Reaper's Revenge (12 page)

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Cynyr was in agony. His blood sizzled in his ears and the tearing, gnawing misery biting into his back was almost more than he could stand. He felt as weak as a kitten yet 63

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he pulled feebly on his restraints, striving to break free and curl up. He thought if he could but curl up the agony would lessen.

“Untie him and turn him to his back,” Morrigunia said wearily. She was sitting on the floor of the cell with her back to the iron bars.

Moira was sleeping on the cot in the next cell, Annie nodding in a chair beside the old lady. Brady was stretched out on the floor in front of the sheriff’s desk and the two other Reapers roused themselves to do as the goddess ordered. Arawn and Bevyn had awakened earlier and gone out to find Sustenance and inject themselves with their daily dosage of tenerse. The two men looked none the worse for wear after sleeping on the hard floor.

Brady sat up and rubbed his eyes, groaning as he did. “You need me, ma’am?” he asked.

Morrigunia shook her head and watched her Reapers see to Cynyr.

“I believe his flesh is cooler,” Bevyn observed as he untied Cynyr’s wrists.

“The queen is forcing the ghoret venom from his system, dissolving it with her own anti-venom,” Morrigunia explained. “By now, she will have laid a new nest.”

Unbuckling the heavy leather belts around Cree’s ankles, Arawn flinched at the abraded flesh. It was rubbed raw, oozing black droplets upon the blanket. He glanced at Morrigunia. “The parasite has yet to automatically heal his wounds though.”

“She will,” the goddess said tiredly.

Groaning as he was gently turned to his back, Cynyr drew his legs up and curled his upper body into a fetal position. He shivered in his nakedness and Arawn laid a blanket over his lower body.

“Do you think he’s even aware of us?” Bevyn asked the Prime Reaper. Arawn shook his head. “I don’t think anything but the pain is registering with him.”

It had been many hours since Cynyr had been repeatedly bitten by the deadly ghoret vipers. He had lain for much of that time on his belly—moaning loudly, begging in his native tongue to be allowed to die, pleading with those around him to kill him.

“I hope to the gods I never run up against another ghoret,” Bevyn muttered.

“The Ceannus will pay dearly for having brought those vile things to this world,”

Morrigunia swore. She ran a hand through her long red hair. “I have been sitting here listening to the Gray Ones plotting. They are furious no ghoret escaped you to take the lives of humans in the settlement, and they know Cree lies ill, unable to join you in battle. The Ceannus are almost ready to send their rogues to this town.”

“The other Reapers should arrive today,” Arawn told her.

“They’ll be needed,” Bevyn commented.

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“Lord Kheelan is sending our men utilizing a new technology that will hide their presence from the Ceannus,” Arawn repeated what the high lord of the Shadowlords had said to him earlier that morning in a mind-meld.

“Aye, well, that technology of his may or may not work,” Morrigunia scoffed. “To be sure, I added my own stealth covering to make sure my Reapers are not detected. If Acklard knew they were coming, he would have attacked long before now, and I am not sure the two of you could have stood up to eleven
balgairs
itching to take your heads.”

Arawn shifted uncomfortably. “There’s no question the six of us can destroy eleven rogues,
mo regina
,” he said.”

“I told that self-important bastard I would handle the Ceannus and their minions by myself and I will. There was no need for him to send the other four Reapers but I will be glad to see them.”

“Have you seen any of them since you brought us here?” Arawn inquired. He had not seen the goddess for over a hundred years and he knew neither Cynyr nor Bevyn had been visited by her except for an occasional mind whisper.

“No,” she said, getting gracefully to her feet. She shook out the ankle-length copper gown. “It will be a reunion of sorts for us.”

“Aingeal!”

The pitiful cry turned eyes to Cynyr. His eyes were open but he was staring sightlessly at something only he could see.

“Do you think she can hear him?” Bevyn questioned.

“The connection between them was severed when his queen and fledglings succumbed to the ghoret venom,” Morrigunia replied. “At most, she would have received impressions of Cree but nothing more.” She bent over the Reaper and laid her palm on his forehead to soothe his fevered flesh. “Once they are together again, he will need to take her blood to reconnect their mind-melds.”

“He will be able to track her, though,” Arawn said.

“Aye, he will,” Morrigunia agreed, “for he has taken her blood in the past.”

