by Unknown
“He might be lying, but I wouldn’t count on it. Let go of me, Sage.”
Sage released him.
Talon turned to the guild. “Can none of you comprehend the foulness of what Black Drayke is doing? How can you allow this to continue? Women and children are dying. Just because they’re illumrofs or Impures doesn’t make it any less wrong.”
The older wakens glanced at each other, unease clearly written on their lined faces.
“We care nothing for the illumrofs. Why should we?” Katch replied. “They have long been a nuisance for our race.”
Talon bowed respectfully before Katch, the only member of the guild to whom he wasn’t related. The ancient waken looked pale and clammy, as if he were sweating off a fever.
Katch inclined his head. “Why are you so concerned about the illumrof females?”
“You don’t believe Black Drayke is placing us at risk?” Talon countered.
The oldest waken to sit on the guild, Katch, had snowy white hair that hung past his stooped shoulders. His eyes, once the rich shade of amethysts, were now cloudy and faded, but still held wisdom and magic.
“I didn’t say that, Talon,” he replied. Katch drew his hand down the thick beard, smoothing it. As beards went, it was impressive. Long, full, and the exact shade of his hair, it rested against the scarlet satin robe shrouding his aged body. His clothes were eye-popping, intense colors, and rippled with a magical life of their own.
A wide-brimmed, royal-blue satin hat stood tall on his head. Hundreds of tiny silver stars glittered like stardust on it. He was a dazzling figure and still a powerful sorcerer, though he would retire from the guild when Stry took the throne. He ranked the highest of all wizards and was the only sorcerer who ever reached the level of High Priest Wizard.
Katch rubbed a hand down his face and squinted at Talon. “What did you say this witch’s name is?”
Talon felt terror strike his heart. If Katch ordered Saylym’s death, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Katch’s word was law, even over the king’s.
“Winslow. Saylym Winslow.”
The old one nodded his understanding and leaned back in his chair as if he’d suddenly lost all his strength. “And there was no history of her in the archives? Is that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“Good. Good.”
Talon eyed Katch, curious by the wizard’s odd reaction.
“What Black Drayke chooses to have happen to his seed is his own concern and none of the elder’s,” Darak announced, blithely ignoring the conversation going on between Talon and Katch.
Talon swore softly, jerked from his contemplation of Katch’s strange behavior. Disbelief filled his mind at his father’s words. He heard nothing that indicated concern for the illumrof females.
True, he had no love for humans either, but he wouldn’t try to murder a mortal female by impregnating her. There had to be justice for Black Drayke’s brutality. Talon held his hands out, palms up, beseeching. “We’re a dying race. Our history toward our females is so brutal we’re on the verge of extinction.” His voice trembled. “And now you allow Black Drayke to get away with murdering females from a different species? Perhaps it’d be justice if the illumrofs did discover we exist.”
The sound of silence exploded in the room. Tension spread, rushing through the air to fill every void in the chamber. The guild members held their collective breaths, waiting.
Black Drayke swaggered closer to him. “It’s only because you have a witch sister you hesitate to kill the Winslow witch. Whom I choose to mate with is none of your concern, whether it’s an illumrof or a witch. Do we understand each other, Prince?”
Talon clenched his fists at his side. Black Drayke’s breath touched his face, as foul as if he’d dined upon a meal of garlic and leeches. The revolting sludge of evil rolled off the warlock like the oily waves of the Onyx Ocean.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Sage shift his weight. Talon waved him away with a slight move of his hand, but he was smart enough to keep his attention focused on Black Drayke. “For your sake, Black Drayke, leave Kali out of this and keep the hell away from her.”
Black Drayke snorted. “I hear she’s returning for the Maypole Festival this year.”
No longer able to abide his crowding, Talon pushed Black Drayke away. “Keep your distance from my sister.”
The warlock grinned. “I believe Princess Kali has reached mating age. And the Maypole is, after all, a phallic symbol representing the male’s coc—”
“I know what the Maypole represents. That doesn’t give you free license with my sister.”
