The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  A sudden deluge of water gushed down out of the sky, and some of the crew set to frantically bailing the joltora. Borne joined them, all the while tracking the path of the waterspout, which had veered to their port side. He pushed back his sopping hair and grinned over at Ejder, whose eyes had grown wide with fear.

  “It looks like she’ll blow by!” Borne called reassuringly to the Mazarinei, but it appeared Ejder couldn’t hear him over the hiss of wind and water. He remained staring rigidly beyond Borne.

  A wail rose up from the local men, and Borne turned to see what was frightening them so. Shielding his eyes against the rain, he made out a large ula rising like a giant turtle out of the aubergine lake.

  “What is it?” he called to Balfou. “What have they seen?”

  The comte’s expression was equally stark, and for once he appeared heedless of the damage inflicted on his fine clothes by the wet. He murmured something too low for Borne to make out.

  “What?”

  “Ile la Malfica.”

  Isle of the Witches. It meant nothing to Borne, but now he could see figures garbed in saffron robes lining the shore among the tall golden reeds. None of them appeared to be armed.

  “Who are they?” Borne called, pitching his voice lower as well.

  But Balfou only shook his head.

  The waterspout had lost momentum and the rain was abating. To Borne, there seemed no need for such alarm. In frustration, he turned back to Ejder. “Come, man! The storm will soon be over. We can shake out the sail and be on our way.”

  Ejder lowered his face to his palms and moaned. “Too late… we are doomed!”

  Borne could see that was all the explanation he would get from the terrified man.

  He pushed past the guide and, seizing a paddle, thrust it into a crewman’s hands. Then he leapt to the sail. Several of the Mazarinei hastened to help him remove the reef. With the shift in the wind, they should have started to come about already, but Naza seemed to have taken on a will of her own. She continued to stream toward the ula.

  The captain abandoned the helm and made his way to the bow. Stretching out his hands in supplication to the watching people on the ula, he began an eerie keening. Borne caught the word “mercy,” and then the crew lent their voices to the captain’s lament, raising the hairs on his skin.

  In frustration, Borne shook the comte’s shoulder. “Balfou, for the love of Alithin, tell me what’s happening! Who are these malfica?”

  “The gravest hazard on the Mazarine,” Balfou replied hollowly.

  “Why? What do they want from us?”

  “One of us,” Balfou replied. “They will want one of us.”

  Borne stared at him. “For what purpose?”

  “Vengeance. The malfica have held sway on this isle since the last Purge, after which those of their sisters who survived came here to seek sanctuary. Sometimes you can see them swooping over the lake, borne on the backs of great black swans. They‘ve never forgotten those who lost their lives during that terrible time. They are still exacting restitution for their deaths.”

  This close to the ula, Borne now saw that all its inhabitants were female. A few were old and haggard, but many were young, and fair to look upon.

  “Most of these women wouldn’t have even been born at the time of the Purge,” he protested.

  “The malfica never forget.”

  The Naza had entered the shallows, and some of the women were wading out to meet her, chanting in a strange tongue that drew on no language Borne possessed. If they intended to do the travelers harm, he, for one, would not go meekly into their clutches. He grasped the hilt of his sword, but as he attempted to draw it, a strange lassitude overcame him. He recognized it for what it was—some sorcery of the witches’ making.

  Balfou had already slumped to his knees when Borne sank down beside him, fighting to keep his heavy eyes open. All around them, the Mazarinei sprawled to the deck.

  The last thing Borne saw before he lost consciousness was the slender fingers of the malfica grasping the gunwales to pull the Naza to the perilous isle.

  * * *

  He awoke to darkness. He was on his back, and his hands and feet were stretched wide, bound by what felt like cord. The musky scent of incense and herbs mingled in the heavy air, yet he felt a chill. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw that his clothes had been taken from him.

