Blood Lies (Dark Brothers of the Light #9) Read online

  Captain Luck Settlesby had the day off. Isranon and Nans had not yet given their soldiery leave to enter Ildyrsetts, so old habits drew Luck to the brothel.

  A member of the clerical staff sat at a desk. Behind him the nibari lounged on sofas and chairs. Some sat at the small tables chattering and playing games. They were all nude, so that the soldiery could more easily make their choices and get what they wished for. Several of the officers on the march had expressed a preference for shaven pudendums. Nainee, the head nibari, had seen to it that their desires were met. Nearly half of them had been shaved.

  Rank had its privileges. Officers could check one out for the day or keep them overnight in their chambers. His cock reacted and a lecherous smile touched his lips as he scanned the chamber.

  "Don't see the one you want?" asked the clerk, turning the book around so that Luck could sign it.

  "Farris." Luck took a pen from the holder and added his name to the list. Most of the signatures were X’s with a clerical notation of who made their mark.

  "You won't find her. She's been taken out of service."

  "Why?"

  "She's pregnant."

  "Then it's confirmed? You're breeding them?" Surprise mingled with his disappointment.

  "No. We're very careful to rotate them out when they come into season."

  "Rape?" Nibari only came into season every ninety days for a brief time. Usually no more than five to seven days, mounting them during their fertile days resulted in pregnancy ninety-nine percent of the time. Someone must have gotten to his favorite.

  "You can't rape a nibari. They're too compliant, too docile. No, some soldier must have lured her out of quarters during her fertile period. We've had six or seven cases like this. They'll probably give birth on the battlefield."

  "Any idea who is doing it?"

  "We would have to Read the entire army to identify the sire. We haven't time for that. So we're not even investigating it."

  "I see." Luck scowled at the clerk's indifference. He counted nibari among his friends.

  "So pick another."

  "Pick another..." Luck muttered under his breath. The news had cost him his erection. "Pick another, damnit." Whoever had mounted Farris during her fertile time had known what the result would be. He had gotten her belly swollen, probably out of vanity. The situation most likely did not bother Farris. Yet it bothered Luck. He hoped the guilty mon had been gentle with her. Which of them is closest to Farris? "Mardra."

  The clerk clapped his hands. All of the nibari ceased what they were doing and turned their attention to him. "Mardra!"

  The attractive, little blonde reminded him of the lycan bitches in camp, pear-shaped with broad hips and curves in all the right places. The nibari herd were all beautiful. Most of them had been taken as reparations from the estates of the sa'necari Isranon's forces had vanquished at Ocealay. They were all sa'necari or vampire trained – and ugliness or plainness was not tolerated by those owners. They put down those who were less than attractive at puberty.

  Mardra was one of twenty or so that Isranon had brought with him when he fled Hoon's mansion in Minnoras ahead of the Empress's army after the city fell. She was vampire-bred and trained but a pampered pet, unlike the ones they had taken from the sa'necari of Ocealay.

  Mardra's loins were bare as a child's.

  "How long will you be wanting her?" the clerk asked.

  "I'm taking her for the day." Luck touched the officer's patch on his shoulder in case the clerk might decide to question his privileges.

  "Then you'll have to sign her out."

  Luck added a notation to the book.

  Mardra put her hand on his arm. Her touch jolted his loins, and his cock hardened. That decided Luck. While he intended to talk to her, he also needed to get inside her. A night with her in his bed would certainly go a long way toward easing the lingering stresses of the long journey.

  She threw on a robe, and he took her to his private suite.

  Luck fondled her breast, bringing a tiny smile from her. Then Mardra dropped to the floor in first position, arms behind her back, head tilted to expose her neck.

  Luck stripped, tossing his clothes onto a chair and laying his sword across the arms. He had acquired a copy of the Twenty-Six Positions Of Surrender by Statyranis – a heavily illustrated nibari training manual written by and for the sa'necari. It made telling the nibari what he wanted easier. Only the final one, the twenty-sixth, showed a position he would never try: it was the death position on an altar of mortgiefan.

  "Fifth position, Mardra."

