PRINCE OF THE WIND (21 page)

Three months had passed since Christine last saw her son. She was on her knees in the temple before the statue of the goddess, Alluvial, begging the deity to protect Riain.

"This is my fault," she confessed. "Had I left well enough alone, he would be safe. None of this evil would have touched him."

"That is not entirely true, Your Grace," a male voice said quietly.

Christine started, her gasp of surprise loud in the still temple. "Lord Atramentous!"

"Give me no titles, Your Grace. I am merely Atramentous." He joined her at the altar rail, glanced at the delicate statue, bowed in respect, then looked at the queen. "I have news of your son."

"What of him?" Christine took hold of his arm. "Did you bring him back to Binh Tae?"

"He is well." Atramentous placed his thin hand over hers in a manner of comfort. "As well as can be expected of a being in his position. And no, he is still at my keep. Your husband has returned. There was no more he could do."

Christine flinched and withdrew her hand. She curved her fingers over the altar rail and lowered her head. "I am a terrible mother. I brought this down on Riain’s head."

"Not so. You thought you were helping." He sighed. "Unfortunately, you were unable to change the course of events for your son."

Tears dripped onto the teakwood floor upon which Christine knelt. Her keening sounded eerie in the shadowed room as she gave in to her grief.

"Tears will not help him, now, Milady."

"You gave him the tenerse?" At his silent nod, her keening grew louder. "He can not exist without it now, can he?"

"Not and retain his sanity, no."

"And the changing?"

"Ah," the sorcerer said on a long sigh. "The Transitions. Those he will have for the rest of his life."

"Merciful Alel!" Christine doubled her fist and beat her breast. "What have I done? What have I done?"

"But there is good in this—"

"There can be no good in becoming a beast!"

"I came to tell you he will soon leave my keep at Chantilon and be on his way to Vent du Nord."

With wild, fearful eyes, Christine turned to stare at her companion. "By the gods, no! How can you allow that? She will murder him!"

"He is protected from Suzanna de Viennes. She can do him no further harm."

"She can take his life!"

Atramentous cast a quick, apologetic look to the statue of the goddess, then turned a stern visage to Christine. "He is already dead. You know this. The Dead One took his life from him even as you watched."

A shriek of agony pierced the temple as Christine collapsed to the floor, her arms wrapped around her upper body. Over and over, she groaned one word—"Riain." Even to her, the sound was pitiful.

"He is going after Raven McGregor," the sorcerer said, his voice louder.

"I care not!"

"You will when you have time to come to terms with all this."

Christine lurched from the floor. "She will capture him and keep him with her in that hellish place!"

"She will try, aye, but he will free the McGregor boy or else slay him if he is too far contaminated with the evil that is steeped within Vent du Nord’s walls." Atramentous looked into the marble face of the goddess, but his eyes seemed to go beyond the gilded temple walls. "That evil has only tasted Raven McGregor and I pray Riain arrives in time to keep it at bay. The Serenian boy is salvageable."

Christine grabbed the sorcerer’s arm. "Is there a way to put my son out of his misery? I would rather he die than spend eternity as a beast!"

Atramentous turned his head. "He is beginning to accept himself as he is. Would you snatch away his existence because you are burdened so deeply by guilt?"

"She’ll never let him rest!" Christine shouted, ignoring his attempt to quiet her outburst. "He will forever be at her mercy, running from her. Is that not so? Answer me?"

"He will run from her until the day he makes the decision to stop. But to do that, he must decide to give up his immortal soul and he is far from that point!"

"Give his soul, Raphian, you mean?"

"Your son would never do such a thing. He must make the decision to hand his soul over into the keeping of the Gatherer, and that is an option I have not given him."

"I must stop him from going to Vent du Nord." Christine spun around, but the sorcerer’s hand grabbed her wrist. "Let go!"

"You will never see him again."

"Let go!" She dug the nails of her free hand into his flesh.

"Be still, woman!" Atramentous jerked her arm, bringing her to her knees. "Listen to what I am telling you!"

"No," she snapped, pushing at his hand.

