JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING III

by JANRAE FRANK

  "We failed," Yolany told her.

  "And now everyone is treating Juna even worse than before," Tongari said.

  "That is such a shame," Galee told them, settling herself on Alysinjin's swan bed. "Juna is such a kind mon to be treated so badly."

  "The vampires frighten me," Sysymi said.

  "I would like to help you," Galee replied. "But everyone listens to Channadar, even the Grand Master. I spoke to the Grand Master of all your fears and problems, but he simply refused to listen."

  Pelaui's head dropped. "Then there is nothing to be done. Juna says he cannot live with the shame..."

  "Of course there is something you can do," Galee reassured them. "I have brought you presents." She opened her bag, bringing forth four wrapped blades and handing them around. Then she brought forth other things that she did not immediately offer them, vials of dark liquid and rings and small boxes.

  Yolany's eyes lit. "Oh, they're beautiful!" They looked decorative, enameled flower hilts, but when Yolany thumbed the blade it cut her. "Sharp."

  "Yes," Galee said. "Now let me tell you what I think you should do to bring Juna to his rightful place."

  "Yes, tell us," Yolany said.

  "So long as Channadar is alive, Juna will suffer. Therefore, Channadar must die."

  Yolany and the others shared an uncertain glance. "I don't know if I can do that."

  Galee brushed aside her protestation. "Nonsense, you have already tried to kill him once."

  Yolany frowned. "But to stick it in myself ... with my own hand..."

  The others nodded.

  Galee smiled at them. "As you say the blades are very sharp. It will take no strength of hand, only of will, to slip them into him. I know you have the will."

  "Yes, we have," Yolany replied, a feral light coming into her eyes, which the others matched.

  "Then I will tell you how and when, for you want him to die swiftly."

  * * * *

  Mohanja sat by Takhalme's bedside. They had moved him into the temple, a room warded by Dynarien. He slept deeply, totally exhausted by the revelations and the shock of Dynanna's confrontation. Mohanja himself was exhausted to the depths of his soul as he finally stood and walked out.

  "You will keep him here, Eshraf? Where the vampire cannot reach him?"

  "Yes. He is far too weak for anyone to try and remove any coercions that might be present. Even were Lord Dynarien not so badly hurt, I would be reluctant to ask him to try. Sha has done what she could. Takhalme cannot remember the vampire's face. He says she came always in a dream. He says she made him write letters and now I fear for our people in the east."

  "I fear for our people here. We must not allow anyone to know how badly off he is. With Talons so ill, it could fall to the council to pick a regent for the Guild and Galee holds more influence than I. Hanadi. I need Hanadi."

  "I am sorry. But she will not return until spring."

  "What about the drugs?"

  "It is similar to the street drugs they used to kill Yahni. He is so deeply addicted and so weak that trying to take them away from him – withdrawal would be fatal."

  "I'll find him a source."

  "You'd never manage it. However, I know a tavern owner who can."

  "Thank you, Eshraf."

  * * * *

  Galee's eyes flashed with rage. "If you had not insisted on taking the sister, they would both be dead now."

  That whole day's work had turned into a disaster. Takhalme had been moved into the temple out of her reach. No one would move openly against either Dynarien or Edouina, now that Dynanna had had her say. She had had to arrange for the captives to die tonight before they could tell anyone who had subverted them. That was a waste of her resources.

  At least, she finally knew who and what Dynarien truly was, and why he seemed familiar that day when she encountered him on the quad with Jysy and Arruth. He was the Rose Warrior – called so because of the blue roses device on his armor and the fragrance that clung to him as a manifestation of his divinity. His features were just enough different that she had missed the similarities to his original body. Dynarien was prettier this time. In his first life he had been betrothed to Melorien Trosdottir, a favorite granddaughter of Willodarus, and was himself a grandson of that elder god. Melorien had been raped and murdered by Waejonan, called thereafter the "Accursed." Waejonan, who went on to found Waejontor, had been a secret protégé of Galee. It was because of that murder that Willodarus had discovered what Galee really was. Galee and Willodarus fought for seven days and seven nights: Galee lost. The God of the Woodlands and Wild Creatures chained her to a rock in what would eventually become Hadjys' ninth hell. He sealed her in with demons that fed on the undead. She found a flaw in the seal and escaped.

