Traitor to the Blood

by J. C.

  He whined, took several hurried steps toward Leesil and barked twice. When Leesil merely clutched the bundled cloak to his chest, ignoring the dog, Chap kept barking, two at a time in rapid succession.

  Emêl flinched at the sound. "Tell him to stop that. He does not listen to me."

  "It means 'no'," she said, but she didn't know what Chap was trying to tell them.

  Without Wynn and the talking hide, there was no way to understand what upset Chap so much. Magiere could only guess. He refused to accept that Nein'a had died years ago.

  Chap whined, thrashing his head, side to side.

  "Enough," she said, putting a hand on his back. "We must leave."

  Magiere retrieved her falchion and dagger and headed for the door. The others followed, and Emêl secured the crypt behind them. No one would find Darmouth for a while. Leesil carried his bundle, but he wouldn't look at her.

  She didn't care. She didn't want to look at him or speak to him, and merely led the way to the small cell block and the lanterns they'd left there. They passed through the cell and rotating wall, down the stairs, through the portal, and into the tunnel, not bothering to close the way behind them. As she walked along the tunnel, Chap remained deeply agitated at Leesil's side.

  * * * *

  Welstiel heard noise in the lower level below him and crept to the base of the south staircase. The passage was long, but he could see all the way to the far end where the north stairwell ran upward. There was no sign of Magiere or her companions.

  He could just make out the ornate door before the storage area. It opened.

  A tall, cowled figure emerged earring a similarly dressed body over his shoulder.

  Anmaglâhk. Welstiel sank back a ways into the stairs.

  He heard the elf breathing, but his companion was dead, The elf stepped out through the arches into the storage area, and Welstiel lost sight of him.

  He sat and waited and was on the verge of getting closer to the door to peer in.

  Magiere and her companions came out, heading the same way as the gray figure. Baron Milea paused long enough to close the door.

  Leesil was with her, but Welstiel could tell something was wrong. He was nearly catatonic, clutching a bundled cloak to his chest and walking so slowly that the baron passed him with a troubled glance. Magiere led the way, not looking back even once for Leesil.

  Her shoulder was bleeding, and she looked haggard, but she was still on her feet. Welstiel felt only a slight relief. He was curious, even anxious, about what had happened in that room.

  All four disappeared from his view.

  Welstiel waited a little longer, then quietly walked to the leather-bound door and opened it.

  At first he saw only two stone crypts between dark archways to either side. One was coated in fresh blood across its middle. Small shadowed edifices filled the back wall, and a body lay upon the floor. Welstiel stepped between the stone coffins.

  Darmouth lay dead in a pool of blood. The back of a knife hilt protruded from his throat. There were skulls in most of the holes in the back wall.

  Welstiel was at a loss even to guess what all this meant. Had Leesil learned anything of his parents' fate? Would he abandon his plan to head for the elven lands? Welstiel turned back to the door.

  A voice shouting out orders carried from the north stairwell. It was Omasta, and Welstiel rushed toward the end of the storage area where all the others had gone. There was no way he would be able to leave through the front bridge.

  He looked carefully through the half-ajar door to find an empty passage between the cells. And no one he had seen leave was there. He didn't even hear footsteps. There was a hole along the side of one door just above its latch. He opened that door.

  Before him was the twisted back wall of the cell, and beyond a narrow staircase.

  Magiere needed time to get well ahead on whatever path lay below.

  At least now, perhaps she would leave this place, although Welstiel grew anxious again in the uncertainty of what her next step would be.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hedí kept the fire low and pulled the cloak tighter around Korey and Wynn. Wynn coughed and opened her eyes. The young scholar rolled her head to look about, and fright washed over her face.

  "You are safe," Hedí said. "We are all safe."

  "Ch… Chane?" Wynn stammered. "What happened?"

  "Your strange friend brought us out," Hedí answered. "He carried you all the way. I gave him my word that I would watch over you until your companions came. He left us here and would not stay. How do you know such a man?"

  "Then it was real?" Wynn asked. "He was there in the corridor… with the soldiers?"

  Little Korey frowned and muttered, "He was cold—bad man," and snuggled closer to Wynn beneath the cloak.