  Mardra clambered onto the bed, leaned against the headboard and put her heels behind her head. Luck climbed on and slipped his cock into her. He rubbed her thighs, played with her nipples, and then gave one long thrust. Her vagina sucked his member, and Luck nearly forgot himself.

  "Farris is pregnant?"

  "Yes." She moaned and trembled under his ministrations.

  "Who did it?" Luck settled into a slow rhythm.

  "Not supposed to tell on the masters."

  Luck sucked in a sharp breath and went still inside her. Mardra had just eliminated most of the army.

  "There's no harm in it, Mardra. No harm at all. Was it Isranon?"

  "No."

  Luck picked his rhythm up again. "Isranon will want to know for the sire book."

  "Sire book?" Mardra shivered as he struck the best spots inside her. "What's that?"

  "The record book. When a master sires one, they record it. What do I write down?"

  "Stygean."

  * * * *

  Following dinner, Edvarde retired to a smaller, less formal chamber where he often gathered the mages of Ildyrsetts for drinks and pleasantries. Edvarde seated Isranon at the head of the table with Geoffry Cordwainer to his right and Teague Merishin to his left. Koejelus had the next seat down from Teague, sitting across from Edvarde. Cordwainer's wife, Lobelia, sat at the far end with Anksha. Father Telamon, Nans and Merick also joined them there.

  Teague filled a snifter of brandy and wandered the room, sipping at it and examining the shelves. She ran her gaze across the books first and pulled one out. "Wherever did you find this one, Edvarde? I've been looking for a copy for the last century."

  She smiled lopsidedly at the bright look that brought to Edvarde's eyes. "It was found by a close friend who fell into a bit of the north coast ruins. He came up with a lot of interesting stuff."

  "I'm certain he must have." Teague drifted close to Nans. "I am certain you must find a lot of interesting things also, Lady Troll." Teague turned away, snickering into her snifter.

  Color rose in Nans' cheeks. "One of these days, Teague..."

  "Doubtless." Teague shrugged, feigning a yawn.

  Koejelus caught the tail end of their exchange, muttering, "Catfights. Always catfights..." He glanced down the table and watched Lobelia and Anksha for a moment. "I see the wives have found each other. Probably discussing gewgaws."

  "Speaking of wives, where is yours? I was certain Nadine would wish to be in on our little outings," remarked Cordwainer.

  "Rowanhart. She's taken our sons there to have a look at that new school, the Azure Circle I think they're calling it. Going to teach some classes – probably take some also. I suspect she intends to stay there for the duration of the conflict."

  Anksha favored Lobelia with a feline grin, displaying her fangs, and said in perfect Engla, "This is a splendid little party. The pastries are delicious."

  Lobelia gave a startled look, but recovered quickly. "I like the honey ones myself. And that is a lovely necklace you're wearing, dear."

  "You like them?" Anksha dripped jewels: necklace, rings, bracelets and dangling earrings. Concerned about the mages' impressions of her, she had returned to being Lord Hoon's refined weapon, rather than Isranon's kitten. All lady and very dangerous.

  "Very much. Lord Isranon must be very wealthy to provide you with such."

  Anksha laughed. "He did not give me these." She patt
ed the diamonds and rubies hanging at her throat. "This one was a gift from Prince Shintar."

  Lobelia choked on a sip of wine. "You knew Shintar?"

  Anksha shrugged. "I also knew Waejonan."

  Lobelia made a sign against evil and went chalky white.

  Isranon saw the look of horror on Lobelia's face and the sign she made, and wondered what Anksha had said to her.

  Merick followed Isranon's gaze. "I would not worry about it. Lobelia is easily offended and most of the wives don't like her."

  "Just the wives?" Isranon watched Anksha's tail uncurl and lap over the back of her chair with the tip flicking nervously.

  "Not just the wives." Merick leaned close and whispered in Isranon's ear, "Koejelus and I have never trusted her, but this is not the place to discuss it. Might I come to your chambers early tomorrow?"

