JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING III

by JANRAE FRANK

  Tuhk gripped his shoulder in approval. "You learn well, Kamal. Lord Derryl and his allies, especially the Patriarch, will be most grateful. You will have your gold and your name will be known to those who need to know it. Those who can reward you in other ways."

  Kamal grinned. "Names open doors."

  Tuhk gave his shoulder another squeeze and a shake. "Smart boy."

  * * * *

  Maya came downstairs when she heard horses in the yard. Derryl was supposed to be at court all day, but she hoped it meant he was returning early. She left Leslie napping, between morning sickness and a general lassitude over the loss of Yahni, her mate needed the extra rest. Maya wore a long black robe similar to what the mages wore, comfortable and loose, simply sashed. She had no energy for anything else now that Yahni's funeral was over and there seemed nothing more that she could contribute toward bringing vengeance for her twin. The only thing she did any more was mourn.

  She found Derryl in the entry hall, a bright oak paneled room with dark crossbeams, and a couch on one side. He stood slapping his gloves against his leg in an agitated manner. When he saw her, Derryl stopped and crossed quickly to take her into the library where he sat her down in a soft chair. Maya's heart raced with alarm, reading the distress in his manner and the troubled light in his eyes. He dropped to one knee in front of her, gripping her arms.

  "Maya, I know what I'm about to say will be hard, but you must promise to be strong."

  She went suddenly numb. "Who died?"

  "The reason that Terrys and Jajinga did not attend Yahni's funeral."

  Maya felt her emotions going a little more dulled and distanced by the pain. "They're dead?"

  "Yes. Their bodies were found this morning. Behind a bench veiled in ivy. The smell of rot... They were poised like lovers. The murderer has a sense of irony. He or she likes to play with people. You and Leslie are going to stay away from Ishladrim Castle. You'll stay at my Havensword mansion and travel nowhere without guards."

  "I am not afraid of them."

  "Darling, listen to me. It's happening all over again. Just like it did thirty years ago. You weren't even born yet. You don't know what it was like, what you're up against. You can't fight them, Maya."

  "And you can?" she questioned dully.

  "Yes. My friends and I. The Guild. We can fight them. We remember."

  "Marry me now." She clutched at him, bending forward in the chair to wrap her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck to mask the tears that rose in a frantic need to deny the scent of death she smelled all around them. "Tonight. Give me my triad."

  "There would be no splendor. I wanted to give you a marriage celebration that would be spoken of for generations."

  "I don't want that any longer, Derryl. Life is too fragile."

  "Tonight then, I'll ask Eshraf immediately." He kissed her. "But I will throw you a party when all this is over."

  * * * *

  "He'll do everything to catch them, will he?" Wrathscar roared, pacing the room.

  He had been going on like this for days. They were all getting tired of listening to it. Galee and her inner circle of Lemyari and sa'necari were beginning to worry that Wrathscar would provoke an incident that would be difficult, if not impossible, to deal with or cover up.

  "Sit down," Galee hissed angrily, rising from her desk. "You are complicating matters faster than I can straighten them out. Have you gone rogue? You were never this insane before I turned you." She caught him by the throat and, at her nod, Meilurk and the other Lemyari rose to catch his arms. "You will leave the Kjartens alone. I will take care of them. Or rather, Belyla will, once I've gotten her hungry enough. The Master of Blood has taken her in hand. Derryl is my problem. Mohanja is my problem. All I want you to do is feed, fuck your women, and keep your bloody mouth shut. We are no longer partners. I am your mother in blood and you are a newborn; until you have aged into wisdom, which at the rate you are going, may not be for centuries, you will remain a newborn and subject to my will. If it were not for my constant watching you would already have been discovered and staked. So you will obey or I will withdraw my protection and let the humans discover what you are and you will have only your own stupidity to blame for it. Had I not sent my people to snatch Belyla and Yahni, how long do you imagine it would have been before the Guild tracked her back to you?"

  "But then how are you going to cover turning her against the Kjartens?"

  "You reported her missing."

  "Channadar knows."

  "Channadar might know. If so, he has not spoken or the Guild would be invading your home. And Channadar can die."

