shuddered, but he did not spit the finger out.

Jun went to the next one and repeated his actions. When he reached the third,
he had only the thumb left, so he spread that one's butt cheeks and stuffed it
into him. Jun returned to Zulaika.

Keahi, a slender Lemyari, knelt at the sa'necari's feet with several lengths
of bloody skin beside him. One of the sa'necari's legs had been skinned to the
knee and Keahi had begun work on the other leg. The crimson flesh showed the
folded muscles laidbare to the air and the bones of his ankles.

"Steeped-in-death,” Zulaika said. “It will take you a long time to die. Keahi
will continue until the flesh of your legs is gone and only the bones remain."

"Mercy.Please. The Light would not do this."

"We do what you force us to,” Zulaika said.

"The holy god-queen will get all of you for this!"

"She's not holy,” Iuf growled,snatching another iron from the fire before
anyone could stop him and shoving it into the sa'necari's groin. The
necromancer screamed.

Luck stepped forward and took the iron from Iuf. “If anyone's got a right to
do that, it's me. She killed my brother. But I'm going to leave this to
Zulaika and you are too."

Iuf's shoulders slumped. “An’ I know it, Luck. But ya didn't watch him die. I
did. It was ugly."

Luck returned the iron to the fire and hugged Iuf before leading him aside to
talk to him.

"I could give one of these human swine the same death your brother got,”
Corbienne suggested. She flicked back a strand of chestnut hair and then
extended her hand, allowing her secondary nails to emerge like claws from
beneath the primaries. Venom beaded green on the tips.“Iuf?Luck?"

Luck glanced at Zulaika who nodded. “Make it slow and make it bad,” Lucksaid,
his eyes hard.

Corbienne went to the middle human and ran her claws meditatively along his
body, leaving streaks of venom on his flesh. He wept as his skin
blistered.“Mercy, please.Mercy.A clean death."

"Your people did not give Woodfine and our sentries a clean death last
winter,” Corbienne snarled. She ran a finger along the inside of his arm,
gauging the location of the femoral artery. The Lemyari thrust a long nail
into the artery. The human screamed.

Luck watched the flesh around the wound necrotize rapidly, turning green and

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then black with a spider's web of red lines revealing all the smaller veins as
the venom rushed through them. He moved closer.So this was how his brother had
died.

Corbienne returned to regarding the captive, stroking him with her secondary
nails. The human thrashed and moaned. Corbienne saw Luck's grim smile of
satisfaction. “Shall I stick him again?"

Luck nodded, folding his arms across his chest. Iuf's expression had turned
ugly and eager. “Vengeance,” murmured Iuf.

Corbienne fondled themon's balls before ripping them open and shoving her
venom into his cock. Within minutes he was reduced to mindless agony, a
writhing, suffering creature, screaming his lungs out.

Meanwhile, Keahi finished with the sa'necari's other leg and began on his
thighs with the skinning knife.

Zulaika continued with her interrogation of the sa'necari she had already
started upon. “Why were you stalking us?” She cupped his balls and cock,
sinking her nails into them as she spoke.

"Oh, gods.In the name of Hell, mercy.The bounty the bounty on the catamite
and the battle-mage,” he babbled.

"Who put the bounty on them?"

"The god-queen, Holy Gylorean Galee of Minnoras."

"Why does she want Isranon dead?” Zulaika demanded.

"The price of heresy is death!"

"Filthy sa'necari!” a nibari child hissed, scooping up a rock, and throwing
it hard, striking the sa'necari in the chest.“Threatening our mage!"

"Not good enough,” Zulaika growled and nodded at Jun, a large Lemyari of the
Borealysyn persuasion. “Why kill Isranon?"

"He's the last."

"Last of what?"

"Last of Dawnhand's descendants.Dawnhand cursed her with his dying breath
said one of his lineage would destroy her."

"And Dawnreturning?"

"He's dangerous.A renunciate battle-mage. She's afraid one of the Nine will
choose him."

"Who do you report to?"

The sa'necari gave a bitter laugh. “I don't know. Zorozdin was our leader. He
knew, but we didn't. You didn't catch him."

Zulaika struck him in the face hard, breaking his nose. “Corbienne, Jun,
Garin,” she told off the Lemyari in their ranks.“A taste of your venom for all
of them."

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The captives filled the air with their shrieks of fear and pleadings for
mercy, which went ignored.

The Lemyari came forward. At Zulaika's nod, they chose their victims.

Corbienne stuck the other two humans, two fingers each, and kept the nails
inside them until the entirety of her venom had pumped into their bodies. She
found a spot on the ground and sat down to watch them die, the sounds of their
death throes following her. Iuf joined Corbienne and she slipped an arm around
his shoulders. “Are they dying well enough to suit you, my friend?"

"Yes,” Iuf said.

Jun took the sa'necariwho was of the steeped-in-death variety, sliced his
chest open, and broke his breastbone.

Luck, seeing what Jun was at, came to watch. He had put nine arrows into this
sa'necari without so much as slowing him down.So what was Jun doing? Getting
ready to tear his heart out?

Jun regarded the beating organ, flexed his claws, and brought out his
secondary nails. One by one, he shoved five nails into the sa'necari's heart
and held them there. The organ turned black. Luck shuddered. The sa'necari
gave a last convulsive jerk and went still. Jun finished by pulling the heart
out and tossing it into the fire. The flames sizzled and consumed it. Jun went
to Nainee and squatted beside her. “I gave him a quicker death than Haig gave
those who nearly butchered Isranon."

"Not that any of them deserve an easy death. Filthy soul-eaters,” Nainee
said.

Garin, a slender blond, gripped his sa'necari by the arms and injected all
ten fingers worth of venom into him. Then he turned away and walked off with
an expression that suggested he did not enjoy executing people.

* * * *

Liuthan sat in his heavy, padded chair, his broad hands gripping the clawed
arms of it as the sa'necari was led in to see him. Two banks of candles, one
on the fireplace mantle and the other on the table beside Liuthan's desk, cast
a wavering light in the study; their flames flickering in a breeze from the
open windows. Liuthan laced his fingers together and leaned forward to see
themon better, his elbows propped on his huge ornate desk.

The newcomer was ragged and worn, more so than any sa'necari Liuthan had ever
seen. Mud and dust coated him. His face was drawn in lines of suffering.
Liuthan wondered how themon had been feeding to have ended up like this and
what could have done this to him.

"Lord Captain Liuthan,” the sa'necari said, dropping to his knees. “Forgive
me. The others are dead."

At this news, Liuthan unlaced his fingers and gripped the arms of his chair,
his hand tightening on the claw-shaped wood.“How?” Liuthan demanded.