  "Certainly." Isranon's brow furrowed in thought as he turned to Father Telamon. "Some of the spells in Abelard's journals appear to be priest spells. I did not know that priests had spells."

  "We don't. We have rituals and prayers." Father Telamon refilled his wine glass.

  "Perhaps it is a prayer then."

  "What's it called?"

  "Kiss the Divine Winds."

  Father Telamon paled. "That's extremely dangerous."

  "Is it a prayer?"

  "Yes and no. It's an invocation. Allow me to repeat myself, it is one of the most dangerous you will ever encounter."

  "How so?"

  "It kills the caster. It originated as a revelation given to a priest of Kalirion by the god himself. The priest wrote it down or we would have no knowledge of it. When he cast it to defeat an invading army and save his people, he destroyed himself as well as the invaders. The power unleashed is too great for a mortal body – and many lesser immortal ones – to sustain. It consumes them."

  "I memorized it on the ride north."

  Teague drifted closer with Nans at her heels. "You're talking about the Divine Winds?"

  Isranon's eyes went distant, and he gave her the tiniest nod. "I'm not afraid to use it."

  "And die?"

  "I'm already dying. What does it matter whether I die soon or late, so long as I stop the Minnorians?"

  Merick moved to the table where Isranon sat. "There is a cure. Mortgiefan."

  "I won't live at that price. I would rather die with my honor clean."

  "How long do you have?" asked Koejelus. "You're asking us to ride with you, but we cannot hope to win without your power."

  "My liege-god would not have set me this task if he believed I would die before I achieved his goal."

  "You have given us much to consider," said Cordwainer. "The godmark is real, and so are the texts you've shown us." He shook his head regretfully. "As tempted as I am by this, I'm just not ready to make a commitment. However, we have plenty of time. The passes will not thaw out for months yet."

  "I always liked a challenge. I'm in," said Teague. "Nans is not going to scoop up all the glory from this venture."

  "Merick and Father Telamon have both made your case to me," Koejelus said after a nod from Merick. "Count us in."

  Edvarde clapped his hands excitedly. "A gathering of heroes to fight the dark one, what a tale this will make. I'll send one of my best scribes along with you to record it all."

  "Your hunger for knowledge and history will get you killed," said Nans.

  Edvarde chuckled. "You've been saying that since I was sixteen. I'm sixty-seven now."

  CHAPTER NINE

  GIRL TROUBLES

  Veranoctem 12, 1077

  Two days after Stygean's fight with Jingen, Nevin trotted to overtake Father Telamon, calling out in a distress-triggered brogue, "I dinna tell ye aboot the boy to ha' ye go off in a fit."

  "Had I known the boy was being punished so severely, I would have spoken up sooner. And I'm not having a fit. I've been thinking about it for days as it is."

  Nevin exhaled an explosive sigh.

  Father Telamon gave the lycan a quick glance and went back to muttering distractedly under his breath as he walked briskly along the corridor, his robes swishing about his ankles. "My fault. My fault entirely. Boy wants to learn. I offered to teach. I had no idea about the needs of adolescent sa'necari."

  "Which is why ye ought to have asked," Nevin growled, lengthening his stride to keep up with the agitated priest.

  "It's all very strange and new to me. Treated him like a troubled young mage – I've had more of those in my congregation than you can imagine which is typical for a city like Ildyrsetts. With the fall of Charas, we're second only to Rowanhart in the number of mages. We've a growing body of talented refugees, mostly young, many children whose gifts barely managed to get them this far."

  "Galee destroyed Charas..." Nevin pulled at the split corners of his disfigured upper lip, eyes narrowing. "We've been hearing rumors of it since last summer. It might pay to speak with some of the survivors."

  Father Telamon halted in front of the door to Isranon's suite. "It will take much persuasion, Lord Nevin. However, I can think of two or three that might be willing to enlighten you as to how the City of Magic fell."

  Father Telamon lifted his hand to knock, and Nevin stopped him with a curt gesture. "Allow me, Father."

  Nevin knocked and Isranon answered. "Who is it?"

  "It's me, my brother. I've brought Father Telamon. He wishes to speak with you about Stygean."

