Cethe (8 page)

wil have a wife myself someday.”

Severyn rol ed his eyes.

“As a matter of fact,” continued Mick, sobering. “The sooner Eldering is Bound, the better. I may do it tonight.”

“T-tonight?” Severyn’s stomach dropped and his face heated. “H-here?” he stammered.

“He obviously knows the castle inside and out. He’s as sneaky and unpredictable as his murderous kin. The longer we wait,

the greater the chance he’l try to run again. Next time, he may succeed.”

“But I thought… Weren’t you going to take him to Blackmarsh? For Loth’s sake, wait! We need your grandfather! What if

something happens?”

“What could happen?” Michael’s grin appeared. “Admit it! You’re just upset by the thought of what I’l be doing to him.”

Severyn felt his face redden. “No!” he protested weakly, adding, “Although, it is rather disconcerting to think that you… and

he… ” He trailed off, hideously embarrassed.

Mick, the bastard, was laughing helplessly. “What have you been thinking, Sev? Tel me! Leave nothing out! I confess, I’m

dying to know!”

Severyn’s response was to grab a nearby cushion and send it bouncing off Michael’s head.

St. Gray is credited with converting the Marquis of Tantegrel, Lord Rami Egrel, to the truth of Loth. Indeed, the Marquis

became so devout he changed his name to Lothlain to honor the God of All Things.

from:
The Chronicles of Tanyrin: Volume I
,

Year of Loth’s Dominion 1347

Michael wrung reluctant agreement from his prince for the immediate Binding of Stefn Eldering. He made a fine show of

nonchalance, as if breaking every law of heaven and earth was of no more consequence than a casual encounter with some

marshland whore, but he knew it was no such thing.

To Bind a man, to make him cethe, was to irrevocably change them both. He didn’t know the details: most had indeed been

lost with the naragi. Anything written about them before the War had long since been destroyed, wiped out in the Church’s relentless

persecution of al things naran. There was mention of them in the Chronicles, but only a few sentences and then only to hold the

sorcerers out as an example of al that was evil and depraved.

After Michael and Severyn parted for the evening, Michael returned to his room and stood for a long time, staring blindly out

his windows. Another of the countryside’s fierce summer storms approached: he could see flickers of lighting in the distance.

Once, long before the war, there had been balance between the Streams, Dark and Light, kna and lothria. At least, that was

how his people told it, but in whispers and with care not to be heard. Naragi and magi had worked together, their powers

complementing each other: brothers. But the war had changed that, pitting dark against light. The naragi had overstepped their

bounds, claiming power for themselves for which they had no authority. They sought to make the Dark Stream dominant and had

very nearly succeeded. Loth had intervened, giving the magi powers they’d not had before, powers as destructive as the naragi.

Yet Loth’s intervention had not brought about justice. In the eyes of the h’nara, it had only created a new imbalance, with Light

overwhelming Dark, and a new tyranny had risen. Now the warrior-mages of the High Orders wielded terrible powers, standing

unopposed.

Until now.

Michael took out the velvet case he’d brought from Blackmarsh. The fabric was rubbed bare along the corners, its silver trim

badly tarnished. Inside, nestled in brittle, faded satin, was a wide band of woven gold, supple and quite heavy, studded with gems

that flashed with fire undiminished by the centuries.

Lethet.
Beautiful it was, and priceless, yet in the end, it was nothing more than a slave col ar, a sign of ownership and, in its

own way, a symbol of Michael’s enslavement, as wel .

Soon he would be bound to another man as irrevocably as if he’d been wed. Picking up the lethet, he imagined Severyn

wearing it, al that golden hair loose across broad, naked shoulders.

Why wasn’t it you? Why couldn’t you have had the Blood?

But that was nonsense. Why would he wish such a fate on the friend to whom he and his family owed so much? Much better

that the Elderings pay in shame and servitude. At least a shadow of justice would be served by it.

Michael closed the box and put it into a larger valise. On an afterthought, he robbed a curtain of its silk tie-back and dropped

the rope into the bag, as wel . Taking a deep breath, he picked up his lamp and left the room.

