by JANRAE FRANK
"What is that?" Mephistis asked.
Bodramet grinned broadly. "The paladin's blood."
"Aejystrys Rowan?"
"Yeah."
"Give it to me!"
Bodramet glared for a moment, his eyes locking with Mephistis'. His power rose and was slammed back with a force that sent him reeling against the wall. Once before Mephistis had been forced to teach this one obedience: Bodramet had been standing at the head of the gauntlet, bending over Isranon's still and bloody body. Mephistis had reacted with unthinking rage, believing the youth slain, and battered Bodramet severely.
As powerful as Bodramet was, Mephistis was more so – the Waejontori prince had taken a thousand times a thousand mortgiefan, many of them from foes of incredible power such as the fireborn warrior Kalestari Havenrain. Mephistis had no peer. He was the paternal grandson of the most powerful banewitch of all time, Aurean the Golden, Queen of Waejontor, whom Kalestari had slain in the battle of Sharatier. Shintar, his sire, had beget him and three of his four brothers on Aevrina Coleth, the only known Sharani banewitch – there were others still undiscovered – who had in turn kyndied him and his brothers into the womb of Aurean more than doubling the necromantic power of his bloodline. His fourth and oldest brother, Baaltrystan, who now sat upon the Waejontori throne, was a product of incest between Shintar and his mother, Aurean. Of the four brothers, only Mephistis and Baaltrystan had been born sa'necari: a very rare thing since most sa'necari were made not born. Estopholes, the middle brother, had been made sa'necari only a few years past; while Farendarc, the youngest brother, a duelist, was now dead, slain by Aejys Rowan last summer. Farendarc had been no loss: Mephistis felt nothing for any of his brothers.
One single act had placed Mephistis beyond all others in power. The heritage of Waejonan, the dark magics that sustained Waejontor, passed from parent to child in unbroken succession through an act of mortgiefan perpetrated on the parent by the child. The power should have passed from Aurean to her son, Mephistis' father, Shintar. But Shintar had died before her. The power should then have passed to Baaltrystan. Mephistis, however, mounted the dying Aurean and stole the power for his own. One day he would mount his brother, ride him into death, and assume the throne of Waejontor. Should the one who carried the legacy of Waejonan ever perish by the arts of the lifemages – releasing all the fragments of souls and stolen magics – then Waejontor would perish also.
Mephistis took the bottle from Bodramet, drinking from it, feeling the heady power of the blood, remembering again the intensity of shoving himself inside Aejys' dying body. Before she could die and yield to him mortgiefan, Aejys' ma'aram, bloodmother, had shoved him off the dying paladin, grievously wounding him with a sword thrust lengthwise through his sides. The hunger for her remained, gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He had never been robbed of mortgiefan in mid-rite before and his frustrated need was ravenous beyond anything he had felt in his life. He had heard this need described by others who had experienced it, but never expected to own it himself. Some sa'necari were said to have died of reaction following mortgiefan theft. It would take many lesser death-gifts just to take the edge off his need, but he dared not venture so soon into areas where he could take one strong enough to ease or sate him.
He had tasted Aejys: Only Aejys or another as strong could satisfy the need burning in his cells and nerves. He took another long drink: the bottle was now half empty. "I must feed again before we leave. I must have a death."
"My Lord?"
Mephistis paused, throwing him first a shrewd glance and then the bottle. Generosity was the hallmark of a good leader. He had honed it to perfection: he would beat his supporters, his lovers, and even his friends into submission one moment, and then surprise them with gifts the next. It kept them off guard, never knowing what to expect from him. "Kill it. I will bring back a child for you."
Bodramet smiled happily. "Good hunting, lord."
* * * *
Mephistis returned in the late afternoon, riding a proud cut gelding and leading three more horses. Three bound, blanket wrapped captives draped the backs of two horses and, as he had promised, one of them was a child. The third horse was packed heavily with stolen supplies. He had ridden openly, trusting the snow to fill in his tracks. The prince no longer wore his elaborate robes, clad instead in black woolen knee-length tunic and trousers just like thousands of Sharani. He threw back his cloak as he dismounted, turning to drag the first captive from the horses.