  "How do you know him?" Hedí repeated. "Is he a foreign soldier of some kind? I have seen him before but cannot remember where."

  "Where are we?" Wynn asked, and glanced about as if truly noticing her surroundings for the first time. "Where is your baron?"

  Hedí tried to be patient. "Your friend thought Emêl went into the keep, looking for us. I hope he did not, and that he will come for us soon."

  If only poor Emêl had known what would happen. In hindsight, she should have told him everything from the start. Byrd must have located the tunnel's exit, or Emêl—far too chivalrous for Darmouth's domain— would never have gone in after her. Soon enough, Byrd's associates would be sent to finish Darmouth, but not before Hedí dealt with Leesil.

  "And Papa and Mama will come, too?" Korey asked.

  "Maybe not tonight, but soon," Hedí said.

  Rhythmic scraping sounds came through the forest behind her.

  Hedí leaned around the tree and looked toward the opening in the dead trunk. She started to pull herself from under the cloak.

  A tall, cowled man stepped out into the forest with someone draped over his shoulder. Both were cloaked, and the one standing had a cloth wrapped across the lower half of his face. He turned his head, looking about, and Hedí barely made out large eyes in a dark-skinned face. He staggered in weariness, as if it were an effort to remain on his feet and still bear his burden.

  Hedí pulled back out of sight and put a finger to her lips, signaling Wynn and Korey to be silent.

  The dagger taken from Wynn's guard lay by her side, and she gripped its handle. As she looked at the small fire, her fear rose sharply. Its light could not be missed by anyone so close. If this was one of Byrd's elven assassins, then they had closed in on Darmouth more quickly than Hedí had thought possible. And this one might not care to be seen by three women in the forest.

  She leaned slowly back to peer toward the tunnel's exit.

  The elf was gone. She scanned the darkness between the trees. After long, tense moments, Hedí relaxed again.

  "What was it?" Wynn whispered.

  "I thought I saw something, but… no, nothing."

  Disturbing Korey or Wynn over this strangely fortunate near-miss would serve no purpose. They huddled in silence, letting the fire burn lower. Wynn appeared lost in thought. Angry dissatisfaction filled Hedí in realizing Leesil would not die before Darmouth. Then she heard another soft scuffling in the direction of the dead tree.

  A tall woman crawled out of the opening, dressed in a leather hauberk and wearing a sword on her hip. The sleeves of her shirt seemed torn or tattered, though it was too dark to be certain. One shoulder looked stained, and she held that same arm against her chest. Hedí turned on her knees, holding the dagger ready.

  Emêl crawled out next, his face smudged and dirty, and Hedí rushed out of hiding.

  "Emêl! Here!"

  He saw her and held out his arms. Then her face was in his chest, and he pulled her close.

  "Magiere!" came a cry from behind.

  Hedí caught a glimpse of Wynn rounding the tree that blocked the fire, steadying herself with one hand on its rough bark.

  "Wynn?" the tall woman said, he
r tone melting to relief. "You got out."

  Before the woman named Magiere took a step, a large silver-gray dog lunged out of the tree. It rushed to Wynn, and the little scholar sank to her knees. The animal licked her swollen face with a whine.

  Another figure rose up in the hollow of the dead tree.

  Slender, with brown skin and white-blond hair, his eyes were like amber. Clearly he was an elf, but Hedí was confused. Had Emêl joined with the assassins? The man's face was expressionless as he held a bundle to his chest with one arm.

  "Leesil," Wynn cried. "You're safe."

  Hedí went cold.

  Leesil. The son of Gavril and Nein'a. The one who had murdered her father in his sleep. And now, of all sick twists… Wynn was his companion and not his target?

  He did not acknowledge the little scholar and stared into the darkness, slowly blinking now and again. Everyone else began speaking at once.

  "Ah, look at your face!" Magiere said, kneeling beside Wynn. "What are you wearing? Where's your coat? It's freezing out here."

  "Magiere, you are bleeding!" Wynn returned. "Let me see your shoulder. What's wrong with Leesil?"

