Cethe (16 page)

forgot his predicament in the wonder that was the sea. In daylight, it was a vivid blue. Its vastness pul ed at him, fil ing him with

wonder. He knew there were only two lands in al the world: one was Tanyrin, the other, the mysterious frigid waste far to the north

of the Lothwal s. Looking out onto the ocean, however, Stefn was seized by different possibilities. What if the scholars were wrong?

What if there were other lands between Tanyrin and edge of the world?

Rattling at the door pul ed him from his daydreams. He turned, stomach growling in anticipation, but it was not Marin with his

lunch. The door flew open with such force, it bounced off the wal behind it. Men swarmed in, fil ing the room, tal and pale-haired.

Stefn had no chance against them, their strength and numbers easily overpowering him. They covered his face with a wet rag and

the heavy, sweet smel of flowers fil ed his nostrils.

Weakness dragged at him, muscles going limp. Grunts and harsh breathing echoed in his head. They weren’t in uniform, he

thought dimly.

There were long stretches of darkness afterwards. Now and then, he swam up from the abyss into a moment of sunlight, the

smel of rank water or the buzzing of insects. Then the sweet-smel ing cloth came back and he lost consciousness again.

Final y, the darkness receded completely. Stefn realized he was lying flat on wet boards that rocked gently beneath him. He

tried to get up, only to be pushed down again.

A voice above him made a comment he didn’t catch. From somewhere else nearby came a harsh bark of laughter.

It was dark. Flickering yel ow light made shadows dance. He saw boots and wooden planks curving up out of his sight. A

boat?

Warily, he tried to lift his head again. This time, one of the boots vanished from sight and planted itself firmly on his neck. He

realized for the first time that his wrists were bound behind him. Fear came back, cold and enervating. How long had he been out?

Where were they?

Stefn had never been in a boat before, a circumstance that only added to his apprehension. “L-Lord Arranz?” he ventured, but

the only response was more laughter.

“Soon enough, dog,” someone said. “You’l meet him soon enough!”

The movement of the boat changed. Around him, the men shifted and the boat began to rock wildly. The boot on his neck

disappeared. His captors reached down and pul ed him to his feet, keeping their own in spite of the unstable surface.

Stefn was manhandled up onto a dock, dizzy and confused. The h’nara half-carried him down the long, wooden walkway while

he blinked furiously, trying to clear his blurry vision.

They were on a smal island in a lake. Surrounding the lake was a dark cloud of forest. The dock was lined with boats, most of

them wide and flat-bottomed. Here and there, however, he noticed sailboats with their masts and spidery rigging rocking gently at

their mooring.

A handful of cottages formed a rough circle near the shore, lamplight showing in their windows. One was much larger than the

others and it was to this house Stefn was taken.

In a wel -furnished room, they threw him to his knees before two h’nara. One looked almost exactly like Michael Arranz, so

much so that Stefn had no doubt who it was. The Demon Duke!

“This is the cethe,” said the duke to his companion, voice ringing with contempt.

The other man was not dressed so finely, but he, too looked almost completely naran. Only a pair of blue eyes revealed his

human blood.

“Very pretty, Your Grace,” he said, smiling faintly down at Stefn. “I can understand why Michael was entranced. Are you sure

you’re not just jealous of your grandson’s good fortune?”

The Demon Duke’s lip curled. “Good fortune? Eldering is a sin-catcher and a Hunter’s spawn.”

“Even so,” murmured the man, “He does not look very strong. This may kil him. At the very least, it seems a pity to subject

such a lovely boy to torment.”

The duke turned his pale eyes on the other h’nar. “You are very forgiving, Eran.”

“Sometimes,” Eran replied, smiling, “one would think it was you who had been the Penitent, Your Grace.”

Leaning forward, the duke ripped Stefn’s shirt open to his waist. Eran’s gaze went straight to the col ar.

“Did you know,” asked the duke, voice soft and deadly, “that my wife was probably taken by this ‘lovely boy’s’ grandfather?

She remembered snow, you see. She confessed to me once, in sobs, her memories of being raped in it when the Hunters came for

her family one winter’s day. She was no more than twelve years old. My beloved Mala.”

The other man looked down and away. After a moment, Lord Arranz said, “Get him out of my sight.”

The h’nara dragged Stefn from the house and across a courtyard to a smal stone barn. Inside were more men. In one corner,

embers glowed red in a smal fireplace. They tore his clothes off and fixed his shackles to a hook in the rafters, leaving him dangling

helplessly, toes barely brushing the floor. He pleaded to know what they wanted, but they just cursed and knocked him about. Then

they moved away and he faced a tal , roughly-dressed h’nar with a whip.

His heart stumbled. For a moment, in the ruddy torchlight, he thought it was his father standing there. “No… ” he whispered,

watching the man’s arm rise. “Please, no… ”

But this was not his father, who had always been careful only to mark his back. This was a stranger whose arm was powered

by hatred and vengeance, who cared nothing for where the fiery lash landed.

Stefn didn’t even try to hold back his screams; he’d learned early that they often ended the beatings more quickly. But here it

made no difference. The h’nar had no appearances to keep. The leather braid hit him again and again, throwing his helpless body

this way and that, wrapping around hip and thigh, leaving streaks of fire across his chest.

Help me!

The world vanished in scarlet and tears. Stefn’s voice grew hoarse from screaming. He thought his tormenter might have

moved behind him, but the pain was everywhere, inescapable, so he could not be sure.

Please, Father, stop! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!

But this time, his father was beyond pity or mercy. Stefn knew there was no atoning for his cursed existence. When the

darkness final y came to rescue him, Stefn prayed only that, this time, he would not wake up.

