After tucking the note in the center drawer, Morton locked his desk and frowned. It troubled him that the Sanctuary Priestess hinted at deep concerns but said nothing to the point-especially since that Sanctuary contained a Dark Altar, one of the thirteen Gates that linked the Realms of Terreille, Kaeleer, and Hell.
There had been several troubled-and troubling-messages from the Priestess over the winter months. Supplies missing. Voices late at night. Indications that the Gate had been opened without the Priestess’s knowledge or consent.
Of course, the woman had reached an age where insignificant memories might slip away without being noticed. There were reasonable explanations for all the concerns. The supplies might have simply gotten used up but weren’t replaced. The young Priestess-in-training might have taken a lover and the late-night voices were an assignation. The Gates …
That was the item that troubled him-and troubled Karla, too. Were some Terreilleans using the Gate in Glacia to slip into Kaeleer instead of enduring the service fairs? There had always been a few who, by luck or some instinct, had managed to light the black candles in the right order and speak the right spell to open a Gate between the Realms. It was even said in stories that the power contained in those ancient places would sometimes recognize a spirit’s need to go home and open the Gate into the right Realm whether the person knew the spell or not. More likely, that person had found the key in some old Craft text. But the other made a better story for the telling during the long winter nights.
So he would go to that little village near the Arcerian border and talk to the Priestess.
Morton checked his pockets to make sure he had a clean handkerchief and a few silver marks so that he could buy a bit of dinner and a round at the tavern. Last, he used the lightest touch of Craft to make sure his Opal Jewel was linked to the Ring of Honor around his organ.
He smiled. Ever since Jaenelle had given the coven similar Rings, the males in the First Circle, by unspoken consensus, had begun wearing theirs all the time. That extra way of being able to decipher feminine moods had annoyed the witches as much as it had pleased the males.
Morton paused at his door, then shook his head. There was no reason to bother Karla. He would go to the village, talk to the Priestess, and then report to his cousin.
Besides, he thought as he left the mansion that was the Queen’s residence, Karla’s moontime was giving her more discomfort than usual this month. And she’d had minor illnesses on and off all winter-sniffles, a ”weather ache” in her joints, light touches of flu. The two Healers who served in Karla’s court couldn’t find anything wrong that would account for this sudden vulnerability. They had suggested that, perhaps, she had been working too hard and was just worn down. She had dismissed that, saying caustically that she, too, was a Healer, and a Gray-Jeweled one at that. If something was wrong, wouldn’t she know it?
Of course she would. But ruling a Territory that had people who still supported Lord Hobart and his ideas of how Blood society should be, Karla might ignore a great deal in order to appear invulnerable. But if it was a more serious illness, she would tell him, wouldn’t she? She wouldn’t use Craft to hide an illness from other Healers instead of getting help, would she?
Knowing the answer to that, Morton swore. Well, Jaenelle was making her spring tour of the Territories and would be in Scelt in a couple of days. He would send a message to her through Khardeen, formally requesting her services as a Healer on Karla’s behalf.
Having made that decision, he caught one of the Winds and rode that psychic path through the Darkness to the Priestess’s village.
Despite his kitten’s grumble-growl impatience, Kaelas kept to an easy trot. After all, the kitten was only half his size and had half the stride. Even at this easy pace, KaeAskavi had to run every few steps in order to keep up with him.
This journey pleased him because he had never known his own sire. That had not been the Arcerian way. A small coven of Arcerian witches might den near each other for protection and for the different Craft skills each one knew. But the males had been on the outside, viewed as a threat once the kittens were born.
It was true that the Arcerian males who weren’t kindred had been known to kill their own kittens, and being kindred didn’t eliminate feline instinct or behavior. But the kindred males had resented this exclusion-especially the Warlord Princes. They were allowed to leave meat near their mates’ dens, and they could watch their kittens from a distance, but they had never been allowed to play with them or even be the ones to teach them about hunting and Craft.
Having been raised by the Lady and having lived among her human kin, he had resented the exclusion even more. Other kindred males weren’t excluded. And human males certainly weren’t. They were allowed to play with their kittens and groom them and teach them.
So he had brought his mate to the Hall shortly after Lucivar’s kitten had been born. She had recognized another predator, even if he did have wings and only two legs. She had watched Lucivar handle his young one. She had watched the High Lord. And she had observed the human she-cat’s-and the Lady’s-approval of having the human kitten handled by these full-grown males.
Because of that visit, and because she had felt honored that the Lady had done the naming of her kitten-a name that, in the Old Tongue, meant White Mountain-his mate had warily allowed him into the den soon after KaeAskavi had been born.
So his kitten was learning the Arcerian way of hunting, and the human ways that Lucivar had quietly taught him. That much exposure to humans had whetted KaeAskavi’s curiosity about humans-which brought them to the reason for this journey.
While on a solitary prowl, KaeAskavi had wandered too close to a human village in Glacia and had met a human she-kitten. Instead of being afraid of a large predator, she had been delighted with him, and they became friends. After many secret meetings throughout the summer and early winter, the she-cats, both human and feline, had found out about the friendship-and neither had been pleased.
So KaeAskavi had turned to him, wanting his approval of the friendship to this young human female.
