DARK BROTHERS OF THE LIGHT Book III
BLOOD DAWN By
JANRAE FRANK A Renaissance E Books publication ISBN 1-58873-644-X All rights reserved Copyright © 2005 by Janrae Frank This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission. For information contact:
[email protected] PageTurner Editions/Futures-Past Fantasy First Book Edition
Dedication: To the Folks at the Corner Andreas Black, Lord of Chaos Daniel Arenson, the Summoner of Peers Debbie Moorhouse, the Evil Squirrel Dr. Tim Fisher, Growling Bear Jean-Loup Benet, Lord of Wolves Karen E. Taylor, The Candlelight Queen. Kyle Kucek, The Infamous One Lena Sawyer, Sims Queen Luna Black, Sadistic Mistress of Crits,
Morgan Sylvia, Her Royal Spookiness Niwi the Dungeon Master In addition, I would like to dedicate this to the memory of D.G.K. "Kelly" Goldberg. We miss you. DARK BROTHERS OF THE LIGHT
I. Blood Rites II. Blood Heresy III. Blood Dawn "The Darkness hunts us and the Light does not want us. Better to step willingly into the fires than to live undead. Better to die with honor than to take a life in the rites. Let each mon go to his own path, but these are ours. And these will always be ours, for this is what we were born to. This is the path the gods have given us, for we are the Dark Brothers of the Light. We are the walking dead who live, for our lives were forfeit with our birth. Forfeit twice over for our choice to live as myn, not monsters, though we are forced to dwell among the monsters. Set yourself apart in your words, in your deeds, in your silence–always in your silence, for silence is your castle. Be as still as the deer in the forest, and if you are fortunate the predators will not notice you. For when they notice you, they will eat you." –Creed of the Dark Brothers 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 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 none–though human seeming,
Beware her claw–lest 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 worse–your 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. fall of minnoras Two days from Minnoras, Timon began to see people on the road. They had crossed the Idar River above the place where it fed into the Hillora, and struck the south road to Minnoras a day back, then the main road that morning. The highway was wide and deeply rutted by the passage of countless wagons over the centuries. Scattered stands of white pine sprinkled through with red oaks leaned out across the edges of the road with a barrier of green leafy brush and tall plumed grasses between the stands and stretched to the forest proper. They passed no one going south toward the city, but many people going north. The majority traveled hurriedly with just the clothes they wore, not so much as a pack on their backs or a bag on a stick. Occasionally heavily laden wagons rolled past accompanied by several outriders. Timon saw haunted, frightened faces everywhere. Timon had ridden out with a token guard of ten royals. He had seen no need to bring lycan scouts. This should have been enough for anything they might face; now he began to wonder. He could tell that these people were running from something–all of them. He spied a female with three children and seeing her without a male to protect her was odd; women rarely traveled alone. "You there!" Timon called to the female. He dismounted and squatted in front of
her. She cowered, clutching her children tight. She flinched from his gaze, dropping her head like a whipped dog. Timon frowned at the fear he saw in her eyes. "What are you running from? Is there trouble in Minnoras? I won't hurt you." "Bad trouble," the mon said, shifting uneasily. "All the priests are dead. Something howls in the night on the rooftops. Folks going missing." Timon reached in his pouch, pulled out some coins, and put them in her hand. "Make for Shaurone, mon." Shaurone was the most powerful nation on the continent, and the most willing to take in refugees. While Vallimrah was nearly as strong, the Valdren, one of the six high races of sylvans, were an insular lot, and did not like humans entering their lands. In Timon's estimation, Rowanhart was already shaping up as the third strongest realm under the Sacred King, but it was much farther from Minnoras and harder to reach. She would still have to travel through Angrim and Beltria, realms Timon had a serious dislike for because their aggressively monotheistic religion denied both the Gods of Light and the hellgods. He doubted the Angrimers and Beltrians would harm a lone female with children and their roads were closely guarded. "Yes, lord. I intend to. Thank you, lord." Then she fled with her children. Timon remounted and they rode further before anyone spoke. "Sounds like Zyne has gone rogue," Amiri said. She and Zulaika rode closest to Timon. "My father should have sent word by now," Timon said thoughtfully. "We had a decent network in place for such possibilities. Furthermore, Zyne is notsa . Bodramet's papers saidsa 'nekaryiane." His father had several winged shifters that he could have sent with messages. If he had sent them, they had not arrived at the estate. Timon had always relied on riders and birds. None of his Borealysyn were mirror-gifted or shifters. If myn did not have that gift before becoming undead, they did not develop it. A warrior mage in his days as a living mon, his father had it. He had learned it in Imralon on the island continent of Sealandia before they were forced to flee the wrath of Willodarus. They had clearly not planned for contingencies as well as they had believed. Timon had never told his father that his choices of who dwelled at the estate were based on the secretive philosophy of the Borealysyn that he had founded without his father's knowledge.
"The best laid plans," Zulaika replied. Timon nodded. He had always been cautious by nature, made more so by the circumstances of his death four thousand years ago. His father took chances enough for both of them. Which was not to say that his father was reckless, only more willing to take risks. Timon wondered if Hoon had lost this toss of the dice as he had so many recent gambles. Hoon's legendary luck seemed to be finally running out on him. "Unless he's doing this himself?" Zulaika suggested. Timon shook his head. "Destroying a city is not my father's idea of getting himself a kingdom. It has to be the sa'nekaryiane's work. All the more reason to reach my father."Or would he? Destroy a city? A rumor had come from Charas that Hoon had slain all of his nibari and others who might have told the Sacred King where to find his holdings once it became clear he would lose. **** The candles had burned nearly out in the little lamps, and the stink of drowned wicks in liquid wax trailed across the room with thin plumes of black smoke. Darkness stole across the study like a stalking cat. The wingback chairs rested on clawed feet in the center before an ornate walnut desk with curved, flaring legs that narrowed into wooden paws. Hoon sat at his desk, brooding, his eyes distant. Something had gone wrong, but what and where? He saw very little of Zyne these days. His venomous secondary nails had slid from beneath his primary nails to drip little pools of poison as he pressed them into the wood. A knock at his door preceded its opening and two Lemyari and a lycan entered: Kalmaryn, Telemon and Imric. "Lord, I think we are about to be betrayed," Kalmaryn told him, and then gave him the rest of the tale of what they had seen across several nights of watching Zyne. Hoon considered their words, and found his thoughts drawn back to a time when he and Mephistis had stood upon the battlements of his lost citadel near Norendel."You are a dangerous dreamer, Hoon. And you begin to frighten me," Mephistis had said. To which Hoon had replied, "I would not need to free the Hellgod, I would make a new one." But he had not made a new one; he had released one–that vapor from the box. "I agree. Galee gave me a box to place by Zyne's head when she rose. I think more came out of it than information. I think Galee came out of the box." "Is that possible?" Kalmaryn asked, frowning.
"With Galee, anything is possible. Have you seen any new royals?" They thought about his question. Yes, they had seen a few. Hoon sighed. "Get everyone out. ' Amalthea to Jedrua.' I will leave last." "Lord?" Kalmaryn sounded alarmed, both by the fact that Hoon intended to leave last, and that he had spoken that particular code. Amalthea meant that they were to flee as swiftly as possible, stopping for nothing, all the way to Hoon's estates on the southern continent of Jedrua. "Get out. If I don't reach Jedrua, Timon is your lord." "Yes, lord." Kalmaryn bowed himself out, his expression grave. The word was spread through the mansion and once the last of them had left safely, Hoon sealed the secret passages beneath the house with a word of command lodged in a crystal, and then destroyed the crystal. **** Timon could taste the fear laying like a fog over the streets and oozing from the buildings. It lingered in the back of his throat like the taste of bad blood. This city was not a cup he wished to drink from. Timon saw no children playing in the streets. The few people abroad walked quickly without meeting anyone's eyes, their cloaks pulled tight around them against the early autumn wind. A glance at his companions told Timon that they tasted fear also, as well as noticing its manifestations. He had intended to spend several days here. Now he just wanted to get the flute, warn his father, and leave. No. He just wanted to leave. Timon wished he had brought Anksha; who could have told him much more than his own senses could. But she had remained behind to guard the estate and Isranon. Something was out there, something none of his kind had seen in many millenniums. He needed to see it for himself, to make a judgment call on this, to take its measure. He was not a captain who ordered his myn into battle, but one who led. Until he had done so, he would not risk Anksha who might be the only one strong enough to stop it. No one came to take their horses when they entered the mansion grounds. He signed to his companions to wait there, dismounted and knocked on the door. A servant Timon remembered answered. He turned haunted eyes to Timon. "The master is in his garden," the servant whispered. Timon nodded. The place was empty. As he passed the table in the great hall he
saw that everything had been removed on it and in the middle were two objects: dried flowers, azaleas and jasmine.Amalthea to Jedrua. The code . They were to disperse and flee to Jedrua. Everyone had been sent away. Timon climbed the stairs to the rooftop garden and found his father. Hoon sat on the bench beside his withered plants, staring out across the city. He remained sitting, as if unable to take his eyes from what he saw. "Timon! I was sending this to you today, but I see you've come for it instead. He picked up an envelope from a stack before him and handed it to Timon. "Turn around and go. I sent everyone away this morning that could be spared. The rest will go tonight." Timon took the envelope. "What went wrong?" "I don't know," Hoon said, sounding distracted. "The city has become flooded by sa'necari, lesser bloods, royals that I do not know. Several of my people have been killed." Timon tensed. "People I know?" "Zinzi. They left her head hanging from my gatepost with a note saying they knew me. Ulik has vanished and all his birds are dead. Galee is in the city. I feel her." Zinzi. I should have confided in you."Galee? Father, Galee was destroyed. The Twice-Born Son tore her head off." Galee had turned his father. Timon had wondered for centuries how long his father, Brandrahoon, could continue hiding from the vengeance of Dynarien, the Twice-Born Son. He sometimes felt as if that yuwenghau son of Willodarus, God of the Woodlands and Wild Creatures, was close to breathing down all of their necks. Sooner or later Dynarien and his twin sister Dynanna God of Cussedness and Perversity would come after all of them. The divine pair, warrior-brother and trickster-sister, were very dangerous. They had destroyed Galee. Surely she could not have returned. Hoon finally looked up at his son. "There is something else in the city. Something that smells like a yuwenghau, but different." He stood suddenly, and seized Timon in a tight embrace. "Whatever happens, Timon, remember that I love you." "I love you, too, father," Timon responded, struggling to Read the mon. "There are fresh horses in the stable. Take them and get out." Timon gazed into his father's eyes. When he released his father and left, his spirit felt troubled. His father's words hung in his mind like a proclamation of disaster. What smelled like a yuwenghau but wasn't?Irrfelghau? Oh, hells let it not be an irrfelghau, the dark opposite of the yuwenghau, the get of the hellgods. A sa'nekaryiane and irrfelghau both? Godwar. And my people with no gods to turn to.
**** Gylorean Galee held court in the highest room of the restored mage tower; surrounded by the noble sycophants she had taken. Many of King Vansolo's most trusted lords now resided within her ranks, seduced into servitude with coercions firmly planted in the deepest levels of their minds. She watched her stolen courtiers flinch and wince at the sounds of her angels feeding above them on the rooftop. Her divine body glistened in the torchlight as if oiled and her garments were fashioned to please her legendary vanity, clinging to every perfect curve, the bodice cut low to reveal the mounds of her breasts. A young, nude male knelt beside her throne in chains. Constant terror had left him dull-eyed in a state bordering on shock. Her fangs had made trails of scars on both sides of his neck and along the insides of his arms. She had not taken his mind yet because she liked to hear him scream. He was the king's youngest son, who had ridden off two weeks ago, heading for Gormond's Reach. King Vansolo, suspecting danger, had tried to send him to safety–but there was no safety from Galee. This time nothing would be left to chance. Minnoras was not as large or as guarded as Creeya had been. She would return for Creeya. Yes, she would indeed. This time all would fall to her. The interfering yuwenghau Dynarien would die. His sister, God of Cussedness, little trickster, would also fall. Galee dreamed of it constantly. Galee had begun to consider what types she would hold back as her cattle to breed. The Nine had provided good stock to work with when they brought settlers from distant worlds. Aberrant lineages needed to be weeded out, like the Sharani and the lineages of the three brothers. Dawnhand had prophesied her destruction by one of his descendants as he hung dying. That would not happen. Isranon was the last of them. Her eyes swept her ranks of courtiers and fell upon Ulik, Hoon's former master of birds, who was sitting on a sofa looking torn between discomfort and unease. The activities in the chamber were slowly turning into an orgy with Galee's approval. Ulik sat beside a vampire who was feeding noisily on the daughter of a noblemon while her father looked on pale-faced and shaking. "Ulik, come forward," Galee commanded. She turned to a servant. "Two glasses of the Special Blue. One for me and one for my good servant, Ulik." Ulik rose and approached the throne she sat on. He dropped to one knee. "None of that." She pointed to a cushioned stool near her feet. Ulik sat and the servant gave him the crimson wine. His hands shook as he accepted the proffered glass. "Drink. They tell me you wish to be a vampire as your reward for betraying Hoon. I
am considering it." "Thank you, Holy One," Ulik replied and tasted his wine. "It's an interesting flavor." Galee gave him a venomous smile. "You'll get used to. It's an acquired taste. Drink all of it." Ulik nodded and downed the wine. Galee's claws emerged from beneath her primary nails as she leaned very close to him. "I have given you your wish." "What?" Ulik asked, startled. Galee grasped his arm in a grip like steel talons and pierced the flesh, sending her venom through him. Ulik stiffened in anguish as it sped burning through his arteries. "Your wish," Galee repeated. "It was spiked with Ylesgaire blood. But first you die." "Noooooo!" Ulik screamed. "Yes. Lesser blood. You must fear the daylight, not enter unless invited. You will be an animal who knows only its hunger for five or six centuries before you regain some shreds of intelligence." "Gods have mercy," Ulik sobbed, digging his nails into his blackening arm. "I am your god," Galee purred. "Did you really think I would make you Lemyari after you betrayed Hoon? Give you that much power? I can't trust you with power." Ulik sagged in her grip and she let him drop to the floor, where he lay gasping, and struggling to breathe. Galee flicked her hand at Ulik. "Throw him in the sewers to die." Two servants dragged Ulik away. Then Galee spotted Mondarius. "Tell me, what of our servants at Hoon's estate? I have had no word from them." Mondarius swallowed hard, dropping his eyes. "Timon destroyed them." "Timon is alive?" Galee snarled, her face twisting completely out of shape. "Tell me they killed at least one of them! Mondarius!" She rose from her throne and backhanded the Divinator, sending him slamming into a wall. "Tell me they killed at least one of them." Mondarius paled, dragging himself up with his back sliding along the wall. He
moved unsteadily to a table, pressing both hands palms down upon it for an instant as he strove to recover himself. The Divinator took out a mirror, laid it on a table, and consulted it. "Isranon lingers, dying. There is no cure. The blades of the Master of Blood insured that." "You had best hope he does not linger long. What of the assassins you sent after the abominant king's children, nephews and that fireborn prince?" The Divinator again consulted his mirror. "They reached Rowanhart yesterday." "Good." She gestured at her captain of guards. "See that Timon does not leave my city alive. My angels will accompany you. It nears time to make myself ruler, Mondarius. Shadow court no longer, but in full truth." "I will not fail you, Holy One," Mondarius said. "And what of the necklace with my spells upon it? I can no longer sense Anksha when I reach out to it." "I don't know, Holy One. I gave it to her and she put it on." Galee's face twisted again in displeasure. "Then she took it off and did something with it to block me. She should have found it irresistible. I intended to rip her mind through the necklace. This is your fault. I've dealt with demon-eaters before. You haven't." "Surely, Holy One, Anksha cannot be a threat. You've killed the rest of her kind." "So I have," Galee purred settling back in her chair with mercurial satisfaction. She stroked the captive prince beside her and felt him shudder. "But a demon-eater is always a threat. They were one of the Tinkerer's greatest weapons in the last godwar. You will see to her death also." "Holy One." Mondarius bowed deeply, backing to the door, and then turned. Out of her sight his withdrawal turned to full flight. **** Nans sat with a frightened mon in a dark corner of the nearly empty common room of an inn in the tradesmyn's quarter. She and the Rowdies had stayed here before. They knew nearly everyone in the quarter, yet it had taken Itch all day to find anyone who would talk to Nans. The gossips, the people who actually knew what went on, had all vanished. Nans had never seen a city so obviously on edge before, but she was young for a yuwenghau, a mere sixty years old, and she had stayed out of wars her entire life. She did not want to fight one now. Ordinarily Nans would have gone to the temple of Willodarus first, but everyone she
had spoken to, beginning with Seri, had assured her that all the priests were dead. No temples had been spared. It seemed pointless to make her usual rounds, starting with the temples. Her freerangers normally used the temple of Willodarus here as a stop over on their journey to Donyanon and then Galeador, making rounds of the temples along the east bank of the Hillora each fall, then back up, cross the bridge at the North Fords and down the west bank as far as Treth. Freerangers were the only humans welcomed whole-heartedly in the sylvan realms such as Donyanon, Vallimrah, and Galeador. "The members of the cult say she is a god, the Glistening One," the mon told her uneasily. "Could she be yuwenghau, Nans? A rogue yuwenghau?" Travis asked. "No. Yuwenghau never take twisted forms. Only irrfelghau do. There have not been any of them since the Age of Burning. The Hellgod cannot get out of the Escarpment to sire them." "But what if, and I'm saying, what if, a mon could find wiggle room through this Gate of the Hellgod we're always hearing rumors of. I mean my old dog could find wiggle room through the damnedest cracks." "A crack in the escarpment?" A chill prickled along Nans' back and down her arms. The Nine Gods of Light, the ruling divine pantheon, had sealed the Hellgod, Bellocar, and his surviving wives and get behind walls of earth, magic, and technology in the far north, raising the tremendous Katal Escarpment as a final barrier. "The Nakesht have sure been finding wiggle room for centuries." Nans wished Travis had not reminded her of that. "An irrfelghau? Travis, I need to get a look at this thing, but I want the rest of you to get out of the city. Itch, take charge." Itch grinned and nodded. He was second in command, but Travis was always talky enough for both of them. Itch's half-brother Luck had taken the wagons on to Gormond's Reach to put them out of reach of any possible skirmishes with those children along. The sounds of fighting erupted from the streets. Nans went to the door and peered out. A winged mon, her body shimmering shades of green, stood on one of the roofs laughing as soldiers and citizens fought. Nans darted back into the inn. "All of you get out the back… reach the horses and get out of the city. It's going up in flames. I've seen our monster and it may well be an irrfelghau–or it may be something far worse. I'll meet you in Merkreth's Crossing." "What are you going to do, Nans?" Itch asked.