"This one is mine. The others are for you."
"My lord is generous," Bodramet replied, dragging the child and the male adult into the first chamber.
"Make them quick kills," Mephistis told him. "We will raise the adults and send them to feed on their people as a diversion. Give the hunters something to worry about besides catching us. I want to be on our way by dark."
He carried the woman to the inner chamber, threw her down beside Margren, and staked her out. Mephistis drew his baneblade, cutting away the woman's clothes. She tried to scream, but only frantic gargling noises emerged for Mephistis had torn out her tongue when he first took her. He stroked the blade along her body, contemplating where to put it in that he would find most satisfying. Then he decided and opened his pants, lifting himself out. His member was hard and ready. He entered her, still stroking her with the blade as he thrust deeper, moving rhythmically. He shoved the blade in repeatedly as he moved to start the process of death, striking organs that could kill in hours. He did not intend to take hours, but he wanted to taste her pain.
Like healers, the sa'necari were also Readers, knowing the body of their victims down to the cellular level if they choose to extend their awareness that deep, which they rarely did: The gift was used mainly to find the organs and arteries, targets for their blades, or simply to track the progression of a dying victim, to savor the way their bodies failed them, the taste of trauma. He slid his finger across her breasts, locating the aortic arch. Mephistis shoved the baneblade in precisely at a slight angle beside the woman's breastbone, meticulously severing the aorta. He withdrew the blade, licking it clean, sheathing it at his side, all without missing a beat in his rhythm as he slid in and out of her warm wetness. She died in minutes, her heart's blood emptying into her chest. Mephistis climaxed as she died, his seed fountaining into her corpse.
The swift, intense ecstasy of her soul shattering and half of its essence being sucked into Mephistis' dark core as he took mortgiefan, caused his awareness to tilt and for an instant he was sheathed in the body of another, hearing another woman scream in anguish, her face suffused over that of the dead woman beneath him as a seizure ripped through her.
"She's alive," Mephistis gasped. "Aejystrys Rowan is alive!" He had gotten so close to having the death-gift from her that they were linked, every time he took it from another she would feel it also – just as if he took it from her – the paladin would feel herself die with him inside her again and again. It almost made the burning hunger for her death-gift bearable. Almost. Once he had gotten Margren to safety, he would go after Aejys again – next time he would kill her as he had this one. Next time there would be no mistakes, no interference.
He opened the wound more with his blade, pressing his face into it, lapping warm blood from the chest cavity as if it were a bowl. Sated, he cupped his hands and dipped blood from the dead woman's chest, filling Margren's wound and mouth with it, speaking the second rite of binding. He would overcome the power of the blade that killed her with his own.
* * * *
Bodramet stripped away the child's clothes, pinning her struggling body easily. He nuzzled her belly, licking her. His fangs lengthened. He bit into her lower abdomen, ripping and tearing away the flesh. She screamed on and on. He savored her pain as he fed on her entrails and organs. His hands formed claws. He shoved them up between her ribs, tearing her heart lose. The screams stopped abruptly. He bit into the heart, sucking the blood out, and then began to chew it. His attention shifted to the male, bound, and g
agged, watching in horror as the sa'necari ate his child.
Bodramet reasoned that since the nearest village was a small one and Sharani males so rare, this male was likely the village stud, owned in common by the women; he had probably sired every child there. That sent a delightful image into his mind with an irresistible urge to describe it.
"I will have your death-gift," Bodramet said, still chewing on the child's heart. "Then I will raise you and send you off to eat your children."
He thought briefly of Margren. The noise of Mephistis coupling with her corpse had been impossible to ignore. Bodramet sneered in Mephistis' direction. What would his arrogant scion say were he to learn that Bodramet had not only been riding the bitch while she lived, but he had been the first one inside her corpse?
