Janrae Frank Dark - [Dark Brothers of the Light 08] - Blood Hope

by Blood Hope [lit]

  "I see. Isranon focused on the ground ahead of his horse. Of course, you would."

  Anksha shifted in the stirrups of her gelding, which had been drawn up almost to the saddle skirts to allow for her diminutive size. She dug her fingers into the waistband of her trousers. My britches are snug."

  "Well, loosen them, Pet. Isranon glanced over at her.

  "Can't. Anksha lifted her tunic so that he could see. There was barely enough end left to the lacings to tie. Her lower abdomen was puffier than Isranon had realized when he had sex with her last night. The surviving information on the demon-eaters was fragmentary and Amiri could tell him nothing about the gestation period of demon-eaters. There was no way to guess when their child would be born.

  "Ask Randi to let the seams out, Pet."

  "I told you baby's growing. Anksha is going to be big out to here. Anksha extended her free hand, indicating to an exaggerated degree how much she expected to swell.

  Nans chuckled.

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  CHAPTER THREE

  LINDER'S MEADOW

  The army camped at the edge of Linder's Meadow. They left a wide swathe of open ground between themselves and the first buildings to make a decent killing field should there prove to be hostiles in the town. Silence greeted them. Both the sounds of human activity and the noises of birds such as sparrows and chickadees that lingered through the winters were absent. Isranon gazed at the gray weathered buildings, the paint long ago chipped from their wooden sides. He felt tempted to send a low level scan through the town, and reconsidered. Exhaustion clung to him and there were other matters that he needed to take care of. Isranon had promised Nans that he would not overtax himself doing things that others could do just as well. Swallowing back a flash of resentment at the myn who had left the arcane wounds in his body, he struggled for a moment to make peace with his limitations.

  "How do you want to handle this one, Isranon? Nans shifted in her saddle to watch his face.

  Isranon looked thoughtful. I need to refresh my scry wards. Galee is looking for us, but I haven't felt her presence in several days."

  "Normal procedures?"

  "You're the general, Nans."

  "So be it. Nevin, scouts in. Paired. Luck, double the sentries until we know what's in there."

  The two myn set off to their tasks.

  Isranon dismounted and Tenly promptly took the reins of his horse.

  Isranon had less energy lately than he had had in a long time. Tiredness pulled at him and he walked slowly.

  Tenly tapped him on the shoulder and offered him a flask.

  "What is it? Isranon asked as he accepted the flask.

  "Sanguine Rose."

  "So you're carrying it also now."

  Tenly gave a small shrug and a smile caught halfway between uncertain and reassuring. It's my duty to take care of you."

  Isranon swigged the flask. I guess it is."

  * * * *

  When Gordain persuaded Nevin to allow him to enter Linder's Meadow as part of the scouting part, the last thing he had expected was to find himself in charge of it. It was a chance to show what he could do. None of them were wet-tailed cubs. If any of them got their tails chopped, it would not be for lack of experience and training. Still, these matters were always risky. Coming from the continent of Sealandia, Gordain had expected there to be more differences between his own and the wolves of the Merezian continent. He had been surprised to learn that the lycans of both continents approached matters in remarkably similar ways.

  He paired off with Olin, Nevin's cousin, as much to see him safe as to pursue his own private agenda by forcing an opportunity to ask Olin questions. The very last thing that Gordain wanted to happen was for Nevin's cousin to get hurt on his watch.

  He ordered four of his scouts to wolf it, make the complete change to their natural form, and go in ahead of the others. Then he and his remaining scouts followed at a discreet distance in hybrid form.

  They walked cautiously down the main street, alert and listening, one pair to either side in staggered order. Linder's Meadow appeared to have been abandoned. Some of the doors and windows of the two story houses were boarded up. Others flapped in the breeze half off their hinges. Then Gordain reminded himself that Chyniolus had looked abandoned also, and over confidence in that fact had gotten the first scouting party there ambushed.

