DARK BROTHERS OF THE
LIGHT
                                BOOK VI
BLOOD ARCANE
 JANRAE FRANK
THE DARK BROTHERS OF THE LIGHT SAGA

I. Blood Rites

II. Blood Heresy

III. Blood Dawn

IV. Blood Wraiths

V. Blood Paladin

VI. Blood Arcane

VII. Blood Harvest

VIII. Blood Hope


                                         DEDICATION
                                      To Debbie Moorhouse
                        for service above and beyond the call of friendship.



Once there were three brothers, Brandrahoon the vampire, Isranon called the Dawnhand, speaker
to spirits, and Waejonan the Accursed, first of sa'necari. Isranon defied his brothers and was
destroyed, his descendants forced into the darkness.
-St. Tarmus of Lorendon

 "The Darkness hunts us and the Light does not want us. Better to step willingly into the fires than
to live undead. Better to die with honor than to take a life in the rites. Let each mon go to his own
path, but these are ours. And these will always be ours, for this is what we were born to. This is
the path the gods have given us, for we are the Dark Brothers of the Light. We are the walking
dead who live, for our lives were forfeit with our birth. Forfeit twice over for our choice to live as
myn, not monsters, though we are forced to dwell among the monsters. Set yourself apart in your
words, in your deeds, in your silence?always in your silence, for silence is your castle. Be as still as
the deer in the forest, and if you are fortunate the predators will not notice you. For when they
notice you, they will eat you."

-Creed of the Dark Brothers



The First Mothers

We howled to the moon one winter's night

And she howled back to give us might

From all the packs gathered ?neath her light

She chose among us one single wight

Tala took that male to her silvery home

She told the packs to hide, not roam

From that mating, Navaryn came

To make us men in more than name

Navaryn, first mother to us a

By her blood our shapes are ta

Pandeena, second mother to us a

When they howl, heed their ca

They gave us laws, the ways, and speech

They changed all things within our reach

The ways of culture we were taught

To bring us from old Skawtsslund fraught

By dangers vile and dangers fe
So goes the ancient, ancient tale

Navaryn, first mother to us a

By her blood, our shapes are ta

The woodland god, at their pleading,

Opened a Gate Arcane to end our bleeding

On the strands of Skawtsslund fraught

With the dangers mankind brought

Pandeena, second mother to us a

When she howls heed well her ca

We passed between the pillars ta

To these new lands beyond man's pa

We settled here and built our lives

Where lycan kind can grow and thrive

In a new world of hope and promise

Beyond the reach of murdering Thomas.

 *Note: Murdering Thomas is a lycan term for the humans that hunted wolves on old Earth to near
extinction and is sometimes applied to humans on the new world of Daverana



Bloody Anksha

Blow softly ill wind of omen

I smell her scent, not born of woman

The Beast's scent is on the breeze

Through darkling woods she stalks

Through halls no sane mon walks

Her glance, her scent will make you freeze

A rush of lust brings you to your knees
She listens not to all your pleas

Anksha, Bloody Anksha stalks the night.

She'll take your body, soul, and blood, leave your corpse lying in the mud.

Anksha, Bloody Anksha stalks the night.

Those slain not become her slaves

Her dominance-link the soul depraves

In madness longing for her fangs.

Children listen, adults heed we

She is pretty, but she is fell,

Anksha, Bloody Anksha stalks the night

If underneath the moonlight bright

You should glimpse her in the night,

Flee before she nears you, mon

You have not strength to fight her,

And no magic will affright her,

Anksha, Bloody Anksha stalks the night

-Lycan traditional teaching song


                                                chapter one
                                          children of the damned

Stygean stood in the training yard of the royal guest mansion, running his finger beneath the heavy iron
collar around his thin twelve-year-old neck. With his other hand he gave a moment's expression to
nervousness by pulling at the tail of his long, curly black hair. Then he forced his hands down to his sides,
squared his shoulders, and tried to look like the son of a soldier that he was. They had broken his father,
but slave or not, they would not break him. Once more his hand stole up to the collar on his neck and his
thumb passed over the inscription: Stygean Loosestrife, property of Anksha.

 He slewed his eyes around to glance at the other children from their corners, not wanting to give himself
away. Stygean had wondered how many of the other children had been captured, how many might have
escaped, but he feared that any playmates missing from the group gathered here were dead. He counted
twenty-seven; less than half the children who had been on his father's estate alone.
 An acrid odor laced with something like pork drifted across the yard, making his stomach clench. The
victors were still burning bodies on the north side. His father had always told him that the price of being
discovered as sa'necari was death; their enemies always burned their bodies. They did not want them
rising undead on the third day.

 Stygean pulled at his tunic, which was stiff and starched. If he could have refused to put it on, he would
have done so; he would have worn the clothes reduced to dirty rags from two weeks spent in the
dungeons as a way of spitting in his captors? faces. But he had not wanted the beating it would have
earned him. He and the other children were all dressed up to be presented to their owner, Anksha the
Beast.

 She arrived with two forest-green clad rangers at either side of her. The Beast was a legend used for
centuries to frighten children. She was no more than three inches taller than Stygean?around four foot and
nine inches tall?and at first glance there was nothing terrifying about her. Yet Stygean sweated beneath
her gaze. He had seen her black hair halo around her head when her power rose, the flashing of her
powerful fangs in the torchlight of the dungeons, and stared at her claws when she unsheathed them in
front of his face as she informed him that she had taken his parents.

 He saw his closest friend and age mate, Jingen Scathwick, trembling as she approached. The Beast had
slain and eaten Jingen's father in front of his mother. To say that the two boys hated her was too mild a
word. Jingen began to tug at a length of his dull umber hair and looked like his knees were going to
buckle.

 "I am the troll-tamer and demon-eater,? Anksha began her usual cant, bouncing on the balls of her feet
in front of the children. ?Had your parents not attacked my mate, I would not have destroyed them."

Stygean swallowed, wishing this would get over and she would simply tell them why they were gathered.
The littlest child, a girl of six, had already started to cry. Stygean wished that he could go to her.

 "You are my slaves. You will work for your bread. You will be taught a different path in life,? Anksha
said.

Stygean's hands tightened into fists. I don't want your path. I don't want it.

"Your parents?those who survive?are my blood-slaves, my food. Once bitten only death frees a
blood-slave from my dominance-link."

Stygean wanted to ball up and scream; yet he had to set an example as the oldest of the captive children;
he had to be brave for their sakes as much as his own. So he stood straight.

"One by one, I will take you to see your parents. You will watch me feed upon them."

More children began to cry. Stygean knew what she was doing then; she was going to force them all to
witness their parents? helplessness in order to destroy their sense of security. Well it wouldn't work with
him. He would be strong.

 She had already forced Stygean to watch her drink his father Liuthan to the ?edge? before allowing him
to revive with the blood of a nibari. This was nothing more than another of her lectures. He would
weather it. Stygean's fangs came down from their sheaths, and he forced them back up, keeping his
mouth closed around them; to show his fangs in her presence would earn him a beating.
"Consider this,? Anksha said. ?If it hurts you to watch this, it will hurt others to watch the sa'necari you
will grow into hurt their loved ones. Unless you take another path. Lord Dawnreturning's path."

 Dawnreturning. The sa'necari renunciate who led the Rowdies, the freeranger company that had
destroyed their parents? estates in the city of Ocealay, and seized everything they owned that could be
carried off. Stygean's father had been one of the Five Captains who ruled the city-state of Ocealay, and
governed all the kandoyarin?mercenary?companies that operated on the western half of the continent.
But his father had become Anksha's blood-slave, and the other four captains were electing someone else
to serve in his place.

 When Anksha had left, Stygean spat where she had been standing. His friend Jingen came and put his
arm around Stygean's shoulders. ?I hate her."

"I feel the same,? Jingen said.

"I'd like to stake her out and stick her,? Stygean snarled.

Jingen's voice softened. ?Too dangerous to contemplate."

 Stygean stared at the ground, his eyes flicking back and forth to make certain no one had come near
enough to hear them. ?I want her to suffer."

 Jingen stepped back from Stygean and shrugged. ?She drained four sa'necari for trying to rite the
renunciate."

"So?"

"So stick the renunciate. The sight of his dead body would break her heart to kindling."

"That's an idea."
                                                   ****

Captain Travis Potshard paused on the training grounds of the guest mansion, watching Jingen and
Stygean and wondering what the two boys were talking about. He had spent several minutes listening to
Anksha's speech and demonstration, and saw how the two boys huddled together after her rantings. His
brown hair was the only thing about him that did not look a bit disheveled, because Darianna had insisted
upon brushing his coarse locks back and tying them in a tail. His tanned and weathered skin had the
texture of smooth saddle leather. The only thing vaguely imposing about Travis was his six foot height.

Darianna, walking with her arm through his, laid her head on his shoulder, her silver hair with the bright
orange streak down the middle contrasted with her eighteen-year-old face. ?You don't like them, Old
Dog?"

Travis rubbed the back of his thick fingered hand across his stubbled chin: he had not shaved that
morning, although Darianna had argued with him over it. ?They're trouble, Daree. If my old dog Blue
were still around, he'd agree with me. A boy can kill as easily as a man, if he picks his time and his target.
A blade in the night or in the back."

 He did not feel ready to handle his captaincy, but since the Rowdies?the search and rescue freeranger
company he had run with since he was thirteen?had been transformed into the Army of the Renunciate by
picking up more than five hundred enlistments once they declared that they would be going north to fight
the sa'nekaryiane of Minnoras, Nans had become a general, and Travis and her other three lieutenants
had become captains.

 "They are sa'necari. Trained in the rites, even if they haven't committed them yet. Which is enough
reason to distrust them.? Darianna sprouted fur along her arms, which Travis recognized as a sign of
tension in her. The freeranger kissed the side of her face, and the lycan scout relaxed back into fully
human form. ?I hope Isranon knows what he's doing."

Travis? cornflower eyes narrowed. ?So do I. Because boys or not, if they hurt Isranon, I'll kill them."

Darianna growled deep in her throat. ?You'd have to beat Anksha to them."

"Hey, Travis!? Captain Luck Settlesby crossed the yard and joined them. ?We've got more picks to
make. More myn have shown up trying to enlist."

 Daree excused herself to see about her duties with Nevin, who led their battle-clan, which served as
scouts for the Army of the Renunciate as they were now calling themselves, although the banner they
marched under was the same that had flown above them when they had been merely Gryphonheart's
Rowdies.

 The Rowdies were still the Rowdies in their own eyes, but now they were more and it took some getting
used to. Travis figured that Luck made a better captain than he did. His phlegmatic friend was neat,
clean, and smelled of some kind of spicy cologne that Luck had recently acquired out of a bonus that
Isranon had paid out to all of the Rowdies. Travis had a thought that he might ask Darianna if she would
enjoy him smelling that way.

As they walked off toward the field where three lines of myn were queuing up for enlistment tryouts,
Travis began to scratch his chin again in a preoccupied manner.

"Something wrong, Travis?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Between you and Daree?"

"That's some of it."

Luck gave Travis a long, hard look. ?Spit it out. I know when something's bothering you."

Travis heaved a tremendous unhappy sigh. ?She's been getting irritable with me."

 Luck glanced across the yard at Darianna disappearing into a crowd of lycans. ?She didn't look irritable
just now."

Travis ducked his head. ?Well, she doesn't do it in public. Just when we're alone. I tell her what's got me
worried and she jumps all over me."

"About what?"

"Luck, I don't want kids. At least not right now. Not with a war staring us in the face. She says we're
doing it according to the lycan custom of ?wild cousins? and no commitment. But the thought of her
getting pregnant scares the shit out of me."

Luck paused and rocked back on his heels. ?Exactly what have you been saying to her?"

"I keep asking her if she's taking the herbs so as not to get herself belly bound."

A rueful grin spread across Luck's face. ?Is that the way you've been expressing it?"

Travis flushed. ?Pretty much."

"And just when have you been telling her this and how often?"

Travis? flush deepened to the brightest crimson that Luck could recall seeing.

"Awww shit, Travis. Tell me you're not bringing this up every time you're about to slip the bone in."

"I guess I am pretty much now that I think on it."

"Travis, you're an idiot. No wonder you've never had much luck with females. Either you trust Daree or
you don't. And if you don't, then keep your bone in your pants."

 Luck dug in his pocket, grabbed Travis? hands, and put a bunch of something rubbery in them before
striding away. Travis looked down at what Luck had given him and blushed again. His hands were filled
with eel-skins.
                                                 ****

"I want to see the children,? Lord Isranon Dawnreturning told Anksha, striding through the great hall and
heading for the wing the children had been placed in with the nibari and some others to watch them. The
diamond sheathed butt of his staff, Warrior, clicked on the tiled floors in rhythm to his stride. The staff
tended to draw people's eyes away from him when they first met, being as incredible as the mon was
common.

Warrior was six feet of hard rock maple, its butt sheathed in nine inches of diamond that had been
magically grown onto it and incised with Kalirioni runes. The entire length of it was intricately runed amid
vines and leaves in jeweled inlays. The upper body, head, and wings of a pegasus topped it, so solidly
done in heavy burnished kenda'ryl that it could be used to strike with. It was both a master's and a
warrior's staff.

 Isranon, on the other hand, was rather plain. He was built more like a blacksmith than a mage with
powerful arms, broad shoulders, and a deep chest. His short robes were unadorned black over matching
pants. He wore his curly black hair tied back at the base of his neck. While his face still retained the
beauty of youth, which was slowly maturing into a rugged comeliness, his haunted eyes, brown to the
edge of black, looked far older than his twenty-one years. There was nothing about him to suggest the
fact that he was the only mage-paladin to the sun-god, and thus one of the most powerful mages in
existence?except when the curls around his forehead shifted, revealing the flame flanked sunburst of his
godmark.

 "With us leaving in a week or so, I should get to know them. Especially the two who already have their
fangs."

"Jingen and Stygean.? Anksha ran a hand across her belly. She had taken to checking herself several
times a day trying to notice the first tiny swellings of the life within her. Anksha carried Isranon's child in a
miracle of magic and love that transcended the huge genetic gap between their species. As the last of her
kind, Anksha had never expected to have a child of her own until now. ?Nothing's happening.? Her
usually tightly curled tail drooped.

 Isranon laughed. ?It's been what? A month?? He squeezed her shoulders, then dragged his fingers
through her thick black mane to get out the leaves and twigs that she seemed to be forever accumulating.
?I don't know what the gestation for demon-eaters is; however, I doubt there will be anything to see for
at least two or three months."

Anksha sighed and her large fangs appeared. ?That long?? Another sigh. ?I know he's in there?now I
know where to look and how.? A third sigh.

"Have you thought about a name yet, my Anksha?"

 Anksha shivered with delight at his use of the possessive. ?Timadi. And he is going to be a boy. I
checked him real good. Amiri agrees."

 "Timadi is a good name. I don't want any more Isranon, son of Isranon's in this lineage. I want my sons
to have a fresh start, without the baggage of the lineage."

 Speaking of the lineage made him remember the tale in all its variations, 'once there were three
brothers, Brandrahoon the vampire, Isranon called Dawnhand, speaker to spirits, and Waejonan
the Accursed, first of sa'necari.... The two brothers murdered Dawnhand, and forced his
descendants to practice the rites of the sa'necari by holding their families hostage.' Dawnhand was
Isranon's ancestor and namesake. Isranon had been born sa'necari, yet he had never participated in the
rites, rejecting them to become a renunciate and heretic.

Anksha nodded. They had reached the end of the north wing and went into the chamber that Nainee, a
nibari, was using as a schoolroom.

 They found Nainee reading aloud to the children, who sat at long tables around her with pens, paper,
and inkbottles. She stopped reading, closed her book, and flicked back a strand of cornsilk hair before
smiling at the newcomers. Instantly, Stygean's head went down and half-turned so that he could look at
them from the corner of his eye.

 "Class, say ?hello? to Lord Dawnreturning and Anksha,? Nainee told them. ?You are now part of his
company."

"Slaves to his bitch,? Stygean muttered under his breath.

All the other children smiled and said hello, Stygean moved his lips only.

 Isranon went from child to child, Reading and examining them with his powers. He needed to see how
close some of them were to transitioning into sa'necari. He reached Jingen and the boy gave him a bright
smile.

"Read me if you wish,? Jingen told him, extending his wrist. ?I was blooded a year ago, but never
participated in the rites. My parents believed I was too young."

Isranon disregarded Jingen's attempt at pleasantries, giving him a severe look. ?I'm told you fed on
another boy in the dungeons."

A look of utter contrition came over Jingen's face. ?I was starving."

"That's no excuse. The boy was badly hurt."

"Forgive me. I had never gone so long without before. I swear it will never happen again. I've been very
good since Anksha let me out and began to teach us."

Isranon Read him and nodded. He had had no other negative accounts of Jingen's behavior. The boy
was cooperating fully. His age mate, Stygean on the other hand was a constant source of aggravation.

 When he reached Stygean the boy tried to shield his core and mask the hatred he felt. Isranon sent a
sharp white lance of power through that core and shattered the surface shield as if it were made of thin
ice. Stygean paled and his eyes bleared at the painful shock of reaction.

 "You don't do that with me,? Isranon said, seeing that this one was ripe for the rites and hungry for
them. He prayed to his liege-god Kalirion that he could find the strength to turn this boy from the
darkness. Otherwise he would be forced to stand aside and allow Anksha to either break or kill Stygean.

 The nibari children sitting on the opposite side of the room snickered. Stygean glared. The nibari were
meat and should never have been allowed in the same classroom as the sa'necari children. Their
genetically altered kind had been bred for docility over thousands of years to satisfy the sa'necari and
their rivals in power, the vampires. Yet these nibari children showed him no respect. Stygean might be a
slave, but he was still born to be their master, just as they had been born to be his meat.

 "Lower your shields the rest of the way, or I will open them myself, and it will be an unpleasant
experience for both of us,? Isranon told him.

Stygean's lower lip edged from beneath his upper. ?Unpleasant for me, you mean."

The nibari children snickered again, but the sa'necari children were focusing intensely on Stygean.

"Quiet!? Nainee told the nibari children. ?Enough of that."

They went swiftly silent.

All attention again riveted on Stygean and Isranon.

"I have nothing to hide,? Stygean said. ?I am proud of what I am."

"Then lower your shields to me completely,? Isranon said.

Stygean's breathing emerged in shuddering gasps as he fought panic. He opened his shields to Isranon's
probing.

"More,? Isranon said. ?All the way."

"I've never opened them all the way since I learned to raise them,? Stygean protested.

Isranon nodded, enveloped Stygean's shields, and crushed them down to the innermost core. Stygean let
out a cry of pain and anguish at the intrusion of Isranon's power, tears ran down his face, and he covered
his eyes with his arms. Stygean sobbed as if he had been raped, although Isranon left his most intimate
areas untouched. When Isranon had satisfied himself concerning the boy, he withdrew from him, and
walked out.

 What Isranon had seen disturbed him. Stygean was dangerous. In the beginning, during the age of
Waejonan, the sa'necari had all been made through the rites. Over the generations, their genes altered
and their children began to be born sa'necari with the appetites and abilities arriving at puberty along with
their fangs. Many continued to be made through the rites to serve as sword fodder and to fill the lower
castes. These children, however, were all upper caste?the need for blood would come upon them all as it
had for Isranon. He wondered if he had the strength to turn them, to prevent them from becoming
monsters.

 It had been ten years since the massacre of the Dark Brothers of the Light, the sa'necari heretics who
did not believe in taking a life in the rites, out of appetite, or for pleasure. Only he and his sister,
Yoleema, had escaped the wholesale slaughter of their people. Isranon had been twelve and his sister
fifteen, yet it was he who had gotten them both to safety. Nearly three years later, his sister was
murdered. Isranon squashed the thought. He had not spoken her name to anyone in five years. Even
thinking her name made his stomach squirm.

 Considering how young he had been when he found himself without teachers, Isranon felt deep doubts
about his ability to train these children in the ways of the Dark Brothers.
                                                    ****

Nainee resumed her teaching. Isranon's visit had left her hopeful. If anyone could get through to Stygean,
it would be Isranon. The mon was both powerful and compassionate. He had changed so much over the
past four years, maturing from a defiant young mon to a secure one, finding his own path to the light they
all craved. When Prince Timon had declared Isranon to be their liege-lord at the beginning of the flight
from Minnoras, the title had been basically empty, one observed out of love for him. But Isranon had
made it a title in fact, rising into it, and taking the reins of leadership with Zulaika as his captain. Nainee
liked the way that Isranon had turned out.

 When they merged with Nans? company, the Rowdies, Isranon had given over the military aspects of
command to the yuwenghau?divine knight errant?Nans Gryphonheart; and he retained the social aspects
of governing the lives of his own people, the lycans, Lemyari vampires, nibari, and Ymraude vampires,
holding them closely in a tight camaraderie.

Nainee set the children to practicing their letters and watched them work.

 She felt most concerned about a single older nibari, a female, who had recently turned thirteen. Nolly's
new master Jun would be bedding and blooding her for the first time within a few weeks. Then this
education would end and a different one begin. Nainee had begun trying to prepare her, ever since
learning that Isranon had signed Nolly's ownership papers over to Jun. Having spent his entire undead
existence as a Lemyari mon-at-arms, Jun had never owned a nibari before, nor trained one. He had
always fed from his employer's herds. Nainee would rather it had been Haig, her own Lemyari master,
who blooded Nolly, for the youth was a cross between the Black Cliff breed?of which Nainee was an
excellent example?and of the Three Diamonds breed, which were known for a delicacy of temperament
which lent itself to going fang-shy without proper and extensive training.

Nolly had been part of the common herd assembled primarily from the estates and holdings of Ocealay's
defeated sa'necari and banewitches, claimed as recompense for their attack upon Isranon and his people.
As lord, Isranon owned the common herd and held it as a source of open feeding. All of the hemovores
could satisfy their needs there, so long as they did no permanent harm. Therefore, Isranon had had the
right to dispose of her as he saw fit; although as Haig's lead mare, Nainee could express her concern to
Haig over Isranon's choice. At Haig's suggestion, Jun had spent several weeks just stroking Nolly
intimately and breathing along her neck with his fangs out. They had also taken a more traditional
approach of having Nolly observe Haig putting one of his own nibari through her paces of both bedding
and feeding, while Jun comforted, instructed, and pointed out the finer aspects.

 Nainee watched Nolly still more closely, wondering how she would handle it when Jun entered her for
the first time. The young one sat playing with her metal collar, which read: Nolly property of Jun. She was
still getting accustomed to being collared, and to the implications of it. The hemovores did not collar
children until they were old enough to blood. Done wrong, a blooding could make any nibari fang-shy
and difficult to handle later, regardless of their bloodline. If they became too difficult, one of the masters
would be forced to either place permanent sways and coercions in the nibari's mind, or more tragically
have them put down. Jun had a reputation for enthusiasm that might be misinterpreted and frighten Nolly.
The youth had a worried, distracted air as she worked on her letters.

 Nainee put her book aside and went to Nolly, touching her on the shoulder, and then motioning her into
the hallway.

"Are you all right, Nolly?? she asked her.

The nibari nodded. ?Jun is a good master.? She wrung her hands. ?But I'm still nervous. I wish he'd get
on with it."

Nainee hugged her. ?Jun isn't a bad type. He's very enthusiastic."

"I know.? Nolly chewed her lip. ?But I'm afraid. I keep begging him to do it now, and he puts it off."

Nainee smiled and hugged her again. ?We all were. It's normal. You're well-trained, you know all the
positions and movements. Just follow Jun's wishes and his lead."

 Nolly swallowed, her fingers sliding under her collar and along her neck as if anticipating the first time
fangs would pierce her flesh. ?I will."

 "Jun will complete your education. You are a fine nibari, Nolly. You have good bloodlines and a gentle
soul. That will serve you in good stead."

"I hope so.? Nolly lowered her head with an uncertain look.

 Slipping a finger beneath Nolly's chin, Nainee lifted her head up. ?There is no greater joy for our kind,
than the moment our masters part our flesh with their fangs, drink deeply, and sweep us away to a better
place."

"Since getting my menses, I keep feeling sick...."

 A serious expression came into Nainee's eyes as Nolly described it. ?That's bloodbloat. That's not
good. You should have been blooded as soon as your menses started. I'll speak to Jun. Once he draws
some of it out of you, you'll feel much better."

Bloodbloat resulted from a nibari going too long unbled. It first appeared after the bodily changes
brought by the onset of puberty. Nibari could sicken and die if a portion of their blood was not drawn
from their veins periodically. For females, this necessity passed with the completion of menopause, but
the craving for being bled remained like a lingering desire for sex. For the males, the need remained to the
end of their days, and a good master would put them down gently when they grew too old and feeble.

Nolly managed a tiny smile and Nainee hugged her again. ?Open your robe, Nolly, and let me check the
brand."

 The nibari pulled the neck of her robe open enough to slide it off one shoulder. Nainee ran her finger
over the well-healed winged J that Jun had designed and had branded into her flesh with a hot iron.
Normally the design would have been registered in Charas as belonging to Jun, but Charas had fallen to
the forces of Gylorean Galee. The only other places where such things were registered were Waejontor
and Haradante, places where they had no desire to go because they were sa'necari havens.

"It's healed just fine. Shall I talk to Jun, Nolly?? Nainee ruffled Nolly's hair.

Nolly fingered her neck from just behind her ear to the edge of her collar, then slipped her hand under
her collar again. ?Please."
                                                ****

Stygean's defiance distressed Isranon. He had not wished to force the boy; however if he did not put a
stop to it now, the boy would become ungovernable?if he wasn't already. Anksha had made a dangerous
decision by taking these children in, rather than leaving them to be killed by the Captains of the Coast.
Sa'necari learned to kill young, using both their fangs and their dark magics. If he could not reach these
children to teach them to walk in the light, then he would be forced to order their deaths before they
could murder others either out of appetite or for the perverse pleasure their kind got from such acts.

At least neither of the two oldest children, Stygean and Jingen, had yet committed their first rite of
mortgiefan, the rite of rape and death that shattered souls so that the sa'necari could suck them up like
wine to increase their powers.

 With his mind in turmoil, Isranon strode along the corridor leading to the section where Anksha's
blood-slaves were kept. She took them initially through a powerful pheromonal charge from her scent
glands that broke down all of their resistance and barriers to her suggestions and control; afterward,
while they begged her to do it, she bit and savaged them, locking in place the dominance-link; it was
when they felt that link burn into the very fibers of their minds, bodies, and souls that they began to
scream. Isranon had been the only one who had not screamed when she took him. Then began the
nightmares of the Presence Pain, when being around her was agony unless she fed upon them frequently.
Finally they would begin to wither, as their mage centers and shaukra nets dried up, turned brittle and
died, no longer producing the bio-alchemical elements needed to keep them alive, and nothing could stop
it or prevent it.

Only Isranon had ever transcended the fate of her blood-slaves, because of his pure and compassionate
nature, and the depths of his power. Instead of withering to death, he had become her mate.

He intended to speak with Stygean's father, Liuthan Loosestrife.

 The hallway was lined with guards and others. Isranon gestured to a guard when he reached the door to
Liuthan's chamber. The lycan guard unlocked it and offered to accompany Isranon inside; Isranon simply
shook his head and went in.
 Liuthan looked out of place sitting on the blue brocade couch in the parlor of the suite they kept him
locked in. The former Captain appeared ragged and drawn, his face haggard. Isranon looked the mon
over, seeing that Liuthan had made no efforts to clean himself up. He wore the loose, sashed black robe
of Anksha's blood-slaves over his trousers. Isranon knew that if he opened Liuthan's robe, he would find
the same slave brand on the ex-captain's shoulder as was on Isranon's own. A corner of Liuthan's metal
collar showed in the parting of his robe. Five words were etched upon the collar: Liuthan Loosestrife:
property of Anksha.

 Isranon studied the way that Liuthan stared at a blank space on the white-plastered walls and refused to
raise his head when Isranon entered. He considered that, wondering if this was whence Stygean inherited
his defiance. Liuthan had been the youngest of the Five Captains of Ocealay, wealthy and powerful. The
mon had lost everything. Anksha had taken him first, discovered his plot to take over the city, and the
fact that he was sa'necari.

"You should make yourself more presentable for your son's visits,? Isranon told Liuthan, as he dragged
up a chair and sat down facing him. ?It upsets Stygean to see you like this."

Liuthan winced, and said in a flat voice, ?I am a blood-slave."

"So was I."

Liuthan looked up hopefully. ?There is a way to be free?"

 Isranon shook his head sadly, his eyes hooding briefly beneath their thick lashed lids. A single long black
curl of hair came free of the tail at his neck and fell across his face. ?No one can take the path I took. It
was unforeseen and cannot be followed by another."

 The hope vanished from Liuthan's eyes, his voice dulled and his expression went blank. ?What have you
come for? To feed? To remonstrate me for what I did to you?"

 Isranon felt the brief, passing rush of memory, of capture and torment as four of Liuthan's sa'necari
raped and stabbed him in the rite of mortgiefan. Anksha and his spirit-brother, the lycan Nevin, had
rescued him before they could complete it. ?Neither. I have forgiven you, Liuthan. Although that does not
mean that I am indifferent to what you have done in the past and are still capable of doing. I want you to
persuade your son to follow my path. The old path will only lead to his death."

Liuthan gave him an incredulous look. ?You want me to encourage him to follow the renunciate's path?
There is no benefit in that. The darkness will not want him and the light will hunt him."

"You know about the Dark Brothers?? Isranon quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes. One of my ancestors was one who later repudiated their pacifistic ways.? To further make his
point, Liuthan repeated the entire creed of the Dark Brothers. ?See, I know what you are about,?
Liuthan finished with a look of distaste.

Isranon shook his head. ?There is a third way, my way. The Middle Path. The Light can and will accept
us.? Isranon pointed to the godmark on his forehead. ?I am still sa'necari, yet I am also mage-paladin to
Kalirion."

"That mark is real?? Liuthan stared at the red sunburst on Isranon's forehead.
 "Yes.? Isranon leaned in so that Liuthan could see it closer, and brushed back a curling strand of
escaped hair.

Liuthan could see the faint glow to the godmark. He reached out and touched it only to pull his fingers
back with a yelp. ?It burns."

 "You cannot touch it because you have committed the rites. If we do not allow ourselves to become
slaves to our appetites, the light will embrace us. It will still be a struggle to get all those peoples who
have been victimized by our kind to trust us, but it can be done and it will be worth it for future
generations."

 Liuthan nodded thoughtfully, his eyes straying again to the godmark. ?A better life, if not for our children,
then for theirs? Is that what you are saying?"

"Yes. My mate says she tastes the withering in you already.? Anksha's blood-slaves always withered
whether she wished them to or not. ?Amiri has told me she examined you and says you most likely have
no more than a handful of weeks left. I know she's begun dosing you with Pollendine."

 Pollendine was a narcotic so potentially addictive that healers only gave it to the dying, or those in an
extremity of suffering.

"I thought I would be too strong for it to start this swiftly.... ?Liuthan jerked the sash open and allowed
his robe to slide back from his shoulder. He shrugged out of it and balled it up in his hands. A spider web
of reddened streaks and splotches covered his chest and stomach, spreading from over his heart. ?I
worry about Stygean."

 Isranon's brow furrowed. He could tell that Liuthan was extremely far along in the withering, which
meant the mon must be in constant pain. He grasped Liuthan's wrist and Read him. Liuthan's mage
centers, his shaukras, and mage net, his internal bio-alchemy, was brittle and nearly drained dry.

 "My mate took everyone with such rage and fury ... I am sorry, Liuthan. It must have been the trauma or
the intensity. Lie down on the bed."

Liuthan obeyed, and walked into the bed chamber with Isranon following him. He stretched out on his
bed. ?They say you can heal."

"I am a master lifemage."

Liuthan's lips twisted. ?You are an impossibility, Dawnreturning. I can barely believe that you exist."

 Isranon smiled thinly. Although born sa'necari, he was also pan-elemental. Possibly the only one like him
to ever exist. ?Yet, I do. Tell no one that I did this, for then they would all want it and I must conserve
my strength for the battles."

 "What?? Liuthan asked and then he felt it. Isranon's fingers slid along the damaged flesh and drew out
the withering, restored his strength. An utter cessation of pain and heady rush of well-being filled him with
relief and wonder as he regarded the mon. ?Why?"

"Because I cannot reach your son without you, and I do not wish to see him die."

Liuthan appeared chastened by Isranon's words. ?Thank you. I will try."
 When Isranon had departed, Liuthan thought for a long time. The touch of that healing white energy had
left him giddy. Lying there without pain for the first time in weeks, he wanted more of Dawnreturning's
soothing attentions. This mon would not harm his son, nor allow his son to be harmed if only Stygean
could be persuaded to listen to him. Yet, that would steal Stygean's heritage from him as sa'necari. His
son would never know the intense joys of the rites, of feeling a soul shatter and sucking it up into his own
body to increase his powers. Stygean would be left with only his own birth gifts, while out there would be
larger predators waiting to eat his son.

 He wished he knew more about Dawnreturning's Middle Path. If he were going to persuade his son to
follow it, then he first needed to be persuaded himself. Although the healing had drawn him to the mon for
his own sake, he doubted he would feel completely right in giving his son to him.
                                                   ****

Isranon walked away from his meeting with Liuthan, feeling uncertain whether he had got through to him
or not. He emerged from the blood-slaves wing and stood at the edge of the stairway on the broad
sweep of a balustraded landing that could easily hold sixty people and allow them to behold the activities
in the Grand Hall below.

 He saw Corbienne and Iuf walking down the stairs together. Their relationship bothered him, although he
had not voiced his concerns yet. Iuf was a human of late middle years, and would probably not be with
the company for more than a few years more, while Corbienne was Lemyari. Isranon knew that they
were sleeping together, and that meant that Corbienne was most likely drinking from Iuf's veins. Iuf did
not have the ability to recover quickly from nagging blood loss the way that the nibari did. And there was
always the possibility that it could turn into a Passion-Dance in which Corbienne mistook appetite for
love?the dance always ended in the death of the human lover. It was a complete and uncontrollable
obsession.

 A tall woman approached the landing from the opposite direction, her long, smart stride unmistakable,
even from a distance. Nans Gryphonheart, formerly Captain of the freeranger search and rescue
company, Gryphonheart's Rowdies, and now General of the Army of the Renunciate, waved to get
Isranon's attention. She wore the same unassuming forest green and brown leathers she always did, as if
the promotion meant nothing. She strode up to him with an air of utter self-confidence in the easy swing
of her arms at her sides that came from growing up as the bastard child of a king's daughter, who had
nevertheless been her grandfather's favorite. Her cinnamon braid bounced between her broad shoulders.
Standing at five foot eleven inches, she had a bit of height on Isranon. Her square chin lent a blunt
strength to an otherwise delicate face.

 She appeared to be eighteen until you gazed into her sapphire eyes, those windows into her soul
revealed her sixty years of age. Nans was yuwenghau; one of the young rogue gods who served as divine
knights errant fighting monsters and dark things in an unsettled world. Her mother, a princess of
Gormond's Reach, had wandered into a haunted forest one night, and fleeing the creatures that roamed it
climbed a tree that turned out to be Willodarus, God of the Woodlands and Wild Creatures, sleeping. He
had returned Marion Gryphonheart to her people the next day, pregnant with Nans.

"I want to talk to you about the route we're taking north, Isranon."

 "I trust you to pick the best one, Nans. I know very little about these lands,? Isranon said. He needed to
sit and rest. His spell-damaged legs were hurting him.

"No. You need to understand what I'm doing and why,? Nans insisted. ?You are our lord and I'm
merely your general."

"Then let's go to my rooms."

 Once in the sitting room of Isranon's suite, Nans sat upon the upholstered couch and Isranon took a
well-padded chair. Nans stretched out a long leg and nudged a footstool close to him. Isranon grinned
and put his feet up.

 "According to Tamric's sources, the villages and towns along the west bank of the Hillora River are
nearly empty. Many have become ghost towns because of the exodus to Rowanhart in the north. I think
that by taking that route north, we may escape notice. Furthermore, the coastal city states are going to be
nervous about having an army riding through their territory, despite my reputation and the knowledge that
we're going to fight the sa'nekaryiane."

"I want to consult with Lord Edvarde,? Isranon said. ?He knows many things that I don't."

"A stop at Ildyrsetts will add weeks onto the journey, Isranon. It could also mean wintering there instead
of Merkreth's Crossing."

 "The snows work both for us and against us,? Isranon said. ?I want to go to Ildyrsetts. The
sa'nekaryiane's forces will be just as bogged down as ours will by the snows."

"True,? Nans agreed, ?however, a point against taking the west bank road is that we will have to stop to
hunt periodically to build up our stores. With the towns and farms abandoned, there will be little to buy."

"Ildyrsetts also has a large mage community, Nans. I can't provide all of our mage support myself.
We've grown too large."

 Nans fiddled with the end of her braid, which had fallen over her shoulder. ?You're right, of course. So,
Ildyrsetts it is. Now, we need to go over the lists of supplies, Isranon. We will mostly have to hunt on our
way north since we're taking the west bank road."

"Why?"

 "Because, as I said, there won't be a lot of places where we can purchase what we need along the way.
Furthermore, while I can estimate what the human will require, I don't trust myself to make those
judgments for the non-humans."

 "Then, let's go over them. Have you seen Arabella lately? I never got to thank her properly for helping to
rescue me."

Nans looked thoughtful, as if she were trying to decide how to phrase her answer. ?Isranon, she and
Squeaky are gone. They bolted onto the first ship that put in on its way to Rowanhart."

Isranon felt a rush of unhappiness, and most of it was with himself. When the taste of Anksha's blood
had caused the instincts of a demon-eater male to be transferred to him over their psychic link, he had
battered Anksha cruelly in the process of impregnating her. ?They didn't say good-bye because of what I
did to Anksha."

 Nans nodded. ?Can you blame them? Squeaky never felt comfortable around you after that. I tried to
explain it to them."
 "It's okay, Nans. I'll deal with it.? His heart contradicted his words. While the restoration of the
demon-eater species had been a necessary and admirable deed; the brutality under which he had
achieved it was not.

"Good. We've still got those lists."
                                                   ****

When Isranon finished going over the lists with Nans, he went looking for Corbienne. Her relationship
with Iuf troubled him. Isranon felt it was not his place to speak to Iuf, since the mon?at least to Isranon's
mind?belonged to Nans; however, Corbienne was a vampire and that put her under Isranon's direct
authority. The separation of their spheres of authority between himself and Nans had never been defined,
so much as intuited.

 He remained aware of racial animosities, although the Rowdies trusted him?he had healed Travis of a
mortal wound?Isranon could not change the fact he had been born sa'necari, and therefore one of the
monsters they were pledged to fight and destroy. So Isranon left all questions of the discipline regarding
the humans in their company to Nans.

Corbienne, however, was his.

 Most hemovores enjoyed feeding in social groups like humans at a dinner table. The yellow room was
the chamber they had chosen to take their meals in, and to visit with each other. It was called the Yellow
Room because the carpets, curtains, and the cushions on the chairs and sofas were all done in yellow.
The room was rarely empty and that afternoon was no exception.

Nibari of various types filled the chairs and sofas chatting, others sat on the floor or knelt before a
vampire in one of the twenty-six traditional postures of submission. Nolly, a thirteen-year-old blonde of
Three Diamonds breeding, stretched nude on her back while her master Jun ran his hands over her.

Isranon went to Jun and put his hand on the Lemyari's shoulder. ?Jun, if you don't bite her soon, you're
going to make her fang-shy."

Nolly gave Isranon a grateful smile.

"I just want to do it right,? Jun said. ?I never blooded one before."

"Maybe I should not have given you a virgin. Pick a second one from the herd and I'm sign her
ownership papers over to you."

Nolly shook her head at Jun frantically.

"I'll think about it,? Jun said.

Isranon nodded and walked deeper into the crowded rectangular hall.

 Slender, blond Garin had a dark-skinned nibari on the floor in second position with her heels pressing
her buttocks. Garin humped in a languid fashion, while feeding from the neck of a black-haired beauty
sitting astride the one he sheathed his cock in.

Isranon's appetite grew as he moved through the room. At one time, Isranon could go four or five
days?and sometimes a week or more when circumstances demanded it?without the hunger for blood
plaguing him. Lately, he craved it three and more times a day. Sipping Sanguine Rose healed his body,
but did not take the edge off his appetite.

His fangs descended fully from their sheaths and he licked them.

 "Are you hungry, master?? Eevy approached him, unbuttoning her blouse, and letting it slide off her
shoulders, down her arms, and settle at her waist, where the sash held it to her body.

Isranon's eyes roved her delicate form, wanting more than her blood. Among the sa'necari and other
hemovores, having sex with a nibari did not count as adultery. He pulled Eevy into the circle of his arm,
kneading her breasts. ?A sip now. More later,? he whispered into her ear. ?The blue room on the east
wing?"

Eevy moaned as his fangs delicately broke her skin and opened the large vein in her neck.

 He pulled out and licked the wound closed when he felt Eevy weaken. ?Bring a friend. I'll meet you
there an hour before dinner."

"I'll bring Farris. You'll like her."

 Isranon noticed Eevy swaying as she stepped back from him. He gestured at a nibari on the sofa.
?Eustyn, take Eevy to her room and see that she gets some juice and a snack."

Then Isranon moved on. He realized with a rush of guilt how close he had come to taking too much from
Eevy, and that he still felt hungry. Irritation with this change in himself bloomed into a tiny flame of anger.
Am I finally becoming a monster?

 Corbienne sat in a chair with a nibari kneeling between her knees. She sucked from his neck. Iuf sat in a
chair beside her, watching it all with avid interest. Seeing the Rowdy there, Isranon swallowed an urge to
shout at Corbienne in rage for bringing him.

 He strode across the room, stepping between other nibari who were engaged with their masters, and
stopped beside her. Isranon put a shaking hand on Corbienne's shoulder. ?I want to talk to you,? he said
firmly, unable to completely school the wrath from his voice.

