"Next guess?"
Kynyr exhaled loudly. "Second concerns Silkie. I think they made her watch him die to intimidate her."
"Good so far. Why would they intimidate her?"
"To take control of the Crimson Lady. Brothels are good places to learn things. Males will spit out stuff to the whores without considering where the information might go from there."
"Now, connect it up to Cooley and I'll give you my thoughts."
"They must know that Cullen and Silkie had been lovers. They may even know that Cooley is Cullen's, although Silkie implied that no one but Cullen knew it. So there's two possibilities. They could be after Cooley because he's Cullen's. In which case they intend to kill him. Or they could be after Cooley because of Silkie, in which case they want him alive as a hostage."
"You're awfully certain they're after the boy."
"Silkie must have reason to think so, Todd. Otherwise why send him to us?"
"Good point. However, I doubt they want him as a hostage."
Kynyr blinked, a sense of unease creeping along his arms. "Why not?"
"We're not dealing with humans or lycans. We're dealing with sa'necari. Sa'necari would not need a hostage. They would simply cram Silkie's mind full of coercions until there was nothing she could do but obey."
"No. I don't think they would. Psi craft like that always has side-effects. Personality changes. Someone would notice."
"Only if they paid attention, Kynyr. No one pays attention to whores. Which is probably the reason males betray themselves so freely to them."
"Cullen did." Kynyr's mouth tightened.
"Cullen was an odd wolf. We'll see what we can do to fix the damage Cooley's caused himself."
"I'd like you to train him."
"He's not emotionally stable. The fight with Lany O'Connor was not the first one that Cooley's had."
"Training could help that." Kynyr met Todd's eyes with a calm steadiness. "The cub's life is on the line. If you don't train him, he'll die."
"Gut instinct?"
"Yeah."
"I'll teach him avoidance. But until he stops fighting with the villagers, I'm not going to teach him the arts of war. I don't want to see him kill another child just because they taunted him."
"Understood."
"Then I'll start with him this evening after dinner."
Relief blossomed on Kynyr's face. "Thank you."
Todd lifted his hand to forestall more talk from Kynyr. "But I expect something in return."
"What?"
"You'll answer all of my questions."
"About what?"
"I want to know everything you learn in Hell's Widow tomorrow. Everything his mother tells you. There will be other questions. Something bad is going on in this town and I want to know what."
Beneath Todd's calm exterior, Kynyr could sense an edge he had never seen before, and it prompted his agreement. "So be it."
* * * *
The Difficult Horse Tavern, called that because of its sign that featured a horse sitting on its rump while a mon tugged the reins before it, stood on Main Street across from the village common. Hereward Wiggins, the owner, brewed his own mead from locally produced honey and it was considered the best in Wolffgard.
Barrels with spigots jutting from them lined the rear wall behind a polished bar of walnut heartwood. Sturdy chairs circled the round tables placed throughout the common room.
Kynyr occupied a table with his three closest friends, who had become his subordinates in the new unit that Claw had formed. His spiritbrother, Finn MacIver, sat at his right hand. Finn's pale hair hung in a long silken tail to the middle of his back with a neat orderliness that Kynyr envied every time he had to fight with his own discipline resistant mane. Ramsey Fitzgerald had the chair to Kynyr's left. Three tankards of mead had lent a rosette flush to his fair skin and heightened the color in his round cheeks until they nearly matched his fiery red hair. Eideard Doyle, the oldest of them at twenty-four sat directly across from Kynyr. His dramatic cheekbones broke the symmetry of his otherwise bland square face, framed by crinkly ash blond hair that was caught at his neck with a twist of leather.
Hereward's four buxom daughters waited tables at the Difficult Horse, flirting with the customers in a manner that skirted the edges of propriety, strictly 'look but don't touch.' The tavern master kept a spiked club behind the bar and everyone in the village knew better than to test his temper especially where his daughters were concerned. When it got too busy in the evenings, the two nibari Hereward owned would be sent out to help with the orders.
