WINDREAPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Conar sat rigidly on his cot. The child's lips trembled, but he probed his son's open mind and knew Corbin wasn't afraid of him—he was afraid of being rejected.

  Conar was ashamed of his own weakness. Ashamed of his inability to take this child of his loins into his arms and claim him as his own. He saw uncertainty playing across Corbin's face, felt the boy's reluctance to come to him and ask for his love, and his shame and guilt drove deeper.

  "Does your mother know you're here?" he asked gruffly.

  "No, Milord."

  "Then I suggest you leave before she finds out. I don't think she'd like knowing you were in this place."

  Corbin's head came up. "You were forced to live in this place. I am not afraid to stay here with you."

  "What I was forced to do, boy, and what you do of your own freewill are different things! You have no business being here." Conar stood, all too aware of the trembling in his legs, the ache in his heart, and the emptiness his arms felt.

  "Why do you turn your back on me?" The little voice was breaking. "I am flesh of your flesh. I know you once loved my mother. Can you not find it in your heart to love me?" The tears crept over his small oval face.

  Conar needed a drink—something, anything—for he was dying inside. In his soul, he felt it was best that Corbin not grow close to him, for he would not be around to see him grow up. And should he be caught by Tohre's men, he didn't want the boy mourning him. It was easier to forget a father you never really knew than one you loved and who you knew loved you.

  "I have work to do, boy. Take yourself back up those stairs."

  Corbin hung his head. "I am all that is left of the great love you and my mother shared. Even though you deny me, refuse to accept me as your son, I still love you, Lord Conar." A hitching sob tore from him. "And I always will."

  Tears now streamed down Conar's cheek, but Corbin was already on the stairs. He opened his mouth to call the boy back, but the iron door clanked shut with a finality that made Conar sit on his cot and bury his face in his hands.

  * * *

  Corbin wiped his nose on the sleeve of his tunic as he came into the garden where Liza was gathering flowers. He smiled at Cody and Christos, tousled Kells hair, and nodded at Jarad.

  "Children, will you leave your brother and me alone for a little while?" Liza asked, laying down her shears. She pulled off her gloves and laid them beside her basket of flowers as her children left the garden.

  The moment she had seen Corbin's face, she knew where he had been. There were tear tracks on his face, and the pain of rejection filled his eyes. Sighing heavily, she motioned for him to join her where she knelt. When he did, she slipped her arm around his waist and pulled his head to her shoulder.

  "How is he?" At that point she didn't much care how Conar was, but a tirade against the boy's father might alienate Corbin. She put a finger under his trembling chin. "Tell me what you think of him, Corbin."

  The boy shook his head. "He's so lonely, Mama. I can feel his hurt. He is lonely and sad."

  She stroked his hair. "I know, dearling."

  "Why does he refuse what I offer him? Is it me? Is it because of what Tohre did—"

  "No! It is nothing you have done."

  "Then what is it?" Corbin threw his arms around her neck and sobbed, his body shaking with overwhelming grief.

  Liza gently stroked his back, furious he had been hurt again, and by a man who should have known better! "Give him time, son. He's had much to accept since returning. He will come around."

  "He's my father. I love him, Mama!"

  Liza looked up as a pair of shadows covered her and her son. Concern filled Teal du Mer's face; pain lined Legion's.

  "Why won't he love me back, Mama? Why won't he let me be his son?"

  His mouth set in an angry line, Legion spun around. Liza wanted to call him back, instinctively knowing where he was headed.

  Teal shook his head. "Let him handle it, Liza. Maybe if Conar knows how much he has hurt this boy—"

  Corbin tore from Liza's arms and ran into the keep.

  "Shall I go after him?" du Mer asked.

  "He, like his father, will have to find a way to deal with this on his own."

  * * *

  Conar made his way to the stable to collect his horse. So upset by what had happened in the dungeon, he could stand the confinement of the place no longer. He had scheduled a foray into the area around Corinth for later that week, but had moved up his plans and now intended to leave within the hour.

  His mind was on what he was going to do at the Wind Temple near Corinth when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and startled him. His hand went automatically to the dagger at his thigh, but as he turned, he recognized Legion, and let his hand fall away from the blade.

