Blood Lies (Dark Brothers of the Light #9) (3 page)

"What?" Nevin haired over, withdrew his arm
from Gordain's shoulders and frowned at the castellan.

"There's a new queen. She's driven the
Sharani back almost to their borders. Her armies have been raiding
Red Wolf. It doesn't help at all that the chieftain, Claw, is
dying."

"What is wrong with Claw?"

"His heart is failing him. At least he has
grandchildren on the way. His daughter married a Malthus Estrobian.
Twin sons coming, I hear."

"I've heard nasty things about Malthus ...
but he was not an Estrobian. My cousin Nikko will have his hands
full."

"Nikko? Nikko Softpaws? The lawgiver?"

"What about him?" Nevin's eyebrows knit.

"He's dead."

"Edvarde! Where's Edvarde?" Nevin stalked
down the corridor shouting at the top of his lungs.

"But what about your sleeping arrangements?"
Jeevys followed at their heels.

"Gordain's my mate. We share quarters. Now
where the unholy hell is Edvarde?"

* * * *

Edvarde sat at his desk going through a
small stack of letters. The joy of the evening had fled from his
face. He glanced at Nevin and then looked away, his gaze searching
the shelves of books without purpose, and flicked his fingers at
the chairs. "I've fresh news from Wolffgard."

"Bad?" Nevin snagged a seat, dropped and
settled, legs spread and fingers throttling the chair arms.

"Did you know a young guardsmon named
Kynyr?"

"Kynyr Maguire. We all liked him. Why?"

"He's Claw's great-grandson. Prince Tarrant
Redhand had a betrothal agreement with Cahira Maguire during the
last months of the Lycan Rebellion of 997. She was carrying his
child when Tarrant was killed. Kynyr is their grandson."

"Explains a lot. Claw's sisters were always
saying how much Kynyr looked like Tarrant. I wouldn't know. I was
born long after the Rebellion, and Claw had taken down all the
paintings of his murdered sons."

"Claw is dying."

"Jeevys told me."

"Claw named Kynyr his heir."

"Well, if he's a Redhand, then he's a good
one to rule. Always had a good head on his shoulders."

Edvarde swung about and slammed his hands
down on the table, startling Nevin who had rarely seen him upset to
this degree – and never with anger. "PLEASE! Let me get all of this
out before you go interrupting me again."

Gordain stood leaning against Nevin's chair
and nudged him, earning a nod of acknowledgment.

Edvarde opened a drawer, taking out a
journal, which had a sheaf of letters stuffed into it. He passed
that to Nevin. "You can borrow these. For now, listen to me. The
sa'necari that your people call the Butchering Serpent is in Red
Wolf, possibly in Wolffgard itself. Wolffgard's senior priest and
lawgiver were murdered. Claw is dying of heart troubles and not
expected to make it past winter solstice. He named Kynyr his heir
and gave him the ring of the crown prince – Tarrant's ring. Someone
poisoned Kynyr."

"So he's dead?" Nevin's features tightened
into a mask of despair.

"Probably. He was alive when this letter was
sent. But it took the windborne a week to get it to me."

"Is there no hope for my people?"

"Todd Sinclair."

"Todd died at Kinsdale Wood."

"No. He's alive. He's Kynyr's grandfather
and he's in Wolffgard. Brock Redhand is leading a Creeyan army to
support Kynyr's claim to the throne, and that of Kynyr's unborn
son."

"You've given me much to think about. I need
to speak with my spiritbrother."

"You must not ask him to turn aside, Nevin.
Galee is the greater threat."

"Must we save the humans while our people
die?"

"I'm not a philosopher."

Nevin gave a curt nod and departed.

* * * *

Stygean and Jingen followed Jeevys down a
narrow second floor hallway. The castellan bustled along,
chattering at them.

"I assume that apprentices room
together."

Jeevys' statement struck Stygean like a
poleaxe between the eyes. He had believed that reaching Edvarde's
estate meant he would finally be free of sharing space with Jingen.
Stygean asked himself what his father would have done in the
situation. His father always seemed to have the answers and when he
had none, simply overawed those who doubted him. The boy drew
himself up with an arrogant swagger. "No. My father was a Captain
of the Coast. I've always had a private room. I can't get to sleep
otherwise. And I like to study late."

