Children of the Sun

by Linda Winstead Jones

  She is still capable of carrying our child. She is the one.

  Ciro knew that to be true, but anger filled him. First his father dies with his soul intact, and now this. His power grew every day, he had never imagined that he might possess such power, and still all did not go as he planned. If Ariana had not taken back so many souls, would he be strong enough to end them all? Would the demon have reached his full power if not for the witch’s interference?

  All is not lost.

  “Show me something which proves that to be true.”

  The room, Ciro’s fine bedchamber, melted away and he found himself standing by a stream. The image looked almost real, though on occasion the view shimmered as if to remind Ciro that he was not actually in this place. In the moonlight, three dead bodies were illuminated. Two lay by the stream, while another was caught in tangled vines that wrapped around his body and held him as steadfast as any chain.

  “Where is the hope in this?” Death was everywhere, and more was coming. Ciro was certainly not appalled by the death of his enemies, but he did not see the hope in three dead soldiers, either.

  The body which was caught in snarled vines twitched, and one of the men Ciro had thought dead sat up and took a deep breath. The bald man placed a hand on his chest, where blood had dried on his skin and his vest, and then he laughed. He laughed loud and long as he ripped the vines away. When one hand was free, he drew a knife and began to cut at the plants.

  “Why should this insignificant man’s survival take away my pain?” Ciro asked.

  The bald man did not hear or see him, Ciro knew that. The bald man did not know that he could be seen, either.

  Phelan will take your bride from the man who dared to join with her when she is rightfully yours. Phelan will capture the warrior who thinks he can kill you and take your place in Rayne’s bed. Phelan is one of us, and we are harder to kill than most yet know.

  That was true enough. Ciro had received more than one wound that would’ve been the death of him if not for the demon’s strength and magic.

  “I want the warrior to suffer.”

  He has, and he will.

  “I want to kill him myself, and I will take his soul.”

  If you are strong enough when you meet him, you will take it.

  Apparently the warrior had a white soul, and no matter how strong Ciro grew, the white eluded him.

  With a suddenness that startled him, Ciro found himself back in his chamber, with a few pots of oil burning to create light in the darkness of night. Knowing that the man who had violated his virgin bride would die did ease the sting, but the dissatisfaction of having his plans spoiled was not so easy to dismiss. He dressed quickly and left his bedchamber, hoping to find some solace in the offices of the emperor, where he now held court, issued commands, and took blood and souls from those who dared to speak against him.

  Yes, all in all, being emperor was pleasant enough.

  In the dead of night, Ciro found little comfort in this official room. It was cold and without blood, and his anger at knowing another man had touched Rayne did not entirely abate—justice promised or not.

  Only one thing would ease him, for a while. The drug Panwyr.

  Ciro opened the top drawer of his desk, where he kept a healthy supply of the drug both he and Diella needed. In a drug-induced state he would envision fucking Rayne and then killing her. He would envision tearing her lover into small pieces, and it would seem almost real. It would seem real enough until the two came to him and his plans for them became true.

  In his anger Ciro pulled too hard and the drawer flew out too far and too fast. The drawer came out of the desk entirely, swung to the side, left Ciro’s grip, and landed on the floor with a sharp crack.

  Ciro snatched the drawer from the floor, his eyes on the undamaged Panwyr, but his attention was averted when his fingers brushed against a thick sheaf of paper which was attached to the bottom of the drawer.

  Curious, he snatched the folded papers from the drawer’s underside. For a moment, at least, the Panwyr was forgotten. He unfolded the papers to reveal his father’s handwriting.

  I, Emperor Arik, name my illegitimate son Sian Sayre Chamblyn as my successor...

  There was more, but Ciro read that first line many times before he allowed his eyes to move down the page. Not only had his father named this bastard as emperor, he’d coldly dismissed his own son, his own Prince Ciro, as a monster.

  The papers could and would be destroyed, but first Ciro made note of the signatures at the bottom of the document. Chamblyn himself. The witch Ariana, who had also taken the name Chamblyn. There were other names... names he did not recognize. Names which did not matter.

