Beth glanced at his wrists as if looking for spellcord, leaned in, and sniffed him again. You're human."
"I'm afraid so."
Beth sniffed Ros and Lyrri. Sa'necari. How is it you're not?"
Malthus had expected to be interrogated. The lycans were cautious about outsiders. Odds were that Beth might prove to be a bit of a gossip and that could work to his favor. He gave her a straight look with just an edge of concern. My mother was human. One of my father's numerous mistresses. I was born in Dragonton near Torment Lake."
Beth brightened. I know the area. I have cousins up there. City wolves, but nice folk."
Mixing lies with his truths, Malthus described a bit of his youth growing up along the lake where their sa'necari overlords had once held most of their rites since the days of Waejonan. His last name was not Estrobian, but he had known the Estrobians well, having grown up with Volosarius Estrobian, the mon who introduced him to Necrodez, his last teacher.
Beth warmed to him steadily.
"I never met any of the Estrobians when I visited my cousins, but I heard of them, Beth said. Fancy folk."
"Aren't all sa'necari in this land?"
Beth chuckled. Not the ones working the sanctuary. We got them spellcorded, sealed, and doing chores."
Shivers ran through Malthus at the thought of being spellcorded. You have adult sa'necari here?"
"Yup. Five women. Only way we'd let them accompany their children across the bridge."
Malthus swallowed back his reaction to that news and changed the subject. Where will we sleep for the night? I would like to get the girls settled soon."
"Here for the moment. I'll get you some mats and blankets. Tomorrow one of the women should be moving into a new house with her children. It's there near enough finished. Then you can have their sheeling for the time being, until you can get a house up."
* * * *
Dynanna sat in the middle of her bed in Imralon, where she had remained after Isranon left early last spring. Normally she would have gone home to either her cottage in the garden that she shared with her brother, or her little house in the Badree Nym village of Summersnow near Blue Dog Pass. Nothing she did could distract her from moping over the black bottle Dynarien had given her for Isranon.
The bottle contained a euthanasia drug the Assassins Guild used. Isranon carried a divinator's curse inside his damaged body. Divinators used the bodies of their victims to turn the tides of wars, destroy kings, and deliver terrible curses. She had no way to know what would happen if the embedded spells killed Isranon.
Dynanna squeezed the bottle until her knuckles whitened. She shoved the bottle into her pocket with a heavy sigh, and got up, wandering listlessly to her wall with the slingshots on it. Dynanna took each of them down, turning them around in her hands half-heartedly before replacing them with another sigh. No doubt existed in her mind but that a great and powerful curse would be unleashed upon someone with Isranon's death. The only ways to avert it were to either get the spells out before they could kill him or to change the manner of his death. Certain ways of dying would accommodate the spells, such as the dark rites or a violent death, especially if blades were involved. Contrariwise, if Isranon died quietly by his own hand...
Dynanna worried that if she gave him the bottle and explained about the curse lodged within him, he might decide to simply take the drug and die, rather than continuing his struggle to live and risk releasing the curse should the embedded spells finally claim him. Her hand went to the bulge in her pockets that was the bottle. I wish you hadn't left this up to me, Dynarien, she muttered.
Then a thought struck her that sent a shivering sea of goose bumps over her body. What if Isranon's death was a curse directed at the destruction of the Sacred King? Without the Sacred King and at least one mage-paladin of Kalirion, matters could soon spiral out of hand what with the dark forces pounding along the eastern bank of the Hillora. Kalirion had his king, but not his mage-paladins; they were always pan-elementalists and lifemages. Usually an Abelard.
But there were none of them left. Except ... except...
Dynanna suddenly had an idea. She had to talk to Kalirion. Dynanna had been putting that conversation off because Kalirion always tried to seduce her and he could be very persistent. She sucked in a fortifying breath and Jumped for the Gardens of the Sun.
It was night in the world below, but it was always daylight in the garden of Kalirion, which lived and blossomed in a wondrous eternal springtime. The garden was incredibly lovely. Trees bloomed and fruited all year round. Flowers in every shade of blue imaginable grew there.
