Goldenmark

by Jean Lowe Carlson

  The whirling brightness was cold, as the wight inside that terrible light stared, devouring Elyasin with its eyes. Talons of wind ripped down her back, raking her, and Elyasin shrieked, knowing that it wanted her to suffer. It wanted her to scream, until all the ages died and the world came to annihilation. As it ripped her, Elyasin realized it was toying with her. Screams came from Therel and Ghrenna, and she knew the creature in that terrible light played with them the same way.

  Suddenly, Elyasin was furious. She didn’t know where it came from, but a righteous wrath surged through her, making her mind rage. Something rushed into her from the golden pendant upon her chest, flooding her limbs, and Elyasin let out a vicious battle-roar. Like a flow of fire with a roll of exuberance, it surged into Elyasin, wild and gleeful. With that rush of power, something concussed out from her. Full of flame and fury, it raced from Elyasin’s veins, ready for a fight. Hammering into the ancient wight’s presence, it concussed like a thunderclap. Roaring with Elyasin, it attacked as she made a slashing movement with her hands like longknives. This energy that consumed her was fire and fury – and it was ready to fight.

  The bright wind howled. Elyasin felt its surprise – and pain. She slashed again with her hands, whirled as if gathering ether, then slammed a shoulder into the wind. She felt her body hammer the wind, hurting it. The wight flinched back with a shriek, releasing them. Elyasin felt Therel move then, in a fast, flowing strike similar to hers but with smooth power and deadly grace. With the brutal force of a breaking wave, Therel’s movement surged into the creature, and Elyasin felt it slap their foe back, hard.

  As their foe was concussed backward, its grip upon Ghrenna was released. A maelstrom of silver and white weaves blossomed out from Ghrenna suddenly. Elyasin could see them in her mind, shooting from Ghrenna and enveloping the wight. The wight howled in the net, spectral talons shredding at Ghrenna’s intricate weave, trapped.

  Elyasin and Therel moved in, full of rage and twinned power. Innate, they were dancing – a coordinated battle-dance of flow and slice, cut and hammer. They had drawn no weapons – they were the weapons, wielding flows of white, crimson, and indigo ether that were visible to Elyasin’s mind, racing through their bodies and out their hands, blasting the trapped wight. As tremendous heat flooded Elyasin, inkings of red and white searing to life over her hands and arms as she fought. As if wielding Hahled Ferrian’s ancient wyrria bound her to him, his markings flaring to life upon her flesh in a wash of molten glory.

  She roared as she hammered the wight again. Therel roared at her side as inkings of white and purple erupted upon his flesh, a wash of cool power twisting into Elyasin’s fire in a twinned bond. The wight shrieked in desperation, shredding free of Ghrenna’s mind-net, but even as the last threads were raked away, it was commanded back – by the power of the Brother Kings.

  The bright wind howled, rushing away from them. It fled, flowing up to the pinnacle of the obsidian mound in a swirl of blistering light, and then flashed out – leaving Elyasin, Therel, and Ghrenna breathing hard in utter darkness.

  CHAPTER 10 – DHERRAN

  Delennia Oblitenne was clean and dressed, her magnificent body obscured by a peacock-blue robe of elegant silk. Settling into a chair at a heavy white pearlwood table, she picked through a silver tray of grapes and popped a few into her mouth. The manor’s ready room above the catacombs was richly appointed with a crimson velvet chaise and thick Perthian rugs, the walls of the room snarling with banners of Valenghian royal houses. A fire roared in the massive hearth, pushing back the subterranean chill of the catacombs below. As she chewed, Delennia signaled to her bald servingman Emeris who moved forward, handing Dherran his things plus a leather purse heavy with coin. Dherran accepted his winnings, then hauled on his trousers. Delennia gestured at a nearby chair as she ate, entirely business, nothing remaining of her sexual manner in the fight-ring.

  “So is it all a show, then?” Dherran spoke, stepping to the table and setting his things in the chair.

  “You mean, am I as sexually deviant as I pretend to be in the ring?” Delennia eyeballed him, popping another grape in her mouth as the thick pearlwood door at the top of staircase clicked shut behind the retreating Emeris.

  “Something like that.”