  Emêl whispered softly in Hedí's ear, but she did not hear his words. Korey came out next around the fireside tree, the hem of Wynn's coat dragging around her bare feet.

  "Are Mama and Papa with you?"

  Hedí was barely aware as Emêl's mouth opened and then closed. He crouched, dropping from her sight. Hedí's gaze turned on Leesil alone.

  "No," Emêl answered to Korey. "They are not with us."

  "We have a fire back here," Wynn said. "Magiere, I need to look at your wounds."

  "Not now," she said. "You go sit down."

  Hedí still had the dagger in her hand—she felt the hard hilt and the strain of her aching fingers.

  Someone passed through her sight. Was it Emêl carrying Korey? She heard the others move away toward the fire, and the only one left was Leesil… his hands and thighs stained dark with someone's blood.

  He blinked rapidly as if waking, and turned his head toward her. There he stayed, motionless with his eyes upon hers. She understood his expression—recognition.

  "Assassin!" she hissed, and charged him.

  He did not try to block her swing but only retreated and stumbled. The dagger's tip skidded across his hauberk, clicking across its iron rings as he fell to the forest floor.

  Hedí threw herself onto him, where he sat clutching his bundle. She raised the dagger.

  "Leesil!" someone shouted from far away, and the voice grew ragged and snarling. "Get off him!"

  "Murderer," Hedí whispered. She ripped the bundle from Leesil's arms, and her voice rose so loud it tore at her throat. "Do you know what happened to my mother? My sisters!"

  She drove the blade down.

  Leesil's eyes awakened—hardened. But not at her. They followed the tumbling bundle she had taken from him.

  "Hedí, no!" This time it was Emêl's panicked voice.

  Leesil reached for the bundle, twisting beneath Hedí. The dagger's tip slid off the hauberk's side and sliced through the inside of his shirtsleeve. Leesil whipped his other arm across her, and Hedí fell away as he lunged for the bundle. She righted herself on her knees, looking at the one man she wanted dead more than Darmouth.

  Leesil knelt on the ground with his back to her, gathering the cloak into a bundle against his chest. He stayed there, not turning to face her, not even trying to defend himself. Hedí rose up, turning the dagger point down as she approached Leesil's exposed back.

  A figure landed in her way like an animal pouncing from the dark, and its growling words were barely intelligible between distorted teeth.

  "Get… away… from him!"

  The woman named Magiere crouched, nearly on all fours, in Hedí's way. Her face was so pale it looked white in the darkness, but her irises had no color at all—only black, like her sweat-tangled hair. Her fingernails were pointed like claws. And in her mouth, upper and lower fangs extended beyond sharpened teeth.

  The large silver-gray dog leaped through the brush behind Leesil and crept forward with its head low, watching Hedí with crystal eyes.

  There were tears running down Magiere's cheeks, but her feral features held no sorrow, only rage slipping beyond the edge of reason.

  Hedí looked into the face of a monster and did not care. All that mattered was that Leesil died, here and now. She inched forward, ready to gouge out this monster's eyes.

  "Hedí, get back," Wynn cried out. "Magiere! Don't hurt her!"

  Hedí rushed at Magiere, and someone grabbed her wrist.

  "Stop it," Emêl snapped, and jerked her back against his chest, closing his arms around her from behind. "You do not understand."

  "Yes, I do!" Hedí shouted, but no matter how she thrashed, she could not break free of Emêl's hold. "He is the one! He took my life and did not bother to kill me for it."

  "He was a slave," Emêl said. "Like all those who serve Darmouth. Like his parents, Nein'a and Gavril. No different from that girl you brought out with you. What would have happened to Leesil's parents if he refused to obey Darmouth? You know the answer. You of all people know how Darmouth works, just as he used you against me for years."

  Hedí stopped struggling, but she had no outlet for the hate inside of her.

  Leesil huddled on the ground with his back turned and would not move at all.

  The monster, Magiere, backed toward him, torso and inhuman jaws expanding in deep, agitated breaths. Her appearance slowly changed, becoming more human as her lips closed. She crouched over Leesil and took hold of his shoulders. By the time she had him on his feet, Hedí saw only a pale, tall woman in leather armor and long black hair.