"Rangers and Ymraudes.They tortured my companions for information. But only I
had any knowledge of you, so they got nothing useful."

Liuthan's eyes narrowed dangerously and, as they did so, lost all semblance
of humanity, changing to sa'necari amaranth without whites, iris, or pupil. He

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wondered how much longer he would need to keep up his pretense of humanity and
spell-cloud his eyes from the rest of the Five Captains of Ocealay.

The door opened abruptly. A boy ran in and stopped, glancing at the ragged
sa'necari. “Father, I just learned how to oh, are you busy, father?"

"Not at all.”He gestured at two servants. “Take thismon to a room, draw him a
bath and find him some tasty nibari.And a rite? Would you like a rite to
refresh you?"

"Yes,” the sa'necari said. “Yes, that would be generous of you."

"Fine, we will finish this discussion after dinner.” Liuthan gestured to his
servants. “See that he has two nibari for his pleasures and that red-haired
depnane, the screamer, for his rite."

The sa'necari was led out and Liuthan took his twelve-year old son on his
lap. “Well, Stygean?"

Stygean glowed. “I have the entire formal rite memorized. I'm ready when the
time comes."

Liuthan ruffled Stygean's dark hair. “I am proud of you. And it should not be
long. You'll be thirteen in a couple of months."

The glow went out of Stygean's eyes. He was a late bloomer, and sometimes it
worried both of them. He should have got his fangs two years ago. But both of
his parents had been born sa'necari, so there was no question that he had been
born sa'necari also. Furthermore the Readers said he was.

Liuthan saw the change in his expression and ruffled his hair again. “Have
you chosen a nibari for your first rite?"

"Yes, father. I want Farris. They say she's a screamer."

Liuthan laughed. “Remember, they always scream best when they're fresh. And,
Stygean, don't worry so much about being a late bloomer. There are ways to
trigger it. Stress does, and there are arcane ways also. If it hasn't happened
by the time you turn thirteen I will make it happen for you."

"Thank you, father."

"Now, off with you. I havework to do.” As soon as Liuthan was alone, he added
aloud to himself, “I have a free ranger company to trap and a mage to kill."

CHAPTER TEN: AMALTHEA

Hinkty Molly's Place, like most of the taverns in Rowanhart, was a two-story
chinked log structure that had gone up fast and was slowly being partitioned
and paneled on the inside. It was the most popular tavern in Rowanhart,
especially with the mages and students at theAzure Circle 's new school, which
had been built on top of the South Talon, the cliffs lining the southwestern
curve ofSophrenBay .

Edouina Briarcliff, Molly's silent partner took a damp cloth and began wiping
tables. All that most folks knew about her was that she was married to a
battle mage associated with the school. Edouina was tall and storkishly
slender with a narrow face and an overbite: unmistakably a Hornbow relation.

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Being of Sharani blood, her skin was a rich red-bronze and her long silken
hair was black. She had high, ample breasts that she kept bound tightly so
they would not get in her way. A pair of swords in Shaurone's Aluin borderer
style, which took substantial upper body strength to use, criss-crossedher
back the hilts jutting above her shoulders.

She looked up as a tall, slender young woman entered, her face hidden in the
depths of a cowled hood, the lower half muffled in a scarf. The newcomer wore
a double brace of blades crossing her chest and was dressed in black leathers.
“We're closing,” Edouina told her. “Come back tomorrow."

"I need to talk to the owners,” the woman said softly.

There was something familiar about her voice, but the muffling scarf made
ithard to be certain. It was a little late in the spring to go wrapped up like
that and it made Edouina suspicious, setting off alarm bells in her head: she
was the Assassins Guild local chieftain. The previous chieftain, her cousin
Armetus Hornbow, had been murdered and his body left on the threshold two
years ago.

"I'm one of them,” Edouina said, straightening. “What do you want?"

The newcomer approached very closely, moving with the fluid grace of a cat or
an assassin.

"I said, what do you want?”Edouina reached for her swords, preparing to dive
sideways and draw if one of the throwing blades left the newcomer's bandoleer.

"Well, I could use a kiss to start with.” The woman slipped back her hood.

Edouina's eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat.“Talons!Oh my Gods!”
Edouina threw herself on her mate, kissing and hugging. Dynarien stood in the
doorway, watching them. They parted after a moment, tears streaking both their
faces, and then Edouina saw their ba'halaef. “You found the child with both
sides of the gift!"

"I found someone else who had them. Lord Isranon Dawnreturning.The Dark
Brother of the Light. It's a long story.” Dynarien came to them and embraced
his mates, kissing them. “We owe him a great debt. If someone tries to take a
contract out on him, don't accept it, Edouina."

"I won't, honey,” she drawled. “Count on me.” She kissed her mates again.

* * * *

Mariko returned the entire band, in a far more orderly manner than they had
departed, to their companions in the Rowdies’ camp. They shimmered into being
in the same place they had left weeks ago. The command tent lay folded up with
its posts, ropes and pegs to one side of them and seven chests of treasure
from Imralon flanked it. Mariko had included the treasure to further finance
their expedition in search of a cure for Isranon. It went far beyond what Nans
expected to need. Rumor held that Mariko experienced flashes of prescience.
Nans wondered whether this was one such.

Luck was the first to see them and shouted for joy. People began to crowd in
around them, some of them puzzling at Mariko's strange appearance. Mariko
smiled at their excitement and curiosity.

Nans stepped forward to greet her company and said, “This is Her Holy Majesty
Mariko, Queen of Imralon."

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Instantly the rangers began dropping to one knee and the others followed
suit. Standing behind Mariko and Nans, Isranon beamed at the Rowdies’ reaction
to being in the god's presence. He adored Mariko, who had given the blood from
her veins to save him and fed him from her wrist on several other occasions to
strengthen him further.

Mariko looked upon them kindly.“Blessings upon you from myself and my lord
who is liege-god to many of you.” She gestured and green light spread in
leaves across the camp. Soft exclamations of wonder rippled through those
gathered there. Mariko smiled again and vanished.

Silence reigned for several heartbeats.

Zulaika rose first, followed by Luck. “Captain, it is good to have you all
back,” Zulaika said.

"Certainly is,” Luck added.

"What have you been using for a command tent in my absence?” Nans asked,
taking charge. The way that her sister had simply carried them all and the
tent to Imralon still rankled.

"Amiri and Randilyn's tent beside their wagon,” Zulaika said.

Nans strode through the camp, heading for the command tent and forcing the
others to follow her as she talked. “Zulaika, I want to go through whatever
supply lists you have for me immediately; I intend to break camp in the
morning,” Nans said. “We'll make for Ocealay to replenish stores and from
there to Treth."