Few signs remained to show that, up until a year ago, Kalirion's Jesmyrran angels had still been coaxing Dynanna's gophers from it. At Dynanna's insistence, they had released those gophers where they were now harassing the fields and gardens of a particularly nasty tribe of goblins. The garden now bloomed in its full beauty and luxuriant growth. Every shade of blue and yellow could be found in a lush riot of color; from blossoms to fruit; on bushes, vines, and trees. The grass grew deep and sweet in a soft carpet over every open space. The winding paths were paved in topaz and turquoise, the broad stones set in interesting patterns.
The Idyn tree at its center overflowed with large, iridescent, peacock blue fruit and flowers, showing every sign of recovering from Dynanna's long ago gopher curse. Looking closer, however, she could still detect a droop in its branches. She felt a flash of guilt at that. Dynanna sighed. One of these days, she would learn to keep her temper in check and not react without thinking. She had come here seeking answers to a prophecy and Kalirion, who was in love with her, had insisted she trade him a day and a night of sex for it. Dynanna had agreed to the deal and then cursed his garden afterward. It had taken his angels years to catch and remove all of her gophers.
She settled on an elegant white bench to wait for him to appear. He always knew when she arrived these days.
Dynanna did not have long to wait. Kalirion emerged from his palace beyond the Idyn tree, wearing only a short white kilt. He was an immense man, six foot five inches, very muscular and clean limbed. Every time she saw him, Dynanna became wet between her thighs with longing; however, her perverse sexuality was such that every single time she had sex with a god, she got pregnant. What was worse was that she could get pregnant with another child every twenty-four hours for up to a week before it stopped. Multiple births were a commonplace for her. Gods were fun in bed, but she preferred mortals since she had not yet managed to get pregnant by one. Kalirion and Ishla both said they were looking into a solution to her problem, but neither of them had found it yet.
"Have you come for conversation or for a favor, belovèd? Kalirion asked, joining her on the bench.
She looked into his eyes of flame. A favor."
A bright, eager smile spread over his fair face and he flicked back a blond curl from his forehead. You know the price."
"Nope. Dynanna grinned cheekily. I have something else you want just as much."
The Elder God arched an eyebrow at her. What would that be?"
"A mage-paladin. An Abelard."
His lips thinned. There aren't any."
Dynanna grinned. Oh, yes, there is."
"Give me his name. If you're right, then I'll give you your favor."
"Lord Isranon Dawnreturning of the lineage of my brother Dawnhand. The words were scarcely out of her mouth when Dynanna could tell that she had Kalirion's full attention. He's mine, but I'll trade him to you."
* * * *
The Great Hall of the Redhand Manorhouse was the largest room in the building. Two rows of stone support columns ran along the south and north sides of the room. Clusters of comfortable chairs, sofas, and low tables in dark-stained wood broke the Great Hall into false alcoves. The sections of a large trestle table stood stacked along the south wall to be assembled for rare formal dinners. At the east end stood the deep hearth and to the left of the hearth were three looms, a spinning wheel, and several baskets of wool
and yarn.
Claw sat in his big over-stuffed chair. Like most of the lycan clans, he maintained an informal household, rather than the elaborate courts of the sa'necari and the humans of Shaurone to the south and Creeya to the Northeast. On the side table sat his pipe rack with a jar of tobacco in the center and four pipes in cradles around it. He filled his pipe, struck a lucifer and lit the herb. Claw took several puffs, then slid his gaze across the four guardsmyn seated around him: stout Belgair, the Captain of Claw's Household Guards for the past two decades, reputed to be a bully although Claw had yet to witness it himself; blond Kynyr Maguire, the youngest of the guardsmyn at twenty and so handsome that some said it was downright sinful; tow-headed Finn MacIver, who had missed being youngest by two months; and Ramsey Fitzgerald with hair as red as a whore's petticoats and a temperament so mellow and staid that it proved you could not judge a mon's nature by the color of his hair.
