JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING II Read online

  Merissa felt a rise of tears and fought them back, her shoulders slumping in dejection. She followed Troyes beyond the pastures and turned onto a path that ran along beneath the edges of the forest. The snow season was melting toward spring and bare ground showed in widening patches of brown and tan among the scattered piles of lingering white.

  "I am not hurting you, Merissa," Troyes said when they were out of sight of the house. "I am merely making a woman of you.

  Merissa turned her head away from him. "I don't want to be a woman."

  Troyes laughed. "That's inane! You became a woman the minute my rod of possession pierced you."

  The terms he used with her were changing, becoming harsher over the last weeks. "Then I am yours."

  "Of course you're mine." He found the copse of spruce and evergreen he favored and dismounted. Troyes helped her down. "Stretch out. Make yourself comfortable."

  Merissa's breath shuddered through her. She was beginning to hate riding where she had once loved it. She lay back among the pine boughs and waited for him. Troyes sat cross-legged beside her, stroking her body.

  "I want you to come with me when I leave in the spring. Will you?"

  "I – I–"

  "Oh, I know I'm arrogant and demanding, even harsh. But I love you, Merissa.

  "I love you, Troyes," she replied and wondered if that was truth, because even as she said it, she thought of Isranon.

  "I want to marry you at the King's Court in Chazkar. You are very beautiful. More beautiful than any of the King's ladies. You will have beautiful gowns and jewels."

  Merissa felt dizzy at the images spinning through her mind. He was offering her her childhood dreams. "Troyes–"

  "I want you, Merissa, more than anyone else. I want you to bear my children and we will raise them to great power. Say yes."

  "Yes."

  Troyes gave her a long, satisfied smile and crawled over her. "I love you, Merissa." Then he began to push her dress up.

  CHAPTER NINE

  HOON'S VALLEY

  Mephistis spent two weeks at Linden's before leaving for Hoon's estates. He kept one and sometimes both Linden and Quellyn in his bed at all times. His stamina was tremendous and, when the week ended, he suspected he had left at least one of them with a little gift growing inside them. He would have liked to remain long enough to be certain, for he desperately craved an heir of his body. However, the longer they stayed the more likely that they would be discovered. He and Margren had been happy when she conceived. But their unborn children were dead now.

  They took enough full preserving bottles to keep their appetites assuaged – Hoon wanted to leave no sign of their passage, especially bodies – and traveled in Hoon's large black coach. The coach was left behind at a border estate owned by Hoon through a proxy company, entering the gorge on foot.

  Lord Hoon's estates and holdings bordered Norendel, the Valley of Carliff the Mad Lich, on the north by way of a narrow, bottlenecked gorge and Shaurone on the south by an equally narrow gorge. It was that geographical feature that made the Sharani pass him by when they swept through Waejontor towards the end of the last war, overrunning two-thirds of the realm. Lord Hoon himself had been sneaking into Shaurone for centuries. Hoon had seduced Linden's family into the service of Waejontor three generations back. Her grandma'aram was the disinherited eldest daughter of a Mar'ajan of Dovane and ripe for Hoon's persuasions when they came. Now Linden's guesthouse had become a waystation for guests such as Hoon and Mephistis, part of the underground highway for spies and sleepers.

  The new growth forest at the edge of Danae gave out onto an open meadow dotted with chunks of rock and strewn with scattered clusters of boulders. Here and there the dead trunks of trees that had burned twenty years ago during the war with Shaurone when this was a battle field still remained, not yet completely rotted, sprinkled through the forest and across the plain it had once covered. To the west the cliffs rose, marking the descent into the bottleneck gorge that was the only passage into Hoon's valley. Layers of sediment and rock made alternating patterns on the cliff walls like a weaver's design of irregular stripes. Grass tufts and scrubby bushes thrust out from the sides like green whiskers. The floor of the gorge was thickly strewn with rock and boulders. An attacker would have been forced to fight on foot here, as the ground was too rough for horses. Only a mon or a goat could have dealt with the rubble that washed down from the cliffsides each year. It was one of those things that had kept Hoon safe from Shaurone: the Sharani depended heavily on their cavalry and horse archers, although they also had longbowmyn. The very narrowness worked against the last group as well as the first two. It was an area that was far easier to defend, than to attack.