In a way that his mate never would, Kaelas could understand his kitten’s fascination with the human she-kitten. KaeAskavi was a Warlord Prince, and Warlord Princes found it harder to do without female companionship. It would be many many seasons before KaeAskavi or the little female would look for a mate. If the she-kitten was a suitable friend, why not let them have each other for companions?
Not that he particularly liked humans. He had never forgotten the hunters who had killed his own dam. But some humans were capable of being more than just meat. The ones who belonged to the Lady, for instance. And the Lady’s mate. Despite having only two legs and small fangs, there was much that was feline in that one, and he approved.
So he would look at this little female, and, if he thought she could be accepted by the kindred, he would ask the Lady to look at her, too. The Lady would know if this was a proper friend for his kitten.
Suddenly, the wind shifted so that it was coming from the village, still a mile away.
Kaelas froze. Blood and death scented the air.
Della! KaeAskavi lunged forward.
With one swipe, Kaelas bowled the kitten over.
When blood and death are in the air, you do not run toward it, Kaelas said sternly.
Della’s village!
Using Craft, Kaelas probed the area around them. The season humans called spring had already come to other lands, but here winter still had fangs-and deep snow.
Make a den. Stay hidden, Kaelas ordered.
KaeAskavi snarled, but immediately rolled to a submissive posture when Kaelas stepped toward him.
I can fight, KaeAskavi said defiantly.
You will hide until I call you. Kaelas waited a moment. What does the kitten’s den look like?
From KaeAskavi’s mind, he received an image of a small human den, open ground, and then a thick stand of trees where KaeAskavi had waited for his friend.
Stay here, Kaelas said. Make the den.
Kaelas didn’t wait to see if KaeAskavi would obey him. Wrapping himself in a sight shield and air walking so that he left no prints in the snow, he headed for the village, his full, ground-eating stride covering the distance within minutes.
The air near the village smelled of fear and desperation as well as blood and death. His sharp ears picked up the sounds of fighting, the clash of human weapons.
He cautiously used Craft to probe the village and bared his fangs in a silent snarl as he detected a Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince. Something about that one’s scent…
Reaching a spot in the trees that looked directly on the back of the she-kitten’s den, he heard a female scream and a male’s roar. Then a window opened. A young human female climbed out the window and jumped into the snow. But when she tried to rise, she fell again, lame.
Kaelas burst out of the trees, charging toward the spot where the she-kitten lay at the same time an Eyrien Warlord came around the corner of the house. Spotting the she-kitten, the Eyrien raised his bloody weapon and moved forward for the kill.
The human male sensed no danger until eight hundred pounds of hatred slammed into him.
Kaelas bit off the arm that held the weapon while his claws tore open the belly. One blast of psychic power burned out the human’s mind, finishing the kill.
He paused to bite some clean snow. Like its psychic scent, there was something about this human that tasted like bad meat.
He shook his head, then turned toward the girl, who was staring at the dead.male. Little one, he growled.
She pushed herself up and looked around desperately. ”KaeAskavi?”
Kaelas, he said. With the same gentleness he used with his own kitten, he seized her by the middle and loped off with her, heading for the shelter of the trees.
She made no sound. She didn’t struggle. He approved of her courage. And now she was an orphan, as he had once been.
Choosing a spot where the snow had drifted deep, he set the girl down on air, quickly dug a small den, set the girl inside it, then covered up most of the entrance. Stay, he ordered.
She curled up in a small, shivering ball.
He loped back to the human den and passed through the wall next to the window the girl had come from. The room smelled of her-and other things, bad things.
The door leading into the rest of the den was open. He could see a bloody female arm. Sensing no life, he didn’t bother to go over and sniff her to be sure.
He wished Ladvarian was there with him. Despite living almost all of his life among humans, he didn’t understand them as well as the dog did. The dog would have known what the little female needed most.
He thought for a moment. She would need human fur. Using Craft, he opened the drawers and wardrobe, and vanished everything inside them.
What else would Ladvarian bring? Looking around the room, he vanished the puffy bedcovering that smelled of feathers. The kitten could be wrapped in that and kept warm. The urgent need to leave this place pushed at him, but he thought for a moment more.
Kindred had little use for things, but…
He saw it, lying next to the bed. At first, he felt blind hatred, but when he went over to sniff the white toy cat, he realized it had been made from fluffy cloth and not Arcerian fur as he’d first thought. It smelled strongly of the she-kitten-and, fainter, the she-cat’s smell was there, too. And there was a psychic smell on it, a smell he associated with the Lady. The High Lord had called it love.
Vanishing the toy, he moved cautiously toward the open door. The dead female had a knife still clutched in one hand. She had fought a stronger male in order to save her kitten-as his own dam had fought against the hunters so that he could escape.
He thought, looking at her, that if she could know her kitten was safe and protected, she wouldn’t mind the little female being among the Arcerian cats now.
Passing through the back wall of the house, he stopped near the dead Eyrien male. Using Craft, he passed the remains through the first few inches of snow, then pushed them down deep. The snow was stained with blood and gore, but he didn’t think anyone would be looking for this one right away. And until they dug up the body, they wouldn’t know that the human hadn’t been killed by one of his own kind.
Hurrying back to the trees, Kaelas summoned KaeAskavi. Come quickly… and silently.
Reaching the makeshift den, he dug out the entrance. Calling in the puffy bedcovering, he laid it on the snow, using two spells he had learned from the Lady-a warming spell on the inside and a spell to keep the covering dry on the outside. Lifting out the she-kitten, he awkwardly wrapped her in the covering.