  The yips and barks of the forward scouts carried far in the silence. Gordain's ears, pointed and hairy in his hybrid form, twitched as he paused to listen. He gave a curt nod of private acknowledgement. So far, they had found nothing to suggest that the town was anything except empty. Gordain hoped it would prove out, since he did not relish the thought of being surprised by imps or worse.

  "Does Nevin prefer light or dark? Gordain moved on, his alert gaze searching the street while his hand rested on the lycan knife strapped to his thigh.

  Olin's lips pursed at the offhand question, choosing to pretend ignorance. Of what?"

  "Nibari of course. I never see him come out of the tent...."

  Gordain mounted the steps of the first house they had seen that looked in good order, paused for a moment listening, and then jerked the door open. Sticking his head over the threshold, Gordain drew in a deep breath through his flaring nostrils. He caught the scent of nothing more than dust and rot.

  "If you call him a nancidawg, he'll cut your balls off, Olin observed dryly when Gordain returned to the street.

  A large grin spread over Gordain's face. He's corsach?"

  "Not that it's any of your business ... yes. The wind changed and Olin raised his head to sniff it. He shook his head. Nothing."

  "I don't like being called a nancidawg either ... but it happens."

  Olin scratched at his pointed hairy ear. If you've eyes in his direction, I'd better warn you."

  "Of what?"

  Gordain tried another door and came up with nothing again.

  "He's in love with someone he can't have."

  Gordain chuckled softly and patted his crotch with a cheeky grin. Maybe he needs to meet someone he can have."

  A bemused smile twitched the edges of Olin's lips as the import of Gordain's gesture and words sank in. I'll talk you up to him, if you want."

  "No. I'd rather do it on my own."

  A series of rapid barks stopped all conversation. Gordain listened and then threw his head back, releasing a long howl, sounding the withdrawal. His wolves had found something that was human, yet not humanjust enough to disturb them.

  He moved out into the middle of the street to watch his myn returning, waving them on as they reached him. Gordain and Olin waited tensely for the last to return and then brought up the rear. They massed again at the edge of town and proceeded to their camp.

  Gordain debriefed his myn at the edge of the town, and then headed for the command tent.

  He found Nans, Luck, Travis, Isranon, and Nevin waiting for his report.

  "We've found something, but we don't know what it is. The scouts tell me it smells human and yet not-human. They can't recognize it, but they know what it isn't."

  "Run down the list, Gordain."

  Gordain nodded to Nevin and let his eyes linger for a moment longer than necessary on his chieftain's face. He went over the list of everything that it might have been, and his reasons for deciding that it was something different, something they had not encountered before.

  Nevin shot a glance at Nans. Tomorrow in force?"

  "Dawn."

  Nevin turned to Gordain. Dismissed."

  Gordain left the tent and moved far enough away that he could not be accused of trying to listen in and then he waited.

  When Nevin emerged, Gordain sauntered over to him and gave the chieftain a cheeky grin. Corsach?"

  Nevin halted with a frown, responding testily. So what if I am?"

  "Just don't call me a nancidawg. Gordain sauntered off whistling.

  * * * *

  Stygean Loosestrife passed the guard
s at the entrance to the blood-slaves section of the camp. They eyed him suspiciously as always. The guards there were specialized units, comprised of six lycans and one of Isranon's five Lemyari. No one trusted the blood-slaves. Lycan minds could be seized by sa'necari arts, but not without a struggle. Humans were easier prey.

  Stygean's eyes were wide and wary. He feared the lycans, especially Nevin, and felt gratified that the chieftain was not there.

  The die off had begun. There had been over fifty of them with Anksha's Dominance Link set in every fiber of their beings; now they were down to forty-three. One of them was his father, Liuthan. Sooner or later, all of Anksha's blood slaves would wither and perish. It was the nature of her feeding and the drain upon their bodies from the Dominance-Link. Anksha drank blood hot from living veins; not because she needed blood, but for what was carried in the blood. Mages, sa'necari, and such had a secondary nervous system that linked the arcane centersshaukrasand circulated the bio-alchemical properties throughout their bodies. The elements of their bio-alchemical processes were what Anksha fed upon through the blood. The mage-centers frayed, crisped, and finally burned out. Once those centers started to fail, the mage began to die.

