"Oooh, the old lech likes Pretty Boy Kynyr. Ramsey chortled and made a mock duck in his saddle as if Kynyr had thrown something at him.
Kynyr paused reaching for the wagon break, glancing up with just his eyes. Maybe he's lonesome, Ramsey. Most folks don't like him."
"And you do?"
"Maybe. I certainly have no objection to him. My sister, Tamra, always says that most folks like Cullen are just misunderstood. And she's usually right."
"The High Priestess of the Dreaded Horde, Finn muttered. Well, she don't know Cullen. The Horde would beat the shit out of him first time he opened his mouth."
"Speaking from experience, Finn? Eideard grinned.
Finn flushed to the roots of his hair and refused to answer.
Kynyr slapped the reins across the horses and they leaned into their traces. The wagon pulled out of the courtyard, with Finn, Ramsey, and Eideard riding guard on it.
An hour down the road, the sound of a horse galloping up behind them, made Eideard turn to look. He groaned. We got company."
"Who? Kynyr asked.
"Cullen."
Larkspur whickered at Bucky and the stallion shook his head up and down, calling back to her as she passed him. For Ramsey and Eideard it was their first good look at Larkspur, and Ramsey whistled. That's some horse."
Cullen beamed with pride and patted her neck. Ain't she though? Larkspur's my darling girl, ain't ya, sweetheart?"
"The Dreaded Horde would love a horse like that."
They rode into Hell's Widow and took rooms for the night at the Three Candles Inn. A city wolf named Amos Raggat ran the Inn with help from his four daughters. Cullen valued Amos good will enough to keep his paws off them, although he had been sorely tempted over the years.
Kynyr put them all, including Cullen, to carrying supplies to the wagon as they made their rounds of the businesses in town while he made the purchases on Aisha's list. By the time they finished, the sun had gone down. They took everything back to the inn, and Cullen insisted upon all of them accompanying him to the Crimson Lady where he promised them the time of their lives.
They had gone barely two blocks down Corbie Way when three myn stepped into the light of the street lamps and barred their way with aggressive gestures. Kynyr gestured for his friends to halt and sauntered forward to stand at their head.
"What do you want?"
One mon stepped forward, speaking with a soft northern accent. That Cullen Blackwood with you?"
"So what if it is?"
Myn lunged out of the shadows, surrounding them with swords and knives drawn. They were outnumbered two to one. The lycans shifted smoothly in hybrid form. If their attackers were human, that would even the odds by increasing their strength and speed.
"We just want Blackwood. The rest of you can go."
Cullen frowned and started to speak, only to be hushed by a gesture from Kynyr. The young guardsmon eyed the mon with quiet confidence. No."
"Your funeral, lycan. He lunged across the distance at Kynyr, sword flashing in the lamplight.
Kynyr went still and cold inside as he let him come before moving. A sliding step to the left and a calculated twist took Kynyr out of the way of the initial thrust. A backhand slash opened the mon from shoulder to elbow. Kynyr's foot connected with his opponent's hip and sent him staggering. Todd had taught him that knife fights were decided in seconds, unlike swords. Kynyr came at the mon fast before he could recover, slamming one blade into his side and the other up under his sternum. He heard movement behind him as his opponent collapsed. Kynyr leaped forward, spinning to the side as another mon charged him. He brought his left blade to guard in time to lock hilts with his attacker's dirk. A sliding cross-step took him out of the way of a jab at his stomach, and he slashed the mon across the face as he disengaged his left blade. The mon made a couple of blind thrusts, but then Kynyr was on top of him, driving both blades into his opponent's ribs.
A cry of pain from Eideard made Kynyr turn about. His friend was on his knees, clutching a long gash in his side as his attacker lunged in for the kill.
* * * *
Cullen's hands dropped to his blades as he watched the myn surround them. Despite the darkness and the limited light thrown by the lamppost on the street corner, Cullen knew he had never seen any of them before. To Cullen's mind, he had done nothing to cause trouble in Hell's Widow, and his initial guess was thievesuntil the leader stepped forward, and said, We just want Blackwood. The rest of you can go."