"I'm going to the temple like we always do." "Nans, the word on the streets is all the priests are either dead or fled. There isn't a temple hasn't been hit." "I can't go without checking, Itch. Not after seeing that thing." "Be careful." **** Timon caught a glimpse of something as large a mon on leathery wings. Trumpets sounded. The city guard had been ordered out. Shouting and the sound of racing feet caused Timon to glance back. A tide of panicked people broke toward them, filling the streets. The guard rode the people down, striking randomly. The winged creature landed on a rooftop and sang. The guardsmyn hesitated. "What's that?" Haig asked. "Nekaryiane!" Zulaika shouted. "Flee!" Timon kicked his mount into a gallop and they broke for the gates. Caught in the song the guardsmyn and the crowd focused together on the escaping vampires, and turned to take them. Amiri dropped to the rear, reaching into her pouches as the crowd gained on them. Her contacts in Charas had managed to steal some of Dynanna's multi-colored globes of beast repellant, although she had no idea which did what. It took great daring for someone to steal from the thieving God of Cussedness. Pie, the little fellow with the crayons and funny cap, had assured her they might come in handy when he sold them to her. She threw a handful of each color in all directions. Flames exploded and a terrible stench filled the air. People scattered, mounted guardsmyn fought to control their panicked horses, and the crowds descended into chaos of flight and confusion. Amiri and her companions broke through the gates and raced free. "What the hell was that?" Timon shouted. "Don't ask me," Amiri shouted back. "I don't know." **** Hoon walked to the edge of his rooftop garden. The last of his servants had gone. He had held back his shape-shifters leaving those who could fly, like himself, until last. Now, they too had been sent away, carrying his messages of disaster to his remaining holdings.
Everything was dust. Even in seeming destruction Galee had found a way to betray him, to use him. He should have expected it. She always destroyed her tools when she no longer had need of them. He and Waejonan had been tools. Nothing more. Only Isranon Dawnhand had refused to become her tool. Galee must have told Waejonan to murder him. She must have put that thought in their brother's head. Hoon watched Timon break for the gates and then win free. He smiled. They would not take him now. Hoon changed into a huge devil bat, rising. He would catch up with Timon and they would ride to Jedrua together. Heavy fibers tangled his leathery wings, their attached weights dragging him down. Magic shrieked agonizingly through his body, forcing him back into his own form. Hoon fell into the planters, overturning them. Hands seized him, spellcording his wrists and sealing them with runes of destruction before freeing him of the weighted spellcord net. Two Lemyari jerked him to his feet and yanked him around to face a midnight blue nekaryiane–no, sa'nekaryiane; Hoon could sense the warmth of true life pulsing in her veins. "Hello, Brandrahoon," said the sa'nekaryiane … her silken voice so familiar. "Galee." Even as changed as she was, he still knew her standing there with three death angels around her. One of them was Zyne; the other two were shades of green and Hoon did not recognize them. Gylorean Galee gripped his face, her claws making tiny punctures in his skin. "I should kill you now, but I want to watch your face when I butcher your son in front of you. I saw him leave, and my forces are already riding to intercept him. I will have him before morning. Once Minnoras is in hand, I'll raid that little estate of yours. You should never have trusted Mondarius with so many of the locations of your holdings." "Lord Hoon." The Divinator stepped from the shadows. "How many of my holdings do you know?" Hoon asked, his eyes narrowing. Mondarius looked taken aback. "This one, the one to which Timon rides." He began to tick them off on his fingers. As the realization of how many had already been emptied over the last few years showed in Mondarius' face, Hoon laughed at him. Galee cast Hoon at Mondarius' feet, snarling. The Divinator unclipped a weighted cat'o'nine-tails from his belt and beat the skin off the vampire's face–and still Hoon laughed. Zyne slipped her arm through Galee's. "Gylorean, my dearest, the king has taken the bait."
"Treacherous bitch," Hoon spat at Zyne, his hands on his bloody face, wrists banded in cerulean, black, crimson and puce with the deadly seal runes dangling. Zyne sneered and then kicked Hoon. "I had a good teacher." "Timon?" Galee asked. "He and his people broke free," Zyne said. "I have sent soldiers and shifters after them and an irrfelghau. I kept the angels home since tonight we take another piece of Minnoras." Irrfelghau!Hoon's mind screamed and the strength of defiance failed him. Get of the hellgods. His son would perish. **** Nans kicked her highly trained steed, forcing it to jump and lunge, directing it through her wilderkin gifts, shoving at people trying to pull her down. She was swept to the side, separated from her myn. A solid weight hit her, knocked her from the saddle, and sent her rolling into the crowd. She twisted under their feet; slashing legs, hit the side of a building. Fangs sank into her shoulder. She hit the creature in the side of the head with the pommel of her sword, her tremendous demi-god strength shattered its skull. Blood and gray matter splattered her. Nans rolled against a house, kicked open a door and flipped onto her feet, spinning to face the crowd. She cut six myn down in quick succession, and then ran through the house, sheathed her blade and climbed onto a window; from there she went up onto the roof and crouched in the shadows of three chimneys. **** Travis saw Nans fall, but he did not see her escape and began to scream and curse even as he fought his way steadily toward the gates. He glanced and saw that there were now only seven of them and then there were only six. They were being cut down like grain before the scythes. A vampire dropped from a roof onto Itch. The creature wrapped around Itch, sticking claws into his ribs. Travis shouted and slashed the vampire. It released Itch, who slumped forward, but managed to keep his seat. The vampire snarled, leaping at Travis. The ranger caught it in mid-leap, a clean thrust that nearly ripped the blade from his hands. The creature died. Travis wiped his blade and sheathed it. Then the surviving Rowdies won through the gate. He caught Itch's reins, leading his horse in their flight. They had lost four including Nans, and Itch looked to be in a bad way. Travis called back over his shoulder, "Hang on, Itch." "I'm trying, Travis." Itch folded up over the heavy pommel, wrapping his arms around the saddle horn, and holding his seat with an effort.
**** Gylorean Galee sat on the tower roof licking Zyne's neck as they watched the four units of guardsmyn marshalling on the palace grounds. It seemed that the king was planning a sortie against the rioting in the streets and, possibly, against the Poor Quarter which she had taken first.How amusing it all looks , Galee thought. She had also taken the Tradesmyns' Quarter. In fact, her influence was now felt throughout the city. Hidden shrines had been built where nightly sacrifices were being offered to her. "It's nearly time to sing them a song, my lovely. Which section of the city do you wish to take next?" Galee stretched languorously while she waited for their answer. "Let's take the palace," said Zyne. Galee kissed Zyne's lips. "And then I shall rule as the God-Queen Gylorean of Minnoras." "That sounds so sweet," Zyne sighed. She stood, spreading her wings. "It is time to sing. They are nearly to the quarter." "We will turn these units back on the palace. Tonight I will sup from other royal veins." **** Nans saw those nameless others escape, wondering at those little exploding globes they had used. She could have used some of her half-sister's toys right then. The obvious strength and skill with which those people dispensed with their opponents made her question their humanity and wonder what they were. Vampires? Certainly she had sensed nothing yuwenghau about them. Her kind usually recognized each other. Blood spread in a widening splotch through the shoulder of her tunic and the wound throbbed painfully. She would have to move soon before something or someone spotted her. Nans pressed the heel of her palm into her shoulder; she needed to do something about it, but not here. She had seen Itch wounded and two other rangers die, and, for the moment, anger overrode other feelings. Nans moved from her shelter to the edge of the roof and jumped to the next one, scuttling along like a crab, using the chimneys as cover. She saw fires in the distance; buildings were burning and she could still hear the clash of steel.How long is this fighting going to continue? Apparently the winged creature had some kind of insurrection in progress. Vampires were involved. Could it be some new form of vampire? She stood up, got a running start, and jumped the street. Toward morning, she reached the Willodarian temple, dropping into the alley behind it. The back door stood ajar. Nans drew her sword, nudged it open and slipped inside. The silence hit her. The first room was a kitchen and opened off the servants'
quarters. Blood splattered the cabinets, floors, and walls. She turned quickly. Then she saw the first body. It was old Jeris. They had gutted him. Nans knelt, touching his neck, Reading him. This had happened less than four hours ago. She found each room empty, which give her hope until she reached the chapel. Now she knew where the missing people were. She dropped to her knees in sick horror, clutching at her stomach, and vomiting; then wracking sobs seized her, followed by more vomiting. Sa'necari and divinators had been here. The chapel was a charnel house. They had gathered everyone here, priests and servants, their mates and families. The high priest had been ritually vivisected on his own altar. The other priests had been staked out around it, the males on their bellies and the females on their backs and taken in rites ofmortgiefan . Their families and children had been bound along the walls, torn and eaten by something in a savage fury of hunger. This had happened last night while she was checking out Seri's rumors. She should have come straight on, disregarding what everyone told her about the destruction of the temples. They had waited for her, assuming she would make her usual rounds. They must have been counting on her to get them out. Nans silently cursed herself for changing her plans. **** Timon's band rode long into the night, alternating their pace to spare their mounts. They left the road, choosing a hunter's trace he knew and cut through to a back road. They rode until dawn when they camped to rest and feed. Timon finally took out the letter and read it: Timon, This is an Amalthea to Jedrua. Just as when we fled Waejonan's people after Anksha killed him. The sa'nekaryiane is Galee somehow returned to even more monstrous life. There are irrfelghau emerging from the escarpment through a portal in the eastern lands while their powers are still dormant. Several of our people have perished getting me this information, which is why I have lingered this long. Use the information wisely. Whatever happens, my son, remember that I loved you and forgive me. "What could there possibly be for me to forgive, father?" Timon folded the letter, tucking it inside his shirt. Then it hit him. His father had not expected to get out. He hadnot gotten out. "Zulaika, he did not get out." Timon stared back the way they had come. "He did not get out." She pressed a bottle into his hands. "We'll pay her back." He scarcely noticed the vintage which one of the royals had labeled "vengeance": he
was drinking sa'necari blood–Bodramet's blood. "My father was a good mon before Galee got her claws into him, before my mother betrayed him with my uncle… He was a good mon, a good father, and a good husband. He was stern and, at times, harsh. But he was not cruel." Timon closed his eyes, taking another pull from the bottle. "People cannot be who they were," Amiri said, walking over to them. "Only who they are and that changes." "I know it," Timon replied. "I know it well." He hesitated, running his hand through his long black hair. "Assign a sentry. Everyone get some rest." **** A mon dragged at Nans arm; drawing her back to awareness. "Please, please, help us." Nans shook herself. For the first time in her life, she had been lost in shock. She had no memory of how the time had sped. The chapel had grown dark. The mon held a torch and Nans saw two ragged and battered looking children crouched beside her; their eyes empty mirrors of the horror around them. Shame flooded Nans. She had always considered herself to be a strong mon, but she had never been seen anything to match what she had witnessed the last two days. Other folk's needs had always brought forth a greater strength in her than her own. Nans pulled herself together. "Come on." She did not know this mon, did not even ask her name; she simply answered to the call of her need. They moved into the ambulatory, averting their eyes in silent denial of what lay in the chapel. Nans had a fleeting image of Travis telling another of his constant stories of his old dog. If she got out of this, she would never tell him to shut up again. When they reached one of the back rooms the mon lit a lamp, shielded it and put out her torch. "Jeris hid us among the roots, under the onions and garlic. The lesser bloods did most of the searching once the sa'necari had broken in to allow them passage and they don't like that stuff." "You're from the temple?" "No. Visiting. My husband–" her breath caught for a moment and then she saw the blood and torn shoulder of Nans' tunic. "Let me see that. My husband lies in the chapel. We're healers from Whiteoak. We visit the temple for a few weeks each fall." "Bad time to visit. I can't take you back to Whiteoak. I must try to reach Merkreth's Crossing."
"It needs stitching," The mon reappraised her, watching for how she would handle it, being female and looking only eighteen. "Your first wound?" Nans laughed, a bitter sound. "I'm a ranger. They didn't give me my runes without knowing I could fight." She looked at her with a weary, half-smile. "You're puzzled because I'm a woman, I look young enough to be a green kid, and I have not a scar on me. Stitch it up. It's not my first wound. I won't flinch." The mon, Deryna, told how when it had become apparent that they would never succeed in escaping the city, the priests and others had barricaded themselves in, praying that a freeranger company who made periodic visits in the fall would arrive to get them out. Last night the city had erupted in blood and it became too late. "It was my company they were waiting for. We heard the temples had been destroyed or we would have come straight here." "Are you the only one left?" "I'm the only one who got through. Some escaped–made it through the gate." She thought of Itch and the three who had died and her throat tightened. They went from room to room, seeking for whatever they might need in fleeing Minnoras. The people who attacked the temple had come for lives, not booty, turning the temple into a dining table for an obscene appetite. Nans took all the food, gold, medicines and healing herbs that she could carry, shouldering twice the weight that a strong male could. She also took a strong fighting staff. She traded her ranger's pants and tunic for a healer's brown robe, but kept her blades. Then Nans doused the place with oil and set it burning–one more burning building in a burning city. No one would notice or investigate. There would be no sign to anyone that survivors existed and had escaped.
CHAPTER TWO. escapes Timon's band entered a clearing surrounded by tremendous chestnut trees fifty feet in diameter with very little brush beneath their lofty canopy. The barren ground, sun-starved by the trees, had thick layers of mulch and leaves collected from the passage of countless seasons. It smelled of decay and something else, something unfamiliar. Then shapes moved in the shadows beyond the trees, tightening around them. "Timon!" Zulaika shouted, her horse curveting, as she drew her blade. "They're all around us." Armed and armored riders entered the clearing with a huge male at their head wearing blackened armor emblazoned with the crimson death-tree crest of Bellocar hung with its dreadful fruit of decaying bodies and skulls. The leader was the largest
figure Timon had ever seen short of a troll. The vampires were only lightly armored, and no match for their adversaries on their barded horses. His people were about to be torn to shreds. Humans and their allies, regardless of which god they followed, always came after his kind with overwhelming force. There were never fair fights between them. The minions of the hellgods played that same game, only double. "Our God demands your deaths!" the leader shouted. Timon's lips curled back from his fangs in a bitter smile and he unlimbered his greatsword. "Come and get it." Amiri acted first. She tossed a handful of beast repellent under their horses, and then charged into them. Some were explosives, erupting in flames. Others were gaseous and smelled of skunks, blinding the horses and riders that got the first close whiff. Some oozed something green that got into their attackers armor and itched like mad. All that Amiri knew was that the little people called the Badree Nym manufactured them for the God of Cussedness in a village near Blue Dog Pass. The others followed Amiri's lead. "You're mine!" Timon shouted, charging the leader whose horse bucked out of control. He drove his blade into the mon's side hard, forcing it through the links of his chain with all his undead strength. He twisted the blade before tearing it out of his opponent's body to make certain of his kill. To Timon's shock the mon did not fall, but brought his own blade driving at him. Timon shifted in his saddle, turning his body to avoid his opponent's blade and the sword opened his leg from hip to knee. The vampire cried out in anguish. He had known pain before when getting cut, but nothing like this. He reined his mount away from the creature, for creature it was and not a mon at all–no mon could have survived the wound he had given it and come back at him. The creature's blade described an arc at Timon's head. The vampire met it with both hands on his hilt, yet he could barely keep it from his neck. The creature's eyes shone redly with lust for Timon's blood and the vampire knew he was about to die. Desperately, Timon sent his mount springing to the side and disengaged his blade. He slashed the creature along its arm and whipped up to strike at its head. Then he screamed as the death-tree blade slipped between his ribs. Timon's opponent laughed and stuck him a second time before the vampire could recover. Not since his turning had Timon ever hurt this bad. He collapsed across the pommel of his saddle, barely able to remain mounted. The creature raised its sword to finish him. Amiri threw a handful of beast repellent, splattering Timon's foe. The rest of the attackers had fallen in the first startled reaction to the unconventional assault. The creature shrieked, dropping its blade to claw at its face as flames caught at every scrap of cloth it wore. Green vapors oozed through its armor and its horse reared
screaming. The vampires circled it, riding slowly, darting in as they found an opening. In a rage, it drew a second blade and charged Timon suddenly. "My God says you die, Timon!" Timon barely fended off the wounded creature's attack, getting cut twice more before the others charged in and killed it. It had missed his head and his heart, yet Timon felt as if he were dying. "Let's get out of here!" Timon kicked his mount into a gallop. "We need to tend your wounds," Zulaika shouted. "Later." "We need you awake not torpored!" Or worse… Am I dying again? This time to perish in truth?They had to get out of there before Galee could throw something else at them. "That was a demon!" **** Travis called a halt as soon as they lost sight of the city, moving into a wooded area, to let the horses rest. The six survivors gathered in a small, cold camp. Iuf took charge of rubbing down and feeding his, Travis's, and Itch's mounts while Travis tried to manage Itch's wounds. "What the hell got him?" Woodfine asked, squatting beside Itch for a better look. He was the youngest son of a minor Gormondi noble, who had persuaded his father to allow him to train in the Willodarian temple as a ranger after meeting Nans when a boy. "Vampire of some kind," Travis answered. "It doesn't look like anything is coming after us. They'd be on us by now. They were hell-bent for leather, chasing that other group. Woodfine, build up a small fire, screen it." The wounds were three small punctures about half an inch round, like fangs, but widely spaced. The flesh had necrotized, blackened with green, pustulent centers. Around the wounds, Itch's side was reddened and splotchy with spidery lines of infection. "Venom." Iuf ran his fingers through his scruffy brown hair as he let the word out. "Yeah," Travis said, his tone grim. "Feel his forehead. Fever. He's burning up and his skin's clammy. I haven't seen this before." He touched the little Willodarian holy symbol of the bear Itch always wore around his neck. If Itch died, Travis would see that the symbol reached his half-brother Luck along with the rest of Itch's worldly possessions. He owed Itch that much. "I guess this puts me in command."