 The Lemyari eased out of the nibari's neck, sealed the wound with a swipe of her tongue, and met
Isranon's gaze. ?What's wrong?"

"What's he doing here?? Isranon thumbed at Iuf.

"I brought him."

"I did not ask who brought him. I asked what is he doing here?"

"I wanted to watch,? said Iuf.

 Isranon's eyes went cold as stone. ?You don't belong here.? He turned on Corbienne. ?Why did you
bring him? Are you planning on turning him? Did you want him to see what it would be like living as one
of us?"
"There's no us, Isranon,? Corbienne snapped back at him. ?You're not a vampire."

"It's none of your business, Isranon,? said Iuf.

 Isranon became aware that the rest of the room had gone silent. Everyone had ceased in their pleasures
to stare at the small tableau. ?Get out of here, Iuf. Get out or I'll put you out."

Iuf glanced at Corbienne, gave a nod, and left.

"That was mean."

"Are you intending on turning Iuf?"

Corbienne lowered her head, glancing uncomfortably to the side.

"Well, are you?"

"It's none of your business."

 Isranon snarled. A gesture from his hand wrapped Corbienne in white energy and lifted her to the ceiling.
?Either I am your liege-lord or I am not. If I am?as you have so sworn to me?then all of this is my
business."

 Corbienne whimpered and writhed as the arcane force tightened around her. ?Yes. Yes, I wanted to
turn him. He refuses."

Isranon returned Corbienne to her chair, but did not yet release her. ?If you turn him without my
permission, I will cast you both from this camp with the hell brand on your foreheads. If Iuf dies in the
dance, I'll burn you to ash."

Corbienne began to weep. ?It won't happen. I swear it won't."

"You danced your family to extinction.? Isranon reached into her consciousness and flashed her
nightmare memories across her mind's eye.

Corbienne doubled up, shrieking.

Isranon released her. ?I want you and Iuf to have counseling sessions with Amiri once each week at the
very least."

She gave a long, anguished moan and fled the room.

Closing his eyes, Isranon sucked in a series of calming breaths. ?Go on about your business."

Then he limped from the room. His legs had begun to hurt again.


                                             CHAPTER TWO
                                              BAD NEWS

Pandeena dismounted from her horse, a blunt-faced yellow dun of sturdy lycan breeding. She had a pack
animal tied to a rope that connected it to her saddle, as did her companion, Caimbeul. They walked
together toward the stout wooden bridge spanning the gorge cut through the sheer stone walls by the
deep cataract known as the Eirlys River. The rushing roar of the Eirlys made fitting music for their
entrance into the lands of one Waejontor's most powerful lycan clans. On three sides the land descended
into rugged canyons and twisted valleys that looked like a giant had ripped his fingers through the soil.

 Seven lycan guards in gigantic wolf form emerged from the thick stand of fragrant white pine and cedars
three spear lengths beyond the bridge where a heavy barrier of brush and briars offered them
concealment.

Odhran, a large lycan in his hybrid form, accompanied them, wearing a loose robe over trousers.

"Welcome back, Pandeena,? Odhran said. ?We've missed our priest."

"I've brought you a lawgiver, as I promised,? she replied, thumbing at Caimbeul.

Odhran eyed the grizzled lycan walking beside her. ?Who is he?"

 A large smile of anticipation spread across Pandeena's features. ?Caimbeul of Running Horse. He has
turned over his see to his apprentice and come to serve Clan Red Wolf in their time of need."

All seven of the wolves changed to myn to greet Caimbeul as Odhran stared open-mouthed at the
newcomer. He recovered quickly and rushed to greet the legendary lawgiver. ?I'm honored to meet you.
Honored."

Caimbeul gripped Odhran's hand and sniffed his fingers. ?You'll do."

Odhran returned the gesture, and then glanced at Pandeena to explain what the lawgiver meant by that,
but Pandeena just shrugged.

"Let's go see the chieftain, Caimbeul,? Pandeena said. ?You'll need to introduce yourself and establish
your presence."

"Of course,? Caimbeul responded. ?I've not seen young Claw in decades."

"Well, he's not young any more."

"None of us are, Pandeena."

Odhran goggled at the easy way their young priest handled the legend walking at her side.

 They approached a large manor house with elaborate gardens surrounding the back and east side. A
large barn and stables swept out to the west side of it. The simple practicality of water troughs and
hitching posts in the courtyard contrasted sharply with elegance behind it. Blue veins shot through the
chinked pale yellow stone of the manor house.

 In the garden to the side, Pandeena saw a woven arbor standing in the middle such as lycans used for
weddings. The bride and groom walked through it together in symbol of their joining. It would be left
there until the bride became pregnant, and then taken down as a signal to the community that their mating
had proved successful. A lycan bride's duty was to produce her first cub as soon as possible. The sooner
an arbor went down, the more the male's reputation in the community increased.
"Who married?? Pandeena asked.

 "Our princess. We were beginning to think she wouldn't ever stop lusting after that filthy sa'necari who
abandoned her."

Pandeena smiled back at Odhran. ?Who was the lucky wolf?"

 "Not a wolf. But, at least he isn't sa'necari.? Odhran's tone sounded a bit off, and Pandeena wondered
at that.

She tilted her head to the side. ?Who?"

 "Malthus Estrobian. He's a strong male. He'll have the princess swollen with a proper heir for old Claw
in no time."

The breath caught sharply in Pandeena's lungs, tightening her chest, and she glanced at Caimbeul, who
gave her a tiny nod. ?I'm happy for her,? Pandeena lied.

"A wedding is always a happy event,? said Caimbeul. ?I can't wait to congratulate them."

"The lawgiver from Sweet Fishes presided over it. He's gone back to his village now. I expect you'll
want to visit all the villages,? said Odhran.

 "In time ... in time.? Caimbeul pulled at his grizzled chin. The lawgiver of Wolffgard village was
considered senior to all the lawgivers in the valley because of his connection to the chieftain Claw
Redhand. The last one had been unusually young, Nikko Softpaws had received his place as lawgiver at
the age of sixteen. Nikko was believed dead, although his body had never been found, because bits of
his flesh had been discovered lodged in the teeth of several dead imps. Imps ate their prey alive. The bits
and pieces of Nikko's flesh were Read, and found to contain traces of Devil's Silver, a deadly poison to
lycans, but not to imps.

Odhran knocked on the manor's door and a nibari answered.

"Hello, Isbeth,? Odhran said. ?We're here to see your master. Pandeena has brought the new lawgiver."

 Isbeth nodded to him, and ushered them into the great hall. A huge hearth at the far end dominated the
room and there were four looms set out to the side of it. Clusters of furniture filled the chamber. Six
people sat in the hall.

Merissa's mother Aisha, and her paternal aunts, Fianait and Searlait, sat at their looms near the hearth
working the delicate kazamerie wool that their family was famous for. Aisha had gone grey with age and
very little of her youthful brown coloring remained in her heavy hair. Fianait, although younger than her
brother Claw by a handful of years, had thinning white hair that she wore in a bun. Searlait, the youngest,
had a single white streak through her fading chestnut hair. Merissa had been a change of life child for
Claw and Aisha; looking at Searlait, Pandeena could tell that Merissa had gotten her coloring from
Claw's side of the family.

 Merissa sat in a chair near the looms with Malthus in the chair beside her, his hand possessively on her
arm. She had the flushed look of a newlywed when the mating began in earnest. Pandeena caught the
subtle signs of a lycan in heat about her. Merissa wore the traditional lycan wraparound robe that could
be easily opened to facilitate their shape changing. However, Pandeena suspected that shape changing
was not the reason Merissa wore it, since it also made it easier for Malthus to get her clothes off.
Pandeena had no doubt that Malthus would get a child on her very quickly?if he was fertile. A lycan child
would inherit the valley, since Merissa's bastard son Darmyk had been born sa'necari.

 If Malthus were the Butchering Serpent, as Pandeena suspected, then he was sa'necari and they were
rarely fertile at the age that this mon appeared to be?and yet, when Pandeena had touched him briefly
several weeks ago, she had detected nothing to suggest he was anything more than true human. If he was
not the Serpent, then he was allied with that mysterious, faceless sa'necari who had systematically
murdered hundreds of her race. Of that, at least, Pandeena was certain. Some kind of link did exist.

 She shook herself free of her thoughts before she stared too long at Malthus and gave her suspicions
away. ?Congratulations on your marriage, Merissa and Malthus."

 "Thank you,? Merissa responded politely. She regarded Caimbeul closely. ?For some reason, I
expected you to look like my Uncle Brock, Aunt Fianait's twin brother."

Fianait chuckled. ?Brock was such a handsome young wolf."

"Have I disappointed you?? Caimbeul asked.

Merissa blushed. ?No, not at all."

 Claw sat near the fire in a large chair with a stand beside it. A small pipe rack with six pipes and a jar of
tobacco rested in the center of the stand. He put his pipe aside, and rose when they entered. ?Pandeena,
who have you brought us?"

"Our new lawgiver. Caimbeul of Running Horse is now Caimbeul of Wolffgard."

The three old lycans at their looms gave Caimbeul polite dips of their shoulders and went on about their
weaving.

 Claw looked astounded at his good fortune, and the bright smile that spread across his grizzled features
took ten years off his age. ?I met you when I was sixteen. You haven't changed at all."

 Caimbeul and Claw looked to be the same age, both grizzled and gray, yet still hardy. Claw gestured for
everyone to sit with a wave of his hand. ?Isbeth, get us some mead and some wine. As I recall, you'd
rather have red wine, than mead, Pandeena?"

Malthus frowned slightly, and then lowered his head with a glance to the side at Merissa. ?Let's go
upstairs. There are things we should be doing."

Merissa flushed, placed her hand on his, and rose with him. ?You'll excuse us?"

 Pandeena nodded and settled into a chair beside Caimbeul. ?Certainly. And, yes, Claw, you
remembered my preferences."

Isbeth headed for the kitchens at a gesture from the chieftain.

 "Yah. My great grandbitch was fireborn,? Caimbeul said. ?I figure I've still another five or six centuries
left in me."
 "And we'll be glad to have them,? Claw replied. He took up his pipe, scraped it out and refreshed the
tobacco, then struck a lucifer and lit it. Claw had barely taken four puffs when he set it aside, sagging
back in his chair with a grimace, kneading his left arm.

Pandeena frowned. ?Are you all right?"

"Yes,? Claw growled, in an annoyed tone, adding grudgingly, ?I've been getting these pains."

 "Have you spoken to the healer?? Pandeena leaned forward in her seat, regarding Claw for a long time.
?The valley depends upon you. You must take care of your health."

"I don't need her. They go away.? He made a dismissive gesture and started smoking again.

"How long have you been having them?"

"A week or two. It's nothing. It'll pass."
                                                  ****

Merissa climbed the stairs to the suite she shared with Malthus. Her parents had moved her into a larger
suite of rooms, now that she shared her bed with a husband. Malthus walked with his arm around her,
whispering eroticisms into her ear and kissing her neck.

As they went down the hallway, Darmyk came running up to her. He pulled at her skirts. Kenly, his
maned hunting cat stalked along behind him, his ever-present companion, and guardian that at one
hundred and fifty pounds no one in their right minds would mess with. Darmyk was nearly three years
old, but like most children of lycan blood, he was as coordinated as a human child of six or seven and
precocious in his speech.

"Mama, I want to show you something."

 She looked into his eager face, and felt a twinge of unhappiness. Since marrying, Merissa had very little
time for her son, except when Malthus went into the village for something or over to help with the
refugees at the sanctuary camp, or off to hunt in order to supply the camp with meat. The rest of the time
he spent opening her legs at every opportunity. It was not that Malthus was unskillful?no, he was very
good in bed?just that there was so much of it, and so little of anything else.

"I can't right now, Darmyk. Please go play with Ros and Lyrri."

Darmyk looked intensely disappointed. ?All right, mama.? He walked off with downcast eyes.

She watched the little boy go and it tugged at her heart that she couldn't play with him as much as she
used to.

 "He'll be okay,? Malthus said, slipping his arm around her waist and nibbling at her ear. ?He needs to
learn to do without you more. Especially once we give him a little brother or sister."

"I know."

 Merissa had confided her feelings to her mother about Malthus? sexual appetites, and been advised that
it would pass, that it was natural at this point in a marriage, and that she should give him what he wished
like a proper wife. Her father had been blunt and to the point as soon as they exchanged their vows,
telling her and Malthus, ?get me an heir as soon as possible. One that will be acceptable to the clans."

The clans rarely allowed themselves to be governed by a bitch; it nearly always had to be a dog wolf.
Neither she nor Darmyk would be acceptable to the elders to rule should something happen to her father.

They entered their chambers, and Malthus locked the door. ?I don't want the children walking in on us,?
he said, pulling his tunic off and tossing it onto a chair.

Merissa opened her robe and let it fall to the floor, revealing her body.

 Malthus sat in the chair, drew his boots off, and untied his pants, shoving them down and stepping out of
them. He stood, and Merissa could see that he was already aroused. Malthus took her hand, and led her
into their bedroom.

 She lay down and he climbed onto the bed beside her, running his hands over her. His fingers circled her
stomach. ?When it swells, how will you feel?"

"Happy,? Merissa answered. ?I want your child, Malthus."

He kissed her forehead, her mouth deeply, and then each of her nipples. ?Each day, I dream of seeing
my son sucking on those lovely breasts."

"But we might have a daughter...."

 "Whatever, I'll love it.? He probed between her legs with his long fingers, played with the knob of her
clit. ?Besides, I want a large family, many children. Some of both. Humans are not as long-lived as your
kind. I'm thirty-six. I haven't a lot of time to make them."

 "I know.... ?Merissa said, and then gave a long moan of pleasure as he aroused her body, making her
impatient to have him inside her.

 Malthus licked his way along her and tormented her nipples with his teeth. His cock bobbed tantalizingly
against her clit. ?You'll always look more beautiful to me when you're swollen with my children, than
when you're slender without them."

"Seed me,? Merissa moaned again. ?Seed me."

Malthus reached down, guiding his knob inside her warm, wet sheath, and began to thrust.
                                              ****

Odhran followed Pandeena and Caimbeul as they left the manor after their conversation with Claw. ?Our
lawgiver was teaching the morning classes at the camp,? Odhran said. ?And then our priest, that was old
Tempest, taught the second half, religious stuff and so forth."

"Tempest Anstey?? Caimbeul asked.

"Why, yes, Master Caimbeul."

"Caimbeul's my name, not Master Caimbeul,? he said, then added with a wink, ?Though to listen to
her...? he thumbed at Pandeena, ?you'd think it was Old Lecher."
Odhran looked uncomfortable as Pandeena grumbled under her breath and waved him away. ?I'll show
Caimbeul around. Do you have a lawgiver house?"

"Yes. But it hasn't been lived in since Nevin left. Nikko stayed with his mother."

"Nikko's the dead one?? Caimbeul asked.

"Yes,? replied Odhran. ?It will probably take a day or two for the house to be made livable."

"Caimbeul can stay with me until its ready,? Pandeena told him.

"As you wish,? Odhran said, and hurried off.

Pandeena turned to Caimbeul, with her hands on her hips, and a stern expression. ?Next time you're
wondering why I divorced you, think about how what you just did looked."

"Then it wasn't just the boy?? Caimbeul asked, sobering.

She looked away from him in discomfort. ?No. Losing him was just the last cut of the knife."

"I'm sorry."

"Yes, I'm sure you are,? she said, going suddenly brusque. ?Come on. If I had thought that anyone else
was up to the task at hand, I would never have asked you."

 The rustic village contained mostly the traditional longhouses of variegated stone, with newer frame
houses sprinkled through, painted in the forest colors beloved of the lycans. A single main street
traversed the village, which was almost large enough to be called a small town, with numerous residential
side streets. They passed a large assortment of shops and establishments, including two eateries, a couple
of taverns, a dry goods, a tanner's, and toward the end a blacksmith and a harness-maker. The majority
of lycans were no more than semi-literate, hence the graphics on the signs over every place of business.
Where human villages tended to be dirty, with streets of dead brown, packed down earth, the lycan main
street was thick with trees of all kinds and grass growing in a wide swath down the middle. Trees shaded
the fronts and sides of every building, with tree rounds and benches for sitting scattered through with
comfortable abandon. The lycans were fond of sitting outside and gabbing with whoever happened by.
People stopped to nod at them and acknowledge their priest Pandeena in a mix of politeness and
curiosity as they sized up the newcomer walking beside her.

 She introduced Caimbeul as they walked, knowing that word of his arrival would sweep the village, and
everyone would know by nightfall.

 At the northeast end of the village, the road divided into a Y, with the left hand road leading to the
refugee camp and the right hand continuing on to the next village. They took the left hand road and
walked along the shady path until they reached the camp.

 The sanctuary proved to be mostly a cluster of woven cone-shaped sheelings that required dropping to
your knees before crawling inside. Smoke rose from ventilation holes in the roofs. A long house built of
stone stood at the center with a chimney in the middle of its roof. Several smaller buildings of wood stood
half finished. A short distance away three more stone houses were being raised as permanent shelters, as
well as others that were still being constructed by the refugees with hired-help and volunteers from among
the lycans. Most of the workers were teenagers, yet they moved to their tasks capably and without
hesitation. All lycans were reared to a trade as soon as they could walk, and at fourteen they took on an
adult's work as they were then considered to be of legal age.

 Several young myn paused in their work to regard them. Caimbeul's glance went to the spellcords on a
female's wrists. ?You have sa'necari here?"

 "Five. All women with children. I'm told they allowed themselves to be corded in order to have
sanctuary here for the children. Two of them have lycan children."

"Interesting. Lots of cubs here,? Caimbeul observed.

 "Well, yes, but then that's the reason they're all here. Women with children can't run as far and as fast as
males, so they needed a place to go to ground as close to their home territories as they could. Although
the one from farthest away is Diantha. She tried for the Sharani border, because she was close on it. But
the Battle of Phligethyn forced her to turn back. Two of her three children perished before she reached
here."

Pandeena pointed to a slender dark mon, who stared dully across the yard. ?Only her twelve year old
daughter survived. They had both been beaten and raped during their flight here. I'm told the daughter
was given tansy shortly after arriving to abort what those assholes shoved inside her."

Caimbeul stared at his hands for a time. ?There's no way to keep our people out of the war."

 "It isn't a question of keeping our people out of it. The assholes have brought it to us,? Pandeena
growled. ?You were further from it when you were at Running Horse in Silver Paw. Red Wolf is on the
leading edge of it. This time, don't let me down."

Caimbeul lifted her eyes to hers. ?I won't, Pandeena. I swear it."

 "Come on and I'll introduce you to Clodagh.? A note of impatience entered Pandeena's voice. ?She runs
the camp under my supervision."

Pandeena walked up to the central and largest longhouse, where she knocked on the door. An attractive
bitch, pretty in a round-faced way, answered.

 "Welcome back, Pandeena,? Clodagh said in a pleasant voice. She looked Caimbeul up and down
speculatively. ?Is this our new lawgiver?"

Pandeena wondered why the way Clodagh sized up Caimbeul sent a shiver over her. ?This is Caimbeul,
previously of Running Horse."

 Clodagh's eyes widened at the name. ?Oh, my, you did bring us a good one. Please, come in.? She
stepped back from the door. ?Let me get you something to drink. I have tea, mead, whiskey."

 Caimbeul started to step in and Pandeena's hand on his arm stopped him. ?No, thanks. I still need to
finish showing Caimbeul around. Perhaps later."

"Come any time, Lawgiver. Day or night,? Clodagh said.

As Pandeena led Caimbeul back toward the corner of the compound where the shrine lay, he asked her,
?Is Clodagh a slut?"

 "She certainly is not,? Pandeena snarled, and then went silent, thinking furiously. ?What made you ask
that?"

Caimbeul pulled at his whiskery chin. ?She's not my type. But I think she was flashing her tail at me."

 Pandeena's brow furrowed. ?The previous bitch who ran this place was a known slut of enormous
proportions. She was killed a few months ago. I simply cannot imagine how Claw could have placed
another one like that in charge."

"I may be wrong sometimes about dogs, but I'm rarely wrong about bitches."

 "Claw's like all the other chieftains. He disapproves of sluts. They cause fights among the young dogs. I
can't imagine him putting one in charge of vulnerable women."

"So you don't agree she was giving me the wag?"

"Indeed not!"

 The Shrine to Willodarus proved to be a simple building, a square box with two wings, located in a
shady yard with grass and flowering hedges. ?My apartment is on the right wing. The left is the
schoolroom,? Pandeena explained as they walked around the building.

She took Caimbeul to the back and pointed out an area directly behind the shrine, marked off as a
graveyard by a dotting of white stones. A wooden arch framed the entrance with the likeness of the
Willodarian bear atop it. She walked through and indicated the only headstone there.

Caimbeul lifted a spiky eyebrow at her. ?Why are you showing me this?"

"You knew Tempest Anstey, didn't you?"

Caimbeul frowned slightly, again pulling at his chin. ?What of it?"

"That's his grave."

Caimbeul's eyes looked as if he were searching for something inside himself, as he asked. ?What did he
die of?"

"A heart attack?they say."

"That's the one thing he couldn't die of,? Caimbeul growled under his breath.

"So you know about Teakamon linking his heart to a tree."

Caimbeul's eyes slewed around and he snapped low, ?Shut up. To your left. We're being followed."

 Pandeena dropped to her knees and began cleaning off Tempest's headstone. From the corner of her
eyes, she saw Shalto and Oswyl watching them. She knew that the two sixteen-year-olds spent an
uncommon amount of time with Malthus. ?Let's go inside. I imagine you're thirsty."
"I definitely am,? Caimbeul said in a loud voice. ?You wouldn't happen to have some Dragonsbreath
with you? Best whiskey there is."

"I hate it. But I may have something you'll like just as much.? She led Caimbeul in through the back
door, made a left turn in the corridor that wrapped around the back of the shrine and opened a door to
her left. She nodded at the one on her right and further down. ?That opens into the shrine itself."

 Pandeena's apartment contained three cozy rooms, a sitting room, kitchen, and bedroom. Caimbeul
poked his nose into the bedroom and whistled at the huge bed that dwarfed the rest of the furniture.
?There's room for more than two in that one."

"Don't get any ideas,? Pandeena admonished.

 Caimbeul popped back out and followed her into the sitting room. ?You have any idea why they were
following us?"

 "Suspicions only. I battered them severely some weeks back for trying to climb my back in a very
insistent fashion."

"Same old Pandeena,? he grinned. ?Dogs their age are always trying to climb every bitch in sight. They'll
get over it."

 "Yes, well. I have a lot more to be concerned about besides two youngsters with nutsacks for brains.
So, has any of this put questions in your mind?? She picked a chair that sat against the wall furthest from
the door, and next to a sofa.

 "Lots. To start with, what's this about a proper heir?? Caimbeul asked, as he settled on her sofa. ?I
thought Claw had two sons."

 "Both dead as of eighty years ago. You don't keep up like you used to.? Pandeena brought him a beer
and sat in a chair across from him. ?Merissa has a bastard child by a sa'necari lover. The boy is both
wilderkin and sa'necari."

"Interesting combination. I have never heard of a sa'necari being born wilderkin,? Caimbeul said, taking
a swig from his glass.

Pandeena shook her head. ?No. Disturbing. Hear me out. He has a birthmark of the bear. I suspect he
was godmarked at birth by Teakamon."

Caimbeul leaned forward in his chair, propped his feet up on the edge of another chair, and pulled his
boots off to rub at his toes. ?Even more interesting."

 "Shut up, Caimbeul. I'm not finished. I suspect that the boy, Darmyk, might be the last descendant of
Dawnhand.... Claw and his household are very closed mouthed about the boy's father, so I can't be
certain. And his mother's just married the mon I believe is the Butchering Serpent.? Then she explained
how when she first met Malthus, the mon had discreetly tried to Read her and could not get past her
shields. Yet she had not discovered anything to suggest that he was sa'necari from that touch.

"It's possible he has some small mage gift, perhaps? Nothing that you've said, none of the evidence
you've offered really proves that he's the Serpent.? Caimbeul sat back with a heavy settling of his weight,
his arms draping the chair arms and his hands closing on the ends. The chair creaked. Caimbeul's huge
size translated into a three hundred pound wolf whenever he changed.

 Pandeena could not remain in her chair long, stood and walked to her window. She opened the shutters
and stared into the garden. Two shapes moved in the trees at the edge. ?Keep your voice, down,
Caimbeul. They're still out there."

"This is not good,? he growled. Hair sprouted and lengthened along his arms, spreading over his face in
black and gray.

 She faced him again, speaking quietly. ?Malthus felt perfectly human to my touch, and if he had not tried
to Read me, I would have assumed there was nothing out of the ordinary about him."

"I will want to speak with the young lawgiver I am replacing here."

 "They think he's dead, Caimbeul.? Pandeena paced back and forth with her glass of wine in hand. ?I
want to leave it that way. If the Serpent learned that he had failed to kill Nikko, he'd find a way to strike
at him."

"They'll hear nothing about him from me."

 "Caimbeul, we've been over this before. Sometimes I think you only remember the parts you want to
remember, and forget the rest. Nikko can't even remember his own name. Although.... ?Pandeena
paused for a moment, thinking. ?He did remember the dog's name when I took little Moss to my
mother's. That was the first thing he said. Moss. And then he looked at me for confirmation that the dog's
name was Moss."

"Trauma. I won't do anything to upset him.? Caimbeul scratched his hairy arm. ?Pandeena, will you
please stop pacing, you're beginning to get on my poor old nerves. I'm not a young wolf anymore."

Pandeena frowned, and sat down. ?His heart is damaged. Upsetting him could kill him."

Caimbeul ran a hand through his shaggy hair, and made a despairing sound. ?I understand that. I said I
wouldn't upset him. I simply want to see him, to smell him."

Pandeena pursed her lips and blew through them. ?We'll do that once you're settled in."

 Caimbeul's tongue slid from the side of his half extended muzzle and hung there like a hungry dog. ?I'd
rather settle in here."

"None of that you, old lecher,? Pandeena said. ?We're not married any longer."

 Caimbeul heaved a great sigh, his muzzle shrinking back into his face. ?You do know how to hurt an old
mon. I'll make you a trade. I find the proof that this Malthus is the Serpent, or link him to the Serpent so
that you can find the whoreson, and you give me a night in your bed like old times.? He gave her a
wicked grin full of little boy naughtiness.

"Caimbeul...."

"One night. Just one.? His voice turned mournful. ?Like the wild cousins. No ties."

Pandeena's lips parted and she raked her teeth over her lower lip. ?I don't approve of the custom of the
wild cousins. I've tried too hard to make my people stand up and walk as myn.? She paused and sighed.
?All right. One night."

Caimbeul's face brightened with eagerness. ?The night of my choice."

"Caimbeul! You're going to try and catch me in heat, aren't you?"

The old wolf shrugged, with a guilty smile, remembering the time that Pandeena had caught him in a
brothel in Dragonton. She had hauled his ass out and beaten him, but he still loved her.

 Pandeena's eyes widened into an affronted stare. ?Our son is dead. Making another isn't going to
change how I feel about you now. We're just friends."

The old wolf dropped his eyes. ?You want my help, those are my terms."

"You should do it for the good of our people."

 "I'm feeling selfish in my old age.? Caimbeul crossed his arms and sat back. ?Besides, you can't blame
an old mon for trying, can you?"

 "One night. Of your choosing. Don't ask again and keep your hands to yourself until then. And, you're
sleeping on the sofa until they get the house ready."

"Another thing, Pandeena. The Butchering Serpent is one of the most dangerous sa'necari in existence.
Therefore, I want you to mark me."

"Are you sure? You refused when we were married."

"One of our lives might depend on our being psychically linked through your godmark."

She considered that. ?Open your robe."

Caimbeul opened his robe completely, which caused Pandeena to look at his crotch.

"Well, you needn't have showed me that, I have no intention of climbing onto it.? She placed her palm on
his chest, and accepted his allegiance. Her touch seared his flesh, but he did not wince from it. When she
drew back her hand, the wolf's head brand of the Second Mother was burned over his heart.
                                                  ****

Kandaishee hurried back inside her house when she saw Pandeena and the newcomer arrive. That
grizzled old wolf had to be the new lawgiver. Caution had become a watchword now that she could no
longer conceal her pregnancy. She dared not let either of them see her, because they would demand to
know who had gotten the child on her. Clodagh could still go about freely because she was not showing
yet.

 The house had a dirt floor and two half-walls at either end with curtains over the windows and doors
leading into the central chamber, like all the traditional lycan longhouses. Kandaishee's bedroom lay on
the left hand side, and her little son Gilzean's on the other. She went into her bedroom and curled up on
her bed, crying. She felt the little jerks as Malthus? child moved in her belly. Her pregnancy was the
furthest along of all of them. The spellcords on her wrists itched, but she feared to touch them lest she set
off the deadly seals. Malthus had some method of concealing his nature beyond anything Kandaishee had
ever heard of, or else he would be corded like her four sa'necari companions. Since the rebellion began,
the lycans would not allow uncorded adult sa'necari in their valley.

Even had she not been corded, Kandaishee doubted that she could have fought him off the day he raped
her and shoved his child into her womb: the Butchering Serpent was simply too powerful a sa'necari.

 The child inside her moved again. Kandaishee put her hand on her belly, running her fingers across
herself. She had surrendered to Malthus? arcane intrusions, rather risk having her mind ripped open and
forcibly altered, because of her small son who would have suffered had her mind been too damaged to
care for him.

 Those memories made her rise from her bed. Kandaishee left her room and went to his. Gilzean lay
curled on his side, a little stuffed wolf clutched in his hands. She had made the toy for him herself when
they first came to the valley. The five-year-old already looked so much like his dead father that it brought
tears to her eyes.

 She straightened the blanket around him. The nights lately had turned cool with the first hint of autumn.
Feeling the shivering hands of memories tightening through her, Kandaishee returned to the main room of
the longhouse.

 "Why couldn't they have left us alone?? Kandaishee muttered angrily. ?Why? They stick their yards into
lycan bitches often enough. What was wrong with my marrying Domhnall?"

 She knew the answer. Sa'necari condemned interracial marriages involving their women. It was all about
the bloody gene, their males wanting to hold onto every female who could produce a sa'necari child. The
sa'necari gene was recessive. When a sa'necari female married a lycan, the children usually were all lycan
as Gilzean was. When sa'necari bred with sa'necari, the result was always sa'necari. Oh, there were rare
exceptions of a human child resulting and Kandaishee had heard of a few. She had known a couple in the
priesthood who were rearing their freakishly human offspring as a sacrifice to Bellocar.

 A vision flashed through her mind of the farmhouse on fire, and Domhnall shouting for her to flee. She
saw him outlined against the burning house in his hybrid form, struggling to fight off the six sa'necari males
who had attacked their home. Kandaishee felt Gilzean's fingers clutching her tightly as she fled into the
forest. Domhnall's death scream echoed through her mind as clearly as it had that night, ululating through
the darkness.

 The heaviness of the flashback brought Kandaishee sobbing to her knees. Beth had sheltered her in this
camp. She and Gilzean had been the first of the refugees. The Chieftain Claw had insisted that she be
corded and sealed from her powers. So long as Gilzean was safe, what did that matter?

"Domhnall, if your spirit can hear me, I didn't want this child.? Kandaishee pressed her hands to her
belly. ?I swore I would never bear another man's child. Forgive me."

 Then she thought of Beth, her only real friend among the lycans. The lycans had found pieces of her near
Iudris Meadows, but not enough for the Readers to say how she died. Kandaishee believed that Malthus
or one of his allies had rited her.

 His coercions, sways, and triggers were now too deeply and well set in her psyche and body for her to
ever be free again. Malthus owned her, as he did all of the other females in camp, including Clodagh, the
camp supervisor.
 With his spells lodged in all their brains, he had turned it into a discreet brothel for his favorites among
the lycan youth who flocked to emulate him. At last count there were nine pregnancies in the camp. They
had no access to contraception, nor to Baroucha?Malthus did not want them going to a healer?and the
lycans seemed not to care what happened to them. Except Clodagh, but Malthus? seed was growing in
that belly also. Four of them were pregnant by Malthus, herself, Clodagh, and two other sa'necari,
Laleyna and Oliffyia. Of them, only Clodagh was not conspicuously swollen yet.

Malthus was as fertile as he was powerful.

Kandaishee wept for all of them.
                                                   ****

Malthus slipped from the manor at midnight while the household slept and walked in the garden as he did
each night. Living at the manor made him privy to more information, but it had its drawbacks. There were
too many people to observe him there, and he needed to be accessible at some point each day in case
messages came from Lord Brandrahoon.

 He shivered at Brandrahoon's name. Malthus had not known that Lord Daemon, who had hired him to
infiltrate the Red Wolf community and command the conquest of it, had actually been the ancient
vampire?brother to Waejonan, founder of the kingdom and the sa'necari cult from which their race had
risen. Brandrahoon had regained his lands and estates that had been seized four thousand years ago by
Waejonan, who had exiled him. Queen Tomyrilen, who led the Waejontori rebellion against the Sharani
occupying their land, rode with him at her right hand as her first advisor above all others.

Brandrahoon ... Merissa is mine. I'll not yield her up to you.

 Malthus paced into the trees, letting the deepest shadows envelop him. He should never have written
that letter to Lord Daemon, telling him about Merissa and Darmyk. Hoon wanted them because they
belonged to the last descendant of his brother Isranon Dawnhand. Malthus could almost see giving Hoon
the boy, but not Merissa. He loved Merissa; she had borne a sa'necari child. Usually the lycan gene was
dominant over the sa'necari gene, and a child of such couplings was born lycan. But Merissa?No,
Merissa was his. If she could bear one sa'necari child, then she would likely conceive mostly sa'necari
children. He would keep her belly filled continuously, deliciously. They would have a huge family, one
that boasted of his unusual virility.

 He ought to write his mother, and tell her how well the potions and arcanes she had treated him with
since adolescence had slowed the progressive infertility of his kind?if anything her efforts had enhanced
his fertility beyond anything his kind ever possessed. His mother Sidera Lukaszins, currently employed as
a toxicologist and bio-alchemist by Lord Hoon, had been quietly and systematically setting up
laboratories in the dungeons of Carrion Crevasse, Malthus? hidden manor, in preparation for his return
there. The Lukaszins had specialized in poisons and venoms for generations, including the discovery and
refining of Devil's Silver and experiments with genetically altered and enhanced breeds of vipers using a
mutagenic arcane they had developed.

 The flapping of wings in the trees above him drew Malthus from his thoughts. He tensed when he saw
the bat, wondering if Sergei had returned. The Lemyari messenger had raped Malthus? seven-year-old
niece Ros, and left her for dead with a small quantity of his venom in her blood stream. Malthus had
managed to pull Ros out of the paralysis, but the child remained weakened. It enraged him, and he raised
power to rip the undead soul out of the messenger.

He opened his necromantic senses and threw a low level scan into the trees. The bat up there was
definitely undead and vampiric. ?Come down, Sergei, and I'll rip your throat out."

 The bat fluttered out of his reach to another cluster of trees, and Malthus followed, with a hand on his
sword. In the shadows stood a slender mon, her lips curved into a sneer.

"Having trouble with Sergei?? Zinzi asked, taking the messenger's pouch from her shoulder.

Malthus frowned, stepping cautiously toward the slender vampire. ?I heard you were dead."

She laughed low. ?As dead as undeath."

"In Minnoras...."

"Oh that.? Zinzi extended the pouch to him. ?That was someone else's head that Hoon found on his
gatepost. I sent in a changeling first. I suspected that traitors had been killing my birds, so you can
understand my caution."

Malthus took the pouch from Zinzi, removed the letters, and handed the pouch back. ?I can indeed."

 Hoon, like many of the older Lemyari, favored turning mages. Malthus wondered why he had never
suspected before that Zinzi might have been a mage, but then Lemyari mages tended to hide or disguise
their talents, favoring discretion over display.

"Having trouble with Sergei?? Zinzi repeated.

"He raped my niece. If he comes back, I'll kill him."

Zinzi smirked. ?I'm sure you'll try. But I'll ask Hoon to keep him away."

"I would appreciate that.? Malthus turned on his heel, walking toward the manor.

"My payment,? Zinzi called after him.

Malthus paused and looked at her. ?I don't owe you. I haven't anything going back."

 After weeks of no messages, Malthus had not come prepared to pay. However, there was one payment
that was always accepted. He pushed up his sleeve and extended his wrist. ?A couple of sips, and no
more."

 Zinzi grinned then, and came to him. Her fangs, with the distinctive tiny hook at the bottom that marked
her as vampire, descended from their sheaths. Malthus did not flinch when she took his wrist and plunged
her fangs into him, although he had not fed anyone in years, except Ros when he called her back from the
edge of death with his own blood. Zinzi took two strong pulls, hauling as much of his blood as she could
in the sips allotted to her.

"That's enough,? Malthus growled.

 Zinzi withdrew, swiping her tongue over the wound to close it. ?Delicious. You aren't bad looking. You
could come to my bed anytime."

"I don't sleep with vamps.? Malthus turned and left her.
"Rude bastard,? Zinzi muttered, and changed.

 Malthus walked back to the house, drawing his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. The first cool
nights of autumn had arrived with the waning of summer. He let himself into the manor through a
servants? door in the rear, passing with swift silence through the corridors, past the sleeping chambers of
the nibari and those of the lycan servants. The guardsmyn, who might have been more alert to his
passage, slept in another wing above the salle. Claw had expanded the manor over the last ten years,
almost as if he were gathering his household for war.

 Well, he didn't do it fast enough. The war is upon him and he's not ready or strong enough to stop
us.

 Malthus thought back to the increasing frequency with which he saw Claw grimace and knead his left
arm. The chieftain was ill, but not admitting it yet. It had started the day of the wedding.

Stupid wolf, I'm killing you and you don't know it.

 He crossed the broad landing of the second floor staircase, heading for the study Claw had given over to
him at his request. He opened the door and locked it behind him, easing down the bar that would prevent
it being opened even if the mon on the other side had a key. Removing the bar would give him time to
hide whatever he did not wish to be seen. He knelt at the fireplace and got a blaze going there, before
settling at his oaken desk with the letters that Zinzi had brought him.

Three letters. One from Hoon, one from his mother, and one from Egidius. Zinzi must have been making
a circuit, picking up payments at each stop.

 He slid his fingers over the seal on his mother's letter. Sidera always put a mage seal beneath the wax
one. If anyone except the one for whom it was intended tried to open the letter, the missive would
destroy itself. Sidera had a distinctive and powerful mage gift, which was why her father had chosen
her?out of all the offspring his harem had given him?to be the principal inheritor of his estates. Women
could not, under normal circumstances, inherit properties, titles, and great estates in Waejontor, but every
rule was made to be broken?with the right influence.

Malthus popped the letter open with the proper word of command.

Malthus,

 I'm so very happy to learn of your marriage. I can't wait to meet her. From the description of
your successes with your concubines, I expect that I'll have a legitimate grandchild soon as well.

 The special chambers have been readied at Carrion Cravasse for your concubines, and I have sent
talented people there to see them through their laying in times. Also, the dungeons and laboratories are
finished to your specifications, stocked, and prepared. The first captives you sent have been confined per
your instructions. Your cousin Tarentia has moved into quarters there to serve as your seneschal and
primary assistant again.

Not a word of this place has escaped to either Hoon or the queen. I am grateful concerning your
warnings. I would never have dreamed that Lord Daemon was Hoon, much less Brandrahoon.

Your loving mother,
Sidera Lukaszins

 Malthus smiled in satisfaction after finishing the letter. His mother never let him down. But that was to be
expected, considering that he was her only child. Sidera had been Lord Feodras? toxicologist and
bio-alchemist, designing poisons and antidotes on his behalf. Lord Feodras had made her his mistress
against her will, got Malthus on her, and forbidden her other lovers. With her sylvan blood, she was still
young enough for other children, but so far had not chosen to make any since Feodras? death. Malthus
wondered what it would feel like to have a sibling from his mother. All of his paternal siblings were dead.
Two of them at his own hands. The only brother he had experienced any closeness to had been Troyes.
But Isranon had killed Troyes over Merissa, and then gotten his bastard child on her. The little bastard
would have to die?and his father also.

 He folded the letter, took it to the fireplace, and shoved it into the flames. Once he had it burning well,
Malthus returned to the desk and considered the final two. The one from Lord Hoon made him nervous,
and he left it for last.

Malthus,

 When you are ready, Laetus has his units positioned to take the village of Three Stones. Give the
word and we'll take it. As per our agreement, forty percent of the women and children captured
will be sent on to Carrion Cravasse to await your pleasures, the other ten percent of your share
will be held in the caves to meet your needs. Four from that last steading we burned are still
available for use, although I admit I'm getting very hungry for a rite.

Egidius

Malthus carried that letter to the fire and burned it also.

 A rite. Yes, a rite would be so nice. I haven't felt a mon die beneath me in weeks. Malthus? cock
grew hard at the thought of slipping it into a dying body. That made him think of Merissa. He put Hoon's
letter into a secret compartment at the bottom of his quiver of arrows, and then headed for the bedroom
to wake his wife.


                                             CHAPTER THREE
                                              FIFTH BLADE

The army of the Minnorian Empire camped on the banks of the Alethe Stream, which was the boundary
between this No Man's Land and Angrim. The God-Queen Gylorean Galee had laid claim to the
intervening land and stretched out her hand to claim Angrim next. Spreading elms and willows lined the
banks, providing a limited concealment for the army. Behind them the sounds of logging echoed, axes
thunking into wood and hammers pounding, as a primitive plank bridge was assembled to allow the
war-wagons to cross the stream with the infantry and cavalry. The wagons were nearly useless in the
forested portions, but a large section of Angrim sat on a plain long denuded of trees by the humans living
there and once they reached it the wagons would prove worthwhile for more than transport.