  Hedí kept her eyes on Leesil until Magiere led him out of sight beyond the tree shielding the fire. Then she saw Korey huddled in terror in Wynn's arms. Hedí could only think of what she had lost long ago.

  "No more killing," Emêl whispered. "There will be more blood in the days to come than any of us can bear."

  She did not understand and did not care.

  Hedí crumpled. Rage's heat and anguish bled out in tears as Emêl gripped her in the black cold of the forest. There had been nothing but deceit and betrayal living under Darmouth. Slaves murdering one another to live one more day.

  But Hedí had no pity for Leesil, and wished his life filled with all the suffering forever buried within her.

  * * * *

  Magiere sat on a fallen log near the newly built campfire. All of them had returned to the wagon and then traveled northeast along the road. Not far, but enough that they'd never be spotted from the keep upon the lake. Far enough that she would never have to look at it again. Yet Leesil was still here to remind her of what she'd learned of his past in that place.

  What she'd learned about him.

  Emêl gathered canvas tarps from the wagon's back and busied himself constructing makeshift tents. Korey scurried about in wool footings Wynn had fashioned from part of a blanket. By her hair and coloring, it wasn't hard to guess who were her papa and mama. The girl busily helped Emêl with his work, which amounted mostly to getting in his way. Magiere wondered how long the baron would wait to tell Korey the truth about her parents.

  Hedí assisted Emêl as well, keeping her head turned away from Leesil. Magiere didn't believe so much hatred would ever die, and kept her eye on the woman when she strayed too far toward the trees beyond the camp.

  Out there, at the edge of the fire's orange light, Leesil sat against a tree, gripping the bundled skulls. Chap paced back and forth at the camp's edge, watching him. The dog was still unsettled. Magiere had not forgotten Chap's maddened outcry in the crypt. It worried her almost as much as Leesil's silence.

  Wynn took a blanket from the pile Emêl set out and walked with a bit of a wobble to drape it around Leesil's shoulders. Returning to the camp, she retrieved a second blanket and came to drop wearily to her knees in front of Magiere. She dug in her pack and pulled
out a cloth and the jar of healing ointment.

  "Take off your hauberk and that wool pullover," she said.

  Magiere did so, and Wynn began cleaning and bandaging her wounds.

  "Is Leesil injured?" she asked.

  "He's not bleeding," Magiere answered, though she'd seen the welt line around his throat. "I don't think there's anything to be done for him—for now."

  Not in the flesh, at least. Wynn's attention wouldn't heal the real wounds he had taken.

  Wynn finished bandaging Magiere, and firelight reflected off her oval face, still swollen and battered. Her injured eye was half-open.

  Magiere was grateful that the little sage was still with them. Wynn suddenly turned her face away and settled to the ground, leaning against the log beside Magiere.

  "I have something to tell you," Wynn said. "And it should not… cannot wait."

  Magiere frowned as Wynn swallowed hard, reluctant to continue.

  "Chane is still alive… or exists." She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "I cannot remember much, but I saw him come for me in the keep. Hedí says he carried me out and helped her and Korey escape. Then he left us." She paused. "I needed to tell you. I want no more secrets between us."

  Magiere absorbed Wynn's words. A Noble Dead loose in Venjetz, wearing stolen clothes? It made sense, and for an instant her instincts made her consider going back. Chane, loose in a city soon to see war at its gates, in its streets, and no one would ever notice his victims.

  "Hedí said he cannot speak properly," Wynn whispered, "as if his throat was injured."

  Too many thoughts filled Magiere's mind from this long night. She dropped off the log to the ground beside Wynn and pulled the blanket around both of them without a word.

  "There is more," Wynn said. "In my journals and notes… the ones

  I sent back to the guild… Not everything I wrote was about the people and lands we passed through."

  "You mean about me," Magiere said flatly.

  Wynn glanced at her. Some color drained from the sage's olive face.

  It hadn't been hard to guess. From the very start at the Guild of Sage-craft in Bela, Wynn and her mentor, Domin Tilswith, had been quite curious about a woman born of a Noble Dead father.