WINDWEEPER (6 page)

He squeezed the hailstone harder and the air heated to the temperature of a late spring day. The perfume of lavender grew overpowering, making him giddy; he felt as though the aroma might put him to sleep.

Although he heard Liza yelp when one of the flying missiles struck her, he didn't move. His full concentration stayed on the warmth.

His breathing slowed; his heartbeat, once erratic and thundering, became a steady, rhythmic beat. He felt immense energy running through him and his hand no longer felt numbing cold. The fog lapping at his calves became as crisp and incandescent as a midsummer's morn. The hailstone in his hand had nearly evaporated and the air was almost sickeningly permeated with the too-sweet smell of lavender.

"You're winning. Listen to the Great Lady, my child." His mother's voice was soothing. "She loves you well."

When the last of the ice inside his fist disintegrated, the hail stopped.

An angry hiss came from the mass of boiling clouds. Conar turned, triumphant, to the swirling blackness. His face took on an eerie green cast from the clouds. He glared into the looming face of the Storm God. The leathery, triangular head shot from the clouds and came nose to nose with the Serenian warrior.

Conar smiled. "I win again, Raphian!"

The slitted eyes tried to pull his soul into their hell-fire depths, but Conar stood his ground, fusing his stare with Raphian's. The demon bellowed with rage.

Thunder boomed out of the tortured sky and swept over Conar with enough force to stagger him. The strength of the aftershock rocked him, and he lost his grip on Liza's hand.

A foul smell, like nothing ever imagined this side of the deepest pit of hell, spewed out of the demon's gaping maw, covering Conar, leaving him wet, slick with its vileness. It lashed over him, sucked his flesh, tasted; it oozed down the waistband of his breeches and flowed down his legs, reaching with vile tendrils to caress his manhood.

The stench made him heave with nausea, made him sick to his very soul. He felt the prickling sting of a million ant bites and groaned from the sudden, unexpected agony, going to his knees in pain.

"
Just a taste, my pretty!
" the demon promised. "
A taste of the hell you will soon know!"

The heavens turned brilliant red, swirling in frustration. With a high-pitched screech, the clouds began to disappear into the vortex of the heavens, scuttling away from the ship like vermin deserting a plank of sinking driftwood. Scarlet from horizon to horizon, turning the churning waves a deep blood red, the sky pulsed brightly, blinding them, and then retreated, gathering into itself until the red tint was vacuumed into the heavens like a reversed waterspout.

As the vortex fled to the far southern expanse of the heavens, the wind and noise ceased; the air grew tropically warm; the seas calmed; the sky became the soft color of Conar blue eyes.

The siren song diminished, changing to the gentle trill of wind soughing through palm fronds, then drifted to the north like the mysterious St. Elmo's Fire sailors see in the distance of a late autumn day.

At their feet, the mist swept back from Conar and Liza, receded along the deck, eased over the side as silently as it had come, and sank into the depths of the ocean. With its passing, the smell of salt spray returned, leaving only the barest hint of lavender wafting on the air. The sea resumed its normal shade of greenish-blue, and the waves lapped gently at the ship's hull.

Conar stood on trembling legs, feeling the after-bite of insect stings tingling his flesh. Despite the filth coating him, he gathered Liza to him. He felt her shiver, knowing it was more from the exhilaration of their combat than any fear.

He felt clammy with the smell of Raphian on his flesh, and knew he reeked of it, but he needed Liza's touch; he craved the comfort of her arms to remind him that they had won, together.

His attention was locked on the section of sky into which the vortex had been sucked. A deep, abiding fury, an unnatural wrath, welled up inside him and he could tell Liza sensed it. His face was etched with hard lines; his breath was shallow, his heartbeat now erratic, faltering. He blinked as the silver mist that had been at his feet pulsed once, far out to sea, gaining his gaze as though in warning, and he looked at his wife, his hand cupping the nape of her neck.

"Conar?" Liza asked, worried.