 Several members of the company, including the leaders, had private wagons to carry specialties of their
craft and serve as workshops and private meeting places. Mondarius, especially, made good use of his.
Once he had enough victims of Angrimer origin for his rites, he intended to send an arcane strike against
the royal family there.
 The command tent was the largest structure in the camp, and several trees had been cleared to make
room to set it up. Inside sat a huge trestle table spread with maps, food, and drink. Along the far side
stood a double bed with a stack of blankets to keep out the autumn chill.

 The Minnorian general Ynkendio Kreuz set small flags out on the map, moving them about throughout
the evening as more scouting reports came in. He was a grizzled mon in his mid fifties, well experienced in
his craft. His jowly face was deeply seamed, his square chin was as blunt as his words, and his eyes were
as hard as black diamonds. The horned hellmark of Galee had been burned into his neck as a sign of his
devotion and her favor. On the opposite side of his neck were three old feeding scars.

 "So far, scouts report six farms and two small villages between here and the city of Nubyrlon.?
Ynkendio's voice had a hoarse quality. ?Small raiding parties should suffice to sweep the farms. I want
them taken all on the same day so no words gets out that we've arrived, and then we split the army and
surround both villages. No one gets out?alive."

Ynkendio's finger traced the hellmark on his neck with a satisfied smile as he faced Zyne. Galee had
promised him power beyond anything he could imagine, and he had betrayed his king, Vansolo of
Minnoras, into her hands as proof of his faith and devotion. He had dreamed all his life of the kind of
power she could grant him. When Vansolo tried to secretly send his youngest son to safety, Ynkendio
had made certain that the myn assigned to take the youth to Gormond's Reach took the prince instead to
Zyne who delivered him to Galee. He had introduced his officers into bondage, forced nobles into
Galee's worship, and left wealthy merchants in her clutches until the city was ripe to fall to its knees
before his beautiful god.

 The nekaryiane Zyne stood across from him, opening and closing her huge wings. As the first of the
nekaryiane, Zyne had greater powers than the others of her kind, of which there were yet only a handful.
Nekaryiane were difficult to make, the most powerful of the undead ever to exist, and the rising failed
more often than it succeeded because it required a body that could generate intense amounts of mage
energies to survive the transition. Galee had experienced the same difficulties with making sa'nekaryiane
in the days before the previous godwar, despite the fact that she had had more advanced technologies at
her command then.

 She wore a gem-studded chain mail halter that barely covered her full breasts, and a small triangle of the
same fashioning hung from a chain around her hips to drape her loins. Every male in the Army wanted her
crimson-skinned beauty in his bed, despite the knowledge that death sometimes waited within her arms.
To all who marched beneath the Minnorian banner, Zyne was the avatar of their god, Gylorean Galee.

"It is a sound plan,? she said. ?And, one that should prevent word of us arriving at Nubyrlon before
we're camped beneath its walls."

 Mondarius the divinator stood at the end of the table, regarding the maps with interest. The hellmark
stood out on his pale neck amidst the recent feeding scars. He wore long black robes with a belt of
strange ritual tools, a length of chain wrapped around his waist with the end hanging to his knees,
spellcords ready at his waist to bind a mage?any kind of mage?from accessing his gifts; one of the
spellcord types was specifically for binding yuwenghau, the divine knights-errant who were godlings in
their own right. Mondarius was an ugly mon and some said he was not entirely human. He had a large
mouth with full lips that dominated the elongated rectangle of his face. His prognathous jaw and long,
hooked nose suggested an insect grown to human proportions. His forehead was broad and high with a
conspicuous widow's peak of ebony hair over deathly pale flesh reminiscent of the underbelly of a fish.
His teeth were sharp, angular, and shark-like.
 While they waited for the last scouting report to come in, Mondarius? aide arrived, and whispered in his
ear, ?There is a messenger to speak with you in your tent. He says it's for your ears alone."

Mondarius nodded. ?Mistress Zyne, Lord Ynkendio, I will return shortly."

He walked briskly to his tent, followed by his aide, and signed the mon to wait outside.

 The Lemyari messenger sat on a campstool in the center of the divinator's large tent. He was a short,
ill-favored mon with four rows of heavy frown lines etched into his forehead. His brow ridge jutted over
his small, deep set eyes, and a thick nose sat humped and hooked above his thin sneering lips. His fangs
were down and he had a hungry look. Mondarius immediately went to a chest, brought forth a bottle of
human blood, and put it in the messenger's hands.

"What have you brought me, Sergei?? Mondarius asked.

"Things to make your eyes glow, demon.? Sergei opened the large satchel at his side and extended to
Mondarius an object wrapped in black silk.

Mondarius? eyes widened when he unwrapped it. A blade with a blackened handle lay within the silk.
On the quillons, where it would strike the flesh if pushed in all the way, were marks of Zarliche Blood that
would sear the flesh. On one side of the blade were the killing runes of the sa'necari and on the other
Mondarius? own runes. ?The fifth blade.? He breathed the words out low.

 Zarliche had finally finished it. The blade had been meant for Bodramet, but not been finished before
Hoon dispatched Mondarius to his estate in Minnoras. Sa'necari were hard to kill, but he would not need
to get in a killing blow with this one. The runes and spells from the first four blades were already lodged
in Isranon's body?Isranon whom he suspected of being Lord Dawnreturning?and all he needed to do
was slip this one in all the way to kill him. Isranon would be dead in minutes, even if the wound were not
a fatal one in itself.

 Sergei reached into his satchel again and brought out a letter. Mondarius took it from his hand and
gestured for him to leave. Then he wrapped the blade up, placed it in the pouch on his belt, and broke
the seal on the letter.

Mondarius,

Make good use of the blade. Dawnreturning is heading north to do battle with you. Kill him.

 He is not the last descendant of Dawnhand. There is a boy child in Red Wolf Valley. I don't trust the
agent I have been in touch with. Send a unit to the valley to collect the child. I want him brought to me
alive and unharmed.

Hoon escaped shortly after you left. He is now in Waejontor. See that he dies.

Gylorean Galee, God-Queen of Minnoras

Mondarius licked his lips and grinned, displaying his large shark-like teeth. A child hhhmmmn? He
wondered what the queen intended to do with the boy. It didn't really matter, since whatever the queen
wished, it was his duty to acquire for her. He folded the letter up and shoved it in another of his pouches.
He took the blade out again and turned it in his hands, admiring the work. As much as he disliked
Zarliche Blood, he had to admit the mon was talented. This blade was the key to the lock on Isranon's
fate.

 If only Hoon had not grown impatient and sent him to the estate before this one was finished. He
gestured with the blade, pretending the young mon was bound before him, slipping it into his body, feeling
the flesh part like butter before its sharpness, hearing the faint sucking noise of muscle as the blade came
out so he could stick Isranon again. Images of Isranon grimacing, screaming, and writhing in agony as he
died danced through Mondarius? head.

 "At last, at last, at last,? he said gleefully, feeling a surge of excitement he had not felt since sticking his
first victims in his youth.

 It had been such a shame that the fifth one had not yet been finished when Hoon sent him to the estate
near Minnoras. Isranon had been dwelling there as one of Anksha the Beast's six current blood-slaves.
Hoon did not yet know that Mondarius had become part of his household as a double agent in service to
the queen, and Mondarius had feared he would not get another chance to deliver the blades and end the
life of the sa'necari heretic that his queen hated.

Gloating over his possession of the fifth blade, Mondarius slid into his remembrances of the first four.

Mondarius carried his large satchel as Bodramet opened the door and ushered him in. His eyes
went to the closed door into the inner chamber, wondering if the other four were hiding behind it.

"What do you want?? Bodramet demanded.

A thin, venomous smile crossed Mondarius? face. ?Are they all here?"

"You knew they would be or you would not have come."

 Bodramet led Mondarius into the inner chamber and resumed his place at the head of the room. Ennis
and Yoris sat upon a couch at the foot of the furniture cluster, Gareth who was second in power to
Bodramet sat at their leader's right hand, and Petros who was third to Bodramet's left hand.

Their murmur of surprise at Mondarius? entrance satisfied the divinator.

"I told you he would come,? Bodramet said.

"The Master of Blood sends his regards,? said Mondarius.

The mention of Zarliche Blood was sufficient to quiet the room. Zarliche made weapons, traded in items
of dark magic, poisons of incredible potency, and always left a string of slain yuwenghau in his wake.

Mondarius could see that Bodramet was intrigued. He eyed Mondarius closely as the divinator opened
his satchel, bringing out four large objects wrapped in shielding black cloth, which he passed to
Bodramet's companions. When Mondarius handed him nothing, Bodramet demanded, ?What is this?"

 "I fear I was only able to acquire four from the Master. One of you will have to acquire your own. I take
it you found the book enlightening?"

 Mondarius had feared that he would get this reaction, but he had been procrastinating with Lord Hoon
as long as he could to give Zarliche time to finish as many of the blades as possible. And, when time ran
out, it ran out...

"Very,? Bodramet said. ?Why is there nothing for me?"

 "Because you are the strongest. Acquire a common blade and bless it when next you feed upon a full
meal.? Mondarius smiled then, his parting lips showing the edge of his fangs. He ran his tongue along
them and then flicked it out in a sensuous, suggestive manner. ?You must wait until Anksha has gone
hunting. While she is away, you will find these useful. Be careful that no one discovers you have them."

"Does it matter how we do it, Mondarius? So long as he dies?"

"Blades.? Yoris grinned, turning his over in his hand, feeling the weight of it, the balance, tasting the
power in the runes.

"To a degree, yes,? Mondarius responded as Bodramet wandered over to have a look at what Yoris
held. ?Look at them closely."

Bodramet extended his hand to Yoris. ?Let me see it."

Yoris glared, but yielded the blade to Bodramet.

 Bodramet turned it in his hand while Mondarius continued to speak. ?One side of the blade has my spell
runes. The other has sa'necari death runes. The quillons and hilt have a specialty of Master Blood's, see
the deathtree rune of the Hellgod?"

"I see it."

 "All four must be shoved into Isranon all the way to the quillons at least once ... while he is alive. More
would be better. That will lodge my spells in his body to be triggered at the instant of his death. Ideally,
the quillons themselves should touch his bare skin to call forth Master Blood's spells. Then, even should
they find him alive, they cannot save him."

 Bodramet reluctantly returned the blade to Yoris. ?Why give those to them and not me? I want one
also."

 "Because you are the strongest,? Mondarius repeated. ?If you must have a blade to carve him up,
I am certain you can acquire one. Your powers should be sufficient, Bodramet.? Mondarius played
to his ego to the best of his ability. ?If I could have waited another two weeks" I never dreamed it
would be not two weeks, but two years ? before leaving the Master of Blood would have finished
the fifth blade, but Hoon became insistent that I depart. I did not know whether I would get
another chance to come. So long as Isranon and Timon die, it does not matter. Rite the one if you
wish and suck the undead soul out of the vampire. So long as the blades go in as I described, it
does not matter how it is achieved."

 "Carve ... him up,? Bodramet's mouth licked around the word ?carve', liking the sound of it.
?Yes, you are right, Mondarius."

The tent flap rustled and Mondarius looked up to rail at his assistant for entering before he had been
given permission, then froze. Zyne swaggered into the tent with her fangs fully down and a hungry look in
her eyes.
 "You just fed this morning,? Mondarius said nervously, backing away from her, his finger going to the
fresh scar on his neck. He shoved the blade into his pouch before she could see it. The blade was his and
he would not have Zyne taking it away from him.

"You're the only one who satisfies me. I like strong blood."

 "I'm drinking from a bottle, Zyne.? Mondarius? sphincters tightened. In all the centuries of his life, no one
had ever bitten him until Galee did so in a fit of pique and shared him with Zyne. They had hurt him badly,
and bound part of his soul, stripped his mage net and shaukras of their bio-alchemical components in
their greed to drink as much of his essence as they could without permanently crippling him?he had been
mage-blind for weeks afterward. If the crippling had been permanent, as he had feared it was at first,
they would have given him over to the rites the way they did all burnt out mages.

She strolled around him, opening and closing her wings. ?I know. We all have to make sacrifices until
we take a town ... conserve the nibari ... stretch out the number of deaths we can take from the captives
we have so far."

Mondarius knew that Zyne could see and taste his terror of her, but he could never control himself in her
presence. ?I need my strength."

 "I'll send you someone to eat afterwards.? Zyne cornered him against the table, and leaned in, walking
her fingers up his arm while she breathed along his neck. ?There are still ten myn left in the larder for
you."

Mondarius swallowed, clutching his hands together to still his trembling. ?I would appreciate that,
Mistress Zyne."

 You broke me that day. You and Galee both. You ... broke me. He wanted to sob, but suppressed
the noises gathering in the back of his throat.

"I'm sure you will."

 Zyne wrapped her arms around him and enfolded Mondarius in her wings. He went into her grasp as
unresisting as a nibari, knowing how brutally she would hurt him otherwise. She licked his neck with her
pointed tongue. He knew the moment had arrived, shuddered hard, and then stiffened when she stabbed
her fangs through his flesh. Zyne covered the wound with her mouth, sucking him. The searing agony of
her kiss became a spiral into darkness sparkling with the intermittent relief of ecstasy. She deliberately
hurt him?punishment for his failure to kill Mephistis? children and Isranon. Mondarius knew why Zyne
liked his blood so much?demon blood was strong. He had been able to conceal his nature from the
demon-eater, Anksha, but the taste of his blood had given away his secret to Zyne. Galee had always
known the truth.

He weakened steadily in her arms, as she hauled large amounts of his blood and bio-alchemy from his
body. His awareness faded. His legs gave. He slumped against her.
                                                ****

Mondarius raised himself on trembling arms, having no idea how long he had remained unconscious
following Zyne's visit. Night had fallen, which meant several hours at least. The tent flap moved, and three
soldiers brought in a shackled mon wearing only his small clothes. The skull's head depnane brand
burned into his chest marked the mon for death. Marks of abuse covered his sturdy body, scars from the
lash and hot irons, fresh bruises from fists.
The mon's eyes had that dull, lifeless quality that Mondarius saw so often among those subjected to long
periods of terror and abuse. He enjoyed seeing that in humans.

 Mondarius considered the weakness in his body and knew he could not rise to dine as he liked at the
table. As enervated as he was, he would have to crawl over the mon's body to feed.

"Move the furniture aside and stake him out in the middle."

"On his back or his belly?? one soldier asked.

Sex would have been pleasant, but Mondarius had no energy for it. So it would be a meal only. ?Back."

 Clearly they had worked the mon over before bringing him to take the fight out of him. They pinned the
farmer to the ground, two of them holding his limbs to the proper angles while the third drove the stakes
in and then fastened the farmer's wrists and ankles to them.

"What was his crime?? Mondarius asked.

"Treason and heresy. He's the farmer that built that shrine."

Recognition flickered in Mondarius? eyes. ?Ah, yes. Did we catch the rest of his family?"

"Only the wife. You had her two weeks ago."

Two weeks. Mondarius licked his lips. He hated going so long between meals. ?Your wife was
delicious,? he said, crawling to the farmer. She had still been somewhat plump and juicy by the time he
got around to eating her. ?What's your name?"

 The farmer glared at him, as if Mondarius had managed to strike a nerve, and therefore a spark from his
shattered psyche. ?Ryss."

"Ryss what?"

The farmer looked away from him.

 Mondarius snarled at Ryss. ?Answer or I'll send you back for a taste more of the whip and irons. They'll
tenderize you like a cut of beef."

The farmer flinched. ?Redoaks. Ryss Redoaks."

 "You made a serious mistake building that shrine to Willodarus. We'll catch the rest of your family and
I'll eat them."

 Mondarius showed Ryss his teeth. Unlike most of the other hemovores, Mondarius could not sip and
then close a wound. His teeth were made for ripping his prey open and letting their lives bleed out into his
mouth.

"You made me watch,? Ryss said, a broken edge to his voice.

"Ahhh. Now I remember. So you know what's coming for you."
Last time he had had five depnane pulled from the herd and made them watch for his own pleasures.
Ryss was the one who fell to his knees and wept. Mondarius had raped his wife before chewing her
breasts off, and ripping her chest cavity open. That one had been tasty meat.

 Mondarius would have liked to send Ryss back to be tenderized; however, Zyne would deliberately
misunderstand, and then he would have nothing to eat for another week. He was too weakened by blood
loss to give up a meal. The divinator removed his robes to keep them clean, and slithered on top of Ryss.

"Get out,? he said to his guards, and they left.

He licked Ryss? neck, feeling the mon shudder beneath him.

"Do it and be damned."

 Mondarius smiled at that fading bravado. He considered where he wished to bite this time and chose the
juncture of the farmer's neck and shoulder. He bit deep, swallowing a chunk of flesh.

 Ryss screamed, his eyes bulging. His noises faded into a dying gurgle in his throat. Mondarius gulped his
blood, hauling the life from him in strong pulls. The farmer writhed for a few minutes as his heart struggled
against the blood loss. Mondarius continued to suck after Ryss stilled, until nothing more could be easily
drawn from him. He rose from the corpse renewed in strength, and wishing he could have another.

He knew better than to ask for seconds. Zyne would refuse and be annoyed. She had promised that he
would be allowed to glutton when they took the next city or town?whatever they came to first.

Mondarius unfastened one of the corpse's wrists, bent and chewed through the elbow, and then settled
back with his bloody trophy to gnaw the flesh from the bone.
                                                 ****

Ynkendio poured himself a glass of wine after the others had left. He anticipated this invasion with great
pleasure for many reasons. Ten years ago he had been humiliated on the field by Lord Reynhard Dreslin
of Angrim, when Minnoras was trying to extend her boundaries closer to theirs. He hated that mon's
arrogance, the way he had dictated terms, and the manner in which Reynhard had rubbed his nose in his
defeat. Reynhard was one of the Kyser's favorites. He owed Reynhard a debt of vengeance and
intended to collect it in the ugliest fashion possible. Sooner or later, he would find Reynhard....

 During his last stay in Minnoras, a Lemyari had become his lover, and promised him the ultimate reward
with the queen's permission before they left Minnoras to attack Angrim. She was traveling with the army,
spending every night in his bed. Her kisses were like a fire burning in his veins. And, more than anything,
he wanted his reward.

 He waited for her, knowing that he dared not express his impatience too directly or forcefully, despite
the favor he enjoyed with Galee. The young mon came in and wrapped herself around him. The general
shivered in anticipation, unlacing his tunic and breathing heavily as he ran a finger along his neck as an
invitation.

"Maruska,? he sighed her name. ?Paradise is in your kiss."

She flicked back her long dark hair. ?As mine is in your flesh, and when your flesh is deep within my
own."
 "We'll spend eternity together when I get my reward.? He pressed his face against her breasts, nibbling
her nipples through the thin fabric of her blouse. Maruska rotated her hips, riding his erection through the
fabric, teasing him to exquisite hardness. She breathed along his neck and pricked him with the edge of
her fangs. Ynkendio moaned with yearning, yet she pulled back and did not enter his flesh.

 She climbed onto the table and sat on the edge with her bare foot in his crotch, feeling him with her toes,
squeezing and pinching, pressing down and rubbing. ?You've done well, Ynkendio. All the east bank
city-states fell to you. Charas was a blood-bath, but we took it.? She purred her words, drawing them
out like a cat stretching, as she leaned back, resting on her palms and thrust her shapely breasts toward
him. ?We gained many mage-slaves for our army."

"Well enough for my reward?? He slid his hands up her dress and massaged her calves.

 Maruska shrugged, leaned forward, and licked his neck. The repeated flicks of her tongue made his skin
tender, and his desire for her kiss intensified. He cupped her breasts, massaging them, thumbing the
nipples to hardness.

"If I do it now, we'll lose three days, and our larders are getting low."

 "The next town is a five day march, at least. I could travel in the back of a wagon for the three days it
took me to rise. You and Zyne could pretend to be carrying out my orders.? His hand slipped into the
waist band of her skirt, and down into the silken thatch. ?I want to be one with you. I want to be your
forever lover."

Maruska licked her lips, allowing her fangs to descend completely from their sheaths, brandishing her
promise of pleasure at him. ?As I do."

 Ynkendio pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply, deliberately pricking his tongue on her fangs so
that his blood spread through her mouth. He swiped his bleeding tongue across hers, along the roof of
her mouth, and as far back in her throat as he could reach. Withdrawing from her, he licked her lips to
leave a smear of crimson across them. ?Please, I'll make a more powerful leader and commander of myn
once I've had my reward.... And a better lover."

 "I'm as eager as you are. More so, I think.? She opened his pants, lifted out his hardened spear, and
settled her mouth of pleasure over him. Ynkendio grunted as she rode his shaft, his arms holding her
tightly to him. Her fangs entered his neck, her gifts swept through him, and the totality of pleasure became
his.

When they had sated themselves, Maruska picked his glass up, and poured the remaining wine on the
ground. She pulled the knife from Ynkendio's belt and sliced her wrist open. ?This is how it begins."

His eyes glowed as he watched her blood fill it to the brim. As a Lemyari, he would be one of the most
powerful commanders in the god-queen's army. Maruska had told him that she was as old as and
possibly older than Galee herself. His body was scarred by Maruska's eager fangs, yet he wanted more.

She handed him the glass. ?Drink."

 Ynkendio did so. The blood burned going down his throat. He half-choked as he fought to keep it
down, to keep swallowing it, desperately wanting what it promised. Immortality. He finished it and smiled
at her, breathing hard.
Maruska smiled back. She opened his tunic, pushed it up over his head, and dropped it on the floor.
Her hands moved over his chest as if searching for something.

Ynkendio watched her closely. ?Now what?"

 Maruska chuckled as the glamour she wore fell away. She dropped her clothing. Tall curved horns
swept back from her forehead, her skin turned orange and her eyes became slitted crimson and black
orbs. Her tail unfurled and snapped out at him. The eight inch stinger had ten ridges that were sharp as
blades and a needle thin barbed tip.

 Ynkendio's eyes widened in horror, for he had never seen the whip-like appendage and her true form
before. She was not Lemyari?Maruska was a demon. His lips opened to scream, but no sounds came
out as she touched her hand to his throat with a silencing spell. Her stinger plunged deep into his chest, all
the way to the last ridge. Agony shot through him, and Ynkendio realized that she had been stroking his
chest to select her target. She caught him by the shoulders as he tried to wrench away from her.

 "Naughty, naughty,? Maruska chuckled, embracing him in her impossibly strong arms, so that her stinger
could linger in his body, and pump the entirety of her venom into his bloodstream and lungs. ?The more
that goes in, the sooner life ends. The sooner you die, the sooner you rise?as my mate. And, you must
have all of my venom to transition properly."

His flesh blackened around the stinger, and then erupted in red welts as if he had been beaten with a cat
of nine tails. She jerked her tail out of him and licked the blood oozing from the large wound she had
made. ?Did you think that because I am a blood-eater, that I was Lemyari?"

"Demon ... noooo.? Ynkendio shuddered and went still. She lifted the general's corpse easily and carried
him to his bed. There she covered him to the neck, and stroked his dead face. ?When you wake from
death, lover, you won't be undead. You'll be a demon."

 Zyne sauntered in, knelt beside Maruska, and ran her finger over the ugly rictus of Ynkendio's frozen
features. ?I wondered how much longer you'd wait."

"I've wanted a mate ever since the holy one freed me from that cavern where I slept."

 Zyne laughed. ?Soon you'll have one, and the Skerpyons will return to power in this world.? She flicked
back the covers and stared at Ynkendio's chest. ?My, what a big hole you make.? Then she laughed
again.

"If I encounter this mage Mondarius is always talking of, I'll make a very large hole in him. Right through
his heart."

Zyne sneered. ?If I don't get him first."

"Once Ynkendio seeds me, I'll need at least two dozen strong slaves to implant my eggs in while they're
hatching."

"I'll see that you have good strong ones."


                                             CHAPTER FOUR
                                       THE PRICE OF HERESY

Anksha had a bag of candy tied to her belt. She had begun wearing clothes continuously once she found
out she was pregnant, instead of scampering through the treetops with mud as her only attire. Her black
leathers and a silken blue blouse brought out the fairness of her skin. The short fur on her body did not
extend beyond her collarbone, her wrists, and ankles. So she could pass for human so long as she hid her
tightly-curled tail and did not smile widely enough to display her fangs, which had only partial sheaths,
unlike the Lemyari and sa'necari.

The nibari children had finished their chores and gathered for a game of toss ball. She listened to them a
moment and then darted in among them, grabbing the ball with a squeal. ?Catch me!"

 The nibari children who had come with Nans? company reacted immediately by chasing her. The newly
acquired nibari children hesitated before following, still uncertain of the ways of their new owners. They
raced through the gardens and grounds, laughing and giggling as every time they thought they had her
cornered, Anksha did one of her incredible leaps and went sailing over their heads. The demon-eater
loved a romp.

 When the children began to tire, she gathered them up and passed out pieces of candy, filling their hands
and tousling their heads. That was when she noticed the other clump of children. The sa'necari children
stood silently watching, the younger ones with open longing in their eyes, most of them no more than six
or seven years old. Anksha gestured to them.

 Stygean and Jingen refused to approach and hoped the littles would follow their example. But then a
single girl went hesitantly to Anksha and received a handful of candy. She put a piece in her mouth,
sucking on it and smiled. Soon the others were heading for her and the two boys were left standing alone.

 "I don't get it,? Jingen said. ?She scares the hell out of us and then she gives us candy? Are we supposed
to be grateful?"

"I'm not stupid.? Stygean turned and walked off.

 Jingen smiled and then went to Anksha for his candy. He held out his hand and Anksha grinned at him as
she placed several pieces of honey candy wrapped in wax paper twists. Jingen's smile broadened as he
popped one into his mouth. ?Thank you. My favorites.? He crunched the candy and spoke around it,
?You're good to us."

Anksha beamed at him.

 "I have chores,? Jingen said and walked off into the area near the stables where the wagons were being
prepared to set out in a few days. Once between the wagons, he glanced around to see that no one was
looking and spat the candy out?he hated honey candy.
                                                  ****

"Isranon, the two twelve-year-olds ought to be killed before we leave Ocealay,? said Amiri.

 Isranon pushed back the book he was reading and regarded her ?I can't allow that. They have as much
right as anyone to live, until they've proved themselves dangerous to others."

"Do you know what they teach sa'necari children from around the age of five? What they make them
memorize?"
Isranon frowned. ?No. I was raised among the Dark Brothers and the lycans. When I went to live with
Mephistis, I closed it all out. I didn't want to know."

"Well, it's time you knew because I've overheard Stygean and Jingen chanting their ?lessons? and you
won't like it.

"Sa'necari, born to rule

With other races shall we due

Our natures we'll concea

Until it's time to revea

Sa'necari hide their powers

Until Ocealay is ours.

Sa'necari, strong and brave,

Other races shall enslave

 By eating flesh, blood, and lives, other races will enslave by eating flesh, blood and lives sa'necari shall
arise by eating flesh, blood and souls sa'necari magic grows through eating flesh, blood and souls
sa'necari magic grows

Rise to conquer lesser races.

cattle shall they be

As of old in Haradante."

Isranon chilled hearing this. ?But Ocealay...."

 Amiri shook her head impatiently and the heavy wood and glass beads in her hair clacked together.
?They change the goals, the city names, but it's always the same basic teaching poem. One of them is
going to stick a blade into you, or still someone's heart with their magic, or drain a nibari. Or commit the
rites just before running off."

"Anksha would get them."

"They could wait until she was too swollen with your child."

 Isranon lowered his head, twiddling with a curl that had come loose from the leather thong. ?I don't want
to kill them. I want to teach them."

"Do you really want to wait until someone else gets hurts before you deal with them?"

"I am dealing with them."
"Isranon, you'll have to be very stern. Much sterner than you have ever been so far."

"How so?"

 "Set laws, rules, and a list of punishments. Then stick to it. Order them beaten and lashed if necessary.
You may even have to break them, Isranon. You might have to shatter their minds, and put compulsions
into their innermost recesses. Can you do that? Are you capable of hurting them that way? Because if
you're not, then Zulaika and I are going to kill them."

"Amiri, I don't want you to kill them."

"We'd give them the gentlest death possible, and then remove their hearts so they wouldn't rise."

"Amiri!"

 "You have to chose, Isranon. One or the other. Too many depend upon you, for you to endanger
yourself?and others?with two filthy rite hungry boys. You have three choices, accept my terms, watch
them die, or burn Zulaika and I both to dust."

Isranon heaved a long sigh. ?You're making this very hard, Amiri."

"It has to be done."

"I accept your terms. Now, go away. I can't deal with anymore from you."

"On your sacred honor?"

"Yes. On my sacred honor, my god be witness.? He gestured at her to leave.

Amiri headed for the door, then stopped and turned. ?Corbienne and Iuf have begun sessions with me.
You threatened to burn her."

"I guess knows that by now."

"They do. Why were you so willing with Corbienne and so reluctant with the boys?"

"Because Corbienne should know better."

"So should the boys."

"Old enough to kill, old enough to die.? Amiri walked out.

 He propped his legs up and noticed a splotch of wetness on his thigh. Isranon did not have to touch it to
know that it was blood. His old wounds had opened up again. Even when he got them to completely
close and heal, they simply re-created themselves from the embedded spells in his body. ?I hate you,
Bodramet. I hope your soul is screaming in hell."

 It had always been difficult for Isranon to hold onto hate and anger. It tended to slip away from him into
forgiveness?much like Anksha had forgiven him for raping and beating her repeatedly while under the
thrall of the demon-eater biological imperative which he had assumed with the taste of her blood.
Amiri was a bio-magicalist and a bio-alchemist. Isranon had intended to inquire more deeply about the
nature of what happened between him and Anksha, but Amiri had side-tracked that conversation with
her concerns regarding Stygean and Jingen. He would make a point of taking it up with Amiri later when
he once more felt capable of dealing with it.
                                                ****

"What is this withering she keeps talking about?? Stygean whispered to Jingen as they were escorted
back to their rooms to be locked in for the night.

"When we're in the room I'll tell you. I thought you knew."

 Nevin, the scar-faced lycan who escorted them was the same one who had captured Stygean a month
ago in his family's mansion. Stygean shivered being near him. It was almost as bad as Anksha, although
the large lycan had never threatened him since that first encounter. The boy could not shake off the
memories of waking in his room, where he had fallen asleep reading, to find the mansion empty. No
servants had answered his calls. The lights had not been lit, despite the fact that by then it was dark.
Frightened, Stygean had gone in search of his parents and found instead this lycan, named Nevin, going
through his parents? chambers. When he tried to run, Nevin had struck him a stunning blow, spellcorded
him, and carried him off.

 Nevin's voice had a sibilant quality as it passed across his scarred upper lip. A kenda'ryl blade had left it
permanently half-split. A long savage scar passed from his forehead, across his broken nose and all the
way to his chin. A second long scar crossed from his left temple to his jaw. Only kenda'ryl, the hardest
metal in existence?which could take the strongest magic charge known?and runed silver could scar a
lycan. Stygean found him hideous to look at.

"In,? Nevin ordered, pointing at the door.

Stygean darted inside, fled across the room, and threw himself on the sofa. Jingen followed more slowly,
giving Nevin a polite bow before entering.

 When Stygean heard the door close and the key click in the lock, he rolled onto his side and faced
Jingen. ?Now answer my question. What exactly is this withering?"

Jingen settled on an overstuffed chair and drew his legs up. ?According to my mother, all the
blood-slaves like her and your father will die of it eventually."

The breath caught painfully in Stygean's chest. ?Why? How?"

Jingen shrugged. ?It just happens. Like the Presence Pain. The blood-slaves hurt worse and worse in
her presence and the only thing that eases it is when she feeds on them."

"I know about the Pain. I want to know about the withering."

Jingen let his fangs down and licked them. ?Give me a taste of your blood and I'll tell you every thing I
know. They aren't feeding me enough blood. I'm bored with table scraps."

 Stygean's stomach clenched at the idea of having someone's fangs in him, although he had never flinched
from shoving his own into a nibari. ?No."

"Are you afraid of me?? Jingen asked, rising and approaching him. He touched Stygean lightly on the
cheek and stroked downward to his neck. ?I am very good at this."

"No! I just don't want to play nibble games."

 "Nibble games? Who's talking about nibble games? It isn't like I'm asking to shove my rod up your ass,
although I'm good at that also. I want a taste from your wrist."

Stygean leaped off the sofa and knocked Jingen down. ?Don't you ever talk to me that way. I'm a
Loosestrife and you're only a Scathwick."

Jingen smiled and extended his hands. ?As you wish. But caste no longer matters. We're both slaves
now."

 Stygean stalked into the bedroom and threw himself down on his bed. Jingen followed. Stygean ignored
him.

"So you want to know about the withering?? Jingen asked, settling onto his own bed.

Stygean rolled onto his side again. ?Yes."

 "It looks like a spreading redness in the first stages, splotchiness from the armpits that spreads across the
chest. Then it develops pustules and streaks like claws have been dug through them and become
infected. Finally it turns black. By then all the muscles have melted off the bones.? Jingen sounded like he
was enjoying the description.

Stygean thought of his father and fought not to cry at the images. His stomach soured and he wondered
how Jingen could speak of it so nonchalantly when his own mother would eventually suffer from it as
well. ?Do they hurt?"

 Jingen nodded. ?Horribly. The agony of the final stages is extreme. They go mad, frothing at the mouth in
the grip of rages and hallucinations."

"Is there a way to cure it? Or stop it?"

"No."

 Stygean lay silent for a long time after that. Jingen came and sat on the edge of his bed; Stygean wish
that he wouldn't. ?Where are you getting all of this?"

"My mother. Because she's a bio-alchemist, they have put her to work with those two Ymraudes. She
meets many people that way. They tell her things."

 "Does she know where all the missing children are? There's less than half from my father's household
alone and I know there must have been far more than those they tossed in with us from the other
households."

A venomous look passed across Jingen's features and vanished. ?They're dead."

Stygean had feared that. His stomach soured.

"We're sa'necari, Stygean. That's what they do to us. It doesn't matter if we're only children."
"My father always said that it was our destiny to rule this world. We are the top of the food chain. Even
more so than the vampires."

 "Which is why they kill us.? Jingen flicked a black curl from Stygean's forehead, and Stygean allowed his
touch this time.

"The renunciate is sa'necari. How can he allow this?"

"My mother says he's eliminating rivals."

Stygean squirmed. ?Talk about something else."

Jingen's fangs had come down again and his tongue darted along them. ?Didn't you say that your father
had promised you Farris for your first rite?"

 "Yes. I asked him for her. She's a screamer. But I'll never get her now. The renunciate will not allow us
the rites. If we commit the rites we'll be thrown to his beast, like our parents."

Jingen gave him a poisoned smile. ?Doesn't mean you can't get a taste of her blood and a ride between
her legs."

"I'll never get a chance."

"You make your own chances, Stygean. I have my eye on one and I'll have her under me soon."

Stygean sat up, suddenly interested. ?Which one?"

"Nolly."

 "I know her. She's from my father's best bloodlines, the Three Diamonds.? He described Nolly's
distinctive attributes with the relish and attention to detail that he had gained from listening to his father
discuss and point out him what to look for in a fine nibari of the various breeds. ?You can tell that from
the fullness of her hips, the breadth of her pelvic bones, and the sweet aftertaste of her blood. And her
long neck. Three Diamonds have always been bred for that long, luscious neck.? Stygean's eyes went
suddenly distant, tears crept in. His father had always been so proud of his registered herd.

Jingen smirked. ?And now they all belong to the renunciate ... except Nolly. Do you know what he did
with her?"

"No,? Stygean said, his voice catching softly.

"He gave her to that vampire, Jun, as a gift, so that he can start his own herd."

Stygean stiffened. ?That?that's an outrage."

"Isn't it though? A Three Diamonds nibari wasted on a filthy vampire?"

 Stygean felt as though insult had been added to injury: his father was dying and his family's most
treasured possessions were being given away to mere vampires. His world had been destroyed by
Isranon, everything tasted like dust and ashes in his mouth, and rage boiled into words as he slammed his
fist against the headboard of his bed. ?I'd like to kill that renunciate. The price of heresy is death."

 Jingen lowered his chin and regarded Stygean for a few breaths. ?But would you have the courage to
stick him, if you could?"

"I could shove a blade through his heart without a thought."


                                            CHAPTER FIVE
                                         WOES OF THE WOMEN

Merissa sat watching the children playing in the garden, with her hands in her lap. Her gaze stole to the
wedding arch. She knew that she should order it taken down, so that Malthus could make the rounds of
the taverns and exercise his bragging rights. Merissa didn't want to tell him yet. Some part of her kept
holding off. She had recognized the first tiny changes in her body the moment they began, and knew from
her previous pregnancy what they meant. She had never expected to become pregnant so swiftly. She
was not certain why she kept holding back.

"Merissa,? Claw's voice came from behind her, and she swiveled on the bench.

"He spends a lot of time hunting, that husband of yours,? Claw growled.

 Malthus had gone hunting two days ago to provide meat for the sanctuary as he had been frequently
doing since late last spring. Shalto, who worked at the sanctuary, had stopped by to inform Malthus of
the need. Merissa always felt relieved when her husband left for a few days, because he kept her on her
back with her legs open more often than not. Since the day of the wedding, his work for the sanctuary
had become the only thing that gave her time to herself, time to be with Darmyk. Maybe that would
change once he knew his efforts had proved fruitful.

"He still provides for the sanctuary, father,? Merissa responded. ?He feels responsible for them. He's a
good mon."

"He should be here. He has other responsibilities,? Claw grumbled.

 Knowing what her father referred to, Merissa glanced at the arch and then stared at her hands. ?Take
the arch down, father."

 Claw's face lit, and he pulled her into his arms for an awkward hug. ?So he's done his job. I have
another grandcub on its way."

 She stirred uneasily. Ever since the letter from Nevin stating that Isranon had repudiated Darmyk and
called her a slut, her father had been trying to be more comforting and affectionate with her, as if to fill the
emotional gap in her life and relieve some of her pain. She hadn't told anyone that she still cried over that
letter. ?Yes, father."

"Shall I send for Baroucha?"

 Merissa pushed away from him, shaking her head. ?I don't like Baroucha.? She shivered, remembering
how hard Baroucha had pushed for her to abort Darmyk, and how the healer had threatened to poison
Isranon. ?I'd rather you sent for Sheradyn. He attended me while I carried Darmyk. I'm sure granny can
spare him."
 Claw kissed her forehead. ?Whatever you wish. Now go in and tell your mother. I'll get that arch down,
so your mon will know his efforts have been victorious."

 Merissa gave a demure nod, and headed into the manor. She found Aisha at her loom, weaving a bright
pattern into the cloth. Fianait settled her conservative wraparound robe into place as she returned to her
loom. Merissa knew that Fianait disapproved of the complex human style clothing she favored. The only
time that Merissa had resorted to wearing the traditional robes was when she had been very swollen with
Darmyk. She needed to get out her old maternity clothes and see what shape they were in. Merissa had
become depressed during the final months of carrying Darmyk, crying over the fact that she would
probably never see his father again, and as a result wore mainly dark unflattering colors until a year after
Darmyk's birth. Malthus would expect her to dress better than that while carrying his child. She would
need to have their nibari start stitching for her.

 She drew a chair up so that she could sit behind her mother, and sucked in a fortifying breath. ?Mother,
I'm?I'm pregnant."

Aisha laid her shuttle down and pushed her seat back, studying her daughter. ?You don't look happy."

Merissa looked away, wondering why it was so hard for her to meet the eyes of the people who loved
her. ?Malthus will be very happy. Father is."

"What about you?"

"I'm happy. Really, I am. It's just?for some reason I want to cry, and keep crying."

"That's normal,? said Aunt Fianait. ?You're young. You'll get over it."

 Merissa, feeling strangely uneasy, bit back a retort as to what Fianait would know about bearing
cubs?considering that Fianait had measured every dog wolf against her twin, Brock, and found them
lacking, which caused her to remain a maiden into her old age.

Aisha gave Fianait a silencing look, and turned to her daughter. ?How long have you known?"

"Two weeks."

Aisha looked thoughtful. ?Your husband is a potent male. That's good."

 Going so long between children had been nice, Merissa thought. However, from the way that Malthus
spoke to her, it sounded as if he intended to give her no time between pregnancies.

"At least this one should probably be lycan,? said Searlait gently. ?And that should please everyone,
Merissa."

Merissa contemplated her hands, her fingers twined over her stomach. ?Yes, it should."
                                               ****

Claw was breathing heavy by the time he wrestled one side of the arch from the ground. It twisted in his
hands and he hesitated, knowing that it was considered bad luck if the arch broke being removed. A
sharp pain lanced through his chest and he staggered back. The arch swayed and started to topple on
one side. Claw darted forward, caught it, and then leaned his head against it fighting a wave of dizziness.
The pain, dizziness, and shortness of breath had become more frequent since he first experienced it on
Merissa's wedding day.

"Let us help you, Claw,? said Belgair.

 Claw glanced up and saw the captain of his guardsmyn and Odhran coming toward him. He straightened
in an effort to mask his difficulty. The two younger myn reached him and took the arch from his hands.

"Where do you want it? The storage room?? Belgair asked.

"Yes.? Claw felt grateful that they had not remarked on his momentary weakness. ?Can you handle it
without me?"

"Malthus got his job done fast.? Odhran sounded appreciative as they carried the arch back to the
manor.

"We'll have a true prince this time,? said Belgair.

 Claw did not answer. He loved his grandson, but the chieftain had known from the outset that his people
would never allow Darmyk to inherit because he was born sa'necari. They would only accept a lycan as
the next chieftain.

 He left them to their work, and went inside to rest in his big chair in the Great Hall. His sisters and Aisha
were gone, fussing over Merissa most likely, and he was alone. Claw stuffed his favorite pipe, a chunky
long-stemmed pipe with a large bowl, lit it with a lucifer, and settled back to smoke and rest. The
dizziness lingered, and he felt as if he could not hold his eyes open, and was being propelled into sleep.
Claw resisted that, managing to get a few more puffs on his pipe before it became apparent that he was
losing his battle, and put the pipe aside.

Rest. I just need to rest a bit.

