JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING II Page 19

  "There is eating and then there is eating."

  Margren allowed him to guide her up to his rooms. He propelled her inside and barred the door before propelling her into the bedroom.

  "Isranon is alive," Margren growled. "You promised me."

  "Troyes intends to rite him in Claw's valley and use it to provoke an incident. I arranged that for you, my love. Now get undressed and reward me."

  * * * *

  Lord Hoon's tower room rose high above everything except the mountains the castle pressed against. The chamber was filled with heavy black furniture and hung with more tapestries of the demon-eater. Mephistis looked at every one of them and could still not discern her face. A black pentagram against crimson dominated the mosaic floor tile; runes of death, blood, and undeath magics filled the angles of the inverted star. It had always fascinated Mephistis how such a simple device could be tuned to any kind of magic and most mages and witches used it.

  "Can you contact your agent in Vorgensburg? Mind to mind?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Tell him to scry you." Hoon took two things from the desk, a human bone circle with a skull woven of human hairs and gut in the center and a simple mirror.

  "Is that?"

  "Yes. It's the one got me past Abelard's wards the night I killed him." Five hundred years ago he had gluttoned on Abelard's blood and life. He savored the memory. The little enchantary fetish had been a gift from Gylorean Galee, the vampire who had turned him – a vampire so ancient her powers rivaled the gods themselves – and Hoon was the first child of her blood. He had received the fullness of her gift when she made him. Hoon laid the mirror on the floor and the artifact on the mirror. "Now, mind to mind, then draw your connection through the mirror and I will send him this. I expect it returned when the work is done."

  CHAPTER TEN

  CEDARBIRD

  Big, good-looking, red-haired, easy-going Omer Wheeler with his dramatic cheekbones, strong jawline and deeply cleft chin had almost as good a reputation among the prostitutes, pimps, and madams of the Bought Ladies Quarter as Tagalong Smith and for different reasons. As one of Aejys' main myn among the drivers, he was paid well, raking in bonuses for small side jobs requiring tact, diplomacy, and outright cunning so he always had plenty of money to spend. He dressed well when he went into the Quarter in a buttoned shirt of soft chestnut wool and matching trousers ending in knee high black boots polished to a fine gloss. A pair of long knives rode at his hips, hung from a wide, black belt and a heavy emerald great cloak covered him.

  Most males who came to the quarter had a 'get it in, get it off, get it out' attitude. Omer was completely different: he made the ladies happy. He made certain that they enjoyed him as much as he enjoyed them. He paid for their time and brought them small presents as well. But even more important he actually talked to them, listened, and remembered what they had said. He always paid for more hours than he required to satisfy his physical needs so that he could get it all in. Sometimes he took them to dinner at fine establishments. The madams especially loved him for he brought them presents also, talking and flirting, making them feel young and beautiful again. The pimps respected him, and more than one owed him favors; Omer knew his way around the mean streets, had a good ear for the undercurrents of gossip, and knew how to use the little tidbits of information he picked up to best advantage as well as being handy with his blades.

  There was a certain madam, Janine, who slept with him at every opportunity believing that she had seduced him when Omer knew it was the other way around. Janine was in her fifties with long glossy white hair, a striking woman, buxom and wasp-waisted. Omer was the first man in many, many years to make love to her so skillfully that she cried out in ecstasy at his touch. Janine knew that Omer saw other women in the Quarter, but she did not care so long as he came back to her. Janine, also, knew nearly everything that went on in the Quarter, down to its darkest secrets because that was how she survived in rough times and how she protected her girls.

  Omer went to Janine first when Becca told him what Aejys wanted. He arrived early knowing that while most of the girls would still be sleeping, Janine would be awake attending to the day to day things that kept the brothel running smoothly. She took better care of her girls than any other madam in the city. The daytime maid opened the door to him wearing a demure long black dress and white bib apron, a feather duster clutched in one hand. She smiled brightly at seeing him and for a brief moment was almost pretty, though her nose was a shade too strong and her lips a bit too wide. Omer caught her free hand, kissing her fingers lightly with a small bow, which he had learned by closely observing the nobles with their ladies and then practicing before a mirror.