  Anksha had killed his mother a few days after taking her as a blood-slave. The demon-eater's initial psychic strike had reduced his mother to the level of a five-year-old child. Chinisi Loosestrife had perished clutching a dirty rag doll that one of the nibari had given her while Anksha drank her heart to stillness.

  The last time that Stygean had seen her, his mother had been preparing to attend a banquet at Captain Tamric's estate. She had been full of joy and high spirits. Stygean had kissed her goodnight and curled up with a book in his bedroom. When he woke hours later, his world had been destroyed.

  He entered his father's tent, eager to talk to him, and stiffened. His father, Liuthan lay upon the cot where he spent most of his time, his face locked into a grimace. Anksha sat astraddle of him, her fangs sunk in his throat as she fed noisily.

  Stygean sank to his knees and put his face in his hands. He could close out the sight, but not the sounds and his stomach soured. I hate you. I hate you, he muttered.

  Anksha came loose from Liuthan, licked the wound closed and noticed Stygean. She strolled over to him, his father's blood rimming her mouth. I don't like you either. Anksha's lips peeled back from her fangs in a snarl. Keep being bad and I'll eat you."

  Stygean shuddered and remained silent.

  Anksha darted through the tent flap and out into the open.

  Stygean crossed the tent. Father?"

  Liuthan looked up at him and held out his arms. Stygean knelt beside the cot and settled into Liuthan's embrace.

  His father had lost weight. The skin on his once-handsome face had begun to sag. The patchy rash had spread along his neck among the bite scars. Stygean had become familiar with the signs of the withering and knew that his father was dying inch by inch.

  "I hate them, Stygean growled deep in his throat. I hate them."

  "Don't say that."

  "Why not? She's killing you!"

  "I brought it on myself, Stygean. I planned and led the ambush at Tamric's party to capture Isranon. Tamric got Isranon and Anksha got me. Had I known his familiar was the Beast of Brandrahoon ... Well, it's too late for regrets."

  "But not for vengeance."

  Liuthan stiffened. Get that out of your head."

  "Why?"

  "Because they will kill you."

  Stygean could not think of what to say, so he simply snuggled against his father like a small child rather than the grown mon he tried to be.

  It grew late and Liuthan pushed Stygean away. I think it's time you got back to your own tent."

  Stygean started to protest and his father cut him off. Don't argue."

  The boy's lips tightened and he left without a backward glance.

  As he walked slowly back toward his tent, he grew angry and obstinate. He veered off to the edges of the camp and walked along the tree line. He knew better than to try and flee. There was no escape from Anksha and the lycans, even if he had the smallest idea of how to survive in the deserted wilderness. He was a child of the cities.

  The wind shifted and he shivered, facing defiantly into it as if to challenge nature in ways that he dared not challenge his oppressors. He opened his innate necromantic senses and embraced the darker side of reality, and froze. He opened his innate necromantic senses and embraced the darker side of reality and froze. There, at the edges of his arcane awareness, was the touch of something darker than he was.

  Curious, Stygean stole toward it, darting to and from the concealment of the trees and tents. He made certain that no one from the camp would notice him, and scanned again. There it was, stronger than ever. It drew him with an urgency that went beyond anything he had known on an arcane level and his father had shown him many besides the rites.

  A cry of anguish made him quicken his steps and he darted into a small glade. He saw a scruffy boy, dark haired and fair-skinned, standing stiff in the center, his eyes wide and frightened. He held a sling at his side. His body jerked and trembled, but Stygean could not see what held the boy there.

  He widened his arcane scan and opened the perceptions of his inner eyes. Now he could see a vague shape clawing at the boy, opening huge tears in his soul, and lapping up what leaked out.

  Training that had been ground into him to the point of becoming instinct, brought his soul shields into place, shimmering around him like an aura darker than the night. Stygean threw his strongest death web at the creature and instantly knew he had made a mistake, for it dropped the boy and came at him.