Pain lanced through the old wolf's chest and he blacked out.
                                                 ****

Darmyk opened his window, climbed onto the sill and stood balanced there in his bare feet. Climbing
came easier barefoot. He bounded onto the broad limb that pushed against the stones beneath his
window, walking cautiously with his arms extended to either side, and when he came close enough to his
goal, his huge two-story tree house, leaped inside. Kenly lay curled on the bed there, gnawing on a leg
bone from something he had caught the previous night. Darmyk had not yet learned to identify Kenly's
kills. His cat did not need to go hunting, but Kenly liked to.

 He heard shoes scrabbling against the bark of his tree, the creak of the ropes knotted to the deck of his
tree house, and the bumping of two small bodies against the solid trunk as the young invaders struggled
with the shifting braided hemp ladder. That would be Ros and Lyrri outside. A flash of resentment and
possessiveness sped through him.

"This is my tree house, not theirs,? muttered Darmyk.

 Darmyk did not understand why the two girls could not climb as easily as he did. His mother always told
him that it was because they were not born to a lycan mother, but Darmyk suspected it might be simply
that they were girls. Going to the doorway, Darmyk stared down at them contending with the rope
ladder. Ros had a determined look on her face that Darmyk suspected boded ill for him once she got
inside. Lyrri seemed uncertain and half scared like always, glancing at the ground every time the ladder
shifted.

"What do you want?? He wished he had thought to pull the ladder up when he first reached the tree
house, because the two girls never used his way of getting into it.

"To play with you,? Ros said. Her damaged leg had a hard time with the rope, so she moved slowly.
She bumped Lyrri's face with her foot and Lyrri yelped.

 Darmyk snickered at Lyrri getting bumped, and then his lower lip thrust out beneath the upper one. He
considered having Kenly prevent them from reaching the deck. ?I don't want to play with you."

Ros gave him one of those smiles that melted the adults and irritated Darmyk. ?I've thought of a new
game."

Darmyk tilted his head, deliberating for an instant. He got so little attention since they and their uncle
moved into the manor that he felt tempted to let them inside. ?What kind?"

"I can't tell you until I get there,? responded Ros with a touch of impatience, climbing another rung
higher. ?Is Kenly up there?"

 "Yes.? So they were going to bring up Kenly again. It used to be that both of them liked playing with his
cat, but lately Ros was always trying to get him to send Kenly away.

"Make Kenly leave or I won't tell you about the new game."

Darmyk's lips tightened. It was just as he had suspected. ?I don't want to."

Ros smiled again and her voice turned coaxing. ?Yes, you do. Lyrri likes the new game."

Darmyk sighed, his hands tightening into fists. ?I don't want to."

 Ros? face transformed in fury, and the promise of violence in her eyes seemed to burn into Darmyk's
core, frightening him. ?I'll tell Uncle Malthus that you're being bad again."

 His step-father's name squashed Darmyk's defiance. He had never been spanked before Malthus came,
and he had always tried to be a good boy, yet it seemed like every time he turned around his step-father
was smacking him over something. He backed away from the door. ?Go hunt, Kenly,? he ordered the
cat.

Kenly made a spitting noise and sprang from the window.

 Ros limped inside with a look of triumph on her face. Lyrri stepped around her so that Darmyk was
suddenly standing between them. Darmyk had a very bad feeling about this, and started to call Kenly
back, hoping that the cat had not yet gone beyond hearing him. Ros grabbed his arm, jerking him toward
her and off balance. Lyrri shoved something into his mouth. He reached to dig it out, and Ros caught that
arm also. Darmyk twisted, trying to get his arms loose as Lyrri shoved and Ros pulled, until they forced
him backwards onto the straw bed. While Lyrri sat on him, Ros jerked his robe open. Her fangs came
down.
Darmyk thrashed wildly, but could not free himself. He had not known that she had fangs.

 Ros pinned his head to the side and sank her fangs into his neck. He writhed a moment, and then stilled
as a deep languor stole over him in response to her sucking. Her tiny, immature fangs left hardly a mark
when she pulled out of him.

 Most female sa'necari got their fangs with their menses. Ros, however, was a prodigy; she had been
born with fangs and more arcane power than many adults. She touched Darmyk's forehead and sent him
to sleep with the same spell that her uncle sometimes used on her and Lyrri.

"Did you kill him?? asked Lyrri, who at six years old was a year younger than Ros. ?Uncle Malthus
wants to do that."

 Ros wiped her mouth off on a black handkerchief, shoved it back into her pocket, and smirked at her
sister in a know-it-all way. ?No. And Darmyk won't remember either. Next time we won't have to
knock him down. He'll open his robe for me."

 Lyrri stroked Darmyk's neck, her eyes glittering with fascination, and admiration for her older sister.
?Can you teach me?"

Ros shrugged disdainfully. ?What use would that be? You don't have enough power yet."

Lyrri glared at her sister. ?You're not fair."

"I'm not fair? It isn't my fault you're a normie, and I'm not. You just have to wait."

Lyrri's expression darkened and she stalked to the ladder.
                                                ****

Malthus rode north to keep his rendezvous with Egidius and finalize his plans for destroying another
section of Claw's lands to satisfy his bargain with Brandrahoon. The subjugation of the lycans, whose
treacheries had allowed the Sharani to overrun Waejontor fifteen years ago, was entering its final phases.
The queen now had agents insinuated in the villages and lands of each of the seven strongest lycan clans.
In every major city where lycans lived among the humans and sa'necari, the queen's forces under
Brandrahoon were quietly rounding them up, and moving them to detention centers located deep in the
territories that had been reclaimed from their Sharani occupiers.

 After riding for two hours, Malthus caught a flash of orange moving among the branches high above him.
More and more of his watchers began to come out of hiding. Imps scampered through the brush and
briars, through the trees on every side of him, leaping like wizened orange-skinned monkeys. The
imp-warlord Gahni had worked with Malthus many times over the years. Yet it had taken substantial
promises of food, gold, and booty to persuade Gahni to bring his people from the West Bank of the
Hillora to Waejontor.

By the time he reached the caves, Gahni would have sent messengers on to Egidius? encampment about
his approach, and Egidius would be waiting at the caves for him.

 The trees gave way steadily, thinning into a rocky fell. As Malthus? horse topped the first treeless rise,
he saw the northern border of Claw's lands, the Place of Boulders. Huge rocks, which had fallen from
the mountains rising above it, broke up the landscape like the remains of a giant's scattered toys. It
looked like a good place for an ambush and Malthus rode cautiously.
 He arrived at the caves, and dismounted. One cave, half-concealed by an overhang of thick moss and
brush, had two stone tables in front of it: a bleeding table and a table for the tools of the rites. A
twelve-year-old lycan boy lay shackled to the table on his belly. Malthus raised a speculative eyebrow as
he reached the bleeding table, and ran his fingers over the still warm corpse.

 Egidius emerged from the cave with a bottle of wine, which he waved at Malthus. ?It's a decent vintage
for lycan homebrew. Come inside and have some."

Malthus scowled at Egidius. ?I thought you were going to wait for me to make my picks from the newest
batch of captives."

 "I thought you were going to come sooner,? Egidius said, placing his bottle on the bleeding table beside
the corpse's neck.

"I got away as soon as I could. I'm not as free now that I'm living in the manor."

Egidius leered. ?Enjoying your bitch now that you've married her?"

 Malthus shoved his fingers into the corpse's wounds, brought them to his mouth, and licked off the
coagulating blood. He grinned at Egidius. ?As a matter of fact, I am,? he said in a careless manner. ?The
chieftain wants a lycan heir so badly, that he has no problem when I keep her on her back all day with
her legs spread."

 Egidius shook his head, and then ran his hands through his hair. ?I still don't understand why you'd want
to marry one of them."

 "You don't have to. It's my business, not yours. Anyway, once she's ridden my stick long enough to
swell, I'll have more free time to come here."

"And if the child is sa'necari? They'll know what you are then."

Malthus gave Egidius a long, languid smile. ?I'll mask the genes."

Egidius lifted an eyebrow. ?Can you do that?"

 "You have no idea what I can do, Egidius,? Malthus replied. ?I have stolen several major legacies in the
rites."

"Legacies! Which ones?"

Malthus waved a finger at Egidius. ?You don't need to know that. Many legacies that are believed to
have perished with King Baaltrystan when the palace collapsed didn't. They ended on my altar at Carrion
Cravasse."

"I'm your mon,? said Egidius. ?But sometimes you frighten me."

Malthus laughed and clapped him on the back. ?That's as it should be. Now, about the females. Have
you let our soldiers enjoy them?"

"Some of them have been raped so often, they spend all the rest of the time curled into whimpering
balls."

 "Have any of them caught?? Malthus walked toward the cave, thirsty for blood as his fangs descended
from their sheaths.

Egidius followed him. ?A few."

"Good. Send those to my estate."

"What are you going to do with them?"

Malthus laughed again. ?I'm going to do what Waejonan failed to. I intend to establish a breeding
program to reduce the race to something akin to the nibari. I'll want a few males, but not many. And I
want them all young like the one you rited. No adult males. They're too much trouble to break."

 "The only way that we're going to fill your larder is to start taking villages. Shall I send word for Laetus
to attack?"

 "Yes. I want all the adult males killed, drained for the bottles. That includes striplings. The only male
cubs I want are age seven and under. Beyond that, what you do with your share of the harvest is your
business."

 The cave had been turned into a dwelling place long before Malthus and his comrades found it. Cabinets
stood along one wall, and a table and chairs sat in the middle of the first chamber. Beyond a
wasp-waisted connection, a second, larger chamber opened with beds and several chests in it.

 Malthus had thought of this as his brother's cave since finding confirmation here that Troyes was dead.
He had found bottles of Troyes? blood, his blades, and the family crest he had worn in the cabinets.
Troyes, his father's legitimate son, had been the only member of Malthus paternal family he had even
come close to liking. Isranon murdered him and drained his body for the bottles. Once he had matters
well in hand, he would kill Darmyk, and send pieces of the boy to Isranon?let him weep for his son as
Malthus had for his brother, Ros and Lyrri's father.

 He took pen and paper from the cabinet and sat down at the table. ?I will need you to meet me halfway
between Wolffgard and here in a couple of weeks. I need to get my concubines safely to my manor. I'll
mask all the genetics at my soonest opportunity, so don't question when I send you a pregnant woman,
just get her there. Don't question whether the child they're carrying appears to be sa'necari or not,
because you won't be able to tell."

"So they all bred true?? Egidius sat down opposite to him.

 Malthus? eyes brightened with a smirk spreading across his face. ?Indeed, yes. Four sa'necari children
for me."

"I don't see how you can be so fertile.? Egidius? eyed Malthus speculatively.

"Ask my mother. It's her doing.? Then Malthus chuckled. ?I have the fertility of a thirteen-year-old."

 "Impressive. It's been four years since I was last able to make a child, and I'm seven years younger than
you."
 Malthus saw a flash of envy in Egidius? eyes. ?Talk to my mother next time you see her. She might be
able to help you, if you're not too far progressed ... if your cods aren't completely withered. However, I
warn you, it will be expensive and rather uncomfortable at times."

"To be able to get more children?it would be worth it."

 "Indeed.? Malthus gave Egidius? hand a squeeze. ?Now, back to business. Get Laetus moving, and wait
for me to send you word, or come myself to arrange for the females to be moved."

"What about the chieftain? Are you still planning on leaving him until last?"

Malthus chuckled darkly. ?He developed heart problems the day of the wedding."

Egidius grinned. ?How convenient. You always go to the heart of the matter."

Malthus poked Egidius in the chest over his heart. ?It's my favorite target."
                                                ****

Malthus returned at dawn two days later, and left two fresh killed deer at the camp, before riding onto
the manor. As he rode past the garden, Malthus noticed that something had changed. At first it did not
register, then he realized the arch was gone and his heart leaped up in his chest.

He dismounted in the stableyard, throwing his reins to a gilly.

"Congratulations,? said the gilly, bowing and smiling.

Malthus beamed at him. ?Thank you. It's a fine day."

 Merissa sat in the great hall, sipping a soothing tea, and picking at buttered scones. She looked peaked
and her color was a bit paler than usual. She rose when Malthus entered, reaching out to him.

"Darling, the arch is gone,? Malthus said as he crossed the room.

"Are you happy?"

 Malthus embraced her tightly and thoroughly kissed her, forgetting that Claw and Aisha were in the
room. ?Let's go upstairs, and I'll show you how happy I am."

 Merissa covered a sigh with a tiny laugh, allowing herself to be drawn upstairs to their bed. Once they
had sated themselves, Merissa slept. Malthus lay for a long time, gazing at her. His fangs descended.
Knowing that she carried his child made him hungry to taste her just once, just a little. He slipped the
blade of his power into her sleeping mind, and placed a tiny compulsion there, not enough for anyone to
notice, not enough to change her behavior?except in one way. He could make her sleep at his command,
and only he could wake her before the light of dawn shone in her eyes. Four hickeys marred the pale skin
of her neck.

 He placed his finger beside the largest, as his tongue slid over his needle like fangs. With the spot
marked, Malthus gently sank his fangs into the center of the bruise, and sucked. She tasted delicious. He
extended his awareness through her being, and found his child. No, children. Twins. Sa'necari. Both
male. And nearly a month old.
 A small wave of anger rippled through Malthus. Why had she not told sooner? Lycans, like sa'necari,
and other gifted races, usually knew within days. He laid his hand lightly upon her stomach, and reached
his powers into her womb. With a small twist around the tiny embryos, Malthus cast a deception over
them. The Readers would perceive both of them as lycan. That would please the old bastard Claw?at
least long enough for his heart to give out.
                                                  ****

Claw returned from riding the fence with his myn. He always did his full share of the fence mending,
herding, and other tasks. With the first scent of autumn in the air, a lot needed to be done. The herds
needed to be moved into the nearer pens and corrals. He was a lord of farmers and herders unlike the
sa'necari lords who sat on their ass and expected their people to do all of it for them. That day the work
had taken more out of him than usual.

 He dropped into his chair, fighting a wave of dizziness and exhaustion far beyond anything he could
recall feeling before.

It was worse than the day he struggled with the arch, and far, far worse than Merissa's wedding day. It
had developed with such suddenness that it worried Claw more than he allowed himself to admit.

He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed.

 Claw heard footsteps approaching, and recognized them, but felt too weary to open his eyes until forced
to.

Soft, gentle hands touched his face. ?Are you all right, Claw? You're deathly pale."

 Claw made an annoyed smacking sound with his lips as he parted his lids. ?I'm fine, Fianait. Just very
tired."

Fianait kissed her brother's forehead. ?I wish Brock would come home."

Claw closed his eyes again. ?I do too."

"Are you happy about Merissa?"

"Yes. But I'm not entirely happy about her choice of husband."

 "Malthus seems like such a nice fellow to me. He's been very helpful.? Fianait put her lips to Claw's
forehead and then drew back. ?No fever. Why don't you go upstairs and have a nap?"

Claw opened one eye to glare balefully at his youngest sister. ?Stop fussing. I'll doze a bit in the chair."

 Sleep came, a deeper sleep than he expected and when he woke, someone had tucked a blanket
around him. Life with three pushy females was not all bad. He would refrain from asking whether it had
been Aisha, Fianait, or Searlait.
                                                ****

Malthus washed, changed into a fine set of clothes, and strode off into the village to exercise his bragging
rights at the taverns. He went into the Difficult Horse, and spied Shalto and Oswyl sitting with two other
members of their small gang, the Lycamornots, Preece and Yren. Although Shalto was nominally the
leader, they all answered to Malthus, who had shown them how to take control of their lives and squeeze
more out of it. Preece was a sturdy young wolf with skin burned to a nut brown by the hours he spent
laboring in the sun, and the quietest of them. Malthus liked scrawny Yren best. There was not much to
Yren physically, he looked like a stick figure with a mop of reddish brown hair, but he made up for it
feistiness?and he liked to hurt people. Malthus found it extremely easy to point Yren like a crossbow and
trigger him off like a bolt to its target. He disliked Oswyl, although he never let it show. Oswyl got
squeamish too easily. Sooner or later one of them would have to kill Oswyl.

 Malthus sat down at their table, and cast his eye over the room. ?Drinks for all, on me,? he shouted.
?My fine lady wears her apron high."

 A roar of congratulations went up throughout the tavern, and old Hereward the tavern master shouted,
?Nah, first one's on me. This one's our proper heir!"

 Their words sent a shiver of delight over Malthus at his evident success at fitting in with the lycan
community. Merissa's pregnancy had clinched his inclusion, as he had known it would.

 Shalto leaned in and whispered low, ?Now that you've cocked-up Merissa, what are you going to do
about the others you've gotten full-in-the-belly?"

 Malthus? gaze slithered around the tavern, scrupulously avoiding meeting Shalto's eyes. ?We'll discuss
that at the cottage. I'll meet you there later?"

"Sure."

Oswyl looked thoughtful. ?I wonder if any of the others who are up the stick are carrying my seed?"

 Preece propped his elbows on the table, and asked, ?How many are blooming? We've had our sticks in
all of them."

Malthus scowled at them. ?Eleven. This isn't the time or place. You don't want to betray the camp, now
do you? Baroucha would be handing out tansy before you could claim them."

The four youths sobered.

"We'll take this elsewhere,? said Shalto.

 Malthus allowed himself to be congratulated, then, after a suitable time, he excused himself and walked
to his old house at the far eastern edge of the camp with Shalto and Oswyl. He kept the cottage
provisioned with liquor and other niceties, and it had been their meeting place since Malthus? arrival late
last spring. Preece and Yren had gone to get the rest of the gang.

 A large, rough-hewn table occupied the yard with tree rounds as chairs. Thickets of trees grew close to
the cottage, and Malthus had refused to allow them to be logged because he preferred the thick curtain
of privacy they provided. He had also chosen to build this cottage on the westernmost corner of the land
belonging to the refugee camp, which many referred to as the Sanctuary. All of the land had belonged to
Beth, a lycan who had donated and supervised most of it until her death early in the summer, and was
now run by Clodagh under the auspices of the Willodarian Shrine.

"It's a pleasant night,? Malthus said. ?Why don't you sit under the stars while I fetch us all some tankards
of mead."
"Did you get it from Hereward?? asked Shalto eagerly.

 "Absolutely.? Malthus went in and took out three deliberately mismatched tankards, one a coppery
color with a hunting scene in bas relief, the second a goldish tone with a leaping stag, and the third
bearing a dragon wrapped around a tree. He had seven more tankards in his cupboard and none of them
matched another. He turned the tap on a keg and filled each one, then sat them on the table.

 His attention drifted to the tap. Sanguiners sometimes used spigots like those on nibari and others who
were to be drained a bit at a time. Sometimes they went so far as to implant them into a nibari's or
prisoner's neck, chain them onto a draining rack, and take just enough at a time to make their more
celebrated blends. A good sanguiner was worth his weight in gold.

 Malthus wished he were back at his mansion discussing blends with his sanguiner. He missed those
luxuries. He hadn't accepted an assignment of this length in several years. The sa'necari shook himself
free of his musings, and sketched a spell on two of the tankards. He had not yet dared to take a male the
way he had the females. The relative isolation of the camp compound had allowed him to restrict the
contact the females here had with the village. Most lycans cared nothing about the humans and sa'necari
here. Certainly no one would look close enough to investigate any changes in their behaviors. It was the
changes that implanting sways, triggers, coercions, and outright compulsions wrought in myn's outward
behavior that tended to alert others to sa'necari and vampiric tampering with a victim's mind.

 So he used subtlety with Shalto and Oswyl, enhancing their suggestibility in his presence, relying on his
charismatic talents to subvert the village's male youth. He had built a following without resorting to
heavy-handed methods. Malthus offered them what they wanted: females, liquor, and a feeling of
superiority over the rest of the villagers. He was using a similar, but different, method to start his
subversion of Claw's guardsmyn and family.

Malthus emerged from the house and handed the tankards around.

Shalto sat with his elbows propped on the table, his expression more thoughtful than usual. He took a
drink from his and said, ?So you said eleven? That's seven more than you got full-in-the-belly."

Malthus smirked. ?As much time as you and the others spend stabbing their tails, what did you expect?
You're young, strong, and potent."

"Yeah, we are,? said Oswyl. ?But what if more than one of those high aprons is from the same wolf?
That would get us in a lot of trouble."

Preece sneered. ?It isn't as if they were lycan bitches."

 Oswyl frowned and shook his head. ?The rules shouldn't apply here. They're just human and sa'necari
sluts. No wild cousin to it."

 "Pandeena won't see it that way.? Malthus ran his finger around the rim of his tankard. ?I've always
considered it unfair that only city wolves have brothels. The chieftains refuse to have them on clan lands."

"The chieftains believe that sluts lead to duels and fights to the death among young wolves.? Preece's
quiet emotionless tone suggested that he had no opinion on it and was simply making an observation.

"Well, they don't,? said Malthus.
 Shalto shrugged. ?It isn't just the Lycamornots using them either. We tried to keep it small this time, not
like with Beth, but each of us has a couple of friends we let use those bitches in exchange for favors and
such."

 Malthus? small, viperous smile played across his features. He pulled at his long, thin mustaches and
scratched around his oak leaf beard. ?I already knew that, but I appreciate your admitting it. We'll
discuss it when the others get here. I have an answer for everything. I don't wish to be caught any more
than you do."

 Shalto's expression turned grim. ?Claw would eat your heart, if he knew you'd been cheating on Merissa
like this."

"I know.? Malthus gave a grim bark of laughter. ?Where I come from it's considered a male's right to
have as many mistresses as he wants. My father had seven. All at the same time."

Shalto grinned. ?He must have kept his wick wet more often than not."

 "Huh. Matter of fact, my friend, he did. And, like yourselves, he was a strong and potent mon.? Malthus
did not add that most of the time his father had kept his cock shoved into dying bodies as he rited
captives, rivals, and nibari. Lord Feodras had had a powerful legacy created by generations of sons riting
their fathers when the parent grew too old or became too injured to survive long. Malthus had not waited
for Feodras to grow old: he had rited his father out of hate.

 The Lycamornots did not know Malthus was sa'necari. He passed for human by wearing the simple
golden ring on his right hand that Lord Brandrahoon had given him, which was an ancient sa'necari
artifact. Hoon had a huge hoard of such things, and when Malthus had learned that Hoon was actually
Brandrahoon the ancient vampire, he had stopped being surprised by any of the small gifts that were
frequently bestowed upon him by his benefactor.

 Preece sauntered in with Nesswen at his heels. Nesswen, a shaggy young blond, had watery blue eyes,
and an overbite. Malthus fetched mead for them and repeated his patterns with the spells. When he
emerged with the tankards, he saw that Yren had arrived with Rheu and Torquil. Rheu was the smallest
and youngest at fourteen, while Torquil was the largest member, a huge strapping smith's apprentice.
They were all good with the long knives that rode at their hips, but only Torquil could claim a moderate
expertise with swords and axes. They wore simple wool drawstring pants, and knee length robes that
wrapped loosely around their upper bodies in a variation of the traditional lycan garb that allowed them
to switch freely into their powerful hybrid forms.

 Malthus had no intention of allowing them to know that he was sa'necari, and that every single female in
the refugee camp had been made subject to his will, with his spells knotted into their minds. There were
now sixty-one myn living here in the camp, twenty-one of them adult females. His taste did not run to true
humans, so he had only slept with the five sa'necari and Clodagh.

"Some of them don't want to come outside anymore,? Shalto said.

 Oswyl nodded a quick agreement. ?They don't want Pandeena and that new lawgiver to see their
bellies."

"Sooner or later.... ?Preece let his gaze slide across every face. ?They're going to get noticed."

"And then we're all in trouble,? Torquil said.
"That's not right,? Yren protested. ?We shouldn't get into trouble over a bunch of sluts."

Malthus sucked his cheeks in with a sly glance to the side, his head lowered. ?But that's exactly what will
happen. Remember what Pandeena said. She's going to blame us for whatever happens with these
women."

"Hsaaah,? Shalto growled. ?I didn't do anything to her and she busted me up."

"She's pretty,? Torquil said. ?But the only way we'd get a stick up her would be to tie her down."

"She's a vicious trolleymog,? Oswyl muttered, staring into his tankard. He had not yet raised his head
once.

 "My point, Oswyl,? Malthus said, his tone smooth, with a faint undercurrent of amusement. Then he
straightened and met each eye in turn. ?They'll Read the females, and then punish us all. The females will
complain to make themselves look innocent. They'll tell on all of us."

"We can't let that happen,? said Shalto.

 Malthus took a long, considering drink from his tankard, and then sat it down with a thump for emphasis.
?I have a solution. We need to move the pregnant ones to where they can't be found, along with their
children. And I've found the perfect place for them."

"Where?? Shalto asked.

"My mother's manor."

"Your mother's got a manor?? Shalto asked in surprise.

"I thought all your family were dead,? Torquil said.

 Malthus turned to Torquil. ?All my sa'necari family, all those on my father's side except my nieces, are
dead. The human side of my family appears to have found safety in a distant valley. My human mother
has agreed to take the pregnant ones and their children in. Once they're gone from here, we should all be
safe from the lawgiver and the priest again."

 "What about the other females?? Yren asked. ?Sooner or later aren't they all going to get full in the belly
and we'll have to do this all over again?"

"My mother is a bio-alchemist, when we deliver these to her, she'll give me some potions to sterilize the
others."

Torquil whistled. ?You think of everything."

"I would never have survived this long if I didn't,? Malthus said. ?I rode to Ocealay alone when I was
your age, Torquil. I proved myself among the kandoyarin there."

"So we'll still get to wet our sticks,? grinned Rheu.

"Wear masks to this meeting,? Malthus told them. ?My friends and I will be doing so also."
Oswyl finally raised his head from his tankard with a suspicious expression. ?Masks? Why?"

 "Safer that way,? Malthus replied. ?If no one sees your face, they can't say who you are. Animal masks.
I have a lot to teach you. Next time I go hunting I'll meet with my mother's friend and set up the meeting."
                                                    ****

Unseen by Malthus and his companions, one of the largest wolves currently in the village slunk away into
the shadows. Caimbeul's size had prevented him from getting close enough to catch more than fragments
and had little idea what they were talking about beyond the suspicion that they might be sleeping with
some of the women in the camp. He bolted across the forest, taking a roundabout path to Pandeena's
apartment. He would have a look at some of these females tomorrow, maybe find an excuse for
Pandeena and himself to go door to door and check on all of them.

 As he rounded the edge of the compound, Caimbeul saw several young lycans traveling stealthily over
the grounds, moving from shadow to shadow until they drew near to various houses. He faded back to
watch and listen.

They knocked at doors and were greeted by the females there.

"A friend told me you could see to my needs,? one of the young males said.

 "I'm available, but I have company coming,? the female, a human, answered and let the young wolf
inside, closing the door.

 Caimbeul's ears perked forward and he laid his head on his paws as he heard those phrases repeated
with little or no variation at every door that opened. This required further investigation. It all seemed too
organized, with code words and equally coded responses. It reminded him of some of the black market
dens he had been inside in his youth. But what did the women have to offer young wolves? Only one
thing that he could imagine, and Pandeena would probably call him an old lecher again for thinking this,
but he suspected the females were being used sexually. These were vulnerable women, many of them had
been sexually assaulted in the course of their flight to safety here. Furthermore, Caimbeul had never heard
of a brothel being allowed on clan lands. Although lycan customs might seem very open to the humans,
they were still well defined. Doing it like the wild cousins was unmarried serial monogamy among the
lower classes that allowed young wolves to test the waters of their relationship before jumping into the
river of marriage. Divorce was frowned upon, and strictly regulated by custom and decree of the
lawgivers. Among the upper classes, bitches were expected to remain virgin until marriage?not that it
always worked out that way, but that was their society's expectations since marriages were alliances.
Very few still took multiple wives; however, that was not the same as the sa'necari predilection for
multiple disposable mistresses.

 He dashed to another spot, closer to one of the houses and pressed himself against a row of rain barrels.
Some of the females saw three or four young males that night. This did not look good. The very air of
secrecy about it bothered Caimbeul as he cautiously withdrew, and returned to his home.


                                              CHAPTER SIX
                                               INVASION

The Minnorian Army entered Angrim unopposed.
Doom came upon Angrim unlooked for and unexpected.

No one escaped the Minnorians to warn the cities of their approach.

Fast traveling units of shifters, flying demons, and Lemyari crashed over the isolated farms and small
villages, driving off the stock to feed the humans in their army, and taking the Angrimers?those who were
not killed outright in the course of fighting?as food for their unholy larders. It went well and swiftly,
despite the three day absence of their General Ynkendio Kreuz.

 Ynkendio's body rode in the back of a large war wagon covered by a light blanket. Maruska came often
during the day to observe the transformation that made her loins wet with longing. She spent each night
sleeping cuddled against his corpse. Soon she would no longer be the last of her species. Her body had
been ready to begin producing eggs for several days, and all she required was his seeding them. She had
been feeling the biological imperative of her kind for months, but now it had grown to a desperate need.

 The hole her stinger had made in his chest to kill him properly, as the change required, had vanished. She
had replaced most of his blood with her venom so that it permeated his flesh. The feeding scars on his
neck, both her own and Galee's had vanished, but Galee's hellmark remained as a sign of the
god-queen's favor. He had been a large, stout human, but now he was even larger. His skin had turned
red to match her own. His horns had sprouted, swept back, and curved. His features were the same. His
member had grown thicker and larger, a requirement for getting far enough inside past the clutching fleshy
folds that protected her egg chambers to seed her. Her body would initially react defensively when a
Skerpyon male penetrated the innermost regions?that no human male could reach?and he would need to
tear forcefully through the barriers to flood her eggs with his seed. After so many centuries of
confinement, hibernating alone in a cavern sealed by volcanic activity during the godwar, the need to mate
and produce young was a roaring in her blood.

 The third day was on them, and she waited for him to awaken. The army had swept up more clusters of
farmers that morning, and the larder was full again. A thump made her turn. She looked at the young mon
tied and gagged in the corner of the wagon, destined to become Ynkendio's first meal. The captive's
terror had not dimmed in the hours since he had been placed there between a chest and the end of a
small bed. He had been stripped to the waist, and Maruska could see that he was chill in the autumn night
air. The captive would not be chill long; he would be cold in death.

 "Be still,? Maruska ordered, brandishing her stinger close to his exposed chest. ?Or else I'll give you a
taste of it."

The mon's eyes widened, staring at the barb, and he pushed himself further into the corner with his
bound feet.

My mate will wake ravenous. He will feed and we will rock the wagon with our coupling.

Ynkendio's eyes snapped own, burning blood-red with hunger. He sat up, sliding his feet over the edge
of the bed. Maruska heard him and stepped aside so that he could see the captive.

"Hungry."

"Here, my love.? Maruska shoved the captive at Ynkendio.

 Her mate snarled, baring his huge fangs, grabbed the captive, and tore into his throat. She heard bones
snap and crunch as Ynkendio chewed deeper. The mon's head hung backwards from his shoulders,
connected only by a thin strip of skin. Blood sprayed around Ynkendio's mouth, and he clamped down
harder, sucking and slurping in greedy abandon. He drained the mon and threw the body out the back,
then faced her.

"Mahruuushka.? Ynkendio exhaled her name, seized her arm, and threw her down on the bed. His sheer
maleness took her breath away, and his dominance overwhelmed her senses as he mounted her and
began to buck.

 "Ynkendio,? she moaned in a blend of pain and ecstasy as he violently tore away the final shrouds of her
true virginity. ?At last."
                                                ****

Lord General Reynhard Dreslin, the thirty-five-year-old heir to the Duke of Dreslin had been appointed
chaperone and overall watch-dog for a group of somewhat rowdy younger sons of the nobility led by the
sixteen-year-old Prince Tibalt, youngest son of Kyser Gerhardt. The prince was touring the major cities
of Angrim, accompanied by some of his friends, with a goal of meeting all of the eligible daughters of the
Angrim aristocracy and selecting a bride. Reynhard's own son, Berran, had been supposed to
accompany them; however, Berran had broken his leg badly in a fall from a horse just days before the
band were scheduled to depart from Dreslin.

 The prince had met many of the ladies at court already, but insisted that he might have missed one, as if
the lords of Angrim might be hiding some delicious flower from him. Reynhard suspected that it was just
an excuse for a prolonged outing away from the Kyser's court, and an opportunity to open the legs of
pretty servant girls Tibalt would otherwise miss out on.

 Angrim had been at peace for ten years, after Reynhard had beaten the Minnorians back at the Battle of
the Islyn Hollow. Hunting and jousting had been the only excitement in his life since then. Complacency
had settled over the realm, and of late it had begun to itch just under his skin. He had continued to
receive reports of Minnoras? victories in the south, and felt certain that they would turn their gaze
northward again if they failed to break through the lands of Galeador. The slant-eyes were tough,
possibly too tough for the Minnorians. So far, Reynhard had discounted the rumors of monsters and
demons in the Minnorian ranks. There had certainly been none ten years ago when he routed them.
Kyser Gerhardt had refused his request to bring a large army south in case Minnoras turned north.
Reynhard worried that Gerhardt placed too much faith in the reputation that had been built around the
victory at Islyn Hollow.

 Reynhard stretched and stifled a yawn. He was a large, fit mon, with a well-kept yellow beard and close
trimmed hair. Except for the laugh lines around his eyes, his face had changed little in the past ten years.
His wife always told him that he got handsomer with each passing year, and he loved her for it, even if he
didn't believe her. He sat on a sofa, watching the youths flirting outrageously with Duke Klaus? daughters
and other ladies of his court.

 Prince Tibalt, a slender youth whose chest had not yet grown into the broad promise of his shoulders,
turned, and winked at Reynhard before trailing after a pretty young lady.

 Reynhard nodded at him. This was not the kind of duty he would have preferred, but questioning his
Kyser over trivial matters was not in Reynhard's nature. He saved his coins of influence for matters of
importance. However, if Gerhardt did not decide soon about increasing the southern garrisons, he
intended to make his arguments more forcefully when he returned the prince to Saynkyorbirg.

A servant came up to him and whispered in his ear, ?Duke Klaus wishes to talk to you immediately. The
city is invested."

Reynhard straightened, frowning deeply. ?What do you mean?"

"An army has encircled the city."

 "The hell?? Reynhard got to his feet and followed the servant to Duke Klaus? council chambers in the
southwest wing of the ducal palace.

 The Duke had his officers and general with him, discussing the situation in agitated tones. They all rose to
their feet when Reynhard entered.

"I'm glad you came so quickly, Reynhard,? said Klaus.

Reynhard frowned with concern; he could see the nervousness and worry in all their faces. These were
military myn and something about their attackers clearly had them shaken. ?How big is this army? Why
didn't you see it coming?"

 Klaus ran his hands through his hair wearily. ?I don't know. It just suddenly appeared on the plain and
charged up around us. No matter where on the walls you look out from, there are huge numbers of
troops?and they've brought monsters and demons."

"It's that bloody demon-queen of Minnoras,? cursed one of Klaus? officers.

 "I've sent birds and messengers to the Kyser, asking for help,? said Klaus. ?I can only hope they get
through."

Reynhard's gaze swept the table. ?According to my sources none of the southern city-states held out for
more than a few days. My first responsibility is to the prince. I must get him to safety."

"There's no way to get him out of the city,? said the Nubyrlon general, Serle. ?Come to the walls with
me and see for yourself."

"Let's go."

 General Reynhard Dreslin and General Serle went down to the stable, mounted horses that were already
waiting for them, and rode to the gates of the city. There they tossed the reins to a guardsmyn and
climbed the stairs to the top of the battlements. The walls were thick with soldiers and archers running
back and forth, getting into position to deal with the attackers who were approaching steadily. The
Nubyrlon officers moved smartly. Reynhard could not fault the alacrity with which they went about their
tasks.

 Minnorian banners waved above the invaders. Reynhard instinctively started calculating their numbers as
they came into clear view. The force was tremendous, and way beyond anything Reynhard had dreamed
that Minnoras could field, unless they had somehow increased their ranks at each city-state they took.
But what sent a chill over him were the two figures riding at their head: demons. The rumors had been
correct.

One was a female, crimson skinned with huge membranous wings, and the other a horned male with
orange skin and black hair billowing around him in the winds that seemed to have arisen out of no where.
Monsters of many kinds, some he recognized from old legends, like the brukulaco, and others that he
had no conception of, rode or walked in the van.

When they came within bowshot, a Nubyrlon captain raised his arm to signal the archers to fire.

 "Take out those two at the front,? Reynhard ordered, forgetting about General Serle at his side and
stepping into command out of habit.

The captain immediately passed the order down the line.

 Before a single arrow could be released from its string, a lovely female voice rose along the harmonic
scale, dipping and twisting in haunting, seductive strains. The nekaryiane's song rose and fell, weaving a
summons in the eerie notes of a minor key. The sound spoke of promise, of hunger and need, laden with
a seiryn's compelling eroticism.

"Give up your will to me,? she sang and chaos answered along the battlements.

 The archers lowered their weapons with a dazed expression. Soldiers drew their weapons and turned on
their companions with madness blazing in their eyes. Myn were dying on the walls and they had not yet
engaged their true enemies.

 The erotic, commanding song rang through Reynhard's ears, demanding that he drop his weapons or
turn on his companions. He seized an archer, and shouted, ?Shoot her!"

The archer glared at him, froth foaming around his mouth, pulled his knife, and lunged at Reynhard.

 General Dreslin sprang aside, drew his sword, and spitted the archer. He freed his blade and spun
about. Below him gears clanged. He looked down to see the portcullis rising. His arms felt heavy and
difficult to move. Reynhard sheathed his sword, covered his ears with his hands, the tendons in his neck
rigid as he fought the unholy song. He focused his will on his prince. Reynhard had to reach Tibalt and try
to get him out of the city.

 Monsters and monstrous myn flooded through the gates. People were screaming. The song died down
as Reynhard forced his way into the crush of terrified people. He could hear weapons clashing. The bitch
had somehow sung the gates open.

A blow caught him from behind and he went down, his head striking the pavement hard. Then he knew
nothing more.
                                            ****

A long scaffold had been raised in the city square, spanning it from one end to the other. All of the
aristocracy of the city had been lined up in chains before it, with Duke Klaus, his wife, and his three
daughters at the head of the queue. Reynhard scanned the line as best he could, being far back in it,
looking for the face of Prince Tibalt and praying that he would not find it. A guard jabbed him in the back
with a club and Reynhard shuffled forward. The shackles on his feet dragged at him, his wrists were
bound behind him, and locked onto the chain. Duke Klaus and his family were taken off the chain and led
onto the scaffold.

Reynhard felt sickened when his gaze lit on the executioners coming into position around the tables.
Klaus and his family were stripped of their clothing, the Duke was placed belly down and his wife and
daughters on their backs. The shackles were removed and ropes were tied to each of their limbs, which
were drawn tight in a spread eagle position by four myn. The executioners? assistants stood behind them,
greasing the sharp steel heads on their poles. He watched the executioners opening their victims up wider
between their legs with a small knife. They writhed and jerked at the preliminary cuts. Sa'necari stood at
the front of each of them with a hand on their shoulder. The assistants supported each pole as it was
pressed into the bodies of the Duke and his family. Reynhard's stomach and his sphincter clenched when
the executioners went to the end of the pole and began hammering them gradually into the bodies of the
condemned. They stopped periodically for a nod from the sa'necari. Impalement among the sa'necari was
an art that required missing the major organs, the ones that might have given their victims a swifter death.
The screams of the condemned filled the air. He realized abruptly that Dearg, Klaus? son, was not up
there with his family, and it gave Reynhard a sudden hope that perhaps Dearg and Prince Tibalt had
escaped capture. The two youths were close friends, and would most likely have been together when the
city fell.

 The two demons that Reynhard had seen leading their attackers walked up the line with a unit of
soldiers. The male stood a bit over six feet tall, with long curving horns that swept back over a black
mane above a square-jawed face that reminded Reynhard of someone he had known years ago, which
made no sense to the lord general. The female had crimson skin, black membranous wings, and wore so
little that it embarrassed Reynhard to look at her. Behind them stood several nobles tethered to a
different chain. They paused at each shackled male in the execution queue, pulled their shirts, tunics, and
robes open. Then the male demon ran his hands over their chests, discussing the nobles as if they were
cattle. Several more were taken off the queue and placed on the chain held by the unit of soldiers
accompanying them. Reynhard seized upon his hatred to sustain him.

When they reached him, the male ripped Reynhard's shirt open, measured his chest with two huge
orange hands, and nodded. ?This one also. He has a good chest."

"Another prime bull for Maruska's larder, Ynkendio?"

Reynhard realized that this was Ynkendio Kreuz, the Minnorian General, whom he had met many, many
years ago when Minnoras and Angrim were skirmishing over the no man's land between them?the
general whose defeat by Reynhard at Islyn Hollow had made the Angrimer's reputation as a tactician.
They had changed him.... ?Whoreson fucking filth,? Reynhard growled. ?I thought you were an
honorable mon, Ynkendio. I should have known better."

Ynkendio frowned and looked more closely at him. ?Reynhard Dreslin, I do believe. This is quite an
unexpected pleasure. It's a long way from Islyn Hollow."

"Yes, you godless hellspawn."

Ynkendio chuckled. ?Hardly godless.? He turned to Zyne. ?Maruska will like this piece of meat. He's
prime flesh."

Reynhard was added to a chain of eight other nobles. He knew all of them from the past weeks of his
visit with Klaus. Reynhard glanced at the scaffolds as a fresh set of screaming began. Klaus and his family
had been up righted on their poles, and now another set of nobles were being impaled. He shuddered.

 The crowd parted for an instant and he saw the littlest children, from infants up, being impaled through
their bellies on the ground before the scaffold.

Reynhard whipped round in his shackles and spit on Ynkendio. ?Monster!"

Ynkendio wiped the spittle off with a handkerchief. ?I'll let that go because Maruska wants you healthy.
Before this day is out, we'll be more than even for what you did to me. In fact, you'll be doing me a great
service."