"Tohre has done many things to me, Liza," he said so softly his voice was but a whisper. "He has hurt me in ways too numerous to count. Now, he has killed because of me." He looked away from her anxious face to the two fallen sailors being carried away by crewmen. "He will have to be dealt with as soon as we get home."

Liza shuddered. Something in his voice was foreign. His dispassionate, cold tone—colder than the hail that had fallen —was filled with an emotion she feared.

"You cannot let anger control you, Milord. An angry man makes mistakes. We have to carefully plan our attack on Tohre so no others will be hurt by his evil."

As she looked at him, she sucked in her breath.

His face glowed with the promise of death.

Kaileel Tohre, High Priest, Cardinal of Ordination for the Brotherhood of the Domination, the evil sect of sorcerers intent on destroying mankind, sat before the altar stone as his followers unstrapped the wrists of the hapless victim who had died for nothing.

Aware of the other priests' feelings of outrage, fear, and disbelief, Tohre knew a frustration such as he had never before experienced. His defeat, as well as Raphian's second defeat, at the hands of Conar McGregor, was written on his craggy features. Beneath his scarlet robes, his body shook with impotent anger. The rage in his black soul screamed for vengeance.

His hooded eyes followed the corpse as it was carried from the conjuring chamber and he looked at his hands, coated with blood.

"What now, Kaileel?" Tolkan Coure, Arch-Prelate of the sinister sect, asked as he came to stand over Kaileel.

Slowly Tohre looked at the Prelate. Intense hatred filled him, for he knew that he, himself, would have to pay for this. It would be his body that would be sacrificed to Tolkan's fury. It would be his flesh stripped away this eve. "I will bring him to his knees, Holiness."

Tolkan turned his head, a lethal smile on his wrinkled, evil face. "Can you?"

Kaileel stared at the old man; a sneer jerked his lips into a semblance of a grin. Spreading apart his hands, Tohre came to his feet and laid a hand on Tolkan's withered cheek. "With your help, of course, Holiness."

A vengeful smile touched Tolkan's thin lips. It had been years since Tohre had admitted needing his help. "You underestimated him again. But something tells me you won't make that same mistake next time." He reached out a long, taloned finger to smooth Tohre's lower lip. "Will you?"

With his gaze as steady as his stomach would permit, Kaileel took Tolkan's hand and kissed the chapped fingers. "No, Master. I shall not."

"You see he can no longer be treated with any semblance of compassion, can't you, Tohre?"

"Aye, Master.

"He must be treated now as any enemy is treated. As Occultus Noire was treated."

A lurch went through Kaileel's soul, but he bowed his head, knowing this would be the only way from now on. Conar signed his own death warrant when he aligned himself with the Multitude to defeat Raphian.

"You can see that, can't you, Tohre?" Tolkan prompted.

Raising his head, Tohre nodded. "He has forfeited any right to leniency, Holiness. I shall see he receives no quarter when we go after him."

Hours later as he lay on his bed, his scarred back ministered by servants, washing away blood caused by Tolkan's lash, Tohre stared into the distance. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth. "No, Conar. I will not make the same mistake with you again. This time, you will pay."

Conar and Liza were unprepared for the welcome they received as they anchored in the harbor at Boreas Keep.

It was dark, close to midnight, when the
Seachance
dropped anchor, but lights ranged all along the steep pathway leading from the docks, across the long wharf, out along the quay that led into the deeper waters where ships rode easy anchor in the North Boreal Sea. The stone barrier that separated the keep's crenelated defense walls from the wharf was dotted with burning rushes and lanterns, campfires.

The people of Boreas, candles in hand, stood about the ledge between the defending wall and the waist-high wrought iron railing. The Serenian Guards, dressed in full regimental tunics, stood two feet apart along the stone steps winding up to the sea gate of Boreas Keep.

A loud cheer went up as Conar's personal pennant was raised to the high mast, signaling the prince's arrival. The cheering grew even louder as Liza's own pennant ran up below it.

"She's home!" a loud voice barked. "Our prince has brought his lady home!"

