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

  He lowered the book to his lap to observe Konrad sitting on Thorben's bed, trying to persuade the mind-torn duke to talk to his doll. Now that he had a playmate, Konrad's eyes were brighter than Clovis had seen them in months. Thorben accepted the doll from Konrad, kissed and hugged it before returning the doll.

  "If you're a good boy, they won't hurt you," Konrad insisted with childlike exaggeration.

  Thorben nodded solemnly. "I be good."

  Clovis heaved a sigh, returning his gaze to the book with melancholy whispering through him. Aww, Konrad, how little that will avail you come spring. The Lady willing, you'll die first and with the least suffering.

  Bonifaz drew closer to Clovis, striving to conceal the deliberateness of his approach. "What happened to Reynhard Dreslin?"

  "You've waited a long time to start asking questions." Clovis rose, placed his book in the chair and moved to the dining table where he poured a glass of wine.

  "I'm asking now."

  "So be it. Reynhard's dead. I watched him die when Maruska's larva ate its way out." Clovis' gaze went distant, he took a sip of wine and then downed the entire glass.

  Bonifaz thumbed at the lip of the bottle. "If you broke the end off, it would be a weapon."

  "If you're suggesting physical resistance, it has been tried. Zyne knocked us all down with a word, and they kept us shackled to benches for a week."

  "Which one is she?"

  "Lady Zyne is the one who sings. She is in command of this expedition to subdue Angrim. Ynkendio is her general. In case you've not encountered him yet, he's no longer human. He's become a demon like Maruska – his wife."

  "Haven't seen him yet. And I..." Bonifaz saw his father stroking the doll, suppressing a shudder. "I want to thank you.... Except for a few knots, my mind is my own." He scratched at his beard, and his gaze raked the room, all in an attempt to avoid Clovis' eyes. "My brother is grateful also. We'll spend our last months as our own men. Then again, perhaps it would have been better to have had our minds shattered so as not to live with the approach of our deaths."

  "Sit down and have some wine." Clovis waved the bottle at him. "Maruska gave her people orders to keep us as well cared for as fattened oxen."

  Bonifaz dropped into a chair and accepted a glass. "It's what we are, isn't it?"

  "Basically. Now, I have a question for you. How did you manage to avoid capture so long?"

  "The palace and the cathedral are built upon the ruins of the pagan temples that were here when we conquered it. My ancestors razed them. A few years ago, I found my way through a hole in some crumbling masonry and into one of them. There's a strange little old woman who lives down there. She calls herself Mother Dolorous.

  "A strange name." Clovis sipped his second glass of wine.

  "A strange crone." Bonifaz stood for a moment and brought his hand palm up to mid-chest before dropping back into his chair. "A dwarf or a midget. I've no idea which. She always gave me cookies and milk when I was a boy."

  Clovis lowered his glass, running his forefinger up and down its side as he considered that. "Did she turn you in this time?"

  "I don't think so. We escaped into the ruins along with twenty soldiers of my father's personal guard. Dolorous appeared as she always did. She sat at a little table in a broken gallery, drawing. My father started shouting at her to stop fiddling around and show us the way out of the city. She ignored him, speaking only to me. She told us that there was a moon lock on the door to the underground passage and it would not open until the first night of the full moon, but she would see that we were fed and cared for until then. We never saw her servants, but we were given rooms. Each day we had fresh linens, and there was a banquet table that was never empty."

  "Like a fairy tale."

  "Yes. Exactly so." Bonifaz rubbed his face, unease creeping into his voice as he continued. "There's an altar down there. I found it while exploring as a boy. When I was twelve or thirteen I had a bitter argument with Cardinal Sanger and started placing offerings on that altar in rebellion. One day, our White Lady appeared to me. I've placed offerings there ever since."

