"Troll."
Tenly nodded and poured him a glass of troll blood.
Haig gave a long, hard laugh. You're a good one, Tenly."
"I know, sir."
The vampire eased his bulk into a chair and leaned to see the places that Nans had marked on the map. If I'm any judge of distances, we should be at Linder's Meadow tomorrow."
"Most likely before dark. Nans ran her finger along the road on the map.
One by one, Isranon's commanders and counselors arrived.
Nevin Igguiden, oftimes referred to as Nevin Scarface, arrived next with his cousin Olin. An ugly scar traversed Nevin's face from his forehead, across a broken nose, and to his upper lip that was half-split, all from a wound that had failed to heal properly. It gave his hoarse growly voice a sibilant quality. Lycans healed faster and better than humans, rarely leaving them with scars; and as weapons went, only runed-silver and kendaryl could do that to one of them. His long black hair was caught at his neck in tail, except for two long strands at his temples into which had been braided the fingerbones of demons signifying his rank as chieftain of a newly formed battle-clan. Formerly the senior lawgiver to all of Clan Red Wolf, Nevin had been Isranon's childhood mentor and was now his spirit-brother. Nevin carried a big, crescent-headed axe in his belt, a sword at his shoulder, and a pair of lycan knives strapped to his thighs.
Most lycans carried just those fighting knives. Unlike humans, who often carried a sword whether they knew how to use one or not, the ever-practical lycans carried only weapons they were adept with. Their knives were among the best on the continent, with a curved back edge that ran a third of the way up the blade, and strong quillons. They had evolved over the centuries out of the hunting knives carried by rural folk.
However, it was the axe that first clued Haig to the fact that Nevin was one to walk softly around. Haig continued do so and gave Nevin a polite nod of welcome as the lycan settled into his place at Isranon's left hand.
Travis followed Luck into the tent, spied Nevin, and picked a seat as far from the lycan as he could. Nevin frowned at Travis. Olin ducked his head with a chuckle, running his fingers through his black and white hair. Travis had been uncomfortable around Nevin ever since Olin informed him that his cousin was corsacha homosexual.
Amiri the Ymraude shaman and Zulaika their warleader arrived next. Zulaika carried herself with military precision as she settled into her chair with Amiri at her left hand. Anksha bounced into the tent two seconds behind them and curled into a seat at the head of the table beside Isranon. She ran her tongue around her mouth, licking the last bits of blood from her upper lip.
Amiri regarded Nans and Isranon. We must decide soon where we plan to winter. Otherwise the snows will trap us."
"My thoughts were Gormond's Reach. Nans tapped the map. It's the closest safe realm."
"That should not be our only concern. We need mages, Amiri said. The only magic here is Isranon's. I am a shaman, not a mage."
"Perhaps Edvarde can help there, Isranon said.
Nans poured herself another glass of wine and stretched her legs out better. Before the Azure Circle set up in Rowanhart, Ildyrsetts had the largest mage school outside of the City of Magic itself. Lord Edvarde is one of the Ildyrsetti School's largest patrons. He can certainly help. However, that will mean turning west and add at least a week, more likely two, to our journey."
"I'm willing to chance it, Nans. Amiri's right. I can't do it all myself."
Nans scanned their faces and gave a small nod. So be it. Ildyrsetts."
When the meeting ended, Isranon sat with only Nevin and Anksha. His shoulders slumped. He was hurting again. Nevin noticed and poured him a glass of Sanguine Rose. Isranon sipped at it. I worry. For all that I have done, I am still sa'necari. Since the Five Captains made that fact known abroad, we could find our allies turning upon us."
"Edvarde won't, said Anksha. He knew before we left last spring."
Isranon nodded listlessly. Edvarde is a good mon. Yet Treth closed its doors to us and broke the charters it had issued to Nans."
"Gormond's Reach will not break with us and that means that Darr will not either, Nevin pointed out.
Isranon's lips framed a faint smile. And the Taladrim say I'm sacrosanct."
