Blood Lies (Dark Brothers of the Light #9) (12 page)

"If you're suggesting physical resistance,
it has been tried. Zyne knocked us all down with a word, and they
kept us shackled to benches for a week."

"Which one is she?"

"Lady Zyne is the one who sings. She is in
command of this expedition to subdue Angrim. Ynkendio is her
general. In case you've not encountered him yet, he's no longer
human. He's become a demon like Maruska – his wife."

"Haven't seen him yet. And I..." Bonifaz saw
his father stroking the doll, suppressing a shudder. "I want to
thank you.... Except for a few knots, my mind is my own." He
scratched at his beard, and his gaze raked the room, all in an
attempt to avoid Clovis' eyes. "My brother is grateful also. We'll
spend our last months as our own men. Then again, perhaps it would
have been better to have had our minds shattered so as not to live
with the approach of our deaths."

"Sit down and have some wine." Clovis waved
the bottle at him. "Maruska gave her people orders to keep us as
well cared for as fattened oxen."

Bonifaz dropped into a chair and accepted a
glass. "It's what we are, isn't it?"

"Basically. Now, I have a question for you.
How did you manage to avoid capture so long?"

"The palace and the cathedral are built upon
the ruins of the pagan temples that were here when we conquered it.
My ancestors razed them. A few years ago, I found my way through a
hole in some crumbling masonry and into one of them. There's a
strange little old woman who lives down there. She calls herself
Mother Dolorous.

"A strange name." Clovis sipped his second
glass of wine.

"A strange crone." Bonifaz stood for a
moment and brought his hand palm up to mid-chest before dropping
back into his chair. "A dwarf or a midget. I've no idea which. She
always gave me cookies and milk when I was a boy."

Clovis lowered his glass, running his
forefinger up and down its side as he considered that. "Did she
turn you in this time?"

"I don't think so. We escaped into the ruins
along with twenty soldiers of my father's personal guard. Dolorous
appeared as she always did. She sat at a little table in a broken
gallery, drawing. My father started shouting at her to stop
fiddling around and show us the way out of the city. She ignored
him, speaking only to me. She told us that there was a moon lock on
the door to the underground passage and it would not open until the
first night of the full moon, but she would see that we were fed
and cared for until then. We never saw her servants, but we were
given rooms. Each day we had fresh linens, and there was a banquet
table that was never empty."

"Like a fairy tale."

"Yes. Exactly so." Bonifaz rubbed his face,
unease creeping into his voice as he continued. "There's an altar
down there. I found it while exploring as a boy. When I was twelve
or thirteen I had a bitter argument with Cardinal Sanger and
started placing offerings on that altar in rebellion. One day, our
White Lady appeared to me. I've placed offerings there ever
since."

"An altar?" Clovis sucked in an astonished
breath and nearly choked on his wine. His mine whirled with
possibilities and true hope for the first time. If there was a
heavily consecrated altar beneath the building, then maybe the
White Lady could save them. "An ancient altar to Our Lady! No
wonder you were safe down there. But how did you get caught?"

Bonifaz' eyes filled suddenly with tears,
his features twisting into tortured lines. "I could not resist
sneaking off at night to leave her offerings and speak to her. One
night my father followed me. He ... Oh Precious Lady forgive me. He
desecrated it. And the next morning the demons found us."

Clovis' hopes of rescue crashed, and
together they wept.

* * * *

Two days after awakening with the worse
hangover of his life, Alons had stirred from his bed excited: it
was choosing day. Dyna had promised them all three gifts of their
choosing from her goods as well as armor and weapons – even the
children would be armed and armored. He had already combed through
all the goods in the tents and knew what he wanted.

Dyna had loaned them magical baskets of
fruit and vegetables that never went empty and told them that the
baskets would disappear on the first day of summer. For now, it was
heaven in the kitchen.

Hours before dawn, Alons paced his huge bed
chamber with all the restless eagerness of a child, beguiled by
wonder and the bountifulness of the magical crone. He drew his
sheepskin-lined leather cape tighter. He had built up the fire in
the hearth, but it had not yet warmed the entirety of his chamber.
Pacing would not make the hours pass faster, so Alons considered
going to the ballroom, which had been turned into a barn, to visit
Abby. Then his thoughts strayed to Horst, and he decided to check
on his friend before going to visit her.

Alons headed down the corridor. The
tapestries hanging upon the wood-paneled stone walls helped to keep
the chill out. Thankfully very little had been disturbed in the
late duke's palace; there had been no looting to speak of. Their
first day there, Alons had quietly laid claim to all of the jewels
and coin the Duke and his wife's disappearance had left behind. The
bodies that he and Horst had found were not enough to account for
even a fraction of the missing populace. Alons suspected that
spring and the melting of the snows would reveal much.

As he turned down the corridor leading to
Horst's chambers, Alons saw Dietlinde running toward him with her
skirts held up to free her legs. She halted when he reached her and
threw herself on him. "Alons! Fetch Franz! He's taken a turn for
the worst."

Alons gave her a reassuring hug and set off
without stopping to reply.

He reached the door to Franz' chamber and
pounded on it. "Father Franz, Horst has had a turn for the
worse."

Getting no answer, Alons opened the door and
crossed the parlor to the bedroom door, which he rapped his
knuckles across twice. Still getting no answer, Alons poked his
head in. His eyes went wide and his cheeks colored. "Oh, pardon me.
I ah hmn."

A beautiful nude woman lay sleeping in
Franz' bed with one arm across the old priest. A mass of strawberry
blond hair spilled across her pale shoulders. Another corner of
Alons' mind went ass over teakettle.

Dyna sat up, the covers falling to her waist
and leaving her pert breasts bare. "You got a problem, Alons?" She
pointed at a chair with the air of someone accustomed to being
obeyed.

Alons swallowed and sat in the chair,
glancing back and forth between her face and her breasts as his
body reacted to a degree he had never experienced before with a
female. "Do I know you?"

"Course you do. I took you to my garden and
got you drunk."

"Dyna?"

Franz stirred, waking at the sound of their
voices. "Is something wrong?" he asked sleepily.

"Birthe sent me for you. Horst is worse."
Alons pointed at Dyna. "What about her?"

"I'll get dressed and go to him." Franz
answered the statement and blinked at the question, turning to his
bedmate. "Oh, I see. Get some clothes on, please Holy One? And tamp
down the divine aura? It's confusing his reactions."

"Just Dyna, if you please. Familiarity
breeds contempt, and contempt gets smacked upside the head."

"Holy One? Is she ... no, she can't be."

"The White Lady? No, Alons, she isn't."

Dyna slid from the bed and summoned clothing
from home, covering herself in black leather and an ermine cape
before hanging a mace from her golden belt. "How much you gonna
tell him, Franz?"

"All of it. It's only proper that he know."
Franz threw on a warm robe.

Alons nodded. "Please. My mind is filled
with the noises of confusion."

"This is Dyna's true form. Dynanna is
yuwenghau – a demi-god." He headed for the door without another
word.

"Chin up, Alons." Dynanna hugged him.

"Are you a god?"

"They call me the Trickster. I'm here
because I owe your White Lady ten favors. I raided her armories and
got caught." Dynanna chuckled at the memory. "She put me in a cage,
and only let me out after I promised her those favors. I always
keep my promises. It's good for business."

"It's good for getting out of trouble also,
it seems."

"Now, you're catching on."

"What about Horst?"

"Horst will be fine. I got more resources
than most of the Elder Gods. You count it."

Alons laughed suddenly and hugged her back.
"I guess you would at that."

Dynanna winked and they walked out together,
heading for Horst's chambers.

Veranoctem 11, 1077

Anksha scampered down the dank, stone stairs
into the dungeons where Edvarde housed her blood-slaves, leading
the three senior mages, Merick and Nans. A thread of nervousness
caused Anksha's childhood patois to thicken.

"Had fifty." She flashed her fingers at the
mages, counting. "Took all in single night. Only have forty-one
now."

Anksha reached the bottom and darted to the
table where a pair of guards sat. Nans stayed beside her as the
mages and their assistants spread out behind them.

For a dungeon, the place was impeccably
clean. The corridor had been swept and incense burnt to reduce the
moldy, dank smell.

"Legend says that the pain when you take
them is excruciating," said Teague, scanning the heavy wooden doors
of the cells, lips tight and eyes both wary and curious.

Anksha's tail drooped and her reply came out
barely audible. "Ask my Isranon. He says it was."

Nans gave Anksha a warning glance, but it
was already too late. Teague had heard her.

Teague's brow furrowed and she inclined her
head with a gesture for everyone to move back. "You bit him?"

"She bit him," snarled Nans, "and it's not
what you're thinking, Teague. Not at all."

Anksha's tail drooped. "It was a mistake. I
didn't know who he was."

"He's your blood-slave?" asked Koejelus.

"Not now."

Merick stepped closer and pointed at
Anksha's belly. "She's pregnant."

"Isranon put it there," Anksha grinned
hopefully. "My Isranon is a daddy."

"But you're two different species,"
interrupted Cordwainer.

"When my Isranon became demon-eater, he put
it there."

"Lord Isranon is a mon of many extraordinary
abilities. He has swollen the belly of the Beast of Brandrahoon."
Merick chuckled. "And that explains it all, my lords and ladies.
Love is a strange magic all its own."

"Now look at my slaves?" Anksha glanced from
face to face.

"Show us your slaves, Lady Anksha," said
Merick.

"Fifty seems an incredible number, even for
the Beast," Koejelus said.

"Was angry. They stole my Isranon. They hurt
him."

"What happened in Ocealay?" Teague's voice
lowered suspiciously.

"High Captain Tamric's dinner party turned
out to be an ambush," replied Nans. "He kidnapped Isranon – long
story, I'll go into detail later, Teague."

"I expect you will." Teague's tone was
filled with the sarcasm of a commander addressing a recalcitrant
private.

Nans ignored that. "Isranon was taken.
Anksha got the rest of us out. However, in the course of escaping,
we discovered that one of the captains was sa'necari."

"Tamric? I've always thought he was a bit
too arrogant for his own good."

"Liuthan Loosestrife, Stygean's father.
Anksha ripped through Ocealay like it was made of paper, ferreting
out all the hidden sa'necari there within hours, desperate to get
Isranon back. And yes, she took fifty. Actually more than that. She
killed a few as she went along."

"What is she, really?"

"A demon-eater. Her race was one of Ishla's
creations during the last godwar."

Anksha looked from face to face, the tip of
her tail lashing back and forth at the way they discussed her. "I
am a law unto myself. I am the demon-eater, the troll-tamer. I am
the Beast of Brandra–Isranon."

Cries and moans rose up as she walked the
rows of cells. Cordwainer's eyes shifted from door to door. "What's
wrong with them?"

"Presence pain. My nearness causes it."
Anksha bounced along on the balls of her feet. "It eases when I
feed on them, but there are too many to feed upon all of them each
day."

She picked a cell and opened it with a key
hanging from her waist. The inhabitant lay upon a bed of straw. The
deepness of the amaranthine color of his eyes told them that he was
steeped-in-death. He held a cloth to his lips to control the drool
and froth coming from the sagging edge of his mouth. Other than
that he made no movement.

"He's sick..." said Merick.

"The steeped-in-death don't get sick."
Koejelus moved backwards, making a warning sign, and then curiosity
got the better of him and he settled on his haunches for a better
look at the sa'necari.

"This one is."

"What's wrong with him?" Teague asked,
boldly stepping close to him while the others held back.

Anksha pushed his sleeve up, showing long
splotchy patches. "The withering. I've been feeding on him for
months. His mage centers died. There's no magic left in him."

"You burned the magic out of him?"
Cordwainer shivered. It was an old punishment among mages, to burn
the shaukras out on those convicted of serious misdeeds. It was
gentler to sever the connections and leave the shaukras alive.

"I ate it."

The sa'necari's voice emerged raspy and
struggling, "End it. Have mercy, Anksha. End it."

She knelt beside him, turned his head to
expose his neck and sank her fangs into him.

He shuddered, his body convulsing, and then
he stilled in death.

Cordwainer turned chalky white. "We need to
burn the body so he won't rise."