Shades of the Wind (18 page)

“Milady?” he said, the fangs retracting.

“Umm?” she answered, closing her eyes to the lassitude closing over her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, gathering her to him.

“Umm,” she replied. “Is that all?”

“It’s done, bantling,” he said.

“Sleepy,” she mumbled.

Khenty smiled. “Then sleep, milady.”

There would be time to finish the ritual that would bind them for eternity.

She would need to take his blood.

89

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter Nine

There was a light scratching at the door and Khenty turned his head toward the

sound. His face turned hard. “What?” he called out, anger threading through his voice.

“I must speak with you, milord,” Nyria said.

“Can it not wait?”

“No, milord. It can not.”

Furious with the woman, Khenty slid his arm from beneath Catherine and rolled to

the opposite side of the bed. He got up, pulled on his pants and went to the door,

flinging it wide. “What the hell is so important it could not wait?” he demanded.

Nyria stood at the door with a wide copper dish in her hands. Khenty glanced

down at it only seconds before he saw the spite in Nyria’s eyes. Before he could push

her away, she blew her breath hard across the dish and the powder lying on the surface

of the dish hit the prince in the face. He staggered back, gasping for breath, clawing at

his throat, shaking his head violently then went to his knees, falling over to his side, his

body twitching convulsively.

“Khenty!” Catherine screamed, scrambling from the bed. She knelt beside her

husband, unaware of Bahru coming up behind her until he slapped an oily, suffocating

rag across her face. She fought him, but the fumes of the ether penetrated her lungs and

she slipped over into unconsciousness.

Nyria was staring at her master as he writhed on the floor. She knew the potent

mixture of dried devil’s cherries, mawseed and mandragora would keep him

incapacitated for quite some time. Already his convulsions were slowing as he fought

the drugs he had inhaled.

“Are you coming?” Bahru snarled. He had snatched a sheet from the marriage

bed—hissing at the small spot of telltale blood—and wrapped Catherine in it, flinging

her over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Take your whore and go,” Nyria said. “I will stay with my man.”

“And he will gut you for your part in this,” Bahru warned her.

“I am dead without him anyway,” the housekeeper replied. She sank to her knees

beside the now still prince and ran her hand over his bare back.

“Fool!” Bahru pronounced, and left with his burden dangling limply over his

shoulder, grunting with the exertion.

Nyria stretched out beside her master, snuggling close to his side, her forehead

pressed to his firm shoulder. If for some reason he awoke sooner than expected, she had

more of the powder to send him back into a heavily drugged slumber. It was imperative

he sleep for a good long time to give Bahru time to escape Anubeion.

90

Shades of the Wind

There would be no one to stop the taricheutes from carrying the white woman out

to the stables where he could toss her into the back of a wagon and be gone from

Anubeion within the hour. Jacob and Holly and her husband would be in their beds. At

that hour Hasani would be seeing to the newly dead, wondering why the taricheutes

had not come to join him. By the time Khenty awoke, the taricheutes would be many

miles away from Anubeion and—with any luck at all—dead at the hands of robbers

lurking about the burial grounds. The white woman would be an enjoyable surprise to

the robbers and she would be taken and used until she was broken and of no use to

anyone. Her life was forfeit at any rate.

“I am here, beloved,” Nyria said as she caressed Khenty’s arm and ran her hand

back and forth across the small of his back. “You do not need the pale one. I can give

you whatever you need.”

* * * * *

The fate awaiting him was unknown to Bahru as he quickly hitched the wagon and

drove it quietly from the stables. It wasn’t until he was well on the road to the

Diabolusian capitol that he felt the first stirrings of unease nipping at his shoulders and

he kept turning to look behind him, fearful of finding Prince Khenty close on his heels.

He turned down the road Nyria had instructed him to take and slashed the horses with

the reins, urging them to a greater speed.

When the attack came, Bahru keeled over, an arrow buried to the hilt in his chest,

the horses running wild without the control of their reins holding them back. The

wagon careened over the mountain trail until a ranger jumped from his horse to the

back of one of the two horses pulling the wagon and brought the beasts to a stop.

Pushing the dead man from the bench, another ranger glanced in the back of the wagon

and when he saw a bare foot sticking out from beneath what appeared to be a white

shroud, called out in fear.

“
Cadáver! Cadáver
!”

The leader of the Stravteuma walked his horse over to the bed of the wagon and

looked in. He frowned and motioned another of his men to unwrap the body. In the

pale glow of the moon overhead, the leader drew in a quick breath when the woman’s

body was revealed to him in all her young glory. His gaze went to her chest and he saw

she was breathing.

“
Cover ella, Diego!”
the leader said then told the man to be careful of her
. “Tenga

cuidado con ella.”

“Ella no es muerta?”
the one called Diego asked.

“No, she’s not dead!” the leader snapped in his native language then turned an

irritated look to Diego.
“No, ella no es muerta.”
He looked over into the wagon. “More

likely kidnapped and intended for ravishment,” he said to himself.

With the dead man lying face up on the roadway—his glazed eyes staring

reproachfully at the ranger who had usurped the taricheutes’ place on the wagon seat—

91

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

the bandits moved on, the sleeping body of the prince’s wife unconscious in her cotton

covers.

* * * * *

Catherine awoke to bright light shining through a crack in the curtains and turned

her head away. Her head was throbbing with an awful ache that made it feel as though

the top of her skull were about to explode. She snuggled down into the coolness of the

pillow beneath her cheek and wished for the nausea and vertigo to go away.

“Here, sweeting.”

It was a soft, deep voice filled with authority that spoke to her and a gentle hand

cupped her neck to lift her head.

“No,” Catherine protested, but the cool rim of a glass pressed against her lips.

“Drink. It will make you feel better.”

