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

  Then they were riding hard again, Horst doubled over in the saddle, clutching his torn side, and Lion running beside him.

  Alons glanced behind him. "There's dozens of them."

  Horst nodded, his features twisted into a harsh grimace. "Don't look back."

  "I'm praying for a miracle."

  The unicorn, as if sensing the desperate condition of his rider, put on a burst of speed when they neared the gates to the previously abandoned ducal estate.

  Alons made the sign of the Lady as Horst outdistanced him.

  Ahead of them, Father Franz Bachmeier strode confidently out of the gates to stand in the middle of the street with a black-clad crone, whom Alons had never seen before. Four children followed the strange pair carrying baskets. He tore his attention from them, glancing about for Horst, but his friend had already gone through the gates and become lost from sight. Alons glimpsed an overloaded wagon and the edges of many tents standing in the yard, which had not been there when they left to scavenge that morning.

  A shield wall formed behind Franz and the crone: the ten remaining men and fifteen of the women. They carried golden shields with the white unicorn rampant of the White Lady and long spears. Alons wondered where they had gotten them.

  "Birthe! What the unholy hell...." Alons blinked at Horst's wife, hearing her giving orders to the spearmyn with the same unyielding determination he had so often seen her husband display.

  Two little boys strode calmly down the street towards Alons and the pursuing ghouls. They were both strangely clad.

  The boy on the left wore a fur lined leather jacket and a leather cap that buckled under his chin. A pair of odd spectacles sat on his head. He settled the green tinted spectacles over his eyes to keep the flurrying snow out of them. Then he lowered his hands to the silver pie pans hanging from his belt. "On three, Bodi!" he shouted to his companion.

  "On it, Pieface!" came the reply. Bodi tucked a book into his pocket and drew his wooden sword, brandishing it with a shout of "Sillior!"

  Alons felt a surge of dread upon realizing the two boys were going to charge the ghouls and no one was trying to stop them. He threw himself from the saddle, running to intercept the nearest boy, the one with the wooden sword. A shout from the crone snagged Alons' attention, and the boy got past him.

  "Funsies!" The crone wiggled her fingers at the on-coming demons. "Flux!"

  Four demons suddenly lost the contents of their bowels, spreading lines of black waste across the snow. They flew through the air in a short arc, clutching their bellies, and finally collapsed in the snow groaning. A bright silver disk flew past Alons, taking the head off a demon before curving around and returning to the child who had thrown it. The wooden sword in Bodi's hands hummed with power, and the boy caved a ghoul's head in with it.

  The two children who remained beside Franz and the crone put glass globes into their sling shots and let fly against the rear demons. Some of the balls exploded into flames, others into a green slime that made the demons shriek and claw at themselves, trying in vain to scrape it free only to have it adhere to the flesh of knobby fingers and their claws, while the third kind gave off a terrible stench that made the demons engulfed by the foul cloud stagger about, clawing at their eyes and opening rents in their faces as mucus flowed from their mouths, nose, and eyes.

  Alons' perceptions of reality, already strained by the circumstances of the past few months, crashed. For an instant he did not know whether to gibber or weep or fall to his knees and give praise to the Lady.

  The shield wall broke as the myn charged forward to put an end to their adversaries. Desperate to do something – anything – Alons went after the little boy with the wooden sword, grabbed him by the collar and brought him up short.

  The boy gazed up at him, frowning. "Let go. I got a bodacious date with destiny."

  "Go back to the women and children. Back where you belong." Alons watched the ghouls warily as the survivors of the initial onslaught rallied; their ululating cacophony sending a shiver up his spine despite his familiarity with their noises.

  The myn from their camp broke into orderly groups of five. Alons could hear Birthe shouting orders amidst the ghoul chorus. They were not fighters like Alons and Horst, but they were managing admirably. Whether Horst realized it or not, he had become second to their leader, Frantz, and the people obeyed Birthe without question, assuming that she spoke with the voice of her husband.

  The boy pulled lose, glanced back and saw the crone nod. "Name's Bodisaniwi and I'll be back." Then he ran for the courtyard.

