Frank-SQuest

by Serpent's Quest [lit]

  Heironim stroked Cullen's chest, his Reader's gift roving the wolf's organs and insides. A fine angle. But perhaps a bit more?"

  Two more rolls were shoved behind Cullen and the pressure on his spine became intense. He groaned.

  The door opened and one of the myn ushered in Ellie and Madam Silkie. Ellie went pale when she saw what they had done to Cullen, and a strangled sob escaped her and she muttered under her breath. Forgive me. Forgive me. I had to do it."

  Silkie remained hard eyed, her sour mouth set in a tight line. Shut up, Ellie."

  "Good advice. Heironim indicated the table and chairs. Sit. Enjoy the whiskey. You'll need it."

  Silkie bustled over to the table and took the chair that directly faced Cullen. What are we here for?"

  "To learn. He walked to the work table and stood testing the edge and balance of each blade. We caught another courier. He's been very responsive to persuasion. Cullen's of no use to us."

  Cullen tensed, forming a silent prayer that his death would be quick.

  Heironim carried a blade from the table and placed his fingers on Cullen's taut abdomen, searching with his arcane senses for the best spot to insert it.

  Cullen's blood seemed to chill in his veins. Belly wound . The bastard was going to make it as slow and excruciating as possible. Just do it ... filthy gutterscrew."

  "I am. Casual calculation added distance to Heironim's eyes. There."

  He popped the blade into Cullen's belly with a flick of his wrist, working it in all the way to the quillions with small twists.

  Cullen jerked and gasped.

  Silkie flinched as a long, ululating howl of anguish broke from Cullen. Her lips tightened, but she gave no other sign that what she saw bothered her.

  Ellie shoved her knuckles into her mouth to keep from screaming with him.

  "It can take as long as four or five days for a lycan to die of a wound like this, Heironim explained in a detached voice. He Read the wound, adjusted the angle of the blade, bringing another scream from Cullen, and left it inside him. You'll be our guests until then."

  Cullen sagged forward as much as the spikes would allow, breathing hard, making animal noises in his throat. An inadvertant glance grazed the mirrors and he saw the silvery hilt glinting against his flesh. Dying like this ... seemed an ironic travesty. He had always expected to get it on a street corner, or in a dark alley, or in the forest making his ride; maybe an arrow or a blade in the back.

  Silkie poured whiskey for herself and Ellie. She put Ellie's hands on the glass. Drink it, Ellie."

  Heironim sauntered to the table. While you watch him die, think on this. You could be next."

  He gestured. The blades and the table they sat on were removed, and they locked Ellie and Silkie in with Cullen.

  Ellie went to him and knelt. Forgive me, Cullen. Please forgive me. I didn't know they'd ... do this. She gestured helplessly at his broken body.

  He started to say never and swallowed it back. Squeamish bitch."

  "I'm sorry."

  Cullen did not answer for a long time, struggling to ride the pain and get past it. Silkie put a glass of whiskey to his lips and he drank it. You're in ... too deep ... both a ya ... like the ... blade in my gut."

  "I'm afraid of them. Ellie's voice trembled.

  Silkie wiped the driblets from his chin with a corner of her sleeve.

  Cullen's eye focused on Ellie, grateful that she blocked the mirrors. I'd've ... gotten ya out, Ellie ... if ya'd told me ... if ya'd bloody told me."

  "No one helps a whore. Ellie's voice held a tone of angry bitterness.

  "I did ... have. Cullen tensed with a groan as a hard wave of pain swept him.

  "You always were an odd wolf, Cullen Blackwood. One of a kind. Silkie stroked Cullen's face, a sad edge in her voice. If I'd only known..."

  Ellie reached for the hilt of the blade in Cullen's body and Silkie grabbed her. Don't touch it."

  Cullen roused at the sound of Silkie's voice. Listen to her, Ellie."

  She glanced from face to face. Why?"

  Cullen struggled to speak, having to pause every few words, fighting the pain, fighting for breath. Trapped."

  Silkie nodded, shifting her grip of Ellie from her arms to her shoulders. They wouldn't leave a blade where we could reach it, unless it were trapped or cursed in some way."

  "But..."

