WindSeeker (29 page)

had held him as the trembling, crying youth thrashed about.

"You are safe," he told the child. "Hush, now. You are safe, Conar."

It was after Conar’s wildly thumping heart had slowed, his face losing the pale yellow hue of death, that

the boy jerked away from Tohre and tried to escape. He knocked aside one of the burning braziers,

igniting Tohre’s robes as the High Priest tried to catch him. In saving Conar’s life, Tohre had been badly

burned, near death, for several weeks. Not even the healing potion could take away the horrid burns that

would forever scar the High Priest’s neck and chest.

Despite his fear and loathing of the man, Conar had been contrite. His tender heart ached for the pain he

had caused another human, no matter how vile the person. His guilt came from his understanding that

Kaileel had saved his life and, in return, Conar had almost killed him. It was a hold Kaileel learned to use

over him when the boy became too troublesome and unreasonable during teachings. All Tohre had to do

was remind him that he had caused another great suffering, and the boy would bow his head and Kaileel

could do with him as he pleased.

Now, sitting alone in his office, his mind in the past, Tohre was unprepared for the arrival of an

unannounced visitor.

The door opened and a robed postulant stood aside as the woman walked past him. Kaileel looked up

at the Princess Anya Elizabeth McGregor, then sat in his chair, a smile hovering on his thin lips. "How

may I help you, Highness?"

Liza noted his deliberate refusal to rise. She had expected his ill manners to carry over into the privacy of

his chambers and was not surprised that he failed to show her respect. "You have something of mine."

Kaileel steepled his fingers and tapped the vermilion tips together. "And what would that be, Highness?"

His smile was malicious.

In three steps, she reached the man’s desk. Putting her hands on the top, she leaned forward. Her upper

lips curled with disgust. "He made a bargain with you to spare me. I’m no fool. I know what you are; you

know what I am. That is beside the point. You tried to corrupt him—you failed."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Highness. What is it I am supposed to have done? And to

whom?"

With one sweep of her arm, she cleared his desk of papers, ledgers, books, and quills. She trembled

with the force of her anger and her utter loathing of the man sitting before her. Had she her dagger, she

would have plunged it into Tohre’s black heart. As it was, she forced herself to take a calming breath and

locked her fiery green gaze with Tohre’s cool one. "By all that is holy, and unholy, Tohre, if anything has

happened to my man because of you, I will slit your throat!"

Tohre stood slowly, calmly, and swept his vision over the destruction cluttered beside his desk. When he

glanced up, his look seemed to pity her. "I think you should lie down, Highness. You do not seem at all

well." His insulting gaze crawled over her. "Perhaps it was your ordeal at Norus that has temporarily

unhinged you."

She slapped him, her hand lashing out before she could stop herself. His hand went over his left shoulder

and she thought he meant to strike her in return, but anger settled in his rigid spine.

"
Your
man?" he taunted. "
Yours
?" He came around the desk and put his face close to hers, surprised

when she did not back away. "He is mine, now, bitch!" he shouted, spraying her with spittle. "Can’t you

feel
that?"

She backed away from the insanity in that hated face. His aura had a smell to it, a strong, evil, unclean

smell like sulfur. He grinned at her, daring her to contradict him.

"I know you have the braid of hair I gave Conar long ago. I want it back! When you try to use it again,

you’ll find it useless anyway. My men went after my hubsand, Tohre. He is no longer in that evil place

you took him and you’d better hope he is in good health when they return him to me!" She saw a flicker

of surprise go over his face before the mask of hatred settled once more. "You didn’t know that, did

you?"

"You lie. Conar is where I left him." His tone said he wasn’t truly sure of that, though.

"You think so? Well, you’re wrong. You know I have the power. You fear it. If you don’t, you should."

Liza clenched her teeth. "Between us, he and I will defeat you and your kind!"

Kaileel probed her mind. He let his power glean the truth of what she was saying.