  He was not alone. All around the perimeter of wherever he was, shadowy figures ranged. One of them murmured, and a torch was lit. In its dancing light, Borne saw the women were also naked, their skin varying from alabaster to ebony. There were no bony, grey-haired hags among them; these women were all in the bloom of their years, with ripe breasts, full hips, and narrow pelts between their shapely legs.

  In unison, they swayed forward, and Borne twisted to see if an axe was about to descend on his neck. It was only then that he saw the line of girls, too young to have flowered, observing with unfeigned curiosity whatever was about to take place.

  “He is fine,” crooned a dark-haired woman, running her liquid black eyes over Borne’s body. “I claim the first seed.”

  “You claim nothing, Makayda.” A tall, lithe beauty with black tousled curls and warm umber skin knelt at Borne’s side. “I was the one who first felt the pull.”

  “It is so,” said a third, whose golden hair matched the glow of her skin. She stared at Borne with hungry green eyes. “Hinata raised the first cry. He is hers by rights.”

  “Don’t worry, sisters.” Hinata smiled, and Borne felt her fingers brush across his loins. “This one has plenty for all. Indeed, he is overripe.”

  Borne heard the smacking of their lips as they gathered around him, stroking him with cool, provocative fingers. He felt himself grow hard.

  “What do you want of me?” he demanded.

  Hinata’s low, throaty laugh stirred him further. “All that you have to give, othanda.”

  As much as he dreaded the answer, he persisted. “You mean to take my life?”

  This drew more laughter. “In a manner of speaking,” the golden witch replied.

  “Don’t frighten him.” The woman who spoke had ivory skin and platinum hair that fell to her waist. Her breasts were small, perfect orbs, the nipples rosy in the growing heat of the room. “I, for one, don’t want to carry his fear.” She covered his hand with her own and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “We will harvest your pearls, othanda.”

  The warmth and heavy fragrance made Borne feel disoriented. Keep them talking, he thought. Perhaps they can be reasoned with. “I’ve been told it’s vengeance you seek.”

  “Of course you have,” replied Makayda. “It’s a tale we’ve long cultivated to keep away unwanted visitors. It’s served us well over the years. You’ll have to judge for yourself the truth of it. What we desire, however, is continuance.”

  “Enough,” Hinata declared. “Let us weave, sisters.” She began to hum, and the gathered women took up a lulling chant, repeating strange words over and over again: “Mu awan obin rinwa.”

  Hinata’s perfect white teeth flashed at Borne, and he felt her gently stroking him. Realization dawned at last. His pearls.

  The witch lowered her dusky lashes and exhaled a long, audible breath that was echoed by her sisters. Borne felt the heat of desire wash over him as she stretched out on his right, pressing her silken flesh against him while she caressed his cheek.

  “Do you feel the pull of our loom, othanda?” she murmured.

  Despite himself, Borne groaned.

  Hinata’s lips were so close to his he could taste the sweetness on her soft breath. She kissed him softly, and despite himself, he hungered for more.

  “If we untie your bonds, do you give your word you will not fight us?”

  “What do you plan to do to my companions?” Borne asked, although it was a struggle not to drow
n himself in the onyx pools of her eyes.

  “Such discipline and devotion!” The witch’s eyes sparkled wickedly. “The boats cannot sail without our leave. If we are satisfied—fully satisfied—you and your friends may proceed with your voyage still in possession of your wits… and your lives.”

  Borne surveyed the sultry creatures surrounding him. “In that case, ladies, you have my word that I will submit meekly to your requirements.”

  “Oh,” Hinata purred, swinging herself astride him as the others loosened the ropes binding him. “There was never a question of your compliance, othanda.” She languidly lowered herself onto him with a moan of pleasure. “But meekness is not required.”

  She felt like warmed honey, and then like fire. Borne’s senses were filled with the scent of her musk. He felt himself responding to her slow, exquisite rhythm, the breathy sighs of her sisters spurring his growing lust. It had been months since he’d been with a woman, and although his mind might have resisted, his body did not.

