Riain held his breath.
When Atramentous knew he had Riain’s undivided attention, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Raphian is male, and as such, His favor always has been and always will be given to the male of the species. Though he trucks with females who come to ask His help, He does so begrudgingly. He gave the chieftain—as he had given many before and has given many since—unique abilities to circumvent the Calling of the womenfolk who conjure the chieftain and those of his kind from the Abyss."
"There are others like him?"
"Many are the NightWinds, young one. They are legion."
"NightWinds," Riain repeated, savoring the word. It conjured images of rampaging demons whirling about the moonless dark. He wasn’t sure he liked the image.
"A NightWind is a mystical being with powers no ordinary man can know. He is like an invincible sword, cutting a swath through the black hearts of those who would stand against him and those for whom he has feelings. He can protect his own better than any ten mortal men."
"But he is in alliance with Raphian," Riain protested.
"Not all the chieftain’s kinsmen swore such vows to the Beast. Over the centuries, some have sworn alliance to other powerful entities, like T’En Erse."
Riain frowned. "I have not heard of that One."
"Ah, but She is just as powerful as Raphian, and the abilities She confers to Her followers are far beyond the scope of mortal man!"
Riain looked up expectantly. "What are these abilities?"
The sorcerer’s voice went lower still. "The abilities to shapeshift and timejump, and in the doing, escape those hot on their trail."
Shapeshifting was something Riain already knew about. It was rumored there were Chalean warriors capable of such a feat. But timejumping was something altogether new to his world.
Atramentous smiled. "What would you say if I told you that you could journey from this world to the OtherWorld in the blink of an eye?"
Riain gasped. "The OtherWorld is but a myth! A troubadour’s tale to entertain on a winter’s night!"
"It is as real as this realm in which we exist." Atramentous leaned closer. "It is gained through the Sinisters. Know you of this place?"
Riain’s eyes grew wide. "I have heard talespinner’s stories of it, but it is legend, nothing more."
"It is as real as you or I. The OtherWorld lies just beyond the mists, and it is through the Sinisters that the Fifth Gateway lies to that land where no Sister of the Black Rose may venture."
"The Fifth Gateway? I have heard of the Four Gateways into the Abyss. The Four ways of Evil—Death, Pestilence, War, and Famine. Is this another way into that evil place?"
Atramentous shook his head. "The Fifth Gateway is into Elysium, my sweet prince, to the Land of Milk and Honey. To, Tir-Nan-Og, the Land of Forever Young where there is no death, no disease, no unhappiness, and no want. There lies the FayWorld, an exceptionally beautiful place where it is ever Springtime."
"It sounds too good to be true," Riain said suspiciously.
"And would you call the Abyss too evil to be true?" Atramentous countered. When Riain hesitated, the sorcerer laid a firm hand on the prince’s shoulder. "If one is real, why can not the other be equally real?"
The weight of the hand on his shoulder brought a sense of disquiet to Riain, and he wished the man would remove it. No sooner had the thought drifted through his mind than the sorcerer drew back his hand.
"Think on this," Atramentous said, his gaze fusing with Riain’s. "There is a land where Suzanna de Viennes can not follow you. It is a place where none of her kind may enter. Is this not a place you would like to gain?"
Riain nodded. "Aye, but—"
Atramentous swept his right arm outward. "Behold," he said, and as he did, an arc of brightness flooded the room.
Riain put up a hand to shield the intensity of the light, squinting, for the brightness hurt his eyes. He turned his head, unable to look.
"Behold!" the sorcerer repeated.
The intensity of the light dimmed to a level Riain could tolerate. He slowly lowered his hand and turned his head toward the light.
He gasped.
Before him was a vista of unparalleled beauty, an upside crescent window into a remarkable world that took away his breath and filled his senses with such delight, he could barely stand the sensations washing over him. There were trees so vivid a green they seemed to glisten in the twilight. The bubbling stream meandering toward him was flecked with silver, though no moon nor stars nor sun hung in the violet sky to cast reflection upon the tumbling waters. A sensuous scent of gardenias filled the misty air and put his soul at rest.