  "And he is also your problem?"

  "Do what I told you and nothing more."

  "Agreed." Wrathscar shook the hands off. He walked from the apartments.

  "Follow him," Galee ordered crisply. One of the Lemyari gave her a short bow and set after Wrathscar. "He is becoming the bane of my existence, Meilurk. When the wedding is over, stake him."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE HUNT

  Galee led Lord Wrathscar through the narrow streets of the Poor Quarter, past decrepit two-story houses pressed side to side like rows of dingy ghosts. In this place people disappeared and no one thought anything of it. These were the principle feeding grounds for her growing cadres of undead. She no longer neglected him. She could not afford to. Wrathscar became increasingly unstable unless his needs were kept satisfied. She and her oldest, strongest get constantly remained at his side or nearby. It was becoming dangerous to let him out of their sight. She needed him for a few months yet – at least until after the wedding; then, if he could not be brought to heel, she would destroy him as a rogue. That disappointed Galee; she rarely misjudged a turning and had expected better of this one.

  A young mon in a shabby brown tunic and overdress with two children in tow walked ahead of them. She struggled to keep the tired and fussy little ones moving quickly, while nervously scanning the growing darkness.

  "Shall we, my lord?" Galee asked, watching him closely from the corners of her eyes.

  "There are three of them. One could get away." He sounded rational, but Galee caught the edge of hunger curling beneath it like smoke in the basement when a building first catches fire and the flames begin to lick upwards to consume it.

  "No. I shall take both children at once. You take the mon." She slipped her arm into Lord Wrathscar's and walked briskly up to them. The woman heard them coming and glanced over her shoulder. That slowed her pace for an instant. She started to lift the smaller boy – not more than three years old – to her hip. Galee darted forward, grabbing the children by the napes of their necks, dragging them from their mother's grasp. The mon tried to hold onto them, a frightened sob emerging from her throat, for she saw their fangs glint in the light thrown from a window's parted curtain. Lord Wrathscar lunged, his hands imprisoning her arms as he took her to earth. She struggled, screaming. Her only answers were shutters quickly closing, stealing their windows' isolated light, bars dropping into place, and people's prayers shivering into the night. Wrathscar nuzzled her throat, and then sank his fangs into the favored vein. The woman stilled.

  "No, not here. Not on the street," Galee said, lifting the strangely silent children up and carrying them toward an alley. What in Hell's name could possess him to simply start feeding on the street? "It's too exposed. The guard could come by."

  Wrathscar raised his head, considered her words, and threw the mon across his shoulders in a hunter's carry to follow her. Acute hunger tended to cloud both his judgment and ability to reason at times, like all newborns; eventually that would change, as his undead body adjusted to its new demands and needs. Wrathscar and Meilurk, alone among the undead of the city, were of her immediate blood. The other Lemyari were several generations removed from her. The rest of the vampires were the get of the lesser lineages – whose founders had fled the fall of Hoon's valley or others who had migrated to her from Waejontor over the decades. The sa'necari –
necromancers who were the living embodiment of the undead – had worked hand-in-hand with her for years. Favors were owed in both directions. And then there was Zarliche, the Master of Blood, selling his wares and services. She had brought together an impressive army.

  Lord Wrathscar sat down in the dirt, cradling the woman like a lover as he returned to his meal, slurping and sucking noisily.

  Galee settled the children on her lap. "Pretty, pretty, pretty," she murmured, opening the smallest boy's shirt, stroking him. She nuzzled him briefly, and then delicately broke the skin on his throat and drank quietly.

  * * * *

  Arruth became increasingly withdrawn as the summer deepened. She was always snapping at Bryndel, attacking him in a listless fashion. The pair's escapades had ceased entirely. Jysy rarely managed to get Arruth to leave Talons' rooms even to eat, and the youngster had started sleeping in various parts of the apartment, wherever she could hide – especially the pantry. Edouina had finally had housekeeping throw a mattress in there for Arruth. Edouina stopped Alora and Jysy's attempts to force her to sleep in her own rooms. When Dynarien noticed, he decided that the pair could use some fresh air. They packed a picnic lunch, and found a nice place on the grounds to spread a blanket.

