The Immortal Prince (38 page)

It was dark by the time the City Watch let Warlock leave the Watch-house, located at the entrance to the older, walled part of the city, and it was clear he would not be permitted entry at this hour. Not that he had any business in the city proper. Now he was free again—at least until the next time the City Watch thought up a reason to arrest him—Warlock really only had one purpose in mind.

Find Shalimar. Get out of this place and find Shalimar. He will lead you home.

The sky was low and overcast, the night misty, although the rain had finally stopped. Warlock turned away from the gates and the suspicious stares of the Watchmen on duty and headed back into the slums outside the walls, where he'd been arrested earlier. His stomach growled with hunger as he walked, wondering if he could find the street he'd been looking for again. Shalimar, according to what little Warlock knew of him, was some sort of healer. The logical place to look for him then, the Crasii figured, was down Curing Street where most of the healers working the slums had their shops. It was hardly the most scientific approach to finding a person who might well be a figment of the collective Crasii imagination, but he had nothing better to go on.

Warlock was two or three streets from the Watch-house when he realised he was being followed. At the next corner, where the soft yellow light and cheerful music of a pub spilled out into the street, illuminating pockets of the muddy road while plunging other parts of it into shadow, he stepped back against the wall and waited. Holding his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears, Warlock flattened himself against the rough weatherboards. The music from the pub continued unabated, the place smelling of beer and overcooked meat, making his hunger that much sharper.

He forced himself to concentrate on the creature following him. Sure enough, a few moments after Warlock vanished from sight, his pursuer stepped cautiously into the lane. He was small for a canine, although unmistakably that's what he was. Shadowed by the irregular light from the pub, Warlock could make out little more than the silhouette of a small canine with a thick bushy tail. Warlock held himself still, waiting for his pursuer to get closer. Unaware he had turned from hunter to prey, the canine walked deeper into the alley.

The beast was two steps past Warlock when the big Crasii struck, crashing into him, forcing him to the ground. Instinctively, he bit down on the creature's throat, ready to rip it out if the canine gave him any trouble, but to his surprise, the creature went limp beneath him and made no effort to fight back.

Warily, he let go of the throat and, still astride the beast, Warlock knelt back on his heels, growling. The young canine rolled on his back and raised his shift, exposing his belly to his enemy in a gesture of submission.

It was then Warlock realised that his pursuer wasn't male at all.

It was the female who'd watched him being arrested. The one who'd gasped in horror when he answered back.

“Why are you following me?” he growled.

She glared up at him, her dark eyes full of suspicion, but she wasn't afraid of him. “Why did they let you go?”

“Who are you?”

“Your worst nightmare, farm dog, if you harm a single hair on my tail and expect to get out of Lebec City afterwards.” Her complete lack of fear surprised Warlock a little. He was twice her size and she was in a very vulnerable position, but he couldn't smell anything that reeked of fear. If anything, her scent was musky. And enticing. As if she was about to come on heat and was oblivious to the fact. It made their current position all the more dangerous. For both of them.

He leaned back and studied her more closely in the fitful light. She was ginger-haired and well-formed, long lashes framing large dewy eyes so brown they were almost black. And her scent was beginning to drive him crazy.

Conscious of the risk of staying so close to a female who smelt like that, Warlock slowly climbed off her and stood up warily. She didn't move, her submissive stance at odds with her fearless demeanour.

Warlock held his hand out to her. The female stared at his outstretched arm for a moment, and then, with some reluctance, accepted his aid. He pulled her to her feet, surprised to discover she was taller than she'd seemed when she'd been tracking him.

“Why are you following me?” he asked, in a much less threatening tone.

“We saw your arrest.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Warlock informed her. “Who is
we
?”

She shrugged. “Just some concerned citizens who want to know what a canine Crasii is doing roaming the streets of the Lebec slums without a collar or a shift, or any sign of a master. And why the City Watch would arrest him, and then let him go a few hours later after a visit from the Duke of Lebec.”

They'd been watching him the whole time, he realised. “I have no master.”

“You're a
freed
Crasii?” she asked sceptically.