She just stared.
Feeling uneasy, he sniffed her carefully. She wasn’t dead, but he knew those staring, unseeing eyes weren’t good.
Sensing KaeAskavi’s approach, he lifted his head. He could detect the faint shadowing of the lighter-Jeweled sight shield, and softly growled approval.
Della! KaeAskavi sniffed the bundled female.
Take the she-kitten to my mate, Kaelas said. Use the Winds as soon as you reach a thread you can ride. The little one needs help quickly.
My dam will not accept a human kitten in her den, KaeAskavi protested.
Tell her the human she-cat fought against hunters to save the kitten-and died.
KaeAskavi stood perfectly still for a moment, then said sadly, I will tell her. Carefully gripping the covering with his teeth, he trotted off with the she-kitten.
Kaelas waited, keeping track of them through a psychic thread. When he felt KaeAskavi catch the Wind that would take the young cat closest to the home den, he turned back to the village.
The Green-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord Prince looked upon the carnage with satisfaction. This Gate was now secured for the Dark Priestess’s use. She had already selected the sixty pale-skinned, fair-haired people who would replace the ones he and his men had just slaughtered-people she had acquired at the last couple of service fairs. As long as the village looked inhabited and the people appeared to be going about their usual business, he doubted anyone would give any of them a second look. And if a visitor should know the village well enough to realize that the people were all strangers, what was one more corpse?
He turned as the Warlord who was his second-in-command approached. ”Did that old bitch Priestess send the message?”
The Warlord nodded. ”Sent to Lord Morton, the Glacian Queen’s cousin and First Escort.”
”And he usually responds to those messages?”
”Yes. And he usually comes alone.”
”Then we’d better figure on having company soon. Assign five men with longbows to take up a position behind the landing web.”
The Warlord studied the carnage. ”If Morton sees this, he might just catch the Winds again and go back to report.”
”Then I’ll just have to make sure I provide a strong enough lure to get him off the landing web but still within easy range of the bowmen,” the Warlord Prince said. ”The old Priestess is dead?”
”Yes, Prince.”
He heard a faint, pain-filled cry. ”And the young Priestess?”
The Warlord smiled viciously. ”She’s getting the appropriate reward for betraying her own people.”
Daemon followed Khardeen into the house. ”It was kind of you to invite me to dinner.”
”Kindness has nothing to do with it,” Khary replied.
”There’s no sense having you rattle around by yourself while you’re waiting for Jaenelle.”
He’d accompanied her for much of the Spring visit to the Kaeleer Territories, but when it came time to visit the kindred, she had gently but firmly suggested that he go on to Scelt, where she would meet him. They would spend a few days here before visiting the rest of the Territories on this side of the Realm. ”Well, you didn’t have to give up an afternoon to show me around Maghre. I could have wandered about the village by myself.”
”That wasn’t kindness either,” Khary said after requesting coffee and cakes. He settled into a comfortable chair by the fire. ”It got me out of the house. As for dinner, it’ll be a pleasure talking to someone who isn’t going to snarl at me because of a queasy stomach.”
”Is Morghann feeling all right otherwise?” Daemon asked, taking the other chair.
”Oh, she’s doing fine for a dark-Jeweled witch in the early stages of pregnancy. Or so Maeve tells me often enough.” Khary’s smile was a bit rueful.
”But a Territory Queen who’s suddenly restricted to basic Craft while she carries a babe is not a Lady with a smooth temper.”
”Since you both had to stop drinking the contraceptive brew for this to happen, you’re not entirely to blame,” Daemon said with a smile.
”Ah, but I’m not the one who loses my breakfast. That seems to make a difference. And there are other-frustrations-for her at the moment. You didn’t hear the tussle this morning? I’m surprised since your house is barely a half mile from ours. I was sure all of Maghre heard her shouting this morning.”
”At you?”
”No, thank the Darkness. At Sundancer.” After thanking the maid who brought the tray, Khary poured the coffee. ”Morghann wanted to go riding this morning. Maeve, who’s the Healer in Maghre, had said it was fine. Jaenelle had said it was fine as long as Morghann felt well enough.”
”But?” Daemon said, the coffee cup halfway to his lips.
”Sundancer didn’t think it was fine. He said that since mares in foal weren’t ridden, he didn’t think a human mare in foal should ride.”
”Oh, dear,” Daemon said-and then laughed. ”No wonder you wanted to get out of the house.”
The door opened. Morghann scowled at the tray, then at Khary. But she smiled at Daemon.
Setting his cup down, he rose to give her a kiss. In the months since he’d come to Kaeleer, he’d learned the value of these little gestures of affection-and he’d learned to take pleasure in them.
Khary, he noticed with some amusement and a good dollop of sympathy, had also risen but had wisely not tried to approach his wife.
A maid appeared at the door. ”Would you be wanting a cup of that herbal tea Maeve made up for you, Lady Morghann?”
”I suppose,” Morghann growled.
Giving Khary a quick glance, Daemon put on his best smile. ”Darling,” he said to Morghann, ”I’m so glad you joined us.”
”Why?” Morghann said darkly as she took a seat.
”Because Jaenelle’s birthday is in a couple of months, and I wanted your advice about a gift.”