"I guess it does," Woodfine agreed. Rank was earned among the rangers, not handed out because of one's birth; so, noble's son or not, he obeyed Travis's orders without question like all the others. "We gotta warn King William," Travis said, a faraway note in his voice. "But damn it. I sure as hell don't want to be the one to tell him Nans is dead." "I'll tell him," Woodfine said, phlegmatically. "Yeah, you do that. And Woodfine, throw together one of those side slings for Itch's horse. I want to pack him up like we did those avalanche victims, three years ago. So long as he's alive, we're not leaving him behind." **** Itch had grown very weak by morning, with signs that the venom was causing some kind of internal bleeding: blood in his urine, flecks of it around his nostrils, and he was coughing it up. They got him wrapped tight and suspended from the side of his horse in the sling, a wooden frame lashed tight to the saddle. "He's dying, Travis," Woodfine said, the dark depths of his eyes haunted. "I damn well know it. If my old dog was here he'd bite you for shoving it in my face." Travis leaned against his saddle, the hand holding the reins draping the pommel, the other tightening to white knuckles on the cantle. "No'un's shovin', Travis," Iuf interposed. "We're all hurtin'. We've never had us a war. You're the only officer we got left." "We're not soldiers, Iuf." "What would your old dog do?" Woodfine asked. "Bare his teeth and fight." "Then Old Dog was a soldier." "Get mounted," Travis said. "There's a farm about two hours down the road. Big one, as I remember. We'll try to purchase supplies. Maybe we can rest up for a day in his barns." "Now Travis is a soldier," Iuf observed to Woodfine as he swung into the saddle. **** In the late morning hours, the rangers came upon the edge of a grazing field and spied the farmer's two-story wood frame house shortly after. They followed a
winding pine shaded path to the front door. Travis had scarcely dismounted when three of the ugliest dogs he had ever seen trotted around from the direction of the barns, tongues lolling out, and tails wagging, followed shortly by the farmer. They were huge beasts the size of ponies, showing mastiff blood in their blocky heads and stout bodies. The farmer had seen the way they shot out of the barns and knew he had company. When he got not so much as a sound from them he had at first been puzzled and then alarmed. They always growled at strangers and neighbors alike, backing them away from the house. The dogs were well trained; no one came closer than the flower gardens unless invited. His neighbors knew to ring the bell on the rope to announce themselves. When he got there, Travis was sitting on the ground, grinning with the three ugly dogs licking at his face and wagging their tails happily. "My old dog would have really liked you guys." "Wilderkin?" the farmer asked, puzzled. "Who, me?" Travis asked, flashing his Willodarian ranger runes at the farmer, before dropping them inside his shirt on their chain. "Nah, just got a way with dogs." The farmer, Ryss Redoaks, laughed at him. This mon might not be wilderkin, but it was common knowledge that Willodarian rangers often had special gifts with various animals and this one's was clearly dogs. Travis stood up. "We need to purchase supplies, remounts if you've got them, and we could use shelter for a day. Barns would be fine. We're not hard to please. We've seen battle. We've got wounded." Farmer Redoaks sketched the sign of the bear and then shouted for his sons. They took the horses and the farmer led the rangers inside. His wife, daughter, and daughter-in-law met them. They carried Itch to an upstairs guestroom and as soon as they unrolled the blankets Woodfine had secured him in, the smell of corruption from the necrotizing wounds made them gag. Only the daughter-in-law, Ona, who had had some healer training, handled it well. "One of those damned demon-vampire's stuck him, didn't it?" she asked, even before she saw the wounds. She threw a layer of bleached linen pads on the bed and indicated that Travis should lay him down there. Itch's clothing was soaked with filth. Ona removed it, wrapped it up, and had her sister-in-law carry it down and throw it in the fire. "Burn it well." Itch's entire side had blackened; spidery webs and reddened blotches spread across his chest. His breathing had become stertorous. "You know what these creatures are?" Travis asked Ona. "No one knows, beyond the fact that they're royals," Ona replied. "There are
rumors. Our farm lies on a major trade route and I get called out sometimes for my skills. How much lore do you have, ranger?" She mixed drugs as she waited for him to answer. The best she could do for the dying mon was to ease his pain. Ona raised Itch's head and then had to massage his throat to induce swallowing once the drug was in his mouth. "Not much. Nans and Itch had most of it. But she's dead, she fell in Minnoras, and he's–" Travis swallowed and nodded at his friend, unable to speak. "That's Itch." "Well, last fall the heir of Creeya was murdered, and there's still no word on whether the son of our god survives or not. If he does, then he is acting in secret." "Which one?" Travis felt chilled. Was this thing going after all of Willodarus' children. "Dynarien. The mother of the blood stuck him in Creeya, all ten fingers. The High Patriarch says that they may be Lemyari, the dread ones from the Burning Age." Travis relaxed just a mite. "He's alive. The Divine Twins ripped Lord Hoon a new asshole in Charas. They got the stolen pieces of their souls back in the process." "That is wondrous news. Mark this well. The Lemyari carry the venom in their fingers. A tiny bit paralyzes. More kills, how quickly depends on how much and whether they get it into an artery. There is no antidote." "Travis?" Itch's voice was scarcely more than a whisper. The ranger moved to Itch's side, taking his hand. "I'll take care of them. I'll warn William." "And … and I'll … say 'hi' to Old Dog." Itch's head fell forward, his chin resting on his chest and then settling to the side. Travis held Itch's cooling hand and wept. **** Ryss Redoaks kept to the ways of the earth and forest, with private shrines to Davera and Willodarus on his property. He sold the Rowdies remounts, pack animals, and supplies and threw in extras, calling it an offering and a blessing. Ryss intended to hide his shrines and quietly make a waystation of the farm. He was a true believer and appreciated the warning. He also insisted that Travis take his youngest son, Shayne, along as part of the company. Travis had some misgivings, not knowing what kinds of dangers they might be riding into, but he accepted–it would probably become just as dangerous here on the farm. Ryss buried Itch in his own family plot, aging the grave with some discreet application of mulch and leaves. No one would suspect that it had not been there for years.
Ryss's wife stitched them black armbands at Travis's request and he tied five black ribbons to each of them: Nans, Itch, Brierly, Dorys, and Timfinn. Then they rode out to catch up with their wagons. "Old Dog, My Big Blue," Travis muttered, "I sure wish you were running with me now. I was never meant to be a Freeranger Captain, but the job's mine and I guess I gotta do it. The Rowdies are depending on me." Horses travel faster than wagons roll so Travis and his survivors overtook the van at the Fords of Hillora six days later. As they rode up the line, Travis could not meet any of their eyes. The black armbands spoke for them, as did the absent faces. He drew even with Luck and flinched when he looked at him. "They didn't make it. I'm sorry about your brother. We're all that's left. Get everyone across the fords and then circle them at the first clearing. Defensive circle. Horses inside the perimeter. I'm only going to tell it once." **** Shouts rose from the courtyard and Anksha went to the window. "They've been attacked," she hissed, pointing at Timon. "Timon is hurt." The company that had set out so proudly from the estate now looked bedraggled and hag-ridden. Zulaika and Amiri were at Timon's side the moment he started to slide from his horse, trying to help him, but he shook them off. Ephry left his chair by Isranon's bed, joining Anksha at the window, fearing for Timon, and was relieved to see the tall vampire dismount before limping heavily into the mansion. "Stay here, pet, I'm going downstairs." Ephry took the stairs two at a time and then simply vaulted the railing to land lightly on the lowest floor. He saw Timon and rushed to his side, concern written deeply into every line of his delicate features. Timon took Ephry in his arms, kissing him. Ephry's fingers dropped to Timon's thigh, tracing the edge of the bandaged leg in mute question, then poked through the tears in Timon's tunic where he found more bandages. Timon should not have needed them. Vampires healed swiftly, their wounds simply closed within minutes, hours at most. "Ambush." Timon's hand tightened on Ephry's. "It's Amalthea." He pitched his voice to carry through the hall. "Everyone, you know what to do. No one will be left behind. No one will be sacrificed. We are a holding. We are a family. We will not compromise our honor. The old ways have never been our ways. We are Borealysyn." Ephry hugged Timon, grateful that he had finally spoken the secret name, and his father be damned. All of his vampires had lived in tightly controlled discipline and honor among their nibari. A cheer went up from the nibari and the vampires. They had known, but kept it guarded from Timon's sire who had little knowledge beyond
rumor of the heretical sect. Ephry and Timon had realized that part of Isranon's attraction to them was the similarity of the Dark Brothers to the Borealysyn. "Get into your units, and prepare to evacuate to my holdings in Jedrua. Avoid contact with my father's people. May whatever merciful gods heed the prayers of pariahs, hear us, and gather us safely back again." Then Timon headed for the stairs. "What is an Amalthea?" Nevin asked as he and Olin fell into step beside them. Timon started up the stairs to Isranon's rooms, "Amalthea was my mother. She betrayed my father with his brother…." In a sudden rush Timon decided to end the time of secrets and he told Nevin all of it. "Waejonan. His brother, Waejonan. My father is Brandrahoon. She and Waejonan then murdered my siblings. They left me for dead. My father turned me to save me. We murdered her. We and all of our people were forced to flee from Waejonan afterward. That is the significance of an Amalthea. That kind of flight to safety. The tale of the three brothers draws to an end I fear." **** Anksha frowned at the bandage, relinquishing the chair by moving onto the bed, crawling around the pillows. The tall vampire settled into it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, although that made the injured leg ache. Soon he would feed properly and that would heal him. Perhaps Auclos. The lad had been eyeing him hungrily–that one enjoyed being bitten and ridden. Timon could do with a little of both just then. "If you're dreaming of blood, lover, you're dreaming in the wrong direction," Ephry pouted, licking his way along Timon's neck. Timon snatched his hair, prisoning him. "I intend to fuck you senseless, Ephry, and drink the wine of your veins. But we must talk first." He pushed Ephry to the floor to curl like a dog around his legs. "It hurts. Tear the bandage open and lick it. Your rough tongue might ease it, lycan." Isranon shoved himself up in bed. The movement caused him pain in his stomach and chest. Weakness made his head swim with the effort. Anksha caught him under the arms, wrestling him up, waddling backwards like a duck with the blankets and pillows tangling around her. Nevin and Olin helped her and they got him sitting comfortably. Ephry licked the blackened wound along the cracked edges in measured strokes. Timon sighed. Only kenda'ryl or certain types of runed blades could have done that to him. Ephry loved Timon so intensely that if he found this abhorrent he did not object, but continued to work at cleaning it. Lycan saliva contained a healing element, which aided them, part and parcel of their remarkable healing abilities.
"What the hell could do that to a Lemyari?" Nevin asked. "It nearly killed me. It had a black sword. We had to stick it and stick it and stick it. The deathtree was on its blade, its armor." "Irrfelghau," said Isranon. "Ghosts keep whispering 'irrfelghau' to me. I don't know how it's possible. Bellocar is spawning them and getting them off the escarpment." Timon looked incredulous. "Ghosts? You're sa'necari." "I am a speaker to spirits like Dawnhand." Isranon saw the disbelief in all their faces. "Ephry, your grandfather's spirit came by two days ago. You are fair, but he was an albino. He told me that when you were ten, you became angry over a toy you were refused and ran away. You got as far as an old abandoned mill, which you picked for a lair, except that the floor was rotted in places and the stairs partly gone. You fell through during one of the worst floods in twenty years. You broke both hind legs and almost starved before they found you." Ephry paled to colorlessness, swallowing nervously. "Timon, your life was one long tale of pain, yet you found your honor out of it. A sad little girl with golden hair, whose spirit hovers constantly around you, is trying to talk to you, but you cannot hear her. She says to remember the blue flowers of spring and the red ones of summer that you made chains of to hang about her neck. When you come to the great waters, tell the tavern master at the Caravansary of the Fallen Pillars the truth as you know it, mark it on the maps and send for the man who is a woman." "My sister Elyse!" Timon gasped. "Her soul was freed from the legacy when Mephistis died." "Now do you believe?" Isranon asked tiredly. "If the spirits say it was an irrfelghau attacked you, then it was an irrfelghau." A wave of pain caught him. He looked down at the warm wetness spreading across his stomach. The embedded spells had reopened the stubborn wounds and he was bleeding. He sagged back against the pillows, his face ashen. "Isranon," Timon called to him, but he did not answer; he had slipped away from them again. **** "Wagons can be replaced, lives can't." Travis addressed the Rowdies standing in the center of the camp. "Sooner we're out of here, the safer everyone will be." Seri looked frightened, glancing from face to face as Travis spoke. Luck noticed and put his arm around her shoulders. She carried Oddo in a backpack one of the
rangers had given her. She had not stopped crying since hearing about Nans. "Load everything irreplaceable on the horses and abandon the rest. We've enough gold to buy what we need along the way. I'm breaking us up into three units. The safest route is the longest, up through Darr and over the top into Gormond's Reach before coming down to Merkreth's Crossing. That's the way to carry the children. That's your unit, Iuf. Second group heads straight for William Gryphonheart with news of what happened. Woodfine, you're in charge of that one. Sooner or later–sooner I'm afraid–that creature is going to come slamming up against either Darr or Gormond's Reach. Luck and I are heading for the Crossing to watch for any Taladrim or ranger companies that might come through to alert them. Should any of you get separated in skirmishes with these assholes, get to the Crossing." He paused to scan their faces like Nans would have. "Good luck." Travis went to Seri and squatted down in front of her. "Now don't you worry, little Seri. Iuf is going to get you and your brothers and sister safely to your Aunt and Uncle's place. I promise." Seri nodded, her eyes on her hands. Travis put a thick finger under her chin and lifted her head. His hand was broad and heavy, calloused and hard, but his touch was gentle. "You trust me?" "Yes," Seri answered in a small voice. "Then go on over to Iuf so he can get you mounted up. We're putting you on the gentlest, best mare we have. She's a good horse. And Iuf's a good mon." Travis reached into his pockets, brought out some silver coins, put them in Seri's hands, closing her fingers over them. "Get yourself some candies at the first town you reach." Seri managed a small smile and got to her feet. **** Nevin and Olin had never seen an evacuation pack up so quickly. Everyone knew what to do and did it. The estate was like a single huge symbiotic creature. The Lemyari would be taking their nibari with them. Those nibari served their masters in full trust. A large measure of that trust was bred into them over the centuries and other parts were learned. Their slavery was written in their genes, but their devotion was earned, like nurturing the bud that becomes a flower. A nibari might allow themselves to be drained to death by the masters, but a devoted nibari would take up arms against anyone or anything that threatened a master rather than flee before it. A small group gathered on the roof top garden. Timon stared at the plants with regret. This had been his only real home for centuries, but now he had to consider his people and those he loved. "Isranon is still too weak. He'll never survive an
Amalthea." Timon said. "I'm not even certain how much longer we can keep sustaining him the way we have. The spells have started eroding our efforts." "Then let us take him to Treth," Zulaika persisted. "We either try to find a life-mage or we try those necromantic shamans. We approach his injuries from his human side or from his hemovore side." "Life-mages will not touch a sa'necari," Timon said. "I could make them," Anksha said flatly, her eyes narrowing. "There are only five survivors of the genocide, Anksha," Timon told her. "And they are all traveling with the Sacred King. You would never get close to them." Mephistis had masterminded the genocide of the life-mages, but a few had taken refuge in the only temple no one dared go up against: the temple to the God of Cussedness. Dynanna defended her handful of temples with strange creatures and Badree Nym–the sweet child-like pariahs of the sylvan races, who could knock a house down without realizing it. Mephistis and his father had been fools to threaten that one. "Then it's Treth. We can't wait any longer," Zulaika said to Timon. "We've filled carry balls with books, potions, and valuables. Things that might tempt the houngans of Treth. Some of the nibari and lycans will come with us. We'll just be one more group of refugees and travelers in this mess." "But he's so weak," Timon said. "The sa' nekaryiane's people will be on us any day now, Timon." Timon nodded. "Go on. Meet us in Jedrua when you can." "I'm going with them," Anksha said. Timon looked down at her and ruffled her hair. "Good luck to you, pet." Then Timon carried Isranon to the large wooden boat of a wagon with walls and roof. The rear opened horizontality in the middle with a small step that slid down when the bottom half opened. Inside were a bed and a cot fastened to the sides. Cabinets were built above them. Chests were lashed to the sides nearest the rear door. Nevin climbed in first and threw back the blankets. Timon got Isranon settled onto the bed as comfortably as possible. Nevin adjusted the blankets, tucking them into the raised edge that prevented a passenger from rolling off in reaction to any jostling on the road. Although Isranon had gotten enough strength back to manage a few steps around his room with aid, he could never have made it that far. Ephry followed with a package that he placed beside Isranon.
