"Feed on me, Ros. Heal yourself. A vampire got you, but I chased him away."
Ros snuggled in his arms, and Malthus held her tight against his chest as her small fangs entered his bicep. He allowed her to feed until he felt certain that she had recovered, and then he sent her back to sleep with an admonition not to mention the vampire.
He fetched a bottle of blood and had a long drink before going outside to think. Malthus sat down on a patch of grass, staring up at the brilliant stars. No one touches my nieces, Sergei. No one."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WAYWARD DECISIONS
Kynyr straightened his brown and claret tunic before knocking on the door to Claw's study.
Sunlight flooded the east side of the deep box of a room, creating an aureole around the chair at the desk where Claw sat. The heavy claret drapes had been tied back and the thin, bleached linen under curtains did little to diffuse the light from the windows. A carved wolf's head topped Claw's tall chair, lending it a throne-like quality. Kynyr always thought that Claw looked most like a kingwhich he technically wassitting in that chair.
"You sent for me?"
Claw gestured at one of the three chairs in front of his desk. Sit down, Kynyr. I've decided upon some changes."
Kynyr settled into the closest chair and sat straight. Concerning me?"
"Among others. I want a unit of eight moved into the main living area ... and one officer."
"How do I fit into that?"
"I'm promoting you."
Kynyr sucked in a startled breath. Belgair..."
Claw gave Kynyr a stern, searching look. Are you afraid of Belgair?"
"No, sir. Kynyr retreated into formality. I'm not afraid of anyone."
Claw cleared his throat.
"Except yourself, of course."
The chieftain chuckled at Kynyr's correction, took a bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses from a drawer in his desk, and gestured at Kynyr with the bottle. Kynyr answered with a nod and Claw poured for both of them.
Kynyr began to relax, sipping the whiskey. What is it exactly that you wanted?"
"I want nine wolves keeping watch on my womenfolk. Bad times are coming."
"Agreed. So, Fianait, Searlait, and Aisha..."
"And Merissa. I don't trust that mon she's been seeing in the gardens."
"Malthus?"
"Aye. That one. I fill the place up with good looking young wolves ... and who does she chase? A scruffy, grimy human."
"Claw, he's neat, tidy, and clean..."
"You know what I meant. Claw snarled and hair sprouted along his arms.
"Claw, if you're expecting me to compete with this Malthus person for Merissa, I can't do it."
"Why not? Claw's expression turned ugly, and an edge of bitterness crept into his voice. I thought it didn't bother you that she'd played the slut for two sa'necari."
Kynyr shifted uneasily in his seat. Every time Claw used a nasty turn of phrase in describing Merissa, he found himself questioning whether Claw's savage disapprobation reflected the chieftain's personal opinion, or if Claw was using it to test Kynyr's feelings. After over three years, the vicious gossip concerning Merissa's liaison with Isranon had slowed in only the slightest degree. Your daughter was never a slut, Claw. She loved him."
"Don't defend her. Fifty years ago, they would have stoned her to death for it. Regardless of whose daughter she was."
Kynyr lowered his head, unable to answer that. I'm fond of Merissa."
"You'd make a fine chieftain when I'm gone."
"I don't wish to be chieftain. Kynyr shifted uneasily.
"Why not? Damnit, Kynyr, just what is the problem? You've been waltzing around it for two years."
"My family would never approve."
"My daughter's reputation..."
"Isn't the problem. It's a private family matter. I'm not at liberty to discuss it."
"Who is?"
Kynyr exhaled heavily and clasped his hands together. You'd have to ask my grandmother."
"And she is?"
"Cahira Sinclair."
"Sounds familiar. I knew a Cahira once. Now that I think on it. Claw scratched his stubbly chin. She was a Maguire."
"There are dozens of Cahira's in my family. I doubt they're the same."
"Wispy little blonde thing with the temper of a stung badger?"
Kynyr lowered his head with a chuckle. Yes, sir. That's my Gram in a nutshell. But that description could match six or seven of them."
Claw scowled and refilled their glasses. If she's a Sinclair, how're you a Maguire?"
