A Deadly Dance (The Legend of Graymyrh Book 2)

by E. V. Greig

  The abbot scowled and raised his staff. His voice was querulous with age as he replied, utterly unafraid. “It is past time that I send you to your final rest, unnatural one!”

  Naomi tugged sharply upon Misericord’s sleeve. “Rally now, folk of Briersburge!” Her voice rang out even more clearly than had Ravin’s own, and the ihldhyri monarch turned to stare at her. Her remaining allies shook their heads and gathered closely about her: all save for Misericord, who collapsed at her feet.

  Ravin laughed. “So! Your retainer sought to trick me! Why, Lady Naomi, you are as eternal as I am myself, it would seem! Come now – submit your will to me and we shall rule this land forever!”

  “Sorry, Ravin, but I’m not inclined to share power with anyone, and most especially not with someone who has harmed those that I care for. Your first mistake was in murdering my scouts. Your second was in taking Misericord. And your third is what will kill you.”

  “Oh? And what was my third mistake?” The undying king prowled towards his reluctant bride to be. “Let me guess: informing you, and making you angry?”

  “No,” replied Naomi airily, as Father Olwyn leapt upon the distracted vandreth from behind and caught him in a death grip. “Your third mistake was forgetting all about the angry cleric. Go get him, Father Olwyn!”

  The abbot began to pray. “Most great and powerful: bright Lord of the Sun! Grant Thy servant the power to lay this unholy creature unto eternal rest! Receive his dark spirit into Thy light: as dawn swallows night...!”

  “Oh, shut up, priest!” Ravin snapped the old cleric’s frail neck and ripped out his still throbbing heart. Tossing the abbot’s remains aside, the vandreth sank his fangs into the ruined organ and drained it in moments. “Ah! Most refreshing! Such is the fate of all that oppose me!”

  He gestured to the vandrethi warriors that were draining Sir Palos. “Stand back! I shall have the pleasure of welcoming my last mortal relation into my royal house! Father Olwyn is no longer around to prevent it!”

  Naomi hurled Spellsnitcher at Sir Palos. “Get him to Briersburge!”

  “At once, mine cousin!”

  Spellsnitcher rippled into his true form and snatched up the unconscious knight. He bounded off, faster than fire over fresh pitch, and vanished amongst the narrow streets of the capitol.

  King Ravin stared after him. Then he turned to face Naomi. “That will be the last time that you deny my will, Lady Naomi!” He held out his hand and fixed her dark blue eyes with his own pale witch lights. “Come to me!”

  “No!” Naomi felt her mind assailed by that of the vandreth.

  “Come to me!”

  “I don’t want to!” She clenched her fists.

  He smiled, showing every wicked tooth. “Come to me now, my shy bride!”

  “Not today, you bastard!” Elharan bellowed, as the griffins swooped in once more. Shooting Ravin in the face with his final bullet, the aged guardsman dragged Naomi up behind him. “Let’s get the hell out of here, eh?”

  “Oh yes indeed, I like that plan very much.” Luath nodded eagerly.

  Ranulf and Gyrfalcon leapt onto Striker along with Tik-Tik. Snapper screeched and caught Misericord in his talons. Althanor pulled a face at the dazed vandreth as they took to the air once more. “You got him, Captain Elharan, you got him!”

  “Glad I kept those silver bullets now,” Elharan muttered. “What’s wrong with Misericord? And where’s Spellsnitcher?”

  “I sent Spellsnitcher to take Sir Palos back to Briersburge. We can pick them both up along the way.” Naomi shook her head. “Misericord needs rest: Ravin used something that affected our minds. He killed Father Olwyn!”

  “Hell of a mess. By the way, your dog is pining for you. I ended up shutting him in the kennels.”

  “It’s fine: I understand. Thank you, Elharan.”

  “That was a damn stupid risk to take, Naomi!”

  “You were the one that taught me never to abandon anyone, Elharan.”

  “Don’t you turn that back on me!”

  “I must say that I agree with the captain, my dear!” Ranulf waved across at them.

  Naomi glared at him. “That’s rich indeed: coming from the man who wandered out of retirement, and brought a small child and a pacifist to the battle!”

  “Very well then, I take it back.”

  Chapter Seven

  Naomi sat at the edge of Misericord’s bed and waited for him to regain his senses. “You and I still have to talk, you know. I haven’t forgotten.”

  “What would we have to talk of, my Lady?”

  “Are you smiling behind that silver mask of yours?”

  “That would be improper of me, my Lady.”

  “And you are always proper, Misericord.”

  He reached for her. “It is only proper to be proper, my Lady.”

  She lay down beside him atop the blankets. “Indeed, it is.”

  “As all proper people probably know.” The witchfinder rolled onto his side and traced his gloved hand along the Lady’s hip. His other hand snaked about her slim waist and pulled her close.

  “So you say you aren’t smiling then, Misericord?” Naomi’s voice was a near purr.