  "Come in."

  Nevin entered first.

  Isranon sat at the table, reading. He closed his book and looked at them with an edge of weary irritation. "Everyone of any importance has been coming by to discuss my apprentice and his actions."

  "You need to hear the good father out."

  "I would just as soon not. I have listened to enough opinions on it."

  "But you see," protested Father Telamon, "it is all my fault."

  Isranon gestured for him to stop, lowered his head, and then tilted it up at Nevin while motioning them to sit. "You brought him here to defend Stygean, my brother?"

  "Yes." Nevin settled into his chair and the priest did likewise.

  "Nevin, you swore last summer that I would never win Stygean over. That you wanted to cut his heart out and eat it."

  Nevin straightened abruptly, color rising in his cheeks. "I know him better now. He loves you like a father. You never have any time for him, so he went seeking it elsewhere. He went to Father Telamon."

  "And I gave the boy the wrong information." Father Telamon massaged the bridge on his nose, stubbornly holding onto his determination even as a fit of nerves threatened him. "I treated him like a temple novice or a young mage. I told him to fast. While I only meant food and drink, Stygean took it to mean blood also. I caused what happened."

  "It doesn't alter matters."

  Nevin haired over, snarling. "You're growing more unreasonable by the day, Isranon. Ever since you got here. More and more and I won't put up with it."

  Father Telamon blinked and looked ready to dive under the table. He bit his lower lip, fighting not to become overwhelmed by all the possibilities that being caught between an angry lycan and a sa'necari could provoke.

  Nevin struck the table with his fists. "It's your damnable pride. You've extended it to the lad and now you're embarrassed by him. That will not do, Isranon. I raised you. I taught you to be better than this. You're being unfair to the lad."

  Isranon stopped short, swallowing back words. His expression went weary. "Maybe I have been too hard on him. Once I have gotten some rest, I'll go talk to him."

  "Good. And we have more news. Father Telamon has informed me that there are refugees here from Charas who might be able to tell us how the city fell. Knowing the enemy's tactics would be a great help when we finally enter battle."

  Isranon perked up. "Indeed it would."

  At the change in their tones, Father Telamon relaxed with a sigh and began to explain in detail about the state of the mage-gifted refugees who still sheltered in the Cathedral
of the Morning Light in Ildyrsetts.

  * * * *

  A knock on Stygean's door woke him. Crisp sunlight lanced through the windows, striking his unready eyes with spears between his parted lashes. His neck ached, but most of the pain had receded. He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. Stygean knotted the edge of the blanket in his fist, wanting to turn onto his side; held back by the pain and weakness.

  "Go away. I'm sick."

  Jun walked in with Farris. "You need to feed. And we don't wish Farris to develop blood bloat during a pregnancy."

  Pregnant? Farris? Shame burned in Stygean's cheeks, certain it could only be his seed growing within her. He tipped himself over and curled tighter into his blanket. "I'm going to throw up."

  Jun came over, bringing Farris and took hold of Stygean's chin, turning his head to find the mark. "It's closed well. You're fortunate it was Isranon and not Haig or I. Accidents happen."

  Stygean shivered at the threat in the tall, angular vampire's voice.

  Farris caressed his head. "It has been months since you touched me, Stygean. I wanted it to be my blood."

  Stygean said nothing. He wondered how long he would live with so much hatred around him – hatred he had created. If someone decided to stick a knife or a fang into him, the others would simply look the other way – what they did for others they would not do for him. He was sure that was what Isranon had meant about trust. He closed his mouth tightly, refusing to bite Farris.

  Jun grabbed Stygean's hair, twisted his head around and pressed Farris' arm to the boy's lips. "You will open and you will feed or I will take you and make you."

  "Let go of him!" Nevin snarled, entering the room, followed by Father Telamon. The lycan moved close to Jun. He haired over to the highest point of the hybrid state and forced the vampire's fingers loose from Stygean's hair.

  "The little bastard won't feed."

  "Kalirion be merciful," Father Telamon gasped, frozen in his tracks by the sight of Jun's huge fangs as the vampire snarled.