For once Claw refused to let Kynyr side-step the question. Four years ago, Cahira had schooled him in his responses when he told her he intended to join Claw's guardsmyn. Confronted with the question, Kynyr could not remember all of the permutations of Cahira's replies. He floundered. I believe I told you about my father?"
"You've told me almost nothing about your family."
"Finn and I have told you numerous things about the Dreaded Horde..."
"Your sisters. What about your father?"
Kynyr felt increasingly trapped by the directness of Claw's questioning and tried to remember what he might have told the chieftain in the past. The more elaborate the lie, the harder it was to sustain it. My father ... Branduff Maguire ... was a bastard."
"Was?"
"Is. He's alive and well."
"Who sired him?"
There it was. Staring him in the face and if he answered wrong Cahira would never forgive him. Kynyr sucked in a breath and lied. Todd Sinclair."
"Wrong answer. You don't look like a Sinclair."
Kynyr ran his hands through his hair. I don't ... Cahira doesn't... He paused, swallowing. She's a healer. She followed the soldiers."
Claw's expression hardened. My sons were not identical. Tarrant was blonde. Logan's hair was auburn. Was one of the soldiers she slept with my son?"
"No, sir. She never met him. You can have me Read if you wish. I'm not a Redhand. You aren't the first ... and you probably won't be the last ... to see a resemblance between myself and your son. But I've been Read by experts, and I assure you, Claw. I'm not related to you. That's not Cahira's issue with your family."
"Then what is?"
"I don't know. I'm sorry, but I don't know."
"Pick your unit. Claw looked suddenly tired and worn as he finished his whiskey. Kissie will show you to your rooms this evening."
"Thank you. Am I dismissed?"
"Yeah. Get out of here."
* * * *
Kynyr felt that his world had diminished and faded around him. He knew the feeling would pass, yet he could not wrest his thoughts away from it. People always assumed that female healers who traveled with the camps were sluts. Some of them were and some of them were not. Kynyr had not wanted to smear his grandmother's reputation that way, even though he knew that she had done so herself when she fled Wolffgard to protect the child she carried, Kynyr's father, Branduff. He loved Cahira, and hated having to say anything that might hurt her reputation in the eyes of others.
However, she had forbidden him, and the rest of his family, from telling anyone the name of his grandfather except under direst circumstances. So he had had to do one hurtful thing to avoid doing another even worse.
Anger rose in Kynyr, displacing his initial distress, and he realized that if he lingered in the manor that day he would soon be snapping at whatever unwitting targets presented themselves. So instead, he saddled his horse and rode into the village, looking for a place to spend his coins of anger in a more socially acceptable manner.
When he finally freed himself from his brooding, Kynyr discovered that he had ridden all the way to the Sanctuary Refugee Camp without thinking. The sounds of laughter and shouts of encouragement drew him deep into the camp.
The center was empty. No one was working. The sounds grew louder and he turned toward them, wondering what had attracted the entire camp from their daily labors. Kynyr rode north, past the corral
s and barns, and that was when he saw them. The females and their children had formed a large half-circle on a cleared space the depth and breadth of the Great Hall of the manor. A few trees dotted the cleared area, but all the rocks, boulders, and brush had been removed from the center, leaving a half-moon of trees, vines, and bushes on the far side. The opened a path for him as he nudged his battle-trained destrier through. The males, all lycan except for Malthus, had formed the inner circle sitting on tree rounds and an oak log. A long trestle table stood off to the side near the remaining woods, covered in various kinds of practice weapons made of weighted wood and ranging in kind from knives and swords to axes and quarterstaves.
Kynyr dismounted and dropped his reins. Bucky had been trained not to wander when the reins trailed the ground.
"Hey! It's the pretty boy. Torquil wiped his sweating brow on a towel and dropped it in the hands of a female who then sniffed the towel and smiled at Torquil appreciatively.
Kynyr nodded. Torquil took that as an invitation to approach him, although it had actually just been acknowledging that there were bitches among the women. A lot of lycan customs were built around the act of sniffing.
"Come to try your hand, guardsmon?"
Malthus straightened to see past those gathered and a sly smile crossed his lips. Go a round with me? I'll show you how a kandoyarin fights."