Passing through the center of the camp with Isranon and Anksha at her heels,
Nans saw the remains of the executed captives and her expression hardened.
“What happened?"

Isranon stiffened and looked away, his imagination supplying a glimpse of the
way the captives had died and how they must have suffered. His necromantic
senses brushed across the corpses before he could stop himself and confirmed
the manner of their deaths and the fact that two had been sa'necari.

"Bounty hunters.Sa'necari,” Luck told her. “We got a lot of answers out of
them, Captain. But we've still got a whole lot of questions. Their leader
escaped."

"Shit,” Nans hissed. “The important thing is to keep moving, make it harder
for the sa'nekaryiane's damned bounty hunters to keep finding Isranon. Travis,
dig out the maps and get things set up for a briefing. Luck, you got some
scouting reports for me?"

Travis set off at a jog with Darianna at his side.

"Yes, Captain,” Luck said and headed after Travis.

"It isn't just them,” Isranon told Nans. “Even the masterless sa'necari will
come after me, for the rite if nothing else. I've gained a reputation in their
circles. I have become a rogue power."

Nans rubbed her lower lip with her forefinger. “I'm starting to realize
that."

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"Perhaps it would be better if Isranon were no longer spoken of as being part
of your company,” Isranon said, thoughtfully, “and only Dawnreturning."

"I don't know that many will be fooled by this, but it's worth a try."

Isranon followed Nans into the tent and settled on a bedroll away from the
small table in the middle.Compared to the proper command tent that had made
the journey to Imralon with them, this one felt cramped.

"Did you lose anyone?” Isranon asked, looking straight at Luck who had
already taken a seat at the table on a folding campstool.

"You mean in the skirmish?” Luck ran his hand through his hair, frowning.
“No."

Travis arrived and started spreading out maps and reports.

"You tortured them.” Isranon fought to keep the accusations out of his voice,
to maintain a flat tone.

Luck glanced sharply at Zulaika who was taking a seat beside him.

"You're no stranger to torture, Isranon,” Zulaika said. “You grew up in
Waejontor."

Isranon's brow furrowed. “I thought the light would be different."

Zulaika made a derisive noise. “We do what needs to be done. It's called
survival. We needed information to keep you and ourselves alive."

"Hard choices, Isranon,” Nans said.“If you don't understand that now, then
you need to learn. And not all the peoples of what you call the light are
virtuous, just different from your own."

"I will try to understand, Nans."

"Good. That's all that I can ask."

* * * *

Isranon sat with one of the books on his lap from the chests of gifts that
Mariko had given him, reading some of the history of the three brothers before
they had been driven from the sacred realm. Apparently, Dawnhand had been the
only one of the three to know their true parentage and had received Warrior
from his father's hands. He found no explanation as to why Isranon Dawnhand
had decided to accompany his brothers, Brandrahoon and Waejonan, in their
flight. It appeared to have been byhis own choice. Isranon paused in reading
about his namesake to caress Warrior; the staff lay across his lap under the
book.

Readingabout Dawnhand while holding his ancestor's staff gave Isranon a warm,
fluttery feeling in his stomach. The book he held contained chapters about all
three of the brothers based on accounts from their years on the continent of
Sealandia where Imralon lay. They had never actually dwelled in the sacred
realm itself, but in an adjacent sylvankingdomofOld Bloods , the original race
from which all the other sylvan races descended following the Diaspora. The
language was difficult for Isranon to read, and that had forced him to go over
the passages very slowly, now and again stopping to ask Amiri for assistance
over the week he had spent reading it so far. It was with a sense of victory
that day that he finished an entire chapter on his own.

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There was no doubt in Isranon's mind that Dawnhand must have loved his
brothers the pages detailed many examples of the closeness between the three.
Galee was mentioned many times in company with the three brothers. She had
insinuated herself into the household of Shearra, the mother of Brandrahoon,
Isranon Dawnhand, and Waejonan. She became Shearra's confidante and friend,
gradually wheedling more details about the woman's mysterious prince.

Isranon found several passages in the book that stated the rumors of the time
held that it was Galee who discovered Shearra's ancestry and the identity of
her prince. When Shearra killed herself, she left a note stating simply, “I
have lain with my father.” Brandrahoon had raised his two younger brothers,
but Galee was ever at his elbow. Shortly after the three brothers fled
Sealandia following Waejonan's murder of Willodarus’ favorite granddaughter,
Melorien, the war of the kind strife broke out, causing the Diaspora, and as a
result the God of the Woodlands discovered Galee's true nature or what he
thought it was, for he believed her to be simply a vampire and imprisoned her
in the ninth hell of the nethergod.

Isranon closed the book with a sigh. The book created more questions than it
answered. Such as, how did Galee get out of the hell she had been cast into?
What was she trying to do? How did she discover the truth about Shearra and
Willodarus in the first place?

Returning the book to the chest, Isranon wondered if he could call Shearra's
spirit and ask her. He wanted to know for certain that it had been Galee who
revealed those secrets. Too many centuries had most likely passed since her
death, but he would consider whether to call out to her. Shearra might have
hovered near to her sons and be able to tell him why the sa'nekaryiane hunted
him.

A cool breeze across his skin alerted him to Josiah's arrival.“Why have you
been away so long, Josiah?” Isranon asked, rising from the chest.

"You were in Imralon. I cannot go there. The sacred realms are barred to me."

"I want to speak with Shearra's ghost. Does she still walk?"

"I can ask. However, she might not be willing to speak with you, even if she
is one of those who are bound to walk the earth as I am."

"Please try. I am considering sending out a general call to the spirits, but
it would be much easier if I simply knew who to ask for and who would come."

"I will try."

* * * *

Two detours had lost them the spring and the season was already fading into
summer when they regained the coast road and rode toward Ocealay. One positive
thing had come out of the journey to Imralon: Isranon had actually gained in
strength. Nans suspected it was a result of having received Mariko's blood:
she did not know about the potential side effects of Dynarien's efforts.

Isranon ranged freely up and down the line with no assigned place, enjoying a
freedom and energy that had so long been absent from his life that he had
almost forgotten what it was like. Warrior rested butt-end in the lance cup as
he rode and Anksha had a horse of her own with the stirrups drawn up to the
saddle skirts. The nibari managed the wagons nicely and the rest of the
general camp chores, cooking, washing, and digging latrines.

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"What do you think Galee wanted from Dawnhand?” Isranon asked. “She demanded
something from each of the three brothers. She made the vampires from
Brandrahoon, the sa'necari from Waejonan. What did she want so much from
Dawnhand that she would kill him for refusing? I'm certain she must have been
behind Waejonan's decision to murder him."