  Hoon led Mephistis and his two companions, Margren and Bodramet, through the night and allowed them to camp at dawn within the mouth of the gorge. He shared out blood from the bottles. Linden had filled their saddlebags when they left with a large supply of blood, which they transferred to back packs at Hoon's estate. However, Hoon had broken into his own private stock and brought along several bottles of better vintages: blended sylvan bloods, troll and demon blood – an assortment he shared sparingly.

  Mephistis immediately dropped to the ground when Hoon called a halt in the mouth of the gorge that morning. At midnight he had begun to hurt in his muscles and bones, and long before the first light of dawn a burning sensation had started in his extremities and along his spine. He had found himself leaning heavily upon Margren, letting her bear most of his weight. Her undead form was very strong and handled him easily.

  Hoon studied his face carefully, searching every aspect of it and then grasped his wrist to Read him. Then he eyed Bodramet, clearly calculating what possible threat that one posited before speaking. "It's progressing faster than I expected."

  Mephistis schooled the fear out of his face. "Do something," he said in a languid voice with the merest hint of threat.

  Hoon unshouldered his pack and took out a preserving bottle that had green lines of power along it in addition to the gold. Mephistis had never seen anything like this one, and he had seen many things, both at his father's and his ma'aram's courts. The vampire fished for a glass and measured three fingers of the liquid into it. He resealed the bottle and returned it to his pack after handing the glass to Mephistis.

  "What is this?" Mephistis sniffed at it, then tongued it. The blood had a blend of sweet, tart and salt, indicating drugs and other substances had been added.

  "Sanguine Rose. Only my people remember how to make it. It will ease you."

  "You're Lemyari, aren't you?" Mephistis said, sipping the blood cocktail.

  Hoon smiled. "That should be self-evident. Sunlight has not bothered me since the day I was turned. I retain all my mage-gifts from my days as a living mon." He flexed his fingers, extending them to the little circle and brought forth his claws from beneath his primary nails with venom beading on their tips.

  Bodramet looked uncomfortable at those claws. It was said that the venom became more potent with age and the oldest of them were reputed to have slain yuwenghau with it, the young rogue gods and demi-gods with no worshipers who served as divine knights errant. Many claimed that Lemyari were not true vampires at all, but some kind of undead demon. Or perhaps not truly undead, but merely transformed by death.

  A potent warmth beyond blood or liquor gilded Mephistis' awareness and body as the pain receded. Sanguine Rose, he decided, is something I like. He laid his head in Margren's lap and she stroked his brow.

  "Sleep for a little," Hoon told them. "I will keep watch. The Sharani rarely come here. They fear my valley and its entrance."

  "I love you, Margren," Mephistis said, reaching up to stroke her face once before falling into drugged slumber.

  Hoon roused them at twilight and they moved on again. Mephistis walked alongside Margren with Hoon leading and Bodramet trailing. When Mephistis began to falter again, Hoon stopped long enough to dose him with the Sanguine Rose and then kept them walking de
eper. The ground became rougher as rocks became boulders and the boulders became larger. Soon they were scrambling between the rocks as often as not, with no discernable footpath to lead them through or make their travel easier. An hour before dawn they finally broke though to a narrow path and Hoon pointed toward the cliffs. Mephistis just barely saw the outline of a cave mouth.

  "There. We will get horses there," Hoon told them. "Then it will be easier upon you, my prince."

  A sentry, concealed by the rocks around the cave mouth and a tamarack tree, emerged as they neared and hailed them. "My lord! It is good that you return."

  Mephistis watched the male, his eyes narrowing. The one was human and had the look of Waejontor on his dark skin and hair, the full lips.