  Meanwhile, Dynarien and Tros pursued Waejonan across that world, overtaking him in the area that would become Waejontor. Waejonan, first of the sa'necari, the living embodiment of the undead, destroyed them both, committing an act of mortgiefan on Dynarien and shattering his soul – a rite of rape and murder – and absorbing many of them into himself to increase his powers. Waejonan had ridden Dynarien into death. It had been delicious to watch. Willodarus, arriving too late, gathered the surviving fragments of Dynarien's soul; and begetting a child on the god, Mariko, placed the pieces within her womb. The fragile soul fragments split, becoming two children instead of one: Dynarien and Dynanna, warrior brother and trickster sister. The only way that Galee could be absolutely certain of destroying him would be to attack them both in different places at the same instant. There must be no Jumping to each other's aid next time. That would require calling in those favors owed her by Brandrahoon, who had the ear of Prince Mephistis. She hated wasting favors. But then, perhaps, it would not be wasting anything: Mephistis needed a greater death to heal himself of deijanzael. Dynanna would do nicely for that.

  At least with the other girl dead, Wrathscar would be manageable so long as she kept him well fed. It no longer mattered whether Cass continued to give Talons' the drug: the heir was already past saving. That, at least, was a victory – an incomplete one, for now all her plans rested on a single roll of the dice. That roll was still six weeks off.

  She could still pay Channadar for costing her the services of the Master of Blood. That foolish Fae-born Creeyan lordling would pay for his interference and so would all his woodland clan. Her minions had managed to wound him twice, now she must move in for the kill.

  And Derryl. Lord Derryl would pay for stealing her book. Yahni must have told him where the book was. Derryl must still have the book. It had not been put into play, yet she had not found it in the gutters or the sewers. One of her lesser bloods had seen a child running off with it. Derryl had friends all throughout the gutters of Havensword. He liked the smallfolk. Write him a letter. Bait a trap and call him home to Havensword. Call him home to die and perhaps catch Channadar in the same trap. Now that would be tasty. She had not eaten Faery meat in a long time. She would bottle Channadar's blood. Perhaps blend it with Derryl's for an interesting flavor? Yolany claimed she would handle Juna just fine when the time came. What a sweet suggestible little creature Yolany was and so greedy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  LAST PRINCE OF THE BLOOD

  Derryl Tormuth's hunting lodge was a rambling wood and stone structure situated in a broad clearing that nestled in a valley three days ride down the mountain from Havensword. Over the years he had added a modest, yet reasonably defensible log palisade with a catwalk around it. He and his ladies had settled down for dinner in a large room with a huge hearth that warmed it well in the evenings. The broad ceiling beams were smoke stained and the light from the candles in the chandeliers danced across them, adding their small contribution to the staining in the beams.

  He poured the wine himself for each of them in a casual manner, delighting in the appreciative expression in Leslie's face as Maya described their hunt that day. "You should have been there, Leslie," he said.

  "I am quite con
tent with my life, Derryl," she answered, folding her hands across her belly. "And with Maya's telling of it. There will be hunts later for me to join in."

  Maya beamed at her, pausing in her story as a knock preceded the entrance of Derryl's master of birds. He carried several small slips in his hands taken from messenger birds that had recently arrived.

  "Your pardon, My Lord," he said. "But you asked that should anything come, I was to bring it immediately."

  Leslie and Maya watched closely, a stillness settling in their manner, as Derryl read the three tiny slips the master of birds placed in his hand. His fine lips tightened. "Have horses saddled, a guard of twenty. We ride for Havensword immediately."

  "Derryl, you can't. It's not safe." Leslie protested, reaching for his hand.

  Derryl shook his head at her. "I must. I cannot let them face this alone. Rogue guards took Dynarien and Edouina. The mon is badly injured. Jysy was assaulted by the vampire, and nearly died. Exactly like her sister. I must return to Havensword. Eshraf needs me."

  "Then let us go with you." Maya begged, rising to her feet as he did.

  "No. You will both remain here where you are safe. I brought you here to get you away from it, not to drag you back into it." Derryl's mouth set in a stubborn line and his jaw clenched.

  Maya glanced at Leslie for support and she shook her head.

