Daughter of Blood (33 page)

Click-click:
the sound paused on the storeroom threshold, then resumed, and despite Jad having allowed the intrusion, Kalan almost yelled as a waist-high body brushed past. A second wyr hound stopped beside him, while the first used its head and powerful shoulders to push the disturbed sacks further apart, revealing a cavity in the wall with a small form curled inside. Faro, Kalan saw, as the wyr hound sniffed at the balled figure before settling down, its lean dark body curved around the boy, and stared back at him out of ghostly eyes. Jad, who had followed the hounds in, swore beneath his breath.

A way with wyr hounds as well as warhorses, Kalan thought, but realized that Faro must be unconscious, or near to it, since he did not stir. The wyr hounds looked like the pair from the guest quarter's gate, although they seemed to have dispensed with their handlers. Kalan guessed that they had been his unseen followers as well and recalled how one of the beasts on the Blood Gate had shown interest in Faro before turning away. Except these hounds had not followed Faro here; they had followed him.

Kalan dismissed the unease that thought brought, because right now he needed to determine the extent of the boy's injuries. The hound lying beside Faro yawned, its tongue lolling over wicked teeth. “Easy,” Jad breathed, as Kalan stepped forward and settled onto his heels, extending his gauntleted fist for the beast to sniff. When seen this close, its array of
teeth looked more like daggers, and its jaw capable of doing considerable damage, even to a closed fist. Kalan's pulse quickened and he wanted to wipe his palms dry, but forced himself to remain still—until the hound before him whined, deep in its throat, and the second beast rested its great head on his shoulder.

“Well, I'll be cursed,” Jad whispered.

Faro, rousing, struck at Kalan's arm. “I won't let you hurt me.” His tunic was torn, but the blood came from a gash along his forearm, and a cut above a bruised and swollen eye. He swiped at Kalan a second time and scrabbled back against the hound. The next time the boy's fist jabbed, his table dagger was clutched in it. The blood on the blade, Kalan thought, disarming him, suggested he had used it to better effect against the Oath squire. Deflecting a fierce but unscientific counterpunch, he kept a cautious watch on both wyr hounds. The beast curled around the boy whined again but did not move, even when Faro lunged for the dagger and Kalan fended him off once more.

“Faro, you little fool. It's me, Khar.”

The boy's breath was coming in shallow, rapid pants, but gradually his good eye focused on Kalan. “You gave me to the stealers,” he mumbled. “But I knew Madder and Tercel wouldn't abandon me.
They
keep faith.”

“Madder certainly championed your cause to good effect.” Kalan kept his tone easy, but although Faro's whisper was currently hoarse enough to disguise his accent, he needed to reinforce the caution against him speaking. “Try not to talk, Faro. Right now we need to get those gashes seen to.”

He moved to help the boy clear of his bolt-hole, but Faro flailed at him again. “I won't let anyone hurt me, not ever again.”

“It's all right. No one here's going to hurt you.” Kalan let him crawl out himself, since he seemed to be managing—only to turn as a woman spoke from the doorway, her voice dripping sweetness and menace.

“I wouldn't be so sure about that, Storm Spear.”

T
he hair beneath the lady's hood was bright as a torch flame, her eyes pools of shadow as she regarded Kalan. “Do you really think you can save anyone, Storm Spear, even yourself? Or that your pet would be safe just because you gave him to the mariners? In
our
keep?”

“Our keep,” Kalan thought, as the wyr hounds howled and what sounded like the entire Red Keep pack answered from the nearby kennels. Jad was standing rigidly to attention, his face devoid of any expression as he spoke above their din. “Daughter of Blood, you need to stand back. I have my orders.” So now Kalan knew who the woman in the doorway must be. Lady Sarein was the only one of the five Daughters of Blood whom he had not yet seen, either in the Earl's gallery above the Field of Blood or in the banquet hall. Even the secretive Lady Liankhara had been with the Earl that morning in the small training hall, so this had to be Lord Parannis's twin.

