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LYCAN BLOOD: VOLUME SEVEN
THE SHADOWED PRINCES
BY
JANRAE FRANK
ISBN 978-1-60089-430-5
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2008 Janrae Frank
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written
permission.
For information contact:
PageTurnerEditions.com
PageTurner Editions/Futures-Past Fantasy
A Renaissance E Books publication

DEDICATION
I am dedicating this to my first readers:
Mark Prins, Steven Beeho, and Andrea Wideman. Thanks for all the input, the
aggravation, the arguing, and the fact that you're not afraid to tell me when
I'm wrong. No one could hope for a better set of first readers.

THE EXILE'S CURSE
When the Serpent comes, they all shall perish,
The Redhands fall like sheaves of grain,
Until only the Exile shall remain
Of those who own their name.
When Fireborn law breathes hot upon the root
One born of fire shall perish for the truth
The exile's victory shall be his pardon
Those he claims will rule
The prince from shadows shall emerge
To sit a blood drenched throne
...Alistar Weems’ dying words.

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THE THREE BROTHERS
Once there were three brothers, Brandrahoon the vampire, Isranon called the
Dawnhand, speaker to spirits, and Waejonan the Accursed, first of sa'necari.
Isranon defied his brothers and was destroyed, his descendants forced into the
darkness.
St. Tarmus of Lorendon

THE FIRST MOTHERS
We howled to the moon one winter's night
And she howled back to give us might
From all the packs gathered ‘neath her light
She chose among us one single wight
Tala took that male to her silvery home
She told the packs to hide, not roam
From that mating, Navaryn came
To make us men in more than name
Navaryn, first mother to us all
By her blood our shapes are tall
Pandeena, second mother to us all
When they howl, heed their call
They gave us laws, the ways, and speech they changed all things within our
reach
The ways of culture we were taught
To bring us from old Skawtsslund fraught
By dangers vile and dangers fell
So goes the ancient, ancient tale
Navaryn, first mother to us all
By her blood, our shapes are tall
The woodland god, at their pleading,
Opened a Gate Arcane to end our bleeding
On the strands of Skawtsslund fraught
With the dangers mankind brought
Pandeena, second mother to us all
When she howls heed well her call
We passed between the pillars tall
To these new lands beyond man's pall
We settled here and built our lives
Where lycan kind can grow and thrive
In a new world of hope and promise
Beyond the reach of murdering Thomas.

CHAPTER ONE
THE THANES AND THE BASTARD
Lady Kady Maguire, six months pregnant, folded her hands together across her
swollen belly. Her flaxen curls had grown out and hung to her shoulders. She
wore her hair brushed behind her ears and secured in place with elegant clips.
The night after she killed Cormic Parry in the Difficult Horse Tavern for
trying to kidnap her, Kady had shown her hair off as a symbol of making a new
beginning. The abused daughter of a tavernmaster with little hope for the
future, Kady persuaded Cahira Sinclair, Kynyr's grandmother, to take her on as
an apprentice. Kady had not really expected Cahira to accept her, because
eighteen was considered too old to start an apprenticeship; since most cubs
were apprenticed at ten. She fell in love and married Kynyr Maguire, only to
discover that her dashing guardsmon was actually the bastard prince and heir
to the lycan realm of Red Wolf. Treachery had struck him down, leaving him
crippled and ill; however, in her heart, he would always be her Kynyr, strong
and capable.
She regarded her husband with fond and loving eyes.
"We won, Kynyr."
Kynyr stirred in his wheel-chair. His chiseled features, which had been so

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handsome, were gaunt with deep purple circles beneath his blue eyes, rendered
haggard by lines that aged his face beyond his twenty-one years. “We won a
battle. Not the war."
"We'll win the war, too.” Her tone of voice betrayed her: she sounded as if
she were trying to convince herself as well as Kynyr.
"I want to believe that, Kady. I really do. But it won't be easy.” Bitterness
at being crippled edged his words, although he tried to hide it more and more.
Iollen Newell, the one-armed widower who worked for them as an odd jobber, had
slapped him with a stinging accusation of cowardice, jolting Kynyr into trying
to cope with his situation.
"I'm not saying that it will be."
Belgair Doherty, the Captain of Claw's Guardsmyn, had thrown in his lot with
Kynyr's mortal enemy, Malthus Estrobian. A bloody purge of the guardsmyn,
prelude to a coup, had left many of Kynyr's friends dead or wounded. The next
morning, Belgair attacked the Maguire Estate. Tobrytan MacFie had marched an
army from Clan MacLachlan across a makeshift bridge during the night, arriving
in time to hand Belgair's forces a devastating defeat. Belgair himself had
perished in the battle, cut down by Kynyr's legendary grandfather, Todd
Sinclair.
"Kynyr Maguire?” A giant of a lycan entered the room and raked his amber eyes
across Kynyr. He stood six seven, with big, thick bones, black hair, and fair
skin. His air of casual arrogance proclaimed an ability to tackle whatever
life threw at him and beat it into submission.
Kynyr stared uneasily. He had never seen anyone larger than Todd. He let the
brake off on his wheel-chair and rolled forward. “Yes, I'm Kynyr."
A smile blossomed on Kady's face. “Hello, Stone."
Stoneriver had been born Brock Redhand, the younger brother of the late
chieftain Claw. By rights, Stone should have been old. The average lycan
lifespan was one hundred twenty. He looked barely thirty, although he was well
past one hundred.
"There are no miracles, except those we make for ourselves,” said Stone.
“Allow me."
Kynyr could not think of what to say and so sat motionless, watching Stone
roll up his own sleeve. Then he pushed Kynyr's out of the way and pressed his
forearm to his, skin to skin.
The prince could not do magic, but he could see the patterns of arcane
energy—an inheritance from his grandmother, Cahira. Stone spoke words in a
language that Kynyr, fluent in many tongues, had never heard before. A pattern
of crimson and azure wrapped around their arms. A jolt of energy rushed
through Kynyr, filling him with a sense of well being. His body tingled from
the tips of his toes and fingers to the top of his head.
"What was that?"
"Shared Life done wrong.” A leisurely smile, laced with cockiness, spread
across Stone's face. “I can't say how much good it will do, but my kinsmon
Dynarien says it might surprise you."
"You're a lifemage?"
"No. I just do tricks. There will be no more chieftains in Red Wolf, if I have
any say in it, and I think I will have a lot. No, there will be a king."
"Who?"
"Kynyr Maguire."
His name, so simply spoken, stunned Kynyr, and he repeated an old Creeyan
proverb without thinking. “Duty is where you find it."
Kady moved closer, and laid her hand over Kynyr's squeezing it.
The edges of Stone's mouth twitched. “After everything that has happened, I am
surprised that you can still say that."
"What else would I say? I'm Todd Sinclair's grandson.” Kynyr shrugged, grasped
his thigh, and shifted the unresponsive leg into a more comfortable position.
Kady immediately tucked his lap blanket into place again. Kynyr caressed Kady
with his eyes, and then turned back to his uncle. “What did you do to me? What
do you mean by Shared Life done wrong?

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"Do you know what Shared Life is?"
"My grandmother's a mage. My father was a schoolteacher.” Kynyr felt suddenly
defensive. Too many people had assumed in the past—including Malthus—that
because he had chosen to become a guardsmon, he was the usual ignorant sod
with more fight than sense. “Josiah Abelard created it to mimic the gifts of
the lifemages, transferring both blood and life force."
"I see you're an educated mon. Done wrong, it leaves in the random factor, and
what might come of that, no one can predict."
Kynyr considered the implications. It was a strange introduction to his
infamous uncle; so he decided to let the matter drop.
* * * *
The number of banners flying from the tall pole in the middle of the commons
had grown. As each thane arrived for the witan, another banner was added to
the others. The seventeen thanes of Red Wolf had gathered in the capital of
Wolffgard to confirm or deny the last wishes of their late chieftain, Claw
Redhand.
Thane Clennan Doherty was a hard mon. The cut of his dark clothing concealed
the withered left leg and arm; while his glove made a black sheathed claw of
that hand. He drew rein on the common and stared first at the long scaffolds.
The icy weather had preserved the bodies of scores upon scores of myn hanging
from them like grotesque fruit.
"What happened here?” He demanded and then his eyes fell upon a body, set
higher and apart from the rest: Belgair. “They killed my son."
A stout horsemon rode up to him, round as an apple and ruddy cheeked. “It's
been a while, Clennan."
"Vertram,” Clennan acknowledged the Thane of Chandler's Rock. Vertram Devlin
was the richest thane in Red Wolf. Three major trade routes met at Chandler's
Rock and, as a result, his wealth rivaled that of the Redhand family. He was
also a drunken skirt chaser whose present official mistress was Clennan's
eighteen-year-old granddaughter Jocelyn.
"They've split us up, Clennan. Some of us are staying at the Lawgiver House,
others at the Manor, and a privileged few at the bastard's mansion."
"Which way does the wind blow for you, Vertram?"
"Same as yours. Hang the bastard."
Clennan raked the thumb of his dessicated claw across his chin. “Who killed my
son?"
"Todd Sinclair. The legend has returned."
"Legends can die, Vertram.” His tone made that statement a promise.
Two horsemyn reined in behind Clennan, watchful guardians wearing Battle-clan
fingerbones braided into their long pale hair. Slender, straw-haired Faerwald
Davies and his brawny towheaded companion, Lairgan Yates, enforced Clennan's
wishes. They were duelists by trade, bodyguards by circumstance, and—if the
rumors that Vertram had heard were true—they dabbled in assassination at
Clennan's orders. The soulless gaze of a true predator jarred with the easy
set of their mouths, as if they found amusement in everything they saw and
did. Faerwald's thin lips acknowledged Vertram in a manner that sent a shiver
up the thane's spine.
Each of them carried a plain-looking saber with a solid half basket hilt at
their hips and a main gauche on the opposite side. There was nothing fancy
about them; everything was serviceable and practical as befitted myn who knew
their business.
Clennan's eyes drifted again to his son's dangling body. No signs of grief
showed on the Thane's face, nor in his words. His voice remained hard and
steady. “Tell me how my son died."
"I don't know much of it. Todd put a blade in his belly. The one you want to
speak with is Lennox Strahan. However, he's gone into hiding."
"Can you arrange a meeting?"
Vertram nodded his answer, unable to think of what more to say.
* * * *
Sorcha's Wing contained the most spacious suites in the manor; yet it had

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remained empty and unused since shortly after the Lycan Rebellion of 997. With
all the thanes present, Stone had ordered those suites opened and cleaned. As
the rooms became ready, Stone allowed those thanes lodged in temporary
quarters at the Lawgiver House to move into the manor for the duration of
their stay. He hoped to swiftly have them all under one roof where he and his
myn could keep an eye on them. Custom limited each of them to not more than
twenty myn-at-arms at a witan. It did not limit the number of myn in their
baggage train, such as servants and ladies’ maids for those who brought their
mistresses and wives.
He made them draw lots to see who got each suite as they became available;
which irritated them. To his second in command, Lord Reist Devlin Thane-Regent
of Gateshead, this proved awkward when both his father Vertram Devlin and
Clennan Doherty managed to land at the manor ahead of the others. Reist
experienced misgivings toward the entourages of those two, because some of
those ‘servants’ had the look of housecarles and soldiers. Despite the
customary limit, Reist doubted that either of them held any qualms about
sneaking in more fighting myn than they were allowed.
The spacious Audience Chamber of Stone's father, Suleahan Redhand, had been
re-opened and now served as a gathering place for the Thanes and others.
Claw's Great Hall had been relegated to a viewing room for the bodies of the
three members of the Redhand family who had died the day of the purge. Reist
drifted through the Great Hall toward the three coffins on the viewing
platform. Normally, those who died in the winter were not buried until spring.
The ground was too hard to dig graves. The dead were simply laid out on the
rooftops and preserved by the snow that covered them.
However, Stone had given the task of digging to the gryphons and mages of
Lieutenant Jennifer Sherbourne's unit; the latter to thaw the ground and the
former to do the actual digging. The graves had been dug and then covered with
wood panels to keep the snow out until the day of the funeral. A time had been
set for viewing the dead each day. The citizens of Red Wolf started lining up
outside the manor doors at sunrise for an opportunity to pay their final
respects to the dead chieftain. Claw Redhand had been well loved by the
people, if not always by the thanes.
The center of the Great Hall had been roped off into viewing lines. Trestle
tables and rough wooden chairs that did not encourage long spells of sitting
lined the sides. The looms and spinning wheels that once sat near the huge
hearth had been placed in storage; and most of the furniture that had filled
the room had been moved to the Audience Chamber.
Tension threaded Reist when he heard Vertram's voice at the far end of the
dimly lighted hall. Desirous of avoiding his father, he would have turned
around and left had he not heard his wife's voice sharp in reply. He had
married his widowed cousin Regina in a move that had been purely political and
based on atonement. Her husband and his family had been butchered in the
massacre at Gateshead. Thane Cedric Hargrave of Whiteford had then pressed
Reist into marrying her to provide a legal protector to Regina and her two
surviving cubs.
Regina stood facing Vertram, the color heightening in her cheeks as she spoke.
She had put off her black robes of mourning, which startled Reist, and wore a
cobalt blue dress that accentuated the mounds of her breasts with a delicate
kazamerie shawl thrown over it. She carried the saber that Reist had given her
as a wedding gift at her side, hanging from a tooled leather belt. It
destroyed the illusion of femininity provided by the dress, but Reist liked
it.
"The marriage can be set aside, Regina.” Vertram's eyes drifted from her face
to her breasts.
It had been twenty years since Reist had laid eyes on Vertram. He noticed,
with vindictive satisfaction, that his father had gotten fat. A huge paunch
hung over the sword belt worn low on Vertram's hips to accommodate his girth.
There would be no more of his youthful shenanigans such as disguising himself
as a hunter to stalk a bitch whose father objected to him—with that girth,

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Vertram was unmistakable.
"It most certainly cannot.” Her eyes flashed. “Consummation was duly
recorded."
Reist sensed, more than saw, the desperation beneath Regina's words as she
floundered in her defense. He decided to put a show on and swaggered to her
side with a naughty boy gleam in his eyes.
Regina flinched when he put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
"I wondered where you were, Reggie."
Vertram glared at Reist and then exploded, making him wonder how long that
argument had been going on between his father and his wife. “Don't cross me,
Reist."
"Why would I do that, Vertram?” Reist tilted his head with a devil-may-care
smile.
The thane of Chandler's Rock stiffened. “Show some respect! I'm your father."
Anger wilted Reist's determination to make a game of it. His jaw clenched.
“Only because it was your seed that quickened my mother's belly. In none of
the ways that count are you my father. Don't expect any familial pleasantries
or sense of obligation from me. I don't owe you any."
"I have other heirs, Reist."
Reist shrugged. “I disowned you twenty years ago, Vertram. Enjoy your other
heirs. They are all you have.” He looped his arm through Regina's. “Come on,
Reggie. Jenny has called a meeting in the Blue Room."
He led her upstairs and when they passed the Blue Room heading in the
direction of Sorcha's Wing, Regina stopped him and turned to face the door.
“Jenny?"
"I lied. I figured that you wanted to get away from him."
"I did. Thank you."
"Why the dress?"
"For the sake of appearances. I decided I should look like a new bride rather
than a mourning widow.” She lowered her head; an edge of uneasiness lined her
mouth. “Jenny suggested it. We've been going through some chests of clothes we
found stored—with Stone's permission of course."
When Reist and Stone rescued her from the slavers, Regina had had only the
torn dress she had been captured in. Thane Cedric's wife had found a few
things that would fit her before they left Whiteford, but Regina needed a
wardrobe suited to her circumstances.
Reist kissed her hair again, and felt her flinch. “Reggie, you don't have to
be afraid of me. It's only affection. I won't claim my conjugal rights."
He had mounted her only once, which had been on the day of the wedding. The
Readers had needed to confirm consummation to prevent the marriage from being
set aside by the greedy thanes with their eyes upon the lands and the titles
of her children.
"Reist, I'm just..."
"Don't worry about it. The bitches have started gathering in Sorcha's solar to
gossip or whatever it is they do. Why don't you join them? I'll show you the
side stairs so you don't have to cross the roof."
"Bloody thanes ... can't go anywhere without someone to warm their bloody
beds."
Reist chuckled. “That's my Reggie. The soul of propriety and outrage."
* * * *
"I don't understand why I have to return the horses,” Darcy grumped, while
running a comb through her fox red hair. Her mutilated left ear showed for an
instant before being covered as she tied her hair into a tail. The lower end
of the earlobe had been bitten off in a tavern brawl when Darcy was sixteen.
She carried a pair of axes in her belt with a cross-hilted broadsword hanging
from her shoulder.
The night of the purge, Darcy had been sent on a reconnaissance of the manor
grounds, and returned with every single horse she could steal from Claw's
barns and stables, forcing Belgair's troops to fight on foot.
"They're Kynyr's horses now that Claw is dead.” Finn reached out and brushed

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his fingers across his wife's cheek. Cahira Sinclair had completed the repairs
on his right arm and the splints were gone. It hurt and throbbed if he used it
too much; Cahira was a Mender, not a lifemage. The effort required to fix the
extensive damage to Finn's body left Cahira exhausted; which meant that she
had to take it a bit at a time allowing several days between each session to
recover her strength and energies.
When Belgair Doherty, Captain of the Guards to Claw Redhand, turned traitor
and launched a violent purge of the guards, Finn MacIver had been captured and
tortured. Belgair's chastisemon, Damien Kildare, had broken his arms and legs,
dislocated his hips and shoulders, and applied both a silver spiked whip and
hot irons to him.
"They're his only if the thanes don't decide to hang him instead.” Darcy's
lips curled back; she doubled her fists and punched the wall.
Darcy was a battle-bitch; full of temper and savagery, except in the bedroom.
Battle-bitches were rare, but not unheard of. Finn adored her, tantrums and
all.
He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I think you cracked it."
"My knuckles?"
"The wall.” His eyes turned impish and his smile droll.
Darcy stood and examined the wall, finding not a mark upon it. “Oh, you wicked
runagate, Finn MacIver."
"Afraid I won't be running at any gates soon.” Finn indicated the splints on
his legs.
"You know what I meant."
"Yeah."
"So I've got you trapped. You're at my mercy.” Darcy leaned in and kissed her
husband thoroughly.
"Always was. You just didn't know it."
"Ugly cubs do have more fun.” She shoved her hand under his blankets;
receiving a silly grin from Finn when she found the right spot to fondle.
* * * *
The east side of Sorcha's Solar received sunlight through a long row of
windows that alternated in stained glass and clear. A succession of fine
cabinets stood between the windows. Sofas and chairs formed false alcoves
around low tables and higher end tables. A fire burned in the hearth on the
west side, warming the room in ways that the sunlight could not on that chilly
day close to winter solstice. The windowless walls of the west side bristled
with fine portraits of generations of the ruling Redhand family, painted by
artists famous in their day. A sturdy square table, higher than the others,
had place of honor on the west side for playing games.
Merissa Redhand Estrobian sat weeping. The chamber had not been used since
before her birth. The portraits made her feel as if the long dead had their
eyes upon her in judgment of her sins. The one that bothered her most,
however, was the painting of Tarrant Redhand, the brother she had never known
because he had died before her birth: the mon in the picture looked precisely
like Kynyr down to the tiniest detail. The portraits of Tarrant, which now
hung throughout the manor, had been taken down soon after his death because,
Merissa had been told, seeing them had made her mother cry. Claw ordered them
returned to the walls after the details of Kynyr's ancestry came out.
Nearly to term with Malthus’ twins, she felt awkward and uncomfortable at the
best of times. Merissa hated her husband. She could not imagine ever having
loved him. Malthus had murdered her parents, her two aunts, and poisoned her
nephew Kynyr. She wished with all her heart that she could betray him to her
Uncle Brock, who now called himself Stoneriver. However, Malthus was
sa'necari, one of the blood-drinking necromancers at war with her people. His
arcane coercions lay so deeply set in her brain that she could not speak of
what she knew. She had not known that he was sa'necari when she married him.
Like everyone else, Merissa had believed him to be human. It was too late now
and all she could do was mourn.
A witan had not been called since before her birth, and the number of thanes

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that Merissa had met over the years could be counted on one hand. Her mother,
Aisha, had tried to protect her from the backbiting and intrigues of a formal
court by dispensing with them. Merissa found herself unprepared for the degree
of slanderous talk poured into her reluctant ears at every opportunity by the
seven mistresses of the thanes that had accompanied their lovers to the witan.
They sat gossiping and making catty remarks, verbally jockeying for dominance.
Jocelyn Doherty lorded it over them in ways that no one could compete with.
The eighteen-year-old mistress of Thane Vertram Devlin possessed a measured
sensuality gilded with a twist of venom, enhanced by the skilled application
of rouge, eye shadow, and lip-stain. Although she told everyone how much in
love she was with her wealthy paramour, most believed that she loved his money
more.
Jocelyn patted Merissa's hand. “It's just baby blues. You should have seen me
when I had my second one."
"My father and mother are dead,” Merissa snarled. “It's not baby blues."
"So how many bastards have you given Vertram so far, Jocelyn?” Lillian
Morrissey's salacious smile bloomed. She belonged to the thane of
Castleborough, Banan Garrard.
"Just two. You should see the ruby pendant he gave me after I birthed the last
one. I swear it's as big as my fist."
"The greatest sign of a thane's favor is a large belly,” said Lillian, quoting
an old proverb, adding, “And also plenty of jewelry, of course."
Berneen Hamilton, Clennan's sixteen-year-old mistress, dropped her hand to her
belly. The puffiness showed only when her clothes were off, but loomed
conspicuous in her own mind.
Jocelyn noticed the gesture and sneered at her. “Oh, has grandfather finally
managed to get you all nice and full?"
Berneen winced. “Two months ago."
"At least we don't have to worry about him marrying you or something equally
stupid.” Jocelyn sniffed. “He says that, after outliving three wives, he has
no interest is doing so again. No need to dilute our inheritances further."
"He's told me that.” Berneen shifted uneasily, averting her eyes from
Jocelyn's condescension.
Emma Smythe kept her head down, focusing on her embroidery, threading a strand
of lavender floss. She seemed to be no more than fourteen, and yet her belly
was so swollen she looked ready to burst like an overripe melon.
"Such a sorry lot of bloody whores you all are.” Regina Devlin stalked through
the room. “You'll take any worn cock into your hole if it's got a title and
money. Then you parade your swollen bellies around as if they were badges of
honor. You make me sick."
Emma cringed, ducking her head as a sudden tear trickled down her cheek.
"How dare you!” Jocelyn raised her hand to slap Regina.
"Touch me and Vertram will have a dead slut to bury.” Regina jerked Jocelyn
from the chair, sending her tumbling onto the floor, and settled into the
vacated seat. She put her arm around Merissa. “If you need to cry, you need to
cry. Don't listen to them. It looks like the thanes brought their whores, but
not their wives."
Regina's mouth curled around the word ‘whore’ and she mouthed it at them
several times without quite saying it.
Merissa laid her head on Regina's comforting shoulder and wept freely. The
rest of the bitches withdrew to the other side of the room, whispering and
throwing baleful looks at Regina.
"It's always okay to cry, Merissa. I've done a fair bit of that myself
lately."
"Johfrit?"
"And my son Gadhra. They butchered him in front me.” Regina's lips tightened
for an instant. “Those who did it have been sent to hell."
"I'm so sorry about your husband and son."
Regina hugged her. “Then we'll be sorry together."
Darmyk Redhand eyed the gathered bitches distrustfully as he trotted into the

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room with his cat, Kerry, clutched to his chest and something wiggling in his
other hand. He headed straight for Merissa. “Mama?"
Jocelyn gave a high-pitched laugh of disdain. “Speaking of bastards, Merissa.
Here's yours. At least mine are not sa'necari."
Regina bristled. “Just because you're not happy to see me, Jocelyn, don't take
it out on the cub."
Merissa went pale and averted her eyes. They would never have dared talk to
her like that when her father was alive. Her first love had been sa'necari,
the last Dark Brother of the Light, Isranon who now called himself
Dawnreturning. He had left her to rejoin his prince fighting a war he could
not hope to win. Custom had the force of law, and under a less enlightened
ruler than her father Merissa would have been stoned to death for bearing the
child of a sa'necari.
She clutched her three-year-old son to her. Darmyk had developed swiftly, in
those intermittent rushes to maturity that came of having a lycan mother.
Despite his small size, he moved and spoke on a par with a seven-year-old
human.
"Mama, Kerry caught a rat. I don't want him to eat it, Mama.” Darmyk looked up
at his mother solemn eyed and released the squirming rat on her lap. Darmyk
was a wilderkin, with a talent for talking to animals and understanding them.
The rat jumped down and made a beeline for Jocelyn.
The cluster of bitches sprang to their feet screeching. Lillian snatched up a
chair and tried to beat the rat with it, but the chair was too large and the
creature too small. It leaped onto Jocelyn and swarmed up her shoulder before
springing onto a cabinet and disappearing.
"Your filthy little blood-drinker is a beast,” snarled Jocelyn.
Darmyk's lips trembled. “I don't want to drink blood."
"Well, you will and you'll like it once you get your fangs. Filthy sa'necari
bastard.” Lillian joined Jocelyn, glaring at Darmyk. “They should have stoned
your mother for bearing you."
Darmyk burst into sobs.
"Let him alone. He's only a child.” Regina lifted Darmyk onto her hip and held
him. “Come on, Merissa. Let's go sit in the Rose Room. I hear it is a nice
place."
Merissa gave Regina a grateful look and rose to her feet. “My mother always
loved it. It was her special place."
The Rose Room was small—by the standards of the manor—decorated in deep shades
of rose and mauve. Regina lowered Darmyk to the floor and he scampered to join
his mother sitting on the sofa. She crossed to the south wall and admired the
mural of lycans at a picnic in the middle of a rose garden; the males in
hybrid form and the females in human while true wolves romped around them. The
wall hangings were all of pastoral scenes. Sofas and chairs formed half
circles around three low tables, upholstered in matching rose brocades. A
woven reed basket, containing knitting, occupied the corner of a sofa.
"Yours?” Regina asked, lifting a square of pale blue knitting from the basket.
Merissa shook her head. “My mother's.” Fresh tears leaked from her eyes. “My
mother died in this room. Kissie found her on the floor over there."
Regina followed Merissa's pointing finger to a sofa with a pale mauve and
butter-cream yellow brocade covering it. “I'm sorry. I didn't know that."
"I don't mind. I like it here.” Merissa rubbed her eyes. “I feel like she's
watching me. I loved her. She was the only person I could always talk to. I
dream of her."
"Sometimes those who have passed on communicate in dreams. What does she say?"
Merissa averted her eyes, her fingers tracing a pattern on the sofa. There was
so much that Aisha said to her in those dreams. Some of it frightened Merissa,
while other things that Aisha said comforted her. The coercions in her mind
were so strong that Merissa could not speak of her husband in a negative
manner, and so she could not tell Regina that Aisha spoke of a curse upon
Malthus. “She says that the cubs will be born lycan. That our liege-god, Tala,
has promised her a boon. She was a devout bitch."

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"Then let us hope that it is a true dream."
A tiny knock came at the door.
"I swear,” Regina muttered, “If one of those whores has followed us..."
She stalked to the door, chanting ‘whore’ under her breath, and jerked it
open.
Emma flinched at Regina's glare and spoke in a tiny voice with a hopeful smile
flickering uncertainly on her lips. “Can I join you?"
"Come sit with me,” said Merissa, extending a kindly hand toward her.
"Merissa...” Regina cast a dubious glance at Merissa.
"She never joins the gossiping, Reggie."
Emma sucked in a breath, looking close to tears as she edged past Regina and
joined Merissa on the sofa. She took her basket of embroidery from her arm and
placed it beside her. “I don't like them."
Regina's ire melted away at the neediness in Emma's manner. She pulled a chair
close and settled into it. “Which thane do you belong to?"
"Fletcher Matheson, Thane of Ottercreek. I didn't want him. I was going to
marry my Jamie. He was saving up for the brideprice my Da wanted. Only
Fletcher saw me..."
"Damnedable bloody thanes and their appetites.” Regina moved to the sofa and
held Emma while the young bitch sobbed. She wondered how long Emma had been
holding it in before the argument in the solar had brought it all to the
surface. “How old are you, Emma?"
"Just turned fourteen."
Regina burst into a long string of curses.

CHAPTER TWO
REVELATIONS
Todd Sinclair was a legend: the greatest armsmaster the lycan clans had ever
produced, and the last surviving hero of the Lycan Rebellion of 997. At one
hundred and nine, he could feel his years in the aching of his bones on cold
mornings. Age had crept up on him despite the stalwart resistance Todd had
raised against it.
His wife, Cahira, reached for a robe to clothe her nakedness while he pulled
on his trousers. They no longer made love with the intensity they had in their
youth. Age and seventy years of marriage had turned it into an act of
cherishing rather than passion.
Bare to the waist, massive scars showed on Todd's chest and mid-section. Few
things could scar a lycan, but Todd had encountered most of them—and lived to
speak of it. Deep folded lines ran from the wings of his nostrils to the outer
edges of his lips; the crinkles around his dark blue eyes were crevices in the
stalwart earthiness of his features. His heavy eyelids had never lent
themselves to clear expression of emotion. Even those who knew him well
sometimes had difficulty reading his face. His calm, centered mien and steady
patience had won Cahira's heart and drawn her from mourning over the death of
her first love, Tarrant Redhand. Todd never went looking for trouble, but once
it found him was utterly relentless in dealing with it. He was as gentle with
Cahira as he was dangerous to his enemies and those of his family.
He settled onto a chair beside the stool in front of her dresser. “Come here.
I've mussed your hair."
"You're always mussing my hair.” Cahira smiled indulgently, gathered her
hip-length blonde hair over her shoulder, and joined him at her dresser.
Todd brushed her hair lovingly, drawing the brush down in long strokes. When
he finished, he braided it and kissed her cheek.
Every morning for more than seventy years—except when Todd was away—he brushed
her hair. It had streaks of gray in it and the color had faded from the
glorious cornsilk of her youth. She was a tiny bitch, barely five feet tall;
made all the more diminutive by the contrast with her husband.
Todd stood six five and weighed over two hundred and fifty pounds. Most of it
was still muscle despite his advanced age; rock hard and solid, broad through
the shoulders and narrow through the hips. Strands of white streaked his

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bright red hair. Great size and red hair were Sinclair traits. All of his sons
and grandsons had inherited it.
He left the chair, drew on a warm woolen shirt, and buckled on the leather
harness that carried his two basket-hilted claymores at his shoulders. Todd
shoved a pair of viciously curved battle-axes through his belt, and strapped
two lycan fighting knives to his thighs.
She watched him with apprehensive eyes. “I'm afraid, Todd. I haven't been this
afraid since the Rebellion."
"Don't be.” Todd crossed the room again and kissed her thoroughly.
"The thanes ... and the fighting on the borders. Thunder told me about the
massacre at Gateshead yesterday."
"Anyone trying to get at Kynyr will have to go through me first."
"We're getting too old for this, Todd."
"I'll be too old when I'm dead.” The weary tone in Todd's voice, and the
haunted calm of the battlefield in his eyes mitigated the harshness of his
answer. “I failed Tarrant. I'm not failing Kynyr."
He turned away from her and walked out. Every morning, Todd went to the salle
in the Maguire Mansion and worked through his complicated forms and exercises.
Mirrors lined one wall and woven mats took up a third of the room. Cabinets,
weapon racks and a small square table with four chairs occupied the rest of
the salle. He found Stone waiting for him there. The Creeyan commander sat at
the table near the door with a bottle of whiskey open and two glasses set out.
Lycans had a high tolerance for liquor and produced very few bona fide
alcoholics. Drug addicts were more common than chronic drunks; yet even they
accounted for a no more than a tiny percentage of the population.
"I'd have come sooner had I known you were here.” Todd seated himself across
from Stone, assessing him with wary eyes. “It's been a long time, Brock."
Stone's usual arrogance faded in discomfort. Todd had been the only mon to
beat him in the days before the Rebellion; and Stone had given him a grudging
respect as a result. But more to the point, he knew that Todd's legend was
well deserved. “I'd rather you didn't call me that."
Todd shrugged. “Stone then."
"You've gotten old, Todd.” Stone drained his glass and refilled it.
"And you haven't. They're saying you're yuwenghau.” Todd had not credited the
rumor that Stone was yuwenghau—one of those minor divines and demi-gods who
roved the land as divine knights-errant—and occasionally as troublemakers.
Looking at Stone again after ninety years had passed, seeing that he had not
aged and, if anything, grown stronger, Todd rethought his assessment of the
rumor.
"I am.” Stone lowered his head. “You know what Suleahan did to me? He chained
me up. Put me in a mage-locked cage, covered it so that I would not know where
they were taking me ... and abandoned me in a desolate spot in the Black
Mountains. I pounded on that lock for three days before it finally broke."
"Ayup. I suggested it. Your father wanted to execute you ... asked me to do
it. Don't make me regret talking him out of it."
"I'm your ally, Todd. Not your enemy."
"That remains to be seen.” Todd's mouth tightened.
"I suppose."
"I had no desire to spare you. Tarrant begged me to ... the only time I ever
heard him beg ... and it wasn't for himself ... it was for you."
"I didn't know.” Stone stared into his glass for several minutes.
Todd refused to fill the silences with questions and just watched him.
"I'm not the mon I was, Todd. I've spent eighty years in the Netherguard
atoning for what I did to Fianait and others."
"Like Clennan Doherty?"
A smile of rue with a trace of satisfaction touched the edges of Stone's
mouth, and lit his eyes. “I don't regret what I did to Clennan. He tried to
pull a cuckholder's strike on me ... to put a sword through me and Fianait as
I was riding her."
"Doesn't surprise me. Clennan always was the jealous sort ... possessive of

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things he could not own. After you left, he used his injuries to play on
Fianait's sympathies. When the healers said there was too much scar tissue for
her to catch one in the belly again; he abandoned the courtship and made a
play for Searlait. She rejected him soundly.” Todd paused, sidestepped the
issue of Stone and Fianait having been brother and sister, and poured a glass
of whiskey for himself. “Why have you come back?"
"People came looking for me when Claw became ill. I refused to come home until
I met Kady. She appealed to my honor."
"Have you regained your honor?"
"If eighty years of atonement can't give that to me, then nothing in creation
can."
"Perhaps."
Stone's wily arrogance crept back into his face. “I've met Kynyr ... or should
I say Tarrant?"
"He looks just like him...” Todd settled back in his chair, trying not to show
that Stone's change of subject had just hit him where it hurt. He had been
Tarrant's guurmondru, a lycan term that incorporated father, brother, mentor,
friend, and in some cases, protector. Cahira had been secretly betrothed to
Tarrant and pregnant by him at the time of Tarrant's death. Todd had raised
Tarrant's bastard son, Branduff, as his own. “Thinks a lot like him too. Even
Claw noticed. He said it was like having Tarrant back."
"That's not what I'm talking about. He's Tarrant."
"It's not possible. Tarrant was rited. His soul was shattered."
"Kynyr's got only half a soul. I ought to be able to recognize that better
than most. My maternal grandfather is Hadjys. I lost what little humanity was
left in me and ravaged the villages of the Black Mountains. When Hadjys found
me, I was completely insane. He tossed me into the deepest pit of his ninth
hell. I was the only living mon amongst the tormented souls, observing their
punishments, listening to the tale of their sins and their regrets. I spent
nine years in hell. As my sanity returned, I was allowed to ascend to the next
level and the next until finally I could breathe the sweet air of Daverana
once more. I didn't know about the Rebellion until long after it ended."
"What's that got to do with saying Kynyr is Tarrant?"
"There's been rumors among my divine kinsmyn ... that one of the Nine
crystalled the pieces of Tarrant's soul."
Todd sprouted hair along his arms and down the sides of his clean-shaven face.
His lips curled back from his fangs and he snarled. “Give me the truth. I can
see the lie in your eyes, Stone. I know you too well."
"You won't like it, but it won't change the fact that Kynyr is Tarrant."
"Say it."
"When Carneades Iagaris rited Tarrant, he bound a soul crystal into his mouth
before starting the rite. He collected all the surviving pieces, intending to
place them on a hellblade."
"Damn."
"I'm not finished. Have you ever wondered why Dynanna took such an interest in
you?"
"She stumbled on me at Kinsdale Wood.” Tarrant had been captured by the
Waejontori and their sa'necari masters at Kinsdale Wood, where Todd had been
left for dead by his fleeing compatriots. Dynanna found him and nursed him
back to health. He felt indebted to her.
"Every bit of good fortune that has followed you around since that day can be
traced to her. Shortly after you left her care, she chanced upon another of
the sa'necari soul vaults she loves to raid."
"But his soul shattered ... The Bloody Sa'necari doomed Tarrant to wander the
world in torment."
"Usually, when someone attempts to bring back a shattered soul, the infant
dies soon after birth, or dies in the womb. However, Dyna has found ways to
achieve such births successfully—in most cases. The key seems to be bringing
them back into their own lineages or the one they were born into. Possibly
it's because the broken soul has an easier time bonding with those genetics."

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"Assuming that you're right, Stone. Why give the father's soul to his own son
to sire? Especially a son who had no direct connection to the rest of the
family?"
Stone leaned his elbows on the table, his voice taking on an earnest tone,
determined to convince Todd. “At the time, everyone was saying that Aisha was
too old to conceive another child. No one expected her to produce Merissa two
years later. I'm kweigeyl ... by my own choice. Better sterility than risk
siring a monster. Bran was the only option. The pieces of Tarrant's soul would
have kept breaking into smaller and smaller fragments over time until they
were an insubstantial dust of memories scattered through the void. So Dyna
must have been desperate to bring him back while she could still count on a
high probability of success."
"But why bring him back at all?” Todd persisted in his disbelief.
"That's simple. Because you loved him, Dyna gave you a second chance to be
there for him."
The hybrid state faded from Todd as he listened. “Gods, I want to believe
you."
"Tell me, did Branduff meet a little old peddler? Did she give him something
that looks like this?” Stone reached into his pocket and brought out a flat
clear stone with crimson threads in its depths. It hung from a white gold
chain.
Todd straightened and stared. “In Creeya. He helped this crone whose wagon
wheel had gotten caught in a pothole. She asked him what his heart's desire
was and he told her he wanted a son. He already had three daughters and no
sons. She gave him one of those things. Called it a good luck charm. She told
him to wear it when he made love to Ulicia and that it would get him a son.
The family teased him incessantly over it. What is it?"
"Soul crystal. Only three groups use them. The sa'necari, the taladrim, and
the Guild. This one is empty."
"Kynyr..."
"Is Tarrant. Tell me. Has she given him a sword?"
"Yes. Ladyfaith."
Stone's mouth twisted with rue and he chuckled. “Appropriate. Ladyfaith is the
sister blade to Spiritdancer. He'll need it to get the rest of his soul back."
Todd looked thunderstruck as it all sank in, and the hope of his own personal
redemption kindled in his heart. “The first word he learned to say was my
name. The moment that Ulicia would set him on the floor as an infant, Kynyr
would make a beeline for me, saying my name. My name. I never understood why
he did not say ma or da first.” Todd's eyes searched the ceiling, putting more
pieces together. “He told me that Brigit's ghost has appeared to him several
times. He thought she must have confused him with Tarrant because she called
him her prince."
"Dynanna is fond of bringing back powerful myn who have no love for the
sa'necari."
"She's done this before?"
"Many times. Eldarion Havenrain is back. So is Josiah Abelard. She brought him
back twice now."
"Abelard is back? I thought it had to be from his own direct lineage in
accordance with the curse."
"The owner of a mage shop traded Josiah something he wanted in exchange for
several well-filled seed crystals. She used one to bring him back as her son.
The others were sold along with certificates of paternity."
Joy faded from Todd's eyes. “Ladyfaith is no good to Kynyr. You've seen how
crippled he is."
"Miracles have been known to happen."
"What did you do to Kynyr?” Todd eyed Stone closely, trying to perceive
whether there had been harm or aid behind his statement.
"How much lore do you have?"
"My wife is a mage."
Mages were rare among the lycans. When they did produce a mage, they were

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rarely above first level, able to do only small magics. Pandeena and Kady were
among the rarest of the rare; the former a battlemage and the latter a
pan-elementalist.
"Shared Life ... done wrong."
"Who was the donor?"
"Myself."
Dread mingled with hope in Todd's heart. “What if you've made him a monster?
Have you considered that?"
"I think it's worth the risk, Todd. Most of the changes will not be clear
until his soul is healed. You do want to see him walk again, don't you?"
"It depends upon what the price is, Stone. Some prices aren't worth paying."
* * * *
Cooley Blackwood headed for Darmyk's treehouse at his first opportunity since
returning to Wolffgard. He had a present for the boy that Jennifer Sherbourne,
Stone's Master of Mages, had made at Cooley's request. The eleven-year-old cub
looked closer to nine because of his small height and stature, but he carried
himself as confidentially as an adult. His long, white at the edge of blond,
hair hung in a tail down his back. The only thing that he had inherited from
his Waejontori mother was his velvet brown eyes. He wore a pair of lycan
fighting knives strapped to his thighs and he knew how to use them well,
having killed three myn in the last six months; one of them to save Rory, and
later two thieves that had tried to rob him on the road to Three Stones. His
late father, a military courier, had taught Cooley to fight with a knife from
the moment he could hold one steady in his hand.
Ten-year-old Rory Scott trailed after him, looking like a scamp despite the
shoes and new clothes that Cahira Sinclair had bought him. He had a snub nose,
a sprinkling of freckles, reddish brown hair that never stayed combed for
long, and azure eyes that glinted with mischief. The citizens of Wolffgard
considered him the town sneak because he always knew what was going on and
showed up in unlikely places.
"You sure we ought to go there? Malthus threatened to tan our arses if we
stepped onto the grounds again."
"He's got no more rights than a rolled john,” Cooley scoffed. He had been
reared in a brothel, where his mother Silkie was the madam, until he was ten.
Last summer he had been sent to live with Kynyr Maguire following the murder
of his military courier father, Cullen Blackwood, in hopes of being safe
there. He had become Todd Sinclair's youngest student.
"You're not afraid of him, Cooley?” Hamish trailed them. Rory's brother would
not turn nine until spring. He had the same scruffy hair as Rory, but his eyes
were more green than azure.
The Scott cubs hesitated at the edge of the property, eyeing the guards on
duty. One of them was hulking Gorgarty Burr. No one liked Gorgarty Burr, and
more than a few were afraid of the big guardsmon who was too quick with his
fists and not overly bright.
Cooley strode into the yard as if he owned the place. Rory and Hamish
exchanged uneasy glances. Then Hamish shrugged and trotted to overtake Cooley.
Gorgarty let out a loud guffaw when he saw them and stepped in front of
Cooley. “Well, if it ain't the slut's son. Your ma let you watch it?"
Cooley gave the big guardsmon a tight-lipped look filled with cocksure
attitude. “You'd stick it inna mud hole if you thought it'd suck."
"Why you little..."
Gorgarty made a grab at Cooley. The cub ducked and sidled out of reach.
"Touch the young master and I will kill you.” Iswara appeared out of the
trees, his hand resting upon his tulwar. He carried a wicked kandjarli dagger
with a thrice-curved blade thrust through his sash, and wore a heavy coat that
flared at the waist with long slits front and back for riding. His brown matte
skin and luminous black eyes in a face suggestive of his feline nature set him
apart from the lycans as much as his outland clothing.
Cooley snickered. He had known from the first that Iswara was shadowing him.
Over the weeks of their journey in search of a lawgiver for Wolffgard, the cub

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had developed an instinct for knowing when Iswara was about.
Gorgarty straightened and glared at the newcomer. “He's just a smart arsed son
of a slut."
"Another word and I will open your gullet to see what spills out.” Iswara drew
his blade. “You are insulting Prince Cooley Blackwood."
"That cub ain't a prince."
"His highness is the grandson of the late Prince Shintar of Waejontor. I am
his bodyguard."
Gorgarty glanced around at his companions for support, but the guardsmyn moved
away from him. He sucked in a breath and backed down; discretion proving
stronger than stupidity at that moment. “If you say so."
Cooley strutted to the treehouse with his growing entourage and climbed the
rope ladder without a backward glance.
Rory gave Cooley a skeptical going over with his eyes. “Your ma was a
princess?"
"Yes, she was.” Bodi poked his head out of the door of the treehouse and
slapped his book. “It says so right here."
As Rory climbed the rope ladder that led into the first floor of the huge
treehouse, he caught sight of Ros and Lyrri, Malthus Estrobian's nieces.
“There's the trouble makers!” He stuck his tongue out and made a rude noise at
them.
Hamish sat down on the edge of the flat skirting and waved his feet back and
forth. Lyrri had blacked his eye weeks ago in a fistfight in the cemetery.
“Cooley's a prince and you're not good enough to play with us now."
The two girls were stronger than they looked and twice as mean. They all knew
that Darmyk was afraid of them with good reason, and had begun to snub the
girls.
The entire gang was in the treehouse to Cooley's delight: Sugar Maple, with
her dreamy eyes and long marmalade hair; Pieface the carrot top with a pair of
pie pans hanging from his belt; Bodi sitting curled up in a chair with his
book open on his lap; Drak with his pale skin and inky black hair and a
cummerbund around his waist; Frankie, who never seemed quite human; Lilac with
her auburn hair and pouches of pennies; and Grymmy with his miniature scythe;
as well as Darmyk.
Sugar Maple tilted her head and smiled at Cooley, patting the spot on the
floor beside her. She spooked Cooley at times, never seeming entirely present
in her mind, as if her thoughts were drifting across worlds unseen. “We are
speaking of tacks and chairs. I hear you are a warrior now."
Cooley put his hands on his blades and swaggered as he joined her, feeling a
swell of pride at his adventures. “Military courier's gotta know how to fight.
And I do. So if anybody bothers you, Sugar, you just tell me."
She laughed softly and clapped her hands. “My champion."
Cooley settled closer to her and she kissed him on the cheek, sending a bright
blush across his face.
Pieface patted his two silver pie pans hanging on his belt. “I'm a paladin.
Yes, I am and Talons gave me a big smackaroni right there!"
He patted his cheek.
Lilac leaned forward, a strand of auburn hair slipping across her round face.
“Hush, that's a secret, Pieface."
"Nah, Cooley's okay. We can tell him."
"What about them?” She pointed at Rory and Hamish.
"I can keep a secret.” Rory scratched at his nose. “I'm better'n Cooley at
keeping secrets."
Sugar Maple's vision seemed to turn inward, her eyes went distant, and then
she shook her marmalade hair back. “We can tell them."
"Who gets to do the tattling ... err telling?” Bodi leaped off the bed where
he had been sitting with Darmyk and paraded in small circles. “Me? I can tell
it good."
"No.” Sugar Maple gestured. A tree branch snaked into the treehouse through
the door. It picked Bodi up and put him back on the bed.

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Cooley blinked and the Scott cubs stared. “Muh-magic."
Sugar Maple gave a slow nod. “We're all magic, Cooley. Except for you, Rory,
and Hamish."
"Does your grandma know?” Rory asked, recovering.
The children laughed.
"Yes, she knows.” Sugar Maple gestured again and the tree branch withdrew from
the room. “That is why she brought us. We are the paladins of Dynanna."
Cooley put his back against the wall with a whistle of surprise. He knew the
old saying well, and could not help muttering it. “The trouble the Trickster
can get people into and out of is both legion and legend."
Frankie extended his hand, and as the glamour dropped, Cooley nearly choked in
startlement: Frankie was made of living stone.
Rory then let out a shriek as Grymmy's hood slipped back, revealing a pale,
gaunt, almost skeletal face and skin the color of a dead fish's underbelly.
“Holy shite..."
"Don't be afraid.” Sugar Maple laughed. “We're here to help."
* * * *
Eight-year-old Ros Estrobian watched the children with a petulant expression.
No one ever came to play with her and Lyrri. They all came to play with the
nasty boy that had crawled out of a lycan's belly. She could smell death on
Darmyk every time she passed him. Her Uncle Malthus had told her he intended
to kill the boy once Claw was dead. She felt cheated and deprived, having
wanted to kill Darmyk herself.
Ros was a prodigy, born with the fangs, appetites and powers that normally
only came to the sa'necari-born at puberty. She was forever licking at her
fangs when no one would see her, testing to see if they had gotten any larger.
Ros closed her mouth tightly and allowed her needle-like fangs to descend from
their sheaths in her gums and ran her tongue over them, unable to detect any
changes at all.
They slipped back into the manor through a servants’ door. The place was
crowded with new faces and the livery of many different households. Ros heard
Stone's voice and stiffened, pausing in place like a frightened animal, alert
to trouble. As he drew closer, Ros grabbed her sister and pulled her into a
large closet filled with linens and blankets.
The two little girls were conspicuous among the children at the manor. Their
silken black hair and coppery skin set them apart from the fair-skinned,
light-haired lycans.
"What is it?” Lyrri grumped. “Why are we hiding now?"
Since the Creeyans arrived, it seemed as if all they did was sneak about and
hide.
Ros opened the door a crack and peered through it. “The monster is coming."
"Which monster?” Lyrri crouched and peered through with her head below her
sister's.
"The Stone monster."
Reist and Regina walked beside Stone talking. He seemed like a giant to the
two little girls—a big ugly giant from one of the cautionary tales their Uncle
Malthus was always telling them.
Stone kneaded his neck. “Everything's a mess. Merissa's too ill to run the
household. The nibari are managing, but they need more direction."
"What have you got in mind?” Regina asked him.
"I want you to do it, Reggie."
"Me?” Regina scoffed. “You'd be inundated with complaints in no time."
"That's because you won't take any guff from the thanes and their entourages,”
Reist said in a droll tone. “You could handle it, Reggie."
She glanced from one to the other. “I think you've been discussing this
already."
Stone gave her a smile of swaggering cheek. “I want you to take them in hand.
Especially Malthus’ nieces. They're always darting here and there as sneaky as
thieves. Darmyk seems to be afraid of them."
Ros waited until they had passed before snarling softly. “Take us in hand?

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Sneaky as thieves are we?"
"You think he wants to eat us?” Lyrri's eyes saucered in alarm. She remembered
what their Uncle Malthus had told them about the lycans not only killing their
father, but eating him as well. “Maybe we should stay in the playroom. Or in
our rooms."
"We'll do what we want to do."
Loitering in the hallway, Faerwald watched the girls emerge from the closet.
He stopped talking to Lairgan, and moved toward them, noticing the way that
Ros limped. “Another bloody cripple. Seems there's a lot of them."
Ros flinched at the disgust in his voice. “Filthy lycan."
"You're the sa'necari pair, aren't you?"
Ros drew herself up into a stance of childishly exaggerated defiance. “Yes."
"Come here."
Ros backed away from him, keeping Lyrri behind her. “Don't touch me."
"I said, come here. I want to have a look at you."
Ros retreated and Faerwald followed. Unable to run with the damaged leg, she
headed down the hall, slinging it from the hip to move faster and glancing
over her shoulder at the lycan who seemed more menacing by the moment. Ros
held onto the shoulder of Lyrri's dress, pulling her along. She glanced back
again and stumbled, pulling both of them to the floor. Faerwald loomed above
them, scanning her critically.
"The only thing I've ever done with a sa'necari was slip them the blade. But
then those were adults."
He reached out and grasped Ros’ arm, lifting her up. She spied her uncle
stepping out of a room two doors from them and let out a yelp. “You're hurting
me."
"Let go of my niece!” Malthus lunged for him, and clamped down on Faerwald's
hand with a twist to free Ros. She dropped to the ground and cowered.
Faerwald responded with a counter grab, yanking Malthus close. A dagger
appeared in his hand and he pricked Malthus under the chin with it. “Don't
cross me. I wasn't going to hurt her ... just curious."
"Who the hell are you?"
"Faerwald Davies. Captain of Lord Clennan Doherty's bodyguards."
* * * *
Kissie had come into season two months ago, and Aisha had ordered her bred to
the new stud, Klaudi. He had been kind and gentle in his mountings, yet Kissie
had been glad to see it over and done with once she caught.
Nibari had ninety-day fertility cycles with only a week of opportunity for
breeding each time. They caught easily, which made up for narrowness of their
infrequent cycles. The sa'necari owners tended to breed them frequently; the
lycans were more considerate. It had been six years since Kissie was last
bred, and the pregnancy was reassuring to her in the disturbing times she
found herself in.
If the thanes elected to give the realm to Merissa, then Malthus would have
ownership of her as Merissa's husband. She disliked Malthus. He seemed so
harsh and cruel. On the other hand, if Kynyr became chieftain, then she could
trust him to treat her kindly.
She gathered her cleaning tools onto a wheeled cart and pushed it down to the
suite that Claw and Aisha had occupied. Kissie had put off cleaning it after
their deaths, because it made her cry at the thought that they were both dead.
Stone glanced at her as she came in. He stood at Aisha's dresser, trailing his
forefinger through a thick spill of fragrant dusting powder on the surface.
“Are you the one who usually cleans this room, Kissie?"
"Yes, Master Stone."
He jabbed his finger into the spill. “Was Aisha always this messy?"
Kissie dipped her finger into it and sniffed the powder. “This is Aisha's
favorite. The Creeyan Rose. She would never have spilled it like this and left
it."
"Could it have been spilled when my brother was murdered?"
Kissie flinched, lowering her eyes. “Master Claw died of a heart attack."

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"Master Claw was murdered. I just haven't figured out how yet."
"You're frightening me."
Stone gave her head a comforting stroke, feeling the tension melt away from
her. “Do not clean this suite until I have more time to investigate it. Sit
down over there, Kissie.” He pointed at an overstuffed chair flanking a small
wooden table.
He gave her a glance that, while not unkind, still made her want to cower.
Kissie left her cleaning cart by the door and sank into the chair with her
hands folded in her lap.
"I want to ask you a few questions."
"Yes, Master Stone."
"Just Stone, Kissie. We're going to be friends."
"Yessir."
Stone settled into a chair opposite her. “Tell me, when did you notice the
first signs that my brother did not feel well?"
Kissie prided herself on having a good memory, which was why Aisha had made
her head nibari. “The day of the wedding. He kept kneading his chest and arm.
He asked me to send for Baroucha."
"So the problems might have started before Malthus began living here. Did
Malthus give him presents?"
"Yessir. Wine and liquor mostly. The first gifts came while Master Malthus was
courting Merissa."
"Anything else?"
"Tobacco. That was a father gift on the wedding day."
It was traditional for the groom to give the parents of his new bride gifts on
the wedding day. Stone wondered what Malthus had given Aisha, and if it might
have contributed to her death as well.
"I want you to gather everything that Malthus gave him ... everything that you
can find ... and I want this suite kept locked."
"Yessir."
"Then I want you to tell Ossian everything you can remember about Malthus."
"The lawgiver?"
"Yes."
"I will do that."
Stone dismissed her with a wave of his hand and moved to the stool before
Aisha's dressing table. The delicate stool creaked ominously beneath his
weight. He sprang up and gazed at it, a touch of rue curving the left corner
of his mouth. Then Stone set it aside and replaced it with the stoutest chair
in the antechamber.
He had concentrated his search upon places which he believed most likely to
hold the information he had been looking for: his brother's desks and drawers.
Stone now realized that Aisha's things might also hold clues. He ran his
finger through the powder again and rubbed it off.
Stone opened the middle drawer and brought forth a handful of papers. He
pulled the drawer completely out, laid it in his lap, and felt around in the
back of the shelf it came from. His questing fingers tapped the hard cover of
a book and he drew that out. Bitches were more likely to keep a diary than a
dog wolf. Stone opened the diary and flipped to the last pages to check
Aisha's final entries. A piece of paper fluttered out and drifted to the
floor.
He scooped it up and read it.
It was a note from Kady to Aisha.
Aisha,
I keep getting distracted; I suppose it's the pregnancy, and I felt you needed
to read this. Apparently someone who knew the exact words of it at the time
wrote it down.
THE EXILE'S CURSE
When the Serpent comes, they all shall perish,
The Redhands fall like sheaves of grain, until only the Exile shall remain of
those who own their name.

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When fireborn law breathes hot upon the root
One born of fire shall perish for the truth
The exile's victory shall be his pardon
Those he claims will rule
The prince from shadows shall emerge
To sit a blood drenched throne
....Alistar Weems’ dying words.
It does not look like a curse to me, Aisha. It looks like a prophecy.
Yours,
Kady Maguire.
Stone's eyes narrowed as he read.
"I'm the only one left ... and I renounced my name. Merissa is an Estrobian by
marriage. Fireborn Law? Caimbeul? There's two princes of shadows, Kynyr and
Cooley. But it has to be Kynyr. Doesn't it?"

CHAPTER THREE
VAMPIRES AT THE GATES
Lord Hoon had promised his myn and himself that they would winter in Red Wolf.
He had forced them through the snowy passes of the Eiralyskali Mountains with
threats and exhortations, punishments and promises. The town of Anglecyn had
fallen in less than a day of fighting, and the Waejontori Army took possession
of it as their wintering ground.
He had made the Lawgiver House his headquarters with a keen sense of irony.
The law in Anglecyn was now his law: the law of conquest. The family of Thane
Selwyn Brawleigh had been captured, but the Thane himself and a small number
of his housecarles were missing.
Zinzi sat with her feet propped on the table and a goblet of red wine in her
hand. She divided her attention between the young lycan on his knees by the
hearth and Sergei Wraithsbane, both for different reasons. Zinzi despised
Sergei and distrusted him with good reason. Sergei was not only a Lemyari
vampire, but a battlemage of considerable ability, as well as a murderous
pedophile who left a wake of dead girls behind him everywhere he went.
The spellcorded lycan had his wrists bound behind him, while his ankles and
knees were roped together. His head had been tied to a small frame that kept
him on his knees with his throat temptingly exposed. Lacerations from the whip
and other implements of torture marred his back and chest. Lord Hoon's
favorite torturer had left his face alone at Zinzi's request. She liked his
face, and had asked Hoon to give him to her, but he had denied her request.
Sergei, a courier for Lord Hoon, was a short, ill-favored looking mon with
four rows of heavy frown lines etched into his forehead. His brow ridge jutted
over his small, deep-set eyes, and a thick nose, humped and hooked above his
thin sneering lips.
"I suspect he's mine,” Sergei said smugly.
Zinzi drained her goblet, sat it on the table, and threw an obscene gesture at
Sergei. Sometimes she handled being around him well and other times she simply
wanted to get away from him as swiftly as possible. “You lied about it being
your blood that night."
Sergei gave a snort of laughter. “Since I've become bored with you ... yes. I
lied. I killed you. I didn't turn you. I don't make little girls, I eat them."
"Then whose blood was it?"
"Mine.” Lord Hoon swept into the room. “Had you ever asked, I would have told
you. It was my blood in a glass of wine that turned you."
Not even the scowl that he threw Sergei could rob Hoon's elegant face of its
innate sensuality.
"I have tasks for each of you. Tell me, Sergei, do you still take messages to
Malthus when you make your regular circuits?"
"Yes, but I haven't had any for him in months."
Zinzi tossed a glance of languid contempt at Sergei. “Not since he nearly
killed Malthus’ seven-year-old niece. I think Sergei's afraid of Malthus."
Hoon quirked an eyebrow. “Why was I not told of this?"