Black Drayke lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t require your consent to…er…awaken her to the sensual pleasures of mating. All witches free of bond or unclaimed are fair game at Beltane.”
Talon growled a warning just as Sage hooked his arm around his shoulders and pulled him back from Black Drayke.
“Not here,” Sage warned quietly. “Not now.”
“Best listen to your cousin, Talon. Have no doubt I’m looking forward to schooling your sister in the finer arts of mating.” He licked his lips. “I’ll be gentle with her. That is, as gentle as I ever am with any female.”
His smugness lashed through Talon like the Char-Flum-Rope.
“Cease this quarrelling at once,” Darak bellowed, banging the table with his gold scepter. “Let me remind you, Black Drayke, it’s my daughter you speak of so crudely. She’s not fair game for you or any male. Her future is already set. She will mate with whom I have chosen for her and no other.” He drew a deep breath and cleared his throat. “And leave the illumrof females alone. That is a law and must be obeyed.”
Talon searched his father’s face. His words were strong, but his voice lacked conviction. Was his father afraid of Black Drayke? It certainly seemed like it.
Black Drayke inclined his head at the king, flashing Talon a sly grin. Talon tensed. If he uttered a single chant, he’d cast the warlock into the Underworld.
“Forgive me, Majesty. I cannot resist teasing Talon. Certainly, I’ve not mated with illumrof females. They look and smell like trolls.”
“Trolls?” Sage gagged. “Illumrof females look like trolls? I hadn’t heard this.”
“Disgustingly ugly,” Black Drayke muttered. He looked up from scratching an oozing scab on his arm, regarding Sage. “They do nothing to raise a man’s…er…expectations. Not to my taste.” He nodded at the elders. “I’m certain the ancients recognize that this Saylym Winslow is an endangerment to us all, as well as the fact this is no place for the human intruder, Hannah Miller. They must be terminated. I’d love nothing more than to terminate the witch. Next to mating, there’s nothing that compares to the feeling when you snuff out a witch’s spirit. It’s glorious.”
Meeting the warlock’s cold gaze, Talon barely concealed a shudder. He saw nothing but death reflected back at him. The rumor that the warlock dabbled in the Black Arts was obviously true from the way his eyes had changed from shimmering peridot to dull onyx over the last few weeks. Even his skin was becoming putrid as the evil leached from his pores. “Only to you,” Talon shot back. “It’s an addictive habit and costly to our race.”
“So you keep saying,” Black Drayke said, his tone casual. “Try it, Prince. You might just find you like it as much as I do.”
Talon shuddered. “No. Anything you take pleasure in isn’t something I want to be addicted to.” Talon was afraid if the guild wasn’t enforcing the laws, then they, and the king, were frightened of Black Drayke. He snorted. Hell, so was he. From Black Drayke’s appearance, his powers were increasing. Someone had to stop him. It might as well be him. “What are you doing here, anyway?” Talon inquired. “It’s a closed meeting.”
Black Drayke smiled, but his eyes remained dull as a Black Star Stone. “Your father invited me to the meeting, Prince. Surely he informed you of this invitation? I’m sure you can respect that your father knows I’m capable of doing what’s necessary i
f you cannot bring yourself to take out one bungling witch. She’ll die, Talon. I promise you.”
Talon lunged at the evil warlock, locking his fingers in the front of Black Drayke’s shirt. “You go anywhere near Saylym, I’ll hunt you down and cast your black soul to Dym.” He shook the warlock. “Remember Dym, my best friend, the Prince of Death? I’ll see to it that he makes available the hottest part of Nemaland for you to dwell in for eternity. You’ll be nothing but a sluggish, gray shadow. I promise you.”
“Talon.” Darak barked his son’s name. “Cease your threats and release him at once! He’s my guest.”
Talon ignored his father’s command, keeping his gaze steady on Black Drayke. “I don’t waste my time making threats.”
“I said stop it! There’s no call for this violence.”