“I just got out of prison,” he told her, figuring there was no benefit in lying. It was not a skill that came easily to canines, anyway. “I came here to look for someone.”

“Who?”

“A healer named Shalimar.”

The girl didn't react, or give any indication she knew anybody by that name. He was a little disappointed, even though he understood the unlikelihood of the first canine he spoke to in Lebec being in any way connected with the male he was looking for.

“Did you find this Shalimar?”

“I was arrested before I could find anything.”

“Which brings us back to why you got arrested, farm dog. And why they let you go.”

“The City Watch thought there was something amiss with my pardon,” he explained. “The duke came down to verify it was legitimate and then they let me go. There's nothing suspicious about it.”

The girl seemed unconvinced. “If you know the Duke of Lebec well enough to score a pardon from him, farm dog,” she informed Warlock, as she straightened her shift and brushed off the dust and debris of the laneway that had attached itself to her ginger tail, “then
suspicious
doesn't even begin to describe you.”

He shook his head. “I don't know the duke at all. I was able to perform a service for his wife and she rewarded me by arranging a pardon.” The story Duke Stellan had told the City Watch was plausible enough. Better yet, it sounded like the truth because he didn't have to hesitate before offering an explanation.

“What sort of service?”

“Excuse me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of
service
did you perform for the duchess?”

It took him a moment to realise what she was implying. Warlock was shocked. “You think I…and the duchess…that's disgusting!”

The young canine seemed anything but shocked by the notion. “Happens more often than you'd think, farm dog. There're whole brothels down here in the slums dedicated to selling dog meat to the masters who like to play a bit rough.”

Warlock couldn't believe any canine could be so blasé about such a thing. “I have never done anything of the kind!” He squared his shoulders proudly. “I am Warlock, out of Bella, by Segura, and I would never shame my line!”

Unaccountably, the girl smiled. “My name is Boots,” she said.

He glanced down at her, waiting for her to offer her lineage, but she seemed disinclined to reveal her family names.

“Where are you staying?” she asked, instead.

“Nowhere, really,” he told her, a little puzzled why she hadn't volunteered the information about her sire and dam. Where Warlock came from, such a thing was considered the height of bad manners.

“I suppose you'd better come with me, then,” she suggested, turning for the entrance of the lane. “You can stay at my place. Did you want something to eat? I could hear that stomach of yours rumbling from across the street.”

Given how hungry he was and the musky scent of her, Warlock couldn't think of anything else he wanted more, but the offer was too casually offered to be genuine. Or maybe they just did things differently here in the city. The peaceful order of Lord Ordry's estate seemed very far from this alien place.

When she realised he wasn't following her, she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. “What? My place not good enough for you, farm dog?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Because it sticks out a mile.” She grinned suddenly. “And I don't just mean your rather impressive stud tackle, farm dog.”

Warlock glanced down at his pelt in confusion.
“What?”

“You're not wearing clothes.” Boots rolled her eyes at his ignorance. “It might be all right to strut around his lordship's country estate in nothing but the coat the Mother gave you, but here in the big city, my naive friend, our masters aren't nearly so accommodating. To be honest, that's why we thought you were arrested.”

“You followed me because I don't dress as you do?”

“You don't actually dress at all,” she reminded him. “And for the record, I followed you because I was told to.”

“By whom?”

“Someone who wants to meet the Crasii with the ear of the Duke of Lebec.”

“I told you, I don't know him. I never met him before today.”

“Which, at the very least, makes you one up on the rest of us, farm dog.”

He frowned. “My name is Warlock.”

“Out of Bella, by Segura,” she finished for him with a smile. “I know. I heard you the first time. A word of advice, my friend. Around here, we're not so enamoured of our pedigrees as you are.”

“It is who I am.”

“Which is all well and good if you know who you are. Some of us don't have that luxury.”

Warlock stared at her, shocked to realise she hadn't offered her line when she introduced herself because perhaps she didn't know it.

“I'm sorry…,” he stammered awkwardly. “I…I…didn't mean to draw attention to your…misfortune…”

Boots laughed. “
Misfortune?
Oh boy, they are just going to
love
you at the Kennel.”