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"I promised Malthus I would tell you. However, I seem to have forgotten to."
Sergei shifted in his chair to look more fully at her. “Ros lives?"
"All you managed to do was damage her leg. I suspect that's because you had to
spread them so far open to get your damned piece into her."
"Enough, Zinzi!” Hoon snapped his fingers at her. “Sergei, Malthus betrayed
me. He sent me the wrong child in place of Darmyk. Next time you have messages
for him; issue a small vengeance for me. I will see you well rewarded. Now,
you are dismissed. You will find the larder well stocked. You may have three
tidbits, but no more."
"Are there any special ones?"
"Yes. The thane's six year old daughter."
The bound lycan issued a string of curses followed by pleading when he heard
that. “Not Shelley. Please not Shelley."
Hoon gestured for Sergei to wait and strolled over to the lycan. “I am a mon
of my word. Tell me where your father is, and I will see that your sister
remains safe."
Lord Hoon's honor was as famed as his savagery. When he gave his word he kept
it; however, he was not above twisting it if he had left himself some wiggle
room in the phrasing. A thin smile lit Hoon's face as he gazed expectantly at
Thane Selwyn's sixteen-year-old heir, Ocvran.
"Wolffgard. The thanes are holding a witan. Claw is dead and the succession is
in doubt. A priest, who Jumps, fetched him four days ago."
Hoon laughed softly. He had known the directions that Zinzi and Sergei's
conversations usually went, and had counted on it to influence Selwyn's heir
in ways that direct threats and torture had not. “I guess he is yours after
all, Zinzi. But first fetch Shelley from the larder so she can keep her
brother company."
* * * *
Shelley, a delicate little bitch, sloe-eyed and blonde, hugged Gilzean. The
two cubs sat wailing on the sofa in Zinzi's bedchamber, filling her ears with
their unwelcome noises. Zinzi had once more been relegated to the role of cub
sitter until Sergei left the area. She resented being stuck with them.
Children got on her nerves and hampered her lifestyle.
Malthus had sent Gilzean to Hoon, with the cub's mind altered into believing
that he was Darmyk. Hoon sensed the lie, broke Malthus’ coercions in Gilzean's
mind, and discovered that Malthus had double-crossed him for reasons that Hoon
had yet to be certain of. He now intended to punish Malthus for it. Zinzi
wanted to get on with the punishing, and be quit of the cubs.
Ocvran, Shelley's brother, lay nude in the middle of Zinzi's bed. She
straddled him, her fangs deep in his throat, feeding noisily. He trembled and
spasmed beneath her, whimpering. Shelley gave another piercing shriek, which
ruined Zinzi's mood further.
"That's enough!” The Waejontori Princess Silkanna Mircala de Waejonan swept
into the room, her dark eyes flashing with righteous fury. “I won't have you
doing it in front of the cubs."
Zinzi withdrew from Ocvran, and glared at her. Blood flowed freely from the
wound in his neck. When Zinzi first encountered her, she had liked Silkie.
Lord Hoon had sent Zinzi to investigate rumors of a newborn Lemyari vampire in
the Sharani occupied sections of Southern Waejontor. She returned with Silkie,
who had first appeared to be a confused eighteen-year-old newborn. Zinzi
learned later that Silkie had been in her mid forties when she drank a vial of
Hoon's blood laced with spells to restore her youth. Silkie had been a
favorite of Hoon's more than twenty years ago; and now with her admission into
the dark ranks, she was his favorite once more.
"Then keep them away from me."
"Close the wound, Zinzi or he's going to bleed out.” Silkie's eyes had an edge
that only a long hard life could have given them. Everything about her
reflected the inner toughness that had ensured her survival in escaping and
then hiding from her sa'necari relatives who wanted to sacrifice her to
Bellocar, and the Sharani who would have burnt her alive for being born into

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the ruling family.
"That might be entertaining.” Zinzi bent and licked it closed. “But I want him
to last awhile. He has a pleasant face."
Silkie took Shelley by the hand, hoisted Gilzean to her hip, and left. No one
troubled her in passing. No one questioned why she had the two cubs with her.
No one dared. Silkie was not only Hoon's favorite, but a Princess of the Blood
of Waejonan; and therefore she had more freedom in the manor than anyone else.
She had made many mistakes over the years. Zinzi had been happy to inform her
of them. Her decision to drink Hoon's blood, which he had given her more than
twenty years ago, had been predicated upon hearing that her only hope for
escape from Hell's Widow, Kynyr Maguire, was dead. It had been a lie. Not only
was Kynyr alive, but her son, Cooley, was with him. Hoon would never have
learned about Cooley's existence had Silkie not given into despair and fled to
the vampire lover of her youth. Hoon wanted Cooley as a pawn in his game
against the Waejontori Queen, Silkie's half sister.
She had loved Cullen Blackwood, a profane, rambunctious lycan military
courier, with all of her heart; and borne him a son. The Butchering Serpent, a
sa'necari bounty hunter and mercenary, murdered Cullen in front of her. A
genocidal mastermind, the Serpent had killed hundreds of lycans in vicious
experiments that had included vivisections and toxin testings, leaving behind
mass graves on a deserted estate in the north. Silkie knew that Hoon had an
agent in Wolffgard named Malthus; but whether or not Malthus was the Serpent
himself still lay in question.
She carried the two children to her bedchamber and sat them on the sofa
furthest from the windows. Gilzean immediately wrapped his arms around Shelley
and clung to her. The terror in their eyes troubled Silkie. The helplessness
of children always stirred the memories of how helpless she had felt as a
child. Only a core of tenacity had carried her through to grow up hard and
fast on the streets of Lake Torment, earning her bread and shelter as a child
prostitute at twelve. Only her faithful friend, Iswara, had prevented her from
being treated as roughly as others. No one in Waejontor would employ a
Shivari, and the prejudice against his people prevented him for supporting
them; but neither would the Waejontori argue with one when Iswara informed her
johns that roughing her up would earn them a beating. He had been forced to
flee after Lord Hoon entered her life the first time. Silkie often wondered
what had become of him.
Jerking the heavy drapes closed, Silkie turned to the cubs.
"Do not leave this room. So long as you remain here, I can protect you."
"I want my mama,” said Shelley.
"I know.” Silkie patted her head. “I'm going to talk to her."
She went through the halls with a determined stride and descended to the cells
beneath the Lawgiver House. Silkie needed a messenger to the lycan rulers that
would be above question; someone they would trust implicitly. Shelley's
mother, Lady Brawleigh, offered her the best hope for one.
The guard on duty straightened in his seat when she entered. “What'd you
need?"
"To speak with Lady Brawleigh.” Silkie sneered, letting her fangs descend from
their sheaths. She flicked her tongue across them suggestively. “Which cell is
she in?"
"Last one on the right.” He took the keys from the peg and tossed them to her.
Silkie let herself into the cell and tried not to stare at the state that Lady
Brawleigh and her children were in. Thane Selwyn's wife and two daughters
stank of rape in their torn clothing and bruises—the daughters appeared to be
in their mid-teens. The little boy could be no older than ten, and reminded
Silkie poignantly of her own son, Cooley. “I'm not going to mince words, Lady
Brawleigh. If I can get you out of here, will you carry word to Kynyr Maguire
that my son is in danger?"
"You'll get my children out also?"
"Yes. All of them except Ocvran. Your son is dead.” As good as. I'll never be
able to get him away from Zinzi.

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Lady Brawleigh clenched her eyes shut briefly, and then opened them, putting
on a brave face. “You have my word. What is your son's name?"
"Cooley Blackwood."
"I knew a Blackwood ... Cullen."
A brittle smile came to Silkie's lips, and then tightened. “Cullen was my
husband; Cooley's father. Hoon plans to kidnap my son. His agents murdered
Cullen in front of me. That's why I want to help you."
"I will do everything in my power for your son, if you can get us out of
here."
A sudden tear crept down Lady Brawleigh's face, nearly triggering Silkie's
own. They were two desperate women, mothers trying to save their children, and
Silkie felt a kinship to her.
"Are there myn you can trust with your life?"
Lady Brawleigh thought for a moment. “I do not know if they still live."
"Names?"
"Captain Aelfwin Cadwallader. Ezra Loyt. Conyn Pritchard.” She drew a ring
from her finger. “If they question you about me, remind them of the time that
I fell into the pig trough at nine."
"Be ready. We will get only one chance.” Silkie drew a sharp pin from her
dress. “I must give the jailer an excuse for my presence here. Let me prick
your finger and smear the blood around my mouth."
Lady Brawleigh extended her hand. Silkie pricked Lady Brawleigh's finger. The
blood smelled intoxicating and Silkie grimly resisted an urge to suck the
bleeding finger. She wiped the blood around her mouth and then along the
lycan's neck. “Give me a loud scream, Lady Brawleigh and then go lie on the
cot as if you're faint."
Despite knowing what was coming, Audra Brawleigh's screams caused her
daughters to flinch and shriek also. Silkie gestured at the cot, and Lady
Brawleigh stretched out on it. After studying her for a moment, Silkie
adjusted her position, turning her head to the side so that the smear of blood
would show if someone glanced through the tiny shuttered window in the door,
and dangled her arm lifelessly, fingers brushing the straw on the floor.
Silkie locked the cell and returned the keys to the jailor.
He leered at her. “Did she taste good?"
"Noblemyn always do."
Then she started back to her rooms to check on the cubs. Leaving them alone
for too long worried her. She needed to secure a cat's paw to carry out the
next part of her plan in such a way that it could not be easily traced to her;
and he needed to be someone above reproach. Her greatest talent, other than
having a good head for business, had been manipulation—both sexual and
otherwise. It had seen her in good stead while she was Madam of the Crimson
Lady Brothel in Hell's Widow.
She passed Captain Paolo Nicoletti in the corridor of the second floor. He had
a face that was all angles from the sharp nose jutting above his thin lips to
his narrow chin. His eyes raked her insolently and she paused to tilt her head
at him with a come-hither smile. The unbridled lust in his eyes flashed an
awareness of opportunity through Silkie.
While the myn showed her every consideration as their long lost princess
restored to them; there were a few officers and nobles who still regarded her
as the most celebrated prostitute in Waejontor during the early years of the
Sharani occupation of their lands. Clearly, Paolo fell in that latter
category. He was well known for his cruelty and strict enforcement of the
rules of military protocol; the fact that he lived up to his own standards in
both courage and leadership commanded his myn's loyalty as well as their
obedience.
"Captain Nicoletti?” She simpered at him.
"Your highness.” He swaggered across the corridor, took her hand, and laid a
kiss upon the back of it that included a suggestive swipe of his tongue.
Silkie purred, deep and throatily sensual. “I've been watching you, Captain.
Come to my rooms? I could use a bit of help with a few things."

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"Like what?” He took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wiped Lady
Brawleigh's blood from around her mouth.
"It's so embarrassing.” Silkie giggled like a young girl, and since Hoon had
restored her youth it did not seem out of character for her. “May I whisper it
in your ear?"
"Of course."
She leaned in. “The fastenings on my dress."
"I will be happy to help you.” He straightened, giving her a naughty boy
smile. “I'm very good with such things."
"I'm sure you are, Captain. I'm very sure you are."
The door to her antechamber had barely closed before he wrapped his arms
around her from behind and cupped her breasts. She arched against him, rubbing
his loins with her hip. “A moment, My Randy Stallion. I wish to change into
something more appropriate."
Silkie slipped into her bedroom. Shelley and Gilzean were still huddling on
the sofa. “Quick, into the closet and stay there until I say otherwise."
The two cubs scampered into hiding and Silkie closed the door on them.
"I knew it was only a matter of time before you yielded to me,” Paolo called
from the antechamber.
"How could I not?” She could hear him pacing as she unlaced her bodice. “Come
help me with the fastenings, Paolo."
He entered her bedroom and gazed at her breasts. “You're beautiful."
"Appreciate me, Paolo."
Her appetites were still that of a newborn. Hoon, fully aware of it, had
allowed that she could have whatever she wished, including other males—some of
whom had left her bed as corpses when her hunger got the better of her. The
Passion Dance of the Vampire had gotten hold of Silkie twice, causing her to
mistake appetite for love, and she had killed two lovers since joining Hoon.
Lord Hoon found it all amusing, giving her what guidance he could in the ways
of the undead.
Paolo unfastened her skirts, slipped them down to her ankles, and pressed his
face into her loins. Silkie's next moan was real as his tongue darted over her
clit and into her womanhood. He licked his way to her breasts and sucked her
nipples. Silkie teased his cock through his trousers, and reached to open his
shirt. He stopped her.
For an instant she hesitated, wondering if he had guessed her intentions. He
scooped her into his arms and laid her on the bed. Paolo opened his trousers,
lifting his hardened spear out. She understood then. Paolo intended to make
the final act one of dominance. As he mounted her, thrusting deep into her
moist tissues, Silkie pulled him close and sank her fangs into his neck. He
climaxed instantly as her power rolled through him with all the sensuality
Silkie had mastered while learning the whore's craft.
His eyes glazed.
Silkie wrapped her influence into the fibers of his mind with a deft hand. “I
need you, Paolo."
He stared into her eyes, breathing hard. “I live for your wishes."
"Bring me three meals from the larder. Captain Aelfwin Cadwallader. Ezra Loyt.
Conyn Pritchard."
"Your wish."
Silkie threw on a dressing robe and let the cubs out of the closet as soon as
Captain Nicoletti departed.
She settled on the couch with them. Shelley looked up at her and burst into
tears, pointing at Silkie's mouth. She touched the edges and felt the sticky
dampness of Paolo's blood drying around her lips. Heat burned beneath the dark
shading of her skin. The very last thing she wanted to do was to make Shelley
afraid of her. Silkie went to a stand near the window that had a basin and a
ewer. She washed the blood away.
A knock at the door, and Paolo entered with six guardsmyn and four lycans. The
oldest, Aelfwin Cadwallader, threw Silkie a defiant look. Aelfwin had a square
face with a strong jaw and a sprinkling of middle-aged gray amidst the russet

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brown at his temples. He and his three companions had their hands chained
behind them and their feet shackled so tightly that they shuffled as they
walked.
"Paolo, can your myn be trusted?"
"Picked myn, My Princess. I can trust them with my life."
"Good enough. Give me the key.” Silkie extended her hand to him and he
surrendered his ring of keys.
She approached Aelfwin to unlock his bonds.
"Best leave me chained, vampire. Release me and I will break your foul neck."
Paolo whipped around and slammed his fist into Aelfwin's stomach, sending the
lycan to his knees gasping for breath.
Shelley let out a shriek and ran to Aelfwin, hugging his neck. “Waller. Don't
be hurt, Waller."
"Shelley?” Aelfwin pressed his head against hers. “What are ... you doing
here?"
"Escaping from Anglecyn, I hope.” Silkie stroked Shelley's head. “I am Cullen
Blackwood's widow. An eye for an eye. No one does it better than a lycan ...
except those who have loved them."
"Then you're Silkie Faggini."
"I was. Now I'm once more Silkanna Mircala de Waejonan. I became a vampire to
gain vengeance for Cullen and safety for our son, Cooley.” Silkie frowned.
“Paolo, I asked for three..."
"The fourth is my brother,” said Aelfwin. “He insisted upon dying with me."
"I see. Then I am glad he has come. There will be no more dying if I can help
it."
"Then why have you sent for us, if not to sate your unholy appetites with our
blood?"
Silkie ignored his return to the topic of her undead state, realizing that he
needed more convincing. “I'm saving my son. Paolo will help you four escape
with Lady Brawleigh and her children so that she can warn my son's protector
of a threat to my Cooley."
"Our little prince.” Paolo gazed at Silkie in a way that alarmed her. Somehow,
without intending to, she had twisted his lust into love and devotion. She had
much to learn about her new gifts.
Silkie stepped into the role that Paolo and those watching expected her to
play, stroking Paolo's face, and then kissing him fondly. “Guard my messengers
well, darling. And save my son from the minions of the Queen and Lord Hoon."
The six soldiers of Waejontor straightened with the pride that came of being
given a truly noble task.
"Is he lycan?” Aelfwin eyed her with traces of suspicion.
"Yes. But that does not make my son any less a prince of Waejontor.” Silkie
sucked in a breath, her lips framing a brittle smile as she turned again to
Aelfwin. “I see that you still don't trust me. Let me explain myself in more
detail and perhaps then, you will understand. I was the madam of the Crimson
Lady Brothel in Hell's Widow, Waejontor. That's where I met Cullen. He taught
our son to ride and to fight. I loved being with them. Then last summer, the
sa'necari returned to Hell's Widow. They captured Cullen and tortured him for
information. My Cullen was tough and he gave them nothing."
Silkie's eyes started leaking tears and her mouth trembled as she finished the
tale. “On the day that they captured another courier, they took me to see him.
They had broken his arms and legs ... nailed him into a chair with silver
spikes. They thought to break my will by making me watch him die. All they
broke was my heart. They shoved a silver rune blade into his belly and then
locked me in with him. It took him three days to die."
Paolo put a comforting arm around her shoulders, and she leaned her head
against his chest.
"Fancy that, a lycan heir to the throne of the bloody sa'necari.” Daffyd
Cadwallader grinned at his brother with grim humor and a large dollop of
drollery.
"I'll do everything in my power to help your son.” Aelfwin turned his back to

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Silkie and held out his wrists to be released from his shackles. “Who is his
protector in Wolffgard?"
Silkie unlocked the shackles. “A friend of Cullen's and myself. A guardsmon
named Kynyr Maguire."
Aelfwin stopped trying to rub the feeling back into his wrists and stared at
his brother.
Silkie glanced back and forth between the two Cadwalladers, trying to puzzle
out what she had said to get this reaction. “Do you know him or of him?"
Aelfwin let out a bark of harsh laughter. “We should. He's the King of Red
Wolf."
* * * *
Zinzi sat playing with Ocvran's long blonde hair. Intelligence lingered in his
eyes, the windows of his shattered mind, and he smiled at Zinzi with the
guileless simplicity of a child. The majority of lycans had strong minds, and
Ocvran's had proven no exception to the general rule. She had had to nearly
break him down to kindling to insure his acceptance of her affections. Dressed
in blue silk, Ocvran looked satisfyingly attractive. Zinzi kissed his cheek
and began braiding his hair.
"Happy now, Zinzi?” Hoon leaned his hips against the desk in his office, his
hands to either side of him. The elegant burgundy silk dressing robe clothing
his lean body was as informal as the old-fashioned vampire ever allowed
himself to appear.
"Very.” She stroked her finger along his neck. Ocvran tilted his head to the
side and back, offering his neck to her. “He can barely remember his own name,
but he's picking up the nibari positions of submission quick, and he's good in
the bedroom."
"You made a fine choice. Lycans have more resilience than humans; they can
take more damage ... more blood loss. He should last longer than your previous
choices."
"I hope so. I am pleased with him so far."
"Now I want your report on Malthus."
Zinzi gave Ocvran another stroke, and straightened, her tone going formal.
“The Redhand family has been extinguished, except for Merissa and Darmyk."
"And the bastard prince?"
"Alive. He either has powerful allies or uncanny luck. Kynyr Maguire has
survived three major attempts on his life. However, he's now crippled and no
threat."
"Never underestimate your enemies."
"Shall I kill him?"
"Not until after we have secured Merissa, Darmyk, and Cooley."
"And Malthus? Shall I kill him?"
"In good time. First my prizes."
"What will I be doing then?"
"Spying. I want to know more about this Creeyan force I have heard is lodged
there. If you find a good opportunity to snatch my prizes, you may do so."
* * * *
Dressed in Waejontori uniforms with the hoods of their cloaks pulled around
their faces, the four lycan housecarles marched to the stables with Captain
Nicoletti and his myn. At that late hour, there was no one about in the
stables. A ladder to the loft stood at the far end of a row of box stalls.
Paolo indicated that Aelfwin should follow him up the ladder.
Aelfwin wondered if they had been brought out there only to be murdered, and
then shoved his suspicions away when Shelley erupted from hiding among the
bales of hay, followed by Gilzean.
"Waller! I knew you'd come, Waller."
Lady Brawleigh rose from the shadows of the fodder and embraced him. “I am so
relieved to see you, Waller."
A grim smile touched his mouth at seeing her. Shelley had given him the
nickname, but the rest of the family had begun using it. “We're getting out of
here, Audra. I promise."

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When they climbed down, they found Silkie standing beside the saddled horses.
Audra Brawleigh pushed her sleeve up and extended her wrist to Silkie. “I want
to thank you."
Waller pushed her arm aside. “If that's the way you want her thanked, I'll do
it."
Silkie flushed. “It's not necessary."
"Let's make it an act of trust and apology for misjudging you, Silkie.”
Aelfwin pulled Silkie into his arms before she could stop him and pressed her
face into his neck.
She could smell his blood, and the warm lycan musk that reminded her of
Cullen. Her fangs came down from their sheaths, but she sent them away,
struggling against the temptation to sink them into Waller's neck. Silkie
shoved free of him. “No. I accept your apology, but I refuse to taste your
blood."
Daffyd gave his brother a grim nod of approval as he lifted Shelley onto a
horse.
"When you reach Sunderborough, you should be able to find an ice rig to get
you to Wolffgard down the Bonnie Draw. It's the fastest way.” Silkie pressed a
purse into Lady Brawleigh's hands. “There's as much gold here as I could
gather. It should be enough. Remember, my son is Cooley Blackwood. Hoon is
going to snatch him. Tell Kynyr Maguire that."
"I will, Silkie. And thank you."
"Take good care of Gilzean. He's from Wolffgard. I have no idea who his mother
is, but I'm sure she's missing him.” Silkie unshouldered a courier's pouch and
handed that to Lady Brawleigh next. “Give this to my son."
Finally, Silkie turned to Paolo Nicoletti and embraced him. “When the war is
ended, we will find each other again, my love."
She sealed her words with a kiss and tied her scarf around his arm as her
token.
Silkie watched them ride off into the darkness. She doubted that she would
ever see Paolo again.
When she returned to her suite she found Lord Hoon stretched out on her bed
waiting for her.
"Where have you been?"
"A romantic assignation. At least it was romantic until there was no more
blood left in him."
Hoon laughed. “Which one?"
"Paolo Nicoletti."
"One of my best officers.” Hoon sobered. “Silkanna, you must leave my officers
alone."
"I will try.” She disrobed and climbed onto the bed beside him, drawing Hoon's
face to her breasts. “Make love to me, my lord, and comfort me of my loss."
He pulled away from her. “After we have spoken."
"Have I done something wrong, My Undead Dragon of Damnation?"
He quirked an eyebrow at her use of the sobriquet she had given him so long
ago. “Possibly. I have been told that you drank Lady Brawleigh into a faint."
"She tasted very good."
"I want you to leave the Brawleighs alone. They are my best hostages."
"What about Shelley and Ocvran? You gave Ocvran to Zinzi and you were going to
give Shelley to Sergei. What about me? Don't I deserve to taste noble blood
myself?"
"Are you jealous of Zinzi?"
"Not at all. Please answer my question."
"I never intended to give Shelley to Sergei. It was a ruse to get Ocvran to
tell me where his father had gone."
"And Ocvran?"
"I needed to make an example to the people here. I had planned to kill him
myself. Zinzi wanted him. Our desires dovetailed. Nothing more."
"How is giving him to Zinzi an example to the people?"
"It will be when I hang his dead body in the square."

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"I see.” Silkie lowered her eyes, trying to accept the fact that she could
only save a few at a time. “What are you going to do with Darmyk?"
"Offer Isranon a trade. His son and Merissa for Anksha."
"So it's true. You lost her."
"It is true. But once I have her back, I will remind her that she loves me. My
demon-eater has always been my greatest weapon. She will be again, once I make
this trade."

CHAPTER FOUR
FINDINGS
Mornings. Kynyr had grown to hate them. Qaseem, the primary assistant to the
senior healer from Creeya attending him, was a kind mon, and Kynyr tried to
hold his tongue with him. Every morning Qaseem came to Kynyr's bedroom and
built the fire up before working with his legs.
Qaseem swabbed Kynyr's arm and poked the syringe into his bicep. Syringes were
a new invention out of Creeya; based upon information from an ancient medical
text that Kynyr's grandmother, Cahira Sinclair, had translated. First the
holadil to keep down infection and then Narcantha to make certain that Kynyr's
seizures and pain remained under control. Once that was done, Qaseem helped
Kynyr out of his trousers, removed the wrappings on his legs, and used a cloth
tape measure to check for signs of atrophy, patiently noting down the numbers.
The poison, which Kynyr had been fed over a period of weeks, had been an
insidious creation. It perfectly mimicked the symptoms of Black Mountain
Fever, a disease spread by infected ticks that had an exceptionally high
mortality rate. Among the lingering effects were spinal lesions that damaged
and often destroyed the nerves; seizures; pain, and chronic exhaustion.
Kynyr flinched away from Qaseem's touch. “Hey, your hands are cold."
Qaseem stared at him, reached out, and touched Kynyr's calf.
Kynyr shuffled his legs away again, glaring now. “Stop that."
"You moved them."
Kynyr's eyes widened. “I did."
Qaseem laid aside his tape measure, and launched into a series of tests to see
what more, if anything, Kynyr could do in view of the unexpected miracle.
He could not lift his legs, but he could draw them sideways. When Qaseem
raised Kynyr's legs off the bed, he could hold them trembling in the air for
nearly half a minute. It was so little, and yet it filled Kynyr with
jubilation.
"Now I wish to try something else. Are you game, Master Kynyr?"
"Yes.” Hope flared within Kynyr, lending excitement to his voice.
Qaseem searched around for the largest bathtub in the mansion. He had it
filled with water as hot as Kynyr could comfortably bear and then placed him
in it.
"First relax and let your legs float."
Kynyr watched his legs rise in the water, trapped again between hope and fear.
"Now try to move them."
Kynyr's eyes widened and he gasped. “I can move them. I can move them in all
directions."
"I will prescribe exercises and two long hot baths a day. You will walk again.
How well, I cannot say. But you will walk."
A beatific smile came to Kynyr's face. Thank you, Stone. The only miracles are
those we make ourselves. I'll never forget that.
* * * *
Stone leaned against a wall, watching Pandeena Moonbow and Toniqua Nightsbane
examining the three bodies on the viewing dais. Toniqua was attractive in a
small, dark way; however, Pandeena was genuinely beautiful, blonde and fair
skinned, high firm breasts and feminine hips. Pretty bitches made him uneasy,
and beautiful ones drove him to the edge of paranoia.
Toniqua released Claw's dead wrist and shook her head. “The heart attack was
genuine, but there's an odd aftertaste to it."
Pandeena lowered Aisha's wrist back into the coffin. “She was raped."

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Stone's eyes narrowed as he pushed away from the wall and stalked to the
coffins. Aisha had always been kind to him. The thought that she had been
raped the day she died kindled a righteous anger in him. “Semen residue?"
Pandeena shook her head. “Psychic scarring. Whoever did it cleaned her female
parts out afterward. It happened minutes before she died."
Rage started its familiar build up in Stone. He forced a deep breath down his
lungs to control it. If the rage reached too high a level, Stone would change
before he could stop himself. He did not wish for them to see his other form;
to know that although his father had been lycan, Stone was not. His eyes
lowered and he found himself staring at Fianait's corpse. She had gotten old,
but in his memories she would always be young and beautiful.
"Sheradyn told me they had to break her fingers to get the letter opener out."
"They should not have moved her before I saw her,” Toniqua grumbled, stalking
angrily around to Fianait's coffin. “Now it's been five days. The embalming
chemicals make my task harder. If they had sent for me or Pandeena ... or even
Cahira ... we could have laid a preserving spell that would not have disturbed
the evidence."
"They didn't want any of you Reading the fresh corpses.” Stone rested his
hands on his knife belt. “According to Sheradyn, Claw left with the suicide
note. I've ransacked his chambers and his study. But I haven't found it."
"What about Fianait's suite?” Pandeena moved close to Stone.
He tensed. Pandeena stoked both the fires of his rage and his manhood,
provoking an unwelcome tightening in his loins with her nearness. Stone
stepped to the other side of the coffin. “I had it secured. If anything was
altered, it happened before I got here."
"I want to have a look at it,” said Toniqua.
"You may. I admit I was surprised to find you here, Toniqua. It's been a long
time."
"Yes, it has. But you know what they say about us. We wander not because we
wish to, but because we outlive our homes. Mine has been gone to dust for two
hundred years. At least you still have yours, Stone."
Pandeena looked at him in stunned surprise. “Yuwenghau?"
Stone favored her with an arrogant smile. “I am astonished that you failed to
discern that earlier, Pandeena. After all, I'm long lived."
"It could have been sylvan blood."
"Isn't that what they say about you?” Stone's words dripped sarcasm gilded
with hauteur. “Pandeena Moonbow, the only lycan battlemage ever born,
long-lived. Named for the Second Mother. Real name or assumed name? No one
knows."
Toniqua snickered.
Stone glanced from Toniqua to Pandeena. Realization struck him like the blow
of a mace in the side of his head. “What in the unholy hells are you doing
here?"
"Playing it by the book. I don't know about you, but I don't wish to see my
descendants turned into a bunch of bickering humans; lost from the sanctity of
the customs and laws my mother gave them."
"We play by a different set of rules, Second Mother. My grandfather is Hadjys
the Dark Judge and I have seen his nine hells."
"Harm my people, Stone, and I will destroy you."
"You'll try.” Stone swaggered over to her, dragged Pandeena into his arms, and
kissed her thoroughly.
She struggled for a moment, but her great strength was not enough to free
herself.
Stone released her when he finished his kiss and she moved away from him,
trembling. He laughed at her with a naughty boy smile that could have melted
steel. “I've always wanted to do that to one of the Mothers. Now I have."
"If you think I'm going to come crawling into your bed, you have another think
coming."
"I could say the same for you. However I have far more self-control than you
give me credit for."

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"I give you no credit at all."
Sheradyn Kelly charged into the room, smacking the tip of his gold headed cane
on the floor in a rhythm of irritation. He glared ferociously at Toniqua. “It
was a suicide. Plain and simple. Stoneriver had no business sending for you.
As it is, I had to sedate Merissa. You're just going to make matters worse."
"Shut up, old fool.” Stone snarled. “My sister was murdered. Anyone who knew
her well would know it."
Sheradyn straightened with a sniff of disapproval.
Toniqua drew a chair up to the coffin and sat down. She stroked Fianait's cold
flesh and extended her gifts through the corpse. “I'm sensing odd echoes that
I can't explain. There is a lingering taste of terror."
"Of course, she was terrified.” Sheradyn jabbed a finger at Stone. “He was
returning. I read the note.” Sheradyn adjusted his top coat and pulled at his
cravat. “She killed herself because she was afraid of you, Stone."
"Stone would never have touched her. Fianait knew that.” Pandeena's tone
filled with irritation and impatience.
"Did she tell you that?"
"I told her the story.” Stone's voice took on a severe tone. He had known that
all the old wounds would reopen: the truths had been liberally gilded with
lies and gossip at every opportunity in his long absence. Everywhere he turned
they were being thrown in his face.
"And you believe him?” Sheradyn demanded indignantly.
Pandeena gave Stone a wicked smile. “Yes, I do."
Toniqua pushed her chair back. “I want to take tissues samples. I also want to
see the blade and where she died. I hope you haven't cleaned the room up."
"That's out of the question! Absolutely out of the question.” Sheradyn
sputtered.
"You're no longer dealing with Aisha or an ailing chieftain. They're dead.”
Pandeena propped her hands on her hips and took a threatening stance. “It may
well be that you're about to find yourself on the wrong end of a rope for your
mistakes."
Stone lifted an eyebrow at that. Rumors of Sheradyn's incompetence as a healer
was rife and some were accusing him of outright carelessness as well as darker
matters. “She's right, Sheradyn. Ossian is already considering whether you
have been making simple errors or acting in complicity with the villains in
this situation."
Sheradyn went pale and stammering. “I-I have done nothing—done nothing wrong.
Nothing whatsoever."
"That remains to be seen."
Stone showed them upstairs to Fianait's room with Sheradyn trailing them. They
passed a few nervous guardsmyn in the chocolate and claret livery of Red Wolf
and many myn in the diverse colors of the various thanes as well as Creeyan.
Two Creeyans stood guard at the door to Fianait's apartments. They came to
attention when Stone arrived.
"At ease.” The two myn relaxed.
Stone indicated that Pandeena and Toniqua should precede him and then he
noticed Sheradyn. “Get out of my sight,” he growled at the healer.
Sheradyn winced and fled.
Down the corridor, in the shadows of a vestibule, Malthus Estrobian watched
Sheradyn's retreat, and then faded out of sight into the passageway linking
the family section of the manor with the barracks wing.
Pandeena watched Sheradyn's retreating back and turned to Toniqua as soon as
he was gone. “What do you think?"
"I believe she was murdered. However, I don't think I can prove it.” Toniqua
ran her hands through her hair with a sigh of frustration. “I wish they had
sent for me before they moved her body."
Pandeena nodded. “We were deliberately excluded."
"No doubt.” Toniqua's eyes narrowed as her gaze swept the parlor. “Where was
she found?"
Stone walked to the center of the room and turned about; seeing it again after

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all those years tugged at his heart. She had still loved pink and mauve. “At
the desk. According to Merissa, Fianait was slumped over with her head on it."
Toniqua walked to the desk and saw the letter opener laying there with blood
and gray bits of dried flesh on it. “That's the weapon?"
Stone nodded, closing his eyes briefly. Fianait had always been so fragile,
both physically and emotionally. The thought of Belgair shoving the letter
opener into her while Malthus held her—his imagination obsessed upon
it—killing her as justification for the attempted coup; the image made his
insides clench.
Picking the letter opener up with two fingers, Toniqua examined it. “If she
were going to kill herself, why didn't she use something sharper?"
"Fianait was always nervous around sharp objects. She fell with a knife in the
kitchen when she was fourteen and nearly severed her shoulder. Her scissors
had to be blunted on the ends before she would use them."
"That doesn't answer my question, Stone. Most females choose poison or an
overdose of Pollendine. Or Fire Poppy. So why use a blunt letter opener? She
had to have been extremely determined to get that all the way into her heart.
It would have taken a lot of pressure."
Stone could not completely hide his distress at the thought of what had
happened to his sister. I loved you, Fianait. “Ossian thinks it took two
people to do it. One to hold her still while the other shoved the blade in.
There is no sign of bruising except on her hands. Malthus and Belgair, with
Belgair as the instigator because he had the most to gain by it. The regency.
And of course, his father had issues with both Fianait and myself."
Pandeena's expression turned ugly. “I'm more inclined to suspect Malthus as
the instigator."
"Why?"
"Myn have been known to do ruthless things to ensure their children
inherited."
"He would not have gained anything by it. The laws restrict humans from
gaining in such a situation."
"You're wrong, Stone. The Butchering Serpent is in Wolffgard.” Pandeena's tone
turned cautious, as if testing him with the information.
"I have read the reports,” Stone admitted, yet then gave a shake of his head.
“Ossian needs something more than vague rumors to act upon."
Toniqua set the letter opener aside and pointed to a line of dried bloodstains
on the desk. “Was there blood on her hands? It looks like she spurted when her
heart was pierced."
"The one who would have known would be Aisha. The nibari here insist that
Aisha was the one who washed Fianait's body."
"And she's conveniently dead.” Pandeena snarled wordlessly for several
moments.
"There should have been some on her hands—or the hands of the one who killed
her.” Toniqua straightened the desk chair, stood behind it, and put her hands
together in front of her, drawing them toward her in a simulation of the blade
going in.
"There still would have needed to be two myn."
"Or one sa'necari."
Stone nodded. “Or a sa'necari."
"Thank you. If you'll just keep everyone out of the Great Hall until we
finish, Pandeena and I will arrange Fianait's body back as we found it. You
don't need to delay the funeral. You can bury her tomorrow as you planned to."
"Custom decrees a public funeral for my brother after two phases of the moon
have passed so his people can view his remains. However, I would prefer to see
my sister and Aisha laid to their rest in a small private ceremony. Just the
immediate family and close friends. My sister was a private soul ... easily
overwhelmed."
"I understand and have no problems with it. I will see you tomorrow at noon
for their funeral."
"Then, if you will excuse me, I will leave you to it.” Stone gave them a

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polite bow and left.
* * * *
Until the arrival of Stoneriver and his Creeyan forces, Malthus had been
conspicuous among the lycans living in the manor. Like most Waejontori males,
his waist length black hair would easily grow to his ankles if he did not keep
it trimmed. His dark skin contrasted sharply against that of the fair-skinned
lycans. He had more facial hair than the average sa'necari-born and carried a
straight razor in his pocket to keep it fastidiously trimmed into an oak leaf
beard and a pencil thin mustache with long drooping edges. Malthus used the
razor to cut throats as well as shave.
His people had originated as a small religious cult that practiced necromancy.
Only one hellgod escaped when the Nine Elder Gods of Light rounded up her
brethren and imprisoned them behind the Katal Escarpment; and she tutored them
in the rites of Mortgiefan. That ritual of rape and death allowed them assume
all the powers and appetites of the undead while still living myn. Over the
generations, their genes had altered and their children began to be born
sa'necari, rather than made such by the rites. They still practiced mortgiefan
to enhance their powers.
Malthus took a roundabout path through the manor. He had come to know the
place well over the months that he had lived there. Fear of discovery now
dogged the sa'necari bounty hunter's heels at every moment. He had removed
everything that might be incriminating from his study and hidden it. Lord Hoon
had hired him to murder the Redhand family and he had done so.
He slipped down the servants’ staircase, reached the second floor, and entered
a bedroom there. The rooms were small. The ‘servants’ did not get suites with
an antechamber. A double bed occupied the far right hand corner. A sturdy
cradle sat between the bed and a tall chest of drawers. A smaller bureau and a
dressing table stood crowded together on the left hand. Braided rugs covered
the floor. Near the door sat a small square table with four bare wooden
chairs. All cozy in a worn way.
Like most of the lycan aristocracy, the Redhands had politely referred to
their nibari as servants when in fact they were slaves. Nibari were
genetically altered humans, bred for centuries for docility. They were as tame
as mice and as harmless as deer; so obedient that they went to their deaths
without resistance when ordered to do so by their masters.
Isbeth sat in a chair by the hearth, suckling her infant. When she saw Malthus
enter, a flush of alarm spread over her face. Malthus savored her fear. It
stoked his necromantic appetites. He had not had a rite in weeks, and he
hungered to feel a mon die beneath him at the moment of sexual climax. Malthus
would have had matters right where he wanted them if Belgair had not been
handed a devastating defeat by Todd Sinclair. In order to kill Kynyr, he would
have to first kill Todd. He would have to talk to Clennan. The thane might
prove an ally since it meant destroying his son's killer. He needed new cat's
paws, since Todd and Kynyr managed to dispose of all of his except Isbeth.
He had gotten into Isbeth's mind with layers of coercions that forced her to
do things that ran against her instincts. Isbeth was the only hold card
Malthus had left in the manor and he would need to play her again soon. She
had poisoned Kynyr, and betrayed to their deaths the small band of guardsmyn
that had supported the bastard prince.
The nibari quarters were the one place that no one would ever search. In myn's
minds, their innocence was a given. Malthus opened the drawer of her dresser
and took out a long chain of small globes that appeared to be simple baubles
of various colors, which he carried to the table. He tapped the green one with
a word of command and the surface was suddenly covered in crates, boxes, and
books.
He located two tiny vials of the poison he had originally been giving Kynyr
that mimicked Black Mountain Fever. He slipped them into his pocket, and hid
the globes again. His eyes brushed the small golden ring on his right hand.
Lord Hoon had given the ring to him. It allowed him to conceal his true nature
and appear to be human. Malthus had recently learned that the ring had once

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belonged to Waejonan the Accursed, founder of Waejontor. With it, he could
raise and lower the level of arcane power he channeled. According to some
ancient texts the ring could counteract the effects of spellcord, which was
used to separate a mage from his powers.
Malthus started walking. He kept to the least used ways, and the hidden
servants’ stairways. Belgair should never have told Finn MacIver that he
poisoned Kynyr. But then they had not believed that Finn would be rescued from
the dungeons.
Belgair had been overconfident; certain of victory. Therefore Belgair would
not have bothered to conceal his crimes. History was written by the winners.
Still, it should not be too obvious.
Malthus slipped into Belgair's chambers, pulled the top drawer of his dresser
open, and left one vial at the back of it. Then he headed for Sheradyn's
suite.
* * * *
On the day that the coup failed, Belgair had left behind a token force at the
manor; mostly the untried newest myn in his ranks and a few that he trusted to
keep them in line. Stone had retained them as part of the household guard to
mitigate the perception of a foreign takeover by Creeyan units; however, all
the key posts were manned by his own forces.
No more than forty odd myn out of Belgair Doherty's forces had surrendered
when the battle went against them at gates to the Maguire Estate, and now
cooled their heels locked in the basement storerooms and pantries beneath it.
Another twenty wounded were taken into custody by Todd Sinclair's myn and were
being treated in the Maguire infirmaries.
Those who had managed to flee had scattered through Wolffgard and gone to
earth wherever they could find sufficient concealment. However, within a few
days, some of them had grown brave enough—or resigned enough—to take their
chances on fair treatment and given themselves up to Stone's forces. The
surrendering myn all had the same plaint: they were simply following orders.
They all knew that if Todd's forces had really wanted to find them, they could
have. Wolffgard was large by lycan standards, but small by those of
neighboring Waejontor. Years of comfortable familiarity between the citizens
of Wolffgard and the guardsmyn served both sides in good stead. Those
guardsmyn who had committed no outrages against the community were allowed to
hide in plain sight, with the civilians politely pretending not to notice
them. Those who have given the citizenry cause to hate them found themselves
on the wrong end of lycan private justice.
Belgair's surviving officers did not fair as well as his myn. They were
rounded up by the town's volunteer militia as suspect in the coup, and turned
into Stone who then locked them in the manor's dungeons.
Lieutenant Lennox Strahan had been one of the lucky ones, and escaped notice
from the militia. Although if asked, he would say that he had made his own
luck. A week without shaving had concealed much of his face, but it was
impossible to conceal his protuberant eyes. He had a face that looked like a
fig someone had squashed against a wall. His nose had been broken more than
once and the only reason he could still use it was because the healers had
placed metal tubes in his nostrils while they healed and then removed them.
The end result was that it had flattened out.
Lennox had moved into Preece Malloy's old longhouse on the grounds of the
Sanctuary Refugee Camp. Vika Softpaws, who ran the camp, had hired him; with a
few caveats about his good behavior. He had been drinking heavily to mask the
fatigue and aching; the way his stomach felt twisted. Lennox had recognized
the signs of withdrawal from White Fire. What little sleep he had managed to
get had been poor. He had not realized that he had developed a dependency upon
it, buying it from Belgair's chastisemon, Damien Kildare, at every
opportunity. One of the other guardsmyn who bought from Damien must have
stolen it from the chastisemon's rooms after someone with claws tore Damien's
face off in the dungeons beneath the manor. If he could figure out which of
them that was, then he could get more.

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He sat in a worn chair. The best chair had been given up to Thane Clennan
Doherty. The harsh-eyed Thane had brought his own liquor. The two myn who had
come with him had the look of lions in their eyes; hungry and ready to pounce.
Faerwald Davies sat on the edge of the table with his knee pulled up. Lairgan
stood behind Lennox, which made his neck itch with nervousness. No two myn had
ever made Lennox that uneasy before.
"Vertram says you saw my son killed.” Clennan sipped his whiskey with a
casualness belied by his eyes and the turn of his mouth.
Lennox nodded, trying not to stare at the twisted, leather-clad claw that was
Clennan's crippled left hand. “He surrendered ... threw his sword down ... and
begged quarter. Todd gutted him and walked off."
Faerwald and Lairgan shared glances at that, but said nothing.
"Start at the beginning of the attack upon the estate and tell me everything
you actually saw."
"Yessir. Belgair left a token force at the manor. Counting the bridge
watchers, we had nearly four hundred myn with us. To our knowledge, Sinclair
had no more than seventy. We expected Todd to put up a token resistance while
they got the bastard out the Orchard Gate. So Belgair assigned me fifty myn
and we went around to that gate to wait for them. Instead, we found nearly
three hundred MacLachlan soldiers—cavalry, infantry, and archers—led by
Tobrytan MacFie. They rode us down. My myn were slaughtered. I escaped by
crawling through the hedgerow. I killed one of Maguire's guards and stole his
uniform. That got me to the pathway leading to the front gate. Sinclair had
trapped the forward hedgerows. There were spikes the length of sword blades
hidden beneath the snow. There were pit traps along the front path. Just as I
got to the front, MacFie hit Belgair's forces in the rear. Trevor Sinclair
then emerged from the trees and attacked. They pincered Belgair's soldiers,
and cut Belgair off from his own forces. That's when Todd reappeared and
killed your son."
Clennan had listened quietly. Now he tossed Lennox a gold crown, the largest
denomination of coinage in Red Wolf, and four months pay in a guardsmon's
wages. “You now work for me."
"Yessir. Thanks."
Clennan rose and stepped outside. Snow had begun to fall. He stared into the
white curtain of flakes. “When you kill Todd ... start by cutting him up good
and then open his belly."
"Count on us, Lord,” said Faerwald.
"They'd better be good.” Lennox stood in the doorway of his home with his arms
folded. “Belgair tried to take Sinclair out before attacking Maguire. We sent
five myn against him and he killed them all."
Clennan gave him a thin smile. “They're professionals."
* * * *
Kady waddled onto the veranda, feeling awkward and uncomfortable with her
belly protruding so far beyond her breasts. Kynyr rolled along ahead of her.
Her husband had learned to maneuver the wheel-chair over and around most
obstacles.
A guardsmon had alerted them that a fine carriage had arrived at the front
gate and been told to go around and enter through the Orchard Gate. The traps
that Todd had ordered built between the front gate and the abatis surrounding
the mansion itself were still in place.
"I wonder who it is.” Kady settled onto the sofa, spreading her skirts to
either side of her.
"Thanes probably. Stone says they're all demanding a look at me.” Kynyr fought
down a wave of bitterness. “Todd and Stone are all that's keeping them from
having us both hung."
"Don't say that. Not all of them have sided with Clennan and Vertram."
"Perhaps."
Only two of the thanes had come to extend the hand of friendship to Kynyr.
Just two out of seventeen, and that rankled Kady more and more as the days
passed. Old Sedley Wescot, Thane of Silvershire, had brought Kynyr a gift of

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two fine warhorses. He had also brought his middle-aged son, Lyncoln, along.
Lyncoln was a childless widower with a sense of humor that grated on Kady's
nerves. Sedley's reason for bringing Lyncoln became apparent from pointed
questions concerning the marital status of Kynyr's three younger sisters.
Kynyr had sidestepped the questions, trying to pretend he could not tell that
Kady was close to snapping at Sedley over it.
However, Thane Cedric Hargrave of Whiteford had proven to be a welcome relief
to the intrusions of Sedley. He brought Kady lovely quilts and a wealth of
baby blankets, which she and Kynyr's Aunt Mary were still oohing and aahing
over.
The carriage pulled up and a footmon climbed down to help three aristocratic
bitches out.
A smile spread across Kady's face when she recognized Kynyr's three older
sisters: Phoebe married to Weylen Tully, a goldsmith; Russa, wife of Blayne
Albryn, a merchant in Middleborough; and Kathleen, whom they called Leeny, wed
to Wallace Callaghan, a farmer.
Leeny's eyes softened and she bent to hug her brother. “I'm so sorry, Brubs.
It's unfair."
"I'm handling it.” Kynyr kissed her cheek.
"Careful she doesn't tip over on you, Brubs.” Phoebe chortled. “Wallace has
seeded her field again."
Leeny blushed. She had been born with a cleft palate that took her grandmother
years of Mending to finally repair properly. Kathleen's trouble with certain
letters had led to her becoming Leeny and to Kynyr's family nickname of Brubs.
"When's it due, Leeny?” Kady smiled at her, recalling the night she helped
Gillivray deliver Leeny's cub.
"Close to Sowayn."
Russa thumped Phoebe's shoulder. “At least we spaced ours out. Stair steps is
the best way to have them."
Phoebe ignored her sister and joined Kady on the sofa. “I see our obnoxious
brother has gotten you all motherly right off the mark. I told Weylen when I
married him, that I wanted to get used to the cookies before moving on to the
cubs. He was perfectly fine with it. Of course, Weylen never expected to find
himself a thane suddenly. He's still getting used to the idea. Now all he
talks about in bed is heirs. I keep telling him that he'll get more when I'm
damned well ready for them. And not a moment sooner."
Russa ran her fingers through Kynyr's short locks with a critical eye. “What
happened to your hair?"
"He was spending so much time in bed, that it was the only way to keep the
mats out,” Kady explained.
"I see.” Russa examined the wheel-chair. “Is that the brake?"
Kynyr started to answer and let out a ‘woof’ as Russa let the brake off,
grabbed the handles, and ran him down the veranda at top speed. She shrieked
in delight and ran him back to the sofa.
"Stop that!” Kynyr gripped the arms so tightly that his knuckles whitened.
“You'll dump me in the snow if you're not careful."
"In the snow?” Mischief gleamed in Russa's eyes. “Now, there's an idea."
Kynyr gave Kady a woebegone look. “This is why Finn and I call them the
Dreaded Horde."
"I'll give you Dreaded Horde.” Russa's sky blue eyes flashed. She seized the
wheel-chair again, and ran her brother to edge.
Kynyr stared down at the big pile of snow that had been swept from the veranda
earlier that day. “Oh, no. You wouldn't do that to your poor crippled brother
... now would you?” He tried his best to sound pathetic, and Russa immediately
dumped him into the snow.
Kady snickered, wiggled her fingers, and levitated him back into the
wheel-chair. “You had that coming."
The three sisters stared in surprise and then shared a laugh. Russa wheeled
Kynyr back to his place beside the sofa. “Aunt Mary said you were a mage like
Gram ... but I've never seen her do anything like that."

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"I'm not like Gram. I'm a level seven pan-elementalist."
Russa let out a long whistle. “And what's Gram?"
"A level one."
Russa whistled a second time.
"So the emissaries of the Dreaded Horde have arrived.” Todd stepped out onto
the veranda.
Russa made a moue at Kynyr and slapped his cheek with the tips of her fingers.
“Now you've got Grandfather calling us that. You ought to be ashamed. You're a
bad influence on him, Kynyr."
Then the three sisters enveloped Todd in hugs; kissing his cheeks and fussing
over him.
Todd chuckled, gently freeing himself from their grasp. “Come inside. Your
Gram has been waiting for you in the kitchen since she saw you arrive from her
window."
Russa grasped the handles on the wheel-chair. “Lead on."
"Oh, no.” Kynyr threw a glance of exaggerated alarm over his shoulder at her.
“You're not pushing, Russa."
"I'll do it.” Todd placed his hands on the wheel-chair and Russa relinquished
it with a snicker.
Kitchen sitting had become a tradition with the Sinclair family long before
the birth of Kynyr and his six sisters. Kady had embraced it, since the ovens
made it the warmest room in the house. The huge first floor kitchen was
perfect for a crowd of chattering bitches, and the dogs tended to join them
there.
"I'll show you around in a bit.” Kynyr leaned forward, snatching at a plate of
fresh baked cookies as Todd slid the chair into place.
"How do you manage the stairs? Do we get to carry you?” Russa grinned.
Phoebe thumped her sister. “Once in the snow was quite enough."
"I'll show you."
Kynyr wheeled to the broad sweep of the staircase in the main living room. A
secondary railing had been built beside the balustrade. He put the brake on,
grasped the rail and the balustrade, and lifted himself from the chair. The
prince went up the stairs with his hands and arms carrying his weight. His
family followed with appreciative noises. When he reached the top, another
chair waited. Kynyr eased into that one, let off the brake and wheeled
triumphantly down the hallway.
"By the way,” Phoebe turned to Kady as they followed their brother, “I hope
you have room for us here. The husbands are staying on at the manor, but they
don't want us there."
"Why not?"
Russa shrugged. “Safety. All the recent violence has them nervous about us.”
She slipped her arm through Todd's and leaned against his shoulder. “What do
you think about that, Grandfather?"
"Wise move."
Russa pulled away from him and thumped his shoulder. “You think we've
forgotten everything you taught us, haven't you?"
Todd chuckled. “Not at all. You're still a bunch of rascals."
"Well, you're certainly welcome here.” Kady gestured at a nibari passing in
the hallway. She owned ten, including the wet nurse she had purchased to care
for Iollen Newell's motherless daughter. His young wife, Aghavie, had died in
childbirth. Nibari breast milk was richer than lycan, but never seemed to
bother the cubs a bit. “Ready three more of the suites on the east end."
The nibari smiled with a small curtsy and ran off to get it done.
* * * *
Malthus sat in Clennan's suite, having been fetched there by Faerwald Davies.
He chaffed under the constraints of uncertainty. Without Belgair to advise
him, the Thanes—including Clennan—were unknown quantities.
It was larger and nicer than those in what had been the family wing. It had a
central sitting room with a warm hearth, and four bedrooms that linked in the
middle with the sitting room.

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Berneen Hamilton, Clennan's sixteen-year-old mistress, had a bedroom that had
both a door into the suite and a connecting door to Clennan's bedroom. She was
his current fancy, and as was inevitable in their ranks, her belly was already
swelling. Her father had run the Weaver's Guild, and become heavily in debt to
Clennan. In an attempt to get Clennan to forgive the debt—something the thane
rarely did for any one, he had persuaded one of the thane's housecarles to
introduce her to him at court six months ago. Snub-nosed with a piquant
attractiveness, Berneen had caught Clennan's eye and lost her virginity to him
three days later.
His bodyguards, Faerwald and Lairgan, had the remaining two bedrooms.
"So, you're Malthus.” Clennan cast a skeptical gaze at him. “My son thought
highly of you. Impress me."
"I doubt that I could. Belgair and I were friends. I'm certain that colored
his letters to you with praise I did not deserve."
"Modesty has no place with me. I want to know what you can do. Belgair said
you were kandoyarin. I've heard many impressive things about those Ocelayen
mercenaries. I want to see you go a round with Faerwald in the salle. If you
can hold your own with him, I'll support you. Otherwise, you may find yourself
banished when I become regent for your sons."
"Can I watch?” Berneen joined Clennan on the sofa, snuggling against him.
Clennan placed his withered arm around her shoulders, the twisted, fingers
closed upon her nipple, playing with it. “Of course you can."
Faerwald regarded Malthus with speculative contempt as they walked.
Word got out the moment they emerged from the suite and they acquired a tail
as they headed for the guardsmyns’ wing of the manor.
Creeyans were working out in the salle with a few of the remaining lycan
guardsmyn, and a scattering of the thanes’ myn. They eyed the newcomers with
interest.
"All of you move off.” Faerwald gestured at them. “We're putting on a show."
The Creeyans glanced at Reist, who had lowered his own practice blade and
grinned at Regina. “Might as well, better than letting you see Reggie kick my
arse."
"I wasn't.” Regina scowled.
Reist winked at her, rubbing a forefinger across his chin as they passed and
turned to his wife. “You want to watch, Reggie?"
"Why not?"
Everyone settled on the benches, except for Clennan who had a chair brought
in, and Reist who stood with his shoulder against the wall and one arm around
his wife.
Malthus chose the broadsword that he normally used for practice from the
weapons rack. Faerwald unbuckled his sword belt, handing his saber and knives
to Lairgan before selecting a practice saber from the rack. He tested it with
a few swipes and moved into the center of the salle.
"So you were a kandoyarin?” Faerwald had a tiny arrogant smile as he spoke. “I
thought I recognized the move you used to break my hold on your niece."
"Keep your hands off my niece."
"I don't harm little girls. Not even with a friendly weapon."
Faerwald made Malthus work hard: the duelist was as good as Kynyr had been
before his crippling. Malthus would never forget the humiliation of losing to
Kynyr during a practice session at the refugee camp. He pushed himself to his
limit without accessing his sa'necari speed and strength. They danced,
parrying and slashing.
Reist's attention kept moving between the fighters and his wife. Regina
focused tightly upon them, her brow furrowed and eyelids angled. He turned his
head slightly, just enough to keep Malthus in view and catch the look in
Regina's eyes from the corners of his own. “They're good, Reggie."
"Matches are usually over fast, aren't they?"
"Unless it's a pair of masters fighting."
"So they're masters?"
"Evidently."

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Time and again, Malthus blocked Faerwald with hanging parries and attacked
with flurries of crosscuts so fast that Reist began to watch more closely.
Lycans and a few other arcane races handled heavy swords with the ease of a
human with a rapier.
"And I've seen a few humans that good with the heavier blades,” Reist conceded
under his breath. “Few and far between though."
Faerwald dodged and pressed. The heavier broadsword could put him down in a
single blow—nearly unstoppable by his saber if Malthus got in a good swing. He
had expected the human to give him an easy victory. Now, sweat ran down their
faces from effort, and yet neither could touch the other.
"What do you think? Could you take him?” Regina asked Reist.
"Which one?"
"Either of them."
"I would not wish to bet my life on the difference between myself and either
of those two."
Malthus’ lip curled back in a snarl. His temper rose and months of frustration
boiled to the surface at having to pretend to be less than he was. Being
beaten by Kynyr had been bad enough. He upped the level of his strength and
speed by a fraction, losing a bit of his humanity in the process. His
broadsword connected with Faerwald's saber, entangled it from above, and
jabbed the blunted point against the lycan's chest.
Faerwald grimaced and ceased fighting. “Oh well, just a practice. Not like I
was trying to kill you..."
Malthus walked off, smirking.
Reist shook his head, wondering if he had seen what he thought he saw. The
human was good. But how could such a slender human be that good with a heavy
sword? He frowned, puzzling upon it further. Something did not seem right.
"Reist?” Regina touched his arm. “Reist, why are you looking that way?"
"I don't know. Just something wasn't right."
* * * *
Kynyr had escaped from his sisters at the first opportunity and rolled his
wheel-chair out onto one of the third floor galleries. Iollen Newell's
innovations had made it easier for him to get about. He would park his chair
at the foot of the stairs, and then use the special rails that Iollen had
installed to get to the next one using his hands to climb instead of his feet.
A chair was always parked at the top for him to use.
He watched the coffin maker arrive with more pine boxes. A few at a time, the
bodies of his friends and comrades killed by Belgair's purge were being
claimed by their grieving relatives. After his initial rage had passed, Kynyr
had requested that Stone allow families to claim the bodies of Belgair's slain
soldiers who were hanging from the scaffolds on the common.
"Been looking for you.” Todd pulled a chair up, turned it around, and
straddled it.
"You've found me.” Kynyr continued to stare from the window; his tone distant.
"You can't keep brooding about it. It was not your fault those myn died."
"I feel responsible. If I had not come to Wolffgard five years ago..."
"If you hadn't, we would have Belgair as regent and Malthus running the realm.
Would you want that?"
"No. Duty is where you find it."
"What do you make of your uncle?"
"Stone? He's not what I expected."
"He told me what he did to you."
Kynyr's eyes slewed sideways at the disapprobation in Todd's tone. “I can move
my legs. And they're not as cold as they were."
"I suppose that is something."
"You don't like him?"
"I haven't decided. When he was young, he was nothing but grief for everyone
who cared about him. Now? Who can say?"
Kynyr's gaze returned to the window and he scratched at his golden ginger
sideburns. Kady had shaved them off during his illness and they were just then

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growing back. “I have to trust him, Todd. I need Stone every bit as much as I
need you."
"Ayup. I'm aware of that. At least he doesn't want the throne. His claim is as
good as yours; better in some ways."
"Ironic. Neither of us wanting the throne. Now I'll fight the Hellgod himself,
to protect Claw's legacy."
Todd leaned over and hugged Kynyr. “I raised you right."
* * * *
Wallace Callaghan, new made Thane and hero of Longbranch for defeating a unit
of Waejontori cavalry, considered his opposite number, Selwyn Brawleigh of
Anglecyn. They sat near the hearth in the sitting room of Selwyn's large
suite. “I tell you, if he got the use of his legs back, there would not be a
mon who could match Kynyr Maguire. And I'm not just saying that because I'm
married to his sister. He was the best Todd Sinclair ever trained."
"All the more shame on the House of Doherty then.” Selwyn took a swallow from
his tankard of mead.
"Hard to understand how the son of a Thane would poison someone."
"You're refreshing, Wallace. You don't know us well enough yet to see all the
tawdry trappings that dangle from our tails."
"Like yours?” Wallace's tone turned wary.
"I would like to think I don't have any.” Selwyn's lips pursed in bemusement.
“However, from what my grandfather used to tell me, there was more honor among
thanes before the Rebellion, than afterward. There's still more honor in the
north than the south, possibly because we're not as prosperous, so we have
less to lose by being honorable.” Selwyn shook himself. “I apologize. I'm
being cynical. I get that way every time I have to deal with the likes of
Clennan Doherty and Vertram Devlin."
"I don't like them either."
"I almost brought my family along. But Audra can't stand being around Jocelyn
and Lillian."
"Audra?"
"My wife. I wish I had now. Audra would like Leeny, Phoebe, and Russa."
"They're easy to like. The whole family is. Both the Maguire side and the
Sinclairs."
"I am looking forward to meeting them. All of the northern thanes have sided
with Kynyr. The midlands could go either way. As for those bloody southerners,
they seem to be lining up behind Clennan and Vertram."
"Politics!” Wallace brandished his tankard. “I'd rather fight a war with
swords than a skirmish of words."
"Leave the politics to Cedric and me. Get Blayne and Weylen to follow our
lead, and we'll have Kynyr crowned as soon as Claw is buried."
"I'm with you on it."
"Good.” Selwyn turned a canny eye to Wallace. “Now, I need to point out a
danger you are probably not aware of.... Those two myn you see with Clennan
all the time?"
"The ones who walk like swordsmyn?"
"You've a good eye. They are Faerwald Davies and Lairgan Yates. They are
professionals."
"Soldiers?"
"Killers. Duelists. Doherty calls them his bodyguards, but they are hired
murderers. Nothing more. Every member of your family is in danger ...
especially Todd and Kynyr."
"Thanks for the warning. We'll deal with them."
"I think you're being overconfident. Todd's old and Kynyr's crippled."
"You don't know the Sinclairs.” Wallace's eyes narrowed with a flash of fierce
certitude. “Todd has three sons, all masters of the sword. I doubt that these
professionals can match Trevor, Queran, and especially Jordan. Jordy's another
Todd."
"Then you'd best get them here. I have a feeling you're going to need them."
"I will see what I can do, but I doubt we'll need them. Trevor's already here.