"He will gain Vent du Nord and either free the McGregor boy or take the Serenian’s life. After that, he will flee with Suzanna and the Dead One hot on his heels. Their hatred of him will leap beyond insane vengeance when he denies them McGregor. Riain will dare not come back here for fear of harm done to those he loves. He will have to go through the Maelstrom and—"

"No!" Christine shrieked and began to pummel Atramentous with her free hand.

He caught her flailing hand and pulled her against him. "He can never return here. You would all be at risk. He must flee to the OtherWorld, for that is his only option until the time comes for him to seek shelter with the Gatherer!"

"No!"

"I know this is hard for you to accept. But you must understand this is the only way for him. The day will come when he will be free of Suzanna and the Dead One, but that time is a long way away."

"Riain," she whimpered, sagging against her captor. She was nearly oblivious to the gently restraining arms enfolding her in her misery.

"He will one day be with the woman he loves," the sorcerer predicted. "I promise you this is so."

"There
is
no woman," she whispered, grief in her voice.

"But there is. Her name is Maeve."

When Christine lifted her tear-stained face to him, he nodded.

"Maeve of the Morrigan."

"But she is—"

Atramentous placed a warning finger across her lips. "Aye," he whispered. "But no one else should know."

"She—she loves him?"

"He will be the only human she will ever love. She saved his life when he would have succumbed to the fever. From that time, she marked him as her own."

Stunned, Christine eased away. "One day he will be safe?" she asked on a broken sigh. "You promise this?"

"Safe and free of the evil that will hound him for centuries."

"For centuries…"

"Such will it be."

* * *

One moment he was standing on the battlements of Chantilon Keep, the next he was soaring over the snowcapped peaks of the Serenian Alps. He looked down at the serpentine river that flowed into Lake Myria, its waters glistening like diamonds in the moonlight. He marveled at the two-mile-high waterfall that cascaded down the sheer cliffs and exploded into the waters of the lake. He inhaled the scent of jasmine and gardenia floating up to him from the Southzone as he swooped low over Norus Keep. Following the Lucifus River into the heart of Diabolusia, he ventured out over the Gulf of Montyne and looked northward to see the fog banks that hid the Sinisters from view. The craggy cliffs passed beneath him and the heat from the Abyss blasted him in the face like the open door of a furnace. As the rose-colored dunes of Rysalia slipped into view beneath his spread wings, he lowered his head and dove for the gates of Abbadon Keep. Before his talons touched the ground and his feet became human again, he craned his long neck and looked above to see the boy following in his wake, his flight clumsy, but determined. He stepped out of the boy’s landing path when that one fell to earth and skidded, face down in the soft desert sand.

* * *

Riain pushed himself up, shook his head, and spat out a mouthful of dirt. He rolled over to his back as his body began to Transition into human form. He was vaguely aware of Atramentous standing over him, arms akimbo, the sorcerer’s lanky shadow shielding the yellow glare of the desert moon.

"How did you like that?" the sorcerer asked.

Riain answered by flipping to his side and becoming sick in the sand.

"You have much to learn, young one." Atramentous sighed.

"You call this a Reaper?"

Atramentous frowned at the man who had spoken. "He is not accustomed to the Transitions, and this was his first flight."

"Has he made his first kill?"

"Nay, he has not."

The giant who ruled Abbadon with an iron hand that brooked no resistance, strode forward and lowered his cold gaze to Riain. "He will not be allowed into my keep until he has made his first kill. That is the rule, sorcerer. You know this!"

Atramentous nodded. "And we will follow your rules, Lord Amardad."

Lord Amardad looked up at the blazing moon. "He has until sunup. If he has not made the kill, do not bother bringing him back. Is that understood?"

The sorcerer bowed respectfully to the giant and hunkered down beside Riain. "Get up, boy, before you embarrass me further!"

Riain groaned and wiped the back of his hand across his dry lips. His head hurt unmercifully and his belly cramped as though a fire burned inside.

"It is the need for Sustenance that makes you so," Atramentous snapped, grabbing Riain’s arm and propelling him to his wobbly feet.

At the mention of Sustenance, Riain gagged and turned away, the sound of his dry heaving bringing laughter to the guards standing at attention beside Abbadon’s mighty iron gates.