  The cave was a huge cavern with a small guard station concealed within it. Myn walked smartly about their tasks with harnesses jingling. A corral for the horses stood to their right and a long barracks to their left. Beyond that, out of reach of any who might come at them, were storage sheds and barns. They walked down the middle toward a house built into the side with a bailey for defense. The outer wall was grey stone with streaks of white and orange shot through it. The gates were opened without a word by the guards there and Hoon led them inside.

  The main room of the house had marble floors and wood paneled walls stained a dark color. Tapestries of various types of fanged creatures cavorting or taking victims adorned the walls. Many of the creatures were so strange that Mephistis could not identify them. One that was repeated in many scenes was a small female creature, pale skinned with a heavy head of black hair and a small tightly curled tail between her shapely buttocks. That one was always depicted nude and her face was never more than half shown, usually biting into the neck bone of a far larger creature such as a demon or troll while her claws reached for their eyes.

  Hoon's servant waited for his master's orders, standing stiffly at attention. The vampire flicked his hand at him. "Four full meals. Bring me the loveliest depnane you have for our feeding."

  The servant bowed himself out. Bodramet's eyes gleamed with satisfaction at Hoon's hospitality and Margren smiled. Mephistis seemed almost not to hear as he went from tapestry to tapestry, tracing that female creature with his fingers. "What is she?"

  Hoon poured Mephistis another measure of Sanguine Rose and set it on a large table near the hearth. "Do not become enamored of that one, prince," Hoon cautioned. "That is the demon-eater that slew your ancestor, mighty Waejonan."

  Mephistis covered his startlement by turning his head away and walking to the table. He sat down and sipped the drink. "Then the legends are true? There really was a demon-eater that bit through Waejonan's spine?"

  "Yes. And some claim she is still out there. It is said that after she killed Waejonan, she developed an appetite for sa'necari and made large herds of them her blood-slaves. She drinks from them heavily. Her very presence causes her slaves physical and psychic anguish. When she tires of her toys she destroys them. But most often they simply do not have the stamina to survive her presence and feedings. She is a relentless hunter. Once she marks someone for taking, they cannot escape her. No one has ever escaped her in 4,000 years. You can run, but you cannot hide from her."

  Despite the warmth the blood cocktail gave him, Mephistis shivered. "Does she have a name?"

  "Most likely, but I have never found it."

  The servant returned with four females, all with the death's head brand on their foreheads indicating that they could be slain in the course of a meal. Bodramet rose from his chair and started toward them, but Hoon gestured him to wait. "The prince has the first selection and Margren second."

  Bodramet shrugged and stepped back. Mephistis looked up from the table and measured the four for a moment, before selecting a slender, high-breasted young one. He led her to a couch and made her kneel between his parted legs in the nibari position. She trembled hard, but said nothing. Spelled, drugged, or well-trained. Just because a depnane was sent for did not mean they would be killed and eaten, only that there was a possibility of it. Mephistis stroked her head for a moment, nuzzled her neck as if he were taking a nibari, and then ripped into her, tearing out the artery so that his tired body could feed more easily. He scarcely heard the screaming from the other three meals.

  * * * *

  The City of the Dead had once been called Sweetwillow in the Valley of Errilyn, but no one remembered that any longer. Not since the night Hoon took it from a lord of the Rowan lineage. Centuries past this had been part of Shaurone, but Hoon and his undead had swept through and it had fallen. The survivors had been interbred with Hoon's nibari and depnane. The depnane were frequently culls and steers from the nibari herds, and captives taken in Shaurone and Norendel, or anyone who chanced to anger the ruling lord – in this case, Hoon. None of the original stock remained, not even in the villages surrounding it, which also belonged to Hoon.

  The high walls had been built into the side of the cliffs and then swept around in a well-planned octagon. Broad battlements topped those walls and a huge oak and iron gate stood before them on the south side. There was another gate to the north, just as strong. In five centuries no one had attacked it, no one had threatened Hoon since he took it, not even jealous sa'necari who resented seeing a vampire possessing such a great stronghold and so much power. A token force walked the walls and when the small band was sighted, the gates were swung open to receive them.