"What is that?" Isranon asked. "Your blades. The ones we took from you when you became Anksha's blood-slave. She has ordered that they be returned," Timon said. "This is your company now, Isranon. You are their lord, Zulaika is your captain. Anksha is your–" "Pet!" Anksha exclaimed, crawling in from the front of the wagon through a small door. "I am your pet." Timon nodded. "A good idea. Should anyone discern that Anksha is not human, tell them that she is your familiar and you are a mage, Isranon." "I will do that." Isranon ran his hand around his neck. He felt oddly naked without his slave-collar. Timon had had it removed yesterday and he had still not become used to that. "I am their lord? In truth? Or is this a pretense?" "In truth." Timon clasped Isranon to him one last time and then settled him back. "We'll find each other again, Isranon," Timon told him. "I promise. Whether it is in this life or the next." "The three of us," Ephry told him. "Together, always. We'll hunt the big boars." **** Isranon's company traveled roads already choked with refugees, mostly women and children. The majority of the males had been trapped by the nekaryianes' songs and remained in Minnoras, hunting those of their own who had not succumbed or making sorties against those who had fled. There were a few males, but only a few, among those who had escaped. Isranon's large, armed and well-provisioned company was conspicuous among the tattered refugees. They comprised the ten Ymraudes and five Lemyari as outriders on their war-trained barded horses, their mounted nibari riding close to the wagons. Haig's nine female nibari, four with infants–including Nainee–and five still swollen with offspring, rode inside the rear wagons. The two male nibari belonging to Haig rode mounted: Eustyn, who had once belonged to Isranon, and Sylimon, a sterile male whose main purpose until then had been to bed the females when they wished it without being able to get children on them. Six lycans paced the three wagons like gigantic dogs, and the drivers rode with a companion each. Nevin drove the wagon carrying Isranon and Anksha with Olin beside him. The nibari of the Ymraudes could fight if forced, but Haig's had never been taught. Haig's nibari would provide sustenance to his three companions and Isranon, as well as help around their camp. Timon had also given Isranon four female nibari and their six offspring who ranged in age from eight to twelve; two of them were nearly old enough to be blooded and bedded for the final stages of their training. Anksha did not complain about concealing her tail beneath her trousers. All this
misery bothered her. She rode curled up against Isranon, worrying about him, worrying about Timon and Ephry, and worrying about Hoon. She did not feel like the great and terrible demon-eater any more. She felt like the lost little creature she had been when Hoon had found her all those centuries ago. Her species were tough, but they were not invincible. She did not remember what kind of creature killed her mother, but it seemed huge in her memory. Hoon had killed it. Her mother had lingered a few days, telling Hoon that the little one's name was Anksha. But that was all Hoon understood and Hoon never found another creature like her. He was never certain whether 'Anksha' was 'who' she was or 'what' she was. **** The mon with the staff continued to haunt Isranon's dreams, although he never again saw the staff as clearly as he had in the first one; its image had faded to mist in his mind. That night the dream became a nightmare. Isranon stood in a crowd of onlookers as the mon 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. A herald unrolled a parchment and read from it the mon's crimes. The only word that Isranon caught was 'treason.' The herald withdrew and the guards stripped the mon of his clothing, leaving him completely nude. Isranon's stomach tightened at how terribly marked he was by the torturer's tools. Guards lifted him 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 condemned mon shuddered at each quick slice. "Galee!" he screamed. "Galee, my scions will cast your soul to the winds!" Revulsion tightened in Isranon's gut, but he could not look away. Horror held him prisoner and he murmured his revered ancestor's name under his breath, "Dawnhand." 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. Then 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. 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 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. The crowd cheered; adults and children threw filth and garbage at Dawnhand. Sickened, Isranon turned away, walking toward the forest beyond the clearing where he saw two people standing. One of them looked familiar. When he got close enough to tell, he saw the mon was Hoon. The female … he felt certain he had seen her also, and then he remembered the woman in Hoon's mirror. She had nut-brown skin, pointed ears and blue-black hair: Gylorean Galee. "How long before he comes for me?" Hoon 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 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." "Do it, Galee. Do it." They walked deep into the forest. Isranon followed them, drawn like a moth to a flame. Galee sat upon the ground and patted the earth beside her. Hoon sat down. For an instant Hoon looked nervous and uncertain. She opened his shirt, her fangs flashing. His eyes widened in horror at the sight of her fangs and he tried in vain to move away from her. She gripped him tightly, forcing him backward despite his struggling, pressing him into the dank black soil and rotted leaves. According to legend, the world had not known of or contained vampires until Galee made Hoon. But then what was Galee? Isranon was so lost in thought that he almost missed what he had come to witness. "No. No. Noooooo!" Hoon's despairing scream snapped Isranon back. Something
in the way that Galee straddled Hoon, attacking his throat, reminded Isranon of Anksha. Isranon stifled a scream of his own and tried to run, only to slide into a nest of pine needles. Galee lifted her bloody mouth from Hoon's torn throat and stared at him. She could see him. "Dawnhand? No, not Dawnhand … he's out there dying. Who are you? Tell me who you are." Isranon scrambled to his feet and fled, her voice echoing after him. He woke alone in the wagon, shaking like an aspen leaf in a gale. At least he thought he was alone. Gradually he became aware of a mon sitting on the other cot. He did not recognize the battered, seamed face at first. Then it came back to him as the ghost's identity banished the last vestiges of his vision. "Josiah?" He clutched at his friend's presence as an anchor. The ghost smiled. "Hello, Isranon." "Why have you come?" "You comforted me in my captivity. And we have a connection that you may not realize. When Bodramet attacked you in my room, I cast shared life on you. When Hoon struck at me as the spell was cast, far more tumbled through than blood." "That odd spell of yours. Yes, I remember it. You gave me your blood, but in such a strange fashion. Hoon forced you to drain a mon to death with it." The ghost looked deeply distressed. "It was not meant for such things. It was meant to give life, not take it. We are connected by it. By that and our friendship." "I wish I could have protected you." Isranon remembered the days and nights he tended Josiah after each round of torture Hoon inflicted upon the mage. He had been just as helpless to save Josiah and Mephistis as he had himself. He fell into troubled silence. Meeting his own doom with stoic courage was one thing, watching it happen to someone else... If only he had been strong enough to become the hunter and not the hunted.Your teachings were wrong, father. We should have resisted the sa'necari, not fled them. "Isranon, it is my feeling that it may take a broken mon to heal a broken mon. To that end I will tell you the first place to look for help. You will need a lot of help to reach Treth. The darkness hunts you and the light does not want you." Isranon pushed himself up on his elbows and managed a sitting position despite the pain it brought him. "As it has ever been."
"You will not wither from Anksha's feedings or any other touch of hers." He had long wondered why Yoris had begun to wither first. "Why not?" "Because of that moment of Shared Life. I do not fully understand it, but I know it. Perhaps your sufferings will bring forth the latencies and you will even find a way to heal yourself…. From that moment in the attic, you carried the potential to be greater than Bodramet, greater–possibly–even than Mephistis." The ghost fell silent for a time and then began to speak once more. "You and yours really know very little of the human lands and how they work. You are pariahs and outcasts. Here the first person pariahs and outcasts go for assistance is to an infuriating little god named Dynanna. Two days north of here you will strike a stream. Follow it to an old hunter's trace; continue on that north, northeast to an elm hollow. There you will find an abandoned shrine to Dynanna. Ask her nicely and I think she'll listen." "A god? A god listen to a sa'necari?" Isranon hardly dared to hope. Josiah had taught him a little about the Gods of Light during their intermittent conversations. Because of his weakened condition and spending so much time in the grip of Sanguine Rose, he remembered it only in small parts. "Yes,"Josiah replied. "She will listen. I must go. My strength fades. I will return when I can." He considered the words of his ghostly teacher and friend. Then he made his decision. When Anksha appeared a little later, he told her, "Anksha, tell Zulaika I need to speak with her. We're going to a shrine to Dynanna."
CHAPTER THREE. flight The acrid smoke of burning buildings obscured the moon. The evening breezes cast the drifting cinders far and wide, like angry fireflies. Roofs caught fire and the flames spread. The night became a hell of shifting patterns in black and orange, screaming people and the moans of the dying. Nans walked through streets choked with panicked citizenry, keeping herself between Deryna, who carried one child on her hip and held the other by the hand, and the chaos swirling around them. She kept them easing along close to the buildings. Bodies littered the avenues, many of them women and children. They had to step over and around the dead. Nans focused away from the sights, concentrating on her goal of reaching the city gates. Her life-long concealment of her true nature as yuwenghau, demi-god, would end this night; the enemy would soon know that one of her kind strode among them. She glanced and saw that Deryna had acquired another child, herding it along in front of her. With her greater than human strength,
Nans used the staff to knock horses and riders from her path when they came plunging at her, crushing their skulls as soon as they went down. Nans fought with a single-minded intensity, beating her way through the violence whipping around her. A mounted guardsmon charged her. She slammed the heavy metal head of the staff into the horse's chest. Bone cracked as the beast went down; the sound was lost in the noise of conflict. She stomped her foot through the horse's skull and crushed the pinned rider's throat with her staff. "Yuwenghau," people murmured and a few managed to cling to her wake. At the gates, the guardsmyn and followers of Galee strove to prevent anyone from getting out. The people were meat and the meat would not escape. Nans reached the gates as six soldiers tried to draw it closed. "No, damn you," Nans snarled, spinning the staff. The first soldier died with his throat crushed by the blunt metal cap on the staff's end. She knocked two more down and stomped them hard in the stomach, rupturing their internal organs as she closed on the last three. She parried the fourth's sword, jabbed him in the groin, and brought the metal head up under his chin with enough force to snap his neck. The last two fled. She let her staff drop. Her hands closed on the cold metal frame of the portcullis, her muscles flexed and then she tore the screaming, twisting metal off its hinges. Nans strode forward with the portcullis and battered the heavy oak and steel outer gate with it until the wood splintered and the steel shrieked. More soldiers came running with the two who had fled in the lead. She sailed the ruined portcullis into them, and then seized what remained of the gate with a wrenching twist that left it hanging half off its hinges. "You prick-whores will not be closing it now," she cursed. She scooped her staff up and walked through. The yuwenghau continued walking, only half-noting that she had acquired a tail of people until she reached the sheltering trees beyond sight of the walls. Then Nans paused to discover that she had picked up twenty odd women and children, and three men. "Let's get well clear of here before they send something after us." No one argued with that. They walked until the children were too tired to go further; one of the men was stumbling by then and leaning on his companion. Nans allowed them to rest beneath the trees in as much concealment as could be managed and took stock. There were no unbroken families among them. A few of the women had simply picked up children they found on the street as they followed in the aftermath of Nans's carnage. The children seemed to range in age from a year to twelve years old. Two of the men, Kell and Ifor, were guardsmyn. The third, Orim, was a shopkeeper. Orim had had his family with him when they made the attempt to escape and he had got separated from them. He sat with his face in his hands, sobbing. Deryna went to Ifor first, getting his clothing open. He had a long tear in his side.
Nans squatted beside him and Kell turned to her with a war-strained look of gratitude. "Holy One, thank you." "None of that." Nans realized abruptly that she was shaking with rage and caught a deep, fortifying breath before continuing. "Few of us really enjoy being addressed that way. And I'm only half-blood. I'm just Nans. I'd rather every single one of you," she scanned their faces, "forgot what I did back there. I don't want those bottom-wetters to know what I am…"so they can't get my measure "before I cram it down their suck-ass throats." They all nodded agreement to that. "We need to make a travois for Ifor," Nans said. "I'll get it started," Kell answered and headed into the trees to hack down some straight branches. "Get the children organized and assigned to the adults in little groups. Keep them moving in the middle, ready to dive into the bushes at the first sign of trouble." The rest of the adults moved off to implement her orders and Nans found herself alone with Deryna. Unlike the majority of wilderkin, Nans was classified as a predator and lacked the peace aura that prevented those with it from hunting. It also meant that she did not wake up knee deep in furry creatures every morning, although she could summon them as messengers when she needed to send them to others of her kind in emergencies. She did not yet have enough information to justify that. She still did not know what this creature was; only that it existed. Nans realized she was clutching her wounded shoulder when Deryna gently pried her hand away. Pain coursed through her. She had been blocking it out instinctively, and awareness came in a rush and a wince at the healer's touch. "Let me have a look." Deryna took her aside, "tsking" at the way Nans had torn it open again. She changed the bandaging. "You think those things will come after us?" Deryna asked. "There are always myn looking for easy prey when trouble breaks out. They want as little word getting out as possible about what is going down in Minnoras. They'll try to sweep up everyone that ran. They'll also try to play gobble-gobble with the outlying villages. The sa'necari haven't taken and held lands other than Zol and Waejontor. Both realms have fallen. Zol was literally blown off the map by a yuwenghau. Zol's surviving sa'necari, those not caught in the city, scattered. Until now they were not much of a threat. But if they've been gathered into Minnoras?"
"Ria Torrundarsdottir. She called the Hammer of Heaven," Deryna said, pointing out what some of the legendary yuwenghau were capable of. Nans nodded. "Sharani grandchild of my half-brother Teakamon, Shepherd of the Wilds, and a daughter of Torrundar Storm Lord." "Full blood?" "Nearly and Torrundar's favorite. I never met her. But I've heard the tales." **** That mon might as well stop screaming,Gaeatyra thought as she stole through the trees and brush, slipping from one patch of deep shadow to another beneath the bright moonlight. It would only send people scattering in the opposite direction–with the possible exception of herself, of course. Gaeatyra was of the Taladrim, solitary hunters, running with their moonwolves at their sides; distress, terror, and pain were magnets for a Taladri. A faint, hard-ass expression, half-sneer, had got locked onto her face out of habit during the last Great War and rarely left her for long: it was there when she dropped her hand to her moonwolf's white ruff before parting the brush once she was certain that she had to be nearly on top of the screaming mon. Willodarus's rangers and Tala's Hunters, the Taladrim, had been sent to the northwest of the Merezian continent as soon as word of the nekaryiane's rising went out to the temples. It was not until the refugees appeared that the city of her rising was ascertained. That thing had attracted every undead creature from vampires to revenants from as far north as Waejontor and as far south as the Grey Dawn into this region, as well as the masterless sa'necari. Gaeatyra would soon have her third kill in as many days. The mon lay staked out in the middle of a crudely made pentagram cut into the earth while a male rode her. He trailed a blade along her leg, drawing blood in the first stages of mortgiefan. "Fucking sa'necari," Gaeatyra muttered. She walked out, caught him by the back of the head, and slit his throat before he even knew she was there. Blood fountained over the mon. Gaeatyra threw him onto his back, straddled him, pulled a gem from her pocket, popped it into his mouth, and staked him with her blade through his heart. A white vapor tried to escape from his body only to be drawn into the gem. Gaeatyra pocketed the gem. This one would not rise undead. She had caught his soul. She would do a formal dismemberment after tending his victim. "What's you name?" Gaeatyra asked. "Ari Kolbren," she said, her sobs quieting until she got a good look at Gaeatyra as the Taladri moved to cut her loose. Then she screamed.