"He is mine, Tohre," she told him, "and mine he will stay! I am the Keeper of the Wind!"

Tohre turned sharply away from her, feeling her probing
him
this time, studying
his
inner feelings, and was

even more surprised when he found he couldn’t block out her probe. Alarmed, he swung around to face

her. He saw her knowledge in the wide horror of her green eyes.

"Stop!" he commanded, advancing on her with the intent of strangling her.

A strange look of mixed horror and compassion filled Liza’s face and she moved rapidly away. Her

voice was threaded through with disgusted wonder. "You love him?" Her voice broke as the true

meaning of what she had learned filtered through her horrified mind. "No. No," she whispered, the truth

harder still to say. "You are
in
love with him!"

"Get out!" he thundered. "Get out while you still can, bitch!" He came at her, his fist raised to pummel,

but she ran, leaving him standing in the middle of his office, his body trembling.

A spasm of panic rushed through Tohre. If Conar had managed to escape, there would be hell to pay.

Tolkan would see to that.

He stretched his mind, probed the ether around him, and felt something slither past his vision. He tried to

focus on what was lurking just outside his awareness.

Was there something there? Or was he borrowing trouble?

Sitting on the floor, he brought his hands to his temples and pressed hard. There
was
something there!

He could feel a Rift in the Veil. The answer came to him with the speed of a lightning bolt…Conar was in

trouble.

He could feel It now, pressing in on him like the sliding crush of a marble crypt lid.

At the base of Mount Serenia, some five miles from the Great Abbey, the three men dismounted to

rest their steeds from the taxing descent down the serpentine trail. Hern eased the young prince into

Sentian’s waiting arms, and they all sat down to canteens of welcome water. It was Hern who first

noticed the haze. "What the hell…?" he asked.

From the icy zenith of Mountain Serenia, a flowing, green haze oozed down the rockface. A noxious

stench drifted in its wake and the wind began to pick up with freezing blasts.

Conar was barely conscious, his mind still fogged with Kaileel’s brew. His wrists no longer pained him,

but the bone in his right hand had not fully healed. It throbbed a bit in the cold wind and he cradled it in

his left hand.

Hern stood, his hawk-like face intent. "Is that fog?"

"If it is, it’s like no fog I’ve ever seen!" Sentian replied.

Conar, sitting propped against Sentian’s chest, heard their voices as though they were standing hundreds

of feet from him. He glanced up the mountain, and his breath caught in his throat.

"I don’t like the looks of it," Belvoir stated and reached for the bag of crystals at his waist.

The fog slithered closer. It swirled in upon itself, shifted, folded back along its base, and then shot high

into the air, turning a deep crimson as it moved.

"What
is
that?" Hern shouted.

Conar knew all too well.

"What do we do?" Belvoir asked.

"We meet it head on," Hern answered.

"No," came Conar’s soft reply. He tried to push away from Sentian, to stand, but his legs shot out from

beneath him and he slid back into Sentian’s arms.

"Highness, lie still!" Sentian snapped and tried to keep the young man seated, but Conar pinned Heil with

a fuzzy glare. "Help me up, Sentian," he ordered, and again tried to gain his feet. His knees buckled and

he lurched against Sentian. "Damn it, man! Help me up!"

Sentian looked at Hern, who shrugged. They wouldn’t be able to handle whatever it was coming their

way unless they knew what they were about to fight. Not having been at Norus when the demon Raphian

had come calling, nor he had ever encountered evil, Hern had no conception of what slithered toward

them. But Belvoir had seen the demon.

"Remember what happened last time one of those things came at you, Your Grace." Belvoir stepped in

front of the young prince.

"Help me up, Heil!" Conar pushed against Sentian.

"Highness, please! Don’t go near that thing." Heil remembered Norus, too.

"Damn it, Sentian! Help me up!" Conar tried again until Sentian finally held him partially erect. "And,

damn it,
don’t
call me
Highness
," he snapped, his words slurring.