  "Don't ever lay a hand on me again, A'Lex, unless you want to draw back a stub!"

  Legion stood, hands on his hips, and glared with murderous rage. "You can hate me and Liza all you want, but I will not have you venting your vengeance and spite on an innocent child who has already suffered more in his lifetime than any ten children! I'll not have you hurting him. Stay the hell away from him unless you're prepared to be his true father!"

  Conar clenched his fists by his side, wanting to strike out, but loathe to do so for fear he'd kill the man. "I didn't seek out the brat—he found me! I tried to make him leave, but he wouldn't go until I ignored him."

  "Bastard! You may be a hero to the people, but you're nothing more than a beast with my brother's face. The man I knew would never have turned his back on a child, his own or anyone else's, when that child was reaching out to him!" He poked Conar in the shoulder. "You hurt Liza when you hurt her son, but I would imagine that's what you intended!"

  Pushed to the limit of his strength, Conar shot back with vengeance. "You think I care whether that bitch gets hurt?"

  Legion smiled, but the smile was frosty with anger. "Aye, you care."

  "Well, it won't be my arms that'll comfort her—"

  "Not in this lifetime!"

  "Not unless I decide to take her back."

  Legion's face turned red. "You so much as touch her, and by the gods, I'll kill you!"

  Conar laughed. "You try my patience." As Conar moved closer to his brother, a snarl formed on his tight lips. "Unless you wish to cross blades with me, I suggest you curb your wayward tongue else I'll relieve you of it."

  "You think I'm afraid to fight you?"

  "If you want to live, you'd better think twice about doing so!"

  Legion's hand went to the dagger at his hip, but a cry from the keep's battlements made him stop. Both men looked up to see Grice Wynth standing on the crenellated wall.

  "Quick!" he shouted. "Teal's been stabbed!"

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  When Conar and Legion ran into the garden where Storm Jale pointed them, they heard shouts of anger and horror near the majestic willow tree. Men mingled about, swords drawn, and Roget du Mer shouted orders to Sentian and Thom. The well-tended garden had an air of desperation.

  Beside the stone fountain, Paegan, Tyne, and Shalu stood clustered over a prone man. Pushing Tyne aside, Conar came up short when he saw his boyhood friend lying on the flagstone, blood gushing from his chest, his head in Liza's lap.

  She looked up at him as he knelt beside them. Silent tears ran down her pale cheeks. Blood smeared her bodice. Her hands trembled as they caressed Teal's white face, smoothed his wild shock of coal-black hair.

  Conar searched Liza's ashen face. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded.

  He put a hand on Teal's shoulder. "Who did this?"

  Teal grimaced. "I didn't know him. I think I killed him, but I'm not sure."

  "Where's the bastard who did this?"

  "He's dead," Shalu told him. "There was no identification on him."

  "How'd he get past our sentries?" Legion asked as he knelt beside Liza.

  When no one answered, Conar's voice carried loud. "Answer my brother! H
ow the hell did that scum get in here?"

  Sentian stepped forward. "We haven't been able to find out."

  Conar snarled. "Then I suggest you find out what he was doing here and why he attacked du Mer!"

  Liza looked at him. "He wasn't after Teal."

  "Then who was he after?"

  "Me."

  "Tell me!"

  "I was tending the flowers—"

  "You have servants to do that!" he snapped.

  Liza's chin rose. "They were your mother's flowers and no one tends them but me and the Head Gardener, and he's ill! Teal was at the door, going inside, when I heard a sound and turned. That man charged at me. I tripped over the rose bush and tried to crawl away, but he grabbed me from behind and cut me."

  "Where?" Conar yelled.

  Liza held out her arm.

  There was a long, wicked scratch down her right arm, but it had stopped bleeding and looked more angry than painful.

  Conar's eyes went back to hers. "You could have been killed."