He would never forget the Taladri, Gaeatyra. She had come to kill him because he was sa'necari. The Taladrim were paladins of Tala; anti-social loners running with their moonwolves to hunt and destroy abominations like sa'necari and vampires. Travis had brought him a girl entrusted to Gaeatyra's care that had been wounded by a death blade of the sa'necari. He had pulled the death magics out of the girl and healed her.
Gaeatyra's moonwolf scented sa'necari on Travis, and she beat him senseless to locate Isranon. At Nans insistence, Gaeatyra had Read him and found him pure. Isranon had chanced her killing him to convince her that he had never crossed the line into the darkness of the rites.
Isranon saw little difference between the chances he was taking with Stygean and those he had taken with Gaeatyra, a paladin of Tala.
* * * *
The five Lemyari had camped between the Ymraudes and the lycans in a quadrant that served to buffer the human majority from the blood-slaves and the nibari herd. Among the dark ranks, Lemyari were considered and often referred to as the royals of vampires, because of their great power. Haig had the largest tents for the fourteen nibari in his private herd and their young. Jun owned only a single nibari; a young female named Nolly that Isranon had given him last summer. The other three, Corbienne, Garin, and Keahi, had smaller tents and fed from the common herd.
Corbienne's tent contained two huge chests, a scattering of large pillows for sitting, and a thick heavy pallet. Three goose down comforters made the bedroll, topped with blankets and more comforters. Iuf snuggled deep between the layers, warm and comfortable, watching Corbienne undress. She fluffed her long black hair, and arched her back, thrusting her ivory breasts and roseate nipples at him.
He might lie to others, but the old freeranger could not lie to himself. He knew that his vampire lover had lost herself to the obsessions of the Passion-Dance, and was slowly killing him. However, no matter how rough she became with him, Iuf could not find it inside himself to stop her. He loved her as he had never loved anyone before in his life. Amiri had excused Iuf from all work and told Nans that he was not well. He hoped that she had not told Nans the truth. Amiri had also given him a blood tonic to take to slow down the rate at which he was succumbing to the effects of Corbienne's constant feeding. Iuf fetched the tonics on time each week from Amiri; he had taken it for a few days and then thrown it away and kept throwing it away after that. Corbienne refused to face up to what she was doing, and Iuf had decided that he did not want to prolong the Dance. He was getting old and there were worse ways to die than in the arms of his love.
Iuf ran his hands through his graying hair and licked his dry lips. He no longer had the strength to make love to Corbienne. Her disrobing had become an empty symbol of a deadly love affair. Corbienne looked so young, barely eighteen; and Iuf was well past forty, close to the age he should have retired. The life of a freeranger was hard and the myn who lived that life tended to age fast. She had made him feel young and taken his mind off his years.
Now they were both paying for it. Nans and Isranon had both tried to put a stop to the relationship. Iuf knew that they had been right to, but he could not stop loving Corbienne, not stop wanting her, and not stop opening his veins to her.
"I love you, Iuf. She slithered between the blankets with him.
"I know, Corbie. I know."
He turned his face away from her to expose his neck better and shuddered for an instant as her fangs opened the artery. Illusion stripped the years from him and he once more walked the meadows of his youth; a young mon hand in hand with his one true love. Iuf grew swiftly dizzy, descending deeper into the dreams she gave him. His eyes closed and the darkness claimed him.
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CHAPTER TWO
SADDLING UP
To make the most of the waning number of daylight hours so close to winter, the camp rose before dawn each day and halted their march at the first touch of darkness. Dawn remained an hour off when the myn lined up at the cook wagons in each section. Pork slices and oatmeal with pieces of dried fruit in made breakfast. Feral cattle and pigs abounded in the area, deserted by their owners three years ago when they fled north. It meant that they ate well.
Isranon sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed with a nibari on his lap, his spent member lingering inside her while he fed from her neck. Coupling with nibari each morning and evening was not considered adultery in Isranon's culture. He heard the clatter of dishes as his aide-de-camp set out his breakfast beyond the heavy curtain. Withdrawing his fangs from her neck, Isranon licked the wound closed and moved Eevy to the side of his bed. Eevy was one of his favorites. The only nibari he had owned longer was Eustyn, a mule. Haig had purchased Eustyn from the lycan chieftain Claw Redhand as a gift to Isranon. The vampire had felt that Isranon should have a nibari along to keep him fed during their journey from Red Wolf to Lord Hoon's estate near Minnoras. Isranon had forfeited his ownership of Eustyn when he was taken as a blood slave by Anksha, but Haig had re-purchased Eustyn, holding him in trust until Isranon's rogue magic transcended Anksha's arcane bonds, making the slave the master.