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And so is StealsThunder."
"StealsThunder? Who is he?"
"She. Fae armsmaster. Thunder is Captain of the Chosen Thirteen, Kady's
bodyguards."
"She'd better be very good."
"She is. Thunder eats vampires."
"How do you eat a vampire without becoming one?” Selwyn laughed.
"You roast them first."
Selwyn choked on a sip of mead. “You're serious?"
"Absolutely."
"I'll have to take your word for it then."
"What about this gossip about Stone? Clennan threw it in my face yesterday."
"Oh that old shite. There's as many versions of the story as there are people
to tell it. Yes, Fianait and Stone were lovers. It's said that was the reason
their father banished him. Claw rescinded the banishment as soon as he became
chieftain, but Stone refused to come home. All things considered, it can't
have been as bad as some say, since Claw's first act was to try and get his
brother to come home."
"Is this going to hurt Kynyr?” Wallace felt driven to ask the question. He
recalled holding Kynyr while the younger mon wept for the loss of his father
Branduff and his cousin Duggan last summer; which had engendered in him the
protectiveness of an older brother for a younger.
"Not with the northerners. The past is the past. We have to worry about the
present and the future. Those sa'necari bastards had been ravaging the
northlands for months. Gateshead fell. Whiteford and Three Stones were
attacked. If Stone had not destroyed their army at Maerse Field, they would
still be murdering and raping their way through our territories. When you owe
your life and the lives of your families to a mon, forgiveness is a given."

CHAPTER FIVE
FALSE EVIDENCE
The new lawgiver to Wolffgard, Ossian O'Reilly, wasted no time in making his
presence felt within the community. Ossian was a stern visaged young wolf who
dressed like a Battle-Clansmon in black leathers with two fighting knives at
his hips, a claymore at his shoulder, and a crossbow clipped to his belt. He
and his brothers had made a point of drinking in each of the taverns in
Wolffgard just so that people would take note of them, wearing their lawgiver
runes in plain sight.
He was a shrewd mon who had made a fine art of listening to his gut instincts.
A trio of desks stood facing the door into the first of the three infirmaries
where the wounded from the night of the purge were being cared for. Folding
screens had been extended to give the myn in the beds beyond them privacy. Two
wheel-chairs stood empty opposite the desks. Ossian strolled over to them and
pushed one back and forth watching how the wheels worked.
"Clever thing."
Sha, the senior healer, turned from making notations at her desk. Her
cornflower eyes took in the runes hanging from his neck and then his face.
“What can we do for you, Lawgiver?"
Ossian quit toying with the wheel-chair. From her no nonsense bearing to the
harsh upswept way she wore her black hair, Ossian could tell that she took her
position as seriously as he did his. “I need to speak with some of the
wounded."
"Don't tire them."
"I'm looking for William Galloway first."
"Last bed on the left."
Ossian walked down the aisle, nodding to the myn in the beds as he passed.
Several of them called out to him.
"We got us a lawgiver!"
"Welcome to you!"
"It's about time we got one of you again."

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Ossian arrived at the end and found a slender young human sitting at the
bedside of Willy Galloway. “What is your name? And where do you live?"
"I'm Bella Montegna. I work for Luciano Albertus at the Scarlet Angel Mage
Shop. I live above it."
"Don't leave town."
"Am I under suspicion?” She clutched at Willy's hand in a spasm of fear.
"At this point everyone is.” He turned to Willy. “So you're William Galloway.
You warned Todd Sinclair of the purge."
Willy sucked in a breath. “I was attacked in my rooms by Lennox Strahan,
Derek, and Eamon. I was unarmed, but they cut me up anyway. I went out a
window and reached the stables where Georgie Rogan helped me to get mounted
and I rode here."
"Is there anything else you think I should know?"
"A few weeks ago, Belgair Doherty ordered Lon Anglesey flogged for allowing
Darcy MacFie to cross into Red Wolf."
"Finn MacIver's wife?"
A flush of joy colored Willy's pale face. “He married her?"
"As I understand it, the same day I arrived. Yes. Now go on."
"Anyway, Belgair refused to allow Sheradyn to tend Lon's injuries. So I went
down to the pantry. Isbeth keeps a few supplies there. While I was grabbing
stuff ... bandages, salve, and poppy milk ... I found a strange bottle that I
took to Luciano Albertus. It had no labels and the contents smelled strange.
Luciano told me that it was poison and might be the same they had been
slipping Kynyr that caused his collapse."
"What did you do then?"
"Nothing. We didn't have a lawgiver and I didn't know who to trust."
"Do you still have the bottle?"
"Unless they ransacked my quarters, it should still be there. I put it on the
ledge of the bed frame behind the headboard. I didn't want anyone finding it
until I could decide what to do."
The presence of a solid clue to the poisoning excited Ossian. He had intended
to talk to more of the wounded guardsmyn; instead, he altered his plans,
seized by the need to find the bottle that Willy had told him of before anyone
else stumbled upon it.
"I'll want to speak with you further, Willy. So don't go anywhere."
Willy grabbed the crutch leaning against the headboard and wagged it at
Ossian. “As if I could."
* * * *
Berneen feared Clennan.
He had difficulty getting his clothes off, fumbling with his good hand at the
lacings. The sagging muscles and age-slicked skin of his right side looked bad
enough, but the twisted, desiccated limbs on the left made her stomach clench
at the thought of his touching her. She had prayed from the first day that her
father arranged for Clennan to mount her that his seed would have withered
with age and leave the joining barren. Berneen had grown into a feeling of
safety only to have it dashed two months ago when she missed her menses.
She had contemplated tansy, but Clennan must have guessed her thoughts; he
warned her that if she lost the cub, he would give her to Faerwald.
Her father's plan had backfired. As old as Clennan was, her father had
believed that having such a young and appealing bitch in his bed would soften
the thane into forgiving his debts. Instead, Clennan had seen having her as a
right, not a favor. Berneen had threatened to leave Clennan one day following
one of his public humiliations of her. His response had been to foreclose on
her father's estates, leaving him penniless and Berneen with no place to flee
to. After that, Berneen did whatever Clennan asked of her.
Her hatred of the old mon lay smothered beneath her fear. Her anger became
secondary to a determination to get something in the way of money and prestige
out of her position as his mistress. Berneen sent part of everything Clennan
gave her to her father so that he had a roof over his head and food on his
table.

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After building up the fire in the hearth, Berneen stretched naked on the bed
with a forced smile on her lips and a come-hither glance.
He dragged his left leg, grabbing and moving it with his hand in order to
straddle her. His member hung limp. He sat on her shoulders and breasts. It
took effort to get an erection from him. Berneen patiently licked and sucked
him to hardness.
He stroked her face with the back of his twisted hand and Berneen tried not to
shudder.
Once she had gotten him as stiff as he was likely to get, Clennan crawled down
her until he had it bobbing at her clit. He got the knob inside her and
started snarling. Berneen's heart sank. He had gone soft again.
"Faerwald!” Clennan twisted around, grabbed the bedpost, and used it to ease
himself off the bed and into a nearby chair. “Faerwald."
The tall bodyguard came in grinning. “Yes, lord?"
"Entertain me."
Faerwald snatched cords from his pouch and bound Berneen's wrists and ankles
to the posts. She did not resist. She had been through it before. Faerwald
disrobed and climbed onto the bed between her legs.
"Rough or gentle, my lord?"
"Rough, but stay away from her belly."
Clennan had seven sons and five daughters from his three wives. Having another
cub at this point meant little to him beyond the fact that he could brag about
his fertility at age one hundred and twenty. The Reader had told him it was
his. It could have been Faerwald's or Lairgan's.
Faerwald hit her twice and then shoved his cock inside.
The thane leaned forward in his chair, watching avidly and stroking his
member.
* * * *
Ossian gave Georgie Rogan a curt nod as the stablemon took his horse, and
those of his two brothers. Ultan, the youngest, was an eager puppy at barely
sixteen, with a spiky crop of sandy hair close cut. Waid, the middle brother,
was quiet and intense, sharply focused and ready for trouble. They dismounted
and stood prepared to back any move that Ossian made. The brothers were well
aware that the two previous lawgivers, who had each worked alone, were dead;
and determined that it would not happen this time.
"Business, Lawgiver?"
"You'll know it soon enough."
Ossian strode to the door and entered without knocking. He spotted two Creeyan
guardsmyn and gestured for them to follow him.
"Do either of you know which rooms were Willy Galloway's?"
One of them thumbed at Kissie for her to join them. “She does."
Kissie showed them to the suite that Willy had shared with Vayle Stewart. Cold
air leaked into the bedroom between the wooden slats nailed over the window,
which Willy had broken in his escape from the manor. Equally divided between
the two myn who had shared it; each side had a single bed, a nightstand, a
chest of drawers, and a weapons rack. A chair, that matched those in the
antechamber, had been overturned beside the left-hand bed. Dried bloodstains
marred the quilt covering that bed, and the weapons were still in the rack.
That led Ossian to suspect it was Willy's. So he climbed onto it, feeling
around behind it. His fingers closed upon a bottle and he brought it out.
“Kissie, bring me six or seven burlap sacks."
Ossian stroked the memory stone in the ring he wore, activating it. “I wish
you to note for the record that this bottle was found behind the headboard of
William Galloway's bed, where I was informed it would be found by Galloway
himself, who allegedly found it in the kitchen pantry."
He opened the bottle and sniffed it carefully, then extended it to the rest in
the room. “Just sniff. This is what we are looking for.” He located a pen,
ink, and paper; scratched Willy's name onto it and shoved it along with the
bottle into a burlap sack.
"Waid.” Ossian glanced at his brother. “Have Stone assign you a couple of

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deputies and escort one Luciano Albertus to the Lawgiver House. I have some
questions to ask him before anyone else tells him what we are about."
Ossian's middle brother departed with a nod.
"Ultan, search Belgair's quarters.” Ossian handed his youngest brother a sack.
“I'll take Malthus’ rooms."
"His study or his suite?” asked Kissie.
"Study first; show me where it is, Kissie."
Ossian went through Malthus’ study. As he finished with the contents of a desk
drawer, he hurled it across the room to lie beneath the window seat. A messy
pile formed swiftly. When he finished with that he checked the chest of
drawers, the cabinets, and the chests. Finally, he cleared the fireplace out
and climbed inside it. Ossian found nothing on the ledge inside, and emerged
from it coated in soot.
He removed paintings from the walls and jerked down the tapestries.
Nothing.
"What's going on in here?” Malthus stepped into the room and stared at the
mess.
"An investigation. I informed you two days ago that I intended to carry one
out."
"I have nothing to hide."
"Finn MacIver says different. He told me that you were with Belgair the night
he was tortured."
"I have never denied that."
"He also says that you and Belgair admitted to him that you poisoned the
prince."
"He's mistaken. Belgair admitted it. But that night was the first I knew of
it."
"I see. Did Belgair tell you where he had gotten it from?"
"Baroucha Seaver."
"The murdered healer?"
"Yes. Luciano Albertus bought her shop after the crown seized it on her death.
He acquired her entire stock as well as the property. I suggest that you ask
him what he found there."
"I intend to."
Ultan came in with a burlap sack over his shoulder and a bottle in his hand.
“Found this in Belgair's desk."
Ossian sniffed the contents. “It matches."
"I found a lot of letters from various thanes in Belgair's drawers.” Ultan
took the vial from his brother and added it to the contents of the sack.
"Check Sheradyn Kelly's suite while I check Malthus Estrobian's."
"I must object,” said Malthus. “My wife is fragile. Disturbing her could be
dangerous for the cubs she carries."
"I have been so informed. Move her to another suite. But not until we get
there."
Ossian strode through the hallway with Malthus trailing after him. Merissa was
moved to the Rose Room with Regina and Emma accompanying her. Ossian started
turning their chambers inside out.
* * * *
Ossian encountered Toniqua as he emerged from Malthus’ chambers. The small
dark mon puzzled Ossian. When he had arrived days ago to become Lawgiver to
Wolffgard, he had been surprised to find that while the capital had had no
lawgivers since the murder of Padruig Caimbeul, they had an experienced
Creeyan-trained coroner. It troubled him not a whit that she was human. So
long as she did good work, Ossian would be satisfied with her.
"You have the coroner reports ready for me?"
"They're on your desk. Luciano is talking everyone's ears off at the Lawgiver
House. How long are you going to make him wait?"
"Ultan should be nearly finished with Sheradyn Kelly's suite. Once that is
finished, I'll be heading home. I will talk to him then."
Ossian currently lived in one wing of the Lawgiver House while Pandeena and

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her curious companions had another. Rivaling the manor for size, it had taken
ten years to complete. The spaciousness of the building, an eccentric pastiche
of various styles of human architecture designed by Maldwyn Softpaws, kept
them out of each other's way; therefore Ossian had no objection to their
presence.
It stood four stories high with a basement equally divided into storerooms and
dungeons. The building had balconies, parapets, gargoyles, towers and dormer
windows, as well as other architectural nightmares that made Ossian wince to
look at it from the outside. He had been told that the oddities of the place
resulted from too much interference on the part of Claw Redhand. The chieftain
had built the Lawgiver House as a way of relieving the sense of emptiness that
had plagued him after the deaths of his sons, turning it into an obsessive
hobby and Maldwyn's artistic bane.
Nonetheless, Ossian was getting a feel for the place; becoming comfortable
with its peculiarities. “Do you ever wish that Claw had built something more
sensible than the current Lawgiver House?"
Toniqua shook her head, trailing after him. “Actually, I find it charming."
They found Sheradyn Kelly and Gillivray Ashby standing in the chaos that their
suite had been reduced to by Ultan's search. The older mon was livid, his lips
trembling. When he saw Ossian, Sheradyn turned his outraged attention upon the
lawgiver.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"It's on my orders. I intend to have either your license or your life.
Depending on what we find.” Ossian glanced about for his brother. “Ultan?
Where are you?"
"In the closet."
Ossian walked to the deep closet and found his brother stretched over a chest
digging behind it.
"For an impeccable nancidawg, this closet is a rat's nest.” Ultan tossed
several stockings over his shoulder. A collection of empty bottles and vials
followed. “I noticed the chest was not sitting right. So I.... “Ultan stopped
in mid-sentence and his tone turned suddenly serious. “Ossian. Ossian, I found
it. Arrest them."
Ultan emerged victorious from the closet clutching a small vial that matched
both what Willy had discovered and what he had found in Belgair's desk.
"Poison?” Toniqua stared at it.
Ossian sniffed the contents and nodded.
Gillivray stood trembling beside his lover, glancing at Sheradyn uneasily.
Sheradyn blinked. “It's not mine, I tell you. I've never seen it before in my
life."
"It makes sense now,” Toniqua said. “Sheradyn has repeatedly blocked my
investigations. He knew about Fianait. He mishandled Claw's illness."
Ossian put his thumbs through his belt. “Sheradyn Kelly. Gillivray Ashby. I am
arresting you on a charge of murder, attempted murder, conspiracy to murder,
and as possible accessories to the deaths of Fianait Redhand and Claw
Redhand."
He gestured at Ultan and the guardsmyn. They seized the two healers,
spellcorded them, and bound their wrists behind their backs.
Sheradyn shrieked in terror.
"Lock him up in the lawgiver cells.” Toniqua said. “We've had one suspect die
in the dungeons here already."
* * * *
Darmyk lay moaning, clutching his side, tears running down his face. Merissa
had tears of her own, sitting on the bed beside him and rubbing his back.
Regina sat in a chair nearby. She had sensed from the first that Merissa
needed a friend. Emma joined them. They had formed their own little clique and
no longer went to Sorcha's Solar.
"They arrested Sheradyn. I don't know what I'm going to do.” Not wanting to
frighten her sick child, Merissa struggled not to weep aloud—her silent tears
were bad enough.

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"I would send you one of my healers,” said Jenny leaning against the door
facing. “But they know nothing of either sa'necari nor treating children.
They're all battlefield medics and surgeons."
"What about Pandeena or Toniqua?” Regina suggested.
"They frighten me.” Merissa rubbed at her eyes.
"Mary Sinclair is a midwife and works with children. And she's close. We could
send for her."
The waiting for Mary to arrive grew tense. They could all see how terribly the
child hurt. Emma edged her chair closer to the bed and stroked Merissa's hair
comfortingly. “Is she a good midwife? I'm due soon."
Mary Sinclair arrived with a satchel hanging from her shoulder and a case in
her hand. Standing five ten, Mary was tall for a bitch. Her auburn hair was
pinned into an upswept style that lent an uncompromising turn to her face. She
dragged a small table close to the bed and chased the others into another
corner of the room. Then she settled into a chair, grasped Darmyk's wrist and
Read him. Married to Trevor Sinclair, Todd's eldest son, Mary had never
expected to be sent for by the manor; yet she kept her surprise schooled from
her features. “There's damage to his kidneys. I don't understand it at all.
Have you tried giving him blood?"
Mary prescribed limited doses of poppy milk, a gentle diuretic, and glasses of
fresh blood with every meal.
Malthus came in as Mary was sending the bitches from the room so the boy could
rest. She ignored him long enough to close the bedroom door, and faced him in
the antechamber with her hands on her hips.
His eyes glittered with rage. “There's nothing wrong with Darmyk. He's faking
it."
Mary Sinclair stared unflinching at Malthus, her hackles up and hair beginning
to sprout along her arms. “I assure you, the cub is not faking it. I Read him.
Darmyk is dying."
Malthus glared and swallowed back an imprecation. “If you go to Merissa with
this, I'll have you thrown out."
"Malthus, I'm not afraid of you. There's nothing you can do to me. Todd and
StealsThunder will be all over you if you so much as grunt in my direction."
Malthus stiffened and said nothing. Instead, he consoled himself by imagining
Mary on his altar dying beneath him. With Kynyr crippled, that family would be
nothing without Todd. Once Clennan's myn had removed Todd from the equation,
Malthus would take Mary and rite her. The thanes would take care of the
problem of Stoneriver. Malthus would be back in power and he intended to see
that everyone in Red Wolf knew it.
"The only reason I'm not telling the rest of the household is because of
Merissa's fragile condition."
"Then what's wrong with him?"
"I have very little knowledge of the sa'necari. Darmyk is the first one I have
ever treated. However, I will make an educated guess. I think it is a
congenital deformity. His liver and kidneys are failing."
Malthus sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “It will break Merissa's
heart when he dies."
"She loves him. Merissa is extremely sensitive and fragile. Losing her parents
has been very hard on her. That bloody purge you and Belgair committed has
gone hard on her also. To be honest, the odds of her carrying your twins to
term are not good."
Malthus dropped into a chair. “I had nothing to do with that."
"So you say. You're extremely strict with young Darmyk and very possessive and
controlling of his mother."
"I've made a mess of things. I'm too set in my ways, but I'll try to change.
I've never been married before, nor had so much as a long-term relationship. I
spent my entire life with the kandoyarin. A mercenary's life is hard and
disciplined. There was no room for me to learn the gentler arts. Perhaps I'm
too old for the role of husband and father."
Mary eyed him suspiciously, refusing to take his explanation at face value. “I

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think you're a despicable arse. However, I'm too professional to let that get
in my way while treating Merissa and Darmyk."
"Thank you, Mary. I know you have every reason to distrust me. But I want to
assure you that I love my wife and I'm fond of my stepson."
"I will try to keep Darmyk as comfortable and out of pain as I possibly can."
"And Merissa?"
"If her condition gets any worse, I'll simply order complete bed rest. That's
the best I can do at this point."
Malthus nodded wearily. “Thank you, Mary. I know you have all their best
interests at heart. I apologize for becoming upset with you. Is it all right
if I go and check on the boy?"
"Of course."
"How long do you think the boy has?"
"A month. Six weeks at the most. I'm sorry."
"My poor wife. She's already been through so much. And now to lose her child
too.” Malthus rose to his feet. “I'm going to look in on the boy now. Perhaps
I can comfort him."
"You do that."
Malthus walked out of the room and as soon as he was out of Mary's sight, he
began to seethe again. He strode to Darmyk's door and slipped inside. The boy
was sleeping.
"Wake up, you stupid little bastard.” He shook Darmyk.
Darmyk woke and stared at his stepfather with frightened eyes. “Have you come
to hurt me again?"
"Of course I have. I'm going to teach you to keep your mouth shut. You are not
to discuss your illness with anyone."
Malthus shoved his hand up Darmyk's shirt and threw a hard strike of death
magics through Darmyk's organs. The boy shuddered with a loud groan and began
whimpering.
"Look forward to your death, child. Because then I won't be hurting you any
longer."
Tears ran down Darmyk's face. “I won't tell anyone."
"I know you won't.” Malthus pushed Darmyk's head to the side and sank his
fangs into the boy's neck.
* * * *
Luciano Albertus, owner of the Scarlet Angel Mage Shop, was generally regarded
as a funny little human and harmless by the lycan population of Wolffgard.
They had accorded him a measure of respect after he battered a local ruffian
to rescue the one-armed odd jobber, Iollen Newel, who worked for Kady Maguire.
He was a small mon in a knee-length brown tunic, split to his hips for riding,
over a pair of loose-legged trousers stuffed into short boots. His beardless
bronze-skinned face had an effeminate sensuality, full pouting lips in a
narrow face, and a long, straight nose. Large, long-lashed eyes the color of
glistening black pearls dominated his features.
He had been chattering nervously to Lawgiver Waid O'Reilly for two hours,
flitting from subject to subject.
Waid eyed him closely as he tried to get Luciano back onto the topics that
concerned the lawgivers. “Tell me again why you left Skullbones?"
"Sa'necari. I'm a spiritworker. They eat us when they catch us. Well, they
don't eat us, exactly. Just roast us or rite us. We taste bad."
Waid shook his head. “Yes, you've already said that. It doesn't answer the
question."
"Well, what was the question? I am always helpful."
Luciano sucked in a deep breath and held it for a count of six to calm
himself. He hated to admit just how nervous the lawgivers were making him.
“General Mardreth Dovane's forces were routed at Wolfsbane Field. She
retreated to Skeleton Creek to regroup. Skullbones is just a two or three day
ride from Skeleton Creek."
"I see. That store of yours is extremely well-stocked for a refugee..."
"I borrowed a carrying globe, put my shop in my pocket, and ran."

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"You still have the globe?"
Luciano shook his head. He had not expected that question. “No, I returned it
to her."
Waid quirked an eyebrow at that. “What's her name?"
"Dyna."
"The peddler living at the Sanctuary Refugee Camp?"
"Yes."
"Mighty convenient, her having one of those globes and just happening to
arrive here a couple of months after you did."
Luciano squirmed. He did not dare tell the lawgiver who Dyna really was, but
feared he was sounding more and more like a suspicious character to the
lawgiver. “She advised me to come here. Said she was too. Lycan lands are
safer right now."
"That's open to debate. I'm thinking of having her brought in for questioning
also."
"You do that. She'll be very cooperative.” I hope.
"I've been told that she put up that big house in minutes. Care to explain
that?"
"Her stock and trade is secondhand magic items."
"She's a mage?"
Luciano pressed his hands tightly together to stop his shaking. It would never
do to inform the law that their town currently had the Trickster herself in
residence. “Sort of."
Ossian arrived and reclaimed his desk from his brother. “I understand that you
purchased your shop from the crown as is. Baroucha Seaver's entire inventory
was still there."
"Yes."
"Did you find any poisons in her inventory? Especially unusual poisons?"
"Yes, I did."
"Do you still have them?"
"I put them all in a box and locked them up."
"Waid, escort Luciano to his shop and retrieve the box."
Having something to do besides ask questions came as relief to Waid. His older
brother had always been better at that. He headed for the door with Luciano in
tow and squeezed past his younger brother as Ultan strode in.
"I've locked them in separate cells, Ossian,” Ultan grinned. “They won't be
comparing their stories."
"Who else in this town might have or previously had access to drugs and
poisons?"
"Well, there's the apothecary Atreius Ivanstern. There's also Cahira
Sinclair."
"Cahira would not poison her own grandson, but check it out anyways. Same with
the apothecary. I don't want to make a mistake or overlook anything."
* * * *
Stone's thoughts took a melancholy turn as he wandered Claw's suite. The mon
in the coffin downstairs looked more like their father than his brother.
When he failed to keep himself busy, Stone experienced the loss of his family
more sharply. He felt displaced in time, as if he ought to be able to take a
step backward and everything and everyone would be as it had been before he
left Wolffgard. Stone had wanted to come home, right up until he met his
grandfather, Hadjys, and learned that he would never grow old. He dreaded the
thought of watching those he loved age and change while he did not. It had
been easier to simply let go of the past and not think about them.
He remembered meeting Aisha for the first time as he settled at her dresser
and drew circles in the spilled dusting powder. Claw had gone to purchase
cattle from Aisha's father. The cattle came home, but Claw did not. So their
father sent Stone, then just fourteen, to find out what was delaying his
brother's return. Aisha had demanded a Wild Cousins Courtship; an
old-fashioned country ritual of chase and capture for the right to mate and
marry. Stone had laughed at Claw's angst and frustration. The heir to the

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throne should not have to chase a bitch; they should be chasing him. Then he
met Aisha, beautiful, high-spirited, and clever; and he understood the
attraction. Stone swept the dresser clean of powder, fighting the poignant
ache in his heart.
He remembered Claw's joy when his sons, Tarrant and Logan, were born; and
imagined Claw's grief when they perished.
"I should have come home sooner."
"So this is where you are?” Clennan Doherty limped into the suite with his
bodyguards behind him.
Vertram followed with Jocelyn simpering on his arm.
"Get out of here, Clennan. Vertram. Get the hell out of here."
"High and mighty as ever, Brock?” Clennan favored him with a contemptuous
glance.
"Don't call me that. My name is Stoneriver now.” Stone's rage kindled and he
fought it.
"Your name will be mud when the witan sends you packing."
"If it sends me packing, Clennan. If."
Stone rose to confront the thane.
Clennan's bodyguards stepped between them. They had the look of professionals.
Stone wondered at the bones braided into their hair; the mark of myn who
either were or had been members of a Battle-Clan. They could be members of a
clan that Clennan had allowed to settle on his hereditary fief in return for
defending it. Or they could be renegades. If it was the latter, could there be
a Bane Shepherd hunting them? Stone decided that would bear looking into once
matters were more settled in Wolffgard.
"Stand back from the thane,” said the slender one.
"What's your name?"
"Faerwald Davies. I'm the best sword in nine clandoms."
"Then I'll only warn you once, Davies. Cross me and die. Now get the hell out
of here. All of you."
"We will finish this later, Stone.” Vertram shared a glance with Clennan.
“Fletcher is expecting us."
The Thane of Heatherford cocked his head with a sneer. “Another time then.
Cross me, Stone, and this time it won't be me bleeding in the dirt."
Stone shrugged.
They trailed out and he closed the door. He swept his gaze across the room.
"Brother, I did not get here in time to save you, but I'll be damned if I
don't see your last will carried out."
* * * *
Cahira spent less and less time at her shop, Cahira's Potions and Notions, on
Elmind Street two blocks from the Difficult Horse Tavern. She had originally
opened it as a reason for staying in Wolffgard after Kynyr was wounded last
summer. Since her main income came from translating ancient texts for the High
Patriarch of Hadjys at Havensword, Creeya, she had turned over the day-to-day
tasks to her granddaughter, Betrys, and her husband Artair MacFie.
The big wooden sign on her shop read Cahira's Potions and Notions. Underneath
the words were three sets of symbols that the largely illiterate lycan
community could understand: a mortar and pestle; a serpent wrapped staff; a
book, a bottle of ink, and a quill. The three cubs, Rory, Hamish, and Cooley,
used to work in the shop. Concerns for their safety had prompted Cahira to
send them to Kynyr's home where they did various small tasks for Kady. They
had stumbled upon Malthus jacking Kady's sister Larena, who was subsequently
caught in the act of poisoning Kynyr, and killed out of hand by Trevor
Sinclair. When it was reported to Belgair, his response had been to threaten
to have Cooley ‘put to the question.’ It was only a hop, skip, and jump to
realizing that the Scott cubs had been witnesses also. Cahira had not wished
to risk them.
Cahira's Potions and Notions had display cabinets along two sides with floor
to ceiling shelves and drawers behind them and along the back. A table with
seven chairs stood at the rear, one end shoved against a short glass cabinet,

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where customers could discuss their choices and pay for the purchases. The
standard merchandise included medicines, salves, creams, and cosmetics on one
side and sewing needs on their other. The rest of it changed from time to time
as Cahira's suppliers found assorted items of limited availability to offer
her.
She crossed the room with a list in her hand and examined a stack of ‘pressed’
books occupying the end of one display counter. The city of Havensword in
Creeya had three of the new printing presses imported from Iradrim; Red Wolf
had none. Whenever a supplier offered her a crate of pressed books, Cahira
bought the lot of them; appropriating what looked like a good addition to her
own library.
Cahira frowned. “Have we sold some of them?"
Artair glanced at Betrys, who giggled. “The missing ones were naughty books."
"Doesn't Todd have enough of those?” Cahira grumbled.
Artair blushed to the roots of his hair and Betrys’ giggle became a loud roar.
"Aha!” Cahira swatted him with the list. “Picking up Todd's reading habits,
are you?"
Artair gave her a guilty shrug. “Research?"
"You don't need research.” Cahira pointed at Betrys’ puffy belly. “For a mon
who wanted to become a monk, you certainly got down to business fast once you
changed your mind."
The bells hanging on the front door jingled as Todd came into the shop. He had
a tight-lipped expression. “Cahira, the lawgivers have arrested Sheradyn and
Gillivray."
"Whatever for?"
"Word is they supplied the poison that Belgair used on Kynyr."
"Sheradyn wouldn't poison a mouse even if it chewed holes in his shoes.”
Cahira stomped her foot indignantly. “Hitch up the wagon, Todd. I want to have
a talk with them."
"Already done it. I figured you would.” Todd glanced at Artair. “I should warn
you. The bitches of the family all have the temperament of a stung badger.
"That lawgiver will think he's been bitten by a badger when I get done with
him.” Cahira snarled.
Todd drove Cahira to the Lawgiver House, and by the time they arrived—even
though it was only ten blocks away—she had worked herself into a fury. Nodding
and saying as little as he could get away with, Todd let her rant with the
same patience that had won her heart when they were young. In seventy years of
marriage, he had never lost his temper with her.
Cahira swept into the wing of the building that Ossian and his brothers were
using, casting a baleful eye at everyone she passed.
"Can I help you?” Waid stepped into her path, eyeing her uncertainly.
"Are you Ossian O'Reilly?"
Waid flinched at the ire in her voice and instinctively tried to calm her.
“I'm his brother, Waid. I'll be glad to help you with whatever your problem
is."
Cahira snarled, placed her hands on her hips, and glared up at him. “I will
speak to Ossian and no one else. You will take me to Ossian immediately."
"Yes, ma'am, I understand that you want to talk to Ossian.” He glanced at
Todd, hoping for assistance. “Are you with her?"
"You could say that. I'm her husband, Todd Sinclair."
"The Todd Sinclair? Kinsdale Wood?"
"Ayup."
Faced with Cahira's rage and Todd's stolid battlefield calm, Waid's resolve
wavered and deserted him. “I'll take you right there."
Waid had them wait outside while he went into Ossian's office and announced
them. He returned with his cheeks glowing and gestured for them to enter.
Ossian rose from his chair and came around from behind his desk to greet them.
“Todd Sinclair. I've heard so much about you. It's an honor to meet you."
"I suppose.” Todd's eyes twinkled in amusement at Ossian's reaction.
"I'm here because you arrested Sheradyn Kelly.” Cahira stepped between the two

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myn in an effort to drag Ossian's attention away from Todd.
"I've read every account I could lay my hands on about your exploits."
"Sheradyn Kelly. About Sheradyn Kelly! My husband brought me here to talk to
you about Sheradyn Kelly."
"Is it true that the Divinators summoned hordes of demons during the Battle of
Skeleton Creek?” Ossian looked at Todd with open adulation.
"Sheradyn Kelly. You arrested him. Look at me. I'm talking to you."
"Ayup.” Todd's hand shot out and he captured Cahira's wrist as she drew back
to slap Ossian. Holding it firmly, yet gently, he glanced down at his wife
with a tolerant expression. “It's against the law to smack a lawgiver,
Cahira."
"He's not listening to me.” Cahira relaxed and Todd released her.
"Give her a listen, Ossian? I'll be happy to answer all of your questions over
a tankard at the Difficult Horse."
"I would enjoy that."
"Ayup.” Todd drifted toward a large woodcut print hanging on the wall where
Ossian could gaze at it from his desk, unintentionally closing out the sounds
of Cahira berating the young lawgiver. He hoped that he was mistaken about the
print, but when he got close an uncharacteristic sigh escaped him followed
swiftly by a wince. Few things could make Todd want to hide under the
furniture. That print was one of them.
It was an early work by a distant cousin of Kynyr's, Talbot Maguire. Although
famed primarily for his paintings, Talbot had produced several dozen woodcuts
in his youth.
The tremendous figure, his musculature exaggerated, stood on a rocky hillside
with a claymore in each hand. The bodies of the slain were heaped all around
him. His armor was rent and his body pierced by arrows. A mon's severed head
hung from the figure's belt by its hair.
Had Todd noticed the print sooner, he would never have offered to share a
tankard with Ossian.
The title plate read:
TODD SINCLAIR AT THE BATTLE OF KINSDALE WOOD.
Todd turned away from it with a soul-weary shake of his head. Talbot's
original title had been ‘Todd's Last Stand.’ That was before myn started to
discover that, although he had been left for dead there, he had survived
through the intervention of Dyna.
Cahira snagged Todd's arm and started pulling him toward the doorway. “They're
not paying any attention to what I'm saying. All this talk of evidence is
preposterous."
Ossian met Todd's eyes. “I'm sorry I could not do more. But evidence is
evidence. I hope that offer of hoisting a tankard is still good?"
"Ayup. It is."
* * * *
None of the guardsmyn, who had been attacked by Belgair's myn during the
purge, wished to return to the manor. One by one, as the wounded were declared
fit for light duty, they enlisted in Kady's Army. Vayle Stewart and Robert
Morcar were the first to do so. Willy Galloway soon followed them into Kady's
service. In exchange, Kady gave them rooms in the mansion and a small
enlistment bonus.
Willy decided to surprise Bella and take her to the Difficult Horse for a
drink and dinner. The new management of the tavern now served meals and
provided entertainments each evening. With winter having stopped work and
trade for the season, entertainment had become prized. A small theater had
been added to the common room of the Difficult Horse, and plays,
story-telling, minstrels, and music drew crowds there.
Luciano was polishing some new crystals when Willy walked into the Scarlet
Angel Mage Shop.
"Is Bella around?"
"She's in her room."
Willy grinned. “Mind if I go on up?"

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Luciano gave him a suspicious look and wagged his finger. “No wild cousins,
Willy."
Willy nodded solemnly and repressed another grin both at Luciano's
protectiveness and his use of the lycan term for premarital sex. “My
intentions are strictly honorable."
"They better be."
Willy sauntered into the hallway and climbed the stairs, whistling to himself.
Bella sat at the little table in her cozy room with a book open. Willy stepped
around behind her, and nuzzled her neck. “Let's go to the priest, Bella. It's
time you wore my ring and my name."
She stiffened and a sob broke from her. “You don't really want me, Willy."
"What do you mean, I don't want you?” Willy frowned and snagged the chair
opposite her. He straddled it, draped his arms over the back, and stared
perplexedly at her.
"I'm not right for you."
"You're not making sense, Bella. I love you."
"I'm not human, Willy."
Willy's brows knit. “Then what are you?"
"You're going to hate me.” She lowered her head until her chin was nearly to
her chest.
Willy's mind whirled through dozens of possibilities and settled on the worst
possible just to get it out first. “Sa'necari?"
"Yes."
Willy was thunderstruck. “Dark Brothers?"
She shook her head and let her true appearance come through. Her eyes lost
their whites, pupils, and irises, becoming a solid amaranthine.
Willy had known some of the sa'necari women who lived at the refugee camp; and
he had known Isranon. He had liked them and could not bring himself to judge
her harshly because of it. “Tell me about it, Bella."
"Confess my sins, Willy? Tell you how evil I have been?"
"If you wish."
"I have committed the rites. The color of my eyes will tell you that much.
Have you ever wondered why I can't sit facing the spigots in a tavern?"
"Yes. I think I know now. You were a sanguiner, weren't you?"
Bella gave a weary nod. “We were the poor relations of a noble family. I was
sent to university, but I had to work part time to buy the extras I needed. So
I worked as a sanguiner, mixing blood, draining myn for the bottles. It
bothered me a bit, but I became inured to it."
"I see."
"No, you don't. Let me finish, please?"
Willy nodded and held his tongue, determined to let her get it all out of her
system before he spoke.
"The lycans who live in the cities are periodically subjected to pogroms. Many
of them end up at the sanguiners on their draining posts. I put the spigots in
their necks and drained them to death."
Willy shuddered and pressed his hand to his neck.
"My father was not a kind mon. He wanted sons, but all he got was daughters.
They were all sa'necari-born. Those who refuse to participate in the rites are
declared heretics and killed. I did not want to die, Willy."
"I can understand that."
"My father had many mistresses, but few children. You know how we lose our
fertility young?"
"Yes."
"But anyway, he finally got a son. His name was Nudd."
"That's a lycan name.” Willy thought of the sa'necari women who had allowed
themselves to be spellcorded so that they could shelter their lycan children
in Red Wolf.
"He was lycan. That disgraced my father. Nudd was sweet and gentle. I think he
was the only member of my family who actually loved me for myself.” Bella
paused and pointed at a cabinet. “There's a bottle of gin there. I need a

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drink if I'm going to tell you this."
"Is there blood in it?"
Bella swallowed. “Yes. We have a nibari now."
Willy found the gin and his hand wavered at the glasses. Steeling himself,
Willy brought two glasses to the table with the gin. He poured for them both.
"Keep talking."
"One day there was a pogrom in the city. When I came to work the next day,
many young lycan males were hanging from the posts. When I came to the last
one...” Bella's throat tightened and her voice caught. She downed the contents
of her glass, refilled it, drank that, and started over, trying to finish her
sentence with great effort. “The last one was Nudd. I had no choice, Willy. I
had no choice. It was his life or mine. I would have been called heretic and
killed. I had to do it."
Willy squeezed her hand. “Go on."
"He looked at me with those blue, blue eyes and said ‘I'll always love you,
Bella. Do what you must.’ I broke his mind so that he would not feel it when I
pierced his neck with the sharp end of the spigot. I was never the same after
that.” Her sobbing worsened. “Now, go away, Willy. I never want to see you
again."
"Why?"
"Because I love you. It breaks my heart looking at you."
Willy rose and put his arm around her. “The Clerk of Records closes soon. If
we're going to get that license, then we ought to go."

CHAPTER SIX
AISHA'S FUNERAL
Hope had banished the last of Kynyr's bitterness. The morning started off the
same. Qaseem administered Kynyr's medicines, measured his legs and muscles,
and made his notations. He exercised Kynyr's legs and tested and prodded and
poked. Then came the long hot bath and the fierce joy of movement. Finally his
legs were wrapped; they helped him into his best clothing and returned him to
the wheel-chair.
The Dreaded Horde met him in the front sitting room, and Russa took possession
of the wheel-chair from Qaseem.
Trevor gave her an askance look. “Don't dump him in the snow today?"
"Best behavior, Uncle Trevor."
Kynyr eyed his sisters. They wore nice dresses in somber colors; which left
him wondering where they had concealed their weapons, since he felt certain
that they wore some. None of his family trusted the thanes.
Henry, the butler, held the front door open, and Russa rolled him onto the
veranda.
Two carriages waited in the yard. The less elegant of the two would transport
his three sisters, and Kynyr appreciated that he would not be riding with
them. Despite Russa's promise to Trevor, she had a familiar glint of mischief
in her eyes that Kynyr hoped was not directed at him.
The second carriage sent a wave of melancholy through Kynyr. It had belonged
to Aisha. He had never been inside the carriage before, but he had ridden
alongside it as part of Aisha's guard many times over the past five years. He
remembered when Claw bought it for her as an anniversary gift; remembered the
delight in her eyes.
And now it's carrying me to her funeral.
Russa pushed him down a ramp, and to the carriage. There Kynyr was lifted and
settled inside. The wheel-chair was fastened to the back. Kady slipped inside
and sat beside him. Qaseem and Cooley entered the carriage last.
The honor guard mounted up, six riding about it in pairs: Todd and
StealsThunder; Tobrytan MacFie and Darcy MacIver; Trevor and Iswara.
* * * *
Gorgarty Burr took a box from the chest at the end of his bed, chuckling to
himself. As soon as he heard that Damien Kildare had died, he searched the
late chastisemon's room and found what he sought: a thousand crowns worth of

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White Fire. He felt pleased that he had been so clever. The drug was illicit
rather than strictly illegal. The apothecary association refused to sell it to
anyone except a licensed apothecary and a mon could lose that license if they
were caught selling it bulk for distribution on the street. It formed the raw
base for the drug called Amphereon.
He laid out lines on the lid, took out a silver tube, and snorted three lines
of it. It filled him with energy and a sense of being above the world. It took
his cares away. Damien had found it in the chest of a dead mon named Preece
who managed to upset the wrong wolf and was found murdered on Cheshire Road.
Gorgarty was one of those who had been left behind to guard the manor while
Belgair attacked the Maguire Estate with the intention of hanging the bastard
prince.
Eamon came in. “Gorgarty, get out in the yard."
"I'm coming. Hey, you want some?” He pointed at the box.
Eamon came closer and his eyes widened. “I wondered who nabbed that."
"Go on, lay some out. You won't feel as cold standing out there in the
garden."
Eamon accepted the tube and did two lines of it. “You're right. But be careful
with this stuff. It's pure quill."
The two guardsmyn walked downstairs to the door that led into the yard and
took up their assigned places. It seemed like there was far more going on, far
more being guarded, and more hours of duty than Gorgarty would have liked.
The carriage drew up in the yard and Gorgarty snickered. “There's the bastard.
Maybe the thanes will hang him."
Eamon shot him an askance look. “Shut up, Gorgarty."
Gorgarty noticed the two females in Kynyr's guards. He ignored the little Fae,
and centered upon the bitch with the fox-red hair. “Who's the red-head?"
"Darcy MacIver. Finn's wife."
"Bet she's not getting any with him all busted up."
"Stay away from her. She's bad news."
Gorgarty locked eyes with Darcy. She gave him a glare, and then it melted into
a come-hither smile and a suggestive wink. “Did you see that? By damn, she
wants me."
* * * *
Although Stone had tried to make it a small gathering for the funeral of Aisha
and Fianait, the seventeen thanes and seventeen elders invited themselves as
well as those wives and mistresses they had brought with them. He knew that
the reason was simple: they wanted a glimpse of Kynyr. He could have kept them
away, but politics were in full swing and he did not wish to make more enemies
by handing out personal affronts wholesale or acting in ways that could easily
be misconstrued. What affected him would ultimately affect Kynyr. He also knew
that the gossip about himself and Fianait had started again. Too many myn
remained convinced that she had killed herself because she knew he was
returning to Wolffgard.
I loved you, Fianait. It wasn't your fault anymore than it was mine. How could
you have known that your little love potion would drive me mad? I didn't know
what I was then. If I had, I would have tried to dampen the attraction field
and you would never have become obsessed with me. So many mistakes. So many
regrets.
The flagstone paths had been shoveled clear of snow and then swept to get
every last bit off. Snow now lay in piles beneath the low hedges and the
trees. While it made the procession easier, it also made it more difficult for
the thanes to crowd the paths, which amused Stone.
Only three of the thanes had brought their wives. That had surprised Stone,
until he learned which ones they were: Weylen, Wallace, and Blayne were all
new made thanes, married to the sisters of the mon who would be king.
Stone met the coach, lifted Kynyr out of it himself, and settled him in the
wheel-chair. “Put on some righteous airs, Kynyr. We need to make a show of
it."
"I intend to. But the real show is Kady."

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Stone glanced back at the carriage as Tobrytan helped her from it. She wore a
long black satin dress with three quarter sleeves, revealing the wrist length
ones of the fine wool underdress. A tiara of rare black diamonds set amidst
small rubies adorned her head. A three hundred carat black diamond in a white
gold setting surrounded by rubies and blue diamonds hung from a chain around
her neck. He had to tear his eyes away from the gems. Kady dripped with them;
earrings, bracelets and rings on her fingers.
As soon as he got Kynyr settled into the wheel-chair, Stone turned to Kady.
“You look beautiful today, Lady Maguire. Can I ask how you came by all that?"
"Interrogating me again, Stone?"
"Somewhat.” Stone tossed her a guilty grin, thinking how badly Red Wolf needed
a queen like Kady.
Kady searched his face before answering. “The tiara was a gift from
Meileilyki. The pendant was given to me by Dyna."
"The Faery Queen and the Trickster have adorned you. That pendant, you do know
what it is?"
"No.” Kady frowned, suspicion and unease gathering in her face.
"It's called Persephone's Black Arcane. It sat for six centuries in the hoard
of the Obsidian Dragon."
"A dragon?"
"The dragon encountered the Trickster, developed a severe case of hives as a
result, and scratched himself to death."
"No.” Kady giggled.
"Absolute truth.” Stone's arrogant lips twitched with impishness. “Your
husband is ready. Go join him."
Qaseem rolled the wheel-chair down the pathways toward the little family
cemetery with Stone leading. Todd and Tobrytan walked in front of Kynyr,
Trevor, and Iswara to either side, while Darcy and StealsThunder walked in the
rear. Most of the guards posted were Creeyan with a handful from the Redhand
guardsmyn.
Darcy spotted a familiar figure and felt a rush of barely controllable anger.
She mastered it, changing a glare into an inviting smile and a suggestive
wink.
"What is it?” Thunder asked, following her gaze to a big, ugly guardsmon.
"Gorgarty Burr,” hissed Darcy. “If there is one thing that I have learned from
Todd, it's choose your battleground. Lure them out and then cut their throats.
He raped Kady and Betrys. He gutted my friend Erskine. I'm going to kill him."
"Don't try it alone,” cautioned Thunder.
"I don't intend to. What would you say to going with me for a drink at the
Striped Dog? That's the arse's favorite tavern."
"Consider it done. Who else can we get to go along?"
"Have to think about it. Females only. Best to be tempting and
underestimated."
* * * *
Regina studied the crippled prince, shivering at the similarity between Kynyr
and the portrait of Tarrant Redhand in Sorcha's Solar. He was one of the
handsomest dogs she had ever seen from his chiseled cheekbones to his strong
jaw and cleft chin.
She scanned the thanes. Most of them were watching Kynyr like great white owls
preparing to pounce upon an unwitting mouse. The princess was pretty in an
unconventional way. She outshone the measured sensuality of Jocelyn and put to
shame the tawdry elegance of Lillian.
Seven of the thanes had brought their young mistresses and three had brought
their wives. The wives stood with their husbands as members of the Redhand
family. The aristocratic beauty of those three bettered that of every bitch
there. Then the similarity to Kynyr's chiseled features registered. They had
to be his older sisters.
"You're holding up well, Reggie.” Reist kissed her head.
"My anger is a suit of armor, shielding me from my grief ... and you'd best
remember it.” She bristled at him.

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"If you don't let it out, it will blow up in your face like a shaken bottle of
Iradrim Fire."
"There'll be time enough for that when the war is over."
"Hello, Regina.” Jocelyn sashayed over, followed by Lillian and Berneen.
“Enjoying your new husband? I see you wasted no time mourning for Johfrit
before remarrying. Your loins are as hungry as my own. Slut blood run in your
family?"
"You'll get your comeuppance, Jocelyn. Uncle Vertram will tire of you
eventually, and then where will you be?"
Regina walked off with Reist before the affronted Jocelyn could say another
word.
"I'm surprised you didn't call her a whore. That seems to be your favorite
word lately."
"I already have."
Reist shook his head ruefully and chuckled. “That's my Reggie."
* * * *
Todd had come to the funeral armed to the teeth, determined that if any or all
of the thanes got a hair up their arse toward Kynyr he would be ready to block
any and all attempts upon his grandson's life. He carried a pair of axes in
his belt, fighting knives strapped to his legs, and his pair of claymores at
his shoulders in the Sharani Aluintri Borderer style. The big lycan towered
over everyone except Stone.
Creeyan guardsmyn had cleared all the gathered myn from the flagstone path
leading through the garden and into the small private cemetery so that Kynyr's
party could enter first. Snow clung to the low winter-browned hedges like
frigid blooms. Leafless trees stretched their skeletal fingers to the sky,
while the evergreens and pines mitigated the starkness with their comfortable
green presence.
Todd had always avoided the garden, knowing that the cemetery lay beyond it,
reluctant to look upon the grave of Tarrant Redhand, his closest friend and
first student. Tarrant had been Kynyr's grandfather, and Todd had made him a
promise that if something happened to Tarrant, Todd would look after Cahira.
He raised Tarrant's son Branduff as if the cub were his own. In all the ways
that counted, in all the ways of the heart, Branduff's son Kynyr was Todd's
grandson.
As they progressed down the path, Todd gained insight into the allegiances
that were forming. All of the village and town elders from across Red Wolf
greeted Kynyr with polite bows. Some of the thanes bowed also. The undecided
amongst them gave restrained nods. Those who had already chosen to oppose
seeing Kynyr on the throne stood stiffly without acknowledging him. Lines were
being drawn in the soil of Red Wolf.
A crippled mon with a dragon-headed cane hobbled into the middle of the path,
his eyes cold as steel. The Lycan Rebellion of 997 had left almost as many
cripples in its wake as dead. Todd had not seen the mon since they were both
very young, and age had brought a lot of changes in both of them; so Todd
guessed who he was, based on descriptions he had heard over the years: Clennan
Doherty, crippled not by war, but by Stone in an altercation over Fianait
Redhand who they were burying today alongside Aisha.
Vertram Devlin stood behind Clennan on the path, offering his silent support.
Clennan blocked Kynyr's progress, staring at Todd. “You're Todd Sinclair?"
Todd's eyes narrowed. “What of it?"
"I'm Thane Clennan Doherty. You killed my son."
"Your son led an attack upon my grandson's estate."
Clennan gestured and two myn stepped from the crowd. They were young, moving
with the leashed violence of the true predator. Todd noted the bones braided
into their long pale hair. They either were or had been members of a
Battle-Clan. Professionals. Or they might be swaggering gallants wearing them
for effect; somehow Todd doubted that last possibility.
"Faerwald Davies.” Clennan indicated the slender mon with the straw-colored
hair first and then the brawny towhead. “Lairgan Yates. They've been looking

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forward to meeting you. I'm certain that a time can be arranged."
Todd had never met them before, but he recognized the names. Clennan had hired
two of the best young duelists around. Suddenly he felt old. In his youth,
they would have been no competition. At one hundred and nine years old, Todd
felt a trace of uncertainty; yet it was not in him to back down. If they got
him, then they would get Kynyr. “I'm sure it can."
Kady clutched Kynyr's hand, feeling him shake with anger at Clennan
threatening Todd, and both of them uncertain what to do about it.
Darcy impulsively seized the initiative and rushed around Kady. She got in
Clennan's face, jerked her axe out, and started punctuating her sentences with
it. “You look here, you withered old geezer. You go threatening my mentor, and
I'll chop that little gray twig of yours off and shove it down your throat."
Regina, standing nearby, leaned close to Jenny and whispered. “I like her. Who
is she?"
"Darcy MacIver."
Stone stalked across the garden with Reist at his heels. “Show some respect
for the dead,” he roared.
That ended it and Kynyr's party was allowed to travel the last few yards into
the cemetery.
* * * *
The thanes were kept at a distance from the family members until the funeral
ended. It was a modest ritual observance, since the final touch—planting
something over the graves—could not be done until spring. Pandeena spoke the
words of farewell to the dead, and then indicated that it was time to cast the
dirt over Fianait and Aisha. Kynyr held his grief in check, although his eyes
tended to leak. He had loved his aunt and his great-grandmother dearly. It was
one more failure added to the total that nearly overwhelmed him at times. He
had been unable to save himself or the Redhand side of his family. A desire to
protect them was what had brought him to Wolffgard six years ago, hiring on as
a guardsmon under Belgair Doherty without telling anyone of his ancestry.
The mistresses accompanied their lovers, casting the dirt as custom decreed.
It went smoothly until the funeral ended. As they scattered through the winter
garden, attitudes that had been subdued for a brief time returned. Clusters of
folk formed, like being drawn to like in the politics of the moment.
Jocelyn's eyes kept straying to the pendant that Kady wore. “How does some
slut of a taverner's daughter merit gems like that?"
Lillian snickered. “Must have spent most of her life on her back, I'd say."
"Those gems can't be real. They must be fakes."
Regina sauntered over with a roguish manner. “They're real. That's
Persephone's Dark Arcane. Not even Vertram has enough money to buy its like.
"She's already spending the crown's money on gewgaws,” Jocelyn snarled, her
eyes burning with jealousy.
"Hardly.” Regina favored Jocelyn with a venomous look. “She's independently
wealthy."
"A taverner's daughter? Wealthy?” Lillian sneered. “She must be good on her
back. The dogs have a peerage. Maybe we should start a sluttage and make her
head slut?"
Berneen giggled in spite of herself.
Emma, standing behind her, looked close to tears.
Jocelyn put on a haughty air. “I've heard that she's had half the dogs in town
between her legs. Her father was going to marry her off to a laborer named
Preece Malloy. Only she let Kynyr get her up the stick. Now she thinks she's
going to be queen."
"Where are you getting all this, Jocelyn?” Regina's voice lowered
threateningly, but Jocelyn did not seem to notice.
Jocelyn flicked her shoulders with a poison smile. “Uncle Belgair wrote
grandfather all about it. Grandfather told Vertram ... and of course, Vertram
told me."
Lillian glanced across the garden at Kynyr talking to Thane Sedley Wescot of
Silvershire, an impossible old mon cranky and cantankerous. “The bastard's not

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bad looking. If he does become King, I'll have to take him away from her."
"As if you could,” Regina snarled. “It wasn't an arranged marriage. No
brideprice. It's a love match."
"Just watch me.” Lillian strolled to the males and bent over Kynyr, mussing
his hair. “My, what a handsome king we're going to have."
Kynyr recoiled from her, spotted Darcy, and shouted, “Ugly cubs have more
fun."
"Handsome ones are more fun.” Lillian reached for him again.
"Off with ya, slut,” Sedley growled.
"When I'm ready, Thane Sedley.” Lillian sniffed exaggeratedly. “When I'm
ready."
Darcy came striding, grabbed Lillian by the hair, and spun her about. “Keep
your damned hands off my husband's spiritbrother."
"How dare you!” Lillian glared at Darcy, smoothed her hair back, and stuck her
breasts out smartly. They were more ample than Darcy's, and Lillian was very
proud of them. “You're not much to look at, are you? I mistook you for a boy
at first."
Russa charged to Darcy's side with Phoebe and Leeny right behind her. She
grabbed Lillian's arm and hair, turned sharply with her hip up, and executed a
perfect first level throw. Lillian hit the ground hard and stared at her in
shock.
"Now that's my kind of bitch.” Sedley gave a loud belly laugh. “If I were
forty years younger, I'd be chasing her around Sherwood's barn."
"You stay away from my brother! You hear me?” Russa stomped her foot for
emphasis. “You stay away from my brother. You don't touch my brother. You
don't speak to my brother. You don't get near my brother. Or next time I knock
you down, I'll stomp the unholy shite out of you."
Stone watched the proceedings with a speculative eye and a bemused smile. He
shifted closer to Todd. “Russa learn that from you?"
"Ayup. Every bitch in the family can fight like a hellcat. I saw to that."
"And what's this about ugly cubs?"
"It's a long story, Stone. Suffice to say, it's a call to arms among the
bitches of the family."
"I'd like to hear it sometime."
"Ask Kynyr. Or better yet, ask Finn."
"I'll do that."
Standing with the bitches, Jocelyn's jaw dropped and her eyes went wide as
saucers. “Did you see what she did? Did you see?"
"Stop repeating yourself, Jocelyn.” Regina snickered. “I think our new royal
family is going to prove more than you, Clennan, and Vertram can handle."
Regina linked her arm through Emma's and headed off to introduce herself to
Kady.
* * * *
Wallace Callaghan led Selwyn across the winter-clad garden to where Todd stood
speaking with Stone and Reist.
"Todd, I'd like you to meet the Thane of Anglecyn, Selwyn Brawleigh.” Wallace
indicated his companion.
"So you're Todd Sinclair?” Selwyn Brawleigh extended his hand to Todd and they
shook.
"Ayup."
"My son, Ocvran, has read everything he could get his hands on about you."
"Nice to hear."
Wallace's eyes slewed to the side and he nudged Selwyn.
"I heard that you've started teaching again.” Selwyn pressed his hands
together.
"Ayup."
"I would consider it an honor if you would train Ocvran."
"I'd have to meet him first. See what his temperament is like. I don't train
bullies."
"When we get these matters settled and Kynyr crowned, I'll send for him. I

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think you'll approve of him. He's a good lad."