Sentian Heil was the first to step foot on the wooden gangplank. He raised his left hand over his head, arched it to the right, then smiled, his loud voice calling over the sudden stillness. "
Belias A Tobin!"

The crowd roared in answer. "
Belias a Tobin!"

The war cry, Prince Conar's own, combined with the salute, filled the night like the boom of thunder. It was the symbol of Serenian might, a visible, vocal reminder that had served the populace of the land for centuries. It belonged to the firstborn male child of the royalty and stood for an allegiance signaling the force of arms wielded by the owner of the war cry: The Prince of the Wind.

Conar looked at his wife with pride. He returned her radiant smile and let out a wavering sigh of relief. He was home; home, at last, with his woman at his side.

Gezelle, Liza's maidservant, held out her arms to Liza. "She's awake, Your Grace."

The birth of this babe had not been announced to the people. There had been no way to send word to either the keep at Boreas or to Seadrift, the Oceanian capitol. Even the arrival of the
Seachance
might well have escaped notice if a fishing trawler had not come up alongside the schooner earlier that afternoon. Forgetting all about their daily catch, the fishermen made a hasty trip back to Boreas with the news of the Prince's imminent arrival. Word spread along the docks like wildfire and by evening the keep's inhabitants were already lining up along the wharf. By nightfall, nearly the entire populace of Boreas Keep and the surrounding towns were waiting.

"There is a babe!" one woman shouted, craning her neck to see around the tall man in front of her. "Our lady has a babe in her arms!"

People shoved, jostling to see better, expectant, inquisitive looks on their stunned faces. There was not one among them who did not know of the princess' miscarriage and the death of her firstborn. Their loud buzzing sounded like the disturbed hive of a massive bee colony as they craned to see the bundle in Liza's arms.

"She does! She does!" someone yelled and people drew in their breath. "The Princess has had another babe! Look!" The speaker pointed to the high mast where a smaller banner fluttered under Liza's.

A war cry shook the timbers of the quay as people voiced their happiness. Stamping feet shook the docks.

* * *

King Gerren McGregor turned to his eldest illegitimate son and raised one thick silver brow. "It seems your brother wasted no time."

Lord Legion A'Lex glanced at his father's stony face. "Does that bother you, Papa?"

Gerren shrugged his massive shoulders, kept his eyes on the ship where his firstborn legal son and heir stood. "He needs to get his life in order before bringing babes into this world." The King looked at Liza's face and then at Gezelle's. "And for Conar's sake, it had best be Liza's bantling!"

Legion's smile vanished. He prayed the babe wasn't the servant girl's. To dispel the thought, he turned to the king. "Didn't you realize Liza might well conceive while they were gone this long?"

"I thought of it. I wanted him to stay on that island until his conduct changed. Perhaps it has; perhaps it hasn't. We'll see. If he's had no liquor, maybe things will be better." He swung his hawk-like gaze back to his eldest son. "Otherwise, I'll send him to live at Ivor. I will not put up with his moods and tantrums any longer."

A'Lex's brow furrowed beneath the heavy sweep of his salt and pepper hair. He ran a hand over his beard and worry creased his chiseled face. The Vice-Commander of the Serenian Forces made himself smile. "Papa, Conar is home. Don't borrow trouble before the man even steps foot on Serenian soil."

The King snorted. "If he causes trouble, again, Legion, it will be the last trouble he causes. I will snatch away his inheritance in the twinkling of an eye. Mark my words. Conar's days are numbered here if he does not toe the line. I'll have no more whoring, drinking or ill-temper. I'll give the crown to Coron."

Legion closely watched his father as the older man stepped down from the wharf and onto the long dock leading to the quay.

* * *

Teal du Mer, his lazy, gypsy eyes laughing with mirth, turned to Sir Hern Arbra, Master-at-Arms of Boreas Keep, and grinned. "Boy or girl? Fifty says it's a boy!"