* * * *
Mephistis settled Margren's blanket wrapped body across a horse, tying her securely. Bodramet emerged behind him, leading the two zombies they had hastened into undeath. The male's slashed throat gaped open; he carried a small arm torn from the child's body, gnawing on it as he shuffled into the darkness. The female followed him.
Mephistis mounted, his power dominated the animals' awareness, and kept them calm enough to ride as the zombies passed. Bodramet swung into the saddle beside him. They set out in the opposite direction from the undead, Mephistis leading. They needed to be far from there before the next two nights when Margren would require feeding and he might have to fight to control her until she emerged from the initial animalistic state of a revenant.
* * * *
They reached the north border of the Rowan Mar'ajanate, the Arris River, as dawn crept up over the still distant mountains. Mephistis remembered with satisfaction taking mortgiefan from Aejystrys' daughter, Laeoli, on those banks last autumn. The fords were solidly iced over with a thick, crisp layer of snow concealing its wet depths. The horses had no problems crossing and they entered the Mar'ajanate of Aluin unnoted except for a pair of woodcutters who waved at them in a friendly fashion. Mephistis nodded back, letting them think they were simple travelers. They passed through the village of Farennd around noon and although Bodramet wanted to stop and investigate the isolated grog shop at the north edge Mephistis kept them riding until they were deep in the ironwoods at the foot of the southernmost spur of the Iradrim mountains. There they stopped to rest the horses, giving each a nosebag of grain and made themselves a meal of dried fruit, cheese, and jerky, washing it down with blood. Bodramet looked unhappy with this and Mephistis choose not to remark on it. He understood that Bodramet was at that point in sa'necari development where he preferred blood from still-living veins and his meat still pulsing. Mephistis, having been born sa'necari had passed though that stage early since it had awakened in him at the onset of puberty. In the safety of his ma'aram's large holdings in the Mar'ajanate of Danae he had been fed on criminals, slaves and those of her political rivals unfortunate enough to fall into her hands. His ma'aram, Aevrina Coleth had been among the first Sharani ruling nobles to be successfully subverted by the Waejontori. When her coup failed, Aevrina had been executed and her lands forfeit. That was in the early days of the Great War. Despite this, Mephistis felt certain that if they could reach Danae, he could find allies there, as not all of his ma'aram's supporters had been uncovered. They would help him escape to Waejontori held territory.
They turned northwest, striking out through the woodlands toward Danae in late afternoon. Then his only worry would be to find some isolated village or human habitation before nightfall when Margren would awaken ravenous: if she rose without other food, she would try to eat him or Bodramet. While he had no compunctions about giving her Bodramet, he preferred otherwise as he might need the sa'necari to help him reach his allies; more to the point though, sa'necari blood was very potent and he did not want Margren to become too strong, too fast since that would make her harder to handle.
Luck was with him and they found an isolated farmstead just as the sun was setting. The two-story building had stonewalls with a thatched and wattled roof. Bodramet started for the door, grinning hugely.
"No," Mephistis shook his head. "I want you well away from here until dawn. She'll wake soon. Besides, I saw several people in the fields, more than enough to sate you."
Bodramet nodded. He did not want to deal with a revenant as potentially powerful as Margren. He remounted and rode off into the fields, back the way they had come: they had seen someone working out there. Mephistis knocked on the door. A large, muscular farmer answered. Her dark hair was caught in a tail at her neck.
"What do you want?" She asked suspiciously.
Mephistis smiled serenely. "You," he said, his hand darting out so quickly she could not react before he caressed her cheek and took her mind.
Her mouth went slack, her eyes dulled.
He scanned the cottage. The first floor was a single room filled with four chairs covered in wooly throws, a spinning wheel with a basket of wool near a large loom with a half finished cloth in a bright geometric pattern. To the right of it all was the hearth with a bubbling cauldron of stew that smelled like cooking mutton and a table. A narrow stair started midway between the dining area and the workspace. The bedrooms were upstairs.