They were sitting in Nans’ tent, just the three of them, Nans, Isranon and
Anksha. Nans glanced at Anksha, but the little demon-eater shook her head.
Anksha no longer tried to keep secrets from Isranon.

"Ask the spirits?” Anksha suggested and immediately regretted it, remembering
a single spirit that might appear if Isranon held an open summoning. “No.Bad
idea.Bad idea."

"It's probably the only way you're going to get answers, Isranon,” Nans said.
“I don't like it. But that's it. Just do it away from the camp. It's my guess
she wanted him to open the box, make the nekaryiane."

"Mine, also, but I need to know for certain,” Isranon said. “I feel that I am
walking from darkness into darkness and I must have answers, both to protect
myself and those who ride with me."

"It's a command decision, so I say yes,do it."

"Tonight, then.The moon is full."

* * * *

Amalthea.Anksha could not stop thinking about Amalthea. She crept quietly
along at Isranon's side as he walked through the forest toward the small glade
where he had chosen to hold his rite of summoning. She did not bounce on the
balls of her feet the way she usually did. Her hair lay slicked down and
lifeless from her constant nervous stroking. She breathed in rapid little
catches, her eyes darting about as if she expected the spirit to appear even
before the summoning began.

"Don't make me remember. Don't make me remember,” Anksha muttered so deeply
the sound came from the hollow of her throat and never reached her lips. Yet
the harder she tried not to remember, the more she remembered of the night
that Hoon stole the staff. She had been a little child, desperate to warn
Dawnhand. Hoon shut her in the cellar.The barrel.The dark stinking barrel.
Anksha's hair stood on end and she shivered, clutching at herself.

"Anksha?Are you coming?"

Anksha started, realizing that she had stopped and was huddled, hunkered down
in a clump of wet, leafy ferns.“Coming."

She started moving again, only to walk slower and slower. The footpath
followed a watercourse that branched in tiny streamlets. Anksha splashed
through them, getting her feet muddy, scarcely noticing that she could have
chosen a drier path across some flat stones.Amalthea's voice in her ears,
oozing contempt, calling her a “dirty little animal."

Anksha stepped into the sunshine, blinking. “This is a bad idea, Isranon.Bad
idea. What if something nasty comes?"

Isranon gave her a puzzled look and said with utter confidence, “Then I will
send it away, Anksha."

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She crouched against an oak and then moved toward a cluster of pines, finally
hiding herself. Anksha hoped the heavy fragrance of pine would cover the smell
of the barrel, but it did not.She could still smell the barrel.Sour smell of
fermented barley mash overlaying the seasoned oak of the cask itself. The lid
slammed down and locked. Amalthea slammed the lid on and all the light went
out. Anksha backed further into the pines.Hoon slammed the lid. Hoon
slammedthe lid . Anksha shivered, crouching lower. Her lips curled back as she
barred her fangs, hissing at the memories.

"Anksha?”Isranon parted the pines, startling her and almost got a face full
of fangs.

"Isranon!”Anksha jumped backwards and banged her shoulders on a tree.

He sat down and stroked her back, her head, and shoulders. “Either come sit
with me or go back to camp."

Anksha allowed Isranon to bring her into the inner circle, which he had begun
to draw at midday.Get her to wear clothes she stinks ... just a filthy little
animal.

As the sun lowered into the west, he drew the second circle, making it a
circle within a circle, space to call them forth and space to stand
forthhimself .

The taste of oak cask soaked for years with fermented barley mash, splinters
getting into her lips and gums as she chewed through the barrel.

Josiah appeared before the circles were completed, stepping into them soon
enough that he could not be sealed out; however, that also meant that he could
not leave until Isranon himself released the circle. Anksha curled into a
tight ball against Isranon's back. She blinked at the ghost. Josiah had never
appeared to her before, but she took it in stride since they were there to
summon ghosts. Anksha remembered him from the days when Hoon had Josiah in the
attic torturing him.

"You don't want to do this,” Josiah said."It could get out of control. Trust
me."

"I need to do it,” Isranon said, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head
with that familiar obstinate pride. “I must know everything that happened. We
are safe here. They cannot get in. If worse comes to worse, the kiss of dawn
disperses them to the four corners of the earth once more. What possible harm?
They are only ghosts and memories. Ghosts have never harmed me."

"Please, please listen, my Isranon,” Anksha curled around his back, almost
whimpering. “She will come here. She will hear you. The mad one will come. I
did not know it at the time. But I know it nowsince the night Hoon made me
travel the Legacy it began to come back to me. Waejonan took her mind and made
her mad. I was a child. I did not understand.” Anksha clutched convulsively at
Isranon's tunic, her claws pricking his back. “Please listen to Josiah. I
don't want to see her."

"I am a ghost, Isranon. I know more than you do about ghosts."

"I am doing this."

Josiah shook his head. “If you are determined, then start with a standard
prayer to the Nine as protection."

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Torrundar, Storm Lord, drive the foe away

Willodarus, Lord of the Woodlands and Wild Creatures send protection and
guidance through the dark night.

Davera, Earthmother who has given her name to this reclaimed world,wrap us in
your warm embrace to keep us safe and hidden.

Tala, Huntress who is the Light in the Darkness of Night, teach us to hunt
and track.

Kalirion, Sun Lord, Prophet and Healer,seal the Darkness from us and send us
a champion.

Badonth, Warrior and Avenger, should any try to harm us,send your paladins to
our aid.

Aroana, Compassionate Defender, do not forget us and our words this day

Ishla Twice-Gendered, Tinkerer, Lord of Love and Lady of Invention,trick
things out to our advantage.

Nerindalori, Master of the Waves, bring our ships safe to harbor whatever
form they may take.

Josiah thought for awhile after that and invoked several others:

Jaran, Laughter beneath the Trees, send happiness.

Dynanna, you especially I call upon, little trickster, God of Cussedness and
Perversity, seal us within your attention and help your lover, Kalirion, to
find us a champion.

Dynarien, twin to Dynanna, Rose Warrior, Dragon-slayer, I call you to our aid
also.

Isranon did not know which spirits he wanted or who they had served, so he
offered to those Josiah had named and repeated the words after his mentor and
then added two more who claimed spiritual allegiances: the nethergod Hadjys
the Dark Judge and GimliGloikynen Father of Dwarves. Isranon shouted, sending
the voice of his spirit farther and louder as the night deepened. He had never
done this before, although he understood instinctually how it was to be done.

Anksha whimpered, clutching at him and he realized that she was even more
sensitive at that moment than he was.