  Arruth sat very close to Dynarien, her fingers creeping up to him, and then withdrawing without touching him in uneasy patterns as if she desperately wanted to cling to him like a child with a parent. Her gaze slid around the quad again and again as she nibbled at her sandwich. She never took her eyes off the grounds, appearing nervous and on edge, watchful of something or someone.

  Dynarien observed all this and told her. "Relax, you're with me."

  Arruth glared at him. "I shouldn't have left her."

  "Talons is fine, Arruth. Edouina and Alora are with her."

  Arruth's glare darkened. "He'll start sticking it in again, you just watch him."

  Jysy stared, shocked speechless.

  "Arruth!" Dynarien snapped. "Your obsession with Talons' sex life is not only inappropriate, it's none of your business." Dynarien's tone was so severe it startled Jysy, but did not seem to faze Arruth.

  "Well, well, who have we here?" A silky voice interrupted Dynarien's lecture. "Jysy and Arruth, I do believe. And who is your handsome friend, hmmnn?"

  They all looked up to see Galee standing beside them.

  Jysy made the introductions. "Dynarien, this is Gylorean Galee, first lieutenant to the Grand Master. Master Galee, this is Mage Dynarien Briarrose. He's a friend of Talons."

  "Where are you from?" Dynarien asked, taking stock of her vaguely sylvan appearance. She did not quite match any of them and Dynarien knew all of his father's peoples well.

  "I'm of Nordrei lineage," Galee said. "My mother's people came from Galeador, do you know of it?"

  "Yes, I do," he said, eyeing her closely. The cloying sweetness of her voice made him wince inwardly. It sounded off key somehow, putting him on edge. She did not look like the same Galee who had shared his sire's bed – and yet? Some auric resemblance, possibly? It set him on guard, alert.

  "Then you must know how I got my name, it's a shortened version of Galeadorian."

  "Some of them do shorten their names," Dynarien admitted, thoughtfully. He disliked her immediately, and tried to figure out exactly why.

  "You wouldn't happen to be the mage I've heard so much about?"

  "I am a mage, if that's what you're asking. I work for the Patriarch."

  Galee smiled. "Well, I must be going. There are so many diplomatic issues to be worked out before the wedding in a few months. An heir's marriage is always so frustratingly political, and the Grand Master has asked me to make all the arrangements."

  They watched her go in silence and the conversation did not start up again for a long while. Dynarien did not know what she might be, but he knew with certainty that she was not Nordrei.

  * * * *

  Father Karakin, seated before the Patriarch, wore humble robes of unrelieved black. He was a simple, uncomplicated mon, content to care for his parishioners and the little gardens around his church. He twisted his hands nervously as he spoke. He had come to the High Temple that morning, demanding to be taken directly to the Patriarch, rather than going through the usual channels. His bravado had started to fail him as soon as he found himself actually addressing the mon. "Your Holiness, people in the Poor Quarter are vanishing. Five and six a week. It's rough where I preach, but not like this."

  "Have any bodies been found?" the Patriarch asked, his voice kind, for he could see the priest was afraid and he suspected it was not entirely because of where he sat.

  "No, Holy Father. They disappear without a trace, taking nothing with them. Most recently a woman and her two small sons." He went on to list the disappearances plaguing his parish.

  The Patriarch listened with growing apprehension. He had seen the wounds on Talons' thighs, breasts, and arms. There had been no further wounds since Dynarien warded her chambers. And then there was Yahni – bitten over much of his body – the attack on Channadar, and the murders of Terrys and Jajinga. Sometimes Eshraf wondered whether they were winning or losing this war. How much should he tell him? The people would panic, which could turn to rioting and many innocents would be injured by it: especially the children and the elderly.

  "Have you spoken with the guard?"

  "Yes, Your Holiness. They increased the patrols, but no one has found anything."

  Eshraf considered that. Perhaps this was the opportunity they had been waiting for to strike back at their enemies. "Karakin, I suspect, but I can't yet prove this, you understand. Vampires."