  "An altar?" Clovis sucked in an astonished breath and nearly choked on his wine. His mine whirled with possibilities and true hope for the first time. If there was a heavily consecrated altar beneath the building, then maybe the White Lady could save them. "An ancient altar to Our Lady! No wonder you were safe down there. But how did you get caught?"

  Bonifaz' eyes filled suddenly with tears, his features twisting into tortured lines. "I could not resist sneaking off at night to leave her offerings and speak to her. One night my father followed me. He ... Oh Precious Lady forgive me. He desecrated it. And the next morning the demons found us."

  Clovis' hopes of rescue crashed, and together they wept.

  * * * *

  Two days after awakening with the worse hangover of his life, Alons had stirred from his bed excited: it was choosing day. Dyna had promised them all three gifts of their choosing from her goods as well as armor and weapons – even the children would be armed and armored. He had already combed through all the goods in the tents and knew what he wanted.

  Dyna had loaned them magical baskets of fruit and vegetables that never went empty and told them that the baskets would disappear on the first day of summer. For now, it was heaven in the kitchen.

  Hours before dawn, Alons paced his huge bed chamber with all the restless eagerness of a child, beguiled by wonder and the bountifulness of the magical crone. He drew his sheepskin-lined leather cape tighter. He had built up the fire in the hearth, but it had not yet warmed the entirety of his chamber. Pacing would not make the hours pass faster, so Alons considered going to the ballroom, which had been turned into a barn, to visit Abby. Then his thoughts strayed to Horst, and he decided to check on his friend before going to visit her.

  Alons headed down the corridor. The tapestries hanging upon the wood-paneled stone walls helped to keep the chill out. Thankfully very little had been disturbed in the late duke's palace; there had been no looting to speak of. Their first day there, Alons had quietly laid claim to all of the jewels and coin the Duke and his wife's disappearance had left behind. The bodies that he and Horst had found were not enough to account for even a fraction of the missing populace. Alons suspected that spring and the melting of the snows would reveal much.

  As he turned down the corridor leading to Horst's chambers, Alons saw Dietlinde running toward him with her skirts held up to free her legs. She halted when he reached her and threw herself on him. "Alons! Fetch Franz! He's taken a turn for the worst."

  Alons gave her a reassuring hug and set off without stopping to reply.

  He reached the door to Franz' chamber and pounded on it. "Father Franz, Horst has had a turn for the worse."

  Getting no answer, Alons opened the door and crossed the parlor to the bedroom door, which he rapped his knuckles across twice. Still getting no answer, Alons poked his head in. His eyes went wide and his cheeks colored. "Oh, pardon me. I ah hmn."

  A beautiful nude woman lay sleeping in Franz' bed with one arm across the old priest. A mass of strawberry blond hair spilled across her pale shoulders. Another corner of Alons' mind went ass over teakettle.

  Dyna sat up, the covers falling to her waist and leaving her pert breasts bare. "You got a problem, Alons?" She pointed at a chair with the air of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

  Alons swallowed and sat in the chair, glancing back and forth between her face and her breasts as his body reacted to a degree he had never experienced before with a female. "Do I know you?"

  "Course you do. I took you to my garden and got you drunk."

  "Dyna?"

  Franz stirred, waking at the sound of their voices. "Is something wrong?" he asked sleepily.

  "Birthe sent me for you. Horst is worse." Alons pointed at Dyna. "What about her?"

  "I'll get dressed and go to him." Franz answered the statement and blinked at the question, turning to his bedmate. "Oh, I see.
Get some clothes on, please Holy One? And tamp down the divine aura? It's confusing his reactions."

  "Just Dyna, if you please. Familiarity breeds contempt, and contempt gets smacked upside the head."

  "Holy One? Is she ... no, she can't be."

  "The White Lady? No, Alons, she isn't."

  Dyna slid from the bed and summoned clothing from home, covering herself in black leather and an ermine cape before hanging a mace from her golden belt. "How much you gonna tell him, Franz?"

  "All of it. It's only proper that he know." Franz threw on a warm robe.

