JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING III

by JANRAE FRANK

  "For my husband." She positioned the stake and gave it the first strike of the hammer. "For Rygenas." Another strike and Ambrose's chest arched up in convulsion. "For the others." Ambrose's eyes rolled up in his head and he went still.

  All of the captives were executed in similar fashion. She ordered the bodies searched and did Ambrose's body herself. Apparently he liked to take the rings of his victims as souvenirs of his kills, much as the Taladrim did ears. Hanging from a chain around his neck were Yukiah's rings and those of a Kjarten.

  She searched his packs and found the rest of his trophies. Over one hundred rings lay in a velvet lined box. Judging from the sizes and shapes the victims had been both male and female, all from noble houses and several she recognized as coming from friends slain in the last siege of vampires. Set aside like a prize trophy, wrapped in black velvet, she found Rygenas Tormuth's two rings which had been taken from his fingers the night he had been murdered thirty years ago. After thirty years the little vampire must have figured no one would catch him or that they no longer dared to call his position and power to account. Why else have the audacity to wear Yukiah's rings beneath his shirt?

  Well, had a rogue godling not dared to oppose them, Ambrose would have been right. He would still be calling the tunes for the dance. But it was ended now. With Yukiah's survival still so precarious she had to continue this dance. She slipped two of the rings back into her pockets, leaving the ring that Derryl had given Yukiah thirty years ago on the chain. "Gather your folk, Timjimikin and ride to Tormuth's lodge. Tell Derryl that I have sent him Yukiah's ring in remembrance of the friendship that was between them since my husband is now dead. We will need his help with the inner circles of the court. I dare not yet reveal either Yukiah or Isen."

  "It will be done."

  She gave him, also, Rygenas' rings. Derryl would want them.

  * * * *

  Maya found the mon, sitting in the foyer of Derryl Tormuth's hunting lodge, strange and hard on her eyes, totally unpleasant in visage. She wondered what could have possessed Beyard to let him inside, especially with all the dark deeds that had been going on. He dressed in buckskins. A bearskin wrapped his shoulders with the paws across his chest. He wore three strings of human ears, beads, and bones, a bandoleer of strange objects and odder weapons that resembled the full harnesses of the Guild. A huge white wolf lay beside the mon's leg.

  She watched the way Leslie, sitting to the side of her, tried valiantly to keep her eyes on the mon's face yet could not keep from dropping her gaze to the strings of ears. Maya reached over and patted Leslie on the shoulder, letting her know that she understood completely.

  He rose and bowed to them. "I am Timjimikin of the Taladrim. The Black Swan, Commander of the Netherguard, has asked me to bring something to Derryl Tormuth."

  "Lord Derryl has ridden to Havensword," Leslie said. "I would be happy to hold these things for him."

  Timjimikin placed a chain in her hands that held several rings. "These were taken off a captured Lemyari, which the Black Swan and our people executed."

  Leslie turned the first two over in her hands. "Oh my gods, these were Rygen's. Derryl's dead brother's. And this one... This belongs to Yukiah. Derryl gave it to him. Why would he send it back?"

  "Alysyn has sent it so that Derryl will have a remembrance of the friendship that was between them. Yukiah Woodbourne is dead."

  The color faded from Maya's face. "When?"

  "Over a month," Timi answered. "We've been looking for you for two weeks."

  "Derryl left for Havensword," Leslie told him. "More than a month ago. We haven't heard from him."

  "That's not good. We trailed the murderer from the city and caught him. All the while my people have been seeking this estate and had difficulty finding it."

  "Derryl has never allowed anyone to know where this estate is," Leslie told them. "He has always been cautious about these things since his brothers' deaths thirty years past."

  Timi looked closely at Maya. "You, My Lady, have been marked by my father. Shielded. He kissed you?"

  Maya flushed. "No one has kissed me, but my husband."

  Timi laughed. "I doubt you would have had much say in the matter. The Twice-Born son is very persuasive. How else get me on my mother who had vowed celibacy? You will return to Havensword, Lady Maya, with a small force of arms. I will ride with you. One of my people, a fine one will remain with Leslie to defend her. Another band will remain on guard and range the area in search of the dark ones. This is a war. If you will host us over night within your halls?"