Kynyr's eyes roved the room, searching for his favorite, LoraKady or Kady as most called her. She was Hereward's eldest, a sweet-tempered bitch with flaxen hair that hung past her hips and a ready smile that suggested mischief. He frowned when he did not see her. "Where's Kady tonight?"
Finn glanced around the room before answering. "I don't know."
"She hasn't been around much since that Cullen business." Ramsey tilted his head to the side and contemplated his tankard as if he knew something he felt reluctant to share. "There's rumors going around about her."
"Like what?"
Eideard gestured at Rachel Wiggins with his tankard, indicating he wanted another. "Spit it out, Ramsey or I will."
Kynyr's frown deepened. "One of you tell me."
Ramsey looked uncomfortable, so Eideard growled something under his breath and then repeated it louder. "They're saying Kady is a slut. A bunch of those wet-tailed wheat-grinders that work at the mill." Eideard snorted derisively. "They're saying they got their rods into her and she liked it."
"They said that here?" Kynyr sounded incredulous. "What did Hereward do?"
Ramsey licked his lips and took a drink from his tankard. "That's the odd thing. Nothing. Acted as if he hadn't heard it, and I know damned well he had."
Kynyr blew a breath through pursed lips and scratched his sideburns. "I don't know what to make of that."
Rachel Wiggins, Hereward's youngest, sashayed up with a large tray of full tankards. "Another round?"
Finn and Eideard shoved their empties at her along with a five penny piece. Rachel took the empties and the coins, then placed full tankards in front of them.
"Where's Kady?" Kynyr asked her.
Her smile died and her mouth tightened. "How should I know?"
Rachel moved on to another table and Kynyr stared at her back with one eyebrow lifted.
"What's the plan for tomorrow, Kynyr?" Eideard asked, sipping at his mead.
"We're doing it different. Full arms. Armor."
"That'll mark us, Kynyr." Ramsey leaned across the table. "They'll know we're guardsmyn. The Sharani garrison will get antsy."
Eideard snorted. "Those she-devils aren't stupid, Ramsey. I'm sure they already knew that Claw's errand boys were guardsmyn."
"Probably. But the road's not safe anymore." Sitting his tankard aside, Kynyr got to his feet. "I'll be back in a bit."
"Where you going?" Finn started to push his chair back and follow.
"Out back for a bit of relief." Kynyr's mouth twisted into a crooked smile.
"Oh."
Kynyr passed through the common room and down the short hallway past the kitchen to the back door that opened on the alley. The sheltered rectangle that held the tavern's neatly sorted trash stood to the left of him and beyond that the dingy square of the privy. Kynyr felt as if the beer had gone right through him and filled his bladder to bursting as soon as it passed his lips. He put his hand on the door knob of the privy and started to turn it when a voice from within loosed a string of curses followed by "I ain't done yet."
Kynyr hissed between his teeth, knowing there was no way that he could hold it much longer. He glanced up and down the alley before slipping around behind the privy. Kynyr opened his pants, lifted his bone out, and relieved himself against the stone wall of the tavern like a dog marking territory.
As he finished lacing his pants closed, he heard a muffled cry and the so
unds of a struggle. He came around as quiet as he could and saw two myn holding a bitch down while a third moved atop her. They had her skirts shoved up to her chin and a roll of cloth in her mouth. She writhed and jerked in a futile effort to get free.
"Be still you stupid whore or I'll beat the shit out of you," one of them growled.
Kynyr thought he recognized the voice, but was not certain as he slipped up to them. He kicked the one holding her left arm in the head, grabbed the one riding her by the collar and slammed him into the side of a building. The third released her and scrambled away as Kynyr's sword cleared the sheath.
"Kynyr Maguire," one of them spat at him.
"Cormic Parry." Kynyr leveled the sword at him.
Cormic's eyes widened and he backed farther from Kynyr. Then they all broke and fled.
Every since the day he beat Malthus Estrobian with a practice blade, most of the young rowdies did not want to fight him. It gave Kynyr a bitter satisfaction since that was also the day that someone put a knife in his back because they were afraid to try and take him from the front.