  Alons nodded. "Please. My mind is filled with the noises of confusion."

  "This is Dyna's true form. Dynanna is yuwenghau – a demi-god." He headed for the door without another word.

  "Chin up, Alons." Dynanna hugged him.

  "Are you a god?"

  "They call me the Trickster. I'm here because I owe your White Lady ten favors. I raided her armories and got caught." Dynanna chuckled at the memory. "She put me in a cage, and only let me out after I promised her those favors. I always keep my promises. It's good for business."

  "It's good for getting out of trouble also, it seems."

  "Now, you're catching on."

  "What about Horst?"

  "Horst will be fine. I got more resources than most of the Elder Gods. You count it."

  Alons laughed suddenly and hugged her back. "I guess you would at that."

  Dynanna winked and they walked out together, heading for Horst's chambers.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DIVINE WINDS

  Veranoctem 11, 1077

  Anksha scampered down the dank, stone stairs into the dungeons where Edvarde housed her blood-slaves, leading the three senior mages, Merick and Nans. A thread of nervousness caused Anksha's childhood patois to thicken.

  "Had fifty." She flashed her fingers at the mages, counting. "Took all in single night. Only have forty-one now."

  Anksha reached the bottom and darted to the table where a pair of guards sat. Nans stayed beside her as the mages and their assistants spread out behind them.

  For a dungeon, the place was impeccably clean. The corridor had been swept and incense burnt to reduce the moldy, dank smell.

  "Legend says that the pain when you take them is excruciating," said Teague, scanning the heavy wooden doors of the cells, lips tight and eyes both wary and curious.

  Anksha's tail drooped and her reply came out barely audible. "Ask my Isranon. He says it was."

  Nans gave Anksha a warning glance, but it was already too late. Teague had heard her.

  Teague's brow furrowed and she inclined her head with a gesture for everyone to move back. "You bit him?"

  "She bit him," snarled Nans, "and it's not what you're thinking, Teague. Not at all."

  Anksha's tail drooped. "It was a mistake. I didn't know who he was."

  "He's your blood-slave?" asked Koejelus.

  "Not now."

  Merick stepped closer and pointed at Anksha's belly. "She's pregnant."

  "Isranon put it there," Anksha grinned hopefully. "My Isranon is a daddy."

  "But you're two different species," interrupted Cordwainer.

  "When my Isranon became demon-eater, he put it there."

  "Lord Isranon is a mon of many extraordinary abilities. He has swollen the belly of the Beast of Brandrahoon." Merick chuckled. "And that explains it all, my lords and ladies. Love is a strange magic all its own."

  "Now look at my slaves?" Anksha glanced from face to face.

  "Show us your slaves, Lady Anksha," said Merick.

  "Fifty seems an incredible number, even for the Beast," Koejelus said.

  "Was angry. They stole my Isranon. They hurt him."

  "What happened in Ocealay?" Teague's voice lowered suspiciously.

  "High Captain Tamric's dinner party turned out to be an ambush," replied Nans. "He kidnapped Isranon – long story, I'll go into detail later, Teague."

  "I expect you will." Teague's tone was filled with the sarcasm of a commander addressing a recalcitrant private.

  Nans ignored that. "Isranon was taken. Anksha got the rest of us out. However, in the course of escaping, we discovered that one of the captains was sa'necari."

  "Tamric? I've always thought he was a bit too arrogant for his own good."

  "Liuthan Loosestrife, Stygean's father. Anksha ripped through Ocealay like it was made of paper, ferreting out all the hidden sa'necari there within hours, desperate to get Isranon back. And yes, she took fifty. Actually more than that. She killed a few as she went along."

  "What is she, really?"

  "A demon-eater. Her race was one of Ishla's creations during the last godwar."

  Anksha looked from face to face, the tip of her tail lashing back and forth at the way they discussed her. "I am a law unto myself. I am the demon-eater, the troll-tamer. I am the Beast of Brandra–Isranon."