  Ciro built afire in the stone fireplace, and as soon as it was blazing, he dropped the document on the flames. He watched it burn, pushing away the too-human sensation of the pain of betrayal. This was the brother his father had sought to shield by hiding his thoughts. A brother who might attempt to claim what Ciro had taken.

  Chamblyn would take nothing. Very soon, Ciro would have his bastard half brother brought to him. In pieces, if necessary.

  Chapter Ten

  The swamp was an oddly noisy place, considering no humans but the two of them dared to travel through it. Birds chirped and animals hidden from their sight screeched and growled. Fish splashed. On the far, marshy bank, a large reptilian creature left the water to catch the sun and watch the travelers. All the creatures kept their distance from the intruders and their horses. Lyr imagined it was possible no other human had ever passed this way. Their path took them across an unfriendly landscape, with stark trees more dead than alive rising from the stagnant water.

  The horses plodded through that shallow water on occasion, and when it was possible, they walked along a bank which was often too soft and slippery for the horses to safely tread upon. It was a treacherous path for any traveler, that was certain.

  Ciro’s men would not find them here, and if they did, Lyr would know long before the enemy soldiers were in sight. Sounds traveled a long way in this flat, echoing swamp, and his ears were alert. He would not sleep, and this path would take them to Ariana’s army quickly. He dismissed the horrors of past days and looked ahead. All that mattered was getting Rayne to safety and killing Ciro and the demon who lived within him. There had been a time when killing the enemy would’ve been first on his list of priorities, but no more. Until Rayne was safe, he could not face Ciro.

  Rayne would not be truly safe until Ciro was dead.

  “You haven’t spoken in two days,” Rayne said, her own voice not much more than a whisper.

  “We must be quiet so I can listen for what might lie ahead.”

  “Nothing lies ahead in this place,” she argued, and he could hear the shudder in her voice.

  “I have heard that there are those who live in the swamps of the Southern Province,” Lyr said, though it was not those few residents who caused him to be on alert.

  “Why would anyone live here when they could live elsewhere?” Rayne asked. “Why would they live in this swamp where creatures slither in the muddy water and the smell of decay is always present?”

  Lyr’s eyes cut to the left, and he allowed himself to see beyond the obvious for a moment, to see beyond his initial impressions of desolation. “You are the one who is connected to the earth, so you should see what I see. You should see more.”

  “I’m too frightened to see anything beyond what’s beneath my feet and on the opposite bank,” she said, and about that time another of the reptiles slipped into the water. “What do you see that makes this place worth inhabiting?”

  Glad to turn his thoughts to simpler matters, Lyr lifted one hand and pointed into a thick stand of trees, vines, flowers and bushes. “There. Do you see the growth?”

  Rayne turned her head and silently studied the area for a moment. “Those are unusual flowers, and very beautiful. I did not say there was no beauty here, but it is overwhelmed by... by...”

  “
See that tall plant with the thick stem?” Again, he pointed. “It looks very much like a cor shoot, and is most likely edible. The water is filled with fish, and I have spotted other edible plants along the bank as we’ve traveled. One who lived here would never have to toil at a farm, or worry about hunger, no matter what the season. The isolation, the sounds of the animals which live here, they might be comforting, I suppose, to those who have become accustomed to it. There is beauty in this place if you can see past the danger.”

  The stark trees, the still water, the long-legged birds, red and white, even the reptiles... they were picturesque in a new way. Maybe he saw some beauty here because the landscape was so different from what he had known. Then again, perhaps the starkness of the place spoke to him at this moment when he felt desolate through and through, as if every bit of life had been sucked from his soul.

  Segyn had betrayed him, and in answer Lyr had driven a blade through the helpless man’s heart. There was no honor in that, but neither would it have been wise to allow Segyn to live and come after Rayne again. The man he’d called friend for as long as he could remember had ruthlessly murdered two fellow Circle Warriors and attempted to kill Lyr as well.