"Imagine living in this idyllic world with your Lady-love, Riain James Cree," Atramentous whispered. "Where no death nor illness nor old age will ever lay its ugly hand on either of you—and no Suzanna de Viennes to make your life a living hell!"
Riain shivered as the man’s breath spiraled through his ear and seemed to make its way into his brain. He gripped the sheets in his fists and kept his vision locked on the fantastical world before him.
"Imagine it, young one," Atramentous breathed.
Riain could well imagine it. He could hear the churning brook, hear the flutter of unseen birds sailing across the violet horizon, the crunch of a doe’s hoof on fallen pine needles. He could see the solidity of the rocks beside the stream, the texture of the bark on the trees. He could smell the gardenia mixed with a hint of honeysuckle and he felt refreshed.
But it was a world he would not want to dwell in alone, he thought. No matter how beautiful, there was loneliness just below the surface that concerned him.
"She would be with you," the sorcerer said. "Maeve or whomever you choose to take with you."
"Maeve," Riain whispered.
"Maeve, the fair. The Morrigan." The sorcerer swept his arm the opposite way and the splendid vista vanished.
"No!" Riain cried, feeling the loss to the depths of his being.
"It can all be yours. Just say the word."
The disappearance of the FayWorld was like putting water in front of a man dying of thirst, then snatching it away before he could take a sip. Riain wanted more of that lovely world and he wanted to be there with Maeve. But more than anything else, he wanted to be where Suzanna de Viennes could not lay hands to him.
"I will not give my soul into Raphian’s keeping. Not even to escape Suzanna."
"You do not have to, young one. You can become a NightWind without signing a blood pact with the demon."
"How?"
"By swearing allegiance to T’En Erse."
When Riain attempted to protest, the sorcerer held up a staying hand.
"Think on this—the Daughters of T’En Erse have need of a champion who will seek out their enemies and protect them, a strong sword hand to keep them safe from the priests and inquisitors who would harm them. You help them, they will help you."
"Help them how?" Riain asked, confused.
"Intercede on their behalf. Much as the hapless chieftain has been forced to help females allied with Raphian. If one such Daughter is imprisoned for her craft, you shall fly across space and time to save her from her unjust fate. If a Daughter is being maliciously maligned by another female, you shall take that female to task and punish her as you see fit. Do what you will to her enemies, but to the Daughter, you will be true."
"That’s all?" Riain asked in a skeptical voice. "I act as her champion and nothing more?"
"If she pleases you and you wish to bed her—"
"I want only Maeve."
"Then Maeve you shall have. She is, after all, Morrigan—a generations-past daughter of T’En Erse."
Riain blinked. "She said nothing to me of that."
"Why would she? To admit being one with the supernatural forces is to risk being condemned by the Tribunals. Would you have her imprisoned for being of the FayWorld?"
Riain looked at the coverlet. His eyes shifted back and forth, and he thought on the things Atrame
ntous had revealed.
"Without the help of the Daughters of T’En Erse, Riain Cree, you will forever be at the mercy of the de Viennes witch," the sorcerer reminded him. "But the goddess and her descendants would be sworn to aiding you as you aid them."
A cold shaft of hopelessness wove its way through Riain and he drew in a long, trembling breath. "What do I do?"
Atramentous held the vial of tenerse up to the light of the bedside candle, so a prism of ianthine light sparkled against the far wall. "This is the Way into the Light, young one. Partake of this special potion and all you have seen will one day be yours. You will become One with the NightWinds with their powers and their abilities, but without ever having to sign your soul over to Raphian."
Outside, the wind rose to a shriek, and the stone walls of the temple vibrated. Rain lashed so hard against the roof, it seemed the timbers would crack behind the weight.
"Hear how He rages?" Atramentous suggested. "He knows you are considering this and have found a way to escape His plans for you." The sorcerer extended the vial toward Riain. "Will you allow Him to win or will you block His efforts? How many more good people must die before you come to a decision, Prince Riain?"