  “Live a little longer, boy, and learn how to win alliances.” Delennia spoke archly, very much like Arlen. “A woman who fights has to show her men certain attributes.”

  “Sexuality. Ruthlessness,” Dherran commented.

  “Bravado. Domination.” Delennia stripped a few grapes off the vine, her long fingers brusque. “Now, sit. And tell me,” she reached out to a carafe, pouring two goblets of red wine. “Why the fuck is Grunnach den'Lhis in my city?”

  Delennia slid one goblet out to Dherran. He stood by the table, gaping like a fish on the line. She threw back her magnificent silver head, her long mane brushed out over one shoulder in a cascade of waves, and laughed. “Don't look so dumb, boy! I have spies. Some of them know Grunnach on sight, no matter how he perfumes himself. He's a gutter-rat. Don't let him tell you any different.”

  “Grump's a good man.” Dherran set his jaw, feeling his anger rise.

  “For Aeon's sake, sit.” Delennia gestured to the chair. “Grunnach's a sneaky squeaker. What does he want?”

  Dherran decided on the truth. “To reunite you with Arlen. To wake the Bitterlance again. Alrou-Mendera is facing trouble from within, and Arlen's forces are under attack. He needs you.”

  “Arlen needs to stuff his cock up his ass.” Delennia’s luscious mouth set in a hard line and Dherran saw again why her nickname was bitter.

  “Please.” He tried a different tactic, lowering into the chair. “Grump believes there's someone behind the recent assassination of Alrou-Mendera's Queen, and that those same people are behind the Valenghian Vhinesse, pushing our nations to war. All of it is connected to the forces now moving against Arlen and the last remaining Alrashemni Kingsmen.”

  “And what am I supposed to do about my sister's dire activities?” Delennia commented brusquely.

  “Excuse me?” Dherran blinked.

  “My sister.” Delennia swigged her wine. “The Vhinesse. Aelennia Oblitenne. Oh, that's right. You've come to bargain with House Oblitenne not knowing whom the fuck you're speaking to.”

  “You're sisters with the Vhinesse?”

  “Twins.” Delennia sneered, her white eyes flashing bloody murder. “She's born three fucking minutes earlier with special abilities thrice what I’ve got and worms her way up the ladder until she has the throne. And what do I receive once she’s Queen? One fuckhole of a manor with dirty sewers beneath it and a chip on my shoulder.”

  “You have... charisma. What you did when you touched me – how you control the crowd.” Dherran was at a loss trying to describe the seeping sensation he’d felt when Delennia had touched him, some kind of wyrric ability.

  “Charisma! Ha!” Delennia spread her arms, mocking. “Men come to see a woman fight naked, you halfwit! And fill my coffers with their admission fees and the clever betting of my spies. Charisma is nothing compared to what my sister can do.”

  “What can she do?”

  “Did you enjoy what I did to you in the ring?” Delennia eyeballed him.

  “Not particularly.” Dherran leaned back. “You sent some kind of energy into me that sapped my will to fight you. That made me want to fuck you instead.”

  “Look at me, boy.” Delennia set her goblet down, holding his gaze. “Aelennia makes what I do look like juggler’s tricks. She’s dangerous. And she’ll never consent to aiding anything you might want for either me or Arlen den’Selthir. Leave it and go home.”

  “But you're the Vhinesse’s kin. You could talk to her. Reason with her to stop this war—”

  “Reason? With Aelennia?” She snorted, swigged more wine, then set it down. “Look, boy. I'm tired. Go back down and tell Grunnach and your little friend that you all can stay the night, but that's it. In the morning, you leave. M
y real fighting days are done.”

  Delennia Oblitenne stood. Turning her back, she moved toward a set of ascending stairs.

  “That's it?” Dherran snarled, incredulous. “The woman I heard about wouldn't have been so fucking weak.”

  Fast as a demon, Delennia turned. In a series of moves Dherran hardly saw, she seized his wrist, kicked his knee, slapped his thigh – and he was suddenly broken, falling to the floor like a limp noodle. He stared up at her as she straddled him, sitting upon his hips.

  “Look, you Kingsman fuck.” Delennia stuck a finger in his chest. “You think you know me? You think you know Arlen? Or Grunnach? You don't know shit. This death-song goes back before you were born. You want to try to break me? Go ahead. I'm not going back to Arlen. Ever.”