  Lyr had had great responsibilities thrust upon him. He had been born to his position, but no task he’d ever taken on was as important as the one he now embraced. Rayne, Ciro, the crystal dagger, those were all in his hands, but when he allowed his mind to go back to that afternoon by the stream, they all faded into nothingness and he felt only pain.

  Burned.

  “I’ll admit, you’re right that there is some beauty here,” Rayne finally said, her voice remaining soft as if to raise it in this desolate place would bring Ciro and his army down upon them. “But it is also frightening, especially those reptiles. They have teeth, did you see?”

  “The reptiles are much smaller than us or our horses, and thus far they have not come close to us. If they do, I have my sword and my gift with which to defend us.”

  He’d been taught it was not sporting to freeze an opponent in battle, but when that opponent was a reptilian creature which might harm Rayne, he would have no doubts. Besides, after what he’d done to Segyn, did he have any honor left?

  Rayne glimpsed to the western sky, and with great skepticism in her voice she asked, “Where will we sleep tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” Lyr answered truthfully. “Perhaps on horseback. Perhaps we won’t sleep at all until we exit this swampland.” He glanced at her pale, frightened face, which was so beautiful. How had he ever believed her a traitor? Of course, he’d never seen Segyn as a traitor, either, and look where that misplaced trust had gotten him. “Then again, perhaps you can build us a treehouse of vines and we’ll sleep there.”

  “Would we be any safer in the trees than we are on the ground?” She tipped her head back to look up, and her brow furrowed.

  “I don’t have any idea.” Riding without stopping might be their only safe choice, but it would be hard on Rayne, who was not accustomed to such conditions. Just as he was about to decide that was their best bet, their only choice, Lyr caught a whiff of smoke.

  Somewhere ahead was a fire burning in a fireplace. Somewhere ahead, there waited shelter.

  ***

  Lyr had told her that they would come across a dwelling of some sort, and though she had doubted him and his nose for a short while, when she smelled the smoke herself she felt a rush of relief. While she couldn’t imagine anyone choosing to live here, at the moment she was very relieved. Surely whoever lived out here in the swampland would allow them to stay until morning.

  She hadn’t relished the idea of remaining on horseback when darkness fell and she could not see the water or the birds or the far bank where reptiles cavorted. What might come out at night in this place? She shuddered at the very thought. Every step she took away from the only home she’d known introduced her to something new. Love, violent death, pleasure, betrayal, friendship, fears such as she had never known.

  Lyr, with his hawklike eyes, caught sight of the cabin before she did. He changed their direction of travel slightly, and soon enough she, too, saw the home they had been seeking. At least, she assumed it was someone’s home. The small cabin was built of the sturdy wood which grew in the swampland, and the chimney which spat smoke was made of gray stone. One side rose out of the water, and a small barn of sorts sat crookedly, half in the water, half on the muddy bank. There was a sagging porch and steps which rose out of the water. A single rocking chair was sitting on that porch, and as Rayne watched, an unexpected breeze caught the rocker and made it move very slightly. A chill walked down her spine. Perhaps it was not a friendly house, but the home of an enemy.

  The sky turned a darker gray, and on the opposite bank something entered the water with a splash. It sounded larger than what they’d been seeing and hearing all day, and in Rayne’s mind it was much more ominous than the cabin and whatever waited inside.

  Before they could dismount, the front door opened and a woman stepped onto the porch. She was middle-aged and slender, and her dark hair streaked with gray had been pulled back simply. Her colorful dress was unlike any Rayne had ever seen—not that she’d been exposed to worldly fashions in her lifetime. Gold bracelets hung from both wrists, and when the woman took another step, it was clear that she wore no shoes. Her feet were clean. For some reason, that simple fact made Rayne feel much better.

  The woman did not seem surprised to see them. She moved onto the steps and lifted her face, focusing her attention on Lyr. “I thought you would not make it before dark. You’d best tie up the horses and get inside. Supper’s waiting.”

