Blood Lies (Dark Brothers of the Light #9) (2 page)

The ground rose steadily and the forest
began to thin. Captain Luck Settlesby raised his arm, giving a
short wave, and the army halted. Isranon gestured for the officers
and his apprentices to ride forward. Stygean hunched in the saddle,
eyes wide and mouth tight. Jingen, riding beside him, had his head
high and shoulders back. Nevin glanced from Stygean to Jingen and
then nudged his horse close to Stygean's.

"Head up, lad. Sit straight. Don't
slump."

Stygean flinched and obeyed.

Jingen snickered. He enjoyed it when one of
the adults corrected Stygean. It assuaged the sense of betrayal
Jingen felt so keenly. They had been conspirators together,
plotting the death of the filthy renunciate. They were going to be
heroes to their race, to their sa'necari philosophy, avengers of
their slain parents – Stygean's mother and Jingen's father – and it
had been a glorious rush when Jingen set everything up for Stygean
to ambush Isranon. Instead of killing Isranon, Stygean had fled the
tent weeping like a little girl and disappeared down the aisles
between the tents. Afterward, Stygean had rejected Jingen, his
plans and everything that made them sa'necari. Jingen felt a sharp
bitterness over it.

Nevin's gaze fixed upon Jingen with disdain.
"Stygean, you're worth ten of this little wanker. Act it!"

Jingen's expression turned sullen as the
tables were turned by the grotesque lycan.

Stygean smiled and the wolf gave him a pat
on the back.

"Good lad." Nevin gave him a second pat
before moving up beside Isranon and the second most important mon
in the army: General Nans Gryphonheart.

She was a cinnamon-haired, sapphire-eyed mon
and tall mon – though not by Sharani standards – five foot eleven
inches. The bastard cousin of King William Gryphonheart of
Gormond's Reach. Now the full truth – which had only been known to
close friends – was out: she was yuwenghau, a demi-god; the
wilderkin daughter of Willodarus, God of the Woodlands and Wild
Creatures.

With Nans leading, the Army of the
Renunciate emerged from the forest and crossed the wide swath of
snow-covered ground with their banners snapping in the chill
afternoon breeze. The intense whiteness of strong sunlight
reflecting on the clean snow of a tremendous swathe of open ground
temporarily blinded Stygean. He blinked, and as his vision cleared,
could see the manor house of Lord Edvarde sitting upon the crown of
the next hill, defended by crenellated walls. A sturdy portcullis
interrupted the line of dour, gray stone, to which the
frost-browned skeletons of Ostonish ivy clung precariously.

Welcoming shouts erupted from the walls when
they drew near. The gates swung open.

Stygean gazed at the high walls of the outer
courtyard with keen interest. The members of Gryphonheart's
Rowdies, the former freeranger units that formed the core of the
army, had spoken of nothing else for the past several days, and now
they were there. Isranon always spoke highly of the loremaster,
Lord Edvarde; so between his master and the Rowdies, Stygean had
taken the talk about Edvarde to heart.

The broad courtyard had snow-clad gardens to
his right, locked in the brown of winter slumber, and a stableyard
bustling with activity to his left. The stablemyn came out to
watch, and the hostler in charge came forward to show them where to
put their horses. Stygean dismounted, and a stablemon came up.

"I'll take him," the mon said and gave the
animal a pat. "He'll be in the stalls over there. Ask anyone to
help you when you need him again."

Stygean nodded. It felt almost like being
back home the way the servants were deferring to him. Sorrow did a
turn with his memories, staining his mood with longing for a home
that no longer existed, and then danced away as Stygean focused on
the new things. This was not home. He had a lot to learn here.

Jeevys the castellan met them in the
courtyard. His rotund figure, childlike excitement and cherubic
face were the complete opposite of the castellan for Stygean's late
father. This caused the boy to wonder how Jeevys managed to keep
the staff in order.

The castellan clapped his hands, grinning at
Nans. "An army, Nans! You've got an army! What will it be next?
Lord Edvarde is very excited and simply cannot wait to hear your
stories." He hustled Nans around and saw Isranon dismounting. "He
is feeling better, isn't he? Is he healed?"

Nans shook her head, causing her cinnamon
braid to slide forward over her broad shoulder. "No, Jeevys. But he
is a lot stronger. That's a tale for later."