  "I heard the commotion," Teal mumbled. "When I saw that bastard kneeling over Liza with his knife—"

  "Teal ran at him and they fought," Liza said. "When I saw Teal go down, I knew the son-of-a-bitch would try to finish him, so I jumped on his back. It gave Teal time to get to his feet and throw his knife. The man fell, but when I turned to thank Teal, I sank into my arms. I screamed for help and—"

  "You put yourself between two fighting men?" Legion asked, aghast.

  "That man didn't mean to hurt me. He said he'd been instructed to take me to—"

  Conar glared up at Roget. "Take this stupid woman inside and have guards posted. I don't want her going anywhere without at least four men surrounding her. And she is not to leave this keep under any circumstances!"

  "I'll not be kept a prisoner in my own home!" she shouted.

  Conar turned to her. "Get inside!" When she didn't move, he took her arm in a fierce grip, drawing her up as he stood, ignoring her gasp of pain as his fingers closed around the scratch. He pushed her toward Roget. "Damn it, woman! I said get inside or I'll take my belt to your ass!"

  "Do as he says, Liza," Legion said quietly.

  Conar burned with fury when Liza turned toward the library. For him, the bitch wouldn't budge, but one word from Legion and she hastened to do as ordered.

  "The blade hit nothing vital," Cayn said, looking up at Conar. "He'll be in bed a while, though."

  Conar nodded absently, watching the dead attacker being lifted from the other side of the fountain. "Wait!" He stalked over to the dead man. Peering into the man's coarse features, he spoke through clenched teeth. "Have that vermin taken outside the keep and impaled on a pole. I want a reminder to every man, woman, and child that no one can threaten the members of this household and live to tell about it!"

  He then sent his men an unwavering stare. "I want him." Just those three words, no more; staccato raps piercing the silence of the garden. They were spoken with a dogged determination that brooked no argument.

  "You think it was Tohre?" Grice asked.

  "Who else would wish her harm? To get to me, he'll try to go through those I love." He swung his gaze to Roget. "Have extra men brought into this keep, men you can trust. I want every nook and cranny searched for the way that rat got in. If you find he had help, I want that person brought to me. He or she will never again help Tohre!" He shifted his attention to Sentian. "I want bodyguards for every child in this keep. I want men watching Legion, as well. Put double guards on my son and wife and tell them if they so much as let one hair on their heads be harmed, they'll answer to me!"

  "You have my word on it!" Sentian swore.

  Sensing Legion's gaze, Conar turned. "Have you nothing better to do than gawk? I would think you'd want to be with your woman—"

  "My wife," Legion corrected. "She is my wife, not yours!"

  Conar looked at him. He didn't want to fight. He was tired and afraid. "Make her understand what a foolish thing she did, A'Lex. She won't listen to me, but maybe she will to you."

  "I know how to handle—"

  Conar held up his hand. "Peace, brother," he said quietly. "Peace."

  He headed for the sea gate. He had a hunger in his soul, deep to the roots of his foundation, that only liquor could assuage. He knew he was as enslaved to his lack of willpower as he was to his love for a woman he could no longer claim. But he couldn't stop himself from heading to the Ruck's tavern for the answer to his problem.

  * * *

  "Go after him," Shalu said with a disgusted snort. "He's heading for the closest bottle!"

  Two members of the Force nodded and headed after their leader.

  "Is that all he knows how to do?" Legion snapped. "Crawl inside a bottle of booze?"

  Grice laid a hand on Legion's shoulder. "What happened today scared him. It's his way of dealing with it."

  "I know he was afraid for her, but—"

  Grice squeezed his shoulder. "He would die for her. There wouldn't be any hesitation. Without her, he doesn't seem to feel as though he fits in anywhere. Her being with you is tearing him apart." Wynth shook his head. "He'll love her to the day he dies."

  "Well, at the rate he's going," Shalu grumbled, "that won't be long!"

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  After assuring himself the keep was secured and his family protected, Conar led a well-chosen, deadly force of men to the Wind Temple at Corinth. They rode all afternoon until they came to the copse of trees that hid the Temple from the road. After dismounting, they clamped together their nags' jaws with their sweaty hands, seeking quiet and stealth.

  "Not one of them is to get out alive, understand?" Conar asked.

  The men nodded.