“What's the Kennel?”

“It's where I live,” she told him. “Me and the other strays in the city.”

“You have no master?”

“I'd hardly be roaming the streets of Lebec at this hour following you if I did, would I? You coming or not?”

Warlock hesitated, not at all sure if he could afford such a detour. He wanted to find Shalimar. He wanted a way out of Lebec City, not a home here. A slum kennel full of strays was about as far from that ambition as he could get.

Still, Boots was right. He was hungry and homeless and knew so little about the city he had left his clothes lying on the side of the road.

Besides, the smell of her was almost enough to make him forget any other purpose he might have. It irked Warlock a little to think that no matter how much education or breeding he had, he was still a canine Crasii and this female offering to take him back to her place was only days away from coming on heat.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Warlock nodded. She turned toward the entrance of the lane again, glancing down the street each way before stepping out of the shadows. Warlock followed her, telling himself that going with Boots wasn't a bad idea.

Maybe someone at the Kennel had heard of Shalimar.

The Kennel of the Lebec City slums proved to be to an old warehouse, originally intended as overflow grain storage, which had fallen into disuse when the northern part of the city had been expanded about eighty years ago to include a newer industrial sector. The building smelled musty and even now the cracks in the floorboards were filled with ancient mouldy grain dust. Warlock could hear rats scurrying out of their path as Boots led him through the darkness to the main hall, where the majority of the strays had made their home.

The hall reeked of other canines, gathered in small groups scattered all across the large warehouse in no discernable order. Suspicious stares followed them through the dim hall, and more than one male bared his teeth in Warlock's direction as they passed.

Finally they reached the centre of the warehouse where a large group of Crasii were gathered. At first, Warlock wondered if there was some sort of meeting going on, then he noticed the pups and the large number of nursing females in the group and realised this was a just another family pack, although a remarkably large one.

“Rex?” Boots called, when they stopped on the edge of the pack. “I've someone I want you to meet.”

A head appeared out of the gloom, looking around with bright, curious eyes. He spotted Boots and smiled, rising to his feet. The Crasii was small for a canine, not much bigger than a feline, and ugly, too. Warlock tried not to stare. He came from a world where short hair was preferred, pelts so smooth that from a distance humans couldn't tell if you had skin or fur. Rex was quite the opposite. Brown and black with no obvious pattern, he was shaggy to the point of being disreputable. His tail was stubby and almost hairless. It was no wonder he was living here in the slums as a stray. No human household would have kept on a Crasii with such an obvious deformity.

“Whoa!” he chuckled when he spied Warlock. “Boots has found herself a big new bone to play with!”

“He's the one you sent me to follow,” she told Rex patiently.

“So you brought him
here
?” the Crasii asked as he disentangled himself from several pups clinging to his shins and stepped out of the circle of canines. “He's probably a plant sent here by the Watch to spy on us.”

“I am no spy,” Warlock objected, baring his teeth.

Rex smiled up at him. “Settle down, big fella. If Boots thinks you're all right, then you probably are. Although,” he added thoughtfully, turning his attention to the young female, “given the way she smells at the moment, it might be the wrong end of her doing the thinking.”

“He has a ducal pardon,” Boots informed Rex, ignoring his crude suggestion. “He says the Watch pulled him in and called the duke down to the Watch-house to verify it.”

“And how is his grace?” Rex enquired with a raised brow. “Been a while since he and I have had a chance to catch up.”

“I never met him before tonight. I only knew his wife.”

Rex frowned. “Seems Boots isn't the only one who found herself a big bone to play with.”

“Lady Desean would never do something like that,” Boots told Rex emphatically.

Warlock looked at her in surprise. “That's not what you implied when we first met. You made it seem you believed she and I—”

“I was checking your story,” she cut in. “Any Crasii claiming to know the Duchess of Lebec would know she's on our side. Tides, she arranges for food to be served to the poor in the slums and actually comes here herself to help, sometimes. If you'd claimed you knew her because she was using you for favours, you'd be dead by now.”

“But how could you possibly know if I was telling the truth?”

“Because I grew up at Lebec Palace,” Boots informed him. “I know Lady Desean. And Duke Stellan.”