  Maya glanced at Leslie, caught her tiny nod, and said, "Yes."

  * * * *

  Galee stopped in her tracks as she crossed the quad at midnight, staring at the spires and rooftops of the palace. Golden flickers of light danced across it and down from there like fireflies out of season onto the burnt ground and over the far side of the quad, then through what remained of the west gardens to disappear into the trees. She had been hearing about this for weeks, but this was the first time she had seen it. People said it was the murdered Faes. Galee extended her senses across the grounds in a wide sweep and found nothing. If this was some trick, she could not discern it. Neither living being nor undead thing had crossed those roofs. Nor could she find traces of yuwenghau magic or the hands of the greater divines in this. Her body prickled all over. Suddenly she wanted to get out of the night.

  She walked more quickly into the palace and went immediately to her rooms, wanting something to settle her nerves. Meilurk and his three companions were waiting for her in the parlor. Galee ignored them, going immediately to the secret shelf behind her mirror and returning with a bottle of blood which she sat in the middle of the table. Then she retrieved a bottle of wine and glasses, deciding to mix them, and poured a glass of each.

  "You still have heard nothing from Ambrose or the others?" Galee asked, downing the wine and then the blood.

  "Nothing at all, Galee," Meilurk replied, taking his feet down from the opposite chair at the table and straightening. "I don't like it."

  "We must simply count on killing the nobility in one fell swoop at the wedding. If we get all of them, then we can destroy their lands before their surviving members or the Guild can organize or become a threat. Eshraf will perish with the nobles. We will re-consecrate the temple to Bellocar. And then build one to myself. The branch clan is in the city. I can sense them, the similarity to Takhalme. Find them, Meilurk. I want a rite of worship tonight, for myself. That is the only thing that will truly settle my nerves. My first rites of worship in centuries, for me and not from me for my husband. Granted Bellocar might be a tad unhappy..." She smiled. "But I must have it. There are strange powers moving. Things I don't understand."

  Meilurk's eyes narrowed and he regarded her closely. "As you say, My Liege-God. You are very deserving. Who did you have in mind?"

  "The branch clan. Find them. But for tonight, find me someone interesting."

  "Why not do Derryl?"

  "I am not finished with him yet."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ATONEMENT

  Queiggy's cellar extended out from the castle into the earth with nothing built above it for six feet along one side. So he could safely crack the wall a bit and get his fingers into the soil. He slept sitting up, cross-legged with his twiggy fingers deep sunk, soaking up the energy, strengthening, and renewing himself, growing younger.

  Now and again he would catch the whispering of the servants when they leaned against the walls or stood too close to them. Talk, so much talk of the child who wept in the closets. They feared the child most of all. And no one went into the gardens in the evenings where once there had been so much love. Fear of the lesser bloods was there. But even in the daylight there was fear. Fear of the beautiful, young woman who sat upon the ivy bench, although this late in the season there was no longer any ivy. She killed both men and women. It always looked like suicides, but everyone knew better. Sometimes they would glimpse her walking
with her lover, a young Fae half-blood who looked like Jajinga in his Guildsmon's dress uniform. They were spooked. And now the golden dancing apparitions on the rooftops, and the rumors of Yahni Kjarten wailing on the streets of Havensword.

  He shifted in his sleep as he felt Galee slam her awareness against the Guild Wing and wakened. At first he had not been certain who his assailant was, for the power's source was masked. More and more it tasted of Galee, screaming, ranting, and raging, but she could not get past his defenses, or the Grand Master's signed edicts. The silent mutiny continued, and she now had no Guildsmyn at all answering her calls. In the last two weeks before the wedding Galee had discovered she could neither send, nor receive messages; nor gain any information concerning the Guild. The catkin and their large cousins insured that not even the smallest and most agile flyers of her shifters could escape the city with messages. The Netherguard had her sealed in most effectively. She was only now beginning to realize how thoroughly she was cut off from the outside. They had activated their picket line and added it to one which he had been assembling secretly since spring and it was now mid autumn. Queiggy's main regrets were that, while he moved his pieces into place, many of his closest friends had died.

