Blood Lies (Dark Brothers of the Light #9) (16 page)

Isranon touched the godmark on his forehead.
"My liege-god says that prophecy is an inexact science."

"And so it is, but this was not."

"Get to the point," growled Haig, sitting at
the far right end of the table with Zulaika and Amiri. "Tell us
about the attack on Charas."

Isranon blinked, barely hearing the words of
the others as the dreadful auric scent of Zorrance's suffering
impinged increasingly on his awareness.

"Agreed," said Teague, leaning forward on
her elbows. "What are we up against?"

Merick leaned close to Koejelus and
whispered in his ear. The mage's eyes narrowed and he nodded. "Tell
us about the walls."

All eyes at the great table fixed upon the
stonemage. "What about the walls?" asked Father Telamon.

"For those who have either forgotten or
never visited Charas," Koejelus rose from his seat, "the walls were
a living creature held to that form by crystal wards that also
imprisoned it."

Father Telamon made a sign against evil.
"Why would they do that?"

Teague ran her gaze across the ceiling with
a low whistle. "It ate people. It ate armies that tried to climb
the walls. Nothing got through."

"Stop it. Stop it!" Zorrance's voice rose
into a shriek, and the crosstalk ceased. His gaze fixed upon
Isranon. "You are Dawnreturning?"

"I am."

"The Lady of the River said to give you a
message. Destroy Zyne and Galee will be licking her wounds for
centuries. Zyne was her host and mortal avatar before Galee
regained her body and her godhead. They are linked."

"She told all of us that," said the nine
year old mage, nervously fidgeting with a pastry.

Crosstalk broke out and enveloped the
chamber in noise. Unable to bear the auric scent any longer,
Isranon rose from his seat, left the table, and came to stand
before Zorrance.

"I can smell your pain and fear. What did
this to you?"

"One of your kind. I dueled him on the banks
of the river after I fled. He crippled me. But I killed him."

"Not one of my kind."

"But you're sa'necari, aren't you?"

"You've never met my kind before." Isranon
placed his hands on Zorrance's legs. A rainbow aura sprang up
around Isranon, and the Hymns of Heaven sang through the room,
hushing the crosstalk.

Zorrance let out a long moan. His gaze swept
the room in wonder. "My ... my legs. You've healed them."

That news brought everyone rushing from the
high table. Father Telamon dropped to his knees. "Blessed be
Kalirion, Lord of Light, and blessed be the child born with both
sides of the gift."

Heat rose in Isranon's cheeks. "Father,
please. I am not the child. I swear I am not the child of prophecy.
The child is hidden in Rowanhart."

Isranon retreated across the room, but could
not escape the mages and Lord Edvarde.

Teague caught him by the arm and stayed his
flight. "What does it matter whether you are THE child or just our
blessed child? Prophecy is an inexact science."

Isranon started to protest again, and then
swallowed when she parroted his words back at him. "If all of you
think I am, then I am."

Zorrance pushed his way through the crowd,
dropping to his knees before Isranon. "Holy one."

Merick went to his knees next, tears in his
eyes. "All my life I prayed for your coming."

The other refugees followed Zorrance's
lead.

Koejelus and Cordwainer knelt.

Edvarde and Nevin went to their knees.

Finally there was no one left standing
except Anksha, who came and put her arms around Isranon.

Tears gathered in Isranon's eyes to match
those of Merick.

Father Telamon led a prayer and all joined
in, except for Anksha and Isranon, who did not know the words.
Isranon felt destiny take hold of his shoulders like a heavy weight
dropped upon him from on high.

Isranon's actions had thrown the gathering
into chaos, and all had gone awry. "Edvarde, please adjourn the
meeting. We can come together again in three days."

Edvarde declared it so, and yet no one
showed any signs of departing.

Isranon turned to Jeevys. "Can you find
space for these survivors on my wing of the manor? I will speak to
each one privately over the next few days."

Jeevys rose from his knees, nodding. "It
will be done, Holy One.

Isranon put his arm around Anksha and
departed the chamber with her, sighing every other step.