A slender nibari slave entered with a tray and handed out tankards of mead. Will that be all, Master Claw?"
"Yes, Kissie."
His gaze rested longest on a handsome young male named Kynyr Maguire. Kynyr looked so much like Claw's long dead son, Tarrant, that it often caused a poignant flutter in the otherwise crusty, obdurate old chieftain. I hear they've a new one at the Camp."
Kynyr glanced at the Captain of the Guard, Belgair, before answering. He drew a glare followed by a shrug from Belgair. A male with two little girls."
"I don't like it. Males don't stop here."
The Sanctuary Refugee Camp existed only because Claw permitted it, and he liked to keep a close watch on it.
"They do if they've children along. Belgair pointed out, and took a long draw from his tankard.
"Yaw. And how many times has that happened in the last four years? They stay just long enough to dump the cubs and run."
Kynyr shook his head at Claw, drawing another glare from Belgair. Nikko says this one is insisting he's here for the long haul ... that he won't desert his nieces."
"Sa'necari?"
"Only the girls. He's human."
"Or so he says. Go ask around, Kynyr. Ramsey, you and Finn go with him."
Kynyr finished his mead and they left.
Belgair out-stayed the others, leaning in toward Claw. Just because he's got a pretty face..."
"Shut up, Belgair. Belgair had never known Claw's twin sons, Logan and Tarrant. They had died ten years before Belgair's birth. Belgair had no idea what they looked like because Claw had ordered all their portraits removed from the walls of the manor after their deaths: looking at them made his wife Aisha cry. Let Belgair think what he would; Claw had no intention of opening himself up for accusations of sentimentality by telling Belgair what it was that drew him to Kynyr.
"I wouldn't put so much trust in Kynyr ... if I were you."
"I'll be the judge, Belgair. You've made your points, now get out."
Belgair frowned and removed himself.
Claw sat a long time alone, smoking and drinking, ringing the bell for Kissie repeatedly to refill his tankard. He kept hoping that Kynyr would draw the eye of his daughter Merissa, but she seemed determined never to fall in love again; and like the rest of the Redhand family, stubbornness was proving a curse. So far all that Claw had was the bastard child Merissa had borne her sa'necari lovera child that could not inherit the realm because he had not been born lycan. If Merissa did not find a husband in the next year, Claw intended to exercise his rights and arrange a marriage for her whether she wished it or not.
CHAPTER TWO
RIPE FOR THE TAKING
The evening breeze had come up early and blew strongly into the night, carrying a heavy scent of pine and evergreens. It swirled Malthus waist-length black hair, which he had loosed from the confining leather thong. If he did not keep his hair trimmed, it easily grew to his ankles, like most Waejontori males.
Malthus stared at the stars and thought.
Because of his reputation, Lord Daemon had given him his choice of assignments. He had turned down an offer to send him to Rowanhart and murder the twin sons of Mephistis de Waejonan. His old rival Corradeo had taken that one. Queen Tomyrilen's claim to the throne was tenuous at best, being both a bastard and a female. In four thousand years, Waejontor had had only two queens and both had ultimately brought destruction upon the realm. However, once the boys were deadMalthus supposed they must be around five years old by nowall the holdouts among the surviving sa'necari nobility would have no choice but to follow her.
For once, his personal issues had proved more important to him than business. He felt more driven to find out what had happened to his brother Troyes than he did getting paid for an easy kill.
"What happened to you here, Troyes?"
He heard the back door to the longhouse open, and from the solid sound of the steps, knew it had to be Beth emerging.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Please do. Malthus turned toward her.
Beth had changed into a pale pink shift that buttoned down the front as far as her navel. The hem brushed her ankles with a soft swish. What are you thinking of? Your family?"
Malthus lowered his eyes. What else would I think of? This is the first time we've been able to stop running in four weeks."
"You'll be fine here. Beth came to him, swaying her large hips in a manner that suggested she found him attractive. Her raw-umber hair had been freed from its earlier bonds and hung past her waist. Dark hair was rare among the lycans, and usually indicated mixed blood somewhere in their ancestry.