"We'll have to open every single room of the
old barracks halls this time for certain. We may even have to
double and triple up. My, my, this is exciting."

Nans rolled her eyes heavenward. Edvarde
would be interrogating everyone he could corner for new stories of
heroic adventure and exotic discoveries to record. The mon was
insatiable in his quest for tales and strange knowledge.

Isranon smiled when Jeevys insisted on
clasping his arms and then he impulsively hugged the old castellan.
"I am glad to be back. I have many stories for Lord Edvarde."

Jeevys glowed at that. "Oh, splendid!"

Anksha wrapped her arm around Isranon's
waist, and he put his arm around her shoulders. She rubbed her
belly and looked up at him. Isranon kissed her forehead. "Not yet,
precious."

Nevin and his lover, Gordain, came to stand
beside Isranon. Physically opposite to Nevin, Gordain MacQuarrie
had delicate plains to his features and the cheeky manner of a
benign rascal. The nearly unnoticeable hint of a point in his ears
suggested a bit of sylvan blood in his ancestry.

"Come along, Pet." Nevin ruffled Anksha's
mane. "Edvarde's curiosity will have us all by the short and
curlies if we fail to move promptly along."

"Short and curlies?" Anksha craned her head
to look Nevin in the eye.

Gordain doubled over with laughter at
Nevin's expression as his lover searched for suitable words.

"Hairs between your hind legs."

Anksha's tightly furled tail snapped out and
the tip twitched. "Mine's not short and curlies."

"It's usually covered in mud, twigs and
leaves," said Stygean, drawing closer to them. Until her belly had
expanded, Anksha had loved to strip naked and wallow in the mud or
go leaping through the trees. Keeping clothes on her had been a
challenge for his master.

Haig lifted Nainee down from her horse and
nuzzled her neck. "Finally a bed again, Nainee. A proper place for
our rutting and less rough on your soft back."

She laughed, dropping her hand to her
swollen belly "Rutting yes, sipping no."

Stygean ducked his head. During his period
of rebellion, he had nearly killed Nainee, Haig's lead nibari, by
sneaking drinks from her veins. After that Haig placed vampiric
wards in her mind that were too strong for the boy to get past –
not that he was predisposed to try it again – and other
modifications to increase her assertiveness.

Jeevys led the way into the manor with the
officers making a small procession behind him. Stygean took in the
tapestries of heroes, gods and demi-gods, wondering what stories
matched the scenes since he was unfamiliar with tales told by the
people of the light. The hallways were hung with pine boughs and
animals wrought from silver and gold, as well as blown glass and
fired clay painted in clever colors. It looked like a celebration
of some kind, which puzzled Stygean. Then he remembered the books
of tales that Isranon had given him for his thirteenth birthday and
decided he would look there for his explanations, rather than annoy
people with his questions. His fingers strayed across the velvety
surface of the tapestries, enjoying the feel of them. Yes, he
wanted to learn more.

Lord Edvarde waited in his great hall with
all his tables set in order for a grand dinner. He rose and went to
them, lifting each leg with care and precision like a gaunt wading
bird, every nuance orderly to a fault. "So many! How wonderful. I
fear that most will have to eat in the barracks. But all the
officers and such can be here. And all of those who came last time.
How have you all been?"

Nans grinned. "I think you know most of that
already." Edvarde had more sources of information than any ten
intelligence officers she'd ever met.

Isranon came forward, bringing Stygean and
Jingen. "Lord Edvarde, I would like to present my apprentices,
Stygean Loosestrife and Jingen Scathwick. Young sa'necari-born who
have chosen to walk the middle path with me."

"Wonderful. Wonderful!" Edvarde clapped his
hands and then clasped each of the boy's hands in turn and shook
with them.

Stygean smiled, taking an instant liking to
the mon.

Isranon slipped his arm around Stygean's
shoulder. "You are my example to the world, Stygean. You and
Jingen. The people of the light will see that I am not the only one
who can live without the stain of the rites, without doing evil
among them."

Isranon guided Stygean around to a place at
the tables, the row that led down from the right of the high table
where the mage would sit with Lord Edvarde and Nans. Jingen was
already seated when Isranon indicated that Stygean should sit
beside the boy.