  “Oh – we witchfinders may on occasion present as most perturbing in how perilously improper we may be, my Lady.”

  The Mistress of Briersburge sighed as he slowly unfastened the lacing of her bodice. “Hmm, so I see – most perturbing indeed, witchfinder.”

  “We also tend to take our time most terribly slowly where the study of serious stuff is involved.”

  He drew back the cloth. She mewled quietly at the back of her throat as he ran his gloved hands over her shoulders and neck. “Take all the time that you wish!”

  “I intend to, my Lady.” He pressed her down onto her back and straddled her: sitting back to gaze at her. Then he pushed back his mask, and bent forward to kiss her softly. His gloved hands cupped her breasts. She felt his scarred mouth twist into a smile as she arched beneath his touch. “Patience, my Lady.”

  “I’m unfamiliar with this way of love making,” she admitted.

  “Does it displease you, my Lady?” He toyed with a strand of her hair: curling it about his index finger as his thumb brushed against her temple.

  Naomi tried to lean into the faint caress of his thumb, only to realise that she was pinned by that small lock of hair. “Oh!”

  “I told you that I knew of a trick or two, my Lady.” Misericord set his mask aside and kissed her throat: lightly grazing her skin with his teeth.

  She cried his name softly as his mouth closed over her own. “Misericord...!”

  She tastes of chamomile tea. He shifted carefully: lowering both of his hands to raise her skirts as he eased himself between her smooth thighs.

  The fiends really did skin every inch of him then. What an odd sort of texture his scars make!

  “Have I hurt you, my Lady?” Misericord paused and stared at her. “Should I stop?”

  “Only if you want me to never ever forgive you for stopping.”

  “I would not wish to wreak the wrath of the Lady,” he murmured against her neck. His hands slid to her hair once more. It seems she prefers being pinioned.

  Ah, so this is what it is to make love to him. I cannot be his first, surely: not with these talents!

  I had always wondered what it would be like to lie with a woman. I am glad that the Lady is my first.

  Do I live up to his expectations of me, I wonder?

  Is she perchance pleased by me?

  Why has no one else ever done this to me?

  I expect I measure most meagrely against her previous partners in passion.

  Her sudden shriek of satisfaction shocked him slightly. “My Lady?”

  Naomi gave no response other than a faint moan, and an exhausted sort of smile as she relaxed beneath him on the bed.

  ∞∞∞

  “Thou hast mated with mine cousin, witchfinder,” Spellsnitcher stared down at Misericord from his curr
ent perch atop the dovecote. “I can smell it!”

  “Our pairing is a private business, beast.”

  “She outranks thee by far.”

  Misericord had no answer for that. He drummed his fingers against the edge of a wall.

  Spellsnitcher yawned and swatted at a passing butterfly. It crunched as he gobbled it down. “Want share, witchfinder?”

  “No thank you, beast.”

  “Ah well, ‘tis your choice. Mine cousin also maketh her own choices: of that, I am certain. Prithee, doth the Lord Von Rosenhof know yet, witchfinder?”

  Misericord fled.

  ∞∞∞

  Naomi knelt outside the kennel. “It’s me, you silly dog! Why do you cower so?”

  The great red hound merely whimpered and pressed itself against the very back of its run.

  “It looks as if your pet has fallen out with you.” Elharan was watching her.

  “I don’t understand what could have caused this!” Naomi reached out her hand towards the dog, which growled at her. “Hey now!”

  “Could he be jealous, perhaps?”

  Naomi blushed. “I’m sure that I don’t know what you mean, Elharan!”

  “Please: I’ve seen you look like that before; usually after you’d spent the night with Skegyl!”

  “Elharan!”

  “Well, admittedly you look even more satisfied this time. So – who is he then?”

  “I’m not having this conversation!” She scowled and stalked off.

  Elharan grinned. “About bloody time too!”

  “What is?” Gyrfalcon joined him then, Tik-Tik snoring atop his head.

  “Our mistress finally got herself sorted out, that’s what.”

  The par’dath laughed. “Are you even allowed to say that, Elharan?”

  “After everything I’ve just been through helping to rescue her? Ha! I’m owed a few liberties, Heideir.”

  “I guess so. Is there any word on Sir Palos?”

  “The last I heard, he was still unconscious in the infirmary.”

  ∞∞∞

  “Gather my forces; make ready my steed!” Ravin strode through the halls of his palace. “We march on Briersburge this next full moon!”

  “My liege, why trouble yourself with that foolish outworlder?” A female vandreth whom he had once dallied with sought to draw his eye. “She is not so very lovely!”

  “She is strong of will! If you knew anything, you would know that a strong will breeds strong blood! And my kingdom needs strong blood - my army needs strong blood!” He strode on into his personal chambers. “My queen must be of strong blood!”