As they discussed ideas, Morghann became involved enough not to notice she was drinking a Healer’s tea instead of coffee. She even nibbled a little piece of nutcake- which meant the men could have some without having the tray dumped over their heads.
At the end of an hour, Morghann rose. ”I have some correspondence to take care of. I’ll see you at dinner?”
”I look forward to it,” Daemon replied.
She kissed his cheek-and then gave Khary a more generous kiss.
Khary waited a minute after the door had closed behind her. He lifted his coffee cup in a salute. ”That was very well done, Prince Sadi. My thanks.”
Daemon lifted his cup in response. ”It was my pleasure, Lord Khardeen.”
Morton took a couple of steps away from the landing web and froze, unable to take his eyes off the bodies lying in the snow.
What in the name of Hell had happened?
He felt a mild hum from his Ring of Honor, almost like a question. That snapped him out of his shock enough to create an Opal shield. He almost activated the shield in the Ring, then hesitated. That would summon the other boyos-and alarm Karla. He didn’t want to do either of those things. Not yet.
He tried probing the area, but didn’t pick up anything that would lead him to believe he was in danger. But he did sense the presence of several living people.
His first reaction was to rush forward to help the survivors. Then his training kicked in. Whatever had happened here was more than he could handle alone. And now that he’d been here for a minute, something more than the slaughter felt wrong about this place.
He took a step back, intending to catch the Winds, head for the nearest village, and bring back help.
As he took another step back, an Eyrien came around the corner of a building and saw him.
”Lord Morton?” the Eyrien called.
Morton didn’t recognize the Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince. He tensed, ready to catch the Winds and run.
”Lord Morton!” The Eyrien raised a hand and hurried toward him. ”Thank the Darkness, you got Yaslana’s message!”
That name was enough to catapult Morton a few feet toward the Eyrien. ”What happened here?”
”We’re not sure,” the Eyrien answered, stopping a few feet away. ”Yaslana found tracks heading away from the Dark Altar. He took some of the men and followed them.” He looked over Morton’s shoulder, his face stamped with concern. ”Didn’t you bring any Healers?”
”No, I-”
It happened too fast. A blast of the Eyrien’s Green-Jeweled power shattered his Opal shield at the same moment three arrows pierced his body. The Ebony shield in Jaenelle’s Ring of Honor snapped up around him. Two more arrows hit the shield and turned to dust.
He used Craft to remain standing and cursed himself for a thrice-times fool for not activating the shield in the first place. But there was nothing they could do to him now, not even stop him from walking or crawling back to the landing web and riding the Winds away from there. And the wounds, while painful, weren’t that serious. He had an arrow in each leg and one in the left shoulder, but it was high enough …
He felt a deadly cold filling in his limbs and knew what it had to be. Poison on the arrow tips. But how virulent a poison?
He saw the answer in the Eyrien’s cruel smile.
He fell to his knees. No time to give all the warnings he needed to give. No time. So he focused on sending a warning to the person who had always mattered the most to him.
As the body’s death closed in on him, he gathered his strength and sent one word. KARLA!
Karla sat at her dressing table, one hand braced on the table, the other pressed against her abdomen. The cramps didn’t usually last this long, and they weren’t usually this painful.
”Here you are,” Ulka said sympathetically, setting a steaming mug on the dressing table. ”This moontime brew will make you feel different in no time.”
”Thanks, Ulka,” Karla murmured. She had accepted Ulka into her Third Circle for the same reason she had accepted other witches from Glacia’s aristo families-to placate them after she had exiled her uncle, Hobart. And while she didn’t personally like Ulka, she had to admit the woman had been a solicitous companion this winter, fussing a little too much over the minor illnesses but having a good instinct of when to gossip and when to stay quiet.
As soon as the brew cooled enough, Karla took a large swallow. Making a disgusted face, she set the mug down. The brew had an odd, rancid taste. Hell’s fire, had some of the herbs gotten moldy or gone bad somehow? Then again, a lot of things hadn’t tasted quite right to her all winter. Or maybe she’d just gotten spoiled by the delicious-tasting brews Jaenelle made. It didn’t matter how it tasted. It wasn’t going to ease the pain if it sat in the cup.
As she reached for the mug again, she looked in the mirror. A chill ran through her when she saw the watchful anticipation in Ulka’s eyes. ”You poisoned it, didn’t you?” Karla said flatly.
”Yes,” Ulka said, sounding smug and pleased.
Karla felt her body sluggishly gathering itself to fight off the poison. Because she was a Black Widow, she had a stronger tolerance for poisons than other people would have, but even a Black Widow could succumb to a poison her body couldn’t recognize or tolerate.
As she stared at the other woman’s reflection, she finally knew. All the minor illnesses, all the foods that had tasted a little off. And Ulka always there, being so helpful, acting so concerned. ”You’ve slipped mild poisons into a lot of things this winter.”
”Yes.”
Poisons which had weakened her body but never made her ill enough to become suspicious-despite having been warned of her own death in the tangled web she’d created last fall. Oh, she’d been careful. She knew too much about poisons not to be. The fact that she hadn’t been able to detect the poisons meant that whatever plants had been used weren’t native to Glacia. She would have recognized one of those instantly, no matter how it was disguised.
