Blood Lies (Dark Brothers of the Light #9) (10 page)

"What's your game, Teague?" Nans propped her
elbows on the table and leaned forward. "You've rushed to be part
of every major war for the last century."

"Since when did war become your business,
freeranger? Couldn't find another dog to rescue from a tree?"

Nans swallowed back an urge to smack Teague.
Her freeranger unit, Gryphonheart's Rowdies, had indeed rescued a
huge wolfhound from a tall tree. She never figured out how it got
up the tree to begin with, but it had become one of Teague's
favorite jibes. The only good thing that Nans had ever been able to
say about Teague was that she never brought the magic into play
when involved in a simple punching match. Fifty years ago, when
Nans had been more hot-headed, she and Teague had bloodied each
other's faces over an altercation in Timbren. Lokynen and Meleajys
broke the fight up before it could escalate to swords. "I'm the
general of this army. If you are going to join us, you will follow
orders."

Teague shrugged. "As long as you don't
expect me to rescue dogs."

"This is my war, Teague. I intend to conduct
it Euzadi style. Hit and run tactics. We're not big enough, even
with your mercenary units, to stand toe to toe against what
Gylorean is fielding. If we can hurt her forces, keep them
guessing..." Nans paused, studying Teague's face for some reaction
and failed to see any. "It's for the Sharani's Saer'Ajan and the
Sacred King of Rowanhart to mop up. They have the kind of huge
standing armies it will take to stop Gylorean."

"I understand that. Just answer one
question?"

"What?"

"When did it become your war?"

"I was in Minnoras when it fell to her coup.
Some of my closest friends died there. I barely got out alive. It's
a godwar, Teague."

"So you really believe that she's a
god?"

"I know she is. She's the one that we
missed. Somehow she escaped after my father imprisoned her six
thousand years ago."

"War is the ultimate test of power and
skill, Nans. I intend to have my shot at her."

"So you already had your mind made up when
you got here?"

"Not at all. I wanted to take the measure of
your army first. I could just as easily have offered my services to
your cousin, King William."

Merick had sat so quietly that they had
failed to notice him. Now he shifted in his seat and cleared his
throat to get their attention. "Isranon is a pan-elementalist. His
power is a roaring furnace, Teague. Don't play games with him."

"Then what am I?" Teague stuck her arm out
and nodded at it.

Merick grasped her wrist and Read her mage
centers. He had done it before and already knew what his answer
would be. However, he gave it an effort. "On the Abelardian scale,
you're a ten, Teague. There's no question about that. However,
Isranon is off the charts. They will need to be re-calculated to
account for him."

"What the unholy hell are you talking
about?" Teague scowled.

"If any lineage were going to produce a
freak of power, it would be either that of Dawnhand or Josiah
Abelard – his first incarnation that is. Lord Isranon Dawnreturning
is the product of both lineages."

Teague started to reply, stopped and pointed
at the door.

Isranon emerged, dressed for the cold
weather.

He carried a plain staff that looked like a
simple gnarled stick.

As he stepped into the hallway, Edvarde
trotted up to them accompanied by Jeevys with a writing board,
paper, and supplies. "Ready to show them?"

"I think so." Isranon glanced at the stuff
that Jeevys carried. "What's all this?"

"I am going to take notes. Write about it
for posterity." Edvarde looked very pleased with himself, sobered
abruptly, and eyed the staff Isranon carried. "That's not the one I
gave you for solstice."

"Yes, it is." Isranon dropped the cloaking
spell just as Cordwainer and Koejelus showed up.

The mages stared at it stunned. Mage-sight
allowed them to see the energy coiled in shimmering layers around
its six feet of hard rock maple. Nine inches of diamond had been
magically grown onto the butt and the shaft was incised with
intricate Kalirioni runes amid vines and leaves in jeweled inlays.
The upper body, head and wings of a pegasus topped it, so solidly
done in heavy burnished kendaryl that it could be used to strike
with.

"I have seen drawings of it," Koejelus
breathed the words out in a hushed voice. "I never thought I would
live to see it."

Teague's brows knit together. "That's
Warrior, isn't it?"

"May I touch it?" Cordwainer extended a
tentative hand toward the staff.