At first glance the rangy broad shouldered Sharani looked male, wearing three necklaces of ears and other bizarre things, including teeth and claws, a pair of bandoleers, a variety of strange weapons, a sword, and a backpack. Her hawkish face was seamed and scarred, her hands rough and calloused. She was altogether an unpleasant package. "I'm not going to hurt you," Gaeatyra said, startled by Ari's reaction. "I mean, why should I want to hurt another woman? Unless, of course, you came at me." "You're a woman?" Gaeatyra laughed. "I'm not a monster, if that's what you're thinking." She finished with Ari's bonds and the mon curled up into a shivering ball. Gaeatyra touched her gently. "Come on, I need to see what he did to you. You're bleeding. I'm one of the Taladrim. Our purpose is to search and destroy. Willodarus's rangers, like Nans Gryphonheart, who I hear is in the area, is to search and rescue. We are opposite sides of the same coin. If we cross paths with Nans, I'll leave you with her. But I will not simply abandon you." She kept talking, using her patter of words to reassure the terrified mon much as she would an animal, and slowly got Ari to uncurl. The sa'necari had barely begun to work on her; there were only three slashes. He had been taking his time. The two on her right leg were shallow, but the one on her left was deep. Ari would not be doing any walking. Gaeatyra cleaned and bandaged the wounds, then took a look at the blade the sa'necari had used. If it was a baneblade, then Ari was going to die anyway and rise undead in spite of anything Gaeatyra could do; they cut the soul as well as the body. Those blades were forged by upper echelon sa'necari; and Gaeatyra had a feeling he had not been one–he had died too easily. She turned the blade over in her hands, reading the runes. The runes were ugly, but the one she feared most was missing. Ari would still have a hard time, so Gaeatyra decided to keep her until she found someone capable of helping her. Damn the sa'necari and their black arts. The world would be better if they were all destroyed.Gaeatyra felt a flicker of regret that having Ari along meant she would not be getting a lot of kills until she found help for her. Gaeatyra had a bet going with Timjimikin, another Taladrim, that she would have more new ears than he did by winter solstice. "Your dog," Ari said, stretching her hand out as the moonwolf sniffed at her. Gaeatyra shrugged, saying off-handedly, "Emer's a wolf." Ari snatched her hand back and looked ready to curl up again. "He won't hurt you either," Gaeatyra's voice turned even dryer. "Emer, fetch the horses. We'll camp here until dawn."
She opened her pack, pulling out a shirt and tunic, which she handed to Ari. "It will probably fit like a sack and drag in the dirt, but at least it's clean and you'll be covered." Ari scrambled into it. Her alacrity pleased Gaeatyra. Maybe there was some backbone to the mon. "I'm going to cut him up. If that bothers you, look the other way." Ari looked ready to spew. "Why are you doing it?" "If I don't, some sa'necari can raise him and either send him after us or figure out what we are and where we went," Gaeatyra explained. That seemed to shock her silent, and after a few minutes she said softly, "Truly?" The sheer idiocy of that question almost provoked an irritated non sequitur, but Gaeatyra bit it back as she gathered nearby sticks and started a fire. She did not want to upset or frighten Ari even more. "Where are you from that you don't know about undead?" Ari stilled going colder, feeling the world dulling around her. "Angrim." She turned her back on Gaeatyra, huddling down by the fire. "Figures." Even if the Angrimers had problems with undead, they would conceal it: they never admitted that the supernatural was a threat to them. One of two realms anathematized by the Nine Elder Gods, Angrim worshipped a single deity in whose name they persecuted all other religions, all magic and arcane gifts in a bloody, intolerant fashion. Some of the stronger tribes, among them the Sharani, had kept their aggressions contained for centuries. Trade had been limited and fraught with hazards. Religious sanctions had been imposed on all who had intercourse with them as giving aid to those who did harm to their brethren. "What the hell were you doing this close to Minnoras?" "I–I ran away." "Well, you've run right into a war." Gaeatyra finished cutting out the sa'necari's heart and tossed it in the dirt. Her wolf emerged from the shadows to eat it after dropping the leads of two horses by the Taladri's knee, one a fine saddle mount and the other laden with packs. Ari watched all this with intense curiosity. "You are very strange folk." Gaeatyra guffawed at the irony of that. "We say the same of Angrimers." Ari fell silent for a long time, he hands resting on her chin as she stared, unseeing
into space. Gaeatyra did not want her brooding. "Be nice and I'll introduce you to the Sacred King." Gaeatyra figured anecdotes might put her at ease and take her mind off her terror. Ari blinked. "You know her?" Gaeatyra grinned. "I threatened to put her over my knee and spank hell out of her when she was sixteen." "You're joshing me." "She'd just brought her friends into Sharatier on a hare-brained errand on the eve of Aevrina Coleth's attempted coup and nearly got them all killed. I had a damned hard time getting them out of the city in one piece." Her voice gentled a bit. "Course, you're only sixteen once."Bunch of screwy kids even if they had been just consecrated as paladins. All but one of them were dead now. It made her feel old. No, Gaeatyra reconsidered,two were still alive, if you counted the dwarf . Gaeatyra was fairly certain the dwarf was still alive. But all the others in that group of youngsters–all dead–except Aejys.Damn the sa'necari! I'll kill every one of those bastards I get my hands on . Gaeatyra wrapped Ari in one of her blankets for the night and settled nearby to sleep with Emer guarding. Dawn came bright with a breath of breeze. Gaeatyra watched Emer's body fade into a smoky wisp that only she could see as he returned to his natural state for the duration of the daylight hours: Emer, like all moonwolves, was a ghost. Ari stirred sluggishly in Gaeatyra's bedroll, levering herself up on one arm to blink at her. The Taladri did not like the glazed look to her eyes. She felt her forehead and found fever. She mixed a distillate of willowbark and holadil, steadying her hand to help her drink it. Then she packed up, wrapped Ari in a blanket before putting her on the horse, and mounted behind her. There was a village to the north where she might be able to buy a cart. A wagon would be better. The sa'necari had had an ample purse on him. **** Isranon felt the ghost before he saw him, waking to Josiah's chill presence in the darkness. Josiah sat on his bed, seeming sad, his shoulders slumped, and head down. Josiah straightened when he realized that Isranon had awakened and was looking at him. Had Josiah been flesh, Isranon would have taken his hand or squeezed his shoulders in a gesture of comfort. The mon had died well, but not easy. That touched the sensitive core of Isranon. He felt wide open to the ghost's feelings, unable to close them out, and it added a psychic edge to his own suffering that normally he only felt in Anksha's presence after he had gone too long without
feeding her. "You will reach the shrine soon," Josiah told him. Isranon struggled to push himself into a sitting position with his palms and gritted his teeth against both his weakness and his pain. "Good. What is troubling you?" The ghost was silent for a time and then spoke hesitantly. "My body still sits on the Commons at Rowanhart." "Rowanhart?" That perplexed Isranon since Josiah had died in Charas. Josiah had had a mage tower there, a tower whose very name made Isranon ache with desire: the Dawnlight Tower. It called to him both because it shared part of his ancestor's name and because it suggested the Gods of Light whose acceptance he craved. The ghost nodded. "Kalirion sent it there with his priests and paladins. I belonged to him once. He still claims me. He geised the city–most of it–for how they treated me. So I lie there … in my coffin while they raise a temple with a sepulcher within it for my body. And all the while I lie there. There is a stasis to preserve my body until they can lay it to rest."The ghost sighed, its form wavering. "I failed my god, Isranon. I did not simply show pride toward him, I defied him." Isranon straightened, shocked by the revelation. Why would anyone wish to defy a God of the Light? He could not bring himself to ask why. "Josiah, let me help you." "You cannot. If I knew how, I would tell you. I have been forbidden to return to those I love. Kalirion has blocked my return to the wheel. I created my own nightmare. And I can find no path to atonement and forgiveness. Forgive me. I did not mean to share this…."Josiah faded away. "Josiah, come back." Isranon felt certain that Josiah had intended to speak of something else entirely, but now the chance was gone. He could have magically forced Josiah to return, but did not wish to risk their trust by doing so. He ran his fingers around the base of his neck, where the skin was lighter than the rest.This is not the life I expected to have as a slave. **** The vampires spread out around the shrine as Anksha and Nevin helped Isranon out of the wagon. Nevin stood, his arm around Isranon's waist, gripping him firmly. The lycan never said it, yet he bitterly resented how wasted Isranon had become, remembering all the years they had hunted together, how proud he had been when Claw granted him hunting privileges on Clan lands. Nevin had always predicted it, saying, "Here is a fine mon." None of them had been certain what to offer at an
outland god's shrine, but Olin and the nibari had decided on wine after discussing Isranon's vision of Josiah. Nevin saw how the little shrine's door hung half off its hinges, overgrown around the edges with weeds and pressed on all sides with trees. Would any god be found in such a place? The symbol over the door had been nearly obliterated, and only the faintest of imprints remained. Moving his head from side to side, Nevin discovered that from certain angles the symbol caught the fading edge of the last strands of sunlight through the leaves, appearing as a faint question mark. "It's abandoned. I hope it has not been desecrated," Zulaika muttered, dismounting. Isranon's legs gave and he sagged between them. Anksha and Nevin steadied him and went on, half carrying him. Unseen animals squeaked and scurried in the darkness. Zulaika lit a torch and found a wall bracket for it. The flickering flames revealed the shrine as a simple structure, square, and plain. Rows of benches made two aisles leading to the altar. Zulaika pulled boards off the broken windows, allowing sunlight to slant onto peeling green paint and the patches of grey, weathered wood beneath. Olin and Randilyn placed the bottles of wine in the wooden box beside the altar, calling on Dynanna in reverent tones. She appeared promptly; startled to hear her name called where it had not been spoken in over a century. She looked nothing like anyone could possibly have expected, totally unprepossessing in her scruffiness. The god had long red-gold hair hanging loose about her shoulders, a piquant nose, large green eyes, and lots of freckles. She wore a white longshoremyn's shirt over pants with large buttoned pockets. Dynanna looked about to see if an offering had been placed in the loot box, spied the wine and tucked the bottles into her pockets. The troubles she could get people into–and out of–were both legion and legend. According to many priests of many gods, Dynanna's unpredictability and uninhibited impulsiveness made the little trickster potentially one of the most dangerous deities in their world; far beyond her stature as a very minor young god–a yuwenghau. Her eyes flashed and her nostrils flared as she realized what they were. "Just what the hell do you think you're trying to pull this time," she snarled, snapping her fingers to materialize a lightweight mace. Sa'necari and vampires–Mephistis and Hoon had caught her once. They had slain her son, LorenRain. They had nearly slain her, but she had jumped to Kalirion and the Sun Lord healed her. Once was enough. "No more shit!" She lifted the mace, whose name was Basher, and started toward them with her other hand raised to summon her paladins. "Please," Isranon cried, pulling free of Anksha and Nevin. "Please, hear me." A hard wave of pain doubled him over and he fell, clutching at his side and stomach.
Dynanna stopped in the middle of summoning and peered at him. "What's wrong with you?" She lowered her mace to waist level, ready to raise and strike if necessary. "I'm sa'necari born," he gritted out. "But I'm pure. I've never committed mortgiefan… Because… I refused to do it… other sa'necari hurt me… the same ones… who hurt you. Anksha killed them." Dynanna came around the altar and touched him, Read him. "Shiiittt. They sure pulled a number on you." Her face softened with concern and she clipped the mace to her belt. She Read him more deeply and goggled at the magic patterns, seeing their potentials. She owed Kalirion a favor and giving him Isranon might do it. Collecting favors to be called in later was one of her favorite things. She owed Kalirion for saving her life, but she owed him even more for her accidentally messing up Josiah. She had also accidentally-on-purpose messed up Kalirion's garden with her favorite gopher curse after refusing his proposal of marriage. Dynanna just was not the marrying kind: kids yes, husbands no. "We're pariahs. We've lived in peaceful symbiosis, vampires, shifters, and nibaris. Now the sa'nekaryiane, the undead, the sa'necari, the followers of the Nine, all hunt us." Dynanna's expression softened still more. "I take in pariahs, outcasts, and general untouchables, but you're a real pack of hardcases. Well, gather round and I'll see what I can do." Anksha blinked. Dynanna was a very strange god. The whole crew filed into the shrine. "You know, I used to pretend to be a vampire and scare potential paladins by biting them. I thought it was a grand joke until I actually met one of you guys." Zulaika laughed and then the rest of them did also. "First thing, though I'll need to mark a couple of you the easy, nice way so you'll have a direct link to call for help if you need it. I have a feeling you'll need a lot of help. Doesn't mean I'll Hear. I get busy and preoccupied sometimes. But you never know." "Me," Isranon said. "You are now my liege-god. Of life and limb and earthly worship." Dynanna laughed. Isranon frowned. "Isn't that what they say?"
"That's what knights and paladins say to kings. You don't know much do you?" "I guess not. We're from Waejontor. It's different there, but we want to learn." A chorus of "ayes" sounded behind him. Dynanna laughed again, her voice filling with delight. "I never thought I'd have a collection of vampires and a sa'necari to call my own. It's gonna burn a little. Take your robe off." Anksha helped him get out of his robe. He still dressed like a blood-slave, but the clothing was heavy silk and wool and finer than anything he had ever worn before. Dynanna gaped at all the scars. "Shiiitt. You've sure been treated rough." Then she spotted the brand. "You're an escaped slave?" "I was to the sa'necari," Isranon said. "I am lord of my people now." "Meaning these folks?" Dynanna swept her hand at the company. "Yes." "Okay, let's do it." She picked a spot on his shoulder and touched it. He winced at the sharp burn, but it was over quickly. Then there was a question mark squiggle on his skin. "Next?" "Me," Anksha said. "Are you certain, little beast?" Dynanna asked. "Most of my paladins are Badree Nym." Dynanna would never forget what a beating Mally, who called herself the warrior princess, had given Anksha a century ago with her little wooden sword while playing in the forest one morning. Mally had magically dropped a tree on Anksha and then paddled her bottom with the wooden sword until the demon-eater was in tears. Anksha would never forget both the pain and the humiliation. But Anksha had jumped Mally first, biting and scratching, so to Dynanna's mind, she had gotten her 'just deserves.' "Nym?" Anksha squeaked. Her eyes got large, and her lower lip thrust out as she studied the mark on Isranon's shoulder. Then she squared her shoulders and said, "Yes." Anksha pulled her shirt off and put up with the burn, determined to be as brave as her Isranon. Then Dynanna marked Randilyn and they moved on to other things. One by one the others came and swore fealty to her. Zulaika and Amiri came last, catching her eye with a pledge of silence as it registered in Dynanna's awareness that these two had already been marked by one of the Nine Elder gods. Now what was one of the Nine doing marking vampires? Then she recognized Amiri and gave her a
sly wink, knowing Amiri would probably spend weeks trying to puzzle that one out. Did all the Ymraudes belong to the Tinkerer? The trickster speculated on what Amiri's reaction would be if she discovered the little old mon who had been selling her trinkets for years and advising her on courses of actions was actually Dynanna. Amiri had done her lots of favors, mostly unwittingly. "I'm not a healer. I'm a trickster. However, my mark should prove you're talking truth to people. You'll need gold in places, not just those esoteric things you're planning on bribing houngans and shamans with. That I can help with." She snapped her fingers and two chests appeared. Then she thought for a while and summoned some map cases, marking some places and routes for them. "I'll alert my folks to watch for you and help." She replaced their stores of food for the shifters and nibaris. Dynanna wished she could do more for the vampires, but they just smiled when she gave them her regrets. "A ghost gave me a prophecy years ago," Isranon told her. Dynanna chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "Don't know much about prophecies, but run it by me." "She said that the echo of the Dawnhand would be kindled to fullness within me by the touch of the all talent and I would ride with gods and kings of light to the shores of Ildyrsetts where I would find my ancestor's staff." Dynanna blinked, her head dropped low until her chin nearly touched her chest the way a wolf would lower it and she stroked her chin with her thumb as she circled him, considering. "Are you telling me Dawnhand's your ancestor?" "Yes. Is there something wrong with that?" "Nooooo." She rubbed the side of her nose as she considered. "You do kind of look like him now that I notice. In fact, you look exactly like him. Except for the ears. His had points. He was sylvan, you know." Isranon had not known that for certain, but he nodded for her to continue. "You knew Dawnhand?" Dynanna gave him a smug cat-grin. "Of course. He was my brother. That's why our daddy gave him the staff. He was a favorite son and all that." Isranon swayed in shock as murmurs of surprise susurrated around him. He was descended of a God of Light, yet he was condemned to the darkness by his birth as sa'necari. He might walk the edges of the Light with Dynanna as his liege-god, but he could never step fully into it.
"Skin's a mite dark." She leaned her face in to look closer, scratched under her nose, then rubbed her folded finger underneath it. "Hmmmn. I know where the staff is." "You do!" Isranon's heart raced. "Yup." She circled him again, pausing to poke him in the shoulder. "Not quite as tall, maybe. But Dawnhand's been dead a long time. I might not remember right anymore. I can arrange for you to pick it up in Ildyrsetts, cause that's where it is. He doesn't know its name or what it does, so when someone offers you a staff, just say yes and ask no questions. Promise?" "You have my word." Ildyrsetts. But where were the gods and kings? Dynanna clearly did not intend to ride with him. "Okay. Now I'm out of here," Dynanna said. "One more thing," Anksha cried out urgently. "One more!" "What?" Dynanna looked down at her. "A flute! Isranon needs a flute." Everyone looked startled except Isranon, who smiled as Anksha told the story exactly as Isranon had told it to her. Dynanna smiled and then snapped her fingers. A lovely silver flute appeared in her hands. "No one wants to become a monster, Isranon." She placed it in his hands. Isranon felt a wave of warmth spread through him as he lifted it to his lips and began to blow. All the fears and worries vanished from his heart. It seemed for a moment that he could see Timon standing near, his head up, listening with a look of such love in his eyes that it brought tears to Isranon's own and then he was gone. Isranon lowered the flute. Dynanna was also gone and the little party was alone in the shrine with their gifts. He felt more certain now that although he had been born sa'necari, he would never become a monster. Father, somehow, some way, I have stepped to the edge of the light. I wish you were with me. I am to have the staff and you told me I wouldn't. I don't have to fight for it either; I'm not seeking conflict. She's going to give it to me. "Zulaika," Isranon said. "Will we go through Ildyrsetts on the way to Treth?" "No. We're taking the West Bank Road since it gets us there faster." "But I must get the staff."