  “How did you know we were coming?” Rayne asked, her heart turning over at the very idea that they’d been expected.

  The woman smiled. “The two of you have been making quite a lot of noise, and the animals are all disturbed by your presence. They don’t take to intruders well, and they speak to me of disorder in their swamp.”

  There had been a time when Rayne would’ve been quick to disbelieve that anyone could understand what the animals were saying, but no more. Anything was possible, for good or for ill, in this world she lived in.

  Lyr dismounted and stepped into the shallow water, his tall boots keeping the murky swamp from his clothing and skin. He reached up to help Rayne, and she gladly allowed him to carry her to the porch before placing her on her feet. Up close, the swamp woman’s age showed more clearly than it had from a distance. There were deep lines around her mouth, and her eyes were calculating. Still, there was no distrust or anger in those eyes, and Rayne took some comfort in that.

  Lyr led the horses to the side of the cabin which was out of the swamp water. The small wooden enclosure there would protect the animals in the night, or so Rayne hoped. She would not wish anyone or anything to be unprotected in the darkness that was coming.

  The swamp woman waited silently while Lyr saw to the animals, merely nodding at Rayne and smiling gently. The smile seemed real enough and was somewhat reassuring.

  Rayne had been in the saddle so long she ached, and as she stood there, she stretched up onto her toes and circled her shoulders to remove the kinks in her body. It felt good to stand on solid ground, even if that ground was a less than sturdy porch in the middle of a desolate swampland. At least she was on her own two feet!

  When Lyr returned, sloshing through the shallow water before marching onto the steps, their hostess smiled a touch wider. Even a woman of an older age would appreciate what a fine specimen of manhood he was. His beard was coming in again and he had not had a bath in many days, and still... he was impressive.

  And he was hers. Rayne felt that to the pit of her soul. Lyr was hers, and it had nothing to do with the sexual experiences they’d shared. She pushed down the jealousy that rose up strongly simply from watching the woman smile at the Prince of Swords.

  “My name is Gwyneth,” she said, “Gwyneth Ziven, wife of Soren, mother of Borix, seer and keeper of the Blessed Swamp.�
��

  Lyr introduced himself and Rayne, and as he did so, Rayne detected a delicious aroma which drifted from the cabin. Supper, Gwyneth had said. Rayne’s heart hitched. She was starving, but having recently been exposed to food which was not all it seemed to be, she was also cautious. Would this seemingly innocent woman who smiled at Lyr poison them? Was she one of Ciro’s soldiers in disguise? Had she aligned herself with the Isen Demon in some way? At the moment, Rayne trusted only Lyr. No one else was above suspicion.

  At Gwyneth’s invitation, they stepped into the cabin. It looked larger from inside than it had from the front. One spacious room contained a living area as well as a kitchen, where a kettle hung above a low fire. The space was furnished with a long table and four chairs, all made of the same wood as the walls, floor, ceiling, and porch, and two chairs on the opposite side of the large room, each placed before another fireplace. That hearth was currently cold. She’d expected to see a bed, but instead there were two doors off the main room. Rayne supposed at least one of them, and possibly both, would lead to a bedchamber.

  “I can see that you are hungry,” Gwyneth said as they walked into the warm room. She grabbed one of three wooden bowls from a counter beside the fireplace, and with an iron ladle began to spoon a thick stew. One after another, she placed the bowls on the table, in no particular order. If she’d poisoned the stew, then she was willing to poison herself as well. It was Rayne who placed each of the bowls before a chair. When that was done, Gwyneth fetched large spoons, which were also made of wood. The mugs she placed on the table were of pewter, and the wine came from a large glass jar. Not everything in this cabin had been made by hand from what was found in the swamp. Most, perhaps, but not all.

  They sat at the table, and again Rayne eyed the stew. She had to eat something, and it didn’t appear that this food was poisoned. The yettle berries had looked innocent, too, however, so how could she know with any certainty? Lyr studied his bowl with the same suspicion.