The courier's eyes darted across the solemn faces of his young companions. They stood with their hands on the hilts of their blades, ready to draw and fight, making a calm assessment of their opponents. Ramsey, the oldest of them was only twenty-three; while Kynyr and Finn were barely turned twenty. At sixty-three, verging on a middle-age that Cullen did not want to acknowledge, he felt an unexpected rush of responsibility toward them. He did not want to see any of them hurt, or possibly killed, on his account.
"Let them go. I'll stay"
A sharp chopping gesture from Kynyr silenced Cullen. If ever a young wolf had been born to command, it was Kynyr. Cullen could see it then.
The young guardsmon eyed the mon with quiet confidence. No."
"We don't abandon our own, growled Finn.
Cullen shifted into his hybrid form and darted toward a hitching post. He leaped over it, spun about, and drew his knives, shifting his grip from hilt to blade with a flick of his wrists. The mon charging him had no time to register the switch before Cullen popped one into his chest. His opponent's eyes saucered in shock, the blades fell from his hands, and he crumpled to the ground, groaning. Cullen scooped up the fallen blades, tucked them into his belt, and yanked his knife out of the mon's chest just in time to throw himself into a roll to the side, evading a thrust at his chest from a second mon.
Cullen tucked his feet beneath him as the mon reached him, shoved a blade into his assailant's groin, and scrambled to the side again. He sprang up, glancing around for thirds and spied Ramsey hard pressed from two sides. Cullen darted forward for a clear throw and hit both of Ramsey's adversaries in the back.
A cry of pain from a familiar voice brought Cullen spinning to his right in time to see Eideard fall and a mon move in for the kill.
"Goat-fucking ... sons a sluts. Cullen yanked the two appropriated blades from his belt and sprang across the intervening distance.
Eideard swayed on his knees, forced back into human form by the shock of his wound. He grasped his attacker's arm, trying to stop the inexorably descending blade from reaching his chest.
"Bastard! Cullen plunged one blade in the mon's back and the other into his kidneys.
* * * *
Finn walked up to Kynyr, wiping his blades on a handkerchief. Gods, Kynyr ... Cullen got four of them."
Ramsey knelt by Eideard, examining his wound. Looks worse than it is. He should be okay."
Eideard nodded, tight-lipped as Ramsey shouldered his weight and got him to his feet.
Cullen slashed a mon's pouches off and dropped them down the front of his shirt, moved to another and did the same.
"What the hell you doing? Finn demanded.
"Making it look like a robbery. Send the guard looking for people from the wrong end of town. Cullen went for a third pouch.
Kynyr glanced at Finn. He's got a point. Ramsey, get Eideard to the inn. We'll be along in a bit."
Cullen headed off as soon as he collected a fourth. Kynyr and Finn gathered the rest and followed.
"What do you make of him now, Finn? Still think he's kizmeigo ?"
Finn shook his head slowly. No."
When they reached the inn, they found that Amos oldest daughter had gotten Eideard cleaned and bandaged. He was sitting up in bed talking to Cullen and Ramsey. As soon as Kynyr and Finn walked in and dropped their booty on the table, Cullen turned to them. Did either of you check their eyes?"
Kynyr glanced at Finn and both of them shook their heads no.'
"Damn! Cullen'
s face darkened into a frown. Humans, you think? Why the hell would they be after me?"
"Cullen, you're rather free with the bone. Could have been some woman's kin. Kynyr dragged a chair over and straddled it.
"No. Cullen shook his head. I stick to the whores when I'm on the road. Ask Amos if you don't believe me. I never made no moves on his daughters. Nor anyone else's. Too risky."
"How many know you're a courier?"
"Out here?"
Kynyr nodded.
"Not many. Amos does. And Silkie. Captain of the garrison. It's not like Wolffgard."
"Well, someone's after you. Question is: why?"
"I dawn't know. Cullen's brogue thickened. He scratched his head and looked away. Kynyr. If ... if something happens to me ... I'd like you to have Larkspur."
"Feeling mortal, Cullen? Finn asked.
"Maybe."