"You may." Isranon inclined the staff toward
him.

Cordwainer's fingers brushed the pegasus, as
he extended his powers to take its measure. His lips parted in
surprise. "I would burn out trying to wield something like that. It
is no wonder to me now that Kalirion chose you as his first
mage-paladin in five hundred years."

Isranon followed Teague outside with a large
entourage gathering behind them.

A section of the yard had been cleared of
snow and several targets set up: a bale of hay, a group of
strawmyn, six piles of snow-covered wood. A crowd had gathered
along the far edges of the yard, which Teague had ordered roped off
to keep the curious at bay.

"You want me to burn them?" Isranon asked,
running his gaze across the targets.

"With the Sunfire Lances." Teague crossed
her arms and settled onto a tree round.

A loud voice speaking in broken Engla drew
everyone's eyes as a huge, gray-skinned form charged the rear of
the crowd. People scurried to get out of Yggsil's path, fearful of
being trampled by the stone troll. "Lady troll!"

Nans groaned.

"Lady troll?" Teague snickered. "You,
Nans?"

"Shut up."

"I heard you had acquired a troll, but this
is the first I've seen of him."

"Shut up."

"For Lady Troll, got present." Yggsil
stopped in front of Nans, whipped a bloody trophy from behind his
back and shoved it in Nans' face. "Got present. See? Bouquet?"

It took a second to register, but the troll
was holding half a dozen snaky necks with large serpentine heads on
them: hydras.

"Very nice, Yggsil." Nans pointed to a
corner of the yard. "Go sit over there until we're finished."

"I love Lady Troll." Yggsil moved to sit
where she had ordered him, not the least bit discouraged, and very
certain that he would win her affections eventually.

Isranon gazed at the bails. Teague wanted a
demonstration of sheer power, proof that he was what he claimed:
the heir to the power of both Abelard and Dawnhand. "There is one
greater than I coming. When the day of reckoning arrives, you will
find him in Red Wolf."

Nevin, standing just behind Isranon beside
Nans, looked startled. "Red Wolf?"

"The Sacred Child with both sides of the
gift will be found in Red Wolf on the day of reckoning."

"So you're not claiming you're him?" Teague
stepped closer to Isranon. "Yet you also claim to have both sides
of the gift."

"I am not the child."

"We'll put that to the test. Now the Sunfire
Lances, if you please."

Isranon nodded, raised his staff and called
out to the heavens. If Teague had been expecting him to burn them
one at a time, she was in for a surprise. The Sunfire Lances struck
from the heavens at his call and all of the targets went up at
once.

"Amazing!" Teague spun about and faced him
with awe. "I don't see how someone with your power can have existed
all these years and I never knew of you."

"I never wanted to fight until now." Isranon
leaned heavily on his staff and walked from the field.

Yggsil trotted back to Nans as Isranon left.
"Nice mage very strong. Very nice to Yggsil."

Teague gazed up at Yggsil. "This is the
first time I have ever been this close to a troll that was not
trying to eat me. How did you get him, Nans?"

"Anksha befriended Yggsil." Nans patted the
troll's shoulder. "The elixir that is keeping Isranon alive
requires troll blood."

Yggsil smiled, revealing his huge teeth.
"Give blood to nice mage. Yggsil got plenty. Don't miss it."

* * * *

Stygean had been creating ways to learn more
things, such as wheedling suggestions from Father Telamon. The one
he embarked on that morning was looking less and less like a good
idea. His stomach groaned and his fangs were down and aching.
Isranon had stressed that he learn to control his appetites rather
than allow them to control him, because otherwise they would betray
him. He was close to having gone a full twenty-four hours without
blood; just two more hours, just until sunset and then he could
find a nibari and feed.

He found a spot behind a bush along the
walls and settled down to meditate. He had not been there long when
the bushes were parted and a piquant, delicate face peered through
at him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Stygean jumped. It was the girl from the
procession of mages. "Meditating."

"About what? What were you trying to gain
from it?"

Stygean tried not to move his lips very much
so that his descended fangs would not show. "Trying not to be
hungry."