CHAPTER SEVEN
RIDING WITH THE ENEMY
Zinzi paced her parlor, snarling. Blood rimmed her mouth and her fangs were
descended. “Where is your sister? Where is Shelley and Gilzean? Where are they
hiding?"
Ocvran Brawleigh sat on the sofa bare to the waist, his arms and neck marred
by fresh bites and his chest marked by long tears and bruises. He regarded her
dull-eyed, worn down by abuse.
"Where are they?"
"I don't know.” Ocvran whimpered far back in his throat. Terror lit his eyes
and sent tears down his cheeks. “Please don't hurt me."
She stopped pacing and leaned into his face. “I don't like you any more."
"I love you, Zinzi. Please don't hurt me."
Zinzi wrinkled her nose and barred her fangs. She had liked him better before
she broke his mind open. “Oh, I'll do more than hurt you."
She extended her right hand palm up. Her venomous secondary nails emerged from
beneath her primaries and she jabbed two into his chest. Zinzi felt the
satisfying relief of pressure in her fingertips as the venom pumped into him.
"Oh, gahh ... gaahhds.” Ocvran Brawleigh sagged against the arm of the sofa, a
bluish tinge to his parted lips, his breathing stertorous. He twitched and
shuddered uncontrollably, his fingers jumping.
"I love the taste of poisoned blood.” Zinzi bit him again, extended her sense
through his body, and enjoyed the way that his struggling heart kept
fluttering.
"You still have not found the cubs?” Hoon strolled into her apartment.
She lifted her mouth from Ocvran's throat. His head fell back, mouth slack and
eyes staring without seeing. “They're hiding. They're always hiding."
"And he is dead. I was going to ask for him back. Now I have no Brawleighs."
"Ask Silkie what happened to them. She came and took them from me."
"Yes, ask me what happened to them.” Silkie swept in, her expression haughty
and stained with ire. “I gave them back to you before my last assignation. I
think you ate them."
"You're always having assignations. Can't keep your bloody twat filled,
whore?” Zinzi leaped at Silkie with her claws out.
Silkie backhanded her across the room. “Don't threaten me. I have crushed
little girls like you many times before."
Zinzi crouched, gathering herself for another spring.
"That is enough.” Hoon stepped between them. “I do not know whether my
Brawleighs were eaten or whether they escaped. Considering the nature of my
forces, it could be either. However, I will discover the truth. Then someone
will be punished for it."
Zinzi straightened with a huff and adjusted her dress, smoothing the skirts
down. “It wasn't me."
"Enough, Zinzi. I am sending you to Wolffgard. I want you to stay in the field
until I send for you."
"Why?"
"Because you are good at it."
Silkie put her arm around Hoon's waist and laid her head on his shoulder. He
kissed her hair and then walked out with her.
"Silkie,” Zinzi snarled. “Always Silkie."
* * * *
Aelfwin Cadwallader led them southwest to Sunderborough. Paolo Nicoletti and
his myn made odd companions to the lycans. The deeper into Red Wolf they rode,
the quieter the humans became.
Shelley rode behind Aelfwin on his horse, patting his back frequently and
prattling on about “Waller this” and “Waller that.” All of the fear had gone
out of her as soon as she had her ‘Waller’ back and they were away from the
city. The absence of her brother, Ocvran, puzzled Shelley; however no one

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ventured to tell her that he was dead.
The little girl was the only one who could get more than two or three words
out of Gilzean. Last night Shelley managed to coax the name of the boy's
father out of him: Domhnall Taite. All attempts to elicit his mother's name
led to tears, and either sobs or silence. Aelfwin suspected that something bad
must have happened to her and the cub was trying to block it.
The day after reaching Sunderborough, Aelfwin sold their horses, parceled
their supplies out into backpacks, and set a large crate down on the banks.
“This is how we're traveling. Can you skate?"
Paolo lifted a critical eyebrow as he watched the lycan bring forth an
assortment of ice skates. The lycan skates were built to handle rough going.
They were twice as long as their feet with wooden platforms and metal blades.
Their boots were strapped near the back of them. “I haven't since I was a boy.
I suppose it will come back to me."
"I hope so. This is faster than the horses in this weather. We'll tow the
little ones. And, best of all, we're not likely to encounter someone trying to
stop us. Straight down the Bonnie Draw now that it's iced over."
Shelley settled beside Daffyd Cadwallader and patted his arm. “Nother Waller,
which skates are mine? Which are Gilly's? Gilly wants to know, Nother."
"The two of you are going on the sled."
She clapped her hands. “A sled for Gilly and me."
Paolo cast a glance at Shelley and Daffyd filled with envy and longing. “I
wanted a family. I never had the opportunity ... or the time."
"Career military?” Aelfwin moved on, checking that Lady Brawleigh and her
daughters had their skates on proper.
"Yes. I was with King Baaltrystan when the palace collapsed ... barely got
out."
"Sa'necari in your family?"
"None. We've been soldiers to the crown for generations. The opportunity to
embrace the rites has been offered us, but we've always turned it down."
"I find that hard to credit."
"I'm a captain. None of my family has ever risen higher than that. Had any of
us embraced the rites, there would have been a General Nicoletti at some
point."
"Good point. But that still doesn't answer the question. Why refuse power when
it's offered?"
"Maybe we find value in our humanity.” Paolo shrugged and changed the subject.
“You know, there's something I have always puzzled over."
"About lycans?"
"No. About the collapse of the palace. Most of those sa'necari who carried a
long legacy of the rites ... those who got out ... I'm certain that there were
far more than showed up afterward. It's as if someone were waiting for them
and grabbing them up."
"Maybe there was."
Paolo nodded. “Two-thirds of the highest ranked, the greatest powers in the
old families vanished."
"You shouldn't be telling me this."
"Because you'll go to the King with it? Maybe I want you to. You see, Aelfwin,
Queen Tomyrilen is a usurper. The throne belongs to a legitimate male heir,
and there's three of them. Or there was. An assassin was dispatched to kill
the twin sons of Mephistis, Fauxx and Wolff. The deed is probably already done
by now. That leaves just one legitimate heir."
"Cooley?"
"Yes."
"Does it bother you that he's lycan?"
"Not as much as it bothers me that Tomyrilen is a murderous usurper."
Conyn Pritchard sauntered over with the sled he had carried from town. He
uncoiled the rope hanging from his shoulder and attached it to the front
between the back-curved runners. Two small seats with raised backs would keep
Shelley and Gilly from falling off if the cubs became drowsy or tired.

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Had ‘Waller’ been traveling alone, he could have made the journey down the
Bonnie Draw in two days. As it was, between the less experienced humans,
ten-year-old Jeremy Brawleigh, and the three bitches it would take
considerably longer. They would need to stop periodically throughout the day
to let them rest; and it was decided that each time they stopped it would be
at villages and towns where the lawgivers could be alerted to the fall of
Anglecyn.
Then Waller took the point as the strongest skater among them.
* * * *
They overnighted at Doningcote. The cubs were exhausted. Waller carried
Shelley and Daffyd brought Gilzean. The boy tended to flinch away and start
crying whenever one of the Waejontori tried to touch him.
Once everyone was settled in, Waller went down to the common room for a
tankard and a chance to spread the word about Anglecyn to the regulars. His
knowledge of the sa'necari was limited to how to kill them and the fact that
they became stronger the more lives they took in the rites. Some of the things
that Paolo had said to him that morning hung in his mind.
"These legacies you were talking about, what are they exactly?"
"Souls."
"I gathered that. The Steeped-in-Death have taken a great many souls. It was
one of those buggers that captured me."
Waller found it disturbingly easy to talk to Paolo. They were both officers
and career soldiers of military families. Waller's family had served the
thanes of Anglecyn for generations. Their loyalty ran deep and there was a
strong bond between them.
"Legacies are nasty things. When a sa'necari gets too old and feeble or when
he's injured past healing, his son—usually it's the son—rites him. That adds
the father's stolen souls to that of the son and doubles his power."
Waller's sphincter tightened at the thought. “So those who went missing when
the palace collapsed ... supposing a single mon got them all? How powerful
would he be?"
"I can't imagine it."
"Try."
"As strong as a yuwenghau I would think. Several of those legacies counted for
thousands of souls."
Waller had been hearing odd and troubling rumors for months before Anglecyn
fell and now he tried to piece them together. “There's a rumor, Paolo. I'll
understand if you can't answer my question."
"Ask and then I'll tell you whether I can or not."
Waller stared into his tankard as if there were truths written in the drink.
“The Butchering Serpent is in Red Wolf."
"I've heard that one."
"What if the reason he's so powerful is because he took those legacies?"
"If he did, Waller, he would not be able to hide from your people. He'd stand
out like a bonfire in a midnight field. You haven't been around sa'necari like
I have. When you come across those with the greater legacies, it makes your
skin itch to be in the same room with them."

CHAPTER EIGHT
TAVERNS AND TARTS
"Did anyone recognize or catch the names of those two professionals Clennan
brought to the funeral?” Stone stood on the roof with his foot resting atop
the short stonewall.
He had spent hours walking the roof. The plants that made up the avenues of
alcoves had either gone dormant in their pots or been taken inside for the
season. A few of the larger pots contained the withered remains of plants that
had not survived the first sudden frost. Piles of hewn stone squares lurked
beneath snow covered tarps. Stone could tell that Claw had intended to add
merlons and possibly arrow slits to the roof. Seeing how many things his
brother had left unfinished sent a wave of melancholy through Stone. He longed

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to finish them for him.
It all added an edge to his thoughts as he listened to his second.
"You're not going to like it.” Reist's lips pursed and his head angled.
"Who are they?"
"Faerwald Davies and Lairgan Yates."
"Davies. That's the one. Slender?"
"Yes."
"We exchanged threats yesterday.” Stone leaned farther out, gazing down on the
empty yard. He saw the barns and cotes beyond the main stable. Claw had added
several. That used to be thickets of ash and elm.
"He's a master, Stone.” Reist shrugged abruptly, a contemptuous twist coming
to his lean features. “Even if his talent is as large as his ego, which it
isn't, he'd never be able to take you."
"No doubt. They can see I'm long-lived. They've been told by Cedric that I'm
yuwenghau. And yet, it doesn't really sink in. I'm still Mad Brock to them.”
Stone dragged a deep breath through his nostrils. “I had a feeling that
Clennan would bring his pet duelists along. At least I know what they look
like now."
"Clennan has sicked them on Todd. Sinclair is good, but he's old. They'll kill
him."
"Goat-lickers. The only way they are getting to Todd is through us. Agreed,
Reist?"
"Agreed. I'll stick a tail on them."
"Have one of Jenny's girls put a bug in Lawgiver Ossian O'Reilly's ear about
them. And set a watch on Todd as well."
"Am I interrupting?” Pandeena appeared on the roof, materializing out of thin
air in a sparkling shower of silver motes.
"Yes, you are.” Stone threw her a contemptuous look.
Pandeena's mouth tightened. “It's important."
"It had better be."
Reist glanced from one to the other, gave a small bow, and left them alone.
"Now that you've chased my second off, what was it you wanted?” Stone turned
and sat on the wall with his hands gripping the edge. His body reacted to her
presence, and he could not decide whether the attraction was genuine or a
response to the native allurement of their kind.
"I wanted to tell you about Nikko Softpaws."
"The first lawgiver they killed?” Stone frowned, wondering why Pandeena had
been finding every little excuse she could to talk to him. He had his
suspicions and felt tempted to test them.
"That one. Except he isn't dead.” Pandeena settled on the wall at a modest
distance from him.
Stone tilted his head away, watching her covertly, a twist of arrogance on his
lips. “You've been holding back on us."
"I had to.” Pandeena shifted uneasily and crossed her legs. “Nikko was shot
several times. The trauma took his memory. He's begun to remember. But at
first he could not even recall his own name."
"Why bring it up now?” Stone's voice hardened as the intelligence officer he
had been trained to be came to the fore.
"He wants to come home."
"I know a lot about coming home.” Stone's hand shot out, snaked around her
waist, and pulled her close. He had not told her the full truth when he said
he had always wanted to kiss one of the Mothers—he had fantasized about doing
much more than that.
"You shouldn't do this.” Pandeena pushed away from him, and rose.
He swaggered after her. “Don't speak to me of shoulds."
Pandeena swallowed, backed into a stack of cut stones covered with a tarp, and
flinched. “Stone, don't."
"I make you nervous?” Stone pressed himself against her. This close together,
if she Jumped, she would only take him with her.
"Yes ... yes, you make me nervous.” Pandeena squirmed, pushing at him vainly.

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"You're a battlemage. A warrior. The Second Mother. And I make you nervous.”
Stone nuzzled her hair, licked her ear, and kissed his way down the side of
her neck.
"Stone..."
He slid his hands beneath her winter tunic, pulled the bottom of her shirt
free of her trousers, and caressed her breasts.
"Stone, it's wrong.” Pandeena trembled violently, her legs went weak. “We're
cousins."
"When has that ever stopped our kind?” Stone nuzzled her neck.
Pandeena sucked in a shuddering breath as he massaged her nipples. “I'm afraid
of you."
"You're afraid of yourself, of your needs and desires. You want to be
dominated in bed. You want me, Pandeena. Say it."
"No."
Stone lifted her shirt free, exposing her breasts. The shock of cold air
followed by the touch of his warm tongue flicking across her nipples felt like
being struck by lightning. Pandeena moaned.
"Caimbeul dominated you in bed. That was the bond."
Pandeena shivered as he sucked her nipple to hardness. Her loins grew wet and
aching with need. “Yes. YES!"
"Take us someplace warmer ... before I pull your trousers down ... and
introduce you to the best part of me."
Her power wrapped around them and they vanished from the roof, materializing
in her bedroom at the Lawgiver House. Stone swept her into his arms and placed
her in the middle of her bed.
She lay waiting with the stillness of a trapped deer, trembling in the
presence of a predator. Stone unlaced her trousers, pulling them to her
ankles. Then he opened his own and lifted his manhood out. He was large and
hard beyond anything Pandeena had ever experienced.
He entered her and Pandeena burst into tears and sobbing.
As Stone thrust deeply into her body, they both knew that he had conquered
her.
* * * *
Finn plopped into the wheel-chair like a cub with a new toy. Sha did not want
him putting weight on his legs or his arms until the Mending had settled
properly. Crutches remained out of the question. He tested it, turning it this
way and that.
Then he went looking for Kynyr. Wheeling through the corridors, people nodded
and greeted him, glad to see him at last. Russa popped out of a room and
grabbed the handles.
She caromed him through the corridor before he could stop her. “Where you
going, Finn?"
"Hey! Hey, stop! Russa, stop.” Finn's eyebrows shot toward his hairline as a
large cabinet loomed with a threat of imminent collision. Russa veered at the
last possible moment and collided with Trevor who was on his way to the salle.
Trevor gave her a long disapproving glance as he picked himself up. “Russa..."
She flushed, her guilty smile changing to a moue. “I know, Uncle Trevor. I
have the lecture memorized."
"Are you this madcap with your cubs, Russa?"
"Absolutely. They love it.” Then she set off again at a more sedate pace.
It took some searching before they found Kynyr. They checked the kitchen
first, then his suite, the study, the Command Chamber, and the chapel.
Finn thought for a moment. “Infirmary. Maybe Sha and Qaseem are poking at him
again?"
When they arrived, they found Sha at her desk, transcribing her notes. “Do you
need something?"
"Kynyr. Is he around?"
"He's talking to Vayle and Robert.” She pointed down the aisle and went back
to work.
Vayle Stewart sat with a bed table across his lap and a checkerboard. He had

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taken a bolt in the shoulder and another in the thigh the day of Belgair's
purge. Afterward, Belgair's chastisemon had worked him over almost as
thoroughly as he had Finn. Vayle was a cautious mon who had broken his custom
and done a couple of incautious things out of loyalty to Kynyr. One of them
had been telling Claw about Cooley catching Malthus with Larena. The other had
been making it clear whose side he was on. He had craggy-features, a wary
slant to his eyes, and a tight-lipped edge to his mouth that appeared to be
trapped between a sneer and a grimace. The look was habit more than the
present situation, which was losing to Robert Morcar sitting in the chair
beside the bed.
A ‘black’ lycan, Robert Morcar had light olive skin and raven hair. His blocky
build and big bones, despite being only five eight in height, gave him a solid
look. Five of Belgair's guardsmyn had beaten him into submission after he
managed to kill one of them. Robert had tried to reach Claw and get his
chieftain out of the manor. He had gotten within three doors of the Blue Room
before they overtook him. The chieftain had been sitting in the doorway,
watching what happened. Robert would never forget the look of fear and
startlement in his late chieftain's eyes seeing Malthus and the others
overtake him. Despite Kynyr telling Robert over and over that he should not
blame himself for Claw's death later that night, Robert could not let it go.
Kynyr sat on the near side of Robert in his wheel-chair, observing the game
with a pensive look that suggested to Finn that the three myn had been
discussing that night again. It seemed like they were all still trying to
piece the events together, asking themselves what they did wrong.
"Hey, Kynyr! Ugly cubs have more fun."
Kynyr's good looks had led his six sisters to treat him like a pretty toy that
was never supposed to get dirty. As a result it seemed his homely
spiritbrother got to go fishing far more often than Kynyr did growing up.
"What's up?"
"Darcy's having a bitches’ night out with Thunder and a couple of new friends
from the manor. So I was thinking about how I promised you a race as soon as I
could sit up proper and get me one of these things."
"This I must see.” A spark of humor touched Vayle's worn face.
"The halls are crowded.” Kynyr started to refuse, and then noticed the way
that both Vayle and Robert perked up.
"There must be somewhere in this place with a straightaway?"
"Yeah, Vayle. Let me think a minute.” Kynyr's brow creased. “There's a hallway
just off the West wing that isn't seeing much use yet..."
"So? Let's do it."
Phoebe appeared. “Quite a gathering you have here, Brubs. What's up?"
"Finn and I are going to have a race.” Kynyr did not care for the sudden glint
in her eyes. “Vayle and Robert are going to watch."
"In that case, Brubs, there are a lot of extra chairs on wheels out front."
Kynyr's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you up to, Phoebe?"
"Nothing. It would just be an awful lot of standing and them wounded and
such.” She put on her nicest smile, which made Kynyr all the more suspicious.
Vayle glanced at Robert. “I have no objection, if you don't?"
"So long as someone pretty pushes them?” Robert chuckled.
Phoebe favored Robert with a disarmingly sweet smile. “I am certain that Leeny
and Mary will want to help."
Kynyr thought that his sisters were taking far too much delight in the chairs.
“Maybe this isn't such a good idea...."
Phoebe wrinkled her nose at him playfully, and dashed out of the room.
"Don't you dare change your mind, Kynyr,” Russa warned him.
Vayle and Robert laughed as a dubious look passed between Finn and Kynyr.
Phoebe soon returned with Leeny and Mary to push Vayle and Robert.
On the far side of the manor there was a dusty corridor where most of the
rooms were currently being used for storage. The few tables scattered along
the length of the hallway were soon moved into a room. With the corridor
cleared for the race, Kynyr let the brake off and started. He had not gotten

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far when Russa seized the handles of his chair and took off at a run. Phoebe
squealed, grabbed Finn, and raced after her. They careened along, bumping them
together heedless of the myn's protests.
Leeny suddenly shrieked “charge” and snatched the handles of Vayle's chair.
Vayle swallowed a curse and gripped the arms so tight that his knuckles
whitened. “What are you doing?"
Mary shrugged and went racing off with Robert.
Cries of “No,’ ‘Stop,’ ‘Wait,’ and ‘Watch out for that wall,’ soon echoed
through the corridor.
Kynyr and Finn stopped hollering first and simply held on tight. Vayle and
Robert continued to shout until they ran out of breath. It was not until Russa
managed to bump Kynyr into Vayle and overturn both chairs, spilling the myn
onto the floor, that the mad dashing about ceased.
"That's why you call them the Dreaded Horde?” Vayle asked ruefully, as Leeny
uprighted his chair and Phoebe helped him back into it.
"Ayup,” Finn and Kynyr chorused.
* * * *
Darcy had not been to the Difficult Horse since Hereward sold it to
Juniperarrow and Starsilent. The two Fae had kept the name and the sign that
featured a horse sitting on its rump while a mon tugged the reins before it,
but otherwise the place had changed a lot since the first time that Finn
brought her there. The tavern sat across from the town common on Main Street.
The interior was warm and brightly lit, and pleasant compared to the snowy
cold outside. Barrels with spigots jutting from them lined the rear wall
behind a polished bar of walnut heartwood. Sturdy chairs circled the round
tables placed throughout.
The main change had been the stage constructed on the far side. Juniperarrow
had torn out the wall between the common room and a storage area to build it.
A wintering minstrel had been traded a place to stay, meals, and tips to
perform each night until the spring melt would allow him to move on. That
night he sang a ballad about the Lycan Rebellion of 997 filled with the deeds
of Todd Sinclair, Tarrant Redhand, and other heroes. Darcy grinned into her
glass of whiskey, certain that the minstrel was pandering to the audience by
reminding them that they had the last surviving hero of that conflict living
amongst them.
Jennifer Sherbourne lowered her eyes, flicked a strand of saffron hair behind
her pointed ears, and swirled her glass of dark violet wine. A spiritworker,
Jenny served as Stone's Captain of Mages, commanding the magic workers as well
as the swan mays and their gryphon units. She had known Stoneriver for nearly
a century, and for a time they had been lovers. But Jenny had wanted marriage
and children—things that Stoneriver could not give her. The romance had died,
but the friendship remained strong.
"So what do you do, Darcy?"
"I was general to MacLachlan, but now I'm Todd's second.” Darcy drained a
glass of whiskey.
"She's a newlywed.” StealsThunder wiggled her eyebrows. The tiny snowdrop of a
Fae—hair, eyebrows, and eyes like ice—sat at Darcy's right hand across from
Regina Devlin.
"I married Finn MacIver, Kynyr's spiritbrother."
"No wonder you're so protective of the family.” Regina glanced over the edge
of her glass and whispered. “Here comes trouble. Clennan's bodyguards. Reist
doesn't like them. Neither do I."
Faerwald and Lairgan sauntered across the room and flanked Darcy. Lairgan
bumped her shoulder. “Thane Clennan did not appreciate having an axe waved in
his face."
The three females froze, eyeing the duelists. Darcy ignored them, drained her
glass, and refilled it.
Faerwald leaned in on the other side. “He suggested that you needed a
spanking."
"Ayup. Sometimes I do. However, neither of you are dog enough to do it."

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Darcy drained her second glass and reached for the bottle as if to pour again.
Instead, she shoved her chair backwards and spilled herself on the floor with
the bottle in hand. The maneuver surprised them. Darcy slammed the bottle down
on Faerwald's instep, causing him to jump back with a cry of pain. She shifted
form as she moved, brought the bottle up between Lairgan's legs hard enough to
double him over, and then broke it over his head.
Lairgan went down on his arse hard, clutching at his abused balls, whiskey
running down his face.
Regina leaped to her feet as Faerwald realized they had a hellcat on their
hands and reached for his sword. She smashed a chair across his back,
staggering him.
StealsThunder jumped onto the table and somersaulted over Faerwald. Snatching
out her fan, she grabbed hold of his trousers, and jerked them down around his
ankles. “Peekaboo!"
The proprietors, Juniperarrow and Starsilent, charged across the room to break
it up. They tossed the pair of surprised duelists out in short order.
"Did you see the looks on their faces?” Regina chuckled.
"Todd says if my sword skills were as good as my brawling, I'd be better than
Finn.” Darcy shrugged. “I grew up brawling with my male cousins."
Only Jenny remained thoughtful as the others shared jubilant toasts to their
victory. “You got lucky. Just because a woman carries a weapon, it does not
mean she knows how to use it."
Jenny's tone sobered them. Darcy inclined her head, listening in a manner new
to her. “What do you mean?"
"Had they known we could actually fight, they would have threatened Darcy with
something more than a spanking. They approached us as bitches, rather than
fighters."
"They will not do that again.” StealsThunder looked as considering as Jenny.
“How good are they?"
"Very. Reist and I watched Faerwald in a practice duel with Malthus. They're
both blademasters.” Regina's gaze searched the rafters. “Reist is good with
his blades, but he said wouldn't want to fight them ... either of them."
* * * *
Faerwald and Lairgan sat on the boardwalk two doors down from the Difficult
Horse sharing a rueful laugh. A full moon interrupted the velvet darkness of
the midnight sky. Their breath made frosty little clouds in front of their
faces.
"I wasn't expecting that.” Lairgan grinned, rubbing his crotch. “Should have.
Bitches usually aim for the grapes. Jealousy, you know.” His voice and
expression went droll. “Cause we've got them and they don't."
"I wonder what such an able brawler is like in bed? Does her husband have to
tie her down first?"
"She probably ties him to the bedposts."
Faerwald sobered. “Clennan wants her spanked, chastised, and in his bed."
"Not bloody likely."
"He's bored with Berneen.” Faerwald stared into the night, thinking. They had
been on a long roll, the dice of chance always landing in their favor; yet,
Faerwald knew that sooner or later they get a bad throw. The debacle at Clan
MacGregor had been one of those, and it had taken all of Faerwald's wits and
skill to get them out of it. Having a patron as powerful as Clennan had kept
them in both money and good times; getting away with all the hell they wanted
to raise. They were running closer and closer to the edge all the time, which
made it even more important to keep Clennan happy. “He's even getting bored
with watching us do Berneen. So the hellcat's caught his fancy."
"If wishes were horses."
"Clennan wants Darcy; Clennan gets Darcy."
"You really want to fight those Fae?"
Faerwald saw no need to answer that. They both knew that the closest Faerwald
had ever come to dying was when he went up against a Fae armsmaster. “We'll
catch her somewhere else."

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"What do you think? Try the Striped Dog next?"
"Nah. Belgair liked it. That's not a point in its favor."
Lairgan got a gleam in his eye and a turn of mischief to his lips. “I heard a
rumor..."
"Yes?"
"It could be just a rumor, mind you."
"Spill.” Faerwald exhaled a breath of irritation. He hated it when Lairgan
acted cagey.
"Malthus told me the humans over at that refugee camp will put out for free.
They're hungry for dogs like us.” Lairgan winked.
"Let's have a look."
They retrieved their horses and rode down the street. Main Street became
Cheshire Road at the outskirts of town at a branch in the snow-gilded dirt
path. Lairgan paused and considered before pointing at the right hand branch.
“That way."
A few minutes later, a half-finished gate appeared. Longhouses sprinkled the
landscape, some built of stone, and the vast majority constructed from wood. A
generous camp common spread out from a stone longhouse with a sturdy chimney.
Evergreens dotted the common in little clusters and thickets. A few benches
and tree rounds for sitting looked to have been recently swept clear of snow.
Past the main house, stood a wealth of unused sheelings. Young rowdies moved
through the shadowed places and knocked on doors, going to exaggerated lengths
to not notice each other.
They tied their horses in a cluster of evergreens where the animals were
unlikely to be seen. Faerwald moved into the long shadow thrown from a pine
tree beneath the light of the full moon. His high spirits had returned during
the ride. Grinning, he nudged Lairgan. “Watch them trying to pretend it's a
secret."
"Shall we pick a door?"
"Rather like a pot luck dinner. You can't tell if it's worth eating until you
take the lid off and sample the contents."
"I suppose. Shall we do it anyways?"
They picked a house at random and sauntered into the moonlight heading for the
door.
"You're not wanted here.” Two young dogs stepped from the shadows beside a
house.
They were townsmyn judging by their rough clothing, except that one of them
carried a sword and the other a cudgel.
"All you foreigners are hogging the women,” growled the taller of the two.
"We're hardly foreigners, are we, Faer?"
Faerwald shrugged. “We're from Heatherford. That's hardly foreign."
"You know what I meant!"
"Actually I did.” An impish grin perched upon Faerwald's lips with a twist of
venom. He enjoyed baiting wet-tailed dogs who thought they were tough. Neither
of them could have been more than eighteen-years-old. They were mere youths
clinging to their unproven self-myths of invincibility—an attitude that
irritated Faerwald, and he took great pleasure in destroying it.
Lairgan gave a sidewise nod at his friend and a wink. More of the young wolves
came from the shadows—dozens of them. “I'm afeared they've got a gang, Faer."
"You have a problem about sharing?” Faerwald's pleasant smile lingered as his
eyes hardened.
"They're ours. Get off the grounds, filthy pig-pizzles."
"Not bloody likely.” As always, Faerwald called it, snapping his fingers in
the dog's face. “A bunch of wet-tailed dogs are in no position to trouble us."
"Oh we'll trouble you, alright.” The youth swung his sword at Faerwald.
The duelist glided to the side, avoiding the swing. Drawing his saber and main
gauche, he backhanded his sword across the youth's throat. The younger dog's
eyes bulged as he staggered back, clutching vainly at the gushing wound, and
sank to his knees.
Lairgan gave his wrists a twitch and two knives appeared in his hands. He

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placed one in the chest of a lycan with a cudgel to his right and the other
into the belly of the one behind him as he spun.
Faerwald gutted the next to reach him, stalking forward, and forcing a path
from the clumsy encirclement. Each blow killed or crippled.
Some of them appeared to have had a bit of training, but not enough to keep
them alive. The attack faltered to a halt in minutes. The youths broke and
fled. The brevity of the skirmish left Faerwald feeling dissatisfied until
Lairgan's laughter and hooting provoked a smile from him. Lairgan retrieved
his knives, cleaning them off, as they sauntered toward their horses nudging
and slapping each other like children who had pulled a devastating prank.
Mounting their horses, they rode away, leaving behind them twenty odd youths
either dead or crippled.
"Amateurs,” muttered Faerwald. “Hardly the lark I was hoping for."
"Entertainment's hard to come by. Wolffgard's more of a backwater town than I
expected it to be. You think those that got away will turn us in?"
"No. For one thing, they attacked us. For another, what they were doing here
was illegal."
Lairgan acknowledged his friend's answer with a nod. “I've been thinking about
that bitch. Since Clennan wants her undamaged, we could try catching her
alone. Maybe drop a net over her."
"A net sounds fine, Lairgan. Roll her up in it and then beat her with a
friendly weapon."
Lairgan started laughing and Faerwald soon joined in.
* * * *
Jocelyn huddled down in her chair, arms folded tight against her middle, in
Sorcha's Solar seething. It was empty at that late hour. She had thrown a robe
over her nightdress and gone there to brood after cleaning Vertram's
enthusiasm from her loins. He had muttered Regina's name at the height of
their passions. Jocelyn had pretended not to hear and then gotten away from
him at her first opportunity. She resented his wandering eye.
Lillian joined her. “What are you doing here so late?"
"Thinking.” Jocelyn pursed her lips in annoyance. “I do know how to do that."
"Thinking's not good for you. It will give you wrinkles."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Fuming.” Lillian made a moue. “That Gateshead slut is so annoying. She and
Merissa, and poor little woebegone Emma and her ugly little newborn are using
the Rose Room instead of the Solar. She turned me away at the door and said I
wasn't welcome. So I came here."
"Fletcher's cubs are always ugly.” Jocelyn folded her arms with a glare. “And
what are they doing up so late?"
Lillian snickered. “Regina went drinking in the taverns."
"So?” Jocelyn's interest perked, anticipating something juicy.
"Without her husband."
"Slutting around is she?"
"Sounds it. She had that pointy-eared half-breed with her."
Jocelyn flashed Lillian an irritated glance when the door slowly opened and
Lyncoln Wescot strolled in. The rumor was all over the manor that Sedley had
brought his widowed son along in search of a wife for him.
"What do you want, Lyncoln?” Jocelyn settled deeper into her chair.
"I was feeling restless. Bed's too empty at night with Terry gone. Come up to
see the portraits.” Lyncoln leered at her. “Didn't expect to find the place
full of pretty bitches at this hour."
"Pretty spoken for bitches."
"Spoken for? Only a wife is spoken for, and I should know. I had one once.”
Lyncoln's leer broadened into a lecherous grin. “You're fair game."
"Not to a Wescot.” Jocelyn straightened into a haughty angle. “Grandfather
says you're just a bunch of filthy horse traders."
Lyncoln's hearty laugh brought a flush to Jocelyn's cheeks. “We beat his best
at the log pull and the cabber toss last Autumn Faire."
"What's that got to do with anything?” Lillian flounced into a chair closer to

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Jocelyn.
"It's what makes a dog a dog, and bitch a bitch. Separates the men from the
cubs."
"You're a nutter, Lyncoln Wescot. Your whole family is a bunch of nutters.”
Jocelyn swiveled around in a pout and refused to look at him.
Lyncoln sauntered over to the portrait of a delicate young bitch with a
fragile smile and pointed at it. “Fianait at seventeen. Now that's beauty.
Can't say as much for you, Jocelyn."
Her lower lip thrust out. “Who cares what you think?"
"Me. Do I need anyone else?"
"There isn't anyone else."
A fit of whimsy seized Lyncoln. He spread his arms wide and charged at them
laughing.
Lillian lunged from her chair, grabbed Jocelyn's hand, and pulled her away
before Lyncoln reached them. They gathered their skirts and fled.
Lyncoln's laughter followed them out the door.

CHAPTER NINE
THE LAWGIVERS
Ossian and his brothers mounted up when word reached them at dawn about a
massacre at the Sanctuary Refugee Camp. The three brothers split the night
shifts between them and it had been Ossian's turn to watch the sunrise.
Vika Softpaws, the matron in charge of the camp, sat upon her wagon with the
reins in her hands. “I was gone to my sister's for the night and came home to
find a litter of bodies practically on my doorstep."
"Yes, you've said that already.” She had been repeating it over and over again
since she first arrived. Ossian gave her a nod, and bit back an irritated non
sequitur. The adrenaline rush had knocked the drowsiness from him, but not the
edgy desire for sleep.
Reist Devlin rode up. “If you don't mind, Lawgiver, the Regent would like me
to come along."
Ossian's eyes narrowed. Reist Devlin had a mixed reputation, and Ossian had
not yet decided how far the mon could be trusted, him being both a
thane-regent and second in command to foreign troops under the current Regent
Royal, Stoneriver. “It's my jurisdiction."
"We understand that. I'm just an observer. I won't step on your toes."
"Come along then."
Ossian did not argue when Reist insisted upon riding beside him at the head of
their small band. The Thane-Regent of Gateshead carried himself with the easy
confidence of a mon long accustomed to command. There had not been a thane for
Three Stones, where Ossian was from, since before his birth. The title had
lain empty until recently. Ossian supposed he would have to get used to having
them around, meddling with his jurisdiction.
When they reached the camp, members of the militia had arrived ahead of them
and were keeping back the curious.
Reist's gaze roved the camp commons, his mouth spreading into a thin line of
grim assessment. “Looks like a battlefield."
"If so, I would like to know who the enemy was.” Ossian dismounted, threw his
reins to a militiamon, and walked through the carnage counting the dead.
“Twenty-one bodies. How many survivors were there, Vika?"
"Three, Lawgiver.” Vika's brow furrowed. “There were five when we found them,
but two died soon after we got them inside."
"Twenty-three dead. Waid, go talk to the wounded. Ultan, speak with the
residents and see if anyone heard something last night? This could not have
happened quietly.” Ossian dropped to his haunches to examine a cluster of
bodies. Something set his instincts screaming, but the recognition of what it
was did not arrive until he had examined the first ten bodies: single wounds.
Only one of them had more than a single wound. He unwrapped a memory stone and
began recording what he saw.
The area around the bodies had already been trampled, but Ossian decided to

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swing wide in search of footprints leading away from the scene. He found a
clear set of prints near a cluster of evergreens. Ice had formed around the
edges, so the prints had to have been made the night before. The depth of the
prints suggested one mon was heavier than the other by a fair bit. They ended
amidst scattered horse droppings. The killers had ridden off.
Ossian sucked in a breath and walked back.
Silas Lafferty, the Captain of Militia, was waiting for him, looking as if he
had not bothered to comb his hair. The edge of his nightshirt poked above one
side of Silas’ trousers, completing the image of haste. “Can we start removing
them now?"
"Yes."
"Reist, I have a question.” Ossian motioned him over to the side. “You're a
soldier and I know you have seen battlefields before. What do you make of this
one? Could, perhaps, two myn,—just two—have done this?"
"If they were pros. Or simply gods-awful good."
"Taking that a step further. How many pros do we have in Wolffgard right now?"
"Too many. And probably a few I'm not aware of. The really good ones don't
like drawing attention to themselves."
"Names?"
"Stone, for one. Eiko Morikawa. StealsThunder.” Reist shrugged. “Todd
Sinclair, but he'd never do something like this. Malthus Estrobian. Faerwald
Davies. Lairgan Yates. Darcy MacIver."
"I see what you meant by too many."
"That's just off the top of my head. You can rule some out right off. The Fae
for instance. Those are sword and dagger wounds. They fight with fans. Darcy
favors axes. If Stone had done it, you would not be finding bodies; you'd be
finding body parts."
"Can you get me a list? As complete as you can make it?"
"Yeah. Give me a couple of days and I'll get some help putting it together.
Jenny might know more names than I do."
"I would appreciate that."
* * * *
Ossian had many matters on his mind by the time that he returned to the
Lawgiver House. He had his brothers transcribing their memory stone recordings
into written reports. The three survivors of the camp massacre refused to
cooperate and describe their assailants. The only thing that Waid was able to
get out of them was the fact that it had been, indeed, just what Ossian
suspected: two myn had done all the killing and escaped unscathed. Ultan
reported that the women, all human, who lived at the camp with their children,
were nervous and refused to say anything about it. All of them claimed to have
heard nothing. It was as if a conspiracy of silence had been laid over the
camp and had been there for some time. He decided to do nothing further until
he had received Reist's list.
Although Baroucha's box of poisons had proven both interesting and suspicious,
none of them matched what Willy had discovered in the pantry. Ossian had given
samples from the bottles taken from Willy, Sheradyn, and Belgair's rooms to
Sha who sent them to Creeya for testing. Word had come back an hour ago that
the contents were identical and matched what had been given to Kynyr Maguire.
Searching Ivanstern's apothecary and Cahira's shop had proven fruitless. The
evidence stared him in the face. The only ones who had been found with bottles
of the poison were Sheradyn and Belgair.
He felt a whiff of regret as he headed down to the dungeons beneath the
Lawgiver House. Sheradyn was well regarded in many circles. He was also old
and frail. “Politics makes for strange companions."
Ossian had brought his own chastisemon, Gavin Ellis, with him from Three
Stones. Gavin was a brawny, taciturn mon. Ossian could never tell whether he
took pleasure in his job, which he was good at, or whether he simply took it
all as second nature and did what he had to do. Like most lycans, he had gone
into the profession of his forefathers.
He had not changed from his riding boots before heading for the dungeons, and

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they made a click-slap—heel and toe—noise as he descended the narrow stone
stairs. The only way in or out of the dungeons was through that single door at
the head of the stairs. At the bottom, a square table occupied the left hand
side by the door with the corridor between the rows of cells to the right.
Gavin sat watching the two guardsmyn dicing. Ossian used members of the town
militia as much as possible when he required more hands. However, the six
guardsmyn who spelled each other in pairs for dungeon duty were drawn from
among those of Belgair's troops who had been vetted for loyalty. Ossian wanted
experienced myn for this job. He did not want a repetition of the still
largely unexplained way that so many of those loyal to Kynyr had escaped from
the manor dungeons the night of the purge.
Ossian snagged the keys from a long peg and gestured for Gavin and the two
guardsmyn to follow him. He had only two prisoners, other than four myn who
had been hauled in the night before after a brawl at the Wolf in Sheepskin got
out of hand.
The chastisemon shoved from his chair without a word.
Stepping into Sheradyn's cell, Ossian could not repress a nagging tremor of
regret at what he needed to do. “The only evidence I have been able to find,
links him."
Ossian pointed at Sheradyn. The old healer huddled in a corner, deep in the
straw, his long white hair laying in matted strings. The lawgiver steeled
himself against the feelings of pity that the forlorn figure engendered within
him. The healer had almost as many defenders as detractors. Some insisted that
he was innocent; while others believed the mere fact that his royal patients
died made him incompetent, if not guilty of darker matters. No matter how he
looked at it, the evidence could not be ignored.
Sheradyn raised his eyes. “Please, I didn't do it."
"Strip him and hang him up.” Ossian turned his gaze away. “Twenty lashes to
start. Ten at a time. Don't overdo it. Just get me my answers."
The guardsmyn removed his clothing. Sheradyn accepted the rough handling with
listless movements, deep into depression and despair. They attached his
shackled feet to the hooks in the floor, and his wrists to one that hung from
the ceiling on a chain. Ossian flicked his finger at the door and the
guardsmyn left. Gavin moved to the wheel on the wall and began turning it,
tightening Sheradyn's body out as it drew him higher and higher, stretching
him into a taut line.
Nude, Sheradyn's aged skin hung loose on his bones and about his sagging
muscles. He made a pathetic figure with his round little belly the only bit of
flesh on his gaunt old body. It troubled Ossian to look at him, knowing that
he was about to have an old mon put to the question. The others were dead who
could have given him the answers he sought—the answers behind the attempted
coup that had killed Claw Redhand. He had no choice. It had to be done.
In deferment to Sheradyn's age, Gavin had chosen to use a simple
cat-o'-nine-tails and not the spiked whips used on younger wolves.
"I'll return later. Just give him something to think about."
Gavin nodded his answer and laid Sheradyn's back open with the first blow. The
healer shrieked.
Ossian walked out, Sheradyn's screams echoing in his ears. His stomach
churned. Too many people had died. Ossian felt driven to act upon whatever
evidence he could uncover.
* * * *
After a consultation with Todd, Kynyr decided to keep the progress of his
improvement a secret from all except his immediate family. So far it had come
in tiny increments. Kynyr's moods vacillated wildly between hope and despair.
Hope because the improvements were there; despair because they failed to come
swiftly enough to satisfy and reassure him at times.
Steam filled the bathing chamber. Sha had tried to recreate the hot springs in
Creeya that they used to treat the crippling aftereffects of certain diseases.
The huge porcelain tub had a cork stopper in one end. A tall apparatus, which
Kynyr did not know the name for, heated water and delivered it to the tub

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through a long set of pipes and a spout. He had only to pull on a chain to
send more of the pleasantly heated water into the bath when it began to cool
too much.
His long, warm robe lay draped over a chair and a table beside the tub had a
stack of fleecy towels on it. A bell sat within reach on another small table
so that he could summon assistance if he required it and to let the servants
know when he was ready to get out. The wheel chair made a silent reminder that
he was not yet walking, but he had hope now. Qaseem came and went, checking on
him frequently. Sha always showed up at least once, even though it brought a
flush to his cheeks when she ran a clinical eye across his nakedness.
He moved his legs around, swishing them about, letting them float to the
surface. Kynyr raised and lowered them. On the third try, his right leg broke
the surface and rose into the air. A thrill rushed through Kynyr as his leg
trembled and wobbled, unsupported by the water. He could not hold it long, but
he had done it. His efforts with the left leg were less successful, but that
one had been more heavily affected by the poison.
He grabbed the bell off the table and rang for the servants.
Qaseem often sat outside and waited for him, so the healer was the first into
the room. He saw Kynyr's expression. “What happened?"
"Watch.” Kynyr pointed at his legs and lifted them free from the water.
Qaseem's quiet smile bloomed. “Time to try something else."
"What?” Kynyr's voice filled with eagerness.
"You'll see.” Qaseem helped Kynyr from the tub, got him into a chair, and
dried off.
Once wrapped in his robe, Kynyr sat waiting.
Qaseem grasped his hands and said, “Stand up."
Kynyr sucked in a breath, grasped the healer's hands, and stood.
"Come forward. Keep holding my hands."
Another deep breath, and Kynyr took a shuffling step forward, and then
another. His eyes widened. Holding onto Qaseem, he made a short tour of the
room. When his legs began to tremble and grow unsteady, Qaseem returned him to
the wheel-chair.
A quiet exultation filled Kynyr. “I'll be walking on my own soon."
"Soon."
* * * *
The lycans slowly adjusted to the wealth of strangers in Wolffgard. The
Creeyans who arrived with Stoneriver were an odd lot; swan mays in silver
armor, Shivari in their hybrid tiger forms haired up to deal with the cold,
and gryphons who were currently housed on the roof of the manor in makeshift
aeries. Pandeena, their priest, had brought in strangers who appeared to be
human but most suspected were not. Soldiers in MacLachlan livery mingled with
the housecarles of the thanes. Wives and mistresses shopped in small clusters
accompanied by bodyguards, ate and drank at the inns and taverns, and added
color to the drabness of winter in the town.
Yet beneath it all simmered an undercurrent of violence and threat. There were
now many different factions in Wolffgard, and old rivalries kicked up between
the myn of various thanes. The northerners, who had borne the brunt of the
Waejontori incursions, felt less tolerant than usual toward their wealthy
southern compatriots. The southerners suspected that the northerners were
overstating matters when they complained of raiders in the north. The
midlanders generally felt put upon, ignored, and disregarded by both the
northerners and the southerners. Brawls broke out.
Ossian had his hands full dealing with it. The thanes harangued him every time
they had to fetch their myn from his holding cells and pay for damages to the
taverners and shopkeepers. All that they succeeded in doing, however, was to
make Ossian dig his heels in deeper and lecture them back about no one being
above the law.
A black-haired mon strolled down Main Street. He had large scars cutting
across his forehead, nose, and down the side of his face. Even without the
scars he would have been plain ugly. A too large, mobile mouth dominated his

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seamed, jowly face. His eyes were deeply set, black as night, with dark purple
shadows beneath. His bushy eyebrows sat on a heavy ridge. His nose looked like
it had been broken more than once. His height was six five and his body broad
and blocky, with a thick, barrel chest, arms like temple columns, and legs
like tree trunks. Lokynen Willidar the Battle-Master weighed nearly four
hundred pounds, all of it muscle.
Cubs ran to him and clung to his arms. With six of them hanging onto each arm,
Lokynen lifted them up and swung them around in a gentle turn. They laughed in
delight and Lokynen laughed with them, a large deep laugh that rose from his
belly and carried through the streets. He lowered them to the ground,
signaling that he was done. “Have any of you seen the Peddler?"
Rumors of a peddler at Wolffgard had drawn Lokynen back to the town. She
always seemed to be at a different end of the valley from him. He had a
suspicion that it was Dynanna. He had known for centuries about her disguise
as the aged peddler named Dyna. Long association had given him an instinct for
spotting her no matter what face she wore.
"Yes.” A young lycan boy with an unruly mop of light brown hair and the bright
blue-green eyes of a scamp darted to Lokynen's side. “She's at the house where
the children live."
Lokynen lifted an eyebrow at that. The Trickster only brought her paladins
along if she expected trouble. “Show me."
The boy ran ahead of him.
In an isolated corner of the northwest end of the Sanctuary Refugee Camp,
stood a large two-story house that had not been there a month ago. Lokynen
recognized it, because Dyna could shrink it down with a word and carry it in
her pocket when she moved. The God of Cussedness and Perversity, a minor
divine that myn generally referred to as simply the Trickster, had many odd
gifts and odder playthings. In her guise as the peddler Dyna, she sold
secondhand magic items.
Lokynen spied Sugar Maple sitting beneath a pine tree with her back to it and
her broom across her knees. His guess had been right. He handed the boy a gold
coin and the boy's eyes saucered. “Thank you. Thank you!” Then the boy ran off
to show everyone what Lokynen had given him.
"What's your name?” Lokynen shouted after him.
The boy called back over his shoulder, “Hamish Scott."
Lokynen squatted in front of her. “Hello, Sugar. Where's Dyna?"
Sugar Maple tilted her head, her marmalade hair sliding across her face. “In
the house."
"I found the child."
"I play with him."
Lokynen frowned, making his face still uglier. “Damn, she found him before I
could tell her."
Sugar Maple smiled. “I don't like his stepfather. He keeps trying to kiss me.
But I don't let him."
Lokynen's expression hardened. “Mother-swiving cockwhore. If he touches
you...."
Sugar Maple laughed, which made Lokynen blush. “Don't worry about me, Loky.
Worry about him. The trees are my friends. So long as we walk beneath them
when he takes me home, I am safer than he is."
"That's true, little one."
Lokynen went on into the house to find Dynanna and tell her all that he had
learned. The large house overflowed with mismatched furniture; no two pieces
alike and many of them upholstered in clashing colors. Dynanna had a habit of
snatching whatever caught her fancy, especially from the wealthier classes.
Lokynen still chuckled at the time she stole all the doors off the Priest-King
of Timbren's palace because he refused to let her inside. Like most of the
yuwenghau, Dynanna and Lokynen had never been particularly monogamous. Lokynen
had mostly mended his ways since marrying Amberlin and no longer left a string
of bastards in his wake. He and Dynanna had been lovers for a brief period two
centuries ago, and she had always liked the fact that Lokynen had used seed

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crystals to absorb and store his seed so that he did not get her pregnant.
But they had more often been rivals than lovers. Lokynen's facial scars were
the result of bulling his way through the trapped ruins at Lightning Strike
Crest to reach Thunder, the Sword of Justice, ahead of the Trickster who had
set out to steal it. She had emerged from the ruins unscathed, but Lokynen had
been marked for life. Remembering that moment sent Lokynen's hand to pat the
hilt of Thunder hanging at his shoulder.
"At least I beat you to it, Dyna.” He strode into the kitchen where the
godling was shoving wood into an iron stove and trying to figure out how to
light it.
Dynanna straightened and flicked back her long red-gold hair. “Yeah, but
pulling the damned thing put you in Torrundar's debt."
Lokynen shrugged. “He doesn't tag me for favors that often."
His eyes went to a row of barrels with spigots sitting on a rack at the other
end of the kitchen. “You wouldn't happen to have something nice to drink?"
Dynanna grinned broadly. “Same old Loky. Always thirsty. I have mead, ale, and
dark beer. What would you like?"
"Beer."
"I made a good haul in Iradrim a few months ago. I have one hundred barrels of
stout, two hundred barrels of dark beer, and fifty casks of ale."
"I hope you paid for it."
Dynanna filled two tankards with beer and led Lokynen to the living room. “I
don't steal from honest merchants."
Lokynen spotted an enormous over stuffed chair with a footstool. “Looks like
you were expecting me."
"I was.” She handed him a tankard and moved to a smaller chair next to his.
Taking a long drink from his tankard, Lokynen smiled. “Good beer. Did you pay
for it?"
"With fresh minted gold."
"That you stole."
Dynanna giggled. “Of course. But the dragon had stolen it first. So I was just
stealing from a thief."
"Stealing from dragons is as dangerous as stealing from gods. I hope you had
Dynarien with you."
Dynanna gave a long sigh. “I don't run with my brother much now that he's
married."
"So catch me up on the gossip. I've been away for several weeks."
"We think Malthus murdered Searlait and Fianait Redhand."
"Claw's sisters?” Lokynen's features darkened with rage. “Tell me about it."
"The day after Fianait was murdered; Belgair Doherty, Claw's Captain of the
Guard, staged a purge. Claw and Aisha are dead too."
"I'm going to whomp someone,” Lokynen muttered darkly.
"Can't whomp Belgair. Todd did him."
* * * *
Regina stepped into running the day-to-day affairs of the manor with ease. Her
previous father-in-law, Adderuig Balfour, had been an old-fashioned mon.
Instead of having a seneschal, his wife ran the affairs of the household until
her death two years ago of a fever. As the wife of his heir, Johfrit, Regina
had been given her late mother-in-law's duties, so she was well acquainted
with the demands of running a large household.
Her daily routine started in the salle, working out with Reist. Once breakfast
preparations were underway, Regina checked upon Merissa. The midwife, Mary
Sinclair, who came by every morning to check on Merissa and Darmyk, had made
it clear that she disliked Malthus. Regina's answer to that was to gather them
into the Rose Room before Mary arrived and have the examinations there.
After checking on Merissa, Regina went to look in on Emma.
Fletcher Matheson, Thane of Ottercreek, stood in the parlor of his suite
staring into the flames of the hearth. He was tall, broad through the
shoulders, and sturdy. He turned when Regina entered. “If you're looking for
Emma, she's not here."

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"Where is she?"
"How should I know? You're the one putting odd notions in her head."
Regina blinked at the anger in his tone. “I don't know what you're talking
about."
"Of course you don't. Odd notions are normal for you.” He stalked close to
her, his stance threatening. “People still talk about you slicing Vertram over
a kiss all those years ago."
"He had it coming. I was only fourteen."
"Did he?"
"If you don't mind, I'll go look for her...” Regina started to back away from
him, but Fletcher's hand shot out and clamped onto her wrist.
"I do mind."
Regina cast a warning look at his hand. “Let go. Or we'll be burying a thane."
"Cut me up, will you? Like Vertram?"
"I won't have to. My husband will.” She stepped in and dropped her weight
forward to break Fletcher's grip on her arm, whirled and lunged out of the
room.
Instinct sent her jogging through the corridors, which were too crowded at
that hour for her to run without bowling someone over, and jerked open the
door to the Rose Room. It had a warm, welcoming feeling as if Aisha's spirit
lingered there.
She found Emma Smythe curled up on the sofa nearest the hearth, suckling her
newborn and crying. “What's wrong, Emma?"
"Fletcher. We had a fight. Percival is barely out of my belly, and Fletcher is
riding me again."
"Are you using any kind of protection? Eelskins? Herbs?"
Emma shook her head miserably. “Fletcher says it ruins his pleasures."
"Bloody thanes! They're a bunch of fecking sodomites. Insensitive bastards.”
Regina snarled wordlessly for a moment, hair sprouting along her arms. Then
she took hold of Emma's upper arm. “You're not his wife. If he wants to keep a
bitch's belly filled, let him do it to his wife."
"Where are we going?” Emma's lips trembled and she flinched from the wrath in
Regina's eyes.
"To talk to Stone."
"I'm afraid of him."
"Stone? Or Fletcher?"
"Both."
"Which one scares you more?"
"Stone.” Emma answered without hesitation.
"Me too.” Regina acknowledged with a wry twist. “Come on. If we want you safe
from Fletcher, then we must speak to Stone."
Emma cradled her infant tight to her breast as Regina pulled her through the
hallways. At the door to the study Stone used, which had once been Claw's,
Regina slammed the door open and went inside.
Stone looked up from the reports he had been reading and frowned at her.
“That's quite an entrance, Reggie. You'd best have a good reason for it."
"I want to place Emma Smythe under your protection, Stone."
"Emma?” Stone gestured at the chairs and the two bitches settled into them.
“Do you wish to be under my protection?"
Emma ducked her head. “I don't know."
Regina threw a furious look at Emma. “Of course you do."
"Stand down, Reggie.” Stone's voice softened. “You're afraid of me, Emma?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Reggie folded her arms, glaring at him. “That should be bloody obvious, Stone.
You're a great big..."
"Uh uh.” Stone wagged a finger at Regina. “I want Emma to answer."
"You raped your sister ... and you crippled Clennan Doherty.” Emma kept her
head down, staring at the floor. “Fletcher says so."
"Is that all?"

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"You're scary."
"I see. Do you love Fletcher?"
Emma shook her head and her eyes leaked. “I was going to marry my Jamie. He
was saving for the brideprice my Dad wanted for me."
"So how did you end up with Fletcher?"
"My Dad's a tailor. The best in Ottercreek."
"And?” Stone coaxed.
"Usually my Dad went to the manor. I don't remember why Fletcher came to the
shop instead that day. He saw me...” Emma's voice caught. “Didn't get no say
in it. Fletcher already had a wife. Told my Dad he was taking me and he did."
"Fletcher had no legal right to just take you. No one is outside the law. Ask
Ossian."
"He'll ruin my Dad. That's what Clennan did to Berneen's family."
"There is no perfect decision, Emma. I can protect you, but not your family."
"I'll stay with Fletcher.” Emma rose.
Regina jumped to her feet, her hand closing on Emma's arm.
"Let her go, Reggie."
"But..."
"Let her go.” The edge in Stone's voice cut through Regina.
Emma fled.
"You're a bastard, Stone."
"I'm a realist. You can't save them all, Reggie."
"I can try."
"Claw tried to break the power of the thanes when he was young. His reasons
were much like your own. He objected to their excesses. My brother failed. If
a strong chieftain can't achieve it, then what hope can you have to?"
"Bloody thanes..."
"Sit down.” Stone scowled when Regina did not obey immediately and repeated
the command in a stronger tone. “Sit down."
She dropped into a chair, glaring.
"Now, listen to me. The sins of the thanes can't be corrected overnight. It's
the work of generations. But there is a good place to start."
"Where?"
"Lady Maguire. And our king to be."
* * * *
Hamish marched down the hallway with a superior air, the gold crown jingling
in his hand along with a couple of copper pennies. He did not need the
additional pennies to purchase what he planned to buy, since a crown was more
than he earned in a year; he simply liked listening to the noise they made
clashing together, calling everyone's attention to the fact that he had money.
"What are you going to do with that?” Rory trailed after his younger brother,
his neck craned to keep his eye on his brother's hand. The most money either
of them had ever had before was when Kynyr gave them two silver nobles to
break the windows of Baroucha Seaver's shop following the death of his father,
Branduff.
"Buy Ma the best solstice presents she's ever had."
"Share it?” Rory asked hopefully.
"What do you mean share it? I earned it."
"But I want to buy her something nice too."
"No."
Rory followed his brother into the kitchen. Todd sat there with several crates
around his feet, filling sacks with small boxes of toy soldiers and pretty
cloth dolls.
"What are you doing?” Rory slipped into the chair beside Todd, watching him.
"Gifts for my tenants’ cubs. They can't afford a proper solstice for the young
ones.” Todd stuffed another sack as he spoke.
"Are you going into town today?” Hamish laid his coins on the table and made a
big show of circling the pennies around the crown.
"Ayup. Cahira wants to check some new inventory arrived at the shop."
"Can I come? I got solstice shopping to do."

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"Have."
Hamish ducked his head. “I have shopping to do."
"If you speak like an educated mon, myn will think you one.” Todd tousled
Hamish's hair. “And you can come with us."
"He won't share the crown.” Rory cast a glare at his brother, his lower lip
sliding from beneath his upper.
"It's his coin, Rory."
"But I can't buy Ma something nice."
"Whatever you buy her, she'll love it. That's because she loves you, Rory."
Rory gave up, left his chair, and paced from the room with his head down.
* * * *
Merissa walked with her hands pressed to her lower back, trying to relieve
some of the stress that her swollen belly placed upon it. Darmyk accompanied
her. He always seemed better in the mornings, more like his old self.
"Hello, Merissa.” Jocelyn fell into step beside her. “Going to the Rose Room?"
"Yes."
"Shall I walk with you?"
"No."
"Well, I think I will anyway. I haven't seen the Rose Room yet."
"It was my mother's room...” Merissa's voice trailed off helplessly. She
wished that Jocelyn would go away, but did not have the energy to deal with
her.
"Yes, I've been told that."
"You don't like me."
Jocelyn flipped her hair with a shrug of her shoulders. “That has nothing to
do with anything. My grandfather is going to be regent for your little heirs.
So I thought we should get better acquainted."
"I don't think so."
"You don't think what?” Jocelyn's attitude turned haughty. “That my
grandfather is going to be regent? Or that we should get better acquainted?"
"Both.” Merissa's hand closed on the knob of the door into the Rose Room. She
entered, hoping that Jocelyn would not follow, but was disappointed.
Jocelyn ran her hands over the fabric of the sofas as she strolled around
looking at the tapestries and paintings. “Nice. Your mother had nice taste."
"Yes, she did.” Merissa used the arm of a chair to lower herself into it.
"As I was saying, Grandfather thinks we should get better acquainted. Perhaps
a betrothal when your sons are born. I have a daughter. She's a pretty little
thing. Just a year old."
"No."
"Face reality, you stupid bitch. I'm trying to be nice, but you're not letting
me.” Jocelyn barred her teeth at Merissa. “My grandfather is going to be
regent. The Dohertys are going to run things, and your eldest lycan heir is
going to marry a Doherty."
"I thought I saw some lovelies hide themselves in here.” Lyncoln Wescot came
in without knocking.
Jocelyn's eyes widened and she put Aisha's desk between herself and Lyncoln.
“Get out of here."
Merissa allowed a tiny smile to light her face. She was not fond of Lyncoln;
however, she was less fond of Jocelyn. Right then Lyncoln seemed like one of
the knights in shining armor from a book of human legends. “Sit right there,
Lyncoln.” Merissa pointed at a chair close to her. “Shall I ring for some
tea?"
"That would be right nice.” Lyncoln settled into his seat. “Terry always liked
having tea with me in the mornings.” He patted the arm of the chair to his
opposite side. “Come on, Jocelyn. Sit and talk a bit."
"Not on your life, Lyncoln Wescot. You're a nutter. My grandfather says so.”
Jocelyn threw Merissa a glare. “Make him leave, or I'm going to tell my
grandfather."
"Lyncoln, shall I have Kissie bring some scones and clotted cream as well?”
Merissa smiled at him.

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"Uhmn. Clotted cream and scones. I would like that.” Lyncoln winked at
Merissa. “Jam too?"
"Did you hear me, Merissa? I said..."
Merissa ignored Jocelyn's interruption. “Strawberry. I enjoy your company,
Lyncoln. You should join me here for tea each morning."
"What? You're having him for tea and scones each morning? Him?” Jocelyn's eyes
widened. “You're both nutters."
Lyncoln leaned back, reached around, and grabbed at Jocelyn. “Come on. Be a
good girl and sit with us."
"Not on your life.” Jocelyn hissed at him. She edged past them and darted out
the door, nearly colliding with Regina.
"What the bloody hell, Jocelyn? What were you doing in there?"
"Getting out. Merissa's having tea with a nutter.” Jocelyn snatched her skirts
high and fled.
* * * *
Ossian considered his options as he listened to Gavin's report on the
interrogation of Sheradyn Kelly and Gillivray Ashby.
"Ashby's close to breaking, Ossian. But the old one ... maybe if you'd let me
get rougher with him."
"No.” Ossian stared at the reports on his desk without reading them. “He's
frail. I don't want to kill him."
"They poisoned the prince, Ossian. It's cut and dried."
"No one knows it better than I.” Ossian closed the folder.
"You could offer Ashby a deal."
"What?” Ossian raised his eyes.
"If he confesses, you could let Kelly go."
Ossian sucked in a deep breath. “No. It would be putting words in his mouth."
"It would work."
"I know. But it would not feel right.” Ossian rose from the desk. “Come on.
One more try and then I'll have to think of something else."
Gavin followed Ossian down to the cell. Sheradyn had already had his first
session of the day with Gavin. Blood oozed from the fresh tears in his back
and some of the old ones that had re-opened.
Sheradyn raised his head when they entered, his face lined by suffering, and
his eyes pleading. “I'm innocent, Ossian. I swear by all that's holy. I'm
innocent. I didn't do it."
Ossian winced inwardly from the look in the healer's eyes and steeled himself.
He settled into his chair, propped his elbow on the arm and rested his chin
upon it. “You were always fond of Merissa. Fond enough to kill her children's
rival for the throne?"
"No. I would never do that."
Gavin picked up his whip from the table of implements and moved to stand
behind Sheradyn.
Ossian gestured at Gavin. “Three, Gavin."
Gavin uncoiled his whip and laid it on in precise strokes. Sheradyn shrieked.
"Tell me. Were you friends with Belgair Doherty?"
"Yes. I liked the mon."
Finally, an admission. “Enough to give him poison to use on the prince?"
"Noooo."
"What about Malthus? Are you friends?"
"Merissa loves him."
"Answer my question."
"Mercy! Please, mercy. I'm a healer. I wouldn't poison anyone."
Ossian shrugged. “You wouldn't be the first healer to have had poison as a
sideline. Three more, Gavin."
Sheradyn gasped, tears streaming down his face. “My chest ... hurts."
Gavin stopped at the second strike, glancing at Ossian.
The lawgiver raised one finger as he considered, his young brow furrowed.
“Gavin, fetch a healer."
Gavin dropped his whip on the table and darted out the door running.