  The houses of the city were rundown, many of them windowless. The variety of undead making their way along the thoroughfares in the waning light ran the gamut from revenants, ghouls and skeletons to lesser bloods – those primitive vampires who could not bear the light of day – Lemyari and other vampiric royals. A handful of nibari hastened through the crowds, trying to complete their errands and get home to their masters before it got any later, for in the later hours the less thinking variety of undead often failed to respect another's property. There were also sa'necari mixed in, often accompanied by trolls of many species. The crowds gave way before Hoon and many spoke, welcoming him back.

  Mephistis caught the strange look in Margren's eyes. The more rotted forms of undead appeared to trouble her. He reached across the horse and patted her hand. "You were never like that, my love. You were beautiful even in death. And now, so long as you feed, you will never be."

  "I hate my mother. I hate my sister," Margren muttered.

  "Your mother is dead. I promise your sister soon will be."

  "How can she be alive, when I am undead?" Margren snarled. "It isn't fair."

  Mephistis sighed. Margren was different somehow, more edgy. She had been that way since he took Linden and Quellyn into his bed, despite his explanations about needing an heir of his body. He hoped he had gotten one. He would inquire in a few months. "Margren..."

  * * * *

  When Mephistis left, a piece of him remained behind, firmly lodged in Linden's belly. She kyndied the child to Quellyn without informing Mephistis, the magical working that allowed one woman to pass her embryo to her na'halaef. The Sharani required three parents to produce viable offspring: sire, bloodmother and wombmother. A child then partook of the genetic inheritance of all three parents with the wombmother, ma'aramlasah, determining the gender. Unkyndied children were born Azdrin, sterile, dis-enfranchised androgynes. A small vengeance by omission.

  "Hoon knows what he did," Linden said softly, watching the vampire lord's black coach disappear down the street. "There will be an accounting."

  "This child will be sa'necari also?"

  "Yes. And if Hoon doesn't get him, one of these children will. Unnecessary probably. If I were betting on the ultimate predator, it would be Hoon. But having two sa'necari-born children, especially from the Waejonan bloodline, will be insurance."

  "And how do we explain to Tomyrilen that her soon-to-be brother is also her nephew?"

  Linden stared at her mate and then laughed bitterly. "She won't care."

  * * * *

  Margren wa
ndered about the castle. There were an incredible number of nibari here and depnane also. It made her mouth water to watch them going about their work. Some were simple servants, cleaning and waiting upon the masters as well as feeding them. Others were dressed like highborn ladies in soft gowns and bright colors. It made her wonder to see them. Lemyari, sa'necari, and other royals were the only undead allowed within the castle itself. Those here were reserved for the masters.

  She made her way to a huge landing with couches and chairs upon it, but no tables. A small troll crouched upon the floor, licking spots of blood off the mosaic tiles. Then Margren guessed that this was a feeding place, built for comfort. A pair of wide staircases made an elegant swept along the sides, descending to the main floor and the great halls. Margren smoothed her blue robes and went down. Voices talking and laughing drew her into a large side hall. There she found vampires and sa'necari scattered about in little clusters. Tables could be found here as well as couches and chairs. Several of those well-dressed nibari sat with the masters drinking wine, while others knelt between their masters' legs in the proper position of yielding up their gifts. The masters fed, drank wine, and visited. Some played chess and others played Togly with stones, cards, and figures on cloth draped over a large table. Then Margren's eye was drawn to an amazing sight in one of the corners that sent a delighted shiver along her arms. A huge stonetroll sat there with four vampires feeding from him while he moaned, "yes" as if in the throes of passion.

  Margren walked over and stared.

  "That's Juqwanch. He's addicted to being fed on and with a troll's constitution it gives him no problems."

  Margren turned and faced Bodramet. Her face flamed. "You failed me."

  Bodramet grabbed her arm. "Let's talk about this upstairs."

  "No."

  "Oh, yes. You'll see I haven't. But this is a private matter."

  Margren cocked her head with a pouting look. "It had better be good, I still want to eat you."