"We shared a tent..." Jingen eyed Stygean
suspiciously.

"That was on the march." Stygean waved his
hand imperiously. "Jingen is the son of my late father's aides. It
would not be appropriate for me to share quarters with him
here."

Jeevys halted, looking from one to the
other. "You're a noble's son?"

"I come from a long line of Captains. You do
know about them?"

"They rule like lords."

"Precisely. And, I'm certain, that you know
the proprieties need to be observed. Apprentices or not, you can't
expect the son of a lord to share a chamber with commoners."

An expression of proper awe came over
Jeevys' face. "Of course not. I have the ever so nicest room for
you, your lordship. And I shall find another place for Jingen."

"I'll get you for this," Jingen muttered
sotto voce. "I'll get you."

Stygean smirked, holding tight to his
high-handed manners as they followed Jeevys. "You'll try," Stygean
mouthed the reply silently.

Veranoctem 7, 1077 AQ

The Minnorian Imperial Army chose to winter
in Machusyts, which had been the ancient capital of Darr before
Angrim bit a chunk off it six hundred years ago. Machusyts had
fallen to Minnoras fifteen days ago. They had – so far – left the
city largely intact. There had been a bit of pruning, usually as
victims for necromantic rites, religious rituals or for the dinner
table. Demons and the undead walked openly in the daylight, defying
the common myths that had grown up about them.

Prince Clovis, middle son of the late Kyser
Gerhardt, gazed from the iron-barred window of a large drawing room
on the highest floor of the ducal palace. It had been turned into a
cage for thirty-four myn, all of them captured members of the
nobility. This included four princes: Clovis, his two elder
brothers, Willard and Sewell, and his younger brother Tancred. Duke
Thorben of Machusyts and his two sons, Bonifaz and Detlef, all
paced restlessly; as the newest additions to the larder, they had
not yet made peace with their situation. They had been chosen as
living hosts for the eggs of the Skerpyon Queen, Maruska. Only
Clovis knew the fullness of their fate: he had seen twenty-four myn
die when Maruska's first clutch hatched and ate their way out. By
day, Clovis held himself tightly together. At night, he tended to
wake screaming.

He studied Thorben from the corners of his
eyes. The duke looked as if he had been dragged from his bed:
shirtless, his long, russet hair in disarray. Bonifaz, the eldest
son, looked as disheveled as his father, only worse: his shirt was
torn and bloodstained, suggesting that he had fought. Detlef looked
to be in the best condition of the three, still had his shirt and
tunic, and only a few strands had escaped his black braid.

Clovis flicked his gaze back to the window
when he saw Thorben heading in his general direction, not wishing
to provide the duke with an opportunity, a reason to speak.
Machusyts had fallen two weeks ago, yet Thorben and his sons had
managed to elude capture until late last night. Thorben's anger had
frustrated every attempt that Clovis made to explain the situation
to him. Now Clovis could feel the reins of his temper slipping, and
fought to remain calm and centered; hence his reluctance to get
sucked into another fruitless round of argument with the duke.

"How can you stand there?" Thorben demanded.
"We should attack the guard and fight our way out."

And round we go again
. Clovis shifted
to glance sidelong at Thorben. "There is no escape."

"We're all strong myn."

"Are we?" Clovis turned fully and pointed at
a blond giant sitting on a bed, staring blank-eyed. "Tell that to
Konrad Dreslin. At Maruska's orders, a vampire ripped through his
mind as if it were tissue paper to learn where his nephew, Berran,
had fled to. Since Berran has not joined us here, I assume he's
still free."

"Then there is hope."

"Not for us. You and your sons have not yet
been given the treatment, but you will." Clovis swept his hands at
the others. "We have control commands in our brains, placed there
by skilled vampires. If we try to escape, we won't get half a spear
length before it knocks us screaming to our knees." Clovis returned
his attention to the window. "Believe me, I've tested it."

"Berran..."

"Cannot save us. He embraced the White Lady
and will reach safety in Beltria. The Lady guards him; Talons
Trollbane, a prince of assassins, has been dispatched to protect
and guide him."

"He'll come back with an army." Thorben
smacked his fist into his palm.