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Sheradyn stiffened, the breath seeming to catch in his lungs. “Oh gods ... my
heart. My heart."
The healer sagged in his bonds.
Alarmed, Ossian lurched from his chair and touched Sheradyn's neck. He saw
Pandeena and Gavin standing in the doorway. “He's dead."
Ossian walked out, trapped between a dawning suspicion of Sheradyn's innocence
and the facts as he had discovered them so far. He let himself into
Gillivray's cell; uncertain of what he intended to do.
Sheradyn's young lover sat in a chair, his wrists manacled to the arms, and
his ankles fastened to the legs. Gillivray had been flogged; his fingers had
been crushed with the thumbscrews. He raised his head and looked at Ossian.
"I did it,” Gillivray said. “I gave Belgair the poison. Sheradyn is innocent.
Let him go. Please let him go."
Ossian averted his eyes, feeling deeply troubled, recalling his earlier
conversation with Gavin. “I can't. He's dead."
Gillivray unleashed a long howl of grief and desolation.
"Well, at least we got our confession,” said Ultan, stepping into the room
with Gavin and Pandeena following.
Ossian gestured for Ultan to be quiet. “Gillivray, if you were only confessing
to spare your lover, you may recant and I will accept it."
"Why?” Gillivray's voice, choked up with emotion, accused Ossian. “You'll
still think we were guilty."
"The evidence..."
"You killed him.” Gillivray unleashed another howl. His eyes went empty, lost.
“What's life without him? No. I won't recant.” The healer spat in Ossian's
face. “Send me to join him."
Ossian wiped the spittle from his cheek and nodded, saying without anger.
“Hang him."
He walked from the dungeons and climbed the stairs feeling as if there had
been no victory there.
* * * *
Malthus watched Gillivray Ashby mount the scaffolds with his wrists secured
behind him. The nancidawg showed more courage than Malthus had thought
Gillivray possessed. He had expected that the two healers would have to be
carried screaming and weeping onto the platform. Sheradyn's naked corpse hung
like withered fruit from the next place down. Malthus felt safer now.
The lawgivers were not as smart as they thought they were.
Ultan O'Reilly brought Gillivray Ashby to his place over the trapdoor. Waid
knelt, fastening the healer's ankles together. Gillivray stood with his back
straight and his head high, despite the tears squeezing past his closed
eyelids. Ultan fastened weights to Gillivray's ankles, tightened the noose
around his neck, and stepped back.
Gavin Ellis kept his hand on the lever as Ossian read Gillivray's sentence to
the gathered crowd.
A familiar voice drew Malthus’ attention to the side.
Cahira stood with Todd's arms around her shoulders. “I can't believe they did
it. I've known Sheradyn since I was a girl. He would never do something like
this."
Todd, gazing over Cahira's shoulder, spied him. “Your time is coming,
Malthus."
"Or yours.” Malthus inclined his head at Todd with a sneer and moved farther
from them.
Ossian nodded. Gavin pulled the lever. Gillivray dropped as the trap door
opened beneath him.
The weights failed to provide the hard drop that Ultan had hoped for, which
would have broken Gillivray's neck. The healer jerked and twisted, choking.
Cahira pressed her face into Todd's shoulder, unable to watch it.
Satisfied, Malthus skirted the edges and walked off. When he reached the
street, he heard footsteps behind him.
"Hello, Malthus."

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He paused and turned. “Zinzi."
She strolled up to him. “You know, Malthus...” she rolled his name off her
tongue in a saucy manner, “Hoon is very unhappy with you."
"Why?"
"You sent him the wrong child."
"I-I did?"
"Don't play games with me, Malthus. That boy is not the last descendant of
Dawnhand. How could you be so stupid? Hoon knew instantly that child was not
of his blood."
"Dawnhand? Isranon Dawnhand?"
"Brandrahoon, Isranon, and Waejonan. You know the story."
"Are you warning me?"
"I just want to watch you squirm before we kill you."
Malthus reached for his powers. Before he could strike, Zinzi ran off
laughing. He sucked in a sharp breath, glancing back at Cahira. Damnit. I'm
getting jumpy. That mage would have recognized my power.
Feeling trapped between Cahira and Zinzi, Malthus tried to pick the lesser of
two dangers and turned again toward the scaffolds. He drifted closer, shaking.
“No one double-crosses Brandrahoon and lives to speak of it."
I might be the exception. I have never tested my powers ... not since riting
all those sa'necari ... stealing those legacies to make me strong. Maybe I'm
as strong as Brandrahoon now. Maybe.
He stopped in front of the dangling bodies of the executed healers. Gillivray
no longer moved.
The three brothers always breed true. Malthus had heard that said a thousand
times over the years. Had he realized that Isranon's name was not the whim of
a Dark Brother's reverence for one of their iconic figures, he would have
chosen the child he sent Brandrahoon more carefully.
"Having another look?” Vayle Stewart lounged on the steps to the scaffold.
"It's good they caught the traitors."
Ossian stepped out of the shadows, gestured for Malthus to follow, and led him
up onto the scaffold. “I'm still watching you. One more questionable death
and.... “Ossian dropped a noose over Malthus’ head. “Do we understand each
other?"
"Yes.” Malthus flung the noose off and stalked away.

CHAPTER TEN
ALWAYS FAITHFUL
Preparations for the four myn's trip to the Striped Dog began in the late
afternoon. Jenny and Regina joined Darcy and StealsThunder at the Maguire
Place. They sat at the table in Darcy's suite. Six strands of hair had been
clipped from each of their heads.
Jenny leaned in, watching in fascination as Thunder braided three strands from
each together. “I always wondered how Channadar did that trick."
Thunder grinned and nodded. “When I lay that on the table, we'll have five
minutes to get clear of the tavern."
After that she braided four bracelets from the remaining hair and handed one
to each of them. “Don't put those on until just before we enter the Striped
Dog. It should hold for half an hour, but we don't want to waste them."
In the yard of the mansion, Fychan the stablemaster waited with the wagon and
four saddled horses. A long wooden object shaped like a coffin lay in the
wagon with a tarp thrown over it and some smaller crates around it. Fychan
tied Darcy's horse to the back of the wagon, and Darcy climbed up into the
driver's seat. Her three companions mounted up and they set out for Wolffgard.
They dropped off their horses at Cahira's Potions and Notions, where they
picked up Darcy's cousins, Artair and Tobrytan. Darcy drove and the rest of
them sat in the back on the crates. Drawing rein in front of the Striped Dog,
Artair climbed down and poked his head into the tavern. He returned with a
broad grin. “He's in there."
The four females climbed down, walked to the door, and put the bracelets on. A

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flash of silver light flowed over them and four red-haired bitches stood there
arrayed in nice dresses instead of the trousers and tunics they had arrived
in. Illusion was one of the most finely honed skills of the Fae.
The Striped Dog Tavern was a rough place. Bitches rarely came there without a
male companion. So it was with some surprise that the regulars saw four pretty
bitches enter and take a table. A nibari came instantly with a tray of mead
and set out the tankards in front of them. Darcy paid.
They had not sat there long, before some of the bolder dogs sauntered over and
offered to buy them drinks.
Gorgarty spotted Darcy. She winked and smiled at him suggestively. He sat
straight up with an excited look of anticipation, and nudged Eamon sitting
beside him. “Oh, ohohoh, I'm gonna get my bone wet tonight."
Eamon's gaze strayed to Darcy's companions. “They're pretty."
"She wants me."
"You're always saying that. I hear the last bitch you thought wanted you,
kicked you in the grapes."
"You just watch.” Gorgarty rose from the table.
"One of these days, your stupidity is going to get you killed."
Gorgarty bristled. “You'll see who's stupid."
He swaggered to the table and sat down beside Darcy, pulling her onto his lap.
They exchanged whispers, and then Gorgarty, his face flush with eagerness,
followed her out the back door that led to the alley.
Thunder laid the braided hair on the table. “Now."
Regina, Thunder, and Jenny rose from the table and headed for the back door.
Regina glanced over her shoulder and gasped. The four of them appeared to be
still sitting at the table flirting with the customers. Jenny grabbed her arm.
“Keep walking."
Gorgarty pressed Darcy against the side of a building, fumbling with the
lacings to his trousers. “You're gonna like this. You're gonna really like
this."
The three myn fanned out behind them, unnoticed by Gorgarty.
"So will you.” Darcy's voice took on a darker edge. Her hand seemed to
disappear as it dipped beneath the illusion and came out with her long knife.
A short, hard thrust popped the finely honed steel into Gorgarty's belly.
Gorgarty stiffened in shock, his eyes bulging, as he glanced down at the knife
protruding from him. “Bloody ... slut."
Jenny snapped a gag into his mouth before he could say anything more, while
Thunder fetched Artair and Tobrytan.
Gorgarty raised his arms to hit Darcy. Regina shifted into her hybrid form,
slammed her fists into Gorgarty's kidneys, and brought her knee up hard
between his legs to take the fight out of him. He shuddered and looked ready
to topple over. Then she and Jenny grabbed his wrists, jerked them behind his
back, and fastened them together.
"This is for Erskine.” Darcy worked the knife higher in his gut. His knees
buckled.
The wagon trundled down the alley, and stopped. Artair and Tobrytan jumped off
and lifted Gorgarty between them. Thunder threw back the tarp and opened the
coffin.
The two brothers dumped Gorgarty into it. Darcy slapped a note to Gorgarty's
chest that read “Rapist,” and was signed “Always Faithful.” Then they all
climbed aboard the wagon and headed back to the shop where Artair nailed the
coffin shut. They concealed the coffin in a deep drift of snow near a thicket
of evergreens a short drive beyond Wolffgard.
It would take many hours, and possibly days, for Gorgarty to die; and he would
suffer as his victims had.
The four horsemyn drew rein before the front gate of the Maguire Estate.
"Why did you sign it ‘Always Faithful'?” Regina asked.
"Before his crippling, Kynyr took on a vicious gang that were raping bitches
for sport. His wife had been one of their victims. One by one, he hunted them
down and killed them, leaving a note on their bodies signed ‘Always

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Faithful.’”
"I'm beginning to like our prince.” Regina reined off and rode home with
Jenny.
* * * *
Qaseem arrived, as he did each day, with his satchel over his shoulder.
Another mon walked at his heels carrying a pair of crutches. He sat them near
the bed and left. Kynyr's trousers came off and the ritual with the tape
measure seemed to take forever.
"I do not know what caused this miracle.” Qaseem wrote a series of notations
down. “All previous signs of atrophy have vanished."
He gripped Kynyr's wrist, closing his eyes as he Read the prince. “All the
spinal lesions are gone. The nerve connections have grown back. It is as if
there were never any damage at all."
Only Kady and Todd knew what Stone had done. Kynyr debated and then decided
against telling Qaseem about it.
"Lycans heal better and faster than humans, and you can take more damage. But
you do not regenerate. Your people are not trolls. Yet this, Master Kynyr ...
this is regeneration."
"I'm an exception to the rules, I guess.” Kynyr shrugged.
"An exception, most definitely. Now we test it further."
"The crutches?"
"Yes."
Kynyr's stomach churned as he gripped the crutches, torn between hope and
dread. Qaseem stood with his hands ready to grab the prince if he fell. Kynyr
levered himself up and paused, got his balance, and took the first tentative
step. His legs trembled and then steadied. Step by halting step, Kynyr crossed
his bedroom.
"Do you wish to try for the kitchen, Master Kynyr?” Qaseem's patient,
encouraging voice reassured Kynyr.
"Yeah."
"We can take it in stages. There are plenty of chairs in the hallway."
"I'd better get dressed first."
Kynyr went to the closet. Leaning on one crutch, he picked out something to
wear and tossed it onto the bed. Just that much filled him with joy. Qaseem
offered to help, but Kynyr savored his independence after being so long
without it. Pulling on a warm woolen shirt and trousers, Kynyr decided he
wanted to wear something that would bring a smile to Kady's face that went
beyond everything. So he topped his black clothing with a bright holiday
tunic, crimson with dark green trim. Kynyr had meant to wear it when he took
her to the Autumn Faire, but trouble had come between them and she went with
Todd and Cahira instead.
Kynyr maneuvered into the hallway, and stopped dead in his tracks.
"What is wrong?” Qaseem hovered about him. “I will move the chairs."
"No. That's what's wrong.” Kynyr pointed at Russa talking to Trevor. “The
Dreaded Horde."
Qaseem's gaze followed Kynyr's pointing. “Your sister?"
"Ayup."
Russa's eyes lit up when she saw him and rushed over, her arms open to hug
him. “Kynyr! You're walking."
"Stop. Stop. If you hug me I'll lose my balance.” Kynyr swallowed, his eyes
going wide.
Trevor lunged for Russa and wrapped his arms around her, but Kynyr was already
in motion to avoid his oncoming sibling. The edge of the crutch caught on a
chair leg and Kynyr toppled into a table. He sank to the floor, glaring and
muttering ominously in six languages.
Russa whistled innocently, looking at Trevor's arms. “You can let me go, Uncle
Trevor. I didn't touch him.” She snickered. “Brubs did it all by himself."
Qaseem extended his hands to Kynyr. “I will help you up."
Kynyr's lips tightened. “I'll manage."
Grabbing the edge of the chair, Kynyr pulled himself up, got the crutches in

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place, and set off at a fast angry pace.
Russa lifted her head to an airy tilt. “He always tries harder when he's upset
with me."
Then she followed with Trevor in tow while explaining to Qaseem. “You see,
it's perfectly all right for us to pick on him. The Dreaded Horde has special
privileges. But it isn't at all permissible for others to do so. Except for
Kady. She has special privileges too. We've decided to make her an honorary
member of the Dreaded Horde."
Qaseem scratched at the back of his head, listening with a dubious expression.
Kynyr snarled all the way to the kitchen, slammed the door open, and stepped
through.
Kady glanced to see who came in. Excitement flushed her face. “Oh my gods,
Kynyr! You're walking!"
* * * *
Lokynen had put off going to the manor for several days after talking to Dyna.
He was slow to anger, but once there he generally broke something or someone.
The big yuwenghau had liked the Redhands, and felt tempted to go barreling in
and start breaking things over their deaths. His temper still simmered over
Malthus trying to kiss Sugar.
When he walked up to the house that day, he saw Darmyk sitting on the steps
watching the other children throwing snowballs at each other. Cooley and the
Scott cubs rushed about playing with the Badree Nym. Kerry nestled in the
boy's lap. There was a listless light in his eyes and a bruised appearance to
the skin beneath them that worried Lokynen. He turned aside and went to check
on him.
"What's wrong, Little Bear?” Lokynen asked. “Why aren't you playing with the
others?"
Darmyk shook his head. “Don't feel like playing."
"What's wrong?"
Darmyk shook his head again. “I'm tired."
Lokynen felt the boy's forehead. “No fever. Are you sleeping all right?"
Darmyk shook his head again.
Lokynen frowned. “Talk to me, Darmyk. What ails you?"
Darmyk lowered his head with a sad shake. “I'm not supposed to talk about it.
My stepfather gets angry. I want to go inside now."
Lokynen resisted cursing Malthus to his stepson and lifted Darmyk into his
arms. “You know you can talk to me? Doesn't matter what it's about, Little
Bear. I'll always listen."
"Just don't feel good."
Lokynen knocked on the door.
A male nibari that Lokynen did not know answered. He handed Darmyk into the
nibari's arms. “He doesn't seem well."
Kissie stepped from the kitchen to see who had come to the door. “He's sick.
Has been for a while."
"Is Stone around?"
Kissie gestured for the nibari to take Darmyk to his room, and turned back to
Lokynen. “Master Stone is in his study."
She opened the door wider for him to enter.
Lokynen had to edge slightly to get through. “Small door."
Kissie laughed. “It's big enough for everyone else."
She led Lokynen through the manor. As they neared the door to Stone's study,
he spotted Malthus in the corridor. He instantly swerved aside and stomped to
Malthus. His big hand shot out and he jabbed his finger into Malthus’ chest.
Malthus staggered backwards. “What's wrong with you? Lummox!"
"You stay away from Sugar.” Lokynen poked Malthus in the chest again.
"Why?” Malthus schooled his face into a look of utter innocence.
"Keep your lips off her!” Lokynen poked him a third time with such force that
Malthus sailed into the wall, struck hard and slumped to the floor. Grabbing
Malthus by the collar, Lokynen jerked him to his feet. “You hear me?"
"Let him go, Loky.” The noise had drawn Stone from his study. “Humans break

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easily."
Lokynen released Malthus and the sa'necari slumped to the floor, shaking his
head dazedly. The big yuwenghau swaggered over to Stone, grinning. “Hi. I'm
glad to see you again."
Stone shook his head in bemusement. “You too, Loky."
"I got something for you.” Mischief shone in Lokynen's eyes.
"What?"
Lokynen's fist shot out and hit Stone square in the chest, knocking him
halfway down the hallway and into a wall.
Myn shouted and swords came out. Jocelyn, who had been barely missed by Stone
flying past her, shrieked. A crowd of curious folk had gathered, watching them
both.
"Stand down!” Stone roared, climbing to his feet with one hand on the wall for
balance. He shook his head groggily. “Why did you do that, Loky?"
Lokynen laughed so loudly the walls vibrated. “I heard Kady wanted to see
someone knock you into a wall. So I did."
Stone managed a rueful chuckle. “You got it wrong, Loky. It was Mohanja who
wanted to see someone toss me into a wall and it was Kady who did it."
"Oh.” Lokynen flushed and offered his hand in apology.
Malthus scrambled to his feet and fled. He had never seen such physical power
before. As much as Lokynen's strength worried him, making him grateful for
Stone's intervention; the way that Stone could shrug off a blow like that
suggested that there was far more to them both than he had previously
believed.
"Same old Loky.” Stone ignored Lokynen's hand, and bearhugged him instead,
patting him on the back.
Lyncoln Wescot pushed his way through the crowd and extended his own hand to
Lokynen. “I'd put good money on it to watch you wrestle. I don't know about
you two, but roughhousing always makes me thirsty. I just put in a couple of
casks of good beer. Would you and Stone like to have a drink with me?"
"I could use a beer.” Loky shook hands with Lyncoln and the three of them
headed for the suite.
Jocelyn shook her head at them dubiously. “Nutters. All of them."

CHAPTER ELEVEN
LAW-ABIDING FOLKS
Qaseem called it an exercise room for Kynyr. The prince called it a private
salle.
Kynyr lay on his back, working his legs, doing sit-ups and push-ups. Pain
arrived swiftly as his healing muscles protested the exercise. Kynyr tired
before he reached the halfway mark of the goal that he had set himself. He
forced himself through it until his legs and arms were trembling, and then
grabbed the crutches that leaned against a chair and dragged himself to his
feet. Kynyr reached the table and sank into the chair. Just over a week had
passed since the day that Stone had worked his magic, and Kynyr had recovered
to an astounding degree. Far from being content with the improvements, the
prince hungered for more.
"You're progressing rapidly, Kynyr. Better than I had hoped."
Stone stood near the door, leaning his shoulder against the wall as he watched
Kynyr.
"It's not that I'm not grateful, Stone. But I want to know what you did to
me."
"I would explain it, if I could."
"Do you know what it does?"
"In principal. I gambled. Had I not heard that you were telling folks that you
would rather be dead than crippled, I would not have hazarded it."
"Could it have killed me?"
"The possibility existed.” Stone thought for a moment. “There are
compatibility issues with Shared Life, especially when the random factor is
invoked. It's a chancy thing."

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"Have you done it before?"
"Twice. Once it worked and once it failed."
"How did it fail?” Kynyr's brow knit.
"She died.” Stone's eyes went distant as it touched the memory. “She wasn't
pretty. Leila was plain. Some said she was ugly. But her heart was gentle and
her voice was sweet. I loved her, Kynyr. But I could not save her."
"I'm sorry."
Stone shrugged free of the memory, stirred from the wall with a boneless
grace, and joined him at the table, pouring a glass of cold water from a
pitcher. “You're healing at the same rate that I do. However, there may yet be
some side effects that you will find hard to cope with."
"Such as?"
"I'd rather cross that bridge when and if we come to it. You are healing at
the rate of a yuwenghau. Because that's what I am."
Kynyr's mouth twisted; resisting an urge to push for more answers, certain
that he would not get them. “I would prefer you did not mention how much
improved I am to anyone. Todd thinks it's best we let the thanes continue to
think of me as a cripple."
"Probably wise."
* * * *
Lokynen sprawled in a large chair near the hearth in the cottage he had rented
at the north edge of Wolffgard. He had never been much for reading or writing,
but he enjoyed the letters that he received from his wife, Amberlin. A war had
broken out to the south. The so-called God-Queen of Minnoras, Gylorean Galee,
had gobbled up the city-states along the east bank of the Hillora River, taken
a savage swipe at Gormond's Reach—which King William Gryphonheart had managed
to defeat at great cost—and then lunged into Angrim. As a result, Amberlin's
couriers were having a difficult time getting through to him. The newest
letter, which had arrived yesterday, had been sent a month ago.
My Dearest, Dearest Loky,
How I miss you. Home, they say, is where the heart is; and my heart is with
you. So therefore, I have no home when you're away. I wish that you could see
our son. Josaerin is growing so fast. He seems to change day by day. He has
your hair and eyes.
The King has taken her army east to the relief of Gormond's Reach, taking
Dynarien with her. In exchange, King William has sent his son Rudyard to
Rowanhart in a betrothal pact to become husband to her daughter Ellynis Rowan
when she comes of age. Everyone fusses over the boy, including Prince Becca.
There has been a lot of unrest in the city since the King's departure,
especially in the Triton enclave. I haven't been able to put my finger on
what's wrong, but I'm certain that it is not something I can't handle.
Still, I wish you were home. I miss you terribly.
Your loving wife forever,
Amberlin
"I miss you too."
He folded the letter and stuck it in a drawer of the bureau. The thought of
his son growing in his absence led to thinking about Darmyk. He wanted to go
and see the boy again. Stone had admonished Lokynen that if he chose to return
to the manor for visits, he had to be on his best behavior.
"Best behavior,” he muttered. “Not supposed to whomp Malthus. Not supposed to
roughhouse. Not supposed to have any fun. Too many do's and don't's, Stone."
Lokynen had made a habit of walking past the manor everyday, but he had not
gone in. He had simply kept hoping to catch sight of the boy, Darmyk, playing
or sitting out of doors. In fact, now that he thought about it, he had not
seen any children playing in the yard.
That bothered him. He snatched his cloak up and headed for the door, muttering
over and over, “Don't whomp Malthus. Don't whomp Malthus."
His heavy strides carried him down Main Street. Most myn nodded politely as he
passed. Others took note of the frown he wore and simply got out of his way. A
rush of children's voices as he passed Locust Street made him pause and look,

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searching the happy faces for Darmyk even as he knew in his heart that the boy
would not be among them. Hamish Scott raced up to Lokynen and grabbed his arm.
"Swing me, Loky!"
Lokynen's frown melted. He loved the sound of children's laughter. Hamish's
companions trotted up. Lokynen knew all of them: Cooley, Rory, Sugar Maple,
Pieface, Bodi, and Lilac.
He stuck his arms out. “All of you! Hang on. Get good holds."
The children locked their hands together around his huge arms and Lokynen
turned about, waving his arms back and forth, swinging the giggling children
off the ground. The louder they laughed, the happier he felt.
"Hold on tight,” he hollered and charged down the middle of the street with
them dangling from his arms.
Adults scattered from his path to stand watching him go, shaking their heads
and chuckling at the sight. Of all the newcomers in their town, Lokynen had to
be the oddest, but they all liked him best.
When Lokynen reached Elmind Street, he ceased his madcap rush and lowered the
children to the ground. He surveyed their faces. “Have any of you seen Darmyk
lately?"
Cooley stared at his shoes for a moment, gathered his nerve, and spoke. “He's
sick, Loky. He can't play anymore."
"They won't let us see him, either.” Sugar Maple's serene face showed no trace
of emotion, yet Loky could tell that it bothered her.
Lokynen frowned. “I'm going to see him."
He set off again and the children had to trot to keep up.
"Don't scare the thanes again,” Lilac suggested.
Lokynen stopped. “Is that what I did?"
Cooley rolled his eyes. “Terrified is closer. They're as jumpy as rolled johns
with a hangover. That old figgity fanny Doherty says you're a menace."
"A what?"
"A menace,” said Lilac, patting her pouches. “Everyone is saying how far you
knocked Stone was scary."
"No, no. The other thing. A figgy whatsits."
Sugar Maple breathed an eloquent sigh. “You do not need to know, Loky. It's
nasty."
Lokynen scowled at Cooley, making his ugly face hideous. “I'm supposed to
behave and you're calling him nasty names?"
"I outrank him. I'm a prince.” Cooley shrugged.
"Yes, you are, young master.” Iswara glided across the street. He had been
shadowing Cooley for hours that morning. “Is it a problem you are having,
Master Lokynen?"
"Cats are sneaky things.” Lokynen eyed Iswara closely.
"When needs must.” Iswara gave him a polite bow of acknowledgement.
"I need to check on Darmyk. But if I see his stepfather, I'm apt to whomp
him."
"Ahh, and that would produce much unhappiness among the thanes and
difficulties for Stoneriver."
"Can you help me?"
"Not directly. However, if I might make a suggestion?"
"Make it."
"When you go to the door, ask for Lady Regina Devlin. You will find her
helpful."
"I'll do that.” Lokynen set off without another word.
This time the children did not follow. Instead, they danced around Iswara
chanting “Don't scare the thanes."
The closer he got to the manor, the more edgy Lokynen felt. He repeated his
chant from earlier in an attempt to remain calm. “Don't whomp Malthus. Don't
whomp Malthus."
He reached the manor and noted the wary looks in the patrolling guardsmyn's
eyes. “Maybe I did scare them."
Giving a shrug, Lokynen went to the door and knocked. It opened and a slender

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nibari greeted him. “Yes?"
"I'm here to see Regina Devlin. I promise not to break anything. I just want
to talk to her."
Isbeth smiled and gestured for him to enter.
She led him through the hallways and up to the second floor to the Rose Room.
* * * *
Regina had begun using Aisha's desk in the Rose Room for her work. The chamber
had become a peaceful spot within hours of Jocelyn fleeing Lyncoln Wescot.
Every morning without fail, Lyncoln arrived for tea and scones with Merissa
and Emma. The mistresses were in such dread of his whimsical audacity that
they had begun sending Regina notes, rather than bring their demands in person
and risk encountering him.
She cast a dubious glance at the big mon that Isbeth let into the room, rose,
and went around the desk with her hand extended politely. “Is there something
you need, Lokynen?"
Regina could not get the image of Stone hitting the wall out of her head and
finding herself alone with the man-mountain who had struck the blow left her
feeling uneasy; however, she had no intention of letting him know that.
Lokynen was not as tall as Stone, but much more powerfully built.
"Just Loky, if you don't mind, Lady Devlin.” He glanced away like a schoolboy
expecting a scolding. “I'm on best behavior. I won't break anything."
"I'm sure you won't. And you may call me Reggie, if you like."
Lokynen's eyes lit upon the saber she wore at her hip. “My wife favors the
saber."
"Your wife has trained?"
A deep chuckle bubbled from Lokynen. “Only one she can't whip is me."
"Are you sure?” Regina found his laugh infectious. “What about Stone?"
Lokynen considered for a moment. “Well, maybe not Stone, but I bet she'd carve
her name on his forehead."
"She sounds impressive, Loky."
"Oh, she is. Amberlin's the toughest battlemage out there."
"I'm certain that you did not come to talk about your wife.” She pointed at
the largest chair in the room, which also happened to be the one that Lyncoln
used, and hoped it was big enough. “What can I do for you?"
Lokynen settled into it with exaggerated care, and gave the arms a cautious
pat that suggested to Regina that he had had chairs break beneath him before.
“Iswara said you might help me."
"Well, tell me what it is and I'll try."
"I haven't seen the little boy in awhile. His friends said he doesn't play
anymore. I got worried about him."
"You mean Darmyk?"
Lokynen nodded. “I don't like his stepfather, but I promised Stone I wouldn't
whomp him."
"Before I decide whether to help you, would you answer a few questions for
me?"
"Ask."
"Why are you so interested in Darmyk?"
"His dad and I...” Lokynen's brows knit as he tried to decide how to answer.
“Well, you see, we have a mutual friend. She asked me to look out for him. His
dad is worried about him."
"You know, Loky...” Regina seated herself on the sofa and ran her gaze across
the tapestries. “Many sa'necari-born males see having lycan offspring as
abhorrent, a disgrace."
"And?” Suspicion crept into Lokynen's voice.
"Isranon repudiated Darmyk. Merissa still cries about it."
"It's a lie. A nasty god-fecking lie."
The vehemence in his voice set her aback. “Isranon and Nevin wrote letters to
that effect."
"Dawnreturning would never do anything like that."
"Dawnreturning?” That caught Regina by surprise. The rumors and tales of the

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mon had been reaching legendary proportions over the past two years, ever
since he destroyed a small army of demons to rescue King William Gryphonheart.
She struggled to wrap her mind around it. “His father is Dawnreturning? The
first Mage-Paladin to Kalirion in centuries?"
"That's him. Kalirion and I might have our differences, but he would never
take to a mon who would repudiate his own son."
The way that he said it sounded so personal that Regina was thrown off-stride
again. “You've met the Sun-God?"
Lokynen's mood shifted mercurially with a laugh. “Knocked him across his own
garden once."
"Who are you, Loky?” Regina's mind raced. The mon was immense and powerful,
but hitting the Sun Lord created a dichotomy of astonishment and confusion.
"Lokynen Willidar."
"Oh.” Regina's voice dropped to a whisper. He was yuwenghau, the demi-god son
of Badonth, God of Aggressive Warfare and Vengeance. She ran her eyes over him
again, and it made sense. “Does Stone know this?"
"About me? Yeah. About Darmyk's dad? I don't know."
"Do you mind if I tell him?"
"Nope. Go ahead."
The rest of Regina's questions had vanished from her mind in reaction to the
revelations Lokynen had given her. He had swept away all her doubts about him;
and Regina could see no reason to delay him. “Would you like to see Darmyk?"
"I would.” Lokynen followed Regina, who led him along the corridor to Darmyk's
room.
The boy lay beneath a wealth of quilts and comforters. His color was off and
his eyes had an odd glaze that worried Lokynen.
"Hello, Little Bear.” Lokynen spotted the largest chair in the room, pulled it
close to the bed, sat and leaned forward. “They tell me you don't feel well."
Darmyk shook his head. “Tired."
"You'll get better.” Lokynen patted the boy's hand.
"What in Hell's name is going on in here?” Malthus stalked into the room, and
flicked a wary glance at Lokynen seated hunched on the edge of a chair with
his back to him. “Regina, I won't have you making a circus of Darmyk's illness
... bringing people in here without asking me first."
"I simply brought a friend to cheer him up. There's no harm in that.” Regina
kept her voice even.
"That oaf is no friend of mine,” Malthus snapped.
"He's your son's friend."
Lokynen ignored Malthus, muttering sotto voce, “Don't whomp Malthus."
"Would it be too much for you to ask first before bringing people here?”
Malthus gestured at Darmyk. “Did you ask Merissa first?"
Darmyk whimpered, retreating further into his blankets. The harsh exchange
between the adults frightened him.
Regina glanced away, and Malthus knew he had been right. “You will get my
permission before doing this again."
"I don't need your permission, Malthus.” Regina stiffened, her eyes flashing.
“In case, you've forgotten, I run the household."
"I haven't forgotten,” he sneered. “Johfrit's not a week in his grave and
you're already remarried."
Regina went from stiff to tense as Malthus parroted things she had overheard
both Clennan and Jocelyn saying about her. “I did what I had to do."
"Slutting it up to Stone's second in command to further your own agenda."
"That's enough out of you.” Lokynen straightened and rose to his feet, turning
with a glare. “I promised not to whomp you ... but that doesn't mean I won't
thump you."
Malthus stopped short. Stone had assured him that the big mon would not touch
him again, but seeing the savage look on his face rattled Malthus, causing him
to take a step backwards. He lowered his tone, clinging to a semblance of
righteous indignation. “I told Mary Sinclair that I did not want people
disturbing my boy. It is hard enough on Merissa as it is."

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Regina's eyes blazed and emotion pushed her midway into her transitional form.
Her mouth edged toward becoming a snout and fangs appeared. “I know what's
hard on Merissa. She is my friend."
"And I am her husband."
Lokynen's face tightened in fury and he took a step toward Malthus. “Get out
of here."
"As you wish.” Malthus retreated to the door. “However, I will speak to Stone
about it."
Then he turned and left.
"I hate that mon, he treats her shamefully, but she allows it,” Regina
snarled.
Lokynen was silent for a moment, watching her calm a little. “Promise or no
promise, I just might whomp him."
Regina gave a sigh. “If Merissa weren't so ill..."
"Say the word and I'll rip his head off."
"You really mean that...."
"Of course.” Lokynen blinked, wondering how she could even doubt it. “It would
scare the thanes again.” He considered for a moment, and an unexpected chuckle
emerged. “Darmyk's friends followed me through Wolffgard this morning,
chanting ‘don't scare the thanes.’ But I might have to."
* * * *
Malthus sat in his study with Clennan and Vertram. Regina and Mary had chased
him out of the suite as soon as Merissa went into labor. She was near enough
to term that Mary Sinclair had assured Malthus there would be no problems with
it. However, he could not stop worrying. Merissa had become so fragile over
the past few months, and birthing twins presented its own share of
difficulties.
Clennan toasted the imminent birth. “To the rightful heirs."
Vertram had insisted upon having a proper table set up in the room, sent for
food from the kitchen, and sat gnawing on roasted goose leg. He waved the leg
in acknowledgement of Clennan's toast, but did not reach for his tankard.
Malthus stirred from his brooding and lifted his tankard of mead. “To the
rightful heirs."
Then he sank back into his thoughts again. Clennan and Vertram had been doing
their best to distract him from his worries, but could not quite manage it.
"When I'm regent for your sons, there will always be a place for you in Red
Wolf.” Clennan took another sip from his tankard.
"I'm grateful for your support, Clennan. And yours, Vertram.” Malthus tried
not to stare at Clennan's withered claw in its black glove. Stone must have
battered Clennan horribly to cause that kind of crippling. “Stone worries me
... the way he supports Kynyr."
"Don't let it concern you.” Vertram bit off another chunk of meat and talked
around it. “His time is coming."
Malthus’ gaze wandered to Faerwald Davies standing by the window, watching
another light snowfall descend over the yard. Lairgan Yates sat by the fire in
the hearth, warming his hands. Clennan never went anywhere alone, and his most
frequent companions were that pair. He found himself wondering if Yates was as
good with his blades as Davies was. Lairgan Yates would have to be if that
pair were going to take on Todd Sinclair. Without Todd and Stone, Kynyr would
be nothing.
"It was wrong of Claw to disinherit Merissa and her children."
"They're your children also,” Vertram pointed out. “You have an investment
there."
Clennan snagged a sweet roll, his claw closing on it without bending his stiff
fingers. “The witan will reject Claw's will. Everyone knows he was in his
dotage."
The door swung open and Jocelyn fled into the room, shrieking. “Stop it. Stop
it."
She rushed to Vertram and settled in the closest chair to him, eyes wide with
fright.

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The door opened again and Lyncoln Wescot sauntered in. “Ah, so this where
you've all got off to. I was just asking your pretty bit about it, Vertram."
"You have a peculiar effect upon bitches, Lyncoln,” Vertram observed in a
droll tone.
"My late wife always said that.” Lyncoln settled into a chair between Clennan
and Vertram, grabbed an empty tankard, and filled it. “Waiting for a birth
must be thirsty work, seeing as you've got so much here. I never had the
pleasure, you know. Terry was barren. At least, that's what the healers said.”
Lyncoln took a large swig of mead. “That it was her and not me. You know what
I mean?” He winked at them. “Won't know for sure until I get me another wife.
A young, pretty one. I want a prettier one than the one you've got, Vertram.
Her eyes are set too close together."
"You're a nutter, Lyncoln Wescot. There's nothing wrong with my eyes."
Vertram chuckled, earning him a glare from Jocelyn.
"Tell him, Vertram. I've got pretty eyes."
"They're pretty enough.” Vertram waved the bone at her, having chewed off the
last bit of meat. “I wouldn't let Lyncoln's opinion get to you so much.
Midlanders say the same thing about horses. Don't they, Lyncoln?"
"We like our horses and our bitches with large clear eyes.” Lyncoln grinned
into his tankard. “Not little beady eyes."
Jocelyn let out another shriek. “My eyes aren't beady."
Clennan's gaze slid across the table in a frown. “Leave her alone, Lyncoln. A
Wescot will never marry into my family."
"Wasn't looking to. It's a caber toss, you know."
Clennan's frown deepened. “What has tossing trees got to do with bitches?"
"It doesn't.” Lyncoln's eyes got a sudden canny gleam. “The witan. It's a
caber toss. The one who tosses their weight the farthest wins. You're sitting
here, trying to toss your cabers, and it's nothing without the midlands
votes.” He gave them another wink, drained his tankard, and swaggered out.
"He's a nutter. That's what he is.” Jocelyn's eyes followed Lyncoln through
the door.
"Shut up, Jocelyn,” Clennan snarled. “Find another word for him. I'm tired of
hearing it."
"But he is,” she protested.
"I'm beginning to think he isn't."
The room went quiet again. Faerwald left the window, prowling the study like a
restless lion. Malthus watched him from the corners of his eyes. Trying not to
stare at him, he remembered their practice match, and how he would have lost
to Faerwald if he had not cheated.
Regina came to the study. “You have two healthy lycan sons, Malthus. Merissa
is asking for you, so you ought to go to her."
"Regina, do you think my eyes are—"
"Beady? Yes.” Regina turned on her heel and left.
"Lyncoln told her to say that. I know he did."
The males ignored Jocelyn, turning to Malthus with a hearty round of
congratulations. Malthus excused himself and went to his suite. Apparently,
his spells to conceal the true nature of his sons had worked even better than
he expected. He congratulated himself as much upon that as on the birth of his
sons.
Merissa looked worn out, laying in bed with her newborns beside her. He kissed
her cheek, opened the blankets that the midwife had wrapped them in, and
stared.
"No."
His twin sons were fair-skinned, blue-eyed, with wisps of blond hair on their
heads—and their bodies were covered in a soft coat of what the lycans called
babyfur. He touched them, Read them, and sucked in a disbelieving breath. They
were lycan.
All these months he had Read them in the womb and they were sa'necari. This
was not possible.
A ghostly laughter echoed through the room. Malthus’ head shot up and he

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shivered. Ghosts avoided sa'necari. They were souls that still walked the
land; while the sa'necari shattered and devoured souls in their rites. He
could not be hearing a ghost.
The laughter came again.
"Did you hear that?"
Merissa gave him a puzzled frown. “Hear what?"
"Laughter."
"I didn't hear anything."
Then he remembered the disturbance in the ether when Aisha told him she had
cursed him. Could she have cursed my sons out of their heritage?
"This isn't happening. It isn't."
Malthus retreated from the room and the laughter followed him.
* * * *
Faerwald Davies applied a small whetstone to his blades, whistling a tune he
had heard at the Difficult Horse. The boring weeks of bodyguarding had ended
that morning when Clennan finally let them off the leash to do their real
jobs. For the next several days they would work their own hours, study their
prey, and close in on it. Clennan had given them two assignments: snatch Darcy
MacIver for a bedroom lark he hankered for; and kill Todd Sinclair.
He fancied having a ride on that feisty little Missus MacIver, certain she
would probably cuss him out the entire time he was getting his wagstaff wet.
The thought tickled him. He guessed that Darcy must know every word in the
book to call him. She went to the taverns a lot; too much for a decently
married bitch.
Testing the edge of his blades with his thumb, Faerwald decided that they were
satisfactory, and slipped them back into their sheaths. He heard Lairgan
laughing as he emerged from his bedroom buckling them on.
Faerwald Davies and Lairgan Yates were a practical pair. Clennan paid them
well and most of it was banked for their old age. Faerwald always sold their
services to powerful myn who could shelter them from the wrath of the Bane
Shepherds. Renegades from a battle-clan, they moved on whenever the Shepherds
came nosing too heavily along their trail. Faerwald had a knack for
disappearing and emerging somewhere safe with a new patron. However, he had
staked a lot on Clennan. When the thane became regent, they would be safe from
the Shepherds.
He heard Lairgan laughing again and poked his head into his friend's room.
Lairgan sat in the middle of the floor with a heavy fishing net across his
lap, braiding spellcord through it from a pile beside him.
Faerwald sauntered into the room and toed the spellcord. “Where'd you get all
that?"
"The manor's armory. I can't wait to see the look on that bitch's face when I
drop this over her."
Faerwald snickered at the image it conjured in his mind, and remembered the
brief humiliation he had endured when Thunder yanked his trousers down in the
tavern. “I'm going to pull her trousers off and flash the town. Carry her bare
arsed all the way to the manor."
"The trolleymog deserves it."
The two of them completed the job and rolled the net up. Then they carried it
out to the stable and saddled their horses.
* * * *
The day started bright and early for Darcy. Wolffgard seemed like a city to
her; twice the size of any place she had ever been before, except for Hell's
Widow in Waejontor. When her cousin, Fergus, led the punitive invasion of
Hell's Widow last autumn, she had been impressed by the size of the place.
For the first time in her life, Darcy had friends who weren't part of her
extended family. That was another novel experience that she savored. She had
plans to meet Regina and Jenny at the Difficult Horse in the afternoon, and
decided to get in some shopping for solstice gifts ahead of that.
Darcy strolled down Locust Street with a burlap sack of purchases swung over
her shoulder. She had bought candy for the cubs at John Donegal's shop,

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scented creams for the bitches at Cahira's Potions and Notions, and new boots
for Finn who would soon be getting out of the wheel-chair and be about on
crutches. Finn's old boots had looked entirely too worn out for her taste. She
expected him to laugh when he got them and make remarks about the fact that,
while she was not the cubs and cookies type, she still managed to function
with a wifely attitude.
"Hello, Darcy."
She turned and saw the duelist who had threatened Todd standing there. “What
do you want?"
"A full serving of payback for that little incident a few days ago.” Faerwald
Davies leered at her.
Without stopping to think, Darcy swung her burlap sack of purchases in his
face.
Faerwald swayed aside, grabbed the sack, and jerked her forward. “Apologies
can start with a kiss, I think."
His lips covered hers, and Darcy punched him in the stomach.
"Woof...” Faerwald stepped backwards, gasping for air. His fist shot out and
connected with Darcy's face, bloodying her nose.
He eluded her responding jab, laughing between gasps.
"What the hell are you laughing at?” Darcy snarled.
Lairgan Yates’ net sailed over her head. Startled, she pulled at it, trying to
get it off, and only became tangled worse.
Faerwald pinned her arms, dancing a bit as she tried to stomp on his feet.
Lairgan slid a rope around her, binding her arms to her sides. Faerwald
hoisted her over his shoulder, grabbed the top of her trousers, slashed the
lacings, and jerked them down around her knees.
"Payback is a three fingered whore.” He slapped her buttocks. “This spanking
was overdue."
"We've got some friendly weapons just itching for you.” Lairgan chuckled.
Darcy let out a shriek of rage and indignation. “Stupid buggering bastards!
You're cheating."
Faerwald gave her another series of quick swats.
"Put me down, you god-fecking cockwhores! Put me down!"
"When we're ready."
They headed for the alley where they had left their horses. A lycan stepped
from the alley mouth before they could get there, unclipped a crossbow from
his belt, and loaded it.
Lairgan's eyes widened. He paused and swiveled about. “Trouble, Faer.
Lawgivers."
Ossian O'Reilly moved to intercept them, his crossbow leveled at Lairgan who
was closest to him. “Put her down."
"I don't appreciate having that pointed at me.” Lairgan's smile never wavered
as he stared past Faerwald at Ossian's two brothers coming up behind his
friend with their claymores ready. He scratched his nose, tapping it twice in
the process.
Faerwald caught the signal, and turned to see Waid and Ultan standing there.
He dumped Darcy into the muddy snow. “Just a lark, Lawgiver. No harm done."
"Attempted kidnapping with intent to commit rape is punishable by fifty
lashes,” Ossian stated.
"It's just a lark. Thought she deserved a spanking for bottling Lairgan in the
grapes."
"I heard about that. I still say it looks like a kidnapping."
Faerwald shrugged and held his hands out, palms up. “We're just a pair of good
old dogs, Lawgiver. Just ask Thane Clennan of Heatherford. He'll tell you
we've never ever hurt a bitch in our lives."
"No one is above the law. What're your names?"
"I'm Faerwald Davies and that's my spiritbrother, Lairgan Yates. I'm captain
of Thane Clennan's bodyguards. We're law-abiding folks."
"I'll only give you one warning, Davies. I catch you doing something like this
again, and I'll have you flogged."

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"Does that mean we can go, Lawgiver?"
"Get out of here."
The two myn from Heatherford sauntered away, laughing.
Ossian relaxed the tension on the crossbow and hung it again from his belt. He
drew his knife, knelt, and began cutting Darcy loose.
Darcy fumed in silence. She should have known that Lairgan was about when she
saw Faerwald. No one had ever bested her before—unless she counted her endless
childhood skirmishes with her cousin Fergus. Figuring that he was the one to
beat, she had gone after him hammer and tongs, swinging her fists fast and
hard. The outcome never changed, even when she faced off against him as an
adult in a flurry of temper. Fergus knocked her down and sat on her, patiently
suggesting that she cool off. She missed him.
She amended that thought. Finn had beaten her repeatedly with practice swords.
That and his easy-going manner had attracted her to Finn MacIver.
And then there was Todd.
A touch of rue twisted the edges of Darcy's mouth. She began to calm herself
and assess what had happened to her, analyzing it as Todd and Finn had taught
her.
She felt a jerk on her trousers, started to spit out an imprecation, and saw
it was just Waid. The blush of embarrassment on his quiet face disarmed her.
"I figured you'd want to be covered up."
"Thank you, Waid."
* * * *
Todd shook his head in disbelief as he watched Kynyr going through his forms.
Sweat beaded on Kynyr's forehead. “Arms up! Arms up,” Todd barked at him.
“That's better."
Kynyr adjusted his form. “I hope so."
Trevor stood with his shoulder leaned against the wall. “I never expected it
to work this fast when you told me about it."
"How do you feel, Kynyr?"
"Tired. Why?” Kynyr glanced from the corner of his eyes at his grandfather.
"Good. Trevor, knock him down."
Kynyr's eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “Wait, I'm not ready."
Trevor bowed to the mat, stepped onto it and attacked with a left jab. Kynyr
swayed away from it straight into the path of a right cross that sent him
staggering backwards.
"You're forgetting to widen your vision, Kynyr. Trevor, your shoulder
twitched. You're getting into bad habits."
"Yes, Dad."
Kynyr swallowed.
"Now, my children, let's start over. Best two out of three. Let's see who hits
the mat first."
As Kynyr kept refusing to take the offensive, Todd grew worried. Kynyr's body
was back in perfect condition, but somehow Kynyr continued to think of himself
as crippled and not give his all to the fight.
"You're thinking too much, Kynyr.” Todd realized that he had to provoke Kynyr
to force him past that block. “You've lost your nerve, Kynyr."
Shock showed on Kynyr's face. Todd had never been ugly with him, just blunt
and to the point.
"Stop being a wuss, Kynyr!"
As Todd continued to berate him, Kynyr grew angry and began to fight more
seriously.
Instead of swaying or dodging, Kynyr dropped into a low squat letting Trevor's
punch go over his head, his hands went to the floor, and his leg shot out in a
full sweep that took Trevor's feet out from under him.
Todd exhaled heavily. He gave a quick bow to the mat, stepped onto it, and
pulled Kynyr into a hug, pounding on his back. “Now, one more round. And
control it, Kynyr."
Kynyr won the next round, but not as easily as he would have a few months ago.
He was still being too cautious. Kynyr had lost his confidence, and Todd

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feared that if he did not get it back fast it could cost his grandson his
life.

CHAPTER TWELVE
AMBUSHED
No matter how often the Maguires and the Sinclairs admonished Rory Scott to
remain at the mansion and not go into Wolffgard alone, the ten-year-old cub
continued to sneak into town. He had left Hamish behind to tell people that he
was home somewhere so that they would not decide to search for him there.
His widowed mother, Lynette Scott, had worked as a laundress, supporting
herself and her two young sons, until trouble with Belgair Doherty cost her
all her customers. Kady's generous heart went out to them and now his mother
worked for the Maguires as a lady's maid.
The day before winter solstice had arrived, and Rory had not managed to earn
enough money to buy his mother a present. His only choice was a foraging
expedition into town. Haired over and wrapped in a warm cloak, he sauntered
down an alley between Locust and Main streets, digging into the trash behind
the shops, filling his gathering sack with bottles, jugs, jars, and anything
else that had resale value. In the past, Rory would have whistled contentedly
as he foraged; however, a few months ago he had been attacked and nearly
killed by a mon who was gilled up on White Fire. The experience had made him
even more of a sneak than he had been before.
Rory dipped into a crate of discards behind the Raging Lizard Inn and
straightened at the sound of voices approaching. He ducked around the crate
and squatted low out of sight. The two duelists, who had tried to snatch Darcy
and threatened to kill Todd, led their horses around into the alley. Rory
tensed, ready to run if they spotted him, and glad that he had hidden himself.
They were always talking like they were nice fellows, and then they did mean
things that scared the cub.
"Todd rode out a few minutes ago. He'll be making a lot of stops, so we
shouldn't have much trouble getting ahead of him.” Faerwald Davies mounted his
horse, a big sorrel gelding.
"You don't fight fair with someone like that old geezer.” Lairgan turned his
mount to follow Faerwald. “Just take him down fast and hard."
Faerwald laughed. “Clennan says he's going to decorate his solstice tree with
Todd's head. We better be about collecting it for him."
They headed west down the alley. Rory waited until they were out of sight and
then crept from behind the crate. He glanced in both directions to see that it
was safe, and then he ran. His legs carried him faster than ever before in his
life, and he arrived at Cahira's Potions and Notions with his heart pounding
and his legs trembling. He hit the door without slowing down, and burst inside
screaming. “Those duelists have gone to ambush Todd."
Cahira looked up from the table where she sat sipping tea. Betrys stopped
stocking the shelves of face creams. Her husband, Artair MacFie, tossed his
feather duster onto a cabinet and ran to the back for his medical satchel and
his weapons.
"We have to find him.” The color faded from Cahira's face.
"We will. Do you know where he's gone to?” Artair fastened the last buckle on
his harness, which carried a mace and a sword.
"He's delivering those gifts to the children and intends to stop off at Gowyn
Caldwell's afterward."
"I'm going too.” Betrys patted the mace she wore.
"No. You're staying here.” Artair gave her a no-nonsense look that quashed her
protests before she could speak them. “You must tell people what is going on.
Tell everyone who enters the store and send for the lawgivers and the
militia."
Betrys nodded her acquiescence.
Cahira seized Rory's and Artair's hands and Jumped to the Maguire Home. They
materialized in the kitchen, startling everyone present.
Several conversations were going on at once. Kady sipped tea, while chattering

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with Mary over a stack of baby clothes. Trevor, Kynyr, and Tobrytan MacFie
were grabbing a bit of breakfast and discussing what to do about the newest
recruits with Darcy. Finn sat on the other side of Darcy in his wheel-chair,
which had become a toy while he healed, explaining to Ossian O'Reilly about
what had happened the night of the purge.
"They're ambushing Todd,” Artair shouted.
Kady nearly dropped her cup of tea. Trevor and Kynyr sprang to their feet.
Finn stopped in mid-sentence. Darcy knocked her chair over as she leaped up
with a hand to her axes.
Matters were swiftly explained. Trevor ordered everyone into search parties.
Tobrytan added his myn to the search, while Darcy paired off with Kynyr.
"I'm coming also. I'll go with Ossian.” Mary grabbed her satchel. “You may
need me."
* * * *
Todd had gathered small presents for the cubs of his tenants and a bottle of
whiskey for his gamekeeper, Gowyn Caldwell. He rode along Pendarke Road, and
turned onto Elmhurst Road that led through his extensive property just past
the Maguire Estate.
He had noticed the hardscrabble poverty that most of his tenants lived under.
They were a rugged people, but the land demanded everything they could give
it. His parents had been farmers on leased land and he remembered how
difficult it had been. He had been thirteen years old before he got his first
set of new clothes; until then everything had been hand-me-downs. Elton
McCain, who had owned the land before Todd, had insisted on getting everything
he could squeeze from them. Todd had reduced their rents, and told them that
if they had trouble buying seed in the spring, they were to come to him.
He left packages on the steps, gave a quick knock, and made a hasty retreat
before the doors opened. Todd turned down the path heading for the
gamekeeper's cottage. Gowyn Caldwell had become a valued ally. Gowyn's father,
Anbiddian, had served with Todd in the Rebellion eighty years past, and Gowyn
liked hearing stories of his late father.
As he emerged from a stand of evergreens into a snow-covered rocky clearing,
his horse stumbled, shuddered, and collapsed in the dirt of the road with
several arrows sprouting from its neck and chest. Todd tried to throw himself
from the saddle as it went down, but his foot caught in the stirrup. His right
shoulder blade struck a large sharp rock hidden by the snow. The loud snap of
breaking bone preceded a nauseating rush of pain. His right arm hung useless.
The dying horse rolled over on Todd and then settled, leaving his lower body
contorted beneath its weight, and his left shoulder tightly wedged between the
fangs of the outcropping. He heard footsteps crunching across the ice-glazed
snow; glanced, and found himself staring into the grinning, hard-eyed face of
Faerwald Davies.
Todd twisted in an attempt to get his imprisoned left hand and arm loose to
grasp the battle-axe in his belt. His fingers brushed the edge of it. Between
the horse pinning him, the angle at which he lay trapped, and the agony in his
broken shoulder, he could not get it free. He triggered the shift into his
hybrid form, but that only made him feel the pressure of the rocks worse.
Wedged too tight. Bloody bad luck.
Lairgan Yates sauntered from the trees with his bow in hand. Yates shoved the
bow in its case, and unshouldered the quiver, casting it aside as he drew his
saber.
Davies waved his saber in Todd's face suggestively. The six-inch back edge
caught the morning light, glinting like fresh-minted silver.
"You going to kill me where I lie, Davies?” Todd locked eyes with Faerwald,
stern and unblinking. “Or make a fair fight of it?"
"They say you're the best. Why take chances?” Faerwald's saber darted across
Todd in a swift flourish, slashed his arms, and maimed his hands, dotting the
snow with pieces of his fingers. Then he opened two long cuts in Todd's chest.
My hands. Dear gods, my hands. Todd stiffened with a grimace. Too old to shrug
off pain as he had when he was young; the strength vanished from Todd's aged

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body in a rush of anguish. “Craven bastards."
"Nothing personal.” Lairgan laughed. “Just business."
Faerwald flicked his saber across Todd's cheek in casual contempt, leaving a
bleeding furrow, and then rested the point over Todd's chest. “You killed
Belgair after he surrendered. He begged for quarter. You refused."
"He poisoned my grandson.” Todd gazed steadily at the duelist with no sign of
fear. They were going to kill him; and there was nothing he could do about it.
Not since he tried to chase a grizzly bear off with a stick at twelve had he
been this helpless. Bloody bad luck.
"Beg, Todd. Beg for quarter."
"Go to hell.” His calmly spoken defiance brought a fleeting scowl from
Lairgan. Todd had always known, deep in his heart, that someone who had lived
so much of his life by the sword—as he had—would probably die by it. So he had
long ago made his peace with death; and he saw no reason to fear the moment
now that it had come.
"Clennan wants you to suffer at great length,” Faerwald said conversationally.
“I'll give you an easier death than Clennan asked for, if you'll beg."
"Kynyr'll ... kill you ... both for this.” His maimed hands burned and ached
more than the rest of his wounds, tensing together like claws.
"Really? Until I came here, I'd never heard of Kynyr Maguire."
"Pity that."
"If he's so good, why haven't I heard of him, eh? Answer me that. Anyway,
isn't he a cripple now?"
"Ignorant sod."
"I assume that's your answer.” Faerwald plunged the point of his saber into
Todd's lung with a corkscrew twist, dragged it down, and pulled it smoothly
out.
"That's ... done it.” Todd's eyes clenched shut and his lips peeled back from
his teeth as his body spasmed. Each word brought another wheezing, coughing
breath; accompanied by yellow phlegm and a bloody froth from his shredded lung
that dribbled down the corners of his mouth. “You'll pay ... in kind ... for
... this. Bastards."
"Not likely.” Faerwald gestured with his saber, the blade wet with Todd's
blood, bits of flesh clinging to it.
Todd had assumed that the bones in their hair was an empty affectation. Now,
he wondered. “If Kynyr ... don't get you ... Jordy will."
Lairgan's expression sobered and he glanced at Faerwald. “Jordy? Jordan
Sinclair?"
"Bane Shepherd ... North Watch ... my son.” It gave Todd a grim satisfaction
to see that he had struck a blow to Lairgan's confidence with that revelation.
"Shite, Faer. The Shepherds will get us this time."
"Buck up, Lairgan. I haven't let them catch us yet? Now have I?"
"True.” Lairgan recovered his nerve; his faith in Faerwald undiminished.
"Lairgan, get his weapons. He doesn't need them now."
Lairgan removed Todd's swords from the harness, tossed them away, and fumbled
with the axes. “I can't get them at this angle."
"We'll drag him loose.” Faerwald wiped his saber clean and sheathed it.
Lairgan shoved a tree branch under the horse, lifted it up, and held it.
Faerwald grasped the leather shoulder straps of Todd's weapons’ harness and
extracted him from beneath the fallen animal.
The lycan armsmaster stifled a scream at the drag on his broken shoulder, and
coughed up more blood. Faerwald dropped him in the snow beside the horse,
shifted form to put as much power behind his next blow as he could, and
stomped Todd's leg, breaking it.
Todd cried out, which brought on another fit of coughing. Blood dribbled from
the corners of his mouth.
"Clennan wants to decorate his solstice tree with your head.” Faerwald drew
his saber.
"It will make a fine ornament, Faer.” Lairgan sauntered to his companion's
side, eyeing the fine workmonship of the large crescent heads of Todd's

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kendaryl axes with their silver inlays. “Nice axes. I think I'll keep them."
With a final flare of his old stubbornness, Todd dragged his good foot beneath
him and rose, determined to get one blow in before he died. The stubs of his
fingers brushed his axe haft. Blood running down his arm made his grip
slippery as he tried to make his damaged hand pull it from his belt.
Lairgan's eyes widened in astonishment. He backhanded his blade into Todd's
side, the sharp steel biting deep between his ribs. Todd jerked, gasping. His
legs buckled, sending him to his knees. Todd's hips settled on his heels and
his mangled hands clutched at his ribs and chest. He threw his head back and
howled the lycan death scream.
"There's no one around to hear you, old sod.” Faerwald leveled his saber at
Todd's belly. “Clennan wants you gutted like Belgair."
Todd's chin sank to his chest and rested there, his eyes half-closed and his
shoulders drooping. Breathing became more and more difficult with each passing
moment. Blood filled the lower half of his lung, and the building pressure in
his chest began collapsing the rest of it. His severed spleen flooded his
clothing with crimson. Dizziness and exhaustion pulled at him. His vision
grayed around the edges.
"I want to watch his eyes when you put it in his belly.” Lairgan tangled his
fingers in Todd's hair and pulled his head back. “We've never killed a legend
before."
"They all look the same when they die.” Faerwald regarded Todd, his mouth
pursed. He took a firm grip on Todd's harness to hold him steady so that the
big lycan did not topple over before Faerwald could get his business done.
The jingling of caparisoned horses in the quiet morning announced new
arrivals. Darcy and Kynyr rode into the clearing. Lairgan released Todd's hair
and withdrew to give himself room to deal with the newcomers.
Todd's head bobbed on his neck like a daisy on a broken stem as he lifted it.
His lips moved, and he exhaled Kynyr's name.
"Bloody, goat-fecking bastards!” Darcy sprang from her mount, and stalked
toward the duelists with Kynyr following close behind.
"Give him a bellyful, Faer.” Lairgan observed dryly. “We've got more
customers."
"The cripple has come to fight?” Faerwald eyed Kynyr, incredulous at seeing
how he moved with the authority of a lion and no trace of a limp. The duelist
smelled a deception, understanding Todd's reason for saying that Kynyr would
kill him. “Whatever your game is, I play it better. I'll gut Todd before you
can reach me."
"Do it and die.” Ossian emerged from the shadows with a crossbow leveled on
Faerwald. Mary stepped around him, the bottom of her skirts tucked into her
belt to free her legs.
"Another pair of customers.” Lairgan's laughter masked his annoyance at seeing
the crossbow pointed at them again.
Kynyr touched Darcy's arm and halted her. “It's Ossian's move."
She gave him a doubting look, and waited. “He better make it a good one.”
Darcy inclined her head toward the dead horse. “Looks like the horse fell on
Todd and they cut him up there. Bastards."
"It's a duel.” Faerwald kept his grip on Todd's harness as he watched Ossian
warily.
"I'd call it murder.” Ossian took another step toward them.
Faerwald's eyes slewed sidewise at Lairgan with a slight nod. Lairgan's wrist
twitched. A knife flashed from his fingers, striking Ossian in the chest. The
lawgiver staggered and triggered the crossbow, but the bolt flew wide as he
fell. Ossian lay half-curled in the snow, his fingers clutching at the blade
protruding from him, his breathing labored. “Murderers."
"You're learning, Lawgiver.” Lairgan's lips tightened. “Pity it's going to be
a fatal lesson."
Kynyr cursed and glided across the clearing; his ginger blond hair bloused
around his face like the mane of a hunting cat. Darcy walked to his right with
enough space between them that they would not get in each other's way.