  Wrapping his arms around the witch-goddess, he deftly flipped her under him. For a breath, her eyes widened, but he kept them in perfect sync until she gave a low growl and arched her back to meet his thrusts.

  Suddenly, Hinata cried out and pushed her hands against his chest. “I have caught!” she gasped. “Makayda!”

  Hinata slipped away, and the brown-haired beauty eased under him. Borne seemed to have lost all will of his own, but he was in full possession of his senses. Indeed, his whole being tingled with a sensation hovering between ecstasy and pain.

  When Makayda called out, a silver-haired witch took her place, and following her, the golden blonde with the sun-kissed skin. After that, Borne lost track of all those with whom he coupled, rising to their ravenous demands again and again, his body slick with sweat, both his and theirs. Wrapped in a tangle of limbs, the tang of sex filling his nostrils, he pumped out his seed to quicken in their voracious wombs. There was no time and no memory—only an insatiable hunger that drove him beyond what any mortal should have been able to endure.

  It was only when the room filled with the blush of dawn that the witches released him from their loom of lust, and the women and girls rose to drift away.

  At the last, only Hinata remained, her head upon his heaving chest. He listened to her long, slow exhalations, and his racing heart gradually slowed to match the beat of hers. Makayda and several others soon returned with cool cloths and a pungent salve, which they used to sooth the bites and scratches they’d inflicted on him. A petite russet-haired vixen, whom he recalled raking his chest until it bled, offered him sweet mead and a bowl of purple fruits that held succulent segments of heaven beneath their rinds. He ate them all, and a second bowl as well.

  Hinata watched him with amusement, and when he had sated his hunger, the witch led him outside through the swaying reeds. Between the tall grass, he could see the two joltoras rocking in the shallow water. There was no sign of life on the boats, and Borne wondered if Balfou, their company and the crew were even still aboard. And Magnus. The hound would have come looking for him long before now if he was able.

  “They’re only sleeping,” Hinata assured him, then led him down winding wooden steps to a perfectly circular pool. At her urging, Borne entered it. From the temperature of the water, he guessed the pool was fed by hot springs. He lay back and drifted, feeling the strain of the night’s revelry drain away.

  Hinata dove in after him. When she surfaced, water droplets spangled her curls with diamonds of light. “I see questions burning in those sky-struck eyes. You may ask me three.”

  Borne seized the chance. “I am curious as to how you’ve managed to survive since the last Purge.”

  “You mean, how we’ve been able to keep at bay those who would destroy us?” Hinata’s beautiful mouth hardened. “Before the Purge, women like us lived in isolation, most often alone on the edges of villages providing restorative tonics and willingly treating any who came to us in need. Even then, we were only tolerated because of our skills with healing. We were never trusted, and we were reviled by the ignorant who saw evil in our singular gifts.

  “But that was nothing compared to the distrust and loathing heaped upon us after the Strigori, cursed be their name, spread their poison across the lands. The dark wizards were both merciless and unassailable, feeding people’s fear of anyone possessed of magic. When the Strigori at last fell from power, those who’d suffered under these cruel brothers craved revenge—and in the absence of the Strigori, we served as easy surrogates.

  “For the crime of being different, we were tortured and mutilated, hanged, burned at stakes, and held under the water until we drowned. We were pummeled with rocks, the life pressed out of us with heavy stones. Those who judged us raped us, often unto death, and cut our unborn children from our wombs. We were branded with searing tongs, flogged, flayed, and dismembered.”

  The witch’s eyes blazed with cold fury as she recited the torments witches had suffered through the ages, and Borne regretted having stoked this fire. But instead of lashing out at him as he feared, she dropped under the surface of the pool.