Zulaika gave Isranon a long, sympathetic look. "I know how important it is for you. But Treth must come first. Your life depends on it. We will go to Ildyrsetts second." "But we will go?" An edge of disappointment crept into Isranon's tone. "You are lord of this company, Isranon. We will go." **** The stretch of dense forest had yielded to irregular patterns of scattered woods and open ground. Had Nans been traveling alone she could easily have sustained a forced march of thirty to fifty miles a day in full armor and pack for up to a week before seriously flagging. They were damned lucky to make ten with the women, children, and dragging Ifor on the travois, especially considering how exhausted the Minnorians were from the traumas of the falling city. Most of the time they did not make five. They started to see small groups appear on the road by the second day, mostly twos and threes that had also gotten out. Those who had been lucky enough to get out with a horse or a cart passed them. No one spoke. They seemed to close themselves off in silent terror that someone might ask something of them that they were too tired and frightened to give in their desperation to survive. Whenever someone from Nans' band tried to stop one of those, Nans would shake her head and call them back, gesturing them into their place. The food that Nans and Deryna had taken from the temple, while adequate for their own needs, did not stretch for so many. By the second day Nans found herself faced with a need to locate more either by hunting or approaching a farmhouse. When they came upon a grazing field early in mid-afternoon of the third day and Nans spied the farmer's two-story wood frame house, she made her decision. She settled her charges in a cluster of pines offering concealment from the road along the winding path leading to the front door and approached with Deryna and her children. Nans left the guardsmon Kell in charge of the others with help from the shopkeeper Orim. Three dogs trotted around from the direction of the barns, tongues lolling out and tails wagging, followed shortly by the farmer. They were huge beasts the size of ponies, showing mastiff blood in their blocky heads and stout bodies. The farmer appeared right behind them. Nans squatted, rubbing their ugly heads. "Nice dogs." The farmer frowned, noticed Deryna with the children, and made a shrewd guess. "Wilderkin?" Nans caught the odd raising of his eyebrows and something else suggesting that he had seen this reaction from his dogs before. Travis? Had Travis stopped here? Nans took a chance, her hand sliding around her neck to snag the chain that held her runes. She drew it up and flashed them at him.
"Come inside out of sight," Ryss said. "I've people hidden in your pines, women and children. Wounded." "Get them into the barns. Wait. I'll send my wife to do it with that one." He indicated Deryna. "Bring them up a few at a time. Now let's get inside." The farmer led them in. They found his wife in the kitchen, and one of his granddaughters offered to help with the two children. The moment he had Nans alone, he leaned close to ask her, "You would not happen to be the yuwenghau we were told died in Minnoras by an old dog who came through three days ago?" "I'm Nans." She told him the story and why she preferred he kept it quiet. "We buried one of your people behind our barns. Six of them rode in wounded, asking for shelter. We gave it. This land is all we have, all we've known, so we intend to try and stay the course. If things go sour, I would like to know that my women folk had somewhere to run to. What can you offer me in exchange for the aid you want?" "You have pen and paper?" The farmer fetched them and then watched while Nans wrote out two letters, affixing them with her seal. His eyes widened at seeing one addressed to the High Priest to Willodarus at Leighston, Gormond's Reach, and the other to King William Gryphonheart. "You must be the bastard of…." He clapped his hands over his mouth. Nans gave him a lop-sided smile, her head ever so slightly tilted, and her eyes slitted as she chuckled. She had not been called that in years, but this was a long way from Gormond's Reach and customs changed more slowly the further from the center you got. It had taken the kingdom a long time to recover from the scandal, especially since her mother had become pregnant by hugging a tree that turned out to be a sleeping god–which took a lot of explaining. Her mother, more than a little bewildered by the experience to begin with and then being a stubbornly defiant sort on top of that, created an uproar with her refusal to name a father. "No offense taken." **** Itch's grave lay in the farmer's family plot, unobtrusive alongside older graves. They left her alone there. Nans felt grateful for that. Itch Hollens and his half-brother Luck Settlesby had ridden with her for ten years. She trusted Travis to get the company out of Minnorian territory. Travis was a good mon, almost as good as Itch. "Damn it, Itch!" Nana cursed. Why'd you have to buy it, mon?"
She did not cry. There was a tightness and an anger; a hollowed out feeling, wondering who else she had lost. The farmer said there had been only four others with Travis, which meant the city had claimed three besides Itch. She owed someone a blood debt. "I'll see that debt paid, Itch. I tried to keep us out of wars. We were strictly search and rescue. We walked right into that one. It's the Rowdies' war now and we're going fight it. I'm going to fight it. I'm going to give them hell, Itch. I promise." Nans said a prayer to the Creation and sent out a call to her father, not knowing whether he would even Hear her–he never seemed to; her gifts were not strong enough. **** "Uhhmmmn," Gaeatyra grinned, watching the wagon start to roll north out of the village at twilight. It was not even a village, just a cluster of four houses with their fields fanned out behind them. The kind of thing that became a village. One mon on horseback, a driver, and two on foot. She could smell sa'necari, blood, and terror. So could Emer who was phasing back into flesh beside her as the light faded. They had hidden Ari beneath some low pines a yard off. Gaeatyra strung her bow and put three clothyard shafts into the horsemon in quick succession, knocking him off his mount certain that he had to be the sa'necari and wanting to be sure of him. "I want the wagon, Emer." She shot the driver. The two on foot charged her. Gaeatyra just had time to put aside her bow and draw her sword. "Taladri!" The wolf raced past the myn to get the team headed off before they could bolt. Gaeatyra grinned at the fact that they had recognized what she was and then frowned at their tabards: the ancient deathtree of the Hellgod: crimson on black. She ducked a swing at her head, dropping into a squatting crouch and shoved her blade into the mon's groin. Kicking him off the blade, she scuttled sidewise to avoid his companion and then erupted upward with a smashing side blow and retreated. "Stupid Sharani bitch." "New colors, Minnorian?" Gaeatyra sneered. "My God's colors. I have seen the Queen." Emer secured the wagon, and then sprang snarling onto the mon's back. As he staggered forward under Emer's weight, Gaeatyra shoved her blade into his chest. "Good wolf. Stay with Ari while I check out the houses."
First she checked out the myn she had brought down. It was a good thing that she did. She had been right: the one on horseback had been sa'necari. He was an old one, steeped in death, hard to kill. He drew the arrows from his body, glaring at her. Seeing that she had noticed him, his lips moved in a spell, his fingers weaving. Gaeatyra's hand slid quickly along her belt as she charged him, finding what she sought by feel and she struck him with three small white stones, smooth and carved like quarter moons. The sa'necari screamed at the backlash of power as she turned his spell, reaching for the runed blade at his belt and striking at her. "Don't think so." Gaeatyra slashed his hand off, kicking the blade away. The sa'necari scrambled to his feet, staggering and clutching at his bleeding stump that gushed blood over both of them. Gaeatyra kicked him under the chin sending him onto his back, and then methodically stomped and stabbed him until he stopped moving. She snatched her spellcords out, corded him to be on the safe side, and popped a gem in his mouth as she straddled him. Reversing her sword, she brought it down two handed and drove it through his heart, twisting it several times. The white vapor of his soul tried to rise free only to be sucked screaming into the gem, which Gaeatyra pocketed. She checked out the driver next. He was human. She would behead them all to be safe, but it could be taken care of later. The dangerous one had been dealt with. She retrieved her stones and cords, cleaned her blades, and then sauntered toward the houses. People started to emerge. "Taladri." A middle aged mon approached her, leading the others. "They are saying a hellgod has risen in the city and that we must worship her." "Don't know about that." Gaeatyra scooped up the bane-blade, pried the sa'necari's fingers loose from it, dropped his hand and wrapped the blade up in a bit of cloth she kept for such things before putting it in one of her bandoleer's compartments. "I'll keep the wagon, the horse when I catch it and take the bodies and all their pieces far from here to dispose of them so they can't connect them to you. What the Taladrim do know is that a nekaryiane and possibly a sa'nekaryiane has risen and taken the city. She appears to have the seiryn's gift for influencing males, so I'd advise having the womenfolk do any talking to the creature if she decides to put in an appearance here. I doubt she will. You're smallfolk." Gaeatyra walked to where she had left Ari, brushing aside the drooping branches. The young mon was fighting the death magics hard and that touched Gaeatyra. Ari stirred as the Taladri slipped her arms under her shoulders and legs to lift her up. "You get them all?" Ari asked. "Always do."
"Good." Ari leaned her head against Gaeatyra's shoulder, having long since ceased to care that it meant nesting her face in those necklaces of human ears. "A wounded comrade?" the headman asked, stepping aside to let her pass and then following. His people were already piling the bodies in her appropriated buckboard. "Someone I rescued." One of the villagers started to take things out of the wagon, but the headman clapped his hands to get their attention and shook his head. The items were returned. Apparently they were paying her for rescuing them. Gaeatyra laid Ari on the front seat. "I'd like to go with you." A stout mon approached her. "I'm Mardeth. Your friend needs tending. You cannot both fight and tend. How far are you going?" "Merkreth's Crossing." Gaeatyra never liked having help underfoot. Like all the Taladrim, she was a loner. 'A mon travels fastest, who travels alone.' Yet it had been difficult carrying Ari. She hesitated. Then said, "So long as you don't expect to be entertained." "I don't." "Climb up and keep an eye on things." Emer fetched her horses and Gaeatyra tied them to the wagons. By then the Taladri had registered that no one had come out of the fourth house–the one she had seen the raiders emerge from last. She went to investigate. No one seemed willing to go in with her, which aroused her suspicions. They appeared to have an obvious reluctance, holding back, glancing at each other uneasily. Only Mardeth sat impassively staring from the wagon, as if unaffected by her decision to go there. There had been five people living in the house. They were all dead. The sa'necari had rited them. Gaeatyra came out and spoke to the headman about it. "We feared it," he told her. "He said he would make an example of one family. Made us draw lots. Otherwise he would kill us all." "So you just gave him a family?" "What else could we have done?" "Better a clean death than what he did to them!" Gaeatyra grabbed the headman, dragging him to the house. She kicked the door open and shoved him inside. The headman blanched and fell to his knees, vomiting. "Their broken ghosts will haunt this place for eternity or until the true child of light
wields the Sunfire staff to restore the broken souls to the wheel. I doubt you'll live to see it." As she emerged from the house, Gaeatyra saw that Emer had caught the escaped horse and Mardeth had tied it to the back of the buckboard. The Taladri mounted up and they left. Toward morning, Mardeth finally spoke. "I objected to surrendering like lambs to the lottery. They could make us worship with our mouths, but not our hearts. Father hit me. I disowned them all." "Headman?" "Yes." **** A week later, they pulled up in front of an inn in Three Forks late in the afternoon. Gaeatyra favored this one, glancing over the three stories of lighted windows in the gathering dusk. The innkeeper knew her from many previous stays and never questioned what she did or why. That made her comfortable. "Wait for me," Gaeatyra said, dismounting. "I'll get us a room for the night and come back for you." Weary folk, most of them armed, filled the common room. She spotted two that she knew ran with Nans Gryphonheart: Travis Potshard and Luck Settlesby from Gormond's Reach. "Travis! Luck! Where's Nans?" She caught the look in their eyes, the armbands and knew what they were going to say. "She didn't make it. I saw her fall… and… she didn't get up," Travis said, a soul-deep bleakness edging his words. "Minnoras was a bloodbath. Sa'nekaryiane took the place. That was bloody to begin with. Populace saw it happening. They must have connected it with the dead priests. Remember how they rose up and stopped Zol fifteen years ago? Well, they must have thought they could do it again, cause they went after the bitch and her troops. She made mince of them." The news about Nans left a hole in Gaeatyra. They had had their differences, but they were comrades and, after a fashion, friends. "The bitch turned everything loose on the people." Luck drew a leather thong from beneath his shirt with a scrimshaw round carved into a bear. "Itch didn't make it either. Vampire got him. Travis got the fang-ugly." "Sorry about your brother. He was a good mon." Gaeatyra found it easier to speak about Itch, who she had less of a connection to, than Nans. "I have a badly wounded mon outside. It's not so much the wound itself as what caused it." She pulled the wrapped blade from her belt and laid it in front of them. "You take a look at it while I arrange for a room and get her inside."
Luck slipped his gloves on before he unwrapped it. Gaeatyra nodded her approval at that: it was common knowledge that most sa'necari shit you did not touch barehanded until you knew whether it was safe or not. Gaeatyra got the only room left. It had only a single bed so the innkeeper's wife and daughters put up cots for Gaeatyra and Mardeth; Ari would get the bed. Travis appeared at her elbow. "You want some help getting your gear up, considering you've got wounded?" Travis knew Gaeatyra's attitude toward having help underfoot. "Yeah." She stopped abruptly. "Travis, I think you're wrong. Call it a gut feeling, but I can't believe Nans is dead." "Gaeatyra…" Gaeatyra's lips curled back, making her uglier than ever. "You actually touch her dead body, Travis? You dig her grave?" "No. I saw her killed. We all did. She fell and didn't rise." "Then you don't know for certain." She spat on the ground. Travis changed the subject with a rueful look. "How far you intend on going?" "Merkreth's Crossing." "You mind if we ride along with you?" A wolfish grin split Gaeatyra's face. "So long as you don't mind my collecting a few more kills along the way." "Deal." **** A week farther down the road, Nans finally saw some of the trouble she had been expecting. Ryss had sold her a wagon and a two-horse team, which meant the small children rode and Ifor was able to rest lying down in the back. The guardsmon was improving slowly. The adults walked in a defensive square around it. Deryna drove. The road forked a hundred yards ahead of them, its length veiled by willows. The ground fell away to Nans' right in a short, sharp drop to a brushy field leading into a thinly wooded area. Nans heard a sizeable company approaching along the left fork as they neared it. She signaled a halt to check it out. As the yuwenghau trotted toward the fork, she heard Deryna suddenly whip up the horses behind her with a
shout and spun to see six myn climb up out of the bushes onto the road. Seven followed from the woods to her left. She ran back, shouting for everyone to run, and saw more emerge from the trees to the other side. They all obeyed, except Kell. "You're not fighting them alone," he said. Nans cast aside the staff in favor of her sword. They backed away, letting these people come to them, giving their own more time to flee. "Fine sword." It was the first time Kell had seen her draw it. GimliGloikynen, god of dwarves and metalworking, had given it to her the day she came of age. That was the day the nobility of Gormond's Reach stopped referring to her as the Bastard–at least to her face–because gods and magical creatures arrived at her party with gifts. She would never forget the looks on their faces. Nor would William. The king still laughed about it. They would laugh about it again, if she won through this. None of them made any move to try and go after the fleeing women and children. Instead they formed a semi-circle around Kell and Nans. A huge armored mon strode onto the road, his breastplate bearing the deathtree of the hellgod. "Yuwenghau, Our God demands your death." "What the hell?" Nans knew, standing there with no armor, facing so many armored myn, that she and Kell were about to die. She could not fight all of them without catching a blade in the back. "Kell, run. They don't want you. Just me." "No." Nans sprang at the armored mon, getting in a hard blow that dented his breastplate and staggered him three steps. She sensed his descending swing more than saw it, darted aside, and rolled into a back flip to her feet. Horses broke into a charging gallop; Nans could hear the clatter of their hooves and the jingle of their harnesses. From the corners of her eyes, she caught the unexpected sight of riders attacking their assailants. Kell cried out. She had no time to turn and look, for the armored mon came at her again. She stayed low, making him work to hit her, and shoved her blade into his side with a tearing twist. The mon sank to one knee, struggling to rise. Nans stuck him repeatedly and, just as she was beginning to wonder what it would take to kill him, he fell. Their attackers lay strewn across the ground, fallen to a company of horsemyn whose standard was the gray-green banner of Dynanna. Nans goggled in astonishment. Her sister's faithful had never gone in for soldiering, and these people knew what they were doing–or perhaps not–considering they had chosen an inane
trickster as their liege-god. Mercenaries by the way they carried themselves, and good ones. Strange and getting stranger. Then she saw Kell on the ground, his leg being bandaged by a slender brown-haired female. Nans approached them. "My thanks. I'm Nans, my friend is Kell. The rest of our party has fled. Women and children." "I'm Randilyn. I'm a ni–" she caught herself. "I'm a helper. Zulaika there is in charge." The mon on the barded horse looked Trethian to Nans, black-brown skinned with a tight cap of curling hair ending in long beaded tails, chain mail showed beneath her tunic. Zulaika gave Nans a polite nod, gestured, and her riders formed up, except for Randilyn. "We did not appreciate seeing two beset by so many. Our wagons will be along presently. You can ride with Nevin on the first one. We'll catch up with your people. Then you are on your own again." They took nothing from the slain, leaving them as they were without looting so much as the smallest pouch. Randilyn must have caught the odd look passing across Nans' face because she glanced a question at Zulaika. Kell began cutting the pouches off the dead myn and searching their pockets, going so far as to pull their boots off. Randilyn sprang to matching his efforts. Nans noticed the way she watched and imitated Kell, it was strange. How could anyone one hesitate to strip dead enemies of their gold? It was a matter of survival. Even for a well-heeled company as this one clearly was. And Dynannan rogues at that. Nans went to the body of the huge mon she had slain and knelt. She drew her belt knife and cut the chinstraps from his helmet. She pulled it off and sheathed her blade. The mon's eyes stared unseeing up at her. His irises and pupils were a solid, deep scarlet and where the whites should have been, the eyes were black as ebony. "Irrfelghau," Nans gasped. Zulaika nudged her horse forward and stared over Nans' shoulder. "So it would seem." The wagons reached them, and the driver, a scarred, black-haired mon, who smelled lycan to Nans' wilderkin senses, first closed the narrow door between the seat and the wagon's interior before indicating that she could climb up and sit beside him. Not before she heard the sounds of someone tending an ill or wounded mon. She also smelled another creature, something she could not identify beyond that fact that it was, like herself, a predator. The wagons were large, the kind the military used to move supplies to, or wounded from, the front, but they were lightly loaded. Nans could tell that by the way they moved. What in the creation's name is going on here? Who are these people? Why should we matter to them?Nans was totally baffled.