Kynyr considered for an instant before answering, remembering the words of Todd Sinclair that hot anger gets you killed and cold anger gets them killed. Why not?"
He unbuckled his sword belt and secured his blades to his saddle. Then he walked over to the table and tested the practice weapons they had sitting there.
Kynyr glanced at the others as he found a longsword that felt right in his hands. None of the wolves wore padding. Most were stripped to the waist and many sported bruises. Out of deference to Malthus, they appeared to have been taking him and each other on in human form, rather than resorting to the unfair advantage of assuming their hybrid forms. To be fair, Kynyr set the practice blades aside and removed his leather armor, tunic, and shirt. An azure crystal, banded in gold and silver with tiny runes inscribed upon the band, hung from a golden chain around his neck.
An appreciative rumble came from the assembled females at Kynyr's tight abs, broad chest, and heavy muscles. A light thatch of golden hair covered the backs of his arms, spread across his belly and peaked on his lower chest just between his breasts.
Malthus strode up to him, his dark skin as smooth and hairless as a woman's, his silken black hair hanging in a braid down his back, andKynyr noted with surprisenot a mark, scar, or blemish on him. Holding his knife at guard, Malthus sword weaved a sinuous pattern as he approached Kynyr. Well, Kynyr Maguire, shall we see what you can do?"
* * * *
Finn sat in the Great Hall, watching Merissa's mother and aunts at their looms. His habit of saying yes to Kynyr had left Finn stuck with the work when his friend took off a couple of hours ago. Kynyr always led and Finn always followedoften into adventures that brought the Dreaded Horde down on them for what had seemed, at the time, to be the harmless bending of such rules as no fishing on Willodays or stay out of the beer, you're not old enough to drink. They had been nearly inseparableexcept for those times when Kynyr wanted to be alone. That was usually when something was bothering Kynyr and, as youngsters, Finn had once managed to track Kynyr down to his secret brooding spot on a sheltered ledge above the Bonnie Draw River. Finn had never told Kynyr or the Dreaded Horde that he had found Kynyr's bolt hole. He remembered the pensive look in Kynyr's eyes as his friend would head for the river to think. Which led to Finn's realizing just what he had seen in Kynyr's expression when Maguire left a little bit ago: trouble.
"Excuse me, Master Finn... Kissie came in, drying her hands on her apron, an apprehensive expression on her face.
A scruffy cub, with hair an indeterminate shade of reddish blonde, followed her. The boy threw himself at Finn, grabbing his arm and trying to pull the guardsmon from his chair. Kynyr's in trouble."
Aisha glanced at Finn and then the boy. What kind of trouble, Rory?"
Finn blinked; it had taken a second to recognize Rory Scott under all the mud and grime the cub had managed to smear across his face.
"They're gonna kill him."
Aisha sucked in a sharp breath. Go on, Finn. Get the others and go."
Finn nodded. Rory, I'll meet you out front."
Finn ran upstairs and shouted for his friends in the new unit. Ramsey and Eideard appeared first, followed by Morcar and the other four.
They found Rory out in the yard, sitting on Bucky. Finn shook his head. There were times when that horse did not seem natural. Up until then Finn would have said the only ones who could ride Bucky were Kynyr and Todd.
As they saddled their horses, Finn quizzed Rory Scott about what had happened.
"They're gonna kill Kynyr iffen he beats Malthus."
"Who?"
"Dunno. I was trying to sneak in close to watch it. I heard em an it scared me. I backed away an tried to run ... fell on my face. Rory rubbed at the mud on his cheeks and splashed across his nose. Then this here horse..."
"Bucky."
"Yeah, Bucky ... he made me get on his back."
Ramsey frowned and came up behind them leading his bay mare.
"Yeah. Rory pulled at the back of his shirt, blushing beneath the mask of mud. Had me by the collar."
"How'd this start?"
"Them camp wolves was practicin an I like to watch. Kynyr comes up an Malthus asks him to give it a try against him."
"I got it."
They mounted and set off at a gallop.