Veranoctem 23, 1077

Attractively plump, Lobelia Cordwainer wore
her upswept hair in a braided crown. She sat at a small table with
a pot of hot tea, sugar and cream beside it. A decanter of fine
wine and two glasses flanked a plate of delicate cream pastries in
the center of the table. As Geoffry Cordwainer's wife, she had a
significant amount of influence, and generally got whatever she
wished despite having a very modest gift for mage-craft. Her main
source of independent income came from her reputation as a skilled
bio-alchemist and toxicologist. Rumor had it that she made more
money from poison than from antidotes, although she hotly denied
it.

She adjusted her dress, took a small mirror
from her pouch and checked her hair and make-up before shouting at
the closed door, "Bring her in."

The door opened and a guardsmon escorted
Disharyl Scathwick inside. Lobelia gestured for Disharyl to sit and
dismissed the guard with a wave. She had had to apply both pleas
and pressure to gain private access to Disharyl. A sa'necari
bio-alchemist could provide an unusual store of knowledge, and the
opportunity to speak with one, in this case Disharyl, seemed too
great to pass up. It had been twenty years since she had last
spoken to one, and that had been a northerner, not a
southerner.

Disharyl's lips curled with the faintest of
sneers as she took her chair and glanced at the servings.

"Tea or wine, whichever you prefer."

Disharyl poured a glass of wine. "What do
you want?"

"Right to the point, aren't you?" Lobelia
smiled.

Disharyl's eyes narrowed as she sipped her
drink. "When a human female smelling of magery sends for me – yes.
What can you possibly want with a simple sa'necari
blood-slave?"

"Wrong question, honey." Lobelia sneered
slightly, confident that she had the upper hand in this meeting.
"What could I want with a sa'necari bio-alchemist, who I have been
told is one of the best?"

Disharyl settled back on the sofa, turning
her glass in her hand, studying the reflections in its dark surface
as she drank. "What are you offering me?"

"Greater access to your son. My husband is
planning on going north with Lord Dawnreturning."

"And what do you want?"

"Your knowledge of poisons and antidotes,
venoms and anti-venoms."

Disharyl laughed. "Most of mine don't have
antidotes."

"I want them anyway."

"I am sure you do. Ethan Romilay had much to
say about you."

Lobelia tensed. "You knew Ethan
Romilay?"

"I was his prize pupil. He said you were
good, but not up to my level." Disharyl's lips came together in
smug cat-with-a-rat smile. "You are Lobelia Logan Cordwainer, are
you not?"

Lobelia's hands shook as she switched from
tea to wine. Daring and ambitious, she had secretly made the
journey to Waejontor with two older friends when she was fourteen
to study under Ethan Romilay, master poison-crafter to the Kings of
Waejontor. Of the three of them, only she had survived to return
home. Were that ever to become known, then the rumors – that she
made substantial money in secret, supplying poisons to people who
wished to be rid of difficult relatives and rivals – would be
proved true. "Tell anyone that and I'll have your tongue cut out
for lying."

"So I'm right."

"Yes." Lobelia flicked the answer at her. "I
want to learn everything that you know, especially about the
bio-alchemy of sa'necari."

Disharyl let her fangs down and licked them
teasingly. "Are you planning on poisoning one of us?"

"Not at the moment, but one never
knows."

"Get your hands on a bottle of blood next
time. I like mixing blood with my wine." Disharyl drank the last
and refilled her glass. She bit into a pastry with her fangs and
sucked suggestively on it.

"I'll do that."

"Do you have something to write with? You'll
want to take notes."

Lobelia reached into the satchel by her
chair and brought forth ink, paper, a quill and a small writing
board. "Certainly."

"Then let us begin."

* * * *

Few myn bothered going into the garden any
longer. Most were out in the rear yards behind the stables or up in
the salle. Jeevys had divided the boys and youths up into teams of
four. The defending teams were building snow forts while the
attacking teams were building up piles of snowballs as ammunition.
The castellan called it winter sports. The snowmyn competition had
been the first of five and this was the second. The prize this time
included pastries as well as more candy. Each event had a point
system. The three teams with the most points would get special
prizes from a peddler named Dyna, who had not yet arrived at the
manor.