At the reminder of the havoc his actions had already caused, Riain decided he had no other choice. With a trembling hand, he reached for the vial. When it was given into his keeping, he was alarmed at the coldness of the glass.
"Drink of the brew," Atramentous encouraged. "Drink and be One with the NightWinds of the goddess T’En Erse."
Not giving himself time to consider the consequences, Riain uncorked the vial and tipped it to his lips. The salty fluid flowed into his mouth, gagged him, but he swallowed convulsively until the single ounce of potion slithered down his gullet.
"Ah," Atramentous sighed, watching closely as Riain shuddered hard when the liquid spread through his system.
There was a knock at the door, then the knob rattled gently. "Riain?"
Riain recognized his mother’s voice and turned his head to the sound of the knob rattling more forcefully. His world felt cotton-encased and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as Atramentous got up from his chair and stared down at him.
"Will you let her in?" Riain managed to ask.
Atramentous smiled, but the emotion did not reach his eyes. "Not yet."
"Riain!" His mother’s voice held a note of panic. The door vibrated beneath the pounding of her fists.
Heat, rippling like waves from a bonfire, moved over Riain. He stared to sweat profusely. Intense pain doubled him on the bed and he grabbed his belly, groaning from the agony.
"How do you feel, young one?" Atramentous cooed.
"What did you do to me?" Riain’s belly was on fire, and the pain was worse than anything he had ever imagined.
* * *
Atramentous folded his arms over his chest and watched the Transition take place. He paid scant notice to the thunderous pounding as strong shoulders were applied to the panel. His attention was locked on the writhing, panting creature struggling to hold onto the last vestiges of humanity.
"As it has been from that first day," the sorcerer whispered, "and will ever be from now until the end of time, there will be those of your kin who will know intimately the taste of the Destroyer’s kiss. Just as your predecessor, Syntian Cree, knew the evil and suffers it to this very day."
The heavy oak portal splintered behind Atramentous. He turned reluctantly to ascertain how long he had before those on the other side breached the door.
"Riain!" Christine Cree’s terrified voice was like the shriek of a banshee.
"Not all of your kin will be so cursed, for not all are as foolish as you and Syntian," Atramentous said in an offhanded way. "But those who are will not be able to escape my vengeance."
The sorcerer began to change.
As the door crashed open and Chrystallusian warriors spilled into the room, the sorcerer turned in mid-transition to face the prince’s would-be rescuers.
"By the mercy of Alel!" one of the warriors shouted.
* * *
Christine saw what was standing over her son’s bed—and recognized it. She fell to her knees, knowing she had come too late to save her son. She barely felt the warriors plucking her from the floor and hurrying from the room. She barely heard the frenzied shouts of fear or the clash of swords as warriors strove to protect themselves and her from the evil that had overtaken her son. As she sat slumped against the wall, her wide eyes intent on the carnage inside the room, she began to sob uncontrollably.
"As Syntian Cree scorned my embrace, so has Riain Cree scorned another woman who loves him," the specter crowed as her corporal body began to fade. "Beast is one, beast is the other! In this place Raphian could not claim him for Suzanna de Viennes, but I go where the Destroyer may not. I have claimed him for Suzanna, but he is mine as well. He is Dearg Dul’s and I have marked him as my NightWind!"
One moment Uxumia Dul’s dead daughter, Dearg, was standing before them, and the next she was gone, her taunting laugh echoing through the walls.
Aidan Cree and Duncan Brell were the warriors to join the fray. Their strong sword hands were needed to bring the creature to its knees and help to restrain it in iron manacles around its wrists and ankles. Slipping on blood pooling on the thick Ionarian carpet, the Chalean king and his advisor struggled to avoid the snapping jaws and razor-sharp talons that had already disemboweled two Chrystallusians and mortally wounded another. The unearthly howls as the creature fought to get free of its shackles made the hair stand up on Christine’s neck.
"My son," she sobbed, staring into the scarlet eyes glaring back at her.