He took his time releasing Black Drayke, keeping the warlock pinned with his cold perusal. Black Drayke stepped back; smoothing the front of his shirt.
Talon scowled. Damn it! Given more provocation, he'd land in deeper trouble with his father and the elders. He had to get control of himself. And he had to make certain Saylym was adequately protected. He needed to see her, see how very much alive her beautiful spirit was. If Black Drayke got near her, she’d suffer and lose her soul.
The warlock’s sexual appetite was well known among the wakens and other warlocks. He was gluttonous and cruel. He’d use Saylym abysmally until he was sated, then when she was at her weakest and no longer able to fight him, he’d drain her of her spirit.
Talon closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping. What if he had to terminate Saylym? What if she was too much of a risk for their realm? No. He refused to accept that possibility. There were other ways he could save her. Maybe they weren’t the most palatable, but desperate times required desperate measures.
He faced the ancients. It galled him to have to ask them for anything, but for Saylym…well, he’d eat shit, if necessary. So, he might as well say it and get it behind him. “I formally petition the guild for the sole right to determine if it is of absolute necessity Saylym Winslow’s spirit be exiled.”
Abrupt quiet filled the chambers.
From the horror on their faces, Talon guessed he’d rocked the elders on their ancient asses. His father stared at him as if he thought he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had, but he was in now, and there was no turning back.
Chapter Eight
Martha Corey and Rebecca Nurse are accused of witchcraft.
~Salem Witch Trials
March 12-19, 1692
Page Entry…
Afraid of being denounced by Queen Leyla and losing his position on the throne, Zoman made a point to act proud of the newest addition to the royal family, at least, when they were in the public eye.
In truth, Zoman despised the babe.
Elsbeth had been born under a dark star, for she had not been fathered by Zoman, but by another.
To pay the waken back for his infidelity with Basheena, Leyla took a powerful sorcerer and High Priest Wizard known as, Katch, for her lover.
Zoman could not be found the night of All Hallows’ Eve as his queen labored, but Katch sat at her bedside and held her hand, soothed her pain with words of magic while she gave birth to their child. Awestruck, Katch and Leyla shared the glorious wonder of the babe they’d created together, because something wonderful had happened with the mingling of their magical bloodlines.
Elsbeth was born with tri-colored eyes, a blend of silver, lavender and dark violet, something never before seen by witch or wizard. Elsbeth also bore a combination of witch marks, a cluster of violet-colored stars on her left shoulder and a quarter-moon with a soaring comet beneath it on her right shoulder. The stars represented the alignment of the House of Wizardry, and the moon and comet, with the Royal House of the Winslow line. Indeed, this was a new, powerful bloodline, and the generations yet to come would inherit unique powers that one day would be legend.
~Pages of history from the Winslow witches
In the Year of Samhain 1150
Ru-Noc
Droth
City of the wakens
A strangled gasp finally broke the utter silence in the chamber. The four members of the Guild stared at Talon as if he’d suddenly sprouted warts on his chin.
“Eeh?” Saul said, cupping his ear. “Did the boy say he wishes to wed?”
Darak raised his hand to his chest, fingers splayed. “Talon, are you certain you want this burden on your conscience? It isn’t an easy task. That is why the ancients pass down sentences instead of encumbering the younger wakens with such a decision.”
Talon gave a slight nod, surprised how choked his father sounded. “I’m sure. I humbly request the right be granted to me.”
If Saylym’s spirit removal became necessary, then at least with him, the decision wouldn’t be rendered lightly, and he’d make damn certain it’d be accomplished painlessly. He’d ease her soul from her body with a gentle kiss. She’d never realize what was happening to her.
Katch rose to his feet. “Are you certain you want this choice?”
“Yes,” Talon replied. He couldn’t remember the sorcerer asking so many questions before.
“I object!” Black Drayke barked the words, storming toward the round table. “There’s no doubt as to this witch’s guilt. Her spirit must be exiled!”
“And when are you not objecting about one thing or another?”