Sentian braced his Overlord, helped him walk forward a few steps. He looked at Hern, begging for the

man’s help.

Hern saw the worry on his protégé’s bleak face. "What is that thing, son?"

"My jailer," Conar mumbled, forcing himself to stay awake. These men couldn’t fight what was

coming—only he could. Or at least he hoped he could.

Red flecks of lightning crackled in the core of the haze; the wind turned frigid with a hurricane force that

swept the men against the rockface.

"Holy Alel!" Sentian shouted as he braced Conar against the wind’s onslaught.

"What is that thing?" Hern bellowed, shielding his eyes from careening shards of debris.

"Raphian," Conar whispered. "He’s come to take me back."

* * *

felt her tremor and drew her against his chest.

She rested the back of her head on his shoulder and wondered for the thousandth time why his touch

had the ability to calm her when no other could; not even Conar’s touch could chase away the demons as

effectively as his big brother’s. She turned in A’Lex’s arms and pressed her face close to his heart. She

could hear the steady, calm beat through the crisp cotton shirt. Snuggling against him, she felt protected

and safe.

"I needed you to hold me, Milord Legion," she said quietly.

Legion felt the now-familiar rush of pleasure that ran through him when he had reason to touch this

woman. He knew well enough how his wayward heart felt toward his brother’s wife. "He’ll be back with

us soon," he told her, kissing the top of her head.

She tightly hugged him. "Are you always so sure of things?"

"Of course, I am. I am half-McGregor."

She craned her neck to look into his face. She answered his warm smile with one of her own. Then, she

caught the flash of hidden, forbidden love in his blue eyes. Her smile faded. For a long time they stared at

one another, his eyes searching hers for something he knew he’d never find there. Finally, he looked

away and eased his arms from her.

"He’ll be home soon," Liza told him.

Legion nodded. "Where he belongs." His eyes narrowed with deep hurt. "With you."

Liza would have answered, but A’Lex put up a hand. "Good eve, Milady," he whispered and left, his

boot heels sounding hollow and lonely on the flagstone floor.

* * *

touch me! That’s an order!" He took a wobbling step away from the others, ignoring Hern’s muffled

curse. His attention was on the rapidly advancing crimson haze, his nostrils quivering with the inhuman

odor. Eerie red light washed his face, shadowed his eyes, and threw his cheekbones into prominent relief.

"Don’t get close to it, brat!" Hern shouted over the keening wind. "You’re not yourself yet."

Conar squinted with disappointment. He had been a fool to think he could escape from Tolkan so easily.

Now, these good men might die for trying to save him. He let out a long breath, the others totally

forgotten as he faced the demon uncoiling toward him. He could just see the faint oval of the reptilian

head forming inside the haze.

Conar knew a despair in his soul that overwhelmed him with grief. To lose his own life was one thing; to

be responsible for others dying was another. Heart aching, he did the only thing he knew to do—he

raised his head, opened his arms, and called to the demon only a few feet away.

"You want me?" he screamed into the face of the grinning, drooling reptile. "Here I am!"

"Your Grace, no!" Sentian shouted and took a step forward, putting himself between his prince and the

haze. He howled in agony as the demon’s forked tongue shot toward him, severely lashing Sentian’s

chest. He stumbled to his knees, holding his ravaged torso.

"Don’t you dare!" Conar screamed with rage, going to his knees beside Sentian to take the injured man

in his arms, their roles now reversed. His fury had leapt beyond mere mortal anger. "Touch one of my

men again and I will destroy you!"

Hern groaned. Did the lad think threats would save them? He half-expected to be devoured on the spot,

to be blasted with a fiery hiss of breath that would reduce them to cinders, but was surprised as the

demon seemed to hesitate.

Conar felt something rip loose inside him. His body surged with some nameless force that slowly brought

him to his feet, his eyes on the menacing, hissing serpent-god as It spat. Its venom landing close to