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"Wait your turn, Kynyr.” Lairgan moved to intercept the prince before Kynyr
could reach Faerwald and Todd.
Faerwald shoved his blade into Todd's belly, gave it a savage twist, and drew
it across to make a mess of his guts. “Finished here. Who's next?"
Todd shuddered as the sword was withdrawn from him, blinking dull-eyed at his
severed entrails bulging through the long tear. He swayed for an instant when
Faerwald released his harness, and then crumpled to lay staring at the sky,
his blood spreading through his clothes and staining the snow around him. His
thoughts turned to Cahira and how much he loved her; recalling her face again
through the eye of memory.
Seeing Faerwald open Todd's belly sent a shock through Kynyr. He went cold as
a winter storm inside; clarity took hold as crisp and sharp as ice, and his
pace slowed to a cautious walk.
Mary screamed Todd's name, scrambling to his side. Small animal noises of
suffering emerged from far back in his throat and the slight gleam in his
otherwise dull eyes was the glazing of pain. Her fingers brushed his face, and
then she lifted her eyes to stare hatred at Faerwald. “You cold-hearted
bastard."
She spit in Faerwald's face.
He flicked her a condescending smile. “You have so many pretty bitches, Kynyr
... Guess what the thanes will do to them when you're dead?"
Faerwald's eyes narrowed when his taunt brought no change in the ice and steel
of Kynyr's expression. Doubt flickered through him for an instant.
No insult, no taunt, no threat could touch Kynyr. When he gutted Todd,
Faerwald had hurt Kynyr beyond the power of words to reach him. His enemies
had taken Kynyr's friends, his father, the Redhand side of his family, and now
Todd. Within the halls of his psyche at that moment, Kynyr became a mon with
nothing left to lose; possessed of a chill determination to pursue and destroy
all who dared to harm or threaten those he loved.
Mary drew an axe from Todd's belt and chopped at Faerwald. He stepped away,
blocked it desultorily, and kicked Mary in the face. “Now, now. We'll have
time to get better acquainted once my business is concluded."
"Faerwald's mine.” Kynyr drew Ladyfaith. “Darcy?"
Her lips curled back into a sneer as she paced toward Lairgan, going deeper
into her transitional form with each step she took. Although she carried a
basket-hilted claymore at her shoulder, Darcy went for her axes instead.
Mary cradled Todd's head in her lap, unshouldered her satchel, snapped her
various cases open, and got a pressure bandage on the chest wound. She
fastened clips to his spleen to stop the bleeding as the Creeyan surgeons had
shown her. Mary started to fill a syringe with Narcantha and changed her mind,
filling it instead with Pollendine; a narcotic so strong and potentially
addictive that most healers reserved it for the dying. It was a silent
acknowledgement of what Mary could not bring herself to say.
Kynyr circled toward Faerwald, and the duelist moved farther into the open,
away from the obstacles provided by Todd, Mary, and the dead horse. Keeping
half an eye on the duelist, Kynyr dropped to one knee by Todd and scooped up
his axe that Mary had tried to hit the duelist with. He kissed Todd's
forehead. “I love you, grandfather."
Mary looked into Kynyr's eyes, her face taut with grief. “Gut him, Kynyr."
"I intend to.” Kynyr moved away.
Faerwald had chosen his spot of ground on which to fight; and the easy
confidence had returned to his stance and lips.
The pain eased and Todd could speak again. “Lift me up, Mary ... I want to
see."
Mary shifted into her hybrid form, gathered Todd into her arms, and cradled
him. His head rested against her shoulder, a smile of weary pride on his lips
as he watched Kynyr driving Faerwald back while Darcy opened a gash in
Lairgan's chest.
"They're my legacy, Mary.” Fits of coughing punctuated his words, bringing a
bloody froth running from the corners of his mouth. “Kynyr ... Darcy ... Finn.

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My legacy ... the three finest ... warriors ... I've ever ... trained..."
"I know, Todd. I know.” She stroked his head.
"If I don't get to ... you tell Kynyr ... for me ... I loved him.” His voice
grew faint and then he sagged against her, his head falling back.
A sob broke from Mary as she Read him. “Hang on, Todd. Please hang on. Just a
little longer."
Tobrytan arrived with twenty MacLachlan horsemyn, and spread out around them,
blocking any retreat that the duelists might have hoped for.
Artair threw himself from his horse, knelt beside Ossian, drew the blade, and
bandaged the wound.
"Murdering scum,” Ossian grumbled.
Tobrytan dismounted beside Mary. “Todd?"
"He's in a bad way.” Mary raised her tear streaked face to him. “We need to
get him to the house."
* * * *
Faerwald Davies made small circling movements and suggestive feints with his
saber while holding a main gauche at guard. Kynyr recognized the style:
Sharani. Faerwald may have originated from a Battle-Clan or he might have
braided the bones into his hair to make myn think he had. Faerwald's opening
moves merely tested Kynyr's ability to assess his style. Kynyr did not have
one—he had several and could switch between them or combine them. Todd had
trained him well.
Kynyr moved with an elegant economy of motion; cold and calculating. Faerwald
danced and taunted with his sword. Kynyr parried and answered with Ladyfaith
alone, as if the axe he carried was symbolic only. That tempted Faerwald to
attack Kynyr's left more than his right. The duelist was fast and quick. He
came close to touching Kynyr several times and that emboldened him.
Darcy went at Lairgan in a white-hot frenzy of rapid blows, her berserker
nature barely held in check by Todd's training. She beat down Lairgan's
defenses as fast as he could put them up, leaving him with neither time nor
openings to launch a counterattack. Her right axe chopped his left arm so hard
it shattered the bone.
Faerwald unleashed a fury of swift darting attacks on Kynyr's left. Fighting
with ruthless precision, Kynyr's axe swept out; the inner curve of the
crescent head hooked Faerwald's saber and entangled it. The duelist tried one
of his circling disengagements only to find that he could not free his blade.
The axe moved with him just enough to keep the sword trapped. The main gauche
shifted into a parry as Ladyfaith came at him. Kynyr reversed his motion and
Ladyfaith bit into Faerwald's arm inches above the guard. The dagger fell from
his fingers. He disengaged his sword and retreated only to discover that
horsemyn had surrounded them as they fought. Then a scream from Lairgan made
him glance to his left.
His friend was on his knees with an axe buried in his chest and Darcy standing
over him grinning as she chopped his neck with the other one.
Faerwald glided to the side, and attacked again, desperate now. Twenty years
of easy victories had not prepared Faerwald to fight someone like Kynyr
Maguire.
Once more Kynyr entangled the saber with the axe. Then he slammed Ladyfaith
into Faerwald's belly and tore it across as the duelist had done to Todd.
Faerwald's lips parted, his eyes widened, and he stared down at Ladyfaith as
Kynyr drew it out of him. Denial swept across his face and into his voice.
“Nooo. No one's ... better ... than me."
"I am."
The duelist toppled to the snow.
Kynyr stepped back, cleaning his weapons. He had been so focused upon Faerwald
that he had not noticed the arrival of Tobrytan's soldiers. Darcy crouched
over the body of Lairgan, cutting his genitals off as a souvenir.
"Toby?” Kynyr scanned the clearing, turning slowly to look at Tobrytan.
“Where's Todd?"
"Artair and Mary took him to the house. Ossian went with them.” Tobrytan drew

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Kynyr into an embrace, stroking his head in a lycan gesture of comfort.
“Kynyr, he's dying. I'm sorry."
Kynyr pulled away from Tobrytan, walked to his horse without speaking, and
mounted, riding off toward his home.
* * * *
The Creeyan Mender took one look at Todd as they brought him in, and shook his
head sadly, before examining Ossian. Sha ordered Todd moved to the surgical
room next to the main infirmary and sent Qaseem to summon her team.
Mary stood sobbing in the hallway just beyond the door. Cahira arrived with
Trevor. Mary swallowed back her sobs, mastered her own grief, and put an arm
around Cahira. “I'm sorry, Gram."
"Todd? Or Kynyr?” Cahira glanced from Mary's frown to her son's lowered eyes.
“Trevor refused to tell me."
"Tell her, Mary. I-I can't."
"Todd."
Cahira's face crumpled and she pushed away from Mary, making her way into the
room.
Todd's eyes fluttered open as the surgeons began undressing him. “Don't
bother.” His voice was harsh and gasping.
Cahira sidled around the surgeons as she attempted to reach her wounded
husband. Her eyes took in the long ugly tears in his body and his maimed
hands. She shoved her knuckles into her mouth to stop her mounting scream from
escaping.
Sha leaned over him. “Todd..."
"No. Bastard ... did his ... job right.” Todd grimaced and the breath seemed
to shiver in his lungs. “Get me ... a memory ... stone."
Ossian, his shirt hanging open and his chest bandaged, pushed between the
healers, and placed a stone in Todd's hand. “Here."
Todd closed his damaged hand around it and flooded the stone with his memory
of the attack by Faerwald and what happened afterward.
"At least let me ease your pain?” Sha brandished a syringe at him as Ossian
took the stone from his hand and wrapped it in a piece of shielding black
silk.
"Not the ... Gentle Path. Just a bit ... more Pollendine?"
"Just Pollendine. That's all.” Tears gathered in Sha's cornflower eyes, and
her mask of authority slipped askew.
"Do it.” Todd glanced and saw Cahira. He extended his hand and she caught it
before it could fall. “I love you. Always."
Sha administered the injection, turned, and ushered everyone out of the room.
He felt no pain as his life faded. “We had ... a lot of years, Cahira."
"Good ones.” She pressed the back of his big hand to her cheek.
His eyes closed as if in sleep, and Todd Sinclair breathed no more.
"Gram?” Kynyr stepped inside.
She gave him a brittle smile at the edge of shattering. “He's gone."
Kynyr went cold inside as if he had been plunged through his grief and out the
other side into the clarity of wrath that Todd had trained into him. He hugged
Cahira and kissed her forehead. “I'll be back in a few hours."
"You sound like Todd...” Cahira swallowed, tears running down her cheeks.
“What are you going to do, Kynyr?"
"Hang Clennan Doherty."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE SONS OF TODD SINCLAIR
Kady sat rigid in her chair in the Command Chamber, fighting back tears.
Todd's death had devastated both her family and her household. Everywhere she
went, someone was crying. She had finally taken refugee in that deserted room.
Mary joined her there and Kady brushed her finger around the edge of the
blackening cheek and eye. “What happened to you?"
"Faerwald kicked me."
"Why?” Kady's voice caught on the edge of the word.

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"I tried to chop him up with Todd's axe."
A wan smile touched Kady's lips. “You're a healer ... not a warrior.” Kady
lowered her head. “If I weren't so pregnant, I would have ridden with them.
I-I could have saved him."
Mary put her arm around Kady and felt her shaking. “We did what we could.
Don't blame yourself. There's a lot of blaming going on. Don't add to it."
"I'll try not to. Where's Kynyr?"
"He's taken the army to the manor. Cahira says he intends to hang Clennan
Doherty and anyone else who gets in his way."
"Who's defending the house?” Kady's ire flashed away her grief, remembering
the attack upon the estate led by Belgair Doherty. Todd had turned it into a
devastating defeat. Now, Clennan Doherty's pet murderers had killed Todd,
destroying Kady's sense of security in the world. StealsThunder's words came
back to her in that moment: 'Think like a general.'
I will think like a general, Todd. I will hold everything you taught me in my
heart and I will beat them.
More memories flooded her; things she had been told and taught by brave myn
now dead.
Cullen saying “If you can't beat them, write your name on their foreheads."
Todd telling her, “Hot rage gets you killed, cold rage gets them killed."
"Duty is where you find it.” The old Creeyan proverb that Todd so often quoted
ran through her thoughts last.
"It's what Todd would have done."
"No, Mary, it isn't.” Kady rallied, rising to the occasion from a core of
stubbornness. “Todd would have seen to the defense of the house first, and
then gone after Doherty. Which of my officers are still here? What if killing
Todd was a prelude to attacking the estate?"
"Kady ... Kady, please calm down. It's not good for the baby."
"Kynyr didn't consult me. He didn't inform me. He just runs off with my army.
The safety of the people here is my responsibility. I deserved to be
consulted."
"Kady, please."
"It's my bloody army. Which of my officers are still here?"
"Trevor."
"That's all? I want to talk to him and I want to talk to him now, Mary. Fetch
him."
"Kady..."
"Now."
Kady settled deeper into her chair, adrenaline flooding her and disturbing the
cub in her belly. Fergus kicked and stirred. Kady extended her mage senses and
connected psychically with Fergus, calming and soothing. Her powers were
growing; partly through need and partly through study. She had applied herself
to learning with the single-minded ferocity of a warrior-born.
She tried to think of everything that could pose a danger to them. Raking her
mind through the book of clan protocol, she recalled the part that said each
thane could only bring twenty myn-at-arms—whether housecarles or guardsmyn—to
a witan.
Trevor arrived, accompanied by Ossian and his brothers. A mon wearing the
hunter green tabard of the Wolffgard Volunteer Militia, an officer's patch on
the shoulder, followed them. Their hard-eyed expressions held a promise of
decisive action.
"Who are you?” Kady pointed at the Militia officer.
"Silas Lafferty. You knew my brother, Odhran."
"He was a good mon."
"Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry for your loss. One way or another there's gonna be a
hangin’ for it."
"There had better be.” Kady gave him a curt nod, and turned to Ossian.
“Shouldn't you be resting?"
The lawgiver looked pale and weary; yet his face was locked into an expression
of grim determination. His childhood hero had been murdered in front of him

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and he had no intention of letting that act go unpunished. “I have a job to
do. Waid assembled as much of the militia as he could on short notice. We're
going to arrest Clennan Doherty."
"You just missed Kynyr. He's gone to hang Doherty. If you're going to do your
job, then I suggest you get on over there."
Ossian instantly excused himself and left with Silas.
"How many myn did he take with him, Trevor? What are our defenses like?"
Trevor's cinnabar hair looked as if it had not been combed, simply pulled back
and tied. The sorrow in his eyes contrasted with the resolute set to his
mouth. “Kynyr took one hundred MacLachlans, all three Guild units, and the
Chosen Thirteen."
"What does that leave us?"
"Two hundred MacLachlans under Artair's command. We're not in any danger,
Kady."
"I'll be the judge of that. How many myn have the thanes brought?"
"Protocol says twenty each. But they are not united against Kynyr."
"That's not what I'm asking. How many are against him?"
"There's no way to know for certain. It appears fairly evenly split. The
northern thanes are for him and the southern thanes are against him."
"And the midlanders?"
"Mixed so far. The Thane of Silvershire has come out in Kynyr's favor. The
others seem to be listening to him—at least that's what Wallace told me."
"I see. Well Todd always told me to count my enemies twice.” A single tear
slid across Kady's cheek when she said Todd's name. “Is there anyway that one
of them could have brought more myn than they were allowed?"
"Well, both Clennan and Vertram brought huge baggage trains. But those are
servants and ostlers, Kady. Not fighting myn."
Kady's eyes narrowed, her thoughts lunging through every text on military
history that she had read over the past weeks. “Are they? According to a book
I read, traitors have gone so far as to disguise killers in everything from a
priest's robes to women's clothing. I say, assume that at least part of those
servants are soldiers."
"I didn't think..."
"That's my job.” Kady's glance softened for a moment, knowing how hard Trevor
had been hit by the death of his father. “I want the gate guards doubled and
the patrols increased until Kynyr returns. I want watchers on the roof. If any
one tries to march in this direction, I want to know about it."
"I'll take care of it."
* * * *
Kady went to the second floor parlor. Kynyr's three sisters had insisted upon
being the ones to bathe and dress Todd's body; and went to the chapel to pray
afterwards. Several of the myn who had survived Belgair's purge had built the
simple pine coffin that now contained Todd's remains.
It hurt her to see him, lying there in the coffin, knowing that his eyes would
never open again, that she would never again hear his voice. None of them
would have survived the past months if it had not been for Todd.
She saw Cahira sitting with her hand inside the coffin and joined her there.
As she looked down upon him, Kady noticed the long blonde braid wrapped around
his right arm. She turned to Cahira, knowing full well where the braid had
come from. Cahira had shorn her hair off at the base of her neck.
Kady controlled herself, kissing Todd's forehead, cheeks, and lips in the
farewell to the dead. “I loved you like a father. The father I should have
had."
"Father...” Cahira stirred from her pit of sorrow, gazing up at Kady, as if
her words had touched a chord in her heart. “Kady, I'll be back."
"Gram, where are you...” Kady's question died in her throat.
Golden motes sparkled over Cahira, and she vanished.
Fergus unleashed a particularly hard kick, startling her. Kady gave her belly
a severe look and folded her hands across it. “I'll be glad when you're out of
me. Then I can swat you when you do that."

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Cahira returned with two large stern myn who looked like younger versions of
Todd.
Kady blinked. “Where did you go?"
"Need lends wings to the heels of the desperate, Kady. I've been to Longbranch
and Havensword."
Kady remembered Queran from last summer, when one of his sons had been killed
by Waejontori raiders. His solemn cobalt eyes smoldered with repressed
violence. He had the same strong features as his father, softened around the
edges by what he had gotten from his mother. The other mon looked as if he had
been spit from Todd's mouth and Kady realized that had to be Jordan Sinclair,
the only brother she had not met before. He had steel gray eyes, not blue ones
like Todd's, and yet they were Todd's eyes, Todd's look, and the same
expression of ‘I did not seek this trouble, but now that it's found me, I'm
going to beat it into the ground.'
Jordan Sinclair carried a pair of Sharani longswords at his shoulders,
fighting knives at his hips and a pair of big axes in his belt. He stared down
at his father's body for a long time without speaking, taking in the maimed
hands that had fingers missing. Then he bent, gave Todd's cold face the kiss
of farewell, and turned to Kady.
"Tell me about the myn who killed my father.” His quiet tone carried the inner
strength that Kady now associated with the Sinclair line.
"I'm Kady."
"I guessed. Now what about those myn?"
"They're dead. Kynyr and Darcy got them."
"Darcy?"
"Darcy MacIver, Finn's wife. Todd was her mentor, she ... she's my general
now."
"They were professionals employed by Thane Clennan Doherty.” Trevor entered
the room and gripped the forearms of his two brothers in restrained greeting
before continuing. “You may have heard of them, Jordy. Faerwald Davies and
Lairgan Yates."
"Ayup. Nasty pair."
"Gram, I just heard...” A voice from the door interrupted them. Quinn Sinclair
stood two steps beyond the threshold, a sledgehammer in his hand with the
heavy head hooked over his shoulder. “Dad."
Quinn crossed the room, lowered the sledge, and leaned the handle against the
table. He hugged Jordan Sinclair.
Jordan ended the embrace and turned again to his older brother. “How'd they
get him, Trevor?"
"Ambush. Shot his horse. Dad got pinned between the dead animal and an
outcropping of sharp rocks. They butchered him before he could get free."
"Sounds like them. Never fought fair when they could fight dirty."
"You knew them?"
"I knew of them. They've been making their way through the various clans for
twenty years, selling their swords to whoever could pay them enough. Outlawed
in three. Wondered where they had gone to earth after the debacle at Clan
MacGregor. Had I known they were here, I'd've come sooner."
"You knew about those myn, Jordan?” Kady moved closer to Trevor.
"It's what I do. When members of a Battle-Clan turn renegade, the chieftains
send for me. I put the renegades back on the straight and narrow path ...
usually in a pine box."
Kady shivered, her arcane senses discerning the touch of death about him.
"Lawgivers just passed!” Rory rushed in with his brother and Cooley close
behind. They looked red-eyed from weeping, but in the grip of grim excitement.
“They got Clennan Doherty and they're gonna hang him."
"And there's myn following them.” Cooley hooked his thumbs into his belt.
“Some riding down Pendarke Road. Others going through the trees, trying not to
be seen."
Jordan ran his gaze over his brothers. “I think we should head for the
commons."

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE KING HAS COME
Stoneriver sat at the desk that had been Claw's and was now his. An open chest
sat beside the desk. For the past few days, Stone had ransacked his brother's
desk, chests, bureaus, and every place that might conceal evidence or clues to
what had happened to Claw and his family. The first time Stone went through it
all, he put things back where he found them. The possibility that he might
have missed something had nagged at him until he tried another approach:
removing everything to a set of empty chests once he had gone over it.
He found a bottle of expensive Cair Dairmud whiskey in the deepest drawer of
the desk, along with a set of fine crystal glasses. He poured himself a glass.
Even in Creeya, that whiskey from Doronar was hard to come by. Stone turned
the bottle about in his hand between sips, guessing that it probably came up
through Chandler's Rock, and looking for the importation stamp to confirm it.
His brow furrowed in question: there was no stamp to show that the taxes had
been paid on it.
"One more thing to ask Aramyn about."
Stone had spent eighty years in the Creeyan Netherguard. The estimates of how
many foreigners served in the Netherguard varied from thirty to fifty percent.
Most of them arrived in search of atonement for crimes and sins that their own
people found unforgivable. They were demon-slayers; patrolling the length of
the Katal Escarpment that bordered Creeya. The Escarpment was the physical
manifestation of the arcane prison that the Gods of Light had sealed the
Hellgod, Bellocar, and his surviving pantheon behind. The imperfect seal had
begun to fray in sections enough that dark creatures sometimes escaped. The
Netherguard hunted them down.
In the aftermath of the Battle of Maerse Field outside the gates of Whiteford,
Stone had sent word of the presence of Waejontori armies on Red Wolf soil to
Aramyn, the lord-lieutenant to the Grand Master of Creeya in charge of
operations. Stone had guessed from discussing the maps that they had either
bridged the Eirlys River or descended through the Hellblade Corridor by way of
Foulmuth Pass through the Eiralyskali Range.
The letters and reports sitting on his desk confirmed Stone's suspicions and
edged his thoughts with dread for his people. The Waejontori had bridged the
river. That was where the initial force came from. Both Aramyn's scouts and
Stone's swan-mays had found the bridge two hours ride north of Red Wolf's
borders.
The newest report, which had arrived that morning from Aramyn, disturbed Stone
the most. Lord Hoon had made a forced march through the snowy passes of the
Eiralyskali Mountain spur to reinforce the units still camped on Red Wolf
soil. An army of six thousand myn and monsters now bivouacked on the Red Wolf
side of Foulmuth Pass. There had not been a force this size thrown at the
lycans since the Lycan Rebellion of 997.
Grand Master Ceejorn Osterbridge had responded swiftly to the news, calling up
the Creeyan reserves and preparing to send a substantial army to the relief of
Red Wolf; wiser to fight them here than on Creeyan soil. The only thing
holding them back was the weather. The passes through the Black Mountains were
snowbound. Stone, himself, had barely made it through the mountains ahead of
the worst of the winter storms. His one hope was that the weather would keep
Hoon pinned down as well.
Reist entered without knocking, the lines of his face tight. “Stone, you'd
better get downstairs fast."
"What is it?"
"Kynyr's in the yard with a Fae battle group, one hundred MacLachlan soldiers,
and three units of Guildsmyn. He's threatening to lay siege to the manor."
"Why?"
"Davies and Yates murdered Todd Sinclair, presumably on Clennan's orders."
"I thought you had myn watching them.” Stone leaned back in his chair, his
hands gripping the edge of the desk.

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"I did. All three of them. It isn't easy keeping tabs on myn like that."
"And now the king has come in wrath.” The sound of wood cracking startled both
myn. Stone released the edge of the desk and two chunks of wood fell to the
floor. “Reist, get all the thanes and the elders to the Audience Chamber and
send someone down to inform Kynyr I said he may enter with the Thirteen Chosen
only."
"And Darcy. You'll never keep her out."
"And Darcy. I have a feeling we'll be hanging thanes before the day is over."
Stone lowered his eyes and said a quiet prayer to his grandfather that Todd's
good deeds would outweigh his sins.
* * * *
The thanes shifted uneasily in their seats. Stone had taken the advisor's
chair at the right hand of the throne on the dais. Previously, he had sat the
throne itself as a reminder to the thanes of the power he held as Claw's
brother.
"Why have you brought us here?” Vertram demanded.
Before Stone could reply, the door opened and Kynyr stalked down the aisle to
the throne, his expression hard and his eyes like sword blades. Todd's axes
hung from his harness. Todd's lycan knives were strapped to Kynyr's thighs.
The only weapon he carried that had not belonged to Todd was Ladyfaith.
Clennan Doherty's gaunt face tightened and his jaw clenched as he leaned
closer to Vertram Devlin. “I thought he was crippled..."
"A deception?” Vertram's gaze trailed Kynyr down the aisle, and watched him
sit on the throne as if he owned it. “He moves like a true blademaster."
"I am King of Red Wolf,” Kynyr announced in a tone that dared anyone to
dispute that fact. He had deliberately chosen to call himself king, rather
than chieftain. “I will have your oaths now."
"You'll have no such thing!” Clennan banged his cane on the floor. “The witan
has not met."
"This is as much of a witan as I am predisposed to grant you.” Kynyr showed
them all the arrogance and presence of a mon born to be king.
"This is outrageous. I protest."
Kynyr drew Ladyfaith, laid the sword across his knees, and flicked a finger at
Darcy.
At Kynyr's gesture, Darcy opened a sack. She placed the heads of Faerwald and
Lairgan at the bottom step of the dais. Then she added two large jars of brine
in which floated the manhoods of each.
"No more outrageous than murdering my grandfather. They butchered him on your
orders, Clennan. They cut him up while he lay pinned beneath his dead horse.
Todd was delivering solstice gifts to the children of his tenants when they
ambushed him."
Cedric smiled thinly and nudged the thane sitting next to him, jutting his
chin at Kynyr. “Tarrant Redhand has returned as he promised he would. An
indomitable king puts fire into the bellies of his subjects and fear into the
hearts of his enemies."
"I had nothing to do with it.” Clennan looked furious. “You killed my
bodyguards. Bastard swine! How many myn did it take to butcher them?"
Darcy turned a cheeky glance stained with bitterness on Clennan. “Just me and
Kynyr. They weren't as good as they thought they were."
Thane Wallace Callaghan's expression tightened. “They killed Todd."
Selwyn Brawleigh leaned close. “I am sorry for your loss ... for the realm's
loss. He was a great mon."
"Children, Clennan. He was taking gifts to the children of poor farmers.”
Kynyr's lips curled back in a snarl. “And your hired blades killed him."
Two Creeyan guardsmyn pulled the doors open. Ossian strode in with his
brothers beside him and twenty members of the Wolffgard Volunteer Militia
behind him. Ossian walked down the aisle to the middlemost spot between the
door and the throne. “Clennan Doherty, Thane of Heatherford,” he roared. “I am
here in my god-given right, as senior lawgiver to Red Wolf, to arrest you for
the murder of Todd Sinclair."

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Kynyr pinned Clennan with a look of steel and ice. “Hang him."
"I demand a trial of my peers.” Clennan glanced around him for support, and a
rumble of outrage at Kynyr came from the southern thanes.
"You've got no proof!” Fletcher sprang to his feet. “You can't just hang him
out of hand."
Ossian opened his shirt, revealing his bandages. “I was there. I saw it. I
heard it. Lairgan Yates put a knife in me."
Thane Fletcher Matheson went pale, dropping back into his chair, shaking his
head in stunned disbelief. “They attacked a lawgiver on Clennan's orders ... a
lawgiver..."
"You can't arrest me.” Clennan's gaze swept the thanes, his eyes demanding
that they rise in his defense. “You can't let this bastard usurper do this to
me. It's an outrage."
The thanes all looked away, except Fletcher. “There are limits, Clennan.
Boundaries.” Fletcher lowered his eyes, shaking his head again. “I-I can't
support you."
"Hang him,” Kynyr repeated.
No one moved as Ossian's brothers seized Clennan, dragged him from his seat,
bound his hands, and hauled him from the chamber.
* * * *
Standing at the window facing the courtyard of the manor, Regina stared down
at the army in MacLachlan colors. The White Swan banner of Princess Kady
Maguire waved in a gentle breeze; but it had not been Kady who brought them
there: it had been Kynyr. An air of threat seemed to waft from the hardened
myn.
She had believed Kynyr a cripple, seen him in his wheel-chair; now she had
seen him stride into the manor with the look of stormbirds in his eyes, moving
with such sternness of purpose that Regina shivered. Death was in the wind,
and Regina could smell it.
Tobrytan MacFie occupied the sofa nearest to Regina's desk, his feet propped
on the table, and a tankard of mead in his hands. “I probably should not have
accepted your invitation. Stone has not granted the rest of us permission to
enter."
"Stone be damned.” Regina snarled. “I had a right to know and no one else to
ask."
Tobrytan gave a nod of weary acknowledgement. “It wasn't just about vengeance,
Reggie. Clennan thought he'd break Kynyr by murdering Todd. Instead, he's
unleashed the king upon the thanes."
"You really think Kynyr will hang Clennan? He's one of the two most powerful
thanes in Red Wolf."
"It's very bloody likely, I'd say.” Tobrytan settled back on the sofa,
cradling his tankard. “Reggie, when MacLachlan invaded Hell's Widow, we were
unprepared for some of what went on. We found the first nest of those
pig-sucking sa'necari cockwhores, but could not find the main one. Kynyr came
in with Todd and Cahira, leading a small band of elite troops. We had three
hundred myn, not counting the officers. He had twenty. Kynyr not only located
them in less than a day, he ripped them apart. No one who was with him then
would ever doubt his ability to achieve his aims. So, if he wants to hang
Clennan, then hang Clennan he will."
Regina shivered. “I've no love for Clennan Doherty; but this scares me."
A soft knock at the door preceded Kissie's entry into the Rose Room. “Mistress
Regina, there's a lady wanting to speak with Thane Selwyn."
"Did you tell her they're closeted for the nonce?"
"Yes. She's most insistent."
"Send her up, Kissie. I'll deal with her.” She turned to Tobrytan. “It's
always something."
Instead of leaving, Kissie simply opened the door wider and let them inside.
The bitch that entered was dressed in rough clothing; trousers, tunic, and
cloak; yet there was no mistaking Audra Brawleigh. Two myn came in behind her.
Regina recognized Aelfwin Cadwallader, but not the dark-skinned human who

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carried himself like an officer.
"Audra.” Regina hugged her. “What are you doing here?"
Lady Brawleigh looked to her like a bitch who had been standing on a precipice
so long her legs were trembling and about to drop her over the edge. “Anglecyn
has fallen. Captain Nicoletti,” she pointed at Paolo, “helped us escape from
Lord Hoon."
Paolo gave Regina a precise bow from the waist.
"Merciful Tala. Come on, Audra, I'll get you in to see Selwyn right away."
Regina's mind whirled with questions she wanted to ask, but she held them
back. When they reached Sorcha's Wing, Jocelyn rushed past them, crying out at
the top of her lungs, “They're going to hang my grandfather. Someone help me!
Help me."
"I told you so.” Tobrytan gave Regina a droll smile.
She sucked in a deep breath, noticing that he had followed her. “Yes, you
did."
* * * *
Silence wrapped the Audience Chamber with the solemnity of a burial shroud.
Wallace Callaghan raised his eyes to gaze at his brother-in-law. Kynyr had
said nothing since Ossian dragged Clennan from the room. No one appeared to be
ready to take the next step. Wallace knew how to handle a sword and a plow; he
knew how to kill and how to grow crops; he had known the joys of life and the
sorrows of death. He was a mon of deeds, and not of words. Wallace saw the myn
about him, myn who had known power and privilege all their lives, unable or
unwilling to extend themselves to Kynyr in that moment because of the gravity
of what they had just witnessed.
Reluctance to be first weighted Wallace's heels. If no one else would rise to
it, then he saw no choice but to step into the void. He pushed his chair back
and stood, scanning the assembled thanes. Wallace felt naked and exposed,
until the warrior side of his instinct roused and he extended his battlefield
courage to this strange new form of fighting in which he was woefully
inexperienced.
"Claw named Kynyr his heir. Therefore any who side against him are traitors.”
Once he had said it, Wallace felt his insecurities fall away and vanish.
“Kynyr is king."
Weylen Tully, husband of Phoebe, rose to his feet. “Kynyr is the rightful
king. And we're prepared to fight for him."
Blayne Albryn, Russa's husband, following his brother-in-laws’ example, rose
in a show of support. They presented a stalwart and united front to the rest
of the thanes. Selwyn Brawleigh joined them standing. Cedric Hargrave of
Whiteford was quick to follow.
One by one, the northern thanes came to their feet.
Then irascible old Sedley Wescot of Silvershire pushed his creaking bones from
his chair. “I'm for Kynyr. He's a better mon than the rest of you bloody
toss-pots!"
That decided it for the midlanders and they stood also.
Thane Cedric left his place and approached the throne. When he reached the
dais, Cedric dropped to one knee before Kynyr without hesitation.
Kynyr rested the sword on Cedric's shoulder. Ladyfaith glowed blue, confirming
the truth in Cedric's words as the aged Thane spoke his oath.
When Cedric returned to his chair, another northerner moved to pledge his
allegiance to Kynyr. Once the last of the northerners had given their oaths,
Sedley began shoving his midland comrades at the aisle. “Go on, do it. We got
us a real one now."
Fletcher went after Sedley finished, but his action appeared to have no
impact, and the southerners continued to hesitate.
Reist, watching from beside the door with his guardsmyn, saw his father rise
and approach Kynyr. He felt a grudging admiration for the old mon. Vertram's
sins were many, but cowardice was not one of them.
Vertram placed his hands on his hips, as he regarded Kynyr. “I supported
Clennan. I had no part in the attack upon your grandfather. I still don't like

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the idea of having a bastard on the throne when legitimate offspring exist.
However, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. I'm beginning to see what
it was Old Claw must have seen in you to make you his heir."
Vertram went to one knee and bowed his head before Kynyr.
The king placed Ladyfaith on Vertram's shoulder. The glow turned gray. “I'll
give you the same."
The elders followed the thanes to give their allegiance to the new king. When
all was done, Stone stood.
"I have bad news. I was about to inform you of this when our king arrived; so
I had to wait. Lord Hoon has entered Red Wolf through the Foulmuth Pass with
six thousand soldiers and monsters. The weather is keeping him pinned down for
the moment. However, we can only count on another four to six weeks of winter.
Then he will come through here with a fury not seen since the days of the
Rebellion."
The chamber erupted in alarmed discussion.
Reist turned as the door opened behind him. He saw a bitch in trousers
standing with her hand upon the knob. Five cubs clustered behind her with six
humans and four lycans, who had the stance of soldiers, around them.
"I'm sorry. You can't come in. The thanes are busy. They are crowning a king."
Regina stepped around Audra. “Reist, let her in. She's Lady Audra Brawleigh.
And she's brought terrible news."
Reist Devlin glanced from his wife to Lady Brawleigh. “What is it?"
Audra met his eyes and held them without wavering. “Anglecyn has fallen."
Reist stepped aside and let them in.
"Audra?” Selwyn rose from his chair with Wallace following.
She threw herself into his arms, sobbing as the floodgates, which she had been
holding closed with such fierce determination, opened wide.
Selwyn held her tight to his chest, gazing over her shoulder at the children.
“Where's Ocvran?"
Aelfwin Cadwallader shook his head sadly. “They killed him."
A long keening howl of lycan grief shivered from Selwyn's throat.
Weylen Tully, once a goldsmith, approached Kynyr with half an eye on the
grieving Brawleighs. “You should look the king you are. We need you."
"What?” Kynyr turned, frowning in perplexity.
Tully reached into his pouch and brought forth an elegant golden circlet. “It
ought to fit. Phoebe measured it against one of your old hunting caps."
"You made it?"
"Ayup. Being a thane takes most of my time, but I had to make one last piece."
Kynyr lifted the circlet up to set it on his head only to have Darcy snatch it
out of his hand.
"Not supposed to do it yourself the first time.” She gave him one of her
cheeky grins and placed it on his head. “There. You are now King Kynyr the
First of Red Wolf. Anyone says otherwise, they can eat my axe."
Kynyr rose from the throne and walked down the aisle. “I vow to rescue
Anglecyn, free your people, and punish those who have invaded our lands."
Selwyn turned a tear-streaked face to Kynyr. “Thank you, my King."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE BANE SHEPHERD
Ossian stood at the steps to the scaffolds, ready to climb them and pronounce
sentence on Clennan Doherty. His eyes scanned the crowd, noting how many of
the Heatherford myn were there. He wondered if they intended to try and rescue
their thane.
Then his gaze fell upon the four large lycans, all of them with the
red-haired, strong-featured stamp of the Sinclairs on their faces.
He signed his myn to wait and approached them. His eyes fixed upon the chain
around the largest one's neck. Bones and runes hung from it. Ossian realized
that he was looking at a Bane Shepherd of the Battle-Clans, one of the most
dangerous enforcers of lycan law that existed.
Ossian greeted him with a polite dip of his shoulders. “Shepherd, what brings

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you?"
"The murder of my father, Lawgiver."
"I am Ossian O'Reilly, Senior Lawgiver to Red Wolf. This is my jurisdiction."
"I'm Jordan Sinclair, Bane Shepherd of the North Watch. I am not here to
contest your jurisdiction. I am here to extend my services to my King and
nephew Kynyr Maguire as is my right and privilege before my liege-god, Tala.
And to see the murderer of my father hung."
"Then be welcome, Shepherd.” Ossian sketched the sign of the crescent moon
between them and Jordan responded with the sign of the bear.
"Get it done, Lawgiver."
"I intend to.” Ossian made a curt gesture with his right arm before he
thought, and blinked as a wave of pain went through him. He clutched at his
chest. Blood spread through his clothes. The Mender had reconnected the
internal damage and the surgeon had stitched the wound closed. They had
ordered Ossian to rest, but he had not. Now he had torn it open again, as they
had warned he might.
His knees buckled in a rush of dizziness.
Strong arms caught him and lifted him up, supporting Ossian.
"You're wounded.” The formality had melted from Jordan's voice, replaced by an
unexpected gentleness.
"Lairgan Yates ... I tried to stop them."
"Let's get the job done. It looks like you're about to have trouble."
A large group of myn forced their way to the front of the crowd. Some of them
were housecarles in the livery of Heatherford. The others walking with them,
although dressed in ordinary clothes, carried swords and axes as if born to
their use. Jordan's brows knit as he watched the two groups merge into mixed
units with disturbing precision. The locals seemed to sense their purpose and
faded back from them.
"They're all housecarles. Every damn one of them.” Jordan handed Ossian to
Queran. “Get him onto the scaffolds. Stay with him."
"Will do, Jordy.” Queran went up the steps, shouldering Ossian's weight.
A contingent of the Wolffgard Volunteer Militia interposed themselves between
the approaching housecarles and the scaffolds. Brave myn, but no match for the
trained soldiery of Heatherford.
Jordan strode to the front of their skirmish line and faced the Heatherford
myn with his son Quinn and his brother Trevor beside him.
"I'm Jordan Sinclair, Bane Shepherd of the North Watch,” Jordan roared.
“Disperse or die."
The family and their neighbors had always said of the four sons of Todd
Sinclair—Branduff, Trevor, Queran, and Jordan—that Jordan was the one most
like their father. He stood there, solid as a rock, with his Sharani
longswords in his hands, one held high and the other low.
The Heatherford myn drew their weapons and charged, focusing their wrath upon
the three Sinclairs—who they recognized as the real threat—not the militia.
So Jordy started killing them. He sliced the first Heatherforder to reach him
across the belly, backhanded his right blade into neck of the one beside him,
and moved on. Jordan slashed a mon's leg open to the bone with a blow that
also broke his knee.
Needing room to swing his sledgehammer, Quinn moved further from his father
and uncle. There was no art to his movements, just a steady precise thunder of
deadly blows. He smashed in a mon's head, caught the next one with a blow to
the belly that ruptured every organ in his opponent's body, and caved in the
chest of a third. He sent his adversaries crashing into their compatriots,
taking more myn down than he hit.
Trevor had more style to his fighting. His saber spun and danced, circling
around the heavier claymores. He slid his blade along the edge of a claymore
in a binding parry, kicked the wielder in the chest, and backhanded the saber
into the mon's neck.
Across from the common, Bella emerged from the Difficult Horse with her
husband, Willy Galloway. She pressed her knuckles into her mouth to stifle a

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scream.
He seized her shoulders and shoved her back into the tavern. “Stay inside. The
closest help is the Lawgiver House. I'm going there."
* * * *
Queran Sinclair laid Ossian gently against a post. Whoever had designed the
scaffolds had done so with defense in mind. There were only two places of
access: steps on the north and south ends. The militia had barricaded the
north end, but the south end was starting to bulge inward as their myn
perished before the skilled onslaught.
Ultan O'Reilly got the noose around Clennan's neck. The thane's ankles were
bound together and his hands tied behind him. Clennan struggled in Ultan's
grasp.
Waid knelt beside Ossian. “You reopened it."
Queran straightened, drew his big, cross-hilted claymore, and stalked past the
lawgivers. “Get him hung!” he barked.
The ranks of the defending militia broke and spilled toward Queran. He stepped
into the breach, clove a mon through the shoulder, swayed to the side to avoid
a lunging thrust, and split the Heatherforder's head open. The surviving
militiamyn rallied around him. The tide of battle turned against the myn of
Heatherford before they realized what had hit them.
* * * *
Lokynen had come into town for a drink at the Difficult Horse as he had done
each afternoon since returning to Wolffgard. Fleeing citizens flowed all
around him. No one stopped to give him a clear answer. The sound of fighting
drew his gaze to the commons. Pausing in front of the tavern, Lokynen stared
at the myn killing each other around the scaffolds. “What the unholy hell?"
It took him only a second to recognize the Sinclair brothers struggling
against the Heatherford myn and that decided him.
The big yuwenghau unlimbered his sword. “Law breakers. Dozens of them."
He strode across to the common, roaring his defiance and hit the Heatherford
myn from the rear.
Behind him, Pandeena shimmered into being, accompanied by her seven yuwenghau
companions and Willy Galloway. “Let's at them."
* * * *
Ossian fought down another wave of dizziness. Waid had opened his brother's
shirt and shoved a folded handkerchief against the blood-soaked bandage,
attempting to slow the bleeding with pressure.
Ultan scanned the scene, taking in all the fighting. “What do we do?"
Gavin Ellis, the chastisemon, shook his head. “If we drop him, and it doesn't
kill him right off, they might save him."
"You have a suggestion, Gavin?” Ossian grimaced, digging his fingers into the
edges of his wound. “Well?"
"Yes, I do.” The chastisemon stepped to Ultan's side, and drew his knife.
Clennan stared at Gavin in sudden realization. “You can't do that. It's not
legal. I'm a thane."
"You're a dead thane.” Gavin took hold of Clennan's shoulder. Ultan pulled
Clennan's arms together tighter behind him to that the thane could not squirm,
which angled his chest up more.
"You were only allowed twenty myn, but it seems you brought a lot more than
that.” Ossian nodded at Gavin. “Do it."
"No. Noooo. You can't. Please...” Clennan Doherty stiffened, his eyes bulging
as Gavin's big knife entered beneath his sternum and angled up into his chest.
Once Gavin had it all the way in, he gave the knife a savage twist. The Thane
of Heatherford's head fell backward, his lips parted, and his eyes stared
unseeing.
"Now, drop him and let them see how he hangs,” said Ossian.
Waid rose and hit the lever. Clennan's corpse dropped through and hung
turning.
A cry went up from the knots of Heatherforders still fighting. Myn began
casting aside their weapons and surrendering.

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Ossian leaned back and closed his eyes. “I'm so tired."
Consciousness slipped away from him and Ossian sagged against the post.
* * * *
"Would someone care to tell me why this happened?” Pandeena stopped walking
and stared at Jordan. “What's a Bane Shepherd doing in Wolffgard?"
"I'm Jordan Sinclair, Bane Shepherd of—"
Pandeena cut him off with a gesture. “Forget the formalities, just answer my
questions."
"Which one first?"
Her eyes widened and her lips parted in shock as she spied Clennan's body
dangling from the scaffold. “You've hanged a thane."
"Lawgiver Ossian O'Reilly pronounced sentence upon him for the murder of my
father, Todd Sinclair."
"Todd—Todd is dead?"
"Pandeena.” Trevor approached her with weary steps, bleeding from cuts to his
arms, forehead, and one across his chest. “Our father was ambushed and
butchered this morning on Clennan's orders."
"Butchered?” Her voice caught on the word.
"Can we have this discussion later?” Queran came walking beside Waid, who bore
Ossian in his arms. “The Lawgiver needs assistance."
"Give him to me. I'll take him to the infirmary at the Maguire home.” Pandeena
lifted Ossian from Waid's arms. “I will be back."
She vanished in a shimmer of golden light.
"Mage?” Jordan raised an eyebrow at Trevor.
"Ayup. Battlemage."
"I see I have a lot to learn.” Jordan thought for a moment. “Where was Dad
attacked?"
"He was delivering solstice presents to children of the poor."
"Delivering? You mean he didn't finish?"
"He was about half done."
"Dad wouldn't want to leave something like that unfinished. Give me a list and
directions when we get home. I'll take care of it."
Jordan scanned the commons, watching the militia gathering the survivors of
Heatherford and tying their hands behind them. He squeezed Waid's shoulder.
“Time to give them the bad news."
Waid blinked. “What's that?"
Jordan strode into the center of the common and shouted at the crowd. “Myn of
Heatherford and all others who participated in the attack upon the lawgivers
of Wolffgard. You are all under arrest for treason against the crown,
attempted murder of a lawgiver, and...” Jordan's lips twitched with dark
humor, “making a mess of the town common."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SOLSTICE
Ossian opened his eyes and tried to sit up only to discover that someone had
tied him to the bed. The folding screens extended upon both sides told the
lawgiver that he was at the infirmary on the Maguire Estate. He pulled at his
bindings. Bells attached to the ropes rang and Sha appeared.
"Don't move.” She gave him a stern look.
"I have work to do."
"I knew I'd never keep you in bed if I didn't tie you up. You're going to
rest."
"I'm the lawgiver...” Ossian scowled at her. “You can't keep me here."
"And I'm your physician. That means I am in charge."
Waid and Ultan stepped around the extended screen and grinned at him.
"Untie me!” Ossian snarled at them.
Both of the younger lawgivers shook their heads.
"It's for your own good, Ossian. We almost lost you,” said Waid.
Ossian quieted. “How long have I been out?"
"It's solstice evening."

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"I've been tied up here for over a day?” Ossian felt unsettled by the news.
“I'm needed."
"Don't worry, Ossian,” said Ultan. “Jordy is helping us."
"Jordy?” The comfortable familiarity in Ultan's tone irritated Ossian.
"The Bane Shepherd."
"Yes, I know, but when did you get to calling him that?"
Waid's quiet eyes regarded his brother. “He's a good mon ... reminds me of
Todd."
"Cahira sent you a present.” Ultan cut in and brought the wrapped package from
behind his back, a smile playing hopefully across his lips.
Pulling at the cords, Ossian gave his brother a querulous look. “I can't open
it."
Ultan ducked his head. “Want me to open it for you?"
"It's my present. Untie me."
"Ossian...."
"I promise not to get out of bed. So untie me."
Neither of them moved.
"I want to open my present. Untie me!"
The vehemence in Ossian's voice made Ultan wince and he cast a helpless glance
at Sha.
The physician relented with an admonition. “If I catch you out of bed before I
give you permission, I'll tie you up for a month."
The two brothers grinned and set to releasing Ossian as Sha went back to her
desk. They soon had him propped up with pillows to his back and put the
present in his lap.
A note was fastened to the top. Ossian opened that first and read it.
Ossian,
You tried to save him, and for that, I am eternally grateful. I thought I
would never be able to forgive you for what happened to Sheradyn and
Gillivray. Now I know I was wrong.
Please take this as both an apology and a token of my gratitude. I am certain
that Todd would have wanted you to have it.
A few years ago, our son Branduff, who was a schoolteacher, helped Todd write
down his memories of the Rebellion. They had one hundred copies printed in
Creeya, intending it for members of our extended family only. However, I think
that you deserve one.
Gratefully yours,
Cahira Sinclair
Ossian's mouth tightened and his eyes leaked. “I finally met my childhood
hero, and I couldn't save him."
He opened the package and hugged the book.
* * * *
Jocelyn's reddened eyes looked sore from weeping. Her hair lay in disarray
about her shoulders. She had set aside her lovely dresses in favor of a black
traditional robe. A shriek of rage followed on the heels of another keening
cry that made Vertram wince.
"They killed him! That bloody bastard prince..."
"King.” Vertram corrected her without thinking.
"He's not my king. Our myn might have rescued Grandfather ... but oh, no. His
goat-fucking lawgivers had to stick a blade in him."
Vertram exhaled loudly. “It went against custom and law. I'll give you that
much. Under the circumstances, it was understandable."
"Don't give me that. It was murder. Plain and simple. My uncles are going to
punish Kynyr. Mark my words, Vertram. They're going to punish him."
"Stop talking that way, Jocelyn. What's done is done. No one in their right
minds will go against King Kynyr now."
"Have you gone coward on me, Vertram?” Jocelyn's words dripped with venomous
contempt. “Is there a yellow stripe up your spine now?"
"We are at war with Waejontor, Jocelyn. It's more than petty raids."
"My uncles—"

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"I don't want to hear about your uncles,” Vertram roared.
"I'll find someone who does.” Jocelyn flounced from her chair and rushed out
into the corridor. Myn, who normally greeted her, turned their faces away and
strode past her. She spotted Lillian talking to Fletcher.
"Lillian...” Jocelyn grabbed her arm.
Lillian Morrissey pulled loose. “Not now, Jocelyn."
Fletcher took a step back from Jocelyn, staring at her as if she carried the
plague.
Appalled and hurt, Jocelyn fled to the back stairs that led to Sorcha's Solar.
She stomped up them, filling the air with imprecations and vows of vengeance.
Throwing the door open, Jocelyn found the chamber empty; or so she thought
until a familiar voice greeted her from a chair in a shadowed corner.
"I've been expecting you, Jocelyn."
She whirled around. “Lyncoln Wescot."
"So how is Miss High and Mighty now? Not so high and mighty, I wot.” Lyncoln
chuckled darkly. “As you may or may not be aware, treason is a crime."
"Bastard."
"Oh, so now I'm a bastard and no longer a nutter? I'm not certain whether
that's an improvement or not. I really ought to spank you. You might like it."
"You wouldn't dare.” She wrinkled her nose and hissed at him.
"It's not a matter of dare. It's a matter of whether I really want to. You
see, Jocelyn, what happened to Clennan is partly your fault."
"Mine?"
Lyncoln chuckled again. “Yes, yours. All the time you thought I was merely
chasing your skirts; you were filling my ears with your grandfather's
intentions. You were spitting them in my face. Very obliging of you. I rather
imagine the arrest warrants will be going out for your uncles before sundown."
Jocelyn let out a despairing shriek and fled.
* * * *
Solstice should have been a happy time, filled with song and good cheer.
Regina had not expected to find any of that, but neither had she expected the
chaos that greeted her. The execution of Clennan Doherty, combined with the
news about Anglecyn, had thrown many of the thanes and their bitches into a
panic.
Walking down the corridor as Regina left her suite, Emma appeared looking
rumpled and disheveled her troubled blue eyes bleary with fatigue.
"Reggie? Reggie, can I talk to you?"
"What is it?"
"It's about Fletcher."
"You'll have to talk to Stone, if you've changed your mind."
"No. No. Not that. You've got to tell Kynyr that Fletcher had nothing to do
with it."
That stopped Regina in her tracks. “What are you talking about?"
"Fletcher's terrified that Kynyr will hang him. He did nothing but pace up and
down all night long."
Regina glanced around to see who might be listening, took Emma by the hand,
and drew her into the first room she spotted that did not belong to someone.
It turned out to be a large linen closet. “Take a deep breath, and then
explain why Fletcher should be afraid of Kynyr."
"Fletcher supported Clennan."
"Did Fletcher know about Clennan's plans for Todd?"
"Everyone did, Reggie."
"Everyone?” An edge sharpened her dubious tone.
Emma gave a sidewise nod. “The scene at Aisha's funeral."
"You can't weasel out that easy, Emma. What did Fletcher know?"
Emma ducked her head. “Fletcher used to have Clennan, Vertram and a few others
over in the evenings for drinks in our suite. Clennan and Vertram were
regulars, the rest were usually thanes they hoped to bring over to their side
of the matter."
"And?"

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"All they wanted was the votes, Reggie."
Regina's jaw clenched in irritation. “If you don't tell me right this instant
what Fletcher's afraid of, then I'll have Stone ask him."
Emma blanched. “Fletcher's just afraid that holding those meetings makes him
look like a conspirator."
"Is that all?” Regina could see how that might look bad for Fletcher.
"Yes."
"Tell Fletcher that he should speak to Reist about it. In the meantime, I
don't think he has anything to worry about and you can tell him I said that."
Emma's lips trembled. “Thank you."
Reggie walked out, leaving Emma alone in the closet. All the myn she passed
greeted her. She received more smiles, nods, and other acknowledgements than
she had ever got before. Behind much of it lurked a nervousness that she could
not miss.
Lillian fell into step beside her. “Happy solstice, Reggie."
Regina's eyes slewed sideways in dubious surprise. “Same to you."
"Banan and I were wondering if you would care to have lunch with us in our
suite."
"Lunch. Right. No.” Regina's mouth tightened. “I haven't time today."
"Oh, but we would so enjoy having you.” Lillian made a moue. “You could bring
Reist. Please, don't disappoint us."
"No."
"Pretty please?"
Regina stopped walking to glare at Lillian. “Ask Reist. If he says yes, come
back to me. Until then, I'm too busy."
Six more myn stopped her before she could reach the Rose Room; and by then
Regina had figured it all out. They were terrified of Kynyr.
She closed the door and put her back against it.
"Have some tea, Reggie. You look like you need it.” Lyncoln Wescot waved the
pitcher at her.
"Where's Merissa?” Regina settled on the sofa and accepted the cup of tea that
Lyncoln poured for her.
"She's not coming. Got a note from her."
"Then why are you here?” Regina eyed him suspiciously.
"I thought you might like someone to talk to."
"I can't imagine what we would talk about. I'm overwhelmed already and it
isn't even noon."
"The southerners are all over you like a plague of ticks. They lost the caber
toss and now they're frantic to find themselves a winner.” Lyncoln tapped a
package on the tea table. “That's for you. A solstice present."
"You didn't need to do that..."
"Just say thank you and open it up. Something to sweeten your day, which I'm
sure will be a trying one."
Regina's cheeks colored. “Thank you.” She tore the wrapping and smiled at the
box of chocolates. Chocolate was expensive and not always easy to come by in
Red Wolf. “Oh, Lyncoln, this is so kind of you."
"Consider it a bribe to sit and listen to me for a bit. I want to tell you a
story."
"Tell it.” Regina bit into a piece of chocolate and smiled in pleasure.
"A few weeks ago, I was staying overnight at an inn in Thorn Tree on my way
home from visiting a friend. The Goose on a Bucket is a nice inn. Loni Calhoun
runs it. I always stay there. Anyways, this cub comes in with a foreigner and
Loni stands the cub on a table and announces to the room that he's Cullen
Blackwood's son. My ears perked up. I always wagered on a horse if I knew
Cullen was riding it."
"So did Johfrit. Cullen rode like Death over a battlefield."
"I hear that his son is every bit as good as Cullen, but we're getting off the
topic. Cooley had a lot to say about Kynyr. When I got home, I related it to
my Dad. We came to Wolffgard for the witan, already aligned with Kynyr.
Furthermore, we knew about his unmarried sisters. We hoped I could make a

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match with one, but Kady made it clear that we were fishing in the wrong
lake."
Regina laughed. “You've always fished the wrong lakes, Lyncoln."
"Not always. I caught Terry, didn't I?” Lyncoln studied the teacup in his
hands for a moment. “My devotion to whimsy puts a lot of myn off. It never
bothered Terry, or her family."
"You miss her?"
"Terribly. There's a hole in me large enough to chase a pig through.” Lyncoln
tried to smile at the comic image, and failed, falling back into the mood that
had hold of him. “Do you miss Johfrit?"
"Do you really need to ask?” Regina's eyes softened, looking close to sudden
tears.
"Why'd you remarry so soon?"
"Vertram. Without a legal protector, he would have seized my cubs, their
inheritance, and myself."
"Do you love Reist?"
"Not that way."
"I see.” Lyncoln raised his eyes from his cup, shaking himself loose from his
memories, and focused on Reggie again. “Getting back to my story. I need to
get it told and over with. I don't like being serious, Reggie. It's not how I
prefer to relate to the world; which is why my Dad made me point dog for the
midland thanes. I'm the only dog that no one would ever suspect of doing
something serious."
"Oh my gods. You told Stone and the others about Vertram and Clennan's plans."
"And there's my story, Reggie. I felt that you ought to know, because you'd be
one of those who will find themselves in the middle of fires I lit. I
apologize in advance for any difficulties it causes you.” Lyncoln drained his
cup and rose. “Enjoy your chocolates and try not to let those southern
vultures pick your bones clean. If it gets to be too much, just holler and
I'll give them the what for."
Lyncoln opened the door to leave and nearly pulled the knob out of Reist's
hands who was entering at the same time.
"Excuse me.” Lyncoln squeezed past Reist and disappeared down the corridor.
Reist frowned at Lyncoln's back until he lost sight of the mon, and then
slipped into the Rose Room, closing the door behind him. “Was he bothering
you, Reggie?"
"He gave me a box of chocolates and told me a story. Nothing more."
"If he bothers you, tell me."
Regina bristled. “I can take care of myself, thank you kindly. Lyncoln's a bit
queer, but he's nice once you get used to him."
"That must have been some story.” Reist kissed Regina's forehead and dropped
onto the chair nearest her. He pulled a pocket flask out and poured himself a
measure of gin—which was easier to come by than whiskey—into a teacup and
sipped it.
"You're drinking early."
"I've been up since before dawn and got very little sleep last night. Kynyr's
moving into the manor in two days and I need to be certain the place is
secure."
"Where did Clennan get so many myn? From what I'm hearing, Heatherford
practically threw an army at the lawgivers."
Reist propped his feet on the table. “Near as I can tell—Clennan brought
somewhere between forty and fifty myn with him. His ‘servants’ and such were
all soldiers. The one time I don't act on my gut instincts, I nearly get our
lawgivers killed. I thought they seemed a bit off-kilter, but I didn't follow
up on it. There were too many other things demanding my attention."
"You can't blame yourself for that."
"Oh, I'm not—yet. I'm still at the cover my arse stage. I arrested everyone
from Heatherford."
"Then why's Jocelyn still loose?"
"Standing orders direct from Kynyr by way of Stone. Don't touch the bitches or

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cubs."
"So Jocelyn is free to go around spewing her venom."
Reist shrugged. “No one's listening to her. The arrest warrants have gone out
to Heatherford. Pandeena and her bodyguards—or whatever they are—have Jumped
to Heatherford to implement them. We're pulling Heatherford's teeth; making an
example of them."
"Putting them in cells or house arrest?"
"House arrest."
"More suites to ready. More work for me. How many?"
"Six. I want them all at the end of one of the wings, adjacent to each other
so it's easier to keep an eye on them and control their movements."
"I'll see what I can put together."
"Which brings us to my next reason for coming. I want you to evict Berneen
from Clennan's suite. I have orders to secure and search it for documents and
other evidence of what Clennan was up to."
"The sooner I do that the better, I suppose.” Regina moved her box of
chocolates to a desk drawer.
"Do you mind if I just sit here a bit?"
Regina made a moue at him. “So long as you don't touch my chocolates and I
don't find you drunk when I return—I have no problem with it. Just don't make
a habit of it."
"I won't.” Reist straightened and took another sip from his cup. “If you
encounter my father, don't tell him where to find me."
Regina shook her head. “You can't avoid him forever, Reist."
"I can try.” He ran his finger idly around the rim of his cup. “When I first
knew I was returning to Wolffgard, I told Stone that I could not imagine
facing Vertram sober. Now I have you and your cubs to consider."
"You were as bad as he was.” Regina moved back to the chair as if to sit down,
and then stood with her hand on the arm, studying his face.
"Was. That's the key word, Reggie. My life isn't about hopes and dreams—like
other myn. It's a process of atonement. I'm not there yet, but I want to be
one day."
"I don't know what to make of you."
"Then don't. Just let it be."
"You're talking in circles."
Reist averted his eyes, lowering them to the table. “Go evict Berneen and let
me be. This conversation is heading in a direction I'm not ready to go yet."
"So be it.” Regina left the room, wondering what to do with Berneen.
* * * *
Malthus paced his study, fuming, hands clasped behind his back. The thanes had
been snubbing him ever since Kynyr hanged Clennan and declared himself king.
With all the mutual animosity between them, Malthus felt certain that Kynyr
would either hang or banish him. His pawns and allies gone, Malthus felt the
itch of desperation climb his back. Only a single mon remained alive of the
guardsmyn that Malthus once drank and played cards with: Eamon Sumner. Better
a single small pawn than none at all.
He went to the liquor cabinet, took one of his mismatched glasses out, and
sketched a spell on it. The rune appeared, glittered for an instant and melted
into the crystal surface, vanishing.
He closed the cabinet and turned as a knock on the door preceded Eamon's
arrival. Malthus gestured at a chair by the low table.
Eamon settled uneasily into his chair. “You sent for me. What do you want?"
"Conversation. Would you care for a drink?” Malthus opened the liquor cabinet,
took out the pair of mismatched glasses, and a bottle of wine.
"No, thank you.” Eamon lowered his eyes.
"You never had any trouble drinking with me at the Striped Dog. Why now?”
Malthus poured two glasses and settled across the table from Eamon.
"My being here doesn't look right."
"Let me worry about that. Do you still believe my sons should inherit?"
Eamon shrugged. “Don't matter what I think. Kynyr is king."