Heads turned at Prince Stry’s shouted words and his late entrance into the chamber. His long legs ate up the distance as he crossed the room to stand beside Talon and Sage.
Talon flashed an irritated glare at his brother, but inwardly, he heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, Stry had shown up for the meeting. The casual way his brother dressed reminded him of a buccaneer. A loose fitting, white silk shirt, cream colored leather vest, and soft, brown leather pants, looked very piratical; all he needed was a parrot on his shoulder to complete the picture. Instead, a Bawk rode on the leather gauntlet that protected Stry’s arm from the sharp claws of the rare bird.
Talon knew from their boyhood wrestling matches that Stry, at least four inches taller than he, was also stronger and had thigh muscles that could break ribs. Even wearing low-heeled, scuffed boots, he towered over the others in the chamber. As future heir to the throne, he was noble and dignified, yet he possessed a quietly, dangerous air about him. No one argued with him when he spoke, not even the king.
As was the waken fashion, his cinnamon-shaded hair fell past his shoulders. His eyes glittered like rich, amber stone.
Talon sighed. The only thing they had in common was their belief it was wrong to assassinate witches, yet they were close. Stry always supported him in front of the guild and their father.
“What’s going on?” Stry asked in a low tone for his ears only.
Talon quietly filled his brother in on the situation.
“Ah, I see.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, aren’t the other witch and the illumrof a nuisance as well?” Stry directed the question to the ancients, but he cut his gaze at Black Drayke. Slow to anger, he was usually calm and cool in his manner. Stry soothed the Futhar perched on his arm. “Easy, Rune,” he mumbled, stroking the thick, downy feathers on the exotic creature’s head. “I know you like Black Drayke even less than I.”
Rune blinked its elongated red eyes and squawked displeasure. “He’s a foul creature, Stry. He reeks of immorality.”
Black Drayke shot the bird a hard look. “Shut up that damn bird, Prince, or you just might find its tongue cut out.”
Solid black in color, the fierce bird was a cross between a bat, a hawk, and a prehistoric bird of unknown origin, hence the elongated eyes. The bird had the thin wingspan and acute hearing of a bat but the head and beak of a hawk. The creature was a rarity in their realm and a gift from Dym, the Prince of Death, to the future King of Ru-Noc. “Try it,” Stry dared. “Rune will rip out your eyes with his talons.”
Black Drayke snorted.
Stry nodded his unde
rstanding at the fierce bird. “Calm down, Rune. He has enough sense to leave you alone. I think.”
The bird ruffled its feathers in agitation. “Let us hope, for it is not only his eyes I will rip out, but also his manhood.”
Stry leaned in, placing his hands flat on the surface of the round table. He studied each member of the guild in turn. “We need new laws to govern us. If the old laws cause this much upset, you must see they need changing. The termination of witches should have been abolished after the late 1600s, when their numbers reached a critical dip.” He looked the king straight in the eye. “Talon’s right, Father, and well you know it. If we are to survive as a race, there must be changes. Grant Talon’s request, for he is fully capable of deciding if the witch requires spirit removal. His judgment is infallible. I’m certain his decision will be based on honest evidence and fair to the benefit of us all.”
Talon grinned when Stry glanced at him and winked. He could never figure out how Stry could make a late appearance to a meeting and still manage to take charge. He’d heard Darak once declare that, as future king, Stry’s words held power and persuasion over the guild. Talon saw concern etched on Darak’s face. His father was now worried Stry might use his influence to change the elder’s mind and allow him to make this decision on his own merit.
Talon leaned closer to Stry and whispered, “Better late than never. Glad you finally made it.”
Folding his arms across his wide chest, Stry’s lips twitched with amusement. “It’s Beltane. I could hardly refuse a lovely witch my attentions. Let me assure you, she was worth my delay.”
Talon lifted a brow. “You’ve already chosen a mate for the season?”
“Didn’t say that,” Stry answered softly. “But neither am I fool enough to turn down a mating session.”