Now her full mouth thinned as the wyr pair howled a second time, and the pack answered with a prolonged paean to
fear
and
danger
. “If someone,” she said over her shoulder, “does not silence those Nine-cursed beasts, then I will see you all hang. With these two,” she added, swinging back to the storeroom, “strung up beside you.”

Ostensibly she meant the wyr hounds, but Kalan guessed her meaning was deliberately open. Faro must have felt her menace even if he missed the double meaning, because he shrank behind Kalan as both the hounds with them fell silent. The first rose and rejoined its companion, their glowing eyes fixed on the Daughter of Blood. “That's better.” Lady Sarein was smiling again, despite the kennel pack's continued howls. Her gaze rested on Jad. “What if I'm here to bring you new orders—Jad, isn't it?”

Kalan could almost feel Jad's inward flinch at her knowing his name, although his demeanor did not change. “All orders in respect of the Storm Spear must be received from Captain Banath, unless Earl Sardon or the Battlemaster issue them in person. And other than the Bride, whom he champions, none of the ruling kin are to approach the Storm Spear without express permission.”

“So punctilious,” Lady Sarein murmured, but remained where she was. Her gaze dismissed Jad and returned to Kalan. “Where had we got to, Storm Spear? Ah, yes. We were discussing whether you could save anybody, let alone that misbegotten brat who thinks I might overlook him, cowering at your back.” Her smile showed the tips of white teeth. “What if an allegation were to be made that he's tainted with old power? The Sea envoy could do nothing, since the boy is of Blood, and once made the claim would have to be investigated.
Thoroughly
investigated.” She ran her tongue along her upper lip. “What will you do then, Storm Spear? What can you do, when two nights from now you'll be dead?”

Kalan schooled his features into calmness. “I take it you're here on your brother's business, Lady Sarein?”

“I? I am always about my own business, Storm Spear. Although I try never to interfere with Parannis's pleasures—and since you thwarted him of his preferred prey, he does appear very set on carving you into small pieces on the Field of Blood.” She paused, still smiling, but shrugged when he made no reply. “I suppose there
is
nothing you can say to that. Or perhaps you are thinking that it was our dear little Myrathis who thwarted Parannis of his prey.
Not
a sisterly
act, even if she has taken a fancy to being Countess of Night. Ah, you smile.” Her lips pursed as she regarded him. “It
is
amusing when one considers the Mouse, I'll grant you that.”

Kalan continued to smile. “What I was thinking, Lady Sarein, is that the Bride did your lord brother a kindness. The Commander of Night would eat him up and still sit down to her breakfast.”

Sarein's eyes narrowed. For a moment, Kalan thought she might spit like one of the hooded snakes found in Ishnapur—but then she clapped her hands. “Oh, very good. I must share the jest with my twin. But as for doing him a kindness, I hardly think so.” Again, she ran her tongue over her lips. “In due course, too, we will square our reckoning with the Half-Blood for her interference.”

“As you tried to square your reckoning with me by sending your Oath Hold kindred after my horses?” Kalan kept his tone level, but Lady Sarein's smile did not falter.

“The account my grandfather's Oath Hold retainers brought me was that they heard a disturbance. When they investigated, your killer horse slew two of their number, and your page another.” She shook her head. “Restitution will need to be made: blood debt paid in full or else blood feud declared.”

“Against a horse and a page?” Kalan inquired, matching her tone. “Seeing as I'm to be chopped into mincemeat by your lord brother.”

She raised one shoulder delicately, then dropped it again. “Blood demands blood. And it was your page, after all, that brought a sickle blade into your horse's stall.”

Kalan felt Faro's jerk of protest as the wyr hounds growled, a low vibration of warning. Sarein bared her teeth in reply. “The beasts take your part, Storm Spear, against their ruling kin. Perhaps they are becoming mad, as well as increasingly unreliable. Many say so, but until now their madness has never been turned against
us
.” She tapped a fingertip against her lips. “Perhaps I should see these two hang, after all: make an example to the rest of their hideous pack.”