"Yes, I think so. We will need all the help we can get. I will work hard in exchange for it. I just worry about my nieces."
Beth stopped very close to him. We will do all that we can. You seem like a good mon to care so much."
"I try. Malthus, guessing that a woman of her age and build did not get much male attention, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. I appreciate everything you're doing for us, Beth."
She flushed and started to draw away from him, fluttering her hands. Her size made the girlish movement seem grotesque.
Malthus gambled. Most lycans had strong minds that resisted sa'necari intrusions, and unless they were caught off guard it required a prolonged, systematic hammering to break them open. Malthus had always had a fetish for lycans. Two of his last doxies had been lycan. Malthus had frequented their taverns and brothels, partied, hunted, and gamed with them since early adulthood. Dozens had died on his altars, and hundreds had perished in his dungeons in his experiments with poisons and various other toxins, as well as in his detailed examinations of lycan anatomy. He had even vivisected several. There was very little he did not know about lycans. He had never completely understood the attraction, yet he had never denied it.
He sized Beth up as someone who used charity work to fill up the empty hole where a husband and children of her own should have been. The extremity of her neediness made her vulnerable.
"You're too kind, he murmured, and when he sensed her deeper flush of pleasure, he lunged into her mind with a needle thin blade of power.
Beth looked confused, one hand went trembling to her face. I want to be ... kind. You don't need to be ... to be so... Her voice trailed off as Malthus captured her fingers and kissed them.
He twisted the invisible blade of his gifts deeper into her psyche. You like pleasing me."
"Yes, I do. I Beth shivered.
Malthus flicked his fingers across her nipples, and Beth shuddered. You want me, Beth. You want me as a woman wants a man. Each time he said her name, he gave the blade another thrust into her mind, cutting through the cords of her resistance.
"Yes, I do. More than anything."
"Good, Beth. You know what I am now, but you're not going to tell anyone, are you, Beth?"
The light faded from Beth's eyes as he extinguished her will with each repetition of her name. Her lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. Her arms settled at her sides in a lifeless manner.
Malthus kissed her again. Come
into the trees with me, Beth. I'm hungry."
"Yes."
The subtle coercions he wished to place in her mind would take time to achieve. If he accidentally tore her, Beth's behaviors would change too abruptly and someone would notice it. For the nonce a feeding trigger would do nicely, set just deeply enough for her to open her veins and legs to him.
As Malthus led Beth into sheltered copse, he asked her, When was the last time that a sa'necari guested with your chieftain? This used to be a royal waystation."
Beth licked her lips with a little hhhmmmn . Must have been just over three years ago. Two of them. Troyes and Isranon."
Malthus settled on the ground with Beth and began unfastening her dress. She stared past him as if unaware of what was happening. Her body proved to be fat, but not shapeless, and after a fashion appealing. And where did they go when they left, Beth?"
"Don't know. They just left. Only Claw's household knows. He don't like folks talking about it, cause one of those two storked his daughter. The child's sa'necari."
He fondled Beth's huge breast, eyeing the conspicuous vein along the top. Which one do you think did it?"
"Troyes. I was running with the wolves one night and stumbled on them going at it. We should have stoned her, but the lawgiver wouldn't let us."
Malthus let his fangs down completely and breathed along her breast, as he penetrated the innermost places of her being, binding her to his suggestions. Nikko?"
"No. Nevin. Nikko's his cousin ... was his apprentice then. Beth trembled when Malthus removed her clothing and ran his hands up and down her body.
"What is this princess of farmers name?"
"Merissa."
"You'll help me find a way to meet her? Malthus began removing his own clothing.
Beth watched him disrobe with a glazed expression. Yes."
"Good. Are you still a virgin, Beth? An old maid?"
"Yes. No one's ever wanted me."
"Be good and I'll take care of that tonight. Malthus laid Beth on her back. He felt her psyche squirming as he showed her his fangs that were fully extended from their sheaths. He rotated his power through every vulnerable spot within her like a knife in a wound. Beth, Beth, Beth. You're in love with me."
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