* * * *
Flavio moaned like a bitch in heat, his eyelids fluttering, and mouth slack. He reclined on the velvet sofa in Heironim's parlor, his shoulders cradled against the sa'necari's bare chest while Heironim sucked his neck. Heironim triggered Flavio's endorphins, slithered through his pleasure centers, and sent the clerk over the edge into bliss. Flavio came all over himself, geysering his milky white treasures across the black velvet sofa.
Heironim disengaged from Flavio's neck, licked the wound closed, and gazed into the clerk's dark eyes glazed with satiation.
"I love you. Flavio's fingers trailed along Heironim's cheek.
"Enough to die for me?"
"Yes."
Heironim chuckled. Tell me then. Do you know Cullen Blackwood?"
"Everyone knows Cullen. He's a regular at the Crimson Lady."
"Is there a whore he favors?"
"Ellie. He used to come for Silkie. The past three years, it's only been Ellie. Always Ellie.."
Heironim stroked Flavio's smooth, soft chest. Book Ellie for me. Tomorrow night, from dusk until dawn."
CHAPTER SEVEN
TEMPEST
One thing at a time. One day at a time. Malthus did not push things fast, but steadily. He had now been moving about the village for four weeks, making himself indispensable around the refugee camp, and using the cachet of his kandoyarin tales to ingratiate himself with the younger wolves. He had a good following forming up behind him. Malthus waited a week after buying his sword, and then took his core band to speak to Nikko. They included Beth, Shalto, Oswyl, and Torquil. He wanted to speak to the lawgiver to get permission to hunt on clan lands. Hunting would give him a good explanation for wandering far from Wolffgard Village.
Nikko lived with his widowed mother, Granta, on one of the better streets in a two-story house with a basement. They shared one of the nicer houses in the village. His late father, who had been architect trained in Creeya, had returned to Red Wolf Valley to settle down, marry, and practice his trade. All of Nikko's siblings had moved to homes of their own when they married. Nikko had remained at home to care for his mother.
Malthus knocked at the door and heard Granta's pleasant voice tell them she was coming.
Beth smiled uncertainly at Malthus and patted her dress to neaten it. We'll get this approved, Malthus. It's for the children, after all."
"I hope so, Beth, Malthus replied. But I'm not lycan."
"I don't see how Nikko can turn you down, Shalto said. It isn't like you were wanting to hunt for sport."
Granta opened the door, and an expression of surprise at seeing so many lit the pale eyes in her heavily lined face. Her ears looked a bit too large, as did her eyes, but that was only because age had withered away the tissues beneath her once delicate features. She wore her white hair in a knot at the nape of her neck with a pin stuck through it. Have you come to see Nikko?"
Nikko was the youngest of the aged bitch's five cubs, and she had ten grand cubs from his siblings.
"We have, Beth said.
"Come in. Granta led them to a comfortable living room filled with soft cushioned sofas and chairs. Make yourselves comfortable and I'll fetch Nikko."
Malthus took a chair near the end of a long, low table, but allowed Beth to take the head as if she led instead of him. Nikko appeared, tying a loose robe over him as he walked, and eyed all of them, clearly wondering why a deputation would come to speak with him. He let his gaze rest the longest upon Malthus.
The sa'necari gave Nikko a polite smile and inclined his head in acknowledgement. He knew that Nikko was only bothering to dress because a human was present.
"What is it you want? Nikko asked.
"There isn't enough meat for the children, Beth said. One of us needs to hunt."
"So? Why does this require so many?"
"I want you to give Malthus permission to hunt on clan lands to provide for the children, Beth said.
"The rest of us are too busy building and working at other things, Shalto put in.
Nikko's gaze fixed upon Shalto and lingered there. What is the point you're trying to make?"
"That Malthus should do the hunting for the compound, Beth said. He needs your permission, since he's not lycan."
"Malthus? Since when did a human hunt better than a lycan? You have several lycans working for the camp, Nikko pointed out.
Beth shook her head. We need Shalto and Oswyl for the building. They're stronger than a human. Malthus has the skills for hunting."
Malthus met Nikko's skeptical gaze for a long moment. I've had to live off the land many times as a kandoyarin. I was hunter for my units in Ocealay. I am capable of providing for the camp."
