JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING III

by JANRAE FRANK

  She started to drag the boar's bristle brush through her hair when a soft hand closed on her own and Leslie's voice said, "Here, let me."

  Maya laughed and released the brush. She shivered in delight as Leslie worked the brush through her hair with loving care. Maya had not told Yahni that she had begun sleeping in Derryl and Leslie's apartments, returning to theirs only occasionally to pick up a few of her things.

  "Please wear your sword, Maya. Derryl adores it when you wear your sword. So do I." Leslie finished brushing Maya's hair, tying it up with ribbons that matched her dress.

  "I fear a sword belt would hardly match the dress." Maya pushed her sleeves up and showed Leslie her stilettos. "I'm not unarmed."

  "Nice. But the sword would match the dress. I have brought you a present." Leslie indicated a package lying on the bed.

  Maya retrieved the package and returned to her table. When she had undone the delicate tissue paper and opened the box, she saw inside a sword belt and sheath of fine leather dyed to match her eyes. "Oh My! You are both so outrageous! No wonder my family loves you both."

  Leslie laughed. "You think we're outrageous now? You should have seen Derryl at sixteen when he was first thinking up all these lines of his and trying them on for size." Leslie walked into the center of the room, tucked her chin in and drew an imaginary sword and swaggered about, saying in a deepened voice, "Ho, bullies! Blackguards! Turn and fight, Spawn of the Devil!"

  Maya giggled and then sobered. "I'm worried about Yahni. He's still seeing Belyla Wrathscar. They're trying to be discreet. But sooner or later her father's bound to find out about it."

  Leslie sighed. "Love is blind, Maya. Impossibly blind. Let's talk to Derryl about it. He's very resourceful."

  * * * *

  Mikkal made it a small ceremony, elegant in its brevity, and held it in one of the smaller, private chapels within the temple. Jajinga, Osterbridge, and Terrys stood as witnesses to the marriage of Yahni and Belyla. He wrapped a white stole around their wrists to bind them together, received from them the proper answers to the ritual questions, and blessed them both by marking their foreheads with holy water. Then he unwrapped the stole and blessed them again.

  The priest stepped away and allowed the young couple a moment with their friends. Jajinga and Osterbridge kept slapping Yahni on the back, sometimes half staggering him and everyone had to kiss Belyla. Mikkal smiled at it all, remembering his own marriage to his late wife when he had been studying for the law. He had never dreamed he would outlive her and decide to spend his later years as a priest. Belyla glowed in such a lovely rush of happiness it moved Mikkal's heart to see it.

  Finally, Mikkal knew he needed to end this and went to her. "Belyla, child," Mikkal patted her hand. "Gather whatever possessions you feel you cannot part with and come back to me. I have rooms prepared to hide you in within the temple until Yahni's letters arrive. The sooner you are safely hidden from your father, the better."

  "I'll go with you." Terrys volunteered

  "No," Belyla said. "Father does not like me to bring people in without asking him first. I'll go quickly." Then she left.

  Yahni settled on a pew to wait for her. Mikkal had other duties and he left them alone, checking back throughout the evening. One by one Yahni's friends left until Mikkal found only Yahni still waiting for his bride. The night passed without sign of Belyla.

  * * * *

  Yahni woke to find that someone had thrown a blanket over him after he fell asleep on the little pew in the chapel. Morning cast its light through the windows. He had waited all night for her to return and she hadn't. He vacillated between worry and rejection. Worry that her father had found her packing and feeling that perhaps she had reconsidered and decided that marrying him against her family's wishes was wrong. Yet, somehow, he could not imagine the latter and so he grew more concerned.

  Mikkal came to him and gripped Yahni's shoulder. "My son, I am certain she will come eventually." He had sat the last half of the night with Yahni. "I could see the love in her eyes and heart."

  Yahni raised his head and looked at Mikkal. "I love her, Father Mikkal."

  "I saw the same kind of love in her eyes for you that I saw in my late wife's eyes for me. She will come when she can. I am certain of it. Go on about your other business and we will continue to watch for her. When she arrives we will hide her for you."

  "Thank you, Father." Yahni tried to feel relieved, but he could not shake the feeling that something was very wrong. He rose and left, heading through the temple and out across the quad. He reached the Guild Wing and found Jajinga sitting the desk. Usually at this early hour it was Queiggy.