"I'll never do you any service, cockwhoring bastard."

 Ynkendio chuckled. ?Let's put it this way. Maruska, my wife, is going to give you something very
important, and you'll accept it gladly."

"Never!"

 Fifteen men were selected from among the officers and soldiers. Then a smith came to them with a kettle
of hot coals, with irons thrust among the coals heating. Reynhard gritted his teeth as the iron touched his
forehead. Each of them received the brand: a leering death's head.

Then they were hurried off in another direction with the screams from the scaffold following them.

They passed poles from which myn hung upside down, their heads tied back, and their throats slashed.
Their blood drained into large basins. Reynhard noted that they were all male and wondered what
horrendous fate awaited him. He checked each face as well as he was able, looking for Prince Tibalt and
Dearg; gratefully, he did not yet see them.
                                                 ****

Mondarius rubbed his hands together gleefully, going through the ranks of shackled males while the
soldier with his irons followed beside him, and a unit of soldiers walked in his wake. ?Brand them all as
Depnane and then I'll take my pick."

 His hand went to his belt, and then slipped into a black pouch spelled to conceal its contents. Mondarius
caressed the Fifth Blade through its silken wrappings, imagining Isranon's anguish when he slipped it into
his flesh, the way the heretic would writhe as he died. The vision was sweet.

A soldier stopped in front of him and saluted. ?We're ready to present them for your choosing, Lord
Mondarius."

Mondarius left his day-dreaming and nodded. ?Strip them to the waist so I can see how much hair they
have. I don't like hairy males for my larder and my rites."

They marched them past him as he had ordered and he chose out forty of them to examine further. Each
of those he Read and reduced their number to thirty. Then he went to the women, and selected an equal
number of the prettiest young blondes. Sixty in his larder. How marvelous.

"Enjoying yourself, Mondarius?? Zyne's voice broke through his thoughts.

 The cold did not bother her undead body, yet she wore a lovely cerulean velvet cloak that she had
selected from the booty. It looked interesting against her crimson skin.

"Yes, I am. You've been most generous."

"You'll have dinner with me tonight and show me your appreciation.? Then she moved on.

Mondarius watched her go, shivering in dread. ?Dine on me, you mean ... bitch."
 He would need to eat a full meal afterward to regain his strength so that he could have his rites
tomorrow, and he did not wish to use one of his sixty for it. Mondarius pointed at random to another
female. ?Shackle that one to the bed in my rooms."

 He headed for the ducal palace, which Zyne had declared to be their temporary headquarters. His hand
caressed the Fifth Blade, trying to find some joy again, but his neck itched with his fearful anticipation of
fangs in his flesh.
                                                   ****

A large unit of Minnorian soldiers brought twenty-four male captives to Maruska's wagon. The captives
glared resentfully as they were herded along, their hands bound behind their backs, tethered in two lines
of ropes and prodded by swords. Several wore torn Angrim livery, a few wore tattered clothing that had
once been rich, and all of them were healthy and spanned in age from their late twenties to their upper
thirties. The depnane brand had been placed on their foreheads.

"Filth,? shouted one of the prisoners.

"You'll pay for this,? cried another.

Reynard snarled at Ynkendio. ?Bloody cockwhoring beast."

 Ynkendio stood with his arm around Maruska's shoulders. Her long black hair bloused across his arm.
The big demon lashed his tail back and forth, brandishing his stinger. He had killed with that as well as his
sword during the battle, surprising enemies who were focused on his blade. It had felt exhilarating to kill
that way, a piece of him inside their bodies, like a poisoned cock in a flesh-hole.

Maruska glanced at her mate. ?Did you get me at least six nobles, nice fat juicy ones?"

"I got you nine of them. Zyne allowed me to cull through them before she began the executions.? He
pointed them out. ?The rest are soldiers, mostly officers, good and solid."

She smiled at Ynkendio. ?Ready the first one,? she ordered the guards without looking at them. ?Strip
him to the waist."

"Which one first?? asked a guard.

"The one that's been shouting obscenities all the way. The legendary Reynhard Dreslin, very healthy,?
Ynkendio told her, smirking at Reynhard.

 Reynhard cursed and struggled as the guards took him off the tether, keeping his hands bound, and
sliced his shirt off. ?Bloody bastard."

Maruska approached him, and ran her hands over his chest, Reading him. ?Nice and deep,? Maruska
murmured. ?Plenty of space. Yes, this one will do well."

"Do your worst, hell-spawn. My faith in my god is strong,? he said, and spat in her face.

 Wiping the spittle off, Maruska's lips curled back into a smile as venomous as the liquid beading on her
stinger. ?He's perfect."

"Hold him well,? Ynkendio said. ?We don't want him flinching too much until she finishes."
 "I'm not afraid of you.? Reynhard, seeing that he could not get free of the guards? hands, ceased to
struggle.

"You will be.? Ynkendio studied him, walking around, running his hand along Reynhard's back.

"I want his chest as taut as possible,? Maruska instructed them. ?I need to enter him just right."

The guards tightened their grip on Reynhard's arms, bending him enough to thrust his chest forward and
up at an angle.

Maruska examined the arc of Reynhard's chest. ?More. Put him on his knees, if you must."

"Filthy cunt of hell, my god will have vengeance for what you do to me."

A third soldier grasped Reynhard's chin, forced it back, and his shoulders followed his head, exposing
his chest still better.

 "Nice and taut. That's the way.? She stroked his chest as she murmured to her soldiers. ?Just a bit
tighter.

 Reynhard groaned. Surely they would break his back if they tried to bend him any further. At this angle
he could barely see what she was doing. Killing a mon?if that was what she planned to do?did not
require this much effort. ?Bloody hell."

 Maruska brought her tail around. It waved back and forth for a moment, and then she struck. Reynhard
screamed in agony as the barb pierced his chest and tried to jerk away to dislodge stinger, but the
soldiers held him firmly. Maruska thrust the tip deeper, past the pectoral muscle until it sat inside the chest
cavity, resting against his lung. A small quantity of her venom dribbled into him as her tail swelled along
the ridged end and at the barbed tip. The tip expanded inside Reynhard's body. A lump slid into his chest
just under the skin, lodged there, and then moved deeper until it could no longer be seen as it settled
against his lung. Reynhard could not see what she had done, but felt it like a heavy pressure, and he knew
that she had placed an object within his chest. Maruska withdrew her stinger, and gestured at the guards.
They released Reynhard. He sank to his knees, eyes glazed, as he sobbed with the fullness of his horror.

 "Gaaawd daaamn you. Gaaaaawd daaamn you.? He shuddered from the pain of the venom, cold sweat
dripping from his face. Reynhard pulled at his bonds, desperate to clutch at his burning chest, but the
ropes held. The Duke of Dreslin's heir fell the rest of the way to the ground, and drew his knees to his
chest, moaning as the pain worsened.

 Reynhard's collapse, the sight of her stinger plunging like a dagger into his flesh and lingering there for
several breaths while she did something unthinkable to him terrified the others. They had seen the egg-like
shape pass into his chest.

Ynkendio squatted on his haunches. ?Enjoy your pain, Reynhard. It's going to get a lot worse."

 Maruska chose out the nobles first as they were the healthiest and best fed. The remaining eight were
lined up, and held in place. They had to be forced forward because they dug their feet into the soil,
shaking their heads and pleading. A third guard had to be added to the two holding each victim's arms.
He threw an arm around their necks under their chins, and dragged their heads back to bring their chests
into position. A fourth guard slashed their clothing open, and yanked it down around their arms.
 She moved down the line, Reading each one for imperfections, sniffing at their building terror since she
had made an example of Reynhard, who had been clearly the strongest. Then she stabbed the next one,
her barb opening wide inside him to allow her egg to enter and anchor itself between his lung and his ribs.
A few drops of her venom dribbled in each time, enough to cause pain and shock, but not enough to kill
them or do permanent harm. She wanted the hosts healthy.

 Each one screamed worse than the one before, and those waiting for their turn screamed with him. They
all struggled, yet one by one she did them all. Then Maruska moved on to the officers. She rejected four
of them. ?Find me some others. Those are not healthy enough. Give them to Mondarius; they're good
only for his rites."

 Two of the guards left to make more picks from the captives. While they were gone, she injected the
eleven officers. Once she had finished, twenty myn lay curled on their sides weeping, or resting on their
knees, staring in shock at the small incision in their chests, praying that what they feared had been done to
them had not been?that they might be wrong in their guesses.

 When the guards returned, they had two young nobles who looked about sixteen years old and two myn
in their early twenties. Maruska looked them over. ?A bit young, but healthy."

 "This one is some kind of prince,? said a guard, indicating a slender, dark-haired youth. ?Zyne was
about to have them both impaled, but I told her it was for you, Mistress. So she let us have them. The
other is Lord Dearg, Duke Klaus? heir."

"A prince? Excellent. These will be fine. I'll do the prince first."

Reynhard glanced from his curl. ?Tibalt! Merciful God, no."

 The prince's gaze swept across the myn suffering on the ground, betraying his recognition of all of them.
?Reynhard, what did they do to you?"

"I'm ... not sure."

Ynkendio's eyes glittered. ?Prince Tibalt? Youngest son of the Kyser. Appropriate, don't you think,
darling? Watch her do your little prince, Reynhard."

Maruska licked her fangs. ?Ready him."

 The guards sliced open Tibalt's tunic and shirt, and shoved the pieces down his arms until they curtained
his bound wrists. The young prince was slender, fair, and unblemished; his chest and shoulders angular,
their flare promising that he would one day be broad and well-muscled through his upper body.

"It's a pity you won't live to grow into those shoulders,? Maruska remarked.

Reynhard started to look away from what he knew was coming, but then decided he would be
dishonoring the prince to do so, and gazed at Tibalt while Maruska examined him, running her hands over
Tibalt's chest.

The prince glanced at him with fear in his eyes. ?My father is the Kyser. I'm worth more alive than
dead."
"You're worth nothing beyond the taste of your flesh,? Ynkendio snarled. ?Just like Reynhard."

Maruska finished her examination. ?He's almost too slender, so bow him up good, and make his chest
present well."

 Tibalt grunted as the guardsmyn pulled his arms and shoulders so far back that he was thrown off
balance, and nearly lost his feet. Then the third one pulled his head back. This thrust his lean chest
prominently forward. His eyes widened at the demon's tail swaying close to his flesh. The young prince
shrieked when Maruska's stinger penetrated his chest.

She discharged the egg into his body.

 When she withdrew from him, Tibalt sagged in the guards? hands. They released him, and Tibalt
collapsed in the dirt, where he writhed for a long time, groaning. Reynhard dragged himself to the prince
and folded around his head, unable to comfort the suffering youth with a touch from his bound hands. He
closed out the sounds of Maruska doing Lord Dearg next, and then the others.

 Maruska finished with the last of them, and then revealed that what the captives feared most was indeed
true. ?My children like their hosts lively when they eat their way out. Place them under guard in a tent
beside my own. Give them as much as they wish to eat and drink. Keep them healthy."

 "Ahhh ... God damn you, bitch,? cursed Reynhard. His words became a weary chant. They were all
doomed, yet somehow seeing his prince numbered among them for this hideous fate seemed the worst of
all.

Maruska chuckled. ?I'd like to plant an egg in Dawnreturning's chest. A child that fed on him would
become very powerful."

"When can we make more?? Ynkendio whispered in her ear as they walked back to the wagon.

"My body will not produce more eggs for several months, possibly a year. Yet we can enjoy each
other's bodies in the meantime."

"I want you."

"Then take me.? She climbed in back ahead of him.

Ynkendio followed Maruska into their wagon and undressed her. ?You have given me a very fine gift,
my love."

"The children?? she asked, arching against him while he played with her nipples.

"That. And, an exquisitely painful death for Reynhard Dreslin."

"You hate him?"

"For ten years. We skirmished at the Alethe Stream."

 Ynkendio had never been able to stop thinking back over his humiliation. The Alethe Stream had not
always been Angrim's southern border. The no mon's land between Minnoras and Angrim had been left
for generations as a neutral ground. Ten years ago, the Kyser had sent Dreslin to see to the establishment
of farms and a colony between the Dwyssel River and the Alethe Stream. King Vansolo had feared that
meant Angrim would soon be encroaching on his borders, so he ordered Ynkendio north to throw them
back. Reynhard had learned of their approach, and had set up an ambush. He had hid his army in the
forest. Once the Minnorians had reached the place that Reynhard had wanted them in, his cavalry drove
a wedge between the Minnorian lines, and then his infantry flanked them on both ends. The rout had been
so complete that it had been added to the military texts of many kingdoms as prime example of strategy,
adding to Ynkendio's feelings of shame.

"Reynhard captured me. He displayed me like a bloody trophy in chains from one end of Angrim to the
other, while Vansolo negotiated my release. No one in Minnoras ever let me forget it. He made me
pledge never to return to Angrim with a force of arms."

Maruska's eyes glittered with hate. ?He will beg for death before he dies."

"I swore that I would settle the score with him someday. And you have given me that, my love."

"He will pay in agony. My larva will crawl out of his little prince first, while he watches."

Ynkendio's lips framed a pleased smirk. ?The prince will die first?"

 "Yes. His chest is slender. My larva will need space sooner. Reynhard's chest is the broadest of all of
them. He will die last."
                                                  ****

The culling of Nubyrlon had begun with the keep and the military, all of the nobility were either on the
scaffold with a pole up their asses or dead on the bleeding tables of the sa'necari. The same held true for
every Nubyrloni officer, the only exception being those in Maruska's larder with an egg in their chests.
The cull continued into the night, with the soldiers and non-humans working in shifts. They mapped the
city, sectioned it off, and rounded up the populace piece by piece in a thorough manner.

 All males above the age of sixteen received the depnane brand on their foreheads, marking them for
death, mostly as food for the vampires, demons, and other hemovores. All children below the age of
seven, women no longer of child bearing years, old men, and those deemed sick or of less than prime
quality, were killed outright. The majority of the women would be sent back to Minnoras as slaves and
cattle.

The nine to twelve year old boys were impressed into the Minnorian Army. The thirteen to sixteen year
olds were tested to see if they would succumb to Zyne's seiryn gifts. Those who did were spared and
became part of the army. Those who resisted were killed.

And the universal price of survival was to embrace Gylorean Galee as their liege-god.

It would take several days to account for everyone in the city.

 Zyne summoned Mondarius and her officers, including Ynkendio and Maruska to a meeting in the
command tent.

"Did we capture any mages?? Zyne asked.

"None, Mistress,? said Ynkendio.
"Why not?? Zyne snarled.

 "Because there are no mages in Angrim or Beltria. If there are any they live in hiding as the use of magic
is illegal."

"I had not considered that."

"The best we'll do here is to increase our larders and booty."

"Where next?? Zyne looked over Ynkendio's maps.

 Ynkendio tapped a spot on the map. ?Stolzingen is the closest. We want to take it, but also want to
draw out the Kyser and his allies. Wipe out all of the surrounding farms and villages about Stolzingen
except one. Hit that last village, and then pull back, let some of the survivors escape to spread news of
us. Then march on the capital, Saynkyorbirg."

"Make it so.? Zyne started to leave, then turned back. ?Did Maruska make good use of her larder?"

 The general's face lit in a smirk, and he draped his tail over his arm nonchalantly. ?Indeed she did. Her
eggs have happy homes. The prince's chest was a bit slender, but she thinks it will be all right. Personally,
I was delighted to get Reynhard Dreslin. Maruska settled my old score with him by giving him the first
egg."

 "I am glad that you are both happy.? Zyne squeezed his shoulder. ?Give Maruska my best wishes on a
fine day. I'll see you both tomorrow after she's had a chance to get her larder settled in."

Mondarius started to ease from the tent, but Zyne spotted him and crooked her finger. He went to her
with obvious reluctance.

"Come, Mondarius,? Zyne whispered into his ear. ?It's time for our little dinner."


                                            CHAPTER SEVEN
                                              DECISIONS

After receiving word from Lord Dawnreturning that Stygean would be arriving after dinner for a visit,
Liuthan bathed and dressed in the good clothes that Isranon had sent him. It was still blood-slave robes
in style and coloring, black wraparound robe with a sash over matching trousers, but the quality was
better, being a heavy silk, clean and pressed. He had taken Dawnreturning's words to heart and wanted
to be presentable to his son. Anksha had slacked her constant feedings, and no longer came for his blood
each morning. He suspected that Dawnreturning had had a hand in that. Liuthan's debts toward the mon
were increasing. Sometimes he resented it and other times he was grateful.

 However, he could not stand the sight of Anksha, even though he craved the feel of her fangs in his neck
when the Presence Pain became too great?which it did every three or four days, and then Liuthan would
lie moaning in his bed for want of her. Each time she came to him he saw again in his mind and heart his
wife dying beneath her fangs in front of him, while Anksha kept him paralyzed through the
dominance-link, unable to do anything or look away from the sight.

Then he thought of his son. If Stygean did not embrace Lord Dawnreturning's path, he would be given to
Anksha. The thought of Stygean enduring the same physical pain, the same anguish of having the
dominance-link set deep sunk into the neural and mage nets of his being, the sensation of dozens of
barbed hooks piercing his shaukras, the roaring noise in his mind and psychic awareness that was
Anksha's presence?it made Liuthan shudder. Stygean would not last long in her grip. His powers, body,
and psyche were not matured, he had not passed into the enhancement of the rites, and therefore he
would begin to wither within days and pass swiftly into agonizing death.

 There could be no escape from Anksha. Liuthan knew the legends of the Beast, that once she decided
to take someone, she ran them down when they fled and no one found safety from her. She was
relentless and merciless. Like it or not, he had to convince his son to change if he wished him to survive.

 A quick knock preceded the door opening and Liuthan lifted his eyes to see who entered. Two guards
ushered Stygean inside and then left them alone. Stygean rushed into his father's arms. Liuthan held him
tightly for several minutes before sitting them both down on the sofa.

 "Are you well, father?? Stygean looked up at him, his eyes filled with concern and the need to be
reassured.

 He tousled his son's hair, thinking of how much the boy reminded him of his dead mother, Chinisi.
Liuthan's stomach tightened as an image of Chinisi dying beneath Anksha's fangs flashed across his mind
and for a moment he saw Stygean in her place. Liuthan reached desperately for a calm response. ?As
well as can be."

 Stygean's eyes narrowed as he touched the pale patches of ridged flesh on Liuthan's neck, and
resentment welled up under his words. ?She scarred you."

 Normally blood healed all, and Liuthan received a visit from the nibari each day to ease his own need for
blood; yet when Anksha left marks, only she could heal them. He shrugged in an attempt to lessen the
impact of the scars.

 Discerning the undercurrent in his son's voice, Liuthan put Stygean's hand aside before answering.
?That's the way of it."

"Are you withering?"

"We will not talk about that."

"I want to know if you are.? Stygean's body tensed as he spoke. ?Jingen explained it to me."

 As if Stygean's words had brought it on, Liuthan felt the sharp tingling beginnings of a shooting pain up
his side and across his chest. He struggled to conceal it and keep speaking in an even tone. ?We will not
talk about it. You shouldn't listen to Jingen."

"He's my friend."

"Don't be deceived by the Scathwicks I have never trusted them."

"Why?"

 "I have my reasons. They are personal.? The pain worsened as he spoke, and looking into his son's
earnest face, he imagined what it would look like if his suffering became Stygean's. He closed his eyes,
drawing deep breaths to maintain control over his body and his manner. ?You must do what Lord
Dawnreturning requires. You must not break the rules."

 Stygean drew back from Liuthan, frowning at the apparent betrayal of everything Liuthan had ever
taught him. ?He's a renunciate. The price of heresy is death."

"No! You will listen to me. You will obey him."

 Stygean dropped his chin to his chest to hide a glower of disappointment. ?I cannot believe you are
asking me to do this."

 The burning in Liuthan's chest and across his skin made his tunic feel sharp and scratchy, irritating his
flesh. As a result of his keen discomfort, his temper flared in a way it never had before. ?You will do
what I say because I say it!"

"What's wrong with you?? Stygean's head came up with a shocked look at his father's tone.

"Stygean, please...."

 The boy sprang to his feet and retreated toward the door, pausing in the middle. ?I don't want to hear
this."

 "I am trying to keep you alive, damn it!? Liuthan rose and took a step toward Stygean. He had never
struck his son, nor had he been harsh with him; yet the situation was so difficult to deal with that Liuthan
could barely think.

"I don't care if I die! I am sa'necari."

 "I am not trying to take that away from you. You will always be sa'necari.? Liuthan's hand went to his
chest; he reeled drunkenly and sat down again.

Instantly all the defiance went out of Stygean and he returned to his father's side. ?Father?"

Liuthan's eyes closed and he bent over. ?Go away. I can't deal with you now."

"Is it the withering?"

"It's the Presence Pain. I feel Anksha in the hallway. We'll finish this conversation later."

Stygean brow furrowed as he went to the door. He paused and turned before knocking to summon the
guard who would unlock the door and let him out. ?I love you, Father."

"I know. I love you, too."

As soon as the door closed behind Stygean, Liuthan curled up on the couch and moaned, his fingers
digging into the spreading corruption of his flesh.
                                                    ****

Isranon walked slowly across the yard, focusing on his steps and trying to conceal how much he hurt. If
he took any more Sanguine Rose for the pain, he would not be able to handle the final aspects of getting
ready to leave. At all times, he struggled to hide the degree to which he was crippled. Only Nans had
ever glimpsed the depths of his daily suffering and then only in the aftermath of one of his attacks from the
embedded spells left by four divinator-runed blades.

His people needed to perceive him as strong, rather than as damaged, so he would give them strong. All
of the recently recruited kandoyarin of Ocealay had joined up out of a desire to serve the battle-mage
who had saved their city.

Nans came alongside him, watching the way he moved. ?The wainwrights are here for payment. The
war wagons are coming into the west yard now."

Isranon nodded. ?Send them up to the west drawing room and I'll be there presently. Have someone
bring up food and drink. Tell Nevin to meet me there with several pouches of gold."

Nevin, his lycan spirit-brother and mentor, could bargain like an old wife.

 Anksha trotted up to him with a string of nibari and sa'necari children trailing behind her. ?All good
children deserve candy. All bad children deserve to be eaten."

She made a long-fanged moue at Isranon, patting her belly.

Isranon laughed. ?Yes, I know I put it there."

"Where you going?? Anksha asked, sliding into her childhood patois.

"To deal with the wainwrights."

"But I'm not done with the candy...."

 Isranon frowned and nibbled the corner of his mouth for an instant. Sometimes the odd leaps and jumps
and connections that his mate's mind made confused him. ?Oh, you're coming with me?"

"Yup, but I've still got candy."

Isranon glanced around the yard and spotted Jun walking with Nolly, the two of them cuddled together,
more like lovers than master and slave. ?Have Nolly do it."

 As Anksha rushed off to have Nolly finish distributing the candy for her, Isranon knew that giving Nolly
to Jun had been one of his better decisions. His gaze swept across the laughing children, and his thoughts
strayed to his three year old illegitimate son, wondering how Darmyk and Merissa were managing. It was
already turning to autumn in the northern climes of Red Wolff Valley. The last message he had from Claw
was two months old when it arrived a month ago.

He felt a fondness for Merissa, and wished he could be there for his son. Yet the love of his life was
Anksha?his wild, untamable, savage, and frequently inexplicable Anksha.

 She came trotting back to him and he hugged her. Anksha looked up at him with a mix of pleasure and
curiosity. ?Isranon?"

Isranon decided that he had better do this while he had the courage of his convictions. ?Anksha, I don't
want to be your mate.? He fished in his pocket for a small box.

Anksha's eyes teared up. ?You don't love me anymore?"
Isranon found the box and pulled the lid off, revealing a simple golden ring. ?You know what this
means?"

Anksha shook her head in confusion. ?No."

"It means I want to marry you."

Anksha rubbed at her eyes and slid down into the simplest form of her patois. ?Marry? You want
Anksha for a wife?"

"Yes. Will you have me for your husband?"

She threw her arms around Isranon, laughing and crying. ?Yes, of course, my Isranon. I'm going to be a
wife ... and a mother."
                                              ****

Jingen and Stygean followed Nolly from the classroom. It was their last day of formal schooling, because
it had been decided the children would be needed for chores from that day forward until their departure
from Ocealay, and everything had been packed up except for a few books and oddments. The children
shoved their school materials into backpacks that would be stowed into the wagons in which they were
assigned to ride on the journey north. Larger items were globed once the children had helped pack them.

 Jingen had had his eye on Nolly for a year now. Nolly came from good bloodlines that went back to a
legendary stud that had been brought south from Waejontor several generations ago by one of Liuthan
Loosestrife's ancestors to improve the nibari stock in the south. The girl had an exquisitely long neck that
begged to be bitten, sweet budding breasts that made his hands ache to touch them, and shapely legs that
showed their calves beneath the hem of her short smock.

 Although Jingen's family had been upper caste on his mother's side, and highly ranked because of
Disharyl's skills as a bio-alchemist, he would never have been allowed to taste Nolly while she was
owned by the Loosestrifes. Liuthan had been very selective about who he shared his finer bloodlines
with, holding them mainly for family, high-ranking guests, and as rewards to favored aides?which had not
included Jingen's parents for reasons the youth could not understand.

 So Jingen had been first outraged to learn that Nolly's blooding would go to a vampire, and then smug at
the knowledge that the arrogant Loosestrifes had lost possession of her. They would not be getting her
either. If he worked this right, perhaps he'd even manage to get the first taste of her. Certainly Nolly's
owner seemed to be taking too much time about getting her blooded and bedded.

"Watch this,? Jingen whispered to Stygean.

 Jingen moved close to Nolly as they left and headed for the wagon in which they would be traveling. His
collar chafed his neck and he ran his finger beneath it to lift the metal from his skin and allow a bit of air to
cool him. He might be a slave, but he was still sa'necari; he was still one of the masters, and nibari knew
better than to refuse a master. ?Nolly, I want to show you something."

Nolly regarded him a moment. ?What is it, Jingen?"

 Jingen repressed a scowl at her for addressing him without a title. Dawnreturning's nibari had never been
taught manners and their habits were rubbing off on the others. He ran his finger along her arm. ?This.?
He let his fangs slide down to full extension.

Stygean's eyes took on a look of fascination as he moved closer to hear what they were saying.

Staring at his fangs, Nolly shrank away from Jingen. ?Jun is to be first."

"Are you refusing me?? Jingen demanded, a lazy arrogance in his manner and tone. His eyes gleamed,
pressing into hers with a taste of his power.

"I?I,? she swallowed, backing up until her shoulders struck a wagon. ?No, but I'm not blooded. Jun is
my owner. It would not be proper."

"I want you now.? Jingen stepped up and seized her arm, intending to slide a thin lance of power
beneath her guards to break her will.

 "Jun!? she shouted and pulled away from him, retreating between the wagons with her hand on the upper
rim of the side board to her left. Nolly reached the end of the wagon, clutched the corner, and froze.
Jingen took two steps after her, reaching for her again with his eyes and mind.

 Large hands closed on Nolly's arms. She spun about with a squawk, looked up and then smiled. Jun had
her. The large vampire pulled her close, wrapping one arm protectively around her. Nolly released a sigh.
?Jun."

Jingen gave a small snarl, darted to the rear of the wagon and climbed in to put his things away, leaving
Stygean behind.

"Was he bothering you?? Jun asked, glaring at Stygean. The Lemyari was tall and angular with a large
nose in a heavy-boned face. His tall, lanky body broadened through the chest and shoulders in a
well-proportioned angularity.

Nolly shook her head, but Jun looked unconvinced.

"You will stay away from her,? Jun told Stygean.

Stygean glared back. ?I didn't do anything. I didn't touch her."

"Well, see that you don't. Nolly's my property,? Jun growled.

"I know that.? Stygean drew himself up proudly.

"Do it now, Jun,? Nolly whispered into his chest. ?The waiting makes me nervous."

 Jun stroked her hair. ?No. Not today. There are too many things to do. I don't want to simply shove my
fangs into you. I want to do it right. I want to make love to you.? He turned to Stygean. ?You stay away
from my Nolly or I'll beat you senseless."

Jun left to finish his tasks, and Nolly trailed after him.

Stygean looked up when he heard Jingen's soft laughter. Jingen dropped from the back of the wagon
with a swagger. Stygean scowled at him.
"You nearly got us in trouble, Jingen."

 Jingen laughed louder. ?Are you that afraid of trouble? You are starting to sound like a renunciate,
scared of everything."

"I am not!? Stygean clenched his fists.

"Prove it, then.? Jingen gave him a thin-lipped smile oozing contempt. ?Show me you're not a coward.
Take a few nibari. In fact, take Farris, since you're always talking about how she was promised to you."

"I'll show you. I'll take Farris and a lot of others as well."

Jingen's eyes lit with mischief and he tilted his head to the side. ?Don't tell me you're still a virgin? At
nearly thirteen? Never shoved your sword into a warm, wet sheath before?"

"I've had my rod up several of my father's Three Diamonds mares."

Jingen jeered at him. ?Prove it. Show me your rod with her juices on it and I'll believe you."

Stygean winced. ?I'll do that."

He strode away from Jingen and went back to his tasks. He felt confused, afraid, and angry?because he
was, after all, still a virgin. Stygean would be thirteen in a week, and yet Jingen who was six months
younger, seemed to have experienced everything except the rites themselves while he had not.
                                                      ****

The late summer sun beat down on the elegant lawns of the guest mansion, relieved only by the shadows
of trees and the soft breezes off the ocean to the west of the island and the rivers framing its other three
sides. High Captain of Ocealay Tamric strode through the courtyard to see Isranon one last time before
the mage's company left. He liked the mon.

 Tamric was a lithe man, narrow-hipped and small of stature, with a flare of well-developed shoulders
and whip-cord arms. Crossing the yard, he carried himself with the easy arrogance of one accustomed to
taking on larger opponents and besting them. A thick forelock of coarse, chocolate-brown hair
interrupted the substantial forehead of his craggy face. The rest of his leonine mane was caught at his
neck by a thick thong of black leather that wrapped it into a long tail with a small tuft sticking out at the
bottom. His slate-gray eyes held the intensity of a natural predator.

 Children worked alongside the adults, carrying supplies and personal possessions to the wagons.
Twenty wagons would roll with the Army of the Renunciate. Lord Dawnreturning and his general Nans
Gryphonheart had been hiring selectively among the kandoyarin, taking mostly veterans and never whole
companies. They were picking according to specializations, attitude, and personal commitment to fighting
the one who had nearly destroyed their city-state with a coup d'état; the one who had hired Liuthan: the
sa'nekaryiane who was the self-declared God-Queen of Minnoras. Dawnreturning appeared to have
more gold in his possession than some kingdoms, and they bought out the contracts of those they chose
from their companies.

 Tamric approved of their shrewd choices, while regretting the loss of so many good kandoyarin to Lord
Dawnreturning's ranks. However, he found himself in no position to argue and neither did the other four
Captains of the Coast. Their plots to force Lord Dawnreturning to serve their city and protect it from the
sa'nekaryiane had failed when it turned out that the plots had been instigated by a sa'necari who intended
to betray their city: Liuthan Loosestrife. Freed of the spellcords in which Tamric had bound him, Lord
Dawnreturning had revealed all the evil in the city with a single spell, to the horror of the captains who
never dreamed how deeply infiltrated their city had been. Now Tamric suspected that Dawnreturning
was a saint.

A boy with a sack of flour over his shoulder walked slowly toward Tamric, head down as he struggled
with his burden. They nearly collided and Tamric caught the dark-haired boy's shoulder to steady him.
When the boy looked up, Tamric recoiled.

"Stygean...."

Stygean's forehead creased and his mouth trembled. ?Godfather, I...."

Tamric backed away from him. ?Don't call me that. I want nothing to do with you or your kind."

Stygean's eyes filled with tears. He shouldered the flour sack better and trudged away from Tamric.

Tamric was gathering his wits when a kind voice spoke behind him and he turned.

Dawnreturning stood regarding him thoughtfully. ?Did you love him?"

 Tamric sucked air through his nostrils before answering. ?Yes. Liuthan was my closest friend?I thought. I
danced at his wedding.... Dandled Stygean on my knee.? Tamric lowered his head. ?Now my stomach
curdles at the sight of the boy."

"Come inside with me and we'll talk."

 Isranon led Tamric through the main hall, up the stairs and into a small study that he had made his own.
?Sit wherever you like."

Tamric nodded and settled into an overstuffed chair with clawed arms. He clutched the arms. ?Are you
going to kill him?"

Isranon took a chair close to Tamric. ?Stygean or Liuthan?"

Tamric considered. ?Both of them."

"Liuthan can't be saved."

"And Stygean?"

 "I don't want to kill him.? A sad light crept into Isranon's eyes. ?But any sa'necari, who will not respect
life, must be killed before they can take lives in the rites or from appetite. Stygean got his fangs a short
time ago. His hormones and blood cravings are high. If he will not obey and I cannot control him, then I
will have no choice, save to order him killed."

"I am sorry...."

"Don't be. I intend to try very hard to get through to Stygean. I feel for him. My parents were murdered
when I was his age. I know what he is going through."
"By Sharani?"

Isranon shook his head. ?No. By sa'necari. Because we were renunciates, Dark Brothers of the Light.
They rited my mother and burned my father alive."

 "I am very sorry.? Tamric leaned forward, opening the neck of his shirt and offering the favored vein to
Isranon. ?I have come to make another apology to you for my hubris which almost got you killed."

"Your intentions were good. You wanted to protect your city."

"I insist,? Tamric said. ?I should never have tried to coerce you into serving me. Please."

Isranon sighed. ?Then I will take it from your wrist, but not your neck. You have already apologized that
way."

 Tamric pushed his sleeve up and extended his arm. Isranon took Tamric's wrist firmly and sank his fangs
into him with a flawless delicacy. Tamric gave a tiny flinch as his flesh was pierced. Then Isranon's power
swept all the pain away, plunging Tamric into sweet memories of his childhood, running along beaches
with his parents. Isranon had still been too ill from his wounds to give Tamric this gift when he accepted
the first apology. When Isranon finished, he licked the wound closed so that it would not scar.

"That was.... Heaven."

 Isranon smiled. ?It can be. It isn't always. And some people become addicted to it. One of our rangers
is having a difficult time controlling his addiction. They have all been warned away from the practice. The
nibari, our cattle, were bred for centuries, not just for docility, but for a dependency upon it. They
develop strange ailments when they go too long without being bled."

 Tamric shook his head. ?Today I know more about vampires, sa'necari, and banewitches than I ever
expected to know in my lifetime."

"I hope that is not a bad thing."

"So do I."
                                                  ****

Isranon sat at his desk with his face pressed into his folded hands, feeling wearied in heart and soul as
well as body. He had resorted to holadil to ease some of the pain in his damaged limbs, the parts of him
that never seemed to substantially improve. Two vials, yellow holadil and blue-violet pollendine, rested in
his pocket beside the flask of Sanguine Rose. The children were a burden he wished he had not taken
on, but he would never have turned away from them. He prayed to his liege-god, Kalirion Sun-Lord, for
guidance and the strength to turn them away from the darkness of the rites.

 He had spent much of the morning losing himself in Josiah Abelard's spellbooks and journals, a gift from
his dead friend's ghost that had been returned to the wheel when Isranon accepted Josiah's burdens?his
unfulfilled duties to his god?and agreed to expiate Josiah's sins for him. There must have been nearly fifty
books in that chest. Stranger, every time that Isranon took a bunch of books out and then reopened the
chest to put them back, he found that the chest was full again, and there was no place to put them.
Isranon had not yet gotten to the layer on the bottom.

Two spells in particular intrigued him. Helios Conflagrare. That one had potential, despite it's dangers.
Josiah recorded the tale of how he had nearly blown himself up with it when he used it against an army of
trolls mysteriously assembled by Lord Hoon. Isranon suspected that Anksha had probably been behind
that army at the time, but there was no way for Josiah to have known.

 Another one that beckoned his interest was called Kissing the Divine Winds. It appeared to be a spell
that both a priest and a mage could use depending on their devotion to Kalirion. It could destroy every
living sapient in a wide area. Very dangerous, but in the right circumstances.... He would have to ask
Nans about that.

 More and more he understood how his mentor could have been known as the mage-master; his
knowledge and power had gone far beyond anything that could merely have been considered mastery.
Isranon had so much to learn that he wished he could simply place his hand on the books and absorb all
the knowledge into his head.

But for now, the children.

Nevin entered quietly and stood for a moment beside him. ?You're thinking about the boys."

"Stygean,? Isranon said as he lifted his head. ?He's the one I am not certain I can turn."

 "You should accept it right now, Isranon.? Nevin's voice took on the stern tones of the lawgiver he had
been before he followed Isranon south out of love. ?You may not be able to reach all of them. Especially
the two older boys."

"I can't completely accept that, Nevin. There has to be a way to reach them."

 Nevin snorted derisively, forcing Isranon to meet his eyes. ?It's that streak of defiance that's attracting
you, Isranon. Stygean reminds you of yourself. Well, he isn't you. He wasn't raised by Dark Brothers and
lycans. He's sa'necari to the core."

"I must try."

 Nevin scowled, making his scarred face even uglier, as he placed both hands on the table and leaned
close to Isranon. ?Don't be blinded by sympathy. It will get you killed."

 "I don't want to get into it with you. I've gotten into it with Nans and Amiri already. Amiri is the one who
forced me to make a list of laws, rules, and punishments. You're supposed to be reading over it.

"I've made a few changes."

"I'm certain you have. Once you're finished, I'll go over it and sign it into law for our people. Please go
bring the boy."

"Stygean?"

"Yes."

 While Nevin fetched Stygean, Isranon started closing books and shifting the pile of journals. There were
many things here, many arcane secrets of the most powerful mage of his time, that Isranon did not wish
seen by a mage-born boy he was not certain he could trust yet. The Dark Brothers had always had some
peculiar talents that were not shared by other sa'necari and he wondered if eschewing the rites had
something to do with that. Perhaps the rites closed doors that would otherwise have remained open.
There might even be latent mage gifts that could be opened fully into another kind of magic beyond the
inherited dark gifts of the sa'necari-born.

 Stygean came in looking sullen. Nevin had him by one arm, and it appeared as if the lycan had had to
insist on this meeting.

"Sit there,? Isranon told Stygean.

 Nevin sat Stygean down in a chair with a rough push. The boy glanced from Nevin to Isranon and back
again before lowering his head and refusing to look at either of them. Isranon gestured for Nevin to leave
and the lycan withdrew after frowning caution at his spirit-brother.

Stygean fastened his eyes on the papers and maps spread across the desk, his posture stiff, and his
hands gripping the chair arm tightly. He started to push away from the chair.

"Sit.? Isranon jabbed a finger at him.

 Stygean obeyed, jerking his hands from the chair arms and clasping them tightly together in his lap.
?What do you want of me?"

 Isranon rose and walked around to Stygean. He put his hand on Stygean's shoulder and the boy flinched
away from him. Isranon frowned at this, but chose not to address it. ?To talk. To see how much you
have been taught. If you have useful skills, then you need not continue with chores like mucking out stalls.
Wouldn't you like that better?"

 "I don't want your favors. Your mate killed my mother in front of my father. She's killing my father. You
and your people destroyed my home, killed my friends...."

Isranon chose a chair beside the boy and sat back, regarding Stygean thoughtfully. ?I know all of this is
hard on you. Do you understand why this happened?"

"I don't need to."

"I am going to explain it any way. Your father planned a coup against Ocealay. It failed."

Stygean's face screwed up and he snarled wordlessly, spittle flying. Finally he spoke again. ?My father
deserved to rule."

 "Your father did an evil deed in trying to overthrow the other captains. Had he not given me to four
sa'necari for the rites, Anksha would not have taken him."

"You and your filthy bitch!"

Isranon slapped him hard enough to sting. ?I will not have that out of you."

Stygean dropped his eyes, his hand going to his reddened cheek.

 "We did not initiate this quarrel. We came to Ocealay for supplies and nothing more. Your father
attacked us."
"My father is sa'necari. You are sa'necari. We were meant to rule."

Seeing how heavily indoctrinated the boy was into the sa'necari culture worried Isranon. ?No species
was meant to rule over the others. The others are not food."

"They are cattle. Sa'necari were meant to have cattle, not be cattle."

 A chill swept over Isranon. He had heard those same words frequently while living in Prince Mephistis
de Waejonan's court after he became the prince's sworn mon at half past fourteen years old?not much
older than this boy here. ?The nibari are cattle. But it should be a symbiosis without death. They have
feelings, they love. They are people just like us."

"That's heresy,? Stygean said. ?The price of heresy is death."

 Isranon ignored that, but it cost him because it cut into his heart and sent a rush of nightmare images
through him of being stabbed and tortured by others of his kind. ?Do you really understand what it means
to be sa'necari? It means to be a monster in the eyes of all the other races. It means a denial of and a
blindness to all the beauty in the world. To sa'necari everyone is cattle to be devoured, even others of
their own kind. They slip the blade into each other's backs as easily as they do different races. The other
races build their cultures upon trust. The sa'necari build theirs upon distrust."

"I don't care."

 "Go back to your room and think about my words. When you are willing to work with me, I'll put you to
copying maps since your father says you have the skill. Until then, there are plenty of tasks that will make
you sweat and put calluses on your hands."

 Stygean rose stiffly, his back straight and his shoulders back. He spun on his heel to demonstrate his
rejection of Isranon, and went to the door. As he crossed the threshold, a lycan met him and escorted
him away.

Isranon sighed heavily and rubbed his face. Another impasse. I don't want to be harsh with him, but
what else can I do?

Nevin returned and sat down across the table from Isranon. ?That was a short meeting. It didn't go
well?"

 Isranon shook his head, rubbing at the inside corners of his eyes in weary frustration. ?He parroted all
the sa'necari cant and refused to listen to me."

"He will bear watching, my brother,? Nevin said.

"I'm not certain that I can make any difference with them. My people have spent hundreds of generations
becoming the monsters that people know them as."

"They aren't your people, Isranon. An accident of birth made you sa'necari."