* * * *
Kynyr and Malthus had been going at it for close to half an hour with neither gaining an advantage. Duels, even with practice swords, rarely lasted this long, except among masters.
They were both breathing hard and drenched with sweat.
"Shall we call it a draw?"
Malthus snarled and lunged at Kynyr with an upsweep strike at the lycan's head. No."
Kynyr leaped to the side, his sword snapping into an upright block. He sprang forward with a feint to Malthus stomach and kicked him in the side of the knee hard.
Malthus leg gave. He swung about on Kynyr as he dropped to one knee. Kynyr circled left. Malthus managed a furious attack, the blades clanging together, as he tried to stop Kynyr from getting behind him before he could get to his feet again. Kynyr engaged Malthus blade and trapped the edge on his crossguard, forcing Malthus arms up. A swift kick below Malthus sternum sent the kandoyarin sprawling. Kynyr brought his blade to rest against Malthus chest over his heart.
Kynyr snarled at Malthus, his lips drawn back from his teeth. If this were real, you'd be dead."
Rocks showered Kynyr. He flinched and stepped back. All of the females and children were throwing rocks. The males stood laughing and pointing at him.
Malthus rolled away from him with a chuckle. If rocks were blades ... you'd be too."
Kynyr spun about shouting. Stop it."
He threw down the wooden practice blade and sheltered his face. A rock caught him on the cheek, leaving a long cut. Rocks came from all sides, striking him in the head, chest, back, and stomach. He staggered in the direction that he had left Bucky and saw that his horse was gone. Hell's goat-sucking ... Stop!"
Malthus walked across the clearing as if nothing were happening.
"Malthus! Tell them to stop."
Searing pain in his back and chest sent Kynyr to his knees. A warm rush of blood poured down his chest and back. The point of a blade jutted from his chest. Only a lycan in hybrid form would have thrown it that hard. From the burn, it was clear that the blade contained silver.
Another shower of rocks struck Kynyr. Bones broke with a loud crack. Kynyr crumpled, curling on his side. His fingers crawled up his chest to the crystal and he grasped it tightly. Cahira! Cahira, help me!"
Kynyr dragged himself toward the bushes.
"Sti
ck him again, Thorn!"
"I don't need to... A soft voice drawled with a northern lycan accent. It's in his lungs.
"I want to watch him die. Please..."
"Alright."
Kynyr felt the weight of someone on his back force him to the ground and stopped his struggles to reach the questionable safety of the bushes. The hail of rocks stopped. A strong hand grabbed the back of his hair and ground his face into the grass.
The point of a silver blade pricked a long line from his shoulder to his waist.
"Where would you like to put it in? Kidney, heart, spleen? Base of his skull?"
"Kidneys. A soft hand poked Kynyr in the lower side.
"Get your hand out of the way. Or would you like to do it yourself?"
"Sure."
Kynyr shuddered as the blade pricked his side. It would be inside him in another moment and everything would all be over. A long groan escaped him, followed by an ululating howl the lycans called a death scream.
Shouts and the jingle of armor came from the far side of the clearing.
Suddenly the weight left his back.
"Finn. Kynyr gasped out the name as darkness swept through him and he stilled in the grass.
"Disperse! Disperse! Finn and his companions rode into the crowd, using their horses and the flat of their blades to drive the assembled myn in all directions. Bucky trotted across the clearing and nudged Kynyr, getting no response.
Malthus gestured at the crowd and they ran for the houses.
Finn glanced about for Rory, but the boy appeared to have simply vanished. He dismounted and knelt beside Kynyr. His companions closed ranks around them.
Bruises and bleeding lacerations covered Kynyr from his forehead to his waist. Several places on the back and sides of his head were slick with bloodhis blond hair was soppy with it. Finn's eyes trailed down to the hilt of the blade in Kynyr's back and his stomach clenched. From the color of the metal, there had to be silver in it. Silver only hurt if a lycan got it in a wound or touched it to an open sore; and there was often hell to pay over it.
"Damnit, Kynyr! Damnit!"
Finn lifted Kynyr onto his lap, cradling him. He looked up as Ramsey's fingers touched Kynyr's neck.
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