  "Where's the old mon?" Yahni asked, looking around.

  "Odd things are happening, but you'd better ask him yourself," Jajinga replied, then dropped his voice very low with a knowing grin. "So how does it feel to be married?"

  "She didn't come back. And I'm worried."

  Jajinga frowned. "You want us to look for her when we're off shift?"

  Yahni shook his head. "I'll talk to Terrys first."

  * * * *

  Talons and Bryndel sat together at a small table in the Music Chamber, listening to a harpist accompanied by two on lutes. It was the largest and most popular of the places maintained for the students so they would not leave the grounds looking for entertainment. There were a multitude of shops, taverns, and eateries in the underground Cloverleaf, but none as fine as the Music Chamber, which was located on the quad. Everyone living or working in the palace compound tended to show up from time to time. The Grand Master and the Patriarch preferred to keep their holy-assassins-in-training on a close leash until they knew whether the Dark Judge would confirm them or not. Hence the entertainment and shops.

  Galee and Lord Wrathscar spied them and waved, making their way along the edges to their table. Talons sighed. It seemed as if every time she went anywhere with Bryndel, Galee found them. Bryndel had insisted he and Talons come up and listen, because all of the other students were raving about the trio. They each had a glass of wine in hand. Talons' glass was nearly empty.

  "Would you like a little more?" Galee asked, poking at Talons' glass.

  "Actually, I would," Talons replied. Talons turned her attention away from them. Feeling irritable, she saw no reason to even pretend to pleasantries of conversation. She had begun to dispense with such things as her physical problems increased.

  "Bryndel, why don't you get her some more?"

  Bryndel rose, taking Talons' glass with him as he headed for the bar.

  "Bryndel is such a dear boy," Galee said, reaching for Talons' mind only to be thrown back. Galee seethed: when she found the interfering yuwenghau she would rip his heart out with her teeth. She consoled herself knowing that she had another resource this evening. She never left herself with only a single pawn in play when she could have three or more.

  She spied her minion: a server going from table to table with a drink cart. Galee signaled him and he came. He already had three glasses filled, two red and one white wine. Galee knew Talons' preferences well, having studied her for years.

  "What are you drinking, Talons?" Galee asked, her tone pleasant and casual.

  "Red, like always."

  Galee's eyes met the server's, a tiny look of understanding passing between them. He reached into his apron, leaning forward against the cart to conceal the movement as he brought the vial forth. Galee shook her head. She flashed him three fingers. She was very angry and she wanted to pay the yuwenghau for his interference. The server slid the vial back, bringing forth another, this one with contents so red and strong they were black. Galee smiled with a tiny nod as the drug went into the wine. He handed Talons the glass while Galee paid.

  Talons sat drinking and talking until Bryndel returned with a red for her.

  "You took so long," Galee admonished him, "that we got something off the cart."

  "I think I have had enough," Talons yawned, blinking sleepily, and finished it. "Will you wal
k me back, Bryndel?"

  Yes, I think you have, Galee smiled. She would call Bryndel to her tonight, activating the triggers she had placed in his mind long ago. Bryndel belonged to her and it was time to teach him obedience again. She also needed to take a look at that book her lesser bloods had stolen from Queiggy. Just what was so important that the records keeper was searching through all those years?

  * * * *

  Belyla went directly to her family's apartments after leaving the temple. Her joy at finding herself Belyla Kjarten and no longer Belyla Wrathscar had grown tempered by fear as she entered her room. She took a small traveling bag from a closet and placed it close to her dresser, where she could shove it under in a hurry and hide it with the stool. She knew she should have done this to begin with, but a part of her had never really believed the wedding would happen, simply because she wanted it so badly.

  Luck was with her, and when she arrived no one else was home. She had decided to take only two dresses, and the handful of things she had from her mother. Belyla had everything in quickly and then remembered the Verses to Alysinjin under her pillow. She moved the bag back under her dresser and went for the book. That was when she heard her father come in and broke out in a cold sweat of terror.