Grygg had wanted Stygean for his team, but
the young sa'necari had turned him down. So Grygg had found someone
else. Sitting in the winter-desolated garden, Stygean felt an
unexpected turn of loneliness and wished that he had given his
friend a different answer. A gust of wind pulled at his sheepskin
hat, and he tugged it down around his ears. That offered a bit of
relief, but not quite enough. So he put the hood of his cloak over
his head also. The tangled brown thorns nest, which in the spring
would become climbing roses, covering the arbor did little to break
the wind.

A flash of blue clothed legs and a long,
side-split tunic went past his vision, stopped, and started toward
him. "Stygean?"

He did not bother to look up. "Go away,
Chinisi, before you get me into more trouble."

Chinisi frowned and sat down on the bench
beside him. "I haven't gotten you into trouble. I don't know what
you mean."

Stygean sighed. She was so pretty it made
him ache, but she seemed rather stupid. "Just don't bring up sex,
fangs, or my appetites."

"But those are the most interesting things.
You sa'necari are so different from us. What's a 'nibble
game'?"

Stygean stared hard at her. "It's where two
hemovores take light sips from each other's veins as part of
sex."

"Oh." She looked disappointed. "So it cannot
be done with a non-hemovore?"

Stygean shook his head. "That's just biting
and feeding. Although most like to feed while they … while they
'outrage honor'. And that kind of thing." He hoped he had the term
right. He had not really understood what she had meant by it the
previous time she had used the term. He kept intending to ask
Father Telamon or Nevin what it meant only to get distracted and
forget.

"So they only do it with virgins or people
who belong to someone else?"

Now Stygean was thoroughly confused. "Maybe
I don't really understand what you meant by 'outrage your honor'.
Explain it to me."

Chinisi giggled. "It means trying to seduce
someone, especially a male seducing a young and innocent
woman."

"Like you?"

"Yes. You see, I'm a virgin. Most of my
people believe that sex should not happen outside of marriage."

Stygean considered that. "Who told you about
'nibble games'?"

"I promised I wouldn't tell. He said he'd
show me how to do it."

Stygean went red. It had to be Jingen. "What
did he say they were?"

"Just nibbling on each other, nothing
serious. Nothing that would outrage my honor or anything."

"He lied."
And I want to pound his face
in
. "If you don't believe me, ask Lord Dawnreturning or one of
the vampires, like Amiri."

"I will do that," Chinisi declared. "I'm
researching you, you know."

Oh marvelous
. Stygean rolled his
eyes.

"Stygean!" Nainee's voice carried through
the garden. Stygean rose and walked slowly across the grounds, but
he could tell from her expression that she had seen him sitting
with Chinisi.

Stygean sucked air. "Yes."

"Lord Dawnreturning wishes to speak with
you."

Finally
. Finally he would get to
explain what had happened. "Let's go."

Nainee looked irritated with him. "You're
not stalking that girl are you?"

Stygean winced. "I'm not stalking anyone,
Nainee. She keeps following me around asking questions."

"You put hand or fang on her – and
especially that thing between your legs – and it could cost
Dawnreturning a very valuable alliance. These mages and their
entourage are coming with us to fight the sa'nekaryiane."

"I am not going to touch her. I swear it,
Nainee."

"Okay, but if I catch you…."

Stygean repressed a sigh. Haig had
definitely gone too far in his efforts to make her more
assertive.

* * * *

Stygean halted at the door to the meeting
room with his hand on the knob, wondering if he was in trouble
again. His throat tightened, and he fought down an urge to flee,
knowing fully well that doing so would make matters worse. Taking a
deep breath, he opened the door and hesitated. There were only four
myn in the room: Isranon, Cordwainer, Koejelus and Teague.

"Come here, Stygean," Isranon said. "I want
them to meet you."

The tall one with the red hair had to be
Chinisi's uncle.

"Geoffry Cordwainer, Lord-master of the
flame, this is my apprentice, Stygean Loosestrife, recently of
Ocealay and son of Liuthan Loosestrife who was once a Captain of
the Coast."

Cordwainer looked him over closely. "So
you're the one had my niece in the bushes."