Clearly, Warlock had underestimated this female. “What are you doing here?”

“Knowing them, liking them even, doesn't mean I want to be their slave.”

Warlock nodded, thinking he understood the sentiment, even if he didn't really agree with it. He'd not left Lord Ordry's estate by choice. Had things worked out differently he'd still be there, probably the head steward by now. To think Boots had thrown away a prime living on an estate like Lebec Palace…it just didn't seem logical.

“So, what did you do to earn a pardon from the Duke of Lebec?” Rex asked.

“There was a suzerain incarcerated in Lebec Prison. Lady Desean was interrogating him. She wanted to know if the suzerain was telling the truth.”

All about him, the Kennel stilled, as he spoke. Rex's eyes narrowed. “There was an immortal in Lebec Prison? Which one?”

“Cayal.”

“The Immortal Prince,” Rex spat, cursing softly. “Tides, how long has he been here?”

“In Glaeba? A couple of years, I gather. He was trying to get himself hanged, I think.”

Boots laughed sourly. “What good would that do him? He's immortal.”

“And not very happy about it, either,” Warlock added, remembering the suzerain's depression. “I'm not sure what's going on with him. It's still Low Tide, I believe. Maybe he's bored and hadn't spent time in a prison before? Who knows?”

“That makes seven of them we know of,” Rex remarked.

“Seven of what?”

“The suzerain,” Boots explained. “We've been able to place seven of them, now. We don't know where the rest of them are.”

Warlock studied his new friends in confusion. “You keep track of the Tide Lords?”

Rex nodded. “Of course we do. When the Tide turns a goodly portion of us are likely to fall under their influence again, my large and ignorant friend. If we know where they are, we can be elsewhere when it happens.”

Suddenly, it all made sense.

“Hidden Valley,” Warlock said.

“Pardon?”

“Hidden Valley,” he repeated. “That's what it is. It's not a myth at all, is it? It's a place where Crasii can take refuge the next time the Tide turns and the immortals rise again.”

“Your dam told you too many bedtime stories, son,” Rex chuckled.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Will you take me there?”

“To Hidden Valley?” Rex turned to Boots, highly amused. “You might need to keep this one on a leash, Boots. He's got the stud tackle to make a good mate, clear enough, but he's going to embarrass you in company if you let him open that big mouth of his.”

Boots smiled. “I'll take care of him.”

Rex reached up and patted Warlock on the shoulder. “There! You're all set now, lad. Boots will look after you. And find you something to wear. We don't like to draw attention to ourselves down here, although, if I was built like that…” He let the sentence trail off, chuckling to himself as he turned back to his family, clambering over the females to get back to his place in the centre where he'd been playing with his pups when his visitors arrived.

“Come on,” Boots said, tugging on Warlock's arm. “I'll show you where you can sleep.”

He looked down at her with a frown, not in the least bit interested in sleep. “Do you know where Hidden Valley is?”

“We'll find you something to eat, too,” she offered.

“You do, don't you?”

“Do you eat anything, or just meat?”

“Tell me about the suzerain then,” he insisted. “Where are they?”

Boots sighed. “Let's go back to my box. We can talk there.”

Realising that was as good an offer as he was likely to get, Warlock nodded and followed Boots deeper into the dark, reeking, cavernous warehouse to the ragged pile of furs she called home.

 

“We always know where Maralyce is,” Boots explained once they were settled on her furs. She had some jerky tucked under a floorboard, which she shared with him, the leathery texture tasting like prime beef, he was so hungry. “She never moves and never causes us trouble. She's up in the mountains around the Valley of the Tides, somewhere, looking for gold, no doubt. Do you think she'll ever decide she's got enough wealth and start spending some of it?”

Warlock shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Anyway, we think Brynden is in Torlenia, still. There's a monastery in the desert near Elvere where they still worship the Tide Lords and we think he's hiding there, posing as one of the monks.”

“Is Kinta with him?”

Boots shrugged. “We don't know where she is, but she might be nearby. They always seem to go together those two, regardless of whether the Tide is in or out.”

“What of the others?”