 "They are still my people. I never wanted that to be, but I must face it now.... If only to try and turn their
children from the darkness of the rites. I worry about my own children."

"Do not worry about your son by Merissa. Claw will see that he is raised properly. Besides, the God of
the Woodlands chose to mark him and that promises much."

"And my child by Anksha? What will he be with a demon-eater and a sa'necari as parents? Two feasters
upon blood?"

Nevin grasped Isranon's shoulders. ?Raised with love and firmness, with consistency and wisdom.... He
will be fine. And I will be there for him as I was for you."

 "I pray so.? Isranon did not add that Kalirion had prophesied his death, that he would not be around to
raise his son. Eventually he would be forced to tell Nevin, but he did not feel ready yet.
                                                  ****

"How long, Nevin?? Olin demanded, his tone rough and impatient. He ran his fingers through his white
hair, ruffling the black patches in it. ?How long must you refuse to tell him?"

 Nevin turned away from his cousin and stalked off into the gardens. A crisp chill lay across everything,
signaling the changing of the seasons. It would already be cold in the northlands where Nevin's clan
dwelled. The day was late, the sun fading from sight beyond the walls. There was nothing left to do
besides have dinner with his companions and surrender to the night and sleep. ?I will never tell him. It is
wrong."

Olin went after him and grabbed his arm as he fell into step beside Nevin. ?Love is never wrong. You
know that Isranon is a lover of both men and women."

"It is wrong for the mentor to fall in love with the student."

 Olin let out a loud whuff of air. ?Don't be foolish. You haven't been his mentor in years. Not since he
came of age seven years ago. Furthermore, you and I took him as our spirit-brother three years ago. All
of that changes things. Has changed everything."

"It hasn't changed anything."

"Tell him you're in love with him, Nevin. You can't go on breaking your own heart. He had a triad going
with Ephry and Timon. Surely, he would not object to a triad with you and Anksha."

Nevin released a shuddering breath. ?I can't. It's wrong."

Olin growled in frustration. ?Listen to me. Let Isranon make that decision. Tell him."

"No!? Nevin changed into a wolf and ran away from Olin.

 Olin felt tempted to change and go after him, and then decided otherwise. Talking to Nevin always led to
a dead end where Isranon was concerned. Instead, he took another stroll through the gardens, and
returned to the mansion by a different route.

 He spied someone sitting alone on a bench, and when Olin came closer, he saw that it was Travis. The
freeranger captain had an odd look on his face.

"Something bothering you, Old Dog?"

"Sort of. Daree just changed and ran off after Nevin."
"So?"

"You don't think Nevin is still ... well, unhappy about Daree and I hooking up?"

 Olin pursed his lips thoughtfully as he settled beside Travis. ?Not since you nearly lost your life saving
his."

"Then why'd they both just take off like that?"

 "Daree probably overheard me tasking Nevin about his love life and decided to toss her two coppers
into the argument."

Travis ran his hands through his unruly hair before answering. ?You mean lack of one. I've never seen
him with a female that way."

 Olin chuckled. Sometimes Travis could not see the tree in front of him until he bumped into it. ?Nevin
isn't attracted to women."

 Travis? head jerked around, and he flushed. ?Oh, you mean he's ... oh, well ... right.? Travis went silent
for a moment and then slowly forced his next words out in an awkward tone. ?Is there a guy he fancies?"

Olin laughed long and hard. ?Don't worry, Travis. It isn't you."
                                                ****

Isranon looked from his books to Anksha dozing on the sofa, and a fond smile crossed his face.
Tomorrow they would be married by a priest of Kalirion in a simple, but well-attended wedding. All five
of the Captains of the Coast were coming, including the newly elected Arkymides who had established
himself as leader of the Blues and replaced Liuthan. Isranon's people had seized most of Liuthan's
possessions as reparations?and had no intention of returning anything?so Arkymides would be faced with
a large task of rebuilding and acquiring to fill Liuthan's mansion.

 The Rowdies and most of their new soldiers would also be there. In fact, the list had grown so huge that
Isranon had chosen to hold the ceremony on the city commons. A huge structure had been raised for the
wedding there so that everyone could watch, including the citizens. Anksha had spent a great measure of
time each day watching it go up, and another with the tailors who were making her gown. Isranon had
purchased a tiara studded with expensive gems and a matching necklace for her to wear.

It felt good to see her so happy.

 Isranon rose from the table, and settled on the sofa, stroking her face to awaken her. ?Sweetheart, you
should go to bed. It's better than sleeping on the sofa."

Anksha stirred sleepily. ?Are you coming?"

"No, I need to wait for Amiri. We have a few things to discuss."

Anksha yawned and rubbed her eyes. ?I'm tired a lot."

 Isranon smiled and kissed her. ?That's because your body is adjusting to the baby. It will pass for a
time.? Tired a lot for Anksha, was actually very little compared to other females, since she was normally
a bundle of energy and only those who knew her well would notice any slowing down in her. He picked
her up and she put her legs around his waist as he carried her to bed. He tucked her in, and returned to
the sitting room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Once settled again at the table, Isranon read Josiah's books while waiting for Amiri to arrive.

 Amiri knocked and entered without waiting for a response. The beads in her corn rowed hair clacked
together as she walked. She moved with the easy stride of a comfortable soldier. ?You wanted to see
me?"

Isranon closed his books and regarded her. Tension climbed through his body like vines on a trellis. He
both desired and dreaded these meetings with Amiri. ?I have a lot of questions, and so far your answers
have not satisfied me."

 "If this is about Anksha, I may not have the answers.? Amiri seated herself at the table with him. ?More
has been lost, than saved. There are no Ymraudes living today that lived during the period that the
demon-eaters were first created.? She twined one of her long braids through her fingers as she
considered. ?Although there is a rumor that I scarcely credit."

Isranon leaned forward. ?What?"

"A male. There are no males among Ishla's vampires. We transition from male into female when we
become Ymraudes. But this one remained a male and was the Tinkerer's first experiment."

"And why don't you credit it? If Ishla wished to create males, why didn't she?"

 Amiri caught a second braid and twisted them together. The days when Isranon would simply accept
whatever she chose to tell him without questions was long past. Their relationship had shifted from
mentor and student during the early days when he had been wracked with suffering from being taken as a
blood-slave by Anksha to equals, as it had between Nevin and Isranon. Then Amiri licked her fangs and
shook her head slowly. No. Not equals. Isranon had become her superior in every way except lore.

 "I'm a bio-magicalist and bio-alchemist, Isranon. So my knowledge may well be limited by my
specializations. However, I believe that had Ishla decided to create males, she would have and there
would be more than one of them, just as there are six hundred Ymraudes scattered across the world."

"I'll accept that?for now.? A harsh edge underlined Isranon's words. His irritation and tension increased.
He was growing tired of her telling him what they did not know, rather than what they did; and after what
happened with Anksha, he no longer trusted Amiri to freely volunteer what he needed to know. ?What I
won't accept is your not telling me what was happening to me. I was terrified that I was losing my mind. I
begged you to help me, and you didn't."

"I wanted to."

 "No.? Isranon cut her short. ?You didn't. You wanted to see what happened because you'd never seen
it before. You told me how you've watched the passion-dance without intervening, knowing that the
human involved would die, just to study it. That's what you were doing to me and Anksha, Amiri."

 "At first, yes. I admit it. The accounts of demon-eater matings have become fragmented and mostly lost.
I was fascinated."
 "But I'm not a demon-eater.? Isranon's voice rose in a twist of anger, pain, and regret. ?I'm a man. I.
Am. A. Man.? His brow furrowed, his eyebrows lifted, and his voice cracked. ?What you did was
cold-blooded."

"But I changed my mind. I watched more closely, intending to intervene. I wasn't going to allow you to
kill Anksha."

"So instead you allowed me to brutalize her, when you could have told me what was happening ... given
me a chance to alter it."

"What do you want from me, Isranon? I've apologized again, and again."

Isranon dropped his eyes to his hands tightening together on the table, and his voice softened to a
haunted whisper. ?I don't know."

"Then this isn't going any place. We'll talk again later."


                                             CHAPTER EIGHT
                                                PLOTS

Malthus waited until the household slept, then crept along the hallway to Darmyk's room. Yesterday he
had forbidden the child to sleep with his cat in the room. Kenly made Malthus uneasy, despite its being
only half grown. The little boy slept with his arm around a stuffed cat similar to his beloved Kenly, but
smaller. The full moon filtered its light between the trees growing close to the window and cast a silver
glow on Darmyk's face. Malthus opened the child's sleep shirt, pausing twice when Darmyk stirred in
reaction to the tickling touch of his stepfather's fingers. Malthus smiled broadly and his fangs descended.
He bent to sink them into Darmyk's neck.

 The sound of splintering glass caused Malthus? head to jerk up. Kenly bounded across the bed and
straddled Darmyk, hissing at Malthus.

 The cat must have been inside Darmyk's tree house, which Claw had built in the huge chestnut tree just
outside Darmyk's window. Although Darmyk would not be three years old until mid-winter, his physical
coordination was that of a six or seven year old human, so the tree house had been an appropriate gift
from his doting grandfather. However, facing off against Kenly, who had just used the tree house to
access Darmyk's bedroom, made Malthus wish it had never been built.

 Malthus retreated. Since he had brought no weapons, the only way to fight the cat would be with magic
and that would reveal him as sa'necari.

Noises came from the hallway. The door opened behind him and Claw came in with a lamp, followed by
Aisha and Merissa.

"What is going on?? Claw demanded, casting an accusatory glance at Malthus.

"I heard the glass break,? Malthus told them. ?So I came to see and the cat threatened to attack me."

"Then the cat has better sense than some people,? said Claw in his crustiest tone, throwing a glance at
Merissa. ?If he wants to stay with the cub that bad, then I say he stays with the cub."
"I don't think that is wise?? Malthus said.

"I don't care what you think,? Claw cut him off. ?It's my house and my grandcub."

Malthus shrugged. ?As you say, it's your house. I will not object again."

Damn the old wolf. He'd reach the boy yet.

 Perhaps, it was time for Claw to die. Malthus considered his choices. He could quicken the process that
he was already using. Or he could resort to a few poisons his mother had developed that were too subtle
and unfamiliar for the Readers to detect. And then, there was always a viper in his bed. The weather was
still warm enough for one of his mother's pets?now housed in the cave?to find its way inside without
anyone questioning how it got there.

 Merissa had fallen asleep, curled on her side, by the time Malthus made his decision. He walked through
the great hall alone at midnight. He went to the table beside Claw's chair where the little pipe rack and
tobacco jar sat in the middle. One by one he renewed his spells on Claw's pipes. He smiled as he
worked, sketching the spell on the bowl, watching it melt into the pipe and vanish from view. Each time
that Claw smoked these pipes, another strand of the death magics would be drawn inside the old
asshole's chest until it accumulated into enough to kill him. Malthus wondered if he was being too subtle.
It had been nearly two months since the wedding, and he had not yet seen evidence of the effect of his
handiwork. If he did not see it soon, Malthus would increase the strength of his spells.

 Claw kept a second small rack of pipes on his desk in his study. Malthus headed back upstairs to treat
those pipes also.

He imagined what Claw would look like writhing on the floor, and smiled. They had brought in the best
healer in the valley to attend Merissa's pregnancy, but Sheradyn would not be able to cure Claw's heart
problems once they became obvious.
                                                  ****

Claw sat down on the side of his bed, breathing heavily. His chest hurt with a feeling of pressure in the
center. Every time he allowed himself to become too angry, the pain started. It worried him, but he had
not spoken to Aisha about it, nor had he sent for Baroucha the healer. Sheradyn would be arriving. If it
kept up, then he would speak to Sheradyn about it. He would find it easier to talk to a male healer, than
another pushy female.

 He was intermittently afraid of what they would tell him, and dismissive of it. He knew that he was
getting old. He and Aisha should not have waited so long to have Merissa. If it worsened, he would try
again to find his brother Brock in Creeya. Brock had last visited when Merissa was twelve, and told
Claw that should he have need of him to write to the Grand Master; that the Grand Master could find
anyone in the realm.

 Malthus? behavior toward Darmyk's cat irritated him. Resentment flared. Claw had been Darmyk's
surrogate father for three years, and now he had been displaced by Malthus. He had wanted Merissa to
marry eventually, but had never really considered how that would affect his relationship with his
grandcub. Malthus felt like an intruder whenever they disagreed about Darmyk.

 Claw pulled off his boots, set them to the side of the bed, shrugged out of his robe and tossed it on the
floor. He paused for breath, wondering how so little exertion could set off another round of discomfort.
Yanking the string on his trousers, Claw shoved out of his pants and small clothes. He threw the blankets
back and slid between the cool sheets, wishing Aisha had got here first and warmed them.

 Aisha came in and disrobed. Claw ran his eyes over her and forgot his troubles. Despite the white hair,
she was still a fine looking bitch, and he always looked at her with the eye of memory.

 "You shouldn't fuss so with Malthus,? Aisha said, settling next to him and putting her head on his
shoulder as she stroked his hairy chest. ?It upsets Merissa. The mon is only trying to be a good father as
he sees it."

 "I don't like him,? Claw grumbled, digging his hand into the muscles of his left arm in an attempt to
relieve some of the pain. ?Something about the mon just doesn't ring true."

"You're judging him by his race, Claw. I know you'd've liked it better if Merissa had married one of her
own kind, but love is love."

"Kiss me, old bitch, and I'll show you love."

"Stop snarling and I will."
                                                    ****

Caimbeul stood before the full-length mirror in the lawgiver's house that had been given to him. He
rubbed his hand over his stubbly chin. Not even Pandeena knew about this freakish talent of his that he
had inherited from his fireborn granddam. Eirian and her lycan husband, Clachmund, had been unable to
produce children because their genetics were too far apart. So they went to Ishla's temple for the potions
that would allow them to produce a child of their joining. However, such potions generally contained an
arcane mutagen, and odd talents cropped up now and again in their children and grandchildren.

The lawgiver had one of those?actually he had a handful of them, but he only intended to use one tonight.

 Studying himself more closely in the mirror, Caimbeul stroked his face with his forefingers. His broad,
squared-jawed face thinned. The stubbly beard vanished. His grizzled hair turned a light golden brown
and hung to his waist. He gained height and youth. He could not completely lose the breadth of his
shoulders, but his body was now narrow hipped with a slender waist. He looked less like a bear, and
more like a fireborn. But he would still smell lycan. Caimbeul went to his closet. Nevin had left a lot
behind and some of it would fit this form.

 He chose through things that would wear nice, but with nothing that might identify them as having
belonged to Nevin?such as the formal blue robe with the red wolves embroidered on it, although he
would have loved to have worn it. That lawgiver had had many fine things, but then villages liked to see
their leaders?lawgivers, priests, and chieftains?in fine clothing, so most it had probably been solstice gifts.
Caimbeul pondered on why Nevin had left so much behind so willingly. But he knew the rumors that
Nevin had been in love with Isranon, and love made myn do strange things.

Then his thoughts strayed to Pandeena. Love?I know its strangeness well.

 Once clothed in a black silken robe, Caimbeul placed a handful of seed crystals in his pocket. It would
not do for him to get one of the females pregnant if his suspicions were correct. Pandeena would be
unhappy with him for what he was about to do, but he had to test his hunch. He would go to at least
three of the women tonight, a sa'necari, a human, and the only lycan, Clodagh. Finally, he belted his
knives on. These were not the ones he had carried when his son was alive?these blades had never taken
a life.
He found his way back to the compound, and stood for a moment, studying the houses, from the shade
of an oak cluster. He heard someone approach from the side.

"Have you come for some?? a young male whispered.

 "Indeed.? Caimbeul put a sneer in his voice. ?I didn't expect to find a place like this among my country
cousins, although I frequented them often enough in the cities."

Caimbeul turned and faced the young lycan. He tried to remember where he had seen this one before, to
place his name, but it wouldn't come.

"You're new here, aren't you?"

"I just rode in yesterday. I'm most recently from Cherdon'datar. Since news of the rebellion got out, a lot
of us are drifting back. I was talking to a friend at Hereward's ... and he said to come here."

 The younger male muffled a laugh with his hand. ?Yes, this is the place. Just be discreet, we don't want
the priest or that stuffy lawgiver catching us."

Caimbeul smiled. ?No, we wouldn't want them spoiling a bit of fun. I've never known a lawgiver or a
priest who didn't have a prude's tail up their ass."

"What's your name?"

"Padruig."

 "Nice to meet you, I'm Shalto. What flavor cock-niche do you favor? We have human, lycan, and
sa'necari."

"Well, Shalto, I'm a mon who likes them all, partial to whatever I can stick mine into. I'm a well-traveled
mon. What do you suggest?"

"The sa'necari. We've got five of them, lovely holes they have and very cooperative."

"Don't they bite?"

"Nah. They're corded. They don't bite unless you're into that stuff. I know some that are, but I'm not."

"So which house do you recommend I try first?"

Shalto pointed at Kandaishee's home. ?That one. She's the best. And she sucks and swallows too."

"Sounds like my kind of bitch. Have a drink with me tomorrow so I can give you a proper thanks?"

"Certainly. Meet me at the Difficult Horse around noon."

That I will, Shalto. That I will. Caimbeul went to Kandaishee's door and knocked.

"Who is it?? Kandaishee asked.
"A friend told me you could see to my needs,? Caimbeul replied.

 Kandaishee opened the door and stepped back. Her head tilted to the side as she let out a resigned
sigh. ?Come in."

 She wore a lycan style robe, and immediately opened it as if this were a routine she knew well. The
sa'necari had fine, delicate features, dark-skin, and long black hair.

Caimbeul noted that she appeared to be nearly four months pregnant. She looked tired and worn. ?Are
you certain you want to do this?"

Kandaishee frowned at that. ?Don't ask questions. We both know why you're here."

"I guess we do at that."

"Do you want to do it here on the floor, or in the bedroom?? Kandaishee asked him.

"I like it in bed."

"You're a new one.? Kandaishee led him to her bedroom and stretched out to wait for him with her legs
opened.

"I only arrived in Wolffgard today."

"Is there a position you prefer?"

"What ever is comfortable for you with that belly. When's it due?

"Late winter."

 Caimbeul climbed onto the bed with her. He stroked her body for a long time, turned her on her side,
and took her from the back when his fingers told him she was ready. As he moved inside her, enjoying
the way she moaned with sensuous pleasure, Caimbeul discreetly slid his Readers gift through her in a
low level scan too gentle to be noticed. Someone had been in her mind, but if he went deeply enough to
find out more, she would become aware of his presence. Not even sex would mask that intrusion.

 He expanded slightly, focusing on the child, as the approach of orgasm threatened to drive all thought
from his mind. Caimbeul found traces of psychic scarring in her womb and surrounding the child. The
pregnancy originated from a violent rape. Revulsion washed through him and he nearly lost his erection.
He withdrew his awareness from Kandaishee's body, forgot everything but the way her warm, wet
sheath clutched at his cock and exploded inside her.

Caimbeul rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His hand idly stroked her.

A knock came at the front door. Kandaishee sat up. ?You have to leave now."

 She followed him to the door without bothering to put her clothes on. He caught the glint of tears in her
eyes as the door opened. She let in a young wolf that could not have been more than fifteen. The youth
immediately put his hand between her legs as if Caimbeul was not even there.

"Let your fangs down,? the youth ordered her. ?You know how I like it."
The old wolf slipped past them and out the door.

 He stood in the darkness, with his fists tightening and relaxing only to tighten again. Part of him said that
he should not care what happened to a sa'necari?sa'necari had murdered his son. Yet something about
the weary helplessness of Kandaishee touched him. Caimbeul pushed that thought away. He had come
here to investigate, not lose himself in pity.

 He considered which way to go next, watching the youths and a few older wolves sneaking through the
compound, most of them pretending not to see each other. Caimbeul headed for the main longhouse.

 His chest constricted, wondering if Clodagh was part of this. Certainly Shalto had said there was a lycan
slut, but what if there were a lycan living here that Caimbeul did not know about? Did he give the words
or not?

Clodagh answered his knock in the nude. Her young face had lines of exhaustion that Caimbeul had
missed the day he met her. Either that, or she had been roughly handled for a few days. Her blue eyes
held the haunted ghosts of nightmares past and present lurking in their depths.

"On the floor or in the bed?? Clodagh asked without waiting for him to speak, weary resignation
underlining her words.

 Had her mind been touched also, like Kandaishee's? Kandaishee's could have been old damage from an
encounter with one of her own kind before reaching here, but Clodagh? No, that made no sense. ?Bed."

"You're new,? she said, leading the way and pointing at her bed. ?How do you want me, on my back or
on my knees?"

Caimbeul shrugged, and slipped out of his robe. ?On your back will be fine."

He felt dirtier with Clodagh than he had with Kandaishee. She lay back and he straddled her on his
knees. Her nose wrinkled and she sniffed his erection. ?You've already been with one of us?"

"Is there some rule that says I can't have more than one in a night?"

Clodagh shook her head. ?You can have as many as you like."

He straightened out on top of her, his heavy body pushing her deep into the rushes filling her mattress.

Clodagh whimpered and turned her face to the side to breathe. ?Stick it in and get it over with."

Caimbeul smelled the reek of despair clinging to her, and he sat back on his haunches. He fumbled in the
pocket of his robe and took out a flat circular, and highly polished crystal.

"What's that?"

"You've never seen one before?"

"No,? Clodagh said, watching him closer.

"It's a seed crystal. It absorbs and stores the fertile parts of my seed so that I cannot get you pregnant.
They're fairly common in mage communities, and cities with them."

"I can't believe you're one of them. You're too considerate."

"Them?"

"The wolves that run this compound by night. Now please get it over with."

 She spread her legs and parted the lips of her womanhood with her fingers. Caimbeul fitted the crystal
inside her, gently, yet firmly against the mouth of her cervix while working the bump of her clit with his
huge thumb.

"Just stick it in,? Clodagh moaned unhappily. ?Don't play with me."

 Caimbeul had never met a slut as distressed to be on her back as Clodagh. Pandeena had always been
right when she called him a lecher?yet he had never felt filthier in his life than when he once more
stretched out on top of Clodagh, and pushed his sword into her sheath. Clodagh's vagina was small and
tight and barely able to take him in. He moved slowly and cautiously inside her, worried that he might tear
her. He humped without lifting his weight from her so that as much of his body was touching hers at all
times as possible. His Readers gift spread through her delicately to match his thrusts. He found her
pregnancy. She appeared to be about two months along. It had to have happened around the time that
the previous lawgiver vanished. The same psychic scarring was present in her womb. This was another
child of a violent rape. He found something odd, however, about the genetics: they were blurred. He had
no way to tell if the fetus was lycan or not.

His milk spilled into her, and he rolled off, preparing to break the link, as he drew the crystal from her
body.

 Clodagh's eyes widened. ?It's you! It's you. You've finally come for me.? Then she doubled up,
clutching at her head. ?Get out of here, Padruig."

Caimbeul fled, snatching up his robe, and walked across the yard in the direction of a human's sheeling.
When he reached it and lifted his hand to knock, it hit him: he had not told Clodagh his name.

He repeated his actions with the human, Ethne, and found that her child was lycan. He wondered how
many more of the women were pregnant as he walked wearily home, feeling every bit the old lecher that
Pandeena so readily accused him of being. They had to do something without tipping their hand to
Malthus.

 When he returned home, Caimbeul found the lights on in the lawgiver house and went in cautiously,
wearing his proper form. Pandeena sat on his sofa, drinking his whiskey and staring into the flames of the
fireplace.

"What's wrong, Pandeena?"

 She lifted her face to his and he saw a distant flame in her gaze. ?The wedding arch has been taken
down. The myn at the taverns are all toasting and celebrating Malthus? potency.? Her shoulders slumped.
?I knew ... I knew ... I knew this was going to happen. I knew it. But I never dreamed it would be so
soon."

"This complicates matters.? Caimbeul had wanted to tell her about his discovery, but now he held back.
?You're still certain that he's the Serpent? A sa'necari of his years should not have been able to....
?Caimbeul searched for a proper word, not wanting to offend Pandeena, and still feeling dirty from what
he had done. ?A sa'necari who is clearly approaching forty, should be sterile, or nearly so."

"It confounds me,? Pandeena said. ?Where have you been so late?"

"Investigating a few things."

"What?"

"I'm not ready to talk about them. Can you get me a list of the houses and sheelings on the compound?
And the names of all the residents and those who work there?"

"Why?"

Caimbeul shook his head. ?Just get them for me."
                                               ****

Sheradyn had been a russet brown in his youth, but his coat had changed in color to nearly white as he
aged. The heavy white streaks in his beard and the close cropped hair on his head reflected that. Yet he
sat straight as a sword blade, wearing a precisely fitted pair of trousers, tall boots, and a high-collared
shirt beneath his short robe. His exacting air masked a gentle nature that contrasted sharply with that of
Gillivray who slouched next to him on the wagon seat in a simple russet robe and trousers.

 He drove his buckboard into the yard of the manor house and a servant came forward to take the
horses. Gillivray his assistant, who was also his lover of many years, jumped down and helped Sheradyn
to the ground. The nearly eighty year age gap between them showed in the fond manner with which
Gillivray regarded him. The younger mon doted on the elder and was doted on back in a nearly
overbearing sweetness of devotion.

Merissa came into the yard just behind her mother. ?Sheradyn, it's so wonderful that you have arrived."

Sheradyn gave her an affectionate smile as he approached and they embraced. ?Ah yes, the young
mother to be. And this time there won't be all those tears, like the last one."

Merissa's mouth tightened for a flash of an instant, remembering how she had cried her way through her
pregnancy with Darmyk over Isranon leaving her. ?No tears this time."

Malthus and Aisha joined Merissa in the yard, and Merissa pointed to Malthus. ?Sheradyn, this husband
Malthus, and you remember my mother?"

"A pleasure to meet you, sir,? Sheradyn said, extending his hand to Malthus.

They shook. ?Merissa has told me a lot about you,? said Malthus.

"All good I hope.? Sheradyn smiled brightly. ?And Aisha, how glad I am to see you again, young bitch."

Aisha flushed. ?Thank you, Sheradyn. I hope that you will enjoy your stay in our household."


                                            CHAPTER NINE
                                          VISIONS OF DOOM

Zyne held a small party in the Great Hall of Nubyrlon at the late Duke's fine oaken table. She had
ordered that the palace not be sacked, as the contents belonged to the officers and a tithe was to be sent
to Queen Gylorean Galee. The rest of the city had been declared fair game to the soldiers and other
members of the Minnorian Army. The best food in the ducal pantries had been set out upon the board:
half a bull, suckling pigs, ducks in cheese sauces, vegetables, and fruits of the season. On the end of the
table where the demons and the undead dined, two roasted children lay with apples in their mouths.

Slaves?who had once been free women of Angrim?waited on the table, polite in their terror. They wore
plunging necklines and no sleeves to expose their flesh to the masters. Many of them bore bruises from
being snacked upon. They were a weary, disheartened lot.

 Wine went round as they refilled the guests? goblets. Red and white from bottles, a blood mix from
silver ewers, and in golden pitchers straight blood to be mixed or taken alone. The blood belonged to the
slaves? murdered menfolk. They had witnessed the throat slittings and drainings on poles during the
preparation for this feast. They did not dare complain as hands fondled them while they poured.

Mondarius, Ynkendio, Maruska, and all of their sa'necari and Lemyari commanders were present, as
well as their most faithful and devoted human officers. Next to each of the hemovores as a special treat, a
nude female knelt with her wrists and ankles bound, and her head tied to the side to expose her neck.

Ynkendio stroked his sanguine aperitif with his tail, enjoying the way she flinched and shivered as his
barb flicked across her nipples. ?Afraid I'll put it in?? Ynkendio chuckled.

A slave stopped beside Ynkendio with bottles of wine and a pitcher of human blood on a tray.

"Red. Half and half,? Ynkendio said.

She served him and moved on. The Minnorian general gave his glass a stir with his finger and licked it off
with a laugh. Ynkendio raised his glass of blood wine. ?A toast to Reynhard Dreslin who is making the
ultimate sacrifice for the good of our queen and my family."

 Maruska lifted her glass, clinking hers against her husband's. ?To Reynhard, may our child find him
tasty."

 Soon they were all toasting Reynhard with snide remarks. Three chairs down from Ynkendio, an officer
bit a slave on the nipple, causing her to drop a bottle on the floor. She hurriedly placed her tray on the
table and knelt to retrieve the bottle before the entire contents could spill out.

"Lick it up bitch,? yelled the officer. He bent, caught her by the hair, and pushed her face into the spilt
wine.

Laughter ran around the table. The officer winked at his companions, jerked the slave's skirts up, and
dropped onto her back. He opened his pants and mounted her ass. Zyne watched with amusement.

 "It was a blessing from our god that we took the Kyser's best general in our first attack,? said Ynkendio.
?Reynhard Dreslin will not be stopping us this time."

"Indeed,? purred Zyne. ?What about the Kyser's other generals?"
 "Only Dreslin was of the first order. None of the rest are half the tactian that he was.? Ynkendio
sneered.

 The wine went round several times, and gradually the party turned to other appetites. ?Orgy?? Zyne
smiled at the gathering, then sealed the doors with a casual flick of her hand.

 A Lemyari dragged his bound slave to a corner of the room, untied her legs so that he could get them
open wider, and mounted her while he fed. One of the human officers nudged his companion, and they
grabbed two of the serving slaves, tore their garments off, and raped them beneath the table, laughing at
their screams.

Ynkendio chuckled and glanced at his wife. ?There's only one sheath for my sword, but many necks for
my fangs. Share this one with me, dearest?"

 "Of course,? Maruska answered with a demure smile. They took the female that was bound between
them and bit into her.

Zyne glanced at Mondarius as she dragged a slave across her lap. ?Not my favorite flavor, but it will
do."

Mondarius, knowing that his blood was her favorite, shivered before sinking his fangs into slave kneeling
beside his chair.
                                               ****

The prince looked pale, and in a state of shock that went beyond the anguish of his body. It concerned
Reynhard to see him like that. Their captors had not tied them again, although there were soldiers all
around the tent to prevent their escape. Even had they wished to try for escape, they were all too ill from
Maruska's venom to attempt anything.

Damn Maruska and Ynkendio. Bastard betrayer of humanity.

"I'm so sorry, Tibalt.? Reynhard stroked his young prince's head.

Reynhard's touch and his words registered, and Tibalt turned his glassy eyes toward him. ?We tried to
hide. I remembered how you told us ... knowing when to retreat ... is the better part ... of valor."

"How did it happen?"

 Tibalt's eyes went distant and it was clear to Reynhard that the prince's mind had wandered. He heaved
a sigh. ?What? Oh. A secret room behind the mantle ... Dearg and I. For all the good it did.? Tibalt
stared into nothing again for a long time. ?They have magic ... they can sniff you out."

Reynhard forced his body to straighten despite his pain, drew Tibalt onto his lap, and held him against
his chest as if to close out some of the horror.

"How can God have let this happen?? Tears ran down Tibalt's face.

Reynhard held him tighter. ?I don't know."

"They ... they were raping the women ... as we fled. Dearg insisted. I wanted to fight. After they caught
us, they marched us past the scaffolds, and I saw ... I saw the impalements.? Tibalt caught another
struggling breath. ?They put us in line near the end. I saw them do Gerda?remember her? One of the
soldiers was laughing next to me. He kept saying that they were fucking her with a pole and that from the
sounds of her screams she must be enjoying it.? Tibalt gave way to shuddering sobs.

 Reynhard held Tibalt until the youth fell into exhausted slumber in his arms, and then he placed him on his
bedding and covered him up. The heir of Dreslin sat beside Tibalt long into the night. He ran his finger
over the lips of the incision in his chest in a distracted, yet obsessive manner. It had closed up, all except
the edge; otherwise Reynhard would have tried to shove his fingers into it. Not that he imagined it would
do any good. The egg had settled very deep inside him. He could feel the pressure, and it shifted in a way
that suggested it had a soft shell like a lizard's egg, rather than a hard shell like a bird.

 He threw his head back, fighting his morbid curiosity about the thing in his chest. This did not do any of
them any good. They were all dead myn walking.

Reynhard turned his head at the sound of someone coming in.

"Still hurting, Reynhard?? Ynkendio asked in a taunting tone. ?It will get worse and worse. I'll enjoy
watching you die."

 Reynhard opened his eyes and saw Ynkendio crouching over him. Had it not been that Ynkendio's
features below the horns were unchanged, coupled with the fact that Ynkendio remembered him,
Reynhard would never have recognized the demon as the mon he had once been. ?Bloody betrayer.
Have you no soul, Ynkendio? No heart? No honor?"

"I could ask the same of you ... dragging me around in chains."

"I would never have sacrificed my humanity for vengeance."

Ynkendio glanced across the sleeping bodies of the suffering myn. ?Oh, it was much more than that. I
have proven that my god is more powerful than yours. When I'm done, your people will have no god but
mine."

Reynhard started to answer, but a hard rush of pain ground through him, and he crumpled, groaning.

Ynkendio chuckled softly. ?Enjoy yourself, Reynhard."

Then the demon left.
                                                   ****

Mondarius? neck still felt sore from Zyne's fangs as he began to set up for his rite. She had fed upon him
twice in the last three days, and although he had fed well afterward, he still felt nauseated. He wanted a
vision of things to come, pure and unadulterated, and would only strive to alter what he saw if forced.
Because he needed to allow the psychic streams to reach him from the ether, he could not shield this
working. The divinator needed to open himself up completely to the visions, and for this reason it was
extremely dangerous. The object of his foreseeing was primarily matters related to Isranon, and
secondarily Dawnreturning?although he had no sure way to focus on that mysterious mage.

 Six tables had been set out on the Nubyrlon common in the order of a reversed star with five points and
one in the center. Torches burned, illuminating the grounds. Five youths were tied down on the points,
while a female occupied the center table. The city was quiet. Even those lingering on the edge of death on
the scaffold that formed the backdrop for the rite had gone silent. The city had been nearly emptied, and
soldiers led by Lemyari were making a final house to house sweep to be certain not a single person
remained free in the city.

 Mondarius? acolytes burned the sacred incense and chanted the words of the rite of seeing. Power rose
around the circle as soon as he stepped into it and closed the circle behind him. Soon he would know
how and where Isranon would die with the Fifth Blade in his flesh. He fought to clear his mind, to tame
the eager day-dreams and fleeting fantasies of first opening Isranon's body and placing the necessary
items inside him to unleash a terrible curse, timing his death and then methodically, inch by inch, easing the
Fifth Blade between his ribs.

 The sounds of his victims sobbing, some of them swearing and others begging, interrupted Mondarius?
thoughts and brought him back to the present. He picked up a pot of black, scented oils and marked
each victim with the proper runes from throat to groin. Taking a bottle of clear oil, Mondarius anointed
their foreheads. He unwrapped the Fifth Blade, and facing north, invoked Bellocar and then Galee.
Mondarius went to the mon bound on the table to his left, and laid the Fifth Blade in the center of his
chest. Drawing his bone-handled hellblade, Mondarius raised his power, intoning while he made gestures
with the blade above the mon. Delicately, he sliced his victim open from hip to hip, and then from groin to
breast bone, and finally at the base of his ribs. The divinator peeled each section of skin and fat back to
study his victim's entrails. The mon screamed and writhed.

Mondarius? eyes went distant, staring into the worlds between the veils, parting the silvery curtains with
his arcane senses. ?North will our paths converge."

Continuing to his left, Mondarius repeated all the steps with the next victim.

"A battle in the north, three armies clashing...."

Mondarius opened the belly of the third mon, saw the unusual growth in his gut, and shivered at the
vision that rose warm and oily from the victim's entrails.

 "Four armies. The Sacred King is coming. Curse that.? With fear clutching at his throat, Mondarius
knew that he was taking dire chances trying to alter the omens in an unshielded divination. It made no
sense why the Sacred King would concern herself with a sa'necari heretic, but there it was. He went to
the table of tools and returned with several rune stones and three packets of herbs. He placed a packet
of herbs and a stone in the center of the mon's belly next to the growth. ?Let the king come too late."

 He made an incision across the dying mon's chest, and peeled the flesh back so that he could reach into
his ribs. Mondarius tied the second and third packets to his ribs and dropped the stones in amongst his
lungs. He incanted over him, reached inside, and severed the lower aorta.

 Still shaking, the divinator opened the belly of the fourth mon and considered his intestines. A new vision
formed of a wild-eyed woman in ragged green robes leading a charge against their forces and turning
them back. ?Who in Hell's name are you? Are you Dawnreturning? No, you can't be."

Without her name or something to focus on, he could not curse her. He had to know who the bitch in the
green robes was. Scouts. He would send scouts to find her, and murder her before this could happen.

 Slicing open the fifth, he saw a vision of King William of Gormond's Reach and Euen of Darr leading
their armies against him. A half finished altar of hecatomb flashed across his eyes.

"We will destroy them."
 Finally he went to the woman in the center. By then the power he had raised was at its highest degree,
for he could feel the essence of death surrounding him?at least two of his victims had already died and
another was very close to it. Her eyes glinted with incipient madness laced with terror. He sliced her
breasts off to get at her chest better and slit her belly. The vision enveloped him with an intensity he had
not experienced in many years. The world beyond the circle vanished from his awareness.

 He could see that the altar of hecatomb had been finished. One hundred dead bodies hung from poles
on each of the nine levels. Mondarius lifted his eyes to the top to see what chanced there, but the power
gathered from the rite was too thick for him to penetrate. The divinator extended his arcane senses and
closed his eyes. The victim at the top was extremely powerful. Mondarius wondered if this was his
answer, if Isranon was dying there. He probed as deeply as he could, trying to pierce the fog, and felt his
own presence there, committing his rites. But there were four other presences. Mondarius could hear
Isranon screaming in agony, his voice growing fainter and fainter.

He's sliding into death. I'm killing him.

Isranon's cries became colored by the tones of despair, and faded into silence.

I've killed him. I'm certain I killed him. But who else is on this altar with me?

Zyne's aura permeated one section, near his own, and there were two others.

"Anksha. No, not Anksha."

 A twinge of panic made the muscles of his back crawl. The demon eater would know that he had tried
to kill her with the necklace over two years ago. She would come after him. Perhaps she had come to
rescue Isranon. If so, she had come too late. Zyne would handle Anksha. There was a fifth person, one
that Mondarius could not discern.

A golden glow suddenly covered everything over with a searing brilliance and a voice of power spoke in
his head.

 "Evil one, you shall not read these futures, nor shall you interpret them, nor trespass in my
domain with impunity. I confound your knowledge. I sow chaos in your efforts. I shatter your
curses. Now and forever."

All of the altars exploded in brilliance.

 Mondarius snatched up the Fifth Blade, and threw himself from the circle as flames engulfed everything,
all of his victims, the tables, and the tools. In moments it had all been burned to ashes.

As the backlash of power struck him down, Mondarius whimpered. ?Kalirion."

Then he fainted.
                                                   ****

At night in the well-guarded tent in the middle of the hellish camp, the twenty-four Angrimers who carried
Maruska's eggs in their chests were not bound. It allowed them to eat, drink, and sleep more
comfortably. They received better treatment than the other male depnane who trudged along in chains,
their numbers dwindling as more and more of them ended up on the dining tables or taken in obscene
rites. Not a night went by without the screams of the doomed echoing through the camp.

 Tibalt curled up, shivering in a blend of cold and fright. Reynhard moved to his side and held him.
?Reynhard,? Tibalt said in a haunted tone. ?I can feel it growing inside me. It presses against my ribs and
lungs as it grows. Sometimes it hurts to breathe."

Reynhard stroked the youth's head as he would a troubled child's. ?We all feel it."

Tibalt raised his eyes to Reynhard's face. ?Will it eat my soul ... as well as my body?"

 "I don't believe that our god would allow that to happen. We've done nothing to deserve it, especially
you."

"To die in battle, with my blood hot, would be one thing. But to die like this? I feel like I'll go mad at any
moment. The thought of this hell-spawned parasite crawling around beneath my flesh sickens me."

 "Our deaths are already written. Even if we escaped, it would not change anything. Put your mind
somewhere else and do not dwell upon it."

 They both looked up at the sound of retching. Sixteen-year-old Dearg had vomited into the corner of the
tent and was still heaving. His face looked pasty white. Amidst the yellow bile that Dearg had discharged
was a lot of bright crimson. Four guards came in with a couple of the slave women. The slaves cleaned
the mess up and wiped Dearg's face while the guards watched the prisoners.

Maruska entered and Read Dearg, licked her lips with a thoughtful expression, and then gave him a vial,
ordering him to drink the contents. Dearg did so and after a time, he slept.

Ynkendio joined his wife, spotted Reynhard, and chuckled. ?Are you suffering, Reynhard? Is my little
one crawling around inside you yet?"

 Reynhard turned his face away, knowing that Ynkendio would not dare to damage him. The larva was
too important to him.

Ynkendio sauntered to Reynhard, crouched over him, and walked his fingers across Reynhard's chest
down to his belly. ?It crawls around and around, without a sound, chewing, and feeding, and then it pops
out of you."

He remained silent, refusing to be baited by Ynkendio, fighting the distress in his stomach.

After a few minutes both of the Skerpyons left the tent, and Reynhard turned his attention back to Tibalt.

Before the implantations, Tibalt had been nearly inseparable from Dearg. Now the prince refused to go
near him. ?That thing is already eating him, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so."

 Reynhard regarded the young prince for a long time. His son Berran had grown up with Tibalt and they
were as close as brothers. Reynhard was fond of Tibalt, and he had a duty to his prince. Although what
form that duty should take, he was not yet certain. As he had told Tibalt, escape would achieve nothing.
The hell-spawn would still be lodged in their bodies, poised to kill them. Even if the Kyser or Reynhard's
father should manage to rescue them, it would avail them nothing. The outlands mages might know what
to do, but their magic was anathema to Crisorans like themselves.