"Follow me," Mephistis gestured. The farmer stepped outside and, at Mephistis gesture and nod, retrieved Margren's body. They took her in and laid her out between the chairs in the workspace. Mephistis unwrapped her nude body, straightening her limbs, running his fingers through her hair. Once Margren was satiated, he would try to calm her and bring her mind back. Even should she resist and remain a revenant for eternity, he could not bear to harm her. He would always love her.
"Sit," he told the farmer who obeyed without a sound. "Are there children?"
The farmer nodded.
"How many?"
"Three."
"Ages?"
"Four, six, and fourteen."
A smile broadened. Perhaps he could keep the oldest as a treat if he could control Margren. Mephistis' body had begun to ache and burn at midday, lending credence to the old stories of death from mortgiefan theft. Certainly the pain was getting worse and not better. He needed to secure the children. Mephistis started up the stairs. The upper floor was divided into two bedrooms. He heard a rustle in the room to his left and snatched the doorknob with a yank. It did not open. He could tell by the way it pulled that someone had put a chair under the knob. The door was sturdy enough to have held a normal mon for several minutes: but the sa'necari's strength was far beyond that of mere humans. He kicked it hard, shattering the door and the chair both. A youth was lowering the six year old out the window while the four year old crouched terrified beside her.
"You next," the youth said, grasping the child by the hands.
"Neither of you next." Mephistis snarled. He was on them in a flash, jerking the child from her sister's grasp and throwing her across the room. He grabbed at the youth, but she kicked him in the face, whirled, and went out the window. Mephistis cursed as he peered down at them. They paused to quickly exchange words, and then raced off. Margren was too close to rising for him to go after them. Behind him the four year old sobbed in terror. Mephistis knelt beside her, stilling her sobs with the touch of his hands and mind. She crumpled. He closed the window, sealing it with a spell. He wondered briefly, as he entered the next room to seal it, how Bodramet was doing with those still out in the field. With any luck, the escaped children would head for the fields and Bodramet would kill them. Counting the beds, he realized there were three more adults still out there. Three farmers would be no problem for Bodramet; in fact Bodramet would feast while Mephistis would probably have to content himself with the stew instead of blood.
Mephistis brought the four year old down and laid her silent, bespelled form beside Margren. Margren's corpse began to stir and he retreated to the door, which he sealed with a spell. Margren could not leave this hovel now. He would watch her feed, then take control of her. Since he had made her sa'necari and performed the first two rites
of binding, he would have some influence, but there still might be a fight. Margren's flesh had a bluish tinge, but the cold winter weather had kept it from turning green with the first onset of rot. That would leave once she fed. With enough blood and raw flesh she would start to look human again.
Her eyes snapped open, red with hunger. She sensed the child beside her and sat up. She smiled, showing a mouth dominated by long needle like fangs. She smiled broader, took the child almost fondly into her arms, and sank her teeth into its stomach. He sensed her satisfaction, the child's terror and agony, the farmer's horror and grief and then something else: distant eyes watching them. They were being scryed. Only someone with a very strong link to him and great mage power could have achieved this bit of spying. He dared not let his full awareness leave Margren, but he insinuated a tiny strand of power into this presence, sliding down the link to find and identify them. Aejys. Aejys was scrying them. Then he pulled back, satisfied. Let her see her sister eating the child; it would chill her; put more doubt into her mind; make her more vulnerable to his next assault. The more vulnerable she became the easier and sooner he would be able to kill her through the link and complete the mortgiefan he hungered for.
Margren threw the child's corpse at his feet, grinning at him, taunting him with her eyes. She recognized what he was if not who he was, that meant she was less a mindless revenant than either he or Bodramet had expected. That also meant that she was far more powerful than he had ever dreamed when he made her. She rose to her feet, her eyes flicking from him to the helpless farmer and back again.
"Mine?" she hissed, finding her tongue stiff and words difficult to form.