“I don't believe,” Kalan observed, very dryly, “that hounds of any kind are capable of absorbing that sort of lesson.”

“You may be right, Storm Spear. But a butcher's hook through this pair's slavering jaws could be entertaining.” Kalan saw distaste flicker in Jad's eyes, while Faro suppressed a whimper. He kept his own features immobile, knowing Sarein was trying to goad a reaction. “Parannis and I like executions,” she continued, “especially hangings. We enjoy seeing the bodies drop and listening to the necks snap. Hangings of the tainted are better still, because no one cares if we amuse ourselves with the formula.” She paused, growing reflective. “Parannis likes watching them dance on air, but a hanging that ends in decapitation is best of all. We're agreed on that.”

Despite understanding her game, Kalan had difficulty containing his revulsion. If even part of what she had said was true, then everyone in the Red Keep must realize, at some level, that those with old powers were being hung. They might try and suppress the knowledge, looking the other way, but he was certain they would know something. Including Lady Myrathis? he asked himself—and felt sick and old as the wyr hounds whined, and a new shadow fell across the doorway.

“Is that so, Sarein?” The shadow's voice was dark, as well as smooth. “I believe the dealings of your Oath Hold kin may require closer scrutiny. The last time I consulted Derai law it stated that the tainted may be exiled, but not executed. Or tortured.”

Lady Sarein's mouth pinched. “Huern. And with dear Lord Narn in tow. As for Derai law—” She shrugged. “In the New Blood we make our own rules.”

“Do you?” Lord Huern's tone was all polite interest. “You must expound that view to our father, since exile, not execution, is also his ruling.”

“We Derai do not kill our own clan and kin for an accident of birth, even the taint.” The second speaker was gruff, and Kalan guessed this was Bajan's liege, the head of Bronze
Hold. “We must breed the defect out of our ranks, Lady, not violate the ties of kin and blood.”

“Ways change, Lord Narn.” Lady Sarein was smiling again, but her tone suggested she did not care for the holder's admonition. “But I was only making sport of the Storm Spear, brother. You know I—and my Oath kindred—would never contravene our father's rule.”

In the lull that followed her words, Kalan distinguished Dain's voice, saying Palla's name. The rest of the honor guard's comment was too muted to catch, but the pair's presence suggested that they must have found the two lords at, or on their way to, the kennels. “Stay here,” he told Faro, keeping his voice low as the wyr pack, too, finally stopped howling. “If I signal, flee into the air well, but don't stay there.” He would not, he reflected, rule out Lady Sarein having it walled up. “It should bring you out in the kennels.” The boy nodded but said nothing, retreating into the shadows as Kalan moved toward the door.

“Do I know that?” Lord Huern spoke again. “I find I cannot entirely dispel my doubt. Putting that aside, your kindred's retainers have come to grief here. Hardly the time for making sport.”

“Deaths,” Lady Sarein countered, “that were precipitated by the Storm Spear's page bringing a sickle blade into the roan's stall. Bent on revenge, no doubt, for being passed on to the Sea Keepers now that”—she paused delicately—“the Storm Spear's use for him is past.” She paused again, angling her body to keep Kalan in sight while effectively blocking his exit. Jad met his eye but made no move to intervene, and Kalan could not blame him. Staying clear of the verbal fencing between the Son and Daughter of Blood was undoubtedly the prudent course.

Kalan, though, did not feel inclined toward prudence, especially hearing Lady Sarein reiterate her version of events, in which the Oath retainers went to investigate and Madder—presumably already enraged by Faro—turned on them. In Emer, both upholding and speaking the truth formed part of a knight's oath to the god Serrut. And lies, Kalan reminded himself, are anathema to the Nine Gods as well.

“You surprise me about the page,” Lord Huern said. “I thought the sickle blade and the horse's head delivered as a gift was your trick.”