  Alons watched the orderly chaos of Birthe directing her five units of five. He counted ghouls as they dragged them past him to burn the remains in the courtyard. Ichorous blood – if blood it was – a purple so dark it verged on black, streaked the snow behind the corpses, leaving long trails to the gates.

  "Forty," muttered Alons. "If not for our new allies, they would have overwhelmed us."

  He trudged toward the gates and Abby joined him, sticking her big nose in his face and pulling on his ears. Battle always left him with an odd, emotionless clarity. And that mood always provoked Abby into attempting to distract him.

  "Stop that." Alons chuckled reluctantly when she kept it up and batted at her in feigned disapproval. His mood shifted, thawing first into amusement and then into joy. Alons slipped his arm under her neck and pressed her big equine cheek against his own. "I love you, Abby. You've brought the light back into my life. You're the only female I've ever loved, so be gentle with my heart, you outrageous beast."

  : Love you. : She whickered, brushing her words across him with her mind voice as well.

  Alons walked with his arm around her neck, playing with her ears and hugging her over and over again. He halted just inside the gates, his brow furrowing. Something more, lost amidst the strangeness, had been missed. He turned about and stared back down Meinhardtstrasse. Alons' eyes went back and forth between the wagon standing in the courtyard and the street.

  The wagon had left no tracks.

  Alons approached the wagon cautiously as if it were a viper that might rear up and bite him.

  Abby nudged him into the wagon's side. : Silly human. Dyna's ability to get myn into and out of trouble is both legion and legend, but her wagon doesn't bite. :

  Alons caught the edge, steadying himself, his cheeks burning. He regarded all the strangeness with interest. He ran his fingers along the side of an overloaded wagon sitting in the courtyard with four stout horses standing in their traces. Seven tents stood with their front panels rolled up, displaying the goods beneath them. Behind them were twenty-odd horses, caparisoned in elegant saddles and bridles. Armor and weapons occupied one tent, and Alons could see where his fellows had gotten their shields and spears from.

  : Dyna found me. I was lost and looking for you. She had my sire and his harem in tow. :

  "Who is she, Abby?"

  : She's a peddler who sells second-hand magic items and many other things. :

  "She's more than that."

  : Her secrets are her own. She's here as a favor to the White Lady. She's been visiting all the little bands of survivors. :

  "Then that's enough for me."

  "Alons! Alons!"

  A desperate female voice snapped his attention around and he saw Dietlinde, Horst's sister-in-law, running toward him. Her dress had blood stains, yet she looked unharmed. Alons quickened his step and caught her as she stumbled.

  "What is it?"

  "Horst. I can't get the bleeding stopped. Those mother-damned creatures tore his side open."

  Alons kept his arm around her shoulders as he quickened his steps. "I saw Father Franz talking to Dyna. He'll know what to do." His brow furrowed deeply, and he muttered at Dietlinde. "By Our Lady, I would have fetched Franz immediately had I known Horst was hurt that badly. Forgive my lack of diligence, Dietlinde. Forgive me." He went on and on like that, never giving Dietlinde a chance to answer as he hurried her around the wagon.

&n
bsp; Father Franz and Dyna stood arm in arm, leaning together like a fond old couple a few feet inside the courtyard. The four children were nowhere to be seen.

  "Your pardon, Father Franz, Horst needs you. The creatures tore Horst's side open and Dietlinde can't staunch the bleeding."

  "On my way. Stay and talk to Dyna. She's brought us aid and is offering us a very kind deal."

  Alons started after them and Dyna's hand came down on his arm, halting him with surprising strength for a withered old woman.

  "We gotta talk, Alonzo."

  Alons flinched. "Alons."

  "Yeah, we gotta talk. I was supposed to have this talk with Horst, but he's in no condition to listen. I can only stay a few days. Then I have to get back to Red Wolf; there's a war in the offing up there."

  "There's a war here, Frau Dyna."

  "You folks already got help coming. I'm needed more up there. Me and some friends is all the lycans got."

  "Lycans! I have always wanted to meet one. The world is filled with enchantment and ever have I longed to see it." Alons' voice went wistful, until he noticed that Abby was not with him. He looked about. "Abby? Abby, where are you?"