"Get dressed, Eevy, and get back to your wagon."
Isranon wrapped himself in a blue robe and stepped around the curtain. Tenly had set out Isranon's breakfast and the aroma pleased his nostrils. Slices of pork, a bowl of porridge, and cinnamon cakes with butter. As Isranon settled into his chair, Tenly poured him a large glass of cool water and filled a small glass with Sanguine Rose. The latter was an arcane blend of troll blood, herbs, and drugs. It was also the one thing keeping Isranon alive. He carried a flask of it at all times to sip from when the pain became bad.
"Will there be anything else, my lord? The stout human drew himself up to attention.
"No, Tenly. Come back when it's time to pack up."
"As you wish."
Isranon was learning to appreciate Tenly. Nans had suggested that Isranon required a human aide-de-camp, and asked for volunteers. Tenly had been Isranon's choice after explaining their duties and exposing them to his feeding habits. The mon had not flinched or been put off in the slightest by seeing Isranon sink his fangs into Eustyn, and that settled it for Isranon, who feared to have his myn think him a monster.
His hand drifted to the flute case hanging from his belt and caressed it. A strong longing laid hold of him. Isranon sucked in a deep breath and took the case from his pouch, laying it on the table before him. His hands shook as he opened it and ran his fingers along the silver tube. Reaching for his center to steady his nerves, Isranon lifted the flute to his lips and blew. The sound sent pleasant shivers over his body. A smile of contentment spread across Isranon's face and he began to play.
Outside the tent, Stygean Loosestrife nearly dropped the bucket he carried and stared at the command tent, trembling in pleasure at the strange sweet sounds coming from it.
He looked up at Randilyn. What's that?"
"The sound?"
"Yes, that."
"Isranon is playing his flute."
* * * *
The lycans gathered before Nevin's tent. Most of them wore charms of changing, which granted them the illusion of clothing when they shifted back from wolf into their hybrid or human forms. Ten would go out that morning in wolf form, running ahead of the army. They worked in pairs. Teeth, claws, and stealth served them as well on their scouting runs as swords and daggers. The scouts shape-shifted at Nevin's command.
So far his myn had been lucky. The closest they had come to having a serious casualty had been Nevin himself, when he had been peppered with darts poisoned with Devil's Silver back in Chyniolus. He still had twinges from it at times, but most of the lingering effects had passed.
At his nod, the wolves raced through the camp. He dismissed the others to pack up and get mounted. Then he turned and spied a lycan watching him. What are you doing standing about there, Gordain?"
"I want a change of assignment."
Nevin scowled, making his scarred visage intimidating. Why? The humans make you itch?"
"I've no problem with Dahnig and Grygg. But sentry's a grind. I'd like to be part of the scouting unit that enters Linder's Meadow."
"You got a taste for danger, Gordain?"
The scout gave him a cheeky grin. Maybe I want to impress someone?"
"Bitch or human?"
"Uhuh. My secret."
Nevin considered for a moment. Get your tail chopped off and that's your problem. Get someone else's chopped and I'll skin you."
"Is that a yes?"
Nevin nodded and walked off.
* * * *
Nans rode down the length of their long line as they formed up for the march. Nevin sat his big gelding at the front of the van, haired over, and slightly snouted. His long dark hair had bones braided into the side locks and the rest had been gathered into a tail at his neck. Assembled in their hybrid forms wearing boiled leather armor, the lycan scouts were impressive in their dark green mottled tunics with the big lycan knives strapped to their thighs and the heavy, basket-hilted broadswords at their shoulders.
The swords were as close to the basket-hilted version of the lycan claymore as could be purchased in Ocealay where they had outfitted themselves. Boiled leather had been easier to come by than chain and plate, and the weight of the armor more suited to their tall, fast horses.