  She giggled girlishly as she took his cloak.

  "Lovely as always, Emilyn," he said smoothly. "I've come to see the fairest of them all. Is she awake?"

  "She's taking breakfast in the upstairs parlor. You know the way?"

  "Need you ask?"

  Emilyn giggled again as Omer swept past her, turning to sigh softly to herself with her eyes on his well-shaped buttocks. She would have climbed into bed with him in an instant if he would ever ask; but he never did.

  * * * *

  Omer entered the parlor without knocking, startling Janine who nearly dropped her teacup. She wore nothing but a silken dressing robe, a pale blue wisp of a garment that matched her eyes. The fire had been built up and the room was very warm. Janine sprang to her feet with a delighted cry, rushing to him. As she reached him he pulled a package from a pocket of his cloak, pressing it into her hands.

  "What's this?" Janine asked. She had a warm throaty voice and the last traces of a guttural accent, suggesting that her origins were in the east beyond the great plains of Murshay'di. Omer loved the hungry, sensuality of her face and the gliding, cat-like way she moved.

  "A very special gift, my dearest girl." He bent to kiss the top of her head, her forehead, and her nose, finally her lips deep and lingering.

  She trembled violently, almost dropping the package as she pressed herself against him. "I want you."

  "And I you. But I want to see your eyes when you open the package first."

  Janine smiled and sat down on the couch nearest the dining table. She removed the violet paper in an eager rush, then stared in delighted surprise at a necklace worthy of a queen: Braided silver set with rubies, jade and scarlet pearls. "However did you come by this?"

  "Don't you like it?"

  "Oh," she cried, looking up at him now in wonderment. "I love it, but it's a queen's ransom. However did you afford it?"

  Omer settled beside her, his hand dropping to her knee to squeeze it affectionately. "Well, as you no doubt know, Aejys is back. She called me up to the study to discuss a bonus I was owed, asked me how I wanted it. I told her I wanted something special for the loveliest lady in all of Vorgensburg. So she dipped into the great wyrm's hoard and gave me this."

  "Omer, it is wonderful. It is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever given me in my entire life."

  Omer took the necklace and clasped it around her neck. If things went sour that necklace alone would more than buy her and her girls' way to safety. The possibility that flight might become necessary if Janine helped him was a point he made to Aejys. She had clearly taken those concerns to heart when she gave him that piece. As he lifted Janine in his arms, the belt came loose from the robe letting it slip open to reveal her well-tended breasts. He knew she periodically hired a mender to tighten them whenever they started to sag. She kept herself as young as it was magically possible to do without illusion. He appreciated that as he mouthed one sweet nipple. Omer carried her into the private bedroom behind the parlor. A large curtained bed waited for them in the corner. He brushed aside the curtains, settling Janine comfortably on the bed. Omer stroked her womanhood, feeling how wet and ready she was. The ceiling was mirrored and Janine liked to watch him playing with her clitoris; watch him enter and then emerge glistening with her juices as he pumped.

/>   "Do you want it now or should we play first?" Omer knew well that it often took more work to satisfy a woman than it did a man: women were such amazingly intricate creatures.

  "Now," she moaned as he played with the delicate tissues, probing inside her. "Now. Please, now." She reached down, pulling her lips wider, enticing him to enter.

  Omer opened his pants, lifting his member out. The fact that he did not disrobe was a gesture of dominance that Janine encouraged. In day-to-day life Janine ruled, in bed she preferred the opposite. He was huge and hard: too large for some of the smaller ladies. He knew he sometimes hurt Janine without meaning to simply because of his size, but she liked it that way. She cried out in pain and ecstasy as he pushed into her, wrapping her legs around his buttocks and pressing him to go harder and faster. Omer responded with the deep, relentless rhythm Janine loved. Her pelvis moved in time to his thrusts, her vagina sucking at him. His lips closed over her nipple, biting and pulling. He stroked and squeezed and licked until her body was slick with his saliva. When violent trembling and a small, involuntary cough from Janine told him she was losing control of her body with the intensity of the coming orgasm, Omer reared back, going his deepest, hardest, fastest – taking her completely. She came as he exploded within her.