  “What the fuck did he do to you?” Dherran snarled, his rage rising.

  “He abandoned our campaign to overthrow my sister, then he slept with her.” Delennia's white eyes seethed, her luscious mouth set in a bitter line. She rose from her straddle and paced to the upper stairs. “Get dressed. Emeris will find your friends and show you to guest rooms. Enjoy my hospitality for the night, then get the fuck out of my house.”

  She turned and strode up the stairs, leaving Dherran alone in the well-appointed room. He was halfway through donning his clothing and weapons when the door to the descending stairwell opened and crimson-tattooed Emeris returned, Khenria and Grump following. Rushing forward, Khenria caught Dherran in a fast embrace and he held her close, inhaling her anxious musk.

  “Are you alright?” She pulled back, reaching up to touch his face, her grey eyes wide.

  “I’m fine.” Dherran kissed her brow, feeling tenderness stretch between them.

  “Well done, Dherran my boy!” Grump crowed, patting Dherran upon the shoulder with a fluttering hand. “An excellent fight!”

  But before they could say anything more, big baldy stepped forward, gesturing to the upper staircase. “My mistress bids the three of you to enjoy her hospitality for the night. If you would follow me.”

  Dherran noticed the sour twist of Emeris’ lips as his gaze met Grump’s. The two shared a prickly moment, and Dherran was suddenly unsure if they were about to draw weapons. Khenria noted it, too, moving to Dherran’s side with her hands near the fly-blades upon her harness. With a dark snort, the bald guard relented, veiling his eyes and turning to lead them upward. The tension in his big shoulders didn’t leave, however, as Dherran and the others followed him up the corkscrewing stairwell.

  From the ready-chamber under Velkennish, they ascended through an ironbound door, emerging into a short alcove and then into the manor proper. They walked vaulted halls, ornate with banners and tapestries in hunting scenes. Elegant niches were set with busts of men long dead, gilded furniture, and candelabra. Dherran found himself impressed by the wealth of House Oblitenne, realizing that the manor was more a palace than a home. Martial history greeted him upon every side, racks of spears elegantly presented, ornately etched shields, gilded swords, and dummies of armor. A creeping feeling assaulted Dherran of being watched – as if all those racks and dummies had guards behind them, just waiting to seize those honed blades and charge to war. Yet, other than Emeris walking with them, the long halls held not a single breath of humanity.

  At last, they were led up a stone staircase with royal crimson carpeting, the pearlwood banister carven with trailing ivy. At the top of the stairs, Emeris gestured to three open doors upon the left, spaced far apart. “Your rooms. Meals are within and baths await you. Fresh linens are in the armoires. Breakfast will arrive at sunup and should you need anything during the night, each room is equipped with a bell-pull. Milady has insisted you not wander about the manor.”

  “And what are we going to do, Emeris?” Grump chortled, though his eyes were narrowed. “Steal all the silver?”

  “I wouldn't put it past you, Grunnach.” A flicker of personality lit the guard's eyes. His bristling manner around Grump had not lessened, and Dherran wondered at it. The two had a past, it was plain.

  “Is she setting a watch upon us?” Grump cocked his head, something about that movement dangerous in the extreme.

  “She wouldn't insult you so. She knows you can slip any guard any time you like, and strangle a man in his sleep.” Emeris' dark eyes hardened, his intense dislike of Grump amplified, leaving Dherran wondering if Grump had pulled a fast one on the big guard sometime in the past – maybe a few times. Perhaps resulting in someone’s death. “In any case, you'll not have a guard on your doors, but my mistress will show you all her distinct displeasure if you wander tonight. Starting with the little Alrashemni bird.” He nodded at Khenria.

  “Did you just threaten me?” Khenria's eyes blinked wide.

  “No.” Emeris' dark eyes were back to being veiled. “My mistress did. She knows the weakest link in a chain when she sees it. Goodnight, gentlemen. And lady.” With that, he turned his broad back and strode off down the long hall.

  “That didn't go very well.” Grump watched Emeris go, a thoughtful scowl on his face. His hands lingered near his close-work knives, tapping a hilt with one finger.