Kynyr sheathed his sword, knelt down, and gathered the young bitch in his arms. "Let me help you inside. Do you need a healer?"
"No."
The light from the tavern windows fell across her face. "Kady Wiggins! I'll get your father."
"No! He doesn't give a damn."
That did not sound like Hereward Wiggins. He had always been fiercely protective of his four daughters. "Kady, he's had all the dogs scared to touch you."
"My sisters, yes. Not me." She burst into loud sobbing. "This has happened before. He told me to get used to it that you can't rape a slut."
"You're not a slut, Kady."
"He thinks I am."
"Why?"
"Cullen."
"But I thought nothing happened."
Kady lowered her head and her shoulders drooped. "We'd been doing it for weeks meeting at the Commons after midnight. Dad had me checked by the midwife when rumors started flying. When Baroucha told him I was not a virgin, he turned his back on me."
"You're lucky you didn't get pregnant."
"Cullen used eelskins. He didn't take chances with that."
"He was your first?"
Kady swallowed and managed a small nod.
"Come on. I'll take you to Cahira."
"No. I'm all right." Kady pushed away from him. "Forget this happened." She got to her feet and fled down the alley.
"Kady!"
She hesitated at the mouth of the alley and glanced back at him.
"I'm going to beat the shit out of Cormic Parry, Kady. I promise."
She dipped her shoulders at him, turned, and vanished into the street.
Kynyr walked back into the tavern feeling troubled. The soul of Wolffgard seemed to be rotting away at its roots and he could not figure out why. He paused at the table he had been sharing with his friends.
"I'm going home."
Finn frowned. "You got that look in your eye. What happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
CHAPTER THREE
A SIP OF DEATH
The trip to Hell's Widow and back had proved to be uneventful. With the Waejontori Rebellion against their Sharani occupiers growing more heated, large numbers of Sharani troops had been pulled out of the more remote areas that bordered the various lycan clans, and fielded elsewhere. As a result, Sharani forces no longer patrolled the stretch of road between Hell's Widow and Red Wolf. The main portion of Malthus' forces operated in the north and northeast with the goal of preventing the lycans from crossing into either Creeya or Iradrim. He also had a few units in Hell's Widow testing plans for interdicting the road and cutting Red Wolf off from Waejontor. Eventually no one would get in or out of the valley.
The only people who knew that Malthus was sa'necari were those who had already fallen so deeply under his sway that they could not reveal him. He passed for human by wearing the simple golden ring on his right hand that Lord Brandrahoon had given him, which was an ancient sa'necari artifact. Hoon had a huge hoard of such things, and when Malthus had learned that Hoon was actually Brandrahoon the ancient vampire, he had stopped being surprised by any of the small gifts that were frequently bestowed upon him by his benefactor.
Malthus had the latest shipment of goods from his mother and a few things that Heironim had been saving for him carried up to his study by two guardsmyn and three servants. Another of Claw's guardsmyn would drive the wagon on to the Sanctuary Refugee Camp where the last of his purchases would be unloaded and sorted out by the bitch who ran the camp, Clodagh Demarist.
When he married Merissa Redhand, he had insisted upon having a study. The manor had plenty of unused space. He shooed them all out as soon as everything came up and then locked his door, dropping the bar.
The first crate he opened contained three bottles of wine marked with a "C." Heironim had had his sanguiner blend this special for him. He got a corkscrew from his desk drawer and opened the first one. It was laced with blood.
Malthus put the bottle to his lips and took a small amount into his mouth, rolling it around his palate. "Ah, Cullen, what a delightful vintage you've become."
He fetched a glass from the cabinet near the rear and poured himself a glass of it before settling in his chair. He closed his eyes and leaned back, savoring both the blood and the memory of how Silkie Faggini he felt certain that was not her real name and Ellie Remus had looked when he shoved the blade into Cullen's chest. He had jacked Cullen's lover of many years, Silkie, next to his cooling body. Malthus finished it off and poured a second glass, sipping at it as he opened the rest of the crates.