  "At least promise that as soon as you reach the city you will send us word that you are there and safe," Maya insisted. "That much at least. Leslie needs that much peace of mind, Derryl. Deserves it."

  Derryl relented a little. "So be it. That much. As soon as I have spoken to Eshraf, which should not be more than two or three days, then I will send word again." He gathered them both up and kissed them. "I will not worry you more than I am forced."

  Then he swept out of the room before they could argue further.

  * * * *

  Yukiah started calling in favors as soon as Jysy finally opened her eyes the next morning. He had lost Arruth, but he damn well was not going to lose Jysy too. The armsmaster leaned forward in the chair. Sunlight glinted on his hair and brought out the lines around his eyes. He reflected on the concern and fondness he could not entirely conceal. His students were his children, since he had none, and Jysy seemed even more so.

  "Hello, scamp," he said, tousling her black, curly hair. "Thought I'd lost you."

  "What happened?" Jysy asked. "I hurt real bad."

  "I was hoping you could tell me." He tried to keep his tone even, but he knew she could read him, and he did not want to alarm her further.

  "He got me, didn't he?" Jysy's voice shook and her eyes narrowed. Her hands tightened on the bright coverlet, pulling it to her chin in a twisted point.

  Yukiah had insisted upon being the one to ask her questions, instead of Aramyn. "Yes, he did. Can you remember what he looked like?"

  Jysy closed her eyes, trying hard. "No. Sophie told me someone wanted to talk to me. I followed her over. Then all I remember is being frightened."

  "Okay. You rest." Yukiah tousled her hair again and started to stand, but Jysy caught his hand, clutching it.

  "Don't leave me."

  Seeing her like that ... reluctance to leave tugged at him, pulled at the muscles in his body like hands of desperation. He pushed it aside. "Jysy, Sha will stay right with you. I need to see some people. To make certain he can't get you again. There are going to be myn staying in your parlor at all times, just like they do with Talons."

  Jysy released him, but her eyes followed him out. Yukiah paused for a moment with Sha in the doorway. "How is Channadar doing?" he asked quietly, rubbing the burn scar on his neck.

  Sha groped for the right words in a way that alarmed Yukiah. "Paralysis. Permanent. He's lost what little feeling he had left in the hand and fingers, all of the arm. It's like ice."

  Yukiah's mouth twisted into a savage grimace. "I'm going to pay them back, Sha," he growled low. "I can't hold back any longer. I'm going to pay them."

  "Be careful, Yukiah."

  "I will."

  Yukiah closed the bedroom door behind him as he stepped into the sitting room. He took in the whole room at a glance, seeing a dozen knights, other students, and Osterbridge. "Jimi, we may have another missing student. See if you can find Sophie. She fetched Jysy for our vampire. Get a search going, if you have to. In groups. Stay in groups. Take at least one catkin with each group. Ceejorn, I would appreciate it if you would remain here in case that thing comes back."

  "Sure thing, Yukiah. Isen and I will stay until some Guildsmyn can relieve us."

  "I'll have Queiggy take care of that."

  Yukiah left the west wing, pausing on the broad balcony above the great central hall. The hall seemed somber and empty without Lord Channadar's crowd. Many others were keeping to the small halls, out of the way meeting places. The court seemed spooked again and rightfully so. Yukiah strode quickly down the stairs, heading for the Guild Wing. Lord Wrathscar's oldest daughter, Philomea, came up to him near the stairs into the Cloverleaf. "Isn't it sad about the little girl?"

  "Which one?" he asked, his voice controlled and emotionless.

  "Why, the one they found dead near the library two nights ago."

  Yukiah weighed the angles. In his experience, the guilty were the first to come forward. Did he let them think Jysy was dead? The vampires would figure it out eventually, but it would buy him some time to set things up. "Yes, it is."

  The young mon looked deeply into his eyes and reached for his mind.

  Yukiah felt the attempted intrusion and ignored it. Shit, they had not turned just Belyla, but this one also. Could they have turned all of them? And could they have set Belyla loose? He had not heard her in several nights.