He had given them a door, but only a single door and once they entered they
could not leave until he dismissed them. Isranon had intended that to protect
the camp should he accidentally attract something more than he could handle.
He thought he had planned for everything. The colors came first, as vibrant as
life and then more so; swirling around him with the intensity of
hallucination. Isranon could not separate one form from another until the
woman appeared.

Anksha moaned and covered her face.“The mad one."

The woman was tall not Sharani tall but tall enough.Dark of hair, eye and
skin with a copper cast.Aristocratic lines. She wore a torn dressing robe
hanging open to reveal the bruises and wounds on her body as she strolled

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toward them, smiling with a taunting sensuality made all the more terrible
when she parted the skin on her throat to show how she had died.

"I warned you,"Josiah said.

"You know my husband and my son,” the woman's ghost said. “Did they tell you
what they did to me?” The ghost played with herself, stroking her damaged
womanhood, waving fingers coated with blood and semen at Isranon. “My son and
husband raped me. Then they cut my throat. My name is Amalthea. Behold my
truth."

The wall hangings showed scenes of lewd rites of death and sex magics between
humans and strange creatures done in vivid colors. Isranon sickened looking at
them. A huge curtained bed, spread with rumpled velvet blankets stood pressed
into one corner with a small stand next to it. Candles on the stand and a
round table in the center of the room cast a flickering light. A breeze seeped
through around the window edges.

Timon held her arms, pinning her to the bed. Hoon forced her legs open with
his knees and, as he entered her, drew the blade across her throat. Hoon
finished in the fountaining blood and then Timon took his place.

Isranon screamed, doubling over, forcing the ghost away before she could show
him all of it. “No. This has to be a lie. This cannot be a true vision. This
has to be a lie."

He heard Anksha shrieking mindlessly as Amalthea reached for her instead. The
little demon-eater panicked, rolling across the protective circle and erasing
a large chunk of it all the way to the outer circle's edge. Isranon scrambled
after her.

Pandemonium ensued. The ghosts erupted in all directions, closing on them,
enveloping them. Visions and memories tore at them. Isranon caught Anksha by
the foot, jerking her back. She slashed his arms and chest before he dropped
Warrior to try and pin both of her hands. He could tell from the glazed,
unfocused way she stared that she did not really see him. Anksha stiffened,
every muscle locking into agonizing rigidity as white frothy bubbles dribbled
from the edges of her half-parted lips. A nearly inaudible whimper escaped far
back in her throat.

"Anksha!Anksha!"

Then he was seeing what she was seeing, experiencing what she experienced and
she lay very, very still. Dimly Isranon could sense Josiah and other presences
trying to fend off the other ghosts and entities and something elsea watcher,
a twisted watcher.

* * * *

"That creature of yours is back again!” Amalthea snapped.

"Anksha?”Hoon swiveled on the stool, reached down behind the barrels, and
caught Anksha's arm before she could escape, lifting the tiny creature onto
his knee. She watched Amalthea covertly beneath thick-lashed eyes, thinking
how the woman's eyes were not right any more.

Anksha reached into the bag hanging around her neck, which Dawnhand had put
there just that morning, pulled out another handful of candy and began to
crunch it happily.

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"I came to the cellar for privacy. Get her out of here."

"Amalthea, she's a baby. She won't tell anyone what we say."

"A baby?”Amalthea's voice turned venomous. “You want to call her that, when
you've been slipping your sword into her cunt for a year now? You think I have
forgotten about your perversions?"

"Amalthea!It is not your place to question my actions."

Amalthea began going from barrel to barrel until she found one that was
empty. Then she snatched Anksha off Hoon's lap by the nape of the neck, shoved
her in the barrel, and slammed the lid on locking it in place with a twist. “I
am not arguing with you, I'll let her out tomorrow."

"I do not approve of your actions,” Hoon said with a sharp edge in his voice.

"I do not approve of your reluctance to protect our family. If you do not go
and fetch the staff, then I will."

"We are always giving him what he wants. What is he giving us?"

"Our lives."

Hoon rose, circling Amalthea slowly. Anksha pressed her face against the edge
of the barrel and could see through a thin crack. What staff? Were they
talking about Warrior? Hoon was going to steal Warrior for Waejonan? Waejonan
would kill Dawnhand. Anksha had to get out. The adults talked for a time, but
Anksha was not listening. She had begun to very quietly scratch at the barrel
with her claws. They left soon afterward. She scratched and chewed and gnawed,
getting loose as daylight waned again. Then she darted through the house,
ignoring everyone, bursting into the street, noticing that banns had been
posted. She could not read them, but she recognized the large death's head and
knew that everyone in the town would have been expected to go to the lake to
hear the formal reading or witness something. The demon-eater felt sick and
certain what it meant. She turned about, running for the lake.

It was too late when she arrived: Isranon Dawnhand was dead. They had impaled
him. Anksha looked up at the scaffolding to which the pole had been affixed,
her body tensing with grief. The pole had been driven up his anus and out his
shoulder. Her sphincter tightened at the thought of how much pain he must have
died in.

Waejonan walked away from the scene with several friends, laughing,
describinghow Dawnhand had danced in his suffering. “They did a fine job of it
and my brother danced well indeed."

Anksha went for Waejonan, all teeth and claws, straight for his eyes.
Waejonan threw his arms up, knocking her aside and kicked her.Some of his
guards rushed in, kicking and stomping. Anksha screamed, rolled, and came up
clawing. Barely the size of a five-year-old human child, even with her claws
and teeth, it was no contest and ended quickly. They threw her broken body on
the garbage heap to die.

She woke to a voice, oddly changed, speaking out of the darkness in a cave.
The face was as changed as the voice, for the mouth now had
fangs.“Brandrahoon?"

"Hoon.Call me that.” He dipped a cloth in water, bathing more of the blood
from her small face. “Brandrahoon isdead, like his brother. Isranon was not

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cold before Galee did this to me. They buried me in the earth, not knowing I
would rise."

"Candy?” She hurt so bad she could not move, could not think and yet what
always comforted her was candy.

"No. No more candy.Blood, meat, and lives. I am going to figure out what you
are. I am going to figure out what you can do. I will teach you to do it well.
Then we will rip them apart and everyone else who stands in our way.” Hoon
took a preserving bottle from his pack, raised her small head up, and began to
feed her.

* * * *

Isranon threw his arm over his eyes the instant he opened them. The movement
made his arm throb painfully where Anksha had slashed him. His head hurt and
the light made it worse. The coverlet slid down, letting the cool air whisper
chill across his bare, bandaged chest. Nevin ran his cold nose along his side
and Isranon pushed him away. The scarred lycan changed, moving to the opposite
cot, an enigmatic smile on his lips as he gave a rueful shake of his head at
someone sitting near Isranon who spoke the moment Nevin moved.