  Cries and moans rose up as she walked the rows of cells. Cordwainer's eyes shifted from door to door. "What's wrong with them?"

  "Presence pain. My nearness causes it." Anksha bounced along on the balls of her feet. "It eases when I feed on them, but there are too many to feed upon all of them each day."

  She picked a cell and opened it with a key hanging from her waist. The inhabitant lay upon a bed of straw. The deepness of the amaranthine color of his eyes told them that he was steeped-in-death. He held a cloth to his lips to control the drool and froth coming from the sagging edge of his mouth. Other than that he made no movement.

  "He's sick..." said Merick.

  "The steeped-in-death don't get sick." Koejelus moved backwards, making a warning sign, and then curiosity got the better of him and he settled on his haunches for a better look at the sa'necari.

  "This one is."

  "What's wrong with him?" Teague asked, boldly stepping close to him while the others held back.

  Anksha pushed his sleeve up, showing long splotchy patches. "The withering. I've been feeding on him for months. His mage centers died. There's no magic left in him."

  "You burned the magic out of him?" Cordwainer shivered. It was an old punishment among mages, to burn the shaukras out on those convicted of serious misdeeds. It was gentler to sever the connections and leave the shaukras alive.

  "I ate it."

  The sa'necari's voice emerged raspy and struggling, "End it. Have mercy, Anksha. End it."

  She knelt beside him, turned his head to expose his neck and sank her fangs into him.

  He shuddered, his body convulsing, and then he stilled in death.

  Cordwainer turned chalky white. "We need to burn the body so he won't rise."

  Anksha shook her head. "When I bite them they cannot rise. My Isranon will not rise undead when he dies. I bit him." A long sob broke from her throat as she turned from the dead sa'necari. "My poor Isranon."

  "How does he feel about that?"

  For answer, Anksha crouched down and sang to them in purring tones,

  A twilight path that runs east of the sun

  So that my hand summons Dawn before I die

  To stand in the light, to know its touch

  So my hand touches God before I die.

  I will not fear my blood upon another’s lips,

  I will step into the flames of righteousness,

  Sweet suffering of freedom for my belief,

  I will burn, but I shall not rise in darkness

  A path at twilight runs east of the sun.

  Dawn now summons for me to die,

  The path is barred, the gates are locked,

  I rest, I dream, from me they’ll hear no cry.

  I never found the twilight path of shadowed sun,

  Yet sun it was. In the light I could not touch,

  I built my house of sticks and set it burning.

  This day I die, from fate I will not run.

  I stand within the womb of the flames.

  I perish reaching for the Dawn

  My honor clean, my ash remains />
  I have not lived in vain.

  Merick shivered. "I shall never understand your Isranon, but I'm drawn to him."

  The mages shared a disturbed glance and went silent until Koejelus spoke up. "I think we have seen enough for the day. We have much to consider before we make our final decision."

  Teague nodded and led the retreat back to the stairs.

  Anksha lingered, staring up into Nans' face. "Did I do something bad?"

  "No, Mama Lion, you did fine." Nans lifted Anksha and the demon-eater settled in her arms, head laid on Nans' shoulder and legs tight around her waist. "I want my Isranon."

  "I'll take you there."

  Merick stole closer to the corpse and saw the skull mark burned into its forehead. "Not all of them have that mark. What is it?"

  Anksha peered over Nans' shoulder at him and abandoned her childhood dialect to speak in clear Engla. "Those I took first do not have them. Isranon cast Revelation, and those we had not yet found were marked by it."

  "Revelation?" Cordwainer's brows went up. "Less than one mage in a thousand can cast that."

  * * * *

  An unused wing of the manor quartered Isranon's army with the officers on the upper floor. The nibari had been quartered on the floor between the officers and the lower ranks to make access to them limited and guarded. One end became the military brothel and the other the common room.