  "Vampires? In Creeya?" Karakin had suspected that the answer, when it came, would be ugly, but this went beyond his worst fears.

  "What I tell you now is in the strictest confidence. A young paladin, marked by Hadjys himself, received midnight visits that left distinctive wounds on her body. Her chamber was warded and the visits ceased." And Yahni killed by one of them – he could not get the image of Yahni's body out of his mind. Terrys and Jajinga's bodies had been bad; but they had been nothing compared to Yahni, who had clearly been tortured over a prolonged period by the monsters.

  "There is no way to ward an entire quarter." Karakin sounded bleak.

  "You must find their resting places. I will send you such help as I may. It will be strange help. I will send you cats and dogs two days from now at dawn. Do you have any one with mind-speech?"

  "I am such a one as are two of my congregation, Holy Father, but how are cats and dogs going to help me against vampires?"

  "Vampires, like every thing in creation, leave scent trails. The morning after tomorrow the cats and dogs will be waiting on your doorstep. These are magical creatures with the power of mind-speech. Have your hunting party warded against fascination, and waiting for these creatures I am sending you. If I can, I will also send a godmarked paladin of Hadjys with them." He did not say Guildsmon, because he was uncertain whether with the up drawbridge that he could get one. By then Eshraf was remembering thirty years ago, and how many things had been achieved before the Guild entered the fray.

  "Thank you, Your Holiness, thank you."

  The Patriarch dismissed him, and then pulled the bell cord, summoning his assistant.

  Mikkal was a gray-haired mon, blade thin with a hawkish face. He had been a solicitor of the court, pleading other people's cases and causes before judges and the Grand Master before entering the priesthood following his wife's death. She had been Guild, a member of Jon Dawn's legion, and perished in the Great War.

  "Have my knights gather secretly before the high altar at eventide as well as Dynarien and tell him to bring me some cats. You will want to make us a small feast as the youngsters will be missing their supper to attend."

  * * * *

  Philomea and her sisters wandered the Great Central Hall and the Cloverleaf restlessly. Galee sternly ordered them to feed only in the Poor Quarter after Terrys and Jajinga's badly decomposed bodies had b
een found in the gardens by a pair of lovers who also knew of the ivy cave. Philomea wanted stronger blood than the pathetic inhabitants of the Poor Quarter could provide her with, she was growing in power and appetite. But she showed no signs of the rogue beyond that single act of vengeance, and her only regret was that she had not yet gotten Osterbridge. Another palace kill would have Galee screaming. Philomea was careful and her sisters listened to her. None of them wanted to end up like Belyla. So she had not yet pressed herself to take Osterbridge, instead she waited for an opportunity to follow him into Havensword where she could take him in an alley, and no one would be able to say which vampire had done for him. She had discovered that she liked the taste of death in her mouth.

  She paused in the Great Central Hall to watch Channadar quietly weave one of his stories. He seemed tired, his movements half a beat off as if he hurt. Philomea wondered at that. Her eyes strayed to Leeza who sat within the circle of Tiderider's arms, her head on his chest, watching Channadar with hungry eyes half concealed. Philomea suspected that Leeza craved Channadar despite her relationship to Tiderider. After a while, she wandered on.

  "Philomea?"

  She turned her head to see Lord Westli. "Hello, Lord Westli," she said in a softly suggestive voice. Now, there was stronger blood. His warmth drew her, as did his looks. Lord Westli was her father's age. He was a raw-boned man, this commander of the guard, and he attracted her. His hair was an off-color blond, almost caramel, and sun-streaked by many hours spent practicing in the yards. There were clefts under his cheekbones, and he had a strong jaw line with a blunt chin. She knew he was a terror to his officers and a perfect gentlemon with the ladies, if somewhat loud at times when in a good-humor. Philomea wanted him. He was no Yahni Kjarten, in terms of good looks, but he was very fine and might have rivaled Yahni when he was younger. She was still incredulous and a bit outraged over learning that Yahni had actually married her sister. But she had not told anyone. She missed Yahni. She had managed to steal several meals from his veins whenever her sister was in the gardens. How fine he had tasted!