* * *
Mariah Shimota hunkered beside her friend and gathered Christine in her arms. She glanced at the bloodbeast, heard its barely recognizable voice as belonging to anything human, and shivered. She was thankful Miyoshi was far, far away from the evil that Riain Cree had become.
"Not far enough away! Here’s a present from Suzanna!"
Maniacal laughter sounded as something skidded across the floor and landed beside Mariah’s thigh.
The Chrystallusian Empress looked down and screamed. Gazing up at her was the severed head of her lovely third daughter.
* * *
"There is a man who can help him, but I hesitate to suggest it," the Emperor said. His voice was tired, infinitely sad as he silently mourned his child.
"Why?" Aidan asked.
"Because it is Atramentous Takei of whom he speaks," Kento Hyorndi answered for his Overlord. The High Priest of the Lotus Temple stood beside the Emperor’s chair and never took his eyes from that man’s pale face.
"The sorcerer who visited my son," Christine said in a hollow voice.
"That was the image of the sorcerer who visited your son, Your Grace," Kento corrected, "not the man, himself."
"Atramentous is a good man," the Emperor put in. "He was cast out of the Brotherhood because he could not countenance their evil."
"And you think he can help Riain?" Aidan queried.
He, too, was paler than normal, Christine thought. She knew, like the rest of them, the sight of the severed head of Riain’s betrothed would not leave him. Strong warrior that he was, the inability to rid himself of the memory concerned him, and Christine knew it. Death and dismemberment were a way of life to a soldier, and over the years, he’d witnessed both. But no death had disturbed him—any of them—as greatly as had this senseless act of cruelty.
"Can you suggest something else, Your Grace?" Kento returned.
Christine took her husband’s hand. She was weak from crying and ill from not being able to hold down any food or drink. Her hands trembled. "We must do all we can to help him. I can not bear seeing him as he is."
"Surely he will not stay as he is," Duncan said. He looked from one to another of those gathered. "Will he?"
Kento rolled one shoulder. "We have no way of knowing. I am not familiar with this curse placed on him."
&nb
sp; "Two women—two curses," Mariah Shimota said in a listless voice. "What has this child done to deserve such evil?"
Christine looked at her friend. She would not have blamed Mariah had the woman cursed Riain for the brutal murder of her daughter. But Mariah had not. She had seemingly accepted the tragedy and been seeking ways to help Riain. It had been her idea to send the boy to Atramentous Takei.
"He is a Cree," Kento replied and turned his gaze from his silent Emperor to the Chalean king. "Generations of your kind have been known for their infinite cruelty and savageness on the battlefield. Your enemies cannot long stand against the brutishness of your berserkers, Milord."
"You will not insult my guests," the Emperor said tonelessly.
"It wasn’t an insult, my friend," Aidan said. "It was a gentle reminder."
"A reminder of what?" Duncan asked.
"That we should go after the de Viennes bitch and destroy her and hers," Aidan replied. "That would rid us of one accursed woman and her insane obsession."
"She has Raphian on her side," Christine warned.
"And we have Alel on ours. Who do you think will win?"
"Take your son to Atramentous," the Empress insisted. "Perhaps he will find a way to rid you of both curses."
"And if he doesn’t?" Duncan asked.
"Then perhaps he can find a way to end our son’s life," Christine whispered.
Mariah gasped. "You don’t mean that!"
Christine looked her lifelong friend in the eye. "I would rather see him at peace than at the mercy of either that dead one or Suzanna de Viennes." She wiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks. "Or changed into the nightmare he is at this moment."
"Why has no one mentioned the McGregor boy?" the Emperor inquired. He looked up, his red-rimmed eyes haunted. "What has happened to him? Is he alive? Dead?" A single tear drifted down the man’s cheek. "He loved our Miyoshi, and she, him. What has become of him?"
"His father has gone to search for him, my love," Mariah answered.
"They’ll not find him," Christine said, her eyes steady on Mariah. "You know that, don’t you?"
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