  Released, the boy curled up screaming as if his mind were lost in nightmare.

  Stygean took two steps backwards, and cast a spell of undeath denial to rip the soul out of the creature. His spell did not even slow it down. Its claws tore at Stygean's shields, gouging holes in it. Stygean staggered backwards and tripped over a tree root.

  He had no idea what the creature was, but there had to be a way to stop it. The adrenaline rush had him shaking, but he battled past that and tried a spell of exorcism.

  The creature screeched, hesitated, and then attacked with renewed fury.

  Stygean lost the threads of his spell and started over. The creature's claws reached through the holes it had torn in Stygean's shields and clawed the edge of his soul. Stygean swallowed back a scream, just as he would have in a rough bout in the salle with his father, and finished the spell. The creature fled.

  Reaction set in as soon as he was safe and he scarcely realized that the boy had stopped screaming. Hands grabbed Stygean and jerked him to his feet. He reached for his spells, only to stop without casting them when he realized it was not the creature returned, but one of the kandoyarin boys.

  "What did you do to Iyan? Dahnig Elvustad, a sandy haired youth a head taller than Stygean with six inches and forty pounds on him, the first traces of chin hair fuzzing his jawline, jerked Stygean to his feet, his fist twisted into Stygean's collar. Answer me, you filthy sa'necari. What did you do to him?

  Stygean, worn out by the fight, could find no words to say and stared dumbly at the sixteen-year-old.

  Another kandoyarin boy knelt beside Iyan Helyt and shook him, bringing no response. Grygg Lostan cast a helpless glance at Dahnig. I can't wake him."

  "Get someone here who can. Dahnig pointed to the horn that Grygg carried. You're supposed to be the leader. So lead. Call for help."

  Grygg winded the horn and the sound echoed through the trees.

  Gordain and Olin plunged through the trees and into the tiny glade seconds later, which meant they could not have been far off and were probably searching for Iyan. Stygean wondered how long Iyan had been missing; how long the creature had been tearing at the boy.

  Dahnig gave Stygean another shake. He attacked Iyan."

  "I didn't attack him. Stygean shrank away from Dahnig, but could not get his clothing loose. There was a creature...."<
br />
  "We didn't see anything."

  "It was invisible. My mage sight...."

  Gordain freed Stygean from Dahnig's grip. Much as I would enjoy opening his belly, we must not do anything before Lord Isranon gets here."

  "There was a creature. It was tearing at his soul. I drove it off... Tears of futility and anger ran down Stygean's face. I did. Please believe me."

  Grygg cradled Iyan's head in his lap. Why should we, filthy, soul-stealing sa'necari?"

  Stygean recoiled from their hatred and said nothing more.

  Olin drew Dahnig back. I'll watch him."

  Dahnig looked ready to argue, but went to kneel beside his friends.

  A bright light, too pure and white for a torch, shone through the trees. Stygean kept half an eye upon Olin as he glanced to see where the light was coming from. It grew nearer and Isranon entered the glade, Warrior blazing in his hands. He halted at the edge of it, his eyes seemingly filled with dancing flames, reflecting his inner power. The godmark on his forehead glowed.

  "Death magic has been cast here. Sa'necari magic. Isranon studied the glade through eyes that could perceive the patterns of power. There's an odd taste here. I'm not certain what."

  Gordain approached Isranon. Stygean tried to kill Iyan."

  Isranon glanced at Stygean. Did you see it, Gordain?"

  Gordain shook his head and pointed at Dahnig. He did."

  Dahnig looked uncertain. I didn't see it. I got here and Iyan was lying over here and Stygean was stretched out over there."

  Isranon regarded Stygean and then turned away. He went to Iyan and knelt beside him, laying his hand on the boy's forehead. His soul has been torn."

  "The soul-eater did it! Dahnig darted across the glade before anyone could stop him, and drove his fist into Stygean's stomach. Stygean gasped for breath and his eyes watered as he doubled over, clutching himself.

  Isranon gestured to Gordain. Spellcord him and lock him in one of the wagons under guard, until I can discern exactly what happened."