  "Rant all you wish, old bitch," Queiggy muttered bitterly. "Whatever you are. You murdered them or ordered their deaths, even if we can't prove it."

  He sensed Mohanja, who was leaning against a wall, shrug as he listened to her complaints about this. Queiggy wished she would come close to the wall so he could hear her himself. Mohanja had begun to speak with her only in rooms Queiggy designated as ones he could access. The messages might have betrayed her, except that they were written in the old tongue as well as code. Alysyn have begun to work upon those messages with help from Isen, yet that still left Queiggy overburdened. So far no one had been able to break the code that Westli wrote his diary in either.

  Queiggy's half-drowsing mind acknowledged that tomorrow was the wedding.

  The little cat came twisting and clawing frantically, frenziedly through the single pane that Queiggy left slightly open. All his black fur stood on end and his half a tail was corkscrewed tightly as a piglet's as he plopped on the yuwenghau's lap, waking him fully. Twizzle was eager to win himself some mates with acts of daring, but this newest adventure had nearly eaten him. He had barely managed to reach Queiggy's window after a mad dash across the rooftops, into the trees and then down to the window.

  Twizzle put his paws on Queiggy's shoulders, yowling.

  Queiggy blinked, drawing his fingers from the soil and looked at him in momentary confusion, his awareness slowly clearing. "Twizzle?"

  The little catkin changed and sat on his lap. "They released Belyla Wrathscar on the Kjarten grounds in their mansion gardens."

  "Did you see who they were, Twizzle?"

  "No. Faces covered, masked. No livery. I was alone, so I couldn't follow. I did wake everyone up first, yowling to wake the dead."

  "Apt expression." Queiggy rubbed his cheek against Twizzle's in solemn thanks. "Start rousting people while I dress. We'll get myn over there at once, healers and priests also."

  * * * *

  A bright lamp was brought into Derryl's cell, followed by Galee and several guards with a wooden box. Derryl had not moved or made a sound in more than a day. His face impassive, Bram watched them lift Derryl. His lord hung limp in the soldiers grip like a broken doll, his head lolling back with each movement of the soldiers. They folded his still body into the box and sealed the lid. Then they carried it out.

  Derryl's myn watched and Hurst murmured to his companions, "He's dead. My lord is dead. They will start upon us next."

  Bram knocked him across the cell. "Shut up."

  "Tell them what you know, Bram," Hurst urged. "Tell them."

  "If you try to tell them anything, Hurst, I'll kill you."

  * * * *

  Dynarien shimmered into Talons' rooms in the late morning. He had just returned from Imralon and, although he knew she was usually still sleeping at this time, decided to surprise her with a bunch of rare orchids from his sire's gardens. Cass sat beside Talons, steadying her hands while she drank. Dynarien settled onto the bed, the orchids held behind him. He leaned close, kissing her cheek impulsively for the first and only time, and caught an odd scent that seemed to be coming either from the glass or her mouth.

  "What are you drinking?"

  "A little wine," Talons said. "It helps me rest."

  "Can I taste it?"

  "No," Cass snarled, shoving him away. "It's hers."

  Dynarien dropped the orchids, grabbed the glass, and threw it against the wall, shattering it. Cass launched herself at him, clawing for his eyes. He caught her hands, but she kneed him. Dynarien lost his grip on her. Cass ran toward the window. Glass splintered as the maid hit it and sailed out.

  Talons lay back, breathing hard, as if having to work at it.

  "Edouina!" Dynarien shouted.

  "What is..." She saw the window first, the wine-stain on the far wall, and then the pieces of the shattered glass. "What happened? Where's Cass?"

  Dynarien shook his head at her. "Talons? Talons, how long has Cass been giving you a glass of wine?"

  Talons blinked, looking dazed, and confused as if she had not seen or understood anything. She did not even question why Cass had gone out the window. That absence of awareness as much as anything else frightened Dynarien. "Since the ... the day I was beaten."

  Dynarien took her wrist. She was weaker than ever. And there was something new in her system that he did not recognize. "Cass has been getting the drug into her. When I tried to question her, she threw herself out the window."