  When she bobbed up again, her knowing smile was back in place. “No longer,” she continued, “and never again. Those of us who managed to survive the terror of the Purge began to seek one another out. We banded together and made our way east under the guidance of Olena, a witch descended from the Mazarinei. Here, we found safety in our numbers.” Her eyes took on a prideful light. “And Olena taught us her wild magic, so that we can commune with other living things. Not even the great wizards and sorceresses have this ability. And here in this coven of kindred spirits, our powers have grown. We weave our own wands from the reeds and have mastered many spells. Never again will any man have dominion over us. Although we were forced to step out of the Known World, we’ve created one more to our liking. All that we need is here—all, that is, except seed to perpetuate our kind. And this, we take as we please.”

  Borne could attest to that. “But how do you keep those who would do you harm from seeking you here with ill intentions? If a big enough army were to attack—”

  Hinata’s smile grew cunning. “You found us only because we wished you to. Our ula cannot be seen otherwise. Some who visit us never leave. Once they have served their purpose…” She laid her hand lightly on Borne’s arm. “You needn’t worry, othanda. You have pleased us.”

  Borne supposed this was meant to ease his fears, but the witch’s subsequent sigh raised a frisson of alarm. “But?”

  Hinata shook her head. “No ‘but,’ othanda. You are free to leave. It is only that I fear you may have spoiled us for whoever will follow. Perhaps you might sail this way again in a year’s time?”

  Borne sensed it was prudent not to rule out this possibility. “Perhaps. But before I leave, I still have one more question. Where are your men? I mean, if you have been breeding since the last Purge with those who answer the call of your loom, what happens to the boys you bear?”

  “We sacrifice them on a night with no moon, and drink their blood.” Seeing Borne’s expression, she laughed. “I jest, othanda. We don’t give birth to boys. We’ve found a way to ensure we have only daughters. Now.” Hinata tilted her slender neck to one side. “I have a question for you. You are bound, othanda, heart and soul. Are you not?”

  Borne didn’t ask how the witch had guessed this. “It makes no difference. Even if it is so, she is beyond my reach.”

  Hinata’s gaze rested on the surface of the water. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “I see this. In any event, your destiny lies to the east.”

  “I hope so,” he replied lightly, and he stroked across the pool and pulled himself up onto the grass.

  Before Hinata left him back at the hut, she pressed a chain with a black swan pendant into his hand. “A gift from us. It is our pledge of thanks to you. If you are ever in need, you may return to us, and if we can help
you, we will. But you must not remove it, else its value is forfeit.” She slipped it over his head, then ran a light finger down his cheek and slipped away.

  In the hut, no trace of the previous night’s orgy remained. Instead he found a fine linen tunic, soft breeches, and a pair of boots. As he donned these, he couldn’t help wonder whether they had belonged to a hapless predecessor who hadn’t lived up to the witches’ expectations.

  When he stepped outside, he found himself alone, so he made his way as quickly as possible down to the beach. There was always the chance that the capricious witches might change their minds about letting him go.

  In the shallows, the joltoras waited. They had not shifted, although no lines moored them.

  Cursing softly under his breath, Borne waded into the shallow water, setting off a chorus of unseen frogs from within the whispering reeds. When he was halfway to the boats, he cupped his hands and called softly, “Balfou! Ejder!”

  To his intense relief, Magnus barked excitedly, and then several heads bobbed up at the near gunwale. One of them belonged to the comte.

  Borne plunged deeper into the lake, then struck out with swift strokes. By the time he’d reached the Naza, the crew had their paddles poised at the ready.

  Balfou and Ejder hauled him aboard, their eyes bright with astonishment. “You’re alive!” the comte cried. “How did you escape the malfica?”

  Borne had no intention of describing what he’d experienced on the ula. He would do nothing to encourage others to invade the witches sanctuary. He scooped up a paddle and drove it into the water.

  “I barely escaped with my life,” he said, keeping his expression somber. “As to what they wanted, that tale must go with me to my grave.”

  Chapter 26

  Halla

  The sandstorm proved to be a gift from the gods. If Palan had posted sentries, the blinding wind drove them to shelter, which allowed Halla to slip unseen into the sleeping camp in the storm’s aftermath. Her heart in her throat, she raced toward the largest pavilion, praying she would find Nicu there, still alive.