  “How do you and Emeris know each other?” Dherran asked, watching Grump carefully.

  Grump took a deep breath and sighed. “Ancient history and old wounds, Dherran my lad. I once liberated something from this house that Emeris believes I did not have permission to take, and someone got killed in the process, someone who was important to him. He’s probably wondering why Delennia hasn’t ordered him to slit my throat yet.”

  “Holy Halsos, Grump!” Khenria spoke, her dark brows narrowed, arms crossed. “How many more surprises are we going to find out about you here in Velkennish?”

  “At least a few more,” Grump sighed, then gestured effetely to the open doors. “I'll take the center room. You two take the one nearest the stairs, and we’ll leave the third empty. These two have the least amount of secret entrances.”

  “The least amount?” Dherran balked, gazing at the open doorways with a sudden worry.

  “Ask why you feel a creeping unease in this house.” Grump spoke darkly, glancing at the niches of armor and a large tapestry upon the wall, of a woman in crimson sitting on a gilded chair and feeding a wire-haired hound. “Delennia has a large force of retainers, and she hasn’t a separate house for her garrison anywhere else upon the property. She’s been banned these past eighteen years from having her standing army, by order of the Vhinesse, but don’t let the emptiness of these halls fool you. I sincerely doubt she would have given them up.”

  Grump led them toward the room nearest the staircase, peering in with one hand upon the rapier at his side rather than his knives. His eyes darted through the room and he nodded. As everyone entered, Grump moved right, opening a through-door to the next apartment and repeating his check. Dherran heard the door to that suite lock. Grump returned with an ample tray of food and a pitcher of wine from the far rooms, settling it upon the broad table in Dherran's room, already laden with a good spread. Moving around, Grump eyeballed the tapestries and the gilded wainscoting decorated with angeli and trailing ivy. Taking up a few lit candelabra, he placed them before the tapestries. Heaving pieces of furniture, Grump backed them up against the panels he’d eyed, until the room’s decor was largely re-arranged.

  “Redecorating?” Dherran quipped, though it was easy to see what Grump was up to.

  “Just insurance, Dherran my boy.” Grump’s eyes were lit with a twinkle as he looked around. “This way, you’ll hear anyone who enters in the dark of night.”

  Dherran moved over to shut the through-door as Grump finished up, the small lord moving to the table and putting his boots up on a gilded chair as he started to pick through the trays.

  “Should you be eating that?” Dherran eyed the food suspiciously.

  Grump popped some roast pheasant with a pink berry chutney in his mouth and gestured to the spread. “Poison isn’t Delennia’s style. Besides. She’s wondering why I’m her
e. And why I brought the two of you. And how in the world I’m allied with Arlen again. She’ll make contact before dawn. I bet my sack on it.”

  Khenria stepped towards the fire, adding another log to push back the autumn chill, then moved toward a copper tub of steaming water by a gilded dressing-screen. Sticking her fingers in, she glanced back at the men. “It’s hot. Do you two mind if I—?”

  “Go ahead.” Grump waved one hand idly, not looking over from his meal. “Nothing I haven't seen before when you were little.”

  “Enjoy,” Dherran smiled.

  Khenria began to strip before Dherran had turned away, and he thought again of what the servingman had said. Khenria was learning Alrashemni arts fast, but she was still scrawny, despite her curves. Dherran thought about all that honed, fit muscle of Delennia Oblitenne, a woman of forty-plus years – how strong she was, how fast. Thirty years of training or more, to become that ruthless. Khenria's young muscles would break like a populus branch to Delennia's blows. Dherran steeled himself, that he would do nothing amiss tonight in Delennia’s home – nothing to put Khenria’s life at risk. Nearby, Khenria slipped into the bath with a sigh, her head falling back upon the copper tub’s rolled edge.

  “So what now?” Dherran sat at the table, taking up some crispy boar-belly and devouring it, ravenous from his fight.

  “Now we wait, boy,” Grump spoke between mouthfuls. “Delennia knows what we came here to tell her: that Arlen needs her. Now we see how curious she gets.”

  “About what we brought to bargain with.” Khenria’s dark eyes glimmered as she spoke up from the tub. “When are you going to tell us what exactly that is, Grump?”