  The wynderjyn trotted around the end of the wagon. : Here, Beloved. I was talking with my sire, Glimmerdeign. He's bonded Horst and is worrying. :

  "So he's been bonded by a sacred steed, as I have. I am not surprised. He's a good and pious mon." Words spilled out of Alons as fast as he thought of them, despite his efforts to hold it back. "I could not keep Abby with me in Nubyrlon. It would have gotten me burned alive as an apostate. So I hid her on my estate. When I got free of the fallen city, I went home for her. I found the estate burned to the ground, my servants slain, and Abby gone." Alons started to walk off again and once more Dyna stopped him.

  "Yah, she told me all of that and with twice the detail. Come on, We're going to my place for a little talk, Alons. I need to bring you up to speed on things."

  Alons disliked her strange way of speaking, but refused to be rude to her. "Which tent?"

  "Not a tent. Come a bit closer, Abby." Dyna placed one hand on Alons and the other on Abby. Golden light engulfed them, and Alons' body tingled violently.

  The snowy courtyard vanished. The tingling ceased. Alons dropped to his knees with a cry, burying his face in his hands. "Sweet Lady! Where are we?"

  "My garden and I think you need a drink." Dyna snapped her fingers, causing a silver tray to appear with a multitude of glasses and three bottles of liquor.

  Alons peeked through his fingers, straightened and ran his gaze across the lovely garden filled with blue flowers of every kind imaginable. A quiet pool of sparkling water spread near enough for him to dip his fingers into it. An image formed in the surface:

  A group of children played in a town comprised of tree houses and quaint white cottages trimmed in bright colors. Alons became gradually aware of the absence of adults. A little girl with sparkling frosty hair raced through on the back of a one-horned goat, brandishing a wooden sword. A pack of children chased after her, laughing.

  "Is this real?"

  "Ayup. Place's called Summersnow."

  "Can you tell what they are saying?"

  "Damned if I know," said Dyna. "I've never figured out how to make a talkie out of it." She pushed the tray closer to him. "Have a drink. Settle your nerves."

  Alons eyed the three containers. A tall-necked, pot-bellied bottle of sapphire blue liquid suggested wine. The short, stout earthenware jug suggested whiskey. The third was a cut crystal, rectangular bottle with a golden liquor that Alons could not decide its nature.

  "What are they?"

  Dyna patted the blue wine bottle. "That one's from Faewin. It's Blue Dreams. One of the finest wines you'll ever taste. The jug is Dragonsbreath. It's potent stuff. It'll knock the top of your head off if you're not used to strong liquor. Lycans love it. That one there..." She touched the cut crystal. "Now, that one is the smoothest whisky on the continent. It's brewed by a family in Doronar, and they are the only ones who drop the e out of the whiskey."

  Alons poured three crystal glasses and tasted each. The whisky and the wine were delightful; however, Dragonsbreath made Alons gasp, his eyes water and his throat burn. His surroundings tilted and teetered and finally settled. He felt for an instant like he was about to fall out of his skin. "Lycans drink this stuff?"

  "With every meal and frequently in between." Dyna poured herself a glass of Dragonsbreath, drank it and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "That's my kind of drink."

  Angrim males prided themselves on their ability to drink, and Alons’ capacity had just been shamed by an old crone as thoroughly as his fighting skills had been by a pair of boys. Attempting to distract himself from his burning cheeks, Alons pulled off his gloves and brushed his fingers across the water and the image changed:

  Horst's bedchamber appeared. Four myn were clustered around the side of a curtained bed large enough to hold four. The curtains had been tied open and tucked around the stalwart posts. Franz's long, grey hair was unmistakable, even from the back. Alons could not tell Birthe from Dietlinde until Birthe settled on the edge of the bed to brush her fingers across Horst's forehead and he caught a glimpse of her face. The fourth was a girl with marmalade hair who looked about twelve or thirteen – one of Dyna's strange children. Lion crept onto the huge bed and laid his head upon Horst's chest.

  A wave of melancholy swept over Alons.