  Lord Wrathscar's voice, raging downstairs in the parlor about Lord Derryl, carried up to her. Glass shattered. Her stomach tightened and she swallowed. Please don't come up here. Please don't come up here. She could hear him opening and closing doors, calling her sisters' names. There were no answers. With a feeling of sick dread, Belyla knew she had to answer. If he found her and she had not answered he would beat her. Her hands went to her belly and she covered the unborn protectively. She sucked in a deep shuddering breath and waited for him.

  "Belyla!"

  "Here, father!"

  She heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs, each one setting another stone in her stomach until she felt as if she would vomit from the sheer weight of them. He slammed the door open, causing all her bottles of perfume and cosmetics to tumble from the dressers. The doorway framed him like an image out of nightmare and she forced herself to remain sitting with her hands in her lap on the little chair before the dresser. A terrible flash of prescient dread swept over her. Yahni, I think we waited too long.

  Wrathscar dragged her roughly to the bed and pushed her down, pulling at her clothing, his hands ripping through it carelessly. The light burning in his eyes went far beyond anger. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before in his face, even his face when he murdered her mother.

  "You're tearing my dress," she whimpered. Usually he was never this rough so long as she submitted meekly. Something was terribly, frighteningly different. Her father seemed even more gigantic than ever as his body pinned her beneath his heavy bulk. As he parted her limp, unresisting legs, her skirts, and petticoats became bundled into wall between them on her stomach, catching against her breasts as he entered her. He roared, infuriated by it and then, grabbing a handful of all those layers of cloth, ripped them cleanly and effortlessly away, more surely than the slice of a knife, like a child with a bit of soggy paper. The sudden vulnerability of it all left her stunned.

  Her father slowed in his assault, his hand traveling over her belly. She would have sworn the pregnancy was not yet noticeable beneath her usual slight plumpness. Yet, somehow he saw or sensed it because he roared in fresh rage. "The cow is in calf. By that Guildsmon of yours?"

  "No, father."

  "Name him! So I can kill him! Filthy slut."

  "No," Belyla said stubbornly, praying to Hadjys for the strength to protect Yahni from her father.

  Wrathscar backhanded her and she cried out, but still refused to say Yahni's name. He caught her by the shoulders to be certain she received the full driving force of his rage in his next thrusts and she screamed in pain. That seemed to finally please him, because he bent his face, breathing along her neck. "You'll like this, Belyla."

  He sank his fangs into her throat.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TO KILL A GOD

  Edouina had reached the middle of the quad, walking a winding, lamp-lit path through the darkness, when a young pair accosted her. They looked as if they were fresh from the training grounds in old leathers with swords and belt knives, but the hour was much too late for that. The female was of middling height and her face too soft and full of emotion for Guild. Edouina suspected she was either a daughter of the nobility or one of the general students. The male, on the other hand, looked quick and able. Under other circumstances, Edouina might have wondered if he could be Guild. However, Guildsmyn did not go looking for casual trouble as this pair obviously was.

  "What's wrong with you?" the female demanded. "I've learned about Talons' long-term condition. She's been sick for years."

  "She has?" Edouina asked suspiciously.

  "You know it!" the second one said. "You won't let her take the medicine. What are you trying to do? Kill her?"

  "You watch yourself. I'll call you out so fast–" the female said. "Just because you're a high and mighty Guildsmon..."

  "You have it wrong. The medicine was hurting her."

  "You're lying." The male swung, managing to land a solid blow to Edouina's face. She staggered back and then snapped a driving fist into his chin, decking him. The other one tackled her and they went down in the mud. Edouina heard someone shouting from across the quad for them to stop; and chose for the moment to ignore it in favor of kicking the shit out of them.

  * * * *

  Talons and Bryndel walked arm-in-arm through the underground corridors of the Cloverleaf connecting the music chamber to the palace, nearing the main turning where it branched off between the libraries and the training grounds. Oil lamps set in black metal brackets mounted to the gray, white and orange speckled stonewalls lit the walkway in glaring brightness. Nausea soured her stomach. She slowed, frowning. Sudden, cramping pain flared in her stomach and lanced up through her chest. She staggered, collapsing to her knees, breathing in short, sobbing gasps. "Uh ... uh ... uh." Her face tightened. She doubled over, clutching at her stomach and chest; then fell against him.

  He brushed his fingers across her face. She felt cold to his touch and there were small drops of blood around her nose. Bryndel lifted her into his arms, running toward the palace. Her head rested against his shoulder and she looked at him in an unfocused manner. "It's happening again. What ... is causing ... this? I hurt ... so bad."