Hern eyed him suspiciously. He didn't care for the half-breed nobleman with his black shining hair and amber-tinted skin. He mistrusted the white-toothed smile on the dimpled, cherubic face. Teal had given him many a headache as a lad while training with him. He had also stolen more than a few gold coins from the old soldier.

"I don't like wagering with you, du Mer!" Hern sniffed, his stony face breaking into a deep scowl. He squinted at the gypsy. "You have a tendency to cheat."

"You have a fifty-fifty chance of winning, Arbra. What better odds can you have?"

"I'll wager one hundred it's a girl," Legion piped up.

"You're on!" Teal exclaimed, turning a dark, challenging brow to Hern. "And?"

"All right, damn your hide, du Mer!" Arbra sneered, hating the gypsy smirk. "Hundred says it's a girl!" Gloomily he looked at Legion, but seeing the cocky grin Legion sported, he thought better of his wager and corrected himself. "Make that two hundred, gypsy!" He saw Legion grin harder, cock his head toward the ship. Hern looked, his eyes going wide as he saw what Legion meant for him to see. "Correction!" he snarled at du Mer. "Five hundred it's a girl!"

"I'll take it!" Teal chortled. There hadn't been a royal-born girlchild in the McGregor line since Conar's aunt, Dyreil, sixty-two years earlier.

* * *

"Papa is breaking tradition," Conar whispered to Liza, his face filled with sudden apprehension. He didn't trust the intense look on his father's face as the King came up the gangplank. "He has never come out to the ships to greet anyone."

Liza settled their child in his arms. "Smile, Milord. That look on your face shouts your anxiety." She turned to her father-in-law as he joined them on deck.

"I am happy to see you, child," Gerren said as he took Liza in his arms, kissing her cheek with pleasure. "It has been too long."

"We are happy to be home with you." She touched her lips to her father-in-law's cheek. "And we have a surprise."

The pride and joy of motherhood flashed across her lovely face and Gerren heaved a sigh of relief. At least all was well for the moment. His gaze flicked slightly over his son and then settled on the bundle in Conar's arms.

"My new grandchild?" Gerren asked, ignoring Conar.

"We named her—" Conar stopped as his father looked at him. He cleared his throat. "We named her Nadia, Highness."

Gerren nodded, acknowledging the name. "Your mother's middle name." He could see Conar's uncertainty, his wariness, but it didn't matter. He was still angry with the boy. A year's time could not diminish what Conar had done. Should the Tribunal ever find out, Conar would be severely punished for his affair with Gezelle, who now stood only a foot or two from her Overlord.

Liza felt the coldness coming from Conar's father. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "It would honor us greatly if you were the first to show our daughter to her people, Papa."

Conar lowered his head. He had wanted to be the one to show off his child. He felt a twist in the region of his heart, but he knew his wife had meant well, trying to alleviate the tension between him and his father. If it would help, he would gladly relinquish the honor, but he knew in his heart nothing would help until he had a chance to sit down and talk privately with his father. Even then, he thought with fear, there might still be a serious rift between them.

Gerren took the babe from his son. "It would be my greatest pleasure, child."

As their fingers touched, the King grimaced with distaste. Even though he could see how much his reaction hurt Conar, he could do nothing to take back the unintended insult. He saw Liza put an encouraging hand on the boy's arm.

"I meant no offense," Gerren mumbled and saw Conar nod in understanding.

"None taken, Highness."

The King realized his son had not raised his head. There was shame in the soft voice, a dejection in the slump of the boy's shoulders.

"What have we here?" the king asked. He looked at the bundle nestled in his arms and put up an anxious and trembling hand to draw away the blanket from the girlchild's face.

Gerren drew in his breath. Looking at the precious child, his firstborn legal grandchild, as of this day next in line to the throne after Conar, he marveled at the white-blond hair covering the small oval head. The perfect rosebud lips were pursed in a pucker; tiny bubbles lined the lower lip. When the tiny eyes, so blue and beautiful, so like those of her father at the same age, opened, the King felt the catch in his throat dissolve. His face broke into a warm smile of love.