The speaker gave her no choice and Catherine opened her mouth to something cool

and refreshing. She drank greedily—the nausea subsiding and the pounding headache

slipping steadily away as she downed the pleasant-tasting brew.

“Now, lie back and let the tenerse work,” he said, and gently lowered her head to

the pillow once more.

Forcing her eyes open, she saw the shadow of a man’s broad back. “Khenty?” she

asked and saw the man stiffen.

Slowly the man turned to face her. He was tall—at least as tall as her husband—but

perhaps a bit heavier of frame. His hair was dark and in the shadowy confines of the

room, his eyes looked dark as well. He was dressed all in black and as he brought a

chair to the bed and swung it around with the tall back to her, hooking his leg over the

back before straddling the seat, she saw the dagger sheathed at his hip.

“Who are you?” she asked, pulling the covers up to her chin.

“You may call me Rhada,” he replied. “My whole name is too wieldy.”

“You are not Diabolusian,” she accused.

“Oceanian,” he told her.

“You are the new wife of the psychopomp,” he said.

Catherine was clutching the covers although she knew she was clothed beneath the

sheet and coverlet. “I am,” she answered.

“Ben-Alkazar is to be complimented. You are a lovely addition to the Kensetti

pantheon, milady.” He crossed his hands over the back of the chair. “Who was the fat

man who was trying to abscond with you?”

“It must have been Bahru,” she said, the name a curse in her mouth. “Where is he?”

“Gone on to his reward,” Rhada said, “if there is one for such as that.”

“He’s dead?”

92

Shades of the Wind

“As the proverbial doornail. We left him where he met his end.”

“I doubt my husband would have wanted to embalm him anyway,” she said with a

sniff.

“Well, my people certainly won’t so let the jackals…” He grinned. “Those that roam

my mountains will feed upon him.”

“Where am I?” she asked. “Have you sent word to my husband?”

“You are in my home,” he answered. “I call it Ocaleae.” He put his chin on his

crossed hands. “And no, I have yet to inform the Kensetti that I have his lady.”

A chill ran down Catherine’s spine. “Why not?”

Rhada shrugged. “Out of pure spite.” He smiled. “Have no fear, sweeting. I have no

designs upon your lovely body. My own lady would flay me alive and throw my

entrails to her precious hounds.”

“Where is your lady?” Catherine asked suspiciously.

“Visiting her sons in Oceania, but you have nothing to worry about. I take my vows

to her very seriously.”

“I must insist you send word to my husband,” she said, her eyes flashing. “He will

be worried.”

“I would venture to say Ben-Alkazar will come hunting for you on his own,” Rhada

said. “Did he not perform the Taking?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then don’t worry,” her host said, standing up and swinging the chair to one side.

He crossed his arms over his brawny chest and looked down at her. “No man in his

right mind—although I wonder if such is possible with Ben-Alkazar—would let you

remain without his care. Relax, get over that vile concoction you inhaled, and when

you’re ready, ring for a servant. Unlike your husband, I have more servants than I can

count in my home. One will gladly come to assist you to dress for the noon meal.”

“You are a psychopomp?” she asked as he headed for the door.

“Aye,” he answered. “That I am.”

“But you are not a friend to my husband?” she queried.

“We are,” he said with a grin, “pleasant rivals.” His eyebrows drew together. “Tell

me about the man my archer killed.”

“He was a taricheutes,” Catherine replied. “He worked for my husband.”

“Ah,” Rhada drawled. “A pity to have had to destroy a man of that profession but

he should not have been where he was and driving his horses in such an erratic manner

that we thought him a grave robber.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just as Khenty has his Medjai warriors, I have my Stravteuma, my Guardians,”

Rhada replied. “They are there to protect the final resting places of our people, to make

93

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

sure grave robbers do not break into the burial places to steal from the dead.” He

clenched his teeth. “Nothing angers me more than for someone to desecrate my dead.”

“That is the lowest of the low,” Catherine agreed.

“You are Chalean?” he inquired. At her nod, he smiled. “I have studied the burial

customs of many people and I must say yours are among the most simple yet the most

respectful. A pyre, a cleansing fire, ashes lifting to the heavens at the setting of the sun. I

envy your psychopomp the simplicity of his work.”

“I can’t believe such entities as you and Khenty actually exist,” she said.

“We shouldn’t, if you listen to the
modern
thinkers,” Rhada drawled. “There is more

lurking between the shadows and the clouds than meets the
normal
eye.”

Almost as if on cue, Catherine caught movement from the corner of her eye and she

turned her head to see a very lovely young woman enter the room. The woman smiled

shyly at Catherine then went to speak quietly with her master in a language Catherine

did not recognize.

“I will handle it,” Rhada said, his expression hard.

“Trouble?” Catherine asked when the young woman left.

“Nothing with which to concern yourself, milady,” he replied. He walked to the

door. “Make yourself comfortable. I am sure Ben-Alkazar will come as quickly as

possible to retrieve you. If for whatever reason he can not, I myself will take you to

Anubeion.”

Before she could thank him, Rhada was gone.

Catherine got up from the bed and moved to the window, curious about where she

was, but when she pulled the curtain aside, all she saw was the granite expanse of a

mountain soaring upward. Peering downward, she could see nothing more than a

landscape peppered with fallen rocks. As comfortable as the room in which she found

herself, the exterior of Rahda’s home was just that austere.

Looking about the room, she found she did not feel uneasy there. She sensed no

threat or danger. Though her head still hurt, she was content enough in Rhada’s home.

She knew one way or another she would return to Khenty. It was just a matter of time.

* * * * *

Twice Khenty struggled to regain consciousness during the night and twice Nyria

had plunged him back into oblivion. With the rising of the sun, she had checked his