It was past midnight and Shia’s upper hal s were deserted. Here and there, a candle guttered in its sconce, but most were

unlit. Once, he heard voices down a connecting hal way, but they quickly faded.

The isolation of Eldering’s room in the deserted north wing suited Michael’s purposes very wel . What he was about to do

needed no witnesses. Other than the occasional flash of lightning il uminating the dusty windows, the entire floor was dark. Twice,

drafts blew out his lamp. Michael whispered a minor il umination spel .

“Why not?” he thought as his surroundings came back into view. If the stories were right, very soon he would have power to

spare. He would be naragi, humanity’s worst nightmare.

But he would not be like they had been. He was part human, too. This power would be Severyn’s, the sword and shield of

Tanyrin’s only hope.

If it worked. If the legends were true. And — most importantly — if his human blood didn’t thwart al their plans.

It was the contaminating human blood, the inevitable dilution of his naran heritage, that was as much responsible for the

disappearance of the naragi as the Church’s persecution. Even the Arranz dukes, whose blood was purest of al the h’nara, had

seen their once great powers fade over the generations. He was the first in recent memory to retain his witchpowers into manhood.

There was no guard at Eldering’s door tonight, thanks to Severyn’s orders. Michael pul ed the key from his pocket and

unlocked it.

The new earl was not in his bed. Looking sharply around, Michael saw him sleeping in the room’s only chair, a ratty old

wingback set before the smal stove, an open book on his knee.

Asleep, Stefn looked younger than his nineteen years, his dark hair framing his too-thin face. Eyelashes as dark and long as a

girl’s lay against his cheeks.

Michael’s grandfather had wanted Michael to take Al en, Eldering’s heir, for his cethe. The old earl’s brutish, self-centered son

had certainly deserved his fate, but after three weeks in Al en Eldering’s company, Michael could not stomach the prospect. Sin-

catcher or no, Stefn was at least pleasant to look upon.

And Stefn was stil an Eldering. For al his delicate prettiness, he was just one more in a long line of butchers and rapists.

Given the chance, he’d carry on his family’s bloody work without turning a hair. Loth knew he’d been quick enough to drive a dagger

into poor Auron!

Grabbing the chair, Michael tipped the youth out of it.

Welcome to hell, Hunter-spawn!

Stefn woke at once, scrambling clumsily to his feet and nearly fel again backing hastily away from Michael. There was not far

to go in the cramped, book-cluttered chamber. His back to the wal , he croaked, “Arranz!”

“Good evening.” Michael looked him over. Eldering’s white lawn shirt was dirty and unbuttoned, revealing a slim, but nicely-

muscled torso beneath.

Seeing the direction of Michael’s gaze, the new earl pul ed the edges together. “What do you want?”

Appropriating the chair, Michael sat. He opened the valise and took out the jewel-box. Stefn’s green eyes darted to the

contents and back.

“You’re a good little lackey of the Church,” Michael said. “I’m certain you’ve heard of the cethera.”

Stefn frowned, blank, then his eyes widened. Michael almost laughed at his expression.

“S-Sathra?”

“Close enough.” Michael took out the col ar. It lay over his hand, sparking in the firelight.

“I would rather die!”

“How noble.” Michael’s lip curled.

Crimson, Stefn retorted, “As if I would touch a taint like that, much less a male taint!”

“You know,” said Michael, letting the lethet slide back and forth between his hands, “I hate that insult. One of the first things

you must do as my cethe is to banish it from your vocabulary.”

“You can go to hel ,
taint!
”

Michael surged from the chair, slamming Stefn hard into the wal and knocking the breath from him. The youth col apsed,

gasping, unable to fight back as Michael pushed him, face-down, to the floor. Keeping one knee planted firmly on Stefn’s back,

Michael dragged the valise over and took out the rope. While Stefn struggled and swore, Michael bound his wrists behind him, then

flipped him over. Straddling him, Michael smiled coldly down into those wide, terrified eyes.