“I wish you’d let us go after her for him,” Bevyn said. He felt guilty, for it had been up to him to keep Cree’s woman safe while Cynyr and Arawn were gone.

“When he has regained his strength, it will be up to Cynyr to go after his woman, young one,” Morrigunia said, her eyes fierce as she cast the Reaper a warning look. “Do not bring the subject up again.”

Bevyn ducked his head beneath the stony glower. Like the rest of his kind, he feared the triune goddess. He knew he owed his life to her and she could snatch that life away at a whim if she chose. Though he was blessed with an unnaturally long life, Morrigunia was immortal, completely indestructible, totally immune from any and all threats—including the gods and goddesses with whom she resided in the Afterlife. 65

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“Sleep, Reaper,” Morrigunia said, running her slender fingers down Cynyr’s sunken cheeks. “Sleep and when next you awaken, hopefully you will be yourself.”

Cree closed his eyes instantly and his body relaxed.

“He has many more days of pain and weakness before he is healed of the viper venom,” Morrigunia said. “It will be a bad time for him for he will not be strong enough to go after his woman.”

“We’ll have our hands full keeping him down,” Arawn acknowledged. From the distance the trill of a train’s whistle sounded. It woke Moira who sat up so quickly she made herself dizzy and had to reach out to steady herself. Annie was on her feet, hurrying to the old woman’s side, asking if she needed anything.

“Stop babbling, gal,” Moira mumbled as she pushed away Annie’s hands. “I can get up myself. I ain’t crippled no more.”

Annie’s shoulders slumped and she turned away only to have her mother-in-law stand up and put a once gnarled hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. She turned with shocked eyes to stare at Moira.

“Thank ye for the offer, though,” Moira said gruffly.

Shyly Annie smiled, for it was the first time her mother-in-law had ever been polite to her. “Should I go fix us all some breakfast, missus?” she asked.

“I could eat a horse with the hair still on him!” Moira chuckled. “Might even scoop up a spoonful or two of them grits of Aingeal’s.”

Bevyn grinned. “I could go for scrambled eggs and grits,” he agreed. Arawn winced. “No, thank you, but a cup of strong coffee wouldn’t be turned down.”

“I could eat a stack of buckwheat cakes if you’re of a mind to make ’em, Annie,”

Mick said, giving the woman a smile. “Nobody makes ’em like you.”

“I’d be happy to beat up a batch for you, Micky,” Annie told him. Moira’s left eyebrow crooked up and she exchanged a look with the goddess.

“Let me help you fire up the stove, then,” Brady offered.

Arawn and Bevyn were grinning as the two townspeople left. There was obviously something brewing between the barber and Moira’s daughter-in-law.

“Well now, ain’t that a kick in the arse?” Moira queried.

“They say there’s someone for everyone,” Arawn said.

Morrigunia looked at the Prime Reaper and smiled. “Aye, Gehdrin. That is so,” she said.

Arawn felt a shiver go down his spine as the face of Danielle Brewer flitted across his mind’s eye. He shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the pretty girl’s features but they would not go away. With a stricken look, he turned his eyes to the goddess, only to find her staring at him with what he recognized was a smirk. “No,” he said, shaking his head again. “I don’t need a woman.”

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Morrigunia cocked one shoulder but made no comment to his statement.

“Absolutely not,” he stated. “And especially not that forward female.”

Bevyn bit his lip and turned away from the mutinous look on his leader’s face. As far as he was concerned, Arawn didn’t stand a chance and his fate was obviously already sealed.

“
Is minic a rinne bromach gioblach capall cumasach
,” Morrigunia said in a soft voice.

“No,” was all Arawn would say. He stormed out of the jail mumbling the translation of the Gaelach words to himself with rancor—an awkward colt often becomes a beautiful horse.

Morrigunia laughed. “He protests too much, don’t you think, Moira McDermott?”

“Entirely so,” Moira agreed.

Checking on Cynyr as he lay lost in slumber, Morrigunia motioned for Moira and Bevyn to follow her. The rumble of the train was getting closer and as soon as the Reapers had disembarked, the people of Haines City more than well protected, the goddess had business to attend to in the mountains.

Arawn’s face was set as he met the other Reapers as they stepped down from the train. He impatiently motioned Kullen over and when Glyn was in front of him, grabbed a handful of Kullen’s shirt and shook him.