“Medwen is in Senestra, living quietly in a village on the coast. And we think Krydence and Rance are hiding out in Caelum. There's a pair of brothers there running a circus, of all things. All the performers are Crasii and they'll perform some pretty amazing, not to mention absurdly dangerous, stunts, all on a simple word from the ringmasters. It's hard to be certain, because any one of us who gets too near them runs the danger of falling under their thrall, but we're pretty sure it's them.”

“That's five,” he reminded her. “You said you knew where seven of them are.”

“Well, thanks to you, we know where Cayal is, now. Jaxyn is currently residing at Lebec Palace, posing as a member of some obscure Glaeban noble family.”

Warlock was horrified. “But…Lady Desean said nothing…”

“How would she even know?”

“You knew, though,” he concluded. “You said you came from there.”

She nodded. “It's why I left. Jaxyn justifies his position at the palace by claiming he's an expert in handling the Crasii, so he got himself hired as the Kennel Master. It's really just because we were compelled to obey him that he looks so good at it. Couple of months ago the duke's niece unexpectedly arrived. Jaxyn sent for me, threw a tunic at me and announced I was going to be trained as Lady Kylia's housemaid. Instead of thanking him for the honour like a good little lapdog, I told him where he could shove his tunic and Lady Kylia with it. I'm not sure who was more surprised, him or me. I think it occurred to both of us at the same time that I must be a Scard.”

“What did he do?”

“Well, nothing at the time. He couldn't afford to risk his position with the duke by killing a Crasii out of hand. He threw me in the confinement cells, of course, and I knew he'd come after me as soon as the duke or his wife weren't around to interfere. If it wasn't that day, it'd be another. So I ran away. It means there's a price on my head now, but better that than trapped in the power of a suzerain like Lord Jaxyn, even if it is Low Tide.”

“Then the City Watch is looking for you?”

“Probably,” she agreed, suddenly very cagey. “But they have a lot on their minds, so if I don't draw attention to myself…”

She let the sentence hang, leaving Warlock to wonder if she had paid off some corrupt Watchman to be left alone, or if there was something more sinister afoot. He sympathised with her need to escape the clutches of a suzerain, however. Having spent time across the hall from Cayal, he could imagine how terrifying it must be to find yourself in the power of a Tide Lord like Jaxyn. And Jaxyn
was
a Tide Lord, not just an immortal. His wrath was something to fear.

“Do you think the Tide will turn in our lifetime?” he asked, thinking it a safe enough question. Her scent was still driving him crazy but focussing on the danger the Tide Lords represented helped to distract him.

“Tides, I hope not.”

“Cayal accused me of being a Scard, too,” he told her.

She seemed pleased by the revelation. “Do you think he was right?”

“I'm beginning to hope so,” he replied.

She smiled at him coyly, wrapping her gorgeous bushy tail around her legs, which did little to aid his self-control. There wasn't much point, he knew, making a move on her before she was ready. He'd seen males with their throats ripped out when they'd let their impatience get the better of them and tried to mate with a female who wasn't ready.

But Tides, the scent of her…

“Did you want some more jerky?”

He forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying. “Isn't this your only food?”

“We can find some more tomorrow outside the city taverns,” she assured him. “Someone your size should be able to scare away the competition easily enough.”

“You rummage in
garbage
piles for food?” Even in Lebec Prison, he'd not been reduced to that.

“We do what we must to survive, Warlock,” Boots told him, a little annoyed at his censorious tone. “You're not a house dog anymore, but…if you think you can do better without our help…”

“I'm sorry,” he said hastily, anxious not to alienate her. “I don't mean to judge you.”

“I should think not.”

“Are we still friends?” What he was really asking was:
Do I still have a chance with you when you come on heat?
He wasn't fool enough to think Boots had befriended him solely out of the goodness of her heart. With her mating time approaching, it was likely her instincts were overriding her common sense. She couldn't help but seek out the most likely male partner, any more than he could resist the smell of her.

She scowled at him for a moment and then nodded. “I suppose.”

“You won't regret it,” he promised.

She smiled. They both knew he was talking about a great deal more than friendship.