  "I don't know," he said worriedly, pressing his cheek against her head. "I'll get a healer as soon as I get you to bed."

  * * * *

  Brandrahoon found the dog-eared rock easily, knowing the area around Charas well. It reared its unmistakable head above a sea of briars along the shores of the Hillora River. He had made the journey to Charas on the wing, as a huge bat. Then he had picked up horses at one of his holdings and ridden out alone that morning, determined to keep the location of Galee's cache secret. Several centuries' growth of brown briars with three-inch thorns covered the area around the rock in thick natural armor. Brandrahoon tried cutting them away with his sword, only to watch them spring back, their growth redoubled almost as if they flashed back into existence. He cursed this magic and Galee for not giving him the key to undo them, slashing at them again. Galee had said nothing of this. In a screaming, heedless, uncharacteristic rage he began to strike with wild abandon. The briars caught his arm, ripping his flesh. Brandrahoon cried out, pulling his arm into his body and cradling it. Blood stained his sleeve and glistened for a moment on the sharp briar blades. The thorns drank in the blood greedily and the briars began to shrink, drawing back as he watched with widening eyes. He remembered that single statement of the ancient monster's – that the entrance would only open to one of her blood. Blood, indeed.

  The mouth of the cave stood open to him, the smooth planes of its stones looked chiseled, as if it only mimicked the natural, the edges were too sharp and finely turned. This place was not an accident of nature discovered by
Galee in her wanderings. No, this place had been made. Though whether that had been by the hand of Galee, or her servants, or someone else entirely he had no way of knowing and chose to disregard it. He stepped cautiously into the first chamber, watchful of guardians she had not mentioned. Galee liked to test her allies and her servants within an inch of their existence, honing them like living blades to her needs and requirements. She also, tended to break her tools when she no longer needed them – especially when they were mortal. Brandrahoon's eyes adjusted to the darkness, seeing shelves and cabinets thickly coated in a dusty film to his right. He lit a bit of candle he found waiting atop the nearest cabinet and looked about. He did not even bother to open the cabinets certain that anything of real value would not be found in the first room. That was where Galee, treacherous thing that she was, would set her traps for the eager and unwary. Further back he found two doors, sealed and lacking any apparent means of opening. Again he remembered her words about the blood – the undead blood. Brandrahoon cut his palm, pressed the bleeding wound to the doors and they opened. He smiled broadly, showing his large teeth and long fangs. The first room contained bladed weapons of all descriptions with strange, unreadable runes on both blade and hilt. The vampire lord could sense the power rising off them like the shimmering haze of heat.

  "Good. Very good."

  She had told him, in an off-handed way, that here were things that could kill a god. Which was exactly what he had in mind as the greater death that he had promised Prince Mephistis for his healing. Brandrahoon desired the deaths of a certain pair of aggravating divine twins or their progeny. He took his crystal orb of carrying from his pouch and, with a thought, sent several stacks of the weapons into it. Then he returned the orb to its resting place, walking into the next room where he found what looked like spellcords, but different, and nets that appeared to be made of the same material. Being careful not to touch them, uncertain of what effect they would have on magic, Brandrahoon slipped on his gloves and he gathered the cords and nets into bags. Once secured, he put the bags into the orb. Finally he found a tiny casket of base metal with a note that said it could only be opened if Galee had perished and then only by one of her blood. That had to be the box. The sight of it made him hungry. Brandrahoon picked it up, discovering that it pulsed like a beating heart. He brought it to his face, sniffing. It smelled of blood and, before he could stop himself, he licked it. It tasted of power, screaming and shrieking through his mind. Brandrahoon staggered and almost fell. The box dropped from his hands. The chamber filled with images of cities burning; gigantic bonfires and people being thrown alive into the flames; demons and strange creatures dancing; and he saw Galee laughing as she embraced the vampire that had made her; he was strange beyond Brandrahoon's imagining, his image shifting and demonic. And then Brandrahoon realized he was watching the moment of Galee's turning. He dropped to his knees, covering his ears to close out the sound of her laughter. How could she laugh at the pain of her own death? When it finally ended Brandrahoon used a corner of his cloak to pick up the box again. He stowed it in the orb.