  The orchids lay crushed and scattered around Talons' head.

  "Edouina, help me get her dressed, we're going to visit my father."

  "Can he help?"

  "I don't know."

  "Dynarien, I don't want to go," Talons said. "I'm so tired. Where's Cass?" She looked down at her arm, frowning. "Do you see it? The blue frog on my arm? Pretty little blue frog?"

  Dynarien and Edouina exchanged a sharp worried glance. "Do you want to try Amphereon?" Edouina asked and Dynarien nodded. She headed for a cabinet.

  Dynarien gathered Talons against his chest. "Just a short visit. We'll have lunch and I'll bring you back. No one will miss us." He kissed her forehead. So long as he did not keep her there too long, Hadjys would not rip the soul out of his body through the godmark – at least he hoped that Hadjys would not. "Besides Edouina and I would not enjoy it without you. And there will be lot's of blue frogs."

  "All right ... I don't ... understand ... ehhh," Talons' eyes rolled up in her head and she went limp against him, her breathing stertorous.

  "Edouina!"

  "I've got it." Edouina poured a small amount of the drug into her palm, administering it to the mucus membranes of Talons' nostrils and gums. Her breathing eased.

  "Help me get her dressed. Then I'll wake her through my sister's mark and we'll go. I haven't let myself completely lose hope yet. But if my sire can't help her..."

  * * * *

  Twizzle did not wait to see how his message to Queiggy turned out. This had become a very full day, haunting the streets of Havensword, collecting rumors. He would be long into the night acting on all of them. He had also heard that several men were being held in dungeons beneath Wrathscar's warehouses. The little cat needed a ride into the city quickly so he went to Jorry. If Jorry's apprentice found it odd to be transporting a cat on a search through the taverns of the east side, he did not say it. The tow-headed youth put Twizzle on his leather-shouldered jerkin, and rode out.

  They found Timjimikin and some of the Taladrim drinking and eating at the Broken Wheel, a modest establishment catering to guardsmyn, soldiers, and others who made their living by the blade. With so many armed myn in the city since the influx of nobles, many of the taverns and eateries were once more staying open after dark. Twizzle leaped from the apprentice's shoulder, bounding to Tim
jimikin and leaped onto him.

  < Captives under the warehouses. > Twizzle sent. The little catkin was becoming very certain that he would soon have a harem. His stature among his people had grown enough that females were already giving him some very firm maybes.

  "Let's go." Timjimikin rose from the table, signaling his companions who immediately deserted their fare to hunt. Once outside, Timjimikin turned to the apprentice, "Go home. Tell Jorry we are handling it."

  The apprentice headed off, glad to be out of it.

  As he walked, Timjimikin nodded at myn lounging along his route. Some of them ducked into buildings and re-emerged with others. They were picking up members of the Netherguard who had infiltrated the city and some of Tuhk's contacts from Derryl's network.

  Twizzle jumped down, running along the street and darted into an alley. Daylight lingered although the sunlight had disappeared behind clouds. Until the moon rose, the wolves would not be visible to any save the Taladrim. The little cat, with his crooked tail held high, paused and sent back to Timjimikin.

  < That one. >

  Timjimikin knocked.

  "What is it? What do you want?" asked a surly voice.

  "Your mark on a bill of lading," said Timjimikin. "Then perhaps ye'd like a taste a me wares. A good brew we're plannin' ta market fer the solstice crowd this season."

  The door opened and Timjimikin faded back to let a more presentable member of the group stand to be viewed. As soon as it opened wide enough, Timjimikin kicked it in the mon's face and they shoved in. They killed every mon they found wearing Wrathscar colors and every mon their wolves proclaimed as dirty. The rest and the prisoners were assembled and moved to be sorted out later. The people were being promised a miracle, but no one was being told what that miracle was. A few, a very few, who could be vouched for, were being allowed to join the ranks with someone attached to them as companions. One by one Wrathscar's warehouses and storerooms were falling. Some of the captives were able to lead them to places that Twizzle and his people had not yet discovered. And the search continued.