The younger ones spoke of the eagerly awaited midwinter rite of passage while they waited for the command to move out. They would be given their first tokens of membership in the battle-clan then: bones to braid in their hair. The polished bonesstained in colors, whose significance Nans could only guess atwere awarded to mark how many years they had been part of the clan, and for acts of bravery.
The bear and the crescent moon on their dark brown shoulder patches declared their devotion to their liege-gods, Willodarus and Tala, who were considered to be the guardians of their race.
Over the course of the march, more Ymraudes had joined their sisters riding under Isranon's banner. Twenty of them rode behind the lycans and the other two score rode in the rearguard, which was primarily Ocealayens, former kandoyarinmercenarieswho had flocked to Isranon's cause after he saved their city-state from a sa'necari coup. Most of the Ymraudes were dark-skinned to the point of black, with beads braided into their nappy hair. They wore matching uniforms of tightly tailored short tunic over long tunic, slate over murrey; the long undersleeves blousing beneath the sleeveless overtunic. Their saddles had side slings to carry their javelins on the left side and large flaps on the right beneath which they carried their bowcases and quivers. Cavalry sabers rode at their hips.
The strangest member of their company walked at the head of their baggage train. Yiggsil was a stone troll, standing eight feet tall and carrying a gigantic spiked club. He had come too close to their camp one night nearly two weeks ago, hungry for monflesh, and fallen slave to Anksha's power. Unlike her other blood-slaves, Yiggsil would not wither, since trolls regenerated. Nans eyed him cautiously when she rode past him. She had read about the origins of his kind that lay in the genetic arms race of the previous godwar and a failed attempt to create super-soldiers. Her wilderkin-predator aura smelled to him like a female of his kind and he had already propositioned her twice and been soundly rebuffed. He always had a hopeful grin for her.
The yuwenghaudemi-god daughter of Willodarusdid not feel in the least bit threatened by Yiggsil's interest in her. The troll was no match for her. Also, he was beneficial to have around. Apart from his obvious strength, Yiggsil's blood provided the key ingredient for Isranon's Sanguine Rose, and his presence had ended their need to periodically stop to hunt trolls.
The Ymraudes nibari rode horses at the head of the baggage train, and few like Ran
dilyn drove wagons. Nans finally understood why they were so assertive and aggressive compared to other nibari, which made them, in a sense, not nibari at all. They were not from the genetically altered stock, bred for docility over the centuries, but transformed members of the free races who had volunteered to become what they were. The true nibari rode inside the first set of wagons that looked like over-sized sigourney carts. Supplies and equipment filled the next set. Anksha's blood-slaves rode in the final set, chained to the benches inside in order to satisfy the Ocealayen drivers who did not feel safe transporting sa'necari, blood-slaves or not. Jingen and Stygean rode horseback, but the rest of Anksha's slave-children had a wagon.
Units of kandoyarin provided a buffer for the baggage train riding before, aft, and alongside it. The dress, armor, and armaments of the Ocealayens varied because they had been drawn from many different kandoyarin companies. They ranged from veterans in chain mail to slingers in boiled leather. A few of them were unblooded boys who had managed to impressive Nevin and Nans with their martial skills. They formed the rearguard with the five Lemyari assigned to them during the march.
Thirty refugees from some of the villages they had passed drove a herd of cattle along behind the rearguard with an escort of soldiers.
Satisfied, Nans rode back to the head of the van, lifted her hand high, and signaled the move out with a two-fingered gesture. Their horses caparison jingled as they set off. The wagons creaked as their teams put their shoulders into it and the vehicles lurched forward.
"What do you think we will find when we reach Linder's Meadow? Isranon urged his horse closer to Nans.
"Hard to say. The myn we rescued from Chyniolus insist that Linder's Meadow isn't completely abandoned."
"And the last time they heard from them was this past summer?"
The look in Nans sapphire eyes was soft and patient. The myn of Chyniolus had refused to speak openly to Isranon. They were afraid of him. Yet they had been more afraid of remaining behind after the imps had decimated their numbers. Isranon, you don't need to keep asking the same questions. I learn anything new, I'll tell you."
Janrae Frank Dark - [Dark Brothers of the Light 08] - Blood Hope Page 3