"So we are finally awake, are we?"

Isranon winced: He had never heard Nans with so much sarcasm in her voice.
“Things got a little out of hand."

"A little out of hand?”Nans’ rasped, her voice uncharacteristically hoarse
with exasperation and dry as if she had spent the night talking the moisture
out of it. “It was enough to givea Great Flaming Drake nightmares for the rest
of his existence.For four nights running. You've done little more than sleep
since we found you."

"Can you speak more softly? My head hurts."

Nans relented, Reading him. “I thought you'd just talk to a few ghosts. It
enveloped the camp and both sides of the river. A legion of spiritworkers
would have been hard pressed to deal with it.” She helped him sit and got some
holadil and willowbark tea into him. “You've spooked the humans, the lycans,
the nibariand the vampires."

Isranon blinked. “You're yuwenghau. Couldn't youlay them?"

"You've a lot to learn about yuwenghau,” Nans said with asperity. “I'm
wilderkin. I'm stronger and faster than mortals, I don't age, and there is no
natural death for my kind. My mother was human. I'm not like Dynanna and
Dynarien. I haven't any special talents, major gifts. Sooner or later I'll run
into something that's either tougher than I am or something or someone that
just gets lucky and I'll die.Considering we may be in the beginnings of a
godwar that may be sooner rather than later."

"Nans"

"I know.Enough dark broodings. What I'm trying to say is you scared the hell
out of me.” She grinned. “But don't tell anyone."

Nevin chuckled.

Nans spoke for a long time about all that she had seen over those four nights
and then left him to consider it all. The entire company had felt as if they

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were trapped in visions out of hell, and moving the camp had not helped.
Either it followed them or thephenomena was spread over a far distance and
even crossing the mouth of theDaynRiver had not helped. Nans and Amiri both
had tried to rouse him without success for four days. Anksha refused to go
near him when she roused from a similar state on the second day, so they could
not try reaching him through the link. Their only comfort was that the
embedded spells had not struck him. While they spoke, Anksha finally crept
into the tent and curled up on a cot.

After Nans left, Isranon considered what she had told him and more, all those
ghosts who had appeared had been troubled, angry ghosts, especially the savage
Amalthea whose arrival had precipitated the disaster.Timon.Oh gods, Timon,
your own mother. Isranon fought down the souring in his stomach, forcing the
thoughts aside before they could take hold and the images could overwhelm him.
He did not want this other thought to slip away before he could grasp it.
Isranon had had a flash of intuition.

All these months he had had a ghost as a companion without giving it serious
thought because he had been so caught up in simply surviving.After this
episode of terror, the contrast between all those other ghosts and Josiah
patient, sometimes sad, devoted spirit made him wonder if perhaps there were
more to why Josiah continued to come to him, to teach and guide him than
simply the intensity of the bond they formed that week of captivity; perhaps
more than the magical bonding that had taken place when Josiah acted to
prevent his bleeding to death; Isranon wondered at an ulterior motive, not a
dark one, but perhaps something born of a troubling in the ghost's heart that
Josiah had not shared. He wondered whether the sepulcher had been finished
yet. Was Josiah's body still sitting on the Commons in Rowanhart in its stasis
coffin as Talons’ had been in theOrchidGarden ? No, this was different. Josiah
had perished before the stasis was laid. Willodarus had been in the act of
casting it when Talons died and been able to catch her soul. Josiah was truly
dead. Beyondraising .

"Josiah? Josiah, will you appear to me?"

Josiah materialized on Anksha's cot, sending the demon-eater into spasms. She
deserted the tent. Josiah and Isranon laughed for a moment. “What is it?"

"I have decided to kill Hoon. When he is slain, will that give you rest?"

The ghost turned away from Isranon, his shoulders sagging."I did things,
Isranon. I made mistakes. I fear that you will misunderstand me if I try to
explain."

"I promise to listen with an open heart, my friend."

"Then let me begin the tale at the beginning with my first life."

Josiah and his na'halaefs, Shularrien Willidar and Nariya Rowan cousins since
the Willidars were branch clans of the Rowans were members of a Sharani
enclave located near Charas who had settled there after marching south to the
aid of Galeador during a great war. Hoon was calling himself “Lord Wraithgard”
and making a play for territory north of the enclave. Shularrien gathered
their armies and went after him. By the time that Josiah discovered the full
magnitude of the threat it was too late to stop her. He tried to catch up to
her. Hoon, using Anksha's gift for dominating trolls, had raised an army of
the creatures the only time he ever managed to do so and decimated them:
Shularrien was dead. Grief caused both a time of near madness and a
breakthrough in his magic.

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"Is that when they began to call you the mage-master?And why mage-master and
not master mage?"

The ghost seemed to heave a sigh."You are beginning to grasp the nuances of
our language. When you fully grasp it you will begin to understand what I did
to you that day in Rowanhart. I never meant to do it. When Hoon hit me, I lost
control. I hope that you will never regret the accident."

"It has kept me alive and given me hopes where I had none at all. Please go
on."

Josiah developed the greatest fire spell of all time, a true spell of
conflagration, a full igniting of the air itself and everything that would
burn in a single incendiary explosion. Then he sought out that army and nearly
incinerated himself along with it. Years later Hoon murdered Nariya before
going into hiding. Josiah hunted but never found him, and raised his son and
daughter alone. Both were mage-born, having the full range of the Abelard
gift, plus life-magic, which Josiah had not had. Josiah speculated that,
because Dawnhand and Josiah's descendants had both had it, which was what had
kindled it in Isranon. Josiah, being of Sharani blood, had lived to be nearly
two hundred years old very old for a Sharani before Hoon reappeared, found a
way past his wards, and killed him, gemming his soul. Hoon traded Josiah's
soul to a sa'necari and he languished in a vault for centuries.

The tale would have ended there except for a scamp of a thief who stole from
gods and mortals alike. Dynanna stumbled on the vault by accident in a
war-devastated section of Waejontor, promptly looting it. She was like a
thieving old crow, always grabbing whatever baubles caught her eye without
pausing to ask what they were first. She and her paladins got out with
everything but the dust on the floors, checking every chamber in the building,
which was half caved-in in places. She almost missedhim, his gem was hidden so
far back in the rubble, but her sharp eyes caught just a tiny glint and then
she had him in her pocket in a flash.

Isranon laughed at the ghost describing his liege-god as a “thieving oldcrow
."

"I adore her, Josiah. My life never had so much joy until I met her."

"You were born to walk in the light, Isranon."

"But how will my killing Hoon not give you rest? Where is the problem?"