The doors opened and nine people came in,
followed at a respectable distance by their entourage.

Stygean studied the newcomers with
fascination. There were things you avoided when you were sa'necari
passing for human; mages were the most dangerous of those. He had
only seen a single mage at his father's home, and only because he
had been allowed to watch his father kill him. These entered freely
in a long line, trusting the tales they had heard of Lord
Dawnreturning, the sa'necari renunciate and mage-paladin of
Kalirion Sun-Lord. The three leaders were a female and two males in
high-collared robes that nearly swept the floor. Two walked with
staves. The third carried a pair of blades at her hips and a long
sword at her back, clearly a battle mage like his mentor. Next came
a long line of journeymyn and apprentices in court attire.

One of the apprentices stood out above the
others, long red hair in a plait down her back, delicate features
and a proud bearing. Stygean's mouth opened at the sight of her,
and his fangs and loins reacted before he could stop himself.
Jingen shoved him. "I wouldn't mind getting inside that one."

Stygean glared at Jingen. "Don't talk that
way."

Jingen scowled back. "You're sounding more
like a wuss every day. We could have two upped her, if you hadn't
decided to become a wimp."

"Shut it!" Stygean noticed that all the
crosstalk had ceased and everyone was staring at them. He dropped
his eyes quickly, biting his lower lip: he had been too loud and
everyone had heard him.

One of the mage leaders, a tall, gaunt mon
with red hair, chuckled. "Boys will be boys."

Laughter rippled through the chamber, and
the crosstalk resumed.

His eyes lifted and met the red-haired
girl's gaze. She smiled. Stygean flushed.

"More and more," Jingen hissed, "I think I'm
going to kill you."

Stygean ignored him, filling his plate with
meat and gravy, a slice of peach pie covered in syrup and cream, a
variety of nuts, pickled vegetables and several kinds of bread.
Randilyn stole down the tables and nudged him. When he looked up,
she filled his hands with candy.

"Honey strawberry, my favorite." Randilyn
winked at Stygean. "Tell me what you think. This is the only place
I've ever found it."

Stygean smiled. She had nothing for
Jingen.

His gaze was drawn to the left, watching his
master discussing the journey with Lord Edvarde. Stygean could not
hear what they were saying, so his attention focused mainly on his
master. Isranon nodded to Edvarde wearily, smiling despite his
obvious exhaustion. Stygean lowered his fork and knife, wiped his
mouth and hands on a napkin, all without taking his eyes from
Isranon. The lines in his master's face seemed to deepen as Stygean
watched. Isranon's color faded. All the signs that Isranon was
about to have another of his attacks were clear to the boy. He
spilled his chair and bolted for the dais when he saw Isranon grab
the edge of the table and struggle to hold himself upright.

Stygean reached his master as the mage fell
from his seat and caught him, easing Isranon to the floor. A
cacophony of alarm went up. The boy cradled Isranon's head, fishing
in his mentor's pocket for the flask of Sanguine Rose. He got it
open, shoving it between Isranon's teeth. Troll’s blood, the base
of the potion, reacted with Isranon's hemovore bio-alchemy and
roused him. Stygean shifted Isranon to a better position,
supporting him while he drank.

Stygean became aware of the people crowding
around them, looked up and scanned their faces. "He's exhausted. My
master has been maintaining the scry wards continuously for two
months..."

Nans nodded, moving people aside to reach
them. "That's why we need mages. He can't keep doing it alone." She
took Isranon from Stygean's arms, lifting him as if he weighed
nothing, and held him. "For now, I'll put him to bed."

* * * *

When dinner ended and the hour grew late,
Jeevys and his helpers began assigning rooms and showing myn where
to find them. He led Nevin down a familiar corridor, halting at the
same room that Nevin had occupied a year ago. Nevin had his arm
across Gordain's shoulders, smiling fondly at the younger wolf's
suggestive glances and gentle bumping against him. Gordain had
spent months cheekily trimming the edges from Nevin's stodginess,
reminding him of what it had been like to be twenty.

"Will you be sharing a room with your cousin
again?" Jeevys asked Nevin.

"Olin was sent to Wolffgard..."

"Oh my! It's very dangerous there. Red Wolf
is on the verge of war with Waejontor."