  "Birthe loves him. So does the dog and Dietlinde too, although that's more sisterly. I was in love once."

  Having finished the other two, Alons stared into the glass of Dragonsbreath, gathering his courage to drink that also. "I was in love..." He stretched his neck, closed his eyes; his mouth twisting against the pain. "In Angrim they burn myn like me."

  "Pagan?" Dyna tilted her head, leaning toward him.

  "That also. But before that. I – I loved this beautiful young boy ... barely sixteen. He was a prodigy. A sculptor, as beautiful in body and spirit as he was talented." The strong liquor had loosened his tongue without Alons noticing. He poured another glass of Dragonsbreath, saluting his masculinity as he drank it and suffered the effects, which were not as bad this time. Alons was getting used to it.

  "Oooooh." Dyna's eyes widened. "You were lovers?"

  "Nein. I was his patron." He saw her drink another serving of Dragonsbreath and downed his, grimly deciding to match her drink for drink if it killed him: Alons refused to be drunk under the table by a crone. Magical crone or not, she had pricked his pride.

  "So you've got a big helping of honor guilt?"

  "Nein. Fear. If I had guessed wrong about him, he might have turned me into the church. I would have been tortured to save my soul and then burned alive."

  "What happened to him?"

  "That's the irony. It was not me the church took, but him. He was caught using magic. The church arrested him. I begged, bribed and even went to the Kyser, all for naught. The day they executed him, I left to seek the wisdom of the Hermit of Jasmine Falls in Beltria. I became an apostate there. I found peace in the comforting arms of the White Lady and took her as my liege-god."

  Alons chugged another glass of Dragonsbreath and swayed. "Forgive me for becoming maudlin. I think I'm drunk."

  "Not near drunk enough," replied Dyna, refilling all three of his glasses. "In vino veritas."

  "Priest tongue. In wine truth. I was schooled in that."

  "Drink some more and give me some more truth."

  Alons managed a tremulous grin. "I feel strange and it is not just the liquor. I have never told anyone what I am telling you, but it somehow seems right. Maybe I am overwhelmed by the oddness and worry of the day."

  "Here, let me help you with some of that truth." Dyna patted his shoulder. "Some of my favorite folks are corsach."

  "What's that?" Alons lowered his eyes to gaze into the sapphire blue liquor he held.

  "Homoseksueel."

  Alons tilted his head, glancing at her from the co
rner of his eyes. "How do they hide it?"

  "They don't. It's no big crime in most lands outside of Angrim and Beltria."

  "Still, I fear..."

  "You don't believe that your White Lady is changing that? Sharani are triadic."

  "I had not considered it. It is hard to let go of the fear." Alons once more matched her drinking. "The White Lady told me it would change. But I think ... I..." He blinked and felt the liquor dragging at him. "When this war is ended and the victory won, I wish to go to one of those other lands. Suggest one and see that I don't forget."

  "Red Wolf. I'll wait for you there."

  "Red Wolf it is. Don't let me forget." Alons' awareness went black, and he fell into the pool.

  "No way in nine hells am I gonna let you forget." Dyna overturned the tray reaching him. She pulled him out, rose with him in her arms as if he weighed less than a feather and vanished back to Angrim with him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  OF HOPES AND BOYS

  Veranoctem 7, 1077 AQ

  Isranon and Anksha occupied the same cozy suite they had on their last visit a year ago. Back then, Isranon had been her blood-slave – although they had concealed it for most of their visit, leading Edvarde and his household to think of her as his familiar. Love and Isranon's rogue magic had turned the tables on their relationship, altering the arcane link between them. His power had crossed the boundaries of species and Anksha, last of her kind, now carried his child. Isranon filled a large, wing-backed chair and she curled on his lap, purring. Dressed in simple clothes, Isranon looked more like a blacksmith than a mage. The illness had not yet stolen enough of the muscle from his stocky frame for unfamiliar eyes to detect it fully. Those who knew him well could see the difference, recognize the loss and be concerned about it. Over the past couple of years, the muscle had begun to melt away, sapping the physical strength Isranon had once taken such joy in with it.