Josiah was silent for a while. “Kalirion was my liege-god. As I died I
demanded of him a curse on Hoon.A curse of vengeance. I would be born back
into my lineage, an Abelard, to destroy him. I wanted to be reunited with my
loves, Shularrien and Nariya."

"How is that wrong? My people dealt in curses constantly."

"Those whowereyour people.The hellgods deal in curses, caring nothing for who
might be harmed by them. The Nine do not deal in curses. Curses often harm the
innocent as well as the guilty. A curse on a family would harm those who dealt
life as well as death among its members. He granted it, but was angered. I was
proud and I never asked forgiveness. I went after Hoon, thinking I could earn
it without asking for it. Does that make sense?"

Isranon nodded, thinking of himself, an exception among the sa'necari, how
easily a curse upon his family as a whole could have claimed him as well as
the dark ones. “I see, so Kalirion granted it, but was offended."

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"Yes. But I failed to destroy Hoon. Now I can no longer return to those I
love. There are no Abelards left. Hoon and Mephistis killed them all. I was
the last. The descendants of my daughter are Willidars and curses are very
literal. The Abelard blood survives, the lineage strictly speaking is gone.
Kalirion has ensured that I cannot return. In a sense, I made you an Abelard."

"So that is why I have so much power. You gave me your power. The shock of
what Bodramet and the others did must have triggered it."

"Yes. There is a void of power that, had I not been damaged, I would have
filled. I have trained you to fill it. You are the only true mage master in
existence. There are three children in Rowanhart with the potential: Elydar,
Wolff and Fauxx. Elydar is the result of Dynanna's intervention. There are
others. I have heard rumor of up to fifteen special children in Rowanhart
alone. Wolff and Fauxx were touched by Kalirion at birth."

"Is there some way that I could take your burden on myself?Some way in which
I could appease Kalirion in your name so that you could be returned to those
you love?"

Josiah looked startled."That would require taking Kalirion as your liege-god
in my place."

"But I already have one."

"It could still be done. But it would be a heavy burden. He would take none
of your present burdens from you, only add to them."

"Josiah, you have given me more than I ever dreamed of. You gave me the means
to find a path into the light and you have been my guide and my teacher. Teach
me the words and I will speak them to take this burden from you."

"He may not answer immediately. In fact he may never answer."

"I will prove myself to him and he will answer. Now tell me the words and let
me speak them."

* * * *

The throne room of Minnoras was hung with new banners. The largest of them
hung over the throne, the crimson and black deathtree of the hellgod with a
nekaryiane plucking a skull-like fruit from its branches. The other banners
hanging around the chamber were those of fallen city-states. The room was
filled with members of the surviving nobility from each city. They wore nibari
collars and had been branded as slaves. The males went shirtless and the
females wore only a breastband. Some were bruised from the feedings. The
majority of Galee's people had never bothered to acquire the skills to leave
their victims unmarked. Only her favorites were handled with care.

Both undead and living hemovores of a wide variety moved among the nibari. A
captive noblemon along the edge of the room cowered on a couch as a sa'necari
began to stroke her.

Mondarius the divinator entered. He was an ugly man and some said he was not
entirely human. He had a large mouth with full lips that dominated the
elongated rectangle of his face. His prognathous jaw and long, hooked nose
suggested an insect grown to human proportions. His forehead was broad and
high with a conspicuous widow's peak of ebony hair over deathly pale flesh
reminiscent of the underbelly of a fish. He stood scanning the room from just

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inside the doorway.

Two vampires threw former noblemyn onto their shoulders and walked laughing
from the room while patting their prizes’ bottoms. As they passed him,
Mondarius licked his lips and his jagged, shark-like teeth showed. He was not
a casual diner. He did not have fangs. When the divinator bit into a meal, he
gashed them open and killed his victim. That was the only way he could
feed.His envy of the fanged folk, who could make a Passion-Dance last for
weeks or even months, was well known.

Mondarius stalked past a sa'necariwho was in the act of dragging a noblemon
onto the floor and mounting her. He stared down at them a moment, relishing
their movements; one thrusting and the other writhing with piteous whimpers.
Then he caught sight of Zarliche and scowled.

The Master of Blood sat at the table, heaping his plate with tender sizzling
slices of pale white flesh, which he then covered in a thick blood sauce.
Zarliche Blood of MZB Cartage and Hauling, doing a little bit of this and a
little bit of that on the side for those who knew what to ask for, was a
strange creature who passed for humanbut was not to an eye that knew what to
look for. He appeared to be a simple man of middle height wearing an open
sided black coat with pockets over a nondescript brown tunic and baggy
trousers tucked into polished boots.

Mondarius went straight to the throne and bowed low before Galee. “I have
found Isranon. He is a speaker to spirits."

Galee straightened. “He is a what?” she screeched.

"Speaker to spirits.The first sa'necari ever born with this gift, I
believe.Which is how I found him. He drewmy scry .” Mondarius sat heavily down
on the dais steps. He was exhausted. “I drove Amalthea to hysteria and
deception, but it did no good. Isranon cast me out."

"He has grown strong. You told me he was dying.” Galee's face twisted out of
its humanity as she leaned far forward. “You swore he would be dead by now.
None of the three lineages have perished in their entirety. Timon remains in
Tovante with the tribesmyn out of my reach. Hoon is rumored to be in Shaurone
and the children are still alive."

"Isranon suffers from the embedded spells of my sa'necari. Eventually they
will kill him."

"So you say. I want him dead sooner."

Zarliche Blood looked up from his meal. “My blades should have done for him
by now,” he said, jabbing at the dish with his fork. “You're certain your
cat's paws got them into him right? Sticking amon is an art.Especially when
that mon is sa'necari."

"Yes!” Mondarius growled irritably.

Zarliche chuntered a moment, and gestured with his knife. “First you strip
him. Then you slip the blades in just so.All the way to the quillons where my
runes are. I love the way my mark is left burned into their dead flesh so it's
known who did them. I enjoy the way the flesh parts like warm butter, the
slight sucking noise the muscles and organs make as I draw it out again."

"They did it right.” Mondarius sounded indignant. “They were steeped in
death. They knew the art of it."

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"Then they must have tried to do it cute, Mondarius, and messed up the kill.”
Zarliche cut off another piece of flesh and popped it into his mouth. “I must
start forging swords, Gylorean my dear. You'll allow me to get set up
here?Some royal patronage? We need to get this war going."

"Of course, Zarliche,” Galee purred. “You may have whatever you require.”
Then she turned to Mondarius with malice in her voice. “This freeranger
captain has slain three of my great demons, an irrfelghau and a susgrag,
creatures that should not have fallen.And many more of my bounty hunters and
agents. I want her band destroyed. They are dangerous beyond belief."