She frowned. "That's an odd thing. Mages
don't usually require their apprentices to fast, priests do. Are
you a novice?" As if remembering her manners, she added, "I'm
Chinisi Cordwainer."

Her name startled Stygean and his words came
out a little less muffled. "That was my mother's name…
Chinisi."

Saying her name hurt, reminding him of
better days, and a sudden rush of loneliness flooded him.

She peered at him more closely. "Why are you
talking like that? Have you got something stuck in your mouth?"

He put his hand over his mouth and shook his
head, speaking more clearly around his fingers. "No."

Her eyes narrowed, and she jerked his hand down
before he could stop her. "Oh," she said nonchalantly. "So you're
one of those?"

Stygean flushed to the roots of his hair the
moment his fangs were revealed. "You aren't afraid of me?"

"Why should I be?" Chinisi followed her
statement with a snap of her fingers. Fire burned in the palm of
her hand.

Stygean yelped.

Chinisi dismissed the fire and sat down
beside him. "Are your fangs always down?"

He sighed, wishing she would go away,
frightened that his hunger would get out of control and he would
hurt her. "No. Otherwise we'd not be able to pass for human. We can
call them or dismiss them, except when the hunger gets too bad. I'm
trying to learn self-discipline by going until dusk without
feeding. My mentor wants me to learn this."

"And who is your mentor?"

"Lord Dawnreturning."

Chinisi gave a delighted laugh. "Then you
must be Stygean. I've heard all about you."

Stygean wanted to ask whether that was good
or bad, but restrained himself. Patience was a virtue he needed to
learn also. "Stygean Loosestrife."

"What is it like being sa'necari?"

He wondered where this line of questioning
was headed; some folks would say she had an unhealthy curiosity.
"You'll have to be more specific, that's a large area."

"Well, we could start with the magic. What
does it feel like to use your magic? Does it make you feel
powerful? Or do you simply use it? Do you like feeling people die?
I've heard that sa'necari can taste their victim's death and drink
it in like wine."

Stygean winced. "Not my kind. I'm majios
sa'necari. I don't practice the rites."

"Oh."

Stygean caught a hint of disappointment in
her voice. "Why? Did you want me to tell you all the terrible
things I've done?"

Chinisi giggled. "Actually I wanted to see
if you could frighten me, if you could send a shiver up my spine.
I've been hearing about your kind all my life and never expected to
actually meet one except in combat. Much less sit in the bushes
talking to one."

Stygean found his hunger worsening. She
looked delicious. He could smell the blood coursing through her
veins, and became frightened that if she did not leave soon, he
would not be able to stop himself from sinking his fangs into her.
"Actually, this isn't a good idea. I'm very, very hungry. If my
control went I could hurt you, fire mage or not. And, it's
defeating my purpose for being here."

"Well, I suppose I could let you bite me.
I've wondered about that also."

"Go away, Chinisi! Now!"

The bushes parted again and Jingen stood
there. "So this is where you are…." Then he saw Chinisi and rage
suffused his face. "You just couldn't wait. You had to get her in
the bushes and do her first. You didn't even consider sharing. I
would have shared."

Chinisi flushed jabbing a finger at Jingen.
"You're a horrid little boy."

Humiliation roared through Stygean. The girl
would probably never speak to him again, and it would be all
Jingen's fault. Desperate to stay in Chinisi's good graces, he
jumped to his feet and hit Jingen. Jingen staggered back, lowered
his head and shoulders like a bull, and slammed into Stygean,
carrying them both to the ground. They rolled across the
frost-browned grass, kicking, punching, and biting. Jingen grabbed
hold of Stygean's hair, giving it a hard yank. Stygean bit him on
the arm to make him let go, his fully extended fangs tearing
through the heavy material. In his desperately hungry state, the
taste of Jingen's blood in his mouth made Stygean half mad. He
scarcely heard Chinisi screaming, "Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop
it!"

Stygean got his fangs fastened tightly into
Jingen's shoulder and sucked. The blood was heady, more so than
nibari blood. Jingen continued to pummel him, but Stygean's thirst
had become excessive and uncontrollable with his day-long fast, and
he barely felt it. He sucked harder, trying to get every bit that
he could as fast as he could. The blood's effect hit him like an
accelerated adrenaline rush.