“I’ll say this once and don’t ever make me have to say it again,” Arawn growled.

“The people of Haines City are under our protection. They are not here to wipe your ass for you or for you to take advantage of. Is that clear?”

Kullen bobbed his head, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “What did…?” he began only to have the Prime Reaper drag him up closer until they were nearly nose to nose.

“You will show these people nothing but respect for they have shown us friendship and despite your behavior in the past, they are more than willing to forgive your transgressions,” Arawn said, and swung his head around to pierce each newly arrived Reaper with a fierce glare. “That goes for all of you.”

The Reapers nodded in unison, obviously unsure of what they’d done to make their leader so angry.

Glyn Kullen’s mouth had dropped open. “What did I…?”

“You will follow my orders or I’ll put your ass down!” Arawn bellowed. “What part of that are you having trouble understanding, Kullen?”

Kullen swallowed. “Nothing, milord,” he said then his eyes widened as the Prime Reaper growled low in his throat. “I mean I understand perfectly, milord,” he said. Shoving Kullen away, Arawn stomped off, murmuring under his breath. Passing a hand over his suddenly sweaty face, Kullen looked around. “What the hell did I do?” He scanned the townsfolk who were standing around watching him.

“All I did was step off the train!”

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Sheriff Brewer strolled over. “Welcome back to our fair city, Lord Kullen,” he said, putting out a hand. “I’m the law around here. Remember me?”

Taking the sheriff’s hand, Kullen winced, memory shooting through him like a ricocheting bullet. “Was I that bad when I came through here before?”

“You were a bit uppity,” someone in the crowd said.

“Was riding your high-horse if memory serves,” another commented.

“Treated us like we wuz your servants,” still another put in.

“I suggest you don’t do that again,” Iden mumbled as he stepped forward to shake the sheriff’s hand and introduce himself.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Kullen said. He made it a point to meet the eye of every townsman gathered. “If I insulted you, I ask your forgiveness. I don’t recall much of anything other than going after the rogue. I am sorry if…”

“I reckon we’ll be letting bygones be bygones,” the sheriff said. “Come and let’s get you men settled.”

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Reaper’s Revenge

Chapter Eight

Kasid Jaborn listened carefully to High Lord Lexis Acklard of the Ceannus as the tall, spindly being instructed Jaborn and the other ten
balgairs
on what they were to do when they invaded the settlement of Haines City.

“No man, woman or child is to remain alive,” Acklard stated. “There are three Reapers left but only two are capable of causing you concern. The one called Cree was stricken many times by the ghoret and will be of no use to them.”

“I sense something disturbing moving toward the settlement,” one of the Ceannus observed. He was standing with his large black eyes focused on the plains below. “I am most unsettled by what I feel.”

Acklard waved a dismissive hand. “You are feeling the hatred of the Reapers, Isuan. I feel it as well, but it is no import.”

Lord Isuan was not so sure. He glided to the edge of the cliff and stared down, using the heat-seeking abilities of his insect-like eyes to scan the valley and prairie beyond. He concentrated, squeezing the wrinkled flesh over his black eyes tightly shut. Listening, cocking his large head to one side in attentiveness, he could not hear anything that substantiated his feelings of uneasiness, yet those feelings persisted, a niggling doubt that continued to plague him.

“Perhaps that is what you are sensing, Isuan,” Lord Yborl, the third member of the Ceannus, suggested.

The Ceannus and
balgairs
watched the Jakotai as he came riding into view, his horse laboring as it climbed the serpentine trail leading up to the mountain encampment. Even from a distance, the rogues and their masters could feel the fury lashing at the red man. His face was streaked with vermillion paint, his lips drawn back from snarling teeth.

“I should incinerate him where he sits,” Acklard hissed, “for having left us.” He raised his stick-thin arm and sighted down the pale gray flesh for a moment—tracking the brave’s progress—before lowering it and turning away with disdain. “He is not worth the effort it would take to wipe the world of his blight.”

Otaktay pushed the horse to its limits as he gained the plateau upon which the strange air ship sat perched like a squashed frog. He paid no attention to the rogues who were glaring at him as he jumped down from the beast and walked purposefully over to Lord Acklard. Stopping before the Ceannus leader, the Jakotai doubled his fist, struck his chest then shot his arm out in a parody of a salute.