Heavily packed in straw were six bottles of a rare whiskey, fifty-year old Cair Dairmid from Doronar. A small lycan clan produced it based on an old family recipe. People said it was the smoothest whiskey on the continent, especially when aged like this.
He gathered the bottles up and carried them to his desk. Malthus took another sip of wine. Gifts of rare liquors delighted Claw; and his capacity for alcohol was prodigious.
Malthus sketched a sa'necari rune on the first bottle with his finger. It glowed darkly for a moment and then vanished. "Here's a little more death for you to drink, Claw."
He runed each of the bottles. So far, Malthus had seen no signs of suffering in the old wolf, although his calculations had estimated that Claw should have begun experiencing heart trouble weeks ago. Perhaps, I'm being too subtle. I'll give it another week and take another approach if I must.
Then he drank the last of his glass of wine, put the cork back in and filled his arms with the whiskey.
He carried it to the Blue Room where he knew he would find his father-in-law at that time of day. A dining table that could seat forty dominated the near side of the room. The opposite side had two clusters of overstuffed chairs and sofas with end tables. A row of cabinets lined the same side of the wall as the door. A stack of serving tables filled a corner. The walls were pale blue and the carpets and curtains were a dark blue.
Claw sat at his chair near the window, letting the afternoon breeze cool him. He held a wooden soldier in his hand, turning it this way and that before working on it again with his knife. The old chieftain enjoyed making toys for his grandcub, Darmyk. He had changed out of his work clothes into a comfortable robe that wrapped around and closed with a sash.
Malthus set the bottles on the table beside his chair, and gestured at them.
"What have you got there?" Claw set his whittling aside, leaning close to see. A smile spread over his face. "Cair Dairmid!"
"Presents from my mother. I wrote her that you liked such things."
"Considerate mon." Claw opened a bottle. "Get me a glass."
Malthus fetched glasses for them both and poured. The curse on the bottle was keyed to Claw and presented no danger to anyone else unlike poisons.
Claw took a sip and rolled it around in his mouth. "This is good. I've not had anything so smooth in years."
/> "I'm glad that you like it. If there is anything special you would like her to find, tell me and I'll write her."
"I'll do that. What all did you pick up in Hell's Widow?"
Malthus lowered his head, gave a tiny nod, and a smile that failed to touch his eyes flickered across his lips. "I went mainly for the Sanctuary. Clodagh needed several things that could not be found in Wolffgard. For the children mostly."
"So you're going to keep working there?"
"A bit. I gave Beth my word on it before she died. I'm a mon of my word."
"I guess you're okay for a human." Claw refilled his glass.
The lycan capacity for drink always surprised Malthus. He had seen Claw down six doubles in a row and barely feel it. "I'm glad you think so."
"You should be. Tell me, did you see any sign of bandits? The merchants that come through are complaining of them."
"Not a one."
"Aisha's sending Kynyr to Hell's Widow tomorrow to pick up some things for her."
"I could have picked them up for her."
"That's Kynyr's job. She likes sending him. She's a picky old bitch and likes things done a certain way. She's got Kynyr trained and that's that. Ahg" Claw leaned back in his chair with a grimace, rubbing his chest.
"What's wrong?" Malthus asked solicitously, extending his gifts in a low level scan for a taste of Claw's discomfort.
"chest pains. I've been getting a lot lately."
I'm sure you have. "Has anyone looked into it?"
"Baroucha. She's given me something for it."
Ahh, Baroucha. I've been neglecting you lately. "Perhaps you should rest. I'll send for a servant."
Malthus reached for the bell on the table and Claw covered it with his hand. "I'll rest when I'm damned well ready to."
"So be it. If you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to." Malthus rose and left.
As he reached the stairs, Merissa turned the corner. She lifted her long skirts to free her feet and ran to him. He pulled his lovely, ginger-haired wife into his arms and kissed her deeply.
"I missed you, darling," Merissa said when he ended the kiss.
"I missed you too." He glanced around to see that no one was near and cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple. "I'll show you just how much after dinner."
Janrae Frank - [Lycan Blood 02] - Fireborn Law Page 4