"Look, Nikko, Shalto interposed. We're good at building things. Better than Malthus will ever be. We can spare him, but not us."
Nikko frowned. It sounds like you've already decided this amongst you before coming to me."
"We have, said Beth. We can spare Malthus, but not Shalto and Oswyl."
Nikko swept his gaze around the deputation. So what are you expecting me to do?"
"Give him permission to hunt on clan lands, permission to travel, said Torquil, speaking up for the first time. So long as everyone eats at the camp, what objection can you possibly have?"
Nikko shrugged. None I guess. I'll notify Claw of my decision. But if I hear that the meat is not being shared..."
Beth growled at him, deep in her throat. That's my decision to make. I trust Malthus to take care of us. That's more than you've been doing."
"Beth, I have an entire village to attend to, not just your small camp, as important as it may seem to you."
"Exactly, Beth snapped at him.
"So be it, I grant my permission, but I'll check in on this from time to time."
"That's understood."
Is it? Malthus wondered. I think you gave in a bit too easily.
* * * *
Kynyr stepped into the schoolroom and leaned against the wall with his thumbs tucked into his swordbelt. Ever since that day when Malthus had practically tossed the gauntlet in his face at the Difficult Horse, Kynyr had begun carrying his sword whenever he left the manor. When lycans fought amongst themselves it generally came down to knives or fisticuffs. The ancient customs held that they did not fight each other as wolves because it was an affront to the First Mother of their race. It did happen; usually in the heat of impassioned emotions. There were also forms of ritual combat carried out in wolf shape, such as the choosing of a new chieftain for a Battle-clan. Carrying a sword on Clan Lands generally marked a wolf as being either a guardsmon or a Battle-clansmon.
Tempest dismissed the children, took his staff up, which lay propped against the podium, and walked over to Kynyr. You need something, Kynyr?"
The guardsmon noted that Tempest seemed to be moving more slowly of late. Age is catching up to him . Same old. I can't put off talking to Malthus much longer. Claw's noticed him with Merissa in the gardens."
"That's difficult. Tempest scratched his shaggy mane and stepped through the door into the hallway, heading for his apartments. Kynyr followed north along the narrow hal
lway. A right turn at the end carried them past the door to the gardens, beyond which lay the little graveyard for the camp that Tempest had sanctified on New Years. Another right, and they approached Tempest's quarters.
Tempest unlocked the door and let them inside. Most of the villagers and the refugees never bothered to lock their doors. Tempest had begun doing so after half a dozen rowdy cubs had gotten into his rooms and tried their hands at redecorating the place using crayons, paper, glue, paint and dried flowers. It had taken a month of scrubbing to put it to rights again.
"Is he still putting it to Beth?"
The priest indicated that Kynyr should set on the sofa and went to the cabinet for glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Yes. I've tried talking to Beth, but she refuses to listen to me."
"Is that why you wanted me to wait?"
Tempest put the bottle and glasses on the low table before the sofa and settled into a chair. Yes. Now she's avoiding me. Beth didn't come to services this week."
"Sorry to hear that. Kynyr knocked down the whiskey, turned the bottle around to look at the label, and a quick smile passed across his lips: it was the bottle he had left in the offering basket at services three days ago. Some left money, others food, a few left drink; people offered what they had to spare. Claw's given me until the end of the week, Tempest. If you can't talk sense to him, then I'll warn him off."
"I'd rather not have violence on the Sanctuary grounds."
Kynyr shrugged and poured himself another drink. That's up to him. Finn and I are going to Hell's Widow day after tomorrow. Is there anything you'd like?"
"Rum?"
"It's hard to come by with the Rebellion stifling trade, but I'll see what I can find."
"Be careful around Malthus. He's kandoyarin."
Kynyr gave another shrug. So he says. I think he's just being kizmeigo . Kynyr's lips twisted into a sneer around the Creeyan insult for a braggart who always had to go folks one better.
Tempest shook his head, sipping his whiskey. He isn't. I've seen him practicing. He's teaching some of the young wolves who work here."
The guardsmon's eyebrow lifted. When did this start?"
"The day after he replaced his sword. He's good, Kynyr. He's fast."
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