**** After Isranon and his companions left the shrine, Dynanna considered for a long time whether to go to her garden or the little village at Blue Dog Pass. Her twin was traveling with the Sacred King, so it would do no good to Call him. She savored her new religious acquisitions. She could certainly use these guys to play holy hell with the Hellgod's plans or those of his allies. They were wildcards thrown into the hand she was about to deal to the dark ones.Yup, funsies! She decided on the village. The little people swarmed her when she popped in. They chattered excitedly. Their huge pointed ears marked them as Badree Nym. Many wore costumes from Pieface's tales. Pieface was forever bringing home stories from worlds distant in time and space since he was a world walker. Drakengrim, in his black pants, formal jacket, white shirt, and cummerbund, strode toward her smiling and displaying his fangs. He was the only Nym with fangs because a vampire had attempted to turn him one dark night. The magic had misfired–as it so often did when it was turned against a Nym. Drakengrim only fanged fruit and could suck an apple dry in nothing flat. Frozbie, the vampire who had attempted this, hung upside down, draped over the shoulders of a sturdy stone golem named Frankie Grymlynstine. Frozbie started whining about his ulcers as soon as they reached her. Drakengrim's innate gift was transmogrification and it had had a profound effect on Frozbie, who had once been the most feared Lemyari in existence besides Hoon and Galee. Two other Nym were attempting to pry open Frozbie's tightly clenched fangs to shove another piece of pie into him. Along with Grym Ghoul, they constituted the Frightful Four and were the second tier of Dynanna's paladins. Grym trailed them in black robes and a cowl with a scythe at his shoulder. His skin was as pale as the dead. Dynanna loved every one of them. They were intensely sweet, helpful folk. However, if frightened, startled or otherwise upset, their uncontrollable poltergeist effect knocked everything down around them. Few of them ever gained full control of that and their other gifts. Which was why they were pariahs. They scared everyone except her. She realized after awhile what it was about Isranon that totally made this a good decision: He had the Abelardian genetic patterns in his magic centers. They had not woken up yet, but when they did? Yup, definitely going to be interesting. He seemed to have Dawnhand's gifts also. "Yup, guys, we gotta talk," Dynanna said to all of them. "I just got me a new sack of trouble to play with." She gathered her two main paladins, Pieface and Sugar Maple, and the Frightful Four. There was trouble to be made and she would have to make it. In a moment she intended to be on her way to Kalirion to tell him what she'd found … and maybe wheedle a few things she needed from him.
CHAPTER FOUR. dark brother of the light Four days after they first encountered the Dynannans, Nans' group had camped in a small clearing on the roadside with a scattering of elm trees at the edges. It was shady and half secluded from view, which Nans preferred to being completely out in the open. The less notice they attracted the better. Deryna and the other women had the children up, filling their bowls with oat porridge from a large kettle that Farmer Redoaks had sold them. Nans bent over, attaching the horses' traces. "Nans, you gotta have a look at this," Orim said. Nans finished buckling the harnesses before she looked up. "What is it?" Orim glanced around at the women and children. "No, I want to show you." Nans frowned, wondering what it could be that he did not want to mention in front of the others, but followed the shopkeeper into the trees. Orim pointed at something laying in the shadows. Nans felt a shiver as she came close and found that it was a body, laying face down, withered, but fresh. She knelt and turned it over. Its lips were twisted back from its fangs in a rictus of true death. Her expression hardened. "Ylesgaire. Did you kill it?" "Me?" Orim gulped. "I've never killed anything in my life. I just found it. And there's three more just like it. Come on." Nans beheaded the corpse to be certain of it and then followed Orim from body to body doing the same. Her thoughts drifted back to those Dynannans. They had been camped nearby last night, but left at dawn. Could the Dynannans have done this? **** Isranon rolled onto his side and tipped himself forward to swing his legs off the bed. He folded up with his arms across his abdomen, waiting for the initial pain and nausea to pass. Then he grasped the edge and pushed himself upright. With his fingers walking the edge of the bed to support and help him balance, Isranon reached the chest and used that to reach the doorway. He made it to the end and stared down at the steps, which had been left down. He gauged whether or not to try them. More and more he resented his weakness. Nevin, returning to the wagon for him, saw what Isranon was trying to do and rushed over to him. "Slow and easy," Nevin said, and sliding an arm around Isranon's waist, helped him down. Isranon pushed away from his spirit-brother, determined to try and make it to
the fire on his own. Amiri, who was shoving sticks into the flames, noticed this and straightened to watch. Isranon's face screwed up against the sharp, knife-in-his-gut sensation that came with standing and walking. He managed three steps before his damaged legs gave and he stumbled. Nevin caught him. Instantly Amiri sprang forward and swept him into her arms. She carried him to the pallet they had made for him beside the fire. Isranon sighed as they got him settled. Randilyn brought a blanket and wrapped him. Ever since his wounding, he had a hard time staying warm. Willa, Zulaika's nibari, put pillows to his back allowing him to sit comfortably. Then Nainee brought him a bowl of food. Isranon slowly spooned the stew into his mouth, looking across the road to where that healer camped with her small band. Haig had already melted into the gathering darkness to stalk the edges of that woman's camp and keep the predators away. There were only three males with them and two were wounded. The third was not a warrior. Isranon could tell that by the way he carried himself. The healer leading them could fight well, according to Zulaika. They were ragged, sad-looking creatures. If they had dared to risk the discovery of their true nature Isranon's people would have taken them in. "Lord?" An unfamiliar voice called out to him from the road. Isranon saw two ragged women approach with four children in tow. The older woman, grey streaks in her dark hair, called out to him again. "Lord, can we sit by your fire?" "Fetch them over here, Nainee," Isranon told her. "That isn't wise, Isranon," said Zulaika, frowning deeply. Isranon met her gaze without wavering. "I am lord of this company. You are merely my captain." Zulaika looked taken aback, half-ready to argue, and then abruptly acquiesced with a curt bow of her shoulders. A look of startlement passed over all the faces of his people. "Fetch them, Nainee. They seem hungry," Isranon said. Nainee brought the women and their children to the fire. They huddled close to the flames with their hands extended to the warmth, looking cold. Randilyn ran to the wagons for extra blankets, while Nainee dished up stew for each of them. Watching the newcomers eat hungrily, Isranon wondered how long it had been since they had eaten. He smiled at the children as Anksha appeared and started cramming their pockets with candy. Candy seemed to be Anksha's answer to everything. She patted their heads and ruffled their hair, evoking shy smiles from them. "Thank you, Lord," said the older woman, scanning those moving about the camp. "This is your company?"
"Yes," Isranon said. "This is my company. Zulaika there is my captain." "What is your name, lord, that I might thank you properly?" Isranon hesitated. He dared not risk his true name getting out where it might help the sa'nekaryiane to track him, and said before he could think, "Dawnreturning." The sons of Dawnhand's lineage did not take a name upon themselves; they received it from their fathers. However, Isranon's father had died before he could give Isranon a name, which left him only Isranon, son of Isranon, and nothing more. He did not know where the name came from, only that it felt right. Everyone, except the newcomers, stared at him open-mouthed for an instant. Then his people started to move again. "My Lord Dawnreturning is very kind. Are you from faraway?" the older woman asked. Nainee started refilling the bowls. The newcomers ate slower now that their stomachs were getting fuller. Gratitude showed on all their faces, and seeing it warmed Isranon's heart. "Yes. Very faraway. We are traveling to the shrines." The woman nodded. "It is a bad time to be traveling to shrines. My name is Myrna. This is my daughter-in-law Ruth. Our village was attacked a week ago, my husband and sons slain. We fled." Isranon nodded, inclining his head politely. "I am sorry for your losses." "You are injured, Lord Dawnreturning?" Isranon tensed and hesitated again. "I was wounded in some fighting. As you say, it has become a bad time to be traveling to shrines." After that they ate in silence for a time. Then Myrna asked, "Could we travel with you? We would work hard for you." Isranon shook his head. He wanted to reach out and ease their suffering; but he needed a safer path than by taking in outsiders and risking exposure. "No." Myrna opened her mouth to argue. Isranon silenced her with a gesture. "You see that other camp over there?" Myrna flicked back a strand of grey hair and nodded.
"They are just as safe to be with as we are." Isranon put all the reassurance he could into his voice. "Their leader is a healer named Nans. She will take you in." Myrna started to rise and Isranon stopped her. "Wait," he said. "Nevin get me a purse." Myrna's eyes widened to saucers when Nevin returned with a purse. Isranon offered the whole thing to her. "You'll need to make a new beginning." "Oh, but my Lord Dawnreturning, I couldn't." "You can and you will. Otherwise I will be offended." She hesitated. Isranon rolled onto his side so that he could stretch his hands to hers. She moved to stop him, seeing the way it brought lines of pain into his face. As her hands reached for him, Isranon put the purse into them and closed her fingers over it. "Take it. I have it to spare. Now go on." Myrna nodded, gathered up her daughter-in-law and grandchildren. Isranon watched them go, wishing he could have done more. Sending them away was not what the light was about, but his people would guard them from afar. **** Nans watched the goings on at the Dynannan camp with interest and stood up when she saw the women and children approaching her camp. They had blankets draped over their shoulders and the older woman carried a heavy purse of coins in her hand. Nans wondered briefly if the Dynannans had sent these newcomers as emissaries. Myrna went to her and stopped, extending her hand. Nans clasped it in greeting. "I'm Myrna. Lord Dawnreturning said you would take us in. He said to talk to your leader, someone named Nans." "I'm Nans. We'll take you in." "Thank you. We will feel much safer now. He said that we would be as safe with you as we would be with him." "Did he?" The question was rhetorical, but Nans wondered how he had figured that out. "And which of them is Lord Dawnreturning?" "The wounded one. See him?" Myrna pointed. Nans' eyes narrowed to get a good glimpse of him in the darkness. She had suspected that there had been a wounded mon in the wagon when they gave her a
ride on it.Dawnreturning ? What a strange name for a Dynannan. Just what had her sister gotten into? "Come on and we'll get you all bedded down for the night." As Nans led them back, she wondered how he had gotten his wounds and where his name had come from. There were several cultures that used names like that, almost exclusively sylvan. She had never heard of a Lord Dawnreturning and she had been to all the sylvan realms over the years. Where had her sister found him? **** On our own again?Nans pondered Zulaika's words from their first meeting as she found her party camped for the third time in a slightly over a week less than a hundred yards from the Dynannans. Not a single morning had passed, since Orim found those first bodies, that she had not found more dead Ylesgaire, royals and sa'necari slaughtered along their line of travel, but no live ones. It was as if her party and the other scattered refugees had acquired mysterious guardian angels. Once she began watching for it, she spied lycans stealing through the woods at night and standing guard over them from the shadows beyond where they camped. That driver, Nevin, had smelled lycan. She had no doubts in her mind that these strange people were Deryna's 'angels' and the ranger was not about to argue with it. They showed no sign of wanting to communicate, keeping to themselves. Dynannans were pariahs, often with very good reasons, so she would respect that. Still, to satisfy her sense of caution, she would like to have known exactly what kind of pariahs they were. Each evening she watched the Dynannans move their wounded Lord Dawnreturning from the wagon and make him comfortable by the fire so that he could get some air. Not a day passed that they did not have someone approach their camp who had been fed and then sent over to her own to be sheltered, as if they were hiding something. Nans had probed every group of women and children they sent to her for more information about them and got very little. Furthermore, the Dynannan generosity was extreme. Each group had arrived with blankets and gold, and in the cases of those with sick children, healing herbs. In light of the herbs, Nans had to assume that they had their own healers. Nans had mentioned to Nevin while riding with him that she was a healer so he knew he could ask if their own were not helping their lord enough. "Why do they stay apart?" Deryna asked for the hundredth time. Nans shrugged. "They are Dynannans. Who can understand them? I don't." "You could ask your sister." Nans snorted contemptuously at that. "Myhalf -sister," she stressed the 'half', "and I do not get along. I am firmly convinced that she's a few eggs shy of a dozen…. And dangerous to boot. I've spent forty years telling her twin brother, Dynarien, that he should stop coddling her. If enough of us stood up to her, maybe she'd finally
grow up." "You shouldn't talk of her that way." Deryna's youngest crawled into the healer's arms, nestling in her lap. Nans leaned over and ruffled the boy's curly hair. "And how do you speak of your sisters?" Nans asked him. Point made. Neither Deryna nor the boy answered that. Nans ran a hand through her hair. "I suspect they're a bunch of renegade mercs who deserted their employers when this war turned ugly." "They rescued you and Kell…." "I owe them. I pay my debts." Nans heaved a sigh. None of it made sense, none of it at all. She had run out of explanations for this company's possible origins or nature. Soldiers and mercenaries, even those who had been refused a charter and bond from the Captains of the Coast, did not pledge to Dynanna. "We're getting deeper and deeper into their debt as we ride. I'm certain of it." "Those bodies…." "Yes." Nans felt a grudging gratitude for their presence. With that large company camping always nearby, it had become easier for Nans to convince other refugees to join her own ranks. Yet, it was all very strange. She had seen children and women with infants among those who tended their fires and cooked their food. Soldiers might have fled with their families, but not mercenaries. Mercenaries generally had no families. "If they're still with us when we reach Merkreth's Crossing, I'll ask about them." "Well, for now, they are my angels." Deryna responded. **** Isranon sat near a stream watching the growing band of women and children. He liked the soothing sound of the rushing water as it spun and rippled around the rocks breaking its surface. Nevin had overheard Nans calling them her secret angels. Vampires and sa'necari–angels? Haig, who had been a knight and forcibly turned, had choked with laughter, before becoming charmed by the idea. Isranon knew how much emotional anguish it had caused Haig to find himself changed into the very creature he had spent his life fighting against. Haig acted as if he had regained his lost knighthood and spent more hours than any other patrolling ahead and behind with the lycans, taking out dark things that might threaten the children. He said that he wanted Dynanna to be proud of her vampire-knight and sometimes he swore he thought he heard his liege-god chuckle, which suited him just fine, considering she was a trickster.