With effort, Karla got to her feet. One moment her legs were full of fiery spikes, the next they were numb. She flooded her body with her Gray strength, accepting the pain her own power caused during her moontime in order to fight the poison.
As one staggering wave of pain ripped through her, she felt the Ebony shield in the ring Jaenelle had given her surround her.
”Why?” Karla asked. How could she have misjudged this bitch so badly? What had she missed?
Ulka pouted. ”I thought I would be an important Lady in your court. I should have been in your First Circle, not the Third.”
”A witch who would poison her Queen isn’t suitable to serve in the First Circle,” Karla said dryly. ”It’s a question of loyalty.”
”I was loyal,” Ulka snapped. ”But being loyal to you didn’t get me anywhere. And then I got a better offer. Once you’re gone and Lord Hobart controls Glacia again, I will be an important Lady.”
”All you’ll be is some man’s whore,” Karla said flatly.
Ulka’s face became ugly. ”And you’ll be dead! And don’t think they won’t finish the kill to make sure they’re rid of all of you!”
The ring Jaenelle had given her produced a sharp, warning tingle seconds before Morton’s warning cry filled her mind.
KARLA!
Morton? Morton!
Nothing. An emptiness where someone had been for as long as she could remember.
Another kind of cold filled Karla-a cold that fed her body, gave her strength. ”You killed Morton,” she said too quietly.
”I didn’t,” Ulka replied. ”But he’s dead by now.”
The bladed Eyrien stick Lucivar had given her was in her hands and whistling through the air before Ulka had time to realize the danger. The blades, honed to a killing edge, swept through Ulka’s leg bones as easily as they swept through the woman’s wool dress.
Blood gushed. Ulka fell, screaming.
Karla staggered, braced herself. She couldn’t use her body this way and fight the poison long enough for …
For what? With Morton dead, who would be able to reach her fast enough? No matter. She would fight to live for as long as she could. And she had more power at her disposal than her enemies had imagined since she didn’t have to use her Gray Jewels to shield herself.
Looking down at Ulka, Karla raised the bladed stick. ”Well, bitch, I may not be able to finish the kill, but I can make damn sure you’re of no use to anyone when you become demon-dead.”
She cut off Ulka’s hands, then her head. The last stroke tore through the belly and severed the spine.
Karla staggered back a few steps, away from the growing pool of blood. Sinking to the floor, she carefully stretched out, her right arm wrapped around her belly, her left hand clamped around the bladed stick.
She had seen her own death in her tangled web, and she’d done what she could to change that part of the vision. But if she had to die now, she would accept it.
Dark power washed over her, warming icy limbs. She felt a tendril of power wrap around her and recognized a healing thread helping her fight against the poison.
Cradled by Jaenelle’s strength, she turned inward to concentrate on the battlefield her body had become.
Daemon snarled in frustration when he felt the tingling coming from Jaenelle’s Ring of Honor. He hadn’t yet learned how to interpret all the information that could be absorbed from the Ring. He recognized this particular sensation as a call for help, but had no idea where the call was coming from. ”Do you-” he said, turning toward Khardeen.
The intense blankness in Khary’s eyes, the sense of focused listening, stopped him from saying anything more.
”Morton,” Khary said quietly. ”And Karla.” He lunged for the door.
Daemon grabbed him. ”No. You’re needed here.”
”That’s not the way it works,” Khary said sharply. ”When one of us needs help-”
”You all take the bait?” Daemon asked just as sharply. ”You have a pregnant Queen who can’t defend herself without risking a miscarriage. Your place is here. I’ll take care of Karla-and Morton.” He studied Khary. ”Who else will have heard that call for help?”
”Everyone in the First Circle who lives in the western part of Kaeleer. The Ring has more of a range than if we were trying to reach someone on our own, but the alert wouldn’t be felt beyond that. However, every male who felt that call for help will relay a warning through a communication thread to the First Circle within his range.”
”Then relay this message to the First Circle as fast as you can: ’Stay put. Stand guard.’ ” Daemon paused. ”And locate Jaenelle.”
”Yes,” Khary said grimly. ”The Queens need to be protected. Especially her.”
Satisfied, Daemon rushed out of the house and swore. He couldn’t reach any of the Winds from here.
He started to run down the drive, then turned toward the sound of pounding hooves. Sundancer slid to a stop beside him.
I heard the call, Sundancer said. You must ride the Winds?
”Yes.”
I can run faster. Mount.
Grabbing a fistful of Sundancer’s mane, he swung up on the Warlord Prince’s bare back.
It was a short but harrowing ride. The stallion chose the fastest route to reach the nearest Winds without regard for what lay in his path, and Daemon’s legs were shaking when he slid off Sundancer’s back. Before he could say anything, the stallion pivoted and was gone.
Fight well! Sundancer said as he raced back to Khary and Morghann’s house.
”You can count on it,” Daemon replied too softly. Catching the Black Wind, he headed for Glacia.
Kaelas made an effortless leap to the roof of a human den in time to see Morton fall. He snarled silently, the desire to attack warring with the instinct for caution. Slipping down to the depth of his Red Jewel, where he couldn’t be detected by the winged males who were there, he opened his mind and carefully let a psychic tendril drift toward Morton.
The first thing he sensed was the Lady’s shield. That wasn’t a problem. The Lady had made a Ring of Honor for the kindred males, too. So he had the same protection and, more important right now, he had the means to safely slip past that shield.