 He looked again at the boy in his arms, thinking how easy it would be to snap his neck, and put him out
of his suffering. It would be an act of compassion. If Berran had not broken his leg in a fall, he would not
have been left behind with his grandfather. He would have been with them. And either dead or with a
creature growing in his chest. Reynhard felt chilled, imagining his son with one of these things inside him,
imagining Berran's face locked into a rictus of suffering as he died. Had Berran been here in Tibalt's
place, he would simply have killed his son as he slept. But the prince was not his son, and therefore it
was not a decision he could make alone. Reynhard shook himself free of his dire musings. He had told
Tibalt not to dwell on the dark matters, he could scarcely do less himself.

 Reynhard saw then that Tibalt had fallen asleep. He moved the youth to his bedding, curled protectively
around him, and fell into troubled slumber.


                                             CHAPTER TEN
                                              WEDDING

Isranon ran his gaze over the small crowd gathered around Anksha in a roped-off section of the huge
commons where he and she were supposed to begin their walk. Suddenly he wondered, with a tingle of
nervousness exactly what Nainee and Amiri had meant when they promised they would keep it simple.
There were thirteen females in matching elaborate, but somewhat less splendid, dresses. Twelve of them
carried bouquets of late blooming flowers. Isranon swallowed. The only thing preventing him from bolting
at what was turning into a spectacle, was the sight of Anksha pirouetting happily to watch her skirts flare
out.

"Oh gods, this is anything but simple,? Isranon muttered.

 Nevin and Tamric appeared at Isranon's elbow, grinning like cats with a bowl of cream in front of them.
?All you are expected to do, my brother, is to walk down the isle to the top of the platform beside
Anksha with Tamric and I following you."

Isranon nodded, unable to speak.

 "Once you get to the top and are standing before the priest, you must let Tamric hold the staff while I get
the rings out."

Isranon nodded again.

"Brace up,? Tamric said, his grin spreading wider. ?You'll survive."

 At a sign from Nainee, the ladies and girls lined up behind Anksha. Nans and Nainee walked
immediately behind Anksha, followed by Amiri and Zulaika. After them came a mix of sa'necari and
nibari little girls with large smiles.

A flute and a mandolin began to play.

"It's time,? said Tamric.

 Anksha gave Isranon an oddly shy look through her wispy blue veil as he moved to stand beside her and
they began their walk across the commons. People threw flower petals over them as they traveled to the
base of the structure and mounted the stairs. Anksha carried a bouquet of flowers, which she handed to
Nans once she and Isranon stood before the Kalirioni priest.

The ceremony flew by as soon as the priest began to speak, and it was suddenly over when Nevin
handed him the rings. He slipped the ring on Anksha's finger having spoken words of love, trust, and
protection. Then Anksha did the same with him. A kiss sealed it and then everyone was cheering.

 Anksha threw her bouquet, and surprisingly Nolly caught it. The nibari looked down at it with a puzzled
expression and then hugged it.

Afterward they all rode back to the mansion in carriages.

In the first carriage rode Isranon with Anksha tucked into his arms. He pressed his face against her dark
hair through the blue veil. ?Are you going to be an obedient wife,? Isranon asked in a teasing tone.

Anksha gave him a toothy smile. ?Maybe. I mean ... I don't feel any different."

Isranon laughed, and kissed her. ?Sweetheart, nothing has changed except the status of our relationship."

Anksha wiggled all over at being called sweetheart.

 They snuggled together all the way back to the mansion, where Nevin insisted upon a lycan custom of
carrying both of them upstairs into their bedroom and tossing them on the bed. The lycans of Nevin's
battle-clan then held a fertility howl outside the doors, despite the fact that the bride was already
pregnant.

 Isranon made love to her afterward in a gentle joining of their souls and psyches through the link, as their
bodies joined in passion. Worn out by the day, Anksha fell asleep. Isranon lay awake long past Anksha's
contented desertion of his company.

 His thoughts turned to Merissa. He had loved her only as a friend, but had left her pregnant without
knowing it. Isranon would never have abandoned Merissa, had he known about the child, but neither
would he have been as content with her as he was with Anksha. Merissa had too many needs and
dreams that Isranon could never have fulfilled, and he knew it. Merissa belonged with a high born lycan,
someone who could cherish all the aspects of her. Even her willfulness.

Then Kalirion's prophecy crept back to Isranon, telling him that if he chose Kalirion as his liege-god, he
would not live to see his children grown, but the world would be a better place. It was part of his
decision to marry Anksha immediately. He might have a few more days ... or ten more years. But he
would not live to see Timadi grown. Or Darmyk. He longed to see his other son.

 Sooner or later, Isranon knew that he would have to tell someone what Kalirion had said to him. He had
to make certain that someone would be there to take care of Anksha, and to make some kind of
provision for Darmyk. He had wealth and position, respect and support of his followers, but he did not
have land to leave his sons. If it were not for the war, he would have tried to carve something out for
them. But there was no time. Instead, he would trust in his god that all would go well.

 Isranon plucked his pocket flask of Sanguine Rose from his garments laying on the floor, opened it, and
swigged from it. His body eased again, and he laid back, spooning around his bride, and slept.
                                        CHAPTER ELEVEN
                                  THE BATTLE OF THREE STONES

Caimbeul went to the Difficult Horse to meet with Shalto. He had decided to let them ask the questions,
and he would reply with a mix of truth and lies. So far, his deception had gone well and Shalto had
appeared to accept him as Padruig. Shalto appeared to be one of a group of juvenile rogues, and
Caimbeul doubted that they had thought up the scheme with the Sanctuary themselves. If he was going to
find out who?and he suspected it would turn out to be Malthus?was behind it, then he needed to befriend
them.

 "Padruig!? Shalto hollered, standing up and indicating that he should come and sit with them at their
table. He had Oswyl, Torquil, and four others with him.

Caimbeul had expected to be meeting Shalto alone, so this surprised him. Although it probably should
not have. No doubt Shalto wanted the others to help take Padruig's measure.

 He sauntered over and stood regarding them. Shalto began making introductions. Nesswen, a shaggy
young blond, had watery blue eyes, and an overbite. He swept his eyes over Caimbeul without smiling.
Preece, looked a few years older than Shalto, but it was evident that Shalto was their leader. Rheu was
the smallest, barely more than a cub. He kept his hands under the table although there was a mug in front
of him.

 They struck him as a bunch of thugs, not even good enough to be called rogues. Something was wrong
about them. He could sense it.

"Sit down,? Shalto said. ?I'm glad you came, Padruig."

"So am I,? Caimbeul replied.

 Yren, a russet-haired youth with thick brown sideburns, leaned close to Caimbeul and sniffed him
suspiciously. ?You smell odd."

Caimbeul chuckled. ?I should. I was struck by lightning when I was twelve."

Silence swept around the table.

"You're pulling our tails,? accused Rheu.

"Not at all.? Caimbeul signaled for a servingmon. ?I ran under a tree in a storm, that's not a good idea,
you know."

Shalto laughed and the others joined in. ?What brought you here, Padruig?"

 Caimbeul licked his lips. The interrogation begins. ?Drifting. I heard about the war and came home. I
imagine I'll find employment hereabouts. There's always work for a good blade in war time."

"You're a soldier?? Torquil took a drink from his tankard, studying him over the rim.

Caimbeul gave an indifferent shrug. ?Of sorts. I've done some soldiering. Mostly I've worked as a
bodyguard."
Preece's chill eyes were colder than stone. ?Where?"

The lawgiver met Preece's gaze, refusing to flinch from it. Now there is one who enjoys killing and has
not a single qualm about it. He's probably already killed at least once. I can almost smell the
blood on him. ?Most recently? Cherdon'datar. Guarding the king's harem. He prefers two legs for it."

Shalto frowned. ?What do you mean?"

Padruig Caimbeul smiled with a tiny amusement at their ignorance. ?He's a centaur."

Another laugh ran around the table.

"Nice little set up you have at the camp. I got my wick wet nicely."

Shalto glared at him. ?Not here. We don't talk about that here."

Caimbeul nodded. ?Then where?"

Oswyl shifted uneasily and nudged Shalto.

"We'll let you know. For now you can keep oiling your rod there, just don't talk about it to any one."

Shalto gestured and the little group rose as one and followed him out.

Hereward the tavern master came from behind the bar and pulled a rag from his pocket, wiping the table
down where Shalto and his friends had been sitting. He leaned in and whispered to Caimbeul. ?I wouldn't
get involved them if I were you. The Lycamornots are trouble."

Caimbeul frowned. ?Lycamornots?"

"Them as you've been sitting with. That's what they call themselves. Lycamornots.

Caimbeul pushed a gold coin to Hereward. ?Thanks for the warning."
                                             ****

Laetus sat upon the wind-smoothed surface of a small boulder as he read the letter from Egidius. The
sa'necari wore his three braids coated in scented oils. A greasy strand that had come loose from the left
side tickled across his nose and he flicked it back. That lycan bitch he had warming his bed had not done
as good a job with his hair that morning as she usually did. Laetus decided to have her beaten for it.

He nodded to the messenger. ?Get something to eat. We still have a few lycans left in our larder."

 Zinzi gave him a bright smile. ?It's a shame you're sa'necari.? Then she walked off toward the ?larder,? a
small roped off area containing six lycans chained and spellcorded.

Laetus watched her go. ?Vampire slut,? he muttered. One day even the vampires would be forced to
bow before the sa'necari. Laetus? people would rule the world. The hellgods would return and the light
would be crushed as it had been in the first godwar before the coming of the young gods of light on
winter's solstice.

The army comprised twenty sa'necari in addition to Laetus, seven Rakshasas, three Brukulaco, thirteen
lamiae, and a hundred human soldiers. Once the lycans were purged from this valley, humans would be
settled in it under a sa'necari overlord, as well as several large nibari ranches. A few lycan enclaves might
be allowed to exist, but they would never again hold power in this valley. This time the sa'necari would
keep them beaten down like they did the humans.

 Laetus unrolled a map and laid it out on the ground with some stones to hold it flat and in place. He
summoned his lieutenants and captains with a gesture and began explaining how they would hit the village
from both ends, with a skirmish line on the perimeters in case any of the villagers attempted to flee into
the nearby forest. This would be pleasant, simple, and over quickly.

 This would be his first large scale action. Raiding isolated steadings had been too easy. Egidius and
Malthus had been holding him back for months, not giving him his own command until now. Laetus would
show them both that he had grown into a sa'necari to be reckoned with.

When the briefing ended, Laetus gestured at a soldier to follow him to his tent. The dark-haired lycan
bitch curled nude on his bed where he had ordered her to remain. Spellcord bound each wrist separately,
blocking her ability to change shape. Laetus pointed at her as he turned to the soldier.

"Beat her bloody."

 "What did I do?? she cried out, trying to crawl away from the soldier, who snatched her off the bed by
the arm.

Laetus gave her a look of infinite weariness and flicked the strand of black hair that had come loose at
her. ?This is what you did."

 The soldier took a small whip from his belt and struck her across the back, opening a long tear. She
screamed.

Laetus folded his arms and watched, laughing as the beating proceeded. ?If you keep displeasing me,
bitch, you'll end on my altar."

"Oh gods, mercy."

"You have my permission to enjoy her while we're gone."

The soldier grinned. ?Thank you my lord."
                                                   ****

Malthus strode through the guardsmyn's wing of the manor, down the narrow stair at the far end and into
the salle.

Belgair spotted him. ?Going another round with us today, Malthus?"

Malthus crossed to Belgair and clapped the captain on the back. ?The only times in my life that I've
missed a day of training was when I was too busy fighting."

"Yah, you're good, kandoyarin. Real good for a gray badger."

Rocking back on his heels, Malthus grinned. Gray badger was a euphemism for
kandoyarin?mercenary?which was what he had claimed to be since first arriving here; and it was not far
from the truth since he was a bounty hunter and assassin by trade. He knew he had gained a measure of
respect and standing in their eyes the moment they quit referring to him as ?that human.? ?Well, I do
believe that's my first compliment."

"You're right."

 Malthus went three rounds with Belgair, winning each round while being careful not to display the
sa'necari strength and speed that he had gained through the rites. He did not want to raise their suspicions
and Belgair was not stupid.

 When they finished and were splashing themselves with water to get some of the sweat off before
changing into clean clothing, Malthus paused and turned to Belgair. ?I worry about Claw."

"What do you mean?? Belgair asked, going suddenly suspicious.

Malthus frowned in concern. ?He hasn't seemed well lately. Have you noticed?"

"Yaw. I noticed. He was breathing hard when he was trying to get the arch down. Odhran and I had to
help him. We saw him leaning against it like he was dizzy."

"Really?? Malthus chewed his lower lip. ?I've been noticing the same things. We should try to take more
of the work off him. Make things easier on him."

"Claw's not getting any younger."

Malthus put his hand on Belgair's shoulder. ?Just tell me what I can do, and I'll follow your lead. I don't
want to be intrusive. I just want to help."

Belgair smiled. ?You're a good mon, Malthus."

"So are you."
                                                   ****

Oak trees made a tremendous, spreading canopy along the edges of the road, their leaves not yet
affected by the breath of the swiftly arriving autumn. The three yuwenghau, divine knights-errant, sons of
the elder gods of light, Lokynen, Hathura, and Meleajys trotted down the road to Three Stones, making
good time. They had tracked the people and monsters who burned the steadings near Three Stones for
six days, alarm growing in them when they realized the sizeable force had circled back toward the village.

 Hathura led. Slender to the point of appearing fragile, yet flaring through the shoulders, translucently pale
skinned with white hair and silver eyes, the son of Willodarus and ThistleBit the Faery queen's Captain of
the Guard, Hathura was a steel blade in a velvet sheath. Clad in all shades of green from forest to hunter,
he carried his deadly golden fans folded and tucked into the yellow sash that crossed the leather belt
holding his long bladed knife. A bow case rested at his hip.

 Massive Lokynen dwarfed Hathura, with his barrel chest, and arms like temple columns, his legs like
tree trunks. The son of the war god Badonth, Lokynen looked eagerly forward to battle, the palms of his
hands itching to draw his tremendous broadsword, Justice, and cleave away at the dark and murderous
creatures they stalked. Meleajys, a dark-skinned blond, whose lanky build stretched his ropy muscles
along a raw-boned frame, had a swinging stride that easily ate distance with a deceptive speed. He
carried a longsword at his shoulder that had once belonged to his Sharani mother, and it was as sharp as
his mother's spirit had been when she laid with his father Kalirion Lord of the Sun.

 The last spoor they had happened on had been less than a day old and Hathura carried his bow strung
and ready as they traveled. They came within sight of the village in the late afternoon. Clouds of smoke
rose from burning buildings, gusting across the horizon in the stirring wind.

Lokynen's lips curled back, making his scarred face uglier still. ?Battle,? he growled. ?Bloody fangs."

Hathura swiftly retired his bow to the case, and stretched his arms to either side of him. ?Take my
hands, my brothers."

 The two other yuwenghau grasped Hathura's hands and they crossed the distance in a single Jump,
materializing in the middle of chaos. Dead lycans littered the edge, more struggled farther down. The
lycans had rushed out with whatever weapons they had to hand, but they were clearly losing. Several
houses had their doors broken inward, and the screams of women and children could be heard from
inside them. The attackers had already turned to rape, thinking that the battle had been decided.

 In the middle of the fighting stood a sa'necari shouting orders, and felling lycans with spells of death
magic. That had to be their leader. Hathura reached for his bow and decided against it. He drew his fans,
snapped them open, and charged the sa'necari. Felling their leader might throw the attackers into
confusion. ?You're mine!"

Laetus looked up and snarled. ?I don't know where you came from, but you're dead, Fae."

The sa'necari swiftly wove a dark patterning in the air, and threw it at Hathura.

Hathura saw the energy of the spell, danced aside, and sliced through the spells with his fans, circling his
opponent. White birds with flowing tails sped from his fans at Laetus. Golden hawks emerged and
descended upon the sa'necari.

 Laetus staggered backwards, unable to strike at his swift moving adversaries. Frantically he raised his
shields, only to have them shattered by a thrust of glowing ivory spears of light. One arm thrown over his
face, Laetus made a blind toss in several directions. Hathura lunged in, his fans flashing, one coming to
guard as the other struck. The edge of a fan sliced Laetus across the throat, circling back from the strike
as Hathura snapped the other fan closed and shoved it into Laetus? chest like a blade.

 Laetus sank gurgling to his knees, mouthing the words, ?What the hell?no.? His hand went to his throat,
trying to close the wound as his life bubbled out with his blood, but Laetus was not old enough in death
magic and the rites to heal so terrible a wound.

 Hathura jerked his fan out and thrust it back in, popping it open inside Laetus body to rip his heart in
half.

 The sa'necari's eyes bulged, his lips parted, and his head fell to the side. Hathura snapped the fan closed.
Laetus? corpse collapsed on its back. Hathura hit him in the throat again, severing his head to be certain
that Laetus could not be raised undead, and swirled into the battle again.
                                                    ****

Lokynen unsheathed his sword and began killing. He moved with efficiency. Ahead of him a mon
dragged a lycan female from her home. Lokynen stepped to the side and chopped the mon's arms off
with the sword of thunder. Lightning crackled in the clear sky as Lokynen killed. There was no fight to it.
The sword cut through meat and bone as if it were warm butter.

 He heard screams coming from a side street and turned down it. A huge brukulaco stood there, with a
lycan in transitional form raised high in his meaty fists.

"Put him down,? Lokynen said.

 The brukulaco tossed the lycan hard into the side of a building. The lycan slid down and lay stunned.
?Meat,? said the brukulaco. ?Big meat."

Lokynen chuckled, bracing his feet. ?Come on. Fight for your dinner."

The brute topped Lokynen by a foot, and outweighed him by a ton. Yet Lokynen merely smiled as the
brukulaco pulled the club hanging from his belt and rushed him.

 The club smashed downward in a blow that would have sent a lesser mon to his knees. Lokynen swung
his big sword to block it. The two weapons met with resounding force. The club shattered. The monster
dropped the splintered stub, grabbing for Lokynen's head. The yuwenghau dropped into a long, low lung
beneath the grab, his blade moving in a swift circle from block to thrust. The brukulaco missed Lokynen
and the big mon's sword plunged deep into the monster's belly. The brukulaco's eyes bulged, and it
staggered backwards, staring at the blade in its body. Lokynen jerked the sword free, leaping after the
beast. It seized Lokynen by the shoulders, trying to pin the yuwenghau's arms at his sides.

Lokynen laughed and shrugged off the brukulaco's grip as easily as he would a small child's.

"Yuwenghau,? the monster muttered, clutching the wound and retreating.

 Lokynen could tell by the look in the creature's eyes that it knew he would have no compunctions about
sheathing the blade in its back if it turned to run.

 One long arm shot out and it grabbed Lokynen's wrist, then the other darted forward and closed on the
yuwenghau's arm as the big blade came again. For an instant it held firm. Then Lokynen flexed his
muscles and the sword began an inexorable rise. The brukulaco stared down at the blade inching toward
its body and shuddered. Abruptly, Lokynen pulled his arms in and threw the creature off balance. As it
stumbled toward him, he thrust upward. The blade entered the monster at an angle, just under the
sternum and into the chest. Lokynen rotated the blade with a sweep through the creature's heart. He
yanked the sword out and prepared to stick the creature again if needed.

 The brukulaco gave a despairing cry, released Lokynen's arm, and fell dead. Lokynen stepped to the
side, raised his sword two-handed, and chopped off the creature's head.

"Who are you?? asked the lycan, who had been smashed into a wall earlier.

"Lokynen the Battle-Master."

The lycan's eyes widened in awe at a legend made flesh. ?Thank you for saving me. I want to help."

"Either guard the women, or come along behind me with a blade and finish the ones who go down."
                                              ****

The lycans had rallied behind Hathura and had begun to engage the enemy, block by block. So Meleajys
headed for the opposite side of the hamlet, certain that the enemy must have hit it from both sides. He
heard screaming coming from inside a house, and went in through the broken door that hung half off its
hinges. Following the sounds to the kitchen, he found a lycan pinned by two myn, while a third rode her.
A thought Jumped the concealed throwing blades from his armsheaths into his hands in quick succession.
The two holding her fell dead as he snapped the blades into their backs before the third knew what was
happening.

As the third mon turned, Meleajys saw his amaranthine eyes and snarled. ?Sa'necari."

He summoned his sword from his shoulder, shoved the blade in, and gutted the sa'necari, who crawled
up the enchanted blade as if nothing had happened to him. ?Steeped in death...."

The sa'necari threw a spell in Meleajys? face, blinding him. A groan broke from the yuwenghau's throat.
He extended his awareness along the sword to find the sa'necari still impaled upon it. The death-eater's
hand closed on Meleajys? throat and the other slid into his shirt to jab a deadly spell into his heart.

"Die,? snarled the sa'necari.

Meleajys broke the sa'necari's fingers that gripped his throat.

The sa'necari cried out and poured a tremendous surge of killing power into Meleajys? body.

 Meleajys shuddered as the black energy pierced his chest. An animal noise of pain forced itself between
his gritted teeth. A snap of his fingers brought his throwing knives back into his hand. He drove first one
blade and then the other into the sa'necari's ribs. The power killing him doubled in strength. He knew then
that this was a very old and steeped in death sa'necari.

Abruptly the power vanished and dead weight pulled on his blade. He heard the lycan sobbing.

"I killed him. I broke his neck."

Meleajys extended his hand, feeling for her. ?He blinded me. Let me touch you."

She took his hand. ?They have my children in the loft. Three of the monsters."

"Let me in your mind so I can use your eyes and I'll rescue them."

"Do it."

 They went up the narrow stairs to the loft. Meleajys could hear a child weeping. Two lycan cubs
huddled on a narrow bed in a corner, with a sa'necari guarding them. On another bed, two of them
ravaged an adolescent female, one on his knees, feeding from her wrist and the other climaxing between
her legs. Their mother was silent beside him, and Meleajys sensed the grim strength in her that kept her
from reacting aloud. With a tremendous backhand strike, Meleajys split the spine of the one guarding the
children. Their mother grabbed them and pushed them toward the door, without taking her eyes off the
pair raping her daughter or allowing Meleajys to loose his hold upon her shoulder.

 Meleajys gave a tiny nod of approval at her composure. He beheaded the one feeding from the
adolescent bitch's wrist, swung his blade up as the third turned to fight him, and caught that one in the
throat. Sa'necari blood fountained over the young lycan as the body collapsed atop her. She scrambled
from beneath her rapist's corpse and ran to her siblings.
 Meleajys blinked. His sight had begun to return, but his vision remained bleary. ?Stay here. I must fight
some more."

"But your eyes...."

"Are improving. They'll be fine by day's end."

"Yuwenghau?"

"Yes."
                                                  ****

Not satisfied with having turned the battle, the three yuwenghau also hunted fleeing survivors back to their
encampment, destroyed it, and freed the lycan captives there. By the time that they returned, the villagers
had already begun to clear the streets of bodies and begun the burning of the enemy dead. Phelan, the
grizzled headmon of Three Stones, met them at the edge of the village and walked back to the village
square with them.

Hathura stood looking at the remains of the carnage, his nose screwing up at the smell of sa'necari flesh
burning on a bonfire nearby. ?I think we got them all."

 "We need to send word to our chieftain,? said Phelan, with his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a
grim line.

Lokynen nodded, pulling at his lower lip. ?If one of you wants to walk there with me, we'll go to
Wolffgard."

"I'll go.? Phelan rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. ?It's my place to under the circumstances."

Hathura nodded. ?Meleajys and I will remain here and help them get a palisade up, then we'll follow
you. I'll get word about this to Navaryn."

Knowing they were yuwenghau, the headmon made a shrewd guess. ?The First Mother?"

"Yes,? Hathura said, with a smile. ?You're learning."


                                          CHAPTER TWELVE
                                             DESPAIR

Reynhard had started vomiting yesterday, but so far there was not as much blood in it as with the others.
He felt a painful rippling along his ribs, glanced down and saw a long thin thing moving beneath his skin
like a fat worm. He ground the heel of his palm against it, cursing as it dove deep inside his chest out of
his reach. It scuttled across his lungs, triggering a fit of coughing. Yellow phlegm spotted with blood came
up. Reynhard spat it on the ground and wiped his mouth with his hand. The egg had hatched.

How long will it be before it eats its way out of me?

"None of that!? a guard shouted.
 Reynhard realized they must have seen him try to crush the thing against his ribs. Two of them whipped
his arms behind his back and bound his wrists together so tightly that the cords cut into his flesh. He sank
forward on his knees as a wave of pain in his chest set off another round of coughing.

"You'll not harm Lady Maruska's babies,? another soldier growled.

 "Whoresons of bloody mothers,? Reynhard cursed them. His head hung down, and he hurt too badly to
lift it.

A shrill scream turned everyone's head. A rush of adrenaline brought Reynhard's head up. Dearg
writhed on the ground, vomiting over himself and shrieking. His fingers dug frantically into the dirt as his
body began to buck in a hard seizure. A red streak appeared in his belly, and a face that was vaguely
human peered for a moment from a tear in his flesh before disappearing inside him again.

"God have mercy,? Reynhard murmured.

"An emergence,? said the officer in charge. ?Fetch more guards and inform Lady Maruska."

One of the soldiers ducked out of the tent. Immediately, a large number of guards plunged inside, and
bound all of them before they could react to Dearg's agony.

Dearg alternately screamed and wept for several minutes, before going still and staring in death.
Reynhard's eyes closed as his lips moved in a brief silent prayer for Dearg's soul.

Ynkendio and Maruska arrived. She knelt, making a clicking noise with her tongue over the tear in
Dearg's body. ?One of our babies has arrived, darling."

Maruska smiled up at him, and gestured for the soldiers to remove Dearg's corpse. Ynkendio lingered
behind as they left.

The Minnorian general squatted beside Tibalt, and started stroking his chest, with a sidewise glance at
Reynhard. ?Well, little prince, you're probably next. Your chest is almost as slender as his was."

Tibalt flinched from Ynkendio's touch, shuddering.

"Let him be,? said Reynhard. ?It's me you hate."

"With good reason.? Ynkendio moved to Reynhard's side, stroking his body as he had Tibalt's.

Reynhard resisted an urge to flinch, fully sharing Tibalt's aversion to Ynkendio's touch. He glared at
Ynkendio. ?You've become a monster. But then, perhaps you always were."

"How does it feel to know my young is moving around inside you? Can you feel it slithering around? A
worm that's growing legs, that feeds on you, that already has its venom?"

Reynhard remained silent, staring hard at Ynkendio, never taking his eyes from the general's.

"How much pain are you in, Reynhard? Has it become an agony yet?"

Still Reynhard remained unspeaking.
"We'll take Dreslin before winter sets in. Your father is too old, but your son isn't. We'll add Berran to
our larder. Maruska will put a very fine egg into your son's chest."

"God damn you, Ynkendio."

"You wish."

Ynkendio left them then, striding out with a pair of his soldiers.

Tibalt's eyes were wide with horror and grief as he wiggled over to Reynhard. ?That's the last of them."

"What do you mean?"

 "My friends. They executed the others while we watched. Impaled them.? Tibalt's voice cracked. ?We
were going to be next, until that demon came for us. I thought it was a reprieve.? He choked, swallowed,
and then continued. ?I thought maybe they had decided to ransom us or something. God's mercy. When
we set out, we all thought it was such bad luck that Berran broke his leg and couldn't tour the realm with
us."

Reynhard closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, and composed himself. ?Tibalt...."

"I think I saw it. It almost poked its head out of poor Dearg. The creature that's inside all of us."

 "Tibalt, we're all going to die that way. I?I don't know how to put this gently. But let me give you an
easier death."

 The prince turned his face away. ?I'm afraid. Surely god won't let me die this way. Surely there's help
coming. My father?"

Reynhard felt as if Tibalt's distress were tearing the heart out of him. ?There isn't any help for us. Lie on
your back and I'll cover your face with my body. It will end quickly. Maybe the thing inside you will
perish also."

Tibalt moved away from him. ?No. I don't want to die. There has to be help. I don't want to die."

Reynhard gave it up. If Tibalt would not let him do it, then he would not seek an easier death for himself.
He would stay by his prince's side until the end.

The Duke of Dreslin's heir opened his thoughts into the night, crying out in silent prayer. ?If there is any
god out there who hears the prayers of the doomed.... Any deity of compassion and justice, whether I
have ever believed in you before or not, save my son. Save my son."

A deep sleep came over Reynhard, and he dreamed of a meadow more green that ever in his life he had
beheld.

 Two animals came trotting across the meadow, and at first, he thought they were horses. But
now he saw their spiral horns. They were unicorns, one white and one golden like the sunlight. A
white clad woman walked into view, carrying a double-bladed axe at her belt and a longsword at
her shoulder.

"I cannot save you from the minions of the hellgods for you are already in their hands, but I can
save your son if you will pray to me."

Reynhard sank to one knee before her. ?Who are you, Lady, to offer salvation to my son?"

 "I am Aroana, Lady of the Walled Cities, god of justice and defensive warfare. Your courage has
touched me. I can save Berran. But only if you pray to me and remain courageous to the end."

"I swear it. You are my liege-god."

 "Give me your hand and I will place my mark upon it to lend you strength to cope with your time of
tribulation."

Reynhard extended her his hand. She grasped it and her touch burned him. When she released him,
Reynhard saw that the profile of a unicorn was now burned into his flesh."

"Be faithful and you will be with me in heaven."
                                             ****

Berran slept restlessly, turning and shifting in his bed, his foot now and again hooking the bed curtains.
Although the night was cold, he had managed to kick the covers off twice. His build was heavy boned
and large, his chest just beginning to grow into his tremendous shoulders. Blond hair fell in disheveled
masses around his face and across the sweat-stained pillow. He kept dreaming of his father, and his
dreams were worse each night than on previous ones.

That night the dream turned stranger than ever.

 The youth stood in a meadow that was greener than anything he had ever beheld before and in the
center stood a woman in white, carrying a double bladed axe in her wide belt, and a longsword at her
shoulder. She beckoned to him and he went. Sensing an aura of holiness around her, he instinctively,
dropped to one knee when he reached her.

"Berran Dreslin, there are things you must learn and see."

"My Lady?"

She took his hand and raised him up. ?Come with me."

The scene changed and they now stood within a tent where myn slept while soldiers in Minnorian livery
watched them. Berran glanced at the soldiers and tensed.

"Peace. They cannot see us, nor can they hear us.

"Yes, Lady."

 She pointed at one mon near the farthest edge, and Berran went to him, his stomach tightening in
anticipation of what he might see. He knelt beside the mon, and flicked back the covers. The mon's
matted blond hair was the same color as Berran's and his beard had been shaved away so that all the
lines of suffering showed upon it.

"Father,? he gasped.
"Berran, what are you doing here? Did they catch you?"

Aroana stepped into Reynhard's view. ?Your son is safe. Only you can see or hear him. I have brought
him so that you may give him your warning."

Reynhard's face eased. ?Dreslin will fall. You must take your mother and flee."

"Where to?"

Aroana supplied the answer. ?Beltria."

Berran nodded. ?Lukasz will help us. What is wrong with you, father?"

"I'm dying. A demon planted her egg in my chest. I have very little time left. It's the same fate that the
demon plans for you."
                                               ****

Tribulations indeed, My Lady, Reynhard thought. Praise be to Aroana. You let me warn my son. My
dearest god, keep him safe.

 Soldiers never left them alone any longer. There were always at least three of them in the large tent.
Privacy of speech had become impossible, unless kept to the smallest of whispers on the far side of the
tent from their watchers.

 A slave had thrown a blanket over him earlier, but it did not warm him. Reynhard lay on his side, his
body cramping in pain, his face covered in icy sweat. The thing inside him had become larger. Now,
because of the sensation of pressure, he could feel it when the parasite left his chest, squeezed down
between his various organs and settled in his belly, giving it a swollen appearance. He groaned. The
cords on his wrists cut into the flesh painfully as he writhed.

My Lady. My God, be with me. Be with my son.

A soldier, whose name he had learned was Wakeem, toed Reynhard in the chest to turn him on his
back. ?He looks bad. I doubt he'll last much longer."

"Lady Maruska says a couple of more weeks,? said another. That one was Rafel.

A third soldier, Yago, laughed harshly. ?Hey, Reynhard, what does it feel like to be reduced to meat?"

"My father barely got out with his life when Reynhard ambushed them ten years ago,? Wakeem
muttered. ?Serves him right. I hear that when we catch his son, Lady Maruska will put a big one in him."

"Bloody asshole,? Reynhard responded, and then let out a long moan of anguish as the pain worsened.

Their captain, Godofredo, shoved open the flap and stepped inside. His stern gaze swept across the
myn shivering in their blankets. ?There's about to be some more of you noble meat-pies brought in."

Reynhard's lips parted and then tightened. ?What do you mean?"

 Godofredo sneered at Reynhard. ?Didn't you hear all the noise? Stolzingen has fallen. Lord Ynkendio
and his Lady are making their picks now. Then for the rest, it's a pole up their noble asses. When we're
done there won't be any of you filthy Angrimers left."

Wakeem laughed. ?Except for the children, they're scheduled for the dinner tables with apples in their
mouths."

 "Filth,? Reynhard grunted, fighting another wave of pain. He turned to Aroana in his prayers and found
strength in them.

 Late in the afternoon, six myn were brought in with their hands bound behind them. All of them were
sturdy and broad chested?and Reynhard despaired when he recognized them. There were Lothar and
Outram, the Baron of Stolzingen's two sons; Reynhard's cousins Thayer and Volney that he had grown
up with; Lord Alajos; and, worst of all, they had caught another prince, Tibalt's middle brother Clovis.

Clovis knelt beside his little brother. ?Tibalt, what have they done to you?? When Tibalt did not answer,
but stared past him dully in the grip of fresh suffering, Clovis scanned the haunted faces and singled out
Reynhard. ?Reynhard, what's wrong with all of you?"

 Reynhard sucked in a fortifying breath, fighting his pain to answer. ?We're dying, highness. All of us.
Including your brother. There's hell-spawn growing in us ... it eats its way out."

Clovis went pale. ?God's mercy."

"I suspect this is to be your fate also."

"That can't be right.? Clovis started shaking his head like a dog flinging off water.

Reynhard closed his eyes and fought harder to steady himself. ?Clovis, did she examine your chests?
Did she talk about how broad and deep they are?"

The prince glanced at his companions. ?She examined all of us ... and several others as well. Then she
pulled us out of the ranks of those going to the scaffolds.? Realization flashed across his features. ?Oh,
merciful god, she picked us because of the breadth of our chests."

Reynhard coughed violently, bringing up blood and phlegm. ?She's chosen you to receive her eggs."

 Silence reigned in the tent, broken finally by the agonized whimpering of Tibalt. The creature slithered
across his ribs. Clovis stared and then stomped it. Tibalt screamed as the hell-spawn dove into his chest.

"Stop!? Reynhard cried out, and then sagged forward, breathing hard. ?You'll ... force it ... into his
heart.? His eyes closed and he lost consciousness.

 Soldiers seized Clovis and began to beat him. Then they dragged the six who had not yet been implanted
with the eggs to the far side of the tent and tied them to poles. As one the newcomers turned their faces
away from the afflicted myn, unable to observe their suffering in the knowledge that it would eventually be
their own.
                                                     ****

Maruska sat on the floor of the wagon, purring beside a long wooden box filled with straw. In the center
of it lay the remains of Tibalt's dead friend. The smell of decay lingered in the wagon. More holes had
appeared in the corpse, and a chittering noise came from the chest cavity. What remained of the skin
sagged about the bones. Most of the muscle and fat had been eaten away from the inside along with the
organs. Now and then a pair of tiny eyes would gaze up at her from one of the gnawed places, and
Maruska would sing to her larva.

Ynkendio entered the wagon and crouched beside her. ?Will my son be all right?"

"Do not worry so much. He'll be fine. But I'll need to give him special care.? Maruska snuggled against
Ynkendio. ?The youth was too slender and underdeveloped to make a good host. That's why I wanted
mostly older men with broad, deep chests."

 "We'll make better selections next time and pick no more this young.? Ynkendio put his arm around her
shoulders and pressed his cheek against her hair.

"That Reynhard was the most perfect of them all."

"Reynhard. I enjoy watching him suffer."

"Yes, that one. He has such a broad, strong chest for my baby to move around in. Plenty of room for
him to grow before the emergence."

 "Thinking about the emergence. It concerned me that the others, having witnessed their own fate, might
try something foolish like taking their own lives or helping each other to die. So I have assigned soldiers
to be inside the tent with them at all times. They are to be left bound henceforth."

"I want more royalty for the next clutch of eggs. Perhaps a king."

 Ynkendio smiled with relish. Seeing Clovis tossed into the larder must have thrown Reynhard into
despair. It would be nice to capture the Kyser who had ordered Reynhard into the field against him ten
years ago. And get all of his sons, all those bitch princes and watch them writhing with an egg in their
chests. ?If we catch the Kyser, I'll talk to Zyne about it."

 "I want to start seriously building my larder at the next city or town we take, so I can be very picky and
ready when our next clutch comes in the spring."

"You already have six nobles from Stolzingen, my love. One of them is another delicious prince."

"Yes, nice juicy ones. But first clutches are always the smallest."
                                                   ****

The ducal palace of Beltria lay in the city of Varsyava, surrounded by juniper trees and late blooming
snow jasmine, defended by high walls that had stood for centuries. Within his chambers, Duke Stefan
Bradwin of Beltria finished dressing in his armor. He was tall and blond and broad shouldered like so
many of his people.His young nephew and heir, Lukasz watched him with unhappy eyes.

 The fourteen year old boy did not look Beltrian beyond his cobalt eyes. His skin had a light bronze cast
and his long black hair hung as long as a woman's. If Lukasz did not keep it cut, his hair would easily
grow to his knees, something that no Beltrian male could do. Even more odd was the boy's slight build
and middling stature, with his delicate, almost feminine features. Only Stefan, out of all the nobility, had
ever met the boy's mother who had vanished during the last great war. All that Lukasz knew about his
parents was that his mother had given him to Stefan to raise after the death of his half-Darrian father who
had been Stefan's younger half-brother, Colin. He did not even know her name. Stefan was the only
family that Lukasz had ever known, and it worried the boy to see Stefan preparing to ride off to war.
"Must you go?"

"I have no choice. I do this, Lukasz, not just because the king has summoned me, but because if we
don't stop them in Angrim, they'll be pounding at our gates come spring."

"How bad is it? I know there's a lot you haven't been telling me."

 Stefan turned and clasped Lukasz's shoulders. ?Nubyrlon and Stolzingen have been overrun. The
aristocracy of each city was executed down to the smallest child. There were eleven missing nobles at
Nubyrlon, including Prince Tibalt and Lord Reynhard. We believe the demons added them to their
larder."

 Lukasz's face twisted up and he looked ready to vomit. ?You mean they ate them?? He paused and said
in a distracted manner, ?I always liked Tibalt. I'll miss him."

"There's one thing I want you to promise me, if I should die."

Lukasz seized Stefan's arms. ?You're not going to die. God won't let you."

Stefan put him aside. ?Listen to me. If I should die in this war, you must go to the Hermit of Jasmine
Falls. She's the only one who can help you survive."

"I promise."

"Good boy."
                                                   ****

Once it was made clear that escape could not be achieved, because the tent was encircled by soldiers
and several were always inside with them, the new additions to Maruska's larders were untied and
allowed to move freely about the tent.

Since Reynhard was becoming too ill and weak to do as much as he had previously, Prince Clovis took
over comforting his little brother. He cuddled Tibalt in his arms as the youth whimpered, begging for his
mother in the grip of fever, and when he fell asleep, Clovis tucked him into his blankets. He lay down on
his side next to Tibalt.

 That morning, while the culling of Stolzingen was still in full swing, Maruska entered the tent with a short,
ill-favored mon with four rows of heavy frown lines etched into his forehead. His brow ridge jutted over
his small, deep set eyes, and a thick nose humped and hooked above his thin sneering lips. ?We're
marching on Dreslin as soon as we finish culling the populace. I want these six rendered incapable of
mischief before we march."

 Clovis saw Reynhard lift his head, his face stained with suffering as he mouthed a silent prayer. The
prince knew that Reynhard was worried about his son Berran, although he had begun to say that a god, a
lady in white, had promised to protect the youth. Clovis suspected that Reynhard was experiencing fever
dreams just as Tibalt was and did not believe him. But if that gave Reynhard comfort, then Clovis would
not contradict him, and he had forbidden the others to do so either.

 Sergei looked over the captives in Maruska's larder. ?I don't have time to be gentle, Maruska. I'm
carrying messages that must go north."
"But, you can do it?"

"Of course, I'm the best.? Sergei bestowed an oily smile upon her.

"Then do it."

"You'll meet my fee? Two little girls, say nine or ten years old? I don't like them older than that."

"Yesss,? Maruska hissed. ?Just do it. That one first."

 Clovis turned in time to see that Maruska was pointing at him. A feeling of dread soured his stomach.
The mon approached him and knelt, grasping his hair to pull Clovis? face around. He stroked Clovis?
cheek with a hand that was as cold as death. Clovis saw, to his horror, that the newcomer had fangs.
?Vampire."

Sergei smiled. ?This one isn't as stupid as most Angrimers."

Clovis felt Sergei's eyes burning into his brain through his eyes, so he closed them. Sergei gave his head
a hard shake. ?There's two ways to do this. Through your eyes, or with my fangs in your neck."

 "To hell with you,? Clovis said, and refused to open his eyes. He knew that Reynhard was watching, and
he could not allow himself to show less courage than that mon. An instant later pain rushed through his
body as Sergei's fangs plunged into his neck. Sergei sucked on his throat with obscene slurping noises
that made Clovis squirm inwardly, but he was terrified to move. As he weakened swiftly, Clovis cried out
in anguish. A presence plunged into his head, and he felt like hot needles were being inserted in his brain.
His temples throbbed. Clovis realized what had been done to him as Sergei withdrew his fangs and
licked the wound closed.

"That one will do nothing to harm himself, your babes, or others. Nor will he try to escape."

