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that. The urchin that robbed you is her daughter."
* * * *
Dane went to Mephistis about Rose after weeks of watching Isranon worry over
her. The youth tried not to show it and he never spoke of it, but Dane had a
sharp eye for those things. The young male intrigued Dane with his intricate
complexities of hard and soft, na�ve and at times experienced and worldly as a
soldier. Dane could see all the places where Isranon's nature was like a thick
quilt with holes in it.
He settled into a chair in Mephistis' outer chamber, propped his ankle on his
knee and leaned forward. "Isranon is in love with a nibari."
Mephistis poured wine and carried a glass to Dane before sitting down with
his own. "He has not said anything. I cannot say that I am surprised either by
his choice or his silence. Who does she belong to?"
"She's a common. And you know very well why he hasn't said anything."
"I said it did not surprise me. He rejects his own kind. I would give her to
him, but it would be seen as sign of greater regard than the others want to
see for one who has not earned it. Margren already plagues me endlessly about
him. And then there is Bodramet and his coterie who are demanding favors for
remaining faithful."
"So you could not take her for your own?"
"Not easily. Nor give her to him with him unblooded in the rites. They smell
the oddity in him."
Dane sipped from his glass and nodded. "They call him half-a-mon, and
pressure him for nibble games. He'd rather die than be touched by them."
Mephistis smiled at that. "That is my Isranon. You know what he is?"
"Yes. I figured it out weeks ago."
"What if I gave her to you? For some small favor? You could hold her in trust
until you departed and then give her to him?"
Dane considered this and nodded. "That would work. She could move in with my
private herd. I would mark her."
While Dane had no rank among the sa'necari and was treated with a bit of
contempt because of his being one of the undead; the sa'necari were also
hesitant to push him too far, suspecting that he came of Brandrahoon's lineage
 the Lemyari, demon vampires. The sunlight held no dangers to them and they
carried a venom in their nails that killed swiftly depending upon how many
fingers they got into their opponent, how swiftly and whether it went into an
artery. All very messy and powerful. Brandrahoon, eldest brother of Waejonan,
had been a sylvan mage of half divine blood, turned by a demon. Dane was very,
very old. No one knew how old and he was not telling. He preferred to allow
the sa'necari to wonder, rather than to know anything at all about him.
"Go find her. She is yours. Now go. I have matters to attend to. The
situation in Vorgensburg has changed recently and I have as little reason as
Margren to wish her sister reaching Rowanslea alive."
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CHAPTER SIX. WITHIN THE HEART OF DARKNESS
A tall young mon, her features concealed by a heavy cowl, stepped from the
shadowed alcove near the stairs as Ladonys passed leaving the Guild
chieftain's home. Wilstryn heard her before she saw her, for the mon
approached from Wilstryn's blind side. Wilstryn stood very still, waiting for
the newcomer to identify herself or come within striking distance. She had
trained her ears to substitute for the missing eye. Twin stilettos slid into
her hands at a soft flexing of her muscles.
"It's Talons, Archer." the young mon's voice had a hard edge. She wore all
black from her great boots to her cowled cloak and gloves. A bandoleer crossed
her body carrying six throwing knives. Two long knives, nearly the length of
short swords hung from the belt around her waist. But her deadliest weapon did
not show. Beneath her black gloves lay magical gauntlets as supple as leather,
undetectable, capable of materializing long runed tiger claws made from
kenda'ryl, the magic metal, and then glazed with silver. Wilstryn was one of
the very few, outside of the Grand Master himself, who knew of them. They had
given the mon her name.
Wilstryn sheathed her blades. With a curt sign, she indicated the woman
should follow. They entered the study that Ladonys had so recently departed.
The newcomer went to the bar and poured herself a straight whiskey, knocked it
down and turned. She met Wilstryn's eye; held it for a significant moment.
"Ranlyn's dead."
"Damn!" Wilstryn gritted between clenched teeth.
"She was getting close. She must have gotten too close." Talons' glance was
cold as stone, utterly composed and controlled. At barely nineteen she had
twenty kills to her credit, all difficult extractions requiring the utmost
care, planning and cleverness in their execution. It had required calling in
all her favors for Wilstryn to obtain Talons' services: Normally Talons worked
for the Grand Master alone.
"Talons, figure out what she did last and where she went."
"Margrenan Rowan is a dangerous woman, Archer. She'll be hard to bring down,"
Talons said softly, adding, "You knew that when you started this."
Wilstryn sat down, nodding for her agent to sit. She slid the charm across
the table.
The agent's dark eyes widened with amazement, then narrowed as the full
impact showed on her face for an instance before vanishing. "What does this
mean?" she hissed, suspecting the answer, waiting for Wilstryn's confirmation.
"Margrenan brye Rowan killed my son. That's what it means," Wilstryn snarled.
"I also got word from a stonemage who read Sohkoran's life ring. Margren
ritually disemboweled him to Read his entrails while he still lived... Drank
his blood..." Wilstryn fought to keep her voice steady, but it was breaking up
as she spoke. "Put a blade through his heart..."
The agent's mouth tightened and her eyes closed as the horror sank in: the
Guildsmyn made clean kills, they did not torture; they killed those who needed
killing, for a price and in accordance with the strictures of their religion,
as a sacrifice to their liege-god, Hadjys the Dark Judge. She remembered
Sohkoran's gentle laughter, his innocence, how she and the others had bounced
him on their knees as a babe. "Why don't you just take her out? It would be a
suicide run. But we all loved Sohkoran. You'd have volunteers. I  I would be
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honored to die for him."
Wilstryn stared, incredulous at the offer  she had always thought Talons a
stone-killer, impervious, unfeeling, relentless. Then she shook her head.
"Aejys would take the fall for it. I owe her my life several times over. We've
got to do this carefully. I've begun a list of her allies and servants. She's
got a citadel on Dragonshead. Find it."
"You think she's found a way into the underground ruins?"
"I know it."
The agent rose with a curt nod. "Then I'll find it." She flicked her cloak of
darkness around her, disappearing into the shadowed hall. Wilstryn heard the
door close with almost inaudible softness.
She sat for a long time in silence, staring grimly at nothing. She wondered
how many of her agents would die before she could safely slam the nails into
Margren's coffin.
She had uncovered one fact she had not shared at that meeting weeks ago: the
Gold Ravens stalking her people were Waejontori; part of a newly established
cell in Rowanslea. Wilstryn had meant to make it known, but her eldest two
daughters, Laeth and Sorrow, had dissuaded her. Sitting there in the wake of
Talons' departure, Wilstryn began to question that advice. What if Talons'
lack of that information cast her into more danger than even she could handle?
But it was already too late, for Wilstryn had no way of contacting her  that
was the way Talons worked.
Then Sohkoran's sweet young face filled her head. Sometimes she could almost [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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