  Philomea drew away from him with a slight widening of her eyes to indicate that his shielded mind had confused and disturbed her. Yukiah gave her a polite dip of his head and moved on. He passed the doors to the Guild Wing. Porthramys, a seventy-year old Guild gaffer with a spiked cudgel and a temper to match if you pushed it, manned the desk. The silent mutiny was gaining recruits. By ones and twos and sometimes more, the retired Guildsmyn were appearing at the wing to take over all the non-combatant jobs, and they all had the same tale to tell: "Our god has spoken to me in a dream and said report for duty. So I'm here."

  "I'm so sorry," he said. "Your protégé was so promising."

  "She still is, Porthy. We've got vampires in high places, very high places. Maybe all the way to the top." Porthy had been one of the adults aiding and abetting Yukiah's stalwarts thirty years ago when they were a rag-tag band of youngsters.

  Porthy moved some papers about his desk. "Lord Wrathscar's daughter told me. But then it's all over the palace."

  : She's one of them. Tried to reach me in the great hall. : Yukiah signed.

  : High places indeed! No one who deals directly with the aristocracy will hear of it from me. Not Takhalme. Not Galee. None of them. Did you hear two Guildsmyn died last night? :

  "No."

  "They found them nailed to the temple doors with a spear through them."

  "From which units?"

  "Records. Two clerks. But, they were well trained so they did not die easily. I am certain they fought well. Queiggy will know their names." He opened a drawer, taking out a small square of parchment bearing the Rune of Hadjys done in crimson with crossed swords beneath it. He took a long thumbtack, as long as a nail, from another drawer and passed them both to Yukiah. "I imagine you'll be wanting to post this?"

  Yukiah carried it across to the temple and fastened it on the main door, which was stained with the blood of two Guildsmyn. Then he picked up some bedding, a change of clothing and weapons, carrying them to Jysy's rooms. He would be staying in the parlor from here on. He could have had one of the upstairs bedrooms, but wanted to sleep across the threshold like a watchdog. No one and nothing was getting to Jysy. Jimi was waiting for him.

  "We found Sophie. She's dead."

  The Guildsmyn started
arriving at dusk, in twos and threes.

  * * * *

  Lord Westli was tired. Having a woman so much younger than himself in his life was a very demanding situation. She liked to see and be seen. Her kisses were like fire and ice; and her legs were warm and welcoming as they wrapped around his back each night. She waited for him now.

  Westli disrobed as he walked. The servants could clean up his discarded clothing tomorrow. He had clean ones in his wardrobe.

  Philomea lay nude upon his bed like a dream waiting to be embraced. Her perfect legs lay wide apart, with the golden haired mound exposed to his lust. "My flesh hole awaits you. Thrust swiftly into it and prove your ardor."

  He climbed onto the bed at the foot, sliding up between her legs, with his eager spear hard and ready. "Philomea, I worship you."

  Westli cupped her breasts as he pushed inside her. She arched against him and wrapped her legs around his buttocks. Her fangs descended in readiness for what would come next. She always took the memories away, altered them with sways and triggers as Galee had taught her. He could not betray her; he could only want her.

  The drapes rustled softly. A single figure slipped quietly to the bedside and paused to be certain they had not noticed him. Then a sword blade flashed in a sliver of moonlight. Westli stiffened as the blade passed through his body and into Philomea's heart. The Guildsmon gave the blade three savage twists to make certain of his kills. "For Yahni. For Arruth. For Jajinga," Yukiah hissed under his breath with each turn he gave the blade and left it there to be found as a warning. It was not an avenging Guildsmon's weapon, but the kind the temple placed in the hands of a slain Guildsmon when they buried him.

  When he had first entered, Yukiah had found Westli's diary, written in some kind of code, and shoved it inside his shirt. Once he returned, he would put the Guild's code-breakers to work on it. He went to the window and out, swarming down his rope. Then he freed his grappling hook by jiggling the rope. Yukiah unlocked the mechanism, folded the hook, and tucked it in his belt, winding the rope up. He wore full harness over his black leathers. The armsmaster had planned for everything he could imagine, loading his harness, belt, and arm sheaths with weapons and nasty surprises. He walked toward the spot where he was supposed to meet his partner for this night's work. The Guildsmon wasn't there. Yukiah noticed that the crickets had gone silent. He heard a soft rustle of leaves to his left and a squish of rain-moistened soil to his right. One of them might be his partner but not both of them, so he made a guess and was already pivoting away from the heavier one when he hissed her name, "Jarisse?"