  Omer dropped onto the sheets and lay stroking her.

  "So what are you doing in the Quarter?" she asked, lazily unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it out of his pants. "I know you did not come just to see me. You always have three or four reasons for everything you do, my fine stallion."

  Omer sighed exaggeratedly. "You know me that well now, Janine?"

  She laughed, reaching for his cock again, stroking it while he stroked her. "I've always known you that well. Now out with it or in with it or both, my stallion."

  He pushed himself up on his elbow and kissed her. "Both."

  "So? What is it?"

  "I'm looking for a mon named Dinger."

  She quit stroking him and rolled away on her side, thinking. "My dear, fine stallion," she said, turning back to him. "Dinger is a very, very dangerous mon. He works for Cedarbird. If you should find him he might kill you. He would certainly kill me if he should by any means – and he has many, not all of them human – find out it was I told you what he is and where to find him."

  "I would die before I told him."

  "That is what I fear. That you would die."

  "That's my job. Aejys says find him, bring him. So I do it. You are the only person I have asked. If I ask all over about him, then he will become aware of me before I am aware of him. That will put me in danger. However, if you help me now then he will not know."

  "So be it. His full name is Arlethan Dinger. The word on the streets is that he is not just an apostate priest, but that he is a necromancer, maybe even a sa'necari. When one of Cedarbird's women starts to lose her looks or lets herself get pregnant by forgetting to use the moon oils or for any of a thousand reasons should anger Cedarbird, he gives them to Dinger. Dinger, it is said, takes mortgiefan from them, then preserves their bodies to satisfy his lusts until he gets another one."

  Omer dropped back onto the bed and lay there in silence for a very long time, wrapped in a nearly overwhelming sense of foreboding. If Dinger was everything Janine claimed, and she had never been wrong before, then the danger to his wounded liege-lord and the household was far greater than anyone expected. An attack could come at any time, a sa'necari did have to wait for more resources, he was a very deadly and unpredictable element added into an already dangerous mix.

  "Have I chilled your very bones, my stallion? Are you man enough to have another go with me in spite of it."

  Omer forced aside his troubling thoughts as he rose on his elbows to kiss her deeply, his open shirt brushing across her nipples. "I will always be man enough for another go, Janine."

  * * * *

  Around the time that Omer was dressing to go to the Quarter, Josh was pushing open the gate to Branch's little enclave. After more than a week of brooding, he had finally come to confront Branch about Skree's revelations. He meant to come earlier, yet had not found the courage.

  Josh sensed the residue of dark magic about the house; it lay thick over the yard like an oily unseen spill of contamination. He shivered inside his coat and cloak and not from the cold. He paused beside the totem pole, pressing his hand to the out-stretched raven's wing. Then he saw the dead birds, seven ravens scattered before the doorstep. He knelt and picked one up. There was no mark on the bird. It had not died from a physical assault. He laid it back where it had fallen, fear and worry kindling in his heart. He raced up the steps and pounded on the door.

  Bluewings let Josh in, her eyes were deeply shadowed, and bruised looking. The corners of her mouth sagged.

  "What happened?" Josh asked.

  "Bad things. Very bad things. Something evil got past Grandfather's wards. It killed the ravens. Tried to kill us all. My brothers..." Her face twisted in distress, and she crumpled. Josh caught her, lifting her into his arms. He turned about, scanning the large room. There were four blanket-covered bodies near the fire. Branch, a bright blanket around his shoulders, sat staring into the flames with his back to Josh.

  "Take her upstairs," he said without turning. "Put her to bed."

  Josh carried Bluewings up the plank steps onto the upper tier. The large, single room had cedar weavings on two sides instead of walls. The two wooden walls on the side and at the back were hung with bright, cedar strip weavings in geometric patterns. Six simple beds of straw covered by blankets were set along the walls, separated by folding screens which had been knocked over. Josh laid Bluewings down, felt for a pulse, found it, and dragged blankets over her. They had played together as children, rushing about the strand or digging for clams. He felt distressed and uneasy looking down at her. He tucked her in and kissed her cheek. A tremor of anger ran through him: Whoever did this would pay.