The moment he did, he knew Morton’s body was dead, but he could still sense Morton, very faintly, inside it Morton was a Brother in the Lady’s court, and the Brothers looked after each other. That was important. So he would get his Brother away from the enemy and then decide what to do next.
Looking in the opposite direction, he saw the Sanctuary that held the Dark Altar. Near it was a large, old tree that wouldn’t wake again. The pale humans would have cut it down and burned it in their fires. They wouldn’t need it now.
Using Craft, he opened the Sanctuary door, letting it swing as if it hadn’t been latched properly.
Leaping from the roof, he circled around the backs of the human dens, air walking so that he would leave no tracks. Just because the sight shield made him invisible was no reason to be careless. Playing ”stalk and pounce” with Lucivar had taught him that.
Thinking of Lucivar, he remembered something else: never show your full strength to an enemy until it was needed.
His Birthright Jewel was the Opal. Morton’s Jewel of rank was the Opal. Yes, that might confuse the winged males.
Baring his teeth in what might have been a feline smile, Kaelas unleashed a burst of Opal strength at the dead tree. It exploded. Flaming branches soared through the air in all directions. Another burst of power shattered windows in the dens near the Sanctuary. Another burst of power sent enough snow into the air to form a small blizzard. The last controlled burst of power slammed the Sanctuary door.
The Green-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord Prince had spun around at the first blast, his face twisted with fury. Other males were shouting. When the Sanctuary door slammed, the Eyrien started running, shouting orders.
”What about that bastard?” one of the other men called out.
The Warlord Prince hesitated for a moment. ”Leave him. He’s not going anywhere. We’ll finish the kill after we take care of our new guests.”
Kaelas moved forward in stalk position, using all of his senses to keep track of the winged humans. Then, a burst of speed brought him to Morton.
One sniff of the body had him backing away, confused. Morton smelled like poisoned meat. He did not want to set his teeth in poisoned meat. But he had to get Morton away from the winged males.
Moving forward again, he brushed against the Lady’s shield, felt it recognize itself in the Ring of Honor he wore and let him in. He put a snug Opal shield around Morton’s left arm. When he took that arm between his teeth, the Opal shield was between him and the poisoned meat. Satisfied, he used Craft to float Morton on the air, expanded his sight shield to cover both of them, then raced for the trees.
When he was among the trees, he slowed slightly, but didn’t stop until he reached the hiding den KaeAskavi had dug. Releasing Morton’s arm, he studied the den. The human would fit easily enough without the pointed sticks- the arrows-poking out. But the Healer would need the stick part to remove the arrow. Wouldn’t she?
After a little thought, he used Craft to shear the shafts in half. He tucked Morton into the den and placed the sheared-off shafts next to him. Then he paused again.
He had never seen human Blood become demon-dead. He didn’t know how long it would take for Morton to wake and reclaim the dead flesh. But he did know that when Morton woke and found himself in a strange place, he would wonder if the enemy had put him there.
Kaelas pressed a forepaw into the snow near Morton’s head, leaving a deep imprint, then put a shield over the print, so that it couldn’t be brushed away carelessly. Morton would see the print and understand.
Pleased that he had worked out the complicated thinking required to deal with humans, he covered up the den, leaving a small airhole. A dead human didn’t need air, but the freshness would show Morton the easiest place to dig free.
Now to take care of the bad winged males.
After sending out a summons for the dark-Jeweled Arcerian Warlords and Warlord Princes to join him, Kaelas headed back to the village.
Ignoring the official landing web, Daemon dropped from the Winds as close as he could get to Karla’s home. The moment he appeared on a street, he wrapped a Black sight shield, psychic shield, and protective shield around himself. He ran a couple of blocks, turned a corner, and stopped.
The street was full of struggling, fighting men. Blasts of Jeweled power made the air smell like lightning. Those who had already drained their Jewels, or had never worn them, were fighting with mundane weapons. He spotted some women, fighting desperately but ineffectively.
So familiar. He didn’t need the whiff of rot present in some of the psychic scents to recognize Dorothea’s hand in this. He’d seen it too many times in Terreille. Those whose ambition far outstripped their ability would sell their own people for Hayll’s ”assistance.” The fighting would eliminate the strongest males and females, the ones best able to oppose Dorothea, and the ones who were left…
This time he didn’t have to be subtle. This time he didn’t have to dance around the agony Dorothea would inflict on him if she suspected his interference. But being subtle had become ingrained in him. Besides, a silent predator was the most feared.
Smiling a cold, cruel smile, Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and glided between clumps of fighters-invisible, undetectable-and left devastation in his wake.
He entered Karla’s mansion. The fighting must have started here and spread into the street. He stepped over corpses, homed in on the psychic scents that had a flavor he associated with Dorothea, and killed those fighters so swiftly, so cleanly their opponents froze for a moment, stunned and confused.
A Warlord Prince wearing the badge of the Master of the Guard was fighting off other males near the staircase, using the last of his Jeweled strength to shield himself against three men who were still fresh.
Three flicks of Black power. Three men fell.
As he started up the stairs, Daemon saw the sharp hunter’s look in the other Warlord Prince’s eyes, saw the moment the man guessed something dangerous was climbing the stairs.