  During the following engagement with Kaileel's men, Conar fought like a demon, battling two, three Temple Guards at once, cutting down each of them. His sword ran red with Domination blood. On the one occasion when his magic was needed, he summoned demons and creatures so vile and so vicious, his enemies were reduced to pulpy ooze.

  Not a living thing was left alive inside the Wind Temple after the fires set inside the earth-bermed building caught and held. As the building began to go up in flames, Conar stood, arms folded across his chest, and listened to the ghostly tinkle of a hundred little boys' laughter.

  "Rest easy, children," he said through clenched teeth. "You have been avenged."

  * * *

  About ten miles to the west of the smoldering Temple sat a small town called Lakeland. The upper part of the town lay along the farthest shore of Lake Myria and was known only for the fine tavern that was set back on a spit of land overlooking the lake. Called Pigeon's Roost, the tavern boasted the finest mutton chops and spoon bread on that side of the Four Zones. With their killing and looting completed, the men of the Raven's troop made their way to Lakeland and the food that would fill their guts.

  As his men swilled down food and drink, Conar gazed about the dark taproom, spying several professional wench's glancing his way. He smiled at one in particular. She cast a triumphant look to the other women before heading his way. He watched her hips sway in the dark blue skirt, appraised the jiggle of her lush breasts in the nearly transparent white lawn blouse. She put her red-tipped nails on the scratched surface of his table and leaned forward, affording him an unobstructed view of her unbound breasts.

  "For you, Lord Darkwind, it's on the house," she said breathlessly.

  His grinned over the brim of his tumbler of ale. He brought it to his lips, drank, then cocked an eyebrow. "And if I require all of you, mam'selle?" he asked in a low, throaty voice.

  She looked over her shoulder toward a dark-faced man in the corner. At his nod, she turned back to Conar. "Not a penny from your pocket, Milord, to have the five of us for as long as you want."

  Conar dug into the pocket of his breeches and withdrew five brass coins, one for every two tumblers he had consumed. He pitched them on the table, then stood, scraping back his chair. "Where to?"
>
  She smiled and sidled close to him, took his arm in her hands, her fingers caressing the hard, bunched muscles. "Upstairs, Milord."

  "Call me Conar."

  * * *

  The next morning, with their eating and drinking and whoring done, the men of the Wind Force sat in the tavern's common room and waited for their tardy leader. They grew a bit worried when one of the women who had filed up the stairs with Conar the night before, amidst laughter and ribald comments, told the men their Overlord would be spending the next few days at the Pigeon's Roost.

  A warrior of some experience, Conar's second in command, climbed the stairs to his leader's room. He knocked politely, then entered. He found Conar in bed with three women, two lying beside him, one atop him. "I wanted to make sure you were all right, sir."

  "Shut the door, Starling."

  The warrior nodded and left.

  * * *

  For days, Conar did not come down from the room. He stayed in a perpetual state of drunkenness, his throbbing headaches and retching becoming a morning ritual. Whatever whore found her way into his bed was ill-used during the night, then passed among his men the next morning while he watched. But even that bizarre entertainment waned and he looked elsewhere for relief to his boredom and pain.

  On the morning of the fifth day, Conar met the man who governed the girls of the Pigeon's Roost, a procurer named Sern Jamar.

  Having imbibed all his system could handle and still not numb from his suffering, Conar sat moodily by the tavern window and stared at the rain. He didn't even bother to look up as the man came to his table and bowed.

  "I am told you are bored, Lord Conar," the man said in a thick accent. "I have means that will relieve your boredom."

  Conar looked up and frowned. He didn't like what he saw. The man was a nomad, probably from one of the Emirates near the coast. His hair was black and greasy, slicked back from his high forehead and worn long in lank strands to his shoulders. A thick, black beard, as ill-kept and greasy as his hair, covered most of his face. Red and angry-looking pimples dotted a huge, bulbous nose, a sloped forehead, and his cheeks, while his deep brown complexion had been pockmarked from years of little or no care for his skin. A large gold hoop hung from his left earlobe, while his blue and white striped burnoose bore an overpowering smell of curry.