Dark Lady's Chosen (11 page)

In the moonlight, Jonmarc made out a single figure near the edge of the fray.
Malesh
.

Jonmarc scrambled from cover and ran toward his quarry, crossbow ready.

Malesh disappeared from sight down a narrow path between two daub and wattle homes.

Jonmarc ran after him, dodging the washtubs and laundry lines that littered the alleyway.

Even in the cold, the dank passage smelled of chamber pots and spoiled meat. Jonmarc caught a glimpse of Malesh in the distance and doubled his speed, although the bitter cold made his lungs ache. He burst from the alley with his crossbow notched, only to find himself alone in a brick courtyard. By the smell, the building in front of him was a tannery.
That
explains why I haven’t seen any rats,
Jonmarc thought, forcing down the urge to retch.

Three fetid clay pits sat beneath a slanted roof,

filled with the tanners’ vile liquid. He blinked, and Malesh stood in the shadows behind the pits, holding a small child in front of him.

Malesh sauntered forward. The child, a dark-haired young girl, whimpered in his grip.

“Parley?”

Jonmarc kept his crossbow leveled. “Let the girl go.”

Malesh smiled. “And lose my shield? I don’t doubt that you’re good with that bow. No, I think I’ll keep her here where she can be useful.”

“I didn’t come to talk.”

“I have an offer for you.”

“Your head on a stake?”

Malesh gave an exaggerated sigh. “Nothing quite so dramatic. But you can end the slaughter.”

“How?”

“Your fighting skills are every bit as good as Uri said—better. Imagine what they’d be enhanced by the Dark Gift. I can give you that,” Malesh said, meeting Jonmarc’s eyes.

“Speed. Agility. No more pain, no getting old. Forever strong, young, invincible. Let me bring you across and I’ll end the attacks on the villages. You’re a lord now—you could be a god.”

Would you be a slave again?
Jonmarc remembered Gabriel’s words when he had asked his friend to bring him across to join Carina.

“Your slave, until I grew strong enough to destroy you,” Jonmarc countered.

“You’d be with your lady. That’s why I brought her across—to offer you an… incentive… to join me.”

Jonmarc’s finger tightened on the trigger. The girl squirmed in Malesh’s hold, and the
vayash moru
tightened his grip until she cried out. “Careful. By the time your arrow cuts through her, I’ll be gone.”

“Carina can’t be brought across. She’s a healer.”

“What was I thinking?” Malesh said, feigning surprise. “Oh yes. The incentive. Destroy me, and you destroy her. We have a bond, you know. Make me suffer, and so does she.”

“I’m not planning on taking my time.”

“Gabriel won’t offer you immortality. I will. There are ways to destroy the healing gift. Old books tell of it. Blood charms. Rule with me, with your lady beside you. We’re both predators. You

mastered the Games in Nargi. You killed to survive, for their sport. Once we’re established, the killing can stop. You’ve as much blood on your hands as I do. Why not rule like a god while you can? Eventually, the Crone comes for us all.”

“Because I’m not you.”

Malesh shifted, just slightly, enough for Jonmarc to take his shot. The arrow struck Malesh in the chest, piercing through his waistcoat and emerging from the back. There was a blur of movement. Malesh threw the child aside and shot upward, dripping black ichor as he soared into the night. Jonmarc raced toward the girl, who lay in a heap on the snow. Her skin was cold to his touch, and two bloody punctures in her throat confirmed his fears. He gathered the girl into his arms. Her breathing was shallow and ragged. “Hold on,” he whispered. “I’ll find a healer for you.” She stiffened and gasped, then fell silent. Jonmarc bowed his head.

How many people have to die because of me? When does it end?

“Jonmarc!”

Jonmarc turned, still holding the girl’s body. Gabriel and Laisren emerged from the alley.

Judging from their torn and stained clothing, Jonmarc was sure the fighting had been vicious.

“What were you thinking, going after Malesh by yourself?” Laisren looked more angry than Jonmarc had ever seen him.

“We saw you, but we couldn’t get free from the fight to follow.” Gabriel looked from Jonmarc to the girl. “You confronted him?”

Jonmarc nodded. “He was waiting for me. He used the girl as a shield. I didn’t know she was nearly dead.” Laisren moved to take the body from him, but Jonmarc refused. “I got off a clean shot—it hit him in the chest. Then he flew away.”

“If he could fly, he’s not destroyed.” Gabriel looked up into the empty night sky. “He’s too young in the Gift. But a near miss ought to make him think twice.”

“How bad is it—out there?” Jonmarc asked with a nod toward the center of the village.

“Malesh’s brood didn’t stay long once we showed up, although from the looks of it, he’s recruited more
vayash moru
to his side. I don’t think they meant to fight us tonight—they intended to destroy the village and provoke their war.” Laisren’s voice was tight. “As it is, about of a third of the villagers are dead, and the fire’s spread to a few of the buildings. Your strategy to hold off Malesh was sound—not bad considering what you had to work with.”

“What now?”

“We’ll patrol here for the rest of the night, although I don’t think Malesh would dare return.

Laisren and I will make sure you get back to Wolvenskorn.”

“How do we make sure Malesh doesn’t come back tomorrow night and finish the job?”

Jonmarc looked down at the dead girl in his arms. He rose and led them out of the tanner’s courtyard, back through the winding alley to the center of the village. One of the townsmen spotted them and cried out, running to meet them. He took the girl’s body from Jonmarc and looked darkly at the two
vayash moru
before hurrying off toward a group of women who huddled together down the street. When he reached them, the women keened in mourning.

“I can offer to move the villagers to another town but there’s no way to be sure where Malesh will strike.” Gabriel’s expression was grim.

“I’m not so sure.” Jonmarc looked from Laisren to Gabriel. “Malesh kept talking about ruling

‘as gods.’ Isn’t there a legend about the Lady taking her consorts on a certain day of the year?”

“Candles Night,” Gabriel replied. “On the cross-quarters, between the solstice and the equinox. That’s only a few days from now.”

“The old stories say that the Lady’s suitors wooed her with blood offerings to show their prowess,” Laisren said. “It might be possible to see the villages Malesh has destroyed as an offering.”

“Can we regroup, meet him at the temple with everything we’ve got? Would the
vyrkin
join us? Send a messenger to Rafe and Astasia—they have to see the danger.”

“Uri is missing.” Gabriel shrugged at Jonmarc’s surprise. “No one’s seen him in two nights.

He was due to make his report—he swore to us he’d bring Malesh to heel.”

“Obviously he didn’t.”

“Uri wasn’t among the ones who fought tonight. If Malesh is using blood magic to shield his thoughts, he may be bold enough to try to free himself of Uri’s control altogether.”

“Could he survive destroying Uri?”

“Malesh is at least a century old in the Dark Gift. Uri’s not the strongest of the Council.

Perhaps. He may have found other ways to defy Uri. Time will tell.”

Jonmarc glanced up at the sky. The night was passing quickly. “I know this isn’t going to be a popular suggestion, but do you have any idea where Malesh might be going to ground?

We’re not close enough for him to get back to Scothnaran quickly, and if Uri really is opposing Malesh, Malesh might not be welcome there.”

“You mean to go after Malesh by daylight?” Laisren asked.

Jonmarc spread his hands to indicate the ruined village around them. He knew that even in the light of the waning fires, Laisren and Gabriel could see his tattered cloak and fresh battle wounds. “By night, I’m at a disadvantage. I wouldn’t have to go alone—I’m sure the men of the village would go with me. It might help to release their anger—against an appropriate target.”

“The Lord of Dark Haven, leading mortals to a day crypt. Do I have to tell you what I think of it?” Laisren’s expression made his distaste clear.

“I would willingly do the same if the killers were mortal. Does that make me a traitor to my kind?” Jonmarc snapped. “I’m tired of the killing. The sooner we end it, the more likely it is that we can stop this war of Malesh’s from happening. Look around. We can’t keep what happened tonight quiet. We’ve got to bring Malesh down.”

Gabriel met Jonmarc’s eyes, and in that gaze, Jonmarc knew that Gabriel understood completely what the suggestion cost him. “You, of all mortals, would do that?”

Jonmarc swallowed hard. Even now, eleven years later, the fires of Chauvrenne still haunted his dreams. “What choice is there? If we don’t stop Malesh, these villagers won’t be the only ones who want vengeance. And when that starts, they won’t be choosy about who burns.”

Laisren nodded reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I think I know where some of Malesh’s brood have taken shelter. We don’t usually share day crypts, so whoever’s there belongs to him. But be careful—unless you can flood the room with daylight, you’re at a disadvantage. You can’t win in the dark.”

By the time Laisren and Gabriel had given Jonmarc all they knew about Malesh’s day crypts, funeral drums had begun a somber beat. “We’d best be on our way—dawn’s not far off.”

“I’m going to stay,” Jonmarc said, following the funeral procession with his gaze. “I’ll organize a hunting party—we’ll go out when the sun is high. After what’s happened here tonight, these men aren’t going to frighten easily.”

“Do what you must,” Gabriel replied. “When you’re finished, come by day to Wolvenskorn.

My servants will watch for you. Laisren and I will organize the
vayash moru
and the
vyrkin
, and see if there’s help to be had from Rafe and Astasia. If you aren’t successful in finding Malesh, I think your hunch about the temple of the Lady may be correct. It would be nice to put Malesh on the defensive. And if you’re there—odds are, he’ll come.”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on,” Jonmarc replied.

“I didn’t expect to find you in here.” Lisette’s voice was mildly reproving. Carina stirred from where she slept, stretched across Jonmarc’s bed. Dimly, she recalled returning from the chapel and letting herself into Jonmarc’s room rather than her own. His swords and armor were missing, along with the collection of weapons he stored above the mantle. Carina took comfort in the lingering scent of leather and brandy that clung to the room. Hungry for any semblance of his touch, Carina had curled up on his bed until exhaustion won out over grief and she slept.

Her dreams had been dark. Images flashed in her mind of flame and blood. Distantly, she could hear the screaming of children and the battle shouts of men. She searched for Jonmarc, but did not find him. Sounds of fighting closed in around her against a night lit by bonfires. Shadows flitted along the edge of the fires, cold as the night itself.

The images shifted. Darkness gave way to coruscating light. The light was distant, dim, as if seen from a long way off. A moment before, she had felt the dread of shadows. Now, she feared the light that searched for her. She recognized it from its place deep beneath Dark Haven, and even at a distance, she could feel its pain. It enveloped her as she ran from it, and a torrent of thoughts pressed into her mind. These images were far from Dark Haven, on a windswept plain. Most flashed by too quickly to grasp, but she saw the snap of teeth in the maw of a gray-skinned magicked beast and lumbering corpses dragging their mangled bodies across blood-tinged snow. The light took on the same red tint, bucking and writhing like a thing in pain. It made its entreaty without words, but Carina knew, as the light faded, that it sought her for a reason, for the healing magic that denied her sanctuary in the Dark Gift.

Carina startled awake to find Lisette bending over her worriedly.

“Is it morning—I mean, sunset, already?”

Lisette nodded. She handed Carina a robe, which Carina gratefully accepted. “And although you don’t care for the mixture, you need to eat to keep your strength up.” She managed a smile. “It wouldn’t do for Lady Riqua and the others to work so hard just for you to starve yourself.” She paused. “You look sad, m’lady.”

“Jonmarc’s made Istra’s Bargain.”

Lisette gasped. “Surely you’re mistaken!”

Carina shook her head. “I found ink and a stylus down in the chapel.” She looked away. “At first, I thought that I was dreaming before you first awakened me, after Malesh attacked.

Now, I

realize I was able to hear what was going on around me, but I couldn’t respond. Jonmarc came to sit beside me. He said things… things that made sense if he was saying goodbye.

And then he kissed me and told me to wait for him, that he’d come for me.” She met Lisette’s gaze. “I thought he meant Dark Haven, but he had already made up his mind. He meant the arms of the Lady.”

Denied tears by the Dark Gift, Lisette’s face showed her turmoil. “Laisren went with him, and Lord Gabriel. If there’s a way to stop Malesh from killing mortals and save Lord Jonmarc, I know they’ll find it. But, m’lady, Lord Jonmarc will never forgive us if we don’t save you.”

“I saw the Flow again in my dreams,” Carina said. “We have to make another attempt to reach it. The things I saw—I know it had to be the war in Margolan. Raen was right. The Flow wants to be healed. And maybe, by healing it, we can find an answer for me.”

Lisette looked skeptical. “Even Sister Taru couldn’t control the Flow.”

Carina struggled to walk without leaning on Lisette as they made their way back to her rooms. It was taking all of her will to muster the energy to keep moving, spurred by the knowledge that time was growing short. Taru and Royster looked up as they crossed the parlor, and their expressions let Carina know that they guessed how much the effort cost her. Riqua emerged from Carina’s room carrying a glass of the hated mixture. Carina was grateful that Riqua had at least chosen a tall pottery mug, sparing her the sight of the mingled blood and milk. She readied herself, and then drank it down as quickly as possibly, unable to avoid grimacing. Carina handed the mug back to Lisette and turned to face the others, gratefully accepting a chair which Royster pushed behind her.