Clovis stared dully, curling into a ball of despair as he watched Sergei do his companions next.

 He did not know when he fell asleep, only that he wakened at dawn with a sliver of sunlight in his eyes
from a parting in the tent flat. Clovis crawled across the tent to Reynhard, who lay watching him.

"Reynhard, what have they done to us?? His voice shook, and he could not find the strength to steady it.

 The Duke of Dreslin's heir met Clovis? gaze with sorrow written in his eyes. ?If you attempt....
?Reynhard paused for breath. ?Anything they have ... forbidden you to do, the pain ... will bring you
down."

"Merciful god."

"There is no mercy ... from your god.? Reynhard struggled to speak. ?Pray to the Lady ... if you would
have mercy."

 Bitterness rose up inside Clovis and he spoke before he could stop himself. ?I don't believe in your
lady."

Reynhard blinked, and then nodded slowly. ?I am sorry for you.? He started to say more and cramped
up, groaning.

Clovis placed his hand on Reynhard's shoulder as the mon began to vomit blood. ?I'm sorry. I shouldn't
have said that."
                                               ****

Reynhard had watched the despair of his companions deepen with each passing day. For the last two
weeks, they had all begun to experience increasingly frequent bouts of excruciating pain and bloody
vomiting as the creature from the egg became more active, moving through their bodies and growing
swiftly. Often they could see it outlined briefly beneath their skin. A week ago, Maruska had taken all
their clothing away so that they now rode in the back of the wagon nude with their hands bound behind
them, which could only mean that Maruska did not want her emergent young hampered by clothing.
Fortunately a spell of some kind kept the wagon warm. Their ropes were no longer removed at night.

 Six guards sat watching them alertly, three at either end. Prince Clovis, Tibalt's brother, had irritated
Maruska once too often: so she had had a bull's eye branded on his chest and kept him bound hand and
foot in the wagon with the doomed so that he would be forced to observe the emergence. The other five,
who were reserved for her next clutch, rode in a different wagon.

 "It's nearly over, isn't it?? Tibalt asked, sitting across from Reynhard on the hard wooden seat of the
converted war-wagon. ?That's why they don't take our ropes off?"

 Reynhard shook his head. He was continuously exhausted, and suspected that when the creature had
first emerged it had fed on his blood alone, but had now moved on to other parts of him. ?I fear so."

"Last night ... last night I hurt so badly I thought it was coming out of me then."

"As did I."

"I've lost track of the days ... of time. I?? Tibalt broke off with a shrill cry, and stiffened, his eyes going
wide. He fell backwards in the wagon onto his bound hand, his chest arched. ?Oooooohh Gaaawd! The
paaaaaain.? He sobbed, sliding off the bench onto the floor. ?The paaaaaain."

"Tibalt!? Clovis cried out in grief and dread.

 Reynhard lurched toward his young prince. To his horror, a large jagged tear opened in Tibalt's chest
and the larva emerged, chewing hungrily on Tibalt's flesh. The creature had a vaguely human face on a
maggot's body that was orange and brown in color, roughly a foot long and four inches high. Tibalt's eyes
had glazed in death, his face locked into a rictus of anguish. Reynhard heard the other myn screaming and
dying around him. He had time for a single curse, and then the agony of the emergence arrived within his
own chest.

My Lady. My God, to thee I commend my soul.

"Your son is safely on his way to Beltria," whispered his god in his head. "My creatures guard him
ahead and behind."

"Praise be...."

 The Duke of Dreslin's heir sank to his knees, writhing with his back against the bench. Blood fountained
from his chest as he slipped to the floor?and died.
 Maruska crawled through the front door of the war-wagon and smiled happily at her twenty-three
children eating their hosts. She stroked each one in turn, and they purred in pleasure at their mother.

"Monster,? Clovis sobbed. ?Damn you, unholy whore."

Maruska snarled as she carefully stepped over the bodies to reach him. Her tail whipped around, her
barb pierced his right breast in the middle of the brand. ?That's where the egg goes in."

Clovis stiffened, terrified to move.

"This is how it goes in.? She trickled a tiny measure of her venom into his body.

Burning pain brought a scream from Clovis.

Maruska laughed, while she allowed her barb to linger in his flesh. ?The egg hasn't gone in yet. I won't
have one to nest in your body until spring."

She snapped her stinger out, and watched him slump in his bonds, moaning in anguish from the effects of
her venom. ?When the time comes, you'll be first?as Reynhard was."

 Then Maruska returned to caring for her larvae. Once her children had filled their bellies enough to fall
sleep, she would choose their next meal from among the chained males that had been brought along as
food.

 The twenty-fourth had grown well in the nesting box that looked like a primitive coffin. It rode in another
wagon with Ynkendio watching over it. She could now move them all in together. She had been giving
her son a fresh victim each week, slicing a living mon's belly open and placing her lonely first born inside
him.

She stroked the larva crawling around in Reynhard's chest. It raised its head to her with a piece of
Reynhard's heart in its mouth. ?Oh, what a fine, big boy you are,? she crooned. ?I knew Reynhard was
perfect for you."
                                                  ****

Clovis regained consciousness in the tent with his five companions. Lord Alajos was gazing worriedly into
his face.

"Where are the others?"

"Dead,? Clovis replied dully. ?The things came out of their chests and stomachs. Tibalt died first.
Reynhard went last."

"What did they look like?"

"Maggots with human faces. A dagger's length long and a hilt's length high. It will haunt my dreams until I
die."


                                         CHAPTER THIRTEEN
                                            DEPARTURE
Isranon shifted restlessly in his bed, dreaming of his sister. Yoleema had told him that she was meeting
someone, but not who. She had been very mysterious about it and oddly pleased as she sat
brushing her hair. Prince Mephistis was away and things often went wrong for Yoleema and
Isranon in his absence. So Isranon worried. Yoleema would turn eighteen a month after he turned
fifteen in four months.

 He worried about it as the hour grew late. The image in his dream shifted and he found himself running
through empty halls calling her name. Then the dream melted back into the memory.

 His door opened in the night and he sat up in bed. In the light of the lamp he had left burning
because he had fallen asleep with it turned down while reading, he saw her. Yoleema slipped into
his room, smiling strangely with her fangs completely down. He wondered how they could look so
large. Then the stupor of sleep that still clung to him faded and he saw that her dress was torn
and muddy, her skin blue tinged. She extended her arms to him.

"Hello, little brother. Let me hug you."

Isranon's eyes widened and he scrabbled backwards on the bed. ?Keep away from me."

"Don't you love me anymore, Issy?"

Isranon flinched from his name on her undead lips. ?You know what you are. You know the laws."

"I'm hungry and cold. Make me warm."

"No.? He threw himself off the end of the bed and tried to edge around her. ?The laws...."

She leaped upon him, sinking her fangs into his neck. Isranon cried out in fear and pain. The greed with
which she sucked quickly made him dizzy. ?You're killing me."

 Yoleema paused in her sucking and licked the wound closed. ?No. You'll rise and we'll be together
forever."

"No. I'll step into the flames. ?Better to step into the flames than to live undead.? I'll do it."

"Don't say that, Issy. You make me warm. I don't want to be alone."

Isranon struggled in her arms. ?I don't want to be undead, Yolee. It's wrong."

 "It's not so bad ... except I can't get warm,? she said mournfully. ?I was terrified when he was killing me
... but then I woke up."

"Who? Who killed you?"

 "I can't say his name. He bound my tongue. Don't fight me, Issy. It won't hurt as much. Then we'll
always be together."

She bit him again.

Isranon fought down his panic. ?Yolee, I'll step into the flames. I swear it,? he said with every bit of
determination he could force into his voice. ?I will."

Her sucking hurt him, and she showed no signs of slacking.

"Yolee, father will hate you."

She wavered in her sucking.

"Mother's unhappy spirit will never forgive you. They died to keep us alive. Not so that we could
become undead."

Yoleema hesitated again, before resuming her drinking from his veins.

"I will never forgive you."

Yoleema faltered for the third time.

"I'll hate you forever. You're a monster!"

 She withdrew from Isranon, closed the wound with a flick of her tongue, and then fled. He
followed slowly, using the wall to remain upright. If she hid herself, he would never find her. He
passed sa'necari and nibari in the halls. All of them looked away from him. He asked them where
she had gone and no one answered.

 The dream compressed days into moments, adding and skipping in unfamiliar patterns. Yoleema had
visited him twice more, and yet those visits did not figure in the memory dream. Only the last day that he
saw her did.

 Then Isranon smelled smoke coming from the courtyard. He staggered through the final door and
saw that she had torn several branches from the trees, piling them together. Yoleema held a torch
in her hands taken from one of the sconces that lined the walks. His heart caught in his chest.

"I love you, Issy,? she said, setting fire to the branches. Yoleema curled up in the center and
hugged the torch to her clothing. A wild shriek broke from her lips as she began to burn.

Isranon sank sobbing to his knees. ?I love you, too, Yolee."

"Wake, Speaker-to-Spirits."

 The unfamiliar voice woke Isranon from his troubled dreams and he saw the spirit of a mon, who looked
not as he had in life, but withered as if he had been sucked dry. A hole gaped in his neck. Isranon felt as
if nails had been scratched up his spine. He knew only a single mon with the kind of teeth to make that
wound: Mondarius the divinator.

"I hear you."

Isranon suspected the ghost had been drawn to him because he carried the seeds of his death within
him?when Isranon died it would be from Mondarius? embedded spells.

"The fifth blade is finished. The one that was promised to Bodramet. The one that seals your death."
 Isranon felt a tremor of fear, and then shoved it aside. He thought of Anksha, and the child she
carried?the child Kalirion had prophesied that he would not see grown. He remembered the knives in his
dreams, wondering if that was how he would die.

"Where is the blade?"

"Mondarius has carried it into Angrim, knowing you'll be marching to fight him."

"Thank you. Is there anything that I can do in return?"

"Tell Nans that Ryss Redoaks asks her to remember her promises."

"Are you Ryss?"

"I was Ryss. Now my god calls me from this world.? The ghost faded away and was gone.

 Isranon looked out at the night sky through the window. He would tell Nans in the morning. He glanced
at Anksha sleeping beside him and slipped quietly from the bed. He took his staff and made his way into
the parlor of his suite.

 His heart felt heavy and he desperately wanted to talk to someone. Restlessness took hold and he left his
chambers. He passed the yellow room and saw that for once there was no one there. The vampires
normally used it for feeding and keeping company with their companions and nibari.

Isranon went inside

"You're up early."

 Isranon tilted his head enough to see Nans standing in the doorway; she didn't often come to this room,
although she was one of the few who were not bothered by the sight of hemovores feeding.

She came in and pulled a chair close to him. ?Hurting again?"

He shook his head. ?Bad dreams."

"Amiri could give you something for that."

Isranon shook his head again. ?I take enough drugs as it is."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Isranon managed a meager smile. ?You, Amiri, and Nevin?you're always asking me that."

"Sometimes you do."

 A shadow passed over his face, making him look older than his years. ?I've been thinking about my
sister lately. I don't know why, but it's gotten harder to discipline my thoughts, to shrug off the memories."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be. Maybe it's simply time to let it out."

"Let. It. Out.... Maybe. I killed my first mon at twelve."
"That's young for a first kill. You must have been lucky."

 Isranon shook his head and looked away from her. ?My father would say it made me as evil as the mon
I killed.? He sucked in a fortifying breath. ?He raped my sister. When the sa'necari attacked our
steadings, my father told me to find her and flee.? He stared off at a point on the wall, as if staring into an
abyss. ?I burst into our house and there he was, rolling off her, laughing at what he had done. Yoleema
was crying.? He had not spoken her name in years because of the painful mix of emotions it engendered.
?I couldn't think ... I acted without thinking. I jumped on his back and shoved my blade into his heart as
Nevin had taught me, giving it that lycan twist.? Isranon motioned with his hand making the form of an S.

"Yoleema's your sister?"

"Was. She's dead."

"I'm sorry. What happened then?? Nans leant forward with her elbows on her knees.

 "I had to force her to move, to flee. She was useless. It was like dealing with a small child and suddenly I
had to be the adult. I realize now that it was trauma. I couldn't understand it then. I got both of us to
Claw's valley safely. A miracle really. But Nevin had trained me well. By the time we got there it was
evident that Yoleema was pregnant. Baroucha gave her tansy and she lost the child."

"Baroucha?"

"The lycan healer.? Isranon swallowed and straightened. ?Did you know someone named Ryss
Redoaks?"

"Yes. A farmer in Minnoras. I've been wondering how he is."

 "He's dead.? Isranon's voice was flat and dull. ?That's what woke me from my nightmares. His ghost
came to warn me and to ask you to keep your promises."

Nans made the sign of the bear. ?I pray his soul finds rest. He was a good mon and a brave one. I'll
have to tell his son, Shayne."

"Which of the Rowdies is he? I thought I knew them all."

"He's the red-head that's so shy around you. We're still training him."

 "At least Shayne didn't have to watch them kill him,? Isranon said with a sudden edge of bitterness.
?Some nights I can still hear my parents screaming."

Nans nodded and changed the subject. ?What was the warning? Did it concern me?"

"No. It was for me. Five sa'necari attacked me...."

Nans licked her lips with another reflective nod. ?But there are only four blades."

 "Bodramet used a carving knife that he had stolen from the kitchens, because the fifth blade wasn't
finished in time for Mondarius to take it to the estate. Those wounds don't recreate themselves when I
have my attacks. They healed completely.? Isranon swallowed again. ?I would have died within moments
of the fifth blade going in all the way to the quillons ... once the full set of runes had been sheathed within
me."

"Where is this going?? Nans kept her tone quiet and carefully encouraging.

 Isranon sucked air. ?The fifth blade is finished. Mondarius has it and he's waiting for me in Angrim. It
won't take a fatal wound from it to kill me ... just pass all the runes through my flesh. He could put it
through my arm, and I would perish within moments."

Nans? lips tightened. ?We won't let that blade get anywhere near you."

"You can't stop it. Kalirion has already prophesied my death."

"When?? Nans gasped.

 "The same day that I accepted him as my liege-god. He said that if I took him as my liege I would not
see my children grown, but many people would survive who would otherwise be killed. That if I rejected
him, I would have a long life. Only, I never expected Anksha to get pregnant. Claw will take good care
of Darmyk, regardless of what happens to me. I'm not afraid of death, Nans. Not really. I'm afraid of
what might happen to my new child.... And to Anksha."

 "Anksha can take care of herself. The Ymraudes won't let anything happen to her and neither will I. And
it's children, not child."

"What do you mean?"

 "Demon-eaters have a secondary womb. It's like a stasis chamber. They periodically drop an embryo
into the primary womb and bear it."

"I don't understand."

"There's somewhere between a dozen and three dozen embryos in that secondary womb. It was hard to
be certain."

Isranon's eyes widened. ?She'll still be bearing my children long after I'm dead."

"She'll be bearing them for centuries after you're dead."
                                                  ****

With the last of their preparations finished and the company waiting only for the rising of the sun before
setting out, Nans and Isranon sat one last time at the small round table in the parlor of his suite.

 "We're going north to fight, Isranon,? Nans said. ?I'm as concerned about the situation with those
children as Nevin is. You're risking a battle or betrayal in camp by either of those two oldest boys at the
same time that we'll be fighting the army of the sa'nekaryiane."

"I'll deal with it, Nans. I refuse to execute those two oldest boys simply because they are twelve years
old. That would make me no better than those who crippled me because I was a heretic."

"They are nearly adult. They are dangerous."
"Anksha is watching them. Besides, we'll probably reach Gormond's Reach before there is any chance
of having to battle with outside forces. That means next spring. I have seven months to turn them from the
old ways."

 "I hope you know what you're doing. When Anksha spoke up for the children, I had no idea any of
them were this old. They're old enough to stick a blade in your back."

Isranon smiled thinly. ?I will watch my back, Nans. Besides, I am sa'necari. I'm hard to kill."

"I hate shoving this in your face, but you're still ill and crippled."

"I have my magic and it makes up for what my body lacks. Trust me."

"All right. Are you ready to look over these maps?"

"Yes."
                                                     ****

The night before they were to leave, Isranon dreamed again of being taken by Anksha in Lord Hoon's
drawing room. His hand tightened on the edge of the bed as he struggled to awaken from it without
succeeding.

 He had drunk too much from his flask of Sanguine Rose, a cocktail of powerful drugs and herbs in a
troll's blood base. Troll's blood had an intense effect upon hemovores, passing along some the creature's
regenerative qualities for as long as it lasted in the imbiber's system. Coupled with the drugs that laced the
blood, Sanguine Rose eased pain, brought sleep, encouraged healing, and, in very large doses produced
hallucinations.

 Anksha rose and walked slowly around the chairs, smiling in a calculating fashion, her hands
behind her back like a child planning naughtiness. Isranon felt detached from all the people
speaking around him, no longer putting names to voices. Words were empty things. He watched
Yoris blubber, trembling uncontrollably as Anksha picked one of the others and pulled him down,
dragging him over to that one's feet. The sa'necari were accustomed to having cattle, not being
cattle.

 Then she took Yoris and made him her blood-slave. Yoris curled up in a tight, sobbing ball when
she finished with him.

Isranon decided it was time to make an end of it with all the courage he could muster, show himself to
be a man like his father. He removed his shirt and tunic, kneeling. He drew in a fortifying breath, folding
his hands together behind his back.

"Since there is no escaping my fate, Anksha,? Isranon said. ?Then let me meet it well, rather than
whimpering like the others."

 Anksha looked at him curiously, taking in the calm stoicism, the proud tilt to his chin, shoulders and back
straight. ?You I could like,? she said.

 "No!? Mephistis shouted. ?No, please, Anksha. Not Isranon. He is a good man. He isn't like the rest of
us.? Mephistis crossed the room, dropping to his knees and pushing between them. ?Please. Don't do
this! Hoon, please ask her not to do this."
 "Move aside,? Anksha hissed. ?Or I'll not just take him, Mephistis, I'll kill him.? She twisted about,
tearing her claws deeply across Isranon's chest, gouging him. He bore it well, making not the smallest
sound.

Hoon turned his back. ?Take him and be done with it, Anksha."

 "Do not dishonor me,? Isranon said calmly. The Darkness hunts me and the Light does not want me. He
centered himself in the teachings, waiting for her with his head tilted now like a nibari's before a hungry
master, exposing the favored vein. A stoic stillness framed his utter surrender.

Mephistis withdrew, burying his face in his hands.

 Anksha took him more savagely than the others, tearing him further with her claws as well as her fangs.
Isranon's sphincters tightened and his body went rigid with the pain. He fought to stifle the groan that felt
as if it were climbing up his throat inch by inch until it escaped past his clenched teeth despite his efforts.
But he did not scream. All his hopes and dreams died as his blood welled into her mouth and her power
swept through him in a roaring presence, claiming all of him?body and soul. The dominance-link sank
instantly into him like a thousand, searing barbed-hooks. She jerked him hard through the
dominance-link, and then slashed him with the blade of her mind, cutting him heart and soul. He crumpled
and lay unmoving before her. Mephistis cried out at this.

Before Isranon slipped from consciousness his and Anksha's minds touched fully. She let out an
anguished shriek of utter desolation, circling him in a crouch, tearing her hair and keening his
name, ?Isranon, son of Isranon, son of Isranon."
                                                ****

Iuf savored Corbienne's body as he undressed. She lay supine and inviting on their bed. A string of black
hair crossed the white mounds of her breasts, and the thick dark thatch between her open legs completed
the image of ebony and ivory in Iuf's mind. He pulled at his grizzled beard a moment, wishing he were a
younger mon. The deep-sunk branchings of crow's feet spread around his eyes, etched into skin that had
been weathered to the texture of old leather from years spent in the saddle and the cruel touch of wind
and sun.

 His pubic hair had turned gray before his beard started to become streaked with gray and white. Iuf
dropped a self-conscious hand to his hardening member, stroking it, clutching it, encouraging his erection.
Age had overtaken him and he regretted never settling down with a woman and raising children. When he
had finally found a woman he wanted that badly, she turned out to be undead. Iuf knew that each time he
slept with her he was embracing death, and yet it drew him. The only time he felt fully alive and vital was
in her arms.

 Iuf climbed onto the bed and turned Corbienne onto her side. He kissed and licked his way up her inner
thighs, lifting one of her legs until it draped his shoulder. She gave a low moan and her fangs slid free of
their sheaths. She had not bitten him in over a week?not since Nans had given him a tongue lashing over
it and threatened to sack him if he continued to engage in passion-play with Corbienne on nights before a
march or other actions. He had promised the General that he would not do this with her on these nights,
but it was more than he could resist. It was the last night that they would have a real roof over their heads
and complete privacy. Tents were not walls and what went on inside could be over-heard.

 Corbienne had fed less than an hour ago: Iuf could sense that as he slipped his rod inside her warm, wet
tightness. She had been a virgin when she died and retained that marvelous firm hole of youth. Her father
had given her to a vampire in payment for the erasure of his gambling debts. The vampire had given her a
glass of blood-laced wine?which Iuf had recently learned was a common trick?and then killed her in front
of her father, knowing she would rise, but not informing her father of this before leaving with her body.
She rose in a strange place among people she did not know. Corbienne fled them and made her way
back home, only to fall prey to the obsession of the newborn, which drew her into killing her family, one
by one, in the Passion-Dance. Grief stricken, Corbienne had fled into the wilderness and wandered
aimlessly until Timon found her and taught her a better way, bringing her into his society of the
Borealysyn, those who did not kill from appetite or pleasure, those who knew the difference between
love and bloodlust.

Hearing her story had been what first drew Iuf into her embrace by trying to comfort her one night after
he stumbled on her weeping in the forest. Despite the centuries that had passed, it was still as fresh as
yesterday to her. Now Iuf could not bear to let her go and the images that her tale had conjured in his
mind swept through him while he stroked her.

 Iuf wrapped himself along her back as he pushed deeper inside Corbienne and began to thrust hard. She
twisted her head around to receive his kiss and his lips closed over hers, their tongues twining. Iuf smelled
the nibari blood on her breath, copper and salt. It excited him strangely. She ground her hips into his
pelvis. Their mouths separated and she began to lick his neck, while moaning softly. A tremor of tension
ran through Iuf. She had never taken him in the neck before, yet that was all that she could reach in this
position. He moved in a hungry rhythm, panting with exertion and driving as far inside her as he could. Iuf
felt the glow begin in the base of his cock and spread to the knob that betrayed his nearness to eruption.
Corbienne gave an animal noise of need and, as she rose to climax, sank her fangs into Iuf's neck. He
grunted with one last deep thrust and spilled his seed as she swept him away to a paradise of his dreams.

 Corbienne rolled over on top of Iuf so that she could feel him writhing beneath her as she sucked. A
nibari would have handled it better, but the movement excited her?it was also why she took his
awareness away the moment she entered him. It was harder on him than she allowed him to realize. She
felt a small guilt at this, but it was hard to resist biting him in the throes of their shared passion. She took
most of her sustenance from nibari, from the common herd that Isranon maintained, since she did not
own any. Iuf was in his late middle years and hale for his age, but she worried about over-taxing him. She
stilled him with a touch of her mind as she withdrew her fangs and licked the wound closed. Then
Corbienne caressed his face and spooned around him to sleep.
                                                        ****

The Rowdies, under the command of Lord Dawnreturning and his general Nans Gryphonheart left
Ocealay to march north and fight the armies of the sa'nekaryiane, the self-styled hellgod-queen of
Minnoras, as Dawnreturning's liege-god Kalirion had bidden him. They were five hundred strong, without
counting the nibari and their children. The rangers, who had formed Nans? original band, were a minority
now, with all the Ocealayen kandoyarin mingled in amongst them in the units they led as captains and
officers. Then there was Isranon's personal unit of vampires, five Lemyari and ten Ymraudes, plus his
spirit-brother Nevin's twenty-six lycans.

General Nans Gryphonheart tossed her cinnamon braid over her shoulder, and indicated that they should
move out.

 The Rowdies came next in their green leathers. Nevin's lycan battle-clan followed, riding in transitional
form with bones braided into their hair, wearing armor and blades. The nibari and non-combatant
auxiliaries rolled with the wagons in the middle. Last came the kandoyarin, former mercenaries of
Ocealay, chosen from many companies because of their anger at the sa'nekaryiane who had nearly taken
their city by treachery. Had Liuthan not stolen Isranon, thus provoking Anksha's terrible wrath, Ocealay
the City of the Five Captains would have fallen to his plots.


                                          CHAPTER FOURTEEN
                                            TREACHERIES

Lokynen stalked through Wolffgard village, drawing stares from everyone. He carried a great axe twice
as large as the average mon could wield thrust through his wide belt and a huge sword at his shoulder
with a glittering hilt. Beside him trotted the headmon from Three Stones Village, struggling to keep up.

When they came within sight of the manor, Lokynen saw three children playing with a half-grown maned
hunting cat. Teakamon the Shepherd of the Wilds had told him that the child they had been sent to
protect in the course of defending the valley was wilderkin, and this definitely suggested wilderkin to him.

He paused by the children. ?Hello? Do you know the way to Claw's house?"

The little boy wore only his pants. There was a birthmark on his chest in the form of a bear. ?Grandpa's
house. There!"

"What's your name, Little Bear,? asked Phelan.

"Darmyk Redhand. I live there.? Darmyk pointed at the manor.

"That's a very fine name. I'm Lokynen."

"You must be old Claw's grandson,? said Phelan, the headmon from Three Stones.

"Uhm hmn,? Darmyk answered with his lips together.

A seven-year-old girl limped closer and stood behind Darmyk with her hand on his shoulder, staring
with open suspicion at the yuwenghau. Another girl came up and stood on the other side of Darmyk.

 Lokynen grinned. This boy cub was the special child all right and he had found him first. Dynanna would
have a fit of jealousy. He crouched and touched the godmark, for that was what it really was, disguised
as a birthmark, and felt the power behind it. ?Hello, Little Bear."

Darmyk laughed. ?Grandpa calls me that."

"We're not supposed to talk to strangers,? older girl said.

"I'm sure an exception can be made.? Phelan grinned at the children in a friendly fashion.

"No, it can't."

"Don't be nasty, Ros,? Darmyk said, and his big cat growled at her.

 Lokynen ignored Ros? statements, although he wondered why the girl limped. ?Wilderkin? Can you talk
to all the animals? Or just predators?"

Darmyk smiled and his eyes lit up with pleasure and a pure sweet innocence. ?All of them."
"Then you're very special."

Ros nudged the other girl. ?Lyrri, fetch Uncle Malthus."

Lyrri ran to the door of the manor and went inside.

 Two adults came out of the house at a run. Something about the way the male moved set off alarms in
Lokynen's head. Yet he could not quite put his finger on why. The female wore a loose smock, and as it
swirled Lokynen's sharp eye caught the faint suggestion of roundness across her belly.

"Stay away from my son!? The mon shouted.

Phelan looked startled by his reaction, and gestured with his open hands, palms out up in a gesture of
peace. ?You must be Malthus."

Darmyk ducked his head. ?You're not my daddy,? he said in a sullen voice.

Lokynen straightened and frowned at Malthus. Sensible people took a single look at the huge, incredibly
muscular yuwenghau and backed down. Size alone was enough to put them off. ?We're here to see
Claw. We didn't intend any harm."

Malthus lifted Darmyk up and he squirmed. ?Stay away from my son,? he repeated.

 The boy's cat snarled at Malthus, who then shoved Darmyk into the bitch's arms. The cat wrapped itself
around her legs protectively.

Phelan turned to the bitch, and said in an attempt at pleasantry. ?Merissa, I haven't seen you since you
were knee-high to a squirrel."

Merissa seemed not to have heard Phelan, or recognized him because she did not reply. She looked
worn and uncomfortable. ?Please, Malthus. Don't start shouting."

"Take the children inside.? When she hesitated, he shouted, ?Now!"

Lokynen rubbed the scar between his eyes. ?I was just asking directions."

"Well ask them from someone else,? Malthus snapped and then followed the others inside.

Phelan shook his head at them. ?At least we know we've arrived."

Lokynen had just started toward the door to the manor, when Merissa came back outside.

"Please don't think badly of my husband. Darmyk isn't his and it makes him insecure. He's very
protective."

 Lokynen shook his head ruefully. If he had acted that way with Amberlin, she would have knocked him
across a room. ?If you say so. Just point me toward Claw Redhand's house."

"Right here. He's my father. Don't tell him how Malthus was acting ... please? He's just being
over-protective. His niece, Ros?you saw the older girl??well she was attacked by a vampire and left for
dead a few months ago. He barely saved her and hasn't stopped worrying since."
Lokynen sighed. ?I'll think about it."

Phelan shrugged.
                                                 ****

Ros whispered in Darmyk's ear, ?Let's go play in the tree house."

Darmyk looked up at her and fear flashed across his face. He knew what happened in the tree house.
She had not blocked his memories the last time, only his ability to speak of it. Kenly must have smelled
his fear, because the big cat pushed between them and hissed at Ros.

"Send Kenly away, Darmyk."

Darmyk swallowed and nodded. ?Go hunt, Kenly."

The cat did not budge.

Darmyk sucked in a breath and said more forcefully, ?Go hunt."

The cat slunk off, casting backwards glances, and then finally bounded away into the trees.

Darmyk climbed the ladder first, went to the small straw bed, and laid down. He opened his robe and
waited.

Ros entered and straddled him. ?That's a good boy. You're learning, Darmyk."

Tears ran down Darmyk's cheeks as he watched Ros? fangs descend.

She turned his head to the side, brushed his hair back, and chuckled. ?In they go."

Darmyk shuddered as Ros bit him behind the ear where it would not readily show, and sucked him.
                                              ****

Claw sat in his big chair in his study with a tankard of mead. His guests had been provided with drink
also. They had requested privacy for this meeting, and Claw had been grateful to give it to them. He had
not wanted Malthus to include himself in the conversation after seeing Merissa follow her husband
upstairs with tears in her eyes. He would have Aisha inquire about this latest spat.

Phelan had given his troubling report of the attack upon Three Stones, and how it was turned by the
yuwenghau.

The other newcomer sat as comfortably a possible in a very large chair that failed to be large enough.
Lokynen was one of the largest myn Claw had ever met. ?Do you have a last name?"

 "Yes,? Lokynen replied. ?And you would recognize it. Give me your word of honor chieftain and I will
tell you."

 Claw took a long draw from his tankard and sat forward, with his elbows on the arms of his chair, a
look of intense scrutiny on his face. ?You have it."
"Willidar."

Claw nearly choked as a gasp exited his throat seconds after a swallow. ?Yuwenghau. Pandeena said
you were in the valley, but I couldn't let myself hope that she was right."

Lokynen grinned at him. ?Yes. A friend of Isranon's has asked twenty of us to defend your valley and
protect a wilderkin child."

"Darmyk. You mean my grandson. You know that Isranon has repudiated the child?"

 Lokynen frowned deeply, making his face a mass of valleys. ?No. But that changes nothing. The
trickster says protect the child and the valley and we will."

 Claw settled back, tapping a finger on his chair arm. The increasingly familiar tightness had begun in his
chest again at Isranon's name. ?Promise me you will not mention Isranon again."

 "So be it. Now on to business. The rising of a Queen who is trying to drive the Sharani conquerors out
of Waejontor will put pressure on your valley. I am certain you do not welcome the return of the
sa'necari overlords."

"True. We don't like the Sharani either. But better them than the sa'necari."

 "I intend to send a yuwenghau or a battle-mage to you who can shield your home and garden from these
creatures, especially the vampires. The Queen has allied with all the undead factions."

"I had heard that. This Lord Daemon is supposed to be a vampire."

Lokynen gave a growly laugh. ?This Lord Daemon is Brandrahoon."

 Claw gasped and made a sign against evil. The tightness in his chest had become a sharp pain shooting
through him. ?Once there were three brothers, Brandrahoon the vampire, Dawnhand speaker to spirits,
and Waejonan accursed be his name forever."

"Your grandson is a descendant of Dawnhand. Which is why he must be protected."

Claw nodded. ?I will accept whatever help you offer."

"Good. I want to ward your daughter also."

"That may be a problem. Her husband does not like outsiders."

"Her husband is an asshole."

Claw grinned. ?Then you've met him?"

"Yes."

"That's something else we agree on."
                                                   ****

Malthus sauntered through the manor door with his saddlebags and a backpack hanging from his
shoulders. He walked into the great hall where he found Claw sitting alone. The hour was late, and the
others who were normally to be found there had apparently already gone up to bed.

"You've been gone two days. Where've you been?? demanded Claw.

 Lines around the chieftain's eyes and mouth suggested he was not feeling well. Malthus repressed a smile
at seeing that the chieftain had begun reacting to his spells. ?Hell's Widow,? he said brusquely. ?I wanted
to get a surprise for Merissa, but then I had to elude the queen's patrols on my way back."

 "Hmmmph.? Claw rubbed his chest, settling back in his chair. ?You take too many chances. It's going to
catch up with you."

 Malthus shrugged. ?I promised to make a few more trips before it gets too difficult to get there. One of
them is for Old Hereward.? He lowered his pack to the base of his chair and sat down. ?But I also
brought some things that you might like. A merchant managed to get a wagon of wine through."

Claw's eyebrows rose at that and he leaned forward. ?Anything interesting?"

Malthus gave a tiny smile, lowering his head with a glance to the left as he fished out several bottles, and
placed them triumphantly on the table between them. ?I think so."

Claw's eyes lit up at a label that featured a dragonfly. ?Faewin? Can it be?"

 "I have three bottles of their Dragonfly label two of their reds and one white.? Malthus had discovered
that the old wolf had a taste for certain types of rare, fine wines. His mother had the connections to
acquire them, have them smuggled to Hell's Widow, and held there for him. He had prepared the bottles
before leaving Hell's Widow. Sidera had offered to do it for him, to treat the wine with one of her most
subtle creations, but Malthus had insisted upon doing it himself. Now he waited for the old wolf to seal
his fate by pouring himself a glass.

 Claw seized one of the bottles of red and turned it in his hands. ?Aisha and Merissa don't care much for
it."

 Malthus came out with several more bottles. ?I picked up some of the fruity Sharani wine they favor, so
they needn't feel they have to share the Faery stuff with us."

"Fair enough. I'll reserve this for us.? Claw grabbed the bell on the table beside him and rang it. Soon
Kissie showed up.

"Two wine glasses."

Kissie soon returned with the glasses and Claw poured for both of them. She built up the fire without
being asked, and the two myn then sat enjoying the wine.

"How did you manage to afford it?? Claw asked suddenly suspicious.

Malthus gave him an affronted look. ?I arrived here desperate for my nieces? safety, not impoverished."

Claw nodded as he refilled his glass. ?A very fine vintage."

"I know.? Malthus lifted his glass in a toast. ?To your health."
They clinked glasses and Malthus? smile broadened. To your death, old wolf.

"This is even better than I remembered it."

 "I'm glad that you appreciate it. I made a deal with the merchant to hold back six more for us when he
makes his next trip through. Normally it sells out long before he gets as far as Hell's Widow. However,
he was on his way to Iradrim and Creeya. His return trip, he'll be loaded with fine whiskey, gin, and
anisette. That kind of thing. He buys mead from your farmers. He's concerned about the possibility of the
supplies being interrupted, so I suggested that he come talk to you about it when he's next through here."

 "That's a mon after my own heart,? Claw said in a far friendlier fashion that he normally showed Malthus.
?I appreciate this."

After your own heart?I'm after stilling it, old fool.

 Malthus sat alone for a long time after Claw went up to bed, sipping his wine while he waited, eager for
the sounds he knew would come.

When he heard Aisha scream, Malthus composed himself and headed for the stairs.
                                           ****

Claw kneaded his left arm as he shed his clothing and climbed into bed with Aisha. Everything that he
had learned from Lokynen had left him troubled, and as he had done throughout their century of
marriage, Claw sought comfort in making love to his wife. He remembered how it had first been when he
courted her, and Aisha had been the fieriest young bitch in the valley. She had made him chase her
through the woodlands in wolf form for the right to mate with her, and when he had caught her beneath
the moonlight....

 As always, they coupled in hybrid form so that he could feel her soft fur beneath his hands. Stroking and
licking each other, Claw finally began to forget his worries, and completely separated himself from them
as he entered Aisha and heard her moaning beneath him in response to his thrusting.

Suddenly Claw stiffened as a fist of pain slammed him in the chest. His eyes widened and he blinked,
before toppling across her. ?My ... heart,? he gasped, and then darkness claimed him.

"Claw?? Dread fluttering in her stomach like ugly moths around a candle, Aisha pushed at him, and got
no response. ?Claw?"

She touched his face. ?Claw, please wake up."

Still no response.

 Aisha turned him on his side, and slipped from beneath him. She grabbed a robe, wrapped herself in it,
and went to the suite next door to her own, pounding on it to wake Isbeth and Kissie, the two nibari who
were the principal ones on call for her needs.

Isbeth answered the door, tying her robe closed. ?Mistress?"

"Wake Sheradyn, it's the master."
Isbeth's eyes rounded with concern and worry, as she ran off to fetch the healer from his bed.

 Kissie appeared and cradled Aisha's elbow, steadying the old lycan as they returned to Aisha and
Claw's suite. She brought Aisha to a chair in the bedroom, and then tucked a blanket around Claw. ?I'll
fetch something for your nerves."

 Aisha sat rigidly in her chair, her knuckles whitening as she tried not to appear like the frightened,
worried bitch she was on the inside. Her sharp hearing picked up the sounds of Kissie waking more of
the nibari. It was a sign of Claw's wealth that they could afford so many of the docile and devoted slaves.
She had very few lycans among the household staff. Isbeth, Kissie, and the others never failed her, and
never complained.

By the sound of hurried footsteps, the entire household had begun to awaken.

Sheradyn and Gillivray arrived with their satchels and got Claw shifted onto his back in the middle of the
bed. Gillivray cleared off the nightstand beside the bed, while Sheradyn settled into a chair and gripped
Claw's wrist, Reading him.

 Merissa entered the suite with Malthus at her side. She went to her mother and squeezed her arm.
?What happened?? Merissa asked, in a hushed voice.

"I don't know,? Aisha said. ?We were ... talking. And your father fell over."

Kissie returned with a toddy, and pressed it into Aisha's hands. ?This will steady you."

Aisha nodded without taking her eyes from Merissa. ?Thank you, Kissie."

Sheradyn administered a bluish powder to Claw's nostrils and gums, and then Read him again. ?He's
had a heart attack. Gillivray and I will sit up with him tonight."

"Get some rest all of you,? Gillivray said, making a shooing gesture.

Aisha went to Claw and kissed his forehead. ?I'll sleep in another suite tonight."

"Mother, you shouldn't be alone."

Aisha shook her head. ?I won't be. I'll comfort nest with Isbeth and Kissie."

Merissa kissed her father and walked back to their chambers in Malthus? arms.

 Malthus worked hard at keeping a concerned expression. He had decided to hasten Claw's death, using
stronger spells. He wished he could have been present to see the old bastard collapse. Claw would have
his next heart attack within a few weeks, maybe even a few days, depending on how much Claw wanted
another drink of the Faery wine and how often he stressed his failing heart. Finally, Claw's attacks would
come in quickening succession, one after another, and another, and another, until.... Malthus would help
Merissa pick out a nice black dress to wear at her father's funeral. Claw would be dead by early winter
at the latest.

 Drinking that first glass of wine with Malthus had insured that the old wolf had only a few months left to
live. Claw liked to pour his own wine. The spell on the bottle had been keyed to Claw. So Malthus had
been able to drink it safely, and the death magic had poured down Claw's throat, settled into his
bloodstream and been drawn through his veins to his heart where it was lodged until it killed him.
Everyone else but Claw would be able to pour a glass from those bottles and be unaffected.

 He would also refresh the spells on all of Claw's pipes once the household slept again. Claw's heart
attack had provided the distraction he needed to achieve his next goal.

 Malthus waited until he was certain that Merissa slept soundly and went out to the barn. He slipped his
horse and a pack animal out, and rode to his cottage. Hanging from a tree branch where the predators
could not get it was the carcass of a deer that Preece and Rheu had killed for him.

 He rode back with it to one of the places he had discovered that Kenly frequented in his nightly foraging.
Malthus sliced the deer carcass open in several places, and poured into it a special poison that he had
blended. He splashed it on the entrails, and rubbed another type into the flesh. When he finished, Malthus
careful disguised his track so that Kenly would not know that he had touched it and withdrew to watch.

 Just an hour past midnight, the big cat made his usual circuit of the nearest stand of woodlands. Kenly
sniffed around the carcass and then bit into it. He ate rapidly. Malthus watched him tear at the meat,
swallowing it in huge chunks. He had used an arcane poison that the healers would have trouble
identifying. It would act swiftly, and within an hour the cat would be dead.

 Midway through its meal, the cat began to groan and whimper, writhing upon the ground. When Kenly's
final convulsions began, Malthus strode from his hiding place and kicked it. Kenly managed a fading
snarl, and stilled. Malthus dragged the cat's carcass, along with that of the deer across his
irrfelghau-trained horse and rode to a high point of the cliffs over the Eirlys cataract. There he cast them
both over the edge to be swept away by the rushing waters.

 The household would most likely be too caught up in worrying over the chieftain to go searching for the
cat, and even if they did, the odds were in his favor that Kenly's carcass would never be found. Malthus
never counted on a single plan to bring him what he desired, but on a convergence of angles, with caution
as a watchword.

 Malthus returned to the manor and sat for a time in his study with a glass of wine, the bottle sitting within
reach. He had no way to know precisely how severe Claw's heart attack had been?without Reading him,
and Malthus knew that Sheradyn and the others were unlikely to give him an opportunity to do so, since
he did not want anyone knowing that he could Read. With great good luck, Claw would be dead by
morning; however, Malthus was not counting on it.

Instead, Malthus began to plan his next moves in case Claw survived. The sooner the chieftain died, the
better off Malthus would be. Claw's bitches would prove very cooperative without him. Of course, they
would be even more cooperative dead.
                                              THE END