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"True.” Malthus pushed the spelled glass toward him. “Drink. It's very fine
wine."
"I'd rather not."
Malthus lunged for Eamon's mind, only to be forced aside. His eyes narrowed,
and he noticed the edge of a chain around the lycan's neck. “What's that
you're wearing?"
"This?” Eamon grasped the chain and pulled it out. An eye carved from rowan
hung upon it. “Had the priest bless it. All this talk of vampires has me
nervous."
"I can imagine.” Malthus extended his hand. “Can I have a look at it?"
"No.” Eamon dropped the charm down his shirt again.
"You killed Lon Anglesey and wounded William Galloway."
"I was only obeying orders. That's all.” Eamon pressed his hands together and
stared at them.
"I need your help. My sons need your help."
Eamon shoved himself off the chair. “I'm not playing that game anymore."
Then he plunged from the room as if a devil rode his heels.
* * * *
Berneen Hamilton huddled on the sofa in the parlor of Clennan's suite. At
first she had been glad that he was dead. Then Reist came and took away the
servants. Terrified that they were coming for her next, she had been afraid to
sleep; afraid to emerge; afraid to run; afraid to be seen. Terror had
immobilized her with indecision.
The door opened and Jocelyn came in. Berneen had left it unlocked, because
locking it did not matter—the soldiers would only knock it apart otherwise.
"Hello, Berneen.” Jocelyn had a quaver in her voice. “I see they didn't arrest
you either."
"Jocelyn.” She acknowledged her in a dull voice, blinking at her through a fog
of weariness.
"No one will talk to me. You'll talk to me, won't you?"
"Why should I talk to you?” Berneen shifted listlessly on the sofa, refusing
to look at Jocelyn.
"You loved my grandfather.” Doubt flickered in Jocelyn's eyes. “You were his
last mistress."
Berneen glanced at Jocelyn with a flash of temper. “I hated him. I'm glad he's
dead."
Jocelyn recoiled in dismay, recovered in an instant, and slapped Berneen's
face. “Slut. Stupid filthy slut."
Berneen snarled and haired over, barring her fangs at Jocelyn. “Don't go
calling me a slut. You're no better than I am. Vertram's got a wife. You're
just his whore."
"I'm a Doherty!"
Jocelyn slapped her again and this time Berneen went for her, grabbing her
hair and yanking her head around.
With a yelp, Jocelyn shoved Berneen off the sofa; however, Berneen refused to
let go of Jocelyn's hair and they both tumbled to the floor.
Jocelyn landed atop Berneen, trying to pry her opponent's hand from her hair,
and slapping her with the other. Berneen's hand changed to claws and she raked
Jocelyn's face. Jocelyn shrieked, twisted away from Berneen, and scrambled for
the door, leaving Berneen with a fistful of hair.
Berneen gained her knees and lunged, catching the sash of Jocelyn's robe. She
jerked Jocelyn off her feet, straddled her, tangled her fingers in Jocelyn's
hair, and began banging her head against the carpets. “I hated him! I hated
him. And I hate you too."
Jocelyn tried to crawl forward, but Berneen held on tight. Caterwauling at the
top of her lungs, Jocelyn seized the edge of the sofa, but only succeeded in
overturning it.
The door opened.
"Excuse me, ladies. If this is a private conversation, I'll be glad to leave
you to it."

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Berneen released Jocelyn and clambered off her shame-faced. “No, Lyncoln, I-we
... uhm."
"I've always enjoyed watching a pair of bitches rolling around on the floor—or
the bed for that matter—having a good time."
Jocelyn got to her feet and headed for the door only to find her way blocked
by Regina.
"What's going on?” Regina frowned, running her gaze from the bleeding
scratches on Jocelyn's face, to Berneen's blush, and Lyncoln's bemused smile.
“What are you doing here, Lyncoln?"
"Rescuing Jocelyn from Berneen, I think.” He chuckled. “I was walking by and
heard the screaming, so I poked my nose in."
"That carpenter's castoff started it.” Jocelyn shot Lyncoln a venomous glare.
“And I didn't need your help. I was winning."
"Oh?” Lyncoln raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that why you were on the bottom
getting your head banged against the floor?"
"No one whips the Dohertys.” She fled past Regina and out the door.
"What started it, Berneen?” Regina fixed Berneen in place with a stern glance.
"I did, I guess. I told her how much I hated Clennan and she started slapping
me.” She swayed and started to crumble.
Lyncoln caught her before she could fall, swept her up in his arms, and
cradled her. He studied her face. “When's the last time you ate?"
"Yesterday morning.” Berneen lost the battle with her emotions, and broke into
sobbing. “I've been afraid to go out and no one's come to check on me. The
servants are all gone."
"No one is going to hurt you, Berneen.” Regina brushed Berneen's hair back
from her face. “The king has ordered that none of the bitches will be harmed.
But I must move you to another room."
"My things."
"I'll have them brought to you."
"If her room is ready, then lead on Reggie.” Lyncoln settled Berneen in his
arms better and followed Regina through the manor.
They passed Kissie in the hallway, and Regina gestured her over. “Bring
Berneen some breakfast to the Ivy Suite. She'll be staying there from now on."
The Ivy Suite was small and cozy, just three rooms, a parlor, a private study,
and a bedroom.
Lyncoln laid Berneen on the sofa and moved a small table close to it so that
she could eat comfortably when the food arrived. He pulled a chair up and sat
across from her, employing the table as a reassuring wall of distance. Lyncoln
hoped that would lessen any feelings of panic Berneen might experience on
being alone with a male.
"Now, my flower, tell me what has you in such a tizzy. I'll fix it if I can. I
may be a nutter, but I assure you I'm harmless.” Lyncoln chuckled, savoring
the word that Jocelyn had become so fixated upon.
"I was Clennan's mistress. They executed him."
"Well, he was a traitor. That doesn't reflect prettily on you, but King Kynyr
is an understanding sort. I doubt you have aught to fear on that account."
Berneen swallowed, lowered her eyes, and said in a very small voice. “I'm
pregnant."
"Clennan liked to brag about that; about how his withered twig still had some
life in it. I had never had the pleasure. Terry was barren."
"A mistress?"
"Never wanted one. Terry ... well, Terry was unique.” Lyncoln pulled back from
his memories. He was having one of his bad days, when all he could think about
was his late wife. Any and all sources of distraction were appreciated, and he
had been hunting them from the moment he awakened. “Tell me, is it really
Clennan's? Is that the problem?"
"The Readers said it was."
"I'm not asking what they said. Clennan's proclivities were not as hidden as
you might believe. Servants talk. And they talk to harmless nutters rather
freely.” Lyncoln's expression turned smug. “If I ever told myn what I know

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about the thanes, half of them would be hanging themselves tomorrow out of
shame and humiliation."
Berneen giggled, caught at the edge of hysteria. “Faerwald. I think it's
Faerwald's."
"I assure you, Berneen. No one is going to hurt you.” Lyncoln patted her hand.
“Must be tough having the wrong dog's bun in your oven. Comes out either burnt
or tasting bad."
Berneen giggled again.
"You don't have to keep it, my dear. No one would blame you for ridding
yourself of it. A trip to the midwife would cure what ails you."
"But Mary's a Sinclair.” The edge returned to Berneen's voice. “She'd never
help me."
"Mary Sinclair would never turn away a bitch in your kind of trouble. Besides,
I'd pester her until she did and she knows it."
"Pester her?"
"I'm very good at pestering, if you haven't noticed."
Kissie arrived with a tray of tea, hot scones, clotted cream, and strawberry
jam.
"Kissie, would you have Georgie Rogan hitch up a wagon?"
"Yes, Master Lyncoln."
He waited until she left, and smiled at Berneen. “Eat first. Then I'll drive
you over and pester her into a mouse hole if I must."
Reist's myn had already begun searching Clennan's suite for incriminating
evidence. Lyncoln prevailed upon them to allow Berneen her clothing. Once he
had got them both dressed to deal with the chill weather, he drove Berneen to
the Maguire home. The butler, Henry Butterum, let them inside and they stood
in the foyer.
Berneen's tightly laced fingers twisted, fighting an attack of nerves.
Lyncoln gave her a sympathetic look, and lunged into the fray on her behalf.
“We've come to offer our condolences to the family. Lady Hamilton needs to
speak with Mary on a private matter first. If you'll just show us to her, good
mon, we can be about the rest of our business."
Henry eyed Berneen with open disdain and a shade of dubiousness. “The family
would appreciate it if you came another day."
"You know how these things are, don't you?” Lyncoln grabbed Berneen's arm,
hooked it through his, and strolled past Henry. “I seem to remember they like
to sit in the kitchen..."
"Master Lyncoln..."
"Oh, no problem, Henry. We can find our way. Don't let us keep you from your
tasks."
"Master Lyncoln..."
Henry trailed them halfway to the kitchen and gave up.
A tiny smile brushed the corners of Berneen's lips, and she struggled not to
look at Lyncoln.
Sitting alone at the long kitchen table, Mary Sinclair stared into a cup of
mulled wine. She raised her eyes to Lyncoln and then swept her gaze across
Berneen, a wary light entering their depths. “Why have you brought her,
Lyncoln? If Cahira sees her, you'll be able to hear the screams a mile off."
Berneen cowered against Lyncoln, tears starting from her eyes.
Lyncoln put his arm around her, and held her close. “Well, you see, Mary. She
got into a bit of a scrap with Jocelyn. When I found her, Berneen was
astraddle of Joc, banging her head against the floor."
"Why?” Mary's face filled with incredulity.
"Berneen hated Clennan. He destroyed her father's business so that Berneen had
no place to go and could not leave him."
"That's terrible."
"Oh, it gets worse, Mary. It gets much worse. Can we sit down?"
Mary gestured at the table, studying Berneen's face as if seeing her for the
first time. “Would you like a glass of wine, Berneen?"
"I think something stronger is called for, Mary. Would you have whiskey or gin

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about?"
"That cabinet over there, Lyncoln. That's where Todd keeps it.” Mary's face
crumpled into a freshet of tears as she corrected herself. “That's where he
kept it."
Lyncoln got Berneen settled into a chair, and fetched the whiskey along with
three glasses. “I think you could use a shot of this yourself, Mary. Todd was
a fine mon and we all miss him. Clennan was a dastard of the darkest waters,
but we're only beginning to discover many of the details. Like what he did to
Berneen.” Lyncoln placed a glass of whiskey in Berneen's hand, closed her
fingers around it, and then squeezed her shoulder. “Drink it down and then
tell her about it."
Mary pulled herself together, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief. “Tell me,
please?"
Berneen's lips trembled. She struggled to frame her words without a sob
catching in her throat. “The Heatherford healers said it was Clennan's.
However, he used to have Faerwald and Lairgan mount me while he watched. They
would tie me up and beat me first."
Lyncoln refilled her glass, and spilled whiskey on the table as Berneen
unlaced her bodice and pulled it down. Long scars that could only have been
made by silver crisscrossed her breasts. “Ungodly foul sodomite. Filthy piece
of regurgitated goat-shite.” Lyncoln continued to curse in colorful, inventive
language for several breaths.
Mary moved to Berneen's side, hugged her, and pulled her bodice up. “Let's
take this to my office where I see patients."
Lyncoln tucked the bottle under his arm, gathered the glasses, and followed
after them. Mary walked with a protective arm around Berneen.
Myn paused to stare, but no one tried to stop them until they turned the
corner. Russa stood talking to Trevor in the hallway. He wore a bandage around
his head where he had taken a long shallow gash during the fighting around the
scaffolds.
Russa stopped talking and intercepted them glaring. “What's she doing here?"
Mary gave her a quelling look. “Clennan abused her. There's silver scars all
over her. Help me get her to my office."
"Oh, my gods, what a beastly mon he was.” Russa went from outraged to shocked.
“Don't you worry, Berneen. You're safe now."
Together, Russa and Mary rallied their family around Berneen as they proceeded
through the hallways. Phoebe joined them.
"What's going on?” Trevor fell into step beside Lyncoln.
Lyncoln rotated his neck as if he had a crick in it. “I hate having to repeat
this, Trevor. Kindly share it with those who need to know, will you? Berneen
was held against her will by Clennan. He destroyed her family's livelihood,
and abused her. She's been living in terror for months, and now she's ready to
collapse."
Trevor's eyes went distant and considering. “I'll get the word around so folks
don't keep asking."
Mary's office had a desk, chairs, and sofas on the left and a folding screen
and examination table on the other.
"Sit down over there, Lyncoln.” Mary pointed at the chairs as Russa extended
the screen.
"No.” Berneen clutched at him. “Don't leave me."
"I'll be back presently. Don't you worry.” Lyncoln gestured for Mary to step
outside with him. “She is in very bad shape. Been on the edge of hysteria ever
since I found her. Hadn't eaten since yesterday morning."
"I understand. Why has she come to me?"
"Tansy. I think it'd be better if you let her ask for it."
"How much liquor has she had?"
"Just the two in the kitchen."
Mary calculated for a moment. “I think it's safe to give her a quarter dose of
Narcantha. That will settle her."
When they returned, Russa and Phoebe had gotten Berneen out of her dress and

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into a comfortable robe. She lay on the table with the robe open. The lycans
had no nudity taboos; such things did not work well when a full change to wolf
required disrobing. Nonetheless there was a time and a place for such things;
and a time and a place where nudity felt inappropriate.
Seeing the massive scars on Berneen's young body sent a wave of discomfort
through Lyncoln as he recalled all the playful spankings he had given Terry,
which never left a lasting mark on her. She grabbed at him and he caught her
hand, holding it with gentle firmness. “It's alright, Berneen. They're going
to help you."
Mary swabbed Berneen's arm and injected her with the Narcantha. Russa and
Phoebe continued to pat, stroke, and murmur words of comfort to Berneen.
Berneen's eyes grew heavily lidded and she reclined against a pile of pillows
that supported her back. “I want a dose of tansy..."
"You'll need to stay here overnight. We'll take care of you. Won't we, Russa?"
"Of course we will.” Russa's voice carried a hard edge. “If he weren't already
dead, I'd go over and kill him myself. These scars are the worst thing I've
ever seen."
Tears crept into Phoebe's eyes. “Except for what they did to Grandfather."
Lyncoln remained quiet, feeling out of place before their grief. If Berneen
had not kept holding onto his hand, he would have slipped out the door. He
pitied her. He had never seen a bitch so broken and destroyed.
"Do you feel like telling me about it, now?” Mary asked, her healer's voice
filled with compassion.
"Yes.” Berneen's tongue felt thick and awkward in her mouth, making her slur
her words. “Tansy. But I've ... wondered for so many weeks ... so many
weeks..."
She started to drift and Mary brought her back with an encouraging question.
“What have you wondered?"
"Whose stick it was ... got me up.” Berneen giggled, deep in the hollows of
whiskey and Narcantha. “Curses in the night ... and bad language. Whose seed I
punished with death."
Mary searched the faces around her and the answer came from Russa, who was
unusually serious. “Closure, Mary. You can give her closure."
"How many were there?” Mary returned her attention to Berneen.
"Faerwald, Lairgan, and Clennan. Only those three rump stickers.” Berneen
released Lyncoln and placed her hand over her mouth to stifle another round of
giggles.
"Narcantha's odd stuff,” observed Lyncoln.
Mary nodded. “Especially mixed with whiskey."
"Can you do it for her? Give her peace of mind?"
"Probably. Sha has tissue samples from each of the three that I can use to
make the comparison."
Mary sent for the crystalled samples. Holding one in her hand, she grasped
Berneen's wrist and Read her. “It's not Clennan's."
One by one, she went through the three crystals. “It's Faerwald's."
A giddy smile lit Berneen's face. “A pox upon the silly blighter ... ding dong
all gone ... Faerwald is fairly walled in his coffin ... and his stick's in a
jar. His nastiness we'll flush from my barrel."
"And now the tansy?” Lyncoln stroked Berneen's hair. “Poor little flower."
A gesture from Mary sent Russa for it.
"We'll want to keep her here over night in case there's a problem. She's close
to three months. The farther into a pregnancy that you abort, the greater the
chance of complications."
"I understand."
Berneen smiled into the glass she held in her hand. “Thank you, Mary."
Berneen's legs were too wobbly to walk, so Mary put her in a wheel-chair and
left it for Russa and Phoebe to move Berneen into one of the many extra
bedrooms.
Lyncoln retrieved the whiskey and glasses before following Mary to a drawing
room on the third floor.

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He settled on the sofa, poured two glasses, and pushed one toward Mary.
“Nothing like whiskey to put the heart back in you."
Mary regarded the glass with trepidation. “I rarely drink anything stronger
than mulled wine."
"It's not a day for mulled wine. It's a day for something stronger. I only met
Todd a few times, but I liked the mon. Not everyday a legend dies. Especially
that way."
Mary sipped at the whiskey and grimaced at the glass. “That's awful."
Lyncoln turned the bottle around so that Mary could see the Dragonsbreath
label. “Hold your nose and down it goes. You'll feel better, I promise."
"Are you still looking for a wife?” Mary swallowed the rest of the whiskey in
her glass with a wry face, and changed the subject.
"As Regina put it, I've been fishing the wrong lakes. But yes. Or rather, my
Dad is hunting one for me. As a middle son, I have no inheritance coming.
Terry was a love match. This time around?” Lyncoln shrugged. “Money and
connections. Children are a commodity, even at my age. Dad wants an alliance
out of my next marriage. No for love about it. But maybe a bit of fun."
"How do you feel about it?"
Lyncoln poised the bottle over her glass and she covered it with her hand.
“Oh, come on, Mary. One more won't ruin your day."
Mary moved her hand and Lyncoln poured her a second drink. “You're trying to
get me drunk, Lyncoln Wescot."
"Well, yes, I am. You're all tied up in knots, you've got the bloody big
shiner, and I would bet good coin that you've not let yourself have a good cry
yet."
Mary gave him an uncertain but game smile. “You'd win the wager, Lyncoln."
"Yes, well...” Lyncoln flinched away from the flash of grief in Mary's eyes.
“Now, back to this wife hunt. I'm indifferent, really. There's no replacing
Terry. Still a dog is happiest when he's got a bitch to warm his bed and cheer
his nights. Are you certain there are no unmarried Sinclairs or Maguires
lurking about the premises?” He winked at her. “I would not mind fishing that
lake."
"You just missed them. The Dreaded Horde would see you more as a target than a
suitor anyways."
"Well, I'd rather be the bowmon than the deer. So I guess that's out.” Lyncoln
chuckled.
"No one strikes your fancy?"
Lyncoln stared into his fourth glass of whiskey. “I wouldn't call it fancy.
Whimsy, maybe. There's one I've daydreamed of bending over my knee and giving
her the paddling her father should have given her."
"Jocelyn?"
He chortled. “I'd tame that little trolleymog and teach her to laugh at my
jokes. Must laugh at my jokes, even when they're lame."
* * * *
Cooley sat with the letter from his mother on his lap. He had not opened it
yet. Nightmares had besieged his sleep. Silkie had been in all of his dreams;
a face twisted by inhuman appetites, fangs long and threatening. They all
ended with him dying; her fangs in his throat. Unable to shake himself free of
the lingering images and the taste of terror, Cooley shoved the letter behind
the cushions and walked away.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FUNERAL
They held Claw's funeral the day after solstice. Everyone in the village
gathered for it wearing black and stayed at a respectful distance from the
family—a distance enforced by Reist and his guardsmyn. The crowd opened as
Ossian approached, allowing him to walk into the cemetery. He had his right
arm strapped down. Sha had been reluctant to allow him out of bed, but his
brothers had promised to see that he did not become tired or worn. His
presence as senior lawgiver was expected at the funeral of a chieftain as a

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matter of form. It was rumored that Kynyr would issue a formal declaration of
war against Waejontor at the funeral.
The lawgiver had always wanted to see Wolffgard, their capital, but never
expected it to be under these circumstances. Ossian had fought at the Battle
of Three Stones where he had first met three of Pandeena's yuwenghau
companions, Lokynen Willidar the Battle Master, Meleajys Sun-Child, and
Hathura Waveskimmer.
The three Sinclair brothers stood with Kynyr and Kady at the graveside looking
as stalwart as a castle wall. Stone had stationed himself to Kynyr's right.
"Now there's one I would not wish to go against,” Ossian muttered.
Then he spied Malthus standing with his arms around Merissa who sobbed with
her face pressed into his shoulder. Ossian disliked that mon. There was
something about him that did not seem right. People had told Ossian that
Malthus treated his wife badly and that Merissa was afraid of her husband, but
no one would know it from the protective way that he held and comforted her.
Three children watched the scene from behind Malthus. Ossian recognized two of
them as Malthus’ nieces and the other as Merissa's sa'necari bastard son. The
girls looked blasé about everything, while the boy was in tears. Ossian could
understand the tears, as he had been told more than once that Darmyk had been
close to his grandfather. The girls were an enigma to him. If Malthus had
intended harm to the realm, why had he not come alone? Enigmas were all around
him and as lawgiver, people expected Ossian to decipher them. He had been
there for weeks and barely scratched the surface of it all.
Ossian glanced at the thanes and their bitches. They appeared oddly subdued
compared to how they had been at Aisha's funeral. He had left early from that
one, and all he had of it were mostly secondhand accounts of what transpired
there.
He supposed that their mood reflected more their reaction to all the bad news
that had been laid on them the day that Kynyr made himself king, than actual
grief at the loss of a chieftain whom many of them had been at odds with. As a
matter of habit, Ossian counted the thanes to see if any were missing. There
were sixteen of them. The only one missing was Clennan. By right, Kynyr could
seize Heatherford since Clennan's murder of Todd and the subsequent attack
upon the lawgivers constituted treason. Ossian found himself wondering if
Kynyr would take the fief from Clennan's heirs.
A flash of orange distracted Ossian from his speculation and he watched that
tiger-striped cat, which Darmyk had named Kerry, maneuver through the crowds,
nearly getting stepped on several times. Once in the clear, the cat bolted
over to Tarrant Redhand's gravestone and sat with a watchful poise.
"Odd creature."
"What did you say?” Waid's intense blue eyes studied his brother. “Are you
tired? There's some benches in the back for those who need to rest."
Ossian shook his head. “I was wondering about the cat. There's something
strange about him."
"Looks like just a cat to me,” Ultan scoffed.
"Maybe."
Pandeena moved to the graveside and the service began.
* * * *
Malthus stood with his arm around Merissa, who sobbed against his shoulder. He
stroked her hair and patted her back. He schooled his face into an expression
of concern, glancing surreptitiously about. His neck itched when he saw
Ossian, remembering the day that the lawgiver had dropped that noose around
his neck as a threat. That thrice-damned lawgiver was out to get him.
The debacle at the Sanctuary had made Malthus reluctant to go there again.
Ossian had been sniffing around the refugee camp ever since Faerwald and
Lairgan made hash of the rowdies who frequented the women there.
With the death of Clennan, Malthus had run out of cat's paws unless he could
bring Bella to heel. However, there was nothing he could really use her for at
that point, so it scarcely seemed worth the effort.
Kerry hissed at Malthus in passing, startling him out of his thoughts. Malthus

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wondered who had let the beast out. That cat had a talent for escaping the
closets that Malthus locked it in. He had left poisoned food out for the cat
several times, but although the food was always gone, the cat remained
healthy. Malthus could not put his finger on why the cat bothered him so much,
only that his gut instinct said there was something uncanny about the
creature.
Pandeena's voice, ending the first part of the service and initiating the
eulogies, distracted Malthus again. The bitch priest conducted the funeral as
if she owned the manor. Malthus concealed his anger behind a mask of sorrow,
determined to put on the proper show for the villagers as the concerned
husband who had loved his father-in-law.
Stone stepped up to give the first eulogy. He made Malthus nervous.
It's time to look for an escape route. But I'm not leaving without Merissa, my
sons, my nieces, and that little bastard, Darmyk.
* * * *
Kynyr stepped forward, straight and strong, a fistful of dirt in his hands.
"Eighty years ago, my great grandfather, Claw Redhand, fought a war with the
Waejontori. We lost. Twenty years ago, Claw negotiated with the Sharani, who
had conquered this realm, for the autonomy of the lycan clans. Because of my
grandfather, we have known thirty years of peace. He might not have been a
great ruler, but he was a good one, a strong one, and a fair one.
"I came here six years ago to protect my family, the Redhands. In that I
failed. However, I got to know my grandfather, which had been a dream of mine
since childhood. I knew him as an irascible fellow. When I was wounded last
summer in an ambush, my ancestry became known to him. Duty is where you find
it. I found it the day that he gave me Tarrant's ring and informed me that I
was his heir. The outpouring of love from him filled my heart with joy. I miss
him."
"The bastard speaks well,” Vertram muttered to Jocelyn.
"Pretty words do not a king make.” Jocelyn tilted her head to a sullen angle.
“It's a shame that Faerwald failed to kill him."
"Those are treasonous words, Jocelyn. This is not the place to speak them."
"Are you afraid of him, Vertram?"
"No. I don't think I need to be."
"My uncles will tear him apart."
"Are you out of your mind, Jocelyn? We need a warrior-king. Once the snows
melt, Hoon will be ravaging our realm no matter who is on the throne."
"My uncles would do it better."
"Shut up, Jocelyn."
Kynyr cast the dirt he held into the grave and moved away from it, signaling
that the eulogies were finished. The line began to move forward, each person
tossing a handful of dirt over Claw's coffin.
Once the family had done their parts, the thanes and elders followed and the
villagers were allowed in a few at a time to send a handful of dirt over the
coffin. Those who were too far back in line to get there before the coffin had
been completely covered, laid sprigs of mistletoe, wreaths and pine boughs
over the grave until it was so thickly covered that Claw's headstone
disappeared beneath their offerings. Children laid pinecone dollies and cloth
dolls amidst the other offerings so that Claw would not be alone in his grave,
but have servants in the afterlife.
Merissa started toward the house as the funeral ended. “Where's Darmyk and
Ros?"
Malthus scanned the grounds and failed to spot them. “I'll go look for them."
Ossian interposed himself between Malthus and the barn. “If you cross the
Bonnie Draw, I will have you executed."
"Both children have already been attacked by vampires once and barely
survived. The creature could be out there now. I'm not going to sit on my
hands when they might be in danger."
Ossian's mouth twisted up. “Go on. I'll get more people looking."
Malthus went to the barn, saddled Devilton, and rode out into the night. Once

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alone, Malthus summoned his blades from the globe he wore around his neck, and
threw a low-level scan toward the trees at the edge of the forest. Ros had to
have taken Darmyk. He cursed silently. The boy was his to kill, not Ros', and
he would punish her if she had killed him. A lingering aura of both Darmyk and
Ros drew him deeper into the forest.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
REMATCH
Darmyk tried to look brave, standing beside his weeping mother, but could not
repress his sniffles. He heard a noise, glanced, and wished he had not. Ros
smiled at him. “It's your turn,” she whispered in his ear and snared his mind.
The boy shuddered with fear, but could not resist her. Her coercions were in
too deeply.
Ros extended her hand and Darmyk placed his into it. She led him through the
crowd and into the forest. They walked deeper into the trees than Darmyk had
ever been before, down among the slumbering stalks of the sweet pepper bushes
along a nameless stream that fed into the Bonnie Draw River.
She pointed at the ground. “Lie down."
Darmyk knew what was expected of him, and did not have the strength to resist.
He had felt sick and weak all day. The cub lay down on the cold earth and
opened his robe obediently. He remembered Ros telling them that she would kill
him as soon as his grandfather died. “I'm going to die now?"
"Yes."
Tears ran from his eyes, but he could not will himself to move.
Ros covered Darmyk with her body and bit him savagely. She sucked his neck,
hauling his blood out in huge pulls. Darmyk blacked out and went very still.
Ros drank faster. She sensed his heart fluttering and knew it could not be
much longer before she killed him. A large cat's savage yowl of rage made Ros
look up. Her eyes saucered.
In tiger form, Kerry came at Ros snarling. One swipe of his big paw sent her
sprawling with her back torn open. She scrambled to her feet and fled deeper
into the forest, moving as fast as her damaged leg allowed her.
Kerry let her go, more worried about Darmyk than about catching her. He licked
the wound in Darmyk's neck closed, changed into a mon, and carried Darmyk
away, heading for the Lawgiver House where the assembled yuwenghau could
protect him.
A slender form loomed out of the gathering winter mist. “Hand him over."
Kerry stopped in his tracks. “Get out of my way."
"I don't think so.” Zinzi's secondary nails slid from beneath her primaries,
dripping venom. “Lord Hoon wants the boy."
"Lemyari."
Kerry squatted and lay Darmyk on the ground. Before he could rise and change,
Zinzi sprang onto him, sinking five nails into his right arm. Kerry's eyes
bulged, he made a hiccupping sound, and convulsed. Zinzi scooped Darmyk up and
ran off into the night with him.
* * * *
Kynyr rode his big warhorse, Bucky, deeper into the woods. Several of his
guardsmyn had changed into wolves and ran ahead of him like hunting dogs
trying to pick up the children's scent. Trevor and Queran rode with him.
Jordan had gone off on foot alone.
He did not like Ros, but neither could he abide the thought of something
happening to a child.
"You think they just wandered off?” Trevor scanned the forest as they rode.
"I don't know what to think. I can't imagine someone snatching them. There
were too many guards around."
"According to Audra Brawleigh, Silkie says that Hoon intends to snatch Cooley,
Darmyk, and Merissa."
"Darmyk is wilderkin. If something went after him in the forest, he could call
the animals."
"Maybe. Maybe not."

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"What do you mean?"
"The vampire bit him before, right?"
"Yes. Pandeena warded his room and his treehouse afterward."
"Then the vampire can call him out if he were exposed ... Like he was at the
funeral."
Kynyr felt a rush of guilt and anger. “I would never have allowed him there
had I thought."
"Let's just hope we find him in time."
* * * *
In her mad flight to escape the tiger, Ros lost her way among the dense trees.
She floundered among the roots near the Bonnie Draw River, falling to her
knees.
"Hello, Ros,” said a familiar voice that Ros had not heard in a long time.
Ros lifted her head and went cold with terror when she saw Sergei. “What do
you want?"
"Is that any way to speak to someone who loves you?” The vampire squatted down
beside her.
Fear raced through Ros. She wanted to scream, but if she did they would find
Darmyk. “You don't love me."
Sergei gripped Ros’ shoulder hard, and shoved his other hand into her
underpants to finger her vagina. “I see you like little boys as much as I like
little girls."
Ros squirmed and struck out at him with her power. Sergei turned it with a
disparaging laugh, and enveloped her in thick cords of scarlet force. Ros
thrashed as he shoved her onto her back and tore her clothes away. Sergei
jerked her legs open savagely, dislocating her hips and Ros screamed. The
vampire stuffed a wad of her clothing into her mouth and then stroked her
throat to mute her voice. He thrust his cock into her immature womanhood. Ros’
eyes teared up as he continued to shove at her, ripping her inside. He came
quickly; his milk filled her to overflowing and leaked out as he pulled his
cock from her body.
"You'll make such a pretty corpse and your uncle will weep. He should not have
threatened me."
Sergei brought forth his secondary nails, detected the artery in her arm, and
plunged them home. Ros sobbed as the burning venom flooded her blood stream.
He exhausted the contents of five sacs and then yanked his claws out. Ros
stilled beneath him, eyes glazed, barely breathing, yet completely aware of
everything that Sergei was doing to her. She coughed blood and a crimson
stream ran from the corner of her mouth. Sergei licked it off. He flipped her
on her stomach and raped her anally as well. Finally, he gathered Ros in his
arms, sank his fangs into her throat and began sucking. Reading her body as
she died satisfied Sergei immensely. Ros turned pasty white and then blue. Her
heart faltered and stopped. Her chest no longer moved.
"We must make you presentable for your uncle, my dear.” Sergei addressed the
small corpse.
Sergei walked deeper into the forest toward the refugee camp and Malthus’ old
cottage carrying Ros.
* * * *
A bat fluttered around his head. Malthus extended his necromantic senses
toward it and detected that it was undead. “Zinzi?"
The bat flew into the trees.
Malthus dismounted, tied his horse, and walked into the copse. The Lemyari
standing there was male and the very last person Malthus wanted to see.
Sergei tossed the pouch to him. “They're all for you this time."
Malthus caught the pouch and threw it aside, scowling. “I don't have your
payment with me. I wasn't expecting you."
Sergei smiled thinly. “I've already gotten my payment. She was delicious."
"Ros.... “Malthus’ stomach clenched and then rage burned away the rest of his
emotions.
Sergei laughed.

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Malthus threw his strongest spell of undeath denial at Sergei to rip the
undead soul out of him. Sergei threw up a shield and turned it. With a
dismissive gesture, the vampire tossed a handful of fiery darts at Malthus.
The sa'necari ducked, hit the ground, and rolled. Tossing a death web at
Sergei's ankles, Malthus rose to his knees, drew his blades, and slashed
Sergei's legs.
Sergei staggered back cursing, and flicked his fingers with a word of command,
striking Malthus with darts of dark energy.
Malthus screamed in pain and lunged upward, driving both blades into Sergei's
belly with a ripping twist. Sergei clutched his spilling entrails, the arcane
acid on Malthus’ blades eating his flesh, and fled. Malthus sank to the
ground, writhing, and breathing hard, certain that Sergei had killed him.
"Malthus?"
He glanced up at the sound of a shaky voice and saw Oswyl Beggins looking down
at him. The last time that he had seen Oswyl, the mon had been fleeing into
the woods insane.
"Are you all right?"
"No. Help me up.” Malthus extended his hands.
Oswyl knelt and grasped Malthus’ arms.
Malthus jerked Oswyl down and sank his fangs into the lycan's throat. Oswyl
gasped and struggled, but Malthus wrapped his arms around him, imprisoning the
lycan in a grip like steel. Malthus’ pain retreated as he drank the warm, rich
blood. Oswyl's thrashing slowed. His skin turned clammy. Malthus sucked
harder, trying to get every single bit of the healing juice. The lycan went
limp across him and still Malthus drank. Oswyl became a gray, withered husk.
Malthus wiped his mouth on Oswyl's robe and pushed the corpse to the side. He
stood, dismissed his blades, and headed back for the manor, hoping that
someone had found the children.
Malthus saw guards searching the grounds and Merissa in tears.
"Are they still missing?” Malthus demanded.
"Yes.” Merissa grabbed at him and he set her aside.
Malthus’ chest tightened and his stomach soured. Darmyk was no loss, but
Malthus loved Ros. “Get everyone looking,” Malthus ordered. “Get the villagers
to help. The more searchers there are, the more likely we are to find them."
* * * *
Despite his overwhelming similarities to his father in both temperament and
appearance, Jordan Sinclair was not without inheritances from his mother. He
had a sensitivity to the presence of magic. He could see the patterns of magic
when a spell was cast, smell the places it had been, and taste its nature in
the back of his throat.
He came upon an area of ground where the snow had been churned into mud by
fighting. A blood trail led off to his left; someone had run off wounded.
Jordan circled around the edges, trying not to disturb whatever signs might
remain and glimpsed a mon sprawled upon the ground. Jordan moved nearer. The
grayed flesh and shrunken appearance made it clear the mon was a corpse.
Circling back, he found the blood trail again. Two had fought here. One died
and the other fled.
Jordan knelt, scooped up a handful of blood-flecked snow, and sniffed it.
Vampire. Lemyari, if I'm not mistaken.
He pulled his right axe, shifting into his transitional form as he moved into
a thicket of evergreens. It seemed too quiet. There should have been winter
birds in the trees.
Unless the beast is still close.
He drew the left axe. Scattered footprints appeared along the trail of blood;
the right deeper and the left more shallow, indicating that the creature was
limping. Jordan knelt again, sank an axe in the snow, and scooped another
splotch of bloody snow into his hand and sniffed.
Minutes old. Wound seems to be bleeding out faster than the damn thing can
heal it. Why?
His ears, now pointed and hairy, twitched at a noise behind him. The snow

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scattered from his hand as he snatched up the axe, dodged to the side, and
spun about to face the direction of the sound.
Sergei came leaping out of a tree, entrails bulging through the tears in his
belly, and landed on damaged legs that buckled beneath him. His face had a
greenish tinge from the effects of the acids and poisons on Malthus’ blades.
He lunged at Jordan with the unthinking precipitousness of the dying;
desperate to glut himself on lycan blood for a chance at healing.
Jordan cross-stepped, avoiding Sergei's rush, and brought the kendaryl axe
smartly down on the vampire's left shoulder, shattering the upper edge of the
shoulder blade, and severing the arm. Sergei twisted, shrieking, and sank his
claws into Jordan's forearm. The Bane Shepherd chopped that arm off and
backhanded the axe into Sergei's neck, beheading him.
The expected burn of Lemyari venom did not come. Jordan dropped the axe on the
ground, and pried the claw from his arm. He squeezed the fingers of it and
nothing came out of the venom sacs.
"Used it up on someone already, did you?"
He cut lengths of cloth from Sergei's clothing and used them to tie the
severed pieces of the vampire together, making a bundle of him. Then Jordan
cleaned his axes, shouldered Sergei's remains, and headed toward the manor.
* * * *
As dusk arrived, Ossian and Ultan came to Malthus with long faces. “We found
her.” Ossian had a look of infinite sorrow. “I'm sorry."
"Where?” Malthus demanded, clutching at Ossian's arm.
"On that table in front of your old cottage. She's dead."
"Oh gods, noooo.” Malthus ran off with the two lycans following him.
Waid and Luciano were waiting at the cottage. The small body lay on the table,
covered by Ossian's cloak. Malthus lunged toward it. Waid grabbed him, holding
on tightly. “You don't want to see her."
"Ros. Ros!” Malthus screamed.
"There's pieces of her missing."
Malthus’ lips quivered, and his brow furrowed. “Let me go."
Ossian walked up. “Let him go. It's his right."
Waid released Malthus. He walked to the table, flicked back the cloak, and
shrieked in horror and grief. Ros was pasty white from being completely
drained; and there were bites all over her body. Her hips lay at an odd angle
as if they had been dislocated and Malthus could see the crust of semen on her
thighs and the tiny little vagina. The worst was that her chest had been
opened and her heart taken. Malthus dragged her into his arms and wept.
* * * *
Pandeena walked in a widening pattern through the forest. Bodi had all of his
animal friends looking, but it was still taking time. Word had reached them
that the little girl had been found dead, the victim of a vampire. She worried
that the vampire had also gotten Darmyk and they were searching for his dead
body.
As they neared the Bonnie Draw River, Pandeena spotted a nude mon writhing on
the ground in the grip of convulsions. When she got close, Pandeena recognized
the feline scent emanating from him. She did not recognize him in human form,
so Pandeena guessed that this had to be Kerry. Five necrotic punctures in his
arm spelled Lemyari attack. Just five years ago, the Lemyari were believed
extinct. Now, everyone knew otherwise. The vampires referred to as ‘royals’
were indeed the dreaded Lemyari of legend.
Kerry's eyes had a glistening half-mad look. “Help ... me. Lemyari venom. She
... took Darmyk. Oh gaaahds ... help me."
"There's an antivenin if we can get it into you fast enough.” Pandeena lifted
Kerry into her arms as if he weighed nothing and Jumped to the infirmary at
the Maguire Estate.
Sha started when Pandeena appeared out of thin air, and had her hand upon a
loaded crossbow. She was up in a flash, directing Pandeena to a bed, and
shouting to her assistants as soon as she saw the punctures.
"We've had a fifty percent survival rate with the oral antivenin. However...”

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Sha loaded a syringe. “We recently developed one for intravenous injection
that we hope will work faster and more effectively."
Sha talked as she worked, delivering the antivenin into Kerry's good arm.
Qaseem debrided the punctures; removing the necrotic flesh, and washing them
out with an astringent.
"Can't suture immediately,” Qaseem told them, applying some of the salve
Pandeena had brought them called Idyn Gold to the wounds. “Five day
observation for signs of further infection."
"Meanwhile, we treat the symptoms."
Myn were assigned to sit with Kerry and they settled in to wait out the night
with him. Sha returned to her desk to transcribe the memory stone she had used
to make notes about Kerry's condition. The little girl's remains had been
brought in an hour ago for Sha to issue a coroner's report on before releasing
them for burial. She and Toniqua had begun operating by Guild protocols in
dealing with questionable deaths; and assembling three independent statements
on each of them.
Jordan Sinclair sauntered in with Russa hanging on his arm, periodically
digging her heels in and attempting to drag the massive lycan along. He
refused to move at any faster pace than he wished to. She shook her finger in
his face. “You have to let them look at it, Uncle Jordy."
He gave her a dubious glance. “We're here. They can look. But I tell you,
there was no venom in his sacs."
Jordan came to a halt in front of Sha's desk and unshouldered the bundled
pieces of Sergei.
"What's that?” Sha came around from her desk and squatted beside the
bloodstained package.
"Vampire meat. My niece wants you to look at my arm."
"Lemyari?” Sha's initial reaction was fascination at the opportunity to
dissect the pieces, and then Jordan's second statement registered. “It stuck
you?"
"Ayup."
Russa pushed his sleeve up, revealing five punctures, but not a sign of
blackening flesh.
Sha ushered Jordan to a chair, and Read him. “No venom."
"I've already said that."
"Uncle Jordy!” Russa put her hands on her hips and gave him a rebuking look.
“Cooperate."
Jordan responded with a tolerant smile.
Pandeena came down the aisle of beds and poked at the bundle. “That's the one
killed the little girl. There were two. A male and a female, and the female
escaped with Darmyk."
"Damn."

CHAPTER NINETEEN
TRAITORS IN MY MIDST
Jordan Sinclair sat in a cozy second floor parlor sipping mead. A bitch pushed
Finn MacIver into the room in a wheel-chair with a plate of pastries on his
lap. Jordan stared at the chair.
Finn flushed and patted the chair arm. “It's temporary. Sha says my arms and
shoulders aren't healed enough to handle crutches."
"That's good to know, Finn. I heard about what happened to you. Torture's a
nasty business."
"Yeah.” Finn glanced away and then back, reticent to speak further of it.
“This is my wife, Darcy."
Jordan regarded her. She was pretty. The maimed ear simply added character in
Jordan's estimation. “I hear that you were my father's last student before he
died."
Darcy settled in at the table and took the plate of pastries from Finn's lap.
“Yes. He trained you too, didn't he?"
"To a point. When I was sixteen, he said we were too much alike and sent me to

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Creeya. I studied under Yukiah Woodbourne and later under Meileilyki in
Faewin."
"The Faery Queen?"
"Ayup. I was the first lycan to set foot on their island. They're insular
folk."
A look of awe settled into Darcy's eyes.
The sleeve of Jordan's shirt rode up, revealing the bandage on his arm. Darcy
pointed at it. “I didn't know you were hurt."
Jordan shrugged. “Nothing to speak off. That ornery healer of yours insisted
on cleaning and bandaging it. The one with the cornflower eyes."
"Sha?"
"Ayup, that one.” His eyes turned haunted. “I miss my father. I've been
meaning to come home for the past five years. But there was always one more
renegade to hunt down. One more monster to kill. Now, it's too late."
"Jordy, duty is where you find it. Todd understood.” Finn stroked his fingers
through Jordan's hair in a gesture of comfort.
"I hope so. I loved my father.” Jordan rubbed his hand across his face. “I
stopped coming home as much after I lost Bethany to one of those spring
fevers. I regret it. Always seems to kill more bitches and cubs than grown
dogs."
Finn bit into a pastry and chewed for several minutes before responding.
“Quinn doesn't talk much about his ma."
"Cherished things lost, Finn. Sometimes we hold them closest by not speaking
of them.” Jordan snagged a pastry. “Every mon handles grief in his own way.
Look at Queran. Every time I see him, he's got a block of wood in his hand
whittling.” Jordan shook himself loose from his memories and eyed Darcy again.
“So you're Lord General of Red Wolf."
"You got a problem with that?” Darcy bristled.
"None whatsoever. My father always said one day the bitches would come into
their own."
Darcy warmed with a smile. “Finn's right. You're a lot like him."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
* * * *
Reist slept lightly. The creak of the intervening door between his bedroom and
Regina's plunged him to full wakefulness and he grabbed his dagger from
beneath his pillow. Regina stood illumined by the candle she held. She wore a
dressing robe wrapped around her nightgown.
"What is it?” Reist laid the dagger on the nightstand.
"Three Stones, Gateshead, Whiteford, and now Anglecyn. I'm frightened. What if
we can't stop them?"
She sat the candle on the opposite nightstand, and climbed onto his bed. Her
robe opened slightly and Reist caught a glimpse of her fair breasts.
"We'll stop them, Reggie.” He pulled her robe closed. “If you wish to talk,
get dressed first."
She gripped his hands, removed them, and opened her robe, revealing herself to
him. “Comfort me. Make me forget for a little while."
"Are you certain? I made you a promise ... I wouldn't ask for my conjugal
rights."
"It's not you asking. It's me."
Reist drew her into his arms and kissed her, holding her in the corner of his
arm as his other hand explored her body. He chuckled as he disrobed her.
“You're so aggravating at times."
"You love it."
"I know.” His mouth covered her nipple and she moaned.
* * * *
Ever since finding Ros’ mutilated body, Malthus had felt sick inside,
vacillating between rage and sorrow. In the pit of his being it seemed as if
an eternity had passed since he first crossed the bridge into Red Wolf;
supremely confident in his ability to achieve his goals. Hoon had summoned the
best bounty hunters and mercenaries that the sa'necari had produced to take on

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a handful of dangerous missions. As best of the best, Malthus had been given
first choice of them. He had chosen the Red Wolf assignment for several
reasons. Among them, his half-brother, Troyes Iagaris, had vanished here
nearly five years ago. Also, he had a fetish for lycans; most of his lovers
had come from that race.
After reading reports on the realm, Malthus had decided to use his nieces as
his excuse for going there and staying. The two pretty little girls won him
the sympathy he needed from the lycan folk, who opened their doors and hearts
to them as refugees from the war in Waejontor. He had felt secure in his
ability to keep them safe. Now Ros was dead; and Lyrri had become so terrified
that she spent most of her time hiding, emerging only when he called out to
her.
He knew that Ossian was closing in on him. The lawgiver had ordered the
militia to patrol the roads leading out of Wolffgard, and doubled the
compliment of Bridge Watchers on duty. Ossian was waiting for Malthus to try
and make a break for it. He could not leave without Lyrri; he did not want to
leave without Merissa and his sons. However, if he had to abandon one to save
the other, he would leave behind his sons and Merissa. The lycans would not
harm them. Lyrri was another matter. She was sa'necari-born. If something
happened to him, there was every reason for him to believe the lycans would
kill Lyrri.
Malthus had to plan for eventualities; for getting himself and Lyrri safely
out of Wolffgard, if worse came to worst. He went down to Isbeth's room and
dropped the bar across the door. His arrival startled Isbeth. She sat nursing
her infant, seated in a chair by the cradle.
"What do you wish, Master Malthus?"
"Put the brat down and join me at the table."
If they took Waejonan's ring from his hand, Malthus would be revealed as
sa'necari. He had a theory, however, and was about to give it a try.
As Isbeth watched him, he took a knife out and began cutting around the finger
that wore the ring. Gritting his teeth, he opened a flap of skin and peeled it
back. He shoved the ring under the skin close to the knuckle to disguise its
presence, drew the flap over it, and gestured peremptorily at Isbeth.
She laid her child in his cradle and joined Malthus. He grasped her wrist,
sank his fangs into her, and sucked the blood out. His finger healed over the
ring. It looked like a calcium deposit from an old injury.
Now, if they stripped him of his rings, the lawgivers would not find that one.
* * * *
Kynyr stood in the center of the largest suite in the manor. He had never
suspected that anything this splendid existed there.
"This was Suleahan's. My Father's.” Stone ran his hand over the gold-leafed
arm of a sturdy chair. “This was his favorite chair."
"As king, this should be mine and Kady's."
"No. It should be yours alone."
"Why?"
"Let me show you."
Stone led Kynyr into the master bedroom of the suite, walked to a door on the
side, and gestured for Kynyr to enter. He found another bedroom.
"This is the main bedroom of the Queen's suite. It was my mother's. Or so I
thought."
"Sorcha was not your mother?"
Stone shook his head. “My mother was Ardala, daughter of Tala and Hadjys. My
father's lover. I was born two days before Fianait and delivered to my father
on the night that Fianait was born. Sorcha covered Suleahan's indiscretion by
saying she had borne twins."
"That was generous of her."
"She was kind and understanding. I'm told that her heart broke the night that
I was exiled. She died the following winter."
"Kynyr!” Darcy burst into the room, breathing hard. “Come home quick!"
"What's wrong?"

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"Kady's gone into labor."
"It's too early."
"Mary says the stress brought it on."
Kynyr followed Darcy into the hallway, gripped by a tense urgency to be with
his wife. Ahead of him, he spied the one person he had no desire to encounter.
Jocelyn stopped speaking with Vertram and stepped into his path. “So your slut
is going to lose your son. It serves you right. I hope they both die."
Kynyr stopped to avoid colliding with her. “You're lucky I don't hit bitches."
"Too bad. I will.” Darcy grinned and backhanded Jocelyn into a wall.
Jocelyn struck hard and crumpled, weeping.
Kynyr rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “If you don't mind...” He strode on.
Jocelyn glared at Darcy and then turned to Vertram. “Help me, Vertram,” she
whined. “Help me. She hurt me."
The thane of Chandler's Rock shrugged and made no move toward her. “I think
Darcy was within her rights."
"That's General MacIver to you, thane.” Darcy tucked her thumbs in her belt.
"General MacIver.” He gave her a polite bow.
"And don't forget it,” Stone added. “She killed Lairgan Yates in single
combat."
Silence settled over the watching crowd.
Vertram studied Darcy for a moment. “Impressive feat. No wonder you're the
general."
"It's what Todd trained me for.” Darcy loped off to overtake Kynyr.
* * * *
Kady sweated through contractions. She lay with her feet in the pair of crude
stirrups on what Qaseem called a birthing bed; another of the new inventions
to come out of Creeya since the discovery of the ancient library of
Louistrana. An assistant wiped her face with a cool damp cloth.
They had shaved her womanly parts and that made Kady feel all the more naked
and exposed.
Power kept flashing through her and over her in intermittent rainbow patterns.
The premature birth had triggered her talents. Kady had no control over it and
no idea what was happening to her. She struggled to ride it, but coupled with
the contractions it overwhelmed her senses. Kady whimpered as much in
confusion as pain.
Pandeena entered the room alongside Kynyr. She went to Kady and extended her
power through her. “Breathe deep, Kady. Enter rapport with me before you hurt
someone."
"Can I touch her?” Kynyr asked, watching Kady's eyes close.
"No.” Cahira came in and put her arm around him. “You might knock her out of
rapport."
"Gram...."
"No, come away with me, Kynyr."
Qaseem looked up at Mary. “We'll have to turn him. He's in the wrong
position."
"I'll get the obstetrical forceps.” Mary went to the cabinet.
Kynyr glanced back at them and then left with Cahira. He followed her to the
kitchen and settled into a chair, feeling sick and weary. “If I lose Kady..."
"You're not going to lose Kady.” Cahira stroked her grandson's head.
"Aghavie died in childbirth."
"Kady isn't Aghavie."
Kynyr glanced around him. He had never seen the kitchen this empty before.
“Where is everyone?"
"My sons are sitting with their father. I'm sitting with you.” Cahira went to
a cabinet and returned with a bottle of whiskey and cups. She rarely drank
hard liquor, but it seemed a good night for it.
Kynyr accepted the cup gratefully, his eyes going distant with brooding.
“Being king isn't going to be easy."
"What makes you say that?"
"Thinking about the Dohertys. I had a confrontation with Jocelyn on my way

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over. Darcy knocked her into a wall."
"What did she say?"
"That she hoped Kady and Fergus died. She's getting on my nerves, Gram.” Kynyr
took another sip from his cup. “And I don't know what to do about it."
"Marry her off to someone unimportant. You're king. Issue a royal decree and
get rid of her."
"I can do that?"
"Yes, you can.” Cahira squeezed his arm. “When I first lost Todd, I wanted to
follow him. I've outlived both myn I loved. But you need me. A king needs an
advisor who knows what it is all about. So I'll stay until I'm so withered and
old I look like a misplaced twig."
Kynyr hugged his grandmother and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Gram. You've
always been there for me."
"I know.” She hugged him back. “Now about Jocelyn. Marry her off or toss her
into a meditative convent where she's never allowed out."
Cahira kept her grandson distracted while they waited for news of his son's
birth, filling his mind with all the things that a king could and could not
do. The time passed quickly.
Pandeena came in. “Kynyr, you have a son."
"And Kady?"
"She's fine too. Exhausted, but fine."
"Is Fergus healthy? I mean, coming so early?"
Pandeena laughed at Kynyr's concern. “He's as developed as a full term cub.
That's what all the power fluctuations were about. You have an amazing wife."
"Can I see them?"
"Yes, but I must warn you."
"Of what?"
"He's mage-born. It will be years before we know his full potentials, but he's
got the brightest aura I have ever seen in a newborn."
* * * *
The three brothers sat with Todd's body. Jordan had finally let go and wept.
Cooley crept in and crawled into a chair near Trevor. He wore a robe over his
pajamas. “Can I sit with you?"
Trevor stared at him. “What's wrong?"
"I keep having nightmares."
"About Todd?"
"No. Well, sort of. About my ma wanting to eat me ... and I try to find Todd
to protect me and he's not there anymore."
Jordan straightened in his seat and looked at Cooley. “Why would she want to
eat you?"
"Waller says she's a vampire now. And she sent me a letter."
"What did the letter say, Cooley?” Trevor asked.
"I'm afraid to read it."
Jordan came over and lifted Cooley into his arms. “Why don't you let me read
it first?"
Cooley snuggled against Jordan as he once had Todd. “If there's anything scary
in it, don't tell me."
"I won't."
They fetched the letter and returned to their seats in the drawing room.
Cooley watched apprehensively as Jordan opened the letter and began to read.
My Dear son, Cooley,
I ask your forgiveness for what I have done. I did it to gain vengeance for
your father. I loved Cullen with all my heart.
This is both a way of telling you I love you and to warn you of many dangers.
Lord Hoon has sent agents to kidnap you because you are a prince of Waejontor.
His agent in Wolffgard is named Malthus Estrobian. You must inform Kynyr
Maguire of that. Tell him also that should he attempt to liberate Anglecyn, I
will betray Lord Hoon to him.
Remember always that I love you.
Your loving mother,

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Silkanna Mircala de Waejonan.
"Damn it! Damn it! Where's Kynyr?” Jordan stood up, fire in his eyes and
barely controlled rage in his manner.
Cooley cowered in his chair. “Kady had her baby."
Trevor's brow furrowed. “She'll be in the infirmary most likely. Come on,
Cooley. Let's get you some tea and cookies."
Taking Cooley by the hand, Trevor led him out.
Jordan strode through the hallways at a rapid pace. The lateness of the hour
had emptied the corridors, so there was nothing to slow him down. He burst
into the infirmary, startling Qaseem who was sitting at his desk with his
weary head in his hands. “Where's Kynyr?"
Kynyr stepped around one of the folding screens. “Here. Come see my son."
"No time for that. We're betrayed."
The smile vanished from Kynyr's face. “By whom?"
"Malthus. He's an agent of Lord Hoon's.” Jordan brandished the letter in
Kynyr's face.
Kynyr took it from him and read it, his mouth tightening. “Come on. We've got
the bastard now."
"What do you intend to do?"
"Fetch Ossian. As Merissa's husband, he's a prince of the realm. A bit more
problematic about hanging him."
"I'd just gut him."
Kynyr shook his head. “I'd like to. However, I don't dare make a habit of
hanging myn without a trial. The thanes are spooked enough over what I did to
Clennan."
"I'll fetch Ossian,” Pandeena volunteered and they noticed her for the first
time.
Kynyr gave Pandeena a long considering look. “We might as well get all my
affairs in order at the same time. Fetch Ossian."
"I'll do it.” Pandeena vanished.
* * * *
Malthus sat in the parlor of the suite lost in contemplating his options; his
feet propped up on the low table, a glass of wine in his hand. Waejontor was
out of the question, with both the Sharani occupiers and Lord Hoon's people
hunting him. Shaurone held no haven for him. Creeya had been alerted to his
presence, and he felt certain that he would find the passes guarded against
him. His only option was to go east into the Iradrim Mountains and try to make
his way to Doronar. The dead of winter was no time to try crossing Red Wolf
with a little girl in tow; and he would not abandon Lyrri.
A loud knocking came at the outer door. Malthus frowned and answered it.
Ossian shoved the door open all the way, nearly hitting Malthus with it. His
brothers stood behind him with the three Sinclair brothers. They appeared well
prepared for a fight.
"What is this about?” Malthus demanded.
"In the name of the king, you are under arrest as a foreign agent and
provocateur."
Malthus stiffened. “I assume you do this on good evidence?"
"The evidence will come out in your trial."
"So be it.” Malthus did not resist as they bound his hands behind him and
hurried him from the manor. Now was not the time.
* * * *
Darmyk Redhand woke confused. His head ached, his sides felt tender, and his
belly had swollen hard. The last thing he remembered was Ros leading him into
the forest to kill him. A gentle hand stroked his face. His eyes focused and
he saw the young, dark-skinned mon sitting on the edge of his bed.
"I want my mama,” Darmyk moaned.
"Your mama's not here. I'm Silkie. I'm going to take care of you."
The name sounded familiar. He searched his memory and found it. “Cooley's
mama."
"Yes,” she said in a soothing tone. “I'm Cooley's mama."