"Hello, pretty one." He planted a kiss on the smooth forehead.

"She's a good babe, Highness," Marsh Edan swore from his place near the ship's rail. "Sleeps all the night through and never fusses." His face turned beet red as the King glanced his way.

"Marsh has spoiled her terribly." Liza laughed. "He never gives her a chance to fuss, Papa."

"I was thinking of discharging Edan from the Elite so you could hire him on as the darling girl's nanny, Highness," Thom Loure snapped. He glared at Marsh. "Leave the King alone, fool!"

Gerren chuckled, clucking his tongue at the two Elites. He looked at his granddaughter. "Do you hear them, Nadia?" he questioned softly, running the tip of one finger down her cheek. "What shall we do with them, eh?"

"Your people are waiting, Majesty," Conar interrupted. His gaze was still on the planking. His voice was filled with pain, tears threatening to fall at the snub his father was giving him.

The King barely heard the hurt in his son's voice. He barely heard Liza telling Conar that all would be well. All he truly heard was the sudden soft mewing the babe made as it gazed at him, a tiny smile hovering on the lips.

"Shall I introduce you to your subjects, pretty one?" her grandfather asked. He looked at Liza, smiled, turned around, held the babe aloft, and spoke to his people in a carrying voice. "My people. I give you Prince Conar's firstborn child. The Princess Nadia!"

Loud cheers rang out; hands clapped with enthusiasm. Feet stomped the wooden plankways and piercing whistles rent the air. A royal girlchild was a sign of prosperity, abundance, and fertility for the future of Serenia. To have a Queen sit upon the throne meant the land would be fruitful and the seas plentiful.

* * *

Tolkan Coure glanced at Kaileel Tohre's set face as they leaned on the battlements of Boreas Keep. "Such clowning glee for a mere bitch."

"She'll never take the throne," Tohre snapped, eyeing the Arch-Prelate with distaste.

"But then, neither will her father."

Kaileel looked away. "I understand that now, Holiness."

"I am glad you finally do."

Kaileel's flesh tingled along his lacerated back as he glared down at Conar. He shifted his gaze to the bundle in the King's arm. "That little bitchlet will pay for all of her father's mistakes."

* * *

Teal's mind was numb with the news. "A girl? How can that be?" He sat on the stone steps and put his head in his hands.

Legion slapped him on the back. "There was a fifty-fifty chance."

Hern chuckled. "Pay up, du Mer! I have a very good place to spend your money!" He turned to a saucy wench who sidled close to him. "Five hundred coins will make what's left of this night very enjoyable!"

Moaning miserably, shaking his head as he clapped his hands over his cheeks, Teal felt Legion prodding him with his boot. With a sullen look on his handsome, dark face, he glared up at A'Lex. "I hate you, Legion!" He reluctantly pulled his purse from his pocket. He sighed as he opened the drawstring and looked at his first real cache of coins in a long time. "I truly hate you."

"I know," Legion agreed, holding out his hand. "Pay up."

Teal sighed again then handed over the coins. He glanced at his friend and saw A'Lex grinning. There was something in the grin that boded ill for du Mer, who tensed. "What?"

Legion wagged his eyebrows. "Did you take a close look at the babe's banner?"

Teal looked toward the ship. He slapped the side of his head. The small banner showed up as pale pink in the flare of moonlight.

"Don't feel bad, du Mer!" Hern said. "No one else noticed, either! Pay up!" He wrapped his beefy arm around the wench's slim shoulders and held out his free hand to du Mer. "My hunger needs feeding!"

With a bitter look of resolve, Teal plopped five gold sovereigns into Hern's outstretched palm. "
Enjoy
!" He stood, thrust his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders.

Legion chuckled. "You're such a poor loser."

"You cheated," Teal grumbled.

"I know." Legion draped an arm over Teal's shoulder. "Come on, old friend. Let's get a good look at our godchild."

"Aye!" Hern released the wench. He winked at her. "Meet me at the usual place in about an hour, Dorrie. I've a younger lady to see!"