"Kill the captain and they will break,” said Zarliche.

Mondarius’ eyes narrowed. Ever since Zarliche had arrived he had been
undermining Mondarius’ place with Galee. “It won't be easy. She's yuwenghau."

"That has never stopped me,” Zarliche said and then muttered a moment before
turning to Galee. “I will forge some very fine blades to kill her with."

Mondarius caught some of the soft words and flushed.

Galee steepled her fingers.“Do so.And what of this Dawnreturning? Another
sa'necari renunciate, but this one is a battle-mage. They say,he is the one
who routed my forces in Gormond's Reach. He must be protecting Isranon. He may
even be the reason Isranon still lives. They say he is a life-mage as well.
Although how that can be.” Galee paused in her rant, thinking hard.

"A kinsmon of Isranon?A second twisted child, butone we missed,” Zarliche
suggested, leaning back in his chair and licking the blood sauce off his
fingers. “Could the real child have been born a generation ago and we missed
him because he was hidden? Is the one in Rowanhart not the right child at
all?But this youth?"

"Take no chances,” Galee snapped. “Kill them all. Place bounties on all their
heads."

Mondarius bowed. “I will send word to Ocealay."

"No!” Galee leaned forward in her chair. “You will turn over your networks to
Zarliche and then you will march north with my armies."

"Youryour armies?” Mondarius stammered. “I'm not a warrior."

"Then you'd better learn fast."

* * * *

All the windows in the common room of Hinkty Molly's Place stood open to
allow the late afternoon breeze off the ocean to cool the interior. The
fishing fleet had returned and the tavern was beginning to fill with
fishermyn. Clusters of round tables filled the center, with booths along the
left side and benches along the right. Candles augmented the light, their wax
dripping down the big-bellied bottles they sat in.In the far corner, near the
long walnut bar, sat three gaming tables. Myn gathered there, betting on their
cards in a game of 21 at the central table where a Sharani dealt. Edouina
carried her swords at her back, and had a knife thrust into the wooden table
as a warning to the players about cheating. She dealt out the next cards and
looked from face to face.

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"Well, anyone taking hits?"

"I'm good,” one male said, rapping his cards with his knuckles.

Another peeked at his cards again. “Hit me."

Edouina placed a card on top of his.

He looked at it and winced, then tossed his cards into the middle of the
table. “I'm out."

Edouina lookedat her own . “Dealer takes one.” She dealt herself a card and
then her eyes were drawn to the doorway.

A blind woman entered, swinging her staff back and forth, tapping it lightly,
and listening as she walked. People quieted as she passed and did not offer to
help or hinder her. Feet were moved quickly under the tables. Everyone stared
at her, some with open hostility. They would never have dared that when the
woman could see. Most people would have tied a scarf over their eyes, rather
than display the ruined orbs. Her young face could have been anywhere from
eighteen to twenty-six. Her long black hair hung in a braid down her back. Her
strong features were handsome, rather than beautiful, and only the eyes
destroyed it. She wore forest green leathers and a fine silken blouse that
matched it. The horned stag of Rowanhart stood out on her shoulder in
expensive embroidery. The unicorn of Aroana's paladins, the ha'taren, hung
from a chain around her neck.

Edouina gestured for a servant to take over the deal, and intercepted her.
She accosted the blind woman, growling low, “What do you want, Maranya?"

Maranya smiled, turning her ear toward Edouina. “You're always so happy to
see me, Edouina.To talk to you a private matter."

Edouina brushed her sleeve off in two quick flicks and Talons, sitting in
another corner, slid off a stool to melt back into the rear rooms of the
tavern. “We will talk, but I promise you nothing."

"You never do.”Again the simple smile that said everything and nothing at
all.

Edouina grasped Maranya's elbow to guide her and Maranya shook her off.

"Just walk and I'll follow you,” the blind woman said.

Edouina headed for the backroom. The blind woman seemed to have some third
eye that allowed her to avoid all obstacles. When they entered, Edouina
slapped a chair and said, “Sit here."

"We are not alone,” Maranya said. “I hear your friend breathing. Is it
Talons?"

"Who else would it be?"

Talons said nothing at all, sitting in a corner on the floor, perfectly
still.

Maranya folded her hands together and leaned forward. “The king wishes a
contract taken out. She wishes for a sa'necari to die."

"Which one?"

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Maranya quirked an eyebrow.“Since when did you start asking which one?All of
them. Don't you? I've heard rumors drifting in from Ildyrsetts and Gormond's
Reach"

"Which one?”Edouina's voice, throaty and sensual, deepened with threat.

Maranya scowled. “The one who calls himself the Dawnreturning He's an
aberration. People are turning to him as to a savior when they should be
turning to the Sacred King."

"He's a renunciate."

"So he saysThe king is skeptical. You should all be. He's sa'necari. The law
is explicit all sa'necari must die."

"Not this one,” Edouina said. “He restored my mate to life. He has both sides
of the gift. He's sacrosanct."

Maranya frowned and shook her head slowly, her fingers tightening on her
staff.“Matters not at all. He is still sa'necari."

Edouina folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “I still refuse."

"Then I will write the Grand Master and he will not only grant my request,
but reprimand you, take your command away from you."

"Write and be damned! The Assassins’ Guild will not harm one as pure as
Dawnreturning."

"I should have you all arrested and this tavern closed down."

"You have always been a bully, Maranya.Always.Even when we were children. I
think you will overplay your hand in this one. I still refuse."

"There are other ways to get the thing done, Edouina. If I cannot get the
Guild to take him out, then at least I'll get them to stand aside while I do
it."

"So, you're still pulling the strings on military intelligence, are you? I
suspected as much."

"Who else would? I can still think and strategize. My eyes are not needed for
that."

"Get out of my tavern. Get out now, before I kick your blind ass, honey,”
Edouina drawled.

"It's been a pleasure to talk to you both,” Maranya said, her voice oozing
contempt. She got up and left.

Edouina closed the door after making certain that Maranya had not lingered to
hear what she said. “Talons, we need to get a warning to Dawnreturning. Find
Dynarien. Don't call him, find him. And tell him I want this tavern warded
within an inch of its life. They could have mages scrying."

* * * *

Yes, Edouina thought, standing the next afternoon in the central commons,
listening to a herald of King Aejystrys Rowan reading a proclamation,there are

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always other ways to achieve something.

"By Order of our most Sacred King, Holy Aejystrys Rowan, ruler of Rowanhart,
Prince Protector of Vorgensburg and the Northeastern Reaches, a sa'necari who
calls himself Lord Dawnreturning is hereby pronounced anathema and outlaw
within these borders. A bounty of one hundred thousand gold pieces is placed
upon his head."

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