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"Ros was gonna eat me. Malthus was going to kill me.” Darmyk blinked,
surprised at what had come out of his mouth. “I can say it."
"Yes, darling. You can say it.” Silkie continued to stroke him and smile. “I
don't know how much you understand, but all the nasty things are gone from
your head. Your Uncle Hoon got them out."
"My family breeds true.” Hoon leaned against the mantelpiece with a glass of
wine in his hand. “The consanguinity is obvious. He looks like the very son of
my brother. How Malthus could have thought to fool me with the other child is
beyond comprehension."
Darmyk shivered when he noticed Hoon. His words were strange and Darmyk could
not understand what he meant by them. “Are you my daddy?"
Hoon shook his head, drained his glass, and placed it on the mantelpiece
before crossing to the bed. “No. I am your uncle. Your great, great, many
times great uncle. I am Hoon."
"I'm gonna die."
Anger flashed in Hoon's eyes. “No, you are not. Silkanna, give him a glass of
Sanguine Rose and see that he drinks it all. From here on, my nephew must
drink a glass of it each day first thing in the morning, with all meals, and
before he goes to bed at night."
Silkie favored Hoon with a smile and obeyed.

CHAPTER TWENTY
THE SONS OF CLENNAN DOHERTY
Discounting the bastards of his youth, Clennan Doherty had had seven sons.
Tremayne, Selyv, and Isgynan by his first wife; Belgair and Mael by his
second; Cynfor and Gusk by his third.
The Audience Chamber had been rearranged for the meeting. Three trestle tables
had been turned to directly face the throne and there sat the six surviving
sons of Clennan Doherty. The others had been removed and replaced by rows of
benches. The families were segregated upon the benches according to which son
they belonged to. Jocelyn Doherty, youngest daughter of Tremayne, sat with her
family. Fear and uncertainty showed on all their faces. Kynyr sat with
Ladyfaith unsheathed across his knees, one hand upon the hilt. He scanned the
faces of their families, noted the large number of small children, and hoped
that he would not soon be hanging their fathers.
The rest of the thanes had been assembled and given a row of tables on either
side of the throne where they could observe the proceedings.
Guards lined the walls, stood in the aisles, and fanned out to each side of
the throne. Major changes were in the wind and everyone knew it. Some ranks
and stations were being restored and others set aside. Stone's people had been
busily going through the storage rooms, looking for things that he remembered
from his father's days. Jordan Sinclair, sitting on the dais one step below
the throne, now wore the ring and badge of King's champion—a post that Claw
had abolished after the Rebellion failed. Trevor was present as Captain of the
Guard, whose sorely depleted ranks were being filled through recruitments
among the younger myn of the Wolffgard Volunteer Militia.
The post of seneschal had been created and given to Queran Sinclair. Darcy
MacIver had begun to discuss raising an army, of which she was general. Stone
and Ossian flanked the throne standing.
"I have brought you here, Sons of Clennan, to decide where your loyalties lie.
I will not tolerate treason. We are at war with Waejontor. Even now, Lord Hoon
occupies the ruling seat of Anglecyn. When the snows melt, he will march south
with fire and sword to decimate our people. The slightest disloyalty will doom
us all. The Grand Master of Creeya, King Ceejorn Osterbridge, has pledged to
send his armies to support our cause in an alliance forged by my beloved
queen, Kady. Clan MacLachlan has sent troops and has promised us more. My
royal sister, Scarlet, has wed the heir of MacLachlan and we are now allied by
blood. And we have other allies in this war against the dark ones."
Kynyr gestured at the door, and Reist swung it open.
Lokynen Willidar strode in at the head of twenty myn, shimmering with power

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and presence. One of them stood out above the others. Seven feet tall with
mahogany skin and long green hair that hung past his hips, there was no
mistaking Teakamon the Shepherd of the Wilds.
Awe swept through the room at the arrival of the demi-gods.
"We are faced with an implacable enemy. The same one that once broke across
our lands and ravaged them. However, now we have allies fit to do battle with
these invaders."
Kynyr gestured at the sons of Clennan. “Until I can discern your loyalties,
you and your families will remain here as my guests. Heatherford will be
entrusted to the guardianship of my liegemon, Lyncoln Wescot of Silvershire,
son of Thane Sedley of Silvershire."
Sedley let out a whoop, banging his withered knuckles on the table. “That'll
show those wet-tailed southerners! Put a real fighting dog in charge."
The midlanders chuckled, accustomed to the sheer cussedness of old Sedley.
The door opened a second time. Pandeena glided into the room wearing her
priest robes and runes. She approached the throne and bowed to Kynyr.
"Your Majesty. I am sent here by the Mothers and my liege-god, Tala, Mistress
of the Moon and Hunt. The soul of Todd Sinclair has found favor with Tala. He
now runs with the moonwolves. From this day forward, he shall be known as
Saint Todd. My god has decreed that a temple be built in Wolffgard and his
mortal remains interred within it in a suitable sepulcher."
Jordan bowed his head with a smile and a prayer of thanksgiving on his lips.
* * * *
Lyncoln Wescot leaned back in his chair and hoisted his tankard high. “Here's
to the midlands."
Kynyr clinked his tankard against Lyncoln's. “To the midlands."
"And the king."
"And me.” Kynyr chuckled and they clinked tankards again. He was finding
Lyncoln an infectious fellow, full of good humor.
"And to the heir, Prince Fergus!"
It was the third time that Lyncoln had toasted the birth of Prince Fergus.
Kynyr decided that since the toasts were becoming circular, it might be a good
time to move on to more serious matters. “Lyncoln, I want you to get
Heatherford readied for war. I need Heatherford. The Doherty assets are almost
as large as Vertram's. My Gram and Artair have been going over their books,
and estimate that the amount of coin Clennan had salted away was close to six
hundred thousand crowns. A tidy sum for a lycan thane. We're also exploring
the possibility that he had some hidden away in foreign banks."
Lyncoln sobered. “And then there are the levies to consider. Not counting
their standing forces, Heatherford's levies would be close to three thousand
myn if called up."
"That many?” Kynyr found himself reassessing Lyncoln.
"Yes. I could probably squeeze a bit more out of them given time. However, we
don't have time, Kynyr. Hoon wants to dance on our graves before equinox."
"I need Vertram's money and Heatherford's army."
"Vertram will be most generous with me sitting in Heatherford at his elbow
ready to dump his tankard on his head ... and the army's a given."
Kynyr considered that. “Your father has reminded me again that you are a
childless widower.” Kynyr lowered his tankard. “While I could do this by royal
decree, I would rather have the agreement of all parties."
Lyncoln drained his tankard, and leaned across the table with a conspiratorial
smile. “What have you got in mind? Finding me a wife?"
"Yes. And an alliance that will work to all our favors."
"Who is she? I hope she's pretty."
"She's pretty. She's also a pain in the arse."
"You don't mean Jocelyn, do you? She's got two bastards by Vertram."
"Jocelyn. She'd give you heirs and you'd keep her out of trouble. Furthermore,
it would give you a legitimate claim to Heatherford if push came to shove."
Lyncoln grabbed the pitcher and refilled his tankard. “If it'd been me, I
would have turned her over my knee and spanked her bottom till she squealed.

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That's how you handle a shrew.” He belched forth a belly laugh that echoed
through the chamber.
"Well then.” Kynyr picked up a bell on the table and rang it loudly.
The door opened and two guardsmyn escorted Jocelyn into the chamber.
She eyed them with suspicion and disdain. “Why have you sent for me?"
"I won't hit a bitch, but she sorely tempts me, Lyncoln. What do you think?"
Jocelyn glared at Kynyr. “You're a bully."
"I have no problems hitting a bitch. Sometimes they need it.” Lyncoln winked
at Kynyr.
"I have a proposition for you, Jocelyn.” Kynyr's glance hardened. “You can
remain here as my prisoner. Or you can marry Lyncoln."
"Can I think about it first?"
"No. I want your answer now."
"I want Vertram. You can't do this to me."
"You can't have Vertram. I have a third idea for what to do with you. How
about a convent, Jocelyn?"
"You wouldn't dare...” Jocelyn sputtered. “A convent?"
"Don't tempt me."
She looked at Lyncoln, her mind racing. “I'll marry the old sod, but I won't
like it."
Kynyr settled back in his chair, feeling smug. “I want it done and consummated
within the hour."
Jocelyn sucked in a breath. “I want a real wedding."
"We're at war. There's no time for it.” Kynyr glanced at Lyncoln. “Take your
betrothed to the priest, Lyncoln. If you keep her belly full for a few years,
that should mellow her.” He winked.
"I should think so.” Lyncoln drained his tankard and rose, taking Jocelyn by
the arm. “Let's hie to the priest, my darling."
Jocelyn's pretty face twisted into sullenness, but she went without
resistance.
Once Kynyr was alone again in his chambers, he burst out laughing. Jocelyn was
no longer his problem.
"What are you laughing about, Kynyr?” Darcy sauntered in without knocking.
"Jocelyn."
"I've never found her funny.” She lifted the pitcher of mead and sniffed it.
“Got a clean tankard around?"
"Cabinet over there.” Kynyr thumbed at it.
Darcy returned with a tankard, filled it, and settled across the table from
him. “I've been thinking."
"That will get you in trouble, Darcy.” Kynyr teased.
She had never seen Kynyr in such high spirits and wondered exactly what was
going on. “Shaurone has orders of knighthoods. I want one here. An elite order
of the sons of the thanes."
"And what would you do with it?” Kynyr sobered, a considering look came to his
face.
"For one thing it would keep them out of trouble, and keep their fathers in
line, even when away from you. It would also be considered an honor and please
the families. Something like Shaurone's Ha'taren Guard."
"Who would train them, Darcy? Have you considered that?"
"Jordy would."
"Have you spoken to Jordy about it?"
"Yes. He likes the idea. We would call them the Knights of the Order of Saint
Todd."
A sudden tear crept down Kynyr's cheek and a bittersweet smile crossed his
lips. “Todd would like that. You have my permission to found the Order."
* * * *
Jocelyn put her back against the wall, a distrustful light in her eyes.
Lyncoln had locked all the doors to the suite and put the key on a chain
around his neck.
"Get your clothes off, darling and I'll do it up proper."

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"Don't touch me.” Jocelyn glanced around the room, spied a vase, and threw it
at him.
Lyncoln ducked the vase and chuckled. “Now, now. Were you this testy with
Vertram?"
"I love Vertram.” She fled into the sitting room.
Lyncoln strolled after her. “You love his money."
Jocelyn snatched the top book off a stack on a low table and threw it at him.
The rest soon followed. “Don't touch me."
Lyncoln ducked and dodged the succession of objects she found to throw at him
and gradually cornered her beside the sofa. “My late wife always said I was
good at it."
He grabbed her bodice and tore it along the seams. “Thorough, she said."
Jocelyn snatched the pieces together and shrank to the floor, cowering.
“Bloody bastard."
"My late wife, Terry, used to say that.” Lyncoln burst out laughing. “We're
married now, Jocelyn. Consummation and conjugal rights and all that."
"Nooo."
"Shall I spank you first? Terry liked being spanked. She said I gave good
spankings."
Jocelyn's eyes saucered. “Noooo."
Lyncoln seized the waistband of her skirt and yanked it off her. Jocelyn
shoved him backwards and fled on all fours. He crawled in pursuit.
She gave him a look over her shoulder, suggesting that he was out of his mind,
and glanced about for a new direction to flee in.
He shoved his trousers off and came hopping after her. Jocelyn let out a
shriek and squirmed behind the sofa.
"Rather tight squeeze, don't you think?” He wormed his way in.
Jocelyn shrieked again and tried to get under the sofa. He rolled his
shoulders, overturning it, caught her by the hips, and flipped her onto her
back. She pummeled him ineffectually as he threw himself atop her.
"You're a nutter, Lyncoln Wescot. You hear me? You're a nutter."
"I prefer to call it whimsy.” He grasped his cock, got it into her, and rode
hard.
Jocelyn surrendered, wrapping her legs around him with a sigh.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE TRIAL OF MALTHUS ESTROBIAN
Kynyr sat a throne on a raised dais at the very head of the courtroom, where
he could witness the proceedings, but not be actively involved. Jordan stood
beside Kynyr as did Stone.
Sixteen thanes and one guardian took their places on the flaring wings of the
tables set to either side of the judges’ station at the head of the room.
Phelan O'Reilly took his place at the head in the senior judge's chair. The
village elders from the seventeen major towns of Red Wolf seated themselves at
the tables forming an el beyond the thanes.
It would take a two-thirds majority vote to condemn a prince, which Malthus
was by right of his marriage to Merissa. Lesser myn and lesser crimes never
came to trial if the evidence was strong enough against them.
The witness box stood catty corner to Phelan's chair. Ossian's witnesses were
seated in comfortable chairs in the next row of tables beyond those of the
elders with a space between them. At the very back stood fifteen rows of
benches where those members of the citizenry, fortunate enough to have arrived
earliest, were seated to observe the proceedings.
Malthus sat at the table of the accused centered between the aisles, close to
the front and facing Phelan. Guards stood behind and around him under the
command of Lawgiver Waid O'Reilly.
Malthus scanned the witness chairs, wondering at the large number of people
there. He had believed that he had covered his trail well over the past few
months and could not conceive of how so many might have evidence against him.
Pandeena sat among the witnesses, although there was a chair near the head for

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the senior priest. A mon huddled next to her, a hooded cloak concealing his
face. The way that the mon's shoulders drooped, he seemed to be ill.
Ossian gestured at Pandeena. “Bring the first witness forward. You've not
given me his name, Your Holiness."
"That will become known presently.” Pandeena helped the mon to rise, and
walked him to the witness box where she remained standing.
The mon threw back his hood and faced Ossian. A gasp ran through the crowd.
His face lined by suffering and his cheeks hollowed by illness; the mon was
still recognizable.
"Please the court, my name is Nikko Softpaws. I was once lawgiver to
Wolffgard."
Vika Softpaws, sitting among the citizenry, sprang to her feet with tears in
her eyes. “Nikko, you're alive!"
A trembling smile touched Nikko's lips. “Aunt Vika."
"Silence!” Phelan pounded the table with a small hammer.
Vika sank back into her place. Myn to either side of her patted and stroked
her, comforting and rejoicing.
"Please the court.” Pandeena turned to Phelan. “I would like to give a bit of
testimony, standing here."
Phelan nodded. “Speak, priest."
"Early last summer, Nikko was brought to my mother's house by Lokynen and
Hathura. They rescued him from imps, but he had been shot by arrows containing
a particularly nasty blend of Devil's Silver. Trauma had blocked his memories,
but they have been slowly returning."
"I see.” Phelan turned a kind eye on Nikko. “Tell us what you remember."
"Tempest Anstey and I were investigating the Accused. Tempest had confirmed
his humanity and that he bore no coercions or other sa'necari bindings in his
mind. Nevertheless, he appeared to be suspicious. One morning I followed him
from Wolffgard. Halfway to the Place of Fallen Stones, he shot me."
"Did he say why he shot you?” Ossian stared hard at Malthus.
Nikko shook his head. “No sir. My last memory was of him standing in the path
and shooting me."
"Is there anything more you wish to say?"
"No."
"Then you may return to your seat.” Phelan glanced at Ossian. “Bring your next
witness, Lawgiver."
Kynyr leaned close to Jordan and whispered in his ear. “That's enough to hang
him for right there."
Jordan gave a faint nod. “Due process, Kynyr. You've already hung one thane
out of anger. Let's make this one a righteous hanging."
"Or a beheading. After all that he has put my family through, I would enjoy
seeing his head roll off the block."
"So would I.” Jordan muttered. “My gut instincts say he had something to do
with my father's murder."
Ossian quirked his finger at Gavin Ellis. The chastisemon was acting as his
bailiff. After a moment of whispered consultation, Gavin went to the witness
table and returned with Iollen Newell, walking him to the box.
Iollen settled in and scratched at the shoulder of his missing arm. His eyes
had the look of a mon who had been to hell and lived to speak of it.
"Tell us your name, what you do, and a little bit about yourself."
"I'm Iollen Newell. I work for Kady Maguire as an odd jobber around the place.
You might say, I'm the only surviving member of a gang called the
Lycamornots."
"Tell us about the Lycamornots?"
"I was never part of the leadership. That was Shalto and Oswyl Beggins, Preece
Malloy, Nesswen Goff, Rheu Lawson, Yren Maddox, and Torquil Anderson."
"Ya see! Ya see!” Raonul the smith gesticulated wildly from the benches in the
rear. “I knew Torquil was up to no good. I knew it."
Quinn Sinclair patted his business partner's shoulder to quiet him, grinning.
"Preece and Torquil were their enforcers.” Iollen continued. “If you didn't

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follow orders, they beat you up—if you were lucky. I suspect that if you
combed through the woods north of the Sanctuary Refugee Camp, you'd start
finding a lot of shallow graves. When the dregs of society go missing, no one
notices they're gone.” The haunted look deepened in Iollen's eyes. “Preece
told me he intended to put a knife in my ribs ... that he was just waiting for
the right opportunity. That he intended to bury me in the north woods. If it
had not been for Trevor Sinclair, and later, Luciano Albertus, that's exactly
what would have happened."
"Getting back to the gang itself. How did they make their money?"
"I protest!” Malthus stood up. “This has nothing to do with me. I had nothing
to do with that gang. I didn't even know it existed!"
"You damn well did!” Iollen's eyes flashed. “You held little meetings with
them at your cottage."
Waid shoved Malthus back into his chair. “Keep silent until you're called to
testify."
Malthus subsided with a glare.
"Getting back to the money. Their earnings working around the camp were
meager. Yet they always had money to drink on, and they spent money on weapons
they could not have normally afforded, such as quality knives and swords."
"Yessir. The money. It came from prostitution."
"They owned a brothel in Hell's Widow?"
"No, sir. They ran it right here in Wolffgard."
A buzz of crosstalk erupted in the benches and Phelan had to pound his hammer
for silence.
"And where is this brothel?"
Iollen exhaled heavily and stared at his hands. “All the females living on the
grounds of the camp whored for them. At first, it was free, but then they
started asking for donations. You knocked on the doors after dark and gave the
code phrase ‘my friend says you can help me.’ The door would open and the
female would say, ‘I can but I'm expecting company.’ After that you told them
how you wanted it. Nothing was out of bounds."
"A large number of women and children disappeared from there two weeks before
the murder of Lawgiver Padruig Caimbeul. Do you know anything about that?"
"Yessir."
"Were they killed?"
"No. Not that I know of. They were pregnant. The gang had to get them away
before someone noticed."
"Do you recognize that little cub?” Ossian turned and pointed at Gilzean
sitting on Lady Audra Brawleigh's lap.
"Yessir."
"Is he one of the missing cubs from the camp?"
"Yessir, he is. That's Gilzean Taite. His mother was a sa'necari married a
lycan. A sa'necari gang killed her husband and she fled here to protect the
cub."
"That's all for now. You may return to the witness table."
Iollen returned to his place shaking like a leaf. Pandeena reached over and
patted him. “You did good, Iollen."
"I hope so.” Iollen's voice caught. “I'm trying to make up for what I did. For
Aghavie. I'm scared as hell. The only thing holding me together is my daughter
... and my memories of Aghavie. Just that and nothing more, Pandeena. I'm a
coward."
Stone frowned at the renewed outbreak of enraged talk among the onlookers.
“Kynyr, excuse me. I need to get a guard detail out to the camp before there's
a riot."
Kynyr gave a nod and Stone headed down the back of one row of tables, moving
as quickly as he could.
Ossian gestured at Audra. “Lady Brawleigh, if you would be so kind as to bring
Gilzean to the witness box?"
She settled into the chair, brushed her skirts down, and cuddled Gilzean who
nestled in her arms with a frightened expression.

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"What is your connection to Gilzean, Lady Brawleigh?"
"My husband and I are adopting him."
"Where did you meet this little fellow?” Ossian gave Gilzean a reassuring
stroke.
"Anglecyn."
"That is a very long way for a cub this young to have ventured. How did you
know that Gilzean came from Wolffgard?"
"Princess Silkanna Mircala de Waejonan told me. She asked me to return him to
his family ... that he had been sent to Lord Hoon as a gift from Malthus
Estrobian."
Malthus schooled his face into a mask of impassivity, even as his heart
threatened to climb into his throat. Silkie?
"Hello, Gilzean.” Ossian looked the little boy in the eyes. “My name is Ossian
and I won't let anyone hurt you. Will you answer a few questions for me?"
Gilzean took his thumb out of his mouth and nodded. “Yes."
"What happened to your mother?"
"The bad mon took her away."
"Do you see the bad mon in this room? The one who took your mother away?"
Solemn-eyed, Gilzean nodded again.
"Will you point him out to me?"
Gilzean jabbed his finger at Malthus. “That's the bad mon."
"Thank you, Gilzean and Lady Brawleigh.” Ossian crossed to stand in front of
his grandfather. “With your permission, I would like to call a recess."
* * * *
As myn returned to their places, Ossian went to his small table and opened a
satchel. He took out two pieces of paper and strode to the front where he
waited for the trial to resume.
Phelan pounded the table to call everyone to order and silence the crosstalk.
Ossian turned and waved the papers at the courtroom. “I would like to enter
into evidence these two letters. One addressed to His Majesty and the other to
Prince Cooley Diomedes de Waejonan-Blackwood. Will you read them to the
gathered peers or shall I, Elder Phelan?"
"I will.” Phelan accepted the letters.
Dear Kynyr Maguire.
Cullen trusted you. So I am trusting you. By now you must know, or at least
suspect, that Cullen is dead. They forced me to watch him die. The sa'necari
have returned to Hell's Widow. I am trusting you with our child and my secret
so that you will understand why I do not dare go to the garrison with this.
You know me as Silkie Faggini. I was born Silkanna Mircala de Waejonan. Get
word to the garrison, but do not tell them how you know. And, I beg you. Take
care of our child. Cooley is no longer safe in Hell's Widow.
Sincerely,
Silkie
Phelan paused to let the import of the letter sink into the listeners and then
he read the second one.
My Dear son, Cooley,
I ask your forgiveness for what I have done. I did it to gain vengeance for
your father. I loved Cullen with all my heart.
This is both a way of telling you I love you and to warn you of many dangers.
Lord Hoon has sent agents to kidnap you because you are a prince of Waejontor.
His agent in Wolffgard is named Malthus Estrobian. You must inform Kynyr
Maguire of that. Tell him also that should he attempt to liberate Anglecyn, I
will betray Lord Hoon to him.
Remember always that I love you.
Your loving mother,
Silkanna Mircala de Waejonan.
The courtroom erupted in loud talk. Phelan had to strike the table so hard
that he felt certain he had left dents in it.
"Are there more witnesses, Lawgiver?"
"One, Frozbie."

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"Ossian!” Reist came striding up the aisle. “We have another one and she's
more important."
"What?"
Reist pointed at the door.
Bella walked up the aisle with Willy's arm around her, fighting to control her
terror.
"Your honors,” Willy said. “My wife would like to offer testimony here."
Malthus’ lips parted as he swallowed back a protest. He tried to capture
Bella's eyes, but she kept them averted.
"Come forward,” said Ossian.
Willy accompanied Bella to the questioner's seat, and stood holding her hand
while she settled into it.
"Your name?” asked Ossian.
"Bella Galloway, if you please."
"Tell us your tale."
She sucked in a nervous breath. “Malthus is my cousin."
The room exploded in crosstalk and Phelan pounded the table.
Bella flinched and ducked her head. Willy squeezed her hand. She swallowed and
forced the next words out. “I am sa'necari."
Another chaos of conversation erupted and again Phelan pounded the table. “The
next ones to raise their voices without permission will do thirty days in a
cell."
"My cousin is not an Estrobian. He is Malthus Tyrins, the bastard son of Lord
Feodras Iagaris. He is a sa'necari bounty hunter and mercenary in the employ
of Lord Hoon."
Ossian's eyes widened and he gestured at his brother. “Waid! Spellcord him."
Malthus sprang to his feet. “She's lying!"
A heavy hand closed on Malthus’ shoulder and he looked up into Lokynen's
grinning face. Waid spellcorded Malthus’ wrists. The sa'necari's stomach
clenched and soured as he felt his connection to his powers and mage-senses go
dead. Ultan pulled the rings from his fingers and checked him for other
jewelry. He turned his mind inward, brushed against the embedded ring, and
felt his power kindle. The spellcord had been defeated. A glimmer of
satisfaction stirred in Malthus. The Butchering Serpent would be free.
Lokynen pulled Malthus’ arms behind him and a member of the militia secured
them with heavy ropes.
"Why did you come forward now, Missus Galloway?” Seeing how obviously
frightened she was, Ossian put as much kindness and reassurance into his voice
as he could.
Bella looked at Willy, who gave her an encouraging nod. “We're having a baby.
I want him to grow up in a safe world. I had to overcome my fear of Malthus
for the cub's sake."
"Is the child lycan?"
"Yes."
Phelan regarded the room. “Under the circumstances, I could simply order
Malthus Tyrins Iagaris hung. However, I would prefer to observe the
legalities. The court will recess for three days to deliberate. During that
time, the Accused will be put to the question. Perhaps, when we return, we
will have the full details of every single atrocity this mon has committed."
Ossian glanced at Gavin who slammed his fist into his other hand.
"My chastisemon is prepared for the interrogation."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE SERPENT UNLEASHED
Malthus hung from the ceiling in chains, nude, the skin of his back in bloody
tatters from the whip. He knew, even without searching his body with his
arcane senses, that he had at least one broken rib. Breathing hurt. The
spellcord on his wrists had revealed nothing to Ossian. The ring protected him
from discovery and lessened the effects of the spellcords.
He had given Ossian only silence and denial. Gavin had left moments ago after

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promising to return in an hour and move onto worse torments: thumbscrews and
the rack. Malthus had no intention of waiting for Gavin. He reached into the
power of the Ring of Waejonan, and separated his etheric body from the cords,
creating a barrier that would allow him to function normally despite them.
There was no longer a need to hide his powers. Malthus sucked in a deep breath
and flexed his arms, tightened his fists, and poured all his sa'necari
strength into grabbing the chains connected to his manacles. With a savage
twist, he broke them. Malthus fell backwards to the ground, wincing at the
pain in his ribs and back. He forced his anguished body up into a sitting
position, seized the chains on his ankles, and broke them also.
"What the hell?” Gavin stood in the open doorway staring down at Malthus. The
chastisemon reached for his sword, but Malthus was faster. He pounced upon
Gavin, sending them both down into the filthy straw, and buried his fangs in
Gavin's throat before the lycan could call out for help. Pinning Gavin's arms
down with his hands, he sucked his blood out in huge, starving pulls. His body
healed. Gavin writhed and twisted beneath him to no avail. Malthus was too
strong. Within minutes, the chastisemon was a withered gray husk.
Malthus removed Gavin's keys from his belt, unlocked the manacles and leg
chains, and then the deadly seals on the spellcord. He had never tried to test
his limits as a sa'necari, but Malthus had long suspected they were immense.
Riting members of the highest echelons of the sa'necari, those who carried
legacies of power going back as far as twenty generations, had been a heady
experience. Theoretically he had the strength and power within him equivalent
to having taken over a million souls. It was time to test it.
He required a diversion to escape from Wolffgard, and he was not leaving
without his niece, his wife and twin sons. Malthus spread a high-level scan
through Wolffgard, sending it as far and wide as he could. His awareness
touched each and every person that carried his coercions in their brains. He
placed a shielding spell around Merissa, and felt her startled reaction to it.
He spoke a single phrase and over fifty myn died.
Then he stripped Gavin's body, covered his nudity in the chastisemon's
clothing, and buckled on his weapons. The clothes hung loose on him, but that
was better than nothing. His instinct for discretion still dogged him. He
pulled the hood of Gavin's cloak around his face and stalked out of the cell.
"Gavin?” The guard on duty rose from his chair by the door.
Malthus lifted his head with a sneer and let the guardsmon see his face.
"You're not Gavin!” The lycan reached for his blade.
Malthus’ hand came up and he threw a surge of tearing force into the mon.
The lycan's eyes bulged as he staggered backwards. He struck the wall behind
him and his chest exploded. Malthus gazed at the shattered corpse, exulting in
his power. After so many, many months of restraining himself, he felt giddy at
the release and the freedom.
Furthermore, he had achieved something that he knew to be possible in theory,
but never put it to the test before. Rumor held that an exploding strike of
that nature was how the late Prince Mephistis had brought down a dragon. He
marveled at his untested potentials; yet, even then his reason told him to
hold back as much as possible—there were more dangerous opponents out there
and he would need it then. Best to not waste it. This isn't the time or the
place for it.
Malthus climbed the stairs and stepped out into the corridor.
Waid O'Reilly strode toward him. “Gavin, Ossian wants to know...."
Malthus’ hand came up.
Waid recognized an arcane gesture and threw himself to the floor, rolling. The
glancing edge of the spell caught him in the side. Pain geysered through him,
and Waid stilled.
Malthus walked on.
The lawgiver listened to Malthus’ footsteps and then heard a door close. Waid
dragged himself up using a doorknob. His vision grayed around the edges. He
fought for consciousness. Had the spell struck him square, Waid was certain
that he would be dead. As it was, he felt like curling up and screaming.

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Screaming. Yes, screaming.
Waid threw his head back and howled his warning. He heard it echoed far down
the corridor. Others had heard him. Weakness swept through Waid, and he sagged
to the ground and into darkness.
* * * *
The pleasant warmth of the kitchen made it one of Kissie's favorite places.
She sat at the table across from the huge ovens, rolling bread dough, and
braiding it. Isbeth, the best baker among the nibari, would only let her do
that much.
Isbeth laughed. “My baby is growing so fast!"
"He surprises me. I can't wait for mine to get here.” Kissie rubbed her belly.
“Timerly is twelve. It's been so long that I can barely remember what he
looked like crawling across the floor."
"I know. Mistress Aisha waited so long...” Isbeth suddenly stiffened, her eyes
glazing as she collapsed in the floor.
Kissie screamed and dropped to her knees beside her.
Emma stepped tentatively into the room, like a little mouse, glancing about.
Her gaze fell upon Kissie and Isbeth. “What's wrong with her?"
"She's dead."
Emma shrieked, which triggered off another round of shrieking from Kissie.
Lyncoln came in with Jocelyn on his arm. Jocelyn looked pale and uncertain, as
if she were being run ragged.
"Quiet!” He knelt beside Isbeth, feeling for a pulse. “What happened here?"
Kissie mastered herself, swallowing back another scream. “She-she just keeled
over."
Jocelyn stared at the corpse and looked ready to vomit.
"Fetch a healer, Jocelyn. They'll want to examine what's left of her."
She backed toward the door, nodding, and fled.
"I do hope you'll forgive Jocelyn's rudeness.” Lyncoln attempted a bit of
levity to change the mood of the room. “She gets decidedly odd after I've
chased her about the suite a few times."
* * * *
Sitting in Jenny's parlor, Regina rubbed the hilt of her saber obsessively.
“Merissa refuses to stop crying. You'd think she'd be glad we caught him."
"It's hard sometimes. Love is an odd—” Jenny stopped speaking in mid-sentence
and staggered, reeling into the wall.
Regina sprang to her feet and slipped her arm around Jenny's waist, supporting
her. “What is it?"
"High level necromantic scan. The Butchering Serpent ... his power is
terrible. We must assemble my mages."
Regina helped Jenny into the hallway. Jenny used the Blue Room for her
meetings. Everyone who had felt it would go there out of habit. Or at least I
hope so.
Reist appeared from a side room. “Reggie, what's happening?"
"The Butchering Serpent is making his move.” Jenny gasped as if struggling to
breath. “It must be. No other sa'necari can be that powerful."
Stone came striding down the hallway, his face stern. “The Serpent is
unleashed. I've ordered the swan mays and their gryphons into the yard. If
he's coming here, he's going to have to go through a wall of teeth and claws."
He swept Jenny into his arms and headed for the Blue Room.
Kynyr appeared with Jordan at his side. The king buckled on his weapons as he
strode along. “You think it's Malthus?"
"That's exactly what I think.” Stone kept walking, forcing the others to trot
to keep up with him.
* * * *
Kady sat nursing Fergus in the chapel. It had been turned into a temporary
shrine to Todd. His body, with a preservation spell over it, sat before the
altar. The coffin maker and his assistants were working on a fine carved box,
but it would take weeks to build.
"You see him?” Kady pointed to the coffin. “That's your great-grandfather.

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He's a saint now. I want you to be just like him when you grow up."
Cahira came in and walked over to the coffin. She stroked his still features.
“I love you, Todd. Always and forever."
Kady blinked. “What was that?"
"The Serpent is unleashed. He's coming in this direction.” Cahira
straightened, her eyes narrowing.
Kady rose and placed Fergus in her arms. “Take him to Creeya."
"What are you going to do?” Cahira cradled the infant tight.
"If he's going after Kynyr, he'll have to go through me first."
Silvery light shimmered over both bitches and they vanished.
* * * *
Ossian cradled his brother's head. “Don't die on me, Waid."
A tight group of myn stood around the two lawgivers: Ultan, Pandeena, Toniqua,
and Lokynen. Ultan had tears in his grim eyes. Pandeena leaned her shoulders
to the wall.
Toniqua knelt, shoved Waid's sleeve up and injected him with a blend of
Narcantha and Amphereon.
Waid's eyes opened. “Malthus ... wearing Gavin's clothes ... attacked me."
"Where do you think he's going?” Toniqua asked.
Pandeena considered for a moment. “The manor. He's going to the manor to fetch
his family and kill the king.” She grabbed Lokynen's hand. “Come on, Loky.
Hathura's already left with the others."
"I get to whomp Malthus?"
"Yes, Loky, you can whomp Malthus."
"I'd go, but I'm needed here.” Toniqua returned her syringes to her kit.
"We'll handle it.” Pandeena's power swirled around herself and Lokynen. They
vanished.
Ossian stroked Waid's hair from his sweating face. “Will he live?"
"I don't know.” Toniqua shook her head. “It depends on whether I can keep his
organs from failing. I've never seen anyone hit so hard before."
"Brothers ... I love you.” Waid's eyelids fluttered. “I love you."
He slid back into the darkness.
"Let's get him to the infirmary.” Toniqua lifted him up easily and started
walking fast.
* * * *
Bella sat dipping the sticks in the incense mix and setting them in the drying
rack.
Willy put bottles on the shelves. “Can't feature myself as a shopkeeper,
Bella. But I don't mind helping."
A cloaked mon entered the shop.
"Can I help you?” Willy set the bottle on the shelf and turned.
"Yes, I think you can.” He stepped close to Willy. His hand shot out and
touched Willy's chest.
Bella sensed the surge of dark power and shrieked, rushing toward them.
Willy's lips parted and his eyes bulged. He shuddered. His knees buckled.
Willy collapsed and lay unmoving.
"Your turn, Bella.” Malthus flicked his hood back.
She threw everything she had at him, screaming Willy's name over and over.
Malthus shrugged it off and stalked toward her.
Bella retreated, shaking her head.
He conjured a major death web and tossed it at her. “Die, Bella."
A shimmering wall of white light sprang up between Bella and Malthus.
"Get out of my shop!” Luciano stalked into the room, cloaked in the white
magic of the spiritworker.
Malthus struck the shield again with his power.
Luciano staggered backward two steps, recovered and came on again, reaching
into his pocket for a handful of fragile glass globes. He pitched them at
Malthus.
Malthus raised his shields. The globes struck it and exploded in a tremendous
stench. It splashed around his shield. He gasped and choked, backing away. His

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lungs felt as if they were on fire and he could barely breathe. Spinning
about, Malthus plunged out of the shop and fled.
Bella sank to the floor and cradled Willy's head in her lap, searching his
body with her arcane senses. “He's dead."
Luciano's eyes widened and his brow furrowed as he knelt beside Bella. “How?"
"Malthus stopped his heart."
Luciano shoved his hand down Willy's shirt and poured all his power into the
stilled organ.
Willy's body jerked and his chest heaved.
Luciano threw power into him again.
Willy's heart beat raggedly at first, and then stronger. His eyes fluttered
open and he breathed her name. “Bella."
"Help me get him upstairs.” Luciano hooked his hands under Willy's arms. Bella
took his legs and they carried him to bed. Luciano supported Willy while Bella
turned the blankets back. Then they eased him between them and Bella sat on
the edge, holding his hand.
"Bella, stay here. I must go after him.” She looked so shaken that Luciano
wished he did not have to leave her.
"You're not strong enough to fight him."
"I can try. Remember those crates behind the counter? The ones I told you not
to touch?"
"Yes."
"Go through them. They're gifts from the Trickster. There must be something
there to help. At least to keep you safe in case he comes back."
"Wait. What did you hit Malthus with?"
"Badree Nym Beast Repellent. There's a crate of it under the palmistry table."
Luciano ran downstairs, pausing to fill his pockets and pouches with Beast
Repellent. There were three colors; red, green, and black. The red were
explosive, the green caused acute itching, and the black were skunk juice.
Then he rushed out the door.
* * * *
Malthus left a trail of dead lycans in his wake. He wished he had killed
Ossian. However, the Lawgiver House was too large and too filled with people
for him to go looking for the lawgiver and he had contented himself with
escaping.
His head swam and his lungs still burned.
"What in the unholy name of hell did Luciano hit me with?"
He faded back into an alley and jogged down the length of it. A mon emerged
from the back door of the Difficult Horse, heading for the privy. Malthus
grabbed him and sank his fangs deep, draining him in moments. The pain from
breathing the fumes vanished before the blood restorative.
Malthus dropped the corpse behind the trash boxes, and went to the edge of the
street. Looking out, he saw the myn of the militia running to form up on Main
Street. He darted across with his hood pulled around his features. A
militiamon on a horse spied him and urged his mount into a gallop down the
alley. Malthus waited, letting him come. When he got near, the militiamon drew
his sword. A sneer was on Malthus’ lips as he knocked the rider from the
saddle with a bolt of arcane force. He caught the reins, swung onto the horse,
and galloped down the alleyway, reveling in his power.
He kept to the alleys until the curve of Pendarke Road appeared. As he turned
onto the road, the militia moved to block his path. They raised their bows.
Malthus swept his hand out and punched a hole through their ranks. As the
screams of the dying filled the air, the others scattered and fired from
cover. The arrows flew all around him. Malthus crouched low over the neck of
his horse and kept riding.
The front gate of the Maguire Estate opened to his left. For an instant he
considered turning aside to gift Kynyr with a massacred family. In the back of
his mind, Lyrri's voice whispered.
"Uncle Malthus, what's going to happen to me? Are they going to eat me?"
"I'm coming, Lyrri. No one's going to hurt you."

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* * * *
Stone surveyed the Audience Chamber. He had all the thanes and their bitches
assembled there with a heavy guard. “I want all of you to stay here where we
can protect you. The Butchering Serpent is coming.
Merissa lay upon a pallet in the corner near the throne. Mary Sinclair sat
cross-legged next to her. The twin sons of Malthus lay beside Merissa. Mary
had sedated her and she slept.
Jocelyn sat beside Lyncoln. Her gaze was drawn to Vertram and she found
herself reassessing him. He was fat, and despite the sword he wore, clearly
not a warrior. Then she looked at Lyncoln, stalwart and tough in his way,
wearing a claymore that he clearly knew how to use.
"Lync, you'll protect me, won't you?” Her voice trembled and caught.
"I would stand between you and hell itself.” He put a protective arm around
her shoulders. “After all, if I lost you, I'd have no one to chase about the
suite."
"I love you, Lyncoln."
"No. You don't love me.” He shook his shaggy head. “It's the fear talking.
Maybe in time. If we get through this."
Jennifer Sherbourne sat on a pallet in the middle of the chamber, eyes closed,
her mind turned inward and focused. Her mages sat around her, linked to her in
rapport.
Stone finished addressing the thanes and strode over to her. “Report, Jenny."
She shivered back to awareness. “Scry wards and shields holding. Serpent has
hit us twice so far. He's scanning again."
"Keep the thanes safe, Jenny."
"I'll try."
Stone thought for a moment. “Can you spare enough power to mind-speak an alert
to Mage-Central in Havensword? Tell them Malthus is the Serpent?"
Jenny closed her eyes, her lips tightening. Then she relaxed and glanced up at
him. “Done, Stone."
Stone turned to Kynyr. “I need to join my myn. Units are forming up to try and
stop him. I'd like you to stay here."
"I don't lead from the rear.” Kynyr's eyes held a look of ice and steel.
"Neither do I.” Kady shimmered into the room. “Where you go, I go, Kynyr."
"Where's Fergus? You left him?"
"Gram has Jumped him to Creeya. On my orders."
Kynyr pulled her into a tight embrace. “My wise queen."
"Good move, Kady,” said Stone, his eyes grim. “If we did not have so many
Jumpers in the ranks, I would have set up a translocation vortex. But I can't
risk it trapping the wrong myn."
A harsh high-level scan tore through the chamber. The shrieks of dying
gryphons drew Stone to the window with Kynyr and Kady close behind.
"What the hell?” Stone stared out at three dead gryphons, and six injured,
looking as if an incredible force had ripped through them. Swan mays lay
unmoving about them. “I've known yuwenghau who weren't that powerful."
"He's in the building,” said Kynyr.
"Servants entrance. He came in through the servants’ entrance.” Stone gestured
for various people to follow him.
"If he's this powerful, why didn't he just strike us all dead long ago?"
"He must have had his reasons,” stated Stone. “Besides, reputation is a
two-edged sword. Create one and you'll have rivals flocking to you. There is
no peace for the strong once the world learns of you. You will need to
remember that."
"Duty is where you find it."
Stone gave a curt nod. “Right now, duty is stopping the most powerful
sa'necari in existence.
Reist came up to them. “Where's Reggie? I can't find her."
"I asked her to fetch Lyrri."
"She's not here either.” Reist ran for the door and plunged through it before
anyone could stop him.

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Pandeena slipped through the door, and then it was yanked wide open as Lokynen
entered behind her.
A big grin lit Lokynen's face. “I can whomp Malthus now?"
Stone chuckled in spite of himself. “Yes, Loky, you may now whomp Malthus."
Lokynen spun about with a speed belied by his size and plunged back through
the door with a whoop.
"I'm glad you've come, Pandeena. Kady's going with you."
"What about Kynyr?” Kady's voice rose in protest. “I'm not going anywhere
without him."
Stone raked his eyes across them. “Kynyr's coming with me."
"But..."
"No but's, Kady. If something goes wrong, I don't want little Fergus losing
both his parents in a single blow."
Kynyr gave a thoughtful nod. “He's right, Kady. You go with Pandeena."
* * * *
Malthus entered the grounds of the manor through the cemetery. A light fall of
snow swirled about him. He scarcely noticed it; his thoughts focused upon his
niece more than anyone else. He made another high-level scan of the grounds.
It would betray his arrival to the mages, who would certainly sense it.
However, he needed to know where his enemies were and, most importantly, where
Lyrri was hiding.
He flicked his necromantic awareness across the ring beneath his flesh and
released the next layer of his power from its chains.
His scan picked up no guards in the garden and he extended it, brushing
against the hunger and rage of the gryphons.
"Good move, bastards, but not enough."
Malthus dismounted and sent his horse racing into the yard of the manor. The
gryphons reacted faster than the swan mays, pouncing upon the riderless horse.
As they tore it apart, he hit them with a slicing arc of power, splitting open
the throats of two and nearly beheading the third.
Steeped-in-death, Malthus strode like a lion into their midst. The swan mays
saw him and charged with their swords drawn. He laughed and struck them down
as he had their mounts. A gesture sent them sprawling. Three more gryphons,
the big reds—the most powerful and savage of the species—came at him from his
right and three greens appeared on his left. Malthus tore the wings off the
reds with a slicing motion of his hand and sent crippling waves of death webs
into the greens.
Eiko Morikawa, mounted upon her big red Lars, shouted for her warriors to
rally and reform. Bows came out and peppered Malthus. Two went deep into his
chest and another into his belly. He pulled them out and roared with laughter
at them, riding high on his power.
"You can't stop me! I'm steeped-in-death!"
He drew upon the legacies he had eaten and threw a bolt of hell at Eiko. Lars
dodged the strike.
Eiko gestured, filling the yard with white light reflected off the snow,
blinding Malthus.
He staggered toward the servants’ door, blinking at the dancing specks of
blackness that threw his vision off, and found it locked. Eiko raised her arm
for a second strike. Malthus drew himself together and kicked the heavy door
to splinters.
He plunged inside and threw a ward over the ruined doorway.
* * * *
Eamon had never been so frightened before in his life. He stood at the head of
the stairs in the servants’ quarter, shouting at the nibari. “Come on! Come
on, come on. Everyone out."
They clustered around him, weeping and getting in each others’ way like
panicked cattle.
He kicked and shoved them, keeping them moving.
Kissie tried to squeeze past them, going in the wrong direction.
Eamon caught her shoulders. “What do you think you're doing?"

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"Isbeth's baby. I've got to get the baby."
"The monster's down there, Kissie. You can't go."
"The baby,” she moaned, tears running down her face.
Eamon wavered before her distress, yielded to her tears, and glanced at his
myn. “Keep them going. If I'm not back by the time you've gotten them all out,
forget me."
He grasped Kissie's hand. “Let's get the baby, Kissie."
* * * *
Malthus opened doors as he went. The fighting had begun to take its toll on
him and his hunger for blood crawled along the back of his throat. There ought
to be nibari huddled somewhere, waiting to be eaten. The lycans were
softheaded; softhearted. They protected their two-legged sheep like shepherds.
"They've moved the flock ... penned them up somewhere ... I'll find them."
As he moved deeper into the corridor, he heard screaming and shouting.
Frustrated by the empty rooms, Malthus threw a low-level scan, searching for
life. The floor was empty. He listened again to the noise and it drew him to
the stairs.
He climbed the narrow stairway, listening and searching with all of his
senses.
As Malthus reached the second floor landing, he heard a baby crying. A
remembrance swished along the edges of his awareness. He had left his gear in
Isbeth's room.
Entering the room, Malthus eyed the baby hungrily. Its blood called to him. He
forced the temptation aside and yanked the drawer of Isbeth's dresser open,
taking out the chain with the globes upon it. Draping that around his neck, he
felt the call of the baby's blood again. His throat itched.
"Stay away from the baby.” Wary-eyed, Eamon entered the room, staying between
Malthus and Kissie. He held his sword at guard, cross-stepping in cautious
movements; his hackles up and the thick hair of his hybrid form standing on
end along his arms. Kissie edged along the wall behind him, moaning with
terror.
Malthus chuckled. A flick of a thought and his poisoned sword sprang from the
carrying globe into his hand. “Come to die, Eamon?"
"Belgair trusted you. We killed our own for you. We thought you were a
friend."
"You're animals raised above their station.” Malthus walked toward him.
"Damn you."
Eamon lunged at Malthus.
A gesture sent Eamon slamming into the wall.
Malthus stood over him, still chuckling as he plunged the sword into Eamon's
belly.
The guardsmon grunted in shock as Malthus twisted the blade around and around.
"Run, Kissie,” Eamon gasped. “Run."
Malthus spun about, but Kissie had already snatched the baby and plunged
through the door. He let her go. Yanking the sword out, Malthus straddled
Eamon, grasped his hair, and twisted his head about. “I'm hungry."
"Gods ... damn you."
Malthus sank his fangs into Eamon and drank the wondrous restorative. His
powers sang within him. He felt giddy and drunk.
* * * *
Lyrri huddled in the linen closet where she and her sister used to hide to
watch the lycans passing by. Her heart beat loud in her ears. The corridor was
empty except for a single set of footsteps that echoed strangely.
"Find me, Uncle Malthus. Find me before they eat me."
Everyone had told her a vampire killed her sister; but Lyrri remained
convinced that the lycans had eaten Ros. They had eaten her father. Uncle
Malthus had told her so.
"Come out, Lyrri.” Regina walked the hallway, scanning about for where the
child might have hidden. “Lyrri, please come out. No one's going to hurt you."
"Just going to eat me.” Lyrri muttered under her breath. “Going to eat me."

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She peered through a tiny crack in the door.
Regina went into the Blue Room and Lyrri could hear her opening and closing
the doors to the cabinets where Darmyk used to hide. She knew she could not
stay in the closet forever. Regina would find her.
Lyrri bolted from the closet with her skirts tucked into her waistband. Her
small feet were bare and made little noise. She heard Regina in the hallway
again and darted into the next room she reached.
"Darmyk's room."
The room looked exactly as it had on the day that he disappeared. Toys
scattered across the floor. She glanced about, frantic for a place to hide.
Regina would look under the beds and in the closets.
The fire in the hearth had not been lit in several days. Lyrri climbed into
the fireplace. The hearth was deep and a ledge jutted above it. She climbed
onto the ledge and curled up, sobbing softly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
PURSUIT
Dyna materialized in the yard of the manor with her paladins beside her. She
dropped the glamours.
The Gruesome Foursome, one of her strongest bands of paladins, stood forth in
their strange glory. Drakengrim led, his fruit fangs extended fully. Frozbie
stood shivering beside him.
Frankie Grymlynstine brandished his stone fingers at the sight of the dead and
dying gryphons. “He kill the birds."
Standing just four feet tall, the stone golem appeared unprepossessing in his
knee trousers, bare feet, and artfully torn orange shirt. He had a blocky
head, somewhat flat on top, with black hair. His skin, if it could be called
that, had a greenish tinge.
"Winter is not my best season,” said Sugar Maple. “So I will bring up the
rear."
Pieface looked grim as he patted his pie pans of doom. “I'll get him."
"No, I will.” Bodi drew his wooden sword, Sillior, from his belt and
brandished it.
Lilac stood close to Bodi. “Let's get him."
Grym Ghoul shouldered his scythe and headed through the shattered door.
They spread through the first floors in pairs: Grym and Frankie; Sugar and
Pieface; Lilac and Bodi; and finally Drakengrim and Frozbie.
Eiko walked over to Dyna. “Try not to knock the manor down?"
Dyna shrugged. “We'll try. If we knock down too much of it, I'll give them a
new one.” Then she ran through the door to overtake her paladins, shouting
“Funsies!"
Frankie sauntered over to a wall and placed both hands upon it. His eyes
closed for a moment and then he opened them. “Blood on the stones of the
second floor."
"He's up there.” Pieface ran for the stairs with his friends close behind.
* * * *
Eamon gave a coughing jerk as his heart stopped. A loud pop sounded and the
pouches hanging from Eamon's belt exploded. Malthus wore Gavin's money pouches
and they exploded an instant after Eamon's.
Windows shattered and trees stretched their long limbs through to grab him.
Malthus sprang to his feet, backing up before the strange manifestation. Twigs
closed upon his sleeves and wrapped around his arms. He threw everything he
had at the branches to no avail. He drew his sword and chopped himself free,
wishing for an axe. He retreated into the corridor.
The sound of footsteps and children's voices came from behind him. Malthus
turned and stared. A silver disk flew from the hand of the oldest boy. Malthus
ducked and the pie pan struck the wall, knocking a chunk from it.
Malthus’ hand swept out in the same spell that had killed the gryphons. Sugar
Maple sprang forward and waved her broomstick at him. The spell turned aside
at an oblique angle and struck the ceiling above him, raining chunks of stone

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on his head.
A slender mon stalked along behind them. She reached into her pocket and
brought out a handful of glass globes. “This is for Todd and all the rest of
them."
She hurled the globes of Beast Repellent at Malthus. They exploded around him.
His skin itched, his lungs hurt, and his clothes were singed.
Bodi gave Lilac an impish smile. “I like it when she's angry."
Every time that Malthus threw a spell at them it missed. The tables along the
corridor began to dance around. More chunks of the ceiling fell on his head.
The furniture flew at him. A tapestry began jerking and swirling on a wall,
leaped off as if it were alive and came down over Malthus’ head. As he
thrashed free of it, Bodi charged in and smacked him soundly on his shins.
Malthus threw the tapestry off and it settled over Bodi. The strange assault
had him confused. He retreated down the hallway to buy himself a moment to
regroup and scanned the children. The swirling confusion of power brushed
against his awareness and he realized what he faced.
"Badree Nym."
Those ever-cheerful little walking-disaster-zones had a poltergeist-like
effect that protected them on an instinctual level while they wielded their
affinities on a conscious level. To those nasty children, a battle was a romp.
No one in their right mind went up against them.
Malthus did what most sane myn would: he took to his heels.
At the top of the second flight of stairs, Malthus paused to get his breath.
He threw every bit of power he could gather down the stairwell at the Nym
scampering after him and then turned to run again.
He got only two steps from the stairwell when he heard the resounding crash of
the walls collapsing. They had turned his spell, as he knew they would, and
brought down a long section of the walls and ceiling, blocking it.
Spending power at such a great rate made hunger an issue for Malthus again. At
the end of the short hallway that led into the old family section of the
manor, a group of guardsmyn were herding the last of the nibari to safety.
Food at last.
He loped toward them. The six guardsmyn recognized him and made a vain attempt
at forming a shield wall between Malthus and the nibari. He felled the lycans
with a gesture; but the nibari were already bolting down the hallway, escaping
him.
He dropped to his knees and sank his fangs into the nearest mon. The heady
rush revitalized him. Malthus grabbed another and drained that one also.
"There he is!"
The familiar baritone, too deep to be anyone but Stone, brought Malthus’ head
up and he dropped his meal.
Stoneriver, Kynyr, and Jordan appeared at the head of twenty Guildsmyn.
Ladyfaith leaped from her sheath into Kynyr's hands.
Jordan went for his axes.
Stone raised his arms to the heavens, called upon his grandfather, and felt
the flash of divine power as the change swept over him. Silvery light shone
around him, and the change arrived with suddenness, without shifting, in a
transformation of divine response. His armor altered with him. One moment a
mon stood there, and in the next a gigantic grizzly bear in armor confronted
Malthus.
The sa'necari faltered, recovered in an instant, and threw a scything attack
at them, centering it on Kynyr in deep hatred.
Stone stepped into the path of the spell, shoving Kynyr behind him. It
staggered Stone. He dropped to his knees with a groan; his eyelids fluttering
as he tried to keep them open. His shoulders jerked and twitched, but Stone
remained on his knees and did not topple over as Malthus had expected him to.
"What madness is this?” Malthus retreated two steps, incredulous and disturbed
by Stone's survival. He turned, and fled down a side corridor. Jordan set off
in pursuit and half the myn followed him.
"Stone?” Kynyr touched his shoulder.

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"Get after him. I gotta catch my breath. Spending power like that ... he's
going to be hungry. Don't let him eat."
Kynyr took the rest of the myn and ran on.
Stone crawled to the wall and put his back against it. His yuwenghau healing
processes had begun working; however, he was out of the battle. His eyes
closed as he tried to rest. He did not realize that he had slipped from
consciousness, until soft hands on his face brought him back to full
awareness.
"Stone?"
He opened his eyes and a weary smile touched his lips. “Pandeena."
"Where did they go?"
He glanced at the myn assembled behind her: Kady, Hathura, his cousin Jushan,
and fifteen lycans in their hybrid forms.
Stone pointed. “Don't let him eat. He's some kind of freak. Be careful."
"I will.” Pandeena kissed him, straightened and loped in the direction that
Stone had indicated.
* * * *
Jordan Sinclair surveyed the empty corridor, counting the closed doors along
the length of it. One of the Guildsmyn had his hand on a doorknob and Jordan
motioned him back.
"He's gone to ground in one of these rooms. That's for certain, myn. However,
I don't think he's hiding. Whichever room the bastard is in, the first mon to
open that door is going to get blasted."
Jordan moved to the wall beside the door and gestured for one of the Guildsmyn
to do the same to the other side of it. The mon turned the knob and quickly
put his back to the wall. Jordan pushed the door open with the head of his
axe. Nothing happened. Jordan faced the door and stepped inside, looking
around.
Kynyr and his myn joined them as they searched the second room. The fact that
they were single rooms and not suites, suggested to Kynyr that they had once
been servants’ quarters. Despite the tense situation, he found himself
wondering what the manor had been like during the reign of his great great
grandfather, Suleahan.
"How's Stone?"
"Hanging on, Jordy."
They searched four more rooms and by then Pandeena had joined them.
Kady hugged Kynyr. “I worry about you."
"It's mutual."
A bit of brightness on the floor drew Kady's eye. “What's that?"
She bent, scooped up a bright penny, and spied another and another. “It's a
trail of pennies."
Kady continued down the hallway picking up pennies. They felt strange in her
hand, conjuring images of Bodi and Lilac—and Malthus. She closed her hand
around them, jingling them and trying to read the vibrations. A scene of
Malthus’ pouches exploding and then coins leaking through the tears flashed
across her awareness. The trail ended abruptly in front of a large door near
the end.
"Kynyr, I know where he is.” She pointed at the door.
"Don't open it.” Jordan came to stand beside her. “He's probably crouched in
there with a spell in his hand."
Kady chewed her lip for a moment in thought. “Everyone move away from the
doors. I'm going to open all of them at once."
Stepping away, Kady swept her hand out. Every door in the hallway banged open.
A blast of black energy burst from the door where the trail of pennies ended.
Kynyr darted through as soon as it dissipated.
Kady shrieked for him to stop.
Pandeena rushed in on Kynyr's heels and threw a golden shield around him. A
hard explosion shook the walls as raw arcane power struck the shield. She
swayed and recovered, holding it steady.
Kady joined her and they stood side by side.

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Malthus snarled and drew his sword when he realized he could not get past the
barrier.
It was a large room, filled with furniture. The one talent that Kady had
gotten down pat was levitation. She flicked her hands at the chairs and
tables, sending them flying across the room to batter Malthus.
Ducking and dodging the wooden missiles, Malthus lunged at Kynyr; swinging his
sword with a strength and speed that Kynyr had never suspected the sa'necari
had. The sword struck the golden shields and they shattered.
Pandeena staggered.
Malthus threw another spell at Kynyr, but the king saw the patterns of the
energy. Kynyr brought Ladyfaith up as if in salute and the spell broke against
the magic of the sword. The power recoiled on Malthus and he screamed.
Kynyr glided to the side and then lunged. Ladyfaith slammed into Malthus’
belly. Light burst forth as the power of the sword swept through Malthus’
body, sundering his dark arcane magics.
Malthus stiffened, staring down at the sword in his gut. “No. No, I'm
steeped-in-death."
He crumpled, dragging the blade from Kynyr's hand and convulsed on the floor;
vomiting forth the souls that had given him his power. On and on they came,
flowing in a ghostly white stream of billowing vapor. They filled the room and
flowed through the corridors.
Kynyr blinked and swayed as his soul healed.
"Spare Lyrri.” Malthus’ eyes began to glaze.
When the white flood dwindled to a trickle, Kynyr knelt and touched Malthus.
"He's dead."

EPILOGUE
Kynyr watched the children playing. Lyrri had been found by Jenny Sherbourne
and coaxed out of the hearth. She had become a sad, quiet child; accepting the
overtures of the other children with a fragile tentativeness. The
irrepressible Shelley Brawleigh had made a project of her and the two little
girls became inseparable.
When the defenders of Wolffgard counted up their losses, they discovered that
Merissa was missing. Some suggested that Lord Hoon had made good on his threat
to kidnap her. Others believed that her fragile mind had finally given way and
she had wandered off into the woods never to be found again.
Prince Cooley Diomedes de Waejonan Blackwood was sent to Creeya both for his
safety and to be educated at a proper court in the ways of nobility. He became
a ward of the Grand Master of Creeya and, despite missing his friends, Cooley
thrived in the exotic atmosphere of that realm.
Ossian O'Reilly welcomed Nikko back to Wolffgard and gave him a place among
the lawgivers. He set Nikko to work upon a codex of the laws and customs of
his people, had him keep the books, and record the evidence on various
investigations. It meant a great deal to the invalided young lawgiver to be
part of it all again. Waid O'Reilly lived, but his wounds mended slowly.
Although the spring would bring a time of war, for now, the people of
Wolffgard were content to enjoy the respite that their king and his allies had
brought them.
END

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