A White-Jeweled Warlord rushed at the Warlord Prince, forcing him to turn toward the enemy who was attacking.
Daemon climbed the stairs. Even exhausted, the Warlord Prince would have no trouble with the Warlord, and it would keep him occupied a little while longer.
No need to hunt for Karla’s room. The Ring of Honor led him unerringly, the throbbing against his organ irritating him enough to hone a temper that had already risen to the killing edge.
The door stood open. He saw a hacked-up woman lying on a blood-soaked carpet. He saw five men sending blast after blast of power against the shield surrounding another woman. Karla.
He didn’t know who the men were-and didn’t care.
Reaching up from the depth of the Black, he slipped under the men’s inner barriers and unleashed iced rage, turning their brains into gray dust and consuming their psychic strength, finishing the kill.
He was across the room before they fell. Kneeling beside Karla, he dropped the sight shield and reached out cautiously.
The shield around her held a feral, deadly hunger.
Not sure how to get through the shield, and wondering what he might unleash if he did it incorrectly, Daemon took a deep breath and brought his hand a little closer.
A flick of power against his palm. A tasting. An acceptance.
His hand passed, unharmed, through the shield.
”Karla,” he said as his hand closed on her arm. ”Karla.” Her rasping effort to breathe told him she was still alive. But if she’d gone so deep into a healing sleep that she couldn’t hear him…
”Kiss kiss,” Karla rasped.
Relief washed through him. He leaned over her so that she could see him without trying to move her head. ”Kiss kiss.”
”Poisoned,” she said. ”Can’t identify. Bad.”
Pushing her robe aside, Daemon laid his left hand on her chest and sent out a careful psychic probe. His knowledge of healing Craft was limited, but he knew about poisons. And he recognized at least part of this one.
”Get your hand … off my … tit,” Karla said.
”Don’t be bitchy,” Daemon replied mildly, probing a little more. Her body was fighting it far better than he would have thought possible, but she wouldn’t survive without more help than he could give her. He hesitated. ”Karla …”
”About… three hours left. Body… can’t fight more…”
Riding the Black Winds, it had taken him almost two hours to get there from Scelt. Pandar and Centauran were closer, but he didn’t know Jonah or Sceron as well as he knew Khardeen, and he didn’t know if the satyr or centaur Healers could deal with this poison.
Besides, Jaenelle would most likely head for Scelt. And that decided him.
”I’m getting you out of here,” he said as he started to lift her. Then he realized her hand was still clamped around the bladed stick. ”Sweetheart, let go of the stick.”
”Have to clean… the blades. Can’t… put a weapon away… without cleaning the blades. Lucivar… would skin me.”
Daemon almost gave her his succinct opinion about that, but glancing over his shoulder at the hacked-up woman, he swallowed any criticism he might have had about Lucivar’s training methods. ”I’ll clean the blades. And I promise I’ll never tell Lucivar you didn’t do it yourself.”
Karla’s lips curved in the barest of smiles. ”You’d be likable if … you weren’t so male.”
”My Queen likes me that way,” Daemon said dryly. He vanished the bladed stick, carefully lifted Karla, and turned.
Her Master of the Guard blocked the doorway. ”What are you doing with my Queen?”
”Taking her away from here,” Daemon answered quietly. ”She’s been poisoned. She needs help.”
”We have Healers.”
”Would you trust them?” Daemon saw the moment’s hesitation. ”I have no quarrel with you, Prince. Don’t force me to go through you.”
The other man studied him, focused on the Black-Jeweled Ring. ”You’re Lady Angelline’s Consort.”
”Yes.”
The man stepped aside. As Daemon passed him, he said quietly, ”Please take care of her.”
”I will.” Daemon paused. ”Have you seen Morton?”
The Master of the Guard shook his head.
There was no time to think about Morton or what might have happened to him. ”If you see him, tell him I’m taking Karla to Scelt. Don’t tell anyone but Morton.”
The man nodded. ”Come this way. There’s a Craft-powered carriage out back. It’ll get you to the Winds faster.”
The Master of the Guard drove the carriage while Daemon held Karla, using those precious minutes to wrap Black shields around her to protect her during the ride on the Winds. They stopped a few feet from where he had landed.
”May the Darkness embrace you, Prince,” the man said.
”And you.” Wrapping his arms around Karla, Daemon caught the Black Wind and rode hard toward Scelt.
He stopped once, halfway there, to send a message to Khary. I’m on my way back with Karla. She’s been poisoned. We’ll need a Healer and a Black Widow. The best you have.
Jaenelle’s on her way here, Khary replied.
That was all he needed to know. He caught the Black Wind again and continued the journey, knowing the sand in the hourglass was trickling away far too fast.
Sight shielded, Kaelas and twenty Arcerian males crouched on the roofs of the human dens, watching the bad winged males move around the village. Some of the dens had lights now that night had closed around them, and he could smell food cooking.
Meat? one of the Arcerian Warlords asked.
No, Kaelas replied. He felt a ripple of anger run through the other males. The meat tastes bad.
We have come for the hunt but will have no meat to bring back to the home dens? another male asked irritably.
We promised the Lady we wouldn’t hunt human meat, a younger male said tentatively.
These males killed a male who belonged to the Lady, Kaelas said firmly. They killed the pale humans who belonged to Lady Karla.