  ∞∞∞

  Naomi glanced up as Misericord emerged from the shadow of the bookcase. “Have you been avoiding me, Misericord?”

  “My apologies for my lateness, my Lady: I was caught up in communication with your cousin.” The witchfinder moved to stand behind his beloved mistress. He rested his hands on her shoulders as she continued with her needlepoint.

  “Has he eaten all of my doves again?” She sighed as her retainer murmured an affirmation. “I really would like to be able to keep birds!”

  “Forgive me my frankness, my Lady – he knows about our last dance.”

  “He knows?” Naomi set down her work and tilted her head back to gaze up at Misericord. “How did he find out?”

  “It would seem that his sense of smell is supremely sharp.”

  “Oh, bother it all!”

  “Perhaps it would be prudent to be proper from this point, my Lady.”

  She stood and turned to face him. “I thought that we had agreed to be honest instead.”

  “I would not wish to woo you were it to be too worrisome for you, my Lady.” He paced to the door of her chamber and bolted it. “That is all.”

  Naomi smiled at him. “You have hidden depths, Misericord – oh!” His sudden lunge surprised her, and she gasped as he tumbled her onto the fur rug in front of the fireplace. “I do have a bed you know. It’s really quite comfortable.” She wriggled beneath him: both of her arms pinned above her head in one of his slim hands, and his weight resting upon her legs. “What?”

  “I was wondering whether to...!” They both froze as someone rapped on the door.

  “Lady Naomi!” Althanor piped from the corridor. “I found a huge spider! Do you want to see it?”

  “Er, just a moment, Althanor!” Naomi called back. She lowered her voice. “I’d best go and look.”

  “As my Lady wishes,” Misericord replied softly. He sprang to his feet and offered her a hand up.

  “Thank you, Misericord. We will have to continue this talk of ours’ later.” Dusting off her skirts, Naomi unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Alright, Althanor: where’s this huge spider then?”

  “Here, Lady Naomi! I brought it with me!” The young par’anth held up his prize.

  “Gracious! That is indeed huge!” Naomi frowned. “I trust it isn’t venomous?”

  “Might be,” the boy conceded, “but it’s alright: he doesn’t bite! Well, he hasn’t so far, at least.”

  “Hmm .Perhaps we should put him back where he came from now. He might have baby spiders to care for, after all, Althanor.”

  “Oh Lady Naomi, spiders don’t raise their young! Everyone knows that! Still I suppose I ought to let him go anyway. I shouldn’t want to upset him.” The child set the spider back on the wall and watched it crawl away. “Why do you have dust on your dress, Lady Naomi?”

  “I was reading a very old book just before you arrived, Althanor.”

  “Is it a spell book? Was that why the door was locked? Can I see it, please?” Althanor was hopping with sheer excitement now.

  “Yes it is, and yes it was, and no you may not. Now then, off you go. It’s past your bedtime.”

  “Alright then, Lady Naomi – will you tuck me in please?”

  “If I do so, then you must go straight to sleep this time!” She ruffled his hair.

  “Will you and Misericord tell me a story first please?”

  The witchfinder stepped into view. “I wonder for how long you were listening, little lad.”

  “Long enough,” Althanor grinned impishly. “You’re wooing her!”

  Naomi folded her arms and glared down at the boy. “Do you enjoy eating sweetmeats, Althanor?”

  “Er, yes?”

  “Then I suggest that you don’t let our business slip to anyone else, understood?”

  He nodded. “I promise! What’s wooing mean, by the way?”

  “Never you mind!” She took hold of him by the hand and led him towards his own room. “We’ll tuck you in and tell you one story, but then you must go to sleep!”

  Misericord padded after them. “Perhaps we might tell the little lad of our dance with the deadly daemon and its foolish followers?”

  “Possibly not that one, Misericord.”

  “Then perhaps the time that we tangled with the terrible vandreth most vicious?”

  “Definitely not that one either, Misericord!”

  Althanor was disappointed. “But those both sound brilliant!”

  Misericord nodded his agreement. Naomi threw up her hands in disbelief. “Very well! We’ll tell you all about our old adventures then!”

  “Hurray!”

  ∞∞∞

  “That took longer than I’d expected,” Naomi whispered as they crept out of Althanor’s room. “I didn’t realise what a fine storyteller you are, Misericord.”

  He bowed. “We witchfinders must all too often win our way with words, my Lady.”

  “You prefer to cut to the chase then?”

  “Trials are tiresome things indeed, my Lady.”

  “But necessary.”

  “So they say.”

  “I know perfectly well that you believe in justice: don’t try to tease me so!” She smiled at him. “Now about our earlier discussion – shall we return to my chambers and continue it?”

  “And what discussion would that be, niece?” Ranulf stepped int
o view from behind a pillar. “What have the two of you been up to?”

  “Uncle! You have caught us, it would seem. Misericord, there is no way to avoid it. We must admit your great love for needlepoint.”