The guest room was empty. Marin stood in the middle of it, worried and ashamed. “I was just gone a few minutes, milord,

fetching his lunch. He was locked up right and tight when I left… ”

Anger and fear tightened Michael’s chest. Nothing looked different, but something lingered in the air: terror, hatred, violence.

He looked toward the window. Just visible beneath a chair he found a book. It had clearly fal en hard, the pages creased where it

lay, face down.

“When did they take him?”

“Yesterday morning… My lord?”

Damn the bastard! No wonder Grandfather had insisted he go to Waylerton! A thril of sheer fury and gut-sinking fear ran

through Michael. He had to steady himself against the wal with one hand until it passed. Then he pushed himself away and ran for

the door.

“My lord! Where are you going? Wait! I’l cal Captain Chris!”

But Michael didn’t wait, leaving Marin cal ing after him in distress.

The duke wasn’t in his rooms. His servants professed not to know where he was and ran from Michael in alarm. Michael met

Chris on his way out the back door. “What’s this about Eldering being missing? I knew nothing good would come… Mick!”

His brother made the mistake of getting in his way. Michael shoved him aside.

“What the devil is going on? Mick!”

In the stables, he found Marin directing two horses to be saddled. “You’re not com… ” he began. Then it struck: a knife of pain

doubled him over, but worse was the despair. It howled at him from the bottom of his soul, threatening to consume him. He fel back

against the wal , sweating.

“My lord!” Marin caught him before he could fal .

The feeling passed, but didn’t entirely disappear. It remained like an open sore in his heart, a steady, uncomfortable pulse.

Chris arrived, elbowing aside the smal cluster of stableboys and grooms gathering to stare. “Mick! Damn it! Wil you tel me

what the hel is going on?”

“Grandfather took Stefn.” Michael headed for the stable door with his horse, forcing Chris to leap back, cursing. Marin,

ignoring the order to stay behind, fol owed.

“What? Why would he do that? Mick!”

Michael rounded on his half-brother. “Stay here! You, too, Marin. You’l only be in the way.”

Marin stopped in his tracks, looking offended.

“At least wait for me,” Chris said, grabbing at Michael’s reins. “Wherever you’re going, you can’t go alone! I’l go with you!”

“Neither of you wil be of any help, believe me. Now, let go! You’re wasting time!”

“Why would he do it?” Chris clung stubbornly to the reins. “Why would Grandfather abduct Eldering? It doesn’t make sense!”

Michael clamped his jaws together, anger nearly tripping him into saying what he had no business saying, not in front of Chris,

not in front of the guards who, hearing the noise, came out into the stable-yard. “Just stay out of my way, do you hear?”

Before Chris could respond, Michael swung his fist, knocking his younger brother flat. Grabbing back his reins, he swung into

the saddle and was off, shouts fol owing him.

A witch light flared to life at his shoulder. Fueled by his anger, it burned brighter than usual. He felt Stefn, a steady, aching

pulse in his heart. The cal drew Michael inexorably south, spurred by growing panic. He’d gone nearly a mile before reason

returned. He drew back, slowing his horse. Below, the evening mist gathered on the marsh. Looking over his shoulder, he saw only

open hil side. No one fol owed. Yet.

He had a good idea where Grandfather had taken Stefn. The question was, why? After a moment, he started forward again,

fighting the sense of urgency beating in his chest.

Michael continued south, fol owing the curve of the coast. The marsh was on his left, the coastal mountains on his right. Night

fel and the moon rose, il uminating the path before him. There was stil no sign of pursuit. He wondered uneasily if Chris was al

right. He’d not pul ed his punch.

Something flashed across his path. Without thinking he sent his witchlight speeding after it. A few dozen feet downslope, the

bright globe blinked out. The next instant, the hil side crumbled beneath him. His horse screamed, rearing and throwing Michael from

the saddle. Man and beast tumbled down the bluff with the avalanche. Michael gasped out a shield spel and managed to stay alive

al the way to the bottom. There he lay, trying to gather his breath, choking on the dust obscuring everything.

Aching and bruised, he got to his feet. His horse had not been so fortunate. Michael found it half-buried in the rubble, its skul

smashed in. He swore, voice echoing across the open hil side. Closing his eyes, he cast his senses far and wide. A glimmer of life-

power bloomed in his mind, a smal , intricate pattern of light. He focused sharply even as its owner sensed his presence. At once the

pattern dimmed, but it didn’t vanish completely.

So, there were witches abroad, and one with blood almost as pure as his. With that realization came revelation: he knew his

grandfather’s game! This was the damned test the old bastard had hinted at!

Michael was tempted to abandon the entire affair, to turn his back on his grandfather’s machinations and go home. He had no

reason to care about the life of Stefn Eldering. The boy was more trouble than he was worth.

Yet, even as Michael told himself he was indifferent, he kept seeing Stefn’s face, the delicacy of his features saved from

outright femininity by that straight, stubborn jaw; the vivid green of his eyes turned up to Michael’s face, wide and fil ed with anguish.

Damn it!

With the fading of the witch’s life-pattern, other, less intricate patterns came to the fore. Smal creatures of the marsh -- the

merkat, budga, tuft-ear -- al moved through their nocturnal milieu, oblivious to the drama playing out in their midst. He also

recognized the pattern of another horse and he smiled grimly.

His attacker realized immediately what Michael intended and the animal’s pattern dimmed as if someone had drawn a cover

over it. Michael, coughing in the dust, col apsed onto a large rock and, putting his head in his hands, focused.