Another ripple of anger, this time directed at the bad winged males. Arcerians didn’t have much use for humans, but they liked Lady Karla and adored the Lady. For them, they would hunt and return to the dens without meat.
The wind shifted slightly, brought a different scent.
We will take the animals that belonged to the pale humans, Kaelas said. The humans do not need them now. It will be payment for work. He was pleased that he remembered that peculiar human idea. If the Lady snarled at him for taking animals from a human village, he could use those words.
Payment for work? a couple of males echoed. Then one of them asked, This is a human thing?
Yes. We kill these bad males, then we can take good meat back to the dens.
Satisfied, the Arcerians settled down to study their prey.
Kaelas watched the winged males for a minute. We must hunt fast… and silent.
Fast kills, the others agreed.
Kaelas watched the Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince walk to a den near the Sanctuary. But not for that one.
Jaenelle was waiting for him by the time Daemon reached Khary and Morghann’s house.
”She’s bleeding too much for this just to be moon’s blood,” he said abruptly as he rushed into the guest room, followed by Morghann, Khary, and Maeve, the village Healer. ”And there’s not much time left.”
Jaenelle placed a hand on Karla’s chest, her eyes focusing on something only she could see. ”There’s enough,” she said too calmly.
Morghann laid a padding of towels on the bed.
Daemon gave her a cold stare as he laid Karla on the bed. Was the woman more worried about her precious linens than about a friend who had been poisoned?
”It’ll disturb her less to change a towel than to change the linens,” Morghann said quietly, her eyes clearly telling him she knew what he’d been thinking-and had been hurt by it.
There was no time for an apology. Morghann and Maeve stripped off the bloody nightgown and robe, and quickly wiped the blood off Karla’s skin. Jaenelle paid no attention to the physical ministrations, remaining focused on the healing.
Daemon was about to tell her what he knew about the poison when he looked down at his blood-soaked sleeve. Memories of being soaked in Jaenelle’s blood rushed at him. He ripped off the jacket, then the shirt. Khary took them and handed him a wet cloth.
As he scrubbed the blood off his skin, Jaenelle said, ”There were two poisons used. I don’t know one of them.”
Handing the cloth back to Khary, Daemon moved to the bed. ”One of them comes from a plant that only grows in southern Hayll.”
Jaenelle looked up, her eyes blank and iced. ”Do you know an antidote?” she asked with an odd calm that scared him.
”Yes. But the herbs I have are several years old. I don’t know if they’ll still be potent enough.”
”I can make them potent enough. Make the antidote, Daemon.”
”What about the other poison?” he asked as he started clearing a work space on the bedside table.
”It’s witchblood.”
A chill went through him. Witchblood only grew where a witch had been violently killed-or where she had been buried. Used as a poison, it was virulent and deadly-and usually undetectable.
”You can detect it?” Daemon asked cautiously.
”I can recognize witchblood in any of its forms,” Jaenelle replied in her midnight voice.
Another memory rushed at him. Jaenelle staring at the bed of witchblood she had planted in an alcove on the Angelline estate. Did you know that if you sing to them correctly, they’ll tell you the names of the ones who have gone?
Even dried into a poison, did the plants tell Witch the names of the ones who were gone?
Locking away the memories, along with his heart, Daemon concentrated on making the antidote.
”Maeve,” Jaenelle said, ”get some basic plasters ready. We’ll have to draw out some of the poison. Morghann, I want you to leave the room. Don’t come back for any reason until I tell you.”
”But-”
Jaenelle just looked at her.
Morghann hurried out of the room.
”May I stay?” Khary asked quietly. ”You three will be involved in the healing. You’ll need a free pair of hands to fetch things.”
”This won’t be easy, Lord Khardeen,” Jaenelle said.
Khary paled a little. ”She’s my Sister, too.”
Jaenelle nodded her consent, then leaned over the bed and said so softly Daemon was sure he was the only one close enough to hear, ”Arms or legs, Karla?”
The answer, if she got one, was private-Sister to Sister. But it began a healing so gruesome he desperately hoped he would never witness anything like it again.
Kaelas listened to the sounds coming from the room and snarled silently. The Green-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord Prince was mating with the pale female, the young Priestess. Her cries disturbed him. They were not like the sounds the Lady made with Daemon. There was fear and pain in these sounds.
He almost slipped through the Green shield the male had placed around the room, almost decided to repay Morton’s death with a fast kill instead of the kind of death that was owed when the female cried, ”But I helped you. I helped you! ”
Remembering KaeAskavi’s she-kitten, who was now an orphan, and all the other pale humans that had belonged to Lady Karla and were now dead, Kaelas took a step back. The female had fouled her own den, had brought in poisoned meat. She deserved this winged male for a mate.
Careful not to disturb the Green shield and alert the male, he placed a Red shield around the room, caging the humans. He added a Red psychic shield so that when the male noticed he was trapped, he wouldn’t be able to warn the other winged males.
Slipping out of the building, Kaelas paused, listened. There were more winged males than cats, but that didn’t matter. The Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince was the only one of the winged males who wore one of the dark Jewels, and he was already caged. Among the cats here, Kaelas was the only one who wore a Red Jewel, but the shields from the Opal, Green, and Sapphire Jewels the others wore would protect them while they attacked with teeth and claws.
Now, Kaelas said.
Silent, invisible, the cats spread out and went hunting.