Isranon could taste their fear and suffering like a palpable thing. His people fed on it when they killed with their rites, when they took death and rape with the blood. It disturbed the vampires also: the Ymraudes because their nature was that of bonded symbiosis and the five Lemyari because they had lived in carefully controlled symbiosis under Timon's leadership as members of the Borealysyn. Timon called them the children of the midnight sun and they came from many lineages, but he had never spoken the name aloud until the night they fled. One day Isranon would ask Haig what it meant. Isranon wondered if the taste of fear made their hunger worse. If so, they handled it admirably. Laying on his pallet by the fire, he resented the weakness in his body. He had always cherished its strength, as if that made up for the fact that his magic would never be the equal of the other sa'necari because he refused to participate in the rites. Now that strength was gone, shorn from him by those same sa'necari. Some days he hurt so bad that it forced tears from his proud eyes. On those days he was most sorely tempted–as those sa'necari must have known he would be–to cross that line and take that one life that would heal him. He could almost justify it. He considered asking Zulaika or Olin or any of them, to go back and catch him a nasty evil mon, someone who deserved to die–and then he would shake himself free. No one deserved to die like that. They had barely set out the next day when the jostling of the wagon set Isranon to clutching at his chest and stomach again in pain. "Damn you, Bodramet! Damn you to the deepest hell of the nethergod," Isranon gritted out. "I will never give in. I will never surrender. I will not be forced into the rites." Anksha poked her head in through the front door and looked at him. "Isranon?" She climbed in back and sat down on the chest nearest his bed. "Are you hurting again?" "If you ever forced me to commit the rites, Anksha, I would kill myself. I will not walk in their evil with my honor stained." Anksha frowned worriedly. "I would never do that. I promise. Do you need the Rose?" Isranon nodded and allowed her to pour him some and help him drink it. "Why are you so good to me?" he asked as he lay back again. "Because I love you. You are my special friend." **** Each day they passed more straggling groups of fleeing people. Some times they would camp near others who had simply collapsed along the roadside at night when
they could go no farther. They were all sad little clumps except for Isranon's company and that group that had some cohesion because of the presence of that tall healer they had rescued at the forks, Nans. Isranon had listened to her talking to Nevin that day. He wished he had dared to speak to her, but healers were usually Readers and, with a touch, she could have discerned his nature. Isranon watched Nans go back and forth, bringing as many of those little clusters forward as she could persuade to come into her own and finally give up. The terror of what had happened in Minnoras and was still happening in the countryside made people reluctant to trust each other. Yet, the healer was always trying to save as many as she could, bringing more and more under her guardianship; sometimes she failed because the little clusters of refugees were too distrustful and suspicious after their experiences to accept her offer of aid. Isranon admired her persistence and generosity. That was what he had imagined the Light would be about–something that his own had never been, until now. Yet, they were not really of the Light. Dynanna had cautioned them not to reveal their natures. Their wagons, repainted since leaving the shrine and now pale green with the rune of Dynanna a deeper green squiggle, drew some strange glances; those they did not understand, having little solid experience of other people's interaction with deities, especially the God of Cussedness. They had always been too insular. The other cultures were food. Until Isranon had ridden out of Waejontor six years ago with Mephistis, he had really known nothing of them. That evening Zulaika and Amiri, the two Ymraudes, tall chocolate skinned, well muscled, and athletic, had first watch. They passed easily for human; their elaborately plaited hair with hundreds of intricate beads of wood, bone, and semi-precious gemstones drew every eye. They told people they were from Jedrua and, although they had the right coloring, Jedrua had never produced anything to compare to them. A scream alerted the camp to trouble. Zulaika and Amiri had their spears up running out to the middle with a shout at Olin to get Isranon into the wagon. Anksha ran behind them. A hundred yards back down the road, seven Ylesgaires came out of a stand of trees, grabbed two women from one of the isolated groups who were not attached to either of the two camps, and began to feed. Four more had spotted the group near Isranon's camp and raced in their direction. They must have been hiding buried beneath the ground, waiting for nightfall and therefore been missed by Isranon's far ranging guards like Haig. Isranon's face twisted, hearing the screaming. All those years among his people, unable to act except in isolated circumstances, all those years of being forced to turn away and try to shield himself against the pain of hearing, of knowing. No longer. Some of the lesser bloods simply picked up their meals as they found them, attacking each little cluster as they came on them. Others headed straight for the two
camps at the end. "Stop them!" Isranon shouted, shaking off Olin's attempt to move him. The cinnamon-haired woman lifted her staff, walking toward the nearest undead. She smacked him in the side of the head as he sank his teeth into a young girl. That got his attention. He came loose from the girl, snarling. "You are meat." The woman regarded him dispassionately. "Cliché." Then she shattered his skull. Ylesgaires joined in, turning the tide abruptly against her. Seeing more lesser bloods charge the woman's back, Zulaika gave an ululating cry, ran forward, and staked the nearest one. Amiri got another. The woman grinned at Zulaika as she bashed another vampire. "Thank you." Haig and Garin hollered at Anksha to stay with Isranon as they engaged the lesser bloods and the fight turned quickly against the attackers. Jun and Keahi began grabbing women and children, herding and carrying them toward the camps at the far end where the other women received them, helped by the nibari and the two lycans, Olin and Nevin. The nibari went among Nans' people. "Please," Randilyn said to Deryna. "We can protect you better if you bring your people over here." Deryna shouted at the women, "Get the children over here!" The nibari began making a firebrand circle, standing with their torches on a tightening perimeter–lesser bloods did not like fire. Kell and Ifor saw what they were doing, seized a brand, and limped into the circle with them. Orim the shopkeeper began shoving the wagon toward the others to serve as a wall. Haig's two males jumped in to help Orim with it. Isranon stood, swaying unsteadily, one hand to the wagon, watching, every hair on end, every necromantic sense open to the death and undeath moving around him. Something was not right. He felt a chill slide about him on every side. This was not a small, roving band of Ylesgaire that had stumbled on them by accident: this was a strike force that had descended upon them, possibly having tracked them from Hoon's manor after finding it abandoned. "Jun! Keahi! They've circled us!" Even as he said it, he knew there were too many to handle–too many for him to cope with even had his power and body been whole–twenty or more rushing out, bent low as they crossed the open ground, taking advantage of the small folds in the land itself. There were royals with them. Even if he could stop the lesser bloods how could he stop the royals? Worry about the lesser bloods first. The firebrand circle would never stop that many. Some would certainly get past the nibari–and himself. Then he became aware of a mon standing
nearby, his face aged before it's time by a rite that had once burned the magic out of him, seamed and battered –but the magic had come back.No. Not a mon. A ghost , Isranon corrected. And only he could see him. "Josiah!" "Dark Brother, you have the power. Just because you never found it, doesn't mean you don't have it. Hit them!" Isranon staggered toward the attackers. He could barely stand, yet rage burned brightly in his face and adrenaline rushed through his blood. He called power into the palms of his hands, raising the sa'necari power to command or destroy the lesser undead with a word. He threw twists of energy in rapid motions, tearing the souls out of the attacking lesser bloods and they collapsed in the dirt, empty husks. Then he spied a royal of Lemyari blood rushing down, ordering the surviving Ylesgaire to form up better. What could he do about the royals? His spells of undeath denial were not strong enough to rip their souls from their bodies. "What do I do?" "Like this," Josiah said, and touched him to pass the knowledge. Isranon whirled out a lashing whip of braided power, black and gold–black and gold?Whence had the gold come?–crisping a swath of the lesser bloods at its touch. He felt as if a turning of the wind had swept the heat of a bonfire in his face, melting all the bones, flesh, and strength of his body. Agony like a fresh twist of the blade in his gut staggered him, but he remained standing, seeing others–several of them royals–descending on the merging camps. He felt again the sa'necari blades in his body as Bodramet and his followers had stuck him. His damaged legs trembled with the stress of standing. Isranon fought the urge to crumple and clutch himself. The embedded spells must have had a trigger to respond to his use of magic. Blood spread through his shirt in a widening splotch, and crimson striped his thighs. Josiah turned to him, "Careful now, in long lances, Isranon. Incredibly selective lest you hit your own as well as the enemy." The ghost touched him again and more knowledge flooded him. Power sang a counterpoint crescendo to his pain, lending him an ecstasy beyond anything he had ever imagined possible. "I cannot believe I am doing this." "Just do it." **** Nans heard Deryna scream and her head came up as she finished splintering a lesser blood's head to bloody ruin. A royal had Deryna, twisting her head back by her hair, her arms pinioned. Six others were pulling down her people. She would never reach
them in time. The camps had merged and others were already running back to engage the new threat. Nans moved. Then she saw two things: the littered bodies of the lesser bloods, and Lord Dawnreturning raising his arms, gesturing. Lances of black and gold-laced mage energy struck down every creature attacking their camps. The mon was a master mage. As she started toward him, he folded up, collapsed, and lay very still. Nans broke into a run. She dropped to her knees beside him. His robe and pants were awash in blood. "How badly are you hurt?" She reached for him and, in the torchlight saw the pink-white ridges of scar tissue lining his neck. Nans turned his head to see the other side before anyone could stop her and found a similar track of scars there also. Some of it was recent. She sucked in a sharp breath and hissed it out. "Vampire or sa'necari?" When Nans started to ask another question, Isranon shook his head, struggling to breathe. "Sa'necari… Re-opened my wounds–the strain–embedded spells…." Anksha crouched next to him, regarding Nans intensely, watching for her reaction. Anksha's magical energies made her black hair halo around her head. This was the first time they had seen each other close, two powerful predators daring each other to act and the shock of recognition of each other's natures showed on both their faces. Nans wondered if this one could be the Beast who was spoken of in whispers in so many parts of the continent. She had never seen anything like her before. Nans read Anksha's body language and knew if she said one word wrong or gave the smallest sign of threat that the creature would be upon her in a flash. It was evidently the mage's protector, possibly some kind of familiar. "I am a healer," Nans said. "Perhaps I can help. Let me get my things. You saved these people. I am now doubly in your debt." "No, uhhhuhh," Isranon groaned, twisting up. A small group of his people assembled about them. Zulaika gathered him in her arms. Nevin and Olin stood close beside her with Amiri. Deryna joined them. "I am a healer also, let me help." "No," Isranon repeated. The pain had worsened, making it hard to think, and he weakened steadily. Amiri tilted his head up, pressing the bottle of Sanguine Rose to his lips, supporting him as he drank, and unable to mask the desperate concern on her face. "Rest, Isranon," Amiri ordered. "You did well here." The drugs and blood hit quickly in his wasted body. His mind slid sidewise as if into strange visions and his haunted eyes met Nans', touching her with his fears and sorrows. The ranger shivered as he spoke, "The Darkness hunts me and the Light
does not want me. I was born a monster. Yet I refuse to become one. For this sin they left me for dead." His strength deserted him, his eyes rolled up in his head and he fainted. Zulaika lifted him. "I need to get him into the wagon and change his bandages, get more of the medicine into him." She walked away. The strength of the woman surprised Nans; to lift a male so casually, even one so wasted as Lord Dawnreturning, was not an easy task. "How bad is he?" "He's dying," Nevin told her. "We're fighting hard to slow it down, build him up some. Blessèd Dynanna suggested we take him to Treth to seek a cure." Nans winced at hearing her obnoxious half-sister called 'blessèd'. "Is there something wrong with that?" Nevin asked. "No, it's just that I've never heard Dynanna referred to in such reverent tones. Why won't you let us help?" Nevin's eyes narrowed to slits of suspicion. "You don't want to help. We're pariahs for good reason." Nans exchanged glances with Deryna. By then both camps had gathered and arrayed themselves in lines facing each other. "Try us. You saved our lives, all these women and children. You saved Kell and I back at the fork. I am certain you've been guarding us for over a week. At least give us a chance. What do you think, Deryna?" The healer nodded. "Your mage damaged himself saving my life and my children. Tell us your story." Nevin considered. "We can defend ourselves should you turn on us." Anksha crouched close to Nevin, baring her fangs to let them see she had some. The lycan told them. At the end Nans and Deryna grew thoughtful. Nans had to initially fight the idea that she was looking at fifteen vampires, eight lycans, and nearly thirty of their cattle–which they had trusted with weapons–an irate familiar, and a sa'necari renunciate, all of who had pledged in good faith to Dynanna. Or so it seemed. One wrong move and they were in more trouble than Nans could get them out of. Then Deryna stepped into the void. "You can confirm this by Reading him Nans," Deryna said. "I would like to Read him also. Would you allow us to do this, Nevin?" The scarred lycan brightened. "You could Read for the purity of the soul? Dynanna called his soul beautiful. She marked him. She marked several of us. His greatest
dream is to walk in the Light." That broke the tension and Nans laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Yes, Nevin, we can do this." People on both sides of the line were grinning by then, catching the infectious joy spreading from Nevin. The lycan led the two women to the wagon and showed them in. "They've heard our story, Zulaika," Nevin told her at her glance. "They're going to Read him." The Ymraude tilted her head curiously, moving aside to give them room. They pulled two folding stools near and Nans touched Isranon's forehead while Deryna took his wrist. Nans decided to go to the heart of the matter, sweeping deep into his soul before touching on his body. The pure crystal clarity and blinding whiteness leapt forth into her awareness like a taste of heaven and the Gardens of the Nine. She had never seen anything like it. She withdrew a level to the magic centers unable to believe he could possibly be sa'necari; yet there were all the black bands of death magics. They were twined with gold.Gold? That was the magic of Light, an opposing element. The mon was a maze of contradictions. But he was pure. "Nans! He is so pure," Deryna gasped. "We must help him." Nans shook herself free. "We must try." "If you can help him, then we must help you," Zulaika said. "There is room in the other wagons to carry the rest of your women and children. It would be a bit crowded, but we could do it. And our mounted nibari could double up. We could also guard you all better. How far are you going?" "Merkreth's Crossing," Nans said. "We'll get you all to Merkreth's Crossing in exchange for your help with him." "Seems a fair trade to me, Nans," Deryna said. That these people had taken Isranon Dawnreturning as their liege-lord in some arcane fashion and Dynanna as their liege-god would take some getting used to. Nans ran her hand through her hair before answering. "It is. Do you have the blades they used?" "Yes," Amiri said. She brought out a shielded black box from one of the cabinets. Nans could feel the dark energy rising from the blades as Amiri lifted the lid. "Are they safe to touch?" Nans asked.
"For me, yes. For you, no." "Deryna, fetch my gloves from my pack," Nans said. Deryna nodded and left the wagon. Amiri held a blade out for Nans to examine with her eyes while she waited for her gloves. Nans recognized the runes of the Hellgod and the maker's mark of the Master of Blood. She shuddered, marveling that Isranon was still alive. Amiri turned the blade over and revealed the Divinator runes. "Shit!" Nans cursed. "Every time they stuck him, another set of those spells was embedded in him. I'm not certain there is anything we can do, but I'm going to try." Anksha sidled up to Nans and sniffed her. "You smell funny." Nans' nostrils flared. "So do you. What are you?" Anksha laughed. "I'm Dawnreturning's familiar." Nans nodded. So she had been right about that. She opened Dawnreturning's robe and saw first the scars and Dynanna's godmark, then her eyes were drawn to the slave brand on his shoulder. "He is a slave?" "Was," Anksha said quickly with a glance at Zulaika. "Sa'necari captured and enslaved him, but we freed our lord from them." "That's fortunate," Nans replied, her eyes going thoughtful. "Usually they make depnane of captured enemies and heretics and they end on their altars soon after capture." **** "Where did the magic come from, Amiri?" Isranon asked her as she Read him again the next morning. "I never had power like that before. I don't think any sa'necari has it." Amiri shook her head as she lowered his wrist back to the bed and straightened his blankets. "I don't know." Had Josiah's strange spell that day in Hoon's attic done this? Had Josiah somehow transferred some of his incredible power to him? Isranon almost told Amiri about Josiah and then held back. So far he had told no one about his friend's ghostly presence. It all felt too personal and private to share. "Sa'necari don't have extra gifts like these." "There is some variation among even sa'necari, Isranon."
"It was golden…. Like sunlight." "Yes," Amiri acknowledged, "it was." "For a moment it almost felt like I was a mage of the light, rather than a misbegotten sa'necari." Bitterness underlined the last half of his statement. "Isranon, you did a good thing. Let go of the rest." "I will try." **** Hoon had not fed in over a month: because of his great age, his body had become very efficient and he had not begun to feel it seriously until recently. He hung in chains from the ceiling, nude and aching from the last taste of the whip the torturer had given him. Without blood he could not heal, but neither could he die unless they put a stake through his heart or cut off his head. Galee must have sensed his hunger because she came in and stood staring at him for a long time. She wore midnight blue silk that clung to her voluptuous body, the neckline plunging almost to her navel and the skirt slit up one side to expose her left thigh. To look upon her was to desire her; even Hoon was not entirely unmoved despite his hatred of her. Galee gave him a venomous smile that melted into a sneer. "Hungry, Hoon? I'm starting to feel your need rise up through the walls." Hoon stared at her and said nothing. He no longer tried to talk to her. She circled him as sensuous as a serpent. "I have more ideas of what to do with you. I have begun finding your estates and properties. Alas, empty. All empty. I would be in a better humor if you had let me catch some of them. Where have they gone, Hoon?" "I don't know," he replied listlessly. His chains rattled as he shifted uneasily, trying to watch her. "Let's make you hungrier," she said, catching him by the hair and twisting his head back to expose his throat to her satisfaction. Had Hoon been a living mon, rather than undead, he would have screamed when those fangs, longer than any other, entered his neck; there was pain and then dizziness, confusion, and worsening hunger. The irony that he had made this monster possible when he made Zyne almost made him laugh in her face, despite her interminable sucking as she drew more of the life out of him. The dungeon turned grayer and dimmer; his vision began to blur.
A group entered the dungeon. Hoon could barely make them out. Two of them dragged a battered third between them. At least three of them appeared to be nekaryiane like Galee; others were royals or lesser bloods. Hoon could not be certain of anything any longer. Galee lifted her bloody mouth from his neck, stepped back and gestured toward him. Two Ylesgaires fastened onto him, one on his arm and the other onto his member, sinking their fangs as deeply as they could to feed. Hoon could take no more and screamed insanely, withering. Hunger made his mind a roar of disorientation. Why was Galee doing this? He would not be able to tell her anything in this state, not where those holdings and caches were. He would become a mindless, starving creature that would attack anything and everything that came near it once freed. She gestured and the myn dragged the battered male vampire close. Galee smiled as one of the male's captors twisted his head up so that Hoon could see his face. Hoon's mind cleared at the sight of him: Timon. "My son…." "Father, help me," the captive begged. Galee snatched up a spear and drove it through Timon's heart. Hoon screamed. He saw his son's spirit slip away from him for eternity. He screamed louder, passing into unthinking grief and rage, reaching for Timon with his mind, farther than he had ever reached before, farther than he had ever dreamed possible and touched–Timon? <Timon? You're dead!> Timon laughed. <But where are you? > Hoon asked, confused by shock and hunger, unable to think clearly through the terrible weakness.