"Water," Riain begged.

" ’Tis not water you need, fool," Lord Amardad snorted. "You have not instructed him adequately in the way of things, have you, sorcerer?"

"He knows," Atrementous ground out. "He is denying his nature."

"Humpf!" Lord Amardad hawked a wad of phlegm from his throat and spat at Riain’s feet.

Riain looked away from the glistening glob, straining not to heave. He looked at the massive stone walls of Abbadon and felt a chill wiggle down his spine. This was the very Gates of Hell, as his world knew it, and the evil of this keep had been well documented. He could not believe he was standing on Rysalian soil, not many miles from the capitol of Dahrenia, much less on the very doorsteps of Abbadon. He, like most of his clansmen, had a healthy fear of Hasdu tribesmen, and the men of Dahrenia were rumored to be the fiercest of nomad warriors.

"You would do well to fear us, boy," Lord Amardad said with an evil grin. "We eat pretty boys like you as snacks before bedtime." He wagged his busy black brows, then spun on his heel and stomped away, harsh laughter following in his wake.

The guards hastened to open the iron-studded gates for their Overlord. They followed him inside, locking the heavy portals behind them. The sound of the thick bolt slipping into place was loud and telling.

"The gods damn my hide for not having you make your first kill in Chrystallus!" Atramentous spat, shoving his apprentice.

Riain grabbed his arm, wincing. "I told you, I will not kill!"

"You," the sorcerer shouted, "have no choice!"

Riain would have argued, but he was in so much pain, he could barely think, much less protest the thunderous threat. He sat on the sand, feeling the heat of the day’s sun still seeped into the granules.

"Do you know what Amardad is?" Atramentous queried, his face ugly in the moonlight.

"No."

"He is an Akakhar."

Riain shrugged, his lower lip thrust out in a boyish pout.

"You have never heard the term?"

"I’ve led a sheltered life!"

The sorcerer bent and thrust his face close to Riain’s. "You remember the commandant at the Labyrinth? What was his name?"

"I don’t remember," Riain mumbled, lowering his eyes.

"Aye, you do, but even the name has the power to instill fear and loathing in you, doesn’t it? Did he do to you what he does to many of the inmates?"

Riain snapped up his head. "I was kept well away from him!"

"But you knew what he was about."

"I knew," Riain admitted with a shudder of revulsion.

"Lord Amardad and his cambions make the commandant look like a heavenly being. As suggested, you would do well to fear him and his kind."

"Cambions?"

"Cambions are the offspring of incubi and succubi. Know you those terms?"

Riain shook his head and flinched when Atramentous threw his hands into the air and cursed a blue streak.

"I have an imbecile to instruct!" The sorcerer glared at Riain. "Incubi are male sexual demons who visit females. Succubi are female demons who visit males in the dead hours of the night. They are evil creatures that take advantage of a human’s need to be loved and twist that need into something vile and vulgar. Now do you know what they are?"

"I have heard tales of such, but did not remember the names."

"An Akakhar is the worst kind of incubus. It not only mates with humans, overwhelming them with lust and arousing them to unbelievable heights of passion, it drinks their victim’s blood until they have drained them dry, leaving behind an empty husk. Akakhars make NightWinds look tame." He straightened. "Such is Lord Amardad and his men."

Riain felt as though he would be sick again.

"And then there are the Ardat-Lile," Atramentous continued. "They are the females who reside here. Their reputations are so fierce, even Lord Amardad is circumspect in dealing with them. They have voracious sexual appetites and delight in doing harm to mankind. Stay away from any female you may encounter in this vile place, do you understand?"

"What kind of hellhole have you brought me to?" Riain asked, his eyes wide.

"The very Gates of Hell, young one."

* * *

A world away in the secret keep at World’s End, Rhiannon Chastayne stepped away from her scrying mirror and stretched out on the silken coverlet adorning her brass bed. She put her hand to the soft mound of her belly and rubbed gently. The life growing within her stirred at her touch. She smiled. "Daemion," she named the son she had stolen from Riain Cree’s eager young loins.

In four more months, the child would be born.

Daemion would carry on the Cree tradition of magic-saying, something his father had refused to do.