"Not in time to save us," Clovis continued
diffidently. "Come spring, we die. All of us here." Clovis opened
his shirt, revealing a target brand on his upper right chest. He
ran one finger around the edges of it. "That is where she intends
to insert her barb and implant her egg. We all have them, except
for you and your sons."

"I won't let them do that."

"There's nothing you can do to stop them."
Clovis faced the room, resting his hips against the window sill.
"Where once I was their prince, now I am their priest. The White
Lady will gather our souls to her when we die, and we will dwell in
her gardens forever." He waved his arms. "Morning prayers."

"You're an apostate." Thorben spit on
him.

Clovis lowered his head, color spreading
across his rugged features. "Your god abandoned us. Two thirds of
Angrim has fallen. The White Lady has succored us."

"I have seen your White Lady, and I have not
fallen prey to her lies."

Clovis let that pass. He went to Konrad and
stroked his hair, tears of pity leaking from his eyes. Lord Konrad
Dreslin had been one of the greatest military minds in all of
Angrim before the vampire broke him. "It is time to pray."

"Pray. Pray to White Lady." Konrad smiled
beatifically and allowed himself to be led to where the others were
already kneeling in a circle on the floor. "Pray good."

"Yes, Konrad, pray to the White Lady."
Clovis seated Konrad beside Willard, who with the death of their
father was technically Kyser of Angrim.

Prince Sewell flinched away, moving to
another place in the circle. A faint shake of Clovis' head gave the
only indication that his older brother's actions distressed him.
Sewell could not cope with the close presence of a mind-torn.

Tancred and Willard put their arms around
Konrad and let him kneel between them for the prayers.

Clovis stepped to the center, lifting his
arms to the heavens. "Hail Lady of the Light, succor your children,
strengthen your warriors, for by your sign will they conquer and
this land be cleansed of the evil which besets it."

Thorben kicked his way through the circle,
seized Clovis by the throat, and shook him. "Cease your sacrilege.
I won't stand for it."

Clovis struggled to pry Thorben's fingers
loose.

Willard came to his feet, eyes burning with
outrage. "Release him, Thorben. As your Kyser, I command it."

"You're no Kyser of mine, apostate." Thorben
released Clovis with a shove and struck Willard in the chest,
staggering him.

On the far side of the room, Bonifaz and
Detlef exhorted the believers in the old god to attack Clovis' myn,
but none of them moved. Bonifaz grabbed a mon and tried
unsuccessfully to drag him to his feet. No matter how much Clovis
had tried to explain the situation, it became abundantly clear that
they had disregarded his words.

The door slammed open.

Four guardsmyn and two pikemyn led by an
officer entered warily.

"We're going to get hell now," Clovis
muttered under his breath.

Thorben backed away from Willard as his sons
went silent.

Captain Godofredo ran his finger across his
thick mustache and then pulled at the long ends. "Carajo! Sounded
like you meat-pies were fighting. Lady Maruska won't like
that."

Clovis rubbed his throat. "There was no
fighting. A disagreement got loud."

Godofredo unhooked his baton from his belt,
using it to nudge Clovis' chin up and over. "And those bruises on
your neck were made by loud voices."

A tentative smile flickered hopefully across
Konrad's lips, an uncertain light in his eyes. Konrad pointed at
Thorben. "He did it. I'm a good boy."

The captain sauntered closer to Thorben.
"Lady Maruska doesn't want the meat damaged."

Thorben glared at him. "You locked us in
with apostates. I demand to be moved."

"Hasn't Clovis explained it to you?"
Godofredo chuckled, contempt heavy in his blunt features. "You're
here because you're a meat pie." He punctuated his words with a tap
of his baton against Thorben's chest. "You're here because Lady
Maruska wants well-fed, meaty nobles as hosts for her eggs."

Thorben grabbed the baton, twisting and
jerking in his attempts to wrest it from the captain. Two soldiers
seized him, whipped his arms behind his back and bound his wrists
together. Beyond them, the other pair of soldiers barred Bonifaz
and Detlef from aiding their father by crossing pikes in their
path.

Godofredo nodded. "Full bind on all three.
Lady Maruska is bringing Sergei to sort their mental issues and
Ignacio with the branding irons."

The soldiers bound their wrists and ankles
together, and then the wrists to their ankles, forcing them to rest
on their knees with their chests thrust up.