  He rejoined Branch by the fire, his eyes drawn to the bodies time and again as he tried to concentrate on the old shaman. Josh shuddered as he stared at the blanket-wrapped bodies. He squatted beside Branch, looking into his haggard and drawn face. The old shaman appeared to be in a state close to shock. Branch and Bluewings needed more help than Josh could provide.

  "It entered," Branch said, sounding distant and unfocused. "Its master attacked me directly, mind to mind, magic to magic. Bluewings joined her powers to mine and we cast out the master, sent away his creature. But while we struggled with him, his creature killed my grandsons."

  Josh went to the bodies, flicking back the blankets. The first body set his stomach heaving. The man had fang marks on his throat, defense wounds on his arms, his stomach had been ripped open, and there was nothing left in it–just an empty cavity. The next two were the same. The last one had only the marks on his throat where the blood had been drained away.

  "Why hasn't anyone from the village come to help you?"

  Branch simply shook his head and stared into the flames. Josh left, going to the nearest house. He knocked on the door, but no one answered. Finally he opened the door. The remains of a gutted child fell across the threshold. Josh spun around, dropping from the doorstep to his knees in the snow, vomiting. When his stomach was empty and he began to recover a little, he knocked on every door, receiving no answers, but this time he did not go in, he knew what he would find: Of all the small trading village only Branch and Bluewings survived.

  * * * *

  Before Skree re-entered his life, Josh would have gone straight to Aejys with his news. Now he went to Skree. He found his godfather sitting in the parlor of their small suite. Skree started to greet him in a friendly manner, caught the haunted look in Josh's face, and asked simply, "What has happened?"

  Tears started in Josh's eyes and ran freely down his face as he shook.

  Skree rose and settled Josh into a chair at the little table. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then speak."

  Josh nodded and after a few breaths was able to be
gin. The triton listened to his story in troubled silence. When Josh had finished, Skree rose and fetched his cloak.

  "Do not speak to Aejys about this until I have investigated. I must assess what we are confronted by. I will bring Bluewings and Branch here for their safety."

  * * * *

  Skree entered the Kwaklahmyn compound at mid-day. He smelled the dark residue, which Josh had described to him and recognized it. "Sa'necari," he hissed.

  The triton went to Branch's house first, pushed the door open cautiously, and went in. He saw Branch, crossed the room, and dropped to his knees by the old Shaman. "Old mon," he said, "Your grandson, Ash, is safe. I made certain of it before I left the tavern. He fell asleep in the winter quarters sitting room listening to stories."

  Branch sighed heavily and nodded. "I do not know how it passed my wards," he said dully, his eyes glazed with shock.

  "The sa'necari has slain your village."

  "They are all dead?"

  "Josiah found no survivors. Do you know who this sa'necari is?"

  "Dinger. It was Dinger."

  "Did you know that he was sa'necari?"

  Branch shook his head. "Before last night? No."

  "I will gather your dead into a single house and then fire it lest they rise."

  Branch nodded. Skree took his wrist and Read him, finding that he was in state verging on deep psychic shock, his magic spent. Then he went upstairs and Read Bluewings. She stirred at his touch, opening her eyes, "Skree?"

  "Josiah sent me. Your village is slain. When I am done here, you and your grandfather must come away with me. I will take you to a place of safety."

  "Thank you," she whispered weakly.

  Skree left then, going from house to house, finding as Josh suspected no survivors. From the tiniest infant to the oldest crone, they were all dead. He took Branch's grandsons and placed them in the house last. Then he emptied the barrels of whale oil over everything and set it burning. Darkness had come by the time he finished. He wrapped Bluewings and Branch in blankets, lifted them both to his shoulders, and started back. He would settle them among the guards and drivers in the converted warehouse. Then he intended to speak with Aejys about what had transpired.