“Go ahead,” he invited softly. “Say it again.”

Eldering tried to turn his head, but Michael refused to al ow it, seizing a handful of black silky hair and yanking it back. “You

are mine now. And when you’re on your knees before me, think of al the h’naran women your father and grandfathers forced into the

same position. When I’m using you like a whore, think of al the children raped and slaughtered by your murderous, bestial

forebears, sin-catcher!”

“Don’t you dare!” Stefn’s lips trembled. He began to struggle with renewed desperation. “I’l kil you! I swear to Loth, I’l kil you!

”

“No,” replied Michael. Fist tightening in Stefn’s hair, he leaned forward, mouth brushing the youth’s ear. “You’l serve me. Your

body wil renew my power and make me as strong as a lothrian mage, perhaps even stronger. A delicious irony, don’t you think?”

Stefn’s breath was ragged, the pulse at his throat beating wildly. “Y-you’re lying!”

Beautiful. Like a captured angel.

Michael swore, releasing him, appal ed at himself and his whol y inappropriate flight of fancy. Devil, more like. He got up,

dragging Stefn after him. Suddenly, al he wanted was to get it over with. He threw Eldering onto the bed. Frantical y, the youth

rol ed over, struggling to sit up.

There was cettek powder in the jewel-box, several smal , folded paper envelopes tucked under the lining. Michael poured the

contents of one into a half-empty cup of wine, the only sustenance Eldering had been al owed al day. When he turned back, the

youth was seated on the bed, pressed against the wal , knees drawn up. His shirt had slipped off one shoulder, but he didn’t notice.

His eyes were fixed on the goblet.

“Wil you drink it or must I force it down your throat?”

“W-what is it?”

“It wil ease what comes next,” replied Michael.

The youth only shook his head and tried to press further into the wal . Michael reached for him.

He should have known. He should have remembered the incident in the Great Hal and been ready, but instead, Stefn’s heel

caught Michael squarely on the chin. The force of the blow was just as surprising, turning everything crimson, scattering Michael’s

thoughts like dust. He felt his knees go to water.

Some spark of self-preservation brought the spel to his bloody lips, the words barely intel igible. His head cleared and the

pain disappeared, but Eldering was already off the bed and stumbling for the door.

“
ARKAST!
” Michael barely choked out the Word.

Eldering froze.

Gasping for breath, Michael lay on the bed, too dizzy to move. The wine was now a red stain on the sheet, its scent strong in

his nostrils. His temper in rags, he shoved himself off and, in two long strides, reached Eldering. Taking hold of the boy’s shirt,

Michael ripped it off, letting it tangle around the other man’s bound wrists.

And swore.

Scars! So many of them! An intricate lattice of pain covered every inch of Eldering’s slim back. Some were so deep, Michael

wondered what could have left them. His rage vanished in the cold shock of it.

His spel faded, but Stefn didn’t move. The young earl stood, rigid and shaking under Michael’s hands.

“What the hel happened to you?” Michael had seen scars like these only on h’nara, those poor wretches who’d escaped the

Church’s slave camps.

“Just do what you wil . Get it over with.” Eldering’s voice was low and thick. Michael heard the tears in it. His appetite for this,

never strong to begin with, turned sour in his bel y.

“I have more of the herb,” he said. “It’s harmless. Take it.”

“No.” Softer stil .

Michael’s hands curled into fists. He could walk away now. He could untie the boy, go downstairs and do his best to convince

Severyn they must find another way to deal with the magi. Then, he would have to confront his grandfather.

And tell him what? That you’re throwing away the h’nara’s one chance for survival out of pity? Fool!

Al the fight had gone out of Eldering. He didn’t resist when Michael took him back to the bed and made him lie on his bel y

across it. His hands clenched when Michael seized his left boot. He turned his face into the sheets, but otherwise made no sound.

The boot was heavy, much too heavy for ordinary footwear. After Michael pul ed it off, he saw why: it was lined with steel from