  "It's how ... they ... do things. Cullen shuddered, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a grimace.

  "Cullen..."

  "No ... what would ... ya do ... wi it? Fight? Don't be a ... stupid fool of a bitch."

  "He's right, Ellie. There's too many of them. They'd rite us both for trying."

  Ellie pulled away from Silkie, ran across the room, and huddled in a corner of the mattress.

  "Gahds ... I wish ya ... dint have ta watch me ... die ... Silkie. Cullen writhed in a fresh wave of pain. Keep her alive, Silkie. Yar a ... tough old bitch. She ain't."

  "I'll try."

  "Oh, gods ... Larkspur ... II never loved a bitch ... like I ... loved that horse. He fell silent for a moment, pain grinding through him, his head wobbling on his neck like the stem of a broken flower. Pity that."

  "Where is she?"

  "Amos Raggat."

  "The old fool is probably dithering over what to do with her by now."

  "Yah. Horse don't deserve ... ta suffer for ... mah sins. Cullen's brogue deepened with his anguish. He breathed in gasps and pants, sweat breaking out across his brow.

  "I'll fetch her."

  "Ya must know ... all tha lycans in ... town."

  Silkie shrugged. The dogs. Only time the bitches speak to me is when they drag their menfolk out of the Crimson Lady."

  "Pity that."

  Silkie tilted her head to the side, her face filling with sorrow, cracks appearing in her tough façade. You remember... She swallowed, took a deep breath. Cooley? My lycan son?"

  Cullen's head listed to the side, his eyelids drooping. I ... taught him ... ta ride. Was gonna teach him ... ta fight. Good cub..."

  "He ought to be. Silkie took another deep breath. You fathered him ... on me."

  A fit of coughing took hold of Cullen. Blood ran from the corners of his mouth. Silkie used the sleeve of her dress to wipe the blood away when the fit passed.

  "Why'n't ... you say?"

  "Didn't want to burden you. Tears started in Silkie's eyes. You weren't the marrying kind."

  "Nah, gurl. Dawn't let'em ... see ya cry. Cullen coughed up more blood. They wanna see ya ... cry."

  Silkie wiped her eyes and mastered herself. I know it."

  "Thas muh gud bitch. It grew harder for Cullen to keep talking. Use them ... whore's arts a yers ... stay alive."

  "Whatever it takes ... I promise."

  * * * *

  Food, water, and more whiskey arrived twice each day. Silkie ate everything on her plate with an iron determination to survive; while Ellie could barely eat and most of it came back up when she did manage to swallow it. By the third day, Cullen had begun to slide in and out of fevered delirium. Silkie ripped the bottom of her dress off, moistened it from the ewer of water Heironim had left them, and took turns with Ellie, wiping Cullen's face in a vain effort to give him some small relief.

  Silence reigned for a long time and then Cullen spoke in a rasping whisper. Bassids ... tokmahbrings."

  Ellie bent close to him in an effort to hear. As the days and hours passed, Cullen's speech had become more and more slurred; harder to understand without great efforteffort from Cullen to shape the words and effort from them to discern them. Silkie? What's he saying?"

  Silkie knelt beside Cullen and cupped his chin, lifting his head. Say it again. Slow."

  "Bastards ... tak muh ... rings."

  Ellie swallowed. I took your rings ... I was going to sell them ... money to escape on."

  "Smart bitch."

  Cullen tried to remember which of the wolves he trusted frequented the Crimson Lady, but in his failing condi
tion only one name would come to him. Kynyr MahMahguire. Get tha ring ta Kynyr."

  "Which one?"

  "Snaake ring."

  The door opened and a tall mon in a serpent mask entered with Heironim beside him and four more myn along. The work table was returned to the room and the blades arrayed for the Serpent's selection. He studied the blades and picked one. Doing Cullen pleases me, Heironim. Doing Kynyr will please me far more. He's a thorn in my side."

  Cullen stirred, his eyes glazed with suffering. A rush of anger cleared some of the slurring from his voice. Kynyr'll gut ya."

  Silkie moved close to the Serpent, her lips twisting into a sensual smile. Can I fondle your hard bit while you stick him?"

  All eyes fixed upon the Madam. The Serpent broke the tableau. You know about that ... little ... predilection?"

  "Most of my family are sa'necari."

  The Serpent chuckled and pushed her hand inside his pants. Enjoy yourself."

  Cullen snarled. Do it, damn ya."

  "Patience. The serpent grasped Cullen's shoulder and placed the tip just beneath the courier's sternum. I like the way you have his chest presented, Heironim. I wish I'd thought of this trick."

  "I have drawn up some designs that will be even better. Remind me to show you the workshop."

  Although more than half dead, Cullen anticipated the blade in his chest with a mix of dread and relief. Gah ahn ... do it ... pissing piece a shit."

  The Serpent smiled behind his mask. He's so eager. Tell me, Silkie. Are you still fertile?"

  "Yes."

  "Contraceptives? The Serpent pushed the tip of the blade into Cullen.

  "No. Silkie glanced at the blade entering Cullen's chest, and clamped down hard upon her reactions to hide her feelings.

  "I'm going to swell your belly. The Serpent jabbed the blade deeper, angling it up into the left side of Cullen's chest.

  Cullen groaned and Silkie nearly lost it. When?"

  "As soon as he's dead. Malthus pulled and jabbed several times in quick succession.

  Cullen made an odd hiccoughing sound, his chest jerking. His mouth went slack, his eyes staring and he sagged. The breath rattled from his lungs.

  Silkie withdrew her hand from Malthus pants, and took Cullen's dead face in her hands. She kissed his forehead, cheeks and lips in the farewell to the dead. You were a good wolf."

  Ellie mastered herself and did the same.

  Silkie pulled her skirts up and laid down on the floor. Stick me with a friendly weapon, Master Serpent."

  Malthus did so.

  * * * *

  Four lycan corpses hung from the wooden frames, their heads tied back, throats slit to allow their blood to drain into basins: Cullen and three who had dared to venture into the wrong neighborhood at night. Myn worked on the corpses with skinning knives. The Black Market in lycan hides had grown lucrative of late.

  As soon as the skin had been removed from the corpse, and placed in a vat of tanning solution, they opened Cullen up and removed his organs. Heart, liver, and kidneys were considered a delicacy and would be cured and salted. The entrails would be cleaned and used as sausage casings. However, the most expensive part was the testicles as there was currently a vogue among the bio-alchemists to use lycan testes as the primary ingredient in a purported cure for sa'necari infertility. The catch was that they could not come from a rited corpse and the Readers would know the difference.

  * * * *

  Silkie lay on her bed at the Crimson Lady with the curtains closed. Her breathing was hard. She felt weak and dizzy. She fought down an urge to touch the place on her neck where Heironim had given her a final lesson in obedience. He didn't need to have. She did not know who she feared more: The Sharani or the sa'necari. If either of them learned her true namethey would kill her.

  "Long ago and faraway. She murmured. When she had been young and beautiful, Silkie had had a powerful mage who loved her. He had given her a clever gift, embedding a crystal in her body where it would not be noticed. Her mind would always be her own. If anyone tried to put coercions, sways, and triggers in her, they would appear to be there but exist only as surface shadows. Over the years many sa'necari and others had tried to take her and failed.

  When her looks began to fade, she came to Hell's widow and established the Crimson Lady, rightly knowing both lycan tastes in whores and that brothels were illegal in Red Wolf.

  Despite all his flaws, Silkie had loved Cullen more than anyone else she had ever known. Which was why when she found herself pregnant by him, she had chosen not to abort the child. I'll get them, Cullen. I'll get them."

  Silkie folded her arms across her stomach, hating what she knew grew inside her. According to the midwife that Silkie had sent for the first day after they let her go, the Serpent had filled her belly the same day he killed Cullen. The legends about his potency were true. Heironim had told her that if she aborted it, he would kill her and give the brothel to Ellie.

  For the first time in her life, Silkie considered deserting her girls when they were all in danger. If she could escape before she had gone very far into the pregnancy the child could be aborted. She shuddered every time she thought about the abomination in her womb.

  So Silkie began to consider her options and plot.

  CHAPTER TEN

  STALKING

  Well, I offered to work for my bread, Malthus thought, wiping his sweating forehead on his sleeve. The lycans had put him to chopping wood that morning as his contribution to the upkeep of the sanctuary. He had been at it for hours, but now had the woodbins filled. This was the last of it. He laid the ax aside and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto a bush. The cool spring breeze sighed over his well-proportioned chest and arms, chilling the moisture clinging to his limbs.

  He had not yet deepened the compulsions he had set in the five adult sa'necari enough to turn them into a harem, but was considering italthough he had stolen a night here and there with Kandaishee. However, he did not dare to risk acquiring the very reputation he had so carefully cultivated for Beth.

  The sa'necari helped with the children, the building, and other chores necessary to keep the sanctuary going. There was always at least one watchful lycan with them, and more often several. The lycans provided the sanctuary with nibari for the sa'necari adults and children to feed upon and all such meals were carefully supervised. Malthus deception denied him access to the nibari, but he had always liked the taste of lycan best.

  Lord Daemon's contacts had provided him with more preserving bottles of blood, but it was not the samethere was no taste of fear along with the bloodso he contented himself with Beth and fed Ros from the bottles. Even the best trained and most trusting of nibari held some small measure of fear before a master's fangs entered her. A rite would be better. That would completely satiate him for a time.

  "I thought you might be hungry, Merissa said, walking up to him with a basket of bread and cheese, a bottle of wine sticking out of the top, a folded blanket draped her arm. We can let the children play together. Darmyk kept asking about Ros. He likes her."

  The toddler rode his half-grown kitten beside Merissa. Ros and Lyrri rushed up when they saw them and the playing began as they each got the kitten to chase one and then the other in a game of cat tag. Ros and Darmyk grabbed Kenly and fell into a little heap for a moment when he shook them both off. A shiver of concern ran up Malthus back when he saw the hungry glitter in Ros eyes as she gave Darmyk's back several strokes. Ros was surprisingly strong for her years, and he wondered how long his coercions would be able to prevent her from sinking her fangs into Darmyk. Blood hunger was a nearly irresistible force, especially in the young. If they lycans knew she was this advanced they would spellcord her.

  Malthus took the blanket from Merissa, spread it on the ground, and indicated she should sit first. Her visits had increased from once a week to nearly every day. He no longer had to go looking for her. Her beauty made heat rise in his body, and his throat tighten with longing for a tast
e from her veins. Malthus imagined the exquisite pleasure of entering her just behind her delicate ear and opening her legs to his rod of possession. She would be afraid. Done right, there was always fear before passion. He could see how his brother would have wanted her: he wanted her.

  Merissa sat and began taking food and drink from her basket, fruit juice for the children and wine for herself and Malthus. He settled close to her where, at the proper moment, his hand could steal across hers.

  "Your son is a pretty child, Merissa, Malthus told her, watching the children playing. He was very careful with them, concealing their precocities. Ros had been born with her fangs, which was a very rare thing. It was only a matter of time before she tried to feed on Darmyk, since she was already obsessing on him.

  "No more so than your nieces, Merissa replied. She opened the wine and poured them each a glass.

  Malthus accepted his with a languid smile and began to sip it. Merissa's wine was always of a better quality than what the sanctuary provided, or what he could buy in the shops. You are a pleasant surprise, as ever, Merissa. Your presence makes my losses bearable."

  Merissa hesitated. I'm sorry for your losses. I'm glad our friendship , eases it. She chewed her lower lip, and then burst out, I hate wars. They took my lover away from me."

  "Perhaps they did. Perhaps they did not. You did say that he didn't love you."

  She tensed, her hand choking the glass in her hands. In his eyes, we were friends only. In mine?"

  "I am sorry. Malthus hand stole over hers and she pulled away from him.

  Calling the children to her, Merissa made them sandwiches. Don't feed your food to Kenly. I know he'll beg, but he's had his breakfast."

  A chorus of awww greeted her admonition, but when her expression showed no sign of changing, they obeyed her.

  Malthus took another swallow of his wine, wishing it had been spiked with blood. Beth did not satisfy him at all. She had stopped keeping herself as clean as she had before she became the village slut. He had to constantly repair her mind. It was fraying around the edges, and people had begun to remark on the changes in her. At least he no longer had to worry about the nosy priest.