“Do you take his part—” Sarein began, but Lord Narn spoke at the same time.

“Is
that
why Valan of Ward Hold withdrew his suit to Lady Sardonya? We knew something went awry with his gift, but he will never speak of it.”

“He probably does not dare.” Irony tinged Lord Huern's tone. “Having received so clear a message that he proffered his suit to the wrong sister, I imagine Valan was—and is—keen not to go the same way as his intended troth gift.”

Jad's expression was so wooden that Kalan guessed the story must be mostly true. Rather than denying it, Lady Sarein shrugged. As if it were of no consequence, Kalan thought, as appalled by that as by her series of lies. “Speaking of the Storm Spear,” Lord Huern continued, “perhaps you could step away from the door so he and the honor guard can leave without actually setting hands to your person. Unless that's what you're hoping for, of course.”

However true that might be, Kalan knew that Audin, who was nephew to the Duke of Emer, would say it was highly irregular as well as unchivalrous to cast the slur in public. Not, he reflected, that there seemed to be anything resembling Emerian chivalry, or the exemplary behavior extolled by the Derai Honor Code, among Blood's ruling kin—although Lord Narn's tongue click suggested discomfort. Lady Sarein's gaze glittered, but she moved clear of the door, and Kalan reached the threshold as she stopped beside Lord Huern. “You will pay for this, brother.” Her smile did not waver for an instant. “Be sure of that.”

Kalan was probably the only person outside the two half siblings who could distinguish her murmur. In any case, voices sounded from the stable entrance as she spoke, and most of those present glanced that way. The newcomers' accents told Kalan that the Sea envoy had arrived at last, and he spoke over his shoulder to Faro. “You can come out now.” But it was the wyr hounds that padded out first, their nails
click-clicking
over the flagstones.

Lord Huern looked intrigued. “I thought it was only you and Parannis they liked to haunt, Sarein.” The gleam in his eyes suggested appreciation of some hidden joke, but not one derived from either kindness or warmth. The wyr hounds bared their teeth, growling and stiff-legged, before settling between Kalan and the ruling kin, their pale eyes intent on both brother and sister. Eventually, Faro crept out, too, but clung to Kalan's shadow, his eyes fixed on the floor. From what Kalan could glimpse of the boy's frozen expression, there was no need to worry about his accent giving him away. He looked incapable of speech.

Lord Nimor and his companions came into view on the far side of an avenue of stalls, at the same time as Jad emerged and saluted both Lord Huern and Lady Sarein in turn. But—exactly like the wyr hounds—the eight-leader then took up position between Kalan and the ruling kin. “He has orders, brother.” Lady Sarein continued to smile, but her gaze was hooded.

“I'm aware of his orders,” Huern returned. “They're to ensure the duel takes its course without interference. That includes not harassing the Bride's champion by means of his horses or his page.”

“Quite right,” Lord Narn agreed. “The Code requires it.” Kalan had seen the gray-haired hold commander before, but only from a distance. Up close, he smelt of sweat and hounds. His face was so deeply lined it gave him a permanently worried air, but Kalan thought he must have considerable courage to even imply criticism of Lady Sarein.

“But he's not really the Bride's champion, is he?” the Daughter of Blood retorted. “Primarily, he's defending the Commander of Night's honor—when the apostate can have no honor, we all know that. Having to fight such a contest sullies Parannis and diminishes us all.”

Narn looked uneasy, but Lord Huern's irony glinted. “Still playing your tricks, Sarein? Parannis forced the duel, remember. All he's concerned about is not being thwarted of a kill.”

“So best, perhaps,” Narn put in, “to let matters here lie as they've fallen.”

Kalan studied him carefully, but could detect neither irony nor humor, however dark, in the hold lord's expression. He could not imagine Lady Sarein agreeing, given the Oath Hold dead, but was willing to add a supporting argument as Lord Nimor